Two years had passed since I entered Dr. Flint’s family, and those
years had brought much of the knowledge that comes from experience,
though they had afforded little opportunity for any other kinds of
knowledge.
My grandmother had, as much as possible, been a mother to her orphan
grandchildren. By perseverance and unwearied industry, she was now
mistress of a snug little home, surrounded with the necessaries of
life. She would have been happy could her children have shared them
with her. There remained but three children and two grandchildren, 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. We reasoned that it was much more the will of God that we should
be situated as she was. We longed for a home like hers. There we
always found sweet 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, alas! Even the charms of the 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. My
brother William, now twelve years old, had the same aversion to the
word master that he had when he was an urchin of seven years. I was his
confidant. He came to me with all his troubles. I remember one instance
in particular. It was on a lovely spring morning, and when I marked the
sunlight dancing here and there, its beauty seemed to mock my sadness.
For my master, whose restless, craving, vicious nature roved about day
and night, seeking whom to devour, had just left me, with stinging,
scorching words; words that scathed ear and brain like fire. O, how
I despised him! I thought how glad I should be, if some day when he
walked the earth, it would open and swallow him up, and disencumber the
world of a plague.
When he told me that I was made for his use, made to obey his command
in _every_ thing; that I was nothing but a slave, whose will must and
should surrender to his, never before had my puny arm felt half so
strong.
So deeply was I absorbed in painful reflections afterwards, that I
neither saw nor heard the entrance of any one, till the voice of
William sounded close beside me. “Linda,” said he, “what makes you look
so sad? I love you. O, Linda, isn’t this a bad world? Every body seems
so cross and unhappy. I wish I had died when poor father did.”
I told him that every body was _not_ cross, or unhappy; that those who
had pleasant homes, and kind friends, and who were not afraid to love
them, were happy. But we, who were slave-children, without father or
mother, could not expect to be happy. We must be good; perhaps that
would bring us contentment.
“Yes,” he said, “I try to be good; but what’s the use? They are all
the time troubling me.” Then he proceeded to relate his afternoon’s
difficulty with young master Nicholas. It seemed that the brother
of master Nicholas had pleased himself with making up stories about
William. Master Nicholas said he should be flogged, and he would do it.
Whereupon he went to work; but William fought bravely, and the young
master, finding he was getting the better of him, undertook to tie his
hands behind him. He failed in that likewise. By dint of kicking and
fisting, William came out of the skirmish none the worse for a few
scratches.
He continued to discourse, on his young master’s _meanness_; how he
whipped the _little_ boys, but was a perfect coward when a tussle
ensued between him and white boys of his own size. On such occasions he
always took to his legs. William had other charges to make against him.
One was his rubbing up pennies with quicksilver, and passing them off
for quarters of a dollar on an old man who kept a fruit stall. William
was often sent to buy fruit, and he earnestly inquired of me what he
ought to do under such circumstances. I told him it was certainly wrong
to deceive the old man, and that it was his duty to tell him of the
impositions practised by his young master. I assured him the old man
would not be slow to comprehend the whole, and there the matter would
end. William thought it might with the old man, but not with _him_. He
said he did not mind the smart of the whip, but he did not like the
_idea_ of being whipped.
While I advised him to be good and forgiving I was not unconscious
of the beam in my own eye. It was the very knowledge of my own
shortcomings that urged me to retain, if possible, some sparks of
my brother’s God-given nature. I had not lived fourteen years in
slavery for nothing. I had felt, seen, and heard enough, to read the
characters, and question the motives, of those around me. The war of
my life had begun; and though one of God’s most powerless creatures, I
resolved never to be conquered. Alas, for me!
If there was one pure, sunny spot for me, I believed it to be in
Benjamin’s heart, and in another’s, whom I loved with all the ardor of
a girl’s first love. My owner knew of it, and sought in every way to
render me miserable. He did not resort to corporal punishment, but to
all the petty, tyrannical ways that human ingenuity could devise.
I remember the first time I was punished. It was in the month of
February. My grandmother had taken my old shoes, and replaced them with
a new pair. I needed them; for several inches of snow had fallen, and
it still continued to fall. When I walked through Mrs. Flint’s room,
their creaking grated harshly on her refined nerves. She called me to
her, and asked what I had about me that made such a horrid noise. I
told her it was my new shoes. “Take them off,” said she; “and if you
put them on again, I’ll throw them into the fire.”
I took them off, and my stockings also. She then sent me a long
distance, on an errand. As I went through the snow, my bare feet
tingled. That night I was very hoarse; and I went to bed thinking the
next day would find me sick, perhaps dead. What was my grief on waking
to find myself quite well!
I had imagined if I died, or was laid up for some time, that my
mistress would feel a twinge of remorse that she had so hated “the
little imp,” as she styled me. It was my ignorance of that mistress
that gave rise to such extravagant imaginings.
Dr. Flint occasionally had high prices offered for me; but he always
said, “She don’t belong to me. She is my daughter’s property, and I
have no right to sell her.” Good, honest man! My young mistress was
still a child, and I could look for no protection from her. I loved
her, and she returned my affection. I once heard her father allude to
her attachment to me; and his wife promptly replied that it proceeded
from fear. This put unpleasant doubts into my mind. Did the child
feign what she did not feel? or was her mother jealous of the mite of
love she bestowed on me? I concluded it must be the latter. I said to
myself, “Surely, little children are true.”
One afternoon I sat at my sewing, feeling unusual depression of
spirits. My mistress had been accusing me of an offence, of which I
assured her I was perfectly innocent; but I saw, by the contemptuous
curl of her lip, that she believed I was telling a lie.
I wondered for what wise purpose God was leading me through such
thorny paths, and whether still darker days were in store for me. As I
sat musing thus, the door opened softly, and William came in. “Well,
brother,” said I, “what is the matter this time?”
“O Linda, Ben and his master have had a dreadful time!” said he.
My first thought was that Benjamin was killed. “Don’t be frightened,
Linda,” said William; “I will tell you all about it.”
It appeared that Benjamin’s master had sent for him, and he did not
immediately obey the summons. When he did, his master was angry, and
began to whip him. He resisted. Master and slave fought, and finally
the master was thrown. Benjamin had cause to tremble; for he had thrown
to the ground his master—one of the richest men in town. I anxiously
awaited the result.
That night I stole to my grandmother’s house, and Benjamin also stole
thither from his master’s. My grandmother had gone to spend a day or
two with an old friend living in the country.
“I have come,” said Benjamin, “to tell you good by. I am going away.”