Chapter 2

My master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew

and Richard; one daughter, Lucretia, and her hus-

band, 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 child-

hood 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 em-

ployment 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 mas-

ter'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.

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 overseer-

ship 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 immedi-

ately 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.

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 chil-

dren 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.

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 wash-

ing, 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 con-

sumed 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.

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 hor-

rid 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'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 demon-

strations of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take

no pleasure in it. He was called by the slaves 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-grind-

ing, were all performed by the slaves on the home

plantation. The whole place wore a business-like as-

pect very unlike the neighboring farms. The num-

ber 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 re-

posed 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 es-

teemed it a high privilege, one worth careful living

for. He was called the smartest and most trusty fel-

low, 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.

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 senti-

ment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rap-

turous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all

of their songs they would manage to weave some-

thing of the Great House Farm. Especially would

they do this, when leaving home. They would then

sing most exultingly the following words:—

"I am going away to the Great House Farm!

O, yea! O, yea! O!"

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 read-

ing of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject

could do.

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 nei-

ther saw nor heard as those without might see and

hear. They told a tale of woe which was then al-

together 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 de-

pressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sad-

ness. 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 char-

acter of slavery. I can never get rid of that concep-

tion. 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 im-

pressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let

him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allow-

ance-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."

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 con-

tentment 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 un-

common 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.