COMFORTS AND LUXURIES—ELABORATE EXPENDITURE—HOUSE SERVANTS—MEN SERVANTS
AND MAID SERVANTS—APPEARANCES—SLAVE ARISTOCRACY—STABLE AND CARRIAGE
HOUSE—BOUNDLESS HOSPITALITY—FRAGRANCE OF RICH DISHES—THE DECEPTIVE
CHARACTER OF SLAVERY—SLAVES SEEM HAPPY—SLAVES AND SLAVEHOLDERS ALIKE
WRETCHED—FRETFUL DISCONTENT OF SLAVEHOLDERS—FAULT-FINDING—OLD
BARNEY—HIS PROFESSION—WHIPPING—HUMILIATING SPECTACLE—CASE
EXCEPTIONAL—WILLIAM WILKS—SUPPOSED SON OF COL. LLOYD—CURIOUS
INCIDENT—SLAVES PREFER RICH MASTERS TO POOR ONES.
The close-fisted stinginess that fed the poor slave on coarse corn-meal
and tainted meat; that clothed him in crashy tow-linen, and hurried him
to toil through the field, in all weathers, with wind and rain beating
through his tattered garments; that scarcely gave even the young
slave-mother time to nurse her hungry infant in the fence corner;
wholly vanishes on approaching the sacred precincts of the great house,
the home of the Lloyds. There the scriptural phrase finds an exact
illustration; the highly favored inmates of this mansion are literally
arrayed “in purple and fine linen,” and fare sumptuously every day! The
table groans under the heavy and blood-bought luxuries gathered with
painstaking care, at home and abroad. Fields, forests, rivers and seas,
are made tributary here. Immense wealth, and its lavish expenditure,
fill the great house with all that can please the eye, or tempt the
taste. Here, appetite, not food, is the great _desideratum_. Fish,
flesh and fowl, are here in profusion. Chickens, of all breeds; ducks,
of all kinds, wild and tame, the common, and the huge Muscovite; Guinea
fowls, turkeys, geese, and pea fowls, are in their several pens, fat
and fatting for the destined vortex. The graceful swan, the mongrels,
the black-necked wild goose; partridges, quails, pheasants and pigeons;
choice water fowl, with all their strange varieties, are caught in this
huge family net. Beef, veal, mutton and venison, of the most select
kinds and quality, roll bounteously to this grand consumer. The teeming
riches of the Chesapeake bay, its rock, perch, drums, crocus, trout,
oysters, crabs, and terrapin, are drawn hither to adorn the glittering
table of the great house. The dairy, too, probably the finest on the
Eastern Shore of Maryland—supplied by cattle of the best English stock,
imported for the purpose, pours its rich donations of fragant cheese,
golden butter, and delicious cream, to heighten the attraction of the
gorgeous, unending round of feasting. Nor are the fruits of the earth
forgotten or neglected. The fertile garden, many acres in size,
constituting a separate establishment, distinct from the common
farm—with its scientific gardener, imported from Scotland (a Mr.
McDermott) with four men under his direction, was not behind, either in
the abundance or in the delicacy of its contributions to the same full
board. The tender asparagus, the succulent celery, and the delicate
cauliflower; egg plants, beets, lettuce, parsnips, peas, and French
beans, early and late; radishes, cantelopes, melons of all kinds; the
fruits and flowers of all climes and of all descriptions, from the
hardy apple of the north, to the lemon and orange of the south,
culminated at this point. Baltimore gathered figs, raisins, almonds and
juicy grapes from Spain. Wines and brandies from France; teas of
various flavor, from China; and rich, aromatic coffee from Java, all
conspired to swell the tide of high life, where pride and indolence
rolled and lounged in magnificence and satiety.
Behind the tall-backed and elaborately wrought chairs, stand the
servants, men and maidens—fifteen in number—discriminately selected,
not only with a view to their industry and faithfulness, but with
special regard to their personal appearance, their graceful agility and
captivating address. Some of these are armed with fans, and are fanning
reviving breezes toward the over-heated brows of the alabaster ladies;
others watch with eager eye, and with fawn-like step anticipate and
supply wants before they are sufficiently formed to be announced by
word or sign.
These servants constituted a sort of black aristocracy on Col. Lloyd’s
plantation. They resembled the field hands in nothing, except in color,
and in this they held the advantage of a velvet-like glossiness, rich
and beautiful. The hair, too, showed the same advantage. The delicate
colored maid rustled in the scarcely worn silk of her young mistress,
while the servant men were equally well attired from the over-flowing
wardrobe of their young masters; so that, in dress, as well as in form
and feature, in manner and speech, in tastes and habits, the distance
between these favored few, and the sorrow and hunger-smitten multitudes
of the quarter and the field, was immense; and this is seldom passed
over.
Let us now glance at the stables and the carriage house, and we shall
find the same evidences of pride and luxurious extravagance. Here are
three splendid coaches, soft within and lustrous without. Here, too,
are gigs, phaetons, barouches, sulkeys and sleighs. Here are saddles
and harnesses—beautifully wrought and silver mounted—kept with every
care. In the stable you will find, kept only for pleasure, full
thirty-five horses, of the most approved blood for speed and beauty.
There are two men here constantly employed in taking care of these
horses. One of these men must be always in the stable, to answer every
call from the great house. Over the way from the stable, is a house
built expressly for the hounds—a pack of twenty-five or thirty—whose
fare would have made glad the heart of a dozen slaves. Horses and
hounds are not the only consumers of the slave’s toil. There was
practiced, at the Lloyd’s, a hospitality which would have astonished
and charmed any health-seeking northern divine or merchant, who might
have chanced to share it. Viewed from his own table, and _not_ from the
field, the colonel was a model of generous hospitality. His house was,
literally, a hotel, for weeks during the summer months. At these times,
especially, the air was freighted with the rich fumes of baking,
boiling, roasting and broiling. The odors I shared with the winds; but
the meats were under a more stringent monopoly except that,
occasionally, I got a cake from Mas’ Daniel. In Mas’ Daniel I had a
friend at court, from whom I learned many things which my eager
curiosity was excited to know. I always knew when company was expected,
and who they were, although I was an outsider, being the property, not
of Col. Lloyd, but of a servant of the wealthy colonel. On these
occasions, all that pride, taste and money could do, to dazzle and
charm, was done.
Who could say that the servants of Col. Lloyd were not well clad and
cared for, after witnessing one of his magnificent entertainments? Who
could say that they did not seem to glory in being the slaves of such a
master? Who, but a fanatic, could get up any sympathy for persons whose
every movement was agile, easy and graceful, and who evinced a
consciousness of high superiority? And who would ever venture to
suspect that Col. Lloyd was subject to the troubles of ordinary
mortals? Master and slave seem alike in their glory here? Can it all be
seeming? Alas! it may only be a sham at last! This immense wealth; this
gilded splendor; this profusion of luxury; this exemption from toil;
this life of ease; this sea of plenty; aye, what of it all? Are the
pearly gates of happiness and sweet content flung open to such suitors?
_far from it!_ The poor slave, on his hard, pine plank, but scantily
covered with his thin blanket, sleeps more soundly than the feverish
voluptuary who reclines upon his feather bed and downy pillow. Food, to
the indolent lounger, is poison, not sustenance. Lurking beneath all
their dishes, are invisible spirits of evil, ready to feed the
self-deluded gormandizers which aches, pains, fierce temper,
uncontrolled passions, dyspepsia, rheumatism, lumbago and gout; and of
these the Lloyds got their full share. To the pampered love of ease,
there is no resting place. What is pleasant today, is repulsive
tomorrow; what is soft now, is hard at another time; what is sweet in
the morning, is bitter in the evening. Neither to the wicked, nor to
the idler, is there any solid peace: _“Troubled, like the restless
sea.”_
I had excellent opportunities of witnessing the restless discontent and
the capricious irritation of the Lloyds. My fondness for horses—not
peculiar to me more than to other boys attracted me, much of the time,
to the stables. This establishment was especially under the care of
“old” and “young” Barney—father and son. Old Barney was a fine looking
old man, of a brownish complexion, who was quite portly, and wore a
dignified aspect for a slave. He was, evidently, much devoted to his
profession, and held his office an honorable one. He was a farrier as
well as an ostler; he could bleed, remove lampers from the mouths of
the horses, and was well instructed in horse medicines. No one on the
farm knew, so well as Old Barney, what to do with a sick horse. But his
gifts and acquirements were of little advantage to him. His office was
by no means an enviable one. He often got presents, but he got stripes
as well; for in nothing was Col. Lloyd more unreasonable and exacting,
than in respect to the management of his pleasure horses. Any supposed
inattention to these animals were sure to be visited with degrading
punishment. His horses and dogs fared better than his men. Their beds
must be softer and cleaner than those of his human cattle. No excuse
could shield Old Barney, if the colonel only suspected something wrong
about his horses; and, consequently, he was often punished when
faultless. It was absolutely painful to listen to the many unreasonable
and fretful scoldings, poured out at the stable, by Col. Lloyd, his
sons and sons-in-law. Of the latter, he had three—Messrs. Nicholson,
Winder and Lownes. These all lived at the great house a portion of the
year, and enjoyed the luxury of whipping the servants when they
pleased, which was by no means unfrequently. A horse was seldom brought
out of the stable to which no objection could be raised. “There was
dust in his hair;” “there was a twist in his reins;” “his mane did not
lie straight;” “he had not been properly grained;” “his head did not
look well;” “his fore-top was not combed out;” “his fetlocks had not
been properly trimmed;” something was always wrong. Listening to
complaints, however groundless, Barney must stand, hat in hand, lips
sealed, never answering a word. He must make no reply, no explanation;
the judgment of the master must be deemed infallible, for his power is
absolute and irresponsible. In a free state, a master, thus complaining
without cause, of his ostler, might be told—“Sir, I am sorry I cannot
please you, but, since I have done the best I can, your remedy is to
dismiss me.” Here, however, the ostler must stand, listen and tremble.
One of the most heart-saddening and humiliating scenes I ever
witnessed, was the whipping of Old Barney, by Col. Lloyd himself. Here
were two men, both advanced in years; there were the silvery locks of
Col. L., and there was the bald and toil-worn brow of Old Barney;
master and slave; superior and inferior here, but _equals_ at the bar
of God; and, in the common course of events, they must both soon meet
in another world, in a world where all distinctions, except those based
on obedience and disobedience, are blotted out forever. “Uncover your
head!” said the imperious master; he was obeyed. “Take off your jacket,
you old rascal!” and off came Barney’s jacket. “Down on your knees!”
down knelt the old man, his shoulders bare, his bald head glistening in
the sun, and his aged knees on the cold, damp ground. In his humble and
debasing attitude, the master—that master to whom he had given the best
years and the best strength of his life—came forward, and laid on
thirty lashes, with his horse whip. The old man bore it patiently, to
the last, answering each blow with a slight shrug of the shoulders, and
a groan. I cannot think that Col. Lloyd succeeded in marring the flesh
of Old Barney very seriously, for the whip was a light, riding whip;
but the spectacle of an aged man—a husband and a father—humbly kneeling
before a worm of the dust, surprised and shocked me at the time; and
since I have grown old enough to think on the wickedness of slavery,
few facts have been of more value to me than this, to which I was a
witness. It reveals slavery in its true color, and in its maturity of
repulsive hatefulness. I owe it to truth, however, to say, that this
was the first and the last time I ever saw Old Barney, or any other
slave, compelled to kneel to receive a whipping.
I saw, at the stable, another incident, which I will relate, as it is
illustrative of a phase of slavery to which I have already referred in
another connection. Besides two other coachmen, Col. Lloyd owned one
named William, who, strangely enough, was often called by his surname,
Wilks, by white and colored people on the home plantation. Wilks was a
very fine looking man. He was about as white as anybody on the
plantation; and in manliness of form, and comeliness of features, he
bore a very striking resemblance to Mr. Murray Lloyd. It was whispered,
and pretty generally admitted as a fact, that William Wilks was a son
of Col. Lloyd, by a highly favored slave-woman, who was still on the
plantation. There were many reasons for believing this whisper, not
only in William’s appearance, but in the undeniable freedom which he
enjoyed over all others, and his apparent consciousness of being
something more than a slave to his master. It was notorious, too, that
William had a deadly enemy in Murray Lloyd, whom he so much resembled,
and that the latter greatly worried his father with importunities to
sell William. Indeed, he gave his father no rest until he did sell him,
to Austin Woldfolk, the great slave-trader at that time. Before selling
him, however, Mr. L. tried what giving William a whipping would do,
toward making things smooth; but this was a failure. It was a
compromise, and defeated itself; for, immediately after the infliction,
the heart-sickened colonel atoned to William for the abuse, by giving
him a gold watch and chain. Another fact, somewhat curious, is, that
though sold to the remorseless _Woldfolk_, taken in irons to Baltimore
and cast into prison, with a view to being driven to the south,
William, by _some_ means—always a mystery to me—outbid all his
purchasers, paid for himself, _and now resides in Baltimore, a_
FREEMAN. Is there not room to suspect, that, as the gold watch was
presented to atone for the whipping, a purse of gold was given him by
the same hand, with which to effect his purchase, as an atonement for
the indignity involved in selling his own flesh and blood. All the
circumstances of William, on the great house farm, show him to have
occupied a different position from the other slaves, and, certainly,
there is nothing in the supposed hostility of slaveholders to
amalgamation, to forbid the supposition that William Wilks was the son
of Edward Lloyd. _Practical_ amalgamation is common in every
neighborhood where I have been in slavery.
Col. Lloyd was not in the way of knowing much of the real opinions and
feelings of his slaves respecting him. The distance between him and
them was far too great to admit of such knowledge. His slaves were so
numerous, that he did not know them when he saw them. Nor, indeed, did
all his slaves know him. In this respect, he was inconveniently rich.
It is reported of him, that, while riding along the road one day, he
met a colored man, and addressed him in the usual way of speaking to
colored people on the public highways of the south: “Well, boy, who do
you belong to?” “To Col. Lloyd,” replied the slave. “Well, does the
colonel treat you well?” “No, sir,” was the ready reply. “What? does he
work you too hard?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, don’t he give enough to eat?”
“Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is.” The colonel, after
ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode on; the slave also went on
about his business, not dreaming that he had been conversing with his
master. He thought, said and heard nothing more of the matter, until
two or three weeks afterwards. The poor man was then informed by his
overseer, that, for having found fault with his master, he was now to
be sold to a Georgia trader. He was immediately chained and handcuffed;
and thus, without a moment’s warning he was snatched away, and forever
sundered from his family and friends, by a hand more unrelenting than
that of death. _This_ is the penalty of telling the simple truth, in
answer to a series of plain questions. It is partly in consequence of
such facts, that slaves, when inquired of as to their condition and the
character of their masters, almost invariably say they are contented,
and that their masters are kind. Slaveholders have been known to send
spies among their slaves, to ascertain, if possible, their views and
feelings in regard to their condition. The frequency of this had the
effect to establish among the slaves the maxim, that a still tongue
makes a wise head. They suppress the truth rather than take the
consequence of telling it, and, in so doing, they prove themselves a
part of the human family. If they have anything to say of their master,
it is, generally, something in his favor, especially when speaking to
strangers. I was frequently asked, while a slave, if I had a kind
master, and I do not remember ever to have given a negative reply. Nor
did I, when pursuing this course, consider myself as uttering what was
utterly false; for I always measured the kindness of my master by the
standard of kindness set up by slaveholders around us. However, slaves
are like other people, and imbibe similar prejudices. They are apt to
think _their condition_ better than that of others. Many, under the
influence of this prejudice, think their own masters are better than
the masters of other slaves; and this, too, in some cases, when the
very reverse is true. Indeed, it is not uncommon for slaves even to
fall out and quarrel among themselves about the relative kindness of
their masters, contending for the superior goodness of his own over
that of others. At the very same time, they mutually execrate their
masters, when viewed separately. It was so on our plantation. When Col.
Lloyd’s slaves met those of Jacob Jepson, they seldom parted without a
quarrel about their masters; Col. Lloyd’s slaves contending that he was
the richest, and Mr. Jepson’s slaves that he was the smartest, man of
the two. Col. Lloyd’s slaves would boost his ability to buy and sell
Jacob Jepson; Mr. Jepson’s slaves would boast his ability to whip Col.
Lloyd. These quarrels would almost always end in a fight between the
parties; those that beat were supposed to have gained the point at
issue. They seemed to think that the greatness of their masters was
transferable to themselves. To be a SLAVE, was thought to be bad
enough; but to be a _poor man’s_ slave, was deemed a disgrace, indeed.
CHAPTER VIII. _A Chapter of Horrors_
AUSTIN GORE—A SKETCH OF HIS CHARACTER—OVERSEERS AS A CLASS—THEIR
PECULIAR CHARACTERISTICS—THE MARKED INDIVIDUALITY OF AUSTIN GORE—HIS
SENSE OF DUTY—HOW HE WHIPPED—MURDER OF POOR DENBY—HOW IT
OCCURRED—SENSATION—HOW GORE MADE PEACE WITH COL. LLOYD—THE MURDER
UNPUNISHED—ANOTHER DREADFUL MURDER NARRATED—NO LAWS FOR THE PROTECTION
OF SLAVES CAN BE ENFORCED IN THE SOUTHERN STATES.
As I have already intimated elsewhere, the slaves on Col. Lloyd’s
plantation, whose hard lot, under Mr. Sevier, the reader has already
noticed and deplored, were not permitted to enjoy the comparatively
moderate rule of Mr. Hopkins. The latter was succeeded by a very
different man. The name of the new overseer was Austin Gore. Upon this
individual I would fix particular attention; for under his rule there
was more suffering from violence and bloodshed than had—according to
the older slaves ever been experienced before on this plantation. I
confess, I hardly know how to bring this man fitly before the reader.
He was, it is true, an overseer, and possessed, to a large extent, the
peculiar characteristics of his class; yet, to call him merely an
overseer, would not give the reader a fair notion of the man. I speak
of overseers as a class. They are such. They are as distinct from the
slaveholding gentry of the south, as are the fishwomen of Paris, and
the coal-heavers of London, distinct from other members of society.
They constitute a separate fraternity at the south, not less marked
than is the fraternity of Park Lane bullies in New York. They have been
arranged and classified by that great law of attraction, which
determines the spheres and affinities of men; which ordains, that men,
whose malign and brutal propensities predominate over their moral and
intellectual endowments, shall, naturally, fall into those employments
which promise the largest gratification to those predominating
instincts or propensities. The office of overseer takes this raw
material of vulgarity and brutality, and stamps it as a distinct class
of southern society. But, in this class, as in all other classes, there
are characters of marked individuality, even while they bear a general
resemblance to the mass. Mr. Gore was one of those, to whom a general
characterization would do no manner of justice. He was an overseer; but
he was something more. With the malign and tyrannical qualities of an
overseer, he combined something of the lawful master. He had the
artfulness and the mean ambition of his class; but he was wholly free
from the disgusting swagger and noisy bravado of his fraternity. There
was an easy air of independence about him; a calm self-possession, and
a sternness of glance, which might well daunt hearts less timid than
those of poor slaves, accustomed from childhood and through life to
cower before a driver’s lash. The home plantation of Col. Lloyd
afforded an ample field for the exercise of the qualifications for
overseership, which he possessed in such an eminent degree.
Mr. Gore was one of those overseers, who could torture the slightest
word or look into impudence; he had the nerve, not only to resent, but
to punish, promptly and severely. He never allowed himself to be
answered back, by a slave. In this, he was as lordly and as imperious
as Col. Edward Lloyd, himself; acting always up to the maxim,
practically maintained by slaveholders, that it is better that a dozen
slaves suffer under the lash, without fault, than that the master or
the overseer should _seem_ to have been wrong in the presence of the
slave. _Everything must be absolute here_. Guilty or not guilty, it is
enough to be accused, to be sure of a flogging. The very presence of
this man Gore was painful, and I shunned him as I would have shunned a
rattlesnake. His piercing, black eyes, and sharp, shrill voice, ever
awakened sensations of terror among the slaves. For so young a man (I
describe him as he was, twenty-five or thirty years ago) Mr. Gore was
singularly reserved and grave in the presence of slaves. He indulged in
no jokes, said no funny things, and kept his own counsels. Other
overseers, how brutal soever they might be, were, at times, inclined to
gain favor with the slaves, by indulging a little pleasantry; but Gore
was never known to be guilty of any such weakness. He was always the
cold, distant, unapproachable _overseer_ of Col. Edward Lloyd’s
plantation, and needed no higher pleasure than was involved in a
faithful discharge of the duties of his office. When he whipped, he
seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and feared no consequences. What
Hopkins did reluctantly, Gore did with alacrity. There was a stern
will, an iron-like reality, about this Gore, which would have easily
made him the chief of a band of pirates, had his environments been
favorable to such a course of life. All the coolness, savage barbarity
and freedom from moral restraint, which are necessary in the character
of a pirate-chief, centered, I think, in this man Gore. Among many
other deeds of shocking cruelty which he perpetrated, while I was at
Mr. Lloyd’s, was the murder of a young colored man, named Denby. He was
sometimes called Bill Denby, or Demby; (I write from sound, and the
sounds on Lloyd’s plantation are not very certain.) I knew him well. He
was a powerful young man, full of animal spirits, and, so far as I
know, he was among the most valuable of Col. Lloyd’s slaves. In
something—I know not what—he offended this Mr. Austin Gore, and, in
accordance with the custom of the latter, he under took to flog him. He
gave Denby but few stripes; the latter broke away from him and plunged
into the creek, and, standing there to the depth of his neck in water,
he refused to come out at the order of the overseer; whereupon, for
this refusal, _Gore shot him dead!_ It is said that Gore gave Denby
three calls, telling him that if he did not obey the last call, he
would shoot him. When the third call was given, Denby stood his ground
firmly; and this raised the question, in the minds of the by-standing
slaves—“Will he dare to shoot?” Mr. Gore, without further parley, and
without making any further effort to induce Denby to come out of the
water, raised his gun deliberately to his face, took deadly aim at his
standing victim, and, in an instant, poor Denby was numbered with the
dead. His mangled body sank out of sight, and only his warm, red blood
marked the place where he had stood.
This devilish outrage, this fiendish murder, produced, as it was well
calculated to do, a tremendous sensation. A thrill of horror flashed
through every soul on the plantation, if I may except the guilty wretch
who had committed the hell-black deed. While the slaves generally were
panic-struck, and howling with alarm, the murderer himself was calm and
collected, and appeared as though nothing unusual had happened. The
atrocity roused my old master, and he spoke out, in reprobation of it;
but the whole thing proved to be less than a nine days’ wonder. Both
Col. Lloyd and my old master arraigned Gore for his cruelty in the
matter, but this amounted to nothing. His reply, or explanation—as I
remember to have heard it at the time was, that the extraordinary
expedient was demanded by necessity; that Denby had become
unmanageable; that he had set a dangerous example to the other slaves;
and that, without some such prompt measure as that to which he had
resorted, were adopted, there would be an end to all rule and order on
the plantation. That very convenient covert for all manner of cruelty
and outrage that cowardly alarm-cry, that the slaves would _“take the
place,”_ was pleaded, in extenuation of this revolting crime, just as
it had been cited in defense of a thousand similar ones. He argued,
that if one slave refused to be corrected, and was allowed to escape
with his life, when he had been told that he should lose it if he
persisted in his course, the other slaves would soon copy his example;
the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves, and the
enslavement of the whites. I have every reason to believe that Mr.
Gore’s defense, or explanation, was deemed satisfactory—at least to
Col. Lloyd. He was continued in his office on the plantation. His fame
as an overseer went abroad, and his horrid crime was not even submitted
to judicial investigation. The murder was committed in the presence of
slaves, and they, of course, could neither institute a suit, nor
testify against the murderer. His bare word would go further in a court
of law, than the united testimony of ten thousand black witnesses.
All that Mr. Gore had to do, was to make his peace with Col. Lloyd.
This done, and the guilty perpetrator of one of the most foul murders
goes unwhipped of justice, and uncensured by the community in which he
lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael’s, Talbot county, when I left
Maryland; if he is still alive he probably yet resides there; and I
have no reason to doubt that he is now as highly esteemed, and as
greatly respected, as though his guilty soul had never been stained
with innocent blood. I am well aware that what I have now written will
by some be branded as false and malicious. It will be denied, not only
that such a thing ever did transpire, as I have now narrated, but that
such a thing could happen in _Maryland_. I can only say—believe it or
not—that I have said nothing but the literal truth, gainsay it who may.
I speak advisedly when I say this,—that killing a slave, or any colored
person, in Talbot county, Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either
by the courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, ship carpenter, of
St. Michael’s, killed two slaves, one of whom he butchered with a
hatchet, by knocking his brains out. He used to boast of the commission
of the awful and bloody deed. I have heard him do so, laughingly,
saying, among other things, that he was the only benefactor of his
country in the company, and that when “others would do as much as he
had done, we should be relieved of the d—d niggers.”
As an evidence of the reckless disregard of human life where the life
is that of a slave I may state the notorious fact, that the wife of Mr.
Giles Hicks, who lived but a short distance from Col. Lloyd’s, with her
own hands murdered my wife’s cousin, a young girl between fifteen and
sixteen years of age—mutilating her person in a most shocking manner.
The atrocious woman, in the paroxysm of her wrath, not content with
murdering her victim, literally mangled her face, and broke her breast
bone. Wild, however, and infuriated as she was, she took the precaution
to cause the slave-girl to be buried; but the facts of the case coming
abroad, very speedily led to the disinterment of the remains of the
murdered slave-girl. A coroner’s jury was assembled, who decided that
the girl had come to her death by severe beating. It was ascertained
that the offense for which this girl was thus hurried out of the world,
was this: she had been set that night, and several preceding nights, to
mind Mrs. Hicks’s baby, and having fallen into a sound sleep, the baby
cried, waking Mrs. Hicks, but not the slave-girl. Mrs. Hicks, becoming
infuriated at the girl’s tardiness, after calling several times, jumped
from her bed and seized a piece of fire-wood from the fireplace; and
then, as she lay fast asleep, she deliberately pounded in her skull and
breast-bone, and thus ended her life. I will not say that this most
horrid murder produced no sensation in the community. It _did_ produce
a sensation; but, incredible to tell, the moral sense of the community
was blunted too entirely by the ordinary nature of slavery horrors, to
bring the murderess to punishment. A warrant was issued for her arrest,
but, for some reason or other, that warrant was never served. Thus did
Mrs. Hicks not only escape condign punishment, but even the pain and
mortification of being arraigned before a court of justice.
Whilst I am detailing the bloody deeds that took place during my stay
on Col. Lloyd’s plantation, I will briefly narrate another dark
transaction, which occurred about the same time as the murder of Denby
by Mr. Gore.
On the side of the river Wye, opposite from Col. Lloyd’s, there lived a
Mr. Beal Bondley, a wealthy slaveholder. In the direction of his land,
and near the shore, there was an excellent oyster fishing ground, and
to this, some of the slaves of Col. Lloyd occasionally resorted in
their little canoes, at night, with a view to make up the deficiency of
their scanty allowance of food, by the oysters that they could easily
get there. This, Mr. Bondley took it into his head to regard as a
trespass, and while an old man belonging to Col. Lloyd was engaged in
catching a few of the many millions of oysters that lined the bottom of
that creek, to satisfy his hunger, the villainous Mr. Bondley, lying in
ambush, without the slightest ceremony, discharged the contents of his
musket into the back and shoulders of the poor old man. As good fortune
would have it, the shot did not prove mortal, and Mr. Bondley came
over, the next day, to see Col. Lloyd—whether to pay him for his
property, or to justify himself for what he had done, I know not; but
this I _can_ say, the cruel and dastardly transaction was speedily
hushed up; there was very little said about it at all, and nothing was
publicly done which looked like the application of the principle of
justice to the man whom _chance_, only, saved from being an actual
murderer. One of the commonest sayings to which my ears early became
accustomed, on Col. Lloyd’s plantation and elsewhere in Maryland, was,
that it was _“worth but half a cent to kill a nigger, and a half a cent
to bury him;”_ and the facts of my experience go far to justify the
practical truth of this strange proverb. Laws for the protection of the
lives of the slaves, are, as they must needs be, utterly incapable of
being enforced, where the very parties who are nominally protected, are
not permitted to give evidence, in courts of law, against the only
class of persons from whom abuse, outrage and murder might be
reasonably apprehended. While I heard of numerous murders committed by
slaveholders on the Eastern Shores of Maryland, I never knew a solitary
instance in which a slaveholder was either hung or imprisoned for
having murdered a slave. The usual pretext for killing a slave is, that
the slave has offered resistance. Should a slave, when assaulted, but
raise his hand in self defense, the white assaulting party is fully
justified by southern, or Maryland, public opinion, in shooting the
slave down. Sometimes this is done, simply because it is alleged that
the slave has been saucy. But here I leave this phase of the society of
my early childhood, and will relieve the kind reader of these
heart-sickening details.