Even after seven years, I vividly remember the tightness of the ropes, like a snake squeezing the life out of me. I could barely move, only struggle. “We were told you were in a… scrape, with Mr. Covey,” the sheriffs replied icily. I did have a fight with my old master, before my current master, Mr. Freeman. But Covey was more ruthless than others. The evil police wanted me punished for defending myself. I gave him a glare that would make a lion hesitate. He didn’t flinch, only stared back with the same look on his face. How did I even get to this scenario?
Well, I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Frederick Douglass, a former slave that lived on a plantation in a place filled with white men. I was treated more like an animal than a human with thoughts of their own. I am unsure of who my family is, so the only people I spent time with are my fellow slaves, working as hard as a beehive. When this whole situation strolled in, I was just simply at work, in the fields of green corn and white cotton.
I had always dreamed of being a free man, as any slave would. Back then, I was a teacher of sorts, educating the slaves the illegal act of basic reading. This influenced the others to follow me in my cause. Every night, we planned for the eventual escape of the students and I. One night, the night before the incident, we had came up with a risky plan. It was to imitate our Master’s handwriting allowing us freedom to the north. We planned to escape by the darkness of the moon and the cool water of the river nearby.