Autobiography of a Female SlaveBrowne, Martha Griffith
History
Autobiography of a Female Slave
Browne, Martha Griffith
African American women -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Enslaved women -- Fiction; Kentucky -- Fiction; Slavery -- Fiction
"Good-bye, Ann," he said, extending his hand to me, "good-bye, and keep
of good cheer; the Lord will be with you." I looked at him, and saw that
his lip was quivering; and his dark eye glittered with a furtive tear. I
dared not trust my voice, so, with a grateful pressure of the hand, I
passed him by, keeping up my composure right stoutly. At the foot of the
stair I met Louise, who was weeping.
"I believe you, Ann, we all believe you, and the Lord will make it
appear on the day of your trial that you are right, only keep up your
spirits, and read this," and she slipped a little pocket-Testament into
my hand, which was a welcome present.
Now, I thought, the last trial is over. All the tender ones who love me
have spoken their comforting words, and I may resume my pride and
hauteur; but no--standing within the vestibule was the man whom I
reverenced above all others, Mr. Trueman. One effort more, and then I
might be calm; but before the sunshine of his kindliness the snow and
ice of my pride melted and passed away in showers of tears. The first
glance of his pitying countenance made me weep. I was weary and
heavy-laden, and, even as to a mortal brother, I longed to pour into his
ear the pent-up agony of my soul.
"Poor girl," he said kindly, as he offered me his white and
finely-formed hand, "I believe you innocent; there is that in your
clear, womanly look, your unaffected utterance, that proves to me you
are worthy to be heard. Trust in God."
Oh, can I ever forget the diamond-like glister of his blue eyes! and
_that tear_ was evoked from its fountain for my sorrow; even then I felt
a thrill of joy. We love to have the sympathy and confidence of the
truly great. I made no reply, in words, to Mr. Trueman, but he
understood me.
Conducted by the constable, I passed through a number of streets, all
crowded with the busy and active, perhaps the _happy_. Ah, what a fable
that word seemed to express! I used to doubt every smiling face I saw,
and think it a _radiant lie_! but, since then, though in a subdued
sense, I have learned that mortals may be happy.
We stopped, after a long walk, in front of a large building of Ionic
architecture, and of dark brown stone, ornamented by beautiful flutings,
with a tasteful slope of rich sward in front, adorned with a variety of
flowers and shrubbery. Through this we passed and reached the first
court, which was surrounded by a high stone-wall. Passing through a low
door-way, we stood on the first pave; here I was surrendered to the
keeping of the jailer, a man apparently devoid of generosity and
humanity. After hearing from Constable Calcraft an account of the crime
for which I was committed, he observed--
"A sassy, impudent, _on_ruly gal, I guess; we have plenty _sich_; this
will larn her a lessin. Come with me," he said, as he turned his
besotted face toward me.
Through dirty, dark, filthy passages I went, until we reached a gloomy,
loathsome apartment, in which he rudely thrust me, saying--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account