A Dangerous Time in the Slave Girl's Life

After my lover went away, Dr. Flint contrived a new plan. He seemed to have an idea that my fear of my mistress was his greatest obstacle. In the blandest tones, he told me that he was going to build a small house for me, in a secluded place, four miles away from the town. I shuddered; but I was constrained to listen, while he talked of his intention to give me a home of my own, and to make a lady of me. Hitherto, I had escaped my dreaded fate, by being in the midst of people. My grandmother had already had high words with my master about me. She had told him pretty plainly what she thought of his character, and there was considerable gossip in the neighborhood about our affairs, to which the open-mouthed jealousy of Mrs. Flint contributed not a little. When my master said he was going to build a house for me, and that he could do it with little trouble and expense, I was in hopes something would happen to frustrate his scheme; but I soon heard that the house was actually begun. I vowed before my Maker that I would never enter it. I had rather toil on the plantation from dawn till dark; I had rather live and die in jail, than drag on, from day to day, through such a living death. I was determined that the master, whom I so hated and loathed, who had blighted the prospects of my youth, and made my life a desert, should not, after my long struggle with him, succeed at last in trampling his victim under his feet. I would do any thing, every thing, for the sake of defeating him. What could I do? I thought and thought, till I became desperate, and made a plunge into the abyss.

After my lover went away, Dr. Flint devised a new plan. He seemed to think that my fear of my mistress was his greatest obstacle. In the gentlest tones, he told me he would build a small house for me. It would be in a secluded place, four miles from town. I shuddered, but I had to listen as he described his plan. He would give me a home of my own and make a lady of me. Until then, I had escaped my dreaded fate by staying among other people. My grandmother had already argued fiercely with my master about me. She had told him quite plainly what she thought of his character. There was considerable gossip in the neighborhood about our affairs. Mrs. Flint’s openly expressed jealousy added a great deal to it. My master said he would build a house for me with little trouble or expense. I hoped something would happen to stop his plan, but I soon heard that construction had begun. I vowed before my Maker that I would never enter that house. I would rather work on the plantation from dawn till dark. I would rather live and die in jail than endure such a living death, day after day. I hated and loathed my master. He had ruined the hopes of my youth and made my life a desert. After my long struggle with him, I was determined that he would not finally trample his victim underfoot. I would do anything, everything, to defeat him. What could I do? I thought and thought until I became desperate and plunged into the abyss.

And now, reader, I come to a period in my unhappy life, which I would gladly forget if I could. The remembrance fills me with sorrow and shame. It pains me to tell you of it; but I have promised to tell you the truth, and I will do it honestly, let it cost me what it may. I will not try to screen myself behind the plea of compulsion from a master; for it was not so. Neither can I plead ignorance or thoughtlessness. For years, my master had done his utmost to pollute my mind with foul images, and to destroy the pure principles inculcated by my grandmother, and the good mistress of my childhood. The influences of slavery had had the same effect on me that they had on other young girls; they had made me prematurely knowing, concerning the evil ways of the world. I knew what I did, and I did it with deliberate calculation.

And now, reader, I come to a time in my unhappy life that I would gladly forget if I could. The memory fills me with sorrow and shame. It pains me to tell you about it, but I have promised to tell you the truth. I will do so honestly, whatever it may cost me. I will not try to defend myself by claiming that my master forced me, because he did not. Nor can I claim that I did not know better or did not think about what I was doing. For years, my master had done everything he could to fill my mind with dirty images. He had also tried to destroy the pure principles my grandmother and the kind mistress of my childhood had taught me. Slavery had affected me just as it had other young girls. It had made me aware of the world’s evil ways too soon. I knew what I was doing, and I did it after careful calculation.

But, O, ye happy women, whose purity has been sheltered from childhood, who have been free to choose the objects of your affection, whose homes are protected by law, do not judge the poor desolate slave girl too severely! If slavery had been abolished, I, also, could have married the man of my choice; I could have had a home shielded by the laws; and I should have been spared the painful task of confessing what I am now about to relate; but all my prospects had been blighted by slavery. I wanted to keep myself pure; and, under the most adverse circumstances, I tried hard to preserve my self-respect; but I was struggling alone in the powerful grasp of the demon Slavery; and the monster proved too strong for me. I felt as if I was forsaken by God and man; as if all my efforts must be frustrated; and I became reckless in my despair.

But, oh, you fortunate women whose purity has been protected since childhood, and who have been free to choose whom you love. Your homes are protected by law. Please do not judge the poor, abandoned slave girl too harshly! If slavery had been abolished, I too could have married the man I chose. I could have had a home protected by law. I would have been spared the painful task of confessing what I am about to tell you. But slavery had destroyed all my hopes. I wanted to remain pure. Even under the worst circumstances, I tried hard to keep my self-respect. But I was struggling alone in the powerful grasp of the demon Slavery, and the monster was too strong for me. I felt abandoned by God and everyone else. I felt as if all my efforts were bound to fail. In my despair, I became reckless.

I have told you that Dr. Flint’s persecutions and his wife’s jealousy had given rise to some gossip in the neighborhood. Among others, it chanced that a white unmarried gentleman had obtained some knowledge of the circumstances in which I was placed. He knew my grandmother, and often spoke to me in the street. He became interested for me, and asked questions about my master, which I answered in part. He expressed a great deal of sympathy, and a wish to aid me. He constantly sought opportunities to see me, and wrote to me frequently. I was a poor slave girl, only fifteen years old.

I have told you that Dr. Flint’s persecution of me and his wife’s jealousy caused some gossip in the neighborhood. An unmarried white gentleman happened to learn something about my situation. He knew my grandmother and often spoke to me in the street. He became concerned for me and asked questions about my master. I answered some of his questions. He expressed great sympathy and said he wanted to help me. He constantly looked for chances to see me and wrote to me often. I was a poor slave girl, only fifteen years old.

So much attention from a superior person was, of course, flattering; for human nature is the same in all. I also felt grateful for his sympathy, and encouraged by his kind words. It seemed to me a great thing to have such a friend. By degrees, a more tender feeling crept into my heart. He was an educated and eloquent gentleman; too eloquent, alas, for the poor slave girl who trusted in him. Of course I saw whither all this was tending. I knew the impassable gulf between us; but to be an object of interest to a man who is not married, and who is not her master, is agreeable to the pride and feelings of a slave, if her miserable situation has left her any pride or sentiment. It seems less degrading to give one’s self, than to submit to compulsion. There is something akin to freedom in having a lover who has no control over you, except that which he gains by kindness and attachment. A master may treat you as rudely as he pleases, and you dare not speak; moreover, the wrong does not seem so great with an unmarried man, as with one who has a wife to be made unhappy. There may be sophistry in all this; but the condition of a slave confuses all principles of morality, and, in fact, renders the practice of them impossible.

Of course, such attention from a man of higher social standing was flattering, because human nature is the same in all. I was also grateful for his sympathy and encouraged by his kind words. Having such a friend seemed like a great thing to me. Gradually, I began to feel a deeper affection for him. He was an educated and eloquent gentleman. Alas, he was too eloquent for the poor slave girl who trusted him. Of course, I saw where this was leading. I knew there was an impassable gulf between us. But a slave feels pride and pleasure when an unmarried man who is not her master takes an interest in her. That is true if her miserable situation has left her any pride or feeling. It seems less degrading to give yourself willingly than to submit to force. There is something like freedom in having a lover whose only control over you comes from kindness and affection. A master can treat you as rudely as he pleases, and you dare not speak. Also, the wrong seems less serious with an unmarried man than with one whose wife would be made unhappy. There may be faulty reasoning in all this. But slavery confuses all moral principles and, in fact, makes it impossible to live by them.

When I found that my master had actually begun to build the lonely cottage, other feelings mixed with those I have described. Revenge, and calculations of interest, were added to flattered vanity and sincere gratitude for kindness. I knew nothing would enrage Dr. Flint so much as to know that I favored another; and it was something to triumph over my tyrant even in that small way. I thought he would revenge himself by selling me, and I was sure my friend, Mr. Sands, would buy me. He was a man of more generosity and feeling than my master, and I thought my freedom could be easily obtained from him. The crisis of my fate now came so near that I was desperate. I shuddered to think of being the mother of children that should be owned by my old tyrant. I knew that as soon as a new fancy took him, his victims were sold far off to get rid of them; especially if they had children. I had seen several women sold, with his babies at the breast. He never allowed his offspring by slaves to remain long in sight of himself and his wife. Of a man who was not my master I could ask to have my children well supported; and in this case, I felt confident I should obtain the boon. I also felt quite sure that they would be made free. With all these thoughts revolving in my mind, and seeing no other way of escaping the doom I so much dreaded, I made a headlong plunge. Pity me, and pardon me, O virtuous reader! You never knew what it is to be a slave; to be entirely unprotected by law or custom; to have the laws reduce you to the condition of a chattel, entirely subject to the will of another. You never exhausted your ingenuity in avoiding the snares, and eluding the power of a hated tyrant; you never shuddered at the sound of his footsteps, and trembled within hearing of his voice. I know I did wrong. No one can feel it more sensibly than I do. The painful and humiliating memory will haunt me to my dying day. Still, in looking back, calmly, on the events of my life, I feel that the slave woman ought not to be judged by the same standard as others.

When I learned that my master had actually begun building the secluded cottage, other feelings joined those I have described. Along with my flattered pride and sincere gratitude for kindness, I felt a desire for revenge and considered my own interests. I knew nothing would enrage Dr. Flint more than learning that I favored another man. Even that small victory over my tyrant meant something to me. I thought he would take revenge by selling me, and I was sure my friend, Mr. Sands, would buy me. He was more generous and caring than my master, and I thought I could easily obtain my freedom from him. The decisive moment in my life was so near that I was desperate. I shuddered at the thought of having children who would be owned by my old tyrant. I knew that whenever he took a new fancy, he sold his victims far away to get rid of them. This was especially true if they had children. I had seen several women sold while still nursing his babies. He never allowed the children he had with enslaved women to remain long in sight of himself and his wife. I could ask a man who was not my master to provide well for my children. In this case, I felt confident that Mr. Sands would grant my request. I also felt quite sure that my children would be made free. With all these thoughts in my mind, I saw no other way to escape the fate I feared so much. So I rushed headlong into the decision. Pity me, and forgive me, O virtuous reader! You have never known what it is to be a slave, completely unprotected by law or custom. You have never known what it is to be reduced by law to property, entirely subject to another person's will. You have never exhausted your ingenuity trying to avoid the traps and escape the power of a hated tyrant. You have never shuddered at the sound of his footsteps or trembled at the sound of his voice. I know I did wrong. No one feels that more deeply than I do. The painful and humiliating memory will haunt me until the day I die. Still, when I look back calmly on the events of my life, I feel that an enslaved woman should not be judged by the same standard as others.

The months passed on. I had many unhappy hours. I secretly mourned over the sorrow I was bringing on my grandmother, who had so tried to shield me from harm. I knew that I was the greatest comfort of her old age, and that it was a source of pride to her that I had not degraded myself, like most of the slaves. I wanted to confess to her that I was no longer worthy of her love; but I could not utter the dreaded words.

The months passed. I had many unhappy hours. In secret, I grieved over the sorrow I was causing my grandmother, who had tried so hard to protect me. I knew I was her greatest comfort in her old age. She was proud that I had not degraded myself, as most of the slaves had. I wanted to confess to her that I was no longer worthy of her love, but I could not say the dreaded words.

As for Dr. Flint, I had a feeling of satisfaction and triumph in the thought of telling him. From time to time he told me of his intended arrangements, and I was silent. At last, he came and told me the cottage was completed, and ordered me to go to it. I told him I would never enter it. He said, “I have heard enough of such talk as that. You shall go, if you are carried by force; and you shall remain there.”

As for Dr. Flint, I felt satisfied and triumphant at the thought of telling him. From time to time, he told me about the plans he was making, and I said nothing. At last, he came and told me the cottage was finished. He ordered me to go there. I told him I would never enter it. He said, “I have heard enough of that kind of talk. You will go, even if you have to be carried there by force, and you will stay there.”

I replied, “I will never go there. In a few months I shall be a mother.”

I replied, “I will never go there. In a few months, I will be a mother.”

He stood and looked at me in dumb amazement, and left the house without a word. I thought I should be happy in my triumph over him. But now that the truth was out, and my relatives would hear of it, I felt wretched. Humble as were their circumstances, they had pride in my good character. Now, how could I look them in the face? My self-respect was gone! I had resolved that I would be virtuous, though I was a slave. I had said, “Let the storm beat! I will brave it till I die.” And now, how humiliated I felt!

He stood there and stared at me in speechless amazement. Then he left the house without a word. I thought I would be happy to have triumphed over him. But now that the truth was out and my relatives would hear it, I felt miserable. Though they had little, they took pride in my good character. How could I face them now? I had lost my self-respect! I had resolved to be virtuous, even though I was a slave. I had said, “Let the storm rage! I will face it until I die.” And now, how humiliated I felt!

I went to my grandmother. My lips moved to make confession, but the words stuck in my throat. I sat down in the shade of a tree at her door and began to sew. I think she saw something unusual was the matter with me. The mother of slaves is very watchful. She knows there is no security for her children. After they have entered their teens she lives in daily expectation of trouble. This leads to many questions. If the girl is of a sensitive nature, timidity keeps her from answering truthfully, and this well-meant course has a tendency to drive her from maternal counsels. Presently, in came my mistress, like a mad woman, and accused me concerning her husband. My grandmother, whose suspicions had been previously awakened, believed what she said. She exclaimed, “O Linda! has it come to this? I had rather see you dead than to see you as you now are. You are a disgrace to your dead mother.” She tore from my fingers my mother’s wedding ring and her silver thimble. “Go away!” she exclaimed, “and never come to my house, again.” Her reproaches fell so hot and heavy, that they left me no chance to answer. Bitter tears, such as the eyes never shed but once, were my only answer. I rose from my seat, but fell back again, sobbing. She did not speak to me; but the tears were running down her furrowed cheeks, and they scorched me like fire. She had always been so kind to me! So kind! How I longed to throw myself at her feet, and tell her all the truth! But she had ordered me to go, and never to come there again. After a few minutes, I mustered strength, and started to obey her. With what feelings did I now close that little gate, which I used to open with such an eager hand in my childhood! It closed upon me with a sound I never heard before.

I went to my grandmother. My lips moved to confess, but the words stuck in my throat. I sat down in the shade of a tree by her door and began to sew. I think she saw that something unusual was wrong with me. The mother of enslaved children is always watchful. She knows her children are never safe. Once they enter their teens, she expects trouble every day. So she asks many questions. If a girl is sensitive, shyness keeps her from answering truthfully. These well meant questions tend to drive her away from her mother’s advice. Soon my mistress came in like a madwoman and accused me about her husband. My grandmother, whose suspicions had already been aroused, believed her. She cried, “Oh, Linda! Has it come to this? I would rather see you dead than see you as you are now. You are a disgrace to your dead mother.” She pulled my mother’s wedding ring and silver thimble from my fingers. “Go away!” she cried, “and never come to my house again.” Her reproaches came so fiercely and relentlessly that I had no chance to answer. Bitter tears, the kind a person sheds only once, were my only answer. I rose from my seat, but fell back again, sobbing. She did not speak to me, but tears ran down her lined cheeks, and they scorched me like fire. She had always been so kind to me! So kind! How I longed to throw myself at her feet and tell her the whole truth! But she had ordered me to go and never come there again. After a few minutes, I gathered my strength and started to obey her. What feelings I had as I closed that little gate, which I had opened so eagerly as a child! It closed behind me with a sound I had never heard before.

Where could I go? I was afraid to return to my master’s. I walked on recklessly, not caring where I went, or what would become of me. When I had gone four or five miles, fatigue compelled me to stop. I sat down on the stump of an old tree. The stars were shining through the boughs above me. How they mocked me, with their bright, calm light! The hours passed by, and as I sat there alone a chilliness and deadly sickness came over me. I sank on the ground. My mind was full of horrid thoughts. I prayed to die; but the prayer was not answered. At last, with great effort I roused myself, and walked some distance further, to the house of a woman who had been a friend of my mother. When I told her why I was there, she spoke soothingly to me; but I could not be comforted. I thought I could bear my shame if I could only be reconciled to my grandmother. I longed to open my heart to her. I thought if she could know the real state of the case, and all I had been bearing for years, she would perhaps judge me less harshly. My friend advised me to send for her. I did so; but days of agonizing suspense passed before she came. Had she utterly forsaken me? No. She came at last. I knelt before her, and told her the things that had poisoned my life; how long I had been persecuted; that I saw no way of escape; and in an hour of extremity I had become desperate. She listened in silence. I told her I would bear any thing and do any thing, if in time I had hopes of obtaining her forgiveness. I begged of her to pity me, for my dead mother’s sake. And she did pity me. She did not say, “I forgive you;” but she looked at me lovingly, with her eyes full of tears. She laid her old hand gently on my head, and murmured, “Poor child! Poor child!”

Where could I go? I was afraid to return to my master’s house. I walked on recklessly, not caring where I went or what happened to me. After four or five miles, I was so tired that I had to stop. I sat down on an old tree stump. The stars shone through the branches above me. How their bright, calm light mocked me! The hours passed as I sat there alone. A chill and a deadly sickness came over me, and I sank to the ground. My mind was full of horrible thoughts. I prayed to die, but my prayer was not answered. At last, with great effort, I got up and walked farther. I went to the house of a woman who had been my mother’s friend. When I told her why I was there, she spoke gently to me. But I could not be comforted. I thought I could bear my shame if only I could make peace with my grandmother. I longed to open my heart to her. Perhaps she would judge me less harshly if she knew what had really happened. She needed to know all I had endured for years. My friend advised me to send for my grandmother. I did, but days of agonizing suspense passed before she came. Had she abandoned me completely? No. At last, she came. I knelt before her and told her what had poisoned my life. I told her how long I had been persecuted and that I saw no way to escape. I told her how I had become desperate in a moment of extreme distress. She listened in silence. I told her I would bear anything and do anything if I could hope to earn her forgiveness in time. I begged her to pity me for my dead mother’s sake. And she did pity me. She did not say, “I forgive you,” but she looked at me lovingly, her eyes full of tears. She laid her old hand gently on my head and murmured, “Poor child! Poor child!”