 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
XVI.
SCENES AT THE PLANTATION.
Early the next morning I left my grandmother's
with my youngest child. My boy was ill, and I left
him behind. I had many sad thoughts as the old
wagon jolted on. Hitherto, I had suffered alone; now,
my little one was to be treated as a slave. As we
drew near the great house, I thought of the time when
I was formerly sent there out of revenge. I wondered
for what purpose I was now sent. I could not tell. I
resolved to obey orders so far as duty required; but
within myself, I determined to make my stay as short
as possible. Mr. Flint was waiting to receive us, and
told me to follow him up stairs to receive orders for
the day. My little Ellen was left below in the kitchen.
It was a change for her, who had always been so carefully
tended. My young master said she might amuse
herself in the yard. This was kind of him, since the
child was hateful to his sight. My task was to fit up
the house for the reception of the bride. In the midst
of sheets, tablecloths, towels, drapery, and carpeting,
my head was as busy planning, as were my fingers
with the needle. At noon I was allowed to go to
Ellen. She had sobbed herself to sleep. I heard
Mr. Flint say to a neighbor, “I've got her down here,
and I'll soon take the town notions out of her head.
My father is partly to blame for her nonsense. He
ought to have broke her in long ago.” The remark
quite as manly to have made it to my face. He had
said things to my face which might, or might not,
have surprised his neighbor if he had known of them.
He was “a chip of the old block.”
I resolved to give him no cause to accuse me of
being too much of a lady, so far as work was concerned.
I worked day and night, with wretchedness
before me. When I lay down beside my child, I felt
how much easier it would be to see her die than
to see her master beat her about, as I daily saw him
beat other little ones. The spirit of the mothers
was so crushed by the lash, that they stood by,
without courage to remonstrate. How much more
must I suffer, before I should be “broke in” to
that degree?
I wished to appear as contented as possible. Sometimes
I had an opportunity to send a few lines home;
and this brought up recollections that made it difficult,
for a time, to seem calm and indifferent to my lot. Notwithstanding
my efforts, I saw that Mr. Flint regarded
me with a suspicious eye. Ellen broke down under
the trials of her new life. Separated from me, with no
one to look after her, she wandered about, and in a
few days cried herself sick. One day, she sat under
the window where I was at work, crying that weary
cry which makes a mother's heart bleed. I was obliged
to steel myself to bear it. After a while it ceased. I
looked out, and she was gone. As it was near noon,
I ventured to go down in search of her. The great
house was raised two feet above the ground. I looked
under it, and saw her about midway, fast asleep. I
arms, I thought how well it would be for her if she
never waked up; and I uttered my thought aloud. I
was startled to hear some one say, “Did you speak to
me?” I looked up, and saw Mr. Flint standing beside
me. He said nothing further, but turned, frowning,
away. That night he sent Ellen a biscuit and a
cup of sweetened milk. This generosity surprised me.
I learned afterwards, that in the afternoon he had
killed a large snake, which crept from under the
house; and I supposed that incident had prompted his
unusual kindness.
The next morning the old cart was loaded with
shingles for town. I put Ellen into it, and sent her to
her grandmother. Mr. Flint said I ought to have
asked his permission. I told him the child was sick,
and required attention which I had no time to give.
He let it pass; for he was aware that I had accomplished
much work in a little time.
I had been three weeks on the plantation, when I
planned a visit home. It must be at night, after every
body was in bed. I was six miles from town, and the
road was very dreary. I was to go with a young man,
who, I knew, often stole to town to see his mother. One
night, when all was quiet, we started. Fear gave speed
to our steps, and we were not long in performing the
journey. I arrived at my grandmother's. Her bed
room was on the first floor, and the window was open,
the weather being warm. I spoke to her and she awoke.
She let me in and closed the window, lest some late
passer-by should see me. A light was brought, and
the whole household gathered round me, some smiling
thanked God for their happy sleep. The tears fell as
I leaned over them. As I moved to leave, Benny
stirred. I turned back, and whispered, “Mother is
here.” After digging at his eyes with his little fist,
they opened, and he sat up in bed, looking at me
curiously. Having satisfied himself that it was I, he
exclaimed, “O mother! you ain't dead, are you?
They didn't cut off your head at the plantation, did
they?”
My time was up too soon, and my guide was waiting
for me. I laid Benny back in his bed, and dried his
tears by a promise to come again soon. Rapidly we
retraced our steps back to the plantation. About half
way we were met by a company of four patrols. Luckily
we heard their horse's hoofs before they came in sight,
and we had time to hide behind a large tree. They
passed, hallooing and shouting in a manner that indicated
a recent carousal. How thankful we were
that they had not their dogs with them! We hastened
our footsteps, and when we arrived on the plantation
we heard the sound of the hand-mill. The slaves were
grinding their corn. We were safely in the house before
the horn summoned them to their labor. I divided
my little parcel of food with my guide, knowing that
he had lost the chance of grinding his corn, and must
toil all day in the field.
Mr. Flint often took an inspection of the house, to
see that no one was idle. The entire management of
the work was trusted to me, because he knew nothing
about it; and rather than hire a superintendent he
contented himself with my arrangements. He had
at the plantation to take charge of his affairs, and
make clothes for the slaves; but the old man knew
him too well to consent to that arrangement.
When I had been working a month at the plantation,
the great aunt of Mr. Flint came to make him a visit.
This was the good old lady who paid fifty dollars for
my grandmother, for the purpose of making her free,
when she stood on the auction block. My grandmother
loved this old lady, whom we all called Miss
Fanny. She often came to take tea with us. On such
occasions the table was spread with a snow-white cloth,
and the china cups and silver spoons were taken from
the old-fashioned buffet. There were hot muffins, tea
rusks, and delicious sweetmeats. My grandmother
kept two cows, and the fresh cream was Miss Fanny's
delight. She invariably declared that it was the best
in town. The old ladies had cosey times together. They
would work and chat, and sometimes, while talking
over old times, their spectacles would get dim with
tears, and would have to be taken off and wiped.
When Miss Fanny bade us good by, her bag was filled
with grandmother's best cakes, and she was urged to
come again soon.
There had been a time when Dr. Flint's wife came
to take tea with us, and when her children were also
sent to have a feast of “Aunt Marthy's” nice cooking.
But after I became an object of her jealousy and spite,
she was angry with grandmother for giving a shelter
to me and my children. She would not even speak to
her in the street. This wounded my grandmother's
feelings, for she could not retain ill will against the
babe. The doctor's wife would gladly have prevented
our intercourse with Miss Fanny if she could have
done it, but fortunately she was not dependent on the
bounty of the Flints. She had enough to be independent;
and that is more than can ever be gained
from charity, however lavish it may be.
Miss Fanny was endeared to me by many recollections,
and I was rejoiced to see her at the plantation.
The warmth of her large, loyal heart made the house
seem pleasanter while she was in it. She staid a week,
and I had many talks with her. She said her principal
object in coming was to see how I was treated,
and whether any thing could be done for me. She inquired
whether she could help me in any way. I told
her I believed not. She condoled with me in her own
peculiar way; saying she wished that I and all my
grandmother's family were at rest in our graves, for
not until then should she feel any peace about us. The
good old soul did not dream that I was planning to
bestow peace upon her, with regard to myself and
my children; not by death, but by securing our
freedom.
Again and again I had traversed those dreary twelve
miles, to and from the town; and all the way, I was
meditating upon some means of escape for myself and
my children. My friends had made every effort that
ingenuity could devise to effect our purchase, but all
their plans had proved abortive. Dr. Flint was suspicious,
and determined not to loosen his grasp upon us.
I could have made my escape alone; but it was more
for my helpless children than for myself that I longed
precious to me, above all price, I would not have taken
it at the expense of leaving them in slavery. Every
trial I endured, every sacrifice I made for their
sakes, drew them closer to my heart, and gave me
fresh courage to beat back the dark waves that rolled
and rolled over me in a seemingly endless night of
storms.
The six weeks were nearly completed, when Mr.
Flint's bride was expected to take possession of her
new home. The arrangements were all completed,
and Mr. Flint said I had done well. He expected to
leave home on Saturday, and return with his bride the
following Wednesday. After receiving various orders
from him, I ventured to ask permission to spend Sunday
in town. It was granted; for which favor I was
thankful. It was the first I had ever asked of him,
and I intended it should be the last. It needed more
than one night to accomplish the project I had in view;
but the whole of Sunday would give me an opportunity.
I spent the Sabbath with my grandmother. A calmer,
more beautiful day never came down out of heaven.
To me it was a day of conflicting emotions. Perhaps
it was the last day I should ever spend under that dear,
old sheltering roof! Perhaps these were the last talks
I should ever have with the faithful old friend of my
whole life! Perhaps it was the last time I and my
children should be together! Well, better so, I
thought, than that they should be slaves. I knew the
doom that awaited my fair baby in slavery, and I determined
to save her from it, or perish in the attempt.
I went to make this vow at the graves of my poor
the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary
be at rest. There the prisoners rest together; they
hear not the voice of the oppressor; the servant is
free from his master.” I knelt by the graves of my
parents, and thanked God, as I had often done before,
that they had not lived to witness my trials, or to
mourn over my sins. I had received my mother's
blessing when she died; and in many an hour of tribulation
I had seemed to hear her voice, sometimes
chiding me, sometimes whispering loving words into
my wounded heart. I have shed many and bitter
tears, to think that when I am gone from my children
they cannot remember me with such entire satisfaction
as I remembered my mother.
The graveyard was in the woods, and twilight was
coming on. Nothing broke the death-like stillness except
the occasional twitter of a bird. My spirit was
overawed by the solemnity of the scene. For more
than ten years I had frequented this spot, but never
had it seemed to me so sacred as now. A black stump,
at the head of my mother's grave, was all that remained
of a tree my father had planted. His grave
was marked by a small wooden board, bearing his
name, the letters of which were nearly obliterated.
I knelt down and kissed them, and poured forth a
prayer to God for guidance and support in the perilous
step I was about to take. As I passed the wreck of
the old meeting house, where, before Nat Turner's
time, the slaves had been allowed to meet for worship,
I seemed to hear my father's voice come from it, bidding
me not to tarry till I reached freedom or the
in God had been strengthened by that prayer among
the graves.
My plan was to conceal myself at the house of a
friend, and remain there a few weeks till the search
was over. My hope was that the doctor would get discouraged,
and, for fear of losing my value, and also of
subsequently finding my children among the missing,
he would consent to sell us; and I knew somebody
would buy us. I had done all in my power to make
my children comfortable during the time I expected to
be separated from them. I was packing my things,
when grandmother came into the room, and asked
what I was doing. “I am putting my things in order,”
I replied. I tried to look and speak cheerfully;
but her watchful eye detected something beneath the
surface. She drew me towards her, and asked me to
sit down. She looked earnestly at me, and said,
“Linda, do you want to kill your old grandmother?
Do you mean to leave your little, helpless children?
I am old now, and cannot do for your babies as I once
did for you.”
I replied, that if I went away, perhaps their father
would be able to secure their freedom.
“Ah, my child,” said she, “don't trust too much to
him. Stand by your own children, and suffer with
them till death. Nobody respects a mother who forsakes
her children; and if you leave them, you will
never have a happy moment. If you go, you will
make me miserable the short time I have to live. You
would be taken and brought back, and your sufferings
would be dreadful. Remember poor Benjamin. Do
may turn out better than we expect.”
My courage failed me, in view of the sorrow I should
bring on that faithful, loving old heart. I promised
that I would try longer, and that I would take nothing
out of her house without her knowledge.
Whenever the children climbed on my knee, or laid
their heads on my lap, she would say, “Poor little
souls! what would you do without a mother? She
don't love you as I do.” And she would hug them to
her own bosom, as if to reproach me for my want of
affection; but she knew all the while that I loved them
better than my life. I slept with her that night, and
it was the last time. The memory of it haunted me
for many a year.
On Monday I returned to the plantation, and busied
myself with preparations for the important day. Wednesday
came. It was a beautiful day, and the faces
of the slaves were as bright as the sunshine. The poor
creatures were merry. They were expecting little
presents from the bride, and hoping for better times
under her administration. I had no such hopes for
them. I knew that the young wives of slaveholders
often thought their authority and importance would be
best established and maintained by cruelty; and what
I had heard of young Mrs. Flint gave me no reason to
expect that her rule over them would be less severe
than that of the master and overseer. Truly, the
colored race are the most cheerful and forgiving people
on the face of the earth. That their masters sleep
in safety is owing to their superabundance of heart;
and yet they look upon their sufferings with less
a dog.
I stood at the door with others to receive the bridegroom
and bride. She was a handsome, delicate-looking
girl, and her face flushed with emotion at sight of
her new home. I thought it likely that visions of a
happy future were rising before her. It made me sad;
for I knew how soon clouds would come over her sunshine.
She examined every part of the house, and
told me she was delighted with the arrangements I
had made. I was afraid old Mrs. Flint had tried to
prejudice her against me, and I did my best to please
her.
All passed off smoothly for me until dinner time
arrived. I did not mind the embarrassment of waiting
on a dinner party, for the first time in my life,
half so much as I did the meeting with Dr. Flint and
his wife, who would be among the guests. It was a
mystery to me why Mrs. Flint had not made her appearance
at the plantation during all the time I was
putting the house in order. I had not met her, face to
face, for five years, and I had no wish to see her now.
She was a praying woman, and, doubtless, considered
my present position a special answer to her prayers.
Nothing could please her better than to see me humbled
and trampled upon. I was just where she would
have me — in the power of a hard, unprincipled master.
She did not speak to me when she took her seat
at table; but her satisfied, triumphant smile, when I
handed her plate, was more eloquent than words.
The old doctor was not so quiet in his demonstrations.
He ordered me here and there, and spoke with peculiar
drilled like a disgraced soldier. When all was over,
and the last key turned, I sought my pillow, thankful
that God had appointed a season of rest for the
weary.
The next day my new mistress began her housekeeping.
I was not exactly appointed maid of all work;
but I was to do whatever I was told. Monday evening
came. It was always a busy time. On that night the
slaves received their weekly allowance of food. Three
pounds of meat, a peck of corn, and perhaps a dozen
herring were allowed to each man. Women received
a pound and a half of meat, a peck of corn, and the
same number of herring. Children over twelve years
old had half the allowance of the women. The meat
was cut and weighed by the foreman of the field hands,
and piled on planks before the meat house. Then the
second foreman went behind the building, and when
the first foreman called out, “Who takes this piece of
meat?” he answered by calling somebody's name.
This method was resorted to as a means of preventing
partiality in distributing the meat. The young mistress
came out to see how things were done on her
plantation, and she soon gave a specimen of her character.
Among those in waiting for their allowance
was a very old slave, who had faithfully served the
Flint family through three generations. When he
hobbled up to get his bit of meat, the mistress said he
was too old to have any allowance; that when niggers
were too old to work, they ought to be fed on grass.
Poor old man! He suffered much before he found
rest in the grave.
My mistress and I got along very well together. At
the end of a week, old Mrs. Flint made us another
visit, and was closeted a long time with her daughter-in-law.
I had my suspicions what was the subject of
the conference. The old doctor's wife had been informed
that I could leave the plantation on one condition,
and she was very desirous to keep me there. If
she had trusted me, as I deserved to be trusted by
her, she would have had no fears of my accepting
that condition. When she entered her carriage to return
home, she said to young Mrs. Flint, “Don't neglect
to send for them as quick as possible.” My heart
was on the watch all the time, and I at once concluded
that she spoke of my children. The doctor came the
next day, and as I entered the room to spread the tea
table, I heard him say, “Don't wait any longer. Send
for them to-morrow.” I saw through the plan. They
thought my children's being there would fetter me to
the spot, and that it was a good place to break us all
in to abject submission to our lot as slaves. After the
doctor left, a gentleman called, who had always manifested
friendly feelings towards my grandmother and
her family. Mr. Flint carried him over the plantation
to show him the results of labor performed by men and
women who were unpaid, miserably clothed, and half
famished. The cotton crop was all they thought of.
It was duly admired, and the gentleman returned with
specimens to show his friends. I was ordered to carry
water to wash his hands. As I did so, he said, “Linda,
how do you like your new home?” I told him I liked
it as well as I expected. He replied, “They don't
think you are contented, and to-morrow they are going
you, Linda. I hope they will treat you kindly.” I
hurried from the room, unable to thank him. My
suspicions were correct. My children were to be
brought to the plantation to be “broke in.”
To this day I feel grateful to the gentleman who
gave me this timely information. It nerved me to
immediate action.
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |