Autobiography of a Female SlaveBrowne, Martha Griffith
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Autobiography of a Female Slave
Browne, Martha Griffith
African American women -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Enslaved women -- Fiction; Kentucky -- Fiction; Slavery -- Fiction
After spreading the snowy drapery over the body, Miss Bradly covered all
the furniture with white napkins, giving to the room the appearance of a
death-like chill. There were no warm, rosy, life-like tints. Upon
entering it, the very heart grew icy and still. The family, one by one,
retired to their own apartments for the indulgence of private and sacred
grief!
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FUNERAL--MISS BRADLY'S DEPARTURE--THE DISPUTE--SPIRIT QUESTIONS.
When I entered the kitchen, I found the servants still weeping
violently.
"Poor soul," said Sally, "he's at rest now. If he hain't gone to heaven,
'taint no use of havin' any; fur he war de best critter I iver seed. He
never gived me a cross word in all his life-time. Oh, Lord, he am gone
now!"
"I 'members de time, when Mister Jones whipt me, dat young masser comed
to me wid some grease and rubbed me all over, and talked so kind to me.
Den he tell me not to say nothin' 'bout it, and I niver did mention it
from dat day until dis."
"Wal, he was mighty good," added Jake, "and I's sorry he's dead."
"I'se glad he got us our freedom afore he died. I wonder if we'll git
it?" asked Nace, who was always intent upon selfishness.
"Laws! didn't he promise? Den he mus' keep his word," added Jake.
I made no comment. My thoughts upon the subject I kept locked in the
depths of my own bosom. I knew then, as now, that natures like Mr.
Peterkin's could be changed only by the interposition of a miracle. He
had now shrunk beneath the power of a sudden blow of misfortune; but
this would soon pass away, and the savage nature would re-assert itself.
All that gloomy night, I watched with Miss Bradly and Dr. Mandy beside
the corpse. Often whilst the others dozed, would I steal to the bed and
turn down the covering, to gaze upon that still pale face! Reverently I
placed my hand upon that rich golden head, with its band of flowers.
There is an angel-like calm in the repose of death; a subdued awe that
impresses the coldest and most unbelieving hearts! As I looked at that
still body, which had so lately been illumined by a radiant soul, and
saw the noble look which the face yet wore, I inwardly exclaimed, 'Tis
well for those who sleep in the Lord!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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