that brave flight of a thousand miles for freedom, after the
dangers which surrounded them in Massachusetts, it did my heart
good to see them enjoying their own simple but charming home, to
see them thus living under their own vine and fig-tree, none daring
to molest or make them afraid.
"M. D. CONWAY."
Mrs. Crafts has used her needle diligently to make garments for the
colored people of the United States emancipated by President Lincoln's
Proclamation. She has had the pleasure of hearing that her mother is
among them, healthy, and still young looking for her years. As soon as
arrangements can be made she will go to England to rejoin her daughter,
whom she has not seen since her hazardous flight from Georgia.
I think all who read this romantic but true story will agree with me in
thinking that few white people have shown as much intelligence, moral
worth, and refinement of feeling as the fugitive slaves William and
Ellen Crafts.
* * * * *
In February, 1861, the Emperor of Russia proclaimed freedom to
twenty-three millions of serfs. Finding their freedom was not secure in
the hands of their former masters, he afterward completed the good work
by investing the freedmen with civil and political rights; including the
right to testify in court, the right to vote, and the right to hold
office.
SPRING.
BY GEORGE HORTON.
Hail, thou auspicious vernal dawn!
Ye birds, proclaim that winter's gone!
Ye warbling minstrels, sing!
Pour forth your tribute as ye rise,
And thus salute the fragrant skies,
The pleasing smiles of spring!
Coo sweetly, O thou harmless dove,
And bid thy mate no longer rove
In cold hybernal vales!
Let music rise from every tongue,
Whilst winter flies before the song
Which floats on gentle gales.
Ye frozen streams, dissolve and flow
Along the valley sweet and slow!
Divested fields, be gay!
Ye drooping forests, bloom on high,
And raise your branches to the sky;
And thus your charms display!
Thou world of heat! thou vital source!
The torpid insects feel thy force,
Which all with life supplies.
Gardens and orchards richly bloom,
And send a gale of sweet perfume,
To invite them as they rise.
Near where the crystal waters glide
The male of birds escorts his bride,
And twitters on the spray;
He mounts upon his active wing,
To hail the bounty of the spring,
The lavish pomp of May.
THE GOOD GRANDMOTHER.
BY HARRIET JACOBS.
I had a great treasure in my maternal grandmother, who was a remarkable
woman in many respects. She was the daughter of a planter in South
Carolina, who, at his death, left her and her mother free, with money to
go to St. Augustine, where they had relatives. It was during the
Revolutionary War, and they were captured on their passage, carried
back, and sold to different purchasers. Such was the story my
grandmother used to tell me. She was sold to the keeper of a large
hotel, and I have often heard her tell how hard she fared during
childhood. But as she grew older she evinced so much intelligence, and
was so faithful, that her master and mistress could not help seeing it
was for their interest to take care of such a valuable piece of
property. She became an indispensable person in the household,
officiating in all capacities, from cook and wet-nurse to seamstress.
She was much praised for her cooking; and her nice crackers became so
famous in the neighborhood that many people were desirous of obtaining
them. In consequence of numerous requests of this kind, she asked
permission of her mistress to bake crackers at night, after all the
household work was done; and she obtained leave to do it, provided she
would clothe herself and the children from the profits. Upon these
terms, after working hard all day for her mistress, she began her
midnight bakings, assisted by her two oldest children. The business
proved profitable; and each year she laid by a little, to create a fund
for the purchase of her children. Her master died, and his property was
divided among the heirs. My grandmother remained in the service of his
widow, as a slave. Her children were divided among her master's
children; but as she had five, Benjamin, the youngest, was sold, in
order that the heirs might have an equal portion of dollars and cents.
There was so little difference in our ages, that he always seemed to me
more like a brother than an uncle. He was a bright, handsome lad, nearly
white; for he inherited the complexion my grandmother had derived from
Anglo-Saxon ancestors. His sale was a terrible blow to his mother; but
she was naturally hopeful, and she went to work with redoubled energy,
trusting in time to be able to purchase her children. One day, her
mistress begged the loan of three hundred dollars from the little fund
she had laid up from the proceeds of her baking. She promised to pay her
soon; but as no promise or writing given to a slave is legally binding,
she was obliged to trust solely to her honor.
In my master's house very little attention was paid to the slaves'
meals. If they could catch a bit of food while it was going, well and
good. But I gave myself no trouble on that score; for on my various
errands I passed my grandmother's house, and she always had something
to spare for me. I was frequently threatened with punishment if I
stopped there; and my grandmother, to avoid detaining me, often stood at
the gate with something for my breakfast or dinner. I was indebted to
her for all my comforts, spiritual or temporal. It was _her_ labor that
supplied my scanty wardrobe. I have a vivid recollection of the
linsey-woolsey dress given me every winter by Mrs. Flint. How I hated
it! It was one of the badges of Slavery. While my grandmother was thus
helping to support me from her hard earnings, the three hundred dollars
she lent her mistress was never repaid. When her mistress died, my
master, who was her son-in-law, was appointed executor. When grandmother
applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent, and the
law prohibited payment. It did not, however, prohibit him from retaining
the silver candelabra which had been purchased with that money. I
presume they will be handed down in the family from generation to
generation.
My grandmother's mistress had always promised that at her death she
should be free; and it was said that in her will she made good the
promise. But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful
old servant that, under existing circumstances, it was necessary she
should be sold.
On the appointed day the customary advertisement was posted up,
proclaiming that there would be "a public sale of negroes, horses, &c."
Dr. Flint called to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to wound
her feelings by putting her up at auction, and that he would prefer to
dispose of her at private sale. She saw through his hypocrisy, and
understood very well that he was ashamed of the job. She was a very
spirited woman; and if he was base enough to sell her, after her
mistress had made her free by her will, she was determined the public
should know it. She had, for a long time, supplied many families with
crackers and preserves; consequently "Aunt Marthy," as she was called,
was generally known; and all who knew her respected her intelligence and
good character. It was also well known that her mistress had intended to
leave her free, as a reward for her long and faithful services. When the
day of sale came, she took her place among the chattels, and at the
first call she sprang upon the auction-block. She was then fifty years
old. Many voices called out: "Shame! shame! Who's going to sell _you_,
Aunt Marthy? Don't stand there. That's no place for _you_." She made no
answer, but quietly awaited her fate. No one bid for her. At last a
feeble voice said, "Fifty dollars." It came from a maiden lady, seventy
years old, the sister of my grandmother's deceased mistress. She had
lived forty years under the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how
faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly she had been
defrauded of her rights, and she resolved to protect her. The auctioneer
waited for a higher bid; but her wishes were respected; no one bid above
her. The old lady could neither read nor write; and when the bill of
sale was made out, she signed it with a cross. But of what consequence
was that, when she had a big heart overflowing with human kindness? She
gave the faithful old servant her freedom.
My grandmother had always been a mother to her orphan grandchildren, as
far as that was possible in a condition of Slavery. Her perseverance and
unwearied industry continued unabated after her time was her own, and
she soon became mistress of a snug little home, and surrounded herself
with the necessaries of life. She would have been happy, if her family
could have shared them with her. There remained to her but three
children and two grandchildren; and they were all slaves. Most earnestly
did she strive to make us feel that it was the will of God; that He had
seen fit to place us under such circumstances, and though it seemed
hard, we ought to pray for contentment. It was a beautiful faith, coming
from a mother who could not call her children her own. But I and
Benjamin, her youngest boy, condemned it. It appeared to us that it was
much more according to the will of God that we should be free, and able
to make a home for ourselves, as she had done. There we always found
balsam for our troubles. She was so loving, so sympathizing! She always
met us with a smile, and listened with patience to all our sorrows. She
spoke so hopefully, that unconsciously the clouds gave place to
sunshine. There was a grand big oven there, too, that baked bread and
nice things for the town; and we knew there was always a choice bit in
store for us. But even the charms of that old oven failed to reconcile
us to our hard lot. Benjamin was now a tall, handsome lad, strongly and
gracefully made, and with a spirit too bold and daring for a slave.
One day his master attempted to flog him for not obeying his summons
quickly enough. Benjamin resisted, and in the struggle threw his master
down. To raise his hand against a white man was a great crime, according
to the laws of the State; and to avoid a cruel, public whipping,
Benjamin hid himself and made his escape. My grandmother was absent,
visiting an old friend in the country, when this happened. When she
returned, and found her youngest child had fled, great was her sorrow.
But, with characteristic piety, she said, "God's will be done." Every
morning she inquired whether any news had been heard from her boy. Alas!
news did come,--sad news. The master received a letter, and was
rejoicing over the capture of his human chattel.
That day seems to me but as yesterday, so well do I remember it. I saw
him led through the streets in chains to jail. His face was ghastly
pale, but full of determination. He had sent some one to his mother's
house to ask her not to come to meet him. He said the sight of her
distress would take from him all self-control. Her heart yearned to see
him, and she went; but she screened herself in the crowd, that it might
be as her child had said.
We were not allowed to visit him. But we had known the jailer for years,
and he was a kind-hearted man. At midnight he opened the door for my
grandmother and myself to enter, in disguise. When we entered the cell,
not a sound broke the stillness. "Benjamin," whispered my grandmother.
No answer. "Benjamin!" said she, again, in a faltering tone. There was a
jingling of chains. The moon had just risen, and cast an uncertain light
through the bars. We knelt down and took Benjamin's cold hands in ours.
Sobs alone were heard, while she wept upon his neck. At last Benjamin's
lips were unsealed. Mother and son talked together. He asked her pardon
for the suffering he had caused her. She told him she had nothing to
forgive; that she could not blame him for wanting to be free. He told
her that he broke away from his captors, and was about to throw himself
into the river, but thoughts of her came over him and arrested the
movement. She asked him if he did not also think of God. He replied:
"No, mother, I did not. When a man is hunted like a wild beast, he
forgets that there _is_ a God."
The pious mother shuddered, as she said: "Don't talk so, Benjamin. Try
to be humble, and put your trust in God."
"I wish I had some of your goodness," he replied. "You bear everything
patiently, just as though you thought it was all right. I wish I could."
She told him it had not always been so with her; that once she was like
him; but when sore troubles came upon her, and she had no arm to lean
upon, she learned to call on God, and he lightened her burdens. She
besought him to do so likewise.
The jailer came to tell us we had overstayed our time, and we were
obliged to hurry away. Grandmother went to the master and tried to
intercede for her son. But he was inexorable. He said Benjamin should be
made an example of. That he should be kept in jail till he was sold. For
three months he remained within the walls of the prison, during which
time grandmother secretly conveyed him changes of clothes, and as often
as possible carried him something warm for supper, accompanied with some
little luxury for her friend the jailer. He was finally sold to a
slave-trader from New Orleans. When they fastened irons upon his wrists
to drive him off with the coffle, it was heart-rending to hear the
groans of that poor mother, as she clung to the Benjamin of her
family,--her youngest, her pet. He was pale and thin now, from hardships
and long confinement; but still his good looks were so observable that
the slave-trader remarked he would give any price for the handsome lad,
if he were a girl. We, who knew so well what Slavery was, were thankful
that he was not.
Grandmother stifled her grief, and with strong arms and unwavering faith
set to work to purchase freedom for Benjamin. She knew the slave-trader
would charge three times as much as he gave for him; but she was not
discouraged. She employed a lawyer to write to New Orleans, and try to
negotiate the business for her. But word came that Benjamin was missing;
he had run away again.
Philip, my grandmother's only remaining son, inherited his mother's
intelligence. His mistress sometimes trusted him to go with a cargo to
New York. One of these occasions occurred not long after Benjamin's
second escape. Through God's good providence the brothers met in the
streets of New York. It was a happy meeting, though Benjamin was very
pale and thin; for on his way from bondage he had been taken violently
ill, and brought nigh unto death. Eagerly he embraced his brother,
exclaiming: "O Phil! here I am at last. I came nigh dying when I was
almost in sight of freedom; and O how I prayed that I might live just to
get one breath of free air! And here I am. In the old jail, I used to
wish I was dead. But life is worth something now, and it would be hard
to die." He begged his brother not to go back to the South, but to stay
and work with him till they earned enough to buy their relatives.
Philip replied: "It would kill mother if I deserted her. She has pledged
her house, and is working harder than ever to buy you. Will you be
bought?"
"Never!" replied Benjamin, in his resolute tone. "When I have got so far
out of their clutches, do you suppose, Phil, that I would ever let them
be paid one red cent? Do you think I would consent to have mother turned
out of her hard-earned home in her old age? And she never to see me
after she had bought me? For you know, Phil, she would never leave the
South while any of her children or grandchildren remained in Slavery.
What a good mother! Tell her to buy _you_, Phil. You have always been a
comfort to her; and I have always been making her trouble."
Philip furnished his brother with some clothes, and gave him what money
he had. Benjamin pressed his hand, and said, with moistened eyes, "I
part from all my kindred." And so it proved. We never heard from him
afterwards.
When Uncle Philip came home, the first words he said, on entering the
house, were: "O mother, Ben is free! I have seen him in New York." For a
moment she seemed bewildered. He laid his hand gently on her shoulder
and repeated what he had said. She raised her hands devoutly, and
exclaimed, "God be praised! Let us thank Him." She dropped on her knees
and poured forth her heart in prayer. When she grew calmer, she begged
Philip to sit down and repeat every word her son had said. He told her
all, except that Benjamin had nearly died on the way and was looking
very pale and thin.
Still the brave old woman toiled on to accomplish the rescue of her
remaining children. After a while she succeeded in buying Philip, for
whom she paid eight hundred dollars, and came home with the precious
document that secured his freedom. The happy mother and son sat by her
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."
My grandmother had still one daughter remaining in Slavery. She belonged
to the same master that I did; and a hard time she had of it. She was a
good soul, this old Aunt Nancy. She did all she could to supply the
place of my lost mother to us orphans. She was the _factotum_ in our
master's household. She was house-keeper, waiting-maid, and everything
else: nothing went on well without her, by day or by night. She wore
herself out in their service. Grandmother toiled on, hoping to purchase
release for her. But one evening word was brought that she had been
suddenly attacked with paralysis, and grandmother hastened to her
bedside. Mother and daughter had always been devotedly attached to each
other; and now they looked lovingly and earnestly into each other's
eyes, longing to speak of secrets that weighed on the hearts of both.
She lived but two days, and on the last day she was speechless. It was
sad to witness the grief of her bereaved mother. She had always been
strong to bear, and religious faith still supported her; but her dark
life had become still darker, and age and trouble were leaving deep
traces on her withered face. The poor old back was fitted to its burden.
It bent under it, but did not break.
Uncle Philip asked permission to bury his sister at his own expense; and
slaveholders are always ready to grant _such_ favors to slaves and their
relatives. The arrangements were very plain, but perfectly respectable.
It was talked of by the slaves as a mighty grand funeral. If Northern
travellers had been passing through the place, perhaps they would have
described it as a beautiful tribute to the humble dead, a touching proof
of the attachment between slaveholders and their slaves; and very likely
the mistress would have confirmed this impression, with her handkerchief
at her eyes. _We_ could have told them how the poor old mother had
toiled, year after year, to buy her son Philip's right to his own
earnings; and how that same Philip had paid the expenses of the funeral
which they regarded as doing so much credit to the master.
There were some redeeming features in our hard destiny. Very pleasant
are my recollections of the good old lady who paid fifty dollars for the
purpose of making my grandmother free, when she stood on the
auction-block. She loved this old lady, whom we all called Miss Fanny.
She often took tea at grandmother's house. On such occasions, the table
was spread with a snow-white cloth, and the china cups and silver spoons
were taken from the old-fashioned buffet. There were hot muffins,
tea-rusks, and delicious sweetmeats. My grandmother always had a supply
of such articles, because she furnished the ladies of the town with such
things for their parties. She kept two cows for that purpose, and the
fresh cream was Miss Fanny's delight. She invariably repeated that it
was the very best in town. The old ladies had cosey times together. They
would work and chat, and sometimes, while talking over old times, their
spectacles would get dim with tears, and would have to be taken off and
wiped. When Miss Fanny bade us "Good by," her bag was always filled with
grandmother's best cakes, and she was urged to come again soon.
[Here follows a long account of persecutions endured by the
granddaughter, who tells this story. She finally made her escape, after
encountering great dangers and hardships. The faithful old grandmother
concealed her for a long time at great risk to them both, during which
time she tried in vain to buy free papers for her. At last there came a
chance to escape in a vessel Northward bound. She goes on to say:--]
"All arrangements were made for me to go on board at dusk. Grandmother
came to me with a small bag of money, which she wanted me to take. I
begged her to keep at least part of it; but she insisted, while her
tears fell fast, that I should take the whole. 'You may be sick among
strangers,' said she; 'and they would send you to the poor-house to
die.' Ah, that good grandmother! Though I had the blessed prospect of
freedom before me, I felt dreadfully sad at leaving forever that old
homestead, that had received and sheltered me in so many sorrows.
Grandmother took me by the hand and said, 'My child, let us pray.' We
knelt down together, with my arm clasped round the faithful, loving old
friend I was about to leave forever. On no other occasion has it been my
lot to listen to so fervent a supplication for mercy and protection. It
thrilled through my heart and inspired me with trust in God. I staggered
into the street, faint in body, though strong of purpose. I did not look
back upon the dear old place, though I felt that I should never see it
again."
[The granddaughter found friends at the North, and, being uncommonly
quick in her perceptions, she soon did much to supply the deficiencies
of early education. While leading a worthy, industrious life in New
York, she twice very narrowly escaped becoming a victim to the infamous
Fugitive Slave Law. A noble-hearted lady purchased her freedom, and
thereby rescued her from further danger. She thus closes the story of
her venerable ancestor:--]
"My grandmother lived to rejoice in the knowledge of my freedom; but not
long afterward a letter came to me with a black seal. It was from a
friend at the South, who informed me that she had gone 'where the
wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest.' Among
the gloomy recollections of my life in bondage come tender memories of
that good grandmother, like a few fleecy clouds floating over a dark and
troubled sea."
H. J.
NOTE.--The above account is no fiction. The author, who was thirty years
in Slavery, wrote it in an interesting book entitled "Linda." She is an
esteemed friend of mine; and I introduce this portion of her story here
to illustrate the power of character over circumstances. She has intense
sympathy for those who are still suffering in the bondage from which she
escaped. She has devoted all her energies to the poor refugees in our
camps, comforting the afflicted, nursing the sick, and teaching the
children. On the 1st of January, 1863, she wrote me a letter, which
began as follows: "I have lived to hear the Proclamation of Freedom for
my suffering people. All my wrongs are forgiven. I am more than repaid
for all I have endured. Glory to God in the highest!"
L. M. CHILD.
* * * * *
"THEY CANNOT TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES."
Our tobacco they plant, and our cotton they pick,
And our rice they can harvest and thrash;
They feed us in health, and they nurse us when sick,
And they earn--while we pocket--our cash.
They lead us when young, and they help us when old,
And their toil loads our tables and shelves;
But they're "niggers"; and _therefore_ (the truth must be told)
They cannot take care of _themselves_.
REV. JOHN PIERPONT.
THE COLORED MOTHER'S PRAYER.
Great Father! who created all,
The colored and the fair,
O listen to a mother's call;
Hear Thou the negro's prayer!
Yet once again thy people teach,
With lessons from above,
That they may _practise_ what they _preach_,
And _all_ their neighbors love.
Again the Gospel precepts give;
Teach them this rule to know,--
Such treatment as ye should _receive_,
Be willing to _bestow_.
Then my poor child, my darling one,
Will never feel the smart
Of their unjust and cruel scorn,
That withers all the heart.
Great Father! who created all,
The colored and the fair,
O listen to a mother's call;
Hear Thou the negro's prayer!
WILLIAM COSTIN.