Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave
From this time I was never again what might be called fairly whipped,
though I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights,
but was never whipped.
It was for a long time a matter of surprise to me why Mr. Covey did not
immediately have me taken by the constable to the whipping-post, and
there regularly whipped for the crime of raising my hand against a
white man in defence of myself. And the only explanation I can now
think of does not entirely satisfy me; but such as it is, I will give
it. Mr. Covey enjoyed the most unbounded reputation for being a
first-rate overseer and negro-breaker. It was of considerable
importance to him. That reputation was at stake; and had he sent me—a
boy about sixteen years old—to the public whipping-post, his reputation
would have been lost; so, to save his reputation, he suffered me to go
unpunished.
My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day,
1833. The days between Christmas and New Year’s day are allowed as
holidays; and, accordingly, we were not required to perform any labor,
more than to feed and take care of the stock. This time we regarded as
our own, by the grace of our masters; and we therefore used or abused
it nearly as we pleased. Those of us who had families at a distance,
were generally allowed to spend the whole six days in their society.
This time, however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober,
thinking and industrious ones of our number would employ themselves in
making corn-brooms, mats, horse-collars, and baskets; and another class
of us would spend the time in hunting opossums, hares, and coons. But
by far the larger part engaged in such sports and merriments as playing
ball, wrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking
whisky; and this latter mode of spending the time was by far the most
agreeable to the feelings of our masters. A slave who would work during
the holidays was considered by our masters as scarcely deserving them.
He was regarded as one who rejected the favor of his master. It was
deemed a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as
lazy indeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means,
during the year, to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.
From what I know of the effect of these holidays upon the slave, I
believe them to be among the most effective means in the hands of the
slaveholder in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were the
slaveholders at once to abandon this practice, I have not the slightest
doubt it would lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves.
These holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the
rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would
be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the
slaveholder, the day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation of
those conductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go
forth in their midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling
earthquake.
The holidays are part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrong, and
inhumanity of slavery. They are professedly a custom established by the
benevolence of the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is the
result of selfishness, and one of the grossest frauds committed upon
the down-trodden slave. They do not give the slaves this time because
they would not like to have their work during its continuance, but
because they know it would be unsafe to deprive them of it. This will
be seen by the fact, that the slaveholders like to have their slaves
spend those days just in such a manner as to make them as glad of their
ending as of their beginning. Their object seems to be, to disgust
their slaves with freedom, by plunging them into the lowest depths of
dissipation. For instance, the slaveholders not only like to see the
slave drink of his own accord, but will adopt various plans to make him
drunk. One plan is, to make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink
the most whisky without getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in
getting whole multitudes to drink to excess. Thus, when the slave asks
for virtuous freedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance,
cheats him with a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with
the name of liberty. The most of us used to drink it down, and the
result was just what might be supposed; many of us were led to think
that there was little to choose between liberty and slavery. We felt,
and very properly too, that we had almost as well be slaves to man as
to rum. So, when the holidays ended, we staggered up from the filth of
our wallowing, took a long breath, and marched to the field,—feeling,
upon the whole, rather glad to go, from what our master had deceived us
into a belief was freedom, back to the arms of slavery.
I have said that this mode of treatment is a part of the whole system
of fraud and inhumanity of slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to
disgust the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only the abuse
of it, is carried out in other things. For instance, a slave loves
molasses; he steals some. His master, in many cases, goes off to town,
and buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip, and commands the
slave to eat the molasses, until the poor fellow is made sick at the
very mention of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make the
slaves refrain from asking for more food than their regular allowance.
A slave runs through his allowance, and applies for more. His master is
enraged at him; but, not willing to send him off without food, gives
him more than is necessary, and compels him to eat it within a given
time. Then, if he complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be
satisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whipped for being hard to
please! I have an abundance of such illustrations of the same
principle, drawn from my own observation, but think the cases I have
cited sufficient. The practice is a very common one.
On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went to live with
Mr. William Freeland, who lived about three miles from St. Michael’s. I
soon found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not
rich, he was what would be called an educated southern gentleman. Mr.
Covey, as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker and
slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he was) seemed to possess
some regard for honor, some reverence for justice, and some respect for
humanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to all such sentiments.
Mr. Freeland had many of the faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as
being very passionate and fretful; but I must do him the justice to
say, that he was exceedingly free from those degrading vices to which
Mr. Covey was constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and we
always knew where to find him. The other was a most artful deceiver,
and could be understood only by such as were skilful enough to detect
his cunningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained in my new
master was, he made no pretensions to, or profession of, religion; and
this, in my opinion, was truly a great advantage. I assert most
unhesitatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere covering for
the most horrid crimes,—a justifier of the most appalling barbarity,—a
sanctifier of the most hateful frauds,—and a dark shelter under, which
the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders
find the strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains
of slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard being the slave
of a religious master the greatest calamity that could befall me. For
of all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders
are the worst. I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most
cruel and cowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot not only to
belong to a religious slaveholder, but to live in a community of such
religionists. Very near Mr. Freeland lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, and
in the same neighborhood lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were
members and ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church. Mr. Weeden
owned, among others, a woman slave, whose name I have forgotten. This
woman’s back, for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the lash of
this merciless, _religious_ wretch. He used to hire hands. His maxim
was, Behave well or behave ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally
to whip a slave, to remind him of his master’s authority. Such was his
theory, and such his practice.
Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden. His chief boast was his
ability to manage slaves. The peculiar feature of his government was
that of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He always managed
to have one or more of his slaves to whip every Monday morning. He did
this to alarm their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped.
His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the
commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkins could always find some excuse for
whipping a slave. It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding
life, to see with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of
which to make occasion to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,—a
mistake, accident, or want of power,—are all matters for which a slave
may be whipped at any time. Does a slave look dissatisfied? It is said,
he has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak
loudly when spoken to by his master? Then he is getting high-minded,
and should be taken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull
off his hat at the approach of a white person? Then he is wanting in
reverence, and should be whipped for it. Does he ever venture to
vindicate his conduct, when censured for it? Then he is guilty of
impudence,—one of the greatest crimes of which a slave can be guilty.
Does he ever venture to suggest a different mode of doing things from
that pointed out by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and getting
above himself; and nothing less than a flogging will do for him. Does
he, while ploughing, break a plough,—or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It
is owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave must always be
whipped. Mr. Hopkins could always find something of this sort to
justify the use of the lash, and he seldom failed to embrace such
opportunities. There was not a man in the whole county, with whom the
slaves who had the getting their own home, would not prefer to live,
rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And yet there was not a man any
where round, who made higher professions of religion, or was more
active in revivals,—more attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and
preaching meetings, or more devotional in his family,—that prayed
earlier, later, louder, and longer,—than this same reverend
slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.
But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his
employment. He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr.
Covey, he also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He worked us
hard, but always between sunrise and sunset. He required a good deal of
work to be done, but gave us good tools with which to work. His farm
was large, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with ease,
compared with many of his neighbors. My treatment, while in his
employment, was heavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands
of Mr. Edward Covey.
Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves. Their names were
Henry Harris and John Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These
consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,[1] and Handy Caldwell.
[1] This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent my being
whipped by Mr. Covey. He was “a clever soul.” We used frequently to
talk about the fight with Covey, and as often as we did so, he would