Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
she spoke, and I thanked God that the knowledge I had so much dreaded
to impart had not diminished the affection of my child. I had not the
slightest idea she knew that portion of my history. If I had, I should
have spoken to her long before; for my pent-up feelings had often
longed to pour themselves out to some one I could trust. But I loved
the dear girl better for the delicacy she had manifested towards her
unfortunate mother.
The next morning, she and her uncle started on their journey to the
village in New York, where she was to be placed at school. It seemed
as if all the sunshine had gone away. My little room was dreadfully
lonely. I was thankful when a message came from a lady, accustomed to
employ me, requesting me to come and sew in her family for several
weeks. On my return, I found a letter from brother William. He thought
of opening an anti-slavery reading room in Rochester, and combining
with it the sale of some books and stationery; and he wanted me to
unite with him. We tried it, but it was not successful. We found warm
anti-slavery friends there, but the feeling was not general enough to
support such an establishment. I passed nearly a year in the family of
Isaac and Amy Post, practical believers in the Christian doctrine of
human brotherhood. They measure a man’s worth by his character, not by
his complexion. The memory of those beloved and honored friends will
remain with me to my latest hour.
XL. The Fugitive Slave Law.
My brother, being disappointed in his project, concluded to go to
California; and it was agreed that Benjamin should go with him. Ellen
liked her school, and was a great favorite there. They did not know her
history, and she did not tell it, because she had no desire to make
capital out of their sympathy. But when it was accidentally discovered
that her mother was a fugitive slave, every method was used to increase
her advantages and diminish her expenses.
I was alone again. It was necessary for me to be earning money, and
I preferred that it should be among those who knew me. On my return
from Rochester, I called at the house of Mr. Bruce, to see Mary, the
darling little babe that had thawed my heart, when it was freezing into
a cheerless distrust of all my fellow-beings. She was growing a tall
girl now, but I loved her always. Mr. Bruce had married again, and it
was proposed that I should become nurse to a new infant. I had but one
hesitation, and that was my feeling of insecurity in New York, now
greatly increased by the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law. However, I
resolved to try the experiment. I was again fortunate in my employer.
The new Mrs. Bruce was an American, brought up under aristocratic
influences, and still living in the midst of them; but if she had any
prejudice against color, I was never made aware of it; and as for the
system of slavery, she had a most hearty dislike of it. No sophistry
of Southerners could blind her to its enormity. She was a person of
excellent principles and a noble heart. To me, from that hour to the
present, she has been a true and sympathizing friend. Blessings be with
her and hers!
About the time that I reëntered the Bruce family, an event occurred of
disastrous import to the colored people. The slave Hamlin, the first
fugitive that came under the new law, was given up by the bloodhounds
of the north to the bloodhounds of the south. It was the beginning of a
reign of terror to the colored population. The great city rushed on in
its whirl of excitement, taking no note of the “short and simple annals
of the poor.” But while fashionables were listening to the thrilling
voice of Jenny Lind in Metropolitan Hall, the thrilling voices of poor
hunted colored people went up, in an agony of supplication, to the
Lord, from Zion’s church. Many families, who had lived in the city for
twenty years, fled from it now. Many a poor washerwoman, who, by hard
labor, had made herself a comfortable home, was obliged to sacrifice
her furniture, bid a hurried farewell to friends, and seek her fortune
among strangers in Canada. Many a wife discovered a secret she had
never known before—that her husband was a fugitive, and must leave her
to insure his own safety. Worse still, many a husband discovered that
his wife had fled from slavery years ago, and as “the child follows the
condition of its mother,” the children of his love were liable to be
seized and carried into slavery. Every where, in those humble homes,
there was consternation and anguish. But what cared the legislators of
the “dominant race” for the blood they were crushing out of trampled
hearts?
When my brother William spent his last evening with me, before he went
to California, we talked nearly all the time of the distress brought
on our oppressed people by the passage of this iniquitous law; and
never had I seen him manifest such bitterness of spirit, such stern
hostility to our oppressors. He was himself free from the operation of
the law; for he did not run from any Slaveholding State, being brought
into the Free States by his master. But I was subject to it; and so
were hundreds of intelligent and industrious people all around us. I
seldom ventured into the streets; and when it was necessary to do an
errand for Mrs. Bruce, or any of the family, I went as much as possible
through back streets and by-ways. What a disgrace to a city calling
itself free, that inhabitants, guiltless of offence, and seeking to
perform their duties conscientiously, should be condemned to live in
such incessant fear, and have nowhere to turn for protection! This
state of things, of course, gave rise to many impromptu vigilance
committees. Every colored person, and every friend of their persecuted
race, kept their eyes wide open. Every evening I examined the
newspapers carefully, to see what Southerners had put up at the hotels.
I did this for my own sake, thinking my young mistress and her husband
might be among the list; I wished also to give information to others,
if necessary; for if many were “running to and fro,” I resolved that
“knowledge should be increased.”
This brings up one of my Southern reminiscences, which I will here
briefly relate. I was somewhat acquainted with a slave named Luke, who
belonged to a wealthy man in our vicinity. His master died, leaving a
son and daughter heirs to his large fortune. In the division of the
slaves, Luke was included in the son’s portion. This young man became
a prey to the vices growing out of the “patriarchal institution,”
and when he went to the north, to complete his education, he carried
his vices with him. He was brought home, deprived of the use of his
limbs, by excessive dissipation. Luke was appointed to wait upon his
bed-ridden master, whose despotic habits were greatly increased by
exasperation at his own helplessness. He kept a cowhide beside him,
and, for the most trivial occurrence, he would order his attendant
to bare his back, and kneel beside the couch, while he whipped him
till his strength was exhausted. Some days he was not allowed to wear
any thing but his shirt, in order to be in readiness to be flogged.
A day seldom passed without his receiving more or less blows. If the
slightest resistance was offered, the town constable was sent for to
execute the punishment, and Luke learned from experience how much more
the constable’s strong arm was to be dreaded than the comparatively
feeble one of his master. The arm of his tyrant grew weaker, and was
finally palsied; and then the constable’s services were in constant
requisition. The fact that he was entirely dependent on Luke’s care,
and was obliged to be tended like an infant, instead of inspiring
any gratitude or compassion towards his poor slave, seemed only to
increase his irritability and cruelty. As he lay there on his bed, a
mere degraded wreck of manhood, he took into his head the strangest
freaks of despotism; and if Luke hesitated to submit to his orders,
the constable was immediately sent for. Some of these freaks were of
a nature too filthy to be repeated. When I fled from the house of
bondage, I left poor Luke still chained to the bedside of this cruel
and disgusting wretch.
One day, when I had been requested to do an errand for Mrs. Bruce,
I was hurrying through back streets, as usual, when I saw a young
man approaching, whose face was familiar to me. As he came nearer,
I recognized Luke. I always rejoiced to see or hear of any one who
had escaped from the black pit; but, remembering this poor fellow’s
extreme hardships, I was peculiarly glad to see him on Northern soil,
though I no longer called it _free_ soil. I well remembered what a
desolate feeling it was to be alone among strangers, and I went up to
him and greeted him cordially. At first, he did not know me; but when
I mentioned my name, he remembered all about me. I told him of the
Fugitive Slave Law, and asked him if he did not know that New York was
a city of kidnappers.
He replied, “De risk ain’t so bad for me, as ’tis fur you. ’Cause I
runned away from de speculator, and you runned away from de massa. Dem
speculators vont spen dar money to come here fur a runaway, if dey
ain’t sartin sure to put dar hans right on him. An I tell you I’s tuk
good car ’bout dat. I had too hard times down dar, to let ’em ketch dis
nigger.”
He then told me of the advice he had received, and the plans he had
laid. I asked if he had money enough to take him to Canada. “’Pend upon
it, I hab,” he replied. “I tuk car fur dat. I’d bin workin all my days
fur dem cussed whites, an got no pay but kicks and cuffs. So I tought
dis nigger had a right to money nuff to bring him to de Free States.
Massa Henry he lib till ebery body vish him dead; an ven he did die,
I knowed de debbil would hab him, an vouldn’t vant him to bring his
money ’long too. So I tuk some of his bills, and put ’em in de pocket
of his ole trousers. An ven he was buried, dis nigger ask fur dem ole
trousers, an dey gub ’em to me.” With a low, chuckling laugh, he added,
“You see I didn’t _steal_ it; dey _gub_ it to me. I tell you, I had
mighty hard time to keep de speculator from findin it; but he didn’t
git it.”
This is a fair specimen of how the moral sense is educated by slavery.
When a man has his wages stolen from him, year after year, and the
laws sanction and enforce the theft, how can he be expected to have
more regard to honesty than has the man who robs him? I have become
somewhat enlightened, but I confess that I agree with poor, ignorant,
much-abused Luke, in thinking he had a _right_ to that money, as a
portion of his unpaid wages. He went to Canada forthwith, and I have
not since heard from him.
All that winter I lived in a state of anxiety. When I took the children
out to breathe the air, I closely observed the countenances of all I
met. I dreaded the approach of summer, when snakes and slaveholders
make their appearance. I was, in fact, a slave in New York, as subject
to slave laws as I had been in a Slave State. Strange incongruity in a
State called free!
Spring returned, and I received warning from the south that Dr. Flint
knew of my return to my old place, and was making preparations to have
me caught. I learned afterwards that my dress, and that of Mrs. Bruce’s
children, had been described to him by some of the Northern tools,
which slaveholders employ for their base purposes, and then indulge in
sneers at their cupidity and mean servility.
I immediately informed Mrs. Bruce of my danger, and she took prompt
measures for my safety. My place as nurse could not be supplied
immediately, and this generous, sympathizing lady proposed that I
should carry her baby away. It was a comfort to me to have the child
with me; for the heart is reluctant to be torn away from every object