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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 The Children Sold Harriet writes that Dr. Flint had come back from New York, disheartened that he had still not found Harriet and because he spent so much money. Mr. Sands, through a slave-trader, began pressing him to sell William and Harriet's children again. Dr. Flint finally decided that he would do it, and signed a deal that put them in the hands of the trader. Dr. Flint did not know that the trader had already sold them to Mr. Sands, and ordered William to be put in bonds as they traveled out of town. This was agreed upon to keep up appearances. Dr. Flint saw the wagon leave town. The trader told William once they were out of sight that he was a "damned clever fellow" and said he would buy him himself if he could. This man "seemed to have some feeling" and it was kind of him to aid them without collecting a trader's fee. Harriet's uncle found a wagon and took William and the children back to town. Harriet had no idea that there was such a tremendous rejoicing going on at her grandmother's house, and became worried when she experienced a dream or a vision of her children. Her fears were allayed when Betty came and told her what had truly happened. Once word was out that Harriet's family was back in town, the Dr. went to Aunt Marthy's house and asked her who bought them. She told him, and he was enraged, saying Harriet herself would be his slave forever. Harriet, for her part, was mightily relieved. Whatever slavery did to her, "it could not shackle my children

