MISS LUCRETIA—HER KINDNESS—HOW IT WAS MANIFESTED—“IKE”—A BATTLE WITH
HIM—THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF—MISS LUCRETIA’S BALSAM—BREAD—HOW I
OBTAINED IT—BEAMS OF SUNLIGHT AMIDST THE GENERAL DARKNESS—SUFFERING
FROM COLD—HOW WE TOOK OUR MEALS—ORDERS TO PREPARE FOR
BALTIMORE—OVERJOYED AT THE THOUGHT OF QUITTING THE
PLANTATION—EXTRAORDINARY CLEANSING—COUSIN TOM’S VERSION OF
BALTIMORE—ARRIVAL THERE—KIND RECEPTION GIVEN ME BY MRS. SOPHIA
AULD—LITTLE TOMMY—MY NEW POSITION—MY NEW DUTIES—A TURNING POINT IN MY
HISTORY.
I have nothing cruel or shocking to relate of my own personal
experience, while I remained on Col. Lloyd’s plantation, at the home of
my old master. An occasional cuff from Aunt Katy, and a regular
whipping from old master, such as any heedless and mischievous boy
might get from his father, is all that I can mention of this sort. I
was not old enough to work in the field, and, there being little else
than field work to perform, I had much leisure. The most I had to do,
was, to drive up the cows in the evening, to keep the front yard clean,
and to perform small errands for my young mistress, Lucretia Auld. I
have reasons for thinking this lady was very kindly disposed toward me,
and, although I was not often the object of her attention, I constantly
regarded her as my friend, and was always glad when it was my privilege
to do her a service. In a family where there was so much that was
harsh, cold and indifferent, the slightest word or look of kindness
passed, with me, for its full value. Miss Lucretia—as we all continued
to call her long after her marriage—had bestowed upon me such words and
looks as taught me that she pitied me, if she did not love me. In
addition to words and looks, she sometimes gave me a piece of bread and
butter; a thing not set down in the bill of fare, and which must have
been an extra ration, planned aside from either Aunt Katy or old
master, solely out of the tender regard and friendship she had for me.
Then, too, I one day got into the wars with Uncle Able’s son, “Ike,”
and had got sadly worsted; in fact, the little rascal had struck me
directly in the forehead with a sharp piece of cinder, fused with iron,
from the old blacksmith’s forge, which made a cross in my forehead very
plainly to be seen now. The gash bled very freely, and I roared very
loudly and betook myself home. The coldhearted Aunt Katy paid no
attention either to my wound or my roaring, except to tell me it served
me right; I had no business with Ike; it was good for me; I would now
keep away _“from dem Lloyd niggers.”_ Miss Lucretia, in this state of
the case, came forward; and, in quite a different spirit from that
manifested by Aunt Katy, she called me into the parlor (an extra
privilege of itself) and, without using toward me any of the
hard-hearted and reproachful epithets of my kitchen tormentor, she
quietly acted the good Samaritan. With her own soft hand she washed the
blood from my head and face, fetched her own balsam bottle, and with
the balsam wetted a nice piece of white linen, and bound up my head.
The balsam was not more healing to the wound in my head, than her
kindness was healing to the wounds in my spirit, made by the unfeeling
words of Aunt Katy. After this, Miss Lucretia was my friend. I felt her
to be such; and I have no doubt that the simple act of binding up my
head, did much to awaken in her mind an interest in my welfare. It is
quite true, that this interest was never very marked, and it seldom
showed itself in anything more than in giving me a piece of bread when
I was hungry; but this was a great favor on a slave plantation, and I
was the only one of the children to whom such attention was paid. When
very hungry, I would go into the back yard and play under Miss
Lucretia’s window. When pretty severely pinched by hunger, I had a
habit of singing, which the good lady very soon came to understand as a
petition for a piece of bread. When I sung under Miss Lucretia’s
window, I was very apt to get well paid for my music. The reader will
see that I now had two friends, both at important points—Mas’ Daniel at
the great house, and Miss Lucretia at home. From Mas’ Daniel I got
protection from the bigger boys; and from Miss Lucretia I got bread, by
singing when I was hungry, and sympathy when I was abused by that
termagant, who had the reins of government in the kitchen. For such
friendship I felt deeply grateful, and bitter as are my recollections
of slavery, I love to recall any instances of kindness, any sunbeams of
humane treatment, which found way to my soul through the iron grating
of my house of bondage. Such beams seem all the brighter from the
general darkness into which they penetrate, and the impression they
make is vividly distinct and beautiful.
As I have before intimated, I was seldom whipped—and never severely—by
my old master. I suffered little from the treatment I received, except
from hunger and cold. These were my two great physical troubles. I
could neither get a sufficiency of food nor of clothing; but I suffered
less from hunger than from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter,
I was kept almost in a state of nudity; no shoes, no stockings, no
jacket, no trowsers; nothing but coarse sackcloth or tow-linen, made
into a sort of shirt, reaching down to my knees. This I wore night and
day, changing it once a week. In the day time I could protect myself
pretty well, by keeping on the sunny side of the house; and in bad
weather, in the corner of the kitchen chimney. The great difficulty
was, to keep warm during the night. I had no bed. The pigs in the pen
had leaves, and the horses in the stable had straw, but the children
had no beds. They lodged anywhere in the ample kitchen. I slept,
generally, in a little closet, without even a blanket to cover me. In
very cold weather. I sometimes got down the bag in which corn-meal was
usually carried to the mill, and crawled into that. Sleeping there,
with my head in and feet out, I was partly protected, though not
comfortable. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen
with which I am writing might be laid in the gashes. The manner of
taking our meals at old master’s, indicated but little refinement. Our
corn-meal mush, when sufficiently cooled, was placed in a large wooden
tray, or trough, like those used in making maple sugar here in the
north. This tray was set down, either on the floor of the kitchen, or
out of doors on the ground; and the children were called, like so many
pigs; and like so many pigs they would come, and literally devour the
mush—some with oyster shells, some with pieces of shingles, and none
with spoons. He that eat fastest got most, and he that was strongest
got the best place; and few left the trough really satisfied. I was the
most unlucky of any, for Aunt Katy had no good feeling for me; and if I
pushed any of the other children, or if they told her anything
unfavorable of me, she always believed the worst, and was sure to whip
me.
As I grew older and more thoughtful, I was more and more filled with a
sense of my wretchedness. The cruelty of Aunt Katy, the hunger and cold
I suffered, and the terrible reports of wrong and outrage which came to
my ear, together with what I almost daily witnessed, led me, when yet
but eight or nine years old, to wish I had never been born. I used to
contrast my condition with the black-birds, in whose wild and sweet
songs I fancied them so happy! Their apparent joy only deepened the
shades of my sorrow. There are thoughtful days in the lives of
children—at least there were in mine when they grapple with all the
great, primary subjects of knowledge, and reach, in a moment,
conclusions which no subsequent experience can shake. I was just as
well aware of the unjust, unnatural and murderous character of slavery,
when nine years old, as I am now. Without any appeal to books, to laws,
or to authorities of any kind, it was enough to accept God as a father,
to regard slavery as a crime.
I was not ten years old when I left Col. Lloyd’s plantation for
Balitmore(sic). I left that plantation with inexpressible joy. I never
shall forget the ecstacy with which I received the intelligence from my
friend, Miss Lucretia, that my old master had determined to let me go
to Baltimore to live with Mr. Hugh Auld, a brother to Mr. Thomas Auld,
my old master’s son-in-law. I received this information about three
days before my departure. They were three of the happiest days of my
childhood. I spent the largest part of these three days in the creek,
washing off the plantation scurf, and preparing for my new home. Mrs.
Lucretia took a lively interest in getting me ready. She told me I must
get all the dead skin off my feet and knees, before I could go to
Baltimore, for the people there were very cleanly, and would laugh at
me if I looked dirty; and, besides, she was intending to give me a pair
of trowsers, which I should not put on unless I got all the dirt off.
This was a warning to which I was bound to take heed; for the thought
of owning a pair of trowsers, was great, indeed. It was almost a
sufficient motive, not only to induce me to scrub off the _mange_ (as
pig drovers would call it) but the skin as well. So I went at it in
good earnest, working for the first time in the hope of reward. I was
greatly excited, and could hardly consent to sleep, lest I should be
left. The ties that, ordinarily, bind children to their homes, were all
severed, or they never had any existence in my case, at least so far as
the home plantation of Col. L. was concerned. I therefore found no
severe trail at the moment of my departure, such as I had experienced
when separated from my home in Tuckahoe. My home at my old master’s was
charmless to me; it was not home, but a prison to me; on parting from
it, I could not feel that I was leaving anything which I could have
enjoyed by staying. My mother was now long dead; my grandmother was far
away, so that I seldom saw her; Aunt Katy was my unrelenting tormentor;
and my two sisters and brothers, owing to our early separation in life,
and the family-destroying power of slavery, were, comparatively,
strangers to me. The fact of our relationship was almost blotted out. I
looked for _home_ elsewhere, and was confident of finding none which I
should relish less than the one I was leaving. If, however, I found in
my new home to which I was going with such blissful
anticipations—hardship, whipping and nakedness, I had the questionable
consolation that I should not have escaped any one of these evils by
remaining under the management of Aunt Katy. Then, too, I thought,
since I had endured much in this line on Lloyd’s plantation, I could
endure as much elsewhere, and especially at Baltimore; for I had
something of the feeling about that city which is expressed in the
saying, that being “hanged in England, is better than dying a natural
death in Ireland.” I had the strongest desire to see Baltimore. My
cousin Tom—a boy two or three years older than I—had been there, and
though not fluent (he stuttered immoderately) in speech, he had
inspired me with that desire, by his eloquent description of the place.
Tom was, sometimes, Capt. Auld’s cabin boy; and when he came from
Baltimore, he was always a sort of hero amongst us, at least till his
Baltimore trip was forgotten. I could never tell him of anything, or
point out anything that struck me as beautiful or powerful, but that he
had seen something in Baltimore far surpassing it. Even the great house
itself, with all its pictures within, and pillars without, he had the
hardihood to say “was nothing to Baltimore.” He bought a trumpet (worth
six pence) and brought it home; told what he had seen in the windows of
stores; that he had heard shooting crackers, and seen soldiers; that he
had seen a steamboat; that there were ships in Baltimore that could
carry four such sloops as the “Sally Lloyd.” He said a great deal about
the market-house; he spoke of the bells ringing; and of many other
things which roused my curiosity very much; and, indeed, which
heightened my hopes of happiness in my new home.
We sailed out of Miles river for Baltimore early on a Saturday morning.
I remember only the day of the week; for, at that time, I had no
knowledge of the days of the month, nor, indeed, of the months of the
year. On setting sail, I walked aft, and gave to Col. Lloyd’s
plantation what I hoped would be the last look I should ever give to
it, or to any place like it. My strong aversion to the great farm, was
not owing to my own personal suffering, but the daily suffering of
others, and to the certainty that I must, sooner or later, be placed
under the barbarous rule of an overseer, such as the accomplished Gore,
or the brutal and drunken Plummer. After taking this last view, I
quitted the quarter deck, made my way to the bow of the sloop, and
spent the remainder of the day in looking ahead; interesting myself in
what was in the distance, rather than what was near by or behind. The
vessels, sweeping along the bay, were very interesting objects. The
broad bay opened like a shoreless ocean on my boyish vision, filling me
with wonder and admiration.
Late in the afternoon, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the state,
stopping there not long enough to admit of my going ashore. It was the
first large town I had ever seen; and though it was inferior to many a
factory village in New England, my feelings, on seeing it, were excited
to a pitch very little below that reached by travelers at the first
view of Rome. The dome of the state house was especially imposing, and
surpassed in grandeur the appearance of the great house. The great
world was opening upon me very rapidly, and I was eagerly acquainting
myself with its multifarious lessons.
We arrived in Baltimore on Sunday morning, and landed at Smith’s wharf,
not far from Bowly’s wharf. We had on board the sloop a large flock of
sheep, for the Baltimore market; and, after assisting in driving them
to the slaughter house of Mr. Curtis, on Loudon Slater’s Hill, I was
speedily conducted by Rich—one of the hands belonging to the sloop—to
my new home in Alliciana street, near Gardiner’s ship-yard, on Fell’s
Point. Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Auld, my new mistress and master, were both at
home, and met me at the door with their rosy cheeked little son,
Thomas, to take care of whom was to constitute my future occupation. In
fact, it was to “little Tommy,” rather than to his parents, that old
master made a present of me; and though there was no _legal_ form or
arrangement entered into, I have no doubt that Mr. and Mrs. Auld felt
that, in due time, I should be the legal property of their bright-eyed
and beloved boy, Tommy. I was struck with the appearance, especially,
of my new mistress. Her face was lighted with the kindliest emotions;
and the reflex influence of her countenance, as well as the tenderness
with which she seemed to regard me, while asking me sundry little
questions, greatly delighted me, and lit up, to my fancy, the pathway
of my future. Miss Lucretia was kind; but my new mistress, “Miss
Sophy,” surpassed her in kindness of manner. Little Thomas was
affectionately told by his mother, that _“there was his Freddy,”_ and
that “Freddy would take care of him;” and I was told to “be kind to
little Tommy”—an injunction I scarcely needed, for I had already fallen
in love with the dear boy; and with these little ceremonies I was
initiated into my new home, and entered upon my peculiar duties, with
not a cloud above the horizon.
I may say here, that I regard my removal from Col. Lloyd’s plantation
as one of the most interesting and fortunate events of my life. Viewing
it in the light of human likelihoods, it is quite probable that, but
for the mere circumstance of being thus removed before the rigors of
slavery had fastened upon me; before my young spirit had been crushed
under the iron control of the slave-driver, instead of being, today, a
FREEMAN, I might have been wearing the galling chains of slavery. I
have sometimes felt, however, that there was something more intelligent
than _chance_, and something more certain than _luck_, to be seen in
the circumstance. If I have made any progress in knowledge; if I have
cherished any honorable aspirations, or have, in any manner, worthily
discharged the duties of a member of an oppressed people; this little
circumstance must be allowed its due weight in giving my life that
direction. I have ever regarded it as the first plain manifestation of
that
Divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough hew them as we will.
I was not the only boy on the plantation that might have been sent to
live in Baltimore. There was a wide margin from which to select. There
were boys younger, boys older, and boys of the same age, belonging to
my old master some at his own house, and some at his farm—but the high
privilege fell to my lot.
I may be deemed superstitious and egotistical, in regarding this event
as a special interposition of Divine Providence in my favor; but the
thought is a part of my history, and I should be false to the earliest
and most cherished sentiments of my soul, if I suppressed, or hesitated
to avow that opinion, although it may be characterized as irrational by
the wise, and ridiculous by the scoffer. From my earliest recollections
of serious matters, I date the entertainment of something like an
ineffaceable conviction, that slavery would not always be able to hold
me within its foul embrace; and this conviction, like a word of living
faith, strengthened me through the darkest trials of my lot. This good
spirit was from God; and to him I offer thanksgiving and praise.