7. CHAPTER VII.
LIFE IN THE GREAT HOUSE.
COMFORTS AND LUXURIES—ELABORATE EXPENDITURE—HOUSE SERVANTS—MEN
SERVANTS AND MAID SERVANTS—APPEARANCES—SLAVE ARISTOCRACY—STABLE AND CARRIAGE HOUSE—BOUNDLESS HOSPITALITY—FRAGRANCE OF
RICH DISHES—THE DECEPTIVE CHARACTER OF SLAVERY—SLAVES SEEM
HAPPY—SLAVES AND SLAVEHOLDERS ALIKE WRETCHED—FRETFUL DISCONTENT
OF SLAVEHOLDERS—FAULT-FINDING—OLD BARNEY—HIS PROFESSION—WHIPPING—HUMILIATING SPECTACLE—CASE EXCEPTIONAL—WILLIAM
WILKS—SUPPOSED SON OF COL. LLOYD—CURIOUS INCIDENT—SLAVES
PREFER RICH MASTERS TO POOR ONES.
The close-fisted stinginess that fed the poor slave on
coarse corn-meal and tainted meat; that clothed him in crashy
tow-linen, and hurried him to toil through the field, in all
weathers, with wind and rain beating through his tattered
garments; that scarcely gave even the young slave-mother time to
nurse her hungry infant in the fence corner; wholly vanishes on
approaching the sacred precincts of the great house, the home of
the Lloyds. There the scriptural phrase finds an exact
illustration; the highly favored inmates of this mansion are
literally arrayed "in purple and fine linen," and fare
sumptuously every day! The table groans under the heavy and
blood-bought luxuries gathered with painstaking care, at home and
abroad. Fields, forests, rivers and seas, are made tributary
here. Immense wealth, and its lavish expenditure, fill the great
house with all that can please the
eye, or tempt the taste.
Here, appetite, not food, is the great
desideratum. Fish,
flesh and fowl, are here in profusion. Chickens, of
all
breeds; ducks, of all kinds, wild and tame, the common, and the
huge Muscovite; Guinea fowls, turkeys, geese, and pea fowls, are
in their several pens, fat and fatting for the destined vortex.
The graceful swan, the mongrels, the black-necked wild goose;
partridges, quails, pheasants and pigeons; choice water fowl,
with all their strange varieties, are caught in this huge family
net. Beef, veal, mutton and venison, of the most select kinds
and quality, roll bounteously to this grand consumer. The
teeming riches of the Chesapeake bay, its rock, perch, drums,
crocus, trout, oysters, crabs, and terrapin, are drawn hither to
adorn the glittering table of the great house. The dairy, too,
probably the finest on the Eastern Shore of Maryland—supplied by
cattle of the best English stock, imported for the purpose, pours
its rich donations of fragant cheese, golden butter, and
delicious cream, to heighten the attraction of the gorgeous,
unending round of feasting. Nor are the fruits of the earth
forgotten or neglected. The fertile garden, many acres in size,
constituting a separate establishment, distinct from the common
farm—with its scientific gardener, imported from Scotland (a Mr.
McDermott) with four men under his direction, was not behind,
either in the abundance or in the delicacy of its contributions
to the same full board. The tender asparagus, the succulent
celery, and the delicate cauliflower; egg plants, beets, lettuce,
parsnips, peas, and French beans, early and late; radishes,
cantelopes, melons of all kinds; the fruits and flowers of all
climes and of all descriptions, from the hardy apple of the
north, to the lemon and orange of the south, culminated at this
point. Baltimore gathered figs, raisins, almonds and juicy
grapes from Spain. Wines and brandies from France; teas of
various flavor, from China; and rich, aromatic coffee from Java,
all conspired to swell the tide of high life, where pride and
indolence rolled and lounged in magnificence and satiety.
Behind the tall-backed and elaborately wrought chairs,
stand the servants, men and maidens—fifteen in number—discriminately selected, not only with a view to their industry and
faith
fulness, but with special regard to their
personal appearance, their graceful agility and captivating
address. Some of these are armed with fans, and are fanning
reviving breezes toward the over-heated brows of the alabaster
ladies; others watch with eager eye, and with fawn-like step
anticipate and supply wants before they are sufficiently formed
to be announced by word or sign.
These servants constituted a sort of black aristocracy on
Col. Lloyd's plantation. They resembled the field hands in
nothing, except in color, and in this they held the advantage of
a velvet-like glossiness, rich and beautiful. The hair, too,
showed the same advantage. The delicate colored maid rustled in
the scarcely worn silk of her young mistress, while the servant
men were equally well attired from the over-flowing wardrobe of
their young masters; so that, in dress, as well as in form and
feature, in manner and speech, in tastes and habits, the distance
between these favored few, and the sorrow and hunger-smitten
multitudes of the quarter and the field, was immense; and this is
seldom passed over.
Let us now glance at the stables and the carriage house,
and we shall find the same evidences of pride and luxurious
extravagance. Here are three splendid coaches, soft within and
lustrous without. Here, too, are gigs, phaetons, barouches,
sulkeys and sleighs. Here are saddles and harnesses—beautifully
wrought and silver mounted—kept with every care. In the stable
you will find, kept only for pleasure, full thirty-five horses,
of the most approved blood for speed and beauty. There are two
men here constantly employed in taking care of these horses. One
of these men must be always in the stable, to answer every call
from the great house. Over the way from the stable, is a house
built expressly for the hounds—a pack of twenty-five or thirty—whose fare would have made glad the heart of a dozen slaves.
Horses and hounds are not the only consumers of the slave's toil.
There was practiced, at the Lloyd's, a hospitality which would
have
astonished and charmed any health-seeking northern
divine or merchant, who might have chanced to share it. Viewed
from his own table, and not from the field, the colonel
was a model of generous hospitality. His house was, literally, a
hotel, for weeks during the summer months. At these times,
especially, the air was freighted with the rich fumes of baking,
boiling, roasting and broiling. The odors I shared with the
winds; but the meats were under a more stringent monopoly except
that, occasionally, I got a cake from Mas' Daniel. In Mas'
Daniel I had a friend at court, from whom I learned many things
which my eager curiosity was excited to know. I always knew when
company was expected, and who they were, although I was an
outsider, being the property, not of Col. Lloyd, but of a servant
of the wealthy colonel. On these occasions, all that pride,
taste and money could do, to dazzle and charm, was done.
Who could say that the servants of Col. Lloyd were not
well clad and cared for, after witnessing one of his magnificent
entertainments? Who could say that they did not seem to glory in
being the slaves of such a master? Who, but a fanatic, could get
up any sympathy for persons whose every movement was agile, easy
and graceful, and who evinced a consciousness of high
superiority? And who would ever venture to suspect that Col.
Lloyd was subject to the troubles of ordinary mortals? Master
and slave seem alike in their glory here? Can it all be seeming?
Alas! it may only be a sham at last! This immense wealth; this
gilded splendor; this profusion of luxury; this exemption from
toil; this life of ease; this sea of plenty; aye, what of it all?
Are the pearly gates of happiness and sweet content flung open to
such suitors? far from it! The poor slave, on his hard,
pine plank, but scantily covered with his thin blanket, sleeps
more soundly than the feverish voluptuary who reclines upon his
feather bed and downy pillow. Food, to the indolent lounger, is
poison, not sustenance. Lurking beneath all their dishes, are
invisible spirits of evil, ready to feed the self-deluded
gormandizers
which aches,
pains, fierce temper, uncontrolled passions, dyspepsia,
rheumatism, lumbago and gout; and
of these the Lloyds got their
full share. To the pampered love of ease, there is no resting
place. What is pleasant today, is repulsive tomorrow; what is
soft now, is hard at another time; what is sweet in the morning,
is bitter in the evening. Neither to the wicked, nor to the
idler, is there any solid peace:
"Troubled, like the restless
sea."
I had excellent opportunities of witnessing the restless
discontent and the capricious irritation of the Lloyds. My
fondness for horses—not peculiar to me more than to other boys
attracted me, much of the time, to the stables. This
establishment was especially under the care of "old" and "young"
Barney—father and son. Old Barney was a fine looking old man,
of a brownish complexion, who was quite portly, and wore a
dignified aspect for a slave. He was, evidently, much devoted to
his profession, and held his office an honorable one. He was a
farrier as well as an ostler; he could bleed, remove lampers from
the mouths of the horses, and was well instructed in horse
medicines. No one on the farm knew, so well as Old Barney, what
to do with a sick horse. But his gifts and acquirements were of
little advantage to him. His office was by no means an enviable
one. He often got presents, but he got stripes as well; for in
nothing was Col. Lloyd more unreasonable and exacting, than in
respect to the management of his pleasure horses. Any supposed
inattention to these animals were sure to be visited with
degrading punishment. His horses and dogs fared better than his
men. Their beds must be softer and cleaner than those of his
human cattle. No excuse could shield
Old Barney, if the colonel
only suspected something wrong about his horses; and,
consequently, he was often punished when faultless. It was
absolutely painful to listen to the many unreasonable and fretful
scoldings, poured out at the stable, by Col. Lloyd, his sons and
sons-in-law. Of the latter, he had three—Messrs. Nicholson,
Winder and Lownes. These all
lived at the great house a
portion of the year, and enjoyed the luxury of whipping the
servants when they pleased, which was by no means unfrequently.
A horse was seldom brought out of the stable to which no
objection could be raised. "There was dust in his hair;" "there
was a twist in his reins;" "his mane did not lie straight;" "he
had not been properly grained;" "his head did not look well;"
"his fore-top was not combed out;" "his fetlocks had not been
properly trimmed;" something was always wrong. Listening to
complaints, however groundless, Barney must stand, hat in hand,
lips sealed, never answering a word. He must make no reply, no
explanation; the judgment of the master must be deemed
infallible, for his power is absolute and irresponsible. In a
free state, a master, thus complaining without cause, of his
ostler, might be told—"Sir, I am sorry I cannot please you, but,
since I have done the best I can, your remedy is to dismiss me."
Here, however, the ostler must stand, listen and tremble. One of
the most heart-saddening and humiliating scenes I ever witnessed,
was the whipping of Old Barney, by Col. Lloyd himself. Here were
two men, both advanced in years; there were the silvery locks of
Col. L., and there was the bald and toil-worn brow of Old Barney;
master and slave; superior and inferior here, but
equals
at the bar of God; and, in the common course of events, they must
both soon meet in another world, in a world where all
distinctions, except those based on obedience and disobedience,
are blotted out forever. "Uncover your head!" said the imperious
master; he was obeyed. "Take off your jacket, you old rascal!"
and off came Barney's jacket. "Down on your knees!" down knelt
the old man, his shoulders bare, his bald head glistening in the
sun, and his aged knees on the cold, damp ground. In his humble
and debasing attitude, the master—that master to whom he had
given the best years and the best strength of his life—came
forward, and laid on thirty lashes, with his horse whip. The old
man bore it patiently, to the last, answering each blow with a
slight shrug of the shoulders, and a groan. I cannot think that
Col. Lloyd succeeded in marring the
flesh of Old Barney very seriously, for the whip was a light,
riding whip; but the spectacle of an aged man—a husband and a
father—humbly kneeling before a worm of the dust, surprised and
shocked me at the time; and since I have grown old enough to
think on the wickedness of slavery, few facts have been of more
value to me than this, to which I was a witness. It reveals
slavery in its true color, and in its maturity of repulsive
hatefulness. I owe it to truth, however, to say, that this was
the first and the last time I ever saw Old Barney, or any other
slave, compelled to kneel to receive a whipping.
I saw, at the stable, another incident, which I will
relate, as it is illustrative of a phase of slavery to which I
have already referred in another connection. Besides
two other
coachmen, Col. Lloyd owned one named William, who, strangely
enough, was often called by his surname, Wilks, by white and
colored people on the home plantation. Wilks was a very fine
looking man. He was about as white as anybody on the plantation;
and in manliness of form, and comeliness of features, he bore a
very striking resemblance to Mr. Murray Lloyd. It was whispered,
and pretty generally admitted as a fact, that William Wilks was a
son of Col. Lloyd, by a highly favored slave-woman, who was still
on the plantation. There were many reasons for believing this
whisper, not only in William's appearance, but in the undeniable
freedom which he enjoyed over all others, and his apparent
consciousness of being something more than a slave to his master.
It was notorious, too, that William had a deadly enemy in Murray
Lloyd, whom he so much resembled, and that the latter greatly
worried his father with importunities to sell William. Indeed,
he gave his father no rest until he did sell him, to Austin
Woldfolk, the great slave-trader at that time. Before selling
him, however, Mr. L. tried what giving William a whipping would
do, toward making things smooth; but this was a failure. It was
a compromise, and defeated itself; for, immediately after the
infliction, the heart-sickened colonel atoned to William for the
abuse, by giving him a gold watch and chain. Another fact,
somewhat curious, is, that though sold to the remorseless
Woldfolk, taken in irons to Baltimore and cast into
prison, with a view to being driven to the south, William, by
some means—always a mystery to me—outbid all his
purchasers,
paid for himself,
and now resides in Baltimore,
a FREEMAN. Is there not room to suspect, that, as the gold
watch was presented to atone for the whipping, a purse of gold
was given him by the same hand, with which to effect his
purchase, as an atonement for the indignity involved in selling
his own flesh and blood. All the circumstances of William, on
the great house farm, show him to have occupied a different
position from the other slaves, and, certainly, there is nothing
in the supposed hostility of slaveholders to amalgamation, to
forbid the supposition that William Wilks was the son of Edward
Lloyd.
Practical amalgamation is common in every
neighborhood where I have been in slavery.
Col. Lloyd was not in the way of knowing much of the real
opinions and feelings of his slaves respecting him. The distance
between him and them was far too great to admit of such knowledge. His slaves were so numerous, that he did not know them
when he saw them. Nor, indeed, did all his slaves know him. In
this respect, he was inconveniently rich. It is reported of him,
that, while riding along the road one day, he met a colored man,
and addressed him in the usual way of speaking to colored people
on the public highways of the south: "Well, boy, who do you
belong to?" "To Col. Lloyd," replied the slave. "Well, does the
colonel treat you well?" "No, sir," was the ready reply. "What?
does he work you too hard?" "Yes, sir." "Well, don't he give
enough to eat?" "Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is."
The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode
on; the slave
also went on about his business, not dreaming that
he had been conversing with his master. He thought, said and
heard nothing more of the matter, until two or three weeks
afterwards. The poor man was
then informed by his overseer, that, for having found fault with
his master, he was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was
immediately chained and handcuffed; and thus, without a moment's
warning he was snatched away, and forever sundered from his
family and friends, by a hand more unrelenting than that of
death.
This is the penalty of telling the simple truth,
in answer to a series of plain questions. It is partly in
consequence of such facts, that slaves, when inquired of as to
their condition and the character of their masters, almost
invariably say they are contented, and that their masters are
kind. Slaveholders have been known to send spies among their
slaves, to ascertain, if possible, their views and feelings in
regard to their condition. The frequency of this had the effect
to establish among the slaves the maxim, that a still tongue
makes a wise head. They suppress the truth rather than take the
consequence of telling it, and, in so doing, they prove
themselves a part of the human family. If they have anything to
say of their master, it is, generally, something in his favor,
especially when speaking to strangers. I was frequently asked,
while a slave, if I had a kind master, and I do not remember ever
to have given a negative reply. Nor did I, when pursuing this
course, consider myself as uttering what was utterly false; for I
always measured the kindness of my master by the standard of
kindness
set up by slaveholders around us. However, slaves are
like other people, and imbibe similar prejudices. They are apt
to think
their condition better than that of others.
Many, under the influence of this prejudice, think their own
masters are better than the masters of other slaves; and this,
too, in some cases, when the very reverse is true. Indeed, it is
not uncommon for slaves even to fall out and quarrel among
themselves about the relative kindness of their masters,
contending for the superior goodness of his own over that of
others. At the very same time, they mutually execrate their
masters, when viewed separately. It was so on our plantation.
When Col. Lloyd's slaves met those of Jacob Jepson, they
seldom parted without a quarrel about their masters; Col.
Lloyd's slaves contending that he was the richest, and Mr.
Jepson's slaves that he was the smartest, man of the two. Col.
Lloyd's slaves would boost his ability to buy and sell Jacob
Jepson; Mr. Jepson's slaves would boast his ability to whip Col.
Lloyd. These quarrels would almost always end in a fight between
the parties; those that beat were supposed to have gained the
point at issue. They seemed to think that the greatness of their
masters was transferable to themselves. To be a SLAVE, was
thought to be bad enough; but to be a
poor man's slave,
was deemed a disgrace, indeed.