During the first years of my service in Dr. Flint’s family, I was
accustomed to share some indulgences with the children of my mistress.
Though this seemed to me no more than right, I was grateful for it, and
tried to merit the kindness by the faithful discharge of my duties.
But I now entered on my fifteenth year—a sad epoch in the life of a
slave girl. My master began to whisper foul words in my ear. Young as
I was, I could not remain ignorant of their import. I tried to treat
them with indifference or contempt. The master’s age, my extreme youth,
and the fear that his conduct would be reported to my grandmother,
made him bear this treatment for many months. He was a crafty man,
and resorted to many means to accomplish his purposes. Sometimes he
had stormy, terrific ways, that made his victims tremble; sometimes
he assumed a gentleness that he thought must surely subdue. Of the
two, I preferred his stormy moods, although they left me trembling.
He tried his utmost to corrupt the pure principles my grandmother had
instilled. He peopled my young mind with unclean images, such as only a
vile monster could think of. I turned from him with disgust and hatred.
But he was my master. I was compelled to live under the same roof with
him—where I saw a man forty years my senior daily violating the most
sacred commandments of nature. He told me I was his property; that I
must be subject to his will in all things. My soul revolted against the
mean tyranny. But where could I turn for protection? No matter whether
the slave girl be as black as ebony or as fair as her mistress. In
either case, there is no shadow of law to protect her from insult, from
violence, or even from death; all these are inflicted by fiends who
bear the shape of men. The mistress, who ought to protect the helpless
victim, has no other feelings towards her but those of jealousy and
rage. The degradation, the wrongs, the vices, that grow out of slavery,
are more than I can describe. They are greater than you would willingly
believe. Surely, if you credited one half the truths that are told
you concerning the helpless millions suffering in this cruel bondage,
you at the north would not help to tighten the yoke. You surely would
refuse to do for the master, on your own soil, the mean and cruel work
which trained bloodhounds and the lowest class of whites do for him at
the south.
Every where the years bring to all enough of sin and sorrow; but in
slavery the very dawn of life is darkened by these shadows. Even
the little child, who is accustomed to wait on her mistress and her
children, will learn, before she is twelve years old, why it is that
her mistress hates such and such a one among the slaves. Perhaps the
child’s own mother is among those hated ones. She listens to violent
outbreaks of jealous passion, and cannot help understanding what is
the cause. She will become prematurely knowing in evil things. Soon
she will learn to tremble when she hears her master’s footfall. She
will be compelled to realize that she is no longer a child. If God has
bestowed beauty upon her, it will prove her greatest curse. That which
commands admiration in the white woman only hastens the degradation of
the female slave. I know that some are too much brutalized by slavery
to feel the humiliation of their position; but many slaves feel it
most acutely, and shrink from the memory of it. I cannot tell how much
I suffered in the presence of these wrongs, nor how I am still pained
by the retrospect. My master met me at every turn, reminding me that I
belonged to him, and swearing by heaven and earth that he would compel
me to submit to him. If I went out for a breath of fresh air, after
a day of unwearied toil, his footsteps dogged me. If I knelt by my
mother’s grave, his dark shadow fell on me even there. The light heart
which nature had given me became heavy with sad forebodings. The other
slaves in my master’s house noticed the change. Many of them pitied me;
but none dared to ask the cause. They had no need to inquire. They knew
too well the guilty practices under that roof; and they were aware that
to speak of them was an offence that never went unpunished.
I longed for some one to confide in. I would have given the world to
have laid my head on my grandmother’s faithful bosom, and told her all
my troubles. But Dr. Flint swore he would kill me, if I was not as
silent as the grave. Then, although my grandmother was all in all to
me, I feared her as well as loved her. I had been accustomed to look
up to her with a respect bordering upon awe. I was very young, and
felt shamefaced about telling her such impure things, especially as I
knew her to be very strict on such subjects. Moreover, she was a woman
of a high spirit. She was usually very quiet in her demeanor; but if
her indignation was once roused, it was not very easily quelled. I had
been told that she once chased a white gentleman with a loaded pistol,
because he insulted one of her daughters. I dreaded the consequences of
a violent outbreak; and both pride and fear kept me silent. But though
I did not confide in my grandmother, and even evaded her vigilant
watchfulness and inquiry, her presence in the neighborhood was some
protection to me. Though she had been a slave, Dr. Flint was afraid
of her. He dreaded her scorching rebukes. Moreover, she was known and
patronized by many people; and he did not wish to have his villany
made public. It was lucky for me that I did not live on a distant
plantation, but in a town not so large that the inhabitants were
ignorant of each other’s affairs. Bad as are the laws and customs in a
slaveholding community, the doctor, as a professional man, deemed it
prudent to keep up some outward show of decency.
O, what days and nights of fear and sorrow that man caused me!
Reader, it is not to awaken sympathy for myself that I am telling you
truthfully what I suffered in slavery. I do it to kindle a flame of
compassion in your hearts for my sisters who are still in bondage,
suffering as I once suffered.
I once saw two beautiful children playing together. One was a fair
white child; the other was her slave, and also her sister. When I saw
them embracing each other, and heard their joyous laughter, I turned
sadly away from the lovely sight. I foresaw the inevitable blight that
would fall on the little slave’s heart. I knew how soon her laughter
would be changed to sighs. The fair child grew up to be a still fairer
woman. From childhood to womanhood her pathway was blooming with
flowers, and overarched by a sunny sky. Scarcely one day of her life
had been clouded when the sun rose on her happy bridal morning.
How had those years dealt with her slave sister, the little playmate
of her childhood? She, also, was very beautiful; but the flowers and
sunshine of love were not for her. She drank the cup of sin, and shame,
and misery, whereof her persecuted race are compelled to drink.
In view of these things, why are ye silent, ye free men and women of
the north? Why do your tongues falter in maintenance of the right?
Would that I had more ability! But my heart is so full, and my pen is
so weak! There are noble men and women who plead for us, striving to
help those who cannot help themselves. God bless them! God give them
strength and courage to go on! God bless those, every where, who are
laboring to advance the cause of humanity!