Step by Step Part 1

Step by Step.

by The American Tract Society.

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION.

MY DEAR CHILDREN,--All of you who read this little book have doubtless heard more or less of slavery. You know it is the system by which a portion of our people hold their fellow-creatures as property, and doom them to perpetual servitude. It is a hateful and accursed inst.i.tution, which G.o.d can not look upon but with abhorrence, and which no one of his children should for a moment tolerate. It is opposed to every thing Christian and humane, and full of all meanness and cruelty. It treats a fellow-being, only because his skin is not so fair as our own, as though he were a dumb animal or a piece of furniture. It allows him no expression of choice about any thing, and no liberty of action. It recognizes and employs all the instincts of the lower, but ignores and tramples down all the faculties of his higher, nature. Can there be a greater wrong?

It is said by some, in extenuation of this wrong, that the slaves are well fed and clothed, and are kindly, even affectionately, looked after. This is true, in some cases,--with the house-servants, particularly,--but, as a general thing, their food and clothing are coa.r.s.e and insufficient. But supposing it was otherwise; supposing they were provided for with as much liberality as are the working cla.s.ses at the North, what is that when put into the balance with all the ills they suffer? What comfort is it, when a wife is torn from her husband, or a mother from her children, to know that each is to have enough to eat?

None at all. The most generous provision for the body can not satisfy the longings of the heart, or compensate for its bereavements.

They suffer, also, a constant dread and fear of change, which is not the least of their torturing troubles. A kind owner may be taken away by death, and the new one be harsh and cruel; or necessity may compel him to sell his slaves, and thus they may be thrown into most unhappy situations. So they live with a heavy cloud of sorrow always before them, which their eyes can not look through or beyond. There is no hope--no EARTHLY hope--for this poor, oppressed race.

Their minds, too, are starved. No education, not even the least, is allowed. It is a criminal offense in some of the States to teach a slave to read. Now, if they could be made to exist without any consciousness of intellectual capacity, it would not be so bad. But this is impossible. They think and reason and wonder about things which they see and hear; and, in many cases, feel an eager desire to be instructed.

This desire can not be gratified, because it would unfit them for their servile condition; therefore all teaching is rigidly denied them. The treasures of knowledge are bolted and barred to their approach, and they are kept in the utmost darkness and ignorance. Oh, to starve the mind!--Is it not far worse than to starve the body?

There is yet another process of famishing to which the slaves are subjected. They are not, as a general thing, taught by their masters about G.o.d, the salvation of Jesus Christ or the way to heaven. The SOUL is starved. To be sure, they pick up, here and there, a few crumbs of religious truth, and make the most of their scanty supply. Many of them truly love the Lord; and his unseen presence and joyful antic.i.p.ations of heaven make them submissive to their hardships, and cheerful and faithful in their duties. But they can not thank their masters for what religious light and knowledge they get.

And who are these that hold their fellow-creatures in such cruel bondage, starving body, mind, and soul with such indifference and inhumanity? We blush to tell you. Many of them are of the number of those who profess to love the Lord their G.o.d with all the heart, and their neighbor as themselves. Can it be possible that G.o.d's own children can partic.i.p.ate in such a wickedness; can buy and sell, beat and kill, their fellow-creatures? Can those who have humbly repented of sin, and by faith accepted of the salvation of Jesus Christ, turn from his holy cross to abuse others who are redeemed by the same precious blood, and are heirs to the same glorious immortality? CAN such be Christians?

And, children, you probably all understand that slavery is the sole cause of the sad war which is now ravaging our beloved country; and Christian people are praying, not only that the war may cease, but that the sin which has caused it may cease also. We believe that G.o.d is overruling all things to bring about this happy result, and before this little story shall meet your eyes, there may be no more slaves within our borders. Still we shall not have written it in vain, if it help you to realize, more clearly than you have done, the sufferings and degradation to which this unfortunate cla.s.s have been subjected, and to labor with zeal in the work which will then devolve upon us of educating and elevating them.

My story is not one of UNUSUAL interest. Thousands and ten of thousands equally affecting might be told, and many far more romantic and thrilling. What a day will that be, when the recorded history of every slave-life shall be read before an a.s.sembled universe! What a long catalogue of martyrs and heroes will then be revealed! What complicated tales of wrongs and woes! What crowns and palms of victory will then be awarded! What treasures of wrath heaped up against the day of wrath will then be poured in fiery indignation upon deserving heads! Truly, then, will come to pa.s.s the saying of the Lord Jesus, "The first shall be last and the last first."

Then, too, will appear most gloriously the loving kindness and tender mercy of G.o.d, who loves to stoop to the poor and humble, and to care for those who are friendless and alone. It seems as if our Heavenly Father took special delight in revealing the truths of salvation to this untutored people, in a mysterious way leading them into gospel light and liberty; so that though men take pains to keep them in ignorance, mult.i.tudes of them give evidence of piety, and find consolation for their miseries in the sweet love of G.o.d.

It is the dealings of G.o.d in guiding one of these to a knowledge of himself, that I wish to relate to you in the following chapters.

CHAPTER II. THE BABY.

IN a snug corner of a meager slave-cabin, on a low cot, lies a little babe asleep. A scarlet honeysuckle of wild and luxuriant growth shades the uncurtained and unsashed window; and the humming-birds, flitting among its brilliant blossoms, murmur a constant, gentle lullaby for the infant sleeper. See, its skin is not so dark but that we may clearly trace the blue veins underlying it; the lips, half parted, are lovely as a rosebud; and the soft, silky curls are dewy as the flowers on this June morning. A dimpled arm and one naked foot have escaped from the gay patch-work quilt, which some fond hand has closely tucked about the little form; and the breath comes and goes quickly, as if the folded eyes were feasting on visions of beauty and delight. Dear little one!

"We should see the spirits ringing Round thee, were the clouds away; 'Tis the child-heart draws them, singing In the silent-seeming clay."

Though that child-heart beats beneath a despised skin, though it has its resting-place in a hovel, the angels may be there. Their loving, pitying natures shrink not from poverty, but stoop with heavenly sympathy to the mean abodes of suffering and misery.

A soft step steals in through the half-opened door, across the room, and a fervent kiss is laid on the little velvet cheek.

Who is the intruder? Ah, who cares to watch and smile over a sleeping infant, save its mother? Here, in this rude cabin, is a mother's heart,--tender with its holy affections, and all aglow with delight, as she gazes on the beautiful vision before her.

We must call the mother Annie. She had but one name, for she was a slave. Like the horse or the dog, she must have some appellation by which, as an individual, she might be designated; a sort of appendage on which to hang, as it were, the commands, threats, and severities that from time to time might be administered; but farther than that, for her own personal uses, why did she need a name? She was not a person, only a thing,--a piece of property belonging to the Carroll estate.

But for all that, she was a woman and a mother. G.o.d had sealed her such, and who could obliterate his impress, or rob her of the crown he had placed about her head,--a crown of thorns though it were? Her heart was as full of all sweet motherly instincts as if she had been born in a more favored condition; and the swarthy complexion of her child made it no less dear or lovely in her sight; while a consciousness of its degradation and sad future served only to deepen and intensify her love.

She knew what her child was born to suffer; but affection thrust far away the evil day, that she might not lose the happiness of the present.

The babe was hers,--her own,--and for long years yet would be her joy and comfort.

Annie had other children, but they were wild, romping boys, grown out of their babyhood, and so very naturally left to run and take care of themselves. She had not ceased to love them, however, and would have manifested it more, but for the idol, the little girl baby, which had now for nearly a year nestled in her arms, and completely possessed her heart. When they were hungry, they came like chickens about her cabin-door, and being mistress of the kitchen, she always had plenty of good, substantial crumbs for them; and when they were sick, she nursed them with pitying care; but this was about all the attention they received.

The baby engrossed every leisure moment she could command. Many times a day she would pause in her work to caress it. She would seat it upon the floor, amid a perfect bed of honeysuckle blossoms, and bring the bright orange gourds that grew around the door for its amus.e.m.e.nt. Sometimes a broken toy or a shining trinket, which she had picked up in the house, or a smooth pebble from the yard, would be added to the treasures of the little one. Then she would come with food, the soft-boiled rice, or the sweet corn gruel, she knew so well how to prepare; and often, often she would steal in, as now, out of pure fondness, to watch its peaceful slumbers.

"Named the pickaninny yet?" asked the master one day, as he pa.s.sed the cabin, and carelessly looked in upon the mother and child amusing themselves within. "'Tis time you did; 'most time to turn her off now, you see."

"Oh, Ma.s.sa, don't say dat word," answered the woman, imploringly.

"'Pears I couldn't b'ar to turn her off yet,--couldn't live without her, no ways. Reckon I'll call her Tidy; dat ar's my sister's name, and she's got dat same sweet look 'bout de eyes,--don't you think so, Ma.s.sa? Poor Tidy! she's"--and Annie stopped, and a deep sigh, instead of words, filled up the sentence, and tears dropped down upon the baby's forehead.

Memory traveled back to that dreadful night when this only sister had been dragged from her bed, chained with a slave-gang, and driven off to the dreaded South, never more to be heard from.

WE talk of the "sunny South;"--to the slave, the South is cold, dark, and cheerless; the land of untold horrors, the grave of hope and joy.

"'Pears as if my poor old mudder," said Annie, brushing away the tears, "never got up right smart after Tidy went away. She'd had six children sold from her afore, and she set stores by her and me, 'cause we was girls, and we was all she had left, too. Tidy was pooty as a flower; and dat's just what your fadder, Ma.s.sa Carroll, sold her for. My poor mudder--how she cried and took on! but then she grew more settled like.

She said she'd gi'n her up for de good Lord to take care on. She said, if he could take care of de posies in de woods, he certain sure would look after her, and so she left off groaning like; but she's never got over that sad look in her face. 'Oh,' says she to me, says she, 'Annie, do call dat leetle cretur's name Tidy,--mebbe 'twill make my poor, sore heart heal up;' and so I will."

"So I would, Annie; yes, so I would," said the Master soothingly. "So I would, if 'twill be any comfort to poor old Marcia,--clever old soul she is. She was my mammy, and I was always fond of her. She has trotted me on her knee, and toted me about on her back, many an hour. I must go down to the quarters this very day, and see if she has things comfortable. She's getting old, and we must do well by her in her old age. And you, Annie, you mustn't mind those other things. We mustn't borrow trouble. And we can't help it, you know; and we mustn't cry and fret for what we can't help. What's the use? It don't do any good, you see, and only makes a bad matter worse. Must take things as they come, in this world of ours, Annie;" and the Master thought thus to a.s.suage the tide of bitter recollection in the breast of his down-trodden bond-woman, and divert her mind from the painful future before her and her darling child. In vain. The tears still fell over the brow of the baby, flowing from the deep fountain of sorrow and tenderness that springs forth only from a mother's heart.

"Oh, Ma.s.sa," she ventured timidly to say amid her sobs, "please don't never part baby and me."

"Be a good girl, Annie," said he, "and mind your work, and don't be borrowing trouble. We'll take good care of you. You've got a nice baby, that's a fact,--the smartest little thing on the whole plantation; see how well you can raise her now."

The fond heart of the trembling mother leaped back again to its happiness at the praise bestowed upon her baby; and taking up the little blossom, she laid it with pride upon her bosom, murmuring, "Years of good times we'll have, sweety, afore sich dark days come,--mebbe they'll never come to you and me."

Alas, vain hope! Scarcely a single year had pa.s.sed, when one day she came to the cot to look at the little sleeper, and lo, her treasure was gone! The master had found it convenient, in making a sale of some field hands, to THROW IN this infant, by way of closing a satisfactory bargain.

None can tell, but those who have gone through the trying experience, how hard it is for a mother to part with her child when G.o.d calls it away by death. But oh, how much harder it must be to have a babe torn away from the maternal arms by the stern hand of oppression, and flung out on the cruel tide of selfishness and pa.s.sion! Let us weep, dear children, for the poor slave mothers who have to endure such wrongs.

I will not undertake to describe the distress of this poor woman when the knowledge of her loss burst upon her. It was as when the tall tree is shivered by the lightning's blast. Her strong frame shook and trembled beneath the shock; her eye rolled and burned in tearless anguish, and her voice failed her in the intensity of her grief. For hours she was unable to move. Alone, uncomforted, she lay upon the earth, crushed beneath the weight of this unexpected calamity.

"Leave her alone," said the master, "and let her grieve it out. The cat will mew when her kittens are taken away. She'll get over it before long, and come up again all right."

"Ye mus' b'ar it, chile," said Annie's poor, old mother, drawing from her own experience the only comfort which could be of any avail. "De bressed Lord will help ye; n.o.body else can. I's so sorry for ye, honey; but yer poor, old mudder can't do noffin. 'Tis de yoke de Heavenly Ma.s.sa puts on yer neck, and ye can't take it off nohow till he ondoes it hissef wid his own hand. Ye mus' b'ar it, and say, De will ob de bressed Lord be done."

But, trying as this separation was, it proved to be the first link in that chain of loving-kindnesses by which this little slave-child was to be drawn towards G.o.d. Do you remember this verse in the Bible: "I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee."

CHAPTER III. SUNSHINE.

IF ever there was a sunshiny corner of slavery, it was that into which a kind Providence dropped this little, helpless babe, now but a little more than two years old.

It was a pleasant day in early spring when Colonel Lee alighted from his gig before the family mansion at Rosevale, and laid the child, as a present, at the feet of his daughter Matilda.

Miss Matilda Lee was about thirty years of age,--as active and thrifty a little woman as could be found any where within the domains of this cruel system of oppression. Slavery is like a two-edged knife, cutting both ways. It not only destroys the black, but demoralizes and ruins the white race. Those who hold slaves are usually indolent, proud, and inefficient. They think it a disgrace to work by the side of the negro, and therefore will allow things to be left in a very careless, untidy way, rather than put forth their energy to alter or improve them. And as it is impossible for slaves, untaught and degraded as they are, to give a neat and thrifty appearance to their homes, we, who have been brought up at the North, accustomed to work ourselves, a.s.sisted by well-trained domestics, can scarcely realize the many discomforts often to be experienced in Southern houses. But Miss Lee was unusually energetic and helpful, desirous of having every thing about her neat and tasteful, and not afraid to do something towards it with her own hands.

Being the eldest daughter, the entire charge of the family had devolved upon her since the death of her mother, which had occurred about ten years before. Within this time, her brothers and sisters had been married, and now she and her father were all that were left at the old homestead.

Their servants, too, had dwindled away. Some had been given to the sons and daughters when they left the parental roof; some had died, and others had been sold to pay debts and furnish the means of living. Old Rosa, the cook, Nancy, the waiting-maid, and Methuselah, the ancient gardener, were all the house-servants that remained. So they lived in a very quiet and frugal way; and Miss Matilda's activities, not being entirely engrossed with family cares, found employment in the nurture of flowers and pets.

The grounds in front of the old-fashioned mansion had been laid out originally in very elaborate style; and, though of late years they had been greatly neglected, they still retained traces of their former splendor. The rose-vines on the inside of the enclosure had grown over the low, brick wall, to meet and mingle with the trees and bushes outside, till together they formed a solid and luxuriant ma.s.s of verdure. White and crimson roses shone amid the dark, glossy foliage of the mountain-laurel, which held up with st.u.r.dy stem its own rich cl.u.s.ters of fluted cups, that seemed to a.s.sert equality with the queen of flowers, and would not be eclipsed by the fragrant loveliness of their beautiful dependents. The borders of box, which had once been trimmed and trained into fanciful points and tufts and convolutions of verdure, had grown into misshapen clumps; and the white, pebbly walks no longer sparkled in the sunlight.