Another Link to Life

I had not returned to my master’s house since the birth of my child. The old man raved to have me thus removed from his immediate power; but his wife vowed, by all that was good and great, she would kill me if I came back; and he did not doubt her word. Sometimes he would stay away for a season. Then he would come and renew the old threadbare discourse about his forbearance and my ingratitude. He labored, most unnecessarily, to convince me that I had lowered myself. The venomous old reprobate had no need of descanting on that theme. I felt humiliated enough. My unconscious babe was the ever-present witness of my shame. I listened with silent contempt when he talked about my having forfeited his good opinion; but I shed bitter tears that I was no longer worthy of being respected by the good and pure. Alas! slavery still held me in its poisonous grasp. There was no chance for me to be respectable. There was no prospect of being able to lead a better life.

I had not returned to my master’s house since my child was born. The old man raged because I was no longer directly under his power. But his wife swore by all that was good and great that she would kill me if I came back. He did not doubt her word. Sometimes he would stay away for a while. Then he would return and repeat his old, worn-out speech about his patience and my ingratitude. He tried, quite unnecessarily, to convince me that I had degraded myself. The vicious old scoundrel had no need to go on about that. I felt humiliated enough. My innocent baby was a constant witness to my shame. I listened with silent contempt when he said I had lost his good opinion. But I wept bitterly because I was no longer worthy of respect from good and pure people. Alas! Slavery still held me in its poisonous grip. I had no chance of being respectable. I had no hope of being able to lead a better life.

Sometimes, when my master found that I still refused to accept what he called his kind offers, he would threaten to sell my child. “Perhaps that will humble you,” said he.

Sometimes, when my master saw that I still refused what he called his kind offers, he threatened to sell my child. “Perhaps that will humble you,” he said.

Humble me! Was I not already in the dust? But his threat lacerated my heart. I knew the law gave him power to fulfil it; for slaveholders have been cunning enough to enact that “the child shall follow the condition of the mother,” not of the father; thus taking care that licentiousness shall not interfere with avarice. This reflection made me clasp my innocent babe all the more firmly to my heart. Horrid visions passed through my mind when I thought of his liability to fall into the slave trader’s hands. I wept over him, and said, “O my child! perhaps they will leave you in some cold cabin to die, and then throw you into a hole, as if you were a dog.”

Humble me! Was I not already in the dust? But his threat tore at my heart. I knew the law gave him the power to carry it out. Slaveholders have been cunning enough to make a law saying that “the child shall follow the condition of the mother,” not the father.” In this way, they make sure that their sexual misconduct does not interfere with their greed. This thought made me hold my innocent baby even closer to my heart. Horrible visions passed through my mind when I thought of how he could fall into a slave trader’s hands. I wept over him and said, “Oh, my child! Perhaps they will leave you in some cold cabin to die, and then throw you into a hole, as if you were a dog.”

When Dr. Flint learned that I was again to be a mother, he was exasperated beyond measure. He rushed from the house, and returned with a pair of shears. I had a fine head of hair; and he often railed about my pride of arranging it nicely. He cut every hair close to my head, storming and swearing all the time. I replied to some of his abuse, and he struck me. Some months before, he had pitched me down stairs in a fit of passion; and the injury I received was so serious that I was unable to turn myself in bed for many days. He then said, “Linda, I swear by God I will never raise my hand against you again;” but I knew that he would forget his promise.

When Dr. Flint learned that I was going to be a mother again, he was furious beyond measure. He rushed out of the house and returned with a pair of scissors. I had a fine head of hair, and he often complained about my pride in styling it nicely. He cut all my hair close to my head, raging and swearing the whole time. I answered back to some of his abuse, and he struck me. Some months earlier, he had thrown me down the stairs in a fit of anger. The injury was so serious that I could not turn myself over in bed for many days. He then said, “Linda, I swear by God I will never raise my hand against you again.” But I knew he would forget his promise.

After he discovered my situation, he was like a restless spirit from the pit. He came every day; and I was subjected to such insults as no pen can describe. I would not describe them if I could; they were too low, too revolting. I tried to keep them from my grandmother’s knowledge as much as I could. I knew she had enough to sadden her life, without having my troubles to bear. When she saw the doctor treat me with violence, and heard him utter oaths terrible enough to palsy a man’s tongue, she could not always hold her peace. It was natural and motherlike that she should try to defend me; but it only made matters worse.

After he discovered my situation, he was like a restless spirit from hell. He came every day, and I suffered insults no pen could describe. I would not describe them even if I could. They were too degrading, too revolting. I tried to keep my grandmother from knowing about them as much as I could. I knew she had enough to sadden her life without having to bear my troubles too. She saw the doctor treat me violently and heard him swear terribly, enough to paralyze a man’s tongue. When she saw and heard these things, she could not always stay silent. It was natural and motherly for her to try to defend me, but it only made matters worse.

When they told me my new-born babe was a girl, my heart was heavier than it had ever been before. Slavery is terrible for men; but it is far more terrible for women. Superadded to the burden common to all, they have wrongs, and sufferings, and mortifications peculiarly their own.

When they told me my newborn baby was a girl, my heart was heavier than ever before. Slavery is terrible for men, but it is far more terrible for women. Besides the burden shared by all, they face wrongs, suffering, and humiliations unique to them.

Dr. Flint had sworn that he would make me suffer, to my last day, for this new crime against him, as he called it; and as long as he had me in his power he kept his word. On the fourth day after the birth of my babe, he entered my room suddenly, and commanded me to rise and bring my baby to him. The nurse who took care of me had gone out of the room to prepare some nourishment, and I was alone. There was no alternative. I rose, took up my babe, and crossed the room to where he sat. “Now stand there,” said he, “till I tell you to go back!” My child bore a strong resemblance to her father, and to the deceased Mrs. Sands, her grandmother. He noticed this; and while I stood before him, trembling with weakness, he heaped upon me and my little one every vile epithet he could think of. Even the grandmother in her grave did not escape his curses. In the midst of his vituperations I fainted at his feet. This recalled him to his senses. He took the baby from my arms, laid it on the bed, dashed cold water in my face, took me up, and shook me violently, to restore my consciousness before any one entered the room. Just then my grandmother came in, and he hurried out of the house. I suffered in consequence of this treatment; but I begged my friends to let me die, rather than send for the doctor. There was nothing I dreaded so much as his presence. My life was spared; and I was glad for the sake of my little ones. Had it not been for these ties to life, I should have been glad to be released by death, though I had lived only nineteen years.

Dr. Flint had sworn to make me suffer until my last day for what he called this new crime against him. As long as he had power over me, he kept his word. Four days after my baby was born, he suddenly entered my room. He ordered me to get up and bring my baby to him. The nurse caring for me had left the room to prepare some food, and I was alone. I had no choice. I got up, picked up my baby, and crossed the room to where he sat. “Now stand there,” he said, “until I tell you to go back!” My child looked very much like her father and her grandmother, the late Mrs. Sands. He noticed the resemblance. As I stood trembling with weakness before him, he hurled every vile insult he could think of at me and my little one. Even her grandmother in her grave did not escape his curses. In the middle of his tirade, I fainted at his feet. This brought him to his senses. He took the baby from my arms and laid her on the bed. Then he splashed cold water on my face, picked me up, and shook me violently. He wanted to bring me back to consciousness before anyone entered the room. Just then my grandmother came in, and he hurried out of the house. I suffered because of this treatment, but I begged my friends to let me die rather than send for the doctor. There was nothing I feared more than his presence. My life was spared, and I was glad for the sake of my little ones. Without these ties to life, I would have been glad for death to release me, though I was only nineteen.

Always it gave me a pang that my children had no lawful claim to a name. Their father offered his; but, if I had wished to accept the offer, I dared not while my master lived. Moreover, I knew it would not be accepted at their baptism. A Christian name they were at least entitled to; and we resolved to call my boy for our dear good Benjamin, who had gone far away from us.

It always pained me that my children had no legal right to a surname. Their father offered them his surname. But even if I had wanted to accept his offer, I dared not do so while my master was alive. Besides, I knew his surname would not be accepted at their baptism. At least they were entitled to a Christian name. So we decided to name my boy after our dear, good Benjamin, who had gone far away from us.

My grandmother belonged to the church; and she was very desirous of having the children christened. I knew Dr. Flint would forbid it, and I did not venture to attempt it. But chance favored me. He was called to visit a patient out of town, and was obliged to be absent during Sunday. “Now is the time,” said my grandmother; “we will take the children to church, and have them christened.”

My grandmother belonged to the church, and she very much wanted the children to be christened. I knew Dr. Flint would forbid it, so I did not dare try. But chance was on my side. He was called to visit a patient out of town and had to be away on Sunday. “Now is the time,” said my grandmother. “We will take the children to church and have them christened.”

When I entered the church, recollections of my mother came over me, and I felt subdued in spirit. There she had presented me for baptism, without any reason to feel ashamed. She had been married, and had such legal rights as slavery allows to a slave. The vows had at least been sacred to her, and she had never violated them. I was glad she was not alive, to know under what different circumstances her grandchildren were presented for baptism. Why had my lot been so different from my mother’s? Her master had died when she was a child; and she remained with her mistress till she married. She was never in the power of any master; and thus she escaped one class of the evils that generally fall upon slaves.

When I entered the church, memories of my mother came over me, and I felt subdued. She had brought me there for baptism, with no reason to feel ashamed. She had been married and had the legal rights slavery allowed an enslaved woman. The marriage vows had at least been sacred to her, and she had never broken them. I was glad she was not alive to know how different the circumstances were when her grandchildren were baptized. Why had my life been so different from my mother’s? Her master had died when she was a child, and she stayed with her mistress until she married. She was never under the power of a master. So she escaped one kind of evil that generally falls upon enslaved people.

When my baby was about to be christened, the former mistress of my father stepped up to me, and proposed to give it her Christian name. To this I added the surname of my father, who had himself no legal right to it; for my grandfather on the paternal side was a white gentleman. What tangled skeins are the genealogies of slavery! I loved my father; but it mortified me to be obliged to bestow his name on my children.

When my baby was about to be christened, my father’s former mistress came up to me. She offered to give the baby her first name. I added my father’s surname, though he had no legal right to it himself. For my father’s father was a white gentleman. What a tangled web family histories are under slavery! I loved my father, but it pained me to have to give his name to my children.

When we left the church, my father’s old mistress invited me to go home with her. She clasped a gold chain round my baby’s neck. I thanked her for this kindness; but I did not like the emblem. I wanted no chain to be fastened on my daughter, not even if its links were of gold. How earnestly I prayed that she might never feel the weight of slavery’s chain, whose iron entereth into the soul!

When we left the church, my father’s former mistress invited me to go home with her. She fastened a gold chain around my baby’s neck. I thanked her for her kindness, but I did not like what the chain represented. I did not want any chain fastened on my daughter, even one made of gold. How earnestly I prayed that she would never feel the weight of slavery’s chain, whose iron cuts into the soul!