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!"




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!

 In Chapter 10, Linda resumes her story from Chapter 7 about her relationship with the free black carpenter. Having refused the man's offer to buy Linda's freedom, Dr. Flint adopts a new tactic to try to win Linda's submission: He offers to build her a house and make her "a lady." In desperation, Linda decides to enter into a sexual relationship with Mr. Sands, a white lawyer who has shown an interest in her. Reasoning that he is unmarried, that he seems to be a gentleman, and that -- if she consents to be his mistress -- he will most likely buy her from Dr. Flint, Linda consents to his advances and becomes pregnant by him. The next time Dr. Flint approaches her, she experiences a moment of triumph when she tells him that she is carrying another man's child. When she tries to explain her situation to her grandmother, she finds it difficult to speak. Consequently, her grandmother, thinking that Linda has given in to Dr. Flint, turns her out of her house. Heartbroken at the thought that she has disgraced her family, Linda leaves in tears and finds shelter at a friend's home. After confessing her situation, the friend convinces her to send for her grandmother and tell her the truth. Linda does so, and the two women reconcile. Linda returns home to live with her grandmother. Concerned for her welfare, Linda's grandmother speaks to Mr. Sands, who promises to care for Linda and her child. Meanwhile, Dr. Flint is outraged at what he perceives as Linda's betrayal and tries to coerce her into revealing her lover's identity. When she refuses, he reaffirms his vow that she will remain his slave for life. Shortly before Linda's baby is born, her Uncle Phillip comes for a visit. Linda is ashamed of her condition and, at first, tries to avoid him. But she finally agrees to see him and is touched by his compassion. Linda is exhausted from physical and emotional stress, and she becomes critically ill, but refuses to let Dr. Flint treat her. Her baby is born prematurely and both mother and child are weak and sickly for a year, during which Dr. Flint visits them on occasion, meanwhile venting his wrath on Linda's brother, William, who works as his assistant. Gradually, Linda and her baby boy -- who remains nameless -- regain their strength.

