It was crisp January morning. With the beginning of the New Year, I was transferred to Mr.Covey's plantation. He made us work from dawn to dusk, with scarcely a brake.
For the first half of my service to Mr.Covey, a week hardly passed, without getting whipped. He was a cruel man, with a heart as cold as the ground we slept on.
One might joke that covey was a snake, but he truly was in the way he spied. He would hide in our fields to make sure none of us would ever stop working, and be there to punish us if we did.
No day too long nor brake to short. Mr.Covey was relentless in making us work. Our chains mocked us as we lost our blood, sweat, and tears.
His relentless punishment had finally made me conform. The sweet honey of freedom became clouded by the burning tar of slavery, as Covey dashed my hopes of ever being free.
I had grown tired of his mistreatment, I had decided. I shall run away. His cruelness was unprecedented and I was weary of his mistreatment. He stooped lowest when he whipped me just because illness had befallen me.