Chapter: In a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old master's
youngest son Richard died; and in about three years and six months after
his death, my old master, Captain Anthony, died, leaving only his son,
Andrew, and daughter, Lucretia, to share his estate. He died while on a
visit to see his daughter at Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly,
he left no will as to the disposal of his property. It was therefore
necessary to have a valuation of the property, that it might be equally
divided between Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was immediately sent
for, to be valued with the other property. Here again my feelings rose
up in detestation of slavery. I had now a new conception of my degraded
condition. Prior to this, I had become, if not insensible to my lot,
at least partly so. I left Baltimore with a young heart overborne with
sadness, and a soul full of apprehension. I took passage with Captain
Rowe, in the schooner Wild Cat, and, after a sail of about twenty-four
hours, I found myself near the place of my birth. I had now been absent
from it almost, if not quite, five years. I, however, remembered the
place very well. I was only about five years old when I left it, to go
and live with my old master on Colonel Lloyd's plantation; so that I was
now between ten and eleven years old.

We were all ranked together at the valuation. Men and women, old and
young, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep, and swine.
There were horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and children, all
holding the same rank in the scale of being, and were all subjected to
the same narrow examination. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth,
maids and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate inspection. At
this moment, I saw more clearly than ever the brutalizing effects of
slavery upon both slave and slaveholder.

After the valuation, then came the division. I have no language to
express the high excitement and deep anxiety which were felt among us
poor slaves during this time. Our fate for life was now to be decided.
we had no more voice in that decision than the brutes among whom we
were ranked. A single word from the white men was enough--against all our
wishes, prayers, and entreaties--to sunder forever the dearest friends,
dearest kindred, and strongest ties known to human beings. In addition
to the pain of separation, there was the horrid dread of falling into
the hands of Master Andrew. He was known to us all as being a most cruel
wretch,--a common drunkard, who had, by his reckless mismanagement and
profligate dissipation, already wasted a large portion of his father's
property. We all felt that we might as well be sold at once to the
Georgia traders, as to pass into his hands; for we knew that that would
be our inevitable condition,--a condition held by us all in the utmost
horror and dread.

I suffered more anxiety than most of my fellow-slaves. I had known what
it was to be kindly treated; they had known nothing of the kind. They
had seen little or nothing of the world. They were in very deed men and
women of sorrow, and acquainted with grief. Their backs had been made
familiar with the bloody lash, so that they had become callous; mine was
yet tender; for while at Baltimore I got few whippings, and few slaves
could boast of a kinder master and mistress than myself; and the thought
of passing out of their hands into those of Master Andrew--a man who, but
a few days before, to give me a sample of his bloody disposition, took
my little brother by the throat, threw him on the ground, and with the
heel of his boot stamped upon his head till the blood gushed from his
nose and ears--was well calculated to make me anxious as to my fate.
After he had committed this savage outrage upon my brother, he turned
to me, and said that was the way he meant to serve me one of these
days,--meaning, I suppose, when I came into his possession.

Thanks to a kind Providence, I fell to the portion of Mrs. Lucretia, and
was sent immediately back to Baltimore, to live again in the family
of Master Hugh. Their joy at my return equalled their sorrow at my
departure. It was a glad day to me. I had escaped a worse than lion's
jaws. I was absent from Baltimore, for the purpose of valuation and
division, just about one month, and it seemed to have been six.

Very soon after my return to Baltimore, my mistress, Lucretia, died,
leaving her husband and one child, Amanda; and in a very short time
after her death, Master Andrew died. Now all the property of my old
master, slaves included, was in the hands of strangers,--strangers who
had had nothing to do with accumulating it. Not a slave was left free.
All remained slaves, from the youngest to the oldest. If any one thing
in my experience, more than another, served to deepen my conviction
of the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with unutterable
loathing of slaveholders, it was their base ingratitude to my poor old
grandmother. She had served my old master faithfully from youth to old
age. She had been the source of all his wealth; she had peopled his
plantation with slaves; she had become a great grandmother in his
service. She had rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood,
served him through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the
cold death-sweat, and closed his eyes forever. She was nevertheless left
a slave--a slave for life--a slave in the hands of strangers; and in
their hands she saw her children, her grandchildren, and her
great-grandchildren, divided, like so many sheep, without being
gratified with the small privilege of a single word, as to their or
her own destiny. And, to cap the climax of their base ingratitude
and fiendish barbarity, my grandmother, who was now very old, having
outlived my old master and all his children, having seen the beginning
and end of all of them, and her present owners finding she was of but
little value, her frame already racked with the pains of old age, and
complete helplessness fast stealing over her once active limbs,
they took her to the woods, built her a little hut, put up a little
mud-chimney, and then made her welcome to the privilege of supporting
herself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtually turning her out to
die! If my poor old grandmother now lives, she lives to suffer in utter
loneliness; she lives to remember and mourn over the loss of children,
the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great-grandchildren. They
are, in the language of the slave's poet, Whittier,--


     "Gone, gone, sold and gone
     To the rice swamp dank and lone,
     Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
     Where the noisome insect stings,
     Where the fever-demon strews
     Poison with the falling dews,
     Where the sickly sunbeams glare
     Through the hot and misty air:&mdash;
     Gone, gone, sold and gone
     To the rice swamp dank and lone,
     From Virginia hills and waters&mdash;
     Woe is me, my stolen daughters!"

The hearth is desolate. The children, the unconscious children, who once
sang and danced in her presence, are gone. She gropes her way, in the
darkness of age, for a drink of water. Instead of the voices of her
children, she hears by day the moans of the dove, and by night the
screams of the hideous owl. All is gloom. The grave is at the door. And
now, when weighed down by the pains and aches of old age, when the head
inclines to the feet, when the beginning and ending of human existence
meet, and helpless infancy and painful old age combine together--at
this time, this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that
tenderness and affection which children only can exercise towards a
declining parent--my poor old grandmother, the devoted mother of twelve
children, is left all alone, in yonder little hut, before a few dim
embers. She stands--she sits--she staggers--she falls--she groans--she
dies--and there are none of her children or grandchildren present, to
wipe from her wrinkled brow the cold sweat of death, or to place beneath
the sod her fallen remains. Will not a righteous God visit for these
things?

In about two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas
married his second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton. She was the
eldest daughter of Mr. William Hamilton. Master now lived in St.
Michael's. Not long after his marriage, a misunderstanding took place
between himself and Master Hugh; and as a means of punishing his
brother, he took me from him to live with himself at St. Michael's. Here
I underwent another most painful separation. It, however, was not so
severe as the one I dreaded at the division of property; for, during
this interval, a great change had taken place in Master Hugh and his
once kind and affectionate wife. The influence of brandy upon him, and
of slavery upon her, had effected a disastrous change in the characters
of both; so that, as far as they were concerned, I thought I had little
to lose by the change. But it was not to them that I was attached. It
was to those little Baltimore boys that I felt the strongest attachment.
I had received many good lessons from them, and was still receiving
them, and the thought of leaving them was painful indeed. I was leaving,
too, without the hope of ever being allowed to return. Master Thomas had
said he would never let me return again. The barrier betwixt himself and
brother he considered impassable.

I then had to regret that I did not at least make the attempt to carry
out my resolution to run away; for the chances of success are tenfold
greater from the city than from the country.

I sailed from Baltimore for St. Michael's in the sloop Amanda, Captain
Edward Dodson. On my passage, I paid particular attention to the
direction which the steamboats took to go to Philadelphia. I found,
instead of going down, on reaching North Point they went up the bay,
in a north-easterly direction. I deemed this knowledge of the utmost
importance. My determination to run away was again revived. I resolved
to wait only so long as the offering of a favorable opportunity. When
that came, I was determined to be off.

 In a digression, Douglass tells us that about five years after he had been living in Baltimore, his old master, Captain Anthony, died, and Douglass was sent back to the plantation for a valuation so that all of the captain's property could be appraised and divided up among his relatives. "Men and women, old and young, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep, and swine" for the purpose of this evaluation. He was indeed nervous about his future, for it was possible that he would be sold to a crueler master or to a Georgia trader. Anthony had two children, Andrew and Lucretia , and Douglass was awarded to Lucretia, which meant that he would be returned to her relatives , the Aulds in Baltimore. This turn of events was fortunate for Douglass because during his short visit, Andrew demonstrated his cruelty by crushing the head of Douglass' brother. Soon after Douglass' return to Baltimore, both Lucretia and Andrew died, and all of the slaves were once again slated to be sold or given away. Douglass was particularly angry about how his grandmother, after years of service to Anthony, was left to die in an isolated hut in the woods. Lucretia's surviving husband, Master Thomas, now owned Douglass. A misunderstanding arose between Thomas and his brother Hugh Auld, and, as a spiteful gesture, Thomas took Douglass away from Hugh. Douglass was not entirely unhappy to leave Baltimore, for alcohol had changed Hugh's character, just as slavery had corrupted Sophia's.

