ne other man, belonging to Mr. Hugh Hamilton, who
could read (his name was "Jim"), but he, poor fellow, had, shortly after
my coming into the neighborhood, been sold off to the far south. I saw
Jim ironed, in the cart, to be carried to Easton for sale--pinioned
like a yearling for the slaughter. My knowledge was now the pride of
my brother slaves; and, no doubt, Sandy felt something of the general
interest in me on that account. The supper was soon ready, and though I
have feasted since, with honorables, lord mayors and aldermen, over the
sea, my supper on ash cake and cold water, with Sandy, was the meal, of
all my life, most sweet to my taste, and now most vivid in my memory.

Supper over, Sandy and I went into a discussion of what was _possible_
for me, under the perils and hardships which now overshadowed my path.
The question was, must I go back to Covey, or must I now tempt to run
away? Upon a careful survey, the latter was found to be impossible; for
I was on a narrow neck of land,{184} every avenue from which would bring
me in sight of pursuers. There was the Chesapeake bay to the right,
and "Pot-pie" river to the left, and St. Michael's and its neighborhood
occupying the only space through which there was any retreat.

I found Sandy an old advisor. He was not only a religious man, but he
professed to believe in a system for which I have no name. He was a
genuine African, and had inherited some of the so-called magical powers,
said to be possessed by African and eastern nations. He told me that he
could help me; that, in those very woods, there was an herb, which in
the morning might be found, possessing all the powers required for my
protection (I put his thoughts in my own language); and that, if I would
take his advice, he would procure me the root of the herb of which he
spoke. He told me further, that if I would take that root and wear it
on my right side, it would be impossible for Covey to strike me a blow;
that with this root about my person, no white man could whip me. He said
he had carried it for years, and that he had fully tested its virtues.
He had never received a blow from a slaveholder since he carried it; and
he never expected to receive one, for he always meant to carry that root
as a protection. He knew Covey well, for Mrs. Covey was the daughter of
Mr. Kemp; and he (Sandy) had heard of the barbarous treatment to which I
was subjected, and he wanted to do something for me.

Now all this talk