truck back again, regardless
of consequences. I could manage any of them _singly_, and, while I could
keep them from combining, I succeeded very well. In the conflict
which ended my stay at Mr. Gardiner's, I was beset by four of them at
once--Ned North, Ned Hays, Bill Stewart, and Tom Humphreys. Two of them
were as large as myself, and they came near killing me, in broad day
light. The attack was made suddenly, and simultaneously. One came in
front, armed with a brick; there was one at each side, and one behind,
and they closed up around me. I was struck on all sides; and, while
I was attending to those in front, I received a blow on my head, from
behind, dealt with a heavy hand-spike. I was completely stunned by
the blow, and fell, heavily, on the ground, among the timbers. Taking
advantage of my fall, they rushed upon me, and began to pound me with
their fists. I let them lay on, for a while, after I came to myself,
with a view of gaining strength. They did me little damage, so far;
but, finally, getting tired of that sport, I gave a sudden surge, and,
despite their weight, I rose to my hands and knees. Just as I did this,
one of their number (I know not which) planted a blow with his boot in
my left eye, which, for a time, seemed to have burst my eyeball. When
they saw my eye completely closed, my face covered with blood, and I
staggering under the stunning blows they had given me, they left me. As
soon as I gathered sufficient strength, I picked up the hand-spike,
and, madly enough, attempted to pursue them; but here the carpenters
interfered, and compelled me to give up my frenzied pursuit. It was
impossible to stand against so many.

Dear reader, you can hardly believe the statement, but it is true, and,
therefore, I write it down: not fewer than fifty white men stood by, and
saw this brutal and shameless outrage committed, and not a man of them
all interposed a single word of mercy. There were four against one, and
that one's face was beaten and battered most horribly, and no one said,
"that is enough;" but some cried out, "Kill him--kill him--kill the d--d
{243} nigger! knock his brains out--he struck a white person." I mention
this inhuman outcry, to show the character of the men, and the spirit of
the times, at Gardiner's ship yard, and, indeed, in Baltimore generally,
in 1836. As I look back to this period, I am almost amazed that I was
not murdered outright, in that ship yard, so murderous was the spirit
whi