prompt:
Chapter: Why does the slave ever love? Why allow the tendrils of the heart to twine
around objects which may at any moment be wrenched away by the hand of
violence? When separations come by the hand of death, the pious soul can
bow in resignation, and say, "Not my will, but thine be done, O Lord!" But
when the ruthless hand of man strikes the blow, regardless of the misery he
causes, it is hard to be submissive. I did not reason thus when I was a
young girl. Youth will be youth. I loved and I indulged the hope that the
dark clouds around me would turn out a bright lining. I forgot that in the
land of my birth the shadows are too dense for light to penetrate. A land

   Where laughter is not mirth; nor thought the mind;
   Nor words a language; nor e'en men mankind.
   Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows,
   And each is tortured in his separate hell.

There was in the neighborhood a young colored carpenter; a free born man.
We had been well acquainted in childhood, and frequently met together
afterwards. We became mutually attached, and he proposed to marry me. I
loved him with all the ardor of a young girl's first love. But when I
reflected that I was a slave, and that the laws gave no sanction to the
marriage of such, my heart sank within me. My lover wanted to buy me; but I
knew that Dr. Flint was too willful and arbitrary a man to consent to that
arrangement. From him, I was sure of experiencing all sort of opposition,
and I had nothing to hope from my mistress. She would have been delighted
to have got rid of me, but not in that way. It would have relieved her mind
of a burden if she could have seen me sold to some distant state, but if I
was married near home I should be just as much in her husband's power as I
had previously been,--for the husband of a slave has no power to protect
her. Moreover, my mistress, like many others, seemed to think that slaves
had no right to any family ties of their own; that they were created merely
to wait upon the family of the mistress. I once heard her abuse a young
slave girl, who told her that a colored man wanted to make her his wife. "I
will have you peeled and pickled, my lady," said she, "if I ever hear you
mention that subject again. Do you suppose that I will have you tending
_my_ children with the children of that nigger?" The girl to whom she said
this had a mulatto child, of course not acknowledged by its father. The
poor black man who loved her would have been proud to acknowledge his
helpless offspring.

Many and anxious were the thoughts I revolved in my mind. I was at a loss
what to do. Above all things, I was desirous to spare my lover the insults
that had cut so deeply into my own soul. I talked with my grandmother about
it, and partly told her my fears. I did not dare to tell her the worst. She
had long suspected all was not right, and if I confirmed her suspicions I
knew a storm would rise that would prove the overthrow of all my hopes.

This love-dream had been my support through many trials; and I could not
bear to run the risk of having it suddenly dissipated. There was a lady in
the neighborhood, a particular friend of Dr. Flint's, who often visited the
house. I had a great respect for her, and she had always manifested a
friendly interest in me. Grandmother thought she would have great influence
with the doctor. I went to this lady, and told her my story. I told her I
was aware that my lover's being a free-born man would prove a great
objection; but he wanted to buy me; and if Dr. Flint would consent to that
arrangement, I felt sure he would be willing to pay any reasonable price.
She knew that Mrs. Flint disliked me; therefore, I ventured to suggest that
perhaps my mistress would approve of my being sold, as that would rid her
of me. The lady listened with kindly sympathy, and promised to do her
utmost to promote my wishes. She had an interview with the doctor, and I
believe she pleaded my cause earnestly; but it was all to no purpose.

How I dreaded my master now! Every minute I expected to be summoned to his
presence; but the day passed, and I heard nothing from him. The next
morning, a message was brought to me: "Master wants you in his study." I
found the door ajar, and I stood a moment gazing at the hateful man who
claimed a right to rule me, body and soul. I entered, and tried to appear
calm. I did not want him to know how my heart was bleeding. He looked
fixedly at me, with an expression which seemed to say, "I have half a mind
to kill you on the spot." At last he broke the silence, and that was a
relief to both of us.

"So you want to be married, do you?" said he, "and to a free nigger."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'll soon convince you whether I am your master, or the nigger
fellow you honor so highly. If you _must_ have a husband, you may take up
with one of my slaves."

What a situation I should be in, as the wife of one of _his_ slaves, even
if my heart had been interested!

I replied, "Don't you suppose, sir, that a slave can have some preference
about marrying? Do you suppose that all men are alike to her?"

"Do you love this nigger?" said he, abruptly.

"Yes, sir."

"How dare you tell me so!" he exclaimed, in great wrath. After a slight
pause, he added, "I supposed you thought more of yourself; that you felt
above the insults of such puppies."

I replied, "If he is a puppy, I am a puppy, for we are both of the negro
race. It is right and honorable for us to love each other. The man you call
a puppy never insulted me, sir; and he would not love me if he did not
believe me to be a virtuous woman."

He sprang upon me like a tiger, and gave me a stunning blow. It was the
first time he had ever struck me; and fear did not enable me to control my
anger. When I had recovered a little from the effects, I exclaimed, "You
have struck me for answering you honestly. How I despise you!"

There was silence for some minutes. Perhaps he was deciding what should be
my punishment; or, perhaps, he wanted to give me time to reflect on what I
had said, and to whom I had said it. Finally, he asked, "Do you know what
you have said?"

"Yes, sir; but your treatment drove me to it."

"Do you know that I have a right to do as I like with you,--that I can kill
you, if I please?"

"You have tried to kill me, and I wish you had; but you have no right to do
as you like with me."

"Silence!" he exclaimed, in a thundering voice. "By heavens, girl, you
forget yourself too far! Are you mad? If you are, I will soon bring you to
your senses. Do you think any other master would bear what I have borne
from you this morning? Many masters would have killed you on the spot. How
would you like to be sent to jail for your insolence?"

"I know I have been disrespectful, sir," I replied; "but you drove me to
it; I couldn't help it. As for the jail, there would be more peace for me
there than there is here."

"You deserve to go there," said he, "and to be under such treatment, that
you would forget the meaning of the word _peace_. It would do you good. It
would take some of your high notions out of you. But I am not ready to send
you there yet, notwithstanding your ingratitude for all my kindness and
forbearance. You have been the plague of my life. I have wanted to make you
happy, and I have been repaid with the basest ingratitude; but though you
have proved yourself incapable of appreciating my kindness, I will be
lenient towards you, Linda. I will give you one more chance to redeem your
character. If you behave yourself and do as I require, I will forgive you
and treat you as I always have done; but if you disobey me, I will punish
you as I would the meanest slave on my plantation. Never let me hear that
fellow's name mentioned again. If I ever know of your speaking to him, I
will cowhide you both; and if I catch him lurking about my premises, I will
shoot him as soon as I would a dog. Do you hear what I say? I'll teach you
a lesson about marriage and free niggers! Now go, and let this be the last
time I have occasion to speak to you on this subject."

Reader, did you ever hate? I hope not. I never did but once; and I trust I
never shall again. Somebody has called it "the atmosphere of hell;" and I
believe it is so.

For a fortnight the doctor did not speak to me. He thought to mortify me;
to make me feel that I had disgraced myself by receiving the honorable
addresses of a respectable colored man, in preference to the base proposals
of a white man. But though his lips disdained to address me, his eyes were
very loquacious. No animal ever watched its prey more narrowly than he
watched me. He knew that I could write, though he had failed to make me
read his letters; and he was now troubled lest I should exchange letters
with another man. After a while he became weary of silence; and I was sorry
for it. One morning, as he passed through the hall, to leave the house, he
contrived to thrust a note into my hand. I thought I had better read it,
and spare myself the vexation of having him read it to me. It expressed
regret for the blow he had given me, and reminded me that I myself was
wholly to blame for it. He hoped I had become convinced of the injury I was
doing myself by incurring his displeasure. He wrote that he had made up his
mind to go to Louisiana; that he should take several slaves with him, and
intended I should be one of the number. My mistress would remain where she
was; therefore I should have nothing to fear from that quarter. If I
merited kindness from him, he assured me that it would be lavishly
bestowed. He begged me to think over the matter, and answer the following
day.

The next morning I was called to carry a pair of scissors to his room. I
laid them on the table, with the letter beside them. He thought it was my
answer, and did not call me back. I went as usual to attend my young
mistress to and from school. He met me in the street, and ordered me to
stop at his office on my way back. When I entered, he showed me his letter,
and asked me why I had not answered it. I replied, "I am your daughter's
property, and it is in your power to send me, or take me, wherever you
please." He said he was very glad to find me so willing to go, and that we
should start early in the autumn. He had a large practice in the town, and
I rather thought he had made up the story merely to frighten me. However
that might be, I was determined that I would never go to Louisiana with
him.

Summer passed away, and early in the autumn Dr. Flint's eldest son was sent
to Louisiana to examine the country, with a view to emigrating. That news
did not disturb me. I knew very well that I should not be sent with _him_.
That I had not been taken to the plantation before this time, was owing to
the fact that his son was there. He was jealous of his son; and jealousy of
the overseer had kept him from punishing me by sending me into the fields
to work. Is it strange, that I was not proud of these protectors? As for
the overseer, he was a man for whom I had less respect than I had for a
bloodhound.

Young Mr. Flint did not bring back a favorable report of Louisiana, and I
heard no more of that scheme. Soon after this, my lover met me at the
corner of the street, and I stopped to speak to him. Looking up, I saw my
master watching us from his window. I hurried home, trembling with fear. I
was sent for, immediately, to go to his room. He met me with a blow. "When
is mistress to be married?" said he, in a sneering tone. A shower of oaths
and imprecations followed. How thankful I was that my lover was a free man!
that my tyrant had no power to flog him for speaking to me in the street!

Again and again I revolved in my mind how all this would end. There was no
hope that the doctor would consent to sell me on any terms. He had an iron
will, and was determined to keep me, and to conquer me. My lover was an
intelligent and religious man. Even if he could have obtained permission to
marry me while I was a slave, the marriage would give him no power to
protect me from my master. It would have made him miserable to witness the
insults I should have been subjected to. And then, if we had children, I
knew they must "follow the condition of the mother." What a terrible blight
that would be on the heart of a free, intelligent father! For _his_ sake, I
felt that I ought not to link his fate with my own unhappy destiny. He was
going to Savannah to see about a little property left him by an uncle; and
hard as it was to bring my feelings to it, I earnestly entreated him not to
come back. I advised him to go to the Free States, where his tongue would
not be tied, and where his intelligence would be of more avail to him. He
left me, still hoping the day would come when I could be bought. With me
the lamp of hope had gone out. The dream of my girlhood was over. I felt
lonely and desolate.

Still I was not stripped of all. I still had my good grandmother, and my
affectionate brother. When he put his arms round my neck, and looked into
my eyes, as if to read there the troubles I dared not tell, I felt that I
still had something to love. But even that pleasant emotion was chilled by
the reflection that he might be torn from me at any moment, by some sudden
freak of my master. If he had known how we loved each other, I think he
would have exulted in separating us. We often planned together how we could
get to the north. But, as William remarked, such things are easier said
than done. My movements were very closely watched, and we had no means of
getting any money to defray our expenses. As for grandmother, she was
strongly opposed to her children's undertaking any such project. She had
not forgotten poor Benjamin's sufferings, and she was afraid that if
another child tried to escape, he would have a similar or a worse fate. To
me, nothing seemed more dreadful than my present life. I said to myself,
"William _must_ be free. He shall go to the north, and I will follow him."
Many a slave sister has formed the same plans.

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

completion: Ah, young love. Linda has the hots for a young, freeborn carpenter, who proposes marriage. Afraid that Dr. Flint won't let her get married, Linda asks one of Dr. Flint's female friends to intervene for her. Dr. Flint says no way, and smacks Linda around a little for good measure. Oh, and if he ever sees her with the carpenter, he'll beat them both. This is a little weird: one day, Dr. Flint slips Linda a note, asking her to move to Louisiana with him and some other slaves. Unsurprisingly, this plan never works out. Linda tries to sneak visits with the carpenter but Dr. Flint has his eye on her. Finally she tells the carpenter that he should move to the Free States and forget about her. The carpenter takes her advice, and the two never see each other again. Linda and her little brother William start plotting for freedom.


prompt:
Chapter: Slaveholders pride themselves upon being honorable men; but if you were to
hear the enormous lies they tell their slaves, you would have small respect
for their veracity. I have spoken plain English. Pardon me. I cannot use a
milder term. When they visit the north, and return home, they tell their
slaves of the runaways they have seen, and describe them to be in the most
deplorable condition. A slaveholder once told me that he had seen a runaway
friend of mine in New York, and that she besought him to take her back to
her master, for she was literally dying of starvation; that many days she
had only one cold potato to eat, and at other times could get nothing at
all. He said he refused to take her, because he knew her master would not
thank him for bringing such a miserable wretch to his house. He ended by
saying to me, "This is the punishment she brought on herself for running
away from a kind master."

This whole story was false. I afterwards staid with that friend in New
York, and found her in comfortable circumstances. She had never thought of
such a thing as wishing to go back to slavery. Many of the slaves believe
such stories, and think it is not worth while to exchange slavery for such
a hard kind of freedom. It is difficult to persuade such that freedom could
make them useful men, and enable them to protect their wives and children.
If those heathen in our Christian land had as much teaching as some
Hindoos, they would think otherwise. They would know that liberty is more
valuable than life. They would begin to understand their own capabilities,
and exert themselves to become men and women.

But while the Free States sustain a law which hurls fugitives back into
slavery, how can the slaves resolve to become men? There are some who
strive to protect wives and daughters from the insults of their masters;
but those who have such sentiments have had advantages above the general
mass of slaves. They have been partially civilized and Christianized by
favorable circumstances. Some are bold enough to _utter_ such sentiments to
their masters. O, that there were more of them!

Some poor creatures have been so brutalized by the lash that they will
sneak out of the way to give their masters free access to their wives and
daughters. Do you think this proves the black man to belong to an inferior
order of beings? What would _you_ be, if you had been born and brought up a
slave, with generations of slaves for ancestors? I admit that the black man
_is_ inferior. But what is it that makes him so? It is the ignorance in
which white men compel him to live; it is the torturing whip that lashes
manhood out of him; it is the fierce bloodhounds of the South, and the
scarcely less cruel human bloodhounds of the north, who enforce the
Fugitive Slave Law. _They_ do the work.

Southern gentlemen indulge in the most contemptuous expressions about the
Yankees, while they, on their part, consent to do the vilest work for them,
such as the ferocious bloodhounds and the despised negro-hunters are
employed to do at home. When southerners go to the north, they are proud to
do them honor; but the northern man is not welcome south of Mason and
Dixon's line, unless he suppresses every thought and feeling at variance
with their "peculiar institution." Nor is it enough to be silent. The
masters are not pleased, unless they obtain a greater degree of
subservience than that; and they are generally accommodated. Do they
respect the northerner for this? I trow not. Even the slaves despise "a
northern man with southern principles;" and that is the class they
generally see. When northerners go to the south to reside, they prove very
apt scholars. They soon imbibe the sentiments and disposition of their
neighbors, and generally go beyond their teachers. Of the two, they are
proverbially the hardest masters.

They seem to satisfy their consciences with the doctrine that God created
the Africans to be slaves. What a libel upon the heavenly Father, who "made
of one blood all nations of men!" And then who _are_ Africans? Who can
measure the amount of Anglo-Saxon blood coursing in the veins of American
slaves?

I have spoken of the pains slaveholders take to give their slaves a bad
opinion of the north; but, notwithstanding this, intelligent slaves are
aware that they have many friends in the Free States. Even the most
ignorant have some confused notions about it. They knew that I could read;
and I was often asked if I had seen any thing in the newspapers about white
folks over in the big north, who were trying to get their freedom for them.
Some believe that the abolitionists have already made them free, and that
it is established by law, but that their masters prevent the law from going
into effect. One woman begged me to get a newspaper and read it over. She
said her husband told her that the black people had sent word to the queen
of 'Merica that they were all slaves; that she didn't believe it, and went
to Washington city to see the president about it. They quarrelled; she drew
her sword upon him, and swore that he should help her to make them all
free.

That poor, ignorant woman thought that America was governed by a Queen, to
whom the President was subordinate. I wish the President was subordinate to
Queen Justice.

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

completion: So, you might be wondering why more slaves don't run away to the North, considering how crummy the South is. Lies, lies, and more lies. Slave owners lie to their slaves about how bad life is up North. Like, a slaveholder once told Linda that he saw one of her runaway friends up North, and she was literally dying of starvation. Gee, that's weird. Because Linda has actually stayed with that friend, who's totally happy with her new free life. Of course, now there's the Fugitive Slave Law, which makes it illegal for Northerners to help runaway slaves and offers rewards for their capture and return. So, Northerners, don't injure yourself by patting your own backs, there. As long as the North enforces this law, it's also guilty of slavery.


prompt:
Chapter: There was a planter in the country, not far from us, whom I will call Mr.
Litch. He was an ill-bred, uneducated man, but very wealthy. He had six
hundred slaves, many of whom he did not know by sight. His extensive
plantation was managed by well-paid overseers. There was a jail and a
whipping post on his grounds; and whatever cruelties were perpetrated
there, they passed without comment. He was so effectually screened by his
great wealth that he was called to no account for his crimes, not even for
murder.

Various were the punishments resorted to. A favorite one was to tie a rope
round a man's body, and suspend him from the ground. A fire was kindled
over him, from which was suspended a piece of fat pork. As this cooked, the
scalding drops of fat continually fell on the bare flesh. On his own
plantation, he required very strict obedience to the eighth commandment.
But depredations on the neighbors were allowable, provided the culprit
managed to evade detection or suspicion. If a neighbor brought a charge of
theft against any of his slaves, he was browbeaten by the master, who
assured him that his slaves had enough of every thing at home, and had no
inducement to steal. No sooner was the neighbor's back turned, than the
accused was sought out, and whipped for his lack of discretion. If a slave
stole from him even a pound of meat or a peck of corn, if detection
followed, he was put in chains and imprisoned, and so kept till his form
was attentuated by hunger and suffering.

A freshnet once bore his wine cellar and meat house miles away from the
plantation. Some slaves followed, and secured bits of meat and bottles of
wine. Two were detected; a ham and some liquor being found in their huts.
They were summoned by their master. No words were used, but a club felled
them to the ground. A rough box was their coffin, and their interment was a
dog's burial. Nothing was said.

Murder was so common on his plantation that he feared to be alone after
nightfall. He might have believed in ghosts.

His brother, if not equal in wealth, was at least equal in cruelty. His
bloodhounds were well trained. Their pen was spacious, and a terror to the
slaves. They were let loose on a runway, and, if they tracked him, they
literally tore the flesh from his bones. When this slaveholder died, his
shrieks and groans were so frightful that they appalled his own friends.
His last words were, "I am going to hell; bury my money with me."

After death his eyes remained open. To press the lids down, silver dollars
were laid on them. These were buried with him. From this circumstance, a
rumor went abroad that his coffin was filled with money. Three times his
grave was opened, and his coffin taken out. The last time, his body was
found on the ground, and a flock of buzzards were pecking at it. He was
again interred, and a sentinel set over his grave. The perpetrators were
never discovered.

Cruelty is contagious in uncivilized communities. Mr. Conant, a neighbor of
Mr. Litch, returned from town one evening in a partial state of
intoxication. His body servant gave him some offence. He was divested of
his clothes, except his shirt, whipped, and tied to a large tree in front
of the house. It was a stormy night in winter. The wind blew bitterly cold,
and the boughs of the old tree crackled under falling sleet. A member of
the family, fearing he would freeze to death, begged that he might be taken
down; but the master would not relent. He remained there three hours; and,
when he was cut down, he was more dead than alive. Another slave, who stole
a pig from this master, to appease his hunger, was terribly flogged. In
desperation, he tried to run away. But at the end of two miles, he was so
faint with loss of blood, he thought he was dying. He had a wife, and he
longed to see her once more. Too sick to walk, he crept back that long
distance on his hands and knees. When he reached his master's, it was
night. He had not strength to rise and open the gate. He moaned, and tried
to call for help. I had a friend living in the same family. At last his cry
reached her. She went out and found the prostrate man at the gate. She ran
back to the house for assistance, and two men returned with her. They
carried him in, and laid him on the floor. The back of his shirt was one
clot of blood. By means of lard, my friend loosened it from the raw flesh.
She bandaged him, gave him cool drink, and left him to rest. The master
said he deserved a hundred more lashes. When his own labor was stolen from
him, he had stolen food to appease his hunger. This was his crime.

Another neighbor was a Mrs. Wade. At no hour of the day was there cessation
of the lash on her premises. Her labors began with the dawn, and did not
cease till long after nightfall. The barn was her particular place of
torture. There she lashed the slaves with the might of a man. An old slave
of hers once said to me, "It is hell in missis's house. 'Pears I can never
get out. Day and night I prays to die."

The mistress died before the old woman, and, when dying, entreated her
husband not to permit any one of her slaves to look on her after death. A
slave who had nursed her children, and had still a child in her care,
watched her chance, and stole with it in her arms to the room where lay her
dead mistress. She gazed a while on her, then raised her hand and dealt two
blows on her face, saying, as she did so, "The devil is got you _now_!" She
forgot that the child was looking on. She had just begun to talk; and she
said to her father, "I did see ma, and mammy did strike ma, so," striking
her own face with her little hand. The master was startled. He could not
imagine how the nurse could obtain access to the room where the corpse lay;
for he kept the door locked. He questioned her. She confessed that what the
child had said was true, and told how she had procured the key. She was
sold to Georgia.

In my childhood I knew a valuable slave, named Charity, and loved her, as
all children did. Her young mistress married, and took her to Louisiana.
Her little boy, James, was sold to a good sort of master. He became
involved in debt, and James was sold again to a wealthy slaveholder, noted
for his cruelty. With this man he grew up to manhood, receiving the
treatment of a dog. After a severe whipping, to save himself from further
infliction of the lash, with which he was threatened, he took to the woods.
He was in a most miserable condition--cut by the cowskin, half naked, half
starved, and without the means of procuring a crust of bread.

Some weeks after his escape, he was captured, tied, and carried back to his
master's plantation. This man considered punishment in his jail, on bread
and water, after receiving hundreds of lashes, too mild for the poor
slave's offence. Therefore he decided, after the overseer should have
whipped him to his satisfaction, to have him placed between the screws of
the cotton gin, to stay as long as he had been in the woods. This wretched
creature was cut with the whip from his head to his feet, then washed with
strong brine, to prevent the flesh from mortifying, and make it heal sooner
than it otherwise would. He was then put into the cotton gin, which was
screwed down, only allowing him room to turn on his side when he could not
lie on his back. Every morning a slave was sent with a piece of bread and
bowl of water, which was placed within reach of the poor fellow. The slave
was charged, under penalty of severe punishment, not to speak to him.

Four days passed, and the slave continued to carry the bread and water. On
the second morning, he found the bread gone, but the water untouched. When
he had been in the press four days and five night, the slave informed his
master that the water had not been used for four mornings, and that
horrible stench came from the gin house. The overseer was sent to examine
into it. When the press was unscrewed, the dead body was found partly eaten
by rats and vermin. Perhaps the rats that devoured his bread had gnawed him
before life was extinct. Poor Charity! Grandmother and I often asked each
other how her affectionate heart would bear the news, if she should ever
hear of the murder of her son. We had known her husband, and knew that
James was like him in manliness and intelligence. These were the qualities
that made it so hard for him to be a plantation slave. They put him into a
rough box, and buried him with less feeling than would have been manifested
for an old house dog. Nobody asked any questions. He was a slave; and the
feeling was that the master had a right to do what he pleased with his own
property. And what did _he_ care for the value of a slave? He had hundreds
of them. When they had finished their daily toil, they must hurry to eat
their little morsels, and be ready to extinguish their pine knots before
nine o'clock, when the overseer went his patrol rounds. He entered every
cabin, to see that men and their wives had gone to bed together, lest the
men, from over-fatigue, should fall asleep in the chimney corner, and
remain there till the morning horn called them to their daily task. Women
are considered of no value, unless they continually increase their owner's
stock. They are put on a par with animals. This same master shot a woman
through the head, who had run away and been brought back to him. No one
called him to account for it. If a slave resisted being whipped, the
bloodhounds were unpacked, and set upon him, to tear his flesh from his
bones. The master who did these things was highly educated, and styled a
perfect gentleman. He also boasted the name and standing of a Christian,
though Satan never had a truer follower.

I could tell of more slaveholders as cruel as those I have described. They
are not exceptions to the general rule. I do not say there are no humane
slaveholders. Such characters do exist, notwithstanding the hardening
influences around them. But they are "like angels' visits--few and far
between."

I knew a young lady who was one of these rare specimens. She was an orphan,
and inherited as slaves a woman and her six children. Their father was a
free man. They had a comfortable home of their own, parents and children
living together. The mother and eldest daughter served their mistress
during the day, and at night returned to their dwelling, which was on the
premises. The young lady was very pious, and there was some reality in her
religion. She taught her slaves to lead pure lives, and wished them to
enjoy the fruit of their own industry. _Her_ religion was not a garb put on
for Sunday, and laid aside till Sunday returned again. The eldest daughter
of the slave mother was promised in marriage to a free man; and the day
before the wedding this good mistress emancipated her, in order that her
marriage might have the sanction of _law_.

Report said that this young lady cherished an unrequited affection for a
man who had resolved to marry for wealth. In the course of time a rich
uncle of hers died. He left six thousand dollars to his two sons by a
colored woman, and the remainder of his property to this orphan niece. The
metal soon attracted the magnet. The lady and her weighty purse became his.
She offered to manumit her slaves--telling them that her marriage might
make unexpected changes in their destiny, and she wished to insure their
happiness. They refused to take their freedom, saying that she had always
been their best friend, and they could not be so happy any where as with
her. I was not surprised. I had often seen them in their comfortable home,
and thought that the whole town did not contain a happier family. They had
never felt slavery; and, when it was too late, they were convinced of its
reality.

When the new master claimed this family as his property, the father became
furious, and went to his mistress for protection. "I can do nothing for you
now, Harry," said she. "I no longer have the power I had a week ago. I have
succeeded in obtaining the freedom of your wife; but I cannot obtain it for
your children." The unhappy father swore that nobody should take his
children from him. He concealed them in the woods for some days; but they
were discovered and taken. The father was put in jail, and the two oldest
boys sold to Georgia. One little girl, too young to be of service to her
master, was left with the wretched mother. The other three were carried to
their master's plantation. The eldest soon became a mother; and when the
slaveholder's wife looked at the babe, she wept bitterly. She knew that her
own husband had violated the purity she had so carefully inculcated. She
had a second child by her master, and then he sold her and his offspring to
his brother. She bore two children to the brother and was sold again. The
next sister went crazy. The life she was compelled to lead drove her mad.
The third one became the mother of five daughters. Before the birth of the
fourth the pious mistress died. To the last, she rendered every kindness to
the slaves that her unfortunate circumstances permitted. She passed away
peacefully, glad to close her eyes on a life which had been made so
wretched by the man she loved.

This man squandered the fortune he had received, and sought to retrieve his
affairs by a second marriage; but, having retired after a night of drunken
debauch, he was found dead in the morning. He was called a good master; for
he fed and clothed his slaves better than most masters, and the lash was
not heard on his plantation so frequently as on many others. Had it not
been for slavery, he would have been a better man, and his wife a happier
woman.

No pen can give an adequate description of the all-pervading corruption
produced by slavery. The slave girl is reared in an atmosphere of
licentiousness and fear. The lash and the foul talk of her master and his
sons are her teachers. When she is fourteen or fifteen, her owner, or his
sons, or the overseer, or perhaps all of them, begin to bribe her with
presents. If these fail to accomplish their purpose, she is whipped or
starved into submission to their will. She may have had religious
principles inculcated by some pious mother or grandmother, or some good
mistress; she may have a lover, whose good opinion and peace of mind are
dear to her heart; or the profligate men who have power over her may be
exceedingly odious to her. But resistance is hopeless.

   The poor worm
   Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day
   Shall pass, and she is gone!

The slaveholder's sons are, of course, vitiated, even while boys, by the
unclean influences every where around them. Nor do the master's daughters
always escape. Severe retributions sometimes come upon him for the wrongs
he does to the daughters of the slaves. The white daughters early hear
their parents quarrelling about some female slave. Their curiosity is
excited, and they soon learn the cause. They are attended by the young
slave girls whom their father has corrupted; and they hear such talk as
should never meet youthful ears, or any other ears. They know that the
woman slaves are subject to their father's authority in all things; and in
some cases they exercise the same authority over the men slaves. I have
myself seen the master of such a household whose head was bowed down in
shame; for it was known in the neighborhood that his daughter had selected
one of the meanest slaves on his plantation to be the father of his first
grandchild. She did not make her advances to her equals, nor even to her
father's more intelligent servants. She selected the most brutalized, over
whom her authority could be exercised with less fear of exposure. Her
father, half frantic with rage, sought to revenge himself on the offending
black man; but his daughter, foreseeing the storm that would arise, had
given him free papers, and sent him out of the state.

In such cases the infant is smothered, or sent where it is never seen by
any who know its history. But if the white parent is the _father_, instead
of the mother, the offspring are unblushingly reared for the market. If
they are girls, I have indicated plainly enough what will be their
inevitable destiny.

You may believe what I say; for I write only that whereof I know. I was
twenty-one years in that cage of obscene birds. I can testify, from my own
experience and observation, that slavery is a curse to the whites as well
as to the blacks. It makes white fathers cruel and sensual; the sons
violent and licentious; it contaminates the daughters, and makes the wives
wretched. And as for the colored race, it needs an abler pen than mine to
describe the extremity of their sufferings, the depth of their degradation.

Yet few slaveholders seem to be aware of the widespread moral ruin
occasioned by this wicked system. Their talk is of blighted cotton
crops--not of the blight on their children's souls.

If you want to be fully convinced of the abominations of slavery, go on a
southern plantation, and call yourself a negro trader. Then there will be
no concealment; and you will see and hear things that will seem to you
impossible among human beings with immortal souls.

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

completion: Linda gives sketches of three slaveholders in her neighborhood. Exhibit A: Mr. Litch tortures his slaves through starvation, physical torture, and, sometimes, murder. His brother is no better. When a slave runs away, he lets his bloodhounds loose to tear the flesh from his bones. Exhibit B: Mr. Conant punishes a slave by tying him a tree, whipping him, and leaving him to freeze to death in winter. Exhibit C: Mrs. Wade beats her slaves all day, from morning to night. Sure, some slaveholders are very kind. Like, there was this one female slaveholder who treated her slaves like family. Buuut.... she ended up marrying a very mean man who raped the female slaves. And you'd better believe all this is true. Linda is speaking from personal experience and twenty-one years of observation. The moral of this chapter? The institution of slavery is a curse to whites and blacks alike.


prompt:
Chapter: After my lover went away, Dr. Flint contrived a new plan. He seemed to have
an idea that my fear of my mistress was his greatest obstacle. In the
blandest tones, he told me that he was going to build a small house for me,
         in a secluded place, four miles away from the town. I shuddered; but I was
         constrained to listen, while he talked of his intention to give me a home
         of my own, and to make a lady of me. Hitherto, I had escaped my dreaded
         fate, by being in the midst of people. My grandmother had already had high
         words with my master about me. She had told him pretty plainly what she
         thought of his character, and there was considerable gossip in the
         neighborhood about our affairs, to which the open-mouthed jealousy of Mrs.
         Flint contributed not a little. When my master said he was going to build a
         house for me, and that he could do it with little trouble and expense, I
         was in hopes something would happen to frustrate his scheme; but I soon
         heard that the house was actually begun. I vowed before my Maker that I
         would never enter it: I had rather toil on the plantation from dawn till
         dark; I had rather live and die in jail, than drag on, from day to day,
         through such a living death. I was determined that the master, whom I so
         hated and loathed, who had blighted the prospects of my youth, and made my
         life a desert, should not, after my long struggle with him, succeed at last
         in trampling his victim under his feet. I would do any thing, every thing,
         for the sake of defeating him. What _could_ I do? I thought and thought,
         till I became desperate, and made a plunge into the abyss.

         And now, reader, I come to a period in my unhappy life, which I would
         gladly forget if I could. The remembrance fills me with sorrow and shame.
         It pains me to tell you of it; but I have promised to tell you the truth,
         and I will do it honestly, let it cost me what it may. I will not try to
         screen myself behind the plea of compulsion from a master; for it was not
         so. Neither can I plead ignorance or thoughtlessness. For years, my master
         had done his utmost to pollute my mind with foul images, and to destroy the
         pure principles inculcated by my grandmother, and the good mistress of my
         childhood. The influences of slavery had had the same effect on me that
         they had on other young girls; they had made me prematurely knowing,
         concerning the evil ways of the world. I knew what I did, and I did it with
         deliberate calculation.

         But, O, ye happy women, whose purity has been sheltered from childhood, who
         have been free to choose the objects of your affection, whose homes are
         protected by law, do not judge the poor desolate slave girl too severely!
         If slavery had been abolished, I, also, could have married the man of my
         choice; I could have had a home shielded by the laws; and I should have
         been spared the painful task of confessing what I am now about to relate;
         but all my prospects had been blighted by slavery. I wanted to keep myself
         pure; and, under the most adverse circumstances, I tried hard to preserve
         my self-respect; but I was struggling alone in the powerful grasp of the
         demon Slavery; and the monster proved too strong for me. I felt as if I was
         forsaken by God and man; as if all my efforts must be frustrated; and I
         became reckless in my despair.

         I have told you that Dr. Flint's persecutions and his wife's jealousy had
         given rise to some gossip in the neighborhood. Among others, it chanced
         that a white unmarried gentleman had obtained some knowledge of the
         circumstances in which I was placed. He knew my grandmother, and often
         spoke to me in the street. He became interested for me, and asked questions
         about my master, which I answered in part. He expressed a great deal of
         sympathy, and a wish to aid me. He constantly sought opportunities to see
         me, and wrote to me frequently. I was a poor slave girl, only fifteen years
         old.

         So much attention from a superior person was, of course, flattering; for
         human nature is the same in all. I also felt grateful for his sympathy, and
         encouraged by his kind words. It seemed to me a great thing to have such a
         friend. By degrees, a more tender feeling crept into my heart. He was an
         educated and eloquent gentleman; too eloquent, alas, for the poor slave
         girl who trusted in him. Of course I saw whither all this was tending. I
         knew the impassable gulf between us; but to be an object of interest to a
         man who is not married, and who is not her master, is agreeable to the
         pride and feelings of a slave, if her miserable situation has left her any
         pride or sentiment. It seems less degrading to give one's self, than to
         submit to compulsion. There is something akin to freedom in having a lover
         who has no control over you, except that which he gains by kindness and
         attachment. A master may treat you as rudely as he pleases, and you dare
         not speak; moreover, the wrong does not seem so great with an unmarried
         man, as with one who has a wife to be made unhappy. There may be sophistry
         in all this; but the condition of a slave confuses all principles of
         morality, and, in fact, renders the practice of them impossible.

         When I found that my master had actually begun to build the lonely cottage,
         other feelings mixed with those I have described. Revenge, and calculations
         of interest, were added to flattered vanity and sincere gratitude for
         kindness. I knew nothing would enrage Dr. Flint so much as to know that I
         favored another, and it was something to triumph over my tyrant even in
         that small way. I thought he would revenge himself by selling me, and I was
         sure my friend, Mr. Sands, would buy me. He was a man of more generosity
         and feeling than my master, and I thought my freedom could be easily
         obtained from him. The crisis of my fate now came so near that I was
         desperate. I shuddered to think of being the mother of children that should
         be owned by my old tyrant. I knew that as soon as a new fancy took him, his
         victims were sold far off to get rid of them; especially if they had
         children. I had seen several women sold, with babies at the breast. He
         never allowed his offspring by slaves to remain long in sight of himself
         and his wife. Of a man who was not my master I could ask to have my
         children well supported; and in this case, I felt confident I should obtain
         the boon. I also felt quite sure that they would be made free. With all
         these thoughts revolving in my mind, and seeing no other way of escaping
         the doom I so much dreaded, I made a headlong plunge. Pity me, and pardon
         me, O virtuous reader! You never knew what it is to be a slave; to be
         entirely unprotected by law or custom; to have the laws reduce you to the
         condition of a chattel, entirely subject to the will of another. You never
         exhausted your ingenuity in avoiding the snares, and eluding the power of a
         hated tyrant; you never shuddered at the sound of his footsteps, and
         trembled within hearing of his voice. I know I did wrong. No one can feel
         it more sensibly than I do. The painful and humiliating memory will haunt
         me to my dying day. Still, in looking back, calmly, on the events of my
         life, I feel that the slave woman ought not to be judged by the same
         standard as others.

         The months passed on. I had many unhappy hours. I secretly mourned over the
         sorrow I was bringing on my grandmother, who had so tried to shield me from
         harm. I knew that I was the greatest comfort of her old age, and that it
         was a source of pride to her that I had not degraded myself, like most of
         the slaves. I wanted to confess to her that I was no longer worthy of her
         love; but I could not utter the dreaded words.

         As for Dr. Flint, I had a feeling of satisfaction and triumph in the
         thought of telling _him_. From time to time he told me of his intended
         arrangements, and I was silent. At last, he came and told me the cottage
         was completed, and ordered me to go to it. I told him I would never enter
         it. He said, "I have heard enough of such talk as that. You shall go, if
         you are carried by force; and you shall remain there."

         I replied, "I will never go there. In a few months I shall be a mother."

         He stood and looked at me in dumb amazement, and left the house without a
         word. I thought I should be happy in my triumph over him. But now that the
         truth was out, and my relatives would hear of it, I felt wretched. Humble
         as were their circumstances, they had pride in my good character. Now, how
         could I look at them in the face? My self-respect was gone! I had resolved
         that I would be virtuous, though I was a slave. I had said, "Let the storm
         beat! I will brave it till I die." And now, how humiliated I felt!

         I went to my grandmother. My lips moved to make confession, but the words
         stuck in my throat. I sat down in the shade of a tree at her door and began
         to sew. I think she saw something unusual was the matter with me. The
         mother of slaves is very watchful. She knows there is no security for her
         children. After they have entered their teens she lives in daily
         expectation of trouble. This leads to many questions. If the girl is of a
         sensitive nature, timidity keeps her from answering truthfully, and this
         well-meant course has a tendency to drive her from maternal counsels.
         Presently, in came my mistress, like a mad woman, and accused me concerning
         her husband. My grandmother, whose suspicions had been previously awakened,
         believed what she said. She exclaimed, "O Linda! Has it come to this? I had
         rather see you dead than to see you as you now are. You are a disgrace to
         your dead mother." She tore from my fingers my mother's wedding ring and
         her silver thimble. "Go away!" she exclaimed, "and never come to my house,
         again." Her reproaches fell so hot and heavy, that they left me no chance
         to answer. Bitter tears, such as the eyes never shed but once, were my only
         answer. I rose from my seat, but fell back again, sobbing. She did not
         speak to me; but the tears were running down her furrowed cheeks, and they
         scorched me like fire. She had always been so kind to me! _So_ kind! How I
         longed to throw myself at her feet, and tell her all the truth! But she had
         ordered me to go, and never to come there again. After a few minutes, I
         mustered strength, and started to obey her. With what feelings did I now
         close that little gate, which I used to open with such an eager hand in my
         childhood! It closed upon me with a sound I never heard before.

         Where could I go? I was afraid to return to my master's. I walked on
         recklessly, not caring where I went, or what would become of me. When I had
         gone four or five miles, fatigue compelled me to stop. I sat down on the
         stump of an old tree. The stars were shining through the boughs above me.
         How they mocked me, with their bright, calm light! The hours passed by, and
         as I sat there alone a chilliness and deadly sickness came over me. I sank
         on the ground. My mind was full of horrid thoughts. I prayed to die; but
         the prayer was not answered. At last, with great effort I roused myself,
         and walked some distance further, to the house of a woman who had been a
         friend of my mother. When I told her why I was there, she spoke soothingly
         to me; but I could not be comforted. I thought I could bear my shame if I
         could only be reconciled to my grandmother. I longed to open my heart to
         her. I thought if she could know the real state of the case, and all I had
         been bearing for years, she would perhaps judge me less harshly. My friend
         advised me to send for her. I did so; but days of agonizing suspense passed
         before she came. Had she utterly forsaken me? No. She came at last. I knelt
         before her, and told her the things that had poisoned my life; how long I
         had been persecuted; that I saw no way of escape; and in an hour of
         extremity I had become desperate. She listened in silence. I told her I
         would bear any thing and do any thing, if in time I had hopes of obtaining
         her forgiveness. I begged of her to pity me, for my dead mother's sake. And
         she did pity me. She did not say, "I forgive you;" but she looked at me
         lovingly, with her eyes full of tears. She laid her old hand gently on my
         head, and murmured, "Poor child! Poor child!"

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

completion: Dr. Flint plans to build a secret house in the woods where he and Linda can have sex. Linda is so not into this idea. Meanwhile, the town is all het up by what is going on between Dr. Flint and Linda. Mr. Sands, a white friend of Aunt Martha's, takes an interest in Linda. You know, that kind of interest. Linda starts having sex with Mr. Sands, hoping that he'll buy her from Dr. Flint. Dr. Flint finishes the cabin and thinks that Linda is going to be totally stoked about her new love nest. She's not. Actually, she can't go, because she's pregnant. Dr. Flint storms off in indignant silence. Linda confesses her pregnancy to Aunt Martha. Aunt Martha is not thrilled about Linda's new eligibility for 16 and Pregnant and sends her away. Scared and alone, Linda heads to another friend's house and tells her everything. The woman gets Aunt Martha to come over, and Linda points out that she was in kind of a tough spot. Aunt Martha cries, and they hug it out.


prompt:
Chapter: I returned to my good grandmother's house. She had an interview with Mr.
Sands. When she asked him why he could not have left her one ewe
lamb,--whether there were not plenty of slaves who did not care about
character,--he made no answer, but he spoke kind and encouraging words. He
promised to care for my child, and to buy me, be the conditions what they
might.

I had not seen Dr. Flint for five days. I had never seen him since I made
the avowal to him. He talked of the disgrace I had brought on myself; how I
had sinned against my master, and mortified my old grandmother. He
intimated that if I had accepted his proposals, he, as a physician, could
have saved me from exposure. He even condescended to pity me. Could he have
offered wormwood more bitter? He, whose persecutions had been the cause of
my sin!

"Linda," said he, "though you have been criminal towards me, I feel for
you, and I can pardon you if you obey my wishes. Tell me whether the fellow
you wanted to marry is the father of your child. If you deceive me, you
shall feel the fires of hell."

I did not feel as proud as I had done. My strongest weapon with him was
gone. I was lowered in my own estimation, and had resolved to bear his
abuse in silence. But when he spoke contemptuously of the lover who had
always treated me honorably; when I remembered that but for _him_ I might
have been a virtuous, free, and happy wife, I lost my patience. "I have
sinned against God and myself," I replied; "but not against you."

He clinched his teeth, and muttered, "Curse you!" He came towards me, with
ill-suppressed rage, and exclaimed, "You obstinate girl! I could grind your
bones to powder! You have thrown yourself away on some worthless rascal.
You are weak-minded, and have been easily persuaded by those who don't care
a straw for you. The future will settle accounts between us. You are
blinded now; but hereafter you will be convinced that your master was your
best friend. My lenity towards you is a proof of it. I might have punished
you in many ways. I might have whipped till you fell dead under the lash.
But I wanted you to live; I would have bettered your condition. Others
cannot do it. You are my slave. Your mistress, disgusted by your conduct,
forbids you to return to the house; therefore I leave you here for the
present; but I shall see you often. I will call to-morrow."

He came with frowning brows, that showed a dissatisfied state of mind.
After asking about my health, he inquired whether my board was paid, and
who visited me. He then went on to say that he had neglected his duty; that
as a physician there were certain things that he ought to have explained to
me. Then followed talk such as would have made the most shameless blush. He
ordered me to stand up before him. I obeyed. "I command you," said he, "to
tell me whether the father of your child is white or black." I hesitated.
"Answer me this instant!" he exclaimed. I did answer. He sprang upon me
like a wolf, and grabbed my arm as if he would have broken it. "Do you love
him?" said he, in a hissing tone.

"I am thankful that I do not despise him," I replied.

He raised his hand to strike me; but it fell again. I don't know what
arrested the blow. He sat down, with lips tightly compressed. At last he
spoke. "I came here," said he, "to make you a friendly proposition; but
your ingratitude chafes me beyond endurance. You turn aside all my good
intentions towards you. I don't know what it is that keeps me from killing
you." Again he rose, as if he had a mind to strike me.

But he resumed. "On one condition I will forgive your insolence and crime.
You must henceforth have no communication of any kind with the father of
your child. You must not ask any thing from him, or receive any thing from
him. I will take care of you and your child. You had better promise this at
once, and not wait till you are deserted by him. This is the last act of
mercy I shall show towards you."

I said something about being unwilling to have my child supported by a man
who had cursed it and me also. He rejoined, that a woman who had sunk to my
level had no right to expect any thing else. He asked, for the last time,
would I accept his kindness? I answered that I would not.

"Very well," said he; "then take the consequences of your wayward course.
Never look to me for help. You are my slave, and shall always be my slave.
I will never sell you, that you may depend upon."

Hope died away in my heart as he closed the door after him. I had
calculated that in his rage he would sell me to a slave-trader; and I knew
the father of my child was on the watch to buy me.

About this time my uncle Phillip was expected to return from a voyage. The
day before his departure I had officiated as bridesmaid to a young friend.
My heart was then ill at ease, but my smiling countenance did not betray
it. Only a year had passed; but what fearful changes it had wrought! My
heart had grown gray in misery. Lives that flash in sunshine, and lives
that are born in tears, receive their hue from circumstances. None of us
know what a year may bring forth.

I felt no joy when they told me my uncle had come. He wanted to see me,
though he knew what had happened. I shrank from him at first; but at last
consented that he should come to my room. He received me as he always had
done. O, how my heart smote me when I felt his tears on my burning cheeks!
The words of my grandmother came to my mind,--"Perhaps your mother and
father are taken from the evil days to come." My disappointed heart could
now praise God that it was so. But why, thought I, did my relatives ever
cherish hopes for me? What was there to save me from the usual fate of
slave girls? Many more beautiful and more intelligent than I had
experienced a similar fate, or a far worse one. How could they hope that I
should escape?

My uncle's stay was short, and I was not sorry for it. I was too ill in
mind and body to enjoy my friends as I had done. For some weeks I was
unable to leave my bed. I could not have any doctor but my master, and I
would not have him sent for. At last, alarmed by my increasing illness,
they sent for him. I was very weak and nervous; and as soon as he entered
the room, I began to scream. They told him my state was very critical. He
had no wish to hasten me out of the world, and he withdrew.

When my babe was born, they said it was premature. It weighed only four
pounds; but God let it live. I heard the doctor say I could not survive
till morning. I had often prayed for death; but now I did not want to die,
unless my child could die too. Many weeks passed before I was able to leave
my bed. I was a mere wreck of my former self. For a year there was scarcely
a day when I was free from chills and fever. My babe also was sickly. His
little limbs were often racked with pain. Dr. Flint continued his visits,
to look after my health; and he did not fail to remind me that my child was
an addition to his stock of slaves.

I felt too feeble to dispute with him, and listened to his remarks in
silence. His visits were less frequent; but his busy spirit could not
remain quiet. He employed my brother in his office; and he was made the
medium of frequent notes and messages to me. William was a bright lad, and
of much use to the doctor. He had learned to put up medicines, to leech,
cup, and bleed. He had taught himself to read and spell. I was proud of my
brother, and the old doctor suspected as much. One day, when I had not seen
him for several weeks, I heard his steps approaching the door. I dreaded
the encounter, and hid myself. He inquired for me, of course; but I was
nowhere to be found. He went to his office, and despatched William with a
note. The color mounted to my brother's face when he gave it to me; and he
said, "Don't you hate me, Linda, for bringing you these things?" I told him
I could not blame him; he was a slave, and obliged to obey his master's
will. The note ordered me to come to his office. I went. He demanded to
know where I was when he called. I told him I was at home. He flew into a
passion, and said he knew better. Then he launched out upon his usual
themes,--my crimes against him, and my ingratitude for his forbearance. The
laws were laid down to me anew, and I was dismissed. I felt humiliated that
my brother should stand by, and listen to such language as would be
addressed only to a slave. Poor boy! He was powerless to defend me; but I
saw the tears, which he vainly strove to keep back. The manifestation of
feeling irritated the doctor. William could do nothing to please him. One
morning he did not arrive at the office so early as usual; and that
circumstance afforded his master an opportunity to vent his spleen. He was
put in jail. The next day my brother sent a trader to the doctor, with a
request to be sold. His master was greatly incensed at what he called his
insolence. He said he had put him there, to reflect upon his bad conduct,
and he certainly was not giving any evidence of repentance. For two days he
harassed himself to find somebody to do his office work; but every thing
went wrong without William. He was released, and ordered to take his old
stand, with many threats, if he was not careful about his future behavior.

As the months passed on, my boy improved in health. When he was a year old,
they called him beautiful. The little vine was taking deep root in my
existence, though its clinging fondness excited a mixture of love and pain.
When I was most sorely oppressed I found a solace in his smiles. I loved to
watch his infant slumbers; but always there was a dark cloud over my
enjoyment. I could never forget that he was a slave. Sometimes I wished
that he might die in infancy. God tried me. My darling became very ill. The
bright eyes grew dull, and the little feet and hands were so icy cold that
I thought death had already touched them. I had prayed for his death, but
never so earnestly as I now prayed for his life; and my prayer was heard.
Alas, what mockery it is for a slave mother to try to pray back her dying
child to life! Death is better than slavery. It was a sad thought that I
had no name to give my child. His father caressed him and treated him
kindly, whenever he had a chance to see him. He was not unwilling that he
should bear his name; but he had no legal claim to it; and if I had
bestowed it upon him, my master would have regarded it as a new crime, a
new piece of insolence, and would, perhaps, revenge it on the boy. O, the
serpent of Slavery has many and poisonous fangs!

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

completion: Linda is living at Aunt Martha's house, but she still belongs to Dr. Flint. One day, Dr. Flint shows up and demands to know the race of the baby's father. When he learns that he is a white man, Dr. Flint demands that Linda cut off ties with the guy. Plus, her plan has failed, since Dr. Flint is never going to sell her. Linda gets another visitor: Uncle Phillip, who's just back from a trip. After Linda gets really sick, her baby is born early. They're both in bad shape, and Linda is stuck in bed for an entire year. Luckily, they both pull through. Somehow, Dr. Flint still has the hots for Linda, and he gets William to pass her notes. This doesn't prevent him from throwing William in jail when he's late to work one day. At one year old, Linda's baby gets really sick. Linda prays for him to survive, even though she's pretty sure death is better than slavery.


prompt:
Chapter: Not far from this time Nat Turner's insurrection broke out; and the news
threw our town into great commotion. Strange that they should be alarmed,
when their slaves were so "contented and happy"! But so it was.

It was always the custom to have a muster every year. On that occasion
every white man shouldered his musket. The citizens and the so-called
country gentlemen wore military uniforms. The poor whites took their places
in the ranks in every-day dress, some without shoes, some without hats.
This grand occasion had already passed; and when the slaves were told there
was to be another muster, they were surprised and rejoiced. Poor creatures!
They thought it was going to be a holiday. I was informed of the true state
of affairs, and imparted it to the few I could trust. Most gladly would I
have proclaimed it to every slave; but I dared not. All could not be relied
on. Mighty is the power of the torturing lash.

By sunrise, people were pouring in from every quarter within twenty miles
of the town. I knew the houses were to be searched; and I expected it would
be done by country bullies and the poor whites. I knew nothing annoyed them
so much as to see colored people living in comfort and respectability; so I
made arrangements for them with especial care. I arranged every thing in my
grandmother's house as neatly as possible. I put white quilts on the beds,
and decorated some of the rooms with flowers. When all was arranged, I sat
down at the window to watch. Far as my eye could reach, it rested on a
motley crowd of soldiers. Drums and fifes were discoursing martial music.
The men were divided into companies of sixteen, each headed by a captain.
Orders were given, and the wild scouts rushed in every direction, wherever
a colored face was to be found.

It was a grand opportunity for the low whites, who had no negroes of their
own to scourge. They exulted in such a chance to exercise a little brief
authority, and show their subserviency to the slaveholders; not reflecting
that the power which trampled on the colored people also kept themselves in
poverty, ignorance, and moral degradation. Those who never witnessed such
scenes can hardly believe what I know was inflicted at this time on
innocent men, women, and children, against whom there was not the slightest
ground for suspicion. Colored people and slaves who lived in remote parts
of the town suffered in an especial manner. In some cases the searchers
scattered powder and shot among their clothes, and then sent other parties
to find them, and bring them forward as proof that they were plotting
insurrection. Every where men, women, and children were whipped till the
blood stood in puddles at their feet. Some received five hundred lashes;
others were tied hands and feet, and tortured with a bucking paddle, which
blisters the skin terribly. The dwellings of the colored people, unless
they happened to be protected by some influential white person, who was
nigh at hand, were robbed of clothing and every thing else the marauders
thought worth carrying away. All day long these unfeeling wretches went
round, like a troop of demons, terrifying and tormenting the helpless. At
night, they formed themselves into patrol bands, and went wherever they
chose among the colored people, acting out their brutal will. Many women
hid themselves in woods and swamps, to keep out of their way. If any of the
husbands or fathers told of these outrages, they were tied up to the public
whipping post, and cruelly scourged for telling lies about white men. The
consternation was universal. No two people that had the slightest tinge of
color in their faces dared to be seen talking together.

I entertained no positive fears about our household, because we were in the
midst of white families who would protect us. We were ready to receive the
soldiers whenever they came. It was not long before we heard the tramp of
feet and the sound of voices. The door was rudely pushed open; and in they
tumbled, like a pack of hungry wolves. They snatched at every thing within
their reach. Every box, trunk, closet, and corner underwent a thorough
examination. A box in one of the drawers containing some silver change was
eagerly pounced upon. When I stepped forward to take it from them, one of
the soldiers turned and said angrily, "What d'ye foller us fur? D'ye s'pose
white folks is come to steal?"

I replied, "You have come to search; but you have searched that box, and I
will take it, if you please."

At that moment I saw a white gentleman who was friendly to us; and I called
to him, and asked him to have the goodness to come in and stay till the
search was over. He readily complied. His entrance into the house brought
in the captain of the company, whose business it was to guard the outside
of the house, and see that none of the inmates left it. This officer was
Mr. Litch, the wealthy slaveholder whom I mentioned, in the account of
neighboring planters, as being notorious for his cruelty. He felt above
soiling his hands with the search. He merely gave orders; and, if a bit of
writing was discovered, it was carried to him by his ignorant followers,
who were unable to read.

My grandmother had a large trunk of bedding and table cloths. When that was
opened, there was a great shout of surprise; and one exclaimed, "Where'd
the damned niggers git all dis sheet an' table clarf?"

My grandmother, emboldened by the presence of our white protector said,
"You may be sure we didn't pilfer 'em from _your_ houses."

"Look here, mammy," said a grim-looking fellow without any coat, "you seem
to feel mighty gran' 'cause you got all them 'ere fixens. White folks
oughter have 'em all."

His remarks were interrupted by a chorus of voices shouting, "We's got 'em!
We's got 'em! Dis 'ere yaller gal's got letters!"

There was a general rush for the supposed letter, which, upon examination,
proved to be some verses written to me by a friend. In packing away my
things, I had overlooked them. When their captain informed them of their
contents, they seemed much disappointed. He inquired of me who wrote them.
I told him it was one of my friends. "Can you read them?" he asked. When I
told him I could, he swore, and raved, and tore the paper into bits. "Bring
me all your letters!" said he, in commanding tone. I told him I had none.
"Don't be afraid," he continued, in an insinuating way. "Bring them all to
me. Nobody shall do you any harm." Seeing I did not move to obey him, his
pleasant tone changed to oaths and threats. "Who writes to you? half free
niggers?" inquired he. I replied, "O, no; most of my letters are from white
people. Some request me to burn them after they are read, and some I
destroy without reading."

An exclamation of surprise from some of the company put a stop to our
conversation. Some silver spoons which ornamented an old-fashioned buffet
had just been discovered. My grandmother was in the habit of preserving
fruit for many ladies in the town, and of preparing suppers for parties;
consequently she had many jars of preserves. The closet that contained
these was next invaded, and the contents tasted. One of them, who was
helping himself freely, tapped his neighbor on the shoulder, and said, "Wal
done! Don't wonder de niggers want to kill all de white folks, when dey
live on 'sarves" [meaning preserves]. I stretched out my hand to take the
jar, saying, "You were not sent here to search for sweetmeats."

"And what _were_ we sent for?" said the captain, bristling up to me. I
evaded the question.

The search of the house was completed, and nothing found to condemn us.
They next proceeded to the garden, and knocked about every bush and vine,
with no better success. The captain called his men together, and, after a
short consultation, the order to march was given. As they passed out of the
gate, the captain turned back, and pronounced a malediction on the house.
He said it ought to be burned to the ground, and each of its inmates
receive thirty-nine lashes. We came out of this affair very fortunately;
not losing any thing except some wearing apparel.

Towards evening the turbulence increased. The soldiers, stimulated by
drink, committed still greater cruelties. Shrieks and shouts continually
rent the air. Not daring to go to the door, I peeped under the window
curtain. I saw a mob dragging along a number of colored people, each white
man, with his musket upraised, threatening instant death if they did not
stop their shrieks. Among the prisoners was a respectable old colored
minister. They had found a few parcels of shot in his house, which his wife
had for years used to balance her scales. For this they were going to shoot
him on Court House Green. What a spectacle was that for a civilized
country! A rabble, staggering under intoxication, assuming to be the
administrators of justice!

The better class of the community exerted their influence to save the
innocent, persecuted people; and in several instances they succeeded, by
keeping them shut up in jail till the excitement abated. At last the white
citizens found that their own property was not safe from the lawless rabble
they had summoned to protect them. They rallied the drunken swarm, drove
them back into the country, and set a guard over the town.

The next day, the town patrols were commissioned to search colored people
that lived out of the city; and the most shocking outrages were committed
with perfect impunity. Every day for a fortnight, if I looked out, I saw
horsemen with some poor panting negro tied to their saddles, and compelled
by the lash to keep up with their speed, till they arrived at the jail
yard. Those who had been whipped too unmercifully to walk were washed with
brine, tossed into a cart, and carried to jail. One black man, who had not
fortitude to endure scourging, promised to give information about the
conspiracy. But it turned out that he knew nothing at all. He had not even
heard the name of Nat Turner. The poor fellow had, however, made up a
story, which augmented his own sufferings and those of the colored people.

The day patrol continued for some weeks, and at sundown a night guard was
substituted. Nothing at all was proved against the colored people, bond or
free. The wrath of the slaveholders was somewhat appeased by the capture of
Nat Turner. The imprisoned were released. The slaves were sent to their
masters, and the free were permitted to return to their ravaged homes.
Visiting was strictly forbidden on the plantations. The slaves begged the
privilege of again meeting at their little church in the woods, with their
burying ground around it. It was built by the colored people, and they had
no higher happiness than to meet there and sing hymns together, and pour
out their hearts in spontaneous prayer. Their request was denied, and the
church was demolished. They were permitted to attend the white churches, a
certain portion of the galleries being appropriated to their use. There,
when every body else had partaken of the communion, and the benediction had
been pronounced, the minister said, "Come down, now, my colored friends."
They obeyed the summons, and partook of the bread and wine, in
commemoration of the meek and lowly Jesus, who said, "God is your Father,
and all ye are brethren."

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

completion: Word spreads of Nat Turner's slave rebellion in Virginia. Worried that the slaves may be planning a revolt, the slaveholders in Edenton hire poor whites to search everyone. Dozens of slaves--men, women and children--are whipped and tortured. Linda cleans her grandmother's house to get the searchers off her back. Mr. Litch, a neighboring slaveholder, leads the search of Aunt Martha's house. They ask her what she's doing with so many letters, and she says they're poetry from one of her white friends. The search team leaves after not finding anything incriminating, and you can imagine they're a little disappointed. This goes on for weeks. It doesn't manage to turn up any plots for rebellion--although if you're just looking at numbers of people tortured and jailed, it's a huge success.


prompt:
Chapter: After the alarm caused by Nat Turner's insurrection had subsided, the
slaveholders came to the conclusion that it would be well to give the
slaves enough of religious instruction to keep them from murdering their
masters. The Episcopal clergyman offered to hold a separate service on
Sundays for their benefit. His colored members were very few, and also very
respectable--a fact which I presume had some weight with him. The
difficulty was to decide on a suitable place for them to worship. The
Methodist and Baptist churches admitted them in the afternoon; but their
carpets and cushions were not so costly as those at the Episcopal church.
It was at last decided that they should meet at the house of a free colored
man, who was a member.

I was invited to attend, because I could read. Sunday evening came, and,
trusting to the cover of night, I ventured out. I rarely ventured out by
daylight, for I always went with fear, expecting at every turn to encounter
Dr. Flint, who was sure to turn me back, or order me to his office to
inquire where I got my bonnet, or some other article of dress. When the
Rev. Mr. Pike came, there were some twenty persons present. The reverend
gentleman knelt in prayer, then seated himself, and requested all present,
who could read, to open their books, while he gave out the portions he
wished them to repeat or respond to.

His text was, "Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters
according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your
heart, as unto Christ."

Pious Mr. Pike brushed up his hair till it stood upright, and, in deep,
solemn tones, began: "Hearken, ye servants! Give strict heed unto my words.
You are rebellious sinners. Your hearts are filled with all manner of evil.
'Tis the devil who tempts you. God is angry with you, and will surely
punish you, if you don't forsake your wicked ways. You that live in town
are eyeservants behind your master's back. Instead of serving your masters
faithfully, which is pleasing in the sight of your heavenly Master, you are
idle, and shirk your work. God sees you. You tell lies. God hears you.
Instead of being engaged in worshipping him, you are hidden away somewhere,
feasting on your master's substance; tossing coffee-grounds with some
wicked fortuneteller, or cutting cards with another old hag. Your masters
may not find you out, but God sees you, and will punish you. O, the
depravity of your hearts! When your master's work is done, are you quietly
together, thinking of the goodness of God to such sinful creatures? No; you
are quarrelling, and tying up little bags of roots to bury under the
doorsteps to poison each other with. God sees you. You men steal away to
every grog shop to sell your master's corn, that you may buy rum to drink.
God sees you. You sneak into the back streets, or among the bushes, to
pitch coppers. Although your masters may not find you out, God sees you;
and he will punish you. You must forsake your sinful ways, and be faithful
servants. Obey your old master and your young master--your old mistress and
your young mistress. If you disobey your earthly master, you offend your
heavenly Master. You must obey God's commandments. When you go from here,
don't stop at the corners of the streets to talk, but go directly home, and
let your master and mistress see that you have come."

The benediction was pronounced. We went home, highly amused at brother
Pike's gospel teaching, and we determined to hear him again. I went the
next Sabbath evening, and heard pretty much a repetition of the last
discourse. At the close of the meeting, Mr. Pike informed us that he found
it very inconvenient to meet at the friend's house, and he should be glad
to see us, every Sunday evening, at his own kitchen.

I went home with the feeling that I had heard the Reverend Mr. Pike for the
last time. Some of his members repaired to his house, and found that the
kitchen sported two tallow candles; the first time, I am sure, since its
present occupant owned it, for the servants never had any thing but pine
knots. It was so long before the reverend gentleman descended from his
comfortable parlor that the slaves left, and went to enjoy a Methodist
shout. They never seem so happy as when shouting and singing at religious
meetings. Many of them are sincere, and nearer to the gate of heaven than
sanctimonious Mr. Pike, and other long-faced Christians, who see wounded
Samaritans, and pass by on the other side.

The slaves generally compose their own songs and hymns; and they do not
trouble their heads much about the measure. They often sing the following
verses:

   Old Satan is one busy ole man;
   He rolls dem blocks all in my way;
   But Jesus is my bosom friend;
   He rolls dem blocks away.

   If I had died when I was young,
   Den how my stam'ring tongue would have sung;
   But I am ole, and now I stand
   A narrow chance for to tread dat heavenly land.

I well remember one occasion when I attended a Methodist class meeting. I
went with a burdened spirit, and happened to sit next a poor, bereaved
mother, whose heart was still heavier than mine. The class leader was the
town constable--a man who bought and sold slaves, who whipped his brethren
and sisters of the church at the public whipping post, in jail or out of
jail. He was ready to perform that Christian office any where for fifty
cents. This white-faced, black-hearted brother came near us, and said to
the stricken woman, "Sister, can't you tell us how the Lord deals with your
soul? Do you love him as you did formerly?"

She rose to her feet, and said, in piteous tones, "My Lord and Master, help
me! My load is more than I can bear. God has hid himself from me, and I am
left in darkness and misery." Then, striking her breast, she continued, "I
can't tell you what is in here! They've got all my children. Last week they
took the last one. God only knows where they've sold her. They let me have
her sixteen years, and then--O! O! Pray for her brothers and sisters! I've
got nothing to live for now. God make my time short!"

She sat down, quivering in every limb. I saw that constable class leader
become crimson in the face with suppressed laughter, while he held up his
handkerchief, that those who were weeping for the poor woman's calamity
might not see his merriment. Then, with assumed gravity, he said to the
bereaved mother, "Sister, pray to the Lord that every dispensation of his
divine will may be sanctified to the good of your poor needy soul!"

The congregation struck up a hymn, and sung as though they were as free as
the birds that warbled round us,--

   Ole Satan thought he had a mighty aim;
   He missed my soul, and caught my sins.
   Cry Amen, cry Amen, cry Amen to God!

   He took my sins upon his back;
   Went muttering and grumbling down to hell.
   Cry Amen, cry Amen, cry Amen to God!

   Ole Satan's church is here below.
   Up to God's free church I hope to go.
   Cry Amen, cry Amen, cry Amen to God!

Precious are such moments to the poor slaves. If you were to hear them at
such times, you might think they were happy. But can that hour of singing
and shouting sustain them through the dreary week, toiling without wages,
under constant dread of the lash?

The Episcopal clergyman, who, ever since my earliest recollection, had been
a sort of god among the slaveholders, concluded, as his family was large,
that he must go where money was more abundant. A very different clergyman
took his place. The change was very agreeable to the colored people, who
said, "God has sent us a good man this time." They loved him, and their
children followed him for a smile or a kind word. Even the slaveholders
felt his influence. He brought to the rectory five slaves. His wife taught
them to read and write, and to be useful to her and themselves. As soon as
he was settled, he turned his attention to the needy slaves around him. He
urged upon his parishioners the duty of having a meeting expressly for them
every Sunday, with a sermon adapted to their comprehension. After much
argument and importunity, it was finally agreed that they might occupy the
gallery of the church on Sunday evenings. Many colored people, hitherto
unaccustomed to attend church, now gladly went to hear the gospel preached.
The sermons were simple, and they understood them. Moreover, it was the
first time they had ever been addressed as human beings. It was not long
before his white parishioners began to be dissatisfied. He was accused of
preaching better sermons to the negroes than he did to them. He honestly
confessed that he bestowed more pains upon those sermons than upon any
others; for the slaves were reared in such ignorance that it was a
difficult task to adapt himself to their comprehension. Dissensions arose
in the parish. Some wanted he should preach to them in the evening, and to
the slaves in the afternoon. In the midst of these disputings his wife
died, after a very short illness. Her slaves gathered round her dying bed
in great sorrow. She said, "I have tried to do you good and promote your
happiness; and if I have failed, it has not been for want of interest in
your welfare. Do not weep for me; but prepare for the new duties that lie
before you. I leave you all free. May we meet in a better world." Her
liberated slaves were sent away, with funds to establish them comfortably.
The colored people will long bless the memory of that truly Christian
woman. Soon after her death her husband preached his farewell sermon, and
many tears were shed at his departure.

Several years after, he passed through our town and preached to his former
congregation. In his afternoon sermon he addressed the colored people. "My
friends," said he, "it affords me great happiness to have an opportunity of
speaking to you again. For two years I have been striving to do something
for the colored people of my own parish; but nothing is yet accomplished. I
have not even preached a sermon to them. Try to live according to the word
of God, my friends. Your skin is darker than mine; but God judges men by
their hearts, not by the color of their skins." This was strange doctrine
from a southern pulpit. It was very offensive to slaveholders. They said he
and his wife had made fools of their slaves, and that he preached like a
fool to the negroes.

I knew an old black man, whose piety and childlike trust in God were
beautiful to witness. At fifty-three years old he joined the Baptist
church. He had a most earnest desire to learn to read. He thought he should
know how to serve God better if he could only read the Bible. He came to
me, and begged me to teach him. He said he could not pay me, for he had no
money; but he would bring me nice fruit when the season for it came. I
asked him if he didn't know it was contrary to law; and that slaves were
whipped and imprisoned for teaching each other to read. This brought the
tears into his eyes. "Don't be troubled, uncle Fred," said I. "I have no
thoughts of refusing to teach you. I only told you of the law, that you
might know the danger, and be on your guard." He thought he could plan to
come three times a week without its being suspected. I selected a quiet
nook, where no intruder was likely to penetrate, and there I taught him his
A, B, C. Considering his age, his progress was astonishing. As soon as he
could spell in two syllables he wanted to spell out words in the Bible. The
happy smile that illuminated his face put joy into my heart. After spelling
out a few words, he paused, and said, "Honey, it 'pears when I can read dis
good book I shall be nearer to God. White man is got all de sense. He can
larn easy. It ain't easy for ole black man like me. I only wants to read
dis book, dat I may know how to live; den I hab no fear 'bout dying."

I tried to encourage him by speaking of the rapid progress he had made.
"Hab patience, child," he replied. "I larns slow."

I had no need of patience. His gratitude, and the happiness imparted, were
more than a recompense for all my trouble.

At the end of six months he had read through the New Testament, and could
find any text in it. One day, when he had recited unusually well, I said,
"Uncle Fred, how do you manage to get your lessons so well?"

"Lord bress you, chile," he replied. "You nebber gibs me a lesson dat I
don't pray to God to help me to understan' what I spells and what I reads.
And he _does_ help me, chile. Bress his holy name!"

There are thousands, who, like good uncle Fred, are thirsting for the water
of life; but the law forbids it, and the churches withhold it. They send
the Bible to heathen abroad, and neglect the heathen at home. I am glad
that missionaries go out to the dark corners of the earth; but I ask them
not to overlook the dark corners at home. Talk to American slaveholders as
you talk to savages in Africa. Tell _them_ it was wrong to traffic in men.
Tell them it is sinful to sell their own children, and atrocious to violate
their own daughters. Tell them that all men are brethren, and that man has
no right to shut out the light of knowledge from his brother. Tell them
they are answerable to God for sealing up the Fountain of Life from souls
that are thirsting for it.

There are men who would gladly undertake such missionary work as this; but,
alas! their number is small. They are hated by the south, and would be
driven from its soil, or dragged to prison to die, as others have been
before them. The field is ripe for the harvest, and awaits the reapers.
Perhaps the great grandchildren of uncle Fred may have freely imparted to
them the divine treasures, which he sought by stealth, at the risk of the
prison and the scourge.

Are doctors of divinity blind, or are they hypocrites? I suppose some are
the one, and some the other; but I think if they felt the interest in the
poor and the lowly, that they ought to feel, they would not be so _easily_
blinded. A clergyman who goes to the south, for the first time, has usually
some feeling, however vague, that slavery is wrong. The slaveholder
suspects this, and plays his game accordingly. He makes himself as
agreeable as possible; talks on theology, and other kindred topics. The
reverend gentleman is asked to invoke a blessing on a table loaded with
luxuries. After dinner he walks round the premises, and sees the beautiful
groves and flowering vines, and the comfortable huts of favored household
slaves. The southerner invites him to talk with those slaves. He asks them
if they want to be free, and they say, "O, no, massa." This is sufficient
to satisfy him. He comes home to publish a "South Side View of Slavery,"
and to complain of the exaggerations of abolitionists. He assures people
that he has been to the south, and seen slavery for himself; that it is a
beautiful "patriarchal institution;" that the slaves don't want their
freedom; that they have hallelujah meetings and other religious privileges.

What does _he_ know of the half-starved wretches toiling from dawn till
dark on the plantations? of mothers shrieking for their children, torn from
their arms by slave traders? of young girls dragged down into moral filth?
of pools of blood around the whipping post? of hounds trained to tear human
flesh? of men screwed into cotton gins to die? The slaveholder showed him
none of these things, and the slaves dared not tell of them if he had asked
them.

There is a great difference between Christianity and religion at the south.
If a man goes to the communion table, and pays money into the treasury of
the church, no matter if it be the price of blood, he is called religious.
If a pastor has offspring by a woman not his wife, the church dismiss him,
if she is a white woman; but if she is colored, it does not hinder his
continuing to be their good shepherd.

When I was told that Dr. Flint had joined the Episcopal church, I was much
surprised. I supposed that religion had a purifying effect on the character
of men; but the worst persecutions I endured from him were after he was a
communicant. The conversation of the doctor, the day after he had been
confirmed, certainly gave _me_ no indication that he had "renounced the
devil and all his works." In answer to some of his usual talk, I reminded
him that he had just joined the church. "Yes, Linda," said he. "It was
proper for me to do so. I am getting in years, and my position in society
requires it, and it puts an end to all the damned slang. You would do well
to join the church, too, Linda."

"There are sinners enough in it already," rejoined I. "If I could be
allowed to live like a Christian, I should be glad."

"You can do what I require; and if you are faithful to me, you will be as
virtuous as my wife," he replied.

I answered that the Bible didn't say so.

His voice became hoarse with rage. "How dare you preach to me about your
infernal Bible!" he exclaimed. "What right have you, who are my negro, to
talk to me about what you would like and what you wouldn't like? I am your
master, and you shall obey me."

No wonder the slaves sing,--

   Ole Satan's church is here below;
   Up to God's free church I hope to go.

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

completion: The slaveholders in Edenton decide that a little churchifying will fix their slaves up. Linda is invited to hear the sermon at the house of a free black man, Reverend Pike. Reverend Pike basically tells the slaves that they've been naughty, and it's their Christian duty to obey their masters. Linda thinks this is a little funny, but she wants to see him again anyway. A couple of weeks later, Reverend Pike takes too long to start the sermon. The slaves head to a Methodist church instead, where they get to sing and shout. This is way better than listening to a guy preach. Now it's time for a little story: Linda taught a black church-goer named Fred to read, even though it's illegal for a slave to teach. Six months later, Fred is reading the New Testament. Way to go, Fred! The thing is, there are thousands of slaves like Fred who want to learn to read the Bible. As Christians, her readers should really work to make this happen by abolishing slavery. Linda takes a minute here to point out the hypocrisy of religious people in the South. Like, while white pastors can't sleep with other white women, it seems totally okay for them to rape slaves. As long as men keep forking over the donations, they can basically do whatever they want. For example, Dr. Flint, who's a member of the Episcopal Church, tries to convince Linda that she can have sex with him and still be considered virtuous. Nuh-uh, Linda says. Not according to her Bible. Dr. Flint promptly flies into a rage, since he figures his slave has no right to tell him what's in the Bible.