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MY BONDAGE

and

MY FREEDOM

_By_

FREDERICK DOUGLASS

_By a principle essential to Christianity, a PERSON is eternally

differenced from a THING; so that the idea of a HUMAN BEING,

necessarily excludes the idea of PROPERTY IN THAT BEING_.

COLERIDGE





Entered according to Act of Congress in 1855 by Frederick

Douglass in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the

Northern District of New York





TO

HONORABLE GERRIT SMITH,

AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF

ESTEEM FOR HIS CHARACTER,

ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS AND BENEVOLENCE,

AFFECTION FOR HIS PERSON, AND

GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP,

AND AS

A Small but most Sincere Acknowledgement of

HIS PRE-EMINENT SERVICES IN BEHALF OF THE RIGHTS AND LIBERTIES

OF AN

AFFLICTED, DESPISED AND DEEPLY OUTRAGED PEOPLE,

BY RANKING SLAVERY WITH PIRACY AND MURDER,

AND BY

DENYING IT EITHER A LEGAL OR CONSTITUTIONAL EXISTENCE,

This Volume is Respectfully Dedicated,

BY HIS FAITHFUL AND FIRMLY ATTACHED FRIEND,

FREDERICK DOUGLAS.

ROCHESTER, N.Y.









    CONTENTS



    EDITORS PREFACE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1

    INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4



LIFE AS A SLAVE?



    I--CHILDHOOD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25

    II--REMOVED FROM MY FIRST HOME . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33

    III--PARENTAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

    IV--A GENERAL SURVEY OF THE SLAVE PLANTATION . . . . . . . . . . . . 47

    V--GRADUAL INITIATION INTO THE MYSTERIES OF SLAVERY. . . . . . . . . 61

    VI--TREATMENT OF SLAVES ON LLOYDS PLANTATION . . . . . . . . . . . . 69

    VII--LIFE IN THE GREAT HOUSE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83

    VIII--A CHAPTER OF HORRORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93

    IX--PERSONAL TREATMENT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .101

    X--LIFE IN BALTIMORE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .111

    XI--"A CHANGE CAME O'ER THE SPIRIT OF MY DREAM". . . . . . . . . . .118

    XII--RELIGIOUS NATURE AWAKENED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .127

    XIII--THE VICISSITUDES OF SLAVE LIFE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .135

    XIV--EXPERIENCE IN ST. MICHAEL'S . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .144

    XV--COVEY, THE NEGRO BREAKER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .159

    XVI--ANOTHER PRESSURE OF THE TYRANTS VICE. . . . . . . . . . . . . .172





<xii> CONTENTS



    XVII--THE LAST FLOCCING. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .180

    XVIII--NEW RELATIONS AND DUTIES. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .194

    XIX--THE RUN-AWAY PLOT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .209

    XX--APPRENTICESHIP LIFE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .235

    XXI--MY ESCAPE FROM SLAVERY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .248



LIFE AS A FREEMAN

    XXII--LIBERTY ATTAINED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .261

    XXIII--INTRODUCED TO THE ABOLITIONISTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .278

    XXIV--TWENTY-ONE MONTHS IN GREAT BRITAIN . . . . . . . . . . . . . .284

    XXV--VARIOUS INCIDENTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .304



APPENDIX

    RECEPTION SPEECH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .318

    LETTER TO HIS OLD MASTER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .330

    THE NATURE OF SLAVERY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .337

    INHUMANITY OF SLAVERY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .343

    WHAT TO THE SLAVE IS THE FOURTH OF JULY? . . . . . . . . . . . . . .349

    THE INTERNAL SLAVE TRADE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .354

    THE SLAVERY PARTY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .358

    THE ANTI-SLAVERY MOVEMENT. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .363



MY BONDAGE

_and_

MY FREEDOM







EDITOR'S PREFACE





If the volume now presented to the public were a mere work of

ART, the history of its misfortune might be written in two very

simple words--TOO LATE.  The nature and character of slavery have

been subjects of an almost endless variety of artistic

representation; and after the brilliant achievements in that

field, and while those achievements are yet fresh in the memory

of the million, he who would add another to the legion, must

possess the charm of transcendent excellence, or apologize for

something worse than rashness.  The reader is, therefore,

assured, with all due promptitude, that his attention is not

invited to a work of ART, but to a work of FACTS--Facts, terrible

and almost incredible, it may be yet FACTS, nevertheless.



I am authorized to say that there is not a fictitious name nor

place in the whole volume; but that names and places are

literally given, and that every transaction therein described

actually transpired.



Perhaps the best Preface to this volume is furnished in the

following letter of Mr. Douglass, written in answer to my urgent

solicitation for such a work:



                                ROCHESTER, N. Y. _July_ 2, 1855.



DEAR FRIEND:  I have long entertained, as you very well know, a

somewhat positive repugnance to writing or speaking anything for

the public, which could, with any degree of plausibilty, make me

liable to the imputation of seeking personal notoriety, for its

own sake.  Entertaining that feeling very sincerely, and

permitting its control, perhaps, quite unreasonably, I have often

<2>refused to narrate my personal experience in public anti-

slavery meetings, and in sympathizing circles, when urged to do

so by friends, with whose views and wishes, ordinarily, it were a

pleasure to comply.  In my letters and speeches, I have generally

aimed to discuss the question of Slavery in the light of

fundamental principles, and upon facts, notorious and open to

all; making, I trust, no more of the fact of my own former

enslavement, than circumstances seemed absolutely to require.  I

have never placed my opposition to slavery on a basis so narrow

as my own enslavement, but rather upon the indestructible and

unchangeable laws of human nature, every one of which is

perpetually and flagrantly violated by the slave system.  I have

also felt that it was best for those having histories worth the

writing--or supposed to be so--to commit such work to hands other

than their own.  To write of one's self, in such a manner as not

to incur the imputation of weakness, vanity, and egotism, is a

work within the ability of but few; and I have little reason to

believe that I belong to that fortunate few.



These considerations caused me to hesitate, when first you kindly

urged me to prepare for publication a full account of my life as

a slave, and my life as a freeman.



Nevertheless, I see, with you, many reasons for regarding my

autobiography as exceptional in its character, and as being, in

some sense, naturally beyond the reach of those reproaches which

honorable and sensitive minds dislike to incur.  It is not to

illustrate any heroic achievements of a man, but to vindicate a

just and beneficent principle, in its application to the whole

human family, by letting in the light of truth upon a system,

esteemed by some as a blessing, and by others as a curse and a

crime.  I agree with you, that this system is now at the bar of

public opinion--not only of this country, but of the whole

civilized world--for judgment.  Its friends have made for it the

usual plea--"not guilty;" the case must, therefore, proceed.  Any

facts, either from slaves, slaveholders, or by-standers,

calculated to enlighten the public mind, by revealing the true

nature, character, and tendency of the slave system, are in

order, and can scarcely be innocently withheld.



I see, too, that there are special reasons why I should write my

own biography, in preference to employing another to do it.  Not

only is slavery on trial, but unfortunately, the enslaved people

are also on trial.  It is alleged, that they are, naturally,

inferior; that they are _so low_ in the scale of humanity, and so

utterly stupid, that they are unconscious of their wrongs, and do

not apprehend their rights.  Looking, then, at your request, from

this stand-point, and wishing everything of which you think me

capable to go to the benefit of my afflicted people, I part with

my doubts and hesitation, and proceed to furnish you the desired

manuscript; hoping that you may be able to make such arrangements

for its publication as shall be best adapted to accomplish that

good which you so enthusiastically anticipate.

                                        FREDERICK DOUGLASS



<3>



There was little necessity for doubt and hesitation on the part

of Mr. Douglass, as to the propriety of his giving to the world a

full account of himself.  A man who was born and brought up in

slavery, a living witness of its horrors; who often himself

experienced its cruelties; and who, despite the depressing

influences surrounding his birth, youth and manhood, has risen,

from a dark and almost absolute obscurity, to the distinguished

position which he now occupies, might very well assume the

existence of a commendable curiosity, on the part of the public,

to know the facts of his remarkable history.

                                                    EDITOR







INTRODUCTION





When a man raises himself from the lowest condition in society to

the highest, mankind pay him the tribute of their admiration;

when he accomplishes this elevation by native energy, guided by

prudence and wisdom, their admiration is increased; but when his

course, onward and upward, excellent in itself, furthermore

proves a possible, what had hitherto been regarded as an

impossible, reform, then he becomes a burning and a shining

light, on which the aged may look with gladness, the young with

hope, and the down-trodden, as a representative of what they may

themselves become.  To such a man, dear reader, it is my

privilege to introduce you.



The life of Frederick Douglass, recorded in the pages which

follow, is not merely an example of self-elevation under the most

adverse circumstances; it is, moreover, a noble vindication of

the highest aims of the American anti-slavery movement.  The real

object of that movement is not only to disenthrall, it is, also,

to bestow upon the Negro the exercise of all those rights, from

the possession of which he has been so long debarred.



But this full recognition of the colored man to the right, and

the entire admission of the same to the full privileges,

political, religious and social, of manhood, requires powerful

effort on the part of the enthralled, as well as on the part of

those who would disenthrall them.  The people at large must feel

the conviction, as well as admit the abstract logic, of human

equality; <5>the Negro, for the first time in the world's

history, brought in full contact with high civilization, must

prove his title first to all that is demanded for him; in the

teeth of unequal chances, he must prove himself equal to the mass

of those who oppress him--therefore, absolutely superior to his

apparent fate, and to their relative ability.  And it is most

cheering to the friends of freedom, today, that evidence of this

equality is rapidly accumulating, not from the ranks of the half-

freed colored people of the free states, but from the very depths

of slavery itself; the indestructible equality of man to man is

demonstrated by the ease with which black men, scarce one remove

from barbarism--if slavery can be honored with such a

distinction--vault into the high places of the most advanced and

painfully acquired civilization.  Ward and Garnett, Wells Brown

and Pennington, Loguen and Douglass, are banners on the outer

wall, under which abolition is fighting its most successful

battles, because they are living exemplars of the practicability

of the most radical abolitionism; for, they were all of them born

to the doom of slavery, some of them remained slaves until adult

age, yet they all have not only won equality to their white

fellow citizens, in civil, religious, political and social rank,

but they have also illustrated and adorned our common country by

their genius, learning and eloquence.



The characteristics whereby Mr. Douglass has won first rank among

these remarkable men, and is still rising toward highest rank

among living Americans, are abundantly laid bare in the book

before us.  Like the autobiography of Hugh Miller, it carries us

so far back into early childhood, as to throw light upon the

question, "when positive and persistent memory begins in the

human being."  And, like Hugh Miller, he must have been a shy

old-fashioned child, occasionally oppressed by what he could not

well account for, peering and poking about among the layers of

right and wrong, of tyrant and thrall, and the wonderfulness of

that hopeless tide of things which brought power to one race, and

unrequited toil to another, until, finally, he stumbled upon

<6>his "first-found Ammonite," hidden away down in the depths of

his own nature, and which revealed to him the fact that liberty

and right, for all men, were anterior to slavery and wrong.  When

his knowledge of the world was bounded by the visible horizon on

Col. Lloyd's plantation, and while every thing around him bore a

fixed, iron stamp, as if it had always been so, this was, for one

so young, a notable discovery.



To his uncommon memory, then, we must add a keen and accurate

insight into men and things; an original breadth of common sense

which enabled him to see, and weigh, and compare whatever passed

before him, and which kindled a desire to search out and define

their relations to other things not so patent, but which never

succumbed to the marvelous nor the supernatural; a sacred thirst

for liberty and for learning, first as a means of attaining

liberty, then as an end in itself most desirable; a will; an

unfaltering energy and determination to obtain what his soul

pronounced desirable; a majestic self-hood; determined courage; a

deep and agonizing sympathy with his embruted, crushed and

bleeding fellow slaves, and an extraordinary depth of passion,

together with that rare alliance between passion and intellect,

which enables the former, when deeply roused, to excite, develop

and sustain the latter.



With these original gifts in view, let us look at his schooling;

the fearful discipline through which it pleased God to prepare

him for the high calling on which he has since entered--the

advocacy of emancipation by the people who are not slaves.  And

for this special mission, his plantation education was better

than any he could have acquired in any lettered school.  What he

needed, was facts and experiences, welded to acutely wrought up

sympathies, and these he could not elsewhere have obtained, in a

manner so peculiarly adapted to his nature.  His physical being

was well trained, also, running wild until advanced into boyhood;

hard work and light diet, thereafter, and a skill in handicraft

in youth.

<7>



For his special mission, then, this was, considered in connection

with his natural gifts, a good schooling; and, for his special

mission, he doubtless "left school" just at the proper moment. 

Had he remained longer in slavery--had he fretted under bonds

until the ripening of manhood and its passions, until the drear

agony of slave-wife and slave-children had been piled upon his

already bitter experiences--then, not only would his own history

have had another termination, but the drama of American slavery

would have been essentially varied; for I cannot resist the

belief, that the boy who learned to read and write as he did, who

taught his fellow slaves these precious acquirements as he did,

who plotted for their mutual escape as he did, would, when a man

at bay, strike a blow which would make slavery reel and stagger. 

Furthermore, blows and insults he bore, at the moment, without

resentment; deep but suppressed emotion rendered him insensible

to their sting; but it was afterward, when the memory of them

went seething through his brain, breeding a fiery indignation at

his injured self-hood, that the resolve came to resist, and the

time fixed when to resist, and the plot laid, how to resist; and

he always kept his self-pledged word.  In what he undertook, in

this line, he looked fate in the face, and had a cool, keen look

at the relation of means to ends.  Henry Bibb, to avoid

chastisement, strewed his master's bed with charmed leaves and

_was whipped_.  Frederick Douglass quietly pocketed a like

_fetiche_, compared his muscles with those of Covey--and _whipped

him_.



In the history of his life in bondage, we find, well developed,

that inherent and continuous energy of character which will ever

render him distinguished.  What his hand found to do, he did with

his might; even while conscious that he was wronged out of his

daily earnings, he worked, and worked hard.  At his daily labor

he went with a will; with keen, well set eye, brawny chest, lithe

figure, and fair sweep of arm, he would have been king among

calkers, had that been his mission.



It must not be overlooked, in this glance at his education, that

<8>Mr. Douglass lacked one aid to which so many men of mark have

been deeply indebted--he had neither a mother's care, nor a

mother's culture, save that which slavery grudgingly meted out to

him.  Bitter nurse! may not even her features relax with human

feeling, when she gazes at such offspring!  How susceptible he

was to the kindly influences of mother-culture, may be gathered

from his own words, on page 57:  "It has been a life-long

standing grief to me, that I know so little of my mother, and

that I was so early separated from her.  The counsels of her love

must have been beneficial to me.  The side view of her face is

imaged on my memory, and I take few steps in life, without

feeling her presence; but the image is mute, and I have no

striking words of hers treasured up."



From the depths of chattel slavery in Maryland, our author

escaped into the caste-slavery of the north, in New Bedford,

Massachusetts.  Here he found oppression assuming another, and

hardly less bitter, form; of that very handicraft which the greed

of slavery had taught him, his half-freedom denied him the

exercise for an honest living; he found himself one of a class--

free colored men--whose position he has described in the

following words:



"Aliens are we in our native land.  The fundamental principles of

the republic, to which the humblest white man, whether born here

or elsewhere, may appeal with confidence, in the hope of

awakening a favorable response, are held to be inapplicable to

us.  The glorious doctrines of your revolutionary fathers, and

the more glorious teachings of the Son of God, are construed and

applied against us.  We are literally scourged beyond the

beneficent range of both authorities, human and divine.  * * * * 

American humanity hates us, scorns us, disowns and denies, in a

thousand ways, our very personality.  The outspread wing of

American christianity, apparently broad enough to give shelter to

a perishing world, refuses to cover us.  To us, its bones are

brass, and its features iron.  In running thither for shelter and

<9>succor, we have only fled from the hungry blood-hound to the

devouring wolf--from a corrupt and selfish world, to a hollow and

hypocritical church."--_Speech before American and Foreign Anti-

Slavery Society, May_, 1854.



Four years or more, from 1837 to 1841, he struggled on, in New

Bedford, sawing wood, rolling casks, or doing what labor he

might, to support himself and young family; four years he brooded

over the scars which slavery and semi-slavery had inflicted upon

his body and soul; and then, with his wounds yet unhealed, he

fell among the Garrisonians--a glorious waif to those most ardent

reformers.  It happened one day, at Nantucket, that he,

diffidently and reluctantly, was led to address an anti-slavery

meeting.  He was about the age when the younger Pitt entered the

House of Commons; like Pitt, too, he stood up a born orator.



William Lloyd Garrison, who was happily present, writes thus of

Mr. Douglass' maiden effort; "I shall never forget his first

speech at the convention--the extraordinary emotion it excited in

my own mind--the powerful impression it created upon a crowded

auditory, completely taken by surprise.  * * *  I think I never

hated slavery so intensely as at that moment; certainly, my

perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by it on

the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more clear

than ever.  There stood one in physical proportions and stature

commanding and exact--in intellect richly endowed--in natural

eloquence a prodigy."[1]



It is of interest to compare Mr. Douglass's account of this

meeting with Mr. Garrison's.  Of the two, I think the latter the

most correct.  It must have been a grand burst of eloquence!  The

pent up agony, indignation and pathos of an abused and harrowed

boyhood and youth, bursting out in all their freshness and

overwhelming earnestness!



This unique introduction to its great leader, led immediately





[1] Letter, Introduction to _Life of Frederick Douglass_, Boston,

1841.





<10>to the employment of Mr. Douglass as an agent by the American

Anti-Slavery Society.  So far as his self-relying and independent

character would permit, he became, after the strictest sect, a

Garrisonian.  It is not too much to say, that he formed a

complement which they needed, and they were a complement equally

necessary to his "make-up."  With his deep and keen sensitiveness

to wrong, and his wonderful memory, he came from the land of

bondage full of its woes and its evils, and painting them in

characters of living light; and, on his part, he found, told out

in sound Saxon phrase, all those principles of justice and right

and liberty, which had dimly brooded over the dreams of his

youth, seeking definite forms and verbal expression.  It must

have been an electric flashing of thought, and a knitting of

soul, granted to but few in this life, and will be a life-long

memory to those who participated in it.  In the society,

moreover, of Wendell Phillips, Edmund Quincy, William Lloyd

Garrison, and other men of earnest faith and refined culture, Mr.

Douglass enjoyed the high advantage of their assistance and

counsel in the labor of self-culture, to which he now addressed

himself with wonted energy.  Yet, these gentlemen, although proud

of Frederick Douglass, failed to fathom, and bring out to the

light of day, the highest qualities of his mind; the force of

their own education stood in their own way: they did not delve

into the mind of a colored man for capacities which the pride of

race led them to believe to be restricted to their own Saxon

blood.  Bitter and vindictive sarcasm, irresistible mimicry, and

a pathetic narrative of his own experiences of slavery, were the

intellectual manifestations which they encouraged him to exhibit

on the platform or in the lecture desk.



A visit to England, in 1845, threw Mr. Douglass among men and

women of earnest souls and high culture, and who, moreover, had

never drank of the bitter waters of American caste.  For the

first time in his life, he breathed an atmosphere congenial to

the longings of his spirit, and felt his manhood free and

<11>unrestricted.  The cordial and manly greetings of the British

and Irish audiences in public, and the refinement and elegance of

the social circles in which he mingled, not only as an equal, but

as a recognized man of genius, were, doubtless, genial and

pleasant resting places in his hitherto thorny and troubled

journey through life.  There are joys on the earth, and, to the

wayfaring fugitive from American slavery or American caste, this

is one of them.



But his sojourn in England was more than a joy to Mr. Douglass. 

Like the platform at Nantucket, it awakened him to the

consciousness of new powers that lay in him.  From the pupilage

of Garrisonism he rose to the dignity of a teacher and a thinker;

his opinions on the broader aspects of the great American

question were earnestly and incessantly sought, from various

points of view, and he must, perforce, bestir himself to give

suitable answer.  With that prompt and truthful perception which

has led their sisters in all ages of the world to gather at the

feet and support the hands of reformers, the gentlewomen of

England[2] were foremost to encourage and strengthen him to carve

out for himself a path fitted to his powers and energies, in the

life-battle against slavery and caste to which he was pledged. 

And one stirring thought, inseparable from the British idea of

the evangel of freedom, must have smote his ear from every side--



_       Hereditary bondmen! know ye not

        Who would be free, themselves mast strike the blow?_





The result of this visit was, that on his return to the United

States, he established a newspaper.  This proceeding was sorely

against the wishes and the advice of the leaders of the American

Anti-Slavery Society, but our author had fully grown up to the

conviction of a truth which they had once promulged, but now







[2]  One of these ladies, impelled by the same noble spirit which

carried Miss Nightingale to Scutari, has devoted her time, her

untiring energies, to a great extent her means, and her high

literary abilities, to the advancement and support of Frederick

Douglass' Paper, the only organ of the downtrodden, edited and

published by one of themselves, in the United States.



<12>forgotten, to wit: that in their own elevation--self-

elevation--colored men have a blow to strike "on their own hook,"

against slavery and caste.  Differing from his Boston friends in

this matter, diffident in his own abilities, reluctant at their

dissuadings, how beautiful is the loyalty with which he still

clung to their principles in all things else, and even in this.



Now came the trial hour.  Without cordial support from any large

body of men or party on this side the Atlantic, and too far

distant in space and immediate interest to expect much more,

after the much already done, on the other side, he stood up,

almost alone, to the arduous labor and heavy expenditure of

editor and lecturer.  The Garrison party, to which he still

adhered, did not want a _colored_ newspaper--there was an odor of

_caste_ about it; the Liberty party could hardly be expected to

give warm support to a man who smote their principles as with a

hammer; and the wide gulf which separated the free colored people

from the Garrisonians, also separated them from their brother,

Frederick Douglass.



The arduous nature of his labors, from the date of the

establishment of his paper, may be estimated by the fact, that

anti-slavery papers in the United States, even while organs of,

and when supported by, anti-slavery parties, have, with a single

exception, failed to pay expenses.  Mr. Douglass has maintained,

and does maintain, his paper without the support of any party,

and even in the teeth of the opposition of those from whom he had

reason to expect counsel and encouragement.  He has been

compelled, at one and the same time, and almost constantly,

during the past seven years, to contribute matter to its columns

as editor, and to raise funds for its support as lecturer.  It is

within bounds to say, that he has expended twelve thousand

dollars of his own hard earned money, in publishing this paper, a

larger sum than has been contributed by any one individual for

the general advancement of the colored people.  There had been

many other papers published and edited by colored men, beginning

as far back as <13>1827, when the Rev. Samuel E. Cornish and John

B. Russworm (a graduate of Bowdoin college, and afterward

Governor of Cape Palmas) published the _Freedom's Journal_, in

New York City; probably not less than one hundred newspaper

enterprises have been started in the United States, by free

colored men, born free, and some of them of liberal education and

fair talents for this work; but, one after another, they have

fallen through, although, in several instances, anti-slavery

friends contributed to their support.[3]  It had almost been

given up, as an impracticable thing, to maintain a colored

newspaper, when Mr. Douglass, with fewest early advantages of all

his competitors, essayed, and has proved the thing perfectly

practicable, and, moreover, of great public benefit.  This paper,

in addition to its power in holding up the hands of those to whom

it is especially devoted, also affords irrefutable evidence of

the justice, safety and practicability of Immediate Emancipation;

it further proves the immense loss which slavery inflicts on the

land while it dooms such energies as his to the hereditary

degradation of slavery.



It has been said in this Introduction, that Mr. Douglass had

raised himself by his own efforts to the highest position in

society.  As a successful editor, in our land, he occupies this

position.  Our editors rule the land, and he is one of them.  As

an orator and thinker, his position is equally high, in the

opinion of his countrymen.  If a stranger in the United States

would seek its most distinguished men--the movers of public

opinion--he will find their names mentioned, and their movements

chronicled, under the head of "BY MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH, in the

daily papers.  The keen caterers for the public attention, set

down, in this column, such men only as have won high mark in the

public esteem.  During the past winter--1854-5--very frequent

mention of Frederick Douglass was made under this head in the

daily papers; his name glided as often--this week from Chicago,

next







[3]  Mr. Stephen Myers, of Albany, deserves mention as one of the

most persevering among the colored editorial fraternity.





<14>week from Boston--over the lightning wires, as the name of

any other man, of whatever note.  To no man did the people more

widely nor more earnestly say, _"Tell me thy thought!"_  And,

somehow or other, revolution seemed to follow in his wake.  His

were not the mere words of eloquence which Kossuth speaks of,

that delight the ear and then pass away.  No!  They were _work_-

able, _do_-able words, that brought forth fruits in the

revolution in Illinois, and in the passage of the franchise

resolutions by the Assembly of New York.



And the secret of his power, what is it?  He is a Representative

American man--a type of his countrymen.  Naturalists tell us that

a full grown man is a resultant or representative of all animated

nature on this globe; beginning with the early embryo state, then

representing the lowest forms of organic life,[4] and passing

through every subordinate grade or type, until he reaches the

last and highest--manhood.  In like manner, and to the fullest

extent, has Frederick Douglass passed through every gradation of

rank comprised in our national make-up, and bears upon his person

and upon his soul every thing that is American.  And he has not

only full sympathy with every thing American; his proclivity or

bent, to active toil and visible progress, are in the strictly

national direction, delighting to outstrip "all creation."



Nor have the natural gifts, already named as his, lost anything

by his severe training.  When unexcited, his mental processes are

probably slow, but singularly clear in perception, and wide in

vision, the unfailing memory bringing up all the facts in their

every aspect; incongruities he lays hold of incontinently, and

holds up on the edge of his keen and telling wit.  But this wit

never descends to frivolity; it is rigidly in the keeping of his

truthful common sense, and always used in illustration or proof

of some point which could not so readily be reached any other

way.  "Beware of a Yankee when he is feeding," is a shaft that

strikes home







[4]  The German physiologists have even discovered vegetable

matter--starch--in the human body.  See _Med. Chirurgical Rev_.,

Oct., 1854, p. 339.





<15>in a matter never so laid bare by satire before.  "The

Garrisonian views of disunion, if carried to a successful issue,

would only place the people of the north in the same relation to

American slavery which they now bear to the slavery of Cuba or

the Brazils," is a statement, in a few words, which contains the

result and the evidence of an argument which might cover pages,

but could not carry stronger conviction, nor be stated in less

pregnable form.  In proof of this, I may say, that having been

submitted to the attention of the Garrisonians in print, in

March, it was repeated before them at their business meeting in

May--the platform, _par excellence_, on which they invite free

fight, _a l'outrance_, to all comers.  It was given out in the

clear, ringing tones, wherewith the hall of shields was wont to

resound of old, yet neither Garrison, nor Phillips, nor May, nor

Remond, nor Foster, nor Burleigh, with his subtle steel of "the

ice brook's temper," ventured to break a lance upon it!  The

doctrine of the dissolution of the Union, as a means for the

abolition of American slavery, was silenced upon the lips that

gave it birth, and in the presence of an array of defenders who

compose the keenest intellects in the land.



_"The man who is right is a majority"_ is an aphorism struck out

by Mr. Douglass in that great gathering of the friends of

freedom, at Pittsburgh, in 1852, where he towered among the

highest, because, with abilities inferior to none, and moved more

deeply than any, there was neither policy nor party to trammel

the outpourings of his soul.  Thus we find, opposed to all

disadvantages which a black man in the United States labors and

struggles under, is this one vantage ground--when the chance

comes, and the audience where he may have a say, he stands forth

the freest, most deeply moved and most earnest of all men.



It has been said of Mr. Douglass, that his descriptive and

declamatory powers, admitted to be of the very highest order,

take precedence of his logical force.  Whilst the schools might

have trained him to the exhibition of the formulas of deductive

<16>logic, nature and circumstances forced him into the exercise

of the higher faculties required by induction.  The first ninety

pages of this "Life in Bondage," afford specimens of observing,

comparing, and careful classifying, of such superior character,

that it is difficult to believe them the results of a child's

thinking; he questions the earth, and the children and the slaves

around him again and again, and finally looks to _"God in the

sky"_ for the why and the wherefore of the unnatural thing,

slavery.  _"Yes, if indeed thou art, wherefore dost thou suffer

us to be slain?"_ is the only prayer and worship of the God-

forsaken Dodos in the heart of Africa.  Almost the same was his

prayer.  One of his earliest observations was that white children

should know their ages, while the colored children were ignorant

of theirs; and the songs of the slaves grated on his inmost soul,

because a something told him that harmony in sound, and music of

the spirit, could not consociate with miserable degradation.



To such a mind, the ordinary processes of logical deduction are

like proving that two and two make four.  Mastering the

intermediate steps by an intuitive glance, or recurring to them

as Ferguson resorted to geometry, it goes down to the deeper

relation of things, and brings out what may seem, to some, mere

statements, but which are new and brilliant generalizations, each

resting on a broad and stable basis.  Thus, Chief Justice

Marshall gave his decisions, and then told Brother Story to look

up the authorities--and they never differed from him.  Thus,

also, in his "Lecture on the Anti-Slavery Movement," delivered

before the Rochester Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society, Mr. Douglass

presents a mass of thought, which, without any showy display of

logic on his part, requires an exercise of the reasoning

faculties of the reader to keep pace with him.  And his "Claims

of the Negro Ethnologically Considered," is full of new and fresh

thoughts on the dawning science of race-history.



If, as has been stated, his intellection is slow, when unexcited,

it is most prompt and rapid when he is thoroughly aroused. 

<17>Memory, logic, wit, sarcasm, invective pathos and bold

imagery of rare structural beauty, well up as from a copious

fountain, yet each in its proper place, and contributing to form

a whole, grand in itself, yet complete in the minutest

proportions.  It is most difficult to hedge him in a corner, for

his positions are taken so deliberately, that it is rare to find

a point in them undefended aforethought.  Professor Reason tells

me the following:  "On a recent visit of a public nature, to

Philadelphia, and in a meeting composed mostly of his colored

brethren, Mr. Douglass proposed a comparison of views in the

matters of the relations and duties of `our people;' he holding

that prejudice was the result of condition, and could be

conquered by the efforts of the degraded themselves.  A gentleman

present, distinguished for logical acumen and subtlety, and who

had devoted no small portion of the last twenty-five years to the

study and elucidation of this very question, held the opposite

view, that prejudice is innate and unconquerable.  He terminated

a series of well dove-tailed, Socratic questions to Mr. Douglass,

with the following:  `If the legislature at Harrisburgh should

awaken, to-morrow morning, and find each man's skin turned black

and his hair woolly, what could they do to remove prejudice?' 

`Immediately pass laws entitling black men to all civil,

political and social privileges,' was the instant reply--and the

questioning ceased."



The most remarkable mental phenomenon in Mr. Douglass, is his

style in writing and speaking.  In March, 1855, he delivered an

address in the assembly chamber before the members of the

legislature of the state of New York.  An eye witness[5]

describes the crowded and most intelligent audience, and their

rapt attention to the speaker, as the grandest scene he ever

witnessed in the capitol.  Among those whose eyes were riveted on

the speaker full two hours and a half, were Thurlow Weed and

Lieutenant Governor Raymond; the latter, at the conclusion of the

address, exclaimed to a friend, "I would give twenty thousand

dollars,





[5]  Mr. Wm. H. Topp, of Albany.





<18>if I could deliver that address in that manner."  Mr. Raymond

is a first class graduate of Dartmouth, a rising politician,

ranking foremost in the legislature; of course, his ideal of

oratory must be of the most polished and finished description.



The style of Mr. Douglass in writing, is to me an intellectual

puzzle.  The strength, affluence and terseness may easily be

accounted for, because the style of a man is the man; but how are

we to account for that rare polish in his style of writing,

which, most critically examined, seems the result of careful

early culture among the best classics of our language; it equals

if it does not surpass the style of Hugh Miller, which was the

wonder of the British literary public, until he unraveled the

mystery in the most interesting of autobiographies.  But

Frederick Douglass was still calking the seams of Baltimore

clippers, and had only written a "pass," at the age when Miller's

style was already formed.



I asked William Whipper, of Pennsylvania, the gentleman alluded

to above, whether he thought Mr. Douglass's power inherited from

the Negroid, or from what is called the Caucasian side of his

make up?  After some reflection, he frankly answered, "I must

admit, although sorry to do so, that the Caucasian predominates." 

At that time, I almost agreed with him; but, facts narrated in

the first part of this work, throw a different light on this

interesting question.



We are left in the dark as to who was the paternal ancestor of

our author; a fact which generally holds good of the Romuluses

and Remuses who are to inaugurate the new birth of our republic. 

In the absence of testimony from the Caucasian side, we must see

what evidence is given on the other side of the house.



"My grandmother, though advanced in years, * * * was yet a woman

of power and spirit.  She was marvelously straight in figure,

elastic and muscular."  (p. 46.)



After describing her skill in constructing nets, her perseverance

in using them, and her wide-spread fame in the agricultural way

he adds, "It happened to her--as it will happen to any careful

<19>and thrifty person residing in an ignorant and improvident

neighborhood--to enjoy the reputation of being born to good

luck."  And his grandmother was a black woman.



"My mother was tall, and finely proportioned; of deep black,

glossy complexion; had regular features; and among other slaves

was remarkably sedate in her manners."  "Being a field hand, she

was obliged to walk twelve miles and return, between nightfall

and daybreak, to see her children" (p. 54.)  "I shall never

forget the indescribable expression of her countenance when I

told her that I had had no food since morning. * * *  There was

pity in her glance at me, and a fiery indignation at Aunt Katy at

the same time; * * * * she read Aunt Katy a lecture which she

never forgot."  (p. 56.)  "I learned after my mother's death,

that she could read, and that she was the _only_ one of all the

slaves and colored people in Tuckahoe who enjoyed that advantage. 

How she acquired this knowledge, I know not, for Tuckahoe is the

last place in the world where she would be apt to find facilities

for learning."  (p. 57.)  "There is, in _Prichard's Natural

History of Man_, the head of a figure--on page 157--the features

of which so resemble those of my mother, that I often recur to it

with something of the feeling which I suppose others experience

when looking upon the pictures of dear departed ones."  (p. 52.)



The head alluded to is copied from the statue of Ramses the

Great, an Egyptian king of the nineteenth dynasty.  The authors

of the _Types of Mankind_ give a side view of the same on page

148, remarking that the profile, "like Napoleon's, is superbly

European!"  The nearness of its resemblance to Mr. Douglass'

mother rests upon the evidence of his memory, and judging from

his almost marvelous feats of recollection of forms and outlines

recorded in this book, this testimony may be admitted.



These facts show that for his energy, perseverance, eloquence,

invective, sagacity, and wide sympathy, he is indebted to his

Negro blood.  The very marvel of his style would seem to be a

development of that other marvel--how his mother learned to read. 

<20>The versatility of talent which he wields, in common with

Dumas, Ira Aldridge, and Miss Greenfield, would seem to be the

result of the grafting of the Anglo-Saxon on good, original,

Negro stock.  If the friends of "Caucasus" choose to claim, for

that region, what remains after this analysis--to wit:

combination--they are welcome to it.  They will forgive me for

reminding them that the term "Caucasian" is dropped by recent

writers on Ethnology; for the people about Mount Caucasus, are,

and have ever been, Mongols.  The great "white race" now seek

paternity, according to Dr. Pickering, in Arabia--"Arida Nutrix"

of the best breed of horses &c.  Keep on, gentlemen; you will

find yourselves in Africa, by-and-by.  The Egyptians, like the

Americans, were a _mixed race_, with some Negro blood circling

around the throne, as well as in the mud hovels.



This is the proper place to remark of our author, that the same

strong self-hood, which led him to measure strength with Mr.

Covey, and to wrench himself from the embrace of the

Garrisonians, and which has borne him through many resistances to

the personal indignities offered him as a colored man, sometimes

becomes a hyper-sensitiveness to such assaults as men of his mark

will meet with, on paper.  Keen and unscrupulous opponents have

sought, and not unsuccessfully, to pierce him in this direction;

for well they know, that if assailed, he will smite back.



It is not without a feeling of pride, dear reader, that I present

you with this book.  The son of a self-emancipated bond-woman, I

feel joy in introducing to you my brother, who has rent his own

bonds, and who, in his every relation--as a public man, as a

husband and as a father--is such as does honor to the land which

gave him birth.  I shall place this book in the hands of the only

child spared me, bidding him to strive and emulate its noble

example.  You may do likewise.  It is an American book, for

Americans, in the fullest sense of the idea.  It shows that the

worst of our institutions, in its worst aspect, cannot keep down

energy, truthfulness, and earnest struggle for the right.  It

proves the <21>justice and practicability of Immediate

Emancipation.  It shows that any man in our land, "no matter in

what battle his liberty may have been cloven down, * * * * no

matter what complexion an Indian or an African sun may have

burned upon him," not only may "stand forth redeemed and

disenthralled," but may also stand up a candidate for the highest

suffrage of a great people--the tribute of their honest, hearty

admiration.  Reader, _Vale!



New York_                               JAMES MCCUNE SMITH





CHAPTER I

_Childhood_



PLACE OF BIRTH--CHARACTER OF THE DISTRICT--TUCKAHOE--ORIGIN OF

THE NAME--CHOPTANK RIVER--TIME OF BIRTH--GENEALOGICAL TREES--MODE

OF COUNTING TIME--NAMES OF GRANDPARENTS--THEIR POSITION--

GRANDMOTHER ESPECIALLY ESTEEMED--"BORN TO GOOD LUCK--SWEET

POTATOES--SUPERSTITION--THE LOG CABIN--ITS CHARMS--SEPARATING

CHILDREN--MY AUNTS--THEIR NAMES--FIRST KNOWLEDGE OF BEING A

SLAVE--OLD MASTER--GRIEFS AND JOYS OF CHILDHOOD--COMPARATIVE

HAPPINESS OF THE SLAVE-BOY AND THE SON OF A SLAVEHOLDER.





In Talbot county, Eastern Shore, Maryland, near Easton, the

county town of that county, there is a small district of country,

thinly populated, and remarkable for nothing that I know of more

than for the worn-out, sandy, desert-like appearance of its soil,

the general dilapidation of its farms and fences, the indigent

and spiritless character of its inhabitants, and the prevalence

of ague and fever.



The name of this singularly unpromising and truly famine stricken

district is Tuckahoe, a name well known to all Marylanders, black

and white.  It was given to this section of country probably, at

the first, merely in derision; or it may possibly have been

applied to it, as I have heard, because some one of its earlier

inhabitants had been guilty of the petty meanness of stealing a

hoe--or taking a hoe that did not belong to him.  Eastern Shore

men usually pronounce the word _took_, as _tuck; Took-a-hoe_,

therefore, is, in Maryland parlance, _Tuckahoe_.  But, whatever

may have been its origin--and about this I will not be

<26>positive--that name has stuck to the district in question;

and it is seldom mentioned but with contempt and derision, on

account of the barrenness of its soil, and the ignorance,

indolence, and poverty of its people.  Decay and ruin are

everywhere visible, and the thin population of the place would

have quitted it long ago, but for the Choptank river, which runs

through it, from which they take abundance of shad and herring,

and plenty of ague and fever.



It was in this dull, flat, and unthrifty district, or

neighborhood, surrounded by a white population of the lowest

order, indolent and drunken to a proverb, and among slaves, who

seemed to ask, _"Oh! what's the use?"_ every time they lifted a

hoe, that I--without any fault of mine was born, and spent the

first years of my childhood.



The reader will pardon so much about the place of my birth, on

the score that it is always a fact of some importance to know

where a man is born, if, indeed, it be important to know anything

about him.  In regard to the _time_ of my birth, I cannot be as

definite as I have been respecting the _place_.  Nor, indeed, can

I impart much knowledge concerning my parents.  Genealogical

trees do not flourish among slaves.  A person of some consequence

here in the north, sometimes designated _father_, is literally

abolished in slave law and slave practice.  It is only once in a

while that an exception is found to this statement.  I never met

with a slave who could tell me how old he was.  Few slave-mothers

know anything of the months of the year, nor of the days of the

month.  They keep no family records, with marriages, births, and

deaths.  They measure the ages of their children by spring time,

winter time, harvest time, planting time, and the like; but these

soon become undistinguishable and forgotten.  Like other slaves,

I cannot tell how old I am.  This destitution was among my

earliest troubles.  I learned when I grew up, that my master--and

this is the case with masters generally--allowed no questions to

be put to him, by which a slave might learn his <27

GRANDPARENTS>age.  Such questions deemed evidence of impatience,

and even of impudent curiosity.  From certain events, however,

the dates of which I have since learned, I suppose myself to have

been born about the year 1817.



The first experience of life with me that I now remember--and I

remember it but hazily--began in the family of my grandmother and

grandfather.  Betsey and Isaac Baily.  They were quite advanced

in life, and had long lived on the spot where they then resided. 

They were considered old settlers in the neighborhood, and, from

certain circumstances, I infer that my grandmother, especially,

was held in high esteem, far higher than is the lot of most

colored persons in the slave states.  She was a good nurse, and a

capital hand at making nets for catching shad and herring; and

these nets were in great demand, not only in Tuckahoe, but at

Denton and Hillsboro, neighboring villages.  She was not only

good at making the nets, but was also somewhat famous for her

good fortune in taking the fishes referred to.  I have known her

to be in the water half the day.  Grandmother was likewise more

provident than most of her neighbors in the preservation of

seedling sweet potatoes, and it happened to her--as it will

happen to any careful and thrifty person residing in an ignorant

and improvident community--to enjoy the reputation of having been

born to "good luck."  Her "good luck" was owing to the exceeding

care which she took in preventing the succulent root from getting

bruised in the digging, and in placing it beyond the reach of

frost, by actually burying it under the hearth of her cabin

during the winter months.  In the time of planting sweet

potatoes, "Grandmother Betty," as she was familiarly called, was

sent for in all directions, simply to place the seedling potatoes

in the hills; for superstition had it, that if "Grandmamma Betty

but touches them at planting, they will be sure to grow and

flourish."  This high reputation was full of advantage to her,

and to the children around her.  Though Tuckahoe had but few of

the good things of <28>life, yet of such as it did possess

grandmother got a full share, in the way of presents.  If good

potato crops came after her planting, she was not forgotten by

those for whom she planted; and as she was remembered by others,

so she remembered the hungry little ones around her.



The dwelling of my grandmother and grandfather had few

pretensions.  It was a log hut, or cabin, built of clay, wood,

and straw.  At a distance it resembled--though it was smaller,

less commodious and less substantial--the cabins erected in the

western states by the first settlers.  To my child's eye,

however, it was a noble structure, admirably adapted to promote

the comforts and conveniences of its inmates.  A few rough,

Virginia fence-rails, flung loosely over the rafters above,

answered the triple purpose of floors, ceilings, and bedsteads. 

To be sure, this upper apartment was reached only by a ladder--

but what in the world for climbing could be better than a ladder? 

To me, this ladder was really a high invention, and possessed a

sort of charm as I played with delight upon the rounds of it.  In

this little hut there was a large family of children: I dare not

say how many.  My grandmother--whether because too old for field

service, or because she had so faithfully discharged the duties

of her station in early life, I know not--enjoyed the high

privilege of living in a cabin, separate from the quarter, with

no other burden than her own support, and the necessary care of

the little children, imposed.  She evidently esteemed it a great

fortune to live so.  The children were not her own, but her

grandchildren--the children of her daughters.  She took delight

in having them around her, and in attending to their few wants. 

The practice of separating children from their mother, and hiring

the latter out at distances too great to admit of their meeting,

except at long intervals, is a marked feature of the cruelty and

barbarity of the slave system.  But it is in harmony with the

grand aim of slavery, which, always and everywhere, is to reduce

man to a level with the brute.  It is a successful method of

obliterating <29 "OLD MASTER">from the mind and heart of the

slave, all just ideas of the sacredness of _the family_, as an

institution.



Most of the children, however, in this instance, being the

children of my grandmother's daughters, the notions of family,

and the reciprocal duties and benefits of the relation, had a

better chance of being understood than where children are

placed--as they often are in the hands of strangers, who have no

care for them, apart from the wishes of their masters.  The

daughters of my grandmother were five in number.  Their names

were JENNY, ESTHER, MILLY, PRISCILLA, and HARRIET.  The daughter

last named was my mother, of whom the reader shall learn more by-

and-by.



Living here, with my dear old grandmother and grandfather, it was

a long time before I knew myself to be _a slave_.  I knew many

other things before I knew that.  Grandmother and grandfather

were the greatest people in the world to me; and being with them

so snugly in their own little cabin--I supposed it be their own--

knowing no higher authority over me or the other children than

the authority of grandmamma, for a time there was nothing to

disturb me; but, as I grew larger and older, I learned by degrees

the sad fact, that the "little hut," and the lot on which it

stood, belonged not to my dear old grandparents, but to some

person who lived a great distance off, and who was called, by

grandmother, "OLD MASTER."  I further learned the sadder fact,

that not only the house and lot, but that grandmother herself,

(grandfather was free,) and all the little children around her,

belonged to this mysterious personage, called by grandmother,

with every mark of reverence, "Old Master."  Thus early did

clouds and shadows begin to fall upon my path.  Once on the

track--troubles never come singly--I was not long in finding out

another fact, still more grievous to my childish heart.  I was

told that this "old master," whose name seemed ever to be

mentioned with fear and shuddering, only allowed the children to

live with grandmother for a limited time, and that in fact as

soon <30>as they were big enough, they were promptly taken away,

to live with the said "old master."  These were distressing

revelations indeed; and though I was quite too young to

comprehend the full import of the intelligence, and mostly spent

my childhood days in gleesome sports with the other children, a

shade of disquiet rested upon me.



The absolute power of this distant "old master" had touched my

young spirit with but the point of its cold, cruel iron, and left

me something to brood over after the play and in moments of

repose.  Grandmammy was, indeed, at that time, all the world to

me; and the thought of being separated from her, in any

considerable time, was more than an unwelcome intruder.  It was

intolerable.



Children have their sorrows as well as men and women; and it

would be well to remember this in our dealings with them.  SLAVE-

children _are_ children, and prove no exceptions to the general

rule.  The liability to be separated from my grandmother, seldom

or never to see her again, haunted me.  I dreaded the thought of

going to live with that mysterious "old master," whose name I

never heard mentioned with affection, but always with fear.  I

look back to this as among the heaviest of my childhood's

sorrows.  My grandmother! my grandmother! and the little hut, and

the joyous circle under her care, but especially _she_, who made

us sorry when she left us but for an hour, and glad on her

return,--how could I leave her and the good old home?



But the sorrows of childhood, like the pleasures of after life,

are transient.  It is not even within the power of slavery to

write _indelible_ sorrow, at a single dash, over the heart of a

child.



                _The tear down childhood's cheek that flows,

                Is like the dew-drop on the rose--

                When next the summer breeze comes by,

                And waves the bush--the flower is dry_.





There is, after all, but little difference in the measure of

contentment felt by the slave-child neglected and the

slaveholder's <31 COMPARATIVE HAPPINESS>child cared for and

petted.  The spirit of the All Just mercifully holds the balance

for the young.



The slaveholder, having nothing to fear from impotent childhood,

easily affords to refrain from cruel inflictions; and if cold and

hunger do not pierce the tender frame, the first seven or eight

years of the slave-boy's life are about as full of sweet content

as those of the most favored and petted _white_ children of the

slaveholder.  The slave-boy escapes many troubles which befall

and vex his white brother.  He seldom has to listen to lectures

on propriety of behavior, or on anything else.  He is never

chided for handling his little knife and fork improperly or

awkwardly, for he uses none.  He is never reprimanded for soiling

the table-cloth, for he takes his meals on the clay floor.  He

never has the misfortune, in his games or sports, of soiling or

tearing his clothes, for he has almost none to soil or tear.  He

is never expected to act like a nice little gentleman, for he is

only a rude little slave.  Thus, freed from all restraint, the

slave-boy can be, in his life and conduct, a genuine boy, doing

whatever his boyish nature suggests; enacting, by turns, all the

strange antics and freaks of horses, dogs, pigs, and barn-door

fowls, without in any manner compromising his dignity, or

incurring reproach of any sort.  He literally runs wild; has no

pretty little verses to learn in the nursery; no nice little

speeches to make for aunts, uncles, or cousins, to show how smart

he is; and, if he can only manage to keep out of the way of the

heavy feet and fists of the older slave boys, he may trot on, in

his joyous and roguish tricks, as happy as any little heathen

under the palm trees of Africa.  To be sure, he is occasionally

reminded, when he stumbles in the path of his master--and this he

early learns to avoid--that he is eating his _"white bread,"_ and

that he will be made to _"see sights"_ by-and-by.  The threat is

soon forgotten; the shadow soon passes, and our sable boy

continues to roll in the dust, or play in the mud, as bests suits

him, and in the veriest freedom.  If he feels uncomfortable, from

mud or from dust, the coast is clear; he can plunge into <32>the

river or the pond, without the ceremony of undressing, or the

fear of wetting his clothes; his little tow-linen shirt--for that

is all he has on--is easily dried; and it needed ablution as much

as did his skin.  His food is of the coarsest kind, consisting

for the most part of cornmeal mush, which often finds it way from

the wooden tray to his mouth in an oyster shell.  His days, when

the weather is warm, are spent in the pure, open air, and in the

bright sunshine.  He always sleeps in airy apartments; he seldom

has to take powders, or to be paid to swallow pretty little

sugar-coated pills, to cleanse his blood, or to quicken his

appetite.  He eats no candies; gets no lumps of loaf sugar;

always relishes his food; cries but little, for nobody cares for

his crying; learns to esteem his bruises but slight, because

others so esteem them.  In a word, he is, for the most part of

the first eight years of his life, a spirited, joyous,

uproarious, and happy boy, upon whom troubles fall only like

water on a duck's back.  And such a boy, so far as I can now

remember, was the boy whose life in slavery I am now narrating.







CHAPTER II

_Removed from My First Home_



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 <34>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 in <35

DEPARTURE FROM TUCKAHOE>comprehensible 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 <36>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 <37

BROTHERS AND SISTERS>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 <38>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.





CHAPTER III

_Parentage_



MY FATHER SHROUDED IN MYSTERY--MY MOTHER--HER PERSONAL

APPEARANCE--INTERFERENCE OF SLAVERY WITH THE NATURAL AFFECTIONS

OF MOTHER AND CHILDREN--SITUATION OF MY MOTHER--HER NIGHTLY

VISITS TO HER BOY--STRIKING INCIDENT--HER DEATH--HER PLACE OF

BURIAL.





If the reader will now be kind enough to allow me time to grow

bigger, and afford me an opportunity for my experience to become

greater, I will tell him something, by-and-by, of slave life, as

I saw, felt, and heard it, on Col. Edward Lloyd's plantation, and

at the house of old master, where I had now, despite of myself,

most suddenly, but not unexpectedly, been dropped.  Meanwhile, I

will redeem my promise to say something more of my dear mother.



I say nothing of _father_, for he is shrouded in a mystery I have

never been able to penetrate.  Slavery does away with fathers, as

it does away with families.  Slavery has no use for either

fathers or families, and its laws do not recognize their

existence in the social arrangements of the plantation.  When

they _do_ exist, they are not the outgrowths of slavery, but are

antagonistic to that system.  The order of civilization is

reversed here.  The name of the child is not expected to be that

of its father, and his condition does not necessarily affect that

of the child.  He may be the slave of Mr. Tilgman; and his child,

when born, may be the slave of Mr. Gross.  He may be a _freeman;_

and yet his child may be a _chattel_.  He may be white, glorying

in the purity of his Anglo-<40>Saxon blood; and his child may be

ranked with the blackest slaves.  Indeed, he _may_ be, and often

_is_, master and father to the same child.  He can be father

without being a husband, and may sell his child without incurring

reproach, if the child be by a woman in whose veins courses one

thirty-second part of African blood.  My father was a white man,

or nearly white.  It was sometimes whispered that my master was

my father.



But to return, or rather, to begin.  My knowledge of my mother is

very scanty, but very distinct.  Her personal appearance and

bearing are ineffaceably stamped upon my memory.  She was tall,

and finely proportioned; of deep black, glossy complexion; had

regular features, and, among the other slaves, was remarkably

sedate in her manners.  There is in _Prichard's Natural History

of Man_, the head of a figure--on page 157--the features of which

so resemble those of my mother, that I often recur to it with

something of the feeling which I suppose others experience when

looking upon the pictures of dear departed ones.



Yet I cannot say that I was very deeply attached to my mother;

certainly not so deeply as I should have been had our relations

in childhood been different.  We were separated, according to the

common custom, when I was but an infant, and, of course, before I

knew my mother from any one else.



The germs of affection with which the Almighty, in his wisdom and

mercy, arms the hopeless infant against the ills and vicissitudes

of his lot, had been directed in their growth toward that loving

old grandmother, whose gentle hand and kind deportment it was in

the first effort of my infantile understanding to comprehend and

appreciate.  Accordingly, the tenderest affection which a

beneficent Father allows, as a partial compensation to the mother

for the pains and lacerations of her heart, incident to the

maternal relation, was, in my case, diverted from its true and

natural object, by the envious, greedy, and treacherous hand of

slavery.  The slave-mother can be spared long enough from <41 MY

MOTHER>the field to endure all the bitterness of a mother's

anguish, when it adds another name to a master's ledger, but

_not_ long enough to receive the joyous reward afforded by the

intelligent smiles of her child.  I never think of this terrible

interference of slavery with my infantile affections, and its

diverting them from their natural course, without feelings to

which I can give no adequate expression.



I do not remember to have seen my mother at my grandmother's at

any time.  I remember her only in her visits to me at Col.

Lloyd's plantation, and in the kitchen of my old master.  Her

visits to me there were few in number, brief in duration, and

mostly made in the night.  The pains she took, and the toil she

endured, to see me, tells me that a true mother's heart was hers,

and that slavery had difficulty in paralyzing it with unmotherly

indifference.



My mother was hired out to a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve

miles from old master's, and, being a field hand, she seldom had

leisure, by day, for the performance of the journey.  The nights

and the distance were both obstacles to her visits.  She was

obliged to walk, unless chance flung into her way an opportunity

to ride; and the latter was sometimes her good luck.  But she

always had to walk one way or the other.  It was a greater luxury

than slavery could afford, to allow a black slave-mother a horse

or a mule, upon which to travel twenty-four miles, when she could

walk the distance.  Besides, it is deemed a foolish whim for a

slave-mother to manifest concern to see her children, and, in one

point of view, the case is made out--she can do nothing for them. 

She has no control over them; the master is even more than the

mother, in all matters touching the fate of her child.  Why,

then, should she give herself any concern?  She has no

responsibility.  Such is the reasoning, and such the practice. 

The iron rule of the plantation, always passionately and

violently enforced in that neighborhood, makes flogging the

penalty of <42>failing to be in the field before sunrise in the

morning, unless special permission be given to the absenting

slave.  "I went to see my child," is no excuse to the ear or

heart of the overseer.



One of the visits of my mother to me, while at Col. Lloyd's, I

remember very vividly, as affording a bright gleam of a mother's

love, and the earnestness of a mother's care.



"I had on that day offended "Aunt Katy," (called "Aunt" by way of

respect,) the cook of old master's establishment.  I do not now

remember the nature of my offense in this instance, for my

offenses were numerous in that quarter, greatly depending,

however, upon the mood of Aunt Katy, as to their heinousness; but

she had adopted, that day, her favorite mode of punishing me,

namely, making me go without food all day--that is, from after

breakfast.  The first hour or two after dinner, I succeeded

pretty well in keeping up my spirits; but though I made an

excellent stand against the foe, and fought bravely during the

afternoon, I knew I must be conquered at last, unless I got the

accustomed reenforcement of a slice of corn bread, at sundown. 

Sundown came, but _no bread_, and, in its stead, their came the

threat, with a scowl well suited to its terrible import, that she

"meant to _starve the life out of me!"_  Brandishing her knife,

she chopped off the heavy slices for the other children, and put

the loaf away, muttering, all the while, her savage designs upon

myself.  Against this disappointment, for I was expecting that

her heart would relent at last, I made an extra effort to

maintain my dignity; but when I saw all the other children around

me with merry and satisfied faces, I could stand it no longer.  I

went out behind the house, and cried like a fine fellow!  When

tired of this, I returned to the kitchen, sat by the fire, and

brooded over my hard lot.  I was too hungry to sleep.  While I

sat in the corner, I caught sight of an ear of Indian corn on an

upper shelf of the kitchen.  I watched my chance, and got it,

and, shelling off a few grains, I put it back again.  The grains

in my hand, I quickly put in some ashes, and covered them with

embers, to roast them.  All this I <43 "AUNT KATY">did at the

risk of getting a brutual thumping, for Aunt Katy could beat, as

well as starve me.  My corn was not long in roasting, and, with

my keen appetite, it did not matter even if the grains were not

exactly done.  I eagerly pulled them out, and placed them on my

stool, in a clever little pile.  Just as I began to help myself

to my very dry meal, in came my dear mother.  And now, dear

reader, a scene occurred which was altogether worth beholding,

and to me it was instructive as well as interesting.  The

friendless and hungry boy, in his extremest need--and when he did

not dare to look for succor--found himself in the strong,

protecting arms of a mother; a mother who was, at the moment

(being endowed with high powers of manner as well as matter) more

than a match for all his enemies.  I shall never forget the

indescribable expression of her countenance, when I told her that

I had had no food since morning; and that Aunt Katy said she

"meant to starve the life out of me."  There was pity in her

glance at me, and a fiery indignation at Aunt Katy at the same

time; and, while she took the corn from me, and gave me a large

ginger cake, in its stead, she read Aunt Katy a lecture which she

never forgot.  My mother threatened her with complaining to old

master in my behalf; for the latter, though harsh and cruel

himself, at times, did not sanction the meanness, injustice,

partiality and oppressions enacted by Aunt Katy in the kitchen. 

That night I learned the fact, that I was, not only a child, but

_somebody's_ child.  The "sweet cake" my mother gave me was in

the shape of a heart, with a rich, dark ring glazed upon the edge

of it.  I was victorious, and well off for the moment; prouder,

on my mother's knee, than a king upon his throne.  But my triumph

was short.  I dropped off to sleep, and waked in the morning only

to find my mother gone, and myself left at the mercy of the sable

virago, dominant in my old master's kitchen, whose fiery wrath

was my constant dread.



I do not remember to have seen my mother after this occurrence. 

Death soon ended the little communication that had <44>existed

between us; and with it, I believe, a life judging from her

weary, sad, down-cast countenance and mute demeanor--full of

heartfelt sorrow.  I was not allowed to visit her during any part

of her long illness; nor did I see her for a long time before she

was taken ill and died.  The heartless and ghastly form of

_slavery_ rises between mother and child, even at the bed of

death.  The mother, at the verge of the grave, may not gather her

children, to impart to them her holy admonitions, and invoke for

them her dying benediction.  The bond-woman lives as a slave, and

is left to die as a beast; often with fewer attentions than are

paid to a favorite horse.  Scenes of sacred tenderness, around

the death-bed, never forgotten, and which often arrest the

vicious and confirm the virtuous during life, must be looked for

among the free, though they sometimes occur among the slaves.  It

has been a life-long, standing grief to me, that I knew so little

of my mother; and that I was so early separated from her.  The

counsels of her love must have been beneficial to me.  The side

view of her face is imaged on my memory, and I take few steps in

life, without feeling her presence; but the image is mute, and I

have no striking words of her's treasured up.



I learned, after my mother's death, that she could read, and that

she was the _only_ one of all the slaves and colored people in

Tuckahoe who enjoyed that advantage.  How she acquired this

knowledge, I know not, for Tuckahoe is the last place in the

world where she would be apt to find facilities for learning.  I

can, therefore, fondly and proudly ascribe to her an earnest love

of knowledge.  That a "field hand" should learn to read, in any

slave state, is remarkable; but the achievement of my mother,

considering the place, was very extraordinary; and, in view of

that fact, I am quite willing, and even happy, to attribute any

love of letters I possess, and for which I have got--despite of

prejudices only too much credit, _not_ to my admitted Anglo-Saxon

paternity, but to the native genius of my sable, unprotected, and

uncultivated _mother_--a woman, who belonged to a race <45

PENALTY FOR HAVING A WHITE FATHER>whose mental endowments it is,

at present, fashionable to hold in disparagement and contempt.



Summoned away to her account, with the impassable gulf of slavery

between us during her entire illness, my mother died without

leaving me a single intimation of _who_ my father was.  There was

a whisper, that my master was my father; yet it was only a

whisper, and I cannot say that I ever gave it credence.  Indeed,

I now have reason to think he was not; nevertheless, the fact

remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that, by the laws of

slavery, children, in all cases, are reduced to the condition of

their mothers.  This arrangement admits of the greatest license

to brutal slaveholders, and their profligate sons, brothers,

relations and friends, and gives to the pleasure of sin, the

additional attraction of profit.  A whole volume might be written

on this single feature of slavery, as I have observed it.



One might imagine, that the children of such connections, would

fare better, in the hands of their masters, than other slaves. 

The rule is quite the other way; and a very little reflection

will satisfy the reader that such is the case.  A man who will

enslave his own blood, may not be safely relied on for

magnanimity.  Men do not love those who remind them of their sins

unless they have a mind to repent--and the mulatto child's face

is a standing accusation against him who is master and father to

the child.  What is still worse, perhaps, such a child is a

constant offense to the wife.  She hates its very presence, and

when a slaveholding woman hates, she wants not means to give that

hate telling effect.  Women--white women, I mean--are IDOLS at

the south, not WIVES, for the slave women are preferred in many

instances; and if these _idols_ but nod, or lift a finger, woe to

the poor victim: kicks, cuffs and stripes are sure to follow. 

Masters are frequently compelled to sell this class of their

slaves, out of deference to the feelings of their white wives;

and shocking and scandalous as it may seem for a man to sell his

own blood to the traffickers in human flesh, it is often an act

of humanity <46>toward the slave-child to be thus removed from

his merciless tormentors.



It is not within the scope of the design of my simple story, to

comment upon every phase of slavery not within my experience as a

slave.



But, I may remark, that, if the lineal descendants of Ham are

only to be enslaved, according to the scriptures, slavery in this

country will soon become an unscriptural institution; for

thousands are ushered into the world, annually, who--like

myself--owe their existence to white fathers, and, most

frequently, to their masters, and master's sons.  The slave-woman

is at the mercy of the fathers, sons or brothers of her master. 

The thoughtful know the rest.



After what I have now said of the circumstances of my mother, and

my relations to her, the reader will not be surprised, nor be

disposed to censure me, when I tell but the simple truth, viz:

that I received the tidings of her death with no strong emotions

of sorrow for her, and with very little regret for myself on

account of her loss.  I had to learn the value of my mother long

after her death, and by witnessing the devotion of other mothers

to their children.



There is not, beneath the sky, an enemy to filial affection so

destructive as slavery.  It had made my brothers and sisters

strangers to me; it converted the mother that bore me, into a

myth; it shrouded my father in mystery, and left me without an

intelligible beginning in the world.



My mother died when I could not have been more than eight or nine

years old, on one of old master's farms in Tuckahoe, in the

neighborhood of Hillsborough.  Her grave is, as the grave of the

dead at sea, unmarked, and without stone or stake.







CHAPTER IV

_A General Survey of the Slave Plantation_



ISOLATION OF LLOYD S PLANTATION--PUBLIC OPINION THERE NO

PROTECTION TO THE SLAVE--ABSOLUTE POWER OF THE OVERSEER--NATURAL

AND ARTIFICIAL CHARMS OF THE PLACE--ITS BUSINESS-LIKE

APPEARANCE--SUPERSTITION ABOUT THE BURIAL GROUND--GREAT IDEAS OF

COL. LLOYD--ETIQUETTE AMONG SLAVES--THE COMIC SLAVE DOCTOR--

PRAYING AND FLOGGING--OLD MASTER LOSING ITS TERRORS--HIS

BUSINESS--CHARACTER OF AUNT KATY--SUFFERINGS FROM HUNGER--OLD

MASTER'S HOME--JARGON OF THE PLANTATION--GUINEA SLAVES--MASTER

DANIEL--FAMILY OF COL. LLOYD--FAMILY OF CAPT. ANTHONY--HIS SOCIAL

POSITION--NOTIONS OF RANK AND STATION.





It is generally supposed that slavery, in the state of Maryland,

exists in its mildest form, and that it is totally divested of

those harsh and terrible peculiarities, which mark and

characterize the slave system, in the southern and south-western

states of the American union.  The argument in favor of this

opinion, is the contiguity of the free states, and the exposed

condition of slavery in Maryland to the moral, religious and

humane sentiment of the free states.



I am not about to refute this argument, so far as it relates to

slavery in that state, generally; on the contrary, I am willing

to admit that, to this general point, the arguments is well

grounded.  Public opinion is, indeed, an unfailing restraint upon

the cruelty and barbarity of masters, overseers, and slave-

drivers, whenever and wherever it can reach them; but there are

certain secluded and out-of-the-way places, even in the state of

Maryland, seldom visited by a single ray of healthy public

sentiment--<48>where slavery, wrapt in its own congenial,

midnight darkness, _can_, and _does_, develop all its malign and

shocking characteristics; where it can be indecent without shame,

cruel without shuddering, and murderous without apprehension or

fear of exposure.



Just such a secluded, dark, and out-of-the-way place, is the

"home plantation" of Col. Edward Lloyd, on the Eastern Shore,

Maryland.  It is far away from all the great thoroughfares, and

is proximate to no town or village.  There is neither school-

house, nor town-house in its neighborhood.  The school-house is

unnecessary, for there are no children to go to school.  The

children and grand-children of Col. Lloyd were taught in the

house, by a private tutor--a Mr. Page a tall, gaunt sapling of a

man, who did not speak a dozen words to a slave in a whole year. 

The overseers' children go off somewhere to school; and they,

therefore, bring no foreign or dangerous influence from abroad,

to embarrass the natural operation of the slave system of the

place.  Not even the mechanics--through whom there is an

occasional out-burst of honest and telling indignation, at

cruelty and wrong on other plantations--are white men, on this

plantation.  Its whole public is made up of, and divided into,

three classes--SLAVEHOLDERS, SLAVES and OVERSEERS.  Its

blacksmiths, wheelwrights, shoemakers, weavers, and coopers, are

slaves.  Not even commerce, selfish and iron-hearted at it is,

and ready, as it ever is, to side with the strong against the

weak--the rich against the poor--is trusted or permitted within

its secluded precincts.  Whether with a view of guarding against

the escape of its secrets, I know not, but it is a fact, the

every leaf and grain of the produce of this plantation, and those

of the neighboring farms belonging to Col. Lloyd, are transported

to Baltimore in Col. Lloyd's own vessels; every man and boy on

board of which--except the captain--are owned by him.  In return,

everything brought to the plantation, comes through the same

channel.  Thus, even the glimmering and unsteady light of trade,

which sometimes exerts a civilizing influence, is excluded from

this "tabooed" spot.

<49 SLAVES UNPROTECTED BY PUBLIC OPINION>



Nearly all the plantations or farms in the vicinity of the "home

plantation" of Col. Lloyd, belong to him; and those which do not,

are owned by personal friends of his, as deeply interested in

maintaining the slave system, in all its rigor, as Col. Lloyd

himself.  Some of his neighbors are said to be even more

stringent than he.  The Skinners, the Peakers, the Tilgmans, the

Lockermans, and the Gipsons, are in the same boat; being

slaveholding neighbors, they may have strengthened each other in

their iron rule.  They are on intimate terms, and their interests

and tastes are identical.



Public opinion in such a quarter, the reader will see, is not

likely to very efficient in protecting the slave from cruelty. 

On the contrary, it must increase and intensify his wrongs. 

Public opinion seldom differs very widely from public practice. 

To be a restraint upon cruelty and vice, public opinion must

emanate from a humane and virtuous community.  To no such humane

and virtuous community, is Col. Lloyd's plantation exposed.  That

plantation is a little nation of its own, having its own

language, its own rules, regulations and customs.  The laws and

institutions of the state, apparently touch it nowhere.  The

troubles arising here, are not settled by the civil power of the

state.  The overseer is generally accuser, judge, jury, advocate

and executioner.  The criminal is always dumb.  The overseer

attends to all sides of a case.



There are no conflicting rights of property, for all the people

are owned by one man; and they can themselves own no property. 

Religion and politics are alike excluded.  One class of the

population is too high to be reached by the preacher; and the

other class is too low to be cared for by the preacher.  The poor

have the gospel preached to them, in this neighborhood, only when

they are able to pay for it.  The slaves, having no money, get no

gospel.  The politician keeps away, because the people have no

votes, and the preacher keeps away, because the people have no

money.  The rich planter can afford to learn politics in the

parlor, and to dispense with religion altogether.

<50>



In its isolation, seclusion, and self-reliant independence, Col.

Lloyd's plantation resembles what the baronial domains were

during the middle ages in Europe.  Grim, cold, and unapproachable

by all genial influences from communities without, _there it

stands;_ full three hundred years behind the age, in all that

relates to humanity and morals.



This, however, is not the only view that the place presents. 

Civilization is shut out, but nature cannot be.  Though separated

from the rest of the world; though public opinion, as I have

said, seldom gets a chance to penetrate its dark domain; though

the whole place is stamped with its own peculiar, ironlike

individuality; and though crimes, high-handed and atrocious, may

there be committed, with almost as much impunity as upon the deck

of a pirate ship--it is, nevertheless, altogether, to outward

seeming, a most strikingly interesting place, full of life,

activity, and spirit; and presents a very favorable contrast to

the indolent monotony and languor of Tuckahoe.  Keen as was my

regret and great as was my sorrow at leaving the latter, I was

not long in adapting myself to this, my new home.  A man's

troubles are always half disposed of, when he finds endurance his

only remedy.  I found myself here; there was no getting away; and

what remained for me, but to make the best of it?  Here were

plenty of children to play with, and plenty of places of pleasant

resort for boys of my age, and boys older.  The little tendrils

of affection, so rudely and treacherously broken from around the

darling objects of my grandmother's hut, gradually began to

extend, and to entwine about the new objects by which I now found

myself surrounded.



There was a windmill (always a commanding object to a child's

eye) on Long Point--a tract of land dividing Miles river from the

Wye a mile or more from my old master's house.  There was a creek

to swim in, at the bottom of an open flat space, of twenty acres

or more, called "the Long Green"--a very beautiful play-ground

for the children.

<51 CHARMS OF THE PLACE>





In the river, a short distance from the shore, lying quietly at

anchor, with her small boat dancing at her stern, was a large

sloop--the Sally Lloyd; called by that name in honor of a

favorite daughter of the colonel.  The sloop and the mill were

wondrous things, full of thoughts and ideas.  A child cannot well

look at such objects without _thinking_.



Then here were a great many houses; human habitations, full of

the mysteries of life at every stage of it.  There was the little

red house, up the road, occupied by Mr. Sevier, the overseer.  A

little nearer to my old master's, stood a very long, rough, low

building, literally alive with slaves, of all ages, conditions

and sizes.  This was called "the Longe Quarter."  Perched upon a

hill, across the Long Green, was a very tall, dilapidated, old

brick building--the architectural dimensions of which proclaimed

its erection for a different purpose--now occupied by slaves, in

a similar manner to the Long Quarter.  Besides these, there were

numerous other slave houses and huts, scattered around in the

neighborhood, every nook and corner of which was completely

occupied.  Old master's house, a long, brick building, plain, but

substantial, stood in the center of the plantation life, and

constituted one independent establishment on the premises of Col.

Lloyd.



Besides these dwellings, there were barns, stables, store-houses,

and tobacco-houses; blacksmiths' shops, wheelwrights' shops,

coopers' shops--all objects of interest; but, above all, there

stood the grandest building my eyes had then ever beheld, called,

by every one on the plantation, the "Great House."  This was

occupied by Col. Lloyd and his family.  They occupied it; _I_

enjoyed it.  The great house was surrounded by numerous and

variously shaped out-buildings.  There were kitchens, wash-

houses, dairies, summer-house, green-houses, hen-houses, turkey-

houses, pigeon-houses, and arbors, of many sizes and devices, all

neatly painted, and altogether interspersed with grand old trees,

ornamental and primitive, which afforded delightful shade in

<52>summer, and imparted to the scene a high degree of stately

beauty.  The great house itself was a large, white, wooden

building, with wings on three sides of it.  In front, a large

portico, extending the entire length of the building, and

supported by a long range of columns, gave to the whole

establishment an air of solemn grandeur.  It was a treat to my

young and gradually opening mind, to behold this elaborate

exhibition of wealth, power, and vanity.  The carriage entrance

to the house was a large gate, more than a quarter of a mile

distant from it; the intermediate space was a beautiful lawn,

very neatly trimmed, and watched with the greatest care.  It was

dotted thickly over with delightful trees, shrubbery, and

flowers.  The road, or lane, from the gate to the great house,

was richly paved with white pebbles from the beach, and, in its

course, formed a complete circle around the beautiful lawn. 

Carriages going in and retiring from the great house, made the

circuit of the lawn, and their passengers were permitted to

behold a scene of almost Eden-like beauty.  Outside this select

inclosure, were parks, where as about the residences of the

English nobility--rabbits, deer, and other wild game, might be

seen, peering and playing about, with none to molest them or make

them afraid.  The tops of the stately poplars were often covered

with the red-winged black-birds, making all nature vocal with the

joyous life and beauty of their wild, warbling notes.  These all

belonged to me, as well as to Col. Edward Lloyd, and for a time I

greatly enjoyed them.



A short distance from the great house, were the stately mansions

of the dead, a place of somber aspect.  Vast tombs, embowered

beneath the weeping willow and the fir tree, told of the

antiquities of the Lloyd family, as well as of their wealth. 

Superstition was rife among the slaves about this family burying

ground.  Strange sights had been seen there by some of the older

slaves.  Shrouded ghosts, riding on great black horses, had been

seen to enter; balls of fire had been seen to fly there at

midnight, and horrid sounds had been repeatedly heard.  Slaves

know <53 WEALTH OF COLONEL LLOYD>enough of the rudiments of

theology to believe that those go to hell who die slaveholders;

and they often fancy such persons wishing themselves back again,

to wield the lash.  Tales of sights and sounds, strange and

terrible, connected with the huge black tombs, were a very great

security to the grounds about them, for few of the slaves felt

like approaching them even in the day time.  It was a dark,

gloomy and forbidding place, and it was difficult to feel that

the spirits of the sleeping dust there deposited, reigned with

the blest in the realms of eternal peace.



The business of twenty or thirty farms was transacted at this,

called, by way of eminence, "great house farm."  These farms all

belonged to Col. Lloyd, as did, also, the slaves upon them.  Each

farm was under the management of an overseer.  As I have said of

the overseer of the home plantation, so I may say of the

overseers on the smaller ones; they stand between the slave and

all civil constitutions--their word is law, and is implicitly

obeyed.



The colonel, at this time, was reputed to be, and he apparently

was, very rich.  His slaves, alone, were an immense fortune. 

These, small and great, could not have been fewer than one

thousand in number, and though scarcely a month passed without

the sale of one or more lots to the Georgia traders, there was no

apparent diminution in the number of his human stock: the home

plantation merely groaned at a removal of the young increase, or

human crop, then proceeded as lively as ever.  Horse-shoeing,

cart-mending, plow-repairing, coopering, grinding, and weaving,

for all the neighboring farms, were performed here, and slaves

were employed in all these branches.  "Uncle Tony" was the

blacksmith; "Uncle Harry" was the cartwright; "Uncle Abel" was

the shoemaker; and all these had hands to assist them in their

several departments.



These mechanics were called "uncles" by all the younger slaves,

not because they really sustained that relationship to any, but

according to plantation _etiquette_, as a mark of respect, due

<54>from the younger to the older slaves.  Strange, and even

ridiculous as it may seem, among a people so uncultivated, and

with so many stern trials to look in the face, there is not to be

found, among any people, a more rigid enforcement of the law of

respect to elders, than they maintain.  I set this down as partly

constitutional with my race, and partly conventional.  There is

no better material in the world for making a gentleman, than is

furnished in the African.  He shows to others, and exacts for

himself, all the tokens of respect which he is compelled to

manifest toward his master.  A young slave must approach the

company of the older with hat in hand, and woe betide him, if he

fails to acknowledge a favor, of any sort, with the accustomed

_"tank'ee,"_ &c.  So uniformly are good manners enforced among

slaves, I can easily detect a "bogus" fugitive by his manners.



Among other slave notabilities of the plantation, was one called

by everybody Uncle Isaac Copper.  It is seldom that a slave gets

a surname from anybody in Maryland; and so completely has the

south shaped the manners of the north, in this respect, that even

abolitionists make very little of the surname of a Negro.  The

only improvement on the "Bills," "Jacks," "Jims," and "Neds" of

the south, observable here is, that "William," "John," "James,"

"Edward," are substituted.  It goes against the grain to treat

and address a Negro precisely as they would treat and address a

white man.  But, once in a while, in slavery as in the free

states, by some extraordinary circumstance, the Negro has a

surname fastened to him, and holds it against all

conventionalities.  This was the case with Uncle Isaac Copper. 

When the "uncle" was dropped, he generally had the prefix

"doctor," in its stead.  He was our doctor of medicine, and

doctor of divinity as well.  Where he took his degree I am unable

to say, for he was not very communicative to inferiors, and I was

emphatically such, being but a boy seven or eight years old.  He

was too well established in his profession to permit questions as

to his native skill, or his attainments.  One qualification he

undoubtedly had--he <55 PRAYING AND FLOGGING>was a confirmed

_cripple;_ and he could neither work, nor would he bring anything

if offered for sale in the market.  The old man, though lame, was

no sluggard.  He was a man that made his crutches do him good

service.  He was always on the alert, looking up the sick, and

all such as were supposed to need his counsel.  His remedial

prescriptions embraced four articles.  For diseases of the body,

_Epsom salts and castor oil;_ for those of the soul, _the Lord's

Prayer_, and _hickory switches_!



I was not long at Col. Lloyd's before I was placed under the care

of Doctor Issac Copper.  I was sent to him with twenty or thirty

other children, to learn the "Lord's Prayer."  I found the old

gentleman seated on a huge three-legged oaken stool, armed with

several large hickory switches; and, from his position, he could

reach--lame as he was--any boy in the room.  After standing

awhile to learn what was expected of us, the old gentleman, in

any other than a devotional tone, commanded us to kneel down. 

This done, he commenced telling us to say everything he said. 

"Our Father"--this was repeated after him with promptness and

uniformity; "Who art in heaven"--was less promptly and uniformly

repeated; and the old gentleman paused in the prayer, to give us

a short lecture upon the consequences of inattention, both

immediate and future, and especially those more immediate.  About

these he was absolutely certain, for he held in his right hand

the means of bringing all his predictions and warnings to pass. 

On he proceeded with the prayer; and we with our thick tongues

and unskilled ears, followed him to the best of our ability. 

This, however, was not sufficient to please the old gentleman. 

Everybody, in the south, wants the privilege of whipping somebody

else.  Uncle Isaac shared the common passion of his country, and,

therefore, seldom found any means of keeping his disciples in

order short of flogging.  "Say everything I say;" and bang would

come the switch on some poor boy's undevotional head.  _"What you

looking at there"--"Stop that pushing"_--and down again would

come the lash.

<56>



The whip is all in all.  It is supposed to secure obedience to

the slaveholder, and is held as a sovereign remedy among the

slaves themselves, for every form of disobedience, temporal or

spiritual.  Slaves, as well as slaveholders, use it with an

unsparing hand.  Our devotions at Uncle Isaac's combined too much

of the tragic and comic, to make them very salutary in a

spiritual point of view; and it is due to truth to say, I was

often a truant when the time for attending the praying and

flogging of Doctor Isaac Copper came on.



The windmill under the care of Mr. Kinney, a kind hearted old

Englishman, was to me a source of infinite interest and pleasure. 

The old man always seemed pleased when he saw a troop of darkey

little urchins, with their tow-linen shirts fluttering in the

breeze, approaching to view and admire the whirling wings of his

wondrous machine.  From the mill we could see other objects of

deep interest.  These were, the vessels from St. Michael's, on

their way to Baltimore.  It was a source of much amusement to

view the flowing sails and complicated rigging, as the little

crafts dashed by, and to speculate upon Baltimore, as to the kind

and quality of the place.  With so many sources of interest

around me, the reader may be prepared to learn that I began to

think very highly of Col. L.'s plantation.  It was just a place

to my boyish taste.  There were fish to be caught in the creek,

if one only had a hook and line; and crabs, clams and oysters

were to be caught by wading, digging and raking for them.  Here

was a field for industry and enterprise, strongly inviting; and

the reader may be assured that I entered upon it with spirit.



Even the much dreaded old master, whose merciless fiat had

brought me from Tuckahoe, gradually, to my mind, parted with his

terrors.  Strange enough, his reverence seemed to take no

particular notice of me, nor of my coming.  Instead of leaping

out and devouring me, he scarcely seemed conscious of my

presence.  The fact is, he was occupied with matters more weighty

and important than either looking after or vexing me.  He

probably thought as <57 "OLD MASTER" LOSING ITS TERRORS>little of

my advent, as he would have thought of the addition of a single

pig to his stock!



As the chief butler on Col. Lloyd's plantation, his duties were

numerous and perplexing.  In almost all important matters he

answered in Col. Lloyd's stead.  The overseers of all the farms

were in some sort under him, and received the law from his mouth. 

The colonel himself seldom addressed an overseer, or allowed an

overseer to address him.  Old master carried the keys of all

store houses; measured out the allowance for each slave at the

end of every month; superintended the storing of all goods

brought to the plantation; dealt out the raw material to all the

handicraftsmen; shipped the grain, tobacco, and all saleable

produce of the plantation to market, and had the general

oversight of the coopers' shop, wheelwrights' shop, blacksmiths'

shop, and shoemakers' shop.  Besides the care of these, he often

had business for the plantation which required him to be absent

two and three days.



Thus largely employed, he had little time, and perhaps as little

disposition, to interfere with the children individually.  What

he was to Col. Lloyd, he made Aunt Katy to him.  When he had

anything to say or do about us, it was said or done in a

wholesale manner; disposing of us in classes or sizes, leaving

all minor details to Aunt Katy, a person of whom the reader has

already received no very favorable impression.  Aunt Katy was a

woman who never allowed herself to act greatly within the margin

of power granted to her, no matter how broad that authority might

be.  Ambitious, ill-tempered and cruel, she found in her present

position an ample field for the exercise of her ill-omened

qualities.  She had a strong hold on old master she was

considered a first rate cook, and she really was very

industrious.  She was, therefore, greatly favored by old master,

and as one mark of his favor, she was the only mother who was

permitted to retain her children around her.  Even to these

children she was often fiendish in her brutality.  She pursued

her son Phil, one day, in <58>my presence, with a huge butcher

knife, and dealt a blow with its edge which left a shocking gash

on his arm, near the wrist.  For this, old master did sharply

rebuke her, and threatened that if she ever should do the like

again, he would take the skin off her back.  Cruel, however, as

Aunt Katy was to her own children, at times she was not destitute

of maternal feeling, as I often had occasion to know, in the

bitter pinches of hunger I had to endure.  Differing from the

practice of Col. Lloyd, old master, instead of allowing so much

for each slave, committed the allowance for all to the care of

Aunt Katy, to be divided after cooking it, amongst us.  The

allowance, consisting of coarse corn-meal, was not very

abundant--indeed, it was very slender; and in passing through

Aunt Katy's hands, it was made more slender still, for some of

us.  William, Phil and Jerry were her children, and it is not to

accuse her too severely, to allege that she was often guilty of

starving myself and the other children, while she was literally

cramming her own.  Want of food was my chief trouble the first

summer at my old master's.  Oysters and clams would do very well,

with an occasional supply of bread, but they soon failed in the

absence of bread.  I speak but the simple truth, when I say, I

have often been so pinched with hunger, that I have fought with

the dog--"Old Nep"--for the smallest crumbs that fell from the

kitchen table, and have been glad when I won a single crumb in

the combat.  Many times have I followed, with eager step, the

waiting-girl when she went out to shake the table cloth, to get

the crumbs and small bones flung out for the cats.  The water, in

which meat had been boiled, was as eagerly sought for by me.  It

was a great thing to get the privilege of dipping a piece of

bread in such water; and the skin taken from rusty bacon, was a

positive luxury.  Nevertheless, I sometimes got full meals and

kind words from sympathizing old slaves, who knew my sufferings,

and received the comforting assurance that I should be a man some

day.  "Never mind, honey--better day comin'," was even then a

solace, a cheering consolation to me in my <59 JARGON OF THE

PLANTATION>troubles.  Nor were all the kind words I received from

slaves.  I had a friend in the parlor, as well, and one to whom I

shall be glad to do justice, before I have finished this part of

my story.



I was not long at old master's, before I learned that his surname

was Anthony, and that he was generally called "Captain Anthony"--

a title which he probably acquired by sailing a craft in the

Chesapeake Bay.  Col. Lloyd's slaves never called Capt. Anthony

"old master," but always Capt. Anthony; and _me_ they called

"Captain Anthony Fred."  There is not, probably, in the whole

south, a plantation where the English language is more

imperfectly spoken than on Col. Lloyd's.  It is a mixture of

Guinea and everything else you please.  At the time of which I am

now writing, there were slaves there who had been brought from

the coast of Africa.  They never used the "s" in indication of

the possessive case.  "Cap'n Ant'ney Tom," "Lloyd Bill," "Aunt

Rose Harry," means "Captain Anthony's Tom," "Lloyd's Bill," &c. 

_"Oo you dem long to?"_ means, "Whom do you belong to?" _"Oo dem

got any peachy?"_ means, "Have you got any peaches?"  I could

scarcely understand them when I first went among them, so broken

was their speech; and I am persuaded that I could not have been

dropped anywhere on the globe, where I could reap less, in the

way of knowledge, from my immediate associates, than on this

plantation.  Even "MAS' DANIEL," by his association with his

father's slaves, had measurably adopted their dialect and their

ideas, so far as they had ideas to be adopted.  The equality of

nature is strongly asserted in childhood, and childhood requires

children for associates.  _Color_ makes no difference with a

child.  Are you a child with wants, tastes and pursuits common to

children, not put on, but natural? then, were you black as ebony

you would be welcome to the child of alabaster whiteness.  The

law of compensation holds here, as well as elsewhere.  Mas'

Daniel could not associate with ignorance without sharing its

shade; and he could not give his black playmates his company,

without giving them his intelligence, as well.  Without knowing

<60>this, or caring about it, at the time, I, for some cause or

other, spent much of my time with Mas' Daniel, in preference to

spending it with most of the other boys.



Mas' Daniel was the youngest son of Col. Lloyd; his older

brothers were Edward and Murray--both grown up, and fine looking

men.  Edward was especially esteemed by the children, and by me

among the rest; not that he ever said anything to us or for us,

which could be called especially kind; it was enough for us, that

he never looked nor acted scornfully toward us.  There were also

three sisters, all married; one to Edward Winder; a second to

Edward Nicholson; a third to Mr. Lownes.



The family of old master consisted of two sons, Andrew and

Richard; his daughter, Lucretia, and her newly married husband,

Capt. Auld.  This was the house family.  The kitchen family

consisted of Aunt Katy, Aunt Esther, and ten or a dozen children,

most of them older than myself.  Capt. Anthony was not considered

a rich slaveholder, but was pretty well off in the world.  He

owned about thirty _"head"_ of slaves, and three farms in

Tuckahoe.  The most valuable part of his property was his slaves,

of whom he could afford to sell one every year.  This crop,

therefore, brought him seven or eight hundred dollars a year,

besides his yearly salary, and other revenue from his farms.



The idea of rank and station was rigidly maintained on Col.

Lloyd's plantation.  Our family never visited the great house,

and the Lloyds never came to our home.  Equal non-intercourse was

observed between Capt. Anthony's family and that of Mr. Sevier,

the overseer.



Such, kind reader, was the community, and such the place, in

which my earliest and most lasting impressions of slavery, and of

slave-life, were received; of which impressions you will learn

more in the coming chapters of this book.





CHAPTER V

_Gradual Initiation to the Mysteries of Slavery_



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 <62>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 <63

SUPPOSED OBTUSENESS OF SLAVE-CHILDREN>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 <64>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 <65 SLAVEHOLDERS IMPATIENCE>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

<66>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 <67 A HARROWING SCENE>

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 <68>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.







CHAPTER VI

_Treatment of Slaves on Lloyd's Plantation_



EARLY REFLECTIONS ON SLAVERY--PRESENTIMENT OF ONE DAY BEING A

FREEMAN--COMBAT BETWEEN AN OVERSEER AND A SLAVEWOMAN--THE

ADVANTAGES OF RESISTANCE--ALLOWANCE DAY ON THE HOME PLANTATION--

THE SINGING OF SLAVES--AN EXPLANATION--THE SLAVES FOOD AND

CLOTHING--NAKED CHILDREN--LIFE IN THE QUARTER--DEPRIVATION OF

SLEEP--NURSING CHILDREN CARRIED TO THE FIELD--DESCRIPTION OF THE

COWSKIN--THE ASH-CAKE--MANNER OF MAKING IT--THE DINNER HOUR--THE

CONTRAST.





The heart-rending incidents, related in the foregoing chapter,

led me, thus early, to inquire into the nature and history of

slavery.  _Why am I a slave?  Why are some people slaves, and

others masters?  Was there ever a time this was not so?  How did

the relation commence?_  These were the perplexing questions

which began now to claim my thoughts, and to exercise the weak

powers of my mind, for I was still but a child, and knew less

than children of the same age in the free states.  As my

questions concerning these things were only put to children a

little older, and little better informed than myself, I was not

rapid in reaching a solid footing.  By some means I learned from

these inquiries that _"God, up in the sky,"_ made every body; and

that he made _white_ people to be masters and mistresses, and

_black_ people to be slaves.  This did not satisfy me, nor lessen

my interest in the subject.  I was told, too, that God was good,

and that He knew what was best for me, and best for everybody. 

This was less satisfactory than the first statement; because it

came, point blank, against all my <70>notions of goodness.  It

was not good to let old master cut the flesh off Esther, and make

her cry so.  Besides, how did people know that God made black

people to be slaves?  Did they go up in the sky and learn it? or,

did He come down and tell them so?  All was dark here.  It was

some relief to my hard notions of the goodness of God, that,

although he made white men to be slaveholders, he did not make

them to be _bad_ slaveholders, and that, in due time, he would

punish the bad slaveholders; that he would, when they died, send

them to the bad place, where they would be "burnt up." 

Nevertheless, I could not reconcile the relation of slavery with

my crude notions of goodness.



Then, too, I found that there were puzzling exceptions to this

theory of slavery on both sides, and in the middle.  I knew of

blacks who were _not_ slaves; I knew of whites who were _not_

slaveholders; and I knew of persons who were _nearly_ white, who

were slaves.  _Color_, therefore, was a very unsatisfactory basis

for slavery.



Once, however, engaged in the inquiry, I was not very long in

finding out the true solution of the matter.  It was not _color_,

but _crime_, not _God_, but _man_, that afforded the true

explanation of the existence of slavery; nor was I long in

finding out another important truth, viz: what man can make, man

can unmake.  The appalling darkness faded away, and I was master

of the subject.  There were slaves here, direct from Guinea; and

there were many who could say that their fathers and mothers were

stolen from Africa--forced from their homes, and compelled to

serve as slaves.  This, to me, was knowledge; but it was a kind

of knowledge which filled me with a burning hatred of slavery,

increased my suffering, and left me without the means of breaking

away from my bondage.  Yet it was knowledge quite worth

possessing.  I could not have been more than seven or eight years

old, when I began to make this subject my study.  It was with me

in the woods and fields; along the shore of the river, and

wherever my boyish wanderings led me; and though I was, at that

time, <71 EARLY REFLECTIONS ON SLAVERY>quite ignorant of the

existence of the free states, I distinctly remember being, _even

then_, most strongly impressed with the idea of being a freeman

some day.  This cheering assurance was an inborn dream of my

human nature a constant menace to slavery--and one which all the

powers of slavery were unable to silence or extinguish.



Up to the time of the brutal flogging of my Aunt Esther--for she

was my own aunt--and the horrid plight in which I had seen my

cousin from Tuckahoe, who had been so badly beaten by the cruel

Mr. Plummer, my attention had not been called, especially, to the

gross features of slavery.  I had, of course, heard of whippings

and of savage _rencontres_ between overseers and slaves, but I

had always been out of the way at the times and places of their

occurrence.  My plays and sports, most of the time, took me from

the corn and tobacco fields, where the great body of the hands

were at work, and where scenes of cruelty were enacted and

witnessed.  But, after the whipping of Aunt Esther, I saw many

cases of the same shocking nature, not only in my master's house,

but on Col. Lloyd's plantation.  One of the first which I saw,

and which greatly agitated me, was the whipping of a woman

belonging to Col. Lloyd, named Nelly.  The offense alleged

against Nelly, was one of the commonest and most indefinite in

the whole catalogue of offenses usually laid to the charge of

slaves, viz: "impudence."  This may mean almost anything, or

nothing at all, just according to the caprice of the master or

overseer, at the moment.  But, whatever it is, or is not, if it

gets the name of "impudence," the party charged with it is sure

of a flogging.  This offense may be committed in various ways; in

the tone of an answer; in answering at all; in not answering; in

the expression of countenance; in the motion of the head; in the

gait, manner and bearing of the slave.  In the case under

consideration, I can easily believe that, according to all

slaveholding standards, here was a genuine instance of impudence. 

In Nelly there were all the necessary conditions for committing

the offense.  She was <72>a bright mulatto, the recognized wife

of a favorite "hand" on board Col. Lloyd's sloop, and the mother

of five sprightly children.  She was a vigorous and spirited

woman, and one of the most likely, on the plantation, to be

guilty of impudence.  My attention was called to the scene, by

the noise, curses and screams that proceeded from it; and, on

going a little in that direction, I came upon the parties engaged

in the skirmish.  Mr. Siever, the overseer, had hold of Nelly,

when I caught sight of them; he was endeavoring to drag her

toward a tree, which endeavor Nelly was sternly resisting; but to

no purpose, except to retard the progress of the overseer's

plans.  Nelly--as I have said--was the mother of five children;

three of them were present, and though quite small (from seven to

ten years old, I should think) they gallantly came to their

mother's defense, and gave the overseer an excellent pelting with

stones.  One of the little fellows ran up, seized the overseer by

the leg and bit him; but the monster was too busily engaged with

Nelly, to pay any attention to the assaults of the children. 

There were numerous bloody marks on Mr. Sevier's face, when I

first saw him, and they increased as the struggle went on.  The

imprints of Nelly's fingers were visible, and I was glad to see

them.  Amidst the wild screams of the children--"_Let my mammy

go"--"let my mammy go_"--there escaped, from between the teeth of

the bullet-headed overseer, a few bitter curses, mingled with

threats, that "he would teach the d--d b--h how to give a white

man impudence."  There is no doubt that Nelly felt herself

superior, in some respects, to the slaves around her.  She was a

wife and a mother; her husband was a valued and favorite slave. 

Besides, he was one of the first hands on board of the sloop, and

the sloop hands--since they had to represent the plantation

abroad--were generally treated tenderly.  The overseer never was

allowed to whip Harry; why then should he be allowed to whip

Harry's wife?  Thoughts of this kind, no doubt, influenced her;

but, for whatever reason, she nobly resisted, and, unlike most of

the slaves, <73 COMBAT BETWEEN MR. SEVIER AND NELLY>seemed

determined to make her whipping cost Mr. Sevier as much as

possible.  The blood on his (and her) face, attested her skill,

as well as her courage and dexterity in using her nails. 

Maddened by her resistance, I expected to see Mr. Sevier level

her to the ground by a stunning blow; but no; like a savage bull-

dog--which he resembled both in temper and appearance--he

maintained his grip, and steadily dragged his victim toward the

tree, disregarding alike her blows, and the cries of the children

for their mother's release.  He would, doubtless, have knocked

her down with his hickory stick, but that such act might have

cost him his place.  It is often deemed advisable to knock a

_man_ slave down, in order to tie him, but it is considered

cowardly and inexcusable, in an overseer, thus to deal with a

_woman_.  He is expected to tie her up, and to give her what is

called, in southern parlance, a "genteel flogging," without any

very great outlay of strength or skill.  I watched, with

palpitating interest, the course of the preliminary struggle, and

was saddened by every new advantage gained over her by the

ruffian.  There were times when she seemed likely to get the

better of the brute, but he finally overpowered her, and

succeeded in getting his rope around her arms, and in firmly

tying her to the tree, at which he had been aiming.  This done,

and Nelly was at the mercy of his merciless lash; and now, what

followed, I have no heart to describe.  The cowardly creature

made good his every threat; and wielded the lash with all the hot

zest of furious revenge.  The cries of the woman, while

undergoing the terrible infliction, were mingled with those of

the children, sounds which I hope the reader may never be called

upon to hear.  When Nelly was untied, her back was covered with

blood.  The red stripes were all over her shoulders.  She was

whipped--severely whipped; but she was not subdued, for she

continued to denounce the overseer, and to call him every vile

name.  He had bruised her flesh, but had left her invincible

spirit undaunted.  Such floggings are seldom repeated by the same

overseer.  They prefer to whip those <74>who are most easily

whipped.  The old doctrine that submission is the very best cure

for outrage and wrong, does not hold good on the slave

plantation.  He is whipped oftenest, who is whipped easiest; and

that slave who has the courage to stand up for himself against

the overseer, although he may have many hard stripes at the

first, becomes, in the end, a freeman, even though he sustain the

formal relation of a slave.  "You can shoot me but you can't whip

me," said a slave to Rigby Hopkins; and the result was that he

was neither whipped nor shot.  If the latter had been his fate,

it would have been less deplorable than the living and lingering

death to which cowardly and slavish souls are subjected.  I do

not know that Mr. Sevier ever undertook to whip Nelly again.  He

probably never did, for it was not long after his attempt to

subdue her, that he was taken sick, and died.  The wretched man

died as he had lived, unrepentant; and it was said--with how much

truth I know not--that in the very last hours of his life, his

ruling passion showed itself, and that when wrestling with death,

he was uttering horrid oaths, and flourishing the cowskin, as

though he was tearing the flesh off some helpless slave.  One

thing is certain, that when he was in health, it was enough to

chill the blood, and to stiffen the hair of an ordinary man, to

hear Mr. Sevier talk.  Nature, or his cruel habits, had given to

his face an expression of unusual savageness, even for a slave-

driver.  Tobacco and rage had worn his teeth short, and nearly

every sentence that escaped their compressed grating, was

commenced or concluded with some outburst of profanity.  His

presence made the field alike the field of blood, and of

blasphemy.  Hated for his cruelty, despised for his cowardice,

his death was deplored by no one outside his own house--if indeed

it was deplored there; it was regarded by the slaves as a

merciful interposition of Providence.  Never went there a man to

the grave loaded with heavier curses.  Mr. Sevier's place was

promptly taken by a Mr. Hopkins, and the change was quite a

relief, he being a very different man.  He was, in <75 ALLOWANCE

DAY AT THE HOME PLANTATION>all respects, a better man than his

predecessor; as good as any man can be, and yet be an overseer. 

His course was characterized by no extraordinary cruelty; and

when he whipped a slave, as he sometimes did, he seemed to take

no especial pleasure in it, but, on the contrary, acted as though

he felt it to be a mean business.  Mr. Hopkins stayed but a short

time; his place much to the regret of the slaves generally--was

taken by a Mr. Gore, of whom more will be said hereafter.  It is

enough, for the present, to say, that he was no improvement on

Mr. Sevier, except that he was less noisy and less profane.



I have already referred to the business-like aspect of Col.

Lloyd's plantation.  This business-like appearance was much

increased on the two days at the end of each month, when the

slaves from the different farms came to get their monthly

allowance of meal and meat.  These were gala days for the slaves,

and there was much rivalry among them as to _who_ should be

elected to go up to the great house farm for the allowance, and,

indeed, to attend to any business at this (for them) the capital. 

The beauty and grandeur of the place, its numerous slave

population, and the fact that Harry, Peter and Jake the sailors

of the sloop--almost always kept, privately, little trinkets

which they bought at Baltimore, to sell, made it a privilege to

come to the great house farm.  Being selected, too, for this

office, was deemed a high honor.  It was taken as a proof of

confidence and favor; but, probably, the chief motive of the

competitors for the place, was, a desire to break the dull

monotony of the field, and to get beyond the overseer's eye and

lash.  Once on the road with an ox team, and seated on the tongue

of his cart, with no overseer to look after him, the slave was

comparatively free; and, if thoughtful, he had time to think. 

Slaves are generally expected to sing as well as to work.  A

silent slave is not liked by masters or overseers.  _"Make a

noise," "make a noise,"_ and _"bear a hand,"_ are the words

usually addressed to the slaves when there is silence amongst

them.  This may account for the almost constant singing <76>heard

in the southern states.  There was, generally, more or less

singing among the teamsters, as it was one means of letting the

overseer know where they were, and that they were moving on with

the work.  But, on allowance day, those who visited the great

house farm were peculiarly excited and noisy.  While on their

way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around,

reverberate with their wild notes.  These were not always merry

because they were wild.  On the contrary, they were mostly of a

plaintive cast, and told a tale of grief and sorrow.  In the most

boisterous outbursts of rapturous sentiment, there was ever a

tinge of deep melancholy.  I have never heard any songs like

those anywhere since I left slavery, except when in Ireland. 

There I heard the same _wailing notes_, and was much affected by

them.  It was during the famine of 1845-6.  In all the songs of

the slaves, there was ever some expression in praise of the great

house farm; something which would flatter the pride of the owner,

and, possibly, draw a favorable glance from him.



            _I am going away to the great house farm,

            O yea!  O yea!  O yea!

            My old master is a good old master,

            O yea!  O yea!  O yea!_





This they would sing, with other words of their own improvising--

jargon to others, but full of meaning to themselves.  I have

sometimes thought, that the mere hearing of those songs would do

more to impress truly spiritual-minded men and women with the

soul-crushing and death-dealing character of slavery, than the

reading of whole volumes of its mere physical cruelties.  They

speak to the heart and to the soul of the thoughtful.  I cannot

better express my sense of them now, than ten years ago, when, in

sketching my life, I thus spoke of this feature of my plantation

experience:





I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meanings of those

rude, and apparently incoherent songs.  I was myself within the

circle, so that I neither saw or heard as those without might see

and hear.  They told a tale which was <77 SINGING OF SLAVES--AN

EXPLANATION>then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they

were tones, loud, long and deep, breathing the prayer and

complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. 

Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God

for deliverance from chains.  The hearing of those wild notes

always depressed my spirits, and filled my heart with ineffable

sadness.  The mere recurrence, even now, afflicts my spirit, and

while I am writing these lines, my tears are falling.  To those

songs I trace my first glimmering conceptions of the dehumanizing

character of slavery.  I can never get rid of that conception. 

Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and

quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds.  If any one

wishes to be impressed with a sense of the soul-killing power of

slavery, let him go to Col. Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance

day, place himself in the deep, pine woods, and there let him, in

silence, thoughtfully analyze the sounds that shall pass through

the chambers of his soul, and if he is not thus impressed, it

will only be because "there is no flesh in his obdurate heart."





The remark is not unfrequently made, that slaves are the most

contended and happy laborers in the world.  They dance and sing,

and make all manner of joyful noises--so they do; but it is a

great mistake to suppose them happy because they sing.  The songs

of the slave represent the sorrows, rather than the joys, of his

heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is

relieved by its tears.  Such is the constitution of the human

mind, that, when pressed to extremes, it often avails itself of

the most opposite methods.  Extremes meet in mind as in matter. 

When the slaves on board of the "Pearl" were overtaken, arrested,

and carried to prison--their hopes for freedom blasted--as they

marched in chains they sang, and found (as Emily Edmunson tells

us) a melancholy relief in singing.  The singing of a man cast

away on a desolate island, might be as appropriately considered

an evidence of his contentment and happiness, as the singing of a

slave.  Sorrow and desolation have their songs, as well as joy

and peace.  Slaves sing more to _make_ themselves happy, than to

express their happiness.



It is the boast of slaveholders, that their slaves enjoy more of

the physical comforts of life than the peasantry of any country

in the world.  My experience contradicts this.  The men and the

women slaves on Col. Lloyd's farm, received, as their monthly

<78>allowance of food, eight pounds of pickled pork, or their

equivalent in fish.  The pork was often tainted, and the fish was

of the poorest quality--herrings, which would bring very little

if offered for sale in any northern market.  With their pork or

fish, they had one bushel of Indian meal--unbolted--of which

quite fifteen per cent was fit only to feed pigs.  With this, one

pint of salt was given; and this was the entire monthly allowance

of a full grown slave, working constantly in the open field, from

morning until night, every day in the month except Sunday, and

living on a fraction more than a quarter of a pound of meat per

day, and less than a peck of corn-meal per week.  There is no

kind of work that a man can do which requires a better supply of

food to prevent physical exhaustion, than the field-work of a

slave.  So much for the slave's allowance of food; now for his

raiment.  The yearly allowance of clothing for the slaves on this

plantation, consisted of two tow-linen shirts--such linen as the

coarsest crash towels are made of; one pair of trowsers of the

same material, for summer, and a pair of trowsers and a jacket of

woolen, most slazily put together, for winter; one pair of yarn

stockings, and one pair of shoes of the coarsest description. 

The slave's entire apparel could not have cost more than eight

dollars per year.  The allowance of food and clothing for the

little children, was committed to their mothers, or to the older

slavewomen having the care of them.  Children who were unable to

work in the field, had neither shoes, stockings, jackets nor

trowsers given them.  Their clothing consisted of two coarse tow-

linen shirts--already described--per year; and when these failed

them, as they often did, they went naked until the next allowance

day.  Flocks of little children from five to ten years old, might

be seen on Col. Lloyd's plantation, as destitute of clothing as

any little heathen on the west coast of Africa; and this, not

merely during the summer months, but during the frosty weather of

March.  The little girls were no better off than the boys; all

were nearly in a state of nudity.

<79 THE SLAVES' FOOD AND CLOTHING>



As to beds to sleep on, they were known to none of the field

hands; nothing but a coarse blanket--not so good as those used in

the north to cover horses--was given them, and this only to the

men and women.  The children stuck themselves in holes and

corners, about the quarters; often in the corner of the huge

chimneys, with their feet in the ashes to keep them warm.  The

want of beds, however, was not considered a very great privation. 

Time to sleep was of far greater importance, for, when the day's

work is done, most of the slaves have their washing, mending and

cooking to do; and, having few or none of the ordinary facilities

for doing such things, very many of their sleeping hours are

consumed in necessary preparations for the duties of the coming

day.



The sleeping apartments--if they may be called such--have little

regard to comfort or decency.  Old and young, male and female,

married and single, drop down upon the common clay floor, each

covering up with his or her blanket,--the only protection they

have from cold or exposure.  The night, however, is shortened at

both ends.  The slaves work often as long as they can see, and

are late in cooking and mending for the coming day; and, at the

first gray streak of morning, they are summoned to the field by

the driver's horn.



More slaves are whipped for oversleeping than for any other

fault.  Neither age nor sex finds any favor.  The overseer stands

at the quarter door, armed with stick and cowskin, ready to whip

any who may be a few minutes behind time.  When the horn is

blown, there is a rush for the door, and the hindermost one is

sure to get a blow from the overseer.  Young mothers who worked

in the field, were allowed an hour, about ten o'clock in the

morning, to go home to nurse their children.  Sometimes they were

compelled to take their children with them, and to leave them in

the corner of the fences, to prevent loss of time in nursing

them.  The overseer generally rides about the field on horseback. 

A cowskin and a hickory stick are his constant companions.  The

<80>cowskin is a kind of whip seldom seen in the northern states. 

It is made entirely of untanned, but dried, ox hide, and is about

as hard as a piece of well-seasoned live oak.  It is made of

various sizes, but the usual length is about three feet.  The

part held in the hand is nearly an inch in thickness; and, from

the extreme end of the butt or handle, the cowskin tapers its

whole length to a point.  This makes it quite elastic and

springy.  A blow with it, on the hardest back, will gash the

flesh, and make the blood start.  Cowskins are painted red, blue

and green, and are the favorite slave whip.  I think this whip

worse than the "cat-o'nine-tails."  It condenses the whole

strength of the arm to a single point, and comes with a spring

that makes the air whistle.  It is a terrible instrument, and is

so handy, that the overseer can always have it on his person, and

ready for use.  The temptation to use it is ever strong; and an

overseer can, if disposed, always have cause for using it.  With

him, it is literally a word and a blow, and, in most cases, the

blow comes first.



As a general rule, slaves do not come to the quarters for either

breakfast or dinner, but take their "ash cake" with them, and eat

it in the field.  This was so on the home plantation; probably,

because the distance from the quarter to the field, was sometimes

two, and even three miles.



The dinner of the slaves consisted of a huge piece of ash cake,

and a small piece of pork, or two salt herrings.  Not having

ovens, nor any suitable cooking utensils, the slaves mixed their

meal with a little water, to such thickness that a spoon would

stand erect in it; and, after the wood had burned away to coals

and ashes, they would place the dough between oak leaves and lay

it carefully in the ashes, completely covering it; hence, the

bread is called ash cake.  The surface of this peculiar bread is

covered with ashes, to the depth of a sixteenth part of an inch,

and the ashes, certainly, do not make it very grateful to the

teeth, nor render it very palatable.  The bran, or coarse part of

the meal, is baked with the fine, and bright scales run through

the bread.  <81 THE CONTRAST>This bread, with its ashes and bran,

would disgust and choke a northern man, but it is quite liked by

the slaves.  They eat it with avidity, and are more concerned

about the quantity than about the quality.  They are far too

scantily provided for, and are worked too steadily, to be much

concerned for the quality of their food.  The few minutes allowed

them at dinner time, after partaking of their coarse repast, are

variously spent.  Some lie down on the "turning row," and go to

sleep; others draw together, and talk; and others are at work

with needle and thread, mending their tattered garments. 

Sometimes you may hear a wild, hoarse laugh arise from a circle,

and often a song.  Soon, however, the overseer comes dashing

through the field.  _"Tumble up!  Tumble up_, and to _work,

work,"_ is the cry; and, now, from twelve o'clock (mid-day) till

dark, the human cattle are in motion, wielding their clumsy hoes;

hurried on by no hope of reward, no sense of gratitude, no love

of children, no prospect of bettering their condition; nothing,

save the dread and terror of the slave-driver's lash.  So goes

one day, and so comes and goes another.



But, let us now leave the rough usage of the field, where vulgar

coarseness and brutal cruelty spread themselves and flourish,

rank as weeds in the tropics; where a vile wretch, in the shape

of a man, rides, walks, or struts about, dealing blows, and

leaving gashes on broken-spirited men and helpless women, for

thirty dollars per month--a business so horrible, hardening and

disgraceful, that, rather, than engage in it, a decent man would

blow his own brains out--and let the reader view with me the

equally wicked, but less repulsive aspects of slave life; where

pride and pomp roll luxuriously at ease; where the toil of a

thousand men supports a single family in easy idleness and sin. 

This is the great house; it is the home of the LLOYDS!  Some idea

of its splendor has already been given--and, it is here that we

shall find that height of luxury which is the opposite of that

depth of poverty and physical wretchedness that we have just now

been contemplating.  But, there is this difference in the two

extremes; <82>viz: that in the case of the slave, the miseries

and hardships of his lot are imposed by others, and, in the

master's case, they are imposed by himself.  The slave is a

subject, subjected by others; the slaveholder is a subject, but

he is the author of his own subjection.  There is more truth in

the saying, that slavery is a greater evil to the master than to

the slave, than many, who utter it, suppose.  The self-executing

laws of eternal justice follow close on the heels of the evil-

doer here, as well as elsewhere; making escape from all its

penalties impossible.  But, let others philosophize; it is my

province here to relate and describe; only allowing myself a word

or two, occasionally, to assist the reader in the proper

understanding of the facts narrated.







CHAPTER VII

_Life in the Great House_



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 <84>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 faith<85

HOUSE SERVANTS>fulness, 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 <86>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 <87 DECEPTIVE CHARACTER OF SLAVERY>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 <88>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 <89 A

HUMILIATING SPECTACLE>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, imme<90>diately 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

after<91 PENALTY FOR TELLING THE TRUTH>wards.  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 <92>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 <94>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 <95 AUSTIN GORE>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 <96>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 <97 HOW GORE MADE PEACE

WITH COL. LLOYD>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

<98>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 <99 NO LAW PROTECTS THE SLAVE>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 <100>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.







CHAPTER IX

_Personal Treatment_



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--<102>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.  <103 REALMS OF SUNLIGHT>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<104>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.

<105 REJOICED AT LEAVING THE PLANTATION>



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, stran<106>gers 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,

<107 ARRIVAL AT BALTIMORE>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,

<108>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

<109 A TURNING POINT IN MY HISTORY>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.





CHAPTER X

_Life in Baltimore_



CITY ANNOYANCES--PLANTATION REGRETS--MY MISTRESS, MISS SOPHA--HER

HISTORY--HER KINDNESS TO ME--MY MASTER, HUGH AULD--HIS SOURNESS--

MY INCREASED SENSITIVENESS--MY COMFORTS--MY OCCUPATION--THE

BANEFUL EFFECTS OF SLAVEHOLDING ON MY DEAR AND GOOD MISTRESS--HOW

SHE COMMENCED TEACHING ME TO READ--WHY SHE CEASED TEACHING ME--

CLOUDS GATHERING OVER MY BRIGHT PROSPECTS--MASTER AULD'S

EXPOSITION OF THE TRUE PHILOSOPHY OF SLAVERY--CITY SLAVES--

PLANTATION SLAVES--THE CONTRAST--EXCEPTIONS--MR. HAMILTON'S TWO

SLAVES, HENRIETTA AND MARY--MRS. HAMILTON'S CRUEL TREATMENT OF

THEM--THE PITEOUS ASPECT THEY PRESENTED--NO POWER MUST COME

BETWEEN THE SLAVE AND THE SLAVEHOLDER.





Once in Baltimore, with hard brick pavements under my feet, which

almost raised blisters, by their very heat, for it was in the

height of summer; walled in on all sides by towering brick

buildings; with troops of hostile boys ready to pounce upon me at

every street corner; with new and strange objects glaring upon me

at every step, and with startling sounds reaching my ears from

all directions, I for a time thought that, after all, the home

plantation was a more desirable place of residence than my home

on Alliciana street, in Baltimore.  My country eyes and ears were

confused and bewildered here; but the boys were my chief trouble. 

They chased me, and called me _"Eastern Shore man,"_ till really

I almost wished myself back on the Eastern Shore.  I had to

undergo a sort of moral acclimation, and when that was over, I

did much better.  My new mistress happily proved to be all she

_seemed_ to be, when, with her husband, she met me at <111

KINDNESS OF MY NEW MISTRESS>the door, with a most beaming,

benignant countenance.  She was, naturally, of an excellent

disposition, kind, gentle and cheerful.  The supercilious

contempt for the rights and feelings of the slave, and the

petulance and bad humor which generally characterize slaveholding

ladies, were all quite absent from kind "Miss" Sophia's manner

and bearing toward me.  She had, in truth, never been a

slaveholder, but had--a thing quite unusual in the south--

depended almost entirely upon her own industry for a living.  To

this fact the dear lady, no doubt, owed the excellent

preservation of her natural goodness of heart, for slavery can

change a saint into a sinner, and an angel into a demon.  I

hardly knew how to behave toward "Miss Sopha," as I used to call

Mrs. Hugh Auld.  I had been treated as a _pig_ on the plantation;

I was treated as a _child_ now.  I could not even approach her as

I had formerly approached Mrs. Thomas Auld.  How could I hang

down my head, and speak with bated breath, when there was no

pride to scorn me, no coldness to repel me, and no hatred to

inspire me with fear?  I therefore soon learned to regard her as

something more akin to a mother, than a slaveholding mistress. 

The crouching servility of a slave, usually so acceptable a

quality to the haughty slaveholder, was not understood nor

desired by this gentle woman.  So far from deeming it impudent in

a slave to look her straight in the face, as some slaveholding

ladies do, she seemed ever to say, "look up, child; don't be

afraid; see, I am full of kindness and good will toward you." 

The hands belonging to Col. Lloyd's sloop, esteemed it a great

privilege to be the bearers of parcels or messages to my new

mistress; for whenever they came, they were sure of a most kind

and pleasant reception.  If little Thomas was her son, and her

most dearly beloved child, she, for a time, at least, made me

something like his half-brother in her affections.  If dear Tommy

was exalted to a place on his mother's knee, "Feddy" was honored

by a place at his mother's side.  Nor did he lack the caressing

strokes of her gentle hand, to convince him that, though

_motherless_, he was not _friendless_.  Mrs. Auld <112>was not

only a kind-hearted woman, but she was remarkably pious; frequent

in her attendance of public worship, much given to reading the

bible, and to chanting hymns of praise, when alone.  Mr. Hugh

Auld was altogether a different character.  He cared very little

about religion, knew more of the world, and was more of the

world, than his wife.  He set out, doubtless to be--as the world

goes--a respectable man, and to get on by becoming a successful

ship builder, in that city of ship building.  This was his

ambition, and it fully occupied him.  I was, of course, of very

little consequence to him, compared with what I was to good Mrs.

Auld; and, when he smiled upon me, as he sometimes did, the smile

was borrowed from his lovely wife, and, like all borrowed light,

was transient, and vanished with the source whence it was

derived.  While I must characterize Master Hugh as being a very

sour man, and of forbidding appearance, it is due to him to

acknowledge, that he was never very cruel to me, according to the

notion of cruelty in Maryland.  The first year or two which I

spent in his house, he left me almost exclusively to the

management of his wife.  She was my law-giver.  In hands so

tender as hers, and in the absence of the cruelties of the

plantation, I became, both physically and mentally, much more

sensitive to good and ill treatment; and, perhaps, suffered more

from a frown from my mistress, than I formerly did from a cuff at

the hands of Aunt Katy.  Instead of the cold, damp floor of my

old master's kitchen, I found myself on carpets; for the corn bag

in winter, I now had a good straw bed, well furnished with

covers; for the coarse corn-meal in the morning, I now had good

bread, and mush occasionally; for my poor tow-lien shirt,

reaching to my knees, I had good, clean clothes.  I was really

well off.  My employment was to run errands, and to take care of

Tommy; to prevent his getting in the way of carriages, and to

keep him out of harm's way generally.  Tommy, and I, and his

mother, got on swimmingly together, for a time.  I say _for a

time_, because the fatal poison of irresponsible power, and the

natural influence <113 LEARNING TO READ>of slavery customs, were

not long in making a suitable impression on the gentle and loving

disposition of my excellent mistress.  At first, Mrs. Auld

evidently regarded me simply as a child, like any other child;

she had not come to regard me as _property_.  This latter thought

was a thing of conventional growth.  The first was natural and

spontaneous.  A noble nature, like hers, could not, instantly, be

wholly perverted; and it took several years to change the natural

sweetness of her temper into fretful bitterness.  In her worst

estate, however, there were, during the first seven years I lived

with her, occasional returns of her former kindly disposition.



The frequent hearing of my mistress reading the bible for she

often read aloud when her husband was absent soon awakened my

curiosity in respect to this _mystery_ of reading, and roused in

me the desire to learn.  Having no fear of my kind mistress

before my eyes, (she had then given me no reason to fear,) I

frankly asked her to teach me to read; and, without hesitation,

the dear woman began the task, and very soon, by her assistance,

I was master of the alphabet, and could spell words of three or

four letters.  My mistress seemed almost as proud of my progress,

as if I had been her own child; and, supposing that her husband

would be as well pleased, she made no secret of what she was

doing for me.  Indeed, she exultingly told him of the aptness of

her pupil, of her intention to persevere in teaching me, and of

the duty which she felt it to teach me, at least to read _the

bible_.  Here arose the first cloud over my Baltimore prospects,

the precursor of drenching rains and chilling blasts.



Master Hugh was amazed at the simplicity of his spouse, and,

probably for the first time, he unfolded to her the true

philosophy of slavery, and the peculiar rules necessary to be

observed by masters and mistresses, in the management of their

human chattels.  Mr. Auld promptly forbade continuance of her

instruction; telling her, in the first place, that the thing

itself was unlawful; that it was also unsafe, and could only lead

to mischief.  To use <114>his own words, further, he said, "if

you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell;" "he should know

nothing but the will of his master, and learn to obey it."  "if

you teach that nigger--speaking of myself--how to read the bible,

there will be no keeping him;" "it would forever unfit him for

the duties of a slave;" and "as to himself, learning would do him

no good, but probably, a great deal of harm--making him

disconsolate and unhappy."  "If you learn him now to read, he'll

want to know how to write; and, this accomplished, he'll be

running away with himself."  Such was the tenor of Master Hugh's

oracular exposition of the true philosophy of training a human

chattel; and it must be confessed that he very clearly

comprehended the nature and the requirements of the relation of

master and slave.  His discourse was the first decidedly anti-

slavery lecture to which it had been my lot to listen.  Mrs. Auld

evidently felt the force of his remarks; and, like an obedient

wife, began to shape her course in the direction indicated by her

husband.  The effect of his words, _on me_, was neither slight

nor transitory.  His iron sentences--cold and harsh--sunk deep

into my heart, and stirred up not only my feelings into a sort of

rebellion, but awakened within me a slumbering train of vital

thought.  It was a new and special revelation, dispelling a

painful mystery, against which my youthful understanding had

struggled, and struggled in vain, to wit: the _white_ man's power

to perpetuate the enslavement of the _black_ man.  "Very well,"

thought I; "knowledge unfits a child to be a slave."  I

instinctively assented to the proposition; and from that moment I

understood the direct pathway from slavery to freedom.  This was

just what I needed; and I got it at a time, and from a source,

whence I least expected it.  I was saddened at the thought of

losing the assistance of my kind mistress; but the information,

so instantly derived, to some extent compensated me for the loss

I had sustained in this direction.  Wise as Mr. Auld was, he

evidently underrated my comprehension, and had little idea of the

use to which I was capable of putting <115 CITY SLAVES AND

COUNTRYSLAVES>the impressive lesson he was giving to his wife. 

_He_ wanted me to be _a slave;_ I had already voted against that

on the home plantation of Col. Lloyd.  That which he most loved I

most hated; and the very determination which he expressed to keep

me in ignorance, only rendered me the more resolute in seeking

intelligence.  In learning to read, therefore, I am not sure that

I do not owe quite as much to the opposition of my master, as to

the kindly assistance of my amiable mistress.  I acknowledge the

benefit rendered me by the one, and by the other; believing, that

but for my mistress, I might have grown up in ignorance.



I had resided but a short time in Baltimore, before I observed a

marked difference in the manner of treating slaves, generally,

from which I had witnessed in that isolated and out-of-the-way

part of the country where I began life.  A city slave is almost a

free citizen, in Baltimore, compared with a slave on Col. Lloyd's

plantation.  He is much better fed and clothed, is less dejected

in his appearance, and enjoys privileges altogether unknown to

the whip-driven slave on the plantation.  Slavery dislikes a

dense population, in which there is a majority of non-

slaveholders.  The general sense of decency that must pervade

such a population, does much to check and prevent those outbreaks

of atrocious cruelty, and those dark crimes without a name,

almost openly perpetrated on the plantation.  He is a desperate

slaveholder who will shock the humanity of his non-slaveholding

neighbors, by the cries of the lacerated slaves; and very few in

the city are willing to incur the odium of being cruel masters. 

I found, in Baltimore, that no man was more odious to the white,

as well as to the colored people, than he, who had the reputation

of starving his slaves.  Work them, flog them, if need be, but

don't starve them.  These are, however, some painful exceptions

to this rule.  While it is quite true that most of the

slaveholders in Baltimore feed and clothe their slaves well,

there are others who keep up their country cruelties in the city.



An instance of this sort is furnished in the case of a family

<116>who lived directly opposite to our house, and were named

Hamilton.  Mrs. Hamilton owned two slaves.  Their names were

Henrietta and Mary.  They had always been house slaves.  One was

aged about twenty-two, and the other about fourteen.  They were a

fragile couple by nature, and the treatment they received was

enough to break down the constitution of a horse.  Of all the

dejected, emaciated, mangled and excoriated creatures I ever saw,

those two girls--in the refined, church going and Christian city

of Baltimore were the most deplorable.  Of stone must that heart

be made, that could look upon Henrietta and Mary, without being

sickened to the core with sadness.  Especially was Mary a heart-

sickening object.  Her head, neck and shoulders, were literally

cut to pieces.  I have frequently felt her head, and found it

nearly covered over with festering sores, caused by the lash of

her cruel mistress.  I do not know that her master ever whipped

her, but I have often been an eye witness of the revolting and

brutal inflictions by Mrs. Hamilton; and what lends a deeper

shade to this woman's conduct, is the fact, that, almost in the

very moments of her shocking outrages of humanity and decency,

she would charm you by the sweetness of her voice and her seeming

piety.  She used to sit in a large rocking chair, near the middle

of the room, with a heavy cowskin, such as I have elsewhere

described; and I speak within the truth when I say, that these

girls seldom passed that chair, during the day, without a blow

from that cowskin, either upon their bare arms, or upon their

shoulders.  As they passed her, she would draw her cowskin and

give them a blow, saying, _"move faster, you black jip!"_ and,

again, _"take that, you black jip!"_ continuing, _"if you don't

move faster, I will give you more."_  Then the lady would go on,

singing her sweet hymns, as though her _righteous_ soul were

sighing for the holy realms of paradise.



Added to the cruel lashings to which these poor slave-girls were

subjected--enough in themselves to crush the spirit of men--they

were, really, kept nearly half starved; they seldom knew <117

MRS. HAMILTON'S CRUELTY TO HER SLAVES>what it was to eat a full

meal, except when they got it in the kitchens of neighbors, less

mean and stingy than the psalm-singing Mrs. Hamilton.  I have

seen poor Mary contending for the offal, with the pigs in the

street.  So much was the poor girl pinched, kicked, cut and

pecked to pieces, that the boys in the street knew her only by

the name of _"pecked,"_ a name derived from the scars and

blotches on her neck, head and shoulders.



It is some relief to this picture of slavery in Baltimore, to

say--what is but the simple truth--that Mrs. Hamilton's treatment

of her slaves was generally condemned, as disgraceful and

shocking; but while I say this, it must also be remembered, that

the very parties who censured the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton, would

have condemned and promptly punished any attempt to interfere

with Mrs. Hamilton's _right_ to cut and slash her slaves to

pieces.  There must be no force between the slave and the

slaveholder, to restrain the power of the one, and protect the

weakness of the other; and the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton is as

justly chargeable to the upholders of the slave system, as

drunkenness is chargeable on those who, by precept and example,

or by indifference, uphold the drinking system.







CHAPTER XI

_"A Change Came O'er the Spirit of My Dream"_



HOW I LEARNED TO READ--MY MISTRESS--HER SLAVEHOLDING DUTIES--

THEIR DEPLORABLE EFFECTS UPON HER ORIGINALLY NOBLE NATURE--THE

CONFLICT IN HER MIND--HER FINAL OPPOSITION TO MY LEARNING TO

READ--TOO LATE--SHE HAD GIVEN ME THE INCH, I WAS RESOLVED TO TAKE

THE ELL--HOW I PURSUED MY EDUCATION--MY TUTORS--HOW I COMPENSATED

THEM--WHAT PROGRESS I MADE--SLAVERY--WHAT I HEARD SAID ABOUT IT--

THIRTEEN YEARS OLD--THE _Columbian Orator_--A RICH SCENE--A

DIALOGUE--SPEECHES OF CHATHAM, SHERIDAN, PITT AND FOX--KNOWLEDGE

EVER INCREASING--MY EYES OPENED--LIBERTY--HOW I PINED FOR IT--MY

SADNESS--THE DISSATISFACTION OF MY POOR MISTRESS--MY HATRED OF

SLAVERY--ONE UPAS TREE OVERSHADOWED US BOTH.





I lived in the family of Master Hugh, at Baltimore, seven years,

during which time--as the almanac makers say of the weather--my

condition was variable.  The most interesting feature of my

history here, was my learning to read and write, under somewhat

marked disadvantages.  In attaining this knowledge, I was

compelled to resort to indirections by no means congenial to my

nature, and which were really humiliating to me.  My mistress--

who, as the reader has already seen, had begun to teach me was

suddenly checked in her benevolent design, by the strong advice

of her husband.  In faithful compliance with this advice, the

good lady had not only ceased to instruct me, herself, but had

set her face as a flint against my learning to read by any means. 

It is due, however, to my mistress to say, that she did not adopt

this course in all its stringency at the first.  She either

thought it unnecessary, or she lacked the depravity indispensable

to shutting me up in <119 EFFECTS OF SLAVEHOLDING ON MY

MISTRESS>mental darkness.  It was, at least, necessary for her to

have some training, and some hardening, in the exercise of the

slaveholder's prerogative, to make her equal to forgetting my

human nature and character, and to treating me as a thing

destitute of a moral or an intellectual nature.  Mrs. Auld--my

mistress--was, as I have said, a most kind and tender-hearted

woman; and, in the humanity of her heart, and the simplicity of

her mind, she set out, when I first went to live with her, to

treat me as she supposed one human being ought to treat another.



It is easy to see, that, in entering upon the duties of a

slaveholder, some little experience is needed.  Nature has done

almost nothing to prepare men and women to be either slaves or

slaveholders.  Nothing but rigid training, long persisted in, can

perfect the character of the one or the other.  One cannot easily

forget to love freedom; and it is as hard to cease to respect

that natural love in our fellow creatures.  On entering upon the

career of a slaveholding mistress, Mrs. Auld was singularly

deficient; nature, which fits nobody for such an office, had done

less for her than any lady I had known.  It was no easy matter to

induce her to think and to feel that the curly-headed boy, who

stood by her side, and even leaned on her lap; who was loved by

little Tommy, and who loved little Tommy in turn; sustained to

her only the relation of a chattel.  I was _more_ than that, and

she felt me to be more than that.  I could talk and sing; I could

laugh and weep; I could reason and remember; I could love and

hate.  I was human, and she, dear lady, knew and felt me to be

so.  How could she, then, treat me as a brute, without a mighty

struggle with all the noble powers of her own soul.  That

struggle came, and the will and power of the husband was

victorious.  Her noble soul was overthrown; but, he that

overthrew it did not, himself, escape the consequences.  He, not

less than the other parties, was injured in his domestic peace by

the fall.



When I went into their family, it was the abode of happiness and

contentment.  The mistress of the house was a model of

affec<120>tion and tenderness.  Her fervent piety and watchful

uprightness made it impossible to see her without thinking and

feeling--"_that woman is a Christian_."  There was no sorrow nor

suffering for which she had not a tear, and there was no innocent

joy for which she did not a smile.  She had bread for the hungry,

clothes for the naked, and comfort for every mourner that came

within her reach.  Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her

of these excellent qualities, and her home of its early

happiness.  Conscience cannot stand much violence.  Once

thoroughly broken down, _who_ is he that can repair the damage? 

It may be broken toward the slave, on Sunday, and toward the

master on Monday.  It cannot endure such shocks.  It must stand

entire, or it does not stand at all.  If my condition waxed bad,

that of the family waxed not better.  The first step, in the

wrong direction, was the violence done to nature and to

conscience, in arresting the benevolence that would have

enlightened my young mind.  In ceasing to instruct me, she must

begin to justify herself _to_ herself; and, once consenting to

take sides in such a debate, she was riveted to her position. 

One needs very little knowledge of moral philosophy, to see

_where_ my mistress now landed.  She finally became even more

violent in her opposition to my learning to read, than was her

husband himself.  She was not satisfied with simply doing as

_well_ as her husband had commanded her, but seemed resolved to

better his instruction.  Nothing appeared to make my poor

mistress--after her turning toward the downward path--more angry,

than seeing me, seated in some nook or corner, quietly reading a

book or a newspaper.  I have had her rush at me, with the utmost

fury, and snatch from my hand such newspaper or book, with

something of the wrath and consternation which a traitor might be

supposed to feel on being discovered in a plot by some dangerous

spy.



Mrs. Auld was an apt woman, and the advice of her husband, and

her own experience, soon demonstrated, to her entire

satisfaction, that education and slavery are incompatible with

each other.  When this conviction was thoroughly established, I

was <121 HOW I PURSUED MY EDUCATION>most narrowly watched in all

my movements.  If I remained in a separate room from the family

for any considerable length of time, I was sure to be suspected

of having a book, and was at once called upon to give an account

of myself.  All this, however, was entirely _too late_.  The

first, and never to be retraced, step had been taken.  In

teaching me the alphabet, in the days of her simplicity and

kindness, my mistress had given me the _"inch,"_ and now, no

ordinary precaution could prevent me from taking the _"ell."_



Seized with a determination to learn to read, at any cost, I hit

upon many expedients to accomplish the desired end.  The plea

which I mainly adopted, and the one by which I was most

successful, was that of using my young white playmates, with whom

I met in the streets as teachers.  I used to carry, almost

constantly, a copy of Webster's spelling book in my pocket; and,

when sent of errands, or when play time was allowed me, I would

step, with my young friends, aside, and take a lesson in

spelling.  I generally paid my _tuition fee_ to the boys, with

bread, which I also carried in my pocket.  For a single biscuit,

any of my hungry little comrades would give me a lesson more

valuable to me than bread.  Not every one, however, demanded this

consideration, for there were those who took pleasure in teaching

me, whenever I had a chance to be taught by them.  I am strongly

tempted to give the names of two or three of those little boys,

as a slight testimonial of the gratitude and affection I bear

them, but prudence forbids; not that it would injure me, but it

might, possibly, embarrass them; for it is almost an unpardonable

offense to do any thing, directly or indirectly, to promote a

slave's freedom, in a slave state.  It is enough to say, of my

warm-hearted little play fellows, that they lived on Philpot

street, very near Durgin & Bailey's shipyard.



Although slavery was a delicate subject, and very cautiously

talked about among grown up people in Maryland, I frequently

talked about it--and that very freely--with the white boys.  I

<122>would, sometimes, say to them, while seated on a curb stone

or a cellar door, "I wish I could be free, as you will be when

you get to be men."  "You will be free, you know, as soon as you

are twenty-one, and can go where you like, but I am a slave for

life.  Have I not as good a right to be free as you have?"  Words

like these, I observed, always troubled them; and I had no small

satisfaction in wringing from the boys, occasionally, that fresh

and bitter condemnation of slavery, that springs from nature,

unseared and unperverted.  Of all consciences let me have those

to deal with which have not been bewildered by the cares of life. 

I do not remember ever to have met with a _boy_, while I was in

slavery, who defended the slave system; but I have often had boys

to console me, with the hope that something would yet occur, by

which I might be made free.  Over and over again, they have told

me, that "they believed I had as good a right to be free as

_they_ had;" and that "they did not believe God ever made any one

to be a slave."  The reader will easily see, that such little

conversations with my play fellows, had no tendency to weaken my

love of liberty, nor to render me contented with my condition as

a slave.



When I was about thirteen years old, and had succeeded in

learning to read, every increase of knowledge, especially

respecting the FREE STATES, added something to the almost

intolerable burden of the thought--I AM A SLAVE FOR LIFE.  To my

bondage I saw no end.  It was a terrible reality, and I shall

never be able to tell how sadly that thought chafed my young

spirit.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, about this time in my

life, I had made enough money to buy what was then a very popular

school book, viz: the _Columbian Orator_.  I bought this addition

to my library, of Mr. Knight, on Thames street, Fell's Point,

Baltimore, and paid him fifty cents for it.  I was first led to

buy this book, by hearing some little boys say they were going to

learn some little pieces out of it for the Exhibition.  This

volume was, indeed, a rich treasure, and every opportunity

afforded me, for <123 _The Columbian Orator_--A DIALOGUE>a time,

was spent in diligently perusing it.  Among much other

interesting matter, that which I had perused and reperused with

unflagging satisfaction, was a short dialogue between a master

and his slave.  The slave is represented as having been

recaptured, in a second attempt to run away; and the master opens

the dialogue with an upbraiding speech, charging the slave with

ingratitude, and demanding to know what he has to say in his own

defense.  Thus upbraided, and thus called upon to reply, the

slave rejoins, that he knows how little anything that he can say

will avail, seeing that he is completely in the hands of his

owner; and with noble resolution, calmly says, "I submit to my

fate."  Touched by the slave's answer, the master insists upon

his further speaking, and recapitulates the many acts of kindness

which he has performed toward the slave, and tells him he is

permitted to speak for himself.  Thus invited to the debate, the

quondam slave made a spirited defense of himself, and thereafter

the whole argument, for and against slavery, was brought out. 

The master was vanquished at every turn in the argument; and

seeing himself to be thus vanquished, he generously and meekly

emancipates the slave, with his best wishes for his prosperity. 

It is scarcely neccessary{sic} to say, that a dialogue, with such

an origin, and such an ending--read when the fact of my being a

slave was a constant burden of grief--powerfully affected me; and

I could not help feeling that the day might come, when the well-

directed answers made by the slave to the master, in this

instance, would find their counterpart in myself.



This, however, was not all the fanaticism which I found in this

_Columbian Orator_.  I met there one of Sheridan's mighty

speeches, on the subject of Catholic Emancipation, Lord Chatham's

speech on the American war, and speeches by the great William

Pitt and by Fox.  These were all choice documents to me, and I

read them, over and over again, with an interest that was ever

increasing, because it was ever gaining in intelligence; for the

more I read them, the better I understood them.  The reading of

<124>these speeches added much to my limited stock of language,

and enabled me to give tongue to many interesting thoughts, which

had frequently flashed through my soul, and died away for want of

utterance.  The mighty power and heart-searching directness of

truth, penetrating even the heart of a slaveholder, compelling

him to yield up his earthly interests to the claims of eternal

justice, were finely illustrated in the dialogue, just referred

to; and from the speeches of Sheridan, I got a bold and powerful

denunciation of oppression, and a most brilliant vindication of

the rights of man.  Here was, indeed, a noble acquisition.  If I

ever wavered under the consideration, that the Almighty, in some

way, ordained slavery, and willed my enslavement for his own

glory, I wavered no longer.  I had now penetrated the secret of

all slavery and oppression, and had ascertained their true

foundation to be in the pride, the power and the avarice of man. 

The dialogue and the speeches were all redolent of the principles

of liberty, and poured floods of light on the nature and

character of slavery.  With a book of this kind in my hand, my

own human nature, and the facts of my experience, to help me, I

was equal to a contest with the religious advocates of slavery,

whether among the whites or among the colored people, for

blindness, in this matter, is not confined to the former.  I have

met many religious colored people, at the south, who are under

the delusion that God requires them to submit to slavery, and to

wear their chains with meekness and humility.  I could entertain

no such nonsense as this; and I almost lost my patience when I

found any colored man weak enough to believe such stuff. 

Nevertheless, the increase of knowledge was attended with bitter,

as well as sweet results.  The more I read, the more I was led to

abhor and detest slavery, and my enslavers.  "Slaveholders,"

thought I, "are only a band of successful robbers, who left their

homes and went into Africa for the purpose of stealing and

reducing my people to slavery."  I loathed them as the meanest

and the most wicked of men.  As I read, behold! the very

discontent so graphically pre<125 MY EYES OPENED>dicted by Master

Hugh, had already come upon me.  I was no longer the light-

hearted, gleesome boy, full of mirth and play, as when I landed

first at Baltimore.  Knowledge had come; light had penetrated the

moral dungeon where I dwelt; and, behold! there lay the bloody

whip, for my back, and here was the iron chain; and my good,

_kind master_, he was the author of my situation.  The revelation

haunted me, stung me, and made me gloomy and miserable.  As I

writhed under the sting and torment of this knowledge, I almost

envied my fellow slaves their stupid contentment.  This knowledge

opened my eyes to the horrible pit, and revealed the teeth of the

frightful dragon that was ready to pounce upon me, but it opened

no way for my escape.  I have often wished myself a beast, or a

bird--anything, rather than a slave.  I was wretched and gloomy,

beyond my ability to describe.  I was too thoughtful to be happy. 

It was this everlasting thinking which distressed and tormented

me; and yet there was no getting rid of the subject of my

thoughts.  All nature was redolent of it.  Once awakened by the

silver trump of knowledge, my spirit was roused to eternal

wakefulness.  Liberty! the inestimable birthright of every man,

had, for me, converted every object into an asserter of this

great right.  It was heard in every sound, and beheld in every

object.  It was ever present, to torment me with a sense of my

wretched condition.  The more beautiful and charming were the

smiles of nature, the more horrible and desolate was my

condition.  I saw nothing without seeing it, and I heard nothing

without hearing it.  I do not exaggerate, when I say, that it

looked from every star, smiled in every calm, breathed in every

wind, and moved in every storm.



I have no doubt that my state of mind had something to do with

the change in the treatment adopted, by my once kind mistress

toward me.  I can easily believe, that my leaden, downcast, and

discontented look, was very offensive to her.  Poor lady!  She

did not know my trouble, and I dared not tell her.  Could I have

freely made her acquainted with the real state of my mind, and

<126>given her the reasons therefor, it might have been well for

both of us.  Her abuse of me fell upon me like the blows of the

false prophet upon his ass; she did not know that an _angel_

stood in the way; and--such is the relation of master and slave I

could not tell her.  Nature had made us _friends;_ slavery made

us _enemies_.  My interests were in a direction opposite to hers,

and we both had our private thoughts and plans.  She aimed to

keep me ignorant; and I resolved to know, although knowledge only

increased my discontent.  My feelings were not the result of any

marked cruelty in the treatment I received; they sprung from the

consideration of my being a slave at all.  It was _slavery_--not

its mere _incidents_--that I hated.  I had been cheated.  I saw

through the attempt to keep me in ignorance; I saw that

slaveholders would have gladly made me believe that they were

merely acting under the authority of God, in making a slave of

me, and in making slaves of others; and I treated them as robbers

and deceivers.  The feeding and clothing me well, could not atone

for taking my liberty from me.  The smiles of my mistress could

not remove the deep sorrow that dwelt in my young bosom.  Indeed,

these, in time, came only to deepen my sorrow.  She had changed;

and the reader will see that I had changed, too.  We were both

victims to the same overshadowing evil--_she_, as mistress, I, as

slave.  I will not censure her harshly; she cannot censure me,

for she knows I speak but the truth, and have acted in my

opposition to slavery, just as she herself would have acted, in a

reverse of circumstances.







CHAPTER XII

_Religious Nature Awakened_



ABOLITIONISTS SPOKEN OF--MY EAGERNESS TO KNOW WHAT THIS WORD

MEANT--MY CONSULTATION OF THE DICTIONARY--INCENDIARY

INFORMATION--HOW AND WHERE DERIVED--THE ENIGMA SOLVED--NATHANIEL

TURNER'S INSURRECTION--THE CHOLERA--RELIGION--FIRST AWAKENED BY A

METHODIST MINISTER NAMED HANSON--MY DEAR AND GOOD OLD COLORED

FRIEND, LAWSON--HIS CHARACTER AND OCCUPATION--HIS INFLUENCE OVER

ME--OUR MUTUAL ATTACHMENT--THE COMFORT I DERIVED FROM HIS

TEACHING--NEW HOPES AND ASPIRATIONS--HEAVENLY LIGHT AMIDST

EARTHLY DARKNESS--THE TWO IRISHMEN ON THE WHARF--THEIR

CONVERSATION--HOW I LEARNED TO WRITE--WHAT WERE MY AIMS.





Whilst in the painful state of mind described in the foregoing

chapter, almost regretting my very existence, because doomed to a

life of bondage, so goaded and so wretched, at times, that I was

even tempted to destroy my own life, I was keenly sensitive and

eager to know any, and every thing that transpired, having any

relation to the subject of slavery.  I was all ears, all eyes,

whenever the words _slave, slavery_, dropped from the lips of any

white person, and the occasions were not unfrequent when these

words became leading ones, in high, social debate, at our house. 

Every little while, I could hear Master Hugh, or some of his

company, speaking with much warmth and excitement about

_"abolitionists."_  Of _who_ or _what_ these were, I was totally

ignorant.  I found, however, that whatever they might be, they

were most cordially hated and soundly abused by slaveholders, of

every grade.  I very soon discovered, too, that slavery was, in

some <128>sort, under consideration, whenever the abolitionists

were alluded to.  This made the term a very interesting one to

me.  If a slave, for instance, had made good his escape from

slavery, it was generally alleged, that he had been persuaded and

assisted by the abolitionists.  If, also, a slave killed his

master--as was sometimes the case--or struck down his overseer,

or set fire to his master's dwelling, or committed any violence

or crime, out of the common way, it was certain to be said, that

such a crime was the legitimate fruits of the abolition movement. 

Hearing such charges often repeated, I, naturally enough,

received the impression that abolition--whatever else it might

be--could not be unfriendly to the slave, nor very friendly to

the slaveholder.  I therefore set about finding out, if possible,

_who_ and _what_ the abolitionists were, and _why_ they were so

obnoxious to the slaveholders.  The dictionary afforded me very

little help.  It taught me that abolition was the "act of

abolishing;" but it left me in ignorance at the very point where

I most wanted information--and that was, as to the _thing_ to be

abolished.  A city newspaper, the _Baltimore American_, gave me

the incendiary information denied me by the dictionary.  In its

columns I found, that, on a certain day, a vast number of

petitions and memorials had been presented to congress, praying

for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, and for

the abolition of the slave trade between the states of the Union. 

This was enough.  The vindictive bitterness, the marked caution,

the studied reverse, and the cumbrous ambiguity, practiced by our

white folks, when alluding to this subject, was now fully

explained.  Ever, after that, when I heard the words "abolition,"

or "abolition movement," mentioned, I felt the matter one of a

personal concern; and I drew near to listen, when I could do so,

without seeming too solicitous and prying.  There was HOPE in

those words.  Ever and anon, too, I could see some terrible

denunciation of slavery, in our papers--copied from abolition

papers at the north--and the injustice of such denunciation

commented on.  These I read with avidity.  <129 ABOLITIONISM--THE

ENIGMA SOLVED>I had a deep satisfaction in the thought, that the

rascality of slaveholders was not concealed from the eyes of the

world, and that I was not alone in abhorring the cruelty and

brutality of slavery.  A still deeper train of thought was

stirred.  I saw that there was _fear_, as well as _rage_, in the

manner of speaking of the abolitionists.  The latter, therefore,

I was compelled to regard as having some power in the country;

and I felt that they might, possibly, succeed in their designs. 

When I met with a slave to whom I deemed it safe to talk on the

subject, I would impart to him so much of the mystery as I had

been able to penetrate.  Thus, the light of this grand movement

broke in upon my mind, by degrees; and I must say, that, ignorant

as I then was of the philosophy of that movement, I believe in it

from the first--and I believed in it, partly, because I saw that

it alarmed the consciences of slaveholders.  The insurrection of

Nathaniel Turner had been quelled, but the alarm and terror had

not subsided.  The cholera was on its way, and the thought was

present, that God was angry with the white people because of

their slaveholding wickedness, and, therefore, his judgments were

abroad in the land.  It was impossible for me not to hope much

from the abolition movement, when I saw it supported by the

Almighty, and armed with DEATH!



Previous to my contemplation of the anti-slavery movement, and

its probable results, my mind had been seriously awakened to the

subject of religion.  I was not more than thirteen years old,

when I felt the need of God, as a father and protector.  My

religious nature was awakened by the preaching of a white

Methodist minister, named Hanson.  He thought that all men, great

and small, bond and free, were sinners in the sight of God; that

they were, by nature, rebels against His government; and that

they must repent of their sins, and be reconciled to God, through

Christ.  I cannot say that I had a very distinct notion of what

was required of me; but one thing I knew very well--I was

wretched, and had no means of making myself otherwise.  Moreover,

I knew that I could pray for light.  I consulted a good colored

man, named <130>Charles Johnson; and, in tones of holy affection,

he told me to pray, and what to pray for.  I was, for weeks, a

poor, brokenhearted mourner, traveling through the darkness and

misery of doubts and fears.  I finally found that change of heart

which comes by "casting all one's care" upon God, and by having

faith in Jesus Christ, as the Redeemer, Friend, and Savior of

those who diligently seek Him.



After this, I saw the world in a new light.  I seemed to live in

a new world, surrounded by new objects, and to be animated by new

hopes and desires.  I loved all mankind--slaveholders not

excepted; though I abhorred slavery more than ever.  My great

concern was, now, to have the world converted.  The desire for

knowledge increased, and especially did I want a thorough

acquaintance with the contents of the bible.  I have gathered

scattered pages from this holy book, from the filthy street

gutters of Baltimore, and washed and dried them, that in the

moments of my leisure, I might get a word or two of wisdom from

them.  While thus religiously seeking knowledge, I became

acquainted with a good old colored man, named Lawson.  A more

devout man than he, I never saw.  He drove a dray for Mr. James

Ramsey, the owner of a rope-walk on Fell's Point, Baltimore. 

This man not only prayed three time a day, but he prayed as he

walked through the streets, at his work--on his dray everywhere. 

His life was a life of prayer, and his words (when he spoke to

his friends,) were about a better world.  Uncle Lawson lived near

Master Hugh's house; and, becoming deeply attached to the old

man, I went often with him to prayer-meeting, and spent much of

my leisure time with him on Sunday.  The old man could read a

little, and I was a great help to him, in making out the hard

words, for I was a better reader than he.  I could teach him

_"the letter,"_ but he could teach me _"the spirit;"_ and high,

refreshing times we had together, in singing, praying and

glorifying God.  These meetings with Uncle Lawson went on for a

long time, without the knowledge of Master Hugh or my mistress. 

Both knew, how<131 FATHER LAWSON--OUR ATTACHMENT>ever, that I had

become religious, and they seemed to respect my conscientious

piety.  My mistress was still a professor of religion, and

belonged to class.  Her leader was no less a person than the Rev.

Beverly Waugh, the presiding elder, and now one of the bishops of

the Methodist Episcopal church.  Mr. Waugh was then stationed

over Wilk street church.  I am careful to state these facts, that

the reader may be able to form an idea of the precise influences

which had to do with shaping and directing my mind.



In view of the cares and anxieties incident to the life she was

then leading, and, especially, in view of the separation from

religious associations to which she was subjected, my mistress

had, as I have before stated, become lukewarm, and needed to be

looked up by her leader.  This brought Mr. Waugh to our house,

and gave me an opportunity to hear him exhort and pray.  But my

chief instructor, in matters of religion, was Uncle Lawson.  He

was my spiritual father; and I loved him intensely, and was at

his house every chance I got.



This pleasure was not long allowed me.  Master Hugh became averse

to my going to Father Lawson's, and threatened to whip me if I

ever went there again.  I now felt myself persecuted by a wicked

man; and I _would_ go to Father Lawson's, notwithstanding the

threat.  The good old man had told me, that the "Lord had a great

work for me to do;" and I must prepare to do it; and that he had

been shown that I must preach the gospel.  His words made a deep

impression on my mind, and I verily felt that some such work was

before me, though I could not see _how_ I should ever engage in

its performance.  "The good Lord," he said, "would bring it to

pass in his own good time," and that I must go on reading and

studying the scriptures.  The advice and the suggestions of Uncle

Lawson, were not without their influence upon my character and

destiny.  He threw my thoughts into a channel from which they

have never entirely diverged.  He fanned my already intense love

of knowledge into a flame, by assuring me that I was to be a

useful man in the world.  When I would <132>say to him, "How can

these things be and what can _I_ do?" his simple reply was,

_"Trust in the Lord."_  When I told him that "I was a slave, and

a slave FOR LIFE," he said, "the Lord can make you free, my dear. 

All things are possible with him, only _have faith in God."_ 

"Ask, and it shall be given."  "If you want liberty," said the

good old man, "ask the Lord for it, _in faith_, AND HE WILL GIVE

IT TO YOU."



Thus assured, and cheered on, under the inspiration of hope, I

worked and prayed with a light heart, believing that my life was

under the guidance of a wisdom higher than my own.  With all

other blessings sought at the mercy seat, I always prayed that

God would, of His great mercy, and in His own good time, deliver

me from my bondage.



I went, one day, on the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two

Irishmen unloading a large scow of stone, or ballast I went on

board, unasked, and helped them.  When we had finished the work,

one of the men came to me, aside, and asked me a number of

questions, and among them, if I were a slave.  I told him "I was

a slave, and a slave for life."  The good Irishman gave his

shoulders a shrug, and seemed deeply affected by the statement. 

He said, "it was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should

be a slave for life."  They both had much to say about the

matter, and expressed the deepest sympathy with me, and the most

decided hatred of slavery.  They went so far as to tell me that I

ought to run away, and go to the north; that I should find

friends there, and that I would be as free as anybody.  I,

however, pretended not to be interested in what they said, for I

feared they might be treacherous.  White men have been known to

encourage slaves to escape, and then--to get the reward--they

have kidnapped them, and returned them to their masters.  And

while I mainly inclined to the notion that these men were honest

and meant me no ill, I feared it might be otherwise.  I

nevertheless remembered their words and their advice, and looked

forward to an escape to the north, as a possible means of gaining

the liberty <133 HOW I LEARNED TO WRITE>for which my heart

panted.  It was not my enslavement, at the then present time,

that most affected me; the being a slave _for life_, was the

saddest thought.  I was too young to think of running away

immediately; besides, I wished to learn how to write, before

going, as I might have occasion to write my own pass.  I now not

only had the hope of freedom, but a foreshadowing of the means by

which I might, some day, gain that inestimable boon.  Meanwhile,

I resolved to add to my educational attainments the art of

writing.



After this manner I began to learn to write: I was much in the

ship yard--Master Hugh's, and that of Durgan & Bailey--and I

observed that the carpenters, after hewing and getting a piece of

timber ready for use, wrote on it the initials of the name of

that part of the ship for which it was intended.  When, for

instance, a piece of timber was ready for the starboard side, it

was marked with a capital "S."  A piece for the larboard side was

marked "L;" larboard forward, "L. F.;" larboard aft, was marked

"L. A.;" starboard aft, "S. A.;" and starboard forward "S. F."  I

soon learned these letters, and for what they were placed on the

timbers.



My work was now, to keep fire under the steam box, and to watch

the ship yard while the carpenters had gone to dinner.  This

interval gave me a fine opportunity for copying the letters

named.  I soon astonished myself with the ease with which I made

the letters; and the thought was soon present, "if I can make

four, I can make more."  But having made these easily, when I met

boys about Bethel church, or any of our play-grounds, I entered

the lists with them in the art of writing, and would make the

letters which I had been so fortunate as to learn, and ask them

to "beat that if they could."  With playmates for my teachers,

fences and pavements for my copy books, and chalk for my pen and

ink, I learned the art of writing.  I, however, afterward adopted

various methods of improving my hand.  The most successful, was

copying the _italics_ in Webster's spelling book, until <134>I

could make them all without looking on the book.  By this time,

my little "Master Tommy" had grown to be a big boy, and had

written over a number of copy books, and brought them home.  They

had been shown to the neighbors, had elicited due praise, and

were now laid carefully away.  Spending my time between the ship

yard and house, I was as often the lone keeper of the latter as

of the former.  When my mistress left me in charge of the house,

I had a grand time; I got Master Tommy's copy books and a pen and

ink, and, in the ample spaces between the lines, I wrote other

lines, as nearly like his as possible.  The process was a tedious

one, and I ran the risk of getting a flogging for marring the

highly prized copy books of the oldest son.  In addition to those

opportunities, sleeping, as I did, in the kitchen loft--a room

seldom visited by any of the family--I got a flour barrel up

there, and a chair; and upon the head of that barrel I have

written (or endeavored to write) copying from the bible and the

Methodist hymn book, and other books which had accumulated on my

hands, till late at night, and when all the family were in bed

and asleep.  I was supported in my endeavors by renewed advice,

and by holy promises from the good Father Lawson, with whom I

continued to meet, and pray, and read the scriptures.  Although

Master Hugh was aware of my going there, I must say, for his

credit, that he never executed his threat to whip me, for having

thus, innocently, employed-my leisure time.







CHAPTER XIII

_The Vicissitudes of Slave Life_



DEATH OF OLD MASTER'S SON RICHARD, SPEEDILY FOLLOWED BY THAT OF

OLD MASTER--VALUATION AND DIVISION OF ALL THE PROPERTY, INCLUDING

THE SLAVES--MY PRESENCE REQUIRED AT HILLSBOROUGH TO BE APPRAISED

AND ALLOTTED TO A NEW OWNER--MY SAD PROSPECTS AND GRIEF--

PARTING--THE UTTER POWERLESSNESS OF THE SLAVES TO DECIDE THEIR

OWN DESTINY--A GENERAL DREAD OF MASTER ANDREW--HIS WICKEDNESS AND

CRUELTY--MISS LUCRETIA MY NEW OWNER--MY RETURN TO BALTIMORE--JOY

UNDER THE ROOF OF MASTER HUGH--DEATH OF MRS.  LUCRETIA--MY POOR

OLD GRANDMOTHER--HER SAD FATE--THE LONE COT IN THE WOODS--MASTER

THOMAS AULD'S SECOND MARRIAGE--AGAIN REMOVED FROM MASTER HUGH'S--

REASONS FOR REGRETTING THE CHANGE--A PLAN OF ESCAPE ENTERTAINED.





I must now ask the reader to go with me a little back in point of

time, in my humble story, and to notice another circumstance that

entered into my slavery experience, and which, doubtless, has had

a share in deepening my horror of slavery, and increasing my

hostility toward those men and measures that practically uphold

the slave system.



It has already been observed, that though I was, after my removal

from Col. Lloyd's plantation, in _form_ the slave of Master Hugh,

I was, in _fact_, and in _law_, the slave of my old master, Capt.

Anthony.  Very well.



In a very short time after I went to Baltimore, my old master's

youngest son, Richard, died; and, in three years and six months

after his death, my old master himself died, leaving only his

son, Andrew, and his daughter, Lucretia, to share his estate. 

The <136>old man died while on a visit to his daughter, in

Hillsborough, where Capt. Auld and Mrs. Lucretia now lived.  The

former, having given up the command of Col. Lloyd's sloop, was

now keeping a store in that town.



Cut off, thus unexpectedly, Capt. Anthony died intestate; and his

property must now be equally divided between his two children,

Andrew and Lucretia.



The valuation and the division of slaves, among contending heirs,

is an important incident in slave life.  The character and

tendencies of the heirs, are generally well understood among the

slaves who are to be divided, and all have their aversions and

preferences.  But, neither their aversions nor their preferences

avail them anything.



On the death of old master, I was immediately sent for, to be

valued and divided with the other property.  Personally, my

concern was, mainly, about my possible removal from the home of

Master Hugh, which, after that of my grandmother, was the most

endeared to me.  But, the whole thing, as a feature of slavery,

shocked me.  It furnished me anew insight into the unnatural

power to which I was subjected.  My detestation of slavery,

already great, rose with this new conception of its enormity.



That was a sad day for me, a sad day for little Tommy, and a sad

day for my dear Baltimore mistress and teacher, when I left for

the Eastern Shore, to be valued and divided.  We, all three, wept

bitterly that day; for we might be parting, and we feared we were

parting, forever.  No one could tell among which pile of chattels

I should be flung.  Thus early, I got a foretaste of that painful

uncertainty which slavery brings to the ordinary lot of mortals. 

Sickness, adversity and death may interfere with the plans and

purposes of all; but the slave has the added danger of changing

homes, changing hands, and of having separations unknown to other

men.  Then, too, there was the intensified degradation of the

spectacle.  What an assemblage!  Men and women, young and old,

married and single; moral and intellectual beings, in open

contempt of their humanity, level at a blow with <137 DIVISION OF

OLD MASTER'S PROPERTY>horses, sheep, horned cattle and swine! 

Horses and men--cattle and women--pigs and children--all holding

the same rank in the scale of social existence; and all subjected

to the same narrow inspection, to ascertain their value in gold

and silver--the only standard of worth applied by slaveholders to

slaves!  How vividly, at that moment, did the brutalizing power

of slavery flash before me!  Personality swallowed up in the

sordid idea of property!  Manhood lost in chattelhood!



After the valuation, then came the division.  This was an hour of

high excitement and distressing anxiety.  Our destiny was now to

be _fixed for life_, and we had no more voice in the decision of

the question, than the oxen and cows that stood chewing at the

haymow.  One word from the appraisers, against all preferences or

prayers, was enough to sunder all the ties of friendship and

affection, and even to separate husbands and wives, parents and

children.  We were all appalled before that power, which, to

human seeming, could bless or blast us in a moment.  Added to the

dread of separation, most painful to the majority of the slaves,

we all had a decided horror of the thought of falling into the

hands of Master Andrew.  He was distinguished for cruelty and

intemperance.



Slaves generally dread to fall into the hands of drunken owners. 

Master Andrew was almost a confirmed sot, and had already, by his

reckless mismanagement and profligate dissipation, wasted a large

portion of old master's property.  To fall into his hands, was,

therefore, considered merely as the first step toward being sold

away to the far south.  He would spend his fortune in a few

years, and his farms and slaves would be sold, we thought, at

public outcry; and we should be hurried away to the cotton

fields, and rice swamps, of the sunny south.  This was the cause

of deep consternation.



The people of the north, and free people generally, I think, have

less attachment to the places where they are born and brought up,

than have the slaves.  Their freedom to go and come, <138>to be

here and there, as they list, prevents any extravagant attachment

to any one particular place, in their case.  On the other hand,

the slave is a fixture; he has no choice, no goal, no

destination; but is pegged down to a single spot, and must take

root here, or nowhere.  The idea of removal elsewhere, comes,

generally, in the shape of a threat, and in punishment of crime. 

It is, therefore, attended with fear and dread.  A slave seldom

thinks of bettering his condition by being sold, and hence he

looks upon separation from his native place, with none of the

enthusiasm which animates the bosoms of young freemen, when they

contemplate a life in the far west, or in some distant country

where they intend to rise to wealth and distinction.  Nor can

those from whom they separate, give them up with that

cheerfulness with which friends and relations yield each other

up, when they feel that it is for the good of the departing one

that he is removed from his native place.  Then, too, there is

correspondence, and there is, at least, the hope of reunion,

because reunion is _possible_.  But, with the slave, all these

mitigating circumstances are wanting.  There is no improvement in

his condition _probable_,--no correspondence _possible_,--no

reunion attainable.  His going out into the world, is like a

living man going into the tomb, who, with open eyes, sees himself

buried out of sight and hearing of wife, children and friends of

kindred tie.



In contemplating the likelihoods and possibilities of our

circumstances, I probably suffered more than most of my fellow

servants.  I had known what it was to experience kind, and even

tender treatment; they had known nothing of the sort.  Life, to

them, had been rough and thorny, as well as dark.  They had--most

of them--lived on my old master's farm in Tuckahoe, and had felt

the reign of Mr. Plummer's rule.  The overseer had written his

character on the living parchment of most of their backs, and

left them callous; my back (thanks to my early removal from the

plantation to Baltimore) was yet tender.  I had left a kind

mistress <139 MY SAD PROSPECTS AND GRIEF>at Baltimore, who was

almost a mother to me.  She was in tears when we parted, and the

probabilities of ever seeing her again, trembling in the balance

as they did, could not be viewed without alarm and agony.  The

thought of leaving that kind mistress forever, and, worse still,

of being the slave of Andrew Anthony--a man who, but a few days

before the division of the property, had, in my presence, seized

my brother Perry by the throat, dashed him on the ground, and

with the heel of his boot stamped him on the head, until the

blood gushed from his nose and ears--was terrible!  This fiendish

proceeding had no better apology than the fact, that Perry had

gone to play, when Master Andrew wanted him for some trifling

service.  This cruelty, too, was of a piece with his general

character.  After inflicting his heavy blows on my brother, on

observing me looking at him with intense astonishment, he said,

"_That_ is the way I will serve you, one of these days;" meaning,

no doubt, when I should come into his possession.  This threat,

the reader may well suppose, was not very tranquilizing to my

feelings.  I could see that he really thirsted to get hold of me. 

But I was there only for a few days.  I had not received any

orders, and had violated none, and there was, therefore, no

excuse for flogging me.



At last, the anxiety and suspense were ended; and they ended,

thanks to a kind Providence, in accordance with my wishes.  I

fell to the portion of Mrs. Lucretia--the dear lady who bound up

my head, when the savage Aunt Katy was adding to my sufferings

her bitterest maledictions.



Capt. Thomas Auld and Mrs. Lucretia at once decided on my return

to Baltimore.  They knew how sincerely and warmly Mrs. Hugh Auld

was attached to me, and how delighted Mr. Hugh's son would be to

have me back; and, withal, having no immediate use for one so

young, they willingly let me off to Baltimore.



I need not stop here to narrate my joy on returning to Baltimore,

nor that of little Tommy; nor the tearful joy of his mother;

<140>nor the evident saticfaction{sic} of Master Hugh.  I was

just one month absent from Baltimore, before the matter was

decided; and the time really seemed full six months.



One trouble over, and on comes another.  The slave's life is full

of uncertainty.  I had returned to Baltimore but a short time,

when the tidings reached me, that my friend, Mrs. Lucretia, who

was only second in my regard to Mrs. Hugh Auld, was dead, leaving

her husband and only one child--a daughter, named Amanda.



Shortly after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, strange to say, Master

Andrew died, leaving his wife and one child.  Thus, the whole

family of Anthonys was swept away; only two children remained. 

All this happened within five years of my leaving Col. Lloyd's.



No alteration took place in the condition of the slaves, in

consequence of these deaths, yet I could not help feeling less

secure, after the death of my friend, Mrs. Lucretia, than I had

done during her life.  While she lived, I felt that I had a

strong friend to plead for me in any emergency.  Ten years ago,

while speaking of the state of things in our family, after the

events just named, I used this language:



Now all the property of my old master, slaves included, was in

the hands of strangers--strangers who had nothing to do in

accumulating it.  Not a slave was left free.  All remained

slaves, from youngest to oldest.  If any one thing in my

experience, more than another, served to deepen my conviction of

the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with

unutterable loathing of slaveholders, it was their base

ingratitude to my poor old grandmother.  She had served my old

master faithfully from youth to old age.  She had been the source

of all his wealth; she had peopled his plantation with slaves;

she had become a great-grandmother in his service.  She had

rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood, served him

through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the cold

death-sweat, and closed his eyes forever.  She was nevertheless

left a slave--a slave for life--a slave in the hands of

strangers; and in their hands she saw her children, her

grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren, divided, like so many

sheep, without being gratified with the small privilege of a

single word, as to their or her own destiny.  And, to cap the

climax of their base ingratitude and fiendish barbarity, my

grandmother, who was now very old, having outlived my old master

and all his children, having seen the beginning and end of all of

them, and her present owners finding she <141 DEATH OF MRS.

LUCRETIA>was of but little value, her frame already racked with

the pains of old age, and complete helplessness fast stealing

over her once active limbs, they took her to the woods, built her

a little hut, put up a little mud-chimney, and then made her

welcome to the privilege of supporting herself there in perfect

loneliness; thus virtually turning her out to die!  If my poor

old grandmother now lives, she lives to suffer in utter

loneliness; she lives to remember and mourn over the loss of

children, the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great-

grandchildren.  They are, in the language of the slave's poet,

Whittier--



                _Gone, gone, sold and gone,

                To the rice swamp dank and lone,

                Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,

                Where the noisome insect stings,

                Where the fever-demon strews

                Poison with the falling dews,

                Where the sickly sunbeams glare

                Through the hot and misty air:--

                        Gone, gone, sold and gone

                        To the rice swamp dank and lone,

                        From Virginia hills and waters--

                        Woe is me, my stolen daughters_!





The hearth is desolate.  The children, the unconscious children,

who once sang and danced in her presence, are gone.  She gropes

her way, in the darkness of age, for a drink of water.  Instead

of the voices of her children, she hears by day the moans of the

dove, and by night the screams of the hideous owl.  All is gloom. 

The grave is at the door.  And now, when weighed down by the

pains and aches of old age, when the head inclines to the feet,

when the beginning and ending of human existence meet, and

helpless infancy and painful old age combine together--at this

time, this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that

tenderness and affection which children only can exercise toward

a declining parent--my poor old grandmother, the devoted mother

of twelve children, is left all alone, in yonder little hut,

before a few dim embers.



Two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas married

his second wife.  Her name was Rowena Hamilton, the eldest

daughter of Mr. William Hamilton, a rich slaveholder on the

Eastern Shore of Maryland, who lived about five miles from St.

Michael's, the then place of my master's residence.



Not long after his marriage, Master Thomas had a misunderstanding

with Master Hugh, and, as a means of punishing his brother, he

ordered him to send me home.

<142>



As the ground of misunderstanding will serve to illustrate the

character of southern chivalry, and humanity, I will relate it.



Among the children of my Aunt Milly, was a daughter, named Henny. 

When quite a child, Henny had fallen into the fire, and burnt her

hands so bad that they were of very little use to her.  Her

fingers were drawn almost into the palms of her hands.  She could

make out to do something, but she was considered hardly worth the

having--of little more value than a horse with a broken leg. 

This unprofitable piece of human property, ill shapen, and

disfigured, Capt. Auld sent off to Baltimore, making his brother

Hugh welcome to her services.



After giving poor Henny a fair trial, Master Hugh and his wife

came to the conclusion, that they had no use for the crippled

servant, and they sent her back to Master Thomas.  Thus, the

latter took as an act of ingratitude, on the part of his brother;

and, as a mark of his displeasure, he required him to send me

immediately to St. Michael's, saying, if he cannot keep _"Hen,"_

he shall not have _"Fred."_



Here was another shock to my nerves, another breaking up of my

plans, and another severance of my religious and social

alliances.  I was now a big boy.  I had become quite useful to

several young colored men, who had made me their teacher.  I had

taught some of them to read, and was accustomed to spend many of

my leisure hours with them.  Our attachment was strong, and I

greatly dreaded the separation.  But regrets, especially in a

slave, are unavailing.  I was only a slave; my wishes were

nothing, and my happiness was the sport of my masters.



My regrets at now leaving Baltimore, were not for the same

reasons as when I before left that city, to be valued and handed

over to my proper owner.  My home was not now the pleasant place

it had formerly been.  A change had taken place, both in Master

Hugh, and in his once pious and affectionate wife.  The influence

of brandy and bad company on him, and the influence of slavery

and social isolation upon her, had wrought disastrously upon the

<143 REASONS FOR REGRETTING THE CHANGE>characters of both. 

Thomas was no longer "little Tommy," but was a big boy, and had

learned to assume the airs of his class toward me.  My condition,

therefore, in the house of Master Hugh, was not, by any means, so

comfortable as in former years.  My attachments were now outside

of our family.  They were felt to those to whom I _imparted_

instruction, and to those little white boys from whom I

_received_ instruction.  There, too, was my dear old father, the

pious Lawson, who was, in christian graces, the very counterpart

of "Uncle" Tom.  The resemblance is so perfect, that he might

have been the original of Mrs. Stowe's christian hero.  The

thought of leaving these dear friends, greatly troubled me, for I

was going without the hope of ever returning to Baltimore again;

the feud between Master Hugh and his brother being bitter and

irreconcilable, or, at least, supposed to be so.



In addition to thoughts of friends from whom I was parting, as I

supposed, _forever_, I had the grief of neglected chances of

escape to brood over.  I had put off running away, until now I

was to be placed where the opportunities for escaping were much

fewer than in a large city like Baltimore.



On my way from Baltimore to St. Michael's, down the Chesapeake

bay, our sloop--the "Amanda"--was passed by the steamers plying

between that city and Philadelphia, and I watched the course of

those steamers, and, while going to St. Michael's, I formed a

plan to escape from slavery; of which plan, and matters connected

therewith the kind reader shall learn more hereafter.





CHAPTER XIV

_Experience in St. Michael's_



THE VILLAGE--ITS INHABITANTS--THEIR OCCUPATION AND LOW

PROPENSITIES CAPTAN{sic} THOMAS AULD--HIS CHARACTER--HIS SECOND

WIFE, ROWENA--WELL MATCHED--SUFFERINGS FROM HUNGER--OBLIGED TO

TAKE FOOD--MODE OF ARGUMENT IN VINDICATION THEREOF--NO MORAL CODE

OF FREE SOCIETY CAN APPLY TO SLAVE SOCIETY--SOUTHERN CAMP

MEETING--WHAT MASTER THOMAS DID THERE--HOPES--SUSPICIONS ABOUT

HIS CONVERSION--THE RESULT--FAITH AND WORKS ENTIRELY AT

VARIANCE--HIS RISE AND PROGRESS IN THE CHURCH--POOR COUSIN

"HENNY"--HIS TREATMENT OF HER--THE METHODIST PREACHERS--THEIR

UTTER DISREGARD OF US--ONE EXCELLENT EXCEPTION--REV. GEORGE

COOKMAN--SABBATH SCHOOL--HOW BROKEN UP AND BY WHOM--A FUNERAL

PALL CAST OVER ALL MY PROSPECTS--COVEY THE NEGRO-BREAKER.  





St. Michael's, the village in which was now my new home, compared

favorably with villages in slave states, generally.  There were a

few comfortable dwellings in it, but the place, as a whole, wore

a dull, slovenly, enterprise-forsaken aspect.  The mass of the

buildings were wood; they had never enjoyed the artificial

adornment of paint, and time and storms had worn off the bright

color of the wood, leaving them almost as black as buildings

charred by a conflagration.



St. Michael's had, in former years, (previous to 1833, for that

was the year I went to reside there,) enjoyed some reputation as

a ship building community, but that business had almost entirely

given place to oyster fishing, for the Baltimore and Philadelphia

markets--a course of life highly unfavorable to morals, industry,

and manners.  Miles river was broad, and its oyster fishing <145

ARRIVAL AT ST. MICHAEL'S>grounds were extensive; and the

fishermen were out, often, all day, and a part of the night,

during autumn, winter and spring.  This exposure was an excuse

for carrying with them, in considerable quanties{sic}, spirituous

liquors, the then supposed best antidote for cold.  Each canoe

was supplied with its jug of rum; and tippling, among this class

of the citizens of St. Michael's, became general.  This drinking

habit, in an ignorant population, fostered coarseness, vulgarity

and an indolent disregard for the social improvement of the

place, so that it was admitted, by the few sober, thinking people

who remained there, that St. Michael's had become a very

_unsaintly_, as well as unsightly place, before I went there to

reside.



I left Baltimore for St. Michael's in the month of March, 1833. 

I know the year, because it was the one succeeding the first

cholera in Baltimore, and was the year, also, of that strange

phenomenon, when the heavens seemed about to part with its starry

train.  I witnessed this gorgeous spectacle, and was awe-struck. 

The air seemed filled with bright, descending messengers from the

sky.  It was about daybreak when I saw this sublime scene.  I was

not without the suggestion, at the moment, that it might be the

harbinger of the coming of the Son of Man; and, in my then state

of mind, I was prepared to hail Him as my friend and deliverer. 

I had read, that the "stars shall fall from heaven"; and they

were now falling.  I was suffering much in my mind.  It did seem

that every time the young tendrils of my affection became

attached, they were rudely broken by some unnatural outside

power; and I was beginning to look away to heaven for the rest

denied me on earth.



But, to my story.  It was now more than seven years since I had

lived with Master Thomas Auld, in the family of my old master, on

Col. Lloyd's plantation.  We were almost entire strangers to each

other; for, when I knew him at the house of my old master, it was

not as a _master_, but simply as "Captain Auld," who had married

old master's daughter.  All my lessons concerning his <146>temper

and disposition, and the best methods of pleasing him, were yet

to be learnt.  Slaveholders, however, are not very ceremonious in

approaching a slave; and my ignorance of the new material in

shape of a master was but transient.  Nor was my mistress long in

making known her animus.  She was not a "Miss Lucretia," traces

of whom I yet remembered, and the more especially, as I saw them

shining in the face of little Amanda, her daughter, now living

under a step-mother's government.  I had not forgotten the soft

hand, guided by a tender heart, that bound up with healing balsam

the gash made in my head by Ike, the son of Abel.  Thomas and

Rowena, I found to be a well-matched pair.  _He_ was stingy, and

_she_ was cruel; and--what was quite natural in such cases--she

possessed the ability to make him as cruel as herself, while she

could easily descend to the level of his meanness.  In the house

of Master Thomas, I was made--for the first time in seven years

to feel the pinchings of hunger, and this was not very easy to

bear.



For, in all the changes of Master Hugh's family, there was no

change in the bountifulness with which they supplied me with

food.  Not to give a slave enough to eat, is meanness

intensified, and it is so recognized among slaveholders

generally, in Maryland.  The rule is, no matter how coarse the

food, only let there be enough of it.  This is the theory, and--

in the part of Maryland I came from--the general practice accords

with this theory.  Lloyd's plantation was an exception, as was,

also, the house of Master Thomas Auld.



All know the lightness of Indian corn-meal, as an article of

food, and can easily judge from the following facts whether the

statements I have made of the stinginess of Master Thomas, are

borne out.  There were four slaves of us in the kitchen, and four

whites in the great house Thomas Auld, Mrs. Auld, Hadaway Auld

(brother of Thomas Auld) and little Amanda.  The names of the

slaves in the kitchen, were Eliza, my sister; Priscilla, my aunt;

Henny, my cousin; and myself.  There were eight persons <147

STEALING--MODE OF VINDICATION>in the family.  There was, each

week, one half bushel of corn-meal brought from the mill; and in

the kitchen, corn-meal was almost our exclusive food, for very

little else was allowed us.  Out of this bushel of corn-meal, the

family in the great house had a small loaf every morning; thus

leaving us, in the kitchen, with not quite a half a peck per

week, apiece.  This allowance was less than half the allowance of

food on Lloyd's plantation.  It was not enough to subsist upon;

and we were, therefore, reduced to the wretched necessity of

living at the expense of our neighbors.  We were compelled either

to beg, or to steal, and we did both.  I frankly confess, that

while I hated everything like stealing, _as such_, I nevertheless

did not hesitate to take food, when I was hungry, wherever I

could find it.  Nor was this practice the mere result of an

unreasoning instinct; it was, in my case, the result of a clear

apprehension of the claims of morality.  I weighed and considered

the matter closely, before I ventured to satisfy my hunger by

such means.  Considering that my labor and person were the

property of Master Thomas, and that I was by him deprived of the

necessaries of life necessaries obtained by my own labor--it was

easy to deduce the right to supply myself with what was my own. 

It was simply appropriating what was my own to the use of my

master, since the health and strength derived from such food were

exerted in _his_ service.  To be sure, this was stealing,

according to the law and gospel I heard from St. Michael's

pulpit; but I had already begun to attach less importance to what

dropped from that quarter, on that point, while, as yet, I

retained my reverence for religion.  It was not always convenient

to steal from master, and the same reason why I might,

innocently, steal from him, did not seem to justify me in

stealing from others.  In the case of my master, it was only a

question of _removal_--the taking his meat out of one tub, and

putting it into another; the ownership of the meat was not

affected by the transaction.  At first, he owned it in the _tub_,

and last, he owned it in _me_.  His meat house was not always

open.  There was a strict watch kept on that <148>point, and the

key was on a large bunch in Rowena's pocket.  A great many times

have we, poor creatures, been severely pinched with hunger, when

meat and bread have been moulding under the lock, while the key

was in the pocket of our mistress.  This had been so when she

_knew_ we were nearly half starved; and yet, that mistress, with

saintly air, would kneel with her husband, and pray each morning

that a merciful God would bless them in basket and in store, and

save them, at last, in his kingdom.  But I proceed with the

argument.



It was necessary that right to steal from _others_ should be

established; and this could only rest upon a wider range of

generalization than that which supposed the right to steal from

my master.



It was sometime before I arrived at this clear right.  The reader

will get some idea of my train of reasoning, by a brief statement

of the case.  "I am," thought I, "not only the slave of Thomas,

but I am the slave of society at large.  Society at large has

bound itself, in form and in fact, to assist Master Thomas in

robbing me of my rightful liberty, and of the just reward of my

labor; therefore, whatever rights I have against Master Thomas, I

have, equally, against those confederated with him in robbing me

of liberty.  As society has marked me out as privileged plunder,

on the principle of self-preservation I am justified in

plundering in turn.  Since each slave belongs to all; all must,

therefore, belong to each."



I shall here make a profession of faith which may shock some,

offend others, and be dissented from by all.  It is this:  Within

the bounds of his just earnings, I hold that the slave is fully

justified in helping himself to the _gold and silver, and the

best apparel of his master, or that of any other slaveholder; and

that such taking is not stealing in any just sense of that word_.



The morality of _free_ society can have no application to _slave_

society.  Slaveholders have made it almost impossible for the

slave to commit any crime, known either to the laws of God or to

the laws of man.  If he steals, he takes his own; if he kills his

master, <149 SELFISHNESS OF MASTER THOMAS>he imitates only the

heroes of the revolution.  Slaveholders I hold to be individually

and collectively responsible for all the evils which grow out of

the horrid relation, and I believe they will be so held at the

judgment, in the sight of a just God.  Make a man a slave, and

you rob him of moral responsibility.  Freedom of choice is the

essence of all accountability.  But my kind readers are,

probably, less concerned about my opinions, than about that which

more nearly touches my personal experience; albeit, my opinions

have, in some sort, been formed by that experience.



Bad as slaveholders are, I have seldom met with one so entirely

destitute of every element of character capable of inspiring

respect, as was my present master, Capt. Thomas Auld.



When I lived with him, I thought him incapable of a noble action. 

The leading trait in his character was intense selfishness.  I

think he was fully aware of this fact himself, and often tried to

conceal it.  Capt. Auld was not a _born_ slaveholder--not a

birthright member of the slaveholding oligarchy.  He was only a

slaveholder by _marriage-right;_ and, of all slaveholders, these

latter are, _by far_, the most exacting.  There was in him all

the love of domination, the pride of mastery, and the swagger of

authority, but his rule lacked the vital element of consistency. 

He could be cruel; but his methods of showing it were cowardly,

and evinced his meanness rather than his spirit.  His commands

were strong, his enforcement weak.



Slaves are not insensible to the whole-souled characteristics of

a generous, dashing slaveholder, who is fearless of consequences;

and they prefer a master of this bold and daring kind--even with

the risk of being shot down for impudence to the fretful, little

soul, who never uses the lash but at the suggestion of a love of

gain.



Slaves, too, readily distinguish between the birthright bearing

of the original slaveholder and the assumed attitudes of the

accidental slaveholder; and while they cannot respect either,

they certainly despise the latter more than the former.

<150>



The luxury of having slaves wait upon him was something new to

Master Thomas; and for it he was wholly unprepared.  He was a

slaveholder, without the ability to hold or manage his slaves. 

We seldom called him "master," but generally addressed him by his

"bay craft" title--_Capt. Auld_."  It is easy to see that such

conduct might do much to make him appear awkward, and,

consequently, fretful.  His wife was especially solicitous to

have us call her husband "master."  Is your _master_ at the

store?"--"Where is your _master_?"--"Go and tell your _master"_--

"I will make your _master_ acquainted with your conduct"--she

would say; but we were inapt scholars.  Especially were I and my

sister Eliza inapt in this particular.  Aunt Priscilla was less

stubborn and defiant in her spirit than Eliza and myself; and, I

think, her road was less rough than ours.



In the month of August, 1833, when I had almost become desperate

under the treatment of Master Thomas, and when I entertained more

strongly than ever the oft-repeated determination to run away, a

circumstance occurred which seemed to promise brighter and better

days for us all.  At a Methodist camp-meeting, held in the Bay

Side (a famous place for campmeetings) about eight miles from St.

Michael's, Master Thomas came out with a profession of religion. 

He had long been an object of interest to the church, and to the

ministers, as I had seen by the repeated visits and lengthy

exhortations of the latter.  He was a fish quite worth catching,

for he had money and standing.  In the community of St. Michael's

he was equal to the best citizen.  He was strictly temperate;

_perhaps_, from principle, but most likely, from interest.  There

was very little to do for him, to give him the appearance of

piety, and to make him a pillar in the church.  Well, the camp-

meeting continued a week; people gathered from all parts of the

county, and two steamboat loads came from Baltimore.  The ground

was happily chosen; seats were arranged; a stand erected; a rude

altar fenced in, fronting the preachers' stand, with straw in it

for the accommodation of <151 SOUTHERN CAMP MEETING>mourners. 

This latter would hold at least one hundred persons.  In front,

and on the sides of the preachers' stand, and outside the long

rows of seats, rose the first class of stately tents, each vieing

with the other in strength, neatness, and capacity for

accommodating its inmates.  Behind this first circle of tents was

another, less imposing, which reached round the camp-ground to

the speakers' stand.  Outside this second class of tents were

covered wagons, ox carts, and vehicles of every shape and size. 

These served as tents to their owners.  Outside of these, huge

fires were burning, in all directions, where roasting, and

boiling, and frying, were going on, for the benefit of those who

were attending to their own spiritual welfare within the circle. 

_Behind_ the preachers' stand, a narrow space was marked out for

the use of the colored people.  There were no seats provided for

this class of persons; the preachers addressed them, _"over the

left,"_ if they addressed them at all.  After the preaching was

over, at every service, an invitation was given to mourners to

come into the pen; and, in some cases, ministers went out to

persuade men and women to come in.  By one of these ministers,

Master Thomas Auld was persuaded to go inside the pen.  I was

deeply interested in that matter, and followed; and, though

colored people were not allowed either in the pen or in front of

the preachers' stand, I ventured to take my stand at a sort of

half-way place between the blacks and whites, where I could

distinctly see the movements of mourners, and especially the

progress of Master Thomas.



"If he has got religion," thought I, "he will emancipate his

slaves; and if he should not do so much as this, he will, at any

rate, behave toward us more kindly, and feed us more generously

than he has heretofore done."  Appealing to my own religious

experience, and judging my master by what was true in my own

case, I could not regard him as soundly converted, unless some

such good results followed his profession of religion.



But in my expectations I was doubly disappointed; Master Thomas

was _Master Thomas_ still.  The fruits of his righteousness

<152>were to show themselves in no such way as I had anticipated. 

His conversion was not to change his relation toward men--at any

rate not toward BLACK men--but toward God.  My faith, I confess,

was not great.  There was something in his appearance that, in my

mind, cast a doubt over his conversion.  Standing where I did, I

could see his every movement.  I watched narrowly while he

remained in the little pen; and although I saw that his face was

extremely red, and his hair disheveled, and though I heard him

groan, and saw a stray tear halting on his cheek, as if inquiring

"which way shall I go?"--I could not wholly confide in the

genuineness of his conversion.  The hesitating behavior of that

tear-drop and its loneliness, distressed me, and cast a doubt

upon the whole transaction, of which it was a part.  But people

said, _"Capt. Auld had come through,"_ and it was for me to hope

for the best.  I was bound to do this, in charity, for I, too,

was religious, and had been in the church full three years,

although now I was not more than sixteen years old.  Slaveholders

may, sometimes, have confidence in the piety of some of their

slaves; but the slaves seldom have confidence in the piety of

their masters.  _"He cant go to heaven with our blood in his

skirts_," is a settled point in the creed of every slave; rising

superior to all teaching to the contrary, and standing forever as

a fixed fact.  The highest evidence the slaveholder can give the

slave of his acceptance with God, is the emancipation of his

slaves.  This is proof that he is willing to give up all to God,

and for the sake of God.  Not to do this, was, in my estimation,

and in the opinion of all the slaves, an evidence of half-

heartedness, and wholly inconsistent with the idea of genuine

conversion.  I had read, also, somewhere in the Methodist

Discipline, the following question and answer:



"_Question_.  What shall be done for the extirpation of slavery?



"_Answer_.  We declare that we are much as ever convinced of the

great evil of slavery; therefore, no slaveholder shall be

eligible to any official station in our church."





These words sounded in my ears for a long time, and en<153 FAITH

AND WORKS AT VARIANCE>couraged me to hope.  But, as I have before

said, I was doomed to disappointment.  Master Thomas seemed to be

aware of my hopes and expectations concerning him.  I have

thought, before now, that he looked at me in answer to my

glances, as much as to say, "I will teach you, young man, that,

though I have parted with my sins, I have not parted with my

sense.  I shall hold my slaves, and go to heaven too."



Possibly, to convince us that we must not presume _too much_ upon

his recent conversion, he became rather more rigid and stringent

in his exactions.  There always was a scarcity of good nature

about the man; but now his whole countenance was _soured_ over

with the seemings of piety.  His religion, therefore, neither

made him emancipate his slaves, nor caused him to treat them with

greater humanity.  If religion had any effect on his character at

all, it made him more cruel and hateful in all his ways.  The

natural wickedness of his heart had not been removed, but only

reinforced, by the profession of religion.  Do I judge him

harshly?  God forbid.  Facts _are_ facts.  Capt. Auld made the

greatest profession of piety.  His house was, literally, a house

of prayer.  In the morning, and in the evening, loud prayers and

hymns were heard there, in which both himself and his wife

joined; yet, _no more meal_ was brought from the mill, _no more

attention_ was paid to the moral welfare of the kitchen; and

nothing was done to make us feel that the heart of Master Thomas

was one whit better than it was before he went into the little

pen, opposite to the preachers' stand, on the camp ground.



Our hopes (founded on the discipline) soon vanished; for the

authorities let him into the church _at once_, and before he was

out of his term of _probation_, I heard of his leading class!  He

distinguished himself greatly among the brethren, and was soon an

exhorter.  His progress was almost as rapid as the growth of the

fabled vine of Jack's bean.  No man was more active than he, in

revivals.  He would go many miles to assist in carrying them on,

and in getting outsiders interested in religion.  His house being

<154>one of the holiest, if not the happiest in St. Michael's,

became the "preachers' home."  These preachers evidently liked to

share Master Thomas's hospitality; for while he _starved us_, he

_stuffed_ them.  Three or four of these ambassadors of the

gospel--according to slavery--have been there at a time; all

living on the fat of the land, while we, in the kitchen, were

nearly starving.  Not often did we get a smile of recognition

from these holy men.  They seemed almost as unconcerned about our

getting to heaven, as they were about our getting out of slavery. 

To this general charge there was one exception--the Rev. GEORGE

COOKMAN.  Unlike Rev. Messrs. Storks, Ewry, Hickey, Humphrey and

Cooper (all whom were on the St. Michael's circuit) he kindly

took an interest in our temporal and spiritual welfare.  Our

souls and our bodies were all alike sacred in his sight; and he

really had a good deal of genuine anti-slavery feeling mingled

with his colonization ideas.  There was not a slave in our

neighborhood that did not love, and almost venerate, Mr. Cookman. 

It was pretty generally believed that he had been chiefly

instrumental in bringing one of the largest slaveholders--Mr.

Samuel Harrison--in that neighborhood, to emancipate all his

slaves, and, indeed, the general impression was, that Mr. Cookman

had labored faithfully with slaveholders, whenever he met them,

to induce them to emancipate their bondmen, and that he did this

as a religious duty.  When this good man was at our house, we

were all sure to be called in to prayers in the morning; and he

was not slow in making inquiries as to the state of our minds,

nor in giving us a word of exhortation and of encouragement. 

Great was the sorrow of all the slaves, when this faithful

preacher of the gospel was removed from the Talbot county

circuit.  He was an eloquent preacher, and possessed what few

ministers, south of Mason Dixon's line, possess, or _dare_ to

show, viz: a warm and philanthropic heart.  The Mr. Cookman, of

whom I speak, was an Englishman by birth, and perished while on

his way to England, on board the ill-fated "President".  Could

the thousands of slaves <155 THE SABBATH SCHOOL>in Maryland know

the fate of the good man, to whose words of comfort they were so

largely indebted, they would thank me for dropping a tear on this

page, in memory of their favorite preacher, friend and

benefactor.



But, let me return to Master Thomas, and to my experience, after

his conversion.  In Baltimore, I could, occasionally, get into a

Sabbath school, among the free children, and receive lessons,

with the rest; but, having already learned both to read and to

write, I was more of a teacher than a pupil, even there.  When,

however, I went back to the Eastern Shore, and was at the house

of Master Thomas, I was neither allowed to teach, nor to be

taught.  The whole community--with but a single exception, among

the whites--frowned upon everything like imparting instruction

either to slaves or to free colored persons.  That single

exception, a pious young man, named Wilson, asked me, one day, if

I would like to assist him in teaching a little Sabbath school,

at the house of a free colored man in St. Michael's, named James

Mitchell.  The idea was to me a delightful one, and I told him I

would gladly devote as much of my Sabbath as I could command, to

that most laudable work.  Mr. Wilson soon mustered up a dozen old

spelling books, and a few testaments; and we commenced

operations, with some twenty scholars, in our Sunday school. 

Here, thought I, is something worth living for; here is an

excellent chance for usefulness; and I shall soon have a company

of young friends, lovers of knowledge, like some of my Baltimore

friends, from whom I now felt parted forever.



Our first Sabbath passed delightfully, and I spent the week after

very joyously.  I could not go to Baltimore, but I could make a

little Baltimore here.  At our second meeting, I learned that

there was some objection to the existence of the Sabbath school;

and, sure enough, we had scarcely got at work--_good work_,

simply teaching a few colored children how to read the gospel of

the Son of God--when in rushed a mob, headed by Mr. Wright

Fairbanks and Mr. Garrison West--two class-leaders<156>--and

Master Thomas; who, armed with sticks and other missiles, drove

us off, and commanded us never to meet for such a purpose again. 

One of this pious crew told me, that as for my part, I wanted to

be another Nat Turner; and if I did not look out, I should get as

many balls into me, as Nat did into him.  Thus ended the infant

Sabbath school, in the town of St. Michael's.  The reader will

not be surprised when I say, that the breaking up of my Sabbath

school, by these class-leaders, and professedly holy men, did not

serve to strengthen my religious convictions.  The cloud over my

St. Michael's home grew heavier and blacker than ever.



It was not merely the agency of Master Thomas, in breaking up and

destroying my Sabbath school, that shook my confidence in the

power of southern religion to make men wiser or better; but I saw

in him all the cruelty and meanness, _after_ his conversion,

which he had exhibited before he made a profession of religion. 

His cruelty and meanness were especially displayed in his

treatment of my unfortunate cousin, Henny, whose lameness made

her a burden to him.  I have no extraordinary personal hard usage

toward myself to complain of, against him, but I have seen him

tie up the lame and maimed woman, and whip her in a manner most

brutal, and shocking; and then, with blood-chilling blasphemy, he

would quote the passage of scripture, "That servant which knew

his lord's will, and prepared not himself, neither did according

to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes."  Master would

keep this lacerated woman tied up by her wrists, to a bolt in the

joist, three, four and five hours at a time.  He would tie her up

early in the morning, whip her with a cowskin before breakfast;

leave her tied up; go to his store, and, returning to his dinner,

repeat the castigation; laying on the rugged lash, on flesh

already made raw by repeated blows.  He seemed desirous to get

the poor girl out of existence, or, at any rate, off his hands. 

In proof of this, he afterwards gave her away to his sister Sarah

(Mrs. Cline) but, as in the case of Master <157 BARBAROUS

TREATMENT OF HENNY>Hugh, Henny was soon returned on his hands. 

Finally, upon a pretense that he could do nothing with her (I use

his own words) he "set her adrift, to take care of herself." 

Here was a recently converted man, holding, with tight grasp, the

well-framed, and able bodied slaves left him by old master--the

persons, who, in freedom, could have taken care of themselves;

yet, turning loose the only cripple among them, virtually to

starve and die.



No doubt, had Master Thomas been asked, by some pious northern

brother, _why_ he continued to sustain the relation of a

slaveholder, to those whom he retained, his answer would have

been precisely the same as many other religious slaveholders have

returned to that inquiry, viz: "I hold my slaves for their own

good."



Bad as my condition was when I lived with Master Thomas, I was

soon to experience a life far more goading and bitter.  The many

differences springing up between myself and Master Thomas, owing

to the clear perception I had of his character, and the boldness

with which I defended myself against his capricious complaints,

led him to declare that I was unsuited to his wants; that my city

life had affected me perniciously; that, in fact, it had almost

ruined me for every good purpose, and had fitted me for

everything that was bad.  One of my greatest faults, or offenses,

was that of letting his horse get away, and go down to the farm

belonging to his father-in-law.  The animal had a liking for that

farm, with which I fully sympathized.  Whenever I let it out, it

would go dashing down the road to Mr. Hamilton's, as if going on

a grand frolic.  My horse gone, of course I must go after it. 

The explanation of our mutual attachment to the place is the

same; the horse found there good pasturage, and I found there

plenty of bread.  Mr. Hamilton had his faults, but starving his

slaves was not among them.  He gave food, in abundance, and that,

too, of an excellent quality.  In Mr. Hamilton's cook--Aunt

Mary--I found a most generous and considerate friend.  She never

allowed me to go there without giving me bread enough <158>to

make good the deficiencies of a day or two.  Master Thomas at

last resolved to endure my behavior no longer; he could neither

keep me, nor his horse, we liked so well to be at his father-in-

law's farm.  I had now lived with him nearly nine months, and he

had given me a number of severe whippings, without any visible

improvement in my character, or my conduct; and now he was

resolved to put me out--as he said--"_to be broken."_



There was, in the Bay Side, very near the camp ground, where my

master got his religious impressions, a man named Edward Covey,

who enjoyed the execrated reputation, of being a first rate hand

at breaking young Negroes.  This Covey was a poor man, a farm

renter; and this reputation (hateful as it was to the slaves and

to all good men) was, at the same time, of immense advantage to

him.  It enabled him to get his farm tilled with very little

expense, compared with what it would have cost him without this

most extraordinary reputation.  Some slaveholders thought it an

advantage to let Mr. Covey have the government of their slaves a

year or two, almost free of charge, for the sake of the excellent

training such slaves got under his happy management!  Like some

horse breakers, noted for their skill, who ride the best horses

in the country without expense, Mr. Covey could have under him,

the most fiery bloods of the neighborhood, for the simple reward

of returning them to their owners, _well broken_.  Added to the

natural fitness of Mr. Covey for the duties of his profession, he

was said to "enjoy religion," and was as strict in the

cultivation of piety, as he was in the cultivation of his farm. 

I was made aware of his character by some who had been under his

hand; and while I could not look forward to going to him with any

pleasure, I was glad to get away from St. Michael's.  I was sure

of getting enough to eat at Covey's, even if I suffered in other

respects.  _This_, to a hungry man, is not a prospect to be

regarded with indifference.







CHAPTER XV

_Covey, the Negro Breaker_



JOURNEY TO MY NEW MASTER'S--MEDITATIONS BY THE WAY--VIEW OF

COVEY'S RESIDENCE--THE FAMILY--MY AWKWARDNESS AS A FIELD HAND--A

CRUEL BEATING--WHY IT WAS GIVEN--DESCRIPTION OF COVEY--FIRST

ADVENTURE AT OX DRIVING--HAIR BREADTH ESCAPES--OX AND MAN ALIKE

PROPERTY--COVEY'S MANNER OF PROCEEDING TO WHIP--HARD LABOR BETTER

THAN THE WHIP FOR BREAKING DOWN THE SPIRIT--CUNNING AND TRICKERY

OF COVEY--FAMILY WORSHIP--SHOCKING CONTEMPT FOR CHASTITY--I AM

BROKEN DOWN--GREAT MENTAL AGITATION IN CONTRASTING THE FREEDOM OF

THE SHIPS WITH HIS OWN SLAVERY--ANGUISH BEYOND DESCRIPTION.







The morning of the first of January, 1834, with its chilling wind

and pinching frost, quite in harmony with the winter in my own

mind, found me, with my little bundle of clothing on the end of a

stick, swung across my shoulder, on the main road, bending my way

toward Covey's, whither I had been imperiously ordered by Master

Thomas.  The latter had been as good as his word, and had

committed me, without reserve, to the mastery of Mr. Edward

Covey.  Eight or ten years had now passed since I had been taken

from my grandmother's cabin, in Tuckahoe; and these years, for

the most part, I had spent in Baltimore, where--as the reader has

already seen--I was treated with comparative tenderness.  I was

now about to sound profounder depths in slave life.  The rigors

of a field, less tolerable than the field of battle, awaited me. 

My new master was notorious for his fierce and savage

disposition, and my only consolation in going to live <160>with

him was, the certainty of finding him precisely as represented by

common fame.  There was neither joy in my heart, nor elasticity

in my step, as I started in search of the tyrant's home. 

Starvation made me glad to leave Thomas Auld's, and the cruel

lash made me dread to go to Covey's.  Escape was impossible; so,

heavy and sad, I paced the seven miles, which separated Covey's

house from St. Michael's--thinking much by the solitary way--

averse to my condition; but _thinking_ was all I could do.  Like

a fish in a net, allowed to play for a time, I was now drawn

rapidly to the shore, secured at all points.  "I am," thought I,

"but the sport of a power which makes no account, either of my

welfare or of my happiness.  By a law which I can clearly

comprehend, but cannot evade nor resist, I am ruthlessly snatched

from the hearth of a fond grandmother, and hurried away to the

home of a mysterious `old master;' again I am removed from there,

to a master in Baltimore; thence am I snatched away to the

Eastern Shore, to be valued with the beasts of the field, and,

with them, divided and set apart for a possessor; then I am sent

back to Baltimore; and by the time I have formed new attachments,

and have begun to hope that no more rude shocks shall touch me, a

difference arises between brothers, and I am again broken up, and

sent to St. Michael's; and now, from the latter place, I am

footing my way to the home of a new master, where, I am given to

understand, that, like a wild young working animal, I am to be

broken to the yoke of a bitter and life-long bondage."



With thoughts and reflections like these, I came in sight of a

small wood-colored building, about a mile from the main road,

which, from the description I had received, at starting, I easily

recognized as my new home.  The Chesapeake bay--upon the jutting

banks of which the little wood-colored house was standing--white

with foam, raised by the heavy north-west wind; Poplar Island,

covered with a thick, black pine forest, standing out amid this

half ocean; and Kent Point, stretching its sandy, desert-like

shores out into the foam-cested bay--were all in <161 COVEY'S

RESIDENCE--THE FAMILY>sight, and deepened the wild and desolate

aspect of my new home.



The good clothes I had brought with me from Baltimore were now

worn thin, and had not been replaced; for Master Thomas was as

little careful to provide us against cold, as against hunger. 

Met here by a north wind, sweeping through an open space of forty

miles, I was glad to make any port; and, therefore, I speedily

pressed on to the little wood-colored house.  The family

consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Covey; Miss Kemp (a broken-backed

woman) a sister of Mrs. Covey; William Hughes, cousin to Edward

Covey; Caroline, the cook; Bill Smith, a hired man; and myself. 

Bill Smith, Bill Hughes, and myself, were the working force of

the farm, which consisted of three or four hundred acres.  I was

now, for the first time in my life, to be a field hand; and in my

new employment I found myself even more awkward than a green

country boy may be supposed to be, upon his first entrance into

the bewildering scenes of city life; and my awkwardness gave me

much trouble.  Strange and unnatural as it may seem, I had been

at my new home but three days, before Mr. Covey (my brother in

the Methodist church) gave me a bitter foretaste of what was in

reserve for me.  I presume he thought, that since he had but a

single year in which to complete his work, the sooner he began,

the better.  Perhaps he thought that by coming to blows at once,

we should mutually better understand our relations.  But to

whatever motive, direct or indirect, the cause may be referred, I

had not been in his possession three whole days, before he

subjected me to a most brutal chastisement.  Under his heavy

blows, blood flowed freely, and wales were left on my back as

large as my little finger.  The sores on my back, from this

flogging, continued for weeks, for they were kept open by the

rough and coarse cloth which I wore for shirting.  The occasion

and details of this first chapter of my experience as a field

hand, must be told, that the reader may see how unreasonable, as

well as how cruel, my new master, Covey, was.  <162>The whole

thing I found to be characteristic of the man; and I was probably

treated no worse by him than scores of lads who had previously

been committed to him, for reasons similar to those which induced

my master to place me with him.  But, here are the facts

connected with the affair, precisely as they occurred.



On one of the coldest days of the whole month of January, 1834, I

was ordered, at day break, to get a load of wood, from a forest

about two miles from the house.  In order to perform this work,

Mr. Covey gave me a pair of unbroken oxen, for, it seems, his

breaking abilities had not been turned in this direction; and I

may remark, in passing, that working animals in the south, are

seldom so well trained as in the north.  In due form, and with

all proper ceremony, I was introduced to this huge yoke of

unbroken oxen, and was carefully told which was "Buck," and which

was "Darby"--which was the "in hand," and which was the "off

hand" ox.  The master of this important ceremony was no less a

person than Mr. Covey, himself; and the introduction was the

first of the kind I had ever had.  My life, hitherto, had led me

away from horned cattle, and I had no knowledge of the art of

managing them.  What was meant by the "in ox," as against the

"off ox," when both were equally fastened to one cart, and under

one yoke, I could not very easily divine; and the difference,

implied by the names, and the peculiar duties of each, were alike

_Greek_ to me.  Why was not the "off ox" called the "in ox?" 

Where and what is the reason for this distinction in names, when

there is none in the things themselves?  After initiating me into

the _"woa," "back" "gee," "hither"_--the entire spoken language

between oxen and driver--Mr. Covey took a rope, about ten feet

long and one inch thick, and placed one end of it around the

horns of the "in hand ox," and gave the other end to me, telling

me that if the oxen started to run away, as the scamp knew they

would, I must hold on to the rope and stop them.  I need not tell

any one who is acquainted with either the strength of the

disposition of an untamed ox, that this order <163 FIRST

ADVENTURE AT OX DRIVING>was about as unreasonable as a command to

shoulder a mad bull!  I had never driven oxen before, and I was

as awkward, as a driver, as it is possible to conceive.  It did

not answer for me to plead ignorance, to Mr. Covey; there was

something in his manner that quite forbade that.  He was a man to

whom a slave seldom felt any disposition to speak.  Cold,

distant, morose, with a face wearing all the marks of captious

pride and malicious sternness, he repelled all advances.  Covey

was not a large man; he was only about five feet ten inches in

height, I should think; short necked, round shoulders; of quick

and wiry motion, of thin and wolfish visage; with a pair of

small, greenish-gray eyes, set well back under a forehead without

dignity, and constantly in motion, and floating his passions,

rather than his thoughts, in sight, but denying them utterance in

words.  The creature presented an appearance altogether ferocious

and sinister, disagreeable and forbidding, in the extreme.  When

he spoke, it was from the corner of his mouth, and in a sort of

light growl, like a dog, when an attempt is made to take a bone

from him.  The fellow had already made me believe him even

_worse_ than he had been presented.  With his directions, and

without stopping to question, I started for the woods, quite

anxious to perform my first exploit in driving, in a creditable

manner.  The distance from the house to the woods gate a full

mile, I should think--was passed over with very little

difficulty; for although the animals ran, I was fleet enough, in

the open field, to keep pace with them; especially as they pulled

me along at the end of the rope; but, on reaching the woods, I

was speedily thrown into a distressing plight.  The animals took

fright, and started off ferociously into the woods, carrying the

cart, full tilt, against trees, over stumps, and dashing from

side to side, in a manner altogether frightful.  As I held the

rope, I expected every moment to be crushed between the cart and

the huge trees, among which they were so furiously dashing. 

After running thus for several minutes, my oxen were, finally,

brought to a stand, by a tree, against which they dashed

<164>themselves with great violence, upsetting the cart, and

entangling themselves among sundry young saplings.  By the shock,

the body of the cart was flung in one direction, and the wheels

and tongue in another, and all in the greatest confusion.  There

I was, all alone, in a thick wood, to which I was a stranger; my

cart upset and shattered; my oxen entangled, wild, and enraged;

and I, poor soul! but a green hand, to set all this disorder

right.  I knew no more of oxen than the ox driver is supposed to

know of wisdom.  After standing a few moments surveying the

damage and disorder, and not without a presentiment that this

trouble would draw after it others, even more distressing, I took

one end of the cart body, and, by an extra outlay of strength, I

lifted it toward the axle-tree, from which it had been violently

flung; and after much pulling and straining, I succeeded in

getting the body of the cart in its place.  This was an important

step out of the difficulty, and its performance increased my

courage for the work which remained to be done.  The cart was

provided with an ax, a tool with which I had become pretty well

acquainted in the ship yard at Baltimore.  With this, I cut down

the saplings by which my oxen were entangled, and again pursued

my journey, with my heart in my mouth, lest the oxen should again

take it into their senseless heads to cut up a caper.  My fears

were groundless.  Their spree was over for the present, and the

rascals now moved off as soberly as though their behavior had

been natural and exemplary.  On reaching the part of the forest

where I had been, the day before, chopping wood, I filled the

cart with a heavy load, as a security against another running

away.  But, the neck of an ox is equal in strength to iron.  It

defies all ordinary burdens, when excited.  Tame and docile to a

proverb, when _well_ trained, the ox is the most sullen and

intractable of animals when but half broken to the yoke.



I now saw, in my situation, several points of similarity with

that of the oxen.  They were property, so was I; they were to be

<165 SENT BACK TO THE WOODS>broken, so was I.  Covey was to break

me, I was to break them; break and be broken--such is life.



Half the day already gone, and my face not yet homeward!  It

required only two day's experience and observation to teach me,

that such apparent waste of time would not be lightly overlooked

by Covey.  I therefore hurried toward home; but, on reaching the

lane gate, I met with the crowning disaster for the day.  This

gate was a fair specimen of southern handicraft.  There were two

huge posts, eighteen inches in diameter, rough hewed and square,

and the heavy gate was so hung on one of these, that it opened

only about half the proper distance.  On arriving here, it was

necessary for me to let go the end of the rope on the horns of

the "in hand ox;" and now as soon as the gate was open, and I let

go of it to get the rope, again, off went my oxen--making nothing

of their load--full tilt; and in doing so they caught the huge

gate between the wheel and the cart body, literally crushing it

to splinters, and coming only within a few inches of subjecting

me to a similar crushing, for I was just in advance of the wheel

when it struck the left gate post.  With these two hair-breadth

escape, I thought I could sucessfully{sic} explain to Mr. Covey

the delay, and avert apprehended punishment.  I was not without a

faint hope of being commended for the stern resolution which I

had displayed in accomplishing the difficult task--a task which,

I afterwards learned, even Covey himself would not have

undertaken, without first driving the oxen for some time in the

open field, preparatory to their going into the woods.  But, in

this I was disappointed.  On coming to him, his countenance

assumed an aspect of rigid displeasure, and, as I gave him a

history of the casualties of my trip, his wolfish face, with his

greenish eyes, became intensely ferocious.  "Go back to the woods

again," he said, muttering something else about wasting time.  I

hastily obeyed; but I had not gone far on my way, when I saw him

coming after me.  My oxen now behaved themselves with singular

<166>propriety, opposing their present conduct to my

representation of their former antics.  I almost wished, now that

Covey was coming, they would do something in keeping with the

character I had given them; but no, they had already had their

spree, and they could afford now to be extra good, readily

obeying my orders, and seeming to understand them quite as well

as I did myself.  On reaching the woods, my tormentor--who seemed

all the way to be remarking upon the good behavior of his oxen--

came up to me, and ordered me to stop the cart, accompanying the

same with the threat that he would now teach me how to break

gates, and idle away my time, when he sent me to the woods. 

Suiting the action to the word, Covey paced off, in his own wiry

fashion, to a large, black gum tree, the young shoots of which

are generally used for ox _goads_, they being exceedingly tough. 

Three of these _goads_, from four to six feet long, he cut off,

and trimmed up, with his large jack-knife.  This done, he ordered

me to take off my clothes.  To this unreasonable order I made no

reply, but sternly refused to take off my clothing.  "If you will

beat me," thought I, "you shall do so over my clothes."  After

many threats, which made no impression on me, he rushed at me

with something of the savage fierceness of a wolf, tore off the

few and thinly worn clothes I had on, and proceeded to wear out,

on my back, the heavy goads which he had cut from the gum tree. 

This flogging was the first of a series of floggings; and though

very severe, it was less so than many which came after it, and

these, for offenses far lighter than the gate breaking



I remained with Mr. Covey one year (I cannot say I _lived_ with

him) and during the first six months that I was there, I was

whipped, either with sticks or cowskins, every week.  Aching

bones and a sore back were my constant companions.  Frequent as

the lash was used, Mr. Covey thought less of it, as a means of

breaking down my spirit, than that of hard and long continued

labor.  He worked me steadily, up to the point of my powers of

endurance.  From the dawn of day in the morning, till the

dark<167 CUNNING AND TRICKERY OF COVEY>ness was complete in the

evening, I was kept at hard work, in the field or the woods.  At

certain seasons of the year, we were all kept in the field till

eleven and twelve o'clock at night.  At these times, Covey would

attend us in the field, and urge us on with words or blows, as it

seemed best to him.  He had, in his life, been an overseer, and

he well understood the business of slave driving.  There was no

deceiving him.  He knew just what a man or boy could do, and he

held both to strict account.  When he pleased, he would work

himself, like a very Turk, making everything fly before him.  It

was, however, scarcely necessary for Mr. Covey to be really

present in the field, to have his work go on industriously.  He

had the faculty of making us feel that he was always present.  By

a series of adroitly managed surprises, which he practiced, I was

prepared to expect him at any moment.  His plan was, never to

approach the spot where his hands were at work, in an open, manly

and direct manner.  No thief was ever more artful in his devices

than this man Covey.  He would creep and crawl, in ditches and

gullies; hide behind stumps and bushes, and practice so much of

the cunning of the serpent, that Bill Smith and I--between

ourselves--never called him by any other name than _"the snake."_ 

We fancied that in his eyes and his gait we could see a snakish

resemblance.  One half of his proficiency in the art of Negro

breaking, consisted, I should think, in this species of cunning. 

We were never secure.  He could see or hear us nearly all the

time.  He was, to us, behind every stump, tree, bush and fence on

the plantation.  He carried this kind of trickery so far, that he

would sometimes mount his horse, and make believe he was going to

St. Michael's; and, in thirty minutes afterward, you might find

his horse tied in the woods, and the snake-like Covey lying flat

in the ditch, with his head lifted above its edge, or in a fence

corner, watching every movement of the slaves!  I have known him

walk up to us and give us special orders, as to our work, in

advance, as if he were leaving home with a view to being absent

several days; and before he got half way to the <168>house, he

would avail himself of our inattention to his movements, to turn

short on his heels, conceal himself behind a fence corner or a

tree, and watch us until the going down of the sun.  Mean and

contemptible as is all this, it is in keeping with the character

which the life of a slaveholder is calculated to produce.  There

is no earthly inducement, in the slave's condition, to incite him

to labor faithfully.  The fear of punishment is the sole motive

for any sort of industry, with him.  Knowing this fact, as the

slaveholder does, and judging the slave by himself, he naturally

concludes the slave will be idle whenever the cause for this fear

is absent.  Hence, all sorts of petty deceptions are practiced,

to inspire this fear.



But, with Mr. Covey, trickery was natural.  Everything in the

shape of learning or religion, which he possessed, was made to

conform to this semi-lying propensity.  He did not seem conscious

that the practice had anything unmanly, base or contemptible

about it.  It was a part of an important system, with him,

essential to the relation of master and slave.  I thought I saw,

in his very religious devotions, this controlling element of his

character.  A long prayer at night made up for the short prayer

in the morning; and few men could seem more devotional than he,

when he had nothing else to do.



Mr. Covey was not content with the cold style of family worship,

adopted in these cold latitudes, which begin and end with a

simple prayer.  No! the voice of praise, as well as of prayer,

must be heard in his house, night and morning.  At first, I was

called upon to bear some part in these exercises; but the

repeated flogging given me by Covey, turned the whole thing into

mockery.  He was a poor singer, and mainly relied on me for

raising the hymn for the family, and when I failed to do so, he

was thrown into much confusion.  I do not think that he ever

abused me on account of these vexations.  His religion was a

thing altogether apart from his worldly concerns.  He knew

nothing of it as a holy principle, directing and controlling his

daily life, <169 SHOCKING CONTEMPT FOR CHASTITY>making the latter

conform to the requirements of the gospel.  One or two facts will

illustrate his character better than a volume of

generalties{sic}.



I have already said, or implied, that Mr. Edward Covey was a poor

man.  He was, in fact, just commencing to lay the foundation of

his fortune, as fortune is regarded in a slave state.  The first

condition of wealth and respectability there, being the ownership

of human property, every nerve is strained, by the poor man, to

obtain it, and very little regard is had to the manner of

obtaining it.  In pursuit of this object, pious as Mr. Covey was,

he proved himself to be as unscrupulous and base as the worst of

his neighbors.  In the beginning, he was only able--as he said--

"to buy one slave;" and, scandalous and shocking as is the fact,

he boasted that he bought her simply "_as a breeder_."  But the

worst is not told in this naked statement.  This young woman

(Caroline was her name) was virtually compelled by Mr. Covey to

abandon herself to the object for which he had purchased her; and

the result was, the birth of twins at the end of the year.  At

this addition to his human stock, both Edward Covey and his wife,

Susan, were ecstatic with joy.  No one dreamed of reproaching the

woman, or of finding fault with the hired man--Bill Smith--the

father of the children, for Mr. Covey himself had locked the two

up together every night, thus inviting the result.



But I will pursue this revolting subject no further.  No better

illustration of the unchaste and demoralizing character of

slavery can be found, than is furnished in the fact that this

professedly Christian slaveholder, amidst all his prayers and

hymns, was shamelessly and boastfully encouraging, and actually

compelling, in his own house, undisguised and unmitigated

fornication, as a means of increasing his human stock.  I may

remark here, that, while this fact will be read with disgust and

shame at the north, it will be _laughed at_, as smart and

praiseworthy in Mr. Covey, at the south; for a man is no more

condemned there for buying a woman and devoting her to this life

of dishonor, <170>than for buying a cow, and raising stock from

her.  The same rules are observed, with a view to increasing the

number and quality of the former, as of the latter.



I will here reproduce what I said of my own experience in this

wretched place, more than ten years ago:







If at any one time of my life, more than another, I was made to

drink the bitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the

first six months of my stay with Mr. Covey.  We were worked all

weathers.  It was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain,

blow, snow, or hail too hard for us to work in the field.  Work,

work, work, was scarcely more the order of the day than the

night.  The longest days were too short for him, and the shortest

nights were too long for him.  I was somewhat unmanageable when I

first went there; but a few months of his discipline tamed me. 

Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me.  I was broken in body, soul

and spirit.  My natural elasticity was crushed; my intellect

languished; the disposition to read departed; the cheerful spark

that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed

in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!



Sunday was my only leisure time.  I spent this in a sort of

beast-like stupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree. 

At times, I would rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would

dart through my soul, accompanied with a faint beam of hope,

flickered for a moment, and then vanished.  I sank down again,

mourning over my wretched condition.  I was sometimes prompted to

take my life, and that of Covey, but was prevented by a

combination of hope and fear.  My sufferings on this plantation

seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality.



Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake bay, whose

broad bosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the

habitable globe.  Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white,

so delightful to the eye of freemen, were to me so many shrouded

ghosts, to terrify and torment me with thoughts of my wretched

condition.  I have often, in the deep stillness of a summer's

Sabbath, stood all alone upon the banks of that noble bay, and

traced, with saddened heart and tearful eye, the countless number

of sails moving off to the mighty ocean.  The sight of these

always affected me powerfully.  My thoughts would compel

utterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty, I would

pour out my soul's complaint in my rude way, with an apostrophe

to the moving multitude of ships:



"You are loosed from your moorings, and free; I am fast in my

chains, and am a slave!  You move merrily before the gentle gale,

and I sadly before the bloody whip!  You are freedom's swift-

winged angels, that fly around the world; I am confined in bands

of iron!  O, that I were free!  O, that I were on one of your

gallant decks, and under your protecting wing!  Alas! betwixt me

<171 ANGUISH BEYOND DESCRIPTION>and you the turbid waters roll. 

Go on, go on.  O that I could also go!  Could I but swim!  If I

could fly!  O, why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! 

The glad ship is gone; she hides in the dim distance.  I am left

in the hottest hell of unending slavery.  O God, save me!  God,

deliver me!  Let me be free!  Is there any God?  Why am I a

slave?  I will run away.  I will not stand it.  Get caught, or

get clear, I'll try it.  I had as well die with ague as with

fever.  I have only one life to lose.  I had as well be killed

running as die standing.  Only think of it; one hundred miles

straight north, and I am free!  Try it?  Yes!  God helping me, I

will.  It cannot be that I shall live and die a slave.  I will

take to the water.  This very bay shall yet bear me into freedom. 

The steamboats steered in a north-east coast from North Point.  I

will do the same; and when I get to the head of the bay, I will

turn my canoe adrift, and walk straight through Delaware into

Pennsylvania.  When I get there, I shall not be required to have

a pass; I will travel without being disturbed.  Let but the first

opportunity offer, and come what will, I am off.  Meanwhile, I

will try to bear up under the yoke.  I am not the only slave in

the world.  Why should I fret?  I can bear as much as any of

them.  Besides, I am but a boy, and all boys are bound to some

one.  It may be that my misery in slavery will only increase my

happiness when I get free.  There is a better day coming."



I shall never be able to narrate the mental experience through

which it was my lot to pass during my stay at Covey's.  I was

completely wrecked, changed and bewildered; goaded almost to

madness at one time, and at another reconciling myself to my

wretched condition.  Everything in the way of kindness, which I

had experienced at Baltimore; all my former hopes and aspirations

for usefulness in the world, and the happy moments spent in the

exercises of religion, contrasted with my then present lot, but

increased my anguish.



I suffered bodily as well as mentally.  I had neither sufficient

time in which to eat or to sleep, except on Sundays.  The

overwork, and the brutal chastisements of which I was the victim,

combined with that ever-gnawing and soul-devouring thought--"_I

am a slave--a slave for life--a slave with no rational ground to

hope for freedom_"--rendered me a living embodiment of mental and

physical wretchedness.







CHAPTER XVI

_Another Pressure of the Tyrant's Vice_



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

<173 SCENE IN THE TREADING YARD>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

<174>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, <175 ESCAPE TO ST. MICHAEL'S>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 <176>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 <177 BEARING OF

MASTER THOMAS>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 <178>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 <179 THE SLAVE IS NEVER SICK>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.





CHAPTER XVII

_The Last Flogging_



A SLEEPLESS NIGHT--RETURN TO COVEY'S--PURSUED BY COVEY--THE CHASE

DEFEATED--VENGEANCE POSTPONED--MUSINGS IN THE WOODS--THE

ALTERNATIVE--DEPLORABLE SPECTACLE--NIGHT IN THE WOODS--EXPECTED

ATTACK--ACCOSTED BY SANDY, A FRIEND, NOT A HUNTER--SANDY'S

HOSPITALITY--THE "ASH CAKE" SUPPER--THE INTERVIEW WITH SANDY--HIS

ADVICE--SANDY A CONJURER AS WELL AS A CHRISTIAN--THE MAGIC ROOT--

STRANGE MEETING WITH COVEY--HIS MANNER--COVEY'S SUNDAY FACE--MY

DEFENSIVE RESOLVE--THE FIGHT--THE VICTORY, AND ITS RESULTS.





Sleep itself does not always come to the relief of the weary in

body, and the broken in spirit; especially when past troubles

only foreshadow coming disasters.  The last hope had been

extinguished.  My master, who I did not venture to hope would

protect me as _a man_, had even now refused to protect me as _his

property;_ and had cast me back, covered with reproaches and

bruises, into the hands of a stranger to that mercy which was the

soul of the religion he professed.  May the reader never spend

such a night as that allotted to me, previous to the morning

which was to herald my return to the den of horrors from which I

had made a temporary escape.



I remained all night--sleep I did not--at St. Michael's; and in

the morning (Saturday) I started off, according to the order of

Master Thomas, feeling that I had no friend on earth, and

doubting if I had one in heaven.  I reached Covey's about nine

o'clock; and just as I stepped into the field, before I had

reached the house, Covey, true to his snakish habits, darted out

at me <181 RETURN TO COVEY'S>from a fence corner, in which he had

secreted himself, for the purpose of securing me.  He was amply

provided with a cowskin and a rope; and he evidently intended to

_tie me up_, and to wreak his vengeance on me to the fullest

extent.  I should have been an easy prey, had he succeeded in

getting his hands upon me, for I had taken no refreshment since

noon on Friday; and this, together with the pelting, excitement,

and the loss of blood, had reduced my strength.  I, however,

darted back into the woods, before the ferocious hound could get

hold of me, and buried myself in a thicket, where he lost sight

of me.  The corn-field afforded me cover, in getting to the

woods.  But for the tall corn, Covey would have overtaken me, and

made me his captive.  He seemed very much chagrined that he did

not catch me, and gave up the chase, very reluctantly; for I

could see his angry movements, toward the house from which he had

sallied, on his foray.



Well, now I am clear of Covey, and of his wrathful lash, for

present.  I am in the wood, buried in its somber gloom, and

hushed in its solemn silence; hid from all human eyes; shut in

with nature and nature's God, and absent from all human

contrivances.  Here was a good place to pray; to pray for help

for deliverance--a prayer I had often made before.  But how could

I pray?  Covey could pray--Capt. Auld could pray--I would fain

pray; but doubts (arising partly from my own neglect of the means

of grace, and partly from the sham religion which everywhere

prevailed, cast in my mind a doubt upon all religion, and led me

to the conviction that prayers were unavailing and delusive)

prevented my embracing the opportunity, as a religious one. 

Life, in itself, had almost become burdensome to me.  All my

outward relations were against me; I must stay here and starve (I

was already hungry) or go home to Covey's, and have my flesh torn

to pieces, and my spirit humbled under the cruel lash of Covey. 

This was the painful alternative presented to me.  The day was

long and irksome.  My physical condition was deplorable.  I was

weak, from the toils of the previous day, and from the want of

<182>food and rest; and had been so little concerned about my

appearance, that I had not yet washed the blood from my garments. 

I was an object of horror, even to myself.  Life, in Baltimore,

when most oppressive, was a paradise to this.  What had I done,

what had my parents done, that such a life as this should be

mine?  That day, in the woods, I would have exchanged my manhood

for the brutehood of an ox.



Night came.  I was still in the woods, unresolved what to do. 

Hunger had not yet pinched me to the point of going home, and I

laid myself down in the leaves to rest; for I had been watching

for hunters all day, but not being molested during the day, I

expected no disturbance during the night.  I had come to the

conclusion that Covey relied upon hunger to drive me home; and in

this I was quite correct--the facts showed that he had made no

effort to catch me, since morning.



During the night, I heard the step of a man in the woods.  He was

coming toward the place where I lay.  A person lying still has

the advantage over one walking in the woods, in the day time, and

this advantage is much greater at night.  I was not able to

engage in a physical struggle, and I had recourse to the common

resort of the weak.  I hid myself in the leaves to prevent

discovery.  But, as the night rambler in the woods drew nearer, I

found him to be a _friend_, not an enemy; it was a slave of Mr.

William Groomes, of Easton, a kind hearted fellow, named "Sandy." 

Sandy lived with Mr. Kemp that year, about four miles from St.

Michael's.  He, like myself had been hired out by the year; but,

unlike myself, had not been hired out to be broken.  Sandy was

the husband of a free woman, who lived in the lower part of

_"Potpie Neck,"_ and he was now on his way through the woods, to

see her, and to spend the Sabbath with her.



As soon as I had ascertained that the disturber of my solitude

was not an enemy, but the good-hearted Sandy--a man as famous

among the slaves of the neighborhood for his good nature, as for

his good sense I came out from my hiding place, and made <183 THE

ASH CAKE SUPPER>myself known to him.  I explained the

circumstances of the past two days, which had driven me to the

woods, and he deeply compassionated my distress.  It was a bold

thing for him to shelter me, and I could not ask him to do so;

for, had I been found in his hut, he would have suffered the

penalty of thirty-nine lashes on his bare back, if not something

worse.  But Sandy was too generous to permit the fear of

punishment to prevent his relieving a brother bondman from hunger

and exposure; and, therefore, on his own motion, I accompanied

him to his home, or rather to the home of his wife--for the house

and lot were hers.  His wife was called up--for it was now about

midnight--a fire was made, some Indian meal was soon mixed with

salt and water, and an ash cake was baked in a hurry to relieve

my hunger.  Sandy's wife was not behind him in kindness--both

seemed to esteem it a privilege to succor me; for, although I was

hated by Covey and by my master, I was loved by the colored

people, because _they_ thought I was hated for my knowledge, and

persecuted because I was feared.  I was the _only_ slave _now_ in

that region who could read and write.  There had been one other

man, belonging to Mr. Hugh Hamilton, who could read (his name was

"Jim"), but he, poor fellow, had, shortly after my coming into

the neighborhood, been sold off to the far south.  I saw Jim

ironed, in the cart, to be carried to Easton for sale--pinioned

like a yearling for the slaughter.  My knowledge was now the

pride of my brother slaves; and, no doubt, Sandy felt something

of the general interest in me on that account.  The supper was

soon ready, and though I have feasted since, with honorables,

lord mayors and aldermen, over the sea, my supper on ash cake and

cold water, with Sandy, was the meal, of all my life, most sweet

to my taste, and now most vivid in my memory.



Supper over, Sandy and I went into a discussion of what was

_possible_ for me, under the perils and hardships which now

overshadowed my path.  The question was, must I go back to Covey,

or must I now tempt to run away?  Upon a careful survey, the

latter was found to be impossible; for I was on a narrow neck of

land, <184>every avenue from which would bring me in sight of

pursuers.  There was the Chesapeake bay to the right, and "Pot-

pie" river to the left, and St. Michael's and its neighborhood

occupying the only space through which there was any retreat.



I found Sandy an old advisor.  He was not only a religious man,

but he professed to believe in a system for which I have no name. 

He was a genuine African, and had inherited some of the so-called

magical powers, said to be possessed by African and eastern

nations.  He told me that he could help me; that, in those very

woods, there was an herb, which in the morning might be found,

possessing all the powers required for my protection (I put his

thoughts in my own language); and that, if I would take his

advice, he would procure me the root of the herb of which he

spoke.  He told me further, that if I would take that root and

wear it on my right side, it would be impossible for Covey to

strike me a blow; that with this root about my person, no white

man could whip me.  He said he had carried it for years, and that

he had fully tested its virtues.  He had never received a blow

from a slaveholder since he carried it; and he never expected to

receive one, for he always meant to carry that root as a

protection.  He knew Covey well, for Mrs. Covey was the daughter

of Mr. Kemp; and he (Sandy) had heard of the barbarous treatment

to which I was subjected, and he wanted to do something for me.



Now all this talk about the root, was to me, very absurd and

ridiculous, if not positively sinful.  I at first rejected the

idea that the simple carrying a root on my right side (a root, by

the way, over which I walked every time I went into the woods)

could possess any such magic power as he ascribed to it, and I

was, therefore, not disposed to cumber my pocket with it.  I had

a positive aversion to all pretenders to _"divination."_  It was

beneath one of my intelligence to countenance such dealings with

the devil, as this power implied.  But, with all my learning--it

was really precious little--Sandy was more than a match for me. 

"My book learning," he said, "had not kept Covey off me" (a

powerful <185 THE MAGIC ROOT>argument just then) and he entreated

me, with flashing eyes, to try this.  If it did me no good, it

could do me no harm, and it would cost me nothing, any way. 

Sandy was so earnest, and so confident of the good qualities of

this weed, that, to please him, rather than from any conviction

of its excellence, I was induced to take it.  He had been to me

the good Samaritan, and had, almost providentially, found me, and

helped me when I could not help myself; how did I know but that

the hand of the Lord was in it?  With thoughts of this sort, I

took the roots from Sandy, and put them in my right hand pocket.



This was, of course, Sunday morning.  Sandy now urged me to go

home, with all speed, and to walk up bravely to the house, as

though nothing had happened.  I saw in Sandy too deep an insight

into human nature, with all his superstition, not to have some

respect for his advice; and perhaps, too, a slight gleam or

shadow of his superstition had fallen upon me.  At any rate, I

started off toward Covey's, as directed by Sandy.  Having, the

previous night, poured my griefs into Sandy's ears, and got him

enlisted in my behalf, having made his wife a sharer in my

sorrows, and having, also, become well refreshed by sleep and

food, I moved off, quite courageously, toward the much dreaded

Covey's.  Singularly enough, just as I entered his yard gate, I

met him and his wife, dressed in their Sunday best--looking as

smiling as angels--on their way to church.  The manner of Covey

astonished me.  There was something really benignant in his

countenance.  He spoke to me as never before; told me that the

pigs had got into the lot, and he wished me to drive them out;

inquired how I was, and seemed an altered man.  This

extraordinary conduct of Covey, really made me begin to think

that Sandy's herb had more virtue in it than I, in my pride, had

been willing to allow; and, had the day been other than Sunday, I

should have attributed Covey's altered manner solely to the magic

power of the root.  I suspected, however, that the _Sabbath_, and

not the _root_, was the real explanation of Covey's manner.  His

religion hindered him from breaking the <186>Sabbath, but not

from breaking my skin.  He had more respect for the _day_ than

for the _man_, for whom the day was mercifully given; for while

he would cut and slash my body during the week, he would not

hesitate, on Sunday, to teach me the value of my soul, or the way

of life and salvation by Jesus Christ.



All went well with me till Monday morning; and then, whether the

root had lost its virtue, or whether my tormentor had gone deeper

into the black art than myself (as was sometimes said of him), or

whether he had obtained a special indulgence, for his faithful

Sabbath day's worship, it is not necessary for me to know, or to

inform the reader; but, this I _may_ say--the pious and benignant

smile which graced Covey's face on _Sunday_, wholly disappeared

on _Monday_.  Long before daylight, I was called up to go and

feed, rub, and curry the horses.  I obeyed the call, and would

have so obeyed it, had it been made at an earilier{sic} hour, for

I had brought my mind to a firm resolve, during that Sunday's

reflection, viz: to obey every order, however unreasonable, if it

were possible, and, if Mr. Covey should then undertake to beat

me, to defend and protect myself to the best of my ability.  My

religious views on the subject of resisting my master, had

suffered a serious shock, by the savage persecution to which I

had been subjected, and my hands were no longer tied by my

religion.  Master Thomas's indifference had served the last link. 

I had now to this extent "backslidden" from this point in the

slave's religious creed; and I soon had occasion to make my

fallen state known to my Sunday-pious brother, Covey.



Whilst I was obeying his order to feed and get the horses ready

for the field, and when in the act of going up the stable loft

for the purpose of throwing down some blades, Covey sneaked into

the stable, in his peculiar snake-like way, and seizing me

suddenly by the leg, he brought me to the stable floor, giving my

newly mended body a fearful jar.  I now forgot my roots, and

remembered my pledge to _stand up in my own defense_.  The brute

was endeavoring skillfully to get a slip-knot on my legs, before

I could <187 THE FIGHT>draw up my feet.  As soon as I found what

he was up to, I gave a sudden spring (my two day's rest had been

of much service to me,) and by that means, no doubt, he was able

to bring me to the floor so heavily.  He was defeated in his plan

of tying me.  While down, he seemed to think he had me very

securely in his power.  He little thought he was--as the rowdies

say--"in" for a "rough and tumble" fight; but such was the fact. 

Whence came the daring spirit necessary to grapple with a man

who, eight-and-forty hours before, could, with his slightest word

have made me tremble like a leaf in a storm, I do not know; at

any rate, _I was resolved to fight_, and, what was better still,

I was actually hard at it.  The fighting madness had come upon

me, and I found my strong fingers firmly attached to the throat

of my cowardly tormentor; as heedless of consequences, at the

moment, as though we stood as equals before the law.  The very

color of the man was forgotten.  I felt as supple as a cat, and

was ready for the snakish creature at every turn.  Every blow of

his was parried, though I dealt no blows in turn.  I was strictly

on the _defensive_, preventing him from injuring me, rather than

trying to injure him.  I flung him on the ground several times,

when he meant to have hurled me there.  I held him so firmly by

the throat, that his blood followed my nails.  He held me, and I

held him.



All was fair, thus far, and the contest was about equal.  My

resistance was entirely unexpected, and Covey was taken all aback

by it, for he trembled in every limb.  _"Are you going to

resist_, you scoundrel?" said he.  To which, I returned a polite

_"Yes sir;"_ steadily gazing my interrogator in the eye, to meet

the first approach or dawning of the blow, which I expected my

answer would call forth.  But, the conflict did not long remain

thus equal.  Covey soon cried out lustily for help; not that I

was obtaining any marked advantage over him, or was injuring him,

but because he was gaining none over me, and was not able, single

handed, to conquer me.  He called for his cousin Hughs, to come

to his assistance, and now the scene was changed.  I was

compelled to <188>give blows, as well as to parry them; and,

since I was, in any case, to suffer for resistance, I felt (as

the musty proverb goes) that "I might as well be hanged for an

old sheep as a lamb."  I was still _defensive_ toward Covey, but

_aggressive_ toward Hughs; and, at the first approach of the

latter, I dealt a blow, in my desperation, which fairly sickened

my youthful assailant.  He went off, bending over with pain, and

manifesting no disposition to come within my reach again.  The

poor fellow was in the act of trying to catch and tie my right

hand, and while flattering himself with success, I gave him the

kick which sent him staggering away in pain, at the same time

that I held Covey with a firm hand.



Taken completely by surprise, Covey seemed to have lost his usual

strength and coolness.  He was frightened, and stood puffing and

blowing, seemingly unable to command words or blows.  When he saw

that poor Hughes was standing half bent with pain--his courage

quite gone the cowardly tyrant asked if I "meant to persist in my

resistance."  I told him "_I did mean to resist, come what

might_;" that I had been by him treated like a _brute_, during

the last six months; and that I should stand it _no longer_. 

With that, he gave me a shake, and attempted to drag me toward a

stick of wood, that was lying just outside the stable door.  He

meant to knock me down with it; but, just as he leaned over to

get the stick, I seized him with both hands by the collar, and,

with a vigorous and sudden snatch, I brought my assailant

harmlessly, his full length, on the _not_ overclean ground--for

we were now in the cow yard.  He had selected the place for the

fight, and it was but right that he should have all the

advantges{sic} of his own selection.



By this time, Bill, the hiredman, came home.  He had been to Mr.

Hemsley's, to spend the Sunday with his nominal wife, and was

coming home on Monday morning, to go to work.  Covey and I had

been skirmishing from before daybreak, till now, that the sun was

almost shooting his beams over the eastern woods, and we were

still at it.  I could not see where the matter was to terminate. 

He evidently was afraid to let me go, lest I should again <189

BILL REFUSES TO ASSIST COVEY>make off to the woods; otherwise, he

would probably have obtained arms from the house, to frighten me. 

Holding me, Covey called upon Bill for assistance.  The scene

here, had something comic about it.  "Bill," who knew _precisely_

what Covey wished him to do, affected ignorance, and pretended he

did not know what to do.  "What shall I do, Mr. Covey," said

Bill.  "Take hold of him--take hold of him!" said Covey.  With a

toss of his head, peculiar to Bill, he said, "indeed, Mr. Covey I

want to go to work."  _"This is_ your work," said Covey; "take

hold of him."  Bill replied, with spirit, "My master hired me

here, to work, and _not_ to help you whip Frederick."  It was now

my turn to speak.  "Bill," said I, "don't put your hands on me." 

To which he replied, "My GOD!  Frederick, I ain't goin' to tech

ye," and Bill walked off, leaving Covey and myself to settle our

matters as best we might.



But, my present advantage was threatened when I saw Caroline (the

slave-woman of Covey) coming to the cow yard to milk, for she was

a powerful woman, and could have mastered me very easily,

exhausted as I now was.  As soon as she came into the yard, Covey

attempted to rally her to his aid.  Strangely--and, I may add,

fortunately--Caroline was in no humor to take a hand in any such

sport.  We were all in open rebellion, that morning.  Caroline

answered the command of her master to _"take hold of me,"_

precisely as Bill had answered, but in _her_, it was at greater

peril so to answer; she was the slave of Covey, and he could do

what he pleased with her.  It was _not_ so with Bill, and Bill

knew it.  Samuel Harris, to whom Bill belonged, did not allow his

slaves to be beaten, unless they were guilty of some crime which

the law would punish.  But, poor Caroline, like myself, was at

the mercy of the merciless Covey; nor did she escape the dire

effects of her refusal.  He gave her several sharp blows.



Covey at length (two hours had elapsed) gave up the contest. 

Letting me go, he said--puffing and blowing at a great rate--

"Now, you scoundrel, go to your work; I would not have whipped

you half so much as I have had you not resisted."  The fact was,

<190>_he had not whipped me at all_.  He had not, in all the

scuffle, drawn a single drop of blood from me.  I had drawn blood

from him; and, even without this satisfaction, I should have been

victorious, because my aim had not been to injure him, but to

prevent his injuring me.



During the whole six months that I lived with Covey, after this

transaction, he never laid on me the weight of his finger in

anger.  He would, occasionally, say he did not want to have to

get hold of me again--a declaration which I had no difficulty in

believing; and I had a secret feeling, which answered, "You need

not wish to get hold of me again, for you will be likely to come

off worse in a second fight than you did in the first."



Well, my dear reader, this battle with Mr. Covey--undignified as

it was, and as I fear my narration of it is--was the turning

point in my _"life as a slave_."  It rekindled in my breast the

smouldering embers of liberty; it brought up my Baltimore dreams,

and revived a sense of my own manhood.  I was a changed being

after that fight.  I was _nothing_ before; I WAS A MAN NOW.  It

recalled to life my crushed self-respect and my self-confidence,

and inspired me with a renewed determination to be A FREEMAN.  A

man, without force, is without the essential dignity of humanity. 

Human nature is so constituted, that it cannot _honor_ a helpless

man, although it can _pity_ him; and even this it cannot do long,

if the signs of power do not arise.



He can only understand the effect of this combat on my spirit,

who has himself incurred something, hazarded something, in

repelling the unjust and cruel aggressions of a tyrant.  Covey

was a tyrant, and a cowardly one, withal.  After resisting him, I

felt as I had never felt before.  It was a resurrection from the

dark and pestiferous tomb of slavery, to the heaven of

comparative freedom.  I was no longer a servile coward, trembling

under the frown of a brother worm of the dust, but, my long-cowed

spirit was roused to an attitude of manly independence.  I had

reached the point, at which I was _not afraid to die_.  This <191

RESULTS OF THE VICTORY>spirit made me a freeman in _fact_, while

I remained a slave in _form_.  When a slave cannot be flogged he

is more than half free.  He has a domain as broad as his own

manly heart to defend, and he is really _"a power on earth_." 

While slaves prefer their lives, with flogging, to instant death,

they will always find Christians enough, like unto Covey, to

accommodate that preference.  From this time, until that of my

escape from slavery, I was never fairly whipped.  Several

attempts were made to whip me, but they were always unsuccessful. 

Bruises I did get, as I shall hereafter inform the reader; but

the case I have been describing, was the end of the brutification

to which slavery had subjected me.



The reader will be glad to know why, after I had so grievously

offended Mr. Covey, he did not have me taken in hand by the

authorities; indeed, why the law of Maryland, which assigns

hanging to the slave who resists his master, was not put in force

against me; at any rate, why I was not taken up, as is usual in

such cases, and publicly whipped, for an example to other slaves,

and as a means of deterring me from committing the same offense

again.  I confess, that the easy manner in which I got off, for a

long time, a surprise to me, and I cannot, even now, fully

explain the cause.



The only explanation I can venture to suggest, is the fact, that

Covey was, probably, ashamed to have it known and confessed that

he had been mastered by a boy of sixteen.  Mr. Covey enjoyed the

unbounded and very valuable reputation, of being a first rate

overseer and _Negro breaker_.  By means of this reputation, he

was able to procure his hands for _very trifling_ compensation,

and with very great ease.  His interest and his pride mutually

suggested the wisdom of passing the matter by, in silence.  The

story that he had undertaken to whip a lad, and had been

resisted, was, of itself, sufficient to damage him; for his

bearing should, in the estimation of slaveholders, be of that

imperial order that should make such an occurrence _impossible_. 

I judge from these circumstances, that Covey deemed it best to

<192>give me the go-by.  It is, perhaps, not altogether

creditable to my natural temper, that, after this conflict with

Mr. Covey, I did, at times, purposely aim to provoke him to an

attack, by refusing to keep with the other hands in the field,

but I could never bully him to another battle.  I had made up my

mind to do him serious damage, if he ever again attempted to lay

violent hands on me.



_           Hereditary bondmen, know ye not

            Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?



_

CHAPTER XVIII

_New Relations and Duties_



CHANGE OF MASTERS--BENEFITS DERIVED BY THE CHANGE--FAME OF THE

FIGHT WITH COVEY--RECKLESS UNCONCERN--MY ABHORRENCE OF SLAVERY--

ABILITY TO READ A CAUSE OF PREJUDICE--THE HOLIDAYS--HOW SPENT--

SHARP HIT AT SLAVERY--EFFECTS OF HOLIDAYS--A DEVICE OF SLAVERY--

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN COVEY AND FREELAND--AN IRRELIGIOUS MASTER

PREFERRED TO A RELIGIOUS ONE--CATALOGUE OF FLOGGABLE OFFENSES--

HARD LIFE AT COVEY'S USEFUL--IMPROVED CONDITION NOT FOLLOWED BY

CONTENTMENT--CONGENIAL SOCIETY AT FREELAND'S--SABBATH SCHOOL

INSTITUTED--SECRECY NECESSARY--AFFECTIONATE RELATIONS OF TUTOR

AND PUPILS--CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP AMONG SLAVES--I DECLINE

PUBLISHING PARTICULARS OF CONVERSATIONS WITH MY FRIENDS--SLAVERY

THE INVITER OF VENGEANCE.





My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas

day, 1834.  I gladly left the snakish Covey, although he was now

as gentle as a lamb.  My home for the year 1835 was already

secured--my next master was already selected.  There is always

more or less excitement about the matter of changing hands, but I

had become somewhat reckless.  I cared very little into whose

hands I fell--I meant to fight my way.  Despite of Covey, too,

the report got abroad, that I was hard to whip; that I was guilty

of kicking back; that though generally a good tempered Negro, I

sometimes "_got the devil in me_."  These sayings were rife in

Talbot county, and they distinguished me among my servile

brethren.  Slaves, generally, will fight each other, and die at

each other's hands; but there are few who are not held in awe by

a white man.  Trained from the cradle up, to think and <194>feel

that their masters are superior, and invested with a sort of

sacredness, there are few who can outgrow or rise above the

control which that sentiment exercises.  I had now got free from

it, and the thing was known.  One bad sheep will spoil a whole

flock.  Among the slaves, I was a bad sheep.  I hated slavery,

slaveholders, and all pertaining to them; and I did not fail to

inspire others with the same feeling, wherever and whenever

opportunity was presented.  This made me a marked lad among the

slaves, and a suspected one among the slaveholders.  A knowledge

of my ability to read and write, got pretty widely spread, which

was very much against me.



The days between Christmas day and New Year's, are allowed the

slaves as holidays.  During these days, all regular work was

suspended, and there was nothing to do but to keep fires, and

look after the stock.  This time was regarded as our own, by the

grace of our masters, and we, therefore used it, or abused it, as

we pleased.  Those who had families at a distance, were now

expected to visit them, and to spend with them the entire week. 

The younger slaves, or the unmarried ones, were expected to see

to the cattle, and attend to incidental duties at home.  The

holidays were variously spent.  The sober, thinking and

industrious ones of our number, would employ themselves in

manufacturing corn brooms, mats, horse collars and baskets, and

some of these were very well made.  Another class spent their

time in hunting opossums, coons, rabbits, and other game.  But

the majority spent the holidays in sports, ball playing,

wrestling, boxing, running foot races, dancing, and drinking

whisky; and this latter mode of spending the time was generally

most agreeable to their masters.  A slave who would work during

the holidays, was thought, by his master, undeserving of

holidays.  Such an one had rejected the favor of his master. 

There was, in this simple act of continued work, an accusation

against slaves; and a slave could not help thinking, that if he

made three dollars during the holidays, he might make three

hundred during the year.  Not to be drunk during the holi<195

EFFECTS OF HOLIDAYS>days, was disgraceful; and he was esteemed a

lazy and improvident man, who could not afford to drink whisky

during Christmas.



The fiddling, dancing and _"jubilee beating_," was going on in

all directions.  This latter performance is strictly southern. 

It supplies the place of a violin, or of other musical

instruments, and is played so easily, that almost every farm has

its "Juba" beater.  The performer improvises as he beats, and

sings his merry songs, so ordering the words as to have them fall

pat with the movement of his hands.  Among a mass of nonsense and

wild frolic, once in a while a sharp hit is given to the meanness

of slaveholders.  Take the following, for an example:



            _We raise de wheat,

            Dey gib us de corn;

            We bake de bread,

            Dey gib us de cruss;

            We sif de meal,

            Dey gib us de huss;

            We peal de meat,

            Dey gib us de skin,

            And dat's de way

            Dey takes us in.

            We skim de pot,

            Dey gib us the liquor,

            And say dat's good enough for nigger.

                    Walk over! walk over!

            Tom butter and de fat;

                    Poor nigger you can't get over dat;

                                            Walk over_!





This is not a bad summary of the palpable injustice and fraud of

slavery, giving--as it does--to the lazy and idle, the comforts

which God designed should be given solely to the honest laborer. 

But to the holiday's.



Judging from my own observation and experience, I believe these

holidays to be among the most effective means, in the hands of

slaveholders, of keeping down the spirit of insurrection among

the slaves.



To enslave men, successfully and safely, it is necessary to

<196>have their minds occupied with thoughts and aspirations

short of the liberty of which they are deprived.  A certain

degree of attainable good must be kept before them.  These

holidays serve the purpose of keeping the minds of the slaves

occupied with prospective pleasure, within the limits of slavery. 

The young man can go wooing; the married man can visit his wife;

the father and mother can see their children; the industrious and

money loving can make a few dollars; the great wrestler can win

laurels; the young people can meet, and enjoy each other's

society; the drunken man can get plenty of whisky; and the

religious man can hold prayer meetings, preach, pray and exhort

during the holidays.  Before the holidays, these are pleasures in

prospect; after the holidays, they become pleasures of memory,

and they serve to keep out thoughts and wishes of a more

dangerous character.  Were slaveholders at once to abandon the

practice of allowing their slaves these liberties, periodically,

and to keep them, the year round, closely confined to the narrow

circle of their homes, I doubt not that the south would blaze

with insurrections.  These holidays are conductors or safety

valves to carry off the explosive elements inseparable from the

human mind, when reduced to the condition of slavery.  But for

these, the rigors of bondage would become too severe for

endurance, and the slave would be forced up to dangerous

desperation.  Woe to the slaveholder when he undertakes to hinder

or to prevent the operation of these electric conductors.  A

succession of earthquakes would be less destructive, than the

insurrectionary fires which would be sure to burst forth in

different parts of the south, from such interference.



Thus, the holidays, became part and parcel of the gross fraud,

wrongs and inhumanity of slavery.  Ostensibly, they are

institutions of benevolence, designed to mitigate the rigors of

slave life, but, practically, they are a fraud, instituted by

human selfishness, the better to secure the ends of injustice and

oppression.  The slave's happiness is not the end sought, but,

rather, the master's <197 A DEVICE OF SLAVERY>safety.  It is not

from a generous unconcern for the slave's labor that this

cessation from labor is allowed, but from a prudent regard to the

safety of the slave system.  I am strengthened in this opinion,

by the fact, that most slaveholders like to have their slaves

spend the holidays in such a manner as to be of no real benefit

to the slaves.  It is plain, that everything like rational

enjoyment among the slaves, is frowned upon; and only those wild

and low sports, peculiar to semi-civilized people, are

encouraged.  All the license allowed, appears to have no other

object than to disgust the slaves with their temporary freedom,

and to make them as glad to return to their work, as they were to

leave it.  By plunging them into exhausting depths of drunkenness

and dissipation, this effect is almost certain to follow.  I have

known slaveholders resort to cunning tricks, with a view of

getting their slaves deplorably drunk.  A usual plan is, to make

bets on a slave, that he can drink more whisky than any other;

and so to induce a rivalry among them, for the mastery in this

degradation.  The scenes, brought about in this way, were often

scandalous and loathsome in the extreme.  Whole multitudes might

be found stretched out in brutal drunkenness, at once helpless

and disgusting.  Thus, when the slave asks for a few hours of

virtuous freedom, his cunning master takes advantage of his

ignorance, and cheers him with a dose of vicious and revolting

dissipation, artfully labeled with the name of LIBERTY.  We were

induced to drink, I among the rest, and when the holidays were

over, we all staggered up from our filth and wallowing, took a

long breath, and went away to our various fields of work;

feeling, upon the whole, rather glad to go from that which our

masters artfully deceived us into the belief was freedom, back

again to the arms of slavery.  It was not what we had taken it to

be, nor what it might have been, had it not been abused by us. 

It was about as well to be a slave to _master_, as to be a slave

to _rum_ and _whisky._



I am the more induced to take this view of the holiday system,

<198>adopted by slaveholders, from what I know of their treatment

of slaves, in regard to other things.  It is the commonest thing

for them to try to disgust their slaves with what they do not

want them to have, or to enjoy.  A slave, for instance, likes

molasses; he steals some; to cure him of the taste for it, his

master, in many cases, will go away to town, and buy a large

quantity of the _poorest_ quality, and set it before his slave,

and, with whip in hand, compel him to eat it, until the poor

fellow is made to sicken at the very thought of molasses.  The

same course is often adopted to cure slaves of the disagreeable

and inconvenient practice of asking for more food, when their

allowance has failed them.  The same disgusting process works

well, too, in other things, but I need not cite them.  When a

slave is drunk, the slaveholder has no fear that he will plan an

insurrection; no fear that he will escape to the north.  It is

the sober, thinking slave who is dangerous, and needs the

vigilance of his master, to keep him a slave.  But, to proceed

with my narrative.



On the first of January, 1835, I proceeded from St. Michael's to

Mr. William Freeland's, my new home.  Mr. Freeland lived only

three miles from St. Michael's, on an old worn out farm, which

required much labor to restore it to anything like a self-

supporting establishment.



I was not long in finding Mr. Freeland to be a very different man

from Mr. Covey.  Though not rich, Mr. Freeland was what may be

called a well-bred southern gentleman, as different from Covey,

as a well-trained and hardened Negro breaker is from the best

specimen of the first families of the south.  Though Freeland was

a slaveholder, and shared many of the vices of his class, he

seemed alive to the sentiment of honor.  He had some sense of

justice, and some feelings of humanity.  He was fretful,

impulsive and passionate, but I must do him the justice to say,

he was free from the mean and selfish characteristics which

distinguished the creature from which I had now, happily,

escaped.  He was open, frank, imperative, and practiced no

concealments, <199 RELIGIOUS SLAVEHOLDERS>disdaining to play the

spy.  In all this, he was the opposite of the crafty Covey.



Among the many advantages gained in my change from Covey's to

Freeland's--startling as the statement may be--was the fact that

the latter gentleman made no profession of religion.  I assert

_most unhesitatingly_, that the religion of the south--as I have

observed it and proved it--is a mere covering for the most horrid

crimes; the justifier of the most appalling barbarity; a

sanctifier of the most hateful frauds; and a secure shelter,

under which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal

abominations fester and flourish.  Were I again to be reduced to

the condition of a slave, _next_ to that calamity, I should

regard the fact of being the slave of a religious slaveholder,

the greatest that could befall me.  For all slaveholders with

whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the worst.  I

have found them, almost invariably, the vilest, meanest and

basest of their class.  Exceptions there may be, but this is true

of religious slaveholders, _as a class_.  It is not for me to

explain the fact.  Others may do that; I simply state it as a

fact, and leave the theological, and psychological inquiry, which

it raises, to be decided by others more competent than myself. 

Religious slaveholders, like religious persecutors, are ever

extreme in their malice and violence.  Very near my new home, on

an adjoining farm, there lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, who was

both pious and cruel after the real Covey pattern.  Mr. Weeden

was a local preacher of the Protestant Methodist persuasion, and

a most zealous supporter of the ordinances of religion,

generally.  This Weeden owned a woman called "Ceal," who was a

standing proof of his mercilessness.  Poor Ceal's back, always

scantily clothed, was kept literally raw, by the lash of this

religious man and gospel minister.  The most notoriously wicked

man--so called in distinction from church members--could hire

hands more easily than this brute.  When sent out to find a home,

a slave would never enter the gates of the preacher Weeden, while

a sinful sinner needed a hand.  Be<200>have ill, or behave well,

it was the known maxim of Weeden, that it is the duty of a master

to use the lash.  If, for no other reason, he contended that this

was essential to remind a slave of his condition, and of his

master's authority.  The good slave must be whipped, to be _kept_

good, and the bad slave must be whipped, to be _made_ good.  Such

was Weeden's theory, and such was his practice.  The back of his

slave-woman will, in the judgment, be the swiftest witness

against him.



While I am stating particular cases, I might as well immortalize

another of my neighbors, by calling him by name, and putting him

in print.  He did not think that a "chiel" was near, "taking

notes," and will, doubtless, feel quite angry at having his

character touched off in the ragged style of a slave's pen.  I

beg to introduce the reader to REV. RIGBY HOPKINS.  Mr. Hopkins

resides between Easton and St. Michael's, in Talbot county,

Maryland.  The severity of this man made him a perfect terror to

the slaves of his neighborhood.  The peculiar feature of his

government, was, his system of whipping slaves, as he said, _in

advance_ of deserving it.  He always managed to have one or two

slaves to whip on Monday morning, so as to start his hands to

their work, under the inspiration of a new assurance on Monday,

that his preaching about kindness, mercy, brotherly love, and the

like, on Sunday, did not interfere with, or prevent him from

establishing his authority, by the cowskin.  He seemed to wish to

assure them, that his tears over poor, lost and ruined sinners,

and his pity for them, did not reach to the blacks who tilled his

fields.  This saintly Hopkins used to boast, that he was the best

hand to manage a Negro in the county.  He whipped for the

smallest offenses, by way of preventing the commission of large

ones.



The reader might imagine a difficulty in finding faults enough

for such frequent whipping.  But this is because you have no idea

how easy a matter it is to offend a man who is on the look-out

for offenses.  The man, unaccustomed to slaveholding, would be

astonished to observe how many _foggable_ offenses there are in

<201>CATALOGUE OF FLOGGABLE OFFENSES>the slaveholder's catalogue

of crimes; and how easy it is to commit any one of them, even

when the slave least intends it.  A slaveholder, bent on finding

fault, will hatch up a dozen a day, if he chooses to do so, and

each one of these shall be of a punishable description.  A mere

look, word, or motion, a mistake, accident, or want of power, are

all matters for which a slave may be whipped at any time.  Does a

slave look dissatisfied with his condition?  It is said, that he

has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out.  Does he answer

_loudly_, when spoken to by his master, with an air of self-

consciousness?  Then, must he be taken down a button-hole lower,

by the lash, well laid on.  Does he forget, and omit to pull off

his hat, when approaching a white person?  Then, he must, or may

be, whipped for his bad manners.  Does he ever venture to

vindicate his conduct, when harshly and unjustly accused?  Then,

he is guilty of impudence, one of the greatest crimes in the

social catalogue of southern society.  To allow a slave to escape

punishment, who has impudently attempted to exculpate himself

from unjust charges, preferred against him by some white person,

is to be guilty of great dereliction of duty.  Does a slave ever

venture to suggest a better way of doing a thing, no matter what? 

He is, altogether, too officious--wise above what is written--and

he deserves, even if he does not get, a flogging for his

presumption.  Does he, while plowing, break a plow, or while

hoeing, break a hoe, or while chopping, break an ax?  No matter

what were the imperfections of the implement broken, or the

natural liabilities for breaking, the slave can be whipped for

carelessness.  The _reverend_ slaveholder could always find

something of this sort, to justify him in using the lash several

times during the week.  Hopkins--like Covey and Weeden--were

shunned by slaves who had the privilege (as many had) of finding

their own masters at the end of each year; and yet, there was not

a man in all that section of country, who made a louder

profession of religion, than did MR. RIGBY HOPKINS.

<202>



But, to continue the thread of my story, through my experience

when at Mr. William Freeland's.



My poor, weather-beaten bark now reached smoother water, and

gentler breezes.  My stormy life at Covey's had been of service

to me.  The things that would have seemed very hard, had I gone

direct to Mr. Freeland's, from the home of Master Thomas, were

now (after the hardships at Covey's) "trifles light as air."  I

was still a field hand, and had come to prefer the severe labor

of the field, to the enervating duties of a house servant.  I had

become large and strong; and had begun to take pride in the fact,

that I could do as much hard work as some of the older men. 

There is much rivalry among slaves, at times, as to which can do

the most work, and masters generally seek to promote such

rivalry.  But some of us were too wise to race with each other

very long.  Such racing, we had the sagacity to see, was not

likely to pay.  We had our times for measuring each other's

strength, but we knew too much to keep up the competition so long

as to produce an extraordinary day's work.  We knew that if, by

extraordinary exertion, a large quantity of work was done in one

day, the fact, becoming known to the master, might lead him to

require the same amount every day.  This thought was enough to

bring us to a dead halt when over so much excited for the race.



At Mr. Freeland's, my condition was every way improved.  I was no

longer the poor scape-goat that I was when at Covey's, where

every wrong thing done was saddled upon me, and where other

slaves were whipped over my shoulders.  Mr. Freeland was too just

a man thus to impose upon me, or upon any one else.



It is quite usual to make one slave the object of especial abuse,

and to beat him often, with a view to its effect upon others,

rather than with any expectation that the slave whipped will be

improved by it, but the man with whom I now was, could descend to

no such meanness and wickedness.  Every man here was held

individually responsible for his own conduct.



This was a vast improvement on the rule at Covey's.  There, I

<203 NOT YET CONTENTED>was the general pack horse.  Bill Smith

was protected, by a positive prohibition made by his rich master,

and the command of the rich slaveholder is LAW to the poor one;

Hughes was favored, because of his relationship to Covey; and the

hands hired temporarily, escaped flogging, except as they got it

over my poor shoulders.  Of course, this comparison refers to the

time when Covey _could_ whip me.



Mr. Freeland, like Mr. Covey, gave his hands enough to eat, but,

unlike Mr. Covey, he gave them time to take their meals; he

worked us hard during the day, but gave us the night for rest--

another advantage to be set to the credit of the sinner, as

against that of the saint.  We were seldom in the field after

dark in the evening, or before sunrise in the morning.  Our

implements of husbandry were of the most improved pattern, and

much superior to those used at Covey's.



Nothwithstanding the improved condition which was now mine, and

the many advantages I had gained by my new home, and my new

master, I was still restless and discontented.  I was about as

hard to please by a master, as a master is by slave.  The freedom

from bodily torture and unceasing labor, had given my mind an

increased sensibility, and imparted to it greater activity.  I

was not yet exactly in right relations.  "How be it, that was not

first which is spiritual, but that which is natural, and

afterward that which is spiritual."  When entombed at Covey's,

shrouded in darkness and physical wretchedness, temporal

wellbeing was the grand _desideratum;_ but, temporal wants

supplied, the spirit puts in its claims.  Beat and cuff your

slave, keep him hungry and spiritless, and he will follow the

chain of his master like a dog; but, feed and clothe him well--

work him moderately--surround him with physical comfort--and

dreams of freedom intrude.  Give him a _bad_ master, and he

aspires to a _good_ master; give him a good master, and he wishes

to become his _own_ master.  Such is human nature.  You may hurl

a man so low, beneath the level of his kind, that he loses all

just ideas of his natural position; <204>but elevate him a

little, and the clear conception of rights arises to life and

power, and leads him onward.  Thus elevated, a little, at

Freeland's, the dreams called into being by that good man, Father

Lawson, when in Baltimore, began to visit me; and shoots from the

tree of liberty began to put forth tender buds, and dim hopes of

the future began to dawn.



I found myself in congenial society, at Mr. Freeland's.  There

were Henry Harris, John Harris, Handy Caldwell, and Sandy

Jenkins.[6]



Henry and John were brothers, and belonged to Mr. Freeland.  They

were both remarkably bright and intelligent, though neither of

them could read.  Now for mischief!  I had not been long at

Freeland's before I was up to my old tricks.  I early began to

address my companions on the subject of education, and the

advantages of intelligence over ignorance, and, as far as I

dared, I tried to show the agency of ignorance in keeping men in

slavery.  Webster's spelling book and the _Columbian Orator_ were

looked into again.  As summer came on, and the long Sabbath days

stretched themselves over our idleness, I became uneasy, and

wanted a Sabbath school, in which to exercise my gifts, and to

impart the little knowledge of letters which I possessed, to my

brother slaves.  A house was hardly necessary in the summer time;

I could hold my school under the shade of an old oak tree, as

well as any where else.  The thing was, to get the scholars, and

to have them thoroughly imbued with the desire to learn.  Two

such boys were quickly secured, in Henry and John, and from them

the contagion spread.  I was not long bringing around me twenty

or thirty young men, who enrolled themselves, gladly, in my

Sabbath school, and were willing to meet me regularly, under the

trees or elsewhere, for the purpose of learning to read.  It was





[6]  This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent my

being whipped by Mr. Covey.  He was "a clever soul."  We used

frequently to talk about the fight with Covey, and as often as we

did so, he would claim my success as the result of the roots

which he gave me.  This superstition is very common among the

more ignorant slaves.  A slave seldom dies, but that his death is

attributed to trickery.





<205 SABBATH SCHOOL INSTITUTED>surprising with what ease they

provided themselves with spelling books.  These were mostly the

cast off books of their young masters or mistresses.  I taught,

at first, on our own farm.  All were impressed with the necessity

of keeping the matter as private as possible, for the fate of the

St. Michael's attempt was notorious, and fresh in the minds of

all.  Our pious masters, at St. Michael's, must not know that a

few of their dusky brothers were learning to read the word of

God, lest they should come down upon us with the lash and chain. 

We might have met to drink whisky, to wrestle, fight, and to do

other unseemly things, with no fear of interruption from the

saints or sinners of St. Michael's.



But, to meet for the purpose of improving the mind and heart, by

learning to read the sacred scriptures, was esteemed a most

dangerous nuisance, to be instantly stopped.  The slaveholders of

St. Michael's, like slaveholders elsewhere, would always prefer

to see the slaves engaged in degrading sports, rather than to see

them acting like moral and accountable beings.



Had any one asked a religious white man, in St. Michael's, twenty

years ago, the names of three men in that town, whose lives were

most after the pattern of our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, the

first three would have been as follows:



GARRISON WEST, _Class Leader_.

WRIGHT FAIRBANKS, _Class Leader_.

THOMAS AULD, _Class Leader_.



And yet, these were men who ferociously rushed in upon my Sabbath

school, at St. Michael's, armed with mob-like missiles, and I

must say, I thought him a Christian, until he took part in bloody

by the lash.  This same Garrison West was my class leader, and I

must say, I thought him a Christian, until he took part in

breaking up my school.  He led me no more after that.  The plea

for this outrage was then, as it is now and at all times--the

danger to good order.  If the slaves learnt to read, they would

learn something else, and something worse.  The peace of slavery

would be disturbed; slave rule would be endangered.  I leave the

reader to <206>characterize a system which is endangered by such

causes.  I do not dispute the soundness of the reasoning.  It is

perfectly sound; and, if slavery be _right_, Sabbath schools for

teaching slaves to read the bible are _wrong_, and ought to be

put down.  These Christian class leaders were, to this extent,

consistent.  They had settled the question, that slavery is

_right_, and, by that standard, they determined that Sabbath

schools are wrong.  To be sure, they were Protestant, and held to

the great Protestant right of every man to _"search the

scriptures"_ for himself; but, then, to all general rules, there

are _exceptions_.  How convenient!  What crimes may not be

committed under the doctrine of the last remark.  But, my dear,

class leading Methodist brethren, did not condescend to give me a

reason for breaking up the Sabbath school at St. Michael's; it

was enough that they had determined upon its destruction.  I am,

however, digressing.



After getting the school cleverly into operation, the second time

holding it in the woods, behind the barn, and in the shade of

trees--I succeeded in inducing a free colored man, who lived

several miles from our house, to permit me to hold my school in a

room at his house.  He, very kindly, gave me this liberty; but he

incurred much peril in doing so, for the assemblage was an

unlawful one.  I shall not mention, here, the name of this man;

for it might, even now, subject him to persecution, although the

offenses were committed more than twenty years ago.  I had, at

one time, more than forty scholars, all of the right sort; and

many of them succeeded in learning to read.  I have met several

slaves from Maryland, who were once my scholars; and who obtained

their freedom, I doubt not, partly in consequence of the ideas

imparted to them in that school.  I have had various employments

during my short life; but I look back to _none_ with more

satisfaction, than to that afforded by my Sunday school.  An

attachment, deep and lasting, sprung up between me and my

persecuted pupils, which made parting from them intensely

grievous; and, <207 FRIENDSHIP AMONG SLAVES>when I think that

most of these dear souls are yet shut up in this abject

thralldom, I am overwhelmed with grief.



Besides my Sunday school, I devoted three evenings a week to my

fellow slaves, during the winter.  Let the reader reflect upon

the fact, that, in this christian country, men and women are

hiding from professors of religion, in barns, in the woods and

fields, in order to learn to read the _holy bible_.  Those dear

souls, who came to my Sabbath school, came _not_ because it was

popular or reputable to attend such a place, for they came under

the liability of having forty stripes laid on their naked backs. 

Every moment they spend in my school, they were under this

terrible liability; and, in this respect, I was sharer with them. 

Their minds had been cramped and starved by their cruel masters;

the light of education had been completely excluded; and their

hard earnings had been taken to educate their master's children. 

I felt a delight in circumventing the tyrants, and in blessing

the victims of their curses.



The year at Mr. Freeland's passed off very smoothly, to outward

seeming.  Not a blow was given me during the whole year.  To the

credit of Mr. Freeland--irreligious though he was--it must be

stated, that he was the best master I ever had, until I became my

own master, and assumed for myself, as I had a right to do, the

responsibility of my own existence and the exercise of my own

powers.  For much of the happiness--or absence of misery--with

which I passed this year with Mr. Freeland, I am indebted to the

genial temper and ardent friendship of my brother slaves.  They

were, every one of them, manly, generous and brave, yes; I say

they were brave, and I will add, fine looking.  It is seldom the

lot of mortals to have truer and better friends than were the

slaves on this farm.  It is not uncommon to charge slaves with

great treachery toward each other, and to believe them incapable

of confiding in each other; but I must say, that I never loved,

esteemed, or confided in men, more than I did in these.  They

were as true as steel, and no band of brothers could have been

more <208>loving.  There were no mean advantages taken of each

other, as is sometimes the case where slaves are situated as we

were; no tattling; no giving each other bad names to Mr.

Freeland; and no elevating one at the expense of the other.  We

never undertook to do any thing, of any importance, which was

likely to affect each other, without mutual consultation.  We

were generally a unit, and moved together.  Thoughts and

sentiments were exchanged between us, which might well be called

very incendiary, by oppressors and tyrants; and perhaps the time

has not even now come, when it is safe to unfold all the flying

suggestions which arise in the minds of intelligent slaves. 

Several of my friends and brothers, if yet alive, are still in

some part of the house of bondage; and though twenty years have

passed away, the suspicious malice of slavery might punish them

for even listening to my thoughts.



The slaveholder, kind or cruel, is a slaveholder still--the every

hour violator of the just and inalienable rights of man; and he

is, therefore, every hour silently whetting the knife of

vengeance for his own throat.  He never lisps a syllable in

commendation of the fathers of this republic, nor denounces any

attempted oppression of himself, without inviting the knife to

his own throat, and asserting the rights of rebellion for his own

slaves.



The year is ended, and we are now in the midst of the Christmas

holidays, which are kept this year as last, according to the

general description previously given.







CHAPTER XIX

_The Run-Away Plot_



NEW YEAR'S THOUGHTS AND MEDITATIONS--AGAIN BOUGHT BY FREELAND--NO

AMBITION TO BE A SLAVE--KINDNESS NO COMPENSATION FOR SLAVERY--

INCIPIENT STEPS TOWARD ESCAPE--CONSIDERATIONS LEADING THERETO--

IRRECONCILABLE HOSTILITY TO SLAVERY--SOLEMN VOW TAKEN--PLAN

DIVULGED TO THE SLAVES--_Columbian Orator--_SCHEME GAINS FAVOR,

DESPITE PRO-SLAVERY PREACHING--DANGER OF DISCOVERY--SKILL OF

SLAVEHOLDERS IN READING THE MINDS OF THEIR SLAVES--SUSPICION AND

COERCION--HYMNS WITH DOUBLE MEANING--VALUE, IN DOLLARS, OF OUR

COMPANY--PRELIMINARY CONSULTATION--PASS-WORD--CONFLICTS OF HOPE

AND FEAR--DIFFICULTIES TO BE OVERCOME--IGNORANCE OF GEOGRAPHY--

SURVEY OF IMAGINARY DIFFICULTIES--EFFECT ON OUR MINDS--PATRICK

HENRY--SANDY BECOMES A DREAMER--ROUTE TO THE NORTH LAID OUT--

OBJECTIONS CONSIDERED--FRAUDS PRACTICED ON FREEMEN--PASSES

WRITTEN--ANXIETIES AS THE TIME DREW NEAR--DREAD OF FAILURE--

APPEALS TO COMRADES--STRANGE PRESENTIMENT--COINCIDENCE--THE

BETRAYAL DISCOVERED--THE MANNER OF ARRESTING US--RESISTANCE MADE

BY HENRY HARRIS--ITS EFFECT--THE UNIQUE SPEECH OF MRS. FREELAND--

OUR SAD PROCESSION TO PRISON--BRUTAL JEERS BY THE MULTITUDE ALONG

THE ROAD--PASSES EATEN--THE DENIAL--SANDY TOO WELL LOVED TO BE

SUSPECTED--DRAGGED BEHIND HORSES--THE JAIL A RELIEF--A NEW SET OF

TORMENTORS--SLAVE-TRADERS--JOHN, CHARLES AND HENRY RELEASED--

ALONE IN PRISON--I AM TAKEN OUT, AND SENT TO BALTIMORE.





I am now at the beginning of the year 1836, a time favorable for

serious thoughts.  The mind naturally occupies itself with the

mysteries of life in all its phases--the ideal, the real and the

actual.  Sober people look both ways at the beginning of the

year, surveying the errors of the past, and providing against

possible errors of the future.  I, too, was thus exercised.  I

had little pleasure <210>in retrospect, and the prospect was not

very brilliant.  "Notwithstanding," thought I, "the many

resolutions and prayers I have made, in behalf of freedom, I am,

this first day of the year 1836, still a slave, still wandering

in the depths of spirit-devouring thralldom.  My faculties and

powers of body and soul are not my own, but are the property of a

fellow mortal, in no sense superior to me, except that he has the

physical power to compel me to be owned and controlled by him. 

By the combined physical force of the community, I am his slave--

a slave for life."  With thoughts like these, I was perplexed and

chafed; they rendered me gloomy and disconsolate.  The anguish of

my mind may not be written.



At the close of the year 1835, Mr. Freeland, my temporary master,

had bought me of Capt. Thomas Auld, for the year 1836.  His

promptness in securing my services, would have been flattering to

my vanity, had I been ambitious to win the reputation of being a

valuable slave.  Even as it was, I felt a slight degree of

complacency at the circumstance.  It showed he was as well

pleased with me as a slave, as I was with him as a master.  I

have already intimated my regard for Mr. Freeland, and I may say

here, in addressing northern readers--where is no selfish motive

for speaking in praise of a slaveholder--that Mr. Freeland was a

man of many excellent qualities, and to me quite preferable to

any master I ever had.



But the kindness of the slavemaster only gilds the chain of

slavery, and detracts nothing from its weight or power.  The

thought that men are made for other and better uses than slavery,

thrives best under the gentle treatment of a kind master.  But

the grim visage of slavery can assume no smiles which can

fascinate the partially enlightened slave, into a forgetfulness

of his bondage, nor of the desirableness of liberty.



I was not through the first month of this, my second year with

the kind and gentlemanly Mr. Freeland, before I was earnestly

considering and advising plans for gaining that freedom, which,

<211 INCIPIENT STEPS TOWARDS ESCAPE>when I was but a mere child,

I had ascertained to be the natural and inborn right of every

member of the human family.  The desire for this freedom had been

benumbed, while I was under the brutalizing dominion of Covey;

and it had been postponed, and rendered inoperative, by my truly

pleasant Sunday school engagements with my friends, during the

year 1835, at Mr. Freeland's.  It had, however, never entirely

subsided.  I hated slavery, always, and the desire for freedom

only needed a favorable breeze, to fan it into a blaze, at any

moment.  The thought of only being a creature of the _present_

and the _past_, troubled me, and I longed to have a _future_--a

future with hope in it.  To be shut up entirely to the past and

present, is abhorrent to the human mind; it is to the soul--whose

life and happiness is unceasing progress--what the prison is to

the body; a blight and mildew, a hell of horrors.  The dawning of

this, another year, awakened me from my temporary slumber, and

roused into life my latent, but long cherished aspirations for

freedom.  I was now not only ashamed to be contented in slavery,

but ashamed to _seem_ to be contented, and in my present

favorable condition, under the mild rule of Mr. F., I am not sure

that some kind reader will not condemn me for being over

ambitious, and greatly wanting in proper humility, when I say the

truth, that I now drove from me all thoughts of making the best

of my lot, and welcomed only such thoughts as led me away from

the house of bondage.  The intense desires, now felt, _to be

free_, quickened by my present favorable circumstances, brought

me to the determination to act, as well as to think and speak. 

Accordingly, at the beginning of this year 1836, I took upon me a

solemn vow, that the year which had now dawned upon me should not

close, without witnessing an earnest attempt, on my part, to gain

my liberty.  This vow only bound me to make my escape

individually; but the year spent with Mr. Freeland had attached

me, as with "hooks of steel," to my brother slaves.  The most

affectionate and confiding friendship existed between us; and I

felt it my duty to give them an opportunity to share in my

<212>virtuous determination by frankly disclosing to them my

plans and purposes.  Toward Henry and John Harris, I felt a

friendship as strong as one man can feel for another; for I could

have died with and for them.  To them, therefore, with a suitable

degree of caution, I began to disclose my sentiments and plans;

sounding them, the while on the subject of running away, provided

a good chance should offer.  I scarcely need tell the reader,

that I did my _very best_ to imbue the minds of my dear friends

with my own views and feelings.  Thoroughly awakened, now, and

with a definite vow upon me, all my little reading, which had any

bearing on the subject of human rights, was rendered available in

my communications with my friends.  That (to me) gem of a book,

the _Columbian Orator_, with its eloquent orations and spicy

dialogues, denouncing oppression and slavery--telling of what had

been dared, done and suffered by men, to obtain the inestimable

boon of liberty--was still fresh in my memory, and whirled into

the ranks of my speech with the aptitude of well trained

soldiers, going through the drill.  The fact is, I here began my

public speaking.  I canvassed, with Henry and John, the subject

of slavery, and dashed against it the condemning brand of God's

eternal justice, which it every hour violates.  My fellow

servants were neither indifferent, dull, nor inapt.  Our feelings

were more alike than our opinions.  All, however, were ready to

act, when a feasible plan should be proposed.  "Show us _how_ the

thing is to be done," said they, "and all is clear."



We were all, except Sandy, quite free from slaveholding

priestcraft.  It was in vain that we had been taught from the

pulpit at St. Michael's, the duty of obedience to our masters; to

recognize God as the author of our enslavement; to regard running

away an offense, alike against God and man; to deem our

enslavement a merciful and beneficial arrangement; to esteem our

condition, in this country, a paradise to that from which we had

been snatched in Africa; to consider our hard hands and dark

color as God's mark of displeasure, and as pointing us out as the

proper <213 FREE FROM PROSLAVERY PRIESTCRAFT>subjects of slavery;

that the relation of master and slave was one of reciprocal

benefits; that our work was not more serviceable to our masters,

than our master's thinking was serviceable to us.  I say, it was

in vain that the pulpit of St. Michael's had constantly

inculcated these plausib]e doctrine.  Nature laughed them to

scorn.  For my own part, I had now become altogether too big for

my chains.  Father Lawson's solemn words, of what I ought to be,

and might be, in the providence of God, had not fallen dead on my

soul.  I was fast verging toward manhood, and the prophecies of

my childhood were still unfulfilled.  The thought, that year

after year had passed away, and my resolutions to run away had

failed and faded--that I was _still a slave_, and a slave, too,

with chances for gaining my freedom diminished and still

diminishing--was not a matter to be slept over easily; nor did I

easily sleep over it.



But here came a new trouble.  Thoughts and purposes so incendiary

as those I now cherished, could not agitate the mind long,

without danger of making themselves manifest to scrutinizing and

unfriendly beholders.  I had reason to fear that my sable face

might prove altogether too transparent for the safe concealment

of my hazardous enterprise.  Plans of greater moment have leaked

through stone walls, and revealed their projectors.  But, here

was no stone wall to hide my purpose.  I would have given my

poor, tell tale face for the immoveable countenance of an Indian,

for it was far from being proof against the daily, searching

glances of those with whom I met.



It is the interest and business of slaveholders to study human

nature, with a view to practical results, and many of them attain

astonishing proficiency in discerning the thoughts and emotions

of slaves.  They have to deal not with earth, wood, or stone, but

with _men;_ and, by every regard they have for their safety and

prosperity, they must study to know the material on which they

are at work.  So much intellect as the slaveholder has around

him, requires watching.  Their safety depends upon their

vigilance.  Conscious of the injustice and wrong they are every

hour perpe<214>trating, and knowing what they themselves would do

if made the victims of such wrongs, they are looking out for the

first signs of the dread retribution of justice.  They watch,

therefore, with skilled and practiced eyes, and have learned to

read, with great accuracy, the state of mind and heart of the

slaves, through his sable face.  These uneasy sinners are quick

to inquire into the matter, where the slave is concerned. 

Unusual sobriety, apparent abstraction, sullenness and

indifference--indeed, any mood out of the common way--afford

ground for suspicion and inquiry.  Often relying on their

superior position and wisdom, they hector and torture the slave

into a confession, by affecting to know the truth of their

accusations.  "You have got the devil in you," say they, "and we

will whip him out of you."  I have often been put thus to the

torture, on bare suspicion.  This system has its disadvantages as

well as their opposite.  The slave is sometimes whipped into the

confession of offenses which he never committed.  The reader will

see that the good old rule--"a man is to be held innocent until

proved to be guilty"--does not hold good on the slave plantation. 

Suspicion and torture are the approved methods of getting at the

truth, here.  It was necessary for me, therefore, to keep a watch

over my deportment, lest the enemy should get the better of me.



But with all our caution and studied reserve, I am not sure that

Mr. Freeland did not suspect that all was not right with us.  It

_did_ seem that he watched us more narrowly, after the plan of

escape had been conceived and discussed amongst us.  Men seldom

see themselves as others see them; and while, to ourselves,

everything connected with our contemplated escape appeared

concealed, Mr. Freeland may have, with the peculiar prescience of

a slaveholder, mastered the huge thought which was disturbing our

peace in slavery.



I am the more inclined to think that he suspected us, because,

prudent as we were, as I now look back, I can see that we did

many silly things, very well calculated to awaken suspicion.  We

were, <215 HYMNS WITH A DOUBLE MEANING>at times, remarkably

buoyant, singing hymns and making joyous exclamations, almost as

triumphant in their tone as if we reached a land of freedom and

safety.  A keen observer might have detected in our repeated

singing of



            _O Canaan, sweet Canaan,

            I am bound for the land of Canaan,_



something more than a hope of reaching heaven.  We meant to reach

the _north_--and the north was our Canaan.



            _I thought I heard them say,

            There were lions in the way,

            I don't expect to Star

                    Much longer here.



            Run to Jesus--shun the danger--

            I don't expect to stay

                    Much longer here_.



was a favorite air, and had a double meaning.  In the lips of

some, it meant the expectation of a speedy summons to a world of

spirits; but, in the lips of _our_ company, it simply meant, a

speedy pilgrimage toward a free state, and deliverance from all

the evils and dangers of slavery.



I had succeeded in winning to my (what slaveholders would call

wicked) scheme, a company of five young men, the very flower of

the neighborhood, each one of whom would have commanded one

thousand dollars in the home market.  At New Orleans, they would

have brought fifteen hundred dollars a piece, and, perhaps, more. 

The names of our party were as follows: Henry Harris; John

Harris, brother to Henry; Sandy Jenkins, of root memory; Charles

Roberts, and Henry Bailey.  I was the youngest, but one, of the

party.  I had, however, the advantage of them all, in experience,

and in a knowledge of letters.  This gave me great influence over

them.  Perhaps not one of them, left to himself, would have

dreamed of escape as a possible thing.  Not one of them was self-

moved in the matter.  They all wanted to be free; but the serious

thought of running away, had not entered into <216>their minds,

until I won them to the undertaking.  They all were tolerably

well off--for slaves--and had dim hopes of being set free, some

day, by their masters.  If any one is to blame for disturbing the

quiet of the slaves and slave-masters of the neighborhood of St.

Michael's, _I am the man_.  I claim to be the instigator of the

high crime (as the slaveholders regard it) and I kept life in it,

until life could be kept in it no longer.



Pending the time of our contemplated departure out of our Egypt,

we met often by night, and on every Sunday.  At these meetings we

talked the matter over; told our hopes and fears, and the

difficulties discovered or imagined; and, like men of sense, we

counted the cost of the enterprise to which we were committing

ourselves.



These meetings must have resembled, on a small scale, the

meetings of revolutionary conspirators, in their primary

condition.  We were plotting against our (so called) lawful

rulers; with this difference that we sought our own good, and not

the harm of our enemies.  We did not seek to overthrow them, but

to escape from them.  As for Mr. Freeland, we all liked him, and

would have gladly remained with him, _as freeman_.  LIBERTY was

our aim; and we had now come to think that we had a right to

liberty, against every obstacle even against the lives of our

enslavers.



We had several words, expressive of things, important to us,

which we understood, but which, even if distinctly heard by an

outsider, would convey no certain meaning.  I have reasons for

suppressing these _pass-words_, which the reader will easily

divine.  I hated the secrecy; but where slavery is powerful, and

liberty is weak, the latter is driven to concealment or to

destruction.



The prospect was not always a bright one.  At times, we were

almost tempted to abandon the enterprise, and to get back to that

comparative peace of mind, which even a man under the gallows

might feel, when all hope of escape had vanished.  Quiet bondage

was felt to be better than the doubts, fears and uncertainties,

which now so sadly perplexed and disturbed us.

<217 IGNORANCE OF GEOGRAPHY>



The infirmities of humanity, generally, were represented in our

little band.  We were confident, bold and determined, at times;

and, again, doubting, timid and wavering; whistling, like the boy

in the graveyard, to keep away the spirits.



To look at the map, and observe the proximity of Eastern Shore,

Maryland, to Delaware and Pennsylvania, it may seem to the reader

quite absurd, to regard the proposed escape as a formidable

undertaking.  But to _understand_, some one has said a man must

_stand under_.  The real distance was great enough, but the

imagined distance was, to our ignorance, even greater.  Every

slaveholder seeks to impress his slave with a belief in the

boundlessness of slave territory, and of his own almost

illimitable power.  We all had vague and indistinct notions of

the geography of the country.



The distance, however, is not the chief trouble.  The nearer are

the lines of a slave state and the borders of a free one, the

greater the peril.  Hired kidnappers infest these borders.  Then,

too, we knew that merely reaching a free state did not free us;

that, wherever caught, we could be returned to slavery.  We could

see no spot on this side the ocean, where we could be free.  We

had heard of Canada, the real Canaan of the American bondmen,

simply as a country to which the wild goose and the swan repaired

at the end of winter, to escape the heat of summer, but not as

the home of man.  I knew something of theology, but nothing of

geography.  I really did not, at that time, know that there was a

state of New York, or a state of Massachusetts.  I had heard of

Pennsylvania, Delaware and New Jersey, and all the southern

states, but was ignorant of the free states, generally.  New York

city was our northern limit, and to go there, and be forever

harassed with the liability of being hunted down and returned to

slavery--with the certainty of being treated ten times worse than

we had ever been treated before was a prospect far from

delightful, and it might well cause some hesitation about

engaging in the enterprise.  The case, sometimes, to our excited

visions, <218>stood thus:  At every gate through which we had to

pass, we saw a watchman; at every ferry, a guard; on every

bridge, a sentinel; and in every wood, a patrol or slave-hunter. 

We were hemmed in on every side.  The good to be sought, and the

evil to be shunned, were flung in the balance, and weighed

against each other.  On the one hand, there stood slavery; a

stern reality, glaring frightfully upon us, with the blood of

millions in his polluted skirts--terrible to behold--greedily

devouring our hard earnings and feeding himself upon our flesh. 

Here was the evil from which to escape.  On the other hand, far

away, back in the hazy distance, where all forms seemed but

shadows, under the flickering light of the north star--behind

some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain--stood a doubtful

freedom, half frozen, beckoning us to her icy domain.  This was

the good to be sought.  The inequality was as great as that

between certainty and uncertainty.  This, in itself, was enough

to stagger us; but when we came to survey the untrodden road, and

conjecture the many possible difficulties, we were appalled, and

at times, as I have said, were upon the point of giving over the

struggle altogether.



The reader can have little idea of the phantoms of trouble which

flit, in such circumstances, before the uneducated mind of the

slave.  Upon either side, we saw grim death assuming a variety of

horrid shapes.  Now, it was starvation, causing us, in a strange

and friendless land, to eat our own flesh.  Now, we were

contending with the waves (for our journey was in part by water)

and were drowned.  Now, we were hunted by dogs, and overtaken and

torn to pieces by their merciless fangs.  We were stung by

scorpions--chased by wild beasts--bitten by snakes; and, worst of

all, after having succeeded in swimming rivers--encountering wild

beasts--sleeping in the woods--suffering hunger, cold, heat and

nakedness--we supposed ourselves to be overtaken by hired

kidnappers, who, in the name of the law, and for their thrice

accursed reward, would, perchance, fire upon us--kill some, wound

others, and capture all.  This dark pic<219 IMAGINARY

DIFFICULTIES>ture, drawn by ignorance and fear, at times greatly

shook our determination, and not unfrequently caused us to



            _Rather bear those ills we had

            Than fly to others which we knew not of_.





I am not disposed to magnify this circumstance in my experience,

and yet I think I shall seem to be so disposed, to the reader. 

No man can tell the intense agony which is felt by the slave,

when wavering on the point of making his escape.  All that he has

is at stake; and even that which he has not, is at stake, also. 

The life which he has, may be lost, and the liberty which he

seeks, may not be gained.



Patrick Henry, to a listening senate, thrilled by his magic

eloquence, and ready to stand by him in his boldest flights,

could say, GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH, and this saying was

a sublime one, even for a freeman; but, incomparably more

sublime, is the same sentiment, when _practically_ asserted by

men accustomed to the lash and chain--men whose sensibilities

must have become more or less deadened by their bondage.  With us

it was a _doubtful_ liberty, at best, that we sought; and a

certain, lingering death in the rice swamps and sugar fields, if

we failed.  Life is not lightly regarded by men of sane minds. 

It is precious, alike to the pauper and to the prince--to the

slave, and to his master; and yet, I believe there was not one

among us, who would not rather have been shot down, than pass

away life in hopeless bondage.



In the progress of our preparations, Sandy, the root man, became

troubled.  He began to have dreams, and some of them were very

distressing.  One of these, which happened on a Friday night,

was, to him, of great significance; and I am quite ready to

confess, that I felt somewhat damped by it myself.  He said, "I

dreamed, last night, that I was roused from sleep, by strange

noises, like the voices of a swarm of angry birds, that caused a

roar as they passed, which fell upon my ear like a coming gale

<220>over the tops of the trees.  Looking up to see what it could

mean," said Sandy, "I saw you, Frederick, in the claws of a huge

bird, surrounded by a large number of birds, of all colors and

sizes.  These were all picking at you, while you, with your arms,

seemed to be trying to protect your eyes.  Passing over me, the

birds flew in a south-westerly direction, and I watched them

until they were clean out of sight.  Now, I saw this as plainly

as I now see you; and furder, honey, watch de Friday night dream;

dare is sumpon in it, shose you born; dare is, indeed, honey."



I confess I did not like this dream; but I threw off concern

about it, by attributing it to the general excitement and

perturbation consequent upon our contemplated plan of escape.  I

could not, however, shake off its effect at once.  I felt that it

boded me no good.  Sandy was unusually emphatic and oracular, and

his manner had much to do with the impression made upon me.



The plan of escape which I recommended, and to which my comrades

assented, was to take a large canoe, owned by Mr. Hamilton, and,

on the Saturday night previous to the Easter holidays, launch out

into the Chesapeake bay, and paddle for its head--a distance of

seventy miles with all our might.  Our course, on reaching this

point, was, to turn the canoe adrift, and bend our steps toward

the north star, till we reached a free state.



There were several objections to this plan.  One was, the danger

from gales on the bay.  In rough weather, the waters of the

Chesapeake are much agitated, and there is danger, in a canoe, of

being swamped by the waves.  Another objection was, that the

canoe would soon be missed; the absent persons would, at once, be

suspected of having taken it; and we should be pursued by some of

the fast sailing bay craft out of St. Michael's.  Then, again, if

we reached the head of the bay, and turned the canoe adrift, she

might prove a guide to our track, and bring the land hunters

after us.



These and other objections were set aside, by the stronger ones

which could be urged against every other plan that could then be

<221 PASSES WRITTEN>suggested.  On the water, we had a chance of

being regarded as fishermen, in the service of a master.  On the

other hand, by taking the land route, through the counties

adjoining Delaware, we should be subjected to all manner of

interruptions, and many very disagreeable questions, which might

give us serious trouble.  Any white man is authorized to stop a

man of color, on any road, and examine him, and arrest him, if he

so desires.



By this arrangement, many abuses (considered such even by

slaveholders) occur.  Cases have been known, where freemen have

been called upon to show their free papers, by a pack of

ruffians--and, on the presentation of the papers, the ruffians

have torn them up, and seized their victim, and sold him to a

life of endless bondage.



The week before our intended start, I wrote a pass for each of

our party, giving them permission to visit Baltimore, during the

Easter holidays.  The pass ran after this manner:





This is to certify, that I, the undersigned, have given the

bearer, my servant, John, full liberty to go to Baltimore, to

spend the Easter holidays.

                                                W.H.

                Near St. Michael's, Talbot county, Maryland





Although we were not going to Baltimore, and were intending to

land east of North Point, in the direction where I had seen the

Philadelphia steamers go, these passes might be made useful to us

in the lower part of the bay, while steering toward Baltimore. 

These were not, however, to be shown by us, until all other

answers failed to satisfy the inquirer.  We were all fully alive

to the importance of being calm and self-possessed, when

accosted, if accosted we should be; and we more times than one

rehearsed to each other how we should behave in the hour of

trial.



These were long, tedious days and nights.  The suspense was

painful, in the extreme.  To balance probabilities, where life

and liberty hang on the result, requires steady nerves.  I panted

for action, and was glad when the day, at the close of which we

were to start, dawned upon us.  Sleeping, the night before, was

<222>out of the question.  I probably felt more deeply than any

of my companions, because I was the instigator of the movement. 

The responsibility of the whole enterprise rested on my

shoulders.  The glory of success, and the shame and confusion of

failure, could not be matters of indifference to me.  Our food

was prepared; our clothes were packed up; we were all ready to

go, and impatient for Saturday morning--considering that the last

morning of our bondage.



I cannot describe the tempest and tumult of my brain, that

morning.  The reader will please to bear in mind, that, in a

slave state, an unsuccessful runaway is not only subjected to

cruel torture, and sold away to the far south, but he is

frequently execrated by the other slaves.  He is charged with

making the condition of the other slaves intolerable, by laying

them all under the suspicion of their masters--subjecting them to

greater vigilance, and imposing greater limitations on their

privileges.  I dreaded murmurs from this quarter.  It is

difficult, too, for a slavemaster to believe that slaves escaping

have not been aided in their flight by some one of their fellow

slaves.  When, therefore, a slave is missing, every slave on the

place is closely examined as to his knowledge of the undertaking;

and they are sometimes even tortured, to make them disclose what

they are suspected of knowing of such escape.



Our anxiety grew more and more intense, as the time of our

intended departure for the north drew nigh.  It was truly felt to

be a matter of life and death with us; and we fully intended to

_fight_ as well as _run_, if necessity should occur for that

extremity.  But the trial hour was not yet to come.  It was easy

to resolve, but not so easy to act.  I expected there might be

some drawing back, at the last.  It was natural that there should

be; therefore, during the intervening time, I lost no opportunity

to explain away difficulties, to remove doubts, to dispel fears,

and to inspire all with firmness.  It was too late to look back;

and _now_ was the time to go forward.  Like most other men, we

had done the talking part of our <223 APPEALS TO COMRADES>work,

long and well; and the time had come to _act_ as if we were in

earnest, and meant to be as true in action as in words.  I did

not forget to appeal to the pride of my comrades, by telling them

that, if after having solemnly promised to go, as they had done,

they now failed to make the attempt, they would, in effect, brand

themselves with cowardice, and might as well sit down, fold their

arms, and acknowledge themselves as fit only to be _slaves_. 

This detestable character, all were unwilling to assume.  Every

man except Sandy (he, much to our regret, withdrew) stood firm;

and at our last meeting we pledged ourselves afresh, and in the

most solemn manner, that, at the time appointed, we _would_

certainly start on our long journey for a free country.  This

meeting was in the middle of the week, at the end of which we

were to start.



Early that morning we went, as usual, to the field, but with

hearts that beat quickly and anxiously.  Any one intimately

acquainted with us, might have seen that all was not well with

us, and that some monster lingered in our thoughts.  Our work

that morning was the same as it had been for several days past--

drawing out and spreading manure.  While thus engaged, I had a

sudden presentiment, which flashed upon me like lightning in a

dark night, revealing to the lonely traveler the gulf before, and

the enemy behind.  I instantly turned to Sandy Jenkins, who was

near me, and said to him, _"Sandy, we are betrayed;_ something

has just told me so."  I felt as sure of it, as if the officers

were there in sight.  Sandy said, "Man, dat is strange; but I

feel just as you do."  If my mother--then long in her grave--had

appeared before me, and told me that we were betrayed, I could

not, at that moment, have felt more certain of the fact.



In a few minutes after this, the long, low and distant notes of

the horn summoned us from the field to breakfast.  I felt as one

may be supposed to feel before being led forth to be executed for

some great offense.  I wanted no breakfast; but I went with the

other slaves toward the house, for form's sake.  My feelings were

<224>not disturbed as to the right of running away; on that point

I had no trouble, whatever.  My anxiety arose from a sense of the

consequences of failure.



In thirty minutes after that vivid presentiment came the

apprehended crash.  On reaching the house, for breakfast, and

glancing my eye toward the lane gate, the worst was at once made

known.  The lane gate off Mr. Freeland's house, is nearly a half

mile from the door, and shaded by the heavy wood which bordered

the main road.  I was, however, able to descry four white men,

and two colored men, approaching.  The white men were on

horseback, and the colored men were walking behind, and seemed to

be tied.  _"It is all over with us,"_ thought I, _"we are surely

betrayed_."  I now became composed, or at least comparatively so,

and calmly awaited the result.  I watched the ill-omened company,

till I saw them enter the gate.  Successful flight was

impossible, and I made up my mind to stand, and meet the evil,

whatever it might be; for I was not without a slight hope that

things might turn differently from what I at first expected.  In

a few moments, in came Mr. William Hamilton, riding very rapidly,

and evidently much excited.  He was in the habit of riding very

slowly, and was seldom known to gallop his horse.  This time, his

horse was nearly at full speed, causing the dust to roll thick

behind him.  Mr. Hamilton, though one of the most resolute men in

the whole neighborhood, was, nevertheless, a remarkably mild

spoken man; and, even when greatly excited, his language was cool

and circumspect.  He came to the door, and inquired if Mr.

Freeland was in.  I told him that Mr. Freeland was at the barn. 

Off the old gentleman rode, toward the barn, with unwonted speed. 

Mary, the cook, was at a loss to know what was the matter, and I

did not profess any skill in making her understand.  I knew she

would have united, as readily as any one, in cursing me for

bringing trouble into the family; so I held my peace, leaving

matters to develop themselves, without my assistance.  In a few

moments, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came down from the barn to

the house; and, just as they <225 THE MANNER OF ARRESTING US>made

their appearance in the front yard, three men (who proved to be

constables) came dashing into the lane, on horseback, as if

summoned by a sign requiring quick work.  A few seconds brought

them into the front yard, where they hastily dismounted, and tied

their horses.  This done, they joined Mr. Freeland and Mr.

Hamilton, who were standing a short distance from the kitchen.  A

few moments were spent, as if in consulting how to proceed, and

then the whole party walked up to the kitchen door.  There was

now no one in the kitchen but myself and John Harris.  Henry and

Sandy were yet at the barn.  Mr. Freeland came inside the kitchen

door, and with an agitated voice, called me by name, and told me

to come forward; that there was some gentlemen who wished to see

me.  I stepped toward them, at the door, and asked what they

wanted, when the constables grabbed me, and told me that I had

better not resist; that I had been in a scrape, or was said to

have been in one; that they were merely going to take me where I

could be examined; that they were going to carry me to St.

Michael's, to have me brought before my master.  They further

said, that, in case the evidence against me was not true, I

should be acquitted.  I was now firmly tied, and completely at

the mercy of my captors.  Resistance was idle.  They were five in

number, armed to the very teeth.  When they had secured me, they

next turned to John Harris, and, in a few moments, succeeded in

tying him as firmly as they had already tied me.  They next

turned toward Henry Harris, who had now returned from the barn. 

"Cross your hands," said the constables, to Henry.  "I won't"

said Henry, in a voice so firm and clear, and in a manner so

determined, as for a moment to arrest all proceedings.  "Won't

you cross your hands?" said Tom Graham, the constable.  "_No I

won't_," said Henry, with increasing emphasis.  Mr. Hamilton, Mr.

Freeland, and the officers, now came near to Henry.  Two of the

constables drew out their shining pistols, and swore by the name

of God, that he should cross his hands, or they would shoot him

down.  Each of these hired ruffians now cocked their pistols,

<226>and, with fingers apparently on the triggers, presented

their deadly weapons to the breast of the unarmed slave, saying,

at the same time, if he did not cross his hands, they would "blow

his d--d heart out of him."



_"Shoot! shoot me!"_ said Henry.  "_You can't kill me but once_. 

Shoot!--shoot! and be d--d.  _I won't be tied_."  This, the brave

fellow said in a voice as defiant and heroic in its tone, as was

the language itself; and, at the moment of saying this, with the

pistols at his very breast, he quickly raised his arms, and

dashed them from the puny hands of his assassins, the weapons

flying in opposite directions.  Now came the struggle.  All hands

was now rushed upon the brave fellow, and, after beating him for

some time, they succeeded in overpowering and tying him.  Henry

put me to shame; he fought, and fought bravely.  John and I had

made no resistance.  The fact is, I never see much use in

fighting, unless there is a reasonable probability of whipping

somebody.  Yet there was something almost providential in the

resistance made by the gallant Henry.  But for that resistance,

every soul of us would have been hurried off to the far south. 

Just a moment previous to the trouble with Henry, Mr. Hamilton

_mildly_ said--and this gave me the unmistakable clue to the

cause of our arrest--"Perhaps we had now better make a search for

those protections, which we understand Frederick has written for

himself and the rest."  Had these passes been found, they would

have been point blank proof against us, and would have confirmed

all the statements of our betrayer.  Thanks to the resistance of

Henry, the excitement produced by the scuffle drew all attention

in that direction, and I succeeded in flinging my pass,

unobserved, into the fire.  The confusion attendant upon the

scuffle, and the apprehension of further trouble, perhaps, led

our captors to forego, for the present, any search for _"those

protections" which Frederick was said to have written for his

companions_; so we were not yet convicted of the purpose to run

away; and it was evident that there was some doubt, on the part

of all, whether we had been guilty of such a purpose.

<227 THE UNIQUE SPEECH OF MRS. FREELAND>



Just as we were all completely tied, and about ready to start

toward St. Michael's, and thence to jail, Mrs. Betsey Freeland

(mother to William, who was very much attached--after the

southern fashion--to Henry and John, they having been reared from

childhood in her house) came to the kitchen door, with her hands

full of biscuits--for we had not had time to take our breakfast

that morning--and divided them between Henry and John.  This

done, the lady made the following parting address to me, looking

and pointing her bony finger at me.  "You devil! you yellow

devil!  It was you that put it into the heads of Henry and John

to run away.  But for _you_, you _long legged yellow devil_,

Henry and John would never have thought of running away."  I gave

the lady a look, which called forth a scream of mingled wrath and

terror, as she slammed the kitchen door, and went in, leaving me,

with the rest, in hands as harsh as her own broken voice.



Could the kind reader have been quietly riding along the main

road to or from Easton, that morning, his eye would have met a

painful sight.  He would have seen five young men, guilty of no

crime, save that of preferring _liberty_ to a life of _bondage_,

drawn along the public highway--firmly bound together--tramping

through dust and heat, bare-footed and bare-headed--fastened to

three strong horses, whose riders were armed to the teeth, with

pistols and daggers--on their way to prison, like felons, and

suffering every possible insult from the crowds of idle, vulgar

people, who clustered around, and heartlessly made their failure

the occasion for all manner of ribaldry and sport.  As I looked

upon this crowd of vile persons, and saw myself and friends thus

assailed and persecuted, I could not help seeing the fulfillment

of Sandy's dream.  I was in the hands of moral vultures, and

firmly held in their sharp talons, and was hurried away toward

Easton, in a south-easterly direction, amid the jeers of new

birds of the same feather, through every neighborhood we passed. 

It seemed to me (and this shows the good understanding between

the slaveholders and their allies) that every body we met knew

<228>the cause of our arrest, and were out, awaiting our passing

by, to feast their vindictive eyes on our misery and to gloat

over our ruin.  Some said, _I ought to be hanged_, and others, _I

ought to be burnt_, others, I ought to have the _"hide"_ taken

from my back; while no one gave us a kind word or sympathizing

look, except the poor slaves, who were lifting their heavy hoes,

and who cautiously glanced at us through the post-and-rail

fences, behind which they were at work.  Our sufferings, that

morning, can be more easily imagined than described.  Our hopes

were all blasted, at a blow.  The cruel injustice, the victorious

crime, and the helplessness of innocence, led me to ask, in my

ignorance and weakness "Where now is the God of justice and

mercy?  And why have these wicked men the power thus to trample

upon our rights, and to insult our feelings?"  And yet, in the

next moment, came the consoling thought, _"The day of oppressor

will come at last."_  Of one thing I could be glad--not one of my

dear friends, upon whom I had brought this great calamity, either

by word or look, reproached me for having led them into it.  We

were a band of brothers, and never dearer to each other than now. 

The thought which gave us the most pain, was the probable

separation which would now take place, in case we were sold off

to the far south, as we were likely to be.  While the constables

were looking forward, Henry and I, being fastened together, could

occasionally exchange a word, without being observed by the

kidnappers who had us in charge.  "What shall I do with my pass?"

said Henry.  "Eat it with your biscuit," said I; "it won't do to

tear it up."  We were now near St. Michael's.  The direction

concerning the passes was passed around, and executed.  _"Own

nothing!"_ said I.  _"Own nothing!"_ was passed around and

enjoined, and assented to.  Our confidence in each other was

unshaken; and we were quite resolved to succeed or fail

together--as much after the calamity which had befallen us, as

before.



On reaching St. Michael's, we underwent a sort of examination at

my master's store, and it was evident to my mind, that Master

<229 THE DENIAL>Thomas suspected the truthfulness of the evidence

upon which they had acted in arresting us; and that he only

affected, to some extent, the positiveness with which he asserted

our guilt.  There was nothing said by any of our company, which

could, in any manner, prejudice our cause; and there was hope,

yet, that we should be able to return to our homes--if for

nothing else, at least to find out the guilty man or woman who

had betrayed us.



To this end, we all denied that we had been guilty of intended

flight.  Master Thomas said that the evidence he had of our

intention to run away, was strong enough to hang us, in a case of

murder.  "But," said I, "the cases are not equal.  If murder were

committed, some one must have committed it--the thing is done! 

In our case, nothing has been done!  We have not run away.  Where

is the evidence against us?  We were quietly at our work."  I

talked thus, with unusual freedom, to bring out the evidence

against us, for we all wanted, above all things, to know the

guilty wretch who had betrayed us, that we might have something

tangible upon which to pour the execrations.  From something

which dropped, in the course of the talk, it appeared that there

was but one witness against us--and that that witness could not

be produced.  Master Thomas would not tell us _who_ his informant

was; but we suspected, and suspected _one_ person _only_. 

Several circumstances seemed to point SANDY out, as our betrayer. 

His entire knowledge of our plans his participation in them--his

withdrawal from us--his dream, and his simultaneous presentiment

that we were betrayed--the taking us, and the leaving him--were

calculated to turn suspicion toward him; and yet, we could not

suspect him.  We all loved him too well to think it _possible_

that he could have betrayed us.  So we rolled the guilt on other

shoulders.



We were literally dragged, that morning, behind horses, a

distance of fifteen miles, and placed in the Easton jail.  We

were glad to reach the end of our journey, for our pathway had

been the scene of insult and mortification.  Such is the power of

public <230>opinion, that it is hard, even for the innocent, to

feel the happy consolations of innocence, when they fall under

the maledictions of this power.  How could we regard ourselves as

in the right, when all about us denounced us as criminals, and

had the power and the disposition to treat us as such.



In jail, we were placed under the care of Mr. Joseph Graham, the

sheriff of the county.  Henry, and John, and myself, were placed

in one room, and Henry Baily and Charles Roberts, in another, by

themselves.  This separation was intended to deprive us of the

advantage of concert, and to prevent trouble in jail.



Once shut up, a new set of tormentors came upon us.  A swarm of

imps, in human shape the slave-traders, deputy slave-traders, and

agents of slave-traders--that gather in every country town of the

state, watching for chances to buy human flesh (as buzzards to

eat carrion) flocked in upon us, to ascertain if our masters had

placed us in jail to be sold.  Such a set of debased and

villainous creatures, I never saw before, and hope never to see

again.  I felt myself surrounded as by a pack of _fiends_, fresh

from _perdition_.  They laughed, leered, and grinned at us;

saying, "Ah! boys, we've got you, havn't we?  So you were about

to make your escape?  Where were you going to?"  After taunting

us, and peering at us, as long as they liked, they one by one

subjected us to an examination, with a view to ascertain our

value; feeling our arms and legs, and shaking us by the shoulders

to see if we were sound and healthy; impudently asking us, "how

we would like to have them for masters?"  To such questions, we

were, very much to their annoyance, quite dumb, disdaining to

answer them.  For one, I detested the whisky-bloated gamblers in

human flesh; and I believe I was as much detested by them in

turn.  One fellow told me, "if he had me, he would cut the devil

out of me pretty quick."



These Negro buyers are very offensive to the genteel southern

Christian public.  They are looked upon, in respectable Maryland

society, as necessary, but detestable characters.  As a class,

they <231 SLAVE-TRADERS>are hardened ruffians, made such by

nature and by occupation.  Their ears are made quite familiar

with the agonizing cry of outraged and woe-smitted humanity. 

Their eyes are forever open to human misery.  They walk amid

desecrated affections, insulted virtue, and blasted hopes.  They

have grown intimate with vice and blood; they gloat over the

wildest illustrations of their soul-damning and earth-polluting

business, and are moral pests.  Yes; they are a legitimate fruit

of slavery; and it is a puzzle to make out a case of greater

villainy for them, than for the slaveholders, who make such a

class _possible_.  They are mere hucksters of the surplus slave

produce of Maryland and Virginia coarse, cruel, and swaggering

bullies, whose very breathing is of blasphemy and blood.



Aside from these slave-buyers, who infested the prison, from time

to time, our quarters were much more comfortable than we had any

right to expect they would be.  Our allowance of food was small

and coarse, but our room was the best in the jail--neat and

spacious, and with nothing about it necessarily reminding us of

being in prison, but its heavy locks and bolts and the black,

iron lattice-work at the windows.  We were prisoners of state,

compared with most slaves who are put into that Easton jail.  But

the place was not one of contentment.  Bolts, bars and grated

windows are not acceptable to freedom-loving people of any color. 

The suspense, too, was painful.  Every step on the stairway was

listened to, in the hope that the comer would cast a ray of light

on our fate.  We would have given the hair off our heads for half

a dozen words with one of the waiters in Sol. Lowe's hotel.  Such

waiters were in the way of hearing, at the table, the probable

course of things.  We could see them flitting about in their

white jackets in front of this hotel, but could speak to none of

them.



Soon after the holidays were over, contrary to all our

expectations, Messrs. Hamilton and Freeland came up to Easton;

not to make a bargain with the "Georgia traders," nor to send us

up to Austin Woldfolk, as is usual in the case of run-away

salves, <232>but to release Charles, Henry Harris, Henry Baily

and John Harris, from prison, and this, too, without the

infliction of a single blow.  I was now left entirely alone in

prison.  The innocent had been taken, and the guilty left.  My

friends were separated from me, and apparently forever.  This

circumstance caused me more pain than any other incident

connected with our capture and imprisonment.  Thirty-nine lashes

on my naked and bleeding back, would have been joyfully borne, in

preference to this separation from these, the friends of my

youth.  And yet, I could not but feel that I was the victim of

something like justice.  Why should these young men, who were led

into this scheme by me, suffer as much as the instigator?  I felt

glad that they were leased from prison, and from the dread

prospect of a life (or death I should rather say) in the rice

swamps.  It is due to the noble Henry, to say, that he seemed

almost as reluctant to leave the prison with me in it, as he was

to be tied and dragged to prison.  But he and the rest knew that

we should, in all the likelihoods of the case, be separated, in

the event of being sold; and since we were now completely in the

hands of our owners, we all concluded it would be best to go

peaceably home.



Not until this last separation, dear reader, had I touched those

profounder depths of desolation, which it is the lot of slaves

often to reach.  I was solitary in the world, and alone within

the walls of a stone prison, left to a fate of life-long misery. 

I had hoped and expected much, for months before, but my hopes

and expectations were now withered and blasted.  The ever dreaded

slave life in Georgia, Louisiana and Alabama--from which escape

is next to impossible now, in my loneliness, stared me in the

face.  The possibility of ever becoming anything but an abject

slave, a mere machine in the hands of an owner, had now fled, and

it seemed to me it had fled forever.  A life of living death,

beset with the innumerable horrors of the cotton field, and the

sugar plantation, seemed to be my doom.  The fiends, who rushed

into the prison when we were first put there, continued to visit

me, <233 LEFT ALONE IN PRISON>and to ply me with questions and

with their tantalizing remarks.  I was insulted, but helpless;

keenly alive to the demands of justice and liberty, but with no

means of asserting them.  To talk to those imps about justice and

mercy, would have been as absurd as to reason with bears and

tigers.  Lead and steel are the only arguments that they

understand.



After remaining in this life of misery and despair about a week,

which, by the way, seemed a month, Master Thomas, very much to my

surprise, and greatly to my relief, came to the prison, and took

me out, for the purpose, as he said, of sending me to Alabama,

with a friend of his, who would emancipate me at the end of eight

years.  I was glad enough to get out of prison; but I had no

faith in the story that this friend of Capt. Auld would

emancipate me, at the end of the time indicated.  Besides, I

never had heard of his having a friend in Alabama, and I took the

announcement, simply as an easy and comfortable method of

shipping me off to the far south.  There was a little scandal,

too, connected with the idea of one Christian selling another to

the Georgia traders, while it was deemed every way proper for

them to sell to others.  I thought this friend in Alabama was an

invention, to meet this difficulty, for Master Thomas was quite

jealous of his Christian reputation, however unconcerned he might

be about his real Christian character.  In these remarks,

however, it is possible that I do Master Thomas Auld injustice. 

He certainly did not exhaust his power upon me, in the case, but

acted, upon the whole, very generously, considering the nature of

my offense.  He had the power and the provocation to send me,

without reserve, into the very everglades of Florida, beyond the

remotest hope of emancipation; and his refusal to exercise that

power, must be set down to his credit.



After lingering about St. Michael's a few days, and no friend

from Alabama making his appearance, to take me there, Master

Thomas decided to send me back again to Baltimore, to live with

his brother Hugh, with whom he was now at peace; possibly he

<234>became so by his profession of religion, at the camp-meeting

in the Bay Side.  Master Thomas told me that he wished me to go

to Baltimore, and learn a trade; and that, if I behaved myself

properly, he would _emancipate me at twenty-five!_  Thanks for

this one beam of hope in the future.  The promise had but one

fault; it seemed too good to be true.





CHAPTER XX

_Apprenticeship Life_



NOTHING LOST BY THE ATTEMPT TO RUN AWAY--COMRADES IN THEIR OLD

HOMES--REASONS FOR SENDING ME AWAY--RETURN TO BALTIMORE--CONTRAST

BETWEEN TOMMY AND THAT OF HIS COLORED COMPANION--TRIALS IN

GARDINER'S SHIP YARD--DESPERATE FIGHT--ITS CAUSES--CONFLICT

BETWEEN WHITE AND BLACK LABOR--DESCRIPTION OF THE OUTRAGE--

COLORED TESTIMONY NOTHING--CONDUCT OF MASTER HUGH--SPIRIT OF

SLAVERY IN BALTIMORE--MY CONDITION IMPROVES--NEW ASSOCIATIONS--

SLAVEHOLDER'S RIGHT TO TAKE HIS WAGES--HOW TO MAKE A CONTENTED

SLAVE.





Well! dear reader, I am not, as you may have already inferred, a

loser by the general upstir, described in the foregoing chapter. 

The little domestic revolution, notwithstanding the sudden snub

it got by the treachery of somebody--I dare not say or think

who--did not, after all, end so disastrously, as when in the iron

cage at Easton, I conceived it would.  The prospect, from that

point, did look about as dark as any that ever cast its gloom

over the vision of the anxious, out-looking, human spirit.  "All

is well that ends well."  My affectionate comrades, Henry and

John Harris, are still with Mr. William Freeland.  Charles

Roberts and Henry Baily are safe at their homes.  I have not,

therefore, any thing to regret on their account.  Their masters

have mercifully forgiven them, probably on the ground suggested

in the spirited little speech of Mrs. Freeland, made to me just

before leaving for the jail--namely: that they had been allured

into the wicked scheme of making their escape, by me; and that,

but for me, they would never have dreamed of a thing so shocking! 

My <236>friends had nothing to regret, either; for while they

were watched more closely on account of what had happened, they

were, doubtless, treated more kindly than before, and got new

assurances that they would be legally emancipated, some day,

provided their behavior should make them deserving, from that

time forward.  Not a blow, as I learned, was struck any one of

them.  As for Master William Freeland, good, unsuspecting soul,

he did not believe that we were intending to run away at all. 

Having given--as he thought--no occasion to his boys to leave

him, he could not think it probable that they had entertained a

design so grievous.  This, however, was not the view taken of the

matter by "Mas' Billy," as we used to call the soft spoken, but

crafty and resolute Mr. William Hamilton.  He had no doubt that

the crime had been meditated; and regarding me as the instigator

of it, he frankly told Master Thomas that he must remove me from

that neighborhood, or he would shoot me down.  He would not have

one so dangerous as "Frederick" tampering with his slaves. 

William Hamilton was not a man whose threat might be safely

disregarded.  I have no doubt that he would have proved as good

as his word, had the warning given not been promptly taken.  He

was furious at the thought of such a piece of high-handed

_theft_, as we were about to perpetrate the stealing of our own

bodies and souls!  The feasibility of the plan, too, could the

first steps have been taken, was marvelously plain.  Besides,

this was a _new_ idea, this use of the bay.  Slaves escaping,

until now, had taken to the woods; they had never dreamed of

profaning and abusing the waters of the noble Chesapeake, by

making them the highway from slavery to freedom.  Here was a

broad road of destruction to slavery, which, before, had been

looked upon as a wall of security by slaveholders.  But Master

Billy could not get Mr. Freeland to see matters precisely as he

did; nor could he get Master Thomas so excited as he was himself. 

The latter--I must say it to his credit--showed much humane

feeling in his part of the transaction, and atoned for much that

had been harsh, cruel <237 CHANGE IN LITTLE TOMMY>and

unreasonable in his former treatment of me and others.  His

clemency was quite unusual and unlooked for.  "Cousin Tom" told

me that while I was in jail, Master Thomas was very unhappy; and

that the night before his going up to release me, he had walked

the floor nearly all night, evincing great distress; that very

tempting offers had been made to him, by the Negro-traders, but

he had rejected them all, saying that _money could not tempt him

to sell me to the far south_.  All this I can easily believe, for

he seemed quite reluctant to send me away, at all.  He told me

that he only consented to do so, because of the very strong

prejudice against me in the neighborhood, and that he feared for

my safety if I remained there.



Thus, after three years spent in the country, roughing it in the

field, and experiencing all sorts of hardships, I was again

permitted to return to Baltimore, the very place, of all others,

short of a free state, where I most desired to live.  The three

years spent in the country, had made some difference in me, and

in the household of Master Hugh.  "Little Tommy" was no longer

_little_ Tommy; and I was not the slender lad who had left for

the Eastern Shore just three years before.  The loving relations

between me and Mas' Tommy were broken up.  He was no longer

dependent on me for protection, but felt himself a _man_, with

other and more suitable associates.  In childhood, he scarcely

considered me inferior to himself certainly, as good as any other

boy with whom he played; but the time had come when his _friend_

must become his _slave_.  So we were cold, and we parted.  It was

a sad thing to me, that, loving each other as we had done, we

must now take different roads.  To him, a thousand avenues were

open.  Education had made him acquainted with all the treasures

of the world, and liberty had flung open the gates thereunto; but

I, who had attended him seven years, and had watched over him

with the care of a big brother, fighting his battles in the

street, and shielding him from harm, to an extent which had

induced his mother to say, "Oh!  Tommy is always safe, when he is

with <238>Freddy," must be confined to a single condition.  He

could grow, and become a MAN; I could grow, though I could _not_

become a man, but must remain, all my life, a minor--a mere boy. 

Thomas Auld, Junior, obtained a situation on board the brig

"Tweed," and went to sea.  I know not what has become of him; he

certainly has my good wishes for his welfare and prosperity. 

There were few persons to whom I was more sincerely attached than

to him, and there are few in the world I would be more pleased to

meet.



Very soon after I went to Baltimore to live, Master Hugh

succeeded in getting me hired to Mr. William Gardiner, an

extensive ship builder on Fell's Point.  I was placed here to

learn to calk, a trade of which I already had some knowledge,

gained while in Mr. Hugh Auld's ship-yard, when he was a master

builder.  Gardiner's, however, proved a very unfavorable place

for the accomplishment of that object.  Mr. Gardiner was, that

season, engaged in building two large man-of-war vessels,

professedly for the Mexican government.  These vessels were to be

launched in the month of July, of that year, and, in failure

thereof, Mr. G. would forfeit a very considerable sum of money. 

So, when I entered the ship-yard, all was hurry and driving. 

There were in the yard about one hundred men; of these about

seventy or eighty were regular carpenters--privileged men. 

Speaking of my condition here I wrote, years ago--and I have now

no reason to vary the picture as follows:





There was no time to learn any thing.  Every man had to do that

which he knew how to do.  In entering the ship-yard, my orders

from Mr. Gardiner were, to do whatever the carpenters commanded

me to do.  This was placing me at the beck and call of about

seventy-five men.  I was to regard all these as masters.  Their

word was to be my law.  My situation was a most trying one.  At

times I needed a dozen pair of hands.  I was called a dozen ways

in the space of a single minute.  Three or four voices would

strike my ear at the same moment.  It was--"Fred., come help me

to cant this timber here."  "Fred., come carry this timber

yonder."--"Fred., bring that roller here."--"Fred., go get a

fresh can of water."--"Fred., come help saw off the end of this

timber."--"Fred., go quick and get the crow bar."--"Fred., hold

on the end of this fall."--"Fred., go to the blacksmith's shop,

and get a new punch."--<239 DESPERATE FIGHT>



"Hurra, Fred.! run and bring me a cold chisel."--"I say, Fred.,

bear a hand, and get up a fire as quick as lightning under that

steam-box."--"Halloo, nigger! come, turn this grindstone."--

"Come, come! move, move! and _bowse_ this timber forward."--"I

say, darkey, blast your eyes, why don't you heat up some

pitch?"--"Halloo! halloo! halloo!" (Three voices at the same

time.)  "Come here!--Go there!--Hold on where you are! D--n you,

if you move, I'll knock your brains out!"





Such, dear reader, is a glance at the school which was mine,

during, the first eight months of my stay at Baltimore.  At the

end of the eight months, Master Hugh refused longer to allow me

to remain with Mr. Gardiner.  The circumstance which led to his

taking me away, was a brutal outrage, committed upon me by the

white apprentices of the ship-yard.  The fight was a desperate

one, and I came out of it most shockingly mangled.  I was cut and

bruised in sundry places, and my left eye was nearly knocked out

of its socket.  The facts, leading to this barbarous outrage upon

me, illustrate a phase of slavery destined to become an important

element in the overthrow of the slave system, and I may,

therefore state them with some minuteness.  That phase is this:

_the conflict of slavery with the interests of the white

mechanics and laborers of the south_.  In the country, this

conflict is not so apparent; but, in cities, such as Baltimore,

Richmond, New Orleans, Mobile, &c., it is seen pretty clearly. 

The slaveholders, with a craftiness peculiar to themselves, by

encouraging the enmity of the poor, laboring white man against

the blacks, succeeds in making the said white man almost as much

a slave as the black slave himself.  The difference between the

white slave, and the black slave, is this: the latter belongs to

_one_ slaveholder, and the former belongs to _all_ the

slaveholders, collectively.  The white slave has taken from him,

by indirection, what the black slave has taken from him,

directly, and without ceremony.  Both are plundered, and by the

same plunderers.  The slave is robbed, by his master, of all his

earnings, above what is required for his bare physical

necessities; and the white man is robbed by the slave system, of

the just results of his labor, because he is flung into

<240>competition with a class of laborers who work without wages. 

The competition, and its injurious consequences, will, one day,

array the nonslaveholding white people of the slave states,

against the slave system, and make them the most effective

workers against the great evil.  At present, the slaveholders

blind them to this competition, by keeping alive their prejudice

against the slaves, _as men_--not against them _as slaves_.  They

appeal to their pride, often denouncing emancipation, as tending

to place the white man, on an equality with Negroes, and, by this

means, they succeed in drawing off the minds of the poor whites

from the real fact, that, by the rich slave-master, they are

already regarded as but a single remove from equality with the

slave.  The impression is cunningly made, that slavery is the

only power that can prevent the laboring white man from falling

to the level of the slave's poverty and degradation.  To make

this enmity deep and broad, between the slave and the poor white

man, the latter is allowed to abuse and whip the former, without

hinderance.  But--as I have suggested--this state of facts

prevails _mostly_ in the country.  In the city of Baltimore,

there are not unfrequent murmurs, that educating the slaves to be

mechanics may, in the end, give slavemasters power to dispense

with the services of the poor white man altogether.  But, with

characteristic dread of offending the slaveholders, these poor,

white mechanics in Mr. Gardiner's ship-yard--instead of applying

the natural, honest remedy for the apprehended evil, and

objecting at once to work there by the side of slaves--made a

cowardly attack upon the free colored mechanics, saying _they_

were eating the bread which should be eaten by American freemen,

and swearing that they would not work with them.  The feeling

was, _really_, against having their labor brought into

competition with that of the colored people at all; but it was

too much to strike directly at the interest of the slaveholders;

and, therefore proving their servility and cowardice they dealt

their blows on the poor, colored freeman, and aimed to prevent

_him_ from serving himself, in the evening of life, with the

trade <241 CONFLICT BETWEEN WHITE AND BLACK LABOR>with which he

had served his master, during the more vigorous portion of his

days.  Had they succeeded in driving the black freemen out of the

ship-yard, they would have determined also upon the removal of

the black slaves.  The feeling was very bitter toward all colored

people in Baltimore, about this time (1836), and they--free and

slave suffered all manner of insult and wrong.



Until a very little before I went there, white and black ship

carpenters worked side by side, in the ship yards of Mr.

Gardiner, Mr. Duncan, Mr. Walter Price, and Mr. Robb.  Nobody

seemed to see any impropriety in it.  To outward seeming, all

hands were well satisfied.  Some of the blacks were first rate

workmen, and were given jobs requiring highest skill.  All at

once, however, the white carpenters knocked off, and swore that

they would no longer work on the same stage with free Negroes. 

Taking advantage of the heavy contract resting upon Mr. Gardiner,

to have the war vessels for Mexico ready to launch in July, and

of the difficulty of getting other hands at that season of the

year, they swore they would not strike another blow for him,

unless he would discharge his free colored workmen.



Now, although this movement did not extend to me, _in form_, it

did reach me, _in fact_.  The spirit which it awakened was one of

malice and bitterness, toward colored people _generally_, and I

suffered with the rest, and suffered severely.  My fellow

apprentices very soon began to feel it to be degrading to work

with me.  They began to put on high looks, and to talk

contemptuously and maliciously of _"the Niggers;"_ saying, that

"they would take the country," that "they ought to be killed." 

Encouraged by the cowardly workmen, who, knowing me to be a

slave, made no issue with Mr. Gardiner about my being there,

these young men did their utmost to make it impossible for me to

stay.  They seldom called me to do any thing, without coupling

the call with a curse, and Edward North, the biggest in every

thing, rascality included, ventured to strike me, whereupon I

picked him up, and threw <242>him into the dock.  Whenever any of

them struck me, I struck back again, regardless of consequences. 

I could manage any of them _singly_, and, while I could keep them

from combining, I succeeded very well.  In the conflict which

ended my stay at Mr. Gardiner's, I was beset by four of them at

once--Ned North, Ned Hays, Bill Stewart, and Tom Humphreys.  Two

of them were as large as myself, and they came near killing me,

in broad day light.  The attack was made suddenly, and

simultaneously.  One came in front, armed with a brick; there was

one at each side, and one behind, and they closed up around me. 

I was struck on all sides; and, while I was attending to those in

front, I received a blow on my head, from behind, dealt with a

heavy hand-spike.  I was completely stunned by the blow, and

fell, heavily, on the ground, among the timbers.  Taking

advantage of my fall, they rushed upon me, and began to pound me

with their fists.  I let them lay on, for a while, after I came

to myself, with a view of gaining strength.  They did me little

damage, so far; but, finally, getting tired of that sport, I gave

a sudden surge, and, despite their weight, I rose to my hands and

knees.  Just as I did this, one of their number (I know not

which) planted a blow with his boot in my left eye, which, for a

time, seemed to have burst my eyeball.  When they saw my eye

completely closed, my face covered with blood, and I staggering

under the stunning blows they had given me, they left me.  As

soon as I gathered sufficient strength, I picked up the hand-

spike, and, madly enough, attempted to pursue them; but here the

carpenters interfered, and compelled me to give up my frenzied

pursuit.  It was impossible to stand against so many.



Dear reader, you can hardly believe the statement, but it is

true, and, therefore, I write it down: not fewer than fifty white

men stood by, and saw this brutal and shameless outrage

committed, and not a man of them all interposed a single word of

mercy.  There were four against one, and that one's face was

beaten and battered most horribly, and no one said, "that is

enough;" but some cried out, "Kill him--kill him--kill the d--d

<243 CONDUCT OF MASTER HUGH>nigger! knock his brains out--he

struck a white person."  I mention this inhuman outcry, to show

the character of the men, and the spirit of the times, at

Gardiner's ship yard, and, indeed, in Baltimore generally, in

1836.  As I look back to this period, I am almost amazed that I

was not murdered outright, in that ship yard, so murderous was

the spirit which prevailed there.  On two occasions, while there,

I came near losing my life.  I was driving bolts in the hold,

through the keelson, with Hays.  In its course, the bolt bent. 

Hays cursed me, and said that it was my blow which bent the bolt. 

I denied this, and charged it upon him.  In a fit of rage he

seized an adze, and darted toward me.  I met him with a maul, and

parried his blow, or I should have then lost my life.  A son of

old Tom Lanman (the latter's double murder I have elsewhere

charged upon him), in the spirit of his miserable father, made an

assault upon me, but the blow with his maul missed me.  After the

united assault of North, Stewart, Hays and Humphreys, finding

that the carpenters were as bitter toward me as the apprentices,

and that the latter were probably set on by the former, I found

my only chances for life was in flight.  I succeeded in getting

away, without an additional blow.  To strike a white man, was

death, by Lynch law, in Gardiner's ship yard; nor was there much

of any other law toward colored people, at that time, in any

other part of Maryland.  The whole sentiment of Baltimore was

murderous.



After making my escape from the ship yard, I went straight home,

and related the story of the outrage to Master Hugh Auld; and it

is due to him to say, that his conduct--though he was not a

religious man--was every way more humane than that of his

brother, Thomas, when I went to the latter in a somewhat similar

plight, from the hands of _"Brother Edward Covey."_  He listened

attentively to my narration of the circumstances leading to the

ruffianly outrage, and gave many proofs of his strong indignation

at what was done.  Hugh was a rough, but manly-hearted fellow,

and, at this time, his best nature showed itself.

<244>



The heart of my once almost over-kind mistress, Sophia, was again

melted in pity toward me.  My puffed-out eye, and my scarred and

blood-covered face, moved the dear lady to tears.  She kindly

drew a chair by me, and with friendly, consoling words, she took

water, and washed the blood from my face.  No mother's hand could

have been more tender than hers.  She bound up my head, and

covered my wounded eye with a lean piece of fresh beef.  It was

almost compensation for the murderous assault, and my suffering,

that it furnished and occasion for the manifestation, once more,

of the orignally{sic} characteristic kindness of my mistress. 

Her affectionate heart was not yet dead, though much hardened by

time and by circumstances.



As for Master Hugh's part, as I have said, he was furious about

it; and he gave expression to his fury in the usual forms of

speech in that locality.  He poured curses on the heads of the

whole ship yard company, and swore that he would have

satisfaction for the outrage.  His indignation was really strong

and healthy; but, unfortunately, it resulted from the thought

that his rights of property, in my person, had not been

respected, more than from any sense of the outrage committed on

me _as a man_.  I inferred as much as this, from the fact that he

could, himself, beat and mangle when it suited him to do so. 

Bent on having satisfaction, as he said, just as soon as I got a

little the better of my bruises, Master Hugh took me to Esquire

Watson's office, on Bond street, Fell's Point, with a view to

procuring the arrest of those who had assaulted me.  He related

the outrage to the magistrate, as I had related it to him, and

seemed to expect that a warrant would, at once, be issued for the

arrest of the lawless ruffians.



Mr. Watson heard it all, and instead of drawing up his warrant,

he inquired.--



"Mr. Auld, who saw this assault of which you speak?"



"It was done, sir, in the presence of a ship yard full of hands."



"Sir," said Watson, "I am sorry, but I cannot move in this matter

except upon the oath of white witnesses."

<245 COLORED TESTIMONY NOTHING>



"But here's the boy; look at his head and face," said the excited

Master Hugh; _"they_ show _what_ has been done."



But Watson insisted that he was not authorized to do anything,

unless _white_ witnesses of the transaction would come forward,

and testify to what had taken place.  He could issue no warrant

on my word, against white persons; and, if I had been killed in

the presence of a _thousand blacks_, their testimony, combined

would have been insufficient to arrest a single murderer.  Master

Hugh, for once, was compelled to say, that this state of things

was _too bad;_ and he left the office of the magistrate,

disgusted.



Of course, it was impossible to get any white man to testify

against my assailants.  The carpenters saw what was done; but the

actors were but the agents of their malice, and only what the

carpenters sanctioned.  They had cried, with one accord, _"Kill

the nigger!"  "Kill the nigger!"_  Even those who may have pitied

me, if any such were among them, lacked the moral courage to come

and volunteer their evidence.  The slightest manifestation of

sympathy or justice toward a person of color, was denounced as

abolitionism; and the name of abolitionist, subjected its bearer

to frightful liabilities.  "D--n _abolitionists,"_ and _"Kill the

niggers,"_ were the watch-words of the foul-mouthed ruffians of

those days.  Nothing was done, and probably there would not have

been any thing done, had I been killed in the affray.  The laws

and the morals of the Christian city of Baltimore, afforded no

protection to the sable denizens of that city.



Master Hugh, on finding he could get no redress for the cruel

wrong, withdrew me from the employment of Mr. Gardiner, and took

me into his own family, Mrs. Auld kindly taking care of me, and

dressing my wounds, until they were healed, and I was ready to go

again to work.



While I was on the Eastern Shore, Master Hugh had met with

reverses, which overthrew his business; and he had given up ship

building in his own yard, on the City Block, and was now acting

as foreman of Mr. Walter Price.  The best he could now do for me,

<246>was to take me into Mr. Price's yard, and afford me the

facilities there, for completing the trade which I had began to

learn at Gardiner's.  Here I rapidly became expert in the use of

my calking tools; and, in the course of a single year, I was able

to command the highest wages paid to journeymen calkers in

Baltimore.



The reader will observe that I was now of some pecuniary value to

my master.  During the busy season, I was bringing six and seven

dollars per week.  I have, sometimes, brought him as much as nine

dollars a week, for the wages were a dollar and a half per day.



After learning to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own

contracts, and collected my own earnings; giving Master Hugh no

trouble in any part of the transactions to which I was a party.



Here, then, were better days for the Eastern Shore _slave_.  I

was now free from the vexatious assalts{sic} of the apprentices

at Mr. Gardiner's; and free from the perils of plantation life,

and once more in a favorable condition to increase my little

stock of education, which had been at a dead stand since my

removal from Baltimore.  I had, on the Eastern Shore, been only a

teacher, when in company with other slaves, but now there were

colored persons who could instruct me.  Many of the young calkers

could read, write and cipher.  Some of them had high notions

about mental improvement; and the free ones, on Fell's Point,

organized what they called the _"East Baltimore Mental

Improvement Society."_  To this society, notwithstanding it was

intended that only free persons should attach themselves, I was

admitted, and was, several times, assigned a prominent part in

its debates.  I owe much to the society of these young men.



The reader already knows enough of the _ill_ effects of good

treatment on a slave, to anticipate what was now the case in my

improved condition.  It was not long before I began to show signs

of disquiet with slavery, and to look around for means to get out

of that condition by the shortest route.  I was living among

_free_<247 MY CONDITION IMPROVES>_men;_ and was, in all respects,

equal to them by nature and by attainments.  _Why should I be a

slave?_  There was _no_ reason why I should be the thrall of any

man.



Besides, I was now getting--as I have said--a dollar and fifty

cents per day.  I contracted for it, worked for it, earned it,

collected it; it was paid to me, and it was _rightfully_ my own;

and yet, upon every returning Saturday night, this money--my own

hard earnings, every cent of it--was demanded of me, and taken

from me by Master Hugh.  He did not earn it; he had no hand in

earning it; why, then, should he have it?  I owed him nothing. 

He had given me no schooling, and I had received from him only my

food and raiment; and for these, my services were supposed to

pay, from the first.  The right to take my earnings, was the

right of the robber.  He had the power to compel me to give him

the fruits of my labor, and this power was his only right in the

case.  I became more and more dissatisfied with this state of

things; and, in so becoming, I only gave proof of the same human

nature which every reader of this chapter in my life--

slaveholder, or nonslaveholder--is conscious of possessing.



To make a contented slave, you must make a thoughtless one.  It

is necessary to darken his moral and mental vision, and, as far

as possible, to annihilate his power of reason.  He must be able

to detect no inconsistencies in slavery.  The man that takes his

earnings, must be able to convince him that he has a perfect

right to do so.  It must not depend upon mere force; the slave

must know no Higher Law than his master's will.  The whole

relationship must not only demonstrate, to his mind, its

necessity, but its absolute rightfulness.  If there be one

crevice through which a single drop can fall, it will certainly

rust off the slave's chain.







CHAPTER XXI

_My Escape from Slavery_



CLOSING INCIDENTS OF "MY LIFE AS A SLAVE"--REASONS WHY FULL

PARTICULARS OF THE MANNER OF MY ESCAPE WILL NOT BE GIVEN--

CRAFTINESS AND MALICE OF SLAVEHOLDERS--SUSPICION OF AIDING A

SLAVE'S ESCAPE ABOUT AS DANGEROUS AS POSITIVE EVIDENCE--WANT OF

WISDOM SHOWN IN PUBLISHING DETAILS OF THE ESCAPE OF THE

FUGITIVES--PUBLISHED ACCOUNTS REACH THE MASTERS, NOT THE SLAVES--

SLAVEHOLDERS STIMULATED TO GREATER WATCHFULNESS--MY CONDITION--

DISCONTENT--SUSPICIONS IMPLIED BY MASTER HUGH'S MANNER, WHEN

RECEIVING MY WAGES--HIS OCCASIONAL GENEROSITY!--DIFFICULTIES IN

THE WAY OF ESCAPE--EVERY AVENUE GUARDED--PLAN TO OBTAIN MONEY--I

AM ALLOWED TO HIRE MY TIME--A GLEAM OF HOPE--ATTENDS CAMP-

MEETING, WITHOUT PERMISSION--ANGER OF MASTER HUGH THEREAT--THE

RESULT--MY PLANS OF ESCAPE ACCELERATED THERBY--THE DAY FOR MY

DEPARTURE FIXED--HARASSED BY DOUBTS AND FEARS--PAINFUL THOUGHTS

OF SEPARATION FROM FRIENDS--THE ATTEMPT MADE--ITS SUCCESS.





I will now make the kind reader acquainted with the closing

incidents of my "Life as a Slave," having already trenched upon

the limit allotted to my "Life as a Freeman."  Before, however,

proceeding with this narration, it is, perhaps, proper that I

should frankly state, in advance, my intention to withhold a part

of the{sic} connected with my escape from slavery.  There are

reasons for this suppression, which I trust the reader will deem

altogether valid.  It may be easily conceived, that a full and

complete statement of all facts pertaining to the flight of a

bondman, might implicate and embarrass some who may have,

wittingly or unwittingly, assisted him; and no one can wish me to

involve any man or <249 MANNER OF MY ESCAPE NOT GIVEN>woman who

has befriended me, even in the liability of embarrassment or

trouble.



Keen is the scent of the slaveholder; like the fangs of the

rattlesnake, his malice retains its poison long; and, although it

is now nearly seventeen years since I made my escape, it is well

to be careful, in dealing with the circumstances relating to it. 

Were I to give but a shadowy outline of the process adopted, with

characteristic aptitude, the crafty and malicious among the

slaveholders might, possibly, hit upon the track I pursued, and

involve some one in suspicion which, in a slave state, is about

as bad as positive evidence.  The colored man, there, must not

only shun evil, but shun the very _appearance_ of evil, or be

condemned as a criminal.  A slaveholding community has a peculiar

taste for ferreting out offenses against the slave system,

justice there being more sensitive in its regard for the peculiar

rights of this system, than for any other interest or

institution.  By stringing together a train of events and

circumstances, even if I were not very explicit, the means of

escape might be ascertained, and, possibly, those means be

rendered, thereafter, no longer available to the liberty-seeking

children of bondage I have left behind me.  No antislavery man

can wish me to do anything favoring such results, and no

slaveholding reader has any right to expect the impartment of

such information.



While, therefore, it would afford me pleasure, and perhaps would

materially add to the interest of my story, were I at liberty to

gratify a curiosity which I know to exist in the minds of many,

as to the manner of my escape, I must deprive myself of this

pleasure, and the curious of the gratification, which such a

statement of facts would afford.  I would allow myself to suffer

under the greatest imputations that evil minded men might

suggest, rather than exculpate myself by explanation, and thereby

run the hazards of closing the slightest avenue by which a

brother in suffering might clear himself of the chains and

fetters of slavery.



The practice of publishing every new invention by which a

<250>slave is known to have escaped from slavery, has neither

wisdom nor necessity to sustain it.  Had not Henry Box Brown and

his friends attracted slaveholding attention to the manner of his

escape, we might have had a thousand _Box Browns_ per annum.  The

singularly original plan adopted by William and Ellen Crafts,

perished with the first using, because every slaveholder in the

land was apprised of it.  The _salt water slave_ who hung in the

guards of a steamer, being washed three days and three nights--

like another Jonah--by the waves of the sea, has, by the

publicity given to the circumstance, set a spy on the guards of

every steamer departing from southern ports.



I have never approved of the very public manner, in which some of

our western friends have conducted what _they_ call the _"Under-

ground Railroad,"_ but which, I think, by their open

declarations, has been made, most emphatically, the _"Upper_-

ground Railroad."  Its stations are far better known to the

slaveholders than to the slaves.  I honor those good men and

women for their noble daring, in willingly subjecting themselves

to persecution, by openly avowing their participation in the

escape of slaves; nevertheless, the good resulting from such

avowals, is of a very questionable character.  It may kindle an

enthusiasm, very pleasant to inhale; but that is of no practical

benefit to themselves, nor to the slaves escaping.  Nothing is

more evident, than that such disclosures are a positive evil to

the slaves remaining, and seeking to escape.  In publishing such

accounts, the anti-slavery man addresses the slaveholder, _not

the slave;_ he stimulates the former to greater watchfulness, and

adds to his facilities for capturing his slave.  We owe something

to the slaves, south of Mason and Dixon's line, as well as to

those north of it; and, in discharging the duty of aiding the

latter, on their way to freedom, we should be careful to do

nothing which would be likely to hinder the former, in making

their escape from slavery.  Such is my detestation of slavery,

that I would keep the merciless slaveholder profoundly ignorant

of the means of flight adopted by the slave.  He <251 CRAFTINESS

OF SLAVEHOLDERS>should be left to imagine himself surrounded by

myriads of invisible tormentors, ever ready to snatch, from his

infernal grasp, his trembling prey.  In pursuing his victim, let

him be left to feel his way in the dark; let shades of darkness,

commensurate with his crime, shut every ray of light from his

pathway; and let him be made to feel, that, at every step he

takes, with the hellish purpose of reducing a brother man to

slavery, he is running the frightful risk of having his hot

brains dashed out by an invisible hand.



But, enough of this.  I will now proceed to the statement of

those facts, connected with my escape, for which I am alone

responsible, and for which no one can be made to suffer but

myself.



My condition in the year (1838) of my escape, was, comparatively,

a free and easy one, so far, at least, as the wants of the

physical man were concerned; but the reader will bear in mind,

that my troubles from the beginning, have been less physical than

mental, and he will thus be prepared to find, after what is

narrated in the previous chapters, that slave life was adding

nothing to its charms for me, as I grew older, and became better

acquainted with it.  The practice, from week to week, of openly

robbing me of all my earnings, kept the nature and character of

slavery constantly before me.  I could be robbed by

_indirection_, but this was _too_ open and barefaced to be

endured.  I could see no reason why I should, at the end of each

week, pour the reward of my honest toil into the purse of any

man.  The thought itself vexed me, and the manner in which Master

Hugh received my wages, vexed me more than the original wrong. 

Carefully counting the money and rolling it out, dollar by

dollar, he would look me in the face, as if he would search my

heart as well as my pocket, and reproachfully ask me, "_Is that

all_?"--implying that I had, perhaps, kept back part of my wages;

or, if not so, the demand was made, possibly, to make me feel,

that, after all, I was an "unprofitable servant."  Draining me of

the last cent of my hard earnings, he would, however,

occasionally--when I brought <252>home an extra large sum--dole

out to me a sixpence or a shilling, with a view, perhaps, of

kindling up my gratitude; but this practice had the opposite

effect--it was an admission of _my right to the whole sum_.  The

fact, that he gave me any part of my wages, was proof that he

suspected that I had a right _to the whole of them_.  I always

felt uncomfortable, after having received anything in this way,

for I feared that the giving me a few cents, might, possibly,

ease his conscience, and make him feel himself a pretty honorable

robber, after all!



Held to a strict account, and kept under a close watch--the old

suspicion of my running away not having been entirely removed--

escape from slavery, even in Baltimore, was very difficult.  The

railroad from Baltimore to Philadelphia was under regulations so

stringent, that even _free_ colored travelers were almost

excluded.  They must have _free_ papers; they must be measured

and carefully examined, before they were allowed to enter the

cars; they only went in the day time, even when so examined.  The

steamboats were under regulations equally stringent.  All the

great turnpikes, leading northward, were beset with kidnappers, a

class of men who watched the newspapers for advertisements for

runaway slaves, making their living by the accursed reward of

slave hunting.



My discontent grew upon me, and I was on the look-out for means

of escape.  With money, I could easily have managed the matter,

and, therefore, I hit upon the plan of soliciting the privilege

of hiring my time.  It is quite common, in Baltimore, to allow

slaves this privilege, and it is the practice, also, in New

Orleans.  A slave who is considered trustworthy, can, by paying

his master a definite sum regularly, at the end of each week,

dispose of his time as he likes.  It so happened that I was not

in very good odor, and I was far from being a trustworthy slave. 

Nevertheless, I watched my opportunity when Master Thomas came to

Baltimore (for I was still his property, Hugh only acted as his

agent) in the spring of 1838, to purchase his spring supply of

goods, <253 ALLOWED TO HIRE MY TIME>and applied to him, directly,

for the much-coveted privilege of hiring my time.  This request

Master Thomas unhesitatingly refused to grant; and he charged me,

with some sternness, with inventing this stratagem to make my

escape.  He told me, "I could go _nowhere_ but he could catch me;

and, in the event of my running away, I might be assured he

should spare no pains in his efforts to recapture me.  He

recounted, with a good deal of eloquence, the many kind offices

he had done me, and exhorted me to be contented and obedient. 

"Lay out no plans for the future," said he.  "If you behave

yourself properly, I will take care of you."  Now, kind and

considerate as this offer was, it failed to soothe me into

repose.  In spite of Master Thomas, and, I may say, in spite of

myself, also, I continued to think, and worse still, to think

almost exclusively about the injustice and wickedness of slavery. 

No effort of mine or of his could silence this trouble-giving

thought, or change my purpose to run away.



About two months after applying to Master Thomas for the

privilege of hiring my time, I applied to Master Hugh for the

same liberty, supposing him to be unacquainted with the fact that

I had made a similar application to Master Thomas, and had been

refused.  My boldness in making this request, fairly astounded

him at the first.  He gazed at me in amazement.  But I had many

good reasons for pressing the matter; and, after listening to

them awhile, he did not absolutely refuse, but told me he would

think of it.  Here, then, was a gleam of hope.  Once master of my

own time, I felt sure that I could make, over and above my

obligation to him, a dollar or two every week.  Some slaves have

made enough, in this way, to purchase their freedom.  It is a

sharp spur to industry; and some of the most enterprising colored

men in Baltimore hire themselves in this way.  After mature

reflection--as I must suppose it was Master Hugh granted me the

privilege in question, on the following terms:  I was to be

allowed all my time; to make all bargains for work; to find my

own employment, and to collect my own wages; and, <254>in return

for this liberty, I was required, or obliged, to pay him three

dollars at the end of each week, and to board and clothe myself,

and buy my own calking tools.  A failure in any of these

particulars would put an end to my privilege.  This was a hard

bargain.  The wear and tear of clothing, the losing and breaking

of tools, and the expense of board, made it necessary for me to

earn at least six dollars per week, to keep even with the world. 

All who are acquainted with calking, know how uncertain and

irregular that employment is.  It can be done to advantage only

in dry weather, for it is useless to put wet oakum into a seam. 

Rain or shine, however, work or no work, at the end of each week

the money must be forthcoming.



Master Hugh seemed to be very much pleased, for a time, with this

arrangement; and well he might be, for it was decidedly in his

favor.  It relieved him of all anxiety concerning me.  His money

was sure.  He had armed my love of liberty with a lash and a

driver, far more efficient than any I had before known; and,

while he derived all the benefits of slaveholding by the

arrangement, without its evils, I endured all the evils of being

a slave, and yet suffered all the care and anxiety of a

responsible freeman.  "Nevertheless," thought I, "it is a

valuable privilege another step in my career toward freedom."  It

was something even to be permitted to stagger under the

disadvantages of liberty, and I was determined to hold on to the

newly gained footing, by all proper industry.  I was ready to

work by night as well as by day; and being in the enjoyment of

excellent health, I was able not only to meet my current

expenses, but also to lay by a small sum at the end of each week. 

All went on thus, from the month of May till August; then--for

reasons which will become apparent as I proceed--my much valued

liberty was wrested from me.



During the week previous to this (to me) calamitous event, I had

made arrangements with a few young friends, to accompany them, on

Saturday night, to a camp-meeting, held about twelve miles from

Baltimore.  On the evening of our intended start for <255 I

ATTEND CAMP-MEETING>the camp-ground, something occurred in the

ship yard where I was at work, which detained me unusually late,

and compelled me either to disappoint my young friends, or to

neglect carrying my weekly dues to Master Hugh.  Knowing that I

had the money, and could hand it to him on another day, I decided

to go to camp-meeting, and to pay him the three dollars, for the

past week, on my return.  Once on the camp-ground, I was induced

to remain one day longer than I had intended, when I left home. 

But, as soon as I returned, I went straight to his house on Fell

street, to hand him his (my) money.  Unhappily, the fatal mistake

had been committed.  I found him exceedingly angry.  He exhibited

all the signs of apprehension and wrath, which a slaveholder may

be surmised to exhibit on the supposed escape of a favorite

slave.  "You rascal!  I have a great mind to give you a severe

whipping.  How dare you go out of the city without first asking

and obtaining my permission?" "Sir," said I, "I hired my time and

paid you the price you asked for it.  I did not know that it was

any part of the bargain that I should ask you when or where I

should go."



"You did not know, you rascal!  You are bound to show yourself

here every Saturday night."  After reflecting, a few moments, he

became somewhat cooled down; but, evidently greatly troubled, he

said, "Now, you scoundrel! you have done for yourself; you shall

hire your time no longer.  The next thing I shall hear of, will

be your running away.  Bring home your tools and your clothes, at

once.  I'll teach you how to go off in this way."



Thus ended my partial freedom.  I could hire my time no longer;

and I obeyed my master's orders at once.  The little taste of

liberty which I had had--although as the reader will have seen,

it was far from being unalloyed--by no means enhanced my

contentment with slavery.  Punished thus by Master Hugh, it was

now my turn to punish him.  "Since," thought I, "you _will_ make

a slave of me, I will await your orders in all things;" and,

instead of going to look for work on Monday morning, as I had

<256>formerly done, I remained at home during the entire week,

without the performance of a single stroke of work.  Saturday

night came, and he called upon me, as usual, for my wages.  I, of

course, told him I had done no work, and had no wages.  Here we

were at the point of coming to blows.  His wrath had been

accumulating during the whole week; for he evidently saw that I

was making no effort to get work, but was most aggravatingly

awaiting his orders, in all things.  As I look back to this

behavior of mine, I scarcely know what possessed me, thus to

trifle with those who had such unlimited power to bless or to

blast me.  Master Hugh raved and swore his determination to _"get

hold of me;"_ but, wisely for _him_, and happily for _me_, his

wrath only employed those very harmless, impalpable missiles,

which roll from a limber tongue.  In my desperation, I had fully

made up my mind to measure strength with Master Hugh, in case he

should undertake to execute his threats.  I am glad there was no

necessity for this; for resistance to him could not have ended so

happily for me, as it did in the case of Covey.  He was not a man

to be safely resisted by a slave; and I freely own, that in my

conduct toward him, in this instance, there was more folly than

wisdom.  Master Hugh closed his reproofs, by telling me that,

hereafter, I need give myself no uneasiness about getting work;

that he "would, himself, see to getting work for me, and enough

of it, at that."  This threat I confess had some terror in it;

and, on thinking the matter over, during the Sunday, I resolved,

not only to save him the trouble of getting me work, but that,

upon the third day of September, I would attempt to make my

escape from slavery.  The refusal to allow me to hire my time,

therefore, hastened the period of flight.  I had three weeks,

now, in which to prepare for my journey.



Once resolved, I felt a certain degree of repose, and on Monday,

instead of waiting for Master Hugh to seek employment for me, I

was up by break of day, and off to the ship yard of Mr. Butler,

on the City Block, near the draw-bridge.  I was a favorite <257

PAINFUL THOUGHTS OF SEPARATION>with Mr. B., and, young as I was,

I had served as his foreman on the float stage, at calking.  Of

course, I easily obtained work, and, at the end of the week--

which by the way was exceedingly fine I brought Master Hugh

nearly nine dollars.  The effect of this mark of returning good

sense, on my part, was excellent.  He was very much pleased; he

took the money, commended me, and told me I might have done the

same thing the week before.  It is a blessed thing that the

tyrant may not always know the thoughts and purposes of his

victim.  Master Hugh little knew what my plans were.  The going

to camp-meeting without asking his permission--the insolent

answers made to his reproaches--the sulky deportment the week

after being deprived of the privilege of hiring my time--had

awakened in him the suspicion that I might be cherishing disloyal

purposes.  My object, therefore, in working steadily, was to

remove suspicion, and in this I succeeded admirably.  He probably

thought I was never better satisfied with my condition, than at

the very time I was planning my escape.  The second week passed,

and again I carried him my full week's wages--_nine dollars;_ and

so well pleased was he, that he gave me TWENTY-FIVE CENTS! and

"bade me make good use of it!"  I told him I would, for one of

the uses to which I meant to put it, was to pay my fare on the

underground railroad.



Things without went on as usual; but I was passing through the

same internal excitement and anxiety which I had experienced two

years and a half before.  The failure, in that instance, was not

calculated to increase my confidence in the success of this, my

second attempt; and I knew that a second failure could not leave

me where my first did--I must either get to the _far north_, or

be sent to the _far south_.  Besides the exercise of mind from

this state of facts, I had the painful sensation of being about

to separate from a circle of honest and warm hearted friends, in

Baltimore.  The thought of such a separation, where the hope of

ever meeting again is excluded, and where there can be no

correspondence, is very painful.  It is my opinion, that

thousands would escape from <258>slavery who now remain there,

but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to their

families, relatives and friends.  The daughter is hindered from

escaping, by the love she bears her mother, and the father, by

the love he bears his children; and so, to the end of the

chapter.  I had no relations in Baltimore, and I saw no

probability of ever living in the neighborhood of sisters and

brothers; but the thought of leaving my friends, was among the

strongest obstacles to my running away.  The last two days of the

week--Friday and Saturday--were spent mostly in collecting my

things together, for my journey.  Having worked four days that

week, for my master, I handed him six dollars, on Saturday night. 

I seldom spent my Sundays at home; and, for fear that something

might be discovered in my conduct, I kept up my custom, and

absented myself all day.  On Monday, the third day of September,

1838, in accordance with my resolution, I bade farewell to the

city of Baltimore, and to that slavery which had been my

abhorrence from childhood.



How I got away--in what direction I traveled--whether by land or

by water; whether with or without assistance--must, for reasons

already mentioned, remain unexplained.





LIFE

_as a_

FREEMAN



CHAPTER XXII

_Liberty Attained_



TRANSITION FROM SLAVERY TO FREEDOM--A WANDERER IN NEW YORK--

FEELINGS ON REACHING THAT CITY--AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE MET--

UNFAVORABLE IMPRESSIONS--LONELINESS AND INSECURITY--APOLOGY FOR

SLAVES WHO RETURN TO THEIR MASTERS--COMPELLED TO TELL MY

CONDITION--SUCCORED BY A SAILOR--DAVID RUGGLES--THE UNDERGROUND

RAILROAD--MARRIAGE--BAGGAGE TAKEN FROM ME--KINDNESS OF NATHAN

JOHNSON--MY CHANGE OF NAME--DARK NOTIONS OF NORTHERN

CIVILIZATION--THE CONTRAST--COLORED PEOPLE IN NEW BEDFORD--AN

INCIDENT ILLUSTRATING THEIR SPIRIT--A COMMON LABORER--DENIED WORK

AT MY TRADE--THE FIRST WINTER AT THE NORTH--REPULSE AT THE DOORS

OF THE CHURCH--SANCTIFIED HATE--THE _Liberator_ AND ITS EDITOR.





There is no necessity for any extended notice of the incidents of

this part of my life.  There is nothing very striking or peculiar

about my career as a freeman, when viewed apart from my life as a

slave.  The relation subsisting between my early experience and

that which I am now about to narrate, is, perhaps, my best

apology for adding another chapter to this book.



Disappearing from the kind reader, in a flying cloud or balloon

(pardon the figure), driven by the wind, and knowing not where I

should land--whether in slavery or in freedom--it is proper that

I should remove, at once, all anxiety, by frankly making known

where I alighted.  The flight was a bold and perilous one; but

here I am, in the great city of New York, safe and sound, without

loss of blood or bone.  In less than a week after leaving

Baltimore, I was walking amid the hurrying throng, and gazing

upon the dazzling wonders of Broadway.  The dreams <262>of my

childhood and the purposes of my manhood were now fulfilled.  A

free state around me, and a free earth under my feet!  What a

moment was this to me!  A whole year was pressed into a single

day.  A new world burst upon my agitated vision.  I have often

been asked, by kind friends to whom I have told my story, how I

felt when first I found myself beyond the limits of slavery; and

I must say here, as I have often said to them, there is scarcely

anything about which I could not give a more satisfactory answer. 

It was a moment of joyous excitement, which no words can

describe.  In a letter to a friend, written soon after reaching

New York.  I said I felt as one might be supposed to feel, on

escaping from a den of hungry lions.  But, in a moment like that,

sensations are too intense and too rapid for words.  Anguish and

grief, like darkness and rain, may be described, but joy and

gladness, like the rainbow of promise, defy alike the pen and

pencil.



For ten or fifteen years I had been dragging a heavy chain, with

a huge block attached to it, cumbering my every motion.  I had

felt myself doomed to drag this chain and this block through

life.  All efforts, before, to separate myself from the hateful

encumbrance, had only seemed to rivet me the more firmly to it. 

Baffled and discouraged at times, I had asked myself the

question, May not this, after all, be God's work?  May He not,

for wise ends, have doomed me to this lot?  A contest had been

going on in my mind for years, between the clear consciousness of

right and the plausible errors of superstition; between the

wisdom of manly courage, and the foolish weakness of timidity. 

The contest was now ended; the chain was severed; God and right

stood vindicated.  I was A FREEMAN, and the voice of peace and

joy thrilled my heart.



Free and joyous, however, as I was, joy was not the only

sensation I experienced.  It was like the quick blaze, beautiful

at the first, but which subsiding, leaves the building charred

and desolate.  I was soon taught that I was still in an enemy's

land.  A sense of loneliness and insecurity oppressed me sadly. 

I had <263 MEET WITH A FUGITIVE SLAVE>been but a few hours in New

York, before I was met in the streets by a fugitive slave, well

known to me, and the information I got from him respecting New

York, did nothing to lessen my apprehension of danger.  The

fugitive in question was "Allender's Jake," in Baltimore; but,

said he, I am "WILLIAM DIXON," in New York!  I knew Jake well,

and knew when Tolly Allender and Mr. Price (for the latter

employed Master Hugh as his foreman, in his shipyard on Fell's

Point) made an attempt to recapture Jake, and failed.  Jake told

me all about his circumstances, and how narrowly he escaped being

taken back to slavery; that the city was now full of southerners,

returning from the springs; that the black people in New York

were not to be trusted; that there were hired men on the lookout

for fugitives from slavery, and who, for a few dollars, would

betray me into the hands of the slave-catchers; that I must trust

no man with my secret; that I must not think of going either on

the wharves to work, or to a boarding-house to board; and, worse

still, this same Jake told me it was not in his power to help me. 

He seemed, even while cautioning me, to be fearing lest, after

all, I might be a party to a second attempt to recapture him. 

Under the inspiration of this thought, I must suppose it was, he

gave signs of a wish to get rid of me, and soon left me his

whitewash brush in hand--as he said, for his work.  He was soon

lost to sight among the throng, and I was alone again, an easy

prey to the kidnappers, if any should happen to be on my track.



New York, seventeen years ago, was less a place of safety for a

runaway slave than now, and all know how unsafe it now is, under

the new fugitive slave bill.  I was much troubled.  I had very

little money enough to buy me a few loaves of bread, but not

enough to pay board, outside a lumber yard.  I saw the wisdom of

keeping away from the ship yards, for if Master Hugh pursued me,

he would naturally expect to find me looking for work among the

calkers.  For a time, every door seemed closed against me.  A

sense of my loneliness and helplessness crept over me, <264>and

covered me with something bordering on despair.  In the midst of

thousands of my fellowmen, and yet a perfect stranger!  In the

midst of human brothers, and yet more fearful of them than of

hungry wolves!  I was without home, without friends, without

work, without money, and without any definite knowledge of which

way to go, or where to look for succor.



Some apology can easily be made for the few slaves who have,

after making good their escape, turned back to slavery,

preferring the actual rule of their masters, to the life of

loneliness, apprehension, hunger, and anxiety, which meets them

on their first arrival in a free state.  It is difficult for a

freeman to enter into the feelings of such fugitives.  He cannot

see things in the same light with the slave, because he does not,

and cannot, look from the same point from which the slave does. 

"Why do you tremble," he says to the slave "you are in a free

state;" but the difficulty is, in realizing that he is in a free

state, the slave might reply.  A freeman cannot understand why

the slave-master's shadow is bigger, to the slave, than the might

and majesty of a free state; but when he reflects that the slave

knows more about the slavery of his master than he does of the

might and majesty of the free state, he has the explanation.  The

slave has been all his life learning the power of his master--

being trained to dread his approach--and only a few hours

learning the power of the state.  The master is to him a stern

and flinty reality, but the state is little more than a dream. 

He has been accustomed to regard every white man as the friend of

his master, and every colored man as more or less under the

control of his master's friends--the white people.  It takes

stout nerves to stand up, in such circumstances.  A man,

homeless, shelterless, breadless, friendless, and moneyless, is

not in a condition to assume a very proud or joyous tone; and in

just this condition was I, while wandering about the streets of

New York city and lodging, at least one night, among the barrels

on one of its wharves.  I was not only free from slavery, but I

was free from home, as well.  The reader <265 MARRIAGE>will

easily see that I had something more than the simple fact of

being free to think of, in this extremity.



I kept my secret as long as I could, and at last was forced to go

in search of an honest man--a man sufficiently _human_ not to

betray me into the hands of slave-catchers.  I was not a bad

reader of the human face, nor long in selecting the right man,

when once compelled to disclose the facts of my condition to some

one.



I found my man in the person of one who said his name was

Stewart.  He was a sailor, warm-hearted and generous, and he

listened to my story with a brother's interest.  I told him I was

running for my freedom--knew not where to go--money almost gone--

was hungry--thought it unsafe to go the shipyards for work, and

needed a friend.  Stewart promptly put me in the way of getting

out of my trouble.  He took me to his house, and went in search

of the late David Ruggles, who was then the secretary of the New

York Vigilance Committee, and a very active man in all anti-

slavery works.  Once in the hands of Mr. Ruggles, I was

comparatively safe.  I was hidden with Mr. Ruggles several days. 

In the meantime, my intended wife, Anna, came on from Baltimore--

to whom I had written, informing her of my safe arrival at New

York--and, in the presence of Mrs. Mitchell and Mr. Ruggles, we

were married, by Rev. James W. C. Pennington.



Mr. Ruggles[7] was the first officer on the under-ground railroad

with whom I met after reaching the north, and, indeed, the first

of whom I ever heard anything.  Learning that I was a calker by

trade, he promptly decided that New Bedford was the proper



[7]  He was a whole-souled man, fully imbued with a love of his

afflicted and hunted people, and took pleasure in being to me, as

was his wont, "Eyes to the blind, and legs to the lame."  This

brave and devoted man suffered much from the persecutions common

to all who have been prominent benefactors.  He at last became

blind, and needed a friend to guide him, even as he had been a

guide to others.  Even in his blindness, he exhibited his manly

character.  In search of health, he became a physician.  When

hope of gaining is{sic} own was gone, he had hope for others. 

Believing in hydropathy, he established, at Northampton,

Massachusetts, a large _"Water Cure,"_ and became one of the most

successful of all engaged in that mode of treatment.





<266>place to send me.  "Many ships," said he, "are there fitted

out for the whaling business, and you may there find work at your

trade, and make a good living."  Thus, in one fortnight after my

flight from Maryland, I was safe in New Bedford, regularly

entered upon the exercise of the rights, responsibilities, and

duties of a freeman.



I may mention a little circumstance which annoyed me on reaching

New Bedford.  I had not a cent of money, and lacked two dollars

toward paying our fare from Newport, and our baggage not very

costly--was taken by the stage driver, and held until I could

raise the money to redeem it.  This difficulty was soon

surmounted.  Mr. Nathan Johnson, to whom we had a line from Mr.

Ruggles, not only received us kindly and hospitably, but, on

being informed about our baggage, promptly loaned me two dollars

with which to redeem my little property.  I shall ever be deeply

grateful, both to Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Johnson, for the lively

interest they were pleased to take in me, in this hour of my

extremest need.  They not only gave myself and wife bread and

shelter, but taught us how to begin to secure those benefits for

ourselves.  Long may they live, and may blessings attend them in

this life and in that which is to come!



Once initiated into the new life of freedom, and assured by Mr.

Johnson that New Bedford was a safe place, the comparatively

unimportant matter, as to what should be my name, came up for

considertion{sic}.  It was necessary to have a name in my new

relations.  The name given me by my beloved mother was no less

pretentious than "Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey."  I had,

however, before leaving Maryland, dispensed with the _Augustus

Washington_, and retained the name _Frederick Bailey_.  Between

Baltimore and New Bedford, however, I had several different

names, the better to avoid being overhauled by the hunters, which

I had good reason to believe would be put on my track.  Among

honest men an honest man may well be content with one name, and

to acknowledge it at all times and in all <267 CHANGE OF

NAME>places; but toward fugitives, Americans are not honest. 

When I arrived at New Bedford, my name was Johnson; and finding

that the Johnson family in New Bedford were already quite

numerous--sufficiently so to produce some confusion in attempts

to distinguish one from another--there was the more reason for

making another change in my name.  In fact, "Johnson" had been

assumed by nearly every slave who had arrived in New Bedford from

Maryland, and this, much to the annoyance of the original

"Johnsons" (of whom there were many) in that place.  Mine host,

unwilling to have another of his own name added to the community

in this unauthorized way, after I spent a night and a day at his

house, gave me my present name.  He had been reading the "Lady of

the Lake," and was pleased to regard me as a suitable person to

wear this, one of Scotland's many famous names.  Considering the

noble hospitality and manly character of Nathan Johnson, I have

felt that he, better than I, illustrated the virtues of the great

Scottish chief.  Sure I am, that had any slave-catcher entered

his domicile, with a view to molest any one of his household, he

would have shown himself like him of the "stalwart hand."



The reader will be amused at my ignorance, when I tell the

notions I had of the state of northern wealth, enterprise, and

civilization.  Of wealth and refinement, I supposed the north had

none.  My _Columbian Orator_, which was almost my only book, had

not done much to enlighten me concerning northern society.  The

impressions I had received were all wide of the truth.  New

Bedford, especially, took me by surprise, in the solid wealth and

grandeur there exhibited.  I had formed my notions respecting the

social condition of the free states, by what I had seen and known

of free, white, non-slaveholding people in the slave states. 

Regarding slavery as the basis of wealth, I fancied that no

people could become very wealthy without slavery.  A free white

man, holding no slaves, in the country, I had known to be the

most ignorant and poverty-stricken of men, and the laugh<268>ing

stock even of slaves themselves--called generally by them, in

derision, _"poor white trash_."  Like the non-slaveholders at the

south, in holding no slaves, I suppose the northern people like

them, also, in poverty and degradation.  Judge, then, of my

amazement and joy, when I found--as I did find--the very laboring

population of New Bedford living in better houses, more elegantly

furnished--surrounded by more comfort and refinement--than a

majority of the slaveholders on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. 

There was my friend, Mr. Johnson, himself a colored man (who at

the south would have been regarded as a proper marketable

commodity), who lived in a better house--dined at a richer

board--was the owner of more books--the reader of more

newspapers--was more conversant with the political and social

condition of this nation and the world--than nine-tenths of all

the slaveholders of Talbot county, Maryland.  Yet Mr. Johnson was

a working man, and his hands were hardened by honest toil.  Here,

then, was something for observation and study.  Whence the

difference?  The explanation was soon furnished, in the

superiority of mind over simple brute force.  Many pages might be

given to the contrast, and in explanation of its causes.  But an

incident or two will suffice to show the reader as to how the

mystery gradually vanished before me.



My first afternoon, on reaching New Bedford, was spent in

visiting the wharves and viewing the shipping.  The sight of the

broad brim and the plain, Quaker dress, which met me at every

turn, greatly increased my sense of freedom and security.  "I am

among the Quakers," thought I, "and am safe."  Lying at the

wharves and riding in the stream, were full-rigged ships of

finest model, ready to start on whaling voyages.  Upon the right

and the left, I was walled in by large granite-fronted

warehouses, crowded with the good things of this world.  On the

wharves, I saw industry without bustle, labor without noise, and

heavy toil without the whip.  There was no loud singing, as in

southern ports, where ships are loading or unloading--no loud

cursing or swear<269 THE CONTRAST>ing--but everything went on as

smoothly as the works of a well adjusted machine.  How different

was all this from the nosily fierce and clumsily absurd manner of

labor-life in Baltimore and St. Michael's!  One of the first

incidents which illustrated the superior mental character of

northern labor over that of the south, was the manner of

unloading a ship's cargo of oil.  In a southern port, twenty or

thirty hands would have been employed to do what five or six did

here, with the aid of a single ox attached to the end of a fall. 

Main strength, unassisted by skill, is slavery's method of labor. 

An old ox, worth eighty dollars, was doing, in New Bedford, what

would have required fifteen thousand dollars worth of human bones

and muscles to have performed in a southern port.  I found that

everything was done here with a scrupulous regard to economy,

both in regard to men and things, time and strength.  The maid

servant, instead of spending at least a tenth part of her time in

bringing and carrying water, as in Baltimore, had the pump at her

elbow.  The wood was dry, and snugly piled away for winter. 

Woodhouses, in-door pumps, sinks, drains, self-shutting gates,

washing machines, pounding barrels, were all new things, and told

me that I was among a thoughtful and sensible people.  To the

ship-repairing dock I went, and saw the same wise prudence.  The

carpenters struck where they aimed, and the calkers wasted no

blows in idle flourishes of the mallet.  I learned that men went

from New Bedford to Baltimore, and bought old ships, and brought

them here to repair, and made them better and more valuable than

they ever were before.  Men talked here of going whaling on a

four _years'_ voyage with more coolness than sailors where I came

from talked of going a four _months'_ voyage.



I now find that I could have landed in no part of the United

States, where I should have found a more striking and gratifying

contrast to the condition of the free people of color in

Baltimore, than I found here in New Bedford.  No colored man is

really free in a slaveholding state.  He wears the badge of

bondage while <270>nominally free, and is often subjected to

hardships to which the slave is a stranger; but here in New

Bedford, it was my good fortune to see a pretty near approach to

freedom on the part of the colored people.  I was taken all aback

when Mr. Johnson--who lost no time in making me acquainted with

the fact--told me that there was nothing in the constitution of

Massachusetts to prevent a colored man from holding any office in

the state.  There, in New Bedford, the black man's children--

although anti-slavery was then far from popular--went to school

side by side with the white children, and apparently without

objection from any quarter.  To make me at home, Mr. Johnson

assured me that no slaveholder could take a slave from New

Bedford; that there were men there who would lay down their

lives, before such an outrage could be perpetrated.  The colored

people themselves were of the best metal, and would fight for

liberty to the death.



Soon after my arrival in New Bedford, I was told the following

story, which was said to illustrate the spirit of the colored

people in that goodly town:  A colored man and a fugitive slave

happened to have a little quarrel, and the former was heard to

threaten the latter with informing his master of his whereabouts. 

As soon as this threat became known, a notice was read from the

desk of what was then the only colored church in the place,

stating that business of importance was to be then and there

transacted.  Special measures had been taken to secure the

attendance of the would-be Judas, and had proved successful. 

Accordingly, at the hour appointed, the people came, and the

betrayer also.  All the usual formalities of public meetings were

scrupulously gone through, even to the offering prayer for Divine

direction in the duties of the occasion.  The president himself

performed this part of the ceremony, and I was told that he was

unusually fervent.  Yet, at the close of his prayer, the old man

(one of the numerous family of Johnsons) rose from his knees,

deliberately surveyed his audience, and then said, in a tone of

solemn resolution, _"Well, friends, we have got him here, and I

would now_ <271 COLORED PEOPLE IN NEW BEDFORD>_recommend that you

young men should just take him outside the door and kill him."_ 

With this, a large body of the congregation, who well understood

the business they had come there to transact, made a rush at the

villain, and doubtless would have killed him, had he not availed

himself of an open sash, and made good his escape.  He has never

shown his head in New Bedford since that time.  This little

incident is perfectly characteristic of the spirit of the colored

people in New Bedford.  A slave could not be taken from that town

seventeen years ago, any more than he could be so taken away now. 

The reason is, that the colored people in that city are educated

up to the point of fighting for their freedom, as well as

speaking for it.



Once assured of my safety in New Bedford, I put on the

habiliments of a common laborer, and went on the wharf in search

of work.  I had no notion of living on the honest and generous

sympathy of my colored brother, Johnson, or that of the

abolitionists.  My cry was like that of Hood's laborer, "Oh! only

give me work."  Happily for me, I was not long in searching.  I

found employment, the third day after my arrival in New Bedford,

in stowing a sloop with a load of oil for the New York market. 

It was new, hard, and dirty work, even for a calker, but I went

at it with a glad heart and a willing hand.  I was now my own

master--a tremendous fact--and the rapturous excitement with

which I seized the job, may not easily be understood, except by

some one with an experience like mine.  The thoughts--"I can

work!  I can work for a living; I am not afraid of work; I have

no Master Hugh to rob me of my earnings"--placed me in a state of

independence, beyond seeking friendship or support of any man. 

That day's work I considered the real starting point of something

like a new existence.  Having finished this job and got my pay

for the same, I went next in pursuit of a job at calking.  It so

happened that Mr. Rodney French, late mayor of the city of New

Bedford, had a ship fitting out for sea, and to which there was a

large job of calking and coppering to be done.  I applied to that

<272>noblehearted man for employment, and he promptly told me to

go to work; but going on the float-stage for the purpose, I was

informed that every white man would leave the ship if I struck a

blow upon her.  "Well, well," thought I, "this is a hardship, but

yet not a very serious one for me."  The difference between the

wages of a calker and that of a common day laborer, was an

hundred per cent in favor of the former; but then I was free, and

free to work, though not at my trade.  I now prepared myself to

do anything which came to hand in the way of turning an honest

penny; sawed wood--dug cellars--shoveled coal--swept chimneys

with Uncle Lucas Debuty--rolled oil casks on the wharves--helped

to load and unload vessels--worked in Ricketson's candle works--

in Richmond's brass foundery, and elsewhere; and thus supported

myself and family for three years.



The first winter was unusually severe, in consequence of the high

prices of food; but even during that winter we probably suffered

less than many who had been free all their lives.  During the

hardest of the winter, I hired out for nine dolars{sic} a month;

and out of this rented two rooms for nine dollars per quarter,

and supplied my wife--who was unable to work--with food and some

necessary articles of furniture.  We were closely pinched to

bring our wants within our means; but the jail stood over the

way, and I had a wholesome dread of the consequences of running

in debt.  This winter past, and I was up with the times--got

plenty of work--got well paid for it--and felt that I had not

done a foolish thing to leave Master Hugh and Master Thomas.  I

was now living in a new world, and was wide awake to its

advantages.  I early began to attend the meetings of the colored

people of New Bedford, and to take part in them.  I was somewhat

amazed to see colored men drawing up resolutions and offering

them for consideration.  Several colored young men of New

Bedford, at that period, gave promise of great usefulness.  They

were educated, and possessed what seemed to me, at the time, very

superior talents.  Some of them have been cut down by death, and

<273 THE CHURCH>others have removed to different parts of the

world, and some remain there now, and justify, in their present

activities, my early impressions of them.



Among my first concerns on reaching New Bedford, was to become

united with the church, for I had never given up, in reality, my

religious faith.  I had become lukewarm and in a backslidden

state, but I was still convinced that it was my duty to join the

Methodist church.  I was not then aware of the powerful influence

of that religious body in favor of the enslavement of my race,

nor did I see how the northern churches could be responsible for

the conduct of southern churches; neither did I fully understand

how it could be my duty to remain separate from the church,

because bad men were connected with it.  The slaveholding church,

with its Coveys, Weedens, Aulds, and Hopkins, I could see through

at once, but I could not see how Elm Street church, in New

Bedford, could be regarded as sanctioning the Christianity of

these characters in the church at St. Michael's.  I therefore

resolved to join the Methodist church in New Bedford, and to

enjoy the spiritual advantage of public worship.  The minister of

the Elm Street Methodist church, was the Rev. Mr. Bonney; and

although I was not allowed a seat in the body of the house, and

was proscribed on account of my color, regarding this

proscription simply as an accommodation of the uncoverted

congregation who had not yet been won to Christ and his

brotherhood, I was willing thus to be proscribed, lest sinners

should be driven away form the saving power of the gospel.  Once

converted, I thought they would be sure to treat me as a man and

a brother.  "Surely," thought I, "these Christian people have

none of this feeling against color.  They, at least, have

renounced this unholy feeling."  Judge, then, dear reader, of my

astonishment and mortification, when I found, as soon I did find,

all my charitable assumptions at fault.



An opportunity was soon afforded me for ascertaining the exact

position of Elm Street church on that subject.  I had a chance of

seeing the religious part of the congregation by themselves; and

<274>although they disowned, in effect, their black brothers and

sisters, before the world, I did think that where none but the

saints were assembled, and no offense could be given to the

wicked, and the gospel could not be "blamed," they would

certainly recognize us as children of the same Father, and heirs

of the same salvation, on equal terms with themselves.



The occasion to which I refer, was the sacrament of the Lord's

Supper, that most sacred and most solemn of all the ordinances of

the Christian church.  Mr. Bonney had preached a very solemn and

searching discourse, which really proved him to be acquainted

with the inmost secerts{sic} of the human heart.  At the close of

his discourse, the congregation was dismissed, and the church

remained to partake of the sacrament.  I remained to see, as I

thought, this holy sacrament celebrated in the spirit of its

great Founder.



There were only about a half dozen colored members attached to

the Elm Street church, at this time.  After the congregation was

dismissed, these descended from the gallery, and took a seat

against the wall most distant from the altar.  Brother Bonney was

very animated, and sung very sweetly, "Salvation 'tis a joyful

sound," and soon began to administer the sacrament.  I was

anxious to observe the bearing of the colored members, and the

result was most humiliating.  During the whole ceremony, they

looked like sheep without a shepherd.  The white members went

forward to the altar by the bench full; and when it was evident

that all the whites had been served with the bread and wine,

Brother Bonney--pious Brother Bonney--after a long pause, as if

inquiring whether all the whites members had been served, and

fully assuring himself on that important point, then raised his

voice to an unnatural pitch, and looking to the corner where his

black sheep seemed penned, beckoned with his hand, exclaiming,

"Come forward, colored friends! come forward!  You, too, have an

interest in the blood of Christ.  God is no respecter of persons. 

Come forward, and take this holy sacrament to your <275 THE

SACRAMENT>comfort."  The colored members poor, slavish souls went

forward, as invited.  I went out, and have never been in that

church since, although I honestly went there with a view to

joining that body.  I found it impossible to respect the

religious profession of any who were under the dominion of this

wicked prejudice, and I could not, therefore, feel that in

joining them, I was joining a Christian church, at all.  I tried

other churches in New Bedford, with the same result, and finally,

I attached myself to a small body of colored Methodists, known as

the Zion Methodists.  Favored with the affection and confidence

of the members of this humble communion, I was soon made a

classleader and a local preacher among them.  Many seasons of

peace and joy I experienced among them, the remembrance of which

is still precious, although I could not see it to be my duty to

remain with that body, when I found that it consented to the same

spirit which held my brethren in chains.



In four or five months after reaching New Bedford, there came a

young man to me, with a copy of the _Liberator_, the paper edited

by WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, and published by ISAAC KNAPP, and

asked me to subscribe for it.  I told him I had but just escaped

from slavery, and was of course very poor, and remarked further,

that I was unable to pay for it then; the agent, however, very

willingly took me as a subscriber, and appeared to be much

pleased with securing my name to his list.  From this time I was

brought in contact with the mind of William Lloyd Garrison.  His

paper took its place with me next to the bible.



The _Liberator_ was a paper after my own heart.  It detested

slavery exposed hypocrisy and wickedness in high places--made no

truce with the traffickers in the bodies and souls of men; it

preached human brotherhood, denounced oppression, and, with all

the solemnity of God's word, demanded the complete emancipation

of my race.  I not only liked--I _loved_ this paper, and its

editor.  He seemed a match for all the oponents{sic} of

emancipation, whether they spoke in the name of the law, or the

gospel.  <276>His words were few, full of holy fire, and straight

to the point.  Learning to love him, through his paper, I was

prepared to be pleased with his presence.  Something of a hero

worshiper, by nature, here was one, on first sight, to excite my

love and reverence.



Seventeen years ago, few men possessed a more heavenly

countenance than William Lloyd Garrison, and few men evinced a

more genuine or a more exalted piety.  The bible was his text

book--held sacred, as the word of the Eternal Father--sinless

perfection--complete submission to insults and injuries--literal

obedience to the injunction, if smitten on one side to turn the

other also.  Not only was Sunday a Sabbath, but all days were

Sabbaths, and to be kept holy.  All sectarism false and

mischievous--the regenerated, throughout the world, members of

one body, and the HEAD Christ Jesus.  Prejudice against color was

rebellion against God.  Of all men beneath the sky, the slaves,

because most neglected and despised, were nearest and dearest to

his great heart.  Those ministers who defended slavery from the

bible, were of their "father the devil"; and those churches which

fellowshiped slaveholders as Christians, were synagogues of

Satan, and our nation was a nation of liars.  Never loud or

noisy--calm and serene as a summer sky, and as pure.  "You are

the man, the Moses, raised up by God, to deliver his modern

Israel from bondage," was the spontaneous feeling of my heart, as

I sat away back in the hall and listened to his mighty words;

mighty in truth--mighty in their simple earnestness.



I had not long been a reader of the _Liberator_, and listener to

its editor, before I got a clear apprehension of the principles

of the anti-slavery movement.  I had already the spirit of the

movement, and only needed to understand its principles and

measures.  These I got from the _Liberator_, and from those who

believed in that paper.  My acquaintance with the movement

increased my hope for the ultimate freedom of my race, and I

united with it from a sense of delight, as well as duty.

<277 THE _Liberator_>



Every week the _Liberator_ came, and every week I made myself

master of its contents.  All the anti-slavery meetings held in

New Bedford I promptly attended, my heart burning at every true

utterance against the slave system, and every rebuke of its

friends and supporters.  Thus passed the first three years of my

residence in New Bedford.  I had not then dreamed of the

posibility{sic} of my becoming a public advocate of the cause so

deeply imbedded in my heart.  It was enough for me to listen--to

receive and applaud the great words of others, and only whisper

in private, among the white laborers on the wharves, and

elsewhere, the truths which burned in my breast.





CHAPTER XXIII

_Introduced to the Abolitionists_



FIRST SPEECH AT NANTUCKET--MUCH SENSATION--EXTRAORDINARY SPEECH

OF MR. GARRISON--AUTHOR BECOMES A PUBLIC LECTURER--FOURTEEN YEARS

EXPERIENCE--YOUTHFUL ENTHUSIASM--A BRAND NEW FACT--MATTER OF MY

AUTHOR'S SPEECH--COULD NOT FOLLOW THE PROGRAMME--FUGITIVE

SLAVESHIP DOUBTED--TO SETTLE ALL DOUBT I WRITE MY EXPERIENCE OF

SLAVERY--DANGER OF RECAPTURE INCREASED.





In the summer of 1841, a grand anti-slavery convention was held

in Nantucket, under the auspices of Mr. Garrison and his friends. 

Until now, I had taken no holiday since my escape from slavery. 

Having worked very hard that spring and summer, in Richmond's

brass foundery--sometimes working all night as well as all day--

and needing a day or two of rest, I attended this convention,

never supposing that I should take part in the proceedings. 

Indeed, I was not aware that any one connected with the

convention even so much as knew my name.  I was, however, quite

mistaken.  Mr. William C. Coffin, a prominent abolitionst{sic} in

those days of trial, had heard me speaking to my colored friends,

in the little school house on Second street, New Bedford, where

we worshiped.  He sought me out in the crowd, and invited me to

say a few words to the convention.  Thus sought out, and thus

invited, I was induced to speak out the feelings inspired by the

occasion, and the fresh recollection of the scenes through which

I had passed as a slave.  My speech on this occasion is about the

only one I ever made, of which I do not remember a single

connected sentence.  It was <279 EXTRAORDINARY SPEECH OF MR.

GARRISON>with the utmost difficulty that I could stand erect, or

that I could command and articulate two words without hesitation

and stammering.  I trembled in every limb.  I am not sure that my

embarrassment was not the most effective part of my speech, if

speech it could be called.  At any rate, this is about the only

part of my performance that I now distinctly remember.  But

excited and convulsed as I was, the audience, though remarkably

quiet before, became as much excited as myself.  Mr. Garrison

followed me, taking me as his text; and now, whether I had made

an eloquent speech in behalf of freedom or not, his was one never

to be forgotten by those who heard it.  Those who had heard Mr.

Garrison oftenest, and had known him longest, were astonished. 

It was an effort of unequaled power, sweeping down, like a very

tornado, every opposing barrier, whether of sentiment or opinion. 

For a moment, he possessed that almost fabulous inspiration,

often referred to but seldom attained, in which a public meeting

is transformed, as it were, into a single individuality--the

orator wielding a thousand heads and hearts at once, and by the

simple majesty of his all controlling thought, converting his

hearers into the express image of his own soul.  That night there

were at least one thousand Garrisonians in Nantucket!  A{sic} the

close of this great meeting, I was duly waited on by Mr. John A.

Collins--then the general agent of the Massachusetts anti-slavery

society--and urgently solicited by him to become an agent of that

society, and to publicly advocate its anti-slavery principles.  I

was reluctant to take the proffered position.  I had not been

quite three years from slavery--was honestly distrustful of my

ability--wished to be excused; publicity exposed me to discovery

and arrest by my master; and other objections came up, but Mr.

Collins was not to be put off, and I finally consented to go out

for three months, for I supposed that I should have got to the

end of my story and my usefulness, in that length of time.



Here opened upon me a new life a life for which I had had no

preparation.  I was a "graduate from the peculiar institution,"

<280>Mr. Collins used to say, when introducing me, _"with my

diploma written on my back!"_  The three years of my freedom had

been spent in the hard school of adversity.  My hands had been

furnished by nature with something like a solid leather coating,

and I had bravely marked out for myself a life of rough labor,

suited to the hardness of my hands, as a means of supporting

myself and rearing my children.



Now what shall I say of this fourteen years' experience as a

public advocate of the cause of my enslaved brothers and sisters? 

The time is but as a speck, yet large enough to justify a pause

for retrospection--and a pause it must only be.



Young, ardent, and hopeful, I entered upon this new life in the

full gush of unsuspecting enthusiasm.  The cause was good; the

men engaged in it were good; the means to attain its triumph,

good; Heaven's blessing must attend all, and freedom must soon be

given to the pining millions under a ruthless bondage.  My whole

heart went with the holy cause, and my most fervent prayer to the

Almighty Disposer of the hearts of men, were continually offered

for its early triumph.  "Who or what," thought I, "can withstand

a cause so good, so holy, so indescribably glorious.  The God of

Israel is with us.  The might of the Eternal is on our side.  Now

let but the truth be spoken, and a nation will start forth at the

sound!"  In this enthusiastic spirit, I dropped into the ranks of

freedom's friends, and went forth to the battle.  For a time I

was made to forget that my skin was dark and my hair crisped. 

For a time I regretted that I could not have shared the hardships

and dangers endured by the earlier workers for the slave's

release.  I soon, however, found that my enthusiasm had been

extravagant; that hardships and dangers were not yet passed; and

that the life now before me, had shadows as well as sunbeams.



Among the first duties assigned me, on entering the ranks, was to

travel, in company with Mr. George Foster, to secure subscribers

to the _Anti-slavery Standard_ and the _Liberator_.  With <281

MATTER OF THE SPEECH>him I traveled and lectured through the

eastern counties of Massachusetts.  Much interest was awakened--

large meetings assembled.  Many came, no doubt, from curiosity to

hear what a Negro could say in his own cause.  I was generally

introduced as a _"chattel"--_a_"thing"_--a piece of southern

_"property"_--the chairman assuring the audience that _it_ could

speak.  Fugitive slaves, at that time, were not so plentiful as

now; and as a fugitive slave lecturer, I had the advantage of

being a _"brand new fact"_--the first one out.  Up to that time,

a colored man was deemed a fool who confessed himself a runaway

slave, not only because of the danger to which he exposed himself

of being retaken, but because it was a confession of a very _low_

origin!  Some of my colored friends in New Bedford thought very

badly of my wisdom for thus exposing and degrading myself.  The

only precaution I took, at the beginning, to prevent Master

Thomas from knowing where I was, and what I was about, was the

withholding my former name, my master's name, and the name of the

state and county from which I came.  During the first three or

four months, my speeches were almost exclusively made up of

narrations of my own personal experience as a slave.  "Let us

have the facts," said the people.  So also said Friend George

Foster, who always wished to pin me down to my simple narrative. 

"Give us the facts," said Collins, "we will take care of the

philosophy."  Just here arose some embarrassment.  It was

impossible for me to repeat the same old story month after month,

and to keep up my interest in it.  It was new to the people, it

is true, but it was an old story to me; and to go through with it

night after night, was a task altogether too mechanical for my

nature.  "Tell your story, Frederick," would whisper my then

revered friend, William Lloyd Garrison, as I stepped upon the

platform.  I could not always obey, for I was now reading and

thinking.  New views of the subject were presented to my mind. 

It did not entirely satisfy me to _narrate_ wrongs; I felt like

_denouncing_ them.  I could not always curb my moral indignation

<282>for the perpetrators of slaveholding villainy, long enough

for a circumstantial statement of the facts which I felt almost

everybody must know.  Besides, I was growing, and needed room. 

"People won't believe you ever was a slave, Frederick, if you

keep on this way," said Friend Foster.  "Be yourself," said

Collins, "and tell your story."  It was said to me, "Better have

a _little_ of the plantation manner of speech than not; 'tis not

best that you seem too learned."  These excellent friends were

actuated by the best of motives, and were not altogether wrong in

their advice; and still I must speak just the word that seemed to

_me_ the word to be spoken _by_ me.



At last the apprehended trouble came.  People doubted if I had

ever been a slave.  They said I did not talk like a slave, look

like a slave, nor act like a slave, and that they believed I had

never been south of Mason and Dixon's line.  "He don't tell us

where he came from--what his master's name was--how he got away--

nor the story of his experience.  Besides, he is educated, and

is, in this, a contradiction of all the facts we have concerning

the ignorance of the slaves."  Thus, I was in a pretty fair way

to be denounced as an impostor.  The committee of the

Massachusetts anti-slavery society knew all the facts in my case,

and agreed with me in the prudence of keeping them private. 

They, therefore, never doubted my being a genuine fugitive; but

going down the aisles of the churches in which I spoke, and

hearing the free spoken Yankees saying, repeatedly, _"He's never

been a slave, I'll warrant ye_," I resolved to dispel all doubt,

at no distant day, by such a revelation of facts as could not be

made by any other than a genuine fugitive.



In a little less than four years, therefore, after becoming a

public lecturer, I was induced to write out the leading facts

connected with my experience in slavery, giving names of persons,

places, and dates--thus putting it in the power of any who

doubted, to ascertain the truth or falsehood of my story of being

a fugitive slave.  This statement soon became known in Maryland,

<283 DANGER OF RECAPTURE>and I had reason to believe that an

effort would be made to recapture me.



It is not probable that any open attempt to secure me as a slave

could have succeeded, further than the obtainment, by my master,

of the money value of my bones and sinews.  Fortunately for me,

in the four years of my labors in the abolition cause, I had

gained many friends, who would have suffered themselves to be

taxed to almost any extent to save me from slavery.  It was felt

that I had committed the double offense of running away, and

exposing the secrets and crimes of slavery and slaveholders. 

There was a double motive for seeking my reenslavement--avarice

and vengeance; and while, as I have said, there was little

probability of successful recapture, if attempted openly, I was

constantly in danger of being spirited away, at a moment when my

friends could render me no assistance.  In traveling about from

place to place--often alone I was much exposed to this sort of

attack.  Any one cherishing the design to betray me, could easily

do so, by simply tracing my whereabouts through the anti-slavery

journals, for my meetings and movements were promptly made known

in advance.  My true friends, Mr. Garrison and Mr. Phillips, had

no faith in the power of Massachusetts to protect me in my right

to liberty.  Public sentiment and the law, in their opinion,

would hand me over to the tormentors.  Mr. Phillips, especially,

considered me in danger, and said, when I showed him the

manuscript of my story, if in my place, he would throw it into

the fire.  Thus, the reader will observe, the settling of one

difficulty only opened the way for another; and that though I had

reached a free state, and had attained position for public

usefulness, I ws{sic} still tormented with the liability of

losing my liberty.  How this liability was dispelled, will be

related, with other incidents, in the next chapter.







CHAPTER XXIV

_Twenty-One Months in Great Britain_





GOOD ARISING OUT OF UNPROPITIOUS EVENTS--DENIED CABIN PASSAGE--

PROSCRIPTION TURNED TO GOOD ACCOUNT--THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY--THE

MOB ON BOARD THE "CAMBRIA"--HAPPY INTRODUCTION TO THE BRITISH

PUBLIC--LETTER ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON--TIME AND

LABORS WHILE ABROAD--FREEDOM PURCHASED--MRS. HENRY RICHARDSON--

FREE PAPERS--ABOLITIONISTS DISPLEASED WITH THE RANSOM--HOW MY

ENERGIES WERE DIRECTED--RECEPTION SPEECH IN LONDON--CHARACTER OF

THE SPEECH DEFENDED--CIRCUMSTANCES EXPLAINED--CAUSES CONTRIBUTING

TO THE SUCCESS OF MY MISSION--FREE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND--

TESTIMONIAL.





The allotments of Providence, when coupled with trouble and

anxiety, often conceal from finite vision the wisdom and goodness

in which they are sent; and, frequently, what seemed a harsh and

invidious dispensation, is converted by after experience into a

happy and beneficial arrangement.  Thus, the painful liability to

be returned again to slavery, which haunted me by day, and

troubled my dreams by night, proved to be a necessary step in the

path of knowledge and usefulness.  The writing of my pamphlet, in

the spring of 1845, endangered my liberty, and led me to seek a

refuge from republican slavery in monarchical England.  A rude,

uncultivated fugitive slave was driven, by stern necessity, to

that country to which young American gentlemen go to increase

their stock of knowledge, to seek pleasure, to have their rough,

democratic manners softened by contact with English aristocratic

refinement.  On applying for a passage to England, on board the

"Cambria", of the Cunard line, my friend, James N. Buffum, of

<285 PROSCRIPTION TURNED TO GOOD ACCOUNT>Lynn, Massachusetts, was

informed that I could not be received on board as a cabin

passenger.  American prejudice against color triumphed over

British liberality and civilization, and erected a color test and

condition for crossing the sea in the cabin of a British vessel. 

The insult was keenly felt by my white friends, but to me, it was

common, expected, and therefore, a thing of no great consequence,

whether I went in the cabin or in the steerage.  Moreover, I felt

that if I could not go into the first cabin, first-cabin

passengers could come into the second cabin, and the result

justified my anticipations to the fullest extent.  Indeed, I soon

found myself an object of more general interest than I wished to

be; and so far from being degraded by being placed in the second

cabin, that part of the ship became the scene of as much pleasure

and refinement, during the voyage, as the cabin itself.  The

Hutchinson Family, celebrated vocalists--fellow-passengers--often

came to my rude forecastle deck, and sung their sweetest songs,

enlivening the place with eloquent music, as well as spirited

conversation, during the voyage.  In two days after leaving

Boston, one part of the ship was about as free to me as another. 

My fellow-passengers not only visited me, but invited me to visit

them, on the saloon deck.  My visits there, however, were but

seldom.  I preferred to live within my privileges, and keep upon

my own premises.  I found this quite as much in accordance with

good policy, as with my own feelings.  The effect was, that with

the majority of the passengers, all color distinctions were flung

to the winds, and I found myself treated with every mark of

respect, from the beginning to the end of the voyage, except in a

single instance; and in that, I came near being mobbed, for

complying with an invitation given me by the passengers, and the

captain of the "Cambria," to deliver a lecture on slavery.  Our

New Orleans and Georgia passengers were pleased to regard my

lecture as an insult offered to them, and swore I should not

speak.  They went so far as to threaten to throw me overboard,

and but for the firmness of Captain Judkins, prob<286>ably would

have (under the inspiration of _slavery_ and _brandy_) attempted

to put their threats into execution.  I have no space to describe

this scene, although its tragic and comic peculiarities are well

worth describing.  An end was put to the _melee_, by the

captain's calling the ship's company to put the salt water

mobocrats in irons.  At this determined order, the gentlemen of

the lash scampered, and for the rest of the voyage conducted

themselves very decorously.



This incident of the voyage, in two days after landing at

Liverpool, brought me at once before the British public, and that

by no act of my own.  The gentlemen so promptly snubbed in their

meditated violence, flew to the press to justify their conduct,

and to denounce me as a worthless and insolent Negro.  This

course was even less wise than the conduct it was intended to

sustain; for, besides awakening something like a national

interest in me, and securing me an audience, it brought out

counter statements, and threw the blame upon themselves, which

they had sought to fasten upon me and the gallant captain of the

ship.



Some notion may be formed of the difference in my feelings and

circumstances, while abroad, from the following extract from one

of a series of letters addressed by me to Mr. Garrison, and

published in the _Liberator_.  It was written on the first day of

January, 1846:





MY DEAR FRIEND GARRISON:  Up to this time, I have given no direct

expression of the views, feelings, and opinions which I have

formed, respecting the character and condition of the people of

this land.  I have refrained thus, purposely.  I wish to speak

advisedly, and in order to do this, I have waited till, I trust,

experience has brought my opinions to an intelligent maturity.  I

have been thus careful, not because I think what I say will have

much effect in shaping the opinions of the world, but because

whatever of influence I may possess, whether little or much, I

wish it to go in the right direction, and according to truth.  I

hardly need say that, in speaking of Ireland, I shall be

influenced by no prejudices in favor of America.  I think my

circumstances all forbid that.  I have no end to serve, no creed

to uphold, no government to defend; and as to nation, I belong to

none.  I have no protection at home, or resting-place abroad. 

The land of my birth welcomes me to her shores only as a slave,

and spurns with contempt the idea of treating me differently; so

that I am an outcast from the society of my childhood, and an

outlaw in the <287 LETTER TO GARRISON>land of my birth.  "I am a

stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were." 

That men should be patriotic, is to me perfectly natural; and as

a philosophical fact, I am able to give it an _intellectual_

recognition.  But no further can I go.  If ever I had any

patriotism, or any capacity for the feeling, it was whipped out

of me long since, by the lash of the American soul-drivers.



In thinking of America, I sometimes find myself admiring her

bright blue sky, her grand old woods, her fertile fields, her

beautiful rivers, her mighty lakes, and star-crowned mountains. 

But my rapture is soon checked, my joy is soon turned to

mourning.  When I remember that all is cursed with the infernal

spirit of slaveholding, robbery, and wrong; when I remember that

with the waters of her noblest rivers, the tears of my brethren

are borne to the ocean, disregarded and forgotten, and that her

most fertile fields drink daily of the warm blood of my outraged

sisters; I am filled with unutterable loathing, and led to

reproach myself that anything could fall from my lips in praise

of such a land.  America will not allow her children to love her. 

She seems bent on compelling those who would be her warmest

friends, to be her worst enemies.  May God give her repentance,

before it is too late, is the ardent prayer of my heart.  I will

continue to pray, labor, and wait, believing that she cannot

always be insensible to the dictates of justice, or deaf to the

voice of humanity.



My opportunities for learning the character and condition of the

people of this land have been very great.  I have traveled alm@@

@@om the Hill of Howth to the Giant's Causeway, and from the

Giant's Causway, to Cape Clear.  During these travels, I have met

with much in the chara@@ and condition of the people to approve,

and much to condemn; much that @@thrilled me with pleasure, and

very much that has filled me with pain.  I @@ @@t, in this

letter, attempt to give any description of those scenes which

have given me pain.  This I will do hereafter.  I have enough,

and more than your subscribers will be disposed to read at one

time, of the bright side of the picture.  I can truly say, I have

spent some of the happiest moments of my life since landing in

this country.  I seem to have undergone a transformation.  I live

a new life.  The warm and generous cooperation extended to me by

the friends of my despised race; the prompt and liberal manner

with which the press has rendered me its aid; the glorious

enthusiasm with which thousands have flocked to hear the cruel

wrongs of my down-trodden and long-enslaved fellow-countrymen

portrayed; the deep sympathy for the slave, and the strong

abhorrence of the slaveholder, everywhere evinced; the cordiality

with which members and ministers of various religious bodies, and

of various shades of religious opinion, have embraced me, and

lent me their aid; the kind of hospitality constantly proffered

to me by persons of the highest rank in society; the spirit of

freedom that seems to animate all with whom I come in contact,

and the entire absence of everything that looked like prejudice

against me, on account of the color of my skin--contrasted so

strongly with my long and bitter experience in the United States,

that I look with wonder and amazement on the transition.  In the

southern part of the United States, I was a slave, thought of

<288>and spoken of as property; in the language of the LAW,

"_held, taken, reputed, and adjudged to be a chattel in the hands

of my owners and possessors, and their executors, administrators,

and assigns, to all intents, constructions, and purposes

whatsoever_."  (Brev.  Digest, 224).  In the northern states, a

fugitive slave, liable to be hunted at any moment, like a felon,

and to be hurled into the terrible jaws of slavery--doomed by an

inveterate prejudice against color to insult and outrage on every

hand (Massachusetts out of the question)--denied the privileges

and courtesies common to others in the use of the most humble

means of conveyance--shut out from the cabins on steamboats--

refused admission to respectable hotels--caricatured, scorned,

scoffed, mocked, and maltreated with impunity by any one (no

matter how black his heart), so he has a white skin.  But now

behold the change!  Eleven days and a half gone, and I have

crossed three thousand miles of the perilous deep.  Instead of a

democratic government, I am under a monarchical government. 

Instead of the bright, blue sky of America, I am covered with the

soft, grey fog of the Emerald Isle.  I breathe, and lo! the

chattel becomes a man.  I gaze around in vain for one who will

question my equal humanity, claim me as his slave, or offer me an

insult.  I employ a cab--I am seated beside white people--I reach

the hotel--I enter the same door--I am shown into the same

parlor--I dine at the same table and no one is offended.  No

delicate nose grows deformed in my presence.  I find no

difficulty here in obtaining admission into any place of worship,

instruction, or amusement, on equal terms with people as white as

any I ever saw in the United States.  I meet nothing to remind me

of my complexion.  I find myself regarded and treated at every

turn with the kindness and deference paid to white people.  When

I go to church, I am met by no upturned nose and scornful lip to

tell me, "_We don't allow niggers in here_!"



I remember, about two years ago, there was in Boston, near the

south-west corner of Boston Common, a menagerie.  I had long

desired to see such a collection as I understood was being

exhibited there.  Never having had an opportunity while a slave,

I resolved to seize this, my first, since my escape.  I went, and

as I approached the entrance to gain admission, I was met and

told by the door-keeper, in a harsh and contemptuous tone, "_We

don't allow niggers in here_."  I also remember attending a

revival meeting in the Rev. Henry Jackson's meeting-house, at New

Bedford, and going up the broad aisle to find a seat, I was met

by a good deacon, who told me, in a pious tone, "_We don't allow

niggers in here_!"  Soon after my arrival in New Bedford, from

the south, I had a strong desire to attend the Lyceum, but was

told, "_They don't allow niggers in here_!"  While passing from

New York to Boston, on the steamer Massachusetts, on the night of

the 9th of December, 1843, when chilled almost through with the

cold, I went into the cabin to get a little warm.  I was soon

touched upon the shoulder, and told, "_We don't allow niggers in

here_!"  On arriving in Boston, from an anti-slavery tour, hungry

and tired, I went into an eating-house, near my friend, Mr.

Campbell's to get some refreshments.  I was met by a lad in a

white apron, "_We don't allow niggers in here_!"  <289 TIME AND

LABORS ABROAD>A week or two before leaving the United States, I

had a meeting appointed at Weymouth, the home of that glorious

band of true abolitionists, the Weston family, and others.  On

attempting to take a seat in the omnibus to that place, I was

told by the driver (and I never shall forget his fiendish hate). 

"_I don't allow niggers in here_!"  Thank heaven for the respite

I now enjoy!  I had been in Dublin but a few days, when a

gentleman of great respectability kindly offered to conduct me

through all the public buildings of that beautiful city; and a

little afterward, I found myself dining with the lord mayor of

Dublin.  What a pity there was not some American democratic

Christian at the door of his splendid mansion, to bark out at my

approach, "_They don't allow niggers in here_!"  The truth is,

the people here know nothing of the republican Negro hate

prevalent in our glorious land.  They measure and esteem men

according to their moral and intellectual worth, and not

according to the color of their skin.  Whatever may be said of

the aristocracies here, there is none based on the color of a

man's skin.  This species of aristocracy belongs preeminently to

"the land of the free, and the home of the brave."  I have never

found it abroad, in any but Americans.  It sticks to them

wherever they go.  They find it almost as hard to get rid of, as

to get rid of their skins.



The second day after my arrival at Liverpool, in company with my

friend, Buffum, and several other friends, I went to Eaton Hall,

the residence of the Marquis of Westminster, one of the most

splendid buildings in England.  On approaching the door, I found

several of our American passengers, who came out with us in the

"Cambria," waiting for admission, as but one party was allowed in

the house at a time.  We all had to wait till the company within

came out.  And of all the faces, expressive of chagrin, those of

the Americans were preeminent.  They looked as sour as vinegar,

and as bitter as gall, when they found I was to be admitted on

equal terms with themselves.  When the door was opened, I walked

in, on an equal footing with my white fellow-citizens, and from

all I could see, I had as much attention paid me by the servants

that showed us through the house, as any with a paler skin.  As I

walked through the building, the statuary did not fall down, the

pictures did not leap from their places, the doors did not refuse

to open, and the servants did not say, "_We don't allow niggers

in here_!"



A happy new-year to you, and all the friends of freedom.





My time and labors, while abroad were divided between England,

Ireland, Scotland, and Wales.  Upon this experience alone, I

might write a book twice the size of this, _My Bondage and My

Freedom_.  I visited and lectured in nearly all the large towns

and cities in the United Kingdom, and enjoyed many favorable

opportunities for observation and information.  But books on

England are abundant, and the public may, therefore, dismiss any

fear that I am meditating another infliction in that line;

<290>though, in truth, I should like much to write a book on

those countries, if for nothing else, to make grateful mention of

the many dear friends, whose benevolent actions toward me are

ineffaceably stamped upon my memory, and warmly treasured in my

heart.  To these friends I owe my freedom in the United States. 

On their own motion, without any solicitation from me (Mrs. Henry

Richardson, a clever lady, remarkable for her devotion to every

good work, taking the lead), they raised a fund sufficient to

purchase my freedom, and actually paid it over, and placed the

papers[8] of my manumission in my hands, before





[8]  The following is a copy of these curious papers, both of my

transfer from Thomas to Hugh Auld, and from Hugh to myself:



"Know all men by these Presents, That I, Thomas Auld, of Talbot

county, and state of Maryland, for and in consideration of the

sum of one hundred dollars, current money, to me paid by Hugh

Auld, of the city of Baltimore, in the said state, at and before

the sealing and delivery of these presents, the receipt whereof,

I, the said Thomas Auld, do hereby acknowledge, have granted,

bargained, and sold, and by these presents do grant, bargain, and

sell unto the said Hugh Auld, his executors, administrators, and

assigns, ONE NEGRO MAN, by the name of FREDERICK BAILY, or

DOUGLASS, as he callls{sic} himself--he is now about twenty-eight

years of age--to have and to hold the said negro man for life. 

And I, the said Thomas Auld, for myself my heirs, executors, and

administrators, all and singular, the said FREDERICK BAILY

_alias_ DOUGLASS, unto the said Hugh Auld, his executors,

administrators, and assigns against me, the said Thomas Auld, my

executors, and administrators, and against ali and every other

person or persons whatsoever, shall and will warrant and forever

defend by these presents.  In witness whereof, I set my hand and

seal, this thirteenth day of November, eighteen hundred and

forty-six.                                              THOMAS

AULD



"Signed, sealed, and delivered in presence of Wrightson Jones.

            "JOHN C. LEAS.



The authenticity of this bill of sale is attested by N. 

Harrington, a justice of the peace of the state of Maryland, and

for the county of Talbot, dated same day as above.



"To all whom it may concern:  Be it known, that I, Hugh Auld, of

the city of Baltimore, in Baltimore county, in the state of

Maryland, for divers good causes and considerations, me thereunto

moving, have released from slavery, liberated, manumitted, and

set free, and by these presents do hereby release from slavery,

liberate, manumit, and set free, MY NEGRO MAN, named FREDERICK

BAILY, otherwise called DOUGLASS, being of the age of twenty-

eight years, or thereabouts, and able to work and gain a

sufficient livelihood and maintenance; and him the said negro man

named FREDERICK BAILY, otherwise called FREDERICK DOUGLASS, I do

declare to be henceforth free, manumitted, and discharged from

all manner of servitude to me, my executors, and administrators

forever.



"In witness whereof, I, the said Hugh Auld, have hereunto set my

hand and seal the fifth of December, in the year one thousand

eight hundred and forty-six.

                                                Hugh Auld



"Sealed and delivered in presence of T. Hanson Belt.

            "JAMES N. S. T. WRIGHT"





<291 FREEDOM PURCHASED>they would tolerate the idea of my

returning to this, my native country.  To this commercial

transaction I owe my exemption from the democratic operation of

the Fugitive Slave Bill of 1850.  But for this, I might at any

time become a victim of this most cruel and scandalous enactment,

and be doomed to end my life, as I began it, a slave.  The sum

paid for my freedom was one hundred and fifty pounds sterling.



Some of my uncompromising anti-slavery friends in this country

failed to see the wisdom of this arrangement, and were not

pleased that I consented to it, even by my silence.  They thought

it a violation of anti-slavery principles--conceding a right of

property in man--and a wasteful expenditure of money.  On the

other hand, viewing it simply in the light of a ransom, or as

money extorted by a robber, and my liberty of more value than one

hundred and fifty pounds sterling, I could not see either a

violation of the laws of morality, or those of economy, in the

transaction.



It is true, I was not in the possession of my claimants, and

could have easily remained in England, for the same friends who

had so generously purchased my freedom, would have assisted me in

establishing myself in that country.  To this, however, I could

not consent.  I felt that I had a duty to perform--and that was,

to labor and suffer with the oppressed in my native land. 

Considering, therefore, all the circumstances--the fugitive slave

bill included--I think the very best thing was done in letting

Master Hugh have the hundred and fifty pounds sterling, and

leaving me free to return to my appropriate field of labor.  Had

I been a private person, having no other relations or duties than

those of a personal and family nature, I should never have

consented to the payment of so large a sum for the privilege of

living securely under our glorious republican form of government. 

I could have remained in England, or have gone to some other

country; and perhaps I could even have lived unobserved in this. 

But to this I could not consent.  I had already become

some<292>what notorious, and withal quite as unpopular as

notorious; and I was, therefore, much exposed to arrest and

recapture.



The main object to which my labors in Great Britain were

directed, was the concentration of the moral and religious

sentiment of its people against American slavery.  England is

often charged with having established slavery in the United

States, and if there were no other justification than this, for

appealing to her people to lend their moral aid for the abolition

of slavery, I should be justified.  My speeches in Great Britain

were wholly extemporaneous, and I may not always have been so

guarded in my expressions, as I otherwise should have been.  I

was ten years younger then than now, and only seven years from

slavery.  I cannot give the reader a better idea of the nature of

my discourses, than by republishing one of them, delivered in

Finsbury chapel, London, to an audience of about two thousand

persons, and which was published in the _London Universe_, at the

time.[9]



Those in the United States who may regard this speech as being

harsh in its spirit and unjust in its statements, because

delivered before an audience supposed to be anti-republican in

their principles and feelings, may view the matter differently,

when they learn that the case supposed did not exist.  It so

happened that the great mass of the people in England who

attended and patronized my anti-slavery meetings, were, in truth,

about as good republicans as the mass of Americans, and with this

decided advantage over the latter--they are lovers of

republicanism for all men, for black men as well as for white

men.  They are the people who sympathize with Louis Kossuth and

Mazzini, and with the oppressed and enslaved, of every color and

nation, the world over.  They constitute the democratic element

in British politics, and are as much opposed to the union of

church and state as we, in America, are to such an union.  At the

meeting where this speech was delivered, Joseph Sturge--a world-

wide philan





[9]  See Appendix to this volume, page 317.







<293 ENGLISH REPUBLICANS>thropist, and a member of the society of

Friends--presided, and addressed the meeting.  George William

Alexander, another Friend, who has spent more than an

Ameriacn{sic} fortune in promoting the anti-slavery cause in

different sections of the world, was on the platform; and also

Dr. Campbell (now of the _British Banner_) who combines all the

humane tenderness of Melanchthon, with the directness and

boldness of Luther.  He is in the very front ranks of non-

conformists, and looks with no unfriendly eye upon America. 

George Thompson, too, was there; and America will yet own that he

did a true man's work in relighting the rapidly dying-out fire of

true republicanism in the American heart, and be ashamed of the

treatment he met at her hands.  Coming generations in this

country will applaud the spirit of this much abused republican

friend of freedom.  There were others of note seated on the

platform, who would gladly ingraft upon English institutions all

that is purely republican in the institutions of America. 

Nothing, therefore, must be set down against this speech on the

score that it was delivered in the presence of those who cannot

appreciate the many excellent things belonging to our system of

government, and with a view to stir up prejudice against

republican institutions.



Again, let it also be remembered--for it is the simple truth--

that neither in this speech, nor in any other which I delivered

in England, did I ever allow myself to address Englishmen as

against Americans.  I took my stand on the high ground of human

brotherhood, and spoke to Englishmen as men, in behalf of men. 

Slavery is a crime, not against Englishmen, but against God, and

all the members of the human family; and it belongs to the whole

human family to seek its suppression.  In a letter to Mr.

Greeley, of the New York Tribune, written while abroad, I said:





I am, nevertheless aware that the wisdom of exposing the sins of

one nation in the ear of another, has been seriously questioned

by good and clear-sighted people, both on this and on your side

of the Atlantic.  And the <294>thought is not without weight on

my own mind.  I am satisfied that there are many evils which can

be best removed by confining our efforts to the immediate

locality where such evils exist.  This, however, is by no means

the case with the system of slavery.  It is such a giant sin--

such a monstrous aggregation of iniquity--so hardening to the

human heart--so destructive to the moral sense, and so well

calculated to beget a character, in every one around it,

favorable to its own continuance,--that I feel not only at

liberty, but abundantly justified, in appealing to the whole

world to aid in its removal.





But, even if I had--as has been often charged--labored to bring

American institutions generally into disrepute, and had not

confined my labors strictly within the limits of humanity and

morality, I should not have been without illustrious examples to

support me.  Driven into semi-exile by civil and barbarous laws,

and by a system which cannot be thought of without a shudder, I

was fully justified in turning, if possible, the tide of the

moral universe against the heaven-daring outrage.



Four circumstances greatly assisted me in getting the question of

American slavery before the British public.  First, the mob on

board the "Cambria," already referred to, which was a sort of

national announcement of my arrival in England.  Secondly, the

highly reprehensible course pursued by the Free Church of

Scotland, in soliciting, receiving, and retaining money in its

sustentation fund for supporting the gospel in Scotland, which

was evidently the ill-gotten gain of slaveholders and slave-

traders.  Third, the great Evangelical Alliance--or rather the

attempt to form such an alliance, which should include

slaveholders of a certain description--added immensely to the

interest felt in the slavery question.  About the same time,

there was the World's Temperance Convention, where I had the

misfortune to come in collision with sundry American doctors of

divinity--Dr. Cox among the number--with whom I had a small

controversy.



It has happened to me--as it has happened to most other men

engaged in a good cause--often to be more indebted to my enemies

than to my own skill or to the assistance of my friends, for

whatever success has attended my labors.  Great surprise was <295

FREE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND>expressed by American newspapers, north

and south, during my stay in Great Britain, that a person so

illiterate and insignificant as myself could awaken an interest

so marked in England.  These papers were not the only parties

surprised.  I was myself not far behind them in surprise.  But

the very contempt and scorn, the systematic and extravagant

disparagement of which I was the object, served, perhaps, to

magnify my few merits, and to render me of some account, whether

deserving or not.  A man is sometimes made great, by the

greatness of the abuse a portion of mankind may think proper to

heap upon him.  Whether I was of as much consequence as the

English papers made me out to be, or not, it was easily seen, in

England, that I could not be the ignorant and worthless creature,

some of the American papers would have them believe I was.  Men,

in their senses, do not take bowie-knives to kill mosquitoes, nor

pistols to shoot flies; and the American passengers who thought

proper to get up a mob to silence me, on board the "Cambria,"

took the most effective method of telling the British public that

I had something to say.



But to the second circumstance, namely, the position of the Free

Church of Scotland, with the great Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham,

and Candlish at its head.  That church, with its leaders, put it

out of the power of the Scotch people to ask the old question,

which we in the north have often most wickedly asked--"_What have

we to do with slavery_?"  That church had taken the price of

blood into its treasury, with which to build _free_ churches, and

to pay _free_ church ministers for preaching the gospel; and,

worse still, when honest John Murray, of Bowlien Bay--now gone to

his reward in heaven--with William Smeal, Andrew Paton, Frederick

Card, and other sterling anti-slavery men in Glasgow, denounced

the transaction as disgraceful and shocking to the religious

sentiment of Scotland, this church, through its leading divines,

instead of repenting and seeking to mend the mistake into which

it had fallen, made it a flagrant sin, by undertaking to defend,

in the name of God and the bible, the principle not only <296>of

taking the money of slave-dealers to build churches, but of

holding fellowship with the holders and traffickers in human

flesh.  This, the reader will see, brought up the whole question

of slavery, and opened the way to its full discussion, without

any agency of mine.  I have never seen a people more deeply moved

than were the people of Scotland, on this very question.  Public

meeting succeeded public meeting.  Speech after speech, pamphlet

after pamphlet, editorial after editorial, sermon after sermon,

soon lashed the conscientious Scotch people into a perfect

_furore_.  "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was indignantly cried out, from

Greenock to Edinburgh, and from Edinburgh to Aberdeen.  George

Thompson, of London, Henry C. Wright, of the United States, James

N. Buffum, of Lynn, Massachusetts, and myself were on the anti-

slavery side; and Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish on

the other.  In a conflict where the latter could have had even

the show of right, the truth, in our hands as against them, must

have been driven to the wall; and while I believe we were able to

carry the conscience of the country against the action of the

Free Church, the battle, it must be confessed, was a hard-fought

one.  Abler defenders of the doctrine of fellowshiping

slaveholders as christians, have not been met with.  In defending

this doctrine, it was necessary to deny that slavery is a sin. 

If driven from this position, they were compelled to deny that

slaveholders were responsible for the sin; and if driven from

both these positions, they must deny that it is a sin in such a

sense, and that slaveholders are sinners in such a sense, as to

make it wrong, in the circumstances in which they were placed, to

recognize them as Christians.  Dr. Cunningham was the most

powerful debater on the slavery side of the question; Mr.

Thompson was the ablest on the anti-slavery side.  A scene

occurred between these two men, a parallel to which I think I

never witnessed before, and I know I never have since.  The scene

was caused by a single exclamation on the part of Mr. Thompson.



The general assembly of the Free Church was in progress at <297

THE DEBATE>Cannon Mills, Edinburgh.  The building would hold

about twenty-five hundred persons; and on this occasion it was

densely packed, notice having been given that Doctors Cunningham

and Candlish would speak, that day, in defense of the relations

of the Free Church of Scotland to slavery in America.  Messrs.

Thompson, Buffum, myself, and a few anti-slavery friends,

attended, but sat at such a distance, and in such a position,

that, perhaps we were not observed from the platform.  The

excitement was intense, having been greatly increased by a series

of meetings held by Messrs. Thompson, Wright, Buffum, and myself,

in the most splendid hall in that most beautiful city, just

previous to the meetings of the general assembly.  "SEND BACK THE

MONEY!" stared at us from every street corner; "SEND BACK THE

MONEY!" in large capitals, adorned the broad flags of the

pavement; "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was the chorus of the popular

street songs; "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was the heading of leading

editorials in the daily newspapers.  This day, at Cannon Mills,

the great doctors of the church were to give an answer to this

loud and stern demand.  Men of all parties and all sects were

most eager to hear.  Something great was expected.  The occasion

was great, the men great, and great speeches were expected from

them.



In addition to the outside pressure upon Doctors Cunningham and

Candlish, there was wavering in their own ranks.  The conscience

of the church itself was not at ease.  A dissatisfaction with the

position of the church touching slavery, was sensibly manifest

among the members, and something must be done to counteract this

untoward influence.  The great Dr. Chalmers was in feeble health,

at the time.  His most potent eloquence could not now be summoned

to Cannon Mills, as formerly.  He whose voice was able to rend

asunder and dash down the granite walls of the established church

of Scotland, and to lead a host in solemn procession from it, as

from a doomed city, was now old and enfeebled.  Besides, he had

said his word on this very question; and his word had not

silenced the clamor without, nor stilled <298>the anxious

heavings within.  The occasion was momentous, and felt to be so. 

The church was in a perilous condition.  A change of some sort

must take place in her condition, or she must go to pieces.  To

stand where she did, was impossible.  The whole weight of the

matter fell on Cunningham and Candlish.  No shoulders in the

church were broader than theirs; and I must say, badly as I

detest the principles laid down and defended by them, I was

compelled to acknowledge the vast mental endowments of the men. 

Cunningham rose; and his rising was the signal for almost

tumultous applause.  You will say this was scarcely in keeping

with the solemnity of the occasion, but to me it served to

increase its grandeur and gravity.  The applause, though

tumultuous, was not joyous.  It seemed to me, as it thundered up

from the vast audience, like the fall of an immense shaft, flung

from shoulders already galled by its crushing weight.  It was

like saying, "Doctor, we have borne this burden long enough, and

willingly fling it upon you.  Since it was you who brought it

upon us, take it now, and do what you will with it, for we are

too weary to bear it.{no close "}



Doctor Cunningham proceeded with his speech, abounding in logic,

learning, and eloquence, and apparently bearing down all

opposition; but at the moment--the fatal moment--when he was just

bringing all his arguments to a point, and that point being, that

neither Jesus Christ nor his holy apostles regarded slaveholding

as a sin, George Thompson, in a clear, sonorous, but rebuking

voice, broke the deep stillness of the audience, exclaiming,

HEAR!  HEAR!  HEAR!  The effect of this simple and common

exclamation is almost incredible.  It was as if a granite wall

had been suddenly flung up against the advancing current of a

mighty river.  For a moment, speaker and audience were brought to

a dead silence.  Both the doctor and his hearers seemed appalled

by the audacity, as well as the fitness of the rebuke.  At length

a shout went up to the cry of "_Put him out_!"  Happily, no one

attempted to execute this cowardly order, and the doctor

proceeded with his discourse.  Not, however, as before, did the

<299 COLLISION WITH DR. COX>learned doctor proceed.  The

exclamation of Thompson must have reechoed itself a thousand

times in his memory, during the remainder of his speech, for the

doctor never recovered from the blow.



The deed was done, however; the pillars of the church--_the

proud, Free Church of Scotland_--were committed and the humility

of repentance was absent.  The Free Church held on to the blood-

stained money, and continued to justify itself in its position--

and of course to apologize for slavery--and does so till this

day.  She lost a glorious opportunity for giving her voice, her

vote, and her example to the cause of humanity; and to-day she is

staggering under the curse of the enslaved, whose blood is in her

skirts.  The people of Scotland are, to this day, deeply grieved

at the course pursued by the Free Church, and would hail, as a

relief from a deep and blighting shame, the "sending back the

money" to the slaveholders from whom it was gathered.



One good result followed the conduct of the Free Church; it

furnished an occasion for making the people of Scotland

thoroughly acquainted with the character of slavery, and for

arraying against the system the moral and religious sentiment of

that country.  Therefore, while we did not succeed in

accomplishing the specific object of our mission, namely--procure

the sending back of the money--we were amply justified by the

good which really did result from our labors.



Next comes the Evangelical Alliance.  This was an attempt to form

a union of all evangelical Christians throughout the world. 

Sixty or seventy American divines attended, and some of them went

there merely to weave a world-wide garment with which to clothe

evangelical slaveholders.  Foremost among these divines, was the

Rev. Samuel Hanson Cox, moderator of the New School Presbyterian

General Assembly.  He and his friends spared no pains to secure a

platform broad enough to hold American slaveholders, and in this

partly succeeded.  But the question of slavery is too large a

question to be finally disposed of, even by the <300>Evangelical

Alliance.  We appealed from the judgment of the Alliance, to the

judgment of the people of Great Britain, and with the happiest

effect.  This controversy with the Alliance might be made the

subject of extended remark, but I must forbear, except to say,

that this effort to shield the Christian character of

slaveholders greatly served to open a way to the British ear for

anti-slavery discussion, and that it was well improved.



The fourth and last circumstance that assisted me in getting

before the British public, was an attempt on the part of certain

doctors of divinity to silence me on the platform of the World's

Temperance Convention.  Here I was brought into point blank

collison with Rev. Dr. Cox, who made me the subject not only of

bitter remark in the convention, but also of a long denunciatory

letter published in the New York Evangelist and other American

papers.  I replied to the doctor as well as I could, and was

successful in getting a respectful hearing before the British

public, who are by nature and practice ardent lovers of fair

play, especially in a conflict between the weak and the strong.



Thus did circumstances favor me, and favor the cause of which I

strove to be the advocate.  After such distinguished notice, the

public in both countries was compelled to attach some importance

to my labors.  By the very ill usage I received at the hands of

Dr. Cox and his party, by the mob on board the "Cambria," by the

attacks made upon me in the American newspapers, and by the

aspersions cast upon me through the organs of the Free Church of

Scotland, I became one of that class of men, who, for the moment,

at least, "have greatness forced upon them."  People became the

more anxious to hear for themselves, and to judge for themselves,

of the truth which I had to unfold.  While, therefore, it is by

no means easy for a stranger to get fairly before the British

public, it was my lot to accomplish it in the easiest manner

possible.



Having continued in Great Britain and Ireland nearly two years,

and being about to return to America--not as I left it, a <301

THE PRESS A MEANS OF REMOVING PREJUDICES>slave, but a freeman--

leading friends of the cause of emancipation in that country

intimated their intention to make me a testimonial, not only on

grounds of personal regard to myself, but also to the cause to

which they were so ardently devoted.  How far any such thing

could have succeeded, I do not know; but many reasons led me to

prefer that my friends should simply give me the means of

obtaining a printing press and printing materials, to enable me

to start a paper, devoted to the interests of my enslaved and

oppressed people.  I told them that perhaps the greatest

hinderance to the adoption of abolition principles by the people

of the United States, was the low estimate, everywhere in that

country, placed upon the Negro, as a man; that because of his

assumed natural inferiority, people reconciled themselves to his

enslavement and oppression, as things inevitable, if not

desirable.  The grand thing to be done, therefore, was to change

the estimation in which the colored people of the United States

were held; to remove the prejudice which depreciated and

depressed them; to prove them worthy of a higher consideration;

to disprove their alleged inferiority, and demonstrate their

capacity for a more exalted civilization than slavery and

prejudice had assigned to them.  I further stated, that, in my

judgment, a tolerably well conducted press, in the hands of

persons of the despised race, by calling out the mental energies

of the race itself; by making them acquainted with their own

latent powers; by enkindling among them the hope that for them

there is a future; by developing their moral power; by combining

and reflecting their talents--would prove a most powerful means

of removing prejudice, and of awakening an interest in them.  I

further informed them--and at that time the statement was true--

that there was not, in the United States, a single newspaper

regularly published by the colored people; that many attempts had

been made to establish such papers; but that, up to that time,

they had all failed.  These views I laid before my friends.  The

result was, nearly two thousand five hundred dollars were

speed<302>ily raised toward starting my paper.  For this prompt

and generous assistance, rendered upon my bare suggestion,

without any personal efforts on my part, I shall never cease to

feel deeply grateful; and the thought of fulfilling the noble

expectations of the dear friends who gave me this evidence of

their confidence, will never cease to be a motive for persevering

exertion.



Proposing to leave England, and turning my face toward America,

in the spring of 1847, I was met, on the threshold, with

something which painfully reminded me of the kind of life which

awaited me in my native land.  For the first time in the many

months spent abroad, I was met with proscription on account of my

color.  A few weeks before departing from England, while in

London, I was careful to purchase a ticket, and secure a berth

for returning home, in the "Cambria"--the steamer in which I left

the United States--paying therefor the round sum of forty pounds

and nineteen shillings sterling.  This was first cabin fare.  But

on going aboard the Cambria, I found that the Liverpool agent had

ordered my berth to be given to another, and had forbidden my

entering the saloon!  This contemptible conduct met with stern

rebuke from the British press.  For, upon the point of leaving

England, I took occasion to expose the disgusting tyranny, in the

columns of the London _Times_.  That journal, and other leading

journals throughout the United Kingdom, held up the outrage to

unmitigated condemnation.  So good an opportunity for calling out

a full expression of British sentiment on the subject, had not

before occurred, and it was most fully embraced.  The result was,

that Mr. Cunard came out in a letter to the public journals,

assuring them of his regret at the outrage, and promising that

the like should never occur again on board his steamers; and the

like, we believe, has never since occurred on board the

steamships of the Cunard line.



It is not very pleasant to be made the subject of such insults;

but if all such necessarily resulted as this one did, I should be

very happy to bear, patiently, many more than I have borne, of

<303 THE STING OF INSULT>the same sort.  Albeit, the lash of

proscription, to a man accustomed to equal social position, even

for a time, as I was, has a sting for the soul hardly less severe

than that which bites the flesh and draws the blood from the back

of the plantation slave.  It was rather hard, after having

enjoyed nearly two years of equal social privileges in England,

often dining with gentlemen of great literary, social, political,

and religious eminence never, during the whole time, having met

with a single word, look, or gesture, which gave me the slightest

reason to think my color was an offense to anybody--now to be

cooped up in the stern of the "Cambria," and denied the right to

enter the saloon, lest my dark presence should be deemed an

offense to some of my democratic fellow-passengers.  The reader

will easily imagine what must have been my feelings.







CHAPTER XXV

_Various Incidents_



NEWSPAPER ENTERPRISE--UNEXPECTED OPPOSITION--THE OBJECTIONS TO

IT--THEIR PLAUSIBILITY ADMITTED--MOTIVES FOR COMING TO

ROCHESTER--DISCIPLE OF MR. GARRISON--CHANGE OF OPINION--CAUSES

LEADING TO IT--THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE CHANGE--PREJUDICE AGAINST

COLOR--AMUSING CONDESCENSION--"JIM CROW CARS"--COLLISIONS WITH

CONDUCTORS AND BRAKEMEN--TRAINS ORDERED NOT TO STOP AT LYNN--

AMUSING DOMESTIC SCENE--SEPARATE TABLES FOR MASTER AND MAN--

PREJUDICE UNNATURAL--ILLUSTRATIONS--IN HIGH COMPANY--ELEVATION OF

THE FREE PEOPLE OF COLOR--PLEDGE FOR THE FUTURE.





I have now given the reader an imperfect sketch of nine years'

experience in freedom--three years as a common laborer on the

wharves of New Bedford, four years as a lecturer in New England,

and two years of semi-exile in Great Britain and Ireland.  A

single ray of light remains to be flung upon my life during the

last eight years, and my story will be done.



A trial awaited me on my return from England to the United

States, for which I was but very imperfectly prepared.  My plans

for my then future usefulness as an anti-slavery advocate were

all settled.  My friends in England had resolved to raise a given

sum to purchase for me a press and printing materials; and I

already saw myself wielding my pen, as well as my voice, in the

great work of renovating the public mind, and building up a

public sentiment which should, at least, send slavery and

oppression to the grave, and restore to "liberty and the pursuit

of happiness" the people with whom I had suffered, both as a <305

OBJECTIONS TO MY NEWSPAPER ENTERPRISE>slave and as a freeman. 

Intimation had reached my friends in Boston of what I intended to

do, before my arrival, and I was prepared to find them favorably

disposed toward my much cherished enterprise.  In this I was

mistaken.  I found them very earnestly opposed to the idea of my

starting a paper, and for several reasons.  First, the paper was

not needed; secondly, it would interfere with my usefulness as a

lecturer; thirdly, I was better fitted to speak than to write;

fourthly, the paper could not succeed.  This opposition, from a

quarter so highly esteemed, and to which I had been accustomed to

look for advice and direction, caused me not only to hesitate,

but inclined me to abandon the enterprise.  All previous attempts

to establish such a journal having failed, I felt that probably I

should but add another to the list of failures, and thus

contribute another proof of the mental and moral deficiencies of

my race.  Very much that was said to me in respect to my

imperfect literary acquirements, I felt to be most painfully

true.  The unsuccessful projectors of all the previous colored

newspapers were my superiors in point of education, and if they

failed, how could I hope for success?  Yet I did hope for

success, and persisted in the undertaking.  Some of my English

friends greatly encouraged me to go forward, and I shall never

cease to be grateful for their words of cheer and generous deeds.



I can easily pardon those who have denounced me as ambitious and

presumptuous, in view of my persistence in this enterprise.  I

was but nine years from slavery.  In point of mental experience,

I was but nine years old.  That one, in such circumstances,

should aspire to establish a printing press, among an educated

people, might well be considered, if not ambitious, quite silly. 

My American friends looked at me with astonishment!  "A wood-

sawyer" offering himself to the public as an editor!  A slave,

brought up in the very depths of ignorance, assuming to instruct

the highly civilized people of the north in the principles of

liberty, justice, and humanity!  The thing looked absurd. 

Nevertheless, I per<306>severed.  I felt that the want of

education, great as it was, could be overcome by study, and that

knowledge would come by experience; and further (which was

perhaps the most controlling consideration).  I thought that an

intelligent public, knowing my early history, would easily pardon

a large share of the deficiencies which I was sure that my paper

would exhibit.  The most distressing thing, however, was the

offense which I was about to give my Boston friends, by what

seemed to them a reckless disregard of their sage advice.  I am

not sure that I was not under the influence of something like a

slavish adoration of my Boston friends, and I labored hard to

convince them of the wisdom of my undertaking, but without

success.  Indeed, I never expect to succeed, although time has

answered all their original objections.  The paper has been

successful.  It is a large sheet, costing eighty dollars per

week--has three thousand subscribers--has been published

regularly nearly eight years--and bids fair to stand eight years

longer.  At any rate, the eight years to come are as full of

promise as were the eight that are past.



It is not to be concealed, however, that the maintenance of such

a journal, under the circumstances, has been a work of much

difficulty; and could all the perplexity, anxiety, and trouble

attending it, have been clearly foreseen, I might have shrunk

from the undertaking.  As it is, I rejoice in having engaged in

the enterprise, and count it joy to have been able to suffer, in

many ways, for its success, and for the success of the cause to

which it has been faithfully devoted.  I look upon the time,

money, and labor bestowed upon it, as being amply rewarded, in

the development of my own mental and moral energies, and in the

corresponding development of my deeply injured and oppressed

people.



From motives of peace, instead of issuing my paper in Boston,

among my New England friends, I came to Rochester, western New

York, among strangers, where the circulation of my paper could

not interfere with the local circulation of the _Liberator_ and

the _Standard;_ for at that time I was, on the anti-slavery

question, <307 CHANGE OF VIEWS>a faithful disciple of William

Lloyd Garrison, and fully committed to his doctrine touching the

pro-slavery character of the constitution of the United States,

and the _non-voting principle_, of which he is the known and

distinguished advocate.  With Mr. Garrison, I held it to be the

first duty of the non-slaveholding states to dissolve the union

with the slaveholding states; and hence my cry, like his, was,

"No union with slaveholders."  With these views, I came into

western New York; and during the first four years of my labor

here, I advocated them with pen and tongue, according to the best

of my ability.



About four years ago, upon a reconsideration of the whole

subject, I became convinced that there was no necessity for

dissolving the "union between the northern and southern states;"

that to seek this dissolution was no part of my duty as an

abolitionist; that to abstain from voting, was to refuse to

exercise a legitimate and powerful means for abolishing slavery;

and that the constitution of the United States not only contained

no guarantees in favor of slavery, but, on the contrary, it is,

in its letter and spirit, an anti-slavery instrument, demanding

the abolition of slavery as a condition of its own existence, as

the supreme law of the land.



Here was a radical change in my opinions, and in the action

logically resulting from that change.  To those with whom I had

been in agreement and in sympathy, I was now in opposition.  What

they held to be a great and important truth, I now looked upon as

a dangerous error.  A very painful, and yet a very natural, thing

now happened.  Those who could not see any honest reasons for

changing their views, as I had done, could not easily see any

such reasons for my change, and the common punishment of

apostates was mine.



The opinions first entertained were naturally derived and

honestly entertained, and I trust that my present opinions have

the same claims to respect.  Brought directly, when I escaped

from slavery, into contact with a class of abolitionists

regarding the <308>constitution as a slaveholding instrument, and

finding their views supported by the united and entire history of

every department of the government, it is not strange that I

assumed the constitution to be just what their interpretation

made it.  I was bound, not only by their superior knowledge, to

take their opinions as the true ones, in respect to the subject,

but also because I had no means of showing their unsoundness. 

But for the responsibility of conducting a public journal, and

the necessity imposed upon me of meeting opposite views from

abolitionists in this state, I should in all probability have

remained as firm in my disunion views as any other disciple of

William Lloyd Garrison.



My new circumstances compelled me to re-think the whole subject,

and to study, with some care, not only the just and proper rules

of legal interpretation, but the origin, design, nature, rights,

powers, and duties of civil government, and also the relations

which human beings sustain to it.  By such a course of thought

and reading, I was conducted to the conclusion that the

constitution of the United States--inaugurated "to form a more

perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity,

provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and

secure the blessing of liberty"--could not well have been

designed at the same time to maintain and perpetuate a system of

rapine and murder, like slavery; especially, as not one word can

be found in the constitution to authorize such a belief.  Then,

again, if the declared purposes of an instrument are to govern

the meaning of all its parts and details, as they clearly should,

the constitution of our country is our warrant for the abolition

of slavery in every state in the American Union.  I mean,

however, not to argue, but simply to state my views.  It would

require very many pages of a volume like this, to set forth the

arguments demonstrating the unconstitutionality and the complete

illegality of slavery in our land; and as my experience, and not

my arguments, is within the scope and contemplation of this

volume, I omit the latter and proceed with the former.

<309 THE JIM CROW CAR>



I will now ask the kind reader to go back a little in my story,

while I bring up a thread left behind for convenience sake, but

which, small as it is, cannot be properly omitted altogether; and

that thread is American prejudice against color, and its varied

illustrations in my own experience.



When I first went among the abolitionists of New England, and

began to travel, I found this prejudice very strong and very

annoying.  The abolitionists themselves were not entirely free

from it, and I could see that they were nobly struggling against

it.  In their eagerness, sometimes, to show their contempt for

the feeling, they proved that they had not entirely recovered

from it; often illustrating the saying, in their conduct, that a

man may "stand up so straight as to lean backward."  When it was

said to me, "Mr. Douglass, I will walk to meeting with you; I am

not afraid of a black man," I could not help thinking--seeing

nothing very frightful in my appearance--"And why should you be?" 

The children at the north had all been educated to believe that

if they were bad, the old _black_ man--not the old _devil_--would

get them; and it was evidence of some courage, for any so

educated to get the better of their fears.



The custom of providing separate cars for the accommodation of

colored travelers, was established on nearly all the railroads of

New England, a dozen years ago.  Regarding this custom as

fostering the spirit of caste, I made it a rule to seat myself in

the cars for the accommodation of passengers generally.  Thus

seated, I was sure to be called upon to betake myself to the

"_Jim Crow car_."  Refusing to obey, I was often dragged out of

my seat, beaten, and severely bruised, by conductors and

brakemen.  Attempting to start from Lynn, one day, for

Newburyport, on the Eastern railroad, I went, as my custom was,

into one of the best railroad carriages on the road.  The seats

were very luxuriant and beautiful.  I was soon waited upon by the

conductor, and ordered out; whereupon I demanded the reason for

my invidious removal.  After a good deal of parleying, I was told

that it was because I <310>was black.  This I denied, and

appealed to the company to sustain my denial; but they were

evidently unwilling to commit themselves, on a point so delicate,

and requiring such nice powers of discrimination, for they

remained as dumb as death.  I was soon waited on by half a dozen

fellows of the baser sort (just such as would volunteer to take a

bull-dog out of a meeting-house in time of public worship), and

told that I must move out of that seat, and if I did not, they

would drag me out.  I refused to move, and they clutched me,

head, neck, and shoulders.  But, in anticipation of the

stretching to which I was about to be subjected, I had interwoven

myself among the seats.  In dragging me out, on this occasion, it

must have cost the company twenty-five or thirty dollars, for I

tore up seats and all.  So great was the excitement in Lynn, on

the subject, that the superintendent, Mr. Stephen A. Chase,

ordered the trains to run through Lynn without stopping, while I

remained in that town; and this ridiculous farce was enacted. 

For several days the trains went dashing through Lynn without

stopping.  At the same time that they excluded a free colored man

from their cars, this same company allowed slaves, in company

with their masters and mistresses, to ride unmolested.



After many battles with the railroad conductors, and being

roughly handled in not a few instances, proscription was at last

abandoned; and the "Jim Crow car"--set up for the degradation of

colored people--is nowhere found in New England.  This result was

not brought about without the intervention of the people, and the

threatened enactment of a law compelling railroad companies to

respect the rights of travelers.  Hon. Charles Francis Adams

performed signal service in the Massachusetts legislature, in

bringing this reformation; and to him the colored citizens of

that state are deeply indebted.



Although often annoyed, and sometimes outraged, by this prejudice

against color, I am indebted to it for many passages of quiet

amusement.  A half-cured subject of it is sometimes driven into

awkward straits, especially if he happens to get a genuine

specimen of the race into his house.

<311 AMUSING SCENE>



In the summer of 1843, I was traveling and lecturing, in company

with William A. White, Esq., through the state of Indiana.  Anti-

slavery friends were not very abundant in Indiana, at that time,

and beds were not more plentiful than friends.  We often slept

out, in preference to sleeping in the houses, at some points.  At

the close of one of our meetings, we were invited home with a

kindly-disposed old farmer, who, in the generous enthusiasm of

the moment, seemed to have forgotten that he had but one spare

bed, and that his guests were an ill-matched pair.  All went on

pretty well, till near bed time, when signs of uneasiness began

to show themselves, among the unsophisticated sons and daughters. 

White is remarkably fine looking, and very evidently a born

gentleman; the idea of putting us in the same bed was hardly to

be tolerated; and yet, there we were, and but the one bed for us,

and that, by the way, was in the same room occupied by the other

members of the family.  White, as well as I, perceived the

difficulty, for yonder slept the old folks, there the sons, and a

little farther along slept the daughters; and but one other bed

remained.  Who should have this bed, was the puzzling question. 

There was some whispering between the old folks, some confused

looks among the young, as the time for going to bed approached. 

After witnessing the confusion as long as I liked, I relieved the

kindly-disposed family by playfully saying, "Friend White, having

got entirely rid of my prejudice against color, I think, as a

proof of it, I must allow you to sleep with me to-night."  White

kept up the joke, by seeming to esteem himself the favored party,

and thus the difficulty was removed.  If we went to a hotel, and

called for dinner, the landlord was sure to set one table for

White and another for me, always taking him to be master, and me

the servant.  Large eyes were generally made when the order was

given to remove the dishes from my table to that of White's.  In

those days, it was thought strange that a white man and a colored

man could dine peaceably at the same table, and in some parts the

strangeness of such a sight has not entirely subsided.



Some people will have it that there is a natural, an inherent,

and <312>an invincible repugnance in the breast of the white race

toward dark-colored people; and some very intelligent colored men

think that their proscription is owing solely to the color which

nature has given them.  They hold that they are rated according

to their color, and that it is impossible for white people ever

to look upon dark races of men, or men belonging to the African

race, with other than feelings of aversion.  My experience, both

serious and mirthful, combats this conclusion.  Leaving out of

sight, for a moment, grave facts, to this point, I will state one

or two, which illustrate a very interesting feature of American

character as well as American prejudice.  Riding from Boston to

Albany, a few years ago, I found myself in a large car, well

filled with passengers.  The seat next to me was about the only

vacant one.  At every stopping place we took in new passengers,

all of whom, on reaching the seat next to me, cast a disdainful

glance upon it, and passed to another car, leaving me in the full

enjoyment of a hole form.  For a time, I did not know but that my

riding there was prejudicial to the interest of the railroad

company.  A circumstance occurred, however, which gave me an

elevated position at once.  Among the passengers on this train

was Gov. George N. Briggs.  I was not acquainted with him, and

had no idea that I was known to him, however, I was, for upon

observing me, the governor left his place, and making his way

toward me, respectfully asked the privilege of a seat by my side;

and upon introducing himself, we entered into a conversation very

pleasant and instructive to me.  The despised seat now became

honored.  His excellency had removed all the prejudice against

sitting by the side of a Negro; and upon his leaving it, as he

did, on reaching Pittsfield, there were at least one dozen

applicants for the place.  The governor had, without changing my

skin a single shade, made the place respectable which before was

despicable.



A similar incident happened to me once on the Boston and New

Bedford railroad, and the leading party to it has since been

governor of the state of Massachusetts.  I allude to Col. John

Henry <313 AN INCIDENT>Clifford.  Lest the reader may fancy I am

aiming to elevate myself, by claiming too much intimacy with

great men, I must state that my only acquaintance with Col.

Clifford was formed while I was _his hired servant_, during the

first winter of my escape from slavery.  I owe it him to say,

that in that relation I found him always kind and gentlemanly. 

But to the incident.  I entered a car at Boston, for New Bedford,

which, with the exception of a single seat was full, and found I

must occupy this, or stand up, during the journey.  Having no

mind to do this, I stepped up to the man having the next seat,

and who had a few parcels on the seat, and gently asked leave to

take a seat by his side.  My fellow-passenger gave me a look made

up of reproach and indignation, and asked me why I should come to

that particular seat.  I assured him, in the gentlest manner,

that of all others this was the seat for me.  Finding that I was

actually about to sit down, he sang out, "O! stop, stop! and let

me get out!"  Suiting the action to the word, up the agitated man

got, and sauntered to the other end of the car, and was compelled

to stand for most of the way thereafter.  Halfway to New Bedford,

or more, Col. Clifford, recognizing me, left his seat, and not

having seen me before since I had ceased to wait on him (in

everything except hard arguments against his pro-slavery

position), apparently forgetful of his rank, manifested, in

greeting me, something of the feeling of an old friend.  This

demonstration was not lost on the gentleman whose dignity I had,

an hour before, most seriously offended.  Col. Clifford was known

to be about the most aristocratic gentleman in Bristol county;

and it was evidently thought that I must be somebody, else I

should not have been thus noticed, by a person so distinguished. 

Sure enough, after Col. Clifford left me, I found myself

surrounded with friends; and among the number, my offended friend

stood nearest, and with an apology for his rudeness, which I

could not resist, although it was one of the lamest ever offered. 

With such facts as these before me--and I have many of them--I am

inclined to think that pride and fashion have much to do with

<314>the treatment commonly extended to colored people in the

United States.  I once heard a very plain man say (and he was

cross-eyed, and awkwardly flung together in other respects) that

he should be a handsome man when public opinion shall be changed.



Since I have been editing and publishing a journal devoted to the

cause of liberty and progress, I have had my mind more directed

to the condition and circumstances of the free colored people

than when I was the agent of an abolition society.  The result

has been a corresponding change in the disposition of my time and

labors.  I have felt it to be a part of my mission--under a

gracious Providence to impress my sable brothers in this country

with the conviction that, notwithstanding the ten thousand

discouragements and the powerful hinderances, which beset their

existence in this country--notwithstanding the blood-written

history of Africa, and her children, from whom we have descended,

or the clouds and darkness (whose stillness and gloom are made

only more awful by wrathful thunder and lightning) now

overshadowing them--progress is yet possible, and bright skies

shall yet shine upon their pathway; and that "Ethiopia shall yet

reach forth her hand unto God."



Believing that one of the best means of emancipating the slaves

of the south is to improve and elevate the character of the free

colored people of the north I shall labor in the future, as I

have labored in the past, to promote the moral, social,

religious, and intellectual elevation of the free colored people;

never forgetting my own humble orgin{sic}, nor refusing, while

Heaven lends me ability, to use my voice, my pen, or my vote, to

advocate the great and primary work of the universal and

unconditional emancipation of my entire race.





APPENDIX

_Containing Extracts from

Speeches, etc._





RECEPTION SPEECH[10]

_At Finsbury Chapel, Moorfields, England, May 12, 1846_





Mr. Douglass rose amid loud cheers, and said:  I feel exceedingly

glad of the opportunity now afforded me of presenting the claims

of my brethren in bonds in the United States, to so many in

London and from various parts of Britain, who have assembled here

on the present occasion.  I have nothing to commend me to your

consideration in the way of learning, nothing in the way of

education, to entitle me to your attention; and you are aware

that slavery is a very bad school for rearing teachers of

morality and religion.  Twenty-one years of my life have been

spent in slavery--personal slavery--surrounded by degrading

influences, such as can exist nowhere beyond the pale of slavery;

and it will not be strange, if under such circumstances, I should

betray, in what I have to say to you, a deficiency of that

refinement which is seldom or ever found, except among persons

that have experienced superior advantages to those which I have

enjoyed.  But I will take it for granted that you know something

about the degrading influences of slavery, and that you will not

expect great things from me this evening, but simply such facts

as I may be able to advance immediately in connection with my own

experience of slavery.



Now, what is this system of slavery?  This is the subject of my

lecture this evening--what is the character of this institution? 

I am about to answer the inquiry, what is American slavery?  I do

this the more readily, since I have found persons in this country

who have identified the term slavery with that which I think it

is not, and in some instances, I have feared, in so doing, have

rather (unwittingly, I know) detracted much from the horror with

which the term slavery is contemplated.  It is com-





[10]  Mr. Douglass' published speeches alone, would fill two

volumes of the size of this.  Our space will only permit the

insertion of the extracts which follow; and which, for

originality of thought, beauty and force of expression, and for

impassioned, indignatory eloquence, have seldom been equaled.





<318>mon in this country to distinguish every bad thing by the

name of slavery.  Intemperance is slavery; to be deprived of the

right to vote is slavery, says one; to have to work hard is

slavery, says another; and I do not know but that if we should

let them go on, they would say that to eat when we are hungry, to

walk when we desire to have exercise, or to minister to our

necessities, or have necessities at all, is slavery.  I do not

wish for a moment to detract from the horror with which the evil

of intemperance is contemplated--not at all; nor do I wish to

throw the slightest obstruction in the way of any political

freedom that any class of persons in this country may desire to

obtain.  But I am here to say that I think the term slavery is

sometimes abused by identifying it with that which it is not. 

Slavery in the United States is the granting of that power by

which one man exercises and enforces a right of property in the

body and soul of another.  The condition of a slave is simply

that of the brute beast.  He is a piece of property--a marketable

commodity, in the language of the law, to be bought or sold at

the will and caprice of the master who claims him to be his

property; he is spoken of, thought of, and treated as property. 

His own good, his conscience, his intellect, his affections, are

all set aside by the master.  The will and the wishes of the

master are the law of the slave.  He is as much a piece of

property as a horse.  If he is fed, he is fed because he is

property.  If he is clothed, it is with a view to the increase of

his value as property.  Whatever of comfort is necessary to him

for his body or soul that is inconsistent with his being

property, is carefully wrested from him, not only by public

opinion, but by the law of the country.  He is carefully deprived

of everything that tends in the slightest degree to detract from

his value as property.  He is deprived of education.  God has

given him an intellect; the slaveholder declares it shall not be

cultivated.  If his moral perception leads him in a course

contrary to his value as property, the slaveholder declares he

shall not exercise it.  The marriage institution cannot exist

among slaves, and one-sixth of the population of democratic

America is denied its privileges by the law of the land.  What is

to be thought of a nation boasting of its liberty, boasting of

its humanity, boasting of its Christianity, boasting of its love

of justice and purity, and yet having within its own borders

three millions of persons denied by law the right of marriage?--

what must be the condition of that people?  I need not lift up

the veil by giving you any experience of my own.  Every one that

can put two ideas together, must see the most fearful results

from such a state of things as I have just mentioned.  If any of

these three millions find for themselves companions, and prove

themselves honest, upright, virtuous persons to each other, yet

in these <319>cases--few as I am bound to confess they are--the

virtuous live in constant apprehension of being torn asunder by

the merciless men-stealers that claim them as their property. 

This is American slavery; no marriage--no education--the light of

the gospel shut out from the dark mind of the bondman--and he

forbidden by law to learn to read.  If a mother shall teach her

children to read, the law in Louisiana proclaims that she may be

hanged by the neck.  If the father attempt to give his son a

knowledge of letters, he may be punished by the whip in one

instance, and in another be killed, at the discretion of the

court.  Three millions of people shut out from the light of

knowledge!  It is easy for you to conceive the evil that must

result from such a state of things.



I now come to the physical evils of slavery.  I do not wish to

dwell at length upon these, but it seems right to speak of them,

not so much to influence your minds on this question, as to let

the slaveholders of America know that the curtain which conceals

their crimes is being lifted abroad; that we are opening the dark

cell, and leading the people into the horrible recesses of what

they are pleased to call their domestic institution.  We want

them to know that a knowledge of their whippings, their

scourgings, their brandings, their chainings, is not confined to

their plantations, but that some Negro of theirs has broken loose

from his chains--has burst through the dark incrustation of

slavery, and is now exposing their deeds of deep damnation to the

gaze of the christian people of England.



The slaveholders resort to all kinds of cruelty.  If I were

disposed, I have matter enough to interest you on this question

for five or six evenings, but I will not dwell at length upon

these cruelties.  Suffice it to say, that all of the peculiar

modes of torture that were resorted to in the West India islands,

are resorted to, I believe, even more frequently, in the United

States of America.  Starvation, the bloody whip, the chain, the

gag, the thumb-screw, cat-hauling, the cat-o'-nine-tails, the

dungeon, the blood-hound, are all in requisition to keep the

slave in his condition as a slave in the United States.  If any

one has a doubt upon this point, I would ask him to read the

chapter on slavery in Dickens's _Notes on America_.  If any man

has a doubt upon it, I have here the "testimony of a thousand

witnesses," which I can give at any length, all going to prove

the truth of my statement.  The blood-hound is regularly trained

in the United States, and advertisements are to be found in the

southern papers of the Union, from persons advertising themselves

as blood-hound trainers, and offering to hunt down slaves at

fifteen dollars a piece, recommending their hounds as the

fleetest in the neighborhood, never known to fail. 

Adver<320>tisements are from time to time inserted, stating that

slaves have escaped with iron collars about their necks, with

bands of iron about their feet, marked with the lash, branded

with red-hot irons, the initials of their master's name burned

into their flesh; and the masters advertise the fact of their

being thus branded with their own signature, thereby proving to

the world, that, however damning it may appear to non-slavers,

such practices are not regarded discreditable among the

slaveholders themselves.  Why, I believe if a man should brand

his horse in this country--burn the initials of his name into any

of his cattle, and publish the ferocious deed here--that the

united execrations of Christians in Britain would descend upon

him.  Yet in the United States, human beings are thus branded. 

As Whittier says--

            . . . _Our countrymen in chains,

            The whip on woman's shrinking flesh,

            Our soil yet reddening with the stains

            Caught from her scourgings warm and fresh_.





The slave-dealer boldly publishes his infamous acts to the world. 

Of all things that have been said of slavery to which exception

has been taken by slaveholders, this, the charge of cruelty,

stands foremost, and yet there is no charge capable of clearer

demonstration, than that of the most barbarous inhumanity on the

part of the slaveholders toward their slaves.  And all this is

necessary; it is necessary to resort to these cruelties, in order

to _make the slave a slave_, and to _keep him a slave_.  Why, my

experience all goes to prove the truth of what you will call a

marvelous proposition, that the better you treat a slave, the

more you destroy his value _as a slave_, and enhance the

probability of his eluding the grasp of the slaveholder; the more

kindly you treat him, the more wretched you make him, while you

keep him in the condition of a slave.  My experience, I say,

confirms the truth of this proposition.  When I was treated

exceedingly ill; when my back was being scourged daily; when I

was whipped within an inch of my life--_life_ was all I cared

for.  "Spare my life," was my continual prayer.  When I was

looking for the blow about to be inflicted upon my head, I was

not thinking of my liberty; it was my life.  But, as soon as the

blow was not to be feared, then came the longing for liberty.  If

a slave has a bad master, his ambition is to get a better; when

he gets a better, he aspires to have the best; and when he gets

the best, he aspires to be his own master.  But the slave must be

brutalized to keep him as a slave.  The slaveholder feels this

necessity.  I admit this necessity.  If it be right to hold

slaves at all, it is right to hold <321>them in the only way in

which they can be held; and this can be done only by shutting out

the light of education from their minds, and brutalizing their

persons.  The whip, the chain, the gag, the thumb-screw, the

blood-hound, the stocks, and all the other bloody paraphernalia

of the slave system, are indispensably necessary to the relation

of master and slave.  The slave must be subjected to these, or he

ceases to be a slave.  Let him know that the whip is burned; that

the fetters have been turned to some useful and profitable

employment; that the chain is no longer for his limbs; that the

blood-hound is no longer to be put upon his track; that his

master's authority over him is no longer to be enforced by taking

his life--and immediately he walks out from the house of bondage

and asserts his freedom as a man.  The slaveholder finds it

necessary to have these implements to keep the slave in bondage;

finds it necessary to be able to say, "Unless you do so and so;

unless you do as I bid you--I will take away your life!"



Some of the most awful scenes of cruelty are constantly taking

place in the middle states of the Union.  We have in those states

what are called the slave-breeding states.  Allow me to speak

plainly.  Although it is harrowing to your feelings, it is

necessary that the facts of the case should be stated.  We have

in the United States slave-breeding states.  The very state from

which the minister from our court to yours comes, is one of these

states--Maryland, where men, women, and children are reared for

the market, just as horses, sheep, and swine are raised for the

market.  Slave-rearing is there looked upon as a legitimate

trade; the law sanctions it, public opinion upholds it, the

church does not condemn it.  It goes on in all its bloody

horrors, sustained by the auctioneer's block.  If you would see

the cruelties of this system, hear the following narrative.  Not

long since the following scene occurred.  A slave-woman and a

slaveman had united themselves as man and wife in the absence of

any law to protect them as man and wife.  They had lived together

by the permission, not by right, of their master, and they had

reared a family.  The master found it expedient, and for his

interest, to sell them.  He did not ask them their wishes in

regard to the matter at all; they were not consulted.  The man

and woman were brought to the auctioneer's block, under the sound

of the hammer.  The cry was raised, "Here goes; who bids cash?" 

Think of it--a man and wife to be sold!  The woman was placed on

the auctioneer's block; her limbs, as is customary, were brutally

exposed to the purchasers, who examined her with all the freedom

with which they would examine a horse.  There stood the husband,

powerless; no right to his wife; the master's right preeminent. 

She was sold.  He was next <322>brought to the auctioneer's

block.  His eyes followed his wife in the distance; and he looked

beseechingly, imploringly, to the man that had bought his wife,

to buy him also.  But he was at length bid off to another person. 

He was about to be separated forever from her he loved.  No word

of his, no work of his, could save him from this separation.  He

asked permission of his new master to go and take the hand of his

wife at parting.  It was denied him.  In the agony of his soul he

rushed from the man who had just bought him, that he might take a

farewell of his wife; but his way was obstructed, he was struck

over the head with a loaded whip, and was held for a moment; but

his agony was too great.  When he was let go, he fell a corpse at

the feet of his master.  His heart was broken.  Such scenes are

the everyday fruits of American slavery.  Some two years since,

the Hon. Seth. M. Gates, an anti-slavery gentleman of the state

of New York, a representative in the congress of the United

States, told me he saw with his own eyes the following

circumstances.  In the national District of Columbia, over which

the star-spangled emblem is constantly waving, where orators are

ever holding forth on the subject of American liberty, American

democracy, American republicanism, there are two slave prisons. 

When going across a bridge, leading to one of these prisons, he

saw a young woman run out, bare-footed and bare-headed, and with

very little clothing on.  She was running with all speed to the

bridge he was approaching.  His eye was fixed upon her, and he

stopped to see what was the matter.  He had not paused long

before he saw three men run out after her.  He now knew what the

nature of the case was; a slave escaping from her chains--a young

woman, a sister--escaping from the bondage in which she had been

held.  She made her way to the bridge, but had not reached, ere

from the Virginia side there came two slaveholders.  As soon as

they saw them, her pursuers called out, "Stop her!"  True to

their Virginian instincts, they came to the rescue of their

brother kidnappers, across the bridge.  The poor girl now saw

that there was no chance for her.  It was a trying time.  She

knew if she went back, she must be a slave forever--she must be

dragged down to the scenes of pollution which the slaveholders

continually provide for most of the poor, sinking, wretched young

women, whom they call their property.  She formed her resolution;

and just as those who were about to take her, were going to put

hands upon her, to drag her back, she leaped over the balustrades

of the bridge, and down she went to rise no more.  She chose

death, rather than to go back into the hands of those christian

slaveholders from whom she had escaped.



Can it be possible that such things as these exist in the United

States?  <323>Are not these the exceptions?  Are any such scenes

as this general?  Are not such deeds condemned by the law and

denounced by public opinion?  Let me read to you a few of the

laws of the slaveholding states of America.  I think no better

exposure of slavery can be made than is made by the laws of the

states in which slavery exists.  I prefer reading the laws to

making any statement in confirmation of what I have said myself;

for the slaveholders cannot object to this testimony, since it is

the calm, the cool, the deliberate enactment of their wisest

heads, of their most clear-sighted, their own constituted

representatives.  "If more than seven slaves together are found

in any road without a white person, twenty lashes a piece; for

visiting a plantation without a written pass, ten lashes; for

letting loose a boat from where it is made fast, thirty-nine

lashes for the first offense; and for the second, shall have cut

off from his head one ear; for keeping or carrying a club,

thirty-nine lashes; for having any article for sale, without a

ticket from his master, ten lashes; for traveling in any other

than the most usual and accustomed road, when going alone to any

place, forty lashes; for traveling in the night without a pass,

forty lashes."  I am afraid you do not understand the awful

character of these lashes.  You must bring it before your mind. 

A human being in a perfect state of nudity, tied hand and foot to

a stake, and a strong man standing behind with a heavy whip,

knotted at the end, each blow cutting into the flesh, and leaving

the warm blood dripping to the feet; and for these trifles.  "For

being found in another person's negro-quarters, forty lashes; for

hunting with dogs in the woods, thirty lashes; for being on

horseback without the written permission of his master, twenty-

five lashes; for riding or going abroad in the night, or riding

horses in the day time, without leave, a slave may be whipped,

cropped, or branded in the cheek with the letter R. or otherwise

punished, such punishment not extending to life, or so as to

render him unfit for labor."  The laws referred to, may be found

by consulting _Brevard's Digest; Haywood's Manual; Virginia

Revised Code; Prince's Digest; Missouri Laws; Mississippi Revised

Code_.  A man, for going to visit his brethren, without the

permission of his master--and in many instances he may not have

that permission; his master, from caprice or other reasons, may

not be willing to allow it--may be caught on his way, dragged to

a post, the branding-iron heated, and the name of his master or

the letter R branded into his cheek or on his forehead.  They

treat slaves thus, on the principle that they must punish for

light offenses, in order to prevent the commission of larger

ones.  I wish you to mark that in the single state of Virginia

there are seventy-one crimes for which a colored man may be

executed; while there are only three of <324>these crimes, which,

when committed by a white man, will subject him to that

punishment.  There are many of these crimes which if the white

man did not commit, he would be regarded as a scoundrel and a

coward.  In the state of Maryland, there is a law to this effect:

that if a slave shall strike his master, he may be hanged, his

head severed from his body, his body quartered, and his head and

quarters set up in the most prominent places in the neighborhood. 

If a colored woman, in the defense of her own virtue, in defense

of her own person, should shield herself from the brutal attacks

of her tyrannical master, or make the slightest resistance, she

may be killed on the spot.  No law whatever will bring the guilty

man to justice for the crime.



But you will ask me, can these things be possible in a land

professing Christianity?  Yes, they are so; and this is not the

worst.  No; a darker feature is yet to be presented than the mere

existence of these facts.  I have to inform you that the religion

of the southern states, at this time, is the great supporter, the

great sanctioner of the bloody atrocities to which I have

referred.  While America is printing tracts and bibles; sending

missionaries abroad to convert the heathen; expending her money

in various ways for the promotion of the gospel in foreign

lands--the slave not only lies forgotten, uncared for, but is

trampled under foot by the very churches of the land.  What have

we in America?  Why, we have slavery made part of the religion of

the land.  Yes, the pulpit there stands up as the great defender

of this cursed _institution_, as it is called.  Ministers of

religion come forward and torture the hallowed pages of inspired

wisdom to sanction the bloody deed.  They stand forth as the

foremost, the strongest defenders of this "institution."  As a

proof of this, I need not do more than state the general fact,

that slavery has existed under the droppings of the sanctuary of

the south for the last two hundred years, and there has not been

any war between the _religion_ and the _slavery_ of the south. 

Whips, chains, gags, and thumb-screws have all lain under the

droppings of the sanctuary, and instead of rusting from off the

limbs of the bondman, those droppings have served to preserve

them in all their strength.  Instead of preaching the gospel

against this tyranny, rebuke, and wrong, ministers of religion

have sought, by all and every means, to throw in the back-ground

whatever in the bible could be construed into opposition to

slavery, and to bring forward that which they could torture into

its support.  This I conceive to be the darkest feature of

slavery, and the most difficult to attack, because it is

identified with religion, and exposes those who denounce it to

the charge of infidelity.  Yes, those with whom I have been

laboring, namely, the old <325>organization anti-slavery society

of America, have been again and again stigmatized as infidels,

and for what reason?  Why, solely in consequence of the

faithfulness of their attacks upon the slaveholding religion of

the southern states, and the northern religion that sympathizes

with it.  I have found it difficult to speak on this matter

without persons coming forward and saying, "Douglass, are you not

afraid of injuring the cause of Christ?  You do not desire to do

so, we know; but are you not undermining religion?"  This has

been said to me again and again, even since I came to this

country, but I cannot be induced to leave off these exposures.  I

love the religion of our blessed Savior.  I love that religion

that comes from above, in the "wisdom of God, which is first

pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of

mercy and good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy. 

I love that religion that sends its votaries to bind up the

wounds of him that has fallen among thieves.  I love that

religion that makes it the duty of its disciples to visit the

father less and the widow in their affliction.  I love that

religion that is based upon the glorious principle, of love to

God and love to man; which makes its followers do unto others as

they themselves would be done by.  If you demand liberty to

yourself, it says, grant it to your neighbors.  If you claim a

right to think for yourself, it says, allow your neighbors the

same right.  If you claim to act for yourself, it says, allow

your neighbors the same right.  It is because I love this

religion that I hate the slaveholding, the woman-whipping, the

mind-darkening, the soul-destroying religion that exists in the

southern states of America.  It is because I regard the one as

good, and pure, and holy, that I cannot but regard the other as

bad, corrupt, and wicked.  Loving the one I must hate the other;

holding to the one I must reject the other.



I may be asked, why I am so anxious to bring this subject before

the British public--why I do not confine my efforts to the United

States?  My answer is, first, that slavery is the common enemy of

mankind, and all mankind should be made acquainted with its

abominable character.  My next answer is, that the slave is a

man, and, as such, is entitled to your sympathy as a brother. 

All the feelings, all the susceptibilities, all the capacities,

which you have, he has.  He is a part of the human family.  He

has been the prey--the common prey--of Christendom for the last

three hundred years, and it is but right, it is but just, it is

but proper, that his wrongs should be known throughout the world. 

I have another reason for bringing this matter before the British

public, and it is this: slavery is a system of wrong, so blinding

to all around, so hardening to the heart, so corrupting to the

morals, so deleterious to religion, so <326>sapping to all the

principles of justice in its immediate vicinity, that the

community surrounding it lack the moral stamina necessary to its

removal.  It is a system of such gigantic evil, so strong, so

overwhelming in its power, that no one nation is equal to its

removal.  It requires the humanity of Christianity, the morality

of the world to remove it.  Hence, I call upon the people of

Britain to look at this matter, and to exert the influence I am

about to show they possess, for the removal of slavery from

America.  I can appeal to them, as strongly by their regard for

the slaveholder as for the slave, to labor in this cause.  I am

here, because you have an influence on America that no other

nation can have.  You have been drawn together by the power of

steam to a marvelous extent; the distance between London and

Boston is now reduced to some twelve or fourteen days, so that

the denunciations against slavery, uttered in London this week,

may be heard in a fortnight in the streets of Boston, and

reverberating amidst the hills of Massachusetts.  There is

nothing said here against slavery that will not be recorded in

the United States.  I am here, also, because the slaveholders do

not want me to be here; they would rather that I were not here. 

I have adopted a maxim laid down by Napoleon, never to occupy

ground which the enemy would like me to occupy.  The slaveholders

would much rather have me, if I will denounce slavery, denounce

it in the northern states, where their friends and supporters

are, who will stand by and mob me for denouncing it.  They feel

something as the man felt, when he uttered his prayer, in which

he made out a most horrible case for himself, and one of his

neighbors touched him and said, "My friend, I always had the

opinion of you that you have now expressed for yourself--that you

are a very great sinner."  Coming from himself, it was all very

well, but coming from a stranger it was rather cutting.  The

slaveholders felt that when slavery was denounced among

themselves, it was not so bad; but let one of the slaves get

loose, let him summon the people of Britain, and make known to

them the conduct of the slaveholders toward their slaves, and it

cuts them to the quick, and produces a sensation such as would be

produced by nothing else.  The power I exert now is something

like the power that is exerted by the man at the end of the

lever; my influence now is just in proportion to the distance

that I am from the United States.  My exposure of slavery abroad

will tell more upon the hearts and consciences of slaveholders,

than if I was attacking them in America; for almost every paper

that I now receive from the United States, comes teeming with

statements about this fugitive Negro, calling him a "glib-tongued

scoundrel," and saying that he is running out against the

institutions and people of America.  I deny the charge that I am

saying a word against the institutions of America, <327>or the

people, as such.  What I have to say is against slavery and

slaveholders.  I feel at liberty to speak on this subject.  I

have on my back the marks of the lash; I have four sisters and

one brother now under the galling chain.  I feel it my duty to

cry aloud and spare not.  I am not averse to having the good

opinion of my fellow creatures.  I am not averse to being kindly

regarded by all men; but I am bound, even at the hazard of making

a large class of religionists in this country hate me, oppose me,

and malign me as they have done--I am bound by the prayers, and

tears, and entreaties of three millions of kneeling bondsmen, to

have no compromise with men who are in any shape or form

connected with the slaveholders of America.  I expose slavery in

this country, because to expose it is to kill it.  Slavery is one

of those monsters of darkness to whom the light of truth is

death.  Expose slavery, and it dies.  Light is to slavery what

the heat of the sun is to the root of a tree; it must die under

it.  All the slaveholder asks of me is silence.  He does not ask

me to go abroad and preach _in favor_ of slavery; he does not ask

any one to do that.  He would not say that slavery is a good

thing, but the best under the circumstances.  The slaveholders

want total darkness on the subject.  They want the hatchway shut

down, that the monster may crawl in his den of darkness, crushing

human hopes and happiness, destroying the bondman at will, and

having no one to reprove or rebuke him.  Slavery shrinks from the

light; it hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest its

deeds should be reproved.  To tear off the mask from this

abominable system, to expose it to the light of heaven, aye, to

the heat of the sun, that it may burn and wither it out of

existence, is my object in coming to this country.  I want the

slaveholder surrounded, as by a wall of anti-slavery fire, so

that he may see the condemnation of himself and his system

glaring down in letters of light.  I want him to feel that he has

no sympathy in England, Scotland, or Ireland; that he has none in

Canada, none in Mexico, none among the poor wild Indians; that

the voice of the civilized, aye, and savage world is against him. 

I would have condemnation blaze down upon him in every direction,

till, stunned and overwhelmed with shame and confusion, he is

compelled to let go the grasp he holds upon the persons of his

victims, and restore them to their long-lost rights.





_Dr. Campbell's Reply_





From Rev. Dr. Campbell's brilliant reply we extract the

following:  FREDERICK DOUGLASS, the beast of burden," the portion

of "goods and chattels," the representative of three millions of

men, has been raised <328>up!  Shall I say the _man?_  If there

is a man on earth, he is a man.  My blood boiled within me when I

heard his address tonight, and thought that he had left behind

him three millions of such men.



We must see more of this man; we must have more of this man.  One

would have taken a voyage round the globe some forty years back--

especially since the introduction of steam--to have heard such an

exposure of slavery from the lips of a slave.  It will be an era

in the individual history of the present assembly.  Our

children--our boys and girls--I have tonight seen the delightful

sympathy of their hearts evinced by their heaving breasts, while

their eyes sparkled with wonder and admiration, that this black

man--this slave--had so much logic, so much wit, so much fancy,

so much eloquence.  He was something more than a man, according

to their little notions.  Then, I say, we must hear him again. 

We have got a purpose to accomplish.  He has appealed to the

pulpit of England.  The English pulpit is with him.  He has

appealed to the press of England; the press of England is

conducted by English hearts, and that press will do him justice. 

About ten days hence, and his second master, who may well prize

"such a piece of goods," will have the pleasure of reading his

burning words, and his first master will bless himself that he

has got quit of him.  We have to create public opinion, or

rather, not to create it, for it is created already; but we have

to foster it; and when tonight I heard those magnificent words--

the words of Curran, by which my heart, from boyhood, has

ofttimes been deeply moved--I rejoice to think that they embody

an instinct of an Englishman's nature.  I heard, with

inexpressible delight, how they told on this mighty mass of the

citizens of the metropolis.



Britain has now no slaves; we can therefore talk to the other

nations now, as we could not have talked a dozen years ago.  I

want the whole of the London ministry to meet Douglass.  For as

his appeal is to England, and throughout England, I should

rejoice in the idea of churchmen and dissenters merging all

sectional distinctions in this cause.  Let us have a public

breakfast.  Let the ministers meet him; let them hear him; let

them grasp his hand; and let him enlist their sympathies on

behalf of the slave.  Let him inspire them with abhorrence of the

man-stealer--the slaveholder.  No slaveholding American shall

ever my cross my door.  No slaveholding or slavery-supporting

minister shall ever pollute my pulpit.  While I have a tongue to

speak, or a hand to write, I will, to the utmost of my power,

oppose these slaveholding men.  We must have Douglass amongst us

to aid in fostering public opinion.



The great conflict with slavery must now take place in America;

and <329>while they are adding other slave states to the Union,

our business is to step forward and help the abolitionists there. 

It is a pleasing circumstance that such a body of men has risen

in America, and whilst we hurl our thunders against her slavers,

let us make a distinction between those who advocate slavery and

those who oppose it.  George Thompson has been there.  This man,

Frederick Douglass, has been there, and has been compelled to

flee.  I wish, when he first set foot on our shores, he had made

a solemn vow, and said, "Now that I am free, and in the sanctuary

of freedom, I will never return till I have seen the emancipation

of my country completed."  He wants to surround these men, the

slaveholders, as by a wall of fire; and he himself may do much

toward kindling it.  Let him travel over the island--east, west,

north, and south--everywhere diffusing knowledge and awakening

principle, till the whole nation become a body of petitioners to

America.  He will, he must, do it.  He must for a season make

England his home.  He must send for his wife.  He must send for

his children.  I want to see the sons and daughters of such a

sire.  We, too, must do something for him and them worthy of the

English name.  I do not like the idea of a man of such mental

dimensions, such moral courage, and all but incomparable talent,

having his own small wants, and the wants of a distant wife and

children, supplied by the poor profits of his publication, the

sketch of his life.  Let the pamphlet be bought by tens of

thousands.  But we will do something more for him, shall we not?



It only remains that we pass a resolution of thanks to Frederick

Douglass, the slave that was, the man that is!  He that was

covered with chains, and that is now being covered with glory,

and whom we will send back a gentleman.







LETTER TO HIS OLD MASTER.[11]

_To My Old Master, Thomas Auld_







SIR--The long and intimate, though by no means friendly, relation

which unhappily subsisted between you and myself, leads me to

hope that you will easily account for the great liberty which I

now take in addressing you in this open and public manner.  The

same fact may remove any disagreeable surprise which you may

experience on again finding your name coupled with mine, in any

other way than in an advertisement, accurately describing my

person, and offering a large sum for my arrest.  In thus dragging

you again before the public, I am aware that I shall subject

myself to no inconsiderable amount of censure.  I shall probably

be charged with an unwarrantable, if not a wanton and reckless

disregard of the rights and properties of private life.  There

are those north as well as south who entertain a much higher

respect for rights which are merely conventional, than they do

for rights which are personal and essential.  Not a few there are

in our country, who, while they have no scruples against robbing

the laborer of the hard earned results of his patient industry,

will be shocked by the extremely indelicate manner of bringing

your name before the public.  Believing this to be the case, and

wishing to meet every reasonable or plausible objection to my

conduct, I will frankly state the ground upon which I justfy{sic}

myself in this instance, as well as on former occasions when I

have thought proper to mention your name in public.  All will

agree that a man guilty of theft, robbery, or murder, has

forfeited the right to concealment and private life; that the

community have a right to subject such persons to the most

complete exposure.  However much they may desire retirement, and

aim to conceal themselves and their movements from the popular

gaze, the public have a right to ferret them out, and bring their

conduct before





[11]  It is not often that chattels address their owners.  The

following letter is unique; and probably the only specimen of the

kind extant.  It was written while in England.





<331>the proper tribunals of the country for investigation.  Sir,

you will undoubtedly make the proper application of these

generally admitted principles, and will easily see the light in

which you are regarded by me; I will not therefore manifest ill

temper, by calling you hard names.  I know you to be a man of

some intelligence, and can readily determine the precise estimate

which I entertain of your character.  I may therefore indulge in

language which may seem to others indirect and ambiguous, and yet

be quite well understood by yourself.



I have selected this day on which to address you, because it is

the anniversary of my emancipation; and knowing no better way, I

am led to this as the best mode of celebrating that truly

important events.  Just ten years ago this beautiful September

morning, yon bright sun beheld me a slave--a poor degraded

chattel--trembling at the sound of your voice, lamenting that I

was a man, and wishing myself a brute.  The hopes which I had

treasured up for weeks of a safe and successful escape from your

grasp, were powerfully confronted at this last hour by dark

clouds of doubt and fear, making my person shake and my bosom to

heave with the heavy contest between hope and fear.  I have no

words to describe to you the deep agony of soul which I

experienced on that never-to-be-forgotten morning--for I left by

daylight.  I was making a leap in the dark.  The probabilities,

so far as I could by reason determine them, were stoutly against

the undertaking.  The preliminaries and precautions I had adopted

previously, all worked badly.  I was like one going to war

without weapons--ten chances of defeat to one of victory.  One in

whom I had confided, and one who had promised me assistance,

appalled by fear at the trial hour, deserted me, thus leaving the

responsibility of success or failure solely with myself.  You,

sir, can never know my feelings.  As I look back to them, I can

scarcely realize that I have passed through a scene so trying. 

Trying, however, as they were, and gloomy as was the prospect,

thanks be to the Most High, who is ever the God of the oppressed,

at the moment which was to determine my whole earthly career, His

grace was sufficient; my mind was made up.  I embraced the golden

opportunity, took the morning tide at the flood, and a free man,

young, active, and strong, is the result.



I have often thought I should like to explain to you the grounds

upon which I have justified myself in running away from you.  I

am almost ashamed to do so now, for by this time you may have

discovered them yourself.  I will, however, glance at them.  When

yet but a child about six years old, I imbibed the determination

to run away.  The very first mental <332>effort that I now

remember on my part, was an attempt to solve the mystery--why am

I a slave? and with this question my youthful mind was troubled

for many days, pressing upon me more heavily at times than

others.  When I saw the slave-driver whip a slave-woman, cut the

blood out of her neck, and heard her piteous cries, I went away

into the corner of the fence, wept and pondered over the mystery. 

I had, through some medium, I know not what, got some idea of

God, the Creator of all mankind, the black and the white, and

that he had made the blacks to serve the whites as slaves.  How

he could do this and be _good_, I could not tell.  I was not

satisfied with this theory, which made God responsible for

slavery, for it pained me greatly, and I have wept over it long

and often.  At one time, your first wife, Mrs. Lucretia, heard me

sighing and saw me shedding tears, and asked of me the matter,

but I was afraid to tell her.  I was puzzled with this question,

till one night while sitting in the kitchen, I heard some of the

old slaves talking of their parents having been stolen from

Africa by white men, and were sold here as slaves.  The whole

mystery was solved at once.  Very soon after this, my Aunt Jinny

and Uncle Noah ran away, and the great noise made about it by

your father-in-law, made me for the first time acquainted with

the fact, that there were free states as well as slave states. 

From that time, I resolved that I would some day run away.  The

morality of the act I dispose of as follows:  I am myself; you

are yourself; we are two distinct persons, equal persons.  What

you are, I am.  You are a man, and so am I.  God created both,

and made us separate beings.  I am not by nature bond to you, or

you to me.  Nature does not make your existence depend upon me,

or mine to depend upon yours.  I cannot walk upon your legs, or

you upon mine.  I cannot breathe for you, or you for me; I must

breathe for myself, and you for yourself.  We are distinct

persons, and are each equally provided with faculties necessary

to our individual existence.  In leaving you, I took nothing but

what belonged to me, and in no way lessened your means for

obtaining an _honest_ living.  Your faculties remained yours, and

mine became useful to their rightful owner.  I therefore see no

wrong in any part of the transaction.  It is true, I went off

secretly; but that was more your fault than mine.  Had I let you

into the secret, you would have defeated the enterprise entirely;

but for this, I should have been really glad to have made you

acquainted with my intentions to leave.



You may perhaps want to know how I like my present condition.  I

am free to say, I greatly prefer it to that which I occupied in

Maryland.  I am, however, by no means prejudiced against the

state as such.  Its geography, climate, fertility, and products,

are such as to make it a very <333>desirable abode for any man;

and but for the existence of slavery there, it is not impossible

that I might again take up my abode in that state.  It is not

that I love Maryland less, but freedom more.  You will be

surprised to learn that people at the north labor under the

strange delusion that if the slaves were emancipated at the

south, they would flock to the north.  So far from this being the

case, in that event, you would see many old and familiar faces

back again to the south.  The fact is, there are few here who

would not return to the south in the event of emancipation.  We

want to live in the land of our birth, and to lay our bones by

the side of our fathers; and nothing short of an intense love of

personal freedom keeps us from the south.  For the sake of this,

most of us would live on a crust of bread and a cup of cold

water.



Since I left you, I have had a rich experience.  I have occupied

stations which I never dreamed of when a slave.  Three out of the

ten years since I left you, I spent as a common laborer on the

wharves of New Bedford, Massachusetts.  It was there I earned my

first free dollar.  It was mine.  I could spend it as I pleased. 

I could buy hams or herring with it, without asking any odds of

anybody.  That was a precious dollar to me.  You remember when I

used to make seven, or eight, or even nine dollars a week in

Baltimore, you would take every cent of it from me every Saturday

night, saying that I belonged to you, and my earnings also.  I

never liked this conduct on your part--to say the best, I thought

it a little mean.  I would not have served you so.  But let that

pass.  I was a little awkward about counting money in New England

fashion when I first landed in New Bedford.  I came near

betraying myself several times.  I caught myself saying phip, for

fourpence; and at one time a man actually charged me with being a

runaway, whereupon I was silly enough to become one by running

away from him, for I was greatly afraid he might adopt measures

to get me again into slavery, a condition I then dreaded more

than death.



I soon learned, however, to count money, as well as to make it,

and got on swimmingly.  I married soon after leaving you; in

fact, I was engaged to be married before I left you; and instead

of finding my companion a burden, she was truly a helpmate.  She

went to live at service, and I to work on the wharf, and though

we toiled hard the first winter, we never lived more happily. 

After remaining in New Bedford for three years, I met with

William Lloyd Garrison, a person of whom you have _possibly_

heard, as he is pretty generally known among slaveholders.  He

put it into my head that I might make myself serviceable to the

cause of the slave, by devoting a portion of my time to telling

my own sorrows, and those of other slaves, which had come under

my observation.  This <334>was the commencement of a higher state

of existence than any to which I had ever aspired.  I was thrown

into society the most pure, enlightened, and benevolent, that the

country affords.  Among these I have never forgotten you, but

have invariably made you the topic of conversation--thus giving

you all the notoriety I could do.  I need not tell you that the

opinion formed of you in these circles is far from being

favorable.  They have little respect for your honesty, and less

for your religion.



But I was going on to relate to you something of my interesting

experience.  I had not long enjoyed the excellent society to

which I have referred, before the light of its excellence exerted

a beneficial influence on my mind and heart.  Much of my early

dislike of white persons was removed, and their manners, habits,

and customs, so entirely unlike what I had been used to in the

kitchen-quarters on the plantations of the south, fairly charmed

me, and gave me a strong disrelish for the coarse and degrading

customs of my former condition.  I therefore made an effort so to

improve my mind and deportment, as to be somewhat fitted to the

station to which I seemed almost providentially called.  The

transition from degradation to respectability was indeed great,

and to get from one to the other without carrying some marks of

one's former condition, is truly a difficult matter.  I would not

have you think that I am now entirely clear of all plantation

peculiarities, but my friends here, while they entertain the

strongest dislike to them, regard me with that charity to which

my past life somewhat entitles me, so that my condition in this

respect is exceedingly pleasant.  So far as my domestic affairs

are concerned, I can boast of as comfortable a dwelling as your

own.  I have an industrious and neat companion, and four dear

children--the oldest a girl of nine years, and three fine boys,

the oldest eight, the next six, and the youngest four years old. 

The three oldest are now going regularly to school--two can read

and write, and the other can spell, with tolerable correctness,

words of two syllables.  Dear fellows! they are all in

comfortable beds, and are sound asleep, perfectly secure under my

own roof.  There are no slaveholders here to rend my heart by

snatching them from my arms, or blast a mother's dearest hopes by

tearing them from her bosom.  These dear children are ours--not

to work up into rice, sugar, and tobacco, but to watch over,

regard, and protect, and to rear them up in the nurture and

admonition of the gospel--to train them up in the paths of wisdom

and virtue, and, as far as we can, to make them useful to the

world and to themselves.  Oh! sir, a slaveholder never appears to

me so completely an agent of hell, as when I think of and look

upon my dear children.  It is then that my feelings rise above my

control.  I meant to have said more with respect to my own

prosperity and happiness, but thoughts and feel<335>ings which

this recital has quickened, unfit me to proceed further in that

direction.  The grim horrors of slavery rise in all their ghastly

terror before me; the wails of millions pierce my heart and chill

my blood.  I remember the chain, the gag, the bloody whip; the

death-like gloom overshadowing the broken spirit of the fettered

bondman; the appalling liability of his being torn away from wife

and children, and sold like a beast in the market.  Say not that

this is a picture of fancy.  You well know that I wear stripes on

my back, inflicted by your direction; and that you, while we were

brothers in the same church, caused this right hand, with which I

am now penning this letter, to be closely tied to my left, and my

person dragged, at the pistol's mouth, fifteen miles, from the

Bay Side to Easton, to be sold like a beast in the market, for

the alleged crime of intending to escape from your possession. 

All this, and more, you remember, and know to be perfectly true,

not only of yourself, but of nearly all of the slaveholders

around you.



At this moment, you are probably the guilty holder of at least

three of my own dear sisters, and my only brother, in bondage. 

These you regard as your property.  They are recorded on your

ledger, or perhaps have been sold to human flesh-mongers, with a

view to filling our own ever-hungry purse.  Sir, I desire to know

how and where these dear sisters are.  Have you sold them? or are

they still in your possession?  What has become of them? are they

living or dead?  And my dear old grandmother, whom you turned out

like an old horse to die in the woods--is she still alive?  Write

and let me know all about them.  If my grandmother be still

alive, she is of no service to you, for by this time she must be

nearly eighty years old--too old to be cared for by one to whom

she has ceased to be of service; send her to me at Rochester, or

bring her to Philadelphia, and it shall be the crowning happiness

of my life to take care of her in her old age.  Oh! she was to me

a mother and a father, so far as hard toil for my comfort could

make her such.  Send me my grandmother! that I may watch over and

take care of her in her old age.  And my sisters--let me know all

about them.  I would write to them, and learn all I want to know

of them, without disturbing you in any way, but that, through

your unrighteous conduct, they have been entirely deprived of the

power to read and write.  You have kept them in utter ignorance,

and have therefore robbed them of the sweet enjoyments of writing

or receiving letters from absent friends and relatives.  Your

wickedness and cruelty, committed in this respect on your fellow-

creatures, are greater than all the stripes you have laid upon my

back or theirs.  It is an outrage upon the soul, a war upon the

immortal spirit, and one for which you must give account at the

bar of our common Father and Creator.

<336>



The responsibility which you have assumed in this regard is truly

awful, and how you could stagger under it these many years is

marvelous.  Your mind must have become darkened, your heart

hardened, your conscience seared and petrified, or you would have

long since thrown off the accursed load, and sought relief at the

hands of a sin-forgiving God.  How, let me ask, would you look

upon me, were I, some dark night, in company with a band of

hardened villains, to enter the precincts of your elegant

dwelling, and seize the person of your own lovely daughter,

Amanda, and carry her off from your family, friends, and all the

loved ones of her youth--make her my slave--compel her to work,

and I take her wages--place her name on my ledger as property--

disregard her personal rights--fetter the powers of her immortal

soul by denying her the right and privilege of learning to read

and write--feed her coarsely--clothe her scantily, and whip her

on the naked back occasionally; more, and still more horrible,

leave her unprotected--a degraded victim to the brutal lust of

fiendish overseers, who would pollute, blight, and blast her fair

soul--rob her of all dignity--destroy her virtue, and annihilate

in her person all the graces that adorn the character of virtuous

womanhood?  I ask, how would you regard me, if such were my

conduct?  Oh! the vocabulary of the damned would not afford a

word sufficiently infernal to express your idea of my God-

provoking wickedness.  Yet, sir, your treatment of my beloved

sisters is in all essential points precisely like the case I have

now supposed.  Damning as would be such a deed on my part, it

would be no more so than that which you have committed against me

and my sisters.



I will now bring this letter to a close; you shall hear from me

again unless you let me hear from you.  I intend to make use of

you as a weapon with which to assail the system of slavery--as a

means of concentrating public attention on the system, and

deepening the horror of trafficking in the souls and bodies of

men.  I shall make use of you as a means of exposing the

character of the American church and clergy--and as a means of

bringing this guilty nation, with yourself, to repentance.  In

doing this, I entertain no malice toward you personally.  There

is no roof under which you would be more safe than mine, and

there is nothing in my house which you might need for your

comfort, which I would not readily grant.  Indeed, I should

esteem it a privilege to set you an example as to how mankind

ought to treat each other.



            _I am your fellow-man, but not your slave_.



THE NATURE OF SLAVERY

_Extract from a Lecture on Slavery, at Rochester,

December 1, 1850_





More than twenty years of my life were consumed in a state of

slavery.  My childhood was environed by the baneful peculiarities

of the slave system.  I grew up to manhood in the presence of

this hydra headed monster--not as a master--not as an idle

spectator--not as the guest of the slaveholder--but as A SLAVE,

eating the bread and drinking the cup of slavery with the most

degraded of my brother-bondmen, and sharing with them all the

painful conditions of their wretched lot.  In consideration of

these facts, I feel that I have a right to speak, and to speak

_strongly_.  Yet, my friends, I feel bound to speak truly.



Goading as have been the cruelties to which I have been

subjected--bitter as have been the trials through which I have

passed--exasperating as have been, and still are, the indignities

offered to my manhood--I find in them no excuse for the slightest

departure from truth in dealing with any branch of this subject.



First of all, I will state, as well as I can, the legal and

social relation of master and slave.  A master is one--to speak

in the vocabulary of the southern states--who claims and

exercises a right of property in the person of a fellow-man. 

This he does with the force of the law and the sanction of

southern religion.  The law gives the master absolute power over

the slave.  He may work him, flog him, hire him out, sell him,

and, in certain contingencies, _kill_ him, with perfect impunity. 

The slave is a human being, divested of all rights--reduced to

the level of a brute--a mere "chattel" in the eye of the law--

placed beyond the circle of human brotherhood--cut off from his

kind--his name, which the "recording angel" may have enrolled in

heaven, among the blest, is impiously inserted in a _master's

ledger_, with horses, sheep, and swine.  In law, the slave has no

wife, no children, no country, and no home.  He can own nothing,

possess nothing, acquire nothing, but what must belong to

another.  To <338>eat the fruit of his own toil, to clothe his

person with the work of his own hands, is considered stealing. 

He toils that another may reap the fruit; he is industrious that

another may live in idleness; he eats unbolted meal that another

may eat the bread of fine flour; he labors in chains at home,

under a burning sun and biting lash, that another may ride in

ease and splendor abroad; he lives in ignorance that another may

be educated; he is abused that another may be exalted; he rests

his toil-worn limbs on the cold, damp ground that another may

repose on the softest pillow; he is clad in coarse and tattered

raiment that another may be arrayed in purple and fine linen; he

is sheltered only by the wretched hovel that a master may dwell

in a magnificent mansion; and to this condition he is bound down

as by an arm of iron.



From this monstrous relation there springs an unceasing stream of

most revolting cruelties.  The very accompaniments of the slave

system stamp it as the offspring of hell itself.  To ensure good

behavior, the slaveholder relies on the whip; to induce proper

humility, he relies on the whip; to rebuke what he is pleased to

term insolence, he relies on the whip; to supply the place of

wages as an incentive to toil, he relies on the whip; to bind

down the spirit of the slave, to imbrute and destroy his manhood,

he relies on the whip, the chain, the gag, the thumb-screw, the

pillory, the bowie knife the pistol, and the blood-hound.  These

are the necessary and unvarying accompaniments of the system. 

Wherever slavery is found, these horrid instruments are also

found.  Whether on the coast of Africa, among the savage tribes,

or in South Carolina, among the refined and civilized, slavery is

the same, and its accompaniments one and the same.  It makes no

difference whether the slaveholder worships the God of the

Christians, or is a follower of Mahomet, he is the minister of

the same cruelty, and the author of the same misery.  _Slavery_

is always _slavery;_ always the same foul, haggard, and damning

scourge, whether found in the eastern or in the western

hemisphere.



There is a still deeper shade to be given to this picture.  The

physical cruelties are indeed sufficiently harassing and

revolting; but they are as a few grains of sand on the sea shore,

or a few drops of water in the great ocean, compared with the

stupendous wrongs which it inflicts upon the mental, moral, and

religious nature of its hapless victims.  It is only when we

contemplate the slave as a moral and intellectual being, that we

can adequately comprehend the unparalleled enormity of slavery,

and the intense criminality of the slaveholder.  I have said that

the slave was a man.  "What a piece of work is man!  How noble in

reason!  How infinite in faculties!  In form and moving how

express and admirable!  In action <339>how like an angel!  In

apprehension how like a God!  The beauty of the world!  The

paragon of animals!"



The slave is a man, "the image of God," but "a little lower than

the angels;" possessing a soul, eternal and indestructible;

capable of endless happiness, or immeasurable woe; a creature of

hopes and fears, of affections and passions, of joys and sorrows,

and he is endowed with those mysterious powers by which man soars

above the things of time and sense, and grasps, with undying

tenacity, the elevating and sublimely glorious idea of a God.  It

is _such_ a being that is smitten and blasted.  The first work of

slavery is to mar and deface those characteristics of its victims

which distinguish _men_ from _things_, and _persons_ from

_property_.  Its first aim is to destroy all sense of high moral

and religious responsibility.  It reduces man to a mere machine. 

It cuts him off from his Maker, it hides from him the laws of

God, and leaves him to grope his way from time to eternity in the

dark, under the arbitrary and despotic control of a frail,

depraved, and sinful fellow-man.  As the serpent-charmer of India

is compelled to extract the deadly teeth of his venomous prey

before he is able to handle him with impunity, so the slaveholder

must strike down the conscience of the slave before he can obtain

the entire mastery over his victim.



It is, then, the first business of the enslaver of men to blunt,

deaden, and destroy the central principle of human

responsibility.  Conscience is, to the individual soul, and to

society, what the law of gravitation is to the universe.  It

holds society together; it is the basis of all trust and

confidence; it is the pillar of all moral rectitude.  Without it,

suspicion would take the place of trust; vice would be more than

a match for virtue; men would prey upon each other, like the wild

beasts of the desert; and earth would become a _hell_.



Nor is slavery more adverse to the conscience than it is to the

mind.  This is shown by the fact, that in every state of the

American Union, where slavery exists, except the state of

Kentucky, there are laws absolutely prohibitory of education

among the slaves.  The crime of teaching a slave to read is

punishable with severe fines and imprisonment, and, in some

instances, with _death itself_.



Nor are the laws respecting this matter a dead letter.  Cases may

occur in which they are disregarded, and a few instances may be

found where slaves may have learned to read; but such are

isolated cases, and only prove the rule.  The great mass of

slaveholders look upon education among the slaves as utterly

subversive of the slave system.  I well remember when my mistress

first announced to my master that she had dis<340>covered that I

could read.  His face colored at once with surprise and chagrin. 

He said that "I was ruined, and my value as a slave destroyed;

that a slave should know nothing but to obey his master; that to

give a negro an inch would lead him to take an ell; that having

learned how to read, I would soon want to know how to write; and

that by-and-by I would be running away."  I think my audience

will bear witness to the correctness of this philosophy, and to

the literal fulfillment of this prophecy.



It is perfectly well understood at the south, that to educate a

slave is to make him discontened{sic} with slavery, and to invest

him with a power which shall open to him the treasures of

freedom; and since the object of the slaveholder is to maintain

complete authority over his slave, his constant vigilance is

exercised to prevent everything which militates against, or

endangers, the stability of his authority.  Education being among

the menacing influences, and, perhaps, the most dangerous, is,

therefore, the most cautiously guarded against.



It is true that we do not often hear of the enforcement of the

law, punishing as a crime the teaching of slaves to read, but

this is not because of a want of disposition to enforce it.  The

true reason or explanation of the matter is this: there is the

greatest unanimity of opinion among the white population in the

south in favor of the policy of keeping the slave in ignorance. 

There is, perhaps, another reason why the law against education

is so seldom violated.  The slave is too poor to be able to offer

a temptation sufficiently strong to induce a white man to violate

it; and it is not to be supposed that in a community where the

moral and religious sentiment is in favor of slavery, many

martyrs will be found sacrificing their liberty and lives by

violating those prohibitory enactments.



As a general rule, then, darkness reigns over the abodes of the

enslaved, and "how great is that darkness!"



We are sometimes told of the contentment of the slaves, and are

entertained with vivid pictures of their happiness.  We are told

that they often dance and sing; that their masters frequently

give them wherewith to make merry; in fine, that they have little

of which to complain.  I admit that the slave does sometimes

sing, dance, and appear to be merry.  But what does this prove? 

It only proves to my mind, that though slavery is armed with a

thousand stings, it is not able entirely to kill the elastic

spirit of the bondman.  That spirit will rise and walk abroad,

despite of whips and chains, and extract from the cup of nature

occasional drops of joy and gladness.  No thanks to the

slaveholder, nor to slavery, that the <341>vivacious captive may

sometimes dance in his chains; his very mirth in such

circumstances stands before God as an accusing angel against his

enslaver.



It is often said, by the opponents of the anti-slavery cause,

that the condition of the people of Ireland is more deplorable

than that of the American slaves.  Far be it from me to underrate

the sufferings of the Irish people.  They have been long

oppressed; and the same heart that prompts me to plead the cause

of the American bondman, makes it impossible for me not to

sympathize with the oppressed of all lands.  Yet I must say that

there is no analogy between the two cases.  The Irishman is poor,

but he is not a slave.  He may be in rags, but he is not a slave. 

He is still the master of his own body, and can say with the

poet, "The hand of Douglass is his own."  "The world is all

before him, where to choose;" and poor as may be my opinion of

the British parliament, I cannot believe that it will ever sink

to such a depth of infamy as to pass a law for the recapture of

fugitive Irishmen!  The shame and scandal of kidnapping will long

remain wholly monopolized by the American congress.  The Irishman

has not only the liberty to emigrate from his country, but he has

liberty at home.  He can write, and speak, and cooperate for the

attainment of his rights and the redress of his wrongs.



The multitude can assemble upon all the green hills and fertile

plains of the Emerald Isle; they can pour out their grievances,

and proclaim their wants without molestation; and the press, that

"swift-winged messenger," can bear the tidings of their doings to

the extreme bounds of the civilized world.  They have their

"Conciliation Hall," on the banks of the Liffey, their reform

clubs, and their newspapers; they pass resolutions, send forth

addresses, and enjoy the right of petition.  But how is it with

the American slave?  Where may he assemble?  Where is his

Conciliation Hall?  Where are his newspapers?  Where is his right

of petition?  Where is his freedom of speech? his liberty of the

press? and his right of locomotion?  He is said to be happy;

happy men can speak.  But ask the slave what is his condition--

what his state of mind--what he thinks of enslavement? and you

had as well address your inquiries to the _silent dead_.  There

comes no _voice_ from the enslaved.  We are left to gather his

feelings by imagining what ours would be, were our souls in his

soul's stead.



If there were no other fact descriptive of slavery, than that the

slave is dumb, this alone would be sufficient to mark the slave

system as a grand aggregation of human horrors.



Most who are present, will have observed that leading men in this

<342>country have been putting forth their skill to secure quiet

to the nation.  A system of measures to promote this object was

adopted a few months ago in congress.  The result of those

measures is known.  Instead of quiet, they have produced alarm;

instead of peace, they have brought us war; and so it must ever

be.



While this nation is guilty of the enslavement of three millions

of innocent men and women, it is as idle to think of having a

sound and lasting peace, as it is to think there is no God to

take cognizance of the affairs of men.  There can be no peace to

the wicked while slavery continues in the land.  It will be

condemned; and while it is condemned there will be agitation. 

Nature must cease to be nature; men must become monsters;

humanity must be transformed; Christianity must be exterminated;

all ideas of justice and the laws of eternal goodness must be

utterly blotted out from the human soul--ere a system so foul and

infernal can escape condemnation, or this guilty republic can

have a sound, enduring peace.







INHUMANITY OF SLAVERY



_Extract from A Lecture on Slavery, at Rochester,

December 8, 1850_





The relation of master and slave has been called patriarchal, and

only second in benignity and tenderness to that of the parent and

child.  This representation is doubtless believed by many

northern people; and this may account, in part, for the lack of

interest which we find among persons whom we are bound to believe

to be honest and humane.  What, then, are the facts?  Here I will

not quote my own experience in slavery; for this you might call

one-sided testimony.  I will not cite the declarations of

abolitionists; for these you might pronounce exaggerations.  I

will not rely upon advertisements cut from newspapers; for these

you might call isolated cases.  But I will refer you to the laws

adopted by the legislatures of the slave states.  I give you such

evidence, because it cannot be invalidated nor denied.  I hold in

my hand sundry extracts from the slave codes of our country, from

which I will quote. * * *



Now, if the foregoing be an indication of kindness, _what is

cruelty_?  If this be parental affection, _what is bitter

malignity_?  A more atrocious and blood-thirsty string of laws

could not well be conceived of.  And yet I am bound to say that

they fall short of indicating the horrible cruelties constantly

practiced in the slave states.



I admit that there are individual slaveholders less cruel and

barbarous than is allowed by law; but these form the exception. 

The majority of slaveholders find it necessary, to insure

obedience, at times, to avail themselves of the utmost extent of

the law, and many go beyond it.  If kindness were the rule, we

should not see advertisements filling the columns of almost every

southern newspaper, offering large rewards for fugitive slaves,

and describing them as being branded with irons, loaded with

chains, and scarred by the whip.  One of the most telling

testimonies against the pretended kindness of slaveholders, is

the fact that uncounted numbers of fugitives are now inhabiting

the Dismal Swamp, preferring <344>the untamed wilderness to their

cultivated homes--choosing rather to encounter hunger and thirst,

and to roam with the wild beasts of the forest, running the

hazard of being hunted and shot down, than to submit to the

authority of _kind_ masters.



I tell you, my friends, humanity is never driven to such an

unnatural course of life, without great wrong.  The slave finds

more of the milk of human kindness in the bosom of the savage

Indian, than in the heart of his _Christian_ master.  He leaves

the man of the _bible_, and takes refuge with the man of the

_tomahawk_.  He rushes from the praying slaveholder into the paws

of the bear.  He quits the homes of men for the haunts of wolves. 

He prefers to encounter a life of trial, however bitter, or

death, however terrible, to dragging out his existence under the

dominion of these _kind_ masters.



The apologists for slavery often speak of the abuses of slavery;

and they tell us that they are as much opposed to those abuses as

we are; and that they would go as far to correct those abuses and

to ameliorate the condition of the slave as anybody.  The answer

to that view is, that slavery is itself an abuse; that it lives

by abuse; and dies by the absence of abuse.  Grant that slavery

is right; grant that the relations of master and slave may

innocently exist; and there is not a single outrage which was

ever committed against the slave but what finds an apology in the

very necessity of the case.  As we said by a slaveholder (the

Rev. A. G. Few) to the Methodist conference, "If the relation be

right, the means to maintain it are also right;" for without

those means slavery could not exist.  Remove the dreadful

scourge--the plaited thong--the galling fetter--the accursed

chain--and let the slaveholder rely solely upon moral and

religious power, by which to secure obedience to his orders, and

how long do you suppose a slave would remain on his plantation? 

The case only needs to be stated; it carries its own refutation

with it.



Absolute and arbitrary power can never be maintained by one man

over the body and soul of another man, without brutal

chastisement and enormous cruelty.



To talk of _kindness_ entering into a relation in which one party

is robbed of wife, of children, of his hard earnings, of home, of

friends, of society, of knowledge, and of all that makes this

life desirable, is most absurd, wicked, and preposterous.



I have shown that slavery is wicked--wicked, in that it violates

the great law of liberty, written on every human heart--wicked,

in that it violates the first command of the decalogue--wicked,

in that it fosters the most disgusting licentiousness--wicked, in

that it mars and defaces <345>the image of God by cruel and

barbarous inflictions--wicked, in that it contravenes the laws of

eternal justice, and tramples in the dust all the humane and

heavenly precepts of the New Testament.



The evils resulting from this huge system of iniquity are not

confined to the states south of Mason and Dixon's line.  Its

noxious influence can easily be traced throughout our northern

borders.  It comes even as far north as the state of New York. 

Traces of it may be seen even in Rochester; and travelers have

told me it casts its gloomy shadows across the lake, approaching

the very shores of Queen Victoria's dominions.



The presence of slavery may be explained by--as it is the

explanation of--the mobocratic violence which lately disgraced

New York, and which still more recently disgraced the city of

Boston.  These violent demonstrations, these outrageous invasions

of human rights, faintly indicate the presence and power of

slavery here.  It is a significant fact, that while meetings for

almost any purpose under heaven may be held unmolested in the

city of Boston, that in the same city, a meeting cannot be

peaceably held for the purpose of preaching the doctrine of the

American Declaration of Independence, "that all men are created

equal."  The pestiferous breath of slavery taints the whole moral

atmosphere of the north, and enervates the moral energies of the

whole people.



The moment a foreigner ventures upon our soil, and utters a

natural repugnance to oppression, that moment he is made to feel

that there is little sympathy in this land for him.  If he were

greeted with smiles before, he meets with frowns now; and it

shall go well with him if he be not subjected to that peculiarly

fining method of showing fealty to slavery, the assaults of a

mob.



Now, will any man tell me that such a state of things is natural,

and that such conduct on the part of the people of the north,

springs from a consciousness of rectitude?  No! every fibre of

the human heart unites in detestation of tyranny, and it is only

when the human mind has become familiarized with slavery, is

accustomed to its injustice, and corrupted by its selfishness,

that it fails to record its abhorrence of slavery, and does not

exult in the triumphs of liberty.



The northern people have been long connected with slavery; they

have been linked to a decaying corpse, which has destroyed the

moral health.  The union of the government; the union of the

north and south, in the political parties; the union in the

religious organizations of the land, have all served to deaden

the moral sense of the northern people, and to impregnate them

with sentiments and ideas forever in conflict with what as a

nation we call _genius of American institutions_.  Rightly

viewed, <346>this is an alarming fact, and ought to rally all

that is pure, just, and holy in one determined effort to crush

the monster of corruption, and to scatter "its guilty profits" to

the winds.  In a high moral sense, as well as in a national

sense, the whole American people are responsible for slavery, and

must share, in its guilt and shame, with the most obdurate men-

stealers of the south.



While slavery exists, and the union of these states endures,

every American citizen must bear the chagrin of hearing his

country branded before the world as a nation of liars and

hypocrites; and behold his cherished flag pointed at with the

utmost scorn and derision.  Even now an American _abroad_ is

pointed out in the crowd, as coming from a land where men gain

their fortunes by "the blood of souls," from a land of slave

markets, of blood-hounds, and slave-hunters; and, in some

circles, such a man is shunned altogether, as a moral pest.  Is

it not time, then, for every American to awake, and inquire into

his duty with respect to this subject?



Wendell Phillips--the eloquent New England orator--on his return

from Europe, in 1842, said, "As I stood upon the shores of Genoa,

and saw floating on the placid waters of the Mediterranean, the

beautiful American war ship Ohio, with her masts tapering

proportionately aloft, and an eastern sun reflecting her noble

form upon the sparkling waters, attracting the gaze of the

multitude, my first impulse was of pride, to think myself an

American; but when I thought that the first time that gallant

ship would gird on her gorgeous apparel, and wake from beneath

her sides her dormant thunders, it would be in defense of the

African slave trade, I blushed in utter _shame_ for my country."



Let me say again, _slavery is alike the sin and the shame of the

American people;_ it is a blot upon the American name, and the

only national reproach which need make an American hang his head

in shame, in the presence of monarchical governments.



With this gigantic evil in the land, we are constantly told to

look _at home;_ if we say ought against crowned heads, we are

pointed to our enslaved millions; if we talk of sending

missionaries and bibles abroad, we are pointed to three millions

now lying in worse than heathen darkness; if we express a word of

sympathy for Kossuth and his Hungarian fugitive brethren, we are

pointed to that horrible and hell-black enactment, "the fugitive

slave bill."



Slavery blunts the edge of all our rebukes of tyranny abroad--the

criticisms that we make upon other nations, only call forth

ridicule, contempt, and scorn.  In a word, we are made a reproach

and a by-word to a <347>mocking earth, and we must continue to be

so made, so long as slavery continues to pollute our soil.



We have heard much of late of the virtue of patriotism, the love

of country, &c., and this sentiment, so natural and so strong,

has been impiously appealed to, by all the powers of human

selfishness, to cherish the viper which is stinging our national

life away.  In its name, we have been called upon to deepen our

infamy before the world, to rivet the fetter more firmly on the

limbs of the enslaved, and to become utterly insensible to the

voice of human woe that is wafted to us on every southern gale. 

We have been called upon, in its name, to desecrate our whole

land by the footprints of slave-hunters, and even to engage

ourselves in the horrible business of kidnapping.



I, too, would invoke the spirit of patriotism; not in a narrow

and restricted sense, but, I trust, with a broad and manly

signification; not to cover up our national sins, but to inspire

us with sincere repentance; not to hide our shame from the

the{sic} world's gaze, but utterly to abolish the cause of that

shame; not to explain away our gross inconsistencies as a nation,

but to remove the hateful, jarring, and incongruous elements from

the land; not to sustain an egregious wrong, but to unite all our

energies in the grand effort to remedy that wrong.



I would invoke the spirit of patriotism, in the name of the law

of the living God, natural and revealed, and in the full belief

that "righteousness exalteth a nation, while sin is a reproach to

any people."  "He that walketh righteously, and speaketh

uprightly; he that despiseth the gain of oppressions, that

shaketh his hands from the holding of bribes, he shall dwell on

high, his place of defense shall be the munitions of rocks, bread

shall be given him, his water shall be sure."



We have not only heard much lately of patriotism, and of its aid

being invoked on the side of slavery and injustice, but the very

prosperity of this people has been called in to deafen them to

the voice of duty, and to lead them onward in the pathway of sin. 

Thus has the blessing of God been converted into a curse.  In the

spirit of genuine patriotism, I warn the American people, by all

that is just and honorable, to BEWARE!



I warn them that, strong, proud, and prosperous though we be,

there is a power above us that can "bring down high looks; at the

breath of whose mouth our wealth may take wings; and before whom

every knee shall bow;" and who can tell how soon the avenging

angel may pass over our land, and the sable bondmen now in

chains, may become the instruments of our nation's chastisement! 

Without appealing to any higher feeling, I would warn the

American people, and the American govern<348>ment, to be wise in

their day and generation.  I exhort them to remember the history

of other nations; and I remind them that America cannot always

sit "as a queen," in peace and repose; that prouder and stronger

governments than this have been shattered by the bolts of a just

God; that the time may come when those they now despise and hate,

may be needed; when those whom they now compel by oppression to

be enemies, may be wanted as friends.  What has been, may be

again.  There is a point beyond which human endurance cannot go. 

The crushed worm may yet turn under the heel of the oppressor.  I

warn them, then, with all solemnity, and in the name of

retributive justice, _to look to their ways;_ for in an evil

hour, those sable arms that have, for the last two centuries,

been engaged in cultivating and adorning the fair fields of our

country, may yet become the instruments of terror, desolation,

and death, throughout our borders.



It was the sage of the Old Dominion that said--while speaking of

the possibility of a conflict between the slaves and the

slaveholders--"God has no attribute that could take sides with

the oppressor in such a contest.  I tremble for my country when I

reflect that God _is just_, and that his justice cannot sleep

forever."  Such is the warning voice of Thomas Jefferson; and

every day's experience since its utterance until now, confirms

its wisdom, and commends its truth.







WHAT TO THE SLAVE IS THE

FOURTH OF JULY?



_Extract from an Oration, at Rochester, July 5, 1852_





Fellow-Citizens--Pardon me, and allow me to ask, why am I called

upon to speak here to-day?  What have I, or those I represent, to

do with your national independence?  Are the great principles of

political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that

Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore,

called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar,

and to confess the benefits, and express devout gratitude for the

blessings, resulting from your independence to us?



Would to God, both for your sakes and ours, that an affirmative

answer could be truthfully returned to these questions!  Then

would my task be light, and my burden easy and delightful.  For

who is there so cold that a nation's sympathy could not warm him? 

Who so obdurate and dead to the claims of gratitude, that would

not thankfully acknowledge such priceless benefits?  Who so

stolid and selfish, that would not give his voice to swell the

hallelujahs of a nation's jubilee, when the chains of servitude

had been torn from his limbs?  I am not that man.  In a case like

that, the dumb might eloquently speak, and the "lame man leap as

an hart."



But, such is not the state of the case.  I say it with a sad

sense of the disparity between us.  I am not included within the

pale of this glorious anniversary!  Your high independence only

reveals the immeasurable distance between us.  The blessings in

which you this day rejoice, are not enjoyed in common.  The rich

inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity, and independence,

bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you, not by me.  The

sunlight that brought life and healing to you, has brought

stripes and death to me.  This Fourth of July is _yours_, not

mine.  You may rejoice, I must mourn.  To drag a man in fetters

into the grand illuminated <350>temple of liberty, and call upon

him to join you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and

sacrilegious irony.  Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking

me to speak to-day?  If so, there is a parallel to your conduct. 

And let me warn you that it is dangerous to copy the example of a

nation whose crimes, towering up to heaven, were thrown down by

the breath of the Almighty, burying that nation in irrecoverable

ruin!  I can to-day take up the plaintive lament of a peeled and

woe-smitten people.



"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down.  Yea! we wept when

we remembered Zion.  We hanged our harps upon the willows in the

midst thereof.  For there, they that carried us away captive,

required of us a song; and they who wasted us required of us

mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.  How can we sing

the Lord's song in a strange land?  If I forget thee, O

Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.  If I do not

remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth."



Fellow-citizens, above your national, tumultous joy, I hear the

mournful wail of millions, whose chains, heavy and grievous

yesterday, are to-day rendered more intolerable by the jubilant

shouts that reach them.  If I do forget, if I do not faithfully

remember those bleeding children of sorrow this day, "may my

right hand forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave to the

roof of my mouth!"  To forget them, to pass lightly over their

wrongs, and to chime in with the popular theme, would be treason

most scandalous and shocking, and would make me a reproach before

God and the world.  My subject, then, fellow-citizens, is

AMERICAN SLAVERY.  I shall see this day and its popular

characteristics from the slave's point of view.  Standing there,

identified with the American bondman, making his wrongs mine, I

do not hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that the character

and conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on

this Fourth of July.  Whether we turn to the declarations of the

past, or to the professions of the present, the conduct of the

nation seems equally hideous and revolting.  America is false to

the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be

false to the future.  Standing with God and the crushed and

bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name of humanity

which is outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered, in

the name of the constitution and the bible, which are disregarded

and trampled upon, dare to call in question and to denounce, with

all the emphasis I can command, everything that serves to

perpetuate slavery--the great sin and shame of America!  "I will

not equivocate; I will not excuse;" I will use the severest

language I can command; and yet not one word shall escape me that

any man, whose judgment is not blinded by prejudice, or who is

not at heart a slaveholder, shall not confess to be right and

just.

<351>



But I fancy I hear some one of my audience say, it is just in

this circumstance that you and your brother abolitionists fail to

make a favorable impression on the public mind.  Would you argue

more, and denounce less, would you persuade more and rebuke less,

your cause would be much more likely to succeed.  But, I submit,

where all is plain there is nothing to be argued.  What point in

the anti-slavery creed would you have me argue?  On what branch

of the subject do the people of this country need light?  Must I

undertake to prove that the slave is a man?  That point is

conceded already.  Nobody doubts it.  The slaveholders themselves

acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for their government. 

They acknowledge it when they punish disobedience on the part of

the slave.  There are seventy-two crimes in the state of

Virginia, which, if committed by a black man (no matter how

ignorant he be), subject him to the punishment of death; while

only two of these same crimes will subject a white man to the

like punishment.  What is this but the acknowledgement that the

slave is a moral, intellectual, and responsible being.  The

manhood of the slave is conceded.  It is admitted in the fact

that southern statute books are covered with enactments

forbidding, under severe fines and penalties, the teaching of the

slave to read or write.  When you can point to any such laws, in

reference to the beasts of the field, then I may consent to argue

the manhood of the slave.  When the dogs in your streets, when

the fowls of the air, when the cattle on your hills, when the

fish of the sea, and the reptiles that crawl, shall be unable to

distinguish the slave from a brute, then will I argue with you

that the slave is a man!



For the present, it is enough to affirm the equal manhood of the

Negro race.  Is it not astonishing that, while we are plowing,

planting, and reaping, using all kinds of mechanical tools,

erecting houses, constructing bridges, building ships, working in

metals of brass, iron, copper, silver, and gold; that, while we

are reading, writing, and cyphering, acting as clerks, merchants,

and secretaries, having among us lawyers, doctors, ministers,

poets, authors, editors, orators, and teachers; that, while we

are engaged in all manner of enterprises common to other men--

digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the Pacific,

feeding sheep and cattle on the hillside, living, moving, acting,

thinking, planning, living in families as husbands, wives, and

children, and, above all, confessing and worshiping the

Christian's God, and looking hopefully for life and immortality

beyond the grave--we are called upon to prove that we are men!



Would you have me argue that man is entitled to liberty?  that he

is the rightful owner of his own body?  You have already declared

it.  Must I argue the wrongfulness of slavery?  Is that a

question for republicans?  <352>Is it to be settled by the rules

of logic and argumentation, as a matter beset with great

difficulty, involving a doubtful application of the principle of

justice, hard to be understood?  How should I look to-day in the

presence of Americans, dividing and subdividing a discourse, to

show that men have a natural right to freedom, speaking of it

relatively and positively, negatively and affirmatively?  To do

so, would be to make myself ridiculous, and to offer an insult to

your understanding.  There is not a man beneath the canopy of

heaven that does not know that slavery is wrong for _him_.



What! am I to argue that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob

them of their liberty, to work them without wages, to keep them

ignorant of their relations to their fellow-men, to beat them

with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to load their

limbs with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them at

auction, to sunder their families, to knock out their teeth, to

burn their flesh, to starve them into obedience and submission to

their masters?  Must I argue that a system, thus marked with

blood and stained with pollution, is wrong?  No; I will not.  I

have better employment for my time and strength than such

arguments would imply.



What, then, remains to be argued?  Is it that slavery is not

divine; that God did not establish it; that our doctors of

divinity are mistaken?  There is blasphemy in the thought.  That

which is inhuman cannot be divine.  Who can reason on such a

proposition!  They that can, may!  I cannot.  The time for such

argument is past.



At a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is

needed.  Oh! had I the ability, and could I reach the nation's

ear, I would to-day pour out a fiery stream of biting ridicule,

blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke.  For it

is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle

shower, but thunder.  We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the

earthquake.  The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the

conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the

nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be

exposed; and its crimes against God and man must be proclaimed

and denounced.



What to the American slave is your Fourth of July?  I answer, a

day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year,

the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant

victim.  To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted

liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling

vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your

denunciations of tyrants, brass-fronted impudence; your shouts of

liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns,

your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade

and solemnity, <353>are to him mere bombast, fraud, deception,

impiety, and hypocrisy--a thin veil to cover up crimes which

would disgrace a nation of savages.  There is not a nation on the

earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody, than are the

people of these United States, at this very hour.



Go where you may, search where you will, roam through all the

monarchies and despotisms of the old world, travel through South

America, search out every abuse, and when you have found the

last, lay your facts by the side of the every-day practices of

this nation, and you will say with me, that, for revolting

barbarity and shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a

rival.





THE INTERNAL SLAVE TRADE.



_Extract from an Oration, at Rochester, July 5, 1852_





Take the American slave trade, which, we are told by the papers,

is especially prosperous just now.  Ex-senator Benton tells us

that the price of men was never higher than now.  He mentions the

fact to show that slavery is in no danger.  This trade is one of

the peculiarities of American institutions.  It is carried on in

all the large towns and cities in one-half of this confederacy;

and millions are pocketed every year by dealers in this horrid

traffic.  In several states this trade is a chief source of

wealth.  It is called (in contradistinction to the foreign slave

trade) _"the internal slave trade_."  It is, probably, called so,

too, in order to divert from it the horror with which the foreign

slave trade is contemplated.  That trade has long since been

denounced by this government as piracy.  It has been denounced

with burning words, from the high places of the nation, as an

execrable traffic.  To arrest it, to put an end to it, this

nation keeps a squadron, at immense cost, on the coast of Africa. 

Everywhere in this country, it is safe to speak of this foreign

slave trade as a most inhuman traffic, opposed alike to the laws

of God and of man.  The duty to extirpate and destroy it is

admitted even by our _doctors of divinity_.  In order to put an

end to it, some of these last have consented that their colored

brethren (nominally free) should leave this country, and

establish themselves on the western coast of Africa.  It is,

however, a notable fact, that, while so much execration is poured

out by Americans, upon those engaged in the foreign slave trade,

the men engaged in the slave trade between the states pass

without condemnation, and their business is deemed honorable.



Behold the practical operation of this internal slave trade--the

American slave trade sustained by American politics and American

religion!  Here you will see men and women reared like swine for

the market.  You know what is a swine-drover?  I will show you a

man-drover.  They inhabit all our southern states.  They

perambulate the country, and crowd the <355>highways of the

nation with droves of human stock.  You will see one of these

human-flesh-jobbers, armed with pistol, whip, and bowie-knife,

driving a company of a hundred men, women, and children, from the

Potomac to the slave market at New Orleans.  These wretched

people are to be sold singly, or in lots, to suit purchasers. 

They are food for the cotton-field and the deadly sugar-mill. 

Mark the sad procession as it moves wearily along, and the

inhuman wretch who drives them.  Hear his savage yells and his

blood-chilling oaths, as he hurries on his affrighted captives. 

There, see the old man, with locks thinned and gray.  Cast one

glance, if you please, upon that young mother, whose shoulders

are bare to the scorching sun, her briny tears falling on the

brow of the babe in her arms.  See, too, that girl of thirteen,

weeping, yes, weeping, as she thinks of the mother from whom she

has been torn.  The drove moves tardily.  Heat and sorrow have

nearly consumed their strength.  Suddenly you hear a quick snap,

like the discharge of a rifle; the fetters clank, and the chain

rattles simultaneously; your ears are saluted with a scream that

seems to have torn its way to the center of your soul.  The crack

you heard was the sound of the slave whip; the scream you heard

was from the woman you saw with the babe.  Her speed had faltered

under the weight of her child and her chains; that gash on her

shoulder tells her to move on.  Follow this drove to New Orleans. 

Attend the auction; see men examined like horses; see the forms

of women rudely and brutally exposed to the shocking gaze of

American slave-buyers.  See this drove sold and separated

forever; and never forget the deep, sad sobs that arose from that

scattered multitude.  Tell me, citizens, where, under the sun,

can you witness a spectacle more fiendish and shocking.  Yet this

is but a glance at the American slave trade, as it exists at this

moment, in the ruling part of the United States.



I was born amid such sights and scenes.  To me the American slave

trade is a terrible reality.  When a child, my soul was often

pierced with a sense of its horrors.  I lived on Philpot street,

Fell's Point, Baltimore, and have watched from the wharves the

slave ships in the basin, anchored from the shore, with their

cargoes of human flesh, waiting for favorable winds to waft them

down the Chesapeake.  There was, at that time, a grand slave mart

kept at the head of Pratt street, by Austin Woldfolk.  His agents

were sent into every town and county in Maryland, announcing

their arrival through the papers, and on flaming hand-bills,

headed, "cash for negroes."  These men were generally well

dressed, and very captivating in their manners; ever ready to

drink, to treat, and to gamble.  The fate <356>of many a slave

has depended upon the turn of a single card; and many a child has

been snatched from the arms of its mothers by bargains arranged

in a state of brutal drunkenness.



The flesh-mongers gather up their victims by dozens, and drive

them, chained, to the general depot at Baltimore.  When a

sufficient number have been collected here, a ship is chartered,

for the purpose of conveying the forlorn crew to Mobile or to New

Orleans.  From the slave-prison to the ship, they are usually

driven in the darkness of night; for since the anti-slavery

agitation a certain caution is observed.



In the deep, still darkness of midnight, I have been often

aroused by the dead, heavy footsteps and the piteous cries of the

chained gangs that passed our door.  The anguish of my boyish

heart was intense; and I was often consoled, when speaking to my

mistress in the morning, to hear her say that the custom was very

wicked; that she hated to hear the rattle of the chains, and the

heart-rending cries.  I was glad to find one who sympathized with

me in my horror.



Fellow citizens, this murderous traffic is to-day in active

operation in this boasted republic.  In the solitude of my

spirit, I see clouds of dust raised on the highways of the south;

I see the bleeding footsteps; I hear the doleful wail of fettered

humanity, on the way to the slave markets, where the victims are

to be sold like horses, sheep, and swine, knocked off to the

highest bidder.  There I see the tenderest ties ruthlessly

broken, to gratify the lust, caprice, and rapacity of the buyers

and sellers of men.  My soul sickens at the sight.



            _Is this the land your fathers loved?

                The freedom which they toiled to win?

            Is this the earth whereon they moved?

                Are these the graves they slumber in?_





But a still more inhuman, disgraceful, and scandalous state of

things remains to be presented.  By an act of the American

congress, not yet two years old, slavery has been nationalized in

its most horrible and revolting form.  By that act, Mason and

Dixon's line has been obliterated; New York has become as

Virginia; and the power to hold, hunt, and sell men, women, and

children as slaves, remains no longer a mere state institution,

but is now an institution of the whole United States.  The power

is coextensive with the star-spangled banner and American

christianity.  Where these go, may also go the merciless slave-

hunter.  Where these are, man is not sacred.  He is a bird for

the sportsman's gun.  By that most foul and fiendish of all human

decrees, the liberty and person of every man are <357>put in

peril.  Your broad republican domain is a hunting-ground for

_men_.  Not for thieves and robbers, enemies of society, merely,

but for men guilty of no crime.  Your law-makers have commanded

all good citizens to engage in this hellish sport.  Your

president, your secretary of state, your lords, nobles, and

ecclesiastics, enforce as a duty you owe to your free and

glorious country and to your God, that you do this accursed

thing.  Not fewer than forty Americans have within the past two

years been hunted down, and without a moment's warning, hurried

away in chains, and consigned to slavery and excruciating

torture.  Some of these have had wives and children dependent on

them for bread; but of this no account was made.  The right of

the hunter to his prey, stands superior to the right of marriage,

and to _all_ rights in this republic, the rights of God included! 

For black men there are neither law, justice, humanity, nor

religion.  The fugitive slave law makes MERCY TO THEM A CRIME;

and bribes the judge who tries them.  An American judge GETS TEN

DOLLARS FOR EVERY VICTIM HE CONSIGNS to slavery, and five, when

he fails to do so.  The oath of an{sic} two villains is

sufficient, under this hell-black enactment, to send the most

pious and exemplary black man into the remorseless jaws of

slavery!  His own testimony is nothing.  He can bring no

witnesses for himself.  The minister of American justice is bound

by the law to hear but _one side_, and that side is the side of

the oppressor.  Let this damning fact be perpetually told.  Let

it be thundered around the world, that, in tyrant-killing, king

hating, people-loving, democratic, Christian America, the seats

of justice are filled with judges, who hold their office under an

open and palpable _bribe_, and are bound, in deciding in the case

of a man's liberty, _to hear only his accusers!_



In glaring violation of justice, in shameless disregard of the

forms of administering law, in cunning arrangement to entrap the

defenseless, and in diabolical intent, this fugitive slave law

stands alone in the annals of tyrannical legislation.  I doubt if

there be another nation on the globe having the brass and the

baseness to put such a law on the statute-book.  If any man in

this assembly thinks differently from me in this matter, and

feels able to disprove my statements, I will gladly confront him

at any suitable time and place he may select.







THE SLAVERY PARTY



_Extract from a Speech Delivered before the A. A. S.  Society, in

New York, May, 1853_





Sir, it is evident that there is in this country a purely slavery

party--a party which exists for no other earthly purpose but to

promote the interests of slavery.  The presence of this party is

felt everywhere in the republic.  It is known by no particular

name, and has assumed no definite shape; but its branches reach

far and wide in the church and in the state.  This shapeless and

nameless party is not intangible in other and more important

respects.  That party, sir, has determined upon a fixed,

definite, and comprehensive policy toward the whole colored

population of the United States.  What that policy is, it becomes

us as abolitionists, and especially does it become the colored

people themselves, to consider and to understand fully.  We ought

to know who our enemies are, where they are, and what are their

objects and measures.  Well, sir, here is my version of it--not

original with me--but mine because I hold it to be true.



I understand this policy to comprehend five cardinal objects. 

They are these: 1st. The complete suppression of all anti-slavery

discussion.  2d. The expatriation of the entire free people of

color from the United States.  3d. The unending perpetuation of

slavery in this republic.  4th. The nationalization of slavery to

the extent of making slavery respected in every state of the

Union.  5th. The extension of slavery over Mexico and the entire

South American states.



Sir, these objects are forcibly presented to us in the stern

logic of passing events; in the facts which are and have been

passing around us during the last three years.  The country has

been and is now dividing on these grand issues.  In their

magnitude, these issues cast all others into the shade, depriving

them of all life and vitality.  Old party ties are broken.  Like

is finding its like on either side of these great issues, and the

great battle is at hand.  For the present, the best

representative of the slavery party in politics is the democratic

party.  Its great head for the <359>present is President Pierce,

whose boast it was, before his election, that his whole life had

been consistent with the interests of slavery, that he is above

reproach on that score.  In his inaugural address, he reassures

the south on this point.  Well, the head of the slave power being

in power, it is natural that the pro slavery elements should

cluster around the administration, and this is rapidly being

done.  A fraternization is going on.  The stringent

protectionists and the free-traders strike hands.  The supporters

of Fillmore are becoming the supporters of Pierce.  The silver-

gray whig shakes hands with the hunker democrat; the former only

differing from the latter in name.  They are of one heart, one

mind, and the union is natural and perhaps inevitable.  Both hate

Negroes; both hate progress; both hate the "higher law;" both

hate William H. Seward; both hate the free democratic party; and

upon this hateful basis they are forming a union of hatred. 

"Pilate and Herod are thus made friends."  Even the central organ

of the whig party is extending its beggar hand for a morsel from

the table of slavery democracy, and when spurned from the feast

by the more deserving, it pockets the insult; when kicked on one

side it turns the other, and preseveres in its importunities. 

The fact is, that paper comprehends the demands of the times; it

understands the age and its issues; it wisely sees that slavery

and freedom are the great antagonistic forces in the country, and

it goes to its own side.  Silver grays and hunkers all understand

this.  They are, therefore, rapidly sinking all other questions

to nothing, compared with the increasing demands of slavery. 

They are collecting, arranging, and consolidating their forces

for the accomplishment of their appointed work.



The keystone to the arch of this grand union of the slavery party

of the United States, is the compromise of 1850.  In that

compromise we have all the objects of our slaveholding policy

specified.  It is, sir, favorable to this view of the designs of

the slave power, that both the whig and the democratic party bent

lower, sunk deeper, and strained harder, in their conventions,

preparatory to the late presidential election, to meet the

demands of the slavery party than at any previous time in their

history.  Never did parties come before the northern people with

propositions of such undisguised contempt for the moral sentiment

and the religious ideas of that people.  They virtually asked

them to unite in a war upon free speech, and upon conscience, and

to drive the Almighty presence from the councils of the nation. 

Resting their platforms upon the fugitive slave bill, they boldly

asked the people for political power to execute the horrible and

hell-black provisions of that bill.  The history of that election

reveals, with great clearness, the extent to which <360>slavery

has shot its leprous distillment through the life-blood of the

nation.  The party most thoroughly opposed to the cause of

justice and humanity, triumphed; while the party suspected of a

leaning toward liberty, was overwhelmingly defeated, some say

annihilated.



But here is a still more important fact, illustrating the designs

of the slave power.  It is a fact full of meaning, that no sooner

did the democratic slavery party come into power, than a system

of legislation was presented to the legislatures of the northern

states, designed to put the states in harmony with the fugitive

slave law, and the malignant bearing of the national government

toward the colored inhabitants of the country.  This whole

movement on the part of the states, bears the evidence of having

one origin, emanating from one head, and urged forward by one

power.  It was simultaneous, uniform, and general, and looked to

one end.  It was intended to put thorns under feet already

bleeding; to crush a people already bowed down; to enslave a

people already but half free; in a word, it was intended to

discourage, dishearten, and drive the free colored people out of

the country.  In looking at the recent black law of Illinois, one

is struck dumb with its enormity.  It would seem that the men who

enacted that law, had not only banished from their minds all

sense of justice, but all sense of shame.  It coolly proposes to

sell the bodies and souls of the blacks to increase the

intelligence and refinement of the whites; to rob every black

stranger who ventures among them, to increase their literary

fund.



While this is going on in the states, a pro-slavery, political

board of health is established at Washington.  Senators Hale,

Chase, and Sumner are robbed of a part of their senatorial

dignity and consequence as representing sovereign states, because

they have refused to be inoculated with the slavery virus.  Among

the services which a senator is expected by his state to perform,

are many that can only be done efficiently on committees; and, in

saying to these honorable senators, you shall not serve on the

committees of this body, the slavery party took the

responsibility of robbing and insulting the states that sent

them.  It is an attempt at Washington to decide for the states

who shall be sent to the senate.  Sir, it strikes me that this

aggression on the part of the slave power did not meet at the

hands of the proscribed senators the rebuke which we had a right

to expect would be administered.  It seems to me that an

opportunity was lost, that the great principle of senatorial

equality was left undefended, at a time when its vindication was

sternly demanded.  But it is not to the purpose of my present

statement to criticise the conduct of our friends.  I am

persuaded that much ought to be left to the discretion of

<361>anti slavery men in congress, and charges of recreancy

should never be made but on the most sufficient grounds.  For, of

all the places in the world where an anti-slavery man needs the

confidence and encouragement of friends, I take Washington to be

that place.



Let me now call attention to the social influences which are

operating and cooperating with the slavery party of the country,

designed to contribute to one or all of the grand objects aimed

at by that party.  We see here the black man attacked in his

vital interests; prejudice and hate are excited against him;

enmity is stirred up between him and other laborers.  The Irish

people, warm-hearted, generous, and sympathizing with the

oppressed everywhere, when they stand upon their own green

island, are instantly taught, on arriving in this Christian

country, to hate and despise the colored people.  They are taught

to believe that we eat the bread which of right belongs to them. 

The cruel lie is told the Irish, that our adversity is essential

to their prosperity.  Sir, the Irish-American will find out his

mistake one day.  He will find that in assuming our avocation he

also has assumed our degradation.  But for the present we are

sufferers.  The old employments by which we have heretofore

gained our livelihood, are gradually, and it may be inevitably,

passing into other hands.  Every hour sees us elbowed out of some

employment to make room perhaps for some newly-arrived emigrants,

whose hunger and color are thought to give them a title to

especial favor.  White men are becoming house-servants, cooks,

and stewards, common laborers, and flunkeys to our gentry, and,

for aught I see, they adjust themselves to their stations with

all becoming obsequiousness.  This fact proves that if we cannot

rise to the whites, the whites can fall to us.  Now, sir, look

once more.  While the colored people are thus elbowed out of

employment; while the enmity of emigrants is being excited

against us; while state after state enacts laws against us; while

we are hunted down, like wild game, and oppressed with a general

feeling of insecurity--the American colonization society--that

old offender against the best interests and slanderer of the

colored people--awakens to new life, and vigorously presses its

scheme upon the consideration of the people and the government. 

New papers are started--some for the north and some for the

south--and each in its tone adapting itself to its latitude. 

Government, state and national, is called upon for appropriations

to enable the society to send us out of the country by steam! 

They want steamers to carry letters and Negroes to Africa. 

Evidently, this society looks upon our "extremity as its

opportunity," and we may expect that it will use the occasion

well.  They do not deplore, but glory, in our misfortunes.

<362>



But, sir, I must hasten.  I have thus briefly given my view of

one aspect of the present condition and future prospects of the

colored people of the United States.  And what I have said is far

from encouraging to my afflicted people.  I have seen the cloud

gather upon the sable brows of some who hear me.  I confess the

case looks black enough.  Sir, I am not a hopeful man.  I think I

am apt even to undercalculate the benefits of the future.  Yet,

sir, in this seemingly desperate case, I do not despair for my

people.  There is a bright side to almost every picture of this

kind; and ours is no exception to the general rule.  If the

influences against us are strong, those for us are also strong. 

To the inquiry, will our enemies prevail in the execution of

their designs.  In my God and in my soul, I believe they _will

not_.  Let us look at the first object sought for by the slavery

party of the country, viz: the suppression of anti slavery

discussion.  They desire to suppress discussion on this subject,

with a view to the peace of the slaveholder and the security of

slavery.  Now, sir, neither the principle nor the subordinate

objects here declared, can be at all gained by the slave power,

and for this reason: It involves the proposition to padlock the

lips of the whites, in order to secure the fetters on the limbs

of the blacks.  The right of speech, precious and priceless,

_cannot, will not_, be surrendered to slavery.  Its suppression

is asked for, as I have said, to give peace and security to

slaveholders.  Sir, that thing cannot be done.  God has

interposed an insuperable obstacle to any such result.  "There

can be _no peace_, saith my God, to the wicked."  Suppose it were

possible to put down this discussion, what would it avail the

guilty slaveholder, pillowed as he is upon heaving bosoms of

ruined souls?  He could not have a peaceful spirit.  If every

anti-slavery tongue in the nation were silent--every anti-slavery

organization dissolved--every anti-slavery press demolished--

every anti slavery periodical, paper, book, pamphlet, or what

not, were searched out, gathered, deliberately burned to ashes,

and their ashes given to the four winds of heaven, still, still

the slaveholder could have _"no peace_."  In every pulsation of

his heart, in every throb of his life, in every glance of his

eye, in the breeze that soothes, and in the thunder that

startles, would be waked up an accuser, whose cause is, "Thou

art, verily, guilty concerning thy brother."





THE ANTI-SLAVERY MOVEMENT



_Extracts from a Lecture before Various Anti-Slavery Bodies, in

the Winter of 1855_





A grand movement on the part of mankind, in any direction, or for

any purpose, moral or political, is an interesting fact, fit and

proper to be studied.  It is such, not only for those who eagerly

participate in it, but also for those who stand aloof from it--

even for those by whom it is opposed.  I take the anti-slavery

movement to be such an one, and a movement as sublime and

glorious in its character, as it is holy and beneficent in the

ends it aims to accomplish.  At this moment, I deem it safe to

say, it is properly engrossing more minds in this country than

any other subject now before the American people.  The late John

C. Calhoun--one of the mightiest men that ever stood up in the

American senate--did not deem it beneath him; and he probably

studied it as deeply, though not as honestly, as Gerrit Smith, or

William Lloyd Garrison.  He evinced the greatest familiarity with

the subject; and the greatest efforts of his last years in the

senate had direct reference to this movement.  His eagle eye

watched every new development connected with it; and he was ever

prompt to inform the south of every important step in its

progress.  He never allowed himself to make light of it; but

always spoke of it and treated it as a matter of grave import;

and in this he showed himself a master of the mental, moral, and

religious constitution of human society.  Daniel Webster, too, in

the better days of his life, before he gave his assent to the

fugitive slave bill, and trampled upon all his earlier and better

convictions--when his eye was yet single--he clearly comprehended

the nature of the elements involved in this movement; and in his

own majestic eloquence, warned the south, and the country, to

have a care how they attempted to put it down.  He is an

illustration that it is easier to give, than to take, good

advice.  To these two men--the greatest men to whom the nation

has yet given birth--may be traced the two great facts of the

present--the south triumphant, and the north humbled.  <364>Their

names may stand thus--Calhoun and domination--Webster and

degradation.  Yet again.  If to the enemies of liberty this

subject is one of engrossing interest, vastly more so should it

be such to freedom's friends.  The latter, it leads to the gates

of all valuable knowledge--philanthropic, ethical, and religious;

for it brings them to the study of man, wonderfully and fearfully

made--the proper study of man through all time--the open book, in

which are the records of time and eternity.



Of the existence and power of the anti-slavery movement, as a

fact, you need no evidence.  The nation has seen its face, and

felt the controlling pressure of its hand.  You have seen it

moving in all directions, and in all weathers, and in all places,

appearing most where desired least, and pressing hardest where

most resisted.  No place is exempt.  The quiet prayer meeting,

and the stormy halls of national debate, share its presence

alike.  It is a common intruder, and of course has the name of

being ungentlemanly.  Brethren who had long sung, in the most

affectionate fervor, and with the greatest sense of security,



            _Together let us sweetly live--together let us die,_



have been suddenly and violently separated by it, and ranged in

hostile attitude toward each other.  The Methodist, one of the

most powerful religious organizations of this country, has been

rent asunder, and its strongest bolts of denominational

brotherhood started at a single surge.  It has changed the tone

of the northern pulpit, and modified that of the press.  A

celebrated divine, who, four years ago, was for flinging his own

mother, or brother, into the remorseless jaws of the monster

slavery, lest he should swallow up the Union, now recognizes

anti-slavery as a characteristic of future civilization.  Signs

and wonders follow this movement; and the fact just stated is one

of them.  Party ties are loosened by it; and men are compelled to

take sides for or against it, whether they will or not.  Come

from where he may, or come for what he may, he is compelled to

show his hand.  What is this mighty force?  What is its history?

and what is its destiny?  Is it ancient or modern, transient or

permanent?  Has it turned aside, like a stranger and a sojourner,

to tarry for a night? or has it come to rest with us forever? 

Excellent chances are here for speculation; and some of them are

quite profound.  We might, for instance, proceed to inquire not

only into the philosophy of the anti-slavery movement, but into

the philosophy of the law, in obedience to which that movement

started into existence.  We might demand to know what is that law

or power, which, at different times, disposes the minds of men to

this or that particular object--now for peace, and now for war--

now for free<365>dom, and now for slavery; but this profound

question I leave to the abolitionists of the superior class to

answer.  The speculations which must precede such answer, would

afford, perhaps, about the same satisfaction as the learned

theories which have rained down upon the world, from time to

time, as to the origin of evil.  I shall, therefore, avoid water

in which I cannot swim, and deal with anti-slavery as a fact,

like any other fact in the history of mankind, capable of being

described and understood, both as to its internal forces, and its

external phases and relations.



[After an eloquent, a full, and highly interesting exposition of

the nature, character, and history of the anti-slavery movement,

from the insertion of which want of space precludes us, he

concluded in the following happy manner.]



Present organizations may perish, but the cause will go on.  That

cause has a life, distinct and independent of the organizations

patched up from time to time to carry it forward.  Looked at,

apart from the bones and sinews and body, it is a thing immortal. 

It is the very essence of justice, liberty, and love.  The moral

life of human society, it cannot die while conscience, honor, and

humanity remain.  If but one be filled with it, the cause lives. 

Its incarnation in any one individual man, leaves the whole world

a priesthood, occupying the highest moral eminence even that of

disinterested benevolence.  Whoso has ascended his height, and

has the grace to stand there, has the world at his feet, and is

the world's teacher, as of divine right.  He may set in judgment

on the age, upon the civilization of the age, and upon the

religion of the age; for he has a test, a sure and certain test,

by which to try all institutions, and to measure all men.  I say,

he may do this, but this is not the chief business for which he

is qualified.  The great work to which he is called is not that

of judgment.  Like the Prince of Peace, he may say, if I judge, I

judge righteous judgment; still mainly, like him, he may say,

this is not his work.  The man who has thoroughly embraced the

principles of justice, love, and liberty, like the true preacher

of Christianity, is less anxious to reproach the world of its

sins, than to win it to repentance.  His great work on earth is

to exemplify, and to illustrate, and to ingraft those principles

upon the living and practical understandings of all men within

the reach of his influence.  This is his work; long or short his

years, many or few his adherents, powerful or weak his

instrumentalities, through good report, or through bad report,

this is his work.  It is to snatch from the bosom of nature the

latent facts of each individual man's experience, and with steady

hand to hold them up fresh and glowing, enforeing, with all his

power, their acknowledgment and practical adoption.  If there be

but _one_ <366>such man in the land, no matter what becomes of

abolition societies and parties, there will be an anti-slavery

cause, and an anti-slavery movement.  Fortunately for that cause,

and fortunately for him by whom it is espoused, it requires no

extraordinary amount of talent to preach it or to receive it when

preached.  The grand secret of its power is, that each of its

principles is easily rendered appreciable to the faculty of

reason in man, and that the most unenlightened conscience has no

difficulty in deciding on which side to register its testimony. 

It can call its preachers from among the fishermen, and raise

them to power.  In every human breast, it has an advocate which

can be silent only when the heart is dead.  It comes home to

every man's understanding, and appeals directly to every man's

conscience.  A man that does not recognize and approve for

himself the rights and privileges contended for, in behalf of the

American slave, has not yet been found.  In whatever else men may

differ, they are alike in the apprehension of their natural and

personal rights.  The difference between abolitionists and those

by whom they are opposed, is not as to principles.  All are

agreed in respect to these.  The manner of applying them is the

point of difference.



The slaveholder himself, the daily robber of his equal brother,

discourses eloquently as to the excellency of justice, and the

man who employs a brutal driver to flay the flesh of his negroes,

is not offended when kindness and humanity are commended.  Every

time the abolitionist speaks of justice, the anti-abolitionist

assents says, yes, I wish the world were filled with a

disposition to render to every man what is rightfully due him; I

should then get what is due me.  That's right; let us have

justice.  By all means, let us have justice.  Every time the

abolitionist speaks in honor of human liberty, he touches a chord

in the heart of the anti-abolitionist, which responds in

harmonious vibrations.  Liberty--yes, that is evidently my right,

and let him beware who attempts to invade or abridge that right. 

Every time he speaks of love, of human brotherhood, and the

reciprocal duties of man and man, the anti-abolitionist assents--

says, yes, all right--all true--we cannot have such ideas too

often, or too fully expressed.  So he says, and so he feels, and

only shows thereby that he is a man as well as an anti-

abolitionist.  You have only to keep out of sight the manner of

applying your principles, to get them endorsed every time. 

Contemplating himself, he sees truth with absolute clearness and

distinctness.  He only blunders when asked to lose sight of

himself.  In his own cause he can beat a Boston lawyer, but he is

dumb when asked to plead the cause of others.  He knows very well

whatsoever he would have done unto himself, but is quite in doubt

as to having the <367>same thing done unto others.  It is just

here, that lions spring up in the path of duty, and the battle

once fought in heaven is refought on the earth.  So it is, so

hath it ever been, and so must it ever be, when the claims of

justice and mercy make their demand at the door of human

selfishness.  Nevertheless, there is that within which ever

pleads for the right and the just.



In conclusion, I have taken a sober view of the present anti-

slavery movement.  I am sober, but not hopeless.  There is no

denying, for it is everywhere admitted, that the anti-slavery

question is the great moral and social question now before the

American people.  A state of things has gradually been developed,

by which that question has become the first thing in order.  It

must be met.  Herein is my hope.  The great idea of impartial

liberty is now fairly before the American people.  Anti-slavery

is no longer a thing to be prevented.  The time for prevention is

past.  This is great gain.  When the movement was younger and

weaker--when it wrought in a Boston garret to human apprehension,

it might have been silently put out of the way.  Things are

different now.  It has grown too large--its friends are too

numerous--its facilities too abundant--its ramifications too

extended--its power too omnipotent, to be snuffed out by the

contingencies of infancy.  A thousand strong men might be struck

down, and its ranks still be invincible.  One flash from the

heart-supplied intellect of Harriet Beecher Stowe could light a

million camp fires in front of the embattled host of slavery,

which not all the waters of the Mississippi, mingled as they are

with blood, could extinguish.  The present will be looked to by

after coming generations, as the age of anti-slavery literature--

when supply on the gallop could not keep pace with the ever

growing demand--when a picture of a Negro on the cover was a help

to the sale of a book--when conservative lyceums and other

American literary associations began first to select their

orators for distinguished occasions from the ranks of the

previously despised abolitionists.  If the anti-slavery movement

shall fail now, it will not be from outward opposition, but from

inward decay.  Its auxiliaries are everywhere.  Scholars,

authors, orators, poets, and statesmen give it their aid.  The

most brilliant of American poets volunteer in its service. 

Whittier speaks in burning verse to more than thirty thousand, in

the National Era.  Your own Longfellow whispers, in every hour of

trial and disappointment, "labor and wait."  James Russell Lowell

is reminding us that "men are more than institutions."  Pierpont

cheers the heart of the pilgrim in search of liberty, by singing

the praises of "the north star."  Bryant, too, is with us; and

though chained to the car of party, and dragged on amidst a whirl

of <368>political excitement, he snatches a moment for letting

drop a smiling verse of sympathy for the man in chains.  The

poets are with us.  It would seem almost absurd to say it,

considering the use that has been made of them, that we have

allies in the Ethiopian songs; those songs that constitute our

national music, and without which we have no national music. 

They are heart songs, and the finest feelings of human nature are

expressed in them.  "Lucy Neal," "Old Kentucky Home," and "Uncle

Ned," can make the heart sad as well as merry, and can call forth

a tear as well as a smile.  They awaken the sympathies for the

slave, in which antislavery principles take root, grow, and

flourish.  In addition to authors, poets, and scholars at home,

the moral sense of the civilized world is with us.  England,

France, and Germany, the three great lights of modern

civilization, are with us, and every American traveler learns to

regret the existence of slavery in his country.  The growth of

intelligence, the influence of commerce, steam, wind, and

lightning are our allies.  It would be easy to amplify this

summary, and to swell the vast conglomeration of our material

forces; but there is a deeper and truer method of measuring the

power of our cause, and of comprehending its vitality.  This is

to be found in its accordance with the best elements of human

nature.  It is beyond the power of slavery to annihilate

affinities recognized and established by the Almighty.  The slave

is bound to mankind by the powerful and inextricable net-work of

human brotherhood.  His voice is the voice of a man, and his cry

is the cry of a man in distress, and man must cease to be man

before he can become insensible to that cry.  It is the righteous

of the cause--the humanity of the cause--which constitutes its

potency.  As one genuine bankbill is worth more than a thousand

counterfeits, so is one man, with right on his side, worth more

than a thousand in the wrong.  "One may chase a thousand, and put

ten thousand to flight."  It is, therefore, upon the goodness of

our cause, more than upon all other auxiliaries, that we depend

for its final triumph.



Another source of congratulations is the fact that, amid all the

efforts made by the church, the government, and the people at

large, to stay the onward progress of this movment, its course

has been onward, steady, straight, unshaken, and unchecked from

the beginning.  Slavery has gained victories large and numerous;

but never as against this movement--against a temporizing policy,

and against northern timidity, the slave power has been

victorious; but against the spread and prevalence in the country,

of a spirit of resistance to its aggression, and of sentiments

favorable to its entire overthrow, it has yet accomplished

nothing.  Every measure, yet devised and executed, having for its

object the suppression <369>of anti-slavery, has been as idle and

fruitless as pouring oil to extinguish fire.  A general rejoicing

took place on the passage of "the compromise measures" of 1850. 

Those measures were called peace measures, and were afterward

termed by both the great parties of the country, as well as by

leading statesmen, a final settlement of the whole question of

slavery; but experience has laughed to scorn the wisdom of pro-

slavery statesmen; and their final settlement of agitation seems

to be the final revival, on a broader and grander scale than ever

before, of the question which they vainly attempted to suppress

forever.  The fugitive slave bill has especially been of positive

service to the anti-slavery movement.  It has illustrated before

all the people the horrible character of slavery toward the

slave, in hunting him down in a free state, and tearing him away

from wife and children, thus setting its claims higher than

marriage or parental claims.  It has revealed the arrogant and

overbearing spirit of the slave states toward the free states;

despising their principles--shocking their feelings of humanity,

not only by bringing before them the abominations of slavery, but

by attempting to make them parties to the crime.  It has called

into exercise among the colored people, the hunted ones, a spirit

of manly resistance well calculated to surround them with a

bulwark of sympathy and respect hitherto unknown.  For men are

always disposed to respect and defend rights, when the victims of

oppression stand up manfully for themselves.



There is another element of power added to the anti-slavery

movement, of great importance; it is the conviction, becoming

every day more general and universal, that slavery must be

abolished at the south, or it will demoralize and destroy liberty

at the north.  It is the nature of slavery to beget a state of

things all around it favorable to its own continuance.  This

fact, connected with the system of bondage, is beginning to be

more fully realized.  The slave-holder is not satisfied to

associate with men in the church or in the state, unless he can

thereby stain them with the blood of his slaves.  To be a slave-

holder is to be a propagandist from necessity; for slavery can

only live by keeping down the under-growth morality which nature

supplies.  Every new-born white babe comes armed from the Eternal

presence, to make war on slavery.  The heart of pity, which would

melt in due time over the brutal chastisements it sees inflicted

on the helpless, must be hardened.  And this work goes on every

day in the year, and every hour in the day.



What is done at home is being done also abroad here in the north. 

And even now the question may be asked, have we at this moment a

single free state in the Union?  The alarm at this point will

become more general.  <370>The slave power must go on in its

career of exactions.  Give, give, will be its cry, till the

timidity which concedes shall give place to courage, which shall

resist.  Such is the voice of experience, such has been the past,

such is the present, and such will be that future, which, so sure

as man is man, will come.  Here I leave the subject; and I leave

off where I began, consoling myself and congratulating the

friends of freedom upon the fact that the anti-slavery cause is

not a new thing under the sun; not some moral delusion which a

few years' experience may dispel.  It has appeared among men in

all ages, and summoned its advocates from all ranks.  Its

foundations are laid in the deepest and holiest convictions, and

from whatever soul the demon, selfishness, is expelled, there

will this cause take up its abode.  Old as the everlasting hills;

immovable as the throne of God; and certain as the purposes of

eternal power, against all hinderances, and against all delays,

and despite all the mutations of human instrumentalities, it is

the faith of my soul, that this anti-slavery cause will triumph.





[The end]