EXPERIENCE AT COVEY’S SUMMED UP—FIRST SIX MONTHS SEVERER THAN THE
SECOND—PRELIMINARIES TO THE CHANCE—REASONS FOR NARRATING THE
CIRCUMSTANCES—SCENE IN TREADING YARD—TAKEN ILL—UNUSUAL BRUTALITY OF
COVEY—ESCAPE TO ST. MICHAEL’S—THE PURSUIT—SUFFERING IN THE WOODS—DRIVEN
BACK AGAIN TO COVEY’S—BEARING OF MASTER THOMAS—THE SLAVE IS NEVER
SICK—NATURAL TO EXPECT SLAVES TO FEIGN SICKNESS—LAZINESS OF
SLAVEHOLDERS.
The foregoing chapter, with all its horrid incidents and shocking
features, may be taken as a fair representation of the first six months
of my life at Covey’s. The reader has but to repeat, in his own mind,
once a week, the scene in the woods, where Covey subjected me to his
merciless lash, to have a true idea of my bitter experience there,
during the first period of the breaking process through which Mr. Covey
carried me. I have no heart to repeat each separate transaction, in
which I was victim of his violence and brutality. Such a narration
would fill a volume much larger than the present one. I aim only to
give the reader a truthful impression of my slave life, without
unnecessarily affecting him with harrowing details.
As I have elsewhere intimated that my hardships were much greater
during the first six months of my stay at Covey’s, than during the
remainder of the year, and as the change in my condition was owing to
causes which may help the reader to a better understanding of human
nature, when subjected to the terrible extremities of slavery, I will
narrate the circumstances of this change, although I may seem thereby
to applaud my own courage. You have, dear reader, seen me humbled,
degraded, broken down, enslaved, and brutalized, and you understand how
it was done; now let us see the converse of all this, and how it was
brought about; and this will take us through the year 1834.
On one of the hottest days of the month of August, of the year just
mentioned, had the reader been passing through Covey’s farm, he might
have seen me at work, in what is there called the “treading yard”—a
yard upon which wheat is trodden out from the straw, by the horses’
feet. I was there, at work, feeding the “fan,” or rather bringing wheat
to the fan, while Bill Smith was feeding. Our force consisted of Bill
Hughes, Bill Smith, and a slave by the name of Eli; the latter having
been hired for this occasion. The work was simple, and required
strength and activity, rather than any skill or intelligence, and yet,
to one entirely unused to such work, it came very hard. The heat was
intense and overpowering, and there was much hurry to get the wheat,
trodden out that day, through the fan; since, if that work was done an
hour before sundown, the hands would have, according to a promise of
Covey, that hour added to their night’s rest. I was not behind any of
them in the wish to complete the day’s work before sundown, and, hence,
I struggled with all my might to get the work forward. The promise of
one hour’s repose on a week day, was sufficient to quicken my pace, and
to spur me on to extra endeavor. Besides, we had all planned to go
fishing, and I certainly wished to have a hand in that. But I was
disappointed, and the day turned out to be one of the bitterest I ever
experienced. About three o’clock, while the sun was pouring down his
burning rays, and not a breeze was stirring, I broke down; my strength
failed me; I was seized with a violent aching of the head, attended
with extreme dizziness, and trembling in every limb. Finding what was
coming, and feeling it would never do to stop work, I nerved myself up,
and staggered on until I fell by the side of the wheat fan, feeling
that the earth had fallen upon me. This brought the entire work to a
dead stand. There was work for four; each one had his part to perform,
and each part depended on the other, so that when one stopped, all were
compelled to stop. Covey, who had now become my dread, as well as my
tormentor, was at the house, about a hundred yards from where I was
fanning, and instantly, upon hearing the fan stop, he came down to the
treading yard, to inquire into the cause of our stopping. Bill Smith
told him I was sick, and that I was unable longer to bring wheat to the
fan.
I had, by this time, crawled away, under the side of a post-and-rail
fence, in the shade, and was exceeding ill. The intense heat of the
sun, the heavy dust rising from the fan, the stooping, to take up the
wheat from the yard, together with the hurrying, to get through, had
caused a rush of blood to my head. In this condition, Covey finding out
where I was, came to me; and, after standing over me a while, he asked
me what the matter was. I told him as well as I could, for it was with
difficulty that I could speak. He then gave me a savage kick in the
side, which jarred my whole frame, and commanded me to get up. The man
had obtained complete control over me; and if he had commanded me to do
any possible thing, I should, in my then state of mind, have endeavored
to comply. I made an effort to rise, but fell back in the attempt,
before gaining my feet. The brute now gave me another heavy kick, and
again told me to rise. I again tried to rise, and succeeded in gaining
my feet; but upon stooping to get the tub with which I was feeding the
fan, I again staggered and fell to the ground; and I must have so
fallen, had I been sure that a hundred bullets would have pierced me,
as the consequence. While down, in this sad condition, and perfectly
helpless, the merciless Negro breaker took up the hickory slab, with
which Hughes had been striking off the wheat to a level with the sides
of the half bushel measure (a very hard weapon) and with the sharp edge
of it, he dealt me a heavy blow on my head which made a large gash, and
caused the blood to run freely, saying, at the same time, “If _you have
got the headache, I’ll cure you_.” This done, he ordered me again to
rise, but I made no effort to do so; for I had made up my mind that it
was useless, and that the heartless monster might now do his worst; he
could but kill me, and that might put me out of my misery. Finding me
unable to rise, or rather despairing of my doing so, Covey left me,
with a view to getting on with the work without me. I was bleeding very
freely, and my face was soon covered with my warm blood. Cruel and
merciless as was the motive that dealt that blow, dear reader, the
wound was fortunate for me. Bleeding was never more efficacious. The
pain in my head speedily abated, and I was soon able to rise. Covey
had, as I have said, now left me to my fate; and the question was,
shall I return to my work, or shall I find my way to St. Michael’s, and
make Capt. Auld acquainted with the atrocious cruelty of his brother
Covey, and beseech him to get me another master? Remembering the object
he had in view, in placing me under the management of Covey, and
further, his cruel treatment of my poor crippled cousin, Henny, and his
meanness in the matter of feeding and clothing his slaves, there was
little ground to hope for a favorable reception at the hands of Capt.
Thomas Auld. Nevertheless, I resolved to go straight to Capt. Auld,
thinking that, if not animated by motives of humanity, he might be
induced to interfere on my behalf from selfish considerations. “He
cannot,” thought I, “allow his property to be thus bruised and
battered, marred and defaced; and I will go to him, and tell him the
simple truth about the matter.” In order to get to St. Michael’s, by
the most favorable and direct road, I must walk seven miles; and this,
in my sad condition, was no easy performance. I had already lost much
blood; I was exhausted by over exertion; my sides were sore from the
heavy blows planted there by the stout boots of Mr. Covey; and I was,
in every way, in an unfavorable plight for the journey. I however
watched my chance, while the cruel and cunning Covey was looking in an
opposite direction, and started off, across the field, for St.
Michael’s. This was a daring step; if it failed, it would only
exasperate Covey, and increase the rigors of my bondage, during the
remainder of my term of service under him; but the step was taken, and
I must go forward. I succeeded in getting nearly half way across the
broad field, toward the woods, before Mr. Covey observed me. I was
still bleeding, and the exertion of running had started the blood
afresh. _“Come back! Come back!”_ vociferated Covey, with threats of
what he would do if I did not return instantly. But, disregarding his
calls and his threats, I pressed on toward the woods as fast as my
feeble state would allow. Seeing no signs of my stopping, Covey caused
his horse to be brought out and saddled, as if he intended to pursue
me. The race was now to be an unequal one; and, thinking I might be
overhauled by him, if I kept the main road, I walked nearly the whole
distance in the woods, keeping far enough from the road to avoid
detection and pursuit. But, I had not gone far, before my little
strength again failed me, and I laid down. The blood was still oozing
from the wound in my head; and, for a time, I suffered more than I can
describe. There I was, in the deep woods, sick and emaciated, pursued
by a wretch whose character for revolting cruelty beggars all
opprobrious speech—bleeding, and almost bloodless. I was not without
the fear of bleeding to death. The thought of dying in the woods, all
alone, and of being torn to pieces by the buzzards, had not yet been
rendered tolerable by my many troubles and hardships, and I was glad
when the shade of the trees, and the cool evening breeze, combined with
my matted hair to stop the flow of blood. After lying there about three
quarters of an hour, brooding over the singular and mournful lot to
which I was doomed, my mind passing over the whole scale or circle of
belief and unbelief, from faith in the overruling providence of God, to
the blackest atheism, I again took up my journey toward St. Michael’s,
more weary and sad than in the morning when I left Thomas Auld’s for
the home of Mr. Covey. I was bare-footed and bare-headed, and in my
shirt sleeves. The way was through bogs and briers, and I tore my feet
often during the journey. I was full five hours in going the seven or
eight miles; partly, because of the difficulties of the way, and
partly, because of the feebleness induced by my illness, bruises and
loss of blood. On gaining my master’s store, I presented an appearance
of wretchedness and woe, fitted to move any but a heart of stone. From
the crown of my head to the sole of my feet, there were marks of blood.
My hair was all clotted with dust and blood, and the back of my shirt
was literally stiff with the same. Briers and thorns had scarred and
torn my feet and legs, leaving blood marks there. Had I escaped from a
den of tigers, I could not have looked worse than I did on reaching St.
Michael’s. In this unhappy plight, I appeared before my professedly
_Christian_ master, humbly to invoke the interposition of his power and
authority, to protect me from further abuse and violence. I had begun
to hope, during the latter part of my tedious journey toward St.
Michael’s, that Capt. Auld would now show himself in a nobler light
than I had ever before seen him. I was disappointed. I had jumped from
a sinking ship into the sea; I had fled from the tiger to something
worse. I told him all the circumstances, as well as I could; how I was
endeavoring to please Covey; how hard I was at work in the present
instance; how unwilling I sunk down under the heat, toil and pain; the
brutal manner in which Covey had kicked me in the side; the gash cut in
my head; my hesitation about troubling him (Capt. Auld) with
complaints; but, that now I felt it would not be best longer to conceal
from him the outrages committed on me from time to time by Covey. At
first, master Thomas seemed somewhat affected by the story of my
wrongs, but he soon repressed his feelings and became cold as iron. It
was impossible—as I stood before him at the first—for him to seem
indifferent. I distinctly saw his human nature asserting its conviction
against the slave system, which made cases like mine _possible;_ but,
as I have said, humanity fell before the systematic tyranny of slavery.
He first walked the floor, apparently much agitated by my story, and
the sad spectacle I presented; but, presently, it was _his_ turn to
talk. He began moderately, by finding excuses for Covey, and ending
with a full justification of him, and a passionate condemnation of me.
“He had no doubt I deserved the flogging. He did not believe I was
sick; I was only endeavoring to get rid of work. My dizziness was
laziness, and Covey did right to flog me, as he had done.” After thus
fairly annihilating me, and rousing himself by his own eloquence, he
fiercely demanded what I wished _him_ to do in the case!
With such a complete knock-down to all my hopes, as he had given me,
and feeling, as I did, my entire subjection to his power, I had very
little heart to reply. I must not affirm my innocence of the
allegations which he had piled up against me; for that would be
impudence, and would probably call down fresh violence as well as wrath
upon me. The guilt of a slave is always, and everywhere, presumed; and
the innocence of the slaveholder or the slave employer, is always
asserted. The word of the slave, against this presumption, is generally
treated as impudence, worthy of punishment. “Do you contradict me, you
rascal?” is a final silencer of counter statements from the lips of a
slave.
Calming down a little in view of my silence and hesitation, and,
perhaps, from a rapid glance at the picture of misery I presented, he
inquired again, “what I would have him do?” Thus invited a second time,
I told Master Thomas I wished him to allow me to get a new home and to
find a new master; that, as sure as I went back to live with Mr. Covey
again, I should be killed by him; that he would never forgive my coming
to him (Capt. Auld) with a complaint against him (Covey); that, since I
had lived with him, he almost crushed my spirit, and I believed that he
would ruin me for future service; that my life was not safe in his
hands. This, Master Thomas _(my brother in the church)_ regarded as
“nonsence(sic).” “There was no danger of Mr. Covey’s killing me; he was
a good man, industrious and religious, and he would not think of
removing me from that home; besides,” said he and this I found was the
most distressing thought of all to him—“if you should leave Covey now,
that your year has but half expired, I should lose your wages for the
entire year. You belong to Mr. Covey for one year, and you _must go
back_ to him, come what will. You must not trouble me with any more
stories about Mr. Covey; and if you do not go immediately home, I will
get hold of you myself.” This was just what I expected, when I found he
had _prejudged_ the case against me. “But, Sir,” I said, “I am sick and
tired, and I cannot get home to-night.” At this, he again relented, and
finally he allowed me to remain all night at St. Michael’s; but said I
must be off early in the morning, and concluded his directions by
making me swallow a huge dose of _epsom salts_—about the only medicine
ever administered to slaves.
It was quite natural for Master Thomas to presume I was feigning
sickness to escape work, for he probably thought that were _he_ in the
place of a slave with no wages for his work, no praise for well doing,
no motive for toil but the lash—he would try every possible scheme by
which to escape labor. I say I have no doubt of this; the reason is,
that there are not, under the whole heavens, a set of men who cultivate
such an intense dread of labor as do the slaveholders. The charge of
laziness against the slave is ever on their lips, and is the standing
apology for every species of cruelty and brutality. These men literally
“bind heavy burdens, grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s
shoulders; but they, themselves, will not move them with one of their
fingers.”
My kind readers shall have, in the next chapter—what they were led,
perhaps, to expect to find in this—namely: an account of my partial
disenthrallment from the tyranny of Covey, and the marked change which
it brought about.