EXECUTION OF THE SENTENCE—A CHANGE—HOPE.
On the last and concluding day of the term of the court, the jailer signified to me that the constable would, on the morrow, administer the first fifty lashes; and, of course, I passed the night in great trepidation.
But the morning came bright and clear, and the jailer, accompanied by Constable Calcraft, entered.
"Come, girl," said the latter, "I have to execute the sentence upon you."
Without one word, I followed him into the jail yard.
"Strip yourself to the waist," said the constable.
I dared not hesitate, though feminine delicacy was rudely shocked. With a prayer to heaven for fortitude, I obeyed.
Then, with a strong cowhide, he inflicted fifty lashes (the first instalment of the sentence) upon my bare back; each lacerating it to the bone. I was afterwards compelled to put my clothes on over my raw, bloody back, without being allowed to wash away the clotted gore; for, upon asking for water to cleanse myself, I was harshly refused, and quickly re-conducted to the cell, where, wounded, mortified, and anguish-stricken, I was left to myself.
Oh, God of the world-forgotten Africa! Thou dost see these things; Thou dost hear the cries which daily and nightly we are sending up to Thee! On that lonely, wretched night Thou wert with me, and my prison became as a radiant mansion, for angels cheered me there! Glory to God for the cross which He sent me; for it led me on to Him.
Poor Fanny, after her sentence was pronounced, was soon sent to the work-house; so I was alone. The little Testament which Louise had given me, was all the company that I desired. Its rich and varied words were as manna to my hungry soul; and its blessed promises rescued me from a dreadful bankruptcy of faith.
Subsequently, and at three different times, I was led forth to receive the remainder of my punishment.
After the last portion was given, I was allowed to go to the kitchen of the jail and wash myself and dress in some clean clothes, which Miss Jane had sent me. I was then conducted by the constable to the hotel.
Miss Jane met me very distantly, saying—
"I trust you are somewhat humbled, Ann, and will in future be a better nigger."
I was in but a poor mood to take rebukes and reproaches; for my flesh was perfectly raw, the intervals between the whippings having been so short as not to allow the gashes even to close; so that upon this, the final day, my back presented one mass of filth and clotted gore. I was then, as may be supposed, in a very irritable humor, but a slave is not allowed to have feeling. It is a privilege denied him, because his skin is black.
I did not go out of Miss Jane's room, except on matters of business, about which she sent me. I would, then, go slipping around, afraid of meeting Henry. I did not wish him to see me in that mutilated condition. I saw Louise in Miss Jane's room; but there she merely nodded to me. Subsequently we met in a retired part of the hall, and there she expressed that generous and friendly sympathy which I knew she so warmly cherished for me.
Somehow or other she had contrived to insinuate herself wondrously into Miss Jane's good graces; and all her influence she endeavored to use in my favor.
In this private interview she told me that she would induceMiss Jane to let me sleep in her room; and she thought she knew what key to take her on.
"If," added she, "I get you to my apartment, I will care for you well. I will wash and dress your wounds, and render you every attention in my power."
I watched, with admiration, her tactics in managing Miss Jane. That evening when I was seated in an obscure corner of the room, Miss Jane was lolling in a large arm-chair, playing with a bouquet that had been sent her by a gentleman. This bouquet had been delivered to her, as I afterwards learned, by Louise. Miss Jane had grown to be fashionable indeed; and had two favorite beaux, with whom she interchanged notes, and Louise had been selected as a messenger.
On this occasion, the wily mulatto came up to her, rather familiarly, I thought, and said—
"Ah, you are amusing yourself with the Captain's flowers! I must tell him of it. Dear sakes! but it will please him;" she then whispered something to her, at which both of them laughed heartily.
After this Miss Jane was in a very decided good humor, and Louise fussed about the apartment pretty much as she pleased. At length, throwing open the window, she cried out—
"How close the air is here! Why, Mrs. St. Lucian, the fashionable, dashing lady who occupied this room just before you, Mrs. Somerville, wouldn't allow three persons to be in it at a time; and her servant-girl always slept in my room. By the way, that just reminds me how impolite I've been to you; do excuse me, and I will be glad to relieve you by letting Ann go to my room of nights."
"Oh, it will trouble you, Louise."
"Don't talk or think of troubling me; but come along girl," she said, turning to me.
"Go with Louise, Ann," added Miss Jane, as she perceived me hesitate, "but come early in the morning to get me ready for breakfast."
Happy even for so small a favor as this, I followed Louiseto her room. There I found everything very comfortable and neat. A nice, downy bed, with its snowy covering; a bright-colored carpet, a little bureau, washstand, clock, rocking-chair, and one or two pictures, with a few crocks of flowers, completed the tasteful furniture of this apartment.
All this, I inly said, is the arrangement and taste of a mulatto in the full enjoyment of her freedom! Do not her thrift and industry disprove the oft-repeated charge of indolence that is made upon the negro race?
She seemed to read my thoughts, and remarked, "You are surprised, Ann, to see my room so nice! I read the wonder in your face. I have marked it before, in the countenances of slaves. They are taught, from their infancy up, to regard themselves as unfit for the blessings of free, civilized life; and I am happy to give the lie, by my own manner of living, to this rude charge."
"How long have you been free, Louise, and how did you obtain your freedom?"
"It is a long story," she answered; "you must be inclined to sleep; you need rest. At some other time I'll tell you. Here, take this arm-chair, it is soft; and your back is wounded and sore; I am going to dress it for you."
So saying, she left the room, but quickly returned with a basin of warm water and a little canteen of grease. She very kindly bade me remove my dress, then gently, with a soft linten-rag, washed my back, greased it, and made me put on one of her linen chemises and a nice gown, and giving me a stimulant, bade me rest myself for the night upon her bed, which was clean, white, and tempting.
When she thought I was soundly sleeping, she removed from a little swinging book-shelf a well-worn Bible. After reading a chapter or so, she sank upon her knees in prayer! There may be those who would laugh and scoff at the piety of this woman, because of her tawny complexion; but the Great Judge, to whose ear alone her supplication was made, disregards all suchdistinctions. Her soul was as precious to Him, as though her complexion had been of the most spotless snow.
On the following morning, whilst I was arranging Miss Jane's toilette, she said to me, in rather a kind tone:
"Ann, Mr. Summerville wants to sell you, and purchase a smaller and cheaper girl for me. Now, if you behave yourself well, I'll allow you to choose your own home."
This was more kindness than I expected to receive from her, and I thanked her heartily.
All that day my heart was dreaming of a new home—perhaps a kind, good one! On the gallery I met Mr. Trueman (I love to write his name). Rushing eagerly up to him, I offered my hand, all oblivious of the wide chasm that the difference of race had placed between us; but, if that thought had occurred to me, his benignant smile would have put it to flight. Ah, he was the true reformer, who illustrated, in his own deportment, the much talked-of theory of human brotherhood! He, with all his learning, his native talent, his social position and legal prominence, could condescend to speak in a familiar spirit to the lowliest slave, and this made me, soured to harshness, feel at ease in his presence.
I told him that I was fast recovering from the effects of my whipping. I spoke of Louise's kindness, &c.
"I am to be sold, Mr. Trueman; I wish that you would buy me."
"My good girl, if I had the means I would not hesitate to make the purchase, and instantly draw up your free papers; but I am, at the present, laboring under great pecuniary embarrassments, which deny me the right of exercising that generosity which my heart prompts in this case."
I thanked him, over and over again, for his kindness. I felt not a little distressed when he told me that he should leave for Boston early on the following day. In bidding me adieu, he slipped, very modestly, into my hand a ten-dollar bill, but this I could not accept from one to whom I was already heavily indebted.
"No, my good friend, I cannot trespass so much upon you. Already I am largely your debtor. Take back this money." I offered him the bill, but his face colored deeply, as he replied:
"No, Ann, you would not wound my feelings, I am sure."
"Not for my freedom," I earnestly answered.
"Then accept this trifling gift. Let it be among the first of your savings, as my contribution, toward the purchase-money for your freedom." Seeing that I hesitated, he said, "if you persist in refusing, you will offend me."
"Anything but that," I eagerly cried, as I took the money from that blessed, charity-dispensing hand.
And this was the last I saw of him for many years; and, when we again met, the shadow of deeper sorrows was resting on my brow.
* * * * *
Several weeks had elapsed since Miss Jane's announcement that I was to be sold, and I had heard no more of it. I dared not renew the subject to her, no matter from what motive, for she would have construed it as impudence. But my time was now passing in comparative pleasure, for Miss Jane was wholly engrossed by fun, frolic, and dissipation. Her mornings were spent in making or receiving fashionable calls, and her afternoons were devoted to sleep, whilst the night-time was given up entirely to theatres, parties, concerts, and such amusements. Consequently my situation, as servant, became pretty much that of a sinecure. Oh, what delightful hours I passed in Louise's room, reading! I devoured everything in the shape of a book that fell into my hands. I began to improve astonishingly in my studies. It seemed that knowledge came to me by magic. I was surprised at the rapidity of my own advancement. In the afternoons, Henry had a good deal of leisure, and he used to steal round to Louise's room, and sit with us upon a little balcony that fronted it, and looked out upon a beautiful view. There lay the placid Ohio, and just beyond it ran the blessed Indiana shore! "Why was I not born on that side of the river?" I used to say to Henry, as I pointed across the water."Or why," he would answer, as his dark eye grew intensely black, "were our ancestors ever stolen from Africa?"
"These are questions," said the more philosophical Louise, "that we must not propose. They destroy the little happiness we already enjoy."
"Yes, you can afford to talk thus, Louise, for you are free; but we, poor slaves, know slavery from actual experience and endurance," said Henry.
"I have had my experience too," she answered, "and a dark one has it been."
The evening on which this conversation occurred, was unusually fair and calm. I shall ever remember it. There we three sat, with mournful memories working in our breasts; there each looking at the other, murmuring secretly, "Mine is the heaviest trouble!"
"Louise," I said, "tell us how you broke the chains of bondage."
"I was," said she, after a moment's pause, "a slave to a family of wealth, residing a few miles from New Orleans. I am, as you see, but one-third African. My mother was a bright mulatto. My father a white gentleman, the brother of my mistress. Louis De Calmo was his name. My mother was a housemaid, and only fifteen years of age at my birth. She was of a meek, quiet disposition, and bore with patience all her mistress' reproaches and harshness; but, when alone with my father, she urged him to buy me, and he promised her he would; still he put her off from time to time. She often said to him that for herself she did not care; but, for me, she was all anxiety. She could not bear the idea of her child remaining in slavery. All her bright hopes for me were suddenly brought to a close by my father's unexpected death. He was killed by the explosion of a steamboat on the lower Mississippi, and his horribly-mangled body brought home to be buried. My mother loved him; and, in her grief for his death, she had a double cause for sorrow. By it her child was debarred the privilege of freedom. I was but nine years of age at the time, but I wellremember her wild lamentation. Often she would catch me to her heart, and cry out, 'if you could only die I should be so happy;' but I did not. I lived on and grew rapidly. We had a very kind overseer, and his son took a great fancy to me. He taught me to read and write. I was remarkably quick. When I was but fifteen, I recollect mistress fancied, from my likely appearance and my delicate, gliding movements, that she would make a dining-room servant of me. I was taken into the house, and thus deprived of the instructions which the overseer's son had so faithfully rendered me. I have often read half of the night. Now I approach a melancholy part of my story. Master becoming embarrassed in his business, he must part with some of his property. Of course the slaves went. My mother was numbered among the lot. I longed and begged to be sold with her; but to this mistress would not consent,—she considered me too valuable as a house-girl. Well, mother and I parted. None can ever know my wretchedness, unless they have suffered a similar grief, when I saw her borne weeping and screaming away from me. I have never heard from her since. Where she went or into whose hands she fell, I never knew. She was sold to the highest bidder, under the auctioneer's hammer, in the New Orleans market. I lived on as best I could, bearing an aching heart, whipped for every little offence, serving, as a bond-woman, her who was, by nature and blood,my Aunt. After a year or so I was sold to James Canfield, a bachelor gentleman in New Orleans, and I lived with him, as a wife, for a number of years. I had several beautiful children, though none lived to be more than a few months old. At the death of this man I was set free by his will, and three hundred dollars were bequeathed me by him. I had saved a good deal of money during his life-time, and this, with his legacy, made me independent. I remained in the South but a short time. For two years after his death I sojourned in the North, sometimes hiring myself out as chambermaid, and at others living quietly on my means; but I must work. In activity I stifle memory, and for awhile am happy, or, at least, tranquil."
After this synopsis of her history, Louise was silent. She bent her head upon her hand, and mused abstractedly.
"I think, Henry, you are a slave," I said, as I turned my eye upon his mournful face.
"Yes, and to a hard master," was the quick reply; "but he has promised me I shall buy myself. I am to pay him one thousand dollars, in instalments of one hundred dollars each. Three of these instalments I have already paid."
"Does he receive any hire for your services at this hotel?"
"Oh yes, the proprietor pays him one hundred and fifty dollars a year for me."
"How have you made the money?"
"By working at night and on holidays, going on errands, and doing little jobs for gentlemen boarding in the house. Sometimes I get little donations from kind-hearted persons, Christmas gifts in money, &c. All of it is saved."
"You must work very hard."
"Oh yes, it's very little sleep I ever get. How old would you think me?"
"Thirty-five," I answered, as I looked at his furrowed face.
"That is what almost every one says; yet I am only twenty-five. All these wrinkles and hard spots are from work."
"You ought to rest awhile," I ventured to suggest.
"Oh, I'll wait until I am my own master; then I'll rest."
"But you may die before that time comes."
"So I may, so I may," he repeated despondingly. "All my family have died early and from over-work. Sometimes I think freedom too great a blessing for me ever to realize."
He brushed a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. I looked at him, so young and energetic, yet lonely. Noble and handsome was his face, despite the lines of care and labor. What wonder that a soft feeling took possession of my heart, particularly when I remembered how he had gladdened my imprisonment with kind messages and the gift of flowers. I did but follow an irrepressible and spontaneous impulse, when I said with earnestness,
"Do not work so hard, Henry."
He looked me full in the face. Why did my eye droop beneath that warm, inquiring gaze; and why did he ask so low, in a half whisper:
"Should I die who will grieve for me?"
And did not my uplifted glance tell him who would? We understood each other. Our hearts had spoken, and what followed may easily be guessed. Evening after evening we met upon that balcony to pledge our souls in earnest vows. Henry's eye grew brighter; he worked the harder; but his pile of money did not increase as it had done. Many a little present to me, many a rare nosegay, that was purchased at a price he was not able to afford, put off to a greater distance his day of freedom. Like a green, luxuriant spot in the wide desert of a lonely life, seems to me the memory of those hours. On Sunday evenings, when his labor was over, which was generally about eight o'clock, we walked through the city, and on moonlight nights we strayed upon the banks of the Ohio, and planned for the future.
Henry was to buy himself, then go North, and labor in some hotel, or at whatever business he could make the most money; then he would return to buy me. This was one of our plans; but as often as we talked, we made a new one.
"Oh, we shall be so happy, Ann," he would exclaim.
Then I would repeat the often-asked question, "Where shall we live?"
Sometimes we decided upon New York city; then a village in the State of New York; but I think Henry's preference was a Canadian town. Idle speculators that we were, we seldom adhered long to our preference for any one spot!
"At least, dear," he used to say, in his encouraging way, "we will hunt a home; and, no matter where we find it, we can make it a happy one if we are together."
And to this my heart gave a warm echo. I was beginning to be happy; for imagination painted joys in the future, and the present was not all mournful, for Henry was with me!The same roof covered us. Twenty times a-day I met him in the dining-room, hall, or in the lobby, and he was always with me in the evening.
Slaves as we were, I've often thought as we wandered beneath the golden light of the stars, that, for the time being, we were as happy as mortals could be. Young first-love knit the air in a charmed silver mist around us; and, hand in hand, we trod the wave-washed shore, always with our eyes turned toward the North, the bourne whither all our thoughts inclined.
"Does not the north star point us to our future home?" Henry frequently asked. I love to recall this one sunny epoch in my life. For months, not an unpleasant thing occurred.
Immediately after my trial, Monkton left the city, and went, as I understood, south. Miss Jane was busied with fashion and gayety. Mr. Summerville was engaged at his business, and every one whom I saw was kind to me. So I may record the fact that for a while I was happy!
SOLD—LIFE AS A SLAVE—PEN—CHARLES' STORY—UNCLE PETER'S TROUBLE—A STAR PEEPING FORTH FROM THE CLOUD.
Whilst the hours thus rosily slided away, and I dreamed amid the verdure of existence, the syren charmed me wisely, indeed, with her beautiful promises. Poor, simple-hearted, trusting slaves! We could not see upon what a rocking bridge our feet were resting, how slippery and unsubstantial was the flowery declivity whereon we stood. There we reposed in the gentle light of a happy trance; we saw not the clouds, dark and tempest-charged, that were rising rapidly to hide the stars from our view.
One Sunday afternoon, Henry having finished his work much earlier than usual, and done some little act whereby the good will of his temporary master (the keeper of the hotel) was propitiated, and Miss Jane and Mr. Summerville having gone out, I willingly consented to his proposal to take a walk. We accordingly wandered off to a beautiful wood, just without the city limits, a very popular resort with the negroes and poorer classes, though it was the only pretty green woodland near the city. Yet, because the "common people and negroes" (a Kentucky phrase) went there, it was voted vulgar, and avoided by the rich and refined. One blessing was thus given to the poor!
Henry and I sought a retired part of the grove, and, seating ourselves on an old, moss-grown log, we talked with as much hope, and indulged in as rosy dreams, as happier and lordlier lovers. For three bright hours we remained idly rambling through the flower-realm of imagination; but, as the long shadows began to fall among the leaves, we prepared to return home.
That night when I assisted Miss Jane in getting ready for bed, I observed that she was unusually gloomy and petulant. I could do nothing to please her; she boxed my ears repeatedly; stuck pins in me, called me "detestable nigger," &c. Even the presence of Louise failed to restrain her, and I knew that something awful had happened.
For two or three days this cloud that hung about her deepened and darkened, until she absolutely became unendurable. I often found her eyes red and swollen, as though she had spent the entire night in weeping.
Mr. Summerville was gloomy and morose, never saying much, and always speaking harshly to his wife.
At length the explosion came. One morning he said to me, "gather up your clothes, Ann, and come with me; I have sold you."
Though I was stricken as by a thunderbolt, I dared not express my surprise, or even ask who had bought me. All that I ventured to say was,
"Master William, I have a trunk."
"Well, shoulder it yourself. I'm not going to pay for having it taken."
Though my heart was wrung I said nothing, and, lifting up my trunk, beneath the weight of which I nearly sank, I followed Master William out of the house.
"Good-bye, Miss Jane," I said.
"Good-bye, and be a good girl," she replied, kindly, and my heart almost softened toward her; for in that moment I felt as if deserted by every faculty.
"Come on, Ann, come on," urged Master William; and I mechanically obeyed.
In the cross-hall I met Louise, who exclaimed, "Why, Ann, where are you going?"
"I don't know, Louise, I'm sold."
"Sold! Who's bought you?"
"I don't know—Master William didn't tell me."
"Who's bought her, Mr. Summerville?"
"The man to whom I sold her," he answered, with a laugh.
"But who is he?" persisted Louise, without noticing the joke.
"Well, Atkins, a negro-trader down here, on Second street."
"Good gracious!" she cried out; then, turning to me, said, "does Henry know it?"
"I have not seen him." She darted off from us, and we walked on. I hoped that she would not see Henry, for I could not bear to meet him. It would dispossess me of the little forced composure that I had; but, alas! for the fulfilment of my hopes! in the lower hall, with a countenance full of terror, he stood.
"What are you going to do with Ann, Mr. Summerville?" he inquired.
"I have sold her to Atkins, and am now taking her to the pen."
Alas! though his life, his blood, his soul cried out against it, he dared not offer any objection or entreaty; but oh, that hopeless look of brokenness of heart! I see it now, and "it comes over me like the raven o'er the infected house."
"I'll take your trunk round for you, Ann, to-night. It is too heavy for you," and so saying, he kindly removed it from my shoulder. This little act of kindness was the added drop to the already full glass, and my heart overflowed. I wept heartily. His tender, "don't cry, Ann," only made me weep the more; and when I looked up and saw his own eyes full of tears, and his lip quivering with the unspoken pang, I felt (for the slave at least) how wretched a possession is life!
Master William cut short this parting interview, by saying,
"Never mind that trunk, Henry, Ann can carry it very well."
And, as I was about to re-shoulder it, Henry said,
"No, Ann, you mustn't carry it. I'll do it for you to-night, when my work is over. She is a woman, Mr. Summerville, and it's heavy for her; but it will not be anything for me."
"Well, if you have a mind to, you may do it; but I haven't any time to parley now, come on."
Henry pressed my hand affectionately, and I saw the tears roll in a stream down his bronzed cheeks. I did not trust myself to speak; I merely returned the pressure of his hand, and silently followed Master William.
Through the streets, up one and across another, we went, until suddenly we stopped in front of a two-story brick house with an iron fence in front. Covering a small portion of the front view of the main building, an office had been erected, a plain, uncarpeted room, from the door of which projected a sheet-iron sign, advertising to the passers-by, "negroes bought and sold here." We walked into this room, and upon the table found a small bell, which Mr. Summerville rang. In answer to this, a neatly-dressed negro boy appeared. To Master William's interrogatory, "Is Mr. Atkins in?" he answered, most obsequiously, that he was, and instantly withdrew. In a few moments the door opened, and a heavy man about five feet ten inches entered. He was of a most forbidding appearance; a tan-colored complexion, with very black hair and whiskers, and mean, watery, milky, diseased-looking eyes. He limped as he walked, one leg being shorter than the other, and carried a huge stick to assist his ambulations.
"Good morning, Mr. Atkins."
"Good morning, sir."
"Here is the girl we were speaking of yesterday."
"Well," replied the other, as he removed a lighted cigar from his mouth, "she is likely enough. Take off yer bonnet, girl, let me look at yer eyes. They are good; open your mouth—no decayed teeth—all sound; hold up your 'coat, legs are good, some marks on 'em—now the back—pretty much and badly scarred. Well, what's the damage?"
"Seven hundred, cash down. You can recommend her as a first-rate house and lady's maid."
"What's your name, girl?"
"Ann," I replied.
"Ann, go within," he added, pointing to the door through which he had entered.
I turned to Mr. Summerville, saying,
"Good-bye, Master William. I wish you well."
"Good-bye, Ann," and he extended his hand to me; "I hope Mr. Atkins will get you a good home."
Dropping a courtesy and a tear, I passed through the door designated by Mr. Atkins, and stood within the pen. Here I was met by the mulatto who had answered the bell.
"Has you bin bought, Miss?"
"Yes, Mr. Atkins just bought me."
"Why did your Masser sell you?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, that's what the most of 'em says. It 'pears so quare ter me for a Masser to sell good sarvants; but I guess you'll soon git a home; fur you is 'bout the likeliest yaller gal I ever seed. Now, thim rale black 'uns hardly ever goes off here. We has to send 'em down river, or let 'em go at a mighty low price."
"How often do you have sales?"
"Oh, we don't have 'em at all. That's we don't have public 'uns. We sells 'em privately like; but we buys up more; and when we gits a large number, we ships 'em down de river."
Wishing to cut short his garrulity, I asked him to show me the room where I was to stay.
"In here, wid de rest of 'em," he said, as he opened the door of a large shed-room, where I found some ten or twelve negroes, women and men, ranged round on stools and chairs, all neatly dressed, some of them looking very happy, others with down-cast, sorrow-stricken countenances.
One bright, gold-colored man, with long, silky black hair, and raven eyes, full of subdued power, stood leaning his elbow against the mantel. His melancholy face and pensive attitude struck a responsive feeling, and I turned with a sisterly sentiment toward him.
I have always been of a taciturn disposition, shunning company; but this man impressed me so favorably, he seemed the very counterpart of myself, that I forgot my usualreserve, and, after a few moments' investigation of my companions, the faces of most of whom were unpleasant to me, I approached him and inquired—
"Have you been long here?"
"Only a few days," he answered, as he lifted his mournful eyes towards mine, and I could see from their misty light, that they were dimmed by tears.
"Are you sold?" I asked.
"Oh yes," and he shuddered terribly.
I did not venture to say more; but stood looking at him, when, suddenly he turned to me, saying,
"I know that you are sold."
"Yes," I replied, with that strong sort of courage that characterized me.
"You take it calmly," he said; "have you no friends?"
"You do not talk like one familiar with slavery, to speak of a slave's having friends."
"True, true; but I have—oh, God!—a wife and children, and from them I was cruelly torn, and—and—and I saw my poor wife knocked flat upon the floor, and because I had the manhood to say that it was wrong, they tied me up and slashed me. All this is right, because my skin is darker than theirs."
What a fearful groan he gave, as he struck his breast violently.
"The bitterness of all this I too have tasted, and my only wonder is, that I can live on. My heart will not break."
"Mine has long since broken; but this body will not die. My poor children! I would that they were dead with their poor slave-mother."
"Why did your master sell you?"
"Because he wantedto buy a piano for his daughter," and his lip curled.
To gratify the taste ofhischild, that white man had separated a father from his children, had recklessly sundered the holiest ties, and broken the most solemn and loving domestic attachments; and to such heathenism the public gave its heartyapproval, because his complexion was a shade or so darker than Caucasians. Oh, Church of Christ! where is thy warning voice? Is not this a matter, upon the injustice of which thy great voice should pronounce a malison?
"My name is Charles, what is yours?"
"Ann."
"Well, Ann," he resumed, "I like your face; you are the only one I've seen in this pen that I was willing to talk with. You have just come. Tell me why were you sold?"
In a few concise words I told him my story. He seemed touched with sympathy.
"Poor girl!" he murmured, "like all the rest of our tribe, you have tasted of trouble."
I talked with him all the morning, and we both, I think, learned what a relief it is to unclose the burdened heart to a congenial, listening spirit.
When we were summoned out to our dinner, I found a very bountiful and pretty good meal served up. It is the policy of the trader to feed the slaves well; for, as Mr. Atkins said, "the fat, oily, smooth, cheerful ones, always sold the best;" and, as this business is purely a speculation, they do everything, even humane things, for the furtherance of their mercenary designs. I had not much appetite, neither had Charles, as was remarked by some of the coarser and more abject of our companions; and I was pained to observe their numerous significant winks and blinks. One of them, the old gray mouse of the company, an ancient "Uncle Ned," who had taken it pretty roughly all his days, and who being of the lower order of Epicureans, was, perhaps, happier at the pen than he had ever been. And this fellow, looking at me and Charley, said,
"They's in lub;" ha! ha! ha! went round the circle. I noticed Charley's brows knitting severely. I read his thoughts. I knew that he was thinking of his poor wife and of his fatherless children, and inwardly swearing unfaltering devotion to them.
Persuasively I said to him, "Don't mind them. They are scarcely accountable."
"I know it, I know it," he bitterly replied, "but I little thought I should ever come to this. Sold to a negro-trader, and locked up in a pen with such a set! I've always had pride; tried to behave myself well, and to make money for my master, and now to be sold to a trader, away from my wife and children!" He shook his head and burst into tears. I felt that I had no words to console him, and I ventured to offer none.
I managed, by aid of conversation with Charley, to pass the day tolerably. There may be those of my readers who will ask how this could be. But let them remember that I had never been the pampered pet, the child of indulgence; but that I was born to the ignominious heritage of American slavery. My feelings had been daily, almost hourly, outraged. This evil had not fallen on me as thefirstmisfortune, but as one of a series of linked troubles "long drawn out." So I was comparatively fitted for endurance, though by no means stoical; for a certain constitutional softness of temperament rendered me always susceptible of anguish to a very high degree. At length evening drew on—the beautiful twilight that was written down so pleasantly in my memory; the time that had always heralded my re-union with Henry. Now, instead of a sweet starlight or moonlight stroll, I must betake myself to a narrow, "cribbed, cabined, and confined" apartment, through which no truant ray or beam could force an entrance! How my soul sickened over the recollections of lovelier hours! Whilst I moodily sat in one corner of the room, hugging to my soul the thought of him from whom I was now forever parted, a sound broke on my ear, a sound—a music-sound, that made my nerves thrill and my blood tingle; 'twas the sound of Henry's voice. I heard him ask—
"Where is she? let me speak to her but a single word;" and how that mellow voice trembled with the burden of painful emotion! Eagerly I sprang forward; reserve and maidenly coyness all forgotten. My only wish was to lay my weary head upon that brave, protecting breast—weep, ay, and die there! "Oh, for a swift death," I frantically cried, as I felt his armsabout me, while my head was pillowed just above his warm and loving heart. I felt its manly pulsations as with a soft lullaby they seemed hushing me to the deep, eternal sleep, which I so ardently craved! Better, a thousand times, for death to part us, than the white man's cruelty! So we both thought. I read his secret wish in the hopeless, vacant, but still so agonized look, that he bent upon me. For one moment, the other slaves huddled together in blank amazement. This was to them "a show," as "uncle Ned" subsequently styled it.
"I've brought your trunk, Ann; Mr. Atkins ordered me to leave it without; though you'll get it."
"Thank you, Henry; it is of small account to me now: yet there are in it some few of your gifts that I shall always value."
"Oh, Ann, don't, pray don't talk so mournfully! Is there no hope? Can't you be sold somewhere in the city? I have got about fifty dollars now in money. I'd stop buying myself, and buy you; make my instalments in fifties or hundreds, as I could raise it; but I spoke to a lawyer about it, and he read the law to me, showing that I, as a slave, couldn't be allowed to hold property; and there is no white man in whom I have sufficient confidence, or who would be willing to accommodate me in this way. Mine is a deplorable case; but I'm going to see what can be done. I'll look about among the citizens, to see if some of them will not buy you; for I cannot be separated from you. It will kill me; it will, it will!"
"Oh, don't, Henry, don't! for myself I can stand much; but when I think ofyou."
He caught me passionately to his breast; and, in that embrace, he seemed to say, "They shall not part us!"
He seated himself on a low stool beside me, with one of my hands clasped in his, and thus, with his tender eyes bent upon me, such is the illusion of love, I forgot the terror by which I was surrounded, and yielded myself to a fascination as absorbing as that which encircled me in the grove on that memorable Sunday evening.
"Why, Henry, is this you?" and a strong hand was laid upon his shoulder. Looking up, I beheld Charley.
"And is this you, Charles Allen?" asked the other.
"Yes, this is me.I dare say you scarcely expected to find me here, where I never thought I should be."
At this I was reminded of the significant ejaculation that Ophelia makes in her madness, "Lord, we know what we are, but we know not what we may be!"
"I am sold, Henry," continued Charles, "sold away from my poor wife and children;" his voice faltered and the big tears rolled down his cheeks.
"I see from your manner toward Ann, that she is or was expected to be your wife."
"Yes, she was pledged to be."
"Yes, and is," I added with fervor. At this, Henry only pressed my hand tightly.
"Yet," pursued Charles, "she is taken from you."
"She is," was the brief and bitter reply.
"Now, Henry Graham, are we men? and do we submit to these things?"
"Alas!" and the words came through Henry's set teeth, "we arenotmen; we are only chattels, property, merchandise,slaves."
"But is it right for us to be so? I feel the high and lordly instincts of manhood within me. Must I conquer them? Must I stifle the eloquent cry of Nature in my breast? Shall I see my wife and children left behind to the mercy of a hard master, and willingly desert them simply because another man says that, in exchange for this sacrifice of happiness and hope,his daughtershall play upon Chickering's finest piano?"
Heavens! can I ever forget the princely air with which he uttered these words! His swarthy cheek glowed with a beautiful crimson, and his rich eye fairly blazed with the fire of a seven-times heated soul, whilst the thin lip curled and the fine nostril dilated, and the whole form towered supremely in the majesty of erect and perfect manhood!
"Hush, Charley, hush," I urged, "this is no place for the expression of such sentiments, just and noble as they may be."
Again Henry pressed my hand.
"It may be imprudent, Ann, but I am reckless now. They have done the worst they can do. I defy the sharpest dagger-point. My breast is open to a thousand spears. They can do no more. But how can you, Henry, thus supinely sit by and see yourself robbed of your life's treasure? I cannot understand it. Are you lacking in manliness, in courage? Are you a coward, aslaveindeed?"
"Do not listen to him; leave now, Henry, dear, dear Henry," I implored, as I observed the singular expression of his face. "Go now, dearest, without saying another word; for my sake go. You will not refuse me?"
"No, I will not, dear Ann; but there is a fire raging in my veins."
"Yes, and Charley is the incendiary. Go, I beg you."
With a long, fond kiss, he left me, and it was well he did, for in a moment more Mr. Atkins came to give the order for retiring.
I found a very comfortable mattress and covering, on the floor of a good, neatly-carpeted room, which was occupied by five other women. One of them, a gay girl of about fifteen, a full-blooded African, made her pallet close to mine. I had observed her during the day as a garrulous, racketty sort of baggage, that seemed contented with her situation. She was extremely neat in her dress; and her ebony skin had a rich, oily, shiny look, resembling the perfect polish of Nebraska blacking on an exquisite's boot. Partly from their own superiority, but chiefly from contrast with her complexion, shone white as mountain snow, a regular row of ivory teeth. Her large flabby ears were adorned by huge wagon-wheel rings of pinch-beck, and a cumbersome strand of imitation coral beads adorned her inky throat, whilst her dress was of the gaudiest colors, plaided in large bars. Thus decked out, she made quite a figure in the assemblage.
"Is yer name Ann?" she unceremoniously asked.
"Yes," was my laconic reply.
"Mine is Lucy; but they calls me Luce fur short."
No answer being made, she garrulously went on:
"Was that yer husband what comed to see you this evenin'?"
"No."
"Your brother?"
"No."
"Your cousin?"
"Neither."
"Well, he's too young-lookin' fur yer father. Mought he be yer uncle?"
"No."
"Laws, then he mus' be yer sweetheart!" and she chuckled with mirth.
I made no answer.
"Why don't you talk, Ann?"
"I don't feel like it."
"You don't? well, that's quare."
Still I made no comment. Nothing daunted, she went on:
"Is yer gwine down the river with the next lot?"
"I don't know;" but this time I accompanied my reply with a sigh.
"What you grunt fur?"
I could not, though so much distressed, resist a laugh at this singular interrogatory.
"Don't yer want to go South? I does. They say it's right nice down dar. Plenty of oranges. When Masser fust sold me, I was mightily 'stressed; den Missis, she told me dat dar was a sight of oranges down dar, and dat we didn't work any on Sundays, and we was 'lowed to marry; so I got mightily in de notion of gwine. You see Masser Jones never 'lowed his black folks to marry. I wanted to marry four, five men, and he wouldn't let me. Den we had to work all day Sundays; never had any time to make anyting for ourselves; and I does love oranges! I never had more an' a quarter of one in my life."
Thus she wandered on until she fell off to sleep; but the leaden-winged cherub visited me not that night. My eye-lids refused to close over the parched and tear-stained orbs. I dully moved from side to side, changed and altered my position fifty times, yet there was no repose for me.