5. CHAPTER V.
In which the Author further describes his situation, and philosophizes
on the state of slavery.
Having thus shown myself to be perfectly cured
of my broken neck, it followed that, as a slave, I
was now compelled to go into the fields and labour.
This I did, at first, very reluctantly; but by-and-by
I discovered there was but little toil expected
of me, or indeed of any other bondman; for the
overseer was a good-natured man like his employer,
and lazy like ourselves. I do not know how it
may be with the slaves on other estates; but I must
confess that, so far as mere labour went, there was
less done by, and less looked for from, my master's
hands, than I have ever known to be the case with
the white labourers of New-Jersey. My master
owned extensive tracts of land, from which, although
now greatly empoverished and almost exhausted,
he might have drawn a princely revenue,
had he exacted of his slaves the degree of labour
always demanded of able-bodied hirelings in a free
state. But such was not the custom of Virginia,
or such, at least, was not the custom of my master.
He was of a happy, easy temper, neglectful of his
interest, and though often—nay, I may say incessantly—grumbling
at the flagrant laziness of all
who called him master, and at the yearly depreciation
of his lands, he was content enough if the gains
of the year counterbalanced the expenses; and as
but a slight degree of toil was required to effect this
happy object, it was commonly rendered, and without
repugnance, on the part of his slaves. His
great consolation, and he was always pronouncing
it to himself and to us, was, “that his hands were
the greatest set of scoundrels in the world,”—
which, if unutterable laziness be scoundrelism, was
true. He was pretty generally beloved by them;
which, I suppose, was because he was so good-natured;
though many used to tell me they loved
him because he was their “right-born master,”—
that is, put over them by birth, and not by purchase;
for he lived upon the land occupied by his
fathers before him, and his slaves were the descendants
of those who had served them.
The reader, who has seen with what horror and
fear I began the life of a slave, may ask if, after I
found myself restored to health and strength, I
sought no opportunity to give my master the slip,
and make a bold push for freedom. I did not; a
change had come over the spirit of my dream: I
found myself, for the first time in my life, content,
or very nearly so, with my condition, free from
cares, far removed from disquiet, and, if not actually
in love with my lot, so far from being dissatisfied,
that I had not the least desire to exchange it
for another.
Methinks I see the reader throw up his hands at
this, crying, “What! content with slavery!” I assure
him, now I ponder the matter over, that I am
as much surprised as himself, and that I consider
my being content with a state of bondage a very
singular and unaccountable circumstance. Nevertheless,
such was the fact. I was no longer Sheppard
Lee, Zachariah Longstraw, nor anybody else,
except simply Tom, Thomas, or Tommy, the slave.
I forgot that I once had been a freeman, or, to speak
more strictly, I did not remember it, the act of remembering
involving an effort of mind which it
did not comport with my new habits of laziness and
indifference to make, though perhaps I might have
done so, had I chosen. I had ceased to remember
all my previous states of existence. I could not have
been an African had I troubled myself with thoughts
of any thing but the present.
Perhaps this defect of memory will account for
my being satisfied with my new condition. I had
no recollection of the sweets of liberty to compare
and contrast with the disgusts of servitude. Perhaps
my mind was stupified—sunk beneath the ordinary
level of the human understanding, and therefore
incapable of realizing the evils of my condition.
Or, perhaps, after all, considering the circumstances
of my lot with reference to those of my mind
and nature, such evils did not in reality exist.
The reader may settle the difficulty for himself,
which he can do when he has read a little more of
my history. In the meanwhile, the fact is true: I
was satisfied with my lot—I was satisfied even with
myself. The first time I looked at my new face I
was shocked at what I considered its ugliness.
But having peeped at it a dozen times or more, my
ideas began to alter, and, by-and-by, I thought it
quite beautiful. I used to look at myself in aunt
Phœbe's glass by the hour, and I well remember
the satisfaction with which I listened to the following
rebuke of my vanity from her, namely, “All you
pritty young niggurs with handsome faces is good
for nothin, not wuth so much as you cawn!” In
short, I was something of a coxcomb; and nothing
could equal the pride and happiness of my heart,
when, of a Sabbath morning, dressed in one of my
master's old coats well brushed up, a bran-new
rabbit-fur hat, the gift of little Tommy, a ruffled
shirt, and a white neckcloth, with a pair of leather
gloves swinging in one hand, and a peeled beechen
wand by way of cane in the other, I went stalking
over the fields to church in the little village, near to
which my master resided.
I say again, I cannot account for my being so
contented with bondage. It may be, however, that
there is nothing necessarily adverse to happiness
in slavery itself, unaccompanied by other evils; and
that when the slave is ground by no oppression and
goaded by no cruelty, he is not apt to repine or
moralize upon his condition, nor to seek for those
torments of sentiment which imagination associates
with the idea of slavery in the abstract.
Of one thing, at least, I can be very certain. I
never had so easy and idle a time of it in my whole
life. My little master Tommy had grown very
fond of me. It is strange anybody should be fond
of a slave; but it is true. It appears I was what
they call a mere field-hand, that is, a labourer, and
quite unfit for domestic service. Nevertheless, to
please Tommy, I was taken from the tobacco-fields,
and, without being appointed to any peculiar duty
about the house, was allowed to do what I pleased,
provided I made myself sufficiently agreeable to
young master. So I made him tops, kites, wind-mills,
corn-stalk fiddles, and little shingle ships with
paper sails, gave him a trot every now and then on
my back, and had, in return, a due share of his oranges
and gingerbread.
In this way my time passed along more agreeably
than I can describe. My little master, it is
true, used to fall into a passion and thump me
now and then; but that I held to be prime fun;
particularly as,—provided I chose to blubber a little,
and pretend to be hurt,—the little rogue would relent,
and give me all the goodies he could beg,
borrow, or steal, to “make up with me,” as he
called it.
Little Tommy and his sisters, four in number,
were the children of my master by a second wife,
who had died two years before. The oldest was
the young lady of whom I have already spoken, and
she was, I believe, not above seventeen. Her
name was Isabella, and she was uncommonly handsome.
A young gentleman of the neighbourhood,
named Andrews, was paying court to her. Indeed,
she had a great many admirers, and there was much
company came to see her.
My master's oldest son, the only child left by
his first wife, lived on a plantation beyond the
creek, being already married, and having children.
His name was George, like his father, and the
slaves used to distinguish them as “Massa Cunnel
Jodge,” and “Massa Maja Jodge;” for all the gentlemen
in those parts were either colonels or majors.
The major's seat being at so short a distance, and
the plantation he cultivated a part of the colonel's
great estate of Ridgewood Hill, we used to regard
him as belonging still to our master's family, and
the slaves on both plantations considered themselves
as forming but a single community. Nevertheless,
we of the south side had a sort of contempt
for those of the north; for “Massa Maja,” though a
good master, was by no means so easy as his father.
He exacted more work; and when he rode
into the fields on our side, as he often did, he used
to swear at us for lazy loons, and declare he would,
some day or other turn over a new leaf with us.
