GIRLHOOD AND ITS SORROWS
I must pass rapidly over the stirring events of my early life. When I
was about fourteen years old I went to live with my master's eldest son,
a Presbyterian minister. His salary was small, and he was burdened with
a helpless wife, a girl that he had married in the humble walks of life.
She was morbidly sensitive, and imagined that I regarded her with
contemptuous feelings because she was of poor parentage. I was their
only servant, and a gracious loan at that. They were not able to buy me,
so my old master sought to render them assistance by allowing them the
benefit of my services. From the very first I did the work of three
servants, and yet I was scolded and regarded with distrust. The years
passed slowly, and I continued to serve them, and at the same time grew
into strong, healthy womanhood. I was nearly eighteen when we removed
from Virginia to Hillsboro', North Carolina, where young Mr. Burwell
took charge of a church. The salary was small, and we still had to
practise the closest economy. Mr. Bingham, a hard, cruel man, the
village schoolmaster, was a member of my young master's church, and he
was a frequent visitor to the parsonage. She whom I called mistress
seemed to be desirous to wreak vengeance on me for something, and
Bingham became her ready tool. During this time my master was unusually
kind to me; he was naturally a good-hearted man, but was influenced by
his wife. It was Saturday evening, and while I was bending over the bed,
watching the baby that I had just hushed into slumber, Mr. Bingham came
to the door and asked me to go with him to his study. Wondering what he
meant by his strange request, I followed him, and when we had entered
the study he closed the door, and in his blunt way remarked: "Lizzie, I
am going to flog you." I was thunderstruck, and tried to think if I had
been remiss in anything. I could not recollect of doing anything to
deserve punishment, and with surprise exclaimed: "Whip me, Mr. Bingham!
what for?"
"No matter," he replied, "I am going to whip you, so take down your
dress this instant."
Recollect, I was eighteen years of age, was a woman fully developed, and
yet this man coolly bade me take down my dress. I drew myself up
proudly, firmly, and said: "No, Mr. Bingham, I shall not take down my
dress before you. Moreover, you shall not whip me unless you prove the
stronger. Nobody has a right to whip me but my own master, and nobody
shall do so if I can prevent it."
My words seemed to exasperate him. He seized a rope, caught me roughly,
and tried to tie me. I resisted with all my strength, but he was the
stronger of the two, and after a hard struggle succeeded in binding my
hands and tearing my dress from my back. Then he picked up a rawhide,
and began to ply it freely over my shoulders. With steady hand and
practised eye he would raise the instrument of torture, nerve himself
for a blow, and with fearful force the rawhide descended upon the
quivering flesh. It cut the skin, raised great welts, and the warm blood
trickled down my back. Oh God! I can feel the torture now--the terrible,
excruciating agony of those moments. I did not scream; I was too proud
to let my tormentor know what I was suffering. I closed my lips firmly,
that not even a groan might escape from them, and I stood like a statue
while the keen lash cut deep into my flesh. As soon as I was released,
stunned with pain, bruised and bleeding, I went home and rushed into the
presence of the pastor and his wife, wildly exclaiming: "Master Robert,
why did you let Mr. Bingham flog me? What have I done that I should be
so punished?"
"Go away," he gruffly answered, "do not bother me."
I would not be put off thus. "What _have_ I done? I _will_ know why I
have been flogged."
I saw his cheeks flush with anger, but I did not move. He rose to his
feet, and on my refusing to go without an explanation, seized a chair,
struck me, and felled me to the floor. I rose, bewildered, almost dead
with pain, crept to my room, dressed my bruised arms and back as best I
could, and then lay down, but not to sleep. No, I could not sleep, for I
was suffering mental as well as bodily torture. My spirit rebelled
against the unjustness that had been inflicted upon me, and though I
tried to smother my anger and to forgive those who had been so cruel to
me, it was impossible. The next morning I was more calm, and I believe
that I could then have forgiven everything for the sake of one kind
word. But the kind word was not proffered, and it may be possible that I
grew somewhat wayward and sullen. Though I had faults, I know now, as I
felt then, harshness was the poorest inducement for the correction of
them. It seems that Mr. Bingham had pledged himself to Mrs. Burwell to
subdue what he called my "stubborn pride." On Friday following the
Saturday on which I was so savagely beaten, Mr. Bingham again directed
me come to his study. I went, but with the determination to offer
resistance should he attempt to flog me again. On entering the room I
found him prepared with a new rope and a new cowhide. I told him that I
was ready to die, but that he could not conquer me. In struggling with
him I bit his finger severely, when he seized a heavy stick and beat me
with it in a shameful manner. Again I went home sore and bleeding, but
with pride as strong and defiant as ever. The following Thursday Mr.
Bingham again tried to conquer me, but in vain. We struggled, and he
struck me many savage blows. As I stood bleeding before him, nearly
exhausted with his efforts, he burst into tears, and declared that it
would be a sin to beat me any more. My suffering at last subdued his
hard heart; he asked my forgiveness, and afterwards was an altered man.
He was never known to strike one of his servants from that day forward.
Mr. Burwell, he who preached the love of Heaven, who glorified the
precepts and examples of Christ, who expounded the Holy Scriptures
Sabbath after Sabbath from the pulpit, when Mr. Bingham refused to whip
me any more, was urged by his wife to punish me himself. One morning he
went to the wood-pile, took an oak broom, cut the handle off, and with
this heavy handle attempted to conquer me. I fought him, but he proved
the strongest. At the sight of my bleeding form, his wife fell upon her
knees and begged him to desist. My distress even touched her cold,
jealous heart. I was so badly bruised that I was unable to leave my bed
for five days. I will not dwell upon the bitter anguish of these hours,
for even the thought of them now makes me shudder. The Rev. Mr. Burwell
was not yet satisfied. He resolved to make another attempt to subdue my
proud, rebellious spirit--made the attempt and again failed, when he
told me, with an air of penitence, that he should never strike me
another blow; and faithfully he kept his word. These revolting scenes
created a great sensation at the time, were the talk of the town and
neighborhood, and I flatter myself that the actions of those who had
conspired against me were not viewed in a light to reflect much credit
upon them.
The savage efforts to subdue my pride were not the only things that
brought me suffering and deep mortification during my residence at
Hillsboro'. I was regarded as fair-looking for one of my race, and for
four years a white man--I spare the world his name--had base designs
upon me. I do not care to dwell upon this subject, for it is one that is
fraught with pain. Suffice it to say, that he persecuted me for four
years, and I--I--became a mother. The child of which he was the father
was the only child that I ever brought into the world. If my poor boy
ever suffered any humiliating pangs on account of birth, he could not
blame his mother, for God knows that she did not wish to give him life;
he must blame the edicts of that society which deemed it no crime to
undermine the virtue of girls in my then position.
Among the old letters preserved by my mother I find the following,
written by myself while at Hillsboro'. In this connection I desire to
state that Rev. Robert Burwell is now living[A] at Charlotte, North
Carolina:--
"HILLSBORO', April 10, 1838.
"MY DEAR MOTHER:--I have been intending to write to you for a
long time, but numerous things have prevented, and for that
reason you must excuse me.
"I thought very hard of you for not writing to me, but hope
that you will answer this letter as soon as you receive it,
and tell me how you like Marsfield, and if you have seen any
of old acquaintances, or if you yet know any of the
brick-house people who I think so much of. I want to hear of
the family at home very much, indeed. I really believe you
and all the family have forgotten me, if not I certainly
should have heard from some of you since you left Boyton, if
it was only a line; nevertheless I love you all very dearly,
and shall, although I may never see you again, nor do I ever
expect to. Miss Anna is going to Petersburgh next winter, but
she says that she does not intend take me; what reason she
has for leaving me I cannot tell. I have often wished that I
lived where I knew I never could see you, for then I would
not have my hopes raised, and to be disappointed in this
manner; however, it is said that a bad beginning makes a good
ending, but I hardly expect to see that happy day at this
place. Give my love to all the family, both white and black.
I was very much obliged to you for the presents you sent me
last summer, though it is quite late in the day to be
thanking for them. Tell Aunt Bella that I was very much
obliged to her for her present; I have been so particular
with it that I have only worn it once.
"There have been six weddings since October; the most
respectable one was about a fortnight ago; I was asked to be
the first attendant, but, as usual with all my expectations,
I was disappointed, for on the wedding-day I felt more like
being locked up in a three-cornered box than attending a
wedding. About a week before Christmas I was bridesmaid for
Ann Nash; when the night came I was in quite a trouble; I did
not know whether my frock was clean or dirty; I only had a
week's notice, and the body and sleeves to make, and only one
hour every night to work on it, so you can see with these
troubles to overcome my chance was rather slim. I must now
close, although I could fill ten pages with my griefs and
misfortunes; no tongue could express them as I feel; don't
forget me though; and answer my letters soon. I will write
you again, and would write more now, but Miss Anna says it is
time I had finished. Tell Miss Elizabeth that I wish she
would make haste and get married, for mistress says that I
belong to her when she gets married.
"I wish you would send me a pretty frock this summer; if you
will send it to Mrs. Robertson's Miss Bet will send it to me.
"Farewell, darling mother.
"Your affectionate daughter,
"ELIZABETH HOBBS."
[Footnote A: March, 1868.]