Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl | Page 4

churchyard, where, day after
day, my tears fell upon her grave.
I was sent to spend a week with my grandmother. I was now old
enough to begin to think of the future; and again and again I asked
myself what they would do with me. I felt sure I should never find
another mistress so kind as the one who was gone. She had promised
my dying mother that her children should never suffer for any thing;
and when I remembered that, and recalled her many proofs of
attachment to me, I could not help having some hopes that she had left
me free. My friends were almost certain it would be so. They thought
she would be sure to do it, on account of my mother's love and faithful
service. But, alas! we all know that the memory of a faithful slave does
not avail much to save her children from the auction block.
After a brief period of suspense, the will of my mistress was read, and
we learned that she had bequeathed me to her sister's daughter, a child
of five years old. So vanished our hopes. My mistress had taught me
the precepts of God's Word: "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."
"Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto
them." But I was her slave, and I suppose she did not recognize me as
her neighbor. I would give much to blot out from my memory that one
great wrong. As a child, I loved my mistress; and, looking back on the
happy days I spent with her, I try to think with less bitterness of this act

of injustice. While I was with her, she taught me to read and spell; and
for this privilege, which so rarely falls to the lot of a slave, I bless her
memory.
She possessed but few slaves; and at her death those were all
distributed among her relatives. Five of them were my grandmother's
children, and had shared the same milk that nourished her mother's
children. Notwithstanding my grandmother's long and faithful service
to her owners, not one of her children escaped the auction block. These
God-breathing machines are no more, in the sight of their masters, than
the cotton they plant, or the horses they tend.

II. The New Master And Mistress.
Dr. Flint, a physician in the neighborhood, had married the sister of my
mistress, and I was now the property of their little daughter. It was not
without murmuring that I prepared for my new home; and what added
to my unhappiness, was the fact that my brother William was
purchased by the same family. My father, by his nature, as well as by
the habit of transacting business as a skillful mechanic, had more of the
feelings of a freeman than is common among slaves. My brother was a
spirited boy; and being brought up under such influences, he daily
detested the name of master and mistress. One day, when his father and
his mistress both happened to call him at the same time, he hesitated
between the two; being perplexed to know which had the strongest
claim upon his obedience. He finally concluded to go to his mistress.
When my father reproved him for it, he said, "You both called me, and
I didn't know which I ought to go to first."
"You are my child," replied our father, "and when I call you, you
should come immediately, if you have to pass through fire and water."
Poor Willie! He was now to learn his first lesson of obedience to a
master. Grandmother tried to cheer us with hopeful words, and they
found an echo in the credulous hearts of youth.
When we entered our new home we encountered cold looks, cold
words, and cold treatment. We were glad when the night came. On my
narrow bed I moaned and wept, I felt so desolate and alone.
I had been there nearly a year, when a dear little friend of mine was
buried. I heard her mother sob, as the clods fell on the coffin of her
only child, and I turned away from the grave, feeling thankful that I

still had something left to love. I met my grandmother, who said,
"Come with me, Linda;" and from her tone I knew that something sad
had happened. She led me apart from the people, and then said, "My
child, your father is dead." Dead! How could I believe it? He had died
so suddenly I had not even heard that he was sick. I went home with
my grandmother. My heart rebelled against God, who had taken from
me mother, father, mistress, and friend. The good grandmother tried to
comfort me. "Who knows the ways