 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
II.
THE NEW MASTER AND MISTRESS.
Dr. Flint, a physician in the neighborhood, had
married the sister of my mistress, and I was now the
property of their little daughter. It was not without
murmuring that I prepared for my new home; and
what added to my unhappiness, was the fact that my
brother William was purchased by the same family.
My father, by his nature, as well as by the habit of
transacting business as a skilful mechanic, had more
of the feelings of a freeman than is common among
slaves. My brother was a spirited boy; and being
brought up under such influences, he early detested
the name of master and mistress. One day, when his
father and his mistress both happened to call him at
the same time, he hesitated between the two; being
perplexed to know which had the strongest claim upon
his obedience. He finally concluded to go to his mistress.
When my father reproved him for it, he said,
“You both called me, and I didn't know which I
ought to go to first.”
“You are my child,” replied our father, “and when
I call you, you should come immediately, if you have
to pass through fire and water.”
Poor Willie! He was now to learn his first lesson
of obedience to a master. Grandmother tried to cheer
us with hopeful words, and they found an echo in the
credulous hearts of youth.
When we entered our new home we encountered
glad when the night came. On my narrow bed I
moaned and wept, I felt so desolate and alone.
I had been there nearly a year, when a dear little
friend of mine was buried. I heard her mother sob,
as the clods fell on the coffin of her only child, and I
turned away from the grave, feeling thankful that I
still had something left to love. I met my grandmother,
who said, “Come with me, Linda;” and from
her tone I knew that something sad had happened.
She led me apart from the people, and then said, “My
child, your father is dead.” Dead! How could I
believe it? He had died so suddenly I had not
even heard that he was sick. I went home with my
grandmother. My heart rebelled against God, who
had taken from me mother, father, mistress, and
friend. The good grandmother tried to comfort me.
“Who knows the ways of God?” said she. “Perhaps
they have been kindly taken from the evil days to
come.” Years afterwards I often thought of this.
She promised to be a mother to her grandchildren, so
far as she might be permitted to do so; and strengthened
by her love, I returned to my master's. I thought
I should be allowed to go to my father's house the next
morning; but I was ordered to go for flowers, that my
mistress's house might be decorated for an evening
party. I spent the day gathering flowers and weaving
them into festoons, while the dead body of my father
was lying within a mile of me. What cared my
owners for that? he was merely a piece of property.
Moreover, they thought he had spoiled his children, by
teaching them to feel that they were human beings.
presumptuous in him, and dangerous to the masters.
The next day I followed his remains to a humble
grave beside that of my dear mother. There were
those who knew my father's worth, and respected his
memory.
My home now seemed more dreary than ever. The
laugh of the little slave-children sounded harsh and
cruel. It was selfish to feel so about the joy of others.
My brother moved about with a very grave face. I
tried to comfort him, by saying, “Take courage,
Willie; brighter days will come by and by.”
“You don't know any thing about it, Linda,” he replied.
“We shall have to stay here all our days; we
shall never be free.”
I argued that we were growing older and stronger,
and that perhaps we might, before long, be allowed to
hire our own time, and then we could earn money to
buy our freedom. William declared this was much
easier to say than to do; moreover, he did not intend
to buy his freedom. We held daily controversies upon
this subject.
Little attention was paid to the slaves' meals in Dr.
Flint's house. If they could catch a bit of food while
it was going, well and good. I gave myself no trouble
on that score, for on my various errands I passed my
grandmother's house, where there was always something
to spare for me. I was frequently threatened
with punishment if I stopped there; and my grandmother,
to avoid detaining me, often stood at the gate
with something for my breakfast or dinner. I was indebted
to her for all my comforts, spiritual or temporal.
have a vivid recollection of the linsey-woolsey dress
given me every winter by Mrs. Flint. How I hated it!
It was one of the badges of slavery.
While my grandmother was thus helping to support
me from her hard earnings, the three hundred dollars
she had lent her mistress were never repaid. When
her mistress died, her son-in-law, Dr. Flint, was appointed
executor. When grandmother applied to him
for payment, he said the estate was insolvent, and the
law prohibited payment. It did not, however, prohibit
him from retaining the silver candelabra, which had
been purchased with that money. I presume they
will be handed down in the family, from generation
to generation.
My grandmother's mistress had always promised her
that, at her death, she should be free; and it was said
that in her will she made good the promise. But
when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful
old servant that, under existing circumstances, it was
necessary she should be sold.
On the appointed day, the customary advertisement
was posted up, proclaiming that there would be a
“public sale of negroes, horses, &c.” Dr. Flint called
to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to
wound her feelings by putting her up at auction, and
that he would prefer to dispose of her at private sale.
My grandmother saw through his hypocrisy; she understood
very well that he was ashamed of the job.
She was a very spirited woman, and if he was base
enough to sell her, when her mistress intended she
should be free, she was determined the public should
with crackers and preserves; consequently, “Aunt
Marthy,” as she was called, was generally known, and
every body who knew her respected her intelligence
and good character. Her long and faithful service in
the family was also well known, and the intention of
her mistress to leave her free. When the day of sale
came, she took her place among the chattels, and at
the first call she sprang upon the auction-block. Many
voices called out, “Shame! Shame! Who is going to
sell you, aunt Marthy? Don't stand there! That is no
place for you.” Without saying a word, she quietly
awaited her fate. No one bid for her. At last, a feeble
voice said, “Fifty dollars.” It came from a maiden
lady, seventy years old, the sister of my grandmother's
deceased mistress. She had lived forty years under
the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how
faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly
she had been defrauded of her rights; and she resolved
to protect her. The auctioneer waited for a higher
bid; but her wishes were respected; no one bid above
her. She could neither read nor write; and when the
bill of sale was made out, she signed it with a cross.
But what consequence was that, when she had a big
heart overflowing with human kindness? She gave the
old servant her freedom.
At that time, my grandmother was just fifty years
old. Laborious years had passed since then; and now
my brother and I were slaves to the man who had
defrauded her of her money, and tried to defraud
her of her freedom. One of my mother's sisters,
called Aunt Nancy, was also a slave in his family.
She was a kind, good aunt to me; and supplied the
mistress. She was, in fact, at the beginning and end
of every thing.
Mrs. Flint, like many southern women, was totally
deficient in energy. She had not strength to superintend
her household affairs; but her nerves were so
strong, that she could sit in her easy chair and see a
woman whipped, till the blood trickled from every
stroke of the lash. She was a member of the church;
but partaking of the Lord's supper did not seem
to put her in a Christian frame of mind. If dinner
was not served at the exact time on that particular
Sunday, she would station herself in the kitchen, and
wait till it was dished, and then spit in all the kettles
and pans that had been used for cooking. She
did this to prevent the cook and her children from
eking out their meagre fare with the remains of the
gravy and other scrapings. The slaves could get
nothing to eat except what she chose to give them.
Provisions were weighed out by the pound and ounce,
three times a day. I can assure you she gave them
no chance to eat wheat bread from her flour barrel.
She knew how many biscuits a quart of flour would
make, and exactly what size they ought to be.
Dr. Flint was an epicure. The cook never sent a
dinner to his table without fear and trembling; for if
there happened to be a dish not to his liking, he would
either order her to be whipped, or compel her to eat
every mouthful of it in his presence. The poor, hungry
creature might not have objected to eating it; but
she did object to having her master cram it down her
throat till she choked.
They had a pet dog, that was a nuisance in the house.
him. He refused to eat, and when his head was held
over it, the froth flowed from his mouth into the basin.
He died a few minutes after. When Dr. Flint came
in, he said the mush had not been well cooked, and
that was the reason the animal would not eat it. He
sent for the cook, and compelled her to eat it. He
thought that the woman's stomach was stronger than
the dog's; but her sufferings afterwards proved that he
was mistaken. This poor woman endured many cruelties
from her master and mistress; sometimes she was
locked up, away from her nursing baby, for a whole
day and night.
When I had been in the family a few weeks, one of the
plantation slaves was brought to town, by order of his
master. It was near night when he arrived, and Dr. Flint
ordered him to be taken to the work house, and tied up
to the joist, so that his feet would just escape the ground.
In that situation he was to wait till the doctor had taken
his tea. I shall never forget that night. Never before,
in my life, had I heard hundreds of blows fall, in succession,
on a human being. His piteous groans, and his
“O, pray don't, massa,” rang in my ear for months
afterwards. There were many conjectures as to the
cause of this terrible punishment. Some said master
accused him of stealing corn; others said the slave had
quarrelled with his wife, in presence of the overseer, and
had accused his master of being the father of her child.
They were both black, and the child was very fair.
I went into the work house next morning, and saw
the cowhide still wet with blood, and the boards all
covered with gore. The poor man lived, and continued
to quarrel with his wife. A few months afterwards
The guilty man put their value into his
pocket, and had the satisfaction of knowing that they
were out of sight and hearing. When the mother was
delivered into the trader's hands, she said, “You
promised to treat me well.” To which he replied,
“You have let your tongue run too far; damn you!”
She had forgotten that it was a crime for a slave to
tell who was the father of her child.
From others than the master persecution also comes
in such cases. I once saw a young slave girl dying
soon after the birth of a child nearly white. In her
agony she cried out, “O Lord, come and take me!”
Her mistress stood by, and mocked at her like an
incarnate fiend. “You suffer, do you?” she exclaimed.
“I am glad of it. You deserve it all, and
more too.”
The girl's mother said, “The baby is dead, thank
God; and I hope my poor child will soon be in
heaven, too.”
“Heaven!” retorted the mistress. “There is no
such place for the like of her and her bastard.”
The poor mother turned away, sobbing. Her dying
daughter called her, feebly, and as she bent over her,
I heard her say, “Don't grieve so, mother; God knows
all about it; and HE will have mercy upon me.”
Her sufferings, afterwards, became so intense, that
her mistress felt unable to stay; but when she left
the room, the scornful smile was still on her lips. Seven
children called her mother. The poor black woman
had but the one child, whose eyes she saw closing in
death, while she thanked God for taking her away
from the greater bitterness of life.
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |