Autobiography of a Female Slave. Martha Griffith Browne
there lay folded a white-winged angel, even as the uncomely bulb envelopes the fair petals of the lily; and I longed for the summer warmth of kindness to bid it come forth and bloom in beauty.
But now I turned away from her, murmuring, "'Tis not the time." She would not open her heart, and my own must likewise be closed and silent; but when I met poor little Amy, looking so neglected, with scarcely apparel sufficient to cover her nudity, my heart failed me utterly. There she held upon her hip little Ben, her only joy; every now and then she addressed some admonitory words to him, such as "Hush, baby, love," "you's my baby," "sissy loves it," and similar expressions of coaxing and endearment. And this, her only comfort, was about to be wrenched from her. The only link of love that bound her to a weary existence, was to be severed by the harsh mandate of another. Just God! is this right? Oh, my soul, be thou still! Look on in patience! The cloud deepens above! The day of God's wrath is at hand! They who have coldly forbidden our indulging the sweet humanities of life, who have destroyed every social relation, severed kith and kin, ruptured the ties of blood, and left us more lonely than the beasts of the forest, may tremble when the avenger comes!
I ventured to speak with Amy, and I employed the kindest tone; but ever and anon little Ben would send forth such a piteous wail, that I feared he was in physical pain. Amy, however, very earnestly assured me that she had administered catnip tea in plentiful quantities, and had examined his person very carefully to discover if a pin or needle had punctured his flesh; but everything seemed perfectly right.
I attempted to take him in my arms; but he clung so vigorously to Amy's shoulder, that it required strength to unfasten his grasp.
"Oh, don'tee take him; he doesn't like fur to leab me. Him usen to me," cried Amy, as in a motherly way she caressed him. "Now, pretty little boy donee cry any more. Ann shan't hab you;—now be a good nice boy;" and thus she expended upon him her whole vocabulary of endearing epithets.
"Who could," I asked myself, "have the heart to untie this sweet fraternal bond? Who could dry up the only fountain in this benighted soul? Oh, I have often marvelled how the white mother, who knows, in such perfection, the binding beauty of maternal love, can look unsympathizingly on, and see the poor black parent torn away from her children. I once saw a white lady, of conceded refinement, sitting in the portico of her own house, with her youngest born, a babe of some seven months, dallying on her knee, and she toying with the pretty gold-threads of its silken hair, whilst her husband was in the kitchen, with a whip in his hand, severely lashing a negro woman, whom he had sold to a trader—lashing her because she refused to go cheerfully and leave her infant behind. The poor wretch, as a last resource, fled to her Mistress, and, on her knees, begged her to have her child. "Oh, Mistress," cried the frantic black woman, "ask Master to let me take my baby with me." What think you was the answer of this white mother?
"Go away, you impudent wretch, you don't deserve to have your child. It will be better off away from you!" Aye, this was the answer which, accompanied by a derisive sneer, she gave to the heart-stricken black mother. Thus she felt, spoke, and acted, even whilst caressing her own helpless infant! Who would think it injustice to "commend the poison-chalice to her own lips"? She, this fine lady, was known to weep violently, because an Irish woman was unable to save a sufficiency of money from her earnings to bring her son from Ireland to America; but, for the African mother, who was parting eternally from her helpless babe, she had not so much as a consolatory word. Oh, ye of the proud Caucasian race, would that your hearts were as fair and spotless as your complexions! Truly can the Saviour say of you, "Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, I would have gathered you together as a hen gathereth her chickens, but ye would not!" Oh, perverse generation of vipers, how long will you abuse the Divine forbearance!
CHAPTER IX.
LINDY'S BOLDNESS—A SUSPICION—THE MASTER'S ACCOUNTABILITY—THE YOUNG REFORMER—WORDS OF HOPE—THE CULTIVATED MULATTO—THE DAWN OF AMBITION.
In about an hour Lindy came in, looking very much excited, yet attempting to conceal it beneath the mask of calmness. I affected not to notice it, yet was it evident, from various little attentions and manifold kind words, that she sought to divert suspicion, and avoid all questioning as to her absence.
"Where," she asked me, "are the young ladies? have they company?"
"Yes," I replied, "Miss Bradly is with them, and they are expecting a young gentleman, an acquaintance of Miss B.'s."
"Who is he?"
"Why, Lindy, how should I know?"
"I thought maybe you hearn his name."
"No, I did not, and, even if I had, it would have been so unimportant to me that I should have forgotten it."
She opened her eyes with a vacant stare, but it was perceptible that she wandered in thought.
"Now, Lindy," I began, "Miss Jane has missed you from the house, and both she and Miss Tildy have sworn vengeance against you."
"So have I sworn it agin' them."
"What! what did you say, Lindy?"
Really I was surprised at the girl's hardihood and boldness. She had been thrown from her guard, and now, upon regaining her composure, was alarmed.
"Oh, I was only joking, Ann; you knows we allers jokes."
"I never do," I said, with emphasis.
"Yes, but den, Ann, you see you is one ob de quare uns."
"What do you mean by quare?" I asked.
"Oh, psha, 'taint no use ob talkin wid you, for you is good; but kum, tell me, is dey mad wid me in de house, and did dey say dey would beat me?"
"Well, they threatened something of the kind."
Her face grew ashen pale; it took that peculiar kind of pallor which the negro's face often assumes under the influence of fear or disease, and which is so disagreeable to look upon. Enemy of mine as she had deeply proven herself to be, I could not be guilty of the meanness of exulting in her trouble.
"But," she said, in an imploring tone, "you will not repeat what I jist said in fun."
"Of course I will not; but don't you remember that it was your falsehood that gained for me the only post-whipping that I ever had?"
"Yes; but den I is berry sorry fur dat, and will not do it any more."
This was enough for me. An acknowledgment of contrition, and a determination to do better, are all God requires of the offender; and shall poor, erring mortals demand more? No; my resentment was fully satisfied. Besides, I felt that this poor creature was not altogether blamable. None of her better feelings had been cultivated; they were strangled in their incipiency, whilst her savage instincts were left to run riot. Thus the bad had ripened into a full and noxious development, whilst the noble had been crushed in the bud. Who is to be answerable for the short-comings of such a soul? Surely he who has cut it off from all moral and mental culture, and has said to the glimmerings of its faint intellect, "Back, back to the depths of darkness!" Surely he will and must take upon himself the burden of accountability. The sin is at his door, and woe-worth the day, when the great Judge shall come to pass sentence upon him. I have often thought that the master of slaves must, for consistency's sake, be an infidel—or doubt man's exact accountability to God for the deeds done in the body; for how can he willingly assume the sins of some hundreds of souls? In the eye of human law, the slave has no responsibility; the master assumes all for him. If the slave is found guilty of a capital offence, punishable with death, the master is indemnified by a paid valuation, for yielding up the person of the slave to the demands of offended justice? If a slave earns money by his labors at night or holidays, or if he is the successful holder of a prize ticket in a lottery, his master can legally claim the money, and there is no power to gainsay him? If, then, human law recognizes a negro as irresponsible, how much more lenient and just will be the divine statute? Thus, I hold (and I cannot think there is just logician, theologian, or metaphysician,