5. CHAPTER V.
GRADUAL INITIATION INTO THE MYSTERIES OF SLAVERY.
GROWING ACQUAINTANCE WITH OLD MASTER—HIS CHARACTER—EVILS OF UNRESTRAINED PASSION—APPARENT TENDERNESS—OLD MASTER A MAN OF
TROUBLE—CUSTOM OF MUTTERING TO HIMSELF—NECESSITY OF BEING AWARE
OF HIS WORDS—THE SUPPOSED OBTUSENESS OF SLAVE-CHILDREN—BRUTAL
OUTRAGE—DRUNKEN OVERSEER—SLAVEHOLDER'S IMPATIENCE—WISDOM OF
APPEALING TO SUPERIORS—THE SLAVEHOLDER S WRATH BAD AS THAT OF
THE OVERSEER—A BASE AND SELFISH ATTEMPT TO BREAK UP A
COURTSHIP—A HARROWING SCENE.
Although my old master—Capt. Anthony—gave me at first,
(as the reader will have already seen) very little attention, and
although that little was of a remarkably mild and gentle description, a few months only were sufficient to convince me that
mildness and gentleness were not the prevailing or governing traits
of his character. These excellent qualities were displayed only
occasionally. He could, when it suited him, appear to be
literally insensible to the claims of humanity, when appealed to
by the helpless against an aggressor, and he could himself commit
outrages, deep, dark and nameless. Yet he was not by nature
worse than other men. Had he been brought up in a free state,
surrounded by the just restraints of free society—restraints
which are necessary to the freedom of all its members, alike and
equally—Capt. Anthony might have been as humane
a man, and every
way as respectable, as many who now oppose the slave system;
certainly as humane and respectable as are members of society
generally. The slaveholder, as well as the slave, is the victim
of the slave
system. A man's character greatly takes its hue
and shape from the form and color of things about him. Under the
whole heavens there is no relation more unfavorable to the
development of honorable character, than that sustained by the
slaveholder to the slave. Reason is imprisoned here, and
passions run wild. Like the fires of the prairie, once lighted,
they are at the mercy of every wind, and must burn, till they
have consumed all that is combustible within their remorseless
grasp. Capt. Anthony could be kind, and, at times, he even
showed an affectionate disposition. Could the reader have seen
him gently leading me by the hand—as he sometimes did—patting
me on the head, speaking to me in soft, caressing tones and
calling me his "little Indian boy," he would have deemed him a
kind old man, and really, almost fatherly. But the pleasant
moods of a slaveholder are remarkably brittle; they are easily
snapped; they neither come often, nor remain long. His temper is
subjected to perpetual trials; but, since these trials are never
borne patiently, they add nothing to his natural stock of
patience.
Old master very early impressed me with the idea that he
was an unhappy man. Even to my child's eye, he wore a troubled,
and at times, a haggard aspect. His strange movements excited my
curiosity, and awakened my compassion. He seldom walked alone
without muttering to himself; and he occasionally stormed about,
as if defying an army of invisible foes. "He would do this,
that, and the other; he'd be d—d if he did not,"—was the usual
form of his threats. Most of his leisure was spent in walking,
cursing and gesticulating, like one possessed by a demon. Most
evidently, he was a wretched man, at war with his own soul, and
with all the world around him. To be overheard by the children,
disturbed him very little. He made no more of our presence, than
of that of the ducks and geese which he met on the green. He
little thought that the little black urchins around him, could
see, through those vocal crevices, the very secrets of his heart.
Slaveholders ever underrate the intelligence with which
they have to grapple. I
really understood the old man's mutterings, attitudes and
gestures, about as well as he did himself. But slaveholders
never encourage that kind of communication, with the slaves, by
which they might learn to measure the depths of his knowledge.
Ignorance is a high virtue in a human chattel; and as the master
studies to keep the slave ignorant, the slave is cunning enough
to make the master think he succeeds. The slave fully
appreciates the saying, "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to
be wise." When old master's gestures were violent, ending with a
threatening shake of the head, and a sharp snap of his middle
finger and thumb, I deemed it wise to keep at a respectable distance from him; for, at such times, trifling faults stood, in his
eyes, as momentous offenses; and, having both the power and the
disposition, the victim had only to
be near him to catch the
punishment, deserved or undeserved.
One of the first circumstances that opened my eyes to the
cruelty and wickedness of slavery, and the heartlessness of my
old master, was the refusal of the latter to interpose his
authority, to protect and shield a young woman, who had been most
cruelly abused and beaten by his overseer in Tuckahoe. This
overseer—a Mr. Plummer—was a man like most of his class, little
better than a human brute; and, in addition to his general
profligacy and repulsive coarseness, the creature was a miserable
drunkard. He was, probably, employed by my old master, less on
account of the excellence of his services, than for the cheap
rate at which they could be obtained. He was not fit to have the
management of a drove of mules. In a fit of drunken madness, he
committed the outrage which brought the young woman in question
down to my old master's for protection. This young woman was the
daughter of Milly, an own aunt of mine. The poor girl, on arriving at our house, presented a pitiable appearance. She had left
in haste, and without preparation; and, probably, without the
knowledge of Mr. Plummer. She had traveled twelve miles, bare-footed, bare-necked and bare-headed. Her neck and shoulders
were covered with scars, newly made; and not content with
marring her neck and shoulders, with the cowhide, the cowardly
brute had dealt her a blow on the head with a hickory club, which
cut a horrible gash, and left her face literally covered with
blood. In this condition, the poor young woman came down, to
implore protection at
the hands of my old master. I expected to
see him boil over with rage at the revolting deed, and to hear
him fill the air with curses upon the brutal Plummer; but I was
disappointed. He sternly told her, in an angry tone, he
"believed she deserved every bit of it," and, if she did not go
home instantly, he would himself take the remaining skin from her
neck and back. Thus was the poor girl compelled to return,
without redress, and perhaps to receive an additional flogging
for daring to appeal to old master against the overseer.
Old master seemed furious at the thought of being troubled
by such complaints. I did not, at that time, understand the
philosophy of his treatment of my cousin. It was stern,
unnatural, violent. Had the man no bowels of compassion? Was he
dead to all sense of humanity? No. I think I now understand it.
This treatment is a part of the system, rather than a part of the
man. Were slaveholders to listen to complaints of this sort
against the overseers, the luxury of owning large numbers of
slaves, would be impossible. It would do away with the office of
overseer, entirely; or, in other words, it would convert the
master himself into an overseer. It would occasion great loss of
time and labor, leaving the overseer in fetters, and without the
necessary power to secure obedience to his orders. A privilege
so dangerous as that of appeal, is, therefore, strictly
prohibited; and any one exercising it, runs a fearful hazard.
Nevertheless, when a slave has nerve enough to exercise it, and
boldly approaches his master, with a well-founded
complaint
against an overseer, though he may be repulsed, and may even have
that of which he complains repeated at the time, and, though he
may be beaten by his master, as well as by the overseer, for his
temerity, in the end the
policy of
complaining is, generally, vindicated by the relaxed rigor of the
overseer's treatment. The latter becomes more careful, and less
disposed to use the lash upon such slaves thereafter. It is with
this final result in view, rather than with any expectation of
immediate good, that the outraged slave is induced to meet his
master with a complaint. The overseer very naturally dislikes to
have the ear of the master disturbed by complaints; and, either
upon this consideration, or upon advice and warning privately
given him by his employers, he generally modifies the rigor of
his rule, after an outbreak of the kind to which I have been
referring.
Howsoever the slaveholder may allow himself to act toward
his slave, and, whatever cruelty he may deem it wise, for example's sake, or for the gratification of his humor, to inflict, he
cannot, in the absence of all provocation, look with pleasure
upon the bleeding wounds of a defenseless slave-woman. When he
drives her from his presence without redress, or the hope of
redress, he acts, generally, from motives of policy, rather than
from a hardened nature, or from innate brutality. Yet, let but
his own temper be stirred, his own passions get loose, and the
slave-owner will go far beyond the overseer in cruelty.
He will convince the slave that his wrath is far more terrible
and boundless, and vastly more to be dreaded, than that of the
underling overseer. What may have been
mechanically and
heartlessly done by the overseer, is now done with a will. The
man who now wields the lash is irresponsible. He may, if he
pleases, cripple or kill, without fear of consequences; except in
so far as it may concern profit or loss. To a man of violent
temper—as my old master was—this was but a very slender and
inefficient restraint. I have seen him in a tempest of passion,
such as I have just described—a passion into which entered all
the bitter ingredients of pride, hatred, envy, jealousy, and the
thirst for revenge.
The circumstances which I am about to narrate, and which
gave rise to this fearful tempest of passion, are not singular
nor
isolated in slave life, but are common in every
slaveholding community in which I have lived. They are
incidental to the relation of master and slave, and exist in all
sections of slave-holding countries.
The reader will have noticed that, in enumerating the
names of the slaves who lived with my old master, Esther
is mentioned. This was a young woman who possessed that which is
ever a curse to the slave-girl; namely—personal beauty. She was
tall, well formed, and made a fine appearance. The daughters of
Col. Lloyd could scarcely surpass her in personal charms. Esther
was courted by Ned Roberts, and he was as fine looking a young
man, as she was a woman. He was the son of a favorite slave of
Col. Lloyd. Some slaveholders would have been glad to promote
the marriage of two such persons; but, for some reason or other,
my old master took it upon him to break up the growing intimacy
between Esther and Edward.
He strictly ordered her to quit the
company of said Roberts, telling her that he would punish her
severely if he ever found her again in Edward's company. This
unnatural and heartless order was, of course, broken. A woman's
love is not to be annihilated by the peremptory command of any
one, whose breath is in his nostrils. It was impossible to keep
Edward and Esther apart. Meet they would, and meet they did.
Had old master been a man of honor and purity, his motives, in
this matter, might have been viewed more favorably. As it was,
his motives were as abhorrent, as his methods were foolish and
contemptible. It was too evident that he was not concerned for
the girl's welfare. It is one of the damning characteristics of
the slave system, that it robs its victims of every earthly
incentive to a holy life. The fear of God, and the hope of
heaven, are found sufficient to sustain many slave-women, amidst
the snares and dangers of their strange lot; but, this side of
God and heaven, a slave-woman is at the mercy of the power,
caprice and passion of her owner. Slavery provides no means for
the honorable continuance of the race. Marriage as imposing
obligations on the parties to it—has no
existence here, except in such hearts as are purer and higher
than the standard morality around them. It is one of the
consolations of my life, that I know of many honorable instances
of persons who maintained their honor, where all around was
corrupt.
Esther was evidently much attached to Edward, and
abhorred—as she had reason to do—the tyrannical and base
behavior of old master. Edward was young, and fine looking, and
he loved and courted her.
He might have been her husband, in the
high sense just alluded to; but WHO and
what was this old
master? His attentions were plainly brutal and selfish, and it
was as natural that Esther should loathe him, as that she should
love Edward. Abhorred and circumvented as he was, old master,
having the power, very easily took revenge. I happened to see
this exhibition of his rage and cruelty toward Esther. The time
selected was singular. It was early in the morning, when all
besides was still, and before any of the family, in the house or
kitchen, had left their beds. I saw but few of the shocking
preliminaries, for the cruel work had begun before I awoke. I
was probably awakened by the shrieks and piteous cries of poor
Esther. My sleeping place was on the floor of a little, rough
closet, which opened into the kitchen; and through the cracks of
its unplaned boards, I could distinctly see and hear what was
going on, without being seen by old master. Esther's wrists were
firmly tied, and the twisted rope was fastened to a strong staple
in a heavy wooden joist above, near the fireplace. Here she
stood, on a bench, her arms tightly drawn over her breast. Her
back and shoulders were bare to the waist. Behind her stood old
master, with cowskin in hand, preparing his barbarous work with
all manner of harsh, coarse, and tantalizing epithets. The
screams of his victim were most piercing. He was cruelly
deliberate, and protracted the torture, as one who was delighted
with the scene. Again and again he drew the hateful whip through
his hand, adjusting it with a view of dealing the most pain-giving blow. Poor Esther had never yet been severely
whipped,
and her shoulders
were plump and tender. Each blow,
vigorously laid on, brought screams as well as blood.
"Have
mercy; Oh! have mercy" she cried;
"I won't do so no
more;" but her piercing cries seemed only to increase his
fury. His answers to them are too coarse and blasphemous to be
produced here. The whole scene, with all its attendants, was
revolting and shocking, to the last degree; and when the motives
of this brutal castigation are considered,—language has no power
to convey a just sense of its awful criminality. After laying on
some thirty or forty stripes, old master untied his suffering
victim, and let her get down. She could scarcely stand, when
untied. From my heart I pitied her, and—child though I was—the
outrage kindled in me a feeling far from peaceful; but I was
hushed, terrified, stunned, and could do nothing, and the fate of
Esther might be mine next. The scene here described was often
repeated in the case of poor Esther, and her life, as I knew it,
was one of wretchedness.