Chapter: Dr. Flint, a physician in the neighborhood, had married the sister of my
mistress, and I was now the property of their little daughter. It was not
without murmuring that I prepared for my new home; and what added to my
unhappiness, was the fact that my brother William was purchased by the same
family. My father, by his nature, as well as by the habit of transacting
business as a skillful mechanic, had more of the feelings of a freeman than
is common among slaves. My brother was a spirited boy; and being brought up
under such influences, he daily detested the name of master and mistress.
One day, when his father and his mistress both happened to call him at the
same time, he hesitated between the two; being perplexed to know which had
the strongest claim upon his obedience. He finally concluded to go to his
mistress. When my father reproved him for it, he said, "You both called me,
and I didn't know which I ought to go to first."

"You are _my_ child," replied our father, "and when I call you, you should
come immediately, if you have to pass through fire and water."

Poor Willie! He was now to learn his first lesson of obedience to a master.
Grandmother tried to cheer us with hopeful words, and they found an echo in
the credulous hearts of youth.

When we entered our new home we encountered cold looks, cold words, and
cold treatment. We were glad when the night came. On my narrow bed I moaned
and wept, I felt so desolate and alone.

I had been there nearly a year, when a dear little friend of mine was
buried. I heard her mother sob, as the clods fell on the coffin of her only
child, and I turned away from the grave, feeling thankful that I still had
something left to love. I met my grandmother, who said, "Come with me,
Linda;" and from her tone I knew that something sad had happened. She led
me apart from the people, and then said, "My child, your father is dead."
Dead! How could I believe it? He had died so suddenly I had not even heard
that he was sick. I went home with my grandmother. My heart rebelled
against God, who had taken from me mother, father, mistress, and friend.
The good grandmother tried to comfort me. "Who knows the ways of God?" said
she. "Perhaps they have been kindly taken from the evil days to come."
Years afterwards I often thought of this. She promised to be a mother to
her grandchildren, so far as she might be permitted to do so; and
strengthened by her love, I returned to my master's. I thought I should be
allowed to go to my father's house the next morning; but I was ordered to
go for flowers, that my mistress's house might be decorated for an evening
party. I spent the day gathering flowers and weaving them into festoons,
while the dead body of my father was lying within a mile of me. What cared
my owners for that? he was merely a piece of property. Moreover, they
thought he had spoiled his children, by teaching them to feel that they
were human beings. This was blasphemous doctrine for a slave to teach;
presumptuous in him, and dangerous to the masters.

The next day I followed his remains to a humble grave beside that of my
dear mother. There were those who knew my father's worth, and respected his
memory.

My home now seemed more dreary than ever. The laugh of the little
slave-children sounded harsh and cruel. It was selfish to feel so about the
joy of others. My brother moved about with a very grave face. I tried to
comfort him, by saying, "Take courage, Willie; brighter days will come by
and by."

"You don't know any thing about it, Linda," he replied. "We shall have to
stay here all our days; we shall never be free."

I argued that we were growing older and stronger, and that perhaps we
might, before long, be allowed to hire our own time, and then we could earn
money to buy our freedom. William declared this was much easier to say than
to do; moreover, he did not intend to _buy_ his freedom. We held daily
controversies upon this subject.

Little attention was paid to the slaves' meals in Dr. Flint's house. If
they could catch a bit of food while it was going, well and good. I gave
myself no trouble on that score, for on my various errands I passed my
grandmother's house, where there was always something to spare for me. I
was frequently threatened with punishment if I stopped there; and my
grandmother, to avoid detaining me, often stood at the gate with something
for my breakfast or dinner. I was indebted to _her_ for all my comforts,
spiritual or temporal. It was _her_ labor that supplied my scanty wardrobe.
I have a vivid recollection of the linsey-woolsey dress given me every
winter by Mrs. Flint. How I hated it! It was one of the badges of slavery.

While my grandmother was thus helping to support me from her hard earnings,
the three hundred dollars she had lent her mistress were never repaid. When
her mistress died, her son-in-law, Dr. Flint, was appointed executor. When
grandmother applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent,
and the law prohibited payment. It did not, however, prohibit him from
retaining the silver candelabra, which had been purchased with that money.
I presume they will be handed down in the family, from generation to
generation.

My grandmother's mistress had always promised her that, at her death, she
should be free; and it was said that in her will she made good the promise.
But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful old servant
that, under existing circumstances, it was necessary she should be sold.

On the appointed day, the customary advertisement was posted up,
proclaiming that there would be a "public sale of negroes, horses, &c." Dr.
Flint called to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to wound her
feelings by putting her up at auction, and that he would prefer to dispose
of her at private sale. My grandmother saw through his hypocrisy; she
understood very well that he was ashamed of the job. She was a very
spirited woman, and if he was base enough to sell her, when her mistress
intended she should be free, she was determined the public should know it.
She had for a long time supplied many families with crackers and preserves;
consequently, "Aunt Marthy," as she was called, was generally known, and
every body who knew her respected her intelligence and good character. Her
long and faithful service in the family was also well known, and the
intention of her mistress to leave her free. When the day of sale came, she
took her place among the chattels, and at the first call she sprang upon
the auction-block. Many voices called out, "Shame! Shame! Who is going to
sell _you_, aunt Marthy? Don't stand there! That is no place for _you_."
Without saying a word, she quietly awaited her fate. No one bid for her. At
last, a feeble voice said, "Fifty dollars." It came from a maiden lady,
seventy years old, the sister of my grandmother's deceased mistress. She
had lived forty years under the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how
faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly she had been
defrauded of her rights; and she resolved to protect her. The auctioneer
waited for a higher bid; but her wishes were respected; no one bid above
her. She could neither read nor write; and when the bill of sale was made
out, she signed it with a cross. But what consequence was that, when she
had a big heart overflowing with human kindness? She gave the old servant
her freedom.

At that time, my grandmother was just fifty years old. Laborious years had
passed since then; and now my brother and I were slaves to the man who had
defrauded her of her money, and tried to defraud her of her freedom. One of
my mother's sisters, called Aunt Nancy, was also a slave in his family. She
was a kind, good aunt to me; and supplied the place of both housekeeper and
waiting maid to her mistress. She was, in fact, at the beginning and end of
every thing.

Mrs. Flint, like many southern women, was totally deficient in energy. She
had not strength to superintend her household affairs; but her nerves were
so strong, that she could sit in her easy chair and see a woman whipped,
till the blood trickled from every stroke of the lash. She was a member of
the church; but partaking of the Lord's supper did not seem to put her in a
Christian frame of mind. If dinner was not served at the exact time on that
particular Sunday, she would station herself in the kitchen, and wait till
it was dished, and then spit in all the kettles and pans that had been used
for cooking. She did this to prevent the cook and her children from eking
out their meagre fare with the remains of the gravy and other scrapings.
The slaves could get nothing to eat except what she chose to give them.
Provisions were weighed out by the pound and ounce, three times a day. I
can assure you she gave them no chance to eat wheat bread from her flour
barrel. She knew how many biscuits a quart of flour would make, and exactly
what size they ought to be.

Dr. Flint was an epicure. The cook never sent a dinner to his table without
fear and trembling; for if there happened to be a dish not to his liking,
he would either order her to be whipped, or compel her to eat every
mouthful of it in his presence. The poor, hungry creature might not have
objected to eating it; but she did object to having her master cram it
down her throat till she choked.

They had a pet dog, that was a nuisance in the house. The cook was ordered
to make some Indian mush for him. He refused to eat, and when his head was
held over it, the froth flowed from his mouth into the basin. He died a few
minutes after. When Dr. Flint came in, he said the mush had not been well
cooked, and that was the reason the animal would not eat it. He sent for
the cook, and compelled her to eat it. He thought that the woman's stomach
was stronger than the dog's; but her sufferings afterwards proved that he
was mistaken. This poor woman endured many cruelties from her master and
mistress; sometimes she was locked up, away from her nursing baby, for a
whole day and night.

When I had been in the family a few weeks, one of the plantation slaves was
brought to town, by order of his master. It was near night when he arrived,
and Dr. Flint ordered him to be taken to the work house, and tied up to the
joist, so that his feet would just escape the ground. In that situation he
was to wait till the doctor had taken his tea. I shall never forget
that night. Never before, in my life, had I heard hundreds of blows fall;
in succession, on a human being. His piteous groans, and his "O, pray
don't, massa," rang in my ear for months afterwards. There were many
conjectures as to the cause of this terrible punishment. Some said master
accused him of stealing corn; others said the slave had quarrelled with his
wife, in presence of the overseer, and had accused his master of being the
father of her child. They were both black, and the child was very fair.

I went into the work house next morning, and saw the cowhide still wet with
blood, and the boards all covered with gore. The poor man lived, and
continued to quarrel with his wife. A few months afterwards Dr. Flint
handed them both over to a slave-trader. The guilty man put their value
into his pocket, and had the satisfaction of knowing that they were out of
sight and hearing. When the mother was delivered into the trader's hands,
she said. "You _promised_ to treat me well." To which he replied, "You have
let your tongue run too far; damn you!" She had forgotten that it was a
crime for a slave to tell who was the father of her child.

From others than the master persecution also comes in such cases. I once
saw a young slave girl dying soon after the birth of a child nearly white.
In her agony she cried out, "O Lord, come and take me!" Her mistress stood
by, and mocked at her like an incarnate fiend. "You suffer, do you?" she
exclaimed. "I am glad of it. You deserve it all, and more too."

The girl's mother said, "The baby is dead, thank God; and I hope my poor
child will soon be in heaven, too."

"Heaven!" retorted the mistress. "There is no such place for the like of
her and her bastard."

The poor mother turned away, sobbing. Her dying daughter called her,
feebly, and as she bent over her, I heard her say, "Don't grieve so,
mother; God knows all about it; and HE will have mercy upon me."

Her sufferings, afterwards, became so intense, that her mistress felt
unable to stay; but when she left the room, the scornful smile was still on
her lips. Seven children called her mother. The poor black woman had but
the one child, whose eyes she saw closing in death, while she thanked God
for taking her away from the greater bitterness of life.

 Dr. Flint, a neighborhood physician, had married the sister of Linda Brent's mistress, and Linda is now the property of their young daughter. The family also purchased her brother, William. The chapter opens with an incident concerning William, who is severely reprimanded by his father for answering to his mistress instead of his father after being summoned by both of them. Linda then recounts her friend's funeral, her father's sudden, unexpected death, and the sale of her grandmother. Her grandmother's mistress had always promised that, upon her death, the grandmother would be granted her freedom. But when the mistress dies, Dr. Flint reneges on this promise and puts Linda's grandmother up for sale. However, the sister of the deceased mistress purchases her, and, finally, her grandmother is granted her freedom. This chapter details vivid accounts of the Flint's cruelty and brutality -- as well as that of neighboring slaveholders -- toward their slaves.

