My Bondage and My Freedom
hesitate to take food, when I was hungry, wherever I could find it. Nor
was this practice the mere result of an unreasoning instinct; it was,
in my case, the result of a clear apprehension of the claims of
morality. I weighed and considered the matter closely, before I
ventured to satisfy my hunger by such means. Considering that my labor
and person were the property of Master Thomas, and that I was by him
deprived of the necessaries of life necessaries obtained by my own
labor—it was easy to deduce the right to supply myself with what was my
own. It was simply appropriating what was my own to the use of my
master, since the health and strength derived from such food were
exerted in _his_ service. To be sure, this was stealing, according to
the law and gospel I heard from St. Michael’s pulpit; but I had already
begun to attach less importance to what dropped from that quarter, on
that point, while, as yet, I retained my reverence for religion. It was
not always convenient to steal from master, and the same reason why I
might, innocently, steal from him, did not seem to justify me in
stealing from others. In the case of my master, it was only a question
of _removal_—the taking his meat out of one tub, and putting it into
another; the ownership of the meat was not affected by the transaction.
At first, he owned it in the _tub_, and last, he owned it in _me_. His
meat house was not always open. There was a strict watch kept on that
point, and the key was on a large bunch in Rowena’s pocket. A great
many times have we, poor creatures, been severely pinched with hunger,
when meat and bread have been moulding under the lock, while the key
was in the pocket of our mistress. This had been so when she _knew_ we
were nearly half starved; and yet, that mistress, with saintly air,
would kneel with her husband, and pray each morning that a merciful God
would bless them in basket and in store, and save them, at last, in his
kingdom. But I proceed with the argument.
It was necessary that right to steal from _others_ should be
established; and this could only rest upon a wider range of
generalization than that which supposed the right to steal from my
master.
It was sometime before I arrived at this clear right. The reader will
get some idea of my train of reasoning, by a brief statement of the
case. “I am,” thought I, “not only the slave of Thomas, but I am the
slave of society at large. Society at large has bound itself, in form
and in fact, to assist Master Thomas in robbing me of my rightful
liberty, and of the just reward of my labor; therefore, whatever rights
I have against Master Thomas, I have, equally, against those
confederated with him in robbing me of liberty. As society has marked
me out as privileged plunder, on the principle of self-preservation I
am justified in plundering in turn. Since each slave belongs to all;
all must, therefore, belong to each.”
I shall here make a profession of faith which may shock some, offend
others, and be dissented from by all. It is this: Within the bounds of
his just earnings, I hold that the slave is fully justified in helping
himself to the _gold and silver, and the best apparel of his master, or
that of any other slaveholder; and that such taking is not stealing in
any just sense of that word_.
The morality of _free_ society can have no application to _slave_
society. Slaveholders have made it almost impossible for the slave to
commit any crime, known either to the laws of God or to the laws of
man. If he steals, he takes his own; if he kills his master, he
imitates only the heroes of the revolution. Slaveholders I hold to be
individually and collectively responsible for all the evils which grow
out of the horrid relation, and I believe they will be so held at the
judgment, in the sight of a just God. Make a man a slave, and you rob
him of moral responsibility. Freedom of choice is the essence of all
accountability. But my kind readers are, probably, less concerned about
my opinions, than about that which more nearly touches my personal
experience; albeit, my opinions have, in some sort, been formed by that
experience.
Bad as slaveholders are, I have seldom met with one so entirely
destitute of every element of character capable of inspiring respect,
as was my present master, Capt. Thomas Auld.
When I lived with him, I thought him incapable of a noble action. The
leading trait in his character was intense selfishness. I think he was
fully aware of this fact himself, and often tried to conceal it. Capt.
Auld was not a _born_ slaveholder—not a birthright member of the
slaveholding oligarchy. He was only a slaveholder by _marriage-right;_
and, of all slaveholders, these latter are, _by far_, the most
exacting. There was in him all the love of domination, the pride of
mastery, and the swagger of authority, but his rule lacked the vital
element of consistency. He could be cruel; but his methods of showing
it were cowardly, and evinced his meanness rather than his spirit. His
commands were strong, his enforcement weak.
Slaves are not insensible to the whole-souled characteristics of a
generous, dashing slaveholder, who is fearless of consequences; and
they prefer a master of this bold and daring kind—even with the risk of
being shot down for impudence to the fretful, little soul, who never
uses the lash but at the suggestion of a love of gain.
Slaves, too, readily distinguish between the birthright bearing of the
original slaveholder and the assumed attitudes of the accidental
slaveholder; and while they cannot respect either, they certainly
despise the latter more than the former.
The luxury of having slaves wait upon him was something new to Master
Thomas; and for it he was wholly unprepared. He was a slaveholder,
without the ability to hold or manage his slaves. We seldom called him
“master,” but generally addressed him by his “bay craft” title—“_Capt.
Auld_.” It is easy to see that such conduct might do much to make him
appear awkward, and, consequently, fretful. His wife was especially
solicitous to have us call her husband “master.” Is your _master_ at
the store?”—“Where is your _master_?”—“Go and tell your _master”_—“I
will make your _master_ acquainted with your conduct”—she would say;
but we were inapt scholars. Especially were I and my sister Eliza inapt
in this particular. Aunt Priscilla was less stubborn and defiant in her
spirit than Eliza and myself; and, I think, her road was less rough
than ours.
In the month of August, 1833, when I had almost become desperate under
the treatment of Master Thomas, and when I entertained more strongly
than ever the oft-repeated determination to run away, a circumstance
occurred which seemed to promise brighter and better days for us all.
At a Methodist camp-meeting, held in the Bay Side (a famous place for
campmeetings) about eight miles from St. Michael’s, Master Thomas came
out with a profession of religion. He had long been an object of
interest to the church, and to the ministers, as I had seen by the
repeated visits and lengthy exhortations of the latter. He was a fish
quite worth catching, for he had money and standing. In the community
of St. Michael’s he was equal to the best citizen. He was strictly
temperate; _perhaps_, from principle, but most likely, from interest.
There was very little to do for him, to give him the appearance of
piety, and to make him a pillar in the church. Well, the camp-meeting
continued a week; people gathered from all parts of the county, and two
steamboat loads came from Baltimore. The ground was happily chosen;
seats were arranged; a stand erected; a rude altar fenced in, fronting
the preachers’ stand, with straw in it for the accommodation of
mourners. This latter would hold at least one hundred persons. In
front, and on the sides of the preachers’ stand, and outside the long
rows of seats, rose the first class of stately tents, each vieing with
the other in strength, neatness, and capacity for accommodating its
inmates. Behind this first circle of tents was another, less imposing,
which reached round the camp-ground to the speakers’ stand. Outside
this second class of tents were covered wagons, ox carts, and vehicles
of every shape and size. These served as tents to their owners. Outside
of these, huge fires were burning, in all directions, where roasting,
and boiling, and frying, were going on, for the benefit of those who
were attending to their own spiritual welfare within the circle.
_Behind_ the preachers’ stand, a narrow space was marked out for the
use of the colored people. There were no seats provided for this class
of persons; the preachers addressed them, _“over the left,”_ if they
addressed them at all. After the preaching was over, at every service,
an invitation was given to mourners to come into the pen; and, in some
cases, ministers went out to persuade men and women to come in. By one
of these ministers, Master Thomas Auld was persuaded to go inside the
pen. I was deeply interested in that matter, and followed; and, though
colored people were not allowed either in the pen or in front of the
preachers’ stand, I ventured to take my stand at a sort of half-way
place between the blacks and whites, where I could distinctly see the
movements of mourners, and especially the progress of Master Thomas.
“If he has got religion,” thought I, “he will emancipate his slaves;
and if he should not do so much as this, he will, at any rate, behave
toward us more kindly, and feed us more generously than he has
heretofore done.” Appealing to my own religious experience, and judging
my master by what was true in my own case, I could not regard him as
soundly converted, unless some such good results followed his
profession of religion.
But in my expectations I was doubly disappointed; Master Thomas was
_Master Thomas_ still. The fruits of his righteousness were to show
themselves in no such way as I had anticipated. His conversion was not
to change his relation toward men—at any rate not toward BLACK men—but
toward God. My faith, I confess, was not great. There was something in
his appearance that, in my mind, cast a doubt over his conversion.
Standing where I did, I could see his every movement. I watched
narrowly while he remained in the little pen; and although I saw that
his face was extremely red, and his hair disheveled, and though I heard
him groan, and saw a stray tear halting on his cheek, as if inquiring
“which way shall I go?”—I could not wholly confide in the genuineness
of his conversion. The hesitating behavior of that tear-drop and its
loneliness, distressed me, and cast a doubt upon the whole transaction,
of which it was a part. But people said, _“Capt. Auld had come
through,”_ and it was for me to hope for the best. I was bound to do
this, in charity, for I, too, was religious, and had been in the church
full three years, although now I was not more than sixteen years old.
Slaveholders may, sometimes, have confidence in the piety of some of
their slaves; but the slaves seldom have confidence in the piety of
their masters. _“He cant go to heaven with our blood in his skirts_,”
is a settled point in the creed of every slave; rising superior to all
teaching to the contrary, and standing forever as a fixed fact. The
highest evidence the slaveholder can give the slave of his acceptance
with God, is the emancipation of his slaves. This is proof that he is
willing to give up all to God, and for the sake of God. Not to do this,
was, in my estimation, and in the opinion of all the slaves, an
evidence of half-heartedness, and wholly inconsistent with the idea of
genuine conversion. I had read, also, somewhere in the Methodist
Discipline, the following question and answer:
“_Question_. What shall be done for the extirpation of slavery?