My master’s family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one
daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in
one house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master
was Colonel Lloyd’s clerk and superintendent. He was what might be
called the overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on
this plantation in my old master’s family. It was here that I witnessed
the bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter; and as I received
my first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some
description of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation
is about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is
situated on the border of Miles River. The principal products raised
upon it were tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were raised in great
abundance; so that, with the products of this and the other farms
belonging to him, he was able to keep in almost constant employment a
large sloop, in carrying them to market at Baltimore. This sloop was
named Sally Lloyd, in honor of one of the colonel’s daughters. My
master’s son-in-law, Captain Auld, was master of the vessel; she was
otherwise manned by the colonel’s own slaves. Their names were Peter,
Isaac, Rich, and Jake. These were esteemed very highly by the other
slaves, and looked upon as the privileged ones of the plantation; for
it was no small affair, in the eyes of the slaves, to be allowed to see
Baltimore.
Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home
plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms
belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation
were Wye Town and New Design. “Wye Town” was under the overseership of
a man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a Mr.
Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms,
numbering over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers
of the home plantation. This was the great business place. It was the
seat of government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among the
overseers were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high
misdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run
away, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board
the sloop, carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some
other slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.
Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their monthly
allowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women slaves
received, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of pork, or
its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly
clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen
trousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter,
made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of
shoes; the whole of which could not have cost more than seven dollars.
The allowance of the slave children was given to their mothers, or the
old women having the care of them. The children unable to work in the
field had neither shoes, stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to
them; their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year.
When these failed them, they went naked until the next allowance-day.
Children from seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked,
might be seen at all seasons of the year.
There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be
considered such, and none but the men and women had these. This,
however, is not considered a very great privation. They find less
difficulty from the want of beds, than from the want of time to sleep;
for when their day’s work in the field is done, the most of them having
their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few or none of
the ordinary facilities for doing either of these, very many of their
sleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day;
and when this is done, old and young, male and female, married and
single, drop down side by side, on one common bed,—the cold, damp
floor,—each covering himself or herself with their miserable blankets;
and here they sleep till they are summoned to the field by the driver’s
horn. At the sound of this, all must rise, and be off to the field.
There must be no halting; every one must be at his or her post; and woe
betides them who hear not this morning summons to the field; for if
they are not awakened by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of
feeling: no age nor sex finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used
to stand by the door of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick
and heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who was so unfortunate as not
to hear, or, from any other cause, was prevented from being ready to
start for the field at the sound of the horn.
Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip
a woman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this,
too, in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their mother’s
release. He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting his fiendish
barbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was
enough to chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinary man to
hear him talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him but that was commenced or
concluded by some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness his
cruelty and profanity. His presence made it both the field of blood and
of blasphemy. From the rising till the going down of the sun, he was
cursing, raving, cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field,
in the most frightful manner. His career was short. He died very soon
after I went to Colonel Lloyd’s; and he died as he lived, uttering,
with his dying groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was
regarded by the slaves as the result of a merciful providence.
Mr. Severe’s place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different
man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr.
Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations
of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was
called by the slaves a good overseer.
The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country
village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed
here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting,
coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the
slaves on the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like
aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too,
conspired to give it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was
called by the slaves the _Great House Farm._ Few privileges were
esteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, than that of being
selected to do errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in
their minds with greatness. A representative could not be prouder of
his election to a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of
the out-farms would be of his election to do errands at the Great House
Farm. They regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them
by their overseers; and it was on this account, as well as a constant
desire to be out of the field from under the driver’s lash, that they
esteemed it a high privilege, one worth careful living for. He was
called the smartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor
conferred upon him the most frequently. The competitors for this office
sought as diligently to please their overseers, as the office-seekers
in the political parties seek to please and deceive the people. The
same traits of character might be seen in Colonel Lloyd’s slaves, as
are seen in the slaves of the political parties.
The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly
allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly
enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods,
for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once
the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as
they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that
came up, came out—if not in the word, in the sound;—and as frequently
in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic
sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment
in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to
weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this,
when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following
words:—
“I am going away to the Great House Farm!
O, yea! O, yea! O!”
This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem
unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to
themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those
songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character
of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the
subject could do.
I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and
apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I
neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a
tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension;
they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and
complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone
was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance
from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my
spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found
myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs,
even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an
expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those
songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing
character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those
songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my
sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed
with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd’s
plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine
woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall
pass through the chambers of his soul,—and if he is not thus impressed,
it will only be because “there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.”
I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to
find persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence
of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a
greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs
of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by
them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such
is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to
express my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike
uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast
away upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as
evidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the
songs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.