GROWING ACQUAINTANCE WITH OLD MASTER—HIS CHARACTER—EVILS OF
UNRESTRAINED PASSION—APPARENT TENDERNESS—OLD MASTER A MAN OF
TROUBLE—CUSTOM OF MUTTERING TO HIMSELF—NECESSITY OF BEING AWARE OF HIS
WORDS—THE SUPPOSED OBTUSENESS OF SLAVE-CHILDREN—BRUTAL OUTRAGE—DRUNKEN
OVERSEER—SLAVEHOLDER’S IMPATIENCE—WISDOM OF APPEALING TO SUPERIORS—THE
SLAVEHOLDER S WRATH BAD AS THAT OF THE OVERSEER—A BASE AND SELFISH
ATTEMPT TO BREAK UP A COURTSHIP—A HARROWING SCENE.
Although my old master—Capt. Anthony—gave me at first, (as the reader
will have already seen) very little attention, and although that little
was of a remarkably mild and gentle description, a few months only were
sufficient to convince me that mildness and gentleness were not the
prevailing or governing traits of his character. These excellent
qualities were displayed only occasionally. He could, when it suited
him, appear to be literally insensible to the claims of humanity, when
appealed to by the helpless against an aggressor, and he could himself
commit outrages, deep, dark and nameless. Yet he was not by nature
worse than other men. Had he been brought up in a free state,
surrounded by the just restraints of free society—restraints which are
necessary to the freedom of all its members, alike and equally—Capt.
Anthony might have been as humane a man, and every way as respectable,
as many who now oppose the slave system; certainly as humane and
respectable as are members of society generally. The slaveholder, as
well as the slave, is the victim of the slave system. A man’s character
greatly takes its hue and shape from the form and color of things about
him. Under the whole heavens there is no relation more unfavorable to
the development of honorable character, than that sustained by the
slaveholder to the slave. Reason is imprisoned here, and passions run
wild. Like the fires of the prairie, once lighted, they are at the
mercy of every wind, and must burn, till they have consumed all that is
combustible within their remorseless grasp. Capt. Anthony could be
kind, and, at times, he even showed an affectionate disposition. Could
the reader have seen him gently leading me by the hand—as he sometimes
did—patting me on the head, speaking to me in soft, caressing tones and
calling me his “little Indian boy,” he would have deemed him a kind old
man, and really, almost fatherly. But the pleasant moods of a
slaveholder are remarkably brittle; they are easily snapped; they
neither come often, nor remain long. His temper is subjected to
perpetual trials; but, since these trials are never borne patiently,
they add nothing to his natural stock of patience.
Old master very early impressed me with the idea that he was an unhappy
man. Even to my child’s eye, he wore a troubled, and at times, a
haggard aspect. His strange movements excited my curiosity, and
awakened my compassion. He seldom walked alone without muttering to
himself; and he occasionally stormed about, as if defying an army of
invisible foes. “He would do this, that, and the other; he’d be d—d if
he did not,”—was the usual form of his threats. Most of his leisure was
spent in walking, cursing and gesticulating, like one possessed by a
demon. Most evidently, he was a wretched man, at war with his own soul,
and with all the world around him. To be overheard by the children,
disturbed him very little. He made no more of our presence, than of
that of the ducks and geese which he met on the green. He little
thought that the little black urchins around him, could see, through
those vocal crevices, the very secrets of his heart. Slaveholders ever
underrate the intelligence with which they have to grapple. I really
understood the old man’s mutterings, attitudes and gestures, about as
well as he did himself. But slaveholders never encourage that kind of
communication, with the slaves, by which they might learn to measure
the depths of his knowledge. Ignorance is a high virtue in a human
chattel; and as the master studies to keep the slave ignorant, the
slave is cunning enough to make the master think he succeeds. The slave
fully appreciates the saying, “where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to
be wise.” When old master’s gestures were violent, ending with a
threatening shake of the head, and a sharp snap of his middle finger
and thumb, I deemed it wise to keep at a respectable distance from him;
for, at such times, trifling faults stood, in his eyes, as momentous
offenses; and, having both the power and the disposition, the victim
had only to be near him to catch the punishment, deserved or
undeserved.
One of the first circumstances that opened my eyes to the cruelty and
wickedness of slavery, and the heartlessness of my old master, was the
refusal of the latter to interpose his authority, to protect and shield
a young woman, who had been most cruelly abused and beaten by his
overseer in Tuckahoe. This overseer—a Mr. Plummer—was a man like most
of his class, little better than a human brute; and, in addition to his
general profligacy and repulsive coarseness, the creature was a
miserable drunkard. He was, probably, employed by my old master, less
on account of the excellence of his services, than for the cheap rate
at which they could be obtained. He was not fit to have the management
of a drove of mules. In a fit of drunken madness, he committed the
outrage which brought the young woman in question down to my old
master’s for protection. This young woman was the daughter of Milly, an
own aunt of mine. The poor girl, on arriving at our house, presented a
pitiable appearance. She had left in haste, and without preparation;
and, probably, without the knowledge of Mr. Plummer. She had traveled
twelve miles, bare-footed, bare-necked and bare-headed. Her neck and
shoulders were covered with scars, newly made; and not content with
marring her neck and shoulders, with the cowhide, the cowardly brute
had dealt her a blow on the head with a hickory club, which cut a
horrible gash, and left her face literally covered with blood. In this
condition, the poor young woman came down, to implore protection at the
hands of my old master. I expected to see him boil over with rage at
the revolting deed, and to hear him fill the air with curses upon the
brutual Plummer; but I was disappointed. He sternly told her, in an
angry tone, he “believed she deserved every bit of it,” and, if she did
not go home instantly, he would himself take the remaining skin from
her neck and back. Thus was the poor girl compelled to return, without
redress, and perhaps to receive an additional flogging for daring to
appeal to old master against the overseer.
Old master seemed furious at the thought of being troubled by such
complaints. I did not, at that time, understand the philosophy of his
treatment of my cousin. It was stern, unnatural, violent. Had the man
no bowels of compassion? Was he dead to all sense of humanity? No. I
think I now understand it. This treatment is a part of the system,
rather than a part of the man. Were slaveholders to listen to
complaints of this sort against the overseers, the luxury of owning
large numbers of slaves, would be impossible. It would do away with the
office of overseer, entirely; or, in other words, it would convert the
master himself into an overseer. It would occasion great loss of time
and labor, leaving the overseer in fetters, and without the necessary
power to secure obedience to his orders. A privilege so dangerous as
that of appeal, is, therefore, strictly prohibited; and any one
exercising it, runs a fearful hazard. Nevertheless, when a slave has
nerve enough to exercise it, and boldly approaches his master, with a
well-founded complaint against an overseer, though he may be repulsed,
and may even have that of which he complains repeated at the time, and,
though he may be beaten by his master, as well as by the overseer, for
his temerity, in the end the policy of complaining is, generally,
vindicated by the relaxed rigor of the overseer’s treatment. The latter
becomes more careful, and less disposed to use the lash upon such
slaves thereafter. It is with this final result in view, rather than
with any expectation of immediate good, that the outraged slave is
induced to meet his master with a complaint. The overseer very
naturally dislikes to have the ear of the master disturbed by
complaints; and, either upon this consideration, or upon advice and
warning privately given him by his employers, he generally modifies the
rigor of his rule, after an outbreak of the kind to which I have been
referring.
Howsoever the slaveholder may allow himself to act toward his slave,
and, whatever cruelty he may deem it wise, for example’s sake, or for
the gratification of his humor, to inflict, he cannot, in the absence
of all provocation, look with pleasure upon the bleeding wounds of a
defenseless slave-woman. When he drives her from his presence without
redress, or the hope of redress, he acts, generally, from motives of
policy, rather than from a hardened nature, or from innate brutality.
Yet, let but his own temper be stirred, his own passions get loose, and
the slave-owner will go _far beyond_ the overseer in cruelty. He will
convince the slave that his wrath is far more terrible and boundless,
and vastly more to be dreaded, than that of the underling overseer.
What may have been mechanically and heartlessly done by the overseer,
is now done with a will. The man who now wields the lash is
irresponsible. He may, if he pleases, cripple or kill, without fear of
consequences; except in so far as it may concern profit or loss. To a
man of violent temper—as my old master was—this was but a very slender
and inefficient restraint. I have seen him in a tempest of passion,
such as I have just described—a passion into which entered all the
bitter ingredients of pride, hatred, envy, jealousy, and the
thrist(sic) for revenge.
The circumstances which I am about to narrate, and which gave rise to
this fearful tempest of passion, are not singular nor isolated in slave
life, but are common in every slaveholding community in which I have
lived. They are incidental to the relation of master and slave, and
exist in all sections of slave-holding countries.
The reader will have noticed that, in enumerating the names of the
slaves who lived with my old master, _Esther_ is mentioned. This was a
young woman who possessed that which is ever a curse to the slave-girl;
namely—personal beauty. She was tall, well formed, and made a fine
appearance. The daughters of Col. Lloyd could scarcely surpass her in
personal charms. Esther was courted by Ned Roberts, and he was as fine
looking a young man, as she was a woman. He was the son of a favorite
slave of Col. Lloyd. Some slaveholders would have been glad to promote
the marriage of two such persons; but, for some reason or other, my old
master took it upon him to break up the growing intimacy between Esther
and Edward. He strictly ordered her to quit the company of said
Roberts, telling her that he would punish her severely if he ever found
her again in Edward’s company. This unnatural and heartless order was,
of course, broken. A woman’s love is not to be annihilated by the
peremptory command of any one, whose breath is in his nostrils. It was
impossible to keep Edward and Esther apart. Meet they would, and meet
they did. Had old master been a man of honor and purity, his motives,
in this matter, might have been viewed more favorably. As it was, his
motives were as abhorrent, as his methods were foolish and
contemptible. It was too evident that he was not concerned for the
girl’s welfare. It is one of the damning characteristics of the slave
system, that it robs its victims of every earthly incentive to a holy
life. The fear of God, and the hope of heaven, are found sufficient to
sustain many slave-women, amidst the snares and dangers of their
strange lot; but, this side of God and heaven, a slave-woman is at the
mercy of the power, caprice and passion of her owner. Slavery provides
no means for the honorable continuance of the race. Marriage as
imposing obligations on the parties to it—has no existence here, except
in such hearts as are purer and higher than the standard morality
around them. It is one of the consolations of my life, that I know of
many honorable instances of persons who maintained their honor, where
all around was corrupt.
Esther was evidently much attached to Edward, and abhorred—as she had
reason to do—the tyrannical and base behavior of old master. Edward was
young, and fine looking, and he loved and courted her. He might have
been her husband, in the high sense just alluded to; but WHO and _what_
was this old master? His attentions were plainly brutal and selfish,
and it was as natural that Esther should loathe him, as that she should
love Edward. Abhorred and circumvented as he was, old master, having
the power, very easily took revenge. I happened to see this exhibition
of his rage and cruelty toward Esther. The time selected was singular.
It was early in the morning, when all besides was still, and before any
of the family, in the house or kitchen, had left their beds. I saw but
few of the shocking preliminaries, for the cruel work had begun before
I awoke. I was probably awakened by the shrieks and piteous cries of
poor Esther. My sleeping place was on the floor of a little, rough
closet, which opened into the kitchen; and through the cracks of its
unplaned boards, I could distinctly see and hear what was going on,
without being seen by old master. Esther’s wrists were firmly tied, and
the twisted rope was fastened to a strong staple in a heavy wooden
joist above, near the fireplace. Here she stood, on a bench, her arms
tightly drawn over her breast. Her back and shoulders were bare to the
waist. Behind her stood old master, with cowskin in hand, preparing his
barbarous work with all manner of harsh, coarse, and tantalizing
epithets. The screams of his victim were most piercing. He was cruelly
deliberate, and protracted the torture, as one who was delighted with
the scene. Again and again he drew the hateful whip through his hand,
adjusting it with a view of dealing the most pain-giving blow. Poor
Esther had never yet been severely whipped, and her shoulders were
plump and tender. Each blow, vigorously laid on, brought screams as
well as blood. _“Have mercy; Oh! have mercy”_ she cried; “_I won’t do
so no more;”_ but her piercing cries seemed only to increase his fury.
His answers to them are too coarse and blasphemous to be produced here.
The whole scene, with all its attendants, was revolting and shocking,
to the last degree; and when the motives of this brutal castigation are
considered,—language has no power to convey a just sense of its awful
criminality. After laying on some thirty or forty stripes, old master
untied his suffering victim, and let her get down. She could scarcely
stand, when untied. From my heart I pitied her, and—child though I
was—the outrage kindled in me a feeling far from peaceful; but I was
hushed, terrified, stunned, and could do nothing, and the fate of
Esther might be mine next. The scene here described was often repeated
in the case of poor Esther, and her life, as I knew it, was one of
wretchedness.