(1845)

FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
APPENDIX
A PARODY



CHAPTER I



I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve
miles from Easton, in Talbot county, Maryland. I have no ac-
curate knowledge of my age, never having seen any authentic
record containing it. By far the larger part of the slaves
know as little of their ages as horses know of theirs, and
it is the wish of most masters within my knowledge to keep
their slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever
met a slave who could tell of his birthday. They seldom come
nearer to it than planting-time, harvest-time, cherry-time,
spring-time, or fall-time. A want of information concerning
my own was a source of unhappiness to me even during child-
hood. The white children could tell their ages. I could not
tell why I ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was
not allowed to make any inquiries of my master concerning it.
He deemed all such inquiries on the part of a slave improper
and impertinent, and evidence of a restless spirit. The near-
est estimate I can give makes me now between twenty-seven
and twenty-eight years of age. I come to this, from hearing
my master say, some time during 1835, I was about seventeen
years old.

My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of
Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mo-
ther was of a darker complexion than either my grandmother or
grandfather.

My father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all
I ever heard speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whis-
pered that my master was my father; but of the correctness of
this opinion, I know nothing; the means of knowing was with-
held from me. My mother and I were separated when I was but
an infant—before I knew her as my mother. It is a common cus-
tom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part
children from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently,
before the child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is
taken from it, and hired out on some farm a considerable dis-
tance off, and the child is placed under the care of an old
woman, too old for field labor. For what this separation is
done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the development
of the child’s affection toward its mother, and to blunt and
destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child.
This is the inevitable result.

I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four
or five times in my life; and each of these times was very
short in duration, and at night. She was hired by a Mr. Ste-
wart, who lived about twelve miles from my home. She made
her journeys to see me in the night, travelling the whole
distance on foot, after the performance of her day’s work.
She was a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of not
being in the field at sunrise, unless a slave has special
permission from his or her master to the contrary—a permis-
sion which they seldom get, and one that gives to him that
gives it the proud name of being a kind master. I do not re-
collect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She
was with me in the night. She would lie down with me, and
get me to sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Very
little communication ever took place between us. Death soon
ended what little we could have while she lived, and with it
her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about seven
years old, on one of my master’s farms, near Lee’s Mill. I
was not allowed to be present during her illness, at her
death, or burial. She was gone long before I knew any thing
about it. Never having enjoyed, to any considerable extent,
her soothing presence, her tender and watchful care, I re-
ceived the tidings of her death with much the same emotions
I should have probably felt at the death of a stranger.

Called thus suddenly away, she left me without the slightest
intimation of who my father was. The whisper that my master
was my father, may or may not be true; and, true or false,
it is of but little consequence to my purpose whilst the
fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that slave-
holders have ordained, and by law established, that the
children of slave women shall in all cases follow the con-
dition of their mothers; and this is done too obviously to
administer to their own lusts, and make a gratification of
their wicked desires profitable as well as pleasurable; for
by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases not
a few, sustains to his slaves the double relation of master
and father.

I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such
slaves invariably suffer greater hardships, and have more
to contend with, than others. They are, in the first place,
a constant offence to their mistress. She is ever disposed
to find fault with them; they can seldom do any thing to
please her; she is never better pleased than when she sees
them under the lash, especially when she suspects her hus-
band of showing to his mulatto children favors which he with-
holds from his black slaves. The master is frequently compel-
led to sell this class of his slaves, out of deference to
the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel as the deed may
strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children to
human flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate of humanity for
him to do so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip
them himself, but must stand by and see one white son tie up
his brother, of but few shades darker complexion than himself,
and ply the gory lash to his naked back; and if he lisp one
word of disapproval, it is set down to his parental partial-
ity, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and
the slave whom he would protect and defend.

Every year brings with it multitudes of this class of slaves.
It was doubtless in consequence of a knowledge of this fact,
that one great statesman of the south predicted the downfall
of slavery by the inevitable laws of population. Whether this
prophecy is ever fulfilled or not, it is nevertheless plain
that a very different-looking class of people are springing
up at the south, and are now held in slavery, from those or-
iginally brought to this country from Africa; and if their
increase do no other good, it will do away the force of the
argument, that God cursed Ham, and therefore American slav-
ery is right. If the lineal descendants of Ham are alone to be
scripturally enslaved, it is certain that slavery at the south
must soon become unscriptural; for thousands are ush-
ered into the world, annually, who, like myself, owe their
existence to white fathers, and those fathers most frequently
their own masters.

I have had two masters. My first master’s name was Anthony.
I do not remember his first name. He was generally called
Captain Anthony—a title which, I presume, he acquired by sail-
ing a craft on the Chesapeake Bay. He was not considered a
rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and about
thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the care of
an overseer. The overseer’s name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer
was a miserable drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage mon-
ster. He always went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel.
I have known him to cut and slash the women’s heads so hor-
ribly, that even master would be enraged at his cruelty, and
would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself. Master,
however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required extraordi-
nary barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He
was a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He
would at times seem to take great pleasure in whipping a slave.
I have often been awakened at the dawn of day by the most heart-
rending shrieks of an own aunt of mine, whom he used to tie
up to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she was lit-
erally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers,
from his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its
bloody purpose. The louder she screamed, the harder he whip-
ped; and where the blood ran fastest, there he whipped long-
est. He would whip her to make her scream, and whip her to
make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue, would he
cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin. I remember the
first time I ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was
quite a child, but I well remember it. I never shall forget it
whilst I remember any thing. It was the first of a long ser-
ies of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be a witness
and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the
blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of slavery,
through which I was about to pass. It was a most terrible
spectacle. I wish I could commit to paper the feelings with
which I beheld it.

This occurrence took place very soon after I went to live
with my old master, and under the following circumstances.
Aunt Hester went out one night,—where or for what I do not
know,—and happened to be absent when my master desired her
presence. He had ordered her not to go out evenings, and
warned her that she must never let him catch her in company
with a young man, who was paying attention to her belonging
to Colonel Lloyd. The young man’s name was Ned Roberts, gen-
erally called Lloyd’s Ned. Why master was so careful of her,
may be safely left to conjecture. She was a woman of noble
form, and of graceful proportions, having very few equals,
and fewer superiors, in personal appearance, among the color-
ed or white women of our neighborhood.

Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out,
but had been found in company with Lloyd’s Ned; which circ-
umstance, I found, from what he said while whipping her, was
the chief offence. Had he been a man of pure morals himself,
he might have been thought interested in protecting the in-
nocence of my aunt; but those who knew him will not suspect
him of any such virtue. Before he commenced whipping Aunt
Hester, he took her into the kitchen, and stripped her from
neck to waist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entire-
ly naked. He then told her to cross her hands, calling her
at the same time a d——d b—-h. After crossing her hands, he
tied them with a strong rope, and led her to a stool under a
large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He made her
get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now
stood fair for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched
up at their full length, so that she stood upon the ends of
her toes. He then said to her, "Now, you d——d b—-h, I’ll
learn you how to disobey my orders!" and after rolling up
his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and
soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from
her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor.
I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I
hid myself in a closet, and dared not venture out till long
after the bloody transaction was over. I expected it would
be my turn next. It was all new to me. I had never seen any
thing like it before. I had always lived with my grandmother
on the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to
raise the children of the younger women. I had therefore
been, until now, out of the way of the bloody scenes that
often occurred on the plantation.



CHAPTER II



My master’s family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard;
one daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld.
They lived in one house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Ed-
ward Lloyd. My master was Colonel Lloyd’s clerk and superinten-
dent. He was what might be called the overseer of the overseers.
I spent two years of childhood on this plantation in my old mas-
ter’s family. It was here that I witnessed the bloody transac-
tion recorded in the first chapter; and as I received my first
impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some des-
cription of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The planta-
tion is about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county,
and is situated on the border of Miles River. The principal pro-
ducts raised upon it were tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were
raised in great abundance; so that, with the products of this
and the other farms belonging to him, he was able to keep in al-
most constant employment a large sloop, in carrying them to mar-
ket at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd, in honor of
one of the colonel’s daughters. My master’s son-in-law, Captain
Auld, was master of the vessel; she was otherwise manned by the
colonel’s own slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and
Jake. These were esteemed very highly by the other slaves, and
looked upon as the privileged ones of the plantation; for it was
no small affair, in the eyes of the slaves, to be allowed to see
Baltimore.

Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home
plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms
belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plan-
tation were Wye Town and New Design. "Wye Town" was under the
overseership of a man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the
overseership of a Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these, and all
the rest of the farms, numbering over twenty, received advice and
direction from the managers of the home plantation. This was the
great business place. It was the seat of government for the whole
twenty farms. All disputes among the overseers were settled here.
If a slave was convicted of any high misdemeanor, became unmanage-
able, or evinced a determination to run away, he was brought im-
mediately here, severely whipped, put on board the sloop, carried
to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some other slave-
trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.

Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their month-
ly allowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women
slaves received, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds
of pork, or its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal.
Their yearly clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one
pair of linen trousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of
trousers for winter, made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stock-
ings, and one pair of shoes; the whole of which could not have
cost more than seven dollars. The allowance of the slave children
was given to their mothers, or the old women having the care of
them. The children unable to work in the field had neither shoes,
stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to them; their clothing
consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year. When these failed
them, they went naked until the next allowance-day. Children from
seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked, might be seen
at all seasons of the year.

There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be
considered such, and none but the men and women had these. This,
however, is not considered a very great privation. They find less
difficulty from the want of beds, than from the want of time to
sleep; for when their day’s work in the field is done, the most
of them having their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and hav-
ing few or none of the ordinary facilities for doing either of
these, very many of their sleeping hours are consumed in preparing
for the field the coming day; and when this is done, old and young,
male and female, married and single, drop down side by side, on one
common bed,—the cold, damp floor,—each covering himself or herself
with their miserable blankets; and here they sleep till they are
summoned to the field by the driver’s horn. At the sound of this,
all must rise, and be off to the field. There must be no halting;
every one must be at his or her post; and woe betides them who hear
not this morning summons to the field; for if they are not awakened
by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of feeling: no age
nor sex finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used to stand by
the door of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick and heavy
cowskin, ready to whip any one who was so unfortunate as not to
hear, or, from any other cause, was prevented from being ready to
start for the field at the sound of the horn.

Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him
whip a woman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time;
and this, too, in the midst of her crying children, pleading for
their mother’s release. He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting
his fiendish barbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a profane
swearer. It was enough to chill the blood and stiffen the hair of
an ordinary man to hear him talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him
but that was commenced or concluded by some horrid oath. The field
was the place to witness his cruelty and profanity. His presence
made it both the field of blood and of blasphemy. From the rising
till the going down of the sun, he was cursing, raving, cutting,
and slashing among the slaves of the field, in the most frightful
manner. His career was short. He died very soon after I went to
Colonel Lloyd’s; and he died as he lived, uttering, with his dy-
ing groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was regarded
by the slaves as the result of a merciful providence.

Mr. Severe’s place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very dif-
ferent man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise,
than Mr. Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary
demonstrations of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no plea-
sure in it. He was called by the slaves a good overseer.

The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a coun-
try village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were
performed here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cart-
wrighting, coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all perform-
ed by the slaves on the home plantation. The whole place wore a
business-like aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The number
of houses, too, conspired to give it advantage over the neighboring
farms. It was called by the slaves the Great House Farm. Few privi-
leges were esteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, than
that of being selected to do errands at the Great House Farm. It
was associated in their minds with greatness. A representative could
not be prouder of his election to a seat in the American Congress,
than a slave on one of the out-farms would be of his election to do
errands at the Great House Farm. They regarded it as evidence of
great confidence reposed in them by their overseers; and it was on
this account, as well as a constant desire to be out of the field
from under the driver’s lash, that they esteemed it a high privil-
ege, one worth careful living for. He was called the smartest and
most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon him the most
frequently. The competitors for this office sought as diligently to
please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the political par-
ties seek to please and deceive the people. The same traits of char-
acter might be seen in Colonel Lloyd’s slaves, as are seen in the
slaves of the political parties.

The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly
allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly en-
thusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods,
for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at
once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and
sing as they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought
that came up, came out—if not in the word, in the sound;—and as fre-
quently in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the
most pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rap-
turous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs
they would manage to weave something of the Great House Farm. Espec-
ially would they do this, when leaving home. They would then sing
most exultingly the following words:—

"I am going away to the Great House Farm!
O, yea! O, yea! O!"

This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem
unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to
themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those
songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible charac-
ter of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on
the subject could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude
and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so
that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear.
They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble
comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed
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 spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness.
I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The
mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I
am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found
its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering
conception 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 the soul-killing ef-
fects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, and,
on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there
let him, in silence, 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."

I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north,
to find persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as
evidence of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to
conceive of a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are
most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his
heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is re-
lieved by its tears. At least, such is my experience. I have often
sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to express my happiness. Cry-
ing for joy, and singing for joy, were alike uncommon to me while
in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast away upon a des-
olate island might be as appropriately considered as evidence of
contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the songs
of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.



CHAPTER III



Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated garden, which
afforded almost constant employment for four men, besides the
chief gardener, (Mr. M’Durmond.) This garden was probably the
greatest attraction of the place. During the summer months, peo-
ple came from far and near--from Baltimore, Easton, and Annapo-
lis--to see it. It abounded in fruits of almost every description,
from the hardy apple of the north to the delicate orange of the
south. This garden was not the least source of trouble on the
plantation. Its excellent fruit was quite a temptation to the
hungry swarms of boys, as well as the older slaves, belonging
to the colonel, few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resist
it. Scarcely a day passed, during the summer, but that some slave
had to take the lash for stealing fruit. The colonel had to res-
ort to all kinds of stratagems to keep his slaves out of the gar-
den. The last and most successful one was that of tarring his
fence all around; after which, if a slave was caught with any
tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficient proof that he had
either been into the garden, or had tried to get in. In either
case, he was severely whipped by the chief gardener. This plan
worked well; the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash.
They seemed to realize the impossibility of touching tar without
being defiled.

The colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage. His stable
and carriage-house presented the appearance of some of our large
city livery establishments. His horses were of the finest form
and noblest blood. His carriage-house contained three splendid
coaches, three or four gigs, besides dearborns and barouches of
the most fashionable style.

This establishment was under the care of two slaves--old Barney
and young Barney--father and son. To attend to this establishment
was their sole work. But it was by no means an easy employment;
for in nothing was Colonel Lloyd more particular than in the man-
agement of his horses. The slightest inattention to these was un-
pardonable, and was visited upon those, under whose care they
were placed, with the severest punishment; no excuse could shield
them, if the colonel only suspected any want of attention to his
horses--a supposition which he frequently indulged, and one which,
of course, made the office of old and young Barney a very trying
one. They never knew when they were safe from punishment. They
were frequently whipped when least deserving, and escaped whipp-
ing when most deserving it. Every thing depended upon the looks
of the horses, and the state of Colonel Lloyd’s own mind when
his horses were brought to him for use. If a horse did not move
fast enough, or hold his head high enough, it was owing to some
fault of his keepers. It was painful to stand near the stable-door,
and hear the various complaints against the keepers when a horse
was taken out for use. "This horse has not had proper attention.
He has not been sufficiently rubbed and curried, or he has not
been properly fed; his food was too wet or too dry; he got it too
soon or too late; he was too hot or too cold; he had too much hay,
and not enough of grain; or he had too much grain, and not enough
of hay; instead of old Barney’s attending to the horse, he had
very improperly left it to his son." To all these complaints, no
matter how unjust, the slave must answer never a word. Colonel
Lloyd could not brook any contradiction from a slave. When he
spoke, a slave must stand, listen, and tremble; and such was lit-
erally the case. I have seen Colonel Lloyd make old Barney, a man
between fifty and sixty years of age, uncover his bald head,
kneel down upon the cold, damp ground, and receive upon his nak-
ed and toil-worn shoulders more than thirty lashes at the time.
Colonel Lloyd had three sons--Edward, Murray, and Daniel,--and
three sons-in-law, Mr. Winder, Mr. Nicholson, and Mr. Lowndes.
All of these lived at the Great House Farm, and enjoyed the lux-
ury of whipping the servants when they pleased, from old Barney
down to William Wilkes, the coach-driver. I have seen Winder make
one of the house-servants stand off from him a suitable distance
to be touched with the end of his whip, and at every stroke raise
great ridges upon his back.

To describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd would be almost equal to
describing the riches of Job. He kept from ten to fifteen house-
servants. He was said to own a thousand slaves, and I think this
estimate quite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned so many that
he did not know them when he saw them; nor did all the slaves of
the out-farms know him. It is reported of him, that, while riding
along the road one day, he met a colored man, and addressed him
in the usual manner of speaking to colored people on the public
highways of the south: "Well, boy, whom do you belong to?" "To
Colonel 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 you enough to eat?"
"Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is."

The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode
on; the man 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 aft-
erwards. 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 for-
ever sundered, from his family and friends, by a hand more unre-
lenting than death. This is the penalty of telling the truth, of
telling the simple truth, in answer to a series of plain questions.

It is partly in consequence of such facts, that slaves, when in-
quired of as to their condition and the character of their mas-
ters, almost universally say they are contented, and that their
masters are kind. The slaveholders have been known to send in
spies among their slaves, to ascertain their views and feelings
in regard to their condition. The frequency of this has 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 consequences of telling it, and in so doing prove themselves
a part of the human family. If they have any thing to say of their
masters, it is generally in their masters’ favor, especially when
speaking to an untried man. I have been frequently asked, when a
slave, if I had a kind master, and do not remember ever to have
given a negative answer; nor did I, in pursuing this course, con-
sider myself as uttering what was absolutely false; for I always
measured the kindness of my master by the standard of kindness set
up among slaveholders around us. Moreover, slaves are like other
people, and imbibe prejudices quite common to others. They think
their own better than that of others. Many, under the influence of
this prejudice, think their own masters are better than the mast-
ers 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 goodness of
their masters, each contending for the superior goodness of his
own over that of the others. At the very same time, they mutually
execrate their masters when viewed separately. It was so on our
plantation. When Colonel Lloyd’s slaves met the slaves of Jacob
Jepson, they seldom parted without a quarrel about their masters;
Colonel Lloyd’s slaves contending that he was the richest, and Mr.
Jepson’s slaves that he was the smartest, and most of a man. Col-
onel Lloyd’s slaves would boast his ability to buy and sell Jacob
Jepson. Mr. Jepson’s slaves would boast his ability to whip Colo-
nel Lloyd. These quarrels would almost always end in a fight be-
tween the parties, and those that whipped were supposed to have
gained the point at issue. They seemed to think that the greatness
of their masters was transferable to themselves. It was considered
as being bad enough to be a slave; but to be a poor man’s slave
was deemed a disgrace indeed!



CHAPTER IV



Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the office of overseer.
Why his career was so short, I do not know, but suppose he lacked
the necessary severity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was suc-
ceeded by Mr. Austin Gore, a man possessing, in an eminent degree,
all those traits of character indispensable to what is called a
first-rate overseer. Mr. Gore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the cap-
acity of overseer, upon one of the out-farms, and had shown himself
worthy of the high station of overseer upon the home or Great House
Farm.

Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering. He was artful, cru-
el, and obdurate. He was just the man for such a place, and it was
just the place for such a man. It afforded scope for the full exer-
cise of all his powers, and he seemed to be perfectly at home in
it. He was one of those who could torture the slightest look, word,
or gesture, on the part of the slave, into impudence, and would
treat it accordingly. There must be no answering back to him; no
explanation was allowed a slave, showing himself to have been wrong-
fully accused. Mr. Gore acted fully up to the maxim laid down by
slaveholders,--"It is better that a dozen slaves should suffer under
the lash, than that the overseer should be convicted, in the pres-
ence of the slaves, of having been at fault." No matter how inno-
cent a slave might be--it availed him nothing, when accused by Mr.
Gore of any misdemeanor. To be accused was to be convicted, and
to be convicted was to be punished; the one always following the
other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was to es-
cape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either, un-
der the overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough to de-
mand the most debasing homage of the slave, and quite servile e-
nough to crouch, himself, at the feet of the master. He was ambi-
tious enough to be contented with nothing short of the highest
rank of overseers, and persevering enough to reach the height of
his ambition. He was cruel enough to inflict the severest punish-
ment, artful enough to descend to the lowest trickery, and obdu-
rate enough to be insensible to the voice of a reproving conscience.
He was, of all the overseers, the most dreaded by the slaves. His
presence was painful; his eye flashed confusion; and seldom was
his sharp, shrill voice heard, without producing horror and trem-
bling in their ranks.

Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young man, he indulged in
no jokes, said no funny words, seldom smiled. His words were in
perfect keeping with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keep-
ing with his words. Overseers will sometimes indulge in a witty
word, even with the slaves; not so with Mr. Gore. He spoke but to
command, and commanded but to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with
his words, and bountifully with his whip, never using the former
where the latter would answer as well. When he whipped, he seemed
to do so from a sense of duty, and feared no consequences. He did
nothing reluctantly, no matter how disagreeable; always at his
post, never inconsistent. He never promised but to fulfil. He was,
in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness and stone-like
coolness.

His savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness
with which he committed the grossest and most savage deeds upon
the slaves under his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one
of Colonel Lloyd's slaves, by the name of Demby. He had given Dem-
by but few stripes, when, to get rid of the scourging, he ran and
plunged himself into a creek, and stood there at the depth of his
shoulders, refusing to come out. Mr. Gore told him that he would
give him three calls, and that, if he did not come out at the third
call, he would shoot him. The first call was given. Demby made no
response, but stood his ground. The second and third calls were
given with the same result. Mr. Gore then, without consultation or
deliberation with any one, not even giving Demby an additional
call, raised his musket to his face, taking deadly aim at his
standing victim, and in an instant poor Demby was no more. His
mangled body sank out of sight, and blood and brains marked the
water where he had stood.

A thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon the plantation,
excepting Mr. Gore. He alone seemed cool and collected. He was
asked by Colonel Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this
extraordinary expedient. His reply was, (as well as I can rememb-
er,) that Demby had become unmanageable. He was setting a danger-
ous example to the other slaves,--one which, if suffered to pass
without some such demonstration on his part, would finally lead
to the total subversion of all rule and order upon the plantation.
He argued that if one slave refused to be corrected, and escaped
with his life, the other slaves would soon copy the example; the
result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves, and the en-
slavement of the whites. Mr. Gore's defence was satisfactory. He
was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation.
His fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime was not even
submitted to judicial investigation. It was committed in the pre-
sence of slaves, and they of course could neither institute a suit,
nor testify against him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of
the bloodiest and 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, Maryland, when I left there; and
if he is still alive, he very probably lives there now; and if so,
he is now, as he was then, as highly esteemed and as much respect-
ed as though his guilty soul had not been stained with his bro-
ther's blood.

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,
of St. Michael's, killed two slaves, one of whom he killed with a
hatchet, by knocking his brains out. He used to boast of the com-
mission of the awful and bloody deed. I have heard him do so laugh-
ingly, 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."

The wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a short distance from where
I used to live, murdered my wife's cousin, a young girl between
fifteen and sixteen years of age, mangling her person in the most
horrible manner, breaking her nose and breastbone with a stick, so
that the poor girl expired in a few hours afterward. She was im-
mediately buried, but had not been in her untimely grave but a few
hours before she was taken up and examined by the coroner, who de-
cided that she had come to her death by severe beating. The offence
for which this girl was thus murdered was this:--She had been set
that night to mind Mrs. Hicks's baby, and during the night she fell
asleep, and the baby cried. She, having lost her rest for several
nights previous, did not hear the crying. They were both in the
room with Mrs. Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding the girl slow to move,
jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of wood by the fireplace,
and with it broke the girl's nose and breastbone, and thus ended
her life. I will not say that this most horrid murder produced no
sensation in the community. It did produce sensation, but not enough
to bring the murderess to punishment. There was a warrant issued
for her arrest, but it was never served. Thus she escaped not only
punishment, but even the pain of being arraigned before a court for
her horrid crime.

Whilst I am detailing bloody deeds which took place during my stay
on Colonel Lloyd's plantation, I will briefly narrate another,
which occurred about the same time as the murder of Demby by Mr.
Gore.

Colonel Lloyd's slaves were in the habit of spending a part of their
nights and Sundays in fishing for oysters, and in this way made up
the deficiency of their scanty allowance. An old man belonging to
Colonel Lloyd, while thus engaged, happened to get beyond the lim-
its of Colonel Lloyd's, and on the premises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At
this trespass, Mr. Bondly took offence, and with his musket came
down to the shore, and blew its deadly contents into the poor old
man.

Mr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd the next day, whether to
pay him for his property, or to justify himself in what he had done,
I know not. At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soon
hushed up. There was very little said about it at all, and nothing
done. It was a common saying, even among little white boys, that it
was worth a half-cent to kill a "nigger," and a half-cent to bury
one.



CHAPTER V



As to my own treatment while I lived on Colonel Lloyd's plantation,
it was very similar to that of the other slave children. I was not
old enough to work in the field, and there being little else than
field work to do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The most I
had to do was to drive up the cows at evening, keep the fowls out
of the garden, keep the front yard clean, and run of errands for my
old master's daughter, Mrs. Lucretia Auld. The most of my leisure
time I spent in helping Master Daniel Lloyd in finding his birds,
after he had shot them. My connection with Master Daniel was of
some advantage to me. He became quite attached to me, and was a sort
of protector of me. He would not allow the older boys to impose u-
pon me, and would divide his cakes with me.

I was seldom whipped by my old master, and suffered little from any
thing else than hunger and cold. I suffered much from hunger, but
much more from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I was
kept almost naked--no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trousers,
nothing on but a coarse tow linen shirt, reaching only to my knees.
I had no bed. I must have perished with cold, but that, the coldest
nights, I used to steal a bag which was used for carrying corn to
the mill. I would crawl into this bag, and there sleep on the cold,
damp, clay floor, with my head in and feet out. My feet have been
so cracked with the frost, that the pen with which I am writing
might be laid in the gashes.

We were not regularly allowanced. Our food was coarse corn meal
boiled. This was called mush. It was put into a large wooden tray or
trough, and set down upon the ground. The children were then called,
like so many pigs, and like so many pigs they would come and devour
the mush; some with oyster-shells, others with pieces of shingle,
some with naked hands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastest
got most; he that was strongest secured the best place; and few
left the trough satisfied.

I was probably between seven and eight years old when I left Col-
onel Lloyd's plantation. I left it with joy. I shall never forget
the ecstasy with which I received the intelligence that my old
master (Anthony) had determined to let me go to Baltimore, to live
with Mr. Hugh Auld, brother to my old master's son-in-law, Captain
Thomas Auld. I received this information about three days before
my departure. They were three of the happiest days I ever enjoyed.
I spent the most part of all these three days in the creek, wash-
ing off the plantation scurf, and preparing myself for my departure.

The pride of appearance which this would indicate was not my own.
I spent the time in washing, not so much because I wished to, but
because Mrs. Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skin off
my feet and knees before I could go to Baltimore; for the people
in Baltimore were very cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked
dirty. Besides, she was going to give me a pair of trousers, which
I should not put on unless I got all the dirt off me. The thought
of owning a pair of trousers was great indeed! It was almost a suf-
ficient motive, not only to make me take off what would be called
by pig-drovers the mange, but the skin itself. I went at it in good
earnest, working for the first time with the hope of reward.

The ties that ordinarily bind children to their homes were all sus-
pended in my case. I found no severe trial in my departure. My home
was charmless; it was not home to me; on parting from it, I could
not feel that I was leaving any thing which I could have enjoyed by
staying. My mother was dead, my grandmother lived far off, so that
I seldom saw her. I had two sisters and one brother, that lived in
the same house with me; but the early separation of us from our mo-
ther had well nigh blotted the fact of our relationship from our
memories. I looked for home elsewhere, and was confident of finding
none which I should relish less than the one which I was leaving.
If, however, I found in my new home hardship, hunger, whipping,
and nakedness, I had the consolation that I should not have escap-
ed any one of them by staying. Having already had more than a
taste of them in the house of my old master, and having endured
them there, I very naturally inferred my ability to endure them
elsewhere, and especially at Baltimore; for I had something of the
feeling about Baltimore that is expressed in the proverb, that
"being hanged in England is preferable to dying a natural death
in Ireland." I had the strongest desire to see Baltimore. Cousin
Tom, though not fluent in speech, had inspired me with that des-
ire by his eloquent description of the place. I could never point
out any thing at the Great House, no matter how beautiful or pow-
erful, but that he had seen something at Baltimore far exceeding,
both in beauty and strength, the object which I pointed out to him.
Even the Great House itself, with all its pictures, was far infer-
ior to many buildings in Baltimore. So strong was my desire, that
I thought a gratification of it would fully compensate for whatever
loss of comforts I should sustain by the exchange. I left without
a regret, and with the highest hopes of future happiness.

We sailed out of Miles River for Baltimore on a Saturday morning.
I remember only the day of the week, for at that time I had no know-
ledge of the days of the month, nor the months of the year. On set-
ting sail, I walked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd's plantation
what I hoped would be the last look. I then placed myself in the
bows of the sloop, and there spent the remainder of the day in look-
ing ahead, interesting myself in what was in the distance rather
than in things near by or behind.

In the afternoon of that day, we reached Annapolis, the capital of
the State. We stopped but a few moments, so that I had no time to
go on shore. It was the first large town that I had ever seen, and
though it would look small compared with some of our New England
factory villages, I thought it a wonderful place for its size--more
imposing even than the Great House Farm!

We arrived at Baltimore early on Sunday morning, landing at Smith's
Wharf, not far from Bowley's Wharf. We had on board the sloop a
large flock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them to the slaugh-
terhouse of Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater's Hill, I was conducted by
Rich, one of the hands belonging on board of the sloop, to my new
home in Alliciana Street, near Mr. Gardner's ship-yard, on Fells
Point.

Mr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and met me at the door with
their little son Thomas, to take care of whom I had been given.
And here I saw what I had never seen before; it was a white face
beaming with the most kindly emotions; it was the face of my new
mistress, Sophia Auld. I wish I could describe the rapture that
flashed through my soul as I beheld it. It was a new and strange
sight to me, brightening up my pathway with the light of happi-
ness. Little Thomas was told, there was his Freddy,--and I was
told to take care of little Thomas; and thus I entered upon the
duties of my new home with the most cheering prospect ahead.

I look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd's plantation as one
of the most interesting events of my life. It is possible, and
even quite probable, that but for the mere circumstance of being
removed from that plantation to Baltimore, I should have to-day,
instead of being here seated by my own table, in the enjoyment
of freedom and the happiness of home, writing this Narrative,
been confined in the galling chains of slavery. Going to live
at Baltimore laid the foundation, and opened the gateway, to
all my subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded it as the
first plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ev-
er since attended me, and marked my life with so many favors.
I regarded the selection of myself as being somewhat remarkable.
There were a number of slave children that might have been
sent from the plantation to Baltimore. There were those young-
er, those older, and those of the same age. I was chosen from
among them all, and was the first, last, and only choice.

I may be deemed superstitious, and even egotistical, in regard-
ing this event as a special interposition of divine Providence
in my favor. But I should be false to the earliest sentiments
of my soul, if I suppressed the opinion. I prefer to be true
to myself, even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of
others, rather than to be false, and incur my own abhorrence.
From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment of
a deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to
hold me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of
my career in slavery, this living word of faith and spirit
of hope departed not from me, but remained like ministering
angels to cheer me through the gloom. This good spirit was
from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving and praise.



CHAPTER VI



My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her
at the door,--a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She
had never had a slave under her control previously to myself, and
prior to her marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry
for a living. She was by trade a weaver; and by constant application
to her business, she had been in a good degree preserved from the
blighting and dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly aston-
ished at her goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her.
She was entirely unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I
could not approach her as I was accustomed to approach other white
ladies. My early instruction was all out of place. The crouching ser-
vility, usually so acceptable a quality in a slave, did not answer
when manifested toward her. Her favor was not gained by it; she seem-
ed to be disturbed by it. She did not deem it impudent or unmannerly
for a slave to look her in the face. The meanest slave was put fully
at ease in her presence, and none left without feeling better for
having seen her. Her face was made of heavenly smiles, and her voice
of tranquil music.

But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The
fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and
soon commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the in-
fluence of slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all
of sweet accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and
that angelic face gave place to that of a demon.

Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kind-
ly commenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she
assisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters.
Just at this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going
on, and at once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling
her, among other things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to
teach a slave to read. To use his own words, further, he said, "If
you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know
nothing but to obey his master--to do as he is told to do. Learning
would spoil the best nigger in the world. Now," said he, "if you
teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how to read, there would be
no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave. He would
at once become unmanageable, and of no value to his master. As to
himself, it could do him no good, but a great deal of harm. It would
make him discontented and unhappy." These words sank deep into my
heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering, and called
into existence an entirely new train of thought. It was a new and
special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which
my youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled in vain. I
now understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty--to
wit, the white man's power to enslave the black man. It was a grand
achievement, and I prized it highly. From that moment, I understood
the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just what I wanted, and
I got it at a time when I the least expected it. Whilst I was sadden-
ed by the thought of losing the aid of my kind mistress, I was glad-
dened by the invaluable instruction which, by the merest accident, I
had gained from my master. Though conscious of the difficulty of
learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and a fixed
purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The very
decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife
with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to con-
vince me that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering.
It gave me the best assurance that I might rely with the utmost con-
fidence on the results which, he said, would flow from teaching me
to read. What he most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most
loved, that I most hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be
carefully shunned, was to me a great good, to be diligently sought;
and the argument which he so warmly urged, against my learning to
read, only served to inspire me with a desire and determination to
learn. In learning to read, I owe almost as much to the bitter op-
position of my master, as to the kindly aid of my mistress. I ack-
nowledge the benefit of both.

I had resided but a short time in Baltimore before I observed a
marked difference, in the treatment of slaves, from that which I
had witnessed in the country. A city slave is almost a freeman,
compared with a slave on the plantation. He is much better fed and
clothed, and enjoys privileges altogether unknown to the slave on
the plantation. There is a vestige of decency, a sense of shame,
that does much to curb and check those outbreaks of atrocious cru-
elty so commonly enacted upon the plantation. He is a desperate
slaveholder, who will shock the humanity of his non-slaveholding
neighbors with the cries of his lacerated slave. Few are willing
to incur the odium attaching to the reputation of being a cruel
master; and above all things, they would not be known as not giv-
ing a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to
have it known of him, that he feeds his slaves well; and it is
due to them to say, that most of them do give their slaves enough
to eat. There are, however, some painful exceptions to this rule.
Directly opposite to us, on Philpot Street, lived Mr. Thomas Ham-
ilton. He owned two slaves. Their names were Henrietta and Mary.
Henrietta was about twenty-two years of age, Mary was about four-
teen; and of all the mangled and emaciated creatures I ever look-
ed upon, these two were the most so. His heart must be harder
than stone, that could look upon these unmoved. The head, neck,
and shoulders of Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have fre-
quently felt her head, and found it nearly covered with fester-
ing sores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do not
know that her master ever whipped her, but I have been an eye-
witness to the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Ham-
ilton's house nearly every day. Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a
large chair in the middle of the room, with a heavy cowskin al-
ways by her side, and scarce an hour passed during the day but
was marked by the blood of one of these slaves. The girls seldom
passed her without her saying, "Move faster, you black gip!" at
the same time giving them a blow with the cowskin over the head
or shoulders, often drawing the blood. She would then say, "Take
that, you black gip!" continuing, "If you don't move faster,
I'll move you!" Added to the cruel lashings to which these
slaves were subjected, they were kept nearly half-starved. They
seldom knew what it was to eat a full meal. I have seen Mary
contending with the pigs for the offal thrown into the street.
So much was Mary kicked and cut to pieces, that she was oftener
called "pecked" than by her name.



CHAPTER VII



I lived in Master Hugh's family about seven years. During this
time, I succeeded in learning to read and write. In accomplish-
ing this, I was compelled to resort to various stratagems. I had
no regular teacher. My mistress, who had kindly commenced to in-
struct me, had, in compliance with the advice and direction of
her husband, not only ceased to instruct, but had set her face
against my being instructed by any one else. It is due, however,
to my mistress to say of her, that she did not adopt this course
of treatment immediately. She at first lacked the depravity in-
dispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness. It was at
least necessary for her to have some training in the exercise
of irresponsible power, to make her equal to the task of treat-
ing me as though I were a brute.

My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tender-hearted wo-
man; and in the simplicity of her soul she commenced, when I
first went to live with her, to treat me as she supposed one
human being ought to treat another. In entering upon the dut-
ies of a slaveholder, she did not seem to perceive that I sus-
tained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and that for her
to treat me as a human being was not only wrong, but danger-
ously so. Slavery proved as injurious to her as it did to me.
When I went there, she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted
woman. There was no sorrow or suffering for which she had not
a tear. She had bread for the hungry, clothes for the naked,
and comfort for every mourner that came within her reach. Sla-
very soon proved its ability to divest her of these heavenly
qualities. Under its influence, the tender heart became stone,
and the lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like
fierceness. The first step in her downward course was in her
ceasing to instruct me. She now commenced to practise her hus-
band's precepts. She finally became even more violent in her
opposition than her husband himself. She was not satisfied
with simply doing as well as he had commanded; she seemed an-
xious to do better. Nothing seemed to make her more angry than
to see me with a newspaper. She seemed to think that here lay
the danger. I have had her rush at me with a face made all up
of fury, and snatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that full-
y revealed her apprehension. She was an apt woman; and a lit-
tle experience soon demonstrated, to her satisfaction, that
education and slavery were incompatible with each other.

From this time I was most narrowly watched. If I was in a sep-
arate room any considerable length of time, I was sure to be
suspected of having a book, and was at once called to give an
account of myself. All this, however, was too late. The first
step had been taken. Mistress, in teaching me the alphabet,
had given me the inch, and no precaution could prevent me
from taking the ell.

The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most suc-
cessful, was that of making friends of all the little white
boys whom I met in the street. As many of these as I could, I
converted into teachers. With their kindly aid, obtained at
different times and in different places, I finally succeeded
in learning to read. When I was sent of errands, I always took
my book with me, and by going one part of my errand quickly,
I found time to get a lesson before my return. I used also to
carry bread with me, enough of which was always in the house,
and to which I was always welcome; for I was much better off
in this regard than many of the poor white children in our
neighborhood. This bread I used to bestow upon the hungry lit-
tle urchins, who, in return, would give me that more valuable
bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to give the names
of two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of the
gratitude and affection I bear them; but prudence forbids;--
not that it would injure me, but it might embarrass them; for
it is almost an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read
in this Christian country. It is enough to say of the dear lit-
tle fellows, that they lived on Philpot Street, very near Dur-
gin and Bailey's ship-yard. I used to talk this matter of slav-
ery over with them. I would sometimes say to them, I wished I
could be as free as they would be when they got to be men.
"You will be free as soon as you are twenty-one, but I am a
slave for life! Have not I as good a right to be free as you
have?" These words used to trouble them; they would express
for me the liveliest sympathy, and console me with the hope
that something would occur by which I might be free.

I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being a
slave for life began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just a-
bout this time, I got hold of a book entitled "The Columbian
Orator." Every opportunity I got, I used to read this book.
Among much of other interesting matter, I found in it a dia-
logue between a master and his slave. The slave was represent-
ed as having run away from his master three times. The dia-
logue represented the conversation which took place between
them, when the slave was retaken the third time. In this dia-
logue, the whole argument in behalf of slavery was brought
forward by the master, all of which was disposed of by the
slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as well as
impressive things in reply to his master--things which had
the desired though unexpected effect; for the conversation
resulted in the voluntary emancipation of the slave on the
part of the master.

In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's mighty speech-
es on and in behalf of Catholic emancipation. These were
choice documents to me. I read them over and over again with
unabated interest. They gave tongue to interesting thoughts
of my own soul, which had frequently flashed through my mind,
and died away for want of utterance. The moral which I gain-
ed from the dialogue was the power of truth over the con-
science of even a slaveholder. What I got from Sheridan was
a bold denunciation of slavery, and a powerful vindication
of human rights. The reading of these documents enabled me
to utter my thoughts, and to meet the arguments brought for-
ward to sustain slavery; but while they relieved me of one
difficulty, they brought on another even more painful than
the one of which I was relieved. The more I read, the more I
was led to abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them
in no other light than a band of successful robbers, who had
left their homes, and gone to Africa, and stolen us from our
homes, and in a strange land reduced us to slavery. I loath-
ed them as being the meanest as well as the most wicked of
men. As I read and contemplated the subject, behold! that
very discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would fol-
low my learning to read had already come, to torment and sting
my soul to unutterable anguish. As I writhed under it, I would
at times feel that learning to read had been a curse rather
than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched con-
dition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the hor-
rible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments
of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I
have often wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition
of the meanest reptile to my own. Any thing, no matter what,
to get rid of thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of
my condition that tormented me. There was no getting rid of
it. It was pressed upon me by every object within sight or
hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom
had roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appear-
ed, to disappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound,
and seen in every thing. It was ever present to torment me
with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw nothing without
seeing it, I heard nothing without hearing it, and felt no-
thing without feeling it. It looked from every star, it smil-
ed in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every
storm.

I often found myself regretting my own existence, and wishing
myself dead; and but for the hope of being free, I have no
doubt but that I should have killed myself, or done something
for which I should have been killed. While in this state of
mind, I was eager to hear any one speak of slavery. I was a
ready listener. Every little while, I could hear something
about the abolitionists. It was some time before I found what
the word meant. It was always used in such connections as
to make it an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and
succeeded in getting clear, or if a slave killed his master,
set fire to a barn, or did any thing very wrong in the mind
of a slaveholder, it was spoken of as the fruit of abolition.
Hearing the word in this connection very often, I set about
learning what it meant. The dictionary afforded me little
or no help. I found it was "the act of abolishing;" but then
I did not know what was to be abolished. Here I was perplex-
ed. I did not dare to ask any one about its meaning, for I
was satisfied that it was something they wanted me to know
very little about. After a patient waiting, I got one of our
city papers, containing an account of the number of petitions
from the north, praying for the abolition of slavery in the
District of Columbia, and of the slave trade between the
States. From this time I understood the words abolition and
abolitionist, and always drew near when that word was spoken,
expecting to hear something of importance to myself and fel-
low-slaves. The light broke in upon me by degrees. I went one
day down on the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen
unloading a scow of stone, I went, unasked, and helped them.
When we had finished, one of them came to me and asked me if
I were a slave. I told him I was. He asked, "Are ye a slave
for life?" I told him that I was. The good Irishman seemed
to be deeply affected by the statement. He said to the other
that it was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should
be a slave for life. He said it was a shame to hold me. They
both advised me to run away to the north; that I should find
friends there, and that I should be free. I pretended not to
be interested in what they said, and treated them as if I
did not understand them; for I feared they might be treache-
rous. White men have been known to encourage slaves to escape,
and then, to get the reward, catch them and return them to
their masters. I was afraid that these seemingly good men
might use me so; but I nevertheless remembered their advice,
and from that time I resolved to run away. I looked forward
to a time at which it would be safe for me to escape. I was
too young to think of doing so immediately; besides, I wished
to learn how to write, as I might have occasion to write my
own pass. I consoled myself with the hope that I should one
day find a good chance. Meanwhile, I would learn to write.

The idea as to how I might learn to write was suggested to me
by being in Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard, and frequently see-
ing the ship carpenters, after hewing, and getting a piece of
timber ready for use, write on the timber the name of that
part of the ship for which it was intended. When a piece of
timber was intended for the larboard side, it would be marked
thus--"L." When a piece was for the starboard side, it would
be marked thus--"S." A piece for the larboard side forward,
would be marked thus--"L. F." When a piece was for starboard
side forward, it would be marked thus--"S. F." For larboard
aft, it would be marked thus--"L. A." For starboard aft, it
would be marked thus--"S. A." I soon learned the names of
these letters, and for what they were intended when placed u-
pon a piece of timber in the ship-yard. I immediately commenc-
ed copying them, and in a short time was able to make the four
letters named. After that, when I met with any boy who I knew
could write, I would tell him I could write as well as he.
The next word would be, "I don't believe you. Let me see you
try it." I would then make the letters which I had been so for-
tunate as to learn, and ask him to beat that. In this way I
got a good many lessons in writing, which it is quite possible
I should never have gotten in any other way. During this time,
my copy-book was the board fence, brick wall, and pavement;
my pen and ink was a lump of chalk. With these, I learned main-
ly how to write. I then commenced and continued copying the I-
talics in Webster's Spelling Book, until I could make them all
without looking on the book. By this time, my little Master
Thomas had gone to school, and learned how to write, and had
written over a number of copy-books. These had been brought home,
and shown to some of our near neighbors, and then laid aside.
My mistress used to go to class meeting at the Wilk Street meet-
inghouse every Monday afternoon, and leave me to take care of
the house. When left thus, I used to spend the time in writing
in the spaces left in Master Thomas's copy-book, copying what
he had written. I continued to do this until I could write a
hand very similar to that of Master Thomas. Thus, after a long,
tedious effort for years, I finally succeeded in learning how
to write.



CHAPTER VIII



In a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old
master's youngest son Richard died; and in about three years
and six months after his death, my old master, Captain Anthony,
died, leaving only his son, Andrew, and daughter, Lucretia, to
share his estate. He died while on a visit to see his daughter
at Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly, he left no will as
to the disposal of his property. It was therefore necessary to
have a valuation of the property, that it might be equally div-
ided between Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was immediately
sent for, to be valued with the other property. Here again my
feelings rose up in detestation of slavery. I had now a new
conception of my degraded condition. Prior to this, I had be-
come, if not insensible to my lot, at least partly so. I left
Baltimore with a young heart overborne with sadness, and a soul
full of apprehension. I took passage with Captain Rowe, in the
schooner Wild Cat, and, after a sail of about twenty-four hours,
I found myself near the place of my birth. I had now been absent
from it almost, if not quite, five years. I, however, remembered
the place very well. I was only about five years old when I left
it, to go and live with my old master on Colonel Lloyd's plant-
ation; so that I was now between ten and eleven years old.

We were all ranked together at the valuation. Men and women, old
and young, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep,
and swine. There were horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and
children, all holding the same rank in the scale of being, and
were all subjected to the same narrow examination. Silvery-headed
age and sprightly youth, maids and matrons, had to undergo the
same indelicate inspection. At this moment, I saw more clearly
than ever the brutalizing effects of slavery upon both slave and
slaveholder.

After the valuation, then came the division. I have no language
to express the high excitement and deep anxiety which were felt
among us poor slaves during this time. Our fate for life was now
to be decided. We had no more voice in that decision than the
brutes among whom we were ranked. A single word from the white
men was enough--against all our wishes, prayers, and entreaties--
to sunder forever the dearest friends, dearest kindred, and
strongest ties known to human beings. In addition to the pain of
separation, there was the horrid dread of falling into the hands
of Master Andrew. He was known to us all as being a most cruel
wretch,--a common drunkard, who had, by his reckless mismanage-
ment and profligate dissipation, already wasted a large portion
of his father's property. We all felt that we might as well be
sold at once to the Georgia traders, as to pass into his hands;
for we knew that that would be our inevitable condition,--a con-
dition held by us all in the utmost horror and dread.

I suffered more anxiety than most of my fellow-slaves. I had
known what it was to be kindly treated; they had known nothing
of the kind. They had seen little or nothing of the world. They
were in very deed men and women of sorrow, and acquainted with
grief. Their backs had been made familiar with the bloody lash,
so that they had become callous; mine was yet tender; for while
at Baltimore I got few whippings, and few slaves could boast of
a kinder master and mistress than myself; and the thought of
passing out of their hands into those of Master Andrew--a man
who, but a few days before, to give me a sample of his bloody
disposition, took my little brother by the throat, threw him on
the ground, and with the heel of his boot stamped upon his head
till the blood gushed from his nose and ears--was well calcu-
lated to make me anxious as to my fate. After he had committed
this savage outrage upon my brother, he turned to me, and said
that was the way he meant to serve me one of these days,--mean-
ing, I suppose, when I came into his possession.

Thanks to a kind Providence, I fell to the portion of Mrs. Luc-
retia, and was sent immediately back to Baltimore, to live a-
gain in the family of Master Hugh. Their joy at my return equal-
led their sorrow at my departure. It was a glad day to me. I
had escaped a worse than lion's jaws. I was absent from Balti-
more, for the purpose of valuation and division, just about
one month, and it seemed to have been six.

Very soon after my return to Baltimore, my mistress, Lucretia,
died, leaving her husband and one child, Amanda; and in a very
short time after her death, Master Andrew died. Now all the pro-
perty of my old master, slaves included, was in the hands of
strangers,--strangers who had had nothing to do with accumulat-
ing it. Not a slave was left free. All remained slaves, from
the youngest to the oldest. If any one thing in my experience,
more than another, served to deepen my conviction of the infer-
nal character of slavery, and to fill me with unutterable loath-
ing 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 infan-
cy, 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 be-
ing 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 child-
ren, having seen the beginning and end of all of them, and her
present owners finding she was of but little value, her frame
already racked with the pains of old age, and complete help-
lessness 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 support-
ing herself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtually turn-
ing 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 help-
less infancy and painful old age combine together--at this time,
this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that tender-
ness and affection which children only can exercise towards 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. She stands--she sits--she staggers--she falls
--she groans--she dies--and there are none of her children or
grandchildren present, to wipe from her wrinkled brow the cold
sweat of death, or to place beneath the sod her fallen remains.
Will not a righteous God visit for these things?

In about two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Tho-
mas married his second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton. She
was the eldest daughter of Mr. William Hamilton. Master now
lived in St. Michael's. Not long after his marriage, a misunder-
standing took place between himself and Master Hugh; and as a
means of punishing his brother, he took me from him to live
with himself at St. Michael's. Here I underwent another most
painful separation. It, however, was not so severe as the one
I dreaded at the division of property; for, during this inter-
val, a great change had taken place in Master Hugh and his
once kind and affectionate wife. The influence of brandy upon
him, and of slavery upon her, had effected a disastrous change
in the characters of both; so that, as far as they were concern-
ed, I thought I had little to lose by the change. But it was
not to them that I was attached. It was to those little Balti-
more boys that I felt the strongest attachment. I had received
many good lessons from them, and was still receiving them, and
the thought of leaving them was painful indeed. I was leaving,
too, without the hope of ever being allowed to return. Master
Thomas had said he would never let me return again. The barri-
er betwixt himself and brother he considered impassable.

I then had to regret that I did not at least make the attempt
to carry out my resolution to run away; for the chances of suc-
cess are tenfold greater from the city than from the country.

I sailed from Baltimore for St. Michael's in the sloop Amanda,
Captain Edward Dodson. On my passage, I paid particular attent-
ion to the direction which the steamboats took to go to Phila-
delphia. I found, instead of going down, on reaching North
Point they went up the bay, in a north-easterly direction. I
deemed this knowledge of the utmost importance. My determina-
tion to run away was again revived. I resolved to wait only so
long as the offering of a favorable opportunity. When that
came, I was determined to be off.



CHAPTER IX



I have now reached a period of my life when I can give dates.
I left Baltimore, and went to live with Master Thomas Auld, at
St. Michael's, in March, 1832. It was now more than seven years
since I lived with him in the family of my old master, on Colon-
el Lloyd's plantation. We of course were now almost entire
strangers to each other. He was to me a new master, and I to him
a new slave. I was ignorant of his temper and disposition; he
was equally so of mine. A very short time, however, brought us
into full acquaintance with each other. I was made acquainted
with his wife not less than with himself. They were well matched,
being equally mean and cruel. I was now, for the first time dur-
ing a space of more than seven years, made to feel the painful
gnawings of hunger--a something which I had not experienced be-
fore since I left Colonel Lloyd's plantation. It went hard e-
nough with me then, when I could look back to no period at which
I had enjoyed a sufficiency. It was tenfold harder after living
in Master Hugh's family, where I had always had enough to eat,
and of that which was good. I have said Master Thomas was a mean
man. He was so. Not to give a slave enough to eat, is regarded
as the most aggravated development of meanness even among slave-
holders. 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 from which I came, it is the general practice,--though
there are many exceptions. Master Thomas gave us enough of nei-
ther coarse nor fine food. There were four slaves of us in the
kitchen--my sister Eliza, my aunt Priscilla, Henny, and myself;
and we were allowed less than a half of a bushel of corn-meal
per week, and very little else, either in the shape of meat or
vegetables. It was not enough for us to subsist upon. We were
therefore reduced to the wretched necessity of living at the ex-
pense of our neighbors. This we did by begging and stealing,
whichever came handy in the time of need, the one being con-
sidered as legitimate as the other. A great many times have we
poor creatures been nearly perishing with hunger, when food in
abundance lay mouldering in the safe and smoke-house, and our
pious mistress was aware of the fact; and yet that mistress and
her husband would kneel every morning, and pray that God would
bless them in basket and store!

Bad as all slaveholders are, we seldom meet one destitute of ev-
ery element of character commanding respect. My master was one
of this rare sort. I do not know of one single noble act ever
performed by him. The leading trait in his character was mean-
ness; and if there were any other element in his nature, it was
made subject to this. He was mean; and, like most other mean
men, he lacked the ability to conceal his meanness. Captain Auld
was not born a slaveholder. He had been a poor man, master only
of a Bay craft. He came into possession of all his slaves by
marriage; and of all men, adopted slaveholders are the worst.
He was cruel, but cowardly. He commanded without firmness. In
the enforcement of his rules, he was at times rigid, and at
times lax. At times, he spoke to his slaves with the firmness
of Napoleon and the fury of a demon; at other times, he might
well be mistaken for an inquirer who had lost his way. He did
nothing of himself. He might have passed for a lion, but for
his ears. In all things noble which he attempted, his own mean-
ness shone most conspicuous. His airs, words, and actions, were
the airs, words, and actions of born slaveholders, and, being
assumed, were awkward enough. He was not even a good imitator.
He possessed all the disposition to deceive, but wanted the pow-
er. Having no resources within himself, he was compelled to be
the copyist of many, and being such, he was forever the victim
of inconsistency; and of consequence he was an object of contempt,
and was held as such even by his slaves. The luxury of having
slaves of his own to wait upon him was something new and unpre-
pared for. He was a slaveholder without the ability to hold
slaves. He found himself incapable of managing his slaves either
by force, fear, or fraud. We seldom called him "master;" we gen-
erally called him "Captain Auld," and were hardly disposed to
title him at all. I doubt not that our conduct had much to do
with making him appear awkward, and of consequence fretful. Our
want of reverence for him must have perplexed him greatly. He
wished to have us call him master, but lacked the firmness nec-
essary to command us to do so. His wife used to insist upon our
calling him so, but to no purpose. In August, 1832, my master
attended a Methodist camp-meeting held in the Bay-side, Talbot
county, and there experienced religion. I indulged a faint hope
that his conversion would lead him to emancipate his slaves,
and that, if he did not do this, it would, at any rate, make
him more kind and humane. I was disappointed in both these res-
pects. It neither made him to be humane to his slaves, nor to
emancipate them. If it had any effect on his character, it made
him more cruel and hateful in all his ways; for I believe him
to have been a much worse man after his conversion than before.
Prior to his conversion, he relied upon his own depravity to
shield and sustain him in his savage barbarity; but after his
conversion, he found religious sanction and support for his
slaveholding cruelty. He made the greatest pretensions to piety.
His house was the house of prayer. He prayed morning, noon, and
night. He very soon distinguished himself among his brethren,
and was soon made a class-leader and exhorter. His activity in
revivals was great, and he proved himself an instrument in the
hands of the church in converting many souls. His house was the
preachers' home. They used to take great pleasure in coming
there to put up; for while he starved us, he stuffed them. We
have had three or four preachers there at a time. The names of
those who used to come most frequently while I lived there,
were Mr. Storks, Mr. Ewery, Mr. Humphry, and Mr. Hickey. I have
also seen Mr. George Cookman at our house. We slaves loved Mr.
Cookman. We believed him to be a good man. We thought him in-
strumental in getting Mr. Samuel Harrison, a very rich slave-
holder, to emancipate his slaves; and by some means got the
impression that he was laboring to effect the emancipation of
all the slaves. When he was at our house, we were sure to be
called in to prayers. When the others were there, we were some-
times called in and sometimes not. Mr. Cookman took more no-
tice of us than either of the other ministers. He could not
come among us without betraying his sympathy for us, and, stu-
pid as we were, we had the sagacity to see it.

While I lived with my master in St. Michael's, there was a
white young man, a Mr. Wilson, who proposed to keep a Sabbath
school for the instruction of such slaves as might be disposed
to learn to read the New Testament. We met but three times,
when Mr. West and Mr. Fairbanks, both class-leaders, with man-
y others, came upon us with sticks and other missiles, drove
us off, and forbade us to meet again. Thus ended our little
Sabbath school in the pious town of St. Michael's.

I have said my master found religious sanction for his cruel-
ty. As an example, I will state one of many facts going to
prove the charge. I have seen him tie up a lame young woman,
and whip her with a heavy cowskin upon her naked shoulders,
causing the warm red blood to drip; and, in justification of
the bloody deed, he would quote this passage of Scripture--
"He that knoweth his master's will, and doeth it not, shall
be beaten with many stripes."

Master would keep this lacerated young woman tied up in this
horrid situation four or five hours at a time. I have known
him to tie her up early in the morning, and whip her before
breakfast; leave her, go to his store, return at dinner, and
whip her again, cutting her in the places already made raw
with his cruel lash. The secret of master's cruelty toward
"Henny" is found in the fact of her being almost helpless.
When quite a child, she fell into the fire, and burned her-
self horribly. Her hands were so burnt that she never got
the use of them. She could do very little but bear heavy bur-
dens. She was to master a bill of expense; and as he was a
mean man, she was a constant offence to him. He seemed des-
irous of getting the poor girl out of existence. He gave
her away once to his sister; but, being a poor gift, she
was not disposed to keep her. Finally, my benevolent master,
to use his own words, "set her adrift to take care of her-
self." Here was a recently-converted man, holding on upon
the mother, and at the same time turning out her helpless
child, to starve and die! Master Thomas was one of the many
pious slaveholders who hold slaves for the very charitable
purpose of taking care of them.

My master and myself had quite a number of differences. He
found me unsuitable to his purpose. My city life, he said,
had had a very pernicious effect upon me. It had almost
ruined me for every good purpose, and fitted me for every
thing which was bad. One of my greatest faults was that of
letting his horse run away, and go down to his father-in-
law's farm, which was about five miles from St. Michael's.
I would then have to go after it. My reason for this kind of
carelessness, or carefulness, was, that I could always get
something to eat when I went there. Master William Hamilton,
my master's father-in-law, always gave his slaves enough to
eat. I never left there hungry, no matter how great the need
of my speedy return. Master Thomas at length said he would
stand it no longer. I had lived with him nine months, during
which time he had given me a number of severe whippings, all
to no good purpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said,
to be broken; and, for this purpose, he let me for one year
to a man named Edward Covey. Mr. Covey was a poor man, a farm-
renter. He rented the place upon which he lived, as also the
hands with which he tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired a very
high reputation for breaking young slaves, and this reputa-
tion was of immense value to him. It enabled him to get his
farm tilled with much less expense to himself than he could
have had it done without such a reputation. Some slaveholders
thought it not much loss to allow Mr. Covey to have their
slaves one year, for the sake of the training to which they
were subjected, without any other compensation. He could hire
young help with great ease, in consequence of this reputation.
Added to the natural good qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a pro-
fessor of religion--a pious soul--a member and a class-leader
in the Methodist church. All of this added weight to his repu-
tation as a "nigger-breaker." I was aware of all the facts,
having been made acquainted with them by a young man who had
lived there. I nevertheless made the change gladly; for I was
sure of getting enough to eat, which is not the smallest con-
sideration to a hungry man.



CHAPTER X



I had left Master Thomas's house, and went to live with Mr. Co-
vey, on the 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time
in my life, a field hand. In my new employment, I found myself
even more awkward than a country boy appeared to be in a large
city. I had been at my new home but one week before Mr. Covey
gave me a very severe whipping, cutting my back, causing the
blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as large as my lit-
tle finger. The details of this affair are as follows: Mr. Covey
sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days
in the month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood.
He gave me a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-
hand ox, and which the off-hand one. He then tied the end of a
large rope around the horns of the in-hand ox, and gave me the
other end of it, and told me, if the oxen started to run, that
I must hold on upon the rope. I had never driven oxen before,
and of course I was very awkward. I, however, succeeded in get-
ting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty; but I had
got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took fright,
and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and over
stumps, in the most frightful manner. I expected every moment
that my brains would be dashed out against the trees. After run-
ning thus for a considerable distance, they finally upset the
cart, dashing it with great force against a tree, and threw them-
selves into a dense thicket. How I escaped death, I do not know.
There I was, entirely alone, in a thick wood, in a place new to
me. My cart was upset and shattered, my oxen were entangled a-
mong the young trees, and there was none to help me. After a
long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart righted,
my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now proceed-
ed with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been
chopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in
this way to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had
now consumed one half of the day. I got out of the woods safely,
and now felt out of danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods
gate; and just as I did so, before I could get hold of my ox-rope,
the oxen again started, rushed through the gate, catching it be-
tween the wheel and the body of the cart, tearing it to pieces,
and coming within a few inches of crushing me against the gate-
post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death by the merest
chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened, and how
it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again immediate-
ly. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into the
woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would
teach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went
to a large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches,
and, after trimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he order-
ed me to take off my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with
my clothes on. He repeated his order. I still made him no answer,
nor did I move to strip myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the
fierceness of a tiger, tore off my clothes, and lashed me till he
had worn out his switches, cutting me so savagely as to leave the
marks visible for a long time after. This whipping was the first
of a number just like it, and for similar offences.

I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of
that year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was sel-
dom free from a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his
excuse for whipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of
endurance. Long before day we were up, our horses fed, and by the
first approach of day we were off to the field with our hoes and
ploughing teams. Mr. Covey gave us enough to eat, but scarce time
to eat it. We were often less than five minutes taking our meals.
We were often in the field from the first approach of day till
its last lingering ray had left us; and at saving-fodder time,
midnight often caught us in the field binding blades.

Covey would be out with us. The way he used to stand it, was this.
He would spend the most of his afternoons in bed. He would then
come out fresh in the evening, ready to urge us on with his words,
example, and frequently with the whip. Mr. Covey was one of the
few slaveholders who could and did work with his hands. He was a
hard-working man. He knew by himself just what a man or a boy
could do. There was no deceiving him. His work went on in his ab-
sence almost as well as in his presence; and he had the faculty
of making us feel that he was ever present with us. This he did
by surprising us. He seldom approached the spot where we were at
work openly, if he could do it secretly. He always aimed at tak-
ing us by surprise. Such was his cunning, that we used to call
him, among ourselves, "the snake." When we were at work in the
cornfield, he would sometimes crawl on his hands and knees to a-
void detection, and all at once he would rise nearly in our midst,
and scream out, "Ha, ha! Come, come! Dash on, dash on!" This be-
ing his mode of attack, it was never safe to stop a single minute.
His comings were like a thief in the night. He appeared to us as
being ever at hand. He was under every tree, behind every stump,
in every bush, and at every window, on the plantation. He would
sometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St. Michael's, a dis-
tance of seven miles, and in half an hour afterwards you would
see him coiled up in the corner of the wood-fence, watching every
motion of the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave his horse
tied up in the woods. Again, he would sometimes walk up to us,
and give us orders as though he was upon the point of starting
on a long journey, turn his back upon us, and make as though he
was going to the house to get ready; and, before he would get
half way thither, he would turn short and crawl into a fence-co-
rner, or behind some tree, and there watch us till the going
down of the sun.

Mr. Covey's forte consisted in his power to deceive. His life
was devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions.
Every thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion,
he made conform to his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think
himself equal to deceiving the Almighty. He would make a short
prayer in the morning, and a long prayer at night; and, strange
as it may seem, few men would at times appear more devotional
than he. The exercises of his family devotions were always com-
menced with singing; and, as he was a very poor singer himself,
the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon me. He would
read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times do
so; at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost al-
ways produce much confusion. To show himself independent of
me, he would start and stagger through with his hymn in the most
discordant manner. In this state of mind, he prayed with more
than ordinary spirit. Poor man! such was his disposition, and
success at deceiving, I do verily believe that he sometimes de-
ceived himself into the solemn belief, that he was a sincere
worshipper of the most high God; and this, too, at a time when
he may be said to have been guilty of compelling his woman slave
to commit the sin of adultery. The facts in the case are these:
Mr. Covey was a poor man; he was just commencing in life; he was
only able to buy one slave; and, shocking as is the fact, he
bought her, as he said, for a breeder. This woman was named Car-
oline. Mr. Covey bought her from Mr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles
from St. Michael's. She was a large, able-bodied woman, about
twenty years old. She had already given birth to one child,
which proved her to be just what he wanted. After buying her,
he hired a married man of Mr. Samuel Harrison, to live with him
one year; and him he used to fasten up with her every night!
The result was, that, at the end of the year, the miserable wo-
man gave birth to twins. At this result Mr. Covey seemed to be
highly pleased, both with the man and the wretched woman. Such
was his joy, and that of his wife, that nothing they could do
for Caroline during her confinement was too good, or too hard,
to be done. The children were regarded as being quite an addi-
tion to his wealth.

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 in
all weathers. It was never too hot or too cold; it could never
rain, blow, hail, or snow, too hard for us to work in the field.
Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order of the day than
of the night. The longest days were too short for him, and the
shortest nights too long for him. I was somewhat unmanageable
when I first went there, but a few months of this 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, that flickered for a moment, and then vanished. I sank
down again, mourning over my wretched condition. I was some-
times 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 lofty 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 Al-
mighty, 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 are 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 round 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! be-
twixt me 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 the 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 steer-
ed in a north-east course 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 Penn-
sylvania. When I get there, I shall not be required to have
a pass; I can travel without being disturbed. Let but the
first opportunity offer, and, come what will, I am off. Mean-
while, I will try to bear up under the yoke. I am not the on-
ly 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."

Thus I used to think, and thus I used to speak to myself;
goaded almost to madness at one moment, and at the next
reconciling myself to my wretched lot.

I have already intimated that my condition was much worse,
during the first six months of my stay at Mr. Covey's, than
in the last six. The circumstances leading to the change in
Mr. Covey's course toward me form an epoch in my humble his-
tory. You have seen how a man was made a slave; you shall
see how a slave was made a man. On one of the hottest days
of the month of August, 1833, Bill Smith, William Hughes, a
slave named Eli, and myself, were engaged in fanning wheat.
Hughes was clearing the fanned wheat from before the fan.
Eli was turning, Smith was feeding, and I was carrying wheat
to the fan. The work was simple, requiring strength rather
than intellect; yet, to one entirely unused to such work, it
came very hard. About three o'clock of that day, I broke
down; my strength failed me; I was seized with a violent
aching of the head, attended with extreme dizziness; I trem-
bled in every limb. Finding what was coming, I nerved myself
up, feeling it would never do to stop work. I stood as long
as I could stagger to the hopper with grain. When I could
stand no longer, I fell, and felt as if held down by an im-
mense weight. The fan of course stopped; every one had his
own work to do; and no one could do the work of the other,
and have his own go on at the same time.

Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred yards from the
treading-yard where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop,
he left immediately, and came to the spot where we were. He
hastily inquired what the matter was. Bill answered that I
was sick, and there was no one to bring wheat to the fan.
I had by this time crawled away under the side of the post
and rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed, hoping to
find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where
I was. He was told by one of the hands. He came to the spot,
and, after looking at me awhile, asked me what was the mat-
ter. I told him as well as I could, for I scarce had strength
to speak. He then gave me a savage kick in the side, and
told me to get up. I tried to do so, but fell back in the at-
tempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to rise.
I again tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stoop-
ing to get the tub with which I was feeding the fan, I again
staggered and fell. While down in this situation, Mr. Covey
took up the hickory slat with which Hughes had been striking
off the half-bushel measure, and with it gave me a heavy blow
upon the head, making a large wound, and the blood ran free-
ly; and with this again told me to get up. I made no effort
to comply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst.
In a short time after receiving this blow, my head grew bet-
ter. Mr. Covey had now left me to my fate. At this moment I
resolved, for the first time, to go to my master, enter a com-
plaint, and ask his protection. In order to do this, I must
that afternoon walk seven miles; and this, under the circum-
stances, was truly a severe undertaking. I was exceedingly
feeble; made so as much by the kicks and blows which I receiv-
ed, as by the severe fit of sickness to which I had been sub-
jected. I, however, watched my chance, while Covey was look-
ing in an opposite direction, and started for St. Michael's.
I succeeded in getting a considerable distance on my way to
the woods, when Covey discovered me, and called after me to
come back, threatening what he would do if I did not come. I
disregarded both his calls and his threats, and made my way
to the woods as fast as my feeble state would allow; and
thinking I might be overhauled by him if I kept the road, I
walked through the woods, keeping far enough from the road
to avoid detection, and near enough to prevent losing my way.
I had not gone far before my little strength again failed me.
I could go no farther. I fell down, and lay for a consider-
able time. The blood was yet oozing from the wound on my
head. For a time I thought I should bleed to death; and think
now that I should have done so, but that the blood so matted
my hair as to stop the wound. After lying there about three
quarters of an hour, I nerved myself up again, and started
on my way, through bogs and briers, barefooted and barehead-
ed, tearing my feet sometimes at nearly every step; and after
a journey of about seven miles, occupying some five hours to
perform it, I arrived at master's store. I then presented an
appearance enough to affect any but a heart of iron. From
the crown of my head to my feet, I was covered with blood.
My hair was all clotted with dust and blood; my shirt was
stiff with blood. I suppose I looked like a man who had es-
caped a den of wild beasts, and barely escaped them. In this
state I appeared before my master, humbly entreating him to
interpose his authority for my protection. I told him all
the circumstances as well as I could, and it seemed, as I
spoke, at times to affect him. He would then walk the floor,
and seek to justify Covey by saying he expected I deserved
it. He asked me what I wanted. I told him, to let me get a
new home; that as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again, I
should live with but to die with him; that Covey would sure-
ly kill me; he was in a fair way for it. Master Thomas rid-
iculed the idea that there was any danger of Mr. Covey's
killing me, and said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he was a
good man, and that he could not think of taking me from him;
that, should he do so, he would lose the whole year's wages;
that I belonged to Mr. Covey for one year, and that I must
go back to him, come what might; and that I must not trouble
him with any more stories, or that he would himself get hold
of me. After threatening me thus, he gave me a very large
dose of salts, telling me that I might remain in St. Michael's
that night, (it being quite late,) but that I must be off
back to Mr. Covey's early in the morning; and that if I did
not, he would get hold of me, which meant that he would whip
me. I remained all night, and, according to his orders, I
started off to Covey's in the morning, (Saturday morning,)
wearied in body and broken in spirit. I got no supper that
night, or breakfast that morning. I reached Covey's about
nine o'clock; and just as I was getting over the fence that
divided Mrs. Kemp's fields from ours, out ran Covey with his
cowskin, to give me another whipping. Before he could reach
me, I succeeded in getting to the cornfield; and as the corn
was very high, it afforded me the means of hiding. He seemed
very angry, and searched for me a long time. My behavior was
altogether unaccountable. He finally gave up the chase, think-
ing, I suppose, that I must come home for something to eat;
he would give himself no further trouble in looking for me.
I spent that day mostly in the woods, having the alternative
before me,--to go home and be whipped to death, or stay in
the woods and be starved to death. That night, I fell in with
Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whom I was somewhat acquainted.
Sandy had a free wife who lived about four miles from Mr.
Covey's; and it being Saturday, he was on his way to see her.
I told him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited me
to go home with him. I went home with him, and talked this
whole matter over, and got his advice as to what course it
was best for me to pursue. I found Sandy an old adviser. He
told me, with great solemnity, I must go back to Covey; but
that before I went, I must go with him into another part of
the woods, where there was a certain root, which, if I would
take some of it with me, carrying it always on my right side,
would render it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white
man, to whip me. He said he had carried it for years; and
since he had done so, he had never received a blow, and nev-
er expected to while he carried it. I at first rejected the
idea, that the simple carrying of a root in my pocket would
have any such effect as he had said, and was not disposed to
take it; but Sandy impressed the necessity with much earnest-
ness, telling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To
please him, I at length took the root, and, according to his
direction, carried it upon my right side. This was Sunday
morning. I immediately started for home; and upon entering
the yard gate, out came Mr. Covey on his way to meeting. He
spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs from a lot
near by, and passed on towards the church. Now, this singular
conduct of Mr. Covey really made me begin to think that there
was something in the root which Sandy had given me; and had
it been on any other day than Sunday, I could have attribut-
ed the conduct to no other cause than the influence of that
root; and as it was, I was half inclined to think the root to
be something more than I at first had taken it to be. All
went well till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of
the root was fully tested. Long before daylight, I was called
to go and rub, curry, and feed, the horses. I obeyed, and
was glad to obey. But whilst thus engaged, whilst in the act
of throwing down some blades from the loft, Mr. Covey entered
the stable with a long rope; and just as I was half out of
the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about tying me.
As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring,
and as I did so, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawl-
ing on the stable floor. Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had
me, and could do what he pleased; but at this moment--from
whence came the spirit I don't know--I resolved to fight; and,
suiting my action to the resolution, I seized Covey hard by
the throat; and as I did so, I rose. He held on to me, and I
to him. My resistance was so entirely unexpected that Covey
seemed taken all aback. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me
assurance, and I held him uneasy, causing the blood to run
where I touched him with the ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey
soon called out to Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while
Covey held me, attempted to tie my right hand. While he was
in the act of doing so, I watched my chance, and gave him a
heavy kick close under the ribs. This kick fairly sickened
Hughes, so that he left me in the hands of Mr. Covey. This
kick had the effect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey
also. When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his courage
quailed. He asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance.
I told him I did, come what might; that he had used me like
a brute for six months, and that I was determined to be used
so no longer. With that, he strove to drag me to a stick that
was lying just out of the stable door. He meant to knock me
down. But just as he was leaning over to get the stick, I
seized him with both hands by his collar, and brought him by
a sudden snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came. Cov-
ey called upon him for assistance. Bill wanted to know what
he could do. Covey said, "Take hold of him, take hold of
him!" Bill said his master hired him out to work, and not
to help to whip me; so he left Covey and myself to fight our
own battle out. We were at it for nearly two hours. Covey at
length let me go, puffing and blowing at a great rate, say-
ing that if I had not resisted, he would not have whipped me
half so much. The truth was, that he had not whipped me at
all. I considered him as getting entirely the worst end of
the bargain; for he had drawn no blood from me, but I had from
him. The whole six months afterwards, that I spent with Mr.
Covey, he never laid the weight of his finger upon me in an-
ger. He would occasionally say, he didn't want to get hold of
me again. "No," thought I, "you need not; for you will come
off worse than you did before."

This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my ca-
reer as a slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of
freedom, and revived within me a sense of my own manhood.
It recalled the departed self-confidence, and inspired me
again with a determination to be free. The gratification af-
forded by the triumph was a full compensation for whatever
else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand
the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself
repelled by force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I ne-
ver felt before. It was a glorious resurrection, from the
tomb of slavery, to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushed
spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took its
place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain
a slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could
be a slave in fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known
of me, that the white man who expected to succeed in whip-
ping, must also succeed in killing me.

From this time I was never again what might be called fair-
ly whipped, though I remained a slave four years after-
wards. I had several fights, but was never whipped.

It was for a long time a matter of surprise to me why Mr.
Covey did not immediately have me taken by the constable
to the whipping-post, and there regularly whipped for the
crime of raising my hand against a white man in defence
of myself. And the only explanation I can now think of
does not entirely satisfy me; but such as it is, I will
give it. Mr. Covey enjoyed the most unbounded reputation
for being a first-rate overseer and negro-breaker. It was
of considerable importance to him. That reputation was at
stake; and had he sent me--a boy about sixteen years old--
to the public whipping-post, his reputation would have
been lost; so, to save his reputation, he suffered me to
go unpunished.

My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on
Christmas day, 1833. The days between Christmas and New
Year's day are allowed as holidays; and, accordingly, we
were not required to perform any labor, more than to feed
and take care of the stock. This time we regarded as our
own, by the grace of our masters; and we therefore used
or abused it nearly as we pleased. Those of us who had
families at a distance, were generally allowed to spend
the whole six days in their society. This time, however,
was spe.nt in various ways. The staid, sober, thinking and
industrious ones of our number would employ themselves in
making corn-brooms, mats, horse-collars, and baskets; and
another class of us would spend the time in hunting o-
possums, hares, and coons. But by far the larger part en-
gaged in such sports and merriments as playing ball, wrestl-
ing, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking
whisky; and this latter mode of spending the time was by
far the most agreeable to the feelings of our masters. A
slave who would work during the holidays was considered
by our masters as scarcely deserving them. He was regard-
ed as one who rejected the favor of his master. It was
deemed a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he
was regarded as lazy indeed, who had not provided himself
with the necessary means, during the year, to get whisky
enough to last him through Christmas.

From what I know of the effect of these holidays upon the
slave, I believe them to be among the most effective means
in the hands of the slaveholder in keeping down the spirit
of insurrection. Were the slaveholders at once to abandon
this practice, I have not the slightest doubt it would
lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves. These
holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry
off the rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for
these, the slave would be forced up to the wildest desper-
ation; and woe betide the slaveholder, the day he ventures
to remove or hinder the operation of those conductors! I
warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go forth in
their midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling
earthquake.

The holidays are part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrong,
and inhumanity of slavery. They are professedly a custom es-
tablished by the benevolence of the slaveholders; but I un-
dertake to say, it is the result of selfishness, and one of
the grossest frauds committed upon the down-trodden slave.
They do not give the slaves this time because they would
not like to have their work during its continuance, but be-
cause they know it would be unsafe to deprive them of it.
This will be seen by the fact, that the slaveholders like
to have their slaves spend those days just in such a manner
as to make them as glad of their ending as of their begin-
ning. Their object seems to be, to disgust their slaves
with freedom, by plunging them into the lowest depths of
dissipation. For instance, the slaveholders not only like
to see the slave drink of his own accord, but will adopt
various plans to make him drunk. One plan is, to make bets
on their slaves, as to who can drink the most whisky with-
out getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in getting
whole multitudes to drink to excess. Thus, when the slave
asks for virtuous freedom, the cunning slaveholder, know-
ing his ignorance, cheats him with a dose of vicious dis-
sipation, artfully labelled with the name of liberty. The
most of us used to drink it down, and the result was just
what might be supposed; many of us were led to think that
there was little to choose between liberty and slavery. We
felt, and very properly too, that we had almost as well be
slaves to man as to rum. So, when the holidays ended, we
staggered up from the filth of our wallowing, took a long
breath, and marched to the field,--feeling, upon the whole,
rather glad to go, from what our master had deceived us
into a belief was freedom, back to the arms of slavery.

I have said that this mode of treatment is a part of the
whole system of fraud and inhumanity of slavery. It is so.
The mode here adopted to disgust the slave with freedom,
by allowing him to see only the abuse of it, is carried
out in other things. For instance, a slave loves molasses;
he steals some. His master, in many cases, goes off to
town, and buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his
whip, and commands the slave to eat the molasses, until
the poor fellow is made sick at the very mention of it.
The same mode is sometimes adopted to make the slaves re-
frain from asking for more food than their regular allow-
ance. A slave runs through his allowance, and applies for
more. His master is enraged at him; but, not willing to
send him off without food, gives him more than is neces-
sary, and compels him to eat it within a given time. Then,
if he complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be
satisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whipped for
being hard to please! I have an abundance of such illu-
strations of the same principle, drawn from my own obser-
vation, but think the cases I have cited sufficient. The
practice is a very common one.

On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went
to live with Mr. William Freeland, who lived about three
miles from St. Michael's. I soon found Mr. Freeland a
very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not rich, he
was what would be called an educated southern gentleman.
Mr. Covey, as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-
breaker and slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though
he was) seemed to possess some regard for honor, some
reverence for justice, and some respect for humanity. The
latter seemed totally insensible to all such sentiments.
Mr. Freeland had many of the faults peculiar to slave-
holders, such as being very passionate and fretful; but
I must do him the justice to say, that he was exceeding-
ly free from those degrading vices to which Mr. Covey was
constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and we
always knew where to find him. The other was a most artful
deceiver, and could be understood only by such as were
skilful enough to detect his cunningly-devised frauds. An-
other advantage I gained in my new master was, he made no
pretensions to, or profession of, religion; and this, in
my opinion, was truly a great advantage. I assert most un-
hesitatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere cov-
ering for the most horrid crimes,--a justifier of the most
appalling barbarity,--a sanctifier of the most hateful
frauds,--and a dark shelter under, which the darkest, foul-
est, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders find
the strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the
chains of slavery, next to that enslavement, I should re-
gard being the slave of a religious master the greatest ca-
lamity that could befall me. For of all slaveholders with
whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the worst.
I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most
cruel and cowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot
not only to belong to a religious slaveholder, but to live
in a community of such religionists. Very near Mr. Free-
land lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, and in the same neigh-
borhood lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were members
and ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church. Mr. Weeden
owned, among others, a woman slave, whose name I have for-
gotten. This woman's back, for weeks, was kept literally
raw, made so by the lash of this merciless, religious wretch.
He used to hire hands. His maxim was, Behave well or behave
ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally to whip a
slave, to remind him of his master's authority. Such was
his theory, and such his practice.

Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden. His chief boast
was his ability to manage slaves. The peculiar feature of
his government was that of whipping slaves in advance of
deserving it. He always managed to have one or more of his
slaves to whip every Monday morning. He did this to alarm
their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped. His
plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the
commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkins could always find
some excuse for whipping a slave. It would astonish one,
unaccustomed to a slaveholding life, to see with what won-
derful ease a slaveholder can find things, of which to make
occasion to whip a slave. 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? It is said, he has the devil in him, and it
must be whipped out. Does he speak loudly when spoken to
by his master? Then he is getting high-minded, and should
be taken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull
off his hat at the approach of a white person? Then he is
wanting in reverence, and should be whipped for it. Does
he ever venture to vindicate his conduct, when censured for
it? Then he is guilty of impudence,--one of the greatest
crimes of which a slave can be guilty. Does he ever venture
to suggest a different mode of doing things from that point-
ed out by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and get-
ting above himself; and nothing less than a flogging will
do for him. Does he, while ploughing, break a plough,--or,
while hoeing, break a hoe? It is owing to his carelessness,
and for it a slave must always be whipped. Mr. Hopkins could
always find something of this sort to justify the use of
the lash, and he seldom failed to embrace such opportuni-
ties. There was not a man in the whole county, with whom
the slaves who had the getting their own home, would not
prefer to live, rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And
yet there was not a man any where round, who made higher
professions of religion, or was more active in revivals,--
more attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and preach-
ing meetings, or more devotional in his family,--that pray-
ed earlier, later, louder, and longer,--than this same rev-
erend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.

But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while
in his employment. He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to
eat; but, unlike Mr. Covey, he also gave us sufficient time
to take our meals. He worked us hard, but always between
sunrise and sunset. He required a good deal of work to be
done, but gave us good tools with which to work. His farm
was large, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with
ease, compared with many of his neighbors. My treatment,
while in his employment, was heavenly, compared with what
I experienced at the hands of Mr. Edward Covey.

Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves. Their
names were Henry Harris and John Harris. The rest of his
hands he hired. These consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,
[1] and Handy Caldwell.

[1] 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 re-
sult 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.

Henry and John were quite intelligent, and in a very lit-
tle while after I went there, I succeeded in creating in
them a strong desire to learn how to read. This desire
soon sprang up in the others also. They very soon muster-
ed up some old spelling-books, and nothing would do but
that I must keep a Sabbath school. I agreed to do so, and
accordingly devoted my Sundays to teaching these my loved
fellow-slaves how to read. Neither of them knew his let-
ters when I went there. Some of the slaves of the neigh-
boring farms found what was going on, and also availed
themselves of this little opportunity to learn to read.
It was understood, among all who came, that there must
be as little display about it as possible. It was neces-
sary to keep our religious masters at St. Michael's un-
acquainted with the fact, that, instead of spending the
Sabbath in wrestling, boxing, and drinking whisky, we
were trying to learn how to read the will of God; for
they had much rather see us engaged in those degrading
sports, than to see us behaving like intellectual, moral,
and accountable beings. My blood boils as I think of the
bloody manner in which Messrs. Wright Fairbanks and Gar-
rison West, both class-leaders, in connection with many
others, rushed in upon us with sticks and stones, and
broke up our virtuous little Sabbath school, at St. Mi-
chael's--all calling themselves Christians! humble foll-
owers of the Lord Jesus Christ! But I am again digressing.

I held my Sabbath school at the house of a free colored
man, whose name I deem it imprudent to mention; for should
it be known, it might embarrass him greatly, though the
crime of holding the school was committed ten years ago.
I had at one time over forty scholars, and those of the
right sort, ardently desiring to learn. They were of all
ages, though mostly men and women. I look back to those
Sundays with an amount of pleasure not to be expressed.
They were great days to my soul. The work of instructing
my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest engagement with
which I was ever blessed. We loved each other, and to
leave them at the close of the Sabbath was a severe cross
indeed. When I think that these precious souls are to-day
shut up in the prison-house of slavery, my feelings over-
come me, and I am almost ready to ask, "Does a righteous
God govern the universe? and for what does he hold the
thunders in his right hand, if not to smite the oppressor,
and deliver the spoiled out of the hand of the spoiler?"
These dear souls came not to Sabbath school because it
was popular to do so, nor did I teach them because it was
reputable to be thus engaged. Every moment they spent in
that school, they were liable to be taken up, and given
thirty-nine lashes. They came because they wished to learn.
Their minds had been starved by their cruel masters. They
had been shut up in mental darkness. I taught them, be-
cause it was the delight of my soul to be doing something
that looked like bettering the condition of my race. I
kept up my school nearly the whole year I lived with Mr.
Freeland; and, beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three
evenings in the week, during the winter, to teaching the
slaves at home. And I have the happiness to know, that sev-
eral of those who came to Sabbath school learned how to
read; and that one, at least, is now free through my agency.

The year passed off smoothly. It seemed only about half as
long as the year which preceded it. I went through it with-
out receiving a single blow. I will give Mr. Freeland the
credit of being the best master I ever had, till I became
my own master. For the ease with which I passed the year, I
was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of my fellow-
slaves. They were noble souls; they not only possessed lov-
ing hearts, but brave ones. We were linked and interlinked
with each other. I loved them with a love stronger than any
thing I have experienced since. It is sometimes said that
we slaves do not love and confide in each other. In answer
to this assertion, I can say, I never loved any or confided
in any people more than my fellow-slaves, and especially
those with whom I lived at Mr. Freeland's. I believe we
would have died for each other. We never undertook to do any
thing, of any importance, without a mutual consultation. We
never moved separately. We were one; and as much so by our
tempers and dispositions, as by the mutual hardships to
which we were necessarily subjected by our condition as
slaves.

At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again hired me
of my master, for the year 1835. But, by this time, I began
to want to live upon free land as well as with Freeland; and
I was no longer content, therefore, to live with him or any
other slaveholder. I began, with the commencement of the
year, to prepare myself for a final struggle, which should
decide my fate one way or the other. My tendency was upward.
I was fast approaching manhood, and year after year had pass-
ed, and I was still a slave. These thoughts roused me--I
must do something. I therefore resolved that 1835 should
not pass without witnessing an attempt, on my part, to se-
cure my liberty. But I was not willing to cherish this det-
ermination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear to me. I was
anxious to have them participate with me in this, my life-
giving determination. I therefore, though with great pru-
dence, commenced early to ascertain their views and feel-
ings in regard to their condition, and to imbue their minds
with thoughts of freedom. I bent myself to devising ways
and means for our escape, and meanwhile strove, on all fit-
ting occasions, to impress them with the gross fraud and in-
humanity of slavery. I went first to Henry, next to John,
then to the others. I found, in them all, warm hearts and
noble spirits. They were ready to hear, and ready to act when
a feasible plan should be proposed. This was what I wanted.
I talked to them of our want of manhood, if we submitted to
our enslavement without at least one noble effort to be free.
We met often, and consulted frequently, and told our hopes
and fears, recounted the difficulties, real and imagined,
which we should be called on to meet. At times we were almost
disposed to give up, and try to content ourselves with our
wretched lot; at others, we were firm and unbending in our
determination to go. Whenever we suggested any plan, there
was shrinking--the odds were fearful. Our path was beset with
the greatest obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the
end of it, our right to be free was yet questionable--we were
yet liable to be returned to bondage. We could see no spot,
this side of the ocean, where we could be free. We kne0.w no-
thing about Canada. Our knowledge of the north did not extend
farther than New York; and to go there, and be forever haras-
sed with the frightful liability of being returned to slavery--
with the certainty of being treated tenfold worse than before
--the thought was truly a horrible one, and one which it was
not easy to overcome. The case sometimes stood thus: At every
gate through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman--at every
ferry a guard--on every bridge a sentinel--and in every wood a
patrol. We were hemmed in upon every side. Here were the diffi-
culties, real or imagined--the good to be sought, and the evil
to be shunned. On the one hand, there stood slavery, a stern
reality, glaring frightfully upon us,--its robes already crim-
soned with the blood of millions, and even now feasting itself
greedily upon our own flesh. On the other hand, away back in
the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north star,
behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a doubt-
ful freedom--half frozen--beckoning us to come and share its
hospitality. This in itself was sometimes enough to stagger
us; but when we permitted ourselves to survey the road, we
were frequently appalled. Upon either side we saw grim death,
assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it was starvation, caus-
ing us to eat our own flesh;--now we were contending with the
waves, and were drowned;--now we were overtaken, and torn to
pieces by the fangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stung
by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes, and fin-
ally, after having nearly reached the desired spot,--after swim-
ming rivers, encountering wild beasts, sleeping in the woods,
suffering hunger and nakedness,--we were overtaken by our pur-
suers, and, in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot!
I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and made us

　　　　"rather bear those ills we had,
　　　　Than fly to others, that we knew not of."

In coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more
than Patrick Henry, when he resolved upon liberty or death.
With us it was a doubtful liberty at most, and almost certain
death if we failed. For my part, I should prefer death to hope-
less bondage.

Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion, but still en-
couraged us. Our company then consisted of Henry Harris, John
Harris, Henry Bailey, Charles Roberts, and myself. Henry Bai-
ley was my uncle, and belonged to my master. Charles married
my aunt: he belonged to my master's father-in-law, Mr. Will-
iam Hamilton.

The plan we finally concluded upon was, to get a large canoe
belonging to Mr. Hamilton, and upon the Saturday night pre-
vious to Easter holidays, paddle directly up the Chesapeake
Bay. On our arrival at the head of the bay, a distance of sev-
enty or eighty miles from where we lived, it was our purpose
to turn our canoe adrift, and follow the guidance of the north
star till we got beyond the limits of Maryland. Our reason
for taking the water route was, that we were less liable to
be suspected as runaways; we hoped to be regarded as fisher-
men; whereas, if we should take the land route, we should be
subjected to interruptions of almost every kind. Any one hav-
ing a white face, and being so disposed, could stop us, and
subject us to examination.

The week before our intended start, I wrote several protect-
ions, one for each of us. As well as I can remember, they
were in the following words, to wit:--

"This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the
bearer, my servant, full liberty to go to Baltimore, and
spend the Easter holidays. Written with mine own hand, &c.,
1835.

"WILLIAM HAMILTON,
"Near St. Michael's, in Talbot county, Maryland."

We were not going to Baltimore; but, in going up the bay, we
went toward Baltimore, and these protections were only in-
tended to protect us while on the bay.

As the time drew near for our departure, our anxiety became
more and more intense. It was truly a matter of life and
death with us. The strength of our determination was about
to be fully tested. At this time, I was very active in ex-
plaining every difficulty, removing every doubt, dispelling
every fear, and inspiring all with the firmness indispens-
able to success in our undertaking; assuring them that half
was gained the instant we made the move; we had talked long
enough; we were now ready to move; if not now, we never
should be; and if we did not intend to move now, we had as
well fold our arms, sit down, and acknowledge ourselves fit
only to be slaves. This, none of us were prepared to acknow-
ledge. Every man stood firm; and at our last meeting, we
pledged ourselves afresh, in the most solemn manner, that,
at the time appointed, we would certainly start in pursuit
of freedom. This was in the middle of the week, at the end
of which we were to be off. We went, as usual, to our sever-
al fields of labor, but with bosoms highly agitated with
thoughts of our truly hazardous undertaking. We tried to
conceal our feelings as much as possible; and I think we
succeeded very well.

After a painful waiting, the Saturday morning, whose night
was to witness our departure, came. I hailed it with joy,
bring what of sadness it might. Friday night was a sleep-
less one for me. I probably felt more anxious than the
rest, because I was, by common consent, at the head of the
whole affair. The responsibility of success or failure lay
heavily upon me. The glory of the one, and the confusion
of the other, were alike mine. The first two hours of that
morning were such as I never experienced before, and hope
never to again. Early in the morning, we went, as usual,
to the field. We were spreading manure; and all at once,
while thus engaged, I was overwhelmed with an indescrib-
able feeling, in the fulness of which I turned to Sandy,
who was near by, and said, "We are betrayed!" "Well," said
he, "that thought has this moment struck me." We said no
more. I was never more certain of any thing.

The horn was blown as usual, and we went up from the field
to the house for breakfast. I went for the form, more than
for want of any thing to eat that morning. Just as I got
to the house, in looking out at the lane gate, I saw four
white men, with two colored men. The white men were on
horseback, and the colored ones were walking behind, as
if tied. I watched them a few moments till they got up to
our lane gate. Here they halted, and tied the colored men
to the gate-post. I was not yet certain as to what the
matter was. In a few moments, in rode Mr. Hamilton, with
a speed betokening great excitement. He came to the door,
and inquired if Master William was in. He was told he was
at the barn. Mr. Hamilton, without dismounting, rode up
to the barn with extraordinary speed. In a few moments,
he and Mr. Freeland returned to the house. By this time,
the three constables rode up, and in great haste dismount-
ed, tied their horses, and met Master William and Mr. Ham-
ilton returning from the barn; and after talking awhile,
they all walked up to the kitchen door. There was no one
in the kitchen but myself and John. Henry and Sandy were
up at the barn. Mr. Freeland put his head in at the door,
and called me by name, saying, there were some gentlemen
at the door who wished to see me. I stepped to the door,
and inquired what they wanted. They at once seized me,
and, without giving me any satisfaction, tied me--lashing
my hands closely together. I insisted upon knowing what
the matter was. They at length said, that they had learn-
ed I had been in a "scrape," and that I was to be examin-
ed before my master; and if their information proved false,
I should not be hurt.

In a few moments, they succeeded in tying John. They then
turned to Henry, who had by this time returned, and com-
manded him to cross his hands. "I won't!" said Henry, in
a firm tone, indicating his readiness to meet the conse-
quences of his refusal. "Won't you?" said Tom Graham, the
constable. "No, I won't!" said Henry, in a still stronger
tone. With this, two of the constables pulled out their
shining pistols, and swore, by their Creator, that they
would make him cross his hands or kill him. Each cocked
his pistol, and, with fingers on the trigger, walked up to
Henry, saying, at the same time, if he did not cross his
hands, they would blow his damned heart out. "Shoot me,
shoot me!" said Henry; "you can't kill me but once. Shoot,
shoot,--and be damned! I won't be tied!" This he said in
a tone of loud defiance; and at the same time, with a mo-
tion as quick as lightning, he with one single stroke
dashed the pistols from the hand of each constable. As he
did this, all hands fell upon him, and, after beating him
some time, they finally overpowered him, and got him tied.

During the scuffle, I managed, I know not how, to get my
pass out, and, without being discovered, put it into the
fire. We were all now tied; and just as we were to leave
for Easton jail, Betsy Freeland, mother of William Free-
land, came to the door with her hands full of biscuits,
and divided them between Henry and John. She then deliv-
ered herself of a speech, to the following effect:--ad-
dressing herself to me, she said, "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 mulatto
devil! Henry nor John would never have thought of such a
thing." I made no reply, and was immediately hurried off
towards St. Michael's. Just a moment previous to the scuf-
fle with Henry, Mr. Hamilton suggested the propriety of
making a search for the protections which he had under-
stood Frederick had written for himself and the rest. But,
just at the moment he was about carrying his proposal
into effect, his aid was needed in helping to tie Henry;
and the excitement attending the scuffle caused them ei-
ther to forget, or to deem it unsafe, under the circum-
stances, to search. So we were not yet convicted of the
intention to run away.

When we got about half way to St. Michael's, while the
constables having us in charge were looking ahead, Henry
inquired of me what he should do with his pass. I told
him to eat it with his biscuit, and own nothing; and we
passed the word around, "Own nothing;" and "Own nothing!"
said we all. Our confidence in each other was unshaken.
We were resolved to succeed or fail together, after the
calamity had befallen us as much as before. We were now
prepared for any thing. We were to be dragged that morn-
ing fifteen miles behind horses, and then to be placed in
the Easton jail. When we reached St. Michael's, we under-
went a sort of examination. We all denied that we ever
intended to run away. We did this more to bring out the
evidence against us, than from any hope of getting clear
of being sold; for, as I have said, we were ready for
that. The fact was, we cared but little where we went,
so we went together. Our greatest concern was about sepa-
ration. We dreaded that more than any thing this side of
death. We found the evidence against us to be the testi-
mony of one person; our master would not tell who it was;
but we came to a unanimous decision among ourselves as to
who their informant was. We were sent off to the jail at
Easton. When we got there, we were delivered up to the
sheriff, Mr. Joseph Graham, and by him placed in jail.
Henry, John, and myself, were placed in one room togeth-
er--Charles, and Henry Bailey, in another. Their object
in separating us was to hinder concert.

We had been in jail scarcely twenty minutes, when a swarm
of slave traders, and agents for slave traders, flocked
into jail to look at us, and to ascertain if we were for
sale. Such a set of beings I never saw before! I felt my-
self surrounded by so many fiends from perdition. A band
of pirates never looked more like their father, the devil.
They laughed and grinned over us, saying, "Ah, my boys! we
have got you, haven't we?" And after taunting us in vari-
ous ways, they one by one went into an examination of us,
with intent to ascertain our value. They would impudently
ask us if we would not like to have them for our masters.
We would make them no answer, and leave them to find out as
best they could. Then they would curse and swear at us,
telling us that they could take the devil out of us in a
very little while, if we were only in their hands.

While in jail, we found ourselves in much more comfortable
quarters than we expected when we went there. We did not
get much to eat, nor that which was very good; but we had
a good clean room, from the windows of which we could see
what was going on in the street, which was very much better
than though we had been placed in one of the dark, damp
cells. Upon the whole, we got along very well, so far as
the jail and its keeper were concerned. Immediately after
the holidays were over, contrary to all our expectations,
Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came up to Easton, and took
Charles, the two Henrys, and John, out of jail, and carr-
ied them home, leaving me alone. I regarded this separation
as a final one. It caused me more pain than any thing else
in the whole transaction. I was ready for any thing rather
than separation. I supposed that they had consulted toge-
ther, and had decided that, as I was the whole cause of the
intention of the others to run away, it was hard to make
the innocent suffer with the guilty; and that they had,
therefore, concluded to take the others home, and sell me,
as a warning to the others that remained. It is due to the
noble Henry to say, he seemed almost as reluctant at leav-
ing the prison as at leaving home to come to the prison.
But we knew we should, in all probability, be separated,
if we were sold; and since he was in their hands, he con-
cluded to go peaceably home.

I was now left to my fate. I was all alone, and within the
walls of a stone prison. But a few days before, and I was
full of hope. I expected to have been safe in a land of
freedom; but now I was covered with gloom, sunk down to
the utmost despair. I thought the possibility of freedom
was gone. I was kept in this way about one week, at the
end of which, Captain Auld, my master, to my surprise and
utter astonishment, came up, and took me out, with the in-
tention of sending me, with a gentleman of his acquaintance,
into Alabama. But, from some cause or other, he did not
send me to Alabama, but concluded to send me back to Bal-
timore, to live again with his brother Hugh, and to learn
a trade.

Thus, after an absence of three years and one month, I was
once more permitted to return to my old home at Baltimore.
My master sent me away, because there existed against me a
very great prejudice in the community, and he feared I
might be killed.

In a few weeks after I went to Baltimore, Master Hugh hir-
ed me to Mr. William Gardner, an extensive ship-builder,
on Fell's Point. I was put there to learn how to calk. It,
however, proved a very unfavorable place for the accomplish-
ment of this object. Mr. Gardner was engaged that spring in
building two large man-of-war brigs, professedly for the
Mexican government. The vessels were to be launched in the
July of that year, and in failure thereof, Mr. Gardner was
to lose a considerable sum; so that when I entered, all was
hurry. 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. Gardner 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 sit-
uation 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 crowbar."--"Fred.,
hold on the end of this fall."--"Fred., go to the black-
smith's shop, and get a new punch."--"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,
darky, 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! Damn you, if
you move, I'll knock your brains out!"

This was my school for eight months; and I might have re-
mained there longer, but for a most horrid fight I had
with four of the white apprentices, in which my left eye
was nearly knocked out, and I was horribly mangled in o-
ther respects. The facts in the case were these: Until a
very little while after I went there, white and black ship-
carpenters worked side by side, and no one seemed to see
any impropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very well sat-
isfied. Many of the black carpenters were freemen. Things
seemed to be going on very well. All at once, the white car-
penters knocked off, and said they would not work with free
colored workmen. Their reason for this, as alleged, was,
that if free colored carpenters were encouraged, they would
soon take the trade into their own hands, and poor white men
would be thrown out of employment. They therefore felt call-
ed upon at once to put a stop to it. And, taking advantage
of Mr. Gardner's necessities, they broke off, swearing they
would work no longer, unless he would discharge his black
carpenters. Now, though this did not extend to me in form,
it did reach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices very soon be-
gan to feel it degrading to them to work with me. They began
to put on airs, and talk about the "niggers" taking the
country, saying we all ought to be killed; and, being encour-
aged by the journeymen, they commenced making my condition
as hard as they could, by hectoring me around, and sometimes
striking me. I, of course, kept the vow I made after the
fight with Mr. Covey, and struck back again, regardless of
consequences; and while I kept them from combining, I suc-
ceeded very well; for I could whip the whole of them, taking
them separately. They, however, at length combined, and came
upon me, armed with sticks, stones, and heavy handspikes.
One came in front with a half brick. There was one at each
side of me, and one behind me. While I was attending to
those in front, and on either side, the one behind ran up
with the handspike, and struck me a heavy blow upon the head.
It stunned me. I fell, and with this they all ran upon me,
and fell to beating me with their fists. I let them lay on
for a while, gathering strength. In an instant, I gave a sud-
den surge, and rose to my hands and knees. Just as I did that,
one of their number gave me, with his heavy boot, a powerful
kick in the left eye. My eyeball seemed to have burst. When
they saw my eye closed, and badly swollen, they left me. With
this I seized the handspike, and for a time pursued them. But
here the carpenters interfered, and I thought I might as well
give it up. It was impossible to stand my hand against so
many. All this took place in sight of not less than fifty
white ship-carpenters, and not one interposed a friendly
word; but some cried, "Kill the damned nigger! Kill him! kill
him! He struck a white person." I found my only chance for
life was in flight. I succeeded in getting away without an
additional blow, and barely so; for to strike a white man is
death by Lynch law,--and that was the law in Mr. Gardner's
ship-yard; nor is there much of any other out of Mr.
Gardner's ship-yard.

I went directly home, and told the story of my wrongs to Mas-
ter Hugh; and I am happy to say of him, irreligious as he was,
his conduct was heavenly, compared with that of his brother
Thomas under similar circumstances. He listened attentively
to my narration of the circumstances leading to the savage out-
rage, and gave many proofs of his strong indignation at it.
The heart of my once overkind mistress was again melted into
pity. My puffed-out eye and blood-covered face moved her to
tears. She took a chair by me, washed the blood from my face,
and, with a mother's tenderness, bound up my head, covering
the wounded eye with a lean piece of fresh beef. It was almost
compensation for my suffering to witness, once more, a mani-
festation of kindness from this, my once affectionate old mis-
tress. Master Hugh was very much enraged. He gave expression
to his feelings by pouring out curses upon the heads of those
who did the deed. As soon as I got a little the better of my
bruises, he took me with him to Esquire Watson's, on Bond
Street, to see what could be done about the matter. Mr. Wat-
son inquired who saw the assault committed. Master Hugh told
him it was done in Mr. Gardner's ship-yard at midday, where
there were a large company of men at work. "As to that," he
said, "the deed was done, and there was no question as to who
did it." His answer was, he could do nothing in the case, un-
less some white man would come forward and testify. He could
issue no warrant on my word. If I had been killed in the pre-
sence of a thousand colored people, their testimony combined
would have been insufficient to have arrested one of the mur-
derers. Master Hugh, for once, was compelled to say this state
of things was too bad. Of course, it was impossible to get
any white man to volunteer his testimony in my behalf, and a-
gainst the white young men. Even those who may have sympathiz-
ed with me were not prepared to do this. It required a degree
of courage unknown to them to do so; for just at that time,
the slightest manifestation of humanity toward a colored per-
son was denounced as abolitionism, and that name subjected its
bearer to frightful liabilities. The watchwords of the bloody-
minded in that region, and in those days, were, "Damn the abo-
litionists!" and "Damn the niggers!" There was nothing done,
and probably nothing would have been done if I had been kill-
ed. Such was, and such remains, the state of things in the
Christian city of Baltimore.

Master Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let
me go back again to Mr. Gardner. He kept me himself, and his
wife dressed my wound till I was again restored to health. He
then took me into the ship-yard of which he was foreman, in
the employment of Mr. Walter Price. There I was immediately
set to calking, and very soon learned the art of using my mal-
let and irons. In the course of one year from the time I left
Mr. Gardner's, I was able to command the highest wages given
to the most experienced calkers. I was now of some importance
to my master. I was bringing him from six to seven dollars
per week. I sometimes brought him nine dollars per week: my
wages were a dollar and a half a day. After learning how to
calk, I sought my own employment, made my own contracts, and
collected the money which I earned. My pathway became much
more smooth than before; my condition was now much more com-
fortable. When I could get no calking to do, I did nothing.
During these leisure times, those old notions about freedom
would steal over me again. When in Mr. Gardner's employment,
I was kept in such a perpetual whirl of excitement, I could
think of nothing, scarcely, but my life; and in thinking of
my life, I almost forgot my liberty. I have observed this in
my experience of slavery,--that whenever my condition was
improved, instead of its increasing my contentment, it only
increased my desire to be free, and set me to thinking of
plans to gain my freedom. I have found that, to make a con-
tented slave, it is necessary to make a thoughtless one. It
is necessary to darken his moral and mental vision, and, as
far as possible, to annihilate the power of reason. He must
be able to detect no inconsistencies in slavery; he must be
made to feel that slavery is right; and he can be brought
to that only when he ceases to be a man.

I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents
per day. I contracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to
me; it was rightfully my own; yet, upon each returning Satur-
day night, I was compelled to deliver every cent of that mon-
ey to Master Hugh. And why? Not because he earned it,--not be-
cause he had any hand in earning it,--not because I owed it
to him,--nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a
right to it; but solely because he had the power to compel me
to give it up. The right of the grim-visaged pirate upon the
high seas is exactly the same.



CHAPTER XI



I now come to that part of my life during which I planned,
and finally succeeded in making, my escape from slavery. But
before narrating any of the peculiar circumstances, I deem
it proper to make known my intention not to state all the
facts connected with the transaction. My reasons for pursu-
ing this course may be understood from the following: First,
were I to give a minute statement of all the facts, it is
not only possible, but quite probable, that others would there-
by be involved in the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly,
such a statement would most undoubtedly induce greater vigi-
lance on the part of slaveholders than has existed heretofore
among them; which would, of course, be the means of guarding
a door whereby some dear brother bondman might escape his
galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity that impels me to
suppress any thing of importance connected with my experience
in slavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed, as well
as materially add to the interest of my narrative, were I at
liberty to gratify a curiosity, which I know exists in the minds
of many, by an accurate statement of all the facts pertaining
to my most fortunate escape. But I must deprive myself of this
pleasure, and the curious of the gratification which such a
statement would afford. I would allow myself to suffer under
the greatest imputations which evil-minded men might suggest,
rather than exculpate myself, and thereby run the hazard of
closing the slightest avenue by which a brother slave might
clear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery.

I have never approved of the very public manner in which some
of our western friends have conducted what they call the un-
derground railroad, but which I think, by their open declar-
ations, has been made most emphatically the upperground rail-
road. I honor those good men and women for their noble daring,
and applaud them for willingly subjecting themselves to bloody
persecution, by openly avowing their participation in the es-
cape of slaves. I, however, can see very little good resulting
from such a course, either to themselves or the slaves escaping;
while, upon the other hand, I see and feel assured that those
open declarations are a positive evil to the slaves remaining,
who are seeking to escape. They do nothing towards enlightening
the slave, whilst they do much towards enlightening the master.
They stimulate him to greater watchfulness, and enhance his pow-
er to capture his slave. We owe something to the slave south of
the line as well as to those north of it; and in aiding the lat-
ter on their way to freedom, we should be careful to do nothing
which would be likely to hinder the former from escaping from
slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder profoundly ig-
norant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. I would
leave him to imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible
tormentors, ever ready to snatch from his infernal grasp his
trembling prey. Let him be left to feel his way in the dark;
let darkness commensurate with his crime hover over him; and
let him feel that at every step he takes, in pursuit of the fly-
ing bondman, he is running the frightful risk of having his hot
brains dashed out by an invisible agency. Let us render the ty-
rant no aid; let us not hold the light by which he can trace the
footprints of our flying brother. But enough of this. I will now
proceed to the statement of those facts, connected with my es-
cape, for which I am alone responsible, and for which no one can
be made to suffer but myself.

In the early part of the year 1838, I became quite restless. I
could see no reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour
the reward of my toil into the purse of my master. When I car-
ried to him my weekly wages, he would, after counting the money,
look me in the face with a robber-like fierceness, and ask,
"Is this all?" He was satisfied with nothing less than the last
cent. He would, however, when I made him six dollars, sometimes
give me six cents, to encourage me. It had the opposite effect.
I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to the whole.
The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to my
mind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I al-
ways felt worse for having received any thing; for I feared that
the giving me a few cents would ease his conscience, and make
him feel himself to be a pretty honorable sort of robber. My dis-
content grew upon me. I was ever on the look-out for means of
escape; and, finding no direct means, I determined to try to
hire my time, with a view of getting money with which to make my
escape. In the spring of 1838, when Master Thomas came to Balti-
more to purchase his spring goods, I got an opportunity, and ap-
plied to him to allow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly re-
fused my request, and told me this was another stratagem by which
to escape. He told me I could go nowhere but that he could get
me; and that, in the event of my running away, he should spare
no pains in his efforts to catch me. He exhorted me to content
myself, and be obedient. He told me, if I would be happy, I must
lay out no plans for the future. He said, if I behaved myself
properly, he would take care of me. Indeed, he advised me to com-
plete thoughtlessness of the future, and taught me to depend sole-
ly upon him for happiness. He seemed to see fully the pressing
necessity of setting aside my intellectual nature, in order to
contentment in slavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite
of myself, I continued to think, and to think about the injus-
tice of my enslavement, and the means of escape.

About two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the
privilege of hiring my time. He was not acquainted with the
fact that I had applied to Master Thomas, and had been refused.
He too, at first, seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some
reflection, he granted me the privilege, and proposed the foll-
owing terms: I was to be allowed all my time, make all con-
tracts with those for whom I worked, and find my own employ-
ment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him three
dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools,
and in board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half
per week. This, with the wear and tear of clothing and calking
tools, made my regular expenses about six dollars per week.
This amount I was compelled to make up, or relinquish the pri-
vilege of hiring my time. Rain or shine, work or no work, at
the end of each week the money must be forthcoming, or I must
give up my privilege. This arrangement, it will be perceived,
was decidedly in my master's favor. It relieved him of all
need of looking after me. His money was sure. He received all
the benefits of slaveholding without its evils; while I en-
dured all the evils of a slave, and suffered all the care and
anxiety of a freeman. I found it a hard bargain. But, hard as
it was, I thought it better than the old mode of getting along.
It was a step towards freedom to be allowed to bear the res-
ponsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined to hold on u-
pon it. I bent myself to the work of making money. I was ready
to work at night as well as day, and by the most untiring per-
severance and industry, I made enough to meet my expenses, and
lay up a little money every week. I went on thus from May till
August. Master Hugh then refused to allow me to hire my time
longer. The ground for his refusal was a failure on my part,
one Saturday night, to pay him for my week's time. This fail-
ure was occasioned by my attending a camp meeting about ten
miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had entered into an
engagement with a number of young friends to start from Balti-
more to the camp ground early Saturday evening; and being de-
tained by my employer, I was unable to get down to Master
Hugh's without disappointing the company. I knew that Master
Hugh was in no special need of the money that night. I there-
fore decided to go to camp meeting, and upon my return pay
him the three dollars. I staid at the camp meeting one day
longer than I intended when I left. But as soon as I returned,
I called upon him to pay him what he considered his due. I
found him very angry; he could scarce restrain his wrath. He
said he had a great mind to give me a severe whipping. He wish-
ed to know how I dared go out of the city without asking his
permission. I told him I hired my time and while I paid him the
price which he asked for it, I did not know that I was bound
to ask him when and where I should go. This reply troubled him;
and, after reflecting a few moments, he turned to me, and said
I should hire my time no longer; that the next thing he should
know of, I would be running away. Upon the same plea, he told
me to bring my tools and clothing home forthwith. I did so; but
instead of seeking work, as I had been accustomed to do previous-
ly to hiring my time, I spent the whole week without the perform-
ance of a single stroke of work. I did this in retaliation. Sat-
urday night, he called upon me as usual for my week's wages. I
told him I had no wages; I had done no work that week. Here we
were upon the point of coming to blows. He raved, and swore his
determination to get hold of me. I did not allow myself a single
word; but was resolved, if he laid the weight of his hand upon
me, it should be blow for blow. He did not strike me, but told
me that he would find me in constant employment in future. I
thought the matter over during the next day, Sunday, and final-
ly resolved upon the third day of September, as the day upon
which I would make a second attempt to secure my freedom. I now
had three weeks during which to prepare for my journey. Early
on Monday morning, before Master Hugh had time to make any en-
gagement for me, I went out and got employment of Mr. Butler,
at his ship-yard near the drawbridge, upon what is called the
City Block, thus making it unnecessary for him to seek employ-
ment for me. At the end of the week, I brought him between eight
and nine dollars. He seemed very well pleased, and asked why I
did not do the same the week before. He little knew what my
plans were. My object in working steadily was to remove any sus-
picion he might entertain of my intent to run away; and in this
I succeeded admirably. I suppose he thought I was never better
satisfied with my condition than at the very time during which
I was planning my escape. The second week passed, and again I
carried him my full wages; and so well pleased was he, that he
gave me twenty-five cents, (quite a large sum for a slaveholder
to give a slave,) and bade me to make a good use of it. I told
him I would.

Things went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there
was trouble. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings as
the time of my contemplated start drew near. I had a number of
warmhearted friends in Baltimore,--friends that I loved almost
as I did my life,--and the thought of being separated from them
forever was painful beyond expression. It is my opinion that
thousands would escape from slavery, who now remain, but for
the strong cords of affection that bind them to their friends.
The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most pain-
ful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was
my tender point, and shook my decision more than all things
else. Besides the pain of separation, the dread and apprehen-
sion of a failure exceeded what I had experienced at my first
attempt. The appalling defeat I then sustained returned to tor-
ment me. I felt assured that, if I failed in this attempt, my
case would be a hopeless one--it would seal my fate as a slave
forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing less than
the severest punishment, and being placed beyond the means of
escape. It required no very vivid imagination to depict the
most frightful scenes through which I should have to pass, in
case I failed. The wretchedness of slavery, and the blessed-
ness of freedom, were perpetually before me. It was life and
death with me. But I remained firm, and, according to my res-
olution, on the third day of September, 1838, I left my chains,
and succeeded in reaching New York without the slightest in-
terruption of any kind. How I did so,--what means I adopted,--
what direction I travelled, and by what mode of conveyance,--I
must leave unexplained, for the reasons before mentioned.

I have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in
a free State. I have never been able to answer the question
with any satisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the high-
est excitement I ever experienced. I suppose I felt as one may
imagine the unarmed mariner to feel when he is rescued by a
friendly man-of-war from the pursuit of a pirate. In writing
to a dear friend, immediately after my arrival at New York, I
said I felt like one who had escaped a den of hungry lions.
This state of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I was a-
gain seized with a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness.
I was yet liable to be taken back, and subjected to all the
tortures of slavery. This in itself was enough to damp the ar-
dor of my enthusiasm. But the loneliness overcame me. There I
was in the midst of thousands, and yet a perfect stranger;
without home and without friends, in the midst of thousands
of my own brethren--children of a common Father, and yet I dar-
ed not to unfold to any one of them my sad condition. I was
afraid to speak to any one for fear of speaking to the wrong
one, and thereby falling into the hands of money-loving kid-
nappers, whose business it was to lie in wait for the panting
fugitive, as the ferocious beasts of the forest lie in wait
for their prey. The motto which I adopted when I started from
slavery was this--"Trust no man!" I saw in every white man an
enemy, and in almost every colored man cause for distrust. It
was a most painful situation; and, to understand it, one must
needs experience it, or imagine himself in similar circum-
stances. Let him be a fugitive slave in a strange land--a land
given up to be the hunting-ground for slaveholders--whose inhab-
itants are legalized kidnappers--where he is every moment sub-
jected to the terrible liability of being seized upon by his
fellowmen, as the hideous crocodile seizes upon his prey!--I say,
let him place himself in my situation--without home or friends--
without money or credit--wanting shelter, and no one to give it--
wanting bread, and no money to buy it,--and at the same time let
him feel that he is pursued by merciless men-hunters, and in
total darkness as to what to do, where to go, or where to stay,
--perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence and means
of escape,--in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible
gnawings of hunger,--in the midst of houses, yet having no home,
--among fellow-men, yet feeling as if in the midst of wild beasts,
whose greediness to swallow up the trembling and half-famished
fugitive is only equalled by that with which the monsters of the
deep swallow up the helpless fish upon which they subsist,--I
say, let him be placed in this most trying situation,--the sit-
uation in which I was placed,--then, and not till then, will he
fully appreciate the hardships of, and know how to sympathize
with, the toil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave.

Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distress
ed situation. I was relieved from it by the humane hand of
Mr. David Ruggles, whose vigilance, kindness, and persever-
ance, I shall never forget. I am glad of an opportunity to
express, as far as words can, the love and gratitude I bear
him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and is
himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once
so forward in the performance of toward others. I had been
in New York but a few days, when Mr. Ruggles sought me out,
and very kindly took me to his boarding-house at the corner
of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr. Ruggles was then very
deeply engaged in the memorable Darg case, as well as at-
tending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways
and means for their successful escape; and, though watched
and hemmed in on almost every side, he seemed to be more
than a match for his enemies.

Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wished to know of
me where I wanted to go; as he deemed it unsafe for me to
remain in New York. I told him I was a calker, and should
like to go where I could get work. I thought of going to Can-
ada; but he decided against it, and in favor of my going to
New Bedford, thinking I should be able to get work there at
my trade. At this time, Anna,[2] my intended wife, came on;
for I wrote to her immediately after my arrival at New York,
(notwithstanding my homeless, houseless, and helpless condi-
tion,) informing her of my successful flight, and wishing her
to come on forthwith. In a few days after her arrival, Mr.
Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington, who, in the
presence of Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, and two or three o-
thers, performed the marriage ceremony, and gave us a certi-
ficate, of which the following is an exact copy:--

"This may certify, that I joined together in holy matrimony
Frederick Johnson[3] and Anna Murray, as man and wife, in
the presence of Mr. David Ruggles and Mrs. Michaels.

"JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON
"New York, Sept. 15, 1838"


Upon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollar bill
from Mr. Ruggles, I shouldered one part of our baggage,
and Anna took up the other, and we set out forthwith to
take passage on board of the steamboat John W. Richmond
for Newport, on our way to New Bedford. Mr. Ruggles gave
me a letter to a Mr. Shaw in Newport, and told me, in
case my money did not serve me to New Bedford, to stop in
Newport and obtain further assistance; but upon our arrival
at Newport, we were so anxious to get to a place of safety,
that, notwithstanding we lacked the necessary money to pay
our fare, we decided to take seats in the stage, and pro-
mise to pay when we got to New Bedford. We were encouraged
to do this by two excellent gentlemen, residents of New Bed-
ford, whose names I afterward ascertained to be Joseph Rick-
etson and William C. Taber. They seemed at once to understand
our circumstances, and gave us such assurance of their friend-
liness as put us fully at ease in their presence.

It was good indeed to meet with such friends, at such a time.
Upon reaching New Bedford, we were directed to the house of
Mr. Nathan Johnson, by whom we were kindly received, and hos-
pitably provided for. Both Mr. and Mrs. Johnson took a deep
and lively interest in our welfare. They proved themselves
quite worthy of the name of abolitionists. When the stage-
driver found us unable to pay our fare, he held on upon our
baggage as security for the debt. I had but to mention the
fact to Mr. Johnson, and he forthwith advanced the money.

We now began to feel a degree of safety, and to prepare
ourselves for the duties and responsibilities of a life
of freedom. On the morning after our arrival at New Bed-
ford, while at the breakfast-table, the question arose as
to what name I should be called by. The name given me by
my mother was, "Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey." I,
however, had dispensed with the two middle names long be-
fore I left Maryland so that I was generally known by the
name of "Frederick Bailey." I started from Baltimore bear-
ing the name of "Stanley." When I got to New York, I again
changed my name to "Frederick Johnson," and thought that
would be the last change. But when I got to New Bedford,
I found it necessary again to change my name. The reason
of this necessity was, that there were so many Johnsons in
New Bedford, it was already quite difficult to distinguish
between them. I gave Mr. Johnson the privilege of choosing
me a name, but told him he must not take from me the name
of "Frederick." I must hold on to that, to preserve a sense
of my identity. Mr. Johnson had just been reading the "La-
dy of the Lake," and at once suggested that my name be "
Douglass." From that time until now I have been called
"Frederick Douglass;" and as I am more widely known by that
name than by either of the others, I shall continue to use
it as my own.

I was quite disappointed at the general appearance of
things in New Bedford. The impression which I had received
respecting the character and condition of the people of
the north, I found to be singularly erroneous. I had very
strangely supposed, while in slavery, that few of the com-
forts, and scarcely any of the luxuries, of life were enjoy-
ed at the north, compared with what were enjoyed by the
slaveholders of the south. I probably came to this conclu-
sion from the fact that northern people owned no slaves. I
supposed that they were about upon a level with the non-
slaveholding population of the south. I knew they were ex-
ceedingly poor, and I had been accustomed to regard their
poverty as the necessary consequence of their being non-
slaveholders. I had somehow imbibed the opinion that, in
the absence of slaves, there could be no wealth, and very
little refinement. And upon coming to the north, I expect-
ed to meet with a rough, hard-handed, and uncultivated pop-
ulation, living in the most Spartan-like simplicity, know-
ing nothing of the ease, luxury, pomp, and grandeur of
southern slaveholders. Such being my conjectures, any one
acquainted with the appearance of New Bedford may very rea-
dily infer how palpably I must have seen my mistake.

In the afternoon of the day when I reached New Bedford, I
visited the wharves, to take a view of the shipping. Here
I found myself surrounded with the strongest proofs of
wealth. Lying at the wharves, and riding in the stream, I
saw many ships of the finest model, in the best order, and
of the largest size. Upon the right and left, I was walled
in by granite warehouses of the widest dimensions, stowed
to their utmost capacity with the necessaries and comforts
of life. Added to this, almost every body seemed to be at
work, but noiselessly so, compared with what I had been ac-
customed to in Baltimore. There were no loud songs heard
from those engaged in loading and unloading ships. I heard
no deep oaths or horrid curses on the laborer. I saw no
whipping of men; but all seemed to go smoothly on. Every
man appeared to understand his work, and went at it with a
sober, yet cheerful earnestness, which betokened the deep
interest which he felt in what he was doing, as well as a
sense of his own dignity as a man. To me this looked ex-
ceedingly strange. From the wharves I strolled around and
over the town, gazing with wonder and admiration at the
splendid churches, beautiful dwellings, and finely-culti-
vated gardens; evincing an amount of wealth, comfort,
taste, and refinement, such as I had never seen in any
part of slaveholding Maryland.

Every thing looked clean, new, and beautiful. I saw few or
no dilapidated houses, with poverty-stricken inmates; no
half-naked children and barefooted women, such as I had
been accustomed to see in Hillsborough, Easton, St. Mich-
ael's, and Baltimore. The people looked more able, strong-
er, healthier, and happier, than those of Maryland. I was
for once made glad by a view of extreme wealth, without
being saddened by seeing extreme poverty. But the most as
tonishing as well as the most interesting thing to me was
the condition of the colored people, a great many of whom,
like myself, had escaped thither as a refuge from the hunt-
ers of men. I found many, who had not been seven years out
of their chains, living in finer houses, and evidently en-
joying more of the comforts of life, than the average of
slaveholders in Maryland. I will venture to assert, that my
friend Mr. Nathan Johnson (of whom I can say with a grate-
ful heart, "I was hungry, and he gave me meat; I was thirs-
ty, and he gave me drink; I was a stranger, and he took me
in") lived in a neater house; dined at a better table; took,
paid for, and read, more newspapers; better understood the
moral, religious, and political character of the nation,--
than nine tenths of the slaveholders in Talbot county Mary-
land. Yet Mr. Johnson was a working man. His hands were hard-
ened by toil, and not his alone, but those also of Mrs.
Johnson. I found the colored people much more spirited than
I had supposed they would be. I found among them a determ-
ination to protect each other from the blood-thirsty kidnap-
per, at all hazards. Soon after my arrival, I was told of a
circumstance which illustrated their spirit. A colored man
and a fugitive slave were on unfriendly terms. The former
was heard to threaten the latter with informing his master
of his whereabouts. Straightway a meeting was called among
the colored people, under the stereotyped notice, "Business
of importance!" The betrayer was invited to attend. The peo-
ple came at the appointed hour, and organized the meeting by
appointing a very religious old gentleman as president, who,
I believe, made a prayer, after which he addressed the meet-
ing as follows: "Friends, we have got him here, and I would
recommend that you young men just take him outside the door,
and kill him!" With this, a number of them bolted at him;
but they were intercepted by some more timid than themselves,
and the betrayer escaped their vengeance, and has not been
seen in New Bedford since. I believe there have been no more
such threats, and should there be hereafter, I doubt not that
death would be the consequence.

I found employment, the third day after my arrival, in stow-
ing a sloop with a load of oil. It was new, dirty, and hard
work for me; but I went at it with a glad heart and a will-
ing hand. I was now my own master. It was a happy moment,
the rapture of which can be understood only by those who
have been slaves. It was the first work, the reward of which
was to be entirely my own. There was no Master Hugh standing
ready, the moment I earned the money, to rob me of it. I
worked that day with a pleasure I had never before experien-
ced. I was at work for myself and newly-married wife. It was
to me the starting-point of a new existence. When I got
through with that job, I went in pursuit of a job of calki-
ng; but such was the strength of prejudice against color, a-
ong the white calkers, that they refused to work with me, and
of course I could get no employment.[4] Finding my trade of
no immediate benefit, I threw off my calking habiliments, and
prepared myself to do any kind of work I could get to do. Mr.
Johnson kindly let me have his wood-horse and saw, and I very
soon found myself a plenty of work. There was no work too hard
--none too dirty. I was ready to saw wood, shovel coal, carry
wood, sweep the chimney, or roll oil casks,--all of which I
did for nearly three years in New Bedford, before I became
known to the anti-slavery world.

[4] I am told that colored persons can now get employment at
calking in New Bedford--a result of anti-slavery effort.

In about four months after I went to New Bedford, there came
a young man to me, and inquired if I did not wish to take the
"Liberator." I told him I did; but, just having made my escape
from slavery, I remarked that I was unable to pay for it then.
I, however, finally became a subscriber to it. The paper came,
and I read it from week to week with such feelings as it would
be quite idle for me to attempt to describe. The paper became
my meat and my drink. My soul was set all on fire. Its sympa-
thy for my brethren in bonds--its scathing denunciations of
slaveholders--its faithful exposures of slavery--and its pow-
erful attacks upon the upholders of the institution--sent a
thrill of joy through my soul, such as I had never felt before!

I had not long been a reader of the "Liberator," before I got
a pretty correct idea of the principles, measures and spirit
of the anti-slavery reform. I took right hold of the cause.
I could do but little; but what I could, I did with a joyful
heart, and never felt happier than when in an anti-slavery
meeting. I seldom had much to say at the meetings, because
what I wanted to say was said so much better by others. But,
while attending an anti-slavery convention at Nantucket, on
the 11th of August, 1841, I felt strongly moved to speak,
and was at the same time much urged to do so by Mr. William
C. Coffin, a gentleman who had heard me speak in the colored
people's meeting at New Bedford. It was a severe cross, and
I took it up reluctantly. The truth was, I felt myself a
slave, and the idea of speaking to white people weighed me
down. I spoke but a few moments, when I felt a degree of
freedom, and said what I desired with considerable ease.
From that time until now, I have been engaged in pleading
the cause of my brethren--with what success, and with what
devotion, I leave those acquainted with my labors to decide.

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