didn't want to see them there!”
The two daughters, Emily and Mary, here became very much
excited, and broke out in some very natural but bitter language
against all slaveholders. “Hush, children! you must forgive
your enemies,” she said. “But they're so wicked!” said the
girls. “Ah, children, you must hate--the sin, but love the
sinner.” “Well,” said one of the girls, “mother, if I was
taken again and made a slave of, I'd kill myself.” “I trust
not, child; that would be wicked.” “But, mother, I should; I know I never could bear it.” “Bear it, my child!” she
answered, “it's they that bears the sorrow here is they that has
the glories there.”
There was a deep, indescribable pathos of voice and manner
as she said these words; a solemnity and force, and yet a
sweetness, that can never be forgotten.
This poor slave-mother, whose whole life had been one long
outrage on her holiest feelings; who had been kept from the
power to read God's Word, whose whole pilgrimage had been
made one day of sorrow by the injustice of a Christian nation,
she had yet learned to solve the highest problem of Christian
ethics, and to do what so few reformers can do--hate the sin, but love the sinner!
A great deal of interest was excited among the ladies in
Brooklyn by this history. Several large meetings were held in
different parlours, in which the old mother related her history
with great simplicity and pathos, and a subscription for the
redemption of the remaining two of her family, was soon on
foot. It may be interesting to know that the subscription-list
was headed by the lovely and benevolent Jenny Lind Gold-
schmidt.
Some of the ladies who listened to this touching story were
so much interested in Mrs. Edmondson personally, they wished
to have her daguerreotype taken, both that they might be
strengthened and refreshed by the sight of her placid counte-
nance, and that they might see the beauty of true goodness
beaming there.
She accordingly went to the rooms with them, with all the
simplicity of a little child. “Oh,” said she to one of the ladies,
“you can't think how happy it's made me to get here, where
everybody is so kind to me! Why, last night, when I went
home, I was so happy I couldn't sleep. I had to go and tell
my Saviour, over and over again, how happy I was.”
A lady spoke to her about reading something. “Law bless
you, honey! I can't read a letter.”
“Then,” said another lady, “how have you learned so much
of God and heavenly things?”
“Well, 'pears like a gift from above.”
“Can you have the Bible read to you?”
“Why, yes; Paul, he reads a little, but then he has so much
work all day, and when he gets home at night he's so tired!
and his eyes is bad. But the Sperit teaches us.”
“Do you go much to meeting?”
“Not much now, we live so far. In winter I can't never.
But, oh! what meetings I have had, alone in the corner--my
Saviour and only me!” The smile with which these words
were spoken was a thing to be remembered. A little girl,
daughter of one of the ladies, made some rather severe remarks
about somebody in the daguerreotype rooms, and her mother
checked her.
The old lady looked up, with her placid smile. “That puts
me in mind,” she said, “of what I heard a preacher say once.
`My friends,' says he, `if you know of anything that will make
a brother's heart glad, run quick and tell it; but if it is some-
thing that will only cause a sigh, bottle it up, bottle it up!'
Oh, I often tell my children, `Bottle it up, bottle it up!' ”
When the writer came to part with the old lady, she said
to her, “Well, good-bye, my dear friend; remember and pray
for me.”
“Pray for you!” she said, earnestly. “Indeed I shall;
I can't help it.” She then, raising her finger, said, in an
emphatic tone, peculiar to the old of her race, “Tell you what:
we never gets no good bread ourselves till we begins to ask for
our brethren.”
The writer takes this opportunity to inform all those friends,
in different parts of the country, who generously contributed
for the redemption of these children, that they are at last free!
The following extract from the letter of a lady in Washington
may be interesting to them:--
I have seen the Edmondson parents--Paul and his wife Milly. I have seen the
free Edmondsons--mother, son, and daughter--the very day after the great era of
free life commenced, while yet the inspiration was on them, while the mother's
face was all light and love, the father's eyes moistened and glistening with tears,
the son calm in conscious manhood and responsibility, the daughter (not more
than fifteen years old, I think) smiling a delightful appreciation of joy in the
present and hope in the future, thus suddenly and completely unfolded.
Thus have we finished the account of one of the families who
were taken on board the “Pearl.” We have another history to
give, to which we cannot promise so fortunate a termination.
CHAPTER VII.
Among those unfortunates guilty of loving freedom too well
was a beautiful young quadroon girl, named Emily Russell,
whose mother is now living in New York. The writer has seen
and conversed with her. She is a pious woman, highly esteemed
and respected, a member of a Christian church.
By the avails of her own industry she purchased her freedom,
and also redeemed from bondage some of her children. Emily
was a resident of Washington, D. C., a place which belongs not
to any State, but to the United States; and there, under the
laws of the United States, she was held as a slave. She was of
a gentle disposition and amiable manners; she had been early
touched with a sense of religious things, and was on the very
point of uniting herself with a Christian church; but her heart
yearned after her widowed mother and after freedom, and so, on
the fatal night when all the other poor victims sought the Pearl, the child Emily went also among them.
How they were taken has already been told. The sin of the
poor girl was inexpiable. Because she longed for her mother's
arms and for liberty, she could not be forgiven. Nothing would
do for such a sin, but to throw her into the hands of the trader.
She also was thrown into Bruin and Hill's gaol, in Alexandria.
Her poor mother in New York received the following letter from
her. Read it, Christian mother, and think what if your daughter
had written it to you!--
Alexandria, Jan. 22, 1850.
My dear Mother--I take this opportunity of writing you a few lines, to inform
you that I am in Bruin's Jail, and Aunt Sally and all of her children, and Aunt
Hagar and all her children, and grandmother is almost crazy. My dear mother, will
you please to come on as soon as you can? I expect to go away very shortly. O
mother! my dear mother! come now and see your di
stressed and heart-broken
daughter once more. Mother! my dear mother! do not forsake me, for I feel
desolate! Please to come now.
Your daughter,
Emily Russell.
To Mrs. Nancy Cartwright, New York.
P.S.--If you do not come as far as Alexandria, come to Washington, and do
what you can.
That letter, blotted and tear-soiled, was brought by this
poor washerwoman to some Christian friends in New York,
and shown to them. “What do you suppose they will ask
for her?” was her question. All that she had--her little house,
her little furniture, her small earnings--all these poor Nancy
was willing to throw in; but all these were but as a drop to the
bucket.
The first thing to be done, then, was to ascertain what Emily
could be redeemed for; and, as it may be an interesting item of
American trade, we give the reply of the traders in full:--
Alexandria, Jan. 31, 1850.
Dear Sir,--When I received your letter I had not bought the negroes you spoke
of, but since that time I have bought them. All I have to say about the matter is,
that we paid very high for the negroes, and cannot afford to sell the girl Emily for
less than EIGHTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS. This may seem a high price to you,
but, cotton being very high, consequently slaves are high. We have two or three
offers for Emily from gentlemen from the South. She is said to be the finest-
looking woman in this country. As for Hagar and her seven children, we will
take two thousand five hundred dollars for them. Sally and her four children, we
will take for them two thousand eight hundred dollars. You may seem a little
surprised at the difference in prices, but the difference in the negroes makes the
difference in price. We expect to start South with the negroes on the 8th Feb-
ruary, and if you intend to do anything, you had better do it soon.
Yours respectfully,
Bruin & Hill.
This letter came to New York before the case of the Edmond-
sons had called the attention of the community to this subject.
The enormous price asked entirely discouraged effort, and before
anything of importance was done they heard that the coffle had
departed, with Emily in it.
Hear, O heavens! and give ear, O earth! Let it be known,
in all the countries of the earth, that the price of a beautiful
Christian girl in America, when she is set up to be sold to a life
of shame, is from EIGHTEEN HUNDRED TO TWO THOUSAND
DOLLARS; and yet, judicatories in the church of Christ have
said, in solemn conclave, that American slavery as it is
is no evil!*
From the table of the Sacrament and from the sanctuary of
the church of Christ this girl was torn away, because her beauty
was a saleable article in the slave-market in New Orleans!
Perhaps some Northern apologist for slavery will say she was
kindly treated here--not handcuffed by the wrist to a chain, and
forced to walk, as articles less choice are; that a waggon was
provided, and that she rode; and that food abundant was given
her to eat, and that her clothing was warm and comfortable, and
therefore no harm was done. We have heard it told us, again
and again, that there is no harm in slavery, if one is only warm
enough, and full-fed, and comfortable. It is true that the slave-
woman has no protection from the foulest dishonour and the
utmost insult that can be offered to womanhood--none what-
ever in law or gospel; but so long as she has enough to eat and
wear, our Christian fathers and mothers tell us it is not so bad!
Poor Emily could not think so. There was no eye to pity,
and none to help. The food of her accursed lot did not nourish
her; the warmest clothing could not keep the chill of slavery
from her heart. In the middle of the overland passage, sick,
weary, heart-broken, the child laid her down and died. By that
lonely pillow there was no mother; but there was one Friend,
who loveth at all times, who is closer than a brother. Could
our eyes be touched by the seal of faith, where others see only
the lonely wilderness and the dying girl, we, perhaps, should see
one closed in celestial beauty, waiting for that short agony to
be over, that He might redeem her from all iniquity, and
present her faultless before the presence of his Grace with
exceeding joy.
Even the hard-hearted trader was touched with her sad fate,
and we are credibly informed that he said he was sorry he had
taken her.
Bruin and Hill wrote to New York that the girl Emily was
dead. The Quaker, William Harned, went with the letter, to
break the news to her mother. Since she had given up all hope
of redeeming her daughter from the dreadful doom to which she
had been sold, the helpless mother had drooped like a stricken
woman. She no longer lifted up her head, or seemed to take
any interest in life.
When Mr. Harned called on her, she asked eagerly,
“Have you heard anything from my daughter?”
“Yes, I have,” was the reply--“a letter from Bruin and
Hill.”
“And what is the news?”
He thought best to give a direct answer--“Emily is dead.”
The poor mother clasped her hands, and, looking upwards,
said, “The Lord be thanked! He has heard my prayers at
last!”
And, now, will it be said this is an exceptional case--it hap-
pens one time in a thousand? Though we know that this is the
foulest of falsehoods, and that the case is only a specimen of
what is acting every day in the American slave-trade, yet, for
argument's sake, let us, for once, admit it to be true. If only
once in this nation, under the protection of our law, a Christian
girl had been torn from the altar and the communion-table, and
sold to foulest shame and dishonour, would that have been a
light sin? Does not Christ say, “Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me?” Oh,
words of woe for thee, America! words of woe for thee, church
of Christ! Hast thou trod them under foot and trampled them
in the dust so long that Christ has forgotten them? In the
day of judgment everyone of these words shall rise up, living
and burning, as accusing angels to witness against thee. Art
thou, O church of Christ! praying daily, “Thy kingdom come?”
Darest thou pray, “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly?” Oh, what
if He should come? What if the Lord, whom ye seek, should
suddenly come into his temple? If his soul was stirred within
him when he found within his temple of old those that changed
money, and sold sheep, and oxen, and doves, what will he say
now, when he finds them selling body, blood, and bones of his
own people? And is the Christian church, which justifies this
enormous system--which has used the awful name of her
Redeemer to sanction the buying, selling, and trading in the
souls of men--is this church the bride of Christ? Is she one
with Christ, even as Christ is one with the Father? Oh, bitter
is a temple of the Holy Ghost? Or does she think those solemn
words were idle breath, when, a thousand times, every day and
week, in the midst of her, is this temple set up and sold at
auction, to be bought by any godless, blasphemous man who has
money to pay for it!
As to poor Daniel Bell and his family, whose contested claim
to freedom was the beginning of the whole trouble, a few mem-
bers of it were redeemed, and the rest were plunged into the
abyss of slavery. It would seem as if this event, like the
sinking of a ship, drew into its Maelstrom the fate of every
unfortunate being who was in its vicinity. A poor, honest,
hard-working slave-man, of the name of Thomas Ducket, had a
wife who was on board the Pearl. Tom was supposed to know
the men who countenanced the enterprise, and his master, there-
fore, determined to sell him. He brought him to Washington
for the purpose. Some in Washington doubted his legal right to
bring a slave from Maryland for the purpose of selling him, and
commenced legal proceedings to test the matter. While they
were pending, the counsel for the master told the men who
brought action against his client, that Tom was anxious to be
sold; that he preferred being sold to the man who had pur-
chased his wife and children rather than to have his liberty. It
was well known that Tom did not wish to be separated from
his family, and the friends here, confiding in the representation
made to them, consented to withdraw the proceedings.
Some time after this they received letters from poor Tom
Ducket, dated ninety miles above New Orleans, complaining
sadly of his condition, and making piteous appeals to hear from
them respecting his wife and children. Upon inquiry, nothing
could be learned respecting them. They had been sold and gone
--sold and gone--no one knew whither; and as a punishment
to Tom for his contumacy in refusing to give the name of the
man who had projected the expedition of the Pearl, he was
denied the privilege of going off the place, and was not allowed
to talk with the other servants, his master fearing a conspiracy.
In one of his letters he says, “I have seen more trouble here in
one day than I have in all my life.” In another, “I would be
The Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin Page 56
