Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave

man as to rum. So, when the holidays ended, we

staggered up from the filth of our wallowing, took

a long breath, and marched to the field, — feeling,

upon the whole, rather glad to go, from what our

master had deceived us into a belief was freedom,

back to the arms of slavery.

I have said that this mode of treatment is a part

of the whole system of fraud and inhumanity of

slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to disgust

the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only

the abuse of it, is carried out in other things. For

instance, a slave loves molasses; he steals some.

His master, in many cases, goes off to town, and

buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip,

and commands the slave to eat the molasses, until

the poor fellow is made sick at the very mention

of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make

the slaves refrain from asking for more food than

their regular allowance. A slave runs through his

allowance, and applies for more. His master is en-

raged at him; but, not willing to send him off with-

out food, gives him more than is necessary, and com-

pels him to eat it within a given time. Then, if he

complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be

satisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whipped

for being hard to please! I have an abundance of

such illustrations of the same principle, drawn from

my own observation, but think the cases I have cited

sufficient. The practice is a very common one.

On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey,

and went to live with Mr. William Freeland, who

lived about three miles from St. Michael’s. I soon

found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr.

Covey. Though not rich, he was what would be

called an educated southern gentleman. Mr. Covey,

as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker

and slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he

was) seemed to possess some regard for honor,

some reverence for justice, and some respect for

humanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to

all such sentiments. Mr. Freeland had many of the

faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as being very

passionate and fretful; but I must do him the

justice to say, that he was exceedingly free from

those degrading vices to which Mr. Covey was con-

stantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and

we always knew where to find him. The other was a

most artful deceiver, and could be understood only

by such as were skilful enough to detect his cun-

ningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained

in my new master was, he made no pretensions to,

or profession of, religion; and this, in my opinion,

was truly a great advantage. I assert most unhesi-

tatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere

covering for the most horrid crimes, — a justifier of

the most appalling barbarity, — a sanctifier of the

most hateful frauds, — and a dark shelter under,

which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infer-

nal deeds of slaveholders find the strongest protec-

tion. Were I to be again reduced to the chains of

slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard

being the slave of a religious master the greatest

calamity that could befall me. For of all slaveholders

with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders

are the worst. I have ever found them the meanest

and basest, the most cruel and cowardly, of all oth-

ers. It was my unhappy lot not only to belong to a

religious slaveholder, but to live in a community of

such religionists. Very near Mr. Freeland lived the

Rev. Daniel Weeden, and in the same neighborhood

lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were members

and ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church.

Mr. Weeden owned, among others, a woman slave,

whose name I have forgotten. This woman’s back,

for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the

lash of this merciless, RELIGIOUS wretch. He used to

hire hands. His maxim was, Behave well or behave

ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally to whip

a slave, to remind him of his master’s authority.

Such was his theory, and such his practice.

Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden.

His chief boast was his ability to manage slaves.

The peculiar feature of his government was that

of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He

always managed to have one or more of his slaves

to whip every Monday morning. He did this to alarm

their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped.

His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to

prevent the commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkins

could always find some excuse for whipping a slave.

It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slave-

holding life, to see with what wonderful ease a slave-

holder can find things, of which to make occasion

to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion, — a

mistake, accident, or want of power, — are all matters

for which a slave may be whipped at any time. Does

a slave look dissatisfied? It is said, he has the devil

in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak

loudly when spoken to by his master? Then he is

getting high-minded, and should be taken down a

button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull off his

hat at the approach of a white person? Then he is

wanting in reverence, and should be whipped for

it. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct,

when censured for it? Then he is guilty of impu-

dence, — one of the greatest crimes of which a slave

can be guilty. Does he ever venture to suggest a

different mode of doing things from that pointed

out by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and

getting above himself; and nothing less than a flog-

ging will do for him. Does he, while ploughing,

break a plough, — or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It

is owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave must

always be whipped. Mr. Hopkins could always find

something of this sort to justify the use of the lash,

and he seldom failed to embrace such opportunities.

There was not a man in the whole county, with

whom the slaves who had the getting their own

home, would not prefer to live, rather than with

this Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And yet there was not a

man any where round, who made higher professions

of religion, or was more active in revivals, — more

attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and preach-

ing meetings, or more devotional in his family, —

that prayed earlier, later, louder, and longer, — than

this same reverend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.

But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experi-

ence while in his employment. He, like Mr. Covey,

gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr. Covey, he

also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He

worked us hard, but always between sunrise and

sunset. He required a good deal of work to be done,

but gave us good tools with which to work. His

farm was large, but he employed hands enough to

work it, and with ease, compared with many of

his neighbors. My treatment, while in his employ-

ment, was heavenly, compared with what I experi-

enced at the hands of Mr. Edward Covey.

Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two

slaves. Their names were Henry Harris and John

Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These con-

sisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,* and Handy Cald-

well. Henry and John were quite intelligent, and in

a very little while after I went there, I succeeded in

creating in them a strong desire to learn how to

read. This desire soon sprang up in the others also.

They very soon mustered up some old spelling-books,

and nothing would do but that I must keep a Sab-

bath school. I agreed to do so, and accordingly

devoted my Sundays to teaching these my loved fel-

low-slaves how to read. Neither of them knew his

letters when I went there. Some of the slaves of the

neighboring farms found what was going on, and

also availed themselves of this little opportunity to

learn to read. It was understood, among all who

came, that there must be as little display about it

as possible. It was necessary to keep our religious

masters at St. Michael’s unacquainted with the fact,

that, instead of spending the Sabbath in wrestling,

boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to learn

how to read the will of God; for they had much

*This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent

my being whipped by Mr. Covey. He was “a clever soul.”

We used frequently to talk about the fight with Covey, and

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