prompt:
Chapter: Mr. Flint was hard pushed for house servants, and rather than lose me he
had restrained his malice. I did my work faithfully, though not, of course,
with a willing mind. They were evidently afraid I should leave them. Mr.
Flint wished that I should sleep in the great house instead of the
servants' quarters. His wife agreed to the proposition, but said I mustn't
bring my bed into the house, because it would scatter feathers on her
carpet. I knew when I went there that they would never think of such a
thing as furnishing a bed of any kind for me and my little ones. I
therefore carried my own bed, and now I was forbidden to use it. I did as I
was ordered. But now that I was certain my children were to be put in their
power, in order to give them a stronger hold on me, I resolved to leave
them that night. I remembered the grief this step would bring upon my dear
old grandmother, and nothing less than the freedom of my children would
have induced me to disregard her advice. I went about my evening work with
trembling steps. Mr. Flint twice called from his chamber door to inquire
why the house was not locked up. I replied that I had not done my work.
"You have had time enough to do it," said he. "Take care how you answer
me!"

I shut all the windows, locked all the doors, and went up to the third
story, to wait till midnight. How long those hours seemed, and how
fervently I prayed that God would not forsake me in this hour of utmost
need! I was about to risk every thing on the throw of a die; and if I
failed, O what would become of me and my poor children? They would be made
to suffer for my fault.

At half past twelve I stole softly down stairs. I stopped on the second
floor, thinking I heard a noise. I felt my way down into the parlor, and
looked out of the window. The night was so intensely dark that I could see
nothing. I raised the window very softly and jumped out. Large drops of
rain were falling, and the darkness bewildered me. I dropped on my knees,
and breathed a short prayer to God for guidance and protection. I groped my
way to the road, and rushed towards the town with almost lightning speed. I
arrived at my grandmother's house, but dared not see her. She would say,
"Linda, you are killing me;" and I knew that would unnerve me. I tapped
softly at the window of a room, occupied by a woman, who had lived in the
house several years. I knew she was a faithful friend, and could be trusted
with my secret. I tapped several times before she heard me. At last she
raised the window, and I whispered, "Sally, I have run away. Let me in,
quick." She opened the door softly, and said in low tones, "For God's sake,
don't. Your grandmother is trying to buy you and de chillern. Mr. Sands was
here last week. He tole her he was going away on business, but he wanted
her to go ahead about buying you and de chillern, and he would help her all
he could. Don't run away, Linda. Your grandmother is all bowed down wid
trouble now."

I replied, "Sally, they are going to carry my children to the plantation
to-morrow; and they will never sell them to any body so long as they have
me in their power. Now, would you advise me to go back?"

"No, chile, no," answered she. "When dey finds you is gone, dey won't want
de plague ob de chillern; but where is you going to hide? Dey knows ebery
inch ob dis house."

I told her I had a hiding-place, and that was all it was best for her to
know. I asked her to go into my room as soon as it was light, and take all
my clothes out of my trunk, and pack them in hers; for I knew Mr. Flint and
the constable would be there early to search my room. I feared the sight of
my children would be too much for my full heart; but I could not go into
the uncertain future without one last look. I bent over the bed where lay
my little Benny and baby Ellen. Poor little ones! fatherless and
motherless! Memories of their father came over me. He wanted to be kind to
them; but they were not all to him, as they were to my womanly heart. I
knelt and prayed for the innocent little sleepers. I kissed them lightly,
and turned away.

As I was about to open the street door, Sally laid her hand on my shoulder,
and said, "Linda, is you gwine all alone? Let me call your uncle."

"No, Sally," I replied, "I want no one to be brought into trouble on my
account."

I went forth into the darkness and rain. I ran on till I came to the house
of the friend who was to conceal me.

Early the next morning Mr. Flint was at my grandmother's inquiring for me.
She told him she had not seen me, and supposed I was at the plantation. He
watched her face narrowly, and said, "Don't you know any thing about her
running off?" She assured him that she did not. He went on to say, "Last
night she ran off without the least provocation. We had treated her very
kindly. My wife liked her. She will soon be found and brought back. Are her
children with you?" When told that they were, he said, "I am very glad to
hear that. If they are here, she cannot be far off. If I find out that any
of my niggers have had any thing to do with this damned business, I'll give
'em five hundred lashes." As he started to go to his father's, he turned
round and added, persuasively, "Let her be brought back, and she shall have
her children to live with her."

The tidings made the old doctor rave and storm at a furious rate. It was a
busy day for them. My grandmother's house was searched from top to bottom.
As my trunk was empty, they concluded I had taken my clothes with me.
Before ten o'clock every vessel northward bound was thoroughly examined,
and the law against harboring fugitives was read to all on board. At night
a watch was set over the town. Knowing how distressed my grandmother would
be, I wanted to send her a message; but it could not be done. Every one who
went in or out of her house was closely watched. The doctor said he would
take my children, unless she became responsible for them; which of course
she willingly did. The next day was spent in searching. Before night, the
following advertisement was posted at every corner, and in every public
place for miles round:--

$300 REWARD! Ran away from the subscriber, an intelligent, bright, mulatto
girl, named Linda, 21 years of age. Five feet four inches high. Dark eyes,
and black hair inclined to curl; but it can be made straight. Has a decayed
spot on a front tooth. She can read and write, and in all probability will
try to get to the Free States. All persons are forbidden, under penalty of
law, to harbor or employ said slave. $150 will be given to whoever takes
her in the state, and $300 if taken out of the state and delivered to me,
or lodged in jail.

Dr. Flint.

The search for me was kept up with more perseverence than I had
anticipated. I began to think that escape was impossible. I was in great
anxiety lest I should implicate the friend who harbored me. I knew the
consequences would be frightful; and much as I dreaded being caught, even
that seemed better than causing an innocent person to suffer for kindness
to me. A week had passed in terrible suspense, when my pursuers came into
such close vicinity that I concluded they had tracked me to my
hiding-place. I flew out of the house, and concealed myself in a thicket of
bushes. There I remained in an agony of fear for two hours. Suddenly, a
reptile of some kind seized my leg. In my fright, I struck a blow which
loosened its hold, but I could not tell whether I had killed it; it was so
dark, I could not see what it was; I only knew it was something cold and
slimy. The pain I felt soon indicated that the bite was poisonous. I was
compelled to leave my place of concealment, and I groped my way back into
the house. The pain had become intense, and my friend was startled by my
look of anguish. I asked her to prepare a poultice of warm ashes and
vinegar, and I applied it to my leg, which was already much swollen. The
application gave me some relief, but the swelling did not abate. The dread
of being disabled was greater than the physical pain I endured. My friend
asked an old woman, who doctored among the slaves, what was good for the
bite of a snake or a lizard. She told her to steep a dozen coppers in
vinegar, over night, and apply the cankered vinegar to the inflamed
part.[1]

[Footnote 1: The poison of a snake is a powerful acid, and is counteracted
by powerful alkalies, such as potash, ammonia, &c. The Indians are
accustomed to apply wet ashes, or plunge the limb into strong lie. White
men, employed to lay out railroads in snaky places, often carry ammonia
with them as an antidote.--EDITOR.]

I had succeeded in cautiously conveying some messages to my relatives. They
were harshly threatened, and despairing of my having a chance to escape,
they advised me to return to my master, ask his forgiveness, and let him
make an example of me. But such counsel had no influence with me. When I
started upon this hazardous undertaking, I had resolved that, come what
would, there should be no turning back. "Give me liberty, or give me
death," was my motto. When my friend contrived to make known to my
relatives the painful situation I had been in for twenty-four hours, they
said no more about my going back to my master. Something must be done, and
that speedily; but where to return for help, they knew not. God in his
mercy raised up "a friend in need."

Among the ladies who were acquainted with my grandmother, was one who had
known her from childhood, and always been very friendly to her. She had
also known my mother and her children, and felt interested for them. At
this crisis of affairs she called to see my grandmother, as she not
unfrequently did. She observed the sad and troubled expression of her face,
and asked if she knew where Linda was, and whether she was safe. My
grandmother shook her head, without answering. "Come, Aunt Martha,"
said the kind lady, "tell me all about it. Perhaps I can do something
to help you." The husband of this lady held many slaves, and bought and
sold slaves. She also held a number in her own name; but she treated
them kindly, and would never allow any of them to be sold. She was
unlike the majority of slaveholders' wives. My grandmother looked
earnestly at her. Something in the expression of her face said
"Trust me!" and she did trust her. She listened attentively to
the details of my story, and sat thinking for a while. At last she said,
"Aunt Martha, I pity you both. If you think there is any chance of Linda's
getting to the Free States, I will conceal her for a time. But first you
must solemnly promise that my name shall never be mentioned. If such a
thing should become known, it would ruin me and my family. No one in my
house must know of it, except the cook. She is so faithful that I would
trust my own life with her; and I know she likes Linda. It is a great risk;
but I trust no harm will come of it. Get word to Linda to be ready as soon
as it is dark, before the patrols are out. I will send the housemaids on
errands, and Betty shall go to meet Linda." The place where we were to meet
was designated and agreed upon. My grandmother was unable to thank the lady
for this noble deed; overcome by her emotions, she sank on her knees and
sobbed like a child.

I received a message to leave my friend's house at such an hour, and go to
a certain place where a friend would be waiting for me. As a matter of
prudence no names were mentioned. I had no means of conjecturing who I was
to meet, or where I was going. I did not like to move thus blindfolded, but
I had no choice. It would not do for me to remain where I was. I disguised
myself, summoned up courage to meet the worst, and went to the appointed
place. My friend Betty was there; she was the last person I expected to
see. We hurried along in silence. The pain in my leg was so intense that it
seemed as if I should drop but fear gave me strength. We reached the house
and entered unobserved. Her first words were: "Honey, now you is safe. Dem
devils ain't coming to search _dis_ house. When I get you into missis' safe
place, I will bring some nice hot supper. I specs you need it after all dis
skeering." Betty's vocation led her to think eating the most important
thing in life. She did not realize that my heart was too full for me to
care much about supper.

The mistress came to meet us, and led me up stairs to a small room over her
own sleeping apartment. "You will be safe here, Linda," said she; "I keep
this room to store away things that are out of use. The girls are not
accustomed to be sent to it, and they will not suspect any thing unless
they hear some noise. I always keep it locked, and Betty shall take care of
the key. But you must be very careful, for my sake as well as your own; and
you must never tell my secret; for it would ruin me and my family. I will
keep the girls busy in the morning, that Betty may have a chance to bring
your breakfast; but it will not do for her to come to you again till night.
I will come to see you sometimes. Keep up your courage. I hope this state
of things will not last long." Betty came with the "nice hot supper," and
the mistress hastened down stairs to keep things straight till she
returned. How my heart overflowed with gratitude! Words choked in my
throat; but I could have kissed the feet of my benefactress. For that deed
of Christian womanhood, may God forever bless her!

I went to sleep that night with the feeling that I was for the present the
most fortunate slave in town. Morning came and filled my little cell with
light. I thanked the heavenly Father for this safe retreat. Opposite my
window was a pile of feather beds. On the top of these I could lie
perfectly concealed, and command a view of the street through which Dr.
Flint passed to his office. Anxious as I was, I felt a gleam of
satisfaction when I saw him. Thus far I had outwitted him, and I triumphed
over it. Who can blame slaves for being cunning? They are constantly
compelled to resort to it. It is the only weapon of the weak and oppressed
against the strength of their tyrants.

I was daily hoping to hear that my master had sold my children; for I knew
who was on the watch to buy them. But Dr. Flint cared even more for revenge
than he did for money. My brother William and the good aunt who had served
in his family twenty years, and my little Benny, and Ellen, who was a
little over two years old, were thrust into jail, as a means of compelling
my relatives to give some information about me. He swore my grandmother
should never see one of them again till I was brought back. They kept these
facts from me for several days. When I heard that my little ones were in a
loathsome jail, my first impulse was to go to them. I was encountering
dangers for the sake of freeing them, and must I be the cause of their
death? The thought was agonizing. My benefactress tried to soothe me by
telling me that my aunt would take good care of the children while they
remained in jail. But it added to my pain to think that the good old aunt,
who had always been so kind to her sister's orphan children, should be shut
up in prison for no other crime than loving them. I suppose my friends
feared a reckless movement on my part, knowing, as they did, that my life
was bound up in my children. I received a note from my brother William. It
was scarcely legible, and ran thus: "Wherever you are, dear sister, I beg
of you not to come here. We are all much better off than you are. If you
come, you will ruin us all. They would force you to tell where you had
been, or they would kill you. Take the advice of your friends; if not for
the sake of me and your children, at least for the sake of those you would
ruin."

Poor William! He also must suffer for being my brother. I took his advice
and kept quiet. My aunt was taken out of jail at the end of a month,
because Mrs. Flint could not spare her any longer. She was tired of being
her own housekeeper. It was quite too fatiguing to order her dinner and eat
it too. My children remained in jail, where brother William did all he
could for their comfort. Betty went to see them sometimes, and brought me
tidings. She was not permitted to enter the jail; but William would hold
them up to the grated window while she chatted with them. When she repeated
their prattle, and told me how they wanted to see their ma, my tears would
flow. Old Betty would exclaim, "Lors, chile! what's you crying 'bout? Dem
young uns vil kill you dead. Don't be so chick'n hearted! If you does, you
vil nebber git thro' dis world."

Good old soul! She had gone through the world childless. She had never had
little ones to clasp their arms round her neck; she had never seen their
soft eyes looking into hers; no sweet little voices had called her mother;
she had never pressed her own infants to her heart, with the feeling that
even in fetters there was something to live for. How could she realize my
feelings? Betty's husband loved children dearly, and wondered why God had
denied them to him. He expressed great sorrow when he came to Betty with
the tidings that Ellen had been taken out of jail and carried to Dr.
Flint's. She had the measles a short time before they carried her to jail,
and the disease had left her eyes affected. The doctor had taken her home
to attend to them. My children had always been afraid of the doctor and his
wife. They had never been inside of their house. Poor little Ellen cried
all day to be carried back to prison. The instincts of childhood are true.
She knew she was loved in the jail. Her screams and sobs annoyed Mrs.
Flint. Before night she called one of the slaves, and said, "Here, Bill,
carry this brat back to the jail. I can't stand her noise. If she would be
quiet I should like to keep the little minx. She would make a handy
waiting-maid for my daughter by and by. But if she staid here, with her
white face, I suppose I should either kill her or spoil her. I hope the
doctor will sell them as far as wind and water can carry them. As for their
mother, her ladyship will find out yet what she gets by running away. She
hasn't so much feeling for her children as a cow has for its calf. If she
had, she would have come back long ago, to get them out of jail, and save
all this expense and trouble. The good-for-nothing hussy! When she is
caught, she shall stay in jail, in irons, for one six months, and then be
sold to a sugar plantation. I shall see her broke in yet. What do you stand
there for, Bill? Why don't you go off with the brat? Mind, now, that you
don't let any of the niggers speak to her in the street!"

When these remarks were reported to me, I smiled at Mrs. Flint's saying
that she should either kill my child or spoil her. I thought to myself
there was very little danger of the latter. I have always considered it as
one of God's special providences that Ellen screamed till she was carried
back to jail.

That same night Dr. Flint was called to a patient, and did not return till
near morning. Passing my grandmother's, he saw a light in the house, and
thought to himself, "Perhaps this has something to do with Linda." He
knocked, and the door was opened. "What calls you up so early?" said he. "I
saw your light, and I thought I would just stop and tell you that I have
found out where Linda is. I know where to put my hands on her, and I shall
have her before twelve o'clock." When he had turned away, my grandmother
and my uncle looked anxiously at each other. They did not know whether or
not it was merely one of the doctor's tricks to frighten them. In their
uncertainty, they thought it was best to have a message conveyed to my
friend Betty. Unwilling to alarm her mistress, Betty resolved to dispose of
me herself. She came to me, and told me to rise and dress quickly. We
hurried down stairs, and across the yard, into the kitchen. She locked the
door, and lifted up a plank in the floor. A buffalo skin and a bit of
carpet were spread for me to lie on, and a quilt thrown over me. "Stay
dar," said she, "till I sees if dey know 'bout you. Dey say dey vil put
thar hans on you afore twelve o'clock. If dey _did_ know whar you are, dey
won't know _now_. Dey'll be disapinted dis time. Dat's all I got to say. If
dey comes rummagin 'mong _my_ tings, de'll get one bressed sarssin from dis
'ere nigger." In my shallow bed I had but just room enough to bring my
hands to my face to keep the dust out of my eyes; for Betty walked over me
twenty times in an hour, passing from the dresser to the fireplace. When
she was alone, I could hear her pronouncing anathemas over Dr. Flint and
all his tribe, every now and then saying, with a chuckling laugh, "Dis
nigger's too cute for 'em dis time." When the housemaids were about, she
had sly ways of drawing them out, that I might hear what they would say.
She would repeat stories she had heard about my being in this, or that, or
the other place. To which they would answer, that I was not fool enough to
be staying round there; that I was in Philadelphia or New York before this
time. When all were abed and asleep, Betty raised the plank, and said,
"Come out, chile; come out. Dey don't know nottin 'bout you. Twas only
white folks' lies, to skeer de niggers."

Some days after this adventure I had a much worse fright. As I sat very
still in my retreat above stairs, cheerful visions floated through my mind.
I thought Dr. Flint would soon get discouraged, and would be willing to
sell my children, when he lost all hopes of making them the means of my
discovery. I knew who was ready to buy them. Suddenly I heard a voice that
chilled my blood. The sound was too familiar to me, it had been too
dreadful, for me not to recognize at once my old master. He was in the
house, and I at once concluded he had come to seize me. I looked round in
terror. There was no way of escape. The voice receded. I supposed the
constable was with him, and they were searching the house. In my alarm I
did not forget the trouble I was bringing on my generous benefactress. It
seemed as if I were born to bring sorrow on all who befriended me, and that
was the bitterest drop in the bitter cup of my life. After a while I heard
approaching footsteps; the key was turned in my door. I braced myself
against the wall to keep from falling. I ventured to look up, and there
stood my kind benefactress alone. I was too much overcome to speak, and
sunk down upon the floor.

"I thought you would hear your master's voice," she said; "and knowing you
would be terrified, I came to tell you there is nothing to fear. You may
even indulge in a laugh at the old gentleman's expense. He is so sure you
are in New York, that he came to borrow five hundred dollars to go in
pursuit of you. My sister had some money to loan on interest. He has
obtained it, and proposes to start for New York to-night. So, for the
present, you see you are safe. The doctor will merely lighten his pocket
hunting after the bird he has left behind."

The Doctor came back from New York, of course without accomplishing his
purpose. He had expended considerable money, and was rather disheartened.
My brother and the children had now been in jail two months, and that also
was some expense. My friends thought it was a favorable time to work on his
discouraged feelings. Mr. Sands sent a speculator to offer him nine hundred
dollars for my brother William, and eight hundred for the two children.
These were high prices, as slaves were then selling; but the offer was
rejected. If it had been merely a question of money, the doctor would have
sold any boy of Benny's age for two hundred dollars; but he could not bear
to give up the power of revenge. But he was hard pressed for money, and he
revolved the matter in his mind. He knew that if he could keep Ellen till
she was fifteen, he could sell her for a high price; but I presume he
reflected that she might die, or might be stolen away. At all events, he
came to the conclusion that he had better accept the slave-trader's offer.
Meeting him in the street, he inquired when he would leave town. "To-day,
at ten o'clock," he replied. "Ah, do you go so soon?" said the doctor. "I
have been reflecting upon your proposition, and I have concluded to let you
have the three negroes if you will say nineteen hundred dollars." After
some parley, the trader agreed to his terms. He wanted the bill of sale
drawn up and signed immediately, as he had a great deal to attend to during
the short time he remained in town. The doctor went to the jail and told
William he would take him back into his service if he would promise to
behave himself but he replied that he would rather be sold. "And you
_shall_ be sold, you ungrateful rascal!" exclaimed the doctor. In less than
an hour the money was paid, the papers were signed, sealed, and delivered,
and my brother and children were in the hands of the trader.

It was a hurried transaction; and after it was over, the doctor's
characteristic caution returned. He went back to the speculator, and said,
"Sir, I have come to lay you under obligations of a thousand dollars not to
sell any of those negroes in this state." "You come too late," replied the
trader; "our bargain is closed." He had, in fact, already sold them to Mr.
Sands, but he did not mention it. The doctor required him to put irons on
"that rascal, Bill," and to pass through the back streets when he took his
gang out of town. The trader was privately instructed to concede to his
wishes. My good old aunt went to the jail to bid the children good by,
supposing them to be the speculator's property, and that she should never
see them again. As she held Benny in her lap, he said, "Aunt Nancy, I want
to show you something." He led her to the door and showed her a long row of
marks, saying, "Uncle Will taught me to count. I have made a mark for every
day I have been here, and it is sixty days. It is a long time; and the
speculator is going to take me and Ellen away. He's a bad man. It's wrong
for him to take grandmother's children. I want to go to my mother."

My grandmother was told that the children would be restored to her, but she
was requested to act as if they were really to be sent away. Accordingly,
she made up a bundle of clothes and went to the jail. When she arrived, she
found William handcuffed among the gang, and the children in the trader's
cart. The scene seemed too much like reality. She was afraid there might
have been some deception or mistake. She fainted, and was carried home.

When the wagon stopped at the hotel, several gentlemen came out and
proposed to purchase William, but the trader refused their offers, without
stating that he was already sold. And now came the trying hour for that
drove of human beings, driven away like cattle, to be sold they knew not
where. Husbands were torn from wives, parents from children, never to look
upon each other again this side the grave. There was wringing of hands and
cries of despair.

Dr. Flint had the supreme satisfaction of seeing the wagon leave town, and
Mrs. Flint had the gratification of supposing that my children were going
"as far as wind and water would carry them." According to agreement, my
uncle followed the wagon some miles, until they came to an old farm house.
There the trader took the irons from William, and as he did so, he said,
"You are a damned clever fellow. I should like to own you myself. Them
gentlemen that wanted to buy you said you was a bright, honest chap, and I
must git you a good home. I guess your old master will swear to-morrow, and
call himself an old fool for selling the children. I reckon he'll never git
their mammy back again. I expect she's made tracks for the north. Good by,
old boy. Remember, I have done you a good turn. You must thank me by
coaxing all the pretty gals to go with me next fall. That's going to be my
last trip. This trading in niggers is a bad business for a fellow that's
got any heart. Move on, you fellows!" And the gang went on, God alone knows
where.

Much as I despise and detest the class of slave-traders, whom I regard as
the vilest wretches on earth, I must do this man the justice to say that he
seemed to have some feeling. He took a fancy to William in the jail, and
wanted to buy him. When he heard the story of my children, he was willing
to aid them in getting out of Dr. Flint's power, even without charging the
customary fee.

My uncle procured a wagon and carried William and the children back to
town. Great was the joy in my grandmother's house! The curtains were
closed, and the candles lighted. The happy grandmother cuddled the little
ones to her bosom. They hugged her, and kissed her, and clapped their
hands, and shouted. She knelt down and poured forth one of her heartfelt
prayers of thanksgiving to God. The father was present for a while; and
though such a "parental relation" as existed between him and my children
takes slight hold on the hearts or consciences of slaveholders, it must be
that he experienced some moments of pure joy in witnessing the happiness he
had imparted.

I had no share in the rejoicings of that evening. The events of the day had
not come to my knowledge. And now I will tell you something that happened
to me; though you will, perhaps, think it illustrates the superstition of
slaves. I sat in my usual place on the floor near the window, where I could
hear much that was said in the street without being seen. The family had
retired for the night, and all was still. I sat there thinking of my
children, when I heard a low strain of music. A band of serenaders were
under the window, playing "Home, sweet home." I listened till the sounds
did not seem like music, but like the moaning of children. It seemed as if
my heart would burst. I rose from my sitting posture, and knelt. A streak
of moonlight was on the floor before me, and in the midst of it appeared
the forms of my two children. They vanished; but I had seen them
distinctly. Some will call it a dream, others a vision. I know not how to
account for it, but it made a strong impression on my mind, and I felt
certain something had happened to my little ones.

I had not seen Betty since morning. Now I heard her softly turning the key.
As soon as she entered, I clung to her, and begged her to let me know
whether my children were dead, or whether they were sold; for I had seen
their spirits in my room, and I was sure something had happened to them.
"Lor, chile," said she, putting her arms round me, "you's got de
high-sterics. I'll sleep wid you to-night, 'cause you'll make a noise, and
ruin missis. Something has stirred you up mightily. When you is done cryin,
I'll talk wid you. De chillern is well, and mighty happy. I seed 'em
myself. Does dat satisfy you? Dar, chile, be still! Somebody vill hear
you." I tried to obey her. She lay down, and was soon sound asleep; but no
sleep would come to my eyelids.

At dawn, Betty was up and off to the kitchen. The hours passed on, and the
vision of the night kept constantly recurring to my thoughts. After a while
I heard the voices of two women in the entry. In one of them I recognized
the housemaid. The other said to her, "Did you know Linda Brent's children
was sold to the speculator yesterday. They say ole massa Flint was mighty
glad to see 'em drove out of town; but they say they've come back agin. I
'spect it's all their daddy's doings. They say he's bought William too.
Lor! how it will take hold of ole massa Flint! I'm going roun' to aunt
Marthy's to see 'bout it."

I bit my lips till the blood came to keep from crying out. Were my children
with their grandmother, or had the speculator carried them off? The
suspense was dreadful. Would Betty _never_ come, and tell me the truth
about it? At last she came, and I eagerly repeated what I had overheard.
Her face was one broad, bright smile. "Lor, you foolish ting!" said she.
"I'se gwine to tell you all 'bout it. De gals is eating thar breakfast, and
missus tole me to let her tell you; but, poor creeter! t'aint right to keep
you waitin', and I'se gwine to tell you. Brudder, chillern, all is bought
by de daddy! I'se laugh more dan nuff, tinking 'bout ole massa Flint. Lor,
how he _vill_ swar! He's got ketched dis time, any how; but I must be
getting out o' dis, or dem gals vill come and ketch _me_."

Betty went off laughing; and I said to myself, "Can it be true that my
children are free? I have not suffered for them in vain. Thank God!"

Great surprise was expressed when it was known that my children had
returned to their grandmother's. The news spread through the town, and many
a kind word was bestowed on the little ones.

Dr. Flint went to my grandmother's to ascertain who was the owner of my
children, and she informed him. "I expected as much," said he. "I am glad
to hear it. I have had news from Linda lately, and I shall soon have her.
You need never expect to see _her_ free. She shall be my slave as long as I
live, and when I am dead she shall be the slave of my children. If I ever
find out that you or Phillip had anything to do with her running off I'll
kill him. And if I meet William in the street, and he presumes to look at
me, I'll flog him within an inch of his life. Keep those brats out of my
sight!"

As he turned to leave, my grandmother said something to remind him of his
own doings. He looked back upon her, as if he would have been glad to
strike her to the ground.

I had my season of joy and thanksgiving. It was the first time since my
childhood that I had experienced any real happiness. I heard of the old
doctor's threats, but they no longer had the same power to trouble me. The
darkest cloud that hung over my life had rolled away. Whatever slavery
might do to me, it could not shackle my children. If I fell a sacrifice, my
little ones were saved. It was well for me that my simple heart believed
all that had been promised for their welfare. It is always better to trust
than to doubt.

The doctor, more exasperated than ever, again tried to revenge himself on
my relatives. He arrested uncle Phillip on the charge of having aided my
flight. He was carried before a court, and swore truly that he knew nothing
of my intention to escape, and that he had not seen me since I left my
master's plantation. The doctor then demanded that he should give bail for
five hundred dollars that he would have nothing to do with me. Several
gentlemen offered to be security for him; but Mr. Sands told him he had
better go back to jail, and he would see that he came out without giving
bail.

The news of his arrest was carried to my grandmother, who conveyed it to
Betty. In the kindness of her heart, she again stowed me away under the
floor; and as she walked back and forth, in the performance of her culinary
duties, she talked apparently to herself, but with the intention that I
should hear what was going on. I hoped that my uncle's imprisonment would
last but few days; still I was anxious. I thought it likely Dr. Flint would
do his utmost to taunt and insult him, and I was afraid my uncle might lose
control of himself, and retort in some way that would be construed into a
punishable offence; and I was well aware that in court his word would not
be taken against any white man's. The search for me was renewed. Something
had excited suspicions that I was in the vicinity. They searched the house
I was in. I heard their steps and their voices. At night, when all were
asleep, Betty came to release me from my place of confinement. The fright I
had undergone, the constrained posture, and the dampness of the ground,
made me ill for several days. My uncle was soon after taken out of prison;
but the movements of all my relatives, and of all our friends, were very
closely watched.

We all saw that I could not remain where I was much longer. I had already
staid longer than was intended, and I knew my presence must be a source of
perpetual anxiety to my kind benefactress. During this time, my friends had
laid many plans for my escape, but the extreme vigilance of my persecutors
made it impossible to carry them into effect.

One morning I was much startled by hearing somebody trying to get into my
room. Several keys were tried, but none fitted. I instantly conjectured it
was one of the housemaids; and I concluded she must either have heard some
noise in the room, or have noticed the entrance of Betty. When my friend
came, at her usual time, I told her what had happened. "I knows who it
was," said she. "Tend upon it, 'twas dat Jenny. Dat nigger allers got de
debble in her." I suggested that she might have seen or heard something
that excited her curiosity.

"Tut! tut! chile!" exclaimed Betty, "she ain't seen notin', nor hearn
notin'. She only 'spects something. Dat's all. She wants to fine out who
hab cut and make my gownd. But she won't nebber know. Dat's sartin. I'll
git missis to fix her."

I reflected a moment, and said, "Betty, I must leave here to-night."

"Do as you tink best, poor chile," she replied. "I'se mighty 'fraid dat
'ere nigger vill pop on you some time."

She reported the incident to her mistress, and received orders to keep
Jenny busy in the kitchen till she could see my uncle Phillip. He told her
he would send a friend for me that very evening. She told him she hoped I
was going to the north, for it was very dangerous for me to remain any
where in the vicinity. Alas, it was not an easy thing, for one in my
situation, to go to the north. In order to leave the coast quite clear for
me, she went into the country to spend the day with her brother, and took
Jenny with her. She was afraid to come and bid me good by, but she left a
kind message with Betty. I heard her carriage roll from the door, and I
never again saw her who had so generously befriended the poor, trembling
fugitive! Though she was a slaveholder, to this day my heart blesses her!

I had not the slightest idea where I was going. Betty brought me a suit of
sailor's clothes,--jacket, trowsers, and tarpaulin hat. She gave me a small
bundle, saying I might need it where I was going. In cheery tones, she
exclaimed, "I'se _so_ glad you is gwine to free parts! Don't forget ole
Betty. P'raps I'll come 'long by and by."

I tried to tell her how grateful I felt for all her kindness. But she
interrupted me. "I don't want no tanks, honey. I'se glad I could help you,
and I hope de good Lord vill open de path for you. I'se gwine wid you to de
lower gate. Put your hands in your pockets, and walk ricketty, like de
sailors."

I performed to her satisfaction. At the gate I found Peter, a young colored
man, waiting for me. I had known him for years. He had been an apprentice
to my father, and had always borne a good character. I was not afraid to
trust to him. Betty bade me a hurried good by, and we walked off. "Take
courage, Linda," said my friend Peter. "I've got a dagger, and no man shall
take you from me, unless he passes over my dead body."

It was a long time since I had taken a walk out of doors, and the fresh air
revived me. It was also pleasant to hear a human voice speaking to me above
a whisper. I passed several people whom I knew, but they did not recognize
me in my disguise. I prayed internally that, for Peter's sake, as well as
my own, nothing might occur to bring out his dagger. We walked on till we
came to the wharf. My aunt Nancy's husband was a seafaring man, and it had
been deemed necessary to let him into our secret. He took me into his boat,
rowed out to a vessel not far distant, and hoisted me on board. We three
were the only occupants of the vessel. I now ventured to ask what they
proposed to do with me. They said I was to remain on board till near dawn,
and then they would hide me in Snaky Swamp, till my uncle Phillip had
prepared a place of concealment for me. If the vessel had been bound north,
it would have been of no avail to me, for it would certainly have been
searched. About four o'clock, we were again seated in the boat, and rowed
three miles to the swamp. My fear of snakes had been increased by the
venomous bite I had received, and I dreaded to enter this hiding place. But
I was in no situation to choose, and I gratefully accepted the best that my
poor, persecuted friends could do for me.

Peter landed first, and with a large knife cut a path through bamboos and
briers of all descriptions. He came back, took me in his arms, and carried
me to a seat made among the bamboos. Before we reached it, we were covered
with hundreds of mosquitos. In an hour's time they had so poisoned my flesh
that I was a pitiful sight to behold. As the light increased, I saw snake
after snake crawling round us. I had been accustomed to the sight of snakes
all my life, but these were larger than any I had ever seen. To this day I
shudder when I remember that morning. As evening approached, the number of
snakes increased so much that we were continually obliged to thrash them
with sticks to keep them from crawling over us. The bamboos were so high
and so thick that it was impossible to see beyond a very short distance.
Just before it became dark we procured a seat nearer to the entrance of the
swamp, being fearful of losing our way back to the boat. It was not long
before we heard the paddle of oars, and the low whistle, which had been
agreed upon as a signal. We made haste to enter the boat, and were rowed
back to the vessel. I passed a wretched night; for the heat of the swamp,
the mosquitos, and the constant terror of snakes, had brought on a burning
fever. I had just dropped asleep, when they came and told me it was time to
go back to that horrid swamp. I could scarcely summon courage to rise. But
even those large, venomous snakes were less dreadful to my imagination than
the white men in that community called civilized. This time Peter took a
quantity of tobacco to burn, to keep off the mosquitos. It produced the
desired effect on them, but gave me nausea and severe headache. At dark we
returned to the vessel. I had been so sick during the day, that Peter
declared I should go home that night, if the devil himself was on patrol.
They told me a place of concealment had been provided for me at my
grandmother's. I could not imagine how it was possible to hide me in her
house, every nook and corner of which was known to the Flint family. They
told me to wait and see. We were rowed ashore, and went boldly through the
streets, to my grandmother's. I wore my sailor's clothes, and had blackened
my face with charcoal. I passed several people whom I knew. The father of
my children came so near that I brushed against his arm; but he had no idea
who it was.

"You must make the most of this walk," said my friend Peter, "for you may
not have another very soon."

I thought his voice sounded sad. It was kind of him to conceal from me what
a dismal hole was to be my home for a long, long time.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Linda escapes from Mr. Flint's plantation and heads for her grandmother's house, where she persuades Sally, "a faithful friend," to help her reach the home of another friend, who hides her in a closet. After hiding at her friend's home for a week, Linda's pursuers come into close vicinity. She flees, terrified of being discovered, and hides for two hours in some nearby bushes, where she is bitten by a poisonous reptile. In excruciating pain, she returns to her friend's house, where she is treated with homemade medicine. Meanwhile, Linda has contacted some of her relatives, who advise her to return to her master, beg his forgiveness, and accept her punishment. But when her friend informs her family of the pain and suffering Linda has endured in her struggle to remain free, they stop trying to convince her to go back. Desperate to help Linda, her grandmother enlists the aid of a woman she has known since childhood, who offers to help her escape and agrees to let her stay at her home until she can get to the Free States. The woman arranges for her cook, Betty, to meet Linda at a designated place and bring her to her home. When Linda receives the message to meet "a friend" at a secret location, she is surprised to discover that the "friend" is Betty. Betty escorts her back to her mistresses' house, brings her supper, and shows her to her new hiding place: an old storage room. Linda learns that Dr. Flint has had her brother, William, her children, and her aunt arrested, hoping to force them into revealing her hiding place. Devastated that her actions are causing her family so much suffering, Linda considers turning herself in, until she receives a note from her brother, begging her to stay put and convincing her that turning herself in now would only serve to further endanger her family. After a month, Linda's aunt is released and her daughter, Ellen, is taken to Dr. Flint's home, where she is treated for the after-effects of measles. That night, Dr. Flint, on his way back from seeing a patient, passes by Aunt Martha's cabin. Noticing that her light is still on and suspecting that Linda might be hiding at her grandmother's, he stops by to tell her that he knows where Linda is and will have her back by 12:00. He hopes that she will reveal Linda's hiding place. Alarmed, Aunt Martha and Uncle Phillip send a message to Betty's mistress, and Betty conceals her under some planks beneath the kitchen floor. Several days later, Dr. Flint comes to the house where Linda is hiding, and Linda once again fears that she has been discovered. But after he leaves, her friend tells her that Dr. Flint -- who has already posted a reward notice of $300 for Linda's capture -- came to borrow $500 so that he could search for her in New York. She assures Linda that she is safe and has nothing to fear. When Dr. Flint returns from New York, Linda's friends trick him into selling William , Ben , and Ellen to a slave trader who represents Mr. Sands. The trader pretends to leave town with them, but then releases William and the children and allows them to go back to Aunt Martha. Linda, who is unaware of these transactions, has a vision in which she sees her children. Terrified that her children are dead, she turns to Betty, who reassures her that they are safe at home with her grandmother. Dr. Flint has Phillip arrested on charges of aiding Linda's escape and demands $500 bail for his release. Meanwhile, the hunt for Linda continues and Betty again hides her under the kitchen floor. Just as she begins to feel safe, Jenny, another household slave, threatens to reveal Linda's hiding place. Afraid that she will be discovered, Betty's mistress contacts Phillip, who arranges for a friend to meet her. Disguised as a sailor, Linda meets Phillip's friend, Peter, who escorts her to the wharf, where Aunt Nancy's husband smuggles her aboard a ship, providing her with a temporary shelter. Later, Peter takes her to hide in Snaky Swamp, where Linda is terrified of the huge snakes. Although she is able to spend the night aboard the docked ship, Linda is forced to spend another day hiding out in the swamp. The following morning, Peter tells her that a hiding place has been secured for her. Linda, who has become severely ill from her ordeal, dons her sailor's disguise, blackens her face with charcoal, and follows Peter back to her grandmother's house.


prompt:
Chapter: 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 my 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 overworked; 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!

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 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."

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.

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 bedclothes 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.

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."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Linda hides out in her grandmother's garret , a dark, cramped crawl space infested with rats, mice, and "little red insects." Able to see her children through a small opening in the wood but unable to communicate with them, she spends several miserable months suffering a myriad of ills, including fever and frostbite. Meanwhile, Dr. Flint tries to bribe her children into telling him about Linda's whereabouts.


prompt:
Chapter: Christmas was approaching. Grandmother brought me materials, and I busied
myself making some new garments and little playthings for my children. Were
it not that hiring day is near at hand, and many families are fearfully
looking forward to the probability of separation in a few days, Christmas
might be a happy season for the poor slaves. Even slave mothers try to
gladden the hearts of their little ones on that occasion. Benny and Ellen
had their Christmas stockings filled. Their imprisoned mother could not
have the privilege of witnessing their surprise and joy. But I had the
pleasure of peeping at them as they went into the street with their new
suits on. I heard Benny ask a little playmate whether Santa Claus brought
him any thing. "Yes," replied the boy; "but Santa Claus ain't a real man.
It's the children's mothers that put things into the stockings." "No, that
can't be," replied Benny, "for Santa Claus brought Ellen and me these new
clothes, and my mother has been gone this long time."

How I longed to tell him that his mother made those garments, and that many
a tear fell on them while she worked!

Every child rises early on Christmas morning to see the Johnkannaus.
Without them, Christmas would be shorn of its greatest attraction. They
consist of companies of slaves from the plantations, generally of the lower
class. Two athletic men, in calico wrappers, have a net thrown over them,
covered with all manner of bright-colored stripes. Cows' tails are fastened
to their backs, and their heads are decorated with horns. A box, covered
with sheepskin, is called the gumbo box. A dozen beat on this, while other
strike triangles and jawbones, to which bands of dancers keep time. For a
month previous they are composing songs, which are sung on this occasion.
These companies, of a hundred each, turn out early in the morning, and are
allowed to go round till twelve o'clock, begging for contributions. Not a
door is left unvisited where there is the least chance of obtaining a penny
or a glass of rum. They do not drink while they are out, but carry the rum
home in jugs, to have a carousal. These Christmas donations frequently
amount to twenty or thirty dollars. It is seldom that any white man or
child refuses to give them a trifle. If he does, they regale his ears with
the following song:--

   Poor massa, so dey say;
   Down in de heel, so dey say;
   Got no money, so dey say;
   Not one shillin, so dey say;
   God A'mighty bress you, so dey say.

Christmas is a day of feasting, both with white and colored people. Slaves,
who are lucky enough to have a few shillings, are sure to spend them for
good eating; and many a turkey and pig is captured, without saying, "By
your leave, sir." Those who cannot obtain these, cook a 'possum, or a
raccoon, from which savory dishes can be made. My grandmother raised
poultry and pigs for sale and it was her established custom to have both a
turkey and a pig roasted for Christmas dinner.

On this occasion, I was warned to keep extremely quiet, because two guests
had been invited. One was the town constable, and the other was a free
colored man, who tried to pass himself off for white, and who was always
ready to do any mean work for the sake of currying favor with white people.
My grandmother had a motive for inviting them. She managed to take them all
over the house. All the rooms on the lower floor were thrown open for them
to pass in and out; and after dinner, they were invited up stairs to look
at a fine mocking bird my uncle had just brought home. There, too, the
rooms were all thrown open that they might look in. When I heard them
talking on the piazza, my heart almost stood still. I knew this colored man
had spent many nights hunting for me. Every body knew he had the blood of a
slave father in his veins; but for the sake of passing himself off for
white, he was ready to kiss the slaveholders' feet. How I despised him! As
for the constable, he wore no false colors. The duties of his office were
despicable, but he was superior to his companion, inasmuch as he did not
pretend to be what he was not. Any white man, who could raise money enough
to buy a slave, would have considered himself degraded by being a
constable; but the office enabled its possessor to exercise authority. If
he found any slave out after nine o'clock, he could whip him as much as he
liked; and that was a privilege to be coveted. When the guests were ready
to depart, my grandmother gave each of them some of her nice pudding, as a
present for their wives. Through my peep-hole I saw them go out of the
gate, and I was glad when it closed after them. So passed the first
Christmas in my den.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Linda describes the rituals and festivities surrounding Christmas, focusing on the Johnkannaus dancers. She discusses her grandmother's two "special" guests -- the town constable and the "free colored man" who tries to pass for white -- who are invited specifically to convince them that Linda is nowhere near her grandmother's house.


prompt:
Chapter: When spring returned, and I took in the little patch of green the aperture
commanded, I asked myself how many more summers and winters I must be
condemned to spend thus. I longed to draw in a plentiful draught of fresh
air, to stretch my cramped limbs, to have room to stand erect, to feel the
earth under my feet again. My relatives were constantly on the lookout for
a chance of escape; but none offered that seemed practicable, and even
tolerably safe. The hot summer came again, and made the turpentine drop
from the thin roof over my head.

During the long nights I was restless for want of air, and I had no room to
toss and turn. There was but one compensation; the atmosphere was so
stifled that even mosquitos would not condescend to buzz in it. With all my
detestation of Dr. Flint, I could hardly wish him a worse punishment,
either in this world or that which is to come, than to suffer what I
suffered in one single summer. Yet the laws allowed _him_ to be out in the
free air, while I, guiltless of crime, was pent up here, as the only means
of avoiding the cruelties the laws allowed him to inflict upon me! I don't
know what kept life within me. Again and again, I thought I should die
before long; but I saw the leaves of another autumn whirl through the air,
and felt the touch of another winter. In summer the most terrible thunder
storms were acceptable, for the rain came through the roof, and I rolled up
my bed that it might cool the hot boards under it. Later in the season,
storms sometimes wet my clothes through and through, and that was not
comfortable when the air grew chilly. Moderate storms I could keep out by
filling the chinks with oakum.

But uncomfortable as my situation was, I had glimpses of things out of
doors, which made me thankful for my wretched hiding-place. One day I saw a
slave pass our gate, muttering, "It's his own, and he can kill it if he
will." My grandmother told me that woman's history. Her mistress had that
day seen her baby for the first time, and in the lineaments of its fair
face she saw a likeness to her husband. She turned the bondwoman and her
child out of doors, and forbade her ever to return. The slave went to her
master, and told him what had happened. He promised to talk with her
mistress, and make it all right. The next day she and her baby were sold to
a Georgia trader.

Another time I saw a woman rush wildly by, pursued by two men. She was a
slave, the wet nurse of her mistress's children. For some trifling offence
her mistress ordered her to be stripped and whipped. To escape the
degradation and the torture, she rushed to the river, jumped in, and ended
her wrongs in death.

Senator Brown, of Mississippi, could not be ignorant of many such facts as
these, for they are of frequent occurrence in every Southern State. Yet he
stood up in the Congress of the United States, and declared that slavery
was "a great moral, social, and political blessing; a blessing to the
master, and a blessing to the slave!"

I suffered much more during the second winter than I did during the first.
My limbs were benumbed by inaction, and the cold filled them with cramp. I
had a very painful sensation of coldness in my head; even my face and
tongue stiffened, and I lost the power of speech. Of course it was
impossible, under the circumstances, to summon any physician. My brother
William came and did all he could for me. Uncle Phillip also watched
tenderly over me; and poor grandmother crept up and down to inquire whether
there were any signs of returning life. I was restored to consciousness by
the dashing of cold water in my face, and found myself leaning against my
brother's arm, while he bent over me with streaming eyes. He afterwards
told me he thought I was dying, for I had been in an unconscious state
sixteen hours. I next became delirious, and was in great danger of
betraying myself and my friends. To prevent this, they stupefied me with
drugs. I remained in bed six weeks, weary in body and sick at heart. How to
get medical advice was the question. William finally went to a Thompsonian
doctor, and described himself as having all my pains and aches. He returned
with herbs, roots, and ointment. He was especially charged to rub on the
ointment by a fire; but how could a fire be made in my little den? Charcoal
in a furnace was tried, but there was no outlet for the gas, and it nearly
cost me my life. Afterwards coals, already kindled, were brought up in an
iron pan, and placed on bricks. I was so weak, and it was so long since I
had enjoyed the warmth of a fire, that those few coals actually made me
weep. I think the medicines did me some good; but my recovery was very
slow. Dark thoughts passed through my mind as I lay there day after day. I
tried to be thankful for my little cell, dismal as it was, and even to love
it, as part of the price I had paid for the redemption of my children.
Sometimes I thought God was a compassionate Father, who would forgive my
sins for the sake of my sufferings. At other times, it seemed to me there
was no justice or mercy in the divine government. I asked why the curse of
slavery was permitted to exist, and why I had been so persecuted and
wronged from youth upward. These things took the shape of mystery, which is
to this day not so clear to my soul as I trust it will be hereafter.

In the midst of my illness, grandmother broke down under the weight and
anxiety and toil. The idea of losing her, who had always been my best
friend and a mother to my children, was the sorest trial I had yet had. O,
how earnestly I prayed that she might recover! How hard it seemed, that I
could not tend upon her, who had so long and so tenderly watched over me!

One day the screams of a child nerved me with strength to crawl to my
peeping-hole, and I saw my son covered with blood. A fierce dog, usually
kept chained, had seized and bitten him. A doctor was sent for, and I heard
the groans and screams of my child while the wounds were being sewed up. O,
what torture to a mother's heart, to listen to this and be unable to go to
him!

But childhood is like a day in spring, alternately shower and sunshine.
Before night Benny was bright and lively, threatening the destruction of
the dog; and great was his delight when the doctor told him the next day
that the dog had bitten another boy and been shot. Benny recovered from his
wounds; but it was long before he could walk.

When my grandmother's illness became known, many ladies, who were her
customers, called to bring her some little comforts, and to inquire whether
she had every thing she wanted. Aunt Nancy one night asked permission to
watch with her sick mother, and Mrs. Flint replied, "I don't see any need
of your going. I can't spare you." But when she found other ladies in the
neighborhood were so attentive, not wishing to be outdone in Christian
charity, she also sallied forth, in magnificent condescension, and stood by
the bedside of her who had loved her in her infancy, and who had been
repaid by such grievous wrongs. She seemed surprised to find her so ill,
and scolded uncle Phillip for not sending for Dr. Flint. She herself sent
for him immediately, and he came. Secure as I was in my retreat, I should
have been terrified if I had known he was so near me. He pronounced my
grandmother in a very critical situation, and said if her attending
physician wished it, he would visit her. Nobody wished to have him coming
to the house at all hours, and we were not disposed to give him a chance to
make out a long bill.

As Mrs. Flint went out, Sally told her the reason Benny was lame was, that
a dog had bitten him. "I'm glad of it," replied she. "I wish he had killed
him. It would be good news to send to his mother. _Her_ day will come. The
dogs will grab _her_ yet." With these Christian words she and her husband
departed, and, to my great satisfaction, returned no more.

I learned from uncle Phillip, with feelings of unspeakable joy and
gratitude, that the crisis was passed and grandmother would live. I could
now say from my heart, "God is merciful. He has spared me the anguish of
feeling that I caused her death."

The summer had nearly ended, when Dr. Flint made a third visit to New York,
in search of me. Two candidates were running for Congress, and he returned
in season to vote. The father of my children was the Whig candidate. The
doctor had hitherto been a stanch Whig; but now he exerted all his energies
for the defeat of Mr. Sands. He invited large parties of men to dine in the
shade of his trees, and supplied them with plenty of rum and brandy. If any
poor fellow drowned his wits in the bowl, and, in the openness of his
convivial heart, proclaimed that he did not mean to vote the Democratic
ticket, he was shoved into the street without ceremony.

The doctor expended his liquor in vain. Mr. Sands was elected; an event
which occasioned me some anxious thoughts. He had not emancipated my
children, and if he should die they would be at the mercy of his heirs. Two
little voices, that frequently met my ear, seemed to plead with me not to
let their father depart without striving to make their freedom secure.
Years had passed since I had spoken to him. I had not even seen him since
the night I passed him, unrecognized, in my disguise of a sailor. I
supposed he would call before he left, to say something to my grandmother
concerning the children, and I resolved what course to take.

The day before his departure for Washington I made arrangements, toward
evening, to get from my hiding-place into the storeroom below. I found
myself so stiff and clumsy that it was with great difficulty I could hitch
from one resting place to another. When I reached the storeroom my ankles
gave way under me, and I sank exhausted on the floor. It seemed as if I
could never use my limbs again. But the purpose I had in view roused all
the strength I had. I crawled on my hands and knees to the window, and,
screened behind a barrel, I waited for his coming. The clock struck nine,
and I knew the steamboat would leave between ten and eleven. My hopes were
failing. But presently I heard his voice, saying to some one, "Wait for me
a moment. I wish to see aunt Martha." When he came out, as he passed the
window, I said, "Stop one moment, and let me speak for my children." He
started, hesitated, and then passed on, and went out of the gate. I closed
the shutter I had partially opened, and sank down behind the barrel. I had
suffered much; but seldom had I experienced a keener pang than I then felt.
Had my children, then, become of so little consequence to him? And had he
so little feeling for their wretched mother that he would not listen a
moment while she pleaded for them? Painful memories were so busy within me,
that I forgot I had not hooked the shutter, till I heard some one opening
it. I looked up. He had come back. "Who called me?" said he, in a low tone.
"I did," I replied. "Oh, Linda," said he, "I knew your voice; but I was
afraid to answer, lest my friend should hear me. Why do you come here? Is
it possible you risk yourself in this house? They are mad to allow it. I
shall expect to hear that you are all ruined," I did not wish to implicate
him, by letting him know my place of concealment; so I merely said, "I
thought you would come to bid grandmother good by, and so I came here to
speak a few words to you about emancipating my children. Many changes may
take place during the six months you are gone to Washington, and it does
not seem right for you to expose them to the risk of such changes. I want
nothing for myself; all I ask is, that you will free my children, or
authorize some friend to do it, before you go."

He promised he would do it, and also expressed a readiness; to make any
arrangements whereby I could be purchased.

I heard footsteps approaching, and closed the shutter hastily. I wanted to
crawl back to my den, without letting the family know what I had done; for
I knew they would deem it very imprudent. But he stepped back into the
house, to tell my grandmother that he had spoken with me at the storeroom
window, and to beg of her not to allow me to remain in the house over night.
He said it was the height of madness for me to be there; that we should
certainly all be ruined. Luckily, he was in too much of a hurry to wait for
a reply, or the dear old woman would surely have told him all.

I tried to go back to my den, but found it more difficult to go up than I
had to come down. Now that my mission was fulfilled, the little strength
that had supported me through it was gone, and I sank helpless on the
floor. My grandmother, alarmed at the risk I had run, came into the
storeroom in the dark, and locked the door behind her. "Linda," she
whispered, "where are you?"

"I am here by the window," I replied. "I _couldn't_ have him go away
without emancipating the children. Who knows what may happen?"

"Come, come, child," said she, "it won't do for you to stay here another
minute. You've done wrong; but I can't blame you, poor thing!" I told her
I could not return without assistance, and she must call my uncle. Uncle
Phillip came, and pity prevented him from scolding me. He carried me back
to my dungeon, laid me tenderly on the bed, gave me some medicine, and
asked me if there was any thing more he could do. Then he went away, and I
was left with my own thoughts--starless as the midnight darkness around me.

My friends feared I should become a cripple for life; and I was so weary of
my long imprisonment that, had it not been for the hope of serving my
children, I should have been thankful to die; but, for their sakes, I was
willing to bear on.

Dr. Flint had not given me up. Every now and then he would say to my
grandmother that I would yet come back, and voluntarily surrender myself;
and that when I did, I could be purchased by my relatives, or any one who
wished to buy me. I knew his cunning nature too well not to perceive that
this was a trap laid for me; and so all my friends understood it. I
resolved to match my cunning against his cunning. In order to make him
believe that I was in New York, I resolved to write him a letter dated from
that place. I sent for my friend Peter, and asked him if he knew any
trustworthy seafaring person, who would carry such a letter to New York,
and put it in the post office there. He said he knew one that he would
trust with his own life to the ends of the world. I reminded him that it
was a hazardous thing for him to undertake. He said he knew it, but he was
willing to do any thing to help me. I expressed a wish for a New York
paper, to ascertain the names of some of the streets. He run his hand into
his pocket, and said, "Here is half a one, that was round a cap I bought of
a pedler yesterday." I told him the letter would be ready the next evening.
He bade me good by, adding, "Keep up your spirits, Linda; brighter days
will come by and by."

My uncle Phillip kept watch over the gate until our brief interview was
over. Early the next morning, I seated myself near the little aperture to
examine the newspaper. It was a piece of the New York Herald; and, for
once, the paper that systematically abuses the colored people, was made to
render them a service. Having obtained what information I wanted concerning
streets and numbers, I wrote two letters, one to my grandmother, the other
to Dr. Flint. I reminded him how he, a gray-headed man, had treated a
helpless child, who had been placed in his power, and what years of misery
he had brought upon her. To my grandmother, I expressed a wish to have my
children sent to me at the north, where I could teach them to respect
themselves, and set them a virtuous example; which a slave mother was not
allowed to do at the south. I asked her to direct her answer to a certain
street in Boston, as I did not live in New York, though I went there
sometimes. I dated these letters ahead, to allow for the time it would take
to carry them, and sent a memorandum of the date to the messenger. When my
friend came for the letters, I said, "God bless and reward you, Peter, for
this disinterested kindness. Pray be careful. If you are detected, both you
and I will have to suffer dreadfully. I have not a relative who would dare
to do it for me." He replied, "You may trust to me, Linda. I don't forget
that your father was my best friend, and I will be a friend to his children
so long as God lets me live."

It was necessary to tell my grandmother what I had done, in order that she
might be ready for the letter, and prepared to hear what Dr. Flint might
say about my being at the north. She was sadly troubled. She felt sure
mischief would come of it. I also told my plan to aunt Nancy, in order that
she might report to us what was said at Dr. Flint's house. I whispered it
to her through a crack, and she whispered back, "I hope it will succeed. I
shan't mind being a slave all _my_ life, if I can only see you and the
children free."

I had directed that my letters should be put into the New York post office
on the 20th of the month. On the evening of the 24th my aunt came to say
that Dr. Flint and his wife had been talking in a low voice about a letter
he had received, and that when he went to his office he promised to bring
it when he came to tea. So I concluded I should hear my letter read the
next morning. I told my grandmother Dr. Flint would be sure to come, and
asked her to have him sit near a certain door, and leave it open, that I
might hear what he said. The next morning I took my station within sound of
that door, and remained motionless as a statue. It was not long before I
heard the gate slam, and the well-known footsteps enter the house. He
seated himself in the chair that was placed for him, and said, "Well,
Martha, I've brought you a letter from Linda. She has sent me a letter,
also. I know exactly where to find her; but I don't choose to go to Boston
for her. I had rather she would come back of her own accord, in a
respectable manner. Her uncle Phillip is the best person to go for her.
With _him_, she would feel perfectly free to act. I am willing to pay his
expenses going and returning. She shall be sold to her friends. Her
children are free; at least I suppose they are; and when you obtain her
freedom, you'll make a happy family. I suppose, Martha, you have no
objection to my reading to you the letter Linda has written to you."

He broke the seal, and I heard him read it. The old villain! He had
suppressed the letter I wrote to grandmother, and prepared a substitute of
his own, the purport of which was as follows:--

   Dear Grandmother: I have long wanted to write to you; but the
   disgraceful manner in which I left you and my children made me
   ashamed to do it. If you knew how much I have suffered since I
   ran away, you would pity and forgive me. I have purchased freedom
   at a dear rate. If any arrangement could be made for me to return
   to the south without being a slave, I would gladly come. If not,
   I beg of you to send my children to the north. I cannot live any
   longer without them. Let me know in time, and I will meet them in
   New York or Philadelphia, whichever place best suits my uncle's
   convenience. Write as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter,

   Linda.

"It is very much as I expected it would be," said the old hypocrite, rising
to go. "You see the foolish girl has repented of her rashness, and wants to
return. We must help her to do it, Martha. Talk with Phillip about it. If
he will go for her, she will trust to him, and come back. I should like an
answer to-morrow. Good morning, Martha."

As he stepped out on the piazza, he stumbled over my little girl. "Ah,
Ellen, is that you?" he said, in his most gracious manner. "I didn't see
you. How do you do?"

"Pretty well, sir," she replied. "I heard you tell grandmother that my
mother is coming home. I want to see her."

"Yes, Ellen, I am going to bring her home very soon," rejoined he; "and you
shall see her as much as you like, you little curly-headed nigger."

This was as good as a comedy to me, who had heard it all; but grandmother
was frightened and distressed, because the doctor wanted my uncle to go for
me.

The next evening Dr. Flint called to talk the matter over. My uncle told
him that from what he had heard of Massachusetts, he judged he should be
mobbed if he went there after a runaway slave. "All stuff and nonsense,
Phillip!" replied the doctor. "Do you suppose I want you to kick up a row
in Boston? The business can all be done quietly. Linda writes that she
wants to come back. You are her relative, and she would trust _you_. The
case would be different if I went. She might object to coming with _me_;
and the damned abolitionists, if they knew I was her master, would not
believe me, if I told them she had begged to go back. They would get up a
row; and I should not like to see Linda dragged through the streets like a
common negro. She has been very ungrateful to me for all my kindness; but I
forgive her, and want to act the part of a friend towards her. I have no
wish to hold her as my slave. Her friends can buy her as soon as she
arrives here."

Finding that his arguments failed to convince my uncle, the doctor "let the
cat out of the bag," by saying that he had written to the mayor of Boston,
to ascertain whether there was a person of my description at the street and
number from which my letter was dated. He had omitted this date in the
letter he had made up to read to my grandmother. If I had dated from New
York, the old man would probably have made another journey to that city.
But even in that dark region, where knowledge is so carefully excluded from
the slave, I had heard enough about Massachusetts to come to the conclusion
that slaveholders did not consider it a comfortable place to go in search
of a runaway. That was before the Fugitive Slave Law was passed; before
Massachusetts had consented to become a "nigger hunter" for the south.

My grandmother, who had become skittish by seeing her family always in
danger, came to me with a very distressed countenance, and said, "What will
you do if the mayor of Boston sends him word that you haven't been there?
Then he will suspect the letter was a trick; and maybe he'll find out
something about it, and we shall all get into trouble. O Linda, I wish you
had never sent the letters."

"Don't worry yourself, Grandmother," said I. "The mayor of Boston won't
trouble himself to hunt niggers for Dr. Flint. The letters will do good in
the end. I shall get out of this dark hole some time or other."

"I hope you will, child," replied the good, patient old friend. "You have
been here a long time; almost five years; but whenever you do go, it will
break your old grandmother's heart. I should be expecting every day to hear
that you were brought back in irons and put in jail. God help you, poor
child! Let us be thankful that some time or other we shall go 'where the
wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.'" My heart
responded, Amen.

The fact that Dr. Flint had written to the mayor of Boston convinced me
that he believed my letter to be genuine, and of course that he had no
suspicion of my being any where in the vicinity. It was a great object to
keep up this delusion, for it made me and my friends feel less anxious, and
it would be very convenient whenever there was a chance to escape. I
resolved, therefore, to continue to write letters from the north from time
to time.

Two or three weeks passed, and as no news came from the mayor of Boston,
grandmother began to listen to my entreaty to be allowed to leave my cell,
sometimes, and exercise my limbs to prevent my becoming a cripple. I was
allowed to slip down into the small storeroom, early in the morning, and
remain there a little while. The room was all filled up with barrels,
except a small open space under my trap-door. This faced the door, the
upper part of which was of glass, and purposely left uncurtained, that the
curious might look in. The air of this place was close; but it was so much
better than the atmosphere of my cell, that I dreaded to return. I came
down as soon as it was light, and remained till eight o'clock, when people
began to be about, and there was danger that some one might come on the
piazza. I had tried various applications to bring warmth and feeling into
my limbs, but without avail. They were so numb and stiff that it was a
painful effort to move; and had my enemies come upon me during the first
mornings I tried to exercise them a little in the small unoccupied space of
the storeroom, it would have been impossible for me to have escaped.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Linda continues to hide in the garret, but when she learns that Mr. Sands has been elected to Congress and will leave for Washington shortly, she risks revealing her hiding place to beg him to free her children before he leaves. He agrees to do what he can. After Mr. Sands leaves, Linda writes numerous letters to Dr. Flint and -- with the help of her friends -- has them postmarked from New York to trick Dr. Flint into thinking she has left the state.