 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
X.
A PERILOUS PASSAGE IN THE SLAVE GIRL'S
LIFE.
After my lover went away, Dr. Flint contrived a
new plan. He seemed to have an idea that my fear of
my mistress was his greatest obstacle. In the blandest
tones, he told me that he was going to build a small
house for me, in a secluded place, four miles away from
the town. I shuddered; but I was constrained to
listen, while he talked of his intention to give me a
home of my own, and to make a lady of me. Hitherto,
I had escaped my dreaded fate, by being in the midst
of people. My grandmother had already had high
words with my master about me. She had told him
pretty plainly what she thought of his character, and
there was considerable gossip in the neighborhood
about our affairs, to which the open-mouthed jealousy
of Mrs. Flint contributed not a little. When my master
said he was going to build a house for me, and that
he could do it with little trouble and expense, I was in
hopes something would happen to frustrate his scheme;
but I soon heard that the house was actually begun.
I vowed before my Maker that I would never enter it.
I had rather toil on the plantation from dawn till dark;
I had rather live and die in jail, than drag on, from
day to day, through such a living death. I was determined
that the master, whom I so hated and loathed,
who had blighted the prospects of my youth, and made
with him, succeed at last in trampling his victim under
his feet. I would do any thing, every thing, for the sake
of defeating him. What could I do? I thought and
thought, till I became desperate, and made a plunge
into the abyss.
And now, reader, I come to a period in my unhappy
life, which I would gladly forget if I could. The remembrance
fills me with sorrow and shame. It pains
me to tell you of it; but I have promised to tell you
the truth, and I will do it honestly, let it cost me what
it may. I will not try to screen myself behind
the plea of compulsion from a master; for it was
not so. Neither can I plead ignorance or thoughtlessness.
For years, my master had done his utmost
to pollute my mind with foul images, and to destroy
the pure principles inculcated by my grandmother,
and the good mistress of my childhood. The influences
of slavery had had the same effect on me that
they had on other young girls; they had made me
prematurely knowing, concerning the evil ways of
the world. I knew what I did, and I did it with deliberate
calculation.
But, O, ye happy women, whose purity has been
sheltered from childhood, who have been free to choose
the objects of your affection, whose homes are protected
by law, do not judge the poor desolate slave girl too
severely! If slavery had been abolished, I, also, could
have married the man of my choice; I could have had
a home shielded by the laws; and I should have been
spared the painful task of confessing what I am now
about to relate; but all my prospects had been blighted
the most adverse circumstances, I tried hard to preserve
my self-respect; but I was struggling alone in the
powerful grasp of the demon Slavery; and the monster
proved too strong for me. I felt as if I was forsaken
by God and man; as if all my efforts must be frustrated;
and I became reckless in my despair.
I have told you that Dr. Flint's persecutions and his
wife's jealousy had given rise to some gossip in the
neighborhood. Among others, it chanced that a white
unmarried gentleman had obtained some knowledge
of the circumstances in which I was placed. He knew
my grandmother, and often spoke to me in the street.
He became interested for me, and asked questions
about my master, which I answered in part. He expressed
a great deal of sympathy, and a wish to aid
me. He constantly sought opportunities to see me,
and wrote to me frequently. I was a poor slave girl,
only fifteen years old.
So much attention from a superior person was, of
course, flattering; for human nature is the same in all.
I also felt grateful for his sympathy, and encouraged
by his kind words. It seemed to me a great thing to
have such a friend. By degrees, a more tender feeling
crept into my heart. He was an educated and eloquent
gentleman; too eloquent, alas, for the poor slave
girl who trusted in him. Of course I saw whither all
this was tending. I knew the impassable gulf between
us; but to be an object of interest to a man who is not
married, and who is not her master, is agreeable to the
pride and feelings of a slave, if her miserable situation
has left her any pride or sentiment. It seems less degrading
There is something akin to freedom in having a lover
who has no control over you, except that which he gains
by kindness and attachment. A master may treat you
as rudely as he pleases, and you dare not speak; moreover,
the wrong does not seem so great with an unmarried
man, as with one who has a wife to be made
unhappy. There may be sophistry in all this; but the
condition of a slave confuses all principles of morality,
and, in fact, renders the practice of them impossible.
When I found that my master had actually begun to
build the lonely cottage, other feelings mixed with
those I have described. Revenge, and calculations of
interest, were added to flattered vanity and sincere
gratitude for kindness. I knew nothing would enrage
Dr. Flint so much as to know that I favored another;
and it was something to triumph over my tyrant even
in that small way. I thought he would revenge himself
by selling me, and I was sure my friend, Mr. Sands,
would buy me. He was a man of more generosity
and feeling than my master, and I thought my freedom
could be easily obtained from him. The crisis
of my fate now came so near that I was desperate.
I shuddered to think of being the mother of children
that should be owned by my old tyrant. I knew
that as soon as a new fancy took him, his victims
were sold far off to get rid of them; especially if
they had children. I had seen several women sold,
with his babies at the breast. He never allowed his
offspring by slaves to remain long in sight of himself
and his wife. Of a man who was not my master I
could ask to have my children well supported; and in
also felt quite sure that they would be made free. With
all these thoughts revolving in my mind, and seeing
no other way of eseaping the doom I so much dreaded,
I made a headlong plunge. Pity me, and pardon me,
O virtuous reader! You never knew what it is to be
a slave; to be entirely unprotected by law or custom;
to have the laws reduce you to the condition of a
chattel, entirely subject to the will of another. You
never exhausted your ingenuity in avoiding the snares,
and eluding the power of a hated tyrant; you never
shuddered at the sound of his footsteps, and trembled
within hearing of his voice. I know I did wrong. No
one can feel it more sensibly than I do. The painful
and humiliating memory will haunt me to my dying
day. Still, in looking back, calmly, on the events of my
life, I feel that the slave woman ought not to be judged
by the same standard as others.
The months passed on. I had many unhappy hours.
I secretly mourned over the sorrow I was bringing on
my grandmother, who had so tried to shield me from
harm. I knew that I was the greatest comfort of her
old age, and that it was a source of pride to her that I
had not degraded myself, like most of the slaves. I
wanted to confess to her that I was no longer worthy
of her love; but I could not utter the dreaded words.
As for Dr. Flint, I had a feeling of satisfaction and
triumph in the thought of telling him. From time to
time he told me of his intended arrangements, and I
was silent. At last, he came and told me the cottage
was completed, and ordered me to go to it. I told him
I would never enter it. He said, “I have heard
carried by force; and you shall remain there.”
I replied, “I will never go there. In a few months
I shall be a mother.”
He stood and looked at me in dumb amazement, and
left the house without a word. I thought I should be
happy in my triumph over him. But now that the
truth was out, and my relatives would hear of it, I felt
wretched. Humble as were their circumstances, they
had pride in my good character. Now, how could I
look them in the face? My self-respect was gone! I
had resolved that I would be virtuous, though I was a
slave. I had said, “Let the storm beat! I will brave
it till I die.” And now, how humiliated I felt!
I went to my grandmother. My lips moved to make
confession, but the words stuck in my throat. I sat
down in the shade of a tree at her door and began to
sew. I think she saw something unusual was the
matter with me. The mother of slaves is very watchful.
She knows there is no security for her children.
After they have entered their teens she lives in daily
expectation of trouble. This leads to many questions.
If the girl is of a sensitive nature, timidity keeps her
from answering truthfully, and this well-meant course
has a tendency to drive her from maternal counsels.
Presently, in came my mistress, like a mad woman,
and accused me concerning her husband. My grandmother,
whose suspicious had been previously awakened,
believed what she said. She exclaimed, “O
Linda! has it come to this? I had rather see you
dead than to see you as you now are. You are a disgrace
to your dead mother.” She tore from my fingers
“Go away!” she exclaimed, “and never come to my
house, again.” Her reproaches fell so hot and heavy,
that they left me no chance to answer. Bitter tears,
such as the eyes never shed but once, were my only
answer. I rose from my seat, but fell back again, sobbing.
She did not speak to me; but the tears were
running down her furrowed cheeks, and they scorched
me like fire. She had always been so kind to me! So
kind! How I longed to throw myself at her feet, and
tell her all the truth! But she had ordered me to go,
and never to come there again. After a few minutes,
I mustered strength, and started to obey her. With
what feelings did I now close that little gate, which I
used to open with such an eager hand in my childhood!
It closed upon me with a sound I never
heard before.
Where could I go? I was afraid to return to my master's.
I walked on recklessly, not caring where I went,
or what would become of me. When I had gone four
or five miles, fatigue compelled me to stop. I sat
down on the stump of an old tree. The stars were
shining through the boughs above me. How they
mocked me, with their bright, calm light! The hours
passed by, and as I sat there alone a chilliness and
deadly sickness came over me. I sank on the ground.
My mind was full of horrid thoughts. I prayed to die;
but the prayer was not answered. At last, with great effort
I roused myself, and walked some distance further,
to the house of a woman who had been a friend of my
mother. When I told her why I was there, she spoke
soothingly to me; but I could not be comforted. I
to my grandmother. I longed to open my
heart to her. I thought if she could know the real
state of the case, and all I had been bearing for years,
she would perhaps judge me less harshly. My friend
advised me to send for her. I did so; but days of
agonizing suspense passed before she came. Had she
utterly forsaken me? No. She came at last. I knelt
before her, and told her the things that had poisoned
my life; how long I had been persecuted; that I saw
no way of escape; and in an hour of extremity I had
become desperate. She listened in silence. I told her
I would bear any thing and do any thing, if in time
I had hopes of obtaining her forgiveness. I begged
of her to pity me, for my dead mother's sake. And
she did pity me. She did not say, “I forgive you;”
but she looked at me lovingly, with her eyes full of
tears. She laid her old hand gently on my head, and
murmured, “Poor child! Poor child!”
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |