Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself
even if my heart had been interested!
I replied, “Don’t you suppose, sir, that a slave can have some
preference about marrying? Do you suppose that all men are alike to
her?”
“Do you love this nigger?” said he, abruptly.
“Yes, sir.”
“How dare you tell me so!” he exclaimed, in great wrath. After a slight
pause, he added, “I supposed you thought more of yourself; that you
felt above the insults of such puppies.”
I replied, “If he is a puppy I am a puppy, for we are both of the negro
race. It is right and honorable for us to love each other. The man you
call a puppy never insulted me, sir; and he would not love me if he did
not believe me to be a virtuous woman.”
He sprang upon me like a tiger, and gave me a stunning blow. It was the
first time he had ever struck me; and fear did not enable me to control
my anger. When I had recovered a little from the effects, I exclaimed,
“You have struck me for answering you honestly. How I despise you!”
There was silence for some minutes. Perhaps he was deciding what should
be my punishment; or, perhaps, he wanted to give me time to reflect on
what I had said, and to whom I had said it. Finally, he asked, “Do you
know what you have said?”
“Yes, sir; but your treatment drove me to it.”
“Do you know that I have a right to do as I like with you,—that I can
kill you, if I please?”
“You have tried to kill me, and I wish you had; but you have no right
to do as you like with me.”
“Silence!” he exclaimed, in a thundering voice. “By heavens, girl, you
forget yourself too far! Are you mad? If you are, I will soon bring you
to your senses. Do you think any other master would bear what I have
borne from you this morning? Many masters would have killed you on the
spot. How would you like to be sent to jail for your insolence?”
“I know I have been disrespectful, sir,” I replied; “but you drove me
to it; I couldn’t help it. As for the jail, there would be more peace
for me there than there is here.”
“You deserve to go there,” said he, “and to be under such treatment,
that you would forget the meaning of the word _peace_. It would do
you good. It would take some of your high notions out of you. But I
am not ready to send you there yet, notwithstanding your ingratitude
for all my kindness and forbearance. You have been the plague of my
life. I have wanted to make you happy, and I have been repaid with
the basest ingratitude; but though you have proved yourself incapable
of appreciating my kindness, I will be lenient towards you, Linda. I
will give you one more chance to redeem your character. If you behave
yourself and do as I require, I will forgive you and treat you as I
always have done; but if you disobey me, I will punish you as I would
the meanest slave on my plantation. Never let me hear that fellow’s
name mentioned again. If I ever know of your speaking to him, I will
cowhide you both; and if I catch him lurking about my premises, I will
shoot him as soon as I would a dog. Do you hear what I say? I’ll teach
you a lesson about marriage and free niggers! Now go, and let this be
the last time I have occasion to speak to you on this subject.”
Reader, did you ever hate? I hope not. I never did but once; and I
trust I never shall again. Somebody has called it “the atmosphere of
hell;” and I believe it is so.
For a fortnight the doctor did not speak to me. He thought to mortify
me; to make me feel that I had disgraced myself by receiving the
honorable addresses of a respectable colored man, in preference to the
base proposals of a white man. But though his lips disdained to address
me, his eyes were very loquacious. No animal ever watched its prey more
narrowly than he watched me. He knew that I could write, though he had
failed to make me read his letters; and he was now troubled lest I
should exchange letters with another man. After a while he became weary
of silence; and I was sorry for it. One morning, as he passed through
the hall, to leave the house, he contrived to thrust a note into my
hand. I thought I had better read it, and spare myself the vexation
of having him read it to me. It expressed regret for the blow he had
given me, and reminded me that I myself was wholly to blame for it.
He hoped I had become convinced of the injury I was doing myself by
incurring his displeasure. He wrote that he had made up his mind to go
to Louisiana; that he should take several slaves with him, and intended
I should be one of the number. My mistress would remain where she was;
therefore I should have nothing to fear from that quarter. If I merited
kindness from him, he assured me that it would be lavishly bestowed. He
begged me to think over the matter, and answer the following day.
The next morning I was called to carry a pair of scissors to his room.
I laid them on the table, with the letter beside them. He thought it
was my answer, and did not call me back. I went as usual to attend my
young mistress to and from school. He met me in the street, and ordered
me to stop at his office on my way back. When I entered, he showed
me his letter, and asked me why I had not answered it. I replied, “I
am your daughter’s property, and it is in your power to send me, or
take me, wherever you please.” He said he was very glad to find me so
willing to go, and that we should start early in the autumn. He had a
large practice in the town, and I rather thought he had made up the
story merely to frighten me. However that might be, I was determined
that I would never go to Louisiana with him.
Summer passed away, and early in the autumn Dr. Flint’s eldest son was
sent to Louisiana to examine the country, with a view to emigrating.
That news did not disturb me. I knew very well that I should not be
sent with _him_. That I had not been taken to the plantation before
this time, was owing to the fact that his son was there. He was jealous
of his son; and jealousy of the overseer had kept him from punishing
me by sending me into the fields to work. Is it strange that I was not
proud of these protectors? As for the overseer, he was a man for whom I
had less respect than I had for a bloodhound.
Young Mr. Flint did not bring back a favorable report of Louisiana, and
I heard no more of that scheme. Soon after this, my lover met me at the
corner of the street, and I stopped to speak to him. Looking up, I saw
my master watching us from his window. I hurried home, trembling with
fear. I was sent for, immediately, to go to his room. He met me with a
blow. “When is mistress to be married?” said he, in a sneering tone.
A shower of oaths and imprecations followed. How thankful I was that
my lover was a free man! that my tyrant had no power to flog him for
speaking to me in the street!
Again and again I revolved in my mind how all this would end. There
was no hope that the doctor would consent to sell me on any terms. He
had an iron will, and was determined to keep me, and to conquer me.
My lover was an intelligent and religious man. Even if he could have
obtained permission to marry me while I was a slave, the marriage would
give him no power to protect me from my master. It would have made him
miserable to witness the insults I should have been subjected to. And
then, if we had children, I knew they must “follow the condition of the
mother.” What a terrible blight that would be on the heart of a free,
intelligent father! For _his_ sake, I felt that I ought not to link his
fate with my own unhappy destiny. He was going to Savannah to see about
a little property left him by an uncle; and hard as it was to bring my
feelings to it, I earnestly entreated him not to come back. I advised
him to go to the Free States, where his tongue would not be tied, and
where his intelligence would be of more avail to him. He left me, still
hoping the day would come when I could be bought. With me the lamp of
hope had gone out. The dream of my girlhood was over. I felt lonely and
desolate.
Still I was not stripped of all. I still had my good grandmother,
and my affectionate brother. When he put his arms round my neck, and
looked into my eyes, as if to read there the troubles I dared not tell,
I felt that I still had something to love. But even that pleasant
emotion was chilled by the reflection that he might be torn from me
at any moment, by some sudden freak of my master. If he had known
how we loved each other, I think he would have exulted in separating
us. We often planned together how we could get to the north. But, as
William remarked, such things are easier said than done. My movements
were very closely watched, and we had no means of getting any money to
defray our expenses. As for grandmother, she was strongly opposed to
her children’s undertaking any such project. She had not forgotten poor
Benjamin’s sufferings, and she was afraid that if another child tried
to escape, he would have a similar or a worse fate. To me, nothing
seemed more dreadful than my present life. I said to myself, “William
_must_ be free. He shall go to the north, and I will follow him.” Many
a slave sister has formed the same plans.
VIII. What Slaves Are Taught To Think Of The North.
Slaveholders pride themselves upon being honorable men; but if you were
to hear the enormous lies they tell their slaves, you would have small
respect for their veracity. I have spoken plain English. Pardon me. I
cannot use a milder term. When they visit the north, and return home,
they tell their slaves of the runaways they have seen, and describe
them to be in the most deplorable condition. A slaveholder once told
me that he had seen a runaway friend of mine in New York, and that she
besought him to take her back to her master, for she was literally
dying of starvation; that many days she had only one cold potato to
eat, and at other times could get nothing at all. He said he refused to
take her, because he knew her master would not thank him for bringing
such a miserable wretch to his house. He ended by saying to me, “This
is the punishment she brought on herself for running away from a kind
master.”
This whole story was false. I afterwards staid with that friend in
New York, and found her in comfortable circumstances. She had never
thought of such a thing as wishing to go back to slavery. Many of
the slaves believe such stories, and think it is not worth while to
exchange slavery for such a hard kind of freedom. It is difficult to
persuade such that freedom could make them useful men, and enable them
to protect their wives and children. If those heathen in our Christian
land had as much teaching as some Hindoos, they would think otherwise.
They would know that liberty is more valuable than life. They would
begin to understand their own capabilities, and exert themselves to
become men and women.
But while the Free States sustain a law which hurls fugitives back
into slavery, how can the slaves resolve to become men? There are
some who strive to protect wives and daughters from the insults of
their masters; but those who have such sentiments have had advantages
above the general mass of slaves. They have been partially civilized
and Christianized by favorable circumstances. Some are bold enough to
_utter_ such sentiments to their masters. O, that there were more of
them!
Some poor creatures have been so brutalized by the lash that they will
sneak out of the way to give their masters free access to their wives
and daughters. Do you think this proves the black man to belong to an
inferior order of beings? What would _you_ be, if you had been born
and brought up a slave, with generations of slaves for ancestors? I
admit that the black man _is_ inferior. But what is it that makes him
so? It is the ignorance in which white men compel him to live; it is