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
"Oh, I sicken over these stories," said the same winning voice. "How
long will Christians willingly resist the known truth? How long will
they bay at heaven with their cruel blasphemies? For I hold it to be
blasphemy when a body of Christians, professing to be followers of Him
who came from heaven to earth, and assumed the substance of humanity to
teach us a lesson, argue thus. Our Great Model declares that 'He came
not to be ministered unto but to minister.' He inculcated practically
the lesson of humility in the washing of the disciples' feet; yet, these
His modern disciples, the followers of to-day, preach, even from the
sacred desk, the right of men to hold their fellow-creatures in bondage
through endless generations, to sell them for gold, to beat them, to
keep them in a heathenish ignorance; and yet declare that it all has the
divine sanction. Verily, oh night of Judaism, thou wast brighter than
this our noon-day of Christianity! Black and bitter is the account, oh
Church of God, that thou art gathering to thyself! I could pray for a
tongue of inspiration, wherewith to denounce this foul crime. I could
pray for the power to show to my country the terrible stain she has
painted upon the banner of freedom. How dare we, as Americans, boast of
this as the home and temple of liberty? Where are the 'inalienable
rights' of which our Constitution talks in such trumpet-tones? Does not
our Declaration of Independence aver, that all men are born free and
equal? Now, do we not make this a practical falsehood? Let the poor
slave come up to the tribunal of justice, and ask the wise judge upon
the bench to interpret this piece of plain English to him! How would the
man of ermine blush at his own quibbles?"
I could tell from the speaker's voice that he had risen from his seat,
and I knew, from the sound of footsteps, that he was approaching the
window. I crouched down lower and lower, in order to conceal myself from
observation, but gazed up to behold one whose noble sentiments and bold
expression of them had so entranced me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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