their condition, and are perfectly aware of its manifold hardships.
Those who are not conscious of the robbery of their freedom and their
consequent degradation, are sunk in a state of the most brutish
ignorance and stupidity; and as for the pretense that their moral and
mental losses are made up to them by the secure possession of food and
clothing (a thing no moral and intellectual being should utter without a
blush), it is utterly false. They are hard worked, poorly clothed, and
poorly fed; and when they are sick, cared for only enough to fit them
for work again; the only calculation in the mind of an overseer being to
draw from their bones and sinews money to furnish his employer's income,
and secure him a continuance of his agency.
It is true that on this estate they are allowed some indulgence and some
leisure, and are not starved or often ill-treated; but their indulgences
and leisure are no more than just tend to keep them in a state of safe
acquiescence in their lot, and it does not do that with the brighter and
more intelligent among them. There is no attempt made to improve their
condition; to teach them decency, order, cleanliness, self-respect; to
open their minds or enlighten their understandings: on the contrary,
there are express and very severe laws forbidding their education, and
every precaution is taken to shut out the light which sooner or later
must break into their prison-house.
Dear Emily, if you could imagine how miserable I feel surrounded by
people by whose wrong I live! Some few of them are industrious, active,
and intelligent; and in their leisure time work hard to procure
themselves small comforts and luxuries, which they are allowed to buy.
How pitiable it is to think that they are defrauded of the just price
of their daily labor, and that stumbling-blocks are put in the way of
their progress, instead of its being helped forward! My mind is
inexpressibly troubled whenever I think of their minds, souls, or
bodies. Their physical condition is far from what it should be, far from
what their own exertions could make it, and there is no improving even
that without calling in mental and moral influences, a sense of
self-respect, a consciousness of responsibility, knowledge of rights to
be possessed and duties discharged, advantages employed and trusts
answered for; and how are slaves to have any of these? There is no
planting even physical improvement but in a moral soil, and the use of
the rational faculties is necessary for the fit discharge of the
commonest labor. Alas, for our slaves! and alas, alas, for us! I feel
half distracted about it, and it is well for you that I have no more
space to write on this theme.
God bless you, my dear friend. Pray, as I do, for the end of this
evil....
F. A. B.
BUTLER'S ISLAND, GEORGIA, February 8th, 1839.
Your letter of the 10th of November, my dear Lady Dacre, fulfilled its
kindly mission without the delay at Butler Place, the anticipation of
which did not prevent your making the benevolent effort of writing it.
It reached me in safety here, in the very hindermost skirts of
civilization, recalling with so much vividness scenes and people so
remote and so different from those that now surround me, that it would
have been a sad letter to me, even had it not contained the news of Mrs.
Sullivan's illness. At any time any suffering of yours would have
excited my sincere sympathy; but that your anxiety and distress should
spring from such a cause, I can the more readily deplore, from my
knowledge of your daughter, which, though too slight for my own
gratification, was sufficient to make me aware of her many excellent and
admirable qualities. In those books of hers, too, "Tales of a Chaperon,"
and "Tales of the Peerage and the Peasantry," which since my return to
America I have re-read with increased interest, her mind and character
reveal themselves very charmingly; and I know those in this remote
"other world," as doubtless there are many in England, who, without
enjoying my privilege of personal acquaintance with her, would be
fellow-mourners with you should any evil befall her. But I shall not
admit this apprehension, and I entreat you, my dear Lady Dacre, to add
one more to the many kindnesses you have bestowed on me, by letting me
know how it fares with your daughter. In the mean time, if she is well
enough to receive my greeting, pray remember me most kindly to her, and
tell her that from the half-savage banks of the Altamaha, those earnest
wishes, which are unspoken prayers, ascend to heaven for her recovery.
You ask after my children.... I am in no hurry to begin
_educationeering_; indeed, as regards early instruction, I am a little
behind the fervent zeal of the age, having considerably more regard for
what may be found in, than what may be put into, a human head; and a
more earnest desire that my child should think, even than that she
should learn; and I want her to make her own wisdom, rather than take
that of any one else (my own wise self not excepted). For fear, however,
that you should imagine that I mean to let her grow up "savage," I beg
to state that she does know her letters, a study which she prosecutes
with me for about a quarter of an hour daily, out of "Mother Goose's
Nursery Rhymes." I have thought myself to blame, perhaps, for choosing a
_work of imagination_ for that elementary study; but the child, like a
rational creature, abhors the whole thing most cordially, and when I
think what wondrous revelations are flowing to her hourly through those
five gates of knowledge, her senses, I am not surprised that she
despises and detests the inanimate dead letter of mere bookish lore....
My poor mother's death, which roused me most painfully to the perception
of the distance which divides me from all my early friends, has filled
my mind with the gloomiest forebodings respecting my father, and my
sister's unprotected situation, should anything befall him. The passing
away of my kindred, and those who are dear to me, while I, removed to an
impassable distance, only hear of their death after a considerable lapse
of time, without the consolation of being near them, or even the
preparation of hearing they were ill, is a circumstance of inexpressible
sadness....
If Macready would give me anything for my play, I would come over, if
only for a month, and see my father, whose image in sickness and
depression haunts me constantly....
F. A. B.
BUTLER'S ISLAND, February 10th, 1839.
It is only two days, I believe, dearest Harriet, since I finished a long
letter to you, but I am yet in your debt by one dated the 30th of
November, and being in the mind to pay my owings, I proceed to do so, as
honestly as I may....
I have just been hearing a long and painful discussion upon the subject
of slavery; a frequent theme, as you will easily believe, of thought and
conversation with us, now that we are living in the midst of it; and I
am assured, by those who maintain the justice of the practice of holding
slaves, that had it been otherwise than right, Christ would have
forbidden it. It is vain that I say that Christ has done so by
implication, forbidding us to do otherwise than we would be done by: I
am told in reply, that neither Christ nor his disciples having ever
denounced slavery by name as unjust, or wrong, is sufficient proof that
it is just and right; and, alas! my dear Harriet, it requires more of
the spirit of Christ than I possess to hear such assertions without
ungovernable impatience. I do not believe the people who utter them are
insincere or dishonest in stating such convictions; but I am shocked at
the indignation with which such fallacious arguments occasionally
inspires me....
I know that (this one unfortunate question excepted) some of the persons
who take these views are just men, and have a keen perception of, and
conscientious respect for, the rights of others; but the exception is
one of those perplexing moral anomalies that call for the exercise of
one's utmost forbearance in judging or condemning the opinions of
others. It seems to me, that I could tolerate an absolute moral
insensibility upon the subject better than the strange moral obliquity
of justifying this horrible system by arguments drawn from Christ's
teaching.
As for me, every day makes the injustice of the principle, and the
cruelty of the practice, more intolerable to me; and but for the poor
people's own sake (to whom my presence among them is of some little use
and comfort), I would only too gladly turn my back upon the dreadful
place, and never again set foot near it.... It would not surprise me if
I was never allowed to return here, for these very conversations and
discussions upon the subject of the slave system are considered
dangerous, and justice and freedom cannot be mentioned safely here but
with closed doors and whispering voices.... I pray with all the powers
of my soul that God would enlighten these unfortunate slave-holders, and
enable them to perceive better the spirit of Christ, who they say never
denounced slavery as either an evil or sin; the evil consequences of it
to themselves are by far the worst of all. So I go struggling on with
this strange existence, and sometimes feel weary enough of it....
God bless you, dear. I believe I am going with the children to the
cotton-plantation, where I shall be able to ride again, and shall be
better in mind, body, though not estate, for my long-accustomed
exercise.
Ever your affectionate,
F. A. B.
ST. SIMON'S, March 10th, 1839.
I wish, dear Emily, I could for an instant cause a vision to rise before
you of the perfect paradise of evergreens through which I have been
opening paths on our estate, in an island called St. Simon's, lying half
in the sea and half in the Altamaha. Such noble growth of dark-leaved,
wide-spreading oaks; such exquisite natural shrubberies of magnolia,
wild myrtle, and bay, all glittering evergreens of various tints, bound
together by trailing garlands of wild jessamine, whose yellow bells,
like tiny golden cups, exhale a perfume like that of the heliotrope and
fill the air with sweetness, and cover the woods with perfect curtains
of bloom; while underneath all this, spread the spears and fans of the
dwarf palmetto, and innumerable tufts of a little shrub whose delicate
leaves are pale green underneath and a polished dark brown above, while
close to the earth clings a perfect carpet of thick-growing green,
almost like moss, bearing clusters of little white blossoms like
enameled stars; I think it is a species of euphrasia. It is the
exceeding beauty of the whole which I wish you could see, and to which
the most exquisite arrangement of art is in no way superior. I know it
is common with the lovers of nature to undervalue art; but for all that,
there are exceedingly few scenes in nature (except those of pre-eminent
wildness and sublimity) where the genius of man, and his perception of
beauty, may not remove and supply some things with advantage. In these
wild evergreen plantations this is not the case; and all I have had to
do, in following the cattle-tracks through these lovely woods, has been
to cut the lower branches of the oaks which impede my progress on
horseback, and sever the loving links of the wild garlands of blossoms,
which had bound the shrubs together and drawn their branches into a
canopy too low to admit of my riding beneath it; and you would laugh to
see me with my peculiar slave, a young lad named Jack, of great natural
shrewdness and no little humor, who is my factotum, and follows me on
horseback with a leathern bag slung round his shoulders, containing a
small saw and hatchet, and thus, like Sir Walter and Tom Purdie, we
prosecute our labor of embellishment.
This Jack was out fishing with me the other day, and after about two
hours' silent and unsuccessful watching of our floats, he gravely
remarked, "Fishing bery good fun, when de fish him bite,"--an
observation so ludicrous under the circumstances, that we both burst out
laughing as soon as he uttered it.
ST. SIMON'S ISLAND, Sunday, March 17th, 1839.
MY DEAR MRS. JAMESON,
I cannot conceive how you could do such a wicked thing as to throw a
letter you had begun into the fire, or such a cruel one as to inform the
person who was to have received it of your exploit.
You burned your account of my sister's first appearance because,
forsooth, the "newspapers" or "Harriet S----" would be sure to afford me
the intelligence! But it so happens that I never see a newspaper, and
that that identical letter of Harriet's was cast away in one of those
unfortunate New York packets blown ashore in the late tremendous gales.
It has since reached me, however; but she, too, thinking fit to go upon
some fallacious calculation of human probabilities, takes it for granted
that Adelaide has written me a full, true, and particular account of the
whole business, and sums up all details in the mere intelligence, which
had already reached me, of her having made a successful first appearance
at Venice. Pray, my dear Mrs. Jameson, do not be afraid of supplying me
with twice-told tales of my own people, but whenever you are good enough
to write to me, let me know all that you know about them....
I do not know why you should have associated the ill-fated
_Pennsylvania_ with any thought of me. I never crossed the Atlantic in a
ship so named, but the _St. Andrew_, one of the wrecked vessels, was the
one in which we returned to America two years ago, and probably you may
have written the one name for the other by mistake.
Of the appearance of your book, and the attention it has excited, I hear
from Catharine Sedgwick. As for me, the only new book I have seen since
my sojourn in these outhouses of civilization, is that exquisite volume
whose evergreen leaves, of every tint and texture, are rustling in the
bright sunshine and fresh sea-breeze of this delicious winter climate.
Art never devised more perfect combinations of form and color than these
wild woods present, with their gigantic growth of evergreen oak, their
thickets of myrtle and magnolia, their fantastic undergrowth of spiked
palmetto, and their hanging draperies of jessamine, whose gold-colored
bells fill the air with fragrance long before one approaches the place
where it grows.
You would laugh if I were to recount some of my manifold avocations
here; my qualifications for my situation should be more various than
those of a modern governess, for it appears to me there is nothing
strange and unusual by way of female experience that I have not been
called upon to perform since I have lived here, from marking out the
proper joints on the carcass of a dead sheep, into which it should be
divided for the table, to officiating as clergyman to a congregation of
our own poor people, whose desire for religious instruction appears to
be in exact proportion to the difficulty they have in obtaining it....
I am on horseback every day, clearing paths through the woods; and
though the life I lead has but a very remote resemblance to that of a
civilized creature, a quondam dweller in the two great cities of the
world and frequenter of polished societies therein, it has some
recommendations of its own. To be sure, so it should have; for I inhabit
a house where the staircase is open to the roof, and the roof,
unmitigated by ceiling, plaster, skylight, or any intermediate shelter,
presents to my admiring gaze, as I ascend and descend, the seamy side of
the tiles, or rather wooden shingles, with which the house is covered;
with all the rude raftering, through which do shine the sun, moon, and
stars, the winds do blow, and the rain of heaven does fall. Every door
in the house is fastened with wooden latches and pack-thread; the
identical device of Red Riding-hood antiquity, and the solitary bell of
the establishment rings by means of a rope, suspended from the lintel,
_outside_ the room where I sit, and I expect to find myself hanging in
it every time I go in and out, and which always inclines me to inquire
what has been done with the body that was last cut down from it....
F. A. B.
ST. SIMON'S ISLAND, March 17th, 1839.
That letter of yours which I lamented as lost, my dear Harriet, has
reached me all stained and defaced (yet not so but that it can be read),
having evidently been steeped in the merciless waves of the Mersey. Your
letter has suffered shipwreck, having of course been cast back towards
you, in one of those unfortunate New York packets which were lost in
those late tremendous gales; and if the poor pickled sheet of paper
could speak anything beside what you have told it, how many sad horrors,
unrecorded in the summary newspaper reports of the late disasters, it
might reveal.
I have a dreadful dread, and a fearful fear, of drowning, and the sight
of your letter, all sea-stained, conjures up as many terrible thoughts
as poor Clarence had in the last dream that preceded his last sleep.
Almost the saddest to me of all the items of ruin and destruction
enumerated in the newspaper records of the late storm, was the carrying
away of the Menai Bridge, and that on your account. I thought of it as
almost a personal loss and grief to you. You had so often described it
to me, its beauty and its grandeur; and though I had never seen it, I
had a distinct imagination of it, gathered far more from your
descriptions, than from engravings or accounts of tourists: and it was
so associated with you in my mind, that, reading of it being all blown
to tatters, I felt dismayed to think of _your_ beautiful bridge thus
ruined, and of your distress at its destruction. You used to speak of
that with the same species of delight that beautiful natural objects
excite in me: and enjoyment so vivid, and at the same time so abiding,
that I sometimes, under the influence of such impressions, feel as if I
loved some places better than any people. Certainly the magical effect
of certain beautiful scenes upon my mind is the most intense and lasting
pleasure I have ever known....
I returned here yesterday to my children, whom I left with Margery,
while I went up to Butler's Island to do duty, I am sorry to say, as
sick-nurse....
The observations of children, which are quoted as indications of
peculiar intelligence, very often only appear so, because the objects
which call them forth, having become familiar to us, have ceased to
impress us rightly, or perhaps at all. Every child who is not a fool
will frequently make remarks about many things which are only striking
because conventional uses and educated habits of thought have, on many
points, blunted their effect upon us, and obscured our perceptions of
their qualities, and left us with duller senses, and a duller general
sense in some respects, than those of a child or savage....
I have been performing an office this morning, which, like sundry others
I have been called upon to discharge here (marking on the carcass of a
sheep, for instance, the proper joints into which it should be cut for
the table), is new to me. I read prayers to between twenty and thirty of
the slaves, who are here without church, pastor, or any means whatever
of religious instruction. There was something so affecting to me in my
involuntary relation to these poor people,--in the contrast, too,
between the infirm old age of many of them, and the comparative youth of
me, their instructress,--in my impotence to serve them and my
passionate desire to do so,--that I could hardly command my voice. The
composition of our service was about as liberal as was ever compounded
by any preacher or teacher of any Christian sect, I verily believe: it
was selected from the English book of Common Prayer, a Presbyterian
collection of Prayers, the "Imitation of Jesus Christ," which excellent
Roman Catholic book of devotion I borrowed from Margery, and the Blessed
Bible--the fountain from which have flowed all these streams for the
refreshment of human souls. From these I compiled a short service,
dismissing my congregation without a sermon, having none with me fit for
their comprehension, and lacking courage to extemporize one, though
vehemently moved by the spirit to do so. I think on Sunday next I will
write one especially for their edification.
After this I went with S---- and Margery, and baby in her little wicker
carriage, accompanied by a long procession of negro children, to explore
the woods near the house: not without manifest misgivings on the part of
my dusky escort, whose terror of rattlesnakes is greater even than my
terrified imagination about them. My greatest anxiety was to keep S----
from marching in the van and preceding us all in these reptiline
discoveries.... _Way_, in the proper sense of the term, there was none;
for the expedition was chiefly for the purpose of observing where paths
could be cleared with best advantage through this charming wilderness.
To crown the doings of the day, I have written you this long letter, the
fifth I date to you from Georgia.
Ever most affectionately yours,
F. A. B.
NEW YORK, April 30th, 1839.
MY DEAR LADY DACRE,
How much I wish I could but look into your face, but hold your hand, or
embrace you! How much I wish I were near you, that I might silently as
alone benefits such occasions, express to you my sympathy for your
sorrow....
The news of your loss was the greater shock to me that I had just
written a letter, introducing to you a dear friend of mine, Miss
Sedgwick, now about visiting England, and bespeaking your kindness and
good-will for her. This lady will still be the bearer of this (a most
different epistle from the one I had prepared) and a little fan made of
the feathers of one of our Southern birds, which you will not look upon
with indifference, because it is sent to you by one who loves you truly
and gratefully, and who would gladly do anything to afford you one
moment's relief from those sad thoughts which I fear must possess you
wholly.
I had ventured with especial confidence to recommend my friend to your
notice, because she possesses, in no small degree, some of those
qualities which distinguished your excellent and accomplished daughter;
the same talent, applied with profound conscientiousness to the
improvement of the young and poor and ignorant; the same devotion to the
good of all who come within her sphere; the same pervading sense of
religious responsibility.
Dear Lady Dacre, for the sake of those who love you,--for the sake of
him whom you love above all others, your admirable husband,--for the
sake of the darlings your child has left, a precious legacy and trust to
you, do not let this affliction bow down the noble courage of your
nature, but raise yourself even under this heavy burden, that the world
may not by her death lose the good influence of _two_ bright spirits at
once. Do not think me bold and impertinent that _I_ venture thus to
exhort _you_. It is my affection that speaks, and the fear I feel of the
terrible effect this loss may have upon you. Once more, God bless and
support you, and give you that reliance upon Him which is our only
strength in the hours of our earthly sorrows. She whom you mourn is
blest, if ever goodness might secure blessing; and the recollection of
her many virtues must take from her death those contemplations which
alone can make death awful. Farewell, dear friend. My heart yearns
towards you in your grief very tenderly, and I am always
Most affectionately yours,
F. A. B.
BUTLER PLACE, PHILADELPHIA, June 24th, 1839.
DEAREST HARRIET,