I had left Master Thomas’s house, and went to live with Mr. Covey, on
the 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time in my life, a
field hand. In my new employment, I found myself even more awkward than
a country boy appeared to be in a large city. I had been at my new home
but one week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting
my back, causing the blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as
large as my little finger. The details of this affair are as follows:
Mr. Covey sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days
in the month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood. He gave
me a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox, and
which the off-hand one. He then tied the end of a large rope around the
horns of the in-hand ox, and gave me the other end of it, and told me,
if the oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon the rope. I had
never driven oxen before, and of course I was very awkward. I, however,
succeeded in getting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty;
but I had got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took
fright, and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and
over stumps, in the most frightful manner. I expected every moment that
my brains would be dashed out against the trees. After running thus for
a considerable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with
great force against a tree, and threw themselves into a dense thicket.
How I escaped death, I do not know. There I was, entirely alone, in a
thick wood, in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my
oxen were entangled among the young trees, and there was none to help
me. After a long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart
righted, my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now
proceeded with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been
chopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way
to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had now consumed
one half of the day. I got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of
danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate; and just as I did so,
before I could get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed
through the gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of the
cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a few inches of crushing
me against the gate-post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death
by the merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened,
and how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again
immediately. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into
the woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would
teach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went to a
large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after
trimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he ordered me to take off
my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He
repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip
myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore
off my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches,
cutting me so savagely as to leave the marks visible for a long time
after. This whipping was the first of a number just like it, and for
similar offences.
I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of that
year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free
from a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for
whipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of endurance. Long
before day we were up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day
we were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey
gave us enough to eat, but scarce time to eat it. We were often less
than five minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field from the
first approach of day till its last lingering ray had left us; and at
saving-fodder time, midnight often caught us in the field binding
blades.
Covey would be out with us. The way he used to stand it, was this. He
would spend the most of his afternoons in bed. He would then come out
fresh in the evening, ready to urge us on with his words, example, and
frequently with the whip. Mr. Covey was one of the few slaveholders who
could and did work with his hands. He was a hard-working man. He knew
by himself just what a man or a boy could do. There was no deceiving
him. His work went on in his absence almost as well as in his presence;
and he had the faculty of making us feel that he was ever present with
us. This he did by surprising us. He seldom approached the spot where
we were at work openly, if he could do it secretly. He always aimed at
taking us by surprise. Such was his cunning, that we used to call him,
among ourselves, “the snake.” When we were at work in the cornfield, he
would sometimes crawl on his hands and knees to avoid detection, and
all at once he would rise nearly in our midst, and scream out, “Ha, ha!
Come, come! Dash on, dash on!” This being his mode of attack, it was
never safe to stop a single minute. His comings were like a thief in
the night. He appeared to us as being ever at hand. He was under every
tree, behind every stump, in every bush, and at every window, on the
plantation. He would sometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St.
Michael’s, a distance of seven miles, and in half an hour afterwards
you would see him coiled up in the corner of the wood-fence, watching
every motion of the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave his horse
tied up in the woods. Again, he would sometimes walk up to us, and give
us orders as though he was upon the point of starting on a long
journey, turn his back upon us, and make as though he was going to the
house to get ready; and, before he would get half way thither, he would
turn short and crawl into a fence-corner, or behind some tree, and
there watch us till the going down of the sun.
Mr. Covey’s _forte_ consisted in his power to deceive. His life was
devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every
thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made
conform to his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think himself equal
to deceiving the Almighty. He would make a short prayer in the morning,
and a long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem, few men would
at times appear more devotional than he. The exercises of his family
devotions were always commenced with singing; and, as he was a very
poor singer himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon
me. He would read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times
do so; at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always
produce much confusion. To show himself independent of me, he would
start and stagger through with his hymn in the most discordant manner.
In this state of mind, he prayed with more than ordinary spirit. Poor
man! such was his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily
believe that he sometimes deceived himself into the solemn belief, that
he was a sincere worshipper of the most high God; and this, too, at a
time when he may be said to have been guilty of compelling his woman
slave to commit the sin of adultery. The facts in the case are these:
Mr. Covey was a poor man; he was just commencing in life; he was only
able to buy one slave; and, shocking as is the fact, he bought her, as
he said, for _a breeder_. This woman was named Caroline. Mr. Covey
bought her from Mr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles from St. Michael’s.
She was a large, able-bodied woman, about twenty years old. She had
already given birth to one child, which proved her to be just what he
wanted. After buying her, he hired a married man of Mr. Samuel
Harrison, to live with him one year; and him he used to fasten up with
her every night! The result was, that, at the end of the year, the
miserable woman gave birth to twins. At this result Mr. Covey seemed to
be highly pleased, both with the man and the wretched woman. Such was
his joy, and that of his wife, that nothing they could do for Caroline
during her confinement was too good, or too hard, to be done. The
children were regarded as being quite an addition to his wealth.
If at any one time of my life more than another, I was made to drink
the bitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the first six
months of my stay with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers. It
was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or
snow, too hard for us to work in the field. Work, work, work, was
scarcely more the order of the day than of the night. The longest days
were too short for him, and the shortest nights too long for him. I was
somewhat unmanageable when I first went there, but a few months of this
discipline tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken
in body, soul, and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my
intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful
spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed
in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!
Sunday was my only leisure time. I spent this in a sort of beast-like
stupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree. At times I would
rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would dart through my soul,
accompanied with a faint beam of hope, that flickered for a moment, and
then vanished. I sank down again, mourning over my wretched condition.
I was sometimes prompted to take my life, and that of Covey, but was
prevented by a combination of hope and fear. My sufferings on this
plantation seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality.
Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake Bay, whose broad
bosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the habitable
globe. Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white, so delightful to
the eye of freemen, were to me so many shrouded ghosts, to terrify and
torment me with thoughts of my wretched condition. I have often, in the
deep stillness of a summer’s Sabbath, stood all alone upon the lofty
banks of that noble bay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearful
eye, the countless number of sails moving off to the mighty ocean. The
sight of these always affected me powerfully. My thoughts would compel
utterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty, I would pour
out my soul’s complaint, in my rude way, with an apostrophe to the
moving multitude of ships:—
“You are loosed from your moorings, and are free; I am fast in my
chains, and am a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale, and I
sadly before the bloody whip! You are freedom’s swift-winged angels,
that fly round the world; I am confined in bands of iron! O that I were
free! O, that I were on one of your gallant decks, and under your
protecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you, the turbid waters roll. Go
on, go on. O that I could also go! Could I but swim! If I could fly! O,
why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship is gone;
she hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of
unending slavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is
there any God? Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will not stand it.
Get caught, or get clear, I’ll try it. I had as well die with ague as
the fever. I have only one life to lose. I had as well be killed
running as die standing. Only think of it; one hundred miles straight
north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! God helping me, I will. It cannot be
that I shall live and die a slave. I will take to the water. This very
bay shall yet bear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in a
north-east course from North Point. I will do the same; and when I get
to the head of the bay, I will turn my canoe adrift, and walk straight
through Delaware into Pennsylvania. When I get there, I shall not be
required to have a pass; I can travel without being disturbed. Let but
the first opportunity offer, and, come what will, I am off. Meanwhile,
I will try to bear up under the yoke. I am not the only slave in the
world. Why should I fret? I can bear as much as any of them. Besides, I
am but a boy, and all boys are bound to some one. It may be that my
misery in slavery will only increase my happiness when I get free.
There is a better day coming.”
Thus I used to think, and thus I used to speak to myself; goaded almost
to madness at one moment, and at the next reconciling myself to my
wretched lot.
I have already intimated that my condition was much worse, during the
first six months of my stay at Mr. Covey’s, than in the last six. The
circumstances leading to the change in Mr. Covey’s course toward me
form an epoch in my humble history. You have seen how a man was made a
slave; you shall see how a slave was made a man. On one of the hottest
days of the month of August, 1833, Bill Smith, William Hughes, a slave
named Eli, and myself, were engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes was
clearing the fanned wheat from before the fan. Eli was turning, Smith
was feeding, and I was carrying wheat to the fan. The work was simple,
requiring strength rather than intellect; yet, to one entirely unused
to such work, it came very hard. About three o’clock of that day, I
broke down; my strength failed me; I was seized with a violent aching
of the head, attended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in every limb.
Finding what was coming, I nerved myself up, feeling it would never do
to stop work. I stood as long as I could stagger to the hopper with
grain. When I could stand no longer, I fell, and felt as if held down
by an immense weight. The fan of course stopped; every one had his own
work to do; and no one could do the work of the other, and have his own
go on at the same time.
Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred yards from the
treading-yard where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he left
immediately, and came to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired
what the matter was. Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no
one to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time crawled away under
the side of the post and rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed,
hoping to find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where I
was. He was told by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and, after
looking at me awhile, asked me what was the matter. I told him as well
as I could, for I scarce had strength to speak. He then gave me a
savage kick in the side, and told me to get up. I tried to do so, but
fell back in the attempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to
rise. I again tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stooping to
get the tub with which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and
fell. While down in this situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat
with which Hughes had been striking off the half-bushel measure, and
with it gave me a heavy blow upon the head, making a large wound, and
the blood ran freely; and with this again told me to get up. I made no
effort to comply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst.
In a short time after receiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr.
Covey had now left me to my fate. At this moment I resolved, for the
first time, to go to my master, enter a complaint, and ask his
protection. In order to do this, I must that afternoon walk seven
miles; and this, under the circumstances, was truly a severe
undertaking. I was exceedingly feeble; made so as much by the kicks and
blows which I received, as by the severe fit of sickness to which I had
been subjected. I, however, watched my chance, while Covey was looking
in an opposite direction, and started for St. Michael’s. I succeeded in
getting a considerable distance on my way to the woods, when Covey
discovered me, and called after me to come back, threatening what he
would do if I did not come. I disregarded both his calls and his
threats, and made my way to the woods as fast as my feeble state would
allow; and thinking I might be overhauled by him if I kept the road, I
walked through the woods, keeping far enough from the road to avoid
detection, and near enough to prevent losing my way. I had not gone far
before my little strength again failed me. I could go no farther. I
fell down, and lay for a considerable time. The blood was yet oozing
from the wound on my head. For a time I thought I should bleed to
death; and think now that I should have done so, but that the blood so
matted my hair as to stop the wound. After lying there about three
quarters of an hour, I nerved myself up again, and started on my way,
through bogs and briers, barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feet
sometimes at nearly every step; and after a journey of about seven
miles, occupying some five hours to perform it, I arrived at master’s
store. I then presented an appearance enough to affect any but a heart
of iron. From the crown of my head to my feet, I was covered with
blood. My hair was all clotted with dust and blood; my shirt was stiff
with blood. I suppose I looked like a man who had escaped a den of wild
beasts, and barely escaped them. In this state I appeared before my
master, humbly entreating him to interpose his authority for my
protection. I told him all the circumstances as well as I could, and it
seemed, as I spoke, at times to affect him. He would then walk the
floor, and seek to justify Covey by saying he expected I deserved it.
He asked me what I wanted. I told him, to let me get a new home; that
as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again, I should live with but to die
with him; that Covey would surely kill me; he was in a fair way for it.
Master Thomas ridiculed the idea that there was any danger of Mr.
Covey’s killing me, and said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he was a good
man, and that he could not think of taking me from him; that, should he
do so, he would lose the whole year’s wages; that I belonged to Mr.
Covey for one year, and that I must go back to him, come what might;
and that I must not trouble him with any more stories, or that he would
himself _get hold of me_. After threatening me thus, he gave me a very
large dose of salts, telling me that I might remain in St. Michael’s
that night, (it being quite late,) but that I must be off back to Mr.
Covey’s early in the morning; and that if I did not, he would _get hold
of me,_ which meant that he would whip me. I remained all night, and,
according to his orders, I started off to Covey’s in the morning,
(Saturday morning,) wearied in body and broken in spirit. I got no
supper that night, or breakfast that morning. I reached Covey’s about
nine o’clock; and just as I was getting over the fence that divided
Mrs. Kemp’s fields from ours, out ran Covey with his cowskin, to give
me another whipping. Before he could reach me, I succeeded in getting
to the cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it afforded me the
means of hiding. He seemed very angry, and searched for me a long time.
My behavior was altogether unaccountable. He finally gave up the chase,
thinking, I suppose, that I must come home for something to eat; he
would give himself no further trouble in looking for me. I spent that
day mostly in the woods, having the alternative before me,—to go home
and be whipped to death, or stay in the woods and be starved to death.
That night, I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whom I was
somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife who lived about four miles
from Mr. Covey’s; and it being Saturday, he was on his way to see her.
I told him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited me to go home
with him. I went home with him, and talked this whole matter over, and
got his advice as to what course it was best for me to pursue. I found
Sandy an old adviser. He told me, with great solemnity, I must go back
to Covey; but that before I went, I must go with him into another part
of the woods, where there was a certain _root,_ which, if I would take
some of it with me, carrying it _always on my right side,_ would render
it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, to whip me. He
said he had carried it for years; and since he had done so, he had
never received a blow, and never expected to while he carried it. I at
first rejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a root in my
pocket would have any such effect as he had said, and was not disposed
to take it; but Sandy impressed the necessity with much earnestness,
telling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To please him, I at
length took the root, and, according to his direction, carried it upon
my right side. This was Sunday morning. I immediately started for home;
and upon entering the yard gate, out came Mr. Covey on his way to
meeting. He spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs from a lot
near by, and passed on towards the church. Now, this singular conduct
of Mr. Covey really made me begin to think that there was something in
the _root_ which Sandy had given me; and had it been on any other day
than Sunday, I could have attributed the conduct to no other cause than
the influence of that root; and as it was, I was half inclined to think
the _root_ to be something more than I at first had taken it to be. All
went well till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of the
_root_ was fully tested. Long before daylight, I was called to go and
rub, curry, and feed, the horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But
whilst thus engaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some blades
from the loft, Mr. Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and just
as I was half out of the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about
tying me. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring,
and as I did so, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawling on the
stable floor. Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do
what he pleased; but at this moment—from whence came the spirit I don’t
know—I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I
seized Covey hard by the throat; and as I did so, I rose. He held on to
me, and I to him. My resistance was so entirely unexpected that Covey
seemed taken all aback. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me
assurance, and I held him uneasy, causing the blood to run where I
touched him with the ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to
Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while Covey held me, attempted to
tie my right hand. While he was in the act of doing so, I watched my
chance, and gave him a heavy kick close under the ribs. This kick
fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left me in the hands of Mr. Covey.
This kick had the effect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey also.
When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his courage quailed. He
asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance. I told him I did, come
what might; that he had used me like a brute for six months, and that I
was determined to be used so no longer. With that, he strove to drag me
to a stick that was lying just out of the stable door. He meant to
knock me down. But just as he was leaning over to get the stick, I
seized him with both hands by his collar, and brought him by a sudden
snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came. Covey called upon him
for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could do. Covey said, “Take
hold of him, take hold of him!” Bill said his master hired him out to
work, and not to help to whip me; so he left Covey and myself to fight
our own battle out. We were at it for nearly two hours. Covey at length
let me go, puffing and blowing at a great rate, saying that if I had
not resisted, he would not have whipped me half so much. The truth was,
that he had not whipped me at all. I considered him as getting entirely
the worst end of the bargain; for he had drawn no blood from me, but I
had from him. The whole six months afterwards, that I spent with Mr.
Covey, he never laid the weight of his finger upon me in anger. He
would occasionally say, he didn’t want to get hold of me again. “No,”
thought I, “you need not; for you will come off worse than you did
before.”
This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a
slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived
within me a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed
self-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free.
The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for
whatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand
the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by
force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was
a glorious resurrection, from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of
freedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance
took its place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain a
slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in
fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of me, that the white man
who expected to succeed in whipping, must also succeed in killing me.
From this time I was never again what might be called fairly whipped,
though I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights,
but was never whipped.
It was for a long time a matter of surprise to me why Mr. Covey did not
immediately have me taken by the constable to the whipping-post, and
there regularly whipped for the crime of raising my hand against a
white man in defence of myself. And the only explanation I can now
think of does not entirely satisfy me; but such as it is, I will give
it. Mr. Covey enjoyed the most unbounded reputation for being a
first-rate overseer and negro-breaker. It was of considerable
importance to him. That reputation was at stake; and had he sent me—a
boy about sixteen years old—to the public whipping-post, his reputation
would have been lost; so, to save his reputation, he suffered me to go
unpunished.
My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day,
1833. The days between Christmas and New Year’s day are allowed as
holidays; and, accordingly, we were not required to perform any labor,
more than to feed and take care of the stock. This time we regarded as
our own, by the grace of our masters; and we therefore used or abused
it nearly as we pleased. Those of us who had families at a distance,
were generally allowed to spend the whole six days in their society.
This time, however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober,
thinking and industrious ones of our number would employ themselves in
making corn-brooms, mats, horse-collars, and baskets; and another class
of us would spend the time in hunting opossums, hares, and coons. But
by far the larger part engaged in such sports and merriments as playing
ball, wrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking
whisky; and this latter mode of spending the time was by far the most
agreeable to the feelings of our masters. A slave who would work during
the holidays was considered by our masters as scarcely deserving them.
He was regarded as one who rejected the favor of his master. It was
deemed a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as
lazy indeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means,
during the year, to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.
From what I know of the effect of these holidays upon the slave, I
believe them to be among the most effective means in the hands of the
slaveholder in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were the
slaveholders at once to abandon this practice, I have not the slightest
doubt it would lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves.
These holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the
rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would
be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the
slaveholder, the day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation of
those conductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go
forth in their midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling
earthquake.
The holidays are part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrong, and
inhumanity of slavery. They are professedly a custom established by the
benevolence of the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is the
result of selfishness, and one of the grossest frauds committed upon
the down-trodden slave. They do not give the slaves this time because
they would not like to have their work during its continuance, but
because they know it would be unsafe to deprive them of it. This will
be seen by the fact, that the slaveholders like to have their slaves
spend those days just in such a manner as to make them as glad of their
ending as of their beginning. Their object seems to be, to disgust
their slaves with freedom, by plunging them into the lowest depths of
dissipation. For instance, the slaveholders not only like to see the
slave drink of his own accord, but will adopt various plans to make him
drunk. One plan is, to make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink
the most whisky without getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in
getting whole multitudes to drink to excess. Thus, when the slave asks
for virtuous freedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance,
cheats him with a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with
the name of liberty. The most of us used to drink it down, and the
result was just what might be supposed; many of us were led to think
that there was little to choose between liberty and slavery. We felt,
and very properly too, that we had almost as well be slaves to man as
to rum. So, when the holidays ended, we staggered up from the filth of
our wallowing, took a long breath, and marched to the field,—feeling,
upon the whole, rather glad to go, from what our master had deceived us
into a belief was freedom, back to the arms of slavery.
I have said that this mode of treatment is a part of the whole system
of fraud and inhumanity of slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to
disgust the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only the abuse
of it, is carried out in other things. For instance, a slave loves
molasses; he steals some. His master, in many cases, goes off to town,
and buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip, and commands the
slave to eat the molasses, until the poor fellow is made sick at the
very mention of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make the
slaves refrain from asking for more food than their regular allowance.
A slave runs through his allowance, and applies for more. His master is
enraged at him; but, not willing to send him off without food, gives
him more than is necessary, and compels him to eat it within a given
time. Then, if he complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be
satisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whipped for being hard to
please! I have an abundance of such illustrations of the same
principle, drawn from my own observation, but think the cases I have
cited sufficient. The practice is a very common one.
On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went to live with
Mr. William Freeland, who lived about three miles from St. Michael’s. I
soon found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not
rich, he was what would be called an educated southern gentleman. Mr.
Covey, as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker and
slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he was) seemed to possess
some regard for honor, some reverence for justice, and some respect for
humanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to all such sentiments.
Mr. Freeland had many of the faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as
being very passionate and fretful; but I must do him the justice to
say, that he was exceedingly free from those degrading vices to which
Mr. Covey was constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and we
always knew where to find him. The other was a most artful deceiver,
and could be understood only by such as were skilful enough to detect
his cunningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained in my new
master was, he made no pretensions to, or profession of, religion; and
this, in my opinion, was truly a great advantage. I assert most
unhesitatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere covering for
the most horrid crimes,—a justifier of the most appalling barbarity,—a
sanctifier of the most hateful frauds,—and a dark shelter under, which
the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders
find the strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains
of slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard being the slave
of a religious master the greatest calamity that could befall me. For
of all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders
are the worst. I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most
cruel and cowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot not only to
belong to a religious slaveholder, but to live in a community of such
religionists. Very near Mr. Freeland lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, and
in the same neighborhood lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were
members and ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church. Mr. Weeden
owned, among others, a woman slave, whose name I have forgotten. This
woman’s back, for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the lash of
this merciless, _religious_ wretch. He used to hire hands. His maxim
was, Behave well or behave ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally
to whip a slave, to remind him of his master’s authority. Such was his
theory, and such his practice.
Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden. His chief boast was his
ability to manage slaves. The peculiar feature of his government was
that of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He always managed
to have one or more of his slaves to whip every Monday morning. He did
this to alarm their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped.
His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the
commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkins could always find some excuse for
whipping a slave. It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding
life, to see with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of
which to make occasion to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,—a
mistake, accident, or want of power,—are all matters for which a slave
may be whipped at any time. Does a slave look dissatisfied? It is said,
he has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak
loudly when spoken to by his master? Then he is getting high-minded,
and should be taken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull
off his hat at the approach of a white person? Then he is wanting in
reverence, and should be whipped for it. Does he ever venture to
vindicate his conduct, when censured for it? Then he is guilty of
impudence,—one of the greatest crimes of which a slave can be guilty.
Does he ever venture to suggest a different mode of doing things from
that pointed out by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and getting
above himself; and nothing less than a flogging will do for him. Does
he, while ploughing, break a plough,—or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It
is owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave must always be
whipped. Mr. Hopkins could always find something of this sort to
justify the use of the lash, and he seldom failed to embrace such
opportunities. There was not a man in the whole county, with whom the
slaves who had the getting their own home, would not prefer to live,
rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And yet there was not a man any
where round, who made higher professions of religion, or was more
active in revivals,—more attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and
preaching meetings, or more devotional in his family,—that prayed
earlier, later, louder, and longer,—than this same reverend
slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.
But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his
employment. He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr.
Covey, he also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He worked us
hard, but always between sunrise and sunset. He required a good deal of
work to be done, but gave us good tools with which to work. His farm
was large, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with ease,
compared with many of his neighbors. My treatment, while in his
employment, was heavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands
of Mr. Edward Covey.
Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves. Their names were
Henry Harris and John Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These
consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,[1] and Handy Caldwell.
[1] This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent my being
whipped by Mr. Covey. He was “a clever soul.” We used frequently to
talk about the fight with Covey, and as often as we did so, he would
claim my success as the result of the roots which he gave me. This
superstition is very common among the more ignorant slaves. A slave
seldom dies but that his death is attributed to trickery.
Henry and John were quite intelligent, and in a very little while after
I went there, I succeeded in creating in them a strong desire to learn
how to read. This desire soon sprang up in the others also. They very
soon mustered up some old spelling-books, and nothing would do but that
I must keep a Sabbath school. I agreed to do so, and accordingly
devoted my Sundays to teaching these my loved fellow-slaves how to
read. Neither of them knew his letters when I went there. Some of the
slaves of the neighboring farms found what was going on, and also
availed themselves of this little opportunity to learn to read. It was
understood, among all who came, that there must be as little display
about it as possible. It was necessary to keep our religious masters at
St. Michael’s unacquainted with the fact, that, instead of spending the
Sabbath in wrestling, boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to
learn how to read the will of God; for they had much rather see us
engaged in those degrading sports, than to see us behaving like
intellectual, moral, and accountable beings. My blood boils as I think
of the bloody manner in which Messrs. Wright Fairbanks and Garrison
West, both class-leaders, in connection with many others, rushed in
upon us with sticks and stones, and broke up our virtuous little
Sabbath school, at St. Michael’s—all calling themselves Christians!
humble followers of the Lord Jesus Christ! But I am again digressing.
I held my Sabbath school at the house of a free colored man, whose name
I deem it imprudent to mention; for should it be known, it might
embarrass him greatly, though the crime of holding the school was
committed ten years ago. I had at one time over forty scholars, and
those of the right sort, ardently desiring to learn. They were of all
ages, though mostly men and women. I look back to those Sundays with an
amount of pleasure not to be expressed. They were great days to my
soul. The work of instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest
engagement with which I was ever blessed. We loved each other, and to
leave them at the close of the Sabbath was a severe cross indeed. When
I think that these precious souls are to-day shut up in the
prison-house of slavery, my feelings overcome me, and I am almost ready
to ask, “Does a righteous God govern the universe? and for what does he
hold the thunders in his right hand, if not to smite the oppressor, and
deliver the spoiled out of the hand of the spoiler?” These dear souls
came not to Sabbath school because it was popular to do so, nor did I
teach them because it was reputable to be thus engaged. Every moment
they spent in that school, they were liable to be taken up, and given
thirty-nine lashes. They came because they wished to learn. Their minds
had been starved by their cruel masters. They had been shut up in
mental darkness. I taught them, because it was the delight of my soul
to be doing something that looked like bettering the condition of my
race. I kept up my school nearly the whole year I lived with Mr.
Freeland; and, beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three evenings in
the week, during the winter, to teaching the slaves at home. And I have
the happiness to know, that several of those who came to Sabbath school
learned how to read; and that one, at least, is now free through my
agency.
The year passed off smoothly. It seemed only about half as long as the
year which preceded it. I went through it without receiving a single
blow. I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being the best master I
ever had, _till I became my own master._ For the ease with which I
passed the year, I was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of my
fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they not only possessed loving
hearts, but brave ones. We were linked and interlinked with each other.
I loved them with a love stronger than any thing I have experienced
since. It is sometimes said that we slaves do not love and confide in
each other. In answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved any
or confided in any people more than my fellow-slaves, and especially
those with whom I lived at Mr. Freeland’s. I believe we would have died
for each other. We never undertook to do any thing, of any importance,
without a mutual consultation. We never moved separately. We were one;
and as much so by our tempers and dispositions, as by the mutual
hardships to which we were necessarily subjected by our condition as
slaves.
At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again hired me of my
master, for the year 1835. But, by this time, I began to want to live
_upon free land_ as well as _with Freeland;_ and I was no longer
content, therefore, to live with him or any other slaveholder. I began,
with the commencement of the year, to prepare myself for a final
struggle, which should decide my fate one way or the other. My tendency
was upward. I was fast approaching manhood, and year after year had
passed, and I was still a slave. These thoughts roused me—I must do
something. I therefore resolved that 1835 should not pass without
witnessing an attempt, on my part, to secure my liberty. But I was not
willing to cherish this determination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear
to me. I was anxious to have them participate with me in this, my
life-giving determination. I therefore, though with great prudence,
commenced early to ascertain their views and feelings in regard to
their condition, and to imbue their minds with thoughts of freedom. I
bent myself to devising ways and means for our escape, and meanwhile
strove, on all fitting occasions, to impress them with the gross fraud
and inhumanity of slavery. I went first to Henry, next to John, then to
the others. I found, in them all, warm hearts and noble spirits. They
were ready to hear, and ready to act when a feasible plan should be
proposed. This was what I wanted. I talked to them of our want of
manhood, if we submitted to our enslavement without at least one noble
effort to be free. We met often, and consulted frequently, and told our
hopes and fears, recounted the difficulties, real and imagined, which
we should be called on to meet. At times we were almost disposed to
give up, and try to content ourselves with our wretched lot; at others,
we were firm and unbending in our determination to go. Whenever we
suggested any plan, there was shrinking—the odds were fearful. Our path
was beset with the greatest obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining
the end of it, our right to be free was yet questionable—we were yet
liable to be returned to bondage. We could see no spot, this side of
the ocean, where we could be free. We knew nothing about Canada. Our
knowledge of the north did not extend farther than New York; and to go
there, and be forever harassed with the frightful liability of being
returned to slavery—with the certainty of being treated tenfold worse
than before—the thought was truly a horrible one, and one which it was
not easy to overcome. The case sometimes stood thus: At every gate
through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman—at every ferry a
guard—on every bridge a sentinel—and in every wood a patrol. We were
hemmed in upon every side. Here were the difficulties, real or
imagined—the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned. On the one
hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully upon
us,—its robes already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and even
now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh. On the other hand,
away back in the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north
star, behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a
doubtful freedom—half frozen—beckoning us to come and share its
hospitality. This in itself was sometimes enough to stagger us; but
when we permitted ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently
appalled. Upon either side we saw grim death, assuming the most horrid
shapes. Now it was starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;—now we
were contending with the waves, and were drowned;—now we were
overtaken, and torn to pieces by the fangs of the terrible bloodhound.
We were stung by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes,
and finally, after having nearly reached the desired spot,—after
swimming rivers, encountering wild beasts, sleeping in the woods,
suffering hunger and nakedness,—we were overtaken by our pursuers, and,
in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot! I say, this picture
sometimes appalled us, and made us
“rather bear those ills we had,
Than fly to others, that we knew not of.”
In coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more than
Patrick Henry, when he resolved upon liberty or death. With us it was a
doubtful liberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed. For my
part, I should prefer death to hopeless bondage.
Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion, but still encouraged us.
Our company then consisted of Henry Harris, John Harris, Henry Bailey,
Charles Roberts, and myself. Henry Bailey was my uncle, and belonged to
my master. Charles married my aunt: he belonged to my master’s
father-in-law, Mr. William Hamilton.
The plan we finally concluded upon was, to get a large canoe belonging
to Mr. Hamilton, and upon the Saturday night previous to Easter
holidays, paddle directly up the Chesapeake Bay. On our arrival at the
head of the bay, a distance of seventy or eighty miles from where we
lived, it was our purpose to turn our canoe adrift, and follow the
guidance of the north star till we got beyond the limits of Maryland.
Our reason for taking the water route was, that we were less liable to
be suspected as runaways; we hoped to be regarded as fishermen;
whereas, if we should take the land route, we should be subjected to
interruptions of almost every kind. Any one having a white face, and
being so disposed, could stop us, and subject us to examination.
The week before our intended start, I wrote several protections, one
for each of us. As well as I can remember, they were in the following
words, to wit:—
“This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, my
servant, full liberty to go to Baltimore, and spend the Easter
holidays. Written with mine own hand, &c., 1835.
“WILLIAM HAMILTON,
“Near St. Michael’s, in Talbot county, Maryland.”
We were not going to Baltimore; but, in going up the bay, we went
toward Baltimore, and these protections were only intended to protect
us while on the bay.
As the time drew near for our departure, our anxiety became more and
more intense. It was truly a matter of life and death with us. The
strength of our determination was about to be fully tested. At this
time, I was very active in explaining every difficulty, removing every
doubt, dispelling every fear, and inspiring all with the firmness
indispensable to success in our undertaking; assuring them that half
was gained the instant we made the move; we had talked long enough; we
were now ready to move; if not now, we never should be; and if we did
not intend to move now, we had as well fold our arms, sit down, and
acknowledge ourselves fit only to be slaves. This, none of us were
prepared to acknowledge. Every man stood firm; and at our last meeting,
we pledged ourselves afresh, in the most solemn manner, that, at the
time appointed, we would certainly start in pursuit of freedom. This
was in the middle of the week, at the end of which we were to be off.
We went, as usual, to our several fields of labor, but with bosoms
highly agitated with thoughts of our truly hazardous undertaking. We
tried to conceal our feelings as much as possible; and I think we
succeeded very well.
After a painful waiting, the Saturday morning, whose night was to
witness our departure, came. I hailed it with joy, bring what of
sadness it might. Friday night was a sleepless one for me. I probably
felt more anxious than the rest, because I was, by common consent, at
the head of the whole affair. The responsibility of success or failure
lay heavily upon me. The glory of the one, and the confusion of the
other, were alike mine. The first two hours of that morning were such
as I never experienced before, and hope never to again. Early in the
morning, we went, as usual, to the field. We were spreading manure; and
all at once, while thus engaged, I was overwhelmed with an
indescribable feeling, in the fulness of which I turned to Sandy, who
was near by, and said, “We are betrayed!” “Well,” said he, “that
thought has this moment struck me.” We said no more. I was never more
certain of any thing.
The horn was blown as usual, and we went up from the field to the house
for breakfast. I went for the form, more than for want of any thing to
eat that morning. Just as I got to the house, in looking out at the
lane gate, I saw four white men, with two colored men. The white men
were on horseback, and the colored ones were walking behind, as if
tied. I watched them a few moments till they got up to our lane gate.
Here they halted, and tied the colored men to the gate-post. I was not
yet certain as to what the matter was. In a few moments, in rode Mr.
Hamilton, with a speed betokening great excitement. He came to the
door, and inquired if Master William was in. He was told he was at the
barn. Mr. Hamilton, without dismounting, rode up to the barn with
extraordinary speed. In a few moments, he and Mr. Freeland returned to
the house. By this time, the three constables rode up, and in great
haste dismounted, tied their horses, and met Master William and Mr.
Hamilton returning from the barn; and after talking awhile, they all
walked up to the kitchen door. There was no one in the kitchen but
myself and John. Henry and Sandy were up at the barn. Mr. Freeland put
his head in at the door, and called me by name, saying, there were some
gentlemen at the door who wished to see me. I stepped to the door, and
inquired what they wanted. They at once seized me, and, without giving
me any satisfaction, tied me—lashing my hands closely together. I
insisted upon knowing what the matter was. They at length said, that
they had learned I had been in a “scrape,” and that I was to be
examined before my master; and if their information proved false, I
should not be hurt.
In a few moments, they succeeded in tying John. They then turned to
Henry, who had by this time returned, and commanded him to cross his
hands. “I won’t!” said Henry, in a firm tone, indicating his readiness
to meet the consequences of his refusal. “Won’t you?” said Tom Graham,
the constable. “No, I won’t!” said Henry, in a still stronger tone.
With this, two of the constables pulled out their shining pistols, and
swore, by their Creator, that they would make him cross his hands or
kill him. Each cocked his pistol, and, with fingers on the trigger,
walked up to Henry, saying, at the same time, if he did not cross his
hands, they would blow his damned heart out. “Shoot me, shoot me!” said
Henry; “you can’t kill me but once. Shoot, shoot,—and be damned! _I
won’t be tied!_” This he said in a tone of loud defiance; and at the
same time, with a motion as quick as lightning, he with one single
stroke dashed the pistols from the hand of each constable. As he did
this, all hands fell upon him, and, after beating him some time, they
finally overpowered him, and got him tied.
During the scuffle, I managed, I know not how, to get my pass out, and,
without being discovered, put it into the fire. We were all now tied;
and just as we were to leave for Easton jail, Betsy Freeland, mother of
William Freeland, came to the door with her hands full of biscuits, and
divided them between Henry and John. She then delivered herself of a
speech, to the following effect:—addressing herself to me, she said,
“_You devil! You yellow devil!_ it was you that put it into the heads
of Henry and John to run away. But for you, you long-legged mulatto
devil! Henry nor John would never have thought of such a thing.” I made
no reply, and was immediately hurried off towards St. Michael’s. Just a
moment previous to the scuffle with Henry, Mr. Hamilton suggested the
propriety of making a search for the protections which he had
understood Frederick had written for himself and the rest. But, just at
the moment he was about carrying his proposal into effect, his aid was
needed in helping to tie Henry; and the excitement attending the
scuffle caused them either to forget, or to deem it unsafe, under the
circumstances, to search. So we were not yet convicted of the intention
to run away.
When we got about half way to St. Michael’s, while the constables
having us in charge were looking ahead, Henry inquired of me what he
should do with his pass. I told him to eat it with his biscuit, and own
nothing; and we passed the word around, “_Own nothing;_” and “_Own
nothing!_” said we all. Our confidence in each other was unshaken. We
were resolved to succeed or fail together, after the calamity had
befallen us as much as before. We were now prepared for any thing. We
were to be dragged that morning fifteen miles behind horses, and then
to be placed in the Easton jail. When we reached St. Michael’s, we
underwent a sort of examination. We all denied that we ever intended to
run away. We did this more to bring out the evidence against us, than
from any hope of getting clear of being sold; for, as I have said, we
were ready for that. The fact was, we cared but little where we went,
so we went together. Our greatest concern was about separation. We
dreaded that more than any thing this side of death. We found the
evidence against us to be the testimony of one person; our master would
not tell who it was; but we came to a unanimous decision among
ourselves as to who their informant was. We were sent off to the jail
at Easton. When we got there, we were delivered up to the sheriff, Mr.
Joseph Graham, and by him placed in jail. Henry, John, and myself, were
placed in one room together—Charles, and Henry Bailey, in another.
Their object in separating us was to hinder concert.
We had been in jail scarcely twenty minutes, when a swarm of slave
traders, and agents for slave traders, flocked into jail to look at us,
and to ascertain if we were for sale. Such a set of beings I never saw
before! I felt myself surrounded by so many fiends from perdition. A
band of pirates never looked more like their father, the devil. They
laughed and grinned over us, saying, “Ah, my boys! we have got you,
haven’t we?” And after taunting us in various ways, they one by one
went into an examination of us, with intent to ascertain our value.
They would impudently ask us if we would not like to have them for our
masters. We would make them no answer, and leave them to find out as
best they could. Then they would curse and swear at us, telling us that
they could take the devil out of us in a very little while, if we were
only in their hands.
While in jail, we found ourselves in much more comfortable quarters
than we expected when we went there. We did not get much to eat, nor
that which was very good; but we had a good clean room, from the
windows of which we could see what was going on in the street, which
was very much better than though we had been placed in one of the dark,
damp cells. Upon the whole, we got along very well, so far as the jail
and its keeper were concerned. Immediately after the holidays were
over, contrary to all our expectations, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland
came up to Easton, and took Charles, the two Henrys, and John, out of
jail, and carried them home, leaving me alone. I regarded this
separation as a final one. It caused me more pain than any thing else
in the whole transaction. I was ready for any thing rather than
separation. I supposed that they had consulted together, and had
decided that, as I was the whole cause of the intention of the others
to run away, it was hard to make the innocent suffer with the guilty;
and that they had, therefore, concluded to take the others home, and
sell me, as a warning to the others that remained. It is due to the
noble Henry to say, he seemed almost as reluctant at leaving the prison
as at leaving home to come to the prison. But we knew we should, in all
probability, be separated, if we were sold; and since he was in their
hands, he concluded to go peaceably home.
I was now left to my fate. I was all alone, and within the walls of a
stone prison. But a few days before, and I was full of hope. I expected
to have been safe in a land of freedom; but now I was covered with
gloom, sunk down to the utmost despair. I thought the possibility of
freedom was gone. I was kept in this way about one week, at the end of
which, Captain Auld, my master, to my surprise and utter astonishment,
came up, and took me out, with the intention of sending me, with a
gentleman of his acquaintance, into Alabama. But, from some cause or
other, he did not send me to Alabama, but concluded to send me back to
Baltimore, to live again with his brother Hugh, and to learn a trade.
Thus, after an absence of three years and one month, I was once more
permitted to return to my old home at Baltimore. My master sent me
away, because there existed against me a very great prejudice in the
community, and he feared I might be killed.
In a few weeks after I went to Baltimore, Master Hugh hired me to Mr.
William Gardner, an extensive ship-builder, on Fell’s Point. I was put
there to learn how to calk. It, however, proved a very unfavorable
place for the accomplishment of this object. Mr. Gardner was engaged
that spring in building two large man-of-war brigs, professedly for the
Mexican government. The vessels were to be launched in the July of that
year, and in failure thereof, Mr. Gardner was to lose a considerable
sum; so that when I entered, all was hurry. There was no time to learn
any thing. Every man had to do that which he knew how to do. In
entering the shipyard, my orders from Mr. Gardner were, to do whatever
the carpenters commanded me to do. This was placing me at the beck and
call of about seventy-five men. I was to regard all these as masters.
Their word was to be my law. My situation was a most trying one. At
times I needed a dozen pair of hands. I was called a dozen ways in the
space of a single minute. Three or four voices would strike my ear at
the same moment. It was—“Fred., come help me to cant this timber
here.”—“Fred., come carry this timber yonder.”—“Fred., bring that
roller here.”—“Fred., go get a fresh can of water.”—“Fred., come help
saw off the end of this timber.”—“Fred., go quick, and get the
crowbar.”—“Fred., hold on the end of this fall.”—“Fred., go to the
blacksmith’s shop, and get a new punch.”—“Hurra, Fred! run and bring me
a cold chisel.”—“I say, Fred., bear a hand, and get up a fire as quick
as lightning under that steam-box.”—“Halloo, nigger! come, turn this
grindstone.”—“Come, come! move, move! and _bowse_ this timber
forward.”—“I say, darky, blast your eyes, why don’t you heat up some
pitch?”—“Halloo! halloo! halloo!” (Three voices at the same time.)
“Come here!—Go there!—Hold on where you are! Damn you, if you move,
I’ll knock your brains out!”
This was my school for eight months; and I might have remained there
longer, but for a most horrid fight I had with four of the white
apprentices, in which my left eye was nearly knocked out, and I was
horribly mangled in other respects. The facts in the case were these:
Until a very little while after I went there, white and black
ship-carpenters worked side by side, and no one seemed to see any
impropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very well satisfied. Many of
the black carpenters were freemen. Things seemed to be going on very
well. All at once, the white carpenters knocked off, and said they
would not work with free colored workmen. Their reason for this, as
alleged, was, that if free colored carpenters were encouraged, they
would soon take the trade into their own hands, and poor white men
would be thrown out of employment. They therefore felt called upon at
once to put a stop to it. And, taking advantage of Mr. Gardner’s
necessities, they broke off, swearing they would work no longer, unless
he would discharge his black carpenters. Now, though this did not
extend to me in form, it did reach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices
very soon began to feel it degrading to them to work with me. They
began to put on airs, and talk about the “niggers” taking the country,
saying we all ought to be killed; and, being encouraged by the
journeymen, they commenced making my condition as hard as they could,
by hectoring me around, and sometimes striking me. I, of course, kept
the vow I made after the fight with Mr. Covey, and struck back again,
regardless of consequences; and while I kept them from combining, I
succeeded very well; for I could whip the whole of them, taking them
separately. They, however, at length combined, and came upon me, armed
with sticks, stones, and heavy handspikes. One came in front with a
half brick. There was one at each side of me, and one behind me. While
I was attending to those in front, and on either side, the one behind
ran up with the handspike, and struck me a heavy blow upon the head. It
stunned me. I fell, and with this they all ran upon me, and fell to
beating me with their fists. I let them lay on for a while, gathering
strength. In an instant, I gave a sudden surge, and rose to my hands
and knees. Just as I did that, one of their number gave me, with his
heavy boot, a powerful kick in the left eye. My eyeball seemed to have
burst. When they saw my eye closed, and badly swollen, they left me.
With this I seized the handspike, and for a time pursued them. But here
the carpenters interfered, and I thought I might as well give it up. It
was impossible to stand my hand against so many. All this took place in
sight of not less than fifty white ship-carpenters, and not one
interposed a friendly word; but some cried, “Kill the damned nigger!
Kill him! kill him! He struck a white person.” I found my only chance
for life was in flight. I succeeded in getting away without an
additional blow, and barely so; for to strike a white man is death by
Lynch law,—and that was the law in Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard; nor is
there much of any other out of Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard.
I went directly home, and told the story of my wrongs to Master Hugh;
and I am happy to say of him, irreligious as he was, his conduct was
heavenly, compared with that of his brother Thomas under similar
circumstances. He listened attentively to my narration of the
circumstances leading to the savage outrage, and gave many proofs of
his strong indignation at it. The heart of my once overkind mistress
was again melted into pity. My puffed-out eye and blood-covered face
moved her to tears. She took a chair by me, washed the blood from my
face, and, with a mother’s tenderness, bound up my head, covering the
wounded eye with a lean piece of fresh beef. It was almost compensation
for my suffering to witness, once more, a manifestation of kindness
from this, my once affectionate old mistress. Master Hugh was very much
enraged. He gave expression to his feelings by pouring out curses upon
the heads of those who did the deed. As soon as I got a little the
better of my bruises, he took me with him to Esquire Watson’s, on Bond
Street, to see what could be done about the matter. Mr. Watson inquired
who saw the assault committed. Master Hugh told him it was done in Mr.
Gardner’s ship-yard at midday, where there were a large company of men
at work. “As to that,” he said, “the deed was done, and there was no
question as to who did it.” His answer was, he could do nothing in the
case, unless some white man would come forward and testify. He could
issue no warrant on my word. If I had been killed in the presence of a
thousand colored people, their testimony combined would have been
insufficient to have arrested one of the murderers. Master Hugh, for
once, was compelled to say this state of things was too bad. Of course,
it was impossible to get any white man to volunteer his testimony in my
behalf, and against the white young men. Even those who may have
sympathized with me were not prepared to do this. It required a degree
of courage unknown to them to do so; for just at that time, the
slightest manifestation of humanity toward a colored person was
denounced as abolitionism, and that name subjected its bearer to
frightful liabilities. The watchwords of the bloody-minded in that
region, and in those days, were, “Damn the abolitionists!” and “Damn
the niggers!” There was nothing done, and probably nothing would have
been done if I had been killed. Such was, and such remains, the state
of things in the Christian city of Baltimore.
Master Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let me go back
again to Mr. Gardner. He kept me himself, and his wife dressed my wound
till I was again restored to health. He then took me into the ship-yard
of which he was foreman, in the employment of Mr. Walter Price. There I
was immediately set to calking, and very soon learned the art of using
my mallet and irons. In the course of one year from the time I left Mr.
Gardner’s, I was able to command the highest wages given to the most
experienced calkers. I was now of some importance to my master. I was
bringing him from six to seven dollars per week. I sometimes brought
him nine dollars per week: my wages were a dollar and a half a day.
After learning how to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own
contracts, and collected the money which I earned. My pathway became
much more smooth than before; my condition was now much more
comfortable. When I could get no calking to do, I did nothing. During
these leisure times, those old notions about freedom would steal over
me again. When in Mr. Gardner’s employment, I was kept in such a
perpetual whirl of excitement, I could think of nothing, scarcely, but
my life; and in thinking of my life, I almost forgot my liberty. I have
observed this in my experience of slavery,—that whenever my condition
was improved, instead of its increasing my contentment, it only
increased my desire to be free, and set me to thinking of plans to gain
my freedom. I have found that, to make a contented slave, it is
necessary to make a thoughtless one. It is necessary to darken his
moral and mental vision, and, as far as possible, to annihilate the
power of reason. He must be able to detect no inconsistencies in
slavery; he must be made to feel that slavery is right; and he can be
brought to that only when he ceases to be a man.
I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents per day.
I contracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to me; it was rightfully
my own; yet, upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelled to
deliver every cent of that money to Master Hugh. And why? Not because
he earned it,—not because he had any hand in earning it,—not because I
owed it to him,—nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a
right to it; but solely because he had the power to compel me to give
it up. The right of the grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is
exactly the same.