Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
had little ones to clasp their arms round her neck; she had never seen
their soft eyes looking into hers; no sweet little voices had called
her mother; she had never pressed her own infants to her heart, with
the feeling that even in fetters there was something to live for. How
could she realize my feelings? Betty’s husband loved children dearly,
and wondered why God had denied them to him. He expressed great sorrow
when he came to Betty with the tidings that Ellen had been taken out
of jail and carried to Dr. Flint’s. She had the measles a short time
before they carried her to jail, and the disease had left her eyes
affected. The doctor had taken her home to attend to them. My children
had always been afraid of the doctor and his wife. They had never been
inside of their house. Poor little Ellen cried all day to be carried
back to prison. The instincts of childhood are true. She knew she was
loved in the jail. Her screams and sobs annoyed Mrs. Flint. Before
night she called one of the slaves, and said, “Here, Bill, carry
this brat back to the jail. I can’t stand her noise. If she would be
quiet I should like to keep the little minx. She would make a handy
waiting-maid for my daughter by and by. But if she staid here, with her
white face, I suppose I should either kill her or spoil her. I hope the
doctor will sell them as far as wind and water can carry them. As for
their mother, her ladyship will find out yet what she gets by running
away. She hasn’t so much feeling for her children as a cow has for its
calf. If she had, she would have come back long ago, to get them out
of jail, and save all this expense and trouble. The good-for-nothing
hussy! When she is caught, she shall stay in jail, in irons, for one
six months, and then be sold to a sugar plantation. I shall see her
broke in yet. What do you stand there for, Bill? Why don’t you go off
with the brat? Mind, now, that you don’t let any of the niggers speak
to her in the street!”
When these remarks were reported to me, I smiled at Mrs. Flint’s saying
that she should either kill my child or spoil her. I thought to myself
there was very little danger of the latter. I have always considered it
as one of God’s special providences that Ellen screamed till she was
carried back to jail.
That same night Dr. Flint was called to a patient, and did not return
till near morning. Passing my grandmother’s, he saw a light in the
house, and thought to himself, “Perhaps this has something to do with
Linda.” He knocked, and the door was opened. “What calls you up so
early?” said he. “I saw your light, and I thought I would just stop
and tell you that I have found out where Linda is. I know where to put
my hands on her, and I shall have her before twelve o’clock.” When
he had turned away, my grandmother and my uncle looked anxiously at
each other. They did not know whether or not it was merely one of the
doctor’s tricks to frighten them. In their uncertainty, they thought it
was best to have a message conveyed to my friend Betty. Unwilling to
alarm her mistress, Betty resolved to dispose of me herself. She came
to me, and told me to rise and dress quickly. We hurried down stairs,
and across the yard, into the kitchen. She locked the door, and lifted
up a plank in the floor. A buffalo skin and a bit of carpet were spread
for me to lie on, and a quilt thrown over me. “Stay dar,” said she,
“till I sees if dey know ’bout you. Dey say dey vil put thar hans on
you afore twelve o’clock. If dey _did_ know whar you are, dey won’t
know _now_. Dey’ll be disapinted dis time. Dat’s all I got to say. If
dey comes rummagin ’mong _my_ tings, dey’ll get one bressed sarssin
from dis ’ere nigger.” In my shallow bed I had but just room enough to
bring my hands to my face to keep the dust out of my eyes; for Betty
walked over me twenty times in an hour, passing from the dresser to the
fireplace. When she was alone, I could hear her pronouncing anathemas
over Dr. Flint and all his tribe, every now and then saying, with a
chuckling laugh, “Dis nigger’s too cute for ’em dis time.” When the
housemaids were about, she had sly ways of drawing them out, that I
might hear what they would say. She would repeat stories she had heard
about my being in this, or that, or the other place. To which they
would answer, that I was not fool enough to be staying round there;
that I was in Philadelphia or New York before this time. When all were
abed and asleep, Betty raised the plank, and said, “Come out, chile;
come out. Dey don’t know nottin ’bout you. ’Twas only white folks’
lies, to skeer de niggers.”
Some days after this adventure I had a much worse fright. As I sat very
still in my retreat above stairs, cheerful visions floated through my
mind. I thought Dr. Flint would soon get discouraged, and would be
willing to sell my children, when he lost all hopes of making them
the means of my discovery. I knew who was ready to buy them. Suddenly
I heard a voice that chilled my blood. The sound was too familiar to
me, it had been too dreadful, for me not to recognize at once my old
master. He was in the house, and I at once concluded he had come to
seize me. I looked round in terror. There was no way of escape. The
voice receded. I supposed the constable was with him, and they were
searching the house. In my alarm I did not forget the trouble I was
bringing on my generous benefactress. It seemed as if I were born to
bring sorrow on all who befriended me, and that was the bitterest
drop in the bitter cup of my life. After a while I heard approaching
footsteps; the key was turned in my door. I braced myself against the
wall to keep from falling. I ventured to look up, and there stood my
kind benefactress alone. I was too much overcome to speak, and sunk
down upon the floor.
“I thought you would hear your master’s voice,” she said; “and knowing
you would be terrified, I came to tell you there is nothing to fear.
You may even indulge in a laugh at the old gentleman’s expense. He
is so sure you are in New York, that he came to borrow five hundred
dollars to go in pursuit of you. My sister had some money to loan
on interest. He has obtained it, and proposes to start for New York
to-night. So, for the present, you see you are safe. The doctor will
merely lighten his pocket hunting after the bird he has left behind.”
XIX. The Children Sold.
The Doctor came back from New York, of course without accomplishing
his purpose. He had expended considerable money, and was rather
disheartened. My brother and the children had now been in jail two
months, and that also was some expense. My friends thought it was a
favorable time to work on his discouraged feelings. Mr. Sands sent a
speculator to offer him nine hundred dollars for my brother William,
and eight hundred for the two children. These were high prices, as
slaves were then selling; but the offer was rejected. If it had been
merely a question of money, the doctor would have sold any boy of
Benny’s age for two hundred dollars; but he could not bear to give
up the power of revenge. But he was hard pressed for money, and he
revolved the matter in his mind. He knew that if he could keep Ellen
till she was fifteen, he could sell her for a high price; but I
presume he reflected that she might die, or might be stolen away. At
all events, he came to the conclusion that he had better accept the
slave-trader’s offer. Meeting him in the street, he inquired when
he would leave town. “To-day, at ten o’clock,” he replied. “Ah, do
you go so soon?” said the doctor; “I have been reflecting upon your
proposition, and I have concluded to let you have the three negroes if
you will say nineteen hundred dollars.” After some parley, the trader
agreed to his terms. He wanted the bill of sale drawn up and signed
immediately, as he had a great deal to attend to during the short time
he remained in town. The doctor went to the jail and told William he
would take him back into his service if he would promise to behave
himself; but he replied that he would rather be sold. “And you _shall_
be sold, you ungrateful rascal!” exclaimed the doctor. In less than an
hour the money was paid, the papers were signed, sealed, and delivered,
and my brother and children were in the hands of the trader.
It was a hurried transaction; and after it was over, the doctor’s
characteristic caution returned. He went back to the speculator, and
said, “Sir, I have come to lay you under obligations of a thousand
dollars not to sell any of those negroes in this state.” “You come
too late,” replied the trader; “our bargain is closed.” He had, in
fact, already sold them to Mr. Sands, but he did not mention it. The
doctor required him to put irons on “that rascal, Bill,” and to pass
through the back streets when he took his gang out of town. The trader
was privately instructed to concede to his wishes. My good old aunt
went to the jail to bid the children good by, supposing them to be
the speculator’s property, and that she should never see them again.
As she held Benny in her lap, he said, “Aunt Nancy, I want to show
you something.” He led her to the door and showed her a long row of
marks, saying, “Uncle Will taught me to count. I have made a mark for
every day I have been here, and it is sixty days. It is a long time;
and the speculator is going to take me and Ellen away. He’s a bad man.
It’s wrong for him to take grandmother’s children. I want to go to my
mother.”
My grandmother was told that the children would be restored to her,
but she was requested to act as if they were really to be sent away.
Accordingly, she made up a bundle of clothes and went to the jail.
When she arrived, she found William handcuffed among the gang, and the
children in the trader’s cart. The scene seemed too much like reality.
She was afraid there might have been some deception or mistake. She
fainted, and was carried home.
When the wagon stopped at the hotel, several gentlemen came out and
proposed to purchase William, but the trader refused their offers,
without stating that he was already sold. And now came the trying
hour for that drove of human beings, driven away like cattle, to be
sold they knew not where. Husbands were torn from wives, parents from
children, never to look upon each other again this side the grave.
There was wringing of hands and cries of despair.
Dr. Flint had the supreme satisfaction of seeing the wagon leave town,
and Mrs. Flint had the gratification of supposing that my children
were going “as far as wind and water would carry them.” According to
agreement, my uncle followed the wagon some miles, until they came to
an old farm house. There the trader took the irons from William, and as
he did so, he said, “You are a damned clever fellow. I should like to
own you myself. Them gentlemen that wanted to buy you said you was a
bright, honest chap, and I must git you a good home. I guess your old
master will swear to-morrow, and call himself an old fool for selling
the children. I reckon he’ll never git their mammy back agin. I expect
she’s made tracks for the north. Good by, old boy. Remember, I have
done you a good turn. You must thank me by coaxing all the pretty gals
to go with me next fall. That’s going to be my last trip. This trading
in niggers is a bad business for a fellow that’s got any heart. Move
on, you fellows!” And the gang went on, God alone knows where.
Much as I despise and detest the class of slave-traders, whom I regard
as the vilest wretches on earth, I must do this man the justice to say
that he seemed to have some feeling. He took a fancy to William in the
jail, and wanted to buy him. When he heard the story of my children,
he was willing to aid them in getting out of Dr. Flint’s power, even
without charging the customary fee.