This article is based on an original English autobiography of a black slave girl in the United States, published in Boston in 1861. The book chronicles the life of Linda Brent, a 19th-century American slave girl, and her tragic experiences as a slave, including depictions of the exploitation of slaves on their plantations and escape from their owners, who eventually gained their freedom. This book is translated by Shirin and all rights reserved.
The life story of a black slave girl
—The autobiography of Linda Brent
"Northerners were legal in southern states before the abolition of slavery in the United States, and slaves were not in the North. After the Civil War, black slavery in the United States was abolished. Nothing was known about slavery. They think it's just permanent slavery. They do not know the extent of the depravity involved in the word slavery; if they did, they would never cease their efforts until such a terrible system was overthrown. ”
—A woman in North Carolina.
The life story of a black slave girl – seven years of obscurity
Dr. Flint was a nearby doctor who had married my mother's sister, and I am now the property of their youngest daughter. I prepared my new home, not without complaints; what made me even more unhappy was that my brother William had bought it from the same family. My father, by virtue of his nature, and his habit of handling affairs as a skilled mechanic, had more free human feelings than slaves. My brother was an energetic boy; growing up under such influence, he hated the names of his master and mother every day. One day, when his father and mother-in-law happened to call him at the same time, he hesitated; not knowing which one had the greatest demands on his obedience. He finally decided to go to his master mother. When my father scolded him for this, he said, "You both called me, and I don't know which one to go to first." ”
"You are my child," replied the father, "and when I call you, even if you are going to cross the great river of the fire pit, you should come at once." ”
Poor Willie! He was now going to learn the first lesson of obedience to his master. Grandmothers tried to encourage us with hopeful words, and they found echoes in the credulous hearts of young people.
When we entered our new home, we were met with indifferent expressions, indifferent words, and indifferent treatment. When night fell, we were happy. In my narrow bed, I groaned and cried, and I felt so desolate and lonely.
I've been there for almost a year, and one of my dear little friends was buried. As the dirt block landed on the only daughter's coffin, I heard her mother crying, and I turned from the grave, glad I still had something to love. I met my grandmother and she said, "Come with me, Linda." "I knew from her tone that something sad had happened. She pulled me away from the crowd and said, "My child, your father is dead." "Dead! How can I believe that? He died so suddenly that I hadn't even heard of him getting sick. My grandmother and I went home. My heart betrayed God, who took away my mother, father, mistress and friends. The good grandmother tried to comfort me. "Who knows God's way?" She said. "Maybe they have been taken away with mercy from the evil days ahead." Years later, I think about this a lot. She promised to be the mother of her grandchildren as much as possible; her love for me made me stronger, and I returned to my master's house. I thought that the next morning I should be allowed to go to my father's house; but I was ordered to buy flowers so that my mistress's house could be decorated for an evening party. I spent the whole day collecting flowers and weaving them into flowers while my father's body lay less than a mile away from me. What makes my master care so much? He was just a fortune. In addition, they think he doted on his children because he taught them to feel human. This is a blasphemous dogma for the slave; he is self-righteous and dangerous to his master.
The next day, I followed his body to a humble grave next to my dear mother. Some people know my father's worth and respect his memories.
My home now seems duller than ever. The laughter of the slave children sounded harsh and cruel. It is selfish to care so much about the happiness of others. My brother walked around with a serious face. I tried to comfort him, saying, "Willie, summon up the courage that the days of light will pass day by day." ”
"You don't know anything about it, Linda," he replied. "We've got to stay here for the rest of our lives, we'll never have freedom."
I argue that we are growing up and getting stronger, and that perhaps soon the director may allow us our own time, and then we can earn money to buy our freedom. William declared that this was easier said than done; moreover, he had no intention of paying for his freedom. We debate this issue every day.
Almost no one cared about the food of Dr. Flint's slaves. If they can get a bite to eat on the road, that's fine. At this point, I don't have to worry much, because in my various errands I pass by my grandmother's house, where there is always something extra for me. If I stopped there, I was often threatened with punishment; my grandmother, in order not to delay me, often stood in the doorway with something and prepared breakfast or dinner for me. I am grateful that she gave me all the comfort, both mentally and temporally. She worked tirelessly to provide me with clothes. I vividly remember the Lindsay cardigan mrs. Flint gave me every winter. How I hate it! This is one of the hallmarks of slavery.
Although my grandmother thus helped me from her hard earned income, she lent her hostess three hundred dollars and never repaid it. When her mistress died, her son-in-law, Dr. Flint, was appointed executor. When his grandmother applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent and payment was prohibited by law. However, this did not prevent him from buying a silver candlestick with the money. I think they'll pass it on from generation to generation in the family.
My grandmother's mistress always assured her that after her death she should be free; it is said that she kept her promise in her will. But when the property was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful old servant that, in the present circumstances, it was necessary to sell her.
On the appointed day, the sale advertisement was posted, announcing "the public sale of blacks, horses, etc." Dr. Flint called out and told my grandmother that he was unwilling to hurt her feelings through auctions, and that he preferred to sell her privately. My grandmother saw through his hypocrisy; she knew very well that he was ashamed of the job. She was a very backbone woman, and if he was despicable enough to betray her, she was determined to let everyone know when her mistress intended to set her free. For a long time, she provided cookies and preserves to many families; therefore, everyone knew her name as "Aunt Marty", and everyone who knew her respected her intelligence and good character. Her long and loyal service in the family is also well known, and her mistress intends to set her free. When the auction day came, she had a place in the movable property, and as soon as she heard the shout, she jumped on the auction table. Many voices shouted, "It's bad! It sucks! Who's going to sell you, Aunt Marty? Don't stand there! That's not where you stand. She didn't say a word, quietly waiting for her fate. No one bid for her. Finally, a faint voice said, "Fifty dollars." "The bid was a 70-year-old virgin who was the sister of my grandmother's late hostess. She had lived with my grandmother for forty years; she knew how faithfully she had served her master and how cruelly her rights had been taken away; she was determined to protect her. The auctioneer waited for a higher bid; but everyone respected her wishes; no one bid higher than hers. She could neither read nor write; when the sales order was opened, she signed it with a cross. But when she has a big heart full of love, what is the consequence? She gave the old servant freedom.
At that time, my grandmother was only 50 years old. Since then, the hard years have passed; now my brother and I are slaves to the man who cheated her money and tried to swindle her freedom. One of my mother's sisters was Aunt Nancy, who was also a slave to his family. She was a kind and good aunt to me; offered the position of housekeeper and maid to her mistress. In fact, it was her who started and ended everything.
Like many Southern women, Mrs. Flint was energetic. She was incapable of managing the housework; but her nerves were so strong that she could sit in an easy chair and see a woman being whipped until blood flowed down with each draw. She was a member of the church; but attending the Lord's Supper did not seem to bring her into a Christian mindset. If, on a Given Sunday, dinner wasn't served on time, she would stand in the kitchen, wait for it to be served, and spit it out into all the kettles and pans used for cooking. She did this to prevent the cook and her children from using leftover gravy and other scraps to maintain their meager food. The slaves could not eat anything but what she had given them. Weigh food in pounds and ounces three times a day. I can assure you that she didn't give them the opportunity to eat the wheat bread in her flour bucket. She knew how many cookies a quart of flour could make, and the exact size of the cookies.
Dr. Flint is a foodie. The cook had always brought dinner to his table with fear and trepidation; for if there happened to be a dish that did not please Dr. Flint, he either ordered her to be whipped or forced her to eat it bite by bite in front of him. This poor, hungry fellow may not have objected to eating it; but she did object to having her master shove it into her throat until she suffocated.
They have a pet dog, which is a nasty thing in the house. The chef was instructed to make some Indian porridge for it. It refuses to eat, and when its head is held on it, the foam flows from its mouth into the basin. It died a few minutes later. When Dr. Flint came in, he said the paste wasn't cooked, which is why the animals don't eat it. He called the cook and forced her to eat. He thought the woman's stomach was stronger than the dog's; but then her pain proved him wrong. This poor woman endured much of the abuse of her master and housewife; sometimes she was locked up all day and night, away from the babies she was still waiting to feed.
(To be continued, welcome to follow me to read the full text)
The Life of a Slave Girl – The Autobiography of Linda Brent (1)
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![When they got married in the ninth year, their wives and children affectionately sent a recipe, and the first page said "Little Ash Must Read", which is now estimated to be thrown in the face. At that time, girls could cook as if it were a dowry[fig]](data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAP///wAAACwAAAAAAQABAAACAkQBADs=)