 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
VI.
THE JEALOUS MISTRESS.
I would ten thousand times rather that my children
should be the half-starved paupers of Ireland than to
be the most pampered among the slaves of America.
I would rather drudge out my life on a cotton plantation,
till the grave opened to give me rest, than to live
with an unprincipled master and a jealous mistress.
The felon's home in a penitentiary is preferable. He
may repent, and turn from the error of his ways, and
so find peace; but it is not so with a favorite slave.
She is not allowed to have any pride of character. It
is deemed a crime in her to wish to be virtuous.
Mrs. Flint possessed the key to her husband's character
before I was born. She might have used this
knowledge to counsel and to screen the young and the
innocent among her slaves; but for them she had no
sympathy. They were the objects of her constant suspicion
and malevolence. She watched her husband
with unceasing vigilance; but he was well practised in
means to evade it. What he could not find opportunity
to say in words he manifested in signs. He invented
more than were ever thought of in a deaf and
dumb asylum. I let them pass, as if I did not understand
what he meant; and many were the curses and
threats bestowed on me for my stupidity. One day he
caught me teaching myself to write. He frowned, as
if he was not well pleased; but I suppose he came to
help to advance his favorite scheme. Before long,
notes were often slipped into my hand. I would return
them, saying, “I can't read them, sir.” “Can't
you?” he replied; “then I must read them to you.”
He always finished the reading by asking, “Do you
understand?” Sometimes he would complain of the
heat of the tea room, and order his supper to be placed
on a small table in the piazza. He would seat himself
there with a well-satisfied smile, and tell me to stand
by and brush away the flies. He would eat very
slowly, pausing between the mouthfuls. These intervals
were employed in describing the happiness I was
so foolishly throwing away, and in threatening me
with the penalty that finally awaited my stubborn disobedience.
He boasted much of the forbearance he
had exercised towards me, and reminded me that there
was a limit to his patience. When I succeeded in
avoiding opportunities for him to talk to me at home,
I was ordered to come to his office, to do some errand.
When there, I was obliged to stand and listen to such
language as he saw fit to address to me. Sometimes
I so openly expressed my contempt for him that he
would become violently enraged, and I wondered why
he did not strike me. Circumstanced as he was, he
probably thought it was better policy to be forbearing.
But the state of things grew worse and worse daily.
In desperation I told him that I must and would apply
to my grandmother for protection. He threatened me
with death, and worse than death, if I made any complaint
to her. Strange to say, I did not despair. I
was naturally of a buoyant disposition, and always I
Like many a poor, simple slave before me, I trusted
that some threads of joy would yet be woven into my
dark destiny.
I had entered my sixteenth year, and every day it
became more apparent that my presence was intolerable
to Mrs. Flint. Angry words frequently passed
between her and her husband. He had never punished
me himself, and he would not allow any body else to
punish me. In that respect, she was never satisfied;
but, in her angry moods, no terms were too vile for her
to bestow upon me. Yet I, whom she detested so
bitterly, had far more pity for her than he had, whose
duty it was to make her life happy. I never wronged
her, or wished to wrong her; and one word of kindness
from her would have brought me to her feet.
After repeated quarrels between the doctor and his
wife, he announced his intention to take his youngest
daughter, then four years old, to sleep in his apartment.
It was necessary that a servant should sleep in
the same room, to be on hand if the child stirred. I
was selected for that office, and informed for what
purpose that arrangement had been made. By managing
to keep within sight of people, as much as possible,
during the day time, I had hitherto succeeded in
eluding my master, though a razor was often held to
my throat to force me to change this line of policy.
At night I slept by the side of my great aunt, where I
felt safe. He was too prudent to come into her room.
She was an old woman, and had been in the family
many years. Moreover, as a married man, and a professional
man, he deemed it necessary to save appearances
obstacle in the way of his scheme; and he thought he
had planned it so that he should evade suspicion. He
was well aware how much I prized my refuge by the
side of my old aunt, and he determined to dispossess
me of it. The first night the doctor had the little
child in his room alone. The next morning, I was
ordered to take my station as nurse the following
night. A kind Providence interposed in my favor.
During the day Mrs. Flint heard of this new arrangement,
and a storm followed. I rejoiced to hear it
rage.
After a while my mistress sent for me to come to
her room. Her first question was, “Did you know
you were to sleep in the doctor's room?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Who told you?”
“My master.”
“Will you answer truly all the questions I ask?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Tell me, then, as you hope to be forgiven, are you
innocent of what I have accused you?”
“I am.”
She handed me a Bible, and said, “Lay your hand
on your heart, kiss this holy book, and swear before
God that you tell me the truth.”
I took the oath she required, and I did it with a
clear conscience.
“You have taken God's holy word to testify your
innocence,” said she. “If you have deceived me, beware!
Now take this stool, sit down, look me directly
in the face, and tell me all that has passed between
your master and you.”
I did as she ordered. As I went on with my account
her color changed frequently, she wept, and
sometimes groaned. She spoke in tones so sad, that I
was touched by her grief. The tears came to my
eyes; but I was soon convinced that her emotions
arose from anger and wounded pride. She felt that
her marriage vows were desecrated, her dignity insulted;
but she had no compassion for the poor victim
of her husband's perfidy. She pitied herself as
a martyr; but she was incapable of feeling for the
condition of shame and misery in which her unfortunate,
helpless slave was placed.
Yet perhaps she had some touch of feeling for me;
for when the conference was ended, she spoke kindly,
and promised to protect me. I should have been
much comforted by this assurance if I could have had
confidence in it; but my experiences in slavery had
filled me with distrust. She was not a very refined
woman, and had not much control over her passions.
I was an object of her jealousy, and, consequently, of
her hatred; and I knew I could not expect kindness
or confidence from her under the circumstances in
which I was placed. I could not blame her. Slaveholders'
wives feel as other women would under similar
circumstances. The fire of her temper kindled
from small sparks, and now the flame became so intense
that the doctor was obliged to give up his
intended arrangement.
I knew I had ignited the torch, and I expected to
suffer for it afterwards; but I felt too thankful to my
mistress for the timely aid she rendered me to care
much about that. She now took me to sleep in a
her especial care, though not of her especial comfort,
for she spent many a sleepless night to watch over
me. Sometimes I woke up, and found her bending
over me. At other times she whispered in my ear, as
though it was her husband who was speaking to me,
and listened to hear what I would answer. If she
startled me, on such occasions, she would glide stealthily
away; and the next morning she would tell me I
had been talking in my sleep, and ask who I was talking
to. At last, I began to be fearful for my life. It
had been often threatened; and you can imagine, better
than I can describe, what an unpleasant sensation
it must produce to wake up in the dead of night and
find a jealous woman bending over you. Terrible as
this experience was, I had fears that it would give
place to one more terrible.
My mistress grew weary of her vigils; they did not
prove satisfactory. She changed her tactics. She
now tried the trick of accusing my master of crime,
in my presence, and gave my name as the author of
the accusation. To my utter astonishment, he replied,
“I don't believe it; but if she did acknowledge it, you
tortured her into exposing me.” Tortured into exposing
him! Truly, Satan had no difficulty in distinguishing
the color of his soul! I understood his
object in making this false representation. It was to
show me that I gained nothing by seeking the protection
of my mistress; that the power was still all in his
own hands. I pitied Mrs. Flint. She was a second
wife, many years the junior of her husband; and the
hoary-headed miscreant was enough to try the patience
foiled, and knew not how to proceed. She would
gladly have had me flogged for my supposed false
oath; but, as I have already stated, the doctor never
allowed any one to whip me. The old sinner was
politic. The application of the lash might have led to
remarks that would have exposed him in the eyes of
his children and grandchildren. How often did I rejoice
that I lived in a town where all the inhabitants
knew each other! If I had been on a remote plantation,
or lost among the multitude of a crowded city, I
should not be a living woman at this day.
The secrets of slavery are concealed like those of
the Inquisition. My master was, to my knowledge,
the father of eleven slaves. But did the mothers dare
to tell who was the father of their children? Did the
other slaves dare to allude to it, except in whispers
among themselves? No, indeed! They knew too
well the terrible consequences.
My grandmother could not avoid seeing things
which excited her suspicions. She was uneasy about
me, and tried various ways to buy me; but the never-changing
answer was always repeated: “Linda does
not belong to me. She is my daughter's property, and
I have no legal right to sell her.” The conscientious
man! He was too scrupulous to sell me; but he had
no scruples whatever about committing a much greater
wrong against the helpless young girl placed under his
guardianship, as his daughter's property. Sometimes
my persecutor would ask me whether I would like to
be sold. I told him I would rather be sold to any
body than to lead such a life as I did. On such occasions
individual, and reproach me for my ingratitude.
“Did I not take you into the house, and make you
the companion of my own children?” he would say.
“Have I ever treated you like a negro? I have never
allowed you to be punished, not even to please your
mistress. And this is the recompense I get, you ungrateful
girl!” I answered that he had reasons of his
own for screening me from punishment, and that the
course he pursued made my mistress hate me and persecute
me. If I wept, he would say, “Poor child!
Don't cry! don't cry! I will make peace for you with
your mistress. Only let me arrange matters in my
own way. Poor, foolish girl! you don't know what is
for your own good. I would cherish you. I would
make a lady of you. Now go, and think of all I have
promised you.”
I did think of it.
Reader, I draw no imaginary pictures of southern
homes. I am telling you the plain truth. Yet when
victims make their escape from this wild beast of
Slavery, northerners consent to act the part of bloodhounds,
and hunt the poor fugitive back into his den,
“full of dead men's bones, and all uncleanness.”
Nay, more, they are not only willing, but proud, to
give their daughters in marriage to slaveholders. The
poor girls have romantic notions of a sunny clime, and
of the flowering vines that all the year round shade a
happy home. To what disappointments are they destined!
The young wife soon learns that the husband
in whose hands she has placed her happiness pays no
regard to his marriage vows. Children of every shade
well she knows that they are born unto him of his own
household. Jealousy and hatred enter the flowery
home, and it is ravaged of its loveliness.
Southern women often marry a man knowing that
he is the father of many little slaves. They do not
trouble themselves about it. They regard such children
as property, as marketable as the pigs on the
plantation; and it is seldom that they do not make
them aware of this by passing them into the slave-trader's
hands as soon as possible, and thus getting
them out of their sight. I am glad to say there are
some honorable exceptions.
I have myself known two southern wives who exhorted
their husbands to free those slaves towards
whom they stood in a “parental relation;” and their
request was granted. These husbands blushed before
the superior nobleness of their wives' natures. Though
they had only counselled them to do that which it was
their duty to do, it commanded their respect, and rendered
their conduct more exemplary. Concealment
was at an end, and confidence took the place of distrust.
Though this bad institution deadens the moral sense,
even in white women, to a fearful extent, it is not altogether
extinct. I have heard southern ladies say of
Mr. Such a one, “He not only thinks it no disgrace
to be the father of those little niggers, but he is not
ashamed to call himself their master. I declare, such
things ought not to be tolerated in any decent society!”
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |