Scenes in the Life of Harriet Tubman
she preparing for the life of hardship and endurance which lay before
her, for the deeds of daring she was to do, and of which her ignorant
and darkened mind at that time never dreamed.
The first person by whom she was hired was a woman who, though married
and the mother of a family, was still "Miss Susan" to her slaves, as is
customary at the South. This woman was possessed of the good things of
this life, and provided liberally for her slaves--so far as food and
clothing went. But she had been brought up to believe, and to act upon
the belief, that a slave could be taught to do nothing, and _would_ do
nothing but under the sting of the whip. Harriet, then a young girl, was
taken from her life in the field, and having never seen the inside of a
house better than a cabin in the negro quarters, was put to house-work
without being told how to do anything. The first thing was to put a
parlor in order. "Move these chairs and tables into the middle of the
room, sweep the carpet clean, then dust everything, and put them back in
their places!" These were the directions given, and Harriet was left
alone to do her work. The whip was in sight on the mantel-piece, as a
reminder of what was to be expected if the work was not done well.
Harriet fixed the furniture as she was told to do, and swept with all
her strength, raising a tremendous dust. The moment she had finished
sweeping, she took her dusting cloth, and wiped everything "so you could
see your face in 'em, de shone so," in haste to go and set the table for
breakfast, and do her other work. The dust which she had set flying only
settled down again on chairs, tables, and the piano. "Miss Susan" came
in and looked around. Then came the call for "Minty"--Harriet's name was
Araminta at the South.
She drew her up to the table, saying, "What do you mean by doing my work
this way, you--!" and passing her finger on the table and piano, she
showed her the mark it made through the dust. "Miss Susan, I done sweep
and dust jus' as you tole me." But the whip was already taken down, and
the strokes were falling on head and face and neck. Four times this
scene was repeated before breakfast, when, during the fifth whipping,
the door opened, and "Miss Emily" came in. She was a married sister of
"Miss Susan," and was making her a visit, and though brought up with the
same associations as her sister, seems to have been a person of more
gentle and reasonable nature. Not being able to endure the screams of
the child any longer, she came in, took her sister by the arm, and said,
"If you do not stop whipping that child, I will leave your house, and
never come back!" Miss Susan declared that "she _would_ not mind, and
she slighted her work on purpose." Miss Emily said, "Leave her to me a
few moments;" and Miss Susan left the room, indignant. As soon as they
were alone, Miss Emily said: "Now, Minty, show me how you do your work."
For the sixth time Harriet removed all the furniture into the middle of
the room; then she swept; and the moment she had done sweeping, she took
the dusting cloth to wipe off the furniture. "Now stop there," said Miss
Emily; "go away now, and do some of your other work, and when it is time
to dust, I will call you." When the time came she called her, and
explained to her how the dust had now settled, and that if she wiped it
off now, the furniture would remain bright and clean. These few words an
hour or two before, would have saved Harriet her whippings for that day,
as they probably did for many a day after.
While with this woman, after working from early morning till late at
night, she was obliged to sit up all night to rock a cross, sick child.
Her mistress laid upon her bed with a whip under her pillow, and slept;
but if the tired nurse forgot herself for a moment, if her weary head
dropped, and her hand ceased to rock the cradle, the child would cry
out, and then down would come the whip upon the neck and face of the
poor weary creature. The scars are still plainly visible where the whip
cut into the flesh. Perhaps her mistress was preparing her, though she
did not know it then, by this enforced habit of wakefulness, for the
many long nights of travel, when she was the leader and guide of the
weary and hunted ones who were escaping from bondage.
"Miss Susan" got tired of Harriet, as Harriet was determined she should
do, and so abandoned her intention of buying her, and sent her back to
her master. She was next hired out to the man who inflicted upon her the
life-long injury from which she is suffering now, by breaking her skull
with a weight from the scales. The injury thus inflicted causes her
often to fall into a state of somnolency from which it is almost
impossible to rouse her. Disabled and sick, her flesh all wasted away,
she was returned to her _owner_. He tried to sell her, but no one would
buy her. "Dey said dey wouldn't give a sixpence for me," she said.
"And so," she said, "from Christmas till March I worked as I could, and
I _prayed_ through all the long nights--I groaned and prayed for ole
master: 'Oh Lord, convert master!' 'Oh Lord, change dat man's heart!'
'Pears like I prayed all de time," said Harriet; "'bout my work,
everywhere, I prayed an' I groaned to de Lord. When I went to de
horse-trough to wash my face, I took up de water in my han' an' I said,
'Oh Lord, wash me, make me clean!' Den I take up something to wipe my
face, an' I say, 'Oh Lord, wipe away all my sin!' When I took de broom
and began to sweep, I groaned, 'Oh Lord, wha'soebber sin dere be in my
heart, sweep it out, Lord, clar an' clean!'" No words can describe the
pathos of her tones, as she broke out into these words of prayer, after
the manner of her people. "An' so," said she, "I prayed all night long
for master, till the first of March; an' all the time he was bringing
people to look at me, an' trying to sell me. Den we heard dat some of us
was gwine to be sole to go wid de chain-gang down to de cotton an' rice
fields, and dey said I was gwine, an' my brudders, an' sisters. Den I
changed my prayer. Fust of March I began to pray, 'Oh Lord, if you ant
nebber gwine to change dat man's heart, kill him, Lord, an' take him out
ob de way.'
"Nex' ting I heard old master was dead, an' he died jus' as he libed.
Oh, then, it 'peared like I'd give all de world full ob gold, if I had
it, to bring dat poor soul back. But I couldn't pray for him no longer."
The slaves were told that their master's will provided that none of them
should be sold out of the State. This satisfied most of them, and they
were very happy. But Harriet was not satisfied; she never closed her
eyes that she did not imagine she saw the horsemen coming, and heard the
screams of women and children, as they were being dragged away to a far
worse slavery than that they were enduring there. Harriet was married at
this time to a free negro, who not only did not trouble himself about
her fears, but did his best to betray her, and bring her back after she
escaped. She would start up at night with the cry, "Oh, dey're comin',
dey're comin', I mus' go!"
Her husband called her a fool, and said she was like old Cudjo, who when
a joke went round, never laughed till half an hour after everybody else
got through, and so just as all danger was past she began to be
frightened. But still Harriet in fancy saw the horsemen coming, and
heard the screams of terrified women and children. "And all that time,
in my dreams and visions," she said, "I seemed to see a line, and on the
other side of that line were green fields, and lovely flowers, and
beautiful white ladies, who stretched out their arms to me over the
line, but I couldn't reach them nohow. I always fell before I got to the
line."
One Saturday it was whispered in the quarters that two of Harriet's
sisters had been sent off with the chain-gang. That morning she started,
having persuaded three of her brothers to accompany her, but they had
not gone far when the brothers, appalled by the dangers before and
behind them, determined to go back, and in spite of her remonstrances
dragged her with them. In fear and terror, she remained over Sunday, and
on Monday night a negro from another part of the plantation came
privately to tell Harriet that herself and brothers were to be carried
off that night. The poor old mother, who belonged to the same mistress,
was just going to milk. Harriet wanted to get away without letting her
know, because she knew that she would raise an uproar and prevent her
going, or insist upon going with her, and the time for this was not
yet. But she must give some intimation to those she was going to leave
of her intention, and send such a farewell as she might to the friends
and relations on the plantation. These communications were generally
made by singing. They sang as they walked along the country roads, and
the chorus was taken up by others, and the uninitiated knew not the
hidden meaning of the words--
When dat ar ole chariot comes,
I'm gwine to lebe you;
I'm boun' for de promised land,
I'm gwine to lebe you.
These words meant something more than a journey to the Heavenly Canaan.
Harriet said, "Here, mother, go 'long; I'll do the milkin' to-night and
bring it in." The old woman went to her cabin. Harriet took down her
sun-bonnet, and went on to the "big house," where some of her relatives
lived as house servants. She thought she could trust Mary, but there
were others in the kitchen, and she could say nothing. Mary began to
frolic with her. She threw her across the kitchen, and ran out, knowing
that Mary would follow her. But just as they turned the corner of the
house, the master to whom Harriet was now hired, came riding up on his
horse. Mary darted back, and Harriet thought there was no way now but
to sing. But "the Doctor," as the master was called, was regarded with
special awe by his slaves; if they were singing or talking together in
the field, or on the road, and "the Doctor" appeared, all was hushed
till he passed. But Harriet had no time for ceremony; her friends must
have a warning; and whether the Doctor thought her "_imperent_" or not,
she must sing him farewell. So on she went to meet him, singing:
I'm sorry I'm gwine to lebe you,
Farewell, oh farewell;
But I'll meet you in the mornin',
Farewell, oh farewell.
The Doctor passed, and she bowed as she went on, still singing:
I'll meet you in the mornin',
I'm boun' for de promised land,
On the oder side of Jordan,
Boun' for de promised land.
She reached the gate and looked round; the Doctor had stopped his horse,
and had turned around in the saddle, and was looking at her as if there
might be more in this than "met the ear." Harriet closed the gate, went
on a little way, came back, the Doctor still gazing at her. She lifted
up the gate as if she had not latched it properly, waved her hand to
him, and burst out again:
I'll meet you in the mornin',
Safe in de promised land,
On the oder side of Jordan,
Boun' for de promised land.
And she started on her journey, "not knowing whither she went," except
that she was going to follow the north star, till it led her to liberty.
Cautiously and by night she traveled, cunningly feeling her way, and
finding out who were friends; till after a long and painful journey she
found, in answer to careful inquiries, that she had at last crossed that
magic "line" which then separated the land of bondage from the land of
freedom; for this was before _we_ were commanded by law to take part in
the iniquity of slavery, and aid in taking and sending back those poor
hunted fugitives who had manhood and intelligence enough to enable them
to make their way thus far towards freedom.