 | Incidents in the life of a slave girl |  |
XLI.
FREE AT LAST.
Mrs. Bruce, and every member of her family, were
exceedingly kind to me. I was thankful for the blessings
of my lot, yet I could not always wear a cheerful
countenance. I was doing harm to no one; on the
contrary, I was doing all the good I could in my
small way; yet I could never go out to breathe God's
free air without trepidation at my heart. This seemed
hard; and I could not think it was a right state of
things in any civilized country.
From time to time I received news from my good
old grandmother. She could not write; but she employed
others to write for her. The following is an
extract from one of her last letters:—
“Dear Daughter: I cannot hope to see you again on
earth; but I pray to God to unite us above, where
pain will no more rack this feeble body of mine;
where sorrow and parting from my children will be no
more. God has promised these things if we are faithful
unto the end. My age and feeble health deprive
me of going to church now; but God is with me here
at home. Thank your brother for his kindness. Give
much love to him, and tell him to remember the
Creator in the days of his youth, and strive to meet
me in the Father's kingdom. Love to Ellen and Benjamin.
Don't neglect him. Tell him for me, to be a
good boy. Strive, my child, to train them for God's
prayer of your loving old mother.”
These letters both cheered and saddened me. I was
always glad to have tidings from the kind, faithful old
friend of my unhappy youth; but her messages of
love made my heart yearn to see her before she died,
and I mourned over the fact that it was impossible.
Some months after I returned from my flight to New
England, I received a letter from her, in which she
wrote, “Dr. Flint is dead. He has left a distressed
family. Poor old man! I hope he made his peace
with God.”
I remembered how he had defrauded my grandmother
of the hard earnings she had loaned; how he
had tried to cheat her out of the freedom her mistress
had promised her, and how he had persecuted her children;
and I thought to myself that she was a better
Christian than I was, if she could entirely forgive him.
I cannot say, with truth, that the news of my old
master's death softened my feelings towards him.
There are wrongs which even the grave does not bury.
The man was odious to me while he lived, and his
memory is odious now.
His departure from this world did not diminish my
danger. He had threatened my grandmother that his
heirs should hold me in slavery after he was gone;
that I never should be free so long as a child of his
survived. As for Mrs. Flint, I had seen her in deeper
afflictions than I supposed the loss of her husband
would be, for she had buried several children; yet I
never saw any signs of softening in her heart. The
doctor had died in embarrassed circumstances, and had
was unable to grasp. I was well aware what I had to
expect from the family of Flints; and my fears were
confirmed by a letter from the south, warning me to
be on my guard, because Mrs. Flint openly declared
that her daughter could not afford to lose so valuable
a slave as I was.
I kept close watch of the newspapers for arrivals; but
one Saturday night, being much occupied, I forgot to
examine the Evening Express as usual. I went down
into the parlor for it, early in the morning, and found
the boy about to kindle a fire with it. I took it from
him and examined the list of arrivals. Reader, if you
have never been a slave, you cannot imagine the acute
sensation of suffering at my heart, when I read the
names of Mr. and Mrs. Dodge, at a hotel in Courtland
Street. It was a third-rate hotel, and that circumstance
convinced me of the truth of what I had heard,
that they were short of funds and had need of my
value, as they valued me; and that was by dollars and
cents. I hastened with the paper to Mrs. Bruce. Her
heart and hand were always open to every one in distress,
and she always warmly sympathized with mine.
It was impossible to tell how near the enemy was. He
might have passed and repassed the house while we
were sleeping. He might at that moment be waiting
to pounce upon me if I ventured out of doors. I had
never seen the husband of my young mistress, and
therefore I could not distinguish him from any other
stranger. A carriage was hastily ordered; and, closely
veiled, I followed Mrs. Bruce, taking the baby again
with me into exile. After various turnings and crossings,
of one of Mrs. Bruce's friends, where I was kindly
received. Mrs. Bruce returned immediately, to instruct
the domestics what to say if any one came to
inquire for me.
It was lucky for me that the evening paper was not
burned up before I had a chance to examine the list
of arrivals. It was not long after Mrs. Bruce's return
to her house, before several people came to inquire for
me. One inquired for me, another asked for my
daughter Ellen, and another said he had a letter from
my grandmother, which he was requested to deliver in
person.
They were told, “She has lived here, but she has
left.”
“How long ago?”
“I don't know, sir.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“I do not, sir.” And the door was closed.
This Mr. Dodge, who claimed me as his property,
was originally a Yankee pedler in the south; then he
became a merchant, and finally a slaveholder. He
managed to get introduced into what was called the
first society, and married Miss Emily Flint. A quarrel
arose between him and her brother, and the brother
cowhided him. This led to a family feud, and he proposed
to remove to Virginia. Dr. Flint left him no
property, and his own means had become circumscribed,
while a wife and children depended upon him
for support. Under these circumstances, it was very
natural that he should make an effort to put me into
his pocket.
I had a colored friend, a man from my native place,
in whom I had the most implicit confidence. I sent
for him, and told him that Mr. and Mrs. Dodge had
arrived in New York. I proposed that he should call
upon them to make inquiries about his friends at the
south, with whom Dr. Flint's family were well acquainted.
He thought there was no impropriety in his
doing so, and he consented. He went to the hotel,
and knocked at the door of Mr. Dodge's room, which
was opened by the gentleman himself, who gruffly inquired,
“What brought you here? How came you to
know I was in the city?”
“Your arrival was published in the evening papers,
sir; and I called to ask Mrs. Dodge about my friends
at home. I didn't suppose it would give any offence.”
“Where's that negro girl, that belongs to my wife?”
“What girl, sir?”
“You know well enough. I mean Linda, that ran
away from Dr. Flint's plantation, some years ago. I
dare say you've seen her, and know where she is.”
“Yes, sir, I've seen her, and know where she is.
She is out of your reach, sir.”
“Tell me where she is, or bring her to me, and I
will give her a chance to buy her freedom.”
“I don't think it would be of any use, sir. I have
heard her say she would go to the ends of the earth,
rather than pay any man or woman for her freedom,
because she thinks she has a right to it. Besides, she
couldn't do it, if she would, for she has spent her
earnings to educate her children.”
This made Mr. Dodge very angry, and some high
words passed between them. My friend was afraid to
received a note from him. I supposed they had not
come from the south, in the winter, for a pleasure
excursion; and now the nature of their business was
very plain.
Mrs. Bruce came to me and entreated me to leave
the city the next morning. She said her house was
watched, and it was possible that some clew to me might
be obtained. I refused to take her advice. She pleaded
with an earnest tenderness, that ought to have moved
me; but I was in a bitter, disheartened mood. I was
weary of flying from pillar to post. I had been chased
during half my life, and it seemed as if the chase was
never to end. There I sat, in that great city, guiltless
of crime, yet not daring to worship God in any of the
churches. I heard the bells ringing for afternoon service,
and, with contemptuous sarcasm, I said, “Will
the preachers take for their text, `Proclaim liberty to
the captive, and the opening of prison doors to them
that are bound'? or will they preach from the text,
`Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you'?”
Oppressed Poles and Hungarians could find a safe
refuge in that city; John Mitchell was free to proclaim
in the City Hall his desire for “a plantation well stocked
with slaves;” but there I sat, an oppressed American,
not daring to show my face. God forgive the black and
bitter thoughts I indulged on that Sabbath day! The
Scripture says, “Oppression makes even a wise man
mad;” and I was not wise.
I had been told that Mr. Dodge said his wife had never
signed away her right to my children, and if he could
not get me, he would take them. This it was, more
soul. Benjamin was with his uncle William in California,
but my innocent young daughter had come to
spend a vacation with me. I thought of what I had
suffered in slavery at her age, and my heart was like a
tiger's when a hunter tries to seize her young.
Dear Mrs. Bruce! I seem to see the expression of
her face, as she turned away discouraged by my obstinate
mood. Finding her expostulations unavailing, she
sent Ellen to entreat me. When ten o'clock in the
evening arrived and Ellen had not returned, this watchful
and unwearied friend became anxious. She came
to us in a carriage, bringing a well-filled trunk for my
journey — trusting that by this time I would listen to
reason. I yielded to her, as I ought to have done
before.
The next day, baby and I set out in a heavy snow
storm, bound for New England again. I received letters
from the City of Iniquity, addressed to me under
an assumed name. In a few days one came from Mrs.
Bruce, informing me that my new master was still
searching for me, and that she intended to put an end
to this persecution by buying my freedom. I felt grateful
for the kindness that prompted this offer, but the
idea was not so pleasant to me as might have been
expected. The more my mind had become enlightened,
the more difficult it was for me to consider myself an
article of property; and to pay money to those who
had so grievously oppressed me seemed like taking
from my sufferings the glory of triumph. I wrote to
Mrs. Bruce, thanking her, but saying that being sold
from one owner to another seemed too much like
easily cancelled; and that I preferred to go to my
brother in California.
Without my knowledge, Mrs. Bruce employed a gentleman
in New York to enter into negotiations with
Mr. Dodge. He proposed to pay three hundred dollars
down, if Mr. Dodge would sell me, and enter into obligations
to relinquish all claim to me or my children
forever after. He who called himself my master said
he scorned so small an offer for such a valuable servant.
The gentleman replied, “You can do as you choose,
sir. If you reject this offer you will never get any
thing; for the woman has friends who will convey her
and her children out of the country.”
Mr. Dodge concluded that “half a loaf was better
than no bread,” and he agreed to the proffered terms.
By the next mail I received this brief letter from Mrs.
Bruce: “I am rejoiced to tell you that the money for
your freedom has been paid to Mr. Dodge. Come
home to-morrow. I long to see you and my sweet
babe.”
My brain reeled as I read these lines. A gentleman
near me said, “It's true; I have seen the bill of sale.”
“The bill of sale!” Those words struck me like a
blow. So I was sold at last! A human being sold in
the free city of New York! The bill of sale is on
record, and future generations will learn from it that
women were articles of traffic in New York, late in the
nineteenth century of the Christian religion. It may
hereafter prove a useful document to antiquaries, who
are seeking to measure the progress of civilization in
the United States. I well know the value of that bit
look upon it. I am deeply grateful to the generous
friend who procured it, but I despise the miscreant who
demanded payment for what never rightfully belonged
to him or his.
I had objected to having my freedom bought, yet I
must confess that when it was done I felt as if a heavy
load had been lifted from my weary shoulders. When
I rode home in the cars I was no longer afraid to unveil
my face and look at people as they passed. I should
have been glad to have met Daniel Dodge himself; to
have had him seen me and known me, that he might
have mourned over the untoward circumstances which
compelled him to sell me for three hundred dollars.
When I reached home, the arms of my benefactress
were thrown round me, and our tears mingled. As
soon as she could speak, she said, “O Linda, I'm so
glad it's all over! You wrote to me as if you thought
you were going to be transferred from one owner to
another. But I did not buy you for your services. I
should have done just the same, if you had been going
to sail for California to-morrow. I should, at least,
have the satisfaction of knowing that you left me a
free woman.”
My heart was exceedingly full. I remembered how
my poor father had tried to buy me, when I was a small
child, and how he had been disappointed. I hoped his
spirit was rejoicing over me now. I remembered how
my good old grandmother had laid up her earnings to
purchase me in later years, and how often her plans
had been frustrated. How that faithful, loving old
heart would leap for joy, if she could look on me and
been foiled in all their efforts, but God had raised me
up a friend among strangers, who had bestowed on me
the precious, long-desired boon. Friend! It is a common
word, often lightly used. Like other good and
beautiful things, it may be tarnished by careless handling;
but when I speak of Mrs. Bruce as my friend,
the word is sacred.
My grandmother lived to rejoice in my freedom; but
not long after, a letter came with a black seal. She
had gone “where the wicked cease from troubling, and
the weary are at rest.”
Time passed on, and a paper came to me from the
south, containing an obituary notice of my uncle
Phillip. It was the only case I ever knew of such an
honor conferred upon a colored person. It was written
by one of his friends, and contained these words:
“Now that death has laid him low, they call him a good
man and a useful citizen; but what are eulogies to
the black man, when the world has faded from his
vision? It does not require man's praise to obtain rest
in God's kingdom.” So they called a colored man a
citizen! Strange words to be uttered in that region!
Reader, my story ends with freedom; not in the
usual way, with marriage. I and my children are now
free! We are as free from the power of slaveholders
as are the white people of the north; and though that,
according to my ideas, is not saying a great deal, it is
a vast improvement in my condition. The dream of
my life is not yet realized. I do not sit with my children
in a home of my own. I still long for a hearthstone
of my own, however humble. I wish it for my
so orders circumstances as to keep me with my friend
Mrs. Bruce. Love, duty, gratitude, also bind me to
her side. It is a privilege to serve her who pities my
oppressed people, and who has bestowed the inestimable
boon of freedom on me and my children.
It has been painful to me, in many ways, to recall
the dreary years I passed in bondage. I would gladly
forget them if I could. Yet the retrospection is not
altogether without solace; for with those gloomy recollections
come tender memories of my good old grandmother,
like light, fleecy clouds floating over a dark
and troubled sea.
| Incidents in the life of a slave girl | |