 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
XXVI.
IMPORTANT ERA IN MY BROTHER'S LIFE.
I missed the company and kind attentions of my
brother William, who had gone to Washington with his
master, Mr. Sands. We received several letters from
him, written without any allusion to me, but expressed
in such a manner that I knew he did not forget me.
I disguised my hand, and wrote to him in the same
manner. It was a long session; and when it closed,
William wrote to inform us that Mr. Sands was going
to the north, to be gone some time, and that he was
to accompany him. I knew that his master had promised
to give him his freedom, but no time had been
specified. Would William trust to a slave's chances?
I remembered how we used to talk together, in our
young days, about obtaining our freedom, and I thought
it very doubtful whether he would come back to us.
Grandmother received a letter from Mr. Sands, saying
that William had proved a most faithful servant,
and he would also say a valued friend; that no mother
had ever trained a better boy. He said he had travelled
through the Northern States and Canada; and though
the abolitionists had tried to decoy him away, they had
never succeeded. He ended by saying they should be
at home shortly.
We expected letters from William, describing the
novelties of his journey, but none came. In time, it
was reported that Mr. Sands would return late in the
William. I felt almost sure I should never see him
again on southern soil; but had he no word of comfort
to send to his friends at home? to the poor captive in
her dungeon? My thoughts wandered through the
dark past, and over the uncertain future. Alone in my
cell, where no eye but God's could see me, I wept bitter
tears. How earnestly I prayed to him to restore
me to my children, and enable me to be a useful
woman and a good mother!
At last the day arrived for the return of the travellers.
Grandmother had made loving preparations to welcome
her absent boy back to the old hearthstone. When the
dinner table was laid, William's plate occupied its old
place. The stage coach went by empty. My grandmother
waited dinner. She thought perhaps he was
necessarily detained by his master. In my prison I
listened anxiously, expecting every moment to hear my
dear brother's voice and step. In the course of the afternoon
a lad was sent by Mr. Sands to tell grandmother
that William did not return with him; that the abolitionists
had decoyed him away. But he begged her
not to feel troubled about it, for he felt confident she
would see William in a few days. As soon as he had
time to reflect he would come back, for he could never
expect to be so well off at the north as he had been
with him.
If you had seen the tears, and heard the sobs, you
would have thought the messenger had brought tidings
of death instead of freedom. Poor old grandmother
felt that she should never see her darling boy again.
And I was selfish. I thought more of what I had lost,
began to trouble me. Mr. Sands had expended a
good deal of money, and would naturally feel irritated
by the loss he had incurred. I greatly feared this
might injure the prospects of my children, who were
now becoming valuable property. I longed to have
their emancipation made certain. The more so, because
their master and father was now married. I was
too familiar with slavery not to know that promises
made to slaves, though with kind intentions, and sincere
at the time, depend upon many contingencies for
their fulfilment.
Much as I wished William to be free, the step he had
taken made me sad and anxious. The following Sabbath
was calm and clear; so beautiful that it seemed
like a Sabbath in the eternal world. My grandmother
brought the children out on the piazza, that I might
hear their voices. She thought it would comfort me
in my despondency; and it did. They chatted merrily,
as only children can. Benny said, “Grandmother,
do you think uncle Will has gone for good? Won't
he ever come back again? May be he'll find mother.
If he does, won't she be glad to see him! Why
don't you and uncle Phillip, and all of us, go and live
where mother is? I should like it; wouldn't you,
Ellen?”
“Yes, I should like it,” replied Ellen; “but how
could we find her? Do you know the place, grandmother?
I don't remember how mother looked — do
you, Benny?”
Benny was just beginning to describe me when they
were interrupted by an old slave woman, a near neighbor,
the sale of her children, and seen them carried off to
parts unknown, without any hopes of ever hearing from
them again. She saw that my grandmother had been
weeping, and she said, in a sympathizing tone, “What's
the matter, aunt Marthy?”
“O Aggie,” she replied, “it seems as if I shouldn't
have any of my children or grandchildren left to hand
me a drink when I'm dying, and lay my old body in
the ground. My boy didn't come back with Mr. Sands.
He staid at the north.”
Poor old Aggie clapped her hands for joy. “Is dat
what you's crying fur?” she exclaimed. “Git down
on your knees and bress de Lord! I don't know whar
my poor chillern is, and I nebber 'spect to know.
You don't know whar poor Linda's gone to; but you do
know whar her brudder is. He's in free parts; and
dat's de right place. Don't murmur at de Lord's doings,
but git down on your knees and tank him for
his goodness.”
My selfishness was rebuked by what poor Aggie said.
She rejoiced over the escape of one who was merely her
fellow-bondman, while his own sister was only thinking
what his good fortune might cost her children. I knelt
and prayed God to forgive me; and I thanked him from
my heart, that one of my family was saved from the
grasp of slavery.
It was not long before we received a letter from William.
He wrote that Mr. Sands had always treated
him kindly, and that he had tried to do his duty to
him faithfully. But ever since he was a boy, he had
longed to be free; and he had already gone through
chance that offered. He concluded by saying, “Don't
worry about me, dear grandmother. I shall think of
you always; and it will spur me on to work hard and
try to do right. When I have earned money enough
to give you a home, perhaps you will come to the north,
and we can all live happy together.”
Mr. Sands told my uncle Phillip the particulars
about William's leaving him. He said, “I trusted
him as if he were my own brother, and treated him as
kindly. The abolitionists talked to him in several
places; but I had no idea they could tempt him.
However, I don't blame William. He's young and inconsiderate,
and those Northern rascals decoyed him.
I must confess the scamp was very bold about it. I met
him coming down the steps of the Astor House with
his trunk on his shoulder, and I asked him where he
was going. He said he was going to change his old
trunk. I told him it was rather shabby, and asked if
he didn't need some money. He said, No, thanked
me, and went off. He did not return so soon as I expected;
but I waited patiently. At last I went to see if
our trunks were packed, ready for our journey. I
found them locked, and a sealed note on the table informed
me where I could find the keys. The fellow
even tried to be religious. He wrote that he hoped
God would always bless me, and reward me for my
kindness; that he was not unwilling to serve me; but
he wanted to be a free man; and that if I thought he
did wrong, he hoped I would forgive him. I intended
to give him his freedom in five years. He might have
trusted me. He has shown himself ungrateful; but I
that he will soon return to me.”
I afterwards heard an account of the affair from
William himself. He had not been urged away by
abolitionists. He needed no information they could
give him about slavery to stimulate his desire for
freedom. He looked at his hands, and remembered
that they were once in irons. What security had he
that they would not be so again? Mr. Sands was
kind to him; but he might indefinitely postpone the
promise he had made to give him his freedom. He
might come under pecuniary embarrassments, and his
property be seized by creditors; or he might die, without
making any arrangements in his favor. He had
too often known such accidents to happen to slaves
who had kind masters, and he wisely resolved to make
sure of the present opportunity to own himself. He
was scrupulous about taking any money from his
master on false pretences; so he sold his best clothes
to pay for his passage to Boston. The slaveholders
pronounced him a base, ungrateful wretch, for thus
requiting his master's indulgence. What would they
have done under similar circumstances?
When Dr. Flint's family heard that William had
deserted Mr. Sands, they chuckled greatly over the
news. Mrs. Flint made her usual manifestations of
Christian feeling, by saying, “I'm glad of it. I hope
he'll never get him again. I like to see people paid
back in their own coin. I reckon Linda's children
will have to pay for it. I should be glad to see them
in the speculator's hands again, for I'm tired of seeing
those little niggers march about the streets.”
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |