joy religion," and was as strict
in the cultivation of piety, as he was in the cultivation of his farm. I
was made aware of his character by some who had been under his hand; and
while I could not look forward to going to him with any pleasure, I was
glad to get away from St. Michael's. I was sure of getting enough to eat
at Covey's, even if I suffered in other respects. _This_, to a hungry
man, is not a prospect to be regarded with indifference.

CHAPTER XV. _Covey, the Negro Breaker_

JOURNEY TO MY NEW MASTER'S--MEDITATIONS BY THE WAY--VIEW OF COVEY'S
RESIDENCE--THE FAMILY--MY AWKWARDNESS AS A FIELD HAND--A CRUEL
BEATING--WHY IT WAS GIVEN--DESCRIPTION OF COVEY--FIRST ADVENTURE AT OX
DRIVING--HAIR BREADTH ESCAPES--OX AND MAN ALIKE PROPERTY--COVEY'S MANNER
OF PROCEEDING TO WHIP--HARD LABOR BETTER THAN THE WHIP FOR BREAKING
DOWN THE SPIRIT--CUNNING AND TRICKERY OF COVEY--FAMILY WORSHIP--SHOCKING
CONTEMPT FOR CHASTITY--I AM BROKEN DOWN--GREAT MENTAL AGITATION IN
CONTRASTING THE FREEDOM OF THE SHIPS WITH HIS OWN SLAVERY--ANGUISH
BEYOND DESCRIPTION.

The morning of the first of January, 1834, with its chilling wind and
pinching frost, quite in harmony with the winter in my own mind, found
me, with my little bundle of clothing on the end of a stick, swung
across my shoulder, on the main road, bending my way toward Covey's,
whither I had been imperiously ordered by Master Thomas. The latter had
been as good as his word, and had committed me, without reserve, to the
mastery of Mr. Edward Covey. Eight or ten years had now passed since
I had been taken from my grandmother's cabin, in Tuckahoe; and these
years, for the most part, I had spent in Baltimore, where--as the reader
has already seen--I was treated with comparative tenderness. I was now
about to sound profounder depths in slave life. The rigors of a field,
less tolerable than the field of battle, awaited me. My new master was
notorious for his fierce and savage disposition, and my only consolation
in going to live{160} with him was, the certainty of finding him
precisely as represented by common fame. There was neither joy in my
heart, nor elasticity in my step, as I started in search of the tyrant's
home. Starvation made me glad to leave Thomas Auld's, and the cruel lash
made me dread to go to Covey's. Escape was impossible; so, heavy and
sad, I paced the seven miles, which separated Covey's house from St.
Michael's--thinking much by the solitary way--averse t