University of Virginia Library

XVII.
THE FLIGHT.

Mr. Flint was hard pushed for house servants, and
rather than lose me he had restrained his malice. I
did my work faithfully, though not, of course, with a
willing mind. They were evidently afraid I should
leave them. Mr. Flint wished that I should sleep
in the great house instead of the servants' quarters.
His wife agreed to the proposition, but said I mustn't
bring my bed into the house, because it would scatter
feathers on her carpet. I knew when I went there
that they would never think of such a thing as furnishing
a bed of any kind for me and my little one. I
therefore carried my own bed, and now I was forbidden
to use it. I did as I was ordered. But now that I
was certain my children were to be put in their
power, in order to give them a stronger hold on me, I
resolved to leave them that night. I remembered the
grief this step would bring upon my dear old grandmother;
and nothing less than the freedom of my children
would have induced me to disregard her advice.
I went about my evening work with trembling steps.
Mr. Flint twice called from his chamber door to inquire
why the house was not locked up. I replied that
I had not done my work. “You have had time enough
to do it,” said he. “Take care how you answer me!”

I shut all the windows, locked all the doors, and
went up to the third story, to wait till midnight. How

long those hours seemed, and how fervently I prayed
that God would not forsake me in this hour of utmost
need! I was about to risk every thing on the throw
of a die; and if I failed, O what would become of me
and my poor children? They would be made to suffer
for my fault.

At half past twelve I stole softly down stairs. I
stopped on the second floor, thinking I heard a noise.
I felt my way down into the parlor, and looked out of
the window. The night was so intensely dark that I
could see nothing. I raised the window very softly
and jumped out. Large drops of rain were falling,
and the darkness bewildered me. I dropped on my
knees, and breathed a short prayer to God for guidance
and protection. I groped my way to the road, and
rushed towards the town with almost lightning speed.
I arrived at my grandmother's house, but dared not
see her. She would say, “Linda, you are killing me;”
and I knew that would unnerve me. I tapped softly
at the window of a room, occupied by a woman, who
had lived in the house several years. I knew she was
a faithful friend, and could be trusted with my secret.
I tapped several times before she heard me. At last
she raised the window, and I whispered, “Sally, I have
run away. Let me in, quick.” She opened the door
softly, and said in low tones, “For God's sake, don't.
Your grandmother is trying to buy you and de chillern.
Mr. Sands was here last week. He tole her he was
going away on business, but he wanted her to go ahead
about buying you and de chillern, and he would help
her all he could. Don't run away, Linda. Your
grandmother is all bowed down wid trouble now.”

I replied, “Sally, they are going to carry my children
to the plantation to-morrow; and they will never
sell them to any body so long as they have me in their
power. Now, would you advise me to go back?”

“No, chile, no,” answered she. “When dey finds
you is gone, dey won't want de plague ob de chillern;
but where is you going to hide? Dey knows ebery
inch ob dis house.”

I told her I had a hiding-place, and that was all it
was best for her to know. I asked her to go into my
room as soon as it was light, and take all my clothes
out of my trunk, and pack them in hers; for I knew
Mr. Flint and the constable would be there early to
search my room. I feared the sight of my children
would be too much for my full heart; but I could not
go out into the uncertain future without one last look.
I bent over the bed where lay my little Benny and baby
Ellen. Poor little ones! fatherless and motherless!
Memories of their father came over me. He wanted
to be kind to them; but they were not all to him, as
they were to my womanly heart. I knelt and prayed
for the innocent little sleepers. I kissed them lightly,
and turned away.

As I was about to open the street door, Sally laid
her hand on my shoulder, and said, “Linda, is you
gwine all alone? Let me call your uncle.”

“No, Sally,” I replied, “I want no one to be brought
into trouble on my account.”

I went forth into the darkness and rain. I ran
on till I came to the house of the friend who was to
conceal me.

Early the next morning Mr. Flint was at my grandmother's

inquiring for me. She told him she had not
seen me, and supposed I was at the plantation. He
watched her face narrowly, and said, “Don't you
know any thing about her running off?” She assured
him that she did not. He went on to say, “Last night
she ran off without the least provocation. We had
treated her very kindly. My wife liked her. She will
soon be found and brought back. Are her children with
you?” When told that they were, he said, “I am
very glad to hear that. If they are here, she cannot
be far off. If I find out that any of my niggers have
had any thing to do with this damned business, I'll give
'em five hundred lashes.” As he started to go to his
father's, he turned round and added, persuasively, “Let
her be brought back, and she shall have her children
to live with her.”

The tidings made the old doctor rave and storm at
a furious rate. It was a busy day for them. My
grandmother's house was searched from top to bottom.
As my trunk was empty, they concluded I had taken
my clothes with me. Before ten o'clock every vessel
northward bound was thoroughly examined, and the
law against harboring fugitives was read to all on
board. At night a watch was set over the town.
Knowing how distressed my grandmother would be, I
wanted to send her a message; but it could not be
done. Every one who went in or out of her house
was closely watched. The doctor said he would take
my children, unless she became responsible for them;
which of course she willingly did. The next day was
spent in searching. Before night, the following advertisement
was posted at every corner, and in every
public place for miles round: —