Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
broke down; my strength failed me; I was seized with a violent aching
of the head, attended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in every limb.
Finding what was coming, I nerved myself up, feeling it would never do
to stop work. I stood as long as I could stagger to the hopper with
grain. When I could stand no longer, I fell, and felt as if held down
by an immense weight. The fan of course stopped; every one had his own
work to do; and no one could do the work of the other, and have his own
go on at the same time.
Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred yards from the
treading-yard where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he left
immediately, and came to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired
what the matter was. Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no
one to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time crawled away under
the side of the post and rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed,
hoping to find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where I
was. He was told by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and, after
looking at me awhile, asked me what was the matter. I told him as well
as I could, for I scarce had strength to speak. He then gave me a
savage kick in the side, and told me to get up. I tried to do so, but
fell back in the attempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to
rise. I again tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stooping to
get the tub with which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and
fell. While down in this situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat
with which Hughes had been striking off the half-bushel measure, and
with it gave me a heavy blow upon the head, making a large wound, and
the blood ran freely; and with this again told me to get up. I made no
effort to comply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst.
In a short time after receiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr.
Covey had now left me to my fate. At this moment I resolved, for the
first time, to go to my master, enter a complaint, and ask his
protection. In order to do this, I must that afternoon walk seven
miles; and this, under the circumstances, was truly a severe
undertaking. I was exceedingly feeble; made so as much by the kicks and
blows which I received, as by the severe fit of sickness to which I had
been subjected. I, however, watched my chance, while Covey was looking
in an opposite direction, and started for St. Michael’s. I succeeded in
getting a considerable distance on my way to the woods, when Covey
discovered me, and called after me to come back, threatening what he
would do if I did not come. I disregarded both his calls and his
threats, and made my way to the woods as fast as my feeble state would
allow; and thinking I might be overhauled by him if I kept the road, I
walked through the woods, keeping far enough from the road to avoid
detection, and near enough to prevent losing my way. I had not gone far
before my little strength again failed me. I could go no farther. I
fell down, and lay for a considerable time. The blood was yet oozing
from the wound on my head. For a time I thought I should bleed to
death; and think now that I should have done so, but that the blood so
matted my hair as to stop the wound. After lying there about three
quarters of an hour, I nerved myself up again, and started on my way,
through bogs and briers, barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feet
sometimes at nearly every step; and after a journey of about seven
miles, occupying some five hours to perform it, I arrived at master’s
store. I then presented an appearance enough to affect any but a heart
of iron. From the crown of my head to my feet, I was covered with
blood. My hair was all clotted with dust and blood; my shirt was stiff
with blood. I suppose I looked like a man who had escaped a den of wild
beasts, and barely escaped them. In this state I appeared before my
master, humbly entreating him to interpose his authority for my
protection. I told him all the circumstances as well as I could, and it
seemed, as I spoke, at times to affect him. He would then walk the
floor, and seek to justify Covey by saying he expected I deserved it.
He asked me what I wanted. I told him, to let me get a new home; that
as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again, I should live with but to die
with him; that Covey would surely kill me; he was in a fair way for it.
Master Thomas ridiculed the idea that there was any danger of Mr.
Covey’s killing me, and said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he was a good
man, and that he could not think of taking me from him; that, should he
do so, he would lose the whole year’s wages; that I belonged to Mr.
Covey for one year, and that I must go back to him, come what might;
and that I must not trouble him with any more stories, or that he would
himself _get hold of me_. After threatening me thus, he gave me a very
large dose of salts, telling me that I might remain in St. Michael’s
that night, (it being quite late,) but that I must be off back to Mr.
Covey’s early in the morning; and that if I did not, he would _get hold
of me,_ which meant that he would whip me. I remained all night, and,
according to his orders, I started off to Covey’s in the morning,
(Saturday morning,) wearied in body and broken in spirit. I got no
supper that night, or breakfast that morning. I reached Covey’s about
nine o’clock; and just as I was getting over the fence that divided
Mrs. Kemp’s fields from ours, out ran Covey with his cowskin, to give
me another whipping. Before he could reach me, I succeeded in getting
to the cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it afforded me the
means of hiding. He seemed very angry, and searched for me a long time.
My behavior was altogether unaccountable. He finally gave up the chase,
thinking, I suppose, that I must come home for something to eat; he
would give himself no further trouble in looking for me. I spent that
day mostly in the woods, having the alternative before me,—to go home
and be whipped to death, or stay in the woods and be starved to death.
That night, I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whom I was
somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife who lived about four miles
from Mr. Covey’s; and it being Saturday, he was on his way to see her.
I told him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited me to go home
with him. I went home with him, and talked this whole matter over, and
got his advice as to what course it was best for me to pursue. I found
Sandy an old adviser. He told me, with great solemnity, I must go back
to Covey; but that before I went, I must go with him into another part
of the woods, where there was a certain _root,_ which, if I would take
some of it with me, carrying it _always on my right side,_ would render
it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, to whip me. He
said he had carried it for years; and since he had done so, he had
never received a blow, and never expected to while he carried it. I at
first rejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a root in my
pocket would have any such effect as he had said, and was not disposed
to take it; but Sandy impressed the necessity with much earnestness,
telling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To please him, I at
length took the root, and, according to his direction, carried it upon
my right side. This was Sunday morning. I immediately started for home;
and upon entering the yard gate, out came Mr. Covey on his way to
meeting. He spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs from a lot
near by, and passed on towards the church. Now, this singular conduct
of Mr. Covey really made me begin to think that there was something in
the _root_ which Sandy had given me; and had it been on any other day
than Sunday, I could have attributed the conduct to no other cause than
the influence of that root; and as it was, I was half inclined to think
the _root_ to be something more than I at first had taken it to be. All
went well till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of the
_root_ was fully tested. Long before daylight, I was called to go and
rub, curry, and feed, the horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But
whilst thus engaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some blades
from the loft, Mr. Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and just
as I was half out of the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about
tying me. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring,
and as I did so, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawling on the
stable floor. Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do
what he pleased; but at this moment—from whence came the spirit I don’t
know—I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, 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. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me
assurance, and I held him uneasy, causing the blood to run where I
touched him with the ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to
Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while Covey held me, attempted to
tie my right hand. While he was in the act of doing so, I watched my
chance, and gave him a heavy kick close under the ribs. This kick
fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left me in the hands of Mr. Covey.
This kick had the effect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey also.
When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his courage quailed. 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 for six months, and that I
was determined to be used so no longer. With that, he strove to drag me
to a stick that was lying just out of the stable door. He meant to
knock me down. But just as he was leaning over to get the stick, I
seized him with both hands by his collar, and brought him by a sudden
snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came. Covey called upon him
for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could do. Covey said, “Take
hold of him, take hold of him!” Bill said his master hired him out to
work, and not to help to whip me; so he left Covey and myself to fight
our own battle out. We were at it for nearly two hours. Covey at length
let me go, puffing and blowing at a great rate, saying that if I had
not resisted, he would not have whipped me half so much. The truth was,
that he had not whipped me at all. I considered him as getting entirely
the worst end of the bargain; for he had drawn no blood from me, but I
had from him. The whole six months afterwards, that I spent with Mr.
Covey, he never laid the weight of his finger upon me in anger. He
would occasionally say, he didn’t want to get hold of me again. “No,”
thought I, “you need not; for you will come off worse than you did
before.”
This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a
slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived
within me a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed
self-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free.
The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for
whatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand
the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by
force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was
a glorious resurrection, from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of
freedom. 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.