Covey was lying in wait for him, knowing full well that he must return
as defenseless as he went away. As soon as Douglass came near the
place where the white man was hiding, the latter made a leap at Fred
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.
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