THE NAME “OLD MASTER” A TERROR—COLONEL LLOYD’S PLANTATION—WYE
RIVER—WHENCE ITS NAME—POSITION OF THE LLOYDS—HOME ATTRACTION—MEET
OFFERING—JOURNEY FROM TUCKAHOE TO WYE RIVER—SCENE ON REACHING OLD
MASTER’S—DEPARTURE OF GRANDMOTHER—STRANGE MEETING OF SISTERS AND
BROTHERS—REFUSAL TO BE COMFORTED—SWEET SLEEP.
That mysterious individual referred to in the first chapter as an
object of terror among the inhabitants of our little cabin, under the
ominous title of “old master,” was really a man of some consequence. He
owned several farms in Tuckahoe; was the chief clerk and butler on the
home plantation of Col. Edward Lloyd; had overseers on his own farms;
and gave directions to overseers on the farms belonging to Col. Lloyd.
This plantation is situated on Wye river—the river receiving its name,
doubtless, from Wales, where the Lloyds originated. They (the Lloyds)
are an old and honored family in Maryland, exceedingly wealthy. The
home plantation, where they have resided, perhaps for a century or
more, is one of the largest, most fertile, and best appointed, in the
state.
About this plantation, and about that queer old master—who must be
something more than a man, and something worse than an angel—the reader
will easily imagine that I was not only curious, but eager, to know all
that could be known. Unhappily for me, however, all the information I
could get concerning him increased my great dread of being carried
thither—of being separated from and deprived of the protection of my
grandmother and grandfather. It was, evidently, a great thing to go to
Col. Lloyd’s; and I was not without a little curiosity to see the
place; but no amount of coaxing could induce in me the wish to remain
there. The fact is, such was my dread of leaving the little cabin, that
I wished to remain little forever, for I knew the taller I grew the
shorter my stay. The old cabin, with its rail floor and rail bedsteads
upstairs, and its clay floor downstairs, and its dirt chimney, and
windowless sides, and that most curious piece of workmanship dug in
front of the fireplace, beneath which grandmammy placed the sweet
potatoes to keep them from the frost, was MY HOME—the only home I ever
had; and I loved it, and all connected with it. The old fences around
it, and the stumps in the edge of the woods near it, and the squirrels
that ran, skipped, and played upon them, were objects of interest and
affection. There, too, right at the side of the hut, stood the old
well, with its stately and skyward-pointing beam, so aptly placed
between the limbs of what had once been a tree, and so nicely balanced
that I could move it up and down with only one hand, and could get a
drink myself without calling for help. Where else in the world could
such a well be found, and where could such another home be met with?
Nor were these all the attractions of the place. Down in a little
valley, not far from grandmammy’s cabin, stood Mr. Lee’s mill, where
the people came often in large numbers to get their corn ground. It was
a watermill; and I never shall be able to tell the many things thought
and felt, while I sat on the bank and watched that mill, and the
turning of that ponderous wheel. The mill-pond, too, had its charms;
and with my pinhook, and thread line, I could get _nibbles_, if I could
catch no fish. But, in all my sports and plays, and in spite of them,
there would, occasionally, come the painful foreboding that I was not
long to remain there, and that I must soon be called away to the home
of old master.
I was A SLAVE—born a slave and though the fact was incomprehensible to
me, it conveyed to my mind a sense of my entire dependence on the will
of _somebody_ I had never seen; and, from some cause or other, I had
been made to fear this somebody above all else on earth. Born for
another’s benefit, as the _firstling_ of the cabin flock I was soon to
be selected as a meet offering to the fearful and inexorable _demigod_,
whose huge image on so many occasions haunted my childhood’s
imagination. When the time of my departure was decided upon, my
grandmother, knowing my fears, and in pity for them, kindly kept me
ignorant of the dreaded event about to transpire. Up to the morning (a
beautiful summer morning) when we were to start, and, indeed, during
the whole journey—a journey which, child as I was, I remember as well
as if it were yesterday—she kept the sad fact hidden from me. This
reserve was necessary; for, could I have known all, I should have given
grandmother some trouble in getting me started. As it was, I was
helpless, and she—dear woman!—led me along by the hand, resisting, with
the reserve and solemnity of a priestess, all my inquiring looks to the
last.
The distance from Tuckahoe to Wye river—where my old master lived—was
full twelve miles, and the walk was quite a severe test of the
endurance of my young legs. The journey would have proved too severe
for me, but that my dear old grandmother—blessings on her
memory!—afforded occasional relief by “toting” me (as Marylanders have
it) on her shoulder. My grandmother, though advanced in years—as was
evident from more than one gray hair, which peeped from between the
ample and graceful folds of her newly-ironed bandana turban—was yet a
woman of power and spirit. She was marvelously straight in figure,
elastic, and muscular. I seemed hardly to be a burden to her. She would
have “toted” me farther, but that I felt myself too much of a man to
allow it, and insisted on walking. Releasing dear grandmamma from
carrying me, did not make me altogether independent of her, when we
happened to pass through portions of the somber woods which lay between
Tuckahoe and Wye river. She often found me increasing the energy of my
grip, and holding her clothing, lest something should come out of the
woods and eat me up. Several old logs and stumps imposed upon me, and
got themselves taken for wild beasts. I could see their legs, eyes, and
ears, or I could see something like eyes, legs, and ears, till I got
close enough to them to see that the eyes were knots, washed white with
rain, and the legs were broken limbs, and the ears, only ears owing to
the point from which they were seen. Thus early I learned that the
point from which a thing is viewed is of some importance.
As the day advanced the heat increased; and it was not until the
afternoon that we reached the much dreaded end of the journey. I found
myself in the midst of a group of children of many colors; black,
brown, copper colored, and nearly white. I had not seen so many
children before. Great houses loomed up in different directions, and a
great many men and women were at work in the fields. All this hurry,
noise, and singing was very different from the stillness of Tuckahoe.
As a new comer, I was an object of special interest; and, after
laughing and yelling around me, and playing all sorts of wild tricks,
they (the children) asked me to go out and play with them. This I
refused to do, preferring to stay with grandmamma. I could not help
feeling that our being there boded no good to me. Grandmamma looked
sad. She was soon to lose another object of affection, as she had lost
many before. I knew she was unhappy, and the shadow fell from her brow
on me, though I knew not the cause.
All suspense, however, must have an end; and the end of mine, in this
instance, was at hand. Affectionately patting me on the head, and
exhorting me to be a good boy, grandmamma told me to go and play with
the little children. “They are kin to you,” said she; “go and play with
them.” Among a number of cousins were Phil, Tom, Steve, and Jerry,
Nance and Betty.
Grandmother pointed out my brother PERRY, my sister SARAH, and my
sister ELIZA, who stood in the group. I had never seen my brother nor
my sisters before; and, though I had sometimes heard of them, and felt
a curious interest in them, I really did not understand what they were
to me, or I to them. We were brothers and sisters, but what of that?
Why should they be attached to me, or I to them? Brothers and sisters
we were by blood; but _slavery_ had made us strangers. I heard the
words brother and sisters, and knew they must mean something; but
slavery had robbed these terms of their true meaning. The experience
through which I was passing, they had passed through before. They had
already been initiated into the mysteries of old master’s domicile, and
they seemed to look upon me with a certain degree of compassion; but my
heart clave to my grandmother. Think it not strange, dear reader, that
so little sympathy of feeling existed between us. The conditions of
brotherly and sisterly feeling were wanting—we had never nestled and
played together. My poor mother, like many other slave-women, had many
_children_, but NO FAMILY! The domestic hearth, with its holy lessons
and precious endearments, is abolished in the case of a slave-mother
and her children. “Little children, love one another,” are words seldom
heard in a slave cabin.
I really wanted to play with my brother and sisters, but they were
strangers to me, and I was full of fear that grandmother might leave
without taking me with her. Entreated to do so, however, and that, too,
by my dear grandmother, I went to the back part of the house, to play
with them and the other children. _Play_, however, I did not, but stood
with my back against the wall, witnessing the playing of the others. At
last, while standing there, one of the children, who had been in the
kitchen, ran up to me, in a sort of roguish glee, exclaiming, “Fed,
Fed! grandmammy gone! grandmammy gone!” I could not believe it; yet,
fearing the worst, I ran into the kitchen, to see for myself, and found
it even so. Grandmammy had indeed gone, and was now far away, “clean”
out of sight. I need not tell all that happened now. Almost
heart-broken at the discovery, I fell upon the ground, and wept a boy’s
bitter tears, refusing to be comforted. My brother and sisters came
around me, and said, “Don’t cry,” and gave me peaches and pears, but I
flung them away, and refused all their kindly advances. I had never
been deceived before; and I felt not only grieved at parting—as I
supposed forever—with my grandmother, but indignant that a trick had
been played upon me in a matter so serious.
It was now late in the afternoon. The day had been an exciting and
wearisome one, and I knew not how or where, but I suppose I sobbed
myself to sleep. There is a healing in the angel wing of sleep, even
for the slave-boy; and its balm was never more welcome to any wounded
soul than it was to mine, the first night I spent at the domicile of
old master. The reader may be surprised that I narrate so minutely an
incident apparently so trivial, and which must have occurred when I was
not more than seven years old; but as I wish to give a faithful history
of my experience in slavery, I cannot withhold a circumstance which, at
the time, affected me so deeply. Besides, this was, in fact, my first
introduction to the realities of slavery.