Brian Carnell's Wiki

This page is read only. You can view the source, but not change it. Ask your administrator if you think this is wrong.
<html>
    <h1>
      MY BONDAGE and MY FREEDOM
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By Frederick Douglass
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <p>
      By a principle essential to Christianity, a PERSON is eternally
      differenced from a THING; so that the idea of a HUMAN BEING, necessarily
      excludes the idea of PROPERTY IN THAT BEING. &mdash;COLERIDGE
    </p>
    <p>
      Entered according to Act of Congress in 1855 by Frederick Douglass in the
      Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Northern District of New York
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
TO
     HONORABLE GERRIT SMITH,
     AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF
     ESTEEM FOR HIS CHARACTER,
     ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS AND BENEVOLENCE,
     AFFECTION FOR HIS PERSON, AND
     GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP,
     AND AS
     A Small but most Sincere Acknowledgement of
     HIS PRE-EMINENT SERVICES IN BEHALF OF THE RIGHTS AND LIBERTIES
     OF AN
     AFFLICTED, DESPISED AND DEEPLY OUTRAGED PEOPLE,
     BY RANKING SLAVERY WITH PIRACY AND MURDER,
     AND BY
     DENYING IT EITHER A LEGAL OR CONSTITUTIONAL EXISTENCE,
     This Volume is Respectfully Dedicated,
     BY HIS FAITHFUL AND FIRMLY ATTACHED FRIEND,

     FREDERICK DOUGLAS.
     ROCHESTER, N.Y.
</pre>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>MY BONDAGE and MY FREEDOM</b> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> EDITOR'S PREFACE </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br /> <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. <i>Childhood</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. <i>Removed from My First Home</i>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. <i>Parentage</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. <i>A General Survey of the Slave
        Plantation</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. <i>Gradual Initiation to the
        Mysteries of Slavery</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. <i>Treatment of Slaves on Lloyd's
        Plantation</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. <i>Life in the Great House</i>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. <i>A Chapter of Horrors</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. <i>Personal Treatment</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. <i>Life in Baltimore</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. <i>"A Change Came O'er the Spirit
        of My Dream"</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. <i>Religious Nature Awakened</i>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. <i>The Vicissitudes of Slave Life</i>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. <i>Experience in St. Michael's</i>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. <i>Covey, the Negro Breaker</i>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. <i>Another Pressure of the
        Tyrant's Vice</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. <i>The Last Flogging</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. <i>New Relations and Duties</i>
        </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. <i>The Run-Away Plot</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. <i>Apprenticeship Life</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. <i>My Escape from Slavery</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br /> <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <b>LIFE as a FREEMAN</b></a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. <i>Liberty Attained</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. <i>Introduced to the
        Abolitionists</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. <i>Twenty-One Months in Great
        Britain</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. <i>Various Incidents</i> </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> RECEPTION SPEECH [10]. At Finsbury Chapel,
        Moorfields, England, May 12, </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> Dr. Campbell's Reply </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> LETTER TO HIS OLD MASTER. [11]. To My Old
        Master, Thomas Auld </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> THE NATURE OF SLAVERY. Extract from a Lecture
        on Slavery, at Rochester, </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> INHUMANITY OF SLAVERY. Extract from A Lecture
        on Slavery, at Rochester, </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> WHAT TO THE SLAVE IS THE FOURTH OF JULY?.
        Extract from an Oration, at </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> THE INTERNAL SLAVE TRADE. Extract from an
        Oration, at Rochester, July </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THE SLAVERY PARTY. Extract from a Speech
        Delivered before the A. A. S. </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> THE ANTI-SLAVERY MOVEMENT. Extracts from a
        Lecture before Various </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_FOOT"> FOOTNOTES </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h1>
      MY BONDAGE and MY FREEDOM
    </h1>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      EDITOR'S PREFACE
    </h2>
    <p>
      If the volume now presented to the public were a mere work of ART, the
      history of its misfortune might be written in two very simple words&mdash;TOO
      LATE. The nature and character of slavery have been subjects of an almost
      endless variety of artistic representation; and after the brilliant
      achievements in that field, and while those achievements are yet fresh in
      the memory of the million, he who would add another to the legion, must
      possess the charm of transcendent excellence, or apologize for something
      worse than rashness. The reader is, therefore, assured, with all due
      promptitude, that his attention is not invited to a work of ART, but to a
      work of FACTS&mdash;Facts, terrible and almost incredible, it may be yet
      FACTS, nevertheless.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am authorized to say that there is not a fictitious name nor place in
      the whole volume; but that names and places are literally given, and that
      every transaction therein described actually transpired.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps the best Preface to this volume is furnished in the following
      letter of Mr. Douglass, written in answer to my urgent solicitation for
      such a work:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                                ROCHESTER, N. Y. <i>July</i> 2, 1855.
</pre>
    <p>
      DEAR FRIEND: I have long entertained, as you very well know, a somewhat
      positive repugnance to writing or speaking anything for the public, which
      could, with any degree of plausibilty, make me liable to the imputation of
      seeking personal notoriety, for its own sake. Entertaining that feeling
      very sincerely, and permitting its control, perhaps, quite unreasonably, I
      have often<span class="pagenum">[2]</span> refused to narrate my personal
      experience in public anti-slavery meetings, and in sympathizing circles,
      when urged to do so by friends, with whose views and wishes, ordinarily,
      it were a pleasure to comply. In my letters and speeches, I have generally
      aimed to discuss the question of Slavery in the light of fundamental
      principles, and upon facts, notorious and open to all; making, I trust, no
      more of the fact of my own former enslavement, than circumstances seemed
      absolutely to require. I have never placed my opposition to slavery on a
      basis so narrow as my own enslavement, but rather upon the indestructible
      and unchangeable laws of human nature, every one of which is perpetually
      and flagrantly violated by the slave system. I have also felt that it was
      best for those having histories worth the writing&mdash;or supposed to be
      so&mdash;to commit such work to hands other than their own. To write of
      one's self, in such a manner as not to incur the imputation of weakness,
      vanity, and egotism, is a work within the ability of but few; and I have
      little reason to believe that I belong to that fortunate few.
    </p>
    <p>
      These considerations caused me to hesitate, when first you kindly urged me
      to prepare for publication a full account of my life as a slave, and my
      life as a freeman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nevertheless, I see, with you, many reasons for regarding my autobiography
      as exceptional in its character, and as being, in some sense, naturally
      beyond the reach of those reproaches which honorable and sensitive minds
      dislike to incur. It is not to illustrate any heroic achievements of a
      man, but to vindicate a just and beneficent principle, in its application
      to the whole human family, by letting in the light of truth upon a system,
      esteemed by some as a blessing, and by others as a curse and a crime. I
      agree with you, that this system is now at the bar of public opinion&mdash;not
      only of this country, but of the whole civilized world&mdash;for judgment.
      Its friends have made for it the usual plea&mdash;"not guilty;" the case
      must, therefore, proceed. Any facts, either from slaves, slaveholders, or
      by-standers, calculated to enlighten the public mind, by revealing the
      true nature, character, and tendency of the slave system, are in order,
      and can scarcely be innocently withheld.
    </p>
    <p>
      I see, too, that there are special reasons why I should write my own
      biography, in preference to employing another to do it. Not only is
      slavery on trial, but unfortunately, the enslaved people are also on
      trial. It is alleged, that they are, naturally, inferior; that they are <i>so
      low</i> in the scale of humanity, and so utterly stupid, that they are
      unconscious of their wrongs, and do not apprehend their rights. Looking,
      then, at your request, from this stand-point, and wishing everything of
      which you think me capable to go to the benefit of my afflicted people, I
      part with my doubts and hesitation, and proceed to furnish you the desired
      manuscript; hoping that you may be able to make such arrangements for its
      publication as shall be best adapted to accomplish that good which you so
      enthusiastically anticipate.
    </p>
    <p>
      FREDERICK DOUGLASS <span class="pagenum">[3]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      There was little necessity for doubt and hesitation on the part of Mr.
      Douglass, as to the propriety of his giving to the world a full account of
      himself. A man who was born and brought up in slavery, a living witness of
      its horrors; who often himself experienced its cruelties; and who, despite
      the depressing influences surrounding his birth, youth and manhood, has
      risen, from a dark and almost absolute obscurity, to the distinguished
      position which he now occupies, might very well assume the existence of a
      commendable curiosity, on the part of the public, to know the facts of his
      remarkable history.
    </p>
    <p>
      EDITOR <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      INTRODUCTION
    </h2>
    <p>
      When a man raises himself from the lowest condition in society to the
      highest, mankind pay him the tribute of their admiration; when he
      accomplishes this elevation by native energy, guided by prudence and
      wisdom, their admiration is increased; but when his course, onward and
      upward, excellent in itself, furthermore proves a possible, what had
      hitherto been regarded as an impossible, reform, then he becomes a burning
      and a shining light, on which the aged may look with gladness, the young
      with hope, and the down-trodden, as a representative of what they may
      themselves become. To such a man, dear reader, it is my privilege to
      introduce you.
    </p>
    <p>
      The life of Frederick Douglass, recorded in the pages which follow, is not
      merely an example of self-elevation under the most adverse circumstances;
      it is, moreover, a noble vindication of the highest aims of the American
      anti-slavery movement. The real object of that movement is not only to
      disenthrall, it is, also, to bestow upon the Negro the exercise of all
      those rights, from the possession of which he has been so long debarred.
    </p>
    <p>
      But this full recognition of the colored man to the right, and the entire
      admission of the same to the full privileges, political, religious and
      social, of manhood, requires powerful effort on the part of the
      enthralled, as well as on the part of those who would disenthrall them.
      The people at large must feel the conviction, as well as admit the
      abstract logic, of human equality;<span class="pagenum">[5]</span> the
      Negro, for the first time in the world's history, brought in full contact
      with high civilization, must prove his title first to all that is demanded
      for him; in the teeth of unequal chances, he must prove himself equal to
      the mass of those who oppress him&mdash;therefore, absolutely superior to
      his apparent fate, and to their relative ability. And it is most cheering
      to the friends of freedom, today, that evidence of this equality is
      rapidly accumulating, not from the ranks of the half-freed colored people
      of the free states, but from the very depths of slavery itself; the
      indestructible equality of man to man is demonstrated by the ease with
      which black men, scarce one remove from barbarism&mdash;if slavery can be
      honored with such a distinction&mdash;vault into the high places of the
      most advanced and painfully acquired civilization. Ward and Garnett, Wells
      Brown and Pennington, Loguen and Douglass, are banners on the outer wall,
      under which abolition is fighting its most successful battles, because
      they are living exemplars of the practicability of the most radical
      abolitionism; for, they were all of them born to the doom of slavery, some
      of them remained slaves until adult age, yet they all have not only won
      equality to their white fellow citizens, in civil, religious, political
      and social rank, but they have also illustrated and adorned our common
      country by their genius, learning and eloquence.
    </p>
    <p>
      The characteristics whereby Mr. Douglass has won first rank among these
      remarkable men, and is still rising toward highest rank among living
      Americans, are abundantly laid bare in the book before us. Like the
      autobiography of Hugh Miller, it carries us so far back into early
      childhood, as to throw light upon the question, "when positive and
      persistent memory begins in the human being." And, like Hugh Miller, he
      must have been a shy old-fashioned child, occasionally oppressed by what
      he could not well account for, peering and poking about among the layers
      of right and wrong, of tyrant and thrall, and the wonderfulness of that
      hopeless tide of things which brought power to one race, and unrequited
      toil to another, until, finally, he stumbled upon<span class="pagenum">[6]</span>
      his "first-found Ammonite," hidden away down in the depths of his own
      nature, and which revealed to him the fact that liberty and right, for all
      men, were anterior to slavery and wrong. When his knowledge of the world
      was bounded by the visible horizon on Col. Lloyd's plantation, and while
      every thing around him bore a fixed, iron stamp, as if it had always been
      so, this was, for one so young, a notable discovery.
    </p>
    <p>
      To his uncommon memory, then, we must add a keen and accurate insight into
      men and things; an original breadth of common sense which enabled him to
      see, and weigh, and compare whatever passed before him, and which kindled
      a desire to search out and define their relations to other things not so
      patent, but which never succumbed to the marvelous nor the supernatural; a
      sacred thirst for liberty and for learning, first as a means of attaining
      liberty, then as an end in itself most desirable; a will; an unfaltering
      energy and determination to obtain what his soul pronounced desirable; a
      majestic self-hood; determined courage; a deep and agonizing sympathy with
      his embruted, crushed and bleeding fellow slaves, and an extraordinary
      depth of passion, together with that rare alliance between passion and
      intellect, which enables the former, when deeply roused, to excite,
      develop and sustain the latter.
    </p>
    <p>
      With these original gifts in view, let us look at his schooling; the
      fearful discipline through which it pleased God to prepare him for the
      high calling on which he has since entered&mdash;the advocacy of
      emancipation by the people who are not slaves. And for this special
      mission, his plantation education was better than any he could have
      acquired in any lettered school. What he needed, was facts and
      experiences, welded to acutely wrought up sympathies, and these he could
      not elsewhere have obtained, in a manner so peculiarly adapted to his
      nature. His physical being was well trained, also, running wild until
      advanced into boyhood; hard work and light diet, thereafter, and a skill
      in handicraft in youth.<span class="pagenum">[7]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      For his special mission, then, this was, considered in connection with his
      natural gifts, a good schooling; and, for his special mission, he
      doubtless "left school" just at the proper moment. Had he remained longer
      in slavery&mdash;had he fretted under bonds until the ripening of manhood
      and its passions, until the drear agony of slave-wife and slave-children
      had been piled upon his already bitter experiences&mdash;then, not only
      would his own history have had another termination, but the drama of
      American slavery would have been essentially varied; for I cannot resist
      the belief, that the boy who learned to read and write as he did, who
      taught his fellow slaves these precious acquirements as he did, who
      plotted for their mutual escape as he did, would, when a man at bay,
      strike a blow which would make slavery reel and stagger. Furthermore,
      blows and insults he bore, at the moment, without resentment; deep but
      suppressed emotion rendered him insensible to their sting; but it was
      afterward, when the memory of them went seething through his brain,
      breeding a fiery indignation at his injured self-hood, that the resolve
      came to resist, and the time fixed when to resist, and the plot laid, how
      to resist; and he always kept his self-pledged word. In what he undertook,
      in this line, he looked fate in the face, and had a cool, keen look at the
      relation of means to ends. Henry Bibb, to avoid chastisement, strewed his
      master's bed with charmed leaves and <i>was whipped</i>. Frederick
      Douglass quietly pocketed a like <i>fetiche</i>, compared his muscles with
      those of Covey&mdash;and <i>whipped him</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the history of his life in bondage, we find, well developed, that
      inherent and continuous energy of character which will ever render him
      distinguished. What his hand found to do, he did with his might; even
      while conscious that he was wronged out of his daily earnings, he worked,
      and worked hard. At his daily labor he went with a will; with keen, well
      set eye, brawny chest, lithe figure, and fair sweep of arm, he would have
      been king among calkers, had that been his mission.
    </p>
    <p>
      It must not be overlooked, in this glance at his education, that<span
      class="pagenum">[8]</span> Mr. Douglass lacked one aid to which so many
      men of mark have been deeply indebted&mdash;he had neither a mother's
      care, nor a mother's culture, save that which slavery grudgingly meted out
      to him. Bitter nurse! may not even her features relax with human feeling,
      when she gazes at such offspring! How susceptible he was to the kindly
      influences of mother-culture, may be gathered from his own words, on page
      57: "It has been a life-long standing grief to me, that I know so little
      of my mother, and that I was so early separated from her. The counsels of
      her love must have been beneficial to me. The side view of her face is
      imaged on my memory, and I take few steps in life, without feeling her
      presence; but the image is mute, and I have no striking words of hers
      treasured up."
    </p>
    <p>
      From the depths of chattel slavery in Maryland, our author escaped into
      the caste-slavery of the north, in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Here he
      found oppression assuming another, and hardly less bitter, form; of that
      very handicraft which the greed of slavery had taught him, his
      half-freedom denied him the exercise for an honest living; he found
      himself one of a class&mdash;free colored men&mdash;whose position he has
      described in the following words:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aliens are we in our native land. The fundamental principles of the
      republic, to which the humblest white man, whether born here or elsewhere,
      may appeal with confidence, in the hope of awakening a favorable response,
      are held to be inapplicable to us. The glorious doctrines of your
      revolutionary fathers, and the more glorious teachings of the Son of God,
      are construed and applied against us. We are literally scourged beyond the
      beneficent range of both authorities, human and divine. * * * * American
      humanity hates us, scorns us, disowns and denies, in a thousand ways, our
      very personality. The outspread wing of American christianity, apparently
      broad enough to give shelter to a perishing world, refuses to cover us. To
      us, its bones are brass, and its features iron. In running thither for
      shelter and<span class="pagenum">[9]</span> succor, we have only fled from
      the hungry blood-hound to the devouring wolf&mdash;from a corrupt and
      selfish world, to a hollow and hypocritical church."&mdash;<i>Speech
      before American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, May</i>, 1854.
    </p>
    <p>
      Four years or more, from 1837 to 1841, he struggled on, in New Bedford,
      sawing wood, rolling casks, or doing what labor he might, to support
      himself and young family; four years he brooded over the scars which
      slavery and semi-slavery had inflicted upon his body and soul; and then,
      with his wounds yet unhealed, he fell among the Garrisonians&mdash;a
      glorious waif to those most ardent reformers. It happened one day, at
      Nantucket, that he, diffidently and reluctantly, was led to address an
      anti-slavery meeting. He was about the age when the younger Pitt entered
      the House of Commons; like Pitt, too, he stood up a born orator.
    </p>
    <p>
      William Lloyd Garrison, who was happily present, writes thus of Mr.
      Douglass' maiden effort; "I shall never forget his first speech at the
      convention&mdash;the extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind&mdash;the
      powerful impression it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken
      by surprise. * * * 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 proportions and stature
      commanding and exact&mdash;in intellect richly endowed&mdash;in natural
      eloquence a prodigy." <a href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1"
      id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></a>
    </p>
    <p>
      It is of interest to compare Mr. Douglass's account of this meeting with
      Mr. Garrison's. Of the two, I think the latter the most correct. It must
      have been a grand burst of eloquence! The pent up agony, indignation and
      pathos of an abused and harrowed boyhood and youth, bursting out in all
      their freshness and overwhelming earnestness!
    </p>
    <p>
      This unique introduction to its great leader, led immediately<span
      class="pagenum">[10]</span> to the employment of Mr. Douglass as an agent
      by the American Anti-Slavery Society. So far as his self-relying and
      independent character would permit, he became, after the strictest sect, a
      Garrisonian. It is not too much to say, that he formed a complement which
      they needed, and they were a complement equally necessary to his
      "make-up." With his deep and keen sensitiveness to wrong, and his
      wonderful memory, he came from the land of bondage full of its woes and
      its evils, and painting them in characters of living light; and, on his
      part, he found, told out in sound Saxon phrase, all those principles of
      justice and right and liberty, which had dimly brooded over the dreams of
      his youth, seeking definite forms and verbal expression. It must have been
      an electric flashing of thought, and a knitting of soul, granted to but
      few in this life, and will be a life-long memory to those who participated
      in it. In the society, moreover, of Wendell Phillips, Edmund Quincy,
      William Lloyd Garrison, and other men of earnest faith and refined
      culture, Mr. Douglass enjoyed the high advantage of their assistance and
      counsel in the labor of self-culture, to which he now addressed himself
      with wonted energy. Yet, these gentlemen, although proud of Frederick
      Douglass, failed to fathom, and bring out to the light of day, the highest
      qualities of his mind; the force of their own education stood in their own
      way: they did not delve into the mind of a colored man for capacities
      which the pride of race led them to believe to be restricted to their own
      Saxon blood. Bitter and vindictive sarcasm, irresistible mimicry, and a
      pathetic narrative of his own experiences of slavery, were the
      intellectual manifestations which they encouraged him to exhibit on the
      platform or in the lecture desk.
    </p>
    <p>
      A visit to England, in 1845, threw Mr. Douglass among men and women of
      earnest souls and high culture, and who, moreover, had never drank of the
      bitter waters of American caste. For the first time in his life, he
      breathed an atmosphere congenial to the longings of his spirit, and felt
      his manhood free and<span class="pagenum">[11]</span> unrestricted. The
      cordial and manly greetings of the British and Irish audiences in public,
      and the refinement and elegance of the social circles in which he mingled,
      not only as an equal, but as a recognized man of genius, were, doubtless,
      genial and pleasant resting places in his hitherto thorny and troubled
      journey through life. There are joys on the earth, and, to the wayfaring
      fugitive from American slavery or American caste, this is one of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      But his sojourn in England was more than a joy to Mr. Douglass. Like the
      platform at Nantucket, it awakened him to the consciousness of new powers
      that lay in him. From the pupilage of Garrisonism he rose to the dignity
      of a teacher and a thinker; his opinions on the broader aspects of the
      great American question were earnestly and incessantly sought, from
      various points of view, and he must, perforce, bestir himself to give
      suitable answer. With that prompt and truthful perception which has led
      their sisters in all ages of the world to gather at the feet and support
      the hands of reformers, the gentlewomen of England <a href="#linknote-2"
      name="linknoteref-2" id="linknoteref-2"><small>2</small></a> were foremost
      to encourage and strengthen him to carve out for himself a path fitted to
      his powers and energies, in the life-battle against slavery and caste to
      which he was pledged. And one stirring thought, inseparable from the
      British idea of the evangel of freedom, must have smote his ear from every
      side&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
        <i>Hereditary bondmen! know ye not
        Who would be free, themselves mast strike the blow?</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      The result of this visit was, that on his return to the United States, he
      established a newspaper. This proceeding was sorely against the wishes and
      the advice of the leaders of the American Anti-Slavery Society, but our
      author had fully grown up to the conviction of a truth which they had once
      promulged, but now<span class="pagenum">[12]</span> forgotten, to wit:
      that in their own elevation&mdash;self-elevation&mdash;colored men have a
      blow to strike "on their own hook," against slavery and caste. Differing
      from his Boston friends in this matter, diffident in his own abilities,
      reluctant at their dissuadings, how beautiful is the loyalty with which he
      still clung to their principles in all things else, and even in this.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now came the trial hour. Without cordial support from any large body of
      men or party on this side the Atlantic, and too far distant in space and
      immediate interest to expect much more, after the much already done, on
      the other side, he stood up, almost alone, to the arduous labor and heavy
      expenditure of editor and lecturer. The Garrison party, to which he still
      adhered, did not want a <i>colored</i> newspaper&mdash;there was an odor
      of <i>caste</i> about it; the Liberty party could hardly be expected to
      give warm support to a man who smote their principles as with a hammer;
      and the wide gulf which separated the free colored people from the
      Garrisonians, also separated them from their brother, Frederick Douglass.
    </p>
    <p>
      The arduous nature of his labors, from the date of the establishment of
      his paper, may be estimated by the fact, that anti-slavery papers in the
      United States, even while organs of, and when supported by, anti-slavery
      parties, have, with a single exception, failed to pay expenses. Mr.
      Douglass has maintained, and does maintain, his paper without the support
      of any party, and even in the teeth of the opposition of those from whom
      he had reason to expect counsel and encouragement. He has been compelled,
      at one and the same time, and almost constantly, during the past seven
      years, to contribute matter to its columns as editor, and to raise funds
      for its support as lecturer. It is within bounds to say, that he has
      expended twelve thousand dollars of his own hard earned money, in
      publishing this paper, a larger sum than has been contributed by any one
      individual for the general advancement of the colored people. There had
      been many other papers published and edited by colored men, beginning as
      far back as<span class="pagenum">[13]</span> 1827, when the Rev. Samuel E.
      Cornish and John B. Russworm (a graduate of Bowdoin college, and afterward
      Governor of Cape Palmas) published the <i>Freedom's Journal</i>, in New
      York City; probably not less than one hundred newspaper enterprises have
      been started in the United States, by free colored men, born free, and
      some of them of liberal education and fair talents for this work; but, one
      after another, they have fallen through, although, in several instances,
      anti-slavery friends contributed to their support. <a href="#linknote-3"
      name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3"><small>3</small></a> It had almost
      been given up, as an impracticable thing, to maintain a colored newspaper,
      when Mr. Douglass, with fewest early advantages of all his competitors,
      essayed, and has proved the thing perfectly practicable, and, moreover, of
      great public benefit. This paper, in addition to its power in holding up
      the hands of those to whom it is especially devoted, also affords
      irrefutable evidence of the justice, safety and practicability of
      Immediate Emancipation; it further proves the immense loss which slavery
      inflicts on the land while it dooms such energies as his to the hereditary
      degradation of slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has been said in this Introduction, that Mr. Douglass had raised
      himself by his own efforts to the highest position in society. As a
      successful editor, in our land, he occupies this position. Our editors
      rule the land, and he is one of them. As an orator and thinker, his
      position is equally high, in the opinion of his countrymen. If a stranger
      in the United States would seek its most distinguished men&mdash;the
      movers of public opinion&mdash;he will find their names mentioned, and
      their movements chronicled, under the head of "BY MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH," in
      the daily papers. The keen caterers for the public attention, set down, in
      this column, such men only as have won high mark in the public esteem.
      During the past winter&mdash;1854-5&mdash;very frequent mention of
      Frederick Douglass was made under this head in the daily papers; his name
      glided as often&mdash;this week from Chicago, next<span class="pagenum">[14]</span>
      week from Boston&mdash;over the lightning wires, as the name of any other
      man, of whatever note. To no man did the people more widely nor more
      earnestly say, <i>"Tell me thy thought!"</i> And, somehow or other,
      revolution seemed to follow in his wake. His were not the mere words of
      eloquence which Kossuth speaks of, that delight the ear and then pass
      away. No! They were <i>work</i>-able, <i>do</i>-able words, that brought
      forth fruits in the revolution in Illinois, and in the passage of the
      franchise resolutions by the Assembly of New York.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the secret of his power, what is it? He is a Representative American
      man&mdash;a type of his countrymen. Naturalists tell us that a full grown
      man is a resultant or representative of all animated nature on this globe;
      beginning with the early embryo state, then representing the lowest forms
      of organic life, <a href="#linknote-4" name="linknoteref-4"
      id="linknoteref-4"><small>4</small></a> and passing through every
      subordinate grade or type, until he reaches the last and highest&mdash;manhood.
      In like manner, and to the fullest extent, has Frederick Douglass passed
      through every gradation of rank comprised in our national make-up, and
      bears upon his person and upon his soul every thing that is American. And
      he has not only full sympathy with every thing American; his proclivity or
      bent, to active toil and visible progress, are in the strictly national
      direction, delighting to outstrip "all creation."
    </p>
    <p>
      Nor have the natural gifts, already named as his, lost anything by his
      severe training. When unexcited, his mental processes are probably slow,
      but singularly clear in perception, and wide in vision, the unfailing
      memory bringing up all the facts in their every aspect; incongruities he
      lays hold of incontinently, and holds up on the edge of his keen and
      telling wit. But this wit never descends to frivolity; it is rigidly in
      the keeping of his truthful common sense, and always used in illustration
      or proof of some point which could not so readily be reached any other
      way. "Beware of a Yankee when he is feeding," is a shaft that strikes home<span
      class="pagenum">[15]</span> in a matter never so laid bare by satire
      before. "The Garrisonian views of disunion, if carried to a successful
      issue, would only place the people of the north in the same relation to
      American slavery which they now bear to the slavery of Cuba or the
      Brazils," is a statement, in a few words, which contains the result and
      the evidence of an argument which might cover pages, but could not carry
      stronger conviction, nor be stated in less pregnable form. In proof of
      this, I may say, that having been submitted to the attention of the
      Garrisonians in print, in March, it was repeated before them at their
      business meeting in May&mdash;the platform, <i>par excellence</i>, on
      which they invite free fight, <i>a l'outrance</i>, to all comers. It was
      given out in the clear, ringing tones, wherewith the hall of shields was
      wont to resound of old, yet neither Garrison, nor Phillips, nor May, nor
      Remond, nor Foster, nor Burleigh, with his subtle steel of "the ice
      brook's temper," ventured to break a lance upon it! The doctrine of the
      dissolution of the Union, as a means for the abolition of American
      slavery, was silenced upon the lips that gave it birth, and in the
      presence of an array of defenders who compose the keenest intellects in
      the land.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>"The man who is right is a majority"</i> is an aphorism struck out by
      Mr. Douglass in that great gathering of the friends of freedom, at
      Pittsburgh, in 1852, where he towered among the highest, because, with
      abilities inferior to none, and moved more deeply than any, there was
      neither policy nor party to trammel the outpourings of his soul. Thus we
      find, opposed to all disadvantages which a black man in the United States
      labors and struggles under, is this one vantage ground&mdash;when the
      chance comes, and the audience where he may have a say, he stands forth
      the freest, most deeply moved and most earnest of all men.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has been said of Mr. Douglass, that his descriptive and declamatory
      powers, admitted to be of the very highest order, take precedence of his
      logical force. Whilst the schools might have trained him to the exhibition
      of the formulas of deductive<span class="pagenum">[16]</span> logic,
      nature and circumstances forced him into the exercise of the higher
      faculties required by induction. The first ninety pages of this "Life in
      Bondage," afford specimens of observing, comparing, and careful
      classifying, of such superior character, that it is difficult to believe
      them the results of a child's thinking; he questions the earth, and the
      children and the slaves around him again and again, and finally looks to
      <i>"God in the sky"</i> for the why and the wherefore of the unnatural
      thing, slavery. <i>"Yes, if indeed thou art, wherefore dost thou suffer us
      to be slain?"</i> is the only prayer and worship of the God-forsaken Dodos
      in the heart of Africa. Almost the same was his prayer. One of his
      earliest observations was that white children should know their ages,
      while the colored children were ignorant of theirs; and the songs of the
      slaves grated on his inmost soul, because a something told him that
      harmony in sound, and music of the spirit, could not consociate with
      miserable degradation.
    </p>
    <p>
      To such a mind, the ordinary processes of logical deduction are like
      proving that two and two make four. Mastering the intermediate steps by an
      intuitive glance, or recurring to them as Ferguson resorted to geometry,
      it goes down to the deeper relation of things, and brings out what may
      seem, to some, mere statements, but which are new and brilliant
      generalizations, each resting on a broad and stable basis. Thus, Chief
      Justice Marshall gave his decisions, and then told Brother Story to look
      up the authorities&mdash;and they never differed from him. Thus, also, in
      his "Lecture on the Anti-Slavery Movement," delivered before the Rochester
      Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society, Mr. Douglass presents a mass of thought,
      which, without any showy display of logic on his part, requires an
      exercise of the reasoning faculties of the reader to keep pace with him.
      And his "Claims of the Negro Ethnologically Considered," is full of new
      and fresh thoughts on the dawning science of race-history.
    </p>
    <p>
      If, as has been stated, his intellection is slow, when unexcited, it is
      most prompt and rapid when he is thoroughly aroused.<span class="pagenum">[17]</span>
      Memory, logic, wit, sarcasm, invective pathos and bold imagery of rare
      structural beauty, well up as from a copious fountain, yet each in its
      proper place, and contributing to form a whole, grand in itself, yet
      complete in the minutest proportions. It is most difficult to hedge him in
      a corner, for his positions are taken so deliberately, that it is rare to
      find a point in them undefended aforethought. Professor Reason tells me
      the following: "On a recent visit of a public nature, to Philadelphia, and
      in a meeting composed mostly of his colored brethren, Mr. Douglass
      proposed a comparison of views in the matters of the relations and duties
      of 'our people;' he holding that prejudice was the result of condition,
      and could be conquered by the efforts of the degraded themselves. A
      gentleman present, distinguished for logical acumen and subtlety, and who
      had devoted no small portion of the last twenty-five years to the study
      and elucidation of this very question, held the opposite view, that
      prejudice is innate and unconquerable. He terminated a series of well
      dove-tailed, Socratic questions to Mr. Douglass, with the following: 'If
      the legislature at Harrisburgh should awaken, to-morrow morning, and find
      each man's skin turned black and his hair woolly, what could they do to
      remove prejudice?' 'Immediately pass laws entitling black men to all
      civil, political and social privileges,' was the instant reply&mdash;and
      the questioning ceased."
    </p>
    <p>
      The most remarkable mental phenomenon in Mr. Douglass, is his style in
      writing and speaking. In March, 1855, he delivered an address in the
      assembly chamber before the members of the legislature of the state of New
      York. An eye witness <a href="#linknote-5" name="linknoteref-5"
      id="linknoteref-5"><small>5</small></a> describes the crowded and most
      intelligent audience, and their rapt attention to the speaker, as the
      grandest scene he ever witnessed in the capitol. Among those whose eyes
      were riveted on the speaker full two hours and a half, were Thurlow Weed
      and Lieutenant Governor Raymond; the latter, at the conclusion of the
      address, exclaimed to a friend, "I would give twenty thousand dollars,<span
      class="pagenum">[18]</span> if I could deliver that address in that
      manner." Mr. Raymond is a first class graduate of Dartmouth, a rising
      politician, ranking foremost in the legislature; of course, his ideal of
      oratory must be of the most polished and finished description.
    </p>
    <p>
      The style of Mr. Douglass in writing, is to me an intellectual puzzle. The
      strength, affluence and terseness may easily be accounted for, because the
      style of a man is the man; but how are we to account for that rare polish
      in his style of writing, which, most critically examined, seems the result
      of careful early culture among the best classics of our language; it
      equals if it does not surpass the style of Hugh Miller, which was the
      wonder of the British literary public, until he unraveled the mystery in
      the most interesting of autobiographies. But Frederick Douglass was still
      calking the seams of Baltimore clippers, and had only written a "pass," at
      the age when Miller's style was already formed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I asked William Whipper, of Pennsylvania, the gentleman alluded to above,
      whether he thought Mr. Douglass's power inherited from the Negroid, or
      from what is called the Caucasian side of his make up? After some
      reflection, he frankly answered, "I must admit, although sorry to do so,
      that the Caucasian predominates." At that time, I almost agreed with him;
      but, facts narrated in the first part of this work, throw a different
      light on this interesting question.
    </p>
    <p>
      We are left in the dark as to who was the paternal ancestor of our author;
      a fact which generally holds good of the Romuluses and Remuses who are to
      inaugurate the new birth of our republic. In the absence of testimony from
      the Caucasian side, we must see what evidence is given on the other side
      of the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My grandmother, though advanced in years, * * * was yet a woman of power
      and spirit. She was marvelously straight in figure, elastic and muscular."
      (p. 46.)
    </p>
    <p>
      After describing her skill in constructing nets, her perseverance in using
      them, and her wide-spread fame in the agricultural way he adds, "It
      happened to her&mdash;as it will happen to any careful<span class="pagenum">[19]</span>
      and thrifty person residing in an ignorant and improvident neighborhood&mdash;to
      enjoy the reputation of being born to good luck." And his grandmother was
      a black woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My mother was tall, and finely proportioned; of deep black, glossy
      complexion; had regular features; and among other slaves was remarkably
      sedate in her manners." "Being a field hand, she was obliged to walk
      twelve miles and return, between nightfall and daybreak, to see her
      children" (p. 54.) "I shall never forget the indescribable expression of
      her countenance when I told her that I had had no food since morning. * *
      * There was pity in her glance at me, and a fiery indignation at Aunt Katy
      at the same time; * * * * she read Aunt Katy a lecture which she never
      forgot." (p. 56.) "I learned after my mother's death, that she could read,
      and that she was the <i>only</i> one of all the slaves and colored people
      in Tuckahoe who enjoyed that advantage. How she acquired this knowledge, I
      know not, for Tuckahoe is the last place in the world where she would be
      apt to find facilities for learning." (p. 57.) "There is, in <i>Prichard's
      Natural History of Man</i>, the head of a figure&mdash;on page 157&mdash;the
      features of which so resemble those of my mother, that I often recur to it
      with something of the feeling which I suppose others experience when
      looking upon the pictures of dear departed ones." (p. 52.)
    </p>
    <p>
      The head alluded to is copied from the statue of Ramses the Great, an
      Egyptian king of the nineteenth dynasty. The authors of the <i>Types of
      Mankind</i> give a side view of the same on page 148, remarking that the
      profile, "like Napoleon's, is superbly European!" The nearness of its
      resemblance to Mr. Douglass' mother rests upon the evidence of his memory,
      and judging from his almost marvelous feats of recollection of forms and
      outlines recorded in this book, this testimony may be admitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      These facts show that for his energy, perseverance, eloquence, invective,
      sagacity, and wide sympathy, he is indebted to his Negro blood. The very
      marvel of his style would seem to be a development of that other marvel&mdash;how
      his mother learned to read.<span class="pagenum">[20]</span> The
      versatility of talent which he wields, in common with Dumas, Ira Aldridge,
      and Miss Greenfield, would seem to be the result of the grafting of the
      Anglo-Saxon on good, original, Negro stock. If the friends of "Caucasus"
      choose to claim, for that region, what remains after this analysis&mdash;to
      wit: combination&mdash;they are welcome to it. They will forgive me for
      reminding them that the term "Caucasian" is dropped by recent writers on
      Ethnology; for the people about Mount Caucasus, are, and have ever been,
      Mongols. The great "white race" now seek paternity, according to Dr.
      Pickering, in Arabia&mdash;"Arida Nutrix" of the best breed of horses
      &amp;c. Keep on, gentlemen; you will find yourselves in Africa, by-and-by.
      The Egyptians, like the Americans, were a <i>mixed race</i>, with some
      Negro blood circling around the throne, as well as in the mud hovels.
    </p>
    <p>
      This is the proper place to remark of our author, that the same strong
      self-hood, which led him to measure strength with Mr. Covey, and to wrench
      himself from the embrace of the Garrisonians, and which has borne him
      through many resistances to the personal indignities offered him as a
      colored man, sometimes becomes a hyper-sensitiveness to such assaults as
      men of his mark will meet with, on paper. Keen and unscrupulous opponents
      have sought, and not unsuccessfully, to pierce him in this direction; for
      well they know, that if assailed, he will smite back.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not without a feeling of pride, dear reader, that I present you with
      this book. The son of a self-emancipated bond-woman, I feel joy in
      introducing to you my brother, who has rent his own bonds, and who, in his
      every relation&mdash;as a public man, as a husband and as a father&mdash;is
      such as does honor to the land which gave him birth. I shall place this
      book in the hands of the only child spared me, bidding him to strive and
      emulate its noble example. You may do likewise. It is an American book,
      for Americans, in the fullest sense of the idea. It shows that the worst
      of our institutions, in its worst aspect, cannot keep down energy,
      truthfulness, and earnest struggle for the right. It proves the<span
      class="pagenum">[21]</span> justice and practicability of Immediate
      Emancipation. It shows that any man in our land, "no matter in what battle
      his liberty may have been cloven down, * * * * no matter what complexion
      an Indian or an African sun may have burned upon him," not only may "stand
      forth redeemed and disenthralled," but may also stand up a candidate for
      the highest suffrage of a great people&mdash;the tribute of their honest,
      hearty admiration. Reader, <i>Vale! New York</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      JAMES M'CUNE SMITH
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I. <i>Childhood</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
PLACE OF BIRTH&mdash;CHARACTER OF THE DISTRICT&mdash;TUCKAHOE&mdash;ORIGIN OF THE
NAME&mdash;CHOPTANK RIVER&mdash;TIME OF BIRTH&mdash;GENEALOGICAL TREES&mdash;MODE OF
COUNTING TIME&mdash;NAMES OF GRANDPARENTS&mdash;THEIR POSITION&mdash;GRANDMOTHER
ESPECIALLY ESTEEMED&mdash;"BORN TO GOOD LUCK"&mdash;SWEET
POTATOES&mdash;SUPERSTITION&mdash;THE LOG CABIN&mdash;ITS CHARMS&mdash;SEPARATING
CHILDREN&mdash;MY AUNTS&mdash;THEIR NAMES&mdash;FIRST KNOWLEDGE OF BEING A SLAVE&mdash;OLD
MASTER&mdash;GRIEFS AND JOYS OF CHILDHOOD&mdash;COMPARATIVE HAPPINESS OF THE
SLAVE-BOY AND THE SON OF A SLAVEHOLDER.
</pre>
    <p>
      In Talbot county, Eastern Shore, Maryland, near Easton, the county town of
      that county, there is a small district of country, thinly populated, and
      remarkable for nothing that I know of more than for the worn-out, sandy,
      desert-like appearance of its soil, the general dilapidation of its farms
      and fences, the indigent and spiritless character of its inhabitants, and
      the prevalence of ague and fever.
    </p>
    <p>
      The name of this singularly unpromising and truly famine stricken district
      is Tuckahoe, a name well known to all Marylanders, black and white. It was
      given to this section of country probably, at the first, merely in
      derision; or it may possibly have been applied to it, as I have heard,
      because some one of its earlier inhabitants had been guilty of the petty
      meanness of stealing a hoe&mdash;or taking a hoe that did not belong to
      him. Eastern Shore men usually pronounce the word <i>took</i>, as <i>tuck;
      Took-a-hoe</i>, therefore, is, in Maryland parlance, <i>Tuckahoe</i>. But,
      whatever may have been its origin&mdash;and about this I will not be <span
      class="pagenum">[26]</span> positive&mdash;that name has stuck to the
      district in question; and it is seldom mentioned but with contempt and
      derision, on account of the barrenness of its soil, and the ignorance,
      indolence, and poverty of its people. Decay and ruin are everywhere
      visible, and the thin population of the place would have quitted it long
      ago, but for the Choptank river, which runs through it, from which they
      take abundance of shad and herring, and plenty of ague and fever.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in this dull, flat, and unthrifty district, or neighborhood,
      surrounded by a white population of the lowest order, indolent and drunken
      to a proverb, and among slaves, who seemed to ask, <i>"Oh! what's the
      use?"</i> every time they lifted a hoe, that I&mdash;without any fault of
      mine was born, and spent the first years of my childhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader will pardon so much about the place of my birth, on the score
      that it is always a fact of some importance to know where a man is born,
      if, indeed, it be important to know anything about him. In regard to the
      <i>time</i> of my birth, I cannot be as definite as I have been respecting
      the <i>place</i>. Nor, indeed, can I impart much knowledge concerning my
      parents. Genealogical trees do not flourish among slaves. A person of some
      consequence here in the north, sometimes designated <i>father</i>, is
      literally abolished in slave law and slave practice. It is only once in a
      while that an exception is found to this statement. I never met with a
      slave who could tell me how old he was. Few slave-mothers know anything of
      the months of the year, nor of the days of the month. They keep no family
      records, with marriages, births, and deaths. They measure the ages of
      their children by spring time, winter time, harvest time, planting time,
      and the like; but these soon become undistinguishable and forgotten. Like
      other slaves, I cannot tell how old I am. This destitution was among my
      earliest troubles. I learned when I grew up, that my master&mdash;and this
      is the case with masters generally&mdash;allowed no questions to be put to
      him, by which a slave might learn his<span class="pagenum">[27]</span>
      age. Such questions deemed evidence of impatience, and even of impudent
      curiosity. From certain events, however, the dates of which I have since
      learned, I suppose myself to have been born about the year 1817.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first experience of life with me that I now remember&mdash;and I
      remember it but hazily&mdash;began in the family of my grandmother and
      grandfather. Betsey and Isaac Baily. They were quite advanced in life, and
      had long lived on the spot where they then resided. They were considered
      old settlers in the neighborhood, and, from certain circumstances, I infer
      that my grandmother, especially, was held in high esteem, far higher than
      is the lot of most colored persons in the slave states. She was a good
      nurse, and a capital hand at making nets for catching shad and herring;
      and these nets were in great demand, not only in Tuckahoe, but at Denton
      and Hillsboro, neighboring villages. She was not only good at making the
      nets, but was also somewhat famous for her good fortune in taking the
      fishes referred to. I have known her to be in the water half the day.
      Grandmother was likewise more provident than most of her neighbors in the
      preservation of seedling sweet potatoes, and it happened to her&mdash;as
      it will happen to any careful and thrifty person residing in an ignorant
      and improvident community&mdash;to enjoy the reputation of having been
      born to "good luck." Her "good luck" was owing to the exceeding care which
      she took in preventing the succulent root from getting bruised in the
      digging, and in placing it beyond the reach of frost, by actually burying
      it under the hearth of her cabin during the winter months. In the time of
      planting sweet potatoes, "Grandmother Betty," as she was familiarly
      called, was sent for in all directions, simply to place the seedling
      potatoes in the hills; for superstition had it, that if "Grandmamma Betty
      but touches them at planting, they will be sure to grow and flourish."
      This high reputation was full of advantage to her, and to the children
      around her. Though Tuckahoe had but few of the good things of<span
      class="pagenum">[28]</span> life, yet of such as it did possess
      grandmother got a full share, in the way of presents. If good potato crops
      came after her planting, she was not forgotten by those for whom she
      planted; and as she was remembered by others, so she remembered the hungry
      little ones around her.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dwelling of my grandmother and grandfather had few pretensions. It was
      a log hut, or cabin, built of clay, wood, and straw. At a distance it
      resembled&mdash;though it was smaller, less commodious and less
      substantial&mdash;the cabins erected in the western states by the first
      settlers. To my child's eye, however, it was a noble structure, admirably
      adapted to promote the comforts and conveniences of its inmates. A few
      rough, Virginia fence-rails, flung loosely over the rafters above,
      answered the triple purpose of floors, ceilings, and bedsteads. To be
      sure, this upper apartment was reached only by a ladder&mdash;but what in
      the world for climbing could be better than a ladder? To me, this ladder
      was really a high invention, and possessed a sort of charm as I played
      with delight upon the rounds of it. In this little hut there was a large
      family of children: I dare not say how many. My grandmother&mdash;whether
      because too old for field service, or because she had so faithfully
      discharged the duties of her station in early life, I know not&mdash;enjoyed
      the high privilege of living in a cabin, separate from the quarter, with
      no other burden than her own support, and the necessary care of the little
      children, imposed. She evidently esteemed it a great fortune to live so.
      The children were not her own, but her grandchildren&mdash;the children of
      her daughters. She took delight in having them around her, and in
      attending to their few wants. The practice of separating children from
      their mother, and hiring the latter out at distances too great to admit of
      their meeting, except at long intervals, is a marked feature of the
      cruelty and barbarity of the slave system. But it is in harmony with the
      grand aim of slavery, which, always and everywhere, is to reduce man to a
      level with the brute. It is a successful method of obliterating<span
      class="pagenum">[29]</span> from the mind and heart of the slave, all just
      ideas of the sacredness of <i>the family</i>, as an institution.
    </p>
    <p>
      Most of the children, however, in this instance, being the children of my
      grandmother's daughters, the notions of family, and the reciprocal duties
      and benefits of the relation, had a better chance of being understood than
      where children are placed&mdash;as they often are in the hands of
      strangers, who have no care for them, apart from the wishes of their
      masters. The daughters of my grandmother were five in number. Their names
      were JENNY, ESTHER, MILLY, PRISCILLA, and HARRIET. The daughter last named
      was my mother, of whom the reader shall learn more by-and-by.
    </p>
    <p>
      Living here, with my dear old grandmother and grandfather, it was a long
      time before I knew myself to be <i>a slave</i>. I knew many other things
      before I knew that. Grandmother and grandfather were the greatest people
      in the world to me; and being with them so snugly in their own little
      cabin&mdash;I supposed it be their own&mdash;knowing no higher authority
      over me or the other children than the authority of grandmamma, for a time
      there was nothing to disturb me; but, as I grew larger and older, I
      learned by degrees the sad fact, that the "little hut," and the lot on
      which it stood, belonged not to my dear old grandparents, but to some
      person who lived a great distance off, and who was called, by grandmother,
      "OLD MASTER." I further learned the sadder fact, that not only the house
      and lot, but that grandmother herself, (grandfather was free,) and all the
      little children around her, belonged to this mysterious personage, called
      by grandmother, with every mark of reverence, "Old Master." Thus early did
      clouds and shadows begin to fall upon my path. Once on the track&mdash;troubles
      never come singly&mdash;I was not long in finding out another fact, still
      more grievous to my childish heart. I was told that this "old master,"
      whose name seemed ever to be mentioned with fear and shuddering, only
      allowed the children to live with grandmother for a limited time, and that
      in fact as soon<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> as they were big enough,
      they were promptly taken away, to live with the said "old master." These
      were distressing revelations indeed; and though I was quite too young to
      comprehend the full import of the intelligence, and mostly spent my
      childhood days in gleesome sports with the other children, a shade of
      disquiet rested upon me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The absolute power of this distant "old master" had touched my young
      spirit with but the point of its cold, cruel iron, and left me something
      to brood over after the play and in moments of repose. Grandmammy was,
      indeed, at that time, all the world to me; and the thought of being
      separated from her, in any considerable time, was more than an unwelcome
      intruder. It was intolerable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Children have their sorrows as well as men and women; and it would be well
      to remember this in our dealings with them. SLAVE-children <i>are</i>
      children, and prove no exceptions to the general rule. The liability to be
      separated from my grandmother, seldom or never to see her again, haunted
      me. I dreaded the thought of going to live with that mysterious "old
      master," whose name I never heard mentioned with affection, but always
      with fear. I look back to this as among the heaviest of my childhood's
      sorrows. My grandmother! my grandmother! and the little hut, and the
      joyous circle under her care, but especially <i>she</i>, who made us sorry
      when she left us but for an hour, and glad on her return,&mdash;how could
      I leave her and the good old home?
    </p>
    <p>
      But the sorrows of childhood, like the pleasures of after life, are
      transient. It is not even within the power of slavery to write <i>indelible</i>
      sorrow, at a single dash, over the heart of a child.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                <i>The tear down childhood's cheek that flows,
                Is like the dew-drop on the rose&mdash;
                When next the summer breeze comes by,
                And waves the bush&mdash;the flower is dry</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      There is, after all, but little difference in the measure of contentment
      felt by the slave-child neglected and the slaveholder's<span
      class="pagenum">[31]</span> child cared for and petted. The spirit of the
      All Just mercifully holds the balance for the young.
    </p>
    <p>
      The slaveholder, having nothing to fear from impotent childhood, easily
      affords to refrain from cruel inflictions; and if cold and hunger do not
      pierce the tender frame, the first seven or eight years of the slave-boy's
      life are about as full of sweet content as those of the most favored and
      petted <i>white</i> children of the slaveholder. The slave-boy escapes
      many troubles which befall and vex his white brother. He seldom has to
      listen to lectures on propriety of behavior, or on anything else. He is
      never chided for handling his little knife and fork improperly or
      awkwardly, for he uses none. He is never reprimanded for soiling the
      table-cloth, for he takes his meals on the clay floor. He never has the
      misfortune, in his games or sports, of soiling or tearing his clothes, for
      he has almost none to soil or tear. He is never expected to act like a
      nice little gentleman, for he is only a rude little slave. Thus, freed
      from all restraint, the slave-boy can be, in his life and conduct, a
      genuine boy, doing whatever his boyish nature suggests; enacting, by
      turns, all the strange antics and freaks of horses, dogs, pigs, and
      barn-door fowls, without in any manner compromising his dignity, or
      incurring reproach of any sort. He literally runs wild; has no pretty
      little verses to learn in the nursery; no nice little speeches to make for
      aunts, uncles, or cousins, to show how smart he is; and, if he can only
      manage to keep out of the way of the heavy feet and fists of the older
      slave boys, he may trot on, in his joyous and roguish tricks, as happy as
      any little heathen under the palm trees of Africa. To be sure, he is
      occasionally reminded, when he stumbles in the path of his master&mdash;and
      this he early learns to avoid&mdash;that he is eating his <i>"white
      bread,"</i> and that he will be made to <i>"see sights"</i> by-and-by. The
      threat is soon forgotten; the shadow soon passes, and our sable boy
      continues to roll in the dust, or play in the mud, as bests suits him, and
      in the veriest freedom. If he feels uncomfortable, from mud or from dust,
      the coast is clear; he can plunge into<span class="pagenum">[32]</span>
      the river or the pond, without the ceremony of undressing, or the fear of
      wetting his clothes; his little tow-linen shirt&mdash;for that is all he
      has on&mdash;is easily dried; and it needed ablution as much as did his
      skin. His food is of the coarsest kind, consisting for the most part of
      cornmeal mush, which often finds it way from the wooden tray to his mouth
      in an oyster shell. His days, when the weather is warm, are spent in the
      pure, open air, and in the bright sunshine. He always sleeps in airy
      apartments; he seldom has to take powders, or to be paid to swallow pretty
      little sugar-coated pills, to cleanse his blood, or to quicken his
      appetite. He eats no candies; gets no lumps of loaf sugar; always relishes
      his food; cries but little, for nobody cares for his crying; learns to
      esteem his bruises but slight, because others so esteem them. In a word,
      he is, for the most part of the first eight years of his life, a spirited,
      joyous, uproarious, and happy boy, upon whom troubles fall only like water
      on a duck's back. And such a boy, so far as I can now remember, was the
      boy whose life in slavery I am now narrating.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II. <i>Removed from My First Home</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
THE NAME "OLD MASTER" A TERROR&mdash;COLONEL LLOYD'S PLANTATION&mdash;WYE
RIVER&mdash;WHENCE ITS NAME&mdash;POSITION OF THE LLOYDS&mdash;HOME ATTRACTION&mdash;MEET
OFFERING&mdash;JOURNEY FROM TUCKAHOE TO WYE RIVER&mdash;SCENE ON REACHING OLD
MASTER'S&mdash;DEPARTURE OF GRANDMOTHER&mdash;STRANGE MEETING OF SISTERS AND
BROTHERS&mdash;REFUSAL TO BE COMFORTED&mdash;SWEET SLEEP.
</pre>
    <p>
      That mysterious individual referred to in the first chapter as an object
      of terror among the inhabitants of our little cabin, under the ominous
      title of "old master," was really a man of some consequence. He owned
      several farms in Tuckahoe; was the chief clerk and butler on the home
      plantation of Col. Edward Lloyd; had overseers on his own farms; and gave
      directions to overseers on the farms belonging to Col. Lloyd. This
      plantation is situated on Wye river&mdash;the river receiving its name,
      doubtless, from Wales, where the Lloyds originated. They (the Lloyds) are
      an old and honored family in Maryland, exceedingly wealthy. The home
      plantation, where they have resided, perhaps for a century or more, is one
      of the largest, most fertile, and best appointed, in the state.
    </p>
    <p>
      About this plantation, and about that queer old master&mdash;who must be
      something more than a man, and something worse than an angel&mdash;the
      reader will easily imagine that I was not only curious, but eager, to know
      all that could be known. Unhappily for me, however, all the information I
      could get concerning him increased my great dread of being carried thither&mdash;of
      being<span class="pagenum">[34]</span> separated from and deprived of the
      protection of my grandmother and grandfather. It was, evidently, a great
      thing to go to Col. Lloyd's; and I was not without a little curiosity to
      see the place; but no amount of coaxing could induce in me the wish to
      remain there. The fact is, such was my dread of leaving the little cabin,
      that I wished to remain little forever, for I knew the taller I grew the
      shorter my stay. The old cabin, with its rail floor and rail bedsteads
      upstairs, and its clay floor downstairs, and its dirt chimney, and
      windowless sides, and that most curious piece of workmanship dug in front
      of the fireplace, beneath which grandmammy placed the sweet potatoes to
      keep them from the frost, was MY HOME&mdash;the only home I ever had; and
      I loved it, and all connected with it. The old fences around it, and the
      stumps in the edge of the woods near it, and the squirrels that ran,
      skipped, and played upon them, were objects of interest and affection.
      There, too, right at the side of the hut, stood the old well, with its
      stately and skyward-pointing beam, so aptly placed between the limbs of
      what had once been a tree, and so nicely balanced that I could move it up
      and down with only one hand, and could get a drink myself without calling
      for help. Where else in the world could such a well be found, and where
      could such another home be met with? Nor were these all the attractions of
      the place. Down in a little valley, not far from grandmammy's cabin, stood
      Mr. Lee's mill, where the people came often in large numbers to get their
      corn ground. It was a watermill; and I never shall be able to tell the
      many things thought and felt, while I sat on the bank and watched that
      mill, and the turning of that ponderous wheel. The mill-pond, too, had its
      charms; and with my pinhook, and thread line, I could get <i>nibbles</i>,
      if I could catch no fish. But, in all my sports and plays, and in spite of
      them, there would, occasionally, come the painful foreboding that I was
      not long to remain there, and that I must soon be called away to the home
      of old master.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was A SLAVE&mdash;born a slave and though the fact was in<span
      class="pagenum">[35]</span> comprehensible to me, it conveyed to my mind a
      sense of my entire dependence on the will of <i>somebody</i> I had never
      seen; and, from some cause or other, I had been made to fear this somebody
      above all else on earth. Born for another's benefit, as the <i>firstling</i>
      of the cabin flock I was soon to be selected as a meet offering to the
      fearful and inexorable <i>demigod</i>, whose huge image on so many
      occasions haunted my childhood's imagination. When the time of my
      departure was decided upon, my grandmother, knowing my fears, and in pity
      for them, kindly kept me ignorant of the dreaded event about to transpire.
      Up to the morning (a beautiful summer morning) when we were to start, and,
      indeed, during the whole journey&mdash;a journey which, child as I was, I
      remember as well as if it were yesterday&mdash;she kept the sad fact
      hidden from me. This reserve was necessary; for, could I have known all, I
      should have given grandmother some trouble in getting me started. As it
      was, I was helpless, and she&mdash;dear woman!&mdash;led me along by the
      hand, resisting, with the reserve and solemnity of a priestess, all my
      inquiring looks to the last.
    </p>
    <p>
      The distance from Tuckahoe to Wye river&mdash;where my old master lived&mdash;was
      full twelve miles, and the walk was quite a severe test of the endurance
      of my young legs. The journey would have proved too severe for me, but
      that my dear old grandmother&mdash;blessings on her memory!&mdash;afforded
      occasional relief by "toting" me (as Marylanders have it) on her shoulder.
      My grandmother, though advanced in years&mdash;as was evident from more
      than one gray hair, which peeped from between the ample and graceful folds
      of her newly-ironed bandana turban&mdash;was yet a woman of power and
      spirit. She was marvelously straight in figure, elastic, and muscular. I
      seemed hardly to be a burden to her. She would have "toted" me farther,
      but that I felt myself too much of a man to allow it, and insisted on
      walking. Releasing dear grandmamma from carrying me, did not make me
      altogether independent of her, when we happened to pass through portions
      of the somber woods which lay between Tuckahoe and<span class="pagenum">[36]</span>
      Wye river. She often found me increasing the energy of my grip, and
      holding her clothing, lest something should come out of the woods and eat
      me up. Several old logs and stumps imposed upon me, and got themselves
      taken for wild beasts. I could see their legs, eyes, and ears, or I could
      see something like eyes, legs, and ears, till I got close enough to them
      to see that the eyes were knots, washed white with rain, and the legs were
      broken limbs, and the ears, only ears owing to the point from which they
      were seen. Thus early I learned that the point from which a thing is
      viewed is of some importance.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the day advanced the heat increased; and it was not until the afternoon
      that we reached the much dreaded end of the journey. I found myself in the
      midst of a group of children of many colors; black, brown, copper colored,
      and nearly white. I had not seen so many children before. Great houses
      loomed up in different directions, and a great many men and women were at
      work in the fields. All this hurry, noise, and singing was very different
      from the stillness of Tuckahoe. As a new comer, I was an object of special
      interest; and, after laughing and yelling around me, and playing all sorts
      of wild tricks, they (the children) asked me to go out and play with them.
      This I refused to do, preferring to stay with grandmamma. I could not help
      feeling that our being there boded no good to me. Grandmamma looked sad.
      She was soon to lose another object of affection, as she had lost many
      before. I knew she was unhappy, and the shadow fell from her brow on me,
      though I knew not the cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      All suspense, however, must have an end; and the end of mine, in this
      instance, was at hand. Affectionately patting me on the head, and
      exhorting me to be a good boy, grandmamma told me to go and play with the
      little children. "They are kin to you," said she; "go and play with them."
      Among a number of cousins were Phil, Tom, Steve, and Jerry, Nance and
      Betty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Grandmother pointed out my brother PERRY, my sister SARAH, and my sister
      ELIZA, who stood in the group. I had never seen<span class="pagenum">[37]</span>
      my brother nor my sisters before; and, though I had sometimes heard of
      them, and felt a curious interest in them, I really did not understand
      what they were to me, or I to them. We were brothers and sisters, but what
      of that? Why should they be attached to me, or I to them? Brothers and
      sisters we were by blood; but <i>slavery</i> had made us strangers. I
      heard the words brother and sisters, and knew they must mean something;
      but slavery had robbed these terms of their true meaning. The experience
      through which I was passing, they had passed through before. They had
      already been initiated into the mysteries of old master's domicile, and
      they seemed to look upon me with a certain degree of compassion; but my
      heart clave to my grandmother. Think it not strange, dear reader, that so
      little sympathy of feeling existed between us. The conditions of brotherly
      and sisterly feeling were wanting&mdash;we had never nestled and played
      together. My poor mother, like many other slave-women, had many <i>children</i>,
      but NO FAMILY! The domestic hearth, with its holy lessons and precious
      endearments, is abolished in the case of a slave-mother and her children.
      "Little children, love one another," are words seldom heard in a slave
      cabin.
    </p>
    <p>
      I really wanted to play with my brother and sisters, but they were
      strangers to me, and I was full of fear that grandmother might leave
      without taking me with her. Entreated to do so, however, and that, too, by
      my dear grandmother, I went to the back part of the house, to play with
      them and the other children. <i>Play</i>, however, I did not, but stood
      with my back against the wall, witnessing the playing of the others. At
      last, while standing there, one of the children, who had been in the
      kitchen, ran up to me, in a sort of roguish glee, exclaiming, "Fed, Fed!
      grandmammy gone! grandmammy gone!" I could not believe it; yet, fearing
      the worst, I ran into the kitchen, to see for myself, and found it even
      so. Grandmammy had indeed gone, and was now far away, "clean" out of
      sight. I need not tell all that happened now. Almost heart-broken at the
      discovery, I fell upon the ground, and<span class="pagenum">[38]</span>
      wept a boy's bitter tears, refusing to be comforted. My brother and
      sisters came around me, and said, "Don't cry," and gave me peaches and
      pears, but I flung them away, and refused all their kindly advances. I had
      never been deceived before; and I felt not only grieved at parting&mdash;as
      I supposed forever&mdash;with my grandmother, but indignant that a trick
      had been played upon me in a matter so serious.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was now late in the afternoon. The day had been an exciting and
      wearisome one, and I knew not how or where, but I suppose I sobbed myself
      to sleep. There is a healing in the angel wing of sleep, even for the
      slave-boy; and its balm was never more welcome to any wounded soul than it
      was to mine, the first night I spent at the domicile of old master. The
      reader may be surprised that I narrate so minutely an incident apparently
      so trivial, and which must have occurred when I was not more than seven
      years old; but as I wish to give a faithful history of my experience in
      slavery, I cannot withhold a circumstance which, at the time, affected me
      so deeply. Besides, this was, in fact, my first introduction to the
      realities of slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III. <i>Parentage</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
MY FATHER SHROUDED IN MYSTERY&mdash;MY MOTHER&mdash;HER PERSONAL
APPEARANCE&mdash;INTERFERENCE OF SLAVERY WITH THE NATURAL AFFECTIONS OF
MOTHER AND CHILDREN&mdash;SITUATION OF MY MOTHER&mdash;HER NIGHTLY VISITS TO HER
BOY&mdash;STRIKING INCIDENT&mdash;HER DEATH&mdash;HER PLACE OF BURIAL.
</pre>
    <p>
      If the reader will now be kind enough to allow me time to grow bigger, and
      afford me an opportunity for my experience to become greater, I will tell
      him something, by-and-by, of slave life, as I saw, felt, and heard it, on
      Col. Edward Lloyd's plantation, and at the house of old master, where I
      had now, despite of myself, most suddenly, but not unexpectedly, been
      dropped. Meanwhile, I will redeem my promise to say something more of my
      dear mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      I say nothing of <i>father</i>, for he is shrouded in a mystery I have
      never been able to penetrate. Slavery does away with fathers, as it does
      away with families. Slavery has no use for either fathers or families, and
      its laws do not recognize their existence in the social arrangements of
      the plantation. When they <i>do</i> exist, they are not the outgrowths of
      slavery, but are antagonistic to that system. The order of civilization is
      reversed here. The name of the child is not expected to be that of its
      father, and his condition does not necessarily affect that of the child.
      He may be the slave of Mr. Tilgman; and his child, when born, may be the
      slave of Mr. Gross. He may be a <i>freeman;</i> and yet his child may be a
      <i>chattel</i>. He may be white, glorying in the purity of his Anglo-Saxon<span
      class="pagenum">[40]</span> blood; and his child may be ranked with the
      blackest slaves. Indeed, he <i>may</i> be, and often <i>is</i>, master and
      father to the same child. He can be father without being a husband, and
      may sell his child without incurring reproach, if the child be by a woman
      in whose veins courses one thirty-second part of African blood. My father
      was a white man, or nearly white. It was sometimes whispered that my
      master was my father.
    </p>
    <p>
      But to return, or rather, to begin. My knowledge of my mother is very
      scanty, but very distinct. Her personal appearance and bearing are
      ineffaceably stamped upon my memory. She was tall, and finely
      proportioned; of deep black, glossy complexion; had regular features, and,
      among the other slaves, was remarkably sedate in her manners. There is in
      <i>Prichard's Natural History of Man</i>, the head of a figure&mdash;on
      page 157&mdash;the features of which so resemble those of my mother, that
      I often recur to it with something of the feeling which I suppose others
      experience when looking upon the pictures of dear departed ones.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet I cannot say that I was very deeply attached to my mother; certainly
      not so deeply as I should have been had our relations in childhood been
      different. We were separated, according to the common custom, when I was
      but an infant, and, of course, before I knew my mother from any one else.
    </p>
    <p>
      The germs of affection with which the Almighty, in his wisdom and mercy,
      arms the hopeless infant against the ills and vicissitudes of his lot, had
      been directed in their growth toward that loving old grandmother, whose
      gentle hand and kind deportment it was in the first effort of my infantile
      understanding to comprehend and appreciate. Accordingly, the tenderest
      affection which a beneficent Father allows, as a partial compensation to
      the mother for the pains and lacerations of her heart, incident to the
      maternal relation, was, in my case, diverted from its true and natural
      object, by the envious, greedy, and treacherous hand of slavery. The
      slave-mother can be spared long enough from<span class="pagenum">[41]</span>
      the field to endure all the bitterness of a mother's anguish, when it adds
      another name to a master's ledger, but <i>not</i> long enough to receive
      the joyous reward afforded by the intelligent smiles of her child. I never
      think of this terrible interference of slavery with my infantile
      affections, and its diverting them from their natural course, without
      feelings to which I can give no adequate expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not remember to have seen my mother at my grandmother's at any time.
      I remember her only in her visits to me at Col. Lloyd's plantation, and in
      the kitchen of my old master. Her visits to me there were few in number,
      brief in duration, and mostly made in the night. The pains she took, and
      the toil she endured, to see me, tells me that a true mother's heart was
      hers, and that slavery had difficulty in paralyzing it with unmotherly
      indifference.
    </p>
    <p>
      My mother was hired out to a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles
      from old master's, and, being a field hand, she seldom had leisure, by
      day, for the performance of the journey. The nights and the distance were
      both obstacles to her visits. She was obliged to walk, unless chance flung
      into her way an opportunity to ride; and the latter was sometimes her good
      luck. But she always had to walk one way or the other. It was a greater
      luxury than slavery could afford, to allow a black slave-mother a horse or
      a mule, upon which to travel twenty-four miles, when she could walk the
      distance. Besides, it is deemed a foolish whim for a slave-mother to
      manifest concern to see her children, and, in one point of view, the case
      is made out&mdash;she can do nothing for them. She has no control over
      them; the master is even more than the mother, in all matters touching the
      fate of her child. Why, then, should she give herself any concern? She has
      no responsibility. Such is the reasoning, and such the practice. The iron
      rule of the plantation, always passionately and violently enforced in that
      neighborhood, makes flogging the penalty of<span class="pagenum">[42]</span>
      failing to be in the field before sunrise in the morning, unless special
      permission be given to the absenting slave. "I went to see my child," is
      no excuse to the ear or heart of the overseer.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the visits of my mother to me, while at Col. Lloyd's, I remember
      very vividly, as affording a bright gleam of a mother's love, and the
      earnestness of a mother's care.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had on that day offended "Aunt Katy," (called "Aunt" by way of
      respect,) the cook of old master's establishment. I do not now remember
      the nature of my offense in this instance, for my offenses were numerous
      in that quarter, greatly depending, however, upon the mood of Aunt Katy,
      as to their heinousness; but she had adopted, that day, her favorite mode
      of punishing me, namely, making me go without food all day&mdash;that is,
      from after breakfast. The first hour or two after dinner, I succeeded
      pretty well in keeping up my spirits; but though I made an excellent stand
      against the foe, and fought bravely during the afternoon, I knew I must be
      conquered at last, unless I got the accustomed reenforcement of a slice of
      corn bread, at sundown. Sundown came, but <i>no bread</i>, and, in its
      stead, their came the threat, with a scowl well suited to its terrible
      import, that she "meant to <i>starve the life out of me!"</i> Brandishing
      her knife, she chopped off the heavy slices for the other children, and
      put the loaf away, muttering, all the while, her savage designs upon
      myself. Against this disappointment, for I was expecting that her heart
      would relent at last, I made an extra effort to maintain my dignity; but
      when I saw all the other children around me with merry and satisfied
      faces, I could stand it no longer. I went out behind the house, and cried
      like a fine fellow! When tired of this, I returned to the kitchen, sat by
      the fire, and brooded over my hard lot. I was too hungry to sleep. While I
      sat in the corner, I caught sight of an ear of Indian corn on an upper
      shelf of the kitchen. I watched my chance, and got it, and, shelling off a
      few grains, I put it back again. The grains in my hand, I quickly put in
      some ashes, and covered them with embers, to roast them. All this I<span
      class="pagenum">[43]</span> did at the risk of getting a brutual thumping,
      for Aunt Katy could beat, as well as starve me. My corn was not long in
      roasting, and, with my keen appetite, it did not matter even if the grains
      were not exactly done. I eagerly pulled them out, and placed them on my
      stool, in a clever little pile. Just as I began to help myself to my very
      dry meal, in came my dear mother. And now, dear reader, a scene occurred
      which was altogether worth beholding, and to me it was instructive as well
      as interesting. The friendless and hungry boy, in his extremest need&mdash;and
      when he did not dare to look for succor&mdash;found himself in the strong,
      protecting arms of a mother; a mother who was, at the moment (being
      endowed with high powers of manner as well as matter) more than a match
      for all his enemies. I shall never forget the indescribable expression of
      her countenance, when I told her that I had had no food since morning; and
      that Aunt Katy said she "meant to starve the life out of me." There was
      pity in her glance at me, and a fiery indignation at Aunt Katy at the same
      time; and, while she took the corn from me, and gave me a large ginger
      cake, in its stead, she read Aunt Katy a lecture which she never forgot.
      My mother threatened her with complaining to old master in my behalf; for
      the latter, though harsh and cruel himself, at times, did not sanction the
      meanness, injustice, partiality and oppressions enacted by Aunt Katy in
      the kitchen. That night I learned the fact, that I was, not only a child,
      but <i>somebody's</i> child. The "sweet cake" my mother gave me was in the
      shape of a heart, with a rich, dark ring glazed upon the edge of it. I was
      victorious, and well off for the moment; prouder, on my mother's knee,
      than a king upon his throne. But my triumph was short. I dropped off to
      sleep, and waked in the morning only to find my mother gone, and myself
      left at the mercy of the sable virago, dominant in my old master's
      kitchen, whose fiery wrath was my constant dread.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not remember to have seen my mother after this occurrence. Death soon
      ended the little communication that had<span class="pagenum">[44]</span>
      existed between us; and with it, I believe, a life judging from her weary,
      sad, down-cast countenance and mute demeanor&mdash;full of heartfelt
      sorrow. I was not allowed to visit her during any part of her long
      illness; nor did I see her for a long time before she was taken ill and
      died. The heartless and ghastly form of <i>slavery</i> rises between
      mother and child, even at the bed of death. The mother, at the verge of
      the grave, may not gather her children, to impart to them her holy
      admonitions, and invoke for them her dying benediction. The bond-woman
      lives as a slave, and is left to die as a beast; often with fewer
      attentions than are paid to a favorite horse. Scenes of sacred tenderness,
      around the death-bed, never forgotten, and which often arrest the vicious
      and confirm the virtuous during life, must be looked for among the free,
      though they sometimes occur among the slaves. It has been a life-long,
      standing grief to me, that I knew so little of my mother; and that I was
      so early separated from her. The counsels of her love must have been
      beneficial to me. The side view of her face is imaged on my memory, and I
      take few steps in life, without feeling her presence; but the image is
      mute, and I have no striking words of her's treasured up.
    </p>
    <p>
      I learned, after my mother's death, that she could read, and that she was
      the <i>only</i> one of all the slaves and colored people in Tuckahoe who
      enjoyed that advantage. How she acquired this knowledge, I know not, for
      Tuckahoe is the last place in the world where she would be apt to find
      facilities for learning. I can, therefore, fondly and proudly ascribe to
      her an earnest love of knowledge. That a "field hand" should learn to
      read, in any slave state, is remarkable; but the achievement of my mother,
      considering the place, was very extraordinary; and, in view of that fact,
      I am quite willing, and even happy, to attribute any love of letters I
      possess, and for which I have got&mdash;despite of prejudices only too
      much credit, <i>not</i> to my admitted Anglo-Saxon paternity, but to the
      native genius of my sable, unprotected, and uncultivated <i>mother</i>&mdash;a
      woman, who belonged to a race<span class="pagenum">[45]</span> whose
      mental endowments it is, at present, fashionable to hold in disparagement
      and contempt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Summoned away to her account, with the impassable gulf of slavery between
      us during her entire illness, my mother died without leaving me a single
      intimation of <i>who</i> my father was. There was a whisper, that my
      master was my father; yet it was only a whisper, and I cannot say that I
      ever gave it credence. Indeed, I now have reason to think he was not;
      nevertheless, the fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that, by
      the laws of slavery, children, in all cases, are reduced to the condition
      of their mothers. This arrangement admits of the greatest license to
      brutal slaveholders, and their profligate sons, brothers, relations and
      friends, and gives to the pleasure of sin, the additional attraction of
      profit. A whole volume might be written on this single feature of slavery,
      as I have observed it.
    </p>
    <p>
      One might imagine, that the children of such connections, would fare
      better, in the hands of their masters, than other slaves. The rule is
      quite the other way; and a very little reflection will satisfy the reader
      that such is the case. A man who will enslave his own blood, may not be
      safely relied on for magnanimity. Men do not love those who remind them of
      their sins unless they have a mind to repent&mdash;and the mulatto child's
      face is a standing accusation against him who is master and father to the
      child. What is still worse, perhaps, such a child is a constant offense to
      the wife. She hates its very presence, and when a slaveholding woman
      hates, she wants not means to give that hate telling effect. Women&mdash;white
      women, I mean&mdash;are IDOLS at the south, not WIVES, for the slave women
      are preferred in many instances; and if these <i>idols</i> but nod, or
      lift a finger, woe to the poor victim: kicks, cuffs and stripes are sure
      to follow. Masters are frequently compelled to sell this class of their
      slaves, out of deference to the feelings of their white wives; and
      shocking and scandalous as it may seem for a man to sell his own blood to
      the traffickers in human flesh, it is often an act of humanity<span
      class="pagenum">[46]</span> toward the slave-child to be thus removed from
      his merciless tormentors.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not within the scope of the design of my simple story, to comment
      upon every phase of slavery not within my experience as a slave.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, I may remark, that, if the lineal descendants of Ham are only to be
      enslaved, according to the scriptures, slavery in this country will soon
      become an unscriptural institution; for thousands are ushered into the
      world, annually, who&mdash;like myself&mdash;owe their existence to white
      fathers, and, most frequently, to their masters, and master's sons. The
      slave-woman is at the mercy of the fathers, sons or brothers of her
      master. The thoughtful know the rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      After what I have now said of the circumstances of my mother, and my
      relations to her, the reader will not be surprised, nor be disposed to
      censure me, when I tell but the simple truth, viz: that I received the
      tidings of her death with no strong emotions of sorrow for her, and with
      very little regret for myself on account of her loss. I had to learn the
      value of my mother long after her death, and by witnessing the devotion of
      other mothers to their children.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is not, beneath the sky, an enemy to filial affection so destructive
      as slavery. It had made my brothers and sisters strangers to me; it
      converted the mother that bore me, into a myth; it shrouded my father in
      mystery, and left me without an intelligible beginning in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      My mother died when I could not have been more than eight or nine years
      old, on one of old master's farms in Tuckahoe, in the neighborhood of
      Hillsborough. Her grave is, as the grave of the dead at sea, unmarked, and
      without stone or stake.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV. <i>A General Survey of the Slave Plantation</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
ISOLATION OF LLOYD S PLANTATION&mdash;PUBLIC OPINION THERE NO PROTECTION TO
THE SLAVE&mdash;ABSOLUTE POWER OF THE OVERSEER&mdash;NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL CHARMS
OF THE PLACE&mdash;ITS BUSINESS-LIKE APPEARANCE&mdash;SUPERSTITION ABOUT THE
BURIAL GROUND&mdash;GREAT IDEAS OF COL. LLOYD&mdash;ETIQUETTE AMONG SLAVES&mdash;THE
COMIC SLAVE DOCTOR&mdash;PRAYING AND FLOGGING&mdash;OLD MASTER LOSING ITS
TERRORS&mdash;HIS BUSINESS&mdash;CHARACTER OF AUNT KATY&mdash;SUFFERINGS FROM
HUNGER&mdash;OLD MASTER'S HOME&mdash;JARGON OF THE PLANTATION&mdash;GUINEA
SLAVES&mdash;MASTER DANIEL&mdash;FAMILY OF COL. LLOYD&mdash;FAMILY OF CAPT.
ANTHONY&mdash;HIS SOCIAL POSITION&mdash;NOTIONS OF RANK AND STATION.
</pre>
    <p>
      It is generally supposed that slavery, in the state of Maryland, exists in
      its mildest form, and that it is totally divested of those harsh and
      terrible peculiarities, which mark and characterize the slave system, in
      the southern and south-western states of the American union. The argument
      in favor of this opinion, is the contiguity of the free states, and the
      exposed condition of slavery in Maryland to the moral, religious and
      humane sentiment of the free states.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am not about to refute this argument, so far as it relates to slavery in
      that state, generally; on the contrary, I am willing to admit that, to
      this general point, the arguments is well grounded. Public opinion is,
      indeed, an unfailing restraint upon the cruelty and barbarity of masters,
      overseers, and slave-drivers, whenever and wherever it can reach them; but
      there are certain secluded and out-of-the-way places, even in the state of
      Maryland, seldom visited by a single ray of healthy public sentiment&mdash;where<span
      class="pagenum">[48]</span> slavery, wrapt in its own congenial, midnight
      darkness, <i>can</i>, and <i>does</i>, develop all its malign and shocking
      characteristics; where it can be indecent without shame, cruel without
      shuddering, and murderous without apprehension or fear of exposure.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just such a secluded, dark, and out-of-the-way place, is the "home
      plantation" of Col. Edward Lloyd, on the Eastern Shore, Maryland. It is
      far away from all the great thoroughfares, and is proximate to no town or
      village. There is neither school-house, nor town-house in its
      neighborhood. The school-house is unnecessary, for there are no children
      to go to school. The children and grand-children of Col. Lloyd were taught
      in the house, by a private tutor&mdash;a Mr. Page a tall, gaunt sapling of
      a man, who did not speak a dozen words to a slave in a whole year. The
      overseers' children go off somewhere to school; and they, therefore, bring
      no foreign or dangerous influence from abroad, to embarrass the natural
      operation of the slave system of the place. Not even the mechanics&mdash;through
      whom there is an occasional out-burst of honest and telling indignation,
      at cruelty and wrong on other plantations&mdash;are white men, on this
      plantation. Its whole public is made up of, and divided into, three
      classes&mdash;SLAVEHOLDERS, SLAVES and OVERSEERS. Its blacksmiths,
      wheelwrights, shoemakers, weavers, and coopers, are slaves. Not even
      commerce, selfish and iron-hearted at it is, and ready, as it ever is, to
      side with the strong against the weak&mdash;the rich against the poor&mdash;is
      trusted or permitted within its secluded precincts. Whether with a view of
      guarding against the escape of its secrets, I know not, but it is a fact,
      the every leaf and grain of the produce of this plantation, and those of
      the neighboring farms belonging to Col. Lloyd, are transported to
      Baltimore in Col. Lloyd's own vessels; every man and boy on board of which&mdash;except
      the captain&mdash;are owned by him. In return, everything brought to the
      plantation, comes through the same channel. Thus, even the glimmering and
      unsteady light of trade, which sometimes exerts a civilizing influence, is
      excluded from this "tabooed" spot.<span class="pagenum">[49]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      Nearly all the plantations or farms in the vicinity of the "home
      plantation" of Col. Lloyd, belong to him; and those which do not, are
      owned by personal friends of his, as deeply interested in maintaining the
      slave system, in all its rigor, as Col. Lloyd himself. Some of his
      neighbors are said to be even more stringent than he. The Skinners, the
      Peakers, the Tilgmans, the Lockermans, and the Gipsons, are in the same
      boat; being slaveholding neighbors, they may have strengthened each other
      in their iron rule. They are on intimate terms, and their interests and
      tastes are identical.
    </p>
    <p>
      Public opinion in such a quarter, the reader will see, is not likely to
      very efficient in protecting the slave from cruelty. On the contrary, it
      must increase and intensify his wrongs. Public opinion seldom differs very
      widely from public practice. To be a restraint upon cruelty and vice,
      public opinion must emanate from a humane and virtuous community. To no
      such humane and virtuous community, is Col. Lloyd's plantation exposed.
      That plantation is a little nation of its own, having its own language,
      its own rules, regulations and customs. The laws and institutions of the
      state, apparently touch it nowhere. The troubles arising here, are not
      settled by the civil power of the state. The overseer is generally
      accuser, judge, jury, advocate and executioner. The criminal is always
      dumb. The overseer attends to all sides of a case.
    </p>
    <p>
      There are no conflicting rights of property, for all the people are owned
      by one man; and they can themselves own no property. Religion and politics
      are alike excluded. One class of the population is too high to be reached
      by the preacher; and the other class is too low to be cared for by the
      preacher. The poor have the gospel preached to them, in this neighborhood,
      only when they are able to pay for it. The slaves, having no money, get no
      gospel. The politician keeps away, because the people have no votes, and
      the preacher keeps away, because the people have no money. The rich
      planter can afford to learn politics in the parlor, and to dispense with
      religion altogether.<span class="pagenum">[50]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      In its isolation, seclusion, and self-reliant independence, Col. Lloyd's
      plantation resembles what the baronial domains were during the middle ages
      in Europe. Grim, cold, and unapproachable by all genial influences from
      communities without, <i>there it stands;</i> full three hundred years
      behind the age, in all that relates to humanity and morals.
    </p>
    <p>
      This, however, is not the only view that the place presents. Civilization
      is shut out, but nature cannot be. Though separated from the rest of the
      world; though public opinion, as I have said, seldom gets a chance to
      penetrate its dark domain; though the whole place is stamped with its own
      peculiar, ironlike individuality; and though crimes, high-handed and
      atrocious, may there be committed, with almost as much impunity as upon
      the deck of a pirate ship&mdash;it is, nevertheless, altogether, to
      outward seeming, a most strikingly interesting place, full of life,
      activity, and spirit; and presents a very favorable contrast to the
      indolent monotony and languor of Tuckahoe. Keen as was my regret and great
      as was my sorrow at leaving the latter, I was not long in adapting myself
      to this, my new home. A man's troubles are always half disposed of, when
      he finds endurance his only remedy. I found myself here; there was no
      getting away; and what remained for me, but to make the best of it? Here
      were plenty of children to play with, and plenty of places of pleasant
      resort for boys of my age, and boys older. The little tendrils of
      affection, so rudely and treacherously broken from around the darling
      objects of my grandmother's hut, gradually began to extend, and to entwine
      about the new objects by which I now found myself surrounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a windmill (always a commanding object to a child's eye) on Long
      Point&mdash;a tract of land dividing Miles river from the Wye a mile or
      more from my old master's house. There was a creek to swim in, at the
      bottom of an open flat space, of twenty acres or more, called "the Long
      Green"&mdash;a very beautiful play-ground for the children.<span
      class="pagenum">[51]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      In the river, a short distance from the shore, lying quietly at anchor,
      with her small boat dancing at her stern, was a large sloop&mdash;the
      Sally Lloyd; called by that name in honor of a favorite daughter of the
      colonel. The sloop and the mill were wondrous things, full of thoughts and
      ideas. A child cannot well look at such objects without <i>thinking</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then here were a great many houses; human habitations, full of the
      mysteries of life at every stage of it. There was the little red house, up
      the road, occupied by Mr. Sevier, the overseer. A little nearer to my old
      master's, stood a very long, rough, low building, literally alive with
      slaves, of all ages, conditions and sizes. This was called "the Longe
      Quarter." Perched upon a hill, across the Long Green, was a very tall,
      dilapidated, old brick building&mdash;the architectural dimensions of
      which proclaimed its erection for a different purpose&mdash;now occupied
      by slaves, in a similar manner to the Long Quarter. Besides these, there
      were numerous other slave houses and huts, scattered around in the
      neighborhood, every nook and corner of which was completely occupied. Old
      master's house, a long, brick building, plain, but substantial, stood in
      the center of the plantation life, and constituted one independent
      establishment on the premises of Col. Lloyd.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides these dwellings, there were barns, stables, store-houses, and
      tobacco-houses; blacksmiths' shops, wheelwrights' shops, coopers' shops&mdash;all
      objects of interest; but, above all, there stood the grandest building my
      eyes had then ever beheld, called, by every one on the plantation, the
      "Great House." This was occupied by Col. Lloyd and his family. They
      occupied it; <i>I</i> enjoyed it. The great house was surrounded by
      numerous and variously shaped out-buildings. There were kitchens,
      wash-houses, dairies, summer-house, green-houses, hen-houses,
      turkey-houses, pigeon-houses, and arbors, of many sizes and devices, all
      neatly painted, and altogether interspersed with grand old trees,
      ornamental and primitive, which afforded delightful shade in<span
      class="pagenum">[52]</span> summer, and imparted to the scene a high
      degree of stately beauty. The great house itself was a large, white,
      wooden building, with wings on three sides of it. In front, a large
      portico, extending the entire length of the building, and supported by a
      long range of columns, gave to the whole establishment an air of solemn
      grandeur. It was a treat to my young and gradually opening mind, to behold
      this elaborate exhibition of wealth, power, and vanity. The carriage
      entrance to the house was a large gate, more than a quarter of a mile
      distant from it; the intermediate space was a beautiful lawn, very neatly
      trimmed, and watched with the greatest care. It was dotted thickly over
      with delightful trees, shrubbery, and flowers. The road, or lane, from the
      gate to the great house, was richly paved with white pebbles from the
      beach, and, in its course, formed a complete circle around the beautiful
      lawn. Carriages going in and retiring from the great house, made the
      circuit of the lawn, and their passengers were permitted to behold a scene
      of almost Eden-like beauty. Outside this select inclosure, were parks,
      where as about the residences of the English nobility&mdash;rabbits, deer,
      and other wild game, might be seen, peering and playing about, with none
      to molest them or make them afraid. The tops of the stately poplars were
      often covered with the red-winged black-birds, making all nature vocal
      with the joyous life and beauty of their wild, warbling notes. These all
      belonged to me, as well as to Col. Edward Lloyd, and for a time I greatly
      enjoyed them.
    </p>
    <p>
      A short distance from the great house, were the stately mansions of the
      dead, a place of somber aspect. Vast tombs, embowered beneath the weeping
      willow and the fir tree, told of the antiquities of the Lloyd family, as
      well as of their wealth. Superstition was rife among the slaves about this
      family burying ground. Strange sights had been seen there by some of the
      older slaves. Shrouded ghosts, riding on great black horses, had been seen
      to enter; balls of fire had been seen to fly there at midnight, and horrid
      sounds had been repeatedly heard. Slaves know<span class="pagenum">[53]</span>
      enough of the rudiments of theology to believe that those go to hell who
      die slaveholders; and they often fancy such persons wishing themselves
      back again, to wield the lash. Tales of sights and sounds, strange and
      terrible, connected with the huge black tombs, were a very great security
      to the grounds about them, for few of the slaves felt like approaching
      them even in the day time. It was a dark, gloomy and forbidding place, and
      it was difficult to feel that the spirits of the sleeping dust there
      deposited, reigned with the blest in the realms of eternal peace.
    </p>
    <p>
      The business of twenty or thirty farms was transacted at this, called, by
      way of eminence, "great house farm." These farms all belonged to Col.
      Lloyd, as did, also, the slaves upon them. Each farm was under the
      management of an overseer. As I have said of the overseer of the home
      plantation, so I may say of the overseers on the smaller ones; they stand
      between the slave and all civil constitutions&mdash;their word is law, and
      is implicitly obeyed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The colonel, at this time, was reputed to be, and he apparently was, very
      rich. His slaves, alone, were an immense fortune. These, small and great,
      could not have been fewer than one thousand in number, and though scarcely
      a month passed without the sale of one or more lots to the Georgia
      traders, there was no apparent diminution in the number of his human
      stock: the home plantation merely groaned at a removal of the young
      increase, or human crop, then proceeded as lively as ever. Horse-shoeing,
      cart-mending, plow-repairing, coopering, grinding, and weaving, for all
      the neighboring farms, were performed here, and slaves were employed in
      all these branches. "Uncle Tony" was the blacksmith; "Uncle Harry" was the
      cartwright; "Uncle Abel" was the shoemaker; and all these had hands to
      assist them in their several departments.
    </p>
    <p>
      These mechanics were called "uncles" by all the younger slaves, not
      because they really sustained that relationship to any, but according to
      plantation <i>etiquette</i>, as a mark of respect, due<span class="pagenum">[54]</span>
      from the younger to the older slaves. Strange, and even ridiculous as it
      may seem, among a people so uncultivated, and with so many stern trials to
      look in the face, there is not to be found, among any people, a more rigid
      enforcement of the law of respect to elders, than they maintain. I set
      this down as partly constitutional with my race, and partly conventional.
      There is no better material in the world for making a gentleman, than is
      furnished in the African. He shows to others, and exacts for himself, all
      the tokens of respect which he is compelled to manifest toward his master.
      A young slave must approach the company of the older with hat in hand, and
      woe betide him, if he fails to acknowledge a favor, of any sort, with the
      accustomed <i>"tank'ee,"</i> &amp;c. So uniformly are good manners
      enforced among slaves, I can easily detect a "bogus" fugitive by his
      manners.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among other slave notabilities of the plantation, was one called by
      everybody Uncle Isaac Copper. It is seldom that a slave gets a surname
      from anybody in Maryland; and so completely has the south shaped the
      manners of the north, in this respect, that even abolitionists make very
      little of the surname of a Negro. The only improvement on the "Bills,"
      "Jacks," "Jims," and "Neds" of the south, observable here is, that
      "William," "John," "James," "Edward," are substituted. It goes against the
      grain to treat and address a Negro precisely as they would treat and
      address a white man. But, once in a while, in slavery as in the free
      states, by some extraordinary circumstance, the Negro has a surname
      fastened to him, and holds it against all conventionalities. This was the
      case with Uncle Isaac Copper. When the "uncle" was dropped, he generally
      had the prefix "doctor," in its stead. He was our doctor of medicine, and
      doctor of divinity as well. Where he took his degree I am unable to say,
      for he was not very communicative to inferiors, and I was emphatically
      such, being but a boy seven or eight years old. He was too well
      established in his profession to permit questions as to his native skill,
      or his attainments. One qualification he undoubtedly had&mdash;he<span
      class="pagenum">[55]</span> was a confirmed <i>cripple;</i> and he could
      neither work, nor would he bring anything if offered for sale in the
      market. The old man, though lame, was no sluggard. He was a man that made
      his crutches do him good service. He was always on the alert, looking up
      the sick, and all such as were supposed to need his counsel. His remedial
      prescriptions embraced four articles. For diseases of the body, <i>Epsom
      salts and castor oil;</i> for those of the soul, <i>the Lord's Prayer</i>,
      and <i>hickory switches</i>!
    </p>
    <p>
      I was not long at Col. Lloyd's before I was placed under the care of
      Doctor Issac Copper. I was sent to him with twenty or thirty other
      children, to learn the "Lord's Prayer." I found the old gentleman seated
      on a huge three-legged oaken stool, armed with several large hickory
      switches; and, from his position, he could reach&mdash;lame as he was&mdash;any
      boy in the room. After standing awhile to learn what was expected of us,
      the old gentleman, in any other than a devotional tone, commanded us to
      kneel down. This done, he commenced telling us to say everything he said.
      "Our Father"&mdash;this was repeated after him with promptness and
      uniformity; "Who art in heaven"&mdash;was less promptly and uniformly
      repeated; and the old gentleman paused in the prayer, to give us a short
      lecture upon the consequences of inattention, both immediate and future,
      and especially those more immediate. About these he was absolutely
      certain, for he held in his right hand the means of bringing all his
      predictions and warnings to pass. On he proceeded with the prayer; and we
      with our thick tongues and unskilled ears, followed him to the best of our
      ability. This, however, was not sufficient to please the old gentleman.
      Everybody, in the south, wants the privilege of whipping somebody else.
      Uncle Isaac shared the common passion of his country, and, therefore,
      seldom found any means of keeping his disciples in order short of
      flogging. "Say everything I say;" and bang would come the switch on some
      poor boy's undevotional head. <i>"What you looking at there"&mdash;"Stop
      that pushing"</i>&mdash;and down again would come the lash.<span
      class="pagenum">[56]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      The whip is all in all. It is supposed to secure obedience to the
      slaveholder, and is held as a sovereign remedy among the slaves
      themselves, for every form of disobedience, temporal or spiritual. Slaves,
      as well as slaveholders, use it with an unsparing hand. Our devotions at
      Uncle Isaac's combined too much of the tragic and comic, to make them very
      salutary in a spiritual point of view; and it is due to truth to say, I
      was often a truant when the time for attending the praying and flogging of
      Doctor Isaac Copper came on.
    </p>
    <p>
      The windmill under the care of Mr. Kinney, a kind hearted old Englishman,
      was to me a source of infinite interest and pleasure. The old man always
      seemed pleased when he saw a troop of darkey little urchins, with their
      tow-linen shirts fluttering in the breeze, approaching to view and admire
      the whirling wings of his wondrous machine. From the mill we could see
      other objects of deep interest. These were, the vessels from St.
      Michael's, on their way to Baltimore. It was a source of much amusement to
      view the flowing sails and complicated rigging, as the little crafts
      dashed by, and to speculate upon Baltimore, as to the kind and quality of
      the place. With so many sources of interest around me, the reader may be
      prepared to learn that I began to think very highly of Col. L.'s
      plantation. It was just a place to my boyish taste. There were fish to be
      caught in the creek, if one only had a hook and line; and crabs, clams and
      oysters were to be caught by wading, digging and raking for them. Here was
      a field for industry and enterprise, strongly inviting; and the reader may
      be assured that I entered upon it with spirit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even the much dreaded old master, whose merciless fiat had brought me from
      Tuckahoe, gradually, to my mind, parted with his terrors. Strange enough,
      his reverence seemed to take no particular notice of me, nor of my coming.
      Instead of leaping out and devouring me, he scarcely seemed conscious of
      my presence. The fact is, he was occupied with matters more weighty and
      important than either looking after or vexing me. He probably thought as<span
      class="pagenum">[57]</span> little of my advent, as he would have thought
      of the addition of a single pig to his stock!
    </p>
    <p>
      As the chief butler on Col. Lloyd's plantation, his duties were numerous
      and perplexing. In almost all important matters he answered in Col.
      Lloyd's stead. The overseers of all the farms were in some sort under him,
      and received the law from his mouth. The colonel himself seldom addressed
      an overseer, or allowed an overseer to address him. Old master carried the
      keys of all store houses; measured out the allowance for each slave at the
      end of every month; superintended the storing of all goods brought to the
      plantation; dealt out the raw material to all the handicraftsmen; shipped
      the grain, tobacco, and all saleable produce of the plantation to market,
      and had the general oversight of the coopers' shop, wheelwrights' shop,
      blacksmiths' shop, and shoemakers' shop. Besides the care of these, he
      often had business for the plantation which required him to be absent two
      and three days.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus largely employed, he had little time, and perhaps as little
      disposition, to interfere with the children individually. What he was to
      Col. Lloyd, he made Aunt Katy to him. When he had anything to say or do
      about us, it was said or done in a wholesale manner; disposing of us in
      classes or sizes, leaving all minor details to Aunt Katy, a person of whom
      the reader has already received no very favorable impression. Aunt Katy
      was a woman who never allowed herself to act greatly within the margin of
      power granted to her, no matter how broad that authority might be.
      Ambitious, ill-tempered and cruel, she found in her present position an
      ample field for the exercise of her ill-omened qualities. She had a strong
      hold on old master she was considered a first rate cook, and she really
      was very industrious. She was, therefore, greatly favored by old master,
      and as one mark of his favor, she was the only mother who was permitted to
      retain her children around her. Even to these children she was often
      fiendish in her brutality. She pursued her son Phil, one day, in<span
      class="pagenum">[58]</span> my presence, with a huge butcher knife, and
      dealt a blow with its edge which left a shocking gash on his arm, near the
      wrist. For this, old master did sharply rebuke her, and threatened that if
      she ever should do the like again, he would take the skin off her back.
      Cruel, however, as Aunt Katy was to her own children, at times she was not
      destitute of maternal feeling, as I often had occasion to know, in the
      bitter pinches of hunger I had to endure. Differing from the practice of
      Col. Lloyd, old master, instead of allowing so much for each slave,
      committed the allowance for all to the care of Aunt Katy, to be divided
      after cooking it, amongst us. The allowance, consisting of coarse
      corn-meal, was not very abundant&mdash;indeed, it was very slender; and in
      passing through Aunt Katy's hands, it was made more slender still, for
      some of us. William, Phil and Jerry were her children, and it is not to
      accuse her too severely, to allege that she was often guilty of starving
      myself and the other children, while she was literally cramming her own.
      Want of food was my chief trouble the first summer at my old master's.
      Oysters and clams would do very well, with an occasional supply of bread,
      but they soon failed in the absence of bread. I speak but the simple
      truth, when I say, I have often been so pinched with hunger, that I have
      fought with the dog&mdash;"Old Nep"&mdash;for the smallest crumbs that
      fell from the kitchen table, and have been glad when I won a single crumb
      in the combat. Many times have I followed, with eager step, the
      waiting-girl when she went out to shake the table cloth, to get the crumbs
      and small bones flung out for the cats. The water, in which meat had been
      boiled, was as eagerly sought for by me. It was a great thing to get the
      privilege of dipping a piece of bread in such water; and the skin taken
      from rusty bacon, was a positive luxury. Nevertheless, I sometimes got
      full meals and kind words from sympathizing old slaves, who knew my
      sufferings, and received the comforting assurance that I should be a man
      some day. "Never mind, honey&mdash;better day comin'," was even then a
      solace, a cheering consolation to me in my<span class="pagenum">[59]</span>
      troubles. Nor were all the kind words I received from slaves. I had a
      friend in the parlor, as well, and one to whom I shall be glad to do
      justice, before I have finished this part of my story.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was not long at old master's, before I learned that his surname was
      Anthony, and that he was generally called "Captain Anthony"&mdash;a title
      which he probably acquired by sailing a craft in the Chesapeake Bay. Col.
      Lloyd's slaves never called Capt. Anthony "old master," but always Capt.
      Anthony; and <i>me</i> they called "Captain Anthony Fred." There is not,
      probably, in the whole south, a plantation where the English language is
      more imperfectly spoken than on Col. Lloyd's. It is a mixture of Guinea
      and everything else you please. At the time of which I am now writing,
      there were slaves there who had been brought from the coast of Africa.
      They never used the "s" in indication of the possessive case. "Cap'n
      Ant'ney Tom," "Lloyd Bill," "Aunt Rose Harry," means "Captain Anthony's
      Tom," "Lloyd's Bill," &amp;c. <i>"Oo you dem long to?"</i> means, "Whom do
      you belong to?" <i>"Oo dem got any peachy?"</i> means, "Have you got any
      peaches?" I could scarcely understand them when I first went among them,
      so broken was their speech; and I am persuaded that I could not have been
      dropped anywhere on the globe, where I could reap less, in the way of
      knowledge, from my immediate associates, than on this plantation. Even
      "MAS' DANIEL," by his association with his father's slaves, had measurably
      adopted their dialect and their ideas, so far as they had ideas to be
      adopted. The equality of nature is strongly asserted in childhood, and
      childhood requires children for associates. <i>Color</i> makes no
      difference with a child. Are you a child with wants, tastes and pursuits
      common to children, not put on, but natural? then, were you black as ebony
      you would be welcome to the child of alabaster whiteness. The law of
      compensation holds here, as well as elsewhere. Mas' Daniel could not
      associate with ignorance without sharing its shade; and he could not give
      his black playmates his company, without giving them his intelligence, as
      well. Without knowing<span class="pagenum">[60]</span> this, or caring
      about it, at the time, I, for some cause or other, spent much of my time
      with Mas' Daniel, in preference to spending it with most of the other
      boys.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mas' Daniel was the youngest son of Col. Lloyd; his older brothers were
      Edward and Murray&mdash;both grown up, and fine looking men. Edward was
      especially esteemed by the children, and by me among the rest; not that he
      ever said anything to us or for us, which could be called especially kind;
      it was enough for us, that he never looked nor acted scornfully toward us.
      There were also three sisters, all married; one to Edward Winder; a second
      to Edward Nicholson; a third to Mr. Lownes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The family of old master consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; his
      daughter, Lucretia, and her newly married husband, Capt. Auld. This was
      the house family. The kitchen family consisted of Aunt Katy, Aunt Esther,
      and ten or a dozen children, most of them older than myself. Capt. Anthony
      was not considered a rich slaveholder, but was pretty well off in the
      world. He owned about thirty <i>"head"</i> of slaves, and three farms in
      Tuckahoe. The most valuable part of his property was his slaves, of whom
      he could afford to sell one every year. This crop, therefore, brought him
      seven or eight hundred dollars a year, besides his yearly salary, and
      other revenue from his farms.
    </p>
    <p>
      The idea of rank and station was rigidly maintained on Col. Lloyd's
      plantation. Our family never visited the great house, and the Lloyds never
      came to our home. Equal non-intercourse was observed between Capt.
      Anthony's family and that of Mr. Sevier, the overseer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such, kind reader, was the community, and such the place, in which my
      earliest and most lasting impressions of slavery, and of slave-life, were
      received; of which impressions you will learn more in the coming chapters
      of this book.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V. <i>Gradual Initiation to the Mysteries of Slavery</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
GROWING ACQUAINTANCE WITH OLD MASTER&mdash;HIS CHARACTER&mdash;EVILS OF
UNRESTRAINED PASSION&mdash;APPARENT TENDERNESS&mdash;OLD MASTER A MAN OF
TROUBLE&mdash;CUSTOM OF MUTTERING TO HIMSELF&mdash;NECESSITY OF BEING AWARE OF
HIS WORDS&mdash;THE SUPPOSED OBTUSENESS OF SLAVE-CHILDREN&mdash;BRUTAL
OUTRAGE&mdash;DRUNKEN OVERSEER&mdash;SLAVEHOLDER'S IMPATIENCE&mdash;WISDOM OF APPEALING
TO SUPERIORS&mdash;THE SLAVEHOLDER S WRATH BAD AS THAT OF THE OVERSEER&mdash;A
BASE AND SELFISH ATTEMPT TO BREAK UP A COURTSHIP&mdash;A HARROWING SCENE.
</pre>
    <p>
      Although my old master&mdash;Capt. Anthony&mdash;gave me at first, (as the
      reader will have already seen) very little attention, and although that
      little was of a remarkably mild and gentle description, a few months only
      were sufficient to convince me that mildness and gentleness were not the
      prevailing or governing traits of his character. These excellent qualities
      were displayed only occasionally. He could, when it suited him, appear to
      be literally insensible to the claims of humanity, when appealed to by the
      helpless against an aggressor, and he could himself commit outrages, deep,
      dark and nameless. Yet he was not by nature worse than other men. Had he
      been brought up in a free state, surrounded by the just restraints of free
      society&mdash;restraints which are necessary to the freedom of all its
      members, alike and equally&mdash;Capt. Anthony might have been as humane a
      man, and every way as respectable, as many who now oppose the slave
      system; certainly as humane and respectable as are members of society
      generally. The slaveholder, as well as the slave, is the victim of the
      slave<span class="pagenum">[62]</span> system. A man's character greatly
      takes its hue and shape from the form and color of things about him. Under
      the whole heavens there is no relation more unfavorable to the development
      of honorable character, than that sustained by the slaveholder to the
      slave. Reason is imprisoned here, and passions run wild. Like the fires of
      the prairie, once lighted, they are at the mercy of every wind, and must
      burn, till they have consumed all that is combustible within their
      remorseless grasp. Capt. Anthony could be kind, and, at times, he even
      showed an affectionate disposition. Could the reader have seen him gently
      leading me by the hand&mdash;as he sometimes did&mdash;patting me on the
      head, speaking to me in soft, caressing tones and calling me his "little
      Indian boy," he would have deemed him a kind old man, and really, almost
      fatherly. But the pleasant moods of a slaveholder are remarkably brittle;
      they are easily snapped; they neither come often, nor remain long. His
      temper is subjected to perpetual trials; but, since these trials are never
      borne patiently, they add nothing to his natural stock of patience.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old master very early impressed me with the idea that he was an unhappy
      man. Even to my child's eye, he wore a troubled, and at times, a haggard
      aspect. His strange movements excited my curiosity, and awakened my
      compassion. He seldom walked alone without muttering to himself; and he
      occasionally stormed about, as if defying an army of invisible foes. "He
      would do this, that, and the other; he'd be d&mdash;d if he did not,"&mdash;was
      the usual form of his threats. Most of his leisure was spent in walking,
      cursing and gesticulating, like one possessed by a demon. Most evidently,
      he was a wretched man, at war with his own soul, and with all the world
      around him. To be overheard by the children, disturbed him very little. He
      made no more of our presence, than of that of the ducks and geese which he
      met on the green. He little thought that the little black urchins around
      him, could see, through those vocal crevices, the very secrets of his
      heart. Slaveholders ever underrate the intelligence with which<span
      class="pagenum">[63]</span> they have to grapple. I really understood the
      old man's mutterings, attitudes and gestures, about as well as he did
      himself. But slaveholders never encourage that kind of communication, with
      the slaves, by which they might learn to measure the depths of his
      knowledge. Ignorance is a high virtue in a human chattel; and as the
      master studies to keep the slave ignorant, the slave is cunning enough to
      make the master think he succeeds. The slave fully appreciates the saying,
      "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." When old master's
      gestures were violent, ending with a threatening shake of the head, and a
      sharp snap of his middle finger and thumb, I deemed it wise to keep at a
      respectable distance from him; for, at such times, trifling faults stood,
      in his eyes, as momentous offenses; and, having both the power and the
      disposition, the victim had only to be near him to catch the punishment,
      deserved or undeserved.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the first circumstances that opened my eyes to the cruelty and
      wickedness of slavery, and the heartlessness of my old master, was the
      refusal of the latter to interpose his authority, to protect and shield a
      young woman, who had been most cruelly abused and beaten by his overseer
      in Tuckahoe. This overseer&mdash;a Mr. Plummer&mdash;was a man like most
      of his class, little better than a human brute; and, in addition to his
      general profligacy and repulsive coarseness, the creature was a miserable
      drunkard. He was, probably, employed by my old master, less on account of
      the excellence of his services, than for the cheap rate at which they
      could be obtained. He was not fit to have the management of a drove of
      mules. In a fit of drunken madness, he committed the outrage which brought
      the young woman in question down to my old master's for protection. This
      young woman was the daughter of Milly, an own aunt of mine. The poor girl,
      on arriving at our house, presented a pitiable appearance. She had left in
      haste, and without preparation; and, probably, without the knowledge of
      Mr. Plummer. She had traveled twelve miles, bare-footed, bare-necked and
      bare-headed. Her neck and shoulders<span class="pagenum">[64]</span> were
      covered with scars, newly made; and not content with marring her neck and
      shoulders, with the cowhide, the cowardly brute had dealt her a blow on
      the head with a hickory club, which cut a horrible gash, and left her face
      literally covered with blood. In this condition, the poor young woman came
      down, to implore protection at the hands of my old master. I expected to
      see him boil over with rage at the revolting deed, and to hear him fill
      the air with curses upon the brutual Plummer; but I was disappointed. He
      sternly told her, in an angry tone, he "believed she deserved every bit of
      it," and, if she did not go home instantly, he would himself take the
      remaining skin from her neck and back. Thus was the poor girl compelled to
      return, without redress, and perhaps to receive an additional flogging for
      daring to appeal to old master against the overseer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old master seemed furious at the thought of being troubled by such
      complaints. I did not, at that time, understand the philosophy of his
      treatment of my cousin. It was stern, unnatural, violent. Had the man no
      bowels of compassion? Was he dead to all sense of humanity? No. I think I
      now understand it. This treatment is a part of the system, rather than a
      part of the man. Were slaveholders to listen to complaints of this sort
      against the overseers, the luxury of owning large numbers of slaves, would
      be impossible. It would do away with the office of overseer, entirely; or,
      in other words, it would convert the master himself into an overseer. It
      would occasion great loss of time and labor, leaving the overseer in
      fetters, and without the necessary power to secure obedience to his
      orders. A privilege so dangerous as that of appeal, is, therefore,
      strictly prohibited; and any one exercising it, runs a fearful hazard.
      Nevertheless, when a slave has nerve enough to exercise it, and boldly
      approaches his master, with a well-founded complaint against an overseer,
      though he may be repulsed, and may even have that of which he complains
      repeated at the time, and, though he may be beaten by his master, as well
      as by the overseer, for his temerity, in the end the<span class="pagenum">[65]</span>
      policy of complaining is, generally, vindicated by the relaxed rigor of
      the overseer's treatment. The latter becomes more careful, and less
      disposed to use the lash upon such slaves thereafter. It is with this
      final result in view, rather than with any expectation of immediate good,
      that the outraged slave is induced to meet his master with a complaint.
      The overseer very naturally dislikes to have the ear of the master
      disturbed by complaints; and, either upon this consideration, or upon
      advice and warning privately given him by his employers, he generally
      modifies the rigor of his rule, after an outbreak of the kind to which I
      have been referring.
    </p>
    <p>
      Howsoever the slaveholder may allow himself to act toward his slave, and,
      whatever cruelty he may deem it wise, for example's sake, or for the
      gratification of his humor, to inflict, he cannot, in the absence of all
      provocation, look with pleasure upon the bleeding wounds of a defenseless
      slave-woman. When he drives her from his presence without redress, or the
      hope of redress, he acts, generally, from motives of policy, rather than
      from a hardened nature, or from innate brutality. Yet, let but his own
      temper be stirred, his own passions get loose, and the slave-owner will go
      <i>far beyond</i> the overseer in cruelty. He will convince the slave that
      his wrath is far more terrible and boundless, and vastly more to be
      dreaded, than that of the underling overseer. What may have been
      mechanically and heartlessly done by the overseer, is now done with a
      will. The man who now wields the lash is irresponsible. He may, if he
      pleases, cripple or kill, without fear of consequences; except in so far
      as it may concern profit or loss. To a man of violent temper&mdash;as my
      old master was&mdash;this was but a very slender and inefficient
      restraint. I have seen him in a tempest of passion, such as I have just
      described&mdash;a passion into which entered all the bitter ingredients of
      pride, hatred, envy, jealousy, and the thrist(sic) for revenge.
    </p>
    <p>
      The circumstances which I am about to narrate, and which gave rise to this
      fearful tempest of passion, are not singular nor<span class="pagenum">[66]</span>
      isolated in slave life, but are common in every slaveholding community in
      which I have lived. They are incidental to the relation of master and
      slave, and exist in all sections of slave-holding countries.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader will have noticed that, in enumerating the names of the slaves
      who lived with my old master, <i>Esther</i> is mentioned. This was a young
      woman who possessed that which is ever a curse to the slave-girl; namely&mdash;personal
      beauty. She was tall, well formed, and made a fine appearance. The
      daughters of Col. Lloyd could scarcely surpass her in personal charms.
      Esther was courted by Ned Roberts, and he was as fine looking a young man,
      as she was a woman. He was the son of a favorite slave of Col. Lloyd. Some
      slaveholders would have been glad to promote the marriage of two such
      persons; but, for some reason or other, my old master took it upon him to
      break up the growing intimacy between Esther and Edward. He strictly
      ordered her to quit the company of said Roberts, telling her that he would
      punish her severely if he ever found her again in Edward's company. This
      unnatural and heartless order was, of course, broken. A woman's love is
      not to be annihilated by the peremptory command of any one, whose breath
      is in his nostrils. It was impossible to keep Edward and Esther apart.
      Meet they would, and meet they did. Had old master been a man of honor and
      purity, his motives, in this matter, might have been viewed more
      favorably. As it was, his motives were as abhorrent, as his methods were
      foolish and contemptible. It was too evident that he was not concerned for
      the girl's welfare. It is one of the damning characteristics of the slave
      system, that it robs its victims of every earthly incentive to a holy
      life. The fear of God, and the hope of heaven, are found sufficient to
      sustain many slave-women, amidst the snares and dangers of their strange
      lot; but, this side of God and heaven, a slave-woman is at the mercy of
      the power, caprice and passion of her owner. Slavery provides no means for
      the honorable continuance of the race. Marriage as imposing obligations on
      the parties to it&mdash;has no<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> existence
      here, except in such hearts as are purer and higher than the standard
      morality around them. It is one of the consolations of my life, that I
      know of many honorable instances of persons who maintained their honor,
      where all around was corrupt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Esther was evidently much attached to Edward, and abhorred&mdash;as she
      had reason to do&mdash;the tyrannical and base behavior of old master.
      Edward was young, and fine looking, and he loved and courted her. He might
      have been her husband, in the high sense just alluded to; but WHO and <i>what</i>
      was this old master? His attentions were plainly brutal and selfish, and
      it was as natural that Esther should loathe him, as that she should love
      Edward. Abhorred and circumvented as he was, old master, having the power,
      very easily took revenge. I happened to see this exhibition of his rage
      and cruelty toward Esther. The time selected was singular. It was early in
      the morning, when all besides was still, and before any of the family, in
      the house or kitchen, had left their beds. I saw but few of the shocking
      preliminaries, for the cruel work had begun before I awoke. I was probably
      awakened by the shrieks and piteous cries of poor Esther. My sleeping
      place was on the floor of a little, rough closet, which opened into the
      kitchen; and through the cracks of its unplaned boards, I could distinctly
      see and hear what was going on, without being seen by old master. Esther's
      wrists were firmly tied, and the twisted rope was fastened to a strong
      staple in a heavy wooden joist above, near the fireplace. Here she stood,
      on a bench, her arms tightly drawn over her breast. Her back and shoulders
      were bare to the waist. Behind her stood old master, with cowskin in hand,
      preparing his barbarous work with all manner of harsh, coarse, and
      tantalizing epithets. The screams of his victim were most piercing. He was
      cruelly deliberate, and protracted the torture, as one who was delighted
      with the scene. Again and again he drew the hateful whip through his hand,
      adjusting it with a view of dealing the most pain-giving blow. Poor Esther
      had never yet been severely whipped, and her shoulders<span class="pagenum">[68]</span>
      were plump and tender. Each blow, vigorously laid on, brought screams as
      well as blood. <i>"Have mercy; Oh! have mercy"</i> she cried; "<i>I won't
      do so no more;"</i> but her piercing cries seemed only to increase his
      fury. His answers to them are too coarse and blasphemous to be produced
      here. The whole scene, with all its attendants, was revolting and
      shocking, to the last degree; and when the motives of this brutal
      castigation are considered,&mdash;language has no power to convey a just
      sense of its awful criminality. After laying on some thirty or forty
      stripes, old master untied his suffering victim, and let her get down. She
      could scarcely stand, when untied. From my heart I pitied her, and&mdash;child
      though I was&mdash;the outrage kindled in me a feeling far from peaceful;
      but I was hushed, terrified, stunned, and could do nothing, and the fate
      of Esther might be mine next. The scene here described was often repeated
      in the case of poor Esther, and her life, as I knew it, was one of
      wretchedness.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI. <i>Treatment of Slaves on Lloyd's Plantation</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
EARLY REFLECTIONS ON SLAVERY&mdash;PRESENTIMENT OF ONE DAY BEING A
FREEMAN&mdash;COMBAT BETWEEN AN OVERSEER AND A SLAVEWOMAN&mdash;THE ADVANTAGES
OF RESISTANCE&mdash;ALLOWANCE DAY ON THE HOME PLANTATION&mdash;THE SINGING
OF SLAVES&mdash;AN EXPLANATION&mdash;THE SLAVES FOOD AND CLOTHING&mdash;NAKED
CHILDREN&mdash;LIFE IN THE QUARTER&mdash;DEPRIVATION OF SLEEP&mdash;NURSING CHILDREN
CARRIED TO THE FIELD&mdash;DESCRIPTION OF THE COWSKIN&mdash;THE ASH-CAKE&mdash;MANNER
OF MAKING IT&mdash;THE DINNER HOUR&mdash;THE CONTRAST.
</pre>
    <p>
      The heart-rending incidents, related in the foregoing chapter, led me,
      thus early, to inquire into the nature and history of slavery. <i>Why am I
      a slave? Why are some people slaves, and others masters? Was there ever a
      time this was not so? How did the relation commence?</i> These were the
      perplexing questions which began now to claim my thoughts, and to exercise
      the weak powers of my mind, for I was still but a child, and knew less
      than children of the same age in the free states. As my questions
      concerning these things were only put to children a little older, and
      little better informed than myself, I was not rapid in reaching a solid
      footing. By some means I learned from these inquiries that <i>"God, up in
      the sky,"</i> made every body; and that he made <i>white</i> people to be
      masters and mistresses, and <i>black</i> people to be slaves. This did not
      satisfy me, nor lessen my interest in the subject. I was told, too, that
      God was good, and that He knew what was best for me, and best for
      everybody. This was less satisfactory than the first statement; because it
      came, point blank, against all my<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> notions
      of goodness. It was not good to let old master cut the flesh off Esther,
      and make her cry so. Besides, how did people know that God made black
      people to be slaves? Did they go up in the sky and learn it? or, did He
      come down and tell them so? All was dark here. It was some relief to my
      hard notions of the goodness of God, that, although he made white men to
      be slaveholders, he did not make them to be <i>bad</i> slaveholders, and
      that, in due time, he would punish the bad slaveholders; that he would,
      when they died, send them to the bad place, where they would be "burnt
      up." Nevertheless, I could not reconcile the relation of slavery with my
      crude notions of goodness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, too, I found that there were puzzling exceptions to this theory of
      slavery on both sides, and in the middle. I knew of blacks who were <i>not</i>
      slaves; I knew of whites who were <i>not</i> slaveholders; and I knew of
      persons who were <i>nearly</i> white, who were slaves. <i>Color</i>,
      therefore, was a very unsatisfactory basis for slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once, however, engaged in the inquiry, I was not very long in finding out
      the true solution of the matter. It was not <i>color</i>, but <i>crime</i>,
      not <i>God</i>, but <i>man</i>, that afforded the true explanation of the
      existence of slavery; nor was I long in finding out another important
      truth, viz: what man can make, man can unmake. The appalling darkness
      faded away, and I was master of the subject. There were slaves here,
      direct from Guinea; and there were many who could say that their fathers
      and mothers were stolen from Africa&mdash;forced from their homes, and
      compelled to serve as slaves. This, to me, was knowledge; but it was a
      kind of knowledge which filled me with a burning hatred of slavery,
      increased my suffering, and left me without the means of breaking away
      from my bondage. Yet it was knowledge quite worth possessing. I could not
      have been more than seven or eight years old, when I began to make this
      subject my study. It was with me in the woods and fields; along the shore
      of the river, and wherever my boyish wanderings led me; and though I was,
      at that time,<span class="pagenum">[71]</span> quite ignorant of the
      existence of the free states, I distinctly remember being, <i>even then</i>,
      most strongly impressed with the idea of being a freeman some day. This
      cheering assurance was an inborn dream of my human nature a constant
      menace to slavery&mdash;and one which all the powers of slavery were
      unable to silence or extinguish.
    </p>
    <p>
      Up to the time of the brutal flogging of my Aunt Esther&mdash;for she was
      my own aunt&mdash;and the horrid plight in which I had seen my cousin from
      Tuckahoe, who had been so badly beaten by the cruel Mr. Plummer, my
      attention had not been called, especially, to the gross features of
      slavery. I had, of course, heard of whippings and of savage <i>rencontres</i>
      between overseers and slaves, but I had always been out of the way at the
      times and places of their occurrence. My plays and sports, most of the
      time, took me from the corn and tobacco fields, where the great body of
      the hands were at work, and where scenes of cruelty were enacted and
      witnessed. But, after the whipping of Aunt Esther, I saw many cases of the
      same shocking nature, not only in my master's house, but on Col. Lloyd's
      plantation. One of the first which I saw, and which greatly agitated me,
      was the whipping of a woman belonging to Col. Lloyd, named Nelly. The
      offense alleged against Nelly, was one of the commonest and most
      indefinite in the whole catalogue of offenses usually laid to the charge
      of slaves, viz: "impudence." This may mean almost anything, or nothing at
      all, just according to the caprice of the master or overseer, at the
      moment. But, whatever it is, or is not, if it gets the name of
      "impudence," the party charged with it is sure of a flogging. This offense
      may be committed in various ways; in the tone of an answer; in answering
      at all; in not answering; in the expression of countenance; in the motion
      of the head; in the gait, manner and bearing of the slave. In the case
      under consideration, I can easily believe that, according to all
      slaveholding standards, here was a genuine instance of impudence. In Nelly
      there were all the necessary conditions for committing the offense. She
      was<span class="pagenum">[72]</span> a bright mulatto, the recognized wife
      of a favorite "hand" on board Col. Lloyd's sloop, and the mother of five
      sprightly children. She was a vigorous and spirited woman, and one of the
      most likely, on the plantation, to be guilty of impudence. My attention
      was called to the scene, by the noise, curses and screams that proceeded
      from it; and, on going a little in that direction, I came upon the parties
      engaged in the skirmish. Mr. Siever, the overseer, had hold of Nelly, when
      I caught sight of them; he was endeavoring to drag her toward a tree,
      which endeavor Nelly was sternly resisting; but to no purpose, except to
      retard the progress of the overseer's plans. Nelly&mdash;as I have said&mdash;was
      the mother of five children; three of them were present, and though quite
      small (from seven to ten years old, I should think) they gallantly came to
      their mother's defense, and gave the overseer an excellent pelting with
      stones. One of the little fellows ran up, seized the overseer by the leg
      and bit him; but the monster was too busily engaged with Nelly, to pay any
      attention to the assaults of the children. There were numerous bloody
      marks on Mr. Sevier's face, when I first saw him, and they increased as
      the struggle went on. The imprints of Nelly's fingers were visible, and I
      was glad to see them. Amidst the wild screams of the children&mdash;"<i>Let
      my mammy go"&mdash;"let my mammy go</i>"&mdash;there escaped, from between
      the teeth of the bullet-headed overseer, a few bitter curses, mingled with
      threats, that "he would teach the d&mdash;d b&mdash;h how to give a white
      man impudence." There is no doubt that Nelly felt herself superior, in
      some respects, to the slaves around her. She was a wife and a mother; her
      husband was a valued and favorite slave. Besides, he was one of the first
      hands on board of the sloop, and the sloop hands&mdash;since they had to
      represent the plantation abroad&mdash;were generally treated tenderly. The
      overseer never was allowed to whip Harry; why then should he be allowed to
      whip Harry's wife? Thoughts of this kind, no doubt, influenced her; but,
      for whatever reason, she nobly resisted, and, unlike most of the slaves,<span
      class="pagenum">[73]</span> seemed determined to make her whipping cost
      Mr. Sevier as much as possible. The blood on his (and her) face, attested
      her skill, as well as her courage and dexterity in using her nails.
      Maddened by her resistance, I expected to see Mr. Sevier level her to the
      ground by a stunning blow; but no; like a savage bull-dog&mdash;which he
      resembled both in temper and appearance&mdash;he maintained his grip, and
      steadily dragged his victim toward the tree, disregarding alike her blows,
      and the cries of the children for their mother's release. He would,
      doubtless, have knocked her down with his hickory stick, but that such act
      might have cost him his place. It is often deemed advisable to knock a <i>man</i>
      slave down, in order to tie him, but it is considered cowardly and
      inexcusable, in an overseer, thus to deal with a <i>woman</i>. He is
      expected to tie her up, and to give her what is called, in southern
      parlance, a "genteel flogging," without any very great outlay of strength
      or skill. I watched, with palpitating interest, the course of the
      preliminary struggle, and was saddened by every new advantage gained over
      her by the ruffian. There were times when she seemed likely to get the
      better of the brute, but he finally overpowered her, and succeeded in
      getting his rope around her arms, and in firmly tying her to the tree, at
      which he had been aiming. This done, and Nelly was at the mercy of his
      merciless lash; and now, what followed, I have no heart to describe. The
      cowardly creature made good his every threat; and wielded the lash with
      all the hot zest of furious revenge. The cries of the woman, while
      undergoing the terrible infliction, were mingled with those of the
      children, sounds which I hope the reader may never be called upon to hear.
      When Nelly was untied, her back was covered with blood. The red stripes
      were all over her shoulders. She was whipped&mdash;severely whipped; but
      she was not subdued, for she continued to denounce the overseer, and to
      call him every vile name. He had bruised her flesh, but had left her
      invincible spirit undaunted. Such floggings are seldom repeated by the
      same overseer. They prefer to whip those<span class="pagenum">[74]</span>
      who are most easily whipped. The old doctrine that submission is the very
      best cure for outrage and wrong, does not hold good on the slave
      plantation. He is whipped oftenest, who is whipped easiest; and that slave
      who has the courage to stand up for himself against the overseer, although
      he may have many hard stripes at the first, becomes, in the end, a
      freeman, even though he sustain the formal relation of a slave. "You can
      shoot me but you can't whip me," said a slave to Rigby Hopkins; and the
      result was that he was neither whipped nor shot. If the latter had been
      his fate, it would have been less deplorable than the living and lingering
      death to which cowardly and slavish souls are subjected. I do not know
      that Mr. Sevier ever undertook to whip Nelly again. He probably never did,
      for it was not long after his attempt to subdue her, that he was taken
      sick, and died. The wretched man died as he had lived, unrepentant; and it
      was said&mdash;with how much truth I know not&mdash;that in the very last
      hours of his life, his ruling passion showed itself, and that when
      wrestling with death, he was uttering horrid oaths, and flourishing the
      cowskin, as though he was tearing the flesh off some helpless slave. One
      thing is certain, that when he was in health, it was enough to chill the
      blood, and to stiffen the hair of an ordinary man, to hear Mr. Sevier
      talk. Nature, or his cruel habits, had given to his face an expression of
      unusual savageness, even for a slave-driver. Tobacco and rage had worn his
      teeth short, and nearly every sentence that escaped their compressed
      grating, was commenced or concluded with some outburst of profanity. His
      presence made the field alike the field of blood, and of blasphemy. Hated
      for his cruelty, despised for his cowardice, his death was deplored by no
      one outside his own house&mdash;if indeed it was deplored there; it was
      regarded by the slaves as a merciful interposition of Providence. Never
      went there a man to the grave loaded with heavier curses. Mr. Sevier's
      place was promptly taken by a Mr. Hopkins, and the change was quite a
      relief, he being a very different man. He was, in<span class="pagenum">[75]</span>
      all respects, a better man than his predecessor; as good as any man can
      be, and yet be an overseer. His course was characterized by no
      extraordinary cruelty; and when he whipped a slave, as he sometimes did,
      he seemed to take no especial pleasure in it, but, on the contrary, acted
      as though he felt it to be a mean business. Mr. Hopkins stayed but a short
      time; his place much to the regret of the slaves generally&mdash;was taken
      by a Mr. Gore, of whom more will be said hereafter. It is enough, for the
      present, to say, that he was no improvement on Mr. Sevier, except that he
      was less noisy and less profane.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have already referred to the business-like aspect of Col. Lloyd's
      plantation. This business-like appearance was much increased on the two
      days at the end of each month, when the slaves from the different farms
      came to get their monthly allowance of meal and meat. These were gala days
      for the slaves, and there was much rivalry among them as to <i>who</i>
      should be elected to go up to the great house farm for the allowance, and,
      indeed, to attend to any business at this (for them) the capital. The
      beauty and grandeur of the place, its numerous slave population, and the
      fact that Harry, Peter and Jake the sailors of the sloop&mdash;almost
      always kept, privately, little trinkets which they bought at Baltimore, to
      sell, made it a privilege to come to the great house farm. Being selected,
      too, for this office, was deemed a high honor. It was taken as a proof of
      confidence and favor; but, probably, the chief motive of the competitors
      for the place, was, a desire to break the dull monotony of the field, and
      to get beyond the overseer's eye and lash. Once on the road with an ox
      team, and seated on the tongue of his cart, with no overseer to look after
      him, the slave was comparatively free; and, if thoughtful, he had time to
      think. Slaves are generally expected to sing as well as to work. A silent
      slave is not liked by masters or overseers. <i>"Make a noise," "make a
      noise,"</i> and <i>"bear a hand,"</i> are the words usually addressed to
      the slaves when there is silence amongst them. This may account for the
      almost constant singing<span class="pagenum">[76]</span> heard in the
      southern states. There was, generally, more or less singing among the
      teamsters, as it was one means of letting the overseer know where they
      were, and that they were moving on with the work. But, on allowance day,
      those who visited the great house farm were peculiarly excited and noisy.
      While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around,
      reverberate with their wild notes. These were not always merry because
      they were wild. On the contrary, they were mostly of a plaintive cast, and
      told a tale of grief and sorrow. In the most boisterous outbursts of
      rapturous sentiment, there was ever a tinge of deep melancholy. I have
      never heard any songs like those anywhere since I left slavery, except
      when in Ireland. There I heard the same <i>wailing notes</i>, and was much
      affected by them. It was during the famine of 1845-6. In all the songs of
      the slaves, there was ever some expression in praise of the great house
      farm; something which would flatter the pride of the owner, and, possibly,
      draw a favorable glance from him.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            <i>I am going away to the great house farm,
            O yea!  O yea!  O yea!
            My old master is a good old master,
            O yea!  O yea!  O yea!</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      This they would sing, with other words of their own improvising&mdash;jargon
      to others, but full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought,
      that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress truly
      spiritual-minded men and women with the soul-crushing and death-dealing
      character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of its mere
      physical cruelties. They speak to the heart and to the soul of the
      thoughtful. I cannot better express my sense of them now, than ten years
      ago, when, in sketching my life, I thus spoke of this feature of my
      plantation experience:
    </p>
    <p>
      I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meanings of those rude, and
      apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle, so that I
      neither saw or heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale
      which was<span class="pagenum">[77]</span> then altogether beyond my
      feeble comprehension; they were tones, loud, long and deep, breathing 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 spirits, and filled my heart with ineffable sadness. The mere
      recurrence, even now, afflicts my spirit, and while I am writing these
      lines, my tears are falling. To those songs I trace my first glimmering
      conceptions 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 a sense of the soul-killing power of slavery,
      let him go to Col. Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance day, place
      himself in the deep, pine woods, and there let him, in silence,
      thoughtfully 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      The remark is not unfrequently made, that slaves are the most contended
      and happy laborers in the world. They dance and sing, and make all manner
      of joyful noises&mdash;so they do; but it is a great mistake to suppose
      them happy because they sing. The songs of the slave represent the
      sorrows, rather than the joys, of his heart; and he is relieved by them,
      only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. Such is the constitution
      of the human mind, that, when pressed to extremes, it often avails itself
      of the most opposite methods. Extremes meet in mind as in matter. When the
      slaves on board of the "Pearl" were overtaken, arrested, and carried to
      prison&mdash;their hopes for freedom blasted&mdash;as they marched in
      chains they sang, and found (as Emily Edmunson tells us) a melancholy
      relief in singing. The singing of a man cast away on a desolate island,
      might be as appropriately considered an evidence of his contentment and
      happiness, as the singing of a slave. Sorrow and desolation have their
      songs, as well as joy and peace. Slaves sing more to <i>make</i>
      themselves happy, than to express their happiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is the boast of slaveholders, that their slaves enjoy more of the
      physical comforts of life than the peasantry of any country in the world.
      My experience contradicts this. The men and the women slaves on Col.
      Lloyd's farm, received, as their monthly<span class="pagenum">[78]</span>
      allowance of food, eight pounds of pickled pork, or their equivalent in
      fish. The pork was often tainted, and the fish was of the poorest quality&mdash;herrings,
      which would bring very little if offered for sale in any northern market.
      With their pork or fish, they had one bushel of Indian meal&mdash;unbolted&mdash;of
      which quite fifteen per cent was fit only to feed pigs. With this, one
      pint of salt was given; and this was the entire monthly allowance of a
      full grown slave, working constantly in the open field, from morning until
      night, every day in the month except Sunday, and living on a fraction more
      than a quarter of a pound of meat per day, and less than a peck of
      corn-meal per week. There is no kind of work that a man can do which
      requires a better supply of food to prevent physical exhaustion, than the
      field-work of a slave. So much for the slave's allowance of food; now for
      his raiment. The yearly allowance of clothing for the slaves on this
      plantation, consisted of two tow-linen shirts&mdash;such linen as the
      coarsest crash towels are made of; one pair of trowsers of the same
      material, for summer, and a pair of trowsers and a jacket of woolen, most
      slazily put together, for winter; one pair of yarn stockings, and one pair
      of shoes of the coarsest description. The slave's entire apparel could not
      have cost more than eight dollars per year. The allowance of food and
      clothing for the little children, was committed to their mothers, or to
      the older slavewomen having the care of them. Children who were unable to
      work in the field, had neither shoes, stockings, jackets nor trowsers
      given them. Their clothing consisted of two coarse tow-linen shirts&mdash;already
      described&mdash;per year; and when these failed them, as they often did,
      they went naked until the next allowance day. Flocks of little children
      from five to ten years old, might be seen on Col. Lloyd's plantation, as
      destitute of clothing as any little heathen on the west coast of Africa;
      and this, not merely during the summer months, but during the frosty
      weather of March. The little girls were no better off than the boys; all
      were nearly in a state of nudity.<span class="pagenum">[79]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      As to beds to sleep on, they were known to none of the field hands;
      nothing but a coarse blanket&mdash;not so good as those used in the north
      to cover horses&mdash;was given them, and this only to the men and women.
      The children stuck themselves in holes and corners, about the quarters;
      often in the corner of the huge chimneys, with their feet in the ashes to
      keep them warm. The want of beds, however, was not considered a very great
      privation. Time to sleep was of far greater importance, for, when the
      day's work is done, most of the slaves have their washing, mending and
      cooking to do; and, having few or none of the ordinary facilities for
      doing such things, very many of their sleeping hours are consumed in
      necessary preparations for the duties of the coming day.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sleeping apartments&mdash;if they may be called such&mdash;have little
      regard to comfort or decency. Old and young, male and female, married and
      single, drop down upon the common clay floor, each covering up with his or
      her blanket,&mdash;the only protection they have from cold or exposure.
      The night, however, is shortened at both ends. The slaves work often as
      long as they can see, and are late in cooking and mending for the coming
      day; and, at the first gray streak of morning, they are summoned to the
      field by the driver's horn.
    </p>
    <p>
      More slaves are whipped for oversleeping than for any other fault. Neither
      age nor sex finds any favor. The overseer stands at the quarter door,
      armed with stick and cowskin, ready to whip any who may be a few minutes
      behind time. When the horn is blown, there is a rush for the door, and the
      hindermost one is sure to get a blow from the overseer. Young mothers who
      worked in the field, were allowed an hour, about ten o'clock in the
      morning, to go home to nurse their children. Sometimes they were compelled
      to take their children with them, and to leave them in the corner of the
      fences, to prevent loss of time in nursing them. The overseer generally
      rides about the field on horseback. A cowskin and a hickory stick are his
      constant companions. The<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> cowskin is a
      kind of whip seldom seen in the northern states. It is made entirely of
      untanned, but dried, ox hide, and is about as hard as a piece of
      well-seasoned live oak. It is made of various sizes, but the usual length
      is about three feet. The part held in the hand is nearly an inch in
      thickness; and, from the extreme end of the butt or handle, the cowskin
      tapers its whole length to a point. This makes it quite elastic and
      springy. A blow with it, on the hardest back, will gash the flesh, and
      make the blood start. Cowskins are painted red, blue and green, and are
      the favorite slave whip. I think this whip worse than the
      "cat-o'nine-tails." It condenses the whole strength of the arm to a single
      point, and comes with a spring that makes the air whistle. It is a
      terrible instrument, and is so handy, that the overseer can always have it
      on his person, and ready for use. The temptation to use it is ever strong;
      and an overseer can, if disposed, always have cause for using it. With
      him, it is literally a word and a blow, and, in most cases, the blow comes
      first.
    </p>
    <p>
      As a general rule, slaves do not come to the quarters for either breakfast
      or dinner, but take their "ash cake" with them, and eat it in the field.
      This was so on the home plantation; probably, because the distance from
      the quarter to the field, was sometimes two, and even three miles.
    </p>
    <p>
      The dinner of the slaves consisted of a huge piece of ash cake, and a
      small piece of pork, or two salt herrings. Not having ovens, nor any
      suitable cooking utensils, the slaves mixed their meal with a little
      water, to such thickness that a spoon would stand erect in it; and, after
      the wood had burned away to coals and ashes, they would place the dough
      between oak leaves and lay it carefully in the ashes, completely covering
      it; hence, the bread is called ash cake. The surface of this peculiar
      bread is covered with ashes, to the depth of a sixteenth part of an inch,
      and the ashes, certainly, do not make it very grateful to the teeth, nor
      render it very palatable. The bran, or coarse part of the meal, is baked
      with the fine, and bright scales run through the bread.<span
      class="pagenum">[81]</span> This bread, with its ashes and bran, would
      disgust and choke a northern man, but it is quite liked by the slaves.
      They eat it with avidity, and are more concerned about the quantity than
      about the quality. They are far too scantily provided for, and are worked
      too steadily, to be much concerned for the quality of their food. The few
      minutes allowed them at dinner time, after partaking of their coarse
      repast, are variously spent. Some lie down on the "turning row," and go to
      sleep; others draw together, and talk; and others are at work with needle
      and thread, mending their tattered garments. Sometimes you may hear a
      wild, hoarse laugh arise from a circle, and often a song. Soon, however,
      the overseer comes dashing through the field. <i>"Tumble up! Tumble up</i>,
      and to <i>work, work,"</i> is the cry; and, now, from twelve o'clock
      (mid-day) till dark, the human cattle are in motion, wielding their clumsy
      hoes; hurried on by no hope of reward, no sense of gratitude, no love of
      children, no prospect of bettering their condition; nothing, save the
      dread and terror of the slave-driver's lash. So goes one day, and so comes
      and goes another.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, let us now leave the rough usage of the field, where vulgar
      coarseness and brutal cruelty spread themselves and flourish, rank as
      weeds in the tropics; where a vile wretch, in the shape of a man, rides,
      walks, or struts about, dealing blows, and leaving gashes on
      broken-spirited men and helpless women, for thirty dollars per month&mdash;a
      business so horrible, hardening and disgraceful, that, rather, than engage
      in it, a decent man would blow his own brains out&mdash;and let the reader
      view with me the equally wicked, but less repulsive aspects of slave life;
      where pride and pomp roll luxuriously at ease; where the toil of a
      thousand men supports a single family in easy idleness and sin. This is
      the great house; it is the home of the LLOYDS! Some idea of its splendor
      has already been given&mdash;and, it is here that we shall find that
      height of luxury which is the opposite of that depth of poverty and
      physical wretchedness that we have just now been contemplating. But, there
      is this difference in the two extremes;<span class="pagenum">[82]</span>
      viz: that in the case of the slave, the miseries and hardships of his lot
      are imposed by others, and, in the master's case, they are imposed by
      himself. The slave is a subject, subjected by others; the slaveholder is a
      subject, but he is the author of his own subjection. There is more truth
      in the saying, that slavery is a greater evil to the master than to the
      slave, than many, who utter it, suppose. The self-executing laws of
      eternal justice follow close on the heels of the evil-doer here, as well
      as elsewhere; making escape from all its penalties impossible. But, let
      others philosophize; it is my province here to relate and describe; only
      allowing myself a word or two, occasionally, to assist the reader in the
      proper understanding of the facts narrated.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII. <i>Life in the Great House</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
COMFORTS AND LUXURIES&mdash;ELABORATE EXPENDITURE&mdash;HOUSE SERVANTS&mdash;MEN
SERVANTS AND MAID SERVANTS&mdash;APPEARANCES&mdash;SLAVE ARISTOCRACY&mdash;STABLE AND
CARRIAGE HOUSE&mdash;BOUNDLESS HOSPITALITY&mdash;FRAGRANCE OF RICH DISHES&mdash;THE
DECEPTIVE CHARACTER OF SLAVERY&mdash;SLAVES SEEM HAPPY&mdash;SLAVES
AND SLAVEHOLDERS ALIKE WRETCHED&mdash;FRETFUL DISCONTENT
OF SLAVEHOLDERS&mdash;FAULT-FINDING&mdash;OLD BARNEY&mdash;HIS
PROFESSION&mdash;WHIPPING&mdash;HUMILIATING SPECTACLE&mdash;CASE EXCEPTIONAL&mdash;WILLIAM
WILKS&mdash;SUPPOSED SON OF COL. LLOYD&mdash;CURIOUS INCIDENT&mdash;SLAVES PREFER RICH
MASTERS TO POOR ONES.
</pre>
    <p>
      The close-fisted stinginess that fed the poor slave on coarse corn-meal
      and tainted meat; that clothed him in crashy tow-linen, and hurried him to
      toil through the field, in all weathers, with wind and rain beating
      through his tattered garments; that scarcely gave even the young
      slave-mother time to nurse her hungry infant in the fence corner; wholly
      vanishes on approaching the sacred precincts of the great house, the home
      of the Lloyds. There the scriptural phrase finds an exact illustration;
      the highly favored inmates of this mansion are literally arrayed "in
      purple and fine linen," and fare sumptuously every day! The table groans
      under the heavy and blood-bought luxuries gathered with painstaking care,
      at home and abroad. Fields, forests, rivers and seas, are made tributary
      here. Immense wealth, and its lavish expenditure, fill the great house
      with all that can please the eye, or tempt the taste. Here, appetite, not
      food, is the great <i>desideratum</i>. Fish, flesh and fowl, are here in
      profusion. Chickens, of<span class="pagenum">[84]</span> all breeds;
      ducks, of all kinds, wild and tame, the common, and the huge Muscovite;
      Guinea fowls, turkeys, geese, and pea fowls, are in their several pens,
      fat and fatting for the destined vortex. The graceful swan, the mongrels,
      the black-necked wild goose; partridges, quails, pheasants and pigeons;
      choice water fowl, with all their strange varieties, are caught in this
      huge family net. Beef, veal, mutton and venison, of the most select kinds
      and quality, roll bounteously to this grand consumer. The teeming riches
      of the Chesapeake bay, its rock, perch, drums, crocus, trout, oysters,
      crabs, and terrapin, are drawn hither to adorn the glittering table of the
      great house. The dairy, too, probably the finest on the Eastern Shore of
      Maryland&mdash;supplied by cattle of the best English stock, imported for
      the purpose, pours its rich donations of fragant cheese, golden butter,
      and delicious cream, to heighten the attraction of the gorgeous, unending
      round of feasting. Nor are the fruits of the earth forgotten or neglected.
      The fertile garden, many acres in size, constituting a separate
      establishment, distinct from the common farm&mdash;with its scientific
      gardener, imported from Scotland (a Mr. McDermott) with four men under his
      direction, was not behind, either in the abundance or in the delicacy of
      its contributions to the same full board. The tender asparagus, the
      succulent celery, and the delicate cauliflower; egg plants, beets,
      lettuce, parsnips, peas, and French beans, early and late; radishes,
      cantelopes, melons of all kinds; the fruits and flowers of all climes and
      of all descriptions, from the hardy apple of the north, to the lemon and
      orange of the south, culminated at this point. Baltimore gathered figs,
      raisins, almonds and juicy grapes from Spain. Wines and brandies from
      France; teas of various flavor, from China; and rich, aromatic coffee from
      Java, all conspired to swell the tide of high life, where pride and
      indolence rolled and lounged in magnificence and satiety.
    </p>
    <p>
      Behind the tall-backed and elaborately wrought chairs, stand the servants,
      men and maidens&mdash;fifteen in number&mdash;discriminately selected, not
      only with a view to their industry and faithfulness,<span class="pagenum">[85]</span>
      but with special regard to their personal appearance, their graceful
      agility and captivating address. Some of these are armed with fans, and
      are fanning reviving breezes toward the over-heated brows of the alabaster
      ladies; others watch with eager eye, and with fawn-like step anticipate
      and supply wants before they are sufficiently formed to be announced by
      word or sign.
    </p>
    <p>
      These servants constituted a sort of black aristocracy on Col. Lloyd's
      plantation. They resembled the field hands in nothing, except in color,
      and in this they held the advantage of a velvet-like glossiness, rich and
      beautiful. The hair, too, showed the same advantage. The delicate colored
      maid rustled in the scarcely worn silk of her young mistress, while the
      servant men were equally well attired from the over-flowing wardrobe of
      their young masters; so that, in dress, as well as in form and feature, in
      manner and speech, in tastes and habits, the distance between these
      favored few, and the sorrow and hunger-smitten multitudes of the quarter
      and the field, was immense; and this is seldom passed over.
    </p>
    <p>
      Let us now glance at the stables and the carriage house, and we shall find
      the same evidences of pride and luxurious extravagance. Here are three
      splendid coaches, soft within and lustrous without. Here, too, are gigs,
      phaetons, barouches, sulkeys and sleighs. Here are saddles and harnesses&mdash;beautifully
      wrought and silver mounted&mdash;kept with every care. In the stable you
      will find, kept only for pleasure, full thirty-five horses, of the most
      approved blood for speed and beauty. There are two men here constantly
      employed in taking care of these horses. One of these men must be always
      in the stable, to answer every call from the great house. Over the way
      from the stable, is a house built expressly for the hounds&mdash;a pack of
      twenty-five or thirty&mdash;whose fare would have made glad the heart of a
      dozen slaves. Horses and hounds are not the only consumers of the slave's
      toil. There was practiced, at the Lloyd's, a hospitality which would have<span
      class="pagenum">[86]</span> astonished and charmed any health-seeking
      northern divine or merchant, who might have chanced to share it. Viewed
      from his own table, and <i>not</i> from the field, the colonel was a model
      of generous hospitality. His house was, literally, a hotel, for weeks
      during the summer months. At these times, especially, the air was
      freighted with the rich fumes of baking, boiling, roasting and broiling.
      The odors I shared with the winds; but the meats were under a more
      stringent monopoly except that, occasionally, I got a cake from Mas'
      Daniel. In Mas' Daniel I had a friend at court, from whom I learned many
      things which my eager curiosity was excited to know. I always knew when
      company was expected, and who they were, although I was an outsider, being
      the property, not of Col. Lloyd, but of a servant of the wealthy colonel.
      On these occasions, all that pride, taste and money could do, to dazzle
      and charm, was done.
    </p>
    <p>
      Who could say that the servants of Col. Lloyd were not well clad and cared
      for, after witnessing one of his magnificent entertainments? Who could say
      that they did not seem to glory in being the slaves of such a master? Who,
      but a fanatic, could get up any sympathy for persons whose every movement
      was agile, easy and graceful, and who evinced a consciousness of high
      superiority? And who would ever venture to suspect that Col. Lloyd was
      subject to the troubles of ordinary mortals? Master and slave seem alike
      in their glory here? Can it all be seeming? Alas! it may only be a sham at
      last! This immense wealth; this gilded splendor; this profusion of luxury;
      this exemption from toil; this life of ease; this sea of plenty; aye, what
      of it all? Are the pearly gates of happiness and sweet content flung open
      to such suitors? <i>far from it!</i> The poor slave, on his hard, pine
      plank, but scantily covered with his thin blanket, sleeps more soundly
      than the feverish voluptuary who reclines upon his feather bed and downy
      pillow. Food, to the indolent lounger, is poison, not sustenance. Lurking
      beneath all their dishes, are invisible spirits of evil, ready to feed the
      self-deluded gormandizers<span class="pagenum">[87]</span> which aches,
      pains, fierce temper, uncontrolled passions, dyspepsia, rheumatism,
      lumbago and gout; and of these the Lloyds got their full share. To the
      pampered love of ease, there is no resting place. What is pleasant today,
      is repulsive tomorrow; what is soft now, is hard at another time; what is
      sweet in the morning, is bitter in the evening. Neither to the wicked, nor
      to the idler, is there any solid peace: <i>"Troubled, like the restless
      sea."</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      I had excellent opportunities of witnessing the restless discontent and
      the capricious irritation of the Lloyds. My fondness for horses&mdash;not
      peculiar to me more than to other boys attracted me, much of the time, to
      the stables. This establishment was especially under the care of "old" and
      "young" Barney&mdash;father and son. Old Barney was a fine looking old
      man, of a brownish complexion, who was quite portly, and wore a dignified
      aspect for a slave. He was, evidently, much devoted to his profession, and
      held his office an honorable one. He was a farrier as well as an ostler;
      he could bleed, remove lampers from the mouths of the horses, and was well
      instructed in horse medicines. No one on the farm knew, so well as Old
      Barney, what to do with a sick horse. But his gifts and acquirements were
      of little advantage to him. His office was by no means an enviable one. He
      often got presents, but he got stripes as well; for in nothing was Col.
      Lloyd more unreasonable and exacting, than in respect to the management of
      his pleasure horses. Any supposed inattention to these animals were sure
      to be visited with degrading punishment. His horses and dogs fared better
      than his men. Their beds must be softer and cleaner than those of his
      human cattle. No excuse could shield Old Barney, if the colonel only
      suspected something wrong about his horses; and, consequently, he was
      often punished when faultless. It was absolutely painful to listen to the
      many unreasonable and fretful scoldings, poured out at the stable, by Col.
      Lloyd, his sons and sons-in-law. Of the latter, he had three&mdash;Messrs.
      Nicholson, Winder and Lownes. These all<span class="pagenum">[88]</span>
      lived at the great house a portion of the year, and enjoyed the luxury of
      whipping the servants when they pleased, which was by no means
      unfrequently. A horse was seldom brought out of the stable to which no
      objection could be raised. "There was dust in his hair;" "there was a
      twist in his reins;" "his mane did not lie straight;" "he had not been
      properly grained;" "his head did not look well;" "his fore-top was not
      combed out;" "his fetlocks had not been properly trimmed;" something was
      always wrong. Listening to complaints, however groundless, Barney must
      stand, hat in hand, lips sealed, never answering a word. He must make no
      reply, no explanation; the judgment of the master must be deemed
      infallible, for his power is absolute and irresponsible. In a free state,
      a master, thus complaining without cause, of his ostler, might be told&mdash;"Sir,
      I am sorry I cannot please you, but, since I have done the best I can,
      your remedy is to dismiss me." Here, however, the ostler must stand,
      listen and tremble. One of the most heart-saddening and humiliating scenes
      I ever witnessed, was the whipping of Old Barney, by Col. Lloyd himself.
      Here were two men, both advanced in years; there were the silvery locks of
      Col. L., and there was the bald and toil-worn brow of Old Barney; master
      and slave; superior and inferior here, but <i>equals</i> at the bar of
      God; and, in the common course of events, they must both soon meet in
      another world, in a world where all distinctions, except those based on
      obedience and disobedience, are blotted out forever. "Uncover your head!"
      said the imperious master; he was obeyed. "Take off your jacket, you old
      rascal!" and off came Barney's jacket. "Down on your knees!" down knelt
      the old man, his shoulders bare, his bald head glistening in the sun, and
      his aged knees on the cold, damp ground. In his humble and debasing
      attitude, the master&mdash;that master to whom he had given the best years
      and the best strength of his life&mdash;came forward, and laid on thirty
      lashes, with his horse whip. The old man bore it patiently, to the last,
      answering each blow with a slight shrug of the shoulders, and a groan. I
      cannot think that<span class="pagenum">[89]</span> Col. Lloyd succeeded in
      marring the flesh of Old Barney very seriously, for the whip was a light,
      riding whip; but the spectacle of an aged man&mdash;a husband and a father&mdash;humbly
      kneeling before a worm of the dust, surprised and shocked me at the time;
      and since I have grown old enough to think on the wickedness of slavery,
      few facts have been of more value to me than this, to which I was a
      witness. It reveals slavery in its true color, and in its maturity of
      repulsive hatefulness. I owe it to truth, however, to say, that this was
      the first and the last time I ever saw Old Barney, or any other slave,
      compelled to kneel to receive a whipping.
    </p>
    <p>
      I saw, at the stable, another incident, which I will relate, as it is
      illustrative of a phase of slavery to which I have already referred in
      another connection. Besides two other coachmen, Col. Lloyd owned one named
      William, who, strangely enough, was often called by his surname, Wilks, by
      white and colored people on the home plantation. Wilks was a very fine
      looking man. He was about as white as anybody on the plantation; and in
      manliness of form, and comeliness of features, he bore a very striking
      resemblance to Mr. Murray Lloyd. It was whispered, and pretty generally
      admitted as a fact, that William Wilks was a son of Col. Lloyd, by a
      highly favored slave-woman, who was still on the plantation. There were
      many reasons for believing this whisper, not only in William's appearance,
      but in the undeniable freedom which he enjoyed over all others, and his
      apparent consciousness of being something more than a slave to his master.
      It was notorious, too, that William had a deadly enemy in Murray Lloyd,
      whom he so much resembled, and that the latter greatly worried his father
      with importunities to sell William. Indeed, he gave his father no rest
      until he did sell him, to Austin Woldfolk, the great slave-trader at that
      time. Before selling him, however, Mr. L. tried what giving William a
      whipping would do, toward making things smooth; but this was a failure. It
      was a compromise, and defeated itself; for,<span class="pagenum">[90]</span>
      immediately after the infliction, the heart-sickened colonel atoned to
      William for the abuse, by giving him a gold watch and chain. Another fact,
      somewhat curious, is, that though sold to the remorseless <i>Woldfolk</i>,
      taken in irons to Baltimore and cast into prison, with a view to being
      driven to the south, William, by <i>some</i> means&mdash;always a mystery
      to me&mdash;outbid all his purchasers, paid for himself, <i>and now
      resides in Baltimore, a</i> FREEMAN. Is there not room to suspect, that,
      as the gold watch was presented to atone for the whipping, a purse of gold
      was given him by the same hand, with which to effect his purchase, as an
      atonement for the indignity involved in selling his own flesh and blood.
      All the circumstances of William, on the great house farm, show him to
      have occupied a different position from the other slaves, and, certainly,
      there is nothing in the supposed hostility of slaveholders to
      amalgamation, to forbid the supposition that William Wilks was the son of
      Edward Lloyd. <i>Practical</i> amalgamation is common in every
      neighborhood where I have been in slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      Col. Lloyd was not in the way of knowing much of the real opinions and
      feelings of his slaves respecting him. The distance between him and them
      was far too great to admit of such knowledge. His slaves were so numerous,
      that he did not know them when he saw them. Nor, indeed, did all his
      slaves know him. In this respect, he was inconveniently rich. It is
      reported of him, that, while riding along the road one day, he met a
      colored man, and addressed him in the usual way of speaking to colored
      people on the public highways of the south: "Well, boy, who do you belong
      to?" "To Col. 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 enough to eat?" "Yes, sir, he gives me
      enough, such as it is." The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave
      belonged, rode on; the slave 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.<span
      class="pagenum">[91]</span> 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 that
      of death. <i>This</i> is the penalty 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 invariably say they are contented, and
      that their masters are kind. Slaveholders have been known to send spies
      among their slaves, to ascertain, if possible, their views and feelings in
      regard to their condition. The frequency of this 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 consequence of telling
      it, and, in so doing, they prove themselves a part of the human family. If
      they have anything to say of their master, it is, generally, something in
      his favor, especially when speaking to strangers. I was frequently asked,
      while a slave, if I had a kind master, and I do not remember ever to have
      given a negative reply. Nor did I, when pursuing this course, consider
      myself as uttering what was utterly false; for I always measured the
      kindness of my master by the standard of kindness set up by slaveholders
      around us. However, slaves are like other people, and imbibe similar
      prejudices. They are apt to think <i>their condition</i> 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
      kindness of their masters, contending for the superior goodness of his own
      over that of others. At the very same time, they mutually execrate their
      masters, when viewed separately. It was so on our plantation. When Col.
      Lloyd's slaves met those of Jacob Jepson, they<span class="pagenum">[92]</span>
      seldom parted without a quarrel about their masters; Col. Lloyd's slaves
      contending that he was the richest, and Mr. Jepson's slaves that he was
      the smartest, man of the two. Col. Lloyd's slaves would boost his ability
      to buy and sell Jacob Jepson; Mr. Jepson's slaves would boast his ability
      to whip Col. Lloyd. These quarrels would almost always end in a fight
      between the parties; those that beat were supposed to have gained the
      point at issue. They seemed to think that the greatness of their masters
      was transferable to themselves. To be a SLAVE, was thought to be bad
      enough; but to be a <i>poor man's</i> slave, was deemed a disgrace,
      indeed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII. <i>A Chapter of Horrors</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
AUSTIN GORE&mdash;A SKETCH OF HIS CHARACTER&mdash;OVERSEERS AS A CLASS&mdash;THEIR
PECULIAR CHARACTERISTICS&mdash;THE MARKED INDIVIDUALITY OF AUSTIN
GORE&mdash;HIS SENSE OF DUTY&mdash;HOW HE WHIPPED&mdash;MURDER OF POOR DENBY&mdash;HOW IT
OCCURRED&mdash;SENSATION&mdash;HOW GORE MADE PEACE WITH COL. LLOYD&mdash;THE MURDER
UNPUNISHED&mdash;ANOTHER DREADFUL MURDER NARRATED&mdash;NO LAWS FOR THE PROTECTION
OF SLAVES CAN BE ENFORCED IN THE SOUTHERN STATES.
</pre>
    <p>
      As I have already intimated elsewhere, the slaves on Col. Lloyd's
      plantation, whose hard lot, under Mr. Sevier, the reader has already
      noticed and deplored, were not permitted to enjoy the comparatively
      moderate rule of Mr. Hopkins. The latter was succeeded by a very different
      man. The name of the new overseer was Austin Gore. Upon this individual I
      would fix particular attention; for under his rule there was more
      suffering from violence and bloodshed than had&mdash;according to the
      older slaves ever been experienced before on this plantation. I confess, I
      hardly know how to bring this man fitly before the reader. He was, it is
      true, an overseer, and possessed, to a large extent, the peculiar
      characteristics of his class; yet, to call him merely an overseer, would
      not give the reader a fair notion of the man. I speak of overseers as a
      class. They are such. They are as distinct from the slaveholding gentry of
      the south, as are the fishwomen of Paris, and the coal-heavers of London,
      distinct from other members of society. They constitute a separate
      fraternity at the south, not less marked than is the fraternity of Park
      Lane bullies in New York. They have been arranged and classified<span
      class="pagenum">[94]</span> by that great law of attraction, which
      determines the spheres and affinities of men; which ordains, that men,
      whose malign and brutal propensities predominate over their moral and
      intellectual endowments, shall, naturally, fall into those employments
      which promise the largest gratification to those predominating instincts
      or propensities. The office of overseer takes this raw material of
      vulgarity and brutality, and stamps it as a distinct class of southern
      society. But, in this class, as in all other classes, there are characters
      of marked individuality, even while they bear a general resemblance to the
      mass. Mr. Gore was one of those, to whom a general characterization would
      do no manner of justice. He was an overseer; but he was something more.
      With the malign and tyrannical qualities of an overseer, he combined
      something of the lawful master. He had the artfulness and the mean
      ambition of his class; but he was wholly free from the disgusting swagger
      and noisy bravado of his fraternity. There was an easy air of independence
      about him; a calm self-possession, and a sternness of glance, which might
      well daunt hearts less timid than those of poor slaves, accustomed from
      childhood and through life to cower before a driver's lash. The home
      plantation of Col. Lloyd afforded an ample field for the exercise of the
      qualifications for overseership, which he possessed in such an eminent
      degree.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Gore was one of those overseers, who could torture the slightest word
      or look into impudence; he had the nerve, not only to resent, but to
      punish, promptly and severely. He never allowed himself to be answered
      back, by a slave. In this, he was as lordly and as imperious as Col.
      Edward Lloyd, himself; acting always up to the maxim, practically
      maintained by slaveholders, that it is better that a dozen slaves suffer
      under the lash, without fault, than that the master or the overseer should
      <i>seem</i> to have been wrong in the presence of the slave. <i>Everything
      must be absolute here</i>. Guilty or not guilty, it is enough to be
      accused, to be sure of a flogging. The very presence of this man Gore was<span
      class="pagenum">[95]</span> painful, and I shunned him as I would have
      shunned a rattlesnake. His piercing, black eyes, and sharp, shrill voice,
      ever awakened sensations of terror among the slaves. For so young a man (I
      describe him as he was, twenty-five or thirty years ago) Mr. Gore was
      singularly reserved and grave in the presence of slaves. He indulged in no
      jokes, said no funny things, and kept his own counsels. Other overseers,
      how brutal soever they might be, were, at times, inclined to gain favor
      with the slaves, by indulging a little pleasantry; but Gore was never
      known to be guilty of any such weakness. He was always the cold, distant,
      unapproachable <i>overseer</i> of Col. Edward Lloyd's plantation, and
      needed no higher pleasure than was involved in a faithful discharge of the
      duties of his office. When he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of
      duty, and feared no consequences. What Hopkins did reluctantly, Gore did
      with alacrity. There was a stern will, an iron-like reality, about this
      Gore, which would have easily made him the chief of a band of pirates, had
      his environments been favorable to such a course of life. All the
      coolness, savage barbarity and freedom from moral restraint, which are
      necessary in the character of a pirate-chief, centered, I think, in this
      man Gore. Among many other deeds of shocking cruelty which he perpetrated,
      while I was at Mr. Lloyd's, was the murder of a young colored man, named
      Denby. He was sometimes called Bill Denby, or Demby; (I write from sound,
      and the sounds on Lloyd's plantation are not very certain.) I knew him
      well. He was a powerful young man, full of animal spirits, and, so far as
      I know, he was among the most valuable of Col. Lloyd's slaves. In
      something&mdash;I know not what&mdash;he offended this Mr. Austin Gore,
      and, in accordance with the custom of the latter, he under took to flog
      him. He gave Denby but few stripes; the latter broke away from him and
      plunged into the creek, and, standing there to the depth of his neck in
      water, he refused to come out at the order of the overseer; whereupon, for
      this refusal, <i>Gore shot him dead!</i> It is said that Gore gave Denby
      three calls, telling him that<span class="pagenum">[96]</span> if he did
      not obey the last call, he would shoot him. When the third call was given,
      Denby stood his ground firmly; and this raised the question, in the minds
      of the by-standing slaves&mdash;"Will he dare to shoot?" Mr. Gore, without
      further parley, and without making any further effort to induce Denby to
      come out of the water, raised his gun deliberately to his face, took
      deadly aim at his standing victim, and, in an instant, poor Denby was
      numbered with the dead. His mangled body sank out of sight, and only his
      warm, red blood marked the place where he had stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      This devilish outrage, this fiendish murder, produced, as it was well
      calculated to do, a tremendous sensation. A thrill of horror flashed
      through every soul on the plantation, if I may except the guilty wretch
      who had committed the hell-black deed. While the slaves generally were
      panic-struck, and howling with alarm, the murderer himself was calm and
      collected, and appeared as though nothing unusual had happened. The
      atrocity roused my old master, and he spoke out, in reprobation of it; but
      the whole thing proved to be less than a nine days' wonder. Both Col.
      Lloyd and my old master arraigned Gore for his cruelty in the matter, but
      this amounted to nothing. His reply, or explanation&mdash;as I remember to
      have heard it at the time was, that the extraordinary expedient was
      demanded by necessity; that Denby had become unmanageable; that he had set
      a dangerous example to the other slaves; and that, without some such
      prompt measure as that to which he had resorted, were adopted, there would
      be an end to all rule and order on the plantation. That very convenient
      covert for all manner of cruelty and outrage that cowardly alarm-cry, that
      the slaves would <i>"take the place,"</i> was pleaded, in extenuation of
      this revolting crime, just as it had been cited in defense of a thousand
      similar ones. He argued, that if one slave refused to be corrected, and
      was allowed to escape with his life, when he had been told that he should
      lose it if he persisted in his course, the other slaves would soon copy
      his example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves, and
      the enslavement of the<span class="pagenum">[97]</span> whites. I have
      every reason to believe that Mr. Gore's defense, or explanation, was
      deemed satisfactory&mdash;at least to Col. Lloyd. He was continued in his
      office on the plantation. His fame as an overseer went abroad, and his
      horrid crime was not even submitted to judicial investigation. The murder
      was committed in the presence of slaves, and they, of course, could
      neither institute a suit, nor testify against the murderer. His bare word
      would go further in a court of law, than the united testimony of ten
      thousand black witnesses.
    </p>
    <p>
      All that Mr. Gore had to do, was to make his peace with Col. Lloyd. This
      done, and the guilty perpetrator of one of the 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, when I left Maryland; if
      he is still alive he probably yet resides there; and I have no reason to
      doubt that he is now as highly esteemed, and as greatly respected, as
      though his guilty soul had never been stained with innocent blood. I am
      well aware that what I have now written will by some be branded as false
      and malicious. It will be denied, not only that such a thing ever did
      transpire, as I have now narrated, but that such a thing could happen in
      <i>Maryland</i>. I can only say&mdash;believe it or not&mdash;that I have
      said nothing but the literal truth, gainsay it who may.
    </p>
    <p>
      I speak advisedly when I say this,&mdash;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, ship carpenter,
      of St. Michael's, killed two slaves, one of whom he butchered 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&mdash;d niggers."
    </p>
    <p>
      As an evidence of the reckless disregard of human life where the life is
      that of a slave I may state the notorious fact, that the<span
      class="pagenum">[98]</span> wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, who lived but a short
      distance from Col. Lloyd's, with her own hands murdered my wife's cousin,
      a young girl between fifteen and sixteen years of age&mdash;mutilating her
      person in a most shocking manner. The atrocious woman, in the paroxysm of
      her wrath, not content with murdering her victim, literally mangled her
      face, and broke her breast bone. Wild, however, and infuriated as she was,
      she took the precaution to cause the slave-girl to be buried; but the
      facts of the case coming abroad, very speedily led to the disinterment of
      the remains of the murdered slave-girl. A coroner's jury was assembled,
      who decided that the girl had come to her death by severe beating. It was
      ascertained that the offense for which this girl was thus hurried out of
      the world, was this: she had been set that night, and several preceding
      nights, to mind Mrs. Hicks's baby, and having fallen into a sound sleep,
      the baby cried, waking Mrs. Hicks, but not the slave-girl. Mrs. Hicks,
      becoming infuriated at the girl's tardiness, after calling several times,
      jumped from her bed and seized a piece of fire-wood from the fireplace;
      and then, as she lay fast asleep, she deliberately pounded in her skull
      and breast-bone, and thus ended her life. I will not say that this most
      horrid murder produced no sensation in the community. It <i>did</i>
      produce a sensation; but, incredible to tell, the moral sense of the
      community was blunted too entirely by the ordinary nature of slavery
      horrors, to bring the murderess to punishment. A warrant was issued for
      her arrest, but, for some reason or other, that warrant was never served.
      Thus did Mrs. Hicks not only escape condign punishment, but even the pain
      and mortification of being arraigned before a court of justice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whilst I am detailing the bloody deeds that took place during my stay on
      Col. Lloyd's plantation, I will briefly narrate another dark transaction,
      which occurred about the same time as the murder of Denby by Mr. Gore.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the side of the river Wye, opposite from Col. Lloyd's, there lived a
      Mr. Beal Bondley, a wealthy slaveholder. In the direction<span
      class="pagenum">[99]</span> of his land, and near the shore, there was an
      excellent oyster fishing ground, and to this, some of the slaves of Col.
      Lloyd occasionally resorted in their little canoes, at night, with a view
      to make up the deficiency of their scanty allowance of food, by the
      oysters that they could easily get there. This, Mr. Bondley took it into
      his head to regard as a trespass, and while an old man belonging to Col.
      Lloyd was engaged in catching a few of the many millions of oysters that
      lined the bottom of that creek, to satisfy his hunger, the villainous Mr.
      Bondley, lying in ambush, without the slightest ceremony, discharged the
      contents of his musket into the back and shoulders of the poor old man. As
      good fortune would have it, the shot did not prove mortal, and Mr. Bondley
      came over, the next day, to see Col. Lloyd&mdash;whether to pay him for
      his property, or to justify himself for what he had done, I know not; but
      this I <i>can</i> say, the cruel and dastardly transaction was speedily
      hushed up; there was very little said about it at all, and nothing was
      publicly done which looked like the application of the principle of
      justice to the man whom <i>chance</i>, only, saved from being an actual
      murderer. One of the commonest sayings to which my ears early became
      accustomed, on Col. Lloyd's plantation and elsewhere in Maryland, was,
      that it was <i>"worth but half a cent to kill a nigger, and a half a cent
      to bury him;"</i> and the facts of my experience go far to justify the
      practical truth of this strange proverb. Laws for the protection of the
      lives of the slaves, are, as they must needs be, utterly incapable of
      being enforced, where the very parties who are nominally protected, are
      not permitted to give evidence, in courts of law, against the only class
      of persons from whom abuse, outrage and murder might be reasonably
      apprehended. While I heard of numerous murders committed by slaveholders
      on the Eastern Shores of Maryland, I never knew a solitary instance in
      which a slaveholder was either hung or imprisoned for having murdered a
      slave. The usual pretext for killing a slave is, that the slave has
      offered resistance. Should a slave, when assaulted, but raise his hand in
      self defense, the white assaulting<span class="pagenum">[100]</span> party
      is fully justified by southern, or Maryland, public opinion, in shooting
      the slave down. Sometimes this is done, simply because it is alleged that
      the slave has been saucy. But here I leave this phase of the society of my
      early childhood, and will relieve the kind reader of these heart-sickening
      details.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX. <i>Personal Treatment</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
MISS LUCRETIA&mdash;HER KINDNESS&mdash;HOW IT WAS MANIFESTED&mdash;"IKE"&mdash;A BATTLE
WITH HIM&mdash;THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF&mdash;MISS LUCRETIA'S BALSAM&mdash;BREAD&mdash;HOW
I OBTAINED IT&mdash;BEAMS OF SUNLIGHT AMIDST THE GENERAL DARKNESS&mdash;SUFFERING
FROM COLD&mdash;HOW WE TOOK OUR MEALS&mdash;ORDERS TO PREPARE
FOR BALTIMORE&mdash;OVERJOYED AT THE THOUGHT OF QUITTING THE
PLANTATION&mdash;EXTRAORDINARY CLEANSING&mdash;COUSIN TOM'S VERSION OF
BALTIMORE&mdash;ARRIVAL THERE&mdash;KIND RECEPTION GIVEN ME BY MRS. SOPHIA
AULD&mdash;LITTLE TOMMY&mdash;MY NEW POSITION&mdash;MY NEW DUTIES&mdash;A TURNING POINT IN
MY HISTORY.
</pre>
    <p>
      I have nothing cruel or shocking to relate of my own personal experience,
      while I remained on Col. Lloyd's plantation, at the home of my old master.
      An occasional cuff from Aunt Katy, and a regular whipping from old master,
      such as any heedless and mischievous boy might get from his father, is all
      that I can mention of this sort. I was not old enough to work in the
      field, and, there being little else than field work to perform, I had much
      leisure. The most I had to do, was, to drive up the cows in the evening,
      to keep the front yard clean, and to perform small errands for my young
      mistress, Lucretia Auld. I have reasons for thinking this lady was very
      kindly disposed toward me, and, although I was not often the object of her
      attention, I constantly regarded her as my friend, and was always glad
      when it was my privilege to do her a service. In a family where there was
      so much that was harsh, cold and indifferent, the slightest word or look
      of kindness passed, with me, for its full value. Miss Lucretia&mdash;as<span
      class="pagenum">[102]</span> we all continued to call her long after her
      marriage&mdash;had bestowed upon me such words and looks as taught me that
      she pitied me, if she did not love me. In addition to words and looks, she
      sometimes gave me a piece of bread and butter; a thing not set down in the
      bill of fare, and which must have been an extra ration, planned aside from
      either Aunt Katy or old master, solely out of the tender regard and
      friendship she had for me. Then, too, I one day got into the wars with
      Uncle Able's son, "Ike," and had got sadly worsted; in fact, the little
      rascal had struck me directly in the forehead with a sharp piece of
      cinder, fused with iron, from the old blacksmith's forge, which made a
      cross in my forehead very plainly to be seen now. The gash bled very
      freely, and I roared very loudly and betook myself home. The coldhearted
      Aunt Katy paid no attention either to my wound or my roaring, except to
      tell me it served me right; I had no business with Ike; it was good for
      me; I would now keep away <i>"from dem Lloyd niggers."</i> Miss Lucretia,
      in this state of the case, came forward; and, in quite a different spirit
      from that manifested by Aunt Katy, she called me into the parlor (an extra
      privilege of itself) and, without using toward me any of the hard-hearted
      and reproachful epithets of my kitchen tormentor, she quietly acted the
      good Samaritan. With her own soft hand she washed the blood from my head
      and face, fetched her own balsam bottle, and with the balsam wetted a nice
      piece of white linen, and bound up my head. The balsam was not more
      healing to the wound in my head, than her kindness was healing to the
      wounds in my spirit, made by the unfeeling words of Aunt Katy. After this,
      Miss Lucretia was my friend. I felt her to be such; and I have no doubt
      that the simple act of binding up my head, did much to awaken in her mind
      an interest in my welfare. It is quite true, that this interest was never
      very marked, and it seldom showed itself in anything more than in giving
      me a piece of bread when I was hungry; but this was a great favor on a
      slave plantation, and I was the only one of the children to whom such
      attention was paid.<span class="pagenum">[103]</span> When very hungry, I
      would go into the back yard and play under Miss Lucretia's window. When
      pretty severely pinched by hunger, I had a habit of singing, which the
      good lady very soon came to understand as a petition for a piece of bread.
      When I sung under Miss Lucretia's window, I was very apt to get well paid
      for my music. The reader will see that I now had two friends, both at
      important points&mdash;Mas' Daniel at the great house, and Miss Lucretia
      at home. From Mas' Daniel I got protection from the bigger boys; and from
      Miss Lucretia I got bread, by singing when I was hungry, and sympathy when
      I was abused by that termagant, who had the reins of government in the
      kitchen. For such friendship I felt deeply grateful, and bitter as are my
      recollections of slavery, I love to recall any instances of kindness, any
      sunbeams of humane treatment, which found way to my soul through the iron
      grating of my house of bondage. Such beams seem all the brighter from the
      general darkness into which they penetrate, and the impression they make
      is vividly distinct and beautiful.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I have before intimated, I was seldom whipped&mdash;and never severely&mdash;by
      my old master. I suffered little from the treatment I received, except
      from hunger and cold. These were my two great physical troubles. I could
      neither get a sufficiency of food nor of clothing; but I suffered less
      from hunger than from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I was
      kept almost in a state of nudity; no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no
      trowsers; nothing but coarse sackcloth or tow-linen, made into a sort of
      shirt, reaching down to my knees. This I wore night and day, changing it
      once a week. In the day time I could protect myself pretty well, by
      keeping on the sunny side of the house; and in bad weather, in the corner
      of the kitchen chimney. The great difficulty was, to keep warm during the
      night. I had no bed. The pigs in the pen had leaves, and the horses in the
      stable had straw, but the children had no beds. They lodged anywhere in
      the ample kitchen. I slept, generally, in a little closet, without even a
      blanket to cover me. In very cold weather. I sometimes got down the bag in
      which corn<span class="pagenum">[104]</span> meal was usually carried to
      the mill, and crawled into that. Sleeping there, with my head in and feet
      out, I was partly protected, though not comfortable. My feet have been so
      cracked with the frost, that the pen with which I am writing might be laid
      in the gashes. The manner of taking our meals at old master's, indicated
      but little refinement. Our corn-meal mush, when sufficiently cooled, was
      placed in a large wooden tray, or trough, like those used in making maple
      sugar here in the north. This tray was set down, either on the floor of
      the kitchen, or out of doors on the ground; and the children were called,
      like so many pigs; and like so many pigs they would come, and literally
      devour the mush&mdash;some with oyster shells, some with pieces of
      shingles, and none with spoons. He that eat fastest got most, and he that
      was strongest got the best place; and few left the trough really
      satisfied. I was the most unlucky of any, for Aunt Katy had no good
      feeling for me; and if I pushed any of the other children, or if they told
      her anything unfavorable of me, she always believed the worst, and was
      sure to whip me.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I grew older and more thoughtful, I was more and more filled with a
      sense of my wretchedness. The cruelty of Aunt Katy, the hunger and cold I
      suffered, and the terrible reports of wrong and outrage which came to my
      ear, together with what I almost daily witnessed, led me, when yet but
      eight or nine years old, to wish I had never been born. I used to contrast
      my condition with the black-birds, in whose wild and sweet songs I fancied
      them so happy! Their apparent joy only deepened the shades of my sorrow.
      There are thoughtful days in the lives of children&mdash;at least there
      were in mine when they grapple with all the great, primary subjects of
      knowledge, and reach, in a moment, conclusions which no subsequent
      experience can shake. I was just as well aware of the unjust, unnatural
      and murderous character of slavery, when nine years old, as I am now.
      Without any appeal to books, to laws, or to authorities of any kind, it
      was enough to accept God as a father, to regard slavery as a crime.<span
      class="pagenum">[105]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      I was not ten years old when I left Col. Lloyd's plantation for
      Balitmore(sic). I left that plantation with inexpressible joy. I never
      shall forget the ecstacy with which I received the intelligence from my
      friend, Miss Lucretia, that my old master had determined to let me go to
      Baltimore to live with Mr. Hugh Auld, a brother to Mr. Thomas Auld, my old
      master's son-in-law. I received this information about three days before
      my departure. They were three of the happiest days of my childhood. I
      spent the largest part of these three days in the creek, washing off the
      plantation scurf, and preparing for my new home. Mrs. Lucretia took a
      lively interest in getting me ready. She told me I must get all the dead
      skin off my feet and knees, before I could go to Baltimore, for the people
      there were very cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked dirty; and,
      besides, she was intending to give me a pair of trowsers, which I should
      not put on unless I got all the dirt off. This was a warning to which I
      was bound to take heed; for the thought of owning a pair of trowsers, was
      great, indeed. It was almost a sufficient motive, not only to induce me to
      scrub off the <i>mange</i> (as pig drovers would call it) but the skin as
      well. So I went at it in good earnest, working for the first time in the
      hope of reward. I was greatly excited, and could hardly consent to sleep,
      lest I should be left. The ties that, ordinarily, bind children to their
      homes, were all severed, or they never had any existence in my case, at
      least so far as the home plantation of Col. L. was concerned. I therefore
      found no severe trail at the moment of my departure, such as I had
      experienced when separated from my home in Tuckahoe. My home at my old
      master's was charmless to me; it was not home, but a prison to me; on
      parting from it, I could not feel that I was leaving anything which I
      could have enjoyed by staying. My mother was now long dead; my grandmother
      was far away, so that I seldom saw her; Aunt Katy was my unrelenting
      tormentor; and my two sisters and brothers, owing to our early separation
      in life, and the family-destroying power of slavery, were, comparatively,
      strangers<span class="pagenum">[106]</span> to me. The fact of our
      relationship was almost blotted out. I looked for <i>home</i> elsewhere,
      and was confident of finding none which I should relish less than the one
      I was leaving. If, however, I found in my new home to which I was going
      with such blissful anticipations&mdash;hardship, whipping and nakedness, I
      had the questionable consolation that I should not have escaped any one of
      these evils by remaining under the management of Aunt Katy. Then, too, I
      thought, since I had endured much in this line on Lloyd's plantation, I
      could endure as much elsewhere, and especially at Baltimore; for I had
      something of the feeling about that city which is expressed in the saying,
      that being "hanged in England, is better than dying a natural death in
      Ireland." I had the strongest desire to see Baltimore. My cousin Tom&mdash;a
      boy two or three years older than I&mdash;had been there, and though not
      fluent (he stuttered immoderately) in speech, he had inspired me with that
      desire, by his eloquent description of the place. Tom was, sometimes,
      Capt. Auld's cabin boy; and when he came from Baltimore, he was always a
      sort of hero amongst us, at least till his Baltimore trip was forgotten. I
      could never tell him of anything, or point out anything that struck me as
      beautiful or powerful, but that he had seen something in Baltimore far
      surpassing it. Even the great house itself, with all its pictures within,
      and pillars without, he had the hardihood to say "was nothing to
      Baltimore." He bought a trumpet (worth six pence) and brought it home;
      told what he had seen in the windows of stores; that he had heard shooting
      crackers, and seen soldiers; that he had seen a steamboat; that there were
      ships in Baltimore that could carry four such sloops as the "Sally Lloyd."
      He said a great deal about the market-house; he spoke of the bells
      ringing; and of many other things which roused my curiosity very much;
      and, indeed, which heightened my hopes of happiness in my new home.
    </p>
    <p>
      We sailed out of Miles river for Baltimore early on a Saturday morning. I
      remember only the day of the week; for, at that time,<span class="pagenum">[107]</span>
      I had no knowledge of the days of the month, nor, indeed, of the months of
      the year. On setting sail, I walked aft, and gave to Col. Lloyd's
      plantation what I hoped would be the last look I should ever give to it,
      or to any place like it. My strong aversion to the great farm, was not
      owing to my own personal suffering, but the daily suffering of others, and
      to the certainty that I must, sooner or later, be placed under the
      barbarous rule of an overseer, such as the accomplished Gore, or the
      brutal and drunken Plummer. After taking this last view, I quitted the
      quarter deck, made my way to the bow of the sloop, and spent the remainder
      of the day in looking ahead; interesting myself in what was in the
      distance, rather than what was near by or behind. The vessels, sweeping
      along the bay, were very interesting objects. The broad bay opened like a
      shoreless ocean on my boyish vision, filling me with wonder and
      admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      Late in the afternoon, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the state,
      stopping there not long enough to admit of my going ashore. It was the
      first large town I had ever seen; and though it was inferior to many a
      factory village in New England, my feelings, on seeing it, were excited to
      a pitch very little below that reached by travelers at the first view of
      Rome. The dome of the state house was especially imposing, and surpassed
      in grandeur the appearance of the great house. The great world was opening
      upon me very rapidly, and I was eagerly acquainting myself with its
      multifarious lessons.
    </p>
    <p>
      We arrived in Baltimore on Sunday morning, and landed at Smith's wharf,
      not far from Bowly's wharf. We had on board the sloop a large flock of
      sheep, for the Baltimore market; and, after assisting in driving them to
      the slaughter house of Mr. Curtis, on Loudon Slater's Hill, I was speedily
      conducted by Rich&mdash;one of the hands belonging to the sloop&mdash;to
      my new home in Alliciana street, near Gardiner's ship-yard, on Fell's
      Point. Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Auld, my new mistress and master, were both at
      home, and met me at the door with their rosy cheeked little son, Thomas,
      <span class="pagenum">[108]</span> to take care of whom was to constitute
      my future occupation. In fact, it was to "little Tommy," rather than to
      his parents, that old master made a present of me; and though there was no
      <i>legal</i> form or arrangement entered into, I have no doubt that Mr.
      and Mrs. Auld felt that, in due time, I should be the legal property of
      their bright-eyed and beloved boy, Tommy. I was struck with the
      appearance, especially, of my new mistress. Her face was lighted with the
      kindliest emotions; and the reflex influence of her countenance, as well
      as the tenderness with which she seemed to regard me, while asking me
      sundry little questions, greatly delighted me, and lit up, to my fancy,
      the pathway of my future. Miss Lucretia was kind; but my new mistress,
      "Miss Sophy," surpassed her in kindness of manner. Little Thomas was
      affectionately told by his mother, that <i>"there was his Freddy,"</i> and
      that "Freddy would take care of him;" and I was told to "be kind to little
      Tommy"&mdash;an injunction I scarcely needed, for I had already fallen in
      love with the dear boy; and with these little ceremonies I was initiated
      into my new home, and entered upon my peculiar duties, with not a cloud
      above the horizon.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may say here, that I regard my removal from Col. Lloyd's plantation as
      one of the most interesting and fortunate events of my life. Viewing it in
      the light of human likelihoods, it is quite probable that, but for the
      mere circumstance of being thus removed before the rigors of slavery had
      fastened upon me; before my young spirit had been crushed under the iron
      control of the slave-driver, instead of being, today, a FREEMAN, I might
      have been wearing the galling chains of slavery. I have sometimes felt,
      however, that there was something more intelligent than <i>chance</i>, and
      something more certain than <i>luck</i>, to be seen in the circumstance.
      If I have made any progress in knowledge; if I have cherished any
      honorable aspirations, or have, in any manner, worthily discharged the
      duties of a member of an oppressed people; this little circumstance must
      be allowed its due weight<span class="pagenum">[109]</span> in giving my
      life that direction. I have ever regarded it as the first plain
      manifestation of that
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                <i>Divinity that shapes our ends,
                Rough hew them as we will</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      I was not the only boy on the plantation that might have been sent to live
      in Baltimore. There was a wide margin from which to select. There were
      boys younger, boys older, and boys of the same age, belonging to my old
      master some at his own house, and some at his farm&mdash;but the high
      privilege fell to my lot.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may be deemed superstitious and egotistical, in regarding this event as
      a special interposition of Divine Providence in my favor; but the thought
      is a part of my history, and I should be false to the earliest and most
      cherished sentiments of my soul, if I suppressed, or hesitated to avow
      that opinion, although it may be characterized as irrational by the wise,
      and ridiculous by the scoffer. From my earliest recollections of serious
      matters, I date the entertainment of something like an ineffaceable
      conviction, that slavery would not always be able to hold me within its
      foul embrace; and this conviction, like a word of living faith,
      strengthened me through the darkest trials of my lot. This good spirit was
      from God; and to him I offer thanksgiving and praise.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X. <i>Life in Baltimore</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
CITY ANNOYANCES&mdash;PLANTATION REGRETS&mdash;MY MISTRESS, MISS SOPHA&mdash;HER
HISTORY&mdash;HER KINDNESS TO ME&mdash;MY MASTER, HUGH AULD&mdash;HIS SOURNESS&mdash;MY
INCREASED SENSITIVENESS&mdash;MY COMFORTS&mdash;MY OCCUPATION&mdash;THE BANEFUL EFFECTS
OF SLAVEHOLDING ON MY DEAR AND GOOD MISTRESS&mdash;HOW SHE COMMENCED TEACHING
ME TO READ&mdash;WHY SHE CEASED TEACHING ME&mdash;CLOUDS GATHERING OVER MY
BRIGHT PROSPECTS&mdash;MASTER AULD'S EXPOSITION OF THE TRUE PHILOSOPHY OF
SLAVERY&mdash;CITY SLAVES&mdash;PLANTATION SLAVES&mdash;THE CONTRAST&mdash;EXCEPTIONS&mdash;MR.
HAMILTON'S TWO SLAVES, HENRIETTA AND MARY&mdash;MRS. HAMILTON'S CRUEL
TREATMENT OF THEM&mdash;THE PITEOUS ASPECT THEY PRESENTED&mdash;NO POWER MUST COME
BETWEEN THE SLAVE AND THE SLAVEHOLDER.
</pre>
    <p>
      Once in Baltimore, with hard brick pavements under my feet, which almost
      raised blisters, by their very heat, for it was in the height of summer;
      walled in on all sides by towering brick buildings; with troops of hostile
      boys ready to pounce upon me at every street corner; with new and strange
      objects glaring upon me at every step, and with startling sounds reaching
      my ears from all directions, I for a time thought that, after all, the
      home plantation was a more desirable place of residence than my home on
      Alliciana street, in Baltimore. My country eyes and ears were confused and
      bewildered here; but the boys were my chief trouble. They chased me, and
      called me <i>"Eastern Shore man,"</i> till really I almost wished myself
      back on the Eastern Shore. I had to undergo a sort of moral acclimation,
      and when that was over, I did much better. My new mistress happily proved
      to be all she <i>seemed</i> to be, when, with her husband, she met me at<span
      class="pagenum">[111]</span> the door, with a most beaming, benignant
      countenance. She was, naturally, of an excellent disposition, kind, gentle
      and cheerful. The supercilious contempt for the rights and feelings of the
      slave, and the petulance and bad humor which generally characterize
      slaveholding ladies, were all quite absent from kind "Miss" Sophia's
      manner and bearing toward me. She had, in truth, never been a slaveholder,
      but had&mdash;a thing quite unusual in the south&mdash;depended almost
      entirely upon her own industry for a living. To this fact the dear lady,
      no doubt, owed the excellent preservation of her natural goodness of
      heart, for slavery can change a saint into a sinner, and an angel into a
      demon. I hardly knew how to behave toward "Miss Sopha," as I used to call
      Mrs. Hugh Auld. I had been treated as a <i>pig</i> on the plantation; I
      was treated as a <i>child</i> now. I could not even approach her as I had
      formerly approached Mrs. Thomas Auld. How could I hang down my head, and
      speak with bated breath, when there was no pride to scorn me, no coldness
      to repel me, and no hatred to inspire me with fear? I therefore soon
      learned to regard her as something more akin to a mother, than a
      slaveholding mistress. The crouching servility of a slave, usually so
      acceptable a quality to the haughty slaveholder, was not understood nor
      desired by this gentle woman. So far from deeming it impudent in a slave
      to look her straight in the face, as some slaveholding ladies do, she
      seemed ever to say, "look up, child; don't be afraid; see, I am full of
      kindness and good will toward you." The hands belonging to Col. Lloyd's
      sloop, esteemed it a great privilege to be the bearers of parcels or
      messages to my new mistress; for whenever they came, they were sure of a
      most kind and pleasant reception. If little Thomas was her son, and her
      most dearly beloved child, she, for a time, at least, made me something
      like his half-brother in her affections. If dear Tommy was exalted to a
      place on his mother's knee, "Feddy" was honored by a place at his mother's
      side. Nor did he lack the caressing strokes of her gentle hand, to
      convince him that, though <i>motherless</i>, he was not <i>friendless</i>.
      Mrs. Auld<span class="pagenum">[112]</span> was not only a kind-hearted
      woman, but she was remarkably pious; frequent in her attendance of public
      worship, much given to reading the bible, and to chanting hymns of praise,
      when alone. Mr. Hugh Auld was altogether a different character. He cared
      very little about religion, knew more of the world, and was more of the
      world, than his wife. He set out, doubtless to be&mdash;as the world goes&mdash;a
      respectable man, and to get on by becoming a successful ship builder, in
      that city of ship building. This was his ambition, and it fully occupied
      him. I was, of course, of very little consequence to him, compared with
      what I was to good Mrs. Auld; and, when he smiled upon me, as he sometimes
      did, the smile was borrowed from his lovely wife, and, like all borrowed
      light, was transient, and vanished with the source whence it was derived.
      While I must characterize Master Hugh as being a very sour man, and of
      forbidding appearance, it is due to him to acknowledge, that he was never
      very cruel to me, according to the notion of cruelty in Maryland. The
      first year or two which I spent in his house, he left me almost
      exclusively to the management of his wife. She was my law-giver. In hands
      so tender as hers, and in the absence of the cruelties of the plantation,
      I became, both physically and mentally, much more sensitive to good and
      ill treatment; and, perhaps, suffered more from a frown from my mistress,
      than I formerly did from a cuff at the hands of Aunt Katy. Instead of the
      cold, damp floor of my old master's kitchen, I found myself on carpets;
      for the corn bag in winter, I now had a good straw bed, well furnished
      with covers; for the coarse corn-meal in the morning, I now had good
      bread, and mush occasionally; for my poor tow-lien shirt, reaching to my
      knees, I had good, clean clothes. I was really well off. My employment was
      to run errands, and to take care of Tommy; to prevent his getting in the
      way of carriages, and to keep him out of harm's way generally. Tommy, and
      I, and his mother, got on swimmingly together, for a time. I say <i>for a
      time</i>, because the fatal poison of irresponsible power, and the natural
      influence<span class="pagenum">[113]</span> of slavery customs, were not
      long in making a suitable impression on the gentle and loving disposition
      of my excellent mistress. At first, Mrs. Auld evidently regarded me simply
      as a child, like any other child; she had not come to regard me as <i>property</i>.
      This latter thought was a thing of conventional growth. The first was
      natural and spontaneous. A noble nature, like hers, could not, instantly,
      be wholly perverted; and it took several years to change the natural
      sweetness of her temper into fretful bitterness. In her worst estate,
      however, there were, during the first seven years I lived with her,
      occasional returns of her former kindly disposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      The frequent hearing of my mistress reading the bible for she often read
      aloud when her husband was absent soon awakened my curiosity in respect to
      this <i>mystery</i> of reading, and roused in me the desire to learn.
      Having no fear of my kind mistress before my eyes, (she had then given me
      no reason to fear,) I frankly asked her to teach me to read; and, without
      hesitation, the dear woman began the task, and very soon, by her
      assistance, I was master of the alphabet, and could spell words of three
      or four letters. My mistress seemed almost as proud of my progress, as if
      I had been her own child; and, supposing that her husband would be as well
      pleased, she made no secret of what she was doing for me. Indeed, she
      exultingly told him of the aptness of her pupil, of her intention to
      persevere in teaching me, and of the duty which she felt it to teach me,
      at least to read <i>the bible</i>. Here arose the first cloud over my
      Baltimore prospects, the precursor of drenching rains and chilling blasts.
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Hugh was amazed at the simplicity of his spouse, and, probably for
      the first time, he unfolded to her the true philosophy of slavery, and the
      peculiar rules necessary to be observed by masters and mistresses, in the
      management of their human chattels. Mr. Auld promptly forbade continuance
      of her instruction; telling her, in the first place, that the thing itself
      was unlawful; that it was also unsafe, and could only lead to mischief. To
      use<span class="pagenum">[114]</span> his own words, further, he said, "if
      you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell;" "he should know nothing
      but the will of his master, and learn to obey it." "if you teach that
      nigger&mdash;speaking of myself&mdash;how to read the bible, there will be
      no keeping him;" "it would forever unfit him for the duties of a slave;"
      and "as to himself, learning would do him no good, but probably, a great
      deal of harm&mdash;making him disconsolate and unhappy." "If you learn him
      now to read, he'll want to know how to write; and, this accomplished,
      he'll be running away with himself." Such was the tenor of Master Hugh's
      oracular exposition of the true philosophy of training a human chattel;
      and it must be confessed that he very clearly comprehended the nature and
      the requirements of the relation of master and slave. His discourse was
      the first decidedly anti-slavery lecture to which it had been my lot to
      listen. Mrs. Auld evidently felt the force of his remarks; and, like an
      obedient wife, began to shape her course in the direction indicated by her
      husband. The effect of his words, <i>on me</i>, was neither slight nor
      transitory. His iron sentences&mdash;cold and harsh&mdash;sunk deep into
      my heart, and stirred up not only my feelings into a sort of rebellion,
      but awakened within me a slumbering train of vital thought. It was a new
      and special revelation, dispelling a painful mystery, against which my
      youthful understanding had struggled, and struggled in vain, to wit: the
      <i>white</i> man's power to perpetuate the enslavement of the <i>black</i>
      man. "Very well," thought I; "knowledge unfits a child to be a slave." I
      instinctively assented to the proposition; and from that moment I
      understood the direct pathway from slavery to freedom. This was just what
      I needed; and I got it at a time, and from a source, whence I least
      expected it. I was saddened at the thought of losing the assistance of my
      kind mistress; but the information, so instantly derived, to some extent
      compensated me for the loss I had sustained in this direction. Wise as Mr.
      Auld was, he evidently underrated my comprehension, and had little idea of
      the use to which I was capable of putting<span class="pagenum">[115]</span>
      the impressive lesson he was giving to his wife. <i>He</i> wanted me to be
      <i>a slave;</i> I had already voted against that on the home plantation of
      Col. Lloyd. That which he most loved I most hated; and the very
      determination which he expressed to keep me in ignorance, only rendered me
      the more resolute in seeking intelligence. In learning to read, therefore,
      I am not sure that I do not owe quite as much to the opposition of my
      master, as to the kindly assistance of my amiable mistress. I acknowledge
      the benefit rendered me by the one, and by the other; believing, that but
      for my mistress, I might have grown up in ignorance.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had resided but a short time in Baltimore, before I observed a marked
      difference in the manner of treating slaves, generally, from which I had
      witnessed in that isolated and out-of-the-way part of the country where I
      began life. A city slave is almost a free citizen, in Baltimore, compared
      with a slave on Col. Lloyd's plantation. He is much better fed and
      clothed, is less dejected in his appearance, and enjoys privileges
      altogether unknown to the whip-driven slave on the plantation. Slavery
      dislikes a dense population, in which there is a majority of
      non-slaveholders. The general sense of decency that must pervade such a
      population, does much to check and prevent those outbreaks of atrocious
      cruelty, and those dark crimes without a name, almost openly perpetrated
      on the plantation. He is a desperate slaveholder who will shock the
      humanity of his non-slaveholding neighbors, by the cries of the lacerated
      slaves; and very few in the city are willing to incur the odium of being
      cruel masters. I found, in Baltimore, that no man was more odious to the
      white, as well as to the colored people, than he, who had the reputation
      of starving his slaves. Work them, flog them, if need be, but don't starve
      them. These are, however, some painful exceptions to this rule. While it
      is quite true that most of the slaveholders in Baltimore feed and clothe
      their slaves well, there are others who keep up their country cruelties in
      the city.
    </p>
    <p>
      An instance of this sort is furnished in the case of a family<span
      class="pagenum">[116]</span> who lived directly opposite to our house, and
      were named Hamilton. Mrs. Hamilton owned two slaves. Their names were
      Henrietta and Mary. They had always been house slaves. One was aged about
      twenty-two, and the other about fourteen. They were a fragile couple by
      nature, and the treatment they received was enough to break down the
      constitution of a horse. Of all the dejected, emaciated, mangled and
      excoriated creatures I ever saw, those two girls&mdash;in the refined,
      church going and Christian city of Baltimore were the most deplorable. Of
      stone must that heart be made, that could look upon Henrietta and Mary,
      without being sickened to the core with sadness. Especially was Mary a
      heart-sickening object. Her head, neck and shoulders, were literally cut
      to pieces. I have frequently felt her head, and found it nearly covered
      over with festering sores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do
      not know that her master ever whipped her, but I have often been an eye
      witness of the revolting and brutal inflictions by Mrs. Hamilton; and what
      lends a deeper shade to this woman's conduct, is the fact, that, almost in
      the very moments of her shocking outrages of humanity and decency, she
      would charm you by the sweetness of her voice and her seeming piety. She
      used to sit in a large rocking chair, near the middle of the room, with a
      heavy cowskin, such as I have elsewhere described; and I speak within the
      truth when I say, that these girls seldom passed that chair, during the
      day, without a blow from that cowskin, either upon their bare arms, or
      upon their shoulders. As they passed her, she would draw her cowskin and
      give them a blow, saying, <i>"move faster, you black jip!"</i> and, again,
      <i>"take that, you black jip!"</i> continuing, <i>"if you don't move
      faster, I will give you more."</i> Then the lady would go on, singing her
      sweet hymns, as though her <i>righteous</i> soul were sighing for the holy
      realms of paradise.
    </p>
    <p>
      Added to the cruel lashings to which these poor slave-girls were subjected&mdash;enough
      in themselves to crush the spirit of men&mdash;they were, really, kept
      nearly half starved; they seldom knew<span class="pagenum">[117]</span>
      what it was to eat a full meal, except when they got it in the kitchens of
      neighbors, less mean and stingy than the psalm-singing Mrs. Hamilton. I
      have seen poor Mary contending for the offal, with the pigs in the street.
      So much was the poor girl pinched, kicked, cut and pecked to pieces, that
      the boys in the street knew her only by the name of <i>"pecked,"</i> a
      name derived from the scars and blotches on her neck, head and shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is some relief to this picture of slavery in Baltimore, to say&mdash;what
      is but the simple truth&mdash;that Mrs. Hamilton's treatment of her slaves
      was generally condemned, as disgraceful and shocking; but while I say
      this, it must also be remembered, that the very parties who censured the
      cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton, would have condemned and promptly punished any
      attempt to interfere with Mrs. Hamilton's <i>right</i> to cut and slash
      her slaves to pieces. There must be no force between the slave and the
      slaveholder, to restrain the power of the one, and protect the weakness of
      the other; and the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton is as justly chargeable to the
      upholders of the slave system, as drunkenness is chargeable on those who,
      by precept and example, or by indifference, uphold the drinking system.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI. <i>"A Change Came O'er the Spirit of My Dream"</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
HOW I LEARNED TO READ&mdash;MY MISTRESS&mdash;HER SLAVEHOLDING DUTIES&mdash;THEIR
DEPLORABLE EFFECTS UPON HER ORIGINALLY NOBLE NATURE&mdash;THE CONFLICT IN HER
MIND&mdash;HER FINAL OPPOSITION TO MY LEARNING TO READ&mdash;TOO LATE&mdash;SHE HAD
GIVEN ME THE INCH, I WAS RESOLVED TO TAKE THE ELL&mdash;HOW I PURSUED
MY EDUCATION&mdash;MY TUTORS&mdash;HOW I COMPENSATED THEM&mdash;WHAT PROGRESS I
MADE&mdash;SLAVERY&mdash;WHAT I HEARD SAID ABOUT IT&mdash;THIRTEEN YEARS OLD&mdash;THE
<i>Columbian Orator</i>&mdash;A RICH SCENE&mdash;A DIALOGUE&mdash;SPEECHES OF CHATHAM,
SHERIDAN, PITT AND FOX&mdash;KNOWLEDGE EVER INCREASING&mdash;MY EYES
OPENED&mdash;LIBERTY&mdash;HOW I PINED FOR IT&mdash;MY SADNESS&mdash;THE DISSATISFACTION OF
MY POOR MISTRESS&mdash;MY HATRED OF SLAVERY&mdash;ONE UPAS TREE OVERSHADOWED US
BOTH.
</pre>
    <p>
      I lived in the family of Master Hugh, at Baltimore, seven years, during
      which time&mdash;as the almanac makers say of the weather&mdash;my
      condition was variable. The most interesting feature of my history here,
      was my learning to read and write, under somewhat marked disadvantages. In
      attaining this knowledge, I was compelled to resort to indirections by no
      means congenial to my nature, and which were really humiliating to me. My
      mistress&mdash;who, as the reader has already seen, had begun to teach me
      was suddenly checked in her benevolent design, by the strong advice of her
      husband. In faithful compliance with this advice, the good lady had not
      only ceased to instruct me, herself, but had set her face as a flint
      against my learning to read by any means. It is due, however, to my
      mistress to say, that she did not adopt this course in all its stringency
      at the first. She either thought it unnecessary, or she lacked the
      depravity indispensable to shutting me up in<span class="pagenum">[119]</span>
      mental darkness. It was, at least, necessary for her to have some
      training, and some hardening, in the exercise of the slaveholder's
      prerogative, to make her equal to forgetting my human nature and
      character, and to treating me as a thing destitute of a moral or an
      intellectual nature. Mrs. Auld&mdash;my mistress&mdash;was, as I have
      said, a most kind and tender-hearted woman; and, in the humanity of her
      heart, and the simplicity of her mind, she set out, when I first went to
      live with her, to treat me as she supposed one human being ought to treat
      another.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is easy to see, that, in entering upon the duties of a slaveholder,
      some little experience is needed. Nature has done almost nothing to
      prepare men and women to be either slaves or slaveholders. Nothing but
      rigid training, long persisted in, can perfect the character of the one or
      the other. One cannot easily forget to love freedom; and it is as hard to
      cease to respect that natural love in our fellow creatures. On entering
      upon the career of a slaveholding mistress, Mrs. Auld was singularly
      deficient; nature, which fits nobody for such an office, had done less for
      her than any lady I had known. It was no easy matter to induce her to
      think and to feel that the curly-headed boy, who stood by her side, and
      even leaned on her lap; who was loved by little Tommy, and who loved
      little Tommy in turn; sustained to her only the relation of a chattel. I
      was <i>more</i> than that, and she felt me to be more than that. I could
      talk and sing; I could laugh and weep; I could reason and remember; I
      could love and hate. I was human, and she, dear lady, knew and felt me to
      be so. How could she, then, treat me as a brute, without a mighty struggle
      with all the noble powers of her own soul. That struggle came, and the
      will and power of the husband was victorious. Her noble soul was
      overthrown; but, he that overthrew it did not, himself, escape the
      consequences. He, not less than the other parties, was injured in his
      domestic peace by the fall.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I went into their family, it was the abode of happiness and
      contentment. The mistress of the house was a model of affection<span
      class="pagenum">[120]</span> and tenderness. Her fervent piety and
      watchful uprightness made it impossible to see her without thinking and
      feeling&mdash;"<i>that woman is a Christian</i>." There was no sorrow nor
      suffering for which she had not a tear, and there was no innocent joy for
      which she did not a smile. 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 excellent qualities, and
      her home of its early happiness. Conscience cannot stand much violence.
      Once thoroughly broken down, <i>who</i> is he that can repair the damage?
      It may be broken toward the slave, on Sunday, and toward the master on
      Monday. It cannot endure such shocks. It must stand entire, or it does not
      stand at all. If my condition waxed bad, that of the family waxed not
      better. The first step, in the wrong direction, was the violence done to
      nature and to conscience, in arresting the benevolence that would have
      enlightened my young mind. In ceasing to instruct me, she must begin to
      justify herself <i>to</i> herself; and, once consenting to take sides in
      such a debate, she was riveted to her position. One needs very little
      knowledge of moral philosophy, to see <i>where</i> my mistress now landed.
      She finally became even more violent in her opposition to my learning to
      read, than was her husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply
      doing as <i>well</i> as her husband had commanded her, but seemed resolved
      to better his instruction. Nothing appeared to make my poor mistress&mdash;after
      her turning toward the downward path&mdash;more angry, than seeing me,
      seated in some nook or corner, quietly reading a book or a newspaper. I
      have had her rush at me, with the utmost fury, and snatch from my hand
      such newspaper or book, with something of the wrath and consternation
      which a traitor might be supposed to feel on being discovered in a plot by
      some dangerous spy.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Auld was an apt woman, and the advice of her husband, and her own
      experience, soon demonstrated, to her entire satisfaction, that education
      and slavery are incompatible with each other. When this conviction was
      thoroughly established, I was<span class="pagenum">[121]</span> most
      narrowly watched in all my movements. If I remained in a separate room
      from the family for any considerable length of time, I was sure to be
      suspected of having a book, and was at once called upon to give an account
      of myself. All this, however, was entirely <i>too late</i>. The first, and
      never to be retraced, step had been taken. In teaching me the alphabet, in
      the days of her simplicity and kindness, my mistress had given me the <i>"inch,"</i>
      and now, no ordinary precaution could prevent me from taking the <i>"ell."</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      Seized with a determination to learn to read, at any cost, I hit upon many
      expedients to accomplish the desired end. The plea which I mainly adopted,
      and the one by which I was most successful, was that of using my young
      white playmates, with whom I met in the streets as teachers. I used to
      carry, almost constantly, a copy of Webster's spelling book in my pocket;
      and, when sent of errands, or when play time was allowed me, I would step,
      with my young friends, aside, and take a lesson in spelling. I generally
      paid my <i>tuition fee</i> to the boys, with bread, which I also carried
      in my pocket. For a single biscuit, any of my hungry little comrades would
      give me a lesson more valuable to me than bread. Not every one, however,
      demanded this consideration, for there were those who took pleasure in
      teaching me, whenever I had a chance to be taught by them. I am strongly
      tempted to give the names of two or three of those little boys, as a
      slight testimonial of the gratitude and affection I bear them, but
      prudence forbids; not that it would injure me, but it might, possibly,
      embarrass them; for it is almost an unpardonable offense to do any thing,
      directly or indirectly, to promote a slave's freedom, in a slave state. It
      is enough to say, of my warm-hearted little play fellows, that they lived
      on Philpot street, very near Durgin &amp; Bailey's shipyard.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although slavery was a delicate subject, and very cautiously talked about
      among grown up people in Maryland, I frequently talked about it&mdash;and
      that very freely&mdash;with the white boys. I<span class="pagenum">[122]</span>
      would, sometimes, say to them, while seated on a curb stone or a cellar
      door, "I wish I could be free, as you will be when you get to be men."
      "You will be free, you know, as soon as you are twenty-one, and can go
      where you like, but I am a slave for life. Have I not as good a right to
      be free as you have?" Words like these, I observed, always troubled them;
      and I had no small satisfaction in wringing from the boys, occasionally,
      that fresh and bitter condemnation of slavery, that springs from nature,
      unseared and unperverted. Of all consciences let me have those to deal
      with which have not been bewildered by the cares of life. I do not
      remember ever to have met with a <i>boy</i>, while I was in slavery, who
      defended the slave system; but I have often had boys to console me, with
      the hope that something would yet occur, by which I might be made free.
      Over and over again, they have told me, that "they believed I had as good
      a right to be free as <i>they</i> had;" and that "they did not believe God
      ever made any one to be a slave." The reader will easily see, that such
      little conversations with my play fellows, had no tendency to weaken my
      love of liberty, nor to render me contented with my condition as a slave.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I was about thirteen years old, and had succeeded in learning to
      read, every increase of knowledge, especially respecting the FREE STATES,
      added something to the almost intolerable burden of the thought&mdash;I AM
      A SLAVE FOR LIFE. To my bondage I saw no end. It was a terrible reality,
      and I shall never be able to tell how sadly that thought chafed my young
      spirit. Fortunately, or unfortunately, about this time in my life, I had
      made enough money to buy what was then a very popular school book, viz:
      the <i>Columbian Orator</i>. I bought this addition to my library, of Mr.
      Knight, on Thames street, Fell's Point, Baltimore, and paid him fifty
      cents for it. I was first led to buy this book, by hearing some little
      boys say they were going to learn some little pieces out of it for the
      Exhibition. This volume was, indeed, a rich treasure, and every
      opportunity afforded me, for<span class="pagenum">[123]</span> a time, was
      spent in diligently perusing it. Among much other interesting matter, that
      which I had perused and reperused with unflagging satisfaction, was a
      short dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave is represented as
      having been recaptured, in a second attempt to run away; and the master
      opens the dialogue with an upbraiding speech, charging the slave with
      ingratitude, and demanding to know what he has to say in his own defense.
      Thus upbraided, and thus called upon to reply, the slave rejoins, that he
      knows how little anything that he can say will avail, seeing that he is
      completely in the hands of his owner; and with noble resolution, calmly
      says, "I submit to my fate." Touched by the slave's answer, the master
      insists upon his further speaking, and recapitulates the many acts of
      kindness which he has performed toward the slave, and tells him he is
      permitted to speak for himself. Thus invited to the debate, the quondam
      slave made a spirited defense of himself, and thereafter the whole
      argument, for and against slavery, was brought out. The master was
      vanquished at every turn in the argument; and seeing himself to be thus
      vanquished, he generously and meekly emancipates the slave, with his best
      wishes for his prosperity. It is scarcely neccessary(sic) to say, that a
      dialogue, with such an origin, and such an ending&mdash;read when the fact
      of my being a slave was a constant burden of grief&mdash;powerfully
      affected me; and I could not help feeling that the day might come, when
      the well-directed answers made by the slave to the master, in this
      instance, would find their counterpart in myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      This, however, was not all the fanaticism which I found in this <i>Columbian
      Orator</i>. I met there one of Sheridan's mighty speeches, on the subject
      of Catholic Emancipation, Lord Chatham's speech on the American war, and
      speeches by the great William Pitt and by Fox. These were all choice
      documents to me, and I read them, over and over again, with an interest
      that was ever increasing, because it was ever gaining in intelligence; for
      the more I read them, the better I understood them. The reading of<span
      class="pagenum">[124]</span> these speeches added much to my limited stock
      of language, and enabled me to give tongue to many interesting thoughts,
      which had frequently flashed through my soul, and died away for want of
      utterance. The mighty power and heart-searching directness of truth,
      penetrating even the heart of a slaveholder, compelling him to yield up
      his earthly interests to the claims of eternal justice, were finely
      illustrated in the dialogue, just referred to; and from the speeches of
      Sheridan, I got a bold and powerful denunciation of oppression, and a most
      brilliant vindication of the rights of man. Here was, indeed, a noble
      acquisition. If I ever wavered under the consideration, that the Almighty,
      in some way, ordained slavery, and willed my enslavement for his own
      glory, I wavered no longer. I had now penetrated the secret of all slavery
      and oppression, and had ascertained their true foundation to be in the
      pride, the power and the avarice of man. The dialogue and the speeches
      were all redolent of the principles of liberty, and poured floods of light
      on the nature and character of slavery. With a book of this kind in my
      hand, my own human nature, and the facts of my experience, to help me, I
      was equal to a contest with the religious advocates of slavery, whether
      among the whites or among the colored people, for blindness, in this
      matter, is not confined to the former. I have met many religious colored
      people, at the south, who are under the delusion that God requires them to
      submit to slavery, and to wear their chains with meekness and humility. I
      could entertain no such nonsense as this; and I almost lost my patience
      when I found any colored man weak enough to believe such stuff.
      Nevertheless, the increase of knowledge was attended with bitter, as well
      as sweet results. The more I read, the more I was led to abhor and detest
      slavery, and my enslavers. "Slaveholders," thought I, "are only a band of
      successful robbers, who left their homes and went into Africa for the
      purpose of stealing and reducing my people to slavery." I loathed them as
      the meanest and the most wicked of men. As I read, behold! the very
      discontent so graphically pre<span class="pagenum">[125]</span> dicted by
      Master Hugh, had already come upon me. I was no longer the light-hearted,
      gleesome boy, full of mirth and play, as when I landed first at Baltimore.
      Knowledge had come; light had penetrated the moral dungeon where I dwelt;
      and, behold! there lay the bloody whip, for my back, and here was the iron
      chain; and my good, <i>kind master</i>, he was the author of my situation.
      The revelation haunted me, stung me, and made me gloomy and miserable. As
      I writhed under the sting and torment of this knowledge, I almost envied
      my fellow slaves their stupid contentment. This knowledge opened my eyes
      to the horrible pit, and revealed the teeth of the frightful dragon that
      was ready to pounce upon me, but it opened no way for my escape. I have
      often wished myself a beast, or a bird&mdash;anything, rather than a
      slave. I was wretched and gloomy, beyond my ability to describe. I was too
      thoughtful to be happy. It was this everlasting thinking which distressed
      and tormented me; and yet there was no getting rid of the subject of my
      thoughts. All nature was redolent of it. Once awakened by the silver trump
      of knowledge, my spirit was roused to eternal wakefulness. Liberty! the
      inestimable birthright of every man, had, for me, converted every object
      into an asserter of this great right. It was heard in every sound, and
      beheld in every object. It was ever present, to torment me with a sense of
      my wretched condition. The more beautiful and charming were the smiles of
      nature, the more horrible and desolate was my condition. I saw nothing
      without seeing it, and I heard nothing without hearing it. I do not
      exaggerate, when I say, that it looked from every star, smiled in every
      calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have no doubt that my state of mind had something to do with the change
      in the treatment adopted, by my once kind mistress toward me. I can easily
      believe, that my leaden, downcast, and discontented look, was very
      offensive to her. Poor lady! She did not know my trouble, and I dared not
      tell her. Could I have freely made her acquainted with the real state of
      my mind, and<span class="pagenum">[126]</span> given her the reasons
      therefor, it might have been well for both of us. Her abuse of me fell
      upon me like the blows of the false prophet upon his ass; she did not know
      that an <i>angel</i> stood in the way; and&mdash;such is the relation of
      master and slave I could not tell her. Nature had made us <i>friends;</i>
      slavery made us <i>enemies</i>. My interests were in a direction opposite
      to hers, and we both had our private thoughts and plans. She aimed to keep
      me ignorant; and I resolved to know, although knowledge only increased my
      discontent. My feelings were not the result of any marked cruelty in the
      treatment I received; they sprung from the consideration of my being a
      slave at all. It was <i>slavery</i>&mdash;not its mere <i>incidents</i>&mdash;that
      I hated. I had been cheated. I saw through the attempt to keep me in
      ignorance; I saw that slaveholders would have gladly made me believe that
      they were merely acting under the authority of God, in making a slave of
      me, and in making slaves of others; and I treated them as robbers and
      deceivers. The feeding and clothing me well, could not atone for taking my
      liberty from me. The smiles of my mistress could not remove the deep
      sorrow that dwelt in my young bosom. Indeed, these, in time, came only to
      deepen my sorrow. She had changed; and the reader will see that I had
      changed, too. We were both victims to the same overshadowing evil&mdash;<i>she</i>,
      as mistress, I, as slave. I will not censure her harshly; she cannot
      censure me, for she knows I speak but the truth, and have acted in my
      opposition to slavery, just as she herself would have acted, in a reverse
      of circumstances.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII. <i>Religious Nature Awakened</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
ABOLITIONISTS SPOKEN OF&mdash;MY EAGERNESS TO KNOW WHAT THIS WORD MEANT&mdash;MY
CONSULTATION OF THE DICTIONARY&mdash;INCENDIARY INFORMATION&mdash;HOW AND WHERE
DERIVED&mdash;THE ENIGMA SOLVED&mdash;NATHANIEL TURNER'S INSURRECTION&mdash;THE
CHOLERA&mdash;RELIGION&mdash;FIRST AWAKENED BY A METHODIST MINISTER NAMED
HANSON&mdash;MY DEAR AND GOOD OLD COLORED FRIEND, LAWSON&mdash;HIS CHARACTER AND
OCCUPATION&mdash;HIS INFLUENCE OVER ME&mdash;OUR MUTUAL ATTACHMENT&mdash;THE COMFORT
I DERIVED FROM HIS TEACHING&mdash;NEW HOPES AND ASPIRATIONS&mdash;HEAVENLY
LIGHT AMIDST EARTHLY DARKNESS&mdash;THE TWO IRISHMEN ON THE WHARF&mdash;THEIR
CONVERSATION&mdash;HOW I LEARNED TO WRITE&mdash;WHAT WERE MY AIMS.
</pre>
    <p>
      Whilst in the painful state of mind described in the foregoing chapter,
      almost regretting my very existence, because doomed to a life of bondage,
      so goaded and so wretched, at times, that I was even tempted to destroy my
      own life, I was keenly sensitive and eager to know any, and every thing
      that transpired, having any relation to the subject of slavery. I was all
      ears, all eyes, whenever the words <i>slave, slavery</i>, dropped from the
      lips of any white person, and the occasions were not unfrequent when these
      words became leading ones, in high, social debate, at our house. Every
      little while, I could hear Master Hugh, or some of his company, speaking
      with much warmth and excitement about <i>"abolitionists."</i> Of <i>who</i>
      or <i>what</i> these were, I was totally ignorant. I found, however, that
      whatever they might be, they were most cordially hated and soundly abused
      by slaveholders, of every grade. I very soon discovered, too, that slavery
      was, in some<span class="pagenum">[128]</span> sort, under consideration,
      whenever the abolitionists were alluded to. This made the term a very
      interesting one to me. If a slave, for instance, had made good his escape
      from slavery, it was generally alleged, that he had been persuaded and
      assisted by the abolitionists. If, also, a slave killed his master&mdash;as
      was sometimes the case&mdash;or struck down his overseer, or set fire to
      his master's dwelling, or committed any violence or crime, out of the
      common way, it was certain to be said, that such a crime was the
      legitimate fruits of the abolition movement. Hearing such charges often
      repeated, I, naturally enough, received the impression that abolition&mdash;whatever
      else it might be&mdash;could not be unfriendly to the slave, nor very
      friendly to the slaveholder. I therefore set about finding out, if
      possible, <i>who</i> and <i>what</i> the abolitionists were, and <i>why</i>
      they were so obnoxious to the slaveholders. The dictionary afforded me
      very little help. It taught me that abolition was the "act of abolishing;"
      but it left me in ignorance at the very point where I most wanted
      information&mdash;and that was, as to the <i>thing</i> to be abolished. A
      city newspaper, the <i>Baltimore American</i>, gave me the incendiary
      information denied me by the dictionary. In its columns I found, that, on
      a certain day, a vast number of petitions and memorials had been presented
      to congress, praying for the abolition of slavery in the District of
      Columbia, and for the abolition of the slave trade between the states of
      the Union. This was enough. The vindictive bitterness, the marked caution,
      the studied reverse, and the cumbrous ambiguity, practiced by our white
      folks, when alluding to this subject, was now fully explained. Ever, after
      that, when I heard the words "abolition," or "abolition movement,"
      mentioned, I felt the matter one of a personal concern; and I drew near to
      listen, when I could do so, without seeming too solicitous and prying.
      There was HOPE in those words. Ever and anon, too, I could see some
      terrible denunciation of slavery, in our papers&mdash;copied from
      abolition papers at the north&mdash;and the injustice of such denunciation
      commented on. These I read with avidity.<span class="pagenum">[129]</span>
      I had a deep satisfaction in the thought, that the rascality of
      slaveholders was not concealed from the eyes of the world, and that I was
      not alone in abhorring the cruelty and brutality of slavery. A still
      deeper train of thought was stirred. I saw that there was <i>fear</i>, as
      well as <i>rage</i>, in the manner of speaking of the abolitionists. The
      latter, therefore, I was compelled to regard as having some power in the
      country; and I felt that they might, possibly, succeed in their designs.
      When I met with a slave to whom I deemed it safe to talk on the subject, I
      would impart to him so much of the mystery as I had been able to
      penetrate. Thus, the light of this grand movement broke in upon my mind,
      by degrees; and I must say, that, ignorant as I then was of the philosophy
      of that movement, I believe in it from the first&mdash;and I believed in
      it, partly, because I saw that it alarmed the consciences of slaveholders.
      The insurrection of Nathaniel Turner had been quelled, but the alarm and
      terror had not subsided. The cholera was on its way, and the thought was
      present, that God was angry with the white people because of their
      slaveholding wickedness, and, therefore, his judgments were abroad in the
      land. It was impossible for me not to hope much from the abolition
      movement, when I saw it supported by the Almighty, and armed with DEATH!
    </p>
    <p>
      Previous to my contemplation of the anti-slavery movement, and its
      probable results, my mind had been seriously awakened to the subject of
      religion. I was not more than thirteen years old, when I felt the need of
      God, as a father and protector. My religious nature was awakened by the
      preaching of a white Methodist minister, named Hanson. He thought that all
      men, great and small, bond and free, were sinners in the sight of God;
      that they were, by nature, rebels against His government; and that they
      must repent of their sins, and be reconciled to God, through Christ. I
      cannot say that I had a very distinct notion of what was required of me;
      but one thing I knew very well&mdash;I was wretched, and had no means of
      making myself otherwise. Moreover, I knew that I could pray for light. I
      consulted a good colored man, named<span class="pagenum">[130]</span>
      Charles Johnson; and, in tones of holy affection, he told me to pray, and
      what to pray for. I was, for weeks, a poor, brokenhearted mourner,
      traveling through the darkness and misery of doubts and fears. I finally
      found that change of heart which comes by "casting all one's care" upon
      God, and by having faith in Jesus Christ, as the Redeemer, Friend, and
      Savior of those who diligently seek Him.
    </p>
    <p>
      After this, I saw the world in a new light. I seemed to live in a new
      world, surrounded by new objects, and to be animated by new hopes and
      desires. I loved all mankind&mdash;slaveholders not excepted; though I
      abhorred slavery more than ever. My great concern was, now, to have the
      world converted. The desire for knowledge increased, and especially did I
      want a thorough acquaintance with the contents of the bible. I have
      gathered scattered pages from this holy book, from the filthy street
      gutters of Baltimore, and washed and dried them, that in the moments of my
      leisure, I might get a word or two of wisdom from them. While thus
      religiously seeking knowledge, I became acquainted with a good old colored
      man, named Lawson. A more devout man than he, I never saw. He drove a dray
      for Mr. James Ramsey, the owner of a rope-walk on Fell's Point, Baltimore.
      This man not only prayed three time a day, but he prayed as he walked
      through the streets, at his work&mdash;on his dray everywhere. His life
      was a life of prayer, and his words (when he spoke to his friends,) were
      about a better world. Uncle Lawson lived near Master Hugh's house; and,
      becoming deeply attached to the old man, I went often with him to
      prayer-meeting, and spent much of my leisure time with him on Sunday. The
      old man could read a little, and I was a great help to him, in making out
      the hard words, for I was a better reader than he. I could teach him <i>"the
      letter,"</i> but he could teach me <i>"the spirit;"</i> and high,
      refreshing times we had together, in singing, praying and glorifying God.
      These meetings with Uncle Lawson went on for a long time, without the
      knowledge of Master Hugh or my mistress. Both knew, how<span
      class="pagenum">[131]</span> ever, that I had become religious, and they
      seemed to respect my conscientious piety. My mistress was still a
      professor of religion, and belonged to class. Her leader was no less a
      person than the Rev. Beverly Waugh, the presiding elder, and now one of
      the bishops of the Methodist Episcopal church. Mr. Waugh was then
      stationed over Wilk street church. I am careful to state these facts, that
      the reader may be able to form an idea of the precise influences which had
      to do with shaping and directing my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      In view of the cares and anxieties incident to the life she was then
      leading, and, especially, in view of the separation from religious
      associations to which she was subjected, my mistress had, as I have before
      stated, become lukewarm, and needed to be looked up by her leader. This
      brought Mr. Waugh to our house, and gave me an opportunity to hear him
      exhort and pray. But my chief instructor, in matters of religion, was
      Uncle Lawson. He was my spiritual father; and I loved him intensely, and
      was at his house every chance I got.
    </p>
    <p>
      This pleasure was not long allowed me. Master Hugh became averse to my
      going to Father Lawson's, and threatened to whip me if I ever went there
      again. I now felt myself persecuted by a wicked man; and I <i>would</i> go
      to Father Lawson's, notwithstanding the threat. The good old man had told
      me, that the "Lord had a great work for me to do;" and I must prepare to
      do it; and that he had been shown that I must preach the gospel. His words
      made a deep impression on my mind, and I verily felt that some such work
      was before me, though I could not see <i>how</i> I should ever engage in
      its performance. "The good Lord," he said, "would bring it to pass in his
      own good time," and that I must go on reading and studying the scriptures.
      The advice and the suggestions of Uncle Lawson, were not without their
      influence upon my character and destiny. He threw my thoughts into a
      channel from which they have never entirely diverged. He fanned my already
      intense love of knowledge into a flame, by assuring me that I was to be a
      useful man in the world. When I would<span class="pagenum">[132]</span>
      say to him, "How can these things be and what can <i>I</i> do?" his simple
      reply was, <i>"Trust in the Lord."</i> When I told him that "I was a
      slave, and a slave FOR LIFE," he said, "the Lord can make you free, my
      dear. All things are possible with him, only <i>have faith in God."</i>
      "Ask, and it shall be given." "If you want liberty," said the good old
      man, "ask the Lord for it, <i>in faith</i>, AND HE WILL GIVE IT TO YOU."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus assured, and cheered on, under the inspiration of hope, I worked and
      prayed with a light heart, believing that my life was under the guidance
      of a wisdom higher than my own. With all other blessings sought at the
      mercy seat, I always prayed that God would, of His great mercy, and in His
      own good time, deliver me from my bondage.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went, one day, on the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen
      unloading a large scow of stone, or ballast I went on board, unasked, and
      helped them. When we had finished the work, one of the men came to me,
      aside, and asked me a number of questions, and among them, if I were a
      slave. I told him "I was a slave, and a slave for life." The good Irishman
      gave his shoulders a shrug, and seemed deeply affected by the statement.
      He said, "it was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should be a
      slave for life." They both had much to say about the matter, and expressed
      the deepest sympathy with me, and the most decided hatred of slavery. They
      went so far as to tell me that I ought to run away, and go to the north;
      that I should find friends there, and that I would be as free as anybody.
      I, however, pretended not to be interested in what they said, for I feared
      they might be treacherous. White men have been known to encourage slaves
      to escape, and then&mdash;to get the reward&mdash;they have kidnapped
      them, and returned them to their masters. And while I mainly inclined to
      the notion that these men were honest and meant me no ill, I feared it
      might be otherwise. I nevertheless remembered their words and their
      advice, and looked forward to an escape to the north, as a possible means
      of gaining the liberty<span class="pagenum">[133]</span> for which my
      heart panted. It was not my enslavement, at the then present time, that
      most affected me; the being a slave <i>for life</i>, was the saddest
      thought. I was too young to think of running away immediately; besides, I
      wished to learn how to write, before going, as I might have occasion to
      write my own pass. I now not only had the hope of freedom, but a
      foreshadowing of the means by which I might, some day, gain that
      inestimable boon. Meanwhile, I resolved to add to my educational
      attainments the art of writing.
    </p>
    <p>
      After this manner I began to learn to write: I was much in the ship yard&mdash;Master
      Hugh's, and that of Durgan &amp; Bailey&mdash;and I observed that the
      carpenters, after hewing and getting a piece of timber ready for use,
      wrote on it the initials of the name of that part of the ship for which it
      was intended. When, for instance, a piece of timber was ready for the
      starboard side, it was marked with a capital "S." A piece for the larboard
      side was marked "L;" larboard forward, "L. F.;" larboard aft, was marked
      "L. A.;" starboard aft, "S. A.;" and starboard forward "S. F." I soon
      learned these letters, and for what they were placed on the timbers.
    </p>
    <p>
      My work was now, to keep fire under the steam box, and to watch the ship
      yard while the carpenters had gone to dinner. This interval gave me a fine
      opportunity for copying the letters named. I soon astonished myself with
      the ease with which I made the letters; and the thought was soon present,
      "if I can make four, I can make more." But having made these easily, when
      I met boys about Bethel church, or any of our play-grounds, I entered the
      lists with them in the art of writing, and would make the letters which I
      had been so fortunate as to learn, and ask them to "beat that if they
      could." With playmates for my teachers, fences and pavements for my copy
      books, and chalk for my pen and ink, I learned the art of writing. I,
      however, afterward adopted various methods of improving my hand. The most
      successful, was copying the <i>italics</i> in Webster's spelling book,
      until<span class="pagenum">[134]</span> I could make them all without
      looking on the book. By this time, my little "Master Tommy" had grown to
      be a big boy, and had written over a number of copy books, and brought
      them home. They had been shown to the neighbors, had elicited due praise,
      and were now laid carefully away. Spending my time between the ship yard
      and house, I was as often the lone keeper of the latter as of the former.
      When my mistress left me in charge of the house, I had a grand time; I got
      Master Tommy's copy books and a pen and ink, and, in the ample spaces
      between the lines, I wrote other lines, as nearly like his as possible.
      The process was a tedious one, and I ran the risk of getting a flogging
      for marring the highly prized copy books of the oldest son. In addition to
      those opportunities, sleeping, as I did, in the kitchen loft&mdash;a room
      seldom visited by any of the family&mdash;I got a flour barrel up there,
      and a chair; and upon the head of that barrel I have written (or
      endeavored to write) copying from the bible and the Methodist hymn book,
      and other books which had accumulated on my hands, till late at night, and
      when all the family were in bed and asleep. I was supported in my
      endeavors by renewed advice, and by holy promises from the good Father
      Lawson, with whom I continued to meet, and pray, and read the scriptures.
      Although Master Hugh was aware of my going there, I must say, for his
      credit, that he never executed his threat to whip me, for having thus,
      innocently, employed-my leisure time.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII. <i>The Vicissitudes of Slave Life</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
DEATH OF OLD MASTER'S SON RICHARD, SPEEDILY FOLLOWED BY THAT OF OLD
MASTER&mdash;VALUATION AND DIVISION OF ALL THE PROPERTY, INCLUDING THE
SLAVES&mdash;MY PRESENCE REQUIRED AT HILLSBOROUGH TO BE APPRAISED AND
ALLOTTED TO A NEW OWNER&mdash;MY SAD PROSPECTS AND GRIEF&mdash;PARTING&mdash;THE UTTER
POWERLESSNESS OF THE SLAVES TO DECIDE THEIR OWN DESTINY&mdash;A GENERAL
DREAD OF MASTER ANDREW&mdash;HIS WICKEDNESS AND CRUELTY&mdash;MISS LUCRETIA MY NEW
OWNER&mdash;MY RETURN TO BALTIMORE&mdash;JOY UNDER THE ROOF OF MASTER HUGH&mdash;DEATH
OF MRS. LUCRETIA&mdash;MY POOR OLD GRANDMOTHER&mdash;HER SAD FATE&mdash;THE LONE COT
IN THE WOODS&mdash;MASTER THOMAS AULD'S SECOND MARRIAGE&mdash;AGAIN REMOVED FROM
MASTER HUGH'S&mdash;REASONS FOR REGRETTING THE CHANGE&mdash;A PLAN OF ESCAPE
ENTERTAINED.
</pre>
    <p>
      I must now ask the reader to go with me a little back in point of time, in
      my humble story, and to notice another circumstance that entered into my
      slavery experience, and which, doubtless, has had a share in deepening my
      horror of slavery, and increasing my hostility toward those men and
      measures that practically uphold the slave system.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has already been observed, that though I was, after my removal from
      Col. Lloyd's plantation, in <i>form</i> the slave of Master Hugh, I was,
      in <i>fact</i>, and in <i>law</i>, the slave of my old master, Capt.
      Anthony. Very well.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a very short time after I went to Baltimore, my old master's youngest
      son, Richard, died; and, in three years and six months after his death, my
      old master himself died, leaving only his son, Andrew, and his daughter,
      Lucretia, to share his estate. The<span class="pagenum">[136]</span> old
      man died while on a visit to his daughter, in Hillsborough, where Capt.
      Auld and Mrs. Lucretia now lived. The former, having given up the command
      of Col. Lloyd's sloop, was now keeping a store in that town.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cut off, thus unexpectedly, Capt. Anthony died intestate; and his property
      must now be equally divided between his two children, Andrew and Lucretia.
    </p>
    <p>
      The valuation and the division of slaves, among contending heirs, is an
      important incident in slave life. The character and tendencies of the
      heirs, are generally well understood among the slaves who are to be
      divided, and all have their aversions and preferences. But, neither their
      aversions nor their preferences avail them anything.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the death of old master, I was immediately sent for, to be valued and
      divided with the other property. Personally, my concern was, mainly, about
      my possible removal from the home of Master Hugh, which, after that of my
      grandmother, was the most endeared to me. But, the whole thing, as a
      feature of slavery, shocked me. It furnished me anew insight into the
      unnatural power to which I was subjected. My detestation of slavery,
      already great, rose with this new conception of its enormity.
    </p>
    <p>
      That was a sad day for me, a sad day for little Tommy, and a sad day for
      my dear Baltimore mistress and teacher, when I left for the Eastern Shore,
      to be valued and divided. We, all three, wept bitterly that day; for we
      might be parting, and we feared we were parting, forever. No one could
      tell among which pile of chattels I should be flung. Thus early, I got a
      foretaste of that painful uncertainty which slavery brings to the ordinary
      lot of mortals. Sickness, adversity and death may interfere with the plans
      and purposes of all; but the slave has the added danger of changing homes,
      changing hands, and of having separations unknown to other men. Then, too,
      there was the intensified degradation of the spectacle. What an
      assemblage! Men and women, young and old, married and single; moral and
      intellectual beings, in open contempt of their humanity, level at a blow
      with<span class="pagenum">[137]</span> horses, sheep, horned cattle and
      swine! Horses and men&mdash;cattle and women&mdash;pigs and children&mdash;all
      holding the same rank in the scale of social existence; and all subjected
      to the same narrow inspection, to ascertain their value in gold and silver&mdash;the
      only standard of worth applied by slaveholders to slaves! How vividly, at
      that moment, did the brutalizing power of slavery flash before me!
      Personality swallowed up in the sordid idea of property! Manhood lost in
      chattelhood!
    </p>
    <p>
      After the valuation, then came the division. This was an hour of high
      excitement and distressing anxiety. Our destiny was now to be <i>fixed for
      life</i>, and we had no more voice in the decision of the question, than
      the oxen and cows that stood chewing at the haymow. One word from the
      appraisers, against all preferences or prayers, was enough to sunder all
      the ties of friendship and affection, and even to separate husbands and
      wives, parents and children. We were all appalled before that power,
      which, to human seeming, could bless or blast us in a moment. Added to the
      dread of separation, most painful to the majority of the slaves, we all
      had a decided horror of the thought of falling into the hands of Master
      Andrew. He was distinguished for cruelty and intemperance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Slaves generally dread to fall into the hands of drunken owners. Master
      Andrew was almost a confirmed sot, and had already, by his reckless
      mismanagement and profligate dissipation, wasted a large portion of old
      master's property. To fall into his hands, was, therefore, considered
      merely as the first step toward being sold away to the far south. He would
      spend his fortune in a few years, and his farms and slaves would be sold,
      we thought, at public outcry; and we should be hurried away to the cotton
      fields, and rice swamps, of the sunny south. This was the cause of deep
      consternation.
    </p>
    <p>
      The people of the north, and free people generally, I think, have less
      attachment to the places where they are born and brought up, than have the
      slaves. Their freedom to go and come,<span class="pagenum">[138]</span> to
      be here and there, as they list, prevents any extravagant attachment to
      any one particular place, in their case. On the other hand, the slave is a
      fixture; he has no choice, no goal, no destination; but is pegged down to
      a single spot, and must take root here, or nowhere. The idea of removal
      elsewhere, comes, generally, in the shape of a threat, and in punishment
      of crime. It is, therefore, attended with fear and dread. A slave seldom
      thinks of bettering his condition by being sold, and hence he looks upon
      separation from his native place, with none of the enthusiasm which
      animates the bosoms of young freemen, when they contemplate a life in the
      far west, or in some distant country where they intend to rise to wealth
      and distinction. Nor can those from whom they separate, give them up with
      that cheerfulness with which friends and relations yield each other up,
      when they feel that it is for the good of the departing one that he is
      removed from his native place. Then, too, there is correspondence, and
      there is, at least, the hope of reunion, because reunion is <i>possible</i>.
      But, with the slave, all these mitigating circumstances are wanting. There
      is no improvement in his condition <i>probable</i>,&mdash;no
      correspondence <i>possible</i>,&mdash;no reunion attainable. His going out
      into the world, is like a living man going into the tomb, who, with open
      eyes, sees himself buried out of sight and hearing of wife, children and
      friends of kindred tie.
    </p>
    <p>
      In contemplating the likelihoods and possibilities of our circumstances, I
      probably suffered more than most of my fellow servants. I had known what
      it was to experience kind, and even tender treatment; they had known
      nothing of the sort. Life, to them, had been rough and thorny, as well as
      dark. They had&mdash;most of them&mdash;lived on my old master's farm in
      Tuckahoe, and had felt the reign of Mr. Plummer's rule. The overseer had
      written his character on the living parchment of most of their backs, and
      left them callous; my back (thanks to my early removal from the plantation
      to Baltimore) was yet tender. I had left a kind mistress<span
      class="pagenum">[139]</span> at Baltimore, who was almost a mother to me.
      She was in tears when we parted, and the probabilities of ever seeing her
      again, trembling in the balance as they did, could not be viewed without
      alarm and agony. The thought of leaving that kind mistress forever, and,
      worse still, of being the slave of Andrew Anthony&mdash;a man who, but a
      few days before the division of the property, had, in my presence, seized
      my brother Perry by the throat, dashed him on the ground, and with the
      heel of his boot stamped him on the head, until the blood gushed from his
      nose and ears&mdash;was terrible! This fiendish proceeding had no better
      apology than the fact, that Perry had gone to play, when Master Andrew
      wanted him for some trifling service. This cruelty, too, was of a piece
      with his general character. After inflicting his heavy blows on my
      brother, on observing me looking at him with intense astonishment, he
      said, "<i>That</i> is the way I will serve you, one of these days;"
      meaning, no doubt, when I should come into his possession. This threat,
      the reader may well suppose, was not very tranquilizing to my feelings. I
      could see that he really thirsted to get hold of me. But I was there only
      for a few days. I had not received any orders, and had violated none, and
      there was, therefore, no excuse for flogging me.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, the anxiety and suspense were ended; and they ended, thanks to a
      kind Providence, in accordance with my wishes. I fell to the portion of
      Mrs. Lucretia&mdash;the dear lady who bound up my head, when the savage
      Aunt Katy was adding to my sufferings her bitterest maledictions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Capt. Thomas Auld and Mrs. Lucretia at once decided on my return to
      Baltimore. They knew how sincerely and warmly Mrs. Hugh Auld was attached
      to me, and how delighted Mr. Hugh's son would be to have me back; and,
      withal, having no immediate use for one so young, they willingly let me
      off to Baltimore.
    </p>
    <p>
      I need not stop here to narrate my joy on returning to Baltimore, nor that
      of little Tommy; nor the tearful joy of his mother;<span class="pagenum">[140]</span>
      nor the evident saticfaction(sic) of Master Hugh. I was just one month
      absent from Baltimore, before the matter was decided; and the time really
      seemed full six months.
    </p>
    <p>
      One trouble over, and on comes another. The slave's life is full of
      uncertainty. I had returned to Baltimore but a short time, when the
      tidings reached me, that my friend, Mrs. Lucretia, who was only second in
      my regard to Mrs. Hugh Auld, was dead, leaving her husband and only one
      child&mdash;a daughter, named Amanda.
    </p>
    <p>
      Shortly after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, strange to say, Master Andrew
      died, leaving his wife and one child. Thus, the whole family of Anthonys
      was swept away; only two children remained. All this happened within five
      years of my leaving Col. Lloyd's.
    </p>
    <p>
      No alteration took place in the condition of the slaves, in consequence of
      these deaths, yet I could not help feeling less secure, after the death of
      my friend, Mrs. Lucretia, than I had done during her life. While she
      lived, I felt that I had a strong friend to plead for me in any emergency.
      Ten years ago, while speaking of the state of things in our family, after
      the events just named, I used this language:
    </p>
    <p>
      Now all the property of my old master, slaves included, was in the hands
      of strangers&mdash;strangers who had nothing to do in accumulating it. Not
      a slave was left free. All remained slaves, from youngest to 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&mdash;a slave for life&mdash;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<span class="pagenum">[141]</span> 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&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                <i>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</i>!
</pre>
    <p>
      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&mdash;at this time,
      this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that tenderness and
      affection which children only can exercise toward a declining parent&mdash;my
      poor old grandmother, the devoted mother of twelve children, is left all
      alone, in yonder little hut, before a few dim embers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas married his
      second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton, the eldest daughter of Mr.
      William Hamilton, a rich slaveholder on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, who
      lived about five miles from St. Michael's, the then place of my master's
      residence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not long after his marriage, Master Thomas had a misunderstanding with
      Master Hugh, and, as a means of punishing his brother, he ordered him to
      send me home.<span class="pagenum">[142]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      As the ground of misunderstanding will serve to illustrate the character
      of southern chivalry, and humanity, I will relate it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the children of my Aunt Milly, was a daughter, named Henny. When
      quite a child, Henny had fallen into the fire, and burnt her hands so bad
      that they were of very little use to her. Her fingers were drawn almost
      into the palms of her hands. She could make out to do something, but she
      was considered hardly worth the having&mdash;of little more value than a
      horse with a broken leg. This unprofitable piece of human property, ill
      shapen, and disfigured, Capt. Auld sent off to Baltimore, making his
      brother Hugh welcome to her services.
    </p>
    <p>
      After giving poor Henny a fair trial, Master Hugh and his wife came to the
      conclusion, that they had no use for the crippled servant, and they sent
      her back to Master Thomas. Thus, the latter took as an act of ingratitude,
      on the part of his brother; and, as a mark of his displeasure, he required
      him to send me immediately to St. Michael's, saying, if he cannot keep <i>"Hen,"</i>
      he shall not have <i>"Fred."</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      Here was another shock to my nerves, another breaking up of my plans, and
      another severance of my religious and social alliances. I was now a big
      boy. I had become quite useful to several young colored men, who had made
      me their teacher. I had taught some of them to read, and was accustomed to
      spend many of my leisure hours with them. Our attachment was strong, and I
      greatly dreaded the separation. But regrets, especially in a slave, are
      unavailing. I was only a slave; my wishes were nothing, and my happiness
      was the sport of my masters.
    </p>
    <p>
      My regrets at now leaving Baltimore, were not for the same reasons as when
      I before left that city, to be valued and handed over to my proper owner.
      My home was not now the pleasant place it had formerly been. A change had
      taken place, both in Master Hugh, and in his once pious and affectionate
      wife. The influence of brandy and bad company on him, and the influence of
      slavery and social isolation upon her, had wrought disastrously upon the<span
      class="pagenum">[143]</span> characters of both. Thomas was no longer
      "little Tommy," but was a big boy, and had learned to assume the airs of
      his class toward me. My condition, therefore, in the house of Master Hugh,
      was not, by any means, so comfortable as in former years. My attachments
      were now outside of our family. They were felt to those to whom I <i>imparted</i>
      instruction, and to those little white boys from whom I <i>received</i>
      instruction. There, too, was my dear old father, the pious Lawson, who
      was, in christian graces, the very counterpart of "Uncle" Tom. The
      resemblance is so perfect, that he might have been the original of Mrs.
      Stowe's christian hero. The thought of leaving these dear friends, greatly
      troubled me, for I was going without the hope of ever returning to
      Baltimore again; the feud between Master Hugh and his brother being bitter
      and irreconcilable, or, at least, supposed to be so.
    </p>
    <p>
      In addition to thoughts of friends from whom I was parting, as I supposed,
      <i>forever</i>, I had the grief of neglected chances of escape to brood
      over. I had put off running away, until now I was to be placed where the
      opportunities for escaping were much fewer than in a large city like
      Baltimore.
    </p>
    <p>
      On my way from Baltimore to St. Michael's, down the Chesapeake bay, our
      sloop&mdash;the "Amanda"&mdash;was passed by the steamers plying between
      that city and Philadelphia, and I watched the course of those steamers,
      and, while going to St. Michael's, I formed a plan to escape from slavery;
      of which plan, and matters connected therewith the kind reader shall learn
      more hereafter.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV. <i>Experience in St. Michael's</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
THE VILLAGE&mdash;ITS INHABITANTS&mdash;THEIR OCCUPATION AND LOW PROPENSITIES
CAPTAN(sic) THOMAS AULD&mdash;HIS CHARACTER&mdash;HIS SECOND WIFE, ROWENA&mdash;WELL
MATCHED&mdash;SUFFERINGS FROM HUNGER&mdash;OBLIGED TO TAKE FOOD&mdash;MODE OF ARGUMENT
IN VINDICATION THEREOF&mdash;NO MORAL CODE OF FREE SOCIETY CAN APPLY TO
SLAVE SOCIETY&mdash;SOUTHERN CAMP MEETING&mdash;WHAT MASTER THOMAS DID
THERE&mdash;HOPES&mdash;SUSPICIONS ABOUT HIS CONVERSION&mdash;THE RESULT&mdash;FAITH AND
WORKS ENTIRELY AT VARIANCE&mdash;HIS RISE AND PROGRESS IN THE CHURCH&mdash;POOR
COUSIN "HENNY"&mdash;HIS TREATMENT OF HER&mdash;THE METHODIST PREACHERS&mdash;THEIR
UTTER DISREGARD OF US&mdash;ONE EXCELLENT EXCEPTION&mdash;REV. GEORGE
COOKMAN&mdash;SABBATH SCHOOL&mdash;HOW BROKEN UP AND BY WHOM&mdash;A FUNERAL PALL CAST
OVER ALL MY PROSPECTS&mdash;COVEY THE NEGRO-BREAKER.
</pre>
    <p>
      St. Michael's, the village in which was now my new home, compared
      favorably with villages in slave states, generally. There were a few
      comfortable dwellings in it, but the place, as a whole, wore a dull,
      slovenly, enterprise-forsaken aspect. The mass of the buildings were wood;
      they had never enjoyed the artificial adornment of paint, and time and
      storms had worn off the bright color of the wood, leaving them almost as
      black as buildings charred by a conflagration.
    </p>
    <p>
      St. Michael's had, in former years, (previous to 1833, for that was the
      year I went to reside there,) enjoyed some reputation as a ship building
      community, but that business had almost entirely given place to oyster
      fishing, for the Baltimore and Philadelphia markets&mdash;a course of life
      highly unfavorable to morals, industry, and manners. Miles river was
      broad, and its oyster fishing<span class="pagenum">[145]</span> grounds
      were extensive; and the fishermen were out, often, all day, and a part of
      the night, during autumn, winter and spring. This exposure was an excuse
      for carrying with them, in considerable quanties(sic), spirituous liquors,
      the then supposed best antidote for cold. Each canoe was supplied with its
      jug of rum; and tippling, among this class of the citizens of St.
      Michael's, became general. This drinking habit, in an ignorant population,
      fostered coarseness, vulgarity and an indolent disregard for the social
      improvement of the place, so that it was admitted, by the few sober,
      thinking people who remained there, that St. Michael's had become a very
      <i>unsaintly</i>, as well as unsightly place, before I went there to
      reside.
    </p>
    <p>
      I left Baltimore for St. Michael's in the month of March, 1833. I know the
      year, because it was the one succeeding the first cholera in Baltimore,
      and was the year, also, of that strange phenomenon, when the heavens
      seemed about to part with its starry train. I witnessed this gorgeous
      spectacle, and was awe-struck. The air seemed filled with bright,
      descending messengers from the sky. It was about daybreak when I saw this
      sublime scene. I was not without the suggestion, at the moment, that it
      might be the harbinger of the coming of the Son of Man; and, in my then
      state of mind, I was prepared to hail Him as my friend and deliverer. I
      had read, that the "stars shall fall from heaven"; and they were now
      falling. I was suffering much in my mind. It did seem that every time the
      young tendrils of my affection became attached, they were rudely broken by
      some unnatural outside power; and I was beginning to look away to heaven
      for the rest denied me on earth.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, to my story. It was now more than seven years since I had lived with
      Master Thomas Auld, in the family of my old master, on Col. Lloyd's
      plantation. We were almost entire strangers to each other; for, when I
      knew him at the house of my old master, it was not as a <i>master</i>, but
      simply as "Captain Auld," who had married old master's daughter. All my
      lessons concerning his<span class="pagenum">[146]</span> temper and
      disposition, and the best methods of pleasing him, were yet to be learnt.
      Slaveholders, however, are not very ceremonious in approaching a slave;
      and my ignorance of the new material in shape of a master was but
      transient. Nor was my mistress long in making known her animus. She was
      not a "Miss Lucretia," traces of whom I yet remembered, and the more
      especially, as I saw them shining in the face of little Amanda, her
      daughter, now living under a step-mother's government. I had not forgotten
      the soft hand, guided by a tender heart, that bound up with healing balsam
      the gash made in my head by Ike, the son of Abel. Thomas and Rowena, I
      found to be a well-matched pair. <i>He</i> was stingy, and <i>she</i> was
      cruel; and&mdash;what was quite natural in such cases&mdash;she possessed
      the ability to make him as cruel as herself, while she could easily
      descend to the level of his meanness. In the house of Master Thomas, I was
      made&mdash;for the first time in seven years to feel the pinchings of
      hunger, and this was not very easy to bear.
    </p>
    <p>
      For, in all the changes of Master Hugh's family, there was no change in
      the bountifulness with which they supplied me with food. Not to give a
      slave enough to eat, is meanness intensified, and it is so recognized
      among slaveholders generally, in Maryland. The rule is, no matter how
      coarse the food, only let there be enough of it. This is the theory, and&mdash;in
      the part of Maryland I came from&mdash;the general practice accords with
      this theory. Lloyd's plantation was an exception, as was, also, the house
      of Master Thomas Auld.
    </p>
    <p>
      All know the lightness of Indian corn-meal, as an article of food, and can
      easily judge from the following facts whether the statements I have made
      of the stinginess of Master Thomas, are borne out. There were four slaves
      of us in the kitchen, and four whites in the great house Thomas Auld, Mrs.
      Auld, Hadaway Auld (brother of Thomas Auld) and little Amanda. The names
      of the slaves in the kitchen, were Eliza, my sister; Priscilla, my aunt;
      Henny, my cousin; and myself. There were eight persons<span class="pagenum">[147]</span>
      in the family. There was, each week, one half bushel of corn-meal brought
      from the mill; and in the kitchen, corn-meal was almost our exclusive
      food, for very little else was allowed us. Out of this bushel of
      corn-meal, the family in the great house had a small loaf every morning;
      thus leaving us, in the kitchen, with not quite a half a peck per week,
      apiece. This allowance was less than half the allowance of food on Lloyd's
      plantation. It was not enough to subsist upon; and we were, therefore,
      reduced to the wretched necessity of living at the expense of our
      neighbors. We were compelled either to beg, or to steal, and we did both.
      I frankly confess, that while I hated everything like stealing, <i>as such</i>,
      I nevertheless did not hesitate to take food, when I was hungry, wherever
      I could find it. Nor was this practice the mere result of an unreasoning
      instinct; it was, in my case, the result of a clear apprehension of the
      claims of morality. I weighed and considered the matter closely, before I
      ventured to satisfy my hunger by such means. Considering that my labor and
      person were the property of Master Thomas, and that I was by him deprived
      of the necessaries of life necessaries obtained by my own labor&mdash;it
      was easy to deduce the right to supply myself with what was my own. It was
      simply appropriating what was my own to the use of my master, since the
      health and strength derived from such food were exerted in <i>his</i>
      service. To be sure, this was stealing, according to the law and gospel I
      heard from St. Michael's pulpit; but I had already begun to attach less
      importance to what dropped from that quarter, on that point, while, as
      yet, I retained my reverence for religion. It was not always convenient to
      steal from master, and the same reason why I might, innocently, steal from
      him, did not seem to justify me in stealing from others. In the case of my
      master, it was only a question of <i>removal</i>&mdash;the taking his meat
      out of one tub, and putting it into another; the ownership of the meat was
      not affected by the transaction. At first, he owned it in the <i>tub</i>,
      and last, he owned it in <i>me</i>. His meat house was not always open.
      There was a strict watch kept on that<span class="pagenum">[148]</span>
      point, and the key was on a large bunch in Rowena's pocket. A great many
      times have we, poor creatures, been severely pinched with hunger, when
      meat and bread have been moulding under the lock, while the key was in the
      pocket of our mistress. This had been so when she <i>knew</i> we were
      nearly half starved; and yet, that mistress, with saintly air, would kneel
      with her husband, and pray each morning that a merciful God would bless
      them in basket and in store, and save them, at last, in his kingdom. But I
      proceed with the argument.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was necessary that right to steal from <i>others</i> should be
      established; and this could only rest upon a wider range of generalization
      than that which supposed the right to steal from my master.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was sometime before I arrived at this clear right. The reader will get
      some idea of my train of reasoning, by a brief statement of the case. "I
      am," thought I, "not only the slave of Thomas, but I am the slave of
      society at large. Society at large has bound itself, in form and in fact,
      to assist Master Thomas in robbing me of my rightful liberty, and of the
      just reward of my labor; therefore, whatever rights I have against Master
      Thomas, I have, equally, against those confederated with him in robbing me
      of liberty. As society has marked me out as privileged plunder, on the
      principle of self-preservation I am justified in plundering in turn. Since
      each slave belongs to all; all must, therefore, belong to each."
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall here make a profession of faith which may shock some, offend
      others, and be dissented from by all. It is this: Within the bounds of his
      just earnings, I hold that the slave is fully justified in helping himself
      to the <i>gold and silver, and the best apparel of his master, or that of
      any other slaveholder; and that such taking is not stealing in any just
      sense of that word</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      The morality of <i>free</i> society can have no application to <i>slave</i>
      society. Slaveholders have made it almost impossible for the slave to
      commit any crime, known either to the laws of God or to the laws of man.
      If he steals, he takes his own; if he kills his master,<span
      class="pagenum">[149]</span> he imitates only the heroes of the
      revolution. Slaveholders I hold to be individually and collectively
      responsible for all the evils which grow out of the horrid relation, and I
      believe they will be so held at the judgment, in the sight of a just God.
      Make a man a slave, and you rob him of moral responsibility. Freedom of
      choice is the essence of all accountability. But my kind readers are,
      probably, less concerned about my opinions, than about that which more
      nearly touches my personal experience; albeit, my opinions have, in some
      sort, been formed by that experience.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bad as slaveholders are, I have seldom met with one so entirely destitute
      of every element of character capable of inspiring respect, as was my
      present master, Capt. Thomas Auld.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I lived with him, I thought him incapable of a noble action. The
      leading trait in his character was intense selfishness. I think he was
      fully aware of this fact himself, and often tried to conceal it. Capt.
      Auld was not a <i>born</i> slaveholder&mdash;not a birthright member of
      the slaveholding oligarchy. He was only a slaveholder by <i>marriage-right;</i>
      and, of all slaveholders, these latter are, <i>by far</i>, the most
      exacting. There was in him all the love of domination, the pride of
      mastery, and the swagger of authority, but his rule lacked the vital
      element of consistency. He could be cruel; but his methods of showing it
      were cowardly, and evinced his meanness rather than his spirit. His
      commands were strong, his enforcement weak.
    </p>
    <p>
      Slaves are not insensible to the whole-souled characteristics of a
      generous, dashing slaveholder, who is fearless of consequences; and they
      prefer a master of this bold and daring kind&mdash;even with the risk of
      being shot down for impudence to the fretful, little soul, who never uses
      the lash but at the suggestion of a love of gain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Slaves, too, readily distinguish between the birthright bearing of the
      original slaveholder and the assumed attitudes of the accidental
      slaveholder; and while they cannot respect either, they certainly despise
      the latter more than the former.<span class="pagenum">[150]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      The luxury of having slaves wait upon him was something new to Master
      Thomas; and for it he was wholly unprepared. He was a slaveholder, without
      the ability to hold or manage his slaves. We seldom called him "master,"
      but generally addressed him by his "bay craft" title&mdash;"<i>Capt. Auld</i>."
      It is easy to see that such conduct might do much to make him appear
      awkward, and, consequently, fretful. His wife was especially solicitous to
      have us call her husband "master." Is your <i>master</i> at the store?"&mdash;"Where
      is your <i>master</i>?"&mdash;"Go and tell your <i>master"</i>&mdash;"I
      will make your <i>master</i> acquainted with your conduct"&mdash;she would
      say; but we were inapt scholars. Especially were I and my sister Eliza
      inapt in this particular. Aunt Priscilla was less stubborn and defiant in
      her spirit than Eliza and myself; and, I think, her road was less rough
      than ours.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the month of August, 1833, when I had almost become desperate under the
      treatment of Master Thomas, and when I entertained more strongly than ever
      the oft-repeated determination to run away, a circumstance occurred which
      seemed to promise brighter and better days for us all. At a Methodist
      camp-meeting, held in the Bay Side (a famous place for campmeetings) about
      eight miles from St. Michael's, Master Thomas came out with a profession
      of religion. He had long been an object of interest to the church, and to
      the ministers, as I had seen by the repeated visits and lengthy
      exhortations of the latter. He was a fish quite worth catching, for he had
      money and standing. In the community of St. Michael's he was equal to the
      best citizen. He was strictly temperate; <i>perhaps</i>, from principle,
      but most likely, from interest. There was very little to do for him, to
      give him the appearance of piety, and to make him a pillar in the church.
      Well, the camp-meeting continued a week; people gathered from all parts of
      the county, and two steamboat loads came from Baltimore. The ground was
      happily chosen; seats were arranged; a stand erected; a rude altar fenced
      in, fronting the preachers' stand, with straw in it for the accommodation
      of<span class="pagenum">[151]</span> mourners. This latter would hold at
      least one hundred persons. In front, and on the sides of the preachers'
      stand, and outside the long rows of seats, rose the first class of stately
      tents, each vieing with the other in strength, neatness, and capacity for
      accommodating its inmates. Behind this first circle of tents was another,
      less imposing, which reached round the camp-ground to the speakers' stand.
      Outside this second class of tents were covered wagons, ox carts, and
      vehicles of every shape and size. These served as tents to their owners.
      Outside of these, huge fires were burning, in all directions, where
      roasting, and boiling, and frying, were going on, for the benefit of those
      who were attending to their own spiritual welfare within the circle. <i>Behind</i>
      the preachers' stand, a narrow space was marked out for the use of the
      colored people. There were no seats provided for this class of persons;
      the preachers addressed them, <i>"over the left,"</i> if they addressed
      them at all. After the preaching was over, at every service, an invitation
      was given to mourners to come into the pen; and, in some cases, ministers
      went out to persuade men and women to come in. By one of these ministers,
      Master Thomas Auld was persuaded to go inside the pen. I was deeply
      interested in that matter, and followed; and, though colored people were
      not allowed either in the pen or in front of the preachers' stand, I
      ventured to take my stand at a sort of half-way place between the blacks
      and whites, where I could distinctly see the movements of mourners, and
      especially the progress of Master Thomas.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If he has got religion," thought I, "he will emancipate his slaves; and
      if he should not do so much as this, he will, at any rate, behave toward
      us more kindly, and feed us more generously than he has heretofore done."
      Appealing to my own religious experience, and judging my master by what
      was true in my own case, I could not regard him as soundly converted,
      unless some such good results followed his profession of religion.
    </p>
    <p>
      But in my expectations I was doubly disappointed; Master Thomas was <i>Master
      Thomas</i> still. The fruits of his righteousness<span class="pagenum">[152]</span>
      were to show themselves in no such way as I had anticipated. His
      conversion was not to change his relation toward men&mdash;at any rate not
      toward BLACK men&mdash;but toward God. My faith, I confess, was not great.
      There was something in his appearance that, in my mind, cast a doubt over
      his conversion. Standing where I did, I could see his every movement. I
      watched narrowly while he remained in the little pen; and although I saw
      that his face was extremely red, and his hair disheveled, and though I
      heard him groan, and saw a stray tear halting on his cheek, as if
      inquiring "which way shall I go?"&mdash;I could not wholly confide in the
      genuineness of his conversion. The hesitating behavior of that tear-drop
      and its loneliness, distressed me, and cast a doubt upon the whole
      transaction, of which it was a part. But people said, <i>"Capt. Auld had
      come through,"</i> and it was for me to hope for the best. I was bound to
      do this, in charity, for I, too, was religious, and had been in the church
      full three years, although now I was not more than sixteen years old.
      Slaveholders may, sometimes, have confidence in the piety of some of their
      slaves; but the slaves seldom have confidence in the piety of their
      masters. <i>"He cant go to heaven with our blood in his skirts</i>," is a
      settled point in the creed of every slave; rising superior to all teaching
      to the contrary, and standing forever as a fixed fact. The highest
      evidence the slaveholder can give the slave of his acceptance with God, is
      the emancipation of his slaves. This is proof that he is willing to give
      up all to God, and for the sake of God. Not to do this, was, in my
      estimation, and in the opinion of all the slaves, an evidence of
      half-heartedness, and wholly inconsistent with the idea of genuine
      conversion. I had read, also, somewhere in the Methodist Discipline, the
      following question and answer:
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Question</i>. What shall be done for the extirpation of slavery?
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Answer</i>. We declare that we are much as ever convinced of the great
      evil of slavery; therefore, no slaveholder shall be eligible to any
      official station in our church."
    </p>
    <p>
      These words sounded in my ears for a long time, and<span class="pagenum">[153]</span>
      encouraged me to hope. But, as I have before said, I was doomed to
      disappointment. Master Thomas seemed to be aware of my hopes and
      expectations concerning him. I have thought, before now, that he looked at
      me in answer to my glances, as much as to say, "I will teach you, young
      man, that, though I have parted with my sins, I have not parted with my
      sense. I shall hold my slaves, and go to heaven too."
    </p>
    <p>
      Possibly, to convince us that we must not presume <i>too much</i> upon his
      recent conversion, he became rather more rigid and stringent in his
      exactions. There always was a scarcity of good nature about the man; but
      now his whole countenance was <i>soured</i> over with the seemings of
      piety. His religion, therefore, neither made him emancipate his slaves,
      nor caused him to treat them with greater humanity. If religion had any
      effect on his character at all, it made him more cruel and hateful in all
      his ways. The natural wickedness of his heart had not been removed, but
      only reinforced, by the profession of religion. Do I judge him harshly?
      God forbid. Facts <i>are</i> facts. Capt. Auld made the greatest
      profession of piety. His house was, literally, a house of prayer. In the
      morning, and in the evening, loud prayers and hymns were heard there, in
      which both himself and his wife joined; yet, <i>no more meal</i> was
      brought from the mill, <i>no more attention</i> was paid to the moral
      welfare of the kitchen; and nothing was done to make us feel that the
      heart of Master Thomas was one whit better than it was before he went into
      the little pen, opposite to the preachers' stand, on the camp ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our hopes (founded on the discipline) soon vanished; for the authorities
      let him into the church <i>at once</i>, and before he was out of his term
      of <i>probation</i>, I heard of his leading class! He distinguished
      himself greatly among the brethren, and was soon an exhorter. His progress
      was almost as rapid as the growth of the fabled vine of Jack's bean. No
      man was more active than he, in revivals. He would go many miles to assist
      in carrying them on, and in getting outsiders interested in religion. His
      house being<span class="pagenum">[154]</span> one of the holiest, if not
      the happiest in St. Michael's, became the "preachers' home." These
      preachers evidently liked to share Master Thomas's hospitality; for while
      he <i>starved us</i>, he <i>stuffed</i> them. Three or four of these
      ambassadors of the gospel&mdash;according to slavery&mdash;have been there
      at a time; all living on the fat of the land, while we, in the kitchen,
      were nearly starving. Not often did we get a smile of recognition from
      these holy men. They seemed almost as unconcerned about our getting to
      heaven, as they were about our getting out of slavery. To this general
      charge there was one exception&mdash;the Rev. GEORGE COOKMAN. Unlike Rev.
      Messrs. Storks, Ewry, Hickey, Humphrey and Cooper (all whom were on the
      St. Michael's circuit) he kindly took an interest in our temporal and
      spiritual welfare. Our souls and our bodies were all alike sacred in his
      sight; and he really had a good deal of genuine anti-slavery feeling
      mingled with his colonization ideas. There was not a slave in our
      neighborhood that did not love, and almost venerate, Mr. Cookman. It was
      pretty generally believed that he had been chiefly instrumental in
      bringing one of the largest slaveholders&mdash;Mr. Samuel Harrison&mdash;in
      that neighborhood, to emancipate all his slaves, and, indeed, the general
      impression was, that Mr. Cookman had labored faithfully with slaveholders,
      whenever he met them, to induce them to emancipate their bondmen, and that
      he did this as a religious duty. When this good man was at our house, we
      were all sure to be called in to prayers in the morning; and he was not
      slow in making inquiries as to the state of our minds, nor in giving us a
      word of exhortation and of encouragement. Great was the sorrow of all the
      slaves, when this faithful preacher of the gospel was removed from the
      Talbot county circuit. He was an eloquent preacher, and possessed what few
      ministers, south of Mason Dixon's line, possess, or <i>dare</i> to show,
      viz: a warm and philanthropic heart. The Mr. Cookman, of whom I speak, was
      an Englishman by birth, and perished while on his way to England, on board
      the ill-fated "President". Could the thousands of slaves<span
      class="pagenum">[155]</span> in Maryland know the fate of the good man, to
      whose words of comfort they were so largely indebted, they would thank me
      for dropping a tear on this page, in memory of their favorite preacher,
      friend and benefactor.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, let me return to Master Thomas, and to my experience, after his
      conversion. In Baltimore, I could, occasionally, get into a Sabbath
      school, among the free children, and receive lessons, with the rest; but,
      having already learned both to read and to write, I was more of a teacher
      than a pupil, even there. When, however, I went back to the Eastern Shore,
      and was at the house of Master Thomas, I was neither allowed to teach, nor
      to be taught. The whole community&mdash;with but a single exception, among
      the whites&mdash;frowned upon everything like imparting instruction either
      to slaves or to free colored persons. That single exception, a pious young
      man, named Wilson, asked me, one day, if I would like to assist him in
      teaching a little Sabbath school, at the house of a free colored man in
      St. Michael's, named James Mitchell. The idea was to me a delightful one,
      and I told him I would gladly devote as much of my Sabbath as I could
      command, to that most laudable work. Mr. Wilson soon mustered up a dozen
      old spelling books, and a few testaments; and we commenced operations,
      with some twenty scholars, in our Sunday school. Here, thought I, is
      something worth living for; here is an excellent chance for usefulness;
      and I shall soon have a company of young friends, lovers of knowledge,
      like some of my Baltimore friends, from whom I now felt parted forever.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our first Sabbath passed delightfully, and I spent the week after very
      joyously. I could not go to Baltimore, but I could make a little Baltimore
      here. At our second meeting, I learned that there was some objection to
      the existence of the Sabbath school; and, sure enough, we had scarcely got
      at work&mdash;<i>good work</i>, simply teaching a few colored children how
      to read the gospel of the Son of God&mdash;when in rushed a mob, headed by
      Mr. Wright Fairbanks and Mr. Garrison West&mdash;two class-leaders<span
      class="pagenum">[156]</span> &mdash;and Master Thomas; who, armed with
      sticks and other missiles, drove us off, and commanded us never to meet
      for such a purpose again. One of this pious crew told me, that as for my
      part, I wanted to be another Nat Turner; and if I did not look out, I
      should get as many balls into me, as Nat did into him. Thus ended the
      infant Sabbath school, in the town of St. Michael's. The reader will not
      be surprised when I say, that the breaking up of my Sabbath school, by
      these class-leaders, and professedly holy men, did not serve to strengthen
      my religious convictions. The cloud over my St. Michael's home grew
      heavier and blacker than ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not merely the agency of Master Thomas, in breaking up and
      destroying my Sabbath school, that shook my confidence in the power of
      southern religion to make men wiser or better; but I saw in him all the
      cruelty and meanness, <i>after</i> his conversion, which he had exhibited
      before he made a profession of religion. His cruelty and meanness were
      especially displayed in his treatment of my unfortunate cousin, Henny,
      whose lameness made her a burden to him. I have no extraordinary personal
      hard usage toward myself to complain of, against him, but I have seen him
      tie up the lame and maimed woman, and whip her in a manner most brutal,
      and shocking; and then, with blood-chilling blasphemy, he would quote the
      passage of scripture, "That servant which knew his lord's will, and
      prepared not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten
      with many stripes." Master would keep this lacerated woman tied up by her
      wrists, to a bolt in the joist, three, four and five hours at a time. He
      would tie her up early in the morning, whip her with a cowskin before
      breakfast; leave her tied up; go to his store, and, returning to his
      dinner, repeat the castigation; laying on the rugged lash, on flesh
      already made raw by repeated blows. He seemed desirous to get the poor
      girl out of existence, or, at any rate, off his hands. In proof of this,
      he afterwards gave her away to his sister Sarah (Mrs. Cline) but, as in
      the case of Master<span class="pagenum">[157]</span> Hugh, Henny was soon
      returned on his hands. Finally, upon a pretense that he could do nothing
      with her (I use his own words) he "set her adrift, to take care of
      herself." Here was a recently converted man, holding, with tight grasp,
      the well-framed, and able bodied slaves left him by old master&mdash;the
      persons, who, in freedom, could have taken care of themselves; yet,
      turning loose the only cripple among them, virtually to starve and die.
    </p>
    <p>
      No doubt, had Master Thomas been asked, by some pious northern brother, <i>why</i>
      he continued to sustain the relation of a slaveholder, to those whom he
      retained, his answer would have been precisely the same as many other
      religious slaveholders have returned to that inquiry, viz: "I hold my
      slaves for their own good."
    </p>
    <p>
      Bad as my condition was when I lived with Master Thomas, I was soon to
      experience a life far more goading and bitter. The many differences
      springing up between myself and Master Thomas, owing to the clear
      perception I had of his character, and the boldness with which I defended
      myself against his capricious complaints, led him to declare that I was
      unsuited to his wants; that my city life had affected me perniciously;
      that, in fact, it had almost ruined me for every good purpose, and had
      fitted me for everything that was bad. One of my greatest faults, or
      offenses, was that of letting his horse get away, and go down to the farm
      belonging to his father-in-law. The animal had a liking for that farm,
      with which I fully sympathized. Whenever I let it out, it would go dashing
      down the road to Mr. Hamilton's, as if going on a grand frolic. My horse
      gone, of course I must go after it. The explanation of our mutual
      attachment to the place is the same; the horse found there good pasturage,
      and I found there plenty of bread. Mr. Hamilton had his faults, but
      starving his slaves was not among them. He gave food, in abundance, and
      that, too, of an excellent quality. In Mr. Hamilton's cook&mdash;Aunt Mary&mdash;I
      found a most generous and considerate friend. She never allowed me to go
      there without giving me bread enough<span class="pagenum">[158]</span> to
      make good the deficiencies of a day or two. Master Thomas at last resolved
      to endure my behavior no longer; he could neither keep me, nor his horse,
      we liked so well to be at his father-in-law's farm. I had now lived with
      him nearly nine months, and he had given me a number of severe whippings,
      without any visible improvement in my character, or my conduct; and now he
      was resolved to put me out&mdash;as he said&mdash;"<i>to be broken.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was, in the Bay Side, very near the camp ground, where my master got
      his religious impressions, a man named Edward Covey, who enjoyed the
      execrated reputation, of being a first rate hand at breaking young
      Negroes. This Covey was a poor man, a farm renter; and this reputation
      (hateful as it was to the slaves and to all good men) was, at the same
      time, of immense advantage to him. It enabled him to get his farm tilled
      with very little expense, compared with what it would have cost him
      without this most extraordinary reputation. Some slaveholders thought it
      an advantage to let Mr. Covey have the government of their slaves a year
      or two, almost free of charge, for the sake of the excellent training such
      slaves got under his happy management! Like some horse breakers, noted for
      their skill, who ride the best horses in the country without expense, Mr.
      Covey could have under him, the most fiery bloods of the neighborhood, for
      the simple reward of returning them to their owners, <i>well broken</i>.
      Added to the natural fitness of Mr. Covey for the duties of his
      profession, he was said to "enjoy religion," and was as strict in the
      cultivation of piety, as he was in the cultivation of his farm. I was made
      aware of his character by some who had been under his hand; and while I
      could not look forward to going to him with any pleasure, I was glad to
      get away from St. Michael's. I was sure of getting enough to eat at
      Covey's, even if I suffered in other respects. <i>This</i>, to a hungry
      man, is not a prospect to be regarded with indifference.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV. <i>Covey, the Negro Breaker</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
JOURNEY TO MY NEW MASTER'S&mdash;MEDITATIONS BY THE WAY&mdash;VIEW OF COVEY'S
RESIDENCE&mdash;THE FAMILY&mdash;MY AWKWARDNESS AS A FIELD HAND&mdash;A CRUEL
BEATING&mdash;WHY IT WAS GIVEN&mdash;DESCRIPTION OF COVEY&mdash;FIRST ADVENTURE AT OX
DRIVING&mdash;HAIR BREADTH ESCAPES&mdash;OX AND MAN ALIKE PROPERTY&mdash;COVEY'S MANNER
OF PROCEEDING TO WHIP&mdash;HARD LABOR BETTER THAN THE WHIP FOR BREAKING
DOWN THE SPIRIT&mdash;CUNNING AND TRICKERY OF COVEY&mdash;FAMILY WORSHIP&mdash;SHOCKING
CONTEMPT FOR CHASTITY&mdash;I AM BROKEN DOWN&mdash;GREAT MENTAL AGITATION IN
CONTRASTING THE FREEDOM OF THE SHIPS WITH HIS OWN SLAVERY&mdash;ANGUISH
BEYOND DESCRIPTION.
</pre>
    <p>
      The morning of the first of January, 1834, with its chilling wind and
      pinching frost, quite in harmony with the winter in my own mind, found me,
      with my little bundle of clothing on the end of a stick, swung across my
      shoulder, on the main road, bending my way toward Covey's, whither I had
      been imperiously ordered by Master Thomas. The latter had been as good as
      his word, and had committed me, without reserve, to the mastery of Mr.
      Edward Covey. Eight or ten years had now passed since I had been taken
      from my grandmother's cabin, in Tuckahoe; and these years, for the most
      part, I had spent in Baltimore, where&mdash;as the reader has already seen&mdash;I
      was treated with comparative tenderness. I was now about to sound
      profounder depths in slave life. The rigors of a field, less tolerable
      than the field of battle, awaited me. My new master was notorious for his
      fierce and savage disposition, and my only consolation in going to live<span
      class="pagenum">[160]</span> with him was, the certainty of finding him
      precisely as represented by common fame. There was neither joy in my
      heart, nor elasticity in my step, as I started in search of the tyrant's
      home. Starvation made me glad to leave Thomas Auld's, and the cruel lash
      made me dread to go to Covey's. Escape was impossible; so, heavy and sad,
      I paced the seven miles, which separated Covey's house from St. Michael's&mdash;thinking
      much by the solitary way&mdash;averse to my condition; but <i>thinking</i>
      was all I could do. Like a fish in a net, allowed to play for a time, I
      was now drawn rapidly to the shore, secured at all points. "I am," thought
      I, "but the sport of a power which makes no account, either of my welfare
      or of my happiness. By a law which I can clearly comprehend, but cannot
      evade nor resist, I am ruthlessly snatched from the hearth of a fond
      grandmother, and hurried away to the home of a mysterious 'old master;'
      again I am removed from there, to a master in Baltimore; thence am I
      snatched away to the Eastern Shore, to be valued with the beasts of the
      field, and, with them, divided and set apart for a possessor; then I am
      sent back to Baltimore; and by the time I have formed new attachments, and
      have begun to hope that no more rude shocks shall touch me, a difference
      arises between brothers, and I am again broken up, and sent to St.
      Michael's; and now, from the latter place, I am footing my way to the home
      of a new master, where, I am given to understand, that, like a wild young
      working animal, I am to be broken to the yoke of a bitter and life-long
      bondage."
    </p>
    <p>
      With thoughts and reflections like these, I came in sight of a small
      wood-colored building, about a mile from the main road, which, from the
      description I had received, at starting, I easily recognized as my new
      home. The Chesapeake bay&mdash;upon the jutting banks of which the little
      wood-colored house was standing&mdash;white with foam, raised by the heavy
      north-west wind; Poplar Island, covered with a thick, black pine forest,
      standing out amid this half ocean; and Kent Point, stretching its sandy,
      desert-like shores out into the foam-cested bay&mdash;were all in<span
      class="pagenum">[161]</span> sight, and deepened the wild and desolate
      aspect of my new home.
    </p>
    <p>
      The good clothes I had brought with me from Baltimore were now worn thin,
      and had not been replaced; for Master Thomas was as little careful to
      provide us against cold, as against hunger. Met here by a north wind,
      sweeping through an open space of forty miles, I was glad to make any
      port; and, therefore, I speedily pressed on to the little wood-colored
      house. The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Covey; Miss Kemp (a
      broken-backed woman) a sister of Mrs. Covey; William Hughes, cousin to
      Edward Covey; Caroline, the cook; Bill Smith, a hired man; and myself.
      Bill Smith, Bill Hughes, and myself, were the working force of the farm,
      which consisted of three or four hundred acres. I was now, for the first
      time in my life, to be a field hand; and in my new employment I found
      myself even more awkward than a green country boy may be supposed to be,
      upon his first entrance into the bewildering scenes of city life; and my
      awkwardness gave me much trouble. Strange and unnatural as it may seem, I
      had been at my new home but three days, before Mr. Covey (my brother in
      the Methodist church) gave me a bitter foretaste of what was in reserve
      for me. I presume he thought, that since he had but a single year in which
      to complete his work, the sooner he began, the better. Perhaps he thought
      that by coming to blows at once, we should mutually better understand our
      relations. But to whatever motive, direct or indirect, the cause may be
      referred, I had not been in his possession three whole days, before he
      subjected me to a most brutal chastisement. Under his heavy blows, blood
      flowed freely, and wales were left on my back as large as my little
      finger. The sores on my back, from this flogging, continued for weeks, for
      they were kept open by the rough and coarse cloth which I wore for
      shirting. The occasion and details of this first chapter of my experience
      as a field hand, must be told, that the reader may see how unreasonable,
      as well as how cruel, my new master, Covey, was.<span class="pagenum">[162]</span>
      The whole thing I found to be characteristic of the man; and I was
      probably treated no worse by him than scores of lads who had previously
      been committed to him, for reasons similar to those which induced my
      master to place me with him. But, here are the facts connected with the
      affair, precisely as they occurred.
    </p>
    <p>
      On one of the coldest days of the whole month of January, 1834, I was
      ordered, at day break, to get a load of wood, from a forest about two
      miles from the house. In order to perform this work, Mr. Covey gave me a
      pair of unbroken oxen, for, it seems, his breaking abilities had not been
      turned in this direction; and I may remark, in passing, that working
      animals in the south, are seldom so well trained as in the north. In due
      form, and with all proper ceremony, I was introduced to this huge yoke of
      unbroken oxen, and was carefully told which was "Buck," and which was
      "Darby"&mdash;which was the "in hand," and which was the "off hand" ox.
      The master of this important ceremony was no less a person than Mr. Covey,
      himself; and the introduction was the first of the kind I had ever had. My
      life, hitherto, had led me away from horned cattle, and I had no knowledge
      of the art of managing them. What was meant by the "in ox," as against the
      "off ox," when both were equally fastened to one cart, and under one yoke,
      I could not very easily divine; and the difference, implied by the names,
      and the peculiar duties of each, were alike <i>Greek</i> to me. Why was
      not the "off ox" called the "in ox?" Where and what is the reason for this
      distinction in names, when there is none in the things themselves? After
      initiating me into the <i>"woa," "back" "gee," "hither"</i>&mdash;the
      entire spoken language between oxen and driver&mdash;Mr. Covey took a
      rope, about ten feet long and one inch thick, and placed one end of it
      around the horns of the "in hand ox," and gave the other end to me,
      telling me that if the oxen started to run away, as the scamp knew they
      would, I must hold on to the rope and stop them. I need not tell any one
      who is acquainted with either the strength of the disposition of an
      untamed ox, that this order<span class="pagenum">[163]</span> was about as
      unreasonable as a command to shoulder a mad bull! I had never driven oxen
      before, and I was as awkward, as a driver, as it is possible to conceive.
      It did not answer for me to plead ignorance, to Mr. Covey; there was
      something in his manner that quite forbade that. He was a man to whom a
      slave seldom felt any disposition to speak. Cold, distant, morose, with a
      face wearing all the marks of captious pride and malicious sternness, he
      repelled all advances. Covey was not a large man; he was only about five
      feet ten inches in height, I should think; short necked, round shoulders;
      of quick and wiry motion, of thin and wolfish visage; with a pair of
      small, greenish-gray eyes, set well back under a forehead without dignity,
      and constantly in motion, and floating his passions, rather than his
      thoughts, in sight, but denying them utterance in words. The creature
      presented an appearance altogether ferocious and sinister, disagreeable
      and forbidding, in the extreme. When he spoke, it was from the corner of
      his mouth, and in a sort of light growl, like a dog, when an attempt is
      made to take a bone from him. The fellow had already made me believe him
      even <i>worse</i> than he had been presented. With his directions, and
      without stopping to question, I started for the woods, quite anxious to
      perform my first exploit in driving, in a creditable manner. The distance
      from the house to the woods gate a full mile, I should think&mdash;was
      passed over with very little difficulty; for although the animals ran, I
      was fleet enough, in the open field, to keep pace with them; especially as
      they pulled me along at the end of the rope; but, on reaching the woods, I
      was speedily thrown into a distressing plight. The animals took fright,
      and started off ferociously into the woods, carrying the cart, full tilt,
      against trees, over stumps, and dashing from side to side, in a manner
      altogether frightful. As I held the rope, I expected every moment to be
      crushed between the cart and the huge trees, among which they were so
      furiously dashing. After running thus for several minutes, my oxen were,
      finally, brought to a stand, by a tree, against which they dashed <span
      class="pagenum">[164]</span> themselves with great violence, upsetting the
      cart, and entangling themselves among sundry young saplings. By the shock,
      the body of the cart was flung in one direction, and the wheels and tongue
      in another, and all in the greatest confusion. There I was, all alone, in
      a thick wood, to which I was a stranger; my cart upset and shattered; my
      oxen entangled, wild, and enraged; and I, poor soul! but a green hand, to
      set all this disorder right. I knew no more of oxen than the ox driver is
      supposed to know of wisdom. After standing a few moments surveying the
      damage and disorder, and not without a presentiment that this trouble
      would draw after it others, even more distressing, I took one end of the
      cart body, and, by an extra outlay of strength, I lifted it toward the
      axle-tree, from which it had been violently flung; and after much pulling
      and straining, I succeeded in getting the body of the cart in its place.
      This was an important step out of the difficulty, and its performance
      increased my courage for the work which remained to be done. The cart was
      provided with an ax, a tool with which I had become pretty well acquainted
      in the ship yard at Baltimore. With this, I cut down the saplings by which
      my oxen were entangled, and again pursued my journey, with my heart in my
      mouth, lest the oxen should again take it into their senseless heads to
      cut up a caper. My fears were groundless. Their spree was over for the
      present, and the rascals now moved off as soberly as though their behavior
      had been natural and exemplary. On reaching the part of the forest where I
      had been, the day before, chopping wood, I filled the cart with a heavy
      load, as a security against another running away. But, the neck of an ox
      is equal in strength to iron. It defies all ordinary burdens, when
      excited. Tame and docile to a proverb, when <i>well</i> trained, the ox is
      the most sullen and intractable of animals when but half broken to the
      yoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      I now saw, in my situation, several points of similarity with that of the
      oxen. They were property, so was I; they were to be<span class="pagenum">[165]</span>
      broken, so was I. Covey was to break me, I was to break them; break and be
      broken&mdash;such is life.
    </p>
    <p>
      Half the day already gone, and my face not yet homeward! It required only
      two day's experience and observation to teach me, that such apparent waste
      of time would not be lightly overlooked by Covey. I therefore hurried
      toward home; but, on reaching the lane gate, I met with the crowning
      disaster for the day. This gate was a fair specimen of southern
      handicraft. There were two huge posts, eighteen inches in diameter, rough
      hewed and square, and the heavy gate was so hung on one of these, that it
      opened only about half the proper distance. On arriving here, it was
      necessary for me to let go the end of the rope on the horns of the "in
      hand ox;" and now as soon as the gate was open, and I let go of it to get
      the rope, again, off went my oxen&mdash;making nothing of their load&mdash;full
      tilt; and in doing so they caught the huge gate between the wheel and the
      cart body, literally crushing it to splinters, and coming only within a
      few inches of subjecting me to a similar crushing, for I was just in
      advance of the wheel when it struck the left gate post. With these two
      hair-breadth escape, I thought I could sucessfully(sic) explain to Mr.
      Covey the delay, and avert apprehended punishment. I was not without a
      faint hope of being commended for the stern resolution which I had
      displayed in accomplishing the difficult task&mdash;a task which, I
      afterwards learned, even Covey himself would not have undertaken, without
      first driving the oxen for some time in the open field, preparatory to
      their going into the woods. But, in this I was disappointed. On coming to
      him, his countenance assumed an aspect of rigid displeasure, and, as I
      gave him a history of the casualties of my trip, his wolfish face, with
      his greenish eyes, became intensely ferocious. "Go back to the woods
      again," he said, muttering something else about wasting time. I hastily
      obeyed; but I had not gone far on my way, when I saw him coming after me.
      My oxen now behaved themselves with singular<span class="pagenum">[166]</span>
      propriety, opposing their present conduct to my representation of their
      former antics. I almost wished, now that Covey was coming, they would do
      something in keeping with the character I had given them; but no, they had
      already had their spree, and they could afford now to be extra good,
      readily obeying my orders, and seeming to understand them quite as well as
      I did myself. On reaching the woods, my tormentor&mdash;who seemed all the
      way to be remarking upon the good behavior of his oxen&mdash;came up to
      me, and ordered me to stop the cart, accompanying the same with the threat
      that he would now teach me how to break gates, and idle away my time, when
      he sent me to the woods. Suiting the action to the word, Covey paced off,
      in his own wiry fashion, to a large, black gum tree, the young shoots of
      which are generally used for ox <i>goads</i>, they being exceedingly
      tough. Three of these <i>goads</i>, from four to six feet long, he cut
      off, and trimmed up, with his large jack-knife. This done, he ordered me
      to take off my clothes. To this unreasonable order I made no reply, but
      sternly refused to take off my clothing. "If you will beat me," thought I,
      "you shall do so over my clothes." After many threats, which made no
      impression on me, he rushed at me with something of the savage fierceness
      of a wolf, tore off the few and thinly worn clothes I had on, and
      proceeded to wear out, on my back, the heavy goads which he had cut from
      the gum tree. This flogging was the first of a series of floggings; and
      though very severe, it was less so than many which came after it, and
      these, for offenses far lighter than the gate breaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      I remained with Mr. Covey one year (I cannot say I <i>lived</i> with him)
      and during the first six months that I was there, I was whipped, either
      with sticks or cowskins, every week. Aching bones and a sore back were my
      constant companions. Frequent as the lash was used, Mr. Covey thought less
      of it, as a means of breaking down my spirit, than that of hard and long
      continued labor. He worked me steadily, up to the point of my powers of
      endurance. From the dawn of day in the morning, till the darkness<span
      class="pagenum">[167]</span> was complete in the evening, I was kept at
      hard work, in the field or the woods. At certain seasons of the year, we
      were all kept in the field till eleven and twelve o'clock at night. At
      these times, Covey would attend us in the field, and urge us on with words
      or blows, as it seemed best to him. He had, in his life, been an overseer,
      and he well understood the business of slave driving. There was no
      deceiving him. He knew just what a man or boy could do, and he held both
      to strict account. When he pleased, he would work himself, like a very
      Turk, making everything fly before him. It was, however, scarcely
      necessary for Mr. Covey to be really present in the field, to have his
      work go on industriously. He had the faculty of making us feel that he was
      always present. By a series of adroitly managed surprises, which he
      practiced, I was prepared to expect him at any moment. His plan was, never
      to approach the spot where his hands were at work, in an open, manly and
      direct manner. No thief was ever more artful in his devices than this man
      Covey. He would creep and crawl, in ditches and gullies; hide behind
      stumps and bushes, and practice so much of the cunning of the serpent,
      that Bill Smith and I&mdash;between ourselves&mdash;never called him by
      any other name than <i>"the snake."</i> We fancied that in his eyes and
      his gait we could see a snakish resemblance. One half of his proficiency
      in the art of Negro breaking, consisted, I should think, in this species
      of cunning. We were never secure. He could see or hear us nearly all the
      time. He was, to us, behind every stump, tree, bush and fence on the
      plantation. He carried this kind of trickery so far, that he would
      sometimes mount his horse, and make believe he was going to St. Michael's;
      and, in thirty minutes afterward, you might find his horse tied in the
      woods, and the snake-like Covey lying flat in the ditch, with his head
      lifted above its edge, or in a fence corner, watching every movement of
      the slaves! I have known him walk up to us and give us special orders, as
      to our work, in advance, as if he were leaving home with a view to being
      absent several days; and before he got half way to the<span class="pagenum">[168]</span>
      house, he would avail himself of our inattention to his movements, to turn
      short on his heels, conceal himself behind a fence corner or a tree, and
      watch us until the going down of the sun. Mean and contemptible as is all
      this, it is in keeping with the character which the life of a slaveholder
      is calculated to produce. There is no earthly inducement, in the slave's
      condition, to incite him to labor faithfully. The fear of punishment is
      the sole motive for any sort of industry, with him. Knowing this fact, as
      the slaveholder does, and judging the slave by himself, he naturally
      concludes the slave will be idle whenever the cause for this fear is
      absent. Hence, all sorts of petty deceptions are practiced, to inspire
      this fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, with Mr. Covey, trickery was natural. Everything in the shape of
      learning or religion, which he possessed, was made to conform to this
      semi-lying propensity. He did not seem conscious that the practice had
      anything unmanly, base or contemptible about it. It was a part of an
      important system, with him, essential to the relation of master and slave.
      I thought I saw, in his very religious devotions, this controlling element
      of his character. A long prayer at night made up for the short prayer in
      the morning; and few men could seem more devotional than he, when he had
      nothing else to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Covey was not content with the cold style of family worship, adopted
      in these cold latitudes, which begin and end with a simple prayer. No! the
      voice of praise, as well as of prayer, must be heard in his house, night
      and morning. At first, I was called upon to bear some part in these
      exercises; but the repeated flogging given me by Covey, turned the whole
      thing into mockery. He was a poor singer, and mainly relied on me for
      raising the hymn for the family, and when I failed to do so, he was thrown
      into much confusion. I do not think that he ever abused me on account of
      these vexations. His religion was a thing altogether apart from his
      worldly concerns. He knew nothing of it as a holy principle, directing and
      controlling his daily life,<span class="pagenum">[169]</span> making the
      latter conform to the requirements of the gospel. One or two facts will
      illustrate his character better than a volume of generalties(sic).
    </p>
    <p>
      I have already said, or implied, that Mr. Edward Covey was a poor man. He
      was, in fact, just commencing to lay the foundation of his fortune, as
      fortune is regarded in a slave state. The first condition of wealth and
      respectability there, being the ownership of human property, every nerve
      is strained, by the poor man, to obtain it, and very little regard is had
      to the manner of obtaining it. In pursuit of this object, pious as Mr.
      Covey was, he proved himself to be as unscrupulous and base as the worst
      of his neighbors. In the beginning, he was only able&mdash;as he said&mdash;"to
      buy one slave;" and, scandalous and shocking as is the fact, he boasted
      that he bought her simply "<i>as a breeder</i>." But the worst is not told
      in this naked statement. This young woman (Caroline was her name) was
      virtually compelled by Mr. Covey to abandon herself to the object for
      which he had purchased her; and the result was, the birth of twins at the
      end of the year. At this addition to his human stock, both Edward Covey
      and his wife, Susan, were ecstatic with joy. No one dreamed of reproaching
      the woman, or of finding fault with the hired man&mdash;Bill Smith&mdash;the
      father of the children, for Mr. Covey himself had locked the two up
      together every night, thus inviting the result.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I will pursue this revolting subject no further. No better
      illustration of the unchaste and demoralizing character of slavery can be
      found, than is furnished in the fact that this professedly Christian
      slaveholder, amidst all his prayers and hymns, was shamelessly and
      boastfully encouraging, and actually compelling, in his own house,
      undisguised and unmitigated fornication, as a means of increasing his
      human stock. I may remark here, that, while this fact will be read with
      disgust and shame at the north, it will be <i>laughed at</i>, as smart and
      praiseworthy in Mr. Covey, at the south; for a man is no more condemned
      there for buying a woman and devoting her to this life of dishonor,<span
      class="pagenum">[170]</span> than for buying a cow, and raising stock from
      her. The same rules are observed, with a view to increasing the number and
      quality of the former, as of the latter.
    </p>
    <p>
      I will here reproduce what I said of my own experience in this wretched
      place, more than ten years ago:
    </p>
    <p>
      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 all weathers. It was never too hot
      or too cold; it could never rain, blow, snow, or hail too hard for us to
      work in the field. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order of the
      day than the night. The longest days were too short for him, and the
      shortest nights were too long for him. I was somewhat unmanageable when I
      first went there; but a few months of his 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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 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:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are loosed from your moorings, and 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 around
      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<span class="pagenum">[171]</span> 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 with
      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 coast 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
      will 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."
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall never be able to narrate the mental experience through which it
      was my lot to pass during my stay at Covey's. I was completely wrecked,
      changed and bewildered; goaded almost to madness at one time, and at
      another reconciling myself to my wretched condition. Everything in the way
      of kindness, which I had experienced at Baltimore; all my former hopes and
      aspirations for usefulness in the world, and the happy moments spent in
      the exercises of religion, contrasted with my then present lot, but
      increased my anguish.
    </p>
    <p>
      I suffered bodily as well as mentally. I had neither sufficient time in
      which to eat or to sleep, except on Sundays. The overwork, and the brutal
      chastisements of which I was the victim, combined with that ever-gnawing
      and soul-devouring thought&mdash;"<i>I am a slave&mdash;a slave for life&mdash;a
      slave with no rational ground to hope for freedom</i>"&mdash;rendered me a
      living embodiment of mental and physical wretchedness.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI. <i>Another Pressure of the Tyrant's Vice</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
EXPERIENCE AT COVEY'S SUMMED UP&mdash;FIRST SIX MONTHS SEVERER THAN
THE SECOND&mdash;PRELIMINARIES TO THE CHANCE&mdash;REASONS FOR NARRATING THE
CIRCUMSTANCES&mdash;SCENE IN TREADING YARD&mdash;TAKEN ILL&mdash;UNUSUAL BRUTALITY
OF COVEY&mdash;ESCAPE TO ST. MICHAEL'S&mdash;THE PURSUIT&mdash;SUFFERING IN THE
WOODS&mdash;DRIVEN BACK AGAIN TO COVEY'S&mdash;BEARING OF MASTER THOMAS&mdash;THE SLAVE
IS NEVER SICK&mdash;NATURAL TO EXPECT SLAVES TO FEIGN SICKNESS&mdash;LAZINESS OF
SLAVEHOLDERS.
</pre>
    <p>
      The foregoing chapter, with all its horrid incidents and shocking
      features, may be taken as a fair representation of the first six months of
      my life at Covey's. The reader has but to repeat, in his own mind, once a
      week, the scene in the woods, where Covey subjected me to his merciless
      lash, to have a true idea of my bitter experience there, during the first
      period of the breaking process through which Mr. Covey carried me. I have
      no heart to repeat each separate transaction, in which I was victim of his
      violence and brutality. Such a narration would fill a volume much larger
      than the present one. I aim only to give the reader a truthful impression
      of my slave life, without unnecessarily affecting him with harrowing
      details.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I have elsewhere intimated that my hardships were much greater during
      the first six months of my stay at Covey's, than during the remainder of
      the year, and as the change in my condition was owing to causes which may
      help the reader to a better understanding of human nature, when subjected
      to the terrible extremities of slavery, I will narrate the circumstances
      of this<span class="pagenum">[173]</span> change, although I may seem
      thereby to applaud my own courage. You have, dear reader, seen me humbled,
      degraded, broken down, enslaved, and brutalized, and you understand how it
      was done; now let us see the converse of all this, and how it was brought
      about; and this will take us through the year 1834.
    </p>
    <p>
      On one of the hottest days of the month of August, of the year just
      mentioned, had the reader been passing through Covey's farm, he might have
      seen me at work, in what is there called the "treading yard"&mdash;a yard
      upon which wheat is trodden out from the straw, by the horses' feet. I was
      there, at work, feeding the "fan," or rather bringing wheat to the fan,
      while Bill Smith was feeding. Our force consisted of Bill Hughes, Bill
      Smith, and a slave by the name of Eli; the latter having been hired for
      this occasion. The work was simple, and required strength and activity,
      rather than any skill or intelligence, and yet, to one entirely unused to
      such work, it came very hard. The heat was intense and overpowering, and
      there was much hurry to get the wheat, trodden out that day, through the
      fan; since, if that work was done an hour before sundown, the hands would
      have, according to a promise of Covey, that hour added to their night's
      rest. I was not behind any of them in the wish to complete the day's work
      before sundown, and, hence, I struggled with all my might to get the work
      forward. The promise of one hour's repose on a week day, was sufficient to
      quicken my pace, and to spur me on to extra endeavor. Besides, we had all
      planned to go fishing, and I certainly wished to have a hand in that. But
      I was disappointed, and the day turned out to be one of the bitterest I
      ever experienced. About three o'clock, while the sun was pouring down his
      burning rays, and not a breeze was stirring, I broke down; my strength
      failed me; I was seized with a violent aching of the head, attended with
      extreme dizziness, and trembling in every limb. Finding what was coming,
      and feeling it would never do to stop work, I nerved myself up, and
      staggered on until I fell by the side of the wheat fan, feeling that the
      earth had fallen<span class="pagenum">[174]</span> upon me. This brought
      the entire work to a dead stand. There was work for four; each one had his
      part to perform, and each part depended on the other, so that when one
      stopped, all were compelled to stop. Covey, who had now become my dread,
      as well as my tormentor, was at the house, about a hundred yards from
      where I was fanning, and instantly, upon hearing the fan stop, he came
      down to the treading yard, to inquire into the cause of our stopping. Bill
      Smith told him I was sick, and that I was unable longer to bring wheat to
      the fan.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had, by this time, crawled away, under the side of a post-and-rail
      fence, in the shade, and was exceeding ill. The intense heat of the sun,
      the heavy dust rising from the fan, the stooping, to take up the wheat
      from the yard, together with the hurrying, to get through, had caused a
      rush of blood to my head. In this condition, Covey finding out where I
      was, came to me; and, after standing over me a while, he asked me what the
      matter was. I told him as well as I could, for it was with difficulty that
      I could speak. He then gave me a savage kick in the side, which jarred my
      whole frame, and commanded me to get up. The man had obtained complete
      control over me; and if he had commanded me to do any possible thing, I
      should, in my then state of mind, have endeavored to comply. I made an
      effort to rise, but fell back in the attempt, before gaining my feet. The
      brute now gave me another heavy kick, and again told me to rise. I again
      tried to rise, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but upon stooping to get
      the tub with which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and fell to
      the ground; and I must have so fallen, had I been sure that a hundred
      bullets would have pierced me, as the consequence. While down, in this sad
      condition, and perfectly helpless, the merciless Negro breaker took up the
      hickory slab, with which Hughes had been striking off the wheat to a level
      with the sides of the half bushel measure (a very hard weapon) and with
      the sharp edge of it, he dealt me a heavy blow on my head which made a
      large gash, and caused the blood to run freely, saying,<span
      class="pagenum">[175]</span> at the same time, "If <i>you have got the
      headache, I'll cure you</i>." This done, he ordered me again to rise, but
      I made no effort to do so; for I had made up my mind that it was useless,
      and that the heartless monster might now do his worst; he could but kill
      me, and that might put me out of my misery. Finding me unable to rise, or
      rather despairing of my doing so, Covey left me, with a view to getting on
      with the work without me. I was bleeding very freely, and my face was soon
      covered with my warm blood. Cruel and merciless as was the motive that
      dealt that blow, dear reader, the wound was fortunate for me. Bleeding was
      never more efficacious. The pain in my head speedily abated, and I was
      soon able to rise. Covey had, as I have said, now left me to my fate; and
      the question was, shall I return to my work, or shall I find my way to St.
      Michael's, and make Capt. Auld acquainted with the atrocious cruelty of
      his brother Covey, and beseech him to get me another master? Remembering
      the object he had in view, in placing me under the management of Covey,
      and further, his cruel treatment of my poor crippled cousin, Henny, and
      his meanness in the matter of feeding and clothing his slaves, there was
      little ground to hope for a favorable reception at the hands of Capt.
      Thomas Auld. Nevertheless, I resolved to go straight to Capt. Auld,
      thinking that, if not animated by motives of humanity, he might be induced
      to interfere on my behalf from selfish considerations. "He cannot,"
      thought I, "allow his property to be thus bruised and battered, marred and
      defaced; and I will go to him, and tell him the simple truth about the
      matter." In order to get to St. Michael's, by the most favorable and
      direct road, I must walk seven miles; and this, in my sad condition, was
      no easy performance. I had already lost much blood; I was exhausted by
      over exertion; my sides were sore from the heavy blows planted there by
      the stout boots of Mr. Covey; and I was, in every way, in an unfavorable
      plight for the journey. I however watched my chance, while the cruel and
      cunning Covey was looking in an opposite direction, and started<span
      class="pagenum">[176]</span> off, across the field, for St. Michael's.
      This was a daring step; if it failed, it would only exasperate Covey, and
      increase the rigors of my bondage, during the remainder of my term of
      service under him; but the step was taken, and I must go forward. I
      succeeded in getting nearly half way across the broad field, toward the
      woods, before Mr. Covey observed me. I was still bleeding, and the
      exertion of running had started the blood afresh. <i>"Come back! Come
      back!"</i> vociferated Covey, with threats of what he would do if I did
      not return instantly. But, disregarding his calls and his threats, I
      pressed on toward the woods as fast as my feeble state would allow. Seeing
      no signs of my stopping, Covey caused his horse to be brought out and
      saddled, as if he intended to pursue me. The race was now to be an unequal
      one; and, thinking I might be overhauled by him, if I kept the main road,
      I walked nearly the whole distance in the woods, keeping far enough from
      the road to avoid detection and pursuit. But, I had not gone far, before
      my little strength again failed me, and I laid down. The blood was still
      oozing from the wound in my head; and, for a time, I suffered more than I
      can describe. There I was, in the deep woods, sick and emaciated, pursued
      by a wretch whose character for revolting cruelty beggars all opprobrious
      speech&mdash;bleeding, and almost bloodless. I was not without the fear of
      bleeding to death. The thought of dying in the woods, all alone, and of
      being torn to pieces by the buzzards, had not yet been rendered tolerable
      by my many troubles and hardships, and I was glad when the shade of the
      trees, and the cool evening breeze, combined with my matted hair to stop
      the flow of blood. After lying there about three quarters of an hour,
      brooding over the singular and mournful lot to which I was doomed, my mind
      passing over the whole scale or circle of belief and unbelief, from faith
      in the overruling providence of God, to the blackest atheism, I again took
      up my journey toward St. Michael's, more weary and sad than in the morning
      when I left Thomas Auld's for the home of Mr. Covey. I was bare-footed and
      bare-headed, and in<span class="pagenum">[177]</span> my shirt sleeves.
      The way was through bogs and briers, and I tore my feet often during the
      journey. I was full five hours in going the seven or eight miles; partly,
      because of the difficulties of the way, and partly, because of the
      feebleness induced by my illness, bruises and loss of blood. On gaining my
      master's store, I presented an appearance of wretchedness and woe, fitted
      to move any but a heart of stone. From the crown of my head to the sole of
      my feet, there were marks of blood. My hair was all clotted with dust and
      blood, and the back of my shirt was literally stiff with the same. Briers
      and thorns had scarred and torn my feet and legs, leaving blood marks
      there. Had I escaped from a den of tigers, I could not have looked worse
      than I did on reaching St. Michael's. In this unhappy plight, I appeared
      before my professedly <i>Christian</i> master, humbly to invoke the
      interposition of his power and authority, to protect me from further abuse
      and violence. I had begun to hope, during the latter part of my tedious
      journey toward St. Michael's, that Capt. Auld would now show himself in a
      nobler light than I had ever before seen him. I was disappointed. I had
      jumped from a sinking ship into the sea; I had fled from the tiger to
      something worse. I told him all the circumstances, as well as I could; how
      I was endeavoring to please Covey; how hard I was at work in the present
      instance; how unwilling I sunk down under the heat, toil and pain; the
      brutal manner in which Covey had kicked me in the side; the gash cut in my
      head; my hesitation about troubling him (Capt. Auld) with complaints; but,
      that now I felt it would not be best longer to conceal from him the
      outrages committed on me from time to time by Covey. At first, master
      Thomas seemed somewhat affected by the story of my wrongs, but he soon
      repressed his feelings and became cold as iron. It was impossible&mdash;as
      I stood before him at the first&mdash;for him to seem indifferent. I
      distinctly saw his human nature asserting its conviction against the slave
      system, which made cases like mine <i>possible;</i> but, as I have said,
      humanity fell before the systematic tyranny of slavery. He first walked<span
      class="pagenum">[178]</span> the floor, apparently much agitated by my
      story, and the sad spectacle I presented; but, presently, it was <i>his</i>
      turn to talk. He began moderately, by finding excuses for Covey, and
      ending with a full justification of him, and a passionate condemnation of
      me. "He had no doubt I deserved the flogging. He did not believe I was
      sick; I was only endeavoring to get rid of work. My dizziness was
      laziness, and Covey did right to flog me, as he had done." After thus
      fairly annihilating me, and rousing himself by his own eloquence, he
      fiercely demanded what I wished <i>him</i> to do in the case!
    </p>
    <p>
      With such a complete knock-down to all my hopes, as he had given me, and
      feeling, as I did, my entire subjection to his power, I had very little
      heart to reply. I must not affirm my innocence of the allegations which he
      had piled up against me; for that would be impudence, and would probably
      call down fresh violence as well as wrath upon me. The guilt of a slave is
      always, and everywhere, presumed; and the innocence of the slaveholder or
      the slave employer, is always asserted. The word of the slave, against
      this presumption, is generally treated as impudence, worthy of punishment.
      "Do you contradict me, you rascal?" is a final silencer of counter
      statements from the lips of a slave.
    </p>
    <p>
      Calming down a little in view of my silence and hesitation, and, perhaps,
      from a rapid glance at the picture of misery I presented, he inquired
      again, "what I would have him do?" Thus invited a second time, I told
      Master Thomas I wished him to allow me to get a new home and to find a new
      master; that, as sure as I went back to live with Mr. Covey again, I
      should be killed by him; that he would never forgive my coming to him
      (Capt. Auld) with a complaint against him (Covey); that, since I had lived
      with him, he almost crushed my spirit, and I believed that he would ruin
      me for future service; that my life was not safe in his hands. This,
      Master Thomas <i>(my brother in the church)</i> regarded as
      "nonsence(sic)." "There was no danger of Mr. Covey's killing me; he was a
      good man, industrious and religious, and he would not think of<span
      class="pagenum">[179]</span> removing me from that home; besides," said he
      and this I found was the most distressing thought of all to him&mdash;"if
      you should leave Covey now, that your year has but half expired, I should
      lose your wages for the entire year. You belong to Mr. Covey for one year,
      and you <i>must go back</i> to him, come what will. You must not trouble
      me with any more stories about Mr. Covey; and if you do not go immediately
      home, I will get hold of you myself." This was just what I expected, when
      I found he had <i>prejudged</i> the case against me. "But, Sir," I said,
      "I am sick and tired, and I cannot get home to-night." At this, he again
      relented, and finally he allowed me to remain all night at St. Michael's;
      but said I must be off early in the morning, and concluded his directions
      by making me swallow a huge dose of <i>epsom salts</i>&mdash;about the
      only medicine ever administered to slaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was quite natural for Master Thomas to presume I was feigning sickness
      to escape work, for he probably thought that were <i>he</i> in the place
      of a slave with no wages for his work, no praise for well doing, no motive
      for toil but the lash&mdash;he would try every possible scheme by which to
      escape labor. I say I have no doubt of this; the reason is, that there are
      not, under the whole heavens, a set of men who cultivate such an intense
      dread of labor as do the slaveholders. The charge of laziness against the
      slave is ever on their lips, and is the standing apology for every species
      of cruelty and brutality. These men literally "bind heavy burdens,
      grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders; but they,
      themselves, will not move them with one of their fingers."
    </p>
    <p>
      My kind readers shall have, in the next chapter&mdash;what they were led,
      perhaps, to expect to find in this&mdash;namely: an account of my partial
      disenthrallment from the tyranny of Covey, and the marked change which it
      brought about.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII. <i>The Last Flogging</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
A SLEEPLESS NIGHT&mdash;RETURN TO COVEY'S&mdash;PURSUED BY COVEY&mdash;THE
CHASE DEFEATED&mdash;VENGEANCE POSTPONED&mdash;MUSINGS IN THE WOODS&mdash;THE
ALTERNATIVE&mdash;DEPLORABLE SPECTACLE&mdash;NIGHT IN THE WOODS&mdash;EXPECTED
ATTACK&mdash;ACCOSTED BY SANDY, A FRIEND, NOT A HUNTER&mdash;SANDY'S
HOSPITALITY&mdash;THE "ASH CAKE" SUPPER&mdash;THE INTERVIEW WITH SANDY&mdash;HIS
ADVICE&mdash;SANDY A CONJURER AS WELL AS A CHRISTIAN&mdash;THE MAGIC ROOT&mdash;STRANGE
MEETING WITH COVEY&mdash;HIS MANNER&mdash;COVEY'S SUNDAY FACE&mdash;MY DEFENSIVE
RESOLVE&mdash;THE FIGHT&mdash;THE VICTORY, AND ITS RESULTS.
</pre>
    <p>
      Sleep itself does not always come to the relief of the weary in body, and
      the broken in spirit; especially when past troubles only foreshadow coming
      disasters. The last hope had been extinguished. My master, who I did not
      venture to hope would protect me as <i>a man</i>, had even now refused to
      protect me as <i>his property;</i> and had cast me back, covered with
      reproaches and bruises, into the hands of a stranger to that mercy which
      was the soul of the religion he professed. May the reader never spend such
      a night as that allotted to me, previous to the morning which was to
      herald my return to the den of horrors from which I had made a temporary
      escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      I remained all night&mdash;sleep I did not&mdash;at St. Michael's; and in
      the morning (Saturday) I started off, according to the order of Master
      Thomas, feeling that I had no friend on earth, and doubting if I had one
      in heaven. I reached Covey's about nine o'clock; and just as I stepped
      into the field, before I had reached the house, Covey, true to his snakish
      habits, darted out at me<span class="pagenum">[181]</span> from a fence
      corner, in which he had secreted himself, for the purpose of securing me.
      He was amply provided with a cowskin and a rope; and he evidently intended
      to <i>tie me up</i>, and to wreak his vengeance on me to the fullest
      extent. I should have been an easy prey, had he succeeded in getting his
      hands upon me, for I had taken no refreshment since noon on Friday; and
      this, together with the pelting, excitement, and the loss of blood, had
      reduced my strength. I, however, darted back into the woods, before the
      ferocious hound could get hold of me, and buried myself in a thicket,
      where he lost sight of me. The corn-field afforded me cover, in getting to
      the woods. But for the tall corn, Covey would have overtaken me, and made
      me his captive. He seemed very much chagrined that he did not catch me,
      and gave up the chase, very reluctantly; for I could see his angry
      movements, toward the house from which he had sallied, on his foray.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, now I am clear of Covey, and of his wrathful lash, for present. I am
      in the wood, buried in its somber gloom, and hushed in its solemn silence;
      hid from all human eyes; shut in with nature and nature's God, and absent
      from all human contrivances. Here was a good place to pray; to pray for
      help for deliverance&mdash;a prayer I had often made before. But how could
      I pray? Covey could pray&mdash;Capt. Auld could pray&mdash;I would fain
      pray; but doubts (arising partly from my own neglect of the means of
      grace, and partly from the sham religion which everywhere prevailed, cast
      in my mind a doubt upon all religion, and led me to the conviction that
      prayers were unavailing and delusive) prevented my embracing the
      opportunity, as a religious one. Life, in itself, had almost become
      burdensome to me. All my outward relations were against me; I must stay
      here and starve (I was already hungry) or go home to Covey's, and have my
      flesh torn to pieces, and my spirit humbled under the cruel lash of Covey.
      This was the painful alternative presented to me. The day was long and
      irksome. My physical condition was deplorable. I was weak, from the toils
      of the previous day, and from the want of<span class="pagenum">[182]</span>
      food and rest; and had been so little concerned about my appearance, that
      I had not yet washed the blood from my garments. I was an object of
      horror, even to myself. Life, in Baltimore, when most oppressive, was a
      paradise to this. What had I done, what had my parents done, that such a
      life as this should be mine? That day, in the woods, I would have
      exchanged my manhood for the brutehood of an ox.
    </p>
    <p>
      Night came. I was still in the woods, unresolved what to do. Hunger had
      not yet pinched me to the point of going home, and I laid myself down in
      the leaves to rest; for I had been watching for hunters all day, but not
      being molested during the day, I expected no disturbance during the night.
      I had come to the conclusion that Covey relied upon hunger to drive me
      home; and in this I was quite correct&mdash;the facts showed that he had
      made no effort to catch me, since morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the night, I heard the step of a man in the woods. He was coming
      toward the place where I lay. A person lying still has the advantage over
      one walking in the woods, in the day time, and this advantage is much
      greater at night. I was not able to engage in a physical struggle, and I
      had recourse to the common resort of the weak. I hid myself in the leaves
      to prevent discovery. But, as the night rambler in the woods drew nearer,
      I found him to be a <i>friend</i>, not an enemy; it was a slave of Mr.
      William Groomes, of Easton, a kind hearted fellow, named "Sandy." Sandy
      lived with Mr. Kemp that year, about four miles from St. Michael's. He,
      like myself had been hired out by the year; but, unlike myself, had not
      been hired out to be broken. Sandy was the husband of a free woman, who
      lived in the lower part of <i>"Potpie Neck,"</i> and he was now on his way
      through the woods, to see her, and to spend the Sabbath with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as I had ascertained that the disturber of my solitude was not an
      enemy, but the good-hearted Sandy&mdash;a man as famous among the slaves
      of the neighborhood for his good nature, as for his good sense I came out
      from my hiding place, and made<span class="pagenum">[183]</span> myself
      known to him. I explained the circumstances of the past two days, which
      had driven me to the woods, and he deeply compassionated my distress. It
      was a bold thing for him to shelter me, and I could not ask him to do so;
      for, had I been found in his hut, he would have suffered the penalty of
      thirty-nine lashes on his bare back, if not something worse. But Sandy was
      too generous to permit the fear of punishment to prevent his relieving a
      brother bondman from hunger and exposure; and, therefore, on his own
      motion, I accompanied him to his home, or rather to the home of his wife&mdash;for
      the house and lot were hers. His wife was called up&mdash;for it was now
      about midnight&mdash;a fire was made, some Indian meal was soon mixed with
      salt and water, and an ash cake was baked in a hurry to relieve my hunger.
      Sandy's wife was not behind him in kindness&mdash;both seemed to esteem it
      a privilege to succor me; for, although I was hated by Covey and by my
      master, I was loved by the colored people, because <i>they</i> thought I
      was hated for my knowledge, and persecuted because I was feared. I was the
      <i>only</i> slave <i>now</i> in that region who could read and write.
      There had been one other man, belonging to Mr. Hugh Hamilton, who could
      read (his name was "Jim"), but he, poor fellow, had, shortly after my
      coming into the neighborhood, been sold off to the far south. I saw Jim
      ironed, in the cart, to be carried to Easton for sale&mdash;pinioned like
      a yearling for the slaughter. My knowledge was now the pride of my brother
      slaves; and, no doubt, Sandy felt something of the general interest in me
      on that account. The supper was soon ready, and though I have feasted
      since, with honorables, lord mayors and aldermen, over the sea, my supper
      on ash cake and cold water, with Sandy, was the meal, of all my life, most
      sweet to my taste, and now most vivid in my memory.
    </p>
    <p>
      Supper over, Sandy and I went into a discussion of what was <i>possible</i>
      for me, under the perils and hardships which now overshadowed my path. The
      question was, must I go back to Covey, or must I now tempt to run away?
      Upon a careful survey, the latter was found to be impossible; for I was on
      a narrow neck of land,<span class="pagenum">[184]</span> every avenue from
      which would bring me in sight of pursuers. There was the Chesapeake bay to
      the right, and "Pot-pie" river to the left, and St. Michael's and its
      neighborhood occupying the only space through which there was any retreat.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found Sandy an old advisor. He was not only a religious man, but he
      professed to believe in a system for which I have no name. He was a
      genuine African, and had inherited some of the so-called magical powers,
      said to be possessed by African and eastern nations. He told me that he
      could help me; that, in those very woods, there was an herb, which in the
      morning might be found, possessing all the powers required for my
      protection (I put his thoughts in my own language); and that, if I would
      take his advice, he would procure me the root of the herb of which he
      spoke. He told me further, that if I would take that root and wear it on
      my right side, it would be impossible for Covey to strike me a blow; that
      with this root about my person, no white man could whip me. He said he had
      carried it for years, and that he had fully tested its virtues. He had
      never received a blow from a slaveholder since he carried it; and he never
      expected to receive one, for he always meant to carry that root as a
      protection. He knew Covey well, for Mrs. Covey was the daughter of Mr.
      Kemp; and he (Sandy) had heard of the barbarous treatment to which I was
      subjected, and he wanted to do something for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now all this talk about the root, was to me, very absurd and ridiculous,
      if not positively sinful. I at first rejected the idea that the simple
      carrying a root on my right side (a root, by the way, over which I walked
      every time I went into the woods) could possess any such magic power as he
      ascribed to it, and I was, therefore, not disposed to cumber my pocket
      with it. I had a positive aversion to all pretenders to <i>"divination."</i>
      It was beneath one of my intelligence to countenance such dealings with
      the devil, as this power implied. But, with all my learning&mdash;it was
      really precious little&mdash;Sandy was more than a match for me. "My book
      learning," he said, "had not kept Covey off me" (a powerful<span
      class="pagenum">[185]</span> argument just then) and he entreated me, with
      flashing eyes, to try this. If it did me no good, it could do me no harm,
      and it would cost me nothing, any way. Sandy was so earnest, and so
      confident of the good qualities of this weed, that, to please him, rather
      than from any conviction of its excellence, I was induced to take it. He
      had been to me the good Samaritan, and had, almost providentially, found
      me, and helped me when I could not help myself; how did I know but that
      the hand of the Lord was in it? With thoughts of this sort, I took the
      roots from Sandy, and put them in my right hand pocket.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was, of course, Sunday morning. Sandy now urged me to go home, with
      all speed, and to walk up bravely to the house, as though nothing had
      happened. I saw in Sandy too deep an insight into human nature, with all
      his superstition, not to have some respect for his advice; and perhaps,
      too, a slight gleam or shadow of his superstition had fallen upon me. At
      any rate, I started off toward Covey's, as directed by Sandy. Having, the
      previous night, poured my griefs into Sandy's ears, and got him enlisted
      in my behalf, having made his wife a sharer in my sorrows, and having,
      also, become well refreshed by sleep and food, I moved off, quite
      courageously, toward the much dreaded Covey's. Singularly enough, just as
      I entered his yard gate, I met him and his wife, dressed in their Sunday
      best&mdash;looking as smiling as angels&mdash;on their way to church. The
      manner of Covey astonished me. There was something really benignant in his
      countenance. He spoke to me as never before; told me that the pigs had got
      into the lot, and he wished me to drive them out; inquired how I was, and
      seemed an altered man. This extraordinary conduct of Covey, really made me
      begin to think that Sandy's herb had more virtue in it than I, in my
      pride, had been willing to allow; and, had the day been other than Sunday,
      I should have attributed Covey's altered manner solely to the magic power
      of the root. I suspected, however, that the <i>Sabbath</i>, and not the <i>root</i>,
      was the real explanation of Covey's manner. His religion hindered him from
      breaking the<span class="pagenum">[186]</span> Sabbath, but not from
      breaking my skin. He had more respect for the <i>day</i> than for the <i>man</i>,
      for whom the day was mercifully given; for while he would cut and slash my
      body during the week, he would not hesitate, on Sunday, to teach me the
      value of my soul, or the way of life and salvation by Jesus Christ.
    </p>
    <p>
      All went well with me till Monday morning; and then, whether the root had
      lost its virtue, or whether my tormentor had gone deeper into the black
      art than myself (as was sometimes said of him), or whether he had obtained
      a special indulgence, for his faithful Sabbath day's worship, it is not
      necessary for me to know, or to inform the reader; but, this I <i>may</i>
      say&mdash;the pious and benignant smile which graced Covey's face on <i>Sunday</i>,
      wholly disappeared on <i>Monday</i>. Long before daylight, I was called up
      to go and feed, rub, and curry the horses. I obeyed the call, and would
      have so obeyed it, had it been made at an earilier(sic) hour, for I had
      brought my mind to a firm resolve, during that Sunday's reflection, viz:
      to obey every order, however unreasonable, if it were possible, and, if
      Mr. Covey should then undertake to beat me, to defend and protect myself
      to the best of my ability. My religious views on the subject of resisting
      my master, had suffered a serious shock, by the savage persecution to
      which I had been subjected, and my hands were no longer tied by my
      religion. Master Thomas's indifference had served the last link. I had now
      to this extent "backslidden" from this point in the slave's religious
      creed; and I soon had occasion to make my fallen state known to my
      Sunday-pious brother, Covey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Whilst I was obeying his order to feed and get the horses ready for the
      field, and when in the act of going up the stable loft for the purpose of
      throwing down some blades, Covey sneaked into the stable, in his peculiar
      snake-like way, and seizing me suddenly by the leg, he brought me to the
      stable floor, giving my newly mended body a fearful jar. I now forgot my
      roots, and remembered my pledge to <i>stand up in my own defense</i>. The
      brute was endeavoring skillfully to get a slip-knot on my legs, before I
      could<span class="pagenum">[187]</span> draw up my feet. As soon as I
      found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring (my two day's rest had
      been of much service to me,) and by that means, no doubt, he was able to
      bring me to the floor so heavily. He was defeated in his plan of tying me.
      While down, he seemed to think he had me very securely in his power. He
      little thought he was&mdash;as the rowdies say&mdash;"in" for a "rough and
      tumble" fight; but such was the fact. Whence came the daring spirit
      necessary to grapple with a man who, eight-and-forty hours before, could,
      with his slightest word have made me tremble like a leaf in a storm, I do
      not know; at any rate, <i>I was resolved to fight</i>, and, what was
      better still, I was actually hard at it. The fighting madness had come
      upon me, and I found my strong fingers firmly attached to the throat of my
      cowardly tormentor; as heedless of consequences, at the moment, as though
      we stood as equals before the law. The very color of the man was
      forgotten. I felt as supple as a cat, and was ready for the snakish
      creature at every turn. Every blow of his was parried, though I dealt no
      blows in turn. I was strictly on the <i>defensive</i>, preventing him from
      injuring me, rather than trying to injure him. I flung him on the ground
      several times, when he meant to have hurled me there. I held him so firmly
      by the throat, that his blood followed my nails. He held me, and I held
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      All was fair, thus far, and the contest was about equal. My resistance was
      entirely unexpected, and Covey was taken all aback by it, for he trembled
      in every limb. <i>"Are you going to resist</i>, you scoundrel?" said he.
      To which, I returned a polite <i>"Yes sir;"</i> steadily gazing my
      interrogator in the eye, to meet the first approach or dawning of the
      blow, which I expected my answer would call forth. But, the conflict did
      not long remain thus equal. Covey soon cried out lustily for help; not
      that I was obtaining any marked advantage over him, or was injuring him,
      but because he was gaining none over me, and was not able, single handed,
      to conquer me. He called for his cousin Hughs, to come to his assistance,
      and now the scene was changed. I was compelled to<span class="pagenum">[188]</span>
      give blows, as well as to parry them; and, since I was, in any case, to
      suffer for resistance, I felt (as the musty proverb goes) that "I might as
      well be hanged for an old sheep as a lamb." I was still <i>defensive</i>
      toward Covey, but <i>aggressive</i> toward Hughs; and, at the first
      approach of the latter, I dealt a blow, in my desperation, which fairly
      sickened my youthful assailant. He went off, bending over with pain, and
      manifesting no disposition to come within my reach again. The poor fellow
      was in the act of trying to catch and tie my right hand, and while
      flattering himself with success, I gave him the kick which sent him
      staggering away in pain, at the same time that I held Covey with a firm
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Taken completely by surprise, Covey seemed to have lost his usual strength
      and coolness. He was frightened, and stood puffing and blowing, seemingly
      unable to command words or blows. When he saw that poor Hughes was
      standing half bent with pain&mdash;his courage quite gone the cowardly
      tyrant asked if I "meant to persist in my resistance." I told him "<i>I
      did mean to resist, come what might</i>;" that I had been by him treated
      like a <i>brute</i>, during the last six months; and that I should stand
      it <i>no longer</i>. With that, he gave me a shake, and attempted to drag
      me toward a stick of wood, that was lying just outside the stable door. He
      meant to knock me down with it; but, just as he leaned over to get the
      stick, I seized him with both hands by the collar, and, with a vigorous
      and sudden snatch, I brought my assailant harmlessly, his full length, on
      the <i>not</i> overclean ground&mdash;for we were now in the cow yard. He
      had selected the place for the fight, and it was but right that he should
      have all the advantges(sic) of his own selection.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time, Bill, the hiredman, came home. He had been to Mr. Hemsley's,
      to spend the Sunday with his nominal wife, and was coming home on Monday
      morning, to go to work. Covey and I had been skirmishing from before
      daybreak, till now, that the sun was almost shooting his beams over the
      eastern woods, and we were still at it. I could not see where the matter
      was to terminate. He evidently was afraid to let me go, lest I should
      again<span class="pagenum">[189]</span> make off to the woods; otherwise,
      he would probably have obtained arms from the house, to frighten me.
      Holding me, Covey called upon Bill for assistance. The scene here, had
      something comic about it. "Bill," who knew <i>precisely</i> what Covey
      wished him to do, affected ignorance, and pretended he did not know what
      to do. "What shall I do, Mr. Covey," said Bill. "Take hold of him&mdash;take
      hold of him!" said Covey. With a toss of his head, peculiar to Bill, he
      said, "indeed, Mr. Covey I want to go to work." <i>"This is</i> your
      work," said Covey; "take hold of him." Bill replied, with spirit, "My
      master hired me here, to work, and <i>not</i> to help you whip Frederick."
      It was now my turn to speak. "Bill," said I, "don't put your hands on me."
      To which he replied, "My GOD! Frederick, I ain't goin' to tech ye," and
      Bill walked off, leaving Covey and myself to settle our matters as best we
      might.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, my present advantage was threatened when I saw Caroline (the
      slave-woman of Covey) coming to the cow yard to milk, for she was a
      powerful woman, and could have mastered me very easily, exhausted as I now
      was. As soon as she came into the yard, Covey attempted to rally her to
      his aid. Strangely&mdash;and, I may add, fortunately&mdash;Caroline was in
      no humor to take a hand in any such sport. We were all in open rebellion,
      that morning. Caroline answered the command of her master to <i>"take hold
      of me,"</i> precisely as Bill had answered, but in <i>her</i>, it was at
      greater peril so to answer; she was the slave of Covey, and he could do
      what he pleased with her. It was <i>not</i> so with Bill, and Bill knew
      it. Samuel Harris, to whom Bill belonged, did not allow his slaves to be
      beaten, unless they were guilty of some crime which the law would punish.
      But, poor Caroline, like myself, was at the mercy of the merciless Covey;
      nor did she escape the dire effects of her refusal. He gave her several
      sharp blows.
    </p>
    <p>
      Covey at length (two hours had elapsed) gave up the contest. Letting me
      go, he said&mdash;puffing and blowing at a great rate&mdash;"Now, you
      scoundrel, go to your work; I would not have whipped you half so much as I
      have had you not resisted." The fact was,<span class="pagenum">[190]</span>
      <i>he had not whipped me at all</i>. He had not, in all the scuffle, drawn
      a single drop of blood from me. I had drawn blood from him; and, even
      without this satisfaction, I should have been victorious, because my aim
      had not been to injure him, but to prevent his injuring me.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the whole six months that I lived with Covey, after this
      transaction, he never laid on me the weight of his finger in anger. He
      would, occasionally, say he did not want to have to get hold of me again&mdash;a
      declaration which I had no difficulty in believing; and I had a secret
      feeling, which answered, "You need not wish to get hold of me again, for
      you will be likely to come off worse in a second fight than you did in the
      first."
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, my dear reader, this battle with Mr. Covey&mdash;undignified as it
      was, and as I fear my narration of it is&mdash;was the turning point in my
      <i>"life as a slave</i>." It rekindled in my breast the smouldering embers
      of liberty; it brought up my Baltimore dreams, and revived a sense of my
      own manhood. I was a changed being after that fight. I was <i>nothing</i>
      before; I WAS A MAN NOW. It recalled to life my crushed self-respect and
      my self-confidence, and inspired me with a renewed determination to be A
      FREEMAN. A man, without force, is without the essential dignity of
      humanity. Human nature is so constituted, that it cannot <i>honor</i> a
      helpless man, although it can <i>pity</i> him; and even this it cannot do
      long, if the signs of power do not arise.
    </p>
    <p>
      He can only understand the effect of this combat on my spirit, who has
      himself incurred something, hazarded something, in repelling the unjust
      and cruel aggressions of a tyrant. Covey was a tyrant, and a cowardly one,
      withal. After resisting him, I felt as I had never felt before. It was a
      resurrection from the dark and pestiferous tomb of slavery, to the heaven
      of comparative freedom. I was no longer a servile coward, trembling under
      the frown of a brother worm of the dust, but, my long-cowed spirit was
      roused to an attitude of manly independence. I had reached the point, at
      which I was <i>not afraid to die</i>. This<span class="pagenum">[191]</span>
      spirit made me a freeman in <i>fact</i>, while I remained a slave in <i>form</i>.
      When a slave cannot be flogged he is more than half free. He has a domain
      as broad as his own manly heart to defend, and he is really <i>"a power on
      earth</i>." While slaves prefer their lives, with flogging, to instant
      death, they will always find Christians enough, like unto Covey, to
      accommodate that preference. From this time, until that of my escape from
      slavery, I was never fairly whipped. Several attempts were made to whip
      me, but they were always unsuccessful. Bruises I did get, as I shall
      hereafter inform the reader; but the case I have been describing, was the
      end of the brutification to which slavery had subjected me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader will be glad to know why, after I had so grievously offended
      Mr. Covey, he did not have me taken in hand by the authorities; indeed,
      why the law of Maryland, which assigns hanging to the slave who resists
      his master, was not put in force against me; at any rate, why I was not
      taken up, as is usual in such cases, and publicly whipped, for an example
      to other slaves, and as a means of deterring me from committing the same
      offense again. I confess, that the easy manner in which I got off, for a
      long time, a surprise to me, and I cannot, even now, fully explain the
      cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      The only explanation I can venture to suggest, is the fact, that Covey
      was, probably, ashamed to have it known and confessed that he had been
      mastered by a boy of sixteen. Mr. Covey enjoyed the unbounded and very
      valuable reputation, of being a first rate overseer and <i>Negro breaker</i>.
      By means of this reputation, he was able to procure his hands for <i>very
      trifling</i> compensation, and with very great ease. His interest and his
      pride mutually suggested the wisdom of passing the matter by, in silence.
      The story that he had undertaken to whip a lad, and had been resisted,
      was, of itself, sufficient to damage him; for his bearing should, in the
      estimation of slaveholders, be of that imperial order that should make
      such an occurrence <i>impossible</i>. I judge from these circumstances,
      that Covey deemed it best to<span class="pagenum">[192]</span> give me the
      go-by. It is, perhaps, not altogether creditable to my natural temper,
      that, after this conflict with Mr. Covey, I did, at times, purposely aim
      to provoke him to an attack, by refusing to keep with the other hands in
      the field, but I could never bully him to another battle. I had made up my
      mind to do him serious damage, if he ever again attempted to lay violent
      hands on me.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
           <i>Hereditary bondmen, know ye not
           Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII. <i>New Relations and Duties</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
CHANGE OF MASTERS&mdash;BENEFITS DERIVED BY THE CHANGE&mdash;FAME OF THE FIGHT
WITH COVEY&mdash;RECKLESS UNCONCERN&mdash;MY ABHORRENCE OF SLAVERY&mdash;ABILITY
TO READ A CAUSE OF PREJUDICE&mdash;THE HOLIDAYS&mdash;HOW SPENT&mdash;SHARP HIT AT
SLAVERY&mdash;EFFECTS OF HOLIDAYS&mdash;A DEVICE OF SLAVERY&mdash;DIFFERENCE BETWEEN
COVEY AND FREELAND&mdash;AN IRRELIGIOUS MASTER PREFERRED TO A RELIGIOUS
ONE&mdash;CATALOGUE OF FLOGGABLE OFFENSES&mdash;HARD LIFE AT COVEY'S
USEFUL&mdash;IMPROVED CONDITION NOT FOLLOWED BY CONTENTMENT&mdash;CONGENIAL
SOCIETY AT FREELAND'S&mdash;SABBATH SCHOOL INSTITUTED&mdash;SECRECY
NECESSARY&mdash;AFFECTIONATE RELATIONS OF TUTOR AND PUPILS&mdash;CONFIDENCE
AND FRIENDSHIP AMONG SLAVES&mdash;I DECLINE PUBLISHING PARTICULARS OF
CONVERSATIONS WITH MY FRIENDS&mdash;SLAVERY THE INVITER OF VENGEANCE.
</pre>
    <p>
      My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day,
      1834. I gladly left the snakish Covey, although he was now as gentle as a
      lamb. My home for the year 1835 was already secured&mdash;my next master
      was already selected. There is always more or less excitement about the
      matter of changing hands, but I had become somewhat reckless. I cared very
      little into whose hands I fell&mdash;I meant to fight my way. Despite of
      Covey, too, the report got abroad, that I was hard to whip; that I was
      guilty of kicking back; that though generally a good tempered Negro, I
      sometimes "<i>got the devil in me</i>." These sayings were rife in Talbot
      county, and they distinguished me among my servile brethren. Slaves,
      generally, will fight each other, and die at each other's hands; but there
      are few who are not held in awe by a white man. Trained from the cradle
      up, to think and<span class="pagenum">[194]</span> feel that their masters
      are superior, and invested with a sort of sacredness, there are few who
      can outgrow or rise above the control which that sentiment exercises. I
      had now got free from it, and the thing was known. One bad sheep will
      spoil a whole flock. Among the slaves, I was a bad sheep. I hated slavery,
      slaveholders, and all pertaining to them; and I did not fail to inspire
      others with the same feeling, wherever and whenever opportunity was
      presented. This made me a marked lad among the slaves, and a suspected one
      among the slaveholders. A knowledge of my ability to read and write, got
      pretty widely spread, which was very much against me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The days between Christmas day and New Year's, are allowed the slaves as
      holidays. During these days, all regular work was suspended, and there was
      nothing to do but to keep fires, and look after the stock. This time was
      regarded as our own, by the grace of our masters, and we, therefore used
      it, or abused it, as we pleased. Those who had families at a distance,
      were now expected to visit them, and to spend with them the entire week.
      The younger slaves, or the unmarried ones, were expected to see to the
      cattle, and attend to incidental duties at home. The holidays were
      variously spent. The sober, thinking and industrious ones of our number,
      would employ themselves in manufacturing corn brooms, mats, horse collars
      and baskets, and some of these were very well made. Another class spent
      their time in hunting opossums, coons, rabbits, and other game. But the
      majority spent the holidays in sports, ball playing, wrestling, boxing,
      running foot races, dancing, and drinking whisky; and this latter mode of
      spending the time was generally most agreeable to their masters. A slave
      who would work during the holidays, was thought, by his master,
      undeserving of holidays. Such an one had rejected the favor of his master.
      There was, in this simple act of continued work, an accusation against
      slaves; and a slave could not help thinking, that if he made three dollars
      during the holidays, he might make three hundred during the year. Not to
      be drunk during the holidays,<span class="pagenum">[195]</span> was
      disgraceful; and he was esteemed a lazy and improvident man, who could not
      afford to drink whisky during Christmas.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fiddling, dancing and <i>"jubilee beating</i>," was going on in all
      directions. This latter performance is strictly southern. It supplies the
      place of a violin, or of other musical instruments, and is played so
      easily, that almost every farm has its "Juba" beater. The performer
      improvises as he beats, and sings his merry songs, so ordering the words
      as to have them fall pat with the movement of his hands. Among a mass of
      nonsense and wild frolic, once in a while a sharp hit is given to the
      meanness of slaveholders. Take the following, for an example:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            <i>We raise de wheat,
            Dey gib us de corn;
            We bake de bread,
            Dey gib us de cruss;
            We sif de meal,
            Dey gib us de huss;
            We peal de meat,
            Dey gib us de skin,
            And dat's de way
            Dey takes us in.
            We skim de pot,
            Dey gib us the liquor,
            And say dat's good enough for nigger.
                    Walk over! walk over!
            Tom butter and de fat;
                    Poor nigger you can't get over dat;
                                            Walk over</i>!
</pre>
    <p>
      This is not a bad summary of the palpable injustice and fraud of slavery,
      giving&mdash;as it does&mdash;to the lazy and idle, the comforts which God
      designed should be given solely to the honest laborer. But to the
      holiday's.
    </p>
    <p>
      Judging from my own observation and experience, I believe these holidays
      to be among the most effective means, in the hands of slaveholders, of
      keeping down the spirit of insurrection among the slaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      To enslave men, successfully and safely, it is necessary to<span
      class="pagenum">[196]</span> have their minds occupied with thoughts and
      aspirations short of the liberty of which they are deprived. A certain
      degree of attainable good must be kept before them. These holidays serve
      the purpose of keeping the minds of the slaves occupied with prospective
      pleasure, within the limits of slavery. The young man can go wooing; the
      married man can visit his wife; the father and mother can see their
      children; the industrious and money loving can make a few dollars; the
      great wrestler can win laurels; the young people can meet, and enjoy each
      other's society; the drunken man can get plenty of whisky; and the
      religious man can hold prayer meetings, preach, pray and exhort during the
      holidays. Before the holidays, these are pleasures in prospect; after the
      holidays, they become pleasures of memory, and they serve to keep out
      thoughts and wishes of a more dangerous character. Were slaveholders at
      once to abandon the practice of allowing their slaves these liberties,
      periodically, and to keep them, the year round, closely confined to the
      narrow circle of their homes, I doubt not that the south would blaze with
      insurrections. These holidays are conductors or safety valves to carry off
      the explosive elements inseparable from the human mind, when reduced to
      the condition of slavery. But for these, the rigors of bondage would
      become too severe for endurance, and the slave would be forced up to
      dangerous desperation. Woe to the slaveholder when he undertakes to hinder
      or to prevent the operation of these electric conductors. A succession of
      earthquakes would be less destructive, than the insurrectionary fires
      which would be sure to burst forth in different parts of the south, from
      such interference.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus, the holidays, became part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrongs and
      inhumanity of slavery. Ostensibly, they are institutions of benevolence,
      designed to mitigate the rigors of slave life, but, practically, they are
      a fraud, instituted by human selfishness, the better to secure the ends of
      injustice and oppression. The slave's happiness is not the end sought,
      but, rather, the master's<span class="pagenum">[197]</span> safety. It is
      not from a generous unconcern for the slave's labor that this cessation
      from labor is allowed, but from a prudent regard to the safety of the
      slave system. I am strengthened in this opinion, by the fact, that most
      slaveholders like to have their slaves spend the holidays in such a manner
      as to be of no real benefit to the slaves. It is plain, that everything
      like rational enjoyment among the slaves, is frowned upon; and only those
      wild and low sports, peculiar to semi-civilized people, are encouraged.
      All the license allowed, appears to have no other object than to disgust
      the slaves with their temporary freedom, and to make them as glad to
      return to their work, as they were to leave it. By plunging them into
      exhausting depths of drunkenness and dissipation, this effect is almost
      certain to follow. I have known slaveholders resort to cunning tricks,
      with a view of getting their slaves deplorably drunk. A usual plan is, to
      make bets on a slave, that he can drink more whisky than any other; and so
      to induce a rivalry among them, for the mastery in this degradation. The
      scenes, brought about in this way, were often scandalous and loathsome in
      the extreme. Whole multitudes might be found stretched out in brutal
      drunkenness, at once helpless and disgusting. Thus, when the slave asks
      for a few hours of virtuous freedom, his cunning master takes advantage of
      his ignorance, and cheers him with a dose of vicious and revolting
      dissipation, artfully labeled with the name of LIBERTY. We were induced to
      drink, I among the rest, and when the holidays were over, we all staggered
      up from our filth and wallowing, took a long breath, and went away to our
      various fields of work; feeling, upon the whole, rather glad to go from
      that which our masters artfully deceived us into the belief was freedom,
      back again to the arms of slavery. It was not what we had taken it to be,
      nor what it might have been, had it not been abused by us. It was about as
      well to be a slave to <i>master</i>, as to be a slave to <i>rum</i> and <i>whisky.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      I am the more induced to take this view of the holiday system,<span
      class="pagenum">[198]</span> adopted by slaveholders, from what I know of
      their treatment of slaves, in regard to other things. It is the commonest
      thing for them to try to disgust their slaves with what they do not want
      them to have, or to enjoy. A slave, for instance, likes molasses; he
      steals some; to cure him of the taste for it, his master, in many cases,
      will go away to town, and buy a large quantity of the <i>poorest</i>
      quality, and set it before his slave, and, with whip in hand, compel him
      to eat it, until the poor fellow is made to sicken at the very thought of
      molasses. The same course is often adopted to cure slaves of the
      disagreeable and inconvenient practice of asking for more food, when their
      allowance has failed them. The same disgusting process works well, too, in
      other things, but I need not cite them. When a slave is drunk, the
      slaveholder has no fear that he will plan an insurrection; no fear that he
      will escape to the north. It is the sober, thinking slave who is
      dangerous, and needs the vigilance of his master, to keep him a slave.
      But, to proceed with my narrative.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the first of January, 1835, I proceeded from St. Michael's to Mr.
      William Freeland's, my new home. Mr. Freeland lived only three miles from
      St. Michael's, on an old worn out farm, which required much labor to
      restore it to anything like a self-supporting establishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was not long in finding Mr. Freeland to be a very different man from Mr.
      Covey. Though not rich, Mr. Freeland was what may be called a well-bred
      southern gentleman, as different from Covey, as a well-trained and
      hardened Negro breaker is from the best specimen of the first families of
      the south. Though Freeland was a slaveholder, and shared many of the vices
      of his class, he seemed alive to the sentiment of honor. He had some sense
      of justice, and some feelings of humanity. He was fretful, impulsive and
      passionate, but I must do him the justice to say, he was free from the
      mean and selfish characteristics which distinguished the creature from
      which I had now, happily, escaped. He was open, frank, imperative, and
      practiced no concealments,<span class="pagenum">[199]</span> disdaining to
      play the spy. In all this, he was the opposite of the crafty Covey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the many advantages gained in my change from Covey's to Freeland's&mdash;startling
      as the statement may be&mdash;was the fact that the latter gentleman made
      no profession of religion. I assert <i>most unhesitatingly</i>, that the
      religion of the south&mdash;as I have observed it and proved it&mdash;is a
      mere covering for the most horrid crimes; the justifier of the most
      appalling barbarity; a sanctifier of the most hateful frauds; and a secure
      shelter, under which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal
      abominations fester and flourish. Were I again to be reduced to the
      condition of a slave, <i>next</i> to that calamity, I should regard the
      fact of being the slave of a religious slaveholder, the greatest that
      could befall me. For all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious
      slaveholders are the worst. I have found them, almost invariably, the
      vilest, meanest and basest of their class. Exceptions there may be, but
      this is true of religious slaveholders, <i>as a class</i>. It is not for
      me to explain the fact. Others may do that; I simply state it as a fact,
      and leave the theological, and psychological inquiry, which it raises, to
      be decided by others more competent than myself. Religious slaveholders,
      like religious persecutors, are ever extreme in their malice and violence.
      Very near my new home, on an adjoining farm, there lived the Rev. Daniel
      Weeden, who was both pious and cruel after the real Covey pattern. Mr.
      Weeden was a local preacher of the Protestant Methodist persuasion, and a
      most zealous supporter of the ordinances of religion, generally. This
      Weeden owned a woman called "Ceal," who was a standing proof of his
      mercilessness. Poor Ceal's back, always scantily clothed, was kept
      literally raw, by the lash of this religious man and gospel minister. The
      most notoriously wicked man&mdash;so called in distinction from church
      members&mdash;could hire hands more easily than this brute. When sent out
      to find a home, a slave would never enter the gates of the preacher
      Weeden, while a sinful sinner needed a hand. Be<span class="pagenum">[200]</span>
      have ill, or behave well, it was the known maxim of Weeden, that it is the
      duty of a master to use the lash. If, for no other reason, he contended
      that this was essential to remind a slave of his condition, and of his
      master's authority. The good slave must be whipped, to be <i>kept</i>
      good, and the bad slave must be whipped, to be <i>made</i> good. Such was
      Weeden's theory, and such was his practice. The back of his slave-woman
      will, in the judgment, be the swiftest witness against him.
    </p>
    <p>
      While I am stating particular cases, I might as well immortalize another
      of my neighbors, by calling him by name, and putting him in print. He did
      not think that a "chiel" was near, "taking notes," and will, doubtless,
      feel quite angry at having his character touched off in the ragged style
      of a slave's pen. I beg to introduce the reader to REV. RIGBY HOPKINS. Mr.
      Hopkins resides between Easton and St. Michael's, in Talbot county,
      Maryland. The severity of this man made him a perfect terror to the slaves
      of his neighborhood. The peculiar feature of his government, was, his
      system of whipping slaves, as he said, <i>in advance</i> of deserving it.
      He always managed to have one or two slaves to whip on Monday morning, so
      as to start his hands to their work, under the inspiration of a new
      assurance on Monday, that his preaching about kindness, mercy, brotherly
      love, and the like, on Sunday, did not interfere with, or prevent him from
      establishing his authority, by the cowskin. He seemed to wish to assure
      them, that his tears over poor, lost and ruined sinners, and his pity for
      them, did not reach to the blacks who tilled his fields. This saintly
      Hopkins used to boast, that he was the best hand to manage a Negro in the
      county. He whipped for the smallest offenses, by way of preventing the
      commission of large ones.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader might imagine a difficulty in finding faults enough for such
      frequent whipping. But this is because you have no idea how easy a matter
      it is to offend a man who is on the look-out for offenses. The man,
      unaccustomed to slaveholding, would be astonished to observe how many <i>foggable</i>
      offenses there are in<span class="pagenum">[201]</span> the slaveholder's
      catalogue of crimes; and how easy it is to commit any one of them, even
      when the slave least intends it. A slaveholder, bent on finding fault,
      will hatch up a dozen a day, if he chooses to do so, and each one of these
      shall be of a punishable description. 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 with his condition?
      It is said, that he has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does
      he answer <i>loudly</i>, when spoken to by his master, with an air of
      self-consciousness? Then, must he be taken down a button-hole lower, by
      the lash, well laid on. Does he forget, and omit to pull off his hat, when
      approaching a white person? Then, he must, or may be, whipped for his bad
      manners. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct, when harshly and
      unjustly accused? Then, he is guilty of impudence, one of the greatest
      crimes in the social catalogue of southern society. To allow a slave to
      escape punishment, who has impudently attempted to exculpate himself from
      unjust charges, preferred against him by some white person, is to be
      guilty of great dereliction of duty. Does a slave ever venture to suggest
      a better way of doing a thing, no matter what? He is, altogether, too
      officious&mdash;wise above what is written&mdash;and he deserves, even if
      he does not get, a flogging for his presumption. Does he, while plowing,
      break a plow, or while hoeing, break a hoe, or while chopping, break an
      ax? No matter what were the imperfections of the implement broken, or the
      natural liabilities for breaking, the slave can be whipped for
      carelessness. The <i>reverend</i> slaveholder could always find something
      of this sort, to justify him in using the lash several times during the
      week. Hopkins&mdash;like Covey and Weeden&mdash;were shunned by slaves who
      had the privilege (as many had) of finding their own masters at the end of
      each year; and yet, there was not a man in all that section of country,
      who made a louder profession of religion, than did MR. RIGBY HOPKINS.<span
      class="pagenum">[202]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      But, to continue the thread of my story, through my experience when at Mr.
      William Freeland's.
    </p>
    <p>
      My poor, weather-beaten bark now reached smoother water, and gentler
      breezes. My stormy life at Covey's had been of service to me. The things
      that would have seemed very hard, had I gone direct to Mr. Freeland's,
      from the home of Master Thomas, were now (after the hardships at Covey's)
      "trifles light as air." I was still a field hand, and had come to prefer
      the severe labor of the field, to the enervating duties of a house
      servant. I had become large and strong; and had begun to take pride in the
      fact, that I could do as much hard work as some of the older men. There is
      much rivalry among slaves, at times, as to which can do the most work, and
      masters generally seek to promote such rivalry. But some of us were too
      wise to race with each other very long. Such racing, we had the sagacity
      to see, was not likely to pay. We had our times for measuring each other's
      strength, but we knew too much to keep up the competition so long as to
      produce an extraordinary day's work. We knew that if, by extraordinary
      exertion, a large quantity of work was done in one day, the fact, becoming
      known to the master, might lead him to require the same amount every day.
      This thought was enough to bring us to a dead halt when over so much
      excited for the race.
    </p>
    <p>
      At Mr. Freeland's, my condition was every way improved. I was no longer
      the poor scape-goat that I was when at Covey's, where every wrong thing
      done was saddled upon me, and where other slaves were whipped over my
      shoulders. Mr. Freeland was too just a man thus to impose upon me, or upon
      any one else.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is quite usual to make one slave the object of especial abuse, and to
      beat him often, with a view to its effect upon others, rather than with
      any expectation that the slave whipped will be improved by it, but the man
      with whom I now was, could descend to no such meanness and wickedness.
      Every man here was held individually responsible for his own conduct.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a vast improvement on the rule at Covey's. There, I<span
      class="pagenum">[203]</span> was the general pack horse. Bill Smith was
      protected, by a positive prohibition made by his rich master, and the
      command of the rich slaveholder is LAW to the poor one; Hughes was
      favored, because of his relationship to Covey; and the hands hired
      temporarily, escaped flogging, except as they got it over my poor
      shoulders. Of course, this comparison refers to the time when Covey <i>could</i>
      whip me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Freeland, like Mr. Covey, gave his hands enough to eat, but, unlike
      Mr. Covey, he gave them time to take their meals; he worked us hard during
      the day, but gave us the night for rest&mdash;another advantage to be set
      to the credit of the sinner, as against that of the saint. We were seldom
      in the field after dark in the evening, or before sunrise in the morning.
      Our implements of husbandry were of the most improved pattern, and much
      superior to those used at Covey's.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothwithstanding the improved condition which was now mine, and the many
      advantages I had gained by my new home, and my new master, I was still
      restless and discontented. I was about as hard to please by a master, as a
      master is by slave. The freedom from bodily torture and unceasing labor,
      had given my mind an increased sensibility, and imparted to it greater
      activity. I was not yet exactly in right relations. "How be it, that was
      not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural, and afterward
      that which is spiritual." When entombed at Covey's, shrouded in darkness
      and physical wretchedness, temporal wellbeing was the grand <i>desideratum;</i>
      but, temporal wants supplied, the spirit puts in its claims. Beat and cuff
      your slave, keep him hungry and spiritless, and he will follow the chain
      of his master like a dog; but, feed and clothe him well&mdash;work him
      moderately&mdash;surround him with physical comfort&mdash;and dreams of
      freedom intrude. Give him a <i>bad</i> master, and he aspires to a <i>good</i>
      master; give him a good master, and he wishes to become his <i>own</i>
      master. Such is human nature. You may hurl a man so low, beneath the level
      of his kind, that he loses all just ideas of his natural position;<span
      class="pagenum">[204]</span> but elevate him a little, and the clear
      conception of rights arises to life and power, and leads him onward. Thus
      elevated, a little, at Freeland's, the dreams called into being by that
      good man, Father Lawson, when in Baltimore, began to visit me; and shoots
      from the tree of liberty began to put forth tender buds, and dim hopes of
      the future began to dawn.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found myself in congenial society, at Mr. Freeland's. There were Henry
      Harris, John Harris, Handy Caldwell, and Sandy Jenkins. <a
      href="#linknote-6" name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6"><small>6</small></a>
    </p>
    <p>
      Henry and John were brothers, and belonged to Mr. Freeland. They were both
      remarkably bright and intelligent, though neither of them could read. Now
      for mischief! I had not been long at Freeland's before I was up to my old
      tricks. I early began to address my companions on the subject of
      education, and the advantages of intelligence over ignorance, and, as far
      as I dared, I tried to show the agency of ignorance in keeping men in
      slavery. Webster's spelling book and the <i>Columbian Orator</i> were
      looked into again. As summer came on, and the long Sabbath days stretched
      themselves over our idleness, I became uneasy, and wanted a Sabbath
      school, in which to exercise my gifts, and to impart the little knowledge
      of letters which I possessed, to my brother slaves. A house was hardly
      necessary in the summer time; I could hold my school under the shade of an
      old oak tree, as well as any where else. The thing was, to get the
      scholars, and to have them thoroughly imbued with the desire to learn. Two
      such boys were quickly secured, in Henry and John, and from them the
      contagion spread. I was not long bringing around me twenty or thirty young
      men, who enrolled themselves, gladly, in my Sabbath school, and were
      willing to meet me regularly, under the trees or elsewhere, for the
      purpose of learning to read. It was<span class="pagenum">[205]</span>
      surprising with what ease they provided themselves with spelling books.
      These were mostly the cast off books of their young masters or mistresses.
      I taught, at first, on our own farm. All were impressed with the necessity
      of keeping the matter as private as possible, for the fate of the St.
      Michael's attempt was notorious, and fresh in the minds of all. Our pious
      masters, at St. Michael's, must not know that a few of their dusky
      brothers were learning to read the word of God, lest they should come down
      upon us with the lash and chain. We might have met to drink whisky, to
      wrestle, fight, and to do other unseemly things, with no fear of
      interruption from the saints or sinners of St. Michael's.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, to meet for the purpose of improving the mind and heart, by learning
      to read the sacred scriptures, was esteemed a most dangerous nuisance, to
      be instantly stopped. The slaveholders of St. Michael's, like slaveholders
      elsewhere, would always prefer to see the slaves engaged in degrading
      sports, rather than to see them acting like moral and accountable beings.
    </p>
    <p>
      Had any one asked a religious white man, in St. Michael's, twenty years
      ago, the names of three men in that town, whose lives were most after the
      pattern of our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, the first three would have
      been as follows:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    GARRISON WEST, <i>Class Leader</i>.
    WRIGHT FAIRBANKS, <i>Class Leader</i>.
    THOMAS AULD, <i>Class Leader</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      And yet, these were men who ferociously rushed in upon my Sabbath school,
      at St. Michael's, armed with mob-like missiles, and I must say, I thought
      him a Christian, until he took part in bloody by the lash. This same
      Garrison West was my class leader, and I must say, I thought him a
      Christian, until he took part in breaking up my school. He led me no more
      after that. The plea for this outrage was then, as it is now and at all
      times&mdash;the danger to good order. If the slaves learnt to read, they
      would learn something else, and something worse. The peace of slavery
      would be disturbed; slave rule would be endangered. I leave the reader to<span
      class="pagenum">[206]</span> characterize a system which is endangered by
      such causes. I do not dispute the soundness of the reasoning. It is
      perfectly sound; and, if slavery be <i>right</i>, Sabbath schools for
      teaching slaves to read the bible are <i>wrong</i>, and ought to be put
      down. These Christian class leaders were, to this extent, consistent. They
      had settled the question, that slavery is <i>right</i>, and, by that
      standard, they determined that Sabbath schools are wrong. To be sure, they
      were Protestant, and held to the great Protestant right of every man to <i>"search
      the scriptures"</i> for himself; but, then, to all general rules, there
      are <i>exceptions</i>. How convenient! What crimes may not be committed
      under the doctrine of the last remark. But, my dear, class leading
      Methodist brethren, did not condescend to give me a reason for breaking up
      the Sabbath school at St. Michael's; it was enough that they had
      determined upon its destruction. I am, however, digressing.
    </p>
    <p>
      After getting the school cleverly into operation, the second time holding
      it in the woods, behind the barn, and in the shade of trees&mdash;I
      succeeded in inducing a free colored man, who lived several miles from our
      house, to permit me to hold my school in a room at his house. He, very
      kindly, gave me this liberty; but he incurred much peril in doing so, for
      the assemblage was an unlawful one. I shall not mention, here, the name of
      this man; for it might, even now, subject him to persecution, although the
      offenses were committed more than twenty years ago. I had, at one time,
      more than forty scholars, all of the right sort; and many of them
      succeeded in learning to read. I have met several slaves from Maryland,
      who were once my scholars; and who obtained their freedom, I doubt not,
      partly in consequence of the ideas imparted to them in that school. I have
      had various employments during my short life; but I look back to <i>none</i>
      with more satisfaction, than to that afforded by my Sunday school. An
      attachment, deep and lasting, sprung up between me and my persecuted
      pupils, which made parting from them intensely grievous; and,<span
      class="pagenum">[207]</span> when I think that most of these dear souls
      are yet shut up in this abject thralldom, I am overwhelmed with grief.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides my Sunday school, I devoted three evenings a week to my fellow
      slaves, during the winter. Let the reader reflect upon the fact, that, in
      this christian country, men and women are hiding from professors of
      religion, in barns, in the woods and fields, in order to learn to read the
      <i>holy bible</i>. Those dear souls, who came to my Sabbath school, came
      <i>not</i> because it was popular or reputable to attend such a place, for
      they came under the liability of having forty stripes laid on their naked
      backs. Every moment they spend in my school, they were under this terrible
      liability; and, in this respect, I was sharer with them. Their minds had
      been cramped and starved by their cruel masters; the light of education
      had been completely excluded; and their hard earnings had been taken to
      educate their master's children. I felt a delight in circumventing the
      tyrants, and in blessing the victims of their curses.
    </p>
    <p>
      The year at Mr. Freeland's passed off very smoothly, to outward seeming.
      Not a blow was given me during the whole year. To the credit of Mr.
      Freeland&mdash;irreligious though he was&mdash;it must be stated, that he
      was the best master I ever had, until I became my own master, and assumed
      for myself, as I had a right to do, the responsibility of my own existence
      and the exercise of my own powers. For much of the happiness&mdash;or
      absence of misery&mdash;with which I passed this year with Mr. Freeland, I
      am indebted to the genial temper and ardent friendship of my brother
      slaves. They were, every one of them, manly, generous and brave, yes; I
      say they were brave, and I will add, fine looking. It is seldom the lot of
      mortals to have truer and better friends than were the slaves on this
      farm. It is not uncommon to charge slaves with great treachery toward each
      other, and to believe them incapable of confiding in each other; but I
      must say, that I never loved, esteemed, or confided in men, more than I
      did in these. They were as true as steel, and no band of brothers could
      have been more<span class="pagenum">[208]</span> loving. There were no
      mean advantages taken of each other, as is sometimes the case where slaves
      are situated as we were; no tattling; no giving each other bad names to
      Mr. Freeland; and no elevating one at the expense of the other. We never
      undertook to do any thing, of any importance, which was likely to affect
      each other, without mutual consultation. We were generally a unit, and
      moved together. Thoughts and sentiments were exchanged between us, which
      might well be called very incendiary, by oppressors and tyrants; and
      perhaps the time has not even now come, when it is safe to unfold all the
      flying suggestions which arise in the minds of intelligent slaves. Several
      of my friends and brothers, if yet alive, are still in some part of the
      house of bondage; and though twenty years have passed away, the suspicious
      malice of slavery might punish them for even listening to my thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      The slaveholder, kind or cruel, is a slaveholder still&mdash;the every
      hour violator of the just and inalienable rights of man; and he is,
      therefore, every hour silently whetting the knife of vengeance for his own
      throat. He never lisps a syllable in commendation of the fathers of this
      republic, nor denounces any attempted oppression of himself, without
      inviting the knife to his own throat, and asserting the rights of
      rebellion for his own slaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      The year is ended, and we are now in the midst of the Christmas holidays,
      which are kept this year as last, according to the general description
      previously given.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX. <i>The Run-Away Plot</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
NEW YEAR'S THOUGHTS AND MEDITATIONS&mdash;AGAIN BOUGHT BY FREELAND&mdash;NO
AMBITION TO BE A SLAVE&mdash;KINDNESS NO COMPENSATION FOR SLAVERY&mdash;INCIPIENT
STEPS TOWARD ESCAPE&mdash;CONSIDERATIONS LEADING THERETO&mdash;IRRECONCILABLE
HOSTILITY TO SLAVERY&mdash;SOLEMN VOW TAKEN&mdash;PLAN DIVULGED TO THE
SLAVES&mdash;<i>Columbian Orator&mdash;</i>SCHEME GAINS FAVOR, DESPITE PRO-SLAVERY
PREACHING&mdash;DANGER OF DISCOVERY&mdash;SKILL OF SLAVEHOLDERS IN READING
THE MINDS OF THEIR SLAVES&mdash;SUSPICION AND COERCION&mdash;HYMNS WITH
DOUBLE MEANING&mdash;VALUE, IN DOLLARS, OF OUR COMPANY&mdash;PRELIMINARY
CONSULTATION&mdash;PASS-WORD&mdash;CONFLICTS OF HOPE AND FEAR&mdash;DIFFICULTIES TO BE
OVERCOME&mdash;IGNORANCE OF GEOGRAPHY&mdash;SURVEY OF IMAGINARY DIFFICULTIES&mdash;EFFECT
ON OUR MINDS&mdash;PATRICK HENRY&mdash;SANDY BECOMES A DREAMER&mdash;ROUTE TO THE NORTH
LAID OUT&mdash;OBJECTIONS CONSIDERED&mdash;FRAUDS PRACTICED ON FREEMEN&mdash;PASSES
WRITTEN&mdash;ANXIETIES AS THE TIME DREW NEAR&mdash;DREAD OF FAILURE&mdash;APPEALS
TO COMRADES&mdash;STRANGE PRESENTIMENT&mdash;COINCIDENCE&mdash;THE BETRAYAL
DISCOVERED&mdash;THE MANNER OF ARRESTING US&mdash;RESISTANCE MADE BY HENRY
HARRIS&mdash;ITS EFFECT&mdash;THE UNIQUE SPEECH OF MRS. FREELAND&mdash;OUR SAD
PROCESSION TO PRISON&mdash;BRUTAL JEERS BY THE MULTITUDE ALONG THE
ROAD&mdash;PASSES EATEN&mdash;THE DENIAL&mdash;SANDY TOO WELL LOVED TO BE
SUSPECTED&mdash;DRAGGED BEHIND HORSES&mdash;THE JAIL A RELIEF&mdash;A NEW SET OF
TORMENTORS&mdash;SLAVE-TRADERS&mdash;JOHN, CHARLES AND HENRY RELEASED&mdash;ALONE IN
PRISON&mdash;I AM TAKEN OUT, AND SENT TO BALTIMORE.
</pre>
    <p>
      I am now at the beginning of the year 1836, a time favorable for serious
      thoughts. The mind naturally occupies itself with the mysteries of life in
      all its phases&mdash;the ideal, the real and the actual. Sober people look
      both ways at the beginning of the year, surveying the errors of the past,
      and providing against possible errors of the future. I, too, was thus
      exercised. I had little pleasure<span class="pagenum">[210]</span> in
      retrospect, and the prospect was not very brilliant. "Notwithstanding,"
      thought I, "the many resolutions and prayers I have made, in behalf of
      freedom, I am, this first day of the year 1836, still a slave, still
      wandering in the depths of spirit-devouring thralldom. My faculties and
      powers of body and soul are not my own, but are the property of a fellow
      mortal, in no sense superior to me, except that he has the physical power
      to compel me to be owned and controlled by him. By the combined physical
      force of the community, I am his slave&mdash;a slave for life." With
      thoughts like these, I was perplexed and chafed; they rendered me gloomy
      and disconsolate. The anguish of my mind may not be written.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the close of the year 1835, Mr. Freeland, my temporary master, had
      bought me of Capt. Thomas Auld, for the year 1836. His promptness in
      securing my services, would have been flattering to my vanity, had I been
      ambitious to win the reputation of being a valuable slave. Even as it was,
      I felt a slight degree of complacency at the circumstance. It showed he
      was as well pleased with me as a slave, as I was with him as a master. I
      have already intimated my regard for Mr. Freeland, and I may say here, in
      addressing northern readers&mdash;where is no selfish motive for speaking
      in praise of a slaveholder&mdash;that Mr. Freeland was a man of many
      excellent qualities, and to me quite preferable to any master I ever had.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the kindness of the slavemaster only gilds the chain of slavery, and
      detracts nothing from its weight or power. The thought that men are made
      for other and better uses than slavery, thrives best under the gentle
      treatment of a kind master. But the grim visage of slavery can assume no
      smiles which can fascinate the partially enlightened slave, into a
      forgetfulness of his bondage, nor of the desirableness of liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was not through the first month of this, my second year with the kind
      and gentlemanly Mr. Freeland, before I was earnestly considering and
      advising plans for gaining that freedom, which,<span class="pagenum">[211]</span>
      when I was but a mere child, I had ascertained to be the natural and
      inborn right of every member of the human family. The desire for this
      freedom had been benumbed, while I was under the brutalizing dominion of
      Covey; and it had been postponed, and rendered inoperative, by my truly
      pleasant Sunday school engagements with my friends, during the year 1835,
      at Mr. Freeland's. It had, however, never entirely subsided. I hated
      slavery, always, and the desire for freedom only needed a favorable
      breeze, to fan it into a blaze, at any moment. The thought of only being a
      creature of the <i>present</i> and the <i>past</i>, troubled me, and I
      longed to have a <i>future</i>&mdash;a future with hope in it. To be shut
      up entirely to the past and present, is abhorrent to the human mind; it is
      to the soul&mdash;whose life and happiness is unceasing progress&mdash;what
      the prison is to the body; a blight and mildew, a hell of horrors. The
      dawning of this, another year, awakened me from my temporary slumber, and
      roused into life my latent, but long cherished aspirations for freedom. I
      was now not only ashamed to be contented in slavery, but ashamed to <i>seem</i>
      to be contented, and in my present favorable condition, under the mild
      rule of Mr. F., I am not sure that some kind reader will not condemn me
      for being over ambitious, and greatly wanting in proper humility, when I
      say the truth, that I now drove from me all thoughts of making the best of
      my lot, and welcomed only such thoughts as led me away from the house of
      bondage. The intense desires, now felt, <i>to be free</i>, quickened by my
      present favorable circumstances, brought me to the determination to act,
      as well as to think and speak. Accordingly, at the beginning of this year
      1836, I took upon me a solemn vow, that the year which had now dawned upon
      me should not close, without witnessing an earnest attempt, on my part, to
      gain my liberty. This vow only bound me to make my escape individually;
      but the year spent with Mr. Freeland had attached me, as with "hooks of
      steel," to my brother slaves. The most affectionate and confiding
      friendship existed between us; and I felt it my duty to give them an
      opportunity to share in my<span class="pagenum">[212]</span> virtuous
      determination by frankly disclosing to them my plans and purposes. Toward
      Henry and John Harris, I felt a friendship as strong as one man can feel
      for another; for I could have died with and for them. To them, therefore,
      with a suitable degree of caution, I began to disclose my sentiments and
      plans; sounding them, the while on the subject of running away, provided a
      good chance should offer. I scarcely need tell the reader, that I did my
      <i>very best</i> to imbue the minds of my dear friends with my own views
      and feelings. Thoroughly awakened, now, and with a definite vow upon me,
      all my little reading, which had any bearing on the subject of human
      rights, was rendered available in my communications with my friends. That
      (to me) gem of a book, the <i>Columbian Orator</i>, with its eloquent
      orations and spicy dialogues, denouncing oppression and slavery&mdash;telling
      of what had been dared, done and suffered by men, to obtain the
      inestimable boon of liberty&mdash;was still fresh in my memory, and
      whirled into the ranks of my speech with the aptitude of well trained
      soldiers, going through the drill. The fact is, I here began my public
      speaking. I canvassed, with Henry and John, the subject of slavery, and
      dashed against it the condemning brand of God's eternal justice, which it
      every hour violates. My fellow servants were neither indifferent, dull,
      nor inapt. Our feelings were more alike than our opinions. All, however,
      were ready to act, when a feasible plan should be proposed. "Show us <i>how</i>
      the thing is to be done," said they, "and all is clear."
    </p>
    <p>
      We were all, except Sandy, quite free from slaveholding priestcraft. It
      was in vain that we had been taught from the pulpit at St. Michael's, the
      duty of obedience to our masters; to recognize God as the author of our
      enslavement; to regard running away an offense, alike against God and man;
      to deem our enslavement a merciful and beneficial arrangement; to esteem
      our condition, in this country, a paradise to that from which we had been
      snatched in Africa; to consider our hard hands and dark color as God's
      mark of displeasure, and as pointing us out as the proper<span
      class="pagenum">[213]</span> subjects of slavery; that the relation of
      master and slave was one of reciprocal benefits; that our work was not
      more serviceable to our masters, than our master's thinking was
      serviceable to us. I say, it was in vain that the pulpit of St. Michael's
      had constantly inculcated these plausible doctrine. Nature laughed them to
      scorn. For my own part, I had now become altogether too big for my chains.
      Father Lawson's solemn words, of what I ought to be, and might be, in the
      providence of God, had not fallen dead on my soul. I was fast verging
      toward manhood, and the prophecies of my childhood were still unfulfilled.
      The thought, that year after year had passed away, and my resolutions to
      run away had failed and faded&mdash;that I was <i>still a slave</i>, and a
      slave, too, with chances for gaining my freedom diminished and still
      diminishing&mdash;was not a matter to be slept over easily; nor did I
      easily sleep over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      But here came a new trouble. Thoughts and purposes so incendiary as those
      I now cherished, could not agitate the mind long, without danger of making
      themselves manifest to scrutinizing and unfriendly beholders. I had reason
      to fear that my sable face might prove altogether too transparent for the
      safe concealment of my hazardous enterprise. Plans of greater moment have
      leaked through stone walls, and revealed their projectors. But, here was
      no stone wall to hide my purpose. I would have given my poor, tell tale
      face for the immoveable countenance of an Indian, for it was far from
      being proof against the daily, searching glances of those with whom I met.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is the interest and business of slaveholders to study human nature,
      with a view to practical results, and many of them attain astonishing
      proficiency in discerning the thoughts and emotions of slaves. They have
      to deal not with earth, wood, or stone, but with <i>men;</i> and, by every
      regard they have for their safety and prosperity, they must study to know
      the material on which they are at work. So much intellect as the
      slaveholder has around him, requires watching. Their safety depends upon
      their vigilance. Conscious of the injustice and wrong they are every hour<span
      class="pagenum">[214]</span> perpetrating, and knowing what they
      themselves would do if made the victims of such wrongs, they are looking
      out for the first signs of the dread retribution of justice. They watch,
      therefore, with skilled and practiced eyes, and have learned to read, with
      great accuracy, the state of mind and heart of the slaves, through his
      sable face. These uneasy sinners are quick to inquire into the matter,
      where the slave is concerned. Unusual sobriety, apparent abstraction,
      sullenness and indifference&mdash;indeed, any mood out of the common way&mdash;afford
      ground for suspicion and inquiry. Often relying on their superior position
      and wisdom, they hector and torture the slave into a confession, by
      affecting to know the truth of their accusations. "You have got the devil
      in you," say they, "and we will whip him out of you." I have often been
      put thus to the torture, on bare suspicion. This system has its
      disadvantages as well as their opposite. The slave is sometimes whipped
      into the confession of offenses which he never committed. The reader will
      see that the good old rule&mdash;"a man is to be held innocent until
      proved to be guilty"&mdash;does not hold good on the slave plantation.
      Suspicion and torture are the approved methods of getting at the truth,
      here. It was necessary for me, therefore, to keep a watch over my
      deportment, lest the enemy should get the better of me.
    </p>
    <p>
      But with all our caution and studied reserve, I am not sure that Mr.
      Freeland did not suspect that all was not right with us. It <i>did</i>
      seem that he watched us more narrowly, after the plan of escape had been
      conceived and discussed amongst us. Men seldom see themselves as others
      see them; and while, to ourselves, everything connected with our
      contemplated escape appeared concealed, Mr. Freeland may have, with the
      peculiar prescience of a slaveholder, mastered the huge thought which was
      disturbing our peace in slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am the more inclined to think that he suspected us, because, prudent as
      we were, as I now look back, I can see that we did many silly things, very
      well calculated to awaken suspicion. We were,<span class="pagenum">[215]</span>
      at times, remarkably buoyant, singing hymns and making joyous
      exclamations, almost as triumphant in their tone as if we reached a land
      of freedom and safety. A keen observer might have detected in our repeated
      singing of
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            <i>O Canaan, sweet Canaan,
            I am bound for the land of Canaan,</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      something more than a hope of reaching heaven. We meant to reach the <i>north</i>&mdash;and
      the north was our Canaan.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            <i>I thought I heard them say,
            There were lions in the way,
            I don't expect to Star
                    Much longer here.</i>

            <i>Run to Jesus&mdash;shun the danger&mdash;
             I don't expect to stay
                    Much longer here</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      was a favorite air, and had a double meaning. In the lips of some, it
      meant the expectation of a speedy summons to a world of spirits; but, in
      the lips of <i>our</i> company, it simply meant, a speedy pilgrimage
      toward a free state, and deliverance from all the evils and dangers of
      slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had succeeded in winning to my (what slaveholders would call wicked)
      scheme, a company of five young men, the very flower of the neighborhood,
      each one of whom would have commanded one thousand dollars in the home
      market. At New Orleans, they would have brought fifteen hundred dollars a
      piece, and, perhaps, more. The names of our party were as follows: Henry
      Harris; John Harris, brother to Henry; Sandy Jenkins, of root memory;
      Charles Roberts, and Henry Bailey. I was the youngest, but one, of the
      party. I had, however, the advantage of them all, in experience, and in a
      knowledge of letters. This gave me great influence over them. Perhaps not
      one of them, left to himself, would have dreamed of escape as a possible
      thing. Not one of them was self-moved in the matter. They all wanted to be
      free; but the serious thought of running away, had not entered into<span
      class="pagenum">[216]</span> their minds, until I won them to the
      undertaking. They all were tolerably well off&mdash;for slaves&mdash;and
      had dim hopes of being set free, some day, by their masters. If any one is
      to blame for disturbing the quiet of the slaves and slave-masters of the
      neighborhood of St. Michael's, <i>I am the man</i>. I claim to be the
      instigator of the high crime (as the slaveholders regard it) and I kept
      life in it, until life could be kept in it no longer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pending the time of our contemplated departure out of our Egypt, we met
      often by night, and on every Sunday. At these meetings we talked the
      matter over; told our hopes and fears, and the difficulties discovered or
      imagined; and, like men of sense, we counted the cost of the enterprise to
      which we were committing ourselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      These meetings must have resembled, on a small scale, the meetings of
      revolutionary conspirators, in their primary condition. We were plotting
      against our (so called) lawful rulers; with this difference that we sought
      our own good, and not the harm of our enemies. We did not seek to
      overthrow them, but to escape from them. As for Mr. Freeland, we all liked
      him, and would have gladly remained with him, <i>as freeman</i>. LIBERTY
      was our aim; and we had now come to think that we had a right to liberty,
      against every obstacle even against the lives of our enslavers.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had several words, expressive of things, important to us, which we
      understood, but which, even if distinctly heard by an outsider, would
      convey no certain meaning. I have reasons for suppressing these <i>pass-words</i>,
      which the reader will easily divine. I hated the secrecy; but where
      slavery is powerful, and liberty is weak, the latter is driven to
      concealment or to destruction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The prospect was not always a bright one. At times, we were almost tempted
      to abandon the enterprise, and to get back to that comparative peace of
      mind, which even a man under the gallows might feel, when all hope of
      escape had vanished. Quiet bondage was felt to be better than the doubts,
      fears and uncertainties, which now so sadly perplexed and disturbed us.<span
      class="pagenum">[217]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      The infirmities of humanity, generally, were represented in our little
      band. We were confident, bold and determined, at times; and, again,
      doubting, timid and wavering; whistling, like the boy in the graveyard, to
      keep away the spirits.
    </p>
    <p>
      To look at the map, and observe the proximity of Eastern Shore, Maryland,
      to Delaware and Pennsylvania, it may seem to the reader quite absurd, to
      regard the proposed escape as a formidable undertaking. But to <i>understand</i>,
      some one has said a man must <i>stand under</i>. The real distance was
      great enough, but the imagined distance was, to our ignorance, even
      greater. Every slaveholder seeks to impress his slave with a belief in the
      boundlessness of slave territory, and of his own almost illimitable power.
      We all had vague and indistinct notions of the geography of the country.
    </p>
    <p>
      The distance, however, is not the chief trouble. The nearer are the lines
      of a slave state and the borders of a free one, the greater the peril.
      Hired kidnappers infest these borders. Then, too, we knew that merely
      reaching a free state did not free us; that, wherever caught, we could be
      returned to slavery. We could see no spot on this side the ocean, where we
      could be free. We had heard of Canada, the real Canaan of the American
      bondmen, simply as a country to which the wild goose and the swan repaired
      at the end of winter, to escape the heat of summer, but not as the home of
      man. I knew something of theology, but nothing of geography. I really did
      not, at that time, know that there was a state of New York, or a state of
      Massachusetts. I had heard of Pennsylvania, Delaware and New Jersey, and
      all the southern states, but was ignorant of the free states, generally.
      New York city was our northern limit, and to go there, and be forever
      harassed with the liability of being hunted down and returned to slavery&mdash;with
      the certainty of being treated ten times worse than we had ever been
      treated before was a prospect far from delightful, and it might well cause
      some hesitation about engaging in the enterprise. The case, sometimes, to
      our excited visions,<span class="pagenum">[218]</span> stood thus: At
      every gate through which we had to pass, we saw a watchman; at every
      ferry, a guard; on every bridge, a sentinel; and in every wood, a patrol
      or slave-hunter. We were hemmed in on every side. The good to be sought,
      and the evil to be shunned, were flung in the balance, and weighed against
      each other. On the one hand, there stood slavery; a stern reality, glaring
      frightfully upon us, with the blood of millions in his polluted skirts&mdash;terrible
      to behold&mdash;greedily devouring our hard earnings and feeding himself
      upon our flesh. Here was the evil from which to escape. On the other hand,
      far away, back in the hazy distance, where all forms seemed but shadows,
      under the flickering light of the north star&mdash;behind some craggy hill
      or snow-covered mountain&mdash;stood a doubtful freedom, half frozen,
      beckoning us to her icy domain. This was the good to be sought. The
      inequality was as great as that between certainty and uncertainty. This,
      in itself, was enough to stagger us; but when we came to survey the
      untrodden road, and conjecture the many possible difficulties, we were
      appalled, and at times, as I have said, were upon the point of giving over
      the struggle altogether.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader can have little idea of the phantoms of trouble which flit, in
      such circumstances, before the uneducated mind of the slave. Upon either
      side, we saw grim death assuming a variety of horrid shapes. Now, it was
      starvation, causing us, in a strange and friendless land, to eat our own
      flesh. Now, we were contending with the waves (for our journey was in part
      by water) and were drowned. Now, we were hunted by dogs, and overtaken and
      torn to pieces by their merciless fangs. We were stung by scorpions&mdash;chased
      by wild beasts&mdash;bitten by snakes; and, worst of all, after having
      succeeded in swimming rivers&mdash;encountering wild beasts&mdash;sleeping
      in the woods&mdash;suffering hunger, cold, heat and nakedness&mdash;we
      supposed ourselves to be overtaken by hired kidnappers, who, in the name
      of the law, and for their thrice accursed reward, would, perchance, fire
      upon us&mdash;kill some, wound others, and capture all. This dark picture,<span
      class="pagenum">[219]</span> drawn by ignorance and fear, at times greatly
      shook our determination, and not unfrequently caused us to
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            <i>Rather bear those ills we had
            Than fly to others which we knew not of</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      I am not disposed to magnify this circumstance in my experience, and yet I
      think I shall seem to be so disposed, to the reader. No man can tell the
      intense agony which is felt by the slave, when wavering on the point of
      making his escape. All that he has is at stake; and even that which he has
      not, is at stake, also. The life which he has, may be lost, and the
      liberty which he seeks, may not be gained.
    </p>
    <p>
      Patrick Henry, to a listening senate, thrilled by his magic eloquence, and
      ready to stand by him in his boldest flights, could say, GIVE ME LIBERTY
      OR GIVE ME DEATH, and this saying was a sublime one, even for a freeman;
      but, incomparably more sublime, is the same sentiment, when <i>practically</i>
      asserted by men accustomed to the lash and chain&mdash;men whose
      sensibilities must have become more or less deadened by their bondage.
      With us it was a <i>doubtful</i> liberty, at best, that we sought; and a
      certain, lingering death in the rice swamps and sugar fields, if we
      failed. Life is not lightly regarded by men of sane minds. It is precious,
      alike to the pauper and to the prince&mdash;to the slave, and to his
      master; and yet, I believe there was not one among us, who would not
      rather have been shot down, than pass away life in hopeless bondage.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the progress of our preparations, Sandy, the root man, became troubled.
      He began to have dreams, and some of them were very distressing. One of
      these, which happened on a Friday night, was, to him, of great
      significance; and I am quite ready to confess, that I felt somewhat damped
      by it myself. He said, "I dreamed, last night, that I was roused from
      sleep, by strange noises, like the voices of a swarm of angry birds, that
      caused a roar as they passed, which fell upon my ear like a coming gale<span
      class="pagenum">[220]</span> over the tops of the trees. Looking up to see
      what it could mean," said Sandy, "I saw you, Frederick, in the claws of a
      huge bird, surrounded by a large number of birds, of all colors and sizes.
      These were all picking at you, while you, with your arms, seemed to be
      trying to protect your eyes. Passing over me, the birds flew in a
      south-westerly direction, and I watched them until they were clean out of
      sight. Now, I saw this as plainly as I now see you; and furder, honey,
      watch de Friday night dream; dare is sumpon in it, shose you born; dare
      is, indeed, honey."
    </p>
    <p>
      I confess I did not like this dream; but I threw off concern about it, by
      attributing it to the general excitement and perturbation consequent upon
      our contemplated plan of escape. I could not, however, shake off its
      effect at once. I felt that it boded me no good. Sandy was unusually
      emphatic and oracular, and his manner had much to do with the impression
      made upon me.
    </p>
    <p>
      The plan of escape which I recommended, and to which my comrades assented,
      was to take a large canoe, owned by Mr. Hamilton, and, on the Saturday
      night previous to the Easter holidays, launch out into the Chesapeake bay,
      and paddle for its head&mdash;a distance of seventy miles with all our
      might. Our course, on reaching this point, was, to turn the canoe adrift,
      and bend our steps toward the north star, till we reached a free state.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were several objections to this plan. One was, the danger from gales
      on the bay. In rough weather, the waters of the Chesapeake are much
      agitated, and there is danger, in a canoe, of being swamped by the waves.
      Another objection was, that the canoe would soon be missed; the absent
      persons would, at once, be suspected of having taken it; and we should be
      pursued by some of the fast sailing bay craft out of St. Michael's. Then,
      again, if we reached the head of the bay, and turned the canoe adrift, she
      might prove a guide to our track, and bring the land hunters after us.
    </p>
    <p>
      These and other objections were set aside, by the stronger ones which
      could be urged against every other plan that could then be<span
      class="pagenum">[221]</span> suggested. On the water, we had a chance of
      being regarded as fishermen, in the service of a master. On the other
      hand, by taking the land route, through the counties adjoining Delaware,
      we should be subjected to all manner of interruptions, and many very
      disagreeable questions, which might give us serious trouble. Any white man
      is authorized to stop a man of color, on any road, and examine him, and
      arrest him, if he so desires.
    </p>
    <p>
      By this arrangement, many abuses (considered such even by slaveholders)
      occur. Cases have been known, where freemen have been called upon to show
      their free papers, by a pack of ruffians&mdash;and, on the presentation of
      the papers, the ruffians have torn them up, and seized their victim, and
      sold him to a life of endless bondage.
    </p>
    <p>
      The week before our intended start, I wrote a pass for each of our party,
      giving them permission to visit Baltimore, during the Easter holidays. The
      pass ran after this manner:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     This is to certify, that I, the undersigned, have given the
     bearer, my servant, John, full liberty to go to Baltimore, to
     spend the Easter holidays.
                                                     W.H.
                     Near St. Michael's, Talbot county, Maryland
</pre>
    <p>
      Although we were not going to Baltimore, and were intending to land east
      of North Point, in the direction where I had seen the Philadelphia
      steamers go, these passes might be made useful to us in the lower part of
      the bay, while steering toward Baltimore. These were not, however, to be
      shown by us, until all other answers failed to satisfy the inquirer. We
      were all fully alive to the importance of being calm and self-possessed,
      when accosted, if accosted we should be; and we more times than one
      rehearsed to each other how we should behave in the hour of trial.
    </p>
    <p>
      These were long, tedious days and nights. The suspense was painful, in the
      extreme. To balance probabilities, where life and liberty hang on the
      result, requires steady nerves. I panted for action, and was glad when the
      day, at the close of which we were to start, dawned upon us. Sleeping, the
      night before, was<span class="pagenum">[222]</span> out of the question. I
      probably felt more deeply than any of my companions, because I was the
      instigator of the movement. The responsibility of the whole enterprise
      rested on my shoulders. The glory of success, and the shame and confusion
      of failure, could not be matters of indifference to me. Our food was
      prepared; our clothes were packed up; we were all ready to go, and
      impatient for Saturday morning&mdash;considering that the last morning of
      our bondage.
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot describe the tempest and tumult of my brain, that morning. The
      reader will please to bear in mind, that, in a slave state, an
      unsuccessful runaway is not only subjected to cruel torture, and sold away
      to the far south, but he is frequently execrated by the other slaves. He
      is charged with making the condition of the other slaves intolerable, by
      laying them all under the suspicion of their masters&mdash;subjecting them
      to greater vigilance, and imposing greater limitations on their
      privileges. I dreaded murmurs from this quarter. It is difficult, too, for
      a slavemaster to believe that slaves escaping have not been aided in their
      flight by some one of their fellow slaves. When, therefore, a slave is
      missing, every slave on the place is closely examined as to his knowledge
      of the undertaking; and they are sometimes even tortured, to make them
      disclose what they are suspected of knowing of such escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our anxiety grew more and more intense, as the time of our intended
      departure for the north drew nigh. It was truly felt to be a matter of
      life and death with us; and we fully intended to <i>fight</i> as well as
      <i>run</i>, if necessity should occur for that extremity. But the trial
      hour was not yet to come. It was easy to resolve, but not so easy to act.
      I expected there might be some drawing back, at the last. It was natural
      that there should be; therefore, during the intervening time, I lost no
      opportunity to explain away difficulties, to remove doubts, to dispel
      fears, and to inspire all with firmness. It was too late to look back; and
      <i>now</i> was the time to go forward. Like most other men, we had done
      the talking part of our<span class="pagenum">[223]</span> work, long and
      well; and the time had come to <i>act</i> as if we were in earnest, and
      meant to be as true in action as in words. I did not forget to appeal to
      the pride of my comrades, by telling them that, if after having solemnly
      promised to go, as they had done, they now failed to make the attempt,
      they would, in effect, brand themselves with cowardice, and might as well
      sit down, fold their arms, and acknowledge themselves as fit only to be <i>slaves</i>.
      This detestable character, all were unwilling to assume. Every man except
      Sandy (he, much to our regret, withdrew) stood firm; and at our last
      meeting we pledged ourselves afresh, and in the most solemn manner, that,
      at the time appointed, we <i>would</i> certainly start on our long journey
      for a free country. This meeting was in the middle of the week, at the end
      of which we were to start.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early that morning we went, as usual, to the field, but with hearts that
      beat quickly and anxiously. Any one intimately acquainted with us, might
      have seen that all was not well with us, and that some monster lingered in
      our thoughts. Our work that morning was the same as it had been for
      several days past&mdash;drawing out and spreading manure. While thus
      engaged, I had a sudden presentiment, which flashed upon me like lightning
      in a dark night, revealing to the lonely traveler the gulf before, and the
      enemy behind. I instantly turned to Sandy Jenkins, who was near me, and
      said to him, <i>"Sandy, we are betrayed;</i> something has just told me
      so." I felt as sure of it, as if the officers were there in sight. Sandy
      said, "Man, dat is strange; but I feel just as you do." If my mother&mdash;then
      long in her grave&mdash;had appeared before me, and told me that we were
      betrayed, I could not, at that moment, have felt more certain of the fact.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few minutes after this, the long, low and distant notes of the horn
      summoned us from the field to breakfast. I felt as one may be supposed to
      feel before being led forth to be executed for some great offense. I
      wanted no breakfast; but I went with the other slaves toward the house,
      for form's sake. My feelings were<span class="pagenum">[224]</span> not
      disturbed as to the right of running away; on that point I had no trouble,
      whatever. My anxiety arose from a sense of the consequences of failure.
    </p>
    <p>
      In thirty minutes after that vivid presentiment came the apprehended
      crash. On reaching the house, for breakfast, and glancing my eye toward
      the lane gate, the worst was at once made known. The lane gate off Mr.
      Freeland's house, is nearly a half mile from the door, and shaded by the
      heavy wood which bordered the main road. I was, however, able to descry
      four white men, and two colored men, approaching. The white men were on
      horseback, and the colored men were walking behind, and seemed to be tied.
      <i>"It is all over with us,"</i> thought I, <i>"we are surely betrayed</i>."
      I now became composed, or at least comparatively so, and calmly awaited
      the result. I watched the ill-omened company, till I saw them enter the
      gate. Successful flight was impossible, and I made up my mind to stand,
      and meet the evil, whatever it might be; for I was not without a slight
      hope that things might turn differently from what I at first expected. In
      a few moments, in came Mr. William Hamilton, riding very rapidly, and
      evidently much excited. He was in the habit of riding very slowly, and was
      seldom known to gallop his horse. This time, his horse was nearly at full
      speed, causing the dust to roll thick behind him. Mr. Hamilton, though one
      of the most resolute men in the whole neighborhood, was, nevertheless, a
      remarkably mild spoken man; and, even when greatly excited, his language
      was cool and circumspect. He came to the door, and inquired if Mr.
      Freeland was in. I told him that Mr. Freeland was at the barn. Off the old
      gentleman rode, toward the barn, with unwonted speed. Mary, the cook, was
      at a loss to know what was the matter, and I did not profess any skill in
      making her understand. I knew she would have united, as readily as any
      one, in cursing me for bringing trouble into the family; so I held my
      peace, leaving matters to develop themselves, without my assistance. In a
      few moments, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came down from the barn to the
      house; and, just as they<span class="pagenum">[225]</span> made their
      appearance in the front yard, three men (who proved to be constables) came
      dashing into the lane, on horseback, as if summoned by a sign requiring
      quick work. A few seconds brought them into the front yard, where they
      hastily dismounted, and tied their horses. This done, they joined Mr.
      Freeland and Mr. Hamilton, who were standing a short distance from the
      kitchen. A few moments were spent, as if in consulting how to proceed, and
      then the whole party walked up to the kitchen door. There was now no one
      in the kitchen but myself and John Harris. Henry and Sandy were yet at the
      barn. Mr. Freeland came inside the kitchen door, and with an agitated
      voice, called me by name, and told me to come forward; that there was some
      gentlemen who wished to see me. I stepped toward them, at the door, and
      asked what they wanted, when the constables grabbed me, and told me that I
      had better not resist; that I had been in a scrape, or was said to have
      been in one; that they were merely going to take me where I could be
      examined; that they were going to carry me to St. Michael's, to have me
      brought before my master. They further said, that, in case the evidence
      against me was not true, I should be acquitted. I was now firmly tied, and
      completely at the mercy of my captors. Resistance was idle. They were five
      in number, armed to the very teeth. When they had secured me, they next
      turned to John Harris, and, in a few moments, succeeded in tying him as
      firmly as they had already tied me. They next turned toward Henry Harris,
      who had now returned from the barn. "Cross your hands," said the
      constables, to Henry. "I won't" said Henry, in a voice so firm and clear,
      and in a manner so determined, as for a moment to arrest all proceedings.
      "Won't you cross your hands?" said Tom Graham, the constable. "<i>No I
      won't</i>," said Henry, with increasing emphasis. Mr. Hamilton, Mr.
      Freeland, and the officers, now came near to Henry. Two of the constables
      drew out their shining pistols, and swore by the name of God, that he
      should cross his hands, or they would shoot him down. Each of these hired
      ruffians now cocked their pistols,<span class="pagenum">[226]</span> and,
      with fingers apparently on the triggers, presented their deadly weapons to
      the breast of the unarmed slave, saying, at the same time, if he did not
      cross his hands, they would "blow his d&mdash;d heart out of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>"Shoot! shoot me!"</i> said Henry. "<i>You can't kill me but once</i>.
      Shoot!&mdash;shoot! and be d&mdash;d. <i>I won't be tied</i>." This, the
      brave fellow said in a voice as defiant and heroic in its tone, as was the
      language itself; and, at the moment of saying this, with the pistols at
      his very breast, he quickly raised his arms, and dashed them from the puny
      hands of his assassins, the weapons flying in opposite directions. Now
      came the struggle. All hands was now rushed upon the brave fellow, and,
      after beating him for some time, they succeeded in overpowering and tying
      him. Henry put me to shame; he fought, and fought bravely. John and I had
      made no resistance. The fact is, I never see much use in fighting, unless
      there is a reasonable probability of whipping somebody. Yet there was
      something almost providential in the resistance made by the gallant Henry.
      But for that resistance, every soul of us would have been hurried off to
      the far south. Just a moment previous to the trouble with Henry, Mr.
      Hamilton <i>mildly</i> said&mdash;and this gave me the unmistakable clue
      to the cause of our arrest&mdash;"Perhaps we had now better make a search
      for those protections, which we understand Frederick has written for
      himself and the rest." Had these passes been found, they would have been
      point blank proof against us, and would have confirmed all the statements
      of our betrayer. Thanks to the resistance of Henry, the excitement
      produced by the scuffle drew all attention in that direction, and I
      succeeded in flinging my pass, unobserved, into the fire. The confusion
      attendant upon the scuffle, and the apprehension of further trouble,
      perhaps, led our captors to forego, for the present, any search for <i>"those
      protections" which Frederick was said to have written for his companions</i>;
      so we were not yet convicted of the purpose to run away; and it was
      evident that there was some doubt, on the part of all, whether we had been
      guilty of such a purpose.<span class="pagenum">[227]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as we were all completely tied, and about ready to start toward St.
      Michael's, and thence to jail, Mrs. Betsey Freeland (mother to William,
      who was very much attached&mdash;after the southern fashion&mdash;to Henry
      and John, they having been reared from childhood in her house) came to the
      kitchen door, with her hands full of biscuits&mdash;for we had not had
      time to take our breakfast that morning&mdash;and divided them between
      Henry and John. This done, the lady made the following parting address to
      me, looking and pointing her bony finger at me. "You devil! you yellow
      devil! It was you that put it into the heads of Henry and John to run
      away. But for <i>you</i>, you <i>long legged yellow devil</i>, Henry and
      John would never have thought of running away." I gave the lady a look,
      which called forth a scream of mingled wrath and terror, as she slammed
      the kitchen door, and went in, leaving me, with the rest, in hands as
      harsh as her own broken voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Could the kind reader have been quietly riding along the main road to or
      from Easton, that morning, his eye would have met a painful sight. He
      would have seen five young men, guilty of no crime, save that of
      preferring <i>liberty</i> to a life of <i>bondage</i>, drawn along the
      public highway&mdash;firmly bound together&mdash;tramping through dust and
      heat, bare-footed and bare-headed&mdash;fastened to three strong horses,
      whose riders were armed to the teeth, with pistols and daggers&mdash;on
      their way to prison, like felons, and suffering every possible insult from
      the crowds of idle, vulgar people, who clustered around, and heartlessly
      made their failure the occasion for all manner of ribaldry and sport. As I
      looked upon this crowd of vile persons, and saw myself and friends thus
      assailed and persecuted, I could not help seeing the fulfillment of
      Sandy's dream. I was in the hands of moral vultures, and firmly held in
      their sharp talons, and was hurried away toward Easton, in a
      south-easterly direction, amid the jeers of new birds of the same feather,
      through every neighborhood we passed. It seemed to me (and this shows the
      good understanding between the slaveholders and their allies) that every
      body we met knew<span class="pagenum">[228]</span> the cause of our
      arrest, and were out, awaiting our passing by, to feast their vindictive
      eyes on our misery and to gloat over our ruin. Some said, <i>I ought to be
      hanged</i>, and others, <i>I ought to be burnt</i>, others, I ought to
      have the <i>"hide"</i> taken from my back; while no one gave us a kind
      word or sympathizing look, except the poor slaves, who were lifting their
      heavy hoes, and who cautiously glanced at us through the post-and-rail
      fences, behind which they were at work. Our sufferings, that morning, can
      be more easily imagined than described. Our hopes were all blasted, at a
      blow. The cruel injustice, the victorious crime, and the helplessness of
      innocence, led me to ask, in my ignorance and weakness "Where now is the
      God of justice and mercy? And why have these wicked men the power thus to
      trample upon our rights, and to insult our feelings?" And yet, in the next
      moment, came the consoling thought, <i>"The day of oppressor will come at
      last."</i> Of one thing I could be glad&mdash;not one of my dear friends,
      upon whom I had brought this great calamity, either by word or look,
      reproached me for having led them into it. We were a band of brothers, and
      never dearer to each other than now. The thought which gave us the most
      pain, was the probable separation which would now take place, in case we
      were sold off to the far south, as we were likely to be. While the
      constables were looking forward, Henry and I, being fastened together,
      could occasionally exchange a word, without being observed by the
      kidnappers who had us in charge. "What shall I do with my pass?" said
      Henry. "Eat it with your biscuit," said I; "it won't do to tear it up." We
      were now near St. Michael's. The direction concerning the passes was
      passed around, and executed. <i>"Own nothing!"</i> said I. <i>"Own
      nothing!"</i> was passed around and enjoined, and assented to. Our
      confidence in each other was unshaken; and we were quite resolved to
      succeed or fail together&mdash;as much after the calamity which had
      befallen us, as before.
    </p>
    <p>
      On reaching St. Michael's, we underwent a sort of examination at my
      master's store, and it was evident to my mind, that Master<span
      class="pagenum">[229]</span> Thomas suspected the truthfulness of the
      evidence upon which they had acted in arresting us; and that he only
      affected, to some extent, the positiveness with which he asserted our
      guilt. There was nothing said by any of our company, which could, in any
      manner, prejudice our cause; and there was hope, yet, that we should be
      able to return to our homes&mdash;if for nothing else, at least to find
      out the guilty man or woman who had betrayed us.
    </p>
    <p>
      To this end, we all denied that we had been guilty of intended flight.
      Master Thomas said that the evidence he had of our intention to run away,
      was strong enough to hang us, in a case of murder. "But," said I, "the
      cases are not equal. If murder were committed, some one must have
      committed it&mdash;the thing is done! In our case, nothing has been done!
      We have not run away. Where is the evidence against us? We were quietly at
      our work." I talked thus, with unusual freedom, to bring out the evidence
      against us, for we all wanted, above all things, to know the guilty wretch
      who had betrayed us, that we might have something tangible upon which to
      pour the execrations. From something which dropped, in the course of the
      talk, it appeared that there was but one witness against us&mdash;and that
      that witness could not be produced. Master Thomas would not tell us <i>who</i>
      his informant was; but we suspected, and suspected <i>one</i> person <i>only</i>.
      Several circumstances seemed to point SANDY out, as our betrayer. His
      entire knowledge of our plans his participation in them&mdash;his
      withdrawal from us&mdash;his dream, and his simultaneous presentiment that
      we were betrayed&mdash;the taking us, and the leaving him&mdash;were
      calculated to turn suspicion toward him; and yet, we could not suspect
      him. We all loved him too well to think it <i>possible</i> that he could
      have betrayed us. So we rolled the guilt on other shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were literally dragged, that morning, behind horses, a distance of
      fifteen miles, and placed in the Easton jail. We were glad to reach the
      end of our journey, for our pathway had been the scene of insult and
      mortification. Such is the power of public<span class="pagenum">[230]</span>
      opinion, that it is hard, even for the innocent, to feel the happy
      consolations of innocence, when they fall under the maledictions of this
      power. How could we regard ourselves as in the right, when all about us
      denounced us as criminals, and had the power and the disposition to treat
      us as such.
    </p>
    <p>
      In jail, we were placed under the care of Mr. Joseph Graham, the sheriff
      of the county. Henry, and John, and myself, were placed in one room, and
      Henry Baily and Charles Roberts, in another, by themselves. This
      separation was intended to deprive us of the advantage of concert, and to
      prevent trouble in jail.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once shut up, a new set of tormentors came upon us. A swarm of imps, in
      human shape the slave-traders, deputy slave-traders, and agents of
      slave-traders&mdash;that gather in every country town of the state,
      watching for chances to buy human flesh (as buzzards to eat carrion)
      flocked in upon us, to ascertain if our masters had placed us in jail to
      be sold. Such a set of debased and villainous creatures, I never saw
      before, and hope never to see again. I felt myself surrounded as by a pack
      of <i>fiends</i>, fresh from <i>perdition</i>. They laughed, leered, and
      grinned at us; saying, "Ah! boys, we've got you, havn't we? So you were
      about to make your escape? Where were you going to?" After taunting us,
      and peering at us, as long as they liked, they one by one subjected us to
      an examination, with a view to ascertain our value; feeling our arms and
      legs, and shaking us by the shoulders to see if we were sound and healthy;
      impudently asking us, "how we would like to have them for masters?" To
      such questions, we were, very much to their annoyance, quite dumb,
      disdaining to answer them. For one, I detested the whisky-bloated gamblers
      in human flesh; and I believe I was as much detested by them in turn. One
      fellow told me, "if he had me, he would cut the devil out of me pretty
      quick."
    </p>
    <p>
      These Negro buyers are very offensive to the genteel southern Christian
      public. They are looked upon, in respectable Maryland society, as
      necessary, but detestable characters. As a class, they<span class="pagenum">[231]</span>
      are hardened ruffians, made such by nature and by occupation. Their ears
      are made quite familiar with the agonizing cry of outraged and woe-smitted
      humanity. Their eyes are forever open to human misery. They walk amid
      desecrated affections, insulted virtue, and blasted hopes. They have grown
      intimate with vice and blood; they gloat over the wildest illustrations of
      their soul-damning and earth-polluting business, and are moral pests. Yes;
      they are a legitimate fruit of slavery; and it is a puzzle to make out a
      case of greater villainy for them, than for the slaveholders, who make
      such a class <i>possible</i>. They are mere hucksters of the surplus slave
      produce of Maryland and Virginia coarse, cruel, and swaggering bullies,
      whose very breathing is of blasphemy and blood.
    </p>
    <p>
      Aside from these slave-buyers, who infested the prison, from time to time,
      our quarters were much more comfortable than we had any right to expect
      they would be. Our allowance of food was small and coarse, but our room
      was the best in the jail&mdash;neat and spacious, and with nothing about
      it necessarily reminding us of being in prison, but its heavy locks and
      bolts and the black, iron lattice-work at the windows. We were prisoners
      of state, compared with most slaves who are put into that Easton jail. But
      the place was not one of contentment. Bolts, bars and grated windows are
      not acceptable to freedom-loving people of any color. The suspense, too,
      was painful. Every step on the stairway was listened to, in the hope that
      the comer would cast a ray of light on our fate. We would have given the
      hair off our heads for half a dozen words with one of the waiters in Sol.
      Lowe's hotel. Such waiters were in the way of hearing, at the table, the
      probable course of things. We could see them flitting about in their white
      jackets in front of this hotel, but could speak to none of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after the holidays were over, contrary to all our expectations,
      Messrs. Hamilton and Freeland came up to Easton; not to make a bargain
      with the "Georgia traders," nor to send us up to Austin Woldfolk, as is
      usual in the case of run-away salves,<span class="pagenum">[232]</span>
      but to release Charles, Henry Harris, Henry Baily and John Harris, from
      prison, and this, too, without the infliction of a single blow. I was now
      left entirely alone in prison. The innocent had been taken, and the guilty
      left. My friends were separated from me, and apparently forever. This
      circumstance caused me more pain than any other incident connected with
      our capture and imprisonment. Thirty-nine lashes on my naked and bleeding
      back, would have been joyfully borne, in preference to this separation
      from these, the friends of my youth. And yet, I could not but feel that I
      was the victim of something like justice. Why should these young men, who
      were led into this scheme by me, suffer as much as the instigator? I felt
      glad that they were leased from prison, and from the dread prospect of a
      life (or death I should rather say) in the rice swamps. It is due to the
      noble Henry, to say, that he seemed almost as reluctant to leave the
      prison with me in it, as he was to be tied and dragged to prison. But he
      and the rest knew that we should, in all the likelihoods of the case, be
      separated, in the event of being sold; and since we were now completely in
      the hands of our owners, we all concluded it would be best to go peaceably
      home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not until this last separation, dear reader, had I touched those
      profounder depths of desolation, which it is the lot of slaves often to
      reach. I was solitary in the world, and alone within the walls of a stone
      prison, left to a fate of life-long misery. I had hoped and expected much,
      for months before, but my hopes and expectations were now withered and
      blasted. The ever dreaded slave life in Georgia, Louisiana and Alabama&mdash;from
      which escape is next to impossible now, in my loneliness, stared me in the
      face. The possibility of ever becoming anything but an abject slave, a
      mere machine in the hands of an owner, had now fled, and it seemed to me
      it had fled forever. A life of living death, beset with the innumerable
      horrors of the cotton field, and the sugar plantation, seemed to be my
      doom. The fiends, who rushed into the prison when we were first put there,
      continued to visit me,<span class="pagenum">[233]</span> and to ply me
      with questions and with their tantalizing remarks. I was insulted, but
      helpless; keenly alive to the demands of justice and liberty, but with no
      means of asserting them. To talk to those imps about justice and mercy,
      would have been as absurd as to reason with bears and tigers. Lead and
      steel are the only arguments that they understand.
    </p>
    <p>
      After remaining in this life of misery and despair about a week, which, by
      the way, seemed a month, Master Thomas, very much to my surprise, and
      greatly to my relief, came to the prison, and took me out, for the
      purpose, as he said, of sending me to Alabama, with a friend of his, who
      would emancipate me at the end of eight years. I was glad enough to get
      out of prison; but I had no faith in the story that this friend of Capt.
      Auld would emancipate me, at the end of the time indicated. Besides, I
      never had heard of his having a friend in Alabama, and I took the
      announcement, simply as an easy and comfortable method of shipping me off
      to the far south. There was a little scandal, too, connected with the idea
      of one Christian selling another to the Georgia traders, while it was
      deemed every way proper for them to sell to others. I thought this friend
      in Alabama was an invention, to meet this difficulty, for Master Thomas
      was quite jealous of his Christian reputation, however unconcerned he
      might be about his real Christian character. In these remarks, however, it
      is possible that I do Master Thomas Auld injustice. He certainly did not
      exhaust his power upon me, in the case, but acted, upon the whole, very
      generously, considering the nature of my offense. He had the power and the
      provocation to send me, without reserve, into the very everglades of
      Florida, beyond the remotest hope of emancipation; and his refusal to
      exercise that power, must be set down to his credit.
    </p>
    <p>
      After lingering about St. Michael's a few days, and no friend from Alabama
      making his appearance, to take me there, Master Thomas decided to send me
      back again to Baltimore, to live with his brother Hugh, with whom he was
      now at peace; possibly he<span class="pagenum">[234]</span> became so by
      his profession of religion, at the camp-meeting in the Bay Side. Master
      Thomas told me that he wished me to go to Baltimore, and learn a trade;
      and that, if I behaved myself properly, he would <i>emancipate me at
      twenty-five!</i> Thanks for this one beam of hope in the future. The
      promise had but one fault; it seemed too good to be true.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX. <i>Apprenticeship Life</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
NOTHING LOST BY THE ATTEMPT TO RUN AWAY&mdash;COMRADES IN THEIR OLD
HOMES&mdash;REASONS FOR SENDING ME AWAY&mdash;RETURN TO BALTIMORE&mdash;CONTRAST
BETWEEN TOMMY AND THAT OF HIS COLORED COMPANION&mdash;TRIALS IN GARDINER'S
SHIP YARD&mdash;DESPERATE FIGHT&mdash;ITS CAUSES&mdash;CONFLICT BETWEEN WHITE AND BLACK
LABOR&mdash;DESCRIPTION OF THE OUTRAGE&mdash;COLORED TESTIMONY NOTHING&mdash;CONDUCT OF
MASTER HUGH&mdash;SPIRIT OF SLAVERY IN BALTIMORE&mdash;MY CONDITION IMPROVES&mdash;NEW
ASSOCIATIONS&mdash;SLAVEHOLDER'S RIGHT TO TAKE HIS WAGES&mdash;HOW TO MAKE A
CONTENTED SLAVE.
</pre>
    <p>
      Well! dear reader, I am not, as you may have already inferred, a loser by
      the general upstir, described in the foregoing chapter. The little
      domestic revolution, notwithstanding the sudden snub it got by the
      treachery of somebody&mdash;I dare not say or think who&mdash;did not,
      after all, end so disastrously, as when in the iron cage at Easton, I
      conceived it would. The prospect, from that point, did look about as dark
      as any that ever cast its gloom over the vision of the anxious,
      out-looking, human spirit. "All is well that ends well." My affectionate
      comrades, Henry and John Harris, are still with Mr. William Freeland.
      Charles Roberts and Henry Baily are safe at their homes. I have not,
      therefore, any thing to regret on their account. Their masters have
      mercifully forgiven them, probably on the ground suggested in the spirited
      little speech of Mrs. Freeland, made to me just before leaving for the
      jail&mdash;namely: that they had been allured into the wicked scheme of
      making their escape, by me; and that, but for me, they would never have
      dreamed of a thing so shocking! My<span class="pagenum">[236]</span>
      friends had nothing to regret, either; for while they were watched more
      closely on account of what had happened, they were, doubtless, treated
      more kindly than before, and got new assurances that they would be legally
      emancipated, some day, provided their behavior should make them deserving,
      from that time forward. Not a blow, as I learned, was struck any one of
      them. As for Master William Freeland, good, unsuspecting soul, he did not
      believe that we were intending to run away at all. Having given&mdash;as
      he thought&mdash;no occasion to his boys to leave him, he could not think
      it probable that they had entertained a design so grievous. This, however,
      was not the view taken of the matter by "Mas' Billy," as we used to call
      the soft spoken, but crafty and resolute Mr. William Hamilton. He had no
      doubt that the crime had been meditated; and regarding me as the
      instigator of it, he frankly told Master Thomas that he must remove me
      from that neighborhood, or he would shoot me down. He would not have one
      so dangerous as "Frederick" tampering with his slaves. William Hamilton
      was not a man whose threat might be safely disregarded. I have no doubt
      that he would have proved as good as his word, had the warning given not
      been promptly taken. He was furious at the thought of such a piece of
      high-handed <i>theft</i>, as we were about to perpetrate the stealing of
      our own bodies and souls! The feasibility of the plan, too, could the
      first steps have been taken, was marvelously plain. Besides, this was a <i>new</i>
      idea, this use of the bay. Slaves escaping, until now, had taken to the
      woods; they had never dreamed of profaning and abusing the waters of the
      noble Chesapeake, by making them the highway from slavery to freedom. Here
      was a broad road of destruction to slavery, which, before, had been looked
      upon as a wall of security by slaveholders. But Master Billy could not get
      Mr. Freeland to see matters precisely as he did; nor could he get Master
      Thomas so excited as he was himself. The latter&mdash;I must say it to his
      credit&mdash;showed much humane feeling in his part of the transaction,
      and atoned for much that had been harsh, cruel<span class="pagenum">[237]</span>
      and unreasonable in his former treatment of me and others. His clemency
      was quite unusual and unlooked for. "Cousin Tom" told me that while I was
      in jail, Master Thomas was very unhappy; and that the night before his
      going up to release me, he had walked the floor nearly all night, evincing
      great distress; that very tempting offers had been made to him, by the
      Negro-traders, but he had rejected them all, saying that <i>money could
      not tempt him to sell me to the far south</i>. All this I can easily
      believe, for he seemed quite reluctant to send me away, at all. He told me
      that he only consented to do so, because of the very strong prejudice
      against me in the neighborhood, and that he feared for my safety if I
      remained there.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus, after three years spent in the country, roughing it in the field,
      and experiencing all sorts of hardships, I was again permitted to return
      to Baltimore, the very place, of all others, short of a free state, where
      I most desired to live. The three years spent in the country, had made
      some difference in me, and in the household of Master Hugh. "Little Tommy"
      was no longer <i>little</i> Tommy; and I was not the slender lad who had
      left for the Eastern Shore just three years before. The loving relations
      between me and Mas' Tommy were broken up. He was no longer dependent on me
      for protection, but felt himself a <i>man</i>, with other and more
      suitable associates. In childhood, he scarcely considered me inferior to
      himself certainly, as good as any other boy with whom he played; but the
      time had come when his <i>friend</i> must become his <i>slave</i>. So we
      were cold, and we parted. It was a sad thing to me, that, loving each
      other as we had done, we must now take different roads. To him, a thousand
      avenues were open. Education had made him acquainted with all the
      treasures of the world, and liberty had flung open the gates thereunto;
      but I, who had attended him seven years, and had watched over him with the
      care of a big brother, fighting his battles in the street, and shielding
      him from harm, to an extent which had induced his mother to say, "Oh!
      Tommy is always safe, when he is with<span class="pagenum">[238]</span>
      Freddy," must be confined to a single condition. He could grow, and become
      a MAN; I could grow, though I could <i>not</i> become a man, but must
      remain, all my life, a minor&mdash;a mere boy. Thomas Auld, Junior,
      obtained a situation on board the brig "Tweed," and went to sea. I know
      not what has become of him; he certainly has my good wishes for his
      welfare and prosperity. There were few persons to whom I was more
      sincerely attached than to him, and there are few in the world I would be
      more pleased to meet.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very soon after I went to Baltimore to live, Master Hugh succeeded in
      getting me hired to Mr. William Gardiner, an extensive ship builder on
      Fell's Point. I was placed here to learn to calk, a trade of which I
      already had some knowledge, gained while in Mr. Hugh Auld's ship-yard,
      when he was a master builder. Gardiner's, however, proved a very
      unfavorable place for the accomplishment of that object. Mr. Gardiner was,
      that season, engaged in building two large man-of-war vessels, professedly
      for the Mexican government. These vessels were to be launched in the month
      of July, of that year, and, in failure thereof, Mr. G. would forfeit a
      very considerable sum of money. So, when I entered the ship-yard, all was
      hurry and driving. There were in the yard about one hundred men; of these
      about seventy or eighty were regular carpenters&mdash;privileged men.
      Speaking of my condition here I wrote, years ago&mdash;and I have now no
      reason to vary the picture as follows:
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no time to learn any thing. Every man had to do that which he
      knew how to do. In entering the ship-yard, my orders from Mr. Gardiner
      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&mdash;"Fred., come help me to cant this
      timber here." "Fred., come carry this timber yonder."&mdash;"Fred., bring
      that roller here."&mdash;"Fred., go get a fresh can of water."&mdash;"Fred.,
      come help saw off the end of this timber."&mdash;"Fred., go quick and get
      the crow bar."&mdash;"Fred., hold on the end of this fall."&mdash;"Fred.,
      go to the blacksmith's shop, and get a new punch."&mdash;<span
      class="pagenum">[239]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hurra, Fred.! run and bring me a cold chisel."&mdash;"I say, Fred., bear
      a hand, and get up a fire as quick as lightning under that steam-box."&mdash;"Halloo,
      nigger! come, turn this grindstone."&mdash;"Come, come! move, move! and <i>bowse</i>
      this timber forward."&mdash;"I say, darkey, blast your eyes, why don't you
      heat up some pitch?"&mdash;"Halloo! halloo! halloo!" (Three voices at the
      same time.) "Come here!&mdash;Go there!&mdash;Hold on where you are! D&mdash;n
      you, if you move, I'll knock your brains out!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Such, dear reader, is a glance at the school which was mine, during, the
      first eight months of my stay at Baltimore. At the end of the eight
      months, Master Hugh refused longer to allow me to remain with Mr.
      Gardiner. The circumstance which led to his taking me away, was a brutal
      outrage, committed upon me by the white apprentices of the ship-yard. The
      fight was a desperate one, and I came out of it most shockingly mangled. I
      was cut and bruised in sundry places, and my left eye was nearly knocked
      out of its socket. The facts, leading to this barbarous outrage upon me,
      illustrate a phase of slavery destined to become an important element in
      the overthrow of the slave system, and I may, therefore state them with
      some minuteness. That phase is this: <i>the conflict of slavery with the
      interests of the white mechanics and laborers of the south</i>. In the
      country, this conflict is not so apparent; but, in cities, such as
      Baltimore, Richmond, New Orleans, Mobile, &amp;c., it is seen pretty
      clearly. The slaveholders, with a craftiness peculiar to themselves, by
      encouraging the enmity of the poor, laboring white man against the blacks,
      succeeds in making the said white man almost as much a slave as the black
      slave himself. The difference between the white slave, and the black
      slave, is this: the latter belongs to <i>one</i> slaveholder, and the
      former belongs to <i>all</i> the slaveholders, collectively. The white
      slave has taken from him, by indirection, what the black slave has taken
      from him, directly, and without ceremony. Both are plundered, and by the
      same plunderers. The slave is robbed, by his master, of all his earnings,
      above what is required for his bare physical necessities; and the white
      man is robbed by the slave system, of the just results of his labor,
      because he is flung into<span class="pagenum">[240]</span> competition
      with a class of laborers who work without wages. The competition, and its
      injurious consequences, will, one day, array the nonslaveholding white
      people of the slave states, against the slave system, and make them the
      most effective workers against the great evil. At present, the
      slaveholders blind them to this competition, by keeping alive their
      prejudice against the slaves, <i>as men</i>&mdash;not against them <i>as
      slaves</i>. They appeal to their pride, often denouncing emancipation, as
      tending to place the white man, on an equality with Negroes, and, by this
      means, they succeed in drawing off the minds of the poor whites from the
      real fact, that, by the rich slave-master, they are already regarded as
      but a single remove from equality with the slave. The impression is
      cunningly made, that slavery is the only power that can prevent the
      laboring white man from falling to the level of the slave's poverty and
      degradation. To make this enmity deep and broad, between the slave and the
      poor white man, the latter is allowed to abuse and whip the former,
      without hinderance. But&mdash;as I have suggested&mdash;this state of
      facts prevails <i>mostly</i> in the country. In the city of Baltimore,
      there are not unfrequent murmurs, that educating the slaves to be
      mechanics may, in the end, give slavemasters power to dispense with the
      services of the poor white man altogether. But, with characteristic dread
      of offending the slaveholders, these poor, white mechanics in Mr.
      Gardiner's ship-yard&mdash;instead of applying the natural, honest remedy
      for the apprehended evil, and objecting at once to work there by the side
      of slaves&mdash;made a cowardly attack upon the free colored mechanics,
      saying <i>they</i> were eating the bread which should be eaten by American
      freemen, and swearing that they would not work with them. The feeling was,
      <i>really</i>, against having their labor brought into competition with
      that of the colored people at all; but it was too much to strike directly
      at the interest of the slaveholders; and, therefore proving their
      servility and cowardice they dealt their blows on the poor, colored
      freeman, and aimed to prevent <i>him</i> from serving himself, in the
      evening of life, with the trade<span class="pagenum">[241]</span> with
      which he had served his master, during the more vigorous portion of his
      days. Had they succeeded in driving the black freemen out of the
      ship-yard, they would have determined also upon the removal of the black
      slaves. The feeling was very bitter toward all colored people in
      Baltimore, about this time (1836), and they&mdash;free and slave suffered
      all manner of insult and wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      Until a very little before I went there, white and black ship carpenters
      worked side by side, in the ship yards of Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Duncan, Mr.
      Walter Price, and Mr. Robb. Nobody seemed to see any impropriety in it. To
      outward seeming, all hands were well satisfied. Some of the blacks were
      first rate workmen, and were given jobs requiring highest skill. All at
      once, however, the white carpenters knocked off, and swore that they would
      no longer work on the same stage with free Negroes. Taking advantage of
      the heavy contract resting upon Mr. Gardiner, to have the war vessels for
      Mexico ready to launch in July, and of the difficulty of getting other
      hands at that season of the year, they swore they would not strike another
      blow for him, unless he would discharge his free colored workmen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, although this movement did not extend to me, <i>in form</i>, it did
      reach me, <i>in fact</i>. The spirit which it awakened was one of malice
      and bitterness, toward colored people <i>generally</i>, and I suffered
      with the rest, and suffered severely. My fellow apprentices very soon
      began to feel it to be degrading to work with me. They began to put on
      high looks, and to talk contemptuously and maliciously of <i>"the
      Niggers;"</i> saying, that "they would take the country," that "they ought
      to be killed." Encouraged by the cowardly workmen, who, knowing me to be a
      slave, made no issue with Mr. Gardiner about my being there, these young
      men did their utmost to make it impossible for me to stay. They seldom
      called me to do any thing, without coupling the call with a curse, and
      Edward North, the biggest in every thing, rascality included, ventured to
      strike me, whereupon I picked him up, and threw<span class="pagenum">[242]</span>
      him into the dock. Whenever any of them struck me, I struck back again,
      regardless of consequences. I could manage any of them <i>singly</i>, and,
      while I could keep them from combining, I succeeded very well. In the
      conflict which ended my stay at Mr. Gardiner's, I was beset by four of
      them at once&mdash;Ned North, Ned Hays, Bill Stewart, and Tom Humphreys.
      Two of them were as large as myself, and they came near killing me, in
      broad day light. The attack was made suddenly, and simultaneously. One
      came in front, armed with a brick; there was one at each side, and one
      behind, and they closed up around me. I was struck on all sides; and,
      while I was attending to those in front, I received a blow on my head,
      from behind, dealt with a heavy hand-spike. I was completely stunned by
      the blow, and fell, heavily, on the ground, among the timbers. Taking
      advantage of my fall, they rushed upon me, and began to pound me with
      their fists. I let them lay on, for a while, after I came to myself, with
      a view of gaining strength. They did me little damage, so far; but,
      finally, getting tired of that sport, I gave a sudden surge, and, despite
      their weight, I rose to my hands and knees. Just as I did this, one of
      their number (I know not which) planted a blow with his boot in my left
      eye, which, for a time, seemed to have burst my eyeball. When they saw my
      eye completely closed, my face covered with blood, and I staggering under
      the stunning blows they had given me, they left me. As soon as I gathered
      sufficient strength, I picked up the hand-spike, and, madly enough,
      attempted to pursue them; but here the carpenters interfered, and
      compelled me to give up my frenzied pursuit. It was impossible to stand
      against so many.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dear reader, you can hardly believe the statement, but it is true, and,
      therefore, I write it down: not fewer than fifty white men stood by, and
      saw this brutal and shameless outrage committed, and not a man of them all
      interposed a single word of mercy. There were four against one, and that
      one's face was beaten and battered most horribly, and no one said, "that
      is enough;" but some cried out, "Kill him&mdash;kill him&mdash;kill the d&mdash;d
      <span class="pagenum">[243]</span> nigger! knock his brains out&mdash;he
      struck a white person." I mention this inhuman outcry, to show the
      character of the men, and the spirit of the times, at Gardiner's ship
      yard, and, indeed, in Baltimore generally, in 1836. As I look back to this
      period, I am almost amazed that I was not murdered outright, in that ship
      yard, so murderous was the spirit which prevailed there. On two occasions,
      while there, I came near losing my life. I was driving bolts in the hold,
      through the keelson, with Hays. In its course, the bolt bent. Hays cursed
      me, and said that it was my blow which bent the bolt. I denied this, and
      charged it upon him. In a fit of rage he seized an adze, and darted toward
      me. I met him with a maul, and parried his blow, or I should have then
      lost my life. A son of old Tom Lanman (the latter's double murder I have
      elsewhere charged upon him), in the spirit of his miserable father, made
      an assault upon me, but the blow with his maul missed me. After the united
      assault of North, Stewart, Hays and Humphreys, finding that the carpenters
      were as bitter toward me as the apprentices, and that the latter were
      probably set on by the former, I found my only chances for life was in
      flight. I succeeded in getting away, without an additional blow. To strike
      a white man, was death, by Lynch law, in Gardiner's ship yard; nor was
      there much of any other law toward colored people, at that time, in any
      other part of Maryland. The whole sentiment of Baltimore was murderous.
    </p>
    <p>
      After making my escape from the ship yard, I went straight home, and
      related the story of the outrage to Master Hugh Auld; and it is due to him
      to say, that his conduct&mdash;though he was not a religious man&mdash;was
      every way more humane than that of his brother, Thomas, when I went to the
      latter in a somewhat similar plight, from the hands of <i>"Brother Edward
      Covey."</i> He listened attentively to my narration of the circumstances
      leading to the ruffianly outrage, and gave many proofs of his strong
      indignation at what was done. Hugh was a rough, but manly-hearted fellow,
      and, at this time, his best nature showed itself. <span class="pagenum">[244]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      The heart of my once almost over-kind mistress, Sophia, was again melted
      in pity toward me. My puffed-out eye, and my scarred and blood-covered
      face, moved the dear lady to tears. She kindly drew a chair by me, and
      with friendly, consoling words, she took water, and washed the blood from
      my face. No mother's hand could have been more tender than hers. She bound
      up my head, and covered my wounded eye with a lean piece of fresh beef. It
      was almost compensation for the murderous assault, and my suffering, that
      it furnished and occasion for the manifestation, once more, of the
      orignally(sic) characteristic kindness of my mistress. Her affectionate
      heart was not yet dead, though much hardened by time and by circumstances.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Master Hugh's part, as I have said, he was furious about it; and he
      gave expression to his fury in the usual forms of speech in that locality.
      He poured curses on the heads of the whole ship yard company, and swore
      that he would have satisfaction for the outrage. His indignation was
      really strong and healthy; but, unfortunately, it resulted from the
      thought that his rights of property, in my person, had not been respected,
      more than from any sense of the outrage committed on me <i>as a man</i>. I
      inferred as much as this, from the fact that he could, himself, beat and
      mangle when it suited him to do so. Bent on having satisfaction, as he
      said, just as soon as I got a little the better of my bruises, Master Hugh
      took me to Esquire Watson's office, on Bond street, Fell's Point, with a
      view to procuring the arrest of those who had assaulted me. He related the
      outrage to the magistrate, as I had related it to him, and seemed to
      expect that a warrant would, at once, be issued for the arrest of the
      lawless ruffians.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Watson heard it all, and instead of drawing up his warrant, he
      inquired.&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Auld, who saw this assault of which you speak?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was done, sir, in the presence of a ship yard full of hands."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," said Watson, "I am sorry, but I cannot move in this matter except
      upon the oath of white witnesses."<span class="pagenum">[245]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      "But here's the boy; look at his head and face," said the excited Master
      Hugh; <i>"they</i> show <i>what</i> has been done."
    </p>
    <p>
      But Watson insisted that he was not authorized to do anything, unless <i>white</i>
      witnesses of the transaction would come forward, and testify to what had
      taken place. He could issue no warrant on my word, against white persons;
      and, if I had been killed in the presence of a <i>thousand blacks</i>,
      their testimony, combined would have been insufficient to arrest a single
      murderer. Master Hugh, for once, was compelled to say, that this state of
      things was <i>too bad;</i> and he left the office of the magistrate,
      disgusted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course, it was impossible to get any white man to testify against my
      assailants. The carpenters saw what was done; but the actors were but the
      agents of their malice, and only what the carpenters sanctioned. They had
      cried, with one accord, <i>"Kill the nigger!" "Kill the nigger!"</i> Even
      those who may have pitied me, if any such were among them, lacked the
      moral courage to come and volunteer their evidence. The slightest
      manifestation of sympathy or justice toward a person of color, was
      denounced as abolitionism; and the name of abolitionist, subjected its
      bearer to frightful liabilities. "D&mdash;n <i>abolitionists,"</i> and <i>"Kill
      the niggers,"</i> were the watch-words of the foul-mouthed ruffians of
      those days. Nothing was done, and probably there would not have been any
      thing done, had I been killed in the affray. The laws and the morals of
      the Christian city of Baltimore, afforded no protection to the sable
      denizens of that city.
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Hugh, on finding he could get no redress for the cruel wrong,
      withdrew me from the employment of Mr. Gardiner, and took me into his own
      family, Mrs. Auld kindly taking care of me, and dressing my wounds, until
      they were healed, and I was ready to go again to work.
    </p>
    <p>
      While I was on the Eastern Shore, Master Hugh had met with reverses, which
      overthrew his business; and he had given up ship building in his own yard,
      on the City Block, and was now acting as foreman of Mr. Walter Price. The
      best he could now do for me,<span class="pagenum">[246]</span> was to take
      me into Mr. Price's yard, and afford me the facilities there, for
      completing the trade which I had began to learn at Gardiner's. Here I
      rapidly became expert in the use of my calking tools; and, in the course
      of a single year, I was able to command the highest wages paid to
      journeymen calkers in Baltimore.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader will observe that I was now of some pecuniary value to my
      master. During the busy season, I was bringing six and seven dollars per
      week. I have, sometimes, brought him as much as nine dollars a week, for
      the wages were a dollar and a half per day.
    </p>
    <p>
      After learning to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own contracts,
      and collected my own earnings; giving Master Hugh no trouble in any part
      of the transactions to which I was a party.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here, then, were better days for the Eastern Shore <i>slave</i>. I was now
      free from the vexatious assalts(sic) of the apprentices at Mr. Gardiner's;
      and free from the perils of plantation life, and once more in a favorable
      condition to increase my little stock of education, which had been at a
      dead stand since my removal from Baltimore. I had, on the Eastern Shore,
      been only a teacher, when in company with other slaves, but now there were
      colored persons who could instruct me. Many of the young calkers could
      read, write and cipher. Some of them had high notions about mental
      improvement; and the free ones, on Fell's Point, organized what they
      called the <i>"East Baltimore Mental Improvement Society."</i> To this
      society, notwithstanding it was intended that only free persons should
      attach themselves, I was admitted, and was, several times, assigned a
      prominent part in its debates. I owe much to the society of these young
      men.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader already knows enough of the <i>ill</i> effects of good
      treatment on a slave, to anticipate what was now the case in my improved
      condition. It was not long before I began to show signs of disquiet with
      slavery, and to look around for means to get out of that condition by the
      shortest route. I was living among <i>free</i><span class="pagenum">[247]</span>
      <i>men;</i> and was, in all respects, equal to them by nature and by
      attainments. <i>Why should I be a slave?</i> There was <i>no</i> reason
      why I should be the thrall of any man.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides, I was now getting&mdash;as I have said&mdash;a dollar and fifty
      cents per day. I contracted for it, worked for it, earned it, collected
      it; it was paid to me, and it was <i>rightfully</i> my own; and yet, upon
      every returning Saturday night, this money&mdash;my own hard earnings,
      every cent of it&mdash;was demanded of me, and taken from me by Master
      Hugh. He did not earn it; he had no hand in earning it; why, then, should
      he have it? I owed him nothing. He had given me no schooling, and I had
      received from him only my food and raiment; and for these, my services
      were supposed to pay, from the first. The right to take my earnings, was
      the right of the robber. He had the power to compel me to give him the
      fruits of my labor, and this power was his only right in the case. I
      became more and more dissatisfied with this state of things; and, in so
      becoming, I only gave proof of the same human nature which every reader of
      this chapter in my life&mdash;slaveholder, or nonslaveholder&mdash;is
      conscious of possessing.
    </p>
    <p>
      To make a contented slave, you must make a thoughtless one. It is
      necessary to darken his moral and mental vision, and, as far as possible,
      to annihilate his power of reason. He must be able to detect no
      inconsistencies in slavery. The man that takes his earnings, must be able
      to convince him that he has a perfect right to do so. It must not depend
      upon mere force; the slave must know no Higher Law than his master's will.
      The whole relationship must not only demonstrate, to his mind, its
      necessity, but its absolute rightfulness. If there be one crevice through
      which a single drop can fall, it will certainly rust off the slave's
      chain.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI. <i>My Escape from Slavery</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
CLOSING INCIDENTS OF "MY LIFE AS A SLAVE"&mdash;REASONS WHY FULL PARTICULARS
OF THE MANNER OF MY ESCAPE WILL NOT BE GIVEN&mdash;CRAFTINESS AND MALICE OF
SLAVEHOLDERS&mdash;SUSPICION OF AIDING A SLAVE'S ESCAPE ABOUT AS DANGEROUS
AS POSITIVE EVIDENCE&mdash;WANT OF WISDOM SHOWN IN PUBLISHING DETAILS OF THE
ESCAPE OF THE FUGITIVES&mdash;PUBLISHED ACCOUNTS REACH THE MASTERS, NOT
THE SLAVES&mdash;SLAVEHOLDERS STIMULATED TO GREATER WATCHFULNESS&mdash;MY
CONDITION&mdash;DISCONTENT&mdash;SUSPICIONS IMPLIED BY MASTER HUGH'S MANNER, WHEN
RECEIVING MY WAGES&mdash;HIS OCCASIONAL GENEROSITY!&mdash;DIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY
OF ESCAPE&mdash;EVERY AVENUE GUARDED&mdash;PLAN TO OBTAIN MONEY&mdash;I AM ALLOWED
TO HIRE MY TIME&mdash;A GLEAM OF HOPE&mdash;ATTENDS CAMP-MEETING, WITHOUT
PERMISSION&mdash;ANGER OF MASTER HUGH THEREAT&mdash;THE RESULT&mdash;MY PLANS OF ESCAPE
ACCELERATED THERBY&mdash;THE DAY FOR MY DEPARTURE FIXED&mdash;HARASSED BY DOUBTS
AND FEARS&mdash;PAINFUL THOUGHTS OF SEPARATION FROM FRIENDS&mdash;THE ATTEMPT
MADE&mdash;ITS SUCCESS.
</pre>
    <p>
      I will now make the kind reader acquainted with the closing incidents of
      my "Life as a Slave," having already trenched upon the limit allotted to
      my "Life as a Freeman." Before, however, proceeding with this narration,
      it is, perhaps, proper that I should frankly state, in advance, my
      intention to withhold a part of the(sic) connected with my escape from
      slavery. There are reasons for this suppression, which I trust the reader
      will deem altogether valid. It may be easily conceived, that a full and
      complete statement of all facts pertaining to the flight of a bondman,
      might implicate and embarrass some who may have, wittingly or unwittingly,
      assisted him; and no one can wish me to involve any man or<span
      class="pagenum">[249]</span> woman who has befriended me, even in the
      liability of embarrassment or trouble.
    </p>
    <p>
      Keen is the scent of the slaveholder; like the fangs of the rattlesnake,
      his malice retains its poison long; and, although it is now nearly
      seventeen years since I made my escape, it is well to be careful, in
      dealing with the circumstances relating to it. Were I to give but a
      shadowy outline of the process adopted, with characteristic aptitude, the
      crafty and malicious among the slaveholders might, possibly, hit upon the
      track I pursued, and involve some one in suspicion which, in a slave
      state, is about as bad as positive evidence. The colored man, there, must
      not only shun evil, but shun the very <i>appearance</i> of evil, or be
      condemned as a criminal. A slaveholding community has a peculiar taste for
      ferreting out offenses against the slave system, justice there being more
      sensitive in its regard for the peculiar rights of this system, than for
      any other interest or institution. By stringing together a train of events
      and circumstances, even if I were not very explicit, the means of escape
      might be ascertained, and, possibly, those means be rendered, thereafter,
      no longer available to the liberty-seeking children of bondage I have left
      behind me. No antislavery man can wish me to do anything favoring such
      results, and no slaveholding reader has any right to expect the impartment
      of such information.
    </p>
    <p>
      While, therefore, it would afford me pleasure, and perhaps would
      materially add to the interest of my story, were I at liberty to gratify a
      curiosity which I know to exist in the minds of many, as to the manner of
      my escape, I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the curious of the
      gratification, which such a statement of facts would afford. I would allow
      myself to suffer under the greatest imputations that evil minded men might
      suggest, rather than exculpate myself by explanation, and thereby run the
      hazards of closing the slightest avenue by which a brother in suffering
      might clear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      The practice of publishing every new invention by which a<span
      class="pagenum">[250]</span> slave is known to have escaped from slavery,
      has neither wisdom nor necessity to sustain it. Had not Henry Box Brown
      and his friends attracted slaveholding attention to the manner of his
      escape, we might have had a thousand <i>Box Browns</i> per annum. The
      singularly original plan adopted by William and Ellen Crafts, perished
      with the first using, because every slaveholder in the land was apprised
      of it. The <i>salt water slave</i> who hung in the guards of a steamer,
      being washed three days and three nights&mdash;like another Jonah&mdash;by
      the waves of the sea, has, by the publicity given to the circumstance, set
      a spy on the guards of every steamer departing from southern ports.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have never approved of the very public manner, in which some of our
      western friends have conducted what <i>they</i> call the <i>"Under-ground
      Railroad,"</i> but which, I think, by their open declarations, has been
      made, most emphatically, the <i>"Upper</i>-ground Railroad." Its stations
      are far better known to the slaveholders than to the slaves. I honor those
      good men and women for their noble daring, in willingly subjecting
      themselves to persecution, by openly avowing their participation in the
      escape of slaves; nevertheless, the good resulting from such avowals, is
      of a very questionable character. It may kindle an enthusiasm, very
      pleasant to inhale; but that is of no practical benefit to themselves, nor
      to the slaves escaping. Nothing is more evident, than that such
      disclosures are a positive evil to the slaves remaining, and seeking to
      escape. In publishing such accounts, the anti-slavery man addresses the
      slaveholder, <i>not the slave;</i> he stimulates the former to greater
      watchfulness, and adds to his facilities for capturing his slave. We owe
      something to the slaves, south of Mason and Dixon's line, as well as to
      those north of it; and, in discharging the duty of aiding the latter, on
      their way to freedom, we should be careful to do nothing which would be
      likely to hinder the former, in making their escape from slavery. Such is
      my detestation of slavery, that I would keep the merciless slaveholder
      profoundly ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. He<span
      class="pagenum">[251]</span> should be left to imagine himself surrounded
      by myriads of invisible tormentors, ever ready to snatch, from his
      infernal grasp, his trembling prey. In pursuing his victim, let him be
      left to feel his way in the dark; let shades of darkness, commensurate
      with his crime, shut every ray of light from his pathway; and let him be
      made to feel, that, at every step he takes, with the hellish purpose of
      reducing a brother man to slavery, he is running the frightful risk of
      having his hot brains dashed out by an invisible hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      My condition in the year (1838) of my escape, was, comparatively, a free
      and easy one, so far, at least, as the wants of the physical man were
      concerned; but the reader will bear in mind, that my troubles from the
      beginning, have been less physical than mental, and he will thus be
      prepared to find, after what is narrated in the previous chapters, that
      slave life was adding nothing to its charms for me, as I grew older, and
      became better acquainted with it. The practice, from week to week, of
      openly robbing me of all my earnings, kept the nature and character of
      slavery constantly before me. I could be robbed by <i>indirection</i>, but
      this was <i>too</i> open and barefaced to be endured. I could see no
      reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of my honest
      toil into the purse of any man. The thought itself vexed me, and the
      manner in which Master Hugh received my wages, vexed me more than the
      original wrong. Carefully counting the money and rolling it out, dollar by
      dollar, he would look me in the face, as if he would search my heart as
      well as my pocket, and reproachfully ask me, "<i>Is that all</i>?"&mdash;implying
      that I had, perhaps, kept back part of my wages; or, if not so, the demand
      was made, possibly, to make me feel, that, after all, I was an
      "unprofitable servant." Draining me of the last cent of my hard earnings,
      he would, however, occasionally&mdash;when I brought<span class="pagenum">[252]</span>
      home an extra large sum&mdash;dole out to me a sixpence or a shilling,
      with a view, perhaps, of kindling up my gratitude; but this practice had
      the opposite effect&mdash;it was an admission of <i>my right to the whole
      sum</i>. The fact, that he gave me any part of my wages, was proof that he
      suspected that I had a right <i>to the whole of them</i>. I always felt
      uncomfortable, after having received anything in this way, for I feared
      that the giving me a few cents, might, possibly, ease his conscience, and
      make him feel himself a pretty honorable robber, after all!
    </p>
    <p>
      Held to a strict account, and kept under a close watch&mdash;the old
      suspicion of my running away not having been entirely removed&mdash;escape
      from slavery, even in Baltimore, was very difficult. The railroad from
      Baltimore to Philadelphia was under regulations so stringent, that even <i>free</i>
      colored travelers were almost excluded. They must have <i>free</i> papers;
      they must be measured and carefully examined, before they were allowed to
      enter the cars; they only went in the day time, even when so examined. The
      steamboats were under regulations equally stringent. All the great
      turnpikes, leading northward, were beset with kidnappers, a class of men
      who watched the newspapers for advertisements for runaway slaves, making
      their living by the accursed reward of slave hunting.
    </p>
    <p>
      My discontent grew upon me, and I was on the look-out for means of escape.
      With money, I could easily have managed the matter, and, therefore, I hit
      upon the plan of soliciting the privilege of hiring my time. It is quite
      common, in Baltimore, to allow slaves this privilege, and it is the
      practice, also, in New Orleans. A slave who is considered trustworthy,
      can, by paying his master a definite sum regularly, at the end of each
      week, dispose of his time as he likes. It so happened that I was not in
      very good odor, and I was far from being a trustworthy slave.
      Nevertheless, I watched my opportunity when Master Thomas came to
      Baltimore (for I was still his property, Hugh only acted as his agent) in
      the spring of 1838, to purchase his spring supply of goods,<span
      class="pagenum">[253]</span> and applied to him, directly, for the
      much-coveted privilege of hiring my time. This request Master Thomas
      unhesitatingly refused to grant; and he charged me, with some sternness,
      with inventing this stratagem to make my escape. He told me, "I could go
      <i>nowhere</i> but he could catch me; and, in the event of my running
      away, I might be assured he should spare no pains in his efforts to
      recapture me." He recounted, with a good deal of eloquence, the many kind
      offices he had done me, and exhorted me to be contented and obedient. "Lay
      out no plans for the future," said he. "If you behave yourself properly, I
      will take care of you." Now, kind and considerate as this offer was, it
      failed to soothe me into repose. In spite of Master Thomas, and, I may
      say, in spite of myself, also, I continued to think, and worse still, to
      think almost exclusively about the injustice and wickedness of slavery. No
      effort of mine or of his could silence this trouble-giving thought, or
      change my purpose to run away.
    </p>
    <p>
      About two months after applying to Master Thomas for the privilege of
      hiring my time, I applied to Master Hugh for the same liberty, supposing
      him to be unacquainted with the fact that I had made a similar application
      to Master Thomas, and had been refused. My boldness in making this
      request, fairly astounded him at the first. He gazed at me in amazement.
      But I had many good reasons for pressing the matter; and, after listening
      to them awhile, he did not absolutely refuse, but told me he would think
      of it. Here, then, was a gleam of hope. Once master of my own time, I felt
      sure that I could make, over and above my obligation to him, a dollar or
      two every week. Some slaves have made enough, in this way, to purchase
      their freedom. It is a sharp spur to industry; and some of the most
      enterprising colored men in Baltimore hire themselves in this way. After
      mature reflection&mdash;as I must suppose it was Master Hugh granted me
      the privilege in question, on the following terms: I was to be allowed all
      my time; to make all bargains for work; to find my own employment, and to
      collect my own wages; and,<span class="pagenum">[254]</span> in return for
      this liberty, I was required, or obliged, to pay him three dollars at the
      end of each week, and to board and clothe myself, and buy my own calking
      tools. A failure in any of these particulars would put an end to my
      privilege. This was a hard bargain. The wear and tear of clothing, the
      losing and breaking of tools, and the expense of board, made it necessary
      for me to earn at least six dollars per week, to keep even with the world.
      All who are acquainted with calking, know how uncertain and irregular that
      employment is. It can be done to advantage only in dry weather, for it is
      useless to put wet oakum into a seam. Rain or shine, however, work or no
      work, at the end of each week the money must be forthcoming.
    </p>
    <p>
      Master Hugh seemed to be very much pleased, for a time, with this
      arrangement; and well he might be, for it was decidedly in his favor. It
      relieved him of all anxiety concerning me. His money was sure. He had
      armed my love of liberty with a lash and a driver, far more efficient than
      any I had before known; and, while he derived all the benefits of
      slaveholding by the arrangement, without its evils, I endured all the
      evils of being a slave, and yet suffered all the care and anxiety of a
      responsible freeman. "Nevertheless," thought I, "it is a valuable
      privilege another step in my career toward freedom." It was something even
      to be permitted to stagger under the disadvantages of liberty, and I was
      determined to hold on to the newly gained footing, by all proper industry.
      I was ready to work by night as well as by day; and being in the enjoyment
      of excellent health, I was able not only to meet my current expenses, but
      also to lay by a small sum at the end of each week. All went on thus, from
      the month of May till August; then&mdash;for reasons which will become
      apparent as I proceed&mdash;my much valued liberty was wrested from me.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the week previous to this (to me) calamitous event, I had made
      arrangements with a few young friends, to accompany them, on Saturday
      night, to a camp-meeting, held about twelve miles from Baltimore. On the
      evening of our intended start for<span class="pagenum">[255]</span> the
      camp-ground, something occurred in the ship yard where I was at work,
      which detained me unusually late, and compelled me either to disappoint my
      young friends, or to neglect carrying my weekly dues to Master Hugh.
      Knowing that I had the money, and could hand it to him on another day, I
      decided to go to camp-meeting, and to pay him the three dollars, for the
      past week, on my return. Once on the camp-ground, I was induced to remain
      one day longer than I had intended, when I left home. But, as soon as I
      returned, I went straight to his house on Fell street, to hand him his
      (my) money. Unhappily, the fatal mistake had been committed. I found him
      exceedingly angry. He exhibited all the signs of apprehension and wrath,
      which a slaveholder may be surmised to exhibit on the supposed escape of a
      favorite slave. "You rascal! I have a great mind to give you a severe
      whipping. How dare you go out of the city without first asking and
      obtaining my permission?" "Sir," said I, "I hired my time and paid you the
      price you asked for it. I did not know that it was any part of the bargain
      that I should ask you when or where I should go."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You did not know, you rascal! You are bound to show yourself here every
      Saturday night." After reflecting, a few moments, he became somewhat
      cooled down; but, evidently greatly troubled, he said, "Now, you
      scoundrel! you have done for yourself; you shall hire your time no longer.
      The next thing I shall hear of, will be your running away. Bring home your
      tools and your clothes, at once. I'll teach you how to go off in this
      way."
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus ended my partial freedom. I could hire my time no longer; and I
      obeyed my master's orders at once. The little taste of liberty which I had
      had&mdash;although as the reader will have seen, it was far from being
      unalloyed&mdash;by no means enhanced my contentment with slavery. Punished
      thus by Master Hugh, it was now my turn to punish him. "Since," thought I,
      "you <i>will</i> make a slave of me, I will await your orders in all
      things;" and, instead of going to look for work on Monday morning, as I
      had<span class="pagenum">[256]</span> formerly done, I remained at home
      during the entire week, without the performance of a single stroke of
      work. Saturday night came, and he called upon me, as usual, for my wages.
      I, of course, told him I had done no work, and had no wages. Here we were
      at the point of coming to blows. His wrath had been accumulating during
      the whole week; for he evidently saw that I was making no effort to get
      work, but was most aggravatingly awaiting his orders, in all things. As I
      look back to this behavior of mine, I scarcely know what possessed me,
      thus to trifle with those who had such unlimited power to bless or to
      blast me. Master Hugh raved and swore his determination to <i>"get hold of
      me;"</i> but, wisely for <i>him</i>, and happily for <i>me</i>, his wrath
      only employed those very harmless, impalpable missiles, which roll from a
      limber tongue. In my desperation, I had fully made up my mind to measure
      strength with Master Hugh, in case he should undertake to execute his
      threats. I am glad there was no necessity for this; for resistance to him
      could not have ended so happily for me, as it did in the case of Covey. He
      was not a man to be safely resisted by a slave; and I freely own, that in
      my conduct toward him, in this instance, there was more folly than wisdom.
      Master Hugh closed his reproofs, by telling me that, hereafter, I need
      give myself no uneasiness about getting work; that he "would, himself, see
      to getting work for me, and enough of it, at that." This threat I confess
      had some terror in it; and, on thinking the matter over, during the
      Sunday, I resolved, not only to save him the trouble of getting me work,
      but that, upon the third day of September, I would attempt to make my
      escape from slavery. The refusal to allow me to hire my time, therefore,
      hastened the period of flight. I had three weeks, now, in which to prepare
      for my journey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once resolved, I felt a certain degree of repose, and on Monday, instead
      of waiting for Master Hugh to seek employment for me, I was up by break of
      day, and off to the ship yard of Mr. Butler, on the City Block, near the
      draw-bridge. I was a favorite<span class="pagenum">[257]</span> with Mr.
      B., and, young as I was, I had served as his foreman on the float stage,
      at calking. Of course, I easily obtained work, and, at the end of the week&mdash;which
      by the way was exceedingly fine I brought Master Hugh nearly nine dollars.
      The effect of this mark of returning good sense, on my part, was
      excellent. He was very much pleased; he took the money, commended me, and
      told me I might have done the same thing the week before. It is a blessed
      thing that the tyrant may not always know the thoughts and purposes of his
      victim. Master Hugh little knew what my plans were. The going to
      camp-meeting without asking his permission&mdash;the insolent answers made
      to his reproaches&mdash;the sulky deportment the week after being deprived
      of the privilege of hiring my time&mdash;had awakened in him the suspicion
      that I might be cherishing disloyal purposes. My object, therefore, in
      working steadily, was to remove suspicion, and in this I succeeded
      admirably. He probably thought I was never better satisfied with my
      condition, than at the very time I was planning my escape. The second week
      passed, and again I carried him my full week's wages&mdash;<i>nine
      dollars;</i> and so well pleased was he, that he gave me TWENTY-FIVE
      CENTS! and "bade me make good use of it!" I told him I would, for one of
      the uses to which I meant to put it, was to pay my fare on the underground
      railroad.
    </p>
    <p>
      Things without went on as usual; but I was passing through the same
      internal excitement and anxiety which I had experienced two years and a
      half before. The failure, in that instance, was not calculated to increase
      my confidence in the success of this, my second attempt; and I knew that a
      second failure could not leave me where my first did&mdash;I must either
      get to the <i>far north</i>, or be sent to the <i>far south</i>. Besides
      the exercise of mind from this state of facts, I had the painful sensation
      of being about to separate from a circle of honest and warm hearted
      friends, in Baltimore. The thought of such a separation, where the hope of
      ever meeting again is excluded, and where there can be no correspondence,
      is very painful. It is my opinion, that thousands would escape from<span
      class="pagenum">[258]</span> slavery who now remain there, but for the
      strong cords of affection that bind them to their families, relatives and
      friends. The daughter is hindered from escaping, by the love she bears her
      mother, and the father, by the love he bears his children; and so, to the
      end of the chapter. I had no relations in Baltimore, and I saw no
      probability of ever living in the neighborhood of sisters and brothers;
      but the thought of leaving my friends, was among the strongest obstacles
      to my running away. The last two days of the week&mdash;Friday and
      Saturday&mdash;were spent mostly in collecting my things together, for my
      journey. Having worked four days that week, for my master, I handed him
      six dollars, on Saturday night. I seldom spent my Sundays at home; and,
      for fear that something might be discovered in my conduct, I kept up my
      custom, and absented myself all day. On Monday, the third day of
      September, 1838, in accordance with my resolution, I bade farewell to the
      city of Baltimore, and to that slavery which had been my abhorrence from
      childhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      How I got away&mdash;in what direction I traveled&mdash;whether by land or
      by water; whether with or without assistance&mdash;must, for reasons
      already mentioned, remain unexplained.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      LIFE as a FREEMAN
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII. <i>Liberty Attained</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
TRANSITION FROM SLAVERY TO FREEDOM&mdash;A WANDERER IN NEW YORK&mdash;FEELINGS
ON REACHING THAT CITY&mdash;AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE MET&mdash;UNFAVORABLE
IMPRESSIONS&mdash;LONELINESS AND INSECURITY&mdash;APOLOGY FOR SLAVES WHO RETURN
TO THEIR MASTERS&mdash;COMPELLED TO TELL MY CONDITION&mdash;SUCCORED BY A
SAILOR&mdash;DAVID RUGGLES&mdash;THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD&mdash;MARRIAGE&mdash;BAGGAGE TAKEN
FROM ME&mdash;KINDNESS OF NATHAN JOHNSON&mdash;MY CHANGE OF NAME&mdash;DARK NOTIONS OF
NORTHERN CIVILIZATION&mdash;THE CONTRAST&mdash;COLORED PEOPLE IN NEW BEDFORD&mdash;AN
INCIDENT ILLUSTRATING THEIR SPIRIT&mdash;A COMMON LABORER&mdash;DENIED WORK AT
MY TRADE&mdash;THE FIRST WINTER AT THE NORTH&mdash;REPULSE AT THE DOORS OF THE
CHURCH&mdash;SANCTIFIED HATE&mdash;THE <i>Liberator</i> AND ITS EDITOR.
</pre>
    <p>
      There is no necessity for any extended notice of the incidents of this
      part of my life. There is nothing very striking or peculiar about my
      career as a freeman, when viewed apart from my life as a slave. The
      relation subsisting between my early experience and that which I am now
      about to narrate, is, perhaps, my best apology for adding another chapter
      to this book.
    </p>
    <p>
      Disappearing from the kind reader, in a flying cloud or balloon (pardon
      the figure), driven by the wind, and knowing not where I should land&mdash;whether
      in slavery or in freedom&mdash;it is proper that I should remove, at once,
      all anxiety, by frankly making known where I alighted. The flight was a
      bold and perilous one; but here I am, in the great city of New York, safe
      and sound, without loss of blood or bone. In less than a week after
      leaving Baltimore, I was walking amid the hurrying throng, and gazing upon
      the dazzling wonders of Broadway. The dreams<span class="pagenum">[262]</span>
      of my childhood and the purposes of my manhood were now fulfilled. A free
      state around me, and a free earth under my feet! What a moment was this to
      me! A whole year was pressed into a single day. A new world burst upon my
      agitated vision. I have often been asked, by kind friends to whom I have
      told my story, how I felt when first I found myself beyond the limits of
      slavery; and I must say here, as I have often said to them, there is
      scarcely anything about which I could not give a more satisfactory answer.
      It was a moment of joyous excitement, which no words can describe. In a
      letter to a friend, written soon after reaching New York. I said I felt as
      one might be supposed to feel, on escaping from a den of hungry lions.
      But, in a moment like that, sensations are too intense and too rapid for
      words. Anguish and grief, like darkness and rain, may be described, but
      joy and gladness, like the rainbow of promise, defy alike the pen and
      pencil.
    </p>
    <p>
      For ten or fifteen years I had been dragging a heavy chain, with a huge
      block attached to it, cumbering my every motion. I had felt myself doomed
      to drag this chain and this block through life. All efforts, before, to
      separate myself from the hateful encumbrance, had only seemed to rivet me
      the more firmly to it. Baffled and discouraged at times, I had asked
      myself the question, May not this, after all, be God's work? May He not,
      for wise ends, have doomed me to this lot? A contest had been going on in
      my mind for years, between the clear consciousness of right and the
      plausible errors of superstition; between the wisdom of manly courage, and
      the foolish weakness of timidity. The contest was now ended; the chain was
      severed; God and right stood vindicated. I was A FREEMAN, and the voice of
      peace and joy thrilled my heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      Free and joyous, however, as I was, joy was not the only sensation I
      experienced. It was like the quick blaze, beautiful at the first, but
      which subsiding, leaves the building charred and desolate. I was soon
      taught that I was still in an enemy's land. A sense of loneliness and
      insecurity oppressed me sadly. I had<span class="pagenum">[263]</span>
      been but a few hours in New York, before I was met in the streets by a
      fugitive slave, well known to me, and the information I got from him
      respecting New York, did nothing to lessen my apprehension of danger. The
      fugitive in question was "Allender's Jake," in Baltimore; but, said he, I
      am "WILLIAM DIXON," in New York! I knew Jake well, and knew when Tolly
      Allender and Mr. Price (for the latter employed Master Hugh as his
      foreman, in his shipyard on Fell's Point) made an attempt to recapture
      Jake, and failed. Jake told me all about his circumstances, and how
      narrowly he escaped being taken back to slavery; that the city was now
      full of southerners, returning from the springs; that the black people in
      New York were not to be trusted; that there were hired men on the lookout
      for fugitives from slavery, and who, for a few dollars, would betray me
      into the hands of the slave-catchers; that I must trust no man with my
      secret; that I must not think of going either on the wharves to work, or
      to a boarding-house to board; and, worse still, this same Jake told me it
      was not in his power to help me. He seemed, even while cautioning me, to
      be fearing lest, after all, I might be a party to a second attempt to
      recapture him. Under the inspiration of this thought, I must suppose it
      was, he gave signs of a wish to get rid of me, and soon left me his
      whitewash brush in hand&mdash;as he said, for his work. He was soon lost
      to sight among the throng, and I was alone again, an easy prey to the
      kidnappers, if any should happen to be on my track.
    </p>
    <p>
      New York, seventeen years ago, was less a place of safety for a runaway
      slave than now, and all know how unsafe it now is, under the new fugitive
      slave bill. I was much troubled. I had very little money enough to buy me
      a few loaves of bread, but not enough to pay board, outside a lumber yard.
      I saw the wisdom of keeping away from the ship yards, for if Master Hugh
      pursued me, he would naturally expect to find me looking for work among
      the calkers. For a time, every door seemed closed against me. A sense of
      my loneliness and helplessness crept over me,<span class="pagenum">[264]</span>
      and covered me with something bordering on despair. In the midst of
      thousands of my fellowmen, and yet a perfect stranger! In the midst of
      human brothers, and yet more fearful of them than of hungry wolves! I was
      without home, without friends, without work, without money, and without
      any definite knowledge of which way to go, or where to look for succor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some apology can easily be made for the few slaves who have, after making
      good their escape, turned back to slavery, preferring the actual rule of
      their masters, to the life of loneliness, apprehension, hunger, and
      anxiety, which meets them on their first arrival in a free state. It is
      difficult for a freeman to enter into the feelings of such fugitives. He
      cannot see things in the same light with the slave, because he does not,
      and cannot, look from the same point from which the slave does. "Why do
      you tremble," he says to the slave "you are in a free state;" but the
      difficulty is, in realizing that he is in a free state, the slave might
      reply. A freeman cannot understand why the slave-master's shadow is
      bigger, to the slave, than the might and majesty of a free state; but when
      he reflects that the slave knows more about the slavery of his master than
      he does of the might and majesty of the free state, he has the
      explanation. The slave has been all his life learning the power of his
      master&mdash;being trained to dread his approach&mdash;and only a few
      hours learning the power of the state. The master is to him a stern and
      flinty reality, but the state is little more than a dream. He has been
      accustomed to regard every white man as the friend of his master, and
      every colored man as more or less under the control of his master's
      friends&mdash;the white people. It takes stout nerves to stand up, in such
      circumstances. A man, homeless, shelterless, breadless, friendless, and
      moneyless, is not in a condition to assume a very proud or joyous tone;
      and in just this condition was I, while wandering about the streets of New
      York city and lodging, at least one night, among the barrels on one of its
      wharves. I was not only free from slavery, but I was free from home, as
      well. The reader<span class="pagenum">[265]</span> will easily see that I
      had something more than the simple fact of being free to think of, in this
      extremity.
    </p>
    <p>
      I kept my secret as long as I could, and at last was forced to go in
      search of an honest man&mdash;a man sufficiently <i>human</i> not to
      betray me into the hands of slave-catchers. I was not a bad reader of the
      human face, nor long in selecting the right man, when once compelled to
      disclose the facts of my condition to some one.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found my man in the person of one who said his name was Stewart. He was
      a sailor, warm-hearted and generous, and he listened to my story with a
      brother's interest. I told him I was running for my freedom&mdash;knew not
      where to go&mdash;money almost gone&mdash;was hungry&mdash;thought it
      unsafe to go the shipyards for work, and needed a friend. Stewart promptly
      put me in the way of getting out of my trouble. He took me to his house,
      and went in search of the late David Ruggles, who was then the secretary
      of the New York Vigilance Committee, and a very active man in all
      anti-slavery works. Once in the hands of Mr. Ruggles, I was comparatively
      safe. I was hidden with Mr. Ruggles several days. In the meantime, my
      intended wife, Anna, came on from Baltimore&mdash;to whom I had written,
      informing her of my safe arrival at New York&mdash;and, in the presence of
      Mrs. Mitchell and Mr. Ruggles, we were married, by Rev. James W. C.
      Pennington.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Ruggles <a href="#linknote-7" name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7"><small>7</small></a>
      was the first officer on the under-ground railroad with whom I met after
      reaching the north, and, indeed, the first of whom I ever heard anything.
      Learning that I was a calker by trade, he promptly decided that New
      Bedford was the proper<span class="pagenum">[266]</span> place to send me.
      "Many ships," said he, "are there fitted out for the whaling business, and
      you may there find work at your trade, and make a good living." Thus, in
      one fortnight after my flight from Maryland, I was safe in New Bedford,
      regularly entered upon the exercise of the rights, responsibilities, and
      duties of a freeman.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may mention a little circumstance which annoyed me on reaching New
      Bedford. I had not a cent of money, and lacked two dollars toward paying
      our fare from Newport, and our baggage not very costly&mdash;was taken by
      the stage driver, and held until I could raise the money to redeem it.
      This difficulty was soon surmounted. Mr. Nathan Johnson, to whom we had a
      line from Mr. Ruggles, not only received us kindly and hospitably, but, on
      being informed about our baggage, promptly loaned me two dollars with
      which to redeem my little property. I shall ever be deeply grateful, both
      to Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Johnson, for the lively interest they were pleased
      to take in me, in this hour of my extremest need. They not only gave
      myself and wife bread and shelter, but taught us how to begin to secure
      those benefits for ourselves. Long may they live, and may blessings attend
      them in this life and in that which is to come!
    </p>
    <p>
      Once initiated into the new life of freedom, and assured by Mr. Johnson
      that New Bedford was a safe place, the comparatively unimportant matter,
      as to what should be my name, came up for considertion(sic). It was
      necessary to have a name in my new relations. The name given me by my
      beloved mother was no less pretentious than "Frederick Augustus Washington
      Bailey." I had, however, before leaving Maryland, dispensed with the <i>Augustus
      Washington</i>, and retained the name <i>Frederick Bailey</i>. Between
      Baltimore and New Bedford, however, I had several different names, the
      better to avoid being overhauled by the hunters, which I had good reason
      to believe would be put on my track. Among honest men an honest man may
      well be content with one name, and to acknowledge it at all times and in
      all<span class="pagenum">[267]</span> places; but toward fugitives,
      Americans are not honest. When I arrived at New Bedford, my name was
      Johnson; and finding that the Johnson family in New Bedford were already
      quite numerous&mdash;sufficiently so to produce some confusion in attempts
      to distinguish one from another&mdash;there was the more reason for making
      another change in my name. In fact, "Johnson" had been assumed by nearly
      every slave who had arrived in New Bedford from Maryland, and this, much
      to the annoyance of the original "Johnsons" (of whom there were many) in
      that place. Mine host, unwilling to have another of his own name added to
      the community in this unauthorized way, after I spent a night and a day at
      his house, gave me my present name. He had been reading the "Lady of the
      Lake," and was pleased to regard me as a suitable person to wear this, one
      of Scotland's many famous names. Considering the noble hospitality and
      manly character of Nathan Johnson, I have felt that he, better than I,
      illustrated the virtues of the great Scottish chief. Sure I am, that had
      any slave-catcher entered his domicile, with a view to molest any one of
      his household, he would have shown himself like him of the "stalwart
      hand."
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader will be amused at my ignorance, when I tell the notions I had
      of the state of northern wealth, enterprise, and civilization. Of wealth
      and refinement, I supposed the north had none. My <i>Columbian Orator</i>,
      which was almost my only book, had not done much to enlighten me
      concerning northern society. The impressions I had received were all wide
      of the truth. New Bedford, especially, took me by surprise, in the solid
      wealth and grandeur there exhibited. I had formed my notions respecting
      the social condition of the free states, by what I had seen and known of
      free, white, non-slaveholding people in the slave states. Regarding
      slavery as the basis of wealth, I fancied that no people could become very
      wealthy without slavery. A free white man, holding no slaves, in the
      country, I had known to be the most ignorant and poverty-stricken of men,
      and the laugh<span class="pagenum">[268]</span> ing stock even of slaves
      themselves&mdash;called generally by them, in derision, <i>"poor white
      trash</i>." Like the non-slaveholders at the south, in holding no slaves,
      I suppose the northern people like them, also, in poverty and degradation.
      Judge, then, of my amazement and joy, when I found&mdash;as I did find&mdash;the
      very laboring population of New Bedford living in better houses, more
      elegantly furnished&mdash;surrounded by more comfort and refinement&mdash;than
      a majority of the slaveholders on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. There was
      my friend, Mr. Johnson, himself a colored man (who at the south would have
      been regarded as a proper marketable commodity), who lived in a better
      house&mdash;dined at a richer board&mdash;was the owner of more books&mdash;the
      reader of more newspapers&mdash;was more conversant with the political and
      social condition of this nation and the world&mdash;than nine-tenths of
      all the slaveholders of Talbot county, Maryland. Yet Mr. Johnson was a
      working man, and his hands were hardened by honest toil. Here, then, was
      something for observation and study. Whence the difference? The
      explanation was soon furnished, in the superiority of mind over simple
      brute force. Many pages might be given to the contrast, and in explanation
      of its causes. But an incident or two will suffice to show the reader as
      to how the mystery gradually vanished before me.
    </p>
    <p>
      My first afternoon, on reaching New Bedford, was spent in visiting the
      wharves and viewing the shipping. The sight of the broad brim and the
      plain, Quaker dress, which met me at every turn, greatly increased my
      sense of freedom and security. "I am among the Quakers," thought I, "and
      am safe." Lying at the wharves and riding in the stream, were full-rigged
      ships of finest model, ready to start on whaling voyages. Upon the right
      and the left, I was walled in by large granite-fronted warehouses, crowded
      with the good things of this world. On the wharves, I saw industry without
      bustle, labor without noise, and heavy toil without the whip. There was no
      loud singing, as in southern ports, where ships are loading or unloading&mdash;no
      loud cursing or<span class="pagenum">[269]</span> swearing&mdash;but
      everything went on as smoothly as the works of a well adjusted machine.
      How different was all this from the nosily fierce and clumsily absurd
      manner of labor-life in Baltimore and St. Michael's! One of the first
      incidents which illustrated the superior mental character of northern
      labor over that of the south, was the manner of unloading a ship's cargo
      of oil. In a southern port, twenty or thirty hands would have been
      employed to do what five or six did here, with the aid of a single ox
      attached to the end of a fall. Main strength, unassisted by skill, is
      slavery's method of labor. An old ox, worth eighty dollars, was doing, in
      New Bedford, what would have required fifteen thousand dollars worth of
      human bones and muscles to have performed in a southern port. I found that
      everything was done here with a scrupulous regard to economy, both in
      regard to men and things, time and strength. The maid servant, instead of
      spending at least a tenth part of her time in bringing and carrying water,
      as in Baltimore, had the pump at her elbow. The wood was dry, and snugly
      piled away for winter. Woodhouses, in-door pumps, sinks, drains,
      self-shutting gates, washing machines, pounding barrels, were all new
      things, and told me that I was among a thoughtful and sensible people. To
      the ship-repairing dock I went, and saw the same wise prudence. The
      carpenters struck where they aimed, and the calkers wasted no blows in
      idle flourishes of the mallet. I learned that men went from New Bedford to
      Baltimore, and bought old ships, and brought them here to repair, and made
      them better and more valuable than they ever were before. Men talked here
      of going whaling on a four <i>years'</i> voyage with more coolness than
      sailors where I came from talked of going a four <i>months'</i> voyage.
    </p>
    <p>
      I now find that I could have landed in no part of the United States, where
      I should have found a more striking and gratifying contrast to the
      condition of the free people of color in Baltimore, than I found here in
      New Bedford. No colored man is really free in a slaveholding state. He
      wears the badge of bondage while<span class="pagenum">[270]</span>
      nominally free, and is often subjected to hardships to which the slave is
      a stranger; but here in New Bedford, it was my good fortune to see a
      pretty near approach to freedom on the part of the colored people. I was
      taken all aback when Mr. Johnson&mdash;who lost no time in making me
      acquainted with the fact&mdash;told me that there was nothing in the
      constitution of Massachusetts to prevent a colored man from holding any
      office in the state. There, in New Bedford, the black man's children&mdash;although
      anti-slavery was then far from popular&mdash;went to school side by side
      with the white children, and apparently without objection from any
      quarter. To make me at home, Mr. Johnson assured me that no slaveholder
      could take a slave from New Bedford; that there were men there who would
      lay down their lives, before such an outrage could be perpetrated. The
      colored people themselves were of the best metal, and would fight for
      liberty to the death.
    </p>
    <p>
      Soon after my arrival in New Bedford, I was told the following story,
      which was said to illustrate the spirit of the colored people in that
      goodly town: A colored man and a fugitive slave happened to have a little
      quarrel, and the former was heard to threaten the latter with informing
      his master of his whereabouts. As soon as this threat became known, a
      notice was read from the desk of what was then the only colored church in
      the place, stating that business of importance was to be then and there
      transacted. Special measures had been taken to secure the attendance of
      the would-be Judas, and had proved successful. Accordingly, at the hour
      appointed, the people came, and the betrayer also. All the usual
      formalities of public meetings were scrupulously gone through, even to the
      offering prayer for Divine direction in the duties of the occasion. The
      president himself performed this part of the ceremony, and I was told that
      he was unusually fervent. Yet, at the close of his prayer, the old man
      (one of the numerous family of Johnsons) rose from his knees, deliberately
      surveyed his audience, and then said, in a tone of solemn resolution, <i>"Well,
      friends, we have got him here, and I would now</i><span class="pagenum">[271]</span>
      <i>recommend that you young men should just take him outside the door and
      kill him."</i> With this, a large body of the congregation, who well
      understood the business they had come there to transact, made a rush at
      the villain, and doubtless would have killed him, had he not availed
      himself of an open sash, and made good his escape. He has never shown his
      head in New Bedford since that time. This little incident is perfectly
      characteristic of the spirit of the colored people in New Bedford. A slave
      could not be taken from that town seventeen years ago, any more than he
      could be so taken away now. The reason is, that the colored people in that
      city are educated up to the point of fighting for their freedom, as well
      as speaking for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once assured of my safety in New Bedford, I put on the habiliments of a
      common laborer, and went on the wharf in search of work. I had no notion
      of living on the honest and generous sympathy of my colored brother,
      Johnson, or that of the abolitionists. My cry was like that of Hood's
      laborer, "Oh! only give me work." Happily for me, I was not long in
      searching. I found employment, the third day after my arrival in New
      Bedford, in stowing a sloop with a load of oil for the New York market. It
      was new, hard, and dirty work, even for a calker, but I went at it with a
      glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master&mdash;a tremendous
      fact&mdash;and the rapturous excitement with which I seized the job, may
      not easily be understood, except by some one with an experience like mine.
      The thoughts&mdash;"I can work! I can work for a living; I am not afraid
      of work; I have no Master Hugh to rob me of my earnings"&mdash;placed me
      in a state of independence, beyond seeking friendship or support of any
      man. That day's work I considered the real starting point of something
      like a new existence. Having finished this job and got my pay for the
      same, I went next in pursuit of a job at calking. It so happened that Mr.
      Rodney French, late mayor of the city of New Bedford, had a ship fitting
      out for sea, and to which there was a large job of calking and coppering
      to be done. I applied to that<span class="pagenum">[272]</span>
      noblehearted man for employment, and he promptly told me to go to work;
      but going on the float-stage for the purpose, I was informed that every
      white man would leave the ship if I struck a blow upon her. "Well, well,"
      thought I, "this is a hardship, but yet not a very serious one for me."
      The difference between the wages of a calker and that of a common day
      laborer, was an hundred per cent in favor of the former; but then I was
      free, and free to work, though not at my trade. I now prepared myself to
      do anything which came to hand in the way of turning an honest penny;
      sawed wood&mdash;dug cellars&mdash;shoveled coal&mdash;swept chimneys with
      Uncle Lucas Debuty&mdash;rolled oil casks on the wharves&mdash;helped to
      load and unload vessels&mdash;worked in Ricketson's candle works&mdash;in
      Richmond's brass foundery, and elsewhere; and thus supported myself and
      family for three years.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first winter was unusually severe, in consequence of the high prices
      of food; but even during that winter we probably suffered less than many
      who had been free all their lives. During the hardest of the winter, I
      hired out for nine dolars(sic) a month; and out of this rented two rooms
      for nine dollars per quarter, and supplied my wife&mdash;who was unable to
      work&mdash;with food and some necessary articles of furniture. We were
      closely pinched to bring our wants within our means; but the jail stood
      over the way, and I had a wholesome dread of the consequences of running
      in debt. This winter past, and I was up with the times&mdash;got plenty of
      work&mdash;got well paid for it&mdash;and felt that I had not done a
      foolish thing to leave Master Hugh and Master Thomas. I was now living in
      a new world, and was wide awake to its advantages. I early began to attend
      the meetings of the colored people of New Bedford, and to take part in
      them. I was somewhat amazed to see colored men drawing up resolutions and
      offering them for consideration. Several colored young men of New Bedford,
      at that period, gave promise of great usefulness. They were educated, and
      possessed what seemed to me, at the time, very superior talents. Some of
      them have been cut down by death, and<span class="pagenum">[273]</span>
      others have removed to different parts of the world, and some remain there
      now, and justify, in their present activities, my early impressions of
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among my first concerns on reaching New Bedford, was to become united with
      the church, for I had never given up, in reality, my religious faith. I
      had become lukewarm and in a backslidden state, but I was still convinced
      that it was my duty to join the Methodist church. I was not then aware of
      the powerful influence of that religious body in favor of the enslavement
      of my race, nor did I see how the northern churches could be responsible
      for the conduct of southern churches; neither did I fully understand how
      it could be my duty to remain separate from the church, because bad men
      were connected with it. The slaveholding church, with its Coveys, Weedens,
      Aulds, and Hopkins, I could see through at once, but I could not see how
      Elm Street church, in New Bedford, could be regarded as sanctioning the
      Christianity of these characters in the church at St. Michael's. I
      therefore resolved to join the Methodist church in New Bedford, and to
      enjoy the spiritual advantage of public worship. The minister of the Elm
      Street Methodist church, was the Rev. Mr. Bonney; and although I was not
      allowed a seat in the body of the house, and was proscribed on account of
      my color, regarding this proscription simply as an accommodation of the
      uncoverted congregation who had not yet been won to Christ and his
      brotherhood, I was willing thus to be proscribed, lest sinners should be
      driven away form the saving power of the gospel. Once converted, I thought
      they would be sure to treat me as a man and a brother. "Surely," thought
      I, "these Christian people have none of this feeling against color. They,
      at least, have renounced this unholy feeling." Judge, then, dear reader,
      of my astonishment and mortification, when I found, as soon I did find,
      all my charitable assumptions at fault.
    </p>
    <p>
      An opportunity was soon afforded me for ascertaining the exact position of
      Elm Street church on that subject. I had a chance of seeing the religious
      part of the congregation by themselves; and<span class="pagenum">[274]</span>
      although they disowned, in effect, their black brothers and sisters,
      before the world, I did think that where none but the saints were
      assembled, and no offense could be given to the wicked, and the gospel
      could not be "blamed," they would certainly recognize us as children of
      the same Father, and heirs of the same salvation, on equal terms with
      themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      The occasion to which I refer, was the sacrament of the Lord's Supper,
      that most sacred and most solemn of all the ordinances of the Christian
      church. Mr. Bonney had preached a very solemn and searching discourse,
      which really proved him to be acquainted with the inmost secerts(sic) of
      the human heart. At the close of his discourse, the congregation was
      dismissed, and the church remained to partake of the sacrament. I remained
      to see, as I thought, this holy sacrament celebrated in the spirit of its
      great Founder.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were only about a half dozen colored members attached to the Elm
      Street church, at this time. After the congregation was dismissed, these
      descended from the gallery, and took a seat against the wall most distant
      from the altar. Brother Bonney was very animated, and sung very sweetly,
      "Salvation 'tis a joyful sound," and soon began to administer the
      sacrament. I was anxious to observe the bearing of the colored members,
      and the result was most humiliating. During the whole ceremony, they
      looked like sheep without a shepherd. The white members went forward to
      the altar by the bench full; and when it was evident that all the whites
      had been served with the bread and wine, Brother Bonney&mdash;pious
      Brother Bonney&mdash;after a long pause, as if inquiring whether all the
      whites members had been served, and fully assuring himself on that
      important point, then raised his voice to an unnatural pitch, and looking
      to the corner where his black sheep seemed penned, beckoned with his hand,
      exclaiming, "Come forward, colored friends! come forward! You, too, have
      an interest in the blood of Christ. God is no respecter of persons. Come
      forward, and take this holy sacrament to your<span class="pagenum">[275]</span>
      comfort." The colored members poor, slavish souls went forward, as
      invited. I went out, and have never been in that church since, although I
      honestly went there with a view to joining that body. I found it
      impossible to respect the religious profession of any who were under the
      dominion of this wicked prejudice, and I could not, therefore, feel that
      in joining them, I was joining a Christian church, at all. I tried other
      churches in New Bedford, with the same result, and finally, I attached
      myself to a small body of colored Methodists, known as the Zion
      Methodists. Favored with the affection and confidence of the members of
      this humble communion, I was soon made a classleader and a local preacher
      among them. Many seasons of peace and joy I experienced among them, the
      remembrance of which is still precious, although I could not see it to be
      my duty to remain with that body, when I found that it consented to the
      same spirit which held my brethren in chains.
    </p>
    <p>
      In four or five months after reaching New Bedford, there came a young man
      to me, with a copy of the <i>Liberator</i>, the paper edited by WILLIAM
      LLOYD GARRISON, and published by ISAAC KNAPP, and asked me to subscribe
      for it. I told him I had but just escaped from slavery, and was of course
      very poor, and remarked further, that I was unable to pay for it then; the
      agent, however, very willingly took me as a subscriber, and appeared to be
      much pleased with securing my name to his list. From this time I was
      brought in contact with the mind of William Lloyd Garrison. His paper took
      its place with me next to the bible.
    </p>
    <p>
      The <i>Liberator</i> was a paper after my own heart. It detested slavery
      exposed hypocrisy and wickedness in high places&mdash;made no truce with
      the traffickers in the bodies and souls of men; it preached human
      brotherhood, denounced oppression, and, with all the solemnity of God's
      word, demanded the complete emancipation of my race. I not only liked&mdash;I
      <i>loved</i> this paper, and its editor. He seemed a match for all the
      oponents(sic) of emancipation, whether they spoke in the name of the law,
      or the gospel.<span class="pagenum">[276]</span> His words were few, full
      of holy fire, and straight to the point. Learning to love him, through his
      paper, I was prepared to be pleased with his presence. Something of a hero
      worshiper, by nature, here was one, on first sight, to excite my love and
      reverence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seventeen years ago, few men possessed a more heavenly countenance than
      William Lloyd Garrison, and few men evinced a more genuine or a more
      exalted piety. The bible was his text book&mdash;held sacred, as the word
      of the Eternal Father&mdash;sinless perfection&mdash;complete submission
      to insults and injuries&mdash;literal obedience to the injunction, if
      smitten on one side to turn the other also. Not only was Sunday a Sabbath,
      but all days were Sabbaths, and to be kept holy. All sectarism false and
      mischievous&mdash;the regenerated, throughout the world, members of one
      body, and the HEAD Christ Jesus. Prejudice against color was rebellion
      against God. Of all men beneath the sky, the slaves, because most
      neglected and despised, were nearest and dearest to his great heart. Those
      ministers who defended slavery from the bible, were of their "father the
      devil"; and those churches which fellowshiped slaveholders as Christians,
      were synagogues of Satan, and our nation was a nation of liars. Never loud
      or noisy&mdash;calm and serene as a summer sky, and as pure. "You are the
      man, the Moses, raised up by God, to deliver his modern Israel from
      bondage," was the spontaneous feeling of my heart, as I sat away back in
      the hall and listened to his mighty words; mighty in truth&mdash;mighty in
      their simple earnestness.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had not long been a reader of the <i>Liberator</i>, and listener to its
      editor, before I got a clear apprehension of the principles of the
      anti-slavery movement. I had already the spirit of the movement, and only
      needed to understand its principles and measures. These I got from the <i>Liberator</i>,
      and from those who believed in that paper. My acquaintance with the
      movement increased my hope for the ultimate freedom of my race, and I
      united with it from a sense of delight, as well as duty.<span
      class="pagenum">[277]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      Every week the <i>Liberator</i> came, and every week I made myself master
      of its contents. All the anti-slavery meetings held in New Bedford I
      promptly attended, my heart burning at every true utterance against the
      slave system, and every rebuke of its friends and supporters. Thus passed
      the first three years of my residence in New Bedford. I had not then
      dreamed of the posibility(sic) of my becoming a public advocate of the
      cause so deeply imbedded in my heart. It was enough for me to listen&mdash;to
      receive and applaud the great words of others, and only whisper in
      private, among the white laborers on the wharves, and elsewhere, the
      truths which burned in my breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII. <i>Introduced to the Abolitionists</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
FIRST SPEECH AT NANTUCKET&mdash;MUCH SENSATION&mdash;EXTRAORDINARY SPEECH OF
MR. GARRISON&mdash;AUTHOR BECOMES A PUBLIC LECTURER&mdash;FOURTEEN YEARS
EXPERIENCE&mdash;YOUTHFUL ENTHUSIASM&mdash;A BRAND NEW FACT&mdash;MATTER OF MY AUTHOR'S
SPEECH&mdash;COULD NOT FOLLOW THE PROGRAMME&mdash;FUGITIVE SLAVESHIP DOUBTED&mdash;TO
SETTLE ALL DOUBT I WRITE MY EXPERIENCE OF SLAVERY&mdash;DANGER OF RECAPTURE
INCREASED.
</pre>
    <p>
      In the summer of 1841, a grand anti-slavery convention was held in
      Nantucket, under the auspices of Mr. Garrison and his friends. Until now,
      I had taken no holiday since my escape from slavery. Having worked very
      hard that spring and summer, in Richmond's brass foundery&mdash;sometimes
      working all night as well as all day&mdash;and needing a day or two of
      rest, I attended this convention, never supposing that I should take part
      in the proceedings. Indeed, I was not aware that any one connected with
      the convention even so much as knew my name. I was, however, quite
      mistaken. Mr. William C. Coffin, a prominent abolitionst(sic) in those
      days of trial, had heard me speaking to my colored friends, in the little
      school house on Second street, New Bedford, where we worshiped. He sought
      me out in the crowd, and invited me to say a few words to the convention.
      Thus sought out, and thus invited, I was induced to speak out the feelings
      inspired by the occasion, and the fresh recollection of the scenes through
      which I had passed as a slave. My speech on this occasion is about the
      only one I ever made, of which I do not remember a single connected
      sentence. It was<span class="pagenum">[279]</span> with the utmost
      difficulty that I could stand erect, or that I could command and
      articulate two words without hesitation and stammering. I trembled in
      every limb. I am not sure that my embarrassment was not the most effective
      part of my speech, if speech it could be called. At any rate, this is
      about the only part of my performance that I now distinctly remember. But
      excited and convulsed as I was, the audience, though remarkably quiet
      before, became as much excited as myself. Mr. Garrison followed me, taking
      me as his text; and now, whether I had made an eloquent speech in behalf
      of freedom or not, his was one never to be forgotten by those who heard
      it. Those who had heard Mr. Garrison oftenest, and had known him longest,
      were astonished. It was an effort of unequaled power, sweeping down, like
      a very tornado, every opposing barrier, whether of sentiment or opinion.
      For a moment, he possessed that almost fabulous inspiration, often
      referred to but seldom attained, in which a public meeting is transformed,
      as it were, into a single individuality&mdash;the orator wielding a
      thousand heads and hearts at once, and by the simple majesty of his all
      controlling thought, converting his hearers into the express image of his
      own soul. That night there were at least one thousand Garrisonians in
      Nantucket! A(sic) the close of this great meeting, I was duly waited on by
      Mr. John A. Collins&mdash;then the general agent of the Massachusetts
      anti-slavery society&mdash;and urgently solicited by him to become an
      agent of that society, and to publicly advocate its anti-slavery
      principles. I was reluctant to take the proffered position. I had not been
      quite three years from slavery&mdash;was honestly distrustful of my
      ability&mdash;wished to be excused; publicity exposed me to discovery and
      arrest by my master; and other objections came up, but Mr. Collins was not
      to be put off, and I finally consented to go out for three months, for I
      supposed that I should have got to the end of my story and my usefulness,
      in that length of time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here opened upon me a new life a life for which I had had no preparation.
      I was a "graduate from the peculiar institution,"<span class="pagenum">[280]</span>
      Mr. Collins used to say, when introducing me, <i>"with my diploma written
      on my back!"</i> The three years of my freedom had been spent in the hard
      school of adversity. My hands had been furnished by nature with something
      like a solid leather coating, and I had bravely marked out for myself a
      life of rough labor, suited to the hardness of my hands, as a means of
      supporting myself and rearing my children.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now what shall I say of this fourteen years' experience as a public
      advocate of the cause of my enslaved brothers and sisters? The time is but
      as a speck, yet large enough to justify a pause for retrospection&mdash;and
      a pause it must only be.
    </p>
    <p>
      Young, ardent, and hopeful, I entered upon this new life in the full gush
      of unsuspecting enthusiasm. The cause was good; the men engaged in it were
      good; the means to attain its triumph, good; Heaven's blessing must attend
      all, and freedom must soon be given to the pining millions under a
      ruthless bondage. My whole heart went with the holy cause, and my most
      fervent prayer to the Almighty Disposer of the hearts of men, were
      continually offered for its early triumph. "Who or what," thought I, "can
      withstand a cause so good, so holy, so indescribably glorious. The God of
      Israel is with us. The might of the Eternal is on our side. Now let but
      the truth be spoken, and a nation will start forth at the sound!" In this
      enthusiastic spirit, I dropped into the ranks of freedom's friends, and
      went forth to the battle. For a time I was made to forget that my skin was
      dark and my hair crisped. For a time I regretted that I could not have
      shared the hardships and dangers endured by the earlier workers for the
      slave's release. I soon, however, found that my enthusiasm had been
      extravagant; that hardships and dangers were not yet passed; and that the
      life now before me, had shadows as well as sunbeams.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among the first duties assigned me, on entering the ranks, was to travel,
      in company with Mr. George Foster, to secure subscribers to the <i>Anti-slavery
      Standard</i> and the <i>Liberator</i>. With<span class="pagenum">[281]</span>
      him I traveled and lectured through the eastern counties of Massachusetts.
      Much interest was awakened&mdash;large meetings assembled. Many came, no
      doubt, from curiosity to hear what a Negro could say in his own cause. I
      was generally introduced as a <i>"chattel"&mdash;</i>a<i>"thing"</i>&mdash;a
      piece of southern <i>"property"</i>&mdash;the chairman assuring the
      audience that <i>it</i> could speak. Fugitive slaves, at that time, were
      not so plentiful as now; and as a fugitive slave lecturer, I had the
      advantage of being a <i>"brand new fact"</i>&mdash;the first one out. Up
      to that time, a colored man was deemed a fool who confessed himself a
      runaway slave, not only because of the danger to which he exposed himself
      of being retaken, but because it was a confession of a very <i>low</i>
      origin! Some of my colored friends in New Bedford thought very badly of my
      wisdom for thus exposing and degrading myself. The only precaution I took,
      at the beginning, to prevent Master Thomas from knowing where I was, and
      what I was about, was the withholding my former name, my master's name,
      and the name of the state and county from which I came. During the first
      three or four months, my speeches were almost exclusively made up of
      narrations of my own personal experience as a slave. "Let us have the
      facts," said the people. So also said Friend George Foster, who always
      wished to pin me down to my simple narrative. "Give us the facts," said
      Collins, "we will take care of the philosophy." Just here arose some
      embarrassment. It was impossible for me to repeat the same old story month
      after month, and to keep up my interest in it. It was new to the people,
      it is true, but it was an old story to me; and to go through with it night
      after night, was a task altogether too mechanical for my nature. "Tell
      your story, Frederick," would whisper my then revered friend, William
      Lloyd Garrison, as I stepped upon the platform. I could not always obey,
      for I was now reading and thinking. New views of the subject were
      presented to my mind. It did not entirely satisfy me to <i>narrate</i>
      wrongs; I felt like <i>denouncing</i> them. I could not always curb my
      moral indignation<span class="pagenum">[282]</span> for the perpetrators
      of slaveholding villainy, long enough for a circumstantial statement of
      the facts which I felt almost everybody must know. Besides, I was growing,
      and needed room. "People won't believe you ever was a slave, Frederick, if
      you keep on this way," said Friend Foster. "Be yourself," said Collins,
      "and tell your story." It was said to me, "Better have a <i>little</i> of
      the plantation manner of speech than not; 'tis not best that you seem too
      learned." These excellent friends were actuated by the best of motives,
      and were not altogether wrong in their advice; and still I must speak just
      the word that seemed to <i>me</i> the word to be spoken <i>by</i> me.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last the apprehended trouble came. People doubted if I had ever been a
      slave. They said I did not talk like a slave, look like a slave, nor act
      like a slave, and that they believed I had never been south of Mason and
      Dixon's line. "He don't tell us where he came from&mdash;what his master's
      name was&mdash;how he got away&mdash;nor the story of his experience.
      Besides, he is educated, and is, in this, a contradiction of all the facts
      we have concerning the ignorance of the slaves." Thus, I was in a pretty
      fair way to be denounced as an impostor. The committee of the
      Massachusetts anti-slavery society knew all the facts in my case, and
      agreed with me in the prudence of keeping them private. They, therefore,
      never doubted my being a genuine fugitive; but going down the aisles of
      the churches in which I spoke, and hearing the free spoken Yankees saying,
      repeatedly, <i>"He's never been a slave, I'll warrant ye</i>," I resolved
      to dispel all doubt, at no distant day, by such a revelation of facts as
      could not be made by any other than a genuine fugitive.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a little less than four years, therefore, after becoming a public
      lecturer, I was induced to write out the leading facts connected with my
      experience in slavery, giving names of persons, places, and dates&mdash;thus
      putting it in the power of any who doubted, to ascertain the truth or
      falsehood of my story of being a fugitive slave. This statement soon
      became known in Maryland,<span class="pagenum">[283]</span> and I had
      reason to believe that an effort would be made to recapture me.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not probable that any open attempt to secure me as a slave could
      have succeeded, further than the obtainment, by my master, of the money
      value of my bones and sinews. Fortunately for me, in the four years of my
      labors in the abolition cause, I had gained many friends, who would have
      suffered themselves to be taxed to almost any extent to save me from
      slavery. It was felt that I had committed the double offense of running
      away, and exposing the secrets and crimes of slavery and slaveholders.
      There was a double motive for seeking my reenslavement&mdash;avarice and
      vengeance; and while, as I have said, there was little probability of
      successful recapture, if attempted openly, I was constantly in danger of
      being spirited away, at a moment when my friends could render me no
      assistance. In traveling about from place to place&mdash;often alone I was
      much exposed to this sort of attack. Any one cherishing the design to
      betray me, could easily do so, by simply tracing my whereabouts through
      the anti-slavery journals, for my meetings and movements were promptly
      made known in advance. My true friends, Mr. Garrison and Mr. Phillips, had
      no faith in the power of Massachusetts to protect me in my right to
      liberty. Public sentiment and the law, in their opinion, would hand me
      over to the tormentors. Mr. Phillips, especially, considered me in danger,
      and said, when I showed him the manuscript of my story, if in my place, he
      would throw it into the fire. Thus, the reader will observe, the settling
      of one difficulty only opened the way for another; and that though I had
      reached a free state, and had attained position for public usefulness, I
      ws(sic) still tormented with the liability of losing my liberty. How this
      liability was dispelled, will be related, with other incidents, in the
      next chapter.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV. <i>Twenty-One Months in Great Britain</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
GOOD ARISING OUT OF UNPROPITIOUS EVENTS&mdash;DENIED CABIN
PASSAGE&mdash;PROSCRIPTION TURNED TO GOOD ACCOUNT&mdash;THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY&mdash;THE
MOB ON BOARD THE "CAMBRIA"&mdash;HAPPY INTRODUCTION TO THE BRITISH
PUBLIC&mdash;LETTER ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON&mdash;TIME AND
LABORS WHILE ABROAD&mdash;FREEDOM PURCHASED&mdash;MRS. HENRY RICHARDSON&mdash;FREE
PAPERS&mdash;ABOLITIONISTS DISPLEASED WITH THE RANSOM&mdash;HOW MY ENERGIES
WERE DIRECTED&mdash;RECEPTION SPEECH IN LONDON&mdash;CHARACTER OF THE SPEECH
DEFENDED&mdash;CIRCUMSTANCES EXPLAINED&mdash;CAUSES CONTRIBUTING TO THE SUCCESS OF
MY MISSION&mdash;FREE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND&mdash;TESTIMONIAL.
</pre>
    <p>
      The allotments of Providence, when coupled with trouble and anxiety, often
      conceal from finite vision the wisdom and goodness in which they are sent;
      and, frequently, what seemed a harsh and invidious dispensation, is
      converted by after experience into a happy and beneficial arrangement.
      Thus, the painful liability to be returned again to slavery, which haunted
      me by day, and troubled my dreams by night, proved to be a necessary step
      in the path of knowledge and usefulness. The writing of my pamphlet, in
      the spring of 1845, endangered my liberty, and led me to seek a refuge
      from republican slavery in monarchical England. A rude, uncultivated
      fugitive slave was driven, by stern necessity, to that country to which
      young American gentlemen go to increase their stock of knowledge, to seek
      pleasure, to have their rough, democratic manners softened by contact with
      English aristocratic refinement. On applying for a passage to England, on
      board the "Cambria", of the Cunard line, my friend, James N. Buffum, of<span
      class="pagenum">[285]</span> Lynn, Massachusetts, was informed that I
      could not be received on board as a cabin passenger. American prejudice
      against color triumphed over British liberality and civilization, and
      erected a color test and condition for crossing the sea in the cabin of a
      British vessel. The insult was keenly felt by my white friends, but to me,
      it was common, expected, and therefore, a thing of no great consequence,
      whether I went in the cabin or in the steerage. Moreover, I felt that if I
      could not go into the first cabin, first-cabin passengers could come into
      the second cabin, and the result justified my anticipations to the fullest
      extent. Indeed, I soon found myself an object of more general interest
      than I wished to be; and so far from being degraded by being placed in the
      second cabin, that part of the ship became the scene of as much pleasure
      and refinement, during the voyage, as the cabin itself. The Hutchinson
      Family, celebrated vocalists&mdash;fellow-passengers&mdash;often came to
      my rude forecastle deck, and sung their sweetest songs, enlivening the
      place with eloquent music, as well as spirited conversation, during the
      voyage. In two days after leaving Boston, one part of the ship was about
      as free to me as another. My fellow-passengers not only visited me, but
      invited me to visit them, on the saloon deck. My visits there, however,
      were but seldom. I preferred to live within my privileges, and keep upon
      my own premises. I found this quite as much in accordance with good
      policy, as with my own feelings. The effect was, that with the majority of
      the passengers, all color distinctions were flung to the winds, and I
      found myself treated with every mark of respect, from the beginning to the
      end of the voyage, except in a single instance; and in that, I came near
      being mobbed, for complying with an invitation given me by the passengers,
      and the captain of the "Cambria," to deliver a lecture on slavery. Our New
      Orleans and Georgia passengers were pleased to regard my lecture as an
      insult offered to them, and swore I should not speak. They went so far as
      to threaten to throw me overboard, and but for the firmness of Captain
      Judkins,<span class="pagenum">[286]</span> probably would have (under the
      inspiration of <i>slavery</i> and <i>brandy</i>) attempted to put their
      threats into execution. I have no space to describe this scene, although
      its tragic and comic peculiarities are well worth describing. An end was
      put to the <i>melee</i>, by the captain's calling the ship's company to
      put the salt water mobocrats in irons. At this determined order, the
      gentlemen of the lash scampered, and for the rest of the voyage conducted
      themselves very decorously.
    </p>
    <p>
      This incident of the voyage, in two days after landing at Liverpool,
      brought me at once before the British public, and that by no act of my
      own. The gentlemen so promptly snubbed in their meditated violence, flew
      to the press to justify their conduct, and to denounce me as a worthless
      and insolent Negro. This course was even less wise than the conduct it was
      intended to sustain; for, besides awakening something like a national
      interest in me, and securing me an audience, it brought out counter
      statements, and threw the blame upon themselves, which they had sought to
      fasten upon me and the gallant captain of the ship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some notion may be formed of the difference in my feelings and
      circumstances, while abroad, from the following extract from one of a
      series of letters addressed by me to Mr. Garrison, and published in the <i>Liberator</i>.
      It was written on the first day of January, 1846:
    </p>
    <p>
      MY DEAR FRIEND GARRISON: Up to this time, I have given no direct
      expression of the views, feelings, and opinions which I have formed,
      respecting the character and condition of the people of this land. I have
      refrained thus, purposely. I wish to speak advisedly, and in order to do
      this, I have waited till, I trust, experience has brought my opinions to
      an intelligent maturity. I have been thus careful, not because I think
      what I say will have much effect in shaping the opinions of the world, but
      because whatever of influence I may possess, whether little or much, I
      wish it to go in the right direction, and according to truth. I hardly
      need say that, in speaking of Ireland, I shall be influenced by no
      prejudices in favor of America. I think my circumstances all forbid that.
      I have no end to serve, no creed to uphold, no government to defend; and
      as to nation, I belong to none. I have no protection at home, or
      resting-place abroad. The land of my birth welcomes me to her shores only
      as a slave, and spurns with contempt the idea of treating me differently;
      so that I am an outcast from the society of my childhood, and an outlaw in
      the<span class="pagenum">[287]</span> land of my birth. "I am a stranger
      with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were." That men should be
      patriotic, is to me perfectly natural; and as a philosophical fact, I am
      able to give it an <i>intellectual</i> recognition. But no further can I
      go. If ever I had any patriotism, or any capacity for the feeling, it was
      whipped out of me long since, by the lash of the American soul-drivers.
    </p>
    <p>
      In thinking of America, I sometimes find myself admiring her bright blue
      sky, her grand old woods, her fertile fields, her beautiful rivers, her
      mighty lakes, and star-crowned mountains. But my rapture is soon checked,
      my joy is soon turned to mourning. When I remember that all is cursed with
      the infernal spirit of slaveholding, robbery, and wrong; when I remember
      that with the waters of her noblest rivers, the tears of my brethren are
      borne to the ocean, disregarded and forgotten, and that her most fertile
      fields drink daily of the warm blood of my outraged sisters; I am filled
      with unutterable loathing, and led to reproach myself that anything could
      fall from my lips in praise of such a land. America will not allow her
      children to love her. She seems bent on compelling those who would be her
      warmest friends, to be her worst enemies. May God give her repentance,
      before it is too late, is the ardent prayer of my heart. I will continue
      to pray, labor, and wait, believing that she cannot always be insensible
      to the dictates of justice, or deaf to the voice of humanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      My opportunities for learning the character and condition of the people of
      this land have been very great. I have traveled almost from the Hill of
      Howth to the Giant's Causeway, and from the Giant's Causway, to Cape
      Clear. During these travels, I have met with much in the chara@@ and
      condition of the people to approve, and much to condemn; much that
      @@thrilled me with pleasure, and very much that has filled me with pain. I
      @@ @@t, in this letter, attempt to give any description of those scenes
      which have given me pain. This I will do hereafter. I have enough, and
      more than your subscribers will be disposed to read at one time, of the
      bright side of the picture. I can truly say, I have spent some of the
      happiest moments of my life since landing in this country. I seem to have
      undergone a transformation. I live a new life. The warm and generous
      cooperation extended to me by the friends of my despised race; the prompt
      and liberal manner with which the press has rendered me its aid; the
      glorious enthusiasm with which thousands have flocked to hear the cruel
      wrongs of my down-trodden and long-enslaved fellow-countrymen portrayed;
      the deep sympathy for the slave, and the strong abhorrence of the
      slaveholder, everywhere evinced; the cordiality with which members and
      ministers of various religious bodies, and of various shades of religious
      opinion, have embraced me, and lent me their aid; the kind of hospitality
      constantly proffered to me by persons of the highest rank in society; the
      spirit of freedom that seems to animate all with whom I come in contact,
      and the entire absence of everything that looked like prejudice against
      me, on account of the color of my skin&mdash;contrasted so strongly with
      my long and bitter experience in the United States, that I look with
      wonder and amazement on the transition. In the southern part of the United
      States, I was a slave, thought of<span class="pagenum">[288]</span> and
      spoken of as property; in the language of the LAW, "<i>held, taken,
      reputed, and adjudged to be a chattel in the hands of my owners and
      possessors, and their executors, administrators, and assigns, to all
      intents, constructions, and purposes whatsoever</i>." (Brev. Digest, 224).
      In the northern states, a fugitive slave, liable to be hunted at any
      moment, like a felon, and to be hurled into the terrible jaws of slavery&mdash;doomed
      by an inveterate prejudice against color to insult and outrage on every
      hand (Massachusetts out of the question)&mdash;denied the privileges and
      courtesies common to others in the use of the most humble means of
      conveyance&mdash;shut out from the cabins on steamboats&mdash;refused
      admission to respectable hotels&mdash;caricatured, scorned, scoffed,
      mocked, and maltreated with impunity by any one (no matter how black his
      heart), so he has a white skin. But now behold the change! Eleven days and
      a half gone, and I have crossed three thousand miles of the perilous deep.
      Instead of a democratic government, I am under a monarchical government.
      Instead of the bright, blue sky of America, I am covered with the soft,
      grey fog of the Emerald Isle. I breathe, and lo! the chattel becomes a
      man. I gaze around in vain for one who will question my equal humanity,
      claim me as his slave, or offer me an insult. I employ a cab&mdash;I am
      seated beside white people&mdash;I reach the hotel&mdash;I enter the same
      door&mdash;I am shown into the same parlor&mdash;I dine at the same table
      and no one is offended. No delicate nose grows deformed in my presence. I
      find no difficulty here in obtaining admission into any place of worship,
      instruction, or amusement, on equal terms with people as white as any I
      ever saw in the United States. I meet nothing to remind me of my
      complexion. I find myself regarded and treated at every turn with the
      kindness and deference paid to white people. When I go to church, I am met
      by no upturned nose and scornful lip to tell me, "<i>We don't allow
      niggers in here</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I remember, about two years ago, there was in Boston, near the south-west
      corner of Boston Common, a menagerie. I had long desired to see such a
      collection as I understood was being exhibited there. Never having had an
      opportunity while a slave, I resolved to seize this, my first, since my
      escape. I went, and as I approached the entrance to gain admission, I was
      met and told by the door-keeper, in a harsh and contemptuous tone, "<i>We
      don't allow niggers in here</i>." I also remember attending a revival
      meeting in the Rev. Henry Jackson's meeting-house, at New Bedford, and
      going up the broad aisle to find a seat, I was met by a good deacon, who
      told me, in a pious tone, "<i>We don't allow niggers in here</i>!" Soon
      after my arrival in New Bedford, from the south, I had a strong desire to
      attend the Lyceum, but was told, "<i>They don't allow niggers in here</i>!"
      While passing from New York to Boston, on the steamer Massachusetts, on
      the night of the 9th of December, 1843, when chilled almost through with
      the cold, I went into the cabin to get a little warm. I was soon touched
      upon the shoulder, and told, "<i>We don't allow niggers in here</i>!" On
      arriving in Boston, from an anti-slavery tour, hungry and tired, I went
      into an eating-house, near my friend, Mr. Campbell's to get some
      refreshments. I was met by a lad in a white apron, "<i>We don't allow
      niggers in here</i>!"<span class="pagenum">[289]</span> A week or two
      before leaving the United States, I had a meeting appointed at Weymouth,
      the home of that glorious band of true abolitionists, the Weston family,
      and others. On attempting to take a seat in the omnibus to that place, I
      was told by the driver (and I never shall forget his fiendish hate). "<i>I
      don't allow niggers in here</i>!" Thank heaven for the respite I now
      enjoy! I had been in Dublin but a few days, when a gentleman of great
      respectability kindly offered to conduct me through all the public
      buildings of that beautiful city; and a little afterward, I found myself
      dining with the lord mayor of Dublin. What a pity there was not some
      American democratic Christian at the door of his splendid mansion, to bark
      out at my approach, "<i>They don't allow niggers in here</i>!" The truth
      is, the people here know nothing of the republican Negro hate prevalent in
      our glorious land. They measure and esteem men according to their moral
      and intellectual worth, and not according to the color of their skin.
      Whatever may be said of the aristocracies here, there is none based on the
      color of a man's skin. This species of aristocracy belongs preeminently to
      "the land of the free, and the home of the brave." I have never found it
      abroad, in any but Americans. It sticks to them wherever they go. They
      find it almost as hard to get rid of, as to get rid of their skins.
    </p>
    <p>
      The second day after my arrival at Liverpool, in company with my friend,
      Buffum, and several other friends, I went to Eaton Hall, the residence of
      the Marquis of Westminster, one of the most splendid buildings in England.
      On approaching the door, I found several of our American passengers, who
      came out with us in the "Cambria," waiting for admission, as but one party
      was allowed in the house at a time. We all had to wait till the company
      within came out. And of all the faces, expressive of chagrin, those of the
      Americans were preeminent. They looked as sour as vinegar, and as bitter
      as gall, when they found I was to be admitted on equal terms with
      themselves. When the door was opened, I walked in, on an equal footing
      with my white fellow-citizens, and from all I could see, I had as much
      attention paid me by the servants that showed us through the house, as any
      with a paler skin. As I walked through the building, the statuary did not
      fall down, the pictures did not leap from their places, the doors did not
      refuse to open, and the servants did not say, "<i>We don't allow niggers
      in here</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      A happy new-year to you, and all the friends of freedom.
    </p>
    <p>
      My time and labors, while abroad were divided between England, Ireland,
      Scotland, and Wales. Upon this experience alone, I might write a book
      twice the size of this, <i>My Bondage and My Freedom</i>. I visited and
      lectured in nearly all the large towns and cities in the United Kingdom,
      and enjoyed many favorable opportunities for observation and information.
      But books on England are abundant, and the public may, therefore, dismiss
      any fear that I am meditating another infliction in that line;<span
      class="pagenum">[290]</span> though, in truth, I should like much to write
      a book on those countries, if for nothing else, to make grateful mention
      of the many dear friends, whose benevolent actions toward me are
      ineffaceably stamped upon my memory, and warmly treasured in my heart. To
      these friends I owe my freedom in the United States. On their own motion,
      without any solicitation from me (Mrs. Henry Richardson, a clever lady,
      remarkable for her devotion to every good work, taking the lead), they
      raised a fund sufficient to purchase my freedom, and actually paid it
      over, and placed the papers <a href="#linknote-8" name="linknoteref-8"
      id="linknoteref-8"><small>8</small></a> of my manumission in my hands,
      before <span class="pagenum">[291]</span> they would tolerate the idea of
      my returning to this, my native country. To this commercial transaction I
      owe my exemption from the democratic operation of the Fugitive Slave Bill
      of 1850. But for this, I might at any time become a victim of this most
      cruel and scandalous enactment, and be doomed to end my life, as I began
      it, a slave. The sum paid for my freedom was one hundred and fifty pounds
      sterling.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some of my uncompromising anti-slavery friends in this country failed to
      see the wisdom of this arrangement, and were not pleased that I consented
      to it, even by my silence. They thought it a violation of anti-slavery
      principles&mdash;conceding a right of property in man&mdash;and a wasteful
      expenditure of money. On the other hand, viewing it simply in the light of
      a ransom, or as money extorted by a robber, and my liberty of more value
      than one hundred and fifty pounds sterling, I could not see either a
      violation of the laws of morality, or those of economy, in the
      transaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is true, I was not in the possession of my claimants, and could have
      easily remained in England, for the same friends who had so generously
      purchased my freedom, would have assisted me in establishing myself in
      that country. To this, however, I could not consent. I felt that I had a
      duty to perform&mdash;and that was, to labor and suffer with the oppressed
      in my native land. Considering, therefore, all the circumstances&mdash;the
      fugitive slave bill included&mdash;I think the very best thing was done in
      letting Master Hugh have the hundred and fifty pounds sterling, and
      leaving me free to return to my appropriate field of labor. Had I been a
      private person, having no other relations or duties than those of a
      personal and family nature, I should never have consented to the payment
      of so large a sum for the privilege of living securely under our glorious
      republican form of government. I could have remained in England, or have
      gone to some other country; and perhaps I could even have lived unobserved
      in this. But to this I could not consent. I had already become some<span
      class="pagenum">[292]</span> what notorious, and withal quite as unpopular
      as notorious; and I was, therefore, much exposed to arrest and recapture.
    </p>
    <p>
      The main object to which my labors in Great Britain were directed, was the
      concentration of the moral and religious sentiment of its people against
      American slavery. England is often charged with having established slavery
      in the United States, and if there were no other justification than this,
      for appealing to her people to lend their moral aid for the abolition of
      slavery, I should be justified. My speeches in Great Britain were wholly
      extemporaneous, and I may not always have been so guarded in my
      expressions, as I otherwise should have been. I was ten years younger then
      than now, and only seven years from slavery. I cannot give the reader a
      better idea of the nature of my discourses, than by republishing one of
      them, delivered in Finsbury chapel, London, to an audience of about two
      thousand persons, and which was published in the <i>London Universe</i>,
      at the time. <a href="#linknote-9" name="linknoteref-9" id="linknoteref-9"><small>9</small></a>
    </p>
    <p>
      Those in the United States who may regard this speech as being harsh in
      its spirit and unjust in its statements, because delivered before an
      audience supposed to be anti-republican in their principles and feelings,
      may view the matter differently, when they learn that the case supposed
      did not exist. It so happened that the great mass of the people in England
      who attended and patronized my anti-slavery meetings, were, in truth,
      about as good republicans as the mass of Americans, and with this decided
      advantage over the latter&mdash;they are lovers of republicanism for all
      men, for black men as well as for white men. They are the people who
      sympathize with Louis Kossuth and Mazzini, and with the oppressed and
      enslaved, of every color and nation, the world over. They constitute the
      democratic element in British politics, and are as much opposed to the
      union of church and state as we, in America, are to such an union. At the
      meeting where this speech was delivered, Joseph Sturge&mdash;a world-wide
      philanthropist,<span class="pagenum">[293]</span> and a member of the
      society of Friends&mdash;presided, and addressed the meeting. George
      William Alexander, another Friend, who has spent more than an
      Ameriacn(sic) fortune in promoting the anti-slavery cause in different
      sections of the world, was on the platform; and also Dr. Campbell (now of
      the <i>British Banner</i>) who combines all the humane tenderness of
      Melanchthon, with the directness and boldness of Luther. He is in the very
      front ranks of non-conformists, and looks with no unfriendly eye upon
      America. George Thompson, too, was there; and America will yet own that he
      did a true man's work in relighting the rapidly dying-out fire of true
      republicanism in the American heart, and be ashamed of the treatment he
      met at her hands. Coming generations in this country will applaud the
      spirit of this much abused republican friend of freedom. There were others
      of note seated on the platform, who would gladly ingraft upon English
      institutions all that is purely republican in the institutions of America.
      Nothing, therefore, must be set down against this speech on the score that
      it was delivered in the presence of those who cannot appreciate the many
      excellent things belonging to our system of government, and with a view to
      stir up prejudice against republican institutions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again, let it also be remembered&mdash;for it is the simple truth&mdash;that
      neither in this speech, nor in any other which I delivered in England, did
      I ever allow myself to address Englishmen as against Americans. I took my
      stand on the high ground of human brotherhood, and spoke to Englishmen as
      men, in behalf of men. Slavery is a crime, not against Englishmen, but
      against God, and all the members of the human family; and it belongs to
      the whole human family to seek its suppression. In a letter to Mr.
      Greeley, of the New York Tribune, written while abroad, I said:
    </p>
    <p>
      I am, nevertheless aware that the wisdom of exposing the sins of one
      nation in the ear of another, has been seriously questioned by good and
      clear-sighted people, both on this and on your side of the Atlantic. And
      the<span class="pagenum">[294]</span> thought is not without weight on my
      own mind. I am satisfied that there are many evils which can be best
      removed by confining our efforts to the immediate locality where such
      evils exist. This, however, is by no means the case with the system of
      slavery. It is such a giant sin&mdash;such a monstrous aggregation of
      iniquity&mdash;so hardening to the human heart&mdash;so destructive to the
      moral sense, and so well calculated to beget a character, in every one
      around it, favorable to its own continuance,&mdash;that I feel not only at
      liberty, but abundantly justified, in appealing to the whole world to aid
      in its removal.
    </p>
    <p>
      But, even if I had&mdash;as has been often charged&mdash;labored to bring
      American institutions generally into disrepute, and had not confined my
      labors strictly within the limits of humanity and morality, I should not
      have been without illustrious examples to support me. Driven into
      semi-exile by civil and barbarous laws, and by a system which cannot be
      thought of without a shudder, I was fully justified in turning, if
      possible, the tide of the moral universe against the heaven-daring
      outrage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Four circumstances greatly assisted me in getting the question of American
      slavery before the British public. First, the mob on board the "Cambria,"
      already referred to, which was a sort of national announcement of my
      arrival in England. Secondly, the highly reprehensible course pursued by
      the Free Church of Scotland, in soliciting, receiving, and retaining money
      in its sustentation fund for supporting the gospel in Scotland, which was
      evidently the ill-gotten gain of slaveholders and slave-traders. Third,
      the great Evangelical Alliance&mdash;or rather the attempt to form such an
      alliance, which should include slaveholders of a certain description&mdash;added
      immensely to the interest felt in the slavery question. About the same
      time, there was the World's Temperance Convention, where I had the
      misfortune to come in collision with sundry American doctors of divinity&mdash;Dr.
      Cox among the number&mdash;with whom I had a small controversy.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has happened to me&mdash;as it has happened to most other men engaged
      in a good cause&mdash;often to be more indebted to my enemies than to my
      own skill or to the assistance of my friends, for whatever success has
      attended my labors. Great surprise was<span class="pagenum">[295]</span>
      expressed by American newspapers, north and south, during my stay in Great
      Britain, that a person so illiterate and insignificant as myself could
      awaken an interest so marked in England. These papers were not the only
      parties surprised. I was myself not far behind them in surprise. But the
      very contempt and scorn, the systematic and extravagant disparagement of
      which I was the object, served, perhaps, to magnify my few merits, and to
      render me of some account, whether deserving or not. A man is sometimes
      made great, by the greatness of the abuse a portion of mankind may think
      proper to heap upon him. Whether I was of as much consequence as the
      English papers made me out to be, or not, it was easily seen, in England,
      that I could not be the ignorant and worthless creature, some of the
      American papers would have them believe I was. Men, in their senses, do
      not take bowie-knives to kill mosquitoes, nor pistols to shoot flies; and
      the American passengers who thought proper to get up a mob to silence me,
      on board the "Cambria," took the most effective method of telling the
      British public that I had something to say.
    </p>
    <p>
      But to the second circumstance, namely, the position of the Free Church of
      Scotland, with the great Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish at its
      head. That church, with its leaders, put it out of the power of the Scotch
      people to ask the old question, which we in the north have often most
      wickedly asked&mdash;"<i>What have we to do with slavery</i>?" That church
      had taken the price of blood into its treasury, with which to build <i>free</i>
      churches, and to pay <i>free</i> church ministers for preaching the
      gospel; and, worse still, when honest John Murray, of Bowlien Bay&mdash;now
      gone to his reward in heaven&mdash;with William Smeal, Andrew Paton,
      Frederick Card, and other sterling anti-slavery men in Glasgow, denounced
      the transaction as disgraceful and shocking to the religious sentiment of
      Scotland, this church, through its leading divines, instead of repenting
      and seeking to mend the mistake into which it had fallen, made it a
      flagrant sin, by undertaking to defend, in the name of God and the bible,
      the principle not only<span class="pagenum">[296]</span> of taking the
      money of slave-dealers to build churches, but of holding fellowship with
      the holders and traffickers in human flesh. This, the reader will see,
      brought up the whole question of slavery, and opened the way to its full
      discussion, without any agency of mine. I have never seen a people more
      deeply moved than were the people of Scotland, on this very question.
      Public meeting succeeded public meeting. Speech after speech, pamphlet
      after pamphlet, editorial after editorial, sermon after sermon, soon
      lashed the conscientious Scotch people into a perfect <i>furore</i>. "SEND
      BACK THE MONEY!" was indignantly cried out, from Greenock to Edinburgh,
      and from Edinburgh to Aberdeen. George Thompson, of London, Henry C.
      Wright, of the United States, James N. Buffum, of Lynn, Massachusetts, and
      myself were on the anti-slavery side; and Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham,
      and Candlish on the other. In a conflict where the latter could have had
      even the show of right, the truth, in our hands as against them, must have
      been driven to the wall; and while I believe we were able to carry the
      conscience of the country against the action of the Free Church, the
      battle, it must be confessed, was a hard-fought one. Abler defenders of
      the doctrine of fellowshiping slaveholders as christians, have not been
      met with. In defending this doctrine, it was necessary to deny that
      slavery is a sin. If driven from this position, they were compelled to
      deny that slaveholders were responsible for the sin; and if driven from
      both these positions, they must deny that it is a sin in such a sense, and
      that slaveholders are sinners in such a sense, as to make it wrong, in the
      circumstances in which they were placed, to recognize them as Christians.
      Dr. Cunningham was the most powerful debater on the slavery side of the
      question; Mr. Thompson was the ablest on the anti-slavery side. A scene
      occurred between these two men, a parallel to which I think I never
      witnessed before, and I know I never have since. The scene was caused by a
      single exclamation on the part of Mr. Thompson.
    </p>
    <p>
      The general assembly of the Free Church was in progress at<span
      class="pagenum">[297]</span> Cannon Mills, Edinburgh. The building would
      hold about twenty-five hundred persons; and on this occasion it was
      densely packed, notice having been given that Doctors Cunningham and
      Candlish would speak, that day, in defense of the relations of the Free
      Church of Scotland to slavery in America. Messrs. Thompson, Buffum,
      myself, and a few anti-slavery friends, attended, but sat at such a
      distance, and in such a position, that, perhaps we were not observed from
      the platform. The excitement was intense, having been greatly increased by
      a series of meetings held by Messrs. Thompson, Wright, Buffum, and myself,
      in the most splendid hall in that most beautiful city, just previous to
      the meetings of the general assembly. "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" stared at us
      from every street corner; "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" in large capitals,
      adorned the broad flags of the pavement; "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was the
      chorus of the popular street songs; "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was the heading
      of leading editorials in the daily newspapers. This day, at Cannon Mills,
      the great doctors of the church were to give an answer to this loud and
      stern demand. Men of all parties and all sects were most eager to hear.
      Something great was expected. The occasion was great, the men great, and
      great speeches were expected from them.
    </p>
    <p>
      In addition to the outside pressure upon Doctors Cunningham and Candlish,
      there was wavering in their own ranks. The conscience of the church itself
      was not at ease. A dissatisfaction with the position of the church
      touching slavery, was sensibly manifest among the members, and something
      must be done to counteract this untoward influence. The great Dr. Chalmers
      was in feeble health, at the time. His most potent eloquence could not now
      be summoned to Cannon Mills, as formerly. He whose voice was able to rend
      asunder and dash down the granite walls of the established church of
      Scotland, and to lead a host in solemn procession from it, as from a
      doomed city, was now old and enfeebled. Besides, he had said his word on
      this very question; and his word had not silenced the clamor without, nor
      stilled<span class="pagenum">[298]</span> the anxious heavings within. The
      occasion was momentous, and felt to be so. The church was in a perilous
      condition. A change of some sort must take place in her condition, or she
      must go to pieces. To stand where she did, was impossible. The whole
      weight of the matter fell on Cunningham and Candlish. No shoulders in the
      church were broader than theirs; and I must say, badly as I detest the
      principles laid down and defended by them, I was compelled to acknowledge
      the vast mental endowments of the men. Cunningham rose; and his rising was
      the signal for almost tumultous applause. You will say this was scarcely
      in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion, but to me it served to
      increase its grandeur and gravity. The applause, though tumultuous, was
      not joyous. It seemed to me, as it thundered up from the vast audience,
      like the fall of an immense shaft, flung from shoulders already galled by
      its crushing weight. It was like saying, "Doctor, we have borne this
      burden long enough, and willingly fling it upon you. Since it was you who
      brought it upon us, take it now, and do what you will with it, for we are
      too weary to bear it. ["no close"].
    </p>
    <p>
      Doctor Cunningham proceeded with his speech, abounding in logic, learning,
      and eloquence, and apparently bearing down all opposition; but at the
      moment&mdash;the fatal moment&mdash;when he was just bringing all his
      arguments to a point, and that point being, that neither Jesus Christ nor
      his holy apostles regarded slaveholding as a sin, George Thompson, in a
      clear, sonorous, but rebuking voice, broke the deep stillness of the
      audience, exclaiming, HEAR! HEAR! HEAR! The effect of this simple and
      common exclamation is almost incredible. It was as if a granite wall had
      been suddenly flung up against the advancing current of a mighty river.
      For a moment, speaker and audience were brought to a dead silence. Both
      the doctor and his hearers seemed appalled by the audacity, as well as the
      fitness of the rebuke. At length a shout went up to the cry of "<i>Put him
      out</i>!" Happily, no one attempted to execute this cowardly order, and
      the doctor proceeded with his discourse. Not, however, as before, did the<span
      class="pagenum">[299]</span> learned doctor proceed. The exclamation of
      Thompson must have reechoed itself a thousand times in his memory, during
      the remainder of his speech, for the doctor never recovered from the blow.
    </p>
    <p>
      The deed was done, however; the pillars of the church&mdash;<i>the proud,
      Free Church of Scotland</i>&mdash;were committed and the humility of
      repentance was absent. The Free Church held on to the blood-stained money,
      and continued to justify itself in its position&mdash;and of course to
      apologize for slavery&mdash;and does so till this day. She lost a glorious
      opportunity for giving her voice, her vote, and her example to the cause
      of humanity; and to-day she is staggering under the curse of the enslaved,
      whose blood is in her skirts. The people of Scotland are, to this day,
      deeply grieved at the course pursued by the Free Church, and would hail,
      as a relief from a deep and blighting shame, the "sending back the money"
      to the slaveholders from whom it was gathered.
    </p>
    <p>
      One good result followed the conduct of the Free Church; it furnished an
      occasion for making the people of Scotland thoroughly acquainted with the
      character of slavery, and for arraying against the system the moral and
      religious sentiment of that country. Therefore, while we did not succeed
      in accomplishing the specific object of our mission, namely&mdash;procure
      the sending back of the money&mdash;we were amply justified by the good
      which really did result from our labors.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next comes the Evangelical Alliance. This was an attempt to form a union
      of all evangelical Christians throughout the world. Sixty or seventy
      American divines attended, and some of them went there merely to weave a
      world-wide garment with which to clothe evangelical slaveholders. Foremost
      among these divines, was the Rev. Samuel Hanson Cox, moderator of the New
      School Presbyterian General Assembly. He and his friends spared no pains
      to secure a platform broad enough to hold American slaveholders, and in
      this partly succeeded. But the question of slavery is too large a question
      to be finally disposed of, even by the<span class="pagenum">[300]</span>
      Evangelical Alliance. We appealed from the judgment of the Alliance, to
      the judgment of the people of Great Britain, and with the happiest effect.
      This controversy with the Alliance might be made the subject of extended
      remark, but I must forbear, except to say, that this effort to shield the
      Christian character of slaveholders greatly served to open a way to the
      British ear for anti-slavery discussion, and that it was well improved.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fourth and last circumstance that assisted me in getting before the
      British public, was an attempt on the part of certain doctors of divinity
      to silence me on the platform of the World's Temperance Convention. Here I
      was brought into point blank collison with Rev. Dr. Cox, who made me the
      subject not only of bitter remark in the convention, but also of a long
      denunciatory letter published in the New York Evangelist and other
      American papers. I replied to the doctor as well as I could, and was
      successful in getting a respectful hearing before the British public, who
      are by nature and practice ardent lovers of fair play, especially in a
      conflict between the weak and the strong.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus did circumstances favor me, and favor the cause of which I strove to
      be the advocate. After such distinguished notice, the public in both
      countries was compelled to attach some importance to my labors. By the
      very ill usage I received at the hands of Dr. Cox and his party, by the
      mob on board the "Cambria," by the attacks made upon me in the American
      newspapers, and by the aspersions cast upon me through the organs of the
      Free Church of Scotland, I became one of that class of men, who, for the
      moment, at least, "have greatness forced upon them." People became the
      more anxious to hear for themselves, and to judge for themselves, of the
      truth which I had to unfold. While, therefore, it is by no means easy for
      a stranger to get fairly before the British public, it was my lot to
      accomplish it in the easiest manner possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Having continued in Great Britain and Ireland nearly two years, and being
      about to return to America&mdash;not as I left it, a<span class="pagenum">[301]</span>
      slave, but a freeman&mdash;leading friends of the cause of emancipation in
      that country intimated their intention to make me a testimonial, not only
      on grounds of personal regard to myself, but also to the cause to which
      they were so ardently devoted. How far any such thing could have
      succeeded, I do not know; but many reasons led me to prefer that my
      friends should simply give me the means of obtaining a printing press and
      printing materials, to enable me to start a paper, devoted to the
      interests of my enslaved and oppressed people. I told them that perhaps
      the greatest hinderance to the adoption of abolition principles by the
      people of the United States, was the low estimate, everywhere in that
      country, placed upon the Negro, as a man; that because of his assumed
      natural inferiority, people reconciled themselves to his enslavement and
      oppression, as things inevitable, if not desirable. The grand thing to be
      done, therefore, was to change the estimation in which the colored people
      of the United States were held; to remove the prejudice which depreciated
      and depressed them; to prove them worthy of a higher consideration; to
      disprove their alleged inferiority, and demonstrate their capacity for a
      more exalted civilization than slavery and prejudice had assigned to them.
      I further stated, that, in my judgment, a tolerably well conducted press,
      in the hands of persons of the despised race, by calling out the mental
      energies of the race itself; by making them acquainted with their own
      latent powers; by enkindling among them the hope that for them there is a
      future; by developing their moral power; by combining and reflecting their
      talents&mdash;would prove a most powerful means of removing prejudice, and
      of awakening an interest in them. I further informed them&mdash;and at
      that time the statement was true&mdash;that there was not, in the United
      States, a single newspaper regularly published by the colored people; that
      many attempts had been made to establish such papers; but that, up to that
      time, they had all failed. These views I laid before my friends. The
      result was, nearly two thousand five hundred dollars were speedily<span
      class="pagenum">[302]</span> raised toward starting my paper. For this
      prompt and generous assistance, rendered upon my bare suggestion, without
      any personal efforts on my part, I shall never cease to feel deeply
      grateful; and the thought of fulfilling the noble expectations of the dear
      friends who gave me this evidence of their confidence, will never cease to
      be a motive for persevering exertion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Proposing to leave England, and turning my face toward America, in the
      spring of 1847, I was met, on the threshold, with something which
      painfully reminded me of the kind of life which awaited me in my native
      land. For the first time in the many months spent abroad, I was met with
      proscription on account of my color. A few weeks before departing from
      England, while in London, I was careful to purchase a ticket, and secure a
      berth for returning home, in the "Cambria"&mdash;the steamer in which I
      left the United States&mdash;paying therefor the round sum of forty pounds
      and nineteen shillings sterling. This was first cabin fare. But on going
      aboard the Cambria, I found that the Liverpool agent had ordered my berth
      to be given to another, and had forbidden my entering the saloon! This
      contemptible conduct met with stern rebuke from the British press. For,
      upon the point of leaving England, I took occasion to expose the
      disgusting tyranny, in the columns of the London <i>Times</i>. That
      journal, and other leading journals throughout the United Kingdom, held up
      the outrage to unmitigated condemnation. So good an opportunity for
      calling out a full expression of British sentiment on the subject, had not
      before occurred, and it was most fully embraced. The result was, that Mr.
      Cunard came out in a letter to the public journals, assuring them of his
      regret at the outrage, and promising that the like should never occur
      again on board his steamers; and the like, we believe, has never since
      occurred on board the steamships of the Cunard line.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not very pleasant to be made the subject of such insults; but if all
      such necessarily resulted as this one did, I should be very happy to bear,
      patiently, many more than I have borne, of<span class="pagenum">[303]</span>
      the same sort. Albeit, the lash of proscription, to a man accustomed to
      equal social position, even for a time, as I was, has a sting for the soul
      hardly less severe than that which bites the flesh and draws the blood
      from the back of the plantation slave. It was rather hard, after having
      enjoyed nearly two years of equal social privileges in England, often
      dining with gentlemen of great literary, social, political, and religious
      eminence never, during the whole time, having met with a single word,
      look, or gesture, which gave me the slightest reason to think my color was
      an offense to anybody&mdash;now to be cooped up in the stern of the
      "Cambria," and denied the right to enter the saloon, lest my dark presence
      should be deemed an offense to some of my democratic fellow-passengers.
      The reader will easily imagine what must have been my feelings.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV. <i>Various Incidents</i>
    </h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
NEWSPAPER ENTERPRISE&mdash;UNEXPECTED OPPOSITION&mdash;THE OBJECTIONS TO IT&mdash;THEIR
PLAUSIBILITY ADMITTED&mdash;MOTIVES FOR COMING TO ROCHESTER&mdash;DISCIPLE OF MR.
GARRISON&mdash;CHANGE OF OPINION&mdash;CAUSES LEADING TO IT&mdash;THE CONSEQUENCES OF
THE CHANGE&mdash;PREJUDICE AGAINST COLOR&mdash;AMUSING CONDESCENSION&mdash;"JIM CROW
CARS"&mdash;COLLISIONS WITH CONDUCTORS AND BRAKEMEN&mdash;TRAINS ORDERED NOT TO
STOP AT LYNN&mdash;AMUSING DOMESTIC SCENE&mdash;SEPARATE TABLES FOR MASTER AND
MAN&mdash;PREJUDICE UNNATURAL&mdash;ILLUSTRATIONS&mdash;IN HIGH COMPANY&mdash;ELEVATION OF
THE FREE PEOPLE OF COLOR&mdash;PLEDGE FOR THE FUTURE.
</pre>
    <p>
      I have now given the reader an imperfect sketch of nine years' experience
      in freedom&mdash;three years as a common laborer on the wharves of New
      Bedford, four years as a lecturer in New England, and two years of
      semi-exile in Great Britain and Ireland. A single ray of light remains to
      be flung upon my life during the last eight years, and my story will be
      done.
    </p>
    <p>
      A trial awaited me on my return from England to the United States, for
      which I was but very imperfectly prepared. My plans for my then future
      usefulness as an anti-slavery advocate were all settled. My friends in
      England had resolved to raise a given sum to purchase for me a press and
      printing materials; and I already saw myself wielding my pen, as well as
      my voice, in the great work of renovating the public mind, and building up
      a public sentiment which should, at least, send slavery and oppression to
      the grave, and restore to "liberty and the pursuit of happiness" the
      people with whom I had suffered, both as a<span class="pagenum">[305]</span>
      slave and as a freeman. Intimation had reached my friends in Boston of
      what I intended to do, before my arrival, and I was prepared to find them
      favorably disposed toward my much cherished enterprise. In this I was
      mistaken. I found them very earnestly opposed to the idea of my starting a
      paper, and for several reasons. First, the paper was not needed; secondly,
      it would interfere with my usefulness as a lecturer; thirdly, I was better
      fitted to speak than to write; fourthly, the paper could not succeed. This
      opposition, from a quarter so highly esteemed, and to which I had been
      accustomed to look for advice and direction, caused me not only to
      hesitate, but inclined me to abandon the enterprise. All previous attempts
      to establish such a journal having failed, I felt that probably I should
      but add another to the list of failures, and thus contribute another proof
      of the mental and moral deficiencies of my race. Very much that was said
      to me in respect to my imperfect literary acquirements, I felt to be most
      painfully true. The unsuccessful projectors of all the previous colored
      newspapers were my superiors in point of education, and if they failed,
      how could I hope for success? Yet I did hope for success, and persisted in
      the undertaking. Some of my English friends greatly encouraged me to go
      forward, and I shall never cease to be grateful for their words of cheer
      and generous deeds.
    </p>
    <p>
      I can easily pardon those who have denounced me as ambitious and
      presumptuous, in view of my persistence in this enterprise. I was but nine
      years from slavery. In point of mental experience, I was but nine years
      old. That one, in such circumstances, should aspire to establish a
      printing press, among an educated people, might well be considered, if not
      ambitious, quite silly. My American friends looked at me with
      astonishment! "A wood-sawyer" offering himself to the public as an editor!
      A slave, brought up in the very depths of ignorance, assuming to instruct
      the highly civilized people of the north in the principles of liberty,
      justice, and humanity! The thing looked absurd. Nevertheless, I<span
      class="pagenum">[306]</span> persevered. I felt that the want of
      education, great as it was, could be overcome by study, and that knowledge
      would come by experience; and further (which was perhaps the most
      controlling consideration). I thought that an intelligent public, knowing
      my early history, would easily pardon a large share of the deficiencies
      which I was sure that my paper would exhibit. The most distressing thing,
      however, was the offense which I was about to give my Boston friends, by
      what seemed to them a reckless disregard of their sage advice. I am not
      sure that I was not under the influence of something like a slavish
      adoration of my Boston friends, and I labored hard to convince them of the
      wisdom of my undertaking, but without success. Indeed, I never expect to
      succeed, although time has answered all their original objections. The
      paper has been successful. It is a large sheet, costing eighty dollars per
      week&mdash;has three thousand subscribers&mdash;has been published
      regularly nearly eight years&mdash;and bids fair to stand eight years
      longer. At any rate, the eight years to come are as full of promise as
      were the eight that are past.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not to be concealed, however, that the maintenance of such a
      journal, under the circumstances, has been a work of much difficulty; and
      could all the perplexity, anxiety, and trouble attending it, have been
      clearly foreseen, I might have shrunk from the undertaking. As it is, I
      rejoice in having engaged in the enterprise, and count it joy to have been
      able to suffer, in many ways, for its success, and for the success of the
      cause to which it has been faithfully devoted. I look upon the time,
      money, and labor bestowed upon it, as being amply rewarded, in the
      development of my own mental and moral energies, and in the corresponding
      development of my deeply injured and oppressed people.
    </p>
    <p>
      From motives of peace, instead of issuing my paper in Boston, among my New
      England friends, I came to Rochester, western New York, among strangers,
      where the circulation of my paper could not interfere with the local
      circulation of the <i>Liberator</i> and the <i>Standard;</i> for at that
      time I was, on the anti-slavery question,<span class="pagenum">[307]</span>
      a faithful disciple of William Lloyd Garrison, and fully committed to his
      doctrine touching the pro-slavery character of the constitution of the
      United States, and the <i>non-voting principle</i>, of which he is the
      known and distinguished advocate. With Mr. Garrison, I held it to be the
      first duty of the non-slaveholding states to dissolve the union with the
      slaveholding states; and hence my cry, like his, was, "No union with
      slaveholders." With these views, I came into western New York; and during
      the first four years of my labor here, I advocated them with pen and
      tongue, according to the best of my ability.
    </p>
    <p>
      About four years ago, upon a reconsideration of the whole subject, I
      became convinced that there was no necessity for dissolving the "union
      between the northern and southern states;" that to seek this dissolution
      was no part of my duty as an abolitionist; that to abstain from voting,
      was to refuse to exercise a legitimate and powerful means for abolishing
      slavery; and that the constitution of the United States not only contained
      no guarantees in favor of slavery, but, on the contrary, it is, in its
      letter and spirit, an anti-slavery instrument, demanding the abolition of
      slavery as a condition of its own existence, as the supreme law of the
      land.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here was a radical change in my opinions, and in the action logically
      resulting from that change. To those with whom I had been in agreement and
      in sympathy, I was now in opposition. What they held to be a great and
      important truth, I now looked upon as a dangerous error. A very painful,
      and yet a very natural, thing now happened. Those who could not see any
      honest reasons for changing their views, as I had done, could not easily
      see any such reasons for my change, and the common punishment of apostates
      was mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      The opinions first entertained were naturally derived and honestly
      entertained, and I trust that my present opinions have the same claims to
      respect. Brought directly, when I escaped from slavery, into contact with
      a class of abolitionists regarding the<span class="pagenum">[308]</span>
      constitution as a slaveholding instrument, and finding their views
      supported by the united and entire history of every department of the
      government, it is not strange that I assumed the constitution to be just
      what their interpretation made it. I was bound, not only by their superior
      knowledge, to take their opinions as the true ones, in respect to the
      subject, but also because I had no means of showing their unsoundness. But
      for the responsibility of conducting a public journal, and the necessity
      imposed upon me of meeting opposite views from abolitionists in this
      state, I should in all probability have remained as firm in my disunion
      views as any other disciple of William Lloyd Garrison.
    </p>
    <p>
      My new circumstances compelled me to re-think the whole subject, and to
      study, with some care, not only the just and proper rules of legal
      interpretation, but the origin, design, nature, rights, powers, and duties
      of civil government, and also the relations which human beings sustain to
      it. By such a course of thought and reading, I was conducted to the
      conclusion that the constitution of the United States&mdash;inaugurated
      "to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic
      tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare,
      and secure the blessing of liberty"&mdash;could not well have been
      designed at the same time to maintain and perpetuate a system of rapine
      and murder, like slavery; especially, as not one word can be found in the
      constitution to authorize such a belief. Then, again, if the declared
      purposes of an instrument are to govern the meaning of all its parts and
      details, as they clearly should, the constitution of our country is our
      warrant for the abolition of slavery in every state in the American Union.
      I mean, however, not to argue, but simply to state my views. It would
      require very many pages of a volume like this, to set forth the arguments
      demonstrating the unconstitutionality and the complete illegality of
      slavery in our land; and as my experience, and not my arguments, is within
      the scope and contemplation of this volume, I omit the latter and proceed
      with the former.<span class="pagenum">[309]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      I will now ask the kind reader to go back a little in my story, while I
      bring up a thread left behind for convenience sake, but which, small as it
      is, cannot be properly omitted altogether; and that thread is American
      prejudice against color, and its varied illustrations in my own
      experience.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I first went among the abolitionists of New England, and began to
      travel, I found this prejudice very strong and very annoying. The
      abolitionists themselves were not entirely free from it, and I could see
      that they were nobly struggling against it. In their eagerness, sometimes,
      to show their contempt for the feeling, they proved that they had not
      entirely recovered from it; often illustrating the saying, in their
      conduct, that a man may "stand up so straight as to lean backward." When
      it was said to me, "Mr. Douglass, I will walk to meeting with you; I am
      not afraid of a black man," I could not help thinking&mdash;seeing nothing
      very frightful in my appearance&mdash;"And why should you be?" The
      children at the north had all been educated to believe that if they were
      bad, the old <i>black</i> man&mdash;not the old <i>devil</i>&mdash;would
      get them; and it was evidence of some courage, for any so educated to get
      the better of their fears.
    </p>
    <p>
      The custom of providing separate cars for the accommodation of colored
      travelers, was established on nearly all the railroads of New England, a
      dozen years ago. Regarding this custom as fostering the spirit of caste, I
      made it a rule to seat myself in the cars for the accommodation of
      passengers generally. Thus seated, I was sure to be called upon to betake
      myself to the "<i>Jim Crow car</i>." Refusing to obey, I was often dragged
      out of my seat, beaten, and severely bruised, by conductors and brakemen.
      Attempting to start from Lynn, one day, for Newburyport, on the Eastern
      railroad, I went, as my custom was, into one of the best railroad
      carriages on the road. The seats were very luxuriant and beautiful. I was
      soon waited upon by the conductor, and ordered out; whereupon I demanded
      the reason for my invidious removal. After a good deal of parleying, I was
      told that it was because I<span class="pagenum">[310]</span> was black.
      This I denied, and appealed to the company to sustain my denial; but they
      were evidently unwilling to commit themselves, on a point so delicate, and
      requiring such nice powers of discrimination, for they remained as dumb as
      death. I was soon waited on by half a dozen fellows of the baser sort
      (just such as would volunteer to take a bull-dog out of a meeting-house in
      time of public worship), and told that I must move out of that seat, and
      if I did not, they would drag me out. I refused to move, and they clutched
      me, head, neck, and shoulders. But, in anticipation of the stretching to
      which I was about to be subjected, I had interwoven myself among the
      seats. In dragging me out, on this occasion, it must have cost the company
      twenty-five or thirty dollars, for I tore up seats and all. So great was
      the excitement in Lynn, on the subject, that the superintendent, Mr.
      Stephen A. Chase, ordered the trains to run through Lynn without stopping,
      while I remained in that town; and this ridiculous farce was enacted. For
      several days the trains went dashing through Lynn without stopping. At the
      same time that they excluded a free colored man from their cars, this same
      company allowed slaves, in company with their masters and mistresses, to
      ride unmolested.
    </p>
    <p>
      After many battles with the railroad conductors, and being roughly handled
      in not a few instances, proscription was at last abandoned; and the "Jim
      Crow car"&mdash;set up for the degradation of colored people&mdash;is
      nowhere found in New England. This result was not brought about without
      the intervention of the people, and the threatened enactment of a law
      compelling railroad companies to respect the rights of travelers. Hon.
      Charles Francis Adams performed signal service in the Massachusetts
      legislature, in bringing this reformation; and to him the colored citizens
      of that state are deeply indebted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Although often annoyed, and sometimes outraged, by this prejudice against
      color, I am indebted to it for many passages of quiet amusement. A
      half-cured subject of it is sometimes driven into awkward straits,
      especially if he happens to get a genuine specimen of the race into his
      house.<span class="pagenum">[311]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      In the summer of 1843, I was traveling and lecturing, in company with
      William A. White, Esq., through the state of Indiana. Anti-slavery friends
      were not very abundant in Indiana, at that time, and beds were not more
      plentiful than friends. We often slept out, in preference to sleeping in
      the houses, at some points. At the close of one of our meetings, we were
      invited home with a kindly-disposed old farmer, who, in the generous
      enthusiasm of the moment, seemed to have forgotten that he had but one
      spare bed, and that his guests were an ill-matched pair. All went on
      pretty well, till near bed time, when signs of uneasiness began to show
      themselves, among the unsophisticated sons and daughters. White is
      remarkably fine looking, and very evidently a born gentleman; the idea of
      putting us in the same bed was hardly to be tolerated; and yet, there we
      were, and but the one bed for us, and that, by the way, was in the same
      room occupied by the other members of the family. White, as well as I,
      perceived the difficulty, for yonder slept the old folks, there the sons,
      and a little farther along slept the daughters; and but one other bed
      remained. Who should have this bed, was the puzzling question. There was
      some whispering between the old folks, some confused looks among the
      young, as the time for going to bed approached. After witnessing the
      confusion as long as I liked, I relieved the kindly-disposed family by
      playfully saying, "Friend White, having got entirely rid of my prejudice
      against color, I think, as a proof of it, I must allow you to sleep with
      me to-night." White kept up the joke, by seeming to esteem himself the
      favored party, and thus the difficulty was removed. If we went to a hotel,
      and called for dinner, the landlord was sure to set one table for White
      and another for me, always taking him to be master, and me the servant.
      Large eyes were generally made when the order was given to remove the
      dishes from my table to that of White's. In those days, it was thought
      strange that a white man and a colored man could dine peaceably at the
      same table, and in some parts the strangeness of such a sight has not
      entirely subsided.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some people will have it that there is a natural, an inherent, and<span
      class="pagenum">[312]</span> an invincible repugnance in the breast of the
      white race toward dark-colored people; and some very intelligent colored
      men think that their proscription is owing solely to the color which
      nature has given them. They hold that they are rated according to their
      color, and that it is impossible for white people ever to look upon dark
      races of men, or men belonging to the African race, with other than
      feelings of aversion. My experience, both serious and mirthful, combats
      this conclusion. Leaving out of sight, for a moment, grave facts, to this
      point, I will state one or two, which illustrate a very interesting
      feature of American character as well as American prejudice. Riding from
      Boston to Albany, a few years ago, I found myself in a large car, well
      filled with passengers. The seat next to me was about the only vacant one.
      At every stopping place we took in new passengers, all of whom, on
      reaching the seat next to me, cast a disdainful glance upon it, and passed
      to another car, leaving me in the full enjoyment of a hole form. For a
      time, I did not know but that my riding there was prejudicial to the
      interest of the railroad company. A circumstance occurred, however, which
      gave me an elevated position at once. Among the passengers on this train
      was Gov. George N. Briggs. I was not acquainted with him, and had no idea
      that I was known to him, however, I was, for upon observing me, the
      governor left his place, and making his way toward me, respectfully asked
      the privilege of a seat by my side; and upon introducing himself, we
      entered into a conversation very pleasant and instructive to me. The
      despised seat now became honored. His excellency had removed all the
      prejudice against sitting by the side of a Negro; and upon his leaving it,
      as he did, on reaching Pittsfield, there were at least one dozen
      applicants for the place. The governor had, without changing my skin a
      single shade, made the place respectable which before was despicable.
    </p>
    <p>
      A similar incident happened to me once on the Boston and New Bedford
      railroad, and the leading party to it has since been governor of the state
      of Massachusetts. I allude to Col. John Henry<span class="pagenum">[313]</span>
      Clifford. Lest the reader may fancy I am aiming to elevate myself, by
      claiming too much intimacy with great men, I must state that my only
      acquaintance with Col. Clifford was formed while I was <i>his hired
      servant</i>, during the first winter of my escape from slavery. I owe it
      him to say, that in that relation I found him always kind and gentlemanly.
      But to the incident. I entered a car at Boston, for New Bedford, which,
      with the exception of a single seat was full, and found I must occupy
      this, or stand up, during the journey. Having no mind to do this, I
      stepped up to the man having the next seat, and who had a few parcels on
      the seat, and gently asked leave to take a seat by his side. My
      fellow-passenger gave me a look made up of reproach and indignation, and
      asked me why I should come to that particular seat. I assured him, in the
      gentlest manner, that of all others this was the seat for me. Finding that
      I was actually about to sit down, he sang out, "O! stop, stop! and let me
      get out!" Suiting the action to the word, up the agitated man got, and
      sauntered to the other end of the car, and was compelled to stand for most
      of the way thereafter. Halfway to New Bedford, or more, Col. Clifford,
      recognizing me, left his seat, and not having seen me before since I had
      ceased to wait on him (in everything except hard arguments against his
      pro-slavery position), apparently forgetful of his rank, manifested, in
      greeting me, something of the feeling of an old friend. This demonstration
      was not lost on the gentleman whose dignity I had, an hour before, most
      seriously offended. Col. Clifford was known to be about the most
      aristocratic gentleman in Bristol county; and it was evidently thought
      that I must be somebody, else I should not have been thus noticed, by a
      person so distinguished. Sure enough, after Col. Clifford left me, I found
      myself surrounded with friends; and among the number, my offended friend
      stood nearest, and with an apology for his rudeness, which I could not
      resist, although it was one of the lamest ever offered. With such facts as
      these before me&mdash;and I have many of them&mdash;I am inclined to think
      that pride and fashion have much to do with<span class="pagenum">[314]</span>
      the treatment commonly extended to colored people in the United States. I
      once heard a very plain man say (and he was cross-eyed, and awkwardly
      flung together in other respects) that he should be a handsome man when
      public opinion shall be changed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since I have been editing and publishing a journal devoted to the cause of
      liberty and progress, I have had my mind more directed to the condition
      and circumstances of the free colored people than when I was the agent of
      an abolition society. The result has been a corresponding change in the
      disposition of my time and labors. I have felt it to be a part of my
      mission&mdash;under a gracious Providence to impress my sable brothers in
      this country with the conviction that, notwithstanding the ten thousand
      discouragements and the powerful hinderances, which beset their existence
      in this country&mdash;notwithstanding the blood-written history of Africa,
      and her children, from whom we have descended, or the clouds and darkness
      (whose stillness and gloom are made only more awful by wrathful thunder
      and lightning) now overshadowing them&mdash;progress is yet possible, and
      bright skies shall yet shine upon their pathway; and that "Ethiopia shall
      yet reach forth her hand unto God."
    </p>
    <p>
      Believing that one of the best means of emancipating the slaves of the
      south is to improve and elevate the character of the free colored people
      of the north I shall labor in the future, as I have labored in the past,
      to promote the moral, social, religious, and intellectual elevation of the
      free colored people; never forgetting my own humble orgin(sic), nor
      refusing, while Heaven lends me ability, to use my voice, my pen, or my
      vote, to advocate the great and primary work of the universal and
      unconditional emancipation of my entire race.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      RECEPTION SPEECH <a href="#linknote-10" name="linknoteref-10"
      id="linknoteref-10"><small>10</small></a>. At Finsbury Chapel, Moorfields,
      England, May 12,
    </h2>
    <p>
      1846
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Douglass rose amid loud cheers, and said: I feel exceedingly glad of
      the opportunity now afforded me of presenting the claims of my brethren in
      bonds in the United States, to so many in London and from various parts of
      Britain, who have assembled here on the present occasion. I have nothing
      to commend me to your consideration in the way of learning, nothing in the
      way of education, to entitle me to your attention; and you are aware that
      slavery is a very bad school for rearing teachers of morality and
      religion. Twenty-one years of my life have been spent in slavery&mdash;personal
      slavery&mdash;surrounded by degrading influences, such as can exist
      nowhere beyond the pale of slavery; and it will not be strange, if under
      such circumstances, I should betray, in what I have to say to you, a
      deficiency of that refinement which is seldom or ever found, except among
      persons that have experienced superior advantages to those which I have
      enjoyed. But I will take it for granted that you know something about the
      degrading influences of slavery, and that you will not expect great things
      from me this evening, but simply such facts as I may be able to advance
      immediately in connection with my own experience of slavery.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, what is this system of slavery? This is the subject of my lecture
      this evening&mdash;what is the character of this institution? I am about
      to answer the inquiry, what is American slavery? I do this the more
      readily, since I have found persons in this country who have identified
      the term slavery with that which I think it is not, and in some instances,
      I have feared, in so doing, have rather (unwittingly, I know) detracted
      much from the horror with which the term slavery is contemplated. It is
      common<span class="pagenum">[318]</span> in this country to distinguish
      every bad thing by the name of slavery. Intemperance is slavery; to be
      deprived of the right to vote is slavery, says one; to have to work hard
      is slavery, says another; and I do not know but that if we should let them
      go on, they would say that to eat when we are hungry, to walk when we
      desire to have exercise, or to minister to our necessities, or have
      necessities at all, is slavery. I do not wish for a moment to detract from
      the horror with which the evil of intemperance is contemplated&mdash;not
      at all; nor do I wish to throw the slightest obstruction in the way of any
      political freedom that any class of persons in this country may desire to
      obtain. But I am here to say that I think the term slavery is sometimes
      abused by identifying it with that which it is not. Slavery in the United
      States is the granting of that power by which one man exercises and
      enforces a right of property in the body and soul of another. The
      condition of a slave is simply that of the brute beast. He is a piece of
      property&mdash;a marketable commodity, in the language of the law, to be
      bought or sold at the will and caprice of the master who claims him to be
      his property; he is spoken of, thought of, and treated as property. His
      own good, his conscience, his intellect, his affections, are all set aside
      by the master. The will and the wishes of the master are the law of the
      slave. He is as much a piece of property as a horse. If he is fed, he is
      fed because he is property. If he is clothed, it is with a view to the
      increase of his value as property. Whatever of comfort is necessary to him
      for his body or soul that is inconsistent with his being property, is
      carefully wrested from him, not only by public opinion, but by the law of
      the country. He is carefully deprived of everything that tends in the
      slightest degree to detract from his value as property. He is deprived of
      education. God has given him an intellect; the slaveholder declares it
      shall not be cultivated. If his moral perception leads him in a course
      contrary to his value as property, the slaveholder declares he shall not
      exercise it. The marriage institution cannot exist among slaves, and
      one-sixth of the population of democratic America is denied its privileges
      by the law of the land. What is to be thought of a nation boasting of its
      liberty, boasting of its humanity, boasting of its Christianity, boasting
      of its love of justice and purity, and yet having within its own borders
      three millions of persons denied by law the right of marriage?&mdash;what
      must be the condition of that people? I need not lift up the veil by
      giving you any experience of my own. Every one that can put two ideas
      together, must see the most fearful results from such a state of things as
      I have just mentioned. If any of these three millions find for themselves
      companions, and prove themselves honest, upright, virtuous persons to each
      other, yet in these<span class="pagenum">[319]</span> cases&mdash;few as I
      am bound to confess they are&mdash;the virtuous live in constant
      apprehension of being torn asunder by the merciless men-stealers that
      claim them as their property. This is American slavery; no marriage&mdash;no
      education&mdash;the light of the gospel shut out from the dark mind of the
      bondman&mdash;and he forbidden by law to learn to read. If a mother shall
      teach her children to read, the law in Louisiana proclaims that she may be
      hanged by the neck. If the father attempt to give his son a knowledge of
      letters, he may be punished by the whip in one instance, and in another be
      killed, at the discretion of the court. Three millions of people shut out
      from the light of knowledge! It is easy for you to conceive the evil that
      must result from such a state of things.
    </p>
    <p>
      I now come to the physical evils of slavery. I do not wish to dwell at
      length upon these, but it seems right to speak of them, not so much to
      influence your minds on this question, as to let the slaveholders of
      America know that the curtain which conceals their crimes is being lifted
      abroad; that we are opening the dark cell, and leading the people into the
      horrible recesses of what they are pleased to call their domestic
      institution. We want them to know that a knowledge of their whippings,
      their scourgings, their brandings, their chainings, is not confined to
      their plantations, but that some Negro of theirs has broken loose from his
      chains&mdash;has burst through the dark incrustation of slavery, and is
      now exposing their deeds of deep damnation to the gaze of the christian
      people of England.
    </p>
    <p>
      The slaveholders resort to all kinds of cruelty. If I were disposed, I
      have matter enough to interest you on this question for five or six
      evenings, but I will not dwell at length upon these cruelties. Suffice it
      to say, that all of the peculiar modes of torture that were resorted to in
      the West India islands, are resorted to, I believe, even more frequently,
      in the United States of America. Starvation, the bloody whip, the chain,
      the gag, the thumb-screw, cat-hauling, the cat-o'-nine-tails, the dungeon,
      the blood-hound, are all in requisition to keep the slave in his condition
      as a slave in the United States. If any one has a doubt upon this point, I
      would ask him to read the chapter on slavery in Dickens's <i>Notes on
      America</i>. If any man has a doubt upon it, I have here the "testimony of
      a thousand witnesses," which I can give at any length, all going to prove
      the truth of my statement. The blood-hound is regularly trained in the
      United States, and advertisements are to be found in the southern papers
      of the Union, from persons advertising themselves as blood-hound trainers,
      and offering to hunt down slaves at fifteen dollars a piece, recommending
      their hounds as the fleetest in the neighborhood, never known to fail.<span
      class="pagenum">[320]</span> Advertisements are from time to time
      inserted, stating that slaves have escaped with iron collars about their
      necks, with bands of iron about their feet, marked with the lash, branded
      with red-hot irons, the initials of their master's name burned into their
      flesh; and the masters advertise the fact of their being thus branded with
      their own signature, thereby proving to the world, that, however damning
      it may appear to non-slavers, such practices are not regarded
      discreditable among the slaveholders themselves. Why, I believe if a man
      should brand his horse in this country&mdash;burn the initials of his name
      into any of his cattle, and publish the ferocious deed here&mdash;that the
      united execrations of Christians in Britain would descend upon him. Yet in
      the United States, human beings are thus branded. As Whittier says&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
           ... <i>Our countrymen in chains,
            The whip on woman's shrinking flesh,
            Our soil yet reddening with the stains
            Caught from her scourgings warm and fresh</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      The slave-dealer boldly publishes his infamous acts to the world. Of all
      things that have been said of slavery to which exception has been taken by
      slaveholders, this, the charge of cruelty, stands foremost, and yet there
      is no charge capable of clearer demonstration, than that of the most
      barbarous inhumanity on the part of the slaveholders toward their slaves.
      And all this is necessary; it is necessary to resort to these cruelties,
      in order to <i>make the slave a slave</i>, and to <i>keep him a slave</i>.
      Why, my experience all goes to prove the truth of what you will call a
      marvelous proposition, that the better you treat a slave, the more you
      destroy his value <i>as a slave</i>, and enhance the probability of his
      eluding the grasp of the slaveholder; the more kindly you treat him, the
      more wretched you make him, while you keep him in the condition of a
      slave. My experience, I say, confirms the truth of this proposition. When
      I was treated exceedingly ill; when my back was being scourged daily; when
      I was whipped within an inch of my life&mdash;<i>life</i> was all I cared
      for. "Spare my life," was my continual prayer. When I was looking for the
      blow about to be inflicted upon my head, I was not thinking of my liberty;
      it was my life. But, as soon as the blow was not to be feared, then came
      the longing for liberty. If a slave has a bad master, his ambition is to
      get a better; when he gets a better, he aspires to have the best; and when
      he gets the best, he aspires to be his own master. But the slave must be
      brutalized to keep him as a slave. The slaveholder feels this necessity. I
      admit this necessity. If it be right to hold slaves at all, it is right to
      hold<span class="pagenum">[321]</span> them in the only way in which they
      can be held; and this can be done only by shutting out the light of
      education from their minds, and brutalizing their persons. The whip, the
      chain, the gag, the thumb-screw, the blood-hound, the stocks, and all the
      other bloody paraphernalia of the slave system, are indispensably
      necessary to the relation of master and slave. The slave must be subjected
      to these, or he ceases to be a slave. Let him know that the whip is
      burned; that the fetters have been turned to some useful and profitable
      employment; that the chain is no longer for his limbs; that the
      blood-hound is no longer to be put upon his track; that his master's
      authority over him is no longer to be enforced by taking his life&mdash;and
      immediately he walks out from the house of bondage and asserts his freedom
      as a man. The slaveholder finds it necessary to have these implements to
      keep the slave in bondage; finds it necessary to be able to say, "Unless
      you do so and so; unless you do as I bid you&mdash;I will take away your
      life!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Some of the most awful scenes of cruelty are constantly taking place in
      the middle states of the Union. We have in those states what are called
      the slave-breeding states. Allow me to speak plainly. Although it is
      harrowing to your feelings, it is necessary that the facts of the case
      should be stated. We have in the United States slave-breeding states. The
      very state from which the minister from our court to yours comes, is one
      of these states&mdash;Maryland, where men, women, and children are reared
      for the market, just as horses, sheep, and swine are raised for the
      market. Slave-rearing is there looked upon as a legitimate trade; the law
      sanctions it, public opinion upholds it, the church does not condemn it.
      It goes on in all its bloody horrors, sustained by the auctioneer's block.
      If you would see the cruelties of this system, hear the following
      narrative. Not long since the following scene occurred. A slave-woman and
      a slaveman had united themselves as man and wife in the absence of any law
      to protect them as man and wife. They had lived together by the
      permission, not by right, of their master, and they had reared a family.
      The master found it expedient, and for his interest, to sell them. He did
      not ask them their wishes in regard to the matter at all; they were not
      consulted. The man and woman were brought to the auctioneer's block, under
      the sound of the hammer. The cry was raised, "Here goes; who bids cash?"
      Think of it&mdash;a man and wife to be sold! The woman was placed on the
      auctioneer's block; her limbs, as is customary, were brutally exposed to
      the purchasers, who examined her with all the freedom with which they
      would examine a horse. There stood the husband, powerless; no right to his
      wife; the master's right preeminent. She was sold. He was next<span
      class="pagenum">[322]</span> brought to the auctioneer's block. His eyes
      followed his wife in the distance; and he looked beseechingly,
      imploringly, to the man that had bought his wife, to buy him also. But he
      was at length bid off to another person. He was about to be separated
      forever from her he loved. No word of his, no work of his, could save him
      from this separation. He asked permission of his new master to go and take
      the hand of his wife at parting. It was denied him. In the agony of his
      soul he rushed from the man who had just bought him, that he might take a
      farewell of his wife; but his way was obstructed, he was struck over the
      head with a loaded whip, and was held for a moment; but his agony was too
      great. When he was let go, he fell a corpse at the feet of his master. His
      heart was broken. Such scenes are the everyday fruits of American slavery.
      Some two years since, the Hon. Seth. M. Gates, an anti-slavery gentleman
      of the state of New York, a representative in the congress of the United
      States, told me he saw with his own eyes the following circumstances. In
      the national District of Columbia, over which the star-spangled emblem is
      constantly waving, where orators are ever holding forth on the subject of
      American liberty, American democracy, American republicanism, there are
      two slave prisons. When going across a bridge, leading to one of these
      prisons, he saw a young woman run out, bare-footed and bare-headed, and
      with very little clothing on. She was running with all speed to the bridge
      he was approaching. His eye was fixed upon her, and he stopped to see what
      was the matter. He had not paused long before he saw three men run out
      after her. He now knew what the nature of the case was; a slave escaping
      from her chains&mdash;a young woman, a sister&mdash;escaping from the
      bondage in which she had been held. She made her way to the bridge, but
      had not reached, ere from the Virginia side there came two slaveholders.
      As soon as they saw them, her pursuers called out, "Stop her!" True to
      their Virginian instincts, they came to the rescue of their brother
      kidnappers, across the bridge. The poor girl now saw that there was no
      chance for her. It was a trying time. She knew if she went back, she must
      be a slave forever&mdash;she must be dragged down to the scenes of
      pollution which the slaveholders continually provide for most of the poor,
      sinking, wretched young women, whom they call their property. She formed
      her resolution; and just as those who were about to take her, were going
      to put hands upon her, to drag her back, she leaped over the balustrades
      of the bridge, and down she went to rise no more. She chose death, rather
      than to go back into the hands of those christian slaveholders from whom
      she had escaped.
    </p>
    <p>
      Can it be possible that such things as these exist in the United States?<span
      class="pagenum">[323]</span> Are not these the exceptions? Are any such
      scenes as this general? Are not such deeds condemned by the law and
      denounced by public opinion? Let me read to you a few of the laws of the
      slaveholding states of America. I think no better exposure of slavery can
      be made than is made by the laws of the states in which slavery exists. I
      prefer reading the laws to making any statement in confirmation of what I
      have said myself; for the slaveholders cannot object to this testimony,
      since it is the calm, the cool, the deliberate enactment of their wisest
      heads, of their most clear-sighted, their own constituted representatives.
      "If more than seven slaves together are found in any road without a white
      person, twenty lashes a piece; for visiting a plantation without a written
      pass, ten lashes; for letting loose a boat from where it is made fast,
      thirty-nine lashes for the first offense; and for the second, shall have
      cut off from his head one ear; for keeping or carrying a club, thirty-nine
      lashes; for having any article for sale, without a ticket from his master,
      ten lashes; for traveling in any other than the most usual and accustomed
      road, when going alone to any place, forty lashes; for traveling in the
      night without a pass, forty lashes." I am afraid you do not understand the
      awful character of these lashes. You must bring it before your mind. A
      human being in a perfect state of nudity, tied hand and foot to a stake,
      and a strong man standing behind with a heavy whip, knotted at the end,
      each blow cutting into the flesh, and leaving the warm blood dripping to
      the feet; and for these trifles. "For being found in another person's
      negro-quarters, forty lashes; for hunting with dogs in the woods, thirty
      lashes; for being on horseback without the written permission of his
      master, twenty-five lashes; for riding or going abroad in the night, or
      riding horses in the day time, without leave, a slave may be whipped,
      cropped, or branded in the cheek with the letter R. or otherwise punished,
      such punishment not extending to life, or so as to render him unfit for
      labor." The laws referred to, may be found by consulting <i>Brevard's
      Digest; Haywood's Manual; Virginia Revised Code; Prince's Digest; Missouri
      Laws; Mississippi Revised Code</i>. A man, for going to visit his
      brethren, without the permission of his master&mdash;and in many instances
      he may not have that permission; his master, from caprice or other
      reasons, may not be willing to allow it&mdash;may be caught on his way,
      dragged to a post, the branding-iron heated, and the name of his master or
      the letter R branded into his cheek or on his forehead. They treat slaves
      thus, on the principle that they must punish for light offenses, in order
      to prevent the commission of larger ones. I wish you to mark that in the
      single state of Virginia there are seventy-one crimes for which a colored
      man may be executed; while there are only three of<span class="pagenum">[324]</span>
      these crimes, which, when committed by a white man, will subject him to
      that punishment. There are many of these crimes which if the white man did
      not commit, he would be regarded as a scoundrel and a coward. In the state
      of Maryland, there is a law to this effect: that if a slave shall strike
      his master, he may be hanged, his head severed from his body, his body
      quartered, and his head and quarters set up in the most prominent places
      in the neighborhood. If a colored woman, in the defense of her own virtue,
      in defense of her own person, should shield herself from the brutal
      attacks of her tyrannical master, or make the slightest resistance, she
      may be killed on the spot. No law whatever will bring the guilty man to
      justice for the crime.
    </p>
    <p>
      But you will ask me, can these things be possible in a land professing
      Christianity? Yes, they are so; and this is not the worst. No; a darker
      feature is yet to be presented than the mere existence of these facts. I
      have to inform you that the religion of the southern states, at this time,
      is the great supporter, the great sanctioner of the bloody atrocities to
      which I have referred. While America is printing tracts and bibles;
      sending missionaries abroad to convert the heathen; expending her money in
      various ways for the promotion of the gospel in foreign lands&mdash;the
      slave not only lies forgotten, uncared for, but is trampled under foot by
      the very churches of the land. What have we in America? Why, we have
      slavery made part of the religion of the land. Yes, the pulpit there
      stands up as the great defender of this cursed <i>institution</i>, as it
      is called. Ministers of religion come forward and torture the hallowed
      pages of inspired wisdom to sanction the bloody deed. They stand forth as
      the foremost, the strongest defenders of this "institution." As a proof of
      this, I need not do more than state the general fact, that slavery has
      existed under the droppings of the sanctuary of the south for the last two
      hundred years, and there has not been any war between the <i>religion</i>
      and the <i>slavery</i> of the south. Whips, chains, gags, and thumb-screws
      have all lain under the droppings of the sanctuary, and instead of rusting
      from off the limbs of the bondman, those droppings have served to preserve
      them in all their strength. Instead of preaching the gospel against this
      tyranny, rebuke, and wrong, ministers of religion have sought, by all and
      every means, to throw in the back-ground whatever in the bible could be
      construed into opposition to slavery, and to bring forward that which they
      could torture into its support. This I conceive to be the darkest feature
      of slavery, and the most difficult to attack, because it is identified
      with religion, and exposes those who denounce it to the charge of
      infidelity. Yes, those with whom I have been laboring, namely, the old<span
      class="pagenum">[325]</span> organization anti-slavery society of America,
      have been again and again stigmatized as infidels, and for what reason?
      Why, solely in consequence of the faithfulness of their attacks upon the
      slaveholding religion of the southern states, and the northern religion
      that sympathizes with it. I have found it difficult to speak on this
      matter without persons coming forward and saying, "Douglass, are you not
      afraid of injuring the cause of Christ? You do not desire to do so, we
      know; but are you not undermining religion?" This has been said to me
      again and again, even since I came to this country, but I cannot be
      induced to leave off these exposures. I love the religion of our blessed
      Savior. I love that religion that comes from above, in the "wisdom of
      God," which is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be
      entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without
      hypocrisy. I love that religion that sends its votaries to bind up the
      wounds of him that has fallen among thieves. I love that religion that
      makes it the duty of its disciples to visit the father less and the widow
      in their affliction. I love that religion that is based upon the glorious
      principle, of love to God and love to man; which makes its followers do
      unto others as they themselves would be done by. If you demand liberty to
      yourself, it says, grant it to your neighbors. If you claim a right to
      think for yourself, it says, allow your neighbors the same right. If you
      claim to act for yourself, it says, allow your neighbors the same right.
      It is because I love this religion that I hate the slaveholding, the
      woman-whipping, the mind-darkening, the soul-destroying religion that
      exists in the southern states of America. It is because I regard the one
      as good, and pure, and holy, that I cannot but regard the other as bad,
      corrupt, and wicked. Loving the one I must hate the other; holding to the
      one I must reject the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may be asked, why I am so anxious to bring this subject before the
      British public&mdash;why I do not confine my efforts to the United States?
      My answer is, first, that slavery is the common enemy of mankind, and all
      mankind should be made acquainted with its abominable character. My next
      answer is, that the slave is a man, and, as such, is entitled to your
      sympathy as a brother. All the feelings, all the susceptibilities, all the
      capacities, which you have, he has. He is a part of the human family. He
      has been the prey&mdash;the common prey&mdash;of Christendom for the last
      three hundred years, and it is but right, it is but just, it is but
      proper, that his wrongs should be known throughout the world. I have
      another reason for bringing this matter before the British public, and it
      is this: slavery is a system of wrong, so blinding to all around, so
      hardening to the heart, so corrupting to the morals, so deleterious to
      religion, so<span class="pagenum">[326]</span> sapping to all the
      principles of justice in its immediate vicinity, that the community
      surrounding it lack the moral stamina necessary to its removal. It is a
      system of such gigantic evil, so strong, so overwhelming in its power,
      that no one nation is equal to its removal. It requires the humanity of
      Christianity, the morality of the world to remove it. Hence, I call upon
      the people of Britain to look at this matter, and to exert the influence I
      am about to show they possess, for the removal of slavery from America. I
      can appeal to them, as strongly by their regard for the slaveholder as for
      the slave, to labor in this cause. I am here, because you have an
      influence on America that no other nation can have. You have been drawn
      together by the power of steam to a marvelous extent; the distance between
      London and Boston is now reduced to some twelve or fourteen days, so that
      the denunciations against slavery, uttered in London this week, may be
      heard in a fortnight in the streets of Boston, and reverberating amidst
      the hills of Massachusetts. There is nothing said here against slavery
      that will not be recorded in the United States. I am here, also, because
      the slaveholders do not want me to be here; they would rather that I were
      not here. I have adopted a maxim laid down by Napoleon, never to occupy
      ground which the enemy would like me to occupy. The slaveholders would
      much rather have me, if I will denounce slavery, denounce it in the
      northern states, where their friends and supporters are, who will stand by
      and mob me for denouncing it. They feel something as the man felt, when he
      uttered his prayer, in which he made out a most horrible case for himself,
      and one of his neighbors touched him and said, "My friend, I always had
      the opinion of you that you have now expressed for yourself&mdash;that you
      are a very great sinner." Coming from himself, it was all very well, but
      coming from a stranger it was rather cutting. The slaveholders felt that
      when slavery was denounced among themselves, it was not so bad; but let
      one of the slaves get loose, let him summon the people of Britain, and
      make known to them the conduct of the slaveholders toward their slaves,
      and it cuts them to the quick, and produces a sensation such as would be
      produced by nothing else. The power I exert now is something like the
      power that is exerted by the man at the end of the lever; my influence now
      is just in proportion to the distance that I am from the United States. My
      exposure of slavery abroad will tell more upon the hearts and consciences
      of slaveholders, than if I was attacking them in America; for almost every
      paper that I now receive from the United States, comes teeming with
      statements about this fugitive Negro, calling him a "glib-tongued
      scoundrel," and saying that he is running out against the institutions and
      people of America. I deny the charge that I am saying a word against the
      institutions of America,<span class="pagenum">[327]</span> or the people,
      as such. What I have to say is against slavery and slaveholders. I feel at
      liberty to speak on this subject. I have on my back the marks of the lash;
      I have four sisters and one brother now under the galling chain. I feel it
      my duty to cry aloud and spare not. I am not averse to having the good
      opinion of my fellow creatures. I am not averse to being kindly regarded
      by all men; but I am bound, even at the hazard of making a large class of
      religionists in this country hate me, oppose me, and malign me as they
      have done&mdash;I am bound by the prayers, and tears, and entreaties of
      three millions of kneeling bondsmen, to have no compromise with men who
      are in any shape or form connected with the slaveholders of America. I
      expose slavery in this country, because to expose it is to kill it.
      Slavery is one of those monsters of darkness to whom the light of truth is
      death. Expose slavery, and it dies. Light is to slavery what the heat of
      the sun is to the root of a tree; it must die under it. All the
      slaveholder asks of me is silence. He does not ask me to go abroad and
      preach <i>in favor</i> of slavery; he does not ask any one to do that. He
      would not say that slavery is a good thing, but the best under the
      circumstances. The slaveholders want total darkness on the subject. They
      want the hatchway shut down, that the monster may crawl in his den of
      darkness, crushing human hopes and happiness, destroying the bondman at
      will, and having no one to reprove or rebuke him. Slavery shrinks from the
      light; it hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest its deeds
      should be reproved. To tear off the mask from this abominable system, to
      expose it to the light of heaven, aye, to the heat of the sun, that it may
      burn and wither it out of existence, is my object in coming to this
      country. I want the slaveholder surrounded, as by a wall of anti-slavery
      fire, so that he may see the condemnation of himself and his system
      glaring down in letters of light. I want him to feel that he has no
      sympathy in England, Scotland, or Ireland; that he has none in Canada,
      none in Mexico, none among the poor wild Indians; that the voice of the
      civilized, aye, and savage world is against him. I would have condemnation
      blaze down upon him in every direction, till, stunned and overwhelmed with
      shame and confusion, he is compelled to let go the grasp he holds upon the
      persons of his victims, and restore them to their long-lost rights.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Dr. Campbell's Reply
    </h2>
    <p>
      From Rev. Dr. Campbell's brilliant reply we extract the following:
      FREDERICK DOUGLASS, "the beast of burden," the portion of "goods and
      chattels," the representative of three millions of men, has been raised<span
      class="pagenum">[328]</span> up! Shall I say the <i>man?</i> If there is a
      man on earth, he is a man. My blood boiled within me when I heard his
      address tonight, and thought that he had left behind him three millions of
      such men.
    </p>
    <p>
      We must see more of this man; we must have more of this man. One would
      have taken a voyage round the globe some forty years back&mdash;especially
      since the introduction of steam&mdash;to have heard such an exposure of
      slavery from the lips of a slave. It will be an era in the individual
      history of the present assembly. Our children&mdash;our boys and girls&mdash;I
      have tonight seen the delightful sympathy of their hearts evinced by their
      heaving breasts, while their eyes sparkled with wonder and admiration,
      that this black man&mdash;this slave&mdash;had so much logic, so much wit,
      so much fancy, so much eloquence. He was something more than a man,
      according to their little notions. Then, I say, we must hear him again. We
      have got a purpose to accomplish. He has appealed to the pulpit of
      England. The English pulpit is with him. He has appealed to the press of
      England; the press of England is conducted by English hearts, and that
      press will do him justice. About ten days hence, and his second master,
      who may well prize "such a piece of goods," will have the pleasure of
      reading his burning words, and his first master will bless himself that he
      has got quit of him. We have to create public opinion, or rather, not to
      create it, for it is created already; but we have to foster it; and when
      tonight I heard those magnificent words&mdash;the words of Curran, by
      which my heart, from boyhood, has ofttimes been deeply moved&mdash;I
      rejoice to think that they embody an instinct of an Englishman's nature. I
      heard, with inexpressible delight, how they told on this mighty mass of
      the citizens of the metropolis.
    </p>
    <p>
      Britain has now no slaves; we can therefore talk to the other nations now,
      as we could not have talked a dozen years ago. I want the whole of the
      London ministry to meet Douglass. For as his appeal is to England, and
      throughout England, I should rejoice in the idea of churchmen and
      dissenters merging all sectional distinctions in this cause. Let us have a
      public breakfast. Let the ministers meet him; let them hear him; let them
      grasp his hand; and let him enlist their sympathies on behalf of the
      slave. Let him inspire them with abhorrence of the man-stealer&mdash;the
      slaveholder. No slaveholding American shall ever my cross my door. No
      slaveholding or slavery-supporting minister shall ever pollute my pulpit.
      While I have a tongue to speak, or a hand to write, I will, to the utmost
      of my power, oppose these slaveholding men. We must have Douglass amongst
      us to aid in fostering public opinion.
    </p>
    <p>
      The great conflict with slavery must now take place in America; and<span
      class="pagenum">[329]</span> while they are adding other slave states to
      the Union, our business is to step forward and help the abolitionists
      there. It is a pleasing circumstance that such a body of men has risen in
      America, and whilst we hurl our thunders against her slavers, let us make
      a distinction between those who advocate slavery and those who oppose it.
      George Thompson has been there. This man, Frederick Douglass, has been
      there, and has been compelled to flee. I wish, when he first set foot on
      our shores, he had made a solemn vow, and said, "Now that I am free, and
      in the sanctuary of freedom, I will never return till I have seen the
      emancipation of my country completed." He wants to surround these men, the
      slaveholders, as by a wall of fire; and he himself may do much toward
      kindling it. Let him travel over the island&mdash;east, west, north, and
      south&mdash;everywhere diffusing knowledge and awakening principle, till
      the whole nation become a body of petitioners to America. He will, he
      must, do it. He must for a season make England his home. He must send for
      his wife. He must send for his children. I want to see the sons and
      daughters of such a sire. We, too, must do something for him and them
      worthy of the English name. I do not like the idea of a man of such mental
      dimensions, such moral courage, and all but incomparable talent, having
      his own small wants, and the wants of a distant wife and children,
      supplied by the poor profits of his publication, the sketch of his life.
      Let the pamphlet be bought by tens of thousands. But we will do something
      more for him, shall we not?
    </p>
    <p>
      It only remains that we pass a resolution of thanks to Frederick Douglass,
      the slave that was, the man that is! He that was covered with chains, and
      that is now being covered with glory, and whom we will send back a
      gentleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      LETTER TO HIS OLD MASTER. <a href="#linknote-11" name="linknoteref-11"
      id="linknoteref-11"><small>11</small></a>. To My Old Master, Thomas Auld
    </h2>
    <p>
      SIR&mdash;The long and intimate, though by no means friendly, relation
      which unhappily subsisted between you and myself, leads me to hope that
      you will easily account for the great liberty which I now take in
      addressing you in this open and public manner. The same fact may remove
      any disagreeable surprise which you may experience on again finding your
      name coupled with mine, in any other way than in an advertisement,
      accurately describing my person, and offering a large sum for my arrest.
      In thus dragging you again before the public, I am aware that I shall
      subject myself to no inconsiderable amount of censure. I shall probably be
      charged with an unwarrantable, if not a wanton and reckless disregard of
      the rights and properties of private life. There are those north as well
      as south who entertain a much higher respect for rights which are merely
      conventional, than they do for rights which are personal and essential.
      Not a few there are in our country, who, while they have no scruples
      against robbing the laborer of the hard earned results of his patient
      industry, will be shocked by the extremely indelicate manner of bringing
      your name before the public. Believing this to be the case, and wishing to
      meet every reasonable or plausible objection to my conduct, I will frankly
      state the ground upon which I justfy(sic) myself in this instance, as well
      as on former occasions when I have thought proper to mention your name in
      public. All will agree that a man guilty of theft, robbery, or murder, has
      forfeited the right to concealment and private life; that the community
      have a right to subject such persons to the most complete exposure.
      However much they may desire retirement, and aim to conceal themselves and
      their movements from the popular gaze, the public have a right to ferret
      them out, and bring their conduct before<span class="pagenum">[331]</span>
      the proper tribunals of the country for investigation. Sir, you will
      undoubtedly make the proper application of these generally admitted
      principles, and will easily see the light in which you are regarded by me;
      I will not therefore manifest ill temper, by calling you hard names. I
      know you to be a man of some intelligence, and can readily determine the
      precise estimate which I entertain of your character. I may therefore
      indulge in language which may seem to others indirect and ambiguous, and
      yet be quite well understood by yourself.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have selected this day on which to address you, because it is the
      anniversary of my emancipation; and knowing no better way, I am led to
      this as the best mode of celebrating that truly important events. Just ten
      years ago this beautiful September morning, yon bright sun beheld me a
      slave&mdash;a poor degraded chattel&mdash;trembling at the sound of your
      voice, lamenting that I was a man, and wishing myself a brute. The hopes
      which I had treasured up for weeks of a safe and successful escape from
      your grasp, were powerfully confronted at this last hour by dark clouds of
      doubt and fear, making my person shake and my bosom to heave with the
      heavy contest between hope and fear. I have no words to describe to you
      the deep agony of soul which I experienced on that never-to-be-forgotten
      morning&mdash;for I left by daylight. I was making a leap in the dark. The
      probabilities, so far as I could by reason determine them, were stoutly
      against the undertaking. The preliminaries and precautions I had adopted
      previously, all worked badly. I was like one going to war without weapons&mdash;ten
      chances of defeat to one of victory. One in whom I had confided, and one
      who had promised me assistance, appalled by fear at the trial hour,
      deserted me, thus leaving the responsibility of success or failure solely
      with myself. You, sir, can never know my feelings. As I look back to them,
      I can scarcely realize that I have passed through a scene so trying.
      Trying, however, as they were, and gloomy as was the prospect, thanks be
      to the Most High, who is ever the God of the oppressed, at the moment
      which was to determine my whole earthly career, His grace was sufficient;
      my mind was made up. I embraced the golden opportunity, took the morning
      tide at the flood, and a free man, young, active, and strong, is the
      result.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have often thought I should like to explain to you the grounds upon
      which I have justified myself in running away from you. I am almost
      ashamed to do so now, for by this time you may have discovered them
      yourself. I will, however, glance at them. When yet but a child about six
      years old, I imbibed the determination to run away. The very first mental<span
      class="pagenum">[332]</span> effort that I now remember on my part, was an
      attempt to solve the mystery&mdash;why am I a slave? and with this
      question my youthful mind was troubled for many days, pressing upon me
      more heavily at times than others. When I saw the slave-driver whip a
      slave-woman, cut the blood out of her neck, and heard her piteous cries, I
      went away into the corner of the fence, wept and pondered over the
      mystery. I had, through some medium, I know not what, got some idea of
      God, the Creator of all mankind, the black and the white, and that he had
      made the blacks to serve the whites as slaves. How he could do this and be
      <i>good</i>, I could not tell. I was not satisfied with this theory, which
      made God responsible for slavery, for it pained me greatly, and I have
      wept over it long and often. At one time, your first wife, Mrs. Lucretia,
      heard me sighing and saw me shedding tears, and asked of me the matter,
      but I was afraid to tell her. I was puzzled with this question, till one
      night while sitting in the kitchen, I heard some of the old slaves talking
      of their parents having been stolen from Africa by white men, and were
      sold here as slaves. The whole mystery was solved at once. Very soon after
      this, my Aunt Jinny and Uncle Noah ran away, and the great noise made
      about it by your father-in-law, made me for the first time acquainted with
      the fact, that there were free states as well as slave states. From that
      time, I resolved that I would some day run away. The morality of the act I
      dispose of as follows: I am myself; you are yourself; we are two distinct
      persons, equal persons. What you are, I am. You are a man, and so am I.
      God created both, and made us separate beings. I am not by nature bond to
      you, or you to me. Nature does not make your existence depend upon me, or
      mine to depend upon yours. I cannot walk upon your legs, or you upon mine.
      I cannot breathe for you, or you for me; I must breathe for myself, and
      you for yourself. We are distinct persons, and are each equally provided
      with faculties necessary to our individual existence. In leaving you, I
      took nothing but what belonged to me, and in no way lessened your means
      for obtaining an <i>honest</i> living. Your faculties remained yours, and
      mine became useful to their rightful owner. I therefore see no wrong in
      any part of the transaction. It is true, I went off secretly; but that was
      more your fault than mine. Had I let you into the secret, you would have
      defeated the enterprise entirely; but for this, I should have been really
      glad to have made you acquainted with my intentions to leave.
    </p>
    <p>
      You may perhaps want to know how I like my present condition. I am free to
      say, I greatly prefer it to that which I occupied in Maryland. I am,
      however, by no means prejudiced against the state as such. Its geography,
      climate, fertility, and products, are such as to make it a very<span
      class="pagenum">[333]</span> desirable abode for any man; and but for the
      existence of slavery there, it is not impossible that I might again take
      up my abode in that state. It is not that I love Maryland less, but
      freedom more. You will be surprised to learn that people at the north
      labor under the strange delusion that if the slaves were emancipated at
      the south, they would flock to the north. So far from this being the case,
      in that event, you would see many old and familiar faces back again to the
      south. The fact is, there are few here who would not return to the south
      in the event of emancipation. We want to live in the land of our birth,
      and to lay our bones by the side of our fathers; and nothing short of an
      intense love of personal freedom keeps us from the south. For the sake of
      this, most of us would live on a crust of bread and a cup of cold water.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since I left you, I have had a rich experience. I have occupied stations
      which I never dreamed of when a slave. Three out of the ten years since I
      left you, I spent as a common laborer on the wharves of New Bedford,
      Massachusetts. It was there I earned my first free dollar. It was mine. I
      could spend it as I pleased. I could buy hams or herring with it, without
      asking any odds of anybody. That was a precious dollar to me. You remember
      when I used to make seven, or eight, or even nine dollars a week in
      Baltimore, you would take every cent of it from me every Saturday night,
      saying that I belonged to you, and my earnings also. I never liked this
      conduct on your part&mdash;to say the best, I thought it a little mean. I
      would not have served you so. But let that pass. I was a little awkward
      about counting money in New England fashion when I first landed in New
      Bedford. I came near betraying myself several times. I caught myself
      saying phip, for fourpence; and at one time a man actually charged me with
      being a runaway, whereupon I was silly enough to become one by running
      away from him, for I was greatly afraid he might adopt measures to get me
      again into slavery, a condition I then dreaded more than death.
    </p>
    <p>
      I soon learned, however, to count money, as well as to make it, and got on
      swimmingly. I married soon after leaving you; in fact, I was engaged to be
      married before I left you; and instead of finding my companion a burden,
      she was truly a helpmate. She went to live at service, and I to work on
      the wharf, and though we toiled hard the first winter, we never lived more
      happily. After remaining in New Bedford for three years, I met with
      William Lloyd Garrison, a person of whom you have <i>possibly</i> heard,
      as he is pretty generally known among slaveholders. He put it into my head
      that I might make myself serviceable to the cause of the slave, by
      devoting a portion of my time to telling my own sorrows, and those of
      other slaves, which had come under my observation. This<span
      class="pagenum">[334]</span> was the commencement of a higher state of
      existence than any to which I had ever aspired. I was thrown into society
      the most pure, enlightened, and benevolent, that the country affords.
      Among these I have never forgotten you, but have invariably made you the
      topic of conversation&mdash;thus giving you all the notoriety I could do.
      I need not tell you that the opinion formed of you in these circles is far
      from being favorable. They have little respect for your honesty, and less
      for your religion.
    </p>
    <p>
      But I was going on to relate to you something of my interesting
      experience. I had not long enjoyed the excellent society to which I have
      referred, before the light of its excellence exerted a beneficial
      influence on my mind and heart. Much of my early dislike of white persons
      was removed, and their manners, habits, and customs, so entirely unlike
      what I had been used to in the kitchen-quarters on the plantations of the
      south, fairly charmed me, and gave me a strong disrelish for the coarse
      and degrading customs of my former condition. I therefore made an effort
      so to improve my mind and deportment, as to be somewhat fitted to the
      station to which I seemed almost providentially called. The transition
      from degradation to respectability was indeed great, and to get from one
      to the other without carrying some marks of one's former condition, is
      truly a difficult matter. I would not have you think that I am now
      entirely clear of all plantation peculiarities, but my friends here, while
      they entertain the strongest dislike to them, regard me with that charity
      to which my past life somewhat entitles me, so that my condition in this
      respect is exceedingly pleasant. So far as my domestic affairs are
      concerned, I can boast of as comfortable a dwelling as your own. I have an
      industrious and neat companion, and four dear children&mdash;the oldest a
      girl of nine years, and three fine boys, the oldest eight, the next six,
      and the youngest four years old. The three oldest are now going regularly
      to school&mdash;two can read and write, and the other can spell, with
      tolerable correctness, words of two syllables. Dear fellows! they are all
      in comfortable beds, and are sound asleep, perfectly secure under my own
      roof. There are no slaveholders here to rend my heart by snatching them
      from my arms, or blast a mother's dearest hopes by tearing them from her
      bosom. These dear children are ours&mdash;not to work up into rice, sugar,
      and tobacco, but to watch over, regard, and protect, and to rear them up
      in the nurture and admonition of the gospel&mdash;to train them up in the
      paths of wisdom and virtue, and, as far as we can, to make them useful to
      the world and to themselves. Oh! sir, a slaveholder never appears to me so
      completely an agent of hell, as when I think of and look upon my dear
      children. It is then that my feelings rise above my control. I meant to
      have said more with respect to my own prosperity and happiness, but
      thoughts and feel<span class="pagenum">[335]</span> ings which this
      recital has quickened, unfit me to proceed further in that direction. The
      grim horrors of slavery rise in all their ghastly terror before me; the
      wails of millions pierce my heart and chill my blood. I remember the
      chain, the gag, the bloody whip; the death-like gloom overshadowing the
      broken spirit of the fettered bondman; the appalling liability of his
      being torn away from wife and children, and sold like a beast in the
      market. Say not that this is a picture of fancy. You well know that I wear
      stripes on my back, inflicted by your direction; and that you, while we
      were brothers in the same church, caused this right hand, with which I am
      now penning this letter, to be closely tied to my left, and my person
      dragged, at the pistol's mouth, fifteen miles, from the Bay Side to
      Easton, to be sold like a beast in the market, for the alleged crime of
      intending to escape from your possession. All this, and more, you
      remember, and know to be perfectly true, not only of yourself, but of
      nearly all of the slaveholders around you.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment, you are probably the guilty holder of at least three of my
      own dear sisters, and my only brother, in bondage. These you regard as
      your property. They are recorded on your ledger, or perhaps have been sold
      to human flesh-mongers, with a view to filling our own ever-hungry purse.
      Sir, I desire to know how and where these dear sisters are. Have you sold
      them? or are they still in your possession? What has become of them? are
      they living or dead? And my dear old grandmother, whom you turned out like
      an old horse to die in the woods&mdash;is she still alive? Write and let
      me know all about them. If my grandmother be still alive, she is of no
      service to you, for by this time she must be nearly eighty years old&mdash;too
      old to be cared for by one to whom she has ceased to be of service; send
      her to me at Rochester, or bring her to Philadelphia, and it shall be the
      crowning happiness of my life to take care of her in her old age. Oh! she
      was to me a mother and a father, so far as hard toil for my comfort could
      make her such. Send me my grandmother! that I may watch over and take care
      of her in her old age. And my sisters&mdash;let me know all about them. I
      would write to them, and learn all I want to know of them, without
      disturbing you in any way, but that, through your unrighteous conduct,
      they have been entirely deprived of the power to read and write. You have
      kept them in utter ignorance, and have therefore robbed them of the sweet
      enjoyments of writing or receiving letters from absent friends and
      relatives. Your wickedness and cruelty, committed in this respect on your
      fellow-creatures, are greater than all the stripes you have laid upon my
      back or theirs. It is an outrage upon the soul, a war upon the immortal
      spirit, and one for which you must give account at the bar of our common
      Father and Creator.<span class="pagenum">[336]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      The responsibility which you have assumed in this regard is truly awful,
      and how you could stagger under it these many years is marvelous. Your
      mind must have become darkened, your heart hardened, your conscience
      seared and petrified, or you would have long since thrown off the accursed
      load, and sought relief at the hands of a sin-forgiving God. How, let me
      ask, would you look upon me, were I, some dark night, in company with a
      band of hardened villains, to enter the precincts of your elegant
      dwelling, and seize the person of your own lovely daughter, Amanda, and
      carry her off from your family, friends, and all the loved ones of her
      youth&mdash;make her my slave&mdash;compel her to work, and I take her
      wages&mdash;place her name on my ledger as property&mdash;disregard her
      personal rights&mdash;fetter the powers of her immortal soul by denying
      her the right and privilege of learning to read and write&mdash;feed her
      coarsely&mdash;clothe her scantily, and whip her on the naked back
      occasionally; more, and still more horrible, leave her unprotected&mdash;a
      degraded victim to the brutal lust of fiendish overseers, who would
      pollute, blight, and blast her fair soul&mdash;rob her of all dignity&mdash;destroy
      her virtue, and annihilate in her person all the graces that adorn the
      character of virtuous womanhood? I ask, how would you regard me, if such
      were my conduct? Oh! the vocabulary of the damned would not afford a word
      sufficiently infernal to express your idea of my God-provoking wickedness.
      Yet, sir, your treatment of my beloved sisters is in all essential points
      precisely like the case I have now supposed. Damning as would be such a
      deed on my part, it would be no more so than that which you have committed
      against me and my sisters.
    </p>
    <p>
      I will now bring this letter to a close; you shall hear from me again
      unless you let me hear from you. I intend to make use of you as a weapon
      with which to assail the system of slavery&mdash;as a means of
      concentrating public attention on the system, and deepening the horror of
      trafficking in the souls and bodies of men. I shall make use of you as a
      means of exposing the character of the American church and clergy&mdash;and
      as a means of bringing this guilty nation, with yourself, to repentance.
      In doing this, I entertain no malice toward you personally. There is no
      roof under which you would be more safe than mine, and there is nothing in
      my house which you might need for your comfort, which I would not readily
      grant. Indeed, I should esteem it a privilege to set you an example as to
      how mankind ought to treat each other.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
        <i>I am your fellow-man, but not your slave</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE NATURE OF SLAVERY. Extract from a Lecture on Slavery, at Rochester,
    </h2>
    <p>
      December 1, 1850
    </p>
    <p>
      More than twenty years of my life were consumed in a state of slavery. My
      childhood was environed by the baneful peculiarities of the slave system.
      I grew up to manhood in the presence of this hydra headed monster&mdash;not
      as a master&mdash;not as an idle spectator&mdash;not as the guest of the
      slaveholder&mdash;but as A SLAVE, eating the bread and drinking the cup of
      slavery with the most degraded of my brother-bondmen, and sharing with
      them all the painful conditions of their wretched lot. In consideration of
      these facts, I feel that I have a right to speak, and to speak <i>strongly</i>.
      Yet, my friends, I feel bound to speak truly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Goading as have been the cruelties to which I have been subjected&mdash;bitter
      as have been the trials through which I have passed&mdash;exasperating as
      have been, and still are, the indignities offered to my manhood&mdash;I
      find in them no excuse for the slightest departure from truth in dealing
      with any branch of this subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      First of all, I will state, as well as I can, the legal and social
      relation of master and slave. A master is one&mdash;to speak in the
      vocabulary of the southern states&mdash;who claims and exercises a right
      of property in the person of a fellow-man. This he does with the force of
      the law and the sanction of southern religion. The law gives the master
      absolute power over the slave. He may work him, flog him, hire him out,
      sell him, and, in certain contingencies, <i>kill</i> him, with perfect
      impunity. The slave is a human being, divested of all rights&mdash;reduced
      to the level of a brute&mdash;a mere "chattel" in the eye of the law&mdash;placed
      beyond the circle of human brotherhood&mdash;cut off from his kind&mdash;his
      name, which the "recording angel" may have enrolled in heaven, among the
      blest, is impiously inserted in a <i>master's ledger</i>, with horses,
      sheep, and swine. In law, the slave has no wife, no children, no country,
      and no home. He can own nothing, possess nothing, acquire nothing, but
      what must belong to another. To<span class="pagenum">[338]</span> eat the
      fruit of his own toil, to clothe his person with the work of his own
      hands, is considered stealing. He toils that another may reap the fruit;
      he is industrious that another may live in idleness; he eats unbolted meal
      that another may eat the bread of fine flour; he labors in chains at home,
      under a burning sun and biting lash, that another may ride in ease and
      splendor abroad; he lives in ignorance that another may be educated; he is
      abused that another may be exalted; he rests his toil-worn limbs on the
      cold, damp ground that another may repose on the softest pillow; he is
      clad in coarse and tattered raiment that another may be arrayed in purple
      and fine linen; he is sheltered only by the wretched hovel that a master
      may dwell in a magnificent mansion; and to this condition he is bound down
      as by an arm of iron.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this monstrous relation there springs an unceasing stream of most
      revolting cruelties. The very accompaniments of the slave system stamp it
      as the offspring of hell itself. To ensure good behavior, the slaveholder
      relies on the whip; to induce proper humility, he relies on the whip; to
      rebuke what he is pleased to term insolence, he relies on the whip; to
      supply the place of wages as an incentive to toil, he relies on the whip;
      to bind down the spirit of the slave, to imbrute and destroy his manhood,
      he relies on the whip, the chain, the gag, the thumb-screw, the pillory,
      the bowie knife the pistol, and the blood-hound. These are the necessary
      and unvarying accompaniments of the system. Wherever slavery is found,
      these horrid instruments are also found. Whether on the coast of Africa,
      among the savage tribes, or in South Carolina, among the refined and
      civilized, slavery is the same, and its accompaniments one and the same.
      It makes no difference whether the slaveholder worships the God of the
      Christians, or is a follower of Mahomet, he is the minister of the same
      cruelty, and the author of the same misery. <i>Slavery</i> is always <i>slavery;</i>
      always the same foul, haggard, and damning scourge, whether found in the
      eastern or in the western hemisphere.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is a still deeper shade to be given to this picture. The physical
      cruelties are indeed sufficiently harassing and revolting; but they are as
      a few grains of sand on the sea shore, or a few drops of water in the
      great ocean, compared with the stupendous wrongs which it inflicts upon
      the mental, moral, and religious nature of its hapless victims. It is only
      when we contemplate the slave as a moral and intellectual being, that we
      can adequately comprehend the unparalleled enormity of slavery, and the
      intense criminality of the slaveholder. I have said that the slave was a
      man. "What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in
      faculties! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action<span
      class="pagenum">[339]</span> how like an angel! In apprehension how like a
      God! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The slave is a man, "the image of God," but "a little lower than the
      angels;" possessing a soul, eternal and indestructible; capable of endless
      happiness, or immeasurable woe; a creature of hopes and fears, of
      affections and passions, of joys and sorrows, and he is endowed with those
      mysterious powers by which man soars above the things of time and sense,
      and grasps, with undying tenacity, the elevating and sublimely glorious
      idea of a God. It is <i>such</i> a being that is smitten and blasted. The
      first work of slavery is to mar and deface those characteristics of its
      victims which distinguish <i>men</i> from <i>things</i>, and <i>persons</i>
      from <i>property</i>. Its first aim is to destroy all sense of high moral
      and religious responsibility. It reduces man to a mere machine. It cuts
      him off from his Maker, it hides from him the laws of God, and leaves him
      to grope his way from time to eternity in the dark, under the arbitrary
      and despotic control of a frail, depraved, and sinful fellow-man. As the
      serpent-charmer of India is compelled to extract the deadly teeth of his
      venomous prey before he is able to handle him with impunity, so the
      slaveholder must strike down the conscience of the slave before he can
      obtain the entire mastery over his victim.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is, then, the first business of the enslaver of men to blunt, deaden,
      and destroy the central principle of human responsibility. Conscience is,
      to the individual soul, and to society, what the law of gravitation is to
      the universe. It holds society together; it is the basis of all trust and
      confidence; it is the pillar of all moral rectitude. Without it, suspicion
      would take the place of trust; vice would be more than a match for virtue;
      men would prey upon each other, like the wild beasts of the desert; and
      earth would become a <i>hell</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nor is slavery more adverse to the conscience than it is to the mind. This
      is shown by the fact, that in every state of the American Union, where
      slavery exists, except the state of Kentucky, there are laws absolutely
      prohibitory of education among the slaves. The crime of teaching a slave
      to read is punishable with severe fines and imprisonment, and, in some
      instances, with <i>death itself</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nor are the laws respecting this matter a dead letter. Cases may occur in
      which they are disregarded, and a few instances may be found where slaves
      may have learned to read; but such are isolated cases, and only prove the
      rule. The great mass of slaveholders look upon education among the slaves
      as utterly subversive of the slave system. I well remember when my
      mistress first announced to my master that she had dis<span class="pagenum">[340]</span>
      covered that I could read. His face colored at once with surprise and
      chagrin. He said that "I was ruined, and my value as a slave destroyed;
      that a slave should know nothing but to obey his master; that to give a
      negro an inch would lead him to take an ell; that having learned how to
      read, I would soon want to know how to write; and that by-and-by I would
      be running away." I think my audience will bear witness to the correctness
      of this philosophy, and to the literal fulfillment of this prophecy.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is perfectly well understood at the south, that to educate a slave is
      to make him discontened(sic) with slavery, and to invest him with a power
      which shall open to him the treasures of freedom; and since the object of
      the slaveholder is to maintain complete authority over his slave, his
      constant vigilance is exercised to prevent everything which militates
      against, or endangers, the stability of his authority. Education being
      among the menacing influences, and, perhaps, the most dangerous, is,
      therefore, the most cautiously guarded against.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is true that we do not often hear of the enforcement of the law,
      punishing as a crime the teaching of slaves to read, but this is not
      because of a want of disposition to enforce it. The true reason or
      explanation of the matter is this: there is the greatest unanimity of
      opinion among the white population in the south in favor of the policy of
      keeping the slave in ignorance. There is, perhaps, another reason why the
      law against education is so seldom violated. The slave is too poor to be
      able to offer a temptation sufficiently strong to induce a white man to
      violate it; and it is not to be supposed that in a community where the
      moral and religious sentiment is in favor of slavery, many martyrs will be
      found sacrificing their liberty and lives by violating those prohibitory
      enactments.
    </p>
    <p>
      As a general rule, then, darkness reigns over the abodes of the enslaved,
      and "how great is that darkness!"
    </p>
    <p>
      We are sometimes told of the contentment of the slaves, and are
      entertained with vivid pictures of their happiness. We are told that they
      often dance and sing; that their masters frequently give them wherewith to
      make merry; in fine, that they have little of which to complain. I admit
      that the slave does sometimes sing, dance, and appear to be merry. But
      what does this prove? It only proves to my mind, that though slavery is
      armed with a thousand stings, it is not able entirely to kill the elastic
      spirit of the bondman. That spirit will rise and walk abroad, despite of
      whips and chains, and extract from the cup of nature occasional drops of
      joy and gladness. No thanks to the slaveholder, nor to slavery, that the<span
      class="pagenum">[341]</span> vivacious captive may sometimes dance in his
      chains; his very mirth in such circumstances stands before God as an
      accusing angel against his enslaver.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is often said, by the opponents of the anti-slavery cause, that the
      condition of the people of Ireland is more deplorable than that of the
      American slaves. Far be it from me to underrate the sufferings of the
      Irish people. They have been long oppressed; and the same heart that
      prompts me to plead the cause of the American bondman, makes it impossible
      for me not to sympathize with the oppressed of all lands. Yet I must say
      that there is no analogy between the two cases. The Irishman is poor, but
      he is not a slave. He may be in rags, but he is not a slave. He is still
      the master of his own body, and can say with the poet, "The hand of
      Douglass is his own." "The world is all before him, where to choose;" and
      poor as may be my opinion of the British parliament, I cannot believe that
      it will ever sink to such a depth of infamy as to pass a law for the
      recapture of fugitive Irishmen! The shame and scandal of kidnapping will
      long remain wholly monopolized by the American congress. The Irishman has
      not only the liberty to emigrate from his country, but he has liberty at
      home. He can write, and speak, and cooperate for the attainment of his
      rights and the redress of his wrongs.
    </p>
    <p>
      The multitude can assemble upon all the green hills and fertile plains of
      the Emerald Isle; they can pour out their grievances, and proclaim their
      wants without molestation; and the press, that "swift-winged messenger,"
      can bear the tidings of their doings to the extreme bounds of the
      civilized world. They have their "Conciliation Hall," on the banks of the
      Liffey, their reform clubs, and their newspapers; they pass resolutions,
      send forth addresses, and enjoy the right of petition. But how is it with
      the American slave? Where may he assemble? Where is his Conciliation Hall?
      Where are his newspapers? Where is his right of petition? Where is his
      freedom of speech? his liberty of the press? and his right of locomotion?
      He is said to be happy; happy men can speak. But ask the slave what is his
      condition&mdash;what his state of mind&mdash;what he thinks of
      enslavement? and you had as well address your inquiries to the <i>silent
      dead</i>. There comes no <i>voice</i> from the enslaved. We are left to
      gather his feelings by imagining what ours would be, were our souls in his
      soul's stead.
    </p>
    <p>
      If there were no other fact descriptive of slavery, than that the slave is
      dumb, this alone would be sufficient to mark the slave system as a grand
      aggregation of human horrors.
    </p>
    <p>
      Most who are present, will have observed that leading men in this<span
      class="pagenum">[342]</span> country have been putting forth their skill
      to secure quiet to the nation. A system of measures to promote this object
      was adopted a few months ago in congress. The result of those measures is
      known. Instead of quiet, they have produced alarm; instead of peace, they
      have brought us war; and so it must ever be.
    </p>
    <p>
      While this nation is guilty of the enslavement of three millions of
      innocent men and women, it is as idle to think of having a sound and
      lasting peace, as it is to think there is no God to take cognizance of the
      affairs of men. There can be no peace to the wicked while slavery
      continues in the land. It will be condemned; and while it is condemned
      there will be agitation. Nature must cease to be nature; men must become
      monsters; humanity must be transformed; Christianity must be exterminated;
      all ideas of justice and the laws of eternal goodness must be utterly
      blotted out from the human soul&mdash;ere a system so foul and infernal
      can escape condemnation, or this guilty republic can have a sound,
      enduring peace.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      INHUMANITY OF SLAVERY. Extract from A Lecture on Slavery, at Rochester,
    </h2>
    <p>
      December 8, 1850
    </p>
    <p>
      The relation of master and slave has been called patriarchal, and only
      second in benignity and tenderness to that of the parent and child. This
      representation is doubtless believed by many northern people; and this may
      account, in part, for the lack of interest which we find among persons
      whom we are bound to believe to be honest and humane. What, then, are the
      facts? Here I will not quote my own experience in slavery; for this you
      might call one-sided testimony. I will not cite the declarations of
      abolitionists; for these you might pronounce exaggerations. I will not
      rely upon advertisements cut from newspapers; for these you might call
      isolated cases. But I will refer you to the laws adopted by the
      legislatures of the slave states. I give you such evidence, because it
      cannot be invalidated nor denied. I hold in my hand sundry extracts from
      the slave codes of our country, from which I will quote. * * *
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, if the foregoing be an indication of kindness, <i>what is cruelty</i>?
      If this be parental affection, <i>what is bitter malignity</i>? A more
      atrocious and blood-thirsty string of laws could not well be conceived of.
      And yet I am bound to say that they fall short of indicating the horrible
      cruelties constantly practiced in the slave states.
    </p>
    <p>
      I admit that there are individual slaveholders less cruel and barbarous
      than is allowed by law; but these form the exception. The majority of
      slaveholders find it necessary, to insure obedience, at times, to avail
      themselves of the utmost extent of the law, and many go beyond it. If
      kindness were the rule, we should not see advertisements filling the
      columns of almost every southern newspaper, offering large rewards for
      fugitive slaves, and describing them as being branded with irons, loaded
      with chains, and scarred by the whip. One of the most telling testimonies
      against the pretended kindness of slaveholders, is the fact that uncounted
      numbers of fugitives are now inhabiting the Dismal Swamp, preferring<span
      class="pagenum">[344]</span> the untamed wilderness to their cultivated
      homes&mdash;choosing rather to encounter hunger and thirst, and to roam
      with the wild beasts of the forest, running the hazard of being hunted and
      shot down, than to submit to the authority of <i>kind</i> masters.
    </p>
    <p>
      I tell you, my friends, humanity is never driven to such an unnatural
      course of life, without great wrong. The slave finds more of the milk of
      human kindness in the bosom of the savage Indian, than in the heart of his
      <i>Christian</i> master. He leaves the man of the <i>bible</i>, and takes
      refuge with the man of the <i>tomahawk</i>. He rushes from the praying
      slaveholder into the paws of the bear. He quits the homes of men for the
      haunts of wolves. He prefers to encounter a life of trial, however bitter,
      or death, however terrible, to dragging out his existence under the
      dominion of these <i>kind</i> masters.
    </p>
    <p>
      The apologists for slavery often speak of the abuses of slavery; and they
      tell us that they are as much opposed to those abuses as we are; and that
      they would go as far to correct those abuses and to ameliorate the
      condition of the slave as anybody. The answer to that view is, that
      slavery is itself an abuse; that it lives by abuse; and dies by the
      absence of abuse. Grant that slavery is right; grant that the relations of
      master and slave may innocently exist; and there is not a single outrage
      which was ever committed against the slave but what finds an apology in
      the very necessity of the case. As we said by a slaveholder (the Rev. A.
      G. Few) to the Methodist conference, "If the relation be right, the means
      to maintain it are also right;" for without those means slavery could not
      exist. Remove the dreadful scourge&mdash;the plaited thong&mdash;the
      galling fetter&mdash;the accursed chain&mdash;and let the slaveholder rely
      solely upon moral and religious power, by which to secure obedience to his
      orders, and how long do you suppose a slave would remain on his
      plantation? The case only needs to be stated; it carries its own
      refutation with it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Absolute and arbitrary power can never be maintained by one man over the
      body and soul of another man, without brutal chastisement and enormous
      cruelty.
    </p>
    <p>
      To talk of <i>kindness</i> entering into a relation in which one party is
      robbed of wife, of children, of his hard earnings, of home, of friends, of
      society, of knowledge, and of all that makes this life desirable, is most
      absurd, wicked, and preposterous.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have shown that slavery is wicked&mdash;wicked, in that it violates the
      great law of liberty, written on every human heart&mdash;wicked, in that
      it violates the first command of the decalogue&mdash;wicked, in that it
      fosters the most disgusting licentiousness&mdash;wicked, in that it mars
      and defaces<span class="pagenum">[345]</span> the image of God by cruel
      and barbarous inflictions&mdash;wicked, in that it contravenes the laws of
      eternal justice, and tramples in the dust all the humane and heavenly
      precepts of the New Testament.
    </p>
    <p>
      The evils resulting from this huge system of iniquity are not confined to
      the states south of Mason and Dixon's line. Its noxious influence can
      easily be traced throughout our northern borders. It comes even as far
      north as the state of New York. Traces of it may be seen even in
      Rochester; and travelers have told me it casts its gloomy shadows across
      the lake, approaching the very shores of Queen Victoria's dominions.
    </p>
    <p>
      The presence of slavery may be explained by&mdash;as it is the explanation
      of&mdash;the mobocratic violence which lately disgraced New York, and
      which still more recently disgraced the city of Boston. These violent
      demonstrations, these outrageous invasions of human rights, faintly
      indicate the presence and power of slavery here. It is a significant fact,
      that while meetings for almost any purpose under heaven may be held
      unmolested in the city of Boston, that in the same city, a meeting cannot
      be peaceably held for the purpose of preaching the doctrine of the
      American Declaration of Independence, "that all men are created equal."
      The pestiferous breath of slavery taints the whole moral atmosphere of the
      north, and enervates the moral energies of the whole people.
    </p>
    <p>
      The moment a foreigner ventures upon our soil, and utters a natural
      repugnance to oppression, that moment he is made to feel that there is
      little sympathy in this land for him. If he were greeted with smiles
      before, he meets with frowns now; and it shall go well with him if he be
      not subjected to that peculiarly fining method of showing fealty to
      slavery, the assaults of a mob.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, will any man tell me that such a state of things is natural, and that
      such conduct on the part of the people of the north, springs from a
      consciousness of rectitude? No! every fibre of the human heart unites in
      detestation of tyranny, and it is only when the human mind has become
      familiarized with slavery, is accustomed to its injustice, and corrupted
      by its selfishness, that it fails to record its abhorrence of slavery, and
      does not exult in the triumphs of liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      The northern people have been long connected with slavery; they have been
      linked to a decaying corpse, which has destroyed the moral health. The
      union of the government; the union of the north and south, in the
      political parties; the union in the religious organizations of the land,
      have all served to deaden the moral sense of the northern people, and to
      impregnate them with sentiments and ideas forever in conflict with what as
      a nation we call <i>genius of American institutions</i>. Rightly viewed,<span
      class="pagenum">[346]</span> this is an alarming fact, and ought to rally
      all that is pure, just, and holy in one determined effort to crush the
      monster of corruption, and to scatter "its guilty profits" to the winds.
      In a high moral sense, as well as in a national sense, the whole American
      people are responsible for slavery, and must share, in its guilt and
      shame, with the most obdurate men-stealers of the south.
    </p>
    <p>
      While slavery exists, and the union of these states endures, every
      American citizen must bear the chagrin of hearing his country branded
      before the world as a nation of liars and hypocrites; and behold his
      cherished flag pointed at with the utmost scorn and derision. Even now an
      American <i>abroad</i> is pointed out in the crowd, as coming from a land
      where men gain their fortunes by "the blood of souls," from a land of
      slave markets, of blood-hounds, and slave-hunters; and, in some circles,
      such a man is shunned altogether, as a moral pest. Is it not time, then,
      for every American to awake, and inquire into his duty with respect to
      this subject?
    </p>
    <p>
      Wendell Phillips&mdash;the eloquent New England orator&mdash;on his return
      from Europe, in 1842, said, "As I stood upon the shores of Genoa, and saw
      floating on the placid waters of the Mediterranean, the beautiful American
      war ship Ohio, with her masts tapering proportionately aloft, and an
      eastern sun reflecting her noble form upon the sparkling waters,
      attracting the gaze of the multitude, my first impulse was of pride, to
      think myself an American; but when I thought that the first time that
      gallant ship would gird on her gorgeous apparel, and wake from beneath her
      sides her dormant thunders, it would be in defense of the African slave
      trade, I blushed in utter <i>shame</i> for my country."
    </p>
    <p>
      Let me say again, <i>slavery is alike the sin and the shame of the
      American people;</i> it is a blot upon the American name, and the only
      national reproach which need make an American hang his head in shame, in
      the presence of monarchical governments.
    </p>
    <p>
      With this gigantic evil in the land, we are constantly told to look <i>at
      home;</i> if we say ought against crowned heads, we are pointed to our
      enslaved millions; if we talk of sending missionaries and bibles abroad,
      we are pointed to three millions now lying in worse than heathen darkness;
      if we express a word of sympathy for Kossuth and his Hungarian fugitive
      brethren, we are pointed to that horrible and hell-black enactment, "the
      fugitive slave bill."
    </p>
    <p>
      Slavery blunts the edge of all our rebukes of tyranny abroad&mdash;the
      criticisms that we make upon other nations, only call forth ridicule,
      contempt, and scorn. In a word, we are made a reproach and a by-word to a<span
      class="pagenum">[347]</span> mocking earth, and we must continue to be so
      made, so long as slavery continues to pollute our soil.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have heard much of late of the virtue of patriotism, the love of
      country, &amp;c., and this sentiment, so natural and so strong, has been
      impiously appealed to, by all the powers of human selfishness, to cherish
      the viper which is stinging our national life away. In its name, we have
      been called upon to deepen our infamy before the world, to rivet the
      fetter more firmly on the limbs of the enslaved, and to become utterly
      insensible to the voice of human woe that is wafted to us on every
      southern gale. We have been called upon, in its name, to desecrate our
      whole land by the footprints of slave-hunters, and even to engage
      ourselves in the horrible business of kidnapping.
    </p>
    <p>
      I, too, would invoke the spirit of patriotism; not in a narrow and
      restricted sense, but, I trust, with a broad and manly signification; not
      to cover up our national sins, but to inspire us with sincere repentance;
      not to hide our shame from the the(sic) world's gaze, but utterly to
      abolish the cause of that shame; not to explain away our gross
      inconsistencies as a nation, but to remove the hateful, jarring, and
      incongruous elements from the land; not to sustain an egregious wrong, but
      to unite all our energies in the grand effort to remedy that wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      I would invoke the spirit of patriotism, in the name of the law of the
      living God, natural and revealed, and in the full belief that
      "righteousness exalteth a nation, while sin is a reproach to any people."
      "He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly; he that despiseth
      the gain of oppressions, that shaketh his hands from the holding of
      bribes, he shall dwell on high, his place of defense shall be the
      munitions of rocks, bread shall be given him, his water shall be sure."
    </p>
    <p>
      We have not only heard much lately of patriotism, and of its aid being
      invoked on the side of slavery and injustice, but the very prosperity of
      this people has been called in to deafen them to the voice of duty, and to
      lead them onward in the pathway of sin. Thus has the blessing of God been
      converted into a curse. In the spirit of genuine patriotism, I warn the
      American people, by all that is just and honorable, to BEWARE!
    </p>
    <p>
      I warn them that, strong, proud, and prosperous though we be, there is a
      power above us that can "bring down high looks; at the breath of whose
      mouth our wealth may take wings; and before whom every knee shall bow;"
      and who can tell how soon the avenging angel may pass over our land, and
      the sable bondmen now in chains, may become the instruments of our
      nation's chastisement! Without appealing to any higher feeling, I would
      warn the American people, and the American government,<span class="pagenum">[348]</span>
      to be wise in their day and generation. I exhort them to remember the
      history of other nations; and I remind them that America cannot always sit
      "as a queen," in peace and repose; that prouder and stronger governments
      than this have been shattered by the bolts of a just God; that the time
      may come when those they now despise and hate, may be needed; when those
      whom they now compel by oppression to be enemies, may be wanted as
      friends. What has been, may be again. There is a point beyond which human
      endurance cannot go. The crushed worm may yet turn under the heel of the
      oppressor. I warn them, then, with all solemnity, and in the name of
      retributive justice, <i>to look to their ways;</i> for in an evil hour,
      those sable arms that have, for the last two centuries, been engaged in
      cultivating and adorning the fair fields of our country, may yet become
      the instruments of terror, desolation, and death, throughout our borders.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the sage of the Old Dominion that said&mdash;while speaking of the
      possibility of a conflict between the slaves and the slaveholders&mdash;"God
      has no attribute that could take sides with the oppressor in such a
      contest. I tremble for my country when I reflect that God <i>is just</i>,
      and that his justice cannot sleep forever." Such is the warning voice of
      Thomas Jefferson; and every day's experience since its utterance until
      now, confirms its wisdom, and commends its truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      WHAT TO THE SLAVE IS THE FOURTH OF JULY?. Extract from an Oration, at
    </h2>
    <p>
      Rochester, July 5, 1852
    </p>
    <p>
      Fellow-Citizens&mdash;Pardon me, and allow me to ask, why am I called upon
      to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your
      national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and
      of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended
      to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to
      the national altar, and to confess the benefits, and express devout
      gratitude for the blessings, resulting from your independence to us?
    </p>
    <p>
      Would to God, both for your sakes and ours, that an affirmative answer
      could be truthfully returned to these questions! Then would my task be
      light, and my burden easy and delightful. For who is there so cold that a
      nation's sympathy could not warm him? Who so obdurate and dead to the
      claims of gratitude, that would not thankfully acknowledge such priceless
      benefits? Who so stolid and selfish, that would not give his voice to
      swell the hallelujahs of a nation's jubilee, when the chains of servitude
      had been torn from his limbs? I am not that man. In a case like that, the
      dumb might eloquently speak, and the "lame man leap as an hart."
    </p>
    <p>
      But, such is not the state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of the
      disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of this glorious
      anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance
      between us. The blessings in which you this day rejoice, are not enjoyed
      in common. The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity, and
      independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me. The
      sunlight that brought life and healing to you, has brought stripes and
      death to me. This Fourth of July is <i>yours</i>, not mine. You may
      rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated<span
      class="pagenum">[350]</span> temple of liberty, and call upon him to join
      you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you
      mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak to-day? If so, there is
      a parallel to your conduct. And let me warn you that it is dangerous to
      copy the example of a nation whose crimes, towering up to heaven, were
      thrown down by the breath of the Almighty, burying that nation in
      irrecoverable ruin! I can to-day take up the plaintive lament of a peeled
      and woe-smitten people.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down. Yea! we wept when we
      remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst
      thereof. For there, they that carried us away captive, required of us a
      song; and they who wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of
      the songs of Zion. How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land? If I
      forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do
      not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth."
    </p>
    <p>
      Fellow-citizens, above your national, tumultous joy, I hear the mournful
      wail of millions, whose chains, heavy and grievous yesterday, are to-day
      rendered more intolerable by the jubilant shouts that reach them. If I do
      forget, if I do not faithfully remember those bleeding children of sorrow
      this day, "may my right hand forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave
      to the roof of my mouth!" To forget them, to pass lightly over their
      wrongs, and to chime in with the popular theme, would be treason most
      scandalous and shocking, and would make me a reproach before God and the
      world. My subject, then, fellow-citizens, is AMERICAN SLAVERY. I shall see
      this day and its popular characteristics from the slave's point of view.
      Standing there, identified with the American bondman, making his wrongs
      mine, I do not hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that the character
      and conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on this Fourth
      of July. Whether we turn to the declarations of the past, or to the
      professions of the present, the conduct of the nation seems equally
      hideous and revolting. America is false to the past, false to the present,
      and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future. Standing with God
      and the crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name
      of humanity which is outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered,
      in the name of the constitution and the bible, which are disregarded and
      trampled upon, dare to call in question and to denounce, with all the
      emphasis I can command, everything that serves to perpetuate slavery&mdash;the
      great sin and shame of America! "I will not equivocate; I will not
      excuse;" I will use the severest language I can command; and yet not one
      word shall escape me that any man, whose judgment is not blinded by
      prejudice, or who is not at heart a slaveholder, shall not confess to be
      right and just. <span class="pagenum">[351]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      But I fancy I hear some one of my audience say, it is just in this
      circumstance that you and your brother abolitionists fail to make a
      favorable impression on the public mind. Would you argue more, and
      denounce less, would you persuade more and rebuke less, your cause would
      be much more likely to succeed. But, I submit, where all is plain there is
      nothing to be argued. What point in the anti-slavery creed would you have
      me argue? On what branch of the subject do the people of this country need
      light? Must I undertake to prove that the slave is a man? That point is
      conceded already. Nobody doubts it. The slaveholders themselves
      acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for their government. They
      acknowledge it when they punish disobedience on the part of the slave.
      There are seventy-two crimes in the state of Virginia, which, if committed
      by a black man (no matter how ignorant he be), subject him to the
      punishment of death; while only two of these same crimes will subject a
      white man to the like punishment. What is this but the acknowledgement
      that the slave is a moral, intellectual, and responsible being. The
      manhood of the slave is conceded. It is admitted in the fact that southern
      statute books are covered with enactments forbidding, under severe fines
      and penalties, the teaching of the slave to read or write. When you can
      point to any such laws, in reference to the beasts of the field, then I
      may consent to argue the manhood of the slave. When the dogs in your
      streets, when the fowls of the air, when the cattle on your hills, when
      the fish of the sea, and the reptiles that crawl, shall be unable to
      distinguish the slave from a brute, then will I argue with you that the
      slave is a man!
    </p>
    <p>
      For the present, it is enough to affirm the equal manhood of the Negro
      race. Is it not astonishing that, while we are plowing, planting, and
      reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools, erecting houses,
      constructing bridges, building ships, working in metals of brass, iron,
      copper, silver, and gold; that, while we are reading, writing, and
      cyphering, acting as clerks, merchants, and secretaries, having among us
      lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators, and
      teachers; that, while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common
      to other men&mdash;digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the
      Pacific, feeding sheep and cattle on the hillside, living, moving, acting,
      thinking, planning, living in families as husbands, wives, and children,
      and, above all, confessing and worshiping the Christian's God, and looking
      hopefully for life and immortality beyond the grave&mdash;we are called
      upon to prove that we are men!
    </p>
    <p>
      Would you have me argue that man is entitled to liberty? that he is the
      rightful owner of his own body? You have already declared it. Must I argue
      the wrongfulness of slavery? Is that a question for republicans?<span
      class="pagenum">[352]</span> Is it to be settled by the rules of logic and
      argumentation, as a matter beset with great difficulty, involving a
      doubtful application of the principle of justice, hard to be understood?
      How should I look to-day in the presence of Americans, dividing and
      subdividing a discourse, to show that men have a natural right to freedom,
      speaking of it relatively and positively, negatively and affirmatively? To
      do so, would be to make myself ridiculous, and to offer an insult to your
      understanding. There is not a man beneath the canopy of heaven that does
      not know that slavery is wrong for <i>him</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      What! am I to argue that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob them of
      their liberty, to work them without wages, to keep them ignorant of their
      relations to their fellow-men, to beat them with sticks, to flay their
      flesh with the lash, to load their limbs with irons, to hunt them with
      dogs, to sell them at auction, to sunder their families, to knock out
      their teeth, to burn their flesh, to starve them into obedience and
      submission to their masters? Must I argue that a system, thus marked with
      blood and stained with pollution, is wrong? No; I will not. I have better
      employment for my time and strength than such arguments would imply.
    </p>
    <p>
      What, then, remains to be argued? Is it that slavery is not divine; that
      God did not establish it; that our doctors of divinity are mistaken? There
      is blasphemy in the thought. That which is inhuman cannot be divine. Who
      can reason on such a proposition! They that can, may! I cannot. The time
      for such argument is past.
    </p>
    <p>
      At a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is needed.
      Oh! had I the ability, and could I reach the nation's ear, I would to-day
      pour out a fiery stream of biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering
      sarcasm, and stern rebuke. For it is not light that is needed, but fire;
      it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the
      whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be
      quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of
      the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed;
      and its crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced.
    </p>
    <p>
      What to the American slave is your Fourth of July? I answer, a day that
      reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice
      and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration
      is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national
      greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and
      heartless; your denunciations of tyrants, brass-fronted impudence; your
      shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns,
      your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and
      solemnity,<span class="pagenum">[353]</span> are to him mere bombast,
      fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy&mdash;a thin veil to cover up
      crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on
      the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody, than are the
      people of these United States, at this very hour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Go where you may, search where you will, roam through all the monarchies
      and despotisms of the old world, travel through South America, search out
      every abuse, and when you have found the last, lay your facts by the side
      of the every-day practices of this nation, and you will say with me, that,
      for revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a
      rival.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE INTERNAL SLAVE TRADE. Extract from an Oration, at Rochester, July
    </h2>
    <p>
      5, 1852
    </p>
    <p>
      Take the American slave trade, which, we are told by the papers, is
      especially prosperous just now. Ex-senator Benton tells us that the price
      of men was never higher than now. He mentions the fact to show that
      slavery is in no danger. This trade is one of the peculiarities of
      American institutions. It is carried on in all the large towns and cities
      in one-half of this confederacy; and millions are pocketed every year by
      dealers in this horrid traffic. In several states this trade is a chief
      source of wealth. It is called (in contradistinction to the foreign slave
      trade) <i>"the internal slave trade</i>." It is, probably, called so, too,
      in order to divert from it the horror with which the foreign slave trade
      is contemplated. That trade has long since been denounced by this
      government as piracy. It has been denounced with burning words, from the
      high places of the nation, as an execrable traffic. To arrest it, to put
      an end to it, this nation keeps a squadron, at immense cost, on the coast
      of Africa. Everywhere in this country, it is safe to speak of this foreign
      slave trade as a most inhuman traffic, opposed alike to the laws of God
      and of man. The duty to extirpate and destroy it is admitted even by our
      <i>doctors of divinity</i>. In order to put an end to it, some of these
      last have consented that their colored brethren (nominally free) should
      leave this country, and establish themselves on the western coast of
      Africa. It is, however, a notable fact, that, while so much execration is
      poured out by Americans, upon those engaged in the foreign slave trade,
      the men engaged in the slave trade between the states pass without
      condemnation, and their business is deemed honorable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Behold the practical operation of this internal slave trade&mdash;the
      American slave trade sustained by American politics and American religion!
      Here you will see men and women reared like swine for the market. You know
      what is a swine-drover? I will show you a man-drover. They inhabit all our
      southern states. They perambulate the country, and crowd the<span
      class="pagenum">[355]</span> highways of the nation with droves of human
      stock. You will see one of these human-flesh-jobbers, armed with pistol,
      whip, and bowie-knife, driving a company of a hundred men, women, and
      children, from the Potomac to the slave market at New Orleans. These
      wretched people are to be sold singly, or in lots, to suit purchasers.
      They are food for the cotton-field and the deadly sugar-mill. Mark the sad
      procession as it moves wearily along, and the inhuman wretch who drives
      them. Hear his savage yells and his blood-chilling oaths, as he hurries on
      his affrighted captives. There, see the old man, with locks thinned and
      gray. Cast one glance, if you please, upon that young mother, whose
      shoulders are bare to the scorching sun, her briny tears falling on the
      brow of the babe in her arms. See, too, that girl of thirteen, weeping,
      yes, weeping, as she thinks of the mother from whom she has been torn. The
      drove moves tardily. Heat and sorrow have nearly consumed their strength.
      Suddenly you hear a quick snap, like the discharge of a rifle; the fetters
      clank, and the chain rattles simultaneously; your ears are saluted with a
      scream that seems to have torn its way to the center of your soul. The
      crack you heard was the sound of the slave whip; the scream you heard was
      from the woman you saw with the babe. Her speed had faltered under the
      weight of her child and her chains; that gash on her shoulder tells her to
      move on. Follow this drove to New Orleans. Attend the auction; see men
      examined like horses; see the forms of women rudely and brutally exposed
      to the shocking gaze of American slave-buyers. See this drove sold and
      separated forever; and never forget the deep, sad sobs that arose from
      that scattered multitude. Tell me, citizens, where, under the sun, can you
      witness a spectacle more fiendish and shocking. Yet this is but a glance
      at the American slave trade, as it exists at this moment, in the ruling
      part of the United States.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was born amid such sights and scenes. To me the American slave trade is
      a terrible reality. When a child, my soul was often pierced with a sense
      of its horrors. I lived on Philpot street, Fell's Point, Baltimore, and
      have watched from the wharves the slave ships in the basin, anchored from
      the shore, with their cargoes of human flesh, waiting for favorable winds
      to waft them down the Chesapeake. There was, at that time, a grand slave
      mart kept at the head of Pratt street, by Austin Woldfolk. His agents were
      sent into every town and county in Maryland, announcing their arrival
      through the papers, and on flaming hand-bills, headed, "cash for negroes."
      These men were generally well dressed, and very captivating in their
      manners; ever ready to drink, to treat, and to gamble. The fate<span
      class="pagenum">[356]</span> of many a slave has depended upon the turn of
      a single card; and many a child has been snatched from the arms of its
      mothers by bargains arranged in a state of brutal drunkenness.
    </p>
    <p>
      The flesh-mongers gather up their victims by dozens, and drive them,
      chained, to the general depot at Baltimore. When a sufficient number have
      been collected here, a ship is chartered, for the purpose of conveying the
      forlorn crew to Mobile or to New Orleans. From the slave-prison to the
      ship, they are usually driven in the darkness of night; for since the
      anti-slavery agitation a certain caution is observed.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the deep, still darkness of midnight, I have been often aroused by the
      dead, heavy footsteps and the piteous cries of the chained gangs that
      passed our door. The anguish of my boyish heart was intense; and I was
      often consoled, when speaking to my mistress in the morning, to hear her
      say that the custom was very wicked; that she hated to hear the rattle of
      the chains, and the heart-rending cries. I was glad to find one who
      sympathized with me in my horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fellow citizens, this murderous traffic is to-day in active operation in
      this boasted republic. In the solitude of my spirit, I see clouds of dust
      raised on the highways of the south; I see the bleeding footsteps; I hear
      the doleful wail of fettered humanity, on the way to the slave markets,
      where the victims are to be sold like horses, sheep, and swine, knocked
      off to the highest bidder. There I see the tenderest ties ruthlessly
      broken, to gratify the lust, caprice, and rapacity of the buyers and
      sellers of men. My soul sickens at the sight.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            <i>Is this the land your fathers loved?
                The freedom which they toiled to win?
            Is this the earth whereon they moved?
                Are these the graves they slumber in?</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      But a still more inhuman, disgraceful, and scandalous state of things
      remains to be presented. By an act of the American congress, not yet two
      years old, slavery has been nationalized in its most horrible and
      revolting form. By that act, Mason and Dixon's line has been obliterated;
      New York has become as Virginia; and the power to hold, hunt, and sell
      men, women, and children as slaves, remains no longer a mere state
      institution, but is now an institution of the whole United States. The
      power is coextensive with the star-spangled banner and American
      christianity. Where these go, may also go the merciless slave-hunter.
      Where these are, man is not sacred. He is a bird for the sportsman's gun.
      By that most foul and fiendish of all human decrees, the liberty and
      person of every man are<span class="pagenum">[357]</span> put in peril.
      Your broad republican domain is a hunting-ground for <i>men</i>. Not for
      thieves and robbers, enemies of society, merely, but for men guilty of no
      crime. Your law-makers have commanded all good citizens to engage in this
      hellish sport. Your president, your secretary of state, your lords,
      nobles, and ecclesiastics, enforce as a duty you owe to your free and
      glorious country and to your God, that you do this accursed thing. Not
      fewer than forty Americans have within the past two years been hunted
      down, and without a moment's warning, hurried away in chains, and
      consigned to slavery and excruciating torture. Some of these have had
      wives and children dependent on them for bread; but of this no account was
      made. The right of the hunter to his prey, stands superior to the right of
      marriage, and to <i>all</i> rights in this republic, the rights of God
      included! For black men there are neither law, justice, humanity, nor
      religion. The fugitive slave law makes MERCY TO THEM A CRIME; and bribes
      the judge who tries them. An American judge GETS TEN DOLLARS FOR EVERY
      VICTIM HE CONSIGNS to slavery, and five, when he fails to do so. The oath
      of an(sic) two villains is sufficient, under this hell-black enactment, to
      send the most pious and exemplary black man into the remorseless jaws of
      slavery! His own testimony is nothing. He can bring no witnesses for
      himself. The minister of American justice is bound by the law to hear but
      <i>one side</i>, and that side is the side of the oppressor. Let this
      damning fact be perpetually told. Let it be thundered around the world,
      that, in tyrant-killing, king hating, people-loving, democratic, Christian
      America, the seats of justice are filled with judges, who hold their
      office under an open and palpable <i>bribe</i>, and are bound, in deciding
      in the case of a man's liberty, <i>to hear only his accusers!</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      In glaring violation of justice, in shameless disregard of the forms of
      administering law, in cunning arrangement to entrap the defenseless, and
      in diabolical intent, this fugitive slave law stands alone in the annals
      of tyrannical legislation. I doubt if there be another nation on the globe
      having the brass and the baseness to put such a law on the statute-book.
      If any man in this assembly thinks differently from me in this matter, and
      feels able to disprove my statements, I will gladly confront him at any
      suitable time and place he may select.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE SLAVERY PARTY. Extract from a Speech Delivered before the A. A. S.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Society, in New York, May, 1853.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir, it is evident that there is in this country a purely slavery party&mdash;a
      party which exists for no other earthly purpose but to promote the
      interests of slavery. The presence of this party is felt everywhere in the
      republic. It is known by no particular name, and has assumed no definite
      shape; but its branches reach far and wide in the church and in the state.
      This shapeless and nameless party is not intangible in other and more
      important respects. That party, sir, has determined upon a fixed,
      definite, and comprehensive policy toward the whole colored population of
      the United States. What that policy is, it becomes us as abolitionists,
      and especially does it become the colored people themselves, to consider
      and to understand fully. We ought to know who our enemies are, where they
      are, and what are their objects and measures. Well, sir, here is my
      version of it&mdash;not original with me&mdash;but mine because I hold it
      to be true.
    </p>
    <p>
      I understand this policy to comprehend five cardinal objects. They are
      these: 1st. The complete suppression of all anti-slavery discussion. 2d.
      The expatriation of the entire free people of color from the United
      States. 3d. The unending perpetuation of slavery in this republic. 4th.
      The nationalization of slavery to the extent of making slavery respected
      in every state of the Union. 5th. The extension of slavery over Mexico and
      the entire South American states.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir, these objects are forcibly presented to us in the stern logic of
      passing events; in the facts which are and have been passing around us
      during the last three years. The country has been and is now dividing on
      these grand issues. In their magnitude, these issues cast all others into
      the shade, depriving them of all life and vitality. Old party ties are
      broken. Like is finding its like on either side of these great issues, and
      the great battle is at hand. For the present, the best representative of
      the slavery party in politics is the democratic party. Its great head for
      the<span class="pagenum">[359]</span> present is President Pierce, whose
      boast it was, before his election, that his whole life had been consistent
      with the interests of slavery, that he is above reproach on that score. In
      his inaugural address, he reassures the south on this point. Well, the
      head of the slave power being in power, it is natural that the pro slavery
      elements should cluster around the administration, and this is rapidly
      being done. A fraternization is going on. The stringent protectionists and
      the free-traders strike hands. The supporters of Fillmore are becoming the
      supporters of Pierce. The silver-gray whig shakes hands with the hunker
      democrat; the former only differing from the latter in name. They are of
      one heart, one mind, and the union is natural and perhaps inevitable. Both
      hate Negroes; both hate progress; both hate the "higher law;" both hate
      William H. Seward; both hate the free democratic party; and upon this
      hateful basis they are forming a union of hatred. "Pilate and Herod are
      thus made friends." Even the central organ of the whig party is extending
      its beggar hand for a morsel from the table of slavery democracy, and when
      spurned from the feast by the more deserving, it pockets the insult; when
      kicked on one side it turns the other, and preseveres in its
      importunities. The fact is, that paper comprehends the demands of the
      times; it understands the age and its issues; it wisely sees that slavery
      and freedom are the great antagonistic forces in the country, and it goes
      to its own side. Silver grays and hunkers all understand this. They are,
      therefore, rapidly sinking all other questions to nothing, compared with
      the increasing demands of slavery. They are collecting, arranging, and
      consolidating their forces for the accomplishment of their appointed work.
    </p>
    <p>
      The keystone to the arch of this grand union of the slavery party of the
      United States, is the compromise of 1850. In that compromise we have all
      the objects of our slaveholding policy specified. It is, sir, favorable to
      this view of the designs of the slave power, that both the whig and the
      democratic party bent lower, sunk deeper, and strained harder, in their
      conventions, preparatory to the late presidential election, to meet the
      demands of the slavery party than at any previous time in their history.
      Never did parties come before the northern people with propositions of
      such undisguised contempt for the moral sentiment and the religious ideas
      of that people. They virtually asked them to unite in a war upon free
      speech, and upon conscience, and to drive the Almighty presence from the
      councils of the nation. Resting their platforms upon the fugitive slave
      bill, they boldly asked the people for political power to execute the
      horrible and hell-black provisions of that bill. The history of that
      election reveals, with great clearness, the extent to which<span
      class="pagenum">[360]</span> slavery has shot its leprous distillment
      through the life-blood of the nation. The party most thoroughly opposed to
      the cause of justice and humanity, triumphed; while the party suspected of
      a leaning toward liberty, was overwhelmingly defeated, some say
      annihilated.
    </p>
    <p>
      But here is a still more important fact, illustrating the designs of the
      slave power. It is a fact full of meaning, that no sooner did the
      democratic slavery party come into power, than a system of legislation was
      presented to the legislatures of the northern states, designed to put the
      states in harmony with the fugitive slave law, and the malignant bearing
      of the national government toward the colored inhabitants of the country.
      This whole movement on the part of the states, bears the evidence of
      having one origin, emanating from one head, and urged forward by one
      power. It was simultaneous, uniform, and general, and looked to one end.
      It was intended to put thorns under feet already bleeding; to crush a
      people already bowed down; to enslave a people already but half free; in a
      word, it was intended to discourage, dishearten, and drive the free
      colored people out of the country. In looking at the recent black law of
      Illinois, one is struck dumb with its enormity. It would seem that the men
      who enacted that law, had not only banished from their minds all sense of
      justice, but all sense of shame. It coolly proposes to sell the bodies and
      souls of the blacks to increase the intelligence and refinement of the
      whites; to rob every black stranger who ventures among them, to increase
      their literary fund.
    </p>
    <p>
      While this is going on in the states, a pro-slavery, political board of
      health is established at Washington. Senators Hale, Chase, and Sumner are
      robbed of a part of their senatorial dignity and consequence as
      representing sovereign states, because they have refused to be inoculated
      with the slavery virus. Among the services which a senator is expected by
      his state to perform, are many that can only be done efficiently on
      committees; and, in saying to these honorable senators, you shall not
      serve on the committees of this body, the slavery party took the
      responsibility of robbing and insulting the states that sent them. It is
      an attempt at Washington to decide for the states who shall be sent to the
      senate. Sir, it strikes me that this aggression on the part of the slave
      power did not meet at the hands of the proscribed senators the rebuke
      which we had a right to expect would be administered. It seems to me that
      an opportunity was lost, that the great principle of senatorial equality
      was left undefended, at a time when its vindication was sternly demanded.
      But it is not to the purpose of my present statement to criticise the
      conduct of our friends. I am persuaded that much ought to be left to the
      discretion of<span class="pagenum">[361]</span> anti slavery men in
      congress, and charges of recreancy should never be made but on the most
      sufficient grounds. For, of all the places in the world where an
      anti-slavery man needs the confidence and encouragement of friends, I take
      Washington to be that place.
    </p>
    <p>
      Let me now call attention to the social influences which are operating and
      cooperating with the slavery party of the country, designed to contribute
      to one or all of the grand objects aimed at by that party. We see here the
      black man attacked in his vital interests; prejudice and hate are excited
      against him; enmity is stirred up between him and other laborers. The
      Irish people, warm-hearted, generous, and sympathizing with the oppressed
      everywhere, when they stand upon their own green island, are instantly
      taught, on arriving in this Christian country, to hate and despise the
      colored people. They are taught to believe that we eat the bread which of
      right belongs to them. The cruel lie is told the Irish, that our adversity
      is essential to their prosperity. Sir, the Irish-American will find out
      his mistake one day. He will find that in assuming our avocation he also
      has assumed our degradation. But for the present we are sufferers. The old
      employments by which we have heretofore gained our livelihood, are
      gradually, and it may be inevitably, passing into other hands. Every hour
      sees us elbowed out of some employment to make room perhaps for some
      newly-arrived emigrants, whose hunger and color are thought to give them a
      title to especial favor. White men are becoming house-servants, cooks, and
      stewards, common laborers, and flunkeys to our gentry, and, for aught I
      see, they adjust themselves to their stations with all becoming
      obsequiousness. This fact proves that if we cannot rise to the whites, the
      whites can fall to us. Now, sir, look once more. While the colored people
      are thus elbowed out of employment; while the enmity of emigrants is being
      excited against us; while state after state enacts laws against us; while
      we are hunted down, like wild game, and oppressed with a general feeling
      of insecurity&mdash;the American colonization society&mdash;that old
      offender against the best interests and slanderer of the colored people&mdash;awakens
      to new life, and vigorously presses its scheme upon the consideration of
      the people and the government. New papers are started&mdash;some for the
      north and some for the south&mdash;and each in its tone adapting itself to
      its latitude. Government, state and national, is called upon for
      appropriations to enable the society to send us out of the country by
      steam! They want steamers to carry letters and Negroes to Africa.
      Evidently, this society looks upon our "extremity as its opportunity," and
      we may expect that it will use the occasion well. They do not deplore, but
      glory, in our misfortunes.<span class="pagenum">[362]</span>
    </p>
    <p>
      But, sir, I must hasten. I have thus briefly given my view of one aspect
      of the present condition and future prospects of the colored people of the
      United States. And what I have said is far from encouraging to my
      afflicted people. I have seen the cloud gather upon the sable brows of
      some who hear me. I confess the case looks black enough. Sir, I am not a
      hopeful man. I think I am apt even to undercalculate the benefits of the
      future. Yet, sir, in this seemingly desperate case, I do not despair for
      my people. There is a bright side to almost every picture of this kind;
      and ours is no exception to the general rule. If the influences against us
      are strong, those for us are also strong. To the inquiry, will our enemies
      prevail in the execution of their designs. In my God and in my soul, I
      believe they <i>will not</i>. Let us look at the first object sought for
      by the slavery party of the country, viz: the suppression of anti slavery
      discussion. They desire to suppress discussion on this subject, with a
      view to the peace of the slaveholder and the security of slavery. Now,
      sir, neither the principle nor the subordinate objects here declared, can
      be at all gained by the slave power, and for this reason: It involves the
      proposition to padlock the lips of the whites, in order to secure the
      fetters on the limbs of the blacks. The right of speech, precious and
      priceless, <i>cannot, will not</i>, be surrendered to slavery. Its
      suppression is asked for, as I have said, to give peace and security to
      slaveholders. Sir, that thing cannot be done. God has interposed an
      insuperable obstacle to any such result. "There can be <i>no peace</i>,
      saith my God, to the wicked." Suppose it were possible to put down this
      discussion, what would it avail the guilty slaveholder, pillowed as he is
      upon heaving bosoms of ruined souls? He could not have a peaceful spirit.
      If every anti-slavery tongue in the nation were silent&mdash;every
      anti-slavery organization dissolved&mdash;every anti-slavery press
      demolished&mdash;every anti slavery periodical, paper, book, pamphlet, or
      what not, were searched out, gathered, deliberately burned to ashes, and
      their ashes given to the four winds of heaven, still, still the
      slaveholder could have <i>"no peace</i>." In every pulsation of his heart,
      in every throb of his life, in every glance of his eye, in the breeze that
      soothes, and in the thunder that startles, would be waked up an accuser,
      whose cause is, "Thou art, verily, guilty concerning thy brother."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      THE ANTI-SLAVERY MOVEMENT. Extracts from a Lecture before Various
    </h2>
    <p>
      Anti-Slavery Bodies, in the Winter of 1855.
    </p>
    <p>
      A grand movement on the part of mankind, in any direction, or for any
      purpose, moral or political, is an interesting fact, fit and proper to be
      studied. It is such, not only for those who eagerly participate in it, but
      also for those who stand aloof from it&mdash;even for those by whom it is
      opposed. I take the anti-slavery movement to be such an one, and a
      movement as sublime and glorious in its character, as it is holy and
      beneficent in the ends it aims to accomplish. At this moment, I deem it
      safe to say, it is properly engrossing more minds in this country than any
      other subject now before the American people. The late John C. Calhoun&mdash;one
      of the mightiest men that ever stood up in the American senate&mdash;did
      not deem it beneath him; and he probably studied it as deeply, though not
      as honestly, as Gerrit Smith, or William Lloyd Garrison. He evinced the
      greatest familiarity with the subject; and the greatest efforts of his
      last years in the senate had direct reference to this movement. His eagle
      eye watched every new development connected with it; and he was ever
      prompt to inform the south of every important step in its progress. He
      never allowed himself to make light of it; but always spoke of it and
      treated it as a matter of grave import; and in this he showed himself a
      master of the mental, moral, and religious constitution of human society.
      Daniel Webster, too, in the better days of his life, before he gave his
      assent to the fugitive slave bill, and trampled upon all his earlier and
      better convictions&mdash;when his eye was yet single&mdash;he clearly
      comprehended the nature of the elements involved in this movement; and in
      his own majestic eloquence, warned the south, and the country, to have a
      care how they attempted to put it down. He is an illustration that it is
      easier to give, than to take, good advice. To these two men&mdash;the
      greatest men to whom the nation has yet given birth&mdash;may be traced
      the two great facts of the present&mdash;the south triumphant, and the
      north humbled.<span class="pagenum">[364]</span> Their names may stand
      thus&mdash;Calhoun and domination&mdash;Webster and degradation. Yet
      again. If to the enemies of liberty this subject is one of engrossing
      interest, vastly more so should it be such to freedom's friends. The
      latter, it leads to the gates of all valuable knowledge&mdash;philanthropic,
      ethical, and religious; for it brings them to the study of man,
      wonderfully and fearfully made&mdash;the proper study of man through all
      time&mdash;the open book, in which are the records of time and eternity.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of the existence and power of the anti-slavery movement, as a fact, you
      need no evidence. The nation has seen its face, and felt the controlling
      pressure of its hand. You have seen it moving in all directions, and in
      all weathers, and in all places, appearing most where desired least, and
      pressing hardest where most resisted. No place is exempt. The quiet prayer
      meeting, and the stormy halls of national debate, share its presence
      alike. It is a common intruder, and of course has the name of being
      ungentlemanly. Brethren who had long sung, in the most affectionate
      fervor, and with the greatest sense of security,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
            <i>Together let us sweetly live&mdash;together let us die,</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      have been suddenly and violently separated by it, and ranged in hostile
      attitude toward each other. The Methodist, one of the most powerful
      religious organizations of this country, has been rent asunder, and its
      strongest bolts of denominational brotherhood started at a single surge.
      It has changed the tone of the northern pulpit, and modified that of the
      press. A celebrated divine, who, four years ago, was for flinging his own
      mother, or brother, into the remorseless jaws of the monster slavery, lest
      he should swallow up the Union, now recognizes anti-slavery as a
      characteristic of future civilization. Signs and wonders follow this
      movement; and the fact just stated is one of them. Party ties are loosened
      by it; and men are compelled to take sides for or against it, whether they
      will or not. Come from where he may, or come for what he may, he is
      compelled to show his hand. What is this mighty force? What is its
      history? and what is its destiny? Is it ancient or modern, transient or
      permanent? Has it turned aside, like a stranger and a sojourner, to tarry
      for a night? or has it come to rest with us forever? Excellent chances are
      here for speculation; and some of them are quite profound. We might, for
      instance, proceed to inquire not only into the philosophy of the
      anti-slavery movement, but into the philosophy of the law, in obedience to
      which that movement started into existence. We might demand to know what
      is that law or power, which, at different times, disposes the minds of men
      to this or that particular object&mdash;now for peace, and now for war&mdash;now
      for free<span class="pagenum">[365]</span> dom, and now for slavery; but
      this profound question I leave to the abolitionists of the superior class
      to answer. The speculations which must precede such answer, would afford,
      perhaps, about the same satisfaction as the learned theories which have
      rained down upon the world, from time to time, as to the origin of evil. I
      shall, therefore, avoid water in which I cannot swim, and deal with
      anti-slavery as a fact, like any other fact in the history of mankind,
      capable of being described and understood, both as to its internal forces,
      and its external phases and relations.
    </p>
    <p>
      [After an eloquent, a full, and highly interesting exposition of the
      nature, character, and history of the anti-slavery movement, from the
      insertion of which want of space precludes us, he concluded in the
      following happy manner.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Present organizations may perish, but the cause will go on. That cause has
      a life, distinct and independent of the organizations patched up from time
      to time to carry it forward. Looked at, apart from the bones and sinews
      and body, it is a thing immortal. It is the very essence of justice,
      liberty, and love. The moral life of human society, it cannot die while
      conscience, honor, and humanity remain. If but one be filled with it, the
      cause lives. Its incarnation in any one individual man, leaves the whole
      world a priesthood, occupying the highest moral eminence even that of
      disinterested benevolence. Whoso has ascended his height, and has the
      grace to stand there, has the world at his feet, and is the world's
      teacher, as of divine right. He may set in judgment on the age, upon the
      civilization of the age, and upon the religion of the age; for he has a
      test, a sure and certain test, by which to try all institutions, and to
      measure all men. I say, he may do this, but this is not the chief business
      for which he is qualified. The great work to which he is called is not
      that of judgment. Like the Prince of Peace, he may say, if I judge, I
      judge righteous judgment; still mainly, like him, he may say, this is not
      his work. The man who has thoroughly embraced the principles of justice,
      love, and liberty, like the true preacher of Christianity, is less anxious
      to reproach the world of its sins, than to win it to repentance. His great
      work on earth is to exemplify, and to illustrate, and to ingraft those
      principles upon the living and practical understandings of all men within
      the reach of his influence. This is his work; long or short his years,
      many or few his adherents, powerful or weak his instrumentalities, through
      good report, or through bad report, this is his work. It is to snatch from
      the bosom of nature the latent facts of each individual man's experience,
      and with steady hand to hold them up fresh and glowing, enforcing, with
      all his power, their acknowledgment and practical adoption. If there be
      but <i>one</i><span class="pagenum">[366]</span> such man in the land, no
      matter what becomes of abolition societies and parties, there will be an
      anti-slavery cause, and an anti-slavery movement. Fortunately for that
      cause, and fortunately for him by whom it is espoused, it requires no
      extraordinary amount of talent to preach it or to receive it when
      preached. The grand secret of its power is, that each of its principles is
      easily rendered appreciable to the faculty of reason in man, and that the
      most unenlightened conscience has no difficulty in deciding on which side
      to register its testimony. It can call its preachers from among the
      fishermen, and raise them to power. In every human breast, it has an
      advocate which can be silent only when the heart is dead. It comes home to
      every man's understanding, and appeals directly to every man's conscience.
      A man that does not recognize and approve for himself the rights and
      privileges contended for, in behalf of the American slave, has not yet
      been found. In whatever else men may differ, they are alike in the
      apprehension of their natural and personal rights. The difference between
      abolitionists and those by whom they are opposed, is not as to principles.
      All are agreed in respect to these. The manner of applying them is the
      point of difference.
    </p>
    <p>
      The slaveholder himself, the daily robber of his equal brother, discourses
      eloquently as to the excellency of justice, and the man who employs a
      brutal driver to flay the flesh of his negroes, is not offended when
      kindness and humanity are commended. Every time the abolitionist speaks of
      justice, the anti-abolitionist assents says, yes, I wish the world were
      filled with a disposition to render to every man what is rightfully due
      him; I should then get what is due me. That's right; let us have justice.
      By all means, let us have justice. Every time the abolitionist speaks in
      honor of human liberty, he touches a chord in the heart of the
      anti-abolitionist, which responds in harmonious vibrations. Liberty&mdash;yes,
      that is evidently my right, and let him beware who attempts to invade or
      abridge that right. Every time he speaks of love, of human brotherhood,
      and the reciprocal duties of man and man, the anti-abolitionist assents&mdash;says,
      yes, all right&mdash;all true&mdash;we cannot have such ideas too often,
      or too fully expressed. So he says, and so he feels, and only shows
      thereby that he is a man as well as an anti-abolitionist. You have only to
      keep out of sight the manner of applying your principles, to get them
      endorsed every time. Contemplating himself, he sees truth with absolute
      clearness and distinctness. He only blunders when asked to lose sight of
      himself. In his own cause he can beat a Boston lawyer, but he is dumb when
      asked to plead the cause of others. He knows very well whatsoever he would
      have done unto himself, but is quite in doubt as to having the<span
      class="pagenum">[367]</span> same thing done unto others. It is just here,
      that lions spring up in the path of duty, and the battle once fought in
      heaven is refought on the earth. So it is, so hath it ever been, and so
      must it ever be, when the claims of justice and mercy make their demand at
      the door of human selfishness. Nevertheless, there is that within which
      ever pleads for the right and the just.
    </p>
    <p>
      In conclusion, I have taken a sober view of the present anti-slavery
      movement. I am sober, but not hopeless. There is no denying, for it is
      everywhere admitted, that the anti-slavery question is the great moral and
      social question now before the American people. A state of things has
      gradually been developed, by which that question has become the first
      thing in order. It must be met. Herein is my hope. The great idea of
      impartial liberty is now fairly before the American people. Anti-slavery
      is no longer a thing to be prevented. The time for prevention is past.
      This is great gain. When the movement was younger and weaker&mdash;when it
      wrought in a Boston garret to human apprehension, it might have been
      silently put out of the way. Things are different now. It has grown too
      large&mdash;its friends are too numerous&mdash;its facilities too abundant&mdash;its
      ramifications too extended&mdash;its power too omnipotent, to be snuffed
      out by the contingencies of infancy. A thousand strong men might be struck
      down, and its ranks still be invincible. One flash from the heart-supplied
      intellect of Harriet Beecher Stowe could light a million camp fires in
      front of the embattled host of slavery, which not all the waters of the
      Mississippi, mingled as they are with blood, could extinguish. The present
      will be looked to by after coming generations, as the age of anti-slavery
      literature&mdash;when supply on the gallop could not keep pace with the
      ever growing demand&mdash;when a picture of a Negro on the cover was a
      help to the sale of a book&mdash;when conservative lyceums and other
      American literary associations began first to select their orators for
      distinguished occasions from the ranks of the previously despised
      abolitionists. If the anti-slavery movement shall fail now, it will not be
      from outward opposition, but from inward decay. Its auxiliaries are
      everywhere. Scholars, authors, orators, poets, and statesmen give it their
      aid. The most brilliant of American poets volunteer in its service.
      Whittier speaks in burning verse to more than thirty thousand, in the
      National Era. Your own Longfellow whispers, in every hour of trial and
      disappointment, "labor and wait." James Russell Lowell is reminding us
      that "men are more than institutions." Pierpont cheers the heart of the
      pilgrim in search of liberty, by singing the praises of "the north star."
      Bryant, too, is with us; and though chained to the car of party, and
      dragged on amidst a whirl of<span class="pagenum">[368]</span> political
      excitement, he snatches a moment for letting drop a smiling verse of
      sympathy for the man in chains. The poets are with us. It would seem
      almost absurd to say it, considering the use that has been made of them,
      that we have allies in the Ethiopian songs; those songs that constitute
      our national music, and without which we have no national music. They are
      heart songs, and the finest feelings of human nature are expressed in
      them. "Lucy Neal," "Old Kentucky Home," and "Uncle Ned," can make the
      heart sad as well as merry, and can call forth a tear as well as a smile.
      They awaken the sympathies for the slave, in which antislavery principles
      take root, grow, and flourish. In addition to authors, poets, and scholars
      at home, the moral sense of the civilized world is with us. England,
      France, and Germany, the three great lights of modern civilization, are
      with us, and every American traveler learns to regret the existence of
      slavery in his country. The growth of intelligence, the influence of
      commerce, steam, wind, and lightning are our allies. It would be easy to
      amplify this summary, and to swell the vast conglomeration of our material
      forces; but there is a deeper and truer method of measuring the power of
      our cause, and of comprehending its vitality. This is to be found in its
      accordance with the best elements of human nature. It is beyond the power
      of slavery to annihilate affinities recognized and established by the
      Almighty. The slave is bound to mankind by the powerful and inextricable
      net-work of human brotherhood. His voice is the voice of a man, and his
      cry is the cry of a man in distress, and man must cease to be man before
      he can become insensible to that cry. It is the righteous of the cause&mdash;the
      humanity of the cause&mdash;which constitutes its potency. As one genuine
      bankbill is worth more than a thousand counterfeits, so is one man, with
      right on his side, worth more than a thousand in the wrong. "One may chase
      a thousand, and put ten thousand to flight." It is, therefore, upon the
      goodness of our cause, more than upon all other auxiliaries, that we
      depend for its final triumph.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another source of congratulations is the fact that, amid all the efforts
      made by the church, the government, and the people at large, to stay the
      onward progress of this movement, its course has been onward, steady,
      straight, unshaken, and unchecked from the beginning. Slavery has gained
      victories large and numerous; but never as against this movement&mdash;against
      a temporizing policy, and against northern timidity, the slave power has
      been victorious; but against the spread and prevalence in the country, of
      a spirit of resistance to its aggression, and of sentiments favorable to
      its entire overthrow, it has yet accomplished nothing. Every measure, yet
      devised and executed, having for its object the suppression<span
      class="pagenum">[369]</span> of anti-slavery, has been as idle and
      fruitless as pouring oil to extinguish fire. A general rejoicing took
      place on the passage of "the compromise measures" of 1850. Those measures
      were called peace measures, and were afterward termed by both the great
      parties of the country, as well as by leading statesmen, a final
      settlement of the whole question of slavery; but experience has laughed to
      scorn the wisdom of pro-slavery statesmen; and their final settlement of
      agitation seems to be the final revival, on a broader and grander scale
      than ever before, of the question which they vainly attempted to suppress
      forever. The fugitive slave bill has especially been of positive service
      to the anti-slavery movement. It has illustrated before all the people the
      horrible character of slavery toward the slave, in hunting him down in a
      free state, and tearing him away from wife and children, thus setting its
      claims higher than marriage or parental claims. It has revealed the
      arrogant and overbearing spirit of the slave states toward the free
      states; despising their principles&mdash;shocking their feelings of
      humanity, not only by bringing before them the abominations of slavery,
      but by attempting to make them parties to the crime. It has called into
      exercise among the colored people, the hunted ones, a spirit of manly
      resistance well calculated to surround them with a bulwark of sympathy and
      respect hitherto unknown. For men are always disposed to respect and
      defend rights, when the victims of oppression stand up manfully for
      themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is another element of power added to the anti-slavery movement, of
      great importance; it is the conviction, becoming every day more general
      and universal, that slavery must be abolished at the south, or it will
      demoralize and destroy liberty at the north. It is the nature of slavery
      to beget a state of things all around it favorable to its own continuance.
      This fact, connected with the system of bondage, is beginning to be more
      fully realized. The slave-holder is not satisfied to associate with men in
      the church or in the state, unless he can thereby stain them with the
      blood of his slaves. To be a slave-holder is to be a propagandist from
      necessity; for slavery can only live by keeping down the under-growth
      morality which nature supplies. Every new-born white babe comes armed from
      the Eternal presence, to make war on slavery. The heart of pity, which
      would melt in due time over the brutal chastisements it sees inflicted on
      the helpless, must be hardened. And this work goes on every day in the
      year, and every hour in the day.
    </p>
    <p>
      What is done at home is being done also abroad here in the north. And even
      now the question may be asked, have we at this moment a single free state
      in the Union? The alarm at this point will become more general.<span
      class="pagenum">[370]</span> The slave power must go on in its career of
      exactions. Give, give, will be its cry, till the timidity which concedes
      shall give place to courage, which shall resist. Such is the voice of
      experience, such has been the past, such is the present, and such will be
      that future, which, so sure as man is man, will come. Here I leave the
      subject; and I leave off where I began, consoling myself and
      congratulating the friends of freedom upon the fact that the anti-slavery
      cause is not a new thing under the sun; not some moral delusion which a
      few years' experience may dispel. It has appeared among men in all ages,
      and summoned its advocates from all ranks. Its foundations are laid in the
      deepest and holiest convictions, and from whatever soul the demon,
      selfishness, is expelled, there will this cause take up its abode. Old as
      the everlasting hills; immovable as the throne of God; and certain as the
      purposes of eternal power, against all hinderances, and against all
      delays, and despite all the mutations of human instrumentalities, it is
      the faith of my soul, that this anti-slavery cause will triumph.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_FOOT" id="link2H_FOOT">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      FOOTNOTES
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ Letter, Introduction to <i>Life
      of Frederick Douglass</i>, Boston, 1841.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      2 (<a href="#linknoteref-2">return</a>)<br /> [ One of these ladies,
      impelled by the same noble spirit which carried Miss Nightingale to
      Scutari, has devoted her time, her untiring energies, to a great extent
      her means, and her high literary abilities, to the advancement and support
      of Frederick Douglass' Paper, the only organ of the downtrodden, edited
      and published by one of themselves, in the United States.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      3 (<a href="#linknoteref-3">return</a>)<br /> [ Mr. Stephen Myers, of
      Albany, deserves mention as one of the most persevering among the colored
      editorial fraternity.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      4 (<a href="#linknoteref-4">return</a>)<br /> [ The German physiologists
      have even discovered vegetable matter&mdash;starch&mdash;in the human
      body. See <i>Med. Chirurgical Rev</i>., Oct., 1854, p. 339.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      5 (<a href="#linknoteref-5">return</a>)<br /> [ Mr. Wm. H. Topp, of
      Albany.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      6 (<a href="#linknoteref-6">return</a>)<br /> [ 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.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      7 (<a href="#linknoteref-7">return</a>)<br /> [ He was a whole-souled man,
      fully imbued with a love of his afflicted and hunted people, and took
      pleasure in being to me, as was his wont, "Eyes to the blind, and legs to
      the lame." This brave and devoted man suffered much from the persecutions
      common to all who have been prominent benefactors. He at last became
      blind, and needed a friend to guide him, even as he had been a guide to
      others. Even in his blindness, he exhibited his manly character. In search
      of health, he became a physician. When hope of gaining is(sic) own was
      gone, he had hope for others. Believing in hydropathy, he established, at
      Northampton, Massachusetts, a large <i>"Water Cure,"</i> and became one of
      the most successful of all engaged in that mode of treatment.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      8 (<a href="#linknoteref-8">return</a>)<br /> [ The following is a copy of
      these curious papers, both of my transfer from Thomas to Hugh Auld, and
      from Hugh to myself:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Know all men by these Presents, That I, Thomas Auld, of Talbot county,
      and state of Maryland, for and in consideration of the sum of one hundred
      dollars, current money, to me paid by Hugh Auld, of the city of Baltimore,
      in the said state, at and before the sealing and delivery of these
      presents, the receipt whereof, I, the said Thomas Auld, do hereby
      acknowledge, have granted, bargained, and sold, and by these presents do
      grant, bargain, and sell unto the said Hugh Auld, his executors,
      administrators, and assigns, ONE NEGRO MAN, by the name of FREDERICK
      BAILY, or DOUGLASS, as he callls(sic) himself&mdash;he is now about
      twenty-eight years of age&mdash;to have and to hold the said negro man for
      life. And I, the said Thomas Auld, for myself my heirs, executors, and
      administrators, all and singular, the said FREDERICK BAILY <i>alias</i>
      DOUGLASS, unto the said Hugh Auld, his executors, administrators, and
      assigns against me, the said Thomas Auld, my executors, and
      administrators, and against ali and every other person or persons
      whatsoever, shall and will warrant and forever defend by these presents.
      In witness whereof, I set my hand and seal, this thirteenth day of
      November, eighteen hundred and forty-six.
    </p>
    <p>
      THOMAS AULD
    </p>
    <p>
      "Signed, sealed, and delivered in presence of Wrightson Jones.
    </p>
    <p>
      "JOHN C. LEAS.
    </p>
    <p>
      The authenticity of this bill of sale is attested by N. Harrington, a
      justice of the peace of the state of Maryland, and for the county of
      Talbot, dated same day as above.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To all whom it may concern: Be it known, that I, Hugh Auld, of the city
      of Baltimore, in Baltimore county, in the state of Maryland, for divers
      good causes and considerations, me thereunto moving, have released from
      slavery, liberated, manumitted, and set free, and by these presents do
      hereby release from slavery, liberate, manumit, and set free, MY NEGRO
      MAN, named FREDERICK BAILY, otherwise called DOUGLASS, being of the age of
      twenty-eight years, or thereabouts, and able to work and gain a sufficient
      livelihood and maintenance; and him the said negro man named FREDERICK
      BAILY, otherwise called FREDERICK DOUGLASS, I do declare to be henceforth
      free, manumitted, and discharged from all manner of servitude to me, my
      executors, and administrators forever.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In witness whereof, I, the said Hugh Auld, have hereunto set my hand and
      seal the fifth of December, in the year one thousand eight hundred and
      forty-six.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hugh Auld
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sealed and delivered in presence of T. Hanson Belt.
    </p>
    <p>
      "JAMES N. S. T. WRIGHT"] <a name="linknote-9" id="linknote-9">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      9 (<a href="#linknoteref-9">return</a>)<br /> [ See Appendix to this
      volume, page 317.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-10" id="linknote-10">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      10 (<a href="#linknoteref-10">return</a>)<br /> [ Mr. Douglass' published
      speeches alone, would fill two volumes of the size of this. Our space will
      only permit the insertion of the extracts which follow; and which, for
      originality of thought, beauty and force of expression, and for
      impassioned, indignatory eloquence, have seldom been equaled.]
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="linknote-11" id="linknote-11">
      <!-- Note --></a>
    </p>
    <p class="foot">
      11 (<a href="#linknoteref-11">return</a>)<br /> [ It is not often that
      chattels address their owners. The following letter is unique; and
      probably the only specimen of the kind extant. It was written while in
      England.]
    </p>
</html>