Mrs. Bruce, and every member of her family, were exceedingly kind
to me. I was thankful for the blessings of my lot, yet I could not
always wear a cheerful countenance. I was doing harm to no one; on the
contrary, I was doing all the good I could in my small way; yet I could
never go out to breathe God’s free air without trepidation at my heart.
This seemed hard; and I could not think it was a right state of things
in any civilized country.
From time to time I received news from my good old grandmother.
She could not write; but she employed others to write for her. The
following is an extract from one of her last letters:—
“Dear Daughter: I cannot hope to see you again on earth; but I
pray to God to unite us above, where pain will no more rack this
feeble body of mine; where sorrow and parting from my children
will be no more. God has promised these things if we are faithful
unto the end. My age and feeble health deprive me of going to
church now; but God is with me here at home. Thank your brother
for his kindness. Give much love to him, and tell him to remember
the Creator in the days of his youth, and strive to meet me in the
Father’s kingdom. Love to Ellen and Benjamin. Don’t neglect him.
Tell him for me, to be a good boy. Strive, my child, to train them
for God’s children. May he protect and provide for you, is the
prayer of your loving old mother.”
These letters both cheered and saddened me. I was always glad to have
tidings from the kind, faithful old friend of my unhappy youth; but
her messages of love made my heart yearn to see her before she died,
and I mourned over the fact that it was impossible. Some months after
I returned from my flight to New England, I received a letter from
her, in which she wrote, “Dr. Flint is dead. He has left a distressed
family. Poor old man! I hope he made his peace with God.”
I remembered how he had defrauded my grandmother of the hard earnings
she had loaned; how he had tried to cheat her out of the freedom her
mistress had promised her, and how he had persecuted her children; and
I thought to myself that she was a better Christian than I was, if she
could entirely forgive him. I cannot say, with truth, that the news
of my old master’s death softened my feelings towards him. There are
wrongs which even the grave does not bury. The man was odious to me
while he lived, and his memory is odious now.
His departure from this world did not diminish my danger. He had
threatened my grandmother that his heirs should hold me in slavery
after he was gone; that I never should be free so long as a child of
his survived. As for Mrs. Flint, I had seen her in deeper afflictions
than I supposed the loss of her husband would be, for she had buried
several children; yet I never saw any signs of softening in her heart.
The doctor had died in embarrassed circumstances, and had little to
will to his heirs, except such property as he was unable to grasp. I
was well aware what I had to expect from the family of Flints; and my
fears were confirmed by a letter from the south, warning me to be on my
guard, because Mrs. Flint openly declared that her daughter could not
afford to lose so valuable a slave as I was.
I kept close watch of the newspapers for arrivals; but one Saturday
night, being much occupied, I forgot to examine the Evening Express as
usual. I went down into the parlor for it, early in the morning, and
found the boy about to kindle a fire with it. I took it from him and
examined the list of arrivals. Reader, if you have never been a slave,
you cannot imagine the acute sensation of suffering at my heart, when I
read the names of Mr. and Mrs. Dodge, at a hotel in Courtland Street.
It was a third-rate hotel, and that circumstance convinced me of the
truth of what I had heard, that they were short of funds and had need
of my value, as _they_ valued me; and that was by dollars and cents. I
hastened with the paper to Mrs. Bruce. Her heart and hand were always
open to every one in distress, and she always warmly sympathized with
mine. It was impossible to tell how near the enemy was. He might have
passed and repassed the house while we were sleeping. He might at that
moment be waiting to pounce upon me if I ventured out of doors. I had
never seen the husband of my young mistress, and therefore I could
not distinguish him from any other stranger. A carriage was hastily
ordered; and, closely veiled, I followed Mrs. Bruce, taking the baby
again with me into exile. After various turnings and crossings, and
returnings, the carriage stopped at the house of one of Mrs. Bruce’s
friends, where I was kindly received. Mrs. Bruce returned immediately,
to instruct the domestics what to say if any one came to inquire for me.
It was lucky for me that the evening paper was not burned up before I
had a chance to examine the list of arrivals. It was not long after
Mrs. Bruce’s return to her house, before several people came to inquire
for me. One inquired for me, another asked for my daughter Ellen,
and another said he had a letter from my grandmother, which he was
requested to deliver in person.
They were told, “She _has_ lived here, but she has left.”
“How long ago?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“I do not, sir.” And the door was closed.
This Mr. Dodge, who claimed me as his property, was originally a
Yankee pedler in the south; then he became a merchant, and finally a
slaveholder. He managed to get introduced into what was called the
first society, and married Miss Emily Flint. A quarrel arose between
him and her brother, and the brother cowhided him. This led to a family
feud, and he proposed to remove to Virginia. Dr. Flint left him no
property, and his own means had become circumscribed, while a wife and
children depended upon him for support. Under these circumstances,
it was very natural that he should make an effort to put me into his
pocket.
I had a colored friend, a man from my native place, in whom I had
the most implicit confidence. I sent for him, and told him that Mr.
and Mrs. Dodge had arrived in New York. I proposed that he should
call upon them to make inquiries about his friends at the south, with
whom Dr. Flint’s family were well acquainted. He thought there was no
impropriety in his doing so, and he consented. He went to the hotel,
and knocked at the door of Mr. Dodge’s room, which was opened by the
gentleman himself, who gruffly inquired, “What brought you here? How
came you to know I was in the city?”
“Your arrival was published in the evening papers, sir; and I called to
ask Mrs. Dodge about my friends at home. I didn’t suppose it would give
any offence.”
“Where’s that negro girl, that belongs to my wife?”
“What girl, sir?”
“You know well enough. I mean Linda, that ran away from Dr. Flint’s
plantation, some years ago. I dare say you’ve seen her, and know where
she is.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve seen her, and know where she is. She is out of your
reach, sir.”
“Tell me where she is, or bring her to me, and I will give her a chance
to buy her freedom.”
“I don’t think it would be of any use, sir. I have heard her say she
would go to the ends of the earth, rather than pay any man or woman for
her freedom, because she thinks she has a right to it. Besides, she
couldn’t do it, if she would, for she has spent her earnings to educate
her children.”
This made Mr. Dodge very angry, and some high words passed between
them. My friend was afraid to come where I was; but in the course of
the day I received a note from him. I supposed they had not come from
the south, in the winter, for a pleasure excursion; and now the nature
of their business was very plain.
Mrs. Bruce came to me and entreated me to leave the city the next
morning. She said her house was watched, and it was possible that some
clew to me might be obtained. I refused to take her advice. She pleaded
with an earnest tenderness, that ought to have moved me; but I was in a
bitter, disheartened mood. I was weary of flying from pillar to post.
I had been chased during half my life, and it seemed as if the chase
was never to end. There I sat, in that great city, guiltless of crime,
yet not daring to worship God in any of the churches. I heard the bells
ringing for afternoon service, and, with contemptuous sarcasm, I said,
“Will the preachers take for their text, ‘Proclaim liberty to the
captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that are bound’? or
will they preach from the text, ‘Do unto others as ye would they should
do unto you’?” Oppressed Poles and Hungarians could find a safe refuge
in that city; John Mitchell was free to proclaim in the City Hall his
desire for “a plantation well stocked with slaves;” but there I sat, an
oppressed American, not daring to show my face. God forgive the black
and bitter thoughts I indulged on that Sabbath day! The Scripture says,
“Oppression makes even a wise man mad;” and I was not wise.
I had been told that Mr. Dodge said his wife had never signed away her
right to my children, and if he could not get me, he would take them.
This it was, more than any thing else, that roused such a tempest in
my soul. Benjamin was with his uncle William in California, but my
innocent young daughter had come to spend a vacation with me. I thought
of what I had suffered in slavery at her age, and my heart was like a
tiger’s when a hunter tries to seize her young.
Dear Mrs. Bruce! I seem to see the expression of her face, as
she turned away discouraged by my obstinate mood. Finding her
expostulations unavailing, she sent Ellen to entreat me. When ten
o’clock in the evening arrived and Ellen had not returned, this
watchful and unwearied friend became anxious. She came to us in a
carriage, bringing a well-filled trunk for my journey—trusting that by
this time I would listen to reason. I yielded to her, as I ought to
have done before.
The next day, baby and I set out in a heavy snow storm, bound for New
England again. I received letters from the City of Iniquity, addressed
to me under an assumed name. In a few days one came from Mrs. Bruce,
informing me that my new master was still searching for me, and that
she intended to put an end to this persecution by buying my freedom. I
felt grateful for the kindness that prompted this offer, but the idea
was not so pleasant to me as might have been expected. The more my mind
had become enlightened, the more difficult it was for me to consider
myself an article of property; and to pay money to those who had so
grievously oppressed me seemed like taking from my sufferings the glory
of triumph. I wrote to Mrs. Bruce, thanking her, but saying that being
sold from one owner to another seemed too much like slavery; that such
a great obligation could not be easily cancelled; and that I preferred
to go to my brother in California.
Without my knowledge, Mrs. Bruce employed a gentleman in New York
to enter into negotiations with Mr. Dodge. He proposed to pay three
hundred dollars down, if Mr. Dodge would sell me, and enter into
obligations to relinquish all claim to me or my children forever after.
He who called himself my master said he scorned so small an offer for
such a valuable servant. The gentleman replied, “You can do as you
choose, sir. If you reject this offer you will never get any thing; for
the woman has friends who will convey her and her children out of the
country.”
Mr. Dodge concluded that “half a loaf was better than no bread,” and he
agreed to the proffered terms. By the next mail I received this brief
letter from Mrs. Bruce: “I am rejoiced to tell you that the money for
your freedom has been paid to Mr. Dodge. Come home to-morrow. I long to
see you and my sweet babe.”
My brain reeled as I read these lines. A gentleman near me said, “It’s
true; I have seen the bill of sale.” “The bill of sale!” Those words
struck me like a blow. So I was _sold_ at last! A human being _sold_ in
the free city of New York! The bill of sale is on record, and future
generations will learn from it that women were articles of traffic in
New York, late in the nineteenth century of the Christian religion. It
may hereafter prove a useful document to antiquaries, who are seeking
to measure the progress of civilization in the United States. I well
know the value of that bit of paper; but much as I love freedom, I do
not like to look upon it. I am deeply grateful to the generous friend
who procured it, but I despise the miscreant who demanded payment for
what never rightfully belonged to him or his.
I had objected to having my freedom bought, yet I must confess that
when it was done I felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from my
weary shoulders. When I rode home in the cars I was no longer afraid to
unveil my face and look at people as they passed. I should have been
glad to have met Daniel Dodge himself; to have had him seen me and
known me, that he might have mourned over the untoward circumstances
which compelled him to sell me for three hundred dollars.
When I reached home, the arms of my benefactress were thrown round me,
and our tears mingled. As soon as she could speak, she said, “O Linda,
I’m _so_ glad it’s all over! You wrote to me as if you thought you were
going to be transferred from one owner to another. But I did not buy
you for your services. I should have done just the same, if you had
been going to sail for California to-morrow. I should, at least, have
the satisfaction of knowing that you left me a free woman.”
My heart was exceedingly full. I remembered how my poor father
had tried to buy me, when I was a small child, and how he had
been disappointed. I hoped his spirit was rejoicing over me now.
I remembered how my good old grandmother had laid up her earnings
to purchase me in later years, and how often her plans had been
frustrated. How that faithful, loving old heart would leap for joy,
if she could look on me and my children now that we were free! My
relatives had been foiled in all their efforts, but God had raised
me up a friend among strangers, who had bestowed on me the precious,
long-desired boon. Friend! It is a common word, often lightly used.
Like other good and beautiful things, it may be tarnished by careless
handling; but when I speak of Mrs. Bruce as my friend, the word is
sacred.
My grandmother lived to rejoice in my freedom; but not long after, a
letter came with a black seal. She had gone “where the wicked cease
from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”
Time passed on, and a paper came to me from the south, containing an
obituary notice of my uncle Phillip. It was the only case I ever knew
of such an honor conferred upon a colored person. It was written by one
of his friends, and contained these words: “Now that death has laid
him low, they call him a good man and a useful citizen; but what are
eulogies to the black man, when the world has faded from his vision? It
does not require man’s praise to obtain rest in God’s kingdom.” So they
called a colored man a _citizen_! Strange words to be uttered in that
region!
Reader, my story ends with freedom; not in the usual way, with
marriage. I and my children are now free! We are as free from the
power of slaveholders as are the white people of the north; and
though that, according to my ideas, is not saying a great deal, it
is a vast improvement in _my_ condition. The dream of my life is not
yet realized. I do not sit with my children in a home of my own. I
still long for a hearthstone of my own, however humble. I wish it
for my children’s sake far more than for my own. But God so orders
circumstances as to keep me with my friend Mrs. Bruce. Love, duty,
gratitude, also bind me to her side. It is a privilege to serve her who
pities my oppressed people, and who has bestowed the inestimable boon
of freedom on me and my children.
It has been painful to me, in many ways, to recall the dreary years
I passed in bondage. I would gladly forget them if I could. Yet the
retrospection is not altogether without solace; for with those gloomy
recollections come tender memories of my good old grandmother, like
light, fleecy clouds floating over a dark and troubled sea.