 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
XII.
FEAR OF INSURRECTION.
Not far from this time Nat Turner's insurrection
broke out; and the news threw our town into great
commotion. Strange that they should be alarmed,
when their slaves were so “contented and happy”!
But so it was.
It was always the custom to have a muster every
year. On that occasion every white man shouldered
his musket. The citizens and the so-called country
gentlemen wore military uniforms. The poor whites
took their places in the ranks in every-day dress, some
without shoes, some without hats. This grand occasion
had already passed; and when the slaves were
told there was to be another muster, they were surprised
and rejoiced. Poor creatures! They thought
it was going to be a holiday. I was informed of the
true state of affairs, and imparted it to the few I could
trust. Most gladly would I have proclaimed it to
every slave; but I dared not. All could not be relied
on. Mighty is the power of the torturing lash.
By sunrise, people were pouring in from every quarter
within twenty miles of the town. I knew the
houses were to be searched; and I expected it would
be done by country bullies and the poor whites. I
knew nothing annoyed them so much as to see colored
people living in comfort and respectability; so I made
arrangements for them with especial care. I arranged
possible. I put white quilts on the beds, and decorated
some of the rooms with flowers. When all was
arranged, I sat down at the window to watch. Far as
my eye could reach, it rested on a motley crowd of
soldiers. Drums and fifes were discoursing martial
music. The men were divided into companies of sixteen,
each headed by a captain. Orders were given,
and the wild scouts rushed in every direction, wherever
a colored face was to be found.
It was a grand opportunity for the low whites, who
had no negroes of their own to scourge. They exulted
in such a chance to exercise a little brief authority,
and show their subserviency to the slaveholders; not
reflecting that the power which trampled on the colored
people also kept themselves in poverty, ignorance,
and moral degradation. Those who never witnessed
such scenes can hardly believe what I know was inflicted
at this time on innocent men, women, and children,
against whom there was not the slightest ground
for suspicion. Colored people and slaves who lived in
remote parts of the town suffered in an especial manner.
In some cases the searchers scattered powder and shot
among their clothes, and then sent other parties to find
them, and bring them forward as proof that they were
plotting insurrection. Every where men, women, and
children were whipped till the blood stood in puddles
at their feet. Some received five hundred lashes;
others were tied hands and feet, and tortured with a
bucking paddle, which blisters the skin terribly. The
dwellings of the colored people, unless they happened
to be protected by some influential white person, who
thing else the marauders thought worth carrying away.
All day long these unfeeling wretches went round, like
a troop of demons, terrifying and tormenting the helpless.
At night, they formed themselves into patrol
bands, and went wherever they chose among the colored
people, acting out their brutal will. Many women
hid themselves in woods and swamps, to keep out of
their way. If any of the husbands or fathers told of
these outrages, they were tied up to the public whipping
post, and cruelly scourged for telling lies about
white men. The consternation was universal. No
two people that had the slightest tinge of color in their
faces dared to be seen talking together.
I entertained no positive fears about our household,
because we were in the midst of white families who
would protect us. We were ready to receive the
soldiers whenever they came. It was not long before
we heard the tramp of feet and the sound of voices.
The door was rudely pushed open; and in they tumbled,
like a pack of hungry wolves. They snatched
at every thing within their reach. Every box, trunk,
closet, and corner underwent a thorough examination.
A box in one of the drawers containing some silver
change was eagerly pounced upon. When I stepped
forward to take it from them, one of the soldiers turned
and said angrily, “What d'ye foller us fur? D'ye
s'pose white folks is come to steal?”
I replied, “You have come to search; but you have
searched that box, and I will take it, if you please.”
At that moment I saw a white gentleman who was
friendly to us; and I called to him, and asked him to
was over. He readily complied. His entrance into
the house brought in the captain of the company,
whose business it was to guard the outside of the
house, and see that none of the inmates left it. This
officer was Mr. Litch, the wealthy slaveholder whom I
mentioned, in the account of neighboring planters, as
being notorious for his cruelty. He felt above soiling
his hands with the search. He merely gave orders;
and, if a bit of writing was discovered, it was carried
to him by his ignorant followers, who were unable to
read.
My grandmother had a large trunk of bedding and
table cloths. When that was opened, there was a great
shout of surprise; and one exclaimed, “Where'd the
damned niggers git all dis sheet an' table clarf?”
My grandmother, emboldened by the presence of our
white protector, said, “You may be sure we didn't
pilfer 'em from your houses.”
“Look here, mammy,” said a grim-looking fellow
without any coat, “you seem to feel mighty gran'
'cause you got all them 'ere fixens. White folks
oughter have 'em all.”
His remarks were interrupted by a chorus of voices
shouting, “We's got 'em! We's got 'em! Dis 'ere
yaller gal's got letters!”
There was a general rush for the supposed letter,
which, upon examination, proved to be some verses
written to me by a friend. In packing away my
things, I had overlooked them. When their captain
informed them of their contents, they seemed much
disappointed. He inquired of me who wrote them.
them?” he asked. When I told him I could, he
swore, and raved, and tore the paper into bits.
“Bring me all your letters!” said he, in a commanding
tone. I told him I had none. “Don't be
afraid,” he continued, in an insinuating way. “Bring
them all to me. Nobody shall do you any harm.”
Seeing I did not move to obey him, his pleasant tone
changed to oaths and threats. “Who writes to you?
half free niggers?” inquired he. I replied, “O, no;
most of my letters are from white people. Some
request me to burn them after they are read, and
some I destroy without reading.”
An exclamation of surprise from some of the company
put a stop to our conversation. Some silver
spoons which ornamented an old-fashioned buffet had
just been discovered. My grandmother was in the
habit of preserving fruit for many ladies in the town,
and of preparing suppers for parties; consequently
she had many jars of preserves. The closet that contained
these was next invaded, and the contents tasted.
One of them, who was helping himself freely, tapped
his neighbor on the shoulder, and said, “Wal done!
Don't wonder de niggers want to kill all de white
folks, when dey live on 'sarves” [meaning preserves].
I stretched out my hand to take the jar, saying, “You
were not sent here to search for sweetmeats.”
“And what were we sent for?” said the captain,
bristling up to me. I evaded the question.
The search of the house was completed, and nothing
found to condemn us. They next proceeded to
the garden, and knocked about every bush and vine,
together, and, after a short consultation, the order to
march was given. As they passed out of the gate,
the captain turned back, and pronounced a malediction
on the house. He said it ought to be burned to
the ground, and each of its inmates receive thirty-nine
lashes. We came out of this affair very fortunately;
not losing any thing except some wearing
apparel.
Towards evening the turbulence increased. The
soldiers, stimulated by drink, committed still greater
cruelties. Shrieks and shouts continually rent the
air. Not daring to go to the door, I peeped under the
window curtain. I saw a mob dragging along a number
of colored people, each white man, with his musket
upraised, threatening instant death if they did not stop
their shrieks. Among the prisoners was a respectable
old colored minister. They had found a few parcels
of shot in his house, which his wife had for years used
to balance her scales. For this they were going to
shoot him on Court House Green. What a spectacle
was that for a civilized country! A rabble, staggering
under intoxication, assuming to be the administrators
of justice!
The better class of the community exerted their
influence to save the innocent, persecuted people; and
in several instances they succeeded, by keeping them
shut up in jail till the excitement abated. At last the
white citizens found that their own property was not
safe from the lawless rabble they had summoned to
protect them. They rallied the drunken swarm, drove
them back into the country, and set a guard over the
town.
The next day, the town patrols were commissioned
to search colored people that lived out of the city;
and the most shocking outrages were committed with
perfect impunity. Every day for a fortnight, if I
looked out, I saw horsemen with some poor panting
negro tied to their saddles, and compelled by the lash
to keep up with their speed, till they arrived at the
jail yard. Those who had been whipped too unmercifully
to walk were washed with brine, tossed into a
cart, and carried to jail. One black man, who had
not fortitude to endure scourging, promised to give
information about the conspiracy. But it turned out
that he knew nothing at all. He had not even heard
the name of Nat Turner. The poor fellow had, however,
made up a story, which augmented his own
sufferings and those of the colored people.
The day patrol continued for some weeks, and at
sundown a night guard was substituted. Nothing at
all was proved against the colored people, bond or free.
The wrath of the slaveholders was somewhat appeased
by the capture of Nat Turner. The imprisoned were
released. The slaves were sent to their masters, and
the free were permitted to return to their ravaged
homes. Visiting was strictly forbidden on the plantations.
The slaves begged the privilege of again meeting
at their little church in the woods, with their
burying ground around it. It was built by the colored
people, and they had no higher happiness than to meet
there and sing hymns together, and pour out their
hearts in spontaneous prayer. Their request was
denied, and the church was demolished. They were
permitted to attend the white churches, a certain portion
There, when every body else had partaken of the
communion, and the benediction had been pronounced,
the minister said, “Come down, now, my colored
friends.” They obeyed the summons, and partook of
the bread and wine, in commemoration of the meek
and lowly Jesus, who said, “God is your Father, and
all ye are brethren.”
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |