Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
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 to give one’s self, than to submit to compulsion.
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 this case, I felt confident I should obtain the boon. I also
felt quite sure that they would be made free. With all these thoughts
revolving in my mind, and seeing no other way of escaping 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 enough of such talk as that. You
shall go, if you are 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 suspicions
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 my mother’s wedding ring and her silver thimble. “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 thought I could bear my shame if I could only be
reconciled 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!”
XI. The New Tie To Life.
I returned to my good grandmother’s house. She had an interview with
Mr. Sands. When she asked him why he could not have left her one ewe
lamb,—whether there were not plenty of slaves who did not care about
character,—he made no answer; but he spoke kind and encouraging words.
He promised to care for my child, and to buy me, be the conditions what
they might.
I had not seen Dr. Flint for five days. I had never seen him since
I made the avowal to him. He talked of the disgrace I had brought
on myself; how I had sinned against my master, and mortified my old
grandmother. He intimated that if I had accepted his proposals, he, as
a physician, could have saved me from exposure. He even condescended
to pity me. Could he have offered wormwood more bitter? He, whose
persecutions had been the cause of my sin!
“Linda,” said he, “though you have been criminal towards me, I feel for
you, and I can pardon you if you obey my wishes. Tell me whether the
fellow you wanted to marry is the father of your child. If you deceive
me, you shall feel the fires of hell.”
I did not feel as proud as I had done. My strongest weapon with him was
gone. I was lowered in my own estimation, and had resolved to bear his
abuse in silence. But when he spoke contemptuously of the lover who had
always treated me honorably; when I remembered that but for _him_ I
might have been a virtuous, free, and happy wife, I lost my patience.
“I have sinned against God and myself,” I replied; “but not against
you.”
He clinched his teeth, and muttered, “Curse you!” He came towards me,
with ill-suppressed rage, and exclaimed, “You obstinate girl! I could
grind your bones to powder! You have thrown yourself away on some
worthless rascal. You are weak-minded, and have been easily persuaded
by those who don’t care a straw for you. The future will settle
accounts between us. You are blinded now; but hereafter you will be
convinced that your master was your best friend. My lenity towards you
is a proof of it. I might have punished you in many ways. I might have
had you whipped till you fell dead under the lash. But I wanted you to
live; I would have bettered your condition. Others cannot do it. You
are my slave. Your mistress, disgusted by your conduct, forbids you to
return to the house; therefore I leave you here for the present; but I
shall see you often. I will call to-morrow.”
He came with frowning brows, that showed a dissatisfied state of mind.
After asking about my health, he inquired whether my board was paid,
and who visited me. He then went on to say that he had neglected his
duty; that as a physician there were certain things that he ought to
have explained to me. Then followed talk such as would have made the
most shameless blush. He ordered me to stand up before him. I obeyed.
“I command you,” said he, “to tell me whether the father of your
child is white or black.” I hesitated. “Answer me this instant!” he
exclaimed. I did answer. He sprang upon me like a wolf, and grabbed my
arm as if he would have broken it. “Do you love him?” said he, in a
hissing tone.
“I am thankful that I do not despise him,” I replied.
He raised his hand to strike me; but it fell again. I don’t know what