The rigors of a field, less tolerable than the field of battle, awaited me.

My new master was notorious for his fierce and savage disposition, and my only consolation in going to live{160} with him was, the certainty of finding him precisely as represented by common fame.

There was neither joy in my heart, nor elasticity in my step, as I started in search of the tyrant's home.

Starvation made me glad to leave Thomas Auld's, and the cruel lash made me dread to go to Covey's.

Escape was impossible; so, heavy and sad, I paced the seven miles, which separated Covey's house from St.
Michael's--thinking much by the solitary way--averse to my condition; but _thinking_ was all I could do.