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 Another Random Document on
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"Yes, Ann, and in God's eyes you are equal to a white person. He
makes no distinction; your soul is as precious and dear to Him as is
that of the fine lady clad in silk and gems."
I opened my eyes to gaze upon him, as he stood there, with his
beautiful face beaming with good feeling and love for the humblest
and lowest of God's creatures. This was religion! This was the spirit
which Christ commended. This was the love which He daily preached
and practiced.
"But how is Aunt Polly? I heard that she was suffering much."
"She is sleeping easily now," I replied.
"Well, then, don't disturb her. It is better that she should sleep;" and
he walked away, leaving me more peaceful and happy than before.
Blessed youth!—why have we not more such among us! They would
render the thongs and fetters of slavery less galling.
The day was unusually quiet; but the frostiness of the atmosphere
kept the ladies pretty close within doors; and Mr. Peterkin had,
contrary to the wishes of his family, and the injunctions of his
physician, gone out with the others upon the search; besides, he
had taken Nace and the other men with him, and, as Aunt Polly was
sick, Ginsy had been appointed in her place to prepare dinner. After
sewing very diligently for some time, I wandered out through the
poultry lot, lost in a labyrinth of strange reflection. As I neared the
path leading down toward the spring, young master's favorite walk, I
could not resist the temptation to follow it to its delightful terminus,
where he was wont to linger all the sunny summer day, and
frequently passed many hours in the winter time? I was superstitious
enough to think that some of his deep and rich philanthropy had
been caught, as by inspiration, from this lovely natural retreat; for
how could the child of such a low, beastly parent, inherit a
disposition so heavenly, and a soul so spotless? He had been bred
amid scenes of the most revolting cruelty; had lived with people of
the harshest and most brutal dispositions; yet had he contracted
from them no moral stain. Were they not hideous to look upon, and
was he not lovely as a seraph? Were they not low and vulgar, and he
lofty and celestial-minded? Why and how was this? Ah, did I not
believe him to be one of God's blessed angels, lent us for a brief
season?
The path was well-trodden, and wound and curved through the
woods, down to a clear, natural spring of water. There had been
made, by the order of young master, a turfetted seat, overgrown by
soft velvet moss, and here this youth would sit for hours to ponder,
and, perhaps, to weave golden fancies which were destined to ripen
into rich fruition in that land beyond the shores of time. As I drew
near the spring, I imagined that a calm and holy influence was
settling over me. The spirit of the place had power upon me, and I
yielded myself to the spell. It was no disease of fancy, or dream of
enchantment, that thus possessed me; for there, half-reclining on
the mossy bench, I beheld young master, and, seated at his feet,
with her little, odd, wondering face uplifted to his, was Amy; and,
crawling along, playing with the moss, and looking down into the
mirror of the spring, peered the bright eyes of little Ben. It was a
scene of such beauty that I paused to take a full view of it, before
making my presence known. Young master, with his pale, intellectual
face, his classic head, his sun-bright curls, and his earnest blue eyes,
sat in a half-lounging attitude, making no inappropriate picture of an
angel of light, whilst the two little black faces seemed emblems of
fallen, degraded humanity, listening to his pleading voice.
"Wherever you go, or in whatever condition you may be, Amy, never
forget to pray to the good Lord." As he said this, he bent his eyes
compassionately on her.
"Oh, laws, Masser, how ken I pray! de good Lord wouldn't hear me. I
is too black and dirty."
"God does not care for that. You are as dear to Him as the finest
lady of the land."
"Oh, now, Masser, you doesn't tink me is equal to you, a fine, nice,
pretty white gemman—dress so fine."
"God cares not, my child, for clothes, or the color of the skin. He
values the heart alone; and if your heart is clear, it matters not
whether your face be black or your clothes mean."
"Laws, now, young Masser," and the child laughed heartily at the
idea, "you doesn't 'spect a nigger's heart am clean. I tells you 'tis
black and dirty as dere faces."
"My poor child, I would that I had power to scatter the gloomy mist
that beclouds your mind, and let you see and know that our dying
Saviour embraced all your unfortunate race in the merits of his
divine atonement."
This speech was not comprehended by Amy. She sat looking
vacantly at him; marvelling all the while at his pretty talk, yet never
once believing that Jesus prized a negro's soul. Young master's eyes
were, as usual, elevated to the clear, majestic heavens. Not a cloud
floated in the still, serene expanse, and the air was chill. One
moment longer I waited, before revealing myself. Stepping forward,
I addressed young master in an humble tone.
"Well, Ann, what do you want?" This was not said in a petulant
voice, but with so much gentleness that it invited the burdened
heart to make its fearful disclosure.
"Oh, young Master, I know that you will pardon me for what I am
going to ask. I cannot longer restrain myself. Tell me what is to
become of us? When shall we be sold? Into whose hands shall I
fall?"
"Alas, poor Ann, I am as ignorant of father's intentions as you are. I
would that I could relieve your anxiety, but I am as uneasy about it
as you or any one can be. Oh, I am powerless to do anything to
better your unfortunate condition. I am weak as the weakest of
you."
"I know, young Master, that we have your kindest sympathy, and this
knowledge softens my trouble."
He did not reply, but sat with a perplexed expression, looking on the
ground.
"Oh, Ann, you has done gin young Masser some trouble. What fur
you do dat? We niggers ain't no 'count any how, and you hab no sort
ob bisiness be troublin' young Masser 'bout it," said Amy.
"Be still, Amy, let Ann speak her troubles freely. It will relieve her
mind. You may tell me of yours too."
Sitting down upon the sward, close to his feet, I relieved my
oppressed bosom by a copious flood of tears. Still he spoke not, but
sat silent, looking down. Amy was awed into stillness, and even little
Ben became calm and quiet as a lamb. No one broke the spell. No
one seemed anxious to do so. There are some feelings for which
silence is the best expression.
At length he said mildly, "Now, my good friends, it might be made
the subject of ungenerous remarks, if you were to be seen talking
with me long. You had better return to the house."
As Amy and I, with little Ben, rose to depart, he looked after us, and
sighing, exclaimed, "poor creatures, my heart bleeds for you!"
 CHAPTER XIV.
THE PRATTLINGS OF INSANITY—OLD WOUNDS REOPEN—THE
WALK TO THE DOCTOR'S—INFLUENCE OF NATURE.
Upon my return to the house I hastened on to the cabin, hoping to
find Aunt Polly almost entirely recovered. Passing hastily through the
yard I entered the cabin with a light step, and to my surprise found
her sitting up in a chair, playing with some old faded artificial
flowers, the dilapidated decorations of Miss Tildy's summer bonnet,
which had been swept from the house with the litter on the day
before. I had never seen her engaged in a pastime so childish and
sportive, and was not a little astonished, for her aversion to flowers
had often been to me the subject of remark.
"What have you there that is pretty, Aunt Polly?" I asked with
tenderness.
With a wondering, childish smile, she held the crushed blossoms up,
and turning them over and over in her hands, said:
"Putty things! ye is berry putty!" then pressing them to her bosom,
she stroked the leaves as kindly as though she had been smoothing
the truant locks of a well-beloved child. I could not understand this
freak, for she was one to whose uncultured soul all sweet and pretty
fancies seemed alien. Looking up to me with that vacant glance
which at once explained all, she said:
"Who's dar? Who is you? Oh, dat is my darter," and addressing me
by the remembered name of her own long-lost child, she traversed,
in thought, the whole waste-field of memory. Not a single wild-
flower in the wayside of the heart was neglected or forgotten. She
spoke of times when she had toyed and dandled her infant darling
upon her knee; then, shudderingly, she would wave me off, with
terror written all over her furrowed face, and cry, "Get you away,
Masser is comin': thar, thar he is; see him wid de ropes; he is comin'
to tar you 'way frum me. Here, here child, git under de bed, hide
frum 'em, dey is all gwine to take you 'way—'way down de river,
whar you'll never more see yer poor old mammy." Then sinking upon
her knees, with her hands outstretched, and her eyes eagerly
strained forward, and bent on vacancy, she frantically cried:
"Masser, please, please Masser, don't take my poor chile from me.
It's all I is got on dis ar' airth; Masser, jist let me hab it and I'll work
fur you, I'll sarve you all de days ob my life. You may beat my ole
back as much as you please; you may make me work all de day and
all de night, jist, so I ken keep my chile. Oh, God, oh, God! see, dere
dey goes, wid my poor chile screaming and crying for its mammy!
See, see it holds its arms to me! Oh, dat big hard man struck it sich
a blow. Now, now dey is out ob sight." And crawling on her knees,
with arms outspread, she seemed to be following some imaginary
object, until, reaching the door, I feared in her transport of agony
she would do herself some injury, and, catching her strongly in my
arms, I attempted to hold her back; but she was endowed with a
superhuman strength, and pushed me violently against the wall.
"Thar, you wretch, you miserble wretch, dat would keep me from my
chile, take dat blow, and I wish it would send yer to yer grave."
Recoiling a few steps, I looked at her. A wild and lurid light gathered
in her eye, and a fiendish expression played over her face. She
clenched her hands, and pressed her old broken teeth hard upon her
lips, until the blood gushed from them; frothing at the mouth, and
wild with excitement, she made an attempt to bound forward and
fell upon the floor. I screamed for help, and sprang to lift her up.
Blood oozed from her mouth and nose; her eyes rolled languidly,
and her under-jaw fell as though it were broken.
In terror I bore her to the bed, and, laying her down, I went to get a
bowl of water to wash the blood and foam from her face. Meeting
Amy at the door, I told her Aunt Polly was very sick, and requested
her to remain there until my return.
I fled to the kitchen, and seizing a pan of water that stood upon the
shelf, returned to the cabin. There I found young master bending
over Aunt Polly, and wiping the blood-stains from her mouth and
nose with his own handkerchief. This was, indeed, the ministration
of the high to the lowly. This generous boy never remembered the
distinctions of color, but with that true spirit of human brotherhood
which Christ inculcated by many memorable examples, he ministered
to the humble, the lowly, and the despised. Indeed, such seemed to
take a firmer hold upon his heart. Here, in this lowly cabin, like the
good Samaritan of old, he paused to bind up the wounds of a poor
outcast upon the dreary wayside of existence.
Bending tenderly over Aunt Polly, until his luxuriant golden curls
swept her withered face, he pressed his linen handkerchief to her
mouth and nose to staunch the rapid flow of blood.
"Oh, Ann, have you come with the water? I fear she is almost gone;
throw it in her face with a slight force, it may revive her," he said in
a calm tone.
I obeyed, but there was no sign of consciousness. After one or two
repetitions she moved a little, young master drew a bottle of sal
volatile from his pocket, and applied it to her nose. The effect was
sudden; she started up spasmodically, and looking round the room
laughed wildly, frightfully; then, shaking her head, her face resumed
its look of pitiful imbecility.
"The light is quenched, and forever," said young master, and the
tears came to his eyes and rolled slowly down his cheeks. Amy, with
Ben in her arms, stood by in anxious wonder; creeping up to young
master's side, she looked earnestly in his face, saying—
"Don't cry, Masser, Aunt Polly will soon be well; she jist sick for little
while. De lick Masser gib her only hurt her little time,—she 'most
well now, but her does look mighty wild."
"Oh, Lord, how much longer must these poor people be tried in the
furnace of affliction? How much longer wilt thou permit a suffering
race to endure this harsh warfare? Oh, Divine Father, look pityingly
down on this thy humble servant, who is so sorely tried." The latter
part of the speech was uttered as he sank upon his knees; and down
there upon the coarse puncheon floor we all knelt, young master
forming the central figure of the group, whilst little Amy, the baby-
boy Ben, and the poor lunatic, as if in mimicry, joined us. We
surrounded him, and surely that beautiful heart-prayer must have
reached the ear of God. When such purity asks for grace and mercy
upon the poor and unfortunate, the ear of Divine grace listens.
"What fur you pray?" asked the poor lunatic.
"I ask mercy for sore souls like thine."
"Oh, dat is funny; but say, sir, whar is my chile? Whar is she? Why
don't she come to me? She war here a minnit ago; but now she
does be gone away."
"Oh, what a mystery is the human frame! Lyre of the spirit, how
soon is thy music jarred into discord." Young master uttered this
rhapsody in a manner scarcely audible, but to my ear no sound of
his was lost, not a word, syllable, or tone!
"Poor Luce—is dat Luce?" and the poor, crazed creature stared at me
with a bewildered gaze! "and my baby-boy, whar is he, and my
oldest sons? Dey is all gone from me and forever." She began to
weep piteously.
"Watch with her kindly till I send Jake for the doctor," he said to me;
then rallying himself, he added, "but they are all gone—gone upon
that accursed hunt;" and, seating himself in a chair, he pressed his
fingers hard upon his closed eye-lids. "Stay, I will go myself for the
doctor—she must not be neglected."
And rising from his chair he buttoned his coat, and, charging me to
take good care of her, was about starting, but Aunt Polly sprang
forward and caught him by the arms, exclaiming,
"Oh, putty, far angel, don't leab me. I kan't let you leab me—stay
here. I has no peace when you is gone. Dey will come and beat me
agin, and dey will take my chil'en frum me. Oh, please now, you stay
wid me."
And she held on to him with such a pitiful fondness, and there was
so much anxiety in her face, such an infantile look of tenderness,
with the hopeless vacancy of idiocy in the eye, that to refuse her
would have been harsh; and of this young master was incapable. So,
turning to me, he said,
"You go, Ann, for the doctor, and I will stay with her—poor old
creature I have never done anything for her, and now I will gratify
her."
As the horses had all been taken by the pursuers of Lindy, I was
forced to walk to Dr. Mandy's farm, which was about two miles
distant from Mr. Peterkin's. I was glad of this, for of late it was
indeed but seldom that I had been allowed to indulge in a walk
through the woods. All through the leafy glory of the summer
season I had looked toward the old sequestered forest with a
longing eye. Each little bird seemed wooing me away, yet my
occupations confined me closely to the house; and a pleasure-walk,
even on Sunday, was a luxury which a negro might dream of but
never indulge. Now, though it was the lonely autumn time, yet loved
I still the woods, dismantled as they were. There is something in the
grandeur of the venerable forests, that always lifts the soul to
devotion! The patriarchal trees and the delicate sward, the wind-
music and the almost ceaseless miserere of the grove, elevate the
heart, and to the cultivated mind speak with a power to which that
of books is but poor and tame.
 CHAPTER XV.
QUIETUDE OF THE WOODS—A GLIMPSE OF THE STRANGER—MRS.
MANDY'S WORDS OF CRUEL IRONY—SAD REFLECTIONS.
The freshening breeze, tempered with the keen chill of the coming
winter, made a lively music through the woods, as, floating along, it
toyed with the fallen leaves that lay dried and sere upon the earth.
There stood the giant trees, rearing their bald and lofty heads to the
heavens, whilst at their feet was spread their splendid summer
livery. Like the philosophers of old, in their calm serenity they looked
away from earth and its troubles to the "bright above."
I wandered on, with a quick step, in the direction of the doctor's.
The recent painful events were not calculated to color my thoughts
very pleasingly; yet I had taught myself to live so entirely within, to
be so little affected by what was without, that I could be happy in
imagination, notwithstanding what was going on in the external
world. 'Tis well that the negro is of an imaginative cast. Suppose he
were by nature strongly practical and matter-of-fact; life could not
endure with him. His dreaminess, his fancy, makes him happy in
spite of the dreary reality which surrounds him. The poor slave, with
not a sixpence in his pocket, dreams of the time when he shall be
able to buy himself, and revels in this most delightful Utopia.
I had walked on for some distance, without meeting any object of
special interest, when, passing through a large "deadening," I was
surprised to see a gentleman seated upon a fragment of what had
once been a noble tree. He was engaged at that occupation which is
commonly considered to denote want of thought, viz., whittling a
stick.
I stopped suddenly, and looked at him very eagerly, for now, with
the broad day-light streaming over him, I recognized the one whom
I had watched in the dubious moonbeams! This was Mr. Robert
Worth, the man who held those dangerous Abolition principles—the
fanatic, who was rash enough to express, south of Mason and
Dixon's line, the opinion that negroes are human beings and entitled
to consideration. Here now he was, and I could look at him. How I
longed to speak to him, to talk with him, hear him tell all his
generous views; to ask questions as to those free Africans at the
North who had achieved name and fame, and learn more of the
distinguished orator, Frederick Douglass! So great was my desire,
that I was almost ready to break through restraint, and, forgetful of
my own position, fling myself at his feet, and beg him to comfort
me. Then came the memory of Miss Bradly's treachery, and I
sheathed my heart. "No, no, I will not again trust to white people.
They have no sympathy with us, our natures are too simple for their
cunning;" and, reflecting thus, I walked on, yet I felt as if I could not
pass him. He had spoken so nobly in behalf of the slave, had uttered
such lofty sentiments, that my whole soul bowed down to him in
worship. I longed to pay homage to him. There is a principle in the
slave's nature to reverence, to look upward; hence, he makes the
most devout Christian, and were it not for this same spirit, he would
be but a poor servant.
So it was with difficulty I could let pass this opportunity of speaking
with one whom I held in such veneration; but I governed myself and
went on. All the distance I was pondering upon what I had heard in
relation to those of my brethren who had found an asylum in the
North. Oh, once there, I could achieve so much! I felt, within myself,
a latent power, that, under more fortunate circumstances, might be
turned to advantage. When I reached Doctor Mandy's residence I
found that he had gone out to visit a patient. His wife came out to
see me, and asked,
"Who is sick at Mr. Peterkin's?"
I told her, "Aunt Polly, the cook."
"Is much the matter?"
"Yes, Madam; young master thinks she has lost her reason."
"Lost her reason!" exclaimed Mrs. Mandy.
"Yes, Madam; she doesn't seem to know any of us, and evidently
wanders in her thoughts." I could not repress the evidence of
emotion when I remembered how kind to me the old creature had
been, nay, that for me she had received the blow which had
deprived her of reason.
"Poor girl, don't cry," said Mrs. Mandy. This lady was of a warm,
good heart, and was naturally touched at the sight of human
suffering; she was one of that quiet sort of beings who feel a great
deal and say but little. Fearful of giving offence, she usually kept
silence, lest the open expression of her sympathy should defeat the
purpose. A weak, though a good person, she now felt annoyed
because she had been beguiled into even pity for a servant. She did
not believe in slavery, yet she dared not speak against the "peculiar
institution" of the South. It would injure the doctor's practice, a
matter about which she must be careful.
I knew my place too well to say much; therefore I observed a
respectful silence.
"Now, Ann, you had better hurry home. I expect there is great
excitement at your house, and the ladies will need your services to-
day, particularly; to remain out too long might excite suspicion, and
be of no service to you."
My looks plainly showed how entire was my acquiescence. She must
have known this, and then, as if self-interest suggested it, she said,
"You have a good home, Ann, I hope you will never do as Lindy has
done. Homes like yours are rare, and should be appreciated. Where
will you ever again find such kind mistresses and such a good
master?"
"Homes such as mine are rare!" I would that they were; but, alas!
they are too common, as many farms in Kentucky can show! Oh,
what a terrible institution this one must be, which originates and
involves so many crimes! Now, here was a kind, honest-hearted
woman, who felt assured of the criminality of slavery; yet, as it is
recognized and approved by law, she could not, save at the risk of
social position, pecuniary loss and private inconvenience, even
express an opinion against it. I was the oppressed slave of one of
her wealthy neighbors; she dared not offer me even a word of pity,
but needs must outrage all my nature by telling me that I had a
"good home, kind mistresses and a good master!" Oh, bitter
mockery of torn and lacerated feelings! My blood curdled as I
listened. How much I longed to fling aside the servility at which my
whole soul revolted, and tell her, with a proud voice, how poorly I
thought she supported the dignity of a true womanhood, when thus,
for the poor reward of gold, she could smile at, and even encourage,
a system which is at war with the best interest of human nature;
which aims a deadly blow at the very machinery of society; aye,
attacks the noble and venerable institution of marriage, and breaks
asunder ties which God has commanded us to reverence! This is the
policy of that institution, which Southern people swear they will
support even with their life-blood! I have ransacked my brain to find
out a clue to the wondrous infatuation. I have known, during the
years of my servitude, men who had invested more than half of their
wealth in slaves; and he is generally accounted the greatest
gentleman, who owns the most negroes. Now, there is a reason for
the Louisiana or Mississippi planter's investing largely in this sort of
property; but why the Kentucky farmer should wish to own slaves, is
a mystery: surely it cannot be for the petty ambition of holding
human beings in bondage, lording it over immortal souls! Oh,
perverse and strange human nature! Thoughts like these, with a
lightning-like power, drove through my brain and influenced my mind
against Mrs. Mandy, who, I doubt not, was, at heart, a kind, well-
meaning woman. How can the slave be a philanthropist?
Without saying anything whereby my safety could be imperilled, I
left Mrs. Mandy's residence. When I had walked about a hundred
yards from the house, I turned and looked back, and was surprised
to see her looking after me. "Oh, white woman," I inwardly
exclaimed, "nursed in luxury, reared in the lap of bounty, with
friends, home and kindred, that mortal power cannot tear you from,
how can you pity the poor, oppressed slave, who has no liberty, no
right, no father, no brother, or friend, only as the white man chooses
he shall have!" Who could expect these children of wealth, fostered
by prosperity, and protected by the law, to feel for the ignorant
negro, who through ages and generations has been crushed and
kept in ignorance? We are told to love our masters! Why should we?
Are we dogs to lick the hand that strikes us? Or are we men and
women with never-dying souls—men and women unprotected in the
very land they have toiled to beautify and adorn! Oh, little, little do
ye know, my proud, free brothers and sisters in the North, of all the
misery we endure, or of the throes of soul that we have! The
humblest of us feel that we are deprived of something that we are
entitled to by the law of God and nature.
I rambled on through the woods, wrapped in the shadows of gloom
and misanthropy. "Why," I asked myself, "can't I be a hog or dog to
come at the call of my owner? Would it not be better for me if I
could repress all the lofty emotions and generous impulses of my
soul, and become a spiritless thing? I would swap natures with the
lowest insect, the basest serpent that crawls upon the earth. Oh,
that I could quench this thirsty spirit, satisfy this hungry heart, that
craveth so madly the food and drink of knowledge! Is it right to
conquer the spirit, which God has given us? Is it best for a high-
souled being to sit supinely down and bear the vile trammels of an
unnatural and immoral bondage? Are these aspirings sent us from
above? Are they wings lent the spirit from an angel? Or must they
be clipped and crushed as belonging to the evil spirit?" As I walked
on, in this state of mind, I neared the spot where I had beheld the
interesting stranger.
To my surprise and joy I found him still there, occupied as before, in
whittling, perhaps the same stick. You, my free friends, who, from
the fortunate accident of birth, are entitled to the heritage of liberty,
can but poorly understand how very humble and degraded American
slavery makes the victim. Now, though I knew this man possessed
the very information for which I so longed, I dared not presume to
address him on a subject even of such vital import. I dare say, and
indeed after-times proved, this young apostle of reform would have
applauded as heroism what then seemed to me as audacity.
With many a lingering look toward him, I pursued the "noiseless
tenor of my way."
 CHAPTER XVI.
A REFLECTION—AMERICAN ABOLITIONISTS—DISAFFECTION IN
KENTUCKY—THE YOUNG MASTER—HIS REMONSTRANCE.
Upon my arrival home I found that the doctor, lured by curiosity, and
not by business, had called. The news of Lindy's flight had reached
him in many garbled and exaggerated forms; so he had come to
assure himself of the truth. Of course, with all a Southern patriot's
ire, he pronounced Lindy's conduct an atrocious crime, for which she
should answer with life, or that far worse penalty (as some thought),
banishment "down the river." Thought I not strangely, severely, of
those persons, the doctor and the ladies, as they sat there,
luxuriating over a bottle of wine, denouncing vengeance against a
poor, forlorn girl, who was trying to achieve her liberty;—heroically
contending for that on which Americans pride themselves? Had she
been a Hungarian or an Irish maid, seeking an asylum from the
tyranny of a King, she would have been applauded as one whose
name was worthy to be enrolled in the litany of heroes; but she was
a poor, ignorant African, with a sooty face, and because of this all
sympathy was denied her, and she was pronounced nothing but a
"runaway negro," who deserved a terrible punishment; and the hand
outstretched to relieve her, would have been called guilty of treason.
Oh, wise and boastful Americans, see ye no oppression in all this, or
do ye exult in that odious spot, which will blacken the fairest page of
your history "to the last syllable of recorded time"? Does not a blush
stain your cheeks when you make vaunting speeches about the
character of your government? Ye cannot, I know ye cannot, be easy
in your consciences; I know that a secret, unspoken trouble gnaws
like a canker in your breasts! Many of you veil your eyes, and grope
through the darkness of this domestic oppression; you will not listen
to the cries of the helpless, but sit supinely down and argue upon
the "right" of the thing. There were kind and tender-hearted Jews,
who felt that the crucifixion of the Messiah was a fearful crime, yet
fear sealed their lips. And are there not now time-serving men, who
are worthy and capable of better things, but from motives of policy
will offer no word against this barbarous system of slavery? Oh,
show me the men, like that little handful at the North, who are
willing to forfeit everything for the maintenance of human justice
and mercy. Blessed apostles, near to the mount of God! your lips
have been touched with the flame of a new Pentecost, and ye speak
as never men spake before! Who that listens to the words of Parker,
Sumner, and Seward, can believe them other than inspired? Theirs is
no ordinary gift of speech; it burns and blazes with a mighty power!
Cold must be the ear that hears them unmoved; and hard the heart
that throbs not in unison with their noble and earnest expressions!
Often have I paused in this little book, to render a feeble tribute to
these great reformers. It may be thought out of place, yet I cannot
repress the desire to speak my voluntary gratitude, and, in the name
of all my scattered race, thank them for the noble efforts they have
made in our behalf!
All the malignity of my nature was aroused against Miss Bradly,
when I heard her voice loudest in denunciation against Lindy.
As I was passing through the room, I could catch fragments of
conversation anything but pleasing to the ear of a slave; but I had to
listen in meekness, letting not even a working muscle betray my
dissent. They were orthodox, and would not tolerate even from an
equal a word contrary to their views.
I did not venture to ask the doctor what he thought of Aunt Polly, for
that would have been called impudent familiarity, punishable with
whipping at the "post;" but when I met young master in the entry, I
learned from him that the case was one of hopeless insanity. Blood-
letting, &c., had been resorted to, but with no effect. The doctor
gave it as his opinion that the case was "without remedy." Not
knowing that young master differed from his father and sisters, the
doctor had, in his jocose and unfeeling way, suggested that it was
not much difference; the old thing was of but little value; she was
old and worn-out. To all this young master made no other reply than
a fixed look from his meek eyes—a look which the doctor could not
understand; for the idea of sympathy with or pity for a slave would
have struck him as being a thing existing only in the bosom of a
fanatical abolitionist, whose conviction would not permit him to cross
the line of Mason and Dixon. Ah! little knew he (the coarse doctor)
what a large heart full of human charities had grown within; nay,
was indigenous to this south-western latitude. I believe, yes have
reason to know, that the pure sentiment of abolition is one that is
near and dear to the heart of many a Kentuckian; even those who
are themselves the hereditary holders of slaves are, in many
instances, the most opposed to the system. This sentiment is,
perhaps, more largely developed in, and more openly expressed by,
the females of the State; and this is accounted for from the fact that
to be suspected of abolition tendencies is at once the plague-mark
whereby a man is ever after considered unfit for public trust or
political honor. It is the great question, the strong conservative
element of society. To some extent it likewise taboos, in social
circles, the woman who openly expresses such sentiments; though
as she has no popular interests to stake, in many cases her voice will
be on the side of right, not might.
In later years I remember to have overheard a colloquy between a
lady and gentleman (both slaveholders) in Kentucky. The gentleman
had vast possessions, about one-third of which consisted of slaves.
The lady's entire wealth was in six negroes, some of them under the
age of ten. They were hired out at the highest market prices, and by
the proceeds she was supported. She had been raised in a strongly
conservative community; nay, her own family were (to use a
Kentuckyism) the "pick and choose" of the pro-slavery party. Some
of them had been considered the able vindicators of the "system;"
yet she, despite the force of education and the influence of domestic
training, had broken away from old trammels and leash-strings, and
was, both in thought and expression, a bold, ingrain abolitionist. She
defied the lions in their chosen dens. On the occasion of this
conversation, I heard her say that she could not remain happy whilst
she detained in bondage those creatures who could claim, under the
Constitution, alike with her, their freedom; and so soon as she
attained her majority, she intended to liberate them. "But," said she
—and I shall never forget the mournful look of her dark eye—"the
statute of the State will not allow them to remain here ten days after
liberation; and one of these men has a wife (to whom he is much
attached), who is a slave to a master that will neither free her nor
sell her. Now, this poor captive husband would rather remain in
slavery to me, than be parted from his wife; and here is the point
upon which I always stand. I wish to be humane and just to him;
and yet rid myself from the horrid crime to which, from the accident
of inheritance, I have become accessory." The gentleman, who
seemed touched by the heroism of the girl, was beguiled into a
candid acknowledgment of his own sentiments; and freely declared
to her that, if it were not for his political aspirations, he would
openly free every slave he owned, and relieve his conscience from
the weight of the "perilous stuff" that so oppressed it. "But," said he,
"were I to do it in Kentucky, I should be politically dead. It would,
besides, strike a blow at my legal practice, and then what could I
do? 'Othello's occupation would be gone.' Of what avail, then, would
be my 'quiddits, quillets; my cases, tenures and my tricks?' I, who
am high in political favor, should live to read my shame. I, who now
'tower in my pride of place, should, by some mousing owl, be
hawked at and killed.' No, I must burden my conscience yet a little
longer."
The lady, with all a young girl's naïve and beautiful enthusiasm,
besought him to disregard popular praise and worldly distinction.
"Seek first," said she, "the kingdom of heaven, and all things else
shall be given you;" but the gentleman had grown hard in this
world's devious wiles. He preferred throwing off his allegiance to
Providence, and, single-handed and alone, making his fate. Talk to
me of your thrifty men, your popular characters, and I instantly
know that you mean a cringing, parasitical server of the populace;
one who sinks soul, spirit and manly independence for the mere
garments that cover his perishable body, and to whom the empty
plaudits of the unthinking crowd are better music than the thankful
prayer of suffering humanity. Let such an one, I say, have his full
measure of the "clapping of hands," let him hear it all the while; for
he cannot see the frown that darkens the brow of the guardian
angel, who, with a sigh, records his guilt. Go on, thou worldly
Pharisee, but the day will come, when the lowly shall be exalted.
Trust and wait we longer. Oh, ye who "know the right, and yet the
wrong pursue," a fearful reckoning will be yours.
But young master was not of this sort; I felt that his lips were closed
from other and higher motives. If it had been of any avail, no matter
what the cost to himself, he would have spoken. His soul knew but
one sentiment, and that was "love to God and good will to men on
earth." And now, as he entered the room where the doctor and the
ladies were seated, and listened to their heartless conversation, he
planted himself firmly in their midst, saying:
"Sisters, the time has come when I must speak. Patiently have I
lived beneath this my father's roof, and witnessed, without uttering
one word, scenes at which my whole soul revolted; I have heard
that which has driven me from your side. On my bare knees, in the
gloom of the forest, I have besought God to soften your hearts. I
have asked that the dew of mercy might descend upon the hoary
head of my father, and that womanly gentleness might visit your
obdurate hearts. I have felt that I could give my life up a sacrifice to
obtain this; but my unworthy prayers have not yet been answered.
In vain, in vain, I have hoped to see a change in you. Are you
women or fiends? How can you persecute, to the death, poor,
ignorant creatures, whose only fault is a black skin? How can you
inhumanly beat those who have no protectors but you? Reverse the
case, and take upon yourselves their condition; how would you act?
Could you bear silently the constant "wear and tear" of body, the
perpetual imprisonment of the soul? Could you surrender yourselves
entirely to the keeping of another, and that other your primal foe—
one who for ages has had his arm uplifted against your race?
Suppose you every day witnessed a board groaning with luxuries
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