We will now turn from the outward and temporal to the inward
and spiritual life of our subject. It is ever both interesting and
instructive to trace the exercises of a human mind, through the
trials and mysteries of life; and especially a naturally powerful
mind, left as hers was almost entirely to its own workings, and
the chance influences it met on its way; and especially to note
its reception of that divine 'light, that lighteth every man that
cometh into the world.'
We see, as knowledge dawns upon it, truth and error
strangely commingled; here, a bright spot illuminated by truth-and
there, one darkened and distorted by error; and the state of
such a soul may be compared to a landscape at early dawn, where
the sun is seen superbly gilding some objects, and causing others
to send forth their lengthened, distorted, and sometimes hideous
shadows.
Her mother, as we have already said, talked to her of God.
From these conversations, her incipient mind drew the conclusion,
that God was 'a great man'; greatly superior to other men
in power; and being located 'high in the sky,' could see all that
transpired on the earth. She believed he not only saw, but noted
down all her actions in a great book, even as her master kept a
record of whatever he wished not to forget. But she had no idea
that God knew a thought of hers till she had uttered it aloud.
As we have before mentioned, she had ever been mindful of
her mother's injunctions, spreading out in detail all her troubles
before God, imploring and firmly trusting him to send her
deliverance from them. Whilst yet a child, she listened to a story
of a wounded soldier, left alone in the trail of a flying army,
helpless and starving, who hardened the very ground about him
with kneeling in his supplications to God for relief, until it
arrived. From this narrative, she was deeply impressed with the
idea, that if she also were to present her petitions under the open
canopy of heaven, speaking very loud, she should the more
readily be heard; consequently, she sought a fitting spot for this,
her rural sanctuary. The place she selected, in which to offer up
her daily orisons, was a small island in a small stream, covered
with large willow shrubbery, beneath which the sheep had made
their pleasant winding paths; and sheltering themselves from the
scorching rays of a noon-tide sun, luxuriated in the cool shadows
of the graceful willows, as they listened to the tiny falls of the
silver waters. It was a lonely spot, and chosen by her for its
beauty, its retirement, and because she thought that there, in the
noise of those waters, she could speak louder to God, without
being overheard by any who might pass that way. When she had
made choice of her sanctum, at a point of the island where the
stream met, after having been separated, she improved it by
pulling away the branches of the shrubs from the centre, and
weaving them together for a wall on the outside, forming a
circular arched alcove, made entirely of the graceful willow. To
this place she resorted daily, and in pressing times much more
frequently.
At this time, her prayers, or, more appropriately, 'talks with
God,' were perfectly original and unique, and would be well
worth preserving, were it possible to give the tones and manner
with the words; but no adequate idea of them can be written
while the tones and manner remain inexpressible.
She would sometimes repeat, 'Our Father in heaven,' in her
Low Dutch, as taught her by her mother; after that, all was from
the suggestions of her own rude mind. She related to God, in
minute detail, all her troubles and sufferings, inquiring, as she
proceeded, 'Do you think that's right, God?' and closed by
begging to be delivered from the evil, whatever it might be.
She talked to God as familiarly as if he had been a creature
like herself; and a thousand times more so, than if she had been
in the presence of some earthly potentate. She demanded, with
little expenditure of reverence or fear, a supply of all her more
pressing wants, and at times her demands approached very near
to commands. She felt as if God was under obligation to her,
much more than she was to him. He seemed to her benighted
vision in some manner bound to do her bidding.
Her heart recoils now, with very dread, when she recalls
those shocking, almost blasphemous conversations with great
Jehovah. And well for herself did she deem it, that, unlike earthly
potentates, his infinite character combined the tender father
with the omniscient and omnipotent Creator of the universe.
She at first commenced promising God, that if he would help
her out of all her difficulties, she would pay him by being very
good; and this goodness she intended as a remuneration to God.
She could think of no benefit that was to accrue to herself or her
fellow-creatures, from her leading a life of purity and generous
self-sacrifice for the good of others; as far as any but God was
concerned, she saw nothing in it but heart-trying penance, sustained
by the sternest exertion; and this she soon found much
more easily promised than performed.
Days wore away-new trials came-God's aid was invoked,
and the same promises repeated; and every successive night
found her part of the contract unfulfilled. She now began to
excuse herself, by telling God she could not be good in her
present circumstances; but if he would give her a new place, and
a good master and mistress, she could and would be good; and
she expressly stipulated, that she would be good one day to show
God how good she would be all of the time, when he should
surround her with the right influences, and she should be delivered
from the temptations that then so sorely beset her. But, alas!
when night came, and she became conscious that she had yielded
to all her temptations, and entirely failed of keeping her word
with God, having prayed and promised one hour, and fallen into
the sins of anger and profanity the next, the mortifying reflection
weighed on her mind, and blunted her enjoyment. Still, she did
not lay it deeply to heart, but continued to repeat her demands
for aid, and her promises of pay, with full purpose of heart, at
each particular time, that that day she would not fail to keep her
plighted word.
Thus perished the inward spark, like a flame just igniting,
when one waits to see whether it will burn on or die out, till the
long desired change came, and she found herself in a new place,
with a good mistress, and one who never instigated an otherwise
kind master to be unkind to her; in short, a place where she had
literally nothing to complain of, and where, for a time, she was
more happy than she could well express. 'Oh, every thing there
was so pleasant, and kind, and good, and all so comfortable;
enough of every thing; indeed, it was beautiful!' she exclaimed.
Here, at Mr. Van Wagener's,-as the reader will readily
perceive she must have been,-she was so happy and satisfied,
that God was entirely forgotten. Why should her thoughts turn
to him, who was only known to her as a help in trouble? She had
no trouble now; her every prayer had been answered in every
minute particular. She had been delivered from her persecutors
and temptations, her youngest child had been given her, and the
others she knew she had no means of sustaining if she had them
with her, and was content to leave them behind. Their father,
who was much older than Isabel, and who preferred serving his
time out in slavery, to the trouble and dangers of the course she
pursued, remained with and could keep an eye on them-though it is
comparatively little that they can do for each other
while they remain in slavery; and this little the slave, like persons
in every other situation of life, is not always disposed to perform.
There are slaves, who, copying the selfishness of their superiors
in power, in their conduct towards their fellows who may be
thrown upon their mercy, by infirmity or illness, allow them to
suffer for want of that kindness and care which it is fully in their
power to render them.
The slaves in this country have ever been allowed to celebrate
the principal, if not some of the lesser festivals observed by
the Catholics and Church of England;-many of them not being
required to do the least service for several days, and at Christmas
they have almost universally an entire week to themselves, except,
perhaps, the attending to a few duties, which are absolutely
required for the comfort of the families they belong to. If much
service is desired, they are hired to do it, and paid for it as if they
were free. The more sober portion of them spend these holidays
in earning a little money. Most of them visit and attend parties
and balls, and not a few of them spend it in the lowest dissipation.
This respite from toil is granted them by all religionists, of
whatever persuasion, and probably originated from the fact that
many of the first slaveholders were members of the Church of
England.
Frederick Douglass, who has devoted his great heart and
noble talents entirely to the furtherance of the cause of his
down-trodden race, has said-'From what I know of the effect
of their holidays upon the slave, I believe them to be among the
most effective means, in the hands of the slaveholder, in keeping
down the spirit of insurrection. Were the slaveholders at once to
abandon this practice, I have not the slightest doubt it would
lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves. These holidays
serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the rebellious
spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would
be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the
slaveholder, the day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation
of those conductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a
spirit will go forth in their midst, more to be dreaded than the
most appalling earthquake.'
When Isabella had been at Mr. Van Wagener's a few months,
she saw in prospect one of the festivals approaching. She knows
it by none but the Dutch name, Pingster, as she calls it-but
I think it must have been Whitsuntide, in English. She says she
'looked back into Egypt,' and every thing looked 'so pleasant
there,' as she saw retrospectively all her former companions
enjoying their freedom for at least a little space, as well as their
wonted convivialities, and in her heart she longed to be with
them. With this picture before her mind's eye, she contrasted the
quiet, peaceful life she was living with the excellent people of
Wahkendall, and it seemed so dull and void of incident, that the
very contrast served but to heighten her desire to return, that, at
least, she might enjoy with them, once more, the coming festivities.
These feelings had occupied a secret corner of her breast for
some time, when, one morning, she told Mrs. Van Wagener that
her old master Dumont would come that day, and that she
should go home with him on his return. They expressed some
surprise, and asked her where she obtained her information. She
replied, that no one had told her, but she felt that he would
come.
It seemed to have been one of those 'events that cast their
shadows before'; for, before night, Mr. Dumont made his appearance.
She informed him of her intention to accompany him
home. He answered, with a smile, 'I shall not take you back
again; you ran away from me.' Thinking his manner contradicted
his words, she did not feel repulsed, but made herself and
child ready; and when her former master had seated himself in
the open dearborn, she walked towards it, intending to place
herself and child in the rear, and go with him. But, ere she
reached the vehicle, she says that God revealed himself to her,
with all the suddenness of a flash of lightning, showing her, 'in
the twinkling of an eye, that he was all over'-that he pervaded
the universe-'and that there was no place where God was
not.' She became instantly conscious of her great sin in forgetting
her almighty Friend and 'ever-present help in time of
trouble.' All her unfulfilled promises arose before her, like a
vexed sea whose waves run mountains high; and her soul, which
seemed but one mass of lies, shrunk back aghast from the 'awful
look' of him whom she had formerly talked to, as if he had been
a being like herself; and she would now fain have hid herself in
the bowels of the earth, to have escaped his dread presence. But
she plainly saw there was no place, not even in hell, where he
was not; and where could she flee? Another such 'a look,' as she
expressed it, and she felt that she must be extinguished forever,
even as one, with the breath of his mouth, 'blows out a lamp,'
so that no spark remains.
A dire dread of annihilation now seized her, and she waited
to see if, by 'another look,' she was to be stricken from
existence,-swallowed
up, even as the fire licketh up the oil with
which it comes in contact.
When at last the second look came not, and her attention was
once more called to outward things, she observed her master had
left, and exclaiming aloud, 'Oh, God, I did not know you were
so big,' walked into the house, and made an effort to resume her
work. But the workings of the inward man were too absorbing
to admit of much attention to her avocations. She desired to
talk to God, but her vileness utterly forbade it, and she was not
able to prefer a petition. 'What!' said she, 'shall I lie again to
God? I have told him nothing but lies; and shall I speak again,
and tell another lie to God?' She could not; and now she began
to wish for some one to speak to God for her. Then a space
seemed opening between her and God, and she felt that if some
one, who was worthy in the sight of heaven, would but plead
for her in their own name, and not let God know it came from
her, who was so unworthy, God might grant it. At length a
friend appeared to stand between herself and an insulted Deity;
and she felt as sensibly refreshed as when, on a hot day, an
umbrella had been interposed between her scorching head and
a burning sun. But who was this friend? became the next inquiry.
Was it Deencia, who had so often befriended her? She
looked at her, with her new power of sight-and, lo! she, too,
seemed all 'bruises and putrifying sores,' like herself. No, it was
some one very different from Deencia.
'Who are you?' she exclaimed, as the vision brightened into
a form distinct, beaming with the beauty of holiness, and radiant
with love. She then said, audibly addressing the mysterious visitant-'I
know you, and I don't know you.' Meaning, 'You
seem perfectly familiar; I feel that you not only love me, but that
you always have loved me-yet I know you not-I cannot call
you by name.' When she said, 'I know you,' the subject of the
vision remained distinct and quiet. When she said, 'I don't
know you,' it moved restlessly about, like agitated waters. So
while she repeated, without intermission, 'I know you, I know
you,' that the vision might remain-'Who are you?' was the
cry of her heart, and her whole soul was in one deep prayer that
this heavenly personage might be revealed to her, and remain
with her. At length, after bending both soul and body with the
intensity of this desire, till breath and strength seemed failing,
and she could maintain her position no
longer, an answer came to her, saying distinctly, 'It is Jesus.'
'Yes,' she responded, 'it is Jesus.'
Previous to these exercises of mind, she heard Jesus mentioned in
reading or speaking, but had received from what she heard no impression
that he was any other than an eminent man, like a Washington or a
Lafayette. Now he appeared to her delighted mental vision as so mild,
so good, and so every way lovely, and he loved her so much! And, how
strange that he had always loved her, and she had never known it! And
how great a blessing he conferred, in that he should stand between her
and God! And God was no longer a terror and a dread to her.
She stopped not to argue the point, even in her own mind, whether he
had reconciled her to God, or God to herself, (though she thinks the
former now,) being but
too happy that God was no longer to her as a consuming fire, and Jesus
was 'altogether lovely.' Her heart was now full of joy and gladness,
as it had been of terror, and at one time of despair. In the light of
her great happiness, the world was clad in new beauty, the very air
sparkled as with diamonds, and was redolent of heaven. She
contemplated the unapproachable barriers that existed between herself
and the great of this world, as the world calls greatness, and made
surprising comparisons between them, and the union existing between
herself and Jesus-Jesus, the transcendently lovely as well as great and
powerful; for so he appeared to her, though he seemed but human; and
she watched for his bodily appearance, feeling that she should know
him, if she saw him; and when he came, she would go and dwell with him,
as with a dear friend.
It was not given to her to see that he loved any other; and she thought
if others came to know and love him, as she did, she should be thrust
aside and forgotten, being herself but a poor ignorant slave, with
little to recommend her to his notice. And when she heard him spoken
off, she said mentally-'What! others know Jesus! I thought no one knew
Jesus but me!' and she felt a sort of jealousy, lest she should be
robbed of her newly found treasure.
She conceived, one day, as she listened to reading, that she heard an
intimation that Jesus was married, and hastily inquired if Jesus had a
wife. 'What!' said the reader, 'God have a wife?' 'Is Jesus God? '
inquired Isabella. 'Yes, to be sure he is,' was the answer returned.
From this time, her conceptions of Jesus became more elevated and
spiritual; and she sometimes spoke of him as God, in accordance with
the teaching she had received.
But when she was simply told, that the Christian world was much divided
on the subject of Christ's nature-some believing him to be coequal with
the Father-to be God in and of himself, 'very God, of very God;'-some,
that he is the 'well-beloved,' 'only begotten Son of God;'-and others,
that he is, or was, rather, but a mere man-she said, 'Of that I only
know as I saw. I did not see him to be God; else, how could he stand
between me and God? I saw him as a friend, standing between me and
God, through whom, love flowed as from a fountain.' Now, so far from
expressing her views of Christ's character and office in accordance
with any system of theology extant, she says she believes Jesus is the
same spirit that was in our first parents, Adam and Eve, in the
beginning, when they came from the hand of their Creator. When they
sinned through disobedience, this pure spirit forsook them, and fled to
heaven; that there it remained, until it returned again in the person
of Jesus; and that, previous to a personal union with him, man is but a
brute, possessing only the spirit of an animal.
She avers that, in her darkest hours, she had no fear of any worse hell
than the one she then carried in her bosom; though it had ever been
pictured to her in its deepest colors, and threatened her as a reward
for all her misdemeanors. Her vileness and God's holiness and
all-pervading presence, which filled immensity, and threatened her with
constant annihilation, composed the burden of her vision of terror.
Her faith in prayer is equal to her faith in the love of Jesus. Her
language is, 'Let others say what they will of the efficacy of prayer,
I believe in it, and I shall pray. Thank God! Yes, I shall always
pray,' she exclaims, putting her hands together with the greatest
enthusiasm.
For some time subsequent to the happy change we
have spoken off, Isabella's prayers partook largely of their former
character; and while, in deep affliction, she labored for the recovery
of her son, she prayed with constancy and fervor; and the following may
be taken as a specimen:-'Oh,
God, you know how much I am distressed, for I have told you again and
again. Now, God, help me get my son. If you were in trouble, as I am,
and I could help you, as you can me, think I would n't do it? Yes,
God, you know I would do it.'
'Oh, God, you know I have no money, but you can make the people do for
me, and you must make the people do for me. I will never give you
peace till you do, God.'
'Oh, God, make the people hear me-don't let them turn me off, without
hearing and helping me.'
And she has not a particle of doubt, that God heard her, and especially
disposed the hearts of thoughtless clerks, eminent lawyers, and grave
judges and others-between whom and herself there seemed to her almost
an infinite remove-to listen to her suit with patient and respectful
attention, backing it up with all needed aid. The sense of her
nothingness in the eyes of those with whom she contended for her
rights, sometimes fell on her like a heavy weight, which nothing but
her unwavering confidence in an arm which she believed to be stronger
than all others combined could have raised from her sinking spirit.
'Oh! how little did I feel,' she repeated, with a powerful emphasis.
'Neither would you wonder, if you could have seen me, in my ignorance
and destitution, trotting about the streets, meanly clad, bare-headed,
and bare-footed! Oh, God only could have made such people hear me; and
he did it in answer to my prayers.' And this perfect trust, based on
the rock of Deity, was a soul-protecting fortress, which, raising her
above the battlements of fear, and shielding her from the machinations
of the enemy, impelled her onward in the struggle, till the foe was
vanquished, and the victory gained.
We have now seen Isabella, her youngest daughter, and her only son, in
possession of, at least, their nominal freedom. It has been said that
the freedom of the most free of the colored people of this country is
but nominal; but stinted and limited as it is, at best, it is an
immense remove from chattel slavery. This fact is disputed, I know;
but I have no confidence in the honesty of such questionings. If they
are made in sincerity, I honor not the judgment that thus decides.
Her husband, quite advanced in age, and infirm of health, was
emancipated, with the balance of the adult slaves of the State,
according to law, the following summer, July 4, 1828.
For a few years after this event, he was able to earn a scanty living,
and when he failed to do that, he was dependent on the 'world's cold
charity,' and died in a poorhouse. Isabella had herself and two
children to provide for; her wages were trifling, for at that time the
wages of females were at a small advance from nothing; and she
doubtless had to learn the first elements of economy-for what slaves,
that were never allowed to make any stipulations or calculations for
themselves, ever possessed an adequate idea of the true value of time,
or, in fact, of any material thing in the universe? To such, 'prudent
using' is meanness-and 'saving' is a word to be sneered at. Of course,
it was not in her power to make to herself a home, around whose sacred
hearth-stone she could collect her family, as they gradually emerged
from their prison-house of bondage; a home, where she could cultivate
their affection, administer to
their wants, and instil into the opening minds of her children those
principles of virtue, and that love of purity, truth and benevolence,
which must for ever form the foundation of a life of usefulness and
happiness. No-all this was far beyond her power or means, in more
senses than one; and it should be taken into the account, whenever a
comparison is instituted between the progress made by her children in
virtue and goodness, and the progress of those who have been nurtured
in the genial warmth of a sunny home, where good influences cluster,
and bad ones are carefully excluded-where 'line upon line, and precept
upon precept,' are daily brought to their quotidian tasks-and where, in
short, every appliance is brought in requisition, that self-denying
parents can bring to bear on one of the dearest objects of a parent's
life, the promotion of the welfare of their children. But God forbid
that this suggestion should be wrested from its original intent, and
made to shield any one from merited rebuke! Isabella's children are
now of an age to know good from evil, and may easily inform themselves
on any point where they may yet be in doubt; and if they now suffer
themselves to be drawn by temptation into the paths of the destroyer,
or forget what is due to the mother who has done and suffered so much
for them, and who, now that she is descending into the vale of years,
and feels her health and strength declining, will turn her expecting
eyes to them for aid and comfort, just as instinctively as the child
turns its confiding eye to its fond parent, when it seeks for succor or
sympathy-(for it is now their turn to do the work, and bear the burdens
of life, so all must bear them in turn, as the wheel of life rolls on)-
if, I say, they forget this, their duty and their happiness, and pursue
an opposite course of sin and folly, they must lose the respect of the
wise and good, and find, when too late, that 'the way of the
transgressor is hard.'