OUR NIG;
or,
Sketches from the Life of a Free Black, In A Two-Story White House,
North.
SHOWING THAT SLAVERY'S SHADOWS FALL EVEN THERE.
by "OUR NIG."
Dedicated to Pauline Augusta Coleman Gates and Henry Louis Gates, Sr.
In Memory of Marguerite Elizabeth Howard Coleman, and Gertrude Helen
Redman Gates
"I know
That care has iron crowns for many brows;
That Calvaries are everywhere, whereon
Virtue is crucified, and nails and spears
Draw guiltless blood; that sorrow sits and drinks
At sweetest hearts, till all their life is dry;
That gentle spirits on the rack of pain
Grow faint or fierce, and pray and curse by turns;
That hell's temptations, clad in heavenly guise
And armed with might, lie evermore in wait
Along life's path, giving assault to all."--HOLLAND.
PREFACE.
IN offering to the public the following pages, the writer confesses her
inability to minister to the refined and cultivated, the pleasure
supplied by abler pens. It is not for such these crude narrations
appear. Deserted by kindred, disabled by failing health, I am forced to
some experiment which shall aid me in maintaining myself and child
without extinguishing this feeble life. I would not from these motives
even palliate slavery at the South, by disclosures of its appurtenances
North. My mistress was wholly imbued with SOUTHERN principles. I do not
pretend to divulge every transaction in my own life, which the
unprejudiced would declare unfavorable in comparison with treatment of
legal bondmen; I have purposely omitted what would most provoke shame in
our good anti-slavery friends at home.
My humble position and frank confession of errors will, I hope, shield
me from severe criticism. Indeed, defects are so apparent it requires no
skilful hand to expose them.
I sincerely appeal to my colored brethren universally for patronage,
hoping they will not condemn this attempt of their sister to be erudite,
but rally around me a faithful band of supporters and defenders.
H. E. W.
OUR NIG.
CHAPTER I.
MAG SMITH, MY MOTHER.
Oh, Grief beyond all other griefs, when fate
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate
In the wide world, without that only tie
For which it loved to live or feared to die;
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken
Since the sad day its master-chord was broken!
MOORE.
LONELY MAG SMITH! See her as she walks with downcast eyes and heavy
heart. It was not always thus. She HAD a loving, trusting heart. Early
deprived of parental guardianship, far removed from relatives, she was
left to guide her tiny boat over life's surges alone and inexperienced.
As she merged into womanhood, unprotected, uncherished, uncared for,
there fell on her ear the music of love, awakening an intensity of
emotion long dormant. It whispered of an elevation before unaspired to;
of ease and plenty her simple heart had never dreamed of as hers. She
knew the voice of her charmer, so ravishing, sounded far above her. It
seemed like an angel's, alluring her upward and onward. She thought she
could ascend to him and become an equal. She surrendered to him a
priceless gem, which he proudly garnered as a trophy, with those of
other victims, and left her to her fate. The world seemed full of
hateful deceivers and crushing arrogance. Conscious that the great bond
of union to her former companions was severed, that the disdain of
others would be insupportable, she determined to leave the few friends
she possessed, and seek an asylum among strangers. Her offspring came
unwelcomed, and before its nativity numbered weeks, it passed from
earth, ascending to a purer and better life.
"God be thanked," ejaculated Mag, as she saw its breathing cease; "no
one can taunt HER with my ruin."
Blessed release! may we all respond. How many pure, innocent children
not only inherit a wicked heart of their own, claiming life-long
scrutiny and restraint, but are heirs also of parental disgrace and
calumny, from which only long years of patient endurance in paths of
rectitude can disencumber them.
Mag's new home was soon contaminated by the publicity of her fall; she
had a feeling of degradation oppressing her; but she resolved to be
circumspect, and try to regain in a measure what she had lost. Then some
foul tongue would jest of her shame, and averted looks and cold
greetings disheartened her. She saw she could not bury in forgetfulness
her misdeed, so she resolved to leave her home and seek another in the
place she at first fled from.
Alas, how fearful are we to be first in extending a helping hand to
those who stagger in the mires of infamy; to speak the first words of
hope and warning to those emerging into the sunlight of morality! Who
can tell what numbers, advancing just far enough to hear a cold welcome
and join in the reserved converse of professed reformers, disappointed,
disheartened, have chosen to dwell in unclean places, rather than
encounter these "holier-than-thou" of the great brotherhood of man!
Such was Mag's experience; and disdaining to ask favor or friendship
from a sneering world, she resolved to shut herself up in a hovel she
had often passed in better days, and which she knew to be untenanted.
She vowed to ask no favors of familiar faces; to die neglected and
forgotten before she would be dependent on any. Removed from the
village, she was seldom seen except as upon your introduction, gentle
reader, with downcast visage, returning her work to her employer, and
thus providing herself with the means of subsistence. In two years many
hands craved the same avocation; foreigners who cheapened toil and
clamored for a livelihood, competed with her, and she could not thus
sustain herself. She was now above no drudgery. Occasionally old
acquaintances called to be favored with help of some kind, which she was
glad to bestow for the sake of the money it would bring her; but the
association with them was such a painful reminder of by-gones, she
returned to her hut morose and revengeful, refusing all offers of a
better home than she possessed. Thus she lived for years, hugging her
wrongs, but making no effort to escape. She had never known plenty,
scarcely competency; but the present was beyond comparison with those
innocent years when the coronet of virtue was hers.
Every year her melancholy increased, her means diminished. At last no
one seemed to notice her, save a kind-hearted African, who often called
to inquire after her health and to see if she needed any fuel, he having
the responsibility of furnishing that article, and she in return mending
or making garments.
"How much you earn dis week, Mag?" asked he one Saturday evening.
"Little enough, Jim. Two or three days without any dinner. I washed for
the Reeds, and did a small job for Mrs. Bellmont; that's all. I shall
starve soon, unless I can get more to do. Folks seem as afraid to come
here as if they expected to get some awful disease. I don't believe
there is a person in the world but would be glad to have me dead and out
of the way."
"No, no, Mag! don't talk so. You shan't starve so long as I have barrels
to hoop. Peter Greene boards me cheap. I'll help you, if nobody else
will."
A tear stood in Mag's faded eye. "I'm glad," she said, with a softer
tone than before, "if there is ONE who isn't glad to see me suffer. I
b'lieve all Singleton wants to see me punished, and feel as if they
could tell when I've been punished long enough. It's a long day ahead
they'll set it, I reckon."
After the usual supply of fuel was prepared, Jim returned home. Full of
pity for Mag, he set about devising measures for her relief. "By golly!"
said he to himself one day--for he had become so absorbed in Mag's
interest that he had fallen into a habit of musing aloud--"By golly! I
wish she'd MARRY me."
"Who?" shouted Pete Greene, suddenly starting from an unobserved corner
of the rude shop.
"Where you come from, you sly nigger!" exclaimed Jim.
"Come, tell me, who is't?" said Pete; "Mag Smith, you want to marry?"
"Git out, Pete! and when you come in dis shop again, let a nigger know
it. Don't steal in like a thief."
Pity and love know little severance. One attends the other. Jim
acknowledged the presence of the former, and his efforts in Mag's behalf
told also of a finer principle.
This sudden expedient which he had unintentionally disclosed, roused his
thinking and inventive powers to study upon the best method of
introducing the subject to Mag.
He belted his barrels, with many a scheme revolving in his mind, none of
which quite satisfied him, or seemed, on the whole, expedient. He
thought of the pleasing contrast between her fair face and his own dark
skin; the smooth, straight hair, which he had once, in expression of
pity, kindly stroked on her now wrinkled but once fair brow. There was a
tempest gathering in his heart, and at last, to ease his pent-up
passion, he exclaimed aloud, "By golly!" Recollecting his former
exposure, he glanced around to see if Pete was in hearing again.
Satisfied on this point, he continued: "She'd be as much of a prize to
me as she'd fall short of coming up to the mark with white folks. I
don't care for past things. I've done things 'fore now I's 'shamed of.
She's good enough for me, any how."
One more glance about the premises to be sure Pete was away.
The next Saturday night brought Jim to the hovel again. The cold was
fast coming to tarry its apportioned time. Mag was nearly despairing of
meeting its rigor.
"How's the wood, Mag?" asked Jim.
"All gone; and no more to cut, any how," was the reply.
"Too bad!" Jim said. His truthful reply would have been, I'm glad.
"Anything to eat in the house?" continued he.
"No," replied Mag.
"Too bad!" again, orally, with the same INWARD gratulation as before.
"Well, Mag," said Jim, after a short pause, "you's down low enough. I
don't see but I've got to take care of ye. 'Sposin' we marry!"
Mag raised her eyes, full of amazement, and uttered a sonorous "What?"
Jim felt abashed for a moment. He knew well what were her objections.
"You's had trial of white folks any how. They run off and left ye, and
now none of 'em come near ye to see if you's dead or alive. I's black
outside, I know, but I's got a white heart inside. Which you rather
have, a black heart in a white skin, or a white heart in a black one?"
"Oh, dear!" sighed Mag; "Nobody on earth cares for ME--"
"I do," interrupted Jim.
"I can do but two things," said she, "beg my living, or get it from
you."
"Take me, Mag. I can give you a better home than this, and not let you
suffer so."
He prevailed; they married. You can philosophize, gentle reader, upon
the impropriety of such unions, and preach dozens of sermons on the
evils of amalgamation. Want is a more powerful philosopher and preacher.
Poor Mag. She has sundered another bond which held her to her fellows.
She has descended another step down the ladder of infamy.