A small shed had been added to my grandmother’s house years ago. Some
boards were laid across the joists at the top, and between these
boards and the roof was a very small garret, never occupied by any
thing but rats and mice. It was a pent roof, covered with nothing but
shingles, according to the southern custom for such buildings. The
garret was only nine feet long and seven wide. The highest part was
three feet high, and sloped down abruptly to the loose board floor.
There was no admission for either light or air. My uncle Phillip, who
was a carpenter, had very skilfully made a concealed trap-door, which
communicated with the storeroom. He had been doing this while I was
waiting in the swamp. The storeroom opened upon a piazza. To this hole
I was conveyed as soon as I entered the house. The air was stifling;
the darkness total. A bed had been spread on the floor. I could sleep
quite comfortably on one side; but the slope was so sudden that I could
not turn on the other without hitting the roof. The rats and mice ran
over my bed; but I was weary, and I slept such sleep as the wretched
may, when a tempest has passed over them. Morning came. I knew it
only by the noises I heard; for in my small den day and night were
all the same. I suffered for air even more than for light. But I was
not comfortless. I heard the voices of my children. There was joy and
there was sadness in the sound. It made my tears flow. How I longed to
speak to them! I was eager to look on their faces; but there was no
hole, no crack, through which I could peep. This continued darkness was
oppressive. It seemed horrible to sit or lie in a cramped position day
after day, without one gleam of light. Yet I would have chosen this,
rather than my lot as a slave, though white people considered it an
easy one; and it was so compared with the fate of others. I was never
cruelly over-worked; I was never lacerated with the whip from head to
foot; I was never so beaten and bruised that I could not turn from
one side to the other; I never had my heel-strings cut to prevent my
running away; I was never chained to a log and forced to drag it about,
while I toiled in the fields from morning till night; I was never
branded with hot iron, or torn by bloodhounds. On the contrary, I had
always been kindly treated, and tenderly cared for, until I came into
the hands of Dr. Flint. I had never wished for freedom till then. But
though my life in slavery was comparatively devoid of hardships, God
pity the woman who is compelled to lead such a life!
My food was passed up to me through the trap-door my uncle had
contrived; and my grandmother, my uncle Phillip, and aunt Nancy
would seize such opportunities as they could, to mount up there and
chat with me at the opening. But of course this was not safe in the
daytime. It must all be done in darkness. It was impossible for me to
move in an erect position, but I crawled about my den for exercise.
One day I hit my head against something, and found it was a gimlet.
My uncle had left it sticking there when he made the trap-door. I
was as rejoiced as Robinson Crusoe could have been at finding such a
treasure. It put a lucky thought into my head. I said to myself, “Now
I will have some light. Now I will see my children.” I did not dare to
begin my work during the daytime, for fear of attracting attention.
But I groped round; and having found the side next the street, where
I could frequently see my children, I stuck the gimlet in and waited
for evening. I bored three rows of holes, one above another; then I
bored out the interstices between. I thus succeeded in making one hole
about an inch long and an inch broad. I sat by it till late into the
night, to enjoy the little whiff of air that floated in. In the morning
I watched for my children. The first person I saw in the street was
Dr. Flint. I had a shuddering, superstitious feeling that it was a bad
omen. Several familiar faces passed by. At last I heard the merry laugh
of children, and presently two sweet little faces were looking up at
me, as though they knew I was there, and were conscious of the joy they
imparted. How I longed to _tell_ them I was there!
My condition was now a little improved. But for weeks I was tormented
by hundreds of little red insects, fine as a needle’s point, that
pierced through my skin, and produced an intolerable burning. The good
grandmother gave me herb teas and cooling medicines, and finally I
got rid of them. The heat of my den was intense, for nothing but thin
shingles protected me from the scorching summer’s sun. But I had my
consolations. Through my peeping-hole I could watch the children, and
when they were near enough, I could hear their talk. Aunt Nancy brought
me all the news she could hear at Dr. Flint’s. From her I learned that
the doctor had written to New York to a colored woman, who had been
born and raised in our neighborhood, and had breathed his contaminating
atmosphere. He offered her a reward if she could find out any thing
about me. I know not what was the nature of her reply; but he soon
after started for New York in haste, saying to his family that he had
business of importance to transact. I peeped at him as he passed on his
way to the steamboat. It was a satisfaction to have miles of land and
water between us, even for a little while; and it was a still greater
satisfaction to know that he believed me to be in the Free States. My
little den seemed less dreary than it had done. He returned, as he did
from his former journey to New York, without obtaining any satisfactory
information. When he passed our house next morning, Benny was standing
at the gate. He had heard them say that he had gone to find me, and he
called out, “Dr. Flint, did you bring my mother home? I want to see
her.” The doctor stamped his foot at him in a rage, and exclaimed, “Get
out of the way, you little damned rascal! If you don’t, I’ll cut off
your head.”
Benny ran terrified into the house, saying, “You can’t put me in jail
again. I don’t belong to you now.” It was well that the wind carried
the words away from the doctor’s ear. I told my grandmother of it, when
we had our next conference at the trap-door; and begged of her not to
allow the children to be impertinent to the irascible old man.
Autumn came, with a pleasant abatement of heat. My eyes had become
accustomed to the dim light, and by holding my book or work in a
certain position near the aperture I contrived to read and sew. That
was a great relief to the tedious monotony of my life. But when winter
came, the cold penetrated through the thin shingle roof, and I was
dreadfully chilled. The winters there are not so long, or so severe,
as in northern latitudes; but the houses are not built to shelter
from cold, and my little den was peculiarly comfortless. The kind
grandmother brought me bed-clothes and warm drinks. Often I was obliged
to lie in bed all day to keep comfortable; but with all my precautions,
my shoulders and feet were frostbitten. O, those long, gloomy days,
with no object for my eye to rest upon, and no thoughts to occupy my
mind, except the dreary past and the uncertain future! I was thankful
when there came a day sufficiently mild for me to wrap myself up and
sit at the loophole to watch the passers by. Southerners have the habit
of stopping and talking in the streets, and I heard many conversations
not intended to meet my ears. I heard slave-hunters planning how to
catch some poor fugitive. Several times I heard allusions to Dr. Flint,
myself, and the history of my children, who, perhaps, were playing near
the gate. One would say, “I wouldn’t move my little finger to catch
her, as old Flint’s property.” Another would say, “I’ll catch _any_
nigger for the reward. A man ought to have what belongs to him, if he
_is_ a damned brute.” The opinion was often expressed that I was in the
Free States. Very rarely did any one suggest that I might be in the
vicinity. Had the least suspicion rested on my grandmother’s house, it
would have been burned to the ground. But it was the last place they
thought of. Yet there was no place, where slavery existed, that could
have afforded me so good a place of concealment.
Dr. Flint and his family repeatedly tried to coax and bribe my children
to tell something they had heard said about me. One day the doctor took
them into a shop, and offered them some bright little silver pieces
and gay handkerchiefs if they would tell where their mother was. Ellen
shrank away from him, and would not speak; but Benny spoke up, and
said, “Dr. Flint, I don’t know where my mother is. I guess she’s in New
York; and when you go there again, I wish you’d ask her to come home,
for I want to see her; but if you put her in jail, or tell her you’ll
cut her head off, I’ll tell her to go right back.”