My master’s family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in one house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master was Colonel Lloyd’s clerk and superintendent. He was what might be called the overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on this plantation in my old master’s family. It was here that I witnessed the bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter; and as I received my first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some description of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation is about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated on the border of Miles River. The principal products raised upon it were tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were raised in great abundance; so that, with the products of this and the other farms belonging to him, he was able to keep in almost constant employment a large sloop, in carrying them to market at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd, in honor of one of the colonel’s daughters. My master’s son-in-law, Captain Auld, was master of the vessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel’s own slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and Jake. These were esteemed very highly by the other slaves, and looked upon as the privileged ones of the plantation; for it was no small affair, in the eyes of the slaves, to be allowed to see Baltimore.
My master’s family included two sons, Andrew and Richard, and one daughter, Lucretia, with her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They all lived in one house on Colonel Edward Lloyd’s main plantation. My master was Colonel Lloyd’s clerk and superintendent. He was what you might call the overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of my childhood on this plantation with my old master’s family. It was here that I witnessed the bloody incident described in the first chapter. Since I formed my first impressions of slavery here, I will describe the plantation and slavery as it existed there. The plantation is about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot County, on the banks of the Miles River. Its main crops were tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were grown in great abundance. Together, this plantation and the colonel’s other farms produced enough to keep a large sloop sailing almost constantly. This sailing vessel carried the crops to market in Baltimore. It was named Sally Lloyd, after one of the colonel’s daughters. My master’s son-in-law, Captain Auld, commanded the vessel. The rest of its crew consisted of the colonel’s own slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and Jake. The other slaves thought very highly of them and considered them the privileged ones on the plantation. To the slaves, being allowed to see Baltimore was no small matter.
Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation were Wye Town and New Design. “Wye Town” was under the overseership of a man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms, numbering over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers of the home plantation. This was the great business place. It was the seat of government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among the overseers were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high misdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run away, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board the sloop, carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some other slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.
Colonel Lloyd kept between three and four hundred enslaved people on his home plantation. He owned many more on his neighboring farms. The farms nearest the home plantation were called Wye Town and New Design. “Wye Town” was overseen by a man named Noah Willis. New Design was overseen by a Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these farms and all the others, more than twenty in total, received guidance from the home plantation’s managers. This was the main center of business. It was the seat of authority for all twenty farms. All disputes among the overseers were settled here. Any enslaved person found guilty of serious misconduct, who became unmanageable, or who showed determination to escape was brought here immediately. He was severely whipped, put aboard the sloop, taken to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk or another slave trader. This served as a warning to the enslaved people who remained.
Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their monthly allowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women slaves received, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of pork, or its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen trousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter, made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of shoes; the whole of which could not have cost more than seven dollars. The allowance of the slave children was given to their mothers, or the old women having the care of them. The children unable to work in the field had neither shoes, stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to them; their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year. When these failed them, they went naked until the next allowance-day. Children from seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked, might be seen at all seasons of the year.
Here, too, enslaved people from all the other farms received their monthly food allowance and yearly clothing. Each enslaved man and woman received eight pounds of pork, or its equivalent in fish, each month. They also received one bushel of cornmeal. Their yearly clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts and one pair of trousers made of the same linen. They also received one jacket and one pair of winter trousers made of coarse cloth known as “Negro cloth.” They received one pair of stockings and one pair of shoes as well. All this clothing could not have cost more than seven dollars. The enslaved children’s allowances were given to their mothers or the old women who cared for them. Children unable to work in the fields received no shoes, stockings, jackets, or trousers. Their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts a year. When these wore out, they went naked until the next day clothing was distributed. Almost naked boys and girls, seven to ten years old, could be seen at every season of the year.
There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be considered such, and none but the men and women had these. This, however, is not considered a very great privation. They find less difficulty from the want of beds, than from the want of time to sleep; for when their day’s work in the field is done, the most of them having their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few or none of the ordinary facilities for doing either of these, very many of their sleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day; and when this is done, old and young, male and female, married and single, drop down side by side, on one common bed,—the cold, damp floor,—each covering himself or herself with their miserable blankets; and here they sleep till they are summoned to the field by the driver’s horn. At the sound of this, all must rise, and be off to the field. There must be no halting; every one must be at his or her post; and woe betides them who hear not this morning summons to the field; for if they are not awakened by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of feeling: no age nor sex finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used to stand by the door of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick and heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who was so unfortunate as not to hear, or, from any other cause, was prevented from being ready to start for the field at the sound of the horn.
The slaves were given no beds, unless a single coarse blanket counts as one. Only the men and women received these. Yet the lack of beds is not considered a very great hardship. They suffer less from having no beds than from having too little time to sleep. After their day’s work in the fields, most still have washing, mending, and cooking to do. They have few or none of the usual tools or conveniences for these tasks. Many of their sleeping hours are spent preparing for the next day’s work in the fields. Once finished, old and young, male and female, married and single, drop down side by side. They all share one bed, the cold, damp floor, each covering themselves with their miserable blankets. Here they sleep until the driver’s horn calls them to the fields. At its sound, all must rise and leave for the fields. There must be no delay. Everyone must be at their post. Woe to those who do not hear this morning call to the fields. If they are not awakened through their hearing, they are awakened through pain. No one is spared because of age or sex. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used to stand by the door of the slaves’ quarters. He carried a large hickory stick and a heavy cowskin whip. He was ready to whip anyone unfortunate enough not to hear the horn. The same awaited anyone prevented for any other reason from being ready to leave when it sounded.
Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a woman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this, too, in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their mother’s release. He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting his fiendish barbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough to chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinary man to hear him talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him but that was commenced or concluded by some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness his cruelty and profanity. His presence made it both the field of blood and of blasphemy. From the rising till the going down of the sun, he was cursing, raving, cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field, in the most frightful manner. His career was short. He died very soon after I went to Colonel Lloyd’s; and he died as he lived, uttering, with his dying groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was regarded by the slaves as the result of a merciful providence.
Mr. Severe lived up to his name. He was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a woman until her blood ran for half an hour at a time. Her crying children stood around her, begging him to release their mother. He seemed to take pleasure in showing his monstrous cruelty. Besides being cruel, he constantly swore. Hearing him talk was enough to chill an ordinary person’s blood and make their hair stand on end. Hardly a sentence escaped him without beginning or ending in some horrible curse. The fields were where his cruelty and swearing were on full display. His presence made them a place of bloodshed and blasphemy. From sunrise to sunset, he cursed, raged, cut, and slashed among the enslaved people working there in the most terrifying way. His time as an overseer was short. He died very soon after I went to Colonel Lloyd’s. He died as he had lived, mixing bitter curses and horrible oaths with his dying groans. The enslaved people saw his death as an act of mercy from God.
Mr. Severe’s place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr. Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was called by the slaves a good overseer.
Mr. Hopkins took Mr. Severe’s place. He was a very different man. He was less cruel, swore less, and made less noise than Mr. Severe. He showed no unusual cruelty in his work. He whipped the slaves but seemed to take no pleasure in it. The slaves called him a good overseer.
The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting, coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves on the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired to give it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the slaves the Great House Farm. Few privileges were esteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, than that of being selected to do errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in their minds with greatness. A representative could not be prouder of his election to a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the out-farms would be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their overseers; and it was on this account, as well as a constant desire to be out of the field from under the driver’s lash, that they esteemed it a high privilege, one worth careful living for. He was called the smartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon him the most frequently. The competitors for this office sought as diligently to please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the political parties seek to please and deceive the people. The same traits of character might be seen in Colonel Lloyd’s slaves, as are seen in the slaves of the political parties.
Colonel Lloyd’s home plantation looked like a country village. All the skilled trades and workshop tasks for all the farms were done here. Enslaved people on the home plantation made and repaired shoes, worked iron, built carts and barrels, wove cloth, and ground grain. The whole place had a busy, businesslike appearance, very different from the neighboring farms. Its many houses also helped set it above the neighboring farms. The enslaved people called it the Great House Farm. Few privileges mattered more to enslaved people on the outlying farms than being chosen to run errands at Great House Farm. They associated it with greatness. A representative elected to the American Congress could be no prouder than an enslaved person chosen for these errands. They saw it as proof that their overseers placed great trust in them. They also constantly wanted to escape the fields and the driver’s whip. For both reasons, they considered it a great privilege, worth behaving carefully to earn. Whoever received this honor most often was called the smartest and most trustworthy man. Those competing for this position worked as hard to please their overseers as political candidates work to please and deceive voters. The same character traits appeared among Colonel Lloyd’s slaves as among the slaves of political parties.
The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came up, came out—if not in the word, in the sound;—and as frequently in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this, when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following words:—
The slaves chosen to collect the monthly supplies for themselves and their fellow slaves at the Great House Farm were especially enthusiastic. On their way, their wild songs would echo through the dense old woods for miles around. These songs expressed both the greatest joy and the deepest sadness. They made up songs as they went, paying no attention to rhythm or tune. Whatever thought came to mind came out, either in words or in sound, equally often in each. Sometimes they sang the saddest words in the most joyful tone, and the most joyful words in the saddest tone. They managed to weave something about the Great House Farm into all their songs. They did this especially when leaving home. Then they would sing the following words with the greatest joy:
“I am going away to the Great House Farm! O, yea! O, yea! O!”
“I’m going away to the Great House Farm! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh!”
This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do.
They would sing this as a chorus to words that might sound like meaningless nonsense to many people. Yet those words were full of meaning to the singers themselves. I have sometimes thought that simply hearing those songs would make some people understand slavery’s horrors more deeply. It could do more than reading whole volumes of philosophy on the subject.
I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul,—and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because “there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.”
When I was enslaved, I did not understand the deep meaning of those rough and seemingly disconnected songs. I was inside that circle myself. I could not see or hear as those outside it might. The songs told a story of suffering far beyond my limited understanding at the time. Their tones were loud, long, and deep. They carried the prayers and complaints of souls overflowing with the bitterest anguish. Every note testified against slavery and prayed to God for freedom from chains. Hearing those wild notes always weighed down my spirit and filled me with sadness beyond words. I have often found myself in tears while listening to them. Even now, simply remembering those songs pains me. As I write these lines, a tear has already run down my cheek. Those songs gave me my first faint understanding of how slavery strips people of their humanity. I can never lose that understanding. Those songs still follow me, deepening my hatred of slavery and strengthening my sympathy for my brothers in bondage. Anyone who wants to feel slavery’s soul-killing effects should go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation on the day rations are distributed. They should stand in the deep pine woods and silently study the sounds passing through their soul. If they remain unmoved, it can only be because “there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.”
I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to express my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast away upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as evidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the songs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.
Since coming north, I have often been utterly astonished to hear people describe enslaved people’s singing as evidence of happiness. They take it as a sign of contentment. It is impossible to imagine a greater mistake. Enslaved people sing most when they are most unhappy. Their songs express the sorrows of their hearts. Singing brings them relief only as tears relieve an aching heart. At least, that is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but rarely to express my happiness. Crying for joy and singing for joy were equally uncommon for me while trapped in the jaws of slavery. A man stranded on a deserted island might sing. His singing could just as reasonably be taken as evidence of contentment and happiness as an enslaved person’s singing. The songs of both come from the same emotion.