BACK TO PLANTATION LIFE
When young Douglass left Baltimore to go back to the plantation, he was
about sixteen years of age;—strong, healthy, and fully capable of the
hard work of a field hand. But this was not the most difficult task he
now had to face. Conditions that he met there were to test his character
as it had never been tested before, and the trials he endured during
this period profoundly influenced all his future life. For the first
time in many years, he was to feel the “pitiless pinchings of hunger.”
He says: “So wretchedly starved were we that we were compelled to live
at the expense of our neighbors, or steal from our own larder. This was
a hard thing to do, but after much reflection, I reasoned myself into
the belief that there was no other way to do—and after all there could
be no harm in it, considering that my labor and person were the property
of Master Thomas, and that I was deprived of the necessaries of life. It
was simply appropriating what was my own, since the health and strength
derived from such food were exerted in his service. To be sure, this was
stealing according to the law and gospel I had heard from the pulpit,
but I had begun to attach less importance to what dropped from that
quarter, on certain points.”
Having found a principle upon which he could justify, against the
precepts of morality, the practice of stealing from his own master, in
order to get enough to eat, it was not difficult to go farther and
discover a warrant based on grounds quite as logical, for the habit of
stealing from others beside his master, when the same necessity seemed
to justify it.
“I am not only a slave of Master Thomas,” he argued, “but I am also a
slave of society at large. Society at large has bound itself in form and
fact to assist Master Thomas in robbing me of my liberty and the just
reward of my labor; therefore whatever rights I have against Master
Thomas, I have equally against those confederated with him.” It is thus
that Mr. Douglass, writing years afterward, construed the argument with
which the boy solved the doubts and questions arising in his mind when
he found himself following the custom, prevalent among the slaves, of
persistent petty stealing.
Whatever one may think of this theory as a justification for the
practice, it is interesting as showing in Douglass, even as a boy, the
tendency to get clear ideas in regard to his own conduct and the conduct
of those about him, and to make his actions conform to some fundamental
rule. A boy who was disposed to think thus clearly and to apply the test
of elementary principles to the lives and actions of those about him,
was already a dangerous slave. And so the summer of 1833 found Douglass
more determined than ever to run away.
Meanwhile he tells us that there were several incidents which served
still further to shape in his mind the view of his master and the class
his master represented. About this time there was a religious revival in
the neighborhood of St. Michaels, where Douglass lived. Master Thomas
became converted and was afterward a devoted member and class-leader in
the Methodist church. Young Douglass attended the camp-meeting, and,
from his position behind the preacher’s stand, where a space had been
marked off for colored people, watched the process of conversion in his
master with great interest and close attention.
Another episode tended to add to the perplexity in the young slave’s
mind and still further undermine his faith in the moral superiority of
the master-class, and in the religion which based its justification of
slavery on the fact of that superiority. To add further to his
confusion, he had read somewhere, in the Methodist discipline, that “the
slave-holder shall not be eligible to an official station in the
church.” When he saw Mr. Auld making open confession of his sins, and
afterward given official position in the church, he felt sure that a
great change must necessarily come over his disposition and character.
But his master’s face, Douglass said, became more stern with increasing
piety, and the discipline he enforced upon his slaves was even more
rigid. This was a severe test of the religious convictions of the young
slave-boy. He knew that religion had made him better, kinder, and more
appreciative of all that was true and beautiful. It had also given him
comfort during the period of his servitude. He had looked forward, with
sincere faith in the power of religion, to some marked change in Master
Thomas. The resulting experience left him disappointed and confused.
At the request of an earnest and sincerely pious white man, named
Wilson, Douglass had joined in an attempt to conduct a Sunday-school for
young colored people. During the second meeting of this innocent
company, it was violently broken up by a mob, chief among whom was his
master, Thomas Auld. The men were armed with sticks and other missiles
and drove away both pupils and teachers, warning them never to meet
again. The only explanation given for this violent interruption of what
seemed a harmless and worthy occupation, was the rough remark of one
member of the party, that Douglass wanted to be another Nat Turner. The
fear inspired by his unfortunate slave insurrection was responsible for
much of the hardship which Negroes in the South, free and slave, were at
this period compelled to endure. The memory of it hardened the heart of
many a master against his slaves and made him cruel and suspicious where
he would naturally have been kind and confident.
But Thomas Auld seems not to have had even this excuse for some of his
acts which still further embittered the young slave, already grown
critical and suspicious of all that his master did. It was not long
after his conversion, Douglass says, that he began to beat the boy’s
crippled and unfortunate cousin, Henny, with unusual barbarity, finally
setting her adrift to care for herself. All these incidents crowded
quickly upon the young slave’s mind at a time when he had already begun
to test and measure the actions of his master and those about him by the
principles of universal right and justice, which his study of the
_Columbian Orator_ had furnished him, and which his reflections and
comparisons were steadily making more clear and definite. The effect was
to render him bold and rebellious to such an extent that he soon became
a fit subject to be “broken in” by some overseer, who knew how to handle
“impudent” slaves.
A man named Edward Covey, living at Bayside, at no great distance from
the camp-ground where Thomas Auld was converted, had a wide reputation
for “breaking in unruly niggers.” Covey was a “poor white” and a farm
renter. To this man Douglass was hired out for a year. In the month of
January, 1834, he started for his new master, with his little bundle of
clothes. From what we have already seen of this sensitive, thoughtful
young slave of seventeen years, it is not difficult to understand his
state of mind. Up to this time he had had a comparatively easy life. He
had seldom suffered hardships such as fell to the lot of many slaves
whom he knew. To quote his own words: “I was now about to sound
profounder depths in slave-life. Starvation made me glad to leave Thomas
Auld’s, and the cruel lash made me dread to go to Covey’s.” Escape,
however, was impossible. The picture of “the slave-driver,” painted in
the lurid colors that Mr. Douglass’s indignant memories furnished him,
shows the dark side of slavery in the South. During the first six weeks
he was with Covey, he was whipped, either with sticks or cowhides, every
week. With his body one continuous ache from his frequent floggings, he
was kept at work in field or woods from the dawn of day until the
darkness of night. He says: “Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me in body,
soul, and spirit. The overwork and the cruel chastisements, of which I
was the victim, combined with the ever growing and soul-devouring
thought, ‘I am a slave—a slave for life, a slave with no rational ground
to hope for freedom,’ had done their worst.”
He confesses that at one time he was strongly tempted to take his own
life and that of Covey. Finally, his sufferings of body and soul became
so great that further endurance seemed impossible. While in this
condition, he determined upon the daring step of returning to his
master, Thomas Auld, in order to lay before him the story of abuse. He
felt sure that, if for no other reason than the protection of property
from serious impairment, his master would interfere in his behalf. He
even expected sympathy and assurances of future protection. In all this
he was grievously disappointed. Auld not only refused sympathy and
protection, but would not even listen to his complaints, and immediately
sent him back to his dreaded master to face the added penalty of running
away. The poor lone boy was plunged into the depths of despair. A
feeling that he had been deserted by both God and man took possession of
him.
Covey was lying in wait for him, knowing full well that he must return
as defenseless as he went away. As soon as Douglass came near the place
where the white man was hiding, the latter made a leap at Fred for the
purpose of tying him for a flogging. But Douglass escaped and took to
the woods where he concealed himself for a day and a night. His
condition was desperate. He felt that he could not endure another
whipping, and yet there seemed to him no alternative. His first impulse
was to pray, but he remembered that Covey also prayed. Convinced, at
length, that there was no appeal but to his own courage, he resolved to
go back and face whatever must come to him. It so happened that it was a
Sunday morning and, much to his surprise, he met Covey who was on his
way to church, and who, when he saw the runaway, greeted him with a
pleasant smile. “His religion,” says Douglass, “prevented him from
breaking the Sabbath, but not from breaking my bones on any other day in
the week.”
On Monday morning, Douglass was up early, half hoping that he would be
permitted to resume his work without punishment. Covey was astir
betimes, too, and had laid aside his Sunday mildness of manner. His
first business was to carry out his fixed purpose of whipping the young
runaway. In the meantime Fred had likewise fully decided upon a course
of action. He was ready to submit to any kind of work, however hard or
unreasonable, but determined to defend himself against an attempt at
another flogging. In the cold passion that took possession of him, the
slave-boy became utterly reckless of consequences, reasoning to himself
that the limit of suffering at the hands of this relentless
slave-breaker had already been reached. He was resolved to fight and did
fight. He began his morning work in peace, obeying promptly every order
from his master, and while he was in the act of going up to the
stable-loft for the purpose of pitching down some hay, he was caught and
thrown by Covey, in an attempt to get a slip knot about his legs.
Douglass flew at Covey’s throat recklessly, hurled his antagonist to the
ground, and held him firmly. Blood followed the nails of the infuriated
young slave. He scarcely knew how to account for his fighting strength,
and his dare-devil spirit so dumbfounded the master, that he gaspingly
said: “Are you going to resist me, you young scoundrel?” “Yes, sir,” was
the quick reply.
Finding himself baffled, Covey called for assistance. His Cousin Hughes
came to aid him, but as he was attempting to put a noose over the unruly
slave’s foot, Douglass promptly gave him a blow in the stomach which at
once put him out of the combat and he fled. After Hughes had been
disabled, Covey called on first one and then another of his slaves, but
each refused to assist him. Finding himself fairly outdone by his angry
antagonist, Covey quit with the discreet remark: “Now, you young
scoundrel, you go to work; I would not have whipped you half so hard, if
you had not resisted.”
Douglass had thus won his first victory and was never again threatened
or flogged by his master. The effect of this encounter, as far as he
himself was concerned, was to increase his self-respect, and to give him
more courage for the future. He said that, “when a slave cannot be
flogged, he is more than half-free.” To the other slaves he became a
hero, and Covey was not anxious to advertise his complete failure to
break in this “unruly nigger.” It speaks well for the natural dignity
and good sense of young Douglass that he neither boasted of his triumph,
nor did anything rash as a consequence of it, as might have been
expected from a boy of his age and spirit.
On Christmas Day, 1834, young Douglass’s time with Covey was out. He
then learned that he had been hired to a William Freeland, who owned a
large plantation near St. Michaels, and by January 1st, was with his new
master. Mr. Freeland was a great improvement upon Covey. He was less
direct in his professions, but more humane in his manner toward his
slaves. He was what was called a “kind master.” He did not overwork or
underfeed his slaves and he was sparing of the lash. All this was
Paradise to young Douglass, when compared with the strenuous life he had
led with Covey. The effect of so much kindness was evidenced in the
character of the Freeland slaves. Mr. Douglass describes them as a
superior class of men and women, and he loved, esteemed, and confided in
them, as with real friends, generous and true.
With these new and better conditions and with these superior companions
in bondage, Douglass felt a renewal of that old impulse to do something
for his fellow slaves. He naturally first turned to the thought of
teaching them to read and write. He found time and spirit again to look
at his library,—the blue-back speller and the _Columbian Orator_. He
first started a Sunday-school under the trees, at a safe distance from
the “big house,” gathering together some thirty young people. They were
making fine progress, when, one Sunday, his former experience was
repeated, and they were rushed upon and scattered. The school was again
started, however, and this time Douglass seems successfully to have
evaded the vigilance of his master. In addition to the Sunday-school, he
devoted three evenings a week to his fellow slaves.
His leadership among all the Negroes was recognized and respected by
them. This brought with it his first consciousness of that peculiar
power over men, which in after-life made him so conspicuous a figure
among the heroes of the Abolition struggle. The whole year at Freeland’s
was spent in self-development and in the mental and spiritual
improvement of his companions in bonds.
At the end of this time he learned that his services had been hired for
another twelve months to Mr. Freeland. This seemed to promise good for
him in the future. The Bible, the spelling book, and the _Columbian
Orator_ were read and re-read and, at each new reading, he felt an
enlargement of mind and an increasing thirst for liberty. The kindness
of Mr. Freeland and the pleasant companionship of the Harris brothers
and other slaves, served only to increase his discontent. He liked his
master and would gladly have remained with him as a free man, but he
could never overcome his increasing impatience of the restraints of
slavery, and, with this ambition for liberty, his troubles began. He
made a solemn vow to himself that the year should not close without
witnessing some earnest effort on his part to escape. This vow also
included the freedom of his slave-companions, for whom he had conceived
a lasting attachment. He succeeded in winning to his scheme five trusted
confidants. These were John and Henry Harris, Sandy Jenkins, the
footman; Charles Roberts, and Henry Bailey. Young Douglass impressed
them with the perils of the undertaking. His knowledge of the
difficulties of a successful escape, little as it actually was,
surprised and awed them.
When he had fully determined upon his plans, he found that it would
perhaps require many weeks to perfect them. His first task was to study
the character, the temperament, and the various personal qualifications
of the men whom he proposed to make his partners in this dangerous
undertaking. He must learn whether they were proof against the sin of
betrayal under all possible circumstances. Each man must cultivate an
unhesitating faith in the others. Each must have unlimited courage, both
physical and moral. All must learn the tricks of self-concealment, and
of assumed indifference and deception. They must understand the various
kinds of perils they were likely to encounter. The kidnapper, the
slave-catcher, the black and white detectives, and the whole range of
restraints that, like a continuous wall, hemmed in a slave, must be
considered and understood. If he had hope in his heart, he must not
betray it by so much as a look, in manner or in speech. Overseers were
all eyes and ears and quick to suspect something was wrong if a slave
seemed unusually thoughtful, sullen, or happy. They were by no means
easily deceived as to the real intention of a slave planning to run
away. To become an object of suspicion was merely to insure that the
suspected slave would be the more closely guarded. Young Douglass fully
realized the severity of the penalty that must follow failure, but he
never wavered in his determination to make a dash for liberty, at any
cost.
Having satisfied himself that his companions were proof against
treachery and were of the right sort of mettle, he began to study the
practical means of escape. There were no well-marked routes from slavery
to freedom, no highways, byways, or “underground railways,” known to him
at that time. Such knowledge belonged wholly to the region north of the
boundary line of freedom. He had heard of slaves escaping, but how they
got away and by what route was always a mystery. He had heard that there
was a region called North, and that in this far haven, white and black
people alike were free. He had heard of a land called Canada, but its
location on maps and charts was unknown to him. He had no conception of
the physical size of the world. He had seen Baltimore, St. Michaels, and
the adjoining plantations; beyond this all was blank. He knew something
of theology, but nothing of geography. He did not know that there were
states called New York and Massachusetts. New York City was the northern
limit of his knowledge. He had received vague hints that the dominion of
slavery was without boundary and that even in New York, there were
slave-catchers and kidnappers. But it was at this time an unknown land.
In these difficulties, young Douglass looked steadily North in the
direction of the free-states, seeking some chance guidance. His habit of
reasoning out things that in any way affected his status as a slave and
as a man, has already been noted. Everything that he saw, or heard, or
read enlarged his knowledge of life and its meaning. His stay in
Baltimore had been a sort of school to him. Here for the first time, he
had seen free colored people; the coming and going of ships gave him his
first ideas of direction and distance; the Chesapeake Bay was a thing of
wonder;—all of which awakened in him many thoughts that led him away
from bondage.
While young Douglass was secretly working out his plans for escape, one
of his confidants, Sandy, the footman, said to him: “I dreamed last
night that I was roused from sleep by strange noises, like a swarm of
angry birds; looking to see what it was, I saw you, Frederick, in the
claws of a large bird surrounded by a large number of birds of all
colors and sizes. They were all picking at you. Now I saw that as plain
as I see you now, and honey, watch the Friday night dream; there is
sump’n in it, sho’s you born, dere is indeed, honey.” Douglass confessed
that the dream related to him by old Sandy disturbed him for awhile. He
felt sure that his plans were seriously handicapped by unseen forces of
some sort, but he soon regained his usual courage and overcame his
superstitious apprehensions. The Saturday night before Easter had been
fixed upon as the time for flight. A large canoe, owned by a Mr.
Hamilton, had been seized and made ready for the confederates. They were
to paddle down the Chesapeake Bay to its head. Douglass had already
written out passes for each of the fugitives in the following form:—
“This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given leave to the
bearer, my servant, John, full liberty to go to Baltimore to spend the
Easter holidays.—W. H.
“_Near St. Michaels, Talbot Co., Md._”
On the night before the proposed flight, every possible detail had been
rehearsed and arranged. The resolution of each party to the conspiracy
was tested and proved firm, except that of Sandy, who, much to the
disgust of Douglass, backed out. Early Saturday morning, they were all
at work in the usual way. Douglass was the only one who was troubled
with a presentiment of evil. He turned abruptly to Sandy, who was
working near him, and said: “We are betrayed!” Within a short while his
worst fears were being realized. Looking toward the “big house,” he
easily discerned a stranger on horseback and an unusual stir. It was not
long before he was abruptly accused of plotting to run away, and taken
into custody. Thus it turned out that at the very time he had planned to
be on the road to freedom, he was a prisoner bound for Easton, to be
examined by a magistrate.
His companions, the two Harris brothers, were likewise accused. Henry,
however, was the only one who did not tamely submit to being arrested
and handcuffed. When a revolver was pointed at him by the officer, he
knocked it from the man’s hands and dared any one to shoot him. The
recalcitrant slave was soon overpowered, however, and all were led away.
The excitement caused by Harris’s daring revolt served one purpose, of
which young Douglass’s alertness enabled him to take advantage. He
adroitly threw his pass, the only incriminating evidence against them,
in the fire, and by some secret sign advised the others to eat theirs
with their bread on the journey, which they did.
When they were examined, each stoutly disclaimed all knowledge of plans
for running away and denied that they had any intention of doing so.
Notwithstanding the total lack of evidence against them, the officers
and Douglass’s master were thoroughly convinced that they were plotting
some wickedness. There was always something so mysterious, as well as
commanding in the manner of young Douglass, that he was naturally
regarded as the ringleader, when any misconduct of the slaves was
complained of. His fellows in bonds treated him with a deference never
shown toward any but white people. As a slave he worked well and did his
full duty, but his masters always regarded him with suspicion, and
something akin to fear.
The examination of the four culprits must have afforded an interesting
scene. Young Douglass, though a slave in chains, as well as a prisoner
at the bar, had the temerity to assume the rôle of attorney and to
attempt the defense of his comrades, for whose present predicament he
felt himself responsible. When Thomas Auld insisted that the evidence in
hand, showing the intention to run away, was strong enough to hang in
case of need, Douglass promptly replied: “The cases are not equal. If
murder were committed, the thing is done, but we have not run away.
Where is the evidence against us? We were quietly at work.” Douglass was
confident that the only tangible evidence against them had been
skilfully destroyed, and he knew also that his companions had been slyly
but effectively coached as to what to say and how to act when they came
before the examining magistrate.
So completely had they failed to make young Douglass and his companions
convict themselves, that very shortly Mr. Freeland came to the jail and
took home his own slaves, leaving Douglass still in confinement. He was
glad to know that his companions had escaped punishment, but by this
last separation from them he seemed to have reached the very depths of
the desolation which it was the lot of a slave to experience.
Through the bars of his imprisonment, he could watch the slave-traders
from Georgia, Alabama, and Louisiana apparently eager to get hold of
him. He could even hear them pass comments upon his size, strength, and
general appearance, and make guesses as to his age. For the first time
since he left Covey’s, he felt both hopeless and helpless. If he should
be sold and sent down into the far South, he well knew that all chances
for escape would be cut off forever.
While in this condition of dejection and hopelessness, the unexpected
happened. His owner, Thomas Auld, who, in spite of Douglass’s
rebelliousness, always cherished a peculiar fondness for him, ordered
his release from jail, and at once decided to send him back to Baltimore
to live with Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Auld. In telling Fred what he intended to
do, he said that he wanted him to learn a trade, and that if he would
behave himself and give him no more trouble, he would emancipate him
when he became twenty-five years old.
The happy assurance that he was not to be punished and that he was again
to have the privileges of the city, was at first almost too much to be
believed. All of his hopes for ultimate freedom were revived and his
confidence in himself, which had been severely shaken by his recent
failure and disgrace, was renewed. Under the circumstances, it seems to
have been the only wise and practicable course his master could pursue.
Mr. Freeland would not again allow him to come upon his plantation;
Covey had failed to break his spirit; and his reputation as a would-be
runaway and a “smart nigger” made him a desperate asset in the
slave-market of Talbot County. In sending him to Baltimore to learn a
trade, with a possibility of ultimate freedom, it was thought that he
would be more serviceable and more tractable. Then, again, the most
threatening aspect of young Douglass’s attempted flight was the daring
plot to use the Chesapeake Bay. Heretofore the slaves who had succeeded
in making good their escape were compelled to find a path through deadly
swamps and woods, other avenues being so carefully guarded that a
successful runaway was very rare. Every effort, therefore, must be made
to keep the Douglass venture a secret; he must be removed as far as
possible from his old plantation-life. If he had had a different master,
nothing could have saved him from the slave-traders. The
good-heartedness of Thomas Auld was the only thing that preserved our
young hero for that larger life which he was to make for himself, and
help to make for so many others of his race.
When, through the kindness of Mr. Auld, Douglass again turned his face
toward Baltimore, he fully realized that the change was fraught with
importance to him. He remembered that it was in this city he had caught
the first suggestion that there was a life to be lived above the low
levels of a slave. There, in the family of Hugh Auld, he had learned to
wear clothes, had acquired good manners and the ability to read, and,
for the first time, had felt, in the person of his teacher and
benefactor, Mrs. Sophia Auld, the civilizing and softening touch of a
superior woman’s kindness.
To his alert and observing mind, Baltimore again became a real school.
It quickened his perception, and fired his imagination, and was the
place, above all others, short of a free state, where he most longed to
live. Hugh Auld easily succeeded in getting young Douglass apprenticed
to a calker, in the extensive ship-yards of William Gardiner, on Fell’s
Point. The conditions under which he had to work were very trying; he
did not mind the severe labor, but he was much disturbed by the intense
prejudice existing among the white boys and mechanics. During the six
months that he worked with this firm, every one seemed to have license
to make use of and abuse him. He was not a coward, and would quickly
strike back at a man who insulted or attempted to maltreat him. Finally,
however, he was assaulted by a crowd of ruffians and frightfully beaten.
His face was swollen and he was covered with blood. In this condition,
he reported himself to Mr. Auld, who was furious when he beheld the
pitiable state of his slave. Mrs. Auld took pity upon him and kindly
dressed his wounds, and nursed him until they were healed. In the
meantime he was angrily withdrawn from Mr. Gardiner’s employ, and it was
sought to bring to punishment the perpetrators of the assault. Auld
appeared with Douglass before a magistrate, and explaining how his slave
had been attacked without provocation, demanded a warrant for the guilty
parties, but both were surprised and chagrined when the magistrate
replied: “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot move in this matter except upon
the oath of a white man.” This incident made a deep impression on
Douglass. It gave him a new and vivid sense of his helplessness and
dependence, and measurably increased his determination to be free at any
cost.
Hugh Auld soon after became foreman in the ship-yards of Walter Price,
of Baltimore. He took Douglass with him and, under his protection, Fred
finished learning his trade and within one year became able to command
and receive from seven to nine dollars per week, the largest wages at
that time paid for such labor. All of his earnings, of course, were
turned over to his master. From now onward he had no trouble in securing
work. He was permitted to find his own employment and make his own
arrangements or contracts for pay. This was a distinct advancement over
his former condition of servitude, and was his first experience of
self-direction and self-dependence.
He was soon known among the colored people of the city as a young man of
singular power. His superiority of mind was recognized and, almost
without being conscious of it, he became a leader. There was at that
time an organization of free colored people, known as the East Baltimore
Improvement Society. Although membership in this exclusive body was
limited to free people, young Douglass was eagerly admitted. This was
the first organization of any kind, outside of the church, to which he
had ever belonged. It is probable that he had here his first opportunity
to exercise his natural gift of eloquence.
But with all these improvements in his conditions of life, he was not
happy. A sense of bondage, however slight, made him restless and
impatient. “Why should I be a slave?” was the question that went with
him night and day. He has truly said: “To make a contented slave, you
must make him a thoughtless one.”
Kind treatment, liberty to come and go as he pleased and to make his own
contracts for employment; mingling with freemen, as if he himself were
free; the high esteem in which he was held by fellow workmen and
employers, and by free people; and the promise of emancipation at
twenty-five years of age, were no consolation to the heart that panted
to be its own. He had already become too much of a man to remain a
willing slave!