Early the next morning I left my grandmother’s with my youngest child.
My boy was ill, and I left him behind. I had many sad thoughts as the
old wagon jolted on. Hitherto, I had suffered alone; now, my little
one was to be treated as a slave. As we drew near the great house, I
thought of the time when I was formerly sent there out of revenge. I
wondered for what purpose I was now sent. I could not tell. I resolved
to obey orders so far as duty required; but within myself, I determined
to make my stay as short as possible. Mr. Flint was waiting to receive
us, and told me to follow him up stairs to receive orders for the day.
My little Ellen was left below in the kitchen. It was a change for her,
who had always been so carefully tended. My young master said she might
amuse herself in the yard. This was kind of him, since the child was
hateful to his sight. My task was to fit up the house for the reception
of the bride. In the midst of sheets, tablecloths, towels, drapery, and
carpeting, my head was as busy planning, as were my fingers with the
needle. At noon I was allowed to go to Ellen. She had sobbed herself to
sleep. I heard Mr. Flint say to a neighbor, “I’ve got her down here,
and I’ll soon take the town notions out of her head. My father is
partly to blame for her nonsense. He ought to have broke her in long
ago.” The remark was made within my hearing, and it would have been
quite as manly to have made it to my face. He _had_ said things to my
face which might, or might not, have surprised his neighbor if he had
known of them. He was “a chip of the old block.”
I resolved to give him no cause to accuse me of being too much of
a lady, so far as work was concerned. I worked day and night, with
wretchedness before me. When I lay down beside my child, I felt how
much easier it would be to see her die than to see her master beat her
about, as I daily saw him beat other little ones. The spirit of the
mothers was so crushed by the lash, that they stood by, without courage
to remonstrate. How much more must I suffer, before I should be “broke
in” to that degree?
I wished to appear as contented as possible. Sometimes I had an
opportunity to send a few lines home; and this brought up recollections
that made it difficult, for a time, to seem calm and indifferent to my
lot. Notwithstanding my efforts, I saw that Mr. Flint regarded me with
a suspicious eye. Ellen broke down under the trials of her new life.
Separated from me, with no one to look after her, she wandered about,
and in a few days cried herself sick. One day, she sat under the window
where I was at work, crying that weary cry which makes a mother’s heart
bleed. I was obliged to steel myself to bear it. After a while it
ceased. I looked out, and she was gone. As it was near noon, I ventured
to go down in search of her. The great house was raised two feet above
the ground. I looked under it, and saw her about midway, fast asleep.
I crept under and drew her out. As I held her in my arms, I thought
how well it would be for her if she never waked up; and I uttered my
thought aloud. I was startled to hear some one say, “Did you speak to
me?” I looked up, and saw Mr. Flint standing beside me. He said nothing
further, but turned, frowning, away. That night he sent Ellen a biscuit
and a cup of sweetened milk. This generosity surprised me. I learned
afterwards, that in the afternoon he had killed a large snake, which
crept from under the house; and I supposed that incident had prompted
his unusual kindness.
The next morning the old cart was loaded with shingles for town. I
put Ellen into it, and sent her to her grandmother. Mr. Flint said I
ought to have asked his permission. I told him the child was sick, and
required attention which I had no time to give. He let it pass; for he
was aware that I had accomplished much work in a little time.
I had been three weeks on the plantation, when I planned a visit home.
It must be at night, after every body was in bed. I was six miles from
town, and the road was very dreary. I was to go with a young man, who,
I knew, often stole to town to see his mother. One night, when all
was quiet, we started. Fear gave speed to our steps, and we were not
long in performing the journey. I arrived at my grandmother’s. Her
bed room was on the first floor, and the window was open, the weather
being warm. I spoke to her and she awoke. She let me in and closed the
window, lest some late passer-by should see me. A light was brought,
and the whole household gathered round me, some smiling and some
crying. I went to look at my children, and thanked God for their happy
sleep. The tears fell as I leaned over them. As I moved to leave, Benny
stirred. I turned back, and whispered, “Mother is here.” After digging
at his eyes with his little fist, they opened, and he sat up in bed,
looking at me curiously. Having satisfied himself that it was I, he
exclaimed, “O mother! you ain’t dead, are you? They didn’t cut off your
head at the plantation, did they?”
My time was up too soon, and my guide was waiting for me. I laid Benny
back in his bed, and dried his tears by a promise to come again soon.
Rapidly we retraced our steps back to the plantation. About half way we
were met by a company of four patrols. Luckily we heard their horse’s
hoofs before they came in sight, and we had time to hide behind a large
tree. They passed, hallooing and shouting in a manner that indicated a
recent carousal. How thankful we were that they had not their dogs with
them! We hastened our footsteps, and when we arrived on the plantation
we heard the sound of the hand-mill. The slaves were grinding their
corn. We were safely in the house before the horn summoned them to
their labor. I divided my little parcel of food with my guide, knowing
that he had lost the chance of grinding his corn, and must toil all day
in the field.
Mr. Flint often took an inspection of the house, to see that no one
was idle. The entire management of the work was trusted to me, because
he knew nothing about it; and rather than hire a superintendent he
contented himself with my arrangements. He had often urged upon his
father the necessity of having me at the plantation to take charge of
his affairs, and make clothes for the slaves; but the old man knew him
too well to consent to that arrangement.
When I had been working a month at the plantation, the great aunt of
Mr. Flint came to make him a visit. This was the good old lady who paid
fifty dollars for my grandmother, for the purpose of making her free,
when she stood on the auction block. My grandmother loved this old
lady, whom we all called Miss Fanny. She often came to take tea with
us. 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 kept two cows, and the fresh cream was Miss Fanny’s
delight. She invariably declared that it was the 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 filled with grandmother’s best cakes, and
she was urged to come again soon.
There had been a time when Dr. Flint’s wife came to take tea with
us, and when her children were also sent to have a feast of “Aunt
Marthy’s” nice cooking. But after I became an object of her jealousy
and spite, she was angry with grandmother for giving a shelter to me
and my children. She would not even speak to her in the street. This
wounded my grandmother’s feelings, for she could not retain ill will
against the woman whom she had nourished with her milk when a babe. The
doctor’s wife would gladly have prevented our intercourse with Miss
Fanny if she could have done it, but fortunately she was not dependent
on the bounty of the Flints. She had enough to be independent; and that
is more than can ever be gained from charity, however lavish it may be.
Miss Fanny was endeared to me by many recollections, and I was rejoiced
to see her at the plantation. The warmth of her large, loyal heart made
the house seem pleasanter while she was in it. She staid a week, and I
had many talks with her. She said her principal object in coming was to
see how I was treated, and whether any thing could be done for me. She
inquired whether she could help me in any way. I told her I believed
not. She condoled with me in her own peculiar way; saying she wished
that I and all my grandmother’s family were at rest in our graves, for
not until then should she feel any peace about us. The good old soul
did not dream that I was planning to bestow peace upon her, with regard
to myself and my children; not by death, but by securing our freedom.
Again and again I had traversed those dreary twelve miles, to and from
the town; and all the way, I was meditating upon some means of escape
for myself and my children. My friends had made every effort that
ingenuity could devise to effect our purchase, but all their plans had
proved abortive. Dr. Flint was suspicious, and determined not to loosen
his grasp upon us. I could have made my escape alone; but it was more
for my helpless children than for myself that I longed for freedom.
Though the boon would have been precious to me, above all price, I
would not have taken it at the expense of leaving them in slavery.
Every trial I endured, every sacrifice I made for their sakes, drew
them closer to my heart, and gave me fresh courage to beat back the
dark waves that rolled and rolled over me in a seemingly endless night
of storms.
The six weeks were nearly completed, when Mr. Flint’s bride was
expected to take possession of her new home. The arrangements were
all completed, and Mr. Flint said I had done well. He expected to
leave home on Saturday, and return with his bride the following
Wednesday. After receiving various orders from him, I ventured to ask
permission to spend Sunday in town. It was granted; for which favor I
was thankful. It was the first I had ever asked of him, and I intended
it should be the last. It needed more than one night to accomplish
the project I had in view; but the whole of Sunday would give me an
opportunity. I spent the Sabbath with my grandmother. A calmer, more
beautiful day never came down out of heaven. To me it was a day of
conflicting emotions. Perhaps it was the last day I should ever spend
under that dear, old sheltering roof! Perhaps these were the last talks
I should ever have with the faithful old friend of my whole life!
Perhaps it was the last time I and my children should be together!
Well, better so, I thought, than that they should be slaves. I knew the
doom that awaited my fair baby in slavery, and I determined to save
her from it, or perish in the attempt. I went to make this vow at the
graves of my poor parents, in the burying-ground of the slaves. “There
the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest. There
the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor;
the servant is free from his master.” I knelt by the graves of my
parents, and thanked God, as I had often done before, that they had not
lived to witness my trials, or to mourn over my sins. I had received
my mother’s blessing when she died; and in many an hour of tribulation
I had seemed to hear her voice, sometimes chiding me, sometimes
whispering loving words into my wounded heart. I have shed many and
bitter tears, to think that when I am gone from my children they cannot
remember me with such entire satisfaction as I remembered my mother.
The graveyard was in the woods, and twilight was coming on. Nothing
broke the death-like stillness except the occasional twitter of a bird.
My spirit was overawed by the solemnity of the scene. For more than
ten years I had frequented this spot, but never had it seemed to me so
sacred as now. A black stump, at the head of my mother’s grave, was all
that remained of a tree my father had planted. His grave was marked
by a small wooden board, bearing his name, the letters of which were
nearly obliterated. I knelt down and kissed them, and poured forth a
prayer to God for guidance and support in the perilous step I was about
to take. As I passed the wreck of the old meeting house, where, before
Nat Turner’s time, the slaves had been allowed to meet for worship, I
seemed to hear my father’s voice come from it, bidding me not to tarry
till I reached freedom or the grave. I rushed on with renovated hopes.
My trust in God had been strengthened by that prayer among the graves.
My plan was to conceal myself at the house of a friend, and remain
there a few weeks till the search was over. My hope was that the doctor
would get discouraged, and, for fear of losing my value, and also of
subsequently finding my children among the missing, he would consent
to sell us; and I knew somebody would buy us. I had done all in my
power to make my children comfortable during the time I expected to be
separated from them. I was packing my things, when grandmother came
into the room, and asked what I was doing. “I am putting my things
in order,” I replied. I tried to look and speak cheerfully; but her
watchful eye detected something beneath the surface. She drew me
towards her, and asked me to sit down. She looked earnestly at me, and
said, “Linda, do you want to kill your old grandmother? Do you mean to
leave your little, helpless children? I am old now, and cannot do for
your babies as I once did for you.”
I replied, that if I went away, perhaps their father would be able to
secure their freedom.
“Ah, my child,” said she, “don’t trust too much to him. Stand by your
own children, and suffer with them till death. Nobody respects a mother
who forsakes her children; and if you leave them, you will never have
a happy moment. If you go, you will make me miserable the short time I
have to live. You would be taken and brought back, and your sufferings
would be dreadful. Remember poor Benjamin. Do give it up, Linda. Try to
bear a little longer. Things may turn out better than we expect.”
My courage failed me, in view of the sorrow I should bring on that
faithful, loving old heart. I promised that I would try longer, and
that I would take nothing out of her house without her knowledge.
Whenever the children climbed on my knee, or laid their heads on my
lap, she would say, “Poor little souls! what would you do without a
mother? She don’t love you as I do.” And she would hug them to her own
bosom, as if to reproach me for my want of affection; but she knew all
the while that I loved them better than my life. I slept with her that
night, and it was the last time. The memory of it haunted me for many a
year.
On Monday I returned to the plantation, and busied myself with
preparations for the important day. Wednesday came. It was a beautiful
day, and the faces of the slaves were as bright as the sunshine. The
poor creatures were merry. They were expecting little presents from the
bride, and hoping for better times under her administration. I had no
such hopes for them. I knew that the young wives of slaveholders often
thought their authority and importance would be best established and
maintained by cruelty; and what I had heard of young Mrs. Flint gave
me no reason to expect that her rule over them would be less severe
than that of the master and overseer. Truly, the colored race are the
most cheerful and forgiving people on the face of the earth. That their
masters sleep in safety is owing to their superabundance of heart; and
yet they look upon their sufferings with less pity than they would
bestow on those of a horse or a dog.
I stood at the door with others to receive the bridegroom and bride.
She was a handsome, delicate-looking girl, and her face flushed with
emotion at sight of her new home. I thought it likely that visions of
a happy future were rising before her. It made me sad; for I knew how
soon clouds would come over her sunshine. She examined every part of
the house, and told me she was delighted with the arrangements I had
made. I was afraid old Mrs. Flint had tried to prejudice her against
me, and I did my best to please her.
All passed off smoothly for me until dinner time arrived. I did not
mind the embarrassment of waiting on a dinner party, for the first time
in my life, half so much as I did the meeting with Dr. Flint and his
wife, who would be among the guests. It was a mystery to me why Mrs.
Flint had not made her appearance at the plantation during all the time
I was putting the house in order. I had not met her, face to face, for
five years, and I had no wish to see her now. She was a praying woman,
and, doubtless, considered my present position a special answer to her
prayers. Nothing could please her better than to see me humbled and
trampled upon. I was just where she would have me—in the power of a
hard, unprincipled master. She did not speak to me when she took her
seat at table; but her satisfied, triumphant smile, when I handed her
plate, was more eloquent than words. The old doctor was not so quiet
in his demonstrations. He ordered me here and there, and spoke with
peculiar emphasis when he said “your _mistress_.” I was drilled like a
disgraced soldier. When all was over, and the last key turned, I sought
my pillow, thankful that God had appointed a season of rest for the
weary.
The next day my new mistress began her housekeeping. I was not exactly
appointed maid of all work; but I was to do whatever I was told.
Monday evening came. It was always a busy time. On that night the
slaves received their weekly allowance of food. Three pounds of meat,
a peck of corn, and perhaps a dozen herring were allowed to each man.
Women received a pound and a half of meat, a peck of corn, and the
same number of herring. Children over twelve years old had half the
allowance of the women. The meat was cut and weighed by the foreman of
the field hands, and piled on planks before the meat house. Then the
second foreman went behind the building, and when the first foreman
called out, “Who takes this piece of meat?” he answered by calling
somebody’s name. This method was resorted to as a means of preventing
partiality in distributing the meat. The young mistress came out to see
how things were done on her plantation, and she soon gave a specimen of
her character. Among those in waiting for their allowance was a very
old slave, who had faithfully served the Flint family through three
generations. When he hobbled up to get his bit of meat, the mistress
said he was too old to have any allowance; that when niggers were too
old to work, they ought to be fed on grass. Poor old man! He suffered
much before he found rest in the grave.
My mistress and I got along very well together. At the end of a week,
old Mrs. Flint made us another visit, and was closeted a long time
with her daughter-in-law. I had my suspicions what was the subject of
the conference. The old doctor’s wife had been informed that I could
leave the plantation on one condition, and she was very desirous to
keep me there. If she had trusted me, as I deserved to be trusted by
her, she would have had no fears of my accepting that condition. When
she entered her carriage to return home, she said to young Mrs. Flint,
“Don’t neglect to send for them as quick as possible.” My heart was on
the watch all the time, and I at once concluded that she spoke of my
children. The doctor came the next day, and as I entered the room to
spread the tea table, I heard him say, “Don’t wait any longer. Send for
them to-morrow.” I saw through the plan. They thought my children’s
being there would fetter me to the spot, and that it was a good place
to break us all in to abject submission to our lot as slaves. After the
doctor left, a gentleman called, who had always manifested friendly
feelings towards my grandmother and her family. Mr. Flint carried him
over the plantation to show him the results of labor performed by men
and women who were unpaid, miserably clothed, and half famished. The
cotton crop was all they thought of. It was duly admired, and the
gentleman returned with specimens to show his friends. I was ordered
to carry water to wash his hands. As I did so, he said, “Linda, how do
you like your new home?” I told him I liked it as well as I expected.
He replied, “They don’t think you are contented, and to-morrow they are
going to bring your children to be with you. I am sorry for you, Linda.
I hope they will treat you kindly.” I hurried from the room, unable to
thank him. My suspicions were correct. My children were to be brought
to the plantation to be “broke in.”
To this day I feel grateful to the gentleman who gave me this timely
information. It nerved me to immediate action.