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
I fancied that I heard a voice answer, as from the clouds,
"No, there are a few bitterer drops that must yet be drunk. Press the
goblet still closer to your lips."
I shuddered coldly as the last tones of the imagined voice died away
upon the soft night air.
"Is that," I cried, "a prophet warning? Comes it to me now that I may
gird my soul for the approaching warfare? Let me, then, put on my helmet
and buckler, and, like a life-tired soldier, rush headlong into the
thickest of the fight, praying that the first bullet may prove a friend
and drink my blood!"
Yet I shrank, like the weakest and most fearful of my race, when the
distant cotton-fields rose upon my mental view! There, beneath the heat
of a "hot and copper sky," I saw myself wearily tugging at my assigned
task; yet my fear was not for the physical trouble that awaited me. Had
Henry been going, "down the river" would have had no terror for me; but
I was to part from joy, from love, from life itself! Oh, why, why have
we--poor bondsmen and bondswomen--these fine and delicate sensibilities?
Why do we love? Why are we not all coarse and hard, mere human beasts of
burden, with no higher mental or moral conception, than obedience to the
will or caprice of our owners?
Night closed over this second weary day. And thus passed on many days
and nights. I did some plain sewing by way of employment, and at the
command of a mulatto woman, who was the kept mistress of Atkins, and
therefore placed in authority over us. Many of the women were hired out
to residents of the city on trial, and if they were found to be
agreeable and good servants, perhaps they were purchased. Before sending
them out, Mr. Atkins always called them to him, and, shaking his cane
over their heads, said,
"Now, you d----d hussy, or rascal (as they chanced to be male or female)
if you behave yourselves well, you'll find a good home; but you dare to
get sick or misbehave, and be sent back to me, and I'll thrash you in an
inch of your cursed life."
With this demoniacal threat ringing in their ears, it is not likely that
the poor wretches started off with any intention of bad conduct.
We constantly received accessions to our number, but never acquisitions,
for the poor, ill-fed, ill-kept wretches that came in there, "sold (as
Atkins said) for a mere song," were desolate and revolting to see.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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