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IN the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti-slavery convention in Nantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with FREDERICK DOUGLASS, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a stranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made his escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling his curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the abolitionists,—of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description while he was a slave,— he was induced to give his attendance, on the occasion alluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford.
Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!— fortunate for the millions of his manacled
brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful thraldom!— fortunate for the cause of negro
emancipation, and of universal liberty!— fortunate for the land of his birth,
which he has already done so much to save and bless! fortunate for a large
circle of friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has
strongly secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits
of character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as
being bound with them!— fortunate for the multitudes, in various parts of our
republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of slavery, and who have
been melted to tears by his pathos,
or roused to virtuous indignation by his stirring eloquence against the
enslavers of men!— fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the
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 — the applause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment; certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is in flicted by it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more clear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature commanding and exact— in intellect richly endowed— in natural eloquence a prodigy— in soul manifestly "created but a little lower than the angels"— yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,— trembling for his safety, hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an intellectual and moral being— needing nothing but a comparatively small amount of cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing to his race— by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the terms of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of burden, a chattel personal, nevertheless!
A beloved friend from New Bedford prevailed on Mr. DOUGLASS to address the
convention: He came forward to the platform with a hesitancy and embarrassment,
necessarily the attendants of a sensitive mind in such a novel position. After
apologizing for his ignorance, and reminding the audience that slavery was a
poor school for the human intellect and heart,
It was at once deeply impressed upon my mind, that, if Mr. DOUGLASS could be
persuaded to consecrate his time and talents to the promotion of the
anti-slavery enterprise, a powerful impetus would be given to it, and a stunning
blow at the same time inflicted on northern prejudice against a colored
complexion. I therefore endeavored to instil hope and courage into his mind, in
order that he might dare to engage in a vocation so anomalous and responsible
for a person in his situation; and I was seconded in this effort by warm-hearted
friends, especially by the late General
It is certainly a very remarkable fact, that one of the most efficient advocates
of the slave population, now before the public, is a fugitive slave, in the
person of FREDERICK DOUGLASS; and that the free colored population of the United
States are as ably represented by one of their own number, in the person of CHARLES LENOX REMOND,
whose eloquent appeals have extorted the highest applause of multitudes on both
sides of the Atlantic. Let the calumniators of the colored
It may, perhaps, be fairly questioned, whether any other portion of the
population of the earth could have endured the privations, sufferings and
horrors of slavery, without having become more degraded in the scale of humanity
than the slaves of African descent. Nothing has been left undone to cripple
their intellects, darken their minds, debase their moral nature, obliterate all
traces of their relationship to mankind; and yet how wonderfully they have
sustained the mighty load of a most frightful bondage, under which they have
been groaning for centuries! To illustrate the effect of slavery on the white
man,— to show that he has no powers of endurance, in such a condition, superior
to those of his black brother,— DANIEL O'CONNELL, the distinguished advocate
of universal emancipation, and the mightiest champion of prostrate but not
conquered Ireland, relates the following anecdote in a speech delivered by him
in the Conciliation Hall, Dublin, before the Loyal National Repeal Association,
March 31, 1845. "No matter," said Mr. O'CONNELL, "under what specious term it
may disguise itself, slavery is still hideous. IT HAS A NATURAL, AN INEVITABLE
TENDENCY TO BRUTALIZE EVERY NOBLE FACULTY OF MAN. An American sailor, who was
cast away on the shore of Africa, where he was kept in slavery for three years,
was, at the expiration of that period, found to be imbruted and stultified— he
had lost all reasoning power; and having forgotten his native language, could
only utter some savage gibberish between Arabic and English, which nobody could
understand, and which even he himself found difficulty in pronouncing. So much
for the humanizing influence of THE DOMESTIC INSTITUTION!"
Mr. DOUGLASS has very properly chosen to write his own Narrative, in his own
style, and according to the best of his ability, rather than to employ some one
else. It is, therefore, entirely his own production; and, considering how long
and dark was the career he had to run as a slave, — how few have been his
opportunities to improve his mind since he broke his iron fetters,— it is, in my
judgment, highly creditable to his head and heart. He who can peruse it without
a tearful eye, a heaving breast, an afflicted spirit,— without being filled with
an unutterable abhorrence of slavery and all its abettors, and animated with a
determination to seek the immediate overthrow of that execrable system,— without
trembling for the fate of this country in the hands of a righteous God, who is
ever on the side of the oppressed, and whose arm is not shortened that it cannot
save,— must have a flinty heart, and be qualified to act the part of a
trafficker "in slaves and the souls of men." I am confident that it is
essentially true in all its statements; that nothing has been set down in
malice, nothing exaggerated, nothing drawn from the imagination; that it comes
short of the reality, rather than overstates a single fact in regard to SLAVERY
AS IT IS. The experience of FREDERICK DOUGLASS, as a slave, was not a peculiar
one; his lot was not especially a hard one; his case may be regarded as a very
fair specimen of the treatment of slaves in Maryland, in which State it is
conceded that they are better fed and less cruelly treated than in Georgia,
Alabama, or Louisiana. Many have suffered incomparably more, while very few on
the plantations have suffered less, than himself. Yet how deplorable was his
situation! what terrible chastisements were
This Narrative contains many affecting incidents, many passages of great
eloquence and power; but I think the most thrilling one of them all is the
description DOUGLASS gives of his feelings, as he stood soliloquizing respecting
his fate, and the chances of his one day being a freeman, on the banks of the
Chesapeake Bay— viewing the receding vessels as they flew with their white wings
before the breeze, and apostrophizing them as animated by the living spirit of
freedom. Who can read that passage, and be insensible to its pathos and
sublimity? Compressed into it is a whole Alexandrian library of thought,
feeling, and sentiment— all that can, all that need be urged, in the form of
expostulation, entreaty, rebuke, against that crime of crimes,— making man the
property of his fellow-man! O, how accursed is that system, which entombs the
godlike mind of man, defaces the divine image, reduces those who by creation
were crowned
So profoundly ignorant of the nature of slavery are many persons, that they are
stubbornly incredulous
whenever they read or listen to any recital of the cruelties which are daily
inflicted on its victims. They do not deny that the slaves are held as property;
but that terrible fact seems to convey to their minds no idea of injustice,
exposure to outrage, or savage barbarity. Tell them of cruel scourgings, of
mutilations and brandings, of scenes of pollution and blood, of the banishment
of all light and knowledge, and they affect to be greatly indignant at such
enormous exaggerations, such wholesale misstatements, such abominable libels on
the character of the southern planters! As if all these direful outrages were
not the natural results of slavery! As if it were less cruel to reduce a human
being to the condition of a thing, than to give him a severe flagellation, or to
deprive him of necessary food and clothing! As if whips, chains, thumb-screws,
paddles, bloodhounds, overseers, drivers, patrols, were not all indispensable to
keep the slaves down, and to give protection to their ruthless oppressors! As
if, when the marriage institution is abolished, concubinage, adultery, and
incest, must not necessarily abound; when all the rights of humanity are
annihilated, any barrier remains to protect the victim from the fury of the
spoiler; when absolute power is assumed over life and liberty, it will not be
wielded with destructive sway! Skeptics of this character abound in society. In
some few instances, their incredulity arises from a want of
In the course of his Narrative, he relates two instances of murderous cruelty,—
in one of which a planter deliberately shot a slave belonging to a neighboring
plantation, who had unintentionally gotten within his lordly domain in quest of
fish; and in the other, an overseer blew out the brains of a slave who had fled
to a stream of water to escape a bloody scourging. Mr. DOUGLASS states that in
neither of these instances was any thing done by way of legal arrest or judicial
investigation. The Baltimore American, of March 17, 1845, relates a similar case
of atrocity, perpetrated with similar impunity— as follows:— "SHOOTING A SLAVE.—
We learn, upon the authority of a letter from Charles county, Maryland, received
by a gentleman of this city, that a young man, named Matthews, a nephew of
General Matthews, and whose father, it is believed, holds an office at
Washington, killed one of the slaves upon his father's farm by shooting him. The
letter states that young Matthews had been left in charge of the farm; that he
gave an order to the servant, which was disobeyed, when he proceeded to the
house, OBTAINED A GUN, AND, RETURNING, SHOT THE SERVANT. He immediately, the
letter continues, fled to his father's residence, where he still remains
unmolested."— Let it never be forgotten, that no slaveholder or
The effect of a religious profession on the conduct of southern masters is vividly described in the following Narrative, and shown to be any thing but salutary. In the nature of the case, it must be in the highest degree pernicious. The testimony of Mr. DOUGLASS, on this point, is sustained by a cloud of witnesses, whose veracity is unimpeachable. "A slaveholder's profession of Christianity is a palpable imposture. He is a felon of the highest grade. He is a man-stealer. It is of no importance what you put in the other scale."
Reader! are you with the man-stealers in sympathy and purpose, or on the side of
their down-trodden victims? If with the former, then are you the foe of God and
man. If with the latter, what are you prepared to do and dare in their behalf?
Be faithful, be vigilant, be untiring in your efforts to break every yoke, and
let the oppressed go free. Come what may— cost what it may— inscribe on the
banner which you unfurl to the breeze, as your religious and political motto—
"NO COMPROMISE WITH SLAVERY! NO UNION WITH SLAVEHOLDERS!"
WM. LLOYD GARRISON
BOSTON, MAY 1, 1845.
LETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS,
ESQ.
BOSTON, APRIL 22, 1845.
My Dear Friend:
You remember the old
fable of The Man and the Lion,"
where the lion complained that he should not be so misrepresented "when the
lions wrote history."
I am glad the time has come when the "lions write history." We have been left long enough to gather the character of slavery from the involuntary evidence of the masters. One might, indeed, rest sufficiently satisfied with what, it is evident, must be, in general, the results of such a relation, without seeking farther to find whether they have followed in every instance. Indeed, those who stare at the half-peck of corn a week, and love to count the lashes on the slave's back, are seldom the "stuff" out of which reformers and abolitionists are to be made. I remember that, in 1838, many were waiting for the results of the West India experiment, before they could come into our ranks. Those "results" have come long ago; but, alas! few of that number have come with them, as converts. A man must be disposed to judge of emancipation by other tests than whether it has increased the produce of sugar,— and to hate slavery for other reasons than because it starves men and whips women,— before he is ready to lay the first stone of his anti-slavery life.
I was glad to learn, in your story, how early the most neglected of God's children waken to a sense of their rights, and of the injustice done them. Ex- perience is a keen teacher; and long before you had mastered your A B C, or knew where the "white sails" of the Chesapeake were bound, you began, I see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave, not by his hunger and want, not by his lashes and toil, but by the cruel and blighting death which gathers over his soul.
In connection with this, there is one circumstance which makes your recollections peculiarly valuable, and renders your early insight the more remarkable. You come from that part of the country where we are told slavery appears with its fairest features. Let us hear, then, what it is at its best estate— gaze on its bright side, if it has one; and then imagination may task her powers to add dark lines to the picture, as she travels southward to that (for the colored man) Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the Mississippi sweeps along.
Again, we have known you long, and can put the most entire confidence in your truth, candor, and sincerity. Every one who has heard you speak has felt, and, I am confident, every one who reads your book will feel, persuaded that you give them a fair specimen of the whole truth. No one-sided portrait,— no wholesale complaints,— but strict justice done, whenever individual kindliness has neutralized, for a moment, the deadly system with which it was strangely allied. You have been with us, too, some years, and can fairly compare the twilight of rights, which your race enjoy at the North, with that "noon of night" under which they labor south of Mason and dixon's line. Tell us whether, after all, the half-free colored man of Massachusetts is worse off than the pampered slave of the rice swamps!
In reading your life, no one can say that we have
After all, I shall read your book with trembling for you. Some years ago, when you were beginning to tell me your real name and birthplace, you may remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain ignorant of all. With the exception of a vague description, so I continued, till the other day, when you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the time, whether to thank you or not for the sight of them, when I reflected that it was still dangerous, in Massachusetts, for honest men to tell their names! They say the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration of Independence with the halter about their necks. You, too, publish your declaration of freedom with danger compassing you around. In all the broad lands which the Constitution of the United States overshadows, there is no single spot,— however narrow or desolate,— where a fugitive slave can plant himself and say, "I am safe." The whole armory of Northern Law has no shield for you. I am free to say that, in your place, I should throw the MS. into the fire.
You, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, endeared as you are to so many warm
hearts by rare gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to the service of
others. But it will be owing only to your labors, and the fearless efforts of
those who, trampling the laws and Constitution of the country under their feet,
are determined that they will "hide the out- cast," and that their hearths shall
be, spite of the law, an asylum for the oppressed, if, some time or other, the
humblest may stand in our
Yet it is sad to think, that these very throbbing hearts which welcome your
story, and form your best safeguard in telling it, are all beating contrary to
the "statute in such case made and provided." Go on, my dear friend, till you,
and those who, like you, have been saved, so as by fire, from the dark
prisonhouse, shall stereotype these free, illegal pulses into statutes; and New
England, cutting loose from a blood-stained Union, shall glory in being the
house of refuge for the oppressed,— till we no longer merely "HIDE the outcast,"
or make a merit of standing idly by while he is hunted in our midst; but,
consecrating anew the soil of the Pilgrims as an asylum for the oppressed,
proclaim our WELCOME to the slave so loudly, that the tones shall reach every
hut in the Carolinas, and make the broken-hearted bondman leap up at the thought
of old Massachusetts.
God speed the day!
Till then, and ever,
Yours truly,
WENDELL PHILLIPS
FREDERICK DOUGLASS.
I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve miles from Easton, in
Talbot county, Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my age, never having
seen any authentic record containing it. By far the larger part of the slaves
know as little of their ages as horses know of theirs, and it is the wish of
most masters within my knowledge to keep their slaves thus ignorant. I do not
remember to have ever met a slave who could tell of his birthday. They seldom
come nearer to it than planting-time, harvesttime, cherry-time, spring-time, or
fall-time. A want of information concerning my own was a source of unhappiness
to me even during childhood. The white children could tell their ages. I could
not tell why I ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was not allowed to
make any inquiries of my master concerning it. He deemed all such inquiries on
the part of a slave improper and impertinent, and evidence of
My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker complexion than either my grandmother or grandfather.
My father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all I ever heard speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whispered that my master was my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I know nothing; the means of knowing was withheld from me. My mother and I were separated when I was but an infant— before I knew her as my mother. It is a common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part children from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is taken from it, and hired out on some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is placed under the care of an old woman, too old for field labor. For what this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the development of the child's affection toward its mother, and to blunt and destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child. This is the inevitable result.
I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times in my
life; and each of these times was very short in duration, and at night. She was
hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve
Called thus suddenly away, she left me without the slightest intimation of who my
father was. The whisper that my master was my father, may or may not be true;
and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to my purpose whilst the
fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that slaveholders have ordained,
and by law established, that the children of slave women shall in all cases
follow the condition of their
I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves invariably suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with, than others. They are, in the first place, a constant offence to their mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them; they can seldom do any thing to please her; she is never better pleased than when she sees them under the lash, especially when she suspects her husband of showing to his mulatto children favors which he withholds from his black slaves. The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his slaves, out of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel as the deed may strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children to human flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate of humanity for him to do so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them himself, but must stand by and see one white son tie up his brother, of but few shades darker complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his naked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval, it is set down to his parental partiality, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and the slave whom he would protect and defend.
Every year brings with it multitudes of this class of slaves. It was doubtless in
consequence of a knowledge of this fact, that one great statesman of the
south
I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not remember his
first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony— a title which, I presume,
he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake Bay. He was not considered a
rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and about thirty slaves. His
farms and slaves were under the care of an overseer. The overseer's name was
Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage
monster. He always went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known
him to cut and slash the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be
enraged at his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind
himself. Master, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required
extraordinary barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a
cruel
This occurrence took place very soon after I went to live with my old master, and
under the following circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one night,— where or for
what I do not know,— and happened to be absent when my master desired her
presence. He had ordered her not to go out evenings, and warned her that she
must never let him catch her in company with a young man, who was paying
attention to her
Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been found in
company with Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from what he said while
whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a man of pure morals himself,
he might have been thought interested in protecting the innocence of my aunt;
but those who knew him will not suspect him of any such virtue. Before he
commenced whipping Aunt Hester, he took her into the kitchen, and stripped her
from neck to waist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely naked. He
then told her to cross her hands, calling her at the same time a d———d b———h.
After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her to a
stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He made her get
upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood fair for his
infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched up at their full length, so that she
stood upon the ends of her toes. He then said to her, "Now, you d———d b———h,
I'll learn you how to disobey my orders!" and after rolling up his sleeves, he
commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and soon the warm, red blood (amid
heart-rending shrieks from her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the
floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the
My master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one daughter,
Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in one house, upon
the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master was Colonel Lloyd's clerk
and superintendent. He was what might be called the overseer of the overseers. I
spent two years of childhood on this plantation in my old master's family. It
was here that I witnessed the bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter;
and as I received my first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will
give some description of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation
is about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated on the
border of Miles River. The principal products raised upon it were tobacco, corn,
and wheat. These were raised in great abundance;
Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation were Wye Town and New Design. "Wye Town" was under the overseership of a man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms, numbering over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers of the home plantation. This was the great business place. It was the seat of government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among the overseers were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high misdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run away, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board the sloop, carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some other slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.
Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received
There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be considered
such, and none but the men and women had these. This, however, is not considered
a very great privation. They find less difficulty from the want of beds, than
from the want of time to sleep; for when their day's work in the field is done,
the most of them having their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having
few or none of the ordinary facilities for doing either of these, very many of
their sleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day; and
when this is done, old and young, male and female, married and single, drop down
side by side, on one common bed,— the cold, damp floor,— each covering himself
or herself
Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a woman,
causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this, too, in the midst
of her crying children, pleading for their mother's release. He seemed to take
pleasure in manifesting his fiendish barbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a
profane swearer. It was enough to chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an
ordinary man to hear him talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him but that was
commenced or concluded by some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness
his cruelty and profanity. His presence made it both the field of blood and of
blasphemy. From the rising till the going down of the sun, he was cursing,
raving, cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field, in the most
frightful manner. His career was short. He died very soon after I went to
Colonel Lloyd's; and he died as he lived, uttering, with his dying groans,
bitter
Mr. Severe's place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr. Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was called by the slaves a good overseer.
The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country village.
All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed here. The
shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting, coopering, weaving,
and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves on the home plantation. The
whole place wore a business-like aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The
number of houses, too, conspired to give it advantage over the neighboring
farms. It was called by the slaves the Great House Farm.
Few privileges were esteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, than that
of being selected to do errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in
their minds with greatness. A representative could not be prouder of his
election to a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the
out-farms would be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They
regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their overseers;
and it was on this account, as well as a constant desire to be out of the field
from under the driver's lash, that they esteemed it a high privilege, one worth
careful living for. He was called the smartest
The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly allowance for
themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on their
way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with
their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness.
They would compose and sing as they went along, consulting neither time nor
tune. The thought that came up, came out — if not in the word, in the sound;—
and as frequently in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most
pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment
in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to weave
something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this, when leaving
home. They would then sing most exultingly the following words:—
I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed 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 spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception 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 the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, 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."
I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find persons
who could speak of the singing,
Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated garden, which afforded almost
constant employment for four men, besides the chief gardener, (Mr. M'Durmond.)
This garden was probably the greatest attraction of the place. During the summer
months, people came from far and near— from Baltimore, Easton, and Annapolis— to
see it. It abounded in fruits of almost every description, from the hardy apple
of the north to the delicate orange of the south. This garden was not the least
source of trouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit was quite a temptation
to the hungry
The colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage. His stable and carriage-house presented the appearance of some of our large city livery establishments. His horses were of the finest form and noblest blood. His carriage-house contained three splendid coaches, three or four gigs, besides dearborns and barouches of the most fashionable style.
This establishment was under the care of two slaves— old Barney and young Barney—
father and son. To attend to this establishment was their sole work. But it was
by no means an easy employment; for in nothing was Colonel Lloyd more particular
than in the management of his horses. The slightest inattention to these was
unpardonable, and was visited upon those, under whose care they were placed,
with the severest punishment; no excuse could shield them, if the colonel only
suspected any want of attention to his
To describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd would be almost equal to describing the riches of Job. He kept from ten to fifteen house-servants. He was said to own a thousand slaves, and I think this estimate quite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned so many that he did not know them when he saw them; nor did all the slaves of the out-farms know him. It is reported of him, that, while riding along the road one day, he met a colored man, and addressed him in the usual manner of speaking to colored people on the public highways of the south: "Well, boy, whom do you belong to?" "To Colonel 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 you enough to eat?" "Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is."
The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode on; the man 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
It is partly in consequence of such facts, that slaves, when inquired of as to
their condition and the character of their masters, almost universally say they
are contented, and that their masters are kind. The slaveholders have been known
to send in spies among their slaves, to ascertain their views and feelings in
regard to their condition. The frequency of this has 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 consequences of telling it, and in so doing prove
themselves a part of the human family. If they have any thing to say of their
masters, it is generally in their masters' favor, especially when speaking to an
untried man. I have been frequently asked, when a slave, if I had a kind master,
and do not remember ever to have given a negative answer; nor did I, in pursuing
this course, consider myself as uttering what was absolutely false; for I always
measured the kindness of my master by the standard of kindness set up among
slaveholders around us. Moreover, slaves are like other people, and imbibe
prejudices quite common to others. They think their own 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
Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the office of overseer. Why his career
was so short, I do not know, but suppose he lacked the necessary severity to
suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by Mr. Austin Gore, a man
possessing, in an eminent degree, all those traits of character indispensable to
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
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.
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
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,
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
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
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
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 charm-less; 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;
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
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
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.
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,
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
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 black gip!" at the same
time giving them a blow with the cowskin 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.
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 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.
In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's mighty speeches on and in behalf
of Catholic emancipation. These were choice documents to me. I read them over
and over again with unabated interest. They gave tongue to interesting thoughts
of my own soul, which had frequently flashed through my mind,
I often found myself regretting my own existence, and wishing myself dead; and
but for the hope of being free, I have no doubt but that I should have killed
myself, or done something for which I should have been killed. While in this
state of mind, I was eager to hear any one speak of slavery. I was a ready
listener. Every little while, I could hear something about the abolitionists. It
was some time before I found what the word meant. It was always used in such
connections as to make it an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and
succeeded in getting clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a barn,
or did any thing very wrong in the mind of a slaveholder, it was spoken of as
the fruit of abolition. Hearing the word in this
connection very often, I set about learning what it meant. The dictionary
afforded me little or no help. I found it was "the act of abolishing;" but then
I did not know what was to be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did not dare to
ask any one about its meaning, for I was satisfied that it was something they
wanted me to know very little about. After a patient waiting, I got one of our
city papers, containing abolition and abolitionist, and
always drew near when that word was spoken, expecting to hear something of
importance to myself and fellow-slaves. The light broke in upon me by degrees. I
went one day down on the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading
a scow of stone, I went, unasked, and helped them. When we had finished, one of
them came to me and asked me if I were a slave. I told him I was. He asked, "Are
ye a slave for life?" I told him that I was. The good Irishman seemed to be
deeply affected by the statement. He said to the other that it was a pity so
fine a little fellow as myself should be a slave for life. He said it was a
shame to hold me. They both advised me to run away to the north; that I should
find friends there, and that I should be free. I pretended not to be interested
in what they said, and treated them as if I did not understand them; for I
feared they might be treacherous. White men have been known to encourage slaves
to escape, and then, to get the reward, catch them and return them to their
masters. I was afraid that these seemingly good men might use me so; but I
nevertheless remembered their advice, and from that time I resolved to run away.
I looked forward to a time at which it would be safe for me to escape. I was too
young to think of doing so immediately; besides, I wished to learn how to write,
as I might have occasion to write my own pass. I consoled myself with the hope
that I should
The idea as to how I might learn to write was suggested to me by being in Durgin
and Bailey's ship-yard, and frequently seeing the ship carpenters, after hewing,
and getting a piece of timber ready for use, write on the timber the name of
that part of the ship for which it was intended. When a piece of timber was
intended for the larboard side, it would be marked thus— "L." When a piece was
for the starboard side, it would be marked thus— "S." A piece for the larboard
side forward, would be marked thus— "L. F." When a piece was for starboard side
forward, it would be marked thus— "S. F." For larboard aft, it would be marked
thus— "L. A." For starboard aft, it would be marked thus— "S. A." I soon learned
the names of these letters, and for what they were intended when placed upon a
piece of timber in the ship-yard. I immediately commenced copying them, and in a
short time was able to make the four letters named. After that, when I met with
any boy who I knew could write, I would tell him I could write as well as he.
The next word would be, "I don't believe you. Let me see you try it." I would
then make the letters which I had been so fortunate as to learn, and ask him to
beat that. In this way I got a good many lessons in writing, which it is quite
possible I should never have gotten in any other way. During this time, my
copy-book was the board fence, brick wall, and pavement; my pen and ink was a
lump of chalk. With these, I learned mainly how to write. I then commenced and
continued copying the Italics in
In a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old master's youngest
son Richard died; and in about three years and six months after his death, my
old master, Captain Anthony, died, leavonly his son, Andrew, and daughter,
Lucretia, to share his estate. He died while on a visit to see his daughter at
Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly, he left no will as to the disposal of
his property. It was therefore necessary to have a valuation of the property,
that it might be equally divided between Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was
immediately sent for, to
We were all ranked together at the valuation. Men and women, old and young, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep, and swine. There were horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and children, all holding the same rank in the scale of being, and were all subjected to the same narrow examination. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth, maids and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate inspection. At this moment, I saw more clearly than ever the brutalizing effects of slavery upon both slave and slaveholder.
After the valuation, then came the division. I have no language to express the
high excitement and deep anxiety which were felt among us poor slaves during
this time. Our fate for life was now to be decided. we had no more voice in that
decision than the brutes among whom we were ranked. A single word
I suffered more anxiety than most of my fellowslaves. I had known what it was to
be kindly treated; they had known nothing of the kind. They had seen little or
nothing of the world. They were in very deed men and women of sorrow, and
acquainted with grief. Their backs had been made familiar with the bloody lash,
so that they had become callous; mine was yet tender; for while at Baltimore I
got few whippings, and few slaves could boast of a kinder master and mistress
than myself; and the thought of passing out of their hands into those of Master
Andrew— a man who, but a few days before, to give me a sample of his bloody
disposition, took my little brother by the throat, threw him on the ground, and
with the heel of his boot stamped upon his head till the blood gushed from his
nose and ears— was well calculated to make me anxious as to my fate. After he
had committed this savage outrage upon my brother, he turned to me, and
Thanks to a kind Providence, I fell to the portion of Mrs. Lucretia, and was sent immediately back to Baltimore, to live again in the family of Master Hugh. Their joy at my return equalled their sorrow at my departure. It was a glad day to me. I had escaped a worse than lion's jaws. I was absent from Baltimore, for the purpose of valuation and division, just about one month, and it seemed to have been six.
Very soon after my return to Baltimore, my mistress, Lucretia, died, leaving her
husband and one child, Amanda; and in a very short time after her death, Master
Andrew died. Now all the property of my old master, slaves included, was in the
hands of strangers,— strangers who had had nothing to do with accumulating it.
Not a slave was left free. All remained slaves, from the youngest to the 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;
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 towards 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. She stands— she sits— she staggers— she falls— she groans— she dies— and there are none of her children or grandchildren present, to wipe from her wrinkled brow the cold sweat of death, or to place beneath the sod her fallen remains. Will not a righteous God visit for these things?
In about two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas married his
second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton. She was the eldest daughter of Mr.
William Hamilton. Master now lived in St. Michael's. Not long after his
marriage, a misunderstanding took place between himself and Master Hugh; and as
a means of punishing his brother, he took me from him to live with himself at
St. Michael's. Here I underwent another most painful separation. It, however,
was not so severe as the one I dreaded at the
I then had to regret that I did not at least make the attempt to carry out my resolution to run away; for the chances of success are tenfold greater from the city than from the country.
I sailed from Baltimore for St. Michael's in the sloop Amanda, Captain Edward Dodson. On my passage, I paid particular attention to the direction which the steamboats took to go to Philadelphia. I found, instead of going down, on reaching North Point they went up the bay, in a north-easterly direction. I deemed this knowledge of the utmost importance. My determination to run away was again revived. I resolved to wait only so long as the offering of a favorable opportunity. When that came, I was determined to be off.
I have now reached a period of my life when I can give dates. I left Baltimore,
and went to live with Master Thomas Auld, at St. Michael's, in March, 1832. It
was now more than seven years since I lived with him in the family of my old
master, on Colonel Lloyd's plantation. We of course were now almost entire
strangers to each other. He was to me a new master, and I to him a new slave. I
was ignorant of his temper and disposition; he was equally so of mine. A very
short time, however, brought us into full acquaintance with each other. I was
made acquainted with his wife not less than with himself. They were well
matched, being equally mean and cruel. I was now, for the first time during a
space of more than seven years, made to feel the painful gnawings of hunger — a
something which I had not experienced before since I left Colonel Lloyd's
plantation. It went hard enough with me then, when I could look back to no
period at which I had enjoyed a sufficiency. It was tenfold harder after living
in Master Hugh's family, where I had always had enough to eat, and of that which
was good. I have said Master Thomas was a mean man. He was so. Not to give a
slave enough to eat, is regarded as the most aggravated development of meanness
even among slaveholders. 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 from
which I came, it is the general practice,— though
Bad as all slaveholders are, we seldom meet one destitute of every element of
character commanding respect. My master was one of this rare sort. I do not know
of one single noble act ever performed by him. The leading trait in his
character was meanness; and if there were any other element in his nature, it
was made subject to this. He was mean; and, like most other mean men, he lacked
the ability to conceal his meanness. Captain Auld was not born a slaveholder. He
had been a poor man, master only of a Bay craft. He came into possession of all
his slaves by marriage; and of all men, adopted slaveholders are the worst. He
was cruel, but cowardly. He commanded without firmness. In the enforcement of
While I lived with my master in St. Michael's, there was a white young man, a Mr. Wilson, who proposed to keep a Sabbath school for the instruction of such slaves as might be disposed to learn to read the New Testament. We met but three times, when Mr. West and Mr. Fairbanks, both class-leaders, with many others, came upon us with sticks and other missiles, drove us off, and forbade us to meet again. Thus ended our little Sabbath school in the pious town of St. Michael's.
I have said my master found religious sanction for his cruelty. As an example, I will state one of many facts going to prove the charge. I have seen him tie up a lame young woman, and whip her with a heavy cowskin upon her naked shoulders, causing the warm red blood to drip; and, in justification of the bloody deed, he would quote this passage of Scripture— "He that knoweth his master's will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes."
Master would keep this lacerated young woman tied up in this horrid situation
four or five hours at a time. I have known him to tie her up early in the
morning, and whip her before breakfast; leave her, go to his store, return at
dinner, and whip her again, cutting her in the places already made raw with his
cruel lash. The secret of master's cruelty toward
My master and myself had quite a number of differences. He found me unsuitable to
his purpose. My city life, he said, had had a very pernicious effect upon me. It
had almost ruined me for every good purpose, and fitted me for every thing which
was bad. One of my greatest faults was that of letting his horse run away, and
go down to his father-in-law's farm, which was about five miles from St.
Michael's. I would then have to go after it. My reason for this kind of
carelessness, or carefulness, was, that I could always get something to eat when
I went there. Master William Hamilton, my master's father-in-law, always gave
his slaves enough to eat. I never left there hungry, no matter how great the
need of my speedy return. Master Thomas at length said he would stand it no
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
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
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 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
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
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 morrings, 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!
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
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 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 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 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.
This battle with Mr. Covey was the turningpoint 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
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
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
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,
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
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 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.
But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience
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,* and Handy Caldwell. 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 *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.
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
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
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
In coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more than Patrick Henry,
when he resolved upon
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,
"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,
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
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. 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, 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
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
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.
In a few weeks after I went to Baltimore, Master Hugh hired me to Mr. William
Gardner, an extensive ship-builder, on Fell's Point. I was put there to learn
how to calk. It, however, proved a very unfavorable place for the accomplishment
of this object. Mr.
This was my school for eight months; and I might have remained there longer, but
for a most horrid fight I had with four of the white apprentices, in which my
left eye was nearly knocked out, and I was horribly mangled in other respects.
The facts in the case were these: Until a very little while after I went there,
white and black ship-carpenters worked side by side, and no one seemed to see
any impropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very well satisfied. Many of the
black carpenters were freemen. Things seemed to be going on very well. All at
once, the white carpenters knocked off, and said they would not work with free
colored workmen. Their reason for this, as alleged, was, that if free colored
carpenters were encouraged, they would soon take the trade into their own hands,
and poor white men would be thrown out of employment. They therefore felt called
upon at once to put a stop to it. And, taking advantage of Mr. Gardner's
necessities, they broke off, swearing they would work no longer, unless he would
discharge his black carpenters. Now, though this did not extend to me in form,
it did reach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices very soon began to feel it
degrading to them to work with me. They began to put on airs, and talk about the
"niggers" taking the country, saying we all ought to be killed; and, being
encouraged by the journeymen, they commenced making my condition as hard as they
could, by hectoring me around, and sometimes striking me. I, of course, kept the
vow I made after the fight with Mr. Covey, and struck back again, regardless of
I went directly home, and told the story of my
Master Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let me go back again to
Mr. Gardner. He kept me himself, and his wife dressed my wound till I was again
restored to health. He then took me into the ship-yard of which he was foreman,
in the employment of Mr. Walter Price. There I was immediately set to calking,
and very soon learned the art of using my mallet and irons. In the course of one
year from the time I left Mr. Gardner's, I was able to command the highest wages
given to the most experienced calkers. I was now of some importance to my
master. I was bringing him from six to seven dollars per week. I sometimes
brought him nine dollars per week: my wages were a dollar and a half a day.
After learning how to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own contracts,
and collected the money which I earned. My pathway became much more smooth
I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents per day. I contracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to me; it was rightfully my own; yet, upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelled to deliver every cent of that money to Master Hugh. And why? Not because he earned it,— not because he had any hand in earning it,— not because I owed it to him,— nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a right to it; but solely because he had the power to compel me to give it up. The right of the grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is exactly the same.
I now come to that part of my life during which I planned, and finally succeeded
in making, my escape from slavery. But before narrating any of the peculiar
circumstances, I deem it proper to make known my intention not to state all the
facts connected with the transaction. My reasons for pursuing this course may be
understood from the following: First, were I to give a minute statement of all
the facts, it is not only possible, but quite probable, that others would
thereby be involved in the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a
statement would most undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on the part of
slaveholders than has existed heretofore among them; which would, of course, be
the means of guarding a door whereby some dear brother bond-man might escape his
galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity that impels me to suppress any
thing of importance connected with my experience in slavery. It would afford me
great pleasure indeed, as well as materially add to the interest of my
narrative, were I at liberty to gratify a curiosity, which I know exists in the
minds of many, by an accurate statement of all the facts pertaining to my most
fortunate escape. But I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the curious of
the gratification which such a statement would afford. I would allow myself to
suffer under the greatest imputations which evil-minded men might suggest,
rather than exculpate myself, and thereby run the hazard
I have never approved of the very public manner in which some of our western
friends have conducted what they call the underground
railroad, but which I think, by their open declarations, has been made
most emphatically the upperground railroad. I honor those
good men and women for their noble daring, and applaud them for willingly
subjecting themselves to bloody persecution, by openly avowing their
participation in the escape of slaves. I, however, can see very little good
resulting from such a course, either to themselves or the slaves escaping;
while, upon the other hand, I see and feel assured that those open declarations
are a positive evil to the slaves remaining, who are seeking to escape. They do
nothing towards enlightening the slave, whilst they do much towards enlightening
the master. They stimulate him to greater watchfulness, and enhance his power to
capture his slave. We owe something to the slave south of the line as well as to
those north of it; and in aiding the latter on their way to freedom, we should
be careful to do nothing which would be likely to hinder the former from
escaping from slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder profoundly
ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. I would leave him to
imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible tormentors, ever ready to
snatch from his infernal grasp his trembling prey. Let him be left to feel his
way in the dark; let darkness commensurate with his crime hover over him; and
let him feel that at every step he
In the early part of the year 1838, I became quite restless. I could see no
reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of my toil into
the purse of my master. When I carried to him my weekly wages, he would, after
counting the money, look me in the face with a robber-like fierceness, and ask,
"Is this all?" He was satisfied with nothing less than the last cent. He would,
however, when I made him six dollars, sometimes give me six cents, to encourage
me. It had the opposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right
to the whole. The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to my
mind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I always felt worse for
having received any thing; for I feared that the giving me a few cents would
ease his conscience, and make him feel himself to be a pretty honorable sort of
robber. My discontent grew upon me. I was ever on the look-out for means of
escape; and, finding no direct means, I determined to try to hire my time, with
a view of getting money with which to make my escape. In the spring of 1838,
when Master Thomas came to Baltimore to purchase his spring goods, I got an
opportunity,
About two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the privilege of hiring
my time. He was not acquainted with the fact that I had applied to Master
Thomas, and had been refused. He too, at first, seemed disposed to refuse; but,
after some reflection, he granted me the privilege, and proposed the following
terms: I was to be allowed all my time, make all contracts with those for whom I
worked, and find my own employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to
pay him three dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools, and
in board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per week. This, with
the wear and tear of clothing and calking tools, made my regular expenses about
six dollars per week. This amount I was compelled to make up, or relinquish
Things went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there was trouble. It is
impossible for me to describe my feelings as the time of my contemplated start
drew near. I had a number of warm-hearted friends in Baltimore, — friends that I
loved almost as I did my life,— and the thought of being separated from them
forever was painful beyond expression. It is my opinion that thousands would
escape from slavery, who now remain, but for the strong cords of affection that
bind them to their friends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the
most painful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was my tender
point, and shook my decision more than all
I have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in a free State. I
have never been able to answer the question with any satisfaction to myself. It
was a moment of the highest excitement I ever experienced. I suppose I felt as
one may imagine the unarmed mariner to feel when he is rescued by a friendly
man-of-war from the pursuit of a pirate. In writing to a dear friend,
immediately after my arrival at New York, I said I felt like one who had escaped
a den of hungry lions. This state of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I
was again seized with a feeling of great
Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distressed situation. I was relieved from it by the humane hand of Mr. DAVID RUGGLES, whose vigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am glad of an opportunity to express, as far as words can, the love and gratitude I bear him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and is himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once so forward in the performance of toward others. I had been in New York but a few days, when Mr. Ruggles sought me out, and very kindly took me to his boarding-house at the corner of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr. Ruggles was then very deeply engaged in the memorable DARG case, as well as attending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways and means for their successful escape; and, though watched and hemmed in on almost every side, he seemed to be more than a match for his enemies.
Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wished
"THIS may certify, that I joined together in
holy matrimony Frederick Johnson+ and Anna Murray, as man and wife, in the
presence of Mr. David Ruggles and Mrs. Michaels.
"JAMES W. C.
PENNINGTON
"New York, SEPT.
15, 1838"
Upon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollar bill from Mr. Ruggles, I
shouldered one part of our baggage, and Anna took up the other, and we set out
forthwith to take passage on board of the steamboat John W. Richmond for
Newport, on our way to New *She was free. +I had changed my name from Frederick BAILEY to that of
JOHNSON.
We now began to feel a degree of safety, and to prepare ourselves for the duties
and responsibilities of a life of freedom. On the morning after our arrival at
New Bedford, while at the breakfast-table, the question arose as to what name I
should be called by. The name given me by my mother was, "Frederick Augustus
Washington Bailey." I, however, had dispensed
I was quite disappointed at the general appearance of things in New Bedford. The
impression which I had received respecting the character and condition of the
people of the north, I found to be singularly erroneous. I had very strangely
supposed, while in slavery, that few of the comforts, and scarcely any of the
luxuries, of life were enjoyed at the north, compared with what were enjoyed by
the slaveholders of the south. I probably came to this conclusion from the fact
that northern people owned no slaves. I supposed that they were about upon a
level with the non-slaveholding population of the south. I knew they were exceedingly
In the afternoon of the day when I reached New Bedford, I visited the wharves, to
take a view of the shipping. Here I found myself surrounded with the strongest
proofs of wealth. Lying at the wharves, and riding in the stream, I saw many
ships of the finest model, in the best order, and of the largest size. Upon the
right and left, I was walled in by granite warehouses of the widest dimensions,
stowed to their utmost capacity with the necessaries and comforts of life. Added
to this, almost every body seemed to be at work, but noiselessly so, compared
with what I had been accustomed to in Baltimore. There were no loud songs heard
from those engaged in loading and unloading ships. I heard no deep oaths or
horrid curses on the laborer. I saw no whipping of men; but all seemed to go
smoothly on. Every man appeared to understand his work, and went at it with a
sober, yet cheerful earnestness, which betokened the deep interest which he felt
in what he was doing, as
Every thing looked clean, new, and beautiful. I saw few or no dilapidated houses,
with poverty-stricken inmates; no half-naked children and barefooted women, such
as I had been accustomed to see in Hillsborough, Easton, St. Michael's, and
Baltimore. The people looked more able, stronger, healthier, and happier, than
those of Maryland. I was for once made glad by a view of extreme wealth, without
being saddened by seeing extreme poverty. But the most astonishing as well as
the most interesting thing to me was the condition of the colored people, a
great many of whom, like myself, had escaped thither as a refuge from the
hunters of men. I found many, who had not been seven years out of their chains,
living in finer houses, and evidently enjoying more of the comforts of life,
than the average of slaveholders in Maryland. I will venture to assert, that my
friend Mr. Nathan Johnson (of whom I can say with a grateful heart, "I was
hungry, and he gave me meat; I was thirsty, and he gave me drink; I was a
stranger, and he took me in") lived in a neater house; dined at a better table;
took, paid for, and read, more newspapers; better understood the moral,
religious, and political character of the nation,— than nine tenths of the
slaveholders in Talbot county, Friends, we have got him here, and I
would recommend that you young men just take him outside the door, and kill
him!" With this, a number of them bolted at him; but they were
intercepted by some more timid than themselves, and the betrayer escaped their
vengeance, and has not been seen in New Bedford since. I believe there have been
no more such threats, and should there be hereafter, I doubt not that death
would be the consequence.
I found employment, the third day after my arrival, in stowing a sloop with a
load of oil. It was new, dirty, and hard work for me; but I went at it with a
glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master. It was a happy moment,
the rapture of which
In about four months after I went to New Bedford, there came a young man to me,
and inquired if I did not wish to take the "Liberator." I told him I did; but,
just having made my escape from slavery, I remarked that I was unable to pay for
it then. I, however, finally became a subscriber to it. The paper came, and I
read it from week to week with such * I am told that
colored persons can now get employment at calking in New Bedford— a
result of anti-slavery effort.
I had not long been a reader of the "Liberator," before I got a pretty correct idea of the principles, measures and spirit of the anti-slavery reform. I took right hold of the cause. I could do but little; but what I could, I did with a joyful heart, and never felt happier than when in an anti-slavery meeting. I seldom had much to say at the meetings, because what I wanted to say was said so much better by others. But, while attending an anti-slavery convention at Nantucket, on the 11th of August, 1841, I felt strongly moved to speak, and was at the same time much urged to do so by Mr. William C. Coffin, a gentleman who had heard me speak in the colored people's meeting at New Bedford. It was a severe cross, and I took it up reluctantly. The truth was, I felt myself a slave, and the idea of speaking to white people weighed me down. I spoke but a few moments, when I felt a degree of freedom, and said what I desired with considerable ease. From that time until now, I have been engaged in pleading the cause of my brethren— with what success, and with what devotion, I leave those acquainted with my labors to decide.
I FIND, since reading over the foregoing Narrative, that I have, in several
instances, spoken in such a tone and manner, respecting religion, as may
possibly lead those unacquainted with my religious views to suppose me an
opponent of all religion. To remove the liability of such misapprehension, I
deem it proper to append the following brief explanation. What I have said
respecting and against religion, I mean strictly to apply to the slaveholding religion of this land, and with no possible
reference to Christianity proper; for, between the Christianity of this land,
and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize the widest possible difference— so
wide, that to receive the one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject
the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be the friend of the one, is of
necessity to be the enemy of the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and
impartial Christianity of Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt, slaveholding,
women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this
land. Indeed, I can see no reason, but the most deceitful one, for calling the
religion of this land Christianity. I look upon it as the climax of all
misnomers, the boldest of all frauds, and the grossest of all libels. Never was
there a clearer case of "stealing the livery of the court of heaven poor heathen! all for the glory of God and the
good of souls! The slave auctioneer's bell and the church-going bell
chime in with each other, and the bitter cries of the heart-broken slave are
drowned in the religious shouts of his pious master. Revivals of religion and
revivals in the slave-trade go
The Christianity of America is a Christianity, of whose votaries it may be as
truly said, as it was of the
Dark and terrible as is this picture, I hold it to be strictly true of the
overwhelming mass of professed sheep-stealer; and at the same time they hug to their communion a man-stealer, and brand me with being an infidel, if I
find fault with them for it. They attend with Pharisaical strictness to the
outward forms of religion, and at the same time neglect the weightier matters of
the law, judgment, mercy, and faith. They are always ready to sacrifice, but
seldom to show mercy. They are they who are represented as professing to love
God whom they have not seen, whilst they hate their brother whom they have seen.
They love the heathen on the other side of the globe. They can pray for him, pay
money to have the Bible put into his hand, and missionaries to instruct him;
while they despise and totally neglect the heathen at their own doors.
Such is, very briefly, my view of the religion of this land; and to avoid any misunderstanding, growing out of the use of general terms, I mean by the religion of this land, that which is revealed in the words, deeds, and actions, of those bodies, north and south, calling themselves Christian churches, and yet in union with slaveholders. It is against religion, as presented by these bodies, that I have felt it my duty to testify.
I conclude these remarks by copying the following portrait of the religion of the
south, (which is, by communion and fellowship, the religion of the north,) which
I soberly affirm is "true to the life," and without caricature or the slightest
exaggeration. It is said to have been drawn, several years before the present
Sincerely and earnestly hoping that this little book may do something toward throwing light on the American slave system, and hastening the glad day of deliverance to the millions of my brethren in bonds— faithfully relying upon the power of truth, love, and justice, for success in my humble efforts— and solemnly pledging my self anew to the sacred cause,— I subscribe myself,