 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
XXI.
THE LOOPHOLE OF RETREAT.
A small shed had been added to my grandmother's
house years ago. Some boards were laid across the
joists at the top, and between these boards and the roof
was a very small garret, never occupied by any thing
but rats and mice. It was a pent roof, covered with
nothing but shingles, according to the southern custom
for such buildings. The garret was only nine feet
long and seven wide. The highest part was three
feet high, and sloped down abruptly to the loose board
floor. There was no admission for either light or air.
My uncle Philip, who was a carpenter, had very skilfully
made a concealed trap-door, which communicated
with the storeroom. He had been doing this while I
was waiting in the swamp. The storeroom opened
upon a piazza. To this hole I was conveyed as soon as
I entered the house. The air was stifling; the darkness
total. A bed had been spread on the floor. I
could sleep quite comfortably on one side; but the slope
was so sudden that I could not turn on the other without
hitting the roof. The rats and mice ran over my
bed; but I was weary, and I slept such sleep as the
wretched may, when a tempest has passed over them.
Morning came. I knew it only by the noises I heard;
for in my small den day and night were all the same.
I suffered for air even more than for light. But I was
not comfortless. I heard the voices of my children.
made my tears flow. How I longed to speak to them!
I was eager to look on their faces; but there was no
hole, no crack, through which I could peep. This continued
darkness was oppressive. It seemed horrible to
sit or lie in a cramped position day after day, without one
gleam of light. Yet I would have chosen this, rather
than my lot as a slave, though white people considered
it an easy one; and it was so compared with the fate
of others. I was never cruelly over-worked; I was
never lacerated with the whip from head to foot; I was
never so beaten and bruised that I could not turn from
one side to the other; I never had my heel-strings cut
to prevent my running away; I was never chained to
a log and forced to drag it about, while I toiled in the
fields from morning till night; I was never branded
with hot iron, or torn by bloodhounds. On the contrary,
I had always been kindly treated, and tenderly
cared for, until I came into the hands of Dr. Flint.
I had never wished for freedom till then. But though
my life in slavery was comparatively devoid of hardships,
God pity the woman who is compelled to lead
such a life!
My food was passed up to me through the trap-door
my uncle had contrived; and my grandmother, my
uncle Phillip, and aunt Nancy would seize such opportunities
as they could, to mount up there and chat with
me at the opening. But of course this was not safe in
the daytime. It must all be done in darkness. It was
impossible for me to move in an erect position, but I
crawled about my den for exercise. One day I hit my
head against something, and found it was a gimlet.
trap-door. I was as rejoiced as Robinson Crusoe could
have been at finding such a treasure. It put a lucky
thought into my head. I said to myself, “Now I will
have some light. Now I will see my children.” I did
not dare to begin my work during the daytime, for fear
of attracting attention. But I groped round; and having
found the side next the street, where I could frequently
see my children, I stuck the gimlet in and
waited for evening. I bored three rows of holes, one
above another; then I bored out the interstices between.
I thus succeeded in making one hole about an inch long
and an inch broad. I sat by it till late into the night,
to enjoy the little whiff of air that floated in. In the
morning I watched for my children. The first person
I saw in the street was Dr. Flint. I had a shuddering,
superstitious feeling that it was a bad omen. Several
familiar faces passed by. At last I heard the merry
laugh of children, and presently two sweet little faces
were looking up at me, as though they knew I was
there, and were conscious of the joy they imparted.
How I longed to tell them I was there!
My condition was now a little improved. But for weeks
I was tormented by hundreds of little red insects, fine as a
needle's point, that pierced through my skin, and produced
an intolerable burning. The good grandmother
gave me herb teas and cooling medicines, and finally I
got rid of them. The heat of my den was intense,
for nothing but thin shingles protected me from the
scorching summer's sun. But I had my consolations.
Through my peeping-hole I could watch the children, and
when they were near enough, I could hear their talk.
Dr. Flint's. From her I learned that the doctor had
written to New York to a colored woman, who had
been born and raised in our neighborhood, and had
breathed his contaminating atmosphere. He offered
her a reward if she could find out any thing about me.
I know not what was the nature of her reply; but he
soon after started for New York in haste, saying to his
family that he had business of importance to transact.
I peeped at him as he passed on his way to the steamboat.
It was a satisfaction to have miles of land and
water between us, even for a little while; and it was a
still greater satisfaction to know that he believed me to
be in the Free States. My little den seemed less
dreary than it had done. He returned, as he did from
his former journey to New York, without obtaining any
satisfactory information. When he passed our house
next morning, Benny was standing at the gate. He
had heard them say that he had gone to find me, and
he called out, “Dr. Flint, did you bring my mother
home? I want to see her.” The doctor stamped his
foot at him in a rage, and exclaimed, “Get out of the
way, you little damned rascal! If you don't, I'll cut
off your head.”
Benny ran terrified into the house, saying, “You
can't put me in jail again. I don't belong to you now.”
It was well that the wind carried the words away from
the doctor's ear. I told my grandmother of it, when
we had our next conference at the trap-door; and begged
of her not to allow the children to be impertinent to
the irascible old man.
Autumn came, with a pleasant abatement of heat.
by holding my book or work in a certain position near
the aperture I contrived to read and sew. That was a
great relief to the tedious monotony of my life. But
when winter came, the cold penetrated through the thin
shingle roof, and I was dreadfully chilled. The winters
there are not so long, or so severe, as in northern latitudes;
but the houses are not built to shelter from cold,
and my little den was peculiarly comfortless. The kind
grandmother brought me bed-clothes and warm drinks.
Often I was obliged to lie in bed all day to keep comfortable;
but with all my precautions, my shoulders
and feet were frostbitten. O, those long, gloomy days,
with no object for my eye to rest upon, and no thoughts
to occupy my mind, except the dreary past and the uncertain
future! I was thankful when there came a day
sufficiently mild for me to wrap myself up and sit at
the loophole to watch the passers by. Southerners
have the habit of stopping and talking in the streets,
and I heard many conversations not intended to meet
my ears. I heard slave-hunters planning how to catch
some poor fugitive. Several times I heard allusions to
Dr. Flint, myself, and the history of my children, who,
perhaps, were playing near the gate. One would say,
“I wouldn't move my little finger to catch her, as old
Flint's property.” Another would say, “I'll catch any
nigger for the reward. A man ought to have what
belongs to him, if he is a damned brute.” The opinion
was often expressed that I was in the Free States.
Very rarely did any one suggest that I might be in the
vicinity. Had the least suspicion rested on my grandmother's
house, it would have been burned to the ground.
was no place, where slavery existed, that could have
afforded me so good a place of concealment.
Dr. Flint and his family repeatedly tried to coax and
bribe my children to tell something they had heard said
about me. One day the doctor took them into a shop,
and offered them some bright little silver pieces and
gay handkerchiefs if they would tell where their
mother was. Ellen shrank away from him, and would
no speak; but Benny spoke up, and said, “Dr. Flint,
I don't know where my mother is. I guess she's in
New York; and when you go there again, I wish you'd
ask her to come home, for I want to see her; but if
you put her in jail, or tell her you'll cut her head off,
I'll tell her to go right back.”
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |