Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
purchaser. One day he was heard to sing and laugh. This piece of
indecorum was told to his master, and the overseer was ordered to
re-chain him. He was now confined in an apartment with other prisoners,
who were covered with filthy rags. Benjamin was chained near them, and
was soon covered with vermin. He worked at his chains till he succeeded
in getting out of them. He passed them through the bars of the window,
with a request that they should be taken to his master, and he should
be informed that he was covered with vermin.
This audacity was punished with heavier chains, and prohibition of our
visits.
My grandmother continued to send him fresh changes of clothes. The
old ones were burned up. The last night we saw him in jail his mother
still begged him to send for his master, and beg his pardon. Neither
persuasion nor argument could turn him from his purpose. He calmly
answered, “I am waiting his time.”
Those chains were mournful to hear.
Another three months passed, and Benjamin left his prison walls. We
that loved him waited to bid him a long and last farewell. A slave
trader had bought him. You remember, I told you what price he brought
when ten years of age. Now he was more than twenty years old, and
sold for three hundred dollars. The master had been blind to his own
interest. Long confinement had made his face too pale, his form too
thin; moreover, the trader had heard something of his character, and it
did not strike him as suitable for a slave. He said he would give any
price if the handsome lad was a girl. We thanked God that he was not.
Could you have seen that mother clinging to her child, when they
fastened the irons upon his wrists; could you have heard her
heart-rending groans, and seen her bloodshot eyes wander wildly from
face to face, vainly pleading for mercy; could you have witnessed that
scene as I saw it, you would exclaim, _Slavery is damnable_! Benjamin,
her youngest, her pet, was forever gone! She could not realize it. She
had had an interview with the trader for the purpose of ascertaining if
Benjamin could be purchased. She was told it was impossible, as he had
given bonds not to sell him till he was out of the state. He promised
that he would not sell him till he reached New Orleans.
With a strong arm and unvaried trust, my grandmother began her work
of love. Benjamin must be free. If she succeeded, she knew they would
still be separated; but the sacrifice was not too great. Day and night
she labored. The trader’s price would treble that he gave; but she was
not discouraged.
She employed a lawyer to write to a gentleman, whom she knew, in New
Orleans. She begged him to interest himself for Benjamin, and he
willingly favored her request. When he saw Benjamin, and stated his
business, he thanked him; but said he preferred to wait a while before
making the trader an offer. He knew he had tried to obtain a high price
for him, and had invariably failed. This encouraged him to make another
effort for freedom. So one morning, long before day, Benjamin was
missing. He was riding over the blue billows, bound for Baltimore.
For once his white face did him a kindly service. They had no suspicion
that it belonged to a slave; otherwise, the law would have been
followed out to the letter, and the _thing_ rendered back to slavery.
The brightest skies are often overshadowed by the darkest clouds.
Benjamin was taken sick, and compelled to remain in Baltimore three
weeks. His strength was slow in returning; and his desire to continue
his journey seemed to retard his recovery. How could he get strength
without air and exercise? He resolved to venture on a short walk. A
by-street was selected, where he thought himself secure of not being
met by any one that knew him; but a voice called out, “Halloo, Ben, my
boy! what are you doing _here_?”
His first impulse was to run; but his legs trembled so that he could
not stir. He turned to confront his antagonist, and behold, there stood
his old master’s next door neighbor! He thought it was all over with
him now; but it proved otherwise. That man was a miracle. He possessed
a goodly number of slaves, and yet was not quite deaf to that mystic
clock, whose ticking is rarely heard in the slaveholder’s breast.
“Ben, you are sick,” said he. “Why, you look like a ghost. I guess I
gave you something of a start. Never mind, Ben, I am not going to touch
you. You had a pretty tough time of it, and you may go on your way
rejoicing for all me. But I would advise you to get out of this place
plaguy quick, for there are several gentlemen here from our town.” He
described the nearest and safest route to New York, and added, “I shall
be glad to tell your mother I have seen you. Good by, Ben.”
Benjamin turned away, filled with gratitude, and surprised that the
town he hated contained such a gem—a gem worthy of a purer setting.
This gentleman was a Northerner by birth, and had married a southern
lady. On his return, he told my grandmother that he had seen her son,
and of the service he had rendered him.
Benjamin reached New York safely, and concluded to stop there until
he had gained strength enough to proceed further. It happened that
my grandmother’s only remaining son had sailed for the same city on
business for his mistress. Through God’s providence, the brothers met.
You may be sure it was a happy meeting. “O Phil,” exclaimed Benjamin,
“I am here at last.” Then he told him how near he came to dying, almost
in sight of free land, and how he prayed that he might live to get
one breath of free air. He said life was worth something now, and it
would be hard to die. In the old jail he had not valued it; once, he
was tempted to destroy it; but something, he did not know what, had
prevented him; perhaps it was fear. He had heard those who profess to
be religious declare there was no heaven for self-murderers; and as
his life had been pretty hot here, he did not desire a continuation of
the same in another world. “If I die now,” he exclaimed, “thank God, I
shall die a freeman!”
He begged my uncle Phillip not to return south; but stay and work with
him, till they earned enough to buy those at home. His brother told him
it would kill their mother if he deserted her in her trouble. She had
pledged her house, and with difficulty had raised money to buy him.
Would he be bought?
“No, never!” he replied. “Do you suppose, Phil, when I have got so far
out of their clutches, I will give them one red cent? No! And do you
suppose I would turn mother out of her home in her old age? That I
would let her pay all those hard-earned dollars for me, and never to
see me? For you know she will stay south as long as her other children
are slaves. What a good mother! Tell her to buy _you_, Phil. You have
been a comfort to her, and I have been a trouble. And Linda, poor
Linda; what’ll become of her? Phil, you don’t know what a life they
lead her. She has told me something about it, and I wish old Flint was
dead, or a better man. When I was in jail, he asked her if she didn’t
want _him_ to ask my master to forgive me, and take me home again. She
told him, No; that I didn’t want to go back. He got mad, and said we
were all alike. I never despised my own master half as much as I do
that man. There is many a worse slaveholder than my master; but for all
that I would not be his slave.”
While Benjamin was sick, he had parted with nearly all his clothes
to pay necessary expenses. But he did not part with a little pin I
fastened in his bosom when we parted. It was the most valuable thing I
owned, and I thought none more worthy to wear it. He had it still.
His brother furnished him with clothes, and gave him what money he had.
They parted with moistened eyes; and as Benjamin turned away, he said,
“Phil, I part with all my kindred.” And so it proved. We never heard
from him again.
Uncle Phillip came home; and the first words he uttered when he entered
the house were, “Mother, Ben is free! I have seen him in New York.” She
stood looking at him with a bewildered air. “Mother, don’t you believe
it?” he said, laying his hand softly upon her shoulder. She raised her
hands, and exclaimed, “God be praised! Let us thank him.” She dropped
on her knees, and poured forth her heart in prayer. Then Phillip must
sit down and repeat to her every word Benjamin had said. He told her
all; only he forbore to mention how sick and pale her darling looked.
Why should he distress her when she could do him no good?
The brave old woman still toiled on, hoping to rescue some of her
other children. After a while she succeeded in buying Phillip. She
paid eight hundred dollars, and came home with the precious document
that secured his freedom. The happy mother and son sat together by the
old hearthstone that night, telling how proud they were of each other,
and how they would prove to the world that they could take care of
themselves, as they had long taken care of others. We all concluded by
saying, “He that is _willing_ to be a slave, let him be a slave.”
V. The Trials Of Girlhood.
During the first years of my service in Dr. Flint’s family, I was
accustomed to share some indulgences with the children of my mistress.
Though this seemed to me no more than right, I was grateful for it, and
tried to merit the kindness by the faithful discharge of my duties.
But I now entered on my fifteenth year—a sad epoch in the life of a
slave girl. My master began to whisper foul words in my ear. Young as
I was, I could not remain ignorant of their import. I tried to treat
them with indifference or contempt. The master’s age, my extreme youth,
and the fear that his conduct would be reported to my grandmother,
made him bear this treatment for many months. He was a crafty man,
and resorted to many means to accomplish his purposes. Sometimes he
had stormy, terrific ways, that made his victims tremble; sometimes
he assumed a gentleness that he thought must surely subdue. Of the
two, I preferred his stormy moods, although they left me trembling.
He tried his utmost to corrupt the pure principles my grandmother had
instilled. He peopled my young mind with unclean images, such as only a
vile monster could think of. I turned from him with disgust and hatred.
But he was my master. I was compelled to live under the same roof with
him—where I saw a man forty years my senior daily violating the most
sacred commandments of nature. He told me I was his property; that I
must be subject to his will in all things. My soul revolted against the
mean tyranny. But where could I turn for protection? No matter whether
the slave girl be as black as ebony or as fair as her mistress. In
either case, there is no shadow of law to protect her from insult, from
violence, or even from death; all these are inflicted by fiends who
bear the shape of men. The mistress, who ought to protect the helpless
victim, has no other feelings towards her but those of jealousy and
rage. The degradation, the wrongs, the vices, that grow out of slavery,
are more than I can describe. They are greater than you would willingly
believe. Surely, if you credited one half the truths that are told
you concerning the helpless millions suffering in this cruel bondage,
you at the north would not help to tighten the yoke. You surely would
refuse to do for the master, on your own soil, the mean and cruel work
which trained bloodhounds and the lowest class of whites do for him at
the south.
Every where the years bring to all enough of sin and sorrow; but in
slavery the very dawn of life is darkened by these shadows. Even
the little child, who is accustomed to wait on her mistress and her
children, will learn, before she is twelve years old, why it is that
her mistress hates such and such a one among the slaves. Perhaps the