for the purpose of tying him for a flogging. But Douglass escaped and
took to the woods, where he concealed himself for a day and a night.
His condition was desperate. He felt that he could not endure another
whipping, and yet there seemed to him no alternative. His first
impulse was to pray, but he remembered that Covey also prayed.
Convinced, at length, that there was no appeal but to his own courage,
he resolved to go back and face whatever must come to him. It so
happened that it was a Sunday morning and, much to his surprise, he met
Covey, who was on his way to church, and who, when he saw the runaway,
greeted him with a pleasant smile. "His religion," says Douglass,
"prevented him from breaking the Sabbath, but not from breaking my
bones on any other day of the week."

On Monday morning Douglass was up early, half hoping that he would be
permitted to resume his work without punishment. Covey was astir
betimes, too, and had laid aside his Sunday mildness of manner. His
first business was to carry out his fixed purpose of whipping the young
runaway. In the meantime Fred had likewise fully decided upon a course
of action. He was ready to submit to any kind of work, however hard or
unreasonable, but determined to defend himself against any attempt at
another flogging. In the cold passion that took possession of him, the
slave-boy became utterly reckless of consequences, reasoning to himself
that the limit of suffering at the hands of this relentless
slave-breaker had already been reached. He was resolved to fight and
did fight. He began his morning work in peace, obeying promptly every
order from his master, and while he was in the act of going up to the
stable-loft for the purpose of pitching down some hay, he was caught
and thrown by Covey, in an attempt to get a slip knot about his legs.
Douglass flew at Covey's throat recklessly, hurled his antagonist to
the ground, and held him firmly. Blood followed the nails of the