Chapter: A small shed had been added to my grandmother's house years ago. Some
boards were laid across the joists at the top, and between these boards and
the roof was a very small garret, never occupied by any thing but rats and
mice. It was a pent roof, covered with nothing but shingles, according to
the southern custom for such buildings. The garret was only nine feet long
and seven wide. The highest part was three feet high, and sloped down
abruptly to the loose board floor. There was no admission for either light
or air. My uncle Phillip, who was a carpenter, had very skilfully made a
concealed trap-door, which communicated with the storeroom. He had been
doing this while I was waiting in the swamp. The storeroom opened upon a
piazza. To this hole I was conveyed as soon as I entered the house. The air
was stifling; the darkness total. A bed had been spread on the floor. I
could sleep quite comfortably on one side; but the slope was so sudden that
I could not turn on my other without hitting the roof. The rats and mice
ran over my bed; but I was weary, and I slept such sleep as the wretched
may, when a tempest has passed over them. Morning came. I knew it only by
the noises I heard; for in my small den day and night were all the same. I
suffered for air even more than for light. But I was not comfortless. I
heard the voices of my children. There was joy and there was sadness in the
sound. It made my tears flow. How I longed to speak to them! I was eager to
look on their faces; but there was no hole, no crack, through which I could
peep. This continued darkness was oppressive. It seemed horrible to sit or
lie in a cramped position day after day, without one gleam of light. Yet I
would have chosen this, rather than my lot as a slave, though white people
considered it an easy one; and it was so compared with the fate of others.
I was never cruelly overworked; I was never lacerated with the whip from
head to foot; I was never so beaten and bruised that I could not turn from
one side to the other; I never had my heel-strings cut to prevent my
running away; I was never chained to a log and forced to drag it about,
while I toiled in the fields from morning till night; I was never branded
with hot iron, or torn by bloodhounds. On the contrary, I had always been
kindly treated, and tenderly cared for, until I came into the hands of Dr.
Flint. I had never wished for freedom till then. But though my life in
slavery was comparatively devoid of hardships, God pity the woman who is
compelled to lead such a life!

My food was passed up to me through the trap-door my uncle had contrived;
and my grandmother, my uncle Phillip, and aunt Nancy would seize such
opportunities as they could, to mount up there and chat with me at the
opening. But of course this was not safe in the daytime. It must all be
done in darkness. It was impossible for me to move in an erect position,
but I crawled about my den for exercise. One day I hit my head against
something, and found it was a gimlet. My uncle had left it sticking there
when he made the trap-door. I was as rejoiced as Robinson Crusoe could have
been at finding such a treasure. It put a lucky thought into my head. I
said to myself, "Now I will have some light. Now I will see my children." I
did not dare to begin my work during the daytime, for fear of attracting
attention. But I groped round; and having found the side next the street,
where I could frequently see my children, I stuck the gimlet in and waited
for evening. I bored three rows of holes, one above another; then I bored
out the interstices between. I thus succeeded in making one hole about an
inch long and an inch broad. I sat by it till late into the night, to enjoy
the little whiff of air that floated in. In the morning I watched for my
children. The first person I saw in the street was Dr. Flint. I had a
shuddering, superstitious feeling that it was a bad omen. Several familiar
faces passed by. At last I heard the merry laugh of children, and presently
two sweet little faces were looking up at me, as though they knew I was
there, and were conscious of the joy they imparted. How I longed to _tell_
them I was there!

My condition was now a little improved. But for weeks I was tormented by
hundreds of little red insects, fine as a needle's point, that pierced
through my skin, and produced an intolerable burning. The good grandmother
gave me herb teas and cooling medicines, and finally I got rid of them. The
heat of my den was intense, for nothing but thin shingles protected me from
the scorching summer's sun. But I had my consolations. Through my
peeping-hole I could watch the children, and when they were near enough, I
could hear their talk. Aunt Nancy brought me all the news she could hear at
Dr. Flint's. From her I learned that the doctor had written to New York to
a colored woman, who had been born and raised in our neighborhood, and had
breathed his contaminating atmosphere. He offered her a reward if she could
find out any thing about me. I know not what was the nature of her reply;
but he soon after started for New York in haste, saying to his family that
he had business of importance to transact. I peeped at him as he passed on
his way to the steamboat. It was a satisfaction to have miles of land and
water between us, even for a little while; and it was a still greater
satisfaction to know that he believed me to be in the Free States. My
little den seemed less dreary than it had done. He returned, as he did from
his former journey to New York, without obtaining any satisfactory
information. When he passed our house next morning, Benny was standing at
the gate. He had heard them say that he had gone to find me, and he called
out, "Dr. Flint, did you bring my mother home? I want to see her." The
doctor stamped his foot at him in a rage, and exclaimed, "Get out of the
way, you little damned rascal! If you don't, I'll cut off your head."

Benny ran terrified into the house, saying, "You can't put me in jail
again. I don't belong to you now." It was well that the wind carried the
words away from the doctor's ear. I told my grandmother of it, when we had
our next conference at the trap-door, and begged of her not to allow the
children to be impertinent to the irascible old man.

Autumn came, with a pleasant abatement of heat. My eyes had become
accustomed to the dim light, and by holding my book or work in a certain
position near the aperture I contrived to read and sew. That was a great
relief to the tedious monotony of my life. But when winter came, the cold
penetrated through the thin shingle roof, and I was dreadfully chilled. The
winters there are not so long, or so severe, as in northern latitudes; but
the houses are not built to shelter from cold, and my little den was
peculiarly comfortless. The kind grandmother brought me bedclothes and warm
drinks. Often I was obliged to lie in bed all day to keep comfortable; but
with all my precautions, my shoulders and feet were frostbitten. O, those
long, gloomy days, with no object for my eye to rest upon, and no thoughts
to occupy my mind, except the dreary past and the uncertain future! I was
thankful when there came a day sufficiently mild for me to wrap myself up
and sit at the loophole to watch the passers by. Southerners have the habit
of stopping and talking in the streets, and I heard many conversations not
intended to meet my ears. I heard slave-hunters planning how to catch some
poor fugitive. Several times I heard allusions to Dr. Flint, myself, and
the history of my children, who, perhaps, were playing near the gate. One
would say, "I wouldn't move my little finger to catch her, as old Flint's
property." Another would say, "I'll catch _any_ nigger for the reward. A
man ought to have what belongs to him, if he _is_ a damned brute." The
opinion was often expressed that I was in the Free States. Very rarely did
any one suggest that I might be in the vicinity. Had the least suspicion
rested on my grandmother's house, it would have been burned to the ground.
But it was the last place they thought of. Yet there was no place, where
slavery existed, that could have afforded me so good a place of
concealment.

Dr. Flint and his family repeatedly tried to coax and bribe my children to
tell something they had heard said about me. One day the doctor took them
into a shop, and offered them some bright little silver pieces and gay
handkerchiefs if they would tell where their mother was. Ellen shrank away
from him, and would not speak; but Benny spoke up, and said, "Dr. Flint, I
don't know where my mother is. I guess she's in New York; and when you go
there again, I wish you'd ask her to come home, for I want to see her; but
if you put her in jail, or tell her you'll cut her head off, I'll tell her
to go right back."

 Home sweet home is a tiny crawlspace above Aunt Martha's shed. And we mean tiny. It's seven by nine feet, about three feet high, and only has room for a tiny bed. But it has plenty of room for rats and mice, not to mention little bitey red ants. At least Uncle Phillip has built a trap door to the crawlspace so Aunt Martha can send up food. Meanwhile, Dr. Flint heads back to New York to find Linda.

