INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE
OF A SLAVE GIRL
by Harriet Jacobs (aka. Linda Brent)
V. The Trials Of Girlhood.
During the first years of my service in Dr.
Flint’s family, I was accustomed to share some
indulgences with the children of my mistress.
Though this seemed to me no more than right, I
was grateful for it, and tried to merit the
kindness by the faithful discharge of my duties.
But I now entered on my fifteenth year—a sad
epoch in the life of a slave girl. My master
began to whisper foul words in my ear. Young as
I was, I could not remain ignorant of their
import. I tried to treat them with indifference or
contempt. The master’s age, my extreme youth,
and the fear that his conduct would be reported
to my grandmother, made him bear this
treatment for many months. He was a crafty
man, and resorted to many means to
accomplish his purposes. Sometimes he had
stormy, terrific ways, that made his victims
tremble; sometimes he assumed a gentleness
that he thought must surely subdue. Of the two,
I preferred his stormy moods, although they left
me trembling. He tried his utmost to corrupt
the pure principles my grandmother had
instilled. He peopled my young mind with
unclean images, such as only a vile monster
could think of. I turned from him with disgust
and hatred. But he was my master. I was
compelled to live under the same roof with
him—where I saw a man forty years my senior
daily violating the most sacred commandments
of nature. He told me I was his property; that I
must be subject to his will in all things. My soul
revolted against the mean tyranny. But where
could I turn for protection? No matter whether
the slave girl be as black as ebony or as fair as
her mistress. In either case, there is no shadow
of law to protect her from insult, from violence,
or even from death; all these are inflicted by
fiends who bear the shape of men. The mistress,
who ought to protect the helpless victim, has no
other feelings towards her but those of jealousy
and rage. The degradation, the wrongs, the
vices, that grow out of slavery, are more than I
can describe. They are greater than you would
willingly believe. Surely, if you credited one half
the truths that are told you concerning the
helpless millions suffering in this cruel
bondage, you at the north would not help to
tighten the yoke. You surely would refuse to do
for the master, on your own soil, the mean and
cruel work which trained bloodhounds and the
lowest class of whites do for him at the south.
Every where the years bring to all enough of sin
and sorrow; but in slavery the very dawn of life
is darkened by these shadows. Even the little
child, who is accustomed to wait on her mistress
and her children, will learn, before she is twelve
years old, why it is that her mistress hates such
and such a one among the slaves. Perhaps the
child’s own mother is among those hated ones.
She listens to violent outbreaks of jealous
passion, and cannot help understanding what is
the cause. She will become prematurely
knowing in evil things. Soon she will learn to
tremble when she hears her master’s footfall.
She will be compelled to realize that she is no
longer a child. If God has bestowed beauty upon
her, it will prove her greatest curse. That which
commands admiration in the white woman only
hastens the degradation of the female slave. I
know that some are too much brutalized by
slavery to feel the humiliation of their position;
but many slaves feel it most acutely, and shrink
from the memory of it. I cannot tell how much I
suffered in the presence of these wrongs, nor
how I am still pained by the retrospect. My
master met me at every turn, reminding me
that I belonged to him, and swearing by heaven
and earth that he would compel me to submit to
him. If I went out for a breath of fresh air, after
a day of unwearied toil, his footsteps dogged
me. If I knelt by my mother’s grave, his dark
shadow fell on me even there. The light heart
which nature had given me became heavy with
sad forebodings. The other slaves in my
master’s house noticed the change. Many of
them pitied me; but none dared to ask the
cause. They had no need to inquire. They knew
too well the guilty practices under that roof; and
they were aware that to speak of them was an
offence that never went unpunished.
I longed for some one to confide in. I would have
given the world to have laid my head on my
grandmother’s faithful bosom, and told her all
my troubles. But Dr. Flint swore he would kill
me, if I was not as silent as the grave. Then,
although my grandmother was all in all to me,
I feared her as well as loved her. I had been
accustomed to look up to her with a respect
bordering upon awe. I was very young, and felt
shamefaced about telling her such impure
things, especially as I knew her to be very strict
on such subjects. Moreover, she was a woman of
a high spirit. She was usually very quiet in her
demeanor; but if her indignation was once
roused, it was not very easily quelled. I had
been told that she once chased a white
gentleman with a loaded pistol, because he
insulted one of her daughters. I dreaded the
consequences of a violent outbreak; and both
pride and fear kept me silent. But though I did
not confide in my grandmother, and even
evaded her vigilant watchfulness and inquiry,
her presence in the neighborhood was some
protection to me. Though she had been a slave,
Dr. Flint was afraid of her. He dreaded her
scorching rebukes. Moreover, she was known
and patronized by many people; and he did not
wish to have his villany made public. It was
lucky for me that I did not live on a distant
plantation, but in a town not so large that the
inhabitants were ignorant of each other’s
affairs. Bad as are the laws and customs in a
slaveholding community, the doctor, as a
professional man, deemed it prudent to keep up
some outward show of decency.
O, what days and nights of fear and sorrow that
man caused me! Reader, it is not to awaken
sympathy for myself that I am telling you
truthfully what I suffered in slavery. I do it to
kindle a flame of compassion in your hearts for
my sisters who are still in bondage, suffering as
I once suffered.
I once saw two beautiful children playing
together. One was a fair white child; the other
was her slave, and also her sister. When I saw
them embracing each other, and heard their
joyous laughter, I turned sadly away from the
lovely sight. I foresaw the inevitable blight that
would fall on the little slave’s heart. I knew how
soon her laughter would be changed to sighs.
The fair child grew up to be a still fairer woman.
From childhood to womanhood her pathway
was blooming with flowers, and overarched by a
sunny sky. Scarcely one day of her life had been
clouded when the sun rose on her happy bridal
morning.
How had those years dealt with her slave sister,
the little playmate of her childhood? She, also,
was very beautiful; but the flowers and
sunshine of love were not for her. She drank the
cup of sin, and shame, and misery, whereof her
persecuted race are compelled to drink.
In view of these things, why are ye silent, ye
free men and women of the north? Why do your
tongues falter in maintenance of the right?
Would that I had more ability! But my heart is
so full, and my pen is so weak! There are noble
men and women who plead for us, striving to
help those who cannot help themselves. God
bless them! God give them strength and
courage to go on! God bless those, every where,
who are laboring to advance the cause of
humanity!
1. Read the following sentence and elect, from the choice below, the word closest in meaning to
the word in bold-faced type.
The degradation, the wrongs, the vices, that grow out of slavery, are more than I can
describe.
a. sorrow
b. fear
c. humiliation
d. sorrow
2. To what does the author compare the southern slave owners?
a. bloodhounds
b. jackals
c. royalty
d. pirates
3. Which of the literary techniques shown below is found in the following sentence?
But Dr. Flint swore he would kill me, if I was not as silent as the grave.
a. hyperbole
b. metaphor
c. irony
d. simile
4. With which statement would the author agree?
a. Living in a large community worked to her advantage.
b. Living in a small community offered her some protection against the tyranny of her
master.
c. Black women were treated well overall, with the exception of a few unique situations.
d. White people should not get involved in the relationships between slave women and
their masters.
5. What is the author trying to tell the reader when she speaks of a slave girl and says, “She
will become prematurely knowing in evil things”? In other words, what are the “evil things”
of which she speaks?
6. Read the following sentences from the passage:
They had no need to inquire. They knew too well the guilty practices under that roof; and they
were aware that to speak of them was an offence that never went unpunished.
What does it tell you about the severity of this problem? Was there a way for others to help
the girls and women? Explain your ideas.
7. Describe the personality of the author’s grandmother. Despite the fact that she, too, was a
slave, she seemed to have more power to influence the master’s actions than the other slaves.
Why?
8. Was there a purpose to this piece? Describe it. What was the author trying to accomplish?
185 © 2006 Queue, Inc. All rights reserved. Do not duplicate.
OUR NIG
by Harriet E. Wilson
Frado was called early in the morning by her
new mistress. Her first work was to feed the
hens. She was shown how it was ALWAYS to be
done, and in no other way; any departure from
this rule to be punished by a whipping. She was
then accompanied by Jack to drive the cows to
pasture, so she might learn the way. Upon her
return she was allowed to eat her breakfast,
consisting of a bowl of skimmed milk, with
brown bread crusts, which she was told to eat,
standing, by the kitchen table, and must not be
over ten minutes about it. Meanwhile the
family were taking their morning meal in the
dining-room. This over, she was placed on a
cricket to wash the common dishes; she was to
be in waiting always to bring wood and chips, to
run hither and thither from room to room.
A large amount of dish-washing for small hands
followed dinner. Then the same after tea and
going after the cows finished her first day’s
work. It was a new discipline to the child. She
found some attractions about the place, and she
retired to rest at night more willing to remain.
The same routine followed day after day, with
slight variation; adding a little more work, and
spicing the toil with “words that burn,” and
frequent blows on her head. These were great
annoyances to Frado, and had she known where
her mother was, she would have gone at once to
her. She was often greatly wearied, and silently
wept over her sad fate. At first she wept aloud,
which Mrs. Bellmont noticed by applying a
rawhide, always at hand in the kitchen. It was
a symptom of discontent and complaining
which must be “nipped in the bud,” she said.
Thus passed a year. No intelligence of Mag. It
was now certain Frado was to become a
permanent member of the family. Her labors
were multiplied; she was quite indispensable,
although but seven years old. She had never
learned to read, never heard of a school until
her residence in the family.
Mrs. Bellmont was in doubt about the utility of
attempting to educate people of color, who were
incapable of elevation. This subject occasioned
a lengthy discussion in the family. Mr.
Bellmont, Jane and Jack arguing for Frado’s
education; Mary and her mother objecting. At
last Mr. Bellmont declared decisively that she
SHOULD go to school. He was a man who
seldom decided controversies at home. The
word once spoken admitted of no appeal; so,
notwithstanding Mary’s objection that she
would have to attend the same school she did,
the word became law.
It was to be a new scene to Frado, and Jack had
many queries and conjectures to answer. He
was himself too far advanced to attend the
summer school, which Frado regretted, having
had too many opportunities of witnessing Miss
Mary’s temper to feel safe in her company
alone.
The opening day of school came. Frado
sauntered on far in the rear of Mary, who was
ashamed to be seen “walking with a nigger.” As
soon as she appeared, with scanty clothing and
bared feet, the children assembled, noisily
published her approach: “See that nigger,”
shouted one. “Look! look!” cried another. “I
won’t play with her,” said one little girl. “Nor I
neither,” replied another.
Mary evidently relished these sharp attacks,
and saw a fair prospect of lowering Nig where,
according to her views, she belonged. Poor
Frado, chagrined and grieved, felt that her
anticipations of pleasure at such a place were
far from being realized. She was just deciding
to return home, and never come there again,
when the teacher appeared, and observing the
downcast looks of the child, took her by the
hand, and led her into the school-room. All
followed, and, after the bustle of securing seats
was over, Miss Marsh inquired if the children
knew “any cause for the sorrow of that little
girl?” pointing to Frado. It was soon all told.
She then reminded them of their duties to the
poor and friendless; their cowardice in
attacking a young innocent child; referred them
to one who looks not on outward appearances,
but on the heart. “She looks like a good girl; I
think I shall love her, so lay aside all prejudice,
and vie with each other in shewing kindness
and good-will to one who seems different from
you,” were the closing remarks of the kind lady.
Those kind words! The most agreeable sound
which ever meets the ear of sorrowing, grieving
childhood.
Example rendered her words efficacious. Day
by day there was a manifest change of
deportment towards “Nig.” Her speeches often
drew merriment from the children; no one could
do more to enliven their favorite pastimes than
Frado. Mary could not endure to see her thus
noticed, yet knew not how to prevent it. She
could not influence her schoolmates as she
wished. She had not gained their affections by
winning ways and yielding points of
controversy. On the contrary, she was selfwilled,
domineering; every day reported “mad”
by some of her companions. She availed herself
of the only alternative, abuse and taunts, as
they returned from school. This was not
satisfactory; she wanted to use physical force
“to subdue her,” to “keep her down.”
There was, on their way home, a field
intersected by a stream over which a single
plank was placed for a crossing. It occurred to
Mary that it would be a punishment to Nig to
compel her to cross over; so she dragged her to
the edge, and told her authoritatively to go over.
Nig hesitated, resisted. Mary placed herself
behind the child, and, in the struggle to force
her over, lost her footing and plunged into the
stream. Some of the larger scholars being in
sight, ran, and thus prevented Mary from
drowning and Frado from falling. Nig
scampered home fast as possible, and Mary
went to the nearest house, dripping, to procure
a change of garments. She came loitering
home, half crying, exclaiming, “Nig pushed me
into the stream!” She then related the
particulars. Nig was called from the kitchen.
Mary stood with anger flashing in her eyes. Mr.
Bellmont sat quietly reading his paper. He had
witnessed too many of Miss Mary’s outbreaks to
be startled. Mrs. Bellmont interrogated Nig.
“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!” answered Nig,
passionately, and then related the occurrence
truthfully.
The discrepancy greatly enraged Mrs.
Bellmont. With loud accusations and angry
gestures she approached the child. Turning to
her husband, she asked,
“Will you sit still, there, and hear that black
nigger call Mary a liar?”
“How do we know but she has told the truth? I
shall not punish her,” he replied, and left the
house, as he usually did when a tempest
threatened to envelop him. No sooner was he
out of sight than Mrs. B. and Mary commenced
beating her inhumanly; then propping her
mouth open with a piece of wood, shut her up in
a dark room, without any supper. For
employment, while the tempest raged within,
Mr. Bellmont went for the cows, a task
belonging to Frado, and thus unintentionally
prolonged her pain. At dark Jack came in, and
seeing Mary, accosted her with, “So you thought
you’d vent your spite on Nig, did you? Why
can’t you let her alone? It was good enough for
you to get a ducking, only you did not stay in
half long enough.”
“Stop!” said his mother. “You shall never talk so
before me. You would have that little nigger
trample on Mary, would you? She came home
with a lie; it made Mary’s story false.”
“What was Mary’s story?” asked Jack.
It was related.
“Now,” said Jack, sallying into a chair, “the
school-children happened to see it all, and they
tell the same story Nig does. Which is most
likely to be true, what a dozen agree they saw,
or the contrary?”
“It is very strange you will believe what others
say against your sister,” retorted his mother,
with flashing eye. “I think it is time your father
subdued you.”
“Father is a sensible man,” argued Jack. “He
would not wrong a dog. Where IS Frado?” he
continued.
“Mother gave her a good whipping and shut her
up,” replied Mary.
Just then Mr. Bellmont entered, and asked if
Frado was “shut up yet.”
The knowledge of her innocence, the perfidy of
his sister, worked fearfully on Jack. He
bounded from his chair, searched every room till
he found the child; her mouth wedged apart,
her face swollen, and full of pain.
How Jack pitied her! He relieved her jaws,
brought her some supper, took her to her room,
comforted her as well as he knew how, sat by
her till she fell asleep, and then left for the
sitting room. As he passed his mother, he
remarked, “If that was the way Frado was to be
treated, he hoped she would never wake again!”
He then imparted her situation to his father,
who seemed untouched, till a glance at Jack
exposed a tearful eye. Jack went early to her
next morning. She awoke sad, but refreshed.
After breakfast Jack took her with him to the
field, and kept her through the day. But it could
not be so generally. She must return to school,
to her household duties. He resolved to do what
he could to protect her from Mary and his
mother.
1. Read the following sentence and select, from the choices below, the word closest in meaning
to the word in bold-faced type.
Her labors were multiplied; she was quite indispensable, although but seven years old.
a. necessary
b. unnecessary
c. troublesome
d. efficient
2. Read the following sentence and select, from the choices below, the word closest in meaning
to the word in bold-faced type.
Example rendered her words efficacious.
a. useless
b. superfluous
c. productive
d. harmful
3. With which statement would the author agree?
a. Jack was a devious and spiteful boy.
b. Mary was a selfish and vicious girl.
c. Jack created a situation so that “Nig” would hurt herself.
d. Mary believed in equal rights for all people.
4. What can you interpret about “Nig’s” treatment at the hands of Mrs. Bellmont from the
following quote?
At first she wept aloud, which Mrs. Bellmont noticed by applying a rawhide, always at hand
in the kitchen.
5. A phrase from the story referred to Nig as being “incapable of elevation.” What does the
speaker mean? Was this a common belief? How do you feel about this?
6. Describe the initial treatment of Nig by her classmates. What changed their attitudes?
7. Contrast the attitudes of Mr. and Mrs. Bellmont. Use a quote from each to support what you
are saying.
THE NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS
by Frederick Douglass
CHAPTER X
. . . I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the
first six months, of that year, scarce a week
passed without his whipping me. I was seldom
free from a sore back. My awkwardness was
almost always his excuse for whipping me. We
were worked fully up to the point of endurance.
Long before day we were up, our horses fed, and
by the first approach of day we were off to the
field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr.
Covey gave us enough to eat, but scarce time to
eat it. We were often less than five minutes
taking our meals. We were often in the field from
the first approach of day till its last lingering ray
had left us; and at saving-fodder time, midnight
often caught us in the field binding blades . . .
The facts in the case are these: Mr. Covey was a
poor man; he was just commencing in life; he
was only able to buy one slave; and, shocking as
is the fact, he bought her, as he said, for A
BREEDER. This woman was named Caroline.
Mr. Covey bought her from Mr. Thomas Lowe,
about six miles from St. Michael’s. She was a
large, able-bodied woman, about twenty years
old. She had already given birth to one child,
which proved her to be just what he wanted.
After buying her, he hired a married man of Mr.
Samuel Harrison, to live with him one year; and
him he used to fasten up with her every night!
The result was, that, at the end of the year, the
miserable woman gave birth to twins. At this
result Mr. Covey seemed to be highly pleased,
both with the man and the wretched woman.
Such was his joy, and that of his wife, that
nothing they could do for Caroline during her
confinement was too good, or too hard, to be
done. The children were regarded as being quite
an addition to his wealth.
If at any one time of my life more than another,
I was made to drink the bitterest dregs of
slavery, that time was during the first six
months of my stay with Mr. Covey. We were
worked in all weathers. It was never too hot or
too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or snow,
too hard for us to work in the field. Work, work,
work, was scarcely more the order of the day
than of the night. The longest days were too
short for him, and the shortest nights too long
for him. I was somewhat unmanageable when I
first went there, but a few months of this
discipline tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in
breaking me. I was broken in body, soul, and
spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my
intellect languished, the disposition to read
departed, the cheerful spark that lingered
about my eye died; the dark night of slavery
closed in upon me; and behold a man
transformed into a brute! . . .
I have already intimated that my condition was
much worse, during the first six months of my
stay at Mr. Covey’s, than in the last six. The
circumstances leading to the change in Mr.
Covey’s course toward me form an epoch in my
humble history. You have seen how a man was
made a slave; you shall see how a slave was
made a man. On one of the hottest days of the
month of August, 1833, Bill Smith, William
Hughes, a slave named Eli, and myself, were
engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes was clearing
the fanned wheat from before the fan. Eli was
turning, Smith was feeding, and I was carrying
wheat to the fan. The work was simple,
requiring strength rather than intellect; yet, to
one entirely unused to such work, it came very
hard. About three o’clock of that day, I broke
down; my strength failed me; I was seized with
a violent aching of the head, attended with
extreme dizziness; I trembled in every limb.
Finding what was coming, I nerved myself up,
feeling it would never do to stop work. I stood as
long as I could stagger to the hopper with grain.
When I could stand no longer, I fell, and felt as
if held down by an immense weight. The fan of
course stopped; every one had his own work to
do; and no one could do the work of the other,
and have his own go on at the same time.
Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred
yards from the treading-yard where we were
fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he left
immediately, and came to the spot where we
were. He hastily inquired what the matter was.
Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no
one to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time
crawled away under the side of the post and
rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed,
hoping to find relief by getting out of the sun.
He then asked where I was. He was told by one
of the hands. He came to the spot, and, after
looking at me awhile, asked me what was the
matter. I told him as well as I could, for I scarce
had strength to speak. He then gave me a
savage kick in the side, and told me to get up. I
tried to do so, but fell back in the attempt. He
gave me another kick, and again told me to rise.
I again tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet;
but, stooping to get the tub with which I was
feeding the fan, I again staggered and fell.
While down in this situation, Mr. Covey took up
the hickory slat with which Hughes had been
striking off the half-bushel measure, and with it
gave me a heavy blow upon the head, making a
large wound, and the blood ran freely; and with
this again told me to get up. I made no effort to
comply, having now made up my mind to let
him do his worst. In a short time after receiving
this blow, my head grew better. Mr. Covey had
now left me to my fate. At this moment I
resolved, for the first time, to go to my master,
enter a complaint, and ask his protection. In
order to do this, I must that afternoon walk
seven miles; and this, under the circumstances,
was truly a severe undertaking. I was
exceedingly feeble; made so as much by the
kicks and blows which I received, as by the
severe fit of sickness to which I had been
subjected. I, however, watched my chance,
while Covey was looking in an opposite
direction, and started for St. Michael’s. I
succeeded in getting a considerable distance on
my way to the woods, when Covey discovered
me, and called after me to come back,
threatening what he would do if I did not come.
I disregarded both his calls and his threats, and
made my way to the woods as fast as my feeble
state would allow; and thinking I might be
overhauled by him if I kept the road, I walked
through the woods, keeping far enough from the
road to avoid detection, and near enough to
prevent losing my way. I had not gone far before
my little strength again failed me. I could go no
farther. I fell down, and lay for a considerable
time. The blood was yet oozing from the wound
on my head. For a time I thought I should bleed
to death; and think now that I should have done
so, but that the blood so matted my hair as to
stop the wound. After lying there about three
quarters of an hour, I nerved myself up again,
and started on my way, through bogs and
briers, barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my
feet sometimes at nearly every step; and after a
journey of about seven miles, occupying some
five hours to perform it, I arrived at master’s
store. I then presented an appearance enough
to affect any but a heart of iron. From the crown
of my head to my feet, I was covered with blood.
My hair was all clotted with dust and blood; my
shirt was stiff with blood. I suppose I looked like
a man who had escaped a den of wild beasts,
and barely escaped them. In this state I
appeared before my master, humbly entreating
him to interpose his authority for my
protection. I told him all the circumstances as
well as I could, and it seemed, as I spoke, at
times to affect him. He would then walk the
floor, and seek to justify Covey by saying he
expected I deserved it. He asked me what I
wanted. I told him, to let me get a new home;
that as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again, I
should live with but to die with him; that Covey
would surely kill me; he was in a fair way for it.
Master Thomas ridiculed the idea that there
was any danger of Mr. Covey’s killing me, and
said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he was a good
man, and that he could not think of taking me
from him; that, should he do so, he would lose
the whole year’s wages; that I belonged to Mr.
Covey for one year, and that I must go back to
him, come what might; and that I must not
trouble him with any more stories, or that he
would himself GET HOLD OF ME. After
threatening me thus, he gave me a very large
dose of salts, telling me that I might remain in
St. Michael’s that night, (it being quite late,)
but that I must be off back to Mr. Covey’s early
in the morning; and that if I did not, he would
get hold of me, which meant that he would whip
me. I remained all night, and, according to his
orders, I started off to Covey’s in the morning,
(Saturday morning,) wearied in body and
broken in spirit. I got no supper that night, or
breakfast that morning. I reached Covey’s
about nine o’clock; and just as I was getting
over the fence that divided Mrs. Kemp’s fields
from ours, out ran Covey with his cowskin, to
give me another whipping. Before he could
reach me, I succeeded in getting to the
cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it
afforded me the means of hiding. He seemed
very angry, and searched for me a long time. My
behavior was altogether unaccountable. He
finally gave up the chase, thinking, I suppose,
that I must come home for something to eat; he
would give himself no further trouble in looking
for me. I spent that day mostly in the woods,
having the alternative before me,—to go home
and be whipped to death, or stay in the woods
and be starved to death. That night, I fell in
with Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whom I was
somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife
who lived about four miles from Mr. Covey’s;
and it being Saturday, he was on his way to see
her. I told him my circumstances, and he very
kindly invited me to go home with him. I went
home with him, and talked this whole matter
over, and got his advice as to what course it was
best for me to pursue. I found Sandy an old
adviser. He told me, with great solemnity, I
must go back to Covey; but that before I went, I
must go with him into another part of the
woods, where there was a certain root, which, if
I would take some of it with me, carrying it
always on my right side, would render it
impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white
man, to whip me. He said he had carried it for
years; and since he had done so, he had never
received a blow, and never expected to while he
carried it. I at first rejected the idea, that the
simple carrying of a root in my pocket would
have any such effect as he had said, and was not
disposed to take it; but Sandy impressed the
necessity with much earnestness, telling me it
could do no harm, if it did no good. To please
him, I at length took the root, and, according to
his direction, carried it upon my right side. This
was Sunday morning. I immediately started for
home; and upon entering the yard gate, out
came Mr. Covey on his way to meeting. He
spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs
from a lot near by, and passed on towards the
church. Now, this singular conduct of Mr. Covey
really made me begin to think that there was
something in the ROOT which Sandy had given
me; and had it been on any other day than
Sunday, I could have attributed the conduct to
no other cause than the influence of that root;
and as it was, I was half inclined to think the
root to be something more than I at first had
taken it to be. All went well till Monday
morning. On this morning, the virtue of the
ROOT was fully tested. Long before daylight, I
was called to go and rub, curry, and feed, the
horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But
whilst thus engaged, whilst in the act of
throwing down some blades from the loft, Mr.
Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and
just as I was half out of the loft, he caught hold
of my legs, and was about tying me. As soon as
I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden
spring, and as I did so, he holding to my legs, I
was brought sprawling on the stable floor. Mr.
Covey seemed now to think he had me, and
could do what he pleased; but at this moment—
from whence came the spirit I don’t know—I
resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the
resolution, I seized Covey hard by the throat;
and as I did so, I rose. He held on to me, and I
to him. My resistance was so entirely
unexpected that Covey seemed taken all aback.
He trembled like a leaf. This gave me
assurance, and I held him uneasy, causing the
blood to run where I touched him with the ends
of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to
Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while
Covey held me, attempted to tie my right hand.
While he was in the act of doing so, I watched
my chance, and gave him a heavy kick close
under the ribs. This kick fairly sickened
Hughes, so that he left me in the hands of Mr.
Covey. This kick had the effect of not only
weakening Hughes, but Covey also. When he
saw Hughes bending over with pain, his
courage quailed. He asked me if I meant to
persist in my resistance. I told him I did, come
what might; that he had used me like a brute
for six months, and that I was determined to be
used so no longer. With that, he strove to drag
me to a stick that was lying just out of the
stable door. He meant to knock me down. But
just as he was leaning over to get the stick, I
seized him with both hands by his collar, and
brought him by a sudden snatch to the ground.
By this time, Bill came. Covey called upon him
for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could not do.
1. Read the following sentence and select, from the choices below, the word closest in meaning
1. Read the following sentence and select, from the choices below, the word closest in meaning
to the word in bold-faced type.
I have already intimated that my condition was much worse, during the first six months of my stay at Mr. Covey’s, than in the last six.
a. stated
b. confirmed
c. announced
d. implied
2. The sentence, “I then presented an appearance enough to affect any but a heart of iron,” is
meant to explain to the reader
a. how tough the man was.
b. how badly beaten and mistreated he looked.
c. that a slave should not rebel against his master.
d. that a black man in the south would earn no sympathy from anyone.
3. Read the following sentence and select, from the choices below, the word closest in meaning
to the word in bold-faced type.
When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his courage quailed.
a. increased
b. shrank
c. remained
d. doubled
4. Read the following selection, written by Frederick Douglass, and summarize his thoughts.
What is he saying?
I was broken in body, soul, and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect
languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!
5. Describe the day the narrator fell ill.
6. The narrator runs into his friend, Sandy, and asks for advice. What does Sandy tell him?
What does he give to him and why?
7. Why did the narrator identify his battle with Mr. Covey as a turning point? How did it
change him?
8. How did the narrator’s new attitude translate into the way he lived his life from the day of
the fight and afterwards?
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