All was fair, thus far, and the contest was about equal. My resistance was entirely unexpected, and Covey was taken all aback by it, for he trembled in every limb. _"Are you going to resist_, you scoundrel?" said he. To which, I returned a polite _"Yes sir;"_ steadily gazing my interrogator in the eye, to meet the first approach or dawning of the blow, which I expected my answer would call forth. But, the conflict did not long remain thus equal. Covey soon cried out lustily for help; not that Iwas obtaining any marked advantage over him, or was injuring him, but because he was gaining none over me, and was not able, single handed, to conquer me. He called for his cousin Hughs, to come to his assistance, and now the scene was changed. I was compelled to <188>give blows, as well as to parry them; and, since I was, in any case, to suffer for resistance, I felt (as the musty proverb goes) that "I might as well be hanged for an old sheep as a lamb." I was still _defensive_ toward Covey, but _aggressive_ toward Hughs; and, at the first approach of the latter, I dealt a blow, in my desperation, which fairly sickened my youthful assailant. He went off, bending over with pain, and manifesting no disposition to come within my reach again. The poor fellow was in the act of trying to catch and tie my right hand, and while flattering himself with success, I gave him the kick which sent him staggering away in pain, at the same time that I held Covey with a firm hand.
Taken completely by surprise, Covey seemed to have lost his usual strength and coolness. He was frightened, and stood puffing and blowing, seemingly unable to command words or blows. When he saw that poor Hughes was standing half bent with pain--his courage quite gone the cowardly tyrant asked if I "meant to persist in my resistance." I told him "_I did mean to resist, come what might_;" that I had been by him treated like a _brute_, during the last six months; and that I should stand it _no longer_.
With that, he gave me a shake, and attempted to drag me toward a stick of wood, that was lying just outside the stable door. He meant to knock me down with it; but, just as he leaned over to get the stick, I seized him with both hands by the collar, and, with a vigorous and sudden snatch, I brought my assailant harmlessly, his full length, on the _not_ overclean ground--for we were now in the cow yard. He had selected the place for the fight, and it was but right that he should have all the advantges{sic} of his own selection.
By this time, Bill, the hiredman, came home. He had been to Mr.
Hemsley's, to spend the Sunday with his nominal wife, and was coming home on Monday morning, to go to work. Covey and I had been skirmishing from before daybreak, till now, that the sun was almost shooting his beams over the eastern woods, and we were still at it. I could not see where the matter was to terminate.
He evidently was afraid to let me go, lest I should again <189BILL REFUSES TO ASSIST COVEY>make off to the woods; otherwise, he would probably have obtained arms from the house, to frighten me.
Holding me, Covey called upon Bill for assistance. The scene here, had something comic about it. "Bill," who knew _precisely_what Covey wished him to do, affected ignorance, and pretended he did not know what to do. "What shall I do, Mr. Covey," said Bill. "Take hold of him--take hold of him!" said Covey. With a toss of his head, peculiar to Bill, he said, "indeed, Mr. Covey Iwant to go to work." _"This is_ your work," said Covey; "take hold of him." Bill replied, with spirit, "My master hired me here, to work, and _not_ to help you whip Frederick." It was now my turn to speak. "Bill," said I, "don't put your hands on me."To which he replied, "My GOD! Frederick, I ain't goin' to tech ye," and Bill walked off, leaving Covey and myself to settle our matters as best we might.
But, my present advantage was threatened when I saw Caroline (the slave-woman of Covey) coming to the cow yard to milk, for she was a powerful woman, and could have mastered me very easily, exhausted as I now was. As soon as she came into the yard, Covey attempted to rally her to his aid. Strangely--and, I may add, fortunately--Caroline was in no humor to take a hand in any such sport. We were all in open rebellion, that morning. Caroline answered the command of her master to _"take hold of me,"_precisely as Bill had answered, but in _her_, it was at greater peril so to answer; she was the slave of Covey, and he could do what he pleased with her. It was _not_ so with Bill, and Bill knew it. Samuel Harris, to whom Bill belonged, did not allow his slaves to be beaten, unless they were guilty of some crime which the law would punish. But, poor Caroline, like myself, was at the mercy of the merciless Covey; nor did she escape the dire effects of her refusal. He gave her several sharp blows.
