The Bondwoman's Narrative

by Hannah Crafts

  At length to my inexpressible horror and alarm the candle which had burned low in the socket suddenly flickered, wavered, went out and we were involved in darkness. A cold sweat rose to my forehead, and I trembled with excess of nervous agitation, when a voice seemed to whisper to my soul one word only “God” and immediately, like light breaking in the darkness I felt a comforting a heavenly assurance of his protection and presence. “Cast all your care upon him, for he careth for you.” “The hairs of your heads are numbered your tears are in his bottle.” These and the like consoling passages of Scripture strengthened and supported me. Then I thought of the Saviour and his agony and drew comfort from the assurances of his dying love. I felt that the God of Israel was my refuge, that underneath me were his everlasting arms, and I felt rebuked in conscience for my doubts and fears and despondency, and that I had forgotten him so long.

  I embraced my dear companion, though she slumbered heavily, kissed and wept over her, and then endeavored to compose myself. I succeeded. A pleasant slumber sealed my eyelids, and I enjoyed a blessed dream of my mother, whom I had never seen. My angel mother; I loved then, I still love to fancy that she was near me at the time; that a spirit herself she influenced me spiritually, and that her blessed and holy presence was made the medium of my consolation.

  When the jailer came round in the morning we implored for more light and liberty. It was reluctantly granted and the range of a few small cells accorded us. They were all equally miserable and discomfortless, but they added a fellow prisoner to our society. She was a little old woman, withered and skin-dried and having altogether the most singular appearance. Yet her countenance was benevolent, and she had a soft low voice, though sorrow and confinement had impaired her intellect. She was the victim of mental hallunciation, and strangely enough believed that these miserable cells were palace halls, in which she acted the character of hostess and received us as guests. Her bows, and smiles, and courtesies were painfully amusing as she extended her hand to receive us, and observed with an air of great politeness “Very happy, I am sure, but whom have I the honor of addressing?”

  The jailer, who was present, looked at me, touched his forehead, and said half-aside “Not quite right here, but perfectly harmless. They can amuse each other” and he pointed to my mistress.

  “I see you are strangers here” continued the old lady whose name was Wright. “I was a stranger here myself, and it was sometime before I learned to appreciate all the comforts of the place. I have the honor of living here now, and I live well and easy too. The state cares for me, provides for me, furnishes me a home—very motherly and good is the state.” Then glancing at my companion she inquired “Be you sisters?” I shook my head. “Only friends.[”] “Friends” she repeated after me. “Well, I had a friend once. I had a lover once. I had children once; I had a husband once, but I have nothing now, neither friend, nor lover, nor child, nor husband; all all deserted me when I came here, but misery dwells in palaces I always heard that” and her eyes wandered over the rough stone walls, and the high dark ceiling with an admiring and complacent look.

  I felt a strange curiosity to ascertain what grand or beautiful semblances her diseased fancy had given to the hard coarse stones, filthy with accumulated dust and clothed with the webs of spiders.

  “They brought me here” she continued “they told me it was necessary that I should stay. I couldn’t see it so at first but after a time I—I—grew more reconciled. And now I call it my palace, and that man, who comes in once and awhile is my groom of the ceremonies, and I have guests occasionally as I have now.”

  “But why did you come here?” I inquired “You certainly would have preferred staying with your husband and children.”

  I had struck the right chord in her memory, and she answered perfectly rational.

  [“]It’s a long story. I don’t know that I can tell it all; for sometimes I forget, or I cannot recall names and events in their proper places.”

  I told her that made no difference; she only need give me the outline of her history. I should be quite satisfied with that.

  It seemed as near as I could gather from her disconnected and disjoin[t]ed statements that she had been well to do in the world, and greatly esteemed and beloved by her neighbors. Her woman’s heart was brimful of love and kindness for all, but most especially for the oppressed and afflicted. She had a great fondness for little children, yet one, and that one a slave child, shared particularly her love and tenderness. The kind good-hearted soul had never learned the cold lesson of the world that slaves were made for toil, not love, and that it was a waste of affection to lavish it on them.

  In her earlier years and before she was able to work Ellen was suffered to visit Mrs Wright whenever she pleased, and to stay as long as she desired. Then she made one less about the grounds, she obtained food and many little things of which the mistress took account, but when she grew older, and her labor became desirable she was forbidden to visit the house of her friend. But habits of intimacy once acquired are not readily broken off. Ellen felt that she must go, and go she would and did. She had attained her fifteenth year, and was really a beautiful girl, in complexion approaching the Spanish with dark sparkling eyes, and a profusion of hair, jet black, and curling around a neck and over shoulders of exquisite grace.

  A slave-trader was around. He was selecting and purchasing beautiful girls for the New Orleans market. Ellen attracted his attention, and he determined to obtain her if possible. Readily and willingly Readily and willingly, for the consideration of a good sum in money, her master yeilded to his wishes. He felt no compunction in dooming the beautiful girl to a life of misery ten times more horrible than a death of torture. He reck[on]ed not that she was a woman of delicate sensibilities and fine perfections—she was a slave, and no more that was all to him.

  When the news of her dreadful fate reached the ears of Ellen, she fled in horror and consternation to Mrs Wright. That good lady was filled with almost equal grief and astonishment. It seemed that duty, love, religion, humanity everything and every generous sentiment urged her to preserve the beautiful victim from such a miserable doom. Perhaps she exercised too little discretion, but moved by the considerations of mercy and tenderness, and above all by the tears and prayers and entreaties of Ellen she resolved on a desperate expedient, no other than smuggling the terrified girl out of the country.

  Without consulting her husband, or informing her children, she retired with Ellen to a private room, cut off her long beautiful hair, and disguised her in the garments of a boy. Then leaving a note for her family, she ordered her carriage, mounted it took Ellen by her side and drove away.

  Unfortunately, however, the flight of Ellen was immediately discovered by her master. He traced her to the dwelling of Mrs Wright, and there discovered her beautiful hair and cast-off garments, ascertained, too, that the good lady had taken a boy into her carriage and driven away. They followed with all speed, overtook and arrested her, carried Ellen back and sent Mrs Wright to jail. She was tried for kidnapping convicted and sentenced to a long imprisonment.

  Thus the matron was torn from her home, the wife from her husband, the mother from her children for no crime but yeilding to the dictates of humanity. For a time she brooded in hopeless sorrow, and to aggravate her punishment as much as possible she was doomed to a solitary cell, and forbidden the society of her husband and c to receive the visits of her husband and children. Even the comforting influences of nature were withdrawn. The sunshine, the free winds, the blessed face of heaven were denied her. For two long weary years she only beheld one human face, and that one the jailer[’]s. Then, wherefore wonder that her mind failed? or that premature age and imbecility stultified her faculties, and she became little better than an idiot?

  At length their resentment softened in some degree. Little by little she was allowed more light, more air, and more liberty. Meanwhile an epidemic ravaged the country; her husband and children all died, her property passed into other hands, and s
he ceased to be spoken of even by those who had experienced the most of her kindness.

  By constant habit and association likewise her home had prison had become pleasant. She connected it with ideas of home, a home that the state with great trouble and expense prepared for her, even as it makes provision for its acknowledged head.

  All this she told me, bowing and smiling in a way that would have been diverting, had I not reflected on all she must have suffered before her mind gave way.

  “I used to hate slavery” she continued “born in a slave state, educated in a slave state, with slavery all the time before my eyes I could see no beauties in the system. Yet they said it was beautiful, and many thought me a fool for not seeing it so, but somehow I couldn’t; no I couldn’t” and the old creature sighed.

  “Have you ever seen it so?” I inquired.

  With a bow and a smile, a peculiar turn of the head and twist of the eye as much as to indicate that she did not tell any longer all she or [sic] knew she said

  [“]Oh you must not ask me such questions, indeed you must not. It might involve us in a great deal of trouble. I have learned what all who live in a land of slaver[y] must learn sooner or later; that is to profess approbation where you cannot feel it; to be hard when most inclined to melt; and to say that all is right, and good; and true when you know that nothing could be more wrong and unjust.[”]

  CHAPTER 7

  Mr Trappe

  I have done judgement, and justice; leave me not to my oppressors.

  DAVID

  An accumulation of misfortunes, differing in cause and character distract and divert the mind by their contrary operation. Thus a change however painful may prove an essential benefit. After our imprisonment the insanity of my beloved mistress assumed a milder character, and finally sunk into a sort of meloncholy. She would sit for hours watching the motions of a spider, or waiting the appearance of a mouse. I strove to draw her out in conversation, tried to amuse or interest her, but in vain. A physician had been summoned to her aid, by whom I never knew. He said that time and quiet would effect her cure, ordered the jailer to permit her allow her all necessary indulgences, and to furnish her with books and other means to enliven her solitude. Was it humanity or policy that prompted them to obey.

  We now had the range of an apartment which contained two or three windows, that though heavily grated, admitted light and air and sufficed to give a limited view of the street. This was a great improvement in our condition. We could see the bright shar softly smiling between the bars the quiet and beautiful stars; the moonbeams sometimes checkered our floor, and the free winds lavished a tribute of flower-scents from the groves and fields.

  Hitherto we had seen nothing of Mr Trappe. Once or twice, indeed, I had just caught a glimpse of a rusty black coat that reminded me of him, but the idea that he was hovering near us, modulating the degrees of our torture, and waiting till circumstances should admit his striking with most effect, took firm possession of my brain. Then, too, we often received little presents from som[e]body; good clothes had been provided us, though whence they came, and at whose instance we were still confined in the prison remained alike mysteries. But I determined to sound the jailer. That individual had become social and even communicative. Notwithstanding the repulsiveness of his appearance there was something genial and clever in the man. Long habits of association with the vile, and accustomed to witness all the varied exhibitions of possible depravity his manners were uncouth and awkward, his speech always rough and sometimes harsh, yet beneath his countenance expressive of anything but gentleness, yet beneath this unpromising exterior, like the pearl in the unseemly shell of the oyster was concealed a really kind and obliging disposition. One day he came in with a small present of fruits and sweet meats.

  “These are really delicious” I observed. “Will you permit Mrs Wright to share them with us?”

  He shook his head mysteriously.

  “Why not, pray?”

  Because it would be contrary to orders.

  “At least I may ask whence you received them?”

  “Which, the orders, or the sweetmeats?”

  “Both.”

  Another shake.

  “Well sir” I observed “I can describe the man exactly. He is rather aged, though he has only a matured look. His eyes are very keen and black; he wears a suit of black like himself old but well-kept; he has a sort of stealthy pace as if feeling the way before him, and he is a lawyer.”

  The fellow grinned, and said “You’ve hit it.”

  “And he sent us these clothes” I continued “he is always hovering near us; he comes to the prison at least once a day.”

  “Once a week” said the jailer correcting my last sentence. “He was awfully concerned about the other one. He said that she could be cured, that she must be cured, or it would be as good as two thousand dollars out of his pocket. He told the doctor so I heard him.”

  “The wretch” I muttered half unconsciously.

  [“]He fears that she will lose her beauty, and then,[”] continued the jailer “she would be much less valuable.”

  Could the heart of a man be capable of such depravity. All these little favors that might be interpreted as symptoms of regard proceeded from the most selfish the most detestable policy. In the power of such a man we had nothing to hope.

  I cannot tell how long we remained in the prison, or in what season my mistress began to exhibit symptoms of decided improvement. Slowly and gradually the clouds cleared from her mind, and she regained the full exercise of her mental faculties. The past seemed all like a dark deep dream over which she wept and shuddered, but her very soul revolted at the future before her.

  The jailer came in one morning and announced “good news.” Mrs Wright as usual smiling and bowing inquired “if it was for her?”

  “It is for these” he answered, pointing to us “you are to get yourselves ready to leave the prison.”

  “And whither are we going?”

  “Wherever your master directs of course.[”]

  However I was delighted with the idea of being once more at large, of revelling in the free wild winds, and possessing even that share of liberty allotted to a slave. Mechanically my dear companion rose. Mrs Wright bade us farewell with a formal ceremony of bowing, curtisying and shaking hands. Bade us receive her blessing, hope we would be very happy, and ended by declaring how happy she should be, and how much she should think herself honored by receiving a visit from us at some future time.

  “Oh get along old lady” said the jailer “your [you’re] tiresome, come: come.”

  We glided along the passages, slowly descended the windy winding staircase, and stood in the vestibule of the prison. “Here they be” said the jailer addressing a sharp-looking man, who regarded us intently for a moment or two.

  “These are the birds, then, eh; faith they be pretty ones” he said, approaching us with a familiar demonstration.

  We retreated a step or two.

  “I see” said the man “that they don’t incline to be gentle; and now, good ladies” he continued “just let me tell you what’s what. I am about to carry you away from this place, agre[e]ably to the commands of your present owner. I want to do so without noise or disturbance. I don’t want to employ violence of any kind. You need not be nervous or apprehensive as no harm will be offered you, unless indeed you attempt to escape, and then, I have this” and he displayed the handle of a revolver.

  “They’re sensible women” said the jailer. “You’ll have no occasion for that.[”]

  “Can’t tell” returned the man. “Nothing like being prepared. And now, my dears, pray sit down on that step.”

  “Why should we sit down there?” inquired my companion.

  “Because I tell you to, if for no other reason” returned the man. “Now I want to treat you well, if you will let me. I should like to be polite if I can under the circumstances. If I can’t that’s another thing, but whether I am so, or otherwise depends on you. So now
I command you to set down there.”

  “You’re wrong there, Hayes” said the jailer. “I have had some little experience of mankind, and human nature that you will allow—and I have always found that the simplest request has more power to obtain what you goes farther than the loudest command. If a woman is stubborn or obstinate ask her as a favor, coax her, flatter her and my word for it she’ll be pliable as wax in your hands.”

  “They must mind me either way” answered Hayes.

  To me, who had been all my life a slave the idea of obedience was not repulsive, but it galled exceedingly the proud spirit of my companion. I saw from her countenance that she was inclined to rebel, but prudence finally triumphed, and she complied.

  “And you, too, by her side there” continued Hayes.

  I sat down.

  “Now you behave something like” he said. “And just for no other reason in the world than to prevent your being exposed to the temptation of running away, and me from being obliged to shoot you I must put these manacles on your feet. Just thrust them out a little further, hold still. I shall not hurt you.”

  My companion was deeply affected with a mingled sense of shame, horror, and indignation.

  “Why, bless my soul” said Hay[e]s. “This is nothing, nothing at all. I’ve often seen women as proud and handsome as you subjected to much worse treatment. Now hold out your hands.”

  Again we complied as resistance would have been worse than useless.

  He clasped handcuffs on our wrists.

  “Now get up.”

  We rose manacled together.

  The jailer opened the prison door, and Hay[e]s conducted us to the wagon, our chains clanking at every step. Sinking down in the bottom of the vehicle we remained in gloomy silence. That our meditations were of the most painful character no one can doubt. In the language of the prophet “the thing we greatly feared had come upon us.” Our situation even precluded hope, that balm to so many sorrows, but we had at least one comforting assurance. We knew that God was with us, and that when earthly friends and protectors failed we should find in Him a sure and certain refuge.