My young mistress, Miss Emily Flint, did not return any answer to my
letter requesting her to consent to my being sold. But after a while, I
received a reply, which purported to be written by her younger brother.
In order rightly to enjoy the contents of this letter, the reader
must bear in mind that the Flint family supposed I had been at the
north many years. They had no idea that I knew of the doctor’s three
excursions to New York in search of me; that I had heard his voice,
when he came to borrow five hundred dollars for that purpose; and that
I had seen him pass on his way to the steamboat. Neither were they
aware that all the particulars of aunt Nancy’s death and burial were
conveyed to me at the time they occurred. I have kept the letter, of
which I herewith subjoin a copy:—
“Your letter to sister was received a few days ago. I gather
from it that you are desirous of returning to your native place,
among your friends and relatives. We were all gratified with
the contents of your letter; and let me assure you that if any
members of the family have had any feeling of resentment towards
you, they feel it no longer. We all sympathize with you in your
unfortunate condition, and are ready to do all in our power to make
you contented and happy. It is difficult for you to return home
as a free person. If you were purchased by your grandmother, it
is doubtful whether you would be permitted to remain, although it
would be lawful for you to do so. If a servant should be allowed to
purchase herself, after absenting herself so long from her owners,
and return free, it would have an injurious effect. From your
letter, I think your situation must be hard and uncomfortable. Come
home. You have it in your power to be reinstated in our affections.
We would receive you with open arms and tears of joy. You need
not apprehend any unkind treatment, as we have not put ourselves
to any trouble or expense to get you. Had we done so, perhaps we
should feel otherwise. You know my sister was always attached to
you, and that you were never treated as a slave. You were never
put to hard work, nor exposed to field labor. On the contrary, you
were taken into the house, and treated as one of us, and almost
as free; and we, at least, felt that you were above disgracing
yourself by running away. Believing you may be induced to come home
voluntarily has induced me to write for my sister. The family will
be rejoiced to see you; and your poor old grandmother expressed a
great desire to have you come, when she heard your letter read. In
her old age she needs the consolation of having her children round
her. Doubtless you have heard of the death of your aunt. She was a
faithful servant, and a faithful member of the Episcopal church. In
her Christian life she taught us how to live—and, O, too high the
price of knowledge, she taught us how to die! Could you have seen
us round her death bed, with her mother, all mingling our tears in
one common stream, you would have thought the same heartfelt tie
existed between a master and his servant, as between a mother and
her child. But this subject is too painful to dwell upon. I must
bring my letter to a close. If you are contented to stay away from
your old grandmother, your child, and the friends who love you,
stay where you are. We shall never trouble ourselves to apprehend
you. But should you prefer to come home, we will do all that we
can to make you happy. If you do not wish to remain in the family,
I know that father, by our persuasion, will be induced to let you
be purchased by any person you may choose in our community. You
will please answer this as soon as possible, and let us know your
decision. Sister sends much love to you. In the mean time believe
me your sincere friend and well wisher.”
This letter was signed by Emily’s brother, who was as yet a mere lad. I
knew, by the style, that it was not written by a person of his age, and
though the writing was disguised, I had been made too unhappy by it, in
former years, not to recognize at once the hand of Dr. Flint. O, the
hypocrisy of slaveholders! Did the old fox suppose I was goose enough
to go into such a trap? Verily, he relied too much on “the stupidity
of the African race.” I did not return the family of Flints any thanks
for their cordial invitation—a remissness for which I was, no doubt,
charged with base ingratitude.
Not long afterwards I received a letter from one of my friends at
the south, informing me that Dr. Flint was about to visit the north.
The letter had been delayed, and I supposed he might be already on
the way. Mrs. Bruce did not know I was a fugitive. I told her that
important business called me to Boston, where my brother then was,
and asked permission to bring a friend to supply my place as nurse,
for a fortnight. I started on my journey immediately; and as soon
as I arrived, I wrote to my grandmother that if Benny came, he must
be sent to Boston. I knew she was only waiting for a good chance to
send him north, and, fortunately, she had the legal power to do so,
without asking leave of any body. She was a free woman; and when my
children were purchased, Mr. Sands preferred to have the bill of sale
drawn up in her name. It was conjectured that he advanced the money,
but it was not known. At the south, a gentleman may have a shoal of
colored children without any disgrace; but if he is known to purchase
them, with the view of setting them free, the example is thought to be
dangerous to their “peculiar institution,” and he becomes unpopular.
There was a good opportunity to send Benny in a vessel coming directly
to New York. He was put on board with a letter to a friend, who was
requested to see him off to Boston. Early one morning, there was a loud
rap at my door, and in rushed Benjamin, all out of breath. “O mother!”
he exclaimed, “here I am! I run all the way; and I come all alone. How
d’you do?”
O reader, can you imagine my joy? No, you cannot, unless you have been
a slave mother. Benjamin rattled away as fast as his tongue could go.
“Mother, why don’t you bring Ellen here? I went over to Brooklyn to see
her, and she felt very bad when I bid her good by. She said, ‘O Ben, I
wish I was going too.’ I thought she’d know ever so much; but she don’t
know so much as I do; for I can read, and she can’t. And, mother, I
lost all my clothes coming. What can I do to get some more? I ’spose
free boys can get along here at the north as well as white boys.”
I did not like to tell the sanguine, happy little fellow how much
he was mistaken. I took him to a tailor, and procured a change of
clothes. The rest of the day was spent in mutual asking and answering
of questions, with the wish constantly repeated that the good old
grandmother was with us, and frequent injunctions from Benny to write
to her immediately, and be sure to tell her every thing about his
voyage, and his journey to Boston.
Dr. Flint made his visit to New York, and made every exertion to call
upon me, and invite me to return with him; but not being able to
ascertain where I was, his hospitable intentions were frustrated, and
the affectionate family, who were waiting for me with “open arms,” were
doomed to disappointment.
As soon as I knew he was safely at home, I placed Benjamin in the care
of my brother William, and returned to Mrs. Bruce. There I remained
through the winter and spring, endeavoring to perform my duties
faithfully, and finding a good degree of happiness in the attractions
of baby Mary, the considerate kindness of her excellent mother, and
occasional interviews with my darling daughter.
But when summer came, the old feeling of insecurity haunted me. It was
necessary for me to take little Mary out daily, for exercise and fresh
air, and the city was swarming with Southerners, some of whom might
recognize me. Hot weather brings out snakes and slaveholders, and I
like one class of the venomous creatures as little as I do the other.
What a comfort it is, to be free to _say_ so!