There was no
deceiving him. He knew just what a man or boy could do, and he
held both to strict account. When he pleased, he would work
himself, like a very Turk, making everything fly before him. It
was, however, scarcely necessary for Mr. Covey to be really
present in the field, to have his work go on industriously. He
had the faculty of making us feel that he was always present. By
a series of adroitly managed surprises, which he practiced, I was
prepared to expect him at any moment. His plan was, never to
approach the spot where his hands were at work, in an open, manly
and direct manner. No thief was ever more artful in his devices
than this man Covey. He would creep and crawl, in ditches and
gullies; hide behind stumps and bushes, and practice so much of
the cunning of the serpent, that Bill Smith and I--between
ourselves--never called him by any other name than _"the snake."_
We fancied that in his eyes and his gait we could see a snakish
resemblance. One half of his proficiency in the art of Negro
breaking, consisted, I should think, in this species of cunning.
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