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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
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