Chapter: I had not returned to my master's house since the birth of my child. The
old man raved to have me thus removed from his immediate power; but his
wife vowed, by all that was good and great, she would kill me if I came
back; and he did not doubt her word. Sometimes he would stay away for a
season. Then he would come and renew the old threadbare discourse about his
forbearance and my ingratitude. He labored, most unnecessarily, to convince
me that I had lowered myself. The venomous old reprobate had no need of
descanting on that theme. I felt humiliated enough. My unconscious babe was
the ever-present witness of my shame. I listened with silent contempt when
he talked about my having forfeited _his_ good opinion; but I shed bitter
tears that I was no longer worthy of being respected by the good and pure.
Alas! slavery still held me in its poisonous grasp. There was no chance for
me to be respectable. There was no prospect of being able to lead a better
life.

Sometimes, when my master found that I still refused to accept what he
called his kind offers, he would threaten to sell my child. "Perhaps that
will humble you," said he.

Humble _me_! Was I not already in the dust? But his threat lacerated my
heart. I knew the law gave him power to fulfil it; for slaveholders have
been cunning enough to enact that "the child shall follow the condition of
the _mother_," not of the _father_, thus taking care that licentiousness
shall not interfere with avarice. This reflection made me clasp my innocent
babe all the more firmly to my heart. Horrid visions passed through my mind
when I thought of his liability to fall into the slave trader's hands. I
wept over him, and said, "O my child! perhaps they will leave you in some
cold cabin to die, and then throw you into a hole, as if you were a dog."

When Dr. Flint learned that I was again to be a mother, he was exasperated
beyond measure. He rushed from the house, and returned with a pair of
shears. I had a fine head of hair; and he often railed about my pride of
arranging it nicely. He cut every hair close to my head, storming and
swearing all the time. I replied to some of his abuse, and he struck me.
Some months before, he had pitched me down stairs in a fit of passion; and
the injury I received was so serious that I was unable to turn myself in
bed for many days. He then said, "Linda, I swear by God I will never raise
my hand against you again;" but I knew that he would forget his promise.

After he discovered my situation, he was like a restless spirit from the
pit. He came every day; and I was subjected to such insults as no pen can
describe. I would not describe them if I could; they were too low, too
revolting. I tried to keep them from my grandmother's knowledge as much as
I could. I knew she had enough to sadden her life, without having my
troubles to bear. When she saw the doctor treat me with violence, and heard
him utter oaths terrible enough to palsy a man's tongue, she could not
always hold her peace. It was natural and motherlike that she should try to
defend me; but it only made matters worse.

When they told me my new-born babe was a girl, my heart was heavier than it
had ever been before. Slavery is terrible for men; but it is far more
terrible for women. Superadded to the burden common to all, _they_ have
wrongs, and sufferings, and mortifications peculiarly their own.

Dr. Flint had sworn that he would make me suffer, to my last day, for this
new crime against _him_, as he called it; and as long as he had me in his
power he kept his word. On the fourth day after the birth of my babe, he
entered my room suddenly, and commanded me to rise and bring my baby to
him. The nurse who took care of me had gone out of the room to prepare some
nourishment, and I was alone. There was no alternative. I rose, took up my
babe, and crossed the room to where he sat. "Now stand there," said he,
"till I tell you to go back!" My child bore a strong resemblance to her
father, and to the deceased Mrs. Sands, her grandmother. He noticed this;
and while I stood before him, trembling with weakness, he heaped upon me
and my little one every vile epithet he could think of. Even the
grandmother in her grave did not escape his curses. In the midst of his
vituperations I fainted at his feet. This recalled him to his senses. He
took the baby from my arms, laid it on the bed, dashed cold water in my
face, took me up, and shook me violently, to restore my consciousness
before any one entered the room. Just then my grandmother came in, and he
hurried out of the house. I suffered in consequence of this treatment; but
I begged my friends to let me die, rather than send for the doctor. There
was nothing I dreaded so much as his presence. My life was spared; and I
was glad for the sake of my little ones. Had it not been for these ties to
life, I should have been glad to be released by death, though I had lived
only nineteen years.

Always it gave me a pang that my children had no lawful claim to a name.
Their father offered his; but, if I had wished to accept the offer, I dared
not while my master lived. Moreover, I knew it would not be accepted at
their baptism. A Christian name they were at least entitled to; and we
resolved to call my boy for our dear good Benjamin, who had gone far away
from us.

My grandmother belonged to the church; and she was very desirous of having
the children christened. I knew Dr. Flint would forbid it, and I did not
venture to attempt it. But chance favored me. He was called to visit a
patient out of town, and was obliged to be absent during Sunday. "Now is
the time," said my grandmother; "we will take the children to church, and
have them christened."

When I entered the church, recollections of my mother came over me, and I
felt subdued in spirit. There she had presented me for baptism, without any
reason to feel ashamed. She had been married, and had such legal rights as
slavery allows to a slave. The vows had at least been sacred to _her_, and
she had never violated them. I was glad she was not alive, to know under
what different circumstances her grandchildren were presented for baptism.
Why had my lot been so different from my mother's? _Her_ master had died
when she was a child; and she remained with her mistress till she married.
She was never in the power of any master; and thus she escaped one class of
the evils that generally fall upon slaves.

When my baby was about to be christened, the former mistress of my father
stepped up to me, and proposed to give it her Christian name. To this I
added the surname of my father, who had himself no legal right to it; for
my grandfather on the paternal side was a white gentleman. What tangled
skeins are the genealogies of slavery! I loved my father; but it mortified
me to be obliged to bestow his name on my children.

When we left the church, my father's old mistress invited me to go home
with her. She clasped a gold chain round my baby's neck. I thanked her for
this kindness; but I did not like the emblem. I wanted no chain to be
fastened on my daughter, not even if its links were of gold. How earnestly
I prayed that she might never feel the weight of slavery's chain, whose
iron entereth into the soul!




My children grew finely; and Dr. Flint would often say to me, with an
exulting smile. "These brats will bring me a handsome sum of money one of
these days."

I thought to myself that, God being my helper, they should never pass into
his hands. It seemed to me I would rather see them killed than have them
given up to his power. The money for the freedom of myself and my children
could be obtained; but I derived no advantage from that circumstance. Dr.
Flint loved money, but he loved power more. After much discussion, my
friends resolved on making another trial. There was a slaveholder about to
leave for Texas, and he was commissioned to buy me. He was to begin with
nine hundred dollars, and go up to twelve. My master refused his offers.
"Sir," said he, "she don't belong to me. She is my daughter's property, and
I have no right to sell her. I mistrust that you come from her paramour. If
so, you may tell him that he cannot buy her for any money; neither can he
buy her children."

The doctor came to see me the next day, and my heart beat quicker as he
entered. I never had seen the old man tread with so majestic a step. He
seated himself and looked at me with withering scorn. My children had
learned to be afraid of him. The little one would shut her eyes and hide
her face on my shoulder whenever she saw him; and Benny, who was now nearly
five years old, often inquired, "What makes that bad man come here so many
times? Does he want to hurt us?" I would clasp the dear boy in my arms,
trusting that he would be free before he was old enough to solve the
problem. And now, as the doctor sat there so grim and silent, the child
left his play and came and nestled up by me. At last my tormentor spoke.
"So you are left in disgust, are you?" said he. "It is no more than I
expected. You remember I told you years ago that you would be treated so.
So he is tired of you? Ha! ha! ha! The virtuous madam don't like to hear
about it, does she? Ha! ha! ha!" There was a sting in his calling me
virtuous madam. I no longer had the power of answering him as I had
formerly done. He continued: "So it seems you are trying to get up another
intrigue. Your new paramour came to me, and offered to buy you; but you may
be assured you will not succeed. You are mine; and you shall be mine for
life. There lives no human being that can take you out of slavery. I would
have done it; but you rejected my kind offer."

I told him I did not wish to get up any intrigue; that I had never seen the
man who offered to buy me.

"Do you tell me I lie?" exclaimed he, dragging me from my chair. "Will you
say again that you never saw that man?"

I answered, "I do say so."

He clinched my arm with a volley of oaths. Ben began to scream, and I told
him to go to his grandmother.

"Don't you stir a step, you little wretch!" said he. The child drew nearer
to me, and put his arms round me, as if he wanted to protect me. This was
too much for my enraged master. He caught him up and hurled him across the
room. I thought he was dead, and rushed towards him to take him up.

"Not yet!" exclaimed the doctor. "Let him lie there till he comes to."

"Let me go! Let me go!" I screamed, "or I will raise the whole house." I
struggled and got away; but he clinched me again. Somebody opened the door,
and he released me. I picked up my insensible child, and when I turned my
tormentor was gone. Anxiously, I bent over the little form, so pale and
still; and when the brown eyes at last opened, I don't know whether I was
very happy. All the doctor's former persecutions were renewed. He came
morning, noon, and night. No jealous lover ever watched a rival more
closely than he watched me and the unknown slaveholder, with whom he
accused me of wishing to get up an intrigue. When my grandmother was out of
the way he searched every room to find him.

In one of his visits, he happened to find a young girl, whom he had sold to
a trader a few days previous. His statement was, that he sold her because
she had been too familiar with the overseer. She had had a bitter life with
him, and was glad to be sold. She had no mother, and no near ties. She had
been torn from all her family years before. A few friends had entered into
bonds for her safety, if the trader would allow her to spend with them the
time that intervened between her sale and the gathering up of his human
stock. Such a favor was rarely granted. It saved the trader the expense of
board and jail fees, and though the amount was small, it was a weighty
consideration in a slavetrader's mind.

Dr. Flint always had an aversion to meeting slaves after he had sold them.
He ordered Rose out of the house; but he was no longer her master, and she
took no notice of him. For once the crushed Rose was the conqueror. His
gray eyes flashed angrily upon her; but that was the extent of his power.
"How came this girl here?" he exclaimed. "What right had you to allow it,
when you knew I had sold her?"

I answered, "This is my grandmother's house, and Rose came to see her. I
have no right to turn any body out of doors, that comes here for honest
purposes."

He gave me the blow that would have fallen upon Rose if she had still been
his slave. My grandmother's attention had been attracted by loud voices,
and she entered in time to see a second blow dealt. She was not a woman to
let such an outrage, in her own house, go unrebuked. The doctor undertook
to explain that I had been insolent. Her indignant feelings rose higher and
higher, and finally boiled over in words. "Get out of my house!" she
exclaimed. "Go home, and take care of your wife and children, and you will
have enough to do, without watching my family."

He threw the birth of my children in her face, and accused her of
sanctioning the life I was leading. She told him I was living with her by
compulsion of his wife; that he needn't accuse her, for he was the one to
blame; he was the one who had caused all the trouble. She grew more and
more excited as she went on. "I tell you what, Dr. Flint," said she, "you
ain't got many more years to live, and you'd better be saying your prayers.
It will take 'em all, and more too, to wash the dirt off your soul."

"Do you know whom you are talking to?" he exclaimed.

She replied, "Yes, I know very well who I am talking to."

He left the house in a great rage. I looked at my grandmother. Our eyes
met. Their angry expression had passed away, but she looked sorrowful and
weary--weary of incessant strife. I wondered that it did not lessen her
love for me; but if it did she never showed it. She was always kind, always
ready to sympathize with my troubles. There might have been peace and
contentment in that humble home if it had not been for the demon Slavery.

The winter passed undisturbed by the doctor. The beautiful spring came; and
when Nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also.
My drooping hopes came to life again with the flowers. I was dreaming of
freedom again; more for my children's sake than my own. I planned and I
planned. Obstacles hit against plans. There seemed no way of overcoming
them; and yet I hoped.

Back came the wily doctor. I was not at home when he called. A friend had
invited me to a small party, and to gratify her I went. To my great
consternation, a messenger came in haste to say that Dr. Flint was at my
grandmother's, and insisted on seeing me. They did not tell him where I
was, or he would have come and raised a disturbance in my friend's house.
They sent me a dark wrapper, I threw it on and hurried home. My speed did
not save me; the doctor had gone away in anger. I dreaded the morning, but
I could not delay it; it came, warm and bright. At an early hour the doctor
came and asked me where I had been last night. I told him. He did not
believe me, and sent to my friend's house to ascertain the facts. He came
in the afternoon to assure me he was satisfied that I had spoken the truth.
He seemed to be in a facetious mood, and I expected some jeers were coming.
"I suppose you need some recreation," said he, "but I am surprised at your
being there, among those negroes. It was not the place for _you_. Are you
_allowed_ to visit such people?"

I understood this covert fling at the white gentleman who was my friend;
but I merely replied, "I went to visit my friends, and any company they
keep is good enough for me."

He went on to say, "I have seen very little of you of late, but my interest
in you is unchanged. When I said I would have no more mercy on you I was
rash. I recall my words. Linda, you desire freedom for yourself and your
children, and you can obtain it only through me. If you agree to what I am
about to propose, you and they shall be free. There must be no
communication of any kind between you and their father. I will procure a
cottage, where you and the children can live together. Your labor shall be
light, such as sewing for my family. Think what is offered you, Linda--a
home and freedom! Let the past be forgotten. If I have been harsh with you
at times, your willfulness drove me to it. You know I exact obedience from
my own children, and I consider you as yet a child."

He paused for an answer, but I remained silent. "Why don't you speak?"
said he. "What more do you wait for?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Then you accept my offer?"

"No, sir."

His anger was ready to break loose; but he succeeded in curbing it, and
replied, "You have answered without thought. But I must let you know there
are two sides to my proposition; if you reject the bright side, you will be
obliged to take the dark one. You must either accept my offer, or you and
your children shall be sent to your young master's plantation, there to
remain till your young mistress is married; and your children shall fare
like the rest of the negro children. I give you a week to consider it."

He was shrewd; but I knew he was not to be trusted. I told him I was ready
to give my answer now.

"I will not receive it now," he replied. "You act too much from impulse.
Remember that you and your children can be free a week from to-day if you
choose."

On what a monstrous chance hung the destiny of my children! I knew that my
master's offer was a snare, and that if I entered it escape would be
impossible. As for his promise, I knew him so well that I was sure if he
gave me free papers, they would be so managed as to have no legal value.
The alternative was inevitable. I resolved to go to the plantation. But
then I thought how completely I should be in his power, and the prospect
was appalling. Even if I should kneel before him, and implore him to spare
me, for the sake of my children, I knew he would spurn me with his foot,
and my weakness would be his triumph.

Before the week expired, I heard that young Mr. Flint was about to be
married to a lady of his own stamp. I foresaw the position I should occupy
in his establishment. I had once been sent to the plantation for
punishment, and fear of the son had induced the father to recall me very
soon. My mind was made up; I was resolved that I would foil my master and
save my children, or I would perish in the attempt. I kept my plans to
myself; I knew that friends would try to dissuade me from them, and I would
not wound their feelings by rejecting their advice.

On the decisive day the doctor came, and said he hoped I had made a wise
choice.

"I am ready to go to the plantation, sir," I replied.

"Have you thought how important your decision is to your children?" said
he.

I told him I had.

"Very well. Go to the plantation, and my curse go with you," he replied.
"Your boy shall be put to work, and he shall soon be sold; and your girl
shall be raised for the purpose of selling well. Go your own ways!" He left
the room with curses, not to be repeated.

As I stood rooted to the spot, my grandmother came and said, "Linda, child,
what did you tell him?"

I answered that I was going to the plantation.

"_Must_ you go?" said she. "Can't something be done to stop it?"

I told her it was useless to try; but she begged me not to give up. She
said she would go to the doctor, and remind him how long and how faithfully
she had served in the family, and how she had taken her own baby from her
breast to nourish his wife. She would tell him I had been out of the family
so long they would not miss me; that she would pay them for my time, and
the money would procure a woman who had more strength for the situation
than I had. I begged her not to go; but she persisted in saying, "He will
listen to _me_, Linda." She went, and was treated as I expected. He coolly
listened to what she said, but denied her request. He told her that what he
did was for my good, that my feelings were entirely above my situation, and
that on the plantation I would receive treatment that was suitable to my
behavior.

My grandmother was much cast down. I had my secret hopes; but I must fight
my battle alone. I had a woman's pride, and a mother's love for my
children; and I resolved that out of the darkness of this hour a brighter
dawn should rise for them. My master had power and law on his side; I had a
determined will. There is might in each.




Early the next morning I left my grandmother's with my youngest child. My
boy was ill, and I left him behind. I had many sad thoughts as the old
wagon jolted on. Hitherto, I had suffered alone; now, my little one was to
be treated as a slave. As we drew near the great house, I thought of the
time when I was formerly sent there out of revenge. I wondered for what
purpose I was now sent. I could not tell. I resolved to obey orders so far
as duty required; but within myself, I determined to make my stay as short
as possible. Mr. Flint was waiting to receive us, and told me to follow him
up stairs to receive orders for the day. My little Ellen was left below in
the kitchen. It was a change for her, who had always been so carefully
tended. My young master said she might amuse herself in the yard. This was
kind of him, since the child was hateful to his sight. My task was to fit
up the house for the reception of the bride. In the midst of sheets,
tablecloths, towels, drapery, and carpeting, my head was as busy planning,
as were my fingers with the needle. At noon I was allowed to go to Ellen.
She had sobbed herself to sleep. I heard Mr. Flint say to a neighbor, "I've
got her down here, and I'll soon take the town notions out of her head. My
father is partly to blame for her nonsense. He ought to have broke her in
long ago." The remark was made within my hearing, and it would have been
quite as manly to have made it to my face. He _had_ said things to my face
which might, or might not, have surprised his neighbor if he had known of
them. He was "a chip of the old block."

I resolved to give him no cause to accuse me of being too much of a lady,
so far as work was concerned. I worked day and night, with wretchedness
before me. When I lay down beside my child, I felt how much easier it would
be to see her die than to see her master beat her about, as I daily saw him
beat other little ones. The spirit of the mothers was so crushed by the
lash, that they stood by, without courage to remonstrate. How much more
must I suffer, before I should be "broke in" to that degree?

I wished to appear as contented as possible. Sometimes I had an opportunity
to send a few lines home; and this brought up recollections that made it
difficult, for a time, to seem calm and indifferent to my lot.
Notwithstanding my efforts, I saw that Mr. Flint regarded me with a
suspicious eye. Ellen broke down under the trials of her new life.
Separated from me, with no one to look after her, she wandered about, and
in a few days cried herself sick. One day, she sat under the window where I
was at work, crying that weary cry which makes a mother's heart bleed. I
was obliged to steel myself to bear it. After a while it ceased. I looked
out, and she was gone. As it was near noon, I ventured to go down in search
of her. The great house was raised two feet above the ground. I looked
under it, and saw her about midway, fast asleep. I crept under and drew her
out. As I held her in my arms, I thought how well it would be for her if
she never waked up; and I uttered my thought aloud. I was startled to hear
some one say, "Did you speak to me?" I looked up, and saw Mr. Flint
standing beside me. He said nothing further, but turned, frowning, away.
That night he sent Ellen a biscuit and a cup of sweetened milk. This
generosity surprised me. I learned afterwards, that in the afternoon he had
killed a large snake, which crept from under the house; and I supposed that
incident had prompted his unusual kindness.

The next morning the old cart was loaded with shingles for town. I put
Ellen into it, and sent her to her grandmother. Mr. Flint said I ought to
have asked his permission. I told him the child was sick, and required
attention which I had no time to give. He let it pass; for he was aware
that I had accomplished much work in a little time.

I had been three weeks on the plantation, when I planned a visit home. It
must be at night, after every body was in bed. I was six miles from town,
and the road was very dreary. I was to go with a young man, who, I knew,
often stole to town to see his mother. One night, when all was quiet, we
started. Fear gave speed to our steps, and we were not long in performing
the journey. I arrived at my grandmother's. Her bed room was on the first
floor, and the window was open, the weather being warm. I spoke to her and
she awoke. She let me in and closed the window, lest some late passer-by
should see me. A light was brought, and the whole household gathered round
me, some smiling and some crying. I went to look at my children, and
thanked God for their happy sleep. The tears fell as I leaned over them. As
I moved to leave, Benny stirred. I turned back, and whispered, "Mother is
here." After digging at his eyes with his little fist, they opened, and he
sat up in bed, looking at me curiously. Having satisfied himself that it
was I, he exclaimed, "O mother! you ain't dad, are you? They didn't cut off
your head at the plantation, did they?"

My time was up too soon, and my guide was waiting for me. I laid Benny back
in his bed, and dried his tears by a promise to come again soon. Rapidly we
retraced our steps back to the plantation. About half way we were met by a
company of four patrols. Luckily we heard their horse's hoofs before they
came in sight, and we had time to hide behind a large tree. They passed,
hallooing and shouting in a manner that indicated a recent carousal. How
thankful we were that they had not their dogs with them! We hastened our
footsteps, and when we arrived on the plantation we heard the sound of the
hand-mill. The slaves were grinding their corn. We were safely in the house
before the horn summoned them to their labor. I divided my little parcel of
food with my guide, knowing that he had lost the chance of grinding his
corn, and must toil all day in the field.

Mr. Flint often took an inspection of the house, to see that no one was
idle. The entire management of the work was trusted to me, because he knew
nothing about it; and rather than hire a superintendent he contented
himself with my arrangements. He had often urged upon his father the
necessity of having me at the plantation to take charge of his affairs, and
make clothes for the slaves; but the old man knew him too well to consent
to that arrangement.

When I had been working a month at the plantation, the great aunt of Mr.
Flint came to make him a visit. This was the good old lady who paid fifty
dollars for my grandmother, for the purpose of making her free, when she
stood on the auction block. My grandmother loved this old lady, whom we all
called Miss Fanny. She often came to take tea with us. On such occasions
the table was spread with a snow-white cloth, and the china cups and silver
spoons were taken from the old-fashioned buffet. There were hot muffins,
tea rusks, and delicious sweetmeats. My grandmother kept two cows, and the
fresh cream was Miss Fanny's delight. She invariably declared that it was
the best in town. The old ladies had cosey times together. They would work
and chat, and sometimes, while talking over old times, their spectacles
would get dim with tears, and would have to be taken off and wiped. When
Miss Fanny bade us good by, her bag was filled with grandmother's best
cakes, and she was urged to come again soon.

There had been a time when Dr. Flint's wife came to take tea with us, and
when her children were also sent to have a feast of "Aunt Marthy's" nice
cooking. But after I became an object of her jealousy and spite, she was
angry with grandmother for giving a shelter to me and my children. She
would not even speak to her in the street. This wounded my grandmother's
feelings, for she could not retain ill will against the woman whom she had
nourished with her milk when a babe. The doctor's wife would gladly have
prevented our intercourse with Miss Fanny if she could have done it, but
fortunately she was not dependent on the bounty of the Flints. She had
enough to be independent; and that is more than can ever be gained from
charity, however lavish it may be.

Miss Fanny was endeared to me by many recollections, and I was rejoiced to
see her at the plantation. The warmth of her large, loyal heart made the
house seem pleasanter while she was in it. She staid a week, and I had many
talks with her. She said her principal object in coming was to see how I
was treated, and whether any thing could be done for me. She inquired
whether she could help me in any way. I told her I believed not. She
condoled with me in her own peculiar way; saying she wished that I and all
my grandmother's family were at rest in our graves, for not until then
should she feel any peace about us. The good old soul did not dream that I
was planning to bestow peace upon her, with regard to myself and my
children; not by death, but by securing our freedom.

Again and again I had traversed those dreary twelve miles, to and from the
town; and all the way, I was meditating upon some means of escape for
myself and my children. My friends had made every effort that ingenuity
could devise to effect our purchase, but all their plans had proved
abortive. Dr. Flint was suspicious, and determined not to loosen his grasp
upon us. I could have made my escape alone; but it was more for my helpless
children than for myself that I longed for freedom. Though the boon would
have been precious to me, above all price, I would not have taken it at the
expense of leaving them in slavery. Every trial I endured, every sacrifice
I made for their sakes, drew them closer to my heart, and gave me fresh
courage to beat back the dark waves that rolled and rolled over me in a
seemingly endless night of storms.

The six weeks were nearly completed, when Mr. Flint's bride was expected to
take possession of her new home. The arrangements were all completed, and
Mr. Flint said I had done well. He expected to leave home on Saturday, and
return with his bride the following Wednesday. After receiving various
orders from him, I ventured to ask permission to spend Sunday in town. It
was granted; for which favor I was thankful. It was the first I had ever
asked of him, and I intended it should be the last. I needed more than one
night to accomplish the project I had in view; but the whole of Sunday
would give me an opportunity. I spent the Sabbath with my grandmother. A
calmer, more beautiful day never came down out of heaven. To me it was a
day of conflicting emotions. Perhaps it was the last day I should ever
spend under that dear, old sheltering roof! Perhaps these were the last
talks I should ever have with the faithful old friend of my whole life!
Perhaps it was the last time I and my children should be together! Well,
better so, I thought, than that they should be slaves. I knew the doom that
awaited my fair baby in slavery, and I determined to save her from it, or
perish in the attempt. I went to make this vow at the graves of my poor
parents, in the burying-ground of the slaves. "There the wicked cease from
troubling, and there the weary be at rest. There the prisoners rest
together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor; the servant is free
from his master." I knelt by the graves of my parents, and thanked God, as
I had often done before, that they had not lived to witness my trials, or
to mourn over my sins. I had received my mother's blessing when she died;
and in many an hour of tribulation I had seemed to hear her voice,
sometimes chiding me, sometimes whispering loving words into my wounded
heart. I have shed many and bitter tears, to think that when I am gone from
my children they cannot remember me with such entire satisfaction as I
remembered my mother.

The graveyard was in the woods, and twilight was coming on. Nothing broke
the death-like stillness except the occasional twitter of a bird. My spirit
was overawed by the solemnity of the scene. For more than ten years I had
frequented this spot, but never had it seemed to me so sacred as now. A
black stump, at the head of my mother's grave, was all that remained of a
tree my father had planted. His grave was marked by a small wooden board,
bearing his name, the letters of which were nearly obliterated. I knelt
down and kissed them, and poured forth a prayer to God for guidance and
support in the perilous step I was about to take. As I passed the wreck of
the old meeting house, where, before Nat Turner's time, the slaves had been
allowed to meet for worship, I seemed to hear my father's voice come from
it, bidding me not to tarry till I reached freedom or the grave. I rushed
on with renovated hopes. My trust in God had been strengthened by that
prayer among the graves.

My plan was to conceal myself at the house of a friend, and remain there a
few weeks till the search was over. My hope was that the doctor would get
discouraged, and, for fear of losing my value, and also of subsequently
finding my children among the missing, he would consent to sell us; and I
knew somebody would buy us. I had done all in my power to make my children
comfortable during the time I expected to be separated from them. I was
packing my things, when grandmother came into the room, and asked what I
was doing. "I am putting my things in order," I replied. I tried to look
and speak cheerfully; but her watchful eye detected something beneath the
surface. She drew me towards her, and asked me to sit down. She looked
earnestly at me, and said, "Linda, do you want to kill your old
grandmother? Do you mean to leave your little, helpless children? I am old
now, and cannot do for your babies as I once did for you."

I replied, that if I went away, perhaps their father would be able to
secure their freedom.

"Ah, my child," said she, "don't trust too much to him. Stand by your own
children, and suffer with them till death. Nobody respects a mother who
forsakes her children; and if you leave them, you will never have a happy
moment. If you go, you will make me miserable the short time I have to
live. You would be taken and brought back, and your sufferings would be
dreadful. Remember poor Benjamin. Do give it up, Linda. Try to bear a
little longer. Things may turn out better than we expect."

My courage failed me, in view of the sorrow I should bring on that
faithful, loving old heart. I promised that I would try longer, and that I
would take nothing out of her house without her knowledge.

Whenever the children climbed on my knee, or laid their heads on my lap,
she would say, "Poor little souls! what would you do without a mother? She
don't love you as I do." And she would hug them to her own bosom, as if to
reproach me for my want of affection; but she knew all the while that I
loved them better than my life. I slept with her that night, and it was the
last time. The memory of it haunted me for many a year.

On Monday I returned to the plantation, and busied myself with preparations
for the important day. Wednesday came. It was a beautiful day, and the
faces of the slaves were as bright as the sunshine. The poor creatures were
merry. They were expecting little presents from the bride, and hoping for
better times under her administration. I had no such hopes for them. I knew
that the young wives of slaveholders often thought their authority and
importance would be best established and maintained by cruelty; and what I
had heard of young Mrs. Flint gave me no reason to expect that her rule
over them would be less severe than that of the master and overseer. Truly,
the colored race are the most cheerful and forgiving people on the face of
the earth. That their masters sleep in safety is owing to their
superabundance of heart; and yet they look upon their sufferings with less
pity than they would bestow on those of a horse or a dog.

I stood at the door with others to receive the bridegroom and bride. She
was a handsome, delicate-looking girl, and her face flushed with emotion at
sight of her new home. I thought it likely that visions of a happy future
were rising before her. It made me sad; for I knew how soon clouds would
come over her sunshine. She examined every part of the house, and told me
she was delighted with the arrangements I had made. I was afraid old Mrs.
Flint had tried to prejudice her against me, and I did my best to please
her.

All passed off smoothly for me until dinner time arrived. I did not mind
the embarrassment of waiting on a dinner party, for the first time in my
life, half so much as I did the meeting with Dr. Flint and his wife, who
would be among the guests. It was a mystery to me why Mrs. Flint had not
made her appearance at the plantation during all the time I was putting the
house in order. I had not met her, face to face, for five years, and I had
no wish to see her now. She was a praying woman, and, doubtless, considered
my present position a special answer to her prayers. Nothing could please
her better than to see me humbled and trampled upon. I was just where she
would have me--in the power of a hard, unprincipled master. She did not
speak to me when she took her seat at table; but her satisfied, triumphant
smile, when I handed her plate, was more eloquent than words. The old
doctor was not so quiet in his demonstrations. He ordered me here and
there, and spoke with peculiar emphasis when he said "your _mistress_." I
was drilled like a disgraced soldier. When all was over, and the last key
turned, I sought my pillow, thankful that God had appointed a season of
rest for the weary.

The next day my new mistress began her housekeeping. I was not exactly
appointed maid of all work; but I was to do whatever I was told. Monday
evening came. It was always a busy time. On that night the slaves received
their weekly allowance of food. Three pounds of meat, a peck of corn, and
perhaps a dozen herring were allowed to each man. Women received a pound
and a half of meat, a peck of corn, and the same number of herring.
Children over twelve years old had half the allowance of the women. The
meat was cut and weighed by the foreman of the field hands, and piled on
planks before the meat house. Then the second foreman went behind the
building, and when the first foreman called out, "Who takes this piece of
meat?" he answered by calling somebody's name. This method was resorted to
as a means of preventing partiality in distributing the meat. The young
mistress came out to see how things were done on her plantation, and she
soon gave a specimen of her character. Among those in waiting for their
allowance was a very old slave, who had faithfully served the Flint family
through three generations. When he hobbled up to get his bit of meat, the
mistress said he was too old to have any allowance; that when niggers were
too old to work, they ought to be fed on grass. Poor old man! He suffered
much before he found rest in the grave.

My mistress and I got along very well together. At the end of a week, old
Mrs. Flint made us another visit, and was closeted a long time with her
daughter-in-law. I had my suspicions what was the subject of the
conference. The old doctor's wife had been informed that I could leave the
plantation on one condition, and she was very desirous to keep me there. If
she had trusted me, as I deserved to be trusted by her, she would have had
no fears of my accepting that condition. When she entered her carriage to
return home, she said to young Mrs. Flint, "Don't neglect to send for them
as quick as possible." My heart was on the watch all the time, and I at
once concluded that she spoke of my children. The doctor came the next day,
and as I entered the room to spread the tea table, I heard him say, "Don't
wait any longer. Send for them to-morrow." I saw through the plan. They
thought my children's being there would fetter me to the spot, and that it
was a good place to break us all in to abject submission to our lot as
slaves. After the doctor left, a gentleman called, who had always
manifested friendly feelings towards my grandmother and her family. Mr.
Flint carried him over the plantation to show him the results of labor
performed by men and women who were unpaid, miserably clothed, and half
famished. The cotton crop was all they thought of. It was duly admired, and
the gentleman returned with specimens to show his friends. I was ordered to
carry water to wash his hands. As I did so, he said, "Linda, how do you
like your new home?" I told him I liked it as well as I expected. He
replied, "They don't think you are contented, and to-morrow they are going
to bring your children to be with you. I am sorry for you, Linda. I hope
they will treat you kindly." I hurried from the room, unable to thank him.
My suspicions were correct. My children were to be brought to the
plantation to be "broke in."

To this day I feel grateful to the gentleman who gave me this timely
information. It nerved me to immediate action.

 Linda bears another child, a daughter, and despite Dr. Flint's protests, both children are baptized. She names her son Benjamin, after her favorite uncle, and her daughter Ellen, after her father's mistress. With two children to care for, Linda's life is even more challenging, because Dr. Flint begins to use her children to punish and control her. After again refusing to sell her and her children, Dr. Flint offers to buy their freedom if Linda will consent to live with him as his mistress. When she refuses, he threatens to send her and her children to live on his son's plantation. Linda finally succumbs to -- as the lesser of two evils -- go to the plantation. Linda and Ellen leave for Mr. Flint's plantation. Ben is ill so Linda leaves him behind with her grandmother. At the plantation, Linda resolves to work hard, but adamantly resists being "broken in." Because her new duties -- which include preparing the household for the arrival of the new Mrs. Flint -- are extremely demanding, Linda is forced to leave Ellen on her own for most of the day. After a terrifying incident during which Ellen is nearly killed by a snake, Linda realizes that she can no longer care for her daughter and sends her back to live with her grandmother. When Mr. Flint objects, she tells him that Ellen is sick and he lets the incident pass. Over the next several weeks, Linda, accompanied by a young man from the plantation, sneaks home several times to visit her children. During one of her visits, she reveals her plans to escape, but changes her mind when her grandmother reminds her that her first responsibility is to her children. But when she accidentally learns that Dr. Flint plans to send her children back to Mr. Flint's plantation, she renews her resolve and begins to plot her escape.

