Chapter 6

The Jealous Mistress

11 min

I would ten thousand times rather that my children should be the half-starved paupers of Ireland than to be the most pampered among the slaves of America. I would rather drudge out my life on a cotton plantation, till the grave opened to give me rest, than to live with an unprincipled master and a jealous mistress. The felon’s home in a penitentiary is preferable. He may repent, and turn from the error of his ways, and so find peace; but it is not so with a favorite slave. She is not allowed to have any pride of character. It is deemed a crime in her to wish to be virtuous.

I would ten thousand times rather have my children be half-starved paupers in Ireland than the most pampered slaves in America. I would rather spend my life doing hard labor on a cotton plantation, until the grave gave me rest, than live with a master without morals and a jealous mistress. Even a criminal’s home in a prison is better. He may repent, turn away from his wrongdoing, and find peace. But a favored enslaved woman has no such chance. She is not allowed to take pride in her character. Her wish to be virtuous is treated as a crime.

Mrs. Flint possessed the key to her husband’s character before I was born. She might have used this knowledge to counsel and to screen the young and the innocent among her slaves; but for them she had no sympathy. They were the objects of her constant suspicion and malevolence. She watched her husband with unceasing vigilance; but he was well practised in means to evade it. What he could not find opportunity to say in words he manifested in signs. He invented more than were ever thought of in a deaf and dumb asylum. I let them pass, as if I did not understand what he meant; and many were the curses and threats bestowed on me for my stupidity. One day he caught me teaching myself to write. He frowned, as if he was not well pleased; but I suppose he came to the conclusion that such an accomplishment might help to advance his favorite scheme. Before long, notes were often slipped into my hand. I would return them, saying, “I can’t read them, sir.” “Can’t you?” he replied; “then I must read them to you.” He always finished the reading by asking, “Do you understand?” Sometimes he would complain of the heat of the tea room, and order his supper to be placed on a small table in the piazza. He would seat himself there with a well-satisfied smile, and tell me to stand by and brush away the flies. He would eat very slowly, pausing between the mouthfuls. These intervals were employed in describing the happiness I was so foolishly throwing away, and in threatening me with the penalty that finally awaited my stubborn disobedience. He boasted much of the forbearance he had exercised towards me, and reminded me that there was a limit to his patience. When I succeeded in avoiding opportunities for him to talk to me at home, I was ordered to come to his office, to do some errand. When there, I was obliged to stand and listen to such language as he saw fit to address to me. Sometimes I so openly expressed my contempt for him that he would become violently enraged, and I wondered why he did not strike me. Circumstanced as he was, he probably thought it was better policy to be forbearing. But the state of things grew worse and worse daily. In desperation I told him that I must and would apply to my grandmother for protection. He threatened me with death, and worse than death, if I made any complaint to her. Strange to say, I did not despair. I was naturally of a buoyant disposition, and always I had a hope of somehow getting out of his clutches. Like many a poor, simple slave before me, I trusted that some threads of joy would yet be woven into my dark destiny.

Mrs. Flint understood her husband’s character before I was born. She might have used that knowledge to advise and protect the young and innocent among her slaves. But she had no sympathy for them. She was constantly suspicious of them and wished them harm. She watched her husband constantly, but he was well practiced at evading her. What he could not say in words, he conveyed through signs. He invented more signs than had ever been thought of in an asylum for deaf and mute people. I ignored them, as if I did not understand what he meant. He cursed and threatened me many times for my stupidity. One day he caught me teaching myself to write. He frowned, as if he was not pleased. But I suppose he concluded that such a skill might help advance his favorite scheme. Before long, he often slipped notes into my hand. I would return them, saying, “I can’t read them, sir.” “Can’t you?” he replied. “Then I must read them to you.” He always finished reading by asking, “Do you understand?” Sometimes he would complain about the heat in the tea room. He would order his supper placed on a small table on the piazza. He would sit there with a satisfied smile and tell me to stand by and brush away the flies. He ate very slowly, pausing between mouthfuls. During those pauses, he described the happiness I was so foolishly throwing away. He also threatened me with the punishment that finally awaited my stubborn disobedience. He often boasted of how patient he had been with me. He reminded me that his patience had a limit. When I managed to avoid giving him chances to talk to me at home, he ordered me to his office to run an errand. Once there, I had to stand and listen to whatever he chose to say to me. Sometimes I showed my contempt for him so openly that he became violently angry. I wondered why he did not strike me. In his circumstances, he probably thought it was wiser to show restraint. But things grew worse every day. In desperation, I told him that I had to seek my grandmother’s protection and would do so. He threatened me with death, and worse than death, if I complained to her. Strangely, I did not despair. I was naturally cheerful and always hoped I would somehow escape his clutches. Like many poor, simple slaves before me, I trusted that some threads of joy would yet be woven into my dark destiny.

I had entered my sixteenth year, and every day it became more apparent that my presence was intolerable to Mrs. Flint. Angry words frequently passed between her and her husband. He had never punished me himself, and he would not allow any body else to punish me. In that respect, she was never satisfied; but, in her angry moods, no terms were too vile for her to bestow upon me. Yet I, whom she detested so bitterly, had far more pity for her than he had, whose duty it was to make her life happy. I never wronged her, or wished to wrong her; and one word of kindness from her would have brought me to her feet.

I was fifteen, and each day it became clearer that Mrs. Flint could not bear having me around. She and her husband often exchanged angry words. He had never punished me himself, and he would not let anyone else punish me. She was never satisfied with that. But when she was angry, no insult was too vile for her to hurl at me. Yet I, whom she hated so bitterly, felt far more pity for her than her husband did. It was his duty to make her life happy. I never wronged her or wished to wrong her. One kind word from her would have brought me to her feet.

After repeated quarrels between the doctor and his wife, he announced his intention to take his youngest daughter, then four years old, to sleep in his apartment. It was necessary that a servant should sleep in the same room, to be on hand if the child stirred. I was selected for that office, and informed for what purpose that arrangement had been made. By managing to keep within sight of people, as much as possible, during the day time, I had hitherto succeeded in eluding my master, though a razor was often held to my throat to force me to change this line of policy. At night I slept by the side of my great aunt, where I felt safe. He was too prudent to come into her room. She was an old woman, and had been in the family many years. Moreover, as a married man, and a professional man, he deemed it necessary to save appearances in some degree. But he resolved to remove the obstacle in the way of his scheme; and he thought he had planned it so that he should evade suspicion. He was well aware how much I prized my refuge by the side of my old aunt, and he determined to dispossess me of it. The first night the doctor had the little child in his room alone. The next morning, I was ordered to take my station as nurse the following night. A kind Providence interposed in my favor. During the day Mrs. Flint heard of this new arrangement, and a storm followed. I rejoiced to hear it rage.

After repeated quarrels with his wife, the doctor announced that his youngest daughter would sleep in his room. She was four years old at the time. A servant had to sleep in the same room, ready to attend to the child if she stirred. I was chosen for the job and told why the arrangement had been made. Until then, I had managed to avoid my master by staying in sight of other people as much as possible during the day. Yet a razor was often held to my throat to force me to stop doing that. At night, I slept beside my great aunt, where I felt safe. He was too cautious to enter her room. She was an old woman and had been with the family for many years. Besides, as a married man and a professional man, he thought it necessary to keep up appearances to some degree. But he was determined to remove the obstacle to his scheme. He thought he had planned it so that no one would suspect him. He knew very well how much I valued the refuge beside my old aunt, and he decided to take it away from me. The first night, the doctor had the little child alone in his room. The next morning, I was ordered to take my place as nurse the following night. A kind Providence intervened on my behalf. During the day, Mrs. Flint heard about the new arrangement, and a storm followed. I rejoiced to hear it rage.

After a while my mistress sent for me to come to her room. Her first question was, “Did you know you were to sleep in the doctor’s room?”

After a while, my mistress sent for me to come to her room. Her first question was, “Did you know you were supposed to sleep in the doctor’s room?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Who told you?”

“My master.”

“Will you answer truly all the questions I ask?”

“Will you answer all my questions honestly?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell me, then, as you hope to be forgiven, are you innocent of what I have accused you?”

“Then tell me, if you hope to be forgiven, are you innocent of what I accused you of?”

“I am.”

She handed me a Bible, and said, “Lay your hand on your heart, kiss this holy book, and swear before God that you tell me the truth.”

She handed me a Bible and said, “Put your hand on your heart and kiss this holy book. Swear before God that you are telling me the truth.”

I took the oath she required, and I did it with a clear conscience.

I took the oath she required, and I did so with a clear conscience.

“You have taken God’s holy word to testify your innocence,” said she. “If you have deceived me, beware! Now take this stool, sit down, look me directly in the face, and tell me all that has passed between your master and you.”

“You have sworn on God’s holy word that you are innocent,” she said. “If you have deceived me, beware! Now take this stool and sit down. Look me directly in the face and tell me everything that has happened between you and your master.”

I did as she ordered. As I went on with my account her color changed frequently, she wept, and sometimes groaned. She spoke in tones so sad, that I was touched by her grief. The tears came to my eyes; but I was soon convinced that her emotions arose from anger and wounded pride. She felt that her marriage vows were desecrated, her dignity insulted; but she had no compassion for the poor victim of her husband’s perfidy. She pitied herself as a martyr; but she was incapable of feeling for the condition of shame and misery in which her unfortunate, helpless slave was placed.

I did as she ordered. As I continued my account, her face often changed color. She wept and sometimes groaned. Her voice was so sad that her grief moved me. Tears came to my eyes, but I soon realized that her emotions came from anger and wounded pride. She felt that her marriage vows had been violated and her dignity insulted. But she had no compassion for the poor victim of her husband’s betrayal. She pitied herself as a martyr. But she could not feel for her unfortunate, helpless slave, who had been placed in a position of shame and misery.

Yet perhaps she had some touch of feeling for me; for when the conference was ended, she spoke kindly, and promised to protect me. I should have been much comforted by this assurance if I could have had confidence in it; but my experiences in slavery had filled me with distrust. She was not a very refined woman, and had not much control over her passions. I was an object of her jealousy, and, consequently, of her hatred; and I knew I could not expect kindness or confidence from her under the circumstances in which I was placed. I could not blame her. Slaveholders’ wives feel as other women would under similar circumstances. The fire of her temper kindled from small sparks, and now the flame became so intense that the doctor was obliged to give up his intended arrangement.

Yet perhaps she felt some sympathy for me. When the conversation ended, she spoke kindly and promised to protect me. I would have been greatly comforted by her promise if I could have trusted it. But my experiences in slavery had filled me with distrust. She was not a very refined woman, and she had little control over her emotions. She was jealous of me and, as a result, hated me. I knew that, in my situation, I could not expect kindness or trust from her. I could not blame her. Slaveholders’ wives feel as other women would in similar circumstances. Small things could set off her temper. Now her anger became so intense that the doctor had to give up the arrangement he had planned.

I knew I had ignited the torch, and I expected to suffer for it afterwards; but I felt too thankful to my mistress for the timely aid she rendered me to care much about that. She now took me to sleep in a room adjoining her own. There I was an object of her especial care, though not of her especial comfort, for she spent many a sleepless night to watch over me. Sometimes I woke up, and found her bending over me. At other times she whispered in my ear, as though it was her husband who was speaking to me, and listened to hear what I would answer. If she startled me, on such occasions, she would glide stealthily away; and the next morning she would tell me I had been talking in my sleep, and ask who I was talking to. At last, I began to be fearful for my life. It had been often threatened; and you can imagine, better than I can describe, what an unpleasant sensation it must produce to wake up in the dead of night and find a jealous woman bending over you. Terrible as this experience was, I had fears that it would give place to one more terrible.

I knew I had lit the torch, and I expected to suffer for it later. But I was too grateful to my mistress for her timely help to care much about that. She now had me sleep in a room next to hers. There, she took special care of me, though caring for me brought her little comfort. She spent many sleepless nights watching over me. Sometimes I woke up and found her bending over me. At other times, she whispered in my ear as if her husband were speaking to me. Then she listened to hear what I would say. If she startled me on those occasions, she would slip away quietly. The next morning, she would tell me I had been talking in my sleep. She would ask whom I had been talking to. At last, I began to fear for my life. My life had often been threatened. You can imagine better than I can describe how unpleasant it was to wake in the dead of night and find a jealous woman bending over you. As terrible as this experience was, I feared that something even more terrible would take its place.

My mistress grew weary of her vigils; they did not prove satisfactory. She changed her tactics. She now tried the trick of accusing my master of crime, in my presence, and gave my name as the author of the accusation. To my utter astonishment, he replied, “I don’t believe it; but if she did acknowledge it, you tortured her into exposing me.” Tortured into exposing him! Truly, Satan had no difficulty in distinguishing the color of his soul! I understood his object in making this false representation. It was to show me that I gained nothing by seeking the protection of my mistress; that the power was still all in his own hands. I pitied Mrs. Flint. She was a second wife, many years the junior of her husband; and the hoary-headed miscreant was enough to try the patience of a wiser and better woman. She was completely foiled, and knew not how to proceed. She would gladly have had me flogged for my supposed false oath; but, as I have already stated, the doctor never allowed any one to whip me. The old sinner was politic. The application of the lash might have led to remarks that would have exposed him in the eyes of his children and grandchildren. How often did I rejoice that I lived in a town where all the inhabitants knew each other! If I had been on a remote plantation, or lost among the multitude of a crowded city, I should not be a living woman at this day.

My mistress grew tired of keeping watch. Her efforts did not satisfy her, so she changed tactics. She tried accusing my master of a crime in front of me and claimed that I had made the accusation. To my complete astonishment, he replied, “I don’t believe it, but if she did admit it, you tortured her into exposing me.” Tortured into exposing him! Surely Satan had no trouble recognizing the color of his soul! I understood why he lied. He wanted to show me that I gained nothing by seeking my mistress’s protection. All the power was still in his hands. I pitied Mrs. Flint. She was his second wife, many years younger than her husband. The gray-haired scoundrel was enough to test the patience of a wiser and better woman. She had been completely defeated and did not know what to do next. She would gladly have had me whipped for my supposed false oath. But, as I have already said, the doctor never allowed anyone to whip me. The old sinner was calculating. A whipping might have led to remarks that would have exposed him to his children and grandchildren. How often I was glad to live in a town where everyone knew one another! If I had been on a remote plantation, or lost in the crowd of a large city, I would not be alive today.

The secrets of slavery are concealed like those of the Inquisition. My master was, to my knowledge, the father of eleven slaves. But did the mothers dare to tell who was the father of their children? Did the other slaves dare to allude to it, except in whispers among themselves? No, indeed! They knew too well the terrible consequences.

The secrets of slavery are hidden like those of the Inquisition. As far as I knew, my master was the father of eleven enslaved people. But did the mothers dare to say who had fathered their children? Did the other enslaved people dare to mention it, except in whispers among themselves? No, indeed! They knew too well the terrible consequences.

My grandmother could not avoid seeing things which excited her suspicions. She was uneasy about me, and tried various ways to buy me; but the never-changing answer was always repeated: “Linda does not belong to me. She is my daughter’s property, and I have no legal right to sell her.” The conscientious man! He was too scrupulous to sell me; but he had no scruples whatever about committing a much greater wrong against the helpless young girl placed under his guardianship, as his daughter’s property. Sometimes my persecutor would ask me whether I would like to be sold. I told him I would rather be sold to any body than to lead such a life as I did. On such occasions he would assume the air of a very injured individual, and reproach me for my ingratitude. “Did I not take you into the house, and make you the companion of my own children?” he would say. “Have I ever treated you like a negro? I have never allowed you to be punished, not even to please your mistress. And this is the recompense I get, you ungrateful girl!” I answered that he had reasons of his own for screening me from punishment, and that the course he pursued made my mistress hate me and persecute me. If I wept, he would say, “Poor child! Don’t cry! don’t cry! I will make peace for you with your mistress. Only let me arrange matters in my own way. Poor, foolish girl! you don’t know what is for your own good. I would cherish you. I would make a lady of you. Now go, and think of all I have promised you.”

My grandmother could not help seeing things that made her suspicious. She worried about me and tried in various ways to buy me. But she always received the same answer: “Linda does not belong to me. She is my daughter’s property, and I have no legal right to sell her.” What a conscientious man! He was too scrupulous to sell me. But he had no scruples about committing a much greater wrong against a helpless young girl under his guardianship. She was his daughter’s property. Sometimes my persecutor would ask whether I wanted to be sold. I told him I would rather be sold to anyone than go on living as I did. He would then act deeply hurt and scold me for being ungrateful. “Didn’t I take you into the house and make you a companion to my own children?” he would say. “Have I ever treated you like a negro? I have never allowed you to be punished, not even to please your mistress. And this is how you repay me, you ungrateful girl!” I answered that he had his own reasons for protecting me from punishment. I told him that his behavior made my mistress hate and persecute me. If I wept, he would say, “Poor child! Don’t cry! Don’t cry! I will make peace between you and your mistress. Just let me handle things my own way. Poor, foolish girl! You don’t know what is best for you. I would cherish you. I would make a lady of you. Now go and think about everything I have promised you.”

I did think of it.

Reader, I draw no imaginary pictures of southern homes. I am telling you the plain truth. Yet when victims make their escape from this wild beast of Slavery, northerners consent to act the part of bloodhounds, and hunt the poor fugitive back into his den, “full of dead men’s bones, and all uncleanness.” Nay, more, they are not only willing, but proud, to give their daughters in marriage to slaveholders. The poor girls have romantic notions of a sunny clime, and of the flowering vines that all the year round shade a happy home. To what disappointments are they destined! The young wife soon learns that the husband in whose hands she has placed her happiness pays no regard to his marriage vows. Children of every shade of complexion play with her own fair babies, and too well she knows that they are born unto him of his own household. Jealousy and hatred enter the flowery home, and it is ravaged of its loveliness.

Reader, I am not inventing stories about Southern homes. I am telling you the plain truth. Yet when victims escape from the wild beast of Slavery, Northerners agree to act like bloodhounds. They hunt the poor fugitive back into the beast’s den, “full of dead men’s bones, and all uncleanness.” What is more, Northerners are not only willing but proud to give their daughters in marriage to slaveholders. The poor girls have romantic ideas about a sunny climate. They imagine flowering vines shading a happy home all year round. What disappointments await them! The young wife soon learns that her husband pays no regard to his marriage vows. Yet she has placed her happiness in his hands. Children of every skin color play with her own fair-skinned babies. She knows all too well that he has fathered them with women in his own household. Jealousy and hatred enter the flower-covered home, and its beauty is destroyed.

Southern women often marry a man knowing that he is the father of many little slaves. They do not trouble themselves about it. They regard such children as property, as marketable as the pigs on the plantation; and it is seldom that they do not make them aware of this by passing them into the slave-trader’s hands as soon as possible, and thus getting them out of their sight. I am glad to say there are some honorable exceptions.

Southern women often marry men they know have fathered many enslaved children. They do not worry about it. They see these children as property, as easy to sell as the pigs on the plantation. They usually make the children aware of this by selling them to a slave trader as soon as possible. In this way, they get the children out of their sight. I am glad to say there are some honorable exceptions.

I have myself known two southern wives who exhorted their husbands to free those slaves towards whom they stood in a “parental relation;” and their request was granted. These husbands blushed before the superior nobleness of their wives’ natures. Though they had only counselled them to do that which it was their duty to do, it commanded their respect, and rendered their conduct more exemplary. Concealment was at an end, and confidence took the place of distrust.

I have known two southern wives who urged their husbands to free the enslaved people to whom they stood in a “parental relation.” Their husbands granted their requests. These husbands blushed before the greater nobility of their wives’ characters. Though the wives had only urged them to do their duty, their advice earned their husbands’ respect and made their behavior more exemplary. There was no more concealment, and trust replaced distrust.

Though this bad institution deadens the moral sense, even in white women, to a fearful extent, it is not altogether extinct. I have heard southern ladies say of Mr. Such a one, “He not only thinks it no disgrace to be the father of those little niggers, but he is not ashamed to call himself their master. I declare, such things ought not to be tolerated in any decent society!”

Although slavery greatly weakens the moral sense, even in white women, it does not destroy it completely. I have heard southern ladies say of a certain man, “He sees no shame in fathering those little niggers. He is not even ashamed to call himself their master. I declare, such things should not be tolerated in any decent society!”