Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1846-06-04
The Heart Of a Slave,


ography of Frederick Douglass, once held as
a slave-a cAattct personaI-but now freeman,
having escaped from the prlson-house OF South
ern bondage, and put himself without the pale
and beyond the benign influence OF the .pecH-
liar institution of Slavery. lie is now oh
tour through Europe, and at the present time
in Glasgow, where he exces universal adml-
ration.
Very soon after my return TO Baltimore, my
mistress, Lucretia, died, leaving her husband
and one child, Amanda and in a very sholt
time after her death, Master Andrew died.
Now all the properly Of my old master, slaves
included, was in the hand Of strangers-strar-
gers who had nothing to do with accommodating
it. Not a slave was left free. All remained
slaves, from the youngest TO the Oldest. il any
one thing in my experience, more than another,
served to deepen my conviction OF the internal
character of slavery, and to fill me with unut-
terabe oathing of Shareholders, it was their base
ingratitude to my poor old grandmother She
had served my old master faithfully from youth
to old age She had been the source Of all his
wealth she had peopled his plantation with
slaves she had become great grandmother In
his service She had rocked him in infancy,
attended him in childhood, served him through
life, and at his death, wiped from his icy brow
the cold death-sweat and closed his eyes forever.
She was nevertheless left a slave-a slave for
Ilife-a slave in the hands of strangers and in
their hands, she saw her children, her grand
children, her great-grand- chlluren, divided like
so many sheep, without being gratifed with the
&c ;pnlo UOrH in
her destiny. And to cap the climax Of their
base ingratitude and fendish barbarity my grand
mother, who was now very old, having outlived
my old master and all his children, having
seen the beginning and end of all Ct them, and
her present owners finding she was of but little
value, her frame already racked with the
pains of old age, and complete helplessness
stealing over her once active limbs they took
her to the woods, built her little hut, put up
little mud chimney, and then made her wei
come to the privilege Of supporting herself there,
in perfect loneliness; thus virtually turning her
out to die If my poor old grandmother now
lives, it is to suffer in utter loneliness; she lives
to remember and mourn over the loss Of children,
the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great
grandchildren. They are, in the language Of
the slaves poet Whittier
Gone, gone, sold and gone
To the rice swamps dank and lone,
Where the slave whip ceasless swings,
Il Where the noisome insect stings,
Where the feVerdemon strews
= Poison with the falling dews,
Where the sicky sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air.
Gone, gone, sold and gone
, To the rice swamp dank and lone,
From Virgnias hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughtersF
"The heart is desollte The children, the
unconscious children, who sang and danced in
her presence, are gone. She gropes her way in
the darkness of age for drink of water. In
stead of the voices of her children, she hears by
day the means of the dove, and by night the
screams of the owl All now is gloom. The
grave is at the door And now, weighed down
! by the pains aud qches Of old age when the
e head incnes to the feet, when the beginning
: and ending of human existences meet, and help
less infancy and painful old age, combine togeth-
. er,-at this time, this most needful time, the
e time for the exercise Of that tenderness and af-
| lection which children only can exercise towards
II
! the devoted mother of twelve children, is left a.
f lone in yonder little hut, before few dim en-
: bers. She stands-she sits-she staggers-she
. faIls-she groans-she des-and there are none
t of her children or grandchildren present to wipe
. from her wrinkled brow the cold sweat ofdeath,
d or to place beneath the sod her fallen remains
S Will not righteous God visit for these
, things"
: What portraiture this, of some of the no
t blest sentiments of the human heart Who
0 shall any longer doubt that slaves may have their
+ full share of human sympathes, and of the most
= exalted kindl We should like to see some a.
pologist OF slavery set himself to search the rec
ords of history for a better or like specimen of
a noble-hearted humanity in bosoms where the
genuine slave-spirt has had sway from youth
up. Nay, those finer and nober sensbilities Of
0 human hearts are not begotten by the exercise
t ofoppression.
i, Let it be said in the oppressor's vindication
' that every slave is not Frederick Douglass.
\ We know that but to well. 1t is Slavery's
worst fault, that with iron heel it brushes down
not only the body, but the sOul-as much as it
possibly can. Thousands among the colored
: race might aud would have had all the noble
] sentiments and sensbties of Douglass, if
Slavery had not crushed their spirits The few
souls no earthly tyranny can crush, show what
the colored race, redeemed from Slavery's curse,
might be-
Let Frederick Douglass go on and lift up his
, voice for humanity, and for his down-trodden
bretheren. Our iull hearts bid him God-speed,
} o, rise thousand other such Then the pill,
lars Of Oppression would shake to their deep
/ foundation. Such men as Douglass will find
refuge for themselves and their bretheren in the
sanctuary Of the great hearts Of our race, and
their bondage shall be to us as the bondage OF
! our own children Then the days ofoPPresslon
are numberad