Chapter 6 of 8

I have said that this mode of treatment is a part of the whole system

of fraud and inhumanity of slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to

disgust the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only the abuse

of it, is carried out in other things. For instance, a slave loves

molasses; he steals some. His master, in many cases, goes off to town,

and buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip, and commands the

slave to eat the molasses, until the poor fellow is made sick at the

very mention of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make the

slaves refrain from asking for more food than their regular allowance.

A slave runs through his allowance, and applies for more. His master is

enraged at him; but, not willing to send him off without food, gives

him more than is necessary, and compels him to eat it within a given

time. Then, if he complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be

satisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whipped for being hard to

please! I have an abundance of such illustrations of the same

principle, drawn from my own observation, but think the cases I have

cited sufficient. The practice is a very common one.

On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went to live with

Mr. William Freeland, who lived about three miles from St. Michael’s. I

soon found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not

rich, he was what would be called an educated southern gentleman. Mr.

Covey, as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker and

slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he was) seemed to possess

some regard for honor, some reverence for justice, and some respect for

humanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to all such sentiments.

Mr. Freeland had many of the faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as

being very passionate and fretful; but I must do him the justice to

say, that he was exceedingly free from those degrading vices to which

Mr. Covey was constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and we

always knew where to find him. The other was a most artful deceiver,

and could be understood only by such as were skilful enough to detect

his cunningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained in my new

master was, he made no pretensions to, or profession of, religion; and

this, in my opinion, was truly a great advantage. I assert most

unhesitatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere covering for

the most horrid crimes,—a justifier of the most appalling barbarity,—a

sanctifier of the most hateful frauds,—and a dark shelter under, which

the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders

find the strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains

of slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard being the slave

of a religious master the greatest calamity that could befall me. For

of all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders

are the worst. I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most

cruel and cowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot not only to

belong to a religious slaveholder, but to live in a community of such

religionists. Very near Mr. Freeland lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, and

in the same neighborhood lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were

members and ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church. Mr. Weeden

owned, among others, a woman slave, whose name I have forgotten. This

woman’s back, for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the lash of

this merciless, _religious_ wretch. He used to hire hands. His maxim

was, Behave well or behave ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally

to whip a slave, to remind him of his master’s authority. Such was his

theory, and such his practice.

Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden. His chief boast was his

ability to manage slaves. The peculiar feature of his government was

that of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He always managed

to have one or more of his slaves to whip every Monday morning. He did

this to alarm their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped.

His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the

commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkins could always find some excuse for

whipping a slave. It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding

life, to see with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of

which to make occasion to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,—a

mistake, accident, or want of power,—are all matters for which a slave

may be whipped at any time. Does a slave look dissatisfied? It is said,

he has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak

loudly when spoken to by his master? Then he is getting high-minded,

and should be taken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull

off his hat at the approach of a white person? Then he is wanting in

reverence, and should be whipped for it. Does he ever venture to

vindicate his conduct, when censured for it? Then he is guilty of

impudence,—one of the greatest crimes of which a slave can be guilty.

Does he ever venture to suggest a different mode of doing things from

that pointed out by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and getting

above himself; and nothing less than a flogging will do for him. Does

he, while ploughing, break a plough,—or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It

is owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave must always be

whipped. Mr. Hopkins could always find something of this sort to

justify the use of the lash, and he seldom failed to embrace such

opportunities. There was not a man in the whole county, with whom the

slaves who had the getting their own home, would not prefer to live,

rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And yet there was not a man any

where round, who made higher professions of religion, or was more

active in revivals,—more attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and

preaching meetings, or more devotional in his family,—that prayed

earlier, later, louder, and longer,—than this same reverend

slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.

But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his

employment. He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr.

Covey, he also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He worked us

hard, but always between sunrise and sunset. He required a good deal of

work to be done, but gave us good tools with which to work. His farm

was large, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with ease,

compared with many of his neighbors. My treatment, while in his

employment, was heavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands

of Mr. Edward Covey.

Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves. Their names were

Henry Harris and John Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These

consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,[1] and Handy Caldwell.

[1] This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent my being

whipped by Mr. Covey. He was “a clever soul.” We used frequently to

talk about the fight with Covey, and as often as we did so, he would

claim my success as the result of the roots which he gave me. This

superstition is very common among the more ignorant slaves. A slave

seldom dies but that his death is attributed to trickery.

Henry and John were quite intelligent, and in a very little while after

I went there, I succeeded in creating in them a strong desire to learn

how to read. This desire soon sprang up in the others also. They very

soon mustered up some old spelling-books, and nothing would do but that

I must keep a Sabbath school. I agreed to do so, and accordingly

devoted my Sundays to teaching these my loved fellow-slaves how to

read. Neither of them knew his letters when I went there. Some of the

slaves of the neighboring farms found what was going on, and also

availed themselves of this little opportunity to learn to read. It was

understood, among all who came, that there must be as little display

about it as possible. It was necessary to keep our religious masters at

St. Michael’s unacquainted with the fact, that, instead of spending the

Sabbath in wrestling, boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to

learn how to read the will of God; for they had much rather see us

engaged in those degrading sports, than to see us behaving like

intellectual, moral, and accountable beings. My blood boils as I think

of the bloody manner in which Messrs. Wright Fairbanks and Garrison

West, both class-leaders, in connection with many others, rushed in

upon us with sticks and stones, and broke up our virtuous little

Sabbath school, at St. Michael’s—all calling themselves Christians!

humble followers of the Lord Jesus Christ! But I am again digressing.

I held my Sabbath school at the house of a free colored man, whose name

I deem it imprudent to mention; for should it be known, it might

embarrass him greatly, though the crime of holding the school was

committed ten years ago. I had at one time over forty scholars, and

those of the right sort, ardently desiring to learn. They were of all

ages, though mostly men and women. I look back to those Sundays with an

amount of pleasure not to be expressed. They were great days to my

soul. The work of instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest

engagement with which I was ever blessed. We loved each other, and to

leave them at the close of the Sabbath was a severe cross indeed. When

I think that these precious souls are to-day shut up in the

prison-house of slavery, my feelings overcome me, and I am almost ready

to ask, “Does a righteous God govern the universe? and for what does he

hold the thunders in his right hand, if not to smite the oppressor, and

deliver the spoiled out of the hand of the spoiler?” These dear souls

came not to Sabbath school because it was popular to do so, nor did I

teach them because it was reputable to be thus engaged. Every moment

they spent in that school, they were liable to be taken up, and given

thirty-nine lashes. They came because they wished to learn. Their minds

had been starved by their cruel masters. They had been shut up in

mental darkness. I taught them, because it was the delight of my soul

to be doing something that looked like bettering the condition of my

race. I kept up my school nearly the whole year I lived with Mr.

Freeland; and, beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three evenings in

the week, during the winter, to teaching the slaves at home. And I have

the happiness to know, that several of those who came to Sabbath school

learned how to read; and that one, at least, is now free through my

agency.

The year passed off smoothly. It seemed only about half as long as the

year which preceded it. I went through it without receiving a single

blow. I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being the best master I

ever had, _till I became my own master._ For the ease with which I

passed the year, I was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of my

fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they not only possessed loving

hearts, but brave ones. We were linked and interlinked with each other.

I loved them with a love stronger than any thing I have experienced

since. It is sometimes said that we slaves do not love and confide in

each other. In answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved any

or confided in any people more than my fellow-slaves, and especially

those with whom I lived at Mr. Freeland’s. I believe we would have died

for each other. We never undertook to do any thing, of any importance,

without a mutual consultation. We never moved separately. We were one;

and as much so by our tempers and dispositions, as by the mutual

hardships to which we were necessarily subjected by our condition as

slaves.

At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again hired me of my

master, for the year 1835. But, by this time, I began to want to live

_upon free land_ as well as _with Freeland;_ and I was no longer

content, therefore, to live with him or any other slaveholder. I began,

with the commencement of the year, to prepare myself for a final

struggle, which should decide my fate one way or the other. My tendency

was upward. I was fast approaching manhood, and year after year had

passed, and I was still a slave. These thoughts roused me—I must do

something. I therefore resolved that 1835 should not pass without

witnessing an attempt, on my part, to secure my liberty. But I was not

willing to cherish this determination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear

to me. I was anxious to have them participate with me in this, my

life-giving determination. I therefore, though with great prudence,

commenced early to ascertain their views and feelings in regard to

their condition, and to imbue their minds with thoughts of freedom. I

bent myself to devising ways and means for our escape, and meanwhile

strove, on all fitting occasions, to impress them with the gross fraud

and inhumanity of slavery. I went first to Henry, next to John, then to

the others. I found, in them all, warm hearts and noble spirits. They

were ready to hear, and ready to act when a feasible plan should be

proposed. This was what I wanted. I talked to them of our want of

manhood, if we submitted to our enslavement without at least one noble

effort to be free. We met often, and consulted frequently, and told our

hopes and fears, recounted the difficulties, real and imagined, which

we should be called on to meet. At times we were almost disposed to

give up, and try to content ourselves with our wretched lot; at others,

we were firm and unbending in our determination to go. Whenever we

suggested any plan, there was shrinking—the odds were fearful. Our path

was beset with the greatest obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining

the end of it, our right to be free was yet questionable—we were yet

liable to be returned to bondage. We could see no spot, this side of

the ocean, where we could be free. We knew nothing about Canada. Our

knowledge of the north did not extend farther than New York; and to go

there, and be forever harassed with the frightful liability of being

returned to slavery—with the certainty of being treated tenfold worse

than before—the thought was truly a horrible one, and one which it was

not easy to overcome. The case sometimes stood thus: At every gate

through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman—at every ferry a

guard—on every bridge a sentinel—and in every wood a patrol. We were

hemmed in upon every side. Here were the difficulties, real or

imagined—the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned. On the one

hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully upon

us,—its robes already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and even

now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh. On the other hand,

away back in the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north

star, behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a

doubtful freedom—half frozen—beckoning us to come and share its

hospitality. This in itself was sometimes enough to stagger us; but

when we permitted ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently

appalled. Upon either side we saw grim death, assuming the most horrid

shapes. Now it was starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;—now we

were contending with the waves, and were drowned;—now we were

overtaken, and torn to pieces by the fangs of the terrible bloodhound.

We were stung by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes,

and finally, after having nearly reached the desired spot,—after

swimming rivers, encountering wild beasts, sleeping in the woods,

suffering hunger and nakedness,—we were overtaken by our pursuers, and,

in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot! I say, this picture

sometimes appalled us, and made us

“rather bear those ills we had,

Than fly to others, that we knew not of.”

In coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more than

Patrick Henry, when he resolved upon liberty or death. With us it was a

doubtful liberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed. For my

part, I should prefer death to hopeless bondage.

Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion, but still encouraged us.

Our company then consisted of Henry Harris, John Harris, Henry Bailey,

Charles Roberts, and myself. Henry Bailey was my uncle, and belonged to

my master. Charles married my aunt: he belonged to my master’s

father-in-law, Mr. William Hamilton.

The plan we finally concluded upon was, to get a large canoe belonging

to Mr. Hamilton, and upon the Saturday night previous to Easter

holidays, paddle directly up the Chesapeake Bay. On our arrival at the

head of the bay, a distance of seventy or eighty miles from where we

lived, it was our purpose to turn our canoe adrift, and follow the

guidance of the north star till we got beyond the limits of Maryland.

Our reason for taking the water route was, that we were less liable to

be suspected as runaways; we hoped to be regarded as fishermen;

whereas, if we should take the land route, we should be subjected to

interruptions of almost every kind. Any one having a white face, and

being so disposed, could stop us, and subject us to examination.

The week before our intended start, I wrote several protections, one

for each of us. As well as I can remember, they were in the following

words, to wit:—

“This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, my

servant, full liberty to go to Baltimore, and spend the Easter

holidays. Written with mine own hand, &c., 1835.

“WILLIAM HAMILTON,

“Near St. Michael’s, in Talbot county, Maryland.”

We were not going to Baltimore; but, in going up the bay, we went

toward Baltimore, and these protections were only intended to protect

us while on the bay.

As the time drew near for our departure, our anxiety became more and

more intense. It was truly a matter of life and death with us. The

strength of our determination was about to be fully tested. At this

time, I was very active in explaining every difficulty, removing every

doubt, dispelling every fear, and inspiring all with the firmness

indispensable to success in our undertaking; assuring them that half

was gained the instant we made the move; we had talked long enough; we

were now ready to move; if not now, we never should be; and if we did

not intend to move now, we had as well fold our arms, sit down, and

acknowledge ourselves fit only to be slaves. This, none of us were

prepared to acknowledge. Every man stood firm; and at our last meeting,

we pledged ourselves afresh, in the most solemn manner, that, at the

time appointed, we would certainly start in pursuit of freedom. This

was in the middle of the week, at the end of which we were to be off.

We went, as usual, to our several fields of labor, but with bosoms

highly agitated with thoughts of our truly hazardous undertaking. We

tried to conceal our feelings as much as possible; and I think we

succeeded very well.

After a painful waiting, the Saturday morning, whose night was to

witness our departure, came. I hailed it with joy, bring what of

sadness it might. Friday night was a sleepless one for me. I probably

felt more anxious than the rest, because I was, by common consent, at

the head of the whole affair. The responsibility of success or failure

lay heavily upon me. The glory of the one, and the confusion of the

other, were alike mine. The first two hours of that morning were such

as I never experienced before, and hope never to again. Early in the

morning, we went, as usual, to the field. We were spreading manure; and

all at once, while thus engaged, I was overwhelmed with an

indescribable feeling, in the fulness of which I turned to Sandy, who

was near by, and said, “We are betrayed!” “Well,” said he, “that

thought has this moment struck me.” We said no more. I was never more

certain of any thing.

The horn was blown as usual, and we went up from the field to the house

for breakfast. I went for the form, more than for want of any thing to

eat that morning. Just as I got to the house, in looking out at the

lane gate, I saw four white men, with two colored men. The white men

were on horseback, and the colored ones were walking behind, as if

tied. I watched them a few moments till they got up to our lane gate.

Here they halted, and tied the colored men to the gate-post. I was not

yet certain as to what the matter was. In a few moments, in rode Mr.

Hamilton, with a speed betokening great excitement. He came to the

door, and inquired if Master William was in. He was told he was at the

barn. Mr. Hamilton, without dismounting, rode up to the barn with

extraordinary speed. In a few moments, he and Mr. Freeland returned to

the house. By this time, the three constables rode up, and in great

haste dismounted, tied their horses, and met Master William and Mr.

Hamilton returning from the barn; and after talking awhile, they all

walked up to the kitchen door. There was no one in the kitchen but

myself and John. Henry and Sandy were up at the barn. Mr. Freeland put

his head in at the door, and called me by name, saying, there were some

gentlemen at the door who wished to see me. I stepped to the door, and

inquired what they wanted. They at once seized me, and, without giving

me any satisfaction, tied me—lashing my hands closely together. I

insisted upon knowing what the matter was. They at length said, that

they had learned I had been in a “scrape,” and that I was to be

examined before my master; and if their information proved false, I

should not be hurt.

In a few moments, they succeeded in tying John. They then turned to

Henry, who had by this time returned, and commanded him to cross his

hands. “I won’t!” said Henry, in a firm tone, indicating his readiness

to meet the consequences of his refusal. “Won’t you?” said Tom Graham,

the constable. “No, I won’t!” said Henry, in a still stronger tone.

With this, two of the constables pulled out their shining pistols, and

swore, by their Creator, that they would make him cross his hands or

kill him. Each cocked his pistol, and, with fingers on the trigger,

walked up to Henry, saying, at the same time, if he did not cross his

hands, they would blow his damned heart out. “Shoot me, shoot me!” said

Henry; “you can’t kill me but once. Shoot, shoot,—and be damned! _I

won’t be tied!_” This he said in a tone of loud defiance; and at the

same time, with a motion as quick as lightning, he with one single

stroke dashed the pistols from the hand of each constable. As he did

this, all hands fell upon him, and, after beating him some time, they

finally overpowered him, and got him tied.

During the scuffle, I managed, I know not how, to get my pass out, and,

without being discovered, put it into the fire. We were all now tied;

and just as we were to leave for Easton jail, Betsy Freeland, mother of

William Freeland, came to the door with her hands full of biscuits, and

divided them between Henry and John. She then delivered herself of a

speech, to the following effect:—addressing herself to me, she said,

“_You devil! You yellow devil!_ it was you that put it into the heads

of Henry and John to run away. But for you, you long-legged mulatto

devil! Henry nor John would never have thought of such a thing.” I made

no reply, and was immediately hurried off towards St. Michael’s. Just a

moment previous to the scuffle with Henry, Mr. Hamilton suggested the

propriety of making a search for the protections which he had

understood Frederick had written for himself and the rest. But, just at

the moment he was about carrying his proposal into effect, his aid was

needed in helping to tie Henry; and the excitement attending the

scuffle caused them either to forget, or to deem it unsafe, under the

circumstances, to search. So we were not yet convicted of the intention

to run away.

When we got about half way to St. Michael’s, while the constables

having us in charge were looking ahead, Henry inquired of me what he

should do with his pass. I told him to eat it with his biscuit, and own

nothing; and we passed the word around, “_Own nothing;_” and “_Own

nothing!_” said we all. Our confidence in each other was unshaken. We

were resolved to succeed or fail together, after the calamity had

befallen us as much as before. We were now prepared for any thing. We

were to be dragged that morning fifteen miles behind horses, and then

to be placed in the Easton jail. When we reached St. Michael’s, we

underwent a sort of examination. We all denied that we ever intended to

run away. We did this more to bring out the evidence against us, than

from any hope of getting clear of being sold; for, as I have said, we

were ready for that. The fact was, we cared but little where we went,

so we went together. Our greatest concern was about separation. We

dreaded that more than any thing this side of death. We found the

evidence against us to be the testimony of one person; our master would

not tell who it was; but we came to a unanimous decision among

ourselves as to who their informant was. We were sent off to the jail

at Easton. When we got there, we were delivered up to the sheriff, Mr.

Joseph Graham, and by him placed in jail. Henry, John, and myself, were

placed in one room together—Charles, and Henry Bailey, in another.

Their object in separating us was to hinder concert.

We had been in jail scarcely twenty minutes, when a swarm of slave

traders, and agents for slave traders, flocked into jail to look at us,

and to ascertain if we were for sale. Such a set of beings I never saw

before! I felt myself surrounded by so many fiends from perdition. A

band of pirates never looked more like their father, the devil. They

laughed and grinned over us, saying, “Ah, my boys! we have got you,

haven’t we?” And after taunting us in various ways, they one by one

went into an examination of us, with intent to ascertain our value.

They would impudently ask us if we would not like to have them for our

masters. We would make them no answer, and leave them to find out as

best they could. Then they would curse and swear at us, telling us that

they could take the devil out of us in a very little while, if we were

only in their hands.

While in jail, we found ourselves in much more comfortable quarters

than we expected when we went there. We did not get much to eat, nor

that which was very good; but we had a good clean room, from the

windows of which we could see what was going on in the street, which

was very much better than though we had been placed in one of the dark,

damp cells. Upon the whole, we got along very well, so far as the jail

and its keeper were concerned. Immediately after the holidays were

over, contrary to all our expectations, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland

came up to Easton, and took Charles, the two Henrys, and John, out of

jail, and carried them home, leaving me alone. I regarded this

separation as a final one. It caused me more pain than any thing else

in the whole transaction. I was ready for any thing rather than

separation. I supposed that they had consulted together, and had

decided that, as I was the whole cause of the intention of the others

to run away, it was hard to make the innocent suffer with the guilty;

and that they had, therefore, concluded to take the others home, and

sell me, as a warning to the others that remained. It is due to the

noble Henry to say, he seemed almost as reluctant at leaving the prison

as at leaving home to come to the prison. But we knew we should, in all

probability, be separated, if we were sold; and since he was in their

hands, he concluded to go peaceably home.

I was now left to my fate. I was all alone, and within the walls of a

stone prison. But a few days before, and I was full of hope. I expected

to have been safe in a land of freedom; but now I was covered with

gloom, sunk down to the utmost despair. I thought the possibility of

freedom was gone. I was kept in this way about one week, at the end of

which, Captain Auld, my master, to my surprise and utter astonishment,

came up, and took me out, with the intention of sending me, with a

gentleman of his acquaintance, into Alabama. But, from some cause or

other, he did not send me to Alabama, but concluded to send me back to

Baltimore, to live again with his brother Hugh, and to learn a trade.

Thus, after an absence of three years and one month, I was once more

permitted to return to my old home at Baltimore. My master sent me

away, because there existed against me a very great prejudice in the

community, and he feared I might be killed.