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I never saw her but once. She was a tall,
finely formed, handsome woman — I think
a quadroon. The most noticeable feature
about her was the weary look of sadness
in her large brown eyes. My friend
who was with me when we had occasion
to meet her on a matter of business
knew her story which she related,
substantially as follows.

Margaret was a slave, and unfortunately

for her an exceptionally attractive one,
and as ignorant of her own status under
the laws of Virginia as an infant.

When she was but fourteen years old
the son of her master overcame her scruples
against living with him as his mistress
by a pretended marriage — whether it
was jumping over a broomstick or some
other absurdity I do not know, but she
thought she was his wife legally and
in all honor. He was kind and
loving to her, and she worshipped him
with a whole-souled devotion.

A few years of happiness, and then
came the rumor that he whom she
supposed to be her husband was soon to
marry a beautiful and wealthy young
lady of the vicinity. At first she could
not, would not believe it and when
at last the truth was forced upon her she
went into spasms. But she recovered
and finally was able to resume her

duties, but the sad, far-away look in
her eyes was pitiful to see. Poor Margaret!

The Story of Joanna.

Joanna was unlike Margaret. She
had so little of the negro blood in her veins
that no one would have suspected she was
not pure white. Her master was a wealthy
plantation owner, who had so many
slaves that half of them could pass him by
unrecognized — a not uncommon
circumstance on large plantations, I
imagine. As far as I know Joanna was
comfortable and happy enough in her life
on the plantation. She probably had
enough to eat, and was kindly treated
according to the code of slavery. But
one day she found herself in a new
position as regards the life of a slave
woman. She had become a mother.
She had heretofore felt but little anxiety

about herself and her own future, but what
about her child? She knew that little
children were often sold from their mothers
at a tender age. It was not uncommon on
her masters plantation. What should she do?
How prevent this dreadful possibility? For
weeks and months she was haunted by the
horrible fear that some day her child
would be taken from her until at last
her mind was made up to escape from
slavery by running away. I do not know
how she got away from her masters
plantation with her child unsuspected,
but she succeeded in reaching the
railway station some miles distant
without any trouble. There one of the
first persons she saw was her master.
He did not recognize her as his chattel
or even as a colored woman. He saw
in her He saw in her only a young
lady travelling without an attendant,
and encumbered with an infant, so he
kindly assisted her upon the train, found
her a seat, and performed such other
acts of courtesy as his chivalrous nature
suggested, then left her undisturbed to
pursue her journey North. Whether he
ever learned that he had assisted one
of his own slaves to escape I do not know.

A Chivalrous Slave

The following anecdote will serve to show
that chivalry, which the southern white
man has so long claimed as a trait peculiar
to himself, may sometimes be found among
the humblest of Gods children.

In ante-bellum days there was a law in
Charlottesville, as I suppose there was in all
large places in the slave states, that any slave
found on the street after a certain early hour
of the evening, unaccompanied by a white
person, should be punished by a certain number
of lashes on the bare back — some dozen or fifteen
as near as I remember. The streets were

patrolled at night by men whose duty it
was to sieze any slave who set this rule at
defiance by staying beyond the appointed hour.
The colored people always spoke of these men as
"patrollers." A slave whom I will designate
as "Joe" had ventured out one evening
accompanied by a female friend, also
a slave. They had carelessly stayed beyond
the allotted time, and were arrested on
their way home by the patrol. The cruel
punishment was inevitable, when Joe,
with a gallantry not surpassed by any
of his white superiors, begged to be allowed
to take a double number of lashes and
let his companion go free and unharmed,
insisting that the fault of their being
out beyond the hour was due entirely
to his own carelessness. His offer was
accepted, and a double punishment
was inflicted upon him, which the
poor fellow took in a spirit of thankfulness that
by so doing his companion was spared the humiliation.

The Story of Elizabeth

She was a dressmaker — a quiet, hard working
woman, with a very small amount of negro
blood in her veins, being in fact so nearly white
that one would hardly suspect she had any. She
sent at different times all of her children to
my school — four boys and a girl. The father
of these children was a prominent white
citizen of the place, and none of the boys
showed any trace of color, having fair skins
and light, straight hair. The little girl was
somewhat darker with a slightly yellow tinge
in her complexion. This was all that hinted
of her African descent.

Elizabeth had inherited a keen sense
of delicacy — was modest and retiring, and
desired to live a clean, honorable, upright
life, but Fate impersonated in Slavery was
against her. As a slave she truly "had no
rights that a white man was bound to respect"
and the chivalry of the southern white man

was not often exercised in behalf of the
defenceless slave woman. The son of her master
began to show his preference for her in a way
that alarmed her, and she made every effort
to avoid him. Finding this impossible
there seemed to her but one alternative —
to run away. She managed to escape,
but instead of turning North as was the
usual custom of fugitive slaves, she went
South and established herself as a dressmaker
in some village in North Carolina, calling
herself a free colored woman. She became
acquainted with the son of a free colored
man, and a mutual attachment
sprang up between them. They soon
became engaged and began to make
preparations to get married

In the meantime Elizabeths master
in Virginia advertised his runaway
slave, giving a full description of her, and
this came to under the notice of the father
of the young man she expected to marry.

He had all along been suspicious that she
was not what she represented herself to be
and was now confirmed in his suspicions.
So in order to prevent his son from becoming
entangled in an affair that might cause
him trouble, he immediately sent word
to her master that his missing slave was
there. So Elizabeth was brought back and
sold to Dr. C—. Broken hearted and
discouraged she could struggle no
longer against such heavy odds, and
she yielded — because she must. Dr. C.
seemed fond of their children, and was
probably as kind to her as their relations
permitted. When the war ended, and the
Emancipation Proclamation became
an established fact, she proved her
desire to lead a pure and honest life
by taking her children and making
a home for them and herself by the work
of her hands, although their father would
have willingly contributed towards their
support, had she consented to continue
the old relations

She was an anxious mother, and
her boys caused her more or less trouble,
but she worked early and late to educate
them and provide for their comfort. I hope
and trust that they proved a comfort to
her when she could work no longer.

When she told me the story of her
life in her quiet, unemotional way
I did not grasp the full pathos of it
as I have done since. We heard so
many such that we became in
a sense hardened, but away from
the environment of our work they
stand out in ones memory as the
real tragedies that they were.