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.
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III
Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated
garden, which afforded almost constant employment
for four men, besides the chief gardener, (Mr.
M’Durmond.) This garden was probably the great-
est attraction of the place. During the summer
months, people came from far and near — from
Baltimore, Easton, and Annapolis — to see it. It
abounded in fruits of almost every description, from
the hardy apple of the north to the delicate orange
of the south. This garden was not the least source
of trouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit was
quite a temptation to the hungry swarms of boys,
as well as the older slaves, belonging to the colonel,
few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resist
it. Scarcely a day passed, during the summer, but
that some slave had to take the lash for stealing fruit.
The colonel had to resort to all kinds of stratagems
to keep his slaves out of the garden. The last and
most successful one was that of tarring his fence
all around; after which, if a slave was caught with
any tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficient
proof that he had either been into the garden, or had
tried to get in. In either case, he was severely whip-
ped by the chief gardener. This plan worked well;
the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash.