The Bondwoman's Narrative (37 page)

The scarcely awakened morn was feebly peering through a curtaining of clouds, when I opened my eyes to encounter those of
a black man fixed on me with the most intense expression of wonder, apprehension, and curiosity. A few words, however, sufficed
to inform him that my circumstances were quite as deplorable as his,
when he gave me his hand, and expressed a wish that I
would see his companion.

Cheerfully, and without the least apprehension I complied with his request. She was in a fever, delirious, her face flushed,
her hands burning to the touch. She called for water incessantly, and I proposed that as we had no means of conveying it to
her he should take her in his arms and bear her to the margin of the stream. He did so, and thus we had the satisfaction of
being able to slake her thirst.

It soon commenced raining and
Seated beneath the shelter of a huge tree we made a breakfast on some wild fruits, which my newly discovered friend had gathered
the day before. His name was Jacob. The female was his sister, and together they had traveled from the frontiers of South
Carolina. He told me the history of their many wrongs, their master’s cruelty and oppression, and the hardships which
had occa
occasioned their flight. Then he described their sufferings, and long wanderings in the woods, with the constant exposure
and want they had undergone. How his sister’s strength had gradually failed, and how often and often when she had given out,
he had borne her on his back for miles. And then with the strongest manifestation of fraternal affection he took her burning
hand, pressed it to his lips, and declared that he should only be to[o] happy to do the same again. I could only admire his
fraternal piety and hope that it would meet with its proper reward.

He dashed a tear from his eye. “She was my only relative” he said. “We played together before our mother’s door. I could not
bear to leave her to be sold into Texas, but much I fear that she will never see a free land.” This he said in broken incoherent
expressions to which I have given suitable language.

“Yes” he continued “I fear that she will never see a free land.”

“Have you, then” I inquired “no faith in God, no hope in
heaven? Are you not a believer in that free land where the spirits
of just men made perfect eternally abide?”

He shook his head unmeaningly.

I could only regard him with compassion that in his trials, and difficulties he was unaware of the greatest source of abiding
comfort.

Meanwhile it began raining. The morning had been unusually dull and cloudy, and then a sort of misty drizzle commenced falling,
that soon changed to incessant rain. The woods became one great shower bath. Dripping with excessive humidity the long branches
of the still trees were like water spouts. The mosses and leaves were a mass of wet. The rain dripped in the face and on the
bosom of the poor sufferer; it ran and stood in little pools beneath her, and we could not hinder it.

At my suggestion Jacob started out to look [for] a better shelter for her. Fortunately he succeeded in finding one, and thither
dripping with the humidity we removed her. It was a rude little hut formed by strips of bark and branches of trees resting
over and against the projecting buttress of a huge rock that jutted out from the side of the hill and overlook
ed
the stream.
It had been used as a dwelling place before, perhaps by hunters or woodmen; possibly by fugitives like ourselves. With grateful
hearts we took possession, and were far more comfortable than we anticipated.

But our patient was unconscious of the change. Night and morning, rain and sunshine were henceforth to be alike to her. She
is in a stupor, and bending over her I looked down on her wasted form. Her brother sate [sat] beside her on the ground, holding
her hand in his, while tears that were no shame to his manhood streamed down his face. We saw that her time had come, that
her struggle with the last great enemy had commenced. I touched her chest and heart. The pitcher was
near
broken at the fountain.

’Twas a moment of deep interest, and death at all times so
solemn became doubly so under such circumstances. It often happens
that the ceremonial attendant on the dying hour burdens it with unmeaning pomp, and that the hush and sanctity of the
sancticty
occasion give way before the elaborate and commonplace manifestations of condolence and sympathy. The heartless throng who
press around the bed, through curiosity or even a worse motive, the glare of lights, the attendance of the physician, watching
with strange professional interest the peculiar circumstances of the case, and more than all the minister, not of religion
but sectarianism, striving to elicit something of which to make capital for his next sermon, all intrude themselves in the
chamber and on the hour which should be sacred to grief, and the highest and holiest emotions of the human nature.

Where is the tender and susceptible heart that has bled at finding the places around a dying bed which should be occupied
only be [by] the nearest and dearest relatives, rudely filled by gossiping neighbors ready to count the tears of the wife
or daughter, to des-cant on her words if she speaks, on her silence if she says nothing, and really anxious to discover something
that will bear comment and afford discussion for a week or two.

The world even exacts something of death. It says in effect to the grim monarch, “You will have us, that is certain, but it
shall only be on our own terms. A certain formality must be observed before we bow to you. We must have a due course of physic
and religious attendance. There must be the throng of visitors, and the ceaseless inquiry [‘]How do you find yourself to[-]day[’]
” And when the last conflict is passed another ceremonial as dull, as cold, and even more heartless must be conformed to,
before the wasting clay can be peacefully consigned to its last resting place. Public opinion says to the grave “Here is one
of our species, an individual of Adam’s race, whom death has overcome, but what of that? You shall not take him to your embrace
till he has lain in state a day or
two, attired in just so many yards of satin or flannel. And then a coffin just so rich,
and with just such adornments must be provided, and this and that must be managed in exactly such a manner. Don’t think to
get him on any other terms, or if you do there will be gossip, and scandal, and small talk, and who can imagine what?[”]

Of course we had none of this. The dull light looked in at our doorway; the rain dripped and pattered monotonously. Occasionally
some little bird or insect would glance by
momentarily
and disappear.

“What is it, dear?”

She had started up with wild eyes and a frightened look.

“I thought I was back in South Car’lina. I a[i]n’t there am I?[”]

“No” says the brother.

“Who is that?” she inquired for the first time noticing me.

“A friend, who is assisting me to watch over and take care of you” he answered.

Falling back she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and murmured “I’m very glad.”

I watched her closely a little while. I could not bear that she should die
that she sho
thus like a brute with no mention of his name, who had died that we might live. Putting my mouth closely to her ear, I asked
“did you ever pray?”

She was sensible, and murmured

“When I was a child.”

[“]Do you know it now?[”]

She shook her head.

“But you have heard people pray?”

She nodded her head affirmatively, and said though with a very great effort

[“]I have heard them, when they called it praying, and when it seemed to me they were talking to themselves, or master, or
some
one else. Ministers used to come among us and pray, but I never minded them. They mostly prayed that we the slaves might
be good and obedient, and feel grateful for all our blessings, which I know was fudge. It hardened my heart, I could not bear
it.”

She says this slowly and studiously, and occupies a long time in doing it. How I pitied the poor benighted soul to whom the
sweetest influences of religion had become gall and wormwood. Again she relapsed into a sort of stupor, and then suddenly
made a strong effort to rise.

“What now? What now?[”] I said soothingly.

“I hear them calling me. They say, come: come” she answered. “I think one of them is my mother. It’s time for me to go to
her. Oh, I want to go to her. She looks happy and blessed.”

“Presently you shall go.”

“Her mind wanders” whispered Jacob.

I bowed.

“There are no slaves there” she murmured.

“Neither is there sorrow or sighing there, nor parting of friends.” “Shall I go soon?” “I think so, yes.” “Speak louder, I
cannot hear you. It’s growing very dark, and I am cold. Oh: so cold. Is there a fire acoming?”

“There is a warmth, a rising of the sun.”

Jacob knelt impressively. I followed his example.

“My dear sister” he said bending his mouth to her ear.

“I hear, but I can’t see you. Is the sun arisin?”

“It is, it is.”

“It see it now; it is comin, a light, a very bright light.”

The light came, the sun arose, the sun of righteousness.

Dead.

We could weep in silence and privacy. Public opinion came not to dictate the outward expressions of our grief. We were not
required
to mourn discreetly or in fashion. No ceremonial was dictated by officious friends, but tenderly and delicately we
disposed the fragile limbs, crossed the meek hands quietly over the frozen bosom, and closed the blank expressionless eyes,
and doing this we discovered, what had hitherto escaped us, the unmistakeable tokens of an infectious disease, at once malignant
and dangerous. Jacob said she must have caught it in an old deserted house where they had remained a day or two, and in which
they discovered and appropriated a bundle of old garments.

Towards night Jacob went out to pick some berries for our supper,
Hitherto all this day
leaving me alone with the dead. I had not eaten since morning, and even now was insensible to hunger. But I felt that was
in consequence of the agitation of my mind, and that food was really necessary.

His stay was prolonged, but I thought little of it, untill night set in; the wild dark night, with the trees shuddering in
the wind. The rain, so thick and heavy all day, had ceased falling, and though the sky had partly cleared and a few dim stars
might be seen overhead it was exceedingly gloomy. Once or twice I went out to look and listen. The heavens wore a fearful
an[d] awful aspect. In the north, and northwest, where the sunset had faded three hours before, there was a rich red arch
of beautiful light, whence ascended what fancy might easily have pictured as sheets of waving flame. As I gazed long lines
of clouds, came sweeping on before the wind, the glowing arch with its fiery banners gave way before them, and all was darkness.
I retreated to my hut in which the sad wreck of mortality lay stark, stiff, and immovable. Was it the presence of death, or
that my nerves were weak and agitated, but a great and unaccountable terror seized me. I shuddered in every limb, great drops
of sweat started to my forehead, and I cowered down in the corner like a guilty thing. My apprehensions were increased tenfold
by the mysterious voices of the night. Mutterings, chatterings,
and sounds of fearful import echoed through the gloom. Owls
shrieked hediously to which was added the dismal howling of wolves. Then the corpse seemed to leer horridly, to gibe and beckon
and point its long skinny fingers towards me, and though I knew that this was all fancy, though I had sense enough left to
perceive even then the absurdity of my fears I could not overcome them, I could not pray for the protection of Heaven; Heaven
seemed to have turned its face against me.

I was tortured moreover with the anxieties of suspense. Was it possible that Jacob could have deserted me in such a place?
Could he purposely have left me alone with the dead without the intention of returning? Or had he perished by the wolves,
which to judge from their noise were out in great numbers, or had some other accident overtaken him? Had he become lost and
bewildered and unable to find his way back? These and a thousand other questions of a similar nature rushed into my brain,
to be solved only by conjecture. It was the longest night of my existence, and I shall never forget its horrors. I, who had
learned to sleep as calmly and composedly on a bed of leaves as in a palace chamber, was thus alarmed and terrified by
the immediate presence of the dead
I know not what.

Towards morning I fell into an unquiet slumber, slumber that brought visions more horrible than even those of my waking hours.
The corpse seemed to rise and stand over me, and press with its cold leaden hand against my heart. In vain I struggled to
free myself, by that perversity common to dreams I was unable to move. I could not shriek, but remained spell-bound under
the hedious benumbing influence of a present embodied death. Then it seemed that some one was calling me. I knew the
voice
voice to be Jacob’s, and strove to answer, but my tongue seemed palsied and my lips immovable. Then concentrating all my
energies in one great effort I suddenly awoke. The dream was thus for real;
some one was calling. I roused myself
it was
and
listened,
it was and listened, it was a human voice, and the shout or hallo was such as a person lost from his companions generally makes
to discover their locality. My previous fears were for the moment forgotten. I crept to the door way of the hut and answered.
The sound reverberated in a thousand echoes through the woods. It was still very dark, but the day-star was just rising; and
the sky was almost clear. The shout was repeated again and again; each time I answered it and each time it came nearer and
nearer. Soon I heard hurrying footsteps, a crackling in the bushes and under wood, and shortly discerned the figure of a man.
It was Jacob. He had strayed farther than he designed to, while looking for food, night and darkness came on; he was bewildered
and could not find his way back.