The Bondwoman's Narrative (12 page)

How I wished to be with them all the time—how I entreated them to buy me, but in vain. They had not the means.

It must not be supposed that learning to read was all they taught me, or that my visits to them were made with regularity.
They gave me an insight to many things. They cultivated my moral nature. They led me to the foot of the Cross. Sometimes in
the evening while the other slaves were enjoying the banjo and the dance I would steal away to hold sweet converse with them.
Sometimes a morning walk with the other children, or an errand to a neighbors would furnish the desired opportunity, and sometimes
an interval of many days elapsed between my calls to their house.

At such times, however, I tried to remember the good things they had taught me, and to improve myself by gathering up such
crumbs of knowledge as I could, and adding little by little to my
stock of information. Of course my opportunities were limited,
and I had much to make me miserable and discontented. The life of a slave at best is not a pleasant one, but I had formed
a resolution to always look on the bright side of things, to be industrious, cheerful, and true-hearted, to do some good though
in an humble way, and to win some love if I could. “I am a slave” thus my thoughts would run. “I can never be great, nor rich;
I cannot hold an elevated position in society, but I can do my duty, and be kind in the sure and certain hope of an eternal
reward.[”]

By and by as I grew older, and was enabled to manifest my good intentions, not so much by words, as a manner of sympathy and
consideration for every one, I was quite astonished to see how much I was trusted and confided in, how I was made the repository
of secrets, and how the weak, the sick, and the suffering came to me for advice and assistance. Then the little slave children
were almost entirely confided to my care. I hope that I was good and gentle to them; for I pitied their hard and cruel fate
very much, and used to think that, notwithstanding all the labor and trouble they gave me, if I could so discharge my duty
by them that in after years their memories would hover over this as the sunshiny period of their lives I should be amply repaid.

What a blessing it is that faith, and hope, and love are universal in their nature and operation—that poor as well as rich,
bond as well as free are susceptible to their pleasing influences, and contain within themselves a treasure of consolation
for all the ills of life. These little children, slaves though they were, and doomed to a life of toil and drudgery, ignorant,
and untutored, assimilated thus to the highest and proudest in the land—thus evinced their equal origin, and immortal destiny.

How much love and confidence and affection I won it is impossible to describe. How the rude and boisterous became gentle and
obliging, and how ready
they
all were to serve and obey me,
not because I exacted the service or obedience, but because their own loving natures prompted
them to reciprocate my love. How I longed to become their teacher, and open the door of knowledge to their minds by instructing
them to read but it might not be. I could not have even hoped to escape detection
would have
and discovery would have entailed punishment on all.

Thus the seasons passed away. Summer insensibly melted into autumn, and autumn gave place to winter. I still visited Aunt
Hetty, and enjoyed the benefits of her gracious counsels. Seated by the clear wood fire she was always busy in the preparation
or repair of garments as perfect taste and economy dictated, or plying her bright knitting needles by the evening lamp, while
her aged companion sat socially by her side.

One evening I was sitting with them, and reading from the book of God. Our intercourse had remained so long undiscovered that
I had almost ceased to fear disclosure. Probably I had grown less circumspect though not intentionally, or it might be that
in conformity to the inscrutable ways of Providence the faith and strength of these aged servants of the Cross were to be
tried by a more severe ordeal. Alas: Alas that I should have been the means.

The door suddenly opened without warning, and the overseer of my master’s estate walked into the house. My horror, and grief,
and astonishment were indescribable. I felt Oh how much more than I tell. He addressed me rudely, and bade me begone home
on the instant. I durst not disobey, but retreating through the doorway I glanced back at the calm sedate countenances of
the aged couple, who were all unmoved by the torrent of threats and invectives he poured out against them.

My Master was absent at the time,
over
the overseer could find no precedent for my case, and so I escaped the punishment I should otherwise have suffered. Not so
with my venerable and venerated teachers. It was considered necessary to make an example
of them, that others might be deterred
from the like attempts. Years passed, however, before I learned their fate. The cruel overseer would not tell me whither he
had removed them, but to all my inquiries he simply answered that he would take good care I never saw them again. My fancy
painted them as immured in a dungeon for the crime of teaching a slave to read. Their cottage of home remained uninhabited
for a time, and then strangers came and took possession of it. But Oh the difference to me. For days and weeks I was inconsolable,
and how I hated and blamed myself as the cause of their misery. After a time the intensity of my feelings subsided, and I
came to a more rational and consistent manner of thinking. I concluded that they were happy whatever might be their condition,
and that only by doing right and being good I could make anything like an adequate return for all they had done and suffered
for me.

Another year passed away. There was to be a change in our establishment, and the ancient mansion of Lindendale was to receive
a mistress. Hitherto our master had been a bachelor. He was a portly man, middle-aged, and of aristocratic name and connexions.
His estate had descended to him through many generations, and it was whispered though no one seemed to know, that he was bringing
his beautiful bride to an impoverished house.

holidays and the time for warming fires to be kindled in the dusty chimneys of southern chambers It was then that our master
brought home his bride
The remembrance is fresh to me as that of yesterday. The holidays were passed, and we had been promised another in honor
of the occasion. But we were not animated with the idea of that half so much as because something had occurred to break the
dull monotony of our existence; something that would give life, and zest, and interest, to one day at least; and something
that would afford a theme for conversation and speculation. Then our preparations were quite wonderful, and the old
housekeeper
nearly overdid herself in fidgetting and fretting and worrying while dragging her unwieldly weight of flesh up and down the
staircases, along the galleries and passages, and through the rooms where floors were undergoing the process of being rubbed
bright, carpets were being spread, curtains shaken out, beds puffed and covered
and
furniture dusted and polished, and all things prepared as beseemed the dignity of the family and the fastidious taste of
its expected mistress. It was a grand time for me as now I had an opportunity of seeing the house, and ascertaining what a
fine old place it was. Heretofore all except certain apartments had been interdicted to us, but now that the chambers were
opened to be aired and renovated no one could prevent us making good use of our eyes. And we saw on all sides the appearance
of wealth and splendor, and the appliances to every luxury. What a variety of beautiful rooms, all splendid yet so different,
and seemingly inhabited by marble images of art, or human forms pictured on the walls. What an array of costly furniture adorned
the rich saloons and gorgeous halls. We thought our master must be a very great man to have so much wealth at his command,
but it never occurred to us to inquire whose sweat and blood and unpaid labor had contributed to produce it.

The evening previous to the expected arrival of the bridal party Mrs Bry the housekeeper, announced the preparations to be
complete and all things in readiness. Then she remembered that the windows of one apartment had been left open for a freer
admission of air.
It must be closed
They must be closed and barred and the good old dame imposed that duty on me. “I am so excessively weary or I would attend
to it myself ” she said giving me my directions “but I think that I can rely on you not to touch or misplace anything or loiter
in the rooms.” I assured her that she could and departed on my errand.

There is something inexpressibly dreary and solemn in passing
through the silent rooms of a large house, especially one whence
many generations have passed to the grave. Involuntarily you find yourself thinking of them, and wondering how they looked
in life, and how the rooms looked in their possession, and whether or not they would recognise their former habitations if
restored once more to earth and them. Then all we have heard or fancied of spiritual existences occur to us. There is the
echo of a stealthy tread behind us. There is a shadow flitting past through the gloom. There is a sound, but it does not seem
of mortality. A supernatural thrill pervades your frame, and you feel the presence of mysterious beings. It may be foolish
and childish, but it is one of the unaccountable things instinctive to the human nature.

Thus I felt while threading the long galleries which led to the southern turret. The apartment there was stately rather than
splendid, and in other days before the northern and eastern wing had been added to the building it had formed the family drawing
room, and was now from its retired situation the favorite resort of my master; when he became weary of noise and bustle and
turmoil as he sometimes did. It was adorned with a long succession of family portraits ranged against the walls in due order
of age and ancestral dignity. To these portraits Mrs Bry had informed me a strange legend was attached. It was said that Sir
Clifford De Vincent, a nobleman of power and influence in the old world, having incurred the wrath of his sovereign, fled
for safety to the shores of the Old Dominion, and became the founder of my Master’s paternal estate.
When the
When the house had been completed according to his directions, he ordered his portrait and that of his wife to be hung in
the drawing room, and denounced a severe malediction against the person who should ever presume to remove them, and against
any possessor of the mansion who being of his name and blood should neglect to follow his example. And well had his wishes
been obeyed. Generation had succeeded generation,
and a long line of De Vincents occupied the family residence, yet each
one
inheritor had contributed to the adornments of the drawing-room a faithful transcript of his person and lineaments, side by
side with that of his Lady. The ceremonial of hanging up these portraits was usually made the occasion of a great festivity,
in which hundreds of the neighboring gentry participated. But my master had seen fit to dissent from this custom, and his
portrait unaccompanied by that of a Lady had been added to the number, though without the usual demonstration of mirth and
rejoicing.

Memories of the dead give at any time a haunting air to a silent room. How much more this becomes the case when standing face
to face with their pictured resemblances and looking into the stony eyes motionless and void of expression as those of an
exhumed corpse. But even as I gazed the golden light of sunset penetrating through the open windows in an oblique direction
set each rigid feature in a glow. Movements like those of life came over the line of stolid faces as the shadows of a linden
played there. The stern old sire with sword and armorial bearings seems moodily to relax his haughty
brow
aspect. The countenance of another, a veteran in the old-time wars, assumes a gracious expression it never wore in life;
and another appears to open and shut his lips continually though they emit no sound. Over the pale pure features of a bride
descends a halo of glory; the long shining locks of a young mother waver and float over the child she holds; and the frozen
cheek of an ancient dame seems beguiled into smiles and dimples.

Involuntarily I gazed as the fire of the sun died out, even untill the floor became dusky, and the shadows of the linden falling
broader and deeper wrapped all in gloom. Hitherto I had not contemplated my Master’s picture; for my thoughts had been with
the dead, but now I looked for it, where it hung solitary, and thought
how soon it would have a companion like the others,
and what a new aspect would thereby be given to the apartment. But was it prophecy, or presentiment, or why was it that this
idea was attended to my mind with something painful? That it seemed the first scene in some fearful tragedy; the foreboding
of some great calamity; a curse of destiny that no circumstances could avert or soften. And why was it that as I mused the
portrait of my master
changed
seemed to change from its usually kind and placid expression to one of wrath and gloom, that the calm brow should become
wrinkled with passion, the lips turgid with malevolence—yet thus it was.

Though filled with superstitious awe I was in no haste to leave the room; for there surrounded by mysterious associations
I seemed suddenly to have grown old, to have entered a new world of thoughts, and feelings and sentiments. I was not a slave
with these pictured memorials of the past. They could not enforce drudgery, or condemn me on account of my color to a life
of servitude. As their companion I could think and speculate. In their presence my mind seemed to run riotous and exult in
its freedom as a rational being, and one destined for something higher and better than this world can afford.

I closed the windows, for the night air had become sharp and piercing, and the linden creaked and swayed its branches to the
fitful gusts. Then, there was a sharp voice at the door. It said “child what are you doing?[”] I turned round and answered
“Looking at the pictures.”