Covey rose, yawned and stretched himself. Tomorrow he would talk to Fred about that figuring. It was still the Sabbath.
There was nothing subtle about Covey the next day. He was clumsy, disagreeable and domineering. Frederick suspected that he was being tricked. But there was no turning back. He said, “Yes, sir, I can chalk up the bales.”
So he marked and counted each load of cotton, noted the weighing of the wheat and oats, set down many figures. And Covey took his “chalk man” to town with him. It got about among the white folks that the “Auld boy” could read and write. The white masters heard other whisperings too—vague, amusing “nigger talk.” But it was disturbing. Couldn’t be too careful these days. There had been that Nat Turner! And a cold breath lifted the hair on the backs of their necks.
Frederick’s term of service with Edward Covey expired on Christmas day, 1834. The slave-breaker took him back to Captain Auld. The boy was in good shape, but Captain Auld regarded both of them sourly. The talk had reached his ears, and he had been warned that he had better get rid of this slave. “One bad sheep will spoil a whole flock,” they said. Captain Auld dared not ignore the advice of his powerful neighbors. His slave holdings were small compared to theirs. Yet he did not want to sell a buck not yet grown to his full value. Therefore he arranged to hire the boy out to easy-going Mr. William Freeland, who lived on a fine old farm about four miles from St. Michaels.
Covey covered the dirt road back to his place at a savage pace. He was in a mean mood. That night he flogged a half-wit slave until the black fainted. Then he stomped into the house and, fully dressed, flung himself across the bed. Lucy didn’t dare touch him and Caroline wouldn’t.
Frederick’s return to the Auld plantation was an event among the slaves. Little boys regarded him with round eyes; the old folks talked of his grandmother. There were those who claimed to have known his mother; others now recalled that they had fed from the same trough, under the watchful eye of “Aunt Katy.” He had returned during “the Christmas” so they could wine and dine him. He saw the looks on their faces, felt the warm glow. For the first time he saw a girl smiling at him. Life was good.
Early on the morning of January 1 he set out from St. Michaels for the Freeland plantation. He had been given a fresh allotment of clothes—a pair of trousers, a thin coarse jacket, and even a pair of heavy shoes. Captain Auld did not intend his slave to show up before “quality” in a state which would reflect shame on his owner. Though not rich, the Freelands were one of the first families of Maryland.
Life would be easier for him now, Frederick knew. But, as he walked along the road that morning, he was not hastening toward the greener grass and spreading shade trees on Mr. Freeland’s place. He was whistling, but not because he would sleep on a cot instead of on the floor, nor because his food would be better and ampler. He might even wear a shirt. But that wasn’t it. Two strong, brown legs were carrying his body to the Freeland plantation, but Frederick was speeding far ahead.
He carried his shoes in his hand. Might need those good, strong shoes! They’d take him over sharp rocks and stubby, thorn-covered fields and through swamplands. Rub them with pepper and they leave no scent! He kicked the sand up with his bare feet. It felt good. He stamped down hard, leaving his footprints in the damp earth.
He met an old man driving a mule.