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."

 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.

