TO
HONORABLE GERRIT SMITH,
AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF
ESTEEM FOR HIS CHARACTER,
ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS AND BENEVOLENCE,
AFFECTION FOR HIS PERSON, AND
GRATITUDE FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP,
AND AS
A Small but most Sincere Acknowledgement of
HIS PRE-EMINENT SERVICES IN BEHALF OF THE RIGHTS AND LIBERTIES
OF AN
AFFLICTED, DESPISED AND DEEPLY OUTRAGED PEOPLE,
BY RANKING SLAVERY WITH PIRACY AND MURDER,
AND BY
DENYING IT EITHER A LEGAL OR CONSTITUTIONAL EXISTENCE,
This Volume is Respectfully Dedicated,
BY HIS FAITHFUL AND FIRMLY ATTACHED FRIEND,
FREDERICK DOUGLAS.
ROCHESTER, N.Y.
If the volume now
presented to the public were a mere work of ART, the history of its misfortune
might be written in two very simple words--TOO LATE. The nature and character
of slavery have been subjects of an almost endless variety of artistic
representation; and after the brilliant achievements in that field, and while
those achievements are yet fresh in the memory of the million, he who would add
another to the legion, must possess the charm of transcendent excellence, or
apologize for something worse than rashness. The reader is, therefore, assured,
with all due promptitude, that his attention is not invited to a work of ART,
but to a work of FACTS--Facts, terrible and almost incredible, it may be yet
FACTS, nevertheless.
I am authorized to say
that there is not a fictitious name nor place in the whole volume; but that
names and places are literally given, and that every transaction therein
described actually transpired.
Perhaps the best
Preface to this volume is furnished in the following letter of Mr. Douglass,
written in answer to my urgent solicitation for such a work:
ROCHESTER, N. Y. July
2, 1855.
DEAR FRIEND: I have
long entertained, as you very well know, a somewhat positive repugnance to
writing or speaking anything for the public, which could, with any degree of
plausibilty, make me liable to the imputation of seeking personal notoriety,
for its own sake. Entertaining that feeling very sincerely, and permitting its
control, perhaps, quite unreasonably, I have often refused to narrate my
personal experience in public anti-slavery meetings, and in sympathizing
circles, when urged to do so by friends, with whose views and wishes,
ordinarily, it were a pleasure to comply. In my letters and speeches, I have
generally aimed to discuss the question of Slavery in the light of fundamental
principles, and upon facts, notorious and open to all; making, I trust, no more
of the fact of my own former enslavement, than circumstances seemed absolutely to
require. I have never placed my opposition to slavery on a basis so narrow as
my own enslavement, but rather upon the indestructible and unchangeable laws of
human nature, every one of which is perpetually and flagrantly violated by the
slave system. I have also felt that it was best for those having histories
worth the writing--or supposed to be so--to commit such work to hands other
than their own. To write of one's self, in such a manner as not to incur the
imputation of weakness, vanity, and egotism, is a work within the ability of
but few; and I have little reason to believe that I belong to that fortunate
few.
These considerations
caused me to hesitate, when first you kindly urged me to prepare for
publication a full account of my life as a slave, and my life as a freeman.
Nevertheless, I see,
with you, many reasons for regarding my autobiography as exceptional in its
character, and as being, in some sense, naturally beyond the reach of those
reproaches which honorable and sensitive minds dislike to incur. It is not to
illustrate any heroic achievements of a man, but to vindicate a just and
beneficent principle, in its application to the whole human family, by letting
in the light of truth upon a system, esteemed by some as a blessing, and by others
as a curse and a crime. I agree with you, that this system is now at the bar of
public opinion--not only of this country, but of the whole civilized world--for
judgment. Its friends have made for it the usual plea--"not guilty;"
the case must, therefore, proceed. Any facts, either from slaves, slaveholders,
or by-standers, calculated to enlighten the public mind, by revealing the true
nature, character, and tendency of the slave system, are in order, and can
scarcely be innocently withheld.
I see, too, that there
are special reasons why I should write my own biography, in preference to
employing another to do it. Not only is slavery on trial, but unfortunately,
the enslaved people are also on trial. It is alleged, that they are, naturally,
inferior; that they are so low in the scale of humanity, and so utterly stupid,
that they are unconscious of their wrongs, and do not apprehend their rights.
Looking, then, at your request, from this stand-point, and wishing everything
of which you think me capable to go to the benefit of my afflicted people, I
part with my doubts and hesitation, and proceed to furnish you the desired
manuscript; hoping that you may be able to make such arrangements for its
publication as shall be best adapted to accomplish that good which you so
enthusiastically anticipate.
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
There was little
necessity for doubt and hesitation on the part of Mr. Douglass, as to the
propriety of his giving to the world a full account of himself. A man who was
born and brought up in slavery, a living witness of its horrors; who often
himself experienced its cruelties; and who, despite the depressing influences
surrounding his birth, youth and manhood, has risen, from a dark and almost
absolute obscurity, to the distinguished position which he now occupies, might
very well assume the existence of a commendable curiosity, on the part of the
public, to know the facts of his remarkable history.
EDITOR
When a man raises
himself from the lowest condition in society to the highest, mankind pay him
the tribute of their admiration; when he accomplishes this elevation by native
energy, guided by prudence and wisdom, their admiration is increased; but when
his course, onward and upward, excellent in itself, furthermore proves a
possible, what had hitherto been regarded as an impossible, reform, then he
becomes a burning and a shining light, on which the aged may look with
gladness, the young with hope, and the down-trodden, as a representative of
what they may themselves become. To such a man, dear reader, it is my privilege
to introduce you.
The life of Frederick
Douglass, recorded in the pages which follow, is not merely an example of
self-elevation under the most adverse circumstances; it is, moreover, a noble
vindication of the highest aims of the American anti-slavery movement. The real
object of that movement is not only to disenthrall, it is, also, to bestow upon
the Negro the exercise of all those rights, from the possession of which he has
been so long debarred.
But this full
recognition of the colored man to the right, and the entire admission of the
same to the full privileges, political, religious and social, of manhood,
requires powerful effort on the part of the enthralled, as well as on the part
of those who would disenthrall them. The people at large must feel the
conviction, as well as admit the abstract logic, of human equality; the Negro,
for the first time in the world's history, brought in full contact with high
civilization, must prove his title first to all that is demanded for him; in
the teeth of unequal chances, he must prove himself equal to the mass of those
who oppress him--therefore, absolutely superior to his apparent fate, and to
their relative ability. And it is most cheering to the friends of freedom,
today, that evidence of this equality is rapidly accumulating, not from the
ranks of the half-freed colored people of the free states, but from the very
depths of slavery itself; the indestructible equality of man to man is
demonstrated by the ease with which black men, scarce one remove from
barbarism--if slavery can be honored with such a distinction--vault into the
high places of the most advanced and painfully acquired civilization. Ward and
Garnett, Wells Brown and Pennington, Loguen and Douglass, are banners on the
outer wall, under which abolition is fighting its most successful battles,
because they are living exemplars of the practicability of the most radical
abolitionism; for, they were all of them born to the doom of slavery, some of
them remained slaves until adult age, yet they all have not only won equality
to their white fellow citizens, in civil, religious, political and social rank,
but they have also illustrated and adorned our common country by their genius,
learning and eloquence.
The characteristics
whereby Mr. Douglass has won first rank among these remarkable men, and is
still rising toward highest rank among living Americans, are abundantly laid
bare in the book before us. Like the autobiography of Hugh Miller, it carries
us so far back into early childhood, as to throw light upon the question,
"when positive and persistent memory begins in the human being." And,
like Hugh Miller, he must have been a shy old-fashioned child, occasionally
oppressed by what he could not well account for, peering and poking about among
the layers of right and wrong, of tyrant and thrall, and the wonderfulness of
that hopeless tide of things which brought power to one race, and unrequited
toil to another, until, finally, he stumbled upon his "first-found
Ammonite," hidden away down in the depths of his own nature, and which
revealed to him the fact that liberty and right, for all men, were anterior to
slavery and wrong. When his knowledge of the world was bounded by the visible
horizon on Col. Lloyd's plantation, and while every thing around him bore a
fixed, iron stamp, as if it had always been so, this was, for one so young, a
notable discovery.
To his uncommon memory,
then, we must add a keen and accurate insight into men and things; an original
breadth of common sense which enabled him to see, and weigh, and compare
whatever passed before him, and which kindled a desire to search out and define
their relations to other things not so patent, but which never succumbed to the
marvelous nor the supernatural; a sacred thirst for liberty and for learning,
first as a means of attaining liberty, then as an end in itself most desirable;
a will; an unfaltering energy and determination to obtain what his soul
pronounced desirable; a majestic self-hood; determined courage; a deep and
agonizing sympathy with his embruted, crushed and bleeding fellow slaves, and
an extraordinary depth of passion, together with that rare alliance between
passion and intellect, which enables the former, when deeply roused, to excite,
develop and sustain the latter.
With these original
gifts in view, let us look at his schooling; the fearful discipline through
which it pleased God to prepare him for the high calling on which he has since
entered--the advocacy of emancipation by the people who are not slaves. And for
this special mission, his plantation education was better than any he could
have acquired in any lettered school. What he needed, was facts and experiences,
welded to acutely wrought up sympathies, and these he could not elsewhere have
obtained, in a manner so peculiarly adapted to his nature. His physical being
was well trained, also, running wild until advanced into boyhood; hard work and
light diet, thereafter, and a skill in handicraft in youth.
For his special
mission, then, this was, considered in connection with his natural gifts, a
good schooling; and, for his special mission, he doubtless "left
school" just at the proper moment. Had he remained longer in slavery--had
he fretted under bonds until the ripening of manhood and its passions, until
the drear agony of slave-wife and slave-children had been piled upon his
already bitter experiences--then, not only would his own history have had
another termination, but the drama of American slavery would have been
essentially varied; for I cannot resist the belief, that the boy who learned to
read and write as he did, who taught his fellow slaves these precious
acquirements as he did, who plotted for their mutual escape as he did, would,
when a man at bay, strike a blow which would make slavery reel and stagger.
Furthermore, blows and insults he bore, at the moment, without resentment; deep
but suppressed emotion rendered him insensible to their sting; but it was
afterward, when the memory of them went seething through his brain, breeding a
fiery indignation at his injured self-hood, that the resolve came to resist,
and the time fixed when to resist, and the plot laid, how to resist; and he
always kept his self-pledged word. In what he undertook, in this line, he
looked fate in the face, and had a cool, keen look at the relation of means to
ends. Henry Bibb, to avoid chastisement, strewed his master's bed with charmed
leaves and was whipped. Frederick Douglass quietly pocketed a like fetiche,
compared his muscles with those of Covey--and whipped him.
In the history of his
life in bondage, we find, well developed, that inherent and continuous energy
of character which will ever render him distinguished. What his hand found to
do, he did with his might; even while conscious that he was wronged out of his
daily earnings, he worked, and worked hard. At his daily labor he went with a
will; with keen, well set eye, brawny chest, lithe figure, and fair sweep of
arm, he would have been king among calkers, had that been his mission.
It must not be
overlooked, in this glance at his education, that Mr. Douglass lacked one aid
to which so many men of mark have been deeply indebted--he had neither a
mother's care, nor a mother's culture, save that which slavery grudgingly meted
out to him. Bitter nurse! may not even her features relax with human feeling,
when she gazes at such offspring! How susceptible he was to the kindly
influences of mother-culture, may be gathered from his own words, on page 57:
"It has been a life-long standing grief to me, that I know so little of my
mother, and that I was so early separated from her. The counsels of her love
must have been beneficial to me. The side view of her face is imaged on my memory,
and I take few steps in life, without feeling her presence; but the image is
mute, and I have no striking words of hers treasured up."
From the depths of
chattel slavery in Maryland, our author escaped into the caste-slavery of the
north, in New Bedford, Massachusetts. Here he found oppression assuming
another, and hardly less bitter, form; of that very handicraft which the greed
of slavery had taught him, his half-freedom denied him the exercise for an
honest living; he found himself one of a class--free colored men--whose
position he has described in the following words:
"Aliens are we in
our native land. The fundamental principles of the republic, to which the
humblest white man, whether born here or elsewhere, may appeal with confidence,
in the hope of awakening a favorable response, are held to be inapplicable to
us. The glorious doctrines of your revolutionary fathers, and the more glorious
teachings of the Son of God, are construed and applied against us. We are
literally scourged beyond the beneficent range of both authorities, human and
divine. * * * * American humanity hates us, scorns us, disowns and denies, in a
thousand ways, our very personality. The outspread wing of American
christianity, apparently broad enough to give shelter to a perishing world,
refuses to cover us. To us, its bones are brass, and its features iron. In
running thither for shelter and succor, we have only fled from the hungry
blood-hound to the devouring wolf--from a corrupt and selfish world, to a
hollow and hypocritical church."--Speech before American and Foreign
Anti-Slavery Society, May, 1854.
Four years or more,
from 1837 to 1841, he struggled on, in New Bedford, sawing wood, rolling casks,
or doing what labor he might, to support himself and young family; four years
he brooded over the scars which slavery and semi-slavery had inflicted upon his
body and soul; and then, with his wounds yet unhealed, he fell among the
Garrisonians--a glorious waif to those most ardent reformers. It happened one
day, at Nantucket, that he, diffidently and reluctantly, was led to address an
anti-slavery meeting. He was about the age when the younger Pitt entered the
House of Commons; like Pitt, too, he stood up a born orator.
William Lloyd Garrison,
who was happily present, writes thus of Mr. Douglass' maiden effort; "I
shall never forget his first speech at the convention--the extraordinary
emotion it excited in my own mind--the powerful impression it created upon a
crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise. * * * I think I never hated
slavery so intensely as at that moment; certainly, my perception of the
enormous outrage which is inflicted by it on the godlike nature of its victims,
was rendered far more clear than ever. There stood one in physical proportions
and stature commanding and exact--in intellect richly endowed--in natural
eloquence a prodigy."[1]
It is of interest to
compare Mr. Douglass's account of this meeting with Mr. Garrison's. Of the two,
I think the latter the most correct. It must have been a grand burst of
eloquence! The pent up agony, indignation and pathos of an abused and harrowed
boyhood and youth, bursting out in all their freshness and overwhelming
earnestness!
This unique
introduction to its great leader, led immediately to the employment of Mr.
Douglass as an agent by the American Anti-Slavery Society. So far as his
self-relying and independent character would permit, he became, after the
strictest sect, a Garrisonian. It is not too much to say, that he formed a
complement which they needed, and they were a complement equally necessary to
his "make-up." With his deep and keen sensitiveness to wrong, and his
wonderful memory, he came from the land of bondage full of its woes and its
evils, and painting them in characters of living light; and, on his part, he
found, told out in sound Saxon phrase, all those principles of justice and
right and liberty, which had dimly brooded over the dreams of his youth,
seeking definite forms and verbal expression. It must have been an electric
flashing of thought, and a knitting of soul, granted to but few in this life,
and will be a life-long memory to those who participated in it. In the society,
moreover, of Wendell Phillips, Edmund Quincy, William Lloyd Garrison, and other
men of earnest faith and refined culture, Mr. Douglass enjoyed the high
advantage of their assistance and counsel in the labor of self-culture, to
which he now addressed himself with wonted energy. Yet, these gentlemen,
although proud of Frederick Douglass, failed to fathom, and bring out to the
light of day, the highest qualities of his mind; the force of their own
education stood in their own way: they did not delve into the mind of a colored
man for capacities which the pride of race led them to believe to be restricted
to their own Saxon blood. Bitter and vindictive sarcasm, irresistible mimicry,
and a pathetic narrative of his own experiences of slavery, were the
intellectual manifestations which they encouraged him to exhibit on the
platform or in the lecture desk.
A visit to England, in
1845, threw Mr. Douglass among men and women of earnest souls and high culture,
and who, moreover, had never drank of the bitter waters of American caste. For
the first time in his life, he breathed an atmosphere congenial to the longings
of his spirit, and felt his manhood free and unrestricted. The cordial and
manly greetings of the British and Irish audiences in public, and the
refinement and elegance of the social circles in which he mingled, not only as
an equal, but as a recognized man of genius, were, doubtless, genial and
pleasant resting places in his hitherto thorny and troubled journey through
life. There are joys on the earth, and, to the wayfaring fugitive from American
slavery or American caste, this is one of them.
But his sojourn in England
was more than a joy to Mr. Douglass. Like the platform at Nantucket, it
awakened him to the consciousness of new powers that lay in him. From the
pupilage of Garrisonism he rose to the dignity of a teacher and a thinker; his
opinions on the broader aspects of the great American question were earnestly
and incessantly sought, from various points of view, and he must, perforce,
bestir himself to give suitable answer. With that prompt and truthful
perception which has led their sisters in all ages of the world to gather at
the feet and support the hands of reformers, the gentlewomen of England[2] were
foremost to encourage and strengthen him to carve out for himself a path fitted
to his powers and energies, in the life-battle against slavery and caste to which
he was pledged. And one stirring thought, inseparable from the British idea of
the evangel of freedom, must have smote his ear from every side--
"Hereditary
bondmen! know ye not
Who would be free,
themselves mast strike the blow?"
The result of this
visit was, that on his return to the United States, he established a newspaper.
This proceeding was sorely against the wishes and the advice of the leaders of
the American Anti-Slavery Society, but our author had fully grown up to the
conviction of a truth which they had once promulged, but now forgotten, to wit:
that in their own elevation--self-elevation--colored men have a blow to strike
"on their own hook," against slavery and caste. Differing from his
Boston friends in this matter, diffident in his own abilities, reluctant at
their dissuadings, how beautiful is the loyalty with which he still clung to
their principles in all things else, and even in this.
Now came the trial
hour. Without cordial support from any large body of men or party on this side
the Atlantic, and too far distant in space and immediate interest to expect
much more, after the much already done, on the other side, he stood up, almost
alone, to the arduous labor and heavy expenditure of editor and lecturer. The
Garrison party, to which he still adhered, did not want a colored
newspaper--there was an odor of caste about it; the Liberty party could hardly
be expected to give warm support to a man who smote their principles as with a
hammer; and the wide gulf which separated the free colored people from the
Garrisonians, also separated them from their brother, Frederick Douglass.
The arduous nature of
his labors, from the date of the establishment of his paper, may be estimated
by the fact, that anti-slavery papers in the United States, even while organs
of, and when supported by, anti-slavery parties, have, with a single exception,
failed to pay expenses. Mr. Douglass has maintained, and does maintain, his
paper without the support of any party, and even in the teeth of the opposition
of those from whom he had reason to expect counsel and encouragement. He has
been compelled, at one and the same time, and almost constantly, during the
past seven years, to contribute matter to its columns as editor, and to raise
funds for its support as lecturer. It is within bounds to say, that he has
expended twelve thousand dollars of his own hard earned money, in publishing
this paper, a larger sum than has been contributed by any one individual for
the general advancement of the colored people. There had been many other papers
published and edited by colored men, beginning as far back as 1827, when the
Rev. Samuel E. Cornish and John B. Russworm (a graduate of Bowdoin college, and
afterward Governor of Cape Palmas) published the Freedom's Journal, in New York
City; probably not less than one hundred newspaper enterprises have been
started in the United States, by free colored men, born free, and some of them
of liberal education and fair talents for this work; but, one after another,
they have fallen through, although, in several instances, anti-slavery friends
contributed to their support.[3] It had almost been given up, as an
impracticable thing, to maintain a colored newspaper, when Mr. Douglass, with
fewest early advantages of all his competitors, essayed, and has proved the
thing perfectly practicable, and, moreover, of great public benefit. This
paper, in addition to its power in holding up the hands of those to whom it is
especially devoted, also affords irrefutable evidence of the justice, safety
and practicability of Immediate Emancipation; it further proves the immense
loss which slavery inflicts on the land while it dooms such energies as his to
the hereditary degradation of slavery.
It has been said in
this Introduction, that Mr. Douglass had raised himself by his own efforts to
the highest position in society. As a successful editor, in our land, he
occupies this position. Our editors rule the land, and he is one of them. As an
orator and thinker, his position is equally high, in the opinion of his
countrymen. If a stranger in the United States would seek its most
distinguished men--the movers of public opinion--he will find their names
mentioned, and their movements chronicled, under the head of "BY MAGNETIC
TELEGRAPH, in the daily papers. The keen caterers for the public attention, set
down, in this column, such men only as have won high mark in the public esteem.
During the past winter--1854-5--very frequent mention of Frederick Douglass was
made under this head in the daily papers; his name glided as often--this week
from Chicago, next week from Boston--over the lightning wires, as the name of
any other man, of whatever note. To no man did the people more widely nor more
earnestly say, "Tell me thy thought!" And, somehow or other,
revolution seemed to follow in his wake. His were not the mere words of
eloquence which Kossuth speaks of, that delight the ear and then pass away. No!
They were work-able, do-able words, that brought forth fruits in the revolution
in Illinois, and in the passage of the franchise resolutions by the Assembly of
New York.
And the secret of his
power, what is it? He is a Representative American man--a type of his
countrymen. Naturalists tell us that a full grown man is a resultant or
representative of all animated nature on this globe; beginning with the early
embryo state, then representing the lowest forms of organic life,[4] and
passing through every subordinate grade or type, until he reaches the last and
highest--manhood. In like manner, and to the fullest extent, has Frederick
Douglass passed through every gradation of rank comprised in our national
make-up, and bears upon his person and upon his soul every thing that is
American. And he has not only full sympathy with every thing American; his
proclivity or bent, to active toil and visible progress, are in the strictly
national direction, delighting to outstrip "all creation."
Nor have the natural
gifts, already named as his, lost anything by his severe training. When
unexcited, his mental processes are probably slow, but singularly clear in
perception, and wide in vision, the unfailing memory bringing up all the facts
in their every aspect; incongruities he lays hold of incontinently, and holds
up on the edge of his keen and telling wit. But this wit never descends to
frivolity; it is rigidly in the keeping of his truthful common sense, and
always used in illustration or proof of some point which could not so readily
be reached any other way. "Beware of a Yankee when he is feeding," is
a shaft that strikes home in a matter never so laid bare by satire before.
"The Garrisonian views of disunion, if carried to a successful issue,
would only place the people of the north in the same relation to American
slavery which they now bear to the slavery of Cuba or the Brazils," is a
statement, in a few words, which contains the result and the evidence of an
argument which might cover pages, but could not carry stronger conviction, nor
be stated in less pregnable form. In proof of this, I may say, that having been
submitted to the attention of the Garrisonians in print, in March, it was
repeated before them at their business meeting in May--the platform, par
excellence, on which they invite free fight, a l'outrance, to all comers. It
was given out in the clear, ringing tones, wherewith the hall of shields was
wont to resound of old, yet neither Garrison, nor Phillips, nor May, nor
Remond, nor Foster, nor Burleigh, with his subtle steel of "the ice
brook's temper," ventured to break a lance upon it! The doctrine of the
dissolution of the Union, as a means for the abolition of American slavery, was
silenced upon the lips that gave it birth, and in the presence of an array of
defenders who compose the keenest intellects in the land.
"The man who is
right is a majority" is an aphorism struck out by Mr. Douglass in that
great gathering of the friends of freedom, at Pittsburgh, in 1852, where he
towered among the highest, because, with abilities inferior to none, and moved
more deeply than any, there was neither policy nor party to trammel the
outpourings of his soul. Thus we find, opposed to all disadvantages which a
black man in the United States labors and struggles under, is this one vantage
ground--when the chance comes, and the audience where he may have a say, he
stands forth the freest, most deeply moved and most earnest of all men.
It has been said of Mr.
Douglass, that his descriptive and declamatory powers, admitted to be of the
very highest order, take precedence of his logical force. Whilst the schools
might have trained him to the exhibition of the formulas of deductive logic,
nature and circumstances forced him into the exercise of the higher faculties
required by induction. The first ninety pages of this "Life in
Bondage," afford specimens of observing, comparing, and careful
classifying, of such superior character, that it is difficult to believe them
the results of a child's thinking; he questions the earth, and the children and
the slaves around him again and again, and finally looks to "God in the
sky" for the why and the wherefore of the unnatural thing, slavery.
"Yes, if indeed thou art, wherefore dost thou suffer us to be slain?"
is the only prayer and worship of the God-forsaken Dodos in the heart of
Africa. Almost the same was his prayer. One of his earliest observations was
that white children should know their ages, while the colored children were
ignorant of theirs; and the songs of the slaves grated on his inmost soul,
because a something told him that harmony in sound, and music of the spirit,
could not consociate with miserable degradation.
To such a mind, the
ordinary processes of logical deduction are like proving that two and two make
four. Mastering the intermediate steps by an intuitive glance, or recurring to
them as Ferguson resorted to geometry, it goes down to the deeper relation of
things, and brings out what may seem, to some, mere statements, but which are
new and brilliant generalizations, each resting on a broad and stable basis.
Thus, Chief Justice Marshall gave his decisions, and then told Brother Story to
look up the authorities--and they never differed from him. Thus, also, in his
"Lecture on the Anti-Slavery Movement," delivered before the
Rochester Ladies' Anti-Slavery Society, Mr. Douglass presents a mass of
thought, which, without any showy display of logic on his part, requires an
exercise of the reasoning faculties of the reader to keep pace with him. And
his "Claims of the Negro Ethnologically Considered," is full of new
and fresh thoughts on the dawning science of race-history.
If, as has been stated,
his intellection is slow, when unexcited, it is most prompt and rapid when he
is thoroughly aroused. Memory, logic, wit, sarcasm, invective pathos and bold
imagery of rare structural beauty, well up as from a copious fountain, yet each
in its proper place, and contributing to form a whole, grand in itself, yet
complete in the minutest proportions. It is most difficult to hedge him in a
corner, for his positions are taken so deliberately, that it is rare to find a
point in them undefended aforethought. Professor Reason tells me the following:
"On a recent visit of a public nature, to Philadelphia, and in a meeting
composed mostly of his colored brethren, Mr. Douglass proposed a comparison of
views in the matters of the relations and duties of `our people;' he holding
that prejudice was the result of condition, and could be conquered by the
efforts of the degraded themselves. A gentleman present, distinguished for
logical acumen and subtlety, and who had devoted no small portion of the last
twenty-five years to the study and elucidation of this very question, held the
opposite view, that prejudice is innate and unconquerable. He terminated a
series of well dove-tailed, Socratic questions to Mr. Douglass, with the
following: `If the legislature at Harrisburgh should awaken, to-morrow morning,
and find each man's skin turned black and his hair woolly, what could they do
to remove prejudice?' `Immediately pass laws entitling black men to all civil,
political and social privileges,' was the instant reply--and the questioning
ceased."
The most remarkable
mental phenomenon in Mr. Douglass, is his style in writing and speaking. In
March, 1855, he delivered an address in the assembly chamber before the members
of the legislature of the state of New York. An eye witness[5] describes the
crowded and most intelligent audience, and their rapt attention to the speaker,
as the grandest scene he ever witnessed in the capitol. Among those whose eyes
were riveted on the speaker full two hours and a half, were Thurlow Weed and
Lieutenant Governor Raymond; the latter, at the conclusion of the address,
exclaimed to a friend, "I would give twenty thousand dollars, if I could
deliver that address in that manner." Mr. Raymond is a first class
graduate of Dartmouth, a rising politician, ranking foremost in the
legislature; of course, his ideal of oratory must be of the most polished and
finished description.
The style of Mr.
Douglass in writing, is to me an intellectual puzzle. The strength, affluence
and terseness may easily be accounted for, because the style of a man is the
man; but how are we to account for that rare polish in his style of writing,
which, most critically examined, seems the result of careful early culture
among the best classics of our language; it equals if it does not surpass the
style of Hugh Miller, which was the wonder of the British literary public,
until he unraveled the mystery in the most interesting of autobiographies. But
Frederick Douglass was still calking the seams of Baltimore clippers, and had
only written a "pass," at the age when Miller's style was already
formed.
I asked William
Whipper, of Pennsylvania, the gentleman alluded to above, whether he thought
Mr. Douglass's power inherited from the Negroid, or from what is called the
Caucasian side of his make up? After some reflection, he frankly answered,
"I must admit, although sorry to do so, that the Caucasian
predominates." At that time, I almost agreed with him; but, facts narrated
in the first part of this work, throw a different light on this interesting
question.
We are left in the dark
as to who was the paternal ancestor of our author; a fact which generally holds
good of the Romuluses and Remuses who are to inaugurate the new birth of our
republic. In the absence of testimony from the Caucasian side, we must see what
evidence is given on the other side of the house.
"My grandmother,
though advanced in years, * * * was yet a woman of power and spirit. She was
marvelously straight in figure, elastic and muscular." (p. 46.)
After describing her
skill in constructing nets, her perseverance in using them, and her wide-spread
fame in the agricultural way he adds, "It happened to her--as it will
happen to any careful and thrifty person residing in an ignorant and improvident
neighborhood--to enjoy the reputation of being born to good luck." And his
grandmother was a black woman.
"My mother was
tall, and finely proportioned; of deep black, glossy complexion; had regular
features; and among other slaves was remarkably sedate in her manners."
"Being a field hand, she was obliged to walk twelve miles and return,
between nightfall and daybreak, to see her children" (p. 54.) "I
shall never forget the indescribable expression of her countenance when I told
her that I had had no food since morning. * * * There was pity in her glance at
me, and a fiery indignation at Aunt Katy at the same time; * * * * she read
Aunt Katy a lecture which she never forgot." (p. 56.) "I learned
after my mother's death, that she could read, and that she was the only one of
all the slaves and colored people in Tuckahoe who enjoyed that advantage. How
she acquired this knowledge, I know not, for Tuckahoe is the last place in the
world where she would be apt to find facilities for learning." (p. 57.)
"There is, in Prichard's Natural History of Man, the head of a figure--on
page 157--the features of which so resemble those of my mother, that I often
recur to it with something of the feeling which I suppose others experience
when looking upon the pictures of dear departed ones." (p. 52.)
The head alluded to is
copied from the statue of Ramses the Great, an Egyptian king of the nineteenth
dynasty. The authors of the Types of Mankind give a side view of the same on
page 148, remarking that the profile, "like Napoleon's, is superbly
European!" The nearness of its resemblance to Mr. Douglass' mother rests
upon the evidence of his memory, and judging from his almost marvelous feats of
recollection of forms and outlines recorded in this book, this testimony may be
admitted.
These facts show that
for his energy, perseverance, eloquence, invective, sagacity, and wide
sympathy, he is indebted to his Negro blood. The very marvel of his style would
seem to be a development of that other marvel--how his mother learned to read.
The versatility of talent which he wields, in common with Dumas, Ira Aldridge,
and Miss Greenfield, would seem to be the result of the grafting of the
Anglo-Saxon on good, original, Negro stock. If the friends of
"Caucasus" choose to claim, for that region, what remains after this
analysis--to wit: combination--they are welcome to it. They will forgive me for
reminding them that the term "Caucasian" is dropped by recent writers
on Ethnology; for the people about Mount Caucasus, are, and have ever been,
Mongols. The great "white race" now seek paternity, according to Dr.
Pickering, in Arabia--"Arida Nutrix" of the best breed of horses
&c. Keep on, gentlemen; you will find yourselves in Africa, by-and-by. The
Egyptians, like the Americans, were a mixed race, with some Negro blood
circling around the throne, as well as in the mud hovels.
This is the proper
place to remark of our author, that the same strong self-hood, which led him to
measure strength with Mr. Covey, and to wrench himself from the embrace of the
Garrisonians, and which has borne him through many resistances to the personal
indignities offered him as a colored man, sometimes becomes a
hyper-sensitiveness to such assaults as men of his mark will meet with, on
paper. Keen and unscrupulous opponents have sought, and not unsuccessfully, to
pierce him in this direction; for well they know, that if assailed, he will
smite back.
It is not without a
feeling of pride, dear reader, that I present you with this book. The son of a
self-emancipated bond-woman, I feel joy in introducing to you my brother, who
has rent his own bonds, and who, in his every relation--as a public man, as a
husband and as a father--is such as does honor to the land which gave him
birth. I shall place this book in the hands of the only child spared me,
bidding him to strive and emulate its noble example. You may do likewise. It is
an American book, for Americans, in the fullest sense of the idea. It shows
that the worst of our institutions, in its worst aspect, cannot keep down
energy, truthfulness, and earnest struggle for the right. It proves the justice
and practicability of Immediate Emancipation. It shows that any man in our
land, "no matter in what battle his liberty may have been cloven down, * *
* * no matter what complexion an Indian or an African sun may have burned upon
him," not only may "stand forth redeemed and disenthralled," but
may also stand up a candidate for the highest suffrage of a great people--the
tribute of their honest, hearty admiration. Reader, Vale!
New York; May 23, 1855.
JAMES M'CUNE SMITH
PLACE OF
BIRTH--CHARACTER OF THE DISTRICT--TUCKAHOE--ORIGIN OF THE NAME--CHOPTANK
RIVER--TIME OF BIRTH--GENEALOGICAL TREES--MODE OF COUNTING TIME--NAMES OF
GRANDPARENTS--THEIR POSITION--GRAND-MOTHER ESPECIALLY ESTEEMED--"BORN TO
GOOD LUCK"--SWEET POTATOES--SUPERSTITION--THE LOG CABIN--ITS
CHARMS--SEPARATING CHILDREN--MY AUNTS--THEIR NAMES--FIRST KNOWLEDGE OF BEING A
SLAVE--OLD MASTER--GRIEFS AND JOYS OF CHILDHOOD--COMPARATIVE HAPPINESS OF THE
SLAVE-BOY AND THE SON OF A SLAVEHOLDER.
In Talbot county,
Eastern Shore, Maryland, near Easton, the county town of that county, there is
a small district of country, thinly populated, and remarkable for nothing that
I know of more than for the worn-out, sandy, desert-like appearance of its
soil, the general dilapidation of its farms and fences, the indigent and
spiritless character of its inhabitants, and the prevalence of ague and fever.
The name of this
singularly unpromising and truly famine stricken district is Tuckahoe, a name
well known to all Marylanders, black and white. It was given to this section of
country probably, at the first, merely in derision; or it may possibly have
been applied to it, as I have heard, because some one of its earlier
inhabitants had been guilty of the petty meanness of stealing a hoe--or taking
a hoe that did not belong to him. Eastern Shore men usually pronounce the word
took, as tuck; Took-a-hoe, therefore, is, in Maryland parlance, Tuckahoe. But,
whatever may have been its origin--and about this I will not be positive--that
name has stuck to the district in question; and it is seldom mentioned but with
contempt and derision, on account of the barrenness of its soil, and the
ignorance, indolence, and poverty of its people. Decay and ruin are everywhere
visible, and the thin population of the place would have quitted it long ago,
but for the Choptank river, which runs through it, from which they take
abundance of shad and herring, and plenty of ague and fever.
It was in this dull,
flat, and unthrifty district, or neighborhood, surrounded by a white population
of the lowest order, indolent and drunken to a proverb, and among slaves, who
seemed to ask, "Oh! what's the use?" every time they lifted a hoe, that
I--without any fault of mine was born, and spent the first years of my
childhood.
The reader will pardon
so much about the place of my birth, on the score that it is always a fact of
some importance to know where a man is born, if, indeed, it be important to know
anything about him. In regard to the time of my birth, I cannot be as definite
as I have been respecting the place. Nor, indeed, can I impart much knowledge
concerning my parents. Genealogical trees do not flourish among slaves. A
person of some consequence here in the north, sometimes designated father, is
literally abolished in slave law and slave practice. It is only once in a while
that an exception is found to this statement. I never met with a slave who
could tell me how old he was. Few slave-mothers know anything of the months of
the year, nor of the days of the month. They keep no family records, with
marriages, births, and deaths. They measure the ages of their children by
spring time, winter time, harvest time, planting time, and the like; but these
soon become undistinguishable and forgotten. Like other slaves, I cannot tell
how old I am. This destitution was among my earliest troubles. I learned when I
grew up, that my master--and this is the case with masters generally--allowed
no questions to be put to him, by which a slave might learn his age. Such
questions deemed evidence of impatience, and even of impudent curiosity. From
certain events, however, the dates of which I have since learned, I suppose
myself to have been born about the year 1817.
The first experience of
life with me that I now remember--and I remember it but hazily--began in the
family of my grandmother and grandfather. Betsey and Isaac Baily. They were
quite advanced in life, and had long lived on the spot where they then resided.
They were considered old settlers in the neighborhood, and, from certain
circumstances, I infer that my grandmother, especially, was held in high
esteem, far higher than is the lot of most colored persons in the slave states.
She was a good nurse, and a capital hand at making nets for catching shad and
herring; and these nets were in great demand, not only in Tuckahoe, but at
Denton and Hillsboro, neighboring villages. She was not only good at making the
nets, but was also somewhat famous for her good fortune in taking the fishes
referred to. I have known her to be in the water half the day. Grandmother was
likewise more provident than most of her neighbors in the preservation of
seedling sweet potatoes, and it happened to her--as it will happen to any
careful and thrifty person residing in an ignorant and improvident
community--to enjoy the reputation of having been born to "good
luck." Her "good luck" was owing to the exceeding care which she
took in preventing the succulent root from getting bruised in the digging, and
in placing it beyond the reach of frost, by actually burying it under the
hearth of her cabin during the winter months. In the time of planting sweet
potatoes, "Grandmother Betty," as she was familiarly called, was sent
for in all directions, simply to place the seedling potatoes in the hills; for
superstition had it, that if "Grandmamma Betty but touches them at
planting, they will be sure to grow and flourish." This high reputation
was full of advantage to her, and to the children around her. Though Tuckahoe
had but few of the good things of life, yet of such as it did possess
grandmother got a full share, in the way of presents. If good potato crops came
after her planting, she was not forgotten by those for whom she planted; and as
she was remembered by others, so she remembered the hungry little ones around
her.
The dwelling of my
grandmother and grandfather had few pretensions. It was a log hut, or cabin,
built of clay, wood, and straw. At a distance it resembled--though it was smaller,
less commodious and less substantial--the cabins erected in the western states
by the first settlers. To my child's eye, however, it was a noble structure,
admirably adapted to promote the comforts and conveniences of its inmates. A
few rough, Virginia fence-rails, flung loosely over the rafters above, answered
the triple purpose of floors, ceilings, and bedsteads. To be sure, this upper
apartment was reached only by a ladder--but what in the world for climbing
could be better than a ladder? To me, this ladder was really a high invention,
and possessed a sort of charm as I played with delight upon the rounds of it.
In this little hut there was a large family of children: I dare not say how
many. My grandmother--whether because too old for field service, or because she
had so faithfully discharged the duties of her station in early life, I know
not--enjoyed the high privilege of living in a cabin, separate from the
quarter, with no other burden than her own support, and the necessary care of
the little children, imposed. She evidently esteemed it a great fortune to live
so. The children were not her own, but her grandchildren--the children of her
daughters. She took delight in having them around her, and in attending to
their few wants. The practice of separating children from their mother, and
hiring the latter out at distances too great to admit of their meeting, except
at long intervals, is a marked feature of the cruelty and barbarity of the
slave system. But it is in harmony with the grand aim of slavery, which, always
and everywhere, is to reduce man to a level with the brute. It is a successful
method of obliterating from the mind and heart of the slave, all just ideas of
the sacredness of the family, as an institution.
Most of the children,
however, in this instance, being the children of my grandmother's daughters,
the notions of family, and the reciprocal duties and benefits of the relation,
had a better chance of being understood than where children are placed--as they
often are in the hands of strangers, who have no care for them, apart from the
wishes of their masters. The daughters of my grandmother were five in number.
Their names were JENNY, ESTHER, MILLY, PRISCILLA, and HARRIET. The daughter
last named was my mother, of whom the reader shall learn more by-and-by.
Living here, with my
dear old grandmother and grandfather, it was a long time before I knew myself
to be a slave. I knew many other things before I knew that. Grandmother and
grandfather were the greatest people in the world to me; and being with them so
snugly in their own little cabin--I supposed it be their own--knowing no higher
authority over me or the other children than the authority of grandmamma, for a
time there was nothing to disturb me; but, as I grew larger and older, I
learned by degrees the sad fact, that the "little hut," and the lot
on which it stood, belonged not to my dear old grandparents, but to some person
who lived a great distance off, and who was called, by grandmother, "OLD
MASTER." I further learned the sadder fact, that not only the house and
lot, but that grandmother herself, (grandfather was free,) and all the little
children around her, belonged to this mysterious personage, called by
grandmother, with every mark of reverence, "Old Master." Thus early did
clouds and shadows begin to fall upon my path. Once on the track--troubles
never come singly--I was not long in finding out another fact, still more
grievous to my childish heart. I was told that this "old master,"
whose name seemed ever to be mentioned with fear and shuddering, only allowed
the children to live with grandmother for a limited time, and that in fact as
soon as they were big enough, they were promptly taken away, to live with the
said "old master." These were distressing revelations indeed; and
though I was quite too young to comprehend the full import of the intelligence,
and mostly spent my childhood days in gleesome sports with the other children,
a shade of disquiet rested upon me.
The absolute power of
this distant "old master" had touched my young spirit with but the
point of its cold, cruel iron, and left me something to brood over after the
play and in moments of repose. Grandmammy was, indeed, at that time, all the world
to me; and the thought of being separated from her, in any considerable time,
was more than an unwelcome intruder. It was intolerable.
Children have their
sorrows as well as men and women; and it would be well to remember this in our
dealings with them. SLAVE-children are children, and prove no exceptions to the
general rule. The liability to be separated from my grandmother, seldom or
never to see her again, haunted me. I dreaded the thought of going to live with
that mysterious "old master," whose name I never heard mentioned with
affection, but always with fear. I look back to this as among the heaviest of
my childhood's sorrows. My grandmother! my grandmother! and the little hut, and
the joyous circle under her care, but especially she, who made us sorry when
she left us but for an hour, and glad on her return,--how could I leave her and
the good old home?
But the sorrows of
childhood, like the pleasures of after life, are transient. It is not even
within the power of slavery to write indelible sorrow, at a single dash, over
the heart of a child.
"The tear down
childhood's cheek that flows,
Is like the dew-drop on
the rose--
When next the summer
breeze comes by,
And waves the bush--the
flower is dry."
There is, after all,
but little difference in the measure of contentment felt by the slave-child
neglected and the slaveholder's child cared for and petted. The spirit of the
All Just mercifully holds the balance for the young.
The slaveholder, having
nothing to fear from impotent childhood, easily affords to refrain from cruel
inflictions; and if cold and hunger do not pierce the tender frame, the first
seven or eight years of the slave-boy's life are about as full of sweet content
as those of the most favored and petted white children of the slaveholder. The
slave-boy escapes many troubles which befall and vex his white brother. He
seldom has to listen to lectures on propriety of behavior, or on anything else.
He is never chided for handling his little knife and fork improperly or
awkwardly, for he uses none. He is never reprimanded for soiling the
table-cloth, for he takes his meals on the clay floor. He never has the
misfortune, in his games or sports, of soiling or tearing his clothes, for he
has almost none to soil or tear. He is never expected to act like a nice little
gentleman, for he is only a rude little slave. Thus, freed from all restraint,
the slave-boy can be, in his life and conduct, a genuine boy, doing whatever
his boyish nature suggests; enacting, by turns, all the strange antics and
freaks of horses, dogs, pigs, and barn-door fowls, without in any manner
compromising his dignity, or incurring reproach of any sort. He literally runs
wild; has no pretty little verses to learn in the nursery; no nice little
speeches to make for aunts, uncles, or cousins, to show how smart he is; and,
if he can only manage to keep out of the way of the heavy feet and fists of the
older slave boys, he may trot on, in his joyous and roguish tricks, as happy as
any little heathen under the palm trees of Africa. To be sure, he is
occasionally reminded, when he stumbles in the path of his master--and this he
early learns to avoid--that he is eating his "white bread," and that
he will be made to "see sights" by-and-by. The threat is soon
forgotten; the shadow soon passes, and our sable boy continues to roll in the
dust, or play in the mud, as bests suits him, and in the veriest freedom. If he
feels uncomfortable, from mud or from dust, the coast is clear; he can plunge
into the river or the pond, without the ceremony of undressing, or the fear of
wetting his clothes; his little tow-linen shirt--for that is all he has on--is
easily dried; and it needed ablution as much as did his skin. His food is of
the coarsest kind, consisting for the most part of cornmeal mush, which often
finds it way from the wooden tray to his mouth in an oyster shell. His days,
when the weather is warm, are spent in the pure, open air, and in the bright
sunshine. He always sleeps in airy apartments; he seldom has to take powders,
or to be paid to swallow pretty little sugar-coated pills, to cleanse his
blood, or to quicken his appetite. He eats no candies; gets no lumps of loaf
sugar; always relishes his food; cries but little, for nobody cares for his
crying; learns to esteem his bruises but slight, because others so esteem them.
In a word, he is, for the most part of the first eight years of his life, a
spirited, joyous, uproarious, and happy boy, upon whom troubles fall only like
water on a duck's back. And such a boy, so far as I can now remember, was the
boy whose life in slavery I am now narrating.
THE NAME "OLD
MASTER" A TERROR--COLONEL LLOYD'S PLANTATION--WYE RIVER--WHENCE ITS
NAME--POSITION OF THE LLOYDS--HOME ATTRACTION--MEET OFFERING--JOURNEY FROM
TUCKAHOE TO WYE RIVER--SCENE ON REACHING OLD MASTER'S--DEPARTURE OF
GRANDMOTHER--STRANGE MEETING OF SISTERS AND BROTHERS--REFUSAL TO BE
COMFORTED--SWEET SLEEP.
That mysterious
individual referred to in the first chapter as an object of terror among the
inhabitants of our little cabin, under the ominous title of "old
master," was really a man of some consequence. He owned several farms in
Tuckahoe; was the chief clerk and butler on the home plantation of Col. Edward
Lloyd; had overseers on his own farms; and gave directions to overseers on the
farms belonging to Col. Lloyd. This plantation is situated on Wye river--the
river receiving its name, doubtless, from Wales, where the Lloyds originated.
They (the Lloyds) are an old and honored family in Maryland, exceedingly
wealthy. The home plantation, where they have resided, perhaps for a century or
more, is one of the largest, most fertile, and best appointed, in the state.
About this plantation,
and about that queer old master--who must be something more than a man, and
something worse than an angel--the reader will easily imagine that I was not
only curious, but eager, to know all that could be known. Unhappily for me,
however, all the information I could get concerning him increased my great dread
of being carried thither--of being separated from and deprived of the
protection of my grandmother and grandfather. It was, evidently, a great thing
to go to Col. Lloyd's; and I was not without a little curiosity to see the
place; but no amount of coaxing could induce in me the wish to remain there.
The fact is, such was my dread of leaving the little cabin, that I wished to
remain little forever, for I knew the taller I grew the shorter my stay. The
old cabin, with its rail floor and rail bedsteads upstairs, and its clay floor
downstairs, and its dirt chimney, and windowless sides, and that most curious
piece of workmanship dug in front of the fireplace, beneath which grandmammy
placed the sweet potatoes to keep them from the frost, was MY HOME--the only home
I ever had; and I loved it, and all connected with it. The old fences around
it, and the stumps in the edge of the woods near it, and the squirrels that
ran, skipped, and played upon them, were objects of interest and affection.
There, too, right at the side of the hut, stood the old well, with its stately
and skyward-pointing beam, so aptly placed between the limbs of what had once
been a tree, and so nicely balanced that I could move it up and down with only
one hand, and could get a drink myself without calling for help. Where else in
the world could such a well be found, and where could such another home be met
with? Nor were these all the attractions of the place. Down in a little valley,
not far from grandmammy's cabin, stood Mr. Lee's mill, where the people came
often in large numbers to get their corn ground. It was a watermill; and I
never shall be able to tell the many things thought and felt, while I sat on
the bank and watched that mill, and the turning of that ponderous wheel. The
mill-pond, too, had its charms; and with my pinhook, and thread line, I could
get nibbles, if I could catch no fish. But, in all my sports and plays, and in
spite of them, there would, occasionally, come the painful foreboding that I
was not long to remain there, and that I must soon be called away to the home
of old master.
I was A SLAVE--born a
slave and though the fact was in comprehensible to me, it conveyed to my mind a
sense of my entire dependence on the will of somebody I had never seen; and,
from some cause or other, I had been made to fear this somebody above all else
on earth. Born for another's benefit, as the firstling of the cabin flock I was
soon to be selected as a meet offering to the fearful and inexorable demigod,
whose huge image on so many occasions haunted my childhood's imagination. When
the time of my departure was decided upon, my grandmother, knowing my fears,
and in pity for them, kindly kept me ignorant of the dreaded event about to
transpire. Up to the morning (a beautiful summer morning) when we were to
start, and, indeed, during the whole journey--a journey which, child as I was,
I remember as well as if it were yesterday--she kept the sad fact hidden from
me. This reserve was necessary; for, could I have known all, I should have
given grandmother some trouble in getting me started. As it was, I was
helpless, and she--dear woman!--led me along by the hand, resisting, with the
reserve and solemnity of a priestess, all my inquiring looks to the last.
The distance from
Tuckahoe to Wye river--where my old master lived--was full twelve miles, and
the walk was quite a severe test of the endurance of my young legs. The journey
would have proved too severe for me, but that my dear old
grandmother--blessings on her memory!--afforded occasional relief by
"toting" me (as Marylanders have it) on her shoulder. My grandmother,
though advanced in years--as was evident from more than one gray hair, which
peeped from between the ample and graceful folds of her newly-ironed bandana
turban--was yet a woman of power and spirit. She was marvelously straight in
figure, elastic, and muscular. I seemed hardly to be a burden to her. She would
have "toted" me farther, but that I felt myself too much of a man to
allow it, and insisted on walking. Releasing dear grandmamma from carrying me,
did not make me altogether independent of her, when we happened to pass through
portions of the somber woods which lay between Tuckahoe and Wye river. She
often found me increasing the energy of my grip, and holding her clothing, lest
something should come out of the woods and eat me up. Several old logs and
stumps imposed upon me, and got themselves taken for wild beasts. I could see
their legs, eyes, and ears, or I could see something like eyes, legs, and ears,
till I got close enough to them to see that the eyes were knots, washed white
with rain, and the legs were broken limbs, and the ears, only ears owing to the
point from which they were seen. Thus early I learned that the point from which
a thing is viewed is of some importance.
As the day advanced the
heat increased; and it was not until the afternoon that we reached the much
dreaded end of the journey. I found myself in the midst of a group of children
of many colors; black, brown, copper colored, and nearly white. I had not seen
so many children before. Great houses loomed up in different directions, and a
great many men and women were at work in the fields. All this hurry, noise, and
singing was very different from the stillness of Tuckahoe. As a new comer, I
was an object of special interest; and, after laughing and yelling around me,
and playing all sorts of wild tricks, they (the children) asked me to go out
and play with them. This I refused to do, preferring to stay with grandmamma. I
could not help feeling that our being there boded no good to me. Grandmamma
looked sad. She was soon to lose another object of affection, as she had lost
many before. I knew she was unhappy, and the shadow fell from her brow on me,
though I knew not the cause.
All suspense, however,
must have an end; and the end of mine, in this instance, was at hand.
Affectionately patting me on the head, and exhorting me to be a good boy,
grandmamma told me to go and play with the little children. "They are kin
to you," said she; "go and play with them." Among a number of
cousins were Phil, Tom, Steve, and Jerry, Nance and Betty.
Grandmother pointed out
my brother PERRY, my sister SARAH, and my sister ELIZA, who stood in the group.
I had never seen my brother nor my sisters before; and, though I had sometimes
heard of them, and felt a curious interest in them, I really did not understand
what they were to me, or I to them. We were brothers and sisters, but what of
that? Why should they be attached to me, or I to them? Brothers and sisters we
were by blood; but slavery had made us strangers. I heard the words brother and
sisters, and knew they must mean something; but slavery had robbed these terms
of their true meaning. The experience through which I was passing, they had
passed through before. They had already been initiated into the mysteries of
old master's domicile, and they seemed to look upon me with a certain degree of
compassion; but my heart clave to my grandmother. Think it not strange, dear
reader, that so little sympathy of feeling existed between us. The conditions
of brotherly and sisterly feeling were wanting--we had never nestled and played
together. My poor mother, like many other slave-women, had many children, but
NO FAMILY! The domestic hearth, with its holy lessons and precious endearments,
is abolished in the case of a slave-mother and her children. "Little
children, love one another," are words seldom heard in a slave cabin.
I really wanted to play
with my brother and sisters, but they were strangers to me, and I was full of
fear that grandmother might leave without taking me with her. Entreated to do
so, however, and that, too, by my dear grandmother, I went to the back part of
the house, to play with them and the other children. Play, however, I did not,
but stood with my back against the wall, witnessing the playing of the others.
At last, while standing there, one of the children, who had been in the
kitchen, ran up to me, in a sort of roguish glee, exclaiming, "Fed, Fed!
grandmammy gone! grandmammy gone!" I could not believe it; yet, fearing
the worst, I ran into the kitchen, to see for myself, and found it even so.
Grandmammy had indeed gone, and was now far away, "clean" out of
sight. I need not tell all that happened now. Almost heart-broken at the
discovery, I fell upon the ground, and wept a boy's bitter tears, refusing to
be comforted. My brother and sisters came around me, and said, "Don't
cry," and gave me peaches and pears, but I flung them away, and refused
all their kindly advances. I had never been deceived before; and I felt not
only grieved at parting--as I supposed forever--with my grandmother, but
indignant that a trick had been played upon me in a matter so serious.
It was now late in the
afternoon. The day had been an exciting and wearisome one, and I knew not how
or where, but I suppose I sobbed myself to sleep. There is a healing in the
angel wing of sleep, even for the slave-boy; and its balm was never more
welcome to any wounded soul than it was to mine, the first night I spent at the
domicile of old master. The reader may be surprised that I narrate so minutely
an incident apparently so trivial, and which must have occurred when I was not
more than seven years old; but as I wish to give a faithful history of my
experience in slavery, I cannot withhold a circumstance which, at the time,
affected me so deeply. Besides, this was, in fact, my first introduction to the
realities of slavery.
MY FATHER SHROUDED IN
MYSTERY--MY MOTHER--HER PERSONAL APPEARANCE--INTERFERENCE OF SLAVERY WITH THE
NATURAL AFFECTIONS OF MOTHER AND CHILDREN--SITUATION OF MY MOTHER--HER NIGHTLY
VISITS TO HER BOY--STRIKING INCIDENT--HER DEATH--HER PLACE OF BURIAL.
If the reader will now
be kind enough to allow me time to grow bigger, and afford me an opportunity
for my experience to become greater, I will tell him something, by-and-by, of
slave life, as I saw, felt, and heard it, on Col. Edward Lloyd's plantation,
and at the house of old master, where I had now, despite of myself, most
suddenly, but not unexpectedly, been dropped. Meanwhile, I will redeem my
promise to say something more of my dear mother.
I say nothing of
father, for he is shrouded in a mystery I have never been able to penetrate.
Slavery does away with fathers, as it does away with families. Slavery has no
use for either fathers or families, and its laws do not recognize their
existence in the social arrangements of the plantation. When they do exist,
they are not the outgrowths of slavery, but are antagonistic to that system.
The order of civilization is reversed here. The name of the child is not
expected to be that of its father, and his condition does not necessarily
affect that of the child. He may be the slave of Mr. Tilgman; and his child,
when born, may be the slave of Mr. Gross. He may be a freeman; and yet his
child may be a chattel. He may be white, glorying in the purity of his
Anglo-Saxon blood; and his child may be ranked with the blackest slaves.
Indeed, he may be, and often is, master and father to the same child. He can be
father without being a husband, and may sell his child without incurring
reproach, if the child be by a woman in whose veins courses one thirty-second
part of African blood. My father was a white man, or nearly white. It was
sometimes whispered that my master was my father.
But to return, or
rather, to begin. My knowledge of my mother is very scanty, but very distinct.
Her personal appearance and bearing are ineffaceably stamped upon my memory.
She was tall, and finely proportioned; of deep black, glossy complexion; had
regular features, and, among the other slaves, was remarkably sedate in her
manners. There is in Prichard's Natural History of Man, the head of a
figure--on page 157--the features of which so resemble those of my mother, that
I often recur to it with something of the feeling which I suppose others
experience when looking upon the pictures of dear departed ones.
Yet I cannot say that I
was very deeply attached to my mother; certainly not so deeply as I should have
been had our relations in childhood been different. We were separated,
according to the common custom, when I was but an infant, and, of course,
before I knew my mother from any one else.
The germs of affection
with which the Almighty, in his wisdom and mercy, arms the hopeless infant
against the ills and vicissitudes of his lot, had been directed in their growth
toward that loving old grandmother, whose gentle hand and kind deportment it was
in the first effort of my infantile understanding to comprehend and appreciate.
Accordingly, the tenderest affection which a beneficent Father allows, as a
partial compensation to the mother for the pains and lacerations of her heart,
incident to the maternal relation, was, in my case, diverted from its true and
natural object, by the envious, greedy, and treacherous hand of slavery. The
slave-mother can be spared long enough from the field to endure all the
bitterness of a mother's anguish, when it adds another name to a master's
ledger, but not long enough to receive the joyous reward afforded by the
intelligent smiles of her child. I never think of this terrible interference of
slavery with my infantile affections, and its diverting them from their natural
course, without feelings to which I can give no adequate expression.
I do not remember to
have seen my mother at my grandmother's at any time. I remember her only in her
visits to me at Col. Lloyd's plantation, and in the kitchen of my old master. Her
visits to me there were few in number, brief in duration, and mostly made in
the night. The pains she took, and the toil she endured, to see me, tells me
that a true mother's heart was hers, and that slavery had difficulty in
paralyzing it with unmotherly indifference.
My mother was hired out
to a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles from old master's, and, being a
field hand, she seldom had leisure, by day, for the performance of the journey.
The nights and the distance were both obstacles to her visits. She was obliged
to walk, unless chance flung into her way an opportunity to ride; and the
latter was sometimes her good luck. But she always had to walk one way or the
other. It was a greater luxury than slavery could afford, to allow a black slave-mother
a horse or a mule, upon which to travel twenty-four miles, when she could walk
the distance. Besides, it is deemed a foolish whim for a slave-mother to
manifest concern to see her children, and, in one point of view, the case is
made out--she can do nothing for them. She has no control over them; the master
is even more than the mother, in all matters touching the fate of her child.
Why, then, should she give herself any concern? She has no responsibility. Such
is the reasoning, and such the practice. The iron rule of the plantation,
always passionately and violently enforced in that neighborhood, makes flogging
the penalty of failing to be in the field before sunrise in the morning, unless
special permission be given to the absenting slave. "I went to see my
child," is no excuse to the ear or heart of the overseer.
One of the visits of my
mother to me, while at Col. Lloyd's, I remember very vividly, as affording a
bright gleam of a mother's love, and the earnestness of a mother's care.
"I had on that day
offended "Aunt Katy," (called "Aunt" by way of respect,)
the cook of old master's establishment. I do not now remember the nature of my
offense in this instance, for my offenses were numerous in that quarter,
greatly depending, however, upon the mood of Aunt Katy, as to their
heinousness; but she had adopted, that day, her favorite mode of punishing me,
namely, making me go without food all day--that is, from after breakfast. The
first hour or two after dinner, I succeeded pretty well in keeping up my
spirits; but though I made an excellent stand against the foe, and fought
bravely during the afternoon, I knew I must be conquered at last, unless I got
the accustomed reenforcement of a slice of corn bread, at sundown. Sundown
came, but no bread, and, in its stead, their came the threat, with a scowl well
suited to its terrible import, that she "meant to starve the life out of
me!" Brandishing her knife, she chopped off the heavy slices for the other
children, and put the loaf away, muttering, all the while, her savage designs
upon myself. Against this disappointment, for I was expecting that her heart
would relent at last, I made an extra effort to maintain my dignity; but when I
saw all the other children around me with merry and satisfied faces, I could
stand it no longer. I went out behind the house, and cried like a fine fellow!
When tired of this, I returned to the kitchen, sat by the fire, and brooded
over my hard lot. I was too hungry to sleep. While I sat in the corner, I
caught sight of an ear of Indian corn on an upper shelf of the kitchen. I
watched my chance, and got it, and, shelling off a few grains, I put it back
again. The grains in my hand, I quickly put in some ashes, and covered them
with embers, to roast them. All this I did at the risk of getting a brutal
thumping, for Aunt Katy could beat, as well as starve me. My corn was not long
in roasting, and, with my keen appetite, it did not matter even if the grains
were not exactly done. I eagerly pulled them out, and placed them on my stool,
in a clever little pile. Just as I began to help myself to my very dry meal, in
came my dear mother. And now, dear reader, a scene occurred which was
altogether worth beholding, and to me it was instructive as well as
interesting. The friendless and hungry boy, in his extremest need--and when he
did not dare to look for succor--found himself in the strong, protecting arms
of a mother; a mother who was, at the moment (being endowed with high powers of
manner as well as matter) more than a match for all his enemies. I shall never
forget the indescribable expression of her countenance, when I told her that I
had had no food since morning; and that Aunt Katy said she "meant to
starve the life out of me." There was pity in her glance at me, and a fiery
indignation at Aunt Katy at the same time; and, while she took the corn from
me, and gave me a large ginger cake, in its stead, she read Aunt Katy a lecture
which she never forgot. My mother threatened her with complaining to old master
in my behalf; for the latter, though harsh and cruel himself, at times, did not
sanction the meanness, injustice, partiality and oppressions enacted by Aunt
Katy in the kitchen. That night I learned the fact, that I was, not only a
child, but somebody's child. The "sweet cake" my mother gave me was
in the shape of a heart, with a rich, dark ring glazed upon the edge of it. I
was victorious, and well off for the moment; prouder, on my mother's knee, than
a king upon his throne. But my triumph was short. I dropped off to sleep, and waked
in the morning only to find my mother gone, and myself left at the mercy of the
sable virago, dominant in my old master's kitchen, whose fiery wrath was my
constant dread.
I do not remember to
have seen my mother after this occurrence. Death soon ended the little
communication that had existed between us; and with it, I believe, a life
judging from her weary, sad, down-cast countenance and mute demeanor--full of
heartfelt sorrow. I was not allowed to visit her during any part of her long
illness; nor did I see her for a long time before she was taken ill and died.
The heartless and ghastly form of slavery rises between mother and child, even
at the bed of death. The mother, at the verge of the grave, may not gather her
children, to impart to them her holy admonitions, and invoke for them her dying
benediction. The bond-woman lives as a slave, and is left to die as a beast;
often with fewer attentions than are paid to a favorite horse. Scenes of sacred
tenderness, around the death-bed, never forgotten, and which often arrest the
vicious and confirm the virtuous during life, must be looked for among the
free, though they sometimes occur among the slaves. It has been a life-long,
standing grief to me, that I knew so little of my mother; and that I was so early
separated from her. The counsels of her love must have been beneficial to me.
The side view of her face is imaged on my memory, and I take few steps in life,
without feeling her presence; but the image is mute, and I have no striking
words of her's treasured up.
I learned, after my
mother's death, that she could read, and that she was the only one of all the
slaves and colored people in Tuckahoe who enjoyed that advantage. How she
acquired this knowledge, I know not, for Tuckahoe is the last place in the
world where she would be apt to find facilities for learning. I can, therefore,
fondly and proudly ascribe to her an earnest love of knowledge. That a
"field hand" should learn to read, in any slave state, is remarkable;
but the achievement of my mother, considering the place, was very
extraordinary; and, in view of that fact, I am quite willing, and even happy,
to attribute any love of letters I possess, and for which I have got--despite
of prejudices only too much credit, not to my admitted Anglo-Saxon paternity,
but to the native genius of my sable, unprotected, and uncultivated mother--a
woman, who belonged to a race whose mental endowments it is, at present,
fashionable to hold in disparagement and contempt.
Summoned away to her
account, with the impassable gulf of slavery between us during her entire
illness, my mother died without leaving me a single intimation of who my father
was. There was a whisper, that my master was my father; yet it was only a
whisper, and I cannot say that I ever gave it credence. Indeed, I now have
reason to think he was not; nevertheless, the fact remains, in all its glaring
odiousness, that, by the laws of slavery, children, in all cases, are reduced
to the condition of their mothers. This arrangement admits of the greatest
license to brutal slaveholders, and their profligate sons, brothers, relations
and friends, and gives to the pleasure of sin, the additional attraction of
profit. A whole volume might be written on this single feature of slavery, as I
have observed it.
One might imagine, that
the children of such connections, would fare better, in the hands of their
masters, than other slaves. The rule is quite the other way; and a very little
reflection will satisfy the reader that such is the case. A man who will enslave
his own blood, may not be safely relied on for magnanimity. Men do not love
those who remind them of their sins unless they have a mind to repent--and the
mulatto child's face is a standing accusation against him who is master and
father to the child. What is still worse, perhaps, such a child is a constant
offense to the wife. She hates its very presence, and when a slaveholding woman
hates, she wants not means to give that hate telling effect. Women--white
women, I mean--are IDOLS at the south, not WIVES, for the slave women are
preferred in many instances; and if these idols but nod, or lift a finger, woe
to the poor victim: kicks, cuffs and stripes are sure to follow. Masters are
frequently compelled to sell this class of their slaves, out of deference to
the feelings of their white wives; and shocking and scandalous as it may seem
for a man to sell his own blood to the traffickers in human flesh, it is often
an act of humanity toward the slave-child to be thus removed from his merciless
tormentors.
It is not within the
scope of the design of my simple story, to comment upon every phase of slavery
not within my experience as a slave.
But, I may remark,
that, if the lineal descendants of Ham are only to be enslaved, according to
the scriptures, slavery in this country will soon become an unscriptural
institution; for thousands are ushered into the world, annually, who--like
myself--owe their existence to white fathers, and, most frequently, to their
masters, and master's sons. The slave-woman is at the mercy of the fathers,
sons or brothers of her master. The thoughtful know the rest.
After what I have now
said of the circumstances of my mother, and my relations to her, the reader
will not be surprised, nor be disposed to censure me, when I tell but the
simple truth, viz: that I received the tidings of her death with no strong
emotions of sorrow for her, and with very little regret for myself on account
of her loss. I had to learn the value of my mother long after her death, and by
witnessing the devotion of other mothers to their children.
There is not, beneath
the sky, an enemy to filial affection so destructive as slavery. It had made my
brothers and sisters strangers to me; it converted the mother that bore me,
into a myth; it shrouded my father in mystery, and left me without an
intelligible beginning in the world.
My mother died when I
could not have been more than eight or nine years old, on one of old master's
farms in Tuckahoe, in the neighborhood of Hillsborough. Her grave is, as the grave
of the dead at sea, unmarked, and without stone or stake.
ISOLATION OF LLOYD S
PLANTATION--PUBLIC OPINION THERE NO PROTECTION TO THE SLAVE--ABSOLUTE POWER OF
THE OVERSEER--NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL CHARMS OF THE PLACE--ITS BUSINESS-LIKE
APPEARANCE--SUPERSTITION ABOUT THE BURIAL GROUND--GREAT IDEAS OF COL.
LLOYD--ETIQUETTE AMONG SLAVES--THE COMIC SLAVE DOCTOR--PRAYING AND
FLOGGING--OLD MASTER LOSING ITS TERRORS--HIS BUSINESS--CHARACTER OF AUNT KATY--SUFFERINGS
FROM HUNGER--OLD MASTER'S HOME--JARGON OF THE PLANTATION--GUINEA SLAVES--MASTER
DANIEL--FAMILY OF COL. LLOYD--FAMILY OF CAPT. ANTHONY--HIS SOCIAL
POSITION--NOTIONS OF RANK AND STATION.
It is generally
supposed that slavery, in the state of Maryland, exists in its mildest form,
and that it is totally divested of those harsh and terrible peculiarities,
which mark and characterize the slave system, in the southern and south-western
states of the American union. The argument in favor of this opinion, is the
contiguity of the free states, and the exposed condition of slavery in Maryland
to the moral, religious and humane sentiment of the free states.
I am not about to
refute this argument, so far as it relates to slavery in that state, generally;
on the contrary, I am willing to admit that, to this general point, the
arguments is well grounded. Public opinion is, indeed, an unfailing restraint
upon the cruelty and barbarity of masters, overseers, and slave-drivers,
whenever and wherever it can reach them; but there are certain secluded and
out-of-the-way places, even in the state of Maryland, seldom visited by a
single ray of healthy public sentiment--where slavery, wrapt in its own
congenial, midnight darkness, can, and does, develop all its malign and
shocking characteristics; where it can be indecent without shame, cruel without
shuddering, and murderous without apprehension or fear of exposure.
Just such a secluded,
dark, and out-of-the-way place, is the "home plantation" of Col.
Edward Lloyd, on the Eastern Shore, Maryland. It is far away from all the great
thoroughfares, and is proximate to no town or village. There is neither
school-house, nor town-house in its neighborhood. The school-house is
unnecessary, for there are no children to go to school. The children and
grand-children of Col. Lloyd were taught in the house, by a private tutor--a
Mr. Page a tall, gaunt sapling of a man, who did not speak a dozen words to a
slave in a whole year. The overseers' children go off somewhere to school; and
they, therefore, bring no foreign or dangerous influence from abroad, to
embarrass the natural operation of the slave system of the place. Not even the
mechanics--through whom there is an occasional out-burst of honest and telling
indignation, at cruelty and wrong on other plantations--are white men, on this
plantation. Its whole public is made up of, and divided into, three
classes--SLAVEHOLDERS, SLAVES and OVERSEERS. Its blacksmiths, wheelwrights,
shoemakers, weavers, and coopers, are slaves. Not even commerce, selfish and
iron-hearted at it is, and ready, as it ever is, to side with the strong
against the weak-- the rich against the poor--is trusted or permitted within
its secluded precincts. Whether with a view of guarding against the escape of
its secrets, I know not, but it is a fact, the every leaf and grain of the
produce of this plantation, and those of the neighboring farms belonging to
Col. Lloyd, are transported to Baltimore in Col. Lloyd's own vessels; every man
and boy on board of which--except the captain--are owned by him. In return,
everything brought to the plantation, comes through the same channel. Thus,
even the glimmering and unsteady light of trade, which sometimes exerts a
civilizing influence, is excluded from this "tabooed" spot.
Nearly all the
plantations or farms in the vicinity of the "home plantation" of Col.
Lloyd, belong to him; and those which do not, are owned by personal friends of
his, as deeply interested in maintaining the slave system, in all its rigor, as
Col. Lloyd himself. Some of his neighbors are said to be even more stringent
than he. The Skinners, the Peakers, the Tilgmans, the Lockermans, and the
Gipsons, are in the same boat; being slaveholding neighbors, they may have
strengthened each other in their iron rule. They are on intimate terms, and
their interests and tastes are identical.
Public opinion in such
a quarter, the reader will see, is not likely to very efficient in protecting
the slave from cruelty. On the contrary, it must increase and intensify his wrongs.
Public opinion seldom differs very widely from public practice. To be a
restraint upon cruelty and vice, public opinion must emanate from a humane and
virtuous community. To no such humane and virtuous community, is Col. Lloyd's
plantation exposed. That plantation is a little nation of its own, having its
own language, its own rules, regulations and customs. The laws and institutions
of the state, apparently touch it nowhere. The troubles arising here, are not
settled by the civil power of the state. The overseer is generally accuser,
judge, jury, advocate and executioner. The criminal is always dumb. The
overseer attends to all sides of a case.
There are no
conflicting rights of property, for all the people are owned by one man; and
they can themselves own no property. Religion and politics are alike excluded.
One class of the population is too high to be reached by the preacher; and the
other class is too low to be cared for by the preacher. The poor have the
gospel preached to them, in this neighborhood, only when they are able to pay
for it. The slaves, having no money, get no gospel. The politician keeps away,
because the people have no votes, and the preacher keeps away, because the
people have no money. The rich planter can afford to learn politics in the
parlor, and to dispense with religion altogether.
In its isolation,
seclusion, and self-reliant independence, Col. Lloyd's plantation resembles
what the baronial domains were during the middle ages in Europe. Grim, cold,
and unapproachable by all genial influences from communities without, there it
stands; full three hundred years behind the age, in all that relates to
humanity and morals.
This, however, is not
the only view that the place presents. Civilization is shut out, but nature
cannot be. Though separated from the rest of the world; though public opinion,
as I have said, seldom gets a chance to penetrate its dark domain; though the
whole place is stamped with its own peculiar, ironlike individuality; and
though crimes, high-handed and atrocious, may there be committed, with almost
as much impunity as upon the deck of a pirate ship--it is, nevertheless,
altogether, to outward seeming, a most strikingly interesting place, full of
life, activity, and spirit; and presents a very favorable contrast to the
indolent monotony and languor of Tuckahoe. Keen as was my regret and great as
was my sorrow at leaving the latter, I was not long in adapting myself to this,
my new home. A man's troubles are always half disposed of, when he finds
endurance his only remedy. I found myself here; there was no getting away; and
what remained for me, but to make the best of it? Here were plenty of children
to play with, and plenty of places of pleasant resort for boys of my age, and
boys older. The little tendrils of affection, so rudely and treacherously
broken from around the darling objects of my grandmother's hut, gradually began
to extend, and to entwine about the new objects by which I now found myself
surrounded.
There was a windmill
(always a commanding object to a child's eye) on Long Point--a tract of land
dividing Miles river from the Wye a mile or more from my old master's house.
There was a creek to swim in, at the bottom of an open flat space, of twenty
acres or more, called "the Long Green"--a very beautiful play-ground
for the children.
In the river, a short
distance from the shore, lying quietly at anchor, with her small boat dancing
at her stern, was a large sloop--the Sally Lloyd; called by that name in honor
of a favorite daughter of the colonel. The sloop and the mill were wondrous
things, full of thoughts and ideas. A child cannot well look at such objects
without thinking.
Then here were a great
many houses; human habitations, full of the mysteries of life at every stage of
it. There was the little red house, up the road, occupied by Mr. Sevier, the
overseer. A little nearer to my old master's, stood a very long, rough, low
building, literally alive with slaves, of all ages, conditions and sizes. This
was called "the Longe Quarter." Perched upon a hill, across the Long
Green, was a very tall, dilapidated, old brick building--the architectural
dimensions of which proclaimed its erection for a different purpose--now
occupied by slaves, in a similar manner to the Long Quarter. Besides these, there
were numerous other slave houses and huts, scattered around in the
neighborhood, every nook and corner of which was completely occupied. Old
master's house, a long, brick building, plain, but substantial, stood in the
center of the plantation life, and constituted one independent establishment on
the premises of Col. Lloyd.
Besides these dwellings,
there were barns, stables, store-houses, and tobacco-houses; blacksmiths'
shops, wheelwrights' shops, coopers' shops--all objects of interest; but, above
all, there stood the grandest building my eyes had then ever beheld, called, by
every one on the plantation, the "Great House." This was occupied by
Col. Lloyd and his family. They occupied it; I enjoyed it. The great house was
surrounded by numerous and variously shaped out-buildings. There were kitchens,
wash-houses, dairies, summer-house, green-houses, hen-houses, turkey-houses,
pigeon-houses, and arbors, of many sizes and devices, all neatly painted, and
altogether interspersed with grand old trees, ornamental and primitive, which
afforded delightful shade in summer, and imparted to the scene a high degree of
stately beauty. The great house itself was a large, white, wooden building,
with wings on three sides of it. In front, a large portico, extending the
entire length of the building, and supported by a long range of columns, gave
to the whole establishment an air of solemn grandeur. It was a treat to my
young and gradually opening mind, to behold this elaborate exhibition of
wealth, power, and vanity. The carriage entrance to the house was a large gate,
more than a quarter of a mile distant from it; the intermediate space was a
beautiful lawn, very neatly trimmed, and watched with the greatest care. It was
dotted thickly over with delightful trees, shrubbery, and flowers. The road, or
lane, from the gate to the great house, was richly paved with white pebbles
from the beach, and, in its course, formed a complete circle around the
beautiful lawn. Carriages going in and retiring from the great house, made the
circuit of the lawn, and their passengers were permitted to behold a scene of
almost Eden-like beauty. Outside this select inclosure, were parks, where as
about the residences of the English nobility--rabbits, deer, and other wild
game, might be seen, peering and playing about, with none to molest them or
make them afraid. The tops of the stately poplars were often covered with the
red-winged black-birds, making all nature vocal with the joyous life and beauty
of their wild, warbling notes. These all belonged to me, as well as to Col.
Edward Lloyd, and for a time I greatly enjoyed them.
A short distance from
the great house, were the stately mansions of the dead, a place of somber
aspect. Vast tombs, embowered beneath the weeping willow and the fir tree, told
of the antiquities of the Lloyd family, as well as of their wealth.
Superstition was rife among the slaves about this family burying ground.
Strange sights had been seen there by some of the older slaves. Shrouded
ghosts, riding on great black horses, had been seen to enter; balls of fire had
been seen to fly there at midnight, and horrid sounds had been repeatedly
heard. Slaves know enough of the rudiments of theology to believe that those go
to hell who die slaveholders; and they often fancy such persons wishing
themselves back again, to wield the lash. Tales of sights and sounds, strange
and terrible, connected with the huge black tombs, were a very great security
to the grounds about them, for few of the slaves felt like approaching them
even in the day time. It was a dark, gloomy and forbidding place, and it was
difficult to feel that the spirits of the sleeping dust there deposited,
reigned with the blest in the realms of eternal peace.
The business of twenty
or thirty farms was transacted at this, called, by way of eminence, "great
house farm." These farms all belonged to Col. Lloyd, as did, also, the
slaves upon them. Each farm was under the management of an overseer. As I have
said of the overseer of the home plantation, so I may say of the overseers on
the smaller ones; they stand between the slave and all civil constitutions--their
word is law, and is implicitly obeyed.
The colonel, at this
time, was reputed to be, and he apparently was, very rich. His slaves, alone,
were an immense fortune. These, small and great, could not have been fewer than
one thousand in number, and though scarcely a month passed without the sale of
one or more lots to the Georgia traders, there was no apparent diminution in
the number of his human stock: the home plantation merely groaned at a removal
of the young increase, or human crop, then proceeded as lively as ever.
Horse-shoeing, cart-mending, plow-repairing, coopering, grinding, and weaving,
for all the neighboring farms, were performed here, and slaves were employed in
all these branches. "Uncle Tony" was the blacksmith; "Uncle Harry"
was the cartwright; "Uncle Abel" was the shoemaker; and all these had
hands to assist them in their several departments.
These mechanics were
called "uncles" by all the younger slaves, not because they really
sustained that relationship to any, but according to plantation etiquette, as a
mark of respect, due from the younger to the older slaves. Strange, and even
ridiculous as it may seem, among a people so uncultivated, and with so many
stern trials to look in the face, there is not to be found, among any people, a
more rigid enforcement of the law of respect to elders, than they maintain. I
set this down as partly constitutional with my race, and partly conventional.
There is no better material in the world for making a gentleman, than is
furnished in the African. He shows to others, and exacts for himself, all the
tokens of respect which he is compelled to manifest toward his master. A young
slave must approach the company of the older with hat in hand, and woe betide
him, if he fails to acknowledge a favor, of any sort, with the accustomed
"tank'ee," &c. So uniformly are good manners enforced among
slaves, I can easily detect a "bogus" fugitive by his manners.
Among other slave
notabilities of the plantation, was one called by everybody Uncle Isaac Copper.
It is seldom that a slave gets a surname from anybody in Maryland; and so
completely has the south shaped the manners of the north, in this respect, that
even abolitionists make very little of the surname of a Negro. The only
improvement on the "Bills," "Jacks," "Jims," and
"Neds" of the south, observable here is, that "William,"
"John," "James," "Edward," are substituted. It
goes against the grain to treat and address a Negro precisely as they would treat
and address a white man. But, once in a while, in slavery as in the free
states, by some extraordinary circumstance, the Negro has a surname fastened to
him, and holds it against all conventionalities. This was the case with Uncle
Isaac Copper. When the "uncle" was dropped, he generally had the
prefix "doctor," in its stead. He was our doctor of medicine, and
doctor of divinity as well. Where he took his degree I am unable to say, for he
was not very communicative to inferiors, and I was emphatically such, being but
a boy seven or eight years old. He was too well established in his profession
to permit questions as to his native skill, or his attainments. One
qualification he undoubtedly had--he was a confirmed cripple; and he could
neither work, nor would he bring anything if offered for sale in the market.
The old man, though lame, was no sluggard. He was a man that made his crutches
do him good service. He was always on the alert, looking up the sick, and all
such as were supposed to need his counsel. His remedial prescriptions embraced
four articles. For diseases of the body, Epsom salts and castor oil; for those
of the soul, the Lord's Prayer, and hickory switches!
I was not long at Col.
Lloyd's before I was placed under the care of Doctor Issac Copper. I was sent
to him with twenty or thirty other children, to learn the "Lord's
Prayer." I found the old gentleman seated on a huge three-legged oaken
stool, armed with several large hickory switches; and, from his position, he
could reach--lame as he was--any boy in the room. After standing awhile to learn
what was expected of us, the old gentleman, in any other than a devotional
tone, commanded us to kneel down. This done, he commenced telling us to say
everything he said. "Our Father"--this was repeated after him with
promptness and uniformity; "Who art in heaven"--was less promptly and
uniformly repeated; and the old gentleman paused in the prayer, to give us a
short lecture upon the consequences of inattention, both immediate and future,
and especially those more immediate. About these he was absolutely certain, for
he held in his right hand the means of bringing all his predictions and
warnings to pass. On he proceeded with the prayer; and we with our thick
tongues and unskilled ears, followed him to the best of our ability. This,
however, was not sufficient to please the old gentleman. Everybody, in the
south, wants the privilege of whipping somebody else. Uncle Isaac shared the
common passion of his country, and, therefore, seldom found any means of
keeping his disciples in order short of flogging. "Say everything I
say;" and bang would come the switch on some poor boy's undevotional head.
"What you looking at there"--"Stop that pushing"--and down
again would come the lash.
The whip is all in all.
It is supposed to secure obedience to the slaveholder, and is held as a
sovereign remedy among the slaves themselves, for every form of disobedience,
temporal or spiritual. Slaves, as well as slaveholders, use it with an
unsparing hand. Our devotions at Uncle Isaac's combined too much of the tragic
and comic, to make them very salutary in a spiritual point of view; and it is
due to truth to say, I was often a truant when the time for attending the
praying and flogging of Doctor Isaac Copper came on.
The windmill under the
care of Mr. Kinney, a kind hearted old Englishman, was to me a source of
infinite interest and pleasure. The old man always seemed pleased when he saw a
troop of darkey little urchins, with their tow-linen shirts fluttering in the
breeze, approaching to view and admire the whirling wings of his wondrous
machine. From the mill we could see other objects of deep interest. These were,
the vessels from St. Michael's, on their way to Baltimore. It was a source of
much amusement to view the flowing sails and complicated rigging, as the little
crafts dashed by, and to speculate upon Baltimore, as to the kind and quality
of the place. With so many sources of interest around me, the reader may be
prepared to learn that I began to think very highly of Col. L.'s plantation. It
was just a place to my boyish taste. There were fish to be caught in the creek,
if one only had a hook and line; and crabs, clams and oysters were to be caught
by wading, digging and raking for them. Here was a field for industry and
enterprise, strongly inviting; and the reader may be assured that I entered
upon it with spirit.
Even the much dreaded
old master, whose merciless fiat had brought me from Tuckahoe, gradually, to my
mind, parted with his terrors. Strange enough, his reverence seemed to take no
particular notice of me, nor of my coming. Instead of leaping out and devouring
me, he scarcely seemed conscious of my presence. The fact is, he was occupied
with matters more weighty and important than either looking after or vexing me.
He probably thought as little of my advent, as he would have thought of the
addition of a single pig to his stock!
As the chief butler on
Col. Lloyd's plantation, his duties were numerous and perplexing. In almost all
important matters he answered in Col. Lloyd's stead. The overseers of all the
farms were in some sort under him, and received the law from his mouth. The
colonel himself seldom addressed an overseer, or allowed an overseer to address
him. Old master carried the keys of all store houses; measured out the
allowance for each slave at the end of every month; superintended the storing
of all goods brought to the plantation; dealt out the raw material to all the
handicraftsmen; shipped the grain, tobacco, and all saleable produce of the
plantation to market, and had the general over-sight of the coopers' shop,
wheelwrights' shop, blacksmiths' shop, and shoemakers' shop. Besides the care
of these, he often had business for the plantation which required him to be
absent two and three days.
Thus largely employed,
he had little time, and perhaps as little disposition, to interfere with the
children individually. What he was to Col. Lloyd, he made Aunt Katy to him.
When he had anything to say or do about us, it was said or done in a wholesale
manner; disposing of us in classes or sizes, leaving all minor details to Aunt
Katy, a person of whom the reader has already received no very favorable
impression. Aunt Katy was a woman who never allowed herself to act greatly
within the margin of power granted to her, no matter how broad that authority
might be. Ambitious, ill-tempered and cruel, she found in her present position
an ample field for the exercise of her ill-omened qualities. She had a strong
hold on old master she was considered a first rate cook, and she really was
very industrious. She was, therefore, greatly favored by old master, and as one
mark of his favor, she was the only mother who was permitted to retain her
children around her. Even to these children she was often fiendish in her
brutality. She pursued her son Phil, one day, in my presence, with a huge
butcher knife, and dealt a blow with its edge which left a shocking gash on his
arm, near the wrist. For this, old master did sharply rebuke her, and
threatened that if she ever should do the like again, he would take the skin
off her back. Cruel, however, as Aunt Katy was to her own children, at times
she was not destitute of maternal feeling, as I often had occasion to know, in
the bitter pinches of hunger I had to endure. Differing from the practice of
Col. Lloyd, old master, instead of allowing so much for each slave, committed
the allowance for all to the care of Aunt Katy, to be divided after cooking it,
amongst us. The allowance, consisting of coarse corn-meal, was not very
abundant--indeed, it was very slender; and in passing through Aunt Katy's
hands, it was made more slender still, for some of us. William, Phil and Jerry
were her children, and it is not to accuse her too severely, to allege that she
was often guilty of starving myself and the other children, while she was
literally cramming her own. Want of food was my chief trouble the first summer
at my old master's. Oysters and clams would do very well, with an occasional
supply of bread, but they soon failed in the absence of bread. I speak but the
simple truth, when I say, I have often been so pinched with hunger, that I have
fought with the dog--"Old Nep"--for the smallest crumbs that fell
from the kitchen table, and have been glad when I won a single crumb in the
combat. Many times have I followed, with eager step, the waiting-girl when she
went out to shake the table cloth, to get the crumbs and small bones flung out
for the cats. The water, in which meat had been boiled, was as eagerly sought
for by me. It was a great thing to get the privilege of dipping a piece of
bread in such water; and the skin taken from rusty bacon, was a positive
luxury. Nevertheless, I sometimes got full meals and kind words from
sympathizing old slaves, who knew my sufferings, and received the comforting
assurance that I should be a man some day. "Never mind, honey--better day
comin'," was even then a solace, a cheering consolation to me in my
troubles. Nor were all the kind words I received from slaves. I had a friend in
the parlor, as well, and one to whom I shall be glad to do justice, before I
have finished this part of my story.
I was not long at old
master's, before I learned that his surname was Anthony, and that he was
generally called "Captain Anthony"--a title which he probably
acquired by sailing a craft in the Chesapeake Bay. Col. Lloyd's slaves never
called Capt. Anthony "old master," but always Capt. Anthony; and me
they called "Captain Anthony Fred." There is not, probably, in the
whole south, a plantation where the English language is more imperfectly spoken
than on Col. Lloyd's. It is a mixture of Guinea and everything else you please.
At the time of which I am now writing, there were slaves there who had been
brought from the coast of Africa. They never used the "s" in
indication of the possessive case. "Cap'n Ant'ney Tom," "Lloyd
Bill," "Aunt Rose Harry," means "Captain Anthony's
Tom," "Lloyd's Bill," &c. "Oo you dem long to?"
means, "Whom do you belong to?" "Oo dem got any peachy?"
means, "Have you got any peaches?" I could scarcely understand them
when I first went among them, so broken was their speech; and I am persuaded
that I could not have been dropped anywhere on the globe, where I could reap
less, in the way of knowledge, from my immediate associates, than on this
plantation. Even "MAS' DANIEL," by his association with his father's
slaves, had measurably adopted their dialect and their ideas, so far as they
had ideas to be adopted. The equality of nature is strongly asserted in
childhood, and childhood requires children for associates. Color makes no
difference with a child. Are you a child with wants, tastes and pursuits common
to children, not put on, but natural? then, were you black as ebony you would
be welcome to the child of alabaster whiteness. The law of compensation holds
here, as well as elsewhere. Mas' Daniel could not associate with ignorance
without sharing its shade; and he could not give his black playmates his
company, without giving them his intelligence, as well. Without knowing this,
or caring about it, at the time, I, for some cause or other, spent much of my
time with Mas' Daniel, in preference to spending it with most of the other
boys.
Mas' Daniel was the
youngest son of Col. Lloyd; his older brothers were Edward and Murray--both
grown up, and fine looking men. Edward was especially esteemed by the children,
and by me among the rest; not that he ever said anything to us or for us, which
could be called especially kind; it was enough for us, that he never looked nor
acted scornfully toward us. There were also three sisters, all married; one to
Edward Winder; a second to Edward Nicholson; a third to Mr. Lownes.
The family of old
master consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; his daughter, Lucretia, and
her newly married husband, Capt. Auld. This was the house family. The kitchen
family consisted of Aunt Katy, Aunt Esther, and ten or a dozen children, most
of them older than myself. Capt. Anthony was not considered a rich slaveholder,
but was pretty well off in the world. He owned about thirty "head" of
slaves, and three farms in Tuckahoe. The most valuable part of his property was
his slaves, of whom he could afford to sell one every year. This crop,
therefore, brought him seven or eight hundred dollars a year, besides his
yearly salary, and other revenue from his farms.
The idea of rank and
station was rigidly maintained on Col. Lloyd's plantation. Our family never
visited the great house, and the Lloyds never came to our home. Equal
non-intercourse was observed between Capt. Anthony's family and that of Mr.
Sevier, the overseer.
Such, kind reader, was
the community, and such the place, in which my earliest and most lasting
impressions of slavery, and of slave-life, were received; of which impressions
you will learn more in the coming chapters of this book.
GROWING ACQUAINTANCE
WITH OLD MASTER--HIS CHARACTER--EVILS OF UNRESTRAINED PASSION--APPARENT
TENDERNESS--OLD MASTER A MAN OF TROUBLE--CUSTOM OF MUTTERING TO
HIMSELF--NECESSITY OF BEING AWARE OF HIS WORDS--THE SUPPOSED OBTUSENESS OF
SLAVE-CHILDREN--BRUTAL OUTRAGE--DRUNKEN OVERSEER--SLAVEHOLDER'S
IMPATIENCE--WISDOM OF APPEALING TO SUPERIORS--THE SLAVEHOLDER S WRATH BAD AS
THAT OF THE OVERSEER--A BASE AND SELFISH ATTEMPT TO BREAK UP A COURTSHIP--A
HARROWING SCENE.
Although my old
master--Capt. Anthony--gave me at first, (as the reader will have already seen)
very little attention, and although that little was of a remarkably mild and
gentle description, a few months only were sufficient to convince me that
mildness and gentleness were not the prevailing or governing traits of his
character. These excellent qualities were displayed only occasionally. He
could, when it suited him, appear to be literally insensible to the claims of
humanity, when appealed to by the helpless against an aggressor, and he could
himself commit outrages, deep, dark and nameless. Yet he was not by nature
worse than other men. Had he been brought up in a free state, surrounded by the
just restraints of free society--restraints which are necessary to the freedom
of all its members, alike and equally--Capt. Anthony might have been as humane
a man, and every way as respectable, as many who now oppose the slave system;
certainly as humane and respectable as are members of society generally. The
slaveholder, as well as the slave, is the victim of the slave system. A man's
character greatly takes its hue and shape from the form and color of things
about him. Under the whole heavens there is no relation more unfavorable to the
development of honorable character, than that sustained by the slaveholder to
the slave. Reason is imprisoned here, and passions run wild. Like the fires of
the prairie, once lighted, they are at the mercy of every wind, and must burn,
till they have consumed all that is combustible within their remorseless grasp.
Capt. Anthony could be kind, and, at times, he even showed an affectionate
disposition. Could the reader have seen him gently leading me by the hand--as
he sometimes did--patting me on the head, speaking to me in soft, caressing
tones and calling me his "little Indian boy," he would have deemed
him a kind old man, and really, almost fatherly. But the pleasant moods of a
slaveholder are remarkably brittle; they are easily snapped; they neither come
often, nor remain long. His temper is subjected to perpetual trials; but, since
these trials are never borne patiently, they add nothing to his natural stock
of patience.
Old master very early
impressed me with the idea that he was an unhappy man. Even to my child's eye,
he wore a troubled, and at times, a haggard aspect. His strange movements
excited my curiosity, and awakened my compassion. He seldom walked alone
without muttering to himself; and he occasionally stormed about, as if defying
an army of invisible foes. "He would do this, that, and the other; he'd be
d--d if he did not,"--was the usual form of his threats. Most of his
leisure was spent in walking, cursing and gesticulating, like one possessed by
a demon. Most evidently, he was a wretched man, at war with his own soul, and
with all the world around him. To be overheard by the children, disturbed him
very little. He made no more of our presence, than of that of the ducks and
geese which he met on the green. He little thought that the little black
urchins around him, could see, through those vocal crevices, the very secrets
of his heart. Slaveholders ever underrate the intelligence with which they have
to grapple. I really understood the old man's mutterings, attitudes and
gestures, about as well as he did himself. But slaveholders never encourage
that kind of communication, with the slaves, by which they might learn to
measure the depths of his knowledge. Ignorance is a high virtue in a human
chattel; and as the master studies to keep the slave ignorant, the slave is
cunning enough to make the master think he succeeds. The slave fully
appreciates the saying, "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be
wise." When old master's gestures were violent, ending with a threatening
shake of the head, and a sharp snap of his middle finger and thumb, I deemed it
wise to keep at a respectable distance from him; for, at such times, trifling
faults stood, in his eyes, as momentous offenses; and, having both the power
and the disposition, the victim had only to be near him to catch the
punishment, deserved or undeserved.
One of the first
circumstances that opened my eyes to the cruelty and wickedness of slavery, and
the heartlessness of my old master, was the refusal of the latter to interpose
his authority, to protect and shield a young woman, who had been most cruelly
abused and beaten by his overseer in Tuckahoe. This overseer--a Mr.
Plummer--was a man like most of his class, little better than a human brute;
and, in addition to his general profligacy and repulsive coarseness, the
creature was a miserable drunkard. He was, probably, employed by my old master,
less on account of the excellence of his services, than for the cheap rate at
which they could be obtained. He was not fit to have the management of a drove
of mules. In a fit of drunken madness, he committed the outrage which brought
the young woman in question down to my old master's for protection. This young
woman was the daughter of Milly, an own aunt of mine. The poor girl, on
arriving at our house, presented a pitiable appearance. She had left in haste,
and without preparation; and, probably, without the knowledge of Mr. Plummer.
She had traveled twelve miles, bare-footed, bare-necked and bare-headed. Her
neck and shoulders were covered with scars, newly made; and not content with
marring her neck and shoulders, with the cowhide, the cowardly brute had dealt
her a blow on the head with a hickory club, which cut a horrible gash, and left
her face literally covered with blood. In this condition, the poor young woman
came down, to implore protection at the hands of my old master. I expected to
see him boil over with rage at the revolting deed, and to hear him fill the air
with curses upon the brutal Plummer; but I was disappointed. He sternly told
her, in an angry tone, he "believed she deserved every bit of it,"
and, if she did not go home instantly, he would himself take the remaining skin
from her neck and back. Thus was the poor girl compelled to return, without
redress, and perhaps to receive an additional flogging for daring to appeal to
old master against the overseer.
Old master seemed
furious at the thought of being troubled by such complaints. I did not, at that
time, understand the philosophy of his treatment of my cousin. It was stern,
unnatural, violent. Had the man no bowels of compassion? Was he dead to all
sense of humanity? No. I think I now understand it. This treatment is a part of
the system, rather than a part of the man. Were slaveholders to listen to
complaints of this sort against the overseers, the luxury of owning large
numbers of slaves, would be impossible. It would do away with the office of
overseer, entirely; or, in other words, it would convert the master himself
into an overseer. It would occasion great loss of time and labor, leaving the
overseer in fetters, and without the necessary power to secure obedience to his
orders. A privilege so dangerous as that of appeal, is, therefore, strictly
prohibited; and any one exercising it, runs a fearful hazard. Nevertheless,
when a slave has nerve enough to exercise it, and boldly approaches his master,
with a well-founded complaint against an overseer, though he may be repulsed,
and may even have that of which he complains repeated at the time, and, though
he may be beaten by his master, as well as by the overseer, for his temerity,
in the end the policy of complaining is, generally, vindicated by the relaxed
rigor of the overseer's treatment. The latter becomes more careful, and less
disposed to use the lash upon such slaves thereafter. It is with this final
result in view, rather than with any expectation of immediate good, that the
outraged slave is induced to meet his master with a complaint. The overseer
very naturally dislikes to have the ear of the master disturbed by complaints;
and, either upon this consideration, or upon advice and warning privately given
him by his employers, he generally modifies the rigor of his rule, after an
outbreak of the kind to which I have been referring.
Howsoever the
slaveholder may allow himself to act toward his slave, and, whatever cruelty he
may deem it wise, for example's sake, or for the gratification of his humor, to
inflict, he cannot, in the absence of all provocation, look with pleasure upon
the bleeding wounds of a defenseless slave-woman. When he drives her from his
presence without redress, or the hope of redress, he acts, generally, from
motives of policy, rather than from a hardened nature, or from innate
brutality. Yet, let but his own temper be stirred, his own passions get loose,
and the slave-owner will go far beyond the overseer in cruelty. He will
convince the slave that his wrath is far more terrible and boundless, and
vastly more to be dreaded, than that of the underling overseer. What may have
been mechanically and heartlessly done by the overseer, is now done with a
will. The man who now wields the lash is irresponsible. He may, if he pleases,
cripple or kill, without fear of consequences; except in so far as it may
concern profit or loss. To a man of violent temper--as my old master was--this
was but a very slender and inefficient restraint. I have seen him in a tempest
of passion, such as I have just described--a passion into which entered all the
bitter ingredients of pride, hatred, envy, jealousy, and the thirst for
revenge.
The circumstances which
I am about to narrate, and which gave rise to this fearful tempest of passion,
are not singular nor isolated in slave life, but are common in every
slaveholding community in which I have lived. They are incidental to the
relation of master and slave, and exist in all sections of slave-holding
countries.
The reader will have
noticed that, in enumerating the names of the slaves who lived with my old
master, Esther is mentioned. This was a young woman who possessed that which is
ever a curse to the slave-girl; namely--personal beauty. She was tall, well
formed, and made a fine appearance. The daughters of Col. Lloyd could scarcely
surpass her in personal charms. Esther was courted by Ned Roberts, and he was
as fine looking a young man, as she was a woman. He was the son of a favorite
slave of Col. Lloyd. Some slaveholders would have been glad to promote the
marriage of two such persons; but, for some reason or other, my old master took
it upon him to break up the growing intimacy between Esther and Edward. He
strictly ordered her to quit the company of said Roberts, telling her that he
would punish her severely if he ever found her again in Edward's company. This
unnatural and heartless order was, of course, broken. A woman's love is not to
be annihilated by the peremptory command of any one, whose breath is in his
nostrils. It was impossible to keep Edward and Esther apart. Meet they would,
and meet they did. Had old master been a man of honor and purity, his motives,
in this matter, might have been viewed more favorably. As it was, his motives
were as abhorrent, as his methods were foolish and contemptible. It was too
evident that he was not concerned for the girl's welfare. It is one of the
damning characteristics of the slave system, that it robs its victims of every
earthly incentive to a holy life. The fear of God, and the hope of heaven, are
found sufficient to sustain many slave-women, amidst the snares and dangers of
their strange lot; but, this side of God and heaven, a slave-woman is at the
mercy of the power, caprice and passion of her owner. Slavery provides no means
for the honorable continuance of the race. Marriage as imposing obligations on
the parties to it--has no existence here, except in such hearts as are purer
and higher than the standard morality around them. It is one of the
consolations of my life, that I know of many honorable instances of persons who
maintained their honor, where all around was corrupt.
Esther was evidently
much attached to Edward, and abhorred--as she had reason to do--the tyrannical
and base behavior of old master. Edward was young, and fine looking, and he
loved and courted her. He might have been her husband, in the high sense just
alluded to; but WHO and what was this old master? His attentions were plainly
brutal and selfish, and it was as natural that Esther should loathe him, as
that she should love Edward. Abhorred and circumvented as he was, old master,
having the power, very easily took revenge. I happened to see this exhibition
of his rage and cruelty toward Esther. The time selected was singular. It was
early in the morning, when all besides was still, and before any of the family,
in the house or kitchen, had left their beds. I saw but few of the shocking
preliminaries, for the cruel work had begun before I awoke. I was probably
awakened by the shrieks and piteous cries of poor Esther. My sleeping place was
on the floor of a little, rough closet, which opened into the kitchen; and
through the cracks of its unplaned boards, I could distinctly see and hear what
was going on, without being seen by old master. Esther's wrists were firmly
tied, and the twisted rope was fastened to a strong staple in a heavy wooden
joist above, near the fireplace. Here she stood, on a bench, her arms tightly
drawn over her breast. Her back and shoulders were bare to the waist. Behind
her stood old master, with cowskin in hand, preparing his barbarous work with
all manner of harsh, coarse, and tantalizing epithets. The screams of his
victim were most piercing. He was cruelly deliberate, and protracted the
torture, as one who was delighted with the scene. Again and again he drew the
hateful whip through his hand, adjusting it with a view of dealing the most
pain-giving blow. Poor Esther had never yet been severely whipped, and her
shoulders were plump and tender. Each blow, vigorously laid on, brought screams
as well as blood. "Have mercy; Oh! have mercy" she cried; "I
won't do so no more;" but her piercing cries seemed only to increase his
fury. His answers to them are too coarse and blasphemous to be produced here. The
whole scene, with all its attendants, was revolting and shocking, to the last
degree; and when the motives of this brutal castigation are
considered,--language has no power to convey a just sense of its awful
criminality. After laying on some thirty or forty stripes, old master untied
his suffering victim, and let her get down. She could scarcely stand, when
untied. From my heart I pitied her, and--child though I was--the outrage
kindled in me a feeling far from peaceful; but I was hushed, terrified, stunned,
and could do nothing, and the fate of Esther might be mine next. The scene here
described was often repeated in the case of poor Esther, and her life, as I
knew it, was one of wretchedness.
EARLY REFLECTIONS ON
SLAVERY--PRESENTIMENT OF ONE DAY BEING A FREEMAN--COMBAT BETWEEN AN OVERSEER
AND A SLAVEWOMAN--THE ADVANTAGES OF RESISTANCE--ALLOWANCE DAY ON THE HOME
PLANTATION--THE SINGING OF SLAVES--AN EXPLANATION--THE SLAVES FOOD AND
CLOTHING--NAKED CHILDREN--LIFE IN THE QUARTER--DEPRIVATION OF SLEEP--NURSING
CHILDREN CARRIED TO THE FIELD--DESCRIPTION OF THE COWSKIN--THE ASH-CAKE--MANNER
OF MAKING IT--THE DINNER HOUR--THE CONTRAST.
The heart-rending
incidents, related in the foregoing chapter, led me, thus early, to inquire
into the nature and history of slavery. Why am I a slave? Why are some people
slaves, and others masters? Was there ever a time this was not so? How did the
relation commence? These were the perplexing questions which began now to claim
my thoughts, and to exercise the weak powers of my mind, for I was still but a
child, and knew less than children of the same age in the free states. As my
questions concerning these things were only put to children a little older, and
little better informed than myself, I was not rapid in reaching a solid
footing. By some means I learned from these inquiries that "God, up in the
sky," made every body; and that he made white people to be masters and
mistresses, and black people to be slaves. This did not satisfy me, nor lessen
my interest in the subject. I was told, too, that God was good, and that He
knew what was best for me, and best for everybody. This was less satisfactory
than the first statement; because it came, point blank, against all my notions
of goodness. It was not good to let old master cut the flesh off Esther, and
make her cry so. Besides, how did people know that God made black people to be
slaves? Did they go up in the sky and learn it? or, did He come down and tell
them so? All was dark here. It was some relief to my hard notions of the
goodness of God, that, although he made white men to be slaveholders, he did
not make them to be bad slaveholders, and that, in due time, he would punish
the bad slaveholders; that he would, when they died, send them to the bad
place, where they would be "burnt up." Nevertheless, I could not
reconcile the relation of slavery with my crude notions of goodness.
Then, too, I found that
there were puzzling exceptions to this theory of slavery on both sides, and in
the middle. I knew of blacks who were not slaves; I knew of whites who were not
slaveholders; and I knew of persons who were nearly white, who were slaves.
Color, therefore, was a very unsatisfactory basis for slavery.
Once, however, engaged
in the inquiry, I was not very long in finding out the true solution of the
matter. It was not color, but crime, not God, but man, that afforded the true
explanation of the existence of slavery; nor was I long in finding out another
important truth, viz: what man can make, man can unmake. The appalling darkness
faded away, and I was master of the subject. There were slaves here, direct
from Guinea; and there were many who could say that their fathers and mothers
were stolen from Africa--forced from their homes, and compelled to serve as
slaves. This, to me, was knowledge; but it was a kind of knowledge which filled
me with a burning hatred of slavery, increased my suffering, and left me
without the means of breaking away from my bondage. Yet it was knowledge quite
worth possessing. I could not have been more than seven or eight years old,
when I began to make this subject my study. It was with me in the woods and
fields; along the shore of the river, and wherever my boyish wanderings led me;
and though I was, at that time, quite ignorant of the existence of the free
states, I distinctly remember being, even then, most strongly impressed with
the idea of being a freeman some day. This cheering assurance was an inborn
dream of my human nature a constant menace to slavery--and one which all the
powers of slavery were unable to silence or extinguish.
Up to the time of the
brutal flogging of my Aunt Esther--for she was my own aunt--and the horrid
plight in which I had seen my cousin from Tuckahoe, who had been so badly
beaten by the cruel Mr. Plummer, my attention had not been called, especially,
to the gross features of slavery. I had, of course, heard of whippings and of
savage rencontres between overseers and slaves, but I had always been out of
the way at the times and places of their occurrence. My plays and sports, most
of the time, took me from the corn and tobacco fields, where the great body of
the hands were at work, and where scenes of cruelty were enacted and witnessed.
But, after the whipping of Aunt Esther, I saw many cases of the same shocking
nature, not only in my master's house, but on Col. Lloyd's plantation. One of
the first which I saw, and which greatly agitated me, was the whipping of a
woman belonging to Col. Lloyd, named Nelly. The offense alleged against Nelly,
was one of the commonest and most indefinite in the whole catalogue of offenses
usually laid to the charge of slaves, viz: "impudence." This may mean
almost anything, or nothing at all, just according to the caprice of the master
or overseer, at the moment. But, whatever it is, or is not, if it gets the name
of "impudence," the party charged with it is sure of a flogging. This
offense may be committed in various ways; in the tone of an answer; in
answering at all; in not answering; in the expression of countenance; in the
motion of the head; in the gait, manner and bearing of the slave. In the case
under consideration, I can easily believe that, according to all slaveholding
standards, here was a genuine instance of impudence. In Nelly there were all
the necessary conditions for committing the offense. She was a bright mulatto,
the recognized wife of a favorite "hand" on board Col. Lloyd's sloop,
and the mother of five sprightly children. She was a vigorous and spirited woman,
and one of the most likely, on the plantation, to be guilty of impudence. My
attention was called to the scene, by the noise, curses and screams that
proceeded from it; and, on going a little in that direction, I came upon the
parties engaged in the skirmish. Mr. Siever, the overseer, had hold of Nelly,
when I caught sight of them; he was endeavoring to drag her toward a tree,
which endeavor Nelly was sternly resisting; but to no purpose, except to retard
the progress of the overseer's plans. Nelly--as I have said--was the mother of
five children; three of them were present, and though quite small (from seven
to ten years old, I should think) they gallantly came to their mother's
defense, and gave the overseer an excellent pelting with stones. One of the
little fellows ran up, seized the overseer by the leg and bit him; but the
monster was too busily engaged with Nelly, to pay any attention to the assaults
of the children. There were numerous bloody marks on Mr. Sevier's face, when I
first saw him, and they increased as the struggle went on. The imprints of
Nelly's fingers were visible, and I was glad to see them. Amidst the wild
screams of the children--"Let my mammy go"--"let my mammy
go"--there escaped, from between the teeth of the bullet-headed overseer,
a few bitter curses, mingled with threats, that "he would teach the d--d
b--h how to give a white man impudence." There is no doubt that Nelly felt
herself superior, in some respects, to the slaves around her. She was a wife
and a mother; her husband was a valued and favorite slave. Besides, he was one
of the first hands on board of the sloop, and the sloop hands--since they had
to represent the plantation abroad--were generally treated tenderly. The
overseer never was allowed to whip Harry; why then should he be allowed to whip
Harry's wife? Thoughts of this kind, no doubt, influenced her; but, for
whatever reason, she nobly resisted, and, unlike most of the slaves, seemed
determined to make her whipping cost Mr. Sevier as much as possible. The blood
on his (and her) face, attested her skill, as well as her courage and dexterity
in using her nails. Maddened by her resistance, I expected to see Mr. Sevier
level her to the ground by a stunning blow; but no; like a savage
bull-dog--which he resembled both in temper and appearance--he maintained his
grip, and steadily dragged his victim toward the tree, disregarding alike her
blows, and the cries of the children for their mother's release. He would,
doubtless, have knocked her down with his hickory stick, but that such act
might have cost him his place. It is often deemed advisable to knock a man
slave down, in order to tie him, but it is considered cowardly and inexcusable,
in an overseer, thus to deal with a woman. He is expected to tie her up, and to
give her what is called, in southern parlance, a "genteel flogging,"
without any very great outlay of strength or skill. I watched, with palpitating
interest, the course of the preliminary struggle, and was saddened by every new
advantage gained over her by the ruffian. There were times when she seemed
likely to get the better of the brute, but he finally overpowered her, and
succeeded in getting his rope around her arms, and in firmly tying her to the
tree, at which he had been aiming. This done, and Nelly was at the mercy of his
merciless lash; and now, what followed, I have no heart to describe. The
cowardly creature made good his every threat; and wielded the lash with all the
hot zest of furious revenge. The cries of the woman, while undergoing the
terrible infliction, were mingled with those of the children, sounds which I
hope the reader may never be called upon to hear. When Nelly was untied, her
back was covered with blood. The red stripes were all over her shoulders. She
was whipped--severely whipped; but she was not subdued, for she continued to
denounce the overseer, and to call him every vile name. He had bruised her
flesh, but had left her invincible spirit undaunted. Such floggings are seldom
repeated by the same overseer. They prefer to whip those who are most easily
whipped. The old doctrine that submission is the very best cure for outrage and
wrong, does not hold good on the slave plantation. He is whipped oftenest, who
is whipped easiest; and that slave who has the courage to stand up for himself
against the overseer, although he may have many hard stripes at the first,
becomes, in the end, a freeman, even though he sustain the formal relation of a
slave. "You can shoot me but you can't whip me," said a slave to
Rigby Hopkins; and the result was that he was neither whipped nor shot. If the
latter had been his fate, it would have been less deplorable than the living
and lingering death to which cowardly and slavish souls are subjected. I do not
know that Mr. Sevier ever undertook to whip Nelly again. He probably never did,
for it was not long after his attempt to subdue her, that he was taken sick,
and died. The wretched man died as he had lived, unrepentant; and it was
said--with how much truth I know not--that in the very last hours of his life,
his ruling passion showed itself, and that when wrestling with death, he was
uttering horrid oaths, and flourishing the cowskin, as though he was tearing
the flesh off some helpless slave. One thing is certain, that when he was in
health, it was enough to chill the blood, and to stiffen the hair of an
ordinary man, to hear Mr. Sevier talk. Nature, or his cruel habits, had given
to his face an expression of unusual savageness, even for a slave-driver.
Tobacco and rage had worn his teeth short, and nearly every sentence that
escaped their compressed grating, was commenced or concluded with some outburst
of profanity. His presence made the field alike the field of blood, and of
blasphemy. Hated for his cruelty, despised for his cowardice, his death was
deplored by no one outside his own house--if indeed it was deplored there; it
was regarded by the slaves as a merciful interposition of Providence. Never
went there a man to the grave loaded with heavier curses. Mr. Sevier's place
was promptly taken by a Mr. Hopkins, and the change was quite a relief, he
being a very different man. He was, in all respects, a better man than his
predecessor; as good as any man can be, and yet be an overseer. His course was
characterized by no extraordinary cruelty; and when he whipped a slave, as he
sometimes did, he seemed to take no especial pleasure in it, but, on the
contrary, acted as though he felt it to be a mean business. Mr. Hopkins stayed
but a short time; his place much to the regret of the slaves generally--was
taken by a Mr. Gore, of whom more will be said hereafter. It is enough, for the
present, to say, that he was no improvement on Mr. Sevier, except that he was
less noisy and less profane.
I have already referred
to the business-like aspect of Col. Lloyd's plantation. This business-like
appearance was much increased on the two days at the end of each month, when
the slaves from the different farms came to get their monthly allowance of meal
and meat. These were gala days for the slaves, and there was much rivalry among
them as to who should be elected to go up to the great house farm for the
allowance, and, indeed, to attend to any business at this (for them) the
capital. The beauty and grandeur of the place, its numerous slave population,
and the fact that Harry, Peter and Jake the sailors of the sloop--almost always
kept, privately, little trinkets which they bought at Baltimore, to sell, made
it a privilege to come to the great house farm. Being selected, too, for this
office, was deemed a high honor. It was taken as a proof of confidence and
favor; but, probably, the chief motive of the competitors for the place, was, a
desire to break the dull monotony of the field, and to get beyond the
overseer's eye and lash. Once on the road with an ox team, and seated on the
tongue of his cart, with no overseer to look after him, the slave was
comparatively free; and, if thoughtful, he had time to think. Slaves are
generally expected to sing as well as to work. A silent slave is not liked by
masters or overseers. "Make a noise," "make a noise," and
"bear a hand," are the words usually addressed to the slaves when
there is silence amongst them. This may account for the almost constant singing
heard in the southern states. There was, generally, more or less singing among
the teamsters, as it was one means of letting the overseer know where they
were, and that they were moving on with the work. But, on allowance day, those
who visited the great house farm were peculiarly excited and noisy. While on
their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate
with their wild notes. These were not always merry because they were wild. On
the contrary, they were mostly of a plaintive cast, and told a tale of grief
and sorrow. In the most boisterous outbursts of rapturous sentiment, there was
ever a tinge of deep melancholy. I have never heard any songs like those
anywhere since I left slavery, except when in Ireland. There I heard the same
wailing notes, and was much affected by them. It was during the famine of
1845-6. In all the songs of the slaves, there was ever some expression in
praise of the great house farm; something which would flatter the pride of the
owner, and, possibly, draw a favorable glance from him.
"I am going away
to the great house farm,
O yea! O yea! O yea! My old master
is a good old master,
O yea! O yea! O yea!" This
they would sing, with other words of their own improvising--jargon to others,
but full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought, that the mere
hearing of those songs would do more to impress truly spiritual-minded men and
women with the soul-crushing and death-dealing character of slavery, than the
reading of whole volumes of its mere physical cruelties. They speak to the
heart and to the soul of the thoughtful. I cannot better express my sense of
them now, than ten years ago, when, in sketching my life, I thus spoke of this
feature of my plantation experience:
I did not, when a
slave, understand the deep meanings of those rude, and apparently incoherent
songs. I was myself within the circle, so that I neither saw or heard as those
without might see and hear. They told a tale which was then altogether beyond
my feeble comprehension; they were tones, loud, long and deep, breathing the
prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every
tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from
chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirits, and filled
my heart with ineffable sadness. The mere recurrence, even now, afflicts my spirit,
and while I am writing these lines, my tears are falling. To those songs I
trace my first glimmering conceptions of the dehumanizing character of slavery.
I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen
my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If
any one wishes to be impressed with a sense of the soul-killing power of
slavery, let him go to Col. Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance day, place
himself in the deep, pine woods, and there let him, in silence, thoughtfully
analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul, and if he
is not thus impressed, it will only be because "there is no flesh in his
obdurate heart."
The remark is not
unfrequently made, that slaves are the most contended and happy laborers in the
world. They dance and sing, and make all manner of joyful noises--so they do;
but it is a great mistake to suppose them happy because they sing. The songs of
the slave represent the sorrows, rather than the joys, of his heart; and he is
relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. Such is the
constitution of the human mind, that, when pressed to extremes, it often avails
itself of the most opposite methods. Extremes meet in mind as in matter. When
the slaves on board of the "Pearl" were overtaken, arrested, and
carried to prison--their hopes for freedom blasted--as they marched in chains
they sang, and found (as Emily Edmunson tells us) a melancholy relief in
singing. The singing of a man cast away on a desolate island, might be as
appropriately considered an evidence of his contentment and happiness, as the
singing of a slave. Sorrow and desolation have their songs, as well as joy and
peace. Slaves sing more to make themselves happy, than to express their
happiness.
It is the boast of
slaveholders, that their slaves enjoy more of the physical comforts of life
than the peasantry of any country in the world. My experience contradicts this.
The men and the women slaves on Col. Lloyd's farm, received, as their monthly
allowance of food, eight pounds of pickled pork, or their equivalent in fish.
The pork was often tainted, and the fish was of the poorest quality--herrings,
which would bring very little if offered for sale in any northern market. With
their pork or fish, they had one bushel of Indian meal--unbolted--of which
quite fifteen per cent was fit only to feed pigs. With this, one pint of salt
was given; and this was the entire monthly allowance of a full grown slave,
working constantly in the open field, from morning until night, every day in
the month except Sunday, and living on a fraction more than a quarter of a
pound of meat per day, and less than a peck of corn-meal per week. There is no
kind of work that a man can do which requires a better supply of food to
prevent physical exhaustion, than the field-work of a slave. So much for the
slave's allowance of food; now for his raiment. The yearly allowance of
clothing for the slaves on this plantation, consisted of two tow-linen
shirts--such linen as the coarsest crash towels are made of; one pair of
trowsers of the same material, for summer, and a pair of trowsers and a jacket
of woolen, most slazily put together, for winter; one pair of yarn stockings,
and one pair of shoes of the coarsest description. The slave's entire apparel
could not have cost more than eight dollars per year. The allowance of food and
clothing for the little children, was committed to their mothers, or to the
older slavewomen having the care of them. Children who were unable to work in
the field, had neither shoes, stockings, jackets nor trowsers given them. Their
clothing consisted of two coarse tow-linen shirts--already described--per year;
and when these failed them, as they often did, they went naked until the next allowance
day. Flocks of little children from five to ten years old, might be seen on
Col. Lloyd's plantation, as destitute of clothing as any little heathen on the
west coast of Africa; and this, not merely during the summer months, but during
the frosty weather of March. The little girls were no better off than the boys;
all were nearly in a state of nudity.
As to beds to sleep on,
they were known to none of the field hands; nothing but a coarse blanket--not
so good as those used in the north to cover horses--was given them, and this
only to the men and women. The children stuck themselves in holes and corners,
about the quarters; often in the corner of the huge chimneys, with their feet
in the ashes to keep them warm. The want of beds, however, was not considered a
very great privation. Time to sleep was of far greater importance, for, when
the day's work is done, most of the slaves have their washing, mending and
cooking to do; and, having few or none of the ordinary facilities for doing
such things, very many of their sleeping hours are consumed in necessary
preparations for the duties of the coming day.
The sleeping
apartments--if they may be called such--have little regard to comfort or
decency. Old and young, male and female, married and single, drop down upon the
common clay floor, each covering up with his or her blanket,--the only
protection they have from cold or exposure. The night, however, is shortened at
both ends. The slaves work often as long as they can see, and are late in
cooking and mending for the coming day; and, at the first gray streak of
morning, they are summoned to the field by the driver's horn.
More slaves are whipped
for oversleeping than for any other fault. Neither age nor sex finds any favor.
The overseer stands at the quarter door, armed with stick and cowskin, ready to
whip any who may be a few minutes behind time. When the horn is blown, there is
a rush for the door, and the hindermost one is sure to get a blow from the
overseer. Young mothers who worked in the field, were allowed an hour, about
ten o'clock in the morning, to go home to nurse their children. Sometimes they
were compelled to take their children with them, and to leave them in the
corner of the fences, to prevent loss of time in nursing them. The overseer generally
rides about the field on horseback. A cowskin and a hickory stick are his
constant companions. The 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.
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
faith fulness, but with special regard to their personal appearance, their
graceful agility and captivating address. Some of these are armed with fans,
and are fanning reviving breezes toward the over-heated brows of the alabaster
ladies; others watch with eager eye, and with fawn-like step anticipate and
supply wants before they are sufficiently formed to be announced by word or
sign.
These servants
constituted a sort of black aristocracy on Col. Lloyd's plantation. They
resembled the field hands in nothing, except in color, and in this they held
the advantage of a velvet-like glossiness, rich and beautiful. The hair, too,
showed the same advantage. The delicate colored maid rustled in the scarcely
worn silk of her young mistress, while the servant men were equally well
attired from the over-flowing wardrobe of their young masters; so that, in
dress, as well as in form and feature, in manner and speech, in tastes and
habits, the distance between these favored few, and the sorrow and
hunger-smitten multitudes of the quarter and the field, was immense; and this
is seldom passed over.
Let us now glance at
the stables and the carriage house, and we shall find the same evidences of
pride and luxurious extravagance. Here are three splendid coaches, soft within
and lustrous without. Here, too, are gigs, phaetons, barouches, sulkeys and
sleighs. Here are saddles and harnesses--beautifully wrought and silver
mounted--kept with every care. In the stable you will find, kept only for
pleasure, full thirty-five horses, of the most approved blood for speed and
beauty. There are two men here constantly employed in taking care of these
horses. One of these men must be always in the stable, to answer every call
from the great house. Over the way from the stable, is a house built expressly
for the hounds--a pack of twenty-five or thirty--whose fare would have made
glad the heart of a dozen slaves. Horses and hounds are not the only consumers
of the slave's toil. There was practiced, at the Lloyd's, a hospitality which
would have 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.
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 firewood 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.
MISS LUCRETIA--HER
KINDNESS--HOW IT WAS MANIFESTED--"IKE"--A BATTLE WITH HIM--THE
CONSEQUENCES THEREOF--MISS LUCRETIA'S BALSAM--BREAD--HOW I OBTAINED IT--BEAMS
OF SUNLIGHT AMIDST THE GENERAL DARKNESS--SUFFERING FROM COLD--HOW WE TOOK OUR
MEALS--ORDERS TO PREPARE FOR BALTIMORE--OVERJOYED AT THE THOUGHT OF QUITTING
THE PLANTATION--EXTRAORDINARY CLEANSING--COUSIN TOM'S VERSION OF
BALTIMORE--ARRIVAL THERE--KIND RECEPTION GIVEN ME BY MRS. SOPHIA AULD--LITTLE
TOMMY--MY NEW POSITION--MY NEW DUTIES--A TURNING POINT IN MY HISTORY.
I have nothing cruel or
shocking to relate of my own personal experience, while I remained on Col.
Lloyd's plantation, at the home of my old master. An occasional cuff from Aunt
Katy, and a regular whipping from old master, such as any heedless and
mischievous boy might get from his father, is all that I can mention of this
sort. I was not old enough to work in the field, and, there being little else
than field work to perform, I had much leisure. The most I had to do, was, to
drive up the cows in the evening, to keep the front yard clean, and to perform
small errands for my young mistress, Lucretia Auld. I have reasons for thinking
this lady was very kindly disposed toward me, and, although I was not often the
object of her attention, I constantly regarded her as my friend, and was always
glad when it was my privilege to do her a service. In a family where there was
so much that was harsh, cold and indifferent, the slightest word or look of
kindness passed, with me, for its full value. Miss Lucretia--as we all
continued to call her long after her marriage--had bestowed upon me such words
and looks as taught me that she pitied me, if she did not love me. In addition
to words and looks, she sometimes gave me a piece of bread and butter; a thing
not set down in the bill of fare, and which must have been an extra ration,
planned aside from either Aunt Katy or old master, solely out of the tender
regard and friendship she had for me. Then, too, I one day got into the wars
with Uncle Able's son, "Ike," and had got sadly worsted; in fact, the
little rascal had struck me directly in the forehead with a sharp piece of
cinder, fused with iron, from the old blacksmith's forge, which made a cross in
my forehead very plainly to be seen now. The gash bled very freely, and I
roared very loudly and betook myself home. The coldhearted Aunt Katy paid no
attention either to my wound or my roaring, except to tell me it served me
right; I had no business with Ike; it was good for me; I would now keep away "from
dem Lloyd niggers." Miss Lucretia, in this state of the case, came
forward; and, in quite a different spirit from that manifested by Aunt Katy,
she called me into the parlor (an extra privilege of itself) and, without using
toward me any of the hard-hearted and reproachful epithets of my kitchen
tormentor, she quietly acted the good Samaritan. With her own soft hand she
washed the blood from my head and face, fetched her own balsam bottle, and with
the balsam wetted a nice piece of white linen, and bound up my head. The balsam
was not more healing to the wound in my head, than her kindness was healing to
the wounds in my spirit, made by the unfeeling words of Aunt Katy. After this,
Miss Lucretia was my friend. I felt her to be such; and I have no doubt that
the simple act of binding up my head, did much to awaken in her mind an
interest in my welfare. It is quite true, that this interest was never very
marked, and it seldom showed itself in anything more than in giving me a piece
of bread when I was hungry; but this was a great favor on a slave plantation,
and I was the only one of the children to whom such attention was paid. When
very hungry, I would go into the back yard and play under Miss Lucretia's
window. When pretty severely pinched by hunger, I had a habit of singing, which
the good lady very soon came to understand as a petition for a piece of bread.
When I sung under Miss Lucretia's window, I was very apt to get well paid for
my music. The reader will see that I now had two friends, both at important
points--Mas' Daniel at the great house, and Miss Lucretia at home. From Mas'
Daniel I got protection from the bigger boys; and from Miss Lucretia I got
bread, by singing when I was hungry, and sympathy when I was abused by that
termagant, who had the reins of government in the kitchen. For such friendship
I felt deeply grateful, and bitter as are my recollections of slavery, I love
to recall any instances of kindness, any sunbeams of humane treatment, which
found way to my soul through the iron grating of my house of bondage. Such
beams seem all the brighter from the general darkness into which they
penetrate, and the impression they make is vividly distinct and beautiful.
As I have before
intimated, I was seldom whipped--and never severely--by my old master. I
suffered little from the treatment I received, except from hunger and cold.
These were my two great physical troubles. I could neither get a sufficiency of
food nor of clothing; but I suffered less from hunger than from cold. In
hottest summer and coldest winter, I was kept almost in a state of nudity; no
shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trowsers; nothing but coarse sackcloth or
tow-linen, made into a sort of shirt, reaching down to my knees. This I wore
night and day, changing it once a week. In the day time I could protect myself
pretty well, by keeping on the sunny side of the house; and in bad weather, in
the corner of the kitchen chimney. The great difficulty was, to keep warm
during the night. I had no bed. The pigs in the pen had leaves, and the horses
in the stable had straw, but the children had no beds. They lodged anywhere in
the ample kitchen. I slept, generally, in a little closet, without even a
blanket to cover me. In very cold weather. I sometimes got down the bag in
which corn meal was usually carried to the mill, and crawled into that.
Sleeping there, with my head in and feet out, I was partly protected, though
not comfortable. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen with
which I am writing might be laid in the gashes. The manner of taking our meals
at old master's, indicated but little refinement. Our corn-meal mush, when
sufficiently cooled, was placed in a large wooden tray, or trough, like those
used in making maple sugar here in the north. This tray was set down, either on
the floor of the kitchen, or out of doors on the ground; and the children were
called, like so many pigs; and like so many pigs they would come, and literally
devour the mush--some with oyster shells, some with pieces of shingles, and
none with spoons. He that eat fastest got most, and he that was strongest got
the best place; and few left the trough really satisfied. I was the most
unlucky of any, for Aunt Katy had no good feeling for me; and if I pushed any
of the other children, or if they told her anything unfavorable of me, she
always believed the worst, and was sure to whip me.
As I grew older and
more thoughtful, I was more and more filled with a sense of my wretchedness.
The cruelty of Aunt Katy, the hunger and cold I suffered, and the terrible
reports of wrong and outrage which came to my ear, together with what I almost
daily witnessed, led me, when yet but eight or nine years old, to wish I had
never been born. I used to contrast my condition with the black-birds, in whose
wild and sweet songs I fancied them so happy! Their apparent joy only deepened
the shades of my sorrow. There are thoughtful days in the lives of children--at
least there were in mine when they grapple with all the great, primary subjects
of knowledge, and reach, in a moment, conclusions which no subsequent
experience can shake. I was just as well aware of the unjust, unnatural and
murderous character of slavery, when nine years old, as I am now. Without any
appeal to books, to laws, or to authorities of any kind, it was enough to
accept God as a father, to regard slavery as a crime.
I was not ten years old
when I left Col. Lloyd's plantation for Baltimore. I left that plantation with
inexpressible joy. I never shall forget the ecstacy with which I received the
intelligence from my friend, Miss Lucretia, that my old master had determined
to let me go to Baltimore to live with Mr. Hugh Auld, a brother to Mr. Thomas
Auld, my old master's son-in-law. I received this information about three days
before my departure. They were three of the happiest days of my childhood. I
spent the largest part of these three days in the creek, washing off the
plantation scurf, and preparing for my new home. Mrs. Lucretia took a lively
interest in getting me ready. She told me I must get all the dead skin off my
feet and knees, before I could go to Baltimore, for the people there were very
cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked dirty; and, besides, she was
intending to give me a pair of trowsers, which I should not put on unless I got
all the dirt off. This was a warning to which I was bound to take heed; for the
thought of owning a pair of trowsers, was great, indeed. It was almost a
sufficient motive, not only to induce me to scrub off the mange (as pig drovers
would call it) but the skin as well. So I went at it in good earnest, working
for the first time in the hope of reward. I was greatly excited, and could
hardly consent to sleep, lest I should be left. The ties that, ordinarily, bind
children to their homes, were all severed, or they never had any existence in
my case, at least so far as the home plantation of Col. L. was concerned. I
therefore found no severe trail at the moment of my departure, such as I had
experienced when separated from my home in Tuckahoe. My home at my old master's
was charmless to me; it was not home, but a prison to me; on parting from it, I
could not feel that I was leaving anything which I could have enjoyed by
staying. My mother was now long dead; my grandmother was far away, so that I
seldom saw her; Aunt Katy was my unrelenting tormentor; and my two sisters and
brothers, owing to our early separation in life, and the family-destroying
power of slavery, were, comparatively, stran gers to me. The fact of our
relationship was almost blotted out. I looked for home elsewhere, and was
confident of finding none which I should relish less than the one I was
leaving. If, however, I found in my new home to which I was going with such
blissful anticipations--hardship, whipping and nakedness, I had the questionable
consolation that I should not have escaped any one of these evils by remaining
under the management of Aunt Katy. Then, too, I thought, since I had endured
much in this line on Lloyd's plantation, I could endure as much elsewhere, and
especially at Baltimore; for I had something of the feeling about that city
which is expressed in the saying, that being "hanged in England, is better
than dying a natural death in Ireland." I had the strongest desire to see
Baltimore. My cousin Tom--a boy two or three years older than I--had been
there, and though not fluent (he stuttered immoderately) in speech, he had
inspired me with that desire, by his eloquent description of the place. Tom
was, sometimes, Capt. Auld's cabin boy; and when he came from Baltimore, he was
always a sort of hero amongst us, at least till his Baltimore trip was
forgotten. I could never tell him of anything, or point out anything that
struck me as beautiful or powerful, but that he had seen something in Baltimore
far surpassing it. Even the great house itself, with all its pictures within,
and pillars without, he had the hardihood to say "was nothing to
Baltimore." He bought a trumpet (worth six pence) and brought it home;
told what he had seen in the windows of stores; that he had heard shooting
crackers, and seen soldiers; that he had seen a steamboat; that there were
ships in Baltimore that could carry four such sloops as the "Sally
Lloyd." He said a great deal about the market-house; he spoke of the bells
ringing; and of many other things which roused my curiosity very much; and,
indeed, which heightened my hopes of happiness in my new home.
We sailed out of Miles
river for Baltimore early on a Saturday morning. I remember only the day of the
week; for, at that time, 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.
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.
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 affec tion and tenderness. Her fervent piety and watchful
uprightness made it impossible to see her without thinking and
feeling--"that woman is a Christian." There was no sorrow nor
suffering for which she had not a tear, and there was no innocent joy for which
she did not a smile. She had bread for the hungry, clothes for the naked, and
comfort for every mourner that came within her reach. Slavery soon proved its
ability to divest her of these excellent qualities, and her home of its early
happiness. Conscience cannot stand much violence. Once thoroughly broken down,
who is he that can repair the damage? It may be broken toward the slave, on
Sunday, and toward the master on Monday. It cannot endure such shocks. It must
stand entire, or it does not stand at all. If my condition waxed bad, that of
the family waxed not better. The first step, in the wrong direction, was the
violence done to nature and to conscience, in arresting the benevolence that
would have enlightened my young mind. In ceasing to instruct me, she must begin
to justify herself to herself; and, once consenting to take sides in such a
debate, she was riveted to her position. One needs very little knowledge of
moral philosophy, to see where my mistress now landed. She finally became even
more violent in her opposition to my learning to read, than was her husband
himself. She was not satisfied with simply doing as well as her husband had
commanded her, but seemed resolved to better his instruction. Nothing appeared
to make my poor mistress--after her turning toward the downward path--more
angry, than seeing me, seated in some nook or corner, quietly reading a book or
a newspaper. I have had her rush at me, with the utmost fury, and snatch from
my hand such newspaper or book, with something of the wrath and consternation
which a traitor might be supposed to feel on being discovered in a plot by some
dangerous spy.
Mrs. Auld was an apt
woman, and the advice of her husband, and her own experience, soon
demonstrated, to her entire satisfaction, that education and slavery are
incompatible with each other. When this conviction was thoroughly established,
I was 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 necessary 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.
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. ABOLITIONISM--THE ENIGMA
SOLVED> I had a deep satisfaction in the thought, that the rascality of
slaveholders was not concealed from the eyes of the world, and that I was not
alone in abhorring the cruelty and brutality of slavery. A still deeper train
of thought was stirred. I saw that there was fear, as well as rage, in the
manner of speaking of the abolitionists. The latter, therefore, I was compelled
to regard as having some power in the country; and I felt that they might,
possibly, succeed in their designs. When I met with a slave to whom I deemed it
safe to talk on the subject, I would impart to him so much of the mystery as I
had been able to penetrate. Thus, the light of this grand movement broke in
upon my mind, by degrees; and I must say, that, ignorant as I then was of the
philosophy of that movement, I believe in it from the first--and I believed in
it, partly, because I saw that it alarmed the consciences of slaveholders. The
insurrection of Nathaniel Turner had been quelled, but the alarm and terror had
not subsided. The cholera was on its way, and the thought was present, that God
was angry with the white people because of their slaveholding wickedness, and,
therefore, his judgments were abroad in the land. It was impossible for me not
to hope much from the abolition movement, when I saw it supported by the
Almighty, and armed with DEATH!
Previous to my
contemplation of the anti-slavery movement, and its probable results, my mind
had been seriously awakened to the subject of religion. I was not more than
thirteen years old, when I felt the need of God, as a father and protector. My
religious nature was awakened by the preaching of a white Methodist minister,
named Hanson. He thought that all men, great and small, bond and free, were
sinners in the sight of God; that they were, by nature, rebels against His
government; and that they must repent of their sins, and be reconciled to God,
through Christ. I cannot say that I had a very distinct notion of what was
required of me; but one thing I knew very well--I was wretched, and had no
means of making myself otherwise. Moreover, I knew that I could pray for light.
I consulted a good colored man, named 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.
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
OLD MASTER'S PROPERTY> horses, sheep, horned cattle and swine! Horses and
men--cattle and women--pigs and children--all holding the same rank in the
scale of social existence; and all subjected to the same narrow inspection, to
ascertain their value in gold and silver--the only standard of worth applied by
slaveholders to slaves! How vividly, at that moment, did the brutalizing power
of slavery flash before me! Personality swallowed up in the sordid idea of
property! Manhood lost in chattelhood!
After the valuation,
then came the division. This was an hour of high excitement and distressing
anxiety. Our destiny was now to be fixed for life, and we had no more voice in
the decision of the question, than the oxen and cows that stood chewing at the
haymow. One word from the appraisers, against all preferences or prayers, was
enough to sunder all the ties of friendship and affection, and even to separate
husbands and wives, parents and children. We were all appalled before that
power, which, to human seeming, could bless or blast us in a moment. Added to
the dread of separation, most painful to the majority of the slaves, we all had
a decided horror of the thought of falling into the hands of Master Andrew. He
was distinguished for cruelty and intemperance.
Slaves generally dread
to fall into the hands of drunken owners. Master Andrew was almost a confirmed
sot, and had already, by his reckless mismanagement and profligate dissipation,
wasted a large portion of old master's property. To fall into his hands, was,
therefore, considered merely as the first step toward being sold away to the
far south. He would spend his fortune in a few years, and his farms and slaves
would be sold, we thought, at public outcry; and we should be hurried away to
the cotton fields, and rice swamps, of the sunny south. This was the cause of
deep consternation.
The people of the
north, and free people generally, I think, have less attachment to the places
where they are born and brought up, than have the slaves. Their freedom to go
and come, 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 satisfaction 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.
THE VILLAGE--ITS
INHABITANTS--THEIR OCCUPATION AND LOW PROPENSITIES--CAPTAIN 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 quantities, 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.
The luxury of having
slaves wait upon him was something new to Master Thomas; and for it he was
wholly unprepared. He was a slaveholder, without the ability to hold or manage
his slaves. We seldom called him "master," but generally addressed
him by his "bay craft" title--Capt. Auld." It is easy to see
that such conduct might do much to make him appear awkward, and, consequently,
fretful. His wife was especially solicitous to have us call her husband
"master." Is your master at the store?"--"Where is your
master?"--"Go and tell your master"--"I will make your
master acquainted with your conduct"--she would say; but we were inapt
scholars. Especially were I and my sister Eliza inapt in this particular. Aunt
Priscilla was less stubborn and defiant in her spirit than Eliza and myself;
and, I think, her road was less rough than ours.
In the month of August,
1833, when I had almost become desperate under the treatment of Master Thomas,
and when I entertained more strongly than ever the oft-repeated determination
to run away, a circumstance occurred which seemed to promise brighter and
better days for us all. At a Methodist camp-meeting, held in the Bay Side (a
famous place for campmeetings) about eight miles from St. Michael's, Master
Thomas came out with a profession of religion. He had long been an object of
interest to the church, and to the ministers, as I had seen by the repeated
visits and lengthy exhortations of the latter. He was a fish quite worth
catching, for he had money and standing. In the community of St. Michael's he
was equal to the best citizen. He was strictly temperate; perhaps, from
principle, but most likely, from interest. There was very little to do for him,
to give him the appearance of piety, and to make him a pillar in the church.
Well, the camp-meeting continued a week; people gathered from all parts of the
county, and two steamboat loads came from Baltimore. The ground was happily
chosen; seats were arranged; a stand erected; a rude altar fenced in, fronting
the preachers' stand, with straw in it for the accommodation of mourners. This
latter would hold at least one hundred persons. In front, and on the sides of
the preachers' stand, and outside the long rows of seats, rose the first class
of stately tents, each vieing with the other in strength, neatness, and
capacity for accommodating its inmates. Behind this first circle of tents was
another, less imposing, which reached round the camp-ground to the speakers'
stand. Outside this second class of tents were covered wagons, ox carts, and
vehicles of every shape and size. These served as tents to their owners.
Outside of these, huge fires were burning, in all directions, where roasting,
and boiling, and frying, were going on, for the benefit of those who were
attending to their own spiritual welfare within the circle. Behind the
preachers' stand, a narrow space was marked out for the use of the colored
people. There were no seats provided for this class of persons; the preachers
addressed them, "over the left," if they addressed them at all. After
the preaching was over, at every service, an invitation was given to mourners
to come into the pen; and, in some cases, ministers went out to persuade men
and women to come in. By one of these ministers, Master Thomas Auld was
persuaded to go inside the pen. I was deeply interested in that matter, and
followed; and, though colored people were not allowed either in the pen or in
front of the preachers' stand, I ventured to take my stand at a sort of
half-way place between the blacks and whites, where I could distinctly see the
movements of mourners, and especially the progress of Master Thomas.
"If he has got
religion," thought I, "he will emancipate his slaves; and if he
should not do so much as this, he will, at any rate, behave toward us more
kindly, and feed us more generously than he has heretofore done."
Appealing to my own religious experience, and judging my master by what was true
in my own case, I could not regard him as soundly converted, unless some such
good results followed his profession of religion.
But in my expectations
I was doubly disappointed; Master Thomas was Master Thomas still. The fruits of
his righteousness were to show themselves in no such way as I had anticipated.
His conversion was not to change his relation toward men--at any rate not
toward BLACK men--but toward God. My faith, I confess, was not great. There was
something in his appearance that, in my mind, cast a doubt over his conversion.
Standing where I did, I could see his every movement. I watched narrowly while
he remained in the little pen; and although I saw that his face was extremely
red, and his hair disheveled, and though I heard him groan, and saw a stray
tear halting on his cheek, as if inquiring "which way shall I go?"--I
could not wholly confide in the genuineness of his conversion. The hesitating
behavior of that tear-drop and its loneliness, distressed me, and cast a doubt
upon the whole transaction, of which it was a part. But people said,
"Capt. Auld had come through," and it was for me to hope for the
best. I was bound to do this, in charity, for I, too, was religious, and had
been in the church full three years, although now I was not more than sixteen
years old. Slaveholders may, sometimes, have confidence in the piety of some of
their slaves; but the slaves seldom have confidence in the piety of their
masters. "He cant go to heaven with our blood in his skirts," is a
settled point in the creed of every slave; rising superior to all teaching to
the contrary, and standing forever as a fixed fact. The highest evidence the
slaveholder can give the slave of his acceptance with God, is the emancipation
of his slaves. This is proof that he is willing to give up all to God, and for
the sake of God. Not to do this, was, in my estimation, and in the opinion of
all the slaves, an evidence of half-heartedness, and wholly inconsistent with
the idea of genuine conversion. I had read, also, somewhere in the Methodist
Discipline, the following question and answer:
"Question. What
shall be done for the extirpation of slavery?
"Answer. We
declare that we are much as ever convinced of the great evil of slavery;
therefore, no slaveholder shall be eligible to any official station in our
church."
These words sounded in
my ears for a long time, and encouraged me to hope. But, as I have before said,
I was doomed to disappointment. Master Thomas seemed to be aware of my hopes
and expectations concerning him. I have thought, before now, that he looked at
me in answer to my glances, as much as to say, "I will teach you, young
man, that, though I have parted with my sins, I have not parted with my sense.
I shall hold my slaves, and go to heaven too."
Possibly, to convince
us that we must not presume too much upon his recent conversion, he became
rather more rigid and stringent in his exactions. There always was a scarcity
of good nature about the man; but now his whole countenance was soured over
with the seemings of piety. His religion, therefore, neither made him
emancipate his slaves, nor caused him to treat them with greater humanity. If
religion had any effect on his character at all, it made him more cruel and
hateful in all his ways. The natural wickedness of his heart had not been
removed, but only reinforced, by the profession of religion. Do I judge him
harshly? God forbid. Facts are facts. Capt. Auld made the greatest profession
of piety. His house was, literally, a house of prayer. In the morning, and in the
evening, loud prayers and hymns were heard there, in which both himself and his
wife joined; yet, no more meal was brought from the mill, no more attention was
paid to the moral welfare of the kitchen; and nothing was done to make us feel
that the heart of Master Thomas was one whit better than it was before he went
into the little pen, opposite to the preachers' stand, on the camp ground.
Our hopes (founded on
the discipline) soon vanished; for the authorities let him into the church at
once, and before he was out of his term of probation, I heard of his leading
class! He distinguished himself greatly among the brethren, and was soon an
exhorter. His progress was almost as rapid as the growth of the fabled vine of
Jack's bean. No man was more active than he, in revivals. He would go many
miles to assist in carrying them on, and in getting outsiders interested in
religion. His house being one of the holiest, if not the happiest in St.
Michael's, became the "preachers' home." These preachers evidently
liked to share Master Thomas's hospitality; for while he starved us, he stuffed
them. Three or four of these ambassadors of the gospel--according to
slavery--have been there at a time; all living on the fat of the land, while
we, in the kitchen, were nearly starving. Not often did we get a smile of
recognition from these holy men. They seemed almost as unconcerned about our
getting to heaven, as they were about our getting out of slavery. To this
general charge there was one exception--the Rev. GEORGE COOKMAN. Unlike Rev.
Messrs. Storks, Ewry, Hickey, Humphrey and Cooper (all whom were on the St.
Michael's circuit) he kindly took an interest in our temporal and spiritual
welfare. Our souls and our bodies were all alike sacred in his sight; and he
really had a good deal of genuine anti-slavery feeling mingled with his
colonization ideas. There was not a slave in our neighborhood that did not
love, and almost venerate, Mr. Cookman. It was pretty generally believed that
he had been chiefly instrumental in bringing one of the largest
slaveholders--Mr. Samuel Harrison--in that neighborhood, to emancipate all his
slaves, and, indeed, the general impression was, that Mr. Cookman had labored
faithfully with slaveholders, whenever he met them, to induce them to
emancipate their bondmen, and that he did this as a religious duty. When this
good man was at our house, we were all sure to be called in to prayers in the
morning; and he was not slow in making inquiries as to the state of our minds,
nor in giving us a word of exhortation and of encouragement. Great was the
sorrow of all the slaves, when this faithful preacher of the gospel was removed
from the Talbot county circuit. He was an eloquent preacher, and possessed what
few ministers, south of Mason Dixon's line, possess, or dare to show, viz: a
warm and philanthropic heart. The Mr. Cookman, of whom I speak, was an
Englishman by birth, and perished while on his way to England, on board the
ill-fated "President". Could the thousands of slaves in Maryland know
the fate of the good man, to whose words of comfort they were so largely
indebted, they would thank me for dropping a tear on this page, in memory of
their favorite preacher, friend and benefactor.
But, let me return to
Master Thomas, and to my experience, after his conversion. In Baltimore, I
could, occasionally, get into a Sabbath school, among the free children, and
receive lessons, with the rest; but, having already learned both to read and to
write, I was more of a teacher than a pupil, even there. When, however, I went
back to the Eastern Shore, and was at the house of Master Thomas, I was neither
allowed to teach, nor to be taught. The whole community--with but a single
exception, among the whites--frowned upon everything like imparting instruction
either to slaves or to free colored persons. That single exception, a pious
young man, named Wilson, asked me, one day, if I would like to assist him in
teaching a little Sabbath school, at the house of a free colored man in St.
Michael's, named James Mitchell. The idea was to me a delightful one, and I
told him I would gladly devote as much of my Sabbath as I could command, to
that most laudable work. Mr. Wilson soon mustered up a dozen old spelling
books, and a few testaments; and we commenced operations, with some twenty
scholars, in our Sunday school. Here, thought I, is something worth living for;
here is an excellent chance for usefulness; and I shall soon have a company of
young friends, lovers of knowledge, like some of my Baltimore friends, from
whom I now felt parted forever.
Our first Sabbath
passed delightfully, and I spent the week after very joyously. I could not go
to Baltimore, but I could make a little Baltimore here. At our second meeting,
I learned that there was some objection to the existence of the Sabbath school;
and, sure enough, we had scarcely got at work--good work, simply teaching a few
colored children how to read the gospel of the Son of God--when in rushed a
mob, headed by Mr. Wright Fairbanks and Mr. Garrison West--two
class-leaders--and Master Thomas; who, armed with sticks and other missiles,
drove us off, and commanded us never to meet for such a purpose again. One of
this pious crew told me, that as for my part, I wanted to be another Nat
Turner; and if I did not look out, I should get as many balls into me, as Nat
did into him. Thus ended the infant Sabbath school, in the town of St.
Michael's. The reader will not be surprised when I say, that the breaking up of
my Sabbath school, by these class-leaders, and professedly holy men, did not serve
to strengthen my religious convictions. The cloud over my St. Michael's home
grew heavier and blacker than ever.
It was not merely the
agency of Master Thomas, in breaking up and destroying my Sabbath school, that
shook my confidence in the power of southern religion to make men wiser or
better; but I saw in him all the cruelty and meanness, after his conversion,
which he had exhibited before he made a profession of religion. His cruelty and
meanness were especially displayed in his treatment of my unfortunate cousin,
Henny, whose lameness made her a burden to him. I have no extraordinary
personal hard usage toward myself to complain of, against him, but I have seen
him tie up the lame and maimed woman, and whip her in a manner most brutal, and
shocking; and then, with blood-chilling blasphemy, he would quote the passage
of scripture, "That servant which knew his lord's will, and prepared not
himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many
stripes." Master would keep this lacerated woman tied up by her wrists, to
a bolt in the joist, three, four and five hours at a time. He would tie her up
early in the morning, whip her with a cowskin before breakfast; leave her tied
up; go to his store, and, returning to his dinner, repeat the castigation;
laying on the rugged lash, on flesh already made raw by repeated blows. He
seemed desirous to get the poor girl out of existence, or, at any rate, off his
hands. In proof of this, he afterwards gave her away to his sister Sarah (Mrs.
Cline) but, as in the case of Master Hugh, Henny was soon returned on his
hands. Finally, upon a pretense that he could do nothing with her (I use his
own words) he "set her adrift, to take care of herself." Here was a
recently converted man, holding, with tight grasp, the well-framed, and able
bodied slaves left him by old master--the persons, who, in freedom, could have
taken care of themselves; yet, turning loose the only cripple among them,
virtually to starve and die.
No doubt, had Master
Thomas been asked, by some pious northern brother, why he continued to sustain
the relation of a slaveholder, to those whom he retained, his answer would have
been precisely the same as many other religious slaveholders have returned to
that inquiry, viz: "I hold my slaves for their own good."
Bad as my condition was
when I lived with Master Thomas, I was soon to experience a life far more
goading and bitter. The many differences springing up between myself and Master
Thomas, owing to the clear perception I had of his character, and the boldness
with which I defended myself against his capricious complaints, led him to
declare that I was unsuited to his wants; that my city life had affected me
perniciously; that, in fact, it had almost ruined me for every good purpose,
and had fitted me for everything that was bad. One of my greatest faults, or
offenses, was that of letting his horse get away, and go down to the farm
belonging to his father-in-law. The animal had a liking for that farm, with
which I fully sympathized. Whenever I let it out, it would go dashing down the
road to Mr. Hamilton's, as if going on a grand frolic. My horse gone, of course
I must go after it. The explanation of our mutual attachment to the place is
the same; the horse found there good pasturage, and I found there plenty of
bread. Mr. Hamilton had his faults, but starving his slaves was not among them.
He gave food, in abundance, and that, too, of an excellent quality. In Mr.
Hamilton's cook--Aunt Mary--I found a most generous and considerate friend. She
never allowed me to go there without giving me bread enough to make good the
deficiencies of a day or two. Master Thomas at last resolved to endure my
behavior no longer; he could neither keep me, nor his horse, we liked so well
to be at his father-in-law's farm. I had now lived with him nearly nine months,
and he had given me a number of severe whippings, without any visible
improvement in my character, or my conduct; and now he was resolved to put me
out--as he said--"to be broken."
There was, in the Bay Side,
very near the camp ground, where my master got his religious impressions, a man
named Edward Covey, who enjoyed the execrated reputation, of being a first rate
hand at breaking young Negroes. This Covey was a poor man, a farm renter; and
this reputation (hateful as it was to the slaves and to all good men) was, at
the same time, of immense advantage to him. It enabled him to get his farm
tilled with very little expense, compared with what it would have cost him
without this most extraordinary reputation. Some slaveholders thought it an
advantage to let Mr. Covey have the government of their slaves a year or two,
almost free of charge, for the sake of the excellent training such slaves got
under his happy management! Like some horse breakers, noted for their skill,
who ride the best horses in the country without expense, Mr. Covey could have
under him, the most fiery bloods of the neighborhood, for the simple reward of
returning them to their owners, well broken. Added to the natural fitness of
Mr. Covey for the duties of his profession, he was said to "enjoy
religion," and was as strict in the cultivation of piety, as he was in the
cultivation of his farm. I was made aware of his character by some who had been
under his hand; and while I could not look forward to going to him with any
pleasure, I was glad to get away from St. Michael's. I was sure of getting
enough to eat at Covey's, even if I suffered in other respects. This, to a
hungry man, is not a prospect to be regarded with indifference.
JOURNEY TO MY NEW
MASTER'S--MEDITATIONS BY THE WAY--VIEW OF COVEY'S RESIDENCE--THE FAMILY--MY
AWKWARDNESS AS A FIELD HAND--A CRUEL BEATING--WHY IT WAS GIVEN--DESCRIPTION OF
COVEY--FIRST ADVENTURE AT OX DRIVING--HAIR BREADTH ESCAPES--OX AND MAN ALIKE
PROPERTY--COVEY'S MANNER OF PROCEEDING TO WHIP--HARD LABOR BETTER THAN THE WHIP
FOR BREAKING DOWN THE SPIRIT--CUNNING AND TRICKERY OF COVEY--FAMILY
WORSHIP--SHOCKING CONTEMPT FOR CHASTITY--I AM BROKEN DOWN--GREAT MENTAL
AGITATION IN CONTRASTING THE FREEDOM OF THE SHIPS WITH HIS OWN SLAVERY--ANGUISH
BEYOND DESCRIPTION.
The morning of the
first of January, 1834, with its chilling wind and pinching frost, quite in
harmony with the winter in my own mind, found me, with my little bundle of
clothing on the end of a stick, swung across my shoulder, on the main road,
bending my way toward Covey's, whither I had been imperiously ordered by Master
Thomas. The latter had been as good as his word, and had committed me, without
reserve, to the mastery of Mr. Edward Covey. Eight or ten years had now passed
since I had been taken from my grandmother's cabin, in Tuckahoe; and these
years, for the most part, I had spent in Baltimore, where--as the reader has
already seen--I was treated with comparative tenderness. I was now about to
sound profounder depths in slave life. The rigors of a field, less tolerable
than the field of battle, awaited me. My new master was notorious for his
fierce and savage disposition, and my only consolation in going to live with
him was, the certainty of finding him precisely as represented by common fame.
There was neither joy in my heart, nor elasticity in my step, as I started in
search of the tyrant's home. Starvation made me glad to leave Thomas Auld's,
and the cruel lash made me dread to go to Covey's. Escape was impossible; so,
heavy and sad, I paced the seven miles, which separated Covey's house from St.
Michael's--thinking much by the solitary way--averse to my condition; but
thinking was all I could do. Like a fish in a net, allowed to play for a time,
I was now drawn rapidly to the shore, secured at all points. "I am,"
thought I, "but the sport of a power which makes no account, either of my
welfare or of my happiness. By a law which I can clearly comprehend, but cannot
evade nor resist, I am ruthlessly snatched from the hearth of a fond
grandmother, and hurried away to the home of a mysterious `old master;' again I
am removed from there, to a master in Baltimore; thence am I snatched away to
the Eastern Shore, to be valued with the beasts of the field, and, with them,
divided and set apart for a possessor; then I am sent back to Baltimore; and by
the time I have formed new attachments, and have begun to hope that no more
rude shocks shall touch me, a difference arises between brothers, and I am
again broken up, and sent to St. Michael's; and now, from the latter place, I
am footing my way to the home of a new master, where, I am given to understand,
that, like a wild young working animal, I am to be broken to the yoke of a
bitter and life-long bondage."
With thoughts and
reflections like these, I came in sight of a small wood-colored building, about
a mile from the main road, which, from the description I had received, at
starting, I easily recognized as my new home. The Chesapeake bay--upon the
jutting banks of which the little wood-colored house was standing--white with
foam, raised by the heavy north-west wind; Poplar Island, covered with a thick,
black pine forest, standing out amid this half ocean; and Kent Point,
stretching its sandy, desert-like shores out into the foam-cested bay--were all
in COVEY'S RESIDENCE--THE FAMILY> sight, and deepened the wild and desolate
aspect of my new home.
The good clothes I had
brought with me from Baltimore were now worn thin, and had not been replaced;
for Master Thomas was as little careful to provide us against cold, as against
hunger. Met here by a north wind, sweeping through an open space of forty
miles, I was glad to make any port; and, therefore, I speedily pressed on to
the little wood-colored house. The family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Covey; Miss
Kemp (a broken-backed woman) a sister of Mrs. Covey; William Hughes, cousin to
Edward Covey; Caroline, the cook; Bill Smith, a hired man; and myself. Bill
Smith, Bill Hughes, and myself, were the working force of the farm, which
consisted of three or four hundred acres. I was now, for the first time in my
life, to be a field hand; and in my new employment I found myself even more
awkward than a green country boy may be supposed to be, upon his first entrance
into the bewildering scenes of city life; and my awkwardness gave me much
trouble. Strange and unnatural as it may seem, I had been at my new home but
three days, before Mr. Covey (my brother in the Methodist church) gave me a
bitter foretaste of what was in reserve for me. I presume he thought, that
since he had but a single year in which to complete his work, the sooner he
began, the better. Perhaps he thought that by coming to blows at once, we
should mutually better understand our relations. But to whatever motive, direct
or indirect, the cause may be referred, I had not been in his possession three
whole days, before he subjected me to a most brutal chastisement. Under his
heavy blows, blood flowed freely, and wales were left on my back as large as my
little finger. The sores on my back, from this flogging, continued for weeks,
for they were kept open by the rough and coarse cloth which I wore for
shirting. The occasion and details of this first chapter of my experience as a
field hand, must be told, that the reader may see how unreasonable, as well as
how cruel, my new master, Covey, was. The whole thing I found to be
characteristic of the man; and I was probably treated no worse by him than
scores of lads who had previously been committed to him, for reasons similar to
those which induced my master to place me with him. But, here are the facts
connected with the affair, precisely as they occurred.
On one of the coldest
days of the whole month of January, 1834, I was ordered, at day break, to get a
load of wood, from a forest about two miles from the house. In order to perform
this work, Mr. Covey gave me a pair of unbroken oxen, for, it seems, his breaking
abilities had not been turned in this direction; and I may remark, in passing,
that working animals in the south, are seldom so well trained as in the north.
In due form, and with all proper ceremony, I was introduced to this huge yoke
of unbroken oxen, and was carefully told which was "Buck," and which
was "Darby"--which was the "in hand," and which was the
"off hand" ox. The master of this important ceremony was no less a
person than Mr. Covey, himself; and the introduction was the first of the kind
I had ever had. My life, hitherto, had led me away from horned cattle, and I
had no knowledge of the art of managing them. What was meant by the "in
ox," as against the "off ox," when both were equally fastened to
one cart, and under one yoke, I could not very easily divine; and the
difference, implied by the names, and the peculiar duties of each, were alike
Greek to me. Why was not the "off ox" called the "in ox?"
Where and what is the reason for this distinction in names, when there is none
in the things themselves? After initiating me into the "woa,"
"back" "gee," "hither"--the entire spoken
language between oxen and driver--Mr. Covey took a rope, about ten feet long
and one inch thick, and placed one end of it around the horns of the "in
hand ox," and gave the other end to me, telling me that if the oxen
started to run away, as the scamp knew they would, I must hold on to the rope
and stop them. I need not tell any one who is acquainted with either the
strength of the disposition of an untamed ox, that this order was about as
unreasonable as a command to shoulder a mad bull! I had never driven oxen
before, and I was as awkward, as a driver, as it is possible to conceive. It
did not answer for me to plead ignorance, to Mr. Covey; there was something in his
manner that quite forbade that. He was a man to whom a slave seldom felt any
disposition to speak. Cold, distant, morose, with a face wearing all the marks
of captious pride and malicious sternness, he repelled all advances. Covey was
not a large man; he was only about five feet ten inches in height, I should
think; short necked, round shoulders; of quick and wiry motion, of thin and
wolfish visage; with a pair of small, greenish-gray eyes, set well back under a
forehead without dignity, and constantly in motion, and floating his passions,
rather than his thoughts, in sight, but denying them utterance in words. The
creature presented an appearance altogether ferocious and sinister,
disagreeable and forbidding, in the extreme. When he spoke, it was from the
corner of his mouth, and in a sort of light growl, like a dog, when an attempt
is made to take a bone from him. The fellow had already made me believe him
even worse than he had been presented. With his directions, and without
stopping to question, I started for the woods, quite anxious to perform my
first exploit in driving, in a creditable manner. The distance from the house
to the woods gate a full mile, I should think--was passed over with very little
difficulty; for although the animals ran, I was fleet enough, in the open
field, to keep pace with them; especially as they pulled me along at the end of
the rope; but, on reaching the woods, I was speedily thrown into a distressing
plight. The animals took fright, and started off ferociously into the woods,
carrying the cart, full tilt, against trees, over stumps, and dashing from side
to side, in a manner altogether frightful. As I held the rope, I expected every
moment to be crushed between the cart and the huge trees, among which they were
so furiously dashing. After running thus for several minutes, my oxen were,
finally, brought to a stand, by a tree, against which they dashed themselves
with great violence, upsetting the cart, and entangling themselves among sundry
young saplings. By the shock, the body of the cart was flung in one direction,
and the wheels and tongue in another, and all in the greatest confusion. There
I was, all alone, in a thick wood, to which I was a stranger; my cart upset and
shattered; my oxen entangled, wild, and enraged; and I, poor soul! but a green
hand, to set all this disorder right. I knew no more of oxen than the ox driver
is supposed to know of wisdom. After standing a few moments surveying the
damage and disorder, and not without a presentiment that this trouble would
draw after it others, even more distressing, I took one end of the cart body,
and, by an extra outlay of strength, I lifted it toward the axle-tree, from
which it had been violently flung; and after much pulling and straining, I
succeeded in getting the body of the cart in its place. This was an important
step out of the difficulty, and its performance increased my courage for the
work which remained to be done. The cart was provided with an ax, a tool with
which I had become pretty well acquainted in the ship yard at Baltimore. With
this, I cut down the saplings by which my oxen were entangled, and again
pursued my journey, with my heart in my mouth, lest the oxen should again take
it into their senseless heads to cut up a caper. My fears were groundless. Their
spree was over for the present, and the rascals now moved off as soberly as
though their behavior had been natural and exemplary. On reaching the part of
the forest where I had been, the day before, chopping wood, I filled the cart
with a heavy load, as a security against another running away. But, the neck of
an ox is equal in strength to iron. It defies all ordinary burdens, when
excited. Tame and docile to a proverb, when well trained, the ox is the most
sullen and intractable of animals when but half broken to the yoke.
I now saw, in my
situation, several points of similarity with that of the oxen. They were
property, so was I; they were to be broken, so was I. Covey was to break me, I
was to break them; break and be broken--such is life.
Half the day already
gone, and my face not yet homeward! It required only two day's experience and
observation to teach me, that such apparent waste of time would not be lightly
over-looked by Covey. I therefore hurried toward home; but, on reaching the
lane gate, I met with the crowning disaster for the day. This gate was a fair
specimen of southern handicraft. There were two huge posts, eighteen inches in
diameter, rough hewed and square, and the heavy gate was so hung on one of
these, that it opened only about half the proper distance. On arriving here, it
was necessary for me to let go the end of the rope on the horns of the "in
hand ox;" and now as soon as the gate was open, and I let go of it to get
the rope, again, off went my oxen--making nothing of their load--full tilt; and
in doing so they caught the huge gate between the wheel and the cart body,
literally crushing it to splinters, and coming only within a few inches of
subjecting me to a similar crushing, for I was just in advance of the wheel
when it struck the left gate post. With these two hair-breadth escape, I
thought I could successfully explain to Mr. Covey the delay, and avert
apprehended punishment. I was not without a faint hope of being commended for
the stern resolution which I had displayed in accomplishing the difficult
task--a task which, I afterwards learned, even Covey himself would not have
undertaken, without first driving the oxen for some time in the open field,
preparatory to their going into the woods. But, in this I was disappointed. On
coming to him, his countenance assumed an aspect of rigid displeasure, and, as
I gave him a history of the casualties of my trip, his wolfish face, with his
greenish eyes, became intensely ferocious. "Go back to the woods
again," he said, muttering something else about wasting time. I hastily
obeyed; but I had not gone far on my way, when I saw him coming after me. My
oxen now behaved themselves with singular propriety, opposing their present
conduct to my representation of their former antics. I almost wished, now that
Covey was coming, they would do something in keeping with the character I had
given them; but no, they had already had their spree, and they could afford now
to be extra good, readily obeying my orders, and seeming to understand them quite
as well as I did myself. On reaching the woods, my tormentor--who seemed all
the way to be remarking upon the good behavior of his oxen--came up to me, and
ordered me to stop the cart, accompanying the same with the threat that he
would now teach me how to break gates, and idle away my time, when he sent me
to the woods. Suiting the action to the word, Covey paced off, in his own wiry
fashion, to a large, black gum tree, the young shoots of which are generally
used for ox goads, they being exceedingly tough. Three of these goads, from
four to six feet long, he cut off, and trimmed up, with his large jack-knife.
This done, he ordered me to take off my clothes. To this unreasonable order I
made no reply, but sternly refused to take off my clothing. "If you will
beat me," thought I, "you shall do so over my clothes." After
many threats, which made no impression on me, he rushed at me with something of
the savage fierceness of a wolf, tore off the few and thinly worn clothes I had
on, and proceeded to wear out, on my back, the heavy goads which he had cut
from the gum tree. This flogging was the first of a series of floggings; and
though very severe, it was less so than many which came after it, and these,
for offenses far lighter than the gate breaking
I remained with Mr.
Covey one year (I cannot say I lived with him) and during the first six months
that I was there, I was whipped, either with sticks or cowskins, every week.
Aching bones and a sore back were my constant companions. Frequent as the lash
was used, Mr. Covey thought less of it, as a means of breaking down my spirit,
than that of hard and long continued labor. He worked me steadily, up to the
point of my powers of endurance. From the dawn of day in the morning, till the
darkness was complete in the evening, I was kept at hard work, in the field or
the woods. At certain seasons of the year, we were all kept in the field till
eleven and twelve o'clock at night. At these times, Covey would attend us in
the field, and urge us on with words or blows, as it seemed best to him. He
had, in his life, been an overseer, and he well understood the business of
slave driving. There was no deceiving him. He knew just what a man or boy could
do, and he held both to strict account. When he pleased, he would work himself,
like a very Turk, making everything fly before him. It was, however, scarcely
necessary for Mr. Covey to be really present in the field, to have his work go
on industriously. He had the faculty of making us feel that he was always
present. By a series of adroitly managed surprises, which he practiced, I was
prepared to expect him at any moment. His plan was, never to approach the spot
where his hands were at work, in an open, manly and direct manner. No thief was
ever more artful in his devices than this man Covey. He would creep and crawl,
in ditches and gullies; hide behind stumps and bushes, and practice so much of
the cunning of the serpent, that Bill Smith and I--between ourselves--never
called him by any other name than "the snake." We fancied that in his
eyes and his gait we could see a snakish resemblance. One half of his
proficiency in the art of Negro breaking, consisted, I should think, in this
species of cunning. We were never secure. He could see or hear us nearly all
the time. He was, to us, behind every stump, tree, bush and fence on the
plantation. He carried this kind of trickery so far, that he would sometimes
mount his horse, and make believe he was going to St. Michael's; and, in thirty
minutes afterward, you might find his horse tied in the woods, and the
snake-like Covey lying flat in the ditch, with his head lifted above its edge,
or in a fence corner, watching every movement of the slaves! I have known him
walk up to us and give us special orders, as to our work, in advance, as if he
were leaving home with a view to being absent several days; and before he got
half way to the house, he would avail himself of our inattention to his
movements, to turn short on his heels, conceal himself behind a fence corner or
a tree, and watch us until the going down of the sun. Mean and contemptible as
is all this, it is in keeping with the character which the life of a
slaveholder is calculated to produce. There is no earthly inducement, in the
slave's condition, to incite him to labor faithfully. The fear of punishment is
the sole motive for any sort of industry, with him. Knowing this fact, as the
slaveholder does, and judging the slave by himself, he naturally concludes the
slave will be idle whenever the cause for this fear is absent. Hence, all sorts
of petty deceptions are practiced, to inspire this fear.
But, with Mr. Covey,
trickery was natural. Everything in the shape of learning or religion, which he
possessed, was made to conform to this semi-lying propensity. He did not seem
conscious that the practice had anything unmanly, base or contemptible about
it. It was a part of an important system, with him, essential to the relation
of master and slave. I thought I saw, in his very religious devotions, this
controlling element of his character. A long prayer at night made up for the
short prayer in the morning; and few men could seem more devotional than he,
when he had nothing else to do.
Mr. Covey was not
content with the cold style of family worship, adopted in these cold latitudes,
which begin and end with a simple prayer. No! the voice of praise, as well as
of prayer, must be heard in his house, night and morning. At first, I was
called upon to bear some part in these exercises; but the repeated flogging
given me by Covey, turned the whole thing into mockery. He was a poor singer,
and mainly relied on me for raising the hymn for the family, and when I failed
to do so, he was thrown into much confusion. I do not think that he ever abused
me on account of these vexations. His religion was a thing altogether apart
from his worldly concerns. He knew nothing of it as a holy principle, directing
and controlling his daily life, making the latter conform to the requirements
of the gospel. One or two facts will illustrate his character better than a
volume of generalities.
I have already said, or
implied, that Mr. Edward Covey was a poor man. He was, in fact, just commencing
to lay the foundation of his fortune, as fortune is regarded in a slave state.
The first condition of wealth and respectability there, being the ownership of
human property, every nerve is strained, by the poor man, to obtain it, and
very little regard is had to the manner of obtaining it. In pursuit of this
object, pious as Mr. Covey was, he proved himself to be as unscrupulous and
base as the worst of his neighbors. In the beginning, he was only able--as he
said--"to buy one slave;" and, scandalous and shocking as is the
fact, he boasted that he bought her simply "as a breeder." But the
worst is not told in this naked statement. This young woman (Caroline was her
name) was virtually compelled by Mr. Covey to abandon herself to the object for
which he had purchased her; and the result was, the birth of twins at the end
of the year. At this addition to his human stock, both Edward Covey and his
wife, Susan, were ecstatic with joy. No one dreamed of reproaching the woman,
or of finding fault with the hired man--Bill Smith--the father of the children,
for Mr. Covey himself had locked the two up together every night, thus inviting
the result.
But I will pursue this
revolting subject no further. No better illustration of the unchaste and
demoralizing character of slavery can be found, than is furnished in the fact
that this professedly Christian slaveholder, amidst all his prayers and hymns,
was shamelessly and boastfully encouraging, and actually compelling, in his own
house, undisguised and unmitigated fornication, as a means of increasing his
human stock. I may remark here, that, while this fact will be read with disgust
and shame at the north, it will be laughed at, as smart and praiseworthy in Mr.
Covey, at the south; for a man is no more condemned there for buying a woman
and devoting her to this life of dishonor, than for buying a cow, and raising
stock from her. The same rules are observed, with a view to increasing the
number and quality of the former, as of the latter.
I will here reproduce
what I said of my own experience in this wretched place, more than ten years
ago:
"If at any one
time of my life, more than another, I was made to drink the bitterest dregs of
slavery, that time was during the first six months of my stay with Mr. Covey.
We were worked all weathers. It was never too hot or too cold; it could never
rain, blow, snow, or hail too hard for us to work in the field. Work, work,
work, was scarcely more the order of the day than the night. The longest days
were too short for him, and the shortest nights were too long for him. I was
somewhat unmanageable when I first went there; but a few months of his
discipline tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken in body,
soul and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed; my intellect languished;
the disposition to read departed; the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye
died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed
into a brute!
"Sunday was my
only leisure time. I spent this in a sort of beast-like stupor, between sleep
and wake, under some large tree. At times, I would rise up, a flash of
energetic freedom would dart through my soul, accompanied with a faint beam of
hope, flickered for a moment, and then vanished. I sank down again, mourning
over my wretched condition. I was sometimes prompted to take my life, and that
of Covey, but was prevented by a combination of hope and fear. My sufferings on
this plantation seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality.
"Our house stood
within a few rods of the Chesapeake bay, whose broad bosom was ever white with
sails from every quarter of the habitable globe. Those beautiful vessels, robed
in purest white, so delightful to the eye of freemen, were to me so many
shrouded ghosts, to terrify and torment me with thoughts of my wretched
condition. I have often, in the deep stillness of a summer's Sabbath, stood all
alone upon the banks of that noble bay, and traced, with saddened heart and
tearful eye, the countless number of sails moving off to the mighty ocean. The
sight of these always affected me powerfully. My thoughts would compel
utterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty, I would pour out my
soul's complaint in my rude way, with an apostrophe to the moving multitude of
ships:
"'You are loosed
from your moorings, and free; I am fast in my chains, and am a slave! You move
merrily before the gentle gale, and I sadly before the bloody whip! You are
freedom's swift-winged angels, that fly around the world; I am confined in
bands of iron! O, that I were free! O, that I were on one of your gallant
decks, and under your protecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you the turbid
waters roll. Go on, go on. O that I could also go! Could I but swim! If I could
fly! O, why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship is gone;
she hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of unending
slavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any God? Why
am I a slave? I will run away. I will not stand it. Get caught, or get clear,
I'll try it. I had as well die with ague as with fever. I have only one life to
lose. I had as well be killed running as die standing. Only think of it; one
hundred miles straight north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! God helping me, I
will. It cannot be that I shall live and die a slave. I will take to the water.
This very bay shall yet bear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in a
north-east coast from North Point. I will do the same; and when I get to the
head of the bay, I will turn my canoe adrift, and walk straight through
Delaware into Pennsylvania. When I get there, I shall not be required to have a
pass; I will travel without being disturbed. Let but the first opportunity
offer, and come what will, I am off. Meanwhile, I will try to bear up under the
yoke. I am not the only slave in the world. Why should I fret? I can bear as
much as any of them. Besides, I am but a boy, and all boys are bound to some
one. It may be that my misery in slavery will only increase my happiness when I
get free. There is a better day coming.'"
I shall never be able
to narrate the mental experience through which it was my lot to pass during my
stay at Covey's. I was completely wrecked, changed and bewildered; goaded
almost to madness at one time, and at another reconciling myself to my wretched
condition. Everything in the way of kindness, which I had experienced at
Baltimore; all my former hopes and aspirations for usefulness in the world, and
the happy moments spent in the exercises of religion, contrasted with my then
present lot, but increased my anguish.
I suffered bodily as
well as mentally. I had neither sufficient time in which to eat or to sleep,
except on Sundays. The overwork, and the brutal chastisements of which I was
the victim, combined with that ever-gnawing and soul-devouring thought--"I
am a slave--a slave for life--a slave with no rational ground to hope for freedom"--rendered
me a living embodiment of mental and physical wretchedness.
EXPERIENCE AT COVEY'S
SUMMED UP--FIRST SIX MONTHS SEVERER THAN THE SECOND--PRELIMINARIES TO THE
CHANCE--REASONS FOR NARRATING THE CIRCUMSTANCES--SCENE IN TREADING YARD--TAKEN
ILL--UNUSUAL BRUTALITY OF COVEY--ESCAPE TO ST. MICHAEL'S--THE
PURSUIT--SUFFERING IN THE WOODS--DRIVEN BACK AGAIN TO COVEY'S--BEARING OF
MASTER THOMAS--THE SLAVE IS NEVER SICK--NATURAL TO EXPECT SLAVES TO FEIGN SICKNESS--LAZINESS
OF SLAVEHOLDERS.
The foregoing chapter,
with all its horrid incidents and shocking features, may be taken as a fair
representation of the first six months of my life at Covey's. The reader has
but to repeat, in his own mind, once a week, the scene in the woods, where
Covey subjected me to his merciless lash, to have a true idea of my bitter
experience there, during the first period of the breaking process through which
Mr. Covey carried me. I have no heart to repeat each separate transaction, in
which I was victim of his violence and brutality. Such a narration would fill a
volume much larger than the present one. I aim only to give the reader a
truthful impression of my slave life, without unnecessarily affecting him with
harrowing details.
As I have elsewhere
intimated that my hardships were much greater during the first six months of my
stay at Covey's, than during the remainder of the year, and as the change in my
condition was owing to causes which may help the reader to a better understanding
of human nature, when subjected to the terrible extremities of slavery, I will
narrate the circumstances of this change, although I may seem thereby to
applaud my own courage. You have, dear reader, seen me humbled, degraded,
broken down, enslaved, and brutalized, and you understand how it was done; now
let us see the converse of all this, and how it was brought about; and this
will take us through the year 1834.
On one of the hottest
days of the month of August, of the year just mentioned, had the reader been
passing through Covey's farm, he might have seen me at work, in what is there
called the "treading yard"--a yard upon which wheat is trodden out
from the straw, by the horses' feet. I was there, at work, feeding the
"fan," or rather bringing wheat to the fan, while Bill Smith was
feeding. Our force consisted of Bill Hughes, Bill Smith, and a slave by the
name of Eli; the latter having been hired for this occasion. The work was
simple, and required strength and activity, rather than any skill or
intelligence, and yet, to one entirely unused to such work, it came very hard.
The heat was intense and overpowering, and there was much hurry to get the
wheat, trodden out that day, through the fan; since, if that work was done an
hour before sundown, the hands would have, according to a promise of Covey,
that hour added to their night's rest. I was not behind any of them in the wish
to complete the day's work before sundown, and, hence, I struggled with all my
might to get the work forward. The promise of one hour's repose on a week day,
was sufficient to quicken my pace, and to spur me on to extra endeavor.
Besides, we had all planned to go fishing, and I certainly wished to have a
hand in that. But I was disappointed, and the day turned out to be one of the
bitterest I ever experienced. About three o'clock, while the sun was pouring
down his burning rays, and not a breeze was stirring, I broke down; my strength
failed me; I was seized with a violent aching of the head, attended with
extreme dizziness, and trembling in every limb. Finding what was coming, and
feeling it would never do to stop work, I nerved myself up, and staggered on
until I fell by the side of the wheat fan, feeling that the earth had fallen
upon me. This brought the entire work to a dead stand. There was work for four;
each one had his part to perform, and each part depended on the other, so that
when one stopped, all were compelled to stop. Covey, who had now become my
dread, as well as my tormentor, was at the house, about a hundred yards from
where I was fanning, and instantly, upon hearing the fan stop, he came down to
the treading yard, to inquire into the cause of our stopping. Bill Smith told
him I was sick, and that I was unable longer to bring wheat to the fan.
I had, by this time,
crawled away, under the side of a post-and-rail fence, in the shade, and was
exceeding ill. The intense heat of the sun, the heavy dust rising from the fan,
the stooping, to take up the wheat from the yard, together with the hurrying,
to get through, had caused a rush of blood to my head. In this condition, Covey
finding out where I was, came to me; and, after standing over me a while, he
asked me what the matter was. I told him as well as I could, for it was with
difficulty that I could speak. He then gave me a savage kick in the side, which
jarred my whole frame, and commanded me to get up. The man had obtained
complete control over me; and if he had commanded me to do any possible thing,
I should, in my then state of mind, have endeavored to comply. I made an effort
to rise, but fell back in the attempt, before gaining my feet. The brute now
gave me another heavy kick, and again told me to rise. I again tried to rise,
and succeeded in gaining my feet; but upon stooping to get the tub with which I
was feeding the fan, I again staggered and fell to the ground; and I must have
so fallen, had I been sure that a hundred bullets would have pierced me, as the
consequence. While down, in this sad condition, and perfectly helpless, the
merciless Negro breaker took up the hickory slab, with which Hughes had been
striking off the wheat to a level with the sides of the half bushel measure (a
very hard weapon) and with the sharp edge of it, he dealt me a heavy blow on my
head which made a large gash, and caused the blood to run freely, saying, at
the same time, "If you have got the headache, I'll cure you." This
done, he ordered me again to rise, but I made no effort to do so; for I had
made up my mind that it was useless, and that the heartless monster might now
do his worst; he could but kill me, and that might put me out of my misery.
Finding me unable to rise, or rather despairing of my doing so, Covey left me,
with a view to getting on with the work without me. I was bleeding very freely,
and my face was soon covered with my warm blood. Cruel and merciless as was the
motive that dealt that blow, dear reader, the wound was fortunate for me.
Bleeding was never more efficacious. The pain in my head speedily abated, and I
was soon able to rise. Covey had, as I have said, now left me to my fate; and
the question was, shall I return to my work, or shall I find my way to St.
Michael's, and make Capt. Auld acquainted with the atrocious cruelty of his
brother Covey, and beseech him to get me another master? Remembering the object
he had in view, in placing me under the management of Covey, and further, his
cruel treatment of my poor crippled cousin, Henny, and his meanness in the
matter of feeding and clothing his slaves, there was little ground to hope for
a favorable reception at the hands of Capt. Thomas Auld. Nevertheless, I
resolved to go straight to Capt. Auld, thinking that, if not animated by
motives of humanity, he might be induced to interfere on my behalf from selfish
considerations. "He cannot," thought I, "allow his property to
be thus bruised and battered, marred and defaced; and I will go to him, and
tell him the simple truth about the matter." In order to get to St.
Michael's, by the most favorable and direct road, I must walk seven miles; and
this, in my sad condition, was no easy performance. I had already lost much
blood; I was exhausted by over exertion; my sides were sore from the heavy
blows planted there by the stout boots of Mr. Covey; and I was, in every way,
in an unfavorable plight for the journey. I however watched my chance, while
the cruel and cunning Covey was looking in an opposite direction, and started
off, across the field, for St. Michael's. This was a daring step; if it failed,
it would only exasperate Covey, and increase the rigors of my bondage, during
the remainder of my term of service under him; but the step was taken, and I
must go forward. I succeeded in getting nearly half way across the broad field,
toward the woods, before Mr. Covey observed me. I was still bleeding, and the
exertion of running had started the blood afresh. "Come back! Come
back!" vociferated Covey, with threats of what he would do if I did not
return instantly. But, disregarding his calls and his threats, I pressed on
toward the woods as fast as my feeble state would allow. Seeing no signs of my
stopping, Covey caused his horse to be brought out and saddled, as if he
intended to pursue me. The race was now to be an unequal one; and, thinking I
might be overhauled by him, if I kept the main road, I walked nearly the whole
distance in the woods, keeping far enough from the road to avoid detection and
pursuit. But, I had not gone far, before my little strength again failed me,
and I laid down. The blood was still oozing from the wound in my head; and, for
a time, I suffered more than I can describe. There I was, in the deep woods,
sick and emaciated, pursued by a wretch whose character for revolting cruelty
beggars all opprobrious speech--bleeding, and almost bloodless. I was not
without the fear of bleeding to death. The thought of dying in the woods, all
alone, and of being torn to pieces by the buzzards, had not yet been rendered
tolerable by my many troubles and hardships, and I was glad when the shade of
the trees, and the cool evening breeze, combined with my matted hair to stop
the flow of blood. After lying there about three quarters of an hour, brooding
over the singular and mournful lot to which I was doomed, my mind passing over
the whole scale or circle of belief and unbelief, from faith in the overruling
providence of God, to the blackest atheism, I again took up my journey toward
St. Michael's, more weary and sad than in the morning when I left Thomas Auld's
for the home of Mr. Covey. I was bare-footed and bare-headed, and in MASTER
THOMAS> my shirt sleeves. The way was through bogs and briers, and I tore my
feet often during the journey. I was full five hours in going the seven or
eight miles; partly, because of the difficulties of the way, and partly,
because of the feebleness induced by my illness, bruises and loss of blood. On
gaining my master's store, I presented an appearance of wretchedness and woe,
fitted to move any but a heart of stone. From the crown of my head to the sole
of my feet, there were marks of blood. My hair was all clotted with dust and
blood, and the back of my shirt was literally stiff with the same. Briers and
thorns had scarred and torn my feet and legs, leaving blood marks there. Had I
escaped from a den of tigers, I could not have looked worse than I did on
reaching St. Michael's. In this unhappy plight, I appeared before my
professedly Christian master, humbly to invoke the interposition of his power
and authority, to protect me from further abuse and violence. I had begun to
hope, during the latter part of my tedious journey toward St. Michael's, that
Capt. Auld would now show himself in a nobler light than I had ever before seen
him. I was disappointed. I had jumped from a sinking ship into the sea; I had
fled from the tiger to something worse. I told him all the circumstances, as
well as I could; how I was endeavoring to please Covey; how hard I was at work
in the present instance; how unwilling I sunk down under the heat, toil and
pain; the brutal manner in which Covey had kicked me in the side; the gash cut
in my head; my hesitation about troubling him (Capt. Auld) with complaints;
but, that now I felt it would not be best longer to conceal from him the
outrages committed on me from time to time by Covey. At first, master Thomas
seemed somewhat affected by the story of my wrongs, but he soon repressed his
feelings and became cold as iron. It was impossible--as I stood before him at
the first--for him to seem indifferent. I distinctly saw his human nature
asserting its conviction against the slave system, which made cases like mine
possible; but, as I have said, humanity fell before the systematic tyranny of
slavery. He first walked the floor, apparently much agitated by my story, and
the sad spectacle I presented; but, presently, it was his turn to talk. He
began moderately, by finding excuses for Covey, and ending with a full
justification of him, and a passionate condemnation of me. "He had no
doubt I deserved the flogging. He did not believe I was sick; I was only
endeavoring to get rid of work. My dizziness was laziness, and Covey did right
to flog me, as he had done." After thus fairly annihilating me, and
rousing himself by his own eloquence, he fiercely demanded what I wished him to
do in the case!
With such a complete
knock-down to all my hopes, as he had given me, and feeling, as I did, my
entire subjection to his power, I had very little heart to reply. I must not
affirm my innocence of the allegations which he had piled up against me; for
that would be impudence, and would probably call down fresh violence as well as
wrath upon me. The guilt of a slave is always, and everywhere, presumed; and
the innocence of the slaveholder or the slave employer, is always asserted. The
word of the slave, against this presumption, is generally treated as impudence,
worthy of punishment. "Do you contradict me, you rascal?" is a final
silencer of counter statements from the lips of a slave.
Calming down a little
in view of my silence and hesitation, and, perhaps, from a rapid glance at the
picture of misery I presented, he inquired again, "what I would have him
do?" Thus invited a second time, I told Master Thomas I wished him to
allow me to get a new home and to find a new master; that, as sure as I went
back to live with Mr. Covey again, I should be killed by him; that he would
never forgive my coming to him (Capt. Auld) with a complaint against him
(Covey); that, since I had lived with him, he almost crushed my spirit, and I
believed that he would ruin me for future service; that my life was not safe in
his hands. This, Master Thomas (my brother in the church) regarded as
"nonsense." "There was no danger of Mr. Covey's killing me; he
was a good man, industrious and religious, and he would not think of removing
me from that home; "besides," said he and this I found was the most
distressing thought of all to him--"if you should leave Covey now, that
your year has but half expired, I should lose your wages for the entire year.
You belong to Mr. Covey for one year, and you must go back to him, come what
will. You must not trouble me with any more stories about Mr. Covey; and if you
do not go immediately home, I will get hold of you myself." This was just
what I expected, when I found he had prejudged the case against me. "But,
Sir," I said, "I am sick and tired, and I cannot get home
to-night." At this, he again relented, and finally he allowed me to remain
all night at St. Michael's; but said I must be off early in the morning, and
concluded his directions by making me swallow a huge dose of epsom salts--about
the only medicine ever administered to slaves.
It was quite natural
for Master Thomas to presume I was feigning sickness to escape work, for he
probably thought that were he in the place of a slave with no wages for his
work, no praise for well doing, no motive for toil but the lash--he would try
every possible scheme by which to escape labor. I say I have no doubt of this;
the reason is, that there are not, under the whole heavens, a set of men who
cultivate such an intense dread of labor as do the slaveholders. The charge of
laziness against the slave is ever on their lips, and is the standing apology
for every species of cruelty and brutality. These men literally "bind
heavy burdens, grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders; but they,
themselves, will not move them with one of their fingers."
My kind readers shall
have, in the next chapter--what they were led, perhaps, to expect to find in
this--namely: an account of my partial disenthrallment from the tyranny of
Covey, and the marked change which it brought about.
A SLEEPLESS
NIGHT--RETURN TO COVEY'S--PURSUED BY COVEY--THE CHASE DEFEATED--VENGEANCE
POSTPONED--MUSINGS IN THE WOODS--THE ALTERNATIVE--DEPLORABLE SPECTACLE--NIGHT
IN THE WOODS--EXPECTED ATTACK--ACCOSTED BY SANDY, A FRIEND, NOT A
HUNTER--SANDY'S HOSPITALITY--THE "ASH CAKE" SUPPER--THE INTERVIEW
WITH SANDY--HIS ADVICE--SANDY A CONJURER AS WELL AS A CHRISTIAN--THE MAGIC
ROOT--STRANGE MEETING WITH COVEY--HIS MANNER--COVEY'S SUNDAY FACE--MY DEFENSIVE
RESOLVE--THE FIGHT--THE VICTORY, AND ITS RESULTS.
Sleep itself does not
always come to the relief of the weary in body, and the broken in spirit;
especially when past troubles only foreshadow coming disasters. The last hope
had been extinguished. My master, who I did not venture to hope would protect
me as a man, had even now refused to protect me as his property; and had cast
me back, covered with reproaches and bruises, into the hands of a stranger to
that mercy which was the soul of the religion he professed. May the reader
never spend such a night as that allotted to me, previous to the morning which
was to herald my return to the den of horrors from which I had made a temporary
escape.
I remained all
night--sleep I did not--at St. Michael's; and in the morning (Saturday) I
started off, according to the order of Master Thomas, feeling that I had no
friend on earth, and doubting if I had one in heaven. I reached Covey's about
nine o'clock; and just as I stepped into the field, before I had reached the
house, Covey, true to his snakish habits, darted out at me from a fence corner,
in which he had secreted himself, for the purpose of securing me. He was amply
provided with a cowskin and a rope; and he evidently intended to tie me up, and
to wreak his vengeance on me to the fullest extent. I should have been an easy
prey, had he succeeded in getting his hands upon me, for I had taken no
refreshment since noon on Friday; and this, together with the pelting,
excitement, and the loss of blood, had reduced my strength. I, however, darted
back into the woods, before the ferocious hound could get hold of me, and
buried myself in a thicket, where he lost sight of me. The corn-field afforded
me cover, in getting to the woods. But for the tall corn, Covey would have
overtaken me, and made me his captive. He seemed very much chagrined that he
did not catch me, and gave up the chase, very reluctantly; for I could see his
angry movements, toward the house from which he had sallied, on his foray.
Well, now I am clear of
Covey, and of his wrathful lash, for present. I am in the wood, buried in its
somber gloom, and hushed in its solemn silence; hid from all human eyes; shut
in with nature and nature's God, and absent from all human contrivances. Here
was a good place to pray; to pray for help for deliverance--a prayer I had
often made before. But how could I pray? Covey could pray--Capt. Auld could
pray--I would fain pray; but doubts (arising partly from my own neglect of the
means of grace, and partly from the sham religion which everywhere prevailed,
cast in my mind a doubt upon all religion, and led me to the conviction that
prayers were unavailing and delusive) prevented my embracing the opportunity,
as a religious one. Life, in itself, had almost become burdensome to me. All my
outward relations were against me; I must stay here and starve (I was already
hungry) or go home to Covey's, and have my flesh torn to pieces, and my spirit
humbled under the cruel lash of Covey. This was the painful alternative
presented to me. The day was long and irksome. My physical condition was deplorable.
I was weak, from the toils of the previous day, and from the want of food and
rest; and had been so little concerned about my appearance, that I had not yet
washed the blood from my garments. I was an object of horror, even to myself.
Life, in Baltimore, when most oppressive, was a paradise to this. What had I
done, what had my parents done, that such a life as this should be mine? That
day, in the woods, I would have exchanged my manhood for the brutehood of an
ox.
Night came. I was still
in the woods, unresolved what to do. Hunger had not yet pinched me to the point
of going home, and I laid myself down in the leaves to rest; for I had been
watching for hunters all day, but not being molested during the day, I expected
no disturbance during the night. I had come to the conclusion that Covey relied
upon hunger to drive me home; and in this I was quite correct--the facts showed
that he had made no effort to catch me, since morning.
During the night, I
heard the step of a man in the woods. He was coming toward the place where I
lay. A person lying still has the advantage over one walking in the woods, in
the day time, and this advantage is much greater at night. I was not able to
engage in a physical struggle, and I had recourse to the common resort of the
weak. I hid myself in the leaves to prevent discovery. But, as the night
rambler in the woods drew nearer, I found him to be a friend, not an enemy; it
was a slave of Mr. William Groomes, of Easton, a kind hearted fellow, named
"Sandy." Sandy lived with Mr. Kemp that year, about four miles from
St. Michael's. He, like myself had been hired out by the year; but, unlike
myself, had not been hired out to be broken. Sandy was the husband of a free
woman, who lived in the lower part of "Potpie Neck," and he was now
on his way through the woods, to see her, and to spend the Sabbath with her.
As soon as I had
ascertained that the disturber of my solitude was not an enemy, but the
good-hearted Sandy--a man as famous among the slaves of the neighborhood for his
good nature, as for his good sense I came out from my hiding place, and made
myself known to him. I explained the circumstances of the past two days, which
had driven me to the woods, and he deeply compassionated my distress. It was a
bold thing for him to shelter me, and I could not ask him to do so; for, had I
been found in his hut, he would have suffered the penalty of thirty-nine lashes
on his bare back, if not something worse. But Sandy was too generous to permit
the fear of punishment to prevent his relieving a brother bondman from hunger
and exposure; and, therefore, on his own motion, I accompanied him to his home,
or rather to the home of his wife--for the house and lot were hers. His wife
was called up--for it was now about midnight--a fire was made, some Indian meal
was soon mixed with salt and water, and an ash cake was baked in a hurry to
relieve my hunger. Sandy's wife was not behind him in kindness--both seemed to
esteem it a privilege to succor me; for, although I was hated by Covey and by
my master, I was loved by the colored people, because they thought I was hated
for my knowledge, and persecuted because I was feared. I was the only slave now
in that region who could read and write. There had been one other man,
belonging to Mr. Hugh Hamilton, who could read (his name was "Jim"),
but he, poor fellow, had, shortly after my coming into the neighborhood, been
sold off to the far south. I saw Jim ironed, in the cart, to be carried to
Easton for sale--pinioned like a yearling for the slaughter. My knowledge was
now the pride of my brother slaves; and, no doubt, Sandy felt something of the
general interest in me on that account. The supper was soon ready, and though I
have feasted since, with honorables, lord mayors and aldermen, over the sea, my
supper on ash cake and cold water, with Sandy, was the meal, of all my life,
most sweet to my taste, and now most vivid in my memory.
Supper over, Sandy and
I went into a discussion of what was possible for me, under the perils and
hardships which now overshadowed my path. The question was, must I go back to
Covey, or must I now tempt to run away? Upon a careful survey, the latter was
found to be impossible; for I was on a narrow neck of land, every avenue from
which would bring me in sight of pursuers. There was the Chesapeake bay to the
right, and "Pot-pie" river to the left, and St. Michael's and its
neighborhood occupying the only space through which there was any retreat.
I found Sandy an old
advisor. He was not only a religious man, but he professed to believe in a
system for which I have no name. He was a genuine African, and had inherited
some of the so-called magical powers, said to be possessed by African and
eastern nations. He told me that he could help me; that, in those very woods,
there was an herb, which in the morning might be found, possessing all the
powers required for my protection (I put his thoughts in my own language); and
that, if I would take his advice, he would procure me the root of the herb of
which he spoke. He told me further, that if I would take that root and wear it
on my right side, it would be impossible for Covey to strike me a blow; that
with this root about my person, no white man could whip me. He said he had
carried it for years, and that he had fully tested its virtues. He had never
received a blow from a slaveholder since he carried it; and he never expected
to receive one, for he always meant to carry that root as a protection. He knew
Covey well, for Mrs. Covey was the daughter of Mr. Kemp; and he (Sandy) had heard
of the barbarous treatment to which I was subjected, and he wanted to do
something for me.
Now all this talk about
the root, was to me, very absurd and ridiculous, if not positively sinful. I at
first rejected the idea that the simple carrying a root on my right side (a
root, by the way, over which I walked every time I went into the woods) could
possess any such magic power as he ascribed to it, and I was, therefore, not
disposed to cumber my pocket with it. I had a positive aversion to all pretenders
to "divination." It was beneath one of my intelligence to countenance
such dealings with the devil, as this power implied. But, with all my
learning--it was really precious little--Sandy was more than a match for me.
"My book learning," he said, "had not kept Covey off me" (a
powerful argument just then) and he entreated me, with flashing eyes, to try
this. If it did me no good, it could do me no harm, and it would cost me
nothing, any way. Sandy was so earnest, and so confident of the good qualities
of this weed, that, to please him, rather than from any conviction of its
excellence, I was induced to take it. He had been to me the good Samaritan, and
had, almost providentially, found me, and helped me when I could not help
myself; how did I know but that the hand of the Lord was in it? With thoughts
of this sort, I took the roots from Sandy, and put them in my right hand
pocket.
This was, of course,
Sunday morning. Sandy now urged me to go home, with all speed, and to walk up
bravely to the house, as though nothing had happened. I saw in Sandy too deep
an insight into human nature, with all his superstition, not to have some
respect for his advice; and perhaps, too, a slight gleam or shadow of his
superstition had fallen upon me. At any rate, I started off toward Covey's, as
directed by Sandy. Having, the previous night, poured my griefs into Sandy's
ears, and got him enlisted in my behalf, having made his wife a sharer in my
sorrows, and having, also, become well refreshed by sleep and food, I moved off,
quite courageously, toward the much dreaded Covey's. Singularly enough, just as
I entered his yard gate, I met him and his wife, dressed in their Sunday
best--looking as smiling as angels--on their way to church. The manner of Covey
astonished me. There was something really benignant in his countenance. He
spoke to me as never before; told me that the pigs had got into the lot, and he
wished me to drive them out; inquired how I was, and seemed an altered man.
This extraordinary conduct of Covey, really made me begin to think that Sandy's
herb had more virtue in it than I, in my pride, had been willing to allow; and,
had the day been other than Sunday, I should have attributed Covey's altered
manner solely to the magic power of the root. I suspected, however, that the
Sabbath, and not the root, was the real explanation of Covey's manner. His
religion hindered him from breaking the Sabbath, but not from breaking my skin.
He had more respect for the day than for the man, for whom the day was
mercifully given; for while he would cut and slash my body during the week, he
would not hesitate, on Sunday, to teach me the value of my soul, or the way of
life and salvation by Jesus Christ.
All went well with me
till Monday morning; and then, whether the root had lost its virtue, or whether
my tormentor had gone deeper into the black art than myself (as was sometimes
said of him), or whether he had obtained a special indulgence, for his faithful
Sabbath day's worship, it is not necessary for me to know, or to inform the
reader; but, this I may say--the pious and benignant smile which graced Covey's
face on Sunday, wholly disappeared on Monday. Long before daylight, I was
called up to go and feed, rub, and curry the horses. I obeyed the call, and
would have so obeyed it, had it been made at an earlier hour, for I had brought
my mind to a firm resolve, during that Sunday's reflection, viz: to obey every
order, however unreasonable, if it were possible, and, if Mr. Covey should then
undertake to beat me, to defend and protect myself to the best of my ability.
My religious views on the subject of resisting my master, had suffered a
serious shock, by the savage persecution to which I had been subjected, and my
hands were no longer tied by my religion. Master Thomas's indifference had
served the last link. I had now to this extent "backslidden" from
this point in the slave's religious creed; and I soon had occasion to make my
fallen state known to my Sunday-pious brother, Covey.
Whilst I was obeying
his order to feed and get the horses ready for the field, and when in the act
of going up the stable loft for the purpose of throwing down some blades, Covey
sneaked into the stable, in his peculiar snake-like way, and seizing me
suddenly by the leg, he brought me to the stable floor, giving my newly mended
body a fearful jar. I now forgot my roots, and remembered my pledge to stand up
in my own defense. The brute was endeavoring skillfully to get a slip-knot on
my legs, before I could draw up my feet. As soon as I found what he was up to,
I gave a sudden spring (my two day's rest had been of much service to me,) and
by that means, no doubt, he was able to bring me to the floor so heavily. He
was defeated in his plan of tying me. While down, he seemed to think he had me
very securely in his power. He little thought he was--as the rowdies
say--"in" for a "rough and tumble" fight; but such was the
fact. Whence came the daring spirit necessary to grapple with a man who,
eight-and-forty hours before, could, with his slightest word have made me
tremble like a leaf in a storm, I do not know; at any rate, I was resolved to
fight, and, what was better still, I was actually hard at it. The fighting
madness had come upon me, and I found my strong fingers firmly attached to the
throat of my cowardly tormentor; as heedless of consequences, at the moment, as
though we stood as equals before the law. The very color of the man was
forgotten. I felt as supple as a cat, and was ready for the snakish creature at
every turn. Every blow of his was parried, though I dealt no blows in turn. I
was strictly on the defensive, preventing him from injuring me, rather than
trying to injure him. I flung him on the ground several times, when he meant to
have hurled me there. I held him so firmly by the throat, that his blood
followed my nails. He held me, and I held him.
All was fair, thus far,
and the contest was about equal. My resistance was entirely unexpected, and
Covey was taken all aback by it, for he trembled in every limb. "Are you
going to resist, you scoundrel?" said he. To which, I returned a polite
"Yes sir;" steadily gazing my interrogator in the eye, to meet the
first approach or dawning of the blow, which I expected my answer would call
forth. But, the conflict did not long remain thus equal. Covey soon cried out
lustily for help; not that I was obtaining any marked advantage over him, or
was injuring him, but because he was gaining none over me, and was not able,
single handed, to conquer me. He called for his cousin Hughs, to come to his
assistance, and now the scene was changed. I was compelled to give blows, as
well as to parry them; and, since I was, in any case, to suffer for resistance,
I felt (as the musty proverb goes) that "I might as well be hanged for an
old sheep as a lamb." I was still defensive toward Covey, but aggressive
toward Hughs; and, at the first approach of the latter, I dealt a blow, in my
desperation, which fairly sickened my youthful assailant. He went off, bending
over with pain, and manifesting no disposition to come within my reach again.
The poor fellow was in the act of trying to catch and tie my right hand, and
while flattering himself with success, I gave him the kick which sent him
staggering away in pain, at the same time that I held Covey with a firm hand.
Taken completely by
surprise, Covey seemed to have lost his usual strength and coolness. He was
frightened, and stood puffing and blowing, seemingly unable to command words or
blows. When he saw that poor Hughes was standing half bent with pain--his
courage quite gone the cowardly tyrant asked if I "meant to persist in my
resistance." I told him "I did mean to resist, come what might;"
that I had been by him treated like a brute, during the last six months; and
that I should stand it no longer. With that, he gave me a shake, and attempted
to drag me toward a stick of wood, that was lying just outside the stable door.
He meant to knock me down with it; but, just as he leaned over to get the
stick, I seized him with both hands by the collar, and, with a vigorous and sudden
snatch, I brought my assailant harmlessly, his full length, on the not
overclean ground--for we were now in the cow yard. He had selected the place
for the fight, and it was but right that he should have all the advantages of
his own selection.
By this time, Bill, the
hiredman, came home. He had been to Mr. Hemsley's, to spend the Sunday with his
nominal wife, and was coming home on Monday morning, to go to work. Covey and I
had been skirmishing from before daybreak, till now, that the sun was almost shooting
his beams over the eastern woods, and we were still at it. I could not see
where the matter was to terminate. He evidently was afraid to let me go, lest I
should again make off to the woods; otherwise, he would probably have obtained
arms from the house, to frighten me. Holding me, Covey called upon Bill for
assistance. The scene here, had something comic about it. "Bill," who
knew precisely what Covey wished him to do, affected ignorance, and pretended
he did not know what to do. "What shall I do, Mr. Covey," said Bill.
"Take hold of him--take hold of him!" said Covey. With a toss of his
head, peculiar to Bill, he said, "indeed, Mr. Covey I want to go to
work." "This is your work," said Covey; "take hold of him."
Bill replied, with spirit, "My master hired me here, to work, and not to
help you whip Frederick." It was now my turn to speak. "Bill,"
said I, "don't put your hands on me." To which he replied, "My
GOD! Frederick, I ain't goin' to tech ye," and Bill walked off, leaving
Covey and myself to settle our matters as best we might.
But, my present
advantage was threatened when I saw Caroline (the slave-woman of Covey) coming
to the cow yard to milk, for she was a powerful woman, and could have mastered
me very easily, exhausted as I now was. As soon as she came into the yard,
Covey attempted to rally her to his aid. Strangely--and, I may add,
fortunately--Caroline was in no humor to take a hand in any such sport. We were
all in open rebellion, that morning. Caroline answered the command of her master
to "take hold of me," precisely as Bill had answered, but in her, it
was at greater peril so to answer; she was the slave of Covey, and he could do
what he pleased with her. It was not so with Bill, and Bill knew it. Samuel
Harris, to whom Bill belonged, did not allow his slaves to be beaten, unless
they were guilty of some crime which the law would punish. But, poor Caroline,
like myself, was at the mercy of the merciless Covey; nor did she escape the
dire effects of her refusal. He gave her several sharp blows.
Covey at length (two
hours had elapsed) gave up the contest. Letting me go, he said--puffing and
blowing at a great rate--"Now, you scoundrel, go to your work; I would not
have whipped you half so much as I have had you not resisted." The fact was,
he had not whipped me at all. He had not, in all the scuffle, drawn a single
drop of blood from me. I had drawn blood from him; and, even without this
satisfaction, I should have been victorious, because my aim had not been to
injure him, but to prevent his injuring me.
During the whole six
months that I lived with Covey, after this transaction, he never laid on me the
weight of his finger in anger. He would, occasionally, say he did not want to
have to get hold of me again--a declaration which I had no difficulty in
believing; and I had a secret feeling, which answered, "You need not wish
to get hold of me again, for you will be likely to come off worse in a second
fight than you did in the first."
Well, my dear reader,
this battle with Mr. Covey--undignified as it was, and as I fear my narration
of it is--was the turning point in my "life as a slave." It rekindled
in my breast the smouldering embers of liberty; it brought up my Baltimore
dreams, and revived a sense of my own manhood. I was a changed being after that
fight. I was nothing before; I WAS A MAN NOW. It recalled to life my crushed
self-respect and my self-confidence, and inspired me with a renewed
determination to be A FREEMAN. A man, without force, is without the essential
dignity of humanity. Human nature is so constituted, that it cannot honor a
helpless man, although it can pity him; and even this it cannot do long, if the
signs of power do not arise.
He can only understand
the effect of this combat on my spirit, who has himself incurred something,
hazarded something, in repelling the unjust and cruel aggressions of a tyrant.
Covey was a tyrant, and a cowardly one, withal. After resisting him, I felt as
I had never felt before. It was a resurrection from the dark and pestiferous
tomb of slavery, to the heaven of comparative freedom. I was no longer a
servile coward, trembling under the frown of a brother worm of the dust, but,
my long-cowed spirit was roused to an attitude of manly independence. I had
reached the point, at which I was not afraid to die. This spirit made me a
freeman in fact, while I remained a slave in form. When a slave cannot be
flogged he is more than half free. He has a domain as broad as his own manly
heart to defend, and he is really "a power on earth." While slaves
prefer their lives, with flogging, to instant death, they will always find
Christians enough, like unto Covey, to accommodate that preference. From this
time, until that of my escape from slavery, I was never fairly whipped. Several
attempts were made to whip me, but they were always unsuccessful. Bruises I did
get, as I shall hereafter inform the reader; but the case I have been
describing, was the end of the brutification to which slavery had subjected me.
The reader will be glad
to know why, after I had so grievously offended Mr. Covey, he did not have me
taken in hand by the authorities; indeed, why the law of Maryland, which
assigns hanging to the slave who resists his master, was not put in force
against me; at any rate, why I was not taken up, as is usual in such cases, and
publicly whipped, for an example to other slaves, and as a means of deterring
me from committing the same offense again. I confess, that the easy manner in
which I got off, for a long time, a surprise to me, and I cannot, even now,
fully explain the cause.
The only explanation I
can venture to suggest, is the fact, that Covey was, probably, ashamed to have
it known and confessed that he had been mastered by a boy of sixteen. Mr. Covey
enjoyed the unbounded and very valuable reputation, of being a first rate
overseer and Negro breaker. By means of this reputation, he was able to procure
his hands for very trifling compensation, and with very great ease. His
interest and his pride mutually suggested the wisdom of passing the matter by,
in silence. The story that he had undertaken to whip a lad, and had been
resisted, was, of itself, sufficient to damage him; for his bearing should, in
the estimation of slaveholders, be of that imperial order that should make such
an occurrence impossible. I judge from these circumstances, that Covey deemed
it best to give me the go-by. It is, perhaps, not altogether creditable to my
natural temper, that, after this conflict with Mr. Covey, I did, at times,
purposely aim to provoke him to an attack, by refusing to keep with the other
hands in the field, but I could never bully him to another battle. I had made
up my mind to do him serious damage, if he ever again attempted to lay violent
hands on me.
"Hereditary
bondmen, know ye not
Who would be free,
themselves must strike the blow?
CHANGE OF
MASTERS--BENEFITS DERIVED BY THE CHANGE--FAME OF THE FIGHT WITH COVEY--RECKLESS
UNCONCERN--MY ABHORRENCE OF SLAVERY--ABILITY TO READ A CAUSE OF PREJUDICE--THE
HOLIDAYS--HOW SPENT--SHARP HIT AT SLAVERY--EFFECTS OF HOLIDAYS--A DEVICE OF
SLAVERY--DIFFERENCE BETWEEN COVEY AND FREELAND--AN IRRELIGIOUS MASTER PREFERRED
TO A RELIGIOUS ONE--CATALOGUE OF FLOGGABLE OFFENSES--HARD LIFE AT COVEY'S
USEFUL--IMPROVED CONDITION NOT FOLLOWED BY CONTENTMENT--CONGENIAL SOCIETY AT
FREELAND'S--SABBATH SCHOOL INSTITUTED--SECRECY NECESSARY--AFFECTIONATE
RELATIONS OF TUTOR AND PUPILS--CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP AMONG SLAVES--I
DECLINE PUBLISHING PARTICULARS OF CONVERSATIONS WITH MY FRIENDS--SLAVERY THE
INVITER OF VENGEANCE.
My term of actual
service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day, 1834. I gladly left the
snakish Covey, although he was now as gentle as a lamb. My home for the year
1835 was already secured--my next master was already selected. There is always
more or less excitement about the matter of changing hands, but I had become
somewhat reckless. I cared very little into whose hands I fell--I meant to
fight my way. Despite of Covey, too, the report got abroad, that I was hard to
whip; that I was guilty of kicking back; that though generally a good tempered
Negro, I sometimes "got the devil in me." These sayings were rife in
Talbot county, and they distinguished me among my servile brethren. Slaves,
generally, will fight each other, and die at each other's hands; but there are
few who are not held in awe by a white man. Trained from the cradle up, to
think and feel that their masters are superior, and invested with a sort of
sacredness, there are few who can outgrow or rise above the control which that
sentiment exercises. I had now got free from it, and the thing was known. One
bad sheep will spoil a whole flock. Among the slaves, I was a bad sheep. I
hated slavery, slaveholders, and all pertaining to them; and I did not fail to
inspire others with the same feeling, wherever and whenever opportunity was
presented. This made me a marked lad among the slaves, and a suspected one
among the slaveholders. A knowledge of my ability to read and write, got pretty
widely spread, which was very much against me.
The days between
Christmas day and New Year's, are allowed the slaves as holidays. During these
days, all regular work was suspended, and there was nothing to do but to keep
fires, and look after the stock. This time was regarded as our own, by the
grace of our masters, and we, therefore used it, or abused it, as we pleased.
Those who had families at a distance, were now expected to visit them, and to
spend with them the entire week. The younger slaves, or the unmarried ones,
were expected to see to the cattle, and attend to incidental duties at home.
The holidays were variously spent. The sober, thinking and industrious ones of
our number, would employ themselves in manufacturing corn brooms, mats, horse
collars and baskets, and some of these were very well made. Another class spent
their time in hunting opossums, coons, rabbits, and other game. But the majority
spent the holidays in sports, ball playing, wrestling, boxing, running foot
races, dancing, and drinking whisky; and this latter mode of spending the time
was generally most agreeable to their masters. A slave who would work during
the holidays, was thought, by his master, undeserving of holidays. Such an one
had rejected the favor of his master. There was, in this simple act of
continued work, an accusation against slaves; and a slave could not help
thinking, that if he made three dollars during the holidays, he might make
three hundred during the year. Not to be drunk during the holi EFFECTS OF
HOLIDAYS> days, was disgraceful; and he was esteemed a lazy and improvident
man, who could not afford to drink whisky during Christmas.
The fiddling, dancing
and "jubilee beating," was going on in all directions. This latter
performance is strictly southern. It supplies the place of a violin, or of
other musical instruments, and is played so easily, that almost every farm has
its "Juba" beater. The performer improvises as he beats, and sings
his merry songs, so ordering the words as to have them fall pat with the
movement of his hands. Among a mass of nonsense and wild frolic, once in a
while a sharp hit is given to the meanness of slaveholders. Take the following,
for an example:
"We raise de
wheat,
Dey gib us de corn;
We bake de bread,
Dey gib us de cruss;
We sif de meal,
Dey gib us de huss;
We peal de meat,
Dey gib us de skin,
And dat's de way
Dey takes us in.
We skim de pot,
Dey gib us the liquor,
And say dat's good
enough for nigger.
Walk over! walk over! Tom butter and de fat; Poor nigger you can't get
over dat; Walk over!" This is
not a bad summary of the palpable injustice and fraud of slavery, giving--as it
does--to the lazy and idle, the comforts which God designed should be given
solely to the honest laborer. But to the holiday's.
Judging from my own
observation and experience, I believe these holidays to be among the most
effective means, in the hands of slaveholders, of keeping down the spirit of
insurrection among the slaves.
To enslave men,
successfully and safely, it is necessary to have their minds occupied with
thoughts and aspirations short of the liberty of which they are deprived. A
certain degree of attainable good must be kept before them. These holidays
serve the purpose of keeping the minds of the slaves occupied with prospective
pleasure, within the limits of slavery. The young man can go wooing; the
married man can visit his wife; the father and mother can see their children;
the industrious and money loving can make a few dollars; the great wrestler can
win laurels; the young people can meet, and enjoy each other's society; the
drunken man can get plenty of whisky; and the religious man can hold prayer
meetings, preach, pray and exhort during the holidays. Before the holidays,
these are pleasures in prospect; after the holidays, they become pleasures of
memory, and they serve to keep out thoughts and wishes of a more dangerous
character. Were slaveholders at once to abandon the practice of allowing their
slaves these liberties, periodically, and to keep them, the year round, closely
confined to the narrow circle of their homes, I doubt not that the south would
blaze with insurrections. These holidays are conductors or safety valves to
carry off the explosive elements inseparable from the human mind, when reduced
to the condition of slavery. But for these, the rigors of bondage would become
too severe for endurance, and the slave would be forced up to dangerous
desperation. Woe to the slaveholder when he undertakes to hinder or to prevent
the operation of these electric conductors. A succession of earthquakes would
be less destructive, than the insurrectionary fires which would be sure to
burst forth in different parts of the south, from such interference.
Thus, the holidays,
became part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrongs and inhumanity of slavery.
Ostensibly, they are institutions of benevolence, designed to mitigate the
rigors of slave life, but, practically, they are a fraud, instituted by human
selfishness, the better to secure the ends of injustice and oppression. The
slave's happiness is not the end sought, but, rather, the master's safety. It
is not from a generous unconcern for the slave's labor that this cessation from
labor is allowed, but from a prudent regard to the safety of the slave system.
I am strengthened in this opinion, by the fact, that most slaveholders like to
have their slaves spend the holidays in such a manner as to be of no real
benefit to the slaves. It is plain, that everything like rational enjoyment
among the slaves, is frowned upon; and only those wild and low sports, peculiar
to semi-civilized people, are encouraged. All the license allowed, appears to
have no other object than to disgust the slaves with their temporary freedom,
and to make them as glad to return to their work, as they were to leave it. By
plunging them into exhausting depths of drunkenness and dissipation, this
effect is almost certain to follow. I have known slaveholders resort to cunning
tricks, with a view of getting their slaves deplorably drunk. A usual plan is,
to make bets on a slave, that he can drink more whisky than any other; and so
to induce a rivalry among them, for the mastery in this degradation. The
scenes, brought about in this way, were often scandalous and loathsome in the
extreme. Whole multitudes might be found stretched out in brutal drunkenness,
at once helpless and disgusting. Thus, when the slave asks for a few hours of
virtuous freedom, his cunning master takes advantage of his ignorance, and
cheers him with a dose of vicious and revolting dissipation, artfully labeled
with the name of LIBERTY. We were induced to drink, I among the rest, and when
the holidays were over, we all staggered up from our filth and wallowing, took
a long breath, and went away to our various fields of work; feeling, upon the
whole, rather glad to go from that which our masters artfully deceived us into
the belief was freedom, back again to the arms of slavery. It was not what we
had taken it to be, nor what it might have been, had it not been abused by us.
It was about as well to be a slave to master, as to be a slave to rum and
whisky.
I am the more induced
to take this view of the holiday system, adopted by slaveholders, from what I
know of their treatment of slaves, in regard to other things. It is the
commonest thing for them to try to disgust their slaves with what they do not
want them to have, or to enjoy. A slave, for instance, likes molasses; he
steals some; to cure him of the taste for it, his master, in many cases, will
go away to town, and buy a large quantity of the poorest quality, and set it
before his slave, and, with whip in hand, compel him to eat it, until the poor
fellow is made to sicken at the very thought of molasses. The same course is
often adopted to cure slaves of the disagreeable and inconvenient practice of
asking for more food, when their allowance has failed them. The same disgusting
process works well, too, in other things, but I need not cite them. When a
slave is drunk, the slaveholder has no fear that he will plan an insurrection;
no fear that he will escape to the north. It is the sober, thinking slave who
is dangerous, and needs the vigilance of his master, to keep him a slave. But,
to proceed with my narrative.
On the first of
January, 1835, I proceeded from St. Michael's to Mr. William Freeland's, my new
home. Mr. Freeland lived only three miles from St. Michael's, on an old worn
out farm, which required much labor to restore it to anything like a
self-supporting establishment.
I was not long in
finding Mr. Freeland to be a very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not
rich, Mr. Freeland was what may be called a well-bred southern gentleman, as
different from Covey, as a well-trained and hardened Negro breaker is from the
best specimen of the first families of the south. Though Freeland was a
slaveholder, and shared many of the vices of his class, he seemed alive to the
sentiment of honor. He had some sense of justice, and some feelings of humanity.
He was fretful, impulsive and passionate, but I must do him the justice to say,
he was free from the mean and selfish characteristics which distinguished the
creature from which I had now, happily, escaped. He was open, frank,
imperative, and practiced no concealments, disdaining to play the spy. In all
this, he was the opposite of the crafty Covey.
Among the many
advantages gained in my change from Covey's to Freeland's--startling as the
statement may be--was the fact that the latter gentleman made no profession of
religion. I assert most unhesitatingly, that the religion of the south--as I
have observed it and proved it--is a mere covering for the most horrid crimes;
the justifier of the most appalling barbarity; a sanctifier of the most hateful
frauds; and a secure shelter, under which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and
most infernal abominations fester and flourish. Were I again to be reduced to
the condition of a slave, next to that calamity, I should regard the fact of
being the slave of a religious slaveholder, the greatest that could befall me.
For all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the
worst. I have found them, almost invariably, the vilest, meanest and basest of
their class. Exceptions there may be, but this is true of religious
slaveholders, as a class. It is not for me to explain the fact. Others may do
that; I simply state it as a fact, and leave the theological, and psychological
inquiry, which it raises, to be decided by others more competent than myself.
Religious slaveholders, like religious persecutors, are ever extreme in their
malice and violence. Very near my new home, on an adjoining farm, there lived
the Rev. Daniel Weeden, who was both pious and cruel after the real Covey
pattern. Mr. Weeden was a local preacher of the Protestant Methodist
persuasion, and a most zealous supporter of the ordinances of religion,
generally. This Weeden owned a woman called "Ceal," who was a
standing proof of his mercilessness. Poor Ceal's back, always scantily clothed,
was kept literally raw, by the lash of this religious man and gospel minister.
The most notoriously wicked man--so called in distinction from church
members--could hire hands more easily than this brute. When sent out to find a
home, a slave would never enter the gates of the preacher Weeden, while a
sinful sinner needed a hand. Behave ill, or behave well, it was the known maxim
of Weeden, that it is the duty of a master to use the lash. If, for no other
reason, he contended that this was essential to remind a slave of his
condition, and of his master's authority. The good slave must be whipped, to be
kept good, and the bad slave must be whipped, to be made good. Such was
Weeden's theory, and such was his practice. The back of his slave-woman will, in
the judgment, be the swiftest witness against him.
While I am stating
particular cases, I might as well immortalize another of my neighbors, by
calling him by name, and putting him in print. He did not think that a
"chiel" was near, "taking notes," and will, doubtless, feel
quite angry at having his character touched off in the ragged style of a
slave's pen. I beg to introduce the reader to REV. RIGBY HOPKINS. Mr. Hopkins
resides between Easton and St. Michael's, in Talbot county, Maryland. The severity
of this man made him a perfect terror to the slaves of his neighborhood. The
peculiar feature of his government, was, his system of whipping slaves, as he
said, in advance of deserving it. He always managed to have one or two slaves
to whip on Monday morning, so as to start his hands to their work, under the
inspiration of a new assurance on Monday, that his preaching about kindness,
mercy, brotherly love, and the like, on Sunday, did not interfere with, or
prevent him from establishing his authority, by the cowskin. He seemed to wish
to assure them, that his tears over poor, lost and ruined sinners, and his pity
for them, did not reach to the blacks who tilled his fields. This saintly
Hopkins used to boast, that he was the best hand to manage a Negro in the
county. He whipped for the smallest offenses, by way of preventing the
commission of large ones.
The reader might
imagine a difficulty in finding faults enough for such frequent whipping. But
this is because you have no idea how easy a matter it is to offend a man who is
on the look-out for offenses. The man, unaccustomed to slaveholding, would be
astonished to observe how many foggable offenses there are in the slaveholder's
catalogue of crimes; and how easy it is to commit any one of them, even when the
slave least intends it. A slaveholder, bent on finding fault, will hatch up a
dozen a day, if he chooses to do so, and each one of these shall be of a
punishable description. A mere look, word, or motion, a mistake, accident, or
want of power, are all matters for which a slave may be whipped at any time.
Does a slave look dissatisfied with his condition? It is said, that he has the
devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he answer loudly, when spoken to
by his master, with an air of self-consciousness? Then, must he be taken down a
button-hole lower, by the lash, well laid on. Does he forget, and omit to pull
off his hat, when approaching a white person? Then, he must, or may be, whipped
for his bad manners. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct, when
harshly and unjustly accused? Then, he is guilty of impudence, one of the
greatest crimes in the social catalogue of southern society. To allow a slave
to escape punishment, who has impudently attempted to exculpate himself from
unjust charges, preferred against him by some white person, is to be guilty of
great dereliction of duty. Does a slave ever venture to suggest a better way of
doing a thing, no matter what? He is, altogether, too officious--wise above
what is written--and he deserves, even if he does not get, a flogging for his
presumption. Does he, while plowing, break a plow, or while hoeing, break a
hoe, or while chopping, break an ax? No matter what were the imperfections of
the implement broken, or the natural liabilities for breaking, the slave can be
whipped for carelessness. The reverend slaveholder could always find something
of this sort, to justify him in using the lash several times during the week.
Hopkins--like Covey and Weeden--were shunned by slaves who had the privilege (as
many had) of finding their own masters at the end of each year; and yet, there
was not a man in all that section of country, who made a louder profession of
religion, than did MR. RIGBY HOPKINS.
But, to continue the
thread of my story, through my experience when at Mr. William Freeland's.
My poor, weather-beaten
bark now reached smoother water, and gentler breezes. My stormy life at Covey's
had been of service to me. The things that would have seemed very hard, had I
gone direct to Mr. Freeland's, from the home of Master Thomas, were now (after
the hardships at Covey's) "trifles light as air." I was still a field
hand, and had come to prefer the severe labor of the field, to the enervating
duties of a house servant. I had become large and strong; and had begun to take
pride in the fact, that I could do as much hard work as some of the older men.
There is much rivalry among slaves, at times, as to which can do the most work,
and masters generally seek to promote such rivalry. But some of us were too wise
to race with each other very long. Such racing, we had the sagacity to see, was
not likely to pay. We had our times for measuring each other's strength, but we
knew too much to keep up the competition so long as to produce an extraordinary
day's work. We knew that if, by extraordinary exertion, a large quantity of
work was done in one day, the fact, becoming known to the master, might lead
him to require the same amount every day. This thought was enough to bring us
to a dead halt when over so much excited for the race.
At Mr. Freeland's, my
condition was every way improved. I was no longer the poor scape-goat that I
was when at Covey's, where every wrong thing done was saddled upon me, and
where other slaves were whipped over my shoulders. Mr. Freeland was too just a
man thus to impose upon me, or upon any one else.
It is quite usual to
make one slave the object of especial abuse, and to beat him often, with a view
to its effect upon others, rather than with any expectation that the slave
whipped will be improved by it, but the man with whom I now was, could descend
to no such meanness and wickedness. Every man here was held individually
responsible for his own conduct.
This was a vast
improvement on the rule at Covey's. There, I was the general pack horse. Bill
Smith was protected, by a positive prohibition made by his rich master, and the
command of the rich slaveholder is LAW to the poor one; Hughes was favored,
because of his relationship to Covey; and the hands hired temporarily, escaped
flogging, except as they got it over my poor shoulders. Of course, this comparison
refers to the time when Covey could whip me.
Mr. Freeland, like Mr.
Covey, gave his hands enough to eat, but, unlike Mr. Covey, he gave them time
to take their meals; he worked us hard during the day, but gave us the night
for rest--another advantage to be set to the credit of the sinner, as against
that of the saint. We were seldom in the field after dark in the evening, or
before sunrise in the morning. Our implements of husbandry were of the most
improved pattern, and much superior to those used at Covey's.
Nothwithstanding the
improved condition which was now mine, and the many advantages I had gained by
my new home, and my new master, I was still restless and discontented. I was
about as hard to please by a master, as a master is by slave. The freedom from
bodily torture and unceasing labor, had given my mind an increased sensibility,
and imparted to it greater activity. I was not yet exactly in right relations.
"How be it, that was not first which is spiritual, but that which is
natural, and afterward that which is spiritual." When entombed at Covey's,
shrouded in darkness and physical wretchedness, temporal wellbeing was the
grand desideratum; but, temporal wants supplied, the spirit puts in its claims.
Beat and cuff your slave, keep him hungry and spiritless, and he will follow
the chain of his master like a dog; but, feed and clothe him well--work him
moderately--surround him with physical comfort--and dreams of freedom intrude.
Give him a bad master, and he aspires to a good master; give him a good master,
and he wishes to become his own master. Such is human nature. You may hurl a
man so low, beneath the level of his kind, that he loses all just ideas of his
natural position; but elevate him a little, and the clear conception of rights
arises to life and power, and leads him onward. Thus elevated, a little, at
Freeland's, the dreams called into being by that good man, Father Lawson, when
in Baltimore, began to visit me; and shoots from the tree of liberty began to
put forth tender buds, and dim hopes of the future began to dawn.
I found myself in
congenial society, at Mr. Freeland's. There were Henry Harris, John Harris,
Handy Caldwell, and Sandy Jenkins.[6]
Henry and John were
brothers, and belonged to Mr. Freeland. They were both remarkably bright and
intelligent, though neither of them could read. Now for mischief! I had not
been long at Freeland's before I was up to my old tricks. I early began to
address my companions on the subject of education, and the advantages of
intelligence over ignorance, and, as far as I dared, I tried to show the agency
of ignorance in keeping men in slavery. Webster's spelling book and the
Columbian Orator were looked into again. As summer came on, and the long
Sabbath days stretched themselves over our idleness, I became uneasy, and
wanted a Sabbath school, in which to exercise my gifts, and to impart the
little knowledge of letters which I possessed, to my brother slaves. A house
was hardly necessary in the summer time; I could hold my school under the shade
of an old oak tree, as well as any where else. The thing was, to get the
scholars, and to have them thoroughly imbued with the desire to learn. Two such
boys were quickly secured, in Henry and John, and from them the contagion
spread. I was not long bringing around me twenty or thirty young men, who
enrolled themselves, gladly, in my Sabbath school, and were willing to meet me
regularly, under the trees or elsewhere, for the purpose of learning to read.
It was surprising with what ease they provided themselves with spelling books.
These were mostly the cast off books of their young masters or mistresses. I
taught, at first, on our own farm. All were impressed with the necessity of
keeping the matter as private as possible, for the fate of the St. Michael's
attempt was notorious, and fresh in the minds of all. Our pious masters, at St.
Michael's, must not know that a few of their dusky brothers were learning to
read the word of God, lest they should come down upon us with the lash and
chain. We might have met to drink whisky, to wrestle, fight, and to do other
unseemly things, with no fear of interruption from the saints or sinners of St.
Michael's.
But, to meet for the
purpose of improving the mind and heart, by learning to read the sacred
scriptures, was esteemed a most dangerous nuisance, to be instantly stopped.
The slaveholders of St. Michael's, like slaveholders elsewhere, would always
prefer to see the slaves engaged in degrading sports, rather than to see them
acting like moral and accountable beings.
Had any one asked a
religious white man, in St. Michael's, twenty years ago, the names of three men
in that town, whose lives were most after the pattern of our Lord and Master,
Jesus Christ, the first three would have been as follows:
GARRISON WEST, Class Leader.
WRIGHT FAIRBANKS, Class Leader.
THOMAS AULD, Class Leader.
And yet, these were men who ferociously rushed in upon my Sabbath school, at
St. Michael's, armed with mob-like missiles, and I must say, I thought him a
Christian, until he took part in bloody by the lash. This same Garrison West
was my class leader, and I must say, I thought him a Christian, until he took
part in breaking up my school. He led me no more after that. The plea for this
outrage was then, as it is now and at all times--the danger to good order. If
the slaves learnt to read, they would learn something else, and something
worse. The peace of slavery would be disturbed; slave rule would be endangered.
I leave the reader to characterize a system which is endangered by such causes.
I do not dispute the soundness of the reasoning. It is perfectly sound; and, if
slavery be right, Sabbath schools for teaching slaves to read the bible are
wrong, and ought to be put down. These Christian class leaders were, to this
extent, consistent. They had settled the question, that slavery is right, and,
by that standard, they determined that Sabbath schools are wrong. To be sure,
they were Protestant, and held to the great Protestant right of every man to
"search the scriptures" for himself; but, then, to all general rules,
there are exceptions. How convenient! What crimes may not be committed under
the doctrine of the last remark. But, my dear, class leading Methodist
brethren, did not condescend to give me a reason for breaking up the Sabbath school
at St. Michael's; it was enough that they had determined upon its destruction.
I am, however, digressing.
After getting the
school cleverly into operation, the second time holding it in the woods, behind
the barn, and in the shade of trees--I succeeded in inducing a free colored
man, who lived several miles from our house, to permit me to hold my school in
a room at his house. He, very kindly, gave me this liberty; but he incurred
much peril in doing so, for the assemblage was an unlawful one. I shall not
mention, here, the name of this man; for it might, even now, subject him to
persecution, although the offenses were committed more than twenty years ago. I
had, at one time, more than forty scholars, all of the right sort; and many of
them succeeded in learning to read. I have met several slaves from Maryland,
who were once my scholars; and who obtained their freedom, I doubt not, partly
in consequence of the ideas imparted to them in that school. I have had various
employments during my short life; but I look back to none with more
satisfaction, than to that afforded by my Sunday school. An attachment, deep
and lasting, sprung up between me and my persecuted pupils, which made parting
from them intensely grievous; and, when I think that most of these dear souls
are yet shut up in this abject thralldom, I am overwhelmed with grief.
Besides my Sunday
school, I devoted three evenings a week to my fellow slaves, during the winter.
Let the reader reflect upon the fact, that, in this christian country, men and
women are hiding from professors of religion, in barns, in the woods and
fields, in order to learn to read the holy bible. Those dear souls, who came to
my Sabbath school, came not because it was popular or reputable to attend such
a place, for they came under the liability of having forty stripes laid on
their naked backs. Every moment they spend in my school, they were under this
terrible liability; and, in this respect, I was sharer with them. Their minds
had been cramped and starved by their cruel masters; the light of education had
been completely excluded; and their hard earnings had been taken to educate
their master's children. I felt a delight in circumventing the tyrants, and in
blessing the victims of their curses.
The year at Mr.
Freeland's passed off very smoothly, to outward seeming. Not a blow was given
me during the whole year. To the credit of Mr. Freeland--irreligious though he
was--it must be stated, that he was the best master I ever had, until I became
my own master, and assumed for myself, as I had a right to do, the
responsibility of my own existence and the exercise of my own powers. For much
of the happiness--or absence of misery--with which I passed this year with Mr.
Freeland, I am indebted to the genial temper and ardent friendship of my
brother slaves. They were, every one of them, manly, generous and brave, yes; I
say they were brave, and I will add, fine looking. It is seldom the lot of
mortals to have truer and better friends than were the slaves on this farm. It
is not uncommon to charge slaves with great treachery toward each other, and to
believe them incapable of confiding in each other; but I must say, that I never
loved, esteemed, or confided in men, more than I did in these. They were as
true as steel, and no band of brothers could have been more loving. There were
no mean advantages taken of each other, as is sometimes the case where slaves
are situated as we were; no tattling; no giving each other bad names to Mr.
Freeland; and no elevating one at the expense of the other. We never undertook
to do any thing, of any importance, which was likely to affect each other,
without mutual consultation. We were generally a unit, and moved together.
Thoughts and sentiments were exchanged between us, which might well be called very
incendiary, by oppressors and tyrants; and perhaps the time has not even now
come, when it is safe to unfold all the flying suggestions which arise in the
minds of intelligent slaves. Several of my friends and brothers, if yet alive,
are still in some part of the house of bondage; and though twenty years have
passed away, the suspicious malice of slavery might punish them for even
listening to my thoughts.
The slaveholder, kind
or cruel, is a slaveholder still--the every hour violator of the just and inalienable
rights of man; and he is, therefore, every hour silently whetting the knife of
vengeance for his own throat. He never lisps a syllable in commendation of the
fathers of this republic, nor denounces any attempted oppression of himself,
without inviting the knife to his own throat, and asserting the rights of
rebellion for his own slaves.
The year is ended, and
we are now in the midst of the Christmas holidays, which are kept this year as
last, according to the general description previously given.
NEW YEAR'S THOUGHTS AND
MEDITATIONS--AGAIN BOUGHT BY FREELAND--NO AMBITION TO BE A SLAVE--KINDNESS NO
COMPENSATION FOR SLAVERY--INCIPIENT STEPS TOWARD ESCAPE--CONSIDERATIONS LEADING
THERETO--IRRECONCILABLE HOSTILITY TO SLAVERY--SOLEMN VOW TAKEN--PLAN DIVULGED
TO THE SLAVES--Columbian Orator--SCHEME GAINS FAVOR, DESPITE PRO-SLAVERY
PREACHING--DANGER OF DISCOVERY--SKILL OF SLAVEHOLDERS IN READING THE MINDS OF
THEIR SLAVES--SUSPICION AND COERCION--HYMNS WITH DOUBLE MEANING--VALUE, IN
DOLLARS, OF OUR COMPANY--PRELIMINARY CONSULTATION--PASS-WORD--CONFLICTS OF HOPE
AND FEAR--DIFFICULTIES TO BE OVERCOME--IGNORANCE OF GEOGRAPHY--SURVEY OF
IMAGINARY DIFFICULTIES--EFFECT ON OUR MINDS--PATRICK HENRY--SANDY BECOMES A
DREAMER--ROUTE TO THE NORTH LAID OUT--OBJECTIONS CONSIDERED--FRAUDS PRACTICED
ON FREEMEN--PASSES WRITTEN--ANXIETIES AS THE TIME DREW NEAR--DREAD OF
FAILURE--APPEALS TO COMRADES--STRANGE PRESENTIMENT--COINCIDENCE--THE BETRAYAL
DISCOVERED--THE MANNER OF ARRESTING US--RESISTANCE MADE BY HENRY HARRIS--ITS
EFFECT--THE UNIQUE SPEECH OF MRS. FREELAND--OUR SAD PROCESSION TO
PRISON--BRUTAL JEERS BY THE MULTITUDE ALONG THE ROAD--PASSES EATEN--THE
DENIAL--SANDY TOO WELL LOVED TO BE SUSPECTED--DRAGGED BEHIND HORSES--THE JAIL A
RELIEF--A NEW SET OF TORMENTORS--SLAVE-TRADERS--JOHN, CHARLES AND HENRY
RELEASED--ALONE IN PRISON--I AM TAKEN OUT, AND SENT TO BALTIMORE.
I am now at the
beginning of the year 1836, a time favorable for serious thoughts. The mind
naturally occupies itself with the mysteries of life in all its phases--the
ideal, the real and the actual. Sober people look both ways at the beginning of
the year, surveying the errors of the past, and providing against possible
errors of the future. I, too, was thus exercised. I had little pleasure in
retrospect, and the prospect was not very brilliant.
"Notwithstanding," thought I, "the many resolutions and prayers
I have made, in behalf of freedom, I am, this first day of the year 1836, still
a slave, still wandering in the depths of spirit-devouring thralldom. My
faculties and powers of body and soul are not my own, but are the property of a
fellow mortal, in no sense superior to me, except that he has the physical
power to compel me to be owned and controlled by him. By the combined physical
force of the community, I am his slave--a slave for life." With thoughts
like these, I was perplexed and chafed; they rendered me gloomy and
disconsolate. The anguish of my mind may not be written.
At the close of the
year 1835, Mr. Freeland, my temporary master, had bought me of Capt. Thomas
Auld, for the year 1836. His promptness in securing my services, would have
been flattering to my vanity, had I been ambitious to win the reputation of
being a valuable slave. Even as it was, I felt a slight degree of complacency
at the circumstance. It showed he was as well pleased with me as a slave, as I
was with him as a master. I have already intimated my regard for Mr. Freeland,
and I may say here, in addressing northern readers--where is no selfish motive
for speaking in praise of a slaveholder--that Mr. Freeland was a man of many
excellent qualities, and to me quite preferable to any master I ever had.
But the kindness of the
slavemaster only gilds the chain of slavery, and detracts nothing from its
weight or power. The thought that men are made for other and better uses than
slavery, thrives best under the gentle treatment of a kind master. But the grim
visage of slavery can assume no smiles which can fascinate the partially
enlightened slave, into a forgetfulness of his bondage, nor of the
desirableness of liberty.
I was not through the
first month of this, my second year with the kind and gentlemanly Mr. Freeland,
before I was earnestly considering and advising plans for gaining that freedom,
which, when I was but a mere child, I had ascertained to be the natural and
inborn right of every member of the human family. The desire for this freedom
had been benumbed, while I was under the brutalizing dominion of Covey; and it
had been postponed, and rendered inoperative, by my truly pleasant Sunday
school engagements with my friends, during the year 1835, at Mr. Freeland's. It
had, however, never entirely subsided. I hated slavery, always, and the desire
for freedom only needed a favorable breeze, to fan it into a blaze, at any
moment. The thought of only being a creature of the present and the past,
troubled me, and I longed to have a future--a future with hope in it. To be
shut up entirely to the past and present, is abhorrent to the human mind; it is
to the soul--whose life and happiness is unceasing progress--what the prison is
to the body; a blight and mildew, a hell of horrors. The dawning of this,
another year, awakened me from my temporary slumber, and roused into life my
latent, but long cherished aspirations for freedom. I was now not only ashamed
to be contented in slavery, but ashamed to seem to be contented, and in my
present favorable condition, under the mild rule of Mr. F., I am not sure that
some kind reader will not condemn me for being over ambitious, and greatly
wanting in proper humility, when I say the truth, that I now drove from me all
thoughts of making the best of my lot, and welcomed only such thoughts as led
me away from the house of bondage. The intense desires, now felt, to be free,
quickened by my present favorable circumstances, brought me to the
determination to act, as well as to think and speak. Accordingly, at the
beginning of this year 1836, I took upon me a solemn vow, that the year which
had now dawned upon me should not close, without witnessing an earnest attempt,
on my part, to gain my liberty. This vow only bound me to make my escape
individually; but the year spent with Mr. Freeland had attached me, as with
"hooks of steel," to my brother slaves. The most affectionate and
confiding friendship existed between us; and I felt it my duty to give them an
opportunity to share in my virtuous determination by frankly disclosing to them
my plans and purposes. Toward Henry and John Harris, I felt a friendship as
strong as one man can feel for another; for I could have died with and for
them. To them, therefore, with a suitable degree of caution, I began to
disclose my sentiments and plans; sounding them, the while on the subject of
running away, provided a good chance should offer. I scarcely need tell the
reader, that I did my very best to imbue the minds of my dear friends with my
own views and feelings. Thoroughly awakened, now, and with a definite vow upon
me, all my little reading, which had any bearing on the subject of human
rights, was rendered available in my communications with my friends. That (to
me) gem of a book, the Columbian Orator, with its eloquent orations and spicy
dialogues, denouncing oppression and slavery--telling of what had been dared,
done and suffered by men, to obtain the inestimable boon of liberty--was still
fresh in my memory, and whirled into the ranks of my speech with the aptitude
of well trained soldiers, going through the drill. The fact is, I here began my
public speaking. I canvassed, with Henry and John, the subject of slavery, and
dashed against it the condemning brand of God's eternal justice, which it every
hour violates. My fellow servants were neither indifferent, dull, nor inapt.
Our feelings were more alike than our opinions. All, however, were ready to
act, when a feasible plan should be proposed. "Show us how the thing is to
be done," said they, "and all is clear."
We were all, except
Sandy, quite free from slaveholding priestcraft. It was in vain that we had
been taught from the pulpit at St. Michael's, the duty of obedience to our
masters; to recognize God as the author of our enslavement; to regard running
away an offense, alike against God and man; to deem our enslavement a merciful
and beneficial arrangement; to esteem our condition, in this country, a
paradise to that from which we had been snatched in Africa; to consider our
hard hands and dark color as God's mark of displeasure, and as pointing us out
as the proper subjects of slavery; that the relation of master and slave was
one of reciprocal benefits; that our work was not more serviceable to our
masters, than our master's thinking was serviceable to us. I say, it was in
vain that the pulpit of St. Michael's had constantly inculcated these plausib]e
doctrine. Nature laughed them to scorn. For my own part, I had now become
altogether too big for my chains. Father Lawson's solemn words, of what I ought
to be, and might be, in the providence of God, had not fallen dead on my soul.
I was fast verging toward manhood, and the prophecies of my childhood were
still unfulfilled. The thought, that year after year had passed away, and my
resolutions to run away had failed and faded--that I was still a slave, and a
slave, too, with chances for gaining my freedom diminished and still
diminishing--was not a matter to be slept over easily; nor did I easily sleep
over it.
But here came a new
trouble. Thoughts and purposes so incendiary as those I now cherished, could
not agitate the mind long, without danger of making themselves manifest to
scrutinizing and unfriendly beholders. I had reason to fear that my sable face
might prove altogether too transparent for the safe concealment of my hazardous
enterprise. Plans of greater moment have leaked through stone walls, and
revealed their projectors. But, here was no stone wall to hide my purpose. I
would have given my poor, tell tale face for the immoveable countenance of an
Indian, for it was far from being proof against the daily, searching glances of
those with whom I met.
It is the interest and
business of slaveholders to study human nature, with a view to practical
results, and many of them attain astonishing proficiency in discerning the
thoughts and emotions of slaves. They have to deal not with earth, wood, or
stone, but with men; and, by every regard they have for their safety and
prosperity, they must study to know the material on which they are at work. So
much intellect as the slaveholder has around him, requires watching. Their
safety depends upon their vigilance. Conscious of the injustice and wrong they
are every hour perpetrating, and knowing what they themselves would do if made
the victims of such wrongs, they are looking out for the first signs of the
dread retribution of justice. They watch, therefore, with skilled and practiced
eyes, and have learned to read, with great accuracy, the state of mind and
heart of the slaves, through his sable face. These uneasy sinners are quick to
inquire into the matter, where the slave is concerned. Unusual sobriety,
apparent abstraction, sullenness and indifference--indeed, any mood out of the
common way--afford ground for suspicion and inquiry. Often relying on their
superior position and wisdom, they hector and torture the slave into a
confession, by affecting to know the truth of their accusations. "You have
got the devil in you," say they, "and we will whip him out of
you." I have often been put thus to the torture, on bare suspicion. This
system has its disadvantages as well as their opposite. The slave is sometimes
whipped into the confession of offenses which he never committed. The reader
will see that the good old rule--"a man is to be held innocent until
proved to be guilty"--does not hold good on the slave plantation.
Suspicion and torture are the approved methods of getting at the truth, here.
It was necessary for me, therefore, to keep a watch over my deportment, lest
the enemy should get the better of me.
But with all our
caution and studied reserve, I am not sure that Mr. Freeland did not suspect
that all was not right with us. It did seem that he watched us more narrowly,
after the plan of escape had been conceived and discussed amongst us. Men
seldom see themselves as others see them; and while, to ourselves, everything
connected with our contemplated escape appeared concealed, Mr. Freeland may
have, with the peculiar prescience of a slaveholder, mastered the huge thought
which was disturbing our peace in slavery.
I am the more inclined
to think that he suspected us, because, prudent as we were, as I now look back,
I can see that we did many silly things, very well calculated to awaken
suspicion. We were, at times, remarkably buoyant, singing hymns and making
joyous exclamations, almost as triumphant in their tone as if we reached a land
of freedom and safety. A keen observer might have detected in our repeated
singing of
"O Canaan, sweet
Canaan,
I am bound for the land
of Canaan,"
something more than a
hope of reaching heaven. We meant to reach the north--and the north was our
Canaan.
"I thought I heard
them say,
There were lions in the
way,
I don't expect to stay
Much longer here. Run to
Jesus--shun the danger--
I don't expect to stay
Much longer here," was a
favorite air, and had a double meaning. In the lips of some, it meant the
expectation of a speedy summons to a world of spirits; but, in the lips of our
company, it simply meant, a speedy pilgrimage toward a free state, and
deliverance from all the evils and dangers of slavery.
I had succeeded in
winning to my (what slaveholders would call wicked) scheme, a company of five
young men, the very flower of the neighborhood, each one of whom would have
commanded one thousand dollars in the home market. At New Orleans, they would
have brought fifteen hundred dollars a piece, and, perhaps, more. The names of
our party were as follows: Henry Harris; John Harris, brother to Henry; Sandy
Jenkins, of root memory; Charles Roberts, and Henry Bailey. I was the youngest,
but one, of the party. I had, however, the advantage of them all, in
experience, and in a knowledge of letters. This gave me great influence over
them. Perhaps not one of them, left to himself, would have dreamed of escape as
a possible thing. Not one of them was self-moved in the matter. They all wanted
to be free; but the serious thought of running away, had not entered into their
minds, until I won them to the undertaking. They all were tolerably well off--for
slaves--and had dim hopes of being set free, some day, by their masters. If any
one is to blame for disturbing the quiet of the slaves and slave-masters of the
neighborhood of St. Michael's, I am the man. I claim to be the instigator of
the high crime (as the slaveholders regard it) and I kept life in it, until
life could be kept in it no longer.
Pending the time of our
contemplated departure out of our Egypt, we met often by night, and on every
Sunday. At these meetings we talked the matter over; told our hopes and fears,
and the difficulties discovered or imagined; and, like men of sense, we counted
the cost of the enterprise to which we were committing ourselves.
These meetings must
have resembled, on a small scale, the meetings of revolutionary conspirators,
in their primary condition. We were plotting against our (so called) lawful
rulers; with this difference that we sought our own good, and not the harm of
our enemies. We did not seek to overthrow them, but to escape from them. As for
Mr. Freeland, we all liked him, and would have gladly remained with him, as
freeman. LIBERTY was our aim; and we had now come to think that we had a right
to liberty, against every obstacle even against the lives of our enslavers.
We had several words,
expressive of things, important to us, which we understood, but which, even if
distinctly heard by an outsider, would convey no certain meaning. I have
reasons for suppressing these pass-words, which the reader will easily divine.
I hated the secrecy; but where slavery is powerful, and liberty is weak, the
latter is driven to concealment or to destruction.
The prospect was not
always a bright one. At times, we were almost tempted to abandon the
enterprise, and to get back to that comparative peace of mind, which even a man
under the gallows might feel, when all hope of escape had vanished. Quiet
bondage was felt to be better than the doubts, fears and uncertainties, which
now so sadly perplexed and disturbed us.
The infirmities of
humanity, generally, were represented in our little band. We were confident,
bold and determined, at times; and, again, doubting, timid and wavering;
whistling, like the boy in the graveyard, to keep away the spirits.
To look at the map, and
observe the proximity of Eastern Shore, Maryland, to Delaware and Pennsylvania,
it may seem to the reader quite absurd, to regard the proposed escape as a
formidable undertaking. But to understand, some one has said a man must stand
under. The real distance was great enough, but the imagined distance was, to
our ignorance, even greater. Every slaveholder seeks to impress his slave with
a belief in the boundlessness of slave territory, and of his own almost
illimitable power. We all had vague and indistinct notions of the geography of
the country.
The distance, however,
is not the chief trouble. The nearer are the lines of a slave state and the
borders of a free one, the greater the peril. Hired kidnappers infest these
borders. Then, too, we knew that merely reaching a free state did not free us; that,
wherever caught, we could be returned to slavery. We could see no spot on this
side the ocean, where we could be free. We had heard of Canada, the real Canaan
of the American bondmen, simply as a country to which the wild goose and the
swan repaired at the end of winter, to escape the heat of summer, but not as
the home of man. I knew something of theology, but nothing of geography. I
really did not, at that time, know that there was a state of New York, or a
state of Massachusetts. I had heard of Pennsylvania, Delaware and New Jersey,
and all the southern states, but was ignorant of the free states, generally.
New York city was our northern limit, and to go there, and be forever harassed
with the liability of being hunted down and returned to slavery--with the
certainty of being treated ten times worse than we had ever been treated before
was a prospect far from delightful, and it might well cause some hesitation
about engaging in the enterprise. The case, sometimes, to our excited visions,
stood thus: At every gate through which we had to pass, we saw a watchman; at
every ferry, a guard; on every bridge, a sentinel; and in every wood, a patrol
or slave-hunter. We were hemmed in on every side. The good to be sought, and
the evil to be shunned, were flung in the balance, and weighed against each
other. On the one hand, there stood slavery; a stern reality, glaring
frightfully upon us, with the blood of millions in his polluted
skirts--terrible to behold--greedily devouring our hard earnings and feeding himself
upon our flesh. Here was the evil from which to escape. On the other hand, far
away, back in the hazy distance, where all forms seemed but shadows, under the
flickering light of the north star--behind some craggy hill or snow-covered
mountain--stood a doubtful freedom, half frozen, beckoning us to her icy
domain. This was the good to be sought. The inequality was as great as that
between certainty and uncertainty. This, in itself, was enough to stagger us;
but when we came to survey the untrodden road, and conjecture the many possible
difficulties, we were appalled, and at times, as I have said, were upon the
point of giving over the struggle altogether.
The reader can have
little idea of the phantoms of trouble which flit, in such circumstances, before
the uneducated mind of the slave. Upon either side, we saw grim death assuming
a variety of horrid shapes. Now, it was starvation, causing us, in a strange
and friendless land, to eat our own flesh. Now, we were contending with the
waves (for our journey was in part by water) and were drowned. Now, we were
hunted by dogs, and overtaken and torn to pieces by their merciless fangs. We
were stung by scorpions--chased by wild beasts--bitten by snakes; and, worst of
all, after having succeeded in swimming rivers--encountering wild
beasts--sleeping in the woods--suffering hunger, cold, heat and nakedness--we
supposed ourselves to be overtaken by hired kidnappers, who, in the name of the
law, and for their thrice accursed reward, would, perchance, fire upon us--kill
some, wound others, and capture all. This dark pic ture, drawn by ignorance and
fear, at times greatly shook our determination, and not unfrequently caused us
to
"Rather bear those
ills we had
Than fly to others
which we knew not of."
I am not disposed to
magnify this circumstance in my experience, and yet I think I shall seem to be
so disposed, to the reader. No man can tell the intense agony which is felt by
the slave, when wavering on the point of making his escape. All that he has is
at stake; and even that which he has not, is at stake, also. The life which he
has, may be lost, and the liberty which he seeks, may not be gained.
Patrick Henry, to a
listening senate, thrilled by his magic eloquence, and ready to stand by him in
his boldest flights, could say, GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH, and this
saying was a sublime one, even for a freeman; but, incomparably more sublime,
is the same sentiment, when practically asserted by men accustomed to the lash
and chain--men whose sensibilities must have become more or less deadened by
their bondage. With us it was a doubtful liberty, at best, that we sought; and
a certain, lingering death in the rice swamps and sugar fields, if we failed.
Life is not lightly regarded by men of sane minds. It is precious, alike to the
pauper and to the prince--to the slave, and to his master; and yet, I believe
there was not one among us, who would not rather have been shot down, than pass
away life in hopeless bondage.
In the progress of our
preparations, Sandy, the root man, became troubled. He began to have dreams,
and some of them were very distressing. One of these, which happened on a
Friday night, was, to him, of great significance; and I am quite ready to
confess, that I felt somewhat damped by it myself. He said, "I dreamed,
last night, that I was roused from sleep, by strange noises, like the voices of
a swarm of angry birds, that caused a roar as they passed, which fell upon my
ear like a coming gale over the tops of the trees. Looking up to see what it
could mean," said Sandy, "I saw you, Frederick, in the claws of a
huge bird, surrounded by a large number of birds, of all colors and sizes.
These were all picking at you, while you, with your arms, seemed to be trying
to protect your eyes. Passing over me, the birds flew in a south-westerly
direction, and I watched them until they were clean out of sight. Now, I saw
this as plainly as I now see you; and furder, honey, watch de Friday night
dream; dare is sumpon in it, shose you born; dare is, indeed, honey."
I confess I did not
like this dream; but I threw off concern about it, by attributing it to the
general excitement and perturbation consequent upon our contemplated plan of
escape. I could not, however, shake off its effect at once. I felt that it
boded me no good. Sandy was unusually emphatic and oracular, and his manner had
much to do with the impression made upon me.
The plan of escape
which I recommended, and to which my comrades assented, was to take a large
canoe, owned by Mr. Hamilton, and, on the Saturday night previous to the Easter
holidays, launch out into the Chesapeake bay, and paddle for its head--a
distance of seventy miles with all our might. Our course, on reaching this
point, was, to turn the canoe adrift, and bend our steps toward the north star,
till we reached a free state.
There were several
objections to this plan. One was, the danger from gales on the bay. In rough
weather, the waters of the Chesapeake are much agitated, and there is danger,
in a canoe, of being swamped by the waves. Another objection was, that the
canoe would soon be missed; the absent persons would, at once, be suspected of
having taken it; and we should be pursued by some of the fast sailing bay craft
out of St. Michael's. Then, again, if we reached the head of the bay, and
turned the canoe adrift, she might prove a guide to our track, and bring the
land hunters after us.
These and other
objections were set aside, by the stronger ones which could be urged against
every other plan that could then be suggested. On the water, we had a chance of
being regarded as fishermen, in the service of a master. On the other hand, by
taking the land route, through the counties adjoining Delaware, we should be
subjected to all manner of interruptions, and many very disagreeable questions,
which might give us serious trouble. Any white man is authorized to stop a man
of color, on any road, and examine him, and arrest him, if he so desires.
By this arrangement,
many abuses (considered such even by slaveholders) occur. Cases have been
known, where freemen have been called upon to show their free papers, by a pack
of ruffians--and, on the presentation of the papers, the ruffians have torn
them up, and seized their victim, and sold him to a life of endless bondage.
The week before our
intended start, I wrote a pass for each of our party, giving them permission to
visit Baltimore, during the Easter holidays. The pass ran after this manner:
"This is to
certify, that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, my servant, John, full
liberty to go to Baltimore, to spend the Easter holidays.
"W. H.
"Near St.
Michael's, Talbot county, Maryland."
Although we were not
going to Baltimore, and were intending to land east of North Point, in the
direction where I had seen the Philadelphia steamers go, these passes might be
made useful to us in the lower part of the bay, while steering toward Baltimore.
These were not, however, to be shown by us, until all other answers failed to
satisfy the inquirer. We were all fully alive to the importance of being calm
and self-possessed, when accosted, if accosted we should be; and we more times
than one rehearsed to each other how we should behave in the hour of trial.
These were long,
tedious days and nights. The suspense was painful, in the extreme. To balance
probabilities, where life and liberty hang on the result, requires steady
nerves. I panted for action, and was glad when the day, at the close of which
we were to start, dawned upon us. Sleeping, the night before, was out of the
question. I probably felt more deeply than any of my companions, because I was
the instigator of the movement. The responsibility of the whole enterprise
rested on my shoulders. The glory of success, and the shame and confusion of
failure, could not be matters of indifference to me. Our food was prepared; our
clothes were packed up; we were all ready to go, and impatient for Saturday morning--considering
that the last morning of our bondage.
I cannot describe the
tempest and tumult of my brain, that morning. The reader will please to bear in
mind, that, in a slave state, an unsuccessful runaway is not only subjected to
cruel torture, and sold away to the far south, but he is frequently execrated
by the other slaves. He is charged with making the condition of the other
slaves intolerable, by laying them all under the suspicion of their
masters--subjecting them to greater vigilance, and imposing greater limitations
on their privileges. I dreaded murmurs from this quarter. It is difficult, too,
for a slavemaster to believe that slaves escaping have not been aided in their
flight by some one of their fellow slaves. When, therefore, a slave is missing,
every slave on the place is closely examined as to his knowledge of the
undertaking; and they are sometimes even tortured, to make them disclose what
they are suspected of knowing of such escape.
Our anxiety grew more
and more intense, as the time of our intended departure for the north drew
nigh. It was truly felt to be a matter of life and death with us; and we fully
intended to fight as well as run, if necessity should occur for that extremity.
But the trial hour was not yet to come. It was easy to resolve, but not so easy
to act. I expected there might be some drawing back, at the last. It was
natural that there should be; therefore, during the intervening time, I lost no
opportunity to explain away difficulties, to remove doubts, to dispel fears,
and to inspire all with firmness. It was too late to look back; and now was the
time to go forward. Like most other men, we had done the talking part of our
work, long and well; and the time had come to act as if we were in earnest, and
meant to be as true in action as in words. I did not forget to appeal to the
pride of my comrades, by telling them that, if after having solemnly promised
to go, as they had done, they now failed to make the attempt, they would, in
effect, brand themselves with cowardice, and might as well sit down, fold their
arms, and acknowledge themselves as fit only to be slaves. This detestable
character, all were unwilling to assume. Every man except Sandy (he, much to
our regret, withdrew) stood firm; and at our last meeting we pledged ourselves
afresh, and in the most solemn manner, that, at the time appointed, we would
certainly start on our long journey for a free country. This meeting was in the
middle of the week, at the end of which we were to start.
Early that morning we
went, as usual, to the field, but with hearts that beat quickly and anxiously.
Any one intimately acquainted with us, might have seen that all was not well
with us, and that some monster lingered in our thoughts. Our work that morning
was the same as it had been for several days past--drawing out and spreading
manure. While thus engaged, I had a sudden presentiment, which flashed upon me
like lightning in a dark night, revealing to the lonely traveler the gulf
before, and the enemy behind. I instantly turned to Sandy Jenkins, who was near
me, and said to him, "Sandy, we are betrayed; something has just told me
so." I felt as sure of it, as if the officers were there in sight. Sandy
said, "Man, dat is strange; but I feel just as you do." If my
mother--then long in her grave--had appeared before me, and told me that we
were betrayed, I could not, at that moment, have felt more certain of the fact.
In a few minutes after
this, the long, low and distant notes of the horn summoned us from the field to
breakfast. I felt as one may be supposed to feel before being led forth to be
executed for some great offense. I wanted no breakfast; but I went with the
other slaves toward the house, for form's sake. My feelings were not disturbed
as to the right of running away; on that point I had no trouble, whatever. My
anxiety arose from a sense of the consequences of failure.
In thirty minutes after
that vivid presentiment came the apprehended crash. On reaching the house, for
breakfast, and glancing my eye toward the lane gate, the worst was at once made
known. The lane gate off Mr. Freeland's house, is nearly a half mile from the
door, and shaded by the heavy wood which bordered the main road. I was,
however, able to descry four white men, and two colored men, approaching. The
white men were on horseback, and the colored men were walking behind, and
seemed to be tied. "It is all over with us," thought I, "we are
surely betrayed." I now became composed, or at least comparatively so, and
calmly awaited the result. I watched the ill-omened company, till I saw them
enter the gate. Successful flight was impossible, and I made up my mind to
stand, and meet the evil, whatever it might be; for I was not without a slight
hope that things might turn differently from what I at first expected. In a few
moments, in came Mr. William Hamilton, riding very rapidly, and evidently much
excited. He was in the habit of riding very slowly, and was seldom known to
gallop his horse. This time, his horse was nearly at full speed, causing the dust
to roll thick behind him. Mr. Hamilton, though one of the most resolute men in
the whole neighborhood, was, nevertheless, a remarkably mild spoken man; and,
even when greatly excited, his language was cool and circumspect. He came to
the door, and inquired if Mr. Freeland was in. I told him that Mr. Freeland was
at the barn. Off the old gentleman rode, toward the barn, with unwonted speed.
Mary, the cook, was at a loss to know what was the matter, and I did not
profess any skill in making her understand. I knew she would have united, as
readily as any one, in cursing me for bringing trouble into the family; so I
held my peace, leaving matters to develop themselves, without my assistance. In
a few moments, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came down from the barn to the
house; and, just as they made their appearance in the front yard, three men
(who proved to be constables) came dashing into the lane, on horseback, as if
summoned by a sign requiring quick work. A few seconds brought them into the
front yard, where they hastily dismounted, and tied their horses. This done,
they joined Mr. Freeland and Mr. Hamilton, who were standing a short distance
from the kitchen. A few moments were spent, as if in consulting how to proceed,
and then the whole party walked up to the kitchen door. There was now no one in
the kitchen but myself and John Harris. Henry and Sandy were yet at the barn.
Mr. Freeland came inside the kitchen door, and with an agitated voice, called
me by name, and told me to come forward; that there was some gentlemen who
wished to see me. I stepped toward them, at the door, and asked what they
wanted, when the constables grabbed me, and told me that I had better not
resist; that I had been in a scrape, or was said to have been in one; that they
were merely going to take me where I could be examined; that they were going to
carry me to St. Michael's, to have me brought before my master. They further
said, that, in case the evidence against me was not true, I should be
acquitted. I was now firmly tied, and completely at the mercy of my captors.
Resistance was idle. They were five in number, armed to the very teeth. When
they had secured me, they next turned to John Harris, and, in a few moments,
succeeded in tying him as firmly as they had already tied me. They next turned
toward Henry Harris, who had now returned from the barn. "Cross your
hands," said the constables, to Henry. "I won't" said Henry, in
a voice so firm and clear, and in a manner so determined, as for a moment to
arrest all proceedings. "Won't you cross your hands?" said Tom
Graham, the constable. "No I won't," said Henry, with increasing
emphasis. Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Freeland, and the officers, now came near to Henry.
Two of the constables drew out their shining pistols, and swore by the name of
God, that he should cross his hands, or they would shoot him down. Each of
these hired ruffians now cocked their pistols, and, with fingers apparently on
the triggers, presented their deadly weapons to the breast of the unarmed
slave, saying, at the same time, if he did not cross his hands, they would
"blow his d--d heart out of him."
"Shoot! shoot
me!" said Henry. "You can't kill me but once. Shoot!--shoot! and be
d--d. I won't be tied." This, the brave fellow said in a voice as defiant
and heroic in its tone, as was the language itself; and, at the moment of
saying this, with the pistols at his very breast, he quickly raised his arms,
and dashed them from the puny hands of his assassins, the weapons flying in
opposite directions. Now came the struggle. All hands was now rushed upon the
brave fellow, and, after beating him for some time, they succeeded in
overpowering and tying him. Henry put me to shame; he fought, and fought
bravely. John and I had made no resistance. The fact is, I never see much use in
fighting, unless there is a reasonable probability of whipping somebody. Yet
there was something almost providential in the resistance made by the gallant
Henry. But for that resistance, every soul of us would have been hurried off to
the far south. Just a moment previous to the trouble with Henry, Mr. Hamilton
mildly said--and this gave me the unmistakable clue to the cause of our
arrest--"Perhaps we had now better make a search for those protections,
which we understand Frederick has written for himself and the rest." Had
these passes been found, they would have been point blank proof against us, and
would have confirmed all the statements of our betrayer. Thanks to the
resistance of Henry, the excitement produced by the scuffle drew all attention
in that direction, and I succeeded in flinging my pass, unobserved, into the
fire. The confusion attendant upon the scuffle, and the apprehension of further
trouble, perhaps, led our captors to forego, for the present, any search for
"those protections" which Frederick was said to have written for his
companions; so we were not yet convicted of the purpose to run away; and it was
evident that there was some doubt, on the part of all, whether we had been
guilty of such a purpose.
Just as we were all
completely tied, and about ready to start toward St. Michael's, and thence to
jail, Mrs. Betsey Freeland (mother to William, who was very much
attached--after the southern fashion--to Henry and John, they having been
reared from childhood in her house) came to the kitchen door, with her hands
full of biscuits--for we had not had time to take our breakfast that
morning--and divided them between Henry and John. This done, the lady made the
following parting address to me, looking and pointing her bony finger at me. "You
devil! you yellow devil! It was you that put it into the heads of Henry and
John to run away. But for you, you long legged yellow devil, Henry and John
would never have thought of running away." I gave the lady a look, which
called forth a scream of mingled wrath and terror, as she slammed the kitchen
door, and went in, leaving me, with the rest, in hands as harsh as her own
broken voice.
Could the kind reader
have been quietly riding along the main road to or from Easton, that morning,
his eye would have met a painful sight. He would have seen five young men,
guilty of no crime, save that of preferring liberty to a life of bondage, drawn
along the public highway--firmly bound together--tramping through dust and
heat, bare-footed and bare-headed--fastened to three strong horses, whose
riders were armed to the teeth, with pistols and daggers--on their way to
prison, like felons, and suffering every possible insult from the crowds of
idle, vulgar people, who clustered around, and heartlessly made their failure
the occasion for all manner of ribaldry and sport. As I looked upon this crowd
of vile persons, and saw myself and friends thus assailed and persecuted, I
could not help seeing the fulfillment of Sandy's dream. I was in the hands of
moral vultures, and firmly held in their sharp talons, and was hurried away
toward Easton, in a south-easterly direction, amid the jeers of new birds of
the same feather, through every neighborhood we passed. It seemed to me (and
this shows the good understanding between the slaveholders and their allies)
that every body we met knew the cause of our arrest, and were out, awaiting our
passing by, to feast their vindictive eyes on our misery and to gloat over our
ruin. Some said, I ought to be hanged, and others, I ought to be burnt, others,
I ought to have the "hide" taken from my back; while no one gave us a
kind word or sympathizing look, except the poor slaves, who were lifting their
heavy hoes, and who cautiously glanced at us through the post-and-rail fences,
behind which they were at work. Our sufferings, that morning, can be more
easily imagined than described. Our hopes were all blasted, at a blow. The
cruel injustice, the victorious crime, and the helplessness of innocence, led
me to ask, in my ignorance and weakness "Where now is the God of justice
and mercy? And why have these wicked men the power thus to trample upon our
rights, and to insult our feelings?" And yet, in the next moment, came the
consoling thought, "The day of oppressor will come at last." Of one
thing I could be glad--not one of my dear friends, upon whom I had brought this
great calamity, either by word or look, reproached me for having led them into
it. We were a band of brothers, and never dearer to each other than now. The
thought which gave us the most pain, was the probable separation which would
now take place, in case we were sold off to the far south, as we were likely to
be. While the constables were looking forward, Henry and I, being fastened
together, could occasionally exchange a word, without being observed by the
kidnappers who had us in charge. "What shall I do with my pass?" said
Henry. "Eat it with your biscuit," said I; "it won't do to tear
it up." We were now near St. Michael's. The direction concerning the
passes was passed around, and executed. "Own nothing!" said I.
"Own nothing!" was passed around and enjoined, and assented to. Our
confidence in each other was unshaken; and we were quite resolved to succeed or
fail together--as much after the calamity which had befallen us, as before.
On reaching St.
Michael's, we underwent a sort of examination at my master's store, and it was
evident to my mind, that Master Thomas suspected the truthfulness of the
evidence upon which they had acted in arresting us; and that he only affected,
to some extent, the positiveness with which he asserted our guilt. There was
nothing said by any of our company, which could, in any manner, prejudice our
cause; and there was hope, yet, that we should be able to return to our
homes--if for nothing else, at least to find out the guilty man or woman who
had betrayed us.
To this end, we all
denied that we had been guilty of intended flight. Master Thomas said that the
evidence he had of our intention to run away, was strong enough to hang us, in
a case of murder. "But," said I, "the cases are not equal. If
murder were committed, some one must have committed it--the thing is done! In
our case, nothing has been done! We have not run away. Where is the evidence
against us? We were quietly at our work." I talked thus, with unusual
freedom, to bring out the evidence against us, for we all wanted, above all
things, to know the guilty wretch who had betrayed us, that we might have
something tangible upon which to pour the execrations. From something which
dropped, in the course of the talk, it appeared that there was but one witness
against us--and that that witness could not be produced. Master Thomas would
not tell us who his informant was; but we suspected, and suspected one person
only. Several circumstances seemed to point SANDY out, as our betrayer. His
entire knowledge of our plans his participation in them--his withdrawal from
us--his dream, and his simultaneous presentiment that we were betrayed--the
taking us, and the leaving him--were calculated to turn suspicion toward him;
and yet, we could not suspect him. We all loved him too well to think it
possible that he could have betrayed us. So we rolled the guilt on other
shoulders.
We were literally
dragged, that morning, behind horses, a distance of fifteen miles, and placed
in the Easton jail. We were glad to reach the end of our journey, for our
pathway had been the scene of insult and mortification. Such is the power of
public opinion, that it is hard, even for the innocent, to feel the happy
consolations of innocence, when they fall under the maledictions of this power.
How could we regard ourselves as in the right, when all about us denounced us
as criminals, and had the power and the disposition to treat us as such.
In jail, we were placed
under the care of Mr. Joseph Graham, the sheriff of the county. Henry, and
John, and myself, were placed in one room, and Henry Baily and Charles Roberts,
in another, by themselves. This separation was intended to deprive us of the
advantage of concert, and to prevent trouble in jail.
Once shut up, a new set
of tormentors came upon us. A swarm of imps, in human shape the slave-traders,
deputy slave-traders, and agents of slave-traders--that gather in every country
town of the state, watching for chances to buy human flesh (as buzzards to eat
carrion) flocked in upon us, to ascertain if our masters had placed us in jail
to be sold. Such a set of debased and villainous creatures, I never saw before,
and hope never to see again. I felt myself surrounded as by a pack of fiends,
fresh from perdition. They laughed, leered, and grinned at us; saying,
"Ah! boys, we've got you, havn't we? So you were about to make your
escape? Where were you going to?" After taunting us, and jeering at us, as
long as they liked, they one by one subjected us to an examination, with a view
to ascertain our value; feeling our arms and legs, and shaking us by the
shoulders to see if we were sound and healthy; impudently asking us, "how
we would like to have them for masters?" To such questions, we were, very
much to their annoyance, quite dumb, disdaining to answer them. For one, I
detested the whisky-bloated gamblers in human flesh; and I believe I was as
much detested by them in turn. One fellow told me, "if he had me, he would
cut the devil out of me pretty quick."
These Negro buyers are
very offensive to the genteel southern Christian public. They are looked upon,
in respectable Maryland society, as necessary, but detestable characters. As a
class, they are hardened ruffians, made such by nature and by occupation. Their
ears are made quite familiar with the agonizing cry of outraged and woe-smitted
humanity. Their eyes are forever open to human misery. They walk amid
desecrated affections, insulted virtue, and blasted hopes. They have grown
intimate with vice and blood; they gloat over the wildest illustrations of
their soul-damning and earth-polluting business, and are moral pests. Yes; they
are a legitimate fruit of slavery; and it is a puzzle to make out a case of
greater villainy for them, than for the slaveholders, who make such a class
possible. They are mere hucksters of the surplus slave produce of Maryland and
Virginia coarse, cruel, and swaggering bullies, whose very breathing is of
blasphemy and blood.
Aside from these
slave-buyers, who infested the prison, from time to time, our quarters were
much more comfortable than we had any right to expect they would be. Our
allowance of food was small and coarse, but our room was the best in the
jail--neat and spacious, and with nothing about it necessarily reminding us of
being in prison, but its heavy locks and bolts and the black, iron lattice-work
at the windows. We were prisoners of state, compared with most slaves who are
put into that Easton jail. But the place was not one of contentment. Bolts,
bars and grated windows are not acceptable to freedom-loving people of any
color. The suspense, too, was painful. Every step on the stairway was listened
to, in the hope that the comer would cast a ray of light on our fate. We would
have given the hair off our heads for half a dozen words with one of the
waiters in Sol. Lowe's hotel. Such waiters were in the way of hearing, at the
table, the probable course of things. We could see them flitting about in their
white jackets in front of this hotel, but could speak to none of them.
Soon after the holidays
were over, contrary to all our expectations, Messrs. Hamilton and Freeland came
up to Easton; not to make a bargain with the "Georgia traders," nor
to send us up to Austin Woldfolk, as is usual in the case of run-away salves,
but to release Charles, Henry Harris, Henry Baily and John Harris, from prison,
and this, too, without the infliction of a single blow. I was now left entirely
alone in prison. The innocent had been taken, and the guilty left. My friends
were separated from me, and apparently forever. This circumstance caused me
more pain than any other incident connected with our capture and imprisonment.
Thirty-nine lashes on my naked and bleeding back, would have been joyfully
borne, in preference to this separation from these, the friends of my youth.
And yet, I could not but feel that I was the victim of something like justice.
Why should these young men, who were led into this scheme by me, suffer as much
as the instigator? I felt glad that they were leased from prison, and from the
dread prospect of a life (or death I should rather say) in the rice swamps. It
is due to the noble Henry, to say, that he seemed almost as reluctant to leave
the prison with me in it, as he was to be tied and dragged to prison. But he
and the rest knew that we should, in all the likelihoods of the case, be
separated, in the event of being sold; and since we were now completely in the
hands of our owners, we all concluded it would be best to go peaceably home.
Not until this last
separation, dear reader, had I touched those profounder depths of desolation,
which it is the lot of slaves often to reach. I was solitary in the world, and
alone within the walls of a stone prison, left to a fate of life-long misery. I
had hoped and expected much, for months before, but my hopes and expectations
were now withered and blasted. The ever dreaded slave life in Georgia,
Louisiana and Alabama--from which escape is next to impossible now, in my
loneliness, stared me in the face. The possibility of ever becoming anything
but an abject slave, a mere machine in the hands of an owner, had now fled, and
it seemed to me it had fled forever. A life of living death, beset with the
innumerable horrors of the cotton field, and the sugar plantation, seemed to be
my doom. The fiends, who rushed into the prison when we were first put there,
continued to visit me, and to ply me with questions and with their tantalizing
remarks. I was insulted, but helpless; keenly alive to the demands of justice
and liberty, but with no means of asserting them. To talk to those imps about
justice and mercy, would have been as absurd as to reason with bears and
tigers. Lead and steel are the only arguments that they understand.
After remaining in this
life of misery and despair about a week, which, by the way, seemed a month,
Master Thomas, very much to my surprise, and greatly to my relief, came to the
prison, and took me out, for the purpose, as he said, of sending me to Alabama,
with a friend of his, who would emancipate me at the end of eight years. I was
glad enough to get out of prison; but I had no faith in the story that this
friend of Capt. Auld would emancipate me, at the end of the time indicated.
Besides, I never had heard of his having a friend in Alabama, and I took the
announcement, simply as an easy and comfortable method of shipping me off to
the far south. There was a little scandal, too, connected with the idea of one
Christian selling another to the Georgia traders, while it was deemed every way
proper for them to sell to others. I thought this friend in Alabama was an
invention, to meet this difficulty, for Master Thomas was quite jealous of his
Christian reputation, however unconcerned he might be about his real Christian
character. In these remarks, however, it is possible that I do Master Thomas
Auld injustice. He certainly did not exhaust his power upon me, in the case,
but acted, upon the whole, very generously, considering the nature of my
offense. He had the power and the provocation to send me, without reserve, into
the very everglades of Florida, beyond the remotest hope of emancipation; and
his refusal to exercise that power, must be set down to his credit.
After lingering about
St. Michael's a few days, and no friend from Alabama making his appearance, to
take me there, Master Thomas decided to send me back again to Baltimore, to
live with his brother Hugh, with whom he was now at peace; possibly he became
so by his profession of religion, at the camp-meeting in the Bay Side. Master
Thomas told me that he wished me to go to Baltimore, and learn a trade; and
that, if I behaved myself properly, he would emancipate me at twenty-five!
Thanks for this one beam of hope in the future. The promise had but one fault;
it seemed too good to be true.
NOTHING LOST BY THE
ATTEMPT TO RUN AWAY--COMRADES IN THEIR OLD HOMES--REASONS FOR SENDING ME
AWAY--RETURN TO BALTIMORE--CONTRAST BETWEEN TOMMY AND THAT OF HIS COLORED
COMPANION--TRIALS IN GARDINER'S SHIP YARD--DESPERATE FIGHT--ITS
CAUSES--CONFLICT BETWEEN WHITE AND BLACK LABOR--DESCRIPTION OF THE
OUTRAGE--COLORED TESTIMONY NOTHING--CONDUCT OF MASTER HUGH--SPIRIT OF SLAVERY
IN BALTIMORE--MY CONDITION IMPROVES--NEW ASSOCIATIONS--SLAVEHOLDER'S RIGHT TO
TAKE HIS WAGES--HOW TO MAKE A CONTENTED SLAVE.
Well! dear reader, I am
not, as you may have already inferred, a loser by the general upstir, described
in the foregoing chapter. The little domestic revolution, notwithstanding the
sudden snub it got by the treachery of somebody--I dare not say or think
who--did not, after all, end so disastrously, as when in the iron cage at
Easton, I conceived it would. The prospect, from that point, did look about as
dark as any that ever cast its gloom over the vision of the anxious,
out-looking, human spirit. "All is well that ends well." My
affectionate comrades, Henry and John Harris, are still with Mr. William
Freeland. Charles Roberts and Henry Baily are safe at their homes. I have not,
therefore, any thing to regret on their account. Their masters have mercifully
forgiven them, probably on the ground suggested in the spirited little speech
of Mrs. Freeland, made to me just before leaving for the jail--namely: that
they had been allured into the wicked scheme of making their escape, by me; and
that, but for me, they would never have dreamed of a thing so shocking! My
friends had nothing to regret, either; for while they were watched more closely
on account of what had happened, they were, doubtless, treated more kindly than
before, and got new assurances that they would be legally emancipated, some
day, provided their behavior should make them deserving, from that time
forward. Not a blow, as I learned, was struck any one of them. As for Master
William Freeland, good, unsuspecting soul, he did not believe that we were
intending to run away at all. Having given--as he thought--no occasion to his
boys to leave him, he could not think it probable that they had entertained a
design so grievous. This, however, was not the view taken of the matter by
"Mas' Billy," as we used to call the soft spoken, but crafty and
resolute Mr. William Hamilton. He had no doubt that the crime had been
meditated; and regarding me as the instigator of it, he frankly told Master
Thomas that he must remove me from that neighborhood, or he would shoot me down.
He would not have one so dangerous as "Frederick" tampering with his
slaves. William Hamilton was not a man whose threat might be safely
disregarded. I have no doubt that he would have proved as good as his word, had
the warning given not been promptly taken. He was furious at the thought of
such a piece of high-handed theft, as we were about to perpetrate the stealing
of our own bodies and souls! The feasibility of the plan, too, could the first
steps have been taken, was marvelously plain. Besides, this was a new idea,
this use of the bay. Slaves escaping, until now, had taken to the woods; they
had never dreamed of profaning and abusing the waters of the noble Chesapeake,
by making them the highway from slavery to freedom. Here was a broad road of destruction
to slavery, which, before, had been looked upon as a wall of security by
slaveholders. But Master Billy could not get Mr. Freeland to see matters
precisely as he did; nor could he get Master Thomas so excited as he was
himself. The latter--I must say it to his credit--showed much humane feeling in
his part of the transaction, and atoned for much that had been harsh, cruel and
unreasonable in his former treatment of me and others. His clemency was quite
unusual and unlooked for. "Cousin Tom" told me that while I was in
jail, Master Thomas was very unhappy; and that the night before his going up to
release me, he had walked the floor nearly all night, evincing great distress;
that very tempting offers had been made to him, by the Negro-traders, but he
had rejected them all, saying that money could not tempt him to sell me to the
far south. All this I can easily believe, for he seemed quite reluctant to send
me away, at all. He told me that he only consented to do so, because of the
very strong prejudice against me in the neighborhood, and that he feared for my
safety if I remained there.
Thus, after three years
spent in the country, roughing it in the field, and experiencing all sorts of
hardships, I was again permitted to return to Baltimore, the very place, of all
others, short of a free state, where I most desired to live. The three years
spent in the country, had made some difference in me, and in the household of
Master Hugh. "Little Tommy" was no longer little Tommy; and I was not
the slender lad who had left for the Eastern Shore just three years before. The
loving relations between me and Mas' Tommy were broken up. He was no longer
dependent on me for protection, but felt himself a man, with other and more
suitable associates. In childhood, he scarcely considered me inferior to
himself certainly, as good as any other boy with whom he played; but the time
had come when his friend must become his slave. So we were cold, and we parted.
It was a sad thing to me, that, loving each other as we had done, we must now
take different roads. To him, a thousand avenues were open. Education had made
him acquainted with all the treasures of the world, and liberty had flung open
the gates thereunto; but I, who had attended him seven years, and had watched
over him with the care of a big brother, fighting his battles in the street,
and shielding him from harm, to an extent which had induced his mother to say,
"Oh! Tommy is always safe, when he is with Freddy," must be confined
to a single condition. He could grow, and become a MAN; I could grow, though I
could not become a man, but must remain, all my life, a minor--a mere boy.
Thomas Auld, Junior, obtained a situation on board the brig "Tweed,"
and went to sea. I know not what has become of him; he certainly has my good
wishes for his welfare and prosperity. There were few persons to whom I was
more sincerely attached than to him, and there are few in the world I would be
more pleased to meet.
Very soon after I went
to Baltimore to live, Master Hugh succeeded in getting me hired to Mr. William
Gardiner, an extensive ship builder on Fell's Point. I was placed here to learn
to calk, a trade of which I already had some knowledge, gained while in Mr.
Hugh Auld's ship-yard, when he was a master builder. Gardiner's, however,
proved a very unfavorable place for the accomplishment of that object. Mr.
Gardiner was, that season, engaged in building two large man-of-war vessels,
professedly for the Mexican government. These vessels were to be launched in
the month of July, of that year, and, in failure thereof, Mr. G. would forfeit
a very considerable sum of money. So, when I entered the ship-yard, all was
hurry and driving. There were in the yard about one hundred men; of these about
seventy or eighty were regular carpenters--privileged men. Speaking of my
condition here I wrote, years ago--and I have now no reason to vary the picture
as follows:
"There was no time
to learn any thing. Every man had to do that which he knew how to do. In
entering the ship-yard, my orders from Mr. Gardiner were, to do whatever the
carpenters commanded me to do. This was placing me at the beck and call of
about seventy-five men. I was to regard all these as masters. Their word was to
be my law. My situation was a most trying one. At times I needed a dozen pair
of hands. I was called a dozen ways in the space of a single minute. Three or
four voices would strike my ear at the same moment. It was--'Fred., come help
me to cant this timber here.' 'Fred., come carry this timber yonder.'-- 'Fred.,
bring that roller here.'--'Fred., go get a fresh can of water.'--'Fred., come
help saw off the end of this timber.'--'Fred., go quick and get the crow
bar.'--'Fred., hold on the end of this fall.'--'Fred., go to the blacksmith's
shop, and get a new punch.'--'Hurra, Fred.! run and bring me a cold
chisel.'--'I say, Fred., bear a hand, and get up a fire as quick as lightning
under that steam-box.'--'Halloo, nigger! come, turn this grindstone.'--'Come,
come! move, move! and bowse this timber forward.'--'I say, darkey, blast your
eyes, why don't you heat up some pitch?'--'Halloo! halloo! halloo!' (Three
voices at the same time.) 'Come here!--Go there!--Hold on where you are! D--n
you, if you move, I'll knock your brains out!'"
Such, dear reader, is a
glance at the school which was mine, during, the first eight months of my stay
at Baltimore. At the end of the eight months, Master Hugh refused longer to
allow me to remain with Mr. Gardiner. The circumstance which led to his taking
me away, was a brutal outrage, committed upon me by the white apprentices of
the ship-yard. The fight was a desperate one, and I came out of it most
shockingly mangled. I was cut and bruised in sundry places, and my left eye was
nearly knocked out of its socket. The facts, leading to this barbarous outrage
upon me, illustrate a phase of slavery destined to become an important element
in the overthrow of the slave system, and I may, therefore state them with some
minuteness. That phase is this: the conflict of slavery with the interests of
the white mechanics and laborers of the south. In the country, this conflict is
not so apparent; but, in cities, such as Baltimore, Richmond, New Orleans,
Mobile, &c., it is seen pretty clearly. The slaveholders, with a craftiness
peculiar to themselves, by encouraging the enmity of the poor, laboring white
man against the blacks, succeeds in making the said white man almost as much a
slave as the black slave himself. The difference between the white slave, and
the black slave, is this: the latter belongs to one slaveholder, and the former
belongs to all the slaveholders, collectively. The white slave has taken from
him, by indirection, what the black slave has taken from him, directly, and
without ceremony. Both are plundered, and by the same plunderers. The slave is
robbed, by his master, of all his earnings, above what is required for his bare
physical necessities; and the white man is robbed by the slave system, of the
just results of his labor, because he is flung into competition with a class of
laborers who work without wages. The competition, and its injurious
consequences, will, one day, array the nonslaveholding white people of the
slave states, against the slave system, and make them the most effective
workers against the great evil. At present, the slaveholders blind them to this
competition, by keeping alive their prejudice against the slaves, as men--not
against them as slaves. They appeal to their pride, often denouncing
emancipation, as tending to place the white man, on an equality with Negroes,
and, by this means, they succeed in drawing off the minds of the poor whites
from the real fact, that, by the rich slave-master, they are already regarded
as but a single remove from equality with the slave. The impression is
cunningly made, that slavery is the only power that can prevent the laboring
white man from falling to the level of the slave's poverty and degradation. To
make this enmity deep and broad, between the slave and the poor white man, the
latter is allowed to abuse and whip the former, without hinderance. But--as I
have suggested--this state of facts prevails mostly in the country. In the city
of Baltimore, there are not unfrequent murmurs, that educating the slaves to be
mechanics may, in the end, give slave-masters power to dispense with the
services of the poor white man altogether. But, with characteristic dread of
offending the slaveholders, these poor, white mechanics in Mr. Gardiner's
ship-yard--instead of applying the natural, honest remedy for the apprehended
evil, and objecting at once to work there by the side of slaves--made a
cowardly attack upon the free colored mechanics, saying they were eating the
bread which should be eaten by American freemen, and swearing that they would
not work with them. The feeling was, really, against having their labor brought
into competition with that of the colored people at all; but it was too much to
strike directly at the interest of the slaveholders; and, therefore proving
their servility and cowardice they dealt their blows on the poor, colored
freeman, and aimed to prevent him from serving himself, in the evening of life,
with the trade with which he had served his master, during the more vigorous
portion of his days. Had they succeeded in driving the black freemen out of the
ship-yard, they would have determined also upon the removal of the black
slaves. The feeling was very bitter toward all colored people in Baltimore,
about this time (1836), and they--free and slave suffered all manner of insult
and wrong.
Until a very little
before I went there, white and black ship carpenters worked side by side, in
the ship yards of Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Duncan, Mr. Walter Price, and Mr. Robb.
Nobody seemed to see any impropriety in it. To outward seeming, all hands were
well satisfied. Some of the blacks were first rate workmen, and were given jobs
requiring highest skill. All at once, however, the white carpenters knocked
off, and swore that they would no longer work on the same stage with free
Negroes. Taking advantage of the heavy contract resting upon Mr. Gardiner, to
have the war vessels for Mexico ready to launch in July, and of the difficulty
of getting other hands at that season of the year, they swore they would not
strike another blow for him, unless he would discharge his free colored
workmen.
Now, although this
movement did not extend to me, in form, it did reach me, in fact. The spirit
which it awakened was one of malice and bitterness, toward colored people
generally, and I suffered with the rest, and suffered severely. My fellow
apprentices very soon began to feel it to be degrading to work with me. They
began to put on high looks, and to talk contemptuously and maliciously of
"the Niggers;" saying, that "they would take the country," that
"they ought to be killed." Encouraged by the cowardly workmen, who,
knowing me to be a slave, made no issue with Mr. Gardiner about my being there,
these young men did their utmost to make it impossible for me to stay. They
seldom called me to do any thing, without coupling the call with a curse, and
Edward North, the biggest in every thing, rascality included, ventured to
strike me, whereupon I picked him up, and threw him into the dock. Whenever any
of them struck me, I struck back again, regardless of consequences. I could
manage any of them singly, and, while I could keep them from combining, I
succeeded very well. In the conflict which ended my stay at Mr. Gardiner's, I
was beset by four of them at once--Ned North, Ned Hays, Bill Stewart, and Tom
Humphreys. Two of them were as large as myself, and they came near killing me,
in broad day light. The attack was made suddenly, and simultaneously. One came
in front, armed with a brick; there was one at each side, and one behind, and
they closed up around me. I was struck on all sides; and, while I was attending
to those in front, I received a blow on my head, from behind, dealt with a
heavy hand-spike. I was completely stunned by the blow, and fell, heavily, on
the ground, among the timbers. Taking advantage of my fall, they rushed upon
me, and began to pound me with their fists. I let them lay on, for a while,
after I came to myself, with a view of gaining strength. They did me little
damage, so far; but, finally, getting tired of that sport, I gave a sudden
surge, and, despite their weight, I rose to my hands and knees. Just as I did
this, one of their number (I know not which) planted a blow with his boot in my
left eye, which, for a time, seemed to have burst my eyeball. When they saw my
eye completely closed, my face covered with blood, and I staggering under the
stunning blows they had given me, they left me. As soon as I gathered
sufficient strength, I picked up the hand-spike, and, madly enough, attempted
to pursue them; but here the carpenters interfered, and compelled me to give up
my frenzied pursuit. It was impossible to stand against so many.
Dear reader, you can
hardly believe the statement, but it is true, and, therefore, I write it down:
not fewer than fifty white men stood by, and saw this brutal and shameless outrage
committed, and not a man of them all interposed a single word of mercy. There
were four against one, and that one's face was beaten and battered most
horribly, and no one said, "that is enough;" but some cried out,
"Kill him--kill him--kill the d--d nigger! knock his brains out--he struck
a white person." I mention this inhuman outcry, to show the character of
the men, and the spirit of the times, at Gardiner's ship yard, and, indeed, in
Baltimore generally, in 1836. As I look back to this period, I am almost amazed
that I was not murdered outright, in that ship yard, so murderous was the
spirit which prevailed there. On two occasions, while there, I came near losing
my life. I was driving bolts in the hold, through the keelson, with Hays. In
its course, the bolt bent. Hays cursed me, and said that it was my blow which
bent the bolt. I denied this, and charged it upon him. In a fit of rage he
seized an adze, and darted toward me. I met him with a maul, and parried his
blow, or I should have then lost my life. A son of old Tom Lanman (the latter's
double murder I have elsewhere charged upon him), in the spirit of his
miserable father, made an assault upon me, but the blow with his maul missed
me. After the united assault of North, Stewart, Hays and Humphreys, finding
that the carpenters were as bitter toward me as the apprentices, and that the
latter were probably set on by the former, I found my only chances for life was
in flight. I succeeded in getting away, without an additional blow. To strike a
white man, was death, by Lynch law, in Gardiner's ship yard; nor was there much
of any other law toward colored people, at that time, in any other part of
Maryland. The whole sentiment of Baltimore was murderous.
After making my escape
from the ship yard, I went straight home, and related the story of the outrage
to Master Hugh Auld; and it is due to him to say, that his conduct--though he
was not a religious man--was every way more humane than that of his brother,
Thomas, when I went to the latter in a somewhat similar plight, from the hands
of "Brother Edward Covey." He listened attentively to my narration of
the circumstances leading to the ruffianly outrage, and gave many proofs of his
strong indignation at what was done. Hugh was a rough, but manly-hearted
fellow, and, at this time, his best nature showed itself.
The heart of my once
almost over-kind mistress, Sophia, was again melted in pity toward me. My
puffed-out eye, and my scarred and blood-covered face, moved the dear lady to
tears. She kindly drew a chair by me, and with friendly, consoling words, she
took water, and washed the blood from my face. No mother's hand could have been
more tender than hers. She bound up my head, and covered my wounded eye with a
lean piece of fresh beef. It was almost compensation for the murderous assault,
and my suffering, that it furnished and occasion for the manifestation, once
more, of the originally characteristic kindness of my mistress. Her
affectionate heart was not yet dead, though much hardened by time and by
circumstances.
As for Master Hugh's
part, as I have said, he was furious about it; and he gave expression to his
fury in the usual forms of speech in that locality. He poured curses on the
heads of the whole ship yard company, and swore that he would have satisfaction
for the outrage. His indignation was really strong and healthy; but,
unfortunately, it resulted from the thought that his rights of property, in my
person, had not been respected, more than from any sense of the outrage
committed on me as a man. I inferred as much as this, from the fact that he
could, himself, beat and mangle when it suited him to do so. Bent on having
satisfaction, as he said, just as soon as I got a little the better of my
bruises, Master Hugh took me to Esquire Watson's office, on Bond street, Fell's
Point, with a view to procuring the arrest of those who had assaulted me. He
related the outrage to the magistrate, as I had related it to him, and seemed
to expect that a warrant would, at once, be issued for the arrest of the
lawless ruffians.
Mr. Watson heard it
all, and instead of drawing up his warrant, he inquired.--
"Mr. Auld, who saw
this assault of which you speak?"
"It was done, sir,
in the presence of a ship yard full of hands."
"Sir," said
Watson, "I am sorry, but I cannot move in this matter except upon the oath
of white witnesses."
"But here's the
boy; look at his head and face," said the excited Master Hugh; "they
show what has been done."
But Watson insisted
that he was not authorized to do anything, unless white witnesses of the
transaction would come forward, and testify to what had taken place. He could
issue no warrant on my word, against white persons; and, if I had been killed
in the presence of a thousand blacks, their testimony, combined would have been
insufficient to arrest a single murderer. Master Hugh, for once, was compelled
to say, that this state of things was too bad; and he left the office of the
magistrate, disgusted.
Of course, it was
impossible to get any white man to testify against my assailants. The
carpenters saw what was done; but the actors were but the agents of their
malice, and only what the carpenters sanctioned. They had cried, with one
accord, "Kill the nigger!" "Kill the nigger!" Even those
who may have pitied me, if any such were among them, lacked the moral courage
to come and volunteer their evidence. The slightest manifestation of sympathy
or justice toward a person of color, was denounced as abolitionism; and the
name of abolitionist, subjected its bearer to frightful liabilities. "D--n
abolitionists," and "Kill the niggers," were the watch-words of
the foul-mouthed ruffians of those days. Nothing was done, and probably there
would not have been any thing done, had I been killed in the affray. The laws
and the morals of the Christian city of Baltimore, afforded no protection to
the sable denizens of that city.
Master Hugh, on finding
he could get no redress for the cruel wrong, withdrew me from the employment of
Mr. Gardiner, and took me into his own family, Mrs. Auld kindly taking care of
me, and dressing my wounds, until they were healed, and I was ready to go again
to work.
While I was on the
Eastern Shore, Master Hugh had met with reverses, which overthrew his business;
and he had given up ship building in his own yard, on the City Block, and was
now acting as foreman of Mr. Walter Price. The best he could now do for me, was
to take me into Mr. Price's yard, and afford me the facilities there, for
completing the trade which I had began to learn at Gardiner's. Here I rapidly
became expert in the use of my calking tools; and, in the course of a single
year, I was able to command the highest wages paid to journeymen calkers in
Baltimore.
The reader will observe
that I was now of some pecuniary value to my master. During the busy season, I
was bringing six and seven dollars per week. I have, sometimes, brought him as
much as nine dollars a week, for the wages were a dollar and a half per day.
After learning to calk,
I sought my own employment, made my own contracts, and collected my own
earnings; giving Master Hugh no trouble in any part of the transactions to
which I was a party.
Here, then, were better
days for the Eastern Shore slave. I was now free from the vexatious assaults of
the apprentices at Mr. Gardiner's; and free from the perils of plantation life,
and once more in a favorable condition to increase my little stock of
education, which had been at a dead stand since my removal from Baltimore. I
had, on the Eastern Shore, been only a teacher, when in company with other
slaves, but now there were colored persons who could instruct me. Many of the
young calkers could read, write and cipher. Some of them had high notions about
mental improvement; and the free ones, on Fell's Point, organized what they called
the "East Baltimore Mental Improvement Society." To this society,
notwithstanding it was intended that only free persons should attach
themselves, I was admitted, and was, several times, assigned a prominent part
in its debates. I owe much to the society of these young men.
The reader already
knows enough of the ill effects of good treatment on a slave, to anticipate
what was now the case in my improved condition. It was not long before I began
to show signs of disquiet with slavery, and to look around for means to get out
of that condition by the shortest route. I was living among freemen; and was,
in all respects, equal to them by nature and by attainments. Why should I be a
slave? There was no reason why I should be the thrall of any man.
Besides, I was now
getting--as I have said--a dollar and fifty cents per day. I contracted for it,
worked for it, earned it, collected it; it was paid to me, and it was
rightfully my own; and yet, upon every returning Saturday night, this money--my
own hard earnings, every cent of it--was demanded of me, and taken from me by
Master Hugh. He did not earn it; he had no hand in earning it; why, then,
should he have it? I owed him nothing. He had given me no schooling, and I had
received from him only my food and raiment; and for these, my services were
supposed to pay, from the first. The right to take my earnings, was the right
of the robber. He had the power to compel me to give him the fruits of my
labor, and this power was his only right in the case. I became more and more
dissatisfied with this state of things; and, in so becoming, I only gave proof
of the same human nature which every reader of this chapter in my
life--slaveholder, or nonslaveholder--is conscious of possessing.
To make a contented
slave, you must make a thoughtless one. It is necessary to darken his moral and
mental vision, and, as far as possible, to annihilate his power of reason. He
must be able to detect no inconsistencies in slavery. The man that takes his
earnings, must be able to convince him that he has a perfect right to do so. It
must not depend upon mere force; the slave must know no Higher Law than his
master's will. The whole relationship must not only demonstrate, to his mind,
its necessity, but its absolute rightfulness. If there be one crevice through
which a single drop can fall, it will certainly rust off the slave's chain.
CLOSING INCIDENTS OF
"MY LIFE AS A SLAVE"--REASONS WHY FULL PARTICULARS OF THE MANNER OF
MY ESCAPE WILL NOT BE GIVEN--CRAFTINESS AND MALICE OF SLAVEHOLDERS--SUSPICION
OF AIDING A SLAVE'S ESCAPE ABOUT AS DANGEROUS AS POSITIVE EVIDENCE--WANT OF
WISDOM SHOWN IN PUBLISHING DETAILS OF THE ESCAPE OF THE FUGITIVES--PUBLISHED
ACCOUNTS REACH THE MASTERS, NOT THE SLAVES--SLAVEHOLDERS STIMULATED TO GREATER
WATCHFULNESS--MY CONDITION--DISCONTENT--SUSPICIONS IMPLIED BY MASTER HUGH'S
MANNER, WHEN RECEIVING MY WAGES--HIS OCCASIONAL GENEROSITY!--DIFFICULTIES IN
THE WAY OF ESCAPE--EVERY AVENUE GUARDED--PLAN TO OBTAIN MONEY--I AM ALLOWED TO HIRE
MY TIME--A GLEAM OF HOPE--ATTENDS CAMP-MEETING, WITHOUT PERMISSION--ANGER OF
MASTER HUGH THEREAT--THE RESULT--MY PLANS OF ESCAPE ACCELERATED THERBY--THE DAY
FOR MY DEPARTURE FIXED--HARASSED BY DOUBTS AND FEARS--PAINFUL THOUGHTS OF
SEPARATION FROM FRIENDS--THE ATTEMPT MADE--ITS SUCCESS.
I will now make the
kind reader acquainted with the closing incidents of my "Life as a
Slave," having already trenched upon the limit allotted to my "Life
as a Freeman." Before, however, proceeding with this narration, it is,
perhaps, proper that I should frankly state, in advance, my intention to
withhold a part of the facts connected with my escape from slavery. There are
reasons for this suppression, which I trust the reader will deem altogether
valid. It may be easily conceived, that a full and complete statement of all
facts pertaining to the flight of a bondman, might implicate and embarrass some
who may have, wittingly or unwittingly, assisted him; and no one can wish me to
involve any man or woman who has befriended me, even in the liability of
embarrassment or trouble.
Keen is the scent of
the slaveholder; like the fangs of the rattlesnake, his malice retains its
poison long; and, although it is now nearly seventeen years since I made my
escape, it is well to be careful, in dealing with the circumstances relating to
it. Were I to give but a shadowy outline of the process adopted, with
characteristic aptitude, the crafty and malicious among the slaveholders might,
possibly, hit upon the track I pursued, and involve some one in suspicion
which, in a slave state, is about as bad as positive evidence. The colored man,
there, must not only shun evil, but shun the very appearance of evil, or be
condemned as a criminal. A slaveholding community has a peculiar taste for ferreting
out offenses against the slave system, justice there being more sensitive in
its regard for the peculiar rights of this system, than for any other interest
or institution. By stringing together a train of events and circumstances, even
if I were not very explicit, the means of escape might be ascertained, and,
possibly, those means be rendered, thereafter, no longer available to the
liberty-seeking children of bondage I have left behind me. No antislavery man
can wish me to do anything favoring such results, and no slaveholding reader
has any right to expect the impartment of such information.
While, therefore, it
would afford me pleasure, and perhaps would materially add to the interest of
my story, were I at liberty to gratify a curiosity which I know to exist in the
minds of many, as to the manner of my escape, I must deprive myself of this
pleasure, and the curious of the gratification, which such a statement of facts
would afford. I would allow myself to suffer under the greatest imputations that
evil minded men might suggest, rather than exculpate myself by explanation, and
thereby run the hazards of closing the slightest avenue by which a brother in
suffering might clear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery.
The practice of
publishing every new invention by which a slave is known to have escaped from
slavery, has neither wisdom nor necessity to sustain it. Had not Henry Box
Brown and his friends attracted slaveholding attention to the manner of his
escape, we might have had a thousand Box Browns per annum. The singularly
original plan adopted by William and Ellen Crafts, perished with the first
using, because every slaveholder in the land was apprised of it. The salt water
slave who hung in the guards of a steamer, being washed three days and three
nights--like another Jonah--by the waves of the sea, has, by the publicity
given to the circumstance, set a spy on the guards of every steamer departing
from southern ports.
I have never approved
of the very public manner, in which some of our western friends have conducted
what they call the "Under-ground Railroad," but which, I think, by
their open declarations, has been made, most emphatically, the
"Upper-ground Railroad." Its stations are far better known to the slaveholders
than to the slaves. I honor those good men and women for their noble daring, in
willingly subjecting themselves to persecution, by openly avowing their
participation in the escape of slaves; nevertheless, the good resulting from
such avowals, is of a very questionable character. It may kindle an enthusiasm,
very pleasant to inhale; but that is of no practical benefit to themselves, nor
to the slaves escaping. Nothing is more evident, than that such disclosures are
a positive evil to the slaves remaining, and seeking to escape. In publishing
such accounts, the anti-slavery man addresses the slaveholder, not the slave;
he stimulates the former to greater watchfulness, and adds to his facilities
for capturing his slave. We owe something to the slaves, south of Mason and
Dixon's line, as well as to those north of it; and, in discharging the duty of
aiding the latter, on their way to freedom, we should be careful to do nothing
which would be likely to hinder the former, in making their escape from slavery.
Such is my detestation of slavery, that I would keep the merciless slaveholder
profoundly ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. He should be
left to imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible tormentors, ever
ready to snatch, from his infernal grasp, his trembling prey. In pursuing his
victim, let him be left to feel his way in the dark; let shades of darkness,
commensurate with his crime, shut every ray of light from his pathway; and let
him be made to feel, that, at every step he takes, with the hellish purpose of
reducing a brother man to slavery, he is running the frightful risk of having
his hot brains dashed out by an invisible hand.
But, enough of this. I
will now proceed to the statement of those facts, connected with my escape, for
which I am alone responsible, and for which no one can be made to suffer but
myself.
My condition in the
year (1838) of my escape, was, comparatively, a free and easy one, so far, at
least, as the wants of the physical man were concerned; but the reader will
bear in mind, that my troubles from the beginning, have been less physical than
mental, and he will thus be prepared to find, after what is narrated in the
previous chapters, that slave life was adding nothing to its charms for me, as
I grew older, and became better acquainted with it. The practice, from week to
week, of openly robbing me of all my earnings, kept the nature and character of
slavery constantly before me. I could be robbed by indirection, but this was
too open and barefaced to be endured. I could see no reason why I should, at
the end of each week, pour the reward of my honest toil into the purse of any
man. The thought itself vexed me, and the manner in which Master Hugh received
my wages, vexed me more than the original wrong. Carefully counting the money
and rolling it out, dollar by dollar, he would look me in the face, as if he
would search my heart as well as my pocket, and reproachfully ask me, "Is
that all?"--implying that I had, perhaps, kept back part of my wages; or,
if not so, the demand was made, possibly, to make me feel, that, after all, I
was an "unprofitable servant." Draining me of the last cent of my
hard earnings, he would, however, occasionally--when I brought home an extra
large sum--dole out to me a sixpence or a shilling, with a view, perhaps, of
kindling up my gratitude; but this practice had the opposite effect--it was an
admission of my right to the whole sum. The fact, that he gave me any part of
my wages, was proof that he suspected that I had a right to the whole of them.
I always felt uncomfortable, after having received anything in this way, for I
feared that the giving me a few cents, might, possibly, ease his conscience,
and make him feel himself a pretty honorable robber, after all!
Held to a strict
account, and kept under a close watch--the old suspicion of my running away not
having been entirely removed--escape from slavery, even in Baltimore, was very
difficult. The railroad from Baltimore to Philadelphia was under regulations so
stringent, that even free colored travelers were almost excluded. They must
have free papers; they must be measured and carefully examined, before they
were allowed to enter the cars; they only went in the day time, even when so
examined. The steamboats were under regulations equally stringent. All the
great turnpikes, leading northward, were beset with kidnappers, a class of men
who watched the newspapers for advertisements for runaway slaves, making their
living by the accursed reward of slave hunting.
My discontent grew upon
me, and I was on the look-out for means of escape. With money, I could easily
have managed the matter, and, therefore, I hit upon the plan of soliciting the
privilege of hiring my time. It is quite common, in Baltimore, to allow slaves
this privilege, and it is the practice, also, in New Orleans. A slave who is
considered trustworthy, can, by paying his master a definite sum regularly, at
the end of each week, dispose of his time as he likes. It so happened that I
was not in very good odor, and I was far from being a trustworthy slave.
Nevertheless, I watched my opportunity when Master Thomas came to Baltimore
(for I was still his property, Hugh only acted as his agent) in the spring of
1838, to purchase his spring supply of goods, and applied to him, directly, for
the much-coveted privilege of hiring my time. This request Master Thomas
unhesitatingly refused to grant; and he charged me, with some sternness, with
inventing this stratagem to make my escape. He told me, "I could go nowhere
but he could catch me; and, in the event of my running away, I might be assured
he should spare no pains in his efforts to recapture me. He recounted, with a
good deal of eloquence, the many kind offices he had done me, and exhorted me
to be contented and obedient. "Lay out no plans for the future," said
he. "If you behave yourself properly, I will take care of you." Now,
kind and considerate as this offer was, it failed to soothe me into repose. In
spite of Master Thomas, and, I may say, in spite of myself, also, I continued
to think, and worse still, to think almost exclusively about the injustice and
wickedness of slavery. No effort of mine or of his could silence this
trouble-giving thought, or change my purpose to run away.
About two months after
applying to Master Thomas for the privilege of hiring my time, I applied to
Master Hugh for the same liberty, supposing him to be unacquainted with the
fact that I had made a similar application to Master Thomas, and had been
refused. My boldness in making this request, fairly astounded him at the first.
He gazed at me in amazement. But I had many good reasons for pressing the
matter; and, after listening to them awhile, he did not absolutely refuse, but
told me he would think of it. Here, then, was a gleam of hope. Once master of
my own time, I felt sure that I could make, over and above my obligation to
him, a dollar or two every week. Some slaves have made enough, in this way, to
purchase their freedom. It is a sharp spur to industry; and some of the most
enterprising colored men in Baltimore hire themselves in this way. After mature
reflection--as I must suppose it was Master Hugh granted me the privilege in
question, on the following terms: I was to be allowed all my time; to make all
bargains for work; to find my own employment, and to collect my own wages; and,
in return for this liberty, I was required, or obliged, to pay him three
dollars at the end of each week, and to board and clothe myself, and buy my own
calking tools. A failure in any of these particulars would put an end to my
privilege. This was a hard bargain. The wear and tear of clothing, the losing
and breaking of tools, and the expense of board, made it necessary for me to
earn at least six dollars per week, to keep even with the world. All who are
acquainted with calking, know how uncertain and irregular that employment is.
It can be done to advantage only in dry weather, for it is useless to put wet
oakum into a seam. Rain or shine, however, work or no work, at the end of each
week the money must be forthcoming.
Master Hugh seemed to
be very much pleased, for a time, with this arrangement; and well he might be,
for it was decidedly in his favor. It relieved him of all anxiety concerning
me. His money was sure. He had armed my love of liberty with a lash and a
driver, far more efficient than any I had before known; and, while he derived
all the benefits of slaveholding by the arrangement, without its evils, I
endured all the evils of being a slave, and yet suffered all the care and
anxiety of a responsible freeman. "Nevertheless," thought I, "it
is a valuable privilege another step in my career toward freedom." It was
something even to be permitted to stagger under the disadvantages of liberty,
and I was determined to hold on to the newly gained footing, by all proper
industry. I was ready to work by night as well as by day; and being in the
enjoyment of excellent health, I was able not only to meet my current expenses,
but also to lay by a small sum at the end of each week. All went on thus, from the
month of May till August; then--for reasons which will become apparent as I
proceed--my much valued liberty was wrested from me.
During the week
previous to this (to me) calamitous event, I had made arrangements with a few
young friends, to accompany them, on Saturday night, to a camp-meeting, held
about twelve miles from Baltimore. On the evening of our intended start for the
camp-ground, something occurred in the ship yard where I was at work, which
detained me unusually late, and compelled me either to disappoint my young
friends, or to neglect carrying my weekly dues to Master Hugh. Knowing that I
had the money, and could hand it to him on another day, I decided to go to
camp-meeting, and to pay him the three dollars, for the past week, on my return.
Once on the camp-ground, I was induced to remain one day longer than I had
intended, when I left home. But, as soon as I returned, I went straight to his
house on Fell street, to hand him his (my) money. Unhappily, the fatal mistake
had been committed. I found him exceedingly angry. He exhibited all the signs
of apprehension and wrath, which a slaveholder may be surmised to exhibit on
the supposed escape of a favorite slave. "You rascal! I have a great mind
to give you a severe whipping. How dare you go out of the city without first
asking and obtaining my permission?" "Sir," said I, "I
hired my time and paid you the price you asked for it. I did not know that it
was any part of the bargain that I should ask you when or where I should go."
"You did not know,
you rascal! You are bound to show yourself here every Saturday night."
After reflecting, a few moments, he became somewhat cooled down; but, evidently
greatly troubled, he said, "Now, you scoundrel! you have done for
yourself; you shall hire your time no longer. The next thing I shall hear of,
will be your running away. Bring home your tools and your clothes, at once.
I'll teach you how to go off in this way."
Thus ended my partial
freedom. I could hire my time no longer; and I obeyed my master's orders at
once. The little taste of liberty which I had had--although as the reader will
have seen, it was far from being unalloyed--by no means enhanced my contentment
with slavery. Punished thus by Master Hugh, it was now my turn to punish him.
"Since," thought I, "you will make a slave of me, I will await
your orders in all things;" and, instead of going to look for work on
Monday morning, as I had formerly done, I remained at home during the entire
week, without the performance of a single stroke of work. Saturday night came,
and he called upon me, as usual, for my wages. I, of course, told him I had
done no work, and had no wages. Here we were at the point of coming to blows.
His wrath had been accumulating during the whole week; for he evidently saw
that I was making no effort to get work, but was most aggravatingly awaiting
his orders, in all things. As I look back to this behavior of mine, I scarcely
know what possessed me, thus to trifle with those who had such unlimited power
to bless or to blast me. Master Hugh raved and swore his determination to
"get hold of me;" but, wisely for him, and happily for me, his wrath
only employed those very harmless, impalpable missiles, which roll from a
limber tongue. In my desperation, I had fully made up my mind to measure
strength with Master Hugh, in case he should undertake to execute his threats.
I am glad there was no necessity for this; for resistance to him could not have
ended so happily for me, as it did in the case of Covey. He was not a man to be
safely resisted by a slave; and I freely own, that in my conduct toward him, in
this instance, there was more folly than wisdom. Master Hugh closed his
reproofs, by telling me that, hereafter, I need give myself no uneasiness about
getting work; that he "would, himself, see to getting work for me, and
enough of it, at that." This threat I confess had some terror in it; and,
on thinking the matter over, during the Sunday, I resolved, not only to save
him the trouble of getting me work, but that, upon the third day of September,
I would attempt to make my escape from slavery. The refusal to allow me to hire
my time, therefore, hastened the period of flight. I had three weeks, now, in
which to prepare for my journey.
Once resolved, I felt a
certain degree of repose, and on Monday, instead of waiting for Master Hugh to
seek employment for me, I was up by break of day, and off to the ship yard of
Mr. Butler, on the City Block, near the draw-bridge. I was a favorite with Mr.
B., and, young as I was, I had served as his foreman on the float stage, at
calking. Of course, I easily obtained work, and, at the end of the week--which
by the way was exceedingly fine I brought Master Hugh nearly nine dollars. The
effect of this mark of returning good sense, on my part, was excellent. He was
very much pleased; he took the money, commended me, and told me I might have
done the same thing the week before. It is a blessed thing that the tyrant may
not always know the thoughts and purposes of his victim. Master Hugh little
knew what my plans were. The going to camp-meeting without asking his
permission--the insolent answers made to his reproaches--the sulky deportment
the week after being deprived of the privilege of hiring my time--had awakened
in him the suspicion that I might be cherishing disloyal purposes. My object,
therefore, in working steadily, was to remove suspicion, and in this I
succeeded admirably. He probably thought I was never better satisfied with my
condition, than at the very time I was planning my escape. The second week
passed, and again I carried him my full week's wages--nine dollars; and so well
pleased was he, that he gave me TWENTY-FIVE CENTS! and "bade me make good
use of it!" I told him I would, for one of the uses to which I meant to
put it, was to pay my fare on the underground railroad.
Things without went on
as usual; but I was passing through the same internal excitement and anxiety
which I had experienced two years and a half before. The failure, in that
instance, was not calculated to increase my confidence in the success of this,
my second attempt; and I knew that a second failure could not leave me where my
first did--I must either get to the far north, or be sent to the far south.
Besides the exercise of mind from this state of facts, I had the painful sensation
of being about to separate from a circle of honest and warm hearted friends, in
Baltimore. The thought of such a separation, where the hope of ever meeting
again is excluded, and where there can be no correspondence, is very painful.
It is my opinion, that thousands would escape from slavery who now remain
there, but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to their families,
relatives and friends. The daughter is hindered from escaping, by the love she
bears her mother, and the father, by the love he bears his children; and so, to
the end of the chapter. I had no relations in Baltimore, and I saw no
probability of ever living in the neighborhood of sisters and brothers; but the
thought of leaving my friends, was among the strongest obstacles to my running
away. The last two days of the week--Friday and Saturday--were spent mostly in
collecting my things together, for my journey. Having worked four days that
week, for my master, I handed him six dollars, on Saturday night. I seldom
spent my Sundays at home; and, for fear that something might be discovered in
my conduct, I kept up my custom, and absented myself all day. On Monday, the
third day of September, 1838, in accordance with my resolution, I bade farewell
to the city of Baltimore, and to that slavery which had been my abhorrence from
childhood.
How I got away--in what
direction I traveled--whether by land or by water; whether with or without
assistance--must, for reasons already mentioned, remain unexplained.
TRANSITION FROM SLAVERY
TO FREEDOM--A WANDERER IN NEW YORK--FEELINGS ON REACHING THAT CITY--AN OLD
ACQUAINTANCE MET--UNFAVORABLE IMPRESSIONS--LONELINESS AND INSECURITY--APOLOGY
FOR SLAVES WHO RETURN TO THEIR MASTERS--COMPELLED TO TELL MY
CONDITION--SUCCORED BY A SAILOR--DAVID RUGGLES--THE UNDERGROUND
RAILROAD--MARRIAGE--BAGGAGE TAKEN FROM ME--KINDNESS OF NATHAN JOHNSON--MY
CHANGE OF NAME--DARK NOTIONS OF NORTHERN CIVILIZATION--THE CONTRAST--COLORED
PEOPLE IN NEW BEDFORD--AN INCIDENT ILLUSTRATING THEIR SPIRIT--A COMMON
LABORER--DENIED WORK AT MY TRADE--THE FIRST WINTER AT THE NORTH--REPULSE AT THE
DOORS OF THE CHURCH--SANCTIFIED HATE--THE Liberator AND ITS EDITOR.
There is no necessity
for any extended notice of the incidents of this part of my life. There is
nothing very striking or peculiar about my career as a freeman, when viewed
apart from my life as a slave. The relation subsisting between my early
experience and that which I am now about to narrate, is, perhaps, my best apology
for adding another chapter to this book.
Disappearing from the
kind reader, in a flying cloud or balloon (pardon the figure), driven by the
wind, and knowing not where I should land--whether in slavery or in freedom--it
is proper that I should remove, at once, all anxiety, by frankly making known
where I alighted. The flight was a bold and perilous one; but here I am, in the
great city of New York, safe and sound, without loss of blood or bone. In less
than a week after leaving Baltimore, I was walking amid the hurrying throng,
and gazing upon the dazzling wonders of Broadway. The dreams of my childhood
and the purposes of my manhood were now fulfilled. A free state around me, and
a free earth under my feet! What a moment was this to me! A whole year was
pressed into a single day. A new world burst upon my agitated vision. I have
often been asked, by kind friends to whom I have told my story, how I felt when
first I found myself beyond the limits of slavery; and I must say here, as I
have often said to them, there is scarcely anything about which I could not
give a more satisfactory answer. It was a moment of joyous excitement, which no
words can describe. In a letter to a friend, written soon after reaching New
York. I said I felt as one might be supposed to feel, on escaping from a den of
hungry lions. But, in a moment like that, sensations are too intense and too
rapid for words. Anguish and grief, like darkness and rain, may be described,
but joy and gladness, like the rainbow of promise, defy alike the pen and
pencil.
For ten or fifteen
years I had been dragging a heavy chain, with a huge block attached to it,
cumbering my every motion. I had felt myself doomed to drag this chain and this
block through life. All efforts, before, to separate myself from the hateful
encumbrance, had only seemed to rivet me the more firmly to it. Baffled and
discouraged at times, I had asked myself the question, May not this, after all,
be God's work? May He not, for wise ends, have doomed me to this lot? A contest
had been going on in my mind for years, between the clear consciousness of
right and the plausible errors of superstition; between the wisdom of manly
courage, and the foolish weakness of timidity. The contest was now ended; the
chain was severed; God and right stood vindicated. I was A FREEMAN, and the
voice of peace and joy thrilled my heart.
Free and joyous,
however, as I was, joy was not the only sensation I experienced. It was like
the quick blaze, beautiful at the first, but which subsiding, leaves the
building charred and desolate. I was soon taught that I was still in an enemy's
land. A sense of loneliness and insecurity oppressed me sadly. I had been but a
few hours in New York, before I was met in the streets by a fugitive slave,
well known to me, and the information I got from him respecting New York, did
nothing to lessen my apprehension of danger. The fugitive in question was
"Allender's Jake," in Baltimore; but, said he, I am "WILLIAM
DIXON," in New York! I knew Jake well, and knew when Tolly Allender and
Mr. Price (for the latter employed Master Hugh as his foreman, in his shipyard
on Fell's Point) made an attempt to recapture Jake, and failed. Jake told me
all about his circumstances, and how narrowly he escaped being taken back to
slavery; that the city was now full of southerners, returning from the springs;
that the black people in New York were not to be trusted; that there were hired
men on the lookout for fugitives from slavery, and who, for a few dollars,
would betray me into the hands of the slave-catchers; that I must trust no man
with my secret; that I must not think of going either on the wharves to work,
or to a boarding-house to board; and, worse still, this same Jake told me it
was not in his power to help me. He seemed, even while cautioning me, to be
fearing lest, after all, I might be a party to a second attempt to recapture
him. Under the inspiration of this thought, I must suppose it was, he gave
signs of a wish to get rid of me, and soon left me his whitewash brush in hand--as
he said, for his work. He was soon lost to sight among the throng, and I was
alone again, an easy prey to the kidnappers, if any should happen to be on my
track.
New York, seventeen
years ago, was less a place of safety for a runaway slave than now, and all
know how unsafe it now is, under the new fugitive slave bill. I was much
troubled. I had very little money enough to buy me a few loaves of bread, but
not enough to pay board, outside a lumber yard. I saw the wisdom of keeping
away from the ship yards, for if Master Hugh pursued me, he would naturally
expect to find me looking for work among the calkers. For a time, every door
seemed closed against me. A sense of my loneliness and helplessness crept over
me, and covered me with something bordering on despair. In the midst of
thousands of my fellowmen, and yet a perfect stranger! In the midst of human
brothers, and yet more fearful of them than of hungry wolves! I was without
home, without friends, without work, without money, and without any definite knowledge
of which way to go, or where to look for succor.
Some apology can easily
be made for the few slaves who have, after making good their escape, turned
back to slavery, preferring the actual rule of their masters, to the life of
loneliness, apprehension, hunger, and anxiety, which meets them on their first
arrival in a free state. It is difficult for a freeman to enter into the
feelings of such fugitives. He cannot see things in the same light with the
slave, because he does not, and cannot, look from the same point from which the
slave does. "Why do you tremble," he says to the slave "you are
in a free state;" but the difficulty is, in realizing that he is in a free
state, the slave might reply. A freeman cannot understand why the
slave-master's shadow is bigger, to the slave, than the might and majesty of a
free state; but when he reflects that the slave knows more about the slavery of
his master than he does of the might and majesty of the free state, he has the
explanation. The slave has been all his life learning the power of his
master--being trained to dread his approach--and only a few hours learning the
power of the state. The master is to him a stern and flinty reality, but the
state is little more than a dream. He has been accustomed to regard every white
man as the friend of his master, and every colored man as more or less under
the control of his master's friends--the white people. It takes stout nerves to
stand up, in such circumstances. A man, homeless, shelterless, breadless,
friendless, and moneyless, is not in a condition to assume a very proud or
joyous tone; and in just this condition was I, while wandering about the
streets of New York city and lodging, at least one night, among the barrels on
one of its wharves. I was not only free from slavery, but I was free from home,
as well. The reader will easily see that I had something more than the simple
fact of being free to think of, in this extremity.
I kept my secret as
long as I could, and at last was forced to go in search of an honest man--a man
sufficiently human not to betray me into the hands of slave-catchers. I was not
a bad reader of the human face, nor long in selecting the right man, when once
compelled to disclose the facts of my condition to some one.
I found my man in the
person of one who said his name was Stewart. He was a sailor, warm-hearted and
generous, and he listened to my story with a brother's interest. I told him I
was running for my freedom--knew not where to go--money almost gone--was hungry--thought
it unsafe to go the shipyards for work, and needed a friend. Stewart promptly
put me in the way of getting out of my trouble. He took me to his house, and
went in search of the late David Ruggles, who was then the secretary of the New
York Vigilance Committee, and a very active man in all anti-slavery works. Once
in the hands of Mr. Ruggles, I was comparatively safe. I was hidden with Mr.
Ruggles several days. In the meantime, my intended wife, Anna, came on from
Baltimore--to whom I had written, informing her of my safe arrival at New
York--and, in the presence of Mrs. Mitchell and Mr. Ruggles, we were married,
by Rev. James W. C. Pennington.
Mr. Ruggles[7] was the
first officer on the under-ground railroad with whom I met after reaching the north,
and, indeed, the first of whom I ever heard anything. Learning that I was a
calker by trade, he promptly decided that New Bedford was the proper place to
send me. "Many ships," said he, "are there fitted out for the
whaling business, and you may there find work at your trade, and make a good
living." Thus, in one fortnight after my flight from Maryland, I was safe
in New Bedford, regularly entered upon the exercise of the rights,
responsibilities, and duties of a freeman.
I may mention a little
circumstance which annoyed me on reaching New Bedford. I had not a cent of
money, and lacked two dollars toward paying our fare from Newport, and our
baggage not very costly --was taken by the stage driver, and held until I could
raise the money to redeem it. This difficulty was soon surmounted. Mr. Nathan
Johnson, to whom we had a line from Mr. Ruggles, not only received us kindly
and hospitably, but, on being informed about our baggage, promptly loaned me
two dollars with which to redeem my little property. I shall ever be deeply
grateful, both to Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Johnson, for the lively interest they
were pleased to take in me, in this hour of my extremest need. They not only
gave myself and wife bread and shelter, but taught us how to begin to secure those
benefits for ourselves. Long may they live, and may blessings attend them in
this life and in that which is to come!
Once initiated into the
new life of freedom, and assured by Mr. Johnson that New Bedford was a safe
place, the comparatively unimportant matter, as to what should be my name, came
up for consideration. It was necessary to have a name in my new relations. The
name given me by my beloved mother was no less pretentious than "Frederick
Augustus Washington Bailey." I had, however, before leaving Maryland,
dispensed with the Augustus Washington, and retained the name Frederick Bailey.
Between Baltimore and New Bedford, however, I had several different names, the
better to avoid being overhauled by the hunters, which I had good reason to
believe would be put on my track. Among honest men an honest man may well be
content with one name, and to acknowledge it at all times and in all places;
but toward fugitives, Americans are not honest. When I arrived at New Bedford,
my name was Johnson; and finding that the Johnson family in New Bedford were
already quite numerous--sufficiently so to produce some confusion in attempts
to distinguish one from another--there was the more reason for making another
change in my name. In fact, "Johnson" had been assumed by nearly
every slave who had arrived in New Bedford from Maryland, and this, much to the
annoyance of the original "Johnsons" (of whom there were many) in
that place. Mine host, unwilling to have another of his own name added to the
community in this unauthorized way, after I spent a night and a day at his
house, gave me my present name. He had been reading the "Lady of the
Lake," and was pleased to regard me as a suitable person to wear this, one
of Scotland's many famous names. Considering the noble hospitality and manly
character of Nathan Johnson, I have felt that he, better than I, illustrated
the virtues of the great Scottish chief. Sure I am, that had any slave-catcher
entered his domicile, with a view to molest any one of his household, he would have
shown himself like him of the "stalwart hand."
The reader will be
amused at my ignorance, when I tell the notions I had of the state of northern
wealth, enterprise, and civilization. Of wealth and refinement, I supposed the
north had none. My Columbian Orator, which was almost my only book, had not
done much to enlighten me concerning northern society. The impressions I had
received were all wide of the truth. New Bedford, especially, took me by
surprise, in the solid wealth and grandeur there exhibited. I had formed my
notions respecting the social condition of the free states, by what I had seen
and known of free, white, non-slaveholding people in the slave states.
Regarding slavery as the basis of wealth, I fancied that no people could become
very wealthy without slavery. A free white man, holding no slaves, in the
country, I had known to be the most ignorant and poverty-stricken of men, and
the laughing stock even of slaves themselves--called generally by them, in
derision, "poor white trash." Like the non-slaveholders at the south,
in holding no slaves, I suppose the northern people like them, also, in poverty
and degradation. Judge, then, of my amazement and joy, when I found--as I did
find--the very laboring population of New Bedford living in better houses, more
elegantly furnished--surrounded by more comfort and refinement--than a majority
of the slaveholders on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. There was my friend, Mr.
Johnson, himself a colored man (who at the south would have been regarded as a proper
marketable commodity), who lived in a better house--dined at a richer
board--was the owner of more books--the reader of more newspapers--was more
conversant with the political and social condition of this nation and the
world--than nine-tenths of all the slaveholders of Talbot county, Maryland. Yet
Mr. Johnson was a working man, and his hands were hardened by honest toil.
Here, then, was something for observation and study. Whence the difference? The
explanation was soon furnished, in the superiority of mind over simple brute
force. Many pages might be given to the contrast, and in explanation of its
causes. But an incident or two will suffice to show the reader as to how the
mystery gradually vanished before me.
My first afternoon, on
reaching New Bedford, was spent in visiting the wharves and viewing the
shipping. The sight of the broad brim and the plain, Quaker dress, which met me
at every turn, greatly increased my sense of freedom and security. "I am
among the Quakers," thought I, "and am safe." Lying at the
wharves and riding in the stream, were full-rigged ships of finest model, ready
to start on whaling voyages. Upon the right and the left, I was walled in by
large granite-fronted warehouses, crowded with the good things of this world.
On the wharves, I saw industry without bustle, labor without noise, and heavy
toil without the whip. There was no loud singing, as in southern ports, where
ships are loading or unloading--no loud cursing or swear ing--but everything
went on as smoothly as the works of a well adjusted machine. How different was
all this from the nosily fierce and clumsily absurd manner of labor-life in
Baltimore and St. Michael's! One of the first incidents which illustrated the
superior mental character of northern labor over that of the south, was the
manner of unloading a ship's cargo of oil. In a southern port, twenty or thirty
hands would have been employed to do what five or six did here, with the aid of
a single ox attached to the end of a fall. Main strength, unassisted by skill,
is slavery's method of labor. An old ox, worth eighty dollars, was doing, in
New Bedford, what would have required fifteen thousand dollars worth of human
bones and muscles to have performed in a southern port. I found that everything
was done here with a scrupulous regard to economy, both in regard to men and
things, time and strength. The maid servant, instead of spending at least a
tenth part of her time in bringing and carrying water, as in Baltimore, had the
pump at her elbow. The wood was dry, and snugly piled away for winter.
Woodhouses, in-door pumps, sinks, drains, self-shutting gates, washing
machines, pounding barrels, were all new things, and told me that I was among a
thoughtful and sensible people. To the ship-repairing dock I went, and saw the
same wise prudence. The carpenters struck where they aimed, and the calkers
wasted no blows in idle flourishes of the mallet. I learned that men went from
New Bedford to Baltimore, and bought old ships, and brought them here to
repair, and made them better and more valuable than they ever were before. Men
talked here of going whaling on a four years' voyage with more coolness than
sailors where I came from talked of going a four months' voyage.
I now find that I could
have landed in no part of the United States, where I should have found a more
striking and gratifying contrast to the condition of the free people of color
in Baltimore, than I found here in New Bedford. No colored man is really free
in a slaveholding state. He wears the badge of bondage while nominally free,
and is often subjected to hardships to which the slave is a stranger; but here
in New Bedford, it was my good fortune to see a pretty near approach to freedom
on the part of the colored people. I was taken all aback when Mr. Johnson--who
lost no time in making me acquainted with the fact--told me that there was
nothing in the constitution of Massachusetts to prevent a colored man from
holding any office in the state. There, in New Bedford, the black man's
children--although anti-slavery was then far from popular--went to school side
by side with the white children, and apparently without objection from any
quarter. To make me at home, Mr. Johnson assured me that no slaveholder could
take a slave from New Bedford; that there were men there who would lay down
their lives, before such an outrage could be perpetrated. The colored people
themselves were of the best metal, and would fight for liberty to the death.
Soon after my arrival
in New Bedford, I was told the following story, which was said to illustrate
the spirit of the colored people in that goodly town: A colored man and a
fugitive slave happened to have a little quarrel, and the former was heard to
threaten the latter with informing his master of his whereabouts. As soon as this
threat became known, a notice was read from the desk of what was then the only
colored church in the place, stating that business of importance was to be then
and there transacted. Special measures had been taken to secure the attendance
of the would-be Judas, and had proved successful. Accordingly, at the hour
appointed, the people came, and the betrayer also. All the usual formalities of
public meetings were scrupulously gone through, even to the offering prayer for
Divine direction in the duties of the occasion. The president himself performed
this part of the ceremony, and I was told that he was unusually fervent. Yet,
at the close of his prayer, the old man (one of the numerous family of
Johnsons) rose from his knees, deliberately surveyed his audience, and then
said, in a tone of solemn resolution, "Well, friends, we have got him
here, and I would now recommend that you young men should just take him outside
the door and kill him." With this, a large body of the congregation, who
well understood the business they had come there to transact, made a rush at
the villain, and doubtless would have killed him, had he not availed himself of
an open sash, and made good his escape. He has never shown his head in New
Bedford since that time. This little incident is perfectly characteristic of
the spirit of the colored people in New Bedford. A slave could not be taken
from that town seventeen years ago, any more than he could be so taken away
now. The reason is, that the colored people in that city are educated up to the
point of fighting for their freedom, as well as speaking for it.
Once assured of my
safety in New Bedford, I put on the habiliments of a common laborer, and went
on the wharf in search of work. I had no notion of living on the honest and
generous sympathy of my colored brother, Johnson, or that of the abolitionists.
My cry was like that of Hood's laborer, "Oh! only give me work."
Happily for me, I was not long in searching. I found employment, the third day
after my arrival in New Bedford, in stowing a sloop with a load of oil for the
New York market. It was new, hard, and dirty work, even for a calker, but I
went at it with a glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master--a
tremendous fact--and the rapturous excitement with which I seized the job, may
not easily be understood, except by some one with an experience like mine. The
thoughts--"I can work! I can work for a living; I am not afraid of work; I
have no Master Hugh to rob me of my earnings"--placed me in a state of
independence, beyond seeking friendship or support of any man. That day's work
I considered the real starting point of something like a new existence. Having
finished this job and got my pay for the same, I went next in pursuit of a job
at calking. It so happened that Mr. Rodney French, late mayor of the city of
New Bedford, had a ship fitting out for sea, and to which there was a large job
of calking and coppering to be done. I applied to that noblehearted man for
employment, and he promptly told me to go to work; but going on the float-stage
for the purpose, I was informed that every white man would leave the ship if I
struck a blow upon her. "Well, well," thought I, "this is a
hardship, but yet not a very serious one for me." The difference between
the wages of a calker and that of a common day laborer, was an hundred per cent
in favor of the former; but then I was free, and free to work, though not at my
trade. I now prepared myself to do anything which came to hand in the way of
turning an honest penny; sawed wood--dug cellars--shoveled coal--swept chimneys
with Uncle Lucas Debuty--rolled oil casks on the wharves--helped to load and
unload vessels--worked in Ricketson's candle works-- in Richmond's brass
foundery, and elsewhere; and thus supported myself and family for three years.
The first winter was
unusually severe, in consequence of the high prices of food; but even during
that winter we probably suffered less than many who had been free all their
lives. During the hardest of the winter, I hired out for nine dollars a month;
and out of this rented two rooms for nine dollars per quarter, and supplied my
wife--who was unable to work--with food and some necessary articles of
furniture. We were closely pinched to bring our wants within our means; but the
jail stood over the way, and I had a wholesome dread of the consequences of
running in debt. This winter past, and I was up with the times--got plenty of
work--got well paid for it--and felt that I had not done a foolish thing to
leave Master Hugh and Master Thomas. I was now living in a new world, and was
wide awake to its advantages. I early began to attend the meetings of the
colored people of New Bedford, and to take part in them. I was somewhat amazed
to see colored men drawing up resolutions and offering them for consideration.
Several colored young men of New Bedford, at that period, gave promise of great
usefulness. They were educated, and possessed what seemed to me, at the time,
very superior talents. Some of them have been cut down by death, and others
have removed to different parts of the world, and some remain there now, and
justify, in their present activities, my early impressions of them.
Among my first concerns
on reaching New Bedford, was to become united with the church, for I had never
given up, in reality, my religious faith. I had become lukewarm and in a
backslidden state, but I was still convinced that it was my duty to join the
Methodist church. I was not then aware of the powerful influence of that
religious body in favor of the enslavement of my race, nor did I see how the
northern churches could be responsible for the conduct of southern churches;
neither did I fully understand how it could be my duty to remain separate from
the church, because bad men were connected with it. The slaveholding church,
with its Coveys, Weedens, Aulds, and Hopkins, I could see through at once, but
I could not see how Elm Street church, in New Bedford, could be regarded as
sanctioning the Christianity of these characters in the church at St.
Michael's. I therefore resolved to join the Methodist church in New Bedford,
and to enjoy the spiritual advantage of public worship. The minister of the Elm
Street Methodist church, was the Rev. Mr. Bonney; and although I was not
allowed a seat in the body of the house, and was proscribed on account of my
color, regarding this proscription simply as an accommodation of the uncoverted
congregation who had not yet been won to Christ and his brotherhood, I was
willing thus to be proscribed, lest sinners should be driven away form the saving
power of the gospel. Once converted, I thought they would be sure to treat me
as a man and a brother. "Surely," thought I, "these Christian
people have none of this feeling against color. They, at least, have renounced
this unholy feeling." Judge, then, dear reader, of my astonishment and
mortification, when I found, as soon I did find, all my charitable assumptions
at fault.
An opportunity was soon
afforded me for ascertaining the exact position of Elm Street church on that
subject. I had a chance of seeing the religious part of the congregation by
themselves; and although they disowned, in effect, their black brothers and
sisters, before the world, I did think that where none but the saints were
assembled, and no offense could be given to the wicked, and the gospel could
not be "blamed," they would certainly recognize us as children of the
same Father, and heirs of the same salvation, on equal terms with themselves.
The occasion to which I
refer, was the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, that most sacred and most solemn
of all the ordinances of the Christian church. Mr. Bonney had preached a very
solemn and searching discourse, which really proved him to be acquainted with
the inmost secrets of the human heart. At the close of his discourse, the congregation
was dismissed, and the church remained to partake of the sacrament. I remained
to see, as I thought, this holy sacrament celebrated in the spirit of its great
Founder.
There were only about a
half dozen colored members attached to the Elm Street church, at this time.
After the congregation was dismissed, these descended from the gallery, and
took a seat against the wall most distant from the altar. Brother Bonney was
very animated, and sung very sweetly, "Salvation 'tis a joyful sound,"
and soon began to administer the sacrament. I was anxious to observe the
bearing of the colored members, and the result was most humiliating. During the
whole ceremony, they looked like sheep without a shepherd. The white members
went forward to the altar by the bench full; and when it was evident that all
the whites had been served with the bread and wine, Brother Bonney--pious
Brother Bonney--after a long pause, as if inquiring whether all the whites
members had been served, and fully assuring himself on that important point,
then raised his voice to an unnatural pitch, and looking to the corner where
his black sheep seemed penned, beckoned with his hand, exclaiming, "Come
forward, colored friends! come forward! You, too, have an interest in the blood
of Christ. God is no respecter of persons. Come forward, and take this holy
sacrament to your comfort." The colored members poor, slavish souls went
forward, as invited. I went out, and have never been in that church since,
although I honestly went there with a view to joining that body. I found it
impossible to respect the religious profession of any who were under the
dominion of this wicked prejudice, and I could not, therefore, feel that in
joining them, I was joining a Christian church, at all. I tried other churches
in New Bedford, with the same result, and finally, I attached myself to a small
body of colored Methodists, known as the Zion Methodists. Favored with the
affection and confidence of the members of this humble communion, I was soon
made a classleader and a local preacher among them. Many seasons of peace and
joy I experienced among them, the remembrance of which is still precious,
although I could not see it to be my duty to remain with that body, when I
found that it consented to the same spirit which held my brethren in chains.
In four or five months
after reaching New Bedford, there came a young man to me, with a copy of the
Liberator, the paper edited by WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, and published by ISAAC
KNAPP, and asked me to subscribe for it. I told him I had but just escaped from
slavery, and was of course very poor, and remarked further, that I was unable
to pay for it then; the agent, however, very willingly took me as a subscriber,
and appeared to be much pleased with securing my name to his list. From this
time I was brought in contact with the mind of William Lloyd Garrison. His
paper took its place with me next to the bible.
The Liberator was a
paper after my own heart. It detested slavery exposed hypocrisy and wickedness
in high places--made no truce with the traffickers in the bodies and souls of
men; it preached human brotherhood, denounced oppression, and, with all the
solemnity of God's word, demanded the complete emancipation of my race. I not
only liked--I loved this paper, and its editor. He seemed a match for all the
opponents of emancipation, whether they spoke in the name of the law, or the
gospel. His words were few, full of holy fire, and straight to the point.
Learning to love him, through his paper, I was prepared to be pleased with his
presence. Something of a hero worshiper, by nature, here was one, on first
sight, to excite my love and reverence.
Seventeen years ago,
few men possessed a more heavenly countenance than William Lloyd Garrison, and
few men evinced a more genuine or a more exalted piety. The bible was his text
book--held sacred, as the word of the Eternal Father--sinless
perfection--complete submission to insults and injuries--literal obedience to
the injunction, if smitten on one side to turn the other also. Not only was
Sunday a Sabbath, but all days were Sabbaths, and to be kept holy. All
sectarism false and mischievous--the regenerated, throughout the world, members
of one body, and the HEAD Christ Jesus. Prejudice against color was rebellion
against God. Of all men beneath the sky, the slaves, because most neglected and
despised, were nearest and dearest to his great heart. Those ministers who
defended slavery from the bible, were of their "father the devil";
and those churches which fellowshiped slaveholders as Christians, were
synagogues of Satan, and our nation was a nation of liars. Never loud or
noisy--calm and serene as a summer sky, and as pure. "You are the man, the
Moses, raised up by God, to deliver his modern Israel from bondage," was
the spontaneous feeling of my heart, as I sat away back in the hall and
listened to his mighty words; mighty in truth--mighty in their simple
earnestness.
I had not long been a
reader of the Liberator, and listener to its editor, before I got a clear
apprehension of the principles of the anti-slavery movement. I had already the
spirit of the movement, and only needed to understand its principles and
measures. These I got from the Liberator, and from those who believed in that
paper. My acquaintance with the movement increased my hope for the ultimate
freedom of my race, and I united with it from a sense of delight, as well as
duty.
Every week the
Liberator came, and every week I made myself master of its contents. All the
anti-slavery meetings held in New Bedford I promptly attended, my heart burning
at every true utterance against the slave system, and every rebuke of its
friends and supporters. Thus passed the first three years of my residence in
New Bedford. I had not then dreamed of the possibility of my becoming a public
advocate of the cause so deeply imbedded in my heart. It was enough for me to
listen--to receive and applaud the great words of others, and only whisper in
private, among the white laborers on the wharves, and elsewhere, the truths
which burned in my breast.
FIRST SPEECH AT
NANTUCKET--MUCH SENSATION--EXTRAORDINARY SPEECH OF MR. GARRISON--AUTHOR BECOMES
A PUBLIC LECTURER--FOURTEEN YEARS EXPERIENCE--YOUTHFUL ENTHUSIASM--A BRAND NEW
FACT--MATTER OF MY AUTHOR'S SPEECH--COULD NOT FOLLOW THE PROGRAMME--FUGITIVE
SLAVE-SHIP DOUBTED--TO SETTLE ALL DOUBT I WRITE MY EXPERIENCE OF
SLAVERY--DANGER OF RECAPTURE INCREASED.
In the summer of 1841,
a grand anti-slavery convention was held in Nantucket, under the auspices of
Mr. Garrison and his friends. Until now, I had taken no holiday since my escape
from slavery. Having worked very hard that spring and summer, in Richmond's
brass foundery--sometimes working all night as well as all day--and needing a
day or two of rest, I attended this convention, never supposing that I should
take part in the proceedings. Indeed, I was not aware that any one connected
with the convention even so much as knew my name. I was, however, quite
mistaken. Mr. William C. Coffin, a prominent abolitionist in those days of trial,
had heard me speaking to my colored friends, in the little school house on
Second street, New Bedford, where we worshiped. He sought me out in the crowd,
and invited me to say a few words to the convention. Thus sought out, and thus
invited, I was induced to speak out the feelings inspired by the occasion, and
the fresh recollection of the scenes through which I had passed as a slave. My
speech on this occasion is about the only one I ever made, of which I do not
remember a single connected sentence. It was GARRISON> with the utmost
difficulty that I could stand erect, or that I could command and articulate two
words without hesitation and stammering. I trembled in every limb. I am not
sure that my embarrassment was not the most effective part of my speech, if
speech it could be called. At any rate, this is about the only part of my
performance that I now distinctly remember. But excited and convulsed as I was,
the audience, though remarkably quiet before, became as much excited as myself.
Mr. Garrison followed me, taking me as his text; and now, whether I had made an
eloquent speech in behalf of freedom or not, his was one never to be forgotten
by those who heard it. Those who had heard Mr. Garrison oftenest, and had known
him longest, were astonished. It was an effort of unequaled power, sweeping
down, like a very tornado, every opposing barrier, whether of sentiment or
opinion. For a moment, he possessed that almost fabulous inspiration, often
referred to but seldom attained, in which a public meeting is transformed, as
it were, into a single individuality--the orator wielding a thousand heads and
hearts at once, and by the simple majesty of his all controlling thought,
converting his hearers into the express image of his own soul. That night there
were at least one thousand Garrisonians in Nantucket! At the close of this
great meeting, I was duly waited on by Mr. John A. Collins--then the general
agent of the Massachusetts anti-slavery society--and urgently solicited by him
to become an agent of that society, and to publicly advocate its anti-slavery
principles. I was reluctant to take the proffered position. I had not been
quite three years from slavery--was honestly distrustful of my ability--wished
to be excused; publicity exposed me to discovery and arrest by my master; and
other objections came up, but Mr. Collins was not to be put off, and I finally
consented to go out for three months, for I supposed that I should have got to
the end of my story and my usefulness, in that length of time.
Here opened upon me a
new life a life for which I had had no preparation. I was a "graduate from
the peculiar institution," Mr. Collins used to say, when introducing me,
"with my diploma written on my back!" The three years of my freedom
had been spent in the hard school of adversity. My hands had been furnished by
nature with something like a solid leather coating, and I had bravely marked
out for myself a life of rough labor, suited to the hardness of my hands, as a
means of supporting myself and rearing my children.
Now what shall I say of
this fourteen years' experience as a public advocate of the cause of my
enslaved brothers and sisters? The time is but as a speck, yet large enough to
justify a pause for retrospection--and a pause it must only be.
Young, ardent, and
hopeful, I entered upon this new life in the full gush of unsuspecting
enthusiasm. The cause was good; the men engaged in it were good; the means to
attain its triumph, good; Heaven's blessing must attend all, and freedom must
soon be given to the pining millions under a ruthless bondage. My whole heart
went with the holy cause, and my most fervent prayer to the Almighty Disposer
of the hearts of men, were continually offered for its early triumph. "Who
or what," thought I, "can withstand a cause so good, so holy, so
indescribably glorious. The God of Israel is with us. The might of the Eternal
is on our side. Now let but the truth be spoken, and a nation will start forth
at the sound!" In this enthusiastic spirit, I dropped into the ranks of freedom's
friends, and went forth to the battle. For a time I was made to forget that my
skin was dark and my hair crisped. For a time I regretted that I could not have
shared the hardships and dangers endured by the earlier workers for the slave's
release. I soon, however, found that my enthusiasm had been extravagant; that
hardships and dangers were not yet passed; and that the life now before me, had
shadows as well as sunbeams.
Among the first duties
assigned me, on entering the ranks, was to travel, in company with Mr. George
Foster, to secure subscribers to the Anti-slavery Standard and the Liberator.
With him I traveled and lectured through the eastern counties of Massachusetts.
Much interest was awakened--large meetings assembled. Many came, no doubt, from
curiosity to hear what a Negro could say in his own cause. I was generally
introduced as a "chattel"--a "thing"--a piece of southern
"property"--the chairman assuring the audience that it could speak.
Fugitive slaves, at that time, were not so plentiful as now; and as a fugitive
slave lecturer, I had the advantage of being a "brand new fact"--the
first one out. Up to that time, a colored man was deemed a fool who confessed
himself a runaway slave, not only because of the danger to which he exposed
himself of being retaken, but because it was a confession of a very low origin!
Some of my colored friends in New Bedford thought very badly of my wisdom for
thus exposing and degrading myself. The only precaution I took, at the
beginning, to prevent Master Thomas from knowing where I was, and what I was
about, was the withholding my former name, my master's name, and the name of
the state and county from which I came. During the first three or four months,
my speeches were almost exclusively made up of narrations of my own personal
experience as a slave. "Let us have the facts," said the people. So
also said Friend George Foster, who always wished to pin me down to my simple
narrative. "Give us the facts," said Collins, "we will take care
of the philosophy." Just here arose some embarrassment. It was impossible
for me to repeat the same old story month after month, and to keep up my
interest in it. It was new to the people, it is true, but it was an old story
to me; and to go through with it night after night, was a task altogether too
mechanical for my nature. "Tell your story, Frederick," would whisper
my then revered friend, William Lloyd Garrison, as I stepped upon the platform.
I could not always obey, for I was now reading and thinking. New views of the
subject were presented to my mind. It did not entirely satisfy me to narrate
wrongs; I felt like denouncing them. I could not always curb my moral
indignation for the perpetrators of slaveholding villainy, long enough for a
circumstantial statement of the facts which I felt almost everybody must know.
Besides, I was growing, and needed room. "People won't believe you ever
was a slave, Frederick, if you keep on this way," said Friend Foster.
"Be yourself," said Collins, "and tell your story." It was
said to me, "Better have a little of the plantation manner of speech than
not; 'tis not best that you seem too learned." These excellent friends
were actuated by the best of motives, and were not altogether wrong in their
advice; and still I must speak just the word that seemed to me the word to be
spoken by me.
At last the apprehended
trouble came. People doubted if I had ever been a slave. They said I did not
talk like a slave, look like a slave, nor act like a slave, and that they
believed I had never been south of Mason and Dixon's line. "He don't tell
us where he came from--what his master's name was--how he got away--nor the
story of his experience. Besides, he is educated, and is, in this, a
contradiction of all the facts we have concerning the ignorance of the slaves."
Thus, I was in a pretty fair way to be denounced as an impostor. The committee
of the Massachusetts anti-slavery society knew all the facts in my case, and
agreed with me in the prudence of keeping them private. They, therefore, never
doubted my being a genuine fugitive; but going down the aisles of the churches
in which I spoke, and hearing the free spoken Yankees saying, repeatedly,
"He's never been a slave, I'll warrant ye," I resolved to dispel all
doubt, at no distant day, by such a revelation of facts as could not be made by
any other than a genuine fugitive.
In a little less than
four years, therefore, after becoming a public lecturer, I was induced to write
out the leading facts connected with my experience in slavery, giving names of
persons, places, and dates--thus putting it in the power of any who doubted, to
ascertain the truth or falsehood of my story of being a fugitive slave. This
statement soon became known in Maryland, and I had reason to believe that an
effort would be made to recapture me.
It is not probable that
any open attempt to secure me as a slave could have succeeded, further than the
obtainment, by my master, of the money value of my bones and sinews.
Fortunately for me, in the four years of my labors in the abolition cause, I
had gained many friends, who would have suffered themselves to be taxed to
almost any extent to save me from slavery. It was felt that I had committed the
double offense of running away, and exposing the secrets and crimes of slavery
and slaveholders. There was a double motive for seeking my
reenslavement--avarice and vengeance; and while, as I have said, there was
little probability of successful recapture, if attempted openly, I was
constantly in danger of being spirited away, at a moment when my friends could
render me no assistance. In traveling about from place to place--often alone I
was much exposed to this sort of attack. Any one cherishing the design to
betray me, could easily do so, by simply tracing my whereabouts through the
anti-slavery journals, for my meetings and movements were promptly made known
in advance. My true friends, Mr. Garrison and Mr. Phillips, had no faith in the
power of Massachusetts to protect me in my right to liberty. Public sentiment
and the law, in their opinion, would hand me over to the tormentors. Mr.
Phillips, especially, considered me in danger, and said, when I showed him the
manuscript of my story, if in my place, he would throw it into the fire. Thus,
the reader will observe, the settling of one difficulty only opened the way for
another; and that though I had reached a free state, and had attained position
for public usefulness, I was still tormented with the liability of losing my
liberty. How this liability was dispelled, will be related, with other
incidents, in the next chapter.
GOOD ARISING OUT OF
UNPROPITIOUS EVENTS--DENIED CABIN PASSAGE--PROSCRIPTION TURNED TO GOOD
ACCOUNT--THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY--THE MOB ON BOARD THE "CAMBRIA"--HAPPY
INTRODUCTION TO THE BRITISH PUBLIC--LETTER ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM LLOYD
GARRISON--TIME AND LABORS WHILE ABROAD--FREEDOM PURCHASED--MRS. HENRY
RICHARDSON--FREE PAPERS--ABOLITIONISTS DISPLEASED WITH THE RANSOM--HOW MY
ENERGIES WERE DIRECTED--RECEPTION SPEECH IN LONDON--CHARACTER OF THE SPEECH
DEFENDED--CIRCUMSTANCES EXPLAINED--CAUSES CONTRIBUTING TO THE SUCCESS OF MY
MISSION--FREE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND--TESTIMONIAL.
The allotments of
Providence, when coupled with trouble and anxiety, often conceal from finite
vision the wisdom and goodness in which they are sent; and, frequently, what
seemed a harsh and invidious dispensation, is converted by after experience
into a happy and beneficial arrangement. Thus, the painful liability to be
returned again to slavery, which haunted me by day, and troubled my dreams by
night, proved to be a necessary step in the path of knowledge and usefulness.
The writing of my pamphlet, in the spring of 1845, endangered my liberty, and
led me to seek a refuge from republican slavery in monarchical England. A rude,
uncultivated fugitive slave was driven, by stern necessity, to that country to
which young American gentlemen go to increase their stock of knowledge, to seek
pleasure, to have their rough, democratic manners softened by contact with
English aristocratic refinement. On applying for a passage to England, on board
the "Cambria", of the Cunard line, my friend, James N. Buffum, of
Lynn, Massachusetts, was informed that I could not be received on board as a
cabin passenger. American prejudice against color triumphed over British
liberality and civilization, and erected a color test and condition for
crossing the sea in the cabin of a British vessel. The insult was keenly felt
by my white friends, but to me, it was common, expected, and therefore, a thing
of no great consequence, whether I went in the cabin or in the steerage.
Moreover, I felt that if I could not go into the first cabin, first-cabin
passengers could come into the second cabin, and the result justified my
anticipations to the fullest extent. Indeed, I soon found myself an object of
more general interest than I wished to be; and so far from being degraded by
being placed in the second cabin, that part of the ship became the scene of as
much pleasure and refinement, during the voyage, as the cabin itself. The
Hutchinson Family, celebrated vocalists--fellow-passengers--often came to my
rude forecastle deck, and sung their sweetest songs, enlivening the place with
eloquent music, as well as spirited conversation, during the voyage. In two
days after leaving Boston, one part of the ship was about as free to me as another.
My fellow-passengers not only visited me, but invited me to visit them, on the
saloon deck. My visits there, however, were but seldom. I preferred to live
within my privileges, and keep upon my own premises. I found this quite as much
in accordance with good policy, as with my own feelings. The effect was, that
with the majority of the passengers, all color distinctions were flung to the
winds, and I found myself treated with every mark of respect, from the
beginning to the end of the voyage, except in a single instance; and in that, I
came near being mobbed, for complying with an invitation given me by the
passengers, and the captain of the "Cambria," to deliver a lecture on
slavery. Our New Orleans and Georgia passengers were pleased to regard my lecture
as an insult offered to them, and swore I should not speak. They went so far as
to threaten to throw me overboard, and but for the firmness of Captain Judkins,
prob ably would have (under the inspiration of slavery and brandy) attempted to
put their threats into execution. I have no space to describe this scene,
although its tragic and comic peculiarities are well worth describing. An end
was put to the melee, by the captain's calling the ship's company to put the
salt water mobocrats in irons. At this determined order, the gentlemen of the
lash scampered, and for the rest of the voyage conducted themselves very
decorously.
This incident of the
voyage, in two days after landing at Liverpool, brought me at once before the
British public, and that by no act of my own. The gentlemen so promptly snubbed
in their meditated violence, flew to the press to justify their conduct, and to
denounce me as a worthless and insolent Negro. This course was even less wise
than the conduct it was intended to sustain; for, besides awakening something
like a national interest in me, and securing me an audience, it brought out
counter statements, and threw the blame upon themselves, which they had sought
to fasten upon me and the gallant captain of the ship.
Some notion may be
formed of the difference in my feelings and circumstances, while abroad, from
the following extract from one of a series of letters addressed by me to Mr.
Garrison, and published in the Liberator. It was written on the first day of
January, 1846:
"MY DEAR FRIEND
GARRISON: Up to this time, I have given no direct expression of the views,
feelings, and opinions which I have formed, respecting the character and
condition of the people of this land. I have refrained thus, purposely. I wish
to speak advisedly, and in order to do this, I have waited till, I trust,
experience has brought my opinions to an intelligent maturity. I have been thus
careful, not because I think what I say will have much effect in shaping the
opinions of the world, but because whatever of influence I may possess, whether
little or much, I wish it to go in the right direction, and according to truth.
I hardly need say that, in speaking of Ireland, I shall be influenced by no
prejudices in favor of America. I think my circumstances all forbid that. I
have no end to serve, no creed to uphold, no government to defend; and as to
nation, I belong to none. I have no protection at home, or resting-place
abroad. The land of my birth welcomes me to her shores only as a slave, and
spurns with contempt the idea of treating me differently; so that I am an
outcast from the society of my childhood, and an outlaw in the land of my
birth. 'I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.'
That men should be patriotic, is to me perfectly natural; and as a
philosophical fact, I am able to give it an intellectual recognition. But no
further can I go. If ever I had any patriotism, or any capacity for the
feeling, it was whipped out of me long since, by the lash of the American
soul-drivers.
"In thinking of
America, I sometimes find myself admiring her bright blue sky, her grand old
woods, her fertile fields, her beautiful rivers, her mighty lakes, and
star-crowned mountains. But my rapture is soon checked, my joy is soon turned
to mourning. When I remember that all is cursed with the infernal spirit of
slaveholding, robbery, and wrong; when I remember that with the waters of her
noblest rivers, the tears of my brethren are borne to the ocean, disregarded
and forgotten, and that her most fertile fields drink daily of the warm blood
of my outraged sisters; I am filled with unutterable loathing, and led to
reproach myself that anything could fall from my lips in praise of such a land.
America will not allow her children to love her. She seems bent on compelling
those who would be her warmest friends, to be her worst enemies. May God give
her repentance, before it is too late, is the ardent prayer of my heart. I will
continue to pray, labor, and wait, believing that she cannot always be insensible
to the dictates of justice, or deaf to the voice of humanity.
"My opportunities
for learning the character and condition of the people of this land have been
very great. I have traveled almost from the Hill of Howth to the Giant's
Causeway, and from the Giant's Causway, to Cape Clear. During these travels, I
have met with much in the character and condition of the people to approve, and
much to condemn; much that has thrilled me with pleasure, and very much that
has filled me with pain. I will not, in this letter, attempt to give any
description of those scenes which have given me pain. This I will do hereafter.
I have enough, and more than your subscribers will be disposed to read at one
time, of the bright side of the picture. I can truly say, I have spent some of
the happiest moments of my life since landing in this country. I seem to have
undergone a transformation. I live a new life. The warm and generous
cooperation extended to me by the friends of my despised race; the prompt and
liberal manner with which the press has rendered me its aid; the glorious
enthusiasm with which thousands have flocked to hear the cruel wrongs of my
down-trodden and long-enslaved fellow-countrymen portrayed; the deep sympathy
for the slave, and the strong abhorrence of the slaveholder, everywhere
evinced; the cordiality with which members and ministers of various religious
bodies, and of various shades of religious opinion, have embraced me, and lent
me their aid; the kind of hospitality constantly proffered to me by persons of
the highest rank in society; the spirit of freedom that seems to animate all
with whom I come in contact, and the entire absence of everything that looked
like prejudice against me, on account of the color of my skin--contrasted so
strongly with my long and bitter experience in the United States, that I look
with wonder and amazement on the transition. In the southern part of the United
States, I was a slave, thought of and spoken of as property; in the language of
the LAW, 'held, taken, reputed, and adjudged to be a chattel in the hands of my
owners and possessors, and their executors, administrators, and assigns, to all
intents, constructions, and purposes whatsoever.' (Brev. Digest, 224). In the
northern states, a fugitive slave, liable to be hunted at any moment, like a
felon, and to be hurled into the terrible jaws of slavery--doomed by an
inveterate prejudice against color to insult and outrage on every hand
(Massachusetts out of the question)--denied the privileges and courtesies
common to others in the use of the most humble means of conveyance--shut out
from the cabins on steamboats--refused admission to respectable
hotels--caricatured, scorned, scoffed, mocked, and maltreated with impunity by
any one (no matter how black his heart), so he has a white skin. But now behold
the change! Eleven days and a half gone, and I have crossed three thousand
miles of the perilous deep. Instead of a democratic government, I am under a
monarchical government. Instead of the bright, blue sky of America, I am covered
with the soft, grey fog of the Emerald Isle. I breathe, and lo! the chattel
becomes a man. I gaze around in vain for one who will question my equal
humanity, claim me as his slave, or offer me an insult. I employ a cab--I am
seated beside white people--I reach the hotel--I enter the same door--I am
shown into the same parlor--I dine at the same table and no one is offended. No
delicate nose grows deformed in my presence. I find no difficulty here in
obtaining admission into any place of worship, instruction, or amusement, on
equal terms with people as white as any I ever saw in the United States. I meet
nothing to remind me of my complexion. I find myself regarded and treated at
every turn with the kindness and deference paid to white people. When I go to
church, I am met by no upturned nose and scornful lip to tell me, 'We don't
allow niggers in here!'
"I remember, about
two years ago, there was in Boston, near the south-west corner of Boston
Common, a menagerie. I had long desired to see such a collection as I
understood was being exhibited there. Never having had an opportunity while a
slave, I resolved to seize this, my first, since my escape. I went, and as I
approached the entrance to gain admission, I was met and told by the
door-keeper, in a harsh and contemptuous tone, 'We don't allow niggers in
here.' I also remember attending a revival meeting in the Rev. Henry Jackson's
meeting-house, at New Bedford, and going up the broad aisle to find a seat, I
was met by a good deacon, who told me, in a pious tone, 'We don't allow niggers
in here!' Soon after my arrival in New Bedford, from the south, I had a strong
desire to attend the Lyceum, but was told, 'They don't allow niggers in here!'
While passing from New York to Boston, on the steamer Massachusetts, on the
night of the 9th of December, 1843, when chilled almost through with the cold,
I went into the cabin to get a little warm. I was soon touched upon the
shoulder, and told, 'We don't allow niggers in here!' On arriving in Boston,
from an anti-slavery tour, hungry and tired, I went into an eating-house, near
my friend, Mr. Campbell's to get some refreshments. I was met by a lad in a
white apron, 'We don't allow niggers in here!' A week or two before leaving the
United States, I had a meeting appointed at Weymouth, the home of that glorious
band of true abolitionists, the Weston family, and others. On attempting to
take a seat in the omnibus to that place, I was told by the driver (and I never
shall forget his fiendish hate). 'I don't allow niggers in here!' Thank heaven
for the respite I now enjoy! I had been in Dublin but a few days, when a
gentleman of great respectability kindly offered to conduct me through all the
public buildings of that beautiful city; and a little afterward, I found myself
dining with the lord mayor of Dublin. What a pity there was not some American
democratic Christian at the door of his splendid mansion, to bark out at my
approach, 'They don't allow niggers in here!' The truth is, the people here
know nothing of the republican Negro hate prevalent in our glorious land. They
measure and esteem men according to their moral and intellectual worth, and not
according to the color of their skin. Whatever may be said of the aristocracies
here, there is none based on the color of a man's skin. This species of
aristocracy belongs preeminently to 'the land of the free, and the home of the
brave.' I have never found it abroad, in any but Americans. It sticks to them
wherever they go. They find it almost as hard to get rid of, as to get rid of
their skins.
"The second day
after my arrival at Liverpool, in company with my friend, Buffum, and several
other friends, I went to Eaton Hall, the residence of the Marquis of
Westminster, one of the most splendid buildings in England. On approaching the
door, I found several of our American passengers, who came out with us in the
'Cambria,' waiting for admission, as but one party was allowed in the house at
a time. We all had to wait till the company within came out. And of all the
faces, expressive of chagrin, those of the Americans were preeminent. They
looked as sour as vinegar, and as bitter as gall, when they found I was to be
admitted on equal terms with themselves. When the door was opened, I walked in,
on an equal footing with my white fellow--citizens, and from all I could see, I
had as much attention paid me by the servants that showed us through the house,
as any with a paler skin. As I walked through the building, the statuary did
not fall down, the pictures did not leap from their places, the doors did not
refuse to open, and the servants did not say, 'We don't allow niggers in here!'
"A happy new-year
to you, and all the friends of freedom."
My time and labors,
while abroad were divided between England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Upon
this experience alone, I might write a book twice the size of this, My Bondage
and My Freedom. I visited and lectured in nearly all the large towns and cities
in the United Kingdom, and enjoyed many favorable opportunities for observation
and information. But books on England are abundant, and the public may,
therefore, dismiss any fear that I am meditating another infliction in that
line; though, in truth, I should like much to write a book on those countries,
if for nothing else, to make grateful mention of the many dear friends, whose
benevolent actions toward me are ineffaceably stamped upon my memory, and
warmly treasured in my heart. To these friends I owe my freedom in the United
States. On their own motion, without any solicitation from me (Mrs. Henry
Richardson, a clever lady, remarkable for her devotion to every good work,
taking the lead), they raised a fund sufficient to purchase my freedom, and
actually paid it over, and placed the papers[8] of my manumission in my hands,
before they would tolerate the idea of my returning to this, my native country.
To this commercial transaction I owe my exemption from the democratic operation
of the Fugitive Slave Bill of 1850. But for this, I might at any time become a
victim of this most cruel and scandalous enactment, and be doomed to end my
life, as I began it, a slave. The sum paid for my freedom was one hundred and
fifty pounds sterling.
Some of my
uncompromising anti-slavery friends in this country failed to see the wisdom of
this arrangement, and were not pleased that I consented to it, even by my
silence. They thought it a violation of anti-slavery principles--conceding a
right of property in man--and a wasteful expenditure of money. On the other
hand, viewing it simply in the light of a ransom, or as money extorted by a
robber, and my liberty of more value than one hundred and fifty pounds
sterling, I could not see either a violation of the laws of morality, or those
of economy, in the transaction.
It is true, I was not
in the possession of my claimants, and could have easily remained in England,
for the same friends who had so generously purchased my freedom, would have
assisted me in establishing myself in that country. To this, however, I could
not consent. I felt that I had a duty to perform--and that was, to labor and
suffer with the oppressed in my native land. Considering, therefore, all the
circumstances--the fugitive slave bill included--I think the very best thing
was done in letting Master Hugh have the hundred and fifty pounds sterling, and
leaving me free to return to my appropriate field of labor. Had I been a
private person, having no other relations or duties than those of a personal
and family nature, I should never have consented to the payment of so large a
sum for the privilege of living securely under our glorious republican form of
government. I could have remained in England, or have gone to some other
country; and perhaps I could even have lived unobserved in this. But to this I
could not consent. I had already become somewhat notorious, and withal quite as
unpopular as notorious; and I was, therefore, much exposed to arrest and
recapture.
The main object to
which my labors in Great Britain were directed, was the concentration of the
moral and religious sentiment of its people against American slavery. England
is often charged with having established slavery in the United States, and if
there were no other justification than this, for appealing to her people to
lend their moral aid for the abolition of slavery, I should be justified. My
speeches in Great Britain were wholly extemporaneous, and I may not always have
been so guarded in my expressions, as I otherwise should have been. I was ten
years younger then than now, and only seven years from slavery. I cannot give
the reader a better idea of the nature of my discourses, than by republishing
one of them, delivered in Finsbury chapel, London, to an audience of about two
thousand persons, and which was published in the London Universe, at the
time.[9]
Those in the United States
who may regard this speech as being harsh in its spirit and unjust in its
statements, because delivered before an audience supposed to be anti-republican
in their principles and feelings, may view the matter differently, when they
learn that the case supposed did not exist. It so happened that the great mass
of the people in England who attended and patronized my anti-slavery meetings,
were, in truth, about as good republicans as the mass of Americans, and with
this decided advantage over the latter--they are lovers of republicanism for
all men, for black men as well as for white men. They are the people who
sympathize with Louis Kossuth and Mazzini, and with the oppressed and enslaved,
of every color and nation, the world over. They constitute the democratic
element in British politics, and are as much opposed to the union of church and
state as we, in America, are to such an union. At the meeting where this speech
was delivered, Joseph Sturge--a world-wide philanthropist, and a member of the
society of Friends--presided, and addressed the meeting. George William
Alexander, another Friend, who has spent more than an American fortune in
promoting the anti-slavery cause in different sections of the world, was on the
platform; and also Dr. Campbell (now of the British Banner) who combines all
the humane tenderness of Melanchthon, with the directness and boldness of
Luther. He is in the very front ranks of non-conformists, and looks with no
unfriendly eye upon America. George Thompson, too, was there; and America will
yet own that he did a true man's work in relighting the rapidly dying-out fire
of true republicanism in the American heart, and be ashamed of the treatment he
met at her hands. Coming generations in this country will applaud the spirit of
this much abused republican friend of freedom. There were others of note seated
on the platform, who would gladly ingraft upon English institutions all that is
purely republican in the institutions of America. Nothing, therefore, must be
set down against this speech on the score that it was delivered in the presence
of those who cannot appreciate the many excellent things belonging to our
system of government, and with a view to stir up prejudice against republican
institutions.
Again, let it also be
remembered--for it is the simple truth--that neither in this speech, nor in any
other which I delivered in England, did I ever allow myself to address
Englishmen as against Americans. I took my stand on the high ground of human
brotherhood, and spoke to Englishmen as men, in behalf of men. Slavery is a
crime, not against Englishmen, but against God, and all the members of the
human family; and it belongs to the whole human family to seek its suppression.
In a letter to Mr. Greeley, of the New York Tribune, written while abroad, I
said:
"I am,
nevertheless aware that the wisdom of exposing the sins of one nation in the
ear of another, has been seriously questioned by good and clear-sighted people,
both on this and on your side of the Atlantic. And the thought is not without
weight on my own mind. I am satisfied that there are many evils which can be
best removed by confining our efforts to the immediate locality where such
evils exist. This, however, is by no means the case with the system of slavery.
It is such a giant sin--such a monstrous aggregation of iniquity--so hardening
to the human heart--so destructive to the moral sense, and so well calculated
to beget a character, in every one around it, favorable to its own
continuance,--that I feel not only at liberty, but abundantly justified, in
appealing to the whole world to aid in its removal."
But, even if I had--as
has been often charged--labored to bring American institutions generally into
disrepute, and had not confined my labors strictly within the limits of humanity
and morality, I should not have been without illustrious examples to support
me. Driven into semi-exile by civil and barbarous laws, and by a system which
cannot be thought of without a shudder, I was fully justified in turning, if
possible, the tide of the moral universe against the heaven-daring outrage.
Four circumstances
greatly assisted me in getting the question of American slavery before the
British public. First, the mob on board the "Cambria," already
referred to, which was a sort of national announcement of my arrival in
England. Secondly, the highly reprehensible course pursued by the Free Church
of Scotland, in soliciting, receiving, and retaining money in its sustentation
fund for supporting the gospel in Scotland, which was evidently the ill-gotten
gain of slaveholders and slave-traders. Third, the great Evangelical
Alliance--or rather the attempt to form such an alliance, which should include
slaveholders of a certain description--added immensely to the interest felt in
the slavery question. About the same time, there was the World's Temperance
Convention, where I had the misfortune to come in collision with sundry
American doctors of divinity--Dr. Cox among the number--with whom I had a small
controversy.
It has happened to
me--as it has happened to most other men engaged in a good cause--often to be
more indebted to my enemies than to my own skill or to the assistance of my
friends, for whatever success has attended my labors. Great surprise was
expressed by American newspapers, north and south, during my stay in Great
Britain, that a person so illiterate and insignificant as myself could awaken
an interest so marked in England. These papers were not the only parties
surprised. I was myself not far behind them in surprise. But the very contempt
and scorn, the systematic and extravagant disparagement of which I was the
object, served, perhaps, to magnify my few merits, and to render me of some
account, whether deserving or not. A man is sometimes made great, by the
greatness of the abuse a portion of mankind may think proper to heap upon him.
Whether I was of as much consequence as the English papers made me out to be,
or not, it was easily seen, in England, that I could not be the ignorant and
worthless creature, some of the American papers would have them believe I was.
Men, in their senses, do not take bowie-knives to kill mosquitoes, nor pistols
to shoot flies; and the American passengers who thought proper to get up a mob
to silence me, on board the "Cambria," took the most effective method
of telling the British public that I had something to say.
But to the second
circumstance, namely, the position of the Free Church of Scotland, with the
great Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish at its head. That church, with
its leaders, put it out of the power of the Scotch people to ask the old
question, which we in the north have often most wickedly asked--"What have
we to do with slavery?" That church had taken the price of blood into its
treasury, with which to build free churches, and to pay free church ministers
for preaching the gospel; and, worse still, when honest John Murray, of Bowlien
Bay--now gone to his reward in heaven--with William Smeal, Andrew Paton,
Frederick Card, and other sterling anti-slavery men in Glasgow, denounced the
transaction as disgraceful and shocking to the religious sentiment of Scotland,
this church, through its leading divines, instead of repenting and seeking to
mend the mistake into which it had fallen, made it a flagrant sin, by
undertaking to defend, in the name of God and the bible, the principle not only
of taking the money of slave-dealers to build churches, but of holding
fellowship with the holders and traffickers in human flesh. This, the reader
will see, brought up the whole question of slavery, and opened the way to its
full discussion, without any agency of mine. I have never seen a people more
deeply moved than were the people of Scotland, on this very question. Public
meeting succeeded public meeting. Speech after speech, pamphlet after pamphlet,
editorial after editorial, sermon after sermon, soon lashed the conscientious
Scotch people into a perfect furore. "SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was
indignantly cried out, from Greenock to Edinburgh, and from Edinburgh to
Aberdeen. George Thompson, of London, Henry C. Wright, of the United States,
James N. Buffum, of Lynn, Massachusetts, and myself were on the anti-slavery
side; and Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish on the other. In a
conflict where the latter could have had even the show of right, the truth, in
our hands as against them, must have been driven to the wall; and while I
believe we were able to carry the conscience of the country against the action
of the Free Church, the battle, it must be confessed, was a hard-fought one.
Abler defenders of the doctrine of fellowshiping slaveholders as christians,
have not been met with. In defending this doctrine, it was necessary to deny
that slavery is a sin. If driven from this position, they were compelled to
deny that slaveholders were responsible for the sin; and if driven from both
these positions, they must deny that it is a sin in such a sense, and that
slaveholders are sinners in such a sense, as to make it wrong, in the
circumstances in which they were placed, to recognize them as Christians. Dr.
Cunningham was the most powerful debater on the slavery side of the question;
Mr. Thompson was the ablest on the anti-slavery side. A scene occurred between
these two men, a parallel to which I think I never witnessed before, and I know
I never have since. The scene was caused by a single exclamation on the part of
Mr. Thompson.
The general assembly of
the Free Church was in progress at Cannon Mills, Edinburgh. The building would
hold about twenty-five hundred persons; and on this occasion it was densely
packed, notice having been given that Doctors Cunningham and Candlish would
speak, that day, in defense of the relations of the Free Church of Scotland to
slavery in America. Messrs. Thompson, Buffum, myself, and a few anti-slavery
friends, attended, but sat at such a distance, and in such a position, that,
perhaps we were not observed from the platform. The excitement was intense,
having been greatly increased by a series of meetings held by Messrs. Thompson,
Wright, Buffum, and myself, in the most splendid hall in that most beautiful
city, just previous to the meetings of the general assembly. "SEND BACK
THE MONEY!" stared at us from every street corner; "SEND BACK THE
MONEY!" in large capitals, adorned the broad flags of the pavement;
"SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was the chorus of the popular street songs;
"SEND BACK THE MONEY!" was the heading of leading editorials in the
daily newspapers. This day, at Cannon Mills, the great doctors of the church
were to give an answer to this loud and stern demand. Men of all parties and
all sects were most eager to hear. Something great was expected. The occasion
was great, the men great, and great speeches were expected from them.
In addition to the
outside pressure upon Doctors Cunningham and Candlish, there was wavering in
their own ranks. The conscience of the church itself was not at ease. A
dissatisfaction with the position of the church touching slavery, was sensibly
manifest among the members, and something must be done to counteract this
untoward influence. The great Dr. Chalmers was in feeble health, at the time.
His most potent eloquence could not now be summoned to Cannon Mills, as
formerly. He whose voice was able to rend asunder and dash down the granite
walls of the established church of Scotland, and to lead a host in solemn
procession from it, as from a doomed city, was now old and enfeebled. Besides,
he had said his word on this very question; and his word had not silenced the
clamor without, nor stilled the anxious heavings within. The occasion was momentous,
and felt to be so. The church was in a perilous condition. A change of some
sort must take place in her condition, or she must go to pieces. To stand where
she did, was impossible. The whole weight of the matter fell on Cunningham and
Candlish. No shoulders in the church were broader than theirs; and I must say,
badly as I detest the principles laid down and defended by them, I was
compelled to acknowledge the vast mental endowments of the men. Cunningham
rose; and his rising was the signal for almost tumultous applause. You will say
this was scarcely in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion, but to me it
served to increase its grandeur and gravity. The applause, though tumultuous,
was not joyous. It seemed to me, as it thundered up from the vast audience,
like the fall of an immense shaft, flung from shoulders already galled by its
crushing weight. It was like saying, "Doctor, we have borne this burden
long enough, and willingly fling it upon you. Since it was you who brought it
upon us, take it now, and do what you will with it, for we are too weary to
bear it."
Doctor Cunningham
proceeded with his speech, abounding in logic, learning, and eloquence, and
apparently bearing down all opposition; but at the moment--the fatal
moment--when he was just bringing all his arguments to a point, and that point
being, that neither Jesus Christ nor his holy apostles regarded slaveholding as
a sin, George Thompson, in a clear, sonorous, but rebuking voice, broke the
deep stillness of the audience, exclaiming, HEAR! HEAR! HEAR! The effect of
this simple and common exclamation is almost incredible. It was as if a granite
wall had been suddenly flung up against the advancing current of a mighty
river. For a moment, speaker and audience were brought to a dead silence. Both
the doctor and his hearers seemed appalled by the audacity, as well as the
fitness of the rebuke. At length a shout went up to the cry of "Put him
out!" Happily, no one attempted to execute this cowardly order, and the
doctor proceeded with his discourse. Not, however, as before, did the learned
doctor proceed. The exclamation of Thompson must have reechoed itself a
thousand times in his memory, during the remainder of his speech, for the
doctor never recovered from the blow.
The deed was done,
however; the pillars of the church--the proud, Free Church of Scotland--were
committed and the humility of repentance was absent. The Free Church held on to
the blood-stained money, and continued to justify itself in its position--and of
course to apologize for slavery--and does so till this day. She lost a glorious
opportunity for giving her voice, her vote, and her example to the cause of
humanity; and to-day she is staggering under the curse of the enslaved, whose
blood is in her skirts. The people of Scotland are, to this day, deeply grieved
at the course pursued by the Free Church, and would hail, as a relief from a
deep and blighting shame, the "sending back the money" to the
slaveholders from whom it was gathered.
One good result followed
the conduct of the Free Church; it furnished an occasion for making the people
of Scotland thoroughly acquainted with the character of slavery, and for
arraying against the system the moral and religious sentiment of that country.
Therefore, while we did not succeed in accomplishing the specific object of our
mission, namely--procure the sending back of the money--we were amply justified
by the good which really did result from our labors.
Next comes the
Evangelical Alliance. This was an attempt to form a union of all evangelical
Christians throughout the world. Sixty or seventy American divines attended,
and some of them went there merely to weave a world-wide garment with which to
clothe evangelical slaveholders. Foremost among these divines, was the Rev.
Samuel Hanson Cox, moderator of the New School Presbyterian General Assembly.
He and his friends spared no pains to secure a platform broad enough to hold
American slaveholders, and in this partly succeeded. But the question of
slavery is too large a question to be finally disposed of, even by the
Evangelical Alliance. We appealed from the judgment of the Alliance, to the
judgment of the people of Great Britain, and with the happiest effect. This
controversy with the Alliance might be made the subject of extended remark, but
I must forbear, except to say, that this effort to shield the Christian
character of slaveholders greatly served to open a way to the British ear for
anti-slavery discussion, and that it was well improved.
The fourth and last
circumstance that assisted me in getting before the British public, was an
attempt on the part of certain doctors of divinity to silence me on the
platform of the World's Temperance Convention. Here I was brought into point
blank collison with Rev. Dr. Cox, who made me the subject not only of bitter
remark in the convention, but also of a long denunciatory letter published in
the New York Evangelist and other American papers. I replied to the doctor as
well as I could, and was successful in getting a respectful hearing before the
British public, who are by nature and practice ardent lovers of fair play,
especially in a conflict between the weak and the strong.
Thus did circumstances
favor me, and favor the cause of which I strove to be the advocate. After such
distinguished notice, the public in both countries was compelled to attach some
importance to my labors. By the very ill usage I received at the hands of Dr.
Cox and his party, by the mob on board the "Cambria," by the attacks
made upon me in the American newspapers, and by the aspersions cast upon me
through the organs of the Free Church of Scotland, I became one of that class
of men, who, for the moment, at least, "have greatness forced upon
them." People became the more anxious to hear for themselves, and to judge
for themselves, of the truth which I had to unfold. While, therefore, it is by
no means easy for a stranger to get fairly before the British public, it was my
lot to accomplish it in the easiest manner possible.
Having continued in
Great Britain and Ireland nearly two years, and being about to return to
America--not as I left it, a slave, but a freeman--leading friends of the cause
of emancipation in that country intimated their intention to make me a
testimonial, not only on grounds of personal regard to myself, but also to the
cause to which they were so ardently devoted. How far any such thing could have
succeeded, I do not know; but many reasons led me to prefer that my friends
should simply give me the means of obtaining a printing press and printing
materials, to enable me to start a paper, devoted to the interests of my
enslaved and oppressed people. I told them that perhaps the greatest hinderance
to the adoption of abolition principles by the people of the United States, was
the low estimate, everywhere in that country, placed upon the Negro, as a man;
that because of his assumed natural inferiority, people reconciled themselves
to his enslavement and oppression, as things inevitable, if not desirable. The
grand thing to be done, therefore, was to change the estimation in which the
colored people of the United States were held; to remove the prejudice which
depreciated and depressed them; to prove them worthy of a higher consideration;
to disprove their alleged inferiority, and demonstrate their capacity for a
more exalted civilization than slavery and prejudice had assigned to them. I
further stated, that, in my judgment, a tolerably well conducted press, in the
hands of persons of the despised race, by calling out the mental energies of
the race itself; by making them acquainted with their own latent powers; by
enkindling among them the hope that for them there is a future; by developing
their moral power; by combining and reflecting their talents--would prove a
most powerful means of removing prejudice, and of awakening an interest in
them. I further informed them--and at that time the statement was true--that
there was not, in the United States, a single newspaper regularly published by
the colored people; that many attempts had been made to establish such papers;
but that, up to that time, they had all failed. These views I laid before my
friends. The result was, nearly two thousand five hundred dollars were speedily
raised toward starting my paper. For this prompt and generous assistance,
rendered upon my bare suggestion, without any personal efforts on my part, I
shall never cease to feel deeply grateful; and the thought of fulfilling the
noble expectations of the dear friends who gave me this evidence of their
confidence, will never cease to be a motive for persevering exertion.
Proposing to leave
England, and turning my face toward America, in the spring of 1847, I was met,
on the threshold, with something which painfully reminded me of the kind of
life which awaited me in my native land. For the first time in the many months
spent abroad, I was met with proscription on account of my color. A few weeks
before departing from England, while in London, I was careful to purchase a
ticket, and secure a berth for returning home, in the "Cambria"--the
steamer in which I left the United States--paying therefor the round sum of
forty pounds and nineteen shillings sterling. This was first cabin fare. But on
going aboard the Cambria, I found that the Liverpool agent had ordered my berth
to be given to another, and had forbidden my entering the saloon! This
contemptible conduct met with stern rebuke from the British press. For, upon
the point of leaving England, I took occasion to expose the disgusting tyranny,
in the columns of the London Times. That journal, and other leading journals
throughout the United Kingdom, held up the outrage to unmitigated condemnation.
So good an opportunity for calling out a full expression of British sentiment
on the subject, had not before occurred, and it was most fully embraced. The
result was, that Mr. Cunard came out in a letter to the public journals,
assuring them of his regret at the outrage, and promising that the like should
never occur again on board his steamers; and the like, we believe, has never since
occurred on board the steamships of the Cunard line.
It is not very pleasant
to be made the subject of such insults; but if all such necessarily resulted as
this one did, I should be very happy to bear, patiently, many more than I have
borne, of the same sort. Albeit, the lash of proscription, to a man accustomed
to equal social position, even for a time, as I was, has a sting for the soul
hardly less severe than that which bites the flesh and draws the blood from the
back of the plantation slave. It was rather hard, after having enjoyed nearly
two years of equal social privileges in England, often dining with gentlemen of
great literary, social, political, and religious eminence never, during the
whole time, having met with a single word, look, or gesture, which gave me the
slightest reason to think my color was an offense to anybody--now to be cooped
up in the stern of the "Cambria," and denied the right to enter the
saloon, lest my dark presence should be deemed an offense to some of my democratic
fellow-passengers. The reader will easily imagine what must have been my
feelings.
[8] The following is a
copy of these curious papers, both of my transfer from Thomas to Hugh Auld, and
from Hugh to myself:
"Know all men by
these Presents, That I, Thomas Auld, of Talbot county, and state of Maryland,
for and in consideration of the sum of one hundred dollars, current money, to
me paid by Hugh Auld, of the city of Baltimore, in the said state, at and
before the sealing and delivery of these presents, the receipt whereof, I, the
said Thomas Auld, do hereby acknowledge, have granted, bargained, and sold, and
by these presents do grant, bargain, and sell unto the said Hugh Auld, his
executors, administrators, and assigns, ONE NEGRO MAN, by the name of FREDERICK
BAILY, or DOUGLASS, as he calls himself--he is now about twenty-eight years of
age--to have and to hold the said negro man for life. And I, the said Thomas
Auld, for myself my heirs, executors, and administrators, all and singular, the
said FREDERICK BAILY alias DOUGLASS, unto the said Hugh Auld, his executors,
administrators, and assigns against me, the said Thomas Auld, my executors, and
administrators, and against ali and every other person or persons whatsoever,
shall and will warrant and forever defend by these presents. In witness
whereof, I set my hand and seal, this thirteenth day of November, eighteen
hundred and forty-six. THOMAS AULD
"Signed, sealed,
and delivered in presence of Wrightson Jones.
"JOHN C. LEAS.
The authenticity of
this bill of sale is attested by N. Harrington, a justice of the peace of the
state of Maryland, and for the county of Talbot, dated same day as above.
"To all whom it
may concern: Be it known, that I, Hugh Auld, of the city of Baltimore, in
Baltimore county, in the state of Maryland, for divers good causes and
considerations, me thereunto moving, have released from slavery, liberated,
manumitted, and set free, and by these presents do hereby release from slavery,
liberate, manumit, and set free, MY NEGRO MAN, named FREDERICK BAILY, otherwise
called DOUGLASS, being of the age of twenty-eight years, or thereabouts, and
able to work and gain a sufficient livelihood and maintenance; and him the said
negro man named FREDERICK BAILY, otherwise called FREDERICK DOUGLASS, I do
declare to be henceforth free, manumitted, and discharged from all manner of
servitude to me, my executors, and administrators forever.
"In witness
whereof, I, the said Hugh Auld, have hereunto set my hand and seal the fifth of
December, in the year one thousand eight hundred and forty-six.
Hugh Auld
"Sealed and
delivered in presence of T. Hanson Belt.
"JAMES N. S. T.
WRIGHT"
NEWSPAPER
ENTERPRISE--UNEXPECTED OPPOSITION--THE OBJECTIONS TO IT--THEIR PLAUSIBILITY
ADMITTED--MOTIVES FOR COMING TO ROCHESTER--DISCIPLE OF MR. GARRISON--CHANGE OF
OPINION--CAUSES LEADING TO IT--THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE CHANGE--PREJUDICE
AGAINST COLOR--AMUSING CONDESCENSION--"JIM CROW CARS"--COLLISIONS
WITH CONDUCTORS AND BRAKEMEN--TRAINS ORDERED NOT TO STOP AT LYNN--AMUSING
DOMESTIC SCENE--SEPARATE TABLES FOR MASTER AND MAN--PREJUDICE
UNNATURAL--ILLUSTRATIONS--IN HIGH COMPANY--ELEVATION OF THE FREE PEOPLE OF
COLOR--PLEDGE FOR THE FUTURE.
I have now given the
reader an imperfect sketch of nine years' experience in freedom--three years as
a common laborer on the wharves of New Bedford, four years as a lecturer in New
England, and two years of semi-exile in Great Britain and Ireland. A single ray
of light remains to be flung upon my life during the last eight years, and my
story will be done.
A trial awaited me on
my return from England to the United States, for which I was but very
imperfectly prepared. My plans for my then future usefulness as an anti-slavery
advocate were all settled. My friends in England had resolved to raise a given
sum to purchase for me a press and printing materials; and I already saw myself
wielding my pen, as well as my voice, in the great work of renovating the
public mind, and building up a public sentiment which should, at least, send
slavery and oppression to the grave, and restore to "liberty and the
pursuit of happiness" the people with whom I had suffered, both as a slave
and as a freeman. Intimation had reached my friends in Boston of what I
intended to do, before my arrival, and I was prepared to find them favorably
disposed toward my much cherished enterprise. In this I was mistaken. I found
them very earnestly opposed to the idea of my starting a paper, and for several
reasons. First, the paper was not needed; secondly, it would interfere with my
usefulness as a lecturer; thirdly, I was better fitted to speak than to write;
fourthly, the paper could not succeed. This opposition, from a quarter so
highly esteemed, and to which I had been accustomed to look for advice and
direction, caused me not only to hesitate, but inclined me to abandon the
enterprise. All previous attempts to establish such a journal having failed, I
felt that probably I should but add another to the list of failures, and thus
contribute another proof of the mental and moral deficiencies of my race. Very
much that was said to me in respect to my imperfect literary acquirements, I
felt to be most painfully true. The unsuccessful projectors of all the previous
colored newspapers were my superiors in point of education, and if they failed,
how could I hope for success? Yet I did hope for success, and persisted in the
undertaking. Some of my English friends greatly encouraged me to go forward,
and I shall never cease to be grateful for their words of cheer and generous
deeds.
I can easily pardon
those who have denounced me as ambitious and presumptuous, in view of my
persistence in this enterprise. I was but nine years from slavery. In point of
mental experience, I was but nine years old. That one, in such circumstances,
should aspire to establish a printing press, among an educated people, might
well be considered, if not ambitious, quite silly. My American friends looked
at me with astonishment! "A wood-sawyer" offering himself to the
public as an editor! A slave, brought up in the very depths of ignorance,
assuming to instruct the highly civilized people of the north in the principles
of liberty, justice, and humanity! The thing looked absurd. Nevertheless, I per
severed. I felt that the want of education, great as it was, could be overcome
by study, and that knowledge would come by experience; and further (which was
perhaps the most controlling consideration). I thought that an intelligent
public, knowing my early history, would easily pardon a large share of the
deficiencies which I was sure that my paper would exhibit. The most distressing
thing, however, was the offense which I was about to give my Boston friends, by
what seemed to them a reckless disregard of their sage advice. I am not sure
that I was not under the influence of something like a slavish adoration of my
Boston friends, and I labored hard to convince them of the wisdom of my
undertaking, but without success. Indeed, I never expect to succeed, although
time has answered all their original objections. The paper has been successful.
It is a large sheet, costing eighty dollars per week--has three thousand
subscribers--has been published regularly nearly eight years--and bids fair to
stand eight years longer. At any rate, the eight years to come are as full of
promise as were the eight that are past.
It is not to be
concealed, however, that the maintenance of such a journal, under the
circumstances, has been a work of much difficulty; and could all the
perplexity, anxiety, and trouble attending it, have been clearly foreseen, I
might have shrunk from the undertaking. As it is, I rejoice in having engaged
in the enterprise, and count it joy to have been able to suffer, in many ways,
for its success, and for the success of the cause to which it has been
faithfully devoted. I look upon the time, money, and labor bestowed upon it, as
being amply rewarded, in the development of my own mental and moral energies,
and in the corresponding development of my deeply injured and oppressed people.
From motives of peace,
instead of issuing my paper in Boston, among my New England friends, I came to
Rochester, western New York, among strangers, where the circulation of my paper
could not interfere with the local circulation of the Liberator and the
Standard; for at that time I was, on the anti-slavery question, a faithful
disciple of William Lloyd Garrison, and fully committed to his doctrine
touching the pro-slavery character of the constitution of the United States,
and the non-voting principle, of which he is the known and distinguished
advocate. With Mr. Garrison, I held it to be the first duty of the
non-slaveholding states to dissolve the union with the slaveholding states; and
hence my cry, like his, was, "No union with slaveholders." With these
views, I came into western New York; and during the first four years of my
labor here, I advocated them with pen and tongue, according to the best of my
ability.
About four years ago,
upon a reconsideration of the whole subject, I became convinced that there was
no necessity for dissolving the "union between the northern and southern
states;" that to seek this dissolution was no part of my duty as an
abolitionist; that to abstain from voting, was to refuse to exercise a
legitimate and powerful means for abolishing slavery; and that the constitution
of the United States not only contained no guarantees in favor of slavery, but,
on the contrary, it is, in its letter and spirit, an anti-slavery instrument,
demanding the abolition of slavery as a condition of its own existence, as the
supreme law of the land.
Here was a radical
change in my opinions, and in the action logically resulting from that change.
To those with whom I had been in agreement and in sympathy, I was now in
opposition. What they held to be a great and important truth, I now looked upon
as a dangerous error. A very painful, and yet a very natural, thing now
happened. Those who could not see any honest reasons for changing their views,
as I had done, could not easily see any such reasons for my change, and the
common punishment of apostates was mine.
The opinions first
entertained were naturally derived and honestly entertained, and I trust that
my present opinions have the same claims to respect. Brought directly, when I
escaped from slavery, into contact with a class of abolitionists regarding the constitution
as a slaveholding instrument, and finding their views supported by the united
and entire history of every department of the government, it is not strange
that I assumed the constitution to be just what their interpretation made it. I
was bound, not only by their superior knowledge, to take their opinions as the
true ones, in respect to the subject, but also because I had no means of
showing their unsoundness. But for the responsibility of conducting a public
journal, and the necessity imposed upon me of meeting opposite views from
abolitionists in this state, I should in all probability have remained as firm
in my disunion views as any other disciple of William Lloyd Garrison.
My new circumstances
compelled me to re-think the whole subject, and to study, with some care, not
only the just and proper rules of legal interpretation, but the origin, design,
nature, rights, powers, and duties of civil government, and also the relations
which human beings sustain to it. By such a course of thought and reading, I
was conducted to the conclusion that the constitution of the United
States--inaugurated "to form a more perfect union, establish justice,
insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the
general welfare, and secure the blessing of liberty"--could not well have
been designed at the same time to maintain and perpetuate a system of rapine
and murder, like slavery; especially, as not one word can be found in the
constitution to authorize such a belief. Then, again, if the declared purposes
of an instrument are to govern the meaning of all its parts and details, as
they clearly should, the constitution of our country is our warrant for the
abolition of slavery in every state in the American Union. I mean, however, not
to argue, but simply to state my views. It would require very many pages of a
volume like this, to set forth the arguments demonstrating the
unconstitutionality and the complete illegality of slavery in our land; and as
my experience, and not my arguments, is within the scope and contemplation of
this volume, I omit the latter and proceed with the former.
I will now ask the kind
reader to go back a little in my story, while I bring up a thread left behind
for convenience sake, but which, small as it is, cannot be properly omitted
altogether; and that thread is American prejudice against color, and its varied
illustrations in my own experience.
When I first went among
the abolitionists of New England, and began to travel, I found this prejudice
very strong and very annoying. The abolitionists themselves were not entirely
free from it, and I could see that they were nobly struggling against it. In
their eagerness, sometimes, to show their contempt for the feeling, they proved
that they had not entirely recovered from it; often illustrating the saying, in
their conduct, that a man may "stand up so straight as to lean
backward." When it was said to me, "Mr. Douglass, I will walk to
meeting with you; I am not afraid of a black man," I could not help
thinking--seeing nothing very frightful in my appearance--"And why should
you be?" The children at the north had all been educated to believe that
if they were bad, the old black man--not the old devil-- would get them; and it
was evidence of some courage, for any so educated to get the better of their
fears.
The custom of providing
separate cars for the accommodation of colored travelers, was established on
nearly all the railroads of New England, a dozen years ago. Regarding this
custom as fostering the spirit of caste, I made it a rule to seat myself in the
cars for the accommodation of passengers generally. Thus seated, I was sure to
be called upon to betake myself to the "Jim Crow car." Refusing to
obey, I was often dragged out of my seat, beaten, and severely bruised, by
conductors and brakemen. Attempting to start from Lynn, one day, for
Newburyport, on the Eastern railroad, I went, as my custom was, into one of the
best railroad carriages on the road. The seats were very luxuriant and
beautiful. I was soon waited upon by the conductor, and ordered out; whereupon
I demanded the reason for my invidious removal. After a good deal of parleying,
I was told that it was because I was black. This I denied, and appealed to the
company to sustain my denial; but they were evidently unwilling to commit
themselves, on a point so delicate, and requiring such nice powers of
discrimination, for they remained as dumb as death. I was soon waited on by
half a dozen fellows of the baser sort (just such as would volunteer to take a
bull-dog out of a meeting-house in time of public worship), and told that I
must move out of that seat, and if I did not, they would drag me out. I refused
to move, and they clutched me, head, neck, and shoulders. But, in anticipation
of the stretching to which I was about to be subjected, I had interwoven myself
among the seats. In dragging me out, on this occasion, it must have cost the
company twenty-five or thirty dollars, for I tore up seats and all. So great
was the excitement in Lynn, on the subject, that the superintendent, Mr.
Stephen A. Chase, ordered the trains to run through Lynn without stopping,
while I remained in that town; and this ridiculous farce was enacted. For
several days the trains went dashing through Lynn without stopping. At the same
time that they excluded a free colored man from their cars, this same company
allowed slaves, in company with their masters and mistresses, to ride
unmolested.
After many battles with
the railroad conductors, and being roughly handled in not a few instances, proscription
was at last abandoned; and the "Jim Crow car"--set up for the
degradation of colored people--is nowhere found in New England. This result was
not brought about without the intervention of the people, and the threatened
enactment of a law compelling railroad companies to respect the rights of
travelers. Hon. Charles Francis Adams performed signal service in the
Massachusetts legislature, in bringing this reformation; and to him the colored
citizens of that state are deeply indebted.
Although often annoyed,
and sometimes outraged, by this prejudice against color, I am indebted to it
for many passages of quiet amusement. A half-cured subject of it is sometimes
driven into awkward straits, especially if he happens to get a genuine specimen
of the race into his house.
In the summer of 1843,
I was traveling and lecturing, in company with William A. White, Esq., through
the state of Indiana. Anti-slavery friends were not very abundant in Indiana,
at that time, and beds were not more plentiful than friends. We often slept
out, in preference to sleeping in the houses, at some points. At the close of
one of our meetings, we were invited home with a kindly-disposed old farmer,
who, in the generous enthusiasm of the moment, seemed to have forgotten that he
had but one spare bed, and that his guests were an ill-matched pair. All went
on pretty well, till near bed time, when signs of uneasiness began to show
themselves, among the unsophisticated sons and daughters. White is remarkably
fine looking, and very evidently a born gentleman; the idea of putting us in
the same bed was hardly to be tolerated; and yet, there we were, and but the
one bed for us, and that, by the way, was in the same room occupied by the
other members of the family. White, as well as I, perceived the difficulty, for
yonder slept the old folks, there the sons, and a little farther along slept
the daughters; and but one other bed remained. Who should have this bed, was
the puzzling question. There was some whispering between the old folks, some
confused looks among the young, as the time for going to bed approached. After
witnessing the confusion as long as I liked, I relieved the kindly-disposed
family by playfully saying, "Friend White, having got entirely rid of my
prejudice against color, I think, as a proof of it, I must allow you to sleep
with me to-night." White kept up the joke, by seeming to esteem himself
the favored party, and thus the difficulty was removed. If we went to a hotel,
and called for dinner, the landlord was sure to set one table for White and
another for me, always taking him to be master, and me the servant. Large eyes
were generally made when the order was given to remove the dishes from my table
to that of White's. In those days, it was thought strange that a white man and
a colored man could dine peaceably at the same table, and in some parts the
strangeness of such a sight has not entirely subsided.
Some people will have
it that there is a natural, an inherent, and an invincible repugnance in the
breast of the white race toward dark-colored people; and some very intelligent
colored men think that their proscription is owing solely to the color which
nature has given them. They hold that they are rated according to their color,
and that it is impossible for white people ever to look upon dark races of men,
or men belonging to the African race, with other than feelings of aversion. My
experience, both serious and mirthful, combats this conclusion. Leaving out of
sight, for a moment, grave facts, to this point, I will state one or two, which
illustrate a very interesting feature of American character as well as American
prejudice. Riding from Boston to Albany, a few years ago, I found myself in a
large car, well filled with passengers. The seat next to me was about the only
vacant one. At every stopping place we took in new passengers, all of whom, on
reaching the seat next to me, cast a disdainful glance upon it, and passed to
another car, leaving me in the full enjoyment of a hole form. For a time, I did
not know but that my riding there was prejudicial to the interest of the
railroad company. A circumstance occurred, however, which gave me an elevated
position at once. Among the passengers on this train was Gov. George N. Briggs.
I was not acquainted with him, and had no idea that I was known to him,
however, I was, for upon observing me, the governor left his place, and making
his way toward me, respectfully asked the privilege of a seat by my side; and
upon introducing himself, we entered into a conversation very pleasant and
instructive to me. The despised seat now became honored. His excellency had
removed all the prejudice against sitting by the side of a Negro; and upon his
leaving it, as he did, on reaching Pittsfield, there were at least one dozen
applicants for the place. The governor had, without changing my skin a single
shade, made the place respectable which before was despicable.
A similar incident
happened to me once on the Boston and New Bedford railroad, and the leading
party to it has since been governor of the state of Massachusetts. I allude to
Col. John Henry Clifford. Lest the reader may fancy I am aiming to elevate
myself, by claiming too much intimacy with great men, I must state that my only
acquaintance with Col. Clifford was formed while I was his hired servant,
during the first winter of my escape from slavery. I owe it him to say, that in
that relation I found him always kind and gentlemanly. But to the incident. I
entered a car at Boston, for New Bedford, which, with the exception of a single
seat was full, and found I must occupy this, or stand up, during the journey.
Having no mind to do this, I stepped up to the man having the next seat, and
who had a few parcels on the seat, and gently asked leave to take a seat by his
side. My fellow-passenger gave me a look made up of reproach and indignation,
and asked me why I should come to that particular seat. I assured him, in the
gentlest manner, that of all others this was the seat for me. Finding that I
was actually about to sit down, he sang out, "O! stop, stop! and let me
get out!" Suiting the action to the word, up the agitated man got, and
sauntered to the other end of the car, and was compelled to stand for most of
the way thereafter. Halfway to New Bedford, or more, Col. Clifford, recognizing
me, left his seat, and not having seen me before since I had ceased to wait on
him (in everything except hard arguments against his pro-slavery position),
apparently forgetful of his rank, manifested, in greeting me, something of the
feeling of an old friend. This demonstration was not lost on the gentleman
whose dignity I had, an hour before, most seriously offended. Col. Clifford was
known to be about the most aristocratic gentleman in Bristol county; and it was
evidently thought that I must be somebody, else I should not have been thus
noticed, by a person so distinguished. Sure enough, after Col. Clifford left
me, I found myself surrounded with friends; and among the number, my offended
friend stood nearest, and with an apology for his rudeness, which I could not
resist, although it was one of the lamest ever offered. With such facts as
these before me--and I have many of them--I am inclined to think that pride and
fashion have much to do with the treatment commonly extended to colored people
in the United States. I once heard a very plain man say (and he was cross-eyed,
and awkwardly flung together in other respects) that he should be a handsome
man when public opinion shall be changed.
Since I have been
editing and publishing a journal devoted to the cause of liberty and progress,
I have had my mind more directed to the condition and circumstances of the free
colored people than when I was the agent of an abolition society. The result
has been a corresponding change in the disposition of my time and labors. I
have felt it to be a part of my mission--under a gracious Providence to impress
my sable brothers in this country with the conviction that, notwithstanding the
ten thousand discouragements and the powerful hinderances, which beset their
existence in this country--notwithstanding the blood-written history of Africa,
and her children, from whom we have descended, or the clouds and darkness
(whose stillness and gloom are made only more awful by wrathful thunder and
lightning) now overshadowing them--progress is yet possible, and bright skies
shall yet shine upon their pathway; and that "Ethiopia shall yet reach
forth her hand unto God."
Believing that one of
the best means of emancipating the slaves of the south is to improve and
elevate the character of the free colored people of the north I shall labor in
the future, as I have labored in the past, to promote the moral, social,
religious, and intellectual elevation of the free colored people; never
forgetting my own humble origin, nor refusing, while Heaven lends me ability,
to use my voice, my pen, or my vote, to advocate the great and primary work of
the universal and unconditional emancipation of my entire race.
Mr. Douglass rose amid
loud cheers, and said: I feel exceedingly glad of the opportunity now afforded
me of presenting the claims of my brethren in bonds in the United States, to so
many in London and from various parts of Britain, who have assembled here on
the present occasion. I have nothing to commend me to your consideration in the
way of learning, nothing in the way of education, to entitle me to your
attention; and you are aware that slavery is a very bad school for rearing
teachers of morality and religion. Twenty-one years of my life have been spent
in slavery--personal slavery--surrounded by degrading influences, such as can
exist nowhere beyond the pale of slavery; and it will not be strange, if under
such circumstances, I should betray, in what I have to say to you, a deficiency
of that refinement which is seldom or ever found, except among persons that
have experienced superior advantages to those which I have enjoyed. But I will
take it for granted that you know something about the degrading influences of
slavery, and that you will not expect great things from me this evening, but
simply such facts as I may be able to advance immediately in connection with my
own experience of slavery.
Now, what is this system
of slavery? This is the subject of my lecture this evening--what is the
character of this institution? I am about to answer the inquiry, what is
American slavery? I do this the more readily, since I have found persons in
this country who have identified the term slavery with that which I think it is
not, and in some instances, I have feared, in so doing, have rather
(unwittingly, I know) detracted much from the horror with which the term
slavery is contemplated. It is common in this country to distinguish every bad
thing by the name of slavery. Intemperance is slavery; to be deprived of the
right to vote is slavery, says one; to have to work hard is slavery, says
another; and I do not know but that if we should let them go on, they would say
that to eat when we are hungry, to walk when we desire to have exercise, or to
minister to our necessities, or have necessities at all, is slavery. I do not
wish for a moment to detract from the horror with which the evil of
intemperance is contemplated--not at all; nor do I wish to throw the slightest
obstruction in the way of any political freedom that any class of persons in
this country may desire to obtain. But I am here to say that I think the term
slavery is sometimes abused by identifying it with that which it is not.
Slavery in the United States is the granting of that power by which one man
exercises and enforces a right of property in the body and soul of another. The
condition of a slave is simply that of the brute beast. He is a piece of
property--a marketable commodity, in the language of the law, to be bought or
sold at the will and caprice of the master who claims him to be his property;
he is spoken of, thought of, and treated as property. His own good, his
conscience, his intellect, his affections, are all set aside by the master. The
will and the wishes of the master are the law of the slave. He is as much a
piece of property as a horse. If he is fed, he is fed because he is property.
If he is clothed, it is with a view to the increase of his value as property.
Whatever of comfort is necessary to him for his body or soul that is
inconsistent with his being property, is carefully wrested from him, not only
by public opinion, but by the law of the country. He is carefully deprived of
everything that tends in the slightest degree to detract from his value as
property. He is deprived of education. God has given him an intellect; the
slaveholder declares it shall not be cultivated. If his moral perception leads
him in a course contrary to his value as property, the slaveholder declares he
shall not exercise it. The marriage institution cannot exist among slaves, and
one-sixth of the population of democratic America is denied its privileges by
the law of the land. What is to be thought of a nation boasting of its liberty,
boasting of its humanity, boasting of its Christianity, boasting of its love of
justice and purity, and yet having within its own borders three millions of
persons denied by law the right of marriage?--what must be the condition of
that people? I need not lift up the veil by giving you any experience of my
own. Every one that can put two ideas together, must see the most fearful
results from such a state of things as I have just mentioned. If any of these
three millions find for themselves companions, and prove themselves honest,
upright, virtuous persons to each other, yet in these cases--few as I am bound
to confess they are--the virtuous live in constant apprehension of being torn
asunder by the merciless men-stealers that claim them as their property. This
is American slavery; no marriage--no education--the light of the gospel shut
out from the dark mind of the bondman--and he forbidden by law to learn to
read. If a mother shall teach her children to read, the law in Louisiana
proclaims that she may be hanged by the neck. If the father attempt to give his
son a knowledge of letters, he may be punished by the whip in one instance, and
in another be killed, at the discretion of the court. Three millions of people
shut out from the light of knowledge! It is easy for you to conceive the evil
that must result from such a state of things.
I now come to the
physical evils of slavery. I do not wish to dwell at length upon these, but it
seems right to speak of them, not so much to influence your minds on this
question, as to let the slaveholders of America know that the curtain which
conceals their crimes is being lifted abroad; that we are opening the dark
cell, and leading the people into the horrible recesses of what they are
pleased to call their domestic institution. We want them to know that a
knowledge of their whippings, their scourgings, their brandings, their
chainings, is not confined to their plantations, but that some Negro of theirs
has broken loose from his chains--has burst through the dark incrustation of
slavery, and is now exposing their deeds of deep damnation to the gaze of the
christian people of England.
The slaveholders resort
to all kinds of cruelty. If I were disposed, I have matter enough to interest
you on this question for five or six evenings, but I will not dwell at length
upon these cruelties. Suffice it to say, that all of the peculiar modes of
torture that were resorted to in the West India islands, are resorted to, I
believe, even more frequently, in the United States of America. Starvation, the
bloody whip, the chain, the gag, the thumb-screw, cat-hauling, the
cat-o'-nine-tails, the dungeon, the blood-hound, are all in requisition to keep
the slave in his condition as a slave in the United States. If any one has a doubt
upon this point, I would ask him to read the chapter on slavery in Dickens's
Notes on America. If any man has a doubt upon it, I have here the
"testimony of a thousand witnesses," which I can give at any length,
all going to prove the truth of my statement. The blood-hound is regularly
trained in the United States, and advertisements are to be found in the
southern papers of the Union, from persons advertising themselves as
blood-hound trainers, and offering to hunt down slaves at fifteen dollars a
piece, recommending their hounds as the fleetest in the neighborhood, never
known to fail. Adver tisements are from time to time inserted, stating that
slaves have escaped with iron collars about their necks, with bands of iron
about their feet, marked with the lash, branded with red-hot irons, the
initials of their master's name burned into their flesh; and the masters
advertise the fact of their being thus branded with their own signature,
thereby proving to the world, that, however damning it may appear to non-slavers,
such practices are not regarded discreditable among the slaveholders
themselves. Why, I believe if a man should brand his horse in this
country--burn the initials of his name into any of his cattle, and publish the
ferocious deed here--that the united execrations of Christians in Britain would
descend upon him. Yet in the United States, human beings are thus branded. As
Whittier says--
". . . Our
countrymen in chains,
The whip on woman's shrinking flesh, Our
soil yet reddening with the stains
Caught from her scourgings warm and fresh." The slave-dealer boldly publishes his infamous acts to the
world. Of all things that have been said of slavery to which exception has been
taken by slaveholders, this, the charge of cruelty, stands foremost, and yet
there is no charge capable of clearer demonstration, than that of the most
barbarous inhumanity on the part of the slaveholders toward their slaves. And
all this is necessary; it is necessary to resort to these cruelties, in order
to make the slave a slave, and to keep him a slave. Why, my experience all goes
to prove the truth of what you will call a marvelous proposition, that the
better you treat a slave, the more you destroy his value as a slave, and
enhance the probability of his eluding the grasp of the slaveholder; the more
kindly you treat him, the more wretched you make him, while you keep him in the
condition of a slave. My experience, I say, confirms the truth of this
proposition. When I was treated exceedingly ill; when my back was being scourged
daily; when I was whipped within an inch of my life--life was all I cared for.
"Spare my life," was my continual prayer. When I was looking for the
blow about to be inflicted upon my head, I was not thinking of my liberty; it
was my life. But, as soon as the blow was not to be feared, then came the
longing for liberty. If a slave has a bad master, his ambition is to get a
better; when he gets a better, he aspires to have the best; and when he gets
the best, he aspires to be his own master. But the slave must be brutalized to
keep him as a slave. The slaveholder feels this necessity. I admit this
necessity. If it be right to hold slaves at all, it is right to hold them in
the only way in which they can be held; and this can be done only by shutting
out the light of education from their minds, and brutalizing their persons. The
whip, the chain, the gag, the thumb-screw, the blood-hound, the stocks, and all
the other bloody paraphernalia of the slave system, are indispensably necessary
to the relation of master and slave. The slave must be subjected to these, or
he ceases to be a slave. Let him know that the whip is burned; that the fetters
have been turned to some useful and profitable employment; that the chain is no
longer for his limbs; that the blood-hound is no longer to be put upon his
track; that his master's authority over him is no longer to be enforced by
taking his life--and immediately he walks out from the house of bondage and
asserts his freedom as a man. The slaveholder finds it necessary to have these
implements to keep the slave in bondage; finds it necessary to be able to say,
"Unless you do so and so; unless you do as I bid you--I will take away
your life!"
Some of the most awful
scenes of cruelty are constantly taking place in the middle states of the
Union. We have in those states what are called the slave-breeding states. Allow
me to speak plainly. Although it is harrowing to your feelings, it is necessary
that the facts of the case should be stated. We have in the United States
slave-breeding states. The very state from which the minister from our court to
yours comes, is one of these states--Maryland, where men, women, and children
are reared for the market, just as horses, sheep, and swine are raised for the
market. Slave-rearing is there looked upon as a legitimate trade; the law
sanctions it, public opinion upholds it, the church does not condemn it. It
goes on in all its bloody horrors, sustained by the auctioneer's block. If you
would see the cruelties of this system, hear the following narrative. Not long
since the following scene occurred. A slave-woman and a slaveman had united
themselves as man and wife in the absence of any law to protect them as man and
wife. They had lived together by the permission, not by right, of their master,
and they had reared a family. The master found it expedient, and for his
interest, to sell them. He did not ask them their wishes in regard to the
matter at all; they were not consulted. The man and woman were brought to the
auctioneer's block, under the sound of the hammer. The cry was raised,
"Here goes; who bids cash?" Think of it--a man and wife to be sold!
The woman was placed on the auctioneer's block; her limbs, as is customary,
were brutally exposed to the purchasers, who examined her with all the freedom
with which they would examine a horse. There stood the husband, powerless; no
right to his wife; the master's right preeminent. She was sold. He was next
brought to the auctioneer's block. His eyes followed his wife in the distance;
and he looked beseechingly, imploringly, to the man that had bought his wife,
to buy him also. But he was at length bid off to another person. He was about
to be separated forever from her he loved. No word of his, no work of his,
could save him from this separation. He asked permission of his new master to
go and take the hand of his wife at parting. It was denied him. In the agony of
his soul he rushed from the man who had just bought him, that he might take a
farewell of his wife; but his way was obstructed, he was struck over the head
with a loaded whip, and was held for a moment; but his agony was too great.
When he was let go, he fell a corpse at the feet of his master. His heart was
broken. Such scenes are the everyday fruits of American slavery. Some two years
since, the Hon. Seth. M. Gates, an anti-slavery gentleman of the state of New
York, a representative in the congress of the United States, told me he saw
with his own eyes the following circumstances. In the national District of
Columbia, over which the star-spangled emblem is constantly waving, where
orators are ever holding forth on the subject of American liberty, American
democracy, American republicanism, there are two slave prisons. When going
across a bridge, leading to one of these prisons, he saw a young woman run out,
bare-footed and bare-headed, and with very little clothing on. She was running
with all speed to the bridge he was approaching. His eye was fixed upon her,
and he stopped to see what was the matter. He had not paused long before he saw
three men run out after her. He now knew what the nature of the case was; a
slave escaping from her chains--a young woman, a sister--escaping from the
bondage in which she had been held. She made her way to the bridge, but had not
reached, ere from the Virginia side there came two slaveholders. As soon as
they saw them, her pursuers called out, "Stop her!" True to their
Virginian instincts, they came to the rescue of their brother kidnappers,
across the bridge. The poor girl now saw that there was no chance for her. It
was a trying time. She knew if she went back, she must be a slave forever--she
must be dragged down to the scenes of pollution which the slaveholders
continually provide for most of the poor, sinking, wretched young women, whom
they call their property. She formed her resolution; and just as those who were
about to take her, were going to put hands upon her, to drag her back, she
leaped over the balustrades of the bridge, and down she went to rise no more.
She chose death, rather than to go back into the hands of those christian
slaveholders from whom she had escaped.
Can it be possible that
such things as these exist in the United States? Are not these the exceptions?
Are any such scenes as this general? Are not such deeds condemned by the law
and denounced by public opinion? Let me read to you a few of the laws of the
slaveholding states of America. I think no better exposure of slavery can be
made than is made by the laws of the states in which slavery exists. I prefer
reading the laws to making any statement in confirmation of what I have said
myself; for the slaveholders cannot object to this testimony, since it is the
calm, the cool, the deliberate enactment of their wisest heads, of their most
clear-sighted, their own constituted representatives. "If more than seven
slaves together are found in any road without a white person, twenty lashes a
piece; for visiting a plantation without a written pass, ten lashes; for
letting loose a boat from where it is made fast, thirty-nine lashes for the
first offense; and for the second, shall have cut off from his head one ear;
for keeping or carrying a club, thirty-nine lashes; for having any article for
sale, without a ticket from his master, ten lashes; for traveling in any other
than the most usual and accustomed road, when going alone to any place, forty
lashes; for traveling in the night without a pass, forty lashes." I am
afraid you do not understand the awful character of these lashes. You must
bring it before your mind. A human being in a perfect state of nudity, tied
hand and foot to a stake, and a strong man standing behind with a heavy whip,
knotted at the end, each blow cutting into the flesh, and leaving the warm
blood dripping to the feet; and for these trifles. "For being found in another
person's negro-quarters, forty lashes; for hunting with dogs in the woods,
thirty lashes; for being on horseback without the written permission of his
master, twenty-five lashes; for riding or going abroad in the night, or riding
horses in the day time, without leave, a slave may be whipped, cropped, or
branded in the cheek with the letter R. or otherwise punished, such punishment
not extending to life, or so as to render him unfit for labor." The laws
referred to, may be found by consulting Brevard's Digest; Haywood's Manual;
Virginia Revised Code; Prince's Digest; Missouri Laws; Mississippi Revised
Code. A man, for going to visit his brethren, without the permission of his
master--and in many instances he may not have that permission; his master, from
caprice or other reasons, may not be willing to allow it--may be caught on his
way, dragged to a post, the branding-iron heated, and the name of his master or
the letter R branded into his cheek or on his forehead. They treat slaves thus,
on the principle that they must punish for light offenses, in order to prevent
the commission of larger ones. I wish you to mark that in the single state of
Virginia there are seventy-one crimes for which a colored man may be executed;
while there are only three of these crimes, which, when committed by a white
man, will subject him to that punishment. There are many of these crimes which
if the white man did not commit, he would be regarded as a scoundrel and a
coward. In the state of Maryland, there is a law to this effect: that if a
slave shall strike his master, he may be hanged, his head severed from his
body, his body quartered, and his head and quarters set up in the most
prominent places in the neighborhood. If a colored woman, in the defense of her
own virtue, in defense of her own person, should shield herself from the brutal
attacks of her tyrannical master, or make the slightest resistance, she may be
killed on the spot. No law whatever will bring the guilty man to justice for
the crime.
But you will ask me,
can these things be possible in a land professing Christianity? Yes, they are
so; and this is not the worst. No; a darker feature is yet to be presented than
the mere existence of these facts. I have to inform you that the religion of
the southern states, at this time, is the great supporter, the great sanctioner
of the bloody atrocities to which I have referred. While America is printing
tracts and bibles; sending missionaries abroad to convert the heathen;
expending her money in various ways for the promotion of the gospel in foreign
lands--the slave not only lies forgotten, uncared for, but is trampled under
foot by the very churches of the land. What have we in America? Why, we have
slavery made part of the religion of the land. Yes, the pulpit there stands up
as the great defender of this cursed institution, as it is called. Ministers of
religion come forward and torture the hallowed pages of inspired wisdom to
sanction the bloody deed. They stand forth as the foremost, the strongest
defenders of this "institution." As a proof of this, I need not do
more than state the general fact, that slavery has existed under the droppings
of the sanctuary of the south for the last two hundred years, and there has not
been any war between the religion and the slavery of the south. Whips, chains,
gags, and thumb-screws have all lain under the droppings of the sanctuary, and
instead of rusting from off the limbs of the bondman, those droppings have
served to preserve them in all their strength. Instead of preaching the gospel against
this tyranny, rebuke, and wrong, ministers of religion have sought, by all and
every means, to throw in the back-ground whatever in the bible could be
construed into opposition to slavery, and to bring forward that which they
could torture into its support. This I conceive to be the darkest feature of
slavery, and the most difficult to attack, because it is identified with
religion, and exposes those who denounce it to the charge of infidelity. Yes,
those with whom I have been laboring, namely, the old organization anti-slavery
society of America, have been again and again stigmatized as infidels, and for
what reason? Why, solely in consequence of the faithfulness of their attacks
upon the slaveholding religion of the southern states, and the northern
religion that sympathizes with it. I have found it difficult to speak on this
matter without persons coming forward and saying, "Douglass, are you not
afraid of injuring the cause of Christ? You do not desire to do so, we know;
but are you not undermining religion?" This has been said to me again and
again, even since I came to this country, but I cannot be induced to leave off
these exposures. I love the religion of our blessed Savior. I love that
religion that comes from above, in the "wisdom of God, which is first
pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good
fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy. I love that religion that
sends its votaries to bind up the wounds of him that has fallen among thieves.
I love that religion that makes it the duty of its disciples to visit the
father less and the widow in their affliction. I love that religion that is
based upon the glorious principle, of love to God and love to man; which makes
its followers do unto others as they themselves would be done by. If you demand
liberty to yourself, it says, grant it to your neighbors. If you claim a right
to think for yourself, it says, allow your neighbors the same right. If you
claim to act for yourself, it says, allow your neighbors the same right. It is
because I love this religion that I hate the slaveholding, the woman-whipping,
the mind-darkening, the soul-destroying religion that exists in the southern
states of America. It is because I regard the one as good, and pure, and holy,
that I cannot but regard the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. Loving the one
I must hate the other; holding to the one I must reject the other.
I may be asked, why I
am so anxious to bring this subject before the British public--why I do not
confine my efforts to the United States? My answer is, first, that slavery is
the common enemy of mankind, and all mankind should be made acquainted with its
abominable character. My next answer is, that the slave is a man, and, as such,
is entitled to your sympathy as a brother. All the feelings, all the
susceptibilities, all the capacities, which you have, he has. He is a part of
the human family. He has been the prey--the common prey--of Christendom for the
last three hundred years, and it is but right, it is but just, it is but
proper, that his wrongs should be known throughout the world. I have another
reason for bringing this matter before the British public, and it is this:
slavery is a system of wrong, so blinding to all around, so hardening to the
heart, so corrupting to the morals, so deleterious to religion, so sapping to
all the principles of justice in its immediate vicinity, that the community
surrounding it lack the moral stamina necessary to its removal. It is a system
of such gigantic evil, so strong, so overwhelming in its power, that no one
nation is equal to its removal. It requires the humanity of Christianity, the
morality of the world to remove it. Hence, I call upon the people of Britain to
look at this matter, and to exert the influence I am about to show they
possess, for the removal of slavery from America. I can appeal to them, as
strongly by their regard for the slaveholder as for the slave, to labor in this
cause. I am here, because you have an influence on America that no other nation
can have. You have been drawn together by the power of steam to a marvelous
extent; the distance between London and Boston is now reduced to some twelve or
fourteen days, so that the denunciations against slavery, uttered in London
this week, may be heard in a fortnight in the streets of Boston, and
reverberating amidst the hills of Massachusetts. There is nothing said here
against slavery that will not be recorded in the United States. I am here,
also, because the slaveholders do not want me to be here; they would rather
that I were not here. I have adopted a maxim laid down by Napoleon, never to
occupy ground which the enemy would like me to occupy. The slaveholders would
much rather have me, if I will denounce slavery, denounce it in the northern
states, where their friends and supporters are, who will stand by and mob me
for denouncing it. They feel something as the man felt, when he uttered his
prayer, in which he made out a most horrible case for himself, and one of his
neighbors touched him and said, "My friend, I always had the opinion of
you that you have now expressed for yourself--that you are a very great
sinner." Coming from himself, it was all very well, but coming from a
stranger it was rather cutting. The slaveholders felt that when slavery was denounced
among themselves, it was not so bad; but let one of the slaves get loose, let
him summon the people of Britain, and make known to them the conduct of the
slaveholders toward their slaves, and it cuts them to the quick, and produces a
sensation such as would be produced by nothing else. The power I exert now is
something like the power that is exerted by the man at the end of the lever; my
influence now is just in proportion to the distance that I am from the United
States. My exposure of slavery abroad will tell more upon the hearts and
consciences of slaveholders, than if I was attacking them in America; for
almost every paper that I now receive from the United States, comes teeming
with statements about this fugitive Negro, calling him a "glib-tongued
scoundrel," and saying that he is running out against the institutions and
people of America. I deny the charge that I am saying a word against the
institutions of America, or the people, as such. What I have to say is against
slavery and slaveholders. I feel at liberty to speak on this subject. I have on
my back the marks of the lash; I have four sisters and one brother now under
the galling chain. I feel it my duty to cry aloud and spare not. I am not
averse to having the good opinion of my fellow creatures. I am not averse to
being kindly regarded by all men; but I am bound, even at the hazard of making
a large class of religionists in this country hate me, oppose me, and malign me
as they have done--I am bound by the prayers, and tears, and entreaties of
three millions of kneeling bondsmen, to have no compromise with men who are in
any shape or form connected with the slaveholders of America. I expose slavery
in this country, because to expose it is to kill it. Slavery is one of those
monsters of darkness to whom the light of truth is death. Expose slavery, and
it dies. Light is to slavery what the heat of the sun is to the root of a tree;
it must die under it. All the slaveholder asks of me is silence. He does not
ask me to go abroad and preach in favor of slavery; he does not ask any one to
do that. He would not say that slavery is a good thing, but the best under the
circumstances. The slaveholders want total darkness on the subject. They want
the hatchway shut down, that the monster may crawl in his den of darkness,
crushing human hopes and happiness, destroying the bondman at will, and having
no one to reprove or rebuke him. Slavery shrinks from the light; it hateth the
light, neither cometh to the light, lest its deeds should be reproved. To tear off
the mask from this abominable system, to expose it to the light of heaven, aye,
to the heat of the sun, that it may burn and wither it out of existence, is my
object in coming to this country. I want the slaveholder surrounded, as by a
wall of anti-slavery fire, so that he may see the condemnation of himself and
his system glaring down in letters of light. I want him to feel that he has no
sympathy in England, Scotland, or Ireland; that he has none in Canada, none in
Mexico, none among the poor wild Indians; that the voice of the civilized, aye,
and savage world is against him. I would have condemnation blaze down upon him
in every direction, till, stunned and overwhelmed with shame and confusion, he
is compelled to let go the grasp he holds upon the persons of his victims, and
restore them to their long-lost rights.
DR. CAMPBELL'S REPLY.
From Rev. Dr.
Campbell's brilliant reply we extract the following:
FREDERICK DOUGLASS, the
beast of burden," the portion of "goods and chattels," the
representative of three millions of men, has been raised up! Shall I say the
man? If there is a man on earth, he is a man. My blood boiled within me when I
heard his address tonight, and thought that he had left behind him three
millions of such men.
We must see more of
this man; we must have more of this man. One would have taken a voyage round
the globe some forty years back--especially since the introduction of steam--to
have heard such an exposure of slavery from the lips of a slave. It will be an era
in the individual history of the present assembly. Our children--our boys and
girls--I have tonight seen the delightful sympathy of their hearts evinced by
their heaving breasts, while their eyes sparkled with wonder and admiration,
that this black man--this slave--had so much logic, so much wit, so much fancy,
so much eloquence. He was something more than a man, according to their little
notions. Then, I say, we must hear him again. We have got a purpose to
accomplish. He has appealed to the pulpit of England. The English pulpit is
with him. He has appealed to the press of England; the press of England is
conducted by English hearts, and that press will do him justice. About ten days
hence, and his second master, who may well prize "such a piece of goods,"
will have the pleasure of reading his burning words, and his first master will
bless himself that he has got quit of him. We have to create public opinion, or
rather, not to create it, for it is created already; but we have to foster it;
and when tonight I heard those magnificent words--the words of Curran, by which
my heart, from boyhood, has ofttimes been deeply moved--I rejoice to think that
they embody an instinct of an Englishman's nature. I heard, with inexpressible
delight, how they told on this mighty mass of the citizens of the metropolis.
Britain has now no
slaves; we can therefore talk to the other nations now, as we could not have
talked a dozen years ago. I want the whole of the London ministry to meet
Douglass. For as his appeal is to England, and throughout England, I should
rejoice in the idea of churchmen and dissenters merging all sectional
distinctions in this cause. Let us have a public breakfast. Let the ministers
meet him; let them hear him; let them grasp his hand; and let him enlist their
sympathies on behalf of the slave. Let him inspire them with abhorrence of the
man-stealer--the slaveholder. No slaveholding American shall ever my cross my
door. No slaveholding or slavery-supporting minister shall ever pollute my
pulpit. While I have a tongue to speak, or a hand to write, I will, to the
utmost of my power, oppose these slaveholding men. We must have Douglass
amongst us to aid in fostering public opinion.
The great conflict with
slavery must now take place in America; and while they are adding other slave
states to the Union, our business is to step forward and help the abolitionists
there. It is a pleasing circumstance that such a body of men has risen in
America, and whilst we hurl our thunders against her slavers, let us make a
distinction between those who advocate slavery and those who oppose it. George
Thompson has been there. This man, Frederick Douglass, has been there, and has
been compelled to flee. I wish, when he first set foot on our shores, he had
made a solemn vow, and said, "Now that I am free, and in the sanctuary of
freedom, I will never return till I have seen the emancipation of my country
completed." He wants to surround these men, the slaveholders, as by a wall
of fire; and he himself may do much toward kindling it. Let him travel over the
island--east, west, north, and south--everywhere diffusing knowledge and
awakening principle, till the whole nation become a body of petitioners to
America. He will, he must, do it. He must for a season make England his home.
He must send for his wife. He must send for his children. I want to see the
sons and daughters of such a sire. We, too, must do something for him and them
worthy of the English name. I do not like the idea of a man of such mental
dimensions, such moral courage, and all but incomparable talent, having his own
small wants, and the wants of a distant wife and children, supplied by the poor
profits of his publication, the sketch of his life. Let the pamphlet be bought
by tens of thousands. But we will do something more for him, shall we not?
It only remains that we
pass a resolution of thanks to Frederick Douglass, the slave that was, the man
that is! He that was covered with chains, and that is now being covered with
glory, and whom we will send back a gentleman.
SIR--The long and
intimate, though by no means friendly, relation which unhappily subsisted
between you and myself, leads me to hope that you will easily account for the
great liberty which I now take in addressing you in this open and public
manner. The same fact may remove any disagreeable surprise which you may
experience on again finding your name coupled with mine, in any other way than in
an advertisement, accurately describing my person, and offering a large sum for
my arrest. In thus dragging you again before the public, I am aware that I
shall subject myself to no inconsiderable amount of censure. I shall probably
be charged with an unwarrantable, if not a wanton and reckless disregard of the
rights and properties of private life. There are those north as well as south
who entertain a much higher respect for rights which are merely conventional,
than they do for rights which are personal and essential. Not a few there are
in our country, who, while they have no scruples against robbing the laborer of
the hard earned results of his patient industry, will be shocked by the
extremely indelicate manner of bringing your name before the public. Believing
this to be the case, and wishing to meet every reasonable or plausible
objection to my conduct, I will frankly state the ground upon which I justify
myself in this instance, as well as on former occasions when I have thought
proper to mention your name in public. All will agree that a man guilty of
theft, robbery, or murder, has forfeited the right to concealment and private
life; that the community have a right to subject such persons to the most
complete exposure. However much they may desire retirement, and aim to conceal
themselves and their movements from the popular gaze, the public have a right
to ferret them out, and bring their conduct before the proper tribunals of the
country for investigation. Sir, you will undoubtedly make the proper application
of these generally admitted principles, and will easily see the light in which
you are regarded by me; I will not therefore manifest ill temper, by calling
you hard names. I know you to be a man of some intelligence, and can readily
determine the precise estimate which I entertain of your character. I may
therefore indulge in language which may seem to others indirect and ambiguous,
and yet be quite well understood by yourself.
I have selected this
day on which to address you, because it is the anniversary of my emancipation;
and knowing no better way, I am led to this as the best mode of celebrating
that truly important events. Just ten years ago this beautiful September
morning, yon bright sun beheld me a slave--a poor degraded chattel--trembling
at the sound of your voice, lamenting that I was a man, and wishing myself a
brute. The hopes which I had treasured up for weeks of a safe and successful
escape from your grasp, were powerfully confronted at this last hour by dark
clouds of doubt and fear, making my person shake and my bosom to heave with the
heavy contest between hope and fear. I have no words to describe to you the
deep agony of soul which I experienced on that never-to-be-forgotten
morning--for I left by daylight. I was making a leap in the dark. The
probabilities, so far as I could by reason determine them, were stoutly against
the undertaking. The preliminaries and precautions I had adopted previously,
all worked badly. I was like one going to war without weapons--ten chances of defeat
to one of victory. One in whom I had confided, and one who had promised me
assistance, appalled by fear at the trial hour, deserted me, thus leaving the
responsibility of success or failure solely with myself. You, sir, can never
know my feelings. As I look back to them, I can scarcely realize that I have
passed through a scene so trying. Trying, however, as they were, and gloomy as
was the prospect, thanks be to the Most High, who is ever the God of the
oppressed, at the moment which was to determine my whole earthly career, His
grace was sufficient; my mind was made up. I embraced the golden opportunity,
took the morning tide at the flood, and a free man, young, active, and strong,
is the result.
I have often thought I
should like to explain to you the grounds upon which I have justified myself in
running away from you. I am almost ashamed to do so now, for by this time you
may have discovered them yourself. I will, however, glance at them. When yet
but a child about six years old, I imbibed the determination to run away. The
very first mental effort that I now remember on my part, was an attempt to
solve the mystery--why am I a slave? and with this question my youthful mind
was troubled for many days, pressing upon me more heavily at times than others.
When I saw the slave-driver whip a slave-woman, cut the blood out of her neck,
and heard her piteous cries, I went away into the corner of the fence, wept and
pondered over the mystery. I had, through some medium, I know not what, got
some idea of God, the Creator of all mankind, the black and the white, and that
he had made the blacks to serve the whites as slaves. How he could do this and
be good, I could not tell. I was not satisfied with this theory, which made God
responsible for slavery, for it pained me greatly, and I have wept over it long
and often. At one time, your first wife, Mrs. Lucretia, heard me sighing and
saw me shedding tears, and asked of me the matter, but I was afraid to tell
her. I was puzzled with this question, till one night while sitting in the
kitchen, I heard some of the old slaves talking of their parents having been
stolen from Africa by white men, and were sold here as slaves. The whole
mystery was solved at once. Very soon after this, my Aunt Jinny and Uncle Noah
ran away, and the great noise made about it by your father-in-law, made me for
the first time acquainted with the fact, that there were free states as well as
slave states. From that time, I resolved that I would some day run away. The
morality of the act I dispose of as follows: I am myself; you are yourself; we
are two distinct persons, equal persons. What you are, I am. You are a man, and
so am I. God created both, and made us separate beings. I am not by nature bond
to you, or you to me. Nature does not make your existence depend upon me, or
mine to depend upon yours. I cannot walk upon your legs, or you upon mine. I
cannot breathe for you, or you for me; I must breathe for myself, and you for
yourself. We are distinct persons, and are each equally provided with faculties
necessary to our individual existence. In leaving you, I took nothing but what
belonged to me, and in no way lessened your means for obtaining an honest
living. Your faculties remained yours, and mine became useful to their rightful
owner. I therefore see no wrong in any part of the transaction. It is true, I
went off secretly; but that was more your fault than mine. Had I let you into
the secret, you would have defeated the enterprise entirely; but for this, I
should have been really glad to have made you acquainted with my intentions to
leave.
You may perhaps want to
know how I like my present condition. I am free to say, I greatly prefer it to
that which I occupied in Maryland. I am, however, by no means prejudiced
against the state as such. Its geography, climate, fertility, and products, are
such as to make it a very desirable abode for any man; and but for the
existence of slavery there, it is not impossible that I might again take up my
abode in that state. It is not that I love Maryland less, but freedom more. You
will be surprised to learn that people at the north labor under the strange
delusion that if the slaves were emancipated at the south, they would flock to
the north. So far from this being the case, in that event, you would see many
old and familiar faces back again to the south. The fact is, there are few here
who would not return to the south in the event of emancipation. We want to live
in the land of our birth, and to lay our bones by the side of our fathers; and
nothing short of an intense love of personal freedom keeps us from the south.
For the sake of this, most of us would live on a crust of bread and a cup of
cold water.
Since I left you, I
have had a rich experience. I have occupied stations which I never dreamed of
when a slave. Three out of the ten years since I left you, I spent as a common
laborer on the wharves of New Bedford, Massachusetts. It was there I earned my
first free dollar. It was mine. I could spend it as I pleased. I could buy hams
or herring with it, without asking any odds of anybody. That was a precious
dollar to me. You remember when I used to make seven, or eight, or even nine
dollars a week in Baltimore, you would take every cent of it from me every
Saturday night, saying that I belonged to you, and my earnings also. I never
liked this conduct on your part--to say the best, I thought it a little mean. I
would not have served you so. But let that pass. I was a little awkward about
counting money in New England fashion when I first landed in New Bedford. I
came near betraying myself several times. I caught myself saying phip, for
fourpence; and at one time a man actually charged me with being a runaway,
whereupon I was silly enough to become one by running away from him, for I was
greatly afraid he might adopt measures to get me again into slavery, a
condition I then dreaded more than death.
I soon learned,
however, to count money, as well as to make it, and got on swimmingly. I
married soon after leaving you; in fact, I was engaged to be married before I
left you; and instead of finding my companion a burden, she was truly a
helpmate. She went to live at service, and I to work on the wharf, and though
we toiled hard the first winter, we never lived more happily. After remaining
in New Bedford for three years, I met with William Lloyd Garrison, a person of
whom you have possibly heard, as he is pretty generally known among
slaveholders. He put it into my head that I might make myself serviceable to
the cause of the slave, by devoting a portion of my time to telling my own
sorrows, and those of other slaves, which had come under my observation. This
was the commencement of a higher state of existence than any to which I had
ever aspired. I was thrown into society the most pure, enlightened, and
benevolent, that the country affords. Among these I have never forgotten you,
but have invariably made you the topic of conversation--thus giving you all the
notoriety I could do. I need not tell you that the opinion formed of you in
these circles is far from being favorable. They have little respect for your
honesty, and less for your religion.
But I was going on to
relate to you something of my interesting experience. I had not long enjoyed
the excellent society to which I have referred, before the light of its excellence
exerted a beneficial influence on my mind and heart. Much of my early dislike
of white persons was removed, and their manners, habits, and customs, so
entirely unlike what I had been used to in the kitchen-quarters on the
plantations of the south, fairly charmed me, and gave me a strong disrelish for
the coarse and degrading customs of my former condition. I therefore made an
effort so to improve my mind and deportment, as to be somewhat fitted to the
station to which I seemed almost providentially called. The transition from
degradation to respectability was indeed great, and to get from one to the
other without carrying some marks of one's former condition, is truly a
difficult matter. I would not have you think that I am now entirely clear of all
plantation peculiarities, but my friends here, while they entertain the
strongest dislike to them, regard me with that charity to which my past life
somewhat entitles me, so that my condition in this respect is exceedingly
pleasant. So far as my domestic affairs are concerned, I can boast of as
comfortable a dwelling as your own. I have an industrious and neat companion,
and four dear children--the oldest a girl of nine years, and three fine boys,
the oldest eight, the next six, and the youngest four years old. The three
oldest are now going regularly to school--two can read and write, and the other
can spell, with tolerable correctness, words of two syllables. Dear fellows!
they are all in comfortable beds, and are sound asleep, perfectly secure under
my own roof. There are no slaveholders here to rend my heart by snatching them
from my arms, or blast a mother's dearest hopes by tearing them from her bosom.
These dear children are ours--not to work up into rice, sugar, and tobacco, but
to watch over, regard, and protect, and to rear them up in the nurture and
admonition of the gospel--to train them up in the paths of wisdom and virtue,
and, as far as we can, to make them useful to the world and to themselves. Oh!
sir, a slaveholder never appears to me so completely an agent of hell, as when
I think of and look upon my dear children. It is then that my feelings rise
above my control. I meant to have said more with respect to my own prosperity
and happiness, but thoughts and feel ings which this recital has quickened,
unfit me to proceed further in that direction. The grim horrors of slavery rise
in all their ghastly terror before me; the wails of millions pierce my heart
and chill my blood. I remember the chain, the gag, the bloody whip; the
death-like gloom overshadowing the broken spirit of the fettered bondman; the
appalling liability of his being torn away from wife and children, and sold
like a beast in the market. Say not that this is a picture of fancy. You well
know that I wear stripes on my back, inflicted by your direction; and that you,
while we were brothers in the same church, caused this right hand, with which I
am now penning this letter, to be closely tied to my left, and my person
dragged, at the pistol's mouth, fifteen miles, from the Bay Side to Easton, to
be sold like a beast in the market, for the alleged crime of intending to
escape from your possession. All this, and more, you remember, and know to be
perfectly true, not only of yourself, but of nearly all of the slaveholders
around you.
At this moment, you are
probably the guilty holder of at least three of my own dear sisters, and my
only brother, in bondage. These you regard as your property. They are recorded
on your ledger, or perhaps have been sold to human flesh-mongers, with a view to
filling our own ever-hungry purse. Sir, I desire to know how and where these
dear sisters are. Have you sold them? or are they still in your possession?
What has become of them? are they living or dead? And my dear old grandmother,
whom you turned out like an old horse to die in the woods--is she still alive?
Write and let me know all about them. If my grandmother be still alive, she is
of no service to you, for by this time she must be nearly eighty years old--too
old to be cared for by one to whom she has ceased to be of service; send her to
me at Rochester, or bring her to Philadelphia, and it shall be the crowning
happiness of my life to take care of her in her old age. Oh! she was to me a
mother and a father, so far as hard toil for my comfort could make her such.
Send me my grandmother! that I may watch over and take care of her in her old
age. And my sisters--let me know all about them. I would write to them, and
learn all I want to know of them, without disturbing you in any way, but that,
through your unrighteous conduct, they have been entirely deprived of the power
to read and write. You have kept them in utter ignorance, and have therefore
robbed them of the sweet enjoyments of writing or receiving letters from absent
friends and relatives. Your wickedness and cruelty, committed in this respect
on your fellow-creatures, are greater than all the stripes you have laid upon
my back or theirs. It is an outrage upon the soul, a war upon the immortal
spirit, and one for which you must give account at the bar of our common Father
and Creator.
The responsibility
which you have assumed in this regard is truly awful, and how you could stagger
under it these many years is marvelous. Your mind must have become darkened,
your heart hardened, your conscience seared and petrified, or you would have
long since thrown off the accursed load, and sought relief at the hands of a
sin-forgiving God. How, let me ask, would you look upon me, were I, some dark
night, in company with a band of hardened villains, to enter the precincts of
your elegant dwelling, and seize the person of your own lovely daughter,
Amanda, and carry her off from your family, friends, and all the loved ones of
her youth--make her my slave--compel her to work, and I take her wages--place
her name on my ledger as property--disregard her personal rights--fetter the
powers of her immortal soul by denying her the right and privilege of learning
to read and write--feed her coarsely--clothe her scantily, and whip her on the
naked back occasionally; more, and still more horrible, leave her
unprotected--a degraded victim to the brutal lust of fiendish overseers, who
would pollute, blight, and blast her fair soul--rob her of all dignity--destroy
her virtue, and annihilate in her person all the graces that adorn the
character of virtuous womanhood? I ask, how would you regard me, if such were
my conduct? Oh! the vocabulary of the damned would not afford a word
sufficiently infernal to express your idea of my God-provoking wickedness. Yet,
sir, your treatment of my beloved sisters is in all essential points precisely
like the case I have now supposed. Damning as would be such a deed on my part,
it would be no more so than that which you have committed against me and my
sisters.
I will now bring this
letter to a close; you shall hear from me again unless you let me hear from
you. I intend to make use of you as a weapon with which to assail the system of
slavery--as a means of concentrating public attention on the system, and
deepening the horror of trafficking in the souls and bodies of men. I shall
make use of you as a means of exposing the character of the American church and
clergy--and as a means of bringing this guilty nation, with yourself, to
repentance. In doing this, I entertain no malice toward you personally. There
is no roof under which you would be more safe than mine, and there is nothing
in my house which you might need for your comfort, which I would not readily
grant. Indeed, I should esteem it a privilege to set you an example as to how
mankind ought to treat each other.
I am your fellow-man,
but not your slave.
More than twenty years
of my life were consumed in a state of slavery. My childhood was environed by
the baneful peculiarities of the slave system. I grew up to manhood in the presence
of this hydra headed monster--not as a master--not as an idle spectator--not as
the guest of the slaveholder--but as A SLAVE, eating the bread and drinking the
cup of slavery with the most degraded of my brother-bondmen, and sharing with
them all the painful conditions of their wretched lot. In consideration of
these facts, I feel that I have a right to speak, and to speak strongly. Yet,
my friends, I feel bound to speak truly.
Goading as have been
the cruelties to which I have been subjected--bitter as have been the trials
through which I have passed--exasperating as have been, and still are, the
indignities offered to my manhood--I find in them no excuse for the slightest
departure from truth in dealing with any branch of this subject.
First of all, I will
state, as well as I can, the legal and social relation of master and slave. A
master is one--to speak in the vocabulary of the southern states--who claims
and exercises a right of property in the person of a fellow-man. This he does
with the force of the law and the sanction of southern religion. The law gives
the master absolute power over the slave. He may work him, flog him, hire him
out, sell him, and, in certain contingencies, kill him, with perfect impunity.
The slave is a human being, divested of all rights--reduced to the level of a
brute--a mere "chattel" in the eye of the law--placed beyond the
circle of human brotherhood--cut off from his kind--his name, which the
"recording angel" may have enrolled in heaven, among the blest, is
impiously inserted in a master's ledger, with horses, sheep, and swine. In law,
the slave has no wife, no children, no country, and no home. He can own
nothing, possess nothing, acquire nothing, but what must belong to another. To
eat the fruit of his own toil, to clothe his person with the work of his own
hands, is considered stealing. He toils that another may reap the fruit; he is
industrious that another may live in idleness; he eats unbolted meal that
another may eat the bread of fine flour; he labors in chains at home, under a
burning sun and biting lash, that another may ride in ease and splendor abroad;
he lives in ignorance that another may be educated; he is abused that another
may be exalted; he rests his toil-worn limbs on the cold, damp ground that another
may repose on the softest pillow; he is clad in coarse and tattered raiment
that another may be arrayed in purple and fine linen; he is sheltered only by
the wretched hovel that a master may dwell in a magnificent mansion; and to
this condition he is bound down as by an arm of iron.
From this monstrous
relation there springs an unceasing stream of most revolting cruelties. The
very accompaniments of the slave system stamp it as the offspring of hell
itself. To ensure good behavior, the slaveholder relies on the whip; to induce
proper humility, he relies on the whip; to rebuke what he is pleased to term
insolence, he relies on the whip; to supply the place of wages as an incentive
to toil, he relies on the whip; to bind down the spirit of the slave, to
imbrute and destroy his manhood, he relies on the whip, the chain, the gag, the
thumb-screw, the pillory, the bowie knife the pistol, and the blood-hound.
These are the necessary and unvarying accompaniments of the system. Wherever
slavery is found, these horrid instruments are also found. Whether on the coast
of Africa, among the savage tribes, or in South Carolina, among the refined and
civilized, slavery is the same, and its accompaniments one and the same. It
makes no difference whether the slaveholder worships the God of the Christians,
or is a follower of Mahomet, he is the minister of the same cruelty, and the
author of the same misery. Slavery is always slavery; always the same foul,
haggard, and damning scourge, whether found in the eastern or in the western
hemisphere.
There is a still deeper
shade to be given to this picture. The physical cruelties are indeed
sufficiently harassing and revolting; but they are as a few grains of sand on
the sea shore, or a few drops of water in the great ocean, compared with the
stupendous wrongs which it inflicts upon the mental, moral, and religious
nature of its hapless victims. It is only when we contemplate the slave as a
moral and intellectual being, that we can adequately comprehend the
unparalleled enormity of slavery, and the intense criminality of the
slaveholder. I have said that the slave was a man. "What a piece of work
is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving how
express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a
God! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!"
The slave is a man,
"the image of God," but "a little lower than the angels;"
possessing a soul, eternal and indestructible; capable of endless happiness, or
immeasurable woe; a creature of hopes and fears, of affections and passions, of
joys and sorrows, and he is endowed with those mysterious powers by which man
soars above the things of time and sense, and grasps, with undying tenacity,
the elevating and sublimely glorious idea of a God. It is such a being that is
smitten and blasted. The first work of slavery is to mar and deface those
characteristics of its victims which distinguish men from things, and persons
from property. Its first aim is to destroy all sense of high moral and
religious responsibility. It reduces man to a mere machine. It cuts him off
from his Maker, it hides from him the laws of God, and leaves him to grope his
way from time to eternity in the dark, under the arbitrary and despotic control
of a frail, depraved, and sinful fellow-man. As the serpent-charmer of India is
compelled to extract the deadly teeth of his venomous prey before he is able to
handle him with impunity, so the slaveholder must strike down the conscience of
the slave before he can obtain the entire mastery over his victim.
It is, then, the first
business of the enslaver of men to blunt, deaden, and destroy the central
principle of human responsibility. Conscience is, to the individual soul, and
to society, what the law of gravitation is to the universe. It holds society
together; it is the basis of all trust and confidence; it is the pillar of all
moral rectitude. Without it, suspicion would take the place of trust; vice
would be more than a match for virtue; men would prey upon each other, like the
wild beasts of the desert; and earth would become a hell.
Nor is slavery more
adverse to the conscience than it is to the mind. This is shown by the fact,
that in every state of the American Union, where slavery exists, except the
state of Kentucky, there are laws absolutely prohibitory of education among the
slaves. The crime of teaching a slave to read is punishable with severe fines
and imprisonment, and, in some instances, with death itself.
Nor are the laws
respecting this matter a dead letter. Cases may occur in which they are
disregarded, and a few instances may be found where slaves may have learned to
read; but such are isolated cases, and only prove the rule. The great mass of
slaveholders look upon education among the slaves as utterly subversive of the
slave system. I well remember when my mistress first announced to my master
that she had dis covered that I could read. His face colored at once with
surprise and chagrin. He said that "I was ruined, and my value as a slave
destroyed; that a slave should know nothing but to obey his master; that to
give a negro an inch would lead him to take an ell; that having learned how to
read, I would soon want to know how to write; and that by-and-by I would be
running away." I think my audience will bear witness to the correctness of
this philosophy, and to the literal fulfillment of this prophecy.
It is perfectly well
understood at the south, that to educate a slave is to make him discontented
with slavery, and to invest him with a power which shall open to him the
treasures of freedom; and since the object of the slaveholder is to maintain
complete authority over his slave, his constant vigilance is exercised to
prevent everything which militates against, or endangers, the stability of his
authority. Education being among the menacing influences, and, perhaps, the
most dangerous, is, therefore, the most cautiously guarded against.
It is true that we do
not often hear of the enforcement of the law, punishing as a crime the teaching
of slaves to read, but this is not because of a want of disposition to enforce
it. The true reason or explanation of the matter is this: there is the greatest
unanimity of opinion among the white population in the south in favor of the
policy of keeping the slave in ignorance. There is, perhaps, another reason why
the law against education is so seldom violated. The slave is too poor to be
able to offer a temptation sufficiently strong to induce a white man to violate
it; and it is not to be supposed that in a community where the moral and
religious sentiment is in favor of slavery, many martyrs will be found
sacrificing their liberty and lives by violating those prohibitory enactments.
As a general rule,
then, darkness reigns over the abodes of the enslaved, and "how great is
that darkness!"
We are sometimes told
of the contentment of the slaves, and are entertained with vivid pictures of
their happiness. We are told that they often dance and sing; that their masters
frequently give them wherewith to make merry; in fine, that they have little of
which to complain. I admit that the slave does sometimes sing, dance, and appear
to be merry. But what does this prove? It only proves to my mind, that though
slavery is armed with a thousand stings, it is not able entirely to kill the
elastic spirit of the bondman. That spirit will rise and walk abroad, despite
of whips and chains, and extract from the cup of nature occasional drops of joy
and gladness. No thanks to the slaveholder, nor to slavery, that the vivacious
captive may sometimes dance in his chains; his very mirth in such circumstances
stands before God as an accusing angel against his enslaver.
It is often said, by
the opponents of the anti-slavery cause, that the condition of the people of
Ireland is more deplorable than that of the American slaves. Far be it from me
to underrate the sufferings of the Irish people. They have been long oppressed;
and the same heart that prompts me to plead the cause of the American bondman,
makes it impossible for me not to sympathize with the oppressed of all lands.
Yet I must say that there is no analogy between the two cases. The Irishman is
poor, but he is not a slave. He may be in rags, but he is not a slave. He is
still the master of his own body, and can say with the poet, "The hand of
Douglass is his own." "The world is all before him, where to
choose;" and poor as may be my opinion of the British parliament, I cannot
believe that it will ever sink to such a depth of infamy as to pass a law for
the recapture of fugitive Irishmen! The shame and scandal of kidnapping will
long remain wholly monopolized by the American congress. The Irishman has not
only the liberty to emigrate from his country, but he has liberty at home. He
can write, and speak, and cooperate for the attainment of his rights and the
redress of his wrongs.
The multitude can
assemble upon all the green hills and fertile plains of the Emerald Isle; they
can pour out their grievances, and proclaim their wants without molestation;
and the press, that "swift-winged messenger," can bear the tidings of
their doings to the extreme bounds of the civilized world. They have their
"Conciliation Hall," on the banks of the Liffey, their reform clubs,
and their newspapers; they pass resolutions, send forth addresses, and enjoy
the right of petition. But how is it with the American slave? Where may he
assemble? Where is his Conciliation Hall? Where are his newspapers? Where is
his right of petition? Where is his freedom of speech? his liberty of the
press? and his right of locomotion? He is said to be happy; happy men can
speak. But ask the slave what is his condition--what his state of mind--what he
thinks of enslavement? and you had as well address your inquiries to the silent
dead. There comes no voice from the enslaved. We are left to gather his
feelings by imagining what ours would be, were our souls in his soul's stead.
If there were no other
fact descriptive of slavery, than that the slave is dumb, this alone would be
sufficient to mark the slave system as a grand aggregation of human horrors.
Most who are present,
will have observed that leading men in this country have been putting forth
their skill to secure quiet to the nation. A system of measures to promote this
object was adopted a few months ago in congress. The result of those measures
is known. Instead of quiet, they have produced alarm; instead of peace, they
have brought us war; and so it must ever be.
While this nation is
guilty of the enslavement of three millions of innocent men and women, it is as
idle to think of having a sound and lasting peace, as it is to think there is
no God to take cognizance of the affairs of men. There can be no peace to the
wicked while slavery continues in the land. It will be condemned; and while it
is condemned there will be agitation. Nature must cease to be nature; men must
become monsters; humanity must be transformed; Christianity must be
exterminated; all ideas of justice and the laws of eternal goodness must be
utterly blotted out from the human soul--ere a system so foul and infernal can
escape condemnation, or this guilty republic can have a sound, enduring peace.
The relation of master
and slave has been called patriarchal, and only second in benignity and
tenderness to that of the parent and child. This representation is doubtless believed
by many northern people; and this may account, in part, for the lack of
interest which we find among persons whom we are bound to believe to be honest
and humane. What, then, are the facts? Here I will not quote my own experience
in slavery; for this you might call one-sided testimony. I will not cite the
declarations of abolitionists; for these you might pronounce exaggerations. I
will not rely upon advertisements cut from newspapers; for these you might call
isolated cases. But I will refer you to the laws adopted by the legislatures of
the slave states. I give you such evidence, because it cannot be invalidated
nor denied. I hold in my hand sundry extracts from the slave codes of our
country, from which I will quote. * * *
Now, if the foregoing be
an indication of kindness, what is cruelty? If this be parental affection, what
is bitter malignity? A more atrocious and blood-thirsty string of laws could
not well be conceived of. And yet I am bound to say that they fall short of
indicating the horrible cruelties constantly practiced in the slave states.
I admit that there are
individual slaveholders less cruel and barbarous than is allowed by law; but
these form the exception. The majority of slaveholders find it necessary, to
insure obedience, at times, to avail themselves of the utmost extent of the
law, and many go beyond it. If kindness were the rule, we should not see
advertisements filling the columns of almost every southern newspaper, offering
large rewards for fugitive slaves, and describing them as being branded with
irons, loaded with chains, and scarred by the whip. One of the most telling
testimonies against the pretended kindness of slaveholders, is the fact that
uncounted numbers of fugitives are now inhabiting the Dismal Swamp, preferring
the untamed wilderness to their cultivated homes--choosing rather to encounter
hunger and thirst, and to roam with the wild beasts of the forest, running the
hazard of being hunted and shot down, than to submit to the authority of kind
masters.
I tell you, my friends,
humanity is never driven to such an unnatural course of life, without great
wrong. The slave finds more of the milk of human kindness in the bosom of the
savage Indian, than in the heart of his Christian master. He leaves the man of
the bible, and takes refuge with the man of the tomahawk. He rushes from the
praying slaveholder into the paws of the bear. He quits the homes of men for
the haunts of wolves. He prefers to encounter a life of trial, however bitter,
or death, however terrible, to dragging out his existence under the dominion of
these kind masters.
The apologists for
slavery often speak of the abuses of slavery; and they tell us that they are as
much opposed to those abuses as we are; and that they would go as far to
correct those abuses and to ameliorate the condition of the slave as anybody.
The answer to that view is, that slavery is itself an abuse; that it lives by
abuse; and dies by the absence of abuse. Grant that slavery is right; grant
that the relations of master and slave may innocently exist; and there is not a
single outrage which was ever committed against the slave but what finds an
apology in the very necessity of the case. As we said by a slaveholder (the
Rev. A. G. Few) to the Methodist conference, "If the relation be right,
the means to maintain it are also right;" for without those means slavery
could not exist. Remove the dreadful scourge--the plaited thong--the galling
fetter--the accursed chain--and let the slaveholder rely solely upon moral and
religious power, by which to secure obedience to his orders, and how long do
you suppose a slave would remain on his plantation? The case only needs to be
stated; it carries its own refutation with it.
Absolute and arbitrary
power can never be maintained by one man over the body and soul of another man,
without brutal chastisement and enormous cruelty.
To talk of kindness
entering into a relation in which one party is robbed of wife, of children, of
his hard earnings, of home, of friends, of society, of knowledge, and of all
that makes this life desirable, is most absurd, wicked, and preposterous.
I have shown that
slavery is wicked--wicked, in that it violates the great law of liberty,
written on every human heart--wicked, in that it violates the first command of
the decalogue--wicked, in that it fosters the most disgusting
licentiousness--wicked, in that it mars and defaces the image of God by cruel
and barbarous inflictions--wicked, in that it contravenes the laws of eternal
justice, and tramples in the dust all the humane and heavenly precepts of the
New Testament.
The evils resulting
from this huge system of iniquity are not confined to the states south of Mason
and Dixon's line. Its noxious influence can easily be traced throughout our
northern borders. It comes even as far north as the state of New York. Traces
of it may be seen even in Rochester; and travelers have told me it casts its
gloomy shadows across the lake, approaching the very shores of Queen Victoria's
dominions.
The presence of slavery
may be explained by--as it is the explanation of--the mobocratic violence which
lately disgraced New York, and which still more recently disgraced the city of
Boston. These violent demonstrations, these outrageous invasions of human
rights, faintly indicate the presence and power of slavery here. It is a
significant fact, that while meetings for almost any purpose under heaven may
be held unmolested in the city of Boston, that in the same city, a meeting
cannot be peaceably held for the purpose of preaching the doctrine of the
American Declaration of Independence, "that all men are created
equal." The pestiferous breath of slavery taints the whole moral
atmosphere of the north, and enervates the moral energies of the whole people.
The moment a foreigner
ventures upon our soil, and utters a natural repugnance to oppression, that
moment he is made to feel that there is little sympathy in this land for him.
If he were greeted with smiles before, he meets with frowns now; and it shall
go well with him if he be not subjected to that peculiarly fining method of
showing fealty to slavery, the assaults of a mob.
Now, will any man tell
me that such a state of things is natural, and that such conduct on the part of
the people of the north, springs from a consciousness of rectitude? No! every
fibre of the human heart unites in detestation of tyranny, and it is only when
the human mind has become familiarized with slavery, is accustomed to its
injustice, and corrupted by its selfishness, that it fails to record its abhorrence
of slavery, and does not exult in the triumphs of liberty.
The northern people
have been long connected with slavery; they have been linked to a decaying
corpse, which has destroyed the moral health. The union of the government; the
union of the north and south, in the political parties; the union in the
religious organizations of the land, have all served to deaden the moral sense
of the northern people, and to impregnate them with sentiments and ideas
forever in conflict with what as a nation we call genius of American
institutions. Rightly viewed, this is an alarming fact, and ought to rally all
that is pure, just, and holy in one determined effort to crush the monster of
corruption, and to scatter "its guilty profits" to the winds. In a
high moral sense, as well as in a national sense, the whole American people are
responsible for slavery, and must share, in its guilt and shame, with the most
obdurate men-stealers of the south.
While slavery exists,
and the union of these states endures, every American citizen must bear the
chagrin of hearing his country branded before the world as a nation of liars
and hypocrites; and behold his cherished flag pointed at with the utmost scorn
and derision. Even now an American abroad is pointed out in the crowd, as
coming from a land where men gain their fortunes by "the blood of
souls," from a land of slave markets, of blood-hounds, and slave-hunters;
and, in some circles, such a man is shunned altogether, as a moral pest. Is it
not time, then, for every American to awake, and inquire into his duty with
respect to this subject?
Wendell Phillips--the
eloquent New England orator--on his return from Europe, in 1842, said, "As
I stood upon the shores of Genoa, and saw floating on the placid waters of the
Mediterranean, the beautiful American war ship Ohio, with her masts tapering
proportionately aloft, and an eastern sun reflecting her noble form upon the
sparkling waters, attracting the gaze of the multitude, my first impulse was of
pride, to think myself an American; but when I thought that the first time that
gallant ship would gird on her gorgeous apparel, and wake from beneath her
sides her dormant thunders, it would be in defense of the African slave trade,
I blushed in utter shame for my country."
Let me say again,
slavery is alike the sin and the shame of the American people; it is a blot
upon the American name, and the only national reproach which need make an
American hang his head in shame, in the presence of monarchical governments.
With this gigantic evil
in the land, we are constantly told to look at home; if we say ought against
crowned heads, we are pointed to our enslaved millions; if we talk of sending
missionaries and bibles abroad, we are pointed to three millions now lying in
worse than heathen darkness; if we express a word of sympathy for Kossuth and
his Hungarian fugitive brethren, we are pointed to that horrible and hell-black
enactment, "the fugitive slave bill."
Slavery blunts the edge
of all our rebukes of tyranny abroad--the criticisms that we make upon other
nations, only call forth ridicule, contempt, and scorn. In a word, we are made
a reproach and a by-word to a mocking earth, and we must continue to be so made,
so long as slavery continues to pollute our soil.
We have heard much of
late of the virtue of patriotism, the love of country, &c., and this
sentiment, so natural and so strong, has been impiously appealed to, by all the
powers of human selfishness, to cherish the viper which is stinging our
national life away. In its name, we have been called upon to deepen our infamy
before the world, to rivet the fetter more firmly on the limbs of the enslaved,
and to become utterly insensible to the voice of human woe that is wafted to us
on every southern gale. We have been called upon, in its name, to desecrate our
whole land by the footprints of slave-hunters, and even to engage ourselves in
the horrible business of kidnapping.
I, too, would invoke
the spirit of patriotism; not in a narrow and restricted sense, but, I trust,
with a broad and manly signification; not to cover up our national sins, but to
inspire us with sincere repentance; not to hide our shame from the world's
gaze, but utterly to abolish the cause of that shame; not to explain away our
gross inconsistencies as a nation, but to remove the hateful, jarring, and
incongruous elements from the land; not to sustain an egregious wrong, but to
unite all our energies in the grand effort to remedy that wrong.
I would invoke the
spirit of patriotism, in the name of the law of the living God, natural and
revealed, and in the full belief that "righteousness exalteth a nation,
while sin is a reproach to any people." "He that walketh righteously,
and speaketh uprightly; he that despiseth the gain of oppressions, that shaketh
his hands from the holding of bribes, he shall dwell on high, his place of
defense shall be the munitions of rocks, bread shall be given him, his water
shall be sure."
We have not only heard
much lately of patriotism, and of its aid being invoked on the side of slavery
and injustice, but the very prosperity of this people has been called in to
deafen them to the voice of duty, and to lead them onward in the pathway of
sin. Thus has the blessing of God been converted into a curse. In the spirit of
genuine patriotism, I warn the American people, by all that is just and
honorable, to BEWARE!
I warn them that,
strong, proud, and prosperous though we be, there is a power above us that can
"bring down high looks; at the breath of whose mouth our wealth may take
wings; and before whom every knee shall bow;" and who can tell how soon
the avenging angel may pass over our land, and the sable bondmen now in chains,
may become the instruments of our nation's chastisement! Without appealing to
any higher feeling, I would warn the American people, and the American
government, to be wise in their day and generation. I exhort them to remember
the history of other nations; and I remind them that America cannot always sit
"as a queen," in peace and repose; that prouder and stronger
governments than this have been shattered by the bolts of a just God; that the
time may come when those they now despise and hate, may be needed; when those
whom they now compel by oppression to be enemies, may be wanted as friends.
What has been, may be again. There is a point beyond which human endurance
cannot go. The crushed worm may yet turn under the heel of the oppressor. I
warn them, then, with all solemnity, and in the name of retributive justice, to
look to their ways; for in an evil hour, those sable arms that have, for the
last two centuries, been engaged in cultivating and adorning the fair fields of
our country, may yet become the instruments of terror, desolation, and death,
throughout our borders.
It was the sage of the
Old Dominion that said--while speaking of the possibility of a conflict between
the slaves and the slaveholders--"God has no attribute that could take
sides with the oppressor in such a contest. I tremble for my country when I
reflect that God is just, and that his justice cannot sleep forever." Such
is the warning voice of Thomas Jefferson; and every day's experience since its
utterance until now, confirms its wisdom, and commends its truth.
Fellow-Citizens--Pardon
me, and allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have
I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great
principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that
Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon
to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the
benefits, and express devout gratitude for the blessings, resulting from your
independence to us?
Would to God, both for
your sakes and ours, that an affirmative answer could be truthfully returned to
these questions! Then would my task be light, and my burden easy and delightful.
For who is there so cold that a nation's sympathy could not warm him? Who so
obdurate and dead to the claims of gratitude, that would not thankfully
acknowledge such priceless benefits? Who so stolid and selfish, that would not
give his voice to swell the hallelujahs of a nation's jubilee, when the chains
of servitude had been torn from his limbs? I am not that man. In a case like
that, the dumb might eloquently speak, and the "lame man leap as an
hart."
But, such is not the
state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of the disparity between us. I am
not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary! Your high
independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings
in which you this day rejoice, are not enjoyed in common. The rich inheritance
of justice, liberty, prosperity, and independence, bequeathed by your fathers,
is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought life and healing to you,
has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth of July is yours, not mine.
You may rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand
illuminated temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous anthems,
were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you mean, citizens, to mock me,
by asking me to speak to-day? If so, there is a parallel to your conduct. And
let me warn you that it is dangerous to copy the example of a nation whose
crimes, towering up to heaven, were thrown down by the breath of the Almighty,
burying that nation in irrecoverable ruin! I can to-day take up the plaintive
lament of a peeled and woe-smitten people.
"By the rivers of
Babylon, there we sat down. Yea! we wept when we remembered Zion. We hanged our
harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there, they that carried us away
captive, required of us a song; and they who wasted us required of us mirth,
saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How can we sing the Lord's song in a
strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her
cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my
mouth."
Fellow-citizens, above
your national, tumultous joy, I hear the mournful wail of millions, whose
chains, heavy and grievous yesterday, are to-day rendered more intolerable by
the jubilant shouts that reach them. If I do forget, if I do not faithfully
remember those bleeding children of sorrow this day, "may my right hand
forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!" To
forget them, to pass lightly over their wrongs, and to chime in with the
popular theme, would be treason most scandalous and shocking, and would make me
a reproach before God and the world. My subject, then, fellow-citizens, is
AMERICAN SLAVERY. I shall see this day and its popular characteristics from the
slave's point of view. Standing there, identified with the American bondman,
making his wrongs mine, I do not hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that
the character and conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on
this Fourth of July. Whether we turn to the declarations of the past, or to the
professions of the present, the conduct of the nation seems equally hideous and
revolting. America is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly
binds herself to be false to the future. Standing with God and the crushed and
bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name of humanity which is
outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered, in the name of the
constitution and the bible, which are disregarded and trampled upon, dare to call
in question and to denounce, with all the emphasis I can command, everything
that serves to perpetuate slavery--the great sin and shame of America! "I
will not equivocate; I will not excuse;" I will use the severest language
I can command; and yet not one word shall escape me that any man, whose
judgment is not blinded by prejudice, or who is not at heart a slaveholder,
shall not confess to be right and just.
But I fancy I hear some
one of my audience say, it is just in this circumstance that you and your
brother abolitionists fail to make a favorable impression on the public mind.
Would you argue more, and denounce less, would you persuade more and rebuke
less, your cause would be much more likely to succeed. But, I submit, where all
is plain there is nothing to be argued. What point in the anti-slavery creed
would you have me argue? On what branch of the subject do the people of this
country need light? Must I undertake to prove that the slave is a man? That
point is conceded already. Nobody doubts it. The slaveholders themselves
acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for their government. They acknowledge
it when they punish disobedience on the part of the slave. There are
seventy-two crimes in the state of Virginia, which, if committed by a black man
(no matter how ignorant he be), subject him to the punishment of death; while
only two of these same crimes will subject a white man to the like punishment.
What is this but the acknowledgement that the slave is a moral, intellectual,
and responsible being. The manhood of the slave is conceded. It is admitted in
the fact that southern statute books are covered with enactments forbidding,
under severe fines and penalties, the teaching of the slave to read or write.
When you can point to any such laws, in reference to the beasts of the field,
then I may consent to argue the manhood of the slave. When the dogs in your
streets, when the fowls of the air, when the cattle on your hills, when the
fish of the sea, and the reptiles that crawl, shall be unable to distinguish
the slave from a brute, then will I argue with you that the slave is a man!
For the present, it is
enough to affirm the equal manhood of the Negro race. Is it not astonishing
that, while we are plowing, planting, and reaping, using all kinds of
mechanical tools, erecting houses, constructing bridges, building ships,
working in metals of brass, iron, copper, silver, and gold; that, while we are
reading, writing, and cyphering, acting as clerks, merchants, and secretaries,
having among us lawyers, doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators,
and teachers; that, while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises common to
other men--digging gold in California, capturing the whale in the Pacific,
feeding sheep and cattle on the hillside, living, moving, acting, thinking,
planning, living in families as husbands, wives, and children, and, above all,
confessing and worshiping the Christian's God, and looking hopefully for life
and immortality beyond the grave--we are called upon to prove that we are men!
Would you have me argue
that man is entitled to liberty? that he is the rightful owner of his own body?
You have already declared it. Must I argue the wrongfulness of slavery? Is that
a question for republicans? Is it to be settled by the rules of logic and
argumentation, as a matter beset with great difficulty, involving a doubtful
application of the principle of justice, hard to be understood? How should I
look to-day in the presence of Americans, dividing and subdividing a discourse,
to show that men have a natural right to freedom, speaking of it relatively and
positively, negatively and affirmatively? To do so, would be to make myself
ridiculous, and to offer an insult to your understanding. There is not a man
beneath the canopy of heaven that does not know that slavery is wrong for him.
What! am I to argue
that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob them of their liberty, to work them
without wages, to keep them ignorant of their relations to their fellow-men, to
beat them with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to load their limbs
with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them at auction, to sunder their
families, to knock out their teeth, to burn their flesh, to starve them into
obedience and submission to their masters? Must I argue that a system, thus
marked with blood and stained with pollution, is wrong? No; I will not. I have
better employment for my time and strength than such arguments would imply.
What, then, remains to
be argued? Is it that slavery is not divine; that God did not establish it;
that our doctors of divinity are mistaken? There is blasphemy in the thought.
That which is inhuman cannot be divine. Who can reason on such a proposition!
They that can, may! I cannot. The time for such argument is past.
At a time like this,
scorching irony, not convincing argument, is needed. Oh! had I the ability, and
could I reach the nation's ear, I would to-day pour out a fiery stream of
biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke. For it
is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but
thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of
the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the
propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be
exposed; and its crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced.
What to the American
slave is your Fourth of July? I answer, a day that reveals to him, more than
all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the
constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an
unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of
rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciations of tyrants, brass-fronted
impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers
and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and
solemnity, are to him mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy--a
thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is
not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody, than
are the people of these United States, at this very hour.
Go where you may,
search where you will, roam through all the monarchies and despotisms of the
old world, travel through South America, search out every abuse, and when you
have found the last, lay your facts by the side of the every-day practices of
this nation, and you will say with me, that, for revolting barbarity and
shameless hypocrisy, America reigns without a rival.
Take the American slave
trade, which, we are told by the papers, is especially prosperous just now.
Ex-senator Benton tells us that the price of men was never higher than now. He
mentions the fact to show that slavery is in no danger. This trade is one of
the peculiarities of American institutions. It is carried on in all the large
towns and cities in one-half of this confederacy; and millions are pocketed
every year by dealers in this horrid traffic. In several states this trade is a
chief source of wealth. It is called (in contradistinction to the foreign slave
trade) "the internal slave trade." It is, probably, called so, too,
in order to divert from it the horror with which the foreign slave trade is
contemplated. That trade has long since been denounced by this government as
piracy. It has been denounced with burning words, from the high places of the
nation, as an execrable traffic. To arrest it, to put an end to it, this nation
keeps a squadron, at immense cost, on the coast of Africa. Everywhere in this
country, it is safe to speak of this foreign slave trade as a most inhuman
traffic, opposed alike to the laws of God and of man. The duty to extirpate and
destroy it is admitted even by our doctors of divinity. In order to put an end
to it, some of these last have consented that their colored brethren (nominally
free) should leave this country, and establish themselves on the western coast
of Africa. It is, however, a notable fact, that, while so much execration is
poured out by Americans, upon those engaged in the foreign slave trade, the men
engaged in the slave trade between the states pass without condemnation, and
their business is deemed honorable.
Behold the practical
operation of this internal slave trade--the American slave trade sustained by
American politics and American religion! Here you will see men and women reared
like swine for the market. You know what is a swine-drover? I will show you a
man-drover. They inhabit all our southern states. They perambulate the country,
and crowd the highways of the nation with droves of human stock. You will see
one of these human-flesh-jobbers, armed with pistol, whip, and bowie-knife,
driving a company of a hundred men, women, and children, from the Potomac to
the slave market at New Orleans. These wretched people are to be sold singly,
or in lots, to suit purchasers. They are food for the cotton-field and the
deadly sugar-mill. Mark the sad procession as it moves wearily along, and the
inhuman wretch who drives them. Hear his savage yells and his blood-chilling
oaths, as he hurries on his affrighted captives. There, see the old man, with
locks thinned and gray. Cast one glance, if you please, upon that young mother,
whose shoulders are bare to the scorching sun, her briny tears falling on the
brow of the babe in her arms. See, too, that girl of thirteen, weeping, yes,
weeping, as she thinks of the mother from whom she has been torn. The drove
moves tardily. Heat and sorrow have nearly consumed their strength. Suddenly
you hear a quick snap, like the discharge of a rifle; the fetters clank, and
the chain rattles simultaneously; your ears are saluted with a scream that
seems to have torn its way to the center of your soul. The crack you heard was
the sound of the slave whip; the scream you heard was from the woman you saw
with the babe. Her speed had faltered under the weight of her child and her chains;
that gash on her shoulder tells her to move on. Follow this drove to New
Orleans. Attend the auction; see men examined like horses; see the forms of
women rudely and brutally exposed to the shocking gaze of American
slave-buyers. See this drove sold and separated forever; and never forget the
deep, sad sobs that arose from that scattered multitude. Tell me, citizens,
where, under the sun, can you witness a spectacle more fiendish and shocking.
Yet this is but a glance at the American slave trade, as it exists at this
moment, in the ruling part of the United States.
I was born amid such
sights and scenes. To me the American slave trade is a terrible reality. When a
child, my soul was often pierced with a sense of its horrors. I lived on
Philpot street, Fell's Point, Baltimore, and have watched from the wharves the
slave ships in the basin, anchored from the shore, with their cargoes of human
flesh, waiting for favorable winds to waft them down the Chesapeake. There was,
at that time, a grand slave mart kept at the head of Pratt street, by Austin
Woldfolk. His agents were sent into every town and county in Maryland,
announcing their arrival through the papers, and on flaming hand-bills, headed,
"cash for negroes." These men were generally well dressed, and very
captivating in their manners; ever ready to drink, to treat, and to gamble. The
fate of many a slave has depended upon the turn of a single card; and many a
child has been snatched from the arms of its mothers by bargains arranged in a
state of brutal drunkenness.
The flesh-mongers
gather up their victims by dozens, and drive them, chained, to the general
depot at Baltimore. When a sufficient number have been collected here, a ship
is chartered, for the purpose of conveying the forlorn crew to Mobile or to New
Orleans. From the slave-prison to the ship, they are usually driven in the
darkness of night; for since the anti-slavery agitation a certain caution is
observed.
In the deep, still
darkness of midnight, I have been often aroused by the dead, heavy footsteps
and the piteous cries of the chained gangs that passed our door. The anguish of
my boyish heart was intense; and I was often consoled, when speaking to my
mistress in the morning, to hear her say that the custom was very wicked; that
she hated to hear the rattle of the chains, and the heart-rending cries. I was
glad to find one who sympathized with me in my horror.
Fellow citizens, this
murderous traffic is to-day in active operation in this boasted republic. In
the solitude of my spirit, I see clouds of dust raised on the highways of the
south; I see the bleeding footsteps; I hear the doleful wail of fettered
humanity, on the way to the slave markets, where the victims are to be sold
like horses, sheep, and swine, knocked off to the highest bidder. There I see
the tenderest ties ruthlessly broken, to gratify the lust, caprice, and
rapacity of the buyers and sellers of men. My soul sickens at the sight.
"Is this the land
your fathers loved?
The freedom which they toiled to win? Is
this the earth whereon they moved?
Are these the graves they slumber in? But
a still more inhuman, disgraceful, and scandalous state of things remains to be
presented. By an act of the American congress, not yet two years old, slavery
has been nationalized in its most horrible and revolting form. By that act,
Mason and Dixon's line has been obliterated; New York has become as Virginia;
and the power to hold, hunt, and sell men, women, and children as slaves,
remains no longer a mere state institution, but is now an institution of the
whole United States. The power is coextensive with the star-spangled banner and
American christianity. Where these go, may also go the merciless slave-hunter.
Where these are, man is not sacred. He is a bird for the sportsman's gun. By
that most foul and fiendish of all human decrees, the liberty and person of
every man are put in peril. Your broad republican domain is a hunting-ground
for men. Not for thieves and robbers, enemies of society, merely, but for men
guilty of no crime. Your law-makers have commanded all good citizens to engage
in this hellish sport. Your president, your secretary of state, your lords,
nobles, and ecclesiastics, enforce as a duty you owe to your free and glorious
country and to your God, that you do this accursed thing. Not fewer than forty
Americans have within the past two years been hunted down, and without a
moment's warning, hurried away in chains, and consigned to slavery and
excruciating torture. Some of these have had wives and children dependent on
them for bread; but of this no account was made. The right of the hunter to his
prey, stands superior to the right of marriage, and to all rights in this
republic, the rights of God included! For black men there are neither law,
justice, humanity, nor religion. The fugitive slave law makes MERCY TO THEM A
CRIME; and bribes the judge who tries them. An American judge GETS TEN DOLLARS
FOR EVERY VICTIM HE CONSIGNS to slavery, and five, when he fails to do so. The
oath of and two villains is sufficient, under this hell-black enactment, to
send the most pious and exemplary black man into the remorseless jaws of
slavery! His own testimony is nothing. He can bring no witnesses for himself.
The minister of American justice is bound by the law to hear but one side, and
that side is the side of the oppressor. Let this damning fact be perpetually
told. Let it be thundered around the world, that, in tyrant-killing, king
hating, people-loving, democratic, Christian America, the seats of justice are
filled with judges, who hold their office under an open and palpable bribe, and
are bound, in deciding in the case of a man's liberty, to hear only his
accusers!
In glaring violation of
justice, in shameless disregard of the forms of administering law, in cunning
arrangement to entrap the defenseless, and in diabolical intent, this fugitive
slave law stands alone in the annals of tyrannical legislation. I doubt if
there be another nation on the globe having the brass and the baseness to put
such a law on the statute-book. If any man in this assembly thinks differently
from me in this matter, and feels able to disprove my statements, I will gladly
confront him at any suitable time and place he may select.
Sir, it is evident that
there is in this country a purely slavery party--a party which exists for no
other earthly purpose but to promote the interests of slavery. The presence of
this party is felt everywhere in the republic. It is known by no particular
name, and has assumed no definite shape; but its branches reach far and wide in
the church and in the state. This shapeless and nameless party is not
intangible in other and more important respects. That party, sir, has
determined upon a fixed, definite, and comprehensive policy toward the whole
colored population of the United States. What that policy is, it becomes us as
abolitionists, and especially does it become the colored people themselves, to
consider and to understand fully. We ought to know who our enemies are, where
they are, and what are their objects and measures. Well, sir, here is my
version of it--not original with me--but mine because I hold it to be true.
I understand this policy
to comprehend five cardinal objects. They are these: 1st. The complete
suppression of all anti-slavery discussion. 2d. The expatriation of the entire
free people of color from the United States. 3d. The unending perpetuation of
slavery in this republic. 4th. The nationalization of slavery to the extent of
making slavery respected in every state of the Union. 5th. The extension of
slavery over Mexico and the entire South American states.
Sir, these objects are
forcibly presented to us in the stern logic of passing events; in the facts
which are and have been passing around us during the last three years. The
country has been and is now dividing on these grand issues. In their magnitude,
these issues cast all others into the shade, depriving them of all life and
vitality. Old party ties are broken. Like is finding its like on either side of
these great issues, and the great battle is at hand. For the present, the best
representative of the slavery party in politics is the democratic party. Its
great head for the present is President Pierce, whose boast it was, before his
election, that his whole life had been consistent with the interests of
slavery, that he is above reproach on that score. In his inaugural address, he
reassures the south on this point. Well, the head of the slave power being in
power, it is natural that the pro slavery elements should cluster around the
administration, and this is rapidly being done. A fraternization is going on.
The stringent protectionists and the free-traders strike hands. The supporters
of Fillmore are becoming the supporters of Pierce. The silver-gray whig shakes
hands with the hunker democrat; the former only differing from the latter in
name. They are of one heart, one mind, and the union is natural and perhaps inevitable.
Both hate Negroes; both hate progress; both hate the "higher law;"
both hate William H. Seward; both hate the free democratic party; and upon this
hateful basis they are forming a union of hatred. "Pilate and Herod are
thus made friends." Even the central organ of the whig party is extending
its beggar hand for a morsel from the table of slavery democracy, and when
spurned from the feast by the more deserving, it pockets the insult; when
kicked on one side it turns the other, and preseveres in its importunities. The
fact is, that paper comprehends the demands of the times; it understands the
age and its issues; it wisely sees that slavery and freedom are the great
antagonistic forces in the country, and it goes to its own side. Silver grays
and hunkers all understand this. They are, therefore, rapidly sinking all other
questions to nothing, compared with the increasing demands of slavery. They are
collecting, arranging, and consolidating their forces for the accomplishment of
their appointed work.
The keystone to the
arch of this grand union of the slavery party of the United States, is the
compromise of 1850. In that compromise we have all the objects of our
slaveholding policy specified. It is, sir, favorable to this view of the
designs of the slave power, that both the whig and the democratic party bent
lower, sunk deeper, and strained harder, in their conventions, preparatory to
the late presidential election, to meet the demands of the slavery party than
at any previous time in their history. Never did parties come before the
northern people with propositions of such undisguised contempt for the moral
sentiment and the religious ideas of that people. They virtually asked them to
unite in a war upon free speech, and upon conscience, and to drive the Almighty
presence from the councils of the nation. Resting their platforms upon the
fugitive slave bill, they boldly asked the people for political power to
execute the horrible and hell-black provisions of that bill. The history of
that election reveals, with great clearness, the extent to which slavery has
shot its leprous distillment through the life-blood of the nation. The party
most thoroughly opposed to the cause of justice and humanity, triumphed; while
the party suspected of a leaning toward liberty, was overwhelmingly defeated,
some say annihilated.
But here is a still
more important fact, illustrating the designs of the slave power. It is a fact
full of meaning, that no sooner did the democratic slavery party come into
power, than a system of legislation was presented to the legislatures of the
northern states, designed to put the states in harmony with the fugitive slave
law, and the malignant bearing of the national government toward the colored
inhabitants of the country. This whole movement on the part of the states,
bears the evidence of having one origin, emanating from one head, and urged
forward by one power. It was simultaneous, uniform, and general, and looked to
one end. It was intended to put thorns under feet already bleeding; to crush a
people already bowed down; to enslave a people already but half free; in a
word, it was intended to discourage, dishearten, and drive the free colored
people out of the country. In looking at the recent black law of Illinois, one
is struck dumb with its enormity. It would seem that the men who enacted that
law, had not only banished from their minds all sense of justice, but all sense
of shame. It coolly proposes to sell the bodies and souls of the blacks to
increase the intelligence and refinement of the whites; to rob every black
stranger who ventures among them, to increase their literary fund.
While this is going on
in the states, a pro-slavery, political board of health is established at
Washington. Senators Hale, Chase, and Sumner are robbed of a part of their
senatorial dignity and consequence as representing sovereign states, because
they have refused to be inoculated with the slavery virus. Among the services
which a senator is expected by his state to perform, are many that can only be
done efficiently on committees; and, in saying to these honorable senators, you
shall not serve on the committees of this body, the slavery party took the
responsibility of robbing and insulting the states that sent them. It is an
attempt at Washington to decide for the states who shall be sent to the senate.
Sir, it strikes me that this aggression on the part of the slave power did not
meet at the hands of the proscribed senators the rebuke which we had a right to
expect would be administered. It seems to me that an opportunity was lost, that
the great principle of senatorial equality was left undefended, at a time when
its vindication was sternly demanded. But it is not to the purpose of my
present statement to criticise the conduct of our friends. I am persuaded that
much ought to be left to the discretion of anti slavery men in congress, and
charges of recreancy should never be made but on the most sufficient grounds.
For, of all the places in the world where an anti-slavery man needs the
confidence and encouragement of friends, I take Washington to be that place.
Let me now call
attention to the social influences which are operating and cooperating with the
slavery party of the country, designed to contribute to one or all of the grand
objects aimed at by that party. We see here the black man attacked in his vital
interests; prejudice and hate are excited against him; enmity is stirred up
between him and other laborers. The Irish people, warm-hearted, generous, and
sympathizing with the oppressed everywhere, when they stand upon their own
green island, are instantly taught, on arriving in this Christian country, to
hate and despise the colored people. They are taught to believe that we eat the
bread which of right belongs to them. The cruel lie is told the Irish, that our
adversity is essential to their prosperity. Sir, the Irish-American will find
out his mistake one day. He will find that in assuming our avocation he also
has assumed our degradation. But for the present we are sufferers. The old
employments by which we have heretofore gained our livelihood, are gradually,
and it may be inevitably, passing into other hands. Every hour sees us elbowed
out of some employment to make room perhaps for some newly-arrived emigrants,
whose hunger and color are thought to give them a title to especial favor.
White men are becoming house-servants, cooks, and stewards, common laborers,
and flunkeys to our gentry, and, for aught I see, they adjust themselves to
their stations with all becoming obsequiousness. This fact proves that if we
cannot rise to the whites, the whites can fall to us. Now, sir, look once more.
While the colored people are thus elbowed out of employment; while the enmity
of emigrants is being excited against us; while state after state enacts laws
against us; while we are hunted down, like wild game, and oppressed with a
general feeling of insecurity--the American colonization society--that old
offender against the best interests and slanderer of the colored
people--awakens to new life, and vigorously presses its scheme upon the
consideration of the people and the government. New papers are started--some
for the north and some for the south--and each in its tone adapting itself to
its latitude. Government, state and national, is called upon for appropriations
to enable the society to send us out of the country by steam! They want
steamers to carry letters and Negroes to Africa. Evidently, this society looks
upon our "extremity as its opportunity," and we may expect that it
will use the occasion well. They do not deplore, but glory, in our misfortunes.
But, sir, I must
hasten. I have thus briefly given my view of one aspect of the present
condition and future prospects of the colored people of the United States. And
what I have said is far from encouraging to my afflicted people. I have seen
the cloud gather upon the sable brows of some who hear me. I confess the case
looks black enough. Sir, I am not a hopeful man. I think I am apt even to
undercalculate the benefits of the future. Yet, sir, in this seemingly
desperate case, I do not despair for my people. There is a bright side to
almost every picture of this kind; and ours is no exception to the general
rule. If the influences against us are strong, those for us are also strong. To
the inquiry, will our enemies prevail in the execution of their designs. In my
God and in my soul, I believe they will not. Let us look at the first object
sought for by the slavery party of the country, viz: the suppression of anti
slavery discussion. They desire to suppress discussion on this subject, with a
view to the peace of the slaveholder and the security of slavery. Now, sir,
neither the principle nor the subordinate objects here declared, can be at all
gained by the slave power, and for this reason: It involves the proposition to
padlock the lips of the whites, in order to secure the fetters on the limbs of
the blacks. The right of speech, precious and priceless, cannot, will not, be
surrendered to slavery. Its suppression is asked for, as I have said, to give
peace and security to slaveholders. Sir, that thing cannot be done. God has
interposed an insuperable obstacle to any such result. "There can be no
peace, saith my God, to the wicked." Suppose it were possible to put down
this discussion, what would it avail the guilty slaveholder, pillowed as he is
upon heaving bosoms of ruined souls? He could not have a peaceful spirit. If
every anti-slavery tongue in the nation were silent--every anti-slavery
organization dissolved--every anti-slavery press demolished--every anti slavery
periodical, paper, book, pamphlet, or what not, were searched out, gathered,
deliberately burned to ashes, and their ashes given to the four winds of
heaven, still, still the slaveholder could have "no peace." In every
pulsation of his heart, in every throb of his life, in every glance of his eye,
in the breeze that soothes, and in the thunder that startles, would be waked up
an accuser, whose cause is, "Thou art, verily, guilty concerning thy
brother."
A grand movement on the
part of mankind, in any direction, or for any purpose, moral or political, is
an interesting fact, fit and proper to be studied. It is such, not only for
those who eagerly participate in it, but also for those who stand aloof from
it--even for those by whom it is opposed. I take the anti-slavery movement to
be such an one, and a movement as sublime and glorious in its character, as it
is holy and beneficent in the ends it aims to accomplish. At this moment, I
deem it safe to say, it is properly engrossing more minds in this country than
any other subject now before the American people. The late John C. Calhoun--one
of the mightiest men that ever stood up in the American senate--did not deem it
beneath him; and he probably studied it as deeply, though not as honestly, as
Gerrit Smith, or William Lloyd Garrison. He evinced the greatest familiarity
with the subject; and the greatest efforts of his last years in the senate had
direct reference to this movement. His eagle eye watched every new development
connected with it; and he was ever prompt to inform the south of every
important step in its progress. He never allowed himself to make light of it;
but always spoke of it and treated it as a matter of grave import; and in this
he showed himself a master of the mental, moral, and religious constitution of
human society. Daniel Webster, too, in the better days of his life, before he
gave his assent to the fugitive slave bill, and trampled upon all his earlier
and better convictions--when his eye was yet single--he clearly comprehended
the nature of the elements involved in this movement; and in his own majestic
eloquence, warned the south, and the country, to have a care how they attempted
to put it down. He is an illustration that it is easier to give, than to take,
good advice. To these two men--the greatest men to whom the nation has yet
given birth-- may be traced the two great facts of the present--the south
triumphant, and the north humbled. Their names may stand thus--Calhoun and
domination--Webster and degradation. Yet again. If to the enemies of liberty
this subject is one of engrossing interest, vastly more so should it be such to
freedom's friends. The latter, it leads to the gates of all valuable
knowledge--philanthropic, ethical, and religious; for it brings them to the
study of man, wonderfully and fearfully made--the proper study of man through
all time--the open book, in which are the records of time and eternity.
Of the existence and
power of the anti-slavery movement, as a fact, you need no evidence. The nation
has seen its face, and felt the controlling pressure of its hand. You have seen
it moving in all directions, and in all weathers, and in all places, appearing
most where desired least, and pressing hardest where most resisted. No place is
exempt. The quiet prayer meeting, and the stormy halls of national debate,
share its presence alike. It is a common intruder, and of course has the name
of being ungentlemanly. Brethren who had long sung, in the most affectionate
fervor, and with the greatest sense of security,
Together let us sweetly
live--together let us die, have been suddenly and violently separated by it,
and ranged in hostile attitude toward each other. The Methodist, one of the
most powerful religious organizations of this country, has been rent asunder,
and its strongest bolts of denominational brotherhood started at a single
surge. It has changed the tone of the northern pulpit, and modified that of the
press. A celebrated divine, who, four years ago, was for flinging his own
mother, or brother, into the remorseless jaws of the monster slavery, lest he
should swallow up the Union, now recognizes anti-slavery as a characteristic of
future civilization. Signs and wonders follow this movement; and the fact just
stated is one of them. Party ties are loosened by it; and men are compelled to
take sides for or against it, whether they will or not. Come from where he may,
or come for what he may, he is compelled to show his hand. What is this mighty
force? What is its history? and what is its destiny? Is it ancient or modern,
transient or permanent? Has it turned aside, like a stranger and a sojourner,
to tarry for a night? or has it come to rest with us forever? Excellent chances
are here for speculation; and some of them are quite profound. We might, for
instance, proceed to inquire not only into the philosophy of the anti-slavery
movement, but into the philosophy of the law, in obedience to which that movement
started into existence. We might demand to know what is that law or power,
which, at different times, disposes the minds of men to this or that particular
object--now for peace, and now for war--now for freedom, and now for slavery;
but this profound question I leave to the abolitionists of the superior class
to answer. The speculations which must precede such answer, would afford,
perhaps, about the same satisfaction as the learned theories which have rained
down upon the world, from time to time, as to the origin of evil. I shall,
therefore, avoid water in which I cannot swim, and deal with anti-slavery as a
fact, like any other fact in the history of mankind, capable of being described
and understood, both as to its internal forces, and its external phases and
relations.
[After an eloquent, a
full, and highly interesting exposition of the nature, character, and history
of the anti-slavery movement, from the insertion of which want of space
precludes us, he concluded in the following happy manner.]
Present organizations
may perish, but the cause will go on. That cause has a life, distinct and
independent of the organizations patched up from time to time to carry it
forward. Looked at, apart from the bones and sinews and body, it is a thing
immortal. It is the very essence of justice, liberty, and love. The moral life
of human society, it cannot die while conscience, honor, and humanity remain.
If but one be filled with it, the cause lives. Its incarnation in any one
individual man, leaves the whole world a priesthood, occupying the highest
moral eminence even that of disinterested benevolence. Whoso has ascended his
height, and has the grace to stand there, has the world at his feet, and is the
world's teacher, as of divine right. He may set in judgment on the age, upon
the civilization of the age, and upon the religion of the age; for he has a
test, a sure and certain test, by which to try all institutions, and to measure
all men. I say, he may do this, but this is not the chief business for which he
is qualified. The great work to which he is called is not that of judgment.
Like the Prince of Peace, he may say, if I judge, I judge righteous judgment;
still mainly, like him, he may say, this is not his work. The man who has
thoroughly embraced the principles of justice, love, and liberty, like the true
preacher of Christianity, is less anxious to reproach the world of its sins,
than to win it to repentance. His great work on earth is to exemplify, and to
illustrate, and to ingraft those principles upon the living and practical
understandings of all men within the reach of his influence. This is his work;
long or short his years, many or few his adherents, powerful or weak his
instrumentalities, through good report, or through bad report, this is his work.
It is to snatch from the bosom of nature the latent facts of each individual
man's experience, and with steady hand to hold them up fresh and glowing,
enforeing, with all his power, their acknowledgment and practical adoption. If
there be but one such man in the land, no matter what becomes of abolition
societies and parties, there will be an anti-slavery cause, and an anti-slavery
movement. Fortunately for that cause, and fortunately for him by whom it is
espoused, it requires no extraordinary amount of talent to preach it or to
receive it when preached. The grand secret of its power is, that each of its
principles is easily rendered appreciable to the faculty of reason in man, and
that the most unenlightened conscience has no difficulty in deciding on which
side to register its testimony. It can call its preachers from among the
fishermen, and raise them to power. In every human breast, it has an advocate
which can be silent only when the heart is dead. It comes home to every man's
understanding, and appeals directly to every man's conscience. A man that does
not recognize and approve for himself the rights and privileges contended for,
in behalf of the American slave, has not yet been found. In whatever else men
may differ, they are alike in the apprehension of their natural and personal
rights. The difference between abolitionists and those by whom they are
opposed, is not as to principles. All are agreed in respect to these. The
manner of applying them is the point of difference.
The slaveholder himself,
the daily robber of his equal brother, discourses eloquently as to the
excellency of justice, and the man who employs a brutal driver to flay the
flesh of his negroes, is not offended when kindness and humanity are commended.
Every time the abolitionist speaks of justice, the anti-abolitionist assents
says, yes, I wish the world were filled with a disposition to render to every
man what is rightfully due him; I should then get what is due me. That's right;
let us have justice. By all means, let us have justice. Every time the
abolitionist speaks in honor of human liberty, he touches a chord in the heart
of the anti-abolitionist, which responds in harmonious vibrations.
Liberty--yes, that is very evidently my right, and let him beware who attempts
to invade or abridge that right. Every time he speaks of love, of human
brotherhood, and the reciprocal duties of man and man, the anti-abolitionist
assents--says, yes, all right--all true--we cannot have such ideas too often,
or too fully expressed. So he says, and so he feels, and only shows thereby
that he is a man as well as an anti-abolitionist. You have only to keep out of
sight the manner of applying your principles, to get them endorsed every time.
Contemplating himself, he sees truth with absolute clearness and distinctness.
He only blunders when asked to lose sight of himself. In his own cause he can
beat a Boston lawyer, but he is dumb when asked to plead the cause of others.
He knows very well whatsoever he would have done unto himself, but is quite in doubt
as to having the same thing done unto others. It is just here, that lions
spring up in the path of duty, and the battle once fought in heaven is refought
on the earth. So it is, so hath it ever been, and so must it ever be, when the
claims of justice and mercy make their demand at the door of human selfishness.
Nevertheless, there is that within which ever pleads for the right and the
just.
In conclusion, I have
taken a sober view of the present anti-slavery movement. I am sober, but not
hopeless. There is no denying, for it is everywhere admitted, that the
anti-slavery question is the great moral and social question now before the
American people. A state of things has gradually been developed, by which that
question has become the first thing in order. It must be met. Herein is my
hope. The great idea of impartial liberty is now fairly before the American
people. Anti-slavery is no longer a thing to be prevented. The time for
prevention is past. This is great gain. When the movement was younger and weaker--when
it wrought in a Boston garret to human apprehension, it might have been
silently put out of the way. Things are different now. It has grown too
large--its friends are too numerous--its facilities too abundant--its
ramifications too extended--its power too omnipotent, to be snuffed out by the
contingencies of infancy. A thousand strong men might be struck down, and its
ranks still be invincible. One flash from the heart-supplied intellect of
Harriet Beecher Stowe could light a million camp fires in front of the
embattled host of slavery, which not all the waters of the Mississippi, mingled
as they are with blood, could extinguish. The present will be looked to by
after coming generations, as the age of anti-slavery literature-- when supply
on the gallop could not keep pace with the ever-growing demand--when a picture
of a Negro on the cover was a help to the sale of a book--when conservative
lyceums and other American literary associations began first to select their
orators for distinguished occasions from the ranks of the previously despised
abolitionists. If the anti-slavery movement shall fail now, it will not be from
outward opposition, but from inward decay. Its auxiliaries are everywhere.
Scholars, authors, orators, poets, and statesmen give it their aid. The most
brilliant of American poets volunteer in its service. Whittier speaks in
burning verse to more than thirty thousand, in the National Era. Your own
Longfellow whispers, in every hour of trial and disappointment, "labor and
wait." James Russell Lowell is reminding us that "men are more than
institutions." Pierpont cheers the heart of the pilgrim in search of
liberty, by singing the praises of "the north star." Bryant, too, is
with us; and though chained to the car of party, and dragged on amidst a whirl
of political excitement, he snatches a moment for letting drop a smiling verse
of sympathy for the man in chains. The poets are with us. It would seem almost
absurd to say it, considering the use that has been made of them, that we have allies
in the Ethiopian songs; those songs that constitute our national music, and
without which we have no national music. They are heart songs, and the finest
feelings of human nature are expressed in them. "Lucy Neal,"
"Old Kentucky Home," and "Uncle Ned," can make the heart
sad as well as merry, and can call forth a tear as well as a smile. They awaken
the sympathies for the slave, in which antislavery principles take root, grow,
and flourish. In addition to authors, poets, and scholars at home, the moral
sense of the civilized world is with us. England, France, and Germany, the
three great lights of modern civilization, are with us, and every American
traveler learns to regret the existence of slavery in his country. The growth
of intelligence, the influence of commerce, steam, wind, and lightning are our
allies. It would be easy to amplify this summary, and to swell the vast
conglomeration of our material forces; but there is a deeper and truer method
of measuring the power of our cause, and of comprehending its vitality. This is
to be found in its accordance with the best elements of human nature. It is
beyond the power of slavery to annihilate affinities recognized and established
by the Almighty. The slave is bound to mankind by the powerful and inextricable
net-work of human brotherhood. His voice is the voice of a man, and his cry is
the cry of a man in distress, and man must cease to be man before he can become
insensible to that cry. It is the righteous of the cause--the humanity of the
cause--which constitutes its potency. As one genuine bankbill is worth more
than a thousand counterfeits, so is one man, with right on his side, worth more
than a thousand in the wrong. "One may chase a thousand, and put ten
thousand to flight." It is, therefore, upon the goodness of our cause,
more than upon all other auxiliaries, that we depend for its final triumph.
Another source of
congratulations is the fact that, amid all the efforts made by the church, the
government, and the people at large, to stay the onward progress of this
movment, its course has been onward, steady, straight, unshaken, and unchecked
from the beginning. Slavery has gained victories large and numerous; but never
as against this movement--against a temporizing policy, and against northern timidity,
the slave power has been victorious; but against the spread and prevalence in
the country, of a spirit of resistance to its aggression, and of sentiments
favorable to its entire overthrow, it has yet accomplished nothing. Every
measure, yet devised and executed, having for its object the suppression of
anti-slavery, has been as idle and fruitless as pouring oil to extinguish fire.
A general rejoicing took place on the passage of "the compromise
measures" of 1850. Those measures were called peace measures, and were
afterward termed by both the great parties of the country, as well as by
leading statesmen, a final settlement of the whole question of slavery; but
experience has laughed to scorn the wisdom of pro-slavery statesmen; and their
final settlement of agitation seems to be the final revival, on a broader and
grander scale than ever before, of the question which they vainly attempted to
suppress forever. The fugitive slave bill has especially been of positive
service to the anti-slavery movement. It has illustrated before all the people
the horrible character of slavery toward the slave, in hunting him down in a
free state, and tearing him away from wife and children, thus setting its
claims higher than marriage or parental claims. It has revealed the arrogant
and overbearing spirit of the slave states toward the free states; despising
their principles--shocking their feelings of humanity, not only by bringing
before them the abominations of slavery, but by attempting to make them parties
to the crime. It has called into exercise among the colored people, the hunted
ones, a spirit of manly resistance well calculated to surround them with a
bulwark of sympathy and respect hitherto unknown. For men are always disposed
to respect and defend rights, when the victims of oppression stand up manfully
for themselves.
There is another
element of power added to the anti-slavery movement, of great importance; it is
the conviction, becoming every day more general and universal, that slavery
must be abolished at the south, or it will demoralize and destroy liberty at
the north. It is the nature of slavery to beget a state of things all around it
favorable to its own continuance. This fact, connected with the system of
bondage, is beginning to be more fully realized. The slave-holder is not
satisfied to associate with men in the church or in the state, unless he can
thereby stain them with the blood of his slaves. To be a slave-holder is to be
a propagandist from necessity; for slavery can only live by keeping down the
under-growth morality which nature supplies. Every new-born white babe comes
armed from the Eternal presence, to make war on slavery. The heart of pity,
which would melt in due time over the brutal chastisements it sees inflicted on
the helpless, must be hardened. And this work goes on every day in the year,
and every hour in the day.
What is done at home is
being done also abroad here in the north. And even now the question may be
asked, have we at this moment a single free state in the Union? The alarm at
this point will become more general. The slave power must go on in its career
of exactions. Give, give, will be its cry, till the timidity which concedes
shall give place to courage, which shall resist. Such is the voice of
experience, such has been the past, such is the present, and such will be that
future, which, so sure as man is man, will come. Here I leave the subject; and
I leave off where I began, consoling myself and congratulating the friends of
freedom upon the fact that the anti-slavery cause is not a new thing under the
sun; not some moral delusion which a few years' experience may dispel. It has
appeared among men in all ages, and summoned its advocates from all ranks. Its
foundations are laid in the deepest and holiest convictions, and from whatever
soul the demon, selfishness, is expelled, there will this cause take up its
abode. Old as the everlasting hills; immovable as the throne of God; and
certain as the purposes of eternal power, against all hinderances, and against
all delays, and despite all the mutations of human instrumentalities, it is the
faith of my soul, that this anti-slavery cause will triumph.