]> <emph>Autobiography of a Female Slave:</emph> Electronic Edition. Martha Griffith Browne, d. 1906 Funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities supported the electronic publication of this title. Text scanned (OCR) by Fiona Sewell and Fiona Mills Images scanned by Fiona Sewell and Bethany Ronnberg Text encoded by Bethany Ronnberg and Natalia Smith First edition, 1999 ca. 900K Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1999.

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 Call number PS1145.B35 A2 1857 (Rare Book Collection, UNC-CH) Autobiography of a Female Slave Martha Griffith Browne New York Redfield 1857

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 Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998 French Latin African American women -- Fiction. Women slaves -- Kentucky -- Fiction. Kentucky -- Fiction. Slavery -- Kentucky -- Fiction. Plantation life -- Kentucky -- Fiction. 2000-04-04, Celine Noel and Wanda Gunther revised TEIHeader and created catalog record for the electronic edition. 1999-07-28, Natalia Smith, project manager, finished TEI-conformant encoding and final proofing. 1999-07-24, Bethany Ronnberg finished TEI/SGML encoding 1999-05-13, Fiona Sewell and Fiona Mills finished scanning (OCR) and proofing.

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 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A FEMALE SLAVE REDFIELD 34 BEEKMAN STREET, NEW YORK 1857 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by J. S. REDFIELD, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York E. O. JENKINS, Printer and Stereotyper, No. 26 FRANKFORT STREET.

TO ALL PERSONS INTERESTED IN THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM, This little Book IS RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, BY THE AUTHOR.

 CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. The Old Kentucky Farm—My Parentage and Early Training—Death of the Master—The Sale-day—New Master and New Home, . . . . . 9 CHAPTER II. A View of the New Home, . . . . . 19 CHAPTER III. The Yankee School-Mistress—Her Philosophy—The American Abolitionists, . . . . .29 CHAPTER IV. Conversation with Miss Bradly—A Light Breaks through the Darkness, . . . . . 32 CHAPTER V. A Fashionable Tea-Table—Table-Talk—Aunt Polly's Experience—The Overseer's Authority—The Whipping-Post—Transfiguring Power of Divine Faith, . . . . .37 CHAPTER VI. Restored Consciousness—Aunt Polly's Account of my Miraculous Return to Life—The Master's Affray with the Overseer, . . . . . 51 CHAPTER VII. Amy's Narrative, and her Philosophy of a Future State, . . . . . 58 CHAPTER VIII. Talk at the Farm-House—Threats—The New Beau—Lindy, . . . . . 65 CHAPTER IX. Lindy's Boldness—A Suspicion—The Master's Accountability—The Young Reformer—Words of Hope—The Cultivated Mulatto—The Dawn of Ambition, . . . . .76 CHAPTER X. The Conversation, in which Fear and Suspicion are Aroused—The Young Master, . . . . .84 CHAPTER XI. The Flight—Young Master's Apprehensions—His Conversation—Amy—Edifying Talk among Ladies, . . . . . 93 CHAPTER XII. Mr. Peterkin's Rage—Its Escape—Chat at the Breakfast-Table—Change of Views—Power of the Flesh-pots, . . . . .101 CHAPTER XIII. Recollection—Consoling Influence of Sympathy—Amy's Doctrine of the Soul—Talk at the Spring, . . . . .107 CHAPTER XIV. The Prattlings of Insanity—Old Wounds Reopen—The Walk to the Doctor's—Influence of Nature. . . . .116 CHAPTER XV. Quietude of the Woods—A Glimpse of the Stranger—Mrs. Mandy's Words of Cruel Irony—Sad Reflections, . . . . .121 CHAPTER XVI. A Reflection—American Abolitionists —Disaffection in Kentucky—The Young Master—His Remonstrance, . . . . .127 CHAPTER XVII. The Return of the Hunters, flushed with Success—Mr. Peterkin's Vagary, . . . . .136 CHAPTER XVIII. The Essay of Wit—Young Abolitionist—His Influence—A Night at the Door of the “Lock-Up,” . . . . .147 CHAPTER XIX. Sympathy casteth out Fear—Consequence of the Night's Watch—Troubled Reflections, . . . . .161 CHAPTER XX. The Trader—A Terrible Fright—Power of Prayer—Grief of the Helpless,. . . . . 170 CHAPTER XXI. Touching Farewell full of Pathos—The Parting—My Grief . . . . . 183 CHAPTER XXII. A Conversation—Hope Blossoms Out, but Charlestown is full Of Excitability, . . . . . 191 CHAPTER XXIII. The Supper—Its Consequences—Loss of Silver—A Lonely Night—Amy, . . . . .201 CHAPTER XXIV. The Punishment—Cruelty—Its Fatal Consequence—Death, . . . . . 211 CHAPTER XXV. Conversation of the Father and Son—The Discovery; its Consequences—Death of the Young and Beautiful, . . . . .221 CHAPTER XXVI. The Funeral—Miss Bradly's Departure—The Dispute—Spirit Questions, . . . . . 232 CHAPTER XXVII. The Awful Confession of the Master—Death—its Cold Solemnity, . . . . . 243 CHAPTER XXVIII. The Bridal—Its Ceremonies—A Trip, and a Change of Homes—The Magnolia—A Stranger, . . . . .251 CHAPTER XXIX. The Argument, . . . . . 259 CHAPTER XXX. The Misdemeanor—The Punishment—Its Consequence—Fright, . . . . . 279 CHAPTER XXXI. The Day of Trial—Anxiety—The Volunteer Counsel—Verdict of the Jury,. . . . . 293 CHAPTER XXXII. Execution of the Sentence—A Change—Hope, . . . . . 303 CHAPTER XXXIII. Sold—Life as a Slave—Pen—Charles' Story—Uncle Peter's Troubles—A Star Peeping Forth from the Cloud, . . . . . 314 CHAPTER XXXIV. Scene in the Pen—Starting “Down the River”—Uncle Peter's Trial—My Rescue, . . . . .333 CHAPTER XXXV. The New Home—A Pleasant Family Group—Quiet Love-Meetings . . . . . 342 CHAPTER XXXVI. The New Associates—Depraved Views—Elsy's Mistake—Departure of the Young Ladies—Loneliness, . . . . . 348 CHAPTER XXXII. The New Mistress—Her Kindness of Disposition—A Pretty Home—And Love-Interviews in the Summer Days, . . . . . 355 CHAPTER XXXVIII. An Awful Revelation—More Clouds to Darken the Sun of Life—Sickness and blessed Insensibility,. . . . . 366 CHAPTER XXXIX. Gradual Return of Happy Spirits—Brighter Prospects—An Old Acquaintance, . . . . .374 CHAPTER XL. The Crisis of Existence—A Dreadful Page in Life, . . . . . 381 CHAPTER XLI. A Revelation—Death the Peaceful Angel—Calmness, . . . . . 391 CHAPTER XLII. Conclusion, . . . . .398 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A FEMALE SLAVE. CHAPTER I.

THE OLD KENTUCKY FARM—MY PARENTAGE AND EARLY TRAINING—DEATH OF THE MASTER—THE SALE-DAY—NEW MASTER AND NEW HOME.

I WAS born in one of the southern counties of Kentucky. My earliest recollections are of a large, old-fashioned farm-house, built of hewn rock, in which my old master, Mr. Nelson, and his family, consisting of a widowed sister, two daughters and two sons, resided. I have but an indistinct remembrance of my old master. At times, a shadow of an idea, like the reflection of a kind dream, comes over my mind, and, then, I conjure him up as a large, venerable-looking man, with scanty, gray locks floating carelessly over an amplitude of forehead; a wide, hard-featured face, with yet a kindly glow of honest sentiment; broad, strong teeth, much discolored by the continued use of tobacco.

I well remember that, as a token of his good-will, he always presented us (the slave-children) with a slice of buttered bread, when we had finished our daily task. I have also a faint reminiscence of his old hickory cane being shaken over my head two or three times, and the promise (which remained, until his death, unfulfilled) of a good “thrashing” at some future period.

My mother was a very bright mulatto woman, and my father, I suppose, was a white man, though I know nothing of him; for, with the most unpaternal feeling, he deserted me. A consequence of this amalgamation was my very fair and beautiful complexion. My skin was no perceptible shade darker than that of my young mistresses. My eyes were large and dark, while a profusion of nut-brown hair, straight and soft as the whitest lady's in the land, fell in showery redundance over my neck and shoulders. I was often mistaken for a white child; and in my rambles through the woods, many caresses have I received from wayside travellers; and the exclamation, “What a beautiful child!” was quite common. Owing to this personal beauty I was a great pet with my master's sister, Mrs. Woodbridge, who, I believe I have stated, was a widow, and childless; so upon me she lavished all the fondness of a warm and loving heart.

My mother, Keziah the cook, commonly called Aunt Kaisy, was possessed of an indomitable ambition, and had, by the hardest means, endeavored to acquire the rudiments of an education; but all that she had succeeded in obtaining was a knowledge of the alphabet, and orthography in two syllables. Being very imitative, she eschewed the ordinary negroes' pronunciation, and adopted the mode of speech used by the higher classes of whites. She was very much delighted when Mrs. Woodbridge or Miss Betsy (as we called her) began to instruct me in the elements of the English language. I inherited my mother's thirst for knowledge; and, by intense study, did all I could to spare Miss Betsy the usual drudgery of a teacher. The aptitude that I displayed, may be inferred from the fact that, in three months from the day she began teaching me the alphabet, I was reading, with some degree of fluency, in the “First Reader.” I have often heard her relate this as quite a literary and educational marvel.

There were so many slaves upon the farm, particularly young ones, that I was regarded as a supernumerary; consequently spared from nearly all the work. I sat in Miss Betsy's room: with book in hand, little heeding anything else; and, if ever I manifested the least indolence, my mother, with her wild ambition was sure to rally me, and even offer the tempting bribe of cakes and apples.

I have frequently heard my old master say, “Betsy, you will spoil that girl, teaching her so much.” “She is too pretty for a slave,” was her invariable reply.

Thus smoothly passed the early part of my life, until an event occurred which was the cause of a change in my whole fate. My old master became suddenly and dangerously ill. My lessons were suspended, for Miss Betsy's services were required in the sick chamber. I used to slyly steal to the open door of his room, and peep in, with wonder, at the sombre group collected there. I recollect seeing my young masters and mistresses weeping round a curtained bed. Then there came a time when loud screams and frightful lamentations issued thence. There were shrieks that struck upon my ear with a strange thrill; shrieks that seemed to rend souls and break heart-strings. My young mistresses, fair, slender girls, fell prostrate upon the floor; and my masters, noble, manly men, bent over the bowed forms of their sisters, whispering words which I did not hear, but which, my mature experience tells me, must have been of love and comfort.

There came, then, a long, narrow, black box, thickly embossed with shining brass tacks, in which my old master was carefully laid, with his pale, brawny hands crossed upon his wide chest. I remember that, one by one, the slaves were called in to take a last look of him who had been, to them, a kind master. They all came out with their cotton handkerchiefs pressed to their eyes. I went in, with five other colored children, to take my look. That wan, ghastly face, those sunken eyes and pinched features, with the white winding sheet, and the dismal coffin, impressed me with a new and wild terror; and, for weeks after, this “vision of death” haunted my mind fearfully.

But I soon after resumed my studies under Miss Betsy's tuition. Having little work to do, and seldom seeing my young mistresses, I grew up in the same house, scarcely knowing them. I was technically termed in the family, “the child,” as I was not black; and, being a slave, my masters and mistresses would not admit that I was white. So I reached the age of ten, still called “a child,” and actually one in all life's experiences, though pretty well advanced in education. I had a very good knowledge of the rudiments, had bestowed some attention upon Grammar, and eagerly read every book that fell in my way. Love of study taught me seclusive habits; I read long and late; and the desire of a finished education became the passion of my life. Alas! these days were but a poor preparation for the life that was to come after!

Miss Betsy, though a warm-hearted woman, was a violent advocate of slavery. I have since been puzzled how to reconcile this with her otherwise Christian character; and, though she professed to love me dearly, and had bestowed so much attention upon the cultivation of my mind, and expressed it as her opinion that I was too pretty and white to be a slave, yet, if any one had spoken of giving me freedom, she would have condemned it as domestic heresy. If I had belonged to her, I doubt not but my life would have been a happy one. But, alas! a different lot was assigned me!

About two years and six months after my old master's death, a division was made of the property. This involved a sale of everything, even the household furniture. There were, I believe, heavy debts hanging over the estate. These must be met, and the residue divided among the heirs.

When it was made known in the kitchen that a sale was to be made, the slaves were panic-stricken. Loud cries and lamentations arose, and my young mistresses came often to the kitchen to comfort us.

One of these young ladies, Miss Margaret, a tall, nobly formed girl, with big blue eyes and brown hair, frequently came and sat with us, trying, in the most persuasive tones, to reconcile the old ones to their destiny. Often did I see the large tears roll down her fair cheeks, and her red lip quiver. These indications of sympathy, coming from such a lovely being, cheered many an hour of after-captivity.

But the“sale-day” came at last; I have a confused idea of it. The ladies left the day before. Miss Betsy took an affectionate leave of me; ah, I did not then know that it was a final one.

The servants were all sold, as I heard one man say, at very high rates, though not under the auctioneer's hammer. To that my young masters were opposed.

A tall, hard-looking man came up to me, very roughly seized my arm, bade me open my mouth; examined my teeth; felt of my limbs; made me run a few yards; ordered me to jump; and, being well satisfied with my activity, said to Master Edward, “I will take her.” Little comprehending the full meaning of that brief sentence, I rejoined the group of children from which I had been summoned. After awhile, my mother came up to me, holding a wallet in her hand. The tear-drops stood on her cheeks, and her whole frame was distorted with pain. She walked toward me a few steps, then stopped, and suddenly shaking her head, exclaimed, “No, no, I can't do it, I can't do it.” I was amazed at her grief, but an indefinable fear kept me from rushing to her.

“Here, Kitty,” she said to an old negro woman, who stood near, “you break it to her. I can't do it. No, it will drive me mad. Oh, heaven! that I was ever born to see this day.” Then rocking her body back and forward in a transport of agony, she gave full vent to her feelings in a long, loud, piteous wail. Oh, God! that cry of grief, that knell of a breaking heart, rang in my ears for many long and painful days. At length Aunt Kitty approached me, and, laying her hand on my shoulder, kindly said:

“Alas, poor chile, you mus' place your trus' in the good God above, you mus' look to Him for help; you are gwine to leave your mother now. You are to have a new home, a new master, and I hope new friends. May the Lord be with you.” So saying, she broke suddenly away from me; but I saw that her wrinkled face was wet with tears.

With perhaps an idle, listless air, I received this astounding news; but a whirlwind was gathering in my breast. What could she mean by new friends and a new home? Surely I was to take my mother with me! No mortal power would dare to sever us. Why, I remember that when master sold the gray mare, the colt went also. Who could, who would, who dared, separate the parent from her offspring? Alas! I had yet to learn that the white man dared do all that his avarice might suggest; and there was no human tribunal where the outcast African could pray for “right!” Ah, when I now think of my poor mother's form, as it swayed like a willow in the tempest of grief; when I remember her bitter cries, and see her arms thrown franticly toward me, and hear her earnest—oh, how earnest—prayer for death or madness, then I wonder where were Heaven's thunderbolts; but retributive Justice will come sooner or later, and He who remembers mercy now will not forget justice then.

“Come along, gal, come along, gather up your duds, and come with me,” said a harsh voice; and, looking up from my bewildered reverie, I beheld the man who had so carefully examined me. I was too much startled to fully understand the words, and stood vacantly gazing at him. This strange manner he construed into disrespect; and, raising his riding-whip, he brought it down with considerable force upon my back. It was the first lash I had ever given to me in anger. I smarted beneath the stripe, and a cry of pain broke from my lips. Mother sprang to me, and clasping my quivering form in her arms, cried out to my young master, “Oh, Master Eddy, have mercy on me, on my child. I have served you faithfully, I nursed you, I grew up with your poor mother, who now sleeps in the cold ground, I beg you now to save my child,” and she sank down at his feet, whilst her tears fell fast.

Then my poor old grandfather, who was called the patriarch slave, being the eldest one of the race in the whole neighborhood, joined us. His gray head, wrinkled face, and bent form, told of many a year of hard servitude.

“What is it, Massa Ed, what is it Kaisy be takin' on so 'bout? You haint driv the chile off? No—no! Young massa only playin' trick now; come Kais' don't be makin' fool of yoursef young massa not gwine to separate you and the chile.”

These words seemed to reanimate my mother, and she looked up at Master Edward with a grateful expression of face, whilst she clasped her arms tightly around his knees, exclaiming, “Oh, bless you, young master, bless you forever, and forgive poor Kaisy for distrusting you, but Pompey told me the child was sold away from me, and that gemman struck her;” and here again she sobbed, and caught hold of me convulsively, as if she feared I might be taken.

I looked at my young master's face, and the ghastly whiteness which overspread it, the tearful glister of his eye, and the strange tremor of his figure, struck me with fright. I knew my doom. Young as I was, my first dread was for my mother; I forgot my own perilous situation, and mourned alone for her. I would have given worlds could insensibility have been granted her.

“I've got no time to be foolin' longer with these niggers, come 'long, gal. Ann, I believe, you tole me was her name,” he said, as he turned to Master Edward. Another wild shriek from my mother, a deep sigh from grandpap, and I looked at master Ed, who was striking his forehead vehemently, and the tears were trickling down his cheeks.

“Here, Mr. Peterkin, here!” exclaimed Master Edward, “here is your bill of sale; I will refund your money; release me from my contract.”

Peterkin cast on him one contemptuous look, and with a low, chuckling laugh, replied, “No; you must stand to your bargain. I want that gal; she is likely, and it will do me good to thrash the devil out of her;” turning to me he added, “quit your snuffling and snubbing, or I'll give you something to cry 'bout;” and, roughly catching me by the arm, he hurried me off, despite the entreaty of Master Ed, the cries of mother, and the feeble supplication of my grandfather, I dared to cast one look behind, and beheld my mother wallowing in the dust, whilst her frantic cries of “save my child, save my child!” rang with fearful agony in my ears. Master Ed covered his face with his hands, and old grandfather reverently raised his to Heaven, as if beseeching mercy. The sight of this anguish-stricken group filled me with a new sense of horror, and forgetful of the presence of Peterkin, I burst into tears: but I was quickly recalled by a fierce and stinging blow from his stout riding-whip.

“See here, nigger (this man, raised among negroes, used their dialect), if you dar' to give another whimper, I'll beat the very life out 'en yer.” This terrific threat seemed to scare away every thought of precaution; and, by a sudden and agile bound, I broke loose from him and darted off to the sad group, from which I had been so ruthlessly torn, and, sinking down before Master Ed, I cried out in a wild, despairing tone, “Save me, good master, save me—kill me, or hide me from that awful man, he'll kill me;” and, seizing hold of the skirt of his coat, I covered my face with it to shut out the sight of Peterkin, whose -red eye-balls were glaring with fury upon me. Oath after oath escaped his lips. Mother saw him rapidly approaching to recapture me, and, with the noble, maternal instinct of self-sacrifice, sprang forward only to receive the heavy blow of his uplifted whip. She reeled, tottered and sank stunned upon the ground.

“Thar, take that, you yaller hussy, and cuss yer nigger hide for daring to raise this rumpus here,” he said, as he rapidly strode past her.

Gently, Mr. Peterkin,“ exclaimed Master Edward, “let me speak to her; a little encouragement is better than force.”

“This is my encouragement for them,” and he shook his whip.

Unheeding him, Master Edward turned to me, saying, “Ann, come now, be a good girl, go with this gentleman, and be an obedient girl; he will give you a kind, nice home; sometimes he will let you come to see your mother. Here is some money for you to buy a pretty head-handkerchief; now go with him.” These kind words and encouraging tones, brought a fresh gush of tears to my eyes. Taking the half-dollar which he offered me, and reverently kissing the skirt of his coat, I rejoined Peterkin; one look at his cold, harsh face, chilled my resolution; yet I had resolved to go without another word of complaint. I could not suppress a groan when I passed the spot where my mother lay still insensible from the effects of the blow

One by one the servants, old and young, gave me a hearty shake of the hand as I passed the place where they were standing in a row for the inspection of buyers.

I had nerved myself, and now that the parting from mother was over, I felt that the bitterness of death was past, and I could meet anything. Nothing now could be a trial, yet I was touched when the servants offered me little mementoes and keepsakes. One gave a yard of ribbon, another a half-paper of pins, a third presented a painted cotton head-tie; others gave me ginger-cakes, candies, or small coins. Out of their little they gave abundantly, and, small as were the bestowments, I well knew that they had made sacrifices to give even so much. I was too deeply affected to make any other acknowledgment than a nod of the head; for a choking thickness was gathering in my throat, and a blinding mist obscured my sight. I did not see my young mistresses, for they had left the house, declaring they could not bear to witness a spectacle so revolting to their feelings.

Upon reaching the gate I observed a red-painted wagon, with an awning of domestic cotton. Standing near it, and holding the horses, was an old, worn, scarred, weather-beaten negro man, who instantly took off his hat as Mr. Peterkin approached.

“Well, Nace, you see I've bought this wench to-day,” and he shook his whip over my head.

“Ya! ya! Massa, but she ha' got one goot home wid yer.”

“Yes, has she, Nace; but don't yer think the slut has been cryin' 'bout it!”

“Lor' bless us, Massa, but a little of the beech-tree will fetch that sort of truck out of her,” and old Nace showed his broken teeth, as he gave a forced laugh.

“I guess I can take the fool out en her, by the time I gives her two or three swings at the whippin'-post.”

Nace shook his head knowingly, and gave a low guttural laugh, by way of approval of his master's capabilities.

“Jump in the wagon, gal,” said my new master, “jump in quick; I likes to see niggers active, none of your pokes 'bout me; but this will put sperit in 'em”, and there was another defiant flourish of the whip.

I got in with as much haste and activity as I could possibly command. This appeared to please Mr. Peterkin, and he gave evidence of it by saying,—

“Well, that does pretty well; a few stripes a day, and you'll be a valerble slave;” and, getting in the vehicle himself, he ordered Nace to drive on “pretty peart,” as night would soon overtake us.

Just as we were starting I perceived Josh, one of my playmates, running after us with a small bundle, shouting, —

“Here, Ann, you've lef' yer bundle of close.”

“Stop, Nace,” said Mr. Peterkin, “let's git the gal's duds, or I'll be put to the 'spence of gittin' new ones for her.”

Little Josh came bounding up, and, with an affectionate manner, handed me the little wallet that contained my entire wardrobe. I leaned forward, and, in a muffled tone, but with my whole heart hanging on my lip, asked Josh “how is mother?” but a cut of Nace's whip, and a quick “gee-up,” put me beyond the hearing of the reply. I strained my eyes after Josh, to interpret the motion of his lips.

In a state of hopeless agony I sat through the remainder of the journey. The coarse jokes and malignant threats of Mr. Peterkin were answered with laughing and dutiful assent by the veteran Nace. I tried to deceive my persecutors by feigning sleep, but, ah, a strong finger held my lids open, and slumber fled away to gladden lighter hearts and bless brighter eyes.

 CHAPTER II.

A VIEW OF THE NEW HOME.

THE young moon had risen in mild and meek serenity to bless the earth. With a strange and fluctuating light, the pale rays played over the leaves and branches of the forest trees, and flickered fantastically upon the ground! Only a few stars were discernible in the highest dome of heaven! The lowing of wandering cows, or the chirp of a night-bird, had power to beguile memory back to a thousand vanished joys. I mused and wept; still the wagon jogged along. Mr. Peterkin sat half-sleeping beside old Nace, whose occasional “gee-up” to the lagging horses, was the only human sound that broke the soft serenity! Every moment seemed to me an age, for I dreaded the awakening of my cruel master. Ah, little did I dream that that horrid day's experience was but a brief foretaste of what I had yet to suffer; and well it was for me that a kind and merciful Providence veiled that dismal future from my gaze. About midnight I had fallen into a quiet sleep, gilded by the sweetest dream, a dream of the old farm-house, of mother, grandfather, and my companions.

From this vision I was aroused by the gruff voice of Peterkin, bidding me get out of the wagon. That voice was to me more frightful and fearful than the blast of the last trump. Springing suddenly up, I threw off the shackles of sleep; and consciousness, with all its direful burden, returned fully to me. Looking round, by the full light of the moon, I beheld a large country house, half hidden among trees. A white paling enclosed the ground, and the scent of dewy roses and other garden flowers filled the atmosphere.

“Now, Nace, put up the team, and git yourself to bed,” said Peterkin. Turning to me he added, “give this gal a blanket, and let her sleep on the floor in Polly's cabin; keep a good watch on her, that she don't try to run off.”

“Needn't fear dat, Massa, for de bull-dog tear her to pieces if she 'tempt dat. By gar, I'd like to see her be for tryin' it;” and the old negro gave a fiendish laugh, as though he thought it would be rare sport.

Mr. Peterkin entered the handsome house, of which he was the rich and respected owner, whilst I, conducted by Nace, repaired to a dismal cabin. After repeated knocks at the door of this most wretched hovel, an old crone of a negress muttered between her clenched teeth, “Who's dar?”

“It's me, Polly; what you be 'bout dar, dat you don't let me in?”

“What for you be bangin' at my cabin? I's got no bisness wid you.”

“Yes, but I's got bisness wid you; stir yer ole stumps now.”

“I shan't be for troublin' mysef and lettin' you in my cabin at dis hour ob de night-time; and if you doesn't be off, I'll make Massa gib you a sound drubbin' in de mornin'.”

“Ha, ha! now I'm gots you sure; for massa sends me here himsef.”

This was enough for Polly; she broke off all further colloquy, and opened the door instantly.

The pale moonlight rested as lovingly upon that dreary, unchinked, rude, and wretched hovel, as ever it played over the gilded roof and frescoed dome of ancient palaces; but ah, what squalor did it not reveal! There, resting upon pallets of straw, like pigs in a litter, were groups of children, and upon a rickety cot the old woman reposed her aged limbs. How strange, lonely, and forbidding appeared that tenement, as the old woman stood in the doorway, her short and scanty kirtles but poorly concealing her meagre limbs. A dark, scowling countenance looked out from under a small cap of faded muslin; little bleared eyes glared upon me, like the red light of a heated furnace. Instinctively I shrank back from her, but Nace was tired, and not wishing to be longer kept from his bed, pushed me within the door, saying—

“Thar, Polly, Massa say dat gal mus' sleep in dar.”

“Come 'long in, gal,” said the woman. and closing the door, she pointed to a patch of straw, “sleep dar.”

The moonbeams stole in through the crevices and cracks of the cabin, and cast a mystic gleam upon the surrounding objects. Without further word or comment, Polly betook herself to her cot, and was soon snoring away as though there were no such thing as care or slavery in the world. But to me sleep was a stranger. There I lay through the remaining hours of the night, wearily thinking of mother and home. “Sold,” I murmured. “What is it to be sold? Why was I sold? Why separated from my mother and friends? Why couldn't mother come with me, or I stay with her? I never saw Mr. Peterkin before. Who gave him the right to force me from my good home and kind friends?” These questions would arise in my mind, and, alas! I had no answers for them. Young and ignorant as I was, I had yet some glimmering idea of justice. Later in life, these same questions have often come to me, as sad commentaries upon the righteousness of human laws; and, when sitting in splendid churches listening to ornate and worldly harangues from holy men, these same thoughts have tingled upon my tongue. And I have been surprised to see how strangely these men mistake the definition of servitude. Why, from the exposition of the worthy divines, one would suppose that servitude was a fair synonym for slavery! Admitting that we are the descendants of the unfortunate Ham, and endure our bondage as the penalty affixed to his crime, there can be no argument or fact adduced, whereby to justify slavery as a moral right. Serving and being a slave are very different. And why may not Ham's descendants claim a reprieve by virtue of the passion and death of Christ? Are we excluded from the grace of that atonement? No; there is no argument, no reason, to justify slavery, save that of human cupidity. But there will come a day, when each and every one who has violated that divine rule, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” will stand with a fearful accountability before the Supreme Judge. Then will there be loud cries and lamentations, and a wish for the mountains to hide them from the eye of Judicial Majesty.

The next morning I rose with the dawn, and sitting upright upon my pallet, surveyed the room and its tenants. There, in comfortless confusion, upon heaps of straw, slumbered five children, dirty and ragged. On the broken cot, with a remnant of a coverlet thrown over her, lay Aunt Polly. A few broken stools and one pine box, with a shelf containing a few tins, constituted the entire furniture.

“And this wretched pen is to be my home; these dirty-looking children my associates.” Oh, how dismal were my thoughts; but little time had I for reflection. The shrill sound of a hunting-horn was the summons for the servants to arise, and woe unto him or her who was found missing or tardy when the muster-roll was called. Aunt Polly and the five children sprang up, and soon dressed themselves. They then appeared in the yard, where a stout, athletic man, with full beard and a dull eye, stood with whip in hand. He called over the names of all, and portioned out their daily task. With a smile more of terror than pleasure, they severally received their orders. I stood at the extremity of the range. After disposing of them in order, the overseer (for such he was) looked at me fiercely, and said:

“Come here, gal.”

With a timid step, I obeyed.

“What are you fit for? Not much of anything, ha?” and catching hold of my ear he pulled me round in front of him, saying,

“Well, you are likely-looking; how much work can you do?”

I stammered out something as to my willingness to do anything that was required of me. He examined my hands, and concluding from their dimensions that I was best suited for house-work, he bade me remain in the kitchen until after breakfast. When I entered the room designated, par politesse, as the kitchen, I was surprised to find such a desolate and destitute-looking place. The apartment, which was very small, seemed to be a sort of Pandora's Box, into which everything of household or domestic use had been crowded. The walls were hung round with saddles, bridles, horse-blankets, &c. Upon a swinging shelf in the centre of the room were ranged all the seeds, nails, ropes, dried elms, and the rest of the thousand and one little notions of domestic economy. A rude, wooden shelf contained a dark, dusty row of unclean tins; broken stools and old kegs were substituted for chairs; upon these were stationed four or five ebony children; one of them, a girl about nine years old, with a dingy face, to which soap and water seemed foreign, and with shaggy, moppy hair, twisted in short, stringy plaits, sat upon a broken keg, with a squalid baby in her lap, which she jostled upon her knee, whilst she sang in a sharp key, “hushy-by-baby.” Three other wretched children, in tow-linen dresses, whose brevity of skirts made a sad appeal to the modesty of spectators, were perched round this girl, whom they called Amy. They were furiously begging Aunt Polly (the cook) to give them a piece of hoe-cake.

“Be off wid you, or I'll tell Massa, or de overseer,” answered the beldame, as their solicitations became more clamorous. This threat had power to silence the most earnest demands of the stomach, for the fiend of hunger was far less dreaded than the lash of Mr. Jones, the overseer. My entrance, and the sight of a strange face, was a diversion for them. They crowded closer to Amy, and eyed me with a half doubtful, and altogether ludicrous air.

“Who's her?” “whar she come from?” “when her gwyn away?” and such like expressions, escaped them in stifled tones.

“Come in, set down,” said Aunt Polly to me, and, turning to the group of children, she levelled a poker at them.

“Keep still dar, or I'll break your pates 'wid dis poker.”

Instantly they cowered down beside Amy, still peeping over her shoulder, to get a better view of me. With a very uneasy feeling I seated myself upon the broken stool, to which Aunt Polly pointed. One of the boldest of the children came up to me, and, slyly touching my dress, said, “tag,” then darted off to her hiding-place, with quite the air of a victress. Amy made queer grimaces at me. Every now and then placing her thumb to her nose, and gyrating her finger towards me, she would drawl out, “you ka-n-t kum it.” All this was perfect jargon to me; for at home, though we had been but imperfectly protected by clothing from the vicissitudes of seasons, and though our fare was simple, coarse, and frugal, had we been kindly treated, and our manners trained into something like the softness of humanity. There, as regularly as the Sunday dawned, were we summoned to the house to hear the Bible read, and join (though at a respectful distance) with the family in prayer. But this I subsequently learned was an unusual practice in the neighborhood, and was attributed to the fact, that my master's wife had been born in the State of Massachusetts, where the people were crazy and fanatical enough to believe that “niggers” had souls, and were by God held to be responsible beings.

The loud blast of the horn was the signal for the “hands” to suspend their labor and come to breakfast. Two negro men and three women rushed in at the door, ravenous for their rations. I looked about for the table, but, seeing none, concluded it had yet to be arranged; for at home we always took our meals on a table. I was much surprised to see each one here take a slice of fat bacon and a pone of bread in his or her hand, and eat it standing.

“Well,” said one man, “I'd like to git a bit more bread.”

“You's had your sher,” replied Aunt Polly. “Mister Jones ses one slice o' meat and a pone o' bread is to be the 'lowance.”

“I knows it, but if thar's any scraps left from the house table, you wimmin folks always gits it.”

“Who's got de bes' right? Sure, and arn't de one who cooks it got de bes' right to it?” asked Polly, with a triumphant voice.

“Ha, ha!” cried Nace, “here comes de breakfust leavin's, now who's smartest shall have 'em;” whereupon Nace, his comrade, and the three women, seized a waiter of fragments of biscuit, broiled ham, coffee, &c., the remains of the breakfast prepared for the white family.

“By gar,” cried Nace, “I've got de coffee-pot, and I'll drink dis;” so, without further ceremony, he applied the spout to his mouth, and, sans cream or sugar, he quaffed off the grounds. Jake possessed himself of the ham, whilst the two women held a considerable contest over a biscuit. Blow and lie passed frequently between them. Aunt Polly brandished her skimmer-spoon, as though it were Neptune's trident of authority; still she could not allay the confusion which these excited cormorants raised. The children yelled out and clamored for a bit; the sight and scent of ham and biscuits so tantalized their palates, that they forgot even the terror of the whip. I stood all agape, looking on with amazement.

The two belligerent women stood with eyes blazing like comets, their arms twisted around each other in a very decided and furious rencontre. One of them, losing her balance, fell upon the floor, and, dragging the other after her, they rolled and wallowed in a cloud of dust, whilst the disputed biscuit, in the heat of the affray, had been dropped on the hearth, where, unperceived by the combatants, Nace had possessed himself of it, and was happily masticating it.

Melinda, the girl from whom the waiter had been snatched, doubtless much disappointed by the loss of the debris, returned to the house and made a report of the fracas.

Instantly and unexpectedly, Jones, flaming with rage, stood in the midst of the riotous group. Seizing hold of the women, he knocked them on their heads with his clenched fists.

“Hold, black wretches, come, I will give you a leetle fun; off now to the post.”

Then such appeals for mercy, promises of amendment, entreaties, excuses, &c., as the two women made, would have touched a heart of stone; but Jones had power to resist even the prayers of an angel. To him the cries of human suffering and the agony of distress were music. My heart bled when I saw the two victims led away, and I put my hands to my ears to shut out the screams of distress which rang with a strange terror on the morning air. Poor, oppressed African! thorny and rugged is your path of life! Many a secret sigh and bleeding tear attest your cruel martyrdom! Surely He, who careth alike for the high and the low, looks not unmoved upon you, wearing and groaning beneath the pressing burden and galling yoke of a most inhuman bondage. For you there is no broad rock of Hope or Peace to cast its shadow of rest in this “weary land.” You must sow in tears and reap in sorrow. But He, who led the children of Israel from the house of bondage and the fetters of captivity, will, in His own inscrutable way, lead you from the condition of despair, even by the pillar of fire and the cloud. Great changes are occurring daily, old constitutions are tottering, old systems, fraught with the cruelty of darker ages, are shaking to their centres. Master minds are everywhere actively engaged. Keen eyes and vigilant hearts are open to the wrongs of the poor, the lowly and the outcast. An avenging angel sits concealed 'mid the drapery of the wasting cloud, ready to pour the vials of God's wrath upon a haughty and oppressive race. In the threatened famine, see we nothing but an accidental failure of the crops? In the exhausted coffers and empty public treasury, is there nothing taught but the lesson of national extravagance? In the virulence of disease, the increasing prevalence of fatal epidemics, what do we read? Send for the seers, the wise men of the nation, and bid them translate the “mysterious writing on the wall.” Ah, well may ye shake, Kings of Mammon, shake upon your tottering throne of human bones! Give o'er your sports, suspend your orgies, dash down the jewelled cup of unhallowed joy, sparkling as it is to the very brim. You must pay, like him of old, the fearful price of sin. God hath not heard, unmoved, the anguished cries of a down-trodden and enslaved nation! And it needs no Daniel to tell, that God hath numbered your Kingdom and it is finished.”

As may be supposed, I had little appetite for my breakfast, but I managed to deceive others into the belief that I had made a hearty meal. But those screams from half-famished wretches had a fatal and terrifying fascination; never once could I forget it.

A look of fright was on the face of all. “They be gettin' awful beatin' at the post,” muttered Nace, whilst a sardonic smile flitted over his hard features. Was it not sad to behold the depths of degradation into which this creature had fallen? He could smile at the anguish of a fellow-creature. Originally, his nature may have been kind and gentle; but a continuous system of brutality had so deadened his sensibilities, that he had no humanity left. For this, the white man is accountable.

After the breakfast was over, I received a summons to the house. Following Melinda, I passed the door-sill, and stood in the presence of the assembled household. A very strange group I thought them. Two girls were seated beside the uncleared breakfast table, “trying their fortune” (as the phrase goes) with a cup of coffee-grounds and a spoon. The elder of the two was a tall, thin girl, with sharp features, small gray eyes, and red-hair done up in frizettes; the other was a prim, dark-skinned girl, with a set of nondescript features, and hair of no particular hue, or “just any color;” but with the same harsh expression of face that characterized the elder. As she received the magic cup from her sister, she exclaimed, “La, Jane, it will only be two years until you are married,” and made a significant grimace at her father (Mr. Peterkin), who sat near the window indulging in the luxury of a cob-pipe. The taller girl turned toward me, and asked,

“Father, is that the new girl you bought at old Nelson's sale?”

“Yes, that's the gal. Does she suit you?”

“Yes, but dear me! how very light she is—almost white! I know she will be impudent.”

“She has come to the wrong place for the practice of that article,” suggested the other.

“Yes, gal, you has got to mind them ar' wimmen,” said Mr. Peterkin to me, as he pointed toward his daughters.

“Father, I do wish you would quit that vulgarism; say girl, not gal, and ladies, not women.”

“Oh, I was never edicated, like you.”

“Educated is the word.”

“Oh, confound your dictionaries! Ever since that school-marm come out from Yankee-land, these neighborhood gals talk so big, nobody can understand 'em.”

 CHAPTER III.

THE YANKEE SCHOOL-MISTRESS—HER PHILOSOPHY—THE AMERICAN ABOLITIONISTS.

THE family with whom I now found a home, consisted of Mr. Peterkin and his two daughters, Jane and Matilda, and a son, John, much younger than the ladies.

The death of Mrs. Peterkin had occurred about three years before I went to live with them. The girls had been very well educated by a Miss Bradly, from Massachusetts, a spinster of “no particular age.” From her, the Misses Peterkin learned to set a great value upon correct and elegant language. She was the model and instructress of the country round; for, under her jurisdiction, nearly all the farmers' daughters had been initiated into the mysteries of learning. Scattered about, over the house, I used to frequently find odd leaves of school-books, elementary portions of natural sciences, old readers, story-books, novels, &c. These I eagerly devoured; but I had to be very secret about it, studying by dying embers, reading by moon-light, sun-rise, &c. Had I been discovered, a severe punishment would have followed. Miss Jane used to say, “a literary negro was disgusting, not to be tolerated.” Though she quarrelled with the vulgar talk and bad pronunciation of her father, he was made of too rough material to receive a polish; and, though Miss Bradly had improved the minds of the girls, her efforts to soften their hearts had met with no success. They were the same harsh, cold and selfish girls that she had found them. It was Jane's boast that she had whipped more negroes than any other girl of her age. Matilda, though less severe, had still a touch of the tigress.

This family lived in something like “style.” They were famed for their wealth and social position throughout the neighborhood. The house was a low cottage structure, with large and airy apartments; an arching piazza ran the whole length of the building, and around its trellised balustrade the clematis vine twined in rich luxuriance. A primrose-walk led up to the door, and the yard blossomed like a garden, with the fairest flowers. It was a very Paradise of homes; pity, ah pity 'twas, that human fiends marred its beauty. There the sweet flowers bloomed, the young birds warbled, pure springs gushed forth with limpid joy—there truly, “All, save the spirit of man, was divine.” The traveller often paused to admire the tasteful arrangements of the grounds, the neat and artistic plan of the house, and the thorough “air” of everything around. It seemed to bespeak refined minds, and delicate, noble natures; but oh, the flowers were no symbols of the graces of their hearts, for the dwellers of this highly-adorned spot were people of coarse natures, rough and cruel as barbarians. The nightly stars and the gentle moon, the deep glory of the noontide, or the blowing of twilight breezes over this chosen home, had no power to ennoble or elevate their souls. Acts of diabolical cruelty and wickedness were there perpetrated without the least pang of remorse or regret. Whilst the white portion of the family were revelling in luxury, the slaves were denied the most ordinary necessaries. The cook, who prepared the nicest dainties, the most tempting viands, had to console herself with a scanty diet, coarse enough to shock even a beggar. What wonder, then, if the craving of the stomach should allow her no escape from downright theft! Who is there that could resist? Where is the honesty that could not, under such circumstances, find an argument to justify larceny?

Every evening Miss Bradly came to spend an hour or so with them. The route from the school to her boarding-house wound by Mr. Peterkin's residence, and the temptation to talk to the young ladies, who were emphatically the belles of the neighborhood, was too great for resistance. This lady was of that class of females which we meet in every quarter of the globe,—of perfectly kind intentions, yet without the independence necessary for their open and free expression. Bred in the North, and having from her infancy imbibed the spirit of its free institutions, in her secret soul she loathed the abomination of slavery, every pulse of her heart cried out against it, yet with a strange compliance she lived in its midst, never once offering an objection or an argument against it. It suited her policy to laugh with the pro-slavery man at the fanaticism of the Northern Abolitionist. With a Judas-like hypocrisy, she sold her conscience for silver; and for a mess of pottage, bartered the noble right of free expression. 'Twas she, base renegade from a glorious cause, who laughed loudest and repeated wholesale libels and foul aspersions upon the able defenders of abolition—noble and generous men, lofty philanthropists, who are willing, for the sake of principle, to wear upon their brows the mark of social and political ostracism! But a day is coming, a bright millennial day, when the names of these inspired prophets shall be inscribed proudly upon the litany of freedom; when their noble efforts for social reform shall be told in wondering pride around the winter's fire. Then shall their fame shine with a glory which no Roman tradition can eclipse. Freed from calumny, the names of Parker, Seward and Sumner, will be ranked, as they deserve to be, with Washington, Franklin and Henry. All glory to the American Abolitionists. Though they must now possess their souls in patience, and bear the brand of social opprobrium, yet will posterity accord them the meed of everlasting honor. They, “who sow in dishonor shall be raised in glory.” Already the watchman upon the tower has discerned the signal. A light beameth in the East, which no man can quench. A fire has broken forth, which needs only a breath to fan it into a flame. The eternal law of sovereign right will vindicate itself. In the hour of feasting and revelry the dreadful bolt of retribution fell upon Gomorrah.

 CHAPTER IV

CONVERSATION WITH MISS BRADLY—A LIGHT BREAKS THROUGH THE DARKNESS.

I HAD been living with Mr. Peterkin about three years, during which time I had frequently seen Miss Bradly. One evening when she called (as was her custom after the adjournment of school), she found, upon inquiry, that the young ladies had gone out, and would not probably be back for several hours. She looked a little disconcerted, and seemed doubtful whether she would go home or remain. I had often observed her attentively watching me, yet I could not interpret the look; sometimes I thought it was of deep, earnest pity. Then it appeared only an anxious curiosity; and as commiseration was a thing which I seldom met with, I tried to guard my heart against anything like hope or trust; but on this afternoon I was particularly struck by her strange and irresolute manner. She turned several times as if to leave, then suddenly stopped, and, looking very earnestly at me, asked, “Did you say the girls would not return for several hours?”

Upon receiving an answer in the affirmative, she hesitated a moment, and then inquired for Mr. Peterkin. He was also from home, and would probably be absent for a day or two. “Is there no white person about the place?” she asked, with some trepidation.

“No one is here but the slaves,” I replied, perhaps in a sorrowful tone, for the word “slave” always grated upon my ear, yet I frequently used it, in obedience to a severe and imperative conventionality.

“Well then, Ann, come and sit down near me; I want to talk with you awhile.”

This surprised me a great deal. I scarcely knew what to do. The very idea of sitting down to a conversation with a white lady seemed to me the wildest improbability. A vacant stare was the only answer I could make. Certainly, I did not dream of her being in earnest.

“Come on, Ann,” she said, coaxingly; but, seeing that my amazement increased, she added, in a more persuasive tone, “Don't be afraid, I am a friend to the colored race.”

This seemed to me the strangest fiction. A white lady, and yet a friend to the colored race! Oh, impossible! such condescension was unheard of! What! she a refined woman, with a snowy complexion, to stoop from her proud elevation to befriend the lowly Ethiopian! Why, she could not, she dare not! Almost stupified with amazement, I stood, with my eyes intently fixed upon her.

“Come, child,” she said, in a kind tone, and placing her hand upon my shoulder, she endeavored to seat me beside her, “look up,—be not ashamed, for I am truly your friend. Your downcast look and melancholy manner have often struck me with sorrow.”

To this I could make no reply. Utterance was denied me. My tongue clove to the roof of my month; a thick, filmy veil gathered before my sight; and there I stood like one turned to stone. But upon being frequently reassured by her gentle manner and kind words, I at length controlled my emotions, and, seating myself at her feet, awaited her communication.

“Ann, you are not happy here?”

I said nothing, but she understood my look.

“Were you happy at home?”

“I was;” and the words were scarcely audible.

“Did they treat you kindly there?”

“Indeed they did; and there I had a mother, and was not lonely.”

“They did not beat you?”

“No, no, they did not,” and large tears gushed from my burning eyes;—for I remembered with anguish, how many a smarting blow had been given to me by Mr. Jones, how many a cuff by Mr. Peterkin, and ten thousand knocks, pinches, and tortures, by the young ladies.

“Don't weep, child,” said Miss Bradley, in as soothing tone, and she laid her arm caressingly around my neck. This kindness was too much for my fortitude, and bursting through all restraints I gave vent to my feelings in a violent shower of tears. She very wisely allowed me some time for the gratification of this luxury. I at length composed myself, and begged her pardon for this seeming disrespect.

“But ah, my dear lady, you have spoken so kindly to me that I forgot myself.”

“No apology, my child, I tell you again that I am your friend, and with me you can be perfectly free. Look upon me as a sister; but now that your excited feelings have become allayed, let me ask you why your master sold you?”

I explained to her that it was necessary to the equal division of the estate that some of the slaves should be sold, and that I was among the number.

“A bad institution is this one of slavery. What fearful entailments of anguish! Manage it as the most humane will, or can, still it has horrible results. Witness your separation from your mother. Did these thoughts never occur to?”

I looked surprised, but dared not tell her that often had vague doubts of the justice of slavery crossed my mind. Ah, too much I feared the lash, and I answered only by a mournful look of assent.

“Ann, did you never hear of the Abolition Society?”

I shook my head. She paused, as if doubtful of the propriety of making a disclosure; but at length the better principle triumphed, and she said, “There is in the Northern States an organization which devotes its energies and very life to the cause of the slave. They wish to abolish the shameful system, and make you and all your persecuted race as free and happy as the whites.”

“Does there really exist such a society; or is it only a wild fable that you tell me, for the purpose of allaying my present agony?”

“No, child; I do not deceive you. This noble and beneficent society really lives; but it does not, I regret to say, flourish as it should.”

“And why?” I asked, whilst a new wonder was fastening on my mind.

“Because,” she answered, “the larger portion of the whites are mean and avaricious enough to desire, for the sake of pecuniary aggrandizement, the enslavement of a race, whom the force of education and hereditary prejudice have taught them to regard as their own property.”

I did but dimly conceive her meaning. A slow light was breaking through my cloudy brain, kindling and inflaming hopes that now shine like beacons over the far waste of memory. Should I, could I, ever be free? Oh, bright and glorious dream! how it did sparkle in my soul, and cheer me through the lonely hours of bondage! This hope, this shadow of a hope, shone like a mirage far away upon the horizon of a clouded future.

Miss Bradly looked thoughtfully at me, as if watching the effect of her words; but she could not see that the seed which she had planted, perhaps carelessly, was destined to fructify and flourish through the coming seasons. I longed to pour out my heart to her; for she had, by this ready “sesame,” unlocked its deepest chambers. I dared not unfold even to her the wild dreams and strange hopes which I was indulging.

I spied Melinda coming up, and signified to Miss Bradly that it would be unsafe to prolong the conversation, and quickly she departed; not, however, without reassuring me of the interest which she felt in my fate.

“What was Miss Emily Bradly talking wid you 'bout?” demanded Melinda, in a surly tone.

“Nothing that concerns you,” I answered.

“Well, but you'll see that it consarns yerself, when I goes and tells Masser on you.”

“What can you tell him on me?”

“Oh, I knows, I hearn you talking wid dat ar' woman;” and she gave a significant leer of her eye, and lolled her tongue out of her mouth, à la mad dog.

I was much disturbed lest she had heard the conversation, and should make a report of it, which would redound to the disadvantage of my new friend. I went about my usual duties with a slow and heavy heart; still, sometimes, like a star shining through clouds, was that little bright hope of liberty.

 CHAPTER V.

A FASHIONABLE TEA-TABLE—TABLE-TALK—AUNT POLLY'S EXPERIENCE—THE OVERSEER'S AUTHORITY—THE WHIPPING-POST—TRANSFIGURING POWER OF DIVINE FAITH.

THAT evening when the family returned, I was glad to find the young ladies in such an excellent humor. It was seldom Miss Jane, whose peculiar property I was, ever gave me a kind word; and I was surprised on this occasion to hear her say, in a some-what gentle tone:

“Well, Ann, come here, I want you to look very nice to-night, and wait on the table in style, for I am expecting company;” and, with a sort of half good-natured smile, she tossed an old faded neck-ribbon to me, saying,

“There is a present for you.” I bowed low, and made a respectful acknowledgement of thanks, which she received in an unusually complacent manner.

Immediately I began to make arrangements for supper, and to get myself in readiness, which was no small matter, as my scanty wardrobe furnished no scope for the exercise of taste. In looking over my trunk, I found a white cotton apron, which could boast of many mice-bites and moth-workings; but with a needle and thread I soon managed to make it appear decent, and, combing my hair as neatly as possible, and tying the ribbon which Miss Jane had given me around it, I gave the finishing touch to my toilette, and then set about arranging the table. I assorted the tea-board, spoons, cups, saucers, &c., placed a nice damask napkin at each seat, and turned down the round little plates of white French china. The silver forks and ivory-handled knives were laid round the table in precise order. This done, I surveyed my work with an air of pride. Smiling complacently to myself, I proceeded to Miss Jane's room, to request her to come and look at it, and express her opinion.

On reaching her apartment, I found her dressed with great care, in a pink silk, with a rich lace berthé, and pearl ornaments. Her red hair was oiled until its fiery hue had darkened into a becoming auburn, and the metallic polish of the French powder had effectually concealed the huge freckles which spotted her checks.

Dropping a low courtesy, I requested her to come with me to the dining-room. and inspect my work. With a smile, she followed, and upon examination, seemed well pleased.

“Now, Ann, if you do well in officiating, it will be well for you; but if you fail, if you make one mistake, you had better never been born, for,” and she grasped me strongly by the shoulder, “I will flay you alive; you shall ache and smart in every limb and nerve.”

Terror-stricken at this threat, I made the most earnest promises to exert my very best energies. Yet her angry manner and threatening words so unnerved me, that I was not able to go on with the work in the same spirit in which I had begun, for we all know what a paralysis fear is to exertion.

I stepped out on the balcony for some purpose, and there, standing at the end of the gallery, but partially concealed by the clematis blossoms, stood Miss Jane, and a tall gentleman was leaning over the railing talking very earnestly to her. In that uncertain light I could see the flash of her eye and the crimson glow of her check. She was twirling and tearing to pieces, petal by petal, a beautiful rose which she held in her hand. Here, I thought here is happiness; this woman loves and is beloved. She has tasted of that one drop which sweetens the whole cup of existence. Oh, what a thing it is to be free— free and independent, with power and privilege to go whithersoever you choose, with no cowardly fear, no dread of espionage, with the right to hold your head proudly aloft, and return glance for glance, not shrink and cower before the white man's look, as we poor slaves must do. But not many moments could I thus spend in thought, and well, perhaps, it was for me that duty broke short all such unavailing regrets.

Hastening back to the dining-room, I gave another inquiring look at the table, fearful that some article had been omitted. Satisfying myself on this point, I moved on to the kitchen, where Aunt Polly was busy frying a chicken.

“Here, child,” she exclaimed, “look in thar at them biscuits. See is they done. Oh, that's prime, browning beautiful-like,” she said, as I drew from the stove a pan of nice biscuits, “and this ar' chicken is mighty nice. Oh, but it will make the young gemman smack his lips,” and wiping the perspiration from her sooty brow, she drew a long breath, and seated herself upon a broken stool.

“Wal, this ar' nigger is tired. I's bin cooking now this twelve years, and never has I had 'mission' to let my old man come to see me, or I to go see him.”

The children, with eyes wide open, gathered round Aunt Polly to hear a recital of her wrongs. “Laws-a-marcy, sights I's seen in my times, and often it 'pears like I's lost my senses. I tells you, yous only got to look at this ar' back to know what I's went through.” Hereupon she exposed her back and arms, which were frightfully scarred.

“This ar' scar,” and she pointed to a very deep one on her left shoulder, “Masser gib me kase I cried when he sold my oldest son; poor Jim, he was sent down the river, and I've never hearn from him since.” She wiped a stray tear from her old eyes.

“Oh me! 'tis long time since my eyes hab watered, and now these tears do feel so quare. Poor Jim is down the river, Johnny is dead, and Lucy is sold somewhar, so I have neither chick nor child. What's I got to live fur?”

This brought fresh to my mind recollections of my own mother's grief, when she was forced to give me up, and I could not restrain my tears.

“What fur you crying, child?” she asked. “It puts me in mind ov my poor little Luce, she used to cry this way whenever anything happened to me. Oh, many is the time she screamed if master struck me.”

“Poor Aunt Polly,” I said, as I walked up to her side, “I do pity you. I will be kind to you; I'll be your daughter.”

She looked up with a wild stare, and with a deep earnestness seized hold of my out-stretched hand; then dropping it suddenly, she murmured,

“No, no, you ain't my darter, you comes to me with saft words, but you is jest like Lindy and all the rest of 'em; you'll go to the house and tell tales to the white folks on me. No, I'll not trust any of you.”

Springing suddenly into the room, with his eyes flaming came Jones, and, cracking his whip right and left, he struck each of the listening group. I retreated hastily to an extreme corner of the kitchen, where, unobserved by him, I could watch the affray.

“You devilish old wretch, Polly, what are you gabbling and snubbling here about? Up with your old hide, and git yer supper ready. Don't you know thar is company in the house?” and here he gave another sharp cut of the whip, which descended upon that poor old scarred back with a cruel force, and tore open old cicatriced wounds. The victim did not scream, 'nor shrink, nor murmur; but her features resumed their wonted hard, encrusted expression, and, rising up from her seat, she went on with her usual work.

“Now, cut like the wind,” he added, as he flourished his whip in the direction of the young blacks, who had been the interested auditors of Aunt Polly's hair-breadth escapes, and quick as lightning they were off to their respective quarters, whilst I proceeded to assist Aunt Polly in dishing up the supper.

“This chicken,” said I, in a tone of encouragement, “is beautifully cooked. How brown it is, and oh, what a delightful savory odor.”

“I'll be bound the white folks will find fault wid it. Nobody ever did please Miss Jane. Her is got some of the most perkuler notions 'bout cookin'. I knows she'll be kommin' out here, makin' a fuss 'long wid me 'bout dis same supper,” and the old woman shook her head knowingly.

I made no reply, for I feared the re-appearance of Mr. Jones, and too often and too painfully had I felt the sting of his lash, to be guilty of any wanton provocation of its severity.

Silently, but with bitter thoughts curdling my life-blood, did I arrange the steaming cookies upon the luxurious board, and then, with a deferential air, sought the parlor, and bade them walk out to tea.

I found Miss Jane seated near a fine rosewood piano, and standing beside her was a gentleman, the same whom I had observed with her upon the verandah. Miss Matilda was at the window, looking out upon the western heaven. I spoke in a soft tone, asking them, “Please walk out to tea.” The young gentleman rose, and offered his arm to Miss Jane, which was graciously accepted, and Miss Matilda followed. I swung the dining-room door open with great pomp and ceremony, for I knew that anything showy or grand, either in the furniture of a house or the deportment of a servant, would be acceptable to Miss Jane. Fashion, or style, was the god of her worship, and she often declared that her principal objection to the negro, was his great want of style in thought and action. She was not deep enough to see, that, fathoms down below the surface, in all the crudity of ignorance, lay a stratum of this same style, so much worshipped by herself. Does not the African, in his love of gaud, show, and tinsel, his odd and grotesque decorations of his person, exhibit a love of style? But she was not philosopher enough to see that this was a symptom of the same taste, though ungarnished and semi-barbarous.

The supper passed off very handsomely, so far as my part was concerned. I carried the cups round on a silver salver to each one; served them with chicken, plied them with cakes, confections, &c., and interspersed my performance with innumerable courtesies, bows and scrapes.

“Ah,” said Miss Jane to the gentleman, “ah, Mr. Somerville, you have visited us at the wrong season; you should be here later in the autumn, or earlier in the summer,” and she gave one of her most benign smiles.

“Any season is pleasant here,” replied Mr. Somerville, as he held the wing of a chicken between his thumb and fore-finger. Miss Jane simpered and looked down; and Miss Matilda arched her brows and gave a significant side-long glance, toward her sister.

“Here, you cussed yallow gal,” cried Mr. Peterkin, in a rage, “take this split spoon away and fetch me a fork what I ken use. These darned things is only made for grand folks,” and he held the silver fork to me. Instantly I replaced it with a steel one.

“Now this looks something like. We only uses them ar' other ones when we has company, so I suppose, Mr. Somerville, the girl sot the table in this grand way bekase you is here.”

No thunder-cloud was ever darker than Miss Jane's brow. It gathered, and deepened, and darkened like a thick-coming tempest, whilst lightning blazed from her eye.

“Father,” and she spoke through her clenched teeth, “what makes you affect this horrid vulgarity? and how can you be so very idiosyncratic” (this was a favorite word with her), as to say you never use them? Ever since I can remember, silver forks have been used in our family; but,” and she smiled as she said it, “Mr. Somerville, father thinks it is truly a Kentucky fashion, and in keeping with the spirit of the early settlers, to rail out against fashion and style.”

To this explanation Mr. Somerville bowed blandly. “Ah, yes, I do admire your father's honest independence.”

“I'll jist tell you how it is, young man, my gals has bin better edicated than their pappy, and they pertends to be mighty 'shamed of me, bekase I has got no larnin'; but I wants to ax 'em one question, whar did the money kum from that give 'em thar larning?” and with a triumphant force he brought his hard fist down on the table, knocking off with his elbow a fine cut-glass tumbler, which was shivered to atoms.

“Thar now,” he exclaimed, “another piece of yer cussed frippery is breaked to bits. What did you put it here fur? I wants that big tin-cup that I drinks out of when nobody's here.”

“Father, father,” said Miss Matilda, who until now had kept an austere silence, “why will you persist in this outrageous talk? Why will you mortify and torture us in this cruel way?” and she burst into a flood of angry tears.

“Oh, don't blubber about it, Tildy, I didn't mean to hurt your feelin's.”

Pretty soon after this, the peace of the table being broken up, the ladies and Mr. Somerville adjourned to the parlor, whilst Melinda, or Lindy, as she was called, and I set about clearing off the table, washing up the dishes, and gathering and counting over the forks and spoons.

Now, though the young ladies made great pretensions to elegance and splendor of living, yet were they vastly economical when there was no company present. The silver was all carefully laid away, and locked up in the lower drawer of an old-fashioned bureau, and the family appropriated a commoner article to their every-day use; but let a solitary guest appear, and forthwith the napkins and silver would be displayed, and treated by the ladies as though it was quite a usual thing.

“Now, Ann,” said 'Lindy “you wash the dishes, and I'll count the spoons and forks.”

To this I readily assented, for I was anxious to get clear of such a responsible office as counting and assorting the silver ware.

Mr. Peterkin, or master, as we called him, sat near by, smoking his cob-pipe in none the best humor; for the recent encounter at the supper-table was by no means calculated to improve his temper.

“See here, gals,” he cried in a tone of thunder, “if thar be one silver spoon or fork missin', yer hides shall pay for the loss.”

“Laws, master, I'll be 'tickler enough,” replied Lindy, as she smiled, more in terror than pleasure.

“Wal,” he said, half aloud, “whar is the use of my darters taking on in the way they does? Jist look at the sight o' money that has bin laid out in that ar' tom-foolery.”

This was a sort of soliloquy spoken in a tone audible enough to be distinct to us.

He drew his cob-pipe from his mouth, and a huge volume of smoke curled round his head, and filled the room with the aroma of tobacco.

“Now,” he continued, “they does not treat me wid any politeness. They thinks they knows a power more than I does; but if they don't cut their cards square, I'll cut them short of a nigger or two, and make John all the richer by it.”

Lindy cut her eye knowingly at this, and gave me rather a strong nudge with her elbow.

“Keep still thar, gals, and don't rattle them cups and sassers so powerful hard.”

By this time Lindy had finished the assortment of the silver, and had carefully stowed it away in a willow-basket, ready to be delivered to Miss Jane, and thence consigned to the drawer, where it would remain in statu quo until the timely advent of another guest.

“Now,” she said, “I am ready to wipe the dishes, while you wash.”

Thereupon I handed her a saucer, which, in her carelessness, she let slip from her hand, and it fell upon the floor, and there, with great consternation, I beheld it lying, shattered to fragments. Mr. Peterkin sprang to his feet, glad of an excuse to vent his temper upon some one.

“Which of you cussed wretches did this?”

“'Twas Ann, master! She let it fall afore I got my hand on it.

Ere I had time to vindicate myself from the charge, his iron arm felled me to the floor, and his hoof-like foot was placed upon my shrinking chest.

“You d—n yallow hussy, does you think I buys such expensive chany-ware for you to break up in this ar' way? No, you 'bominable wench, I'll have revenge out of your saffer'n hide. Here, Lindy, fetch me that cowhide.”

“Mercy, master, mercy,” I cried, when he had removed his foot from my breast, and my breath seemed to come again. “Oh, listen to me; it was not I who broke the saucer, it was only an accident; but oh, in God's name, have mercy on me and Lindy.”

“Yes, I'll tache you what marcy is. Here, quick, some of you darkies, bring me a rope and light. I'm goin' to take this gal to the whippin'-post.”

This overcame me, for, though I had often been cruelly beaten, yet had I escaped the odium of the “post;” and now for what I had not done, and for a thing which, at the worst, was but an accident, to bear the disgrace and the pain of a public whipping, seemed to me beyond endurance. I fell on my knees before him:

“Oh, master, please pardon me; spare me this time. I have got a half-dollar that Master Edward gave me when you bought me, I will give you that to pay for the saucer, but please do not beat me.”

With a wild, fiendish grin, he caught me by the hair and swung me round until I half-fainted with pain.

“No, you wretch, I'll git my satisfaction out of yer body yit, and I'll be bound, afore this night's work is done, yer yallow hide will be well marked.”

A deadly, cold sensation crept over me, and a feeling as of crawling adders seemed possessing my nerves. With all my soul pleading in my eyes I looked at Mr. Peterkin; but one glance of his fiendish face made my soul quail with even a newer horror. I turned my gaze from him to Jones, but the red glare of a demon lighted up his frantic eye, and the words of a profane bravo were on his lips. From him I turned to poor, hardened, obdurate old Nace, but he seemed to be linked and leagued with my torturers.

“Oh, Lindy,” I cried, as she came up with a bunch of cord in her hand, “be kind, tell the truth, maybe master will forgive you. You are an older servant, better known and valued in the family. Oh, let your heart triumph. Speak the truth, and free me from the torture that awaits me. Oh, think of me, away off here, separated from my Mother, with no friend. Oh, pity me, and do acknowledge that you broke it.”

“Well, you is crazy, you knows dat I never touched de sacer,” and she laughed heartily.

“Come along wid you all. Now far fun,” cried Nace.

“Hold your old jaw,” said Jones, and he raised his whip. Nace cowered like a criminal, and made some polite speech to “Massa Jones,” and Mr. Peterkin possessed himself of the rope which Lindy had brought.

“Now hold yer hands here,” he said to me.

For one moment I hesitated. I could not summon courage to offer my hands. It was the only resistance that I had ever dared to make. A severe blow from the overseer's riding-whip reminded me that I was still a slave, and dared have no will save that of my master. This blow, which struck the back of my head, laid me half-lifeless upon the floor. Whilst in this condition old Nace, at the command of his master, bound the rope tightly around my crossed arms and dragged me to the place of torment.

The motion or exertion of being pulled along over the ground, restored me to full consciousness. With a haggard eye I looked up to the still blue heaven, where the holy stars yet held their silent vigil; and the serene moon moved on in her starry track, never once heeding the dire cruelty, over which her pale beam shed its friendly light. “Oh,” thought I, “is there no mercy throned on high? Are there no spirits in earth, air, or sky, to lend me their gracious influence? Does God look down with kindness upon injustice like this? Or, does He, too, curse me in my sorrow, and in His wrath turn away His glorious face from my supplication, and say ‘a servant of servants shalt thou be?’ ” These wild, rebellious thoughts only crossed my mind; they did not linger there. No, like the breath-stain upon the polished surface of the mirror, they only soiled for a moment the shining faith which in my soul reflected the perfect goodness of that God who never forgets the humblest of His children, and who makes no distinction of color or of race. The consoling promise, “He chasteneth whom He loveth,” flashed through my brain with its blessed assurance, and reconciled me to a heroic endurance. Far away I strained my gaze to the starry heaven, and I could almost fancy the sky breaking asunder and disclosing the wondrous splendors which were beheld by the rapt Apostle on the isle of Patmos! Oh, transfiguring power of faith! Thou hast a wand more potent than that of fancy, and a vision brighter than the dreams of enchantment! What was it that reconciled me to the horrible tortures which were awaiting me? Surely, 'twas faith alone that sustained me. The present scene faded away from my vision, and, in fancy, I stood in the lonely garden of Gethsemane. I saw the darkness and gloom that overshadowed the earth, when, deserted by His disciples, our blessed Lord prayed alone. I heard the sighs and groans that burst from his tortured breast. I saw the bloody sweat, as prostrate on the earth he lay in the tribulation of mortal agony. I saw the inhuman captors, headed by one of His chosen twelve, come to seize his sacred person. I saw his face uplifted to the mournful heavens, as He prayed to His Father to remove the cup of sorrow. I saw Him bound and led away to death, without a friend to solace Him. Through the various stages of His awful passion, even to the Mount of Crucifixion, to the bloody and sacred Calvary, I followed my Master. I saw Him nailed to the cross, spit upon, vilified and abused, with the thorny crown pressed upon His brow. I heard the rabble shout; then I saw the solemn mystery of Nature, that did attestation to the awful fact that a fiendish work had been done and the prophecy fulfilled. The vail of the great temple was rent, the sun overcast, and the moon turned to blood; and in my ecstasy of passion, I could have shouted, Great is Jesus of Nazareth!! Then I beheld Him triumphing over the powers of darkness and death, when, robed in the white garments of the grave, He broke through the rocky sepulchre, and stood before the affrighted guards. His work was done, the propitiation had been made, and he went to His Father. This same Jesus, whom the civilized world now worship as their Lord, was once lowly, outcast, and despised; born of the most hated people of the world, belonging to a race despised alike by Jew and Gentile; laid in the manger of a stable at Bethlehem, with no earthly possessions, having not whereon to lay His weary head; buffetted, spit upon; condemned by the high priests and the doctors of law; branded as an impostor, and put to an ignominious death, with every demonstration of public contempt; crucified between two thieves; this Jesus is worshipped now by those who wear purple and fine linen. The class which once scorned Him, now offer at His shrine frankincense and myrrh; but, in their adoration of the despised Nazarene, they never remember that He has declared, not once, but many times, that the poor and the lowly are His people. “Forasmuch as you did it unto one of these you did it unto me.” Then let the African trust and hope on— let him still weep and pray in Gethsemane, for a cloud hangs round about him, and when he prays for the removal of this cup of bondage, let him remember to ask, as his blessed Master did, “Thy will, oh Father, and not our own, be done;” still trust in Him who calmed the raging tempest; trust in Jesus of Nazareth! Look beyond the cross, to Christ.

These thoughts had power to cheer; and, fortified by faith and religion, the trial seemed to me easy to bear. One prayer murmured, and my soul said to my body, “pass under the rod;” and the cup which my Father has given me to drink must be drained, even to the dregs.

In this state of mind, with a moveless eye I looked upon the whipping-post, which loomed up before me like an ogre.

This was a quadri-lateral post, about eight feet in height, having iron clasps on two opposing sides, in which the wrists and ankles were tightly secured.

“Now, Lindy,” cried Jones, “jerk off that gal's rigging, I am anxious to put some marks on her yellow skin.”

I knew that resistance was vain; so I submitted to have my clothes torn from my body; for modesty, so much commended in a white woman, is in a negro pronounced affectation.

Jones drew down a huge cow-hide, which he dipped in a barrel of brine that stood near the post.

“I guess this will sting,” he said, as he flourished the whip toward me.

“Leave that thin slip on me, Lindy,” I ventured to ask; for I dreaded the exposure of my person even more than the whipping.

“None of your cussed impedence; strip off naked. What is a nigger's hide more than a dog's?” cried Jones. Lindy and Nace tore the last article of clothing from my back. I felt my soul shiver and shudder at this; but what could I do? I could pray—thank God, I could pray!

I then submitted to have Nace clasp the iron cuffs around my hands and ankles, and there I stood, a revolting spectacle. With what misery I listened to obscene and ribald jests from my master and his overseer!

“Now, Jones,” said Mr. Peterkin, “I want to give that gal the first lick, which will lay the flesh open to the bone.”

“Well, Mr. Peterkin, here is the whip; now you can lay on.”

“No, confound your whip; I wants that cow-hide, and here, let me dip it well into the brine. I want to give her a real good warmin'; one that she'll 'member for a long time.”

During this time I had remained motionless. My heart was lifted to God in silent prayer. Oh, shall I, can I, ever forget that scene? There, in the saintly stillness of the summer night, where the deep, o'ershadowing heavens preached a sermon of peace, there I was loaded with contumely, bound hand and foot in irons, with jeering faces around, vulgar eyes glaring on my uncovered body, and two inhuman men about to lash me to the bone.

The first lick from Mr.Peterkin laid my back open. I writhed, I wrestled; but blow after blow descended, each harder than the preceding one. I shrieked, I screamed, I pleaded, I prayed, but there was no mercy shown me. Mr. Peterkin having fully gratified and quenched his spleen, turned to Mr. Jones, and said, “Now is yer turn; you can beat her as much as you please, only jist leave a bit o' life in her, is all I cares for.”

“Yes; I'll not spile her for the market; but I does want to take a little of the d—d pride out of her.”

“Now, boys”—for by this time all the slaves on the place, save Aunt Polly, had assembled round the post—you will see what a true stroke I ken make; but darn my buttons if I doesn't think Mr. Peterkin has drawn all the blood.”

So saying, Jones drew back the cow-hide at arm's length, and, making a few evolutions with his body, took what he called “sure aim.” I closed my eyes in terror. More from the terrible pain, than from the frantic shoutings of the crowd, I knew that Mr. Jones had given a lick that he called “true blue.” The exultation of the negroes in Master Jones' triumph was scarcely audible to my ears; for a cold, clammy sensation was stealing over my frame; my breath was growing feebler and feebler, and a soft melody, as of lulling summer fountains, was gently sounding in my ears; and, as if gliding away on a moonbeam, I passed from all consciousness of pain. A sweet oblivion, like that sleep which announces to the wearied, fever-sick patient, that his hour of rest has come, fell upon me! It was not a dreamful sensibility, filled with the chaos of fragmentry visions, but a rest where the mind, nay, the very soul, seemed to sleep with the body.

How long this stupor lasted I am unable to say; but when I awoke, I was lying on a rough bed, a face dark, haggard, scarred and worn, was bending over me. Disfigured as was that visage, it was pleasant to me, for it was human. I opened my eyes, then closed them languidly, re-opened them, then closed them again.

“Now, chile, I thinks you is a leetle better,” said the dark-faced woman, whom I recognized as Aunt Polly; but I was too weak, too wandering in mind, to talk, and I closed my eyes and slept again.

 CHAPTER VI.

RESTORED CONSCIOUSNESS—AUNT POLLY'S ACCOUNT OF MY MIRACULOUS RETURN TO LIFE—THE MASTER'S AFFRAY WITH THE OVERSEER.

WHEN I awoke (for I was afterwards told by my good nurse that I had slept four days), I was lying on the same rude bed; but a cool, clear sensation overspread my system. I had full and active possession of my mental faculties. I rose and sat upright in the bed, and looked around me. It was the deep hour of night. A little iron lamp was upon the hearth, and, for want of a supply of oil, the wick was burning low, flinging a red glare through the dismal room. Upon a broken stool sat Aunt Polly, her head resting upon her breast, in what nurses call a “stolen nap.” Amy and three other children were sleeping in a bed opposite me.

In a few moments I was able to recall the whole of the scenes through which I had passed, while consciousness remained; and I raised my eyes to God in gratitude for my partial deliverance from pain and suffering. Very softly I stole from my bed, and, wrapping an old coverlet round my shoulders, opened the door, and looked out upon the clear, star-light night. Of the vague thoughts that passed through my mind I will not now speak, though they were far from pleasant or consolatory.

The fresh night air, which began to have a touch of the frost of the advancing autumn, blew cheerily in the room, and it fell with an awakening power upon the brow of Aunt Polly.

“Law, chile, is dat you stannin' in de dor? What for you git up out en yer warm bed, and go stand in the night-ar?”

“Because I feel so well, and this pleasant air seems to brace my frame, and encourage my mind.”

“But sure you had better take to your bed again; you hab had a mighty bad time ob it.”

“How long have I been sick? It all seems to me like a horrible dream, from which I have been suddenly and pleasantly aroused.”

As I said this, Aunt Polly drew me from the door, and closing it, she bade me go to bed.

“No, indeed, I cannot sleep. I feel wide awake, and if I only had someone to talk to me, I could sit up all night.”

“Well, bress your heart, I'll talk wid you smack, till de rise ob day,” she said, in such a kind, good-natured tone, that I was surprised, for I had regarded her only as an ill-natured, miserable beldame.

Seating myself on a ricketty stool beside her, I prepared for a long conversation.

“Tell me what has happened since I have been sick?” I said. “Where are Miss Jane and Matilda? and where is the young gentleman who supped with them on that awful night?”

“Bress you, honey, but 'twas an awful night. Dis ole nigger will neber forget it long as she libs;” and she bent her head upon her poor old worn hands, and by the pale, blue flicker of the lamp, I could discern the rapidly-falling tears.

“What,” thought I, “and this hardened, wretched old woman can weep for me! Her heart is not all ossified if she can forget her own bitter troubles, and weep for mine.”

This knowledge was painful, and yet joyful to me. Who of us can refuse sympathy? Who does not want it, no matter at what costly price? Does it not seem like dividing the burden, when we know that there is another who will weep for us? I threw my arms round Aunt Polly. I tightly strained that decayed and revolting form to my breast, and I inly prayed that some young heart might thus rapturously go forth, in blessings to my mother. This evidence of affection did not surprise Aunt Polly, nor did she return my embrace; but a deep, hollow sigh, burst from her full heart, and I knew that memory was far away—that, in fancy, she was with her children, her loved and lost.

“Come now,” said I, soothingly, “tell me all about it. How did I suffer? What was done for me? Where is master?” and I shuddered, as I mentioned the name of my horrible persecutor.

“Oh, chile, when Masser Jones was done a-beatin' ob yer, dey all ob 'em tought you was dead; den Masser got orful skeard. He cussed and swore, and shook his fist in de oberseer's face, and sed he had kilt you, and dat he was gwine to law wid him 'bout de 'struction ob his property. Den Masser Jones he swar a mighty heap, and tell Masser he dar' him to go to law bout it. Den Miss Jane and Tilda kum out, and commenced cryin', and fell to 'busin' Masser Jones, kase Miss Jane say she want to go to de big town, and take you long wid her fur lady's maid. Den Mr. Jones fell to busen ob her, and den Masser and him clinched, and fought, and fought like two big black dogs. Den Masser Jones sticked his great big knife in Masser's side, and Masser fell down, and den we all tought he was clar gone. Den away Maser Jones did run, and nobody dared take arter him, for he had a loaded pistol and a big knife. Den we all on us, de, men and wimmin folks both, grabbed up Masser, and lifted him in de house, and put him on de bed. Den Jake, he started off fur de doctor, while Miss Jane and Tilda 'gan to fix Masser's cut side. Law, bress your heart, but thar he laid wid his big form stretched out just as helpless as a baby. His face was as white as a ghost, and his eyes shot right tight up. Law bress you, but I tought his time hab kum den. Well, Lindy and de oder wimmin was a helpin' ob Miss Jane and Tildy, so I jist tought I would go and look arter yer body. Thar you was, still tied to de post, all kivered with blood. I was mighty 'feared ob you; but den I tought you had been so perlite, and speaked so kind to me, dat I would take kare ob yer body; so I tuck you down and went wid you to de horse-trough, and dere I poured some cold water ober yer, so as to wash away de clotted blood. Den de cold water sorter 'vived you, and yer cried out ‘oh, me!’ Wal dat did skeer me, and I let you drap right down in de trough, and de way dis nigger did run, fur de life ob her. Well, as I git back I met Jake, who had kum back wid de doctor, and I cried out, ‘Oh Jake, de spirit ob Ann done speaked to me!’ ‘Now, Polly,’ says he, ‘do hush your nonsense, you does know dat Ann is done cold dead.’ ‘Well Jake,’ says I, ‘I tuck her down frum de post, and tuck her to the trough to wash her, and tought I'd fix de body out right nice, in de best close dat she had. Well, jist as I got de water on it, somping hollowed out, ‘oh me!’ so mournful like, dat it 'peared to me it kum out ob de ground.

“ ‘What fur den you do?’ says Jake. ‘Why, to be sure, I lef it right dar, and run as fas' as my feet would carry me.’

“By dis time de house was full ob de neigbbors; all hab collected in de house, fur de news dat Masser was kilt jist fly trough de neighborhood. Miss Bradly hearn in de house 'bout de 'raculous 'pearance ob de sperit, and she kum up to me, and say ‘Polly, whar is de body of Ann?’ ‘Laws, Miss Bradly, it is out in de trough, I won't go agin nigh to it.’

“ ‘Well,’ say she, ‘where is Jake? let him kum along wid me.’

“ ‘What, you ain't gwine nigh it?’ I asked.

“ ‘Yes I is gwine right up to it,’ she say, ‘kase I knows thar is life in it.’ Well this sorter holpd me up, so I said, ‘well I'll go too.’ So we tuck Jake, and Miss Bradly walked long wid us to de berry spot, and dar you was a settin up in de water ob de trough where I seed you; it skeered me worse den eber, so I fell right down on de ground, and began to pray to de Lord to hab marcy on us all; but Miss Bradly (she is a quare woman) walked right up to you, and spoke to you.

“ ‘Laws,’ says Jake, ‘jist hear dat ar' woman talking wid a sperit,’ and down he fell, and went to callin on de Angel Gabriel to kum and holp him.

“Fust ting I knowed, Miss Bradly was a rollin' her shawl round yer body, and axed you to walk out ob de trough.

“Well, tinks I, dese am quare times when a stone-dead nigger gits up and walks agin like a live one. Well, widout any help from us, Miss Bradly led you 'long into dis cabin. I followed arter. After while she kind o' 'suaded me you was a livin'. Den I helped her wash you, and got her some goose-greese, and we rubbed you all ober, from your head to yer feet, and den you kind ob fainted away, and I began to run off; but Miss Bradly say you only swoon, and she tuck a little glass vial out ob her pocket, and held it to yer nose, and dis bring you to agin. After while you fell off to sleep, and Miss Bradly bringed de Doctor out ob de house to look at you. Well, he feel ob yor wrist, put his ear down to yer breast, den say, ‘may be wid care she will git well, but she hab been powerful bad treated.’ He shuck his head, and I knowed what he was tinkin' 'bout, but I neber say one word. Den Miss Bradly wiped her eyes, and de Doctor fetch anoder sigh, and say, dis is very 'stressin,' and Miss Bradly say somepin agin ‘slavery,’ and de Doctor open ob his eyes right wide and say, ‘'tis worth your head, Miss, for to say dat in dis here country.’ Den she kind of 'splained it to him, and tings just seemed square 'twixt 'em, for she was monstrous skeered like, and turned white as a sheet. Den I hearn de Doctor say sompin' 'bout ridin' on a rail, and tar and feaders, and abolutionist. So arter dat, Miss Bradly went into de house, arter she had bin a tellin' ob me to nurse you well; dat you was way off hare from yer mammy, so eber sence den you has bin a lying right dar on dat bed, and I hab nursed you as if you war my own child.”

I threw my arms around her again, and imprinted kisses upon her rugged brow; for, though her skin was sooty and her face worn with care, I believed that somewhere in a silent corner of her tried heart there was a ray of warm, loving, human feeling.

“Oh, child,” she begun, “can you wid yer pretty yallow face kiss an old pitch-black nigger like me?”

“Why, yes, Aunt Polly, and love you too; if your face is dark I am sure your heart is fair.”

“Well, I doesn't know 'bout dat, chile; once 'twas far, but I tink all de white man done made it black as my face.”

“Oh no, I can't believe that, Aunt Polly,” I replied.

“Wal, I always hab said dat if dey would cut my finger and cut a white woman's, dey would find de blood ob de very same color,” and the old woman laughed exultingly.

“Yes, but, Aunt Polly, if you were to go before a magistrate with a case to be decided, he would give it against you, no matter how just were your claims.”

“To be sartin, de white folks allers gwine to do every ting in favor ob dar own color.”

“But, Aunt Polly,” interposed I, “there is a God above, who disregards color.”

“Sure dare is, and dar we will all ob us git our dues, and den de white folks will roast in de flames ob old Nick.”

I saw, from a furtive flash of her eye, that all the malignity and revenge of her outraged nature were becoming excited, and I endeavored to change the conversation.

“Is master getting well?”

“Why, yes, chile, de debbil can't kill him. He is 'termined to live jist as long as dare is a nigger to torment. All de time he was crazy wid de fever, he was fightin' wid de niggers— 'pears like he don't dream 'bout nothin' else.”

“Does he sit up now?” I asked this question with trepidation, for I really dreaded to see him.

“No, he can't set up none. De doctor say he lost a power o' blood, and he won't let him eat meat or anyting strong, and I tells you, honey, Masser does swar a heap. He wants to smoke his pipe, and to hab his reglar grog, and dey won't gib it to him. It do take Jim and Jake bofe to hold him in de bed, when his tantarums comes on. He fights dem, he calls for de oberseer, he orders dat ebery nigger on de place shall be tuck to de post. I tells you now, I makes haste to git out ob his way. He struck Jake a lick dat kum mighty nigh puttin' out his eye. It's all bunged up now.”

“Where did Mr. Somerville go?” I asked.

“Oh, de young gemman dat dey say is a courtin' Miss Jane, he hab gone back to de big town what he kum from; but Lindy say Miss Jane got a great long letter from him, and Lindy say she tink Miss Jane gwine to marry him.”

“Well, I belong to Miss Jane; I wonder if she will take me with her to the town.”

“Why, yes, chile, she will, for she do believe in niggers. She wants 'em all de time right by her side, a waitin' on her.”

This thought set me to speculating. Here, then, was the prospect of another change in my home. The change might be auspicious; but it would take me away from Aunt Polly, and remove me from Miss Bradly's influence; and this I dreaded, for she had planted hopes in my breast, which must blossom, though at a distant season, and I wished to be often in her company, so that I might gain many important items from her.

Aunt Polly, observing me unusually thoughtful, argued that I was sleepy, and insisted upon my returning to bed. In order to avoid further conversation, and preserve, unbroken, the thread of my reflections, I obeyed her.

Throwing myself carelessly upon the rough pallet, I wandered in fancy until leaden-winged sleep overcame me.

 CHAPTER VII.

AMY'S NARRATIVE, AND HER PHILOSOPHY OF A FUTURE STATE.

WHEN the golden sun had begun to tinge with light the distant tree-tops, and the young birds to chant their matin hymn, I awoke from my profound sleep. Wearily I moved upon my pillow, for though my slumber had been deep and sweet, yet now, upon awaking, I experienced no refreshment.

Rising up in the bed, and supporting myself upon my elbow, I looked round in quest of Aunt Polly; but then I remembered that she had to be about the breakfast. Amy was sitting on the floor, endeavoring to arrange the clothes on a little toddler, her orphan brother, over whom she exercised a sort of maternal care. She, her two sisters, and infant brother, were the orphans of a woman who had once belonged to a brother of Mr. Peterkin. Their orphanage had not fallen upon them from the ghastly fingers of death, but from the far more cruel and cold mandate of human cupidity. A fair, even liberal price had been offered their owner for their mother, Dilsy, and such a speculation was not to be resigned upon the score of philanthropy. No, the man who would refuse nine hundred dollars for a negro woman, upon the plea that she had three young children and a helpless infant, from whom she must not be separated, would, in Kentucky, be pronounced insane; and I can assure you that, on this subject, the brave Kentuckians had good right to decide, according to their code, that Elijah Peterkin was compos mentis.

“Amy,” said I, as I rubbed my eyes, to dissipate the film and mists of sleep, “is it very late? have you heard the horn blow for the hands to come in from work?”

“No, me hab not hearn it yet, but laws, Ann, me did tink you would neber talk no more.”

“But you see I am talking now,” and I could not resist a smile; “have you been nursing me?”

“No, indeed, Aunt Polly wouldn't let me come nigh yer bed, and she keep all de time washing your body and den rubbin' it wid a feader an' goose-greese. Oh, you did lay here so still, jist like somebody dead. Aunt Polly, she wouldn't let one ob us speak one word, sed it would 'sturb you; but I knowed you wasn't gwine to kere, so ebery time she went out, I jist laughed and talked as much as I want.”

‘But did you not want me to get well, Amy?”

“Why, sartin I did; but my laughin' want gwine to kill you, was it?” She looked up with a queer, roguish smile.

“No, but it might have increased my fever.”

“Well, if you had died, I would hab got yer close, now you knows you promised 'em to me. So when I hearn Jake say you was dead, I run and got yer new calico dress, and dat ribbon what Miss Jane gib you, an' put dem in my box; den arter while Aunt Polly say you done kum back to life; so I neber say notin' more, I jist tuck de close and put dem back in yer box, and tink to myself, well, maybe I will git em some odor time.”

It amused me not a little to find that upon mere suspicion of my demise, this little negro had levied upon my wardrobe, which was scanty indeed; but so it is, be we ever so humble or poor, there is always some one to regard us with a covetous eye. My little paraphernalia was, to this half-savage child, a rich and wondrous possession.

“Here, hold up yer foot, Ben, or you shan't hab any meat fur breakus.” This threat was addressed to her young brother, whom she nursed like a baby, and whose tiny foot seemed to resist the restraint of a shoe.

I looked long at them, and mused with a strange sorrow upon their probable destiny. Bitter I knew it must be. For, where is there, beneath the broad sweep of the majestic heavens, a single one of the dusky tribe of Ethiopia who has not felt that existence was to him far more a curse than a blessing? You, oh, my tawny brothers, who read these tear-stained pages, ask your own hearts, which, perhaps, now ache almost to bursting, ask, I say, your own vulture-torn hearts, if life is not a hard, hard burden? Have you not oftentimes prayed to the All-Merciful to sever the mystic tie that bound you here, to loosen your chains and set you, soul and body, free? Have you not, from the broken chinks of your lonely cabins at night, looked forth upon the free heavens, and murmured at your fate? Is there, oh! slave, in your heart a single pleasant memory? Do you not, captive-husband, recollect with choking pride how the wife of your bosom has been cruelly lashed while you dared not say one word in her defence? Have you not seen your children, precious pledges of undying love, ruthlessly torn from you, bound hand and foot and sold like dogs in the slave market, while you dared not offer a single remonstrance? Has not every social and moral feeling been outraged? Is it not the white man's policy to degrade your race, thereby finding an argument to favor the perpetuation of Slavery? Is there for us one thing to sweeten bondage? Free African! in the brave old States of the North, where the shackles of slavery exist not, to you I call. Noble defenders of Abolition, you whose earnest eyes may scan these pages, I call to you with a tearful voice; I pray you to go on in your glorious cause; flag not, faint not, prosecute it before heaven and against man. Fling out your banners and march on to the defence of the suffering ones at the South. And you, oh my heart-broken sisters, toiling beneath a tropic sun, wearing out your lives in the service of tyrants, to you I say, hope and pray still! Trust in God! He is mighty and willing to save, and, in an hour that you know not of, he will roll the stone away from the portal of your hearts. My prayers are with you and for you. I have come up from the same tribulation, and I vow, by the scars and wounds upon my flesh, never to forget your cause. Would that my tears, which freely flow for you, had power to dissolve the fetters of your wasting bondage.

Thoughts like these, though with more vagueness and less form, passed through my brain as I looked upon those poor little outcast children, and I must be excused for thus making, regardless of the usual etiquette of authors, an appeal to the hearts of my free friends. Never once do I wish them to lose sight of the noble cause to which they have lent the influence of their names. I am but a poor, unlearned woman, whose heart is in her cause, and I should be untrue to the motive which induced me to chronicle the dark passages in my woe-worn life if I did not urge and importune the Apostles of Abolition to move forward and onward in their march of reform.

“Come, Amy, near to my bed, and talk a little with me.”

“I wants to git some bread fust.”

“You are always hungry,” I pettishly replied.

“No, I isn't, but den, Ann, I neber does git enuf to eat here. Now, we use to hab more at Mas' Lijah's.”

“Was he a good master?” I asked.

“No, he wasn't; but den mammy used to gib us nice tings to eat. She buyed it from de store, and she let us hab plenty ob it.”

“Where is your mammy?”

“She bin sold down de ribber to a trader,” and there was a quiver in the child's voice.

“Did she want to go?” I inquired.

“No, she cried a heap, and tell Masser she wouldn't mind it if he would let her take us chilen; but Masser say no, he wouldn't. Den she axed him please to let her hab little Ben, anyhow. Masser cussed, and said, Well, she might hab Ben, as he was too little to be ob any sarvice; den she 'peared so glad and got him all ready to take; but when de trader kum to take her away, he say he wouldn't 'low her to take Ben, kase he couldn't sell her fur as much, if she hab a baby wid her; den, oh den, how poor mammy did cry and beg; but de trader tuck his cowhide and whipped her so hard she hab to stop cryin' or beggin'. Den she kum to me and make me promise to take good care ob Ben, to nurse him and tend on him as long as I staid whar he was. Den she knelt down in de corner of her cabin and prayed to God to take care ob us, all de days of our life; den she kissed us all and squeezed us tight, and when she tuck little Ben in her arms it 'peared like her heart would break. De water from her eyes wet Ben's apron right ringing wet, jist like it had come out ob a washing tub. Den de trader called to her to come along, and den she gib dis to me, and told me dat ebery time I looked at it, I must tink of my poor mammy dat was sold down de ribber, and 'member my promise to her 'bout my little brudder.”

Here the child exhibited a bored five-cent piece, which she wore suspended by a black string around her neck.

“De chilen has tried many times to git it away frum me; but I's allers beat 'em off; and whenever Miss Tildy wants me fur to mind her, she says, ‘Now, Amy, I'll jist take yer mammy's present from yer if yer doesn't do what I bids yer;’ den de way dis here chile does work isn't slow, I ken tell yer,” and with her characteristic gesture she run her tongue out at the corner of her mouth in an oblique manner, and suddenly withdrew it, as though it had passed over a scathing iron.

“Could anything induce you to part with it?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes up with a look of wonderment, and replied, half ferociously, “Gracious! No—why, hasn't I bin whipped, 'bused and treed; still I'd hold fast to this. No mortal ken take it frum me. You may kill me in welcome,” and the child shook her head with a philosophical air, as she said, “and I don't kere much, so mammy's chilen dies along wid me, fur I didn't see no use in our livin' eny how. I's done got my full shere ob beatin' an' we hain't no use on dis here airth—so I jist wants fur to die.”

I looked upon her, so uncared for, so forlorn in her condition, and I could not find it in my heart to blame her for the wish, erring and rebellions as it must appear to the Christian. What had she to live for? To those little children, the sacred bequests of her mother, she was no protection; for, even had she been capable of extending to them all the guidance and watchfulness, both of soul and body, which their delicate and immature natures required, there was every probability, nay, there was a certainty, that this duty would be denied her. She could not hope, at best, to live with them more than a few years. They were but cattle, chattels, property, subject to the will and pleasure of their owners. There would speedily come a time when a division must take place in the estate, and that division would necessarily cause a separation and rupture of family ties. What wonder then, that this poor ignorant child sighed for the calm, unfearing, unbroken rest of the grave? She dreamed not of a “more beyond;” she thought her soul mortal, even as her body; and had she been told that there was for her a world, even a blessed one, to succeed death, she would have shuddered and feared to cross the threshold of the grave. She thought annihilation the greatest, the only blessing awaiting her. The idea of another life would have brought with it visions of a new master and protracted slavery. Freedom and equality of souls, irrespective of color, was too transcendental and chimerical an idea to take root in her practical brain. Many times had she heard her master declare that “niggers were jist like dogs, laid down and died, and nothin' come of them afterwards.” His philosophy could have proposed nothing more delightful to her ease-coveting mind.

Some weeks afterwards, when I was trying to teach her the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, she broke forth in an idiotic laugh, as she said, “oh, no, dat gold city what dey sings 'bout in hymns, will do fur do white folks; but nothin' eber comes of niggers; dey jist dies and rots.”

“Who do you think made negroes?” I inquired.

Looking up with a meaning grin, she said, “White folks made 'em fur der own use, I 'spect.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Kase white folks ken kill 'em when dey pleases; so I 'spose dey make 'em.”

This was a species of reasoning which, for a moment, confounded my logic. Seeing that I lacked a ready reply, she went on:

“Yes, you see, Ann, we hab no use wid a soul. De white folks won't hab any work to hab done up dere, and so dey won't hab no use fur niggers.”

“Doesn't this make you miserable?”

“What?” she asked, with amazement.

“This thought of dying, and rotting like the vilest worm.”

“No, indeed, it makes me glad; fur den I'll not hab anybody to beat me; knock, kick, and cuff me 'bout, like dey does now.”

“Poor child, happier far,” I thought, “in your ignorance, than I, with all the weight of fearful responsibility that my little knowledge entails upon me. On you, God will look with a more pitying eye than upon me, to whom he has delegated the stewardship of two talents.”

 CHAPTER VIII.

TALK AT THE FARM-HOUSE—THREATS—THE NEW BEAU—LINDY.

SEVERAL days had elapsed since the morning conversation with Amy; meanwhile matters were jogging along in their usually dull way. Of late, since the flight of Mr. Jones, and the illness of Mr. Peterkin, there had been considerably less fighting; but the ladies made innumerable threats of what they would do, when their father should be well enough to allow a suspension of nursing duties.

My wounds had rapidly healed, and I had resumed my former position in the discharge of household duties. Lindy, my old assistant, still held her place. I always had an aversion to her. There was that about her entire physique which made her odious to me. A certain laxity of the muscles and joints of her frame, which produced a floundering, shuffling sort of gait that was peculiarly disagreeable, a narrow, soulless countenance, an oblique leer of the eye where an ambushed fiend seemed to lurk, full, voluptuous lips, lengthy chin, and expanded nostril, combined to prove her very low in the scale