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.

 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.

