SLAVE
“Come, saints and sinners, hear me tell
How pious priests whip Jack and Nell,
And women buy and children sell,
And preach all sinners down to hell,
And sing of heavenly union.
“Love not the world,’ the preacher said,
And winked his eye, and shook his head;
He seized on Tom, and Dick, and Ned,
Cur short their meat, and clothes, and bread,
Yet still loved heavenly union.
“Another preacher whining spoke
Of One whose heart for sinners broke:
He tied old Nanny to an oak,
And drew the blood at every stroke,
And prayed for heavenly union.
“They’ll loudly talk of Christ’s reward,
And bind his image with a cord,
And scold, and swing the lash abhorred,
And sell their brother in the Lord
To handcuffed heavenly union.
“They’ll read and sing a sacred song,
And make a prayer both loud and long,
And teach the right and do the wrong,
Hailing the brother, sister throng,
With words of heavenly union.”
I assert most
unhesitatingly that the religion of the slaveholder 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. For of all
slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the worst.
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. Silver-headed age and sprightly youth,
maids and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate inspection.
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. I do not recollect ever seeing my
mother by the light of day. She
would lie down with me and get me to sleep, but long before I waked she was
gone. Very little communication
ever took place between us. Death
soon ended what little we could have while she lived, and with it her hardships
and suffering. She died when I was
about seven years old on one of my master’s farms near Lee’s Mill. I was not allowed to be present during
her illness, at her death or burial.
She was gone long before I knew any thing about it.
The men and women
slaves received as their monthly allowance of food eight pounds of pork, or its
equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts,
one pair of linen trousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers
for winter made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of
shoes; the whole of which could not have cost more than seven dollars.
A mere look,
word, or motion, a mistake, accident, or want of power, are all matters for
which a slave may be whipped at any time.
Does a slave look dissatisfied?
It is said, he has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak loudly when spoken to by
his master? Then he is getting
high-minded and should be taken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull off his hat at
the approach of a white person?
Then he is wanting in reverence and should be whipped for it. Does he ever venture to vindicate his
conduct when censured for it? Then
he is guilty of impudence, one of the greatest crimes of which a slave can be
guilty.
I have often been
utterly astonished to find persons who could speak of the singing among slaves
as evidence of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most
unhappy. The songs of the slave
represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them only as an
aching heart is relieved by its tears.
They breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the
bitterest anguish. If anyone
wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him 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.”
The children
unable to work in the field had neither shoes, stockings, jackets, nor trousers
given to them; their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per
year. When these failed them, they
went naked until the next allowance day.
There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be
considered such, and none but the men and women had these.
Master Andrew, 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. After he had committed this savage outrage, he turned to me
and said that was the way he meant to serve me one of these days.
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. 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.
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 free men, 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 the noble bay, and
traced, with saddened heart and tearful eye, the countless number of sails
moving off to the mighty ocean. My
thoughts would compel utterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty,
I would pour out my soul’s complaint.
“You are loosed
from your moorings and are free; I am fast in my chains and am a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale
and I sadly before the bloody whip!
You are freedom’s swift-winged angels that fly round the world; I am
confined in bands of iron! O that
I were free! O, that I were on one
of your gallant decks and under your protecting wing! Alas! Betwixt me and you the turbid waters roll. Go on, go on. O that I could also go! Could I but swim!
If I could fly! O, why was
I born a man of whom to make a brute!
The glad ship is gone; she hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of
unending slavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any God? Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will not stand it. Get caught, or get clear, I’ll try
it. I had as well die with ague as
the fever. I have only one life to
lose. I had as well be killed running
as die standing. Only think of it;
one hundred miles straight north, and I am free!”
The days between
Christmas and New Year’s day are allowed as holidays, the mode here adopted to
disgust the slave with freedom by allowing him to see only the abuse of
it. The larger part engaged in
such sports and merriments as playing ball, wrestling, running foot races,
fiddling, dancing, and drinking whisky; and this latter mode of spending the
time was by far the most agreeable to the feelings of our masters. So, when the
holidays ended, we staggered up from the filth of our wallowing, took a long
breath, and marched to the field, feeling upon the whole rather glad to go from
what our master had deceived us into a belief was freedom back to the arms of
slavery.
Mr. Covey was at
the house, about one hundred yards from where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he hastily
inquired what the matter was. I
was sick, and there was no one to bring wheat to the fan. He came to the spot and gave me a
savage kick in the side. He gave
me another kick. Mr. Covey took up
the hickory slat and with it gave me a heavy blow upon the head, making a large
wound, and the blood ran freely.
You have seen how a man was made a slave; you shall see how a slave was
made a man.
Mr. Covey seemed
now to think he had me; but at this moment, from whence came the spirit I don’t
know, I resolved to fight. 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.
I held him uneasy, causing the blood to run where I touched him with the
ends of my fingers. He asked me if
I meant to persist in my resistance.
I told him I did, come what might, that he had used me like a brute and
that I was determined to be used so no longer. With that, he strove to drag me to a stick. He meant to knock me down. I seized him with both hands by his
collar, and brought him by a sudden snatch to the ground. We were at it for nearly two hours. Covey at length let me go, puffing and
blowing at a great rate. My long
crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took its place; and I
now resolved that, however long I might remain a slave in form, the day had
passed forever when I could be a slave in fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of me that the white
man who expected to succeed in whipping must also succeed in killing me.
If any one thing
in my experience served to fill me with unutterable loathing of slaveholders,
it was their base ingratitude to my poor old grandmother. She had served my master faithfully
from youth to old age. She had
been the source of all his wealth; she had peopled his plantation with slaves;
she had become a great grandmother in his service. She had rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood,
served him through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the cold
death sweat and closed his eyes forever.
She was nevertheless left a slave, a slave for life, a slave in the
hands of strangers; and in their hands she saw her children, her grandchildren,
and her great-grandchildren divided like so many sheep, without being gratified
with the small privilege of a single word as to their or her own destiny.
“Gone, gone, sold and gone
To the rice swamp dank and lone,
Where the slave whip ceaseless swings,
Where the noisome insect stings,
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews,
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air:
Gone, gone, sold and gone
To the rice swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia hills and waters,
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!”
My grandmother,
her frame already racked with the pains of old age, they took her to the woods,
built her a little hut, and then made her welcome to the privilege of supporting
herself there in perfect loneliness.
She hears by day the moans of the dove and by night the screams of the
hideous owl. The grave is at the
door. And now, when the head
inclines to the feet, when the beginning and ending of human existence meet and
helpless infancy and painful old age combine, my grandmother is left alone
before a few dim embers. She
stands—she sits—she staggers—she falls—she
groans—she dies.
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.
Gong to live at
Baltimore laid the foundation and opened the gateway to all my subsequent
prosperity. I have ever regarded
it as the first plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ever
since attended me and marked my life with so many favors. My new mistress proved to be all she
appeared when I first met her at the door, a woman of the kindest heart. 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.
But, alas! The fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her
hands and soon commenced its infernal work.
Mr. Auld found
out what was going on and at once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further,
telling her that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to
read. “Learning would spoil the
best nigger in the world. He would
at once become unmanageable.” The
argument which he so warmly urged against my learning to read only served to
inspire me with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe almost as much to the bitter
opposition of my master as to the kindly aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both.
My mistress was a
pious, warm and tenderhearted woman.
Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her of these heavenly
qualities. She now commenced to
practice her husband’s precepts.
The tender heart became stone, and the lamblike disposition gave way to
one of tiger-like fierceness.
Nothing seemed to make her more angry than to see me with a
newspaper. She seemed to think
that here lay the danger. I now
understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty, to wit, the white
man’s power to enslave the black man.
From that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. I set out, at whatever cost, to learn
how to read.
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.
That very
discontentment which Master had predicted would follow my learning to read had
already come to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish. As I writhed under it, I would at times
feel that learning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched
condition without the remedy. It
opened my eyes to the horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get
out. In moments of agony, I envied
my fellow slaves for their stupidity.
I have often wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile to my
own. Any thing, no matter what, to
get rid of thinking!
My fellow slaves
were noble souls; they not only possessed loving hearts but brave ones. We were linked and interlinked with
each other. I loved them with a
love stronger than any thing I have experienced since. It is sometimes said that we slaves do
not love and confide in each other.
I can say, I never loved any or confided in any people more than my
fellow slave, and especially those with whom I lived. We never undertook to do any thing of any importance without
a mutual consultation. We never
moved separately. We were one; and
as much so by our tempers and dispositions as by the mutual hardships to which
we were necessarily subjected by our condition as slaves.
At the close of
1834, I began to want to live upon free land. I began, with the commencement of the year to prepare myself
for a final struggle which should decide my fate one was or the other. I was fast approaching manhood. On the one hand, there stood slavery, a
stern reality glaring frightfully, its robes already crimsoned with the blood
of millions, and even now feasting itself greedily. On the other hand, away back in the dim distance, under the
flickering light of the north star, behind some craggy hill or snow covered
mountain, stood a doubtful freedom, half frozen, beckoning to share its
hospitality.
I was put to
learn how to calk. There was no
time to learn anything. In
entering the shipyard, my orders were to do whatever the carpenters commanded
me to do. This was placing me at
the beck and call of about seventy-five men. “Fred, come help me to cant this timber here.” Fred, come carry this timber
yonder. Fred, bring that roller
here. Fred, go get a fresh can of
water. Fred, come help saw off the
end of this timber. Fred, go quick,
and get the crowbar. Fred, hold on
the end of this fall. Fred, go to
the blacksmith’s shop, and get a new punch. Hurra, Fred! Run and bring me a cold chisel. I say, Fred, bear a hand, and get up a
fire as quick as lightning under that steam box. Halloo, nigger!
Come, turn this grindstone.
Come, come! Move,
move! And bowse this timber
forward. I say, darky, blast your
eyes, why don’t you heat up some pitch?
Halloo! Halloo! Halloo! (Three voices at the same
time.) Come here! Go there! Hold on where you are! Damn you, if you move, I’ll knock your
brains out!”
I was now getting
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.
And why? Not because he
earned it, not because he had any hand in earning it, not because I owed it to
him, not 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 determined to
hire my time with a view of getting money with which to make my escape. My object in working steadily was to
remove any suspicion of my intent to run away. 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.
It required no
very vivid imagination to depict the most frightful scenes through which I
should have to pass in case I failed.
I could not hope to get off with any thing less than the severest
punishment, and being placed beyond the means of escape. It was life and death with me. But I remained firm, and, according to
my resolution, on the third day of September 1838, I left my chains and
succeeded in reaching New York without the slightest interruption of any kind. How I did so, what means I adopted,
what direction I traveled, and by what mode of conveyance, I must leave
unexplained. 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 takes in pursuit of the flying bondman he is running the frightful risk of
having his hot brains dashed out by an invisible agency.
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.
There I was in the midst of thousands and yet a perfect stranger;
without home and without friends in the midst of thousands of my own brethren,
children of a common Father, and yet I dared not to unfold to any one for fear
of speaking to the wrong one and thereby falling into the hands of money-loving
kidnappers whose business it was to lie in wait for the panting fugitive as the
ferocious beasts of the forest lie in wait for their prey.
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. At this time, Anna,
my intended wife, came on; for I wrote to her immediately after my arrival at
New York (notwithstanding my homeless, houseless, and helpless condition),
informing her of my successful flight.
In a few days after her arrival, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J.W. C.
Pennington, who performed the marriage ceremony. 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 Bedford.
The slave
auctioneer’s bell and the church-going bell chime in with each other, and the
bitter cries of the heartbroken slave are drowned in the religious shouts of
his pious master. Revivals of
religion and revivals in the slave trade go hand in hand together. The slave prison and the church stand
near each other. The clanking of
fetters and the rattling of chains in the prison and the pious psalm and solemn
prayer in the church may be heard at the same time. The dealers in the bodies and souls of men erect their stand
in the presence of the pulpit, and they mutually help each other. The dealer gives his bloodstained gold
to support the pulpit, and the pulpit in return covers his infernal business
with the garb of Christianity.
Here we have religion and robbery the allies of each other, devils
dressed in angels’ robes and hell presenting the semblance of paradise.
“But woe unto
you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye shut up the kingdom of heaven
against men; for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are
entering to go in. Ye devour
widows’ houses, and for a pretence make long prayers; therefore ye shall
receive the greater damnation. Ye
compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him
twofold more the child of hell than yourselves. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye pay
tithe of mint, and anise, and cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of
the law, judgment, mercy, and faith; these ought ye to have done, and not to
leave the other undone. Ye blind
guides! Which strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye make
clean the outside of the cup and of the platter; but within, they are full of
extortion and excess. Woe unto
you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For ye are like unto whited sepulchers,
which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones,
and of all uncleanness. Even so ye
also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy
and iniquity.”
I love the pure,
peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ.
