Capítulo 3 de 8

Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering. He was artful, cruel,

and obdurate. He was just the man for such a place, and it was just the

place for such a man. It afforded scope for the full exercise of all

his powers, and he seemed to be perfectly at home in it. He was one of

those who could torture the slightest look, word, or gesture, on the

part of the slave, into impudence, and would treat it accordingly.

There must be no answering back to him; no explanation was allowed a

slave, showing himself to have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore acted

fully up to the maxim laid down by slaveholders,—“It is better that a

dozen slaves should suffer under the lash, than that the overseer

should be convicted, in the presence of the slaves, of having been at

fault.” No matter how innocent a slave might be—it availed him nothing,

when accused by Mr. Gore of any misdemeanor. To be accused was to be

convicted, and to be convicted was to be punished; the one always

following the other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was

to escape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either,

under the overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough to demand

the most debasing homage of the slave, and quite servile enough to

crouch, himself, at the feet of the master. He was ambitious enough to

be contented with nothing short of the highest rank of overseers, and

persevering enough to reach the height of his ambition. He was cruel

enough to inflict the severest punishment, artful enough to descend to

the lowest trickery, and obdurate enough to be insensible to the voice

of a reproving conscience. He was, of all the overseers, the most

dreaded by the slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashed

confusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voice heard, without

producing horror and trembling in their ranks.

Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young man, he indulged in no

jokes, said no funny words, seldom smiled. His words were in perfect

keeping with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keeping with his

words. Overseers will sometimes indulge in a witty word, even with the

slaves; not so with Mr. Gore. He spoke but to command, and commanded

but to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words, and bountifully

with his whip, never using the former where the latter would answer as

well. When he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and

feared no consequences. He did nothing reluctantly, no matter how

disagreeable; always at his post, never inconsistent. He never promised

but to fulfil. He was, in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness

and stone-like coolness.

His savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness with

which he committed the grossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves

under his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one of Colonel

Lloyd’s slaves, by the name of Demby. He had given Demby but few

stripes, when, to get rid of the scourging, he ran and plunged himself

into a creek, and stood there at the depth of his shoulders, refusing

to come out. Mr. Gore told him that he would give him three calls, and

that, if he did not come out at the third call, he would shoot him. The

first call was given. Demby made no response, but stood his ground. The

second and third calls were given with the same result. Mr. Gore then,

without consultation or deliberation with any one, not even giving

Demby an additional call, raised his musket to his face, taking deadly

aim at his standing victim, and in an instant poor Demby was no more.

His mangled body sank out of sight, and blood and brains marked the

water where he had stood.

A thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon the plantation,

excepting Mr. Gore. He alone seemed cool and collected. He was asked by

Colonel Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this extraordinary

expedient. His reply was, (as well as I can remember,) that Demby had

become unmanageable. He was setting a dangerous example to the other

slaves,—one which, if suffered to pass without some such demonstration

on his part, would finally lead to the total subversion of all rule and

order upon the plantation. He argued that if one slave refused to be

corrected, and escaped with his life, the other slaves would soon copy

the example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves,

and the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore’s defence was satisfactory.

He was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation.

His fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime was not even

submitted to judicial investigation. It was committed in the presence

of slaves, and they of course could neither institute a suit, nor

testify against him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of the

bloodiest and most foul murders goes unwhipped of justice, and

uncensured by the community in which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St.

Michael’s, Talbot county, Maryland, when I left there; and if he is

still alive, he very probably lives there now; and if so, he is now, as

he was then, as highly esteemed and as much respected as though his

guilty soul had not been stained with his brother’s blood.

I speak advisedly when I say this,—that killing a slave, or any colored

person, in Talbot county, Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either

by the courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, of St. Michael’s,

killed two slaves, one of whom he killed with a hatchet, by knocking

his brains out. He used to boast of the 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.”

The wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a short distance from where I

used to live, murdered my wife’s cousin, a young girl between fifteen

and sixteen years of age, mangling her person in the most horrible

manner, breaking her nose and breastbone with a stick, so that the poor

girl expired in a few hours afterward. She was immediately buried, but

had not been in her untimely grave but a few hours before she was taken

up and examined by the coroner, who decided that she had come to her

death by severe beating. The offence for which this girl was thus

murdered was this:—She had been set that night to mind Mrs. Hicks’s

baby, and during the night she fell asleep, and the baby cried. She,

having lost her rest for several nights previous, did not hear the

crying. They were both in the room with Mrs. Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding

the girl slow to move, jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of wood

by the fireplace, and with it broke the girl’s nose and breastbone, and

thus ended her life. I will not say that this most horrid murder

produced no sensation in the community. It did produce sensation, but

not enough to bring the murderess to punishment. There was a warrant

issued for her arrest, but it was never served. Thus she escaped not

only punishment, but even the pain of being arraigned before a court

for her horrid crime.

Whilst I am detailing bloody deeds which took place during my stay on

Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, I will briefly narrate another, which

occurred about the same time as the murder of Demby by Mr. Gore.

Colonel Lloyd’s slaves were in the habit of spending a part of their

nights and Sundays in fishing for oysters, and in this way made up the

deficiency of their scanty allowance. An old man belonging to Colonel

Lloyd, while thus engaged, happened to get beyond the limits of Colonel

Lloyd’s, and on the premises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At this trespass, Mr.

Bondly took offence, and with his musket came down to the shore, and

blew its deadly contents into the poor old man.

Mr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd the next day, whether to pay

him for his property, or to justify himself in what he had done, I know

not. At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soon hushed up.

There was very little said about it at all, and nothing done. It was a

common saying, even among little white boys, that it was worth a

half-cent to kill a “nigger,” and a half-cent to bury one.

CHAPTER V

As to my own treatment while I lived on Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, it

was very similar to that of the other slave children. I was not old

enough to work in the field, and there being little else than field

work to do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The most I had to do

was to drive up the cows at evening, keep the fowls out of the garden,

keep the front yard clean, and run of errands for my old master’s

daughter, Mrs. Lucretia Auld. The most of my leisure time I spent in

helping Master Daniel Lloyd in finding his birds, after he had shot

them. My connection with Master Daniel was of some advantage to me. He

became quite attached to me, and was a sort of protector of me. He

would not allow the older boys to impose upon me, and would divide his

cakes with me.

I was seldom whipped by my old master, and suffered little from any

thing else than hunger and cold. I suffered much from hunger, but much

more from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I was kept almost

naked—no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trousers, nothing on but a

coarse tow linen shirt, reaching only to my knees. I had no bed. I must

have perished with cold, but that, the coldest nights, I used to steal

a bag which was used for carrying corn to the mill. I would crawl into

this bag, and there sleep on the cold, damp, clay floor, with my head

in and feet out. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the

pen with which I am writing might be laid in the gashes.

We were not regularly allowanced. Our food was coarse corn meal boiled.

This was called _mush_. It was put into a large wooden tray or trough,

and set down upon the ground. The children were then called, like so

many pigs, and like so many pigs they would come and devour the mush;

some with oyster-shells, others with pieces of shingle, some with naked

hands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastest got most; he that was

strongest secured the best place; and few left the trough satisfied.

I was probably between seven and eight years old when I left Colonel

Lloyd’s plantation. I left it with joy. I shall never forget the

ecstasy with which I received the intelligence that my old master

(Anthony) had determined to let me go to Baltimore, to live with Mr.

Hugh Auld, brother to my old master’s son-in-law, Captain Thomas Auld.

I received this information about three days before my departure. They

were three of the happiest days I ever enjoyed. I spent the most part

of all these three days in the creek, washing off the plantation scurf,

and preparing myself for my departure.

The pride of appearance which this would indicate was not my own. I

spent the time in washing, not so much because I wished to, but because

Mrs. Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skin off my feet and

knees before I could go to Baltimore; for the people in Baltimore were

very cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked dirty. Besides, she was

going to give me a pair of trousers, which I should not put on unless I

got all the dirt off me. The thought of owning a pair of trousers was

great indeed! It was almost a sufficient motive, not only to make me

take off what would be called by pig-drovers the mange, but the skin

itself. I went at it in good earnest, working for the first time with

the hope of reward.

The ties that ordinarily bind children to their homes were all

suspended in my case. I found no severe trial in my departure. My home

was charmless; it was not home to me; on parting from it, I could not

feel that I was leaving any thing which I could have enjoyed by

staying. My mother was dead, my grandmother lived far off, so that I

seldom saw her. I had two sisters and one brother, that lived in the

same house with me; but the early separation of us from our mother had

well nigh blotted the fact of our relationship from our memories. I

looked for home elsewhere, and was confident of finding none which I

should relish less than the one which I was leaving. If, however, I

found in my new home hardship, hunger, whipping, and nakedness, I had

the consolation that I should not have escaped any one of them by

staying. Having already had more than a taste of them in the house of

my old master, and having endured them there, I very naturally inferred

my ability to endure them elsewhere, and especially at Baltimore; for I

had something of the feeling about Baltimore that is expressed in the

proverb, that “being hanged in England is preferable to dying a natural

death in Ireland.” I had the strongest desire to see Baltimore. Cousin

Tom, though not fluent in speech, had inspired me with that desire by

his eloquent description of the place. I could never point out any

thing at the Great House, no matter how beautiful or powerful, but that

he had seen something at Baltimore far exceeding, both in beauty and

strength, the object which I pointed out to him. Even the Great House

itself, with all its pictures, was far inferior to many buildings in

Baltimore. So strong was my desire, that I thought a gratification of

it would fully compensate for whatever loss of comforts I should

sustain by the exchange. I left without a regret, and with the highest

hopes of future happiness.

We sailed out of Miles River for Baltimore on a Saturday morning. I

remember only the day of the week, for at that time I had no knowledge

of the days of the month, nor the months of the year. On setting sail,

I walked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation what I hoped would

be the last look. I then placed myself in the bows of the sloop, and

there spent the remainder of the day in looking ahead, interesting

myself in what was in the distance rather than in things near by or

behind.

In the afternoon of that day, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the

State. We stopped but a few moments, so that I had no time to go on

shore. It was the first large town that I had ever seen, and though it

would look small compared with some of our New England factory

villages, I thought it a wonderful place for its size—more imposing

even than the Great House Farm!

We arrived at Baltimore early on Sunday morning, landing at Smith’s

Wharf, not far from Bowley’s Wharf. We had on board the sloop a large

flock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them to the slaughterhouse

of Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater’s Hill, I was conducted by Rich, one of

the hands belonging on board of the sloop, to my new home in Alliciana

Street, near Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard, on Fells Point.

Mr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and met me at the door with their

little son Thomas, to take care of whom I had been given. And here I

saw what I had never seen before; it was a white face beaming with the

most kindly emotions; it was the face of my new mistress, Sophia Auld.

I wish I could describe the rapture that flashed through my soul as I

beheld it. It was a new and strange sight to me, brightening up my

pathway with the light of happiness. Little Thomas was told, there was

his Freddy,—and I was told to take care of little Thomas; and thus I

entered upon the duties of my new home with the most cheering prospect

ahead.

I look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd’s plantation as one of the

most interesting events of my life. It is possible, and even quite

probable, that but for the mere circumstance of being removed from that

plantation to Baltimore, I should have to-day, instead of being here

seated by my own table, in the enjoyment of freedom and the happiness

of home, writing this Narrative, been confined in the galling chains of

slavery. Going to live at Baltimore laid the foundation, and opened the

gateway, to all my subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded it as

the first plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ever

since attended me, and marked my life with so many favors. I regarded

the selection of myself as being somewhat remarkable. There were a

number of slave children that might have been sent from the plantation

to Baltimore. There were those younger, those older, and those of the

same age. I was chosen from among them all, and was the first, last,

and only choice.

I may be deemed superstitious, and even egotistical, in regarding this

event as a special interposition of divine Providence in my favor. But

I should be false to the earliest sentiments of my soul, if I

suppressed the opinion. I prefer to be true to myself, even at the

hazard of incurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false,

and incur my own abhorrence. From my earliest recollection, I date the

entertainment of a deep conviction that slavery would not always be

able to hold me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my

career in slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope

departed not from me, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me

through the gloom. This good spirit was from God, and to him I offer

thanksgiving and praise.

CHAPTER VI

My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at

the door,—a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She had

never had a slave under her control previously to myself, and prior to

her marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry for a living.

She was by trade a weaver; and by constant application to her business,

she had been in a good degree preserved from the blighting and

dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly astonished at her

goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her. She was entirely

unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her

as I was accustomed to approach other white ladies. My early

instruction was all out of place. The crouching servility, usually so

acceptable a quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward

her. Her favor was not gained by it; she seemed to be disturbed by it.

She did not deem it impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in

the face. The meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and

none left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made

of heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.

But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The

fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon

commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence of

slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet

accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic

face gave place to that of a demon.

Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly

commenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she

assisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just

at this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and

at once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among

other things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave

to read. To use his own words, further, he said, “If you give a nigger

an inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey

his master—to do as he is told to do. Learning would _spoil_ the best

nigger in the world. Now,” said he, “if you teach that nigger (speaking

of myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever

unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of

no value to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a

great deal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy.” These

words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay

slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought.

It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious

things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but

struggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most

perplexing difficulty—to wit, the white man’s power to enslave the

black man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From

that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was

just what I wanted, and I got it at a time when I the least expected

it. Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind

mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the

merest accident, I had gained from my master. Though conscious of the

difficulty of learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and

a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The

very decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife

with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince

me that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering. It gave

me the best assurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on

the results which, he said, would flow from teaching me to read. What

he most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most

hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was

to me a great good, to be diligently sought; and the argument which he

so warmly urged, against my learning to read, only served to inspire me

with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe

almost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly

aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both.

I had resided but a short time in Baltimore before I observed a marked

difference, in the treatment of slaves, from that which I had witnessed

in the country. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared with a slave

on the plantation. He is much better fed and clothed, and enjoys

privileges altogether unknown to the slave on the plantation. There is

a vestige of decency, a sense of shame, that does much to curb and

check those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty so commonly enacted upon the

plantation. He is a desperate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity

of his non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of his lacerated

slave. Few are willing to incur the odium attaching to the reputation

of being a cruel master; and above all things, they would not be known

as not giving a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious

to have it known of him, that he feeds his slaves well; and it is due

to them to say, that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat.

There are, however, some painful exceptions to this rule. Directly

opposite to us, on Philpot Street, lived Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned

two slaves. Their names were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was about

twenty-two years of age, Mary was about fourteen; and of all the

mangled and emaciated creatures I ever looked upon, these two were the

most so. His heart must be harder than stone, that could look upon

these unmoved. The head, neck, and shoulders of Mary were literally cut

to pieces. I have frequently felt her head, and found it nearly covered

with festering sores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do

not know that her master ever whipped her, but I have been an

eye-witness to the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr.

Hamilton’s house nearly every day. Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a large

chair in the middle of the room, with a heavy cowskin always by her

side, and scarce an hour passed during the day but was marked by the

blood of one of these slaves. The girls seldom passed her without her

saying, “Move faster, you _black gip!_” at the same time giving them a

blow with the cowskin over the head or shoulders, often drawing the

blood. She would then say, “Take that, you _black gip!_” continuing,

“If you don’t move faster, I’ll move you!” Added to the cruel lashings

to which these slaves were subjected, they were kept nearly

half-starved. They seldom knew what it was to eat a full meal. I have

seen Mary contending with the pigs for the offal thrown into the

street. So much was Mary kicked and cut to pieces, that she was oftener

called “_pecked_” than by her name.

CHAPTER VII

I lived in Master Hugh’s family about seven years. During this time, I

succeeded in learning to read and write. In accomplishing this, I was

compelled to resort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher. My

mistress, who had kindly commenced to instruct me, had, in compliance

with the advice and direction of her husband, not only ceased to

instruct, but had set her face against my being instructed by any one

else. It is due, however, to my mistress to say of her, that she did

not adopt this course of treatment immediately. She at first lacked the

depravity indispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness. It was at

least necessary for her to have some training in the exercise of

irresponsible power, to make her equal to the task of treating me as

though I were a brute.

My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tender-hearted woman; and

in the simplicity of her soul she commenced, when I first went to live

with her, to treat me as she supposed one human being ought to treat

another. In entering upon the duties of a slaveholder, she did not seem

to perceive that I sustained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and

that for her to treat me as a human being was not only wrong, but

dangerously so. Slavery proved as injurious to her as it did to me.

When I went there, she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman.

There was no sorrow or suffering for which she had not a tear. She had

bread for the hungry, clothes for the naked, and comfort for every

mourner that came within her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability to

divest her of these heavenly qualities. Under its influence, the tender

heart became stone, and the lamblike disposition gave way to one of

tiger-like fierceness. The first step in her downward course was in her

ceasing to instruct me. She now commenced to practise her husband’s

precepts. She finally became even more violent in her opposition than

her husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply doing as well as

he had commanded; she seemed anxious to do better. Nothing seemed to

make her more angry than to see me with a newspaper. She seemed to

think that here lay the danger. I have had her rush at me with a face

made all up of fury, and snatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that

fully revealed her apprehension. She was an apt woman; and a little

experience soon demonstrated, to her satisfaction, that education and

slavery were incompatible with each other.

From this time I was most narrowly watched. If I was in a separate room

any considerable length of time, I was sure to be suspected of having a

book, and was at once called to give an account of myself. All this,

however, was too late. The first step had been taken. Mistress, in

teaching me the alphabet, had given me the _inch,_ and no precaution

could prevent me from taking the _ell._

The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most successful,

was that of making friends of all the little white boys whom I met in

the street. As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers.

With their kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different

places, I finally succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of

errands, I always took my book with me, and by going one part of my

errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson before my return. I used

also to carry bread with me, enough of which was always in the house,

and to which I was always welcome; for I was much better off in this

regard than many of the poor white children in our neighborhood. This

bread I used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return,

would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly

tempted to give the names of two or three of those little boys, as a

testimonial of the gratitude and affection I bear them; but prudence

forbids;—not that it would injure me, but it might embarrass them; for

it is almost an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this

Christian country. It is enough to say of the dear little fellows, that

they lived on Philpot Street, very near Durgin and Bailey’s ship-yard.

I used to talk this matter of slavery over with them. I would sometimes

say to them, I wished I could be as free as they would be when they got

to be men. “You will be free as soon as you are twenty-one, _but I am a

slave for life!_ Have not I as good a right to be free as you have?”

These words used to trouble them; they would express for me the

liveliest sympathy, and console me with the hope that something would

occur by which I might be free.

I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being _a slave for

life_ began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just about this time, I got

hold of a book entitled “The Columbian Orator.” Every opportunity I

got, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter,

I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was

represented as having run away from his master three times. The

dialogue represented the conversation which took place between them,

when the slave was retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole

argument in behalf of slavery was brought forward by the master, all of

which was disposed of by the slave. The slave was made to say some very

smart as well as impressive things in reply to his master—things which

had the desired though unexpected effect; for the conversation resulted

in the voluntary emancipation of the slave on the part of the master.