Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken in body, soul
and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed; my intellect
languished; the disposition to read departed; the cheerful spark
that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed
in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!
Sunday was my only leisure time. I spent this in a sort of
beast-like stupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree.
At times, I would rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would
dart through my soul, accompanied with a faint beam of hope,
flickered for a moment, and then vanished. I sank down again,
mourning over my wretched condition. I was sometimes prompted to
take my life, and that of Covey, but was prevented by a
combination of hope and fear. My sufferings on this plantation
seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality.
Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake bay, whose
broad bosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the
habitable globe. Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white,
so delightful to the eye of freemen, were to me so many shrouded
ghosts, to terrify and torment me with thoughts of my wretched
condition.
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