The New Master and Mistress

Dr. Flint, a physician in the neighborhood, had married the sister of my mistress, and I was now the property of their little daughter. It was not without murmuring that I prepared for my new home; and what added to my unhappiness, was the fact that my brother William was purchased by the same family. My father, by his nature, as well as by the habit of transacting business as a skilful mechanic, had more of the feelings of a freeman than is common among slaves. My brother was a spirited boy; and being brought up under such influences, he early detested the name of master and mistress. One day, when his father and his mistress both happened to call him at the same time, he hesitated between the two; being perplexed to know which had the strongest claim upon his obedience. He finally concluded to go to his mistress. When my father reproved him for it, he said, “You both called me, and I didn’t know which I ought to go to first.”

Dr. Flint was a local physician who had married my mistress’s sister. I was now the property of their little daughter. I grumbled as I prepared to move to my new home. What made me even unhappier was that the same family had purchased my brother William. My father had more of the feelings of a free man than was common among slaves. This was partly due to his nature and partly to his experience conducting business as a skilled mechanic. My brother was a spirited boy. Raised under these influences, he came to hate the names “master” and “mistress” at an early age. One day, his father and his mistress both called him at the same time. He hesitated because he did not know which one had the stronger claim to his obedience. He finally decided to go to his mistress. When my father scolded him for it, he said, “You both called me, and I didn’t know which I ought to go to first.”

“You are my child,” replied our father, “and when I call you, you should come immediately, if you have to pass through fire and water.”

“You are my child,” our father replied, “and when I call you, you should come right away, even if you have to pass through fire and water.”

Poor Willie! He was now to learn his first lesson of obedience to a master. Grandmother tried to cheer us with hopeful words, and they found an echo in the credulous hearts of youth.

Poor Willie! He was about to learn his first lesson in obeying a master. Grandmother tried to cheer us with hopeful words, and our trusting young hearts took them to heart.

When we entered our new home we encountered cold looks, cold words, and cold treatment. We were glad when the night came. On my narrow bed I moaned and wept, I felt so desolate and alone.

When we entered our new home, we were met with cold looks, cold words, and cold treatment. We were glad when night came. On my narrow bed, I moaned and wept. I felt so lonely and abandoned.

I had been there nearly a year, when a dear little friend of mine was buried. I heard her mother sob, as the clods fell on the coffin of her only child, and I turned away from the grave, feeling thankful that I still had something left to love. I met my grandmother, who said, “Come with me, Linda;” and from her tone I knew that something sad had happened. She led me apart from the people, and then said, “My child, your father is dead.” Dead! How could I believe it? He had died so suddenly I had not even heard that he was sick. I went home with my grandmother. My heart rebelled against God, who had taken from me mother, father, mistress, and friend. The good grandmother tried to comfort me. “Who knows the ways of God?” said she. “Perhaps they have been kindly taken from the evil days to come.” Years afterwards I often thought of this. She promised to be a mother to her grandchildren, so far as she might be permitted to do so; and strengthened by her love, I returned to my master’s. I thought I should be allowed to go to my father’s house the next morning; but I was ordered to go for flowers, that my mistress’s house might be decorated for an evening party. I spent the day gathering flowers and weaving them into festoons, while the dead body of my father was lying within a mile of me. What cared my owners for that? he was merely a piece of property. Moreover, they thought he had spoiled his children, by teaching them to feel that they were human beings. This was blasphemous doctrine for a slave to teach; presumptuous in him, and dangerous to the masters.

I had been there nearly a year when a dear little friend of mine was buried. I heard her mother sob as clods of earth fell on her only child’s coffin. I turned away from the grave, thankful that I still had someone left to love. I met my grandmother, who said, “Come with me, Linda.” From her tone, I knew something sad had happened. She led me away from the others and said, “My child, your father is dead.” Dead! How could I believe it? He had died so suddenly that I had not even heard he was sick. I went home with my grandmother. My heart rebelled against God, who had taken my mother, father, mistress, and friend from me. My kind grandmother tried to comfort me. “Who knows the ways of God?” she said. “Perhaps they have been kindly taken from the evil days to come.” Years later, I often thought of her words. She promised to be a mother to her grandchildren as much as she was allowed to be. Strengthened by her love, I returned to my master’s house. I thought I would be allowed to go to my father’s house the next morning. But I was ordered to get flowers so my mistress’s house could be decorated for an evening party. I spent the day gathering flowers and weaving them into garlands. All the while, my father’s body lay less than a mile away. What did my owners care? He was merely a piece of property. Besides, they thought he had spoiled his children by teaching them to feel that they were human beings. For a slave to teach such a belief was blasphemy. It was presumptuous of him and dangerous to the masters.

The next day I followed his remains to a humble grave beside that of my dear mother. There were those who knew my father’s worth, and respected his memory.

The next day, I followed my father’s body to a simple grave beside my dear mother’s. Some people knew my father’s worth and respected his memory.

My home now seemed more dreary than ever. The laugh of the little slave-children sounded harsh and cruel. It was selfish to feel so about the joy of others. My brother moved about with a very grave face. I tried to comfort him, by saying, “Take courage, Willie; brighter days will come by and by.”

My home now seemed more depressing than ever. The laughter of the young enslaved children sounded harsh and cruel. It was selfish of me to feel that way about their joy. My brother walked around with a very serious look on his face. I tried to comfort him by saying, “Be brave, Willie. Better days will come.”

“You don’t know any thing about it, Linda,” he replied. “We shall have to stay here all our days; we shall never be free.”

“You don’t know anything about it, Linda,” he replied. “We’ll have to stay here all our lives. We’ll never be free.”

I argued that we were growing older and stronger, and that perhaps we might, before long, be allowed to hire our own time, and then we could earn money to buy our freedom. William declared this was much easier to say than to do; moreover, he did not intend to buy his freedom. We held daily controversies upon this subject.

I argued that we were growing older and stronger. Perhaps before long we would be allowed to hire our own time and earn money to buy our freedom. William said that hiring our time to buy our freedom was much easier said than done. He also said he did not intend to buy his freedom. We argued about this every day.

Little attention was paid to the slaves’ meals in Dr. Flint’s house. If they could catch a bit of food while it was going, well and good. I gave myself no trouble on that score, for on my various errands I passed my grandmother’s house, where there was always something to spare for me. I was frequently threatened with punishment if I stopped there; and my grandmother, to avoid detaining me, often stood at the gate with something for my breakfast or dinner. I was indebted to her for all my comforts, spiritual or temporal. It was her labor that supplied my scanty wardrobe. I have a vivid recollection of the linsey-woolsey dress given me every winter by Mrs. Flint. How I hated it! It was one of the badges of slavery.

Little attention was paid to the enslaved people’s meals in Dr. Flint’s house. If they managed to grab some food while it was being served, well and good. I did not worry about food. On my various errands, I passed my grandmother’s house, where there was always something she could spare for me. I was often threatened with punishment if I stopped there. So my grandmother often stood at the gate with something for my breakfast or dinner to avoid holding me up. I owed all my comforts, spiritual and material, to her. It was her work that provided my few clothes. I vividly remember the linsey-woolsey dress Mrs. Flint gave me every winter. How I hated it! It was one of the marks of slavery.

While my grandmother was thus helping to support me from her hard earnings, the three hundred dollars she had lent her mistress were never repaid. When her mistress died, her son-in-law, Dr. Flint, was appointed executor. When grandmother applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent, and the law prohibited payment. It did not, however, prohibit him from retaining the silver candelabra, which had been purchased with that money. I presume they will be handed down in the family, from generation to generation.

While my grandmother helped support me with her hard-earned money, the three hundred dollars she had lent her mistress were never repaid. When her mistress died, her son-in-law, Dr. Flint, was appointed executor of the estate. When my grandmother asked him for repayment, he said the estate was insolvent and the law prohibited repayment. But the law did not prohibit him from keeping the silver candelabra that had been purchased with that money. I presume the candelabra will be passed down in the family from generation to generation.

My grandmother’s mistress had always promised her that, at her death, she should be free; and it was said that in her will she made good the promise. But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful old servant that, under existing circumstances, it was necessary she should be sold.

My grandmother’s mistress had always promised to free her when she died. People said she had kept that promise in her will. But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful old servant that, under the circumstances, she had to be sold.

On the appointed day, the customary advertisement was posted up, proclaiming that there would be a “public sale of negroes, horses, &c.” Dr. Flint called to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to wound her feelings by putting her up at auction, and that he would prefer to dispose of her at private sale. My grandmother saw through his hypocrisy; she understood very well that he was ashamed of the job. She was a very spirited woman, and if he was base enough to sell her, when her mistress intended she should be free, she was determined the public should know it. She had for a long time supplied many families with crackers and preserves; consequently, “Aunt Marthy,” as she was called, was generally known, and every body who knew her respected her intelligence and good character. Her long and faithful service in the family was also well known, and the intention of her mistress to leave her free. When the day of sale came, she took her place among the chattels, and at the first call she sprang upon the auction-block. Many voices called out, “Shame! Shame! Who is going to sell you, aunt Marthy? Don’t stand there! That is no place for you.” Without saying a word, she quietly awaited her fate. No one bid for her. At last, a feeble voice said, “Fifty dollars.” It came from a maiden lady, seventy years old, the sister of my grandmother’s deceased mistress. She had lived forty years under the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly she had been defrauded of her rights; and she resolved to protect her. The auctioneer waited for a higher bid; but her wishes were respected; no one bid above her. She could neither read nor write; and when the bill of sale was made out, she signed it with a cross. But what consequence was that, when she had a big heart overflowing with human kindness? She gave the old servant her freedom.

On the appointed day, the usual advertisement was posted. It announced a “public sale of negroes, horses, etc.” Dr. Flint came to tell my grandmother that he did not want to hurt her feelings by putting her up for auction. He said he would rather sell her privately. My grandmother saw through his hypocrisy. She understood perfectly well that he was ashamed of what he was doing. She was a very spirited woman. Her mistress had intended for her to be free. If Dr. Flint was low enough to sell her, she was determined that the public would know it. For a long time, she had supplied many families with crackers and preserves. As a result, “Aunt Marthy,” as she was called, was widely known. Everyone who knew her respected her intelligence and good character. People also knew about her long and faithful service to the family. They knew that her mistress had intended to leave her free. When the day of the sale came, she took her place among the property for sale. At the first call, she sprang onto the auction block. Many voices called out, “Shame! Shame! Who is going to sell you, aunt Marthy? Don’t stand there! That is no place for you.” Without saying a word, she quietly waited to learn her fate. No one bid for her. At last, a feeble voice said, “Fifty dollars.” It came from a seventy-year-old unmarried woman, the sister of my grandmother’s deceased mistress. She had lived under the same roof as my grandmother for forty years. She knew how faithfully my grandmother had served her owners. She also knew how cruelly my grandmother had been cheated of her rights. So she resolved to protect her. The auctioneer waited for a higher bid, but everyone respected the woman’s wishes. No one bid against her. The woman could neither read nor write. When the bill of sale was made out, she signed it with a cross. But what did that matter, when she had a big heart overflowing with human kindness? She gave the old servant her freedom.

At that time, my grandmother was just fifty years old. Laborious years had passed since then; and now my brother and I were slaves to the man who had defrauded her of her money, and tried to defraud her of her freedom. One of my mother’s sisters, called Aunt Nancy, was also a slave in his family. She was a kind, good aunt to me; and supplied the place of both housekeeper and waiting maid to her mistress. She was, in fact, at the beginning and end of every thing.

At that time, my grandmother was just fifty years old. Years of hard work had passed since then. Now my brother and I were enslaved by the man who had cheated her out of her money and tried to cheat her out of her freedom. One of my mother’s sisters, Aunt Nancy, was also enslaved in his household. She was a kind, good aunt to me. She served her mistress as both housekeeper and personal maid. In fact, she took care of everything from beginning to end.

Mrs. Flint, like many southern women, was totally deficient in energy. She had not strength to superintend her household affairs; but her nerves were so strong, that she could sit in her easy chair and see a woman whipped, till the blood trickled from every stroke of the lash. She was a member of the church; but partaking of the Lord’s supper did not seem to put her in a Christian frame of mind. If dinner was not served at the exact time on that particular Sunday, she would station herself in the kitchen, and wait till it was dished, and then spit in all the kettles and pans that had been used for cooking. She did this to prevent the cook and her children from eking out their meagre fare with the remains of the gravy and other scrapings. The slaves could get nothing to eat except what she chose to give them. Provisions were weighed out by the pound and ounce, three times a day. I can assure you she gave them no chance to eat wheat bread from her flour barrel. She knew how many biscuits a quart of flour would make, and exactly what size they ought to be.

Mrs. Flint, like many southern women, had no energy at all. She did not have the strength to manage her household. But her nerves were strong enough for her to sit in her armchair and watch a woman being whipped. She watched as blood trickled down with every stroke of the whip. She was a church member, but taking the Lord’s supper did not seem to put her in a Christian frame of mind. If dinner was not served at exactly the right time on that Sunday, she would go to the kitchen. She would wait until dinner was served, then spit in all the pots and pans used for cooking. She did this to keep the cook and her children from adding the leftover gravy and other scraps to their meager meals. The enslaved people could eat nothing except what she chose to give them. Food was weighed out by the pound and ounce three times a day. I can assure you, she gave them no chance to eat wheat bread made from flour in her barrel. She knew how many biscuits a quart of flour would make and exactly what size they should be.

Dr. Flint was an epicure. The cook never sent a dinner to his table without fear and trembling; for if there happened to be a dish not to his liking, he would either order her to be whipped, or compel her to eat every mouthful of it in his presence. The poor, hungry creature might not have objected to eating it; but she did object to having her master cram it down her throat till she choked.

Dr. Flint was a man who loved fine food. The cook never sent dinner to his table without fear and trembling. If a dish was not to his liking, he would order her whipped or force her to eat every bite in front of him. The poor, hungry woman might not have objected to eating the food. But she did object to her master cramming it down her throat until she choked.

They had a pet dog, that was a nuisance in the house. The cook was ordered to make some Indian mush for him. He refused to eat, and when his head was held over it, the froth flowed from his mouth into the basin. He died a few minutes after. When Dr. Flint came in, he said the mush had not been well cooked, and that was the reason the animal would not eat it. He sent for the cook, and compelled her to eat it. He thought that the woman’s stomach was stronger than the dog’s; but her sufferings afterwards proved that he was mistaken. This poor woman endured many cruelties from her master and mistress; sometimes she was locked up, away from her nursing baby, for a whole day and night.

They had a pet dog that was a nuisance in the house. The cook was ordered to make some cornmeal mush for him. He refused to eat it. When his head was held over the mush, foam flowed from his mouth into the basin. He died a few minutes later. When Dr. Flint came in, he said the mush had not been cooked properly. He said that was why the dog would not eat it. He sent for the cook and forced her to eat it. He thought the woman’s stomach was stronger than the dog’s. But her suffering afterward proved him wrong. This poor woman endured many cruelties from her master and mistress. Sometimes she was locked up for a whole day and night, away from her nursing baby.

When I had been in the family a few weeks, one of the plantation slaves was brought to town, by order of his master. It was near night when he arrived, and Dr. Flint ordered him to be taken to the work house, and tied up to the joist, so that his feet would just escape the ground. In that situation he was to wait till the doctor had taken his tea. I shall never forget that night. Never before, in my life, had I heard hundreds of blows fall, in succession, on a human being. His piteous groans, and his “O, pray don’t, massa,” rang in my ear for months afterwards. There were many conjectures as to the cause of this terrible punishment. Some said master accused him of stealing corn; others said the slave had quarrelled with his wife, in presence of the overseer, and had accused his master of being the father of her child. They were both black, and the child was very fair.

After I had been with the family for a few weeks, one of the plantation slaves was brought to town. His master had ordered him brought there. He arrived near nightfall. Dr. Flint ordered him taken to the workhouse and tied to a joist, with his feet just above the ground. He was to wait like that until the doctor had finished his tea. I will never forget that night. Never before in my life had I heard hundreds of blows fall one after another on a human being. His pitiful groans and his cries of “Oh, please don’t, master” rang in my ears for months afterward. People had many guesses about the cause of this terrible punishment. Some said his master accused him of stealing corn. Others said the slave had quarreled with his wife in front of the overseer. During the quarrel, he had accused his master of being the father of her child. The slave and his wife were both black, and the child was very light-skinned.

I went into the work house next morning, and saw the cowhide still wet with blood, and the boards all covered with gore. The poor man lived, and continued to quarrel with his wife. A few months afterwards Dr. Flint handed them both over to a slave-trader. The guilty man put their value into his pocket, and had the satisfaction of knowing that they were out of sight and hearing. When the mother was delivered into the trader’s hands, she said, “You promised to treat me well.” To which he replied, “You have let your tongue run too far; damn you!” She had forgotten that it was a crime for a slave to tell who was the father of her child.

I went into the workhouse the next morning. I saw the cowhide whip still wet with blood, and the boards were all covered with gore. The poor man lived and continued to quarrel with his wife. A few months later, Dr. Flint handed them both over to a slave trader. The guilty man pocketed the money from their sale. He also had the satisfaction of knowing they were out of sight and hearing. When the mother was handed over to the trader, she said, “You promised to treat me well.” He replied, “You have let your tongue run too far, damn you!” She had forgotten that it was a crime for a slave to tell who was the father of her child.

From others than the master persecution also comes in such cases. I once saw a young slave girl dying soon after the birth of a child nearly white. In her agony she cried out, “O Lord, come and take me!” Her mistress stood by, and mocked at her like an incarnate fiend. “You suffer, do you?” she exclaimed. “I am glad of it. You deserve it all, and more too.”

In such cases, people other than the master also persecute enslaved women. I once saw a young enslaved girl dying shortly after giving birth to a nearly white child. In her agony she cried out, “O Lord, come and take me!” Her mistress stood by and mocked her like a devil in human form. “You’re suffering, are you?” she exclaimed. “I’m glad of it. You deserve all of it, and more.”

The girl’s mother said, “The baby is dead, thank God; and I hope my poor child will soon be in heaven, too.”

The girl’s mother said, “The baby is dead, thank God. And I hope my poor child will soon be in heaven, too.”

“Heaven!” retorted the mistress. “There is no such place for the like of her and her bastard.”

“Heaven!” the mistress snapped. “There is no such place for people like her and her bastard.”

The poor mother turned away, sobbing. Her dying daughter called her, feebly, and as she bent over her, I heard her say, “Don’t grieve so, mother; God knows all about it; and HE will have mercy upon me.”

The poor mother turned away, sobbing. Her dying daughter called to her weakly. As the mother bent over her, I heard her say, “Don’t grieve so, mother. God knows all about it, and he will have mercy on me.”

Her sufferings, afterwards, became so intense, that her mistress felt unable to stay; but when she left the room, the scornful smile was still on her lips. Seven children called her mother. The poor black woman had but the one child, whose eyes she saw closing in death, while she thanked God for taking her away from the greater bitterness of life.

Later, her suffering became so intense that her mistress could not bear to stay. But when the mistress left the room, she still wore a scornful smile. Seven children called her mother. The poor Black woman had only one child. She watched her child’s eyes close in death, while thanking God for taking her away from life’s greater bitterness.