My Bondage and My Freedom
of throwing down some blades, Covey sneaked into the stable, in his
peculiar snake-like way, and seizing me suddenly by the leg, he brought
me to the stable floor, giving my newly mended body a fearful jar. I
now forgot my roots, and remembered my pledge to _stand up in my own
defense_. The brute was endeavoring skillfully to get a slip-knot on my
legs, before I could draw up my feet. As soon as I found what he was up
to, I gave a sudden spring (my two day’s rest had been of much service
to me,) and by that means, no doubt, he was able to bring me to the
floor so heavily. He was defeated in his plan of tying me. While down,
he seemed to think he had me very securely in his power. He little
thought he was—as the rowdies say—“in” for a “rough and tumble” fight;
but such was the fact. Whence came the daring spirit necessary to
grapple with a man who, eight-and-forty hours before, could, with his
slightest word have made me tremble like a leaf in a storm, I do not
know; at any rate, _I was resolved to fight_, and, what was better
still, I was actually hard at it. The fighting madness had come upon
me, and I found my strong fingers firmly attached to the throat of my
cowardly tormentor; as heedless of consequences, at the moment, as
though we stood as equals before the law. The very color of the man was
forgotten. I felt as supple as a cat, and was ready for the snakish
creature at every turn. Every blow of his was parried, though I dealt
no blows in turn. I was strictly on the _defensive_, preventing him
from injuring me, rather than trying to injure him. I flung him on the
ground several times, when he meant to have hurled me there. I held him
so firmly by the throat, that his blood followed my nails. He held me,
and I held him.
All was fair, thus far, and the contest was about equal. My resistance
was entirely unexpected, and Covey was taken all aback by it, for he
trembled in every limb. _“Are you going to resist_, you scoundrel?”
said he. To which, I returned a polite _“Yes sir;”_ steadily gazing my
interrogator in the eye, to meet the first approach or dawning of the
blow, which I expected my answer would call forth. But, the conflict
did not long remain thus equal. Covey soon cried out lustily for help;
not that I was obtaining any marked advantage over him, or was injuring
him, but because he was gaining none over me, and was not able, single
handed, to conquer me. He called for his cousin Hughs, to come to his
assistance, and now the scene was changed. I was compelled to give
blows, as well as to parry them; and, since I was, in any case, to
suffer for resistance, I felt (as the musty proverb goes) that “I might
as well be hanged for an old sheep as a lamb.” I was still _defensive_
toward Covey, but _aggressive_ toward Hughs; and, at the first approach
of the latter, I dealt a blow, in my desperation, which fairly sickened
my youthful assailant. He went off, bending over with pain, and
manifesting no disposition to come within my reach again. The poor
fellow was in the act of trying to catch and tie my right hand, and
while flattering himself with success, I gave him the kick which sent
him staggering away in pain, at the same time that I held Covey with a
firm hand.
Taken completely by surprise, Covey seemed to have lost his usual
strength and coolness. He was frightened, and stood puffing and
blowing, seemingly unable to command words or blows. When he saw that
poor Hughes was standing half bent with pain—his courage quite gone the
cowardly tyrant asked if I “meant to persist in my resistance.” I told
him “_I did mean to resist, come what might_;” that I had been by him
treated like a _brute_, during the last six months; and that I should
stand it _no longer_. With that, he gave me a shake, and attempted to
drag me toward a stick of wood, that was lying just outside the stable
door. He meant to knock me down with it; but, just as he leaned over to
get the stick, I seized him with both hands by the collar, and, with a
vigorous and sudden snatch, I brought my assailant harmlessly, his full
length, on the _not_ overclean ground—for we were now in the cow yard.
He had selected the place for the fight, and it was but right that he
should have all the advantges(sic) of his own selection.
By this time, Bill, the hiredman, came home. He had been to Mr.
Hemsley’s, to spend the Sunday with his nominal wife, and was coming
home on Monday morning, to go to work. Covey and I had been skirmishing
from before daybreak, till now, that the sun was almost shooting his
beams over the eastern woods, and we were still at it. I could not see
where the matter was to terminate. He evidently was afraid to let me
go, lest I should again make off to the woods; otherwise, he would
probably have obtained arms from the house, to frighten me. Holding me,
Covey called upon Bill for assistance. The scene here, had something
comic about it. “Bill,” who knew _precisely_ what Covey wished him to
do, affected ignorance, and pretended he did not know what to do. “What
shall I do, Mr. Covey,” said Bill. “Take hold of him—take hold of him!”
said Covey. With a toss of his head, peculiar to Bill, he said,
“indeed, Mr. Covey I want to go to work.” _“This is_ your work,” said
Covey; “take hold of him.” Bill replied, with spirit, “My master hired
me here, to work, and _not_ to help you whip Frederick.” It was now my
turn to speak. “Bill,” said I, “don’t put your hands on me.” To which
he replied, “My GOD! Frederick, I ain’t goin’ to tech ye,” and Bill
walked off, leaving Covey and myself to settle our matters as best we
might.
But, my present advantage was threatened when I saw Caroline (the
slave-woman of Covey) coming to the cow yard to milk, for she was a
powerful woman, and could have mastered me very easily, exhausted as I
now was. As soon as she came into the yard, Covey attempted to rally
her to his aid. Strangely—and, I may add, fortunately—Caroline was in
no humor to take a hand in any such sport. We were all in open
rebellion, that morning. Caroline answered the command of her master to
_“take hold of me,”_ precisely as Bill had answered, but in _her_, it
was at greater peril so to answer; she was the slave of Covey, and he
could do what he pleased with her. It was _not_ so with Bill, and Bill
knew it. Samuel Harris, to whom Bill belonged, did not allow his slaves
to be beaten, unless they were guilty of some crime which the law would
punish. But, poor Caroline, like myself, was at the mercy of the
merciless Covey; nor did she escape the dire effects of her refusal. He
gave her several sharp blows.
Covey at length (two hours had elapsed) gave up the contest. Letting me
go, he said—puffing and blowing at a great rate—“Now, you scoundrel, go
to your work; I would not have whipped you half so much as I have had
you not resisted.” The fact was, _he had not whipped me at all_. He had
not, in all the scuffle, drawn a single drop of blood from me. I had
drawn blood from him; and, even without this satisfaction, I should
have been victorious, because my aim had not been to injure him, but to
prevent his injuring me.
During the whole six months that I lived with Covey, after this
transaction, he never laid on me the weight of his finger in anger. He
would, occasionally, say he did not want to have to get hold of me
again—a declaration which I had no difficulty in believing; and I had a
secret feeling, which answered, “You need not wish to get hold of me
again, for you will be likely to come off worse in a second fight than
you did in the first.”
Well, my dear reader, this battle with Mr. Covey—undignified as it was,
and as I fear my narration of it is—was the turning point in my _“life
as a slave_.” It rekindled in my breast the smouldering embers of
liberty; it brought up my Baltimore dreams, and revived a sense of my
own manhood. I was a changed being after that fight. I was _nothing_
before; I WAS A MAN NOW. It recalled to life my crushed self-respect
and my self-confidence, and inspired me with a renewed determination to
be A FREEMAN. A man, without force, is without the essential dignity of
humanity. Human nature is so constituted, that it cannot _honor_ a
helpless man, although it can _pity_ him; and even this it cannot do
long, if the signs of power do not arise.
He can only understand the effect of this combat on my spirit, who has
himself incurred something, hazarded something, in repelling the unjust
and cruel aggressions of a tyrant. Covey was a tyrant, and a cowardly
one, withal. After resisting him, I felt as I had never felt before. It
was a resurrection from the dark and pestiferous tomb of slavery, to
the heaven of comparative freedom. I was no longer a servile coward,
trembling under the frown of a brother worm of the dust, but, my
long-cowed spirit was roused to an attitude of manly independence. I
had reached the point, at which I was _not afraid to die_. This spirit
made me a freeman in _fact_, while I remained a slave in _form_. When a
slave cannot be flogged he is more than half free. He has a domain as
broad as his own manly heart to defend, and he is really _“a power on
earth_.” While slaves prefer their lives, with flogging, to instant
death, they will always find Christians enough, like unto Covey, to
accommodate that preference. From this time, until that of my escape
from slavery, I was never fairly whipped. Several attempts were made to
whip me, but they were always unsuccessful. Bruises I did get, as I
shall hereafter inform the reader; but the case I have been describing,
was the end of the brutification to which slavery had subjected me.
The reader will be glad to know why, after I had so grievously offended
Mr. Covey, he did not have me taken in hand by the authorities; indeed,
why the law of Maryland, which assigns hanging to the slave who resists
his master, was not put in force against me; at any rate, why I was not
taken up, as is usual in such cases, and publicly whipped, for an
example to other slaves, and as a means of deterring me from committing
the same offense again. I confess, that the easy manner in which I got
off, for a long time, a surprise to me, and I cannot, even now, fully
explain the cause.
The only explanation I can venture to suggest, is the fact, that Covey
was, probably, ashamed to have it known and confessed that he had been
mastered by a boy of sixteen. Mr. Covey enjoyed the unbounded and very
valuable reputation, of being a first rate overseer and _Negro
breaker_. By means of this reputation, he was able to procure his hands
for _very trifling_ compensation, and with very great ease. His
interest and his pride mutually suggested the wisdom of passing the
matter by, in silence. The story that he had undertaken to whip a lad,
and had been resisted, was, of itself, sufficient to damage him; for
his bearing should, in the estimation of slaveholders, be of that
imperial order that should make such an occurrence _impossible_. I
judge from these circumstances, that Covey deemed it best to give me
the go-by. It is, perhaps, not altogether creditable to my natural
temper, that, after this conflict with Mr. Covey, I did, at times,
purposely aim to provoke him to an attack, by refusing to keep with the
other hands in the field, but I could never bully him to another
battle. I had made up my mind to do him serious damage, if he ever
again attempted to lay violent hands on me.
Hereditary bondmen, know ye not
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?
CHAPTER XVIII. _New Relations and Duties_
CHANGE OF MASTERS—BENEFITS DERIVED BY THE CHANGE—FAME OF THE FIGHT WITH
COVEY—RECKLESS UNCONCERN—MY ABHORRENCE OF SLAVERY—ABILITY TO READ A
CAUSE OF PREJUDICE—THE HOLIDAYS—HOW SPENT—SHARP HIT AT SLAVERY—EFFECTS