Free at Last

Mrs. Bruce, and every member of her family, were exceedingly kind to me. I was thankful for the blessings of my lot, yet I could not always wear a cheerful countenance. I was doing harm to no one; on the contrary, I was doing all the good I could in my small way; yet I could never go out to breathe God’s free air without trepidation at my heart. This seemed hard; and I could not think it was a right state of things in any civilized country.

Mrs. Bruce and every member of her family were extremely kind to me. I was thankful for the blessings in my life, but I could not always look cheerful. I was doing no harm to anyone. On the contrary, I was doing all the good I could in my small way. Yet I could never go outside to breathe God’s free air without fear in my heart. This seemed unfair. I could not believe such a state of affairs was right in any civilized country.

From time to time I received news from my good old grandmother. She could not write; but she employed others to write for her. The following is an extract from one of her last letters:—

From time to time, I received news from my dear old grandmother. She could not write, but she had others write for her. The following is an excerpt from one of her last letters:

“Dear Daughter: I cannot hope to see you again on earth; but I pray to God to unite us above, where pain will no more rack this feeble body of mine; where sorrow and parting from my children will be no more. God has promised these things if we are faithful unto the end. My age and feeble health deprive me of going to church now; but God is with me here at home. Thank your brother for his kindness. Give much love to him, and tell him to remember the Creator in the days of his youth, and strive to meet me in the Father’s kingdom. Love to Ellen and Benjamin. Don’t neglect him. Tell him for me, to be a good boy. Strive, my child, to train them for God’s children. May he protect and provide for you, is the prayer of your loving old mother.”

“Dear Daughter: I do not expect to see you again on earth. But I pray that God will bring us together in heaven. There, pain will no longer torment my frail body. There will be no more sorrow or separation from my children. God has promised these things if we remain faithful to the end. I am too old and frail to go to church now, but God is with me here at home. Thank your brother for his kindness. Give him much love, and tell him to remember his Creator while he is young. Tell him to strive to meet me in the Father’s kingdom. Love to Ellen and Benjamin. Don’t neglect him. Tell him for me to be a good boy. My child, strive to raise them as God’s children. Your loving old mother prays that God will protect and provide for you.”

These letters both cheered and saddened me. I was always glad to have tidings from the kind, faithful old friend of my unhappy youth; but her messages of love made my heart yearn to see her before she died, and I mourned over the fact that it was impossible. Some months after I returned from my flight to New England, I received a letter from her, in which she wrote, “Dr. Flint is dead. He has left a distressed family. Poor old man! I hope he made his peace with God.”

These letters both cheered and saddened me. I was always glad to hear from the kind, faithful old friend of my unhappy youth. But her messages of love made me long to see her before she died. I mourned because I could not. Some months after I returned from my flight to New England, she wrote to me: “Dr. Flint is dead. He has left a distressed family. Poor old man! I hope he made his peace with God.”

I remembered how he had defrauded my grandmother of the hard earnings she had loaned; how he had tried to cheat her out of the freedom her mistress had promised her, and how he had persecuted her children; and I thought to myself that she was a better Christian than I was, if she could entirely forgive him. I cannot say, with truth, that the news of my old master’s death softened my feelings towards him. There are wrongs which even the grave does not bury. The man was odious to me while he lived, and his memory is odious now.

I remembered how he had cheated my grandmother out of the money she had worked hard to earn and lent him. He had also tried to deny her the freedom her mistress had promised her, and he had persecuted her children. I thought that if she could completely forgive him, she was a better Christian than I was. I cannot honestly say that the news of my old master’s death softened my feelings toward him. Some wrongs are not buried even by the grave. I hated the man while he lived, and I hate his memory now.

His departure from this world did not diminish my danger. He had threatened my grandmother that his heirs should hold me in slavery after he was gone; that I never should be free so long as a child of his survived. As for Mrs. Flint, I had seen her in deeper afflictions than I supposed the loss of her husband would be, for she had buried several children; yet I never saw any signs of softening in her heart. The doctor had died in embarrassed circumstances, and had little to will to his heirs, except such property as he was unable to grasp. I was well aware what I had to expect from the family of Flints; and my fears were confirmed by a letter from the south, warning me to be on my guard, because Mrs. Flint openly declared that her daughter could not afford to lose so valuable a slave as I was.

His death did not lessen my danger. He had threatened my grandmother that his heirs would keep me enslaved after he died. He said I would never be free as long as one of his children was alive. As for Mrs. Flint, she had buried several children. I had seen her suffer more from those losses than I thought she would from losing her husband. Yet I never saw any sign that her heart had softened. The doctor had died in financial difficulty. He had little to leave his heirs except property he could not get hold of. I knew well what to expect from the Flint family. My fears were confirmed by a letter from the south, warning me to be on my guard. Mrs. Flint was openly declaring that her daughter could not afford to lose a slave as valuable as I was.

I kept close watch of the newspapers for arrivals; but one Saturday night, being much occupied, I forgot to examine the Evening Express as usual. I went down into the parlor for it, early in the morning, and found the boy about to kindle a fire with it. I took it from him and examined the list of arrivals. Reader, if you have never been a slave, you cannot imagine the acute sensation of suffering at my heart, when I read the names of Mr. and Mrs. Dodge, at a hotel in Courtland Street. It was a third-rate hotel, and that circumstance convinced me of the truth of what I had heard, that they were short of funds and had need of my value, as they valued me; and that was by dollars and cents. I hastened with the paper to Mrs. Bruce. Her heart and hand were always open to every one in distress, and she always warmly sympathized with mine. It was impossible to tell how near the enemy was. He might have passed and repassed the house while we were sleeping. He might at that moment be waiting to pounce upon me if I ventured out of doors. I had never seen the husband of my young mistress, and therefore I could not distinguish him from any other stranger. A carriage was hastily ordered; and, closely veiled, I followed Mrs. Bruce, taking the baby again with me into exile. After various turnings and crossings, and returnings, the carriage stopped at the house of one of Mrs. Bruce’s friends, where I was kindly received. Mrs. Bruce returned immediately, to instruct the domestics what to say if any one came to inquire for me.

I watched the newspapers closely for arrivals. But one Saturday night, I was very busy and forgot to check the Evening Express as usual. Early the next morning, I went down to the parlor for it and found the boy about to start a fire with it. I took it from him and checked the list of arrivals. Reader, if you have never been a slave, you cannot imagine the sharp pain in my heart when I read that Mr. and Mrs. Dodge had arrived at a hotel on Courtland Street. It was a third-rate hotel. That convinced me that what I had heard was true: they were short of money and needed the value of my labor, as they measured it, in dollars and cents. I hurried to Mrs. Bruce with the paper. Her heart and hand were always open to everyone in distress, and she always deeply sympathized with my suffering. There was no way to know how close the enemy was. He might have passed the house again and again while we slept. He might have been waiting at that very moment to seize me if I ventured outside. I had never seen my young mistress’s husband, so I could not tell him from any other stranger. A carriage was quickly ordered. With my face hidden by a veil, I followed Mrs. Bruce, taking the baby with me into exile again. After many turns, crossings, and returns, the carriage stopped at the house of one of Mrs. Bruce’s friends. I was kindly received there. Mrs. Bruce returned immediately to instruct the servants what to say if anyone came asking for me.

It was lucky for me that the evening paper was not burned up before I had a chance to examine the list of arrivals. It was not long after Mrs. Bruce’s return to her house, before several people came to inquire for me. One inquired for me, another asked for my daughter Ellen, and another said he had a letter from my grandmother, which he was requested to deliver in person.

I was lucky that the evening paper had not been burned before I could check the list of arrivals. Soon after Mrs. Bruce returned home, several people came looking for me. One asked for me, another asked for my daughter Ellen, and another said he had a letter from my grandmother. He said he had been asked to deliver the letter in person.

They were told, “She has lived here, but she has left.”

They were told, “She has lived here, but she has left.”

“How long ago?”

“How long ago?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Do you know where she went?”

“I do not, sir.” And the door was closed.

“I don’t, sir.” And the door was closed.

This Mr. Dodge, who claimed me as his property, was originally a Yankee pedler in the south; then he became a merchant, and finally a slaveholder. He managed to get introduced into what was called the first society, and married Miss Emily Flint. A quarrel arose between him and her brother, and the brother cowhided him. This led to a family feud, and he proposed to remove to Virginia. Dr. Flint left him no property, and his own means had become circumscribed, while a wife and children depended upon him for support. Under these circumstances, it was very natural that he should make an effort to put me into his pocket.

Mr. Dodge, who claimed me as his property, had started out as a Yankee peddler in the South. Then he became a merchant, and finally a slaveholder. He managed to get introduced into what people called the highest society, and he married Miss Emily Flint. He quarreled with her brother, who whipped him with a cowhide. This led to a family feud, and Mr. Dodge proposed moving to Virginia. Dr. Flint left him no property, and his own resources had dwindled. His wife and children depended on him for support. Under these circumstances, it was very natural for him to try to put me in his pocket.

I had a colored friend, a man from my native place, in whom I had the most implicit confidence. I sent for him, and told him that Mr. and Mrs. Dodge had arrived in New York. I proposed that he should call upon them to make inquiries about his friends at the south, with whom Dr. Flint’s family were well acquainted. He thought there was no impropriety in his doing so, and he consented. He went to the hotel, and knocked at the door of Mr. Dodge’s room, which was opened by the gentleman himself, who gruffly inquired, “What brought you here? How came you to know I was in the city?”

I had a Black friend from my hometown whom I trusted completely. I sent for him and told him that Mr. and Mrs. Dodge had arrived in New York. I suggested that he visit them and ask about his friends in the South. Dr. Flint’s family knew these friends well. He saw nothing wrong with visiting the Dodges and agreed to go. He went to the hotel and knocked on the door of Mr. Dodge’s room. Mr. Dodge opened the door himself and asked gruffly, “What brought you here? How did you know I was in the city?”

“Your arrival was published in the evening papers, sir; and I called to ask Mrs. Dodge about my friends at home. I didn’t suppose it would give any offence.”

“Your arrival was announced in the evening papers, sir, and I came to ask Mrs. Dodge about my friends back home. I didn’t think that would offend anyone.”

“Where’s that negro girl, that belongs to my wife?”

“Where’s that Black girl who belongs to my wife?”

“What girl, sir?”

“What girl, sir?”

“You know well enough. I mean Linda, that ran away from Dr. Flint’s plantation, some years ago. I dare say you’ve seen her, and know where she is.”

“You know perfectly well. I mean Linda, who ran away from Dr. Flint’s plantation a few years ago. I bet you’ve seen her and know where she is.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve seen her, and know where she is. She is out of your reach, sir.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve seen her, and I know where she is. You can’t reach her, sir.”

“Tell me where she is, or bring her to me, and I will give her a chance to buy her freedom.”

“Tell me where she is or bring her to me, and I will give her a chance to buy her freedom.”

“I don’t think it would be of any use, sir. I have heard her say she would go to the ends of the earth, rather than pay any man or woman for her freedom, because she thinks she has a right to it. Besides, she couldn’t do it, if she would, for she has spent her earnings to educate her children.”

“I don’t think that would do any good, sir. I’ve heard her say she would go to the ends of the earth rather than pay anyone for her freedom. She believes she has a right to be free. Besides, even if she wanted to pay, she couldn’t. She has spent her earnings on her children’s education.”

This made Mr. Dodge very angry, and some high words passed between them. My friend was afraid to come where I was; but in the course of the day I received a note from him. I supposed they had not come from the south, in the winter, for a pleasure excursion; and now the nature of their business was very plain.

This made Mr. Dodge very angry, and they exchanged angry words. My friend was afraid to come where I was, but he sent me a note that day. I had assumed they had not come from the South in winter for a pleasure trip. Now it was very clear why they had come.

Mrs. Bruce came to me and entreated me to leave the city the next morning. She said her house was watched, and it was possible that some clew to me might be obtained. I refused to take her advice. She pleaded with an earnest tenderness, that ought to have moved me; but I was in a bitter, disheartened mood. I was weary of flying from pillar to post. I had been chased during half my life, and it seemed as if the chase was never to end. There I sat, in that great city, guiltless of crime, yet not daring to worship God in any of the churches. I heard the bells ringing for afternoon service, and, with contemptuous sarcasm, I said, “Will the preachers take for their text, ‘Proclaim liberty to the captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that are bound’? or will they preach from the text, ‘Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you’?” Oppressed Poles and Hungarians could find a safe refuge in that city; John Mitchell was free to proclaim in the City Hall his desire for “a plantation well stocked with slaves;” but there I sat, an oppressed American, not daring to show my face. God forgive the black and bitter thoughts I indulged on that Sabbath day! The Scripture says, “Oppression makes even a wise man mad;” and I was not wise.

Mrs. Bruce came to me and begged me to leave the city the next morning. She said her house was being watched, and someone might find a clue to my whereabouts. I refused to take her advice. She pleaded with a sincere tenderness that should have moved me, but I was bitter and discouraged. I was tired of fleeing from place to place. I had been chased for half my life, and it seemed as if the chase would never end. There I sat in that great city, guilty of no crime, yet afraid to worship God in any church. I heard the bells ringing for the afternoon service. With scornful sarcasm, I said, “Will the preachers take as their text, ‘Proclaim liberty to the captive, and open the prison doors to those who are bound’? Or will they preach from the text, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’?” Oppressed Poles and Hungarians could find a safe refuge in that city. John Mitchell was free to proclaim in the City Hall his desire for “a plantation well stocked with slaves.” But there I sat, an oppressed American, afraid to show my face. God forgive the dark and bitter thoughts I allowed myself that Sabbath day! Scripture says, “Oppression makes even a wise man mad,” and I was not wise.

I had been told that Mr. Dodge said his wife had never signed away her right to my children, and if he could not get me, he would take them. This it was, more than any thing else, that roused such a tempest in my soul. Benjamin was with his uncle William in California, but my innocent young daughter had come to spend a vacation with me. I thought of what I had suffered in slavery at her age, and my heart was like a tiger’s when a hunter tries to seize her young.

I had been told that Mr. Dodge said his wife had never given up her right to my children. He said that if he could not get me, he would take them. More than anything else, this threat stirred a storm in my soul. Benjamin was with his uncle William in California, but my innocent young daughter had come to spend a vacation with me. I thought of what I had suffered in slavery at her age. My heart was like a tiger’s when a hunter tries to seize her young.

Dear Mrs. Bruce! I seem to see the expression of her face, as she turned away discouraged by my obstinate mood. Finding her expostulations unavailing, she sent Ellen to entreat me. When ten o’clock in the evening arrived and Ellen had not returned, this watchful and unwearied friend became anxious. She came to us in a carriage, bringing a well-filled trunk for my journey—trusting that by this time I would listen to reason. I yielded to her, as I ought to have done before.

Dear Mrs. Bruce! I can still see her face as she turned away, discouraged by my stubbornness. When she found that she could not persuade me, she sent Ellen to beg me. By ten o’clock that evening, Ellen had not returned, and this watchful, tireless friend grew worried. She came to us in a carriage, bringing a well-packed trunk for my journey. She hoped that by then I would listen to reason. I gave in to her, as I should have done before.

The next day, baby and I set out in a heavy snow storm, bound for New England again. I received letters from the City of Iniquity, addressed to me under an assumed name. In a few days one came from Mrs. Bruce, informing me that my new master was still searching for me, and that she intended to put an end to this persecution by buying my freedom. I felt grateful for the kindness that prompted this offer, but the idea was not so pleasant to me as might have been expected. The more my mind had become enlightened, the more difficult it was for me to consider myself an article of property; and to pay money to those who had so grievously oppressed me seemed like taking from my sufferings the glory of triumph. I wrote to Mrs. Bruce, thanking her, but saying that being sold from one owner to another seemed too much like slavery; that such a great obligation could not be easily cancelled; and that I preferred to go to my brother in California.

The next day, the baby and I set out for New England again in a heavy snowstorm. I received letters from the City of Iniquity, addressed to me under an assumed name. A few days later, a letter came from Mrs. Bruce. She told me that my new master was still searching for me. She intended to end this persecution by buying my freedom. I was grateful for the kindness behind her offer, but the idea did not please me as much as one might expect. The more I learned, the harder it became to think of myself as property. And paying money to those who had oppressed me so cruelly seemed to rob my suffering of its triumphant ending. I wrote to thank Mrs. Bruce, but I told her that being sold from one owner to another seemed too much like slavery. I also said that I could not easily repay such a great obligation, and that I preferred to go to my brother in California.

Without my knowledge, Mrs. Bruce employed a gentleman in New York to enter into negotiations with Mr. Dodge. He proposed to pay three hundred dollars down, if Mr. Dodge would sell me, and enter into obligations to relinquish all claim to me or my children forever after. He who called himself my master said he scorned so small an offer for such a valuable servant. The gentleman replied, “You can do as you choose, sir. If you reject this offer you will never get any thing; for the woman has friends who will convey her and her children out of the country.”

Without my knowledge, Mrs. Bruce hired a gentleman in New York to negotiate with Mr. Dodge. He offered to pay three hundred dollars immediately if Mr. Dodge would sell me. Mr. Dodge would also have to agree to give up all claims to me and my children forever. The man who called himself my master said he scorned such a small offer for such a valuable servant. The gentleman replied, “You can do as you choose, sir. If you reject this offer, you will never get anything. The woman has friends who will take her and her children out of the country.”

Mr. Dodge concluded that “half a loaf was better than no bread,” and he agreed to the proffered terms. By the next mail I received this brief letter from Mrs. Bruce: “I am rejoiced to tell you that the money for your freedom has been paid to Mr. Dodge. Come home to-morrow. I long to see you and my sweet babe.”

Mr. Dodge decided that “half a loaf was better than no bread,” so he agreed to the offered terms. In the next mail, I received this brief letter from Mrs. Bruce: “I am delighted to tell you that the money for your freedom has been paid to Mr. Dodge. Come home tomorrow. I long to see you and my sweet baby.”

My brain reeled as I read these lines. A gentleman near me said, “It’s true; I have seen the bill of sale.” “The bill of sale!” Those words struck me like a blow. So I was sold at last! A human being sold in the free city of New York! The bill of sale is on record, and future generations will learn from it that women were articles of traffic in New York, late in the nineteenth century of the Christian religion. It may hereafter prove a useful document to antiquaries, who are seeking to measure the progress of civilization in the United States. I well know the value of that bit of paper; but much as I love freedom, I do not like to look upon it. I am deeply grateful to the generous friend who procured it, but I despise the miscreant who demanded payment for what never rightfully belonged to him or his.

My head spun as I read these lines. A gentleman near me said, “It’s true. I have seen the bill of sale.” “The bill of sale!” Those words struck me like a blow. So I was sold at last! A human being sold in the free city of New York! The bill of sale is on record. Future generations will learn from it that women were bought and sold in New York late in the nineteenth century of the Christian religion. The bill of sale may someday be useful to historians seeking to measure the progress of civilization in the United States. I know very well the value of that piece of paper. But much as I love freedom, I do not like to look at it. I am deeply grateful to the generous friend who obtained it. But I despise the villain who demanded payment for what never rightfully belonged to him or his family.

I had objected to having my freedom bought, yet I must confess that when it was done I felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from my weary shoulders. When I rode home in the cars I was no longer afraid to unveil my face and look at people as they passed. I should have been glad to have met Daniel Dodge himself; to have had him seen me and known me, that he might have mourned over the untoward circumstances which compelled him to sell me for three hundred dollars.

I had objected to having my freedom bought. Yet I must admit that, once it was done, I felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from my weary shoulders. On the train ride home, I was no longer afraid to uncover my face and look at the people passing by. I would have been glad to meet Daniel Dodge himself. I wanted him to see and recognize me, so he could mourn the unfortunate circumstances that forced him to sell me for three hundred dollars.

When I reached home, the arms of my benefactress were thrown round me, and our tears mingled. As soon as she could speak, she said, “O Linda, I’m so glad it’s all over! You wrote to me as if you thought you were going to be transferred from one owner to another. But I did not buy you for your services. I should have done just the same, if you had been going to sail for California to-morrow. I should, at least, have the satisfaction of knowing that you left me a free woman.”

When I got home, my benefactor threw her arms around me, and we cried together. As soon as she could speak, she said, “Oh Linda, I’m so glad it’s all over! You wrote to me as if you thought you were going to pass from one owner to another. But I didn’t buy you for your services. I would have done the same even if you were sailing for California tomorrow. At least I would have the satisfaction of knowing you left me as a free woman.”

My heart was exceedingly full. I remembered how my poor father had tried to buy me, when I was a small child, and how he had been disappointed. I hoped his spirit was rejoicing over me now. I remembered how my good old grandmother had laid up her earnings to purchase me in later years, and how often her plans had been frustrated. How that faithful, loving old heart would leap for joy, if she could look on me and my children now that we were free! My relatives had been foiled in all their efforts, but God had raised me up a friend among strangers, who had bestowed on me the precious, long-desired boon. Friend! It is a common word, often lightly used. Like other good and beautiful things, it may be tarnished by careless handling; but when I speak of Mrs. Bruce as my friend, the word is sacred.

My heart was full. I remembered how my poor father had tried to buy me when I was a little girl. I remembered how disappointed he had been. I hoped his spirit was rejoicing over me now. I remembered how my dear old grandmother had saved her earnings to buy me in later years. I remembered how often her plans had been thwarted. How her faithful, loving old heart would leap for joy if she could see my children and me now that we were free! All my relatives’ efforts had failed, but God had given me a friend among strangers. She had given me the precious gift I had long wished for. Friend! It is a common word, often used lightly. Like other good and beautiful things, it can be tarnished by careless use. But when I call Mrs. Bruce my friend, the word is sacred.

My grandmother lived to rejoice in my freedom; but not long after, a letter came with a black seal. She had gone “where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”

My grandmother lived to celebrate my freedom. But not long after, a letter arrived with a black seal. She had gone “where the wicked no longer cause trouble, and the weary are at rest.”

Time passed on, and a paper came to me from the south, containing an obituary notice of my uncle Phillip. It was the only case I ever knew of such an honor conferred upon a colored person. It was written by one of his friends, and contained these words: “Now that death has laid him low, they call him a good man and a useful citizen; but what are eulogies to the black man, when the world has faded from his vision? It does not require man’s praise to obtain rest in God’s kingdom.” So they called a colored man a citizen! Strange words to be uttered in that region!

Time passed, and I received a newspaper from the South with an obituary for my uncle Phillip. It was the only time I ever knew a colored person to receive such an honor. One of his friends wrote it, and it included these words: “Now that death has brought him down, they call him a good man and a useful citizen. But what good is praise to a black man after the world has faded from his sight? A person does not need human praise to find rest in God’s kingdom.” So they called a colored man a citizen! Strange words to hear in that region!

Reader, my story ends with freedom; not in the usual way, with marriage. I and my children are now free! We are as free from the power of slaveholders as are the white people of the north; and though that, according to my ideas, is not saying a great deal, it is a vast improvement in my condition. The dream of my life is not yet realized. I do not sit with my children in a home of my own. I still long for a hearthstone of my own, however humble. I wish it for my children’s sake far more than for my own. But God so orders circumstances as to keep me with my friend Mrs. Bruce. Love, duty, gratitude, also bind me to her side. It is a privilege to serve her who pities my oppressed people, and who has bestowed the inestimable boon of freedom on me and my children.

Reader, my story ends with freedom, not with marriage, as stories usually do. My children and I are now free! We are as free from the power of slaveholders as white people in the North. In my view, that does not say much. But it is a vast improvement in my condition. The dream of my life has not yet come true. I do not sit with my children in a home of my own. I still long for a home of my own, however humble. I want it far more for my children’s sake than for my own. But God has arranged things so that I remain with my friend Mrs. Bruce. Love, duty, and gratitude also keep me by her side. It is a privilege to serve her. She feels compassion for my oppressed people and has given me and my children the priceless gift of freedom.

It has been painful to me, in many ways, to recall the dreary years I passed in bondage. I would gladly forget them if I could. Yet the retrospection is not altogether without solace; for with those gloomy recollections come tender memories of my good old grandmother, like light, fleecy clouds floating over a dark and troubled sea.

It has been painful in many ways to remember the bleak years I spent in slavery. I would gladly forget them if I could. Yet looking back brings some comfort. Along with those gloomy memories come tender memories of my good old grandmother, like light, fleecy clouds floating over a dark and troubled sea.