Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
place where I was treated according to my deportment, without reference
to my complexion. I felt as if a great millstone had been lifted from
my breast. Ensconced in a pleasant room, with my dear little charge,
I laid my head on my pillow, for the first time, with the delightful
consciousness of pure, unadulterated freedom.
As I had constant care of the child, I had little opportunity to see
the wonders of that great city; but I watched the tide of life that
flowed through the streets, and found it a strange contrast to the
stagnation in our Southern towns. Mr. Bruce took his little daughter to
spend some days with friends in Oxford Crescent, and of course it was
necessary for me to accompany her. I had heard much of the systematic
method of English education, and I was very desirous that my dear Mary
should steer straight in the midst of so much propriety. I closely
observed her little playmates and their nurses, being ready to take any
lessons in the science of good management. The children were more rosy
than American children, but I did not see that they differed materially
in other respects. They were like all children—sometimes docile and
sometimes wayward.
We next went to Steventon, in Berkshire. It was a small town, said to
be the poorest in the county. I saw men working in the fields for six
shillings, and seven shillings, a week, and women for sixpence, and
sevenpence, a day, out of which they boarded themselves. Of course they
lived in the most primitive manner; it could not be otherwise, where
a woman’s wages for an entire day were not sufficient to buy a pound
of meat. They paid very low rents, and their clothes were made of the
cheapest fabrics, though much better than could have been procured
in the United States for the same money. I had heard much about the
oppression of the poor in Europe. The people I saw around me were,
many of them, among the poorest poor. But when I visited them in their
little thatched cottages, I felt that the condition of even the meanest
and most ignorant among them was vastly superior to the condition of
the most favored slaves in America. They labored hard; but they were
not ordered out to toil while the stars were in the sky, and driven and
slashed by an overseer, through heat and cold, till the stars shone out
again. Their homes were very humble; but they were protected by law.
No insolent patrols could come, in the dead of night, and flog them at
their pleasure. The father, when he closed his cottage door, felt safe
with his family around him. No master or overseer could come and take
from him his wife, or his daughter. They must separate to earn their
living; but the parents knew where their children were going, and could
communicate with them by letters. The relations of husband and wife,
parent and child, were too sacred for the richest noble in the land
to violate with impunity. Much was being done to enlighten these poor
people. Schools were established among them, and benevolent societies
were active in efforts to ameliorate their condition. There was no law
forbidding them to learn to read and write; and if they helped each
other in spelling out the Bible, they were in no danger of thirty-nine
lashes, as was the case with myself and poor, pious, old uncle Fred. I
repeat that the most ignorant and the most destitute of these peasants
was a thousand fold better off than the most pampered American slave.
I do not deny that the poor are oppressed in Europe. I am not disposed
to paint their condition so rose-colored as the Hon. Miss Murray paints
the condition of the slaves in the United States. A small portion of
_my_ experience would enable her to read her own pages with anointed
eyes. If she were to lay aside her title, and, instead of visiting
among the fashionable, become domesticated, as a poor governess, on
some plantation in Louisiana or Alabama, she would see and hear things
that would make her tell quite a different story.
My visit to England is a memorable event in my life, from the fact of
my having there received strong religious impressions. The contemptuous
manner in which the communion had been administered to colored people,
in my native place; the church membership of Dr. Flint, and others
like him; and the buying and selling of slaves, by professed ministers
of the gospel, had given me a prejudice against the Episcopal church.
The whole service seemed to me a mockery and a sham. But my home in
Steventon was in the family of a clergyman, who was a true disciple
of Jesus. The beauty of his daily life inspired me with faith in the
genuineness of Christian professions. Grace entered my heart, and I
knelt at the communion table, I trust, in true humility of soul.
I remained abroad ten months, which was much longer than I had
anticipated. During all that time, I never saw the slightest symptom of
prejudice against color. Indeed, I entirely forgot it, till the time
came for us to return to America.
XXXVIII. Renewed Invitations To Go South.
We had a tedious winter passage, and from the distance spectres seemed
to rise up on the shores of the United States. It is a sad feeling to
be afraid of one’s native country. We arrived in New York safely, and
I hastened to Boston to look after my children. I found Ellen well,
and improving at her school; but Benny was not there to welcome me. He
had been left at a good place to learn a trade, and for several months
every thing worked well. He was liked by the master, and was a favorite
with his fellow-apprentices; but one day they accidentally discovered
a fact they had never before suspected—that he was colored! This at
once transformed him into a different being. Some of the apprentices
were Americans, others American-born Irish; and it was offensive to
their dignity to have a “nigger” among them, after they had been told
that he _was_ a “nigger.” They began by treating him with silent
scorn, and finding that he returned the same, they resorted to insults
and abuse. He was too spirited a boy to stand that, and he went off.
Being desirous to do something to support himself, and having no one
to advise him, he shipped for a whaling voyage. When I received these
tidings I shed many tears, and bitterly reproached myself for having
left him so long. But I had done it for the best, and now all I could
do was to pray to the heavenly Father to guide and protect him.
Not long after my return, I received the following letter from Miss
Emily Flint, now Mrs. Dodge:—
“In this you will recognize the hand of your friend and mistress.
Having heard that you had gone with a family to Europe, I have
waited to hear of your return to write to you. I should have
answered the letter you wrote to me long since, but as I could not
then act independently of my father, I knew there could be nothing
done satisfactory to you. There were persons here who were willing
to buy you and run the risk of getting you. To this I would not
consent. I have always been attached to you, and would not like
to see you the slave of another, or have unkind treatment. I am
married now, and can protect you. My husband expects to move to
Virginia this spring, where we think of settling. I am very anxious
that you should come and live with me. If you are not willing to
come, you may purchase yourself; but I should prefer having you
live with me. If you come, you may, if you like, spend a month with
your grandmother and friends, then come to me in Norfolk, Virginia.
Think this over, and write as soon as possible, and let me know
the conclusion. Hoping that your children are well, I remain your
friend and mistress.”
Of course I did not write to return thanks for this cordial invitation. I
felt insulted to be thought stupid enough to be caught by such professions.
“‘Come up into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly;
‘’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.’”
It was plain that Dr. Flint’s family were apprised of my movements,
since they knew of my voyage to Europe. I expected to have further
trouble from them; but having eluded them thus far, I hoped to be
as successful in future. The money I had earned, I was desirous to
devote to the education of my children, and to secure a home for them.
It seemed not only hard, but unjust, to pay for myself. I could not
possibly regard myself as a piece of property. Moreover, I had worked
many years without wages, and during that time had been obliged to
depend on my grandmother for many comforts in food and clothing. My
children certainly belonged to me; but though Dr. Flint had incurred
no expense for their support, he had received a large sum of money for
them. I knew the law would decide that I was his property, and would
probably still give his daughter a claim to my children; but I regarded
such laws as the regulations of robbers, who had no rights that I was
bound to respect.
The Fugitive Slave Law had not then passed. The judges of Massachusetts
had not then stooped under chains to enter her courts of justice, so
called. I knew my old master was rather skittish of Massachusetts. I
relied on her love of freedom, and felt safe on her soil. I am now
aware that I honored the old Commonwealth beyond her deserts.
XXXIX. The Confession.
For two years my daughter and I supported ourselves comfortably
in Boston. At the end of that time, my brother William offered to
send Ellen to a boarding school. It required a great effort for me
to consent to part with her, for I had few near ties, and it was
her presence that made my two little rooms seem home-like. But my
judgment prevailed over my selfish feelings. I made preparations for
her departure. During the two years we had lived together I had often
resolved to tell her something about her father; but I had never
been able to muster sufficient courage. I had a shrinking dread of
diminishing my child’s love. I knew she must have curiosity on the
subject, but she had never asked a question. She was always very
careful not to say any thing to remind me of my troubles. Now that she
was going from me, I thought if I should die before she returned, she
might hear my story from some one who did not understand the palliating
circumstances; and that if she were entirely ignorant on the subject,
her sensitive nature might receive a rude shock.
When we retired for the night, she said, “Mother, it is very hard to
leave you alone. I am almost sorry I am going, though I do want to
improve myself. But you will write to me often; won’t you, mother?”
I did not throw my arms round her. I did not answer her. But in a calm,
solemn way, for it cost me great effort, I said, “Listen to me, Ellen;
I have something to tell you!” I recounted my early sufferings in
slavery, and told her how nearly they had crushed me. I began to tell
her how they had driven me into a great sin, when she clasped me in her
arms, and exclaimed, “O, don’t, mother! Please don’t tell me any more.”
I said, “But, my child, I want you to know about your father.”
“I know all about it, mother,” she replied; “I am nothing to my father,
and he is nothing to me. All my love is for you. I was with him five
months in Washington, and he never cared for me. He never spoke to me
as he did to his little Fanny. I knew all the time he was my father,
for Fanny’s nurse told me so; but she said I must never tell any body,
and I never did. I used to wish he would take me in his arms and kiss
me, as he did Fanny; or that he would sometimes smile at me, as he did
at her. I thought if he was my own father, he ought to love me. I was a
little girl then, and didn’t know any better. But now I never think any
thing about my father. All my love is for you.” She hugged me closer as