My Bondage and My Freedom
their scanty allowance of food, by the oysters that they could easily
get there. This, Mr. Bondley took it into his head to regard as a
trespass, and while an old man belonging to Col. Lloyd was engaged in
catching a few of the many millions of oysters that lined the bottom of
that creek, to satisfy his hunger, the villainous Mr. Bondley, lying in
ambush, without the slightest ceremony, discharged the contents of his
musket into the back and shoulders of the poor old man. As good fortune
would have it, the shot did not prove mortal, and Mr. Bondley came
over, the next day, to see Col. Lloyd—whether to pay him for his
property, or to justify himself for what he had done, I know not; but
this I _can_ say, the cruel and dastardly transaction was speedily
hushed up; there was very little said about it at all, and nothing was
publicly done which looked like the application of the principle of
justice to the man whom _chance_, only, saved from being an actual
murderer. One of the commonest sayings to which my ears early became
accustomed, on Col. Lloyd’s plantation and elsewhere in Maryland, was,
that it was _“worth but half a cent to kill a nigger, and a half a cent
to bury him;”_ and the facts of my experience go far to justify the
practical truth of this strange proverb. Laws for the protection of the
lives of the slaves, are, as they must needs be, utterly incapable of
being enforced, where the very parties who are nominally protected, are
not permitted to give evidence, in courts of law, against the only
class of persons from whom abuse, outrage and murder might be
reasonably apprehended. While I heard of numerous murders committed by
slaveholders on the Eastern Shores of Maryland, I never knew a solitary
instance in which a slaveholder was either hung or imprisoned for
having murdered a slave. The usual pretext for killing a slave is, that
the slave has offered resistance. Should a slave, when assaulted, but
raise his hand in self defense, the white assaulting party is fully
justified by southern, or Maryland, public opinion, in shooting the
slave down. Sometimes this is done, simply because it is alleged that
the slave has been saucy. But here I leave this phase of the society of
my early childhood, and will relieve the kind reader of these
heart-sickening details.
CHAPTER IX. _Personal Treatment_
MISS LUCRETIA—HER KINDNESS—HOW IT WAS MANIFESTED—“IKE”—A BATTLE WITH
HIM—THE CONSEQUENCES THEREOF—MISS LUCRETIA’S BALSAM—BREAD—HOW I
OBTAINED IT—BEAMS OF SUNLIGHT AMIDST THE GENERAL DARKNESS—SUFFERING
FROM COLD—HOW WE TOOK OUR MEALS—ORDERS TO PREPARE FOR
BALTIMORE—OVERJOYED AT THE THOUGHT OF QUITTING THE
PLANTATION—EXTRAORDINARY CLEANSING—COUSIN TOM’S VERSION OF
BALTIMORE—ARRIVAL THERE—KIND RECEPTION GIVEN ME BY MRS. SOPHIA
AULD—LITTLE TOMMY—MY NEW POSITION—MY NEW DUTIES—A TURNING POINT IN MY
HISTORY.
I have nothing cruel or shocking to relate of my own personal
experience, while I remained on Col. Lloyd’s plantation, at the home of
my old master. An occasional cuff from Aunt Katy, and a regular
whipping from old master, such as any heedless and mischievous boy
might get from his father, is all that I can mention of this sort. I
was not old enough to work in the field, and, there being little else
than field work to perform, I had much leisure. The most I had to do,
was, to drive up the cows in the evening, to keep the front yard clean,
and to perform small errands for my young mistress, Lucretia Auld. I
have reasons for thinking this lady was very kindly disposed toward me,
and, although I was not often the object of her attention, I constantly
regarded her as my friend, and was always glad when it was my privilege
to do her a service. In a family where there was so much that was
harsh, cold and indifferent, the slightest word or look of kindness
passed, with me, for its full value. Miss Lucretia—as we all continued
to call her long after her marriage—had bestowed upon me such words and
looks as taught me that she pitied me, if she did not love me. In
addition to words and looks, she sometimes gave me a piece of bread and
butter; a thing not set down in the bill of fare, and which must have
been an extra ration, planned aside from either Aunt Katy or old
master, solely out of the tender regard and friendship she had for me.
Then, too, I one day got into the wars with Uncle Able’s son, “Ike,”
and had got sadly worsted; in fact, the little rascal had struck me
directly in the forehead with a sharp piece of cinder, fused with iron,
from the old blacksmith’s forge, which made a cross in my forehead very
plainly to be seen now. The gash bled very freely, and I roared very
loudly and betook myself home. The coldhearted Aunt Katy paid no
attention either to my wound or my roaring, except to tell me it served
me right; I had no business with Ike; it was good for me; I would now
keep away _“from dem Lloyd niggers.”_ Miss Lucretia, in this state of
the case, came forward; and, in quite a different spirit from that
manifested by Aunt Katy, she called me into the parlor (an extra
privilege of itself) and, without using toward me any of the
hard-hearted and reproachful epithets of my kitchen tormentor, she
quietly acted the good Samaritan. With her own soft hand she washed the
blood from my head and face, fetched her own balsam bottle, and with
the balsam wetted a nice piece of white linen, and bound up my head.
The balsam was not more healing to the wound in my head, than her
kindness was healing to the wounds in my spirit, made by the unfeeling
words of Aunt Katy. After this, Miss Lucretia was my friend. I felt her
to be such; and I have no doubt that the simple act of binding up my
head, did much to awaken in her mind an interest in my welfare. It is
quite true, that this interest was never very marked, and it seldom
showed itself in anything more than in giving me a piece of bread when
I was hungry; but this was a great favor on a slave plantation, and I
was the only one of the children to whom such attention was paid. When
very hungry, I would go into the back yard and play under Miss
Lucretia’s window. When pretty severely pinched by hunger, I had a
habit of singing, which the good lady very soon came to understand as a
petition for a piece of bread. When I sung under Miss Lucretia’s
window, I was very apt to get well paid for my music. The reader will
see that I now had two friends, both at important points—Mas’ Daniel at
the great house, and Miss Lucretia at home. From Mas’ Daniel I got
protection from the bigger boys; and from Miss Lucretia I got bread, by
singing when I was hungry, and sympathy when I was abused by that
termagant, who had the reins of government in the kitchen. For such
friendship I felt deeply grateful, and bitter as are my recollections
of slavery, I love to recall any instances of kindness, any sunbeams of
humane treatment, which found way to my soul through the iron grating
of my house of bondage. Such beams seem all the brighter from the
general darkness into which they penetrate, and the impression they
make is vividly distinct and beautiful.
As I have before intimated, I was seldom whipped—and never severely—by
my old master. I suffered little from the treatment I received, except
from hunger and cold. These were my two great physical troubles. I
could neither get a sufficiency of food nor of clothing; but I suffered
less from hunger than from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter,
I was kept almost in a state of nudity; no shoes, no stockings, no
jacket, no trowsers; nothing but coarse sackcloth or tow-linen, made
into a sort of shirt, reaching down to my knees. This I wore night and
day, changing it once a week. In the day time I could protect myself
pretty well, by keeping on the sunny side of the house; and in bad
weather, in the corner of the kitchen chimney. The great difficulty
was, to keep warm during the night. I had no bed. The pigs in the pen
had leaves, and the horses in the stable had straw, but the children
had no beds. They lodged anywhere in the ample kitchen. I slept,
generally, in a little closet, without even a blanket to cover me. In
very cold weather. I sometimes got down the bag in which corn-meal was
usually carried to the mill, and crawled into that. Sleeping there,
with my head in and feet out, I was partly protected, though not
comfortable. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen
with which I am writing might be laid in the gashes. The manner of
taking our meals at old master’s, indicated but little refinement. Our
corn-meal mush, when sufficiently cooled, was placed in a large wooden
tray, or trough, like those used in making maple sugar here in the
north. This tray was set down, either on the floor of the kitchen, or
out of doors on the ground; and the children were called, like so many
pigs; and like so many pigs they would come, and literally devour the
mush—some with oyster shells, some with pieces of shingles, and none
with spoons. He that eat fastest got most, and he that was strongest
got the best place; and few left the trough really satisfied. I was the
most unlucky of any, for Aunt Katy had no good feeling for me; and if I
pushed any of the other children, or if they told her anything
unfavorable of me, she always believed the worst, and was sure to whip
me.
As I grew older and more thoughtful, I was more and more filled with a
sense of my wretchedness. The cruelty of Aunt Katy, the hunger and cold
I suffered, and the terrible reports of wrong and outrage which came to
my ear, together with what I almost daily witnessed, led me, when yet
but eight or nine years old, to wish I had never been born. I used to
contrast my condition with the black-birds, in whose wild and sweet
songs I fancied them so happy! Their apparent joy only deepened the
shades of my sorrow. There are thoughtful days in the lives of
children—at least there were in mine when they grapple with all the
great, primary subjects of knowledge, and reach, in a moment,
conclusions which no subsequent experience can shake. I was just as
well aware of the unjust, unnatural and murderous character of slavery,
when nine years old, as I am now. Without any appeal to books, to laws,
or to authorities of any kind, it was enough to accept God as a father,
to regard slavery as a crime.
I was not ten years old when I left Col. Lloyd’s plantation for
Balitmore(sic). I left that plantation with inexpressible joy. I never
shall forget the ecstacy with which I received the intelligence from my
friend, Miss Lucretia, that my old master had determined to let me go
to Baltimore to live with Mr. Hugh Auld, a brother to Mr. Thomas Auld,
my old master’s son-in-law. I received this information about three
days before my departure. They were three of the happiest days of my
childhood. I spent the largest part of these three days in the creek,
washing off the plantation scurf, and preparing for my new home. Mrs.
Lucretia took a lively interest in getting me ready. She told me I must
get all the dead skin off my feet and knees, before I could go to
Baltimore, for the people there were very cleanly, and would laugh at
me if I looked dirty; and, besides, she was intending to give me a pair
of trowsers, which I should not put on unless I got all the dirt off.
This was a warning to which I was bound to take heed; for the thought
of owning a pair of trowsers, was great, indeed. It was almost a
sufficient motive, not only to induce me to scrub off the _mange_ (as
pig drovers would call it) but the skin as well. So I went at it in
good earnest, working for the first time in the hope of reward. I was
greatly excited, and could hardly consent to sleep, lest I should be
left. The ties that, ordinarily, bind children to their homes, were all