Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe

by Harriet Beecher Stowe

  She then explained to the writer all her sorrows and anxieties for the younger children. “Now, madam,” she says, “that man that keeps the great trading-house at Alexandria, that man, “ she said with a strong, indignant expression, “has sent to know if there’s any more of my children to be sold. That man said he wanted to see me! Yes, ma’am, he said he’d give twenty dollars to see me. I wouldn’t see him if he’d give me a hundred! He sent for me to come and see him when he had my daughters in his prison. I wouldn’t go to see him; I 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 Goldschmidt.

  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 countenance, 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 something 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 distressed 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 February, and if you intend to do anything, you had better do it soon.

  Yours respectfully, BRUIN AND HILL.

  This letter came to New York before the case of the Edmondsons 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 whatever 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 happens 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 mockery! Does this church believe that every Christian’s body 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 members 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, therefore, 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 purchased 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 glad to hear from her (his wife), but I should be more glad to hear of her death than for her to come here.”

  In his distress, Tom wrote a letter to Mr. Bigelow, of Washington. People who are not in the habit of getting such documents have no idea of them. We give a fac simile of Tom’s letter, with all its poor spelling, all its ignorance, helplessness, and misery.

  TOM DUCKET’S LETTER.

  February 18, 1852.

  Mr. BIGELOW. — DEAR SIR, — I write to let you know how I
am getting along. Hard times here. I have not had one hour to go outside the place since I have been on it. I put my trust in the Lord to help me. I long to hear from you all. I written to hear from you all. Mr. Bigelow, I hope you will not forget me. You know it was not my fault that I am here. I hope you will name me to Mr. Geden, Mr. Chaplin, Mr. Bailey, to help me out of it. I believe that if they would make the least move to it that it could be done. I long to hear from my family how they are getting along. You will please to write to me just to let me know how they are getting along. You can write to me.

  I remain your humble servant, THOMAS DUCKET.

  You can direct your letters to Thomas Ducket, in care of Mr. Samuel T. Harrison, Louisiana, near Bayou Goula. For God’s sake, let me hear from you all My wife and children are not out of my mind, day nor night.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  KIDNAPPING.

  THE principle which declares that one human being may lawfully hold another as property leads directly to the trade in human beings; and that trade has, among its other horrible results, the temptation to the crime of kidnapping.

  The trader is generally a man of coarse nature and low associations, hard-hearted, and reckless of right or honour. He who is not so is an exception, rather than a specimen. If he has anything good about him when he begins the business, it may well be seen that he is in a fair way to lose it.

  Around the trader are continually passing and repassing men and women who would be worth to him thousands of dollars in the way of trade — who belong to a class whose rights nobody respects, and who, if reduced to slavery, could not easily make their word good against him. The probability is that hundreds of free men and women and children are all the time being precipitated into slavery in this way.