第5章 共8章

I had left Master Thomas’s house, and went to live with Mr. Covey, on

the 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time in my life, a

field hand. In my new employment, I found myself even more awkward than

a country boy appeared to be in a large city. I had been at my new home

but one week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting

my back, causing the blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as

large as my little finger. The details of this affair are as follows:

Mr. Covey sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days

in the month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood. He gave

me a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox, and

which the off-hand one. He then tied the end of a large rope around the

horns of the in-hand ox, and gave me the other end of it, and told me,

if the oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon the rope. I had

never driven oxen before, and of course I was very awkward. I, however,

succeeded in getting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty;

but I had got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took

fright, and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and

over stumps, in the most frightful manner. I expected every moment that

my brains would be dashed out against the trees. After running thus for

a considerable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with

great force against a tree, and threw themselves into a dense thicket.

How I escaped death, I do not know. There I was, entirely alone, in a

thick wood, in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my

oxen were entangled among the young trees, and there was none to help

me. After a long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart

righted, my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now

proceeded with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been

chopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way

to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had now consumed

one half of the day. I got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of

danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate; and just as I did so,

before I could get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed

through the gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of the

cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a few inches of crushing

me against the gate-post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death

by the merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened,

and how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again

immediately. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into

the woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would

teach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went to a

large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after

trimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he ordered me to take off

my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He

repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip

myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore

off my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches,

cutting me so savagely as to leave the marks visible for a long time

after. This whipping was the first of a number just like it, and for

similar offences.

I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of that

year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free

from a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for

whipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of endurance. Long

before day we were up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day

we were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey

gave us enough to eat, but scarce time to eat it. We were often less

than five minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field from the

first approach of day till its last lingering ray had left us; and at

saving-fodder time, midnight often caught us in the field binding

blades.

Covey would be out with us. The way he used to stand it, was this. He

would spend the most of his afternoons in bed. He would then come out

fresh in the evening, ready to urge us on with his words, example, and

frequently with the whip. Mr. Covey was one of the few slaveholders who

could and did work with his hands. He was a hard-working man. He knew

by himself just what a man or a boy could do. There was no deceiving

him. His work went on in his absence almost as well as in his presence;

and he had the faculty of making us feel that he was ever present with

us. This he did by surprising us. He seldom approached the spot where

we were at work openly, if he could do it secretly. He always aimed at

taking us by surprise. Such was his cunning, that we used to call him,

among ourselves, “the snake.” When we were at work in the cornfield, he

would sometimes crawl on his hands and knees to avoid detection, and

all at once he would rise nearly in our midst, and scream out, “Ha, ha!

Come, come! Dash on, dash on!” This being his mode of attack, it was

never safe to stop a single minute. His comings were like a thief in

the night. He appeared to us as being ever at hand. He was under every

tree, behind every stump, in every bush, and at every window, on the

plantation. He would sometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St.

Michael’s, a distance of seven miles, and in half an hour afterwards

you would see him coiled up in the corner of the wood-fence, watching

every motion of the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave his horse

tied up in the woods. Again, he would sometimes walk up to us, and give

us orders as though he was upon the point of starting on a long

journey, turn his back upon us, and make as though he was going to the

house to get ready; and, before he would get half way thither, he would

turn short and crawl into a fence-corner, or behind some tree, and

there watch us till the going down of the sun.

Mr. Covey’s _forte_ consisted in his power to deceive. His life was

devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every

thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made

conform to his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think himself equal

to deceiving the Almighty. He would make a short prayer in the morning,

and a long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem, few men would

at times appear more devotional than he. The exercises of his family

devotions were always commenced with singing; and, as he was a very

poor singer himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon

me. He would read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times

do so; at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always

produce much confusion. To show himself independent of me, he would

start and stagger through with his hymn in the most discordant manner.

In this state of mind, he prayed with more than ordinary spirit. Poor

man! such was his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily

believe that he sometimes deceived himself into the solemn belief, that

he was a sincere worshipper of the most high God; and this, too, at a

time when he may be said to have been guilty of compelling his woman

slave to commit the sin of adultery. The facts in the case are these:

Mr. Covey was a poor man; he was just commencing in life; he was only

able to buy one slave; and, shocking as is the fact, he bought her, as

he said, for _a breeder_. This woman was named Caroline. Mr. Covey

bought her from Mr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles from St. Michael’s.

She was a large, able-bodied woman, about twenty years old. She had

already given birth to one child, which proved her to be just what he

wanted. After buying her, he hired a married man of Mr. Samuel

Harrison, to live with him one year; and him he used to fasten up with

her every night! The result was, that, at the end of the year, the

miserable woman gave birth to twins. At this result Mr. Covey seemed to

be highly pleased, both with the man and the wretched woman. Such was

his joy, and that of his wife, that nothing they could do for Caroline

during her confinement was too good, or too hard, to be done. The

children were regarded as being quite an addition to his wealth.

If at any one time of my life more than another, I was made to drink

the bitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the first six

months of my stay with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers. It

was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or

snow, too hard for us to work in the field. Work, work, work, was

scarcely more the order of the day than of the night. The longest days

were too short for him, and the shortest nights too long for him. I was

somewhat unmanageable when I first went there, but a few months of this

discipline tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken

in body, soul, and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my

intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful

spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed

in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!

Sunday was my only leisure time. I spent this in a sort of beast-like

stupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree. At times I would

rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would dart through my soul,

accompanied with a faint beam of hope, that flickered for a moment, and

then vanished. I sank down again, mourning over my wretched condition.

I was 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 lofty

banks of that noble bay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearful

eye, the countless number of sails moving off to the mighty ocean. The

sight of these always affected me powerfully. My thoughts would compel

utterance; and there, with no audience but the 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 are free; I am fast in my

chains, and am a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale, and I

sadly before the bloody whip! You are freedom’s swift-winged angels,

that fly round the world; I am confined in bands of iron! O that I were

free! O, that I were on one of your gallant decks, and under your

protecting wing! Alas! 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

the fever. I have only one life to lose. I had as well be killed

running as die standing. Only think of it; one hundred miles straight

north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! God helping me, I will. It cannot be

that I shall live and die a slave. I will take to the water. This very

bay shall yet bear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in a

north-east course from North Point. I will do the same; and when I get

to the head of the bay, I will turn my canoe adrift, and walk straight

through Delaware into Pennsylvania. When I get there, I shall not be

required to have a pass; I can travel without being disturbed. Let but

the first opportunity offer, and, come what will, I am off. 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.”

Thus I used to think, and thus I used to speak to myself; goaded almost

to madness at one moment, and at the next reconciling myself to my

wretched lot.

I have already intimated that my condition was much worse, during the

first six months of my stay at Mr. Covey’s, than in the last six. The

circumstances leading to the change in Mr. Covey’s course toward me

form an epoch in my humble history. You have seen how a man was made a

slave; you shall see how a slave was made a man. On one of the hottest

days of the month of August, 1833, Bill Smith, William Hughes, a slave

named Eli, and myself, were engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes was

clearing the fanned wheat from before the fan. Eli was turning, Smith

was feeding, and I was carrying wheat to the fan. The work was simple,

requiring strength rather than intellect; yet, to one entirely unused

to such work, it came very hard. About three o’clock of that day, I

broke down; my strength failed me; I was seized with a violent aching

of the head, attended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in every limb.

Finding what was coming, I nerved myself up, feeling it would never do

to stop work. I stood as long as I could stagger to the hopper with

grain. When I could stand no longer, I fell, and felt as if held down

by an immense weight. The fan of course stopped; every one had his own

work to do; and no one could do the work of the other, and have his own

go on at the same time.

Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred yards from the

treading-yard where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he left

immediately, and came to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired

what the matter was. Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no

one to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time crawled away under

the side of the post and rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed,

hoping to find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where I

was. He was told by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and, after

looking at me awhile, asked me what was the matter. I told him as well

as I could, for I scarce had strength to speak. He then gave me a

savage kick in the side, and told me to get up. I tried to do so, but

fell back in the attempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to

rise. I again tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stooping to

get the tub with which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and

fell. While down in this situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat

with which Hughes had been striking off the half-bushel measure, and

with it gave me a heavy blow upon the head, making a large wound, and

the blood ran freely; and with this again told me to get up. I made no

effort to comply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst.

In a short time after receiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr.

Covey had now left me to my fate. At this moment I resolved, for the

first time, to go to my master, enter a complaint, and ask his

protection. In order to do this, I must that afternoon walk seven

miles; and this, under the circumstances, was truly a severe

undertaking. I was exceedingly feeble; made so as much by the kicks and

blows which I received, as by the severe fit of sickness to which I had

been subjected. I, however, watched my chance, while Covey was looking

in an opposite direction, and started for St. Michael’s. I succeeded in

getting a considerable distance on my way to the woods, when Covey

discovered me, and called after me to come back, threatening what he

would do if I did not come. I disregarded both his calls and his

threats, and made my way to the woods as fast as my feeble state would

allow; and thinking I might be overhauled by him if I kept the road, I

walked through the woods, keeping far enough from the road to avoid

detection, and near enough to prevent losing my way. I had not gone far

before my little strength again failed me. I could go no farther. I

fell down, and lay for a considerable time. The blood was yet oozing

from the wound on my head. For a time I thought I should bleed to

death; and think now that I should have done so, but that the blood so

matted my hair as to stop the wound. After lying there about three

quarters of an hour, I nerved myself up again, and started on my way,

through bogs and briers, barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feet

sometimes at nearly every step; and after a journey of about seven

miles, occupying some five hours to perform it, I arrived at master’s

store. I then presented an appearance enough to affect any but a heart

of iron. From the crown of my head to my feet, I was covered with

blood. My hair was all clotted with dust and blood; my shirt was stiff

with blood. I suppose I looked like a man who had escaped a den of wild

beasts, and barely escaped them. In this state I appeared before my

master, humbly entreating him to interpose his authority for my

protection. I told him all the circumstances as well as I could, and it

seemed, as I spoke, at times to affect him. He would then walk the

floor, and seek to justify Covey by saying he expected I deserved it.

He asked me what I wanted. I told him, to let me get a new home; that

as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again, I should live with but to die

with him; that Covey would surely kill me; he was in a fair way for it.

Master Thomas ridiculed the idea that there was any danger of Mr.

Covey’s killing me, and said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he was a good

man, and that he could not think of taking me from him; that, should he

do so, he would lose the whole year’s wages; that I belonged to Mr.

Covey for one year, and that I must go back to him, come what might;

and that I must not trouble him with any more stories, or that he would

himself _get hold of me_. After threatening me thus, he gave me a very

large dose of salts, telling me that I might remain in St. Michael’s

that night, (it being quite late,) but that I must be off back to Mr.

Covey’s early in the morning; and that if I did not, he would _get hold

of me,_ which meant that he would whip me. I remained all night, and,

according to his orders, I started off to Covey’s in the morning,

(Saturday morning,) wearied in body and broken in spirit. I got no

supper that night, or breakfast that morning. I reached Covey’s about

nine o’clock; and just as I was getting over the fence that divided

Mrs. Kemp’s fields from ours, out ran Covey with his cowskin, to give

me another whipping. Before he could reach me, I succeeded in getting

to the cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it afforded me the

means of hiding. He seemed very angry, and searched for me a long time.

My behavior was altogether unaccountable. He finally gave up the chase,

thinking, I suppose, that I must come home for something to eat; he

would give himself no further trouble in looking for me. I spent that

day mostly in the woods, having the alternative before me,—to go home

and be whipped to death, or stay in the woods and be starved to death.

That night, I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whom I was

somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife who lived about four miles

from Mr. Covey’s; and it being Saturday, he was on his way to see her.

I told him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited me to go home

with him. I went home with him, and talked this whole matter over, and

got his advice as to what course it was best for me to pursue. I found

Sandy an old adviser. He told me, with great solemnity, I must go back

to Covey; but that before I went, I must go with him into another part

of the woods, where there was a certain _root,_ which, if I would take

some of it with me, carrying it _always on my right side,_ would render

it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, to whip me. He

said he had carried it for years; and since he had done so, he had

never received a blow, and never expected to while he carried it. I at

first rejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a root in my

pocket would have any such effect as he had said, and was not disposed

to take it; but Sandy impressed the necessity with much earnestness,

telling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To please him, I at

length took the root, and, according to his direction, carried it upon

my right side. This was Sunday morning. I immediately started for home;

and upon entering the yard gate, out came Mr. Covey on his way to

meeting. He spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs from a lot

near by, and passed on towards the church. Now, this singular conduct

of Mr. Covey really made me begin to think that there was something in

the _root_ which Sandy had given me; and had it been on any other day

than Sunday, I could have attributed the conduct to no other cause than

the influence of that root; and as it was, I was half inclined to think

the _root_ to be something more than I at first had taken it to be. All

went well till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of the

_root_ was fully tested. Long before daylight, I was called to go and

rub, curry, and feed, the horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But

whilst thus engaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some blades

from the loft, Mr. Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and just

as I was half out of the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about

tying me. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring,

and as I did so, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawling on the

stable floor. Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do

what he pleased; but at this moment—from whence came the spirit I don’t

know—I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I

seized Covey hard by the throat; and as I did so, I rose. He held on to

me, and I to him. My resistance was so entirely unexpected that Covey

seemed taken all aback. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me

assurance, and I held him uneasy, causing the blood to run where I

touched him with the ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to

Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while Covey held me, attempted to

tie my right hand. While he was in the act of doing so, I watched my

chance, and gave him a heavy kick close under the ribs. This kick

fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left me in the hands of Mr. Covey.

This kick had the effect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey also.

When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his courage quailed. He

asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance. I told him I did, come

what might; that he had used me like a brute for six months, and that I

was determined to be used so no longer. With that, he strove to drag me

to a stick that was lying just out of the stable door. He meant to

knock me down. But just as he was leaning over to get the stick, I

seized him with both hands by his collar, and brought him by a sudden

snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came. Covey called upon him

for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could do. Covey said, “Take

hold of him, take hold of him!” Bill said his master hired him out to

work, and not to help to whip me; so he left Covey and myself to fight

our own battle out. We were at it for nearly two hours. Covey at length

let me go, puffing and blowing at a great rate, saying that if I had

not resisted, he would not have whipped me half so much. The truth was,

that he had not whipped me at all. I considered him as getting entirely

the worst end of the bargain; for he had drawn no blood from me, but I

had from him. The whole six months afterwards, that I spent with Mr.

Covey, he never laid the weight of his finger upon me in anger. He

would occasionally say, he didn’t want to get hold of me again. “No,”

thought I, “you need not; for you will come off worse than you did

before.”

This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a

slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived

within me a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed

self-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free.

The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for

whatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand

the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by

force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was

a glorious resurrection, from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of

freedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance

took its place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain a

slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in

fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of me, that the white man

who expected to succeed in whipping, must also succeed in killing me.

From this time I was never again what might be called fairly whipped,

though I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights,

but was never whipped.

It was for a long time a matter of surprise to me why Mr. Covey did not

immediately have me taken by the constable to the whipping-post, and

there regularly whipped for the crime of raising my hand against a

white man in defence of myself. And the only explanation I can now

think of does not entirely satisfy me; but such as it is, I will give

it. Mr. Covey enjoyed the most unbounded reputation for being a

first-rate overseer and negro-breaker. It was of considerable

importance to him. That reputation was at stake; and had he sent me—a

boy about sixteen years old—to the public whipping-post, his reputation

would have been lost; so, to save his reputation, he suffered me to go

unpunished.

My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day,

1833. The days between Christmas and New Year’s day are allowed as

holidays; and, accordingly, we were not required to perform any labor,

more than to feed and take care of the stock. This time we regarded as

our own, by the grace of our masters; and we therefore used or abused

it nearly as we pleased. Those of us who had families at a distance,

were generally allowed to spend the whole six days in their society.

This time, however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober,

thinking and industrious ones of our number would employ themselves in

making corn-brooms, mats, horse-collars, and baskets; and another class

of us would spend the time in hunting opossums, hares, and coons. But

by far the larger part engaged in such sports and merriments as playing

ball, wrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking

whisky; and this latter mode of spending the time was by far the most

agreeable to the feelings of our masters. A slave who would work during

the holidays was considered by our masters as scarcely deserving them.

He was regarded as one who rejected the favor of his master. It was

deemed a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as

lazy indeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means,

during the year, to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.

From what I know of the effect of these holidays upon the slave, I

believe them to be among the most effective means in the hands of the

slaveholder in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were the

slaveholders at once to abandon this practice, I have not the slightest

doubt it would lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves.

These holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the

rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would

be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the

slaveholder, the day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation of

those conductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go

forth in their midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling

earthquake.

The holidays are part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrong, and

inhumanity of slavery. They are professedly a custom established by the

benevolence of the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is the

result of selfishness, and one of the grossest frauds committed upon

the down-trodden slave. They do not give the slaves this time because

they would not like to have their work during its continuance, but

because they know it would be unsafe to deprive them of it. This will

be seen by the fact, that the slaveholders like to have their slaves

spend those days just in such a manner as to make them as glad of their

ending as of their beginning. Their object seems to be, to disgust

their slaves with freedom, by plunging them into the lowest depths of

dissipation. For instance, the slaveholders not only like to see the

slave drink of his own accord, but will adopt various plans to make him

drunk. One plan is, to make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink

the most whisky without getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in

getting whole multitudes to drink to excess. Thus, when the slave asks

for virtuous freedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance,

cheats him with a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with

the name of liberty. The most of us used to drink it down, and the

result was just what might be supposed; many of us were led to think

that there was little to choose between liberty and slavery. We felt,

and very properly too, that we had almost as well be slaves to man as

to rum. So, when the holidays ended, we staggered up from the filth of

our wallowing, took a long breath, and marched to the field,—feeling,

upon the whole, rather glad to go, from what our master had deceived us

into a belief was freedom, back to the arms of slavery.