The Hiding Place

A small shed had been added to my grandmother’s house years ago. Some boards were laid across the joists at the top, and between these boards and the roof was a very small garret, never occupied by any thing but rats and mice. It was a pent roof, covered with nothing but shingles, according to the southern custom for such buildings. The garret was only nine feet long and seven wide. The highest part was three feet high, and sloped down abruptly to the loose board floor. There was no admission for either light or air. My uncle Phillip, who was a carpenter, had very skilfully made a concealed trap-door, which communicated with the storeroom. He had been doing this while I was waiting in the swamp. The storeroom opened upon a piazza. To this hole I was conveyed as soon as I entered the house. The air was stifling; the darkness total. A bed had been spread on the floor. I could sleep quite comfortably on one side; but the slope was so sudden that I could not turn on the other without hitting the roof. The rats and mice ran over my bed; but I was weary, and I slept such sleep as the wretched may, when a tempest has passed over them. Morning came. I knew it only by the noises I heard; for in my small den day and night were all the same. I suffered for air even more than for light. But I was not comfortless. I heard the voices of my children. There was joy and there was sadness in the sound. It made my tears flow. How I longed to speak to them! I was eager to look on their faces; but there was no hole, no crack, through which I could peep. This continued darkness was oppressive. It seemed horrible to sit or lie in a cramped position day after day, without one gleam of light. Yet I would have chosen this, rather than my lot as a slave, though white people considered it an easy one; and it was so compared with the fate of others. I was never cruelly over-worked; I was never lacerated with the whip from head to foot; I was never so beaten and bruised that I could not turn from one side to the other; I never had my heel-strings cut to prevent my running away; I was never chained to a log and forced to drag it about, while I toiled in the fields from morning till night; I was never branded with hot iron, or torn by bloodhounds. On the contrary, I had always been kindly treated, and tenderly cared for, until I came into the hands of Dr. Flint. I had never wished for freedom till then. But though my life in slavery was comparatively devoid of hardships, God pity the woman who is compelled to lead such a life!

A small shed had been added to my grandmother’s house years earlier. Boards had been laid across the ceiling joists, creating a tiny attic between the boards and the roof. Nothing but rats and mice had ever lived there. The sloping roof was covered with nothing but shingles, as was common for such buildings in the South. The attic was only nine feet long and seven feet wide. At its highest point it was three feet high, and the roof sloped sharply down to the loose board floor. There was no opening for light or air. My uncle Phillip, a carpenter, had skillfully made a hidden trapdoor leading to the storeroom. He had been working on it while I waited in the swamp. The storeroom opened onto a porch. As soon as I entered the house, I was taken to this hole. The air was stifling, and the darkness was complete. A bed had been made on the floor. I could sleep quite comfortably on one side, but the roof sloped so sharply that I could not turn onto my other side without hitting it. Rats and mice ran over my bed. But I was tired, and I slept as well as a miserable person can after a storm has passed. Morning came. I knew it only from the noises I heard, because day and night were the same in my little den. I suffered even more from the lack of air than from the lack of light. But I was not without comfort. I heard my children’s voices. The sound brought both joy and sadness, and it made me cry. How I longed to speak to them! I was eager to see their faces, but there was no hole or crack I could look through. The constant darkness weighed on me. It seemed horrible to sit or lie cramped day after day, without a single ray of light. Yet I would have chosen this over my life as a slave. White people considered my life an easy one, and it was easy compared with the fate of others. I was never cruelly overworked. I was never cut from head to foot by a whip. I was never beaten and bruised so badly that I could not turn from one side to the other. My heel tendons were never cut to keep me from running away. I was never chained to a log and forced to drag it while I worked in the fields from morning until night. I was never branded with a hot iron or torn by bloodhounds. On the contrary, I had always been treated kindly and cared for tenderly until I came into Dr. Flint’s hands. I had never wished for freedom until then. But though my life in slavery was relatively free of hardship, God pity the woman who is forced to live such a life!

My food was passed up to me through the trap-door my uncle had contrived; and my grandmother, my uncle Phillip, and aunt Nancy would seize such opportunities as they could, to mount up there and chat with me at the opening. But of course this was not safe in the daytime. It must all be done in darkness. It was impossible for me to move in an erect position, but I crawled about my den for exercise. One day I hit my head against something, and found it was a gimlet. My uncle had left it sticking there when he made the trap-door. I was as rejoiced as Robinson Crusoe could have been at finding such a treasure. It put a lucky thought into my head. I said to myself, “Now I will have some light. Now I will see my children.” I did not dare to begin my work during the daytime, for fear of attracting attention. But I groped round; and having found the side next the street, where I could frequently see my children, I stuck the gimlet in and waited for evening. I bored three rows of holes, one above another; then I bored out the interstices between. I thus succeeded in making one hole about an inch long and an inch broad. I sat by it till late into the night, to enjoy the little whiff of air that floated in. In the morning I watched for my children. The first person I saw in the street was Dr. Flint. I had a shuddering, superstitious feeling that it was a bad omen. Several familiar faces passed by. At last I heard the merry laugh of children, and presently two sweet little faces were looking up at me, as though they knew I was there, and were conscious of the joy they imparted. How I longed to tell them I was there!

My food was passed up to me through the trapdoor my uncle had made. My grandmother, my uncle Phillip, and aunt Nancy took whatever chances they could to climb up and chat with me at the opening. But of course, this was not safe during the day. It all had to be done in darkness. I could not stand upright, but I crawled around my den for exercise. One day I hit my head against something and found that it was a gimlet. My uncle had left it sticking there when he made the trapdoor. I was as delighted as Robinson Crusoe could have been to find such a treasure. It gave me a lucky idea. I said to myself, “Now I will have some light. Now I will see my children.” I did not dare start work during the day, for fear of attracting attention. But I felt my way around and found the side facing the street, where I could often see my children. I stuck the gimlet in and waited for evening. I bored three rows of holes, one above another. Then I bored out the spaces between them. In this way, I managed to make one hole about an inch long and an inch wide. I sat beside it until late at night, enjoying the little breath of air that drifted in. In the morning I watched for my children. The first person I saw in the street was Dr. Flint. I shuddered, with a superstitious feeling that his appearance was a bad omen. Several familiar faces passed by. At last I heard the happy laughter of children. Soon two sweet little faces were looking up at me, as though they knew I was there and knew the joy they gave me. How I longed to tell them I was there!

My condition was now a little improved. But for weeks I was tormented by hundreds of little red insects, fine as a needle’s point, that pierced through my skin, and produced an intolerable burning. The good grandmother gave me herb teas and cooling medicines, and finally I got rid of them. The heat of my den was intense, for nothing but thin shingles protected me from the scorching summer’s sun. But I had my consolations. Through my peeping-hole I could watch the children, and when they were near enough, I could hear their talk. Aunt Nancy brought me all the news she could hear at Dr. Flint’s. From her I learned that the doctor had written to New York to a colored woman, who had been born and raised in our neighborhood, and had breathed his contaminating atmosphere. He offered her a reward if she could find out any thing about me. I know not what was the nature of her reply; but he soon after started for New York in haste, saying to his family that he had business of importance to transact. I peeped at him as he passed on his way to the steamboat. It was a satisfaction to have miles of land and water between us, even for a little while; and it was a still greater satisfaction to know that he believed me to be in the Free States. My little den seemed less dreary than it had done. He returned, as he did from his former journey to New York, without obtaining any satisfactory information. When he passed our house next morning, Benny was standing at the gate. He had heard them say that he had gone to find me, and he called out, “Dr. Flint, did you bring my mother home? I want to see her.” The doctor stamped his foot at him in a rage, and exclaimed, “Get out of the way, you little damned rascal! If you don’t, I’ll cut off your head.”

My condition had improved a little. But for weeks, hundreds of tiny red insects tormented me. They were as fine as a needle’s point and pierced my skin, causing an unbearable burning sensation. My kind grandmother gave me herbal teas and cooling medicines, and finally I got rid of the insects. The heat in my den was intense because only thin shingles protected me from the scorching summer sun. But I had my comforts. Through my peephole, I could watch the children. When they were close enough, I could hear them talk. Aunt Nancy brought me all the news she could gather at Dr. Flint’s house. She told me that the doctor had written to a colored woman in New York. The woman had been born and raised in our neighborhood and had breathed his corrupting atmosphere. He offered her a reward if she could find out anything about me. I don’t know how she replied. But soon afterward, he hurried off to New York, telling his family he had important business to attend to. I watched him through my peephole as he passed on his way to the steamboat. It was a comfort to have miles of land and water between us, even for a little while. It was an even greater comfort to know that he believed I was in the Free States. My little den seemed less dreary than before. As on his earlier trip to New York, he returned without getting any useful information. The next morning, Benny was standing at the gate when Dr. Flint passed our house. Benny had heard people say that the doctor had gone to find me. He called out, “Dr. Flint, did you bring my mother home? I want to see her.” The doctor stamped his foot at Benny in a rage and cried, “Get out of the way, you little damned rascal! If you don’t, I’ll cut off your head.”

Benny ran terrified into the house, saying, “You can’t put me in jail again. I don’t belong to you now.” It was well that the wind carried the words away from the doctor’s ear. I told my grandmother of it, when we had our next conference at the trap-door; and begged of her not to allow the children to be impertinent to the irascible old man.

Benny ran into the house, terrified. He said, “You can’t put me in jail again. I don’t belong to you now.” Luckily, the wind carried his words away before the doctor could hear them. I told my grandmother about the incident the next time we talked at the trapdoor. I begged her not to let the children be disrespectful to the quick-tempered old man.

Autumn came, with a pleasant abatement of heat. My eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, and by holding my book or work in a certain position near the aperture I contrived to read and sew. That was a great relief to the tedious monotony of my life. But when winter came, the cold penetrated through the thin shingle roof, and I was dreadfully chilled. The winters there are not so long, or so severe, as in northern latitudes; but the houses are not built to shelter from cold, and my little den was peculiarly comfortless. The kind grandmother brought me bed-clothes and warm drinks. Often I was obliged to lie in bed all day to keep comfortable; but with all my precautions, my shoulders and feet were frostbitten. O, those long, gloomy days, with no object for my eye to rest upon, and no thoughts to occupy my mind, except the dreary past and the uncertain future! I was thankful when there came a day sufficiently mild for me to wrap myself up and sit at the loophole to watch the passers by. Southerners have the habit of stopping and talking in the streets, and I heard many conversations not intended to meet my ears. I heard slave-hunters planning how to catch some poor fugitive. Several times I heard allusions to Dr. Flint, myself, and the history of my children, who, perhaps, were playing near the gate. One would say, “I wouldn’t move my little finger to catch her, as old Flint’s property.” Another would say, “I’ll catch any nigger for the reward. A man ought to have what belongs to him, if he is a damned brute.” The opinion was often expressed that I was in the Free States. Very rarely did any one suggest that I might be in the vicinity. Had the least suspicion rested on my grandmother’s house, it would have been burned to the ground. But it was the last place they thought of. Yet there was no place, where slavery existed, that could have afforded me so good a place of concealment.

Autumn came, bringing welcome relief from the heat. My eyes had grown used to the dim light. By holding my book or sewing in a certain position near the opening, I managed to read and sew. That was a great relief from the dull sameness of my life. But when winter came, the cold came through the thin shingle roof, and I was terribly chilled. Winters there are not as long or as severe as they are farther north. But the houses are not built to keep out the cold, and my little hiding place was especially uncomfortable. My kind grandmother brought me bedding and warm drinks. I often had to lie in bed all day to stay comfortable. But despite all my precautions, my shoulders and feet were frostbitten. Oh, those long, gloomy days! There was nothing for my eyes to rest on and nothing to occupy my mind except the dreary past and uncertain future. I was thankful when a day came that was mild enough for me to wrap up and sit at the opening. There I could watch people passing by. Southerners have a habit of stopping to talk in the streets, and I heard many conversations not meant for my ears. I heard slave hunters planning how to catch some poor fugitive. Several times I heard people mention Dr. Flint, me, and the story of my children. My children were perhaps playing near the gate. One person would say, “I wouldn’t lift a finger to catch her as old Flint’s property.” Another would say, “I’ll catch any nigger for the reward. A man ought to have what belongs to him, even if he is a damned brute.” People often said they thought I was in the Free States. Very rarely did anyone suggest that I might be nearby. If anyone had even suspected that I was in my grandmother’s house, the house would have been burned to the ground. But it was the last place they thought of. Yet nowhere that slavery existed could have offered me such a good hiding place.

Dr. Flint and his family repeatedly tried to coax and bribe my children to tell something they had heard said about me. One day the doctor took them into a shop, and offered them some bright little silver pieces and gay handkerchiefs if they would tell where their mother was. Ellen shrank away from him, and would not speak; but Benny spoke up, and said, “Dr. Flint, I don’t know where my mother is. I guess she’s in New York; and when you go there again, I wish you’d ask her to come home, for I want to see her; but if you put her in jail, or tell her you’ll cut her head off, I’ll tell her to go right back.”

Dr. Flint and his family repeatedly tried to coax and bribe my children into sharing things they had heard about me. One day, the doctor took them into a shop. He offered them some shiny silver coins and colorful handkerchiefs if they would tell him where their mother was. Ellen shrank away from him and would not speak. But Benny spoke up and said, “Dr. Flint, I don’t know where my mother is. I think she’s in New York. When you go there again, I wish you’d ask her to come home, because I want to see her. But if you put her in jail or tell her you’ll cut her head off, I’ll tell her to go right back.”