prompt:
Chapter: The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if
they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home.  His doors and
windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to
purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity.  Ruined!  And by
the blundering of the detective!  After having steadily traversed that
long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and
still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a
sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against which he was
unarmed; it was terrible!  But a few pounds were left of the large sum
he had carried with him.  There only remained of his fortune the twenty
thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his
friends of the Reform Club.  So great had been the expense of his tour
that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is
probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who
rather laid wagers for honour's sake than for the stake proposed.  But
this wager totally ruined him.

Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what
remained for him to do.

A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was
overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune.  From the words
which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious
project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to
the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so
doing.

First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had
extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days.
He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he
thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had
been doomed to bear.

The night passed.  Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep?  Aouda did
not once close her eyes.  Passepartout watched all night, like a
faithful dog, at his master's door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda's
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself.  He desired Aouda
to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed
all day in putting his affairs to rights.  In the evening he would ask
permission to have a few moment's conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey
them.  He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring
his mind to leave him.  His heart was full, and his conscience tortured
by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the
cause of the irretrievable disaster.  Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg,
and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly not
have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then--

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

"My master!  Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "why do you not curse me?  It was my
fault that--"

"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness.  "Go!"

Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he
delivered his master's message.

"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing!  I have no
influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"

"What influence could I have?" replied Aouda.  "Mr. Fogg is influenced
by no one.  Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is
overflowing?  Has he ever read my heart?  My friend, he must not be
left alone an instant!  You say he is going to speak with me this
evening?"

"Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in
England."

"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if
uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in
that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck
half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform?  His friends no longer
expected him there.  As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on
the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before
nine), he had lost his wager.  It was not even necessary that he should
go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists
already had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out
and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their
credit.

Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at
home.  He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his
affairs in order.  Passepartout continually ascended and descended the
stairs.  The hours were long for him. He listened at his master's door,
and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do,
and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment.
Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger.  Fix, like all the
world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in
tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout. . . .  This thought
haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly.

Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda's
door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a
corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda
would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her.

Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite
Aouda.  No emotion was visible on his face.  Fogg returned was exactly
the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same
impassibility.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on
Aouda, "Madam," said he, "will you pardon me for bringing you to
England?"

"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

"Please let me finish," returned Mr. Fogg.  "When I decided to bring
you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich,
and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then
your existence would have been free and happy.  But now I am ruined."

"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda; "and I ask you in my turn, will
you forgive me for having followed you, and--who knows?--for having,
perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin?"

"Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be
assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could
not take you."

"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me from a
terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a
foreign land?"

"Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me.  Still, I beg to
place the little I have left at your service."

"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"

"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of
nothing."

"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"

"As I am in the habit of doing."

"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you.  Your
friends--"

"I have no friends, madam."

"Your relatives--"

"I have no longer any relatives."

"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart
to which to confide your griefs.  They say, though, that misery itself,
shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience."

"They say so, madam."

"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish at
once a kinswoman and friend?  Will you have me for your wife?"

Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn.  There was an unwonted light in
his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips.  Aouda looked into his
face.  The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft
glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she
owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him.  He shut his eyes
for an instant, as if to avoid her look.  When he opened them again, "I
love you!" he said, simply.  "Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you,
and I am entirely yours!"

"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.

Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately.  Mr. Fogg still
held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big,
round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel
Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.

Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, "Never too late."

It was five minutes past eight.

"Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?"

"For to-morrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

"Yes; for to-morrow, Monday," she replied.

Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Fogg, Aouda and Passepartout return to the Savile Row house. Fogg seems calm outwardly though his fortune had completely dwindled. A room in the house was set apart for Aouda. Aouda and Passepartout are both worried about Fogg as they expect him to do something rash. Passepartout continues to feel guilty and even tells Fogg that he is sorry. But Fogg blames no one. The day passes by wearily. In the evening, Fogg meets Aouda and Fogg talks about giving some money to her in order that she may maintain her position. As the course of the conversation goes, Aouda asks Fogg whether he would like to have her as his wife. He confesses his own love for her. Passepartout is called and asked to give due notice to the Reverend Samuel Wilson, so that Fogg and Aouda may be married the next day, that is Monday.


prompt:
Chapter: It is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion
when it transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand,
had been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh.  Three
days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being
desperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable
gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the
world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had
laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic;
the "Phileas Fogg bonds" again became negotiable, and many new wagers
were made.  Phileas Fogg's name was once more at a premium on 'Change.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state
of feverish suspense.  Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten,
reappear before their eyes!  Where was he at this moment?  The 17th of
December, the day of James Strand's arrest, was the seventy-sixth since
Phileas Fogg's departure, and no news of him had been received.  Was he
dead?  Had he abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey
along the route agreed upon?  And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st
of December, at a quarter before nine in the evening, on the threshold
of the Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be
described.  Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas
Fogg.  Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning
and evening.  No news.  The police were ignorant what had become of the
detective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false scent.
Bets increased, nevertheless, in number and value.  Phileas Fogg, like
a racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point.  The bonds were
quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten, and at
five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his favour.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets
on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently
established around the Reform Club.  Circulation was impeded, and
everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going
on.  The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as
the hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to
its highest pitch.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the
club.  John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart,
the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and
Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got
up, saying, "Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between
Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired."

"What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?"  asked Thomas
Flanagan.

"At twenty-three minutes past seven," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and the
next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve."

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Andrew Stuart, "if Phileas Fogg had come in
the 7:23 train, he would have got here by this time.  We can,
therefore, regard the bet as won."

"Wait; don't let us be too hasty," replied Samuel Fallentin.  "You know
that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric.  His punctuality is well known; he
never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be surprised if
he appeared before us at the last minute."

"Why," said Andrew Stuart nervously, "if I should see him, I should not
believe it was he."

"The fact is," resumed Thomas Flanagan, "Mr. Fogg's project was
absurdly foolish.  Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent the
delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three
days would be fatal to his tour."

"Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along his
route."

"He has lost, gentleman," said Andrew Stuart, "he has a hundred times
lost!  You know, besides, that the China the only steamer he could have
taken from New York to get here in time arrived yesterday.  I have seen
a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg is not among
them.  Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he can scarcely
have reached America.  I think he will be at least twenty days
behind-hand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand."

"It is clear," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and we have nothing to do but
to present Mr. Fogg's cheque at Barings to-morrow."

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty minutes
to nine.

"Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.

The five gentlemen looked at each other.  Their anxiety was becoming
intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented to Mr.
Fallentin's proposal of a rubber.

"I wouldn't give up my four thousand of the bet," said Andrew Stuart,
as he took his seat, "for three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine."

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off the
clock.  Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never seemed
so long to them!

"Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the cards
which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence.  The great saloon was perfectly
quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and
then a shrill cry.  The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player
eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.

"Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which
betrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won.  Andrew Stuart and his
partners suspended their game.  They left their cards, and counted the
seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing.  At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by
applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the
pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared,
followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way through the club
doors, and in his calm voice, said, "Here I am, gentlemen!"

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In this chapter, the state of England is described. Once the real thief is arrested everyone starts taking interest in Fogg's wager once again. Betting is revived. A great crowd gathers near the Reform Club on Saturday evening. In the meantime Fogg's five fellow club members and whist partners come together at the Club. They all discuss whether Fogg will be able to make it on time. They think that he won't be able to. As their tension grows, they start counting the seconds to the time of the wager. Barely a few seconds before Fogg makes his appearance in his usual calm way. Outside the club, a delirious crowd makes much noise


prompt:
Chapter: IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT PHILEAS FOGG GAINED NOTHING BY HIS TOUR
AROUND THE WORLD, UNLESS IT WERE HAPPINESS

Yes; Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening--about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the
travellers in London--Passepartout had been sent by his master to
engage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage
ceremony, which was to take place the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted.  He soon reached the
clergyman's house, but found him not at home.  Passepartout waited a
good twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was
thirty-five minutes past eight.  But in what a state he was!  With his
hair in disorder, and without his hat, he ran along the street as never
man was seen to run before, overturning passers-by, rushing over the
sidewalk like a waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back into
Mr. Fogg's room.

He could not speak.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"My master!" gasped Passepartout--"marriage--impossible--"

"Impossible?"

"Impossible--for to-morrow."

"Why so?"

"Because to-morrow--is Sunday!"

"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.

"No--to-day is Saturday."

"Saturday?  Impossible!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Passepartout.  "You have made a mistake of
one day!  We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there are
only ten minutes left!"

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging him
along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his
house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman, and,
having run over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached the
Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the great
saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty
days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this
error of a day?  How came he to think that he had arrived in London on
Saturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was really Friday,
the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his journey,
and this merely because he had travelled constantly eastward; he would,
on the contrary, have lost a day had he gone in the opposite direction,
that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days
therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed
degrees in this direction.  There are three hundred and sixty degrees
on the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty
degrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four
hours--that is, the day unconsciously gained.  In other words, while
Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty
times, his friends in London only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine
times.  This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club on Saturday,
and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.

And Passepartout's famous family watch, which had always kept London
time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well
as the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but, as he had
spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was
small.  His object was, however, to be victorious, and not to win
money.  He divided the one thousand pounds that remained between
Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix, against whom he cherished no
grudge.  He deducted, however, from Passepartout's share the cost of
the gas which had burned in his room for nineteen hundred and twenty
hours, for the sake of regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said to
Aouda: "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"

"Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question.  You were
ruined, but now you are rich again."

"Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you.  If you had not suggested
our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the Reverend Samuel
Wilson's, I should not have been apprised of my error, and--"

"Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.

"Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight hours
after, and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride
away.  Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped vigorously
at his master's door.  Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked, "What's the
matter, Passepartout?"

"What is it, sir?  Why, I've just this instant found out--"

"What?"

"That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight
days."

"No doubt," returned Mr. Fogg, "by not crossing India.  But if I had
not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not have
been my wife, and--"

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around the
world in eighty days.  To do this he had employed every means of
conveyance--steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading-vessels,
sledges, elephants.  The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed
all his marvellous qualities of coolness and exactitude.  But what
then?  What had he really gained by all this trouble?  What had he
brought back from this long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you?  Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who,
strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In this chapter it is explained how Phileas Fogg happened to make it on time to the Reform Club. We are taken back to the time when Passepartout is asked to arrange for Fogg and Aouda's marriage. When he goes to meet the clergyman, he realizes that the marriage cannot take place the next day, because it is a Sunday. It is not a Monday, as Fogg, Aouda and Passepartout think. They learn that they have made a mistake of a day and that they had reached London, twenty-four hours before time. Passepartout runs to his master and pulls him from the house, in order to send him to the Club on time. Fogg manages to reach the Club at the stipulated time. We are then told how the mistake of a day was made. It was to do with Fogg having gained time while traveling eastward. Fogg does not have much money left though. The thousand pounds that remained, he divided between Passepartout and Fix. Aouda and Fogg get married the day after the marriage Passepartout tells Fogg excitedly that they might have gone round the world in 78 days if they had not gone through India. But Fogg answers that then he would not have met Aouda and she would not have been his wife. Verne tells us in the end that Fogg had won something more important than money, by traveling around the world. He had won a charming woman, who made him the happiest of men.


prompt:
Chapter: I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve miles from
Easton, in Talbot county, Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my
age, never having seen any authentic record containing it. By far the
larger part of the slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of
theirs, and it is the wish of most masters within my knowledge to keep
their slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever met a slave
who could tell of his birthday. They seldom come nearer to it than
planting-time, harvest-time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A
want of information concerning my own was a source of unhappiness to me
even during childhood. The white children could tell their ages. I could
not tell why I ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was not
allowed to make any inquiries of my master concerning it. He deemed
all such inquiries on the part of a slave improper and impertinent, and
evidence of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give makes me
now between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age. I come to this,
from hearing my master say, some time during 1835, I was about seventeen
years old.

My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of Isaac and
Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker
complexion than either my grandmother or grandfather.

My father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all I ever
heard speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whispered that my
master was my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I know
nothing; the means of knowing was withheld from me. My mother and I were
separated when I was but an infant--before I knew her as my mother. It is
a common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part
children from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the
child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is taken from it, and
hired out on some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is
placed under the care of an old woman, too old for field labor. For
what this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the
development of the child's affection toward its mother, and to blunt and
destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child. This is the
inevitable result.

I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times
in my life; and each of these times was very short in duration, and at
night. She was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles from
my home. She made her journeys to see me in the night, travelling the
whole distance on foot, after the performance of her day's work. She was
a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of not being in the field at
sunrise, unless a slave has special permission from his or her master to
the contrary--a permission which they seldom get, and one that gives
to him that gives it the proud name of being a kind master. I do not
recollect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She was with me
in the night. She would lie down with me, and get me to sleep, but long
before I waked she was gone. Very little communication ever took place
between us. Death soon ended what little we could have while she lived,
and with it her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about
seven years old, on one of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not
allowed to be present during her illness, at her death, or burial. She
was gone long before I knew any thing about it. Never having enjoyed, to
any considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful
care, I received the tidings of her death with much the same emotions I
should have probably felt at the death of a stranger.

Called thus suddenly away, she left me without the slightest intimation
of who my father was. The whisper that my master was my father, may or
may not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to
my purpose whilst the fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that
slaveholders have ordained, and by law established, that the children
of slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers;
and this is done too obviously to administer to their own lusts, and
make a gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well as
pleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases
not a few, sustains to his slaves the double relation of master and
father.

I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves
invariably suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with,
than others. They are, in the first place, a constant offence to their
mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them; they can seldom
do any thing to please her; she is never better pleased than when she
sees them under the lash, especially when she suspects her husband of
showing to his mulatto children favors which he withholds from his black
slaves. The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his
slaves, out of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel
as the deed may strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children
to human flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate of humanity for him to
do so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them himself,
but must stand by and see one white son tie up his brother, of but few
shades darker complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his
naked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval, it is set down to
his parental partiality, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for
himself and the slave whom he would protect and defend.

Every year brings with it multitudes of this class of slaves. It was
doubtless in consequence of a knowledge of this fact, that one great
statesman of the south predicted the downfall of slavery by the
inevitable laws of population. Whether this prophecy is ever fulfilled
or not, it is nevertheless plain that a very different-looking class of
people are springing up at the south, and are now held in slavery,
from those originally brought to this country from Africa; and if their
increase do no other good, it will do away the force of the argument,
that God cursed Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the
lineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scripturally enslaved, it is
certain that slavery at the south must soon become unscriptural; for
thousands are ushered into the world, annually, who, like myself, owe
their existence to white fathers, and those fathers most frequently
their own masters.

I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not
remember his first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony--a title
which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake Bay.
He was not considered a rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms,
and about thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the care of an
overseer. The overseer's name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable
drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always went armed
with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known him to cut and slash
the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be enraged at
his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself.
Master, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary
barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a cruel man,
hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times seem to take
great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the
dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an own aunt of mine,
whom he used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she
was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from
his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody purpose.
The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where the blood ran
fastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip her to make her scream,
and whip her to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue, would
he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin. I remember the first time I
ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well
remember it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember any thing. It was
the first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be
a witness and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the
blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of slavery, through which
I was about to pass. It was a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could
commit to paper the feelings with which I beheld it.

This occurrence took place very soon after I went to live with my old
master, and under the following circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one
night,--where or for what I do not know,--and happened to be absent
when my master desired her presence. He had ordered her not to go
out evenings, and warned her that she must never let him catch her in
company with a young man, who was paying attention to her belonging to
Colonel Lloyd. The young man's name was Ned Roberts, generally called
Lloyd's Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be safely left to
conjecture. She was a woman of noble form, and of graceful proportions,
having very few equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance,
among the colored or white women of our neighborhood.

Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been
found in company with Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from
what he said while whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a
man of pure morals himself, he might have been thought interested in
protecting the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him will not
suspect him of any such virtue. Before he commenced whipping Aunt
Hester, he took her into the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to
waist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely naked. He then
told her to cross her hands, calling her at the same time a d----d b---h.
After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her
to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He
made her get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now
stood fair for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched up at their
full length, so that she stood upon the ends of her toes. He then said
to her, "Now, you d----d b---h, I'll learn you how to disobey my orders!"
and after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy
cowskin, and soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from
her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor. I was so
terrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a
closet, and dared not venture out till long after the bloody transaction
was over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was all new to me.
I had never seen any thing like it before. I had always lived with my
grandmother on the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to
raise the children of the younger women. I had therefore been, until
now, out of the way of the bloody scenes that often occurred on the
plantation.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Douglass begins his Narrative by explaining that he is like many other slaves who don't know when they were born and, sometimes, even who their parents are. From hearsay, he estimates that he was born around 1817 and that his father was probably his first white master, Captain Anthony. His mother, Harriet Bailey, was a field hand who wasn't allowed to see him very often; she died when Douglass was seven years old. Children of mixed-race parentage are always classified as slaves, Douglass says, and this class of mulattos is increasing rapidly. Douglass implies that these mulatto slaves are, for the most part, the result of white masters raping black slaves. He tells about the brutality of his master's overseer, Mr. Plummer, as well as the story of Aunt Hester, who was brutally whipped by Captain Anthony because she fancied another slave. Captain Anthony apparently wanted her for himself exclusively.


prompt:
Chapter: My master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one
daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in
one house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master
was Colonel Lloyd's clerk and superintendent. He was what might be
called the overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on
this plantation in my old master's family. It was here that I witnessed
the bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter; and as I received
my first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some
description of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation is
about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated
on the border of Miles River. The principal products raised upon it were
tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were raised in great abundance; so that,
with the products of this and the other farms belonging to him, he was
able to keep in almost constant employment a large sloop, in carrying
them to market at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd, in honor
of one of the colonel's daughters. My master's son-in-law, Captain Auld,
was master of the vessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel's
own slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and Jake. These
were esteemed very highly by the other slaves, and looked upon as the
privileged ones of the plantation; for it was no small affair, in the
eyes of the slaves, to be allowed to see Baltimore.

Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home
plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms
belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation
were Wye Town and New Design. "Wye Town" was under the overseership of
a man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a
Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms,
numbering over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers
of the home plantation. This was the great business place. It was the
seat of government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among
the overseers were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high
misdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run
away, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board
the sloop, carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some
other slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining.

Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their monthly
allowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women slaves
received, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of pork,
or its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly
clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen
trousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter,
made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of
shoes; the whole of which could not have cost more than seven dollars.
The allowance of the slave children was given to their mothers, or the
old women having the care of them. The children unable to work in the
field had neither shoes, stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to
them; their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year.
When these failed them, they went naked until the next allowance-day.
Children from seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked, might
be seen at all seasons of the year.

There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be
considered such, and none but the men and women had these. This,
however, is not considered a very great privation. They find less
difficulty from the want of beds, than from the want of time to sleep;
for when their day's work in the field is done, the most of them having
their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few or none of
the ordinary facilities for doing either of these, very many of their
sleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day;
and when this is done, old and young, male and female, married and
single, drop down side by side, on one common bed,--the cold, damp
floor,--each covering himself or herself with their miserable blankets;
and here they sleep till they are summoned to the field by the driver's
horn. At the sound of this, all must rise, and be off to the field.
There must be no halting; every one must be at his or her post; and woe
betides them who hear not this morning summons to the field; for if
they are not awakened by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of
feeling: no age nor sex finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used
to stand by the door of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick
and heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who was so unfortunate as not
to hear, or, from any other cause, was prevented from being ready to
start for the field at the sound of the horn.

Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a
woman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this,
too, in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their mother's
release. He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting his fiendish
barbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough
to chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinary man to hear him
talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him but that was commenced or concluded
by some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness his cruelty
and profanity. His presence made it both the field of blood and of
blasphemy. From the rising till the going down of the sun, he was
cursing, raving, cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field, in
the most frightful manner. His career was short. He died very soon after
I went to Colonel Lloyd's; and he died as he lived, uttering, with his
dying groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was regarded by
the slaves as the result of a merciful providence.

Mr. Severe's place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different
man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr.
Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations
of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was
called by the slaves a good overseer.

The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country
village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed
here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting,
coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves
on the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very
unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired
to give it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the
slaves the _Great House Farm._ Few privileges were esteemed higher, by
the slaves of the out-farms, than that of being selected to do
errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in their minds with
greatness. A representative could not be prouder of his election to
a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the out-farms
would be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They
regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their
overseers; and it was on this account, as well as a constant desire to
be out of the field from under the driver's lash, that they esteemed
it a high privilege, one worth careful living for. He was called the
smartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon
him the most frequently. The competitors for this office sought as
diligently to please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the
political parties seek to please and deceive the people. The same traits
of character might be seen in Colonel Lloyd's slaves, as are seen in the
slaves of the political parties.

The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly
allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly
enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods,
for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once
the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as
they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came
up, came out--if not in the word, in the sound;--and as frequently in
the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic
sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment
in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to
weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this,
when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following
words:--

     "I am going away to the Great House Farm!
     O, yea! O, yea! O!"

This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem
unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to
themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those
songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of
slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject
could do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and
apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I
neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a
tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension;
they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and
complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone
was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance
from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit,
and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in
tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even
now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of
feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace
my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery.
I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to
deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren
in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing
effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on
allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him,
in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers
of his soul,--and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because
"there is no flesh in his obdurate heart."

I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find
persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence of
their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a
greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs
of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by
them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such
is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to
express my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike
uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast
away upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as
evidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the
songs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Douglass describes his master's family and their relationship with Colonel Lloyd, who was sort of a "grand master" of the area. Douglass explains that if slaves broke plantation rules, tried to run away, or became generally "unmanageable," they were whipped and shipped to Baltimore to be sold to slave traders as a "warning to the slaves." He discusses the meager food and clothing allowance given to slaves: "Children from seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked, might be seen all seasons of the year." Slaves had no beds and only some were given blankets. They had to work long hours in the fields and were deprived of sleep. The master's latest overseer, with the fitting name of Mr. Severe, was "armed with a large hickory stick and heavy cowskin" and took "fiendish pleasure in manifesting barbarity." Severe's early death was considered a sign of a "merciful providence" by the slaves, but he was soon replaced by Hopkins, a less profane man, but no less cruel than Severe. The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd was called the Great House Farm, and it was a privilege for a slave in the outlying areas of the plantation to be asked to run errands there. Many of the songs that slaves sang at that plantation mention the Great House Farm; Douglass didn't understand the implications of the lyrics of the songs while he was enslaved, but as a free man in the North, he has heard whites commenting that the singing of slaves is "evidence of their contentment and happiness." He refutes this myth, stating that slaves sing in order to relieve their sorrow much like tears relieve an aching heart.


prompt:
Chapter: Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated garden, which afforded
almost constant employment for four men, besides the chief gardener,
(Mr. M'Durmond.) This garden was probably the greatest attraction of
the place. During the summer months, people came from far and near--from
Baltimore, Easton, and Annapolis--to see it. It abounded in fruits of
almost every description, from the hardy apple of the north to the
delicate orange of the south. This garden was not the least source of
trouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit was quite a temptation to
the hungry swarms of boys, as well as the older slaves, belonging to the
colonel, few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resist it. Scarcely a
day passed, during the summer, but that some slave had to take the lash
for stealing fruit. The colonel had to resort to all kinds of stratagems
to keep his slaves out of the garden. The last and most successful one
was that of tarring his fence all around; after which, if a slave was
caught with any tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficient proof that
he had either been into the garden, or had tried to get in. In either
case, he was severely whipped by the chief gardener. This plan worked
well; the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash. They seemed to
realize the impossibility of touching _tar_ without being defiled.

The colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage. His stable and
carriage-house presented the appearance of some of our large city livery
establishments. His horses were of the finest form and noblest blood.
His carriage-house contained three splendid coaches, three or four gigs,
besides dearborns and barouches of the most fashionable style.

This establishment was under the care of two slaves--old Barney and young
Barney--father and son. To attend to this establishment was their sole
work. But it was by no means an easy employment; for in nothing was
Colonel Lloyd more particular than in the management of his horses. The
slightest inattention to these was unpardonable, and was visited upon
those, under whose care they were placed, with the severest punishment;
no excuse could shield them, if the colonel only suspected any want of
attention to his horses--a supposition which he frequently indulged, and
one which, of course, made the office of old and young Barney a very
trying one. They never knew when they were safe from punishment. They
were frequently whipped when least deserving, and escaped whipping when
most deserving it. Every thing depended upon the looks of the horses,
and the state of Colonel Lloyd's own mind when his horses were brought
to him for use. If a horse did not move fast enough, or hold his head
high enough, it was owing to some fault of his keepers. It was painful
to stand near the stable-door, and hear the various complaints against
the keepers when a horse was taken out for use. "This horse has not had
proper attention. He has not been sufficiently rubbed and curried, or
he has not been properly fed; his food was too wet or too dry; he got it
too soon or too late; he was too hot or too cold; he had too much hay,
and not enough of grain; or he had too much grain, and not enough
of hay; instead of old Barney's attending to the horse, he had very
improperly left it to his son." To all these complaints, no matter how
unjust, the slave must answer never a word. Colonel Lloyd could not
brook any contradiction from a slave. When he spoke, a slave must
stand, listen, and tremble; and such was literally the case. I have seen
Colonel Lloyd make old Barney, a man between fifty and sixty years of
age, uncover his bald head, kneel down upon the cold, damp ground, and
receive upon his naked and toil-worn shoulders more than thirty
lashes at the time. Colonel Lloyd had three sons--Edward, Murray, and
Daniel,--and three sons-in-law, Mr. Winder, Mr. Nicholson, and Mr.
Lowndes. All of these lived at the Great House Farm, and enjoyed the
luxury of whipping the servants when they pleased, from old Barney down
to William Wilkes, the coach-driver. I have seen Winder make one of the
house-servants stand off from him a suitable distance to be touched with
the end of his whip, and at every stroke raise great ridges upon his
back.

To describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd would be almost equal
to describing the riches of Job. He kept from ten to fifteen
house-servants. He was said to own a thousand slaves, and I think this
estimate quite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned so many that he did
not know them when he saw them; nor did all the slaves of the out-farms
know him. It is reported of him, that, while riding along the road one
day, he met a colored man, and addressed him in the usual manner of
speaking to colored people on the public highways of the south: "Well,
boy, whom do you belong to?" "To Colonel Lloyd," replied the slave.
"Well, does the colonel treat you well?" "No, sir," was the ready reply.
"What, does he work you too hard?" "Yes, sir." "Well, don't he give you
enough to eat?" "Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is."

The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode on;
the man also went on about his business, not dreaming that he had been
conversing with his master. He thought, said, and heard nothing more of
the matter, until two or three weeks afterwards. The poor man was then
informed by his overseer that, for having found fault with his master,
he was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was immediately chained
and handcuffed; and thus, without a moment's warning, he was snatched
away, and forever sundered, from his family and friends, by a hand more
unrelenting than death. This is the penalty of telling the truth, of
telling the simple truth, in answer to a series of plain questions.

It is partly in consequence of such facts, that slaves, when inquired
of as to their condition and the character of their masters, almost
universally say they are contented, and that their masters are kind.
The slaveholders have been known to send in spies among their slaves,
to ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their condition. The
frequency of this has had the effect to establish among the slaves the
maxim, that a still tongue makes a wise head. They suppress the truth
rather than take the consequences of telling it, and in so doing prove
themselves a part of the human family. If they have any thing to say of
their masters, it is generally in their masters' favor, especially when
speaking to an untried man. I have been frequently asked, when a
slave, if I had a kind master, and do not remember ever to have given a
negative answer; nor did I, in pursuing this course, consider myself as
uttering what was absolutely false; for I always measured the kindness
of my master by the standard of kindness set up among slaveholders
around us. Moreover, slaves are like other people, and imbibe prejudices
quite common to others. They think their own better than that of others.
Many, under the influence of this prejudice, think their own masters are
better than the masters of other slaves; and this, too, in some cases,
when the very reverse is true. Indeed, it is not uncommon for slaves
even to fall out and quarrel among themselves about the relative
goodness of their masters, each contending for the superior goodness of
his own over that of the others. At the very same time, they mutually
execrate their masters when viewed separately. It was so on our
plantation. When Colonel Lloyd's slaves met the slaves of Jacob Jepson,
they seldom parted without a quarrel about their masters; Colonel
Lloyd's slaves contending that he was the richest, and Mr. Jepson's
slaves that he was the smartest, and most of a man. Colonel Lloyd's
slaves would boast his ability to buy and sell Jacob Jepson. Mr.
Jepson's slaves would boast his ability to whip Colonel Lloyd. These
quarrels would almost always end in a fight between the parties, and
those that whipped were supposed to have gained the point at issue. They
seemed to think that the greatness of their masters was transferable to
themselves. It was considered as being bad enough to be a slave; but to
be a poor man's slave was deemed a disgrace indeed!

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: When Douglass went to live at Colonel Lloyd's plantation, he was awed by the splendor he saw. Douglass heard that Lloyd owned approximately a thousand slaves, and he believes that this estimate is probably accurate. Lloyd was especially renowned for his beautiful garden, which people traveled many miles to view. Unfortunately, the garden had an abundance of tempting fruits which were off-limits to the hungry slaves, who were whipped if they were caught stealing fruit. The crafty colonel spread tar around the garden to catch thieves, and the mere evidence of tar on a slave was sufficient grounds for a lashing. The colonel also had a stable of splendid horses, which he clearly loved more than his slaves. The slaves who took care of the horses were frequently whipped for not performing their duties to the colonel's precise demands. Because Colonel Lloyd owned so many slaves, some of them never met him. Not surprisingly, one day while riding around the large plantation, he met a slave and asked him who his master was and how his master treated him. When he heard negative comments, he would note who the slave was and arranged to have that slave sold to a Georgian slave trader. Douglass explains that owners often send in colored spies among their own slaves to determine their views about their living and working conditions. For this reason, many slaves, when asked by other slaves about their living conditions, simply lie and present a pleasing picture of slavery. Strangely enough, slaves often seem to feel particularly proud of their affiliation with their owner when confronting slaves owned by a different owner, and fistfights are often the result of heated discussions among slaves, regarding whose owner is better, stronger, or richer.


prompt:
Chapter: Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the office of overseer. Why his
career was so short, I do not know, but suppose he lacked the necessary
severity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by Mr. Austin
Gore, a man possessing, in an eminent degree, all those traits of
character indispensable to what is called a first-rate overseer. Mr.
Gore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the capacity of overseer, upon one
of the out-farms, and had shown himself worthy of the high station of
overseer upon the home or Great House Farm.

Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering. He was artful, cruel,
and obdurate. He was just the man for such a place, and it was just the
place for such a man. It afforded scope for the full exercise of all his
powers, and he seemed to be perfectly at home in it. He was one of those
who could torture the slightest look, word, or gesture, on the part of
the slave, into impudence, and would treat it accordingly. There must
be no answering back to him; no explanation was allowed a slave, showing
himself to have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore acted fully up to
the maxim laid down by slaveholders,--"It is better that a dozen
slaves should suffer under the lash, than that the overseer should be
convicted, in the presence of the slaves, of having been at fault."
No matter how innocent a slave might be--it availed him nothing,
when accused by Mr. Gore of any misdemeanor. To be accused was to
be convicted, and to be convicted was to be punished; the one always
following the other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was
to escape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either, under
the overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough to demand the
most debasing homage of the slave, and quite servile enough to crouch,
himself, at the feet of the master. He was ambitious enough to be
contented with nothing short of the highest rank of overseers, and
persevering enough to reach the height of his ambition. He was cruel
enough to inflict the severest punishment, artful enough to descend to
the lowest trickery, and obdurate enough to be insensible to the voice
of a reproving conscience. He was, of all the overseers, the most
dreaded by the slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashed
confusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voice heard, without
producing horror and trembling in their ranks.

Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young man, he indulged in no
jokes, said no funny words, seldom smiled. His words were in perfect
keeping with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keeping with his
words. Overseers will sometimes indulge in a witty word, even with the
slaves; not so with Mr. Gore. He spoke but to command, and commanded but
to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words, and bountifully with
his whip, never using the former where the latter would answer as well.
When he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and feared no
consequences. He did nothing reluctantly, no matter how disagreeable;
always at his post, never inconsistent. He never promised but to fulfil.
He was, in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness and stone-like
coolness.

His savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness with
which he committed the grossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves
under his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one of Colonel Lloyd's
slaves, by the name of Demby. He had given Demby but few stripes, when,
to get rid of the scourging, he ran and plunged himself into a creek,
and stood there at the depth of his shoulders, refusing to come out. Mr.
Gore told him that he would give him three calls, and that, if he did
not come out at the third call, he would shoot him. The first call was
given. Demby made no response, but stood his ground. The second and
third calls were given with the same result. Mr. Gore then, without
consultation or deliberation with any one, not even giving Demby an
additional call, raised his musket to his face, taking deadly aim at his
standing victim, and in an instant poor Demby was no more. His mangled
body sank out of sight, and blood and brains marked the water where he
had stood.

A thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon the plantation,
excepting Mr. Gore. He alone seemed cool and collected. He was asked by
Colonel Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this extraordinary
expedient. His reply was, (as well as I can remember,) that Demby had
become unmanageable. He was setting a dangerous example to the other
slaves,--one which, if suffered to pass without some such demonstration
on his part, would finally lead to the total subversion of all rule and
order upon the plantation. He argued that if one slave refused to be
corrected, and escaped with his life, the other slaves would soon copy
the example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves,
and the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore's defence was satisfactory.
He was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation.
His fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime was not even
submitted to judicial investigation. It was committed in the presence of
slaves, and they of course could neither institute a suit, nor testify
against him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of the bloodiest
and most foul murders goes unwhipped of justice, and uncensured by the
community in which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael's, Talbot
county, Maryland, when I left there; and if he is still alive, he very
probably lives there now; and if so, he is now, as he was then, as
highly esteemed and as much respected as though his guilty soul had not
been stained with his brother's blood.

I speak advisedly when I say this,--that killing a slave, or any colored
person, in Talbot county, Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either by
the courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, of St. Michael's, killed
two slaves, one of whom he killed with a hatchet, by knocking his brains
out. He used to boast of the commission of the awful and bloody deed. I
have heard him do so laughingly, saying, among other things, that he was
the only benefactor of his country in the company, and that when others
would do as much as he had done, we should be relieved of "the d----d
niggers."

The wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a short distance from where I
used to live, murdered my wife's cousin, a young girl between fifteen
and sixteen years of age, mangling her person in the most horrible
manner, breaking her nose and breastbone with a stick, so that the poor
girl expired in a few hours afterward. She was immediately buried, but
had not been in her untimely grave but a few hours before she was taken
up and examined by the coroner, who decided that she had come to her
death by severe beating. The offence for which this girl was thus
murdered was this:--She had been set that night to mind Mrs. Hicks's
baby, and during the night she fell asleep, and the baby cried. She,
having lost her rest for several nights previous, did not hear the
crying. They were both in the room with Mrs. Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding
the girl slow to move, jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of wood
by the fireplace, and with it broke the girl's nose and breastbone,
and thus ended her life. I will not say that this most horrid murder
produced no sensation in the community. It did produce sensation, but
not enough to bring the murderess to punishment. There was a warrant
issued for her arrest, but it was never served. Thus she escaped not
only punishment, but even the pain of being arraigned before a court for
her horrid crime.

Whilst I am detailing bloody deeds which took place during my stay
on Colonel Lloyd's plantation, I will briefly narrate another, which
occurred about the same time as the murder of Demby by Mr. Gore.

Colonel Lloyd's slaves were in the habit of spending a part of their
nights and Sundays in fishing for oysters, and in this way made up the
deficiency of their scanty allowance. An old man belonging to Colonel
Lloyd, while thus engaged, happened to get beyond the limits of Colonel
Lloyd's, and on the premises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At this trespass, Mr.
Bondly took offence, and with his musket came down to the shore, and
blew its deadly contents into the poor old man.

Mr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd the next day, whether to pay
him for his property, or to justify himself in what he had done, I know
not. At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soon hushed up.
There was very little said about it at all, and nothing done. It was
a common saying, even among little white boys, that it was worth a
half-cent to kill a "nigger," and a half-cent to bury one.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Hopkins was eventually replaced by Gore, an ambitious overseer who was exceptionally cruel. Douglass remembers an episode when Gore whipped a slave named Demby so badly that Demby ran into a deep, flowing creek to soothe his shoulders. Gore warned that he would shoot if Demby didn't come out of the creek. Gore counted to three, and Demby still failed to emerge from the creek. Without further warning, Gore cocked his musket and killed Demby. Gore later explained to Lloyd that the killing served as an example to other slaves: disobey -- and die. Douglass elaborates that killing a slave is not considered a crime by the courts nor by the community in Maryland. He provides two more examples of owners who murdered their slaves but escaped punishment from the courts and censure from the community.


prompt:
Chapter: As to my own treatment while I lived on Colonel Lloyd's plantation,
it was very similar to that of the other slave children. I was not old
enough to work in the field, and there being little else than field work
to do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The most I had to do was to
drive up the cows at evening, keep the fowls out of the garden, keep the
front yard clean, and run of errands for my old master's daughter, Mrs.
Lucretia Auld. The most of my leisure time I spent in helping Master
Daniel Lloyd in finding his birds, after he had shot them. My connection
with Master Daniel was of some advantage to me. He became quite attached
to me, and was a sort of protector of me. He would not allow the older
boys to impose upon me, and would divide his cakes with me.

I was seldom whipped by my old master, and suffered little from any
thing else than hunger and cold. I suffered much from hunger, but much
more from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I was kept almost
naked--no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trousers, nothing on but a
coarse tow linen shirt, reaching only to my knees. I had no bed. I must
have perished with cold, but that, the coldest nights, I used to steal
a bag which was used for carrying corn to the mill. I would crawl into
this bag, and there sleep on the cold, damp, clay floor, with my head in
and feet out. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen
with which I am writing might be laid in the gashes.

We were not regularly allowanced. Our food was coarse corn meal boiled.
This was called _mush_. It was put into a large wooden tray or trough,
and set down upon the ground. The children were then called, like so
many pigs, and like so many pigs they would come and devour the mush;
some with oyster-shells, others with pieces of shingle, some with naked
hands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastest got most; he that was
strongest secured the best place; and few left the trough satisfied.

I was probably between seven and eight years old when I left Colonel
Lloyd's plantation. I left it with joy. I shall never forget the ecstasy
with which I received the intelligence that my old master (Anthony)
had determined to let me go to Baltimore, to live with Mr. Hugh Auld,
brother to my old master's son-in-law, Captain Thomas Auld. I received
this information about three days before my departure. They were three
of the happiest days I ever enjoyed. I spent the most part of all these
three days in the creek, washing off the plantation scurf, and preparing
myself for my departure.

The pride of appearance which this would indicate was not my own. I
spent the time in washing, not so much because I wished to, but because
Mrs. Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skin off my feet and
knees before I could go to Baltimore; for the people in Baltimore were
very cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked dirty. Besides, she was
going to give me a pair of trousers, which I should not put on unless
I got all the dirt off me. The thought of owning a pair of trousers was
great indeed! It was almost a sufficient motive, not only to make me
take off what would be called by pig-drovers the mange, but the skin
itself. I went at it in good earnest, working for the first time with
the hope of reward.

The ties that ordinarily bind children to their homes were all suspended
in my case. I found no severe trial in my departure. My home was
charmless; it was not home to me; on parting from it, I could not feel
that I was leaving any thing which I could have enjoyed by staying. My
mother was dead, my grandmother lived far off, so that I seldom saw her.
I had two sisters and one brother, that lived in the same house with me;
but the early separation of us from our mother had well nigh blotted the
fact of our relationship from our memories. I looked for home elsewhere,
and was confident of finding none which I should relish less than the
one which I was leaving. If, however, I found in my new home hardship,
hunger, whipping, and nakedness, I had the consolation that I should not
have escaped any one of them by staying. Having already had more than
a taste of them in the house of my old master, and having endured them
there, I very naturally inferred my ability to endure them elsewhere,
and especially at Baltimore; for I had something of the feeling about
Baltimore that is expressed in the proverb, that "being hanged in
England is preferable to dying a natural death in Ireland." I had the
strongest desire to see Baltimore. Cousin Tom, though not fluent in
speech, had inspired me with that desire by his eloquent description
of the place. I could never point out any thing at the Great House,
no matter how beautiful or powerful, but that he had seen something at
Baltimore far exceeding, both in beauty and strength, the object which I
pointed out to him. Even the Great House itself, with all its pictures,
was far inferior to many buildings in Baltimore. So strong was my
desire, that I thought a gratification of it would fully compensate
for whatever loss of comforts I should sustain by the exchange. I left
without a regret, and with the highest hopes of future happiness.

We sailed out of Miles River for Baltimore on a Saturday morning. I
remember only the day of the week, for at that time I had no knowledge
of the days of the month, nor the months of the year. On setting sail, I
walked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd's plantation what I hoped would be
the last look. I then placed myself in the bows of the sloop, and there
spent the remainder of the day in looking ahead, interesting myself in
what was in the distance rather than in things near by or behind.

In the afternoon of that day, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the
State. We stopped but a few moments, so that I had no time to go on
shore. It was the first large town that I had ever seen, and though it
would look small compared with some of our New England factory villages,
I thought it a wonderful place for its size--more imposing even than the
Great House Farm!

We arrived at Baltimore early on Sunday morning, landing at Smith's
Wharf, not far from Bowley's Wharf. We had on board the sloop a large
flock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them to the slaughterhouse
of Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater's Hill, I was conducted by Rich, one of
the hands belonging on board of the sloop, to my new home in Alliciana
Street, near Mr. Gardner's ship-yard, on Fells Point.

Mr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and met me at the door with their
little son Thomas, to take care of whom I had been given. And here I saw
what I had never seen before; it was a white face beaming with the most
kindly emotions; it was the face of my new mistress, Sophia Auld. I wish
I could describe the rapture that flashed through my soul as I beheld
it. It was a new and strange sight to me, brightening up my pathway
with the light of happiness. Little Thomas was told, there was his
Freddy,--and I was told to take care of little Thomas; and thus I entered
upon the duties of my new home with the most cheering prospect ahead.

I look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd's plantation as one of
the most interesting events of my life. It is possible, and even quite
probable, that but for the mere circumstance of being removed from that
plantation to Baltimore, I should have to-day, instead of being here
seated by my own table, in the enjoyment of freedom and the happiness
of home, writing this Narrative, been confined in the galling chains of
slavery. Going to live at Baltimore laid the foundation, and opened the
gateway, to all my subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded it as the
first plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ever since
attended me, and marked my life with so many favors. I regarded the
selection of myself as being somewhat remarkable. There were a number
of slave children that might have been sent from the plantation to
Baltimore. There were those younger, those older, and those of the same
age. I was chosen from among them all, and was the first, last, and only
choice.

I may be deemed superstitious, and even egotistical, in regarding this
event as a special interposition of divine Providence in my favor. But
I should be false to the earliest sentiments of my soul, if I suppressed
the opinion. I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of
incurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false, and incur my
own abhorrence. From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment
of a deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to hold
me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my career in
slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from
me, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me through the gloom.
This good spirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving and
praise.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Douglass further describes the conditions of slave children on Colonel Lloyd's plantation, telling us that his own experience was typical of slave children. Although he was seldom whipped, he was constantly hungry and cold. Even in the dead of winter, he was given nothing but a long shirt to wear, and, at night, he would steal a bag, crawl into it headfirst, and sleep. His exposed feet developed deep cracks from the frost. Children were fed cornmeal mush from a trough on the ground, and they ate from it, like the pigs did. When he was about seven or eight years old, he was given to Captain Anthony's son-in-law's brother, Hugh Auld, who lived in Baltimore. Douglass was instructed to clean himself before going to Baltimore, and he took great pride and joy in washing himself. He looks upon this event as a turning point in his life and claims that it was the hand of Providence which offered him this opportunity. In Baltimore, Mr. and Mrs. Auld and their child, Thomas, received him kindly. His duty was to take care of young Thomas.


prompt:
Chapter: My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at
the door,--a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She had
never had a slave under her control previously to myself, and prior to
her marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry for a living.
She was by trade a weaver; and by constant application to her business,
she had been in a good degree preserved from the blighting and
dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly astonished at her
goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her. She was entirely
unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her
as I was accustomed to approach other white ladies. My early instruction
was all out of place. The crouching servility, usually so acceptable a
quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward her. Her favor
was not gained by it; she seemed to be disturbed by it. She did not
deem it impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in the face.
The meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and none
left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of
heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.

But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The
fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon
commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence
of slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet
accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic
face gave place to that of a demon.

Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly
commenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she
assisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just at
this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and at
once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among other
things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to
read. To use his own words, further, he said, "If you give a nigger an
inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his
master--to do as he is told to do. Learning would _spoil_ the best nigger
in the world. Now," said he, "if you teach that nigger (speaking of
myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever
unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no
value to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great
deal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy." These
words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay
slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought.
It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious
things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but
struggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most
perplexing difficulty--to wit, the white man's power to enslave the
black man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From that
moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just
what I wanted, and I got it at a time when I the least expected it.
Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind
mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the
merest accident, I had gained from my master. Though conscious of the
difficulty of learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and
a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The
very decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife
with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince
me that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering. It gave me
the best assurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on the
results which, he said, would flow from teaching me to read. What he
most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most
hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was
to me a great good, to be diligently sought; and the argument which he
so warmly urged, against my learning to read, only served to inspire
me with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe
almost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly
aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both.

I had resided but a short time in Baltimore before I observed a marked
difference, in the treatment of slaves, from that which I had witnessed
in the country. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared with a
slave on the plantation. He is much better fed and clothed, and enjoys
privileges altogether unknown to the slave on the plantation. There is
a vestige of decency, a sense of shame, that does much to curb and
check those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty so commonly enacted upon the
plantation. He is a desperate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity
of his non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of his lacerated slave.
Few are willing to incur the odium attaching to the reputation of being
a cruel master; and above all things, they would not be known as not
giving a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to have
it known of him, that he feeds his slaves well; and it is due to them
to say, that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat. There are,
however, some painful exceptions to this rule. Directly opposite to us,
on Philpot Street, lived Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two slaves. Their
names were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was about twenty-two years
of age, Mary was about fourteen; and of all the mangled and emaciated
creatures I ever looked upon, these two were the most so. His heart
must be harder than stone, that could look upon these unmoved. The
head, neck, and shoulders of Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have
frequently felt her head, and found it nearly covered with festering
sores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do not know that her
master ever whipped her, but I have been an eye-witness to the cruelty
of Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Hamilton's house nearly every day.
Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a large chair in the middle of the room,
with a heavy cowskin always by her side, and scarce an hour passed
during the day but was marked by the blood of one of these slaves. The
girls seldom passed her without her saying, "Move faster, you _black
gip!_" at the same time giving them a blow with the cowskin over the
head or shoulders, often drawing the blood. She would then say, "Take
that, you _black gip!_" continuing, "If you don't move faster, I'll move
you!" Added to the cruel lashings to which these slaves were subjected,
they were kept nearly half-starved. They seldom knew what it was to eat
a full meal. I have seen Mary contending with the pigs for the offal
thrown into the street. So much was Mary kicked and cut to pieces, that
she was oftener called "_pecked_" than by her name.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Mrs. Sophia Auld was unlike any white person Douglass had met before because she had "the kindest heart and finest feelings." She had never owned a slave, and, prior to her marriage, she was an industrious weaver. But her personality soon changed. At first, Mrs. Auld taught Douglass how to read, but Mr. Auld admonished her and explained, "Learning would spoil the best nigger in the world . . . if you teach that nigger . . . how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave." Slaves in the cities were generally treated better than those on plantations. Douglass was better fed and clothed in Baltimore than he had ever been. There were also community standards regarding how slaves should be treated: "Few are willing to incur the odium attaching the reputation of being a cruel master. . . . Every city slave-holder is anxious to have it known of him, that he feeds his slaves well." Douglass, however, ends this chapter with one exception -- Mary, a slave in the neighborhood, is treated brutally by her master.