Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
freedom. One of my mother’s sisters, called Aunt Nancy, was also a
slave in his family. She was a kind, good aunt to me; and supplied the
place of both housekeeper and waiting maid to her mistress. She was, in
fact, at the beginning and end of every thing.
Mrs. Flint, like many southern women, was totally deficient in energy.
She had not strength to superintend her household affairs; but her
nerves were so strong, that she could sit in her easy chair and see a
woman whipped, till the blood trickled from every stroke of the lash.
She was a member of the church; but partaking of the Lord’s supper did
not seem to put her in a Christian frame of mind. If dinner was not
served at the exact time on that particular Sunday, she would station
herself in the kitchen, and wait till it was dished, and then spit in
all the kettles and pans that had been used for cooking. She did this
to prevent the cook and her children from eking out their meagre fare
with the remains of the gravy and other scrapings. The slaves could
get nothing to eat except what she chose to give them. Provisions were
weighed out by the pound and ounce, three times a day. I can assure you
she gave them no chance to eat wheat bread from her flour barrel. She
knew how many biscuits a quart of flour would make, and exactly what
size they ought to be.
Dr. Flint was an epicure. The cook never sent a dinner to his table
without fear and trembling; for if there happened to be a dish not to
his liking, he would either order her to be whipped, or compel her to
eat every mouthful of it in his presence. The poor, hungry creature
might not have objected to eating it; but she did object to having her
master cram it down her throat till she choked.
They had a pet dog, that was a nuisance in the house. The cook was
ordered to make some Indian mush for him. He refused to eat, and when
his head was held over it, the froth flowed from his mouth into the
basin. He died a few minutes after. When Dr. Flint came in, he said
the mush had not been well cooked, and that was the reason the animal
would not eat it. He sent for the cook, and compelled her to eat it.
He thought that the woman’s stomach was stronger than the dog’s; but
her sufferings afterwards proved that he was mistaken. This poor woman
endured many cruelties from her master and mistress; sometimes she was
locked up, away from her nursing baby, for a whole day and night.
When I had been in the family a few weeks, one of the plantation
slaves was brought to town, by order of his master. It was near night
when he arrived, and Dr. Flint ordered him to be taken to the work
house, and tied up to the joist, so that his feet would just escape
the ground. In that situation he was to wait till the doctor had taken
his tea. I shall never forget that night. Never before, in my life,
had I heard hundreds of blows fall, in succession, on a human being.
His piteous groans, and his “O, pray don’t, massa,” rang in my ear for
months afterwards. There were many conjectures as to the cause of this
terrible punishment. Some said master accused him of stealing corn;
others said the slave had quarrelled with his wife, in presence of the
overseer, and had accused his master of being the father of her child.
They were both black, and the child was very fair.
I went into the work house next morning, and saw the cowhide still wet
with blood, and the boards all covered with gore. The poor man lived,
and continued to quarrel with his wife. A few months afterwards Dr.
Flint handed them both over to a slave-trader. The guilty man put their
value into his pocket, and had the satisfaction of knowing that they
were out of sight and hearing. When the mother was delivered into the
trader’s hands, she said, “You _promised_ to treat me well.” To which
he replied, “You have let your tongue run too far; damn you!” She had
forgotten that it was a crime for a slave to tell who was the father of
her child.
From others than the master persecution also comes in such cases. I
once saw a young slave girl dying soon after the birth of a child
nearly white. In her agony she cried out, “O Lord, come and take me!”
Her mistress stood by, and mocked at her like an incarnate fiend. “You
suffer, do you?” she exclaimed. “I am glad of it. You deserve it all,
and more too.”
The girl’s mother said, “The baby is dead, thank God; and I hope my
poor child will soon be in heaven, too.”
“Heaven!” retorted the mistress. “There is no such place for the like
of her and her bastard.”
The poor mother turned away, sobbing. Her dying daughter called her,
feebly, and as she bent over her, I heard her say, “Don’t grieve so,
mother; God knows all about it; and HE will have mercy upon me.”
Her sufferings, afterwards, became so intense, that her mistress felt
unable to stay; but when she left the room, the scornful smile was
still on her lips. Seven children called her mother. The poor black
woman had but the one child, whose eyes she saw closing in death, while
she thanked God for taking her away from the greater bitterness of life.
III. The Slaves’ New Year’s Day.
Dr. Flint owned a fine residence in town, several farms, and about
fifty slaves, besides hiring a number by the year.
Hiring-day at the south takes place on the 1st of January. On the 2d,
the slaves are expected to go to their new masters. On a farm, they
work until the corn and cotton are laid. They then have two holidays.
Some masters give them a good dinner under the trees. This over, they
work until Christmas eve. If no heavy charges are meantime brought
against them, they are given four or five holidays, whichever the
master or overseer may think proper. Then comes New Year’s eve; and
they gather together their little alls, or more properly speaking,
their little nothings, and wait anxiously for the dawning of day.
At the appointed hour the grounds are thronged with men, women, and
children, waiting, like criminals, to hear their doom pronounced. The
slave is sure to know who is the most humane, or cruel master, within
forty miles of him.
It is easy to find out, on that day, who clothes and feeds his slaves
well; for he is surrounded by a crowd, begging, “Please, massa, hire me
this year. I will work _very_ hard, massa.”
If a slave is unwilling to go with his new master, he is whipped, or
locked up in jail, until he consents to go, and promises not to run
away during the year. Should he chance to change his mind, thinking
it justifiable to violate an extorted promise, woe unto him if he is
caught! The whip is used till the blood flows at his feet; and his
stiffened limbs are put in chains, to be dragged in the field for days
and days!
If he lives until the next year, perhaps the same man will hire
him again, without even giving him an opportunity of going to the
hiring-ground. After those for hire are disposed of, those for sale are
called up.
O, you happy free women, contrast _your_ New Year’s day with that of
the poor bond-woman! With you it is a pleasant season, and the light of
the day is blessed. Friendly wishes meet you every where, and gifts are
showered upon you. Even hearts that have been estranged from you soften
at this season, and lips that have been silent echo back, “I wish you
a happy New Year.” Children bring their little offerings, and raise
their rosy lips for a caress. They are your own, and no hand but that
of death can take them from you.
But to the slave mother New Year’s day comes laden with peculiar
sorrows. She sits on her cold cabin floor, watching the children
who may all be torn from her the next morning; and often does she
wish that she and they might die before the day dawns. She may be an
ignorant creature, degraded by the system that has brutalized her from
childhood; but she has a mother’s instincts, and is capable of feeling
a mother’s agonies.
On one of these sale days, I saw a mother lead seven children to the
auction-block. She knew that _some_ of them would be taken from her;
but they took _all_. The children were sold to a slave-trader, and
their mother was bought by a man in her own town. Before night her
children were all far away. She begged the trader to tell her where
he intended to take them; this he refused to do. How _could_ he, when
he knew he would sell them, one by one, wherever he could command the
highest price? I met that mother in the street, and her wild, haggard
face lives to-day in my mind. She wrung her hands in anguish, and
exclaimed, “Gone! All gone! Why _don’t_ God kill me?” I had no words
wherewith to comfort her. Instances of this kind are of daily, yea, of
hourly occurrence.
Slaveholders have a method, peculiar to their institution, of getting
rid of _old_ slaves, whose lives have been worn out in their service. I
knew an old woman, who for seventy years faithfully served her master.
She had become almost helpless, from hard labor and disease. Her owners
moved to Alabama, and the old black woman was left to be sold to any
body who would give twenty dollars for her.
IV. The Slave Who Dared To Feel Like A Man.
Two years had passed since I entered Dr. Flint’s family, and those
years had brought much of the knowledge that comes from experience,
though they had afforded little opportunity for any other kinds of
knowledge.
My grandmother had, as much as possible, been a mother to her orphan
grandchildren. By perseverance and unwearied industry, she was now
mistress of a snug little home, surrounded with the necessaries of
life. She would have been happy could her children have shared them
with her. There remained but three children and two grandchildren, all
slaves. Most earnestly did she strive to make us feel that it was the
will of God: that He had seen fit to place us under such circumstances;
and though it seemed hard, we ought to pray for contentment.
It was a beautiful faith, coming from a mother who could not call her
children her own. But I, and Benjamin, her youngest boy, condemned
it. We reasoned that it was much more the will of God that we should
be situated as she was. We longed for a home like hers. There we
always found sweet balsam for our troubles. She was so loving, so
sympathizing! She always met us with a smile, and listened with
patience to all our sorrows. She spoke so hopefully, that unconsciously
the clouds gave place to sunshine. There was a grand big oven there,
too, that baked bread and nice things for the town, and we knew there
was always a choice bit in store for us.
But, alas! Even the charms of the old oven failed to reconcile us to
our hard lot. Benjamin was now a tall, handsome lad, strongly and
gracefully made, and with a spirit too bold and daring for a slave. My
brother William, now twelve years old, had the same aversion to the
word master that he had when he was an urchin of seven years. I was his
confidant. He came to me with all his troubles. I remember one instance
in particular. It was on a lovely spring morning, and when I marked the
sunlight dancing here and there, its beauty seemed to mock my sadness.
For my master, whose restless, craving, vicious nature roved about day
and night, seeking whom to devour, had just left me, with stinging,
scorching words; words that scathed ear and brain like fire. O, how
I despised him! I thought how glad I should be, if some day when he
walked the earth, it would open and swallow him up, and disencumber the
world of a plague.
When he told me that I was made for his use, made to obey his command
in _every_ thing; that I was nothing but a slave, whose will must and
should surrender to his, never before had my puny arm felt half so
strong.
So deeply was I absorbed in painful reflections afterwards, that I