Covey said, "Take hold of him, take hold of him!" Bill said his
master hired him out to work, and not to help to whip me; so he left
Covey and myself to fight our own battle out. We were at it for nearly
two hours. Covey at length let me go, puffing and blowing at a great
rate, saying that if I had not resisted, he would not have whipped
me half so much. The truth was, that he had not whipped me at all. I
considered him as getting entirely the worst end of the bargain; for
he had drawn no blood from me, but I had from him. The whole six months
afterwards, that I spent with Mr. Covey, he never laid the weight of his
finger upon me in anger. He would occasionally say, he didn't want to
get hold of me again. "No," thought I, "you need not; for you will come
off worse than you did before."
This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a slave.
It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived within me
a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed self-confidence,
and inspired me again with a determination to be free. The gratification
afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for whatever else might
follow, even death itself. He only can understand the deep satisfaction
which I experienced, who has himself repelled by force the bloody arm of
slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was a glorious resurrection,
from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushed
spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took its place; and I now
resolved that, however long I might remain a slave in form, the day had
passed forever when I could be a slave in fact.
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