The Emancipation Car :: :: University of Virginia Library

As much as unfeeling men talk and preach about “negro insensibility,” and as much as slavery dotes upon her mysterious power of blotting out, and annihilating the principles of humanity; yet it is plainly seen that God has planted in the bosom of the black man a quality of his own nature, that the ruthless hand of time and the strong arm of oppression has not, nor cannot extinguish.

The wife of a fair, promising young man was one evening, mysteriously missing. This loving pair had only been united, in their usual way, for five years and eight months; during which time not a cloud of discord had passed between them—nothing had marred their peace, but the thought that they must spend their lives in the midst of groaning and cracking of whips, of which they themselves must share a common fate.

To make the nuptial ties more strong, they had been blessed, as they thought, with a little girl, whose dark eyes, waving hair, high forehead and symmetry of form, satisfied Henry that the child was his.

One pleasant evening, a South Carolinian was seen talking with the master of that happy pair, and coming before the door, they both came to a full halt, while the stranger gazed full in the faces of the three, and, after a few moments

passed in profound silence, he said to the master: “I'll give it.” As they turned away from the door, the silence was broken by a low whisper from the lips of little Mary, saying: “one of us is sold, papa!” Like the disciples, they each asked, “is it I?” Morning found them undisturbed, and Mary hurried the work over, and, as usual, left the cabin for the cotton-field, repeating in her mind, “is it I?” So excited was her mind that she had spent a sleepless night, and so conscious was she that she was the victim (from reading in the eye of the Carolinian his predominating passions) that when she left the house she kissed her child, and pressed it against her bosom as though she would crush it to death. Reluctantly she closed the door, and departed to return no more forever.

The husband's ears were made sad at noon, when a slave boy said to him, as he called him to the gate, “your wife is sold to ‘South Carolina!’ I saw her chained in the gang, and the last words I heard her say, was, ‘O! that I never had seen a husband! O! that I had hugged my child to death this morning!’” But the child's inquiry and the father's answer, will show, whether or not, humanity was extinct in them.

Air—The Infant's Dream.

CHILD.

O, where has mother gone, papa?

What makes you look so sad?
Why sit you here alone, papa?
Has any one made you mad?
O, tell me, tell me, dear papa,
Has master punished you again?
Shall I go bring the salt papa,
To rub your back and cure the pain?

FATHER.

Go 'way my child, you are too bad;
You notice things too soon;
Did you not see that I was sad
When I came home at noon?
Go to the gate and call mamma,
And see if she's in sight.
The hour is late—I fear your ma
Will not be home to-night.

CHILD.

O, no, papa, I am afraid
To go to the gate alone:
I fear there's men in the high-grass laid,
To catch little Mary Jones.
But what makes mother stay so long?
'Tis getting very late,
Pa-pa, go bring my mother home,
And I'll stay at the gate.

When mother left me early this morn,
She kissed me and she wept;

I saw the tears come trickling down
Upon the pillow where I slept.
She pressed me up to her bosom hard,
As though it was the last embrace,
She sobbed, but did not say a word,
Nor would she let me see her face.

FATHER.

Pull off your shoes my dearest child,
And say your evening prayer;
And go to your bed and after a while
Perhaps your mother will be there.
Go hush those little eyes to sleep,
And dream some pretty dream to-night;
Perhaps in the morning when you wake
You'll find all things are right.

CHILD.

O! tell me, papa! don't drive me away—
'Tis dark! the stars are thick and bright
Is mother sold? O, tell me I pray!
I fear she'll not be home, to-night.
O, come, papa, come, go with me,
Perhaps we'll meet her in the lane,
And then she'll sing a song to me,
And take me in her arms again.

FATHER.

Come here, my daughter, come to me,
I find that I must tell you true,

Come now and sit upon my knee—
The dismal tale I'll tell to you.
Your mother's “sold”—she's sold, my dear;
Her face you'll see no more;
Her cheering voice no more you'll hear
On this side Canaan's peaceful shore.

CHILD.

O, tell me, papa, when mother dies,
Will she come home again?
Or will we meet above the skies,
Where Christ the Savior reigns?
Would you not like to die to-night,
If mother too would die?
And with sweet angels dressed in white,
Meet her above the sky?

FATHER.

O yes, my child, my life is dear,
And you I love full well;
But I no longer can tarry here,
I soon will bid this world farewell.
I cannot live, my heart is broke,
My grief is more than I can bear;
This very strap and that great oak
Will end my life in deep despair.