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Updated: June 13, 2025
For the first two days of this new 'kick-up, that 'fellow Freeland's' family undoubtedly tasted the sweets of successful mutiny. The fellow himself alone shook his head. He, like Nedda, had known nothing, and there was to him something unnatural and rather awful in this conduct toward dumb crops.
Their minds had been cramped and starved by their cruel masters; the light of education had been completely excluded; and their hard earnings had been taken to educate their master's children. I felt a delight in circumventing the tyrants, and in blessing the victims of their curses. The year at Mr. Freeland's passed off very smoothly, to outward seeming.
The reverend slaveholder could always find something of this sort, to justify him in using the lash several times during the week. But, to continue the thread of my story, through my experience when at Mr. William Freeland's. My poor, weather-beaten bark now reached smoother water, and gentler breezes. My stormy life at Covey's had been of service to me.
You'll like your Uncle Tod; as to the others, I can't say, but your aunt is an experience, and experiences are what you want, it seems." Fervently, without speech, Nedda squeezed his arm. Stanley Freeland's country house, Becket, was almost a show place.
Thus elevated, a little, at Freeland's, the dreams called into being by that good man, Father Lawson, when in Baltimore, began to visit me; and shoots from the tree of liberty began to put forth tender buds, and dim hopes of the future began to dawn. I found myself in congenial society, at Mr. Freeland's. There were Henry Harris, John Harris, Handy Caldwell, and Sandy Jenkins.
On reaching the house, for breakfast, and glancing my eye toward the lane gate, the worst was at once made known. The lane gate off Mr. Freeland's house, is nearly a half mile from the door, and shaded by the heavy wood which bordered the main road. I was, however, able to descry four white men, and two colored men, approaching.
The annals are filled with name after name of men who were killed by the Indians. Attack on Nashborough. On the 2d day of April another effort was made by a formidable war party to get possession of one of the two remaining stations Freeland's and Nashborough and thus, at a stroke, drive the whites from the Cumberland district. This time Nashborough was the point aimed at.
During this same period the settlers on the Cumberland were displaying a grim fortitude and stoical endurance in the face of Indian attack forever memorable in the history of the Old Southwest. On the night of January 15, 1781, the settlers at Freeland's Station, after a desperate resistance, succeeded in beating off the savages who attacked in force.
It is sometimes said that we slaves do not love and confide in each other. In answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved any or confided in any people more than my fellowslaves, and especially those with whom I lived at Mr. Freeland's. I believe we would have died for each other. We never undertook to do any thing, of any importance, without a mutual consultation.
It had been very secretly, very cleverly, managed; and, in the agent's opinion, was due to Mr. Freeland's family. He awaited Sir Gerald's instructions. Working double tides, with luck and good weather, the farmers and their families might perhaps save half of the hay. Malloring read this letter twice, and the enclosure three times, and crammed them deep down into his pocket.
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