 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
IV.
THE SLAVE WHO DARED TO FEEL LIKE
A MAN.
Two years had passed since I entered Dr. Flint's
family, and those years had brought much of the
knowledge that comes from experience, though they
had afforded little opportunity for any other kinds of
knowledge.
My grandmother had, as much as possible, been a
mother to her orphan grandchildren. By perseverance
and unwearied industry, she was now mistress
of a snug little home, surrounded with the necessaries
of life. She would have been happy could her children
have shared them with her. There remained but
three children and two grandchildren, all slaves.
Most earnestly did she strive to make us feel that it
was the will of God: that He had seen fit to place us
under such circumstances; and though it seemed hard,
we ought to pray for contentment.
It was a beautiful faith, coming from a mother who
could not call her children her own. But I, and Benjamin,
her youngest boy, condemned it. We reasoned
that it was much more the will of God that we should
be situated as she was. We longed for a home like
hers. There we always found sweet balsam for our
troubles. She was so loving, so sympathizing! She
always met us with a smile, and listened with patience
to all our sorrows. She spoke so hopefully, that unconsciously
was a grand big oven there, too, that baked bread and
nice things for the town, and we knew there was always
a choice bit in store for us.
But, alas! even the charms of the old oven failed to
reconcile us to our hard lot. Benjamin was now a
tall, handsome lad, strongly and gracefully made, and
with a spirit too bold and daring for a slave. My
brother William, now twelve years old, had the same
aversion to the word master that he had when he was
an urchin of seven years. I was his confidant. He
came to me with all his troubles. I remember one
instance in particular. It was on a lovely spring
morning, and when I marked the sunlight dancing
here and there, its beauty seemed to mock my sadness.
For my master, whose restless, craving, vicious nature
roved about day and night, seeking whom to devour,
had just left me, with stinging, scorching words;
words that scathed ear and brain like fire. O, how I
despised him! I thought how glad I should be, if
some day when he walked the earth, it would open
and swallow him up, and disencumber the world of a
plague.
When he told me that I was made for his use, made
to obey his command in every thing; that I was nothing
but a slave, whose will must and should surrender
to his, never before had my puny arm felt half so
strong.
So deeply was I absorbed in painful reflections afterwards,
that I neither saw nor heard the entrance of
any one, till the voice of William sounded close beside
me. “Linda,” said he, “what makes you look so sad?
body seems so cross and unhappy. I wish I had died
when poor father did.”
I told him that every body was not cross, or unhappy;
that those who had pleasant homes, and kind
friends, and who were not afraid to love them, were
happy. But we, who were slave-children, without
father or mother, could not expect to be happy. We
must be good; perhaps that would bring us contentment.
“Yes,” he said, “I try to be good; but what's the
use? They are all the time troubling me.” Then he
proceeded to relate his afternoon's difficulty with
young master Nicholas. It seemed that the brother
of master Nicholas had pleased himself with making
up stories about William. Master Nicholas said he
should be flogged, and he would do it. Whereupon
he went to work; but William fought bravely, and the
young master, finding he was getting the better of him,
undertook to tie his hands behind him. He failed in
that likewise. By dint of kicking and fisting, William
came out of the skirmish none the worse for a few
scratches.
He continued to discourse on his young master's
meanness; how he whipped the little boys, but was a
perfect coward when a tussle ensued between him and
white boys of his own size. On such occasions he
always took to his legs. William had other charges to
make against him. One was his rubbing up pennies
with quicksilver, and passing them off for quarters of a
dollar on an old man who kept a fruit stall. William
was often sent to buy fruit, and he earnestly inquired
I told him it was certainly wrong to deceive the old
man, and that it was his duty to tell him of the impositions
practised by his young master. I assured him the
old man would not be slow to comprehend the whole,
and there the matter would end. William thought it
might with the old man, but not with him. He said
he did not mind the smart of the whip, but he did not
like the idea of being whipped.
While I advised him to be good and forgiving I was
not unconscious of the beam in my own eye. It was
the very knowledge of my own shortcomings that
urged me to retain, if possible, some sparks of my
brother's God-given nature. I had not lived fourteen
years in slavery for nothing. I had felt, seen, and
heard enough, to read the characters, and question the
motives, of those around me. The war of my life had
begun; and though one of God's most powerless creatures,
I resolved never to be conquered. Alas, for
me!
If there was one pure, sunny spot for me, I believed
it to be in Benjamin's heart, and in another's, whom I
loved with all the ardor of a girl's first love. My
owner knew of it, and sought in every way to render
me miserable. He did not resort to corporal punishment,
but to all the petty, tyrannical ways that human
ingenuity could devise.
I remember the first time I was punished. It was
in the month of February. My grandmother had
taken my old shoes, and replaced them with a new
pair. I needed them; for several inches of snow had
fallen, and it still continued to fall. When I walked
harshly on her refined nerves. She called me to her,
and asked what I had about me that made such a
horrid noise. I told her it was my new shoes. “Take
them off,” said she; “and if you put them on again,
I'll throw them into the fire.”
I took them off, and my stockings also. She then
sent me a long distance, on an errand. As I went
through the snow, my bare feet tingled. That night I
was very hoarse; and I went to bed thinking the next
day would find me sick, perhaps dead. What was
my grief on waking to find myself quite well!
I had imagined if I died, or was laid up for some
time, that my mistress would feel a twinge of remorse
that she had so hated “the little imp,” as she styled
me. It was my ignorance of that mistress that gave
rise to such extravagant imaginings.
Dr. Flint occasionally had high prices offered for
me; but he always said, “She don't belong to me. She
is my daughter's property, and I have no right to sell
her.” Good, honest man! My young mistress was
still a child, and I could look for no protection from
her. I loved her, and she returned my affection. I
once heard her father allude to her attachment to me;
and his wife promptly replied that it proceeded from
fear. This put unpleasant doubts into my mind. Did
the child feign what she did not feel? or was her
mother jealous of the mite of love she bestowed on
me? I concluded it must be the latter. I said to
myself, “Surely, little children are true.”
One afternoon I sat at my sewing, feeling unusual
depression of spirits. My mistress had been accusing
innocent; but I saw, by the contemptuous curl
of her lip, that she believed I was telling a lie.
I wondered for what wise purpose God was leading
me through such thorny paths, and whether still
darker days were in store for me. As I sat musing
thus, the door opened softly, and William came in.
“Well, brother,” said I, “what is the matter this
time?”
“O Linda, Ben and his master have had a dreadful
time!” said he.
My first thought was that Benjamin was killed.
“Don't be frightened, Linda,” said William; “I will
tell you all about it.”
It appeared that Benjamin's master had sent for
him, and he did not immediately obey the summons.
When he did, his master was angry, and began to
whip him. He resisted. Master and slave fought,
and finally the master was thrown. Benjamin had
cause to tremble; for he had thrown to the ground his
master — one of the richest men in town. I anxiously
awaited the result.
That night I stole to my grandmother's house, and
Benjamin also stole thither from his master's. My
grandmother had gone to spend a day or two with an
old friend living in the country.
“I have come,” said Benjamin, “to tell you good
by. I am going away.”
I inquired where.
“To the north,” he replied.
I looked at him to see whether he was in earnest. I
saw it all in his firm, set mouth. I implored him not
was no longer a boy, and every day made his yoke
more galling. He had raised his hand against his
master, and was to be publicly whipped for the offence.
I reminded him of the poverty and hardships he must
encounter among strangers. I told him he might be
caught and brought back; and that was terrible to
think of.
He grew vexed, and asked if poverty and hardships
with freedom, were not preferable to our treatment in
slavery. “Linda,” he continued, “we are dogs here;
foot-balls, cattle, every thing that's mean. No, I will
not stay. Let them bring me back. We don't die
but once.”
He was right; but it was hard to give him up.
“Go,” said I, “and break your mother's heart.”
I repented of my words ere they were out.
“Linda,” said he, speaking as I had not heard him
speak that evening, “how could you say that? Poor
mother! be kind to her, Linda; and you, too, cousin
Fanny.”
Cousin Fanny was a friend who had lived some
years with us.
Farewells were exchanged, and the bright, kind boy,
endeared to us by so many acts of love, vanished from
our sight.
It is not necessary to state how he made his escape.
Suffice it to say, he was on his way to New York when
a violent storm overtook the vessel. The captain said
he must put into the nearest port. This alarmed Benjamin,
who was aware that he would be advertised in
every port near his own town. His embarrassment was
the advertisement met the captain's eye. Benjamin so
exactly answered its description, that the captain laid
hold on him, and bound him in chains. The storm
passed, and they proceeded to New York. Before
reaching that port Benjamin managed to get off his
chains and throw them overboard. He escaped from
the vessel, but was pursued, captured, and carried back
to his master.
When my grandmother returned home and found
her youngest child had fled, great was her sorrow;
but, with characteristic piety, she said, “God's will be
done.” Each morning, she inquired if any news had
been heard from her boy. Yes, news was heard. The
master was rejoicing over a letter, announcing the capture
of his human chattel.
That day seems but as yesterday, so well do I remember
it. I saw him led through the streets in
chains, to jail. His face was ghastly pale, yet full of
determination. He had begged one of the sailors to
go to his mother's house and ask her not to meet him.
He said the sight of her distress would take from him
all self-control. She yearned to see him, and she went;
but she screened herself in the crowd, that it might be
as her child had said.
We were not allowed to visit him; but we had
known the jailer for years, and he was a kind-hearted
man. At midnight he opened the jail door for my
grandmother and myself to enter, in disguise. When
we entered the cell not a sound broke the stillness.
“Benjamin, Benjamin!” whispered my grandmother.
No answer. “Benjamin!” she again faltered. There
cast an uncertain light through the bars of the window.
We knelt down and took Benjamin's cold hands
in ours. We did not speak. Sobs were heard, and
Benjamin's lips were unsealed; for his mother was
weeping on his neck. How vividly does memory
bring back that sad night! Mother and son talked
together. He asked her pardon for the suffering he had
caused her. She said she had nothing to forgive; she
could not blame his desire for freedom. He told her that
when he was captured, he broke away, and was about
casting himself into the river, when thoughts of her
came over him, and he desisted. She asked if he did
not also think of God. I fancied I saw his face grow
fierce in the moonlight. He answered, “No, I did not
think of him. When a man is hunted like a wild
beast he forgets there is a God, a heaven. He forgets
every thing in his struggle to get beyond the reach of
the bloodhounds.”
“Don't talk so, Benjamin,” said she. “Put your
trust in God. Be humble, my child, and your master
will forgive you.”
“Forgive me for what, mother? For not letting
him treat me like a dog? No! I will never humble
myself to him. I have worked for him for nothing
all my life, and I am repaid with stripes and imprisonment.
Here I will stay till I die, or till he sells me.”
The poor mother shuddered at his words. I think
he felt it; for when he next spoke, his voice was
calmer. “Don't fret about me, mother. I ain't worth
it,” said he. “I wish I had some of your goodness.
You bear every thing patiently, just as though you
thought it was all right. I wish I could.”
She told him she had not always been so; once, she
was like him; but when sore troubles came upon her,
and she had no arm to lean upon, she learned to call
on God, and he lightened her burdens. She besought
him to do likewise.
We overstaid our time, and were obliged to hurry
from the jail.
Benjamin had been imprisoned three weeks, when
my grandmother went to intercede for him with his
master. He was immovable. He said Benjamin should
serve as an example to the rest of his slaves; he should
be kept in jail till he was subdued, or be sold if he
got but one dollar for him. However, he afterwards
relented in some degree. The chains were taken off,
and we were allowed to visit him.
As his food was of the coarsest kind, we carried
him as often as possible a warm supper, accompanied
with some little luxury for the jailer.
Three months elapsed, and there was no prospect of
release or of a purchaser. One day he was heard to
sing and laugh. This piece of indecorum was told to
his master, and the overseer was ordered to re-chain
him. He was now confined in an apartment with
other prisoners, who were covered with filthy rags.
Benjamin was chained near them, and was soon covered
with vermin. He worked at his chains till he succeeded
in getting out of them. He passed them through
the bars of the window, with a request that they
should be taken to his master, and he should be informed
that he was covered with vermin.
This audacity was punished with heavier chains, and
prohibition of our visits.
My grandmother continued to send him fresh
changes of clothes. The old ones were burned up.
The last night we saw him in jail his mother still
begged him to send for his master, and beg his pardon.
Neither persuasion nor argument could turn hin from
his purpose. He calmly answered, “I am waiting his
time.”
Those chains were mournful to hear.
Another three months passed, and Benjamin left his
prison walls. We that loved him waited to bid him a
long and last farewell. A slave trader had bought
him. You remember, I told you what price he
brought when ten years of age. Now he was more
than twenty years old, and sold for three hundred dollars.
The master had been blind to his own interest.
Long confinement had made his face too pale, his
form too thin; moreover, the trader had heard something
of his character, and it did not strike him as
suitable for a slave. He said he would give any price
if the handsome lad was a girl. We thanked God
that he was not.
Could you have seen that mother clinging to her
child, when they fastened the irons upon his wrists;
could you have heard her heart-rending groans, and
seen her bloodshot eyes wander wildly from face to
face, vainly pleading for mercy; could you have witnessed
that scene as I saw it, you would exclaim,
Slavery is damnable!
Benjamin, her youngest, her pet, was forever gone!
She could not realize it. She had had an interview
with the trader for the purpose of ascertaining if
Benjamin could be purchased. She was told it was
he was out of the state. He promised that he would
not sell him till he reached New Orleans.
With a strong arm and unvaried trust, my grandmother
began her work of love. Benjamin must be free.
If she succeeded, she knew they would still be separated;
but the sacrifice was not too great. Day and
night she labored. The trader's price would treble
that he gave; but she was not discouraged.
She employed a lawyer to write to a gentleman,
whom she knew, in New Orleans. She begged him to
interest himself for Benjamin, and he willingly favored
her request. When he saw Benjamin, and stated his
business, he thanked him; but said he preferred to
wait a while before making the trader an offer. He
knew he had tried to obtain a high price for him, and
had invariably failed. This encouraged him to make
another effort for freedom. So one morning, long before
day, Benjamin was missing. He was riding over
the blue billows, bound for Baltimore.
For once his white face did him a kindly service.
They had no suspicion that it belonged to a slave;
otherwise, the law would have been followed out to
the letter, and the thing rendered back to slavery.
The brightest skies are often overshadowed by the darkest
clouds. Benjamin was taken sick, and compelled
to remain in Baltimore three weeks. His strength
was slow in returning; and his desire to continue his
journey seemed to retard his recovery. How could he
get strength without air and exercise? He resolved
to venture on a short walk. A by-street was selected,
where he thought himself secure of not being met by
“Halloo, Ben, my boy! what are you doing here?”
His first impulse was to run; but his legs trembled
so that he could not stir. He turned to confront his
antagonist, and behold, there stood his old master's
next door neighbor! He thought it was all over with
him now; but it proved otherwise. That man was a
miracle. He possessed a goodly number of slaves,
and yet was not quite deaf to that mystic clock, whose
ticking is rarely heard in the slaveholder's breast.
“Ben, you are sick,” said he. “Why, you look like
a ghost. I guess I gave you something of a start.
Never mind, Ben, I am not going to touch you. You
had a pretty tough time of it, and you may go on
your way rejoicing for all me. But I would advise
you to get out of this place plaguy quick, for there
are several gentlemen here from our town.” He described
the nearest and safest route to New York, and
added, “I shall be glad to tell your mother I have
seen you. Good by, Ben.”
Benjamin turned away, filled with gratitude, and
surprised that the town he hated contained such a
gem — a gem worthy of a purer setting.
This gentleman was a Northerner by birth, and had
married a southern lady. On his return, he told my
grandmother that he had seen her son, and of the service
he had rendered him.
Benjamin reached New York safely, and concluded
to stop there until he had gained strength enough to
proceed further. It happened that my grandmother's
only remaining son had sailed for the same city on
business for his mistress. Through God's providence,
meeting. “O Phil,” exclaimed Benjamin, “I am here
at last.” Then he told him how near he came to
dying, almost in sight of free land, and how he prayed
that he might live to get one breath of free air. He
said life was worth something now, and it would
be hard to die. In the old jail he had not valued it;
once, he was tempted to destroy it; but something,
he did not know what, had prevented him; perhaps it
was fear. He had heard those who profess to be religious
declare there was no heaven for self-murderers;
and as his life had been pretty hot here, he did not desire
a continuation of the same in another world. “If
I die now,” he exclaimed, “thank God, I shall die a
freeman!”
He begged my uncle Phillip not to return south; but
stay and work with him, till they earned enough to
buy those at home. His brother told him it would
kill their mother if he deserted her in her trouble.
She had pledged her house, and with difficulty had
raised money to buy him. Would he be bought?
“No, never!” he replied. “Do you suppose, Phil,
when I have got so far out of their clutches, I will
give them one red cent? No! And do you suppose
I would turn mother out of her home in her old age?
That I would let her pay all those hard-earned dollars
for me, and never to see me? For you know she will
stay south as long as her other children are slaves.
What a good mother! Tell her to buy you, Phil. You
have been a comfort to her, and I have been a trouble.
And Linda, poor Linda; what'll become of her? Phil,
you don't know what a life they lead her. She has told
or a better man. When I was in jail, he asked her if
she didn't want him to ask my master to forgive me,
and take me home again. She told him, No; that
I didn't want to go back. He got mad, and said we
were all alike. I never despised my own master half
as much as I do that man. There is many a worse
slaveholder than my master; but for all that I would
not be his slave.”
While Benjamin was sick, he had parted with nearly
all his clothes to pay necessary expenses. But he did
not part with a little pin I fastened in his bosom when
we parted. It was the most valuable thing I owned,
and I thought none more worthy to wear it. He
had it still.
His brother furnished him with clothes, and gave
him what money he had.
They parted with moistened eyes; and as Benjamin
turned away, he said, “Phil, I part with all my kindred.”
And so it proved. We never heard from him
again.
Uncle Phillip came home; and the first words he
uttered when he entered the house were, “Mother,
Ben is free! I have seen him in New York.” She
stood looking at him with a bewildered air. “Mother,
don't you believe it?” he said, laying his hand softly
upon her shoulder. She raised her hands, and exclaimed,
“God be praised! Let us thank him.” She
dropped on her knees, and poured forth her heart in
prayer. Then Phillip must sit down and repeat to her
every word Benjamin had said. He told her all; only
he forbore to mention how sick and pale her darling
do him no good?
The brave old woman still toiled on, hoping to rescue
some of her other children. After a while she
succeeded in buying Phillip. She paid eight hundred
dollars, and came home with the precious document
that secured his freedom. The happy mother and son
sat together by the old hearthstone that night, telling
how proud they were of each other, and how they
would prove to the world that they could take care of
themselves, as they had long taken care of others. We
all concluded by saying, “He that is willing to be a
slave, let him be a slave.”
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |