Gleanings

There are some hard things that crossed Isabella's life while in slavery, that she has no desire to publish, for various reasons. First, because the parties from whose hands she suffered them have rendered up their account to a higher tribunal, and their innocent friends alone are living, to have their feelings injured by the recital; secondly, because they are not all for the public ear, from their very nature; thirdly, and not least, because, she says, were she to tell all that happened to her as a slave-all that she knows is 'God's truth'-it would seem to others, especially the uninitiated, so unaccountable, so unreasonable, and what is usually called so unnatural, (though it may be questioned whether people do not always act naturally,) they would not easily believe it. 'Why, no!' she says, 'they'd call me a liar! they would, indeed! and I do not wish to say anything to destroy my own character for veracity, though what I say is strictly true.' Some things have been omitted through forgetfulness, which not having been mentioned in their places, can only be briefly spoken of here;-such as, that her father Bomefree had had two wives before he took Mau mau Bett; one of whom, if not both, were torn from him by the iron hand of the ruthless trafficker in human flesh;-that her husband, Thomas, after one of his wives had been sold away from him, ran away to New York City, where he remained a year or two, before he was discovered and taken back to the prison-house of slavery;-that her master Dumont, when he promised Isabella one year of her time, before the State should make her free, made the same promise to her husband, and in addition to freedom, they were promised a log cabin for a home of their own; all of which, with the one-thousand-and-one day-dreams resulting therefrom, went into the repository of unfulfilled promises and unrealized hopes;-that she had often heard her father repeat a thrilling story of a little slave-child, which, because it annoyed the family with its cries, was caught up by a white man, who dashed its brains out against the wall. An Indian (for Indians were plenty in that region then) passed along as the bereaved mother washed the bloody corpse of her murdered child, and learning the cause of its death, said, with characteristic vehemence, 'If I had been here, I would have put my tomahawk in his head!' meaning the murderer's.

Some hard things happened to Isabella while she was a slave that she does not wish to publish. She has several reasons. First, those who made her suffer have answered for their actions before a higher tribunal. Only their innocent friends are still living, and telling the stories would hurt their feelings. Second, some of these things, by their very nature, are not fit for the public ear. Third, and not least, she says that if she told everything that happened to her as a slave, others would find it hard to believe. This would be especially true of those unfamiliar with slavery. Everything she knows is “God's truth.” Yet it would seem so baffling, so unreasonable, and so unnatural, as people usually say. Though one might question whether people do not always act naturally. “Why, no!” she says. “They'd call me a liar! They would, indeed! And I do not wish to say anything to destroy my own character for veracity, though what I say is strictly true.” Some things were left out because they were forgotten. Since they were not mentioned in their proper places, they can only be briefly mentioned here. Her father, Bomefree, had two wives before he took Mau mau Bett. One of them, if not both, was torn from him by the iron hand of a ruthless trafficker in human flesh. Her husband, Thomas, ran away to New York City after one of his wives was sold away from him. He stayed there a year or two before he was discovered and taken back to the prison house of slavery. Her master, Dumont, promised Isabella one year of her time before the State would make her free. He made the same promise to her husband. Besides freedom, they were promised a log cabin for a home of their own. All of these promises, along with the thousand and one daydreams they inspired, joined the store of unfulfilled promises and unrealized hopes. She had often heard her father tell a chilling story about a little slave child. The child annoyed the family with its cries, so a white man grabbed it and dashed its brains out against the wall. An Indian passed by as the grieving mother washed the bloody body of her murdered child. Indians were plentiful in that region then. When he learned how the child had died, he said with characteristic vehemence, “If I had been here, I would have put my tomahawk in his head!” He meant the murderer's head.

Of the cruelty of one Hasbrouck.-He had a sick slave-woman, who was lingering with a slow consumption, whom he made to spin, regardless of her weakness and suffering; and this woman had a child, that was unable to walk or talk, at the age of five years, neither could it cry like other children, but made a constant, piteous moaning sound. This exhibition of helplessness and imbecility, instead of exciting the master's pity, stung his cupidity, and so enraged him, that he would kick the poor thing about like a foot-ball.

The cruelty of one Hasbrouck. He had a sick slave-woman who was slowly dying of consumption. He made her spin, despite her weakness and suffering. This woman had a child who, at five years old, could not walk or talk. The child could not cry like other children, but made a constant, pitiful moaning sound. The child’s helplessness and mental incapacity did not stir the master’s pity. Instead, they offended his greed and so enraged him that he would kick the poor child around like a football.

Isabella's informant had seen this brute of a man, when the child was curled up under a chair, innocently amusing itself with a few sticks, drag it hence, that he might have the pleasure of tormenting it. She had see him, with one blow of his foot, send it rolling quite across the room, and down the steps at the door. Oh, how she wished it might instantly die! 'But,' she said, 'it seemed as tough as a moccasin.' Though it did die at last, and made glad the heart of its friends; and its persecutor, no doubt, rejoiced with them, but from very different motives. But the day of his retribution was not far off-for he sickened, and his reason fled. It was fearful to hear his old slave soon tell how, in the day of his calamity, she treated him.

Isabella's informant had seen this brute of a man drag the child from under a chair for the pleasure of tormenting it. The child had been curled up there, innocently playing with a few sticks. She had seen him kick the child across the room and down the steps outside the door. Oh, how she wished the child would die at once! 'But,' she said, 'it seemed as tough as a moccasin.' Though the child did die at last, making its friends glad. Its tormentor, no doubt, rejoiced with them, but for very different reasons. But the day of his punishment was not far off. He fell ill and lost his reason. It was frightening to hear his old slave soon tell how she treated him during his suffering.

She was very strong, and was therefore selected to support her master, as he sat up in bed, by putting her arms around, while she stood behind him. It was then that she did her best to wreak her vengeance on him. She would clutch his feeble frame in her iron grasp, as in a vice; and, when her mistress did not see, would give him a squeeze, a shake, and lifting him up, set him down again, as hard as possible. If his breathing betrayed too tight a grasp, and her mistress said, 'Be careful, don't hurt him, Soan!' her every-ready answer was, 'Oh no, Missus, no,' in her most pleasant tone-and then, as soon as Missus's eyes and ears were engaged away, another grasp-another shake-another bounce. She was afraid the disease alone would let him recover,-an event she dreaded more than to do wrong herself. Isabella asked her, if she were not afraid his spirit would haunt her. 'Oh, no,' says Soan; 'he was so wicked, the devil will never let him out of hell long enough for that.'

She was very strong, so she was chosen to support her master as he sat up in bed. She stood behind him and put her arms around him. That was when she did her best to take revenge on him. She would clutch his weak body in her iron grip, as if it were in a vise. When her mistress was not watching, Soan would squeeze him, shake him, and lift him up. Then she would set him down again as hard as she could. Sometimes his breathing showed that she was holding him too tightly. Then her mistress would say, 'Be careful, don't hurt him, Soan!' Soan was always ready with an answer: 'Oh no, Missus, no,' she would say in her most pleasant tone. As soon as Missus was looking and listening elsewhere, Soan would grip him, shake him, and bounce him again. She was afraid that if she left him to his illness, he would recover. She dreaded that more than she feared doing wrong herself. Isabella asked her if she was afraid his spirit would haunt her. 'Oh, no,' said Soan. 'He was so wicked, the devil will never let him out of hell long enough for that.'

Many slaveholders boast of the love of their slaves. How would it freeze the blood of some of them to know what kind of love rankles in the bosoms of slaves for them! Witness the attempt to poison Mrs. Calhoun, and hundreds of similar cases. Most 'surprising ' to every body, because committed by slaves supposed to be so grateful for their chains.

Many slaveholders boast that their slaves love them. Some slaveholders would be horrified to know what kind of love burns in their slaves’ hearts for them! Consider the attempt to poison Mrs. Calhoun and hundreds of similar cases. Everyone found them most ‘surprising’ because they were committed by slaves who were supposed to be so grateful for their chains.

These reflections bring to mind a discussion on this point, between the writer and a slaveholding friend in Kentucky, on Christmas morning, 1846. We had asserted, that until mankind were far in advance of what they are now, irresponsible power over our fellow-beings would be, as it is, abused. Our friend declared it was his conviction, that the cruelties of slavery existed chiefly in imagination, and that no person in D- County, where we then were, but would be above ill-treating a helpless slave. We answered, that if his belief was well-founded, the people in Kentucky were greatly in advance of the people of New England-for we would not dare say as much as that of any school-district there, letting alone counties. No, we would not answer for our own conduct even on so delicate a point.

These reflections remind me of a discussion I had with a slaveholding friend in Kentucky on Christmas morning, 1846. I had argued that people would abuse unchecked power over others, as they do now, until humanity had advanced much further. My friend said he believed that the cruelties of slavery existed mostly in the imagination. He believed that everyone in D- County, where we were then, was above mistreating a helpless slave. I replied that, if he was right, the people of Kentucky were far ahead of those in New England. I would not dare say as much about any school district there, let alone whole counties. No, I would not even vouch for my own conduct on such a delicate point.

The next evening, he very magnanimously overthrew his own position and established ours, by informing us that, on the morning previous, and as near as we could learn, at the very hour in which we were earnestly discussing the probabilities of the case, a young woman of fine appearance, and high standing in society, the pride of her husband, and the mother of an infant daughter, only a few miles from us, ay, in D- County, too, was actually beating in the skull of a slave-woman called Tabby; and not content with that, had her tied up and whipped, after her skull was broken, and she died hanging to the bedstead, to which she had been fastened. When informed that Tabby was dead, she answered, 'I am glad of it, for she has worried my life out of me.' But Tabby's highest good was probably not the end proposed by Mrs. M-, for no one supposed she meant to kill her. Tabby was considered quite lacking in good sense, and no doubt belonged to that class at the South, that are silly enough to 'die of moderate correction.'

The next evening, he very generously disproved his own position and supported ours. He told us what had happened the previous morning. As nearly as we could tell, it happened at the very hour when we were earnestly discussing the probabilities. A young woman was beating in the skull of a slave-woman named Tabby. The woman was attractive and held a high position in society. She was her husband's pride and the mother of an infant daughter. And this happened only a few miles from us, yes, in D- County too. Not content with breaking Tabby's skull, the woman had her tied up and whipped. Tabby died hanging from the bedstead to which she had been fastened. When the woman was told that Tabby was dead, she answered, 'I am glad of it, for she has worried me to death.' But Mrs. M- probably did not have Tabby's highest good in mind, for no one supposed she meant to kill her. Tabby was thought to be quite lacking in good sense. No doubt she belonged to that class in the South who are silly enough to 'die of moderate correction.'

A mob collected around the house for an hour or two, in that manner expressing a momentary indignation. But was she treated as a murderess? Not at all! She was allowed to take boat (for her residence was near the beautiful Ohio) that evening, to spend a few months with her absent friends, after which she returned and remained with her husband, no one to 'molest or make her afraid.'

A mob gathered around the house for an hour or two, expressing a burst of outrage. But was she treated as a murderer? Not at all! She lived near the beautiful Ohio River, and that evening she was allowed to leave by boat. She spent a few months with friends who were away. Then she returned and stayed with her husband, with no one to 'bother her or make her afraid.'

Had she been left to the punishment of an outraged conscience from right motives, I would have 'rejoiced with exceeding joy'. But to see the life of one woman, and she a murderess, put in the balance against the lives of three millions of innocent slaves, and to contrast her punishment with what I felt would be the punishment of one who was merely suspected of being an equal friend of all mankind, regardless of color or condition, caused my blood to stir within me, and my heart to sicken at the thought. The husband of Mrs. M- was absent from home, at the time alluded to; and when he arrived, some weeks afterwards, bringing beautiful presents to his cherished companion, he beheld his once happy home deserted, Tabby murdered and buried in the garden, and the wife of his bosom, and the mother of his child, the doer of a dreadful deed, a murderess!

If she had been left to the punishment of a guilty conscience for the right reasons, I would have 'rejoiced with exceeding joy'. But I saw the life of one woman, a murderess, weighed against the lives of three million innocent slaves. I also thought about the punishment that would await someone merely suspected of being a friend to all humanity, regardless of color or condition. Comparing that punishment with hers made my blood stir and my heart grow sick. Mrs. M-'s husband was away from home at the time. When he returned several weeks later, he brought beautiful presents for his cherished companion. He found his once happy home deserted, Tabby murdered and buried in the garden. His beloved wife, the mother of his child, had committed a dreadful deed. She was a murderess!

When Isabella went to New York City, she went in company with a Miss Grear, who introduced her to the family of Mr. James Latourette, a wealthy merchant, and a Methodist in religion; but who, the latter part of his life, felt that he had outgrown ordinances, and advocated free meetings, holding them at his own dwelling-house for several years previous to his death. She worked for them, and they generously gave her a home while she labored for others, and in their kindness made her as one of their own.

When Isabella went to New York City, she traveled with a Miss Grear. Miss Grear introduced her to the family of Mr. James Latourette, a wealthy merchant and a Methodist. But later in life, he felt he had outgrown religious ordinances and advocated free meetings. He held these meetings in his own home for several years before his death. Isabella worked for the family, and they generously gave her a home while she worked for others. In their kindness, they treated her as one of their own.

At that time, the 'moral reform' movement was awakening the attention of the benevolent in that city. Many women, among whom were Mrs. Latourette and Miss Grear, became deeply interested in making an attempt to reform their fallen sisters, even the most degraded of them; and in this enterprise of labor and danger, they enlisted Isabella and others, who for a time put forth their most zealous efforts, and performed the work of missionaries with much apparent success. Isabella accompanied those ladies to the most wretched abodes of vice and misery, and sometimes she went where they dared not follow. They even succeeded in establishing prayer-meetings in several places, where such a thing might least have been expected.

At that time, the 'moral reform' movement was attracting the attention of charitable people in the city. Many women, including Mrs. Latourette and Miss Grear, became deeply interested in trying to reform their fallen sisters. They wanted to help even the most degraded among them. They enlisted Isabella and others in this difficult and dangerous effort. For a time, Isabella and the others worked with great zeal and served as missionaries with much apparent success. Isabella accompanied the women to the most miserable places of vice and suffering. Sometimes she went where they dared not follow. They even managed to establish prayer meetings in several places where such meetings might least have been expected.

But these meetings soon became the most noisy, shouting, ranting, and boisterous of gatherings; where they became delirious with excitement, and then exhausted from over-action. Such meetings Isabel had not much sympathy with, at best. But one evening she attended one of them, where the members of it, in a fit of ecstasy, jumped upon her cloak in such a manner as to drag her to the floor-and then, thinking she had fallen in a spiritual trance, they increased their glorifications on her account,-jumping, shouting, stamping, and clapping of hands; rejoicing so much over her spirit, and so entirely overlooking her body, that she suffered much, both from fear and bruises; and ever after refused to attend any more such meetings, doubting much whether God had any thing to do with such worship.

But these meetings soon became noisy, rowdy gatherings, full of shouting and ranting. The people there became delirious with excitement, then exhausted themselves with all their activity. Isabel had little sympathy for such meetings, even at their best. But one evening, she attended one where the members, in a fit of ecstasy, jumped on her cloak and dragged her to the floor. They thought she had fallen into a spiritual trance, so they celebrated even more on her account. They jumped, shouted, stamped, and clapped their hands. They rejoiced so much over her spirit and paid so little attention to her body that she suffered greatly from fear and bruises. After that, she refused to attend any more such meetings, doubting very much that God had anything to do with such worship.