My Bondage and My Freedom
there is no resting place. What is pleasant today, is repulsive
tomorrow; what is soft now, is hard at another time; what is sweet in
the morning, is bitter in the evening. Neither to the wicked, nor to
the idler, is there any solid peace: _“Troubled, like the restless
sea.”_
I had excellent opportunities of witnessing the restless discontent and
the capricious irritation of the Lloyds. My fondness for horses—not
peculiar to me more than to other boys attracted me, much of the time,
to the stables. This establishment was especially under the care of
“old” and “young” Barney—father and son. Old Barney was a fine looking
old man, of a brownish complexion, who was quite portly, and wore a
dignified aspect for a slave. He was, evidently, much devoted to his
profession, and held his office an honorable one. He was a farrier as
well as an ostler; he could bleed, remove lampers from the mouths of
the horses, and was well instructed in horse medicines. No one on the
farm knew, so well as Old Barney, what to do with a sick horse. But his
gifts and acquirements were of little advantage to him. His office was
by no means an enviable one. He often got presents, but he got stripes
as well; for in nothing was Col. Lloyd more unreasonable and exacting,
than in respect to the management of his pleasure horses. Any supposed
inattention to these animals were sure to be visited with degrading
punishment. His horses and dogs fared better than his men. Their beds
must be softer and cleaner than those of his human cattle. No excuse
could shield Old Barney, if the colonel only suspected something wrong
about his horses; and, consequently, he was often punished when
faultless. It was absolutely painful to listen to the many unreasonable
and fretful scoldings, poured out at the stable, by Col. Lloyd, his
sons and sons-in-law. Of the latter, he had three—Messrs. Nicholson,
Winder and Lownes. These all lived at the great house a portion of the
year, and enjoyed the luxury of whipping the servants when they
pleased, which was by no means unfrequently. A horse was seldom brought
out of the stable to which no objection could be raised. “There was
dust in his hair;” “there was a twist in his reins;” “his mane did not
lie straight;” “he had not been properly grained;” “his head did not
look well;” “his fore-top was not combed out;” “his fetlocks had not
been properly trimmed;” something was always wrong. Listening to
complaints, however groundless, Barney must stand, hat in hand, lips
sealed, never answering a word. He must make no reply, no explanation;
the judgment of the master must be deemed infallible, for his power is
absolute and irresponsible. In a free state, a master, thus complaining
without cause, of his ostler, might be told—“Sir, I am sorry I cannot
please you, but, since I have done the best I can, your remedy is to
dismiss me.” Here, however, the ostler must stand, listen and tremble.
One of the most heart-saddening and humiliating scenes I ever
witnessed, was the whipping of Old Barney, by Col. Lloyd himself. Here
were two men, both advanced in years; there were the silvery locks of
Col. L., and there was the bald and toil-worn brow of Old Barney;
master and slave; superior and inferior here, but _equals_ at the bar
of God; and, in the common course of events, they must both soon meet
in another world, in a world where all distinctions, except those based
on obedience and disobedience, are blotted out forever. “Uncover your
head!” said the imperious master; he was obeyed. “Take off your jacket,
you old rascal!” and off came Barney’s jacket. “Down on your knees!”
down knelt the old man, his shoulders bare, his bald head glistening in
the sun, and his aged knees on the cold, damp ground. In his humble and
debasing attitude, the master—that master to whom he had given the best
years and the best strength of his life—came forward, and laid on
thirty lashes, with his horse whip. The old man bore it patiently, to
the last, answering each blow with a slight shrug of the shoulders, and
a groan. I cannot think that Col. Lloyd succeeded in marring the flesh
of Old Barney very seriously, for the whip was a light, riding whip;
but the spectacle of an aged man—a husband and a father—humbly kneeling
before a worm of the dust, surprised and shocked me at the time; and
since I have grown old enough to think on the wickedness of slavery,
few facts have been of more value to me than this, to which I was a
witness. It reveals slavery in its true color, and in its maturity of
repulsive hatefulness. I owe it to truth, however, to say, that this
was the first and the last time I ever saw Old Barney, or any other
slave, compelled to kneel to receive a whipping.
I saw, at the stable, another incident, which I will relate, as it is
illustrative of a phase of slavery to which I have already referred in
another connection. Besides two other coachmen, Col. Lloyd owned one
named William, who, strangely enough, was often called by his surname,
Wilks, by white and colored people on the home plantation. Wilks was a
very fine looking man. He was about as white as anybody on the
plantation; and in manliness of form, and comeliness of features, he
bore a very striking resemblance to Mr. Murray Lloyd. It was whispered,
and pretty generally admitted as a fact, that William Wilks was a son
of Col. Lloyd, by a highly favored slave-woman, who was still on the
plantation. There were many reasons for believing this whisper, not
only in William’s appearance, but in the undeniable freedom which he
enjoyed over all others, and his apparent consciousness of being
something more than a slave to his master. It was notorious, too, that
William had a deadly enemy in Murray Lloyd, whom he so much resembled,
and that the latter greatly worried his father with importunities to
sell William. Indeed, he gave his father no rest until he did sell him,
to Austin Woldfolk, the great slave-trader at that time. Before selling
him, however, Mr. L. tried what giving William a whipping would do,
toward making things smooth; but this was a failure. It was a
compromise, and defeated itself; for, immediately after the infliction,
the heart-sickened colonel atoned to William for the abuse, by giving
him a gold watch and chain. Another fact, somewhat curious, is, that
though sold to the remorseless _Woldfolk_, taken in irons to Baltimore
and cast into prison, with a view to being driven to the south,
William, by _some_ means—always a mystery to me—outbid all his
purchasers, paid for himself, _and now resides in Baltimore, a_
FREEMAN. Is there not room to suspect, that, as the gold watch was
presented to atone for the whipping, a purse of gold was given him by
the same hand, with which to effect his purchase, as an atonement for
the indignity involved in selling his own flesh and blood. All the
circumstances of William, on the great house farm, show him to have
occupied a different position from the other slaves, and, certainly,
there is nothing in the supposed hostility of slaveholders to
amalgamation, to forbid the supposition that William Wilks was the son
of Edward Lloyd. _Practical_ amalgamation is common in every
neighborhood where I have been in slavery.
Col. Lloyd was not in the way of knowing much of the real opinions and
feelings of his slaves respecting him. The distance between him and
them was far too great to admit of such knowledge. His slaves were so
numerous, that he did not know them when he saw them. Nor, indeed, did
all his slaves know him. In this respect, he was inconveniently rich.
It is reported of him, that, while riding along the road one day, he
met a colored man, and addressed him in the usual way of speaking to
colored people on the public highways of the south: “Well, boy, who do
you belong to?” “To Col. 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 enough to eat?”
“Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is.” The colonel, after
ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode on; the slave 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 moment’s warning he was snatched away, and forever
sundered from his family and friends, by a hand more unrelenting than
that of death. _This_ is the penalty of telling the simple truth, in
answer to a series of plain questions. It is partly in consequence of
such facts, that slaves, when inquired of as to their condition and the
character of their masters, almost invariably say they are contented,
and that their masters are kind. Slaveholders have been known to send
spies among their slaves, to ascertain, if possible, their views and
feelings in regard to their condition. The frequency of this 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
consequence of telling it, and, in so doing, they prove themselves a
part of the human family. If they have anything to say of their master,
it is, generally, something in his favor, especially when speaking to
strangers. I was frequently asked, while a slave, if I had a kind
master, and I do not remember ever to have given a negative reply. Nor
did I, when pursuing this course, consider myself as uttering what was
utterly false; for I always measured the kindness of my master by the
standard of kindness set up by slaveholders around us. However, slaves
are like other people, and imbibe similar prejudices. They are apt to
think _their condition_ 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 quarrel among themselves about the relative kindness of
their masters, contending for the superior goodness of his own over
that of others. At the very same time, they mutually execrate their
masters, when viewed separately. It was so on our plantation. When Col.
Lloyd’s slaves met those of Jacob Jepson, they seldom parted without a
quarrel about their masters; Col. Lloyd’s slaves contending that he was
the richest, and Mr. Jepson’s slaves that he was the smartest, man of
the two. Col. Lloyd’s slaves would boost his ability to buy and sell
Jacob Jepson; Mr. Jepson’s slaves would boast his ability to whip Col.
Lloyd. These quarrels would almost always end in a fight between the
parties; those that beat were supposed to have gained the point at
issue. They seemed to think that the greatness of their masters was
transferable to themselves. To be a SLAVE, was thought to be bad
enough; but to be a _poor man’s_ slave, was deemed a disgrace, indeed.
CHAPTER VIII. _A Chapter of Horrors_
AUSTIN GORE—A SKETCH OF HIS CHARACTER—OVERSEERS AS A CLASS—THEIR
PECULIAR CHARACTERISTICS—THE MARKED INDIVIDUALITY OF AUSTIN GORE—HIS
SENSE OF DUTY—HOW HE WHIPPED—MURDER OF POOR DENBY—HOW IT
OCCURRED—SENSATION—HOW GORE MADE PEACE WITH COL. LLOYD—THE MURDER
UNPUNISHED—ANOTHER DREADFUL MURDER NARRATED—NO LAWS FOR THE PROTECTION
OF SLAVES CAN BE ENFORCED IN THE SOUTHERN STATES.
As I have already intimated elsewhere, the slaves on Col. Lloyd’s
plantation, whose hard lot, under Mr. Sevier, the reader has already
noticed and deplored, were not permitted to enjoy the comparatively
moderate rule of Mr. Hopkins. The latter was succeeded by a very