I had not returned to my master’s house since the birth of my child.
The old man raved to have me thus removed from his immediate power;
but his wife vowed, by all that was good and great, she would kill me
if I came back; and he did not doubt her word. Sometimes he would stay
away for a season. Then he would come and renew the old threadbare
discourse about his forbearance and my ingratitude. He labored,
most unnecessarily, to convince me that I had lowered myself. The
venomous old reprobate had no need of descanting on that theme. I felt
humiliated enough. My unconscious babe was the ever-present witness
of my shame. I listened with silent contempt when he talked about my
having forfeited _his_ good opinion; but I shed bitter tears that I was
no longer worthy of being respected by the good and pure. Alas! slavery
still held me in its poisonous grasp. There was no chance for me to be
respectable. There was no prospect of being able to lead a better life.
Sometimes, when my master found that I still refused to accept what he
called his kind offers, he would threaten to sell my child. “Perhaps
that will humble you,” said he.
Humble _me_! Was I not already in the dust? But his threat lacerated
my heart. I knew the law gave him power to fulfil it; for slaveholders
have been cunning enough to enact that “the child shall follow the
condition of the _mother_,” not of the _father_; thus taking care that
licentiousness shall not interfere with avarice. This reflection made
me clasp my innocent babe all the more firmly to my heart. Horrid
visions passed through my mind when I thought of his liability to fall
into the slave trader’s hands. I wept over him, and said, “O my child!
perhaps they will leave you in some cold cabin to die, and then throw
you into a hole, as if you were a dog.”
When Dr. Flint learned that I was again to be a mother, he was
exasperated beyond measure. He rushed from the house, and returned with
a pair of shears. I had a fine head of hair; and he often railed about
my pride of arranging it nicely. He cut every hair close to my head,
storming and swearing all the time. I replied to some of his abuse,
and he struck me. Some months before, he had pitched me down stairs in
a fit of passion; and the injury I received was so serious that I was
unable to turn myself in bed for many days. He then said, “Linda, I
swear by God I will never raise my hand against you again;” but I knew
that he would forget his promise.
After he discovered my situation, he was like a restless spirit from
the pit. He came every day; and I was subjected to such insults as
no pen can describe. I would not describe them if I could; they were
too low, too revolting. I tried to keep them from my grandmother’s
knowledge as much as I could. I knew she had enough to sadden her life,
without having my troubles to bear. When she saw the doctor treat me
with violence, and heard him utter oaths terrible enough to palsy a
man’s tongue, she could not always hold her peace. It was natural and
motherlike that she should try to defend me; but it only made matters
worse.
When they told me my new-born babe was a girl, my heart was heavier
than it had ever been before. Slavery is terrible for men; but it is
far more terrible for women. Superadded to the burden common to all,
_they_ have wrongs, and sufferings, and mortifications peculiarly their
own.
Dr. Flint had sworn that he would make me suffer, to my last day, for
this new crime against _him_, as he called it; and as long as he had me
in his power he kept his word. On the fourth day after the birth of my
babe, he entered my room suddenly, and commanded me to rise and bring
my baby to him. The nurse who took care of me had gone out of the room
to prepare some nourishment, and I was alone. There was no alternative.
I rose, took up my babe, and crossed the room to where he sat. “Now
stand there,” said he, “till I tell you to go back!” My child bore a
strong resemblance to her father, and to the deceased Mrs. Sands, her
grandmother. He noticed this; and while I stood before him, trembling
with weakness, he heaped upon me and my little one every vile epithet
he could think of. Even the grandmother in her grave did not escape
his curses. In the midst of his vituperations I fainted at his feet.
This recalled him to his senses. He took the baby from my arms, laid
it on the bed, dashed cold water in my face, took me up, and shook me
violently, to restore my consciousness before any one entered the room.
Just then my grandmother came in, and he hurried out of the house. I
suffered in consequence of this treatment; but I begged my friends
to let me die, rather than send for the doctor. There was nothing I
dreaded so much as his presence. My life was spared; and I was glad for
the sake of my little ones. Had it not been for these ties to life, I
should have been glad to be released by death, though I had lived only
nineteen years.
Always it gave me a pang that my children had no lawful claim to a
name. Their father offered his; but, if I had wished to accept the
offer, I dared not while my master lived. Moreover, I knew it would
not be accepted at their baptism. A Christian name they were at least
entitled to; and we resolved to call my boy for our dear good Benjamin,
who had gone far away from us.
My grandmother belonged to the church; and she was very desirous of
having the children christened. I knew Dr. Flint would forbid it, and
I did not venture to attempt it. But chance favored me. He was called
to visit a patient out of town, and was obliged to be absent during
Sunday. “Now is the time,” said my grandmother; “we will take the
children to church, and have them christened.”
When I entered the church, recollections of my mother came over me,
and I felt subdued in spirit. There she had presented me for baptism,
without any reason to feel ashamed. She had been married, and had such
legal rights as slavery allows to a slave. The vows had at least been
sacred to _her_, and she had never violated them. I was glad she was
not alive, to know under what different circumstances her grandchildren
were presented for baptism. Why had my lot been so different from my
mother’s? _Her_ master had died when she was a child; and she remained
with her mistress till she married. She was never in the power of any
master; and thus she escaped one class of the evils that generally fall
upon slaves.
When my baby was about to be christened, the former mistress of my
father stepped up to me, and proposed to give it her Christian name. To
this I added the surname of my father, who had himself no legal right
to it; for my grandfather on the paternal side was a white gentleman.
What tangled skeins are the genealogies of slavery! I loved my father;
but it mortified me to be obliged to bestow his name on my children.
When we left the church, my father’s old mistress invited me to go home
with her. She clasped a gold chain round my baby’s neck. I thanked her
for this kindness; but I did not like the emblem. I wanted no chain to
be fastened on my daughter, not even if its links were of gold. How
earnestly I prayed that she might never feel the weight of slavery’s
chain, whose iron entereth into the soul!