Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
she, “and he is sorry you seem to shun him. He knows you are living in
New York. He told me to say to you that he owes thanks to good old aunt
Martha for too many little acts of kindness for him to be base enough
to betray her grandchild.”
This Mr. Thorne had become poor and reckless long before he left the
south, and such persons had much rather go to one of the faithful old
slaves to borrow a dollar, or get a good dinner, than to go to one whom
they consider an equal. It was such acts of kindness as these for which
he professed to feel grateful to my grandmother. I wished he had kept
at a distance, but as he was here, and knew where I was, I concluded
there was nothing to be gained by trying to avoid him; on the contrary,
it might be the means of exciting his ill will. I followed his sister
up stairs. He met me in a very friendly manner, congratulated me on my
escape from slavery, and hoped I had a good place, where I felt happy.
I continued to visit Ellen as often as I could. She, good thoughtful
child, never forgot my hazardous situation, but always kept a vigilant
lookout for my safety. She never made any complaint about her own
inconveniences and troubles; but a mother’s observing eye easily
perceived that she was not happy. On the occasion of one of my visits
I found her unusually serious. When I asked her what was the matter,
she said nothing was the matter. But I insisted upon knowing what made
her look so very grave. Finally, I ascertained that she felt troubled
about the dissipation that was continually going on in the house. She
was sent to the store very often for rum and brandy, and she felt
ashamed to ask for it so often; and Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Thorne drank a
great deal, and their hands trembled so that they had to call her to
pour out the liquor for them. “But for all that,” said she, “Mr. Hobbs
is good to me, and I can’t help liking him. I feel sorry for him.”
I tried to comfort her, by telling her that I had laid up a hundred
dollars, and that before long I hoped to be able to give her and
Benjamin a home, and send them to school. She was always desirous not
to add to my troubles more than she could help, and I did not discover
till years afterwards that Mr. Thorne’s intemperance was not the only
annoyance she suffered from him. Though he professed too much gratitude
to my grandmother to injure any of her descendants, he had poured vile
language into the ears of her innocent great-grandchild.
I usually went to Brooklyn to spend Sunday afternoon. One Sunday, I
found Ellen anxiously waiting for me near the house. “O, mother,” said
she, “I’ve been waiting for you this long time. I’m afraid Mr. Thorne
has written to tell Dr. Flint where you are. Make haste and come in.
Mrs. Hobbs will tell you all about it!”
The story was soon told. While the children were playing in the
grape-vine arbor, the day before, Mr. Thorne came out with a letter
in his hand, which he tore up and scattered about. Ellen was sweeping
the yard at the time, and having her mind full of suspicions of him,
she picked up the pieces and carried them to the children, saying, “I
wonder who Mr. Thorne has been writing to.”
“I’m sure I don’t know, and don’t care,” replied the oldest of the
children; “and I don’t see how it concerns you.”
“But it does concern me,” replied Ellen; “for I’m afraid he’s been
writing to the south about my mother.”
They laughed at her, and called her a silly thing, but good-naturedly
put the fragments of writing together, in order to read them to her.
They were no sooner arranged, than the little girl exclaimed, “I
declare, Ellen, I believe you are right.”
The contents of Mr. Thorne’s letter, as nearly as I can remember, were
as follows: “I have seen your slave, Linda, and conversed with her. She
can be taken very easily, if you manage prudently. There are enough of
us here to swear to her identity as your property. I am a patriot, a
lover of my country, and I do this as an act of justice to the laws.”
He concluded by informing the doctor of the street and number where I
lived. The children carried the pieces to Mrs. Hobbs, who immediately
went to her brother’s room for an explanation. He was not to be found.
The servants said they saw him go out with a letter in his hand, and
they supposed he had gone to the post office. The natural inference
was, that he had sent to Dr. Flint a copy of those fragments. When he
returned, his sister accused him of it, and he did not deny the charge.
He went immediately to his room, and the next morning he was missing.
He had gone over to New York, before any of the family were astir.
It was evident that I had no time to lose; and I hastened back to the
city with a heavy heart. Again I was to be torn from a comfortable
home, and all my plans for the welfare of my children were to be
frustrated by that demon Slavery! I now regretted that I never told
Mrs. Bruce my story. I had not concealed it merely on account of being
a fugitive; that would have made her anxious, but it would have excited
sympathy in her kind heart. I valued her good opinion, and I was afraid
of losing it, if I told her all the particulars of my sad story. But
now I felt that it was necessary for her to know how I was situated. I
had once left her abruptly, without explaining the reason, and it would
not be proper to do it again. I went home resolved to tell her in the
morning. But the sadness of my face attracted her attention, and, in
answer to her kind inquiries, I poured out my full heart to her, before
bed time. She listened with true womanly sympathy, and told me she
would do all she could to protect me. How my heart blessed her!
Early the next morning, Judge Vanderpool and Lawyer Hopper were
consulted. They said I had better leave the city at once, as the risk
would be great if the case came to trial. Mrs. Bruce took me in a
carriage to the house of one of her friends, where she assured me I
should be safe until my brother could arrive, which would be in a few
days. In the interval my thoughts were much occupied with Ellen. She
was mine by birth, and she was also mine by Southern law, since my
grandmother held the bill of sale that made her so. I did not feel
that she was safe unless I had her with me. Mrs. Hobbs, who felt badly
about her brother’s treachery, yielded to my entreaties, on condition
that she should return in ten days. I avoided making any promise.
She came to me clad in very thin garments, all outgrown, and with a
school satchel on her arm, containing a few articles. It was late in
October, and I knew the child must suffer; and not daring to go out in
the streets to purchase any thing, I took off my own flannel skirt and
converted it into one for her. Kind Mrs. Bruce came to bid me good by,
and when she saw that I had taken off my clothing for my child, the
tears came to her eyes. She said, “Wait for me, Linda,” and went out.
She soon returned with a nice warm shawl and hood for Ellen. Truly, of
such souls as hers are the kingdom of heaven.
My brother reached New York on Wednesday. Lawyer Hopper advised us
to go to Boston by the Stonington route, as there was less Southern
travel in that direction. Mrs. Bruce directed her servants to tell all
inquirers that I formerly lived there, but had gone from the city.
We reached the steamboat Rhode Island in safety. That boat employed
colored hands, but I knew that colored passengers were not admitted to
the cabin. I was very desirous for the seclusion of the cabin, not only
on account of exposure to the night air, but also to avoid observation.
Lawyer Hopper was waiting on board for us. He spoke to the stewardess,
and asked, as a particular favor, that she would treat us well. He
said to me, “Go and speak to the captain yourself by and by. Take your
little girl with you, and I am sure that he will not let her sleep on
deck.” With these kind words and a shake of the hand he departed.
The boat was soon on her way, bearing me rapidly from the friendly
home where I had hoped to find security and rest. My brother had left
me to purchase the tickets, thinking that I might have better success
than he would. When the stewardess came to me, I paid what she asked,
and she gave me three tickets with clipped corners. In the most
unsophisticated manner I said, “You have made a mistake; I asked you
for cabin tickets. I cannot possibly consent to sleep on deck with my
little daughter.” She assured me there was no mistake. She said on some
of the routes colored people were allowed to sleep in the cabin, but
not on this route, which was much travelled by the wealthy. I asked her
to show me to the captain’s office, and she said she would after tea.
When the time came, I took Ellen by the hand and went to the captain,
politely requesting him to change our tickets, as we should be very
uncomfortable on deck. He said it was contrary to their custom, but
he would see that we had berths below; he would also try to obtain
comfortable seats for us in the cars; of that he was not certain, but
he would speak to the conductor about it, when the boat arrived. I
thanked him, and returned to the ladies’ cabin. He came afterwards
and told me that the conductor of the cars was on board, that he had
spoken to him, and he had promised to take care of us. I was very
much surprised at receiving so much kindness. I don’t know whether
the pleasing face of my little girl had won his heart, or whether the
stewardess inferred from Lawyer Hopper’s manner that I was a fugitive,
and had pleaded with him in my behalf.
When the boat arrived at Stonington, the conductor kept his promise,
and showed us to seats in the first car, nearest the engine. He asked
us to take seats next the door, but as he passed through, we ventured
to move on toward the other end of the car. No incivility was offered
us, and we reached Boston in safety.
The day after my arrival was one of the happiest of my life. I felt
as if I was beyond the reach of the bloodhounds; and, for the first
time during many years, I had both my children together with me. They
greatly enjoyed their reunion, and laughed and chatted merrily. I
watched them with a swelling heart. Their every motion delighted me.
I could not feel safe in New York, and I accepted the offer of a
friend, that we should share expenses and keep house together. I
represented to Mrs. Hobbs that Ellen must have some schooling, and
must remain with me for that purpose. She felt ashamed of being unable
to read or spell at her age, so instead of sending her to school
with Benny, I instructed her myself till she was fitted to enter an
intermediate school. The winter passed pleasantly, while I was busy
with my needle, and my children with their books.
XXXVII. A Visit To England
In the spring, sad news came to me. Mrs. Bruce was dead. Never again,
in this world, should I see her gentle face, or hear her sympathizing
voice. I had lost an excellent friend, and little Mary had lost a
tender mother. Mr. Bruce wished the child to visit some of her mother’s
relatives in England, and he was desirous that I should take charge of
her. The little motherless one was accustomed to me, and attached to
me, and I thought she would be happier in my care than in that of a
stranger. I could also earn more in this way than I could by my needle.
So I put Benny to a trade, and left Ellen to remain in the house with
my friend and go to school.
We sailed from New York, and arrived in Liverpool after a pleasant
voyage of twelve days. We proceeded directly to London, and took
lodgings at the Adelaide Hotel. The supper seemed to me less luxurious
than those I had seen in American hotels; but my situation was
indescribably more pleasant. For the first time in my life I was in a