Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
child’s own mother is among those hated ones. She listens to violent
outbreaks of jealous passion, and cannot help understanding what is
the cause. She will become prematurely knowing in evil things. Soon
she will learn to tremble when she hears her master’s footfall. She
will be compelled to realize that she is no longer a child. If God has
bestowed beauty upon her, it will prove her greatest curse. That which
commands admiration in the white woman only hastens the degradation of
the female slave. I know that some are too much brutalized by slavery
to feel the humiliation of their position; but many slaves feel it
most acutely, and shrink from the memory of it. I cannot tell how much
I suffered in the presence of these wrongs, nor how I am still pained
by the retrospect. My master met me at every turn, reminding me that I
belonged to him, and swearing by heaven and earth that he would compel
me to submit to him. If I went out for a breath of fresh air, after
a day of unwearied toil, his footsteps dogged me. If I knelt by my
mother’s grave, his dark shadow fell on me even there. The light heart
which nature had given me became heavy with sad forebodings. The other
slaves in my master’s house noticed the change. Many of them pitied me;
but none dared to ask the cause. They had no need to inquire. They knew
too well the guilty practices under that roof; and they were aware that
to speak of them was an offence that never went unpunished.
I longed for some one to confide in. I would have given the world to
have laid my head on my grandmother’s faithful bosom, and told her all
my troubles. But Dr. Flint swore he would kill me, if I was not as
silent as the grave. Then, although my grandmother was all in all to
me, I feared her as well as loved her. I had been accustomed to look
up to her with a respect bordering upon awe. I was very young, and
felt shamefaced about telling her such impure things, especially as I
knew her to be very strict on such subjects. Moreover, she was a woman
of a high spirit. She was usually very quiet in her demeanor; but if
her indignation was once roused, it was not very easily quelled. I had
been told that she once chased a white gentleman with a loaded pistol,
because he insulted one of her daughters. I dreaded the consequences of
a violent outbreak; and both pride and fear kept me silent. But though
I did not confide in my grandmother, and even evaded her vigilant
watchfulness and inquiry, her presence in the neighborhood was some
protection to me. Though she had been a slave, Dr. Flint was afraid
of her. He dreaded her scorching rebukes. Moreover, she was known and
patronized by many people; and he did not wish to have his villany
made public. It was lucky for me that I did not live on a distant
plantation, but in a town not so large that the inhabitants were
ignorant of each other’s affairs. Bad as are the laws and customs in a
slaveholding community, the doctor, as a professional man, deemed it
prudent to keep up some outward show of decency.
O, what days and nights of fear and sorrow that man caused me!
Reader, it is not to awaken sympathy for myself that I am telling you
truthfully what I suffered in slavery. I do it to kindle a flame of
compassion in your hearts for my sisters who are still in bondage,
suffering as I once suffered.
I once saw two beautiful children playing together. One was a fair
white child; the other was her slave, and also her sister. When I saw
them embracing each other, and heard their joyous laughter, I turned
sadly away from the lovely sight. I foresaw the inevitable blight that
would fall on the little slave’s heart. I knew how soon her laughter
would be changed to sighs. The fair child grew up to be a still fairer
woman. From childhood to womanhood her pathway was blooming with
flowers, and overarched by a sunny sky. Scarcely one day of her life
had been clouded when the sun rose on her happy bridal morning.
How had those years dealt with her slave sister, the little playmate
of her childhood? She, also, was very beautiful; but the flowers and
sunshine of love were not for her. She drank the cup of sin, and shame,
and misery, whereof her persecuted race are compelled to drink.
In view of these things, why are ye silent, ye free men and women of
the north? Why do your tongues falter in maintenance of the right?
Would that I had more ability! But my heart is so full, and my pen is
so weak! There are noble men and women who plead for us, striving to
help those who cannot help themselves. God bless them! God give them
strength and courage to go on! God bless those, every where, who are
laboring to advance the cause of humanity!
VI. The Jealous Mistress.
I would ten thousand times rather that my children should be the
half-starved paupers of Ireland than to be the most pampered among
the slaves of America. I would rather drudge out my life on a cotton
plantation, till the grave opened to give me rest, than to live with
an unprincipled master and a jealous mistress. The felon’s home in a
penitentiary is preferable. He may repent, and turn from the error of
his ways, and so find peace; but it is not so with a favorite slave.
She is not allowed to have any pride of character. It is deemed a crime
in her to wish to be virtuous.
Mrs. Flint possessed the key to her husband’s character before I was
born. She might have used this knowledge to counsel and to screen
the young and the innocent among her slaves; but for them she had
no sympathy. They were the objects of her constant suspicion and
malevolence. She watched her husband with unceasing vigilance; but
he was well practised in means to evade it. What he could not find
opportunity to say in words he manifested in signs. He invented more
than were ever thought of in a deaf and dumb asylum. I let them pass,
as if I did not understand what he meant; and many were the curses
and threats bestowed on me for my stupidity. One day he caught me
teaching myself to write. He frowned, as if he was not well pleased;
but I suppose he came to the conclusion that such an accomplishment
might help to advance his favorite scheme. Before long, notes were
often slipped into my hand. I would return them, saying, “I can’t read
them, sir.” “Can’t you?” he replied; “then I must read them to you.” He
always finished the reading by asking, “Do you understand?” Sometimes
he would complain of the heat of the tea room, and order his supper to
be placed on a small table in the piazza. He would seat himself there
with a well-satisfied smile, and tell me to stand by and brush away the
flies. He would eat very slowly, pausing between the mouthfuls. These
intervals were employed in describing the happiness I was so foolishly
throwing away, and in threatening me with the penalty that finally
awaited my stubborn disobedience. He boasted much of the forbearance he
had exercised towards me, and reminded me that there was a limit to his
patience. When I succeeded in avoiding opportunities for him to talk
to me at home, I was ordered to come to his office, to do some errand.
When there, I was obliged to stand and listen to such language as he
saw fit to address to me. Sometimes I so openly expressed my contempt
for him that he would become violently enraged, and I wondered why he
did not strike me. Circumstanced as he was, he probably thought it was
better policy to be forbearing. But the state of things grew worse and
worse daily. In desperation I told him that I must and would apply to
my grandmother for protection. He threatened me with death, and worse
than death, if I made any complaint to her. Strange to say, I did not
despair. I was naturally of a buoyant disposition, and always I had a
hope of somehow getting out of his clutches. Like many a poor, simple
slave before me, I trusted that some threads of joy would yet be woven
into my dark destiny.
I had entered my sixteenth year, and every day it became more apparent
that my presence was intolerable to Mrs. Flint. Angry words frequently
passed between her and her husband. He had never punished me himself,
and he would not allow any body else to punish me. In that respect, she
was never satisfied; but, in her angry moods, no terms were too vile
for her to bestow upon me. Yet I, whom she detested so bitterly, had
far more pity for her than he had, whose duty it was to make her life
happy. I never wronged her, or wished to wrong her; and one word of
kindness from her would have brought me to her feet.
After repeated quarrels between the doctor and his wife, he announced
his intention to take his youngest daughter, then four years old, to
sleep in his apartment. It was necessary that a servant should sleep in
the same room, to be on hand if the child stirred. I was selected for
that office, and informed for what purpose that arrangement had been
made. By managing to keep within sight of people, as much as possible,
during the day time, I had hitherto succeeded in eluding my master,
though a razor was often held to my throat to force me to change this
line of policy. At night I slept by the side of my great aunt, where
I felt safe. He was too prudent to come into her room. She was an old
woman, and had been in the family many years. Moreover, as a married
man, and a professional man, he deemed it necessary to save appearances
in some degree. But he resolved to remove the obstacle in the way of
his scheme; and he thought he had planned it so that he should evade
suspicion. He was well aware how much I prized my refuge by the side of
my old aunt, and he determined to dispossess me of it. The first night
the doctor had the little child in his room alone. The next morning,
I was ordered to take my station as nurse the following night. A kind
Providence interposed in my favor. During the day Mrs. Flint heard of
this new arrangement, and a storm followed. I rejoiced to hear it rage.
After a while my mistress sent for me to come to her room. Her first
question was, “Did you know you were to sleep in the doctor’s room?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who told you?”
“My master.”
“Will you answer truly all the questions I ask?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me, then, as you hope to be forgiven, are you innocent of what I
have accused you?”
“I am.”
She handed me a Bible, and said, “Lay your hand on your heart, kiss
this holy book, and swear before God that you tell me the truth.”
I took the oath she required, and I did it with a clear conscience.
“You have taken God’s holy word to testify your innocence,” said she.
“If you have deceived me, beware! Now take this stool, sit down, look
me directly in the face, and tell me all that has passed between your
master and you.”
I did as she ordered. As I went on with my account her color changed
frequently, she wept, and sometimes groaned. She spoke in tones so sad,
that I was touched by her grief. The tears came to my eyes; but I was
soon convinced that her emotions arose from anger and wounded pride.
She felt that her marriage vows were desecrated, her dignity insulted;
but she had no compassion for the poor victim of her husband’s perfidy.
She pitied herself as a martyr; but she was incapable of feeling for
the condition of shame and misery in which her unfortunate, helpless
slave was placed. Yet perhaps she had some touch of feeling for me;
for when the conference was ended, she spoke kindly, and promised to
protect me. I should have been much comforted by this assurance if I
could have had confidence in it; but my experiences in slavery had
filled me with distrust. She was not a very refined woman, and had not
much control over her passions. I was an object of her jealousy, and,
consequently, of her hatred; and I knew I could not expect kindness