My Bondage and My Freedom

More slaves are whipped for oversleeping than for any other
fault. Neither age nor sex finds any favor. The overseer stands
at the quarter door, armed with stick and cowskin, ready to whip
any who may be a few minutes behind time. When the horn is
blown, there is a rush for the door, and the hindermost one is
sure to get a blow from the overseer. Young mothers who worked
in the field, were allowed an hour, about ten o’clock in the
morning, to go home to nurse their children. Sometimes they were
compelled to take their children with them, and to leave them in
the corner of the fences, to prevent loss of time in nursing
them. The overseer generally rides about the field on horseback.
A cowskin and a hickory stick are his constant companions. The
cowskin is a kind of whip seldom seen in the northern states.
It is made entirely of untanned, but dried, ox hide, and is about
as hard as a piece of well-seasoned live oak. It is made of
various sizes, but the usual length is about three feet. The
part held in the hand is nearly an inch in thickness; and, from
the extreme end of the butt or handle, the cowskin tapers its
whole length to a point. This makes it quite elastic and
springy. A blow with it, on the hardest back, will gash the
flesh, and make the blood start. Cowskins are painted red, blue
and green, and are the favorite slave whip. I think this whip
worse than the “cat-o’nine-tails.” It condenses the whole
strength of the arm to a single point, and comes with a spring
that makes the air whistle. It is a terrible instrument, and is
so handy, that the overseer can always have it on his person, and
ready for use. The temptation to use it is ever strong; and an
overseer can, if disposed, always have cause for using it. With
him, it is literally a word and a blow, and, in most cases, the
blow comes first.

As a general rule, slaves do not come to the quarters for either
breakfast or dinner, but take their “ash cake” with them, and eat
it in the field. This was so on the home plantation; probably,
because the distance from the quarter to the field, was sometimes
two, and even three miles.

The dinner of the slaves consisted of a huge piece of ash cake,
and a small piece of pork, or two salt herrings. Not having
ovens, nor any suitable cooking utensils, the slaves mixed their
meal with a little water, to such thickness that a spoon would
stand erect in it; and, after the wood had burned away to coals
and ashes, they would place the dough between oak leaves and lay
it carefully in the ashes, completely covering it; hence, the
bread is called ash cake. The surface of this peculiar bread is
covered with ashes, to the depth of a sixteenth part of an inch,
and the ashes, certainly, do not make it very grateful to the
teeth, nor render it very palatable. The bran, or coarse part of
the meal, is baked with the fine, and bright scales run through
the bread. This bread, with its ashes and bran,
would disgust and choke a northern man, but it is quite liked by
the slaves. They eat it with avidity, and are more concerned
about the quantity than about the quality. They are far too
scantily provided for, and are worked too steadily, to be much
concerned for the quality of their food. The few minutes allowed
them at dinner time, after partaking of their coarse repast, are
variously spent. Some lie down on the “turning row,” and go to
sleep; others draw together, and talk; and others are at work
with needle and thread, mending their tattered garments.
Sometimes you may hear a wild, hoarse laugh arise from a circle,
and often a song. Soon, however, the overseer comes dashing
through the field. _”Tumble up! Tumble up_, and to _work,
work,”_ is the cry; and, now, from twelve o’clock (mid-day) till
dark, the human cattle are in motion, wielding their clumsy hoes;
hurried on by no hope of reward, no sense of gratitude, no love
of children, no prospect of bettering their condition; nothing,
save the dread and terror of the slave-driver’s lash. So goes
one day, and so comes and goes another.

But, let us now leave the rough usage of the field, where vulgar
coarseness and brutal cruelty spread themselves and flourish,
rank as weeds in the tropics; where a vile wretch, in the shape
of a man, rides, walks, or struts about, dealing blows, and
leaving gashes on broken-spirited men and helpless women, for
thirty dollars per month–a business so horrible, hardening and
disgraceful, that, rather, than engage in it, a decent man would
blow his own brains out–and let the reader view with me the
equally wicked, but less repulsive aspects of slave life; where
pride and pomp roll luxuriously at ease; where the toil of a
thousand men supports a single family in easy idleness and sin.
This is the great house; it is the home of the LLOYDS! Some idea
of its splendor has already been given–and, it is here that we
shall find that height of luxury which is the opposite of that
depth of poverty and physical wretchedness that we have just now
been contemplating. But, there is this difference in the two
extremes; viz: that in the case of the slave, the miseries
and hardships of his lot are imposed by others, and, in the
master’s case, they are imposed by himself. The slave is a
subject, subjected by others; the slaveholder is a subject, but
he is the author of his own subjection. There is more truth in
the saying, that slavery is a greater evil to the master than to
the slave, than many, who utter it, suppose. The self-executing
laws of eternal justice follow close on the heels of the evil-
doer here, as well as elsewhere; making escape from all its
penalties impossible. But, let others philosophize; it is my
province here to relate and describe; only allowing myself a word
or two, occasionally, to assist the reader in the proper
understanding of the facts narrated.

CHAPTER VII
_Life in the Great House_

COMFORTS AND LUXURIES–ELABORATE EXPENDITURE–HOUSE SERVANTS–MEN
SERVANTS AND MAID SERVANTS–APPEARANCES–SLAVE ARISTOCRACY–
STABLE AND CARRIAGE HOUSE–BOUNDLESS HOSPITALITY–FRAGRANCE OF
RICH DISHES–THE DECEPTIVE CHARACTER OF SLAVERY–SLAVES SEEM
HAPPY–SLAVES AND SLAVEHOLDERS ALIKE WRETCHED–FRETFUL DISCONTENT
OF SLAVEHOLDERS–FAULT-FINDING–OLD BARNEY–HIS PROFESSION–
WHIPPING–HUMILIATING SPECTACLE–CASE EXCEPTIONAL–WILLIAM
WILKS–SUPPOSED SON OF COL. LLOYD–CURIOUS INCIDENT–SLAVES
PREFER RICH MASTERS TO POOR ONES.

The close-fisted stinginess that fed the poor slave on coarse
corn-meal and tainted meat; that clothed him in crashy tow-linen,
and hurried him to toil through the field, in all weathers, with
wind and rain beating through his tattered garments; that
scarcely gave even the young slave-mother time to nurse her
hungry infant in the fence corner; wholly vanishes on approaching
the sacred precincts of the great house, the home of the Lloyds.
There the scriptural phrase finds an exact illustration; the
highly favored inmates of this mansion are literally arrayed “in
purple and fine linen,” and fare sumptuously every day! The
table groans under the heavy and blood-bought luxuries gathered
with painstaking care, at home and abroad. Fields, forests,
rivers and seas, are made tributary here. Immense wealth, and
its lavish expenditure, fill the great house with all that can
please the eye, or tempt the taste. Here, appetite, not food, is
the great _desideratum_. Fish, flesh and fowl, are here in
profusion. Chickens, of all breeds; ducks, of all kinds,
wild and tame, the common, and the huge Muscovite; Guinea fowls,
turkeys, geese, and pea fowls, are in their several pens, fat and
fatting for the destined vortex. The graceful swan, the
mongrels, the black-necked wild goose; partridges, quails,
pheasants and pigeons; choice water fowl, with all their strange
varieties, are caught in this huge family net. Beef, veal,
mutton and venison, of the most select kinds and quality, roll
bounteously to this grand consumer. The teeming riches of the
Chesapeake bay, its rock, perch, drums, crocus, trout, oysters,
crabs, and terrapin, are drawn hither to adorn the glittering
table of the great house. The dairy, too, probably the finest on
the Eastern Shore of Maryland–supplied by cattle of the best
English stock, imported for the purpose, pours its rich donations
of fragant cheese, golden butter, and delicious cream, to
heighten the attraction of the gorgeous, unending round of
feasting. Nor are the fruits of the earth forgotten or
neglected. The fertile garden, many acres in size, constituting
a separate establishment, distinct from the common farm–with its
scientific gardener, imported from Scotland (a Mr. McDermott)
with four men under his direction, was not behind, either in the
abundance or in the delicacy of its contributions to the same
full board. The tender asparagus, the succulent celery, and the
delicate cauliflower; egg plants, beets, lettuce, parsnips, peas,
and French beans, early and late; radishes, cantelopes, melons of
all kinds; the fruits and flowers of all climes and of all
descriptions, from the hardy apple of the north, to the lemon and
orange of the south, culminated at this point. Baltimore
gathered figs, raisins, almonds and juicy grapes from Spain.
Wines and brandies from France; teas of various flavor, from
China; and rich, aromatic coffee from Java, all conspired to
swell the tide of high life, where pride and indolence rolled and
lounged in magnificence and satiety.

Behind the tall-backed and elaborately wrought chairs, stand the
servants, men and maidens–fifteen in number–discriminately
selected, not only with a view to their industry and faithfulness, but with special regard to their personal
appearance, their graceful agility and captivating address. Some
of these are armed with fans, and are fanning reviving breezes
toward the over-heated brows of the alabaster ladies; others
watch with eager eye, and with fawn-like step anticipate and
supply wants before they are sufficiently formed to be announced
by word or sign.

These servants constituted a sort of black aristocracy on Col.
Lloyd’s plantation. They resembled the field hands in nothing,
except in color, and in this they held the advantage of a velvet-
like glossiness, rich and beautiful. The hair, too, showed the
same advantage. The delicate colored maid rustled in the
scarcely worn silk of her young mistress, while the servant men
were equally well attired from the over-flowing wardrobe of their
young masters; so that, in dress, as well as in form and feature,
in manner and speech, in tastes and habits, the distance between
these favored few, and the sorrow and hunger-smitten multitudes
of the quarter and the field, was immense; and this is seldom
passed over.

Let us now glance at the stables and the carriage house, and we
shall find the same evidences of pride and luxurious
extravagance. Here are three splendid coaches, soft within and
lustrous without. Here, too, are gigs, phaetons, barouches,
sulkeys and sleighs. Here are saddles and harnesses–beautifully
wrought and silver mounted–kept with every care. In the stable
you will find, kept only for pleasure, full thirty-five horses,
of the most approved blood for speed and beauty. There are two
men here constantly employed in taking care of these horses. One
of these men must be always in the stable, to answer every call
from the great house. Over the way from the stable, is a house
built expressly for the hounds–a pack of twenty-five or thirty–
whose fare would have made glad the heart of a dozen slaves.
Horses and hounds are not the only consumers of the slave’s toil.
There was practiced, at the Lloyd’s, a hospitality which would
have astonished and charmed any health-seeking northern
divine or merchant, who might have chanced to share it. Viewed
from his own table, and _not_ from the field, the colonel was a
model of generous hospitality. His house was, literally, a
hotel, for weeks during the summer months. At these times,
especially, the air was freighted with the rich fumes of baking,
boiling, roasting and broiling. The odors I shared with the
winds; but the meats were under a more stringent monopoly except
that, occasionally, I got a cake from Mas’ Daniel. In Mas’
Daniel I had a friend at court, from whom I learned many things
which my eager curiosity was excited to know. I always knew when
company was expected, and who they were, although I was an
outsider, being the property, not of Col. Lloyd, but of a servant
of the wealthy colonel. On these occasions, all that pride,
taste and money could do, to dazzle and charm, was done.

Who could say that the servants of Col. Lloyd were not well clad
and cared for, after witnessing one of his magnificent
entertainments? Who could say that they did not seem to glory in
being the slaves of such a master? Who, but a fanatic, could get
up any sympathy for persons whose every movement was agile, easy
and graceful, and who evinced a consciousness of high
superiority? And who would ever venture to suspect that Col.
Lloyd was subject to the troubles of ordinary mortals? Master
and slave seem alike in their glory here? Can it all be seeming?
Alas! it may only be a sham at last! This immense wealth; this
gilded splendor; this profusion of luxury; this exemption from
toil; this life of ease; this sea of plenty; aye, what of it all?
Are the pearly gates of happiness and sweet content flung open to
such suitors? _far from it!_ The poor slave, on his hard, pine
plank, but scantily covered with his thin blanket, sleeps more
soundly than the feverish voluptuary who reclines upon his
feather bed and downy pillow. Food, to the indolent lounger, is
poison, not sustenance. Lurking beneath all their dishes, are
invisible spirits of evil, ready to feed the self-deluded
gormandizers which aches,
pains, fierce temper, uncontrolled passions, dyspepsia,
rheumatism, lumbago and gout; and of these the Lloyds got their
full share. To the pampered love of ease, there is no resting
place. What is pleasant today, is repulsive tomorrow; what is
soft now, is hard at another time; what is sweet in the morning,
is bitter in the evening. Neither to the wicked, nor to the
idler, is there any solid peace: _”Troubled, like the restless
sea.”_

I had excellent opportunities of witnessing the restless
discontent and the capricious irritation of the Lloyds. My
fondness for horses–not peculiar to me more than to other boys
attracted me, much of the time, to the stables. This
establishment was especially under the care of “old” and “young”
Barney–father and son. Old Barney was a fine looking old man,
of a brownish complexion, who was quite portly, and wore a
dignified aspect for a slave. He was, evidently, much devoted to
his profession, and held his office an honorable one. He was a
farrier as well as an ostler; he could bleed, remove lampers from
the mouths of the horses, and was well instructed in horse
medicines. No one on the farm knew, so well as Old Barney, what
to do with a sick horse. But his gifts and acquirements were of
little advantage to him. His office was by no means an enviable
one. He often got presents, but he got stripes as well; for in
nothing was Col. Lloyd more unreasonable and exacting, than in
respect to the management of his pleasure horses. Any supposed
inattention to these animals were sure to be visited with
degrading punishment. His horses and dogs fared better than his
men. Their beds must be softer and cleaner than those of his
human cattle. No excuse could shield Old Barney, if the colonel
only suspected something wrong about his horses; and,
consequently, he was often punished when faultless. It was
absolutely painful to listen to the many unreasonable and fretful
scoldings, poured out at the stable, by Col. Lloyd, his sons and
sons-in-law. Of the latter, he had three–Messrs. Nicholson,
Winder and Lownes. These all lived at the great house a
portion of the year, and enjoyed the luxury of whipping the
servants when they pleased, which was by no means unfrequently.
A horse was seldom brought out of the stable to which no
objection could be raised. “There was dust in his hair;” “there
was a twist in his reins;” “his mane did not lie straight;” “he
had not been properly grained;” “his head did not look well;”
“his fore-top was not combed out;” “his fetlocks had not been
properly trimmed;” something was always wrong. Listening to
complaints, however groundless, Barney must stand, hat in hand,
lips sealed, never answering a word. He must make no reply, no
explanation; the judgment of the master must be deemed
infallible, for his power is absolute and irresponsible. In a
free state, a master, thus complaining without cause, of his
ostler, might be told–“Sir, I am sorry I cannot please you, but,
since I have done the best I can, your remedy is to dismiss me.”
Here, however, the ostler must stand, listen and tremble. One of
the most heart-saddening and humiliating scenes I ever witnessed,
was the whipping of Old Barney, by Col. Lloyd himself. Here were
two men, both advanced in years; there were the silvery locks of
Col. L., and there was the bald and toil-worn brow of Old Barney;
master and slave; superior and inferior here, but _equals_ at the
bar of God; and, in the common course of events, they must both
soon meet in another world, in a world where all distinctions,
except those based on obedience and disobedience, are blotted out
forever. “Uncover your head!” said the imperious master; he was
obeyed. “Take off your jacket, you old rascal!” and off came
Barney’s jacket. “Down on your knees!” down knelt the old man,
his shoulders bare, his bald head glistening in the sun, and his
aged knees on the cold, damp ground. In his humble and debasing
attitude, the master–that master to whom he had given the best
years and the best strength of his life–came forward, and laid
on thirty lashes, with his horse whip. The old man bore it
patiently, to the last, answering each blow with a slight shrug
of the shoulders, and a groan. I cannot think that Col. Lloyd succeeded in marring the flesh
of Old Barney very seriously, for the whip was a light, riding
whip; but the spectacle of an aged man–a husband and a father–
humbly kneeling before a worm of the dust, surprised and shocked
me at the time; and since I have grown old enough to think on the
wickedness of slavery, few facts have been of more value to me
than this, to which I was a witness. It reveals slavery in its
true color, and in its maturity of repulsive hatefulness. I owe
it to truth, however, to say, that this was the first and the
last time I ever saw Old Barney, or any other slave, compelled to
kneel to receive a whipping.

I saw, at the stable, another incident, which I will relate, as
it is illustrative of a phase of slavery to which I have already
referred in another connection. Besides two other coachmen, Col.
Lloyd owned one named William, who, strangely enough, was often
called by his surname, Wilks, by white and colored people on the
home plantation. Wilks was a very fine looking man. He was
about as white as anybody on the plantation; and in manliness of
form, and comeliness of features, he bore a very striking
resemblance to Mr. Murray Lloyd. It was whispered, and pretty
generally admitted as a fact, that William Wilks was a son of
Col. Lloyd, by a highly favored slave-woman, who was still on the
plantation. There were many reasons for believing this whisper,
not only in William’s appearance, but in the undeniable freedom
which he enjoyed over all others, and his apparent consciousness
of being something more than a slave to his master. It was
notorious, too, that William had a deadly enemy in Murray Lloyd,
whom he so much resembled, and that the latter greatly worried
his father with importunities to sell William. Indeed, he gave
his father no rest until he did sell him, to Austin Woldfolk, the
great slave-trader at that time. Before selling him, however,
Mr. L. tried what giving William a whipping would do, toward
making things smooth; but this was a failure. It was a
compromise, and defeated itself; for, immediately after the
infliction, the heart-sickened colonel atoned to William for the
abuse, by giving him a gold watch and chain. Another fact,
somewhat curious, is, that though sold to the remorseless
_Woldfolk_, taken in irons to Baltimore and cast into prison,
with a view to being driven to the south, William, by _some_
means–always a mystery to me–outbid all his purchasers, paid
for himself, _and now resides in Baltimore, a_ FREEMAN. Is there
not room to suspect, that, as the gold watch was presented to
atone for the whipping, a purse of gold was given him by the same
hand, with which to effect his purchase, as an atonement for the
indignity involved in selling his own flesh and blood. All the
circumstances of William, on the great house farm, show him to
have occupied a different position from the other slaves, and,
certainly, there is nothing in the supposed hostility of
slaveholders to amalgamation, to forbid the supposition that
William Wilks was the son of Edward Lloyd. _Practical_
amalgamation is common in every neighborhood where I have been in
slavery.

Col. Lloyd was not in the way of knowing much of the real
opinions and feelings of his slaves respecting him. The distance
between him and them was far too great to admit of such
knowledge. His slaves were so numerous, that he did not know
them when he saw them. Nor, indeed, did all his slaves know him.
In this respect, he was inconveniently rich. It is reported of
him, that, while riding along the road one day, he met a colored
man, and addressed him in the usual way of speaking to colored
people on the public highways of the south: “Well, boy, who do
you belong to?” “To Col. Lloyd,” replied the slave. “Well, does
the colonel treat you well?” “No, sir,” was the ready reply.
“What? does he work you too hard?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, don’t he
give enough to eat?” “Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it
is.” The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged,
rode on; the slave also went on about his business, not dreaming
that he had been conversing with his master. He thought, said
and heard nothing more of the matter, until two or three weeks
afterwards. The poor man was
then informed by his overseer, that, for having found fault with
his master, he was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was
immediately chained and handcuffed; and thus, without a moment’s
warning he was snatched away, and forever sundered from his
family and friends, by a hand more unrelenting than that of
death. _This_ is the penalty of telling the simple truth, in
answer to a series of plain questions. It is partly in
consequence of such facts, that slaves, when inquired of as to
their condition and the character of their masters, almost
invariably say they are contented, and that their masters are
kind. Slaveholders have been known to send spies among their
slaves, to ascertain, if possible, their views and feelings in
regard to their condition. The frequency of this had the effect
to establish among the slaves the maxim, that a still tongue
makes a wise head. They suppress the truth rather than take the
consequence of telling it, and, in so doing, they prove
themselves a part of the human family. If they have anything to
say of their master, it is, generally, something in his favor,
especially when speaking to strangers. I was frequently asked,
while a slave, if I had a kind master, and I do not remember ever
to have given a negative reply. Nor did I, when pursuing this
course, consider myself as uttering what was utterly false; for I
always measured the kindness of my master by the standard of
kindness set up by slaveholders around us. However, slaves are
like other people, and imbibe similar prejudices. They are apt
to think _their condition_ better than that of others. Many,
under the influence of this prejudice, think their own masters
are better than the masters of other slaves; and this, too, in
some cases, when the very reverse is true. Indeed, it is not
uncommon for slaves even to fall out and quarrel among themselves
about the relative kindness of their masters, contending for the
superior goodness of his own over that of others. At the very
same time, they mutually execrate their masters, when viewed
separately. It was so on our plantation. When Col. Lloyd’s
slaves met those of Jacob Jepson, they seldom parted without
a quarrel about their masters; Col. Lloyd’s slaves contending
that he was the richest, and Mr. Jepson’s slaves that he was the
smartest, man of the two. Col. Lloyd’s slaves would boost his
ability to buy and sell Jacob Jepson; Mr. Jepson’s slaves would
boast his ability to whip Col. Lloyd. These quarrels would
almost always end in a fight between the parties; those that beat
were supposed to have gained the point at issue. They seemed to
think that the greatness of their masters was transferable to
themselves. To be a SLAVE, was thought to be bad enough; but to
be a _poor man’s_ slave, was deemed a disgrace, indeed.

CHAPTER VIII
_A Chapter of Horrors_

AUSTIN GORE–A SKETCH OF HIS CHARACTER–OVERSEERS AS A CLASS–
THEIR PECULIAR CHARACTERISTICS–THE MARKED INDIVIDUALITY OF
AUSTIN GORE–HIS SENSE OF DUTY–HOW HE WHIPPED–MURDER OF POOR
DENBY–HOW IT OCCURRED–SENSATION–HOW GORE MADE PEACE WITH COL.
LLOYD–THE MURDER UNPUNISHED–ANOTHER DREADFUL MURDER NARRATED–
NO LAWS FOR THE PROTECTION OF SLAVES CAN BE ENFORCED IN THE
SOUTHERN STATES.

As I have already intimated elsewhere, the slaves on Col. Lloyd’s
plantation, whose hard lot, under Mr. Sevier, the reader has
already noticed and deplored, were not permitted to enjoy the
comparatively moderate rule of Mr. Hopkins. The latter was
succeeded by a very different man. The name of the new overseer
was Austin Gore. Upon this individual I would fix particular
attention; for under his rule there was more suffering from
violence and bloodshed than had–according to the older slaves
ever been experienced before on this plantation. I confess, I
hardly know how to bring this man fitly before the reader. He
was, it is true, an overseer, and possessed, to a large extent,
the peculiar characteristics of his class; yet, to call him
merely an overseer, would not give the reader a fair notion of
the man. I speak of overseers as a class. They are such. They
are as distinct from the slaveholding gentry of the south, as are
the fishwomen of Paris, and the coal-heavers of London, distinct
from other members of society. They constitute a separate
fraternity at the south, not less marked than is the fraternity
of Park Lane bullies in New York. They have been arranged and
classified by that great law of attraction, which determines
the spheres and affinities of men; which ordains, that men, whose
malign and brutal propensities predominate over their moral and
intellectual endowments, shall, naturally, fall into those
employments which promise the largest gratification to those
predominating instincts or propensities. The office of overseer
takes this raw material of vulgarity and brutality, and stamps it
as a distinct class of southern society. But, in this class, as
in all other classes, there are characters of marked
individuality, even while they bear a general resemblance to the
mass. Mr. Gore was one of those, to whom a general
characterization would do no manner of justice. He was an
overseer; but he was something more. With the malign and
tyrannical qualities of an overseer, he combined something of the
lawful master. He had the artfulness and the mean ambition of
his class; but he was wholly free from the disgusting swagger and
noisy bravado of his fraternity. There was an easy air of
independence about him; a calm self-possession, and a sternness
of glance, which might well daunt hearts less timid than those of
poor slaves, accustomed from childhood and through life to cower
before a driver’s lash. The home plantation of Col. Lloyd
afforded an ample field for the exercise of the qualifications
for overseership, which he possessed in such an eminent degree.

Mr. Gore was one of those overseers, who could torture the
slightest word or look into impudence; he had the nerve, not only
to resent, but to punish, promptly and severely. He never
allowed himself to be answered back, by a slave. In this, he was
as lordly and as imperious as Col. Edward Lloyd, himself; acting
always up to the maxim, practically maintained by slaveholders,
that it is better that a dozen slaves suffer under the lash,
without fault, than that the master or the overseer should _seem_
to have been wrong in the presence of the slave. _Everything
must be absolute here_. Guilty or not guilty, it is enough to be
accused, to be sure of a flogging. The very presence of this man
Gore was painful, and I shunned him as I would
have shunned a rattlesnake. His piercing, black eyes, and sharp,
shrill voice, ever awakened sensations of terror among the
slaves. For so young a man (I describe him as he was, twenty-
five or thirty years ago) Mr. Gore was singularly reserved and
grave in the presence of slaves. He indulged in no jokes, said
no funny things, and kept his own counsels. Other overseers, how
brutal soever they might be, were, at times, inclined to gain
favor with the slaves, by indulging a little pleasantry; but Gore
was never known to be guilty of any such weakness. He was always
the cold, distant, unapproachable _overseer_ of Col. Edward
Lloyd’s plantation, and needed no higher pleasure than was
involved in a faithful discharge of the duties of his office.
When he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and
feared no consequences. What Hopkins did reluctantly, Gore did
with alacrity. There was a stern will, an iron-like reality,
about this Gore, which would have easily made him the chief of a
band of pirates, had his environments been favorable to such a
course of life. All the coolness, savage barbarity and freedom
from moral restraint, which are necessary in the character of a
pirate-chief, centered, I think, in this man Gore. Among many
other deeds of shocking cruelty which he perpetrated, while I was
at Mr. Lloyd’s, was the murder of a young colored man, named
Denby. He was sometimes called Bill Denby, or Demby; (I write
from sound, and the sounds on Lloyd’s plantation are not very
certain.) I knew him well. He was a powerful young man, full of
animal spirits, and, so far as I know, he was among the most
valuable of Col. Lloyd’s slaves. In something–I know not what–
he offended this Mr. Austin Gore, and, in accordance with the
custom of the latter, he under took to flog him. He gave Denby
but few stripes; the latter broke away from him and plunged into
the creek, and, standing there to the depth of his neck in water,
he refused to come out at the order of the overseer; whereupon,
for this refusal, _Gore shot him dead!_ It is said that Gore
gave Denby three calls, telling him that if he did not obey
the last call, he would shoot him. When the third call was
given, Denby stood his ground firmly; and this raised the
question, in the minds of the by-standing slaves–“Will he dare
to shoot?” Mr. Gore, without further parley, and without making
any further effort to induce Denby to come out of the water,
raised his gun deliberately to his face, took deadly aim at his
standing victim, and, in an instant, poor Denby was numbered with
the dead. His mangled body sank out of sight, and only his warm,
red blood marked the place where he had stood.

This devilish outrage, this fiendish murder, produced, as it was
well calculated to do, a tremendous sensation. A thrill of
horror flashed through every soul on the plantation, if I may
except the guilty wretch who had committed the hell-black deed.
While the slaves generally were panic-struck, and howling with
alarm, the murderer himself was calm and collected, and appeared
as though nothing unusual had happened. The atrocity roused my
old master, and he spoke out, in reprobation of it; but the whole
thing proved to be less than a nine days’ wonder. Both Col.
Lloyd and my old master arraigned Gore for his cruelty in the
matter, but this amounted to nothing. His reply, or
explanation–as I remember to have heard it at the time was, that
the extraordinary expedient was demanded by necessity; that Denby
had become unmanageable; that he had set a dangerous example to
the other slaves; and that, without some such prompt measure as
that to which he had resorted, were adopted, there would be an
end to all rule and order on the plantation. That very
convenient covert for all manner of cruelty and outrage that
cowardly alarm-cry, that the slaves would _”take the place,”_ was
pleaded, in extenuation of this revolting crime, just as it had
been cited in defense of a thousand similar ones. He argued,
that if one slave refused to be corrected, and was allowed to
escape with his life, when he had been told that he should lose
it if he persisted in his course, the other slaves would soon
copy his example; the result of which would be, the freedom of
the slaves, and the enslavement of the whites. I have every reason to believe that Mr.
Gore’s defense, or explanation, was deemed satisfactory–at least
to Col. Lloyd. He was continued in his office on the plantation.
His fame as an overseer went abroad, and his horrid crime was not
even submitted to judicial investigation. The murder was
committed in the presence of slaves, and they, of course, could
neither institute a suit, nor testify against the murderer. His
bare word would go further in a court of law, than the united
testimony of ten thousand black witnesses.

All that Mr. Gore had to do, was to make his peace with Col.
Lloyd. This done, and the guilty perpetrator of one of the most
foul murders goes unwhipped of justice, and uncensured by the
community in which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael’s,
Talbot county, when I left Maryland; if he is still alive he
probably yet resides there; and I have no reason to doubt that he
is now as highly esteemed, and as greatly respected, as though
his guilty soul had never been stained with innocent blood. I am
well aware that what I have now written will by some be branded
as false and malicious. It will be denied, not only that such a
thing ever did transpire, as I have now narrated, but that such a
thing could happen in _Maryland_. I can only say–believe it or
not–that I have said nothing but the literal truth, gainsay it
who may.

I speak advisedly when I say this,–that killing a slave, or any
colored person, in Talbot county, Maryland, is not treated as a
crime, either by the courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman,
ship carpenter, of St. Michael’s, killed two slaves, one of whom
he butchered with a hatchet, by knocking his brains out. He used
to boast of the commission of the awful and bloody deed. I have
heard him do so, laughingly, saying, among other things, that he
was the only benefactor of his country in the company, and that
when “others would do as much as he had done, we should be
relieved of the d–d niggers.”

As an evidence of the reckless disregard of human life where the
life is that of a slave I may state the notorious fact, that the
wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, who lived but a short distance from
Col. Lloyd’s, with her own hands murdered my wife’s cousin, a
young girl between fifteen and sixteen years of age–mutilating
her person in a most shocking manner. The atrocious woman, in
the paroxysm of her wrath, not content with murdering her victim,
literally mangled her face, and broke her breast bone. Wild,
however, and infuriated as she was, she took the precaution to
cause the slave-girl to be buried; but the facts of the case
coming abroad, very speedily led to the disinterment of the
remains of the murdered slave-girl. A coroner’s jury was
assembled, who decided that the girl had come to her death by
severe beating. It was ascertained that the offense for which
this girl was thus hurried out of the world, was this: she had
been set that night, and several preceding nights, to mind Mrs.
Hicks’s baby, and having fallen into a sound sleep, the baby
cried, waking Mrs. Hicks, but not the slave-girl. Mrs. Hicks,
becoming infuriated at the girl’s tardiness, after calling
several times, jumped from her bed and seized a piece of fire-
wood from the fireplace; and then, as she lay fast asleep, she
deliberately pounded in her skull and breast-bone, and thus ended
her life. I will not say that this most horrid murder produced
no sensation in the community. It _did_ produce a sensation;
but, incredible to tell, the moral sense of the community was
blunted too entirely by the ordinary nature of slavery horrors,
to bring the murderess to punishment. A warrant was issued for
her arrest, but, for some reason or other, that warrant was never
served. Thus did Mrs. Hicks not only escape condign punishment,
but even the pain and mortification of being arraigned before a
court of justice.

Whilst I am detailing the bloody deeds that took place during my
stay on Col. Lloyd’s plantation, I will briefly narrate another
dark transaction, which occurred about the same time as the
murder of Denby by Mr. Gore.

On the side of the river Wye, opposite from Col. Lloyd’s, there
lived a Mr. Beal Bondley, a wealthy slaveholder. In the
direction of his land, and near the
shore, there was an excellent oyster fishing ground, and to this,
some of the slaves of Col. Lloyd occasionally resorted in their
little canoes, at night, with a view to make up the deficiency of
their scanty allowance of food, by the oysters that they could
easily get there. This, Mr. Bondley took it into his head to
regard as a trespass, and while an old man belonging to Col.
Lloyd was engaged in catching a few of the many millions of
oysters that lined the bottom of that creek, to satisfy his
hunger, the villainous Mr. Bondley, lying in ambush, without the
slightest ceremony, discharged the contents of his musket into
the back and shoulders of the poor old man. As good fortune
would have it, the shot did not prove mortal, and Mr. Bondley
came over, the next day, to see Col. Lloyd–whether to pay him
for his property, or to justify himself for what he had done, I
know not; but this I _can_ say, the cruel and dastardly
transaction was speedily hushed up; there was very little said
about it at all, and nothing was publicly done which looked like
the application of the principle of justice to the man whom
_chance_, only, saved from being an actual murderer. One of the
commonest sayings to which my ears early became accustomed, on
Col. Lloyd’s plantation and elsewhere in Maryland, was, that it
was _”worth but half a cent to kill a nigger, and a half a cent
to bury him;”_ and the facts of my experience go far to justify
the practical truth of this strange proverb. Laws for the
protection of the lives of the slaves, are, as they must needs
be, utterly incapable of being enforced, where the very parties
who are nominally protected, are not permitted to give evidence,
in courts of law, against the only class of persons from whom
abuse, outrage and murder might be reasonably apprehended. While
I heard of numerous murders committed by slaveholders on the
Eastern Shores of Maryland, I never knew a solitary instance in
which a slaveholder was either hung or imprisoned for having
murdered a slave. The usual pretext for killing a slave is, that
the slave has offered resistance. Should a slave, when
assaulted, but raise his hand in self defense, the white
assaulting party is fully justified by southern, or
Maryland, public opinion, in shooting the slave down. Sometimes
this is done, simply because it is alleged that the slave has
been saucy. But here I leave this phase of the society of my
early childhood, and will relieve the kind reader of these heart-
sickening details.

CHAPTER IX
_Personal Treatment_

MISS LUCRETIA–HER KINDNESS–HOW IT WAS MANIFESTED–“IKE”–A
BATTLE WITH HIM–THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF–MISS LUCRETIA’S
BALSAM–BREAD–HOW I OBTAINED IT–BEAMS OF SUNLIGHT AMIDST THE
GENERAL DARKNESS–SUFFERING FROM COLD–HOW WE TOOK OUR MEALS–
ORDERS TO PREPARE FOR BALTIMORE–OVERJOYED AT THE THOUGHT OF
QUITTING THE PLANTATION–EXTRAORDINARY CLEANSING–COUSIN TOM’S
VERSION OF BALTIMORE–ARRIVAL THERE–KIND RECEPTION GIVEN ME BY
MRS. SOPHIA AULD–LITTLE TOMMY–MY NEW POSITION–MY NEW DUTIES–A
TURNING POINT IN MY HISTORY.

I have nothing cruel or shocking to relate of my own personal
experience, while I remained on Col. Lloyd’s plantation, at the
home of my old master. An occasional cuff from Aunt Katy, and a
regular whipping from old master, such as any heedless and
mischievous boy might get from his father, is all that I can
mention of this sort. I was not old enough to work in the field,
and, there being little else than field work to perform, I had
much leisure. The most I had to do, was, to drive up the cows in
the evening, to keep the front yard clean, and to perform small
errands for my young mistress, Lucretia Auld. I have reasons for
thinking this lady was very kindly disposed toward me, and,
although I was not often the object of her attention, I
constantly regarded her as my friend, and was always glad when it
was my privilege to do her a service. In a family where there
was so much that was harsh, cold and indifferent, the slightest
word or look of kindness passed, with me, for its full value.
Miss Lucretia–as we all continued to call her long after
her marriage–had bestowed upon me such words and looks as taught
me that she pitied me, if she did not love me. In addition to
words and looks, she sometimes gave me a piece of bread and
butter; a thing not set down in the bill of fare, and which must
have been an extra ration, planned aside from either Aunt Katy or
old master, solely out of the tender regard and friendship she
had for me. Then, too, I one day got into the wars with Uncle
Able’s son, “Ike,” and had got sadly worsted; in fact, the little
rascal had struck me directly in the forehead with a sharp piece
of cinder, fused with iron, from the old blacksmith’s forge,
which made a cross in my forehead very plainly to be seen now.
The gash bled very freely, and I roared very loudly and betook
myself home. The coldhearted Aunt Katy paid no attention either
to my wound or my roaring, except to tell me it served me right;
I had no business with Ike; it was good for me; I would now keep
away _”from dem Lloyd niggers.”_ Miss Lucretia, in this state of
the case, came forward; and, in quite a different spirit from
that manifested by Aunt Katy, she called me into the parlor (an
extra privilege of itself) and, without using toward me any of
the hard-hearted and reproachful epithets of my kitchen
tormentor, she quietly acted the good Samaritan. With her own
soft hand she washed the blood from my head and face, fetched her
own balsam bottle, and with the balsam wetted a nice piece of
white linen, and bound up my head. The balsam was not more
healing to the wound in my head, than her kindness was healing to
the wounds in my spirit, made by the unfeeling words of Aunt
Katy. After this, Miss Lucretia was my friend. I felt her to be
such; and I have no doubt that the simple act of binding up my
head, did much to awaken in her mind an interest in my welfare.
It is quite true, that this interest was never very marked, and
it seldom showed itself in anything more than in giving me a
piece of bread when I was hungry; but this was a great favor on a
slave plantation, and I was the only one of the children to whom
such attention was paid. When very
hungry, I would go into the back yard and play under Miss
Lucretia’s window. When pretty severely pinched by hunger, I had
a habit of singing, which the good lady very soon came to
understand as a petition for a piece of bread. When I sung under
Miss Lucretia’s window, I was very apt to get well paid for my
music. The reader will see that I now had two friends, both at
important points–Mas’ Daniel at the great house, and Miss
Lucretia at home. From Mas’ Daniel I got protection from the
bigger boys; and from Miss Lucretia I got bread, by singing when
I was hungry, and sympathy when I was abused by that termagant,
who had the reins of government in the kitchen. For such
friendship I felt deeply grateful, and bitter as are my
recollections of slavery, I love to recall any instances of
kindness, any sunbeams of humane treatment, which found way to my
soul through the iron grating of my house of bondage. Such beams
seem all the brighter from the general darkness into which they
penetrate, and the impression they make is vividly distinct and
beautiful.

As I have before intimated, I was seldom whipped–and never
severely–by my old master. I suffered little from the treatment
I received, except from hunger and cold. These were my two great
physical troubles. I could neither get a sufficiency of food nor
of clothing; but I suffered less from hunger than from cold. In
hottest summer and coldest winter, I was kept almost in a state
of nudity; no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trowsers;
nothing but coarse sackcloth or tow-linen, made into a sort of
shirt, reaching down to my knees. This I wore night and day,
changing it once a week. In the day time I could protect myself
pretty well, by keeping on the sunny side of the house; and in
bad weather, in the corner of the kitchen chimney. The great
difficulty was, to keep warm during the night. I had no bed.
The pigs in the pen had leaves, and the horses in the stable had
straw, but the children had no beds. They lodged anywhere in the
ample kitchen. I slept, generally, in a little closet, without
even a blanket to cover me. In very cold weather. I sometimes
got down the bag in which cornmeal was usually carried to
the mill, and crawled into that. Sleeping there, with my head in
and feet out, I was partly protected, though not comfortable. My
feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen with which
I am writing might be laid in the gashes. The manner of taking
our meals at old master’s, indicated but little refinement. Our
corn-meal mush, when sufficiently cooled, was placed in a large
wooden tray, or trough, like those used in making maple sugar
here in the north. This tray was set down, either on the floor
of the kitchen, or out of doors on the ground; and the children
were called, like so many pigs; and like so many pigs they would
come, and literally devour the mush–some with oyster shells,
some with pieces of shingles, and none with spoons. He that eat
fastest got most, and he that was strongest got the best place;
and few left the trough really satisfied. I was the most unlucky
of any, for Aunt Katy had no good feeling for me; and if I pushed
any of the other children, or if they told her anything
unfavorable of me, she always believed the worst, and was sure to
whip me.

As I grew older and more thoughtful, I was more and more filled
with a sense of my wretchedness. The cruelty of Aunt Katy, the
hunger and cold I suffered, and the terrible reports of wrong and
outrage which came to my ear, together with what I almost daily
witnessed, led me, when yet but eight or nine years old, to wish
I had never been born. I used to contrast my condition with the
black-birds, in whose wild and sweet songs I fancied them so
happy! Their apparent joy only deepened the shades of my sorrow.
There are thoughtful days in the lives of children–at least
there were in mine when they grapple with all the great, primary
subjects of knowledge, and reach, in a moment, conclusions which
no subsequent experience can shake. I was just as well aware of
the unjust, unnatural and murderous character of slavery, when
nine years old, as I am now. Without any appeal to books, to
laws, or to authorities of any kind, it was enough to accept God
as a father, to regard slavery as a crime.

I was not ten years old when I left Col. Lloyd’s plantation for
Balitmore{sic}. I left that plantation with inexpressible joy.
I never shall forget the ecstacy with which I received the
intelligence from my friend, Miss Lucretia, that my old master
had determined to let me go to Baltimore to live with Mr. Hugh
Auld, a brother to Mr. Thomas Auld, my old master’s son-in-law.
I received this information about three days before my departure.
They were three of the happiest days of my childhood. I spent
the largest part of these three days in the creek, washing off
the plantation scurf, and preparing for my new home. Mrs.
Lucretia took a lively interest in getting me ready. She told me
I must get all the dead skin off my feet and knees, before I
could go to Baltimore, for the people there were very cleanly,
and would laugh at me if I looked dirty; and, besides, she was
intending to give me a pair of trowsers, which I should not put
on unless I got all the dirt off. This was a warning to which I
was bound to take heed; for the thought of owning a pair of
trowsers, was great, indeed. It was almost a sufficient motive,
not only to induce me to scrub off the _mange_ (as pig drovers
would call it) but the skin as well. So I went at it in good
earnest, working for the first time in the hope of reward. I was
greatly excited, and could hardly consent to sleep, lest I should
be left. The ties that, ordinarily, bind children to their
homes, were all severed, or they never had any existence in my
case, at least so far as the home plantation of Col. L. was
concerned. I therefore found no severe trail at the moment of my
departure, such as I had experienced when separated from my home
in Tuckahoe. My home at my old master’s was charmless to me; it
was not home, but a prison to me; on parting from it, I could not
feel that I was leaving anything which I could have enjoyed by
staying. My mother was now long dead; my grandmother was far
away, so that I seldom saw her; Aunt Katy was my unrelenting
tormentor; and my two sisters and brothers, owing to our early
separation in life, and the family-destroying power of slavery,
were, comparatively, strangers to me. The fact of our
relationship was almost blotted out. I looked for _home_
elsewhere, and was confident of finding none which I should
relish less than the one I was leaving. If, however, I found in
my new home to which I was going with such blissful
anticipations–hardship, whipping and nakedness, I had the
questionable consolation that I should not have escaped any one
of these evils by remaining under the management of Aunt Katy.
Then, too, I thought, since I had endured much in this line on
Lloyd’s plantation, I could endure as much elsewhere, and
especially at Baltimore; for I had something of the feeling about
that city which is expressed in the saying, that being “hanged in
England, is better than dying a natural death in Ireland.” I had
the strongest desire to see Baltimore. My cousin Tom–a boy two
or three years older than I–had been there, and though not
fluent (he stuttered immoderately) in speech, he had inspired me
with that desire, by his eloquent description of the place. Tom
was, sometimes, Capt. Auld’s cabin boy; and when he came from
Baltimore, he was always a sort of hero amongst us, at least till
his Baltimore trip was forgotten. I could never tell him of
anything, or point out anything that struck me as beautiful or
powerful, but that he had seen something in Baltimore far
surpassing it. Even the great house itself, with all its
pictures within, and pillars without, he had the hardihood to say
“was nothing to Baltimore.” He bought a trumpet (worth six
pence) and brought it home; told what he had seen in the windows
of stores; that he had heard shooting crackers, and seen
soldiers; that he had seen a steamboat; that there were ships in
Baltimore that could carry four such sloops as the “Sally Lloyd.”
He said a great deal about the market-house; he spoke of the
bells ringing; and of many other things which roused my curiosity
very much; and, indeed, which heightened my hopes of happiness in
my new home.

We sailed out of Miles river for Baltimore early on a Saturday
morning. I remember only the day of the week; for, at that time,
I had no knowledge of the days of the
month, nor, indeed, of the months of the year. On setting sail,
I walked aft, and gave to Col. Lloyd’s plantation what I hoped
would be the last look I should ever give to it, or to any place
like it. My strong aversion to the great farm, was not owing to
my own personal suffering, but the daily suffering of others, and
to the certainty that I must, sooner or later, be placed under
the barbarous rule of an overseer, such as the accomplished Gore,
or the brutal and drunken Plummer. After taking this last view,
I quitted the quarter deck, made my way to the bow of the sloop,
and spent the remainder of the day in looking ahead; interesting
myself in what was in the distance, rather than what was near by
or behind. The vessels, sweeping along the bay, were very
interesting objects. The broad bay opened like a shoreless ocean
on my boyish vision, filling me with wonder and admiration.

Late in the afternoon, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the
state, stopping there not long enough to admit of my going
ashore. It was the first large town I had ever seen; and though
it was inferior to many a factory village in New England, my
feelings, on seeing it, were excited to a pitch very little below
that reached by travelers at the first view of Rome. The dome of
the state house was especially imposing, and surpassed in
grandeur the appearance of the great house. The great world was
opening upon me very rapidly, and I was eagerly acquainting
myself with its multifarious lessons.

We arrived in Baltimore on Sunday morning, and landed at Smith’s
wharf, not far from Bowly’s wharf. We had on board the sloop a
large flock of sheep, for the Baltimore market; and, after
assisting in driving them to the slaughter house of Mr. Curtis,
on Loudon Slater’s Hill, I was speedily conducted by Rich–one of
the hands belonging to the sloop–to my new home in Alliciana
street, near Gardiner’s ship-yard, on Fell’s Point. Mr. and Mrs.
Hugh Auld, my new mistress and master, were both at home, and met
me at the door with their rosy cheeked little son, Thomas,
to take care of whom was to constitute my future occupation.
In fact, it was to “little Tommy,” rather than to his parents,
that old master made a present of me; and though there was no
_legal_ form or arrangement entered into, I have no doubt that
Mr. and Mrs. Auld felt that, in due time, I should be the legal
property of their bright-eyed and beloved boy, Tommy. I was
struck with the appearance, especially, of my new mistress. Her
face was lighted with the kindliest emotions; and the reflex
influence of her countenance, as well as the tenderness with
which she seemed to regard me, while asking me sundry little
questions, greatly delighted me, and lit up, to my fancy, the
pathway of my future. Miss Lucretia was kind; but my new
mistress, “Miss Sophy,” surpassed her in kindness of manner.
Little Thomas was affectionately told by his mother, that _”there
was his Freddy,”_ and that “Freddy would take care of him;” and I
was told to “be kind to little Tommy”–an injunction I scarcely
needed, for I had already fallen in love with the dear boy; and
with these little ceremonies I was initiated into my new home,
and entered upon my peculiar duties, with not a cloud above the
horizon.

I may say here, that I regard my removal from Col. Lloyd’s
plantation as one of the most interesting and fortunate events of
my life. Viewing it in the light of human likelihoods, it is
quite probable that, but for the mere circumstance of being thus
removed before the rigors of slavery had fastened upon me; before
my young spirit had been crushed under the iron control of the
slave-driver, instead of being, today, a FREEMAN, I might have
been wearing the galling chains of slavery. I have sometimes
felt, however, that there was something more intelligent than
_chance_, and something more certain than _luck_, to be seen in
the circumstance. If I have made any progress in knowledge; if I
have cherished any honorable aspirations, or have, in any manner,
worthily discharged the duties of a member of an oppressed
people; this little circumstance must be allowed its due weight
in giving my life that
direction. I have ever regarded it as the first plain
manifestation of that

_Divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough hew them as we will_.

I was not the only boy on the plantation that might have been
sent to live in Baltimore. There was a wide margin from which to
select. There were boys younger, boys older, and boys of the
same age, belonging to my old master some at his own house, and
some at his farm–but the high privilege fell to my lot.

I may be deemed superstitious and egotistical, in regarding this
event as a special interposition of Divine Providence in my
favor; but the thought is a part of my history, and I should be
false to the earliest and most cherished sentiments of my soul,
if I suppressed, or hesitated to avow that opinion, although it
may be characterized as irrational by the wise, and ridiculous by
the scoffer. From my earliest recollections of serious matters,
I date the entertainment of something like an ineffaceable
conviction, that slavery would not always be able to hold me
within its foul embrace; and this conviction, like a word of
living faith, strengthened me through the darkest trials of my
lot. This good spirit was from God; and to him I offer
thanksgiving and praise.

CHAPTER X
_Life in Baltimore_

CITY ANNOYANCES–PLANTATION REGRETS–MY MISTRESS, MISS SOPHA–HER
HISTORY–HER KINDNESS TO ME–MY MASTER, HUGH AULD–HIS SOURNESS–
MY INCREASED SENSITIVENESS–MY COMFORTS–MY OCCUPATION–THE
BANEFUL EFFECTS OF SLAVEHOLDING ON MY DEAR AND GOOD MISTRESS–HOW
SHE COMMENCED TEACHING ME TO READ–WHY SHE CEASED TEACHING ME–
CLOUDS GATHERING OVER MY BRIGHT PROSPECTS–MASTER AULD’S
EXPOSITION OF THE TRUE PHILOSOPHY OF SLAVERY–CITY SLAVES–
PLANTATION SLAVES–THE CONTRAST–EXCEPTIONS–MR. HAMILTON’S TWO
SLAVES, HENRIETTA AND MARY–MRS. HAMILTON’S CRUEL TREATMENT OF
THEM–THE PITEOUS ASPECT THEY PRESENTED–NO POWER MUST COME
BETWEEN THE SLAVE AND THE SLAVEHOLDER.

Once in Baltimore, with hard brick pavements under my feet, which
almost raised blisters, by their very heat, for it was in the
height of summer; walled in on all sides by towering brick
buildings; with troops of hostile boys ready to pounce upon me at
every street corner; with new and strange objects glaring upon me
at every step, and with startling sounds reaching my ears from
all directions, I for a time thought that, after all, the home
plantation was a more desirable place of residence than my home
on Alliciana street, in Baltimore. My country eyes and ears were
confused and bewildered here; but the boys were my chief trouble.
They chased me, and called me _”Eastern Shore man,”_ till really
I almost wished myself back on the Eastern Shore. I had to
undergo a sort of moral acclimation, and when that was over, I
did much better. My new mistress happily proved to be all she
_seemed_ to be, when, with her husband, she met me at the door, with a most beaming,
benignant countenance. She was, naturally, of an excellent
disposition, kind, gentle and cheerful. The supercilious
contempt for the rights and feelings of the slave, and the
petulance and bad humor which generally characterize slaveholding
ladies, were all quite absent from kind “Miss” Sophia’s manner
and bearing toward me. She had, in truth, never been a
slaveholder, but had–a thing quite unusual in the south–
depended almost entirely upon her own industry for a living. To
this fact the dear lady, no doubt, owed the excellent
preservation of her natural goodness of heart, for slavery can
change a saint into a sinner, and an angel into a demon. I
hardly knew how to behave toward “Miss Sopha,” as I used to call
Mrs. Hugh Auld. I had been treated as a _pig_ on the plantation;
I was treated as a _child_ now. I could not even approach her as
I had formerly approached Mrs. Thomas Auld. How could I hang
down my head, and speak with bated breath, when there was no
pride to scorn me, no coldness to repel me, and no hatred to
inspire me with fear? I therefore soon learned to regard her as
something more akin to a mother, than a slaveholding mistress.
The crouching servility of a slave, usually so acceptable a
quality to the haughty slaveholder, was not understood nor
desired by this gentle woman. So far from deeming it impudent in
a slave to look her straight in the face, as some slaveholding
ladies do, she seemed ever to say, “look up, child; don’t be
afraid; see, I am full of kindness and good will toward you.”
The hands belonging to Col. Lloyd’s sloop, esteemed it a great
privilege to be the bearers of parcels or messages to my new
mistress; for whenever they came, they were sure of a most kind
and pleasant reception. If little Thomas was her son, and her
most dearly beloved child, she, for a time, at least, made me
something like his half-brother in her affections. If dear Tommy
was exalted to a place on his mother’s knee, “Feddy” was honored
by a place at his mother’s side. Nor did he lack the caressing
strokes of her gentle hand, to convince him that, though
_motherless_, he was not _friendless_. Mrs. Auld was not
only a kind-hearted woman, but she was remarkably pious; frequent
in her attendance of public worship, much given to reading the
bible, and to chanting hymns of praise, when alone. Mr. Hugh
Auld was altogether a different character. He cared very little
about religion, knew more of the world, and was more of the
world, than his wife. He set out, doubtless to be–as the world
goes–a respectable man, and to get on by becoming a successful
ship builder, in that city of ship building. This was his
ambition, and it fully occupied him. I was, of course, of very
little consequence to him, compared with what I was to good Mrs.
Auld; and, when he smiled upon me, as he sometimes did, the smile
was borrowed from his lovely wife, and, like all borrowed light,
was transient, and vanished with the source whence it was
derived. While I must characterize Master Hugh as being a very
sour man, and of forbidding appearance, it is due to him to
acknowledge, that he was never very cruel to me, according to the
notion of cruelty in Maryland. The first year or two which I
spent in his house, he left me almost exclusively to the
management of his wife. She was my law-giver. In hands so
tender as hers, and in the absence of the cruelties of the
plantation, I became, both physically and mentally, much more
sensitive to good and ill treatment; and, perhaps, suffered more
from a frown from my mistress, than I formerly did from a cuff at
the hands of Aunt Katy. Instead of the cold, damp floor of my
old master’s kitchen, I found myself on carpets; for the corn bag
in winter, I now had a good straw bed, well furnished with
covers; for the coarse corn-meal in the morning, I now had good
bread, and mush occasionally; for my poor tow-lien shirt,
reaching to my knees, I had good, clean clothes. I was really
well off. My employment was to run errands, and to take care of
Tommy; to prevent his getting in the way of carriages, and to
keep him out of harm’s way generally. Tommy, and I, and his
mother, got on swimmingly together, for a time. I say _for a
time_, because the fatal poison of irresponsible power, and the
natural influence of slavery customs, were
not long in making a suitable impression on the gentle and loving
disposition of my excellent mistress. At first, Mrs. Auld
evidently regarded me simply as a child, like any other child;
she had not come to regard me as _property_. This latter thought
was a thing of conventional growth. The first was natural and
spontaneous. A noble nature, like hers, could not, instantly, be
wholly perverted; and it took several years to change the natural
sweetness of her temper into fretful bitterness. In her worst
estate, however, there were, during the first seven years I lived
with her, occasional returns of her former kindly disposition.

The frequent hearing of my mistress reading the bible for she
often read aloud when her husband was absent soon awakened my
curiosity in respect to this _mystery_ of reading, and roused in
me the desire to learn. Having no fear of my kind mistress
before my eyes, (she had then given me no reason to fear,) I
frankly asked her to teach me to read; and, without hesitation,
the dear woman began the task, and very soon, by her assistance,
I was master of the alphabet, and could spell words of three or
four letters. My mistress seemed almost as proud of my progress,
as if I had been her own child; and, supposing that her husband
would be as well pleased, she made no secret of what she was
doing for me. Indeed, she exultingly told him of the aptness of
her pupil, of her intention to persevere in teaching me, and of
the duty which she felt it to teach me, at least to read _the
bible_. Here arose the first cloud over my Baltimore prospects,
the precursor of drenching rains and chilling blasts.

Master Hugh was amazed at the simplicity of his spouse, and,
probably for the first time, he unfolded to her the true
philosophy of slavery, and the peculiar rules necessary to be
observed by masters and mistresses, in the management of their
human chattels. Mr. Auld promptly forbade continuance of her
instruction; telling her, in the first place, that the thing
itself was unlawful; that it was also unsafe, and could only lead
to mischief. To use his own words, further, he said, “if
you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell;” “he should know
nothing but the will of his master, and learn to obey it.” “if
you teach that nigger–speaking of myself–how to read the bible,
there will be no keeping him;” “it would forever unfit him for
the duties of a slave;” and “as to himself, learning would do him
no good, but probably, a great deal of harm–making him
disconsolate and unhappy.” “If you learn him now to read, he’ll
want to know how to write; and, this accomplished, he’ll be
running away with himself.” Such was the tenor of Master Hugh’s
oracular exposition of the true philosophy of training a human
chattel; and it must be confessed that he very clearly
comprehended the nature and the requirements of the relation of
master and slave. His discourse was the first decidedly anti-
slavery lecture to which it had been my lot to listen. Mrs. Auld
evidently felt the force of his remarks; and, like an obedient
wife, began to shape her course in the direction indicated by her
husband. The effect of his words, _on me_, was neither slight
nor transitory. His iron sentences–cold and harsh–sunk deep
into my heart, and stirred up not only my feelings into a sort of
rebellion, but awakened within me a slumbering train of vital
thought. It was a new and special revelation, dispelling a
painful mystery, against which my youthful understanding had
struggled, and struggled in vain, to wit: the _white_ man’s power
to perpetuate the enslavement of the _black_ man. “Very well,”
thought I; “knowledge unfits a child to be a slave.” I
instinctively assented to the proposition; and from that moment I
understood the direct pathway from slavery to freedom. This was
just what I needed; and I got it at a time, and from a source,
whence I least expected it. I was saddened at the thought of
losing the assistance of my kind mistress; but the information,
so instantly derived, to some extent compensated me for the loss
I had sustained in this direction. Wise as Mr. Auld was, he
evidently underrated my comprehension, and had little idea of the
use to which I was capable of putting the impressive lesson he was giving to his wife.
_He_ wanted me to be _a slave;_ I had already voted against that
on the home plantation of Col. Lloyd. That which he most loved I
most hated; and the very determination which he expressed to keep
me in ignorance, only rendered me the more resolute in seeking
intelligence. In learning to read, therefore, I am not sure that
I do not owe quite as much to the opposition of my master, as to
the kindly assistance of my amiable mistress. I acknowledge the
benefit rendered me by the one, and by the other; believing, that
but for my mistress, I might have grown up in ignorance.

I had resided but a short time in Baltimore, before I observed a
marked difference in the manner of treating slaves, generally,
from which I had witnessed in that isolated and out-of-the-way
part of the country where I began life. A city slave is almost a
free citizen, in Baltimore, compared with a slave on Col. Lloyd’s
plantation. He is much better fed and clothed, is less dejected
in his appearance, and enjoys privileges altogether unknown to
the whip-driven slave on the plantation. Slavery dislikes a
dense population, in which there is a majority of non-
slaveholders. The general sense of decency that must pervade
such a population, does much to check and prevent those outbreaks
of atrocious cruelty, and those dark crimes without a name,
almost openly perpetrated on the plantation. He is a desperate
slaveholder who will shock the humanity of his non-slaveholding
neighbors, by the cries of the lacerated slaves; and very few in
the city are willing to incur the odium of being cruel masters.
I found, in Baltimore, that no man was more odious to the white,
as well as to the colored people, than he, who had the reputation
of starving his slaves. Work them, flog them, if need be, but
don’t starve them. These are, however, some painful exceptions
to this rule. While it is quite true that most of the
slaveholders in Baltimore feed and clothe their slaves well,
there are others who keep up their country cruelties in the city.

An instance of this sort is furnished in the case of a family
who lived directly opposite to our house, and were named
Hamilton. Mrs. Hamilton owned two slaves. Their names were
Henrietta and Mary. They had always been house slaves. One was
aged about twenty-two, and the other about fourteen. They were a
fragile couple by nature, and the treatment they received was
enough to break down the constitution of a horse. Of all the
dejected, emaciated, mangled and excoriated creatures I ever saw,
those two girls–in the refined, church going and Christian city
of Baltimore were the most deplorable. Of stone must that heart
be made, that could look upon Henrietta and Mary, without being
sickened to the core with sadness. Especially was Mary a heart-
sickening object. Her head, neck and shoulders, were literally
cut to pieces. I have frequently felt her head, and found it
nearly covered over with festering sores, caused by the lash of
her cruel mistress. I do not know that her master ever whipped
her, but I have often been an eye witness of the revolting and
brutal inflictions by Mrs. Hamilton; and what lends a deeper
shade to this woman’s conduct, is the fact, that, almost in the
very moments of her shocking outrages of humanity and decency,
she would charm you by the sweetness of her voice and her seeming
piety. She used to sit in a large rocking chair, near the middle
of the room, with a heavy cowskin, such as I have elsewhere
described; and I speak within the truth when I say, that these
girls seldom passed that chair, during the day, without a blow
from that cowskin, either upon their bare arms, or upon their
shoulders. As they passed her, she would draw her cowskin and
give them a blow, saying, _”move faster, you black jip!”_ and,
again, _”take that, you black jip!”_ continuing, _”if you don’t
move faster, I will give you more.”_ Then the lady would go on,
singing her sweet hymns, as though her _righteous_ soul were
sighing for the holy realms of paradise.

Added to the cruel lashings to which these poor slave-girls were
subjected–enough in themselves to crush the spirit of men–they
were, really, kept nearly half starved; they seldom knew what it was to eat a full
meal, except when they got it in the kitchens of neighbors, less
mean and stingy than the psalm-singing Mrs. Hamilton. I have
seen poor Mary contending for the offal, with the pigs in the
street. So much was the poor girl pinched, kicked, cut and
pecked to pieces, that the boys in the street knew her only by
the name of _”pecked,”_ a name derived from the scars and
blotches on her neck, head and shoulders.

It is some relief to this picture of slavery in Baltimore, to
say–what is but the simple truth–that Mrs. Hamilton’s treatment
of her slaves was generally condemned, as disgraceful and
shocking; but while I say this, it must also be remembered, that
the very parties who censured the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton, would
have condemned and promptly punished any attempt to interfere
with Mrs. Hamilton’s _right_ to cut and slash her slaves to
pieces. There must be no force between the slave and the
slaveholder, to restrain the power of the one, and protect the
weakness of the other; and the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton is as
justly chargeable to the upholders of the slave system, as
drunkenness is chargeable on those who, by precept and example,
or by indifference, uphold the drinking system.

CHAPTER XI
_”A Change Came O’er the Spirit of My Dream”_

HOW I LEARNED TO READ–MY MISTRESS–HER SLAVEHOLDING DUTIES–
THEIR DEPLORABLE EFFECTS UPON HER ORIGINALLY NOBLE NATURE–THE
CONFLICT IN HER MIND–HER FINAL OPPOSITION TO MY LEARNING TO
READ–TOO LATE–SHE HAD GIVEN ME THE INCH, I WAS RESOLVED TO TAKE
THE ELL–HOW I PURSUED MY EDUCATION–MY TUTORS–HOW I COMPENSATED
THEM–WHAT PROGRESS I MADE–SLAVERY–WHAT I HEARD SAID ABOUT IT–
THIRTEEN YEARS OLD–THE _Columbian Orator_–A RICH SCENE–A
DIALOGUE–SPEECHES OF CHATHAM, SHERIDAN, PITT AND FOX–KNOWLEDGE
EVER INCREASING–MY EYES OPENED–LIBERTY–HOW I PINED FOR IT–MY
SADNESS–THE DISSATISFACTION OF MY POOR MISTRESS–MY HATRED OF
SLAVERY–ONE UPAS TREE OVERSHADOWED US BOTH.

I lived in the family of Master Hugh, at Baltimore, seven years,
during which time–as the almanac makers say of the weather–my
condition was variable. The most interesting feature of my
history here, was my learning to read and write, under somewhat
marked disadvantages. In attaining this knowledge, I was
compelled to resort to indirections by no means congenial to my
nature, and which were really humiliating to me. My mistress–
who, as the reader has already seen, had begun to teach me was
suddenly checked in her benevolent design, by the strong advice
of her husband. In faithful compliance with this advice, the
good lady had not only ceased to instruct me, herself, but had
set her face as a flint against my learning to read by any means.
It is due, however, to my mistress to say, that she did not adopt
this course in all its stringency at the first. She either
thought it unnecessary, or she lacked the depravity indispensable
to shutting me up in mental darkness. It was, at least, necessary for her to
have some training, and some hardening, in the exercise of the
slaveholder’s prerogative, to make her equal to forgetting my
human nature and character, and to treating me as a thing
destitute of a moral or an intellectual nature. Mrs. Auld–my
mistress–was, as I have said, a most kind and tender-hearted
woman; and, in the humanity of her heart, and the simplicity of
her mind, she set out, when I first went to live with her, to
treat me as she supposed one human being ought to treat another.

It is easy to see, that, in entering upon the duties of a
slaveholder, some little experience is needed. Nature has done
almost nothing to prepare men and women to be either slaves or
slaveholders. Nothing but rigid training, long persisted in, can
perfect the character of the one or the other. One cannot easily
forget to love freedom; and it is as hard to cease to respect
that natural love in our fellow creatures. On entering upon the
career of a slaveholding mistress, Mrs. Auld was singularly
deficient; nature, which fits nobody for such an office, had done
less for her than any lady I had known. It was no easy matter to
induce her to think and to feel that the curly-headed boy, who
stood by her side, and even leaned on her lap; who was loved by
little Tommy, and who loved little Tommy in turn; sustained to
her only the relation of a chattel. I was _more_ than that, and
she felt me to be more than that. I could talk and sing; I could
laugh and weep; I could reason and remember; I could love and
hate. I was human, and she, dear lady, knew and felt me to be
so. How could she, then, treat me as a brute, without a mighty
struggle with all the noble powers of her own soul. That
struggle came, and the will and power of the husband was
victorious. Her noble soul was overthrown; but, he that
overthrew it did not, himself, escape the consequences. He, not
less than the other parties, was injured in his domestic peace by
the fall.

When I went into their family, it was the abode of happiness and
contentment. The mistress of the house was a model of
affection and tenderness. Her fervent piety and watchful
uprightness made it impossible to see her without thinking and
feeling–“_that woman is a Christian_.” There was no sorrow nor
suffering for which she had not a tear, and there was no innocent
joy for which she did not a smile. She had bread for the hungry,
clothes for the naked, and comfort for every mourner that came
within her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her
of these excellent qualities, and her home of its early
happiness. Conscience cannot stand much violence. Once
thoroughly broken down, _who_ is he that can repair the damage?
It may be broken toward the slave, on Sunday, and toward the
master on Monday. It cannot endure such shocks. It must stand
entire, or it does not stand at all. If my condition waxed bad,
that of the family waxed not better. The first step, in the
wrong direction, was the violence done to nature and to
conscience, in arresting the benevolence that would have
enlightened my young mind. In ceasing to instruct me, she must
begin to justify herself _to_ herself; and, once consenting to
take sides in such a debate, she was riveted to her position.
One needs very little knowledge of moral philosophy, to see
_where_ my mistress now landed. She finally became even more
violent in her opposition to my learning to read, than was her
husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply doing as
_well_ as her husband had commanded her, but seemed resolved to
better his instruction. Nothing appeared to make my poor
mistress–after her turning toward the downward path–more angry,
than seeing me, seated in some nook or corner, quietly reading a
book or a newspaper. I have had her rush at me, with the utmost
fury, and snatch from my hand such newspaper or book, with
something of the wrath and consternation which a traitor might be
supposed to feel on being discovered in a plot by some dangerous
spy.

Mrs. Auld was an apt woman, and the advice of her husband, and
her own experience, soon demonstrated, to her entire
satisfaction, that education and slavery are incompatible with
each other. When this conviction was thoroughly established, I
was most narrowly watched in all
my movements. If I remained in a separate room from the family
for any considerable length of time, I was sure to be suspected
of having a book, and was at once called upon to give an account
of myself. All this, however, was entirely _too late_. The
first, and never to be retraced, step had been taken. In
teaching me the alphabet, in the days of her simplicity and
kindness, my mistress had given me the _”inch,”_ and now, no
ordinary precaution could prevent me from taking the _”ell.”_

Seized with a determination to learn to read, at any cost, I hit
upon many expedients to accomplish the desired end. The plea
which I mainly adopted, and the one by which I was most
successful, was that of using my young white playmates, with whom
I met in the streets as teachers. I used to carry, almost
constantly, a copy of Webster’s spelling book in my pocket; and,
when sent of errands, or when play time was allowed me, I would
step, with my young friends, aside, and take a lesson in
spelling. I generally paid my _tuition fee_ to the boys, with
bread, which I also carried in my pocket. For a single biscuit,
any of my hungry little comrades would give me a lesson more
valuable to me than bread. Not every one, however, demanded this
consideration, for there were those who took pleasure in teaching
me, whenever I had a chance to be taught by them. I am strongly
tempted to give the names of two or three of those little boys,
as a slight testimonial of the gratitude and affection I bear
them, but prudence forbids; not that it would injure me, but it
might, possibly, embarrass them; for it is almost an unpardonable
offense to do any thing, directly or indirectly, to promote a
slave’s freedom, in a slave state. It is enough to say, of my
warm-hearted little play fellows, that they lived on Philpot
street, very near Durgin & Bailey’s shipyard.

Although slavery was a delicate subject, and very cautiously
talked about among grown up people in Maryland, I frequently
talked about it–and that very freely–with the white boys. I
would, sometimes, say to them, while seated on a curb stone
or a cellar door, “I wish I could be free, as you will be when
you get to be men.” “You will be free, you know, as soon as you
are twenty-one, and can go where you like, but I am a slave for
life. Have I not as good a right to be free as you have?” Words
like these, I observed, always troubled them; and I had no small
satisfaction in wringing from the boys, occasionally, that fresh
and bitter condemnation of slavery, that springs from nature,
unseared and unperverted. Of all consciences let me have those
to deal with which have not been bewildered by the cares of life.
I do not remember ever to have met with a _boy_, while I was in
slavery, who defended the slave system; but I have often had boys
to console me, with the hope that something would yet occur, by
which I might be made free. Over and over again, they have told
me, that “they believed I had as good a right to be free as
_they_ had;” and that “they did not believe God ever made any one
to be a slave.” The reader will easily see, that such little
conversations with my play fellows, had no tendency to weaken my
love of liberty, nor to render me contented with my condition as
a slave.

When I was about thirteen years old, and had succeeded in
learning to read, every increase of knowledge, especially
respecting the FREE STATES, added something to the almost
intolerable burden of the thought–I AM A SLAVE FOR LIFE. To my
bondage I saw no end. It was a terrible reality, and I shall
never be able to tell how sadly that thought chafed my young
spirit. Fortunately, or unfortunately, about this time in my
life, I had made enough money to buy what was then a very popular
school book, viz: the _Columbian Orator_. I bought this addition
to my library, of Mr. Knight, on Thames street, Fell’s Point,
Baltimore, and paid him fifty cents for it. I was first led to
buy this book, by hearing some little boys say they were going to
learn some little pieces out of it for the Exhibition. This
volume was, indeed, a rich treasure, and every opportunity
afforded me, for a time,
was spent in diligently perusing it. Among much other
interesting matter, that which I had perused and reperused with
unflagging satisfaction, was a short dialogue between a master
and his slave. The slave is represented as having been
recaptured, in a second attempt to run away; and the master opens
the dialogue with an upbraiding speech, charging the slave with
ingratitude, and demanding to know what he has to say in his own
defense. Thus upbraided, and thus called upon to reply, the
slave rejoins, that he knows how little anything that he can say
will avail, seeing that he is completely in the hands of his
owner; and with noble resolution, calmly says, “I submit to my
fate.” Touched by the slave’s answer, the master insists upon
his further speaking, and recapitulates the many acts of kindness
which he has performed toward the slave, and tells him he is
permitted to speak for himself. Thus invited to the debate, the
quondam slave made a spirited defense of himself, and thereafter
the whole argument, for and against slavery, was brought out.
The master was vanquished at every turn in the argument; and
seeing himself to be thus vanquished, he generously and meekly
emancipates the slave, with his best wishes for his prosperity.
It is scarcely neccessary{sic} to say, that a dialogue, with such
an origin, and such an ending–read when the fact of my being a
slave was a constant burden of grief–powerfully affected me; and
I could not help feeling that the day might come, when the well-
directed answers made by the slave to the master, in this
instance, would find their counterpart in myself.

This, however, was not all the fanaticism which I found in this
_Columbian Orator_. I met there one of Sheridan’s mighty
speeches, on the subject of Catholic Emancipation, Lord Chatham’s
speech on the American war, and speeches by the great William
Pitt and by Fox. These were all choice documents to me, and I
read them, over and over again, with an interest that was ever
increasing, because it was ever gaining in intelligence; for the
more I read them, the better I understood them. The reading of
these speeches added much to my limited stock of language,
and enabled me to give tongue to many interesting thoughts, which
had frequently flashed through my soul, and died away for want of
utterance. The mighty power and heart-searching directness of
truth, penetrating even the heart of a slaveholder, compelling
him to yield up his earthly interests to the claims of eternal
justice, were finely illustrated in the dialogue, just referred
to; and from the speeches of Sheridan, I got a bold and powerful
denunciation of oppression, and a most brilliant vindication of
the rights of man. Here was, indeed, a noble acquisition. If I
ever wavered under the consideration, that the Almighty, in some
way, ordained slavery, and willed my enslavement for his own
glory, I wavered no longer. I had now penetrated the secret of
all slavery and oppression, and had ascertained their true
foundation to be in the pride, the power and the avarice of man.
The dialogue and the speeches were all redolent of the principles
of liberty, and poured floods of light on the nature and
character of slavery. With a book of this kind in my hand, my
own human nature, and the facts of my experience, to help me, I
was equal to a contest with the religious advocates of slavery,
whether among the whites or among the colored people, for
blindness, in this matter, is not confined to the former. I have
met many religious colored people, at the south, who are under
the delusion that God requires them to submit to slavery, and to
wear their chains with meekness and humility. I could entertain
no such nonsense as this; and I almost lost my patience when I
found any colored man weak enough to believe such stuff.
Nevertheless, the increase of knowledge was attended with bitter,
as well as sweet results. The more I read, the more I was led to
abhor and detest slavery, and my enslavers. “Slaveholders,”
thought I, “are only a band of successful robbers, who left their
homes and went into Africa for the purpose of stealing and
reducing my people to slavery.” I loathed them as the meanest
and the most wicked of men. As I read, behold! the very
discontent so graphically predicted by Master
Hugh, had already come upon me. I was no longer the light-
hearted, gleesome boy, full of mirth and play, as when I landed
first at Baltimore. Knowledge had come; light had penetrated the
moral dungeon where I dwelt; and, behold! there lay the bloody
whip, for my back, and here was the iron chain; and my good,
_kind master_, he was the author of my situation. The revelation
haunted me, stung me, and made me gloomy and miserable. As I
writhed under the sting and torment of this knowledge, I almost
envied my fellow slaves their stupid contentment. This knowledge
opened my eyes to the horrible pit, and revealed the teeth of the
frightful dragon that was ready to pounce upon me, but it opened
no way for my escape. I have often wished myself a beast, or a
bird–anything, rather than a slave. I was wretched and gloomy,
beyond my ability to describe. I was too thoughtful to be happy.
It was this everlasting thinking which distressed and tormented
me; and yet there was no getting rid of the subject of my
thoughts. All nature was redolent of it. Once awakened by the
silver trump of knowledge, my spirit was roused to eternal
wakefulness. Liberty! the inestimable birthright of every man,
had, for me, converted every object into an asserter of this
great right. It was heard in every sound, and beheld in every
object. It was ever present, to torment me with a sense of my
wretched condition. The more beautiful and charming were the
smiles of nature, the more horrible and desolate was my
condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, and I heard nothing
without hearing it. I do not exaggerate, when I say, that it
looked from every star, smiled in every calm, breathed in every
wind, and moved in every storm.

I have no doubt that my state of mind had something to do with
the change in the treatment adopted, by my once kind mistress
toward me. I can easily believe, that my leaden, downcast, and
discontented look, was very offensive to her. Poor lady! She
did not know my trouble, and I dared not tell her. Could I have
freely made her acquainted with the real state of my mind, and
given her the reasons therefor, it might have been well for
both of us. Her abuse of me fell upon me like the blows of the
false prophet upon his ass; she did not know that an _angel_
stood in the way; and–such is the relation of master and slave I
could not tell her. Nature had made us _friends;_ slavery made
us _enemies_. My interests were in a direction opposite to hers,
and we both had our private thoughts and plans. She aimed to
keep me ignorant; and I resolved to know, although knowledge only
increased my discontent. My feelings were not the result of any
marked cruelty in the treatment I received; they sprung from the
consideration of my being a slave at all. It was _slavery_–not
its mere _incidents_–that I hated. I had been cheated. I saw
through the attempt to keep me in ignorance; I saw that
slaveholders would have gladly made me believe that they were
merely acting under the authority of God, in making a slave of
me, and in making slaves of others; and I treated them as robbers
and deceivers. The feeding and clothing me well, could not atone
for taking my liberty from me. The smiles of my mistress could
not remove the deep sorrow that dwelt in my young bosom. Indeed,
these, in time, came only to deepen my sorrow. She had changed;
and the reader will see that I had changed, too. We were both
victims to the same overshadowing evil–_she_, as mistress, I, as
slave. I will not censure her harshly; she cannot censure me,
for she knows I speak but the truth, and have acted in my
opposition to slavery, just as she herself would have acted, in a
reverse of circumstances.

CHAPTER XII
_Religious Nature Awakened_

ABOLITIONISTS SPOKEN OF–MY EAGERNESS TO KNOW WHAT THIS WORD
MEANT–MY CONSULTATION OF THE DICTIONARY–INCENDIARY
INFORMATION–HOW AND WHERE DERIVED–THE ENIGMA SOLVED–NATHANIEL
TURNER’S INSURRECTION–THE CHOLERA–RELIGION–FIRST AWAKENED BY A
METHODIST MINISTER NAMED HANSON–MY DEAR AND GOOD OLD COLORED
FRIEND, LAWSON–HIS CHARACTER AND OCCUPATION–HIS INFLUENCE OVER
ME–OUR MUTUAL ATTACHMENT–THE COMFORT I DERIVED FROM HIS
TEACHING–NEW HOPES AND ASPIRATIONS–HEAVENLY LIGHT AMIDST
EARTHLY DARKNESS–THE TWO IRISHMEN ON THE WHARF–THEIR
CONVERSATION–HOW I LEARNED TO WRITE–WHAT WERE MY AIMS.

Whilst in the painful state of mind described in the foregoing
chapter, almost regretting my very existence, because doomed to a
life of bondage, so goaded and so wretched, at times, that I was
even tempted to destroy my own life, I was keenly sensitive and
eager to know any, and every thing that transpired, having any
relation to the subject of slavery. I was all ears, all eyes,
whenever the words _slave, slavery_, dropped from the lips of any
white person, and the occasions were not unfrequent when these
words became leading ones, in high, social debate, at our house.
Every little while, I could hear Master Hugh, or some of his
company, speaking with much warmth and excitement about
_”abolitionists.”_ Of _who_ or _what_ these were, I was totally
ignorant. I found, however, that whatever they might be, they
were most cordially hated and soundly abused by slaveholders, of
every grade. I very soon discovered, too, that slavery was, in
some sort, under consideration, whenever the abolitionists
were alluded to. This made the term a very interesting one to
me. If a slave, for instance, had made good his escape from
slavery, it was generally alleged, that he had been persuaded and
assisted by the abolitionists. If, also, a slave killed his
master–as was sometimes the case–or struck down his overseer,
or set fire to his master’s dwelling, or committed any violence
or crime, out of the common way, it was certain to be said, that
such a crime was the legitimate fruits of the abolition movement.
Hearing such charges often repeated, I, naturally enough,
received the impression that abolition–whatever else it might
be–could not be unfriendly to the slave, nor very friendly to
the slaveholder. I therefore set about finding out, if possible,
_who_ and _what_ the abolitionists were, and _why_ they were so
obnoxious to the slaveholders. The dictionary afforded me very
little help. It taught me that abolition was the “act of
abolishing;” but it left me in ignorance at the very point where
I most wanted information–and that was, as to the _thing_ to be
abolished. A city newspaper, the _Baltimore American_, gave me
the incendiary information denied me by the dictionary. In its
columns I found, that, on a certain day, a vast number of
petitions and memorials had been presented to congress, praying
for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, and for
the abolition of the slave trade between the states of the Union.
This was enough. The vindictive bitterness, the marked caution,
the studied reverse, and the cumbrous ambiguity, practiced by our
white folks, when alluding to this subject, was now fully
explained. Ever, after that, when I heard the words “abolition,”
or “abolition movement,” mentioned, I felt the matter one of a
personal concern; and I drew near to listen, when I could do so,
without seeming too solicitous and prying. There was HOPE in
those words. Ever and anon, too, I could see some terrible
denunciation of slavery, in our papers–copied from abolition
papers at the north–and the injustice of such denunciation
commented on. These I read with avidity. I had a deep satisfaction in the thought, that the
rascality of slaveholders was not concealed from the eyes of the
world, and that I was not alone in abhorring the cruelty and
brutality of slavery. A still deeper train of thought was
stirred. I saw that there was _fear_, as well as _rage_, in the
manner of speaking of the abolitionists. The latter, therefore,
I was compelled to regard as having some power in the country;
and I felt that they might, possibly, succeed in their designs.
When I met with a slave to whom I deemed it safe to talk on the
subject, I would impart to him so much of the mystery as I had
been able to penetrate. Thus, the light of this grand movement
broke in upon my mind, by degrees; and I must say, that, ignorant
as I then was of the philosophy of that movement, I believe in it
from the first–and I believed in it, partly, because I saw that
it alarmed the consciences of slaveholders. The insurrection of
Nathaniel Turner had been quelled, but the alarm and terror had
not subsided. The cholera was on its way, and the thought was
present, that God was angry with the white people because of
their slaveholding wickedness, and, therefore, his judgments were
abroad in the land. It was impossible for me not to hope much
from the abolition movement, when I saw it supported by the
Almighty, and armed with DEATH!

Previous to my contemplation of the anti-slavery movement, and
its probable results, my mind had been seriously awakened to the
subject of religion. I was not more than thirteen years old,
when I felt the need of God, as a father and protector. My
religious nature was awakened by the preaching of a white
Methodist minister, named Hanson. He thought that all men, great
and small, bond and free, were sinners in the sight of God; that
they were, by nature, rebels against His government; and that
they must repent of their sins, and be reconciled to God, through
Christ. I cannot say that I had a very distinct notion of what
was required of me; but one thing I knew very well–I was
wretched, and had no means of making myself otherwise. Moreover,
I knew that I could pray for light. I consulted a good colored
man, named Charles Johnson; and, in tones of holy affection,
he told me to pray, and what to pray for. I was, for weeks, a
poor, brokenhearted mourner, traveling through the darkness and
misery of doubts and fears. I finally found that change of heart
which comes by “casting all one’s care” upon God, and by having
faith in Jesus Christ, as the Redeemer, Friend, and Savior of
those who diligently seek Him.

After this, I saw the world in a new light. I seemed to live in
a new world, surrounded by new objects, and to be animated by new
hopes and desires. I loved all mankind–slaveholders not
excepted; though I abhorred slavery more than ever. My great
concern was, now, to have the world converted. The desire for
knowledge increased, and especially did I want a thorough
acquaintance with the contents of the bible. I have gathered
scattered pages from this holy book, from the filthy street
gutters of Baltimore, and washed and dried them, that in the
moments of my leisure, I might get a word or two of wisdom from
them. While thus religiously seeking knowledge, I became
acquainted with a good old colored man, named Lawson. A more
devout man than he, I never saw. He drove a dray for Mr. James
Ramsey, the owner of a rope-walk on Fell’s Point, Baltimore.
This man not only prayed three time a day, but he prayed as he
walked through the streets, at his work–on his dray everywhere.
His life was a life of prayer, and his words (when he spoke to
his friends,) were about a better world. Uncle Lawson lived near
Master Hugh’s house; and, becoming deeply attached to the old
man, I went often with him to prayer-meeting, and spent much of
my leisure time with him on Sunday. The old man could read a
little, and I was a great help to him, in making out the hard
words, for I was a better reader than he. I could teach him
_”the letter,”_ but he could teach me _”the spirit;”_ and high,
refreshing times we had together, in singing, praying and
glorifying God. These meetings with Uncle Lawson went on for a
long time, without the knowledge of Master Hugh or my mistress.
Both knew, however, that I had
become religious, and they seemed to respect my conscientious
piety. My mistress was still a professor of religion, and
belonged to class. Her leader was no less a person than the Rev.
Beverly Waugh, the presiding elder, and now one of the bishops of
the Methodist Episcopal church. Mr. Waugh was then stationed
over Wilk street church. I am careful to state these facts, that
the reader may be able to form an idea of the precise influences
which had to do with shaping and directing my mind.

In view of the cares and anxieties incident to the life she was
then leading, and, especially, in view of the separation from
religious associations to which she was subjected, my mistress
had, as I have before stated, become lukewarm, and needed to be
looked up by her leader. This brought Mr. Waugh to our house,
and gave me an opportunity to hear him exhort and pray. But my
chief instructor, in matters of religion, was Uncle Lawson. He
was my spiritual father; and I loved him intensely, and was at
his house every chance I got.

This pleasure was not long allowed me. Master Hugh became averse
to my going to Father Lawson’s, and threatened to whip me if I
ever went there again. I now felt myself persecuted by a wicked
man; and I _would_ go to Father Lawson’s, notwithstanding the
threat. The good old man had told me, that the “Lord had a great
work for me to do;” and I must prepare to do it; and that he had
been shown that I must preach the gospel. His words made a deep
impression on my mind, and I verily felt that some such work was
before me, though I could not see _how_ I should ever engage in
its performance. “The good Lord,” he said, “would bring it to
pass in his own good time,” and that I must go on reading and
studying the scriptures. The advice and the suggestions of Uncle
Lawson, were not without their influence upon my character and
destiny. He threw my thoughts into a channel from which they
have never entirely diverged. He fanned my already intense love
of knowledge into a flame, by assuring me that I was to be a
useful man in the world. When I would say to him, “How can
these things be and what can _I_ do?” his simple reply was,
_”Trust in the Lord.”_ When I told him that “I was a slave, and
a slave FOR LIFE,” he said, “the Lord can make you free, my dear.
All things are possible with him, only _have faith in God.”_
“Ask, and it shall be given.” “If you want liberty,” said the
good old man, “ask the Lord for it, _in faith_, AND HE WILL GIVE
IT TO YOU.”

Thus assured, and cheered on, under the inspiration of hope, I
worked and prayed with a light heart, believing that my life was
under the guidance of a wisdom higher than my own. With all
other blessings sought at the mercy seat, I always prayed that
God would, of His great mercy, and in His own good time, deliver
me from my bondage.

I went, one day, on the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two
Irishmen unloading a large scow of stone, or ballast I went on
board, unasked, and helped them. When we had finished the work,
one of the men came to me, aside, and asked me a number of
questions, and among them, if I were a slave. I told him “I was
a slave, and a slave for life.” The good Irishman gave his
shoulders a shrug, and seemed deeply affected by the statement.
He said, “it was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should
be a slave for life.” They both had much to say about the
matter, and expressed the deepest sympathy with me, and the most
decided hatred of slavery. They went so far as to tell me that I
ought to run away, and go to the north; that I should find
friends there, and that I would be as free as anybody. I,
however, pretended not to be interested in what they said, for I
feared they might be treacherous. White men have been known to
encourage slaves to escape, and then–to get the reward–they
have kidnapped them, and returned them to their masters. And
while I mainly inclined to the notion that these men were honest
and meant me no ill, I feared it might be otherwise. I
nevertheless remembered their words and their advice, and looked
forward to an escape to the north, as a possible means of gaining
the liberty for which my heart
panted. It was not my enslavement, at the then present time,
that most affected me; the being a slave _for life_, was the
saddest thought. I was too young to think of running away
immediately; besides, I wished to learn how to write, before
going, as I might have occasion to write my own pass. I now not
only had the hope of freedom, but a foreshadowing of the means by
which I might, some day, gain that inestimable boon. Meanwhile,
I resolved to add to my educational attainments the art of
writing.

After this manner I began to learn to write: I was much in the
ship yard–Master Hugh’s, and that of Durgan & Bailey–and I
observed that the carpenters, after hewing and getting a piece of
timber ready for use, wrote on it the initials of the name of
that part of the ship for which it was intended. When, for
instance, a piece of timber was ready for the starboard side, it
was marked with a capital “S.” A piece for the larboard side was
marked “L;” larboard forward, “L. F.;” larboard aft, was marked
“L. A.;” starboard aft, “S. A.;” and starboard forward “S. F.” I
soon learned these letters, and for what they were placed on the
timbers.

My work was now, to keep fire under the steam box, and to watch
the ship yard while the carpenters had gone to dinner. This
interval gave me a fine opportunity for copying the letters
named. I soon astonished myself with the ease with which I made
the letters; and the thought was soon present, “if I can make
four, I can make more.” But having made these easily, when I met
boys about Bethel church, or any of our play-grounds, I entered
the lists with them in the art of writing, and would make the
letters which I had been so fortunate as to learn, and ask them
to “beat that if they could.” With playmates for my teachers,
fences and pavements for my copy books, and chalk for my pen and
ink, I learned the art of writing. I, however, afterward adopted
various methods of improving my hand. The most successful, was
copying the _italics_ in Webster’s spelling book, until I
could make them all without looking on the book. By this time,
my little “Master Tommy” had grown to be a big boy, and had
written over a number of copy books, and brought them home. They
had been shown to the neighbors, had elicited due praise, and
were now laid carefully away. Spending my time between the ship
yard and house, I was as often the lone keeper of the latter as
of the former. When my mistress left me in charge of the house,
I had a grand time; I got Master Tommy’s copy books and a pen and
ink, and, in the ample spaces between the lines, I wrote other
lines, as nearly like his as possible. The process was a tedious
one, and I ran the risk of getting a flogging for marring the
highly prized copy books of the oldest son. In addition to those
opportunities, sleeping, as I did, in the kitchen loft–a room
seldom visited by any of the family–I got a flour barrel up
there, and a chair; and upon the head of that barrel I have
written (or endeavored to write) copying from the bible and the
Methodist hymn book, and other books which had accumulated on my
hands, till late at night, and when all the family were in bed
and asleep. I was supported in my endeavors by renewed advice,
and by holy promises from the good Father Lawson, with whom I
continued to meet, and pray, and read the scriptures. Although
Master Hugh was aware of my going there, I must say, for his
credit, that he never executed his threat to whip me, for having
thus, innocently, employed-my leisure time.

CHAPTER XIII
_The Vicissitudes of Slave Life_

DEATH OF OLD MASTER’S SON RICHARD, SPEEDILY FOLLOWED BY THAT OF
OLD MASTER–VALUATION AND DIVISION OF ALL THE PROPERTY, INCLUDING
THE SLAVES–MY PRESENCE REQUIRED AT HILLSBOROUGH TO BE APPRAISED
AND ALLOTTED TO A NEW OWNER–MY SAD PROSPECTS AND GRIEF–
PARTING–THE UTTER POWERLESSNESS OF THE SLAVES TO DECIDE THEIR
OWN DESTINY–A GENERAL DREAD OF MASTER ANDREW–HIS WICKEDNESS AND
CRUELTY–MISS LUCRETIA MY NEW OWNER–MY RETURN TO BALTIMORE–JOY
UNDER THE ROOF OF MASTER HUGH–DEATH OF MRS. LUCRETIA–MY POOR
OLD GRANDMOTHER–HER SAD FATE–THE LONE COT IN THE WOODS–MASTER
THOMAS AULD’S SECOND MARRIAGE–AGAIN REMOVED FROM MASTER HUGH’S–
REASONS FOR REGRETTING THE CHANGE–A PLAN OF ESCAPE ENTERTAINED.

I must now ask the reader to go with me a little back in point of
time, in my humble story, and to notice another circumstance that
entered into my slavery experience, and which, doubtless, has had
a share in deepening my horror of slavery, and increasing my
hostility toward those men and measures that practically uphold
the slave system.

It has already been observed, that though I was, after my removal
from Col. Lloyd’s plantation, in _form_ the slave of Master Hugh,
I was, in _fact_, and in _law_, the slave of my old master, Capt.
Anthony. Very well.

In a very short time after I went to Baltimore, my old master’s
youngest son, Richard, died; and, in three years and six months
after his death, my old master himself died, leaving only his
son, Andrew, and his daughter, Lucretia, to share his estate.
The old man died while on a visit to his daughter, in
Hillsborough, where Capt. Auld and Mrs. Lucretia now lived. The
former, having given up the command of Col. Lloyd’s sloop, was
now keeping a store in that town.

Cut off, thus unexpectedly, Capt. Anthony died intestate; and his
property must now be equally divided between his two children,
Andrew and Lucretia.

The valuation and the division of slaves, among contending heirs,
is an important incident in slave life. The character and
tendencies of the heirs, are generally well understood among the
slaves who are to be divided, and all have their aversions and
preferences. But, neither their aversions nor their preferences
avail them anything.

On the death of old master, I was immediately sent for, to be
valued and divided with the other property. Personally, my
concern was, mainly, about my possible removal from the home of
Master Hugh, which, after that of my grandmother, was the most
endeared to me. But, the whole thing, as a feature of slavery,
shocked me. It furnished me anew insight into the unnatural
power to which I was subjected. My detestation of slavery,
already great, rose with this new conception of its enormity.

That was a sad day for me, a sad day for little Tommy, and a sad
day for my dear Baltimore mistress and teacher, when I left for
the Eastern Shore, to be valued and divided. We, all three, wept
bitterly that day; for we might be parting, and we feared we were
parting, forever. No one could tell among which pile of chattels
I should be flung. Thus early, I got a foretaste of that painful
uncertainty which slavery brings to the ordinary lot of mortals.
Sickness, adversity and death may interfere with the plans and
purposes of all; but the slave has the added danger of changing
homes, changing hands, and of having separations unknown to other
men. Then, too, there was the intensified degradation of the
spectacle. What an assemblage! Men and women, young and old,
married and single; moral and intellectual beings, in open
contempt of their humanity, level at a blow with horses, sheep, horned cattle and swine!
Horses and men–cattle and women–pigs and children–all holding
the same rank in the scale of social existence; and all subjected
to the same narrow inspection, to ascertain their value in gold
and silver–the only standard of worth applied by slaveholders to
slaves! How vividly, at that moment, did the brutalizing power
of slavery flash before me! Personality swallowed up in the
sordid idea of property! Manhood lost in chattelhood!

After the valuation, then came the division. This was an hour of
high excitement and distressing anxiety. Our destiny was now to
be _fixed for life_, and we had no more voice in the decision of
the question, than the oxen and cows that stood chewing at the
haymow. One word from the appraisers, against all preferences or
prayers, was enough to sunder all the ties of friendship and
affection, and even to separate husbands and wives, parents and
children. We were all appalled before that power, which, to
human seeming, could bless or blast us in a moment. Added to the
dread of separation, most painful to the majority of the slaves,
we all had a decided horror of the thought of falling into the
hands of Master Andrew. He was distinguished for cruelty and
intemperance.

Slaves generally dread to fall into the hands of drunken owners.
Master Andrew was almost a confirmed sot, and had already, by his
reckless mismanagement and profligate dissipation, wasted a large
portion of old master’s property. To fall into his hands, was,
therefore, considered merely as the first step toward being sold
away to the far south. He would spend his fortune in a few
years, and his farms and slaves would be sold, we thought, at
public outcry; and we should be hurried away to the cotton
fields, and rice swamps, of the sunny south. This was the cause
of deep consternation.

The people of the north, and free people generally, I think, have
less attachment to the places where they are born and brought up,
than have the slaves. Their freedom to go and come, to be
here and there, as they list, prevents any extravagant attachment
to any one particular place, in their case. On the other hand,
the slave is a fixture; he has no choice, no goal, no
destination; but is pegged down to a single spot, and must take
root here, or nowhere. The idea of removal elsewhere, comes,
generally, in the shape of a threat, and in punishment of crime.
It is, therefore, attended with fear and dread. A slave seldom
thinks of bettering his condition by being sold, and hence he
looks upon separation from his native place, with none of the
enthusiasm which animates the bosoms of young freemen, when they
contemplate a life in the far west, or in some distant country
where they intend to rise to wealth and distinction. Nor can
those from whom they separate, give them up with that
cheerfulness with which friends and relations yield each other
up, when they feel that it is for the good of the departing one
that he is removed from his native place. Then, too, there is
correspondence, and there is, at least, the hope of reunion,
because reunion is _possible_. But, with the slave, all these
mitigating circumstances are wanting. There is no improvement in
his condition _probable_,–no correspondence _possible_,–no
reunion attainable. His going out into the world, is like a
living man going into the tomb, who, with open eyes, sees himself
buried out of sight and hearing of wife, children and friends of
kindred tie.

In contemplating the likelihoods and possibilities of our
circumstances, I probably suffered more than most of my fellow
servants. I had known what it was to experience kind, and even
tender treatment; they had known nothing of the sort. Life, to
them, had been rough and thorny, as well as dark. They had–most
of them–lived on my old master’s farm in Tuckahoe, and had felt
the reign of Mr. Plummer’s rule. The overseer had written his
character on the living parchment of most of their backs, and
left them callous; my back (thanks to my early removal from the
plantation to Baltimore) was yet tender. I had left a kind
mistress at Baltimore, who was
almost a mother to me. She was in tears when we parted, and the
probabilities of ever seeing her again, trembling in the balance
as they did, could not be viewed without alarm and agony. The
thought of leaving that kind mistress forever, and, worse still,
of being the slave of Andrew Anthony–a man who, but a few days
before the division of the property, had, in my presence, seized
my brother Perry by the throat, dashed him on the ground, and
with the heel of his boot stamped him on the head, until the
blood gushed from his nose and ears–was terrible! This fiendish
proceeding had no better apology than the fact, that Perry had
gone to play, when Master Andrew wanted him for some trifling
service. This cruelty, too, was of a piece with his general
character. After inflicting his heavy blows on my brother, on
observing me looking at him with intense astonishment, he said,
“_That_ is the way I will serve you, one of these days;” meaning,
no doubt, when I should come into his possession. This threat,
the reader may well suppose, was not very tranquilizing to my
feelings. I could see that he really thirsted to get hold of me.
But I was there only for a few days. I had not received any
orders, and had violated none, and there was, therefore, no
excuse for flogging me.

At last, the anxiety and suspense were ended; and they ended,
thanks to a kind Providence, in accordance with my wishes. I
fell to the portion of Mrs. Lucretia–the dear lady who bound up
my head, when the savage Aunt Katy was adding to my sufferings
her bitterest maledictions.

Capt. Thomas Auld and Mrs. Lucretia at once decided on my return
to Baltimore. They knew how sincerely and warmly Mrs. Hugh Auld
was attached to me, and how delighted Mr. Hugh’s son would be to
have me back; and, withal, having no immediate use for one so
young, they willingly let me off to Baltimore.

I need not stop here to narrate my joy on returning to Baltimore,
nor that of little Tommy; nor the tearful joy of his mother;
nor the evident saticfaction{sic} of Master Hugh. I was
just one month absent from Baltimore, before the matter was
decided; and the time really seemed full six months.

One trouble over, and on comes another. The slave’s life is full
of uncertainty. I had returned to Baltimore but a short time,
when the tidings reached me, that my friend, Mrs. Lucretia, who
was only second in my regard to Mrs. Hugh Auld, was dead, leaving
her husband and only one child–a daughter, named Amanda.

Shortly after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, strange to say, Master
Andrew died, leaving his wife and one child. Thus, the whole
family of Anthonys was swept away; only two children remained.
All this happened within five years of my leaving Col. Lloyd’s.

No alteration took place in the condition of the slaves, in
consequence of these deaths, yet I could not help feeling less
secure, after the death of my friend, Mrs. Lucretia, than I had
done during her life. While she lived, I felt that I had a
strong friend to plead for me in any emergency. Ten years ago,
while speaking of the state of things in our family, after the
events just named, I used this language:

Now all the property of my old master, slaves included, was in
the hands of strangers–strangers who had nothing to do in
accumulating it. Not a slave was left free. All remained
slaves, from youngest to oldest. If any one thing in my
experience, more than another, served to deepen my conviction of
the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with
unutterable loathing of slaveholders, it was their base
ingratitude to my poor old grandmother. She had served my old
master faithfully from youth to old age. She had been the source
of all his wealth; she had peopled his plantation with slaves;
she had become a great-grandmother in his service. She had
rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood, served him
through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the cold
death-sweat, and closed his eyes forever. She was nevertheless
left a slave–a slave for life–a slave in the hands of
strangers; and in their hands she saw her children, her
grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren, divided, like so many
sheep, without being gratified with the small privilege of a
single word, as to their or her own destiny. And, to cap the
climax of their base ingratitude and fiendish barbarity, my
grandmother, who was now very old, having outlived my old master
and all his children, having seen the beginning and end of all of
them, and her present owners finding she was of but little value, her frame already racked with
the pains of old age, and complete helplessness fast stealing
over her once active limbs, they took her to the woods, built her
a little hut, put up a little mud-chimney, and then made her
welcome to the privilege of supporting herself there in perfect
loneliness; thus virtually turning her out to die! If my poor
old grandmother now lives, she lives to suffer in utter
loneliness; she lives to remember and mourn over the loss of
children, the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great-
grandchildren. They are, in the language of the slave’s poet,
Whittier–

_Gone, gone, sold and gone,
To the rice swamp dank and lone,
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
Where the noisome insect stings,
Where the fever-demon strews
Poison with the falling dews,
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air:–
Gone, gone, sold and gone
To the rice swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia hills and waters–
Woe is me, my stolen daughters_!

The hearth is desolate. The children, the unconscious children,
who once sang and danced in her presence, are gone. She gropes
her way, in the darkness of age, for a drink of water. Instead
of the voices of her children, she hears by day the moans of the
dove, and by night the screams of the hideous owl. All is gloom.
The grave is at the door. And now, when weighed down by the
pains and aches of old age, when the head inclines to the feet,
when the beginning and ending of human existence meet, and
helpless infancy and painful old age combine together–at this
time, this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that
tenderness and affection which children only can exercise toward
a declining parent–my poor old grandmother, the devoted mother
of twelve children, is left all alone, in yonder little hut,
before a few dim embers.

Two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas married
his second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton, the eldest
daughter of Mr. William Hamilton, a rich slaveholder on the
Eastern Shore of Maryland, who lived about five miles from St.
Michael’s, the then place of my master’s residence.

Not long after his marriage, Master Thomas had a misunderstanding
with Master Hugh, and, as a means of punishing his brother, he
ordered him to send me home.

As the ground of misunderstanding will serve to illustrate the
character of southern chivalry, and humanity, I will relate it.

Among the children of my Aunt Milly, was a daughter, named Henny.
When quite a child, Henny had fallen into the fire, and burnt her
hands so bad that they were of very little use to her. Her
fingers were drawn almost into the palms of her hands. She could
make out to do something, but she was considered hardly worth the
having–of little more value than a horse with a broken leg.
This unprofitable piece of human property, ill shapen, and
disfigured, Capt. Auld sent off to Baltimore, making his brother
Hugh welcome to her services.

After giving poor Henny a fair trial, Master Hugh and his wife
came to the conclusion, that they had no use for the crippled
servant, and they sent her back to Master Thomas. Thus, the
latter took as an act of ingratitude, on the part of his brother;
and, as a mark of his displeasure, he required him to send me
immediately to St. Michael’s, saying, if he cannot keep _”Hen,”_
he shall not have _”Fred.”_

Here was another shock to my nerves, another breaking up of my
plans, and another severance of my religious and social
alliances. I was now a big boy. I had become quite useful to
several young colored men, who had made me their teacher. I had
taught some of them to read, and was accustomed to spend many of
my leisure hours with them. Our attachment was strong, and I
greatly dreaded the separation. But regrets, especially in a
slave, are unavailing. I was only a slave; my wishes were
nothing, and my happiness was the sport of my masters.

My regrets at now leaving Baltimore, were not for the same
reasons as when I before left that city, to be valued and handed
over to my proper owner. My home was not now the pleasant place
it had formerly been. A change had taken place, both in Master
Hugh, and in his once pious and affectionate wife. The influence
of brandy and bad company on him, and the influence of slavery
and social isolation upon her, had wrought disastrously upon the
characters of both.
Thomas was no longer “little Tommy,” but was a big boy, and had
learned to assume the airs of his class toward me. My condition,
therefore, in the house of Master Hugh, was not, by any means, so
comfortable as in former years. My attachments were now outside
of our family. They were felt to those to whom I _imparted_
instruction, and to those little white boys from whom I
_received_ instruction. There, too, was my dear old father, the
pious Lawson, who was, in christian graces, the very counterpart
of “Uncle” Tom. The resemblance is so perfect, that he might
have been the original of Mrs. Stowe’s christian hero. The
thought of leaving these dear friends, greatly troubled me, for I
was going without the hope of ever returning to Baltimore again;
the feud between Master Hugh and his brother being bitter and
irreconcilable, or, at least, supposed to be so.

In addition to thoughts of friends from whom I was parting, as I
supposed, _forever_, I had the grief of neglected chances of
escape to brood over. I had put off running away, until now I
was to be placed where the opportunities for escaping were much
fewer than in a large city like Baltimore.

On my way from Baltimore to St. Michael’s, down the Chesapeake
bay, our sloop–the “Amanda”–was passed by the steamers plying
between that city and Philadelphia, and I watched the course of
those steamers, and, while going to St. Michael’s, I formed a
plan to escape from slavery; of which plan, and matters connected
therewith the kind reader shall learn more hereafter.

CHAPTER XIV
_Experience in St. Michael’s_

THE VILLAGE–ITS INHABITANTS–THEIR OCCUPATION AND LOW
PROPENSITIES CAPTAN{sic} THOMAS AULD–HIS CHARACTER–HIS SECOND
WIFE, ROWENA–WELL MATCHED–SUFFERINGS FROM HUNGER–OBLIGED TO
TAKE FOOD–MODE OF ARGUMENT IN VINDICATION THEREOF–NO MORAL CODE
OF FREE SOCIETY CAN APPLY TO SLAVE SOCIETY–SOUTHERN CAMP
MEETING–WHAT MASTER THOMAS DID THERE–HOPES–SUSPICIONS ABOUT
HIS CONVERSION–THE RESULT–FAITH AND WORKS ENTIRELY AT
VARIANCE–HIS RISE AND PROGRESS IN THE CHURCH–POOR COUSIN
“HENNY”–HIS TREATMENT OF HER–THE METHODIST PREACHERS–THEIR
UTTER DISREGARD OF US–ONE EXCELLENT EXCEPTION–REV. GEORGE
COOKMAN–SABBATH SCHOOL–HOW BROKEN UP AND BY WHOM–A FUNERAL
PALL CAST OVER ALL MY PROSPECTS–COVEY THE NEGRO-BREAKER.

St. Michael’s, the village in which was now my new home, compared
favorably with villages in slave states, generally. There were a
few comfortable dwellings in it, but the place, as a whole, wore
a dull, slovenly, enterprise-forsaken aspect. The mass of the
buildings were wood; they had never enjoyed the artificial
adornment of paint, and time and storms had worn off the bright
color of the wood, leaving them almost as black as buildings
charred by a conflagration.

St. Michael’s had, in former years, (previous to 1833, for that
was the year I went to reside there,) enjoyed some reputation as
a ship building community, but that business had almost entirely
given place to oyster fishing, for the Baltimore and Philadelphia
markets–a course of life highly unfavorable to morals, industry,
and manners. Miles river was broad, and its oyster fishing grounds were extensive; and the
fishermen were out, often, all day, and a part of the night,
during autumn, winter and spring. This exposure was an excuse
for carrying with them, in considerable quanties{sic}, spirituous
liquors, the then supposed best antidote for cold. Each canoe
was supplied with its jug of rum; and tippling, among this class
of the citizens of St. Michael’s, became general. This drinking
habit, in an ignorant population, fostered coarseness, vulgarity
and an indolent disregard for the social improvement of the
place, so that it was admitted, by the few sober, thinking people
who remained there, that St. Michael’s had become a very
_unsaintly_, as well as unsightly place, before I went there to
reside.

I left Baltimore for St. Michael’s in the month of March, 1833.
I know the year, because it was the one succeeding the first
cholera in Baltimore, and was the year, also, of that strange
phenomenon, when the heavens seemed about to part with its starry
train. I witnessed this gorgeous spectacle, and was awe-struck.
The air seemed filled with bright, descending messengers from the
sky. It was about daybreak when I saw this sublime scene. I was
not without the suggestion, at the moment, that it might be the
harbinger of the coming of the Son of Man; and, in my then state
of mind, I was prepared to hail Him as my friend and deliverer.
I had read, that the “stars shall fall from heaven”; and they
were now falling. I was suffering much in my mind. It did seem
that every time the young tendrils of my affection became
attached, they were rudely broken by some unnatural outside
power; and I was beginning to look away to heaven for the rest
denied me on earth.

But, to my story. It was now more than seven years since I had
lived with Master Thomas Auld, in the family of my old master, on
Col. Lloyd’s plantation. We were almost entire strangers to each
other; for, when I knew him at the house of my old master, it was
not as a _master_, but simply as “Captain Auld,” who had married
old master’s daughter. All my lessons concerning his temper
and disposition, and the best methods of pleasing him, were yet
to be learnt. Slaveholders, however, are not very ceremonious in
approaching a slave; and my ignorance of the new material in
shape of a master was but transient. Nor was my mistress long in
making known her animus. She was not a “Miss Lucretia,” traces
of whom I yet remembered, and the more especially, as I saw them
shining in the face of little Amanda, her daughter, now living
under a step-mother’s government. I had not forgotten the soft
hand, guided by a tender heart, that bound up with healing balsam
the gash made in my head by Ike, the son of Abel. Thomas and
Rowena, I found to be a well-matched pair. _He_ was stingy, and
_she_ was cruel; and–what was quite natural in such cases–she
possessed the ability to make him as cruel as herself, while she
could easily descend to the level of his meanness. In the house
of Master Thomas, I was made–for the first time in seven years
to feel the pinchings of hunger, and this was not very easy to
bear.

For, in all the changes of Master Hugh’s family, there was no
change in the bountifulness with which they supplied me with
food. Not to give a slave enough to eat, is meanness
intensified, and it is so recognized among slaveholders
generally, in Maryland. The rule is, no matter how coarse the
food, only let there be enough of it. This is the theory, and–
in the part of Maryland I came from–the general practice accords
with this theory. Lloyd’s plantation was an exception, as was,
also, the house of Master Thomas Auld.

All know the lightness of Indian corn-meal, as an article of
food, and can easily judge from the following facts whether the
statements I have made of the stinginess of Master Thomas, are
borne out. There were four slaves of us in the kitchen, and four
whites in the great house Thomas Auld, Mrs. Auld, Hadaway Auld
(brother of Thomas Auld) and little Amanda. The names of the
slaves in the kitchen, were Eliza, my sister; Priscilla, my aunt;
Henny, my cousin; and myself. There were eight persons in the family. There was, each
week, one half bushel of corn-meal brought from the mill; and in
the kitchen, corn-meal was almost our exclusive food, for very
little else was allowed us. Out of this bushel of corn-meal, the
family in the great house had a small loaf every morning; thus
leaving us, in the kitchen, with not quite a half a peck per
week, apiece. This allowance was less than half the allowance of
food on Lloyd’s plantation. It was not enough to subsist upon;
and we were, therefore, reduced to the wretched necessity of
living at the expense of our neighbors. We were compelled either
to beg, or to steal, and we did both. I frankly confess, that
while I hated everything like stealing, _as such_, I nevertheless
did not hesitate to take food, when I was hungry, wherever I
could find it. Nor was this practice the mere result of an
unreasoning instinct; it was, in my case, the result of a clear
apprehension of the claims of morality. I weighed and considered
the matter closely, before I ventured to satisfy my hunger by
such means. Considering that my labor and person were the
property of Master Thomas, and that I was by him deprived of the
necessaries of life necessaries obtained by my own labor–it was
easy to deduce the right to supply myself with what was my own.
It was simply appropriating what was my own to the use of my
master, since the health and strength derived from such food were
exerted in _his_ service. To be sure, this was stealing,
according to the law and gospel I heard from St. Michael’s
pulpit; but I had already begun to attach less importance to what
dropped from that quarter, on that point, while, as yet, I
retained my reverence for religion. It was not always convenient
to steal from master, and the same reason why I might,
innocently, steal from him, did not seem to justify me in
stealing from others. In the case of my master, it was only a
question of _removal_–the taking his meat out of one tub, and
putting it into another; the ownership of the meat was not
affected by the transaction. At first, he owned it in the _tub_,
and last, he owned it in _me_. His meat house was not always
open. There was a strict watch kept on that point, and the
key was on a large bunch in Rowena’s pocket. A great many times
have we, poor creatures, been severely pinched with hunger, when
meat and bread have been moulding under the lock, while the key
was in the pocket of our mistress. This had been so when she
_knew_ we were nearly half starved; and yet, that mistress, with
saintly air, would kneel with her husband, and pray each morning
that a merciful God would bless them in basket and in store, and
save them, at last, in his kingdom. But I proceed with the
argument.

It was necessary that right to steal from _others_ should be
established; and this could only rest upon a wider range of
generalization than that which supposed the right to steal from
my master.

It was sometime before I arrived at this clear right. The reader
will get some idea of my train of reasoning, by a brief statement
of the case. “I am,” thought I, “not only the slave of Thomas,
but I am the slave of society at large. Society at large has
bound itself, in form and in fact, to assist Master Thomas in
robbing me of my rightful liberty, and of the just reward of my
labor; therefore, whatever rights I have against Master Thomas, I
have, equally, against those confederated with him in robbing me
of liberty. As society has marked me out as privileged plunder,
on the principle of self-preservation I am justified in
plundering in turn. Since each slave belongs to all; all must,
therefore, belong to each.”

I shall here make a profession of faith which may shock some,
offend others, and be dissented from by all. It is this: Within
the bounds of his just earnings, I hold that the slave is fully
justified in helping himself to the _gold and silver, and the
best apparel of his master, or that of any other slaveholder; and
that such taking is not stealing in any just sense of that word_.

The morality of _free_ society can have no application to _slave_
society. Slaveholders have made it almost impossible for the
slave to commit any crime, known either to the laws of God or to
the laws of man. If he steals, he takes his own; if he kills his
master, he imitates only the
heroes of the revolution. Slaveholders I hold to be individually
and collectively responsible for all the evils which grow out of
the horrid relation, and I believe they will be so held at the
judgment, in the sight of a just God. Make a man a slave, and
you rob him of moral responsibility. Freedom of choice is the
essence of all accountability. But my kind readers are,
probably, less concerned about my opinions, than about that which
more nearly touches my personal experience; albeit, my opinions
have, in some sort, been formed by that experience.

Bad as slaveholders are, I have seldom met with one so entirely
destitute of every element of character capable of inspiring
respect, as was my present master, Capt. Thomas Auld.

When I lived with him, I thought him incapable of a noble action.
The leading trait in his character was intense selfishness. I
think he was fully aware of this fact himself, and often tried to
conceal it. Capt. Auld was not a _born_ slaveholder–not a
birthright member of the slaveholding oligarchy. He was only a
slaveholder by _marriage-right;_ and, of all slaveholders, these
latter are, _by far_, the most exacting. There was in him all
the love of domination, the pride of mastery, and the swagger of
authority, but his rule lacked the vital element of consistency.
He could be cruel; but his methods of showing it were cowardly,
and evinced his meanness rather than his spirit. His commands
were strong, his enforcement weak.

Slaves are not insensible to the whole-souled characteristics of
a generous, dashing slaveholder, who is fearless of consequences;
and they prefer a master of this bold and daring kind–even with
the risk of being shot down for impudence to the fretful, little
soul, who never uses the lash but at the suggestion of a love of
gain.

Slaves, too, readily distinguish between the birthright bearing
of the original slaveholder and the assumed attitudes of the
accidental slaveholder; and while they cannot respect either,
they certainly despise the latter more than the former.