 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
XXVIII.
AUNT NANCY.
I have mentioned my great-aunt, who was a slave in
Dr. Flint's family, and who had been my refuge during
the shameful persecutions I suffered from him. This
aunt had been married at twenty years of age; that is,
as far as slaves can marry. She had the consent of
her master and mistress, and a clergyman performed
the ceremony. But it was a mere form, without any
legal value. Her master or mistress could annul it any
day they pleased. She had always slept on the floor
in the entry, near Mrs. Flint's chamber door, that she
might be within call. When she was married, she was
told she might have the use of a small room in an out-house.
Her mother and her husband furnished it.
He was a seafaring man, and was allowed to sleep there
when he was at home. But on the wedding evening,
the bride was ordered to her old post on the entry floor.
Mrs. Flint, at that time, had no children; but she was
expecting to be a mother, and if she should want a drink
of water in the night, what could she do without her
slave to bring it? So my aunt was compelled to lie at
her door, until one midnight she was forced to leave,
to give premature birth to a child. In a fortnight she
was required to resume her place on the entry floor,
because Mrs. Flint's babe needed her attentions. She
kept her station there through summer and winter,
until she had given premature birth to six children;
Mrs. Flint's children. Finally, toiling all day, and being
deprived of rest at night, completely broke down
her constitution, and Dr. Flint declared it was impossible
she could ever become the mother of a living child.
The fear of losing so valuable a servant by death, now
induced them to allow her to sleep in her little room in
the out-house, except when there was sickness in the
family. She afterwards had two feeble babes, one of
whom died in a few days, and the other in four weeks.
I well remember her patient sorrow as she held the last
dead baby in her arms. “I wish it could have lived,”
she said; “it is not the will of God that any of my
children should live. But I will try to be fit to meet
their little spirits in heaven.”
Aunt Nancy was housekeeper and waiting-maid in
Dr. Flint's family. Indeed, she was the factotum of
the household. Nothing went on well without her.
She was my mother's twin sister, and, as far as was in
her power, she supplied a mother's place to us orphans.
I slept with her all the time I lived in my old master's
house, and the bond between us was very strong.
When my friends tried to discourage me from running
away, she always encouraged me. When they thought
I had better return and ask my master's pardon, because
there was no possibility of escape, she sent me
word never to yield. She said if I persevered I might,
perhaps, gain the freedom of my children; and
even if I perished in doing it, that was better than
to leave them to groan under the same persecutions
that had blighted my own life. After I was shut up in
my dark cell, she stole away, whenever she could, to
often did I kneel down to listen to her words of consolation,
whispered through a crack! “I am old, and
have not long to live,” she used to say; “and I could
die happy if I could only see you and the children free.
You must pray to God, Linda, as I do for you, that he
will lead you out of this darkness.” I would beg her
not to worry herself on my account; that there was an
end of all suffering sooner or later, and that whether
I lived in chains or in freedom, I should always remember
her as the good friend who had been the comfort
of my life. A word from her always strengthened
me; and not me only. The whole family relied upon
her judgment, and were guided by her advice.
I had been in my cell six years when my grandmother
was summoned to the bedside of this, her last
remaining daughter. She was very ill, and they said
she would die. Grandmother had not entered Dr.
Flint's house for several years. They had treated her
cruelly, but she thought nothing of that now. She
was grateful for permission to watch by the death-bed
of her child. They had always been devoted to each
other; and now they sat looking into each other's eyes,
longing to speak of the secret that had weighed so much
on the hearts of both. My aunt had been stricken with
paralysis. She lived but two days, and the last day
she was speechless. Before she lost the power of utterance,
she told her mother not to grieve if she could
not speak to her; that she would try to hold up her
hand, to let her know that all was well with her.
Even the hard-hearted doctor was a little softened
when he saw the dying woman try to smile on the aged
moistened for a moment, as he said she had always been
a faithful servant, and they should never be able to
supply her place. Mrs. Flint took to her bed, quite
overcome by the shock. While my grandmother sat
alone with the dead, the doctor came in, leading his
youngest son, who had always been a great pet with
aunt Nancy, and was much attached to her. “Martha,”
said he, “aunt Nancy loved this child, and when
he comes where you are, I hope you will be kind to
him, for her sake.” She replied, “Your wife was my
foster-child, Dr. Flint, the foster-sister of my poor
Nancy, and you little know me if you think I can feel
any thing but good will for her children.”
“I wish the past could be forgotten, and that we
might never think of it,” said he; “and that Linda
would come to supply her aunt's place. She would be
worth more to us than all the money that could be paid
for her. I wish it for your sake also, Martha. Now
that Nancy is taken away from you, she would be a
great comfort to your old age.”
He knew he was touching a tender chord. Almost
choking with grief, my grandmother replied, “It was
not I that drove Linda away. My grandchildren are
gone; and of my nine children only one is left. God
help me!”
To me, the death of this kind relative was an inexpressible
sorrow. I knew that she had been slowly
murdered; and I felt that my troubles had helped to
finish the work. After I heard of her illness, I listened
constantly to hear what news was brought from the
great house; and the thought that I could not go to
Phillip came into the house, I heard some one inquire,
“How is she?” and he answered, “She is dead.”
My little cell seemed whirling round, and I knew nothing
more till I opened my eyes and found uncle Phillip
bending over me. I had no need to ask any questions.
He whispered, “Linda, she died happy.” I could not
weep. My fixed gaze troubled him. “Don't look
so,” he said. “Don't add to my poor mother's
trouble. Remember how much she has to bear, and
that we ought to do all we can to comfort her.” Ah,
yes, that blessed old grandmother, who for seventy-three
years had borne the pelting storms of a slave-mother's
life. She did indeed need consolation!
Mrs. Flint had rendered her poor foster-sister childless,
apparently without any compunction; and with
cruel selfishness had ruined her health by years of incessant,
unrequited toil, and broken rest. But now she
became very sentimental. I suppose she thought it
would be a beautiful illustration of the attachment existing
between slaveholder and slave, if the body of
her old worn-out servant was buried at her feet. She
sent for the clergyman and asked if he had any objection
to burying aunt Nancy in the doctor's family
burial-place. No colored person had ever been allowed
interment in the white people's burying-ground, and
the minister knew that all the deceased of our family
reposed together in the old graveyard of the slaves.
He therefore replied, “I have no objection to complying
with your wish; but perhaps aunt Nancy's mother
may have some choice as to where her remains shall be
deposited.”
It had never occurred to Mrs. Flint that slaves could
have any feelings. When my grandmother was consulted,
she at once said she wanted Nancy to lie with
all the rest of her family, and where her own old body
would be buried. Mrs. Flint graciously complied with
her wish, though she said it was painful to her to have
Nancy buried away from her. She might have added
with touching pathos, “I was so long used to sleep with
her lying near me, on the entry floor.”
My uncle Phillip asked permission to bury his sister
at his own expense; and slaveholders are always ready
to grant such favors to slaves and their relatives. The
arrangements were very plain, but perfectly respectable.
She was buried on the Sabbath, and Mrs. Flint's
minister read the funeral service. There was a large
concourse of colored people, bond and free, and a few
white persons who had always been friendly to our
family. Dr. Flint's carriage was in the procession;
and when the body was deposited in its humble resting
place, the mistress dropped a tear, and returned to
her carriage, probably thinking she had performed her
duty nobly.
It was talked of by the slaves as a mighty grand
funeral. Northern travellers, passing through the place,
might have described this tribute of respect to the
humble dead as a beautiful feature in the “patriarchal
institution;” a touching proof of the attachment
between slaveholders and their servants; and tenderhearted
Mrs. Flint would have confirmed this impression,
with handkerchief at her eyes. We could have
told them a different story. We could have given them
a chapter of wrongs and sufferings, that would have
the colored people. We could have told them how the
poor old slave-mother had toiled, year after year, to
earn eight hundred dollars to buy her son Phillip's right
to his own earnings; and how that same Phillip paid
the expenses of the funeral, which they regarded as doing
so much credit to the master. We could also have
told them of a poor, blighted young creature, shut up
in a living grave for years, to avoid the tortures that
would be inflicted on her, if she ventured to come out
and look on the face of her departed friend.
All this, and much more, I thought of, as I sat at my
loophole, waiting for the family to return from the
grave; sometimes weeping, sometimes falling asleep,
dreaming strange dreams of the dead and the living.
It was sad to witness the grief of my bereaved grandmother.
She had always been strong to bear, and now,
as ever, religious faith supported her. But her dark
life had become still darker, and age and trouble were
leaving deep traces on her withered face. She had
four places to knock for me to come to the trap-door,
and each place had a different meaning. She now
came oftener than she had done, and talked to me of
her dead daughter, while tears trickled slowly down her
furrowed cheeks. I said all I could to comfort her;
but it was a sad reflection, that instead of being able
to help her, I was a constant source of anxiety and
trouble. The poor old back was fitted to its burden.
It bent under it, but did not break.
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |