Narrative of Sojourner Truth (Updated Translation)

Book Summary

Sojourner Truth's "Narrative of Sojourner Truth," dictated to Olive Gilbert and published in 1850, stands as a powerful testament to one woman's journey from slavery to becoming a renowned abolitionist. Born Isabella Baumfree around 1797 in Ulster County, New York, she provides a unique perspective on slavery in the Northern states, where the institution, though less extensive than in the South, was no less dehumanizing.

The narrative begins with Truth's childhood in slavery, speaking Dutch before English, and experiencing the cruel separations of families under slavery. She describes being sold away from her parents at age nine, and the profound trauma of watching her own children being sold. Her account of these separations provides devastating insight into how slavery destroyed family bonds even in the supposedly more "benign" North.

A pivotal moment in the narrative occurs when Truth describes her spiritual awakening and her decision to walk to freedom in 1826, carrying her infant daughter. She explains her choice of the name "Sojourner Truth," adopted in 1843, reflecting her mission to travel and speak truth about slavery and women's rights. Her deep religious faith becomes a driving force in her activism.

The work details Truth's successful legal battle to recover her son Peter, who had been illegally sold into slavery in Alabama. This remarkable achievement made her one of the first black women to successfully challenge a white man in court. The narrative shows her growing consciousness of racial and gender injustice, and her emerging role as a public speaker and activist.

Truth's experiences with Christianity form a central theme throughout the narrative. She describes her complex relationships with various religious movements, including her time with the Methodists and the Millerites, while developing her own unique understanding of God and justice. Her faith becomes inseparable from her fight for human rights.

Narrative of Sojourner Truth (Modern, Updated Translation)

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Her birth and family background.

The person this biography is about, Sojourner Truth, as she now calls herself—but her original name was Isabella—was born, as best as she can figure, between the years 1797 and 1800. She was the daughter of James and Betsey, who were slaves owned by Colonel Ardinburgh in Hurley, Ulster County, New York.

Colonel Ardinburgh was part of the group of people known as Low Dutch.

She can't really remember her first master because she was just a baby when he passed away. After that, she, her parents, and about ten or twelve other people who were also considered property became the legal possessions of his son, Charles Ardinburgh. She clearly remembers her parents saying they were lucky because Master Charles was the best in the family. Compared to others, he was a kind master to his slaves.

James and Betsey, through their loyalty, willingness to learn, and respectful behavior, earned his special favor and received particular benefits from him. One of these benefits was a piece of land on the side of a mountain. By making good use of their evenings and Sundays, they managed to grow a little tobacco, corn, or flax, which they traded for extra food or clothing for themselves and their children. She doesn't recall ever having Saturday afternoons added to their personal time, as some masters in the Southern states do.

Lodging.

One of Isabella's earliest memories was when her master, Charles Ardinburgh, moved into his new house, which he had built to be a hotel, shortly after his father passed away. The basement of this hotel was given to his slaves as their sleeping quarters—all the slaves he owned, both men and women, slept in the same room, which was quite common in slavery. She still vividly remembers this gloomy room; its only light came from a few small windows, through which she thinks the sun never shone directly, but only with rays that were reflected multiple times. The gaps between the loose floorboards and the uneven ground below were often filled with mud and water, making uncomfortable splashing sounds that were as annoying as the harmful vapors were chilling and damaging to health. Even now, she shudders when she thinks back to this basement and sees its occupants, of all ages and both genders, sleeping on those damp boards, like horses, with just a little straw and a blanket. She isn't surprised by the rheumatism, fever sores, and paralysis that later distorted the limbs and tormented the bodies of those fellow slaves. Still, she doesn't blame this cruelty—because it certainly is cruel to be so careless about the health and comfort of any person, not to mention their more important, everlasting interests—so much on any inherent or natural cruelty of the master, but rather on the massive inconsistency, that inherited habit among slaveholders, of expecting willing and intelligent obedience from the slave because he is a man. At the same time, everything about the soul-crushing system tries its best to destroy the last trace of humanity within him; and when it is destroyed, and often before, he is denied life's comforts on the grounds that he neither knows the need for them nor how to use them, and because he is seen as little more or less than an animal.

Her brothers and sisters.

Isabella's father was very tall and straight when he was young, which earned him the nickname 'Bomefree'—low Dutch for tree—at least, that's how Sojourner pronounced it, and that's what he was usually called. Her mother was most commonly known as 'Mau-mau Bett.' She had around ten or twelve children, although Sojourner isn't sure of the exact number of her siblings. She was the youngest, except for one, and all her older siblings had been sold before she could remember them. She was fortunate enough to see six of them while she was still a slave.

Of the two siblings just older than her—a five-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl—who were sold when she was a baby, she heard a lot. She wishes that anyone who doubts that slave parents have natural affection for their children could have listened like she did. Bomefree and Mau-mau Bett, sitting in their dimly lit cellar with only a blazing pine-knot for light, would spend hours recalling and recounting every loving and heartbreaking memory they could muster about those dear children they were robbed of, and for whom their hearts still ached. Among their stories, they would describe how the little boy, on his last morning with them, got up with the birds and started a fire, calling for his Mau-mau to "come, for all was now ready for her"—completely unaware of the terrible separation that was so close, though his parents had a vague but even more painful sense of what was coming. There was snow on the ground at that time, and a large, old-fashioned sleigh pulled up to the door of the late Col. Ardinburgh. The boy noticed this with innocent delight, but when he was taken and placed in the sleigh and saw his little sister locked into the sleigh box, he suddenly realized what was happening. Like a frightened deer, he jumped out of the sleigh and ran into the house, hiding under a bed. But this didn't help him for long. He was brought back to the sleigh and separated forever from those whom God had made his natural guardians and protectors, and who should have found in him support in their later years. I won't comment on facts like these, knowing that every slave parent's heart will make its own comments, naturally and accurately, as soon as they imagine themselves in the same situation. Those who aren't parents will draw their conclusions from a sense of humanity and compassion—these, guided by reason and understanding, are also infallible.

Her religious education.

Isabella and her youngest brother, Peter, stayed with their parents as the legal property of Charles Ardinburgh until he passed away when Isabella was almost nine years old.

After this event, she was often surprised to find her mother in tears. When she innocently asked, "Mau-mau, why are you crying?" her mother would reply, "Oh, my child, I'm thinking of your brothers and sisters who have been sold away from me." She would then share many details about them. But Isabella had long since realized that it was the looming fate of her only remaining children, which her mother understood all too well even back then, that brought back those memories and broke her heart all over again.

In the evening, after her mom finished work, she would sit down under the starry sky and call her kids over to talk to them about the one being who could truly help or protect them. She spoke in Low Dutch, which was the only language she knew, and when translated into English, it went something like this:

"My children, there's a God who hears and sees you." "A God, really? Where does he live?" asked the children. "He lives in the sky," she replied. "And when you're beaten, treated badly, or in any kind of trouble, you should ask him for help, and he will always hear and help you." She taught them to kneel and say the Lord's Prayer. She urged them not to lie or steal and to try to obey their masters."

Sometimes, she'd let out a groan and start quoting the Psalms, saying, "Oh Lord, how long? Oh Lord, how long?" When Isabella asked her, "What's wrong, mau-mau?" she'd simply reply, "Oh, a lot is wrong with me—enough is wrong with me." Then she'd point to the stars and say in her unique way, "Those are the same stars, and that's the same moon, that look down on your brothers and sisters, and they see them too, even though they're so far away from us and each other."

In her own modest way, she tried to show them their heavenly Father as the only one who could protect them in their dangerous situation. At the same time, she aimed to strengthen and brighten the bonds of family love, hoping they were strong enough to connect the far-flung members of her beloved family. Isabella cherished and held her mother's teachings dear, as our future story will reveal.

The auction.

Finally, the unforgettable day of the dreadful auction arrived, when the "slaves, horses, and other cattle" of the late Charles Ardinburgh were to be sold off and change owners again. Not only Isabella and Peter, but their mother too, were set to be auctioned off and sold to the highest bidder, if not for the following situation: A question came up among the heirs, "Who will take care of Bomefree when we send away his loyal Mau-mau Bett?" He was getting weak and frail; his limbs were painfully stiff and twisted—more from exposure and hardship than from old age, even though he was several years older than Mau-mau Bett. He was no longer seen as valuable and would soon become a burden to someone. After some debate, since no one wanted to take on the responsibility, it was finally decided that the best option for the heirs was to sacrifice the price of Mau-mau Bett and grant her freedom, on the condition that she would take care of and support her loyal James—loyal not only to her as a husband but also famously loyal as a slave to those who wouldn't willingly spend a dollar for his comfort now that he was entering the difficult phase of old age and suffering. This important decision was received as incredibly joyful news by the elderly couple, who were the focus of it and who were trying to prepare themselves for a tough and entirely new challenge, as they had never been separated before. Despite being ignorant, helpless, crushed in spirit, and weighed down with hardship and cruel loss, they were still human, and their hearts beat with as true an affection as any human heart ever did. The thought of being separated now, in the twilight of their lives, after having their last child taken from them, must have been truly terrifying. They were granted another privilege—the chance to stay in the same dark, damp cellar I mentioned earlier. Otherwise, they had to support themselves as best they could. Since her mother could still do a fair amount of work and her father a little, they managed to get by quite comfortably for a while. The strangers who rented the house were kind people and very good to them; they weren't rich and didn't own any slaves. We don't know how long this situation lasted, as Isabella hadn't yet developed a good sense of time to measure years, or even weeks or hours. But she thinks her mother must have lived several years after Master Charles died. She remembers visiting her parents three or four times before her mother passed away, and it seemed like a lot of time passed between each visit.

Eventually, her mother's health started to get worse—a fever sore began to affect one of her limbs, and she started to experience tremors from palsy. Despite this, she and James managed to move around, gathering a little bit here and there. With the small contributions from their kind neighbors, they were able to get by and keep hunger at bay.

The Death of Mau-Mau Bett.

One morning, in early autumn (we can't say exactly what year for the reasons mentioned earlier), Mau-mau Bett told James she would make him a loaf of rye bread and ask Mrs. Simmons, their kind neighbor, to bake it for them since she would be baking that morning. James mentioned that he had agreed to help rake after the cart for their neighbors that morning, but before starting, he would knock some apples off a nearby tree that they were allowed to gather. He suggested that if she could get some of those apples baked with the bread, it would make their dinner extra tasty. He knocked the apples down, and soon after, he saw Mau-mau Bett come out and gather them up.

When the dinner horn sounded, he felt his way into his cellar, looking forward to his simple but warm and nourishing meal. But, surprise! Instead of being greeted by the sight and smell of fresh-baked bread and tasty apples, his cellar felt even more gloomy than usual. At first, he couldn't see or hear anything. As he felt his way through the room, his staff, which he used to guide him and alert him to danger, seemed to hit something, and he heard a low, gurgling, choking sound coming from whatever was in front of him. This was his first clue to the sad truth: Mau-Mau Bett, his closest companion and the last member of his large family, had suffered a stroke and was lying helpless and unconscious on the ground! Who among us, living in nice homes with all the comforts and surrounded by kind and caring friends, can imagine the dark and lonely state of poor old James—penniless, weak, lame, and nearly blind—at the moment he realized his companion was gone, leaving him alone in the world with no one to help, comfort, or console him? She never regained consciousness and only lived a few hours after being found by her heartbroken James.

Last Days of Bomefree.

Isabella and Peter were allowed to see their mother's remains in her final resting place and visit their grieving father before returning to their duties. The old man's cries were heart-wrenching when they had to say "Farewell!" to him. Juan Fernandes on his lonely island wasn't as pitiful as this poor, lame man. Blind and crippled, he was too old to take care of himself and was worried that no one would care for him. "Oh," he would say, "I thought God would take me first. Mau-mau was so much more capable than I was, and she could get around and take care of herself. And here I am, so old and helpless. What will happen to me? I can't do anything anymore—my children are all gone, and I'm left helpless and alone." "And then, as I was saying goodbye to him," his daughter recounted, "he cried out like a child—oh, how he cried! I can still hear it now and remember it as if it were just yesterday—poor old man! He thought God had done it all, and my heart broke seeing his misery. He begged me to get permission to visit him sometimes, which I eagerly promised him." But after everyone left him, the Ardinburghs, who still had some care for their loyal and favorite slave, took turns looking after him—letting him stay a few weeks at one house, then another, and so on. If the next place wasn't too far, he'd walk there with his staff, asking for no help. If it was twelve or twenty miles away, they'd give him a ride. While living like this, Isabella was allowed to visit him twice. Another time, she walked twelve miles carrying her baby to see him, but when she arrived, he had just left for a place twenty miles away, and she never saw him again. The last time she did see him, he was sitting on a rock by the roadside, alone and far from any house. He was moving from one Ardinburgh's house to another, several miles away. His hair was white like wool, he was almost blind, and he moved more like he was creeping than walking, but the weather was warm and pleasant, and he didn't mind the journey. When Isabella spoke to him, he recognized her voice and was very happy to see her. He was helped onto the wagon and taken back to the familiar cellar we mentioned before, where they had their last conversation. He lamented his loneliness again, speaking in anguish about his many children, saying, "They are all taken away from me! I have no one to give me a cup of cold water—why should I live and not die?" Isabella, whose heart ached for her father and who would have done anything to be with and care for him, tried to comfort him by saying, "I've heard the white folks say that all the slaves in the state will be freed in ten years, and then I'll come and take care of you." "I would take just as good care of you as Mau-mau would if she were here," Isabella continued. "Oh, my child," he replied, "I can't live that long." "Oh, please, daddy, do live, and I'll take such good care of you," she insisted. She now says, "Back then, in my ignorance, I thought he could live if he wanted to. I believed it as much as I've ever believed anything in my life, and I insisted he should live, but he shook his head and insisted he couldn't."

But before Bomefree's strong health would give in to age, harsh conditions, or a strong wish to die, the Ardinburghs got tired of him again. They offered freedom to two old slaves—Caesar, Mau-mau Bett's brother, and his wife Betsy—on the condition that they would take care of James. (I was about to say, 'their brother-in-law'—but since slaves aren't legally husbands or wives, the idea of them being brothers-in-law is pretty ridiculous.) Even though they were too old and weak to take care of themselves (Caesar had been suffering from fever sores for a long time, and his wife had jaundice), they eagerly accepted the gift of freedom, which had been their lifelong dream—even though at that point, emancipation was little more than poverty for them and was a freedom more desired by the master than the slave. Sojourner says about the slaves in their ignorance, that "their thoughts are no longer than her finger."

The Death of Bomefree.

A rough cabin, in a remote forest, far from any neighbors, was given to our freed friends as the only help they could expect. Bomefree, from this point on, found it hard to meet his basic needs, as his new providers could barely take care of their own. However, things were about to get worse instead of better; they hadn't been together long before Betty passed away, and soon after, Caesar followed her to "that bourne from whence no traveller returns," leaving poor James alone and more helpless than ever before. This time, there was no kind family in the house, and the Ardinburghs no longer invited him to their homes. Yet, despite being alone, blind, and helpless, James managed to live on for a while. One day, an elderly Black woman named Soan stopped by his shack, and James pleaded with her, with tears in his eyes, to stay for a bit and help clean and mend him so he could be decent and comfortable again. He was suffering terribly from the dirt and pests that had accumulated on him.

Soan was an emancipated slave herself, old and weak, with no one to take care of her. She didn't have the courage to take on a task that seemed so overwhelming, fearing she might get sick herself and die there without help. With great reluctance and a heart full of pity, as she later said, she felt she had no choice but to leave him in his misery and filth. Not long after her visit, this loyal slave, this abandoned shell of a person, was found on his miserable bed, frozen and stiff in death. The kind angel had finally come and freed him from the many sufferings that others had forced upon him. Yes, he had died, cold and starving, with no one to say a kind word or do a kind deed for him in that last dreadful hour of need!

The news of his death reached John Ardinburgh, a grandson of the old Colonel, and he announced that "Bomefree, who had always been a kind and faithful slave, should now have a good funeral." So, dear reader, what do you think made up a good funeral? The answer: some black paint for the coffin and a jug of strong spirits! What a way to make up for a life of hard work, patient submission to repeated and severe exploitation, and far worse, neglect that was almost murderous! People often try in vain to make up for their unkindness or cruelty to the living by honoring them after death, but John Ardinburgh undoubtedly intended his pot of paint and jug of whiskey to soothe his slaves, rather than ease his own hardened conscience.

The Beginning of Isabella's Life Challenges.

Having witnessed the tragic end of her parents, at least in terms of this earthly life, let's go back with Isabella to that unforgettable auction that almost tore her father and mother apart. A slave auction is a horrifying experience for those involved, and its events and repercussions are etched into their hearts as if with a pen of burning steel.

At this memorable time, Isabella was sold for one hundred dollars to a man named John Nealy from Ulster County, New York. She remembers that during this sale, she might have been grouped with a lot of sheep. She was nine years old at the time, and this marked the beginning of her hardships. She says, with emphasis, "Now the war begun." Isabella only spoke Dutch, while the Nealys only spoke English. Mr. Nealy could understand Dutch, but Isabella and her mistress couldn't understand each other's language, which was a big obstacle to getting along. This language barrier caused a lot of frustration for her mistress and led to punishment and suffering for Isabella. She recalls, "If they sent me for a frying-pan, not knowing what they meant, maybe I brought them pot-hooks and trammels. Then, oh! how angry mistress would be with me!" She also suffered "terribly, terribly" from the cold. During the winter, her feet got badly frozen because she didn't have proper shoes. They gave her plenty to eat, but also plenty of whippings. One Sunday morning, she was told to go to the barn, where she found her master with a bundle of rods, heated in the embers and tied together with cords. He tied her hands in front of her and gave her the most brutal whipping she ever endured. He whipped her until her skin was deeply cut, and the blood streamed from her wounds—the scars remain to this day as proof. "And now," she says, "when I hear 'em tell of whipping women on the bare flesh, it makes my flesh crawl, and my very hair rise on my head! Oh! my God!" she continues, "what a way is this of treating human beings?" In those moments of extreme suffering, she remembered her mother's advice to turn to God in all her trials and afflictions. She not only remembered but followed it: going to Him, "and telling him all—and asking Him if He thought it was right," and begging Him to protect and shield her from her persecutors.

She always asked with unwavering faith, believing she would receive exactly what she prayed for. "And now," she says, "though it seems curious, I don't remember ever asking for anything without getting it. And I always saw it as an answer to my prayers. When I got beaten, I never knew it was coming in time to pray beforehand; and I always thought that if I had just had time to pray to God for help, I would have avoided the beating." She didn't think God knew her thoughts unless she told Him, or heard her prayers unless she spoke them out loud. So, she felt she couldn't pray unless she had the time and opportunity to be alone, where she could talk to God without anyone overhearing."

Trials continued.

After she'd been at Mr. Nealy's for several months, she started praying earnestly for God to send her father to her. As soon as she began to pray, she confidently expected him to come, and before long, to her great joy, he did. She didn't have a chance to talk to him about the troubles weighing heavily on her spirit while he was there, but when he left, she followed him to the gate and poured her heart out, asking if he could help her find a new and better place. This is how slaves often helped each other, by finding out who treated their slaves relatively well and then using their influence to get such a person to hire or buy their friends. Masters, often for strategic reasons or out of some hidden sense of humanity, would allow those they were about to sell or rent out to choose their own places, as long as the people they picked were considered reliable payers. He promised to do everything he could, and they parted ways. But every day, as long as the snow lasted (because there was snow on the ground at the time), she returned to the spot where they had separated. Walking in the tracks her father had made in the snow, she repeated her prayer that "God would help her father get her a new and better place."

Not much time had passed when a fisherman named Scriver showed up at Mr. Nealy's place and asked Isabel if she'd like to come live with him. She quickly said 'yes,' believing he was the answer to her prayers. She soon set off with him, walking while he rode, because he had bought her at her father's suggestion, paying one hundred and five dollars for her. He also lived in Ulster County, but about five or six miles away from Mr. Nealy's.

Scriver, in addition to being a fisherman, ran a tavern for people like him. His family was rough and uneducated, often using a lot of profanity, but overall, they were honest, kind, and good-natured people.

They owned a big farm but didn't really do anything to improve it; they mostly focused on fishing and running an inn. Isabella says she can hardly describe the kind of life she had with them. It was a wild, outdoor kind of life. She was expected to carry fish, hoe corn, gather roots and herbs from the woods for beers, go to the Strand for a gallon of molasses or liquor depending on what was needed, and just "browse around," as she puts it. It was a life that suited her well at the time, as it was free from hardship or fear, even though it lacked progress; a need that hadn't yet turned into a desire. Instead of improving morally at this place, she went backwards, as their example taught her to curse; and it was here that she swore her first oath. After living with them for about a year and a half, she was sold to a man named John J. Dumont for seventy pounds. This was in 1810. Mr. Dumont lived in the same county as her previous masters, in the town of New Paltz, and she stayed with him until shortly before she was freed by the state in 1828.

Her standing with her new master and mistress.

If Mrs. Dumont had shared her husband's kindness and consideration for the slaves, Isabella would have been as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances of being a slave. Mr. Dumont, having grown up deeply embedded in the institution of slavery, was naturally kind-hearted and treated his slaves with as much care as he did his other animals, if not more. However, Mrs. Dumont, who was born and raised in a family that didn't own slaves and was used to dealing with workers motivated by their own interests, couldn't understand the slow pace, lack of understanding, or the listless and careless habits of the oppressed slaves. She completely overlooked the fact that all motivation had been stripped away from them, and that if their intellect hadn't been crushed, the slaves would have little reason to feel anything but hopelessness. This misunderstanding led to a series of challenges in Isabella's life, which we will skip over; some out of respect, and others because sharing them might cause unnecessary pain to people still living, whom Isabella remembers with respect and love. So, the reader shouldn't be surprised if this part of the story seems a bit subdued, and can be assured that it's not due to a lack of events, as the most intense moments of this period in her life are intentionally left out for various reasons.

She wants to share a seemingly small incident that left a big impact on her, showing, in her opinion, how God protects the innocent and helps them overcome their enemies, and also how she found herself caught between her master and mistress. In her household, Mrs. Dumont hired two white girls, and one of them, named Kate, had a tendency to boss Isabel around and, as Isabel would strongly put it, "to grind her down." Her master often defended her from others' attacks and accusations, praising her for her willingness and ability to work. These compliments seemed to stir up hostility towards her from Mrs. Dumont and her white servant. The servant took every chance to point out Isabel's faults, diminish her in her master's eyes, and increase her mistress's already more than sufficient displeasure with Isabel. Her master insisted that she could do as much work as half a dozen regular people and do it well, while her mistress insisted that Isabel's cooking was only considered good because it came from her, but it was always half done. There was a lot of tension because of this difference in opinion, and things were getting pretty uncomfortable. Then, suddenly, the potatoes Isabel cooked for breakfast looked dirty and unappetizing. Her boss criticized her harshly, pointing them out to her husband as "a fine specimen of Bell's work!" and added, "this is how all her work is done." Her boss's husband also scolded her this time and told her to be more careful in the future. Kate eagerly joined in the criticism and was really tough on her. Isabel felt she had done her best to make them nice and was quite upset about how they turned out, wondering what she could do differently. In this tough situation, Gertrude Dumont, Mr. D.'s oldest child, a kind-hearted ten-year-old who felt sorry for Isabel, stepped in to offer her sympathy and help. Before going to bed on the night of Isabel's embarrassment, Gertrude approached Isabel and told her that if she woke her up early the next morning, she would get up and take care of the potatoes while Isabel went to milk the cows. They would see if they could make them nice and avoid having "Poppee," her word for father, "Matty," her word for mother, and everyone else scolding so much.

Isabella was really touched by this kindness, especially since she had been dealing with so much negativity. After she put the potatoes on to boil, Getty told her she would take care of the fire while Isabella went to milk. Isabella hadn't been sitting by the fire for long, keeping her promise, when Kate came in and asked Gertrude to leave the room and do something for her. Gertrude refused and stayed in her spot in the corner. While she was there, Kate started moving around the fire, picked up a chip, scooped up some ashes with it, and threw them into the kettle. Now the mystery was solved, the plot uncovered! Kate was trying a bit too hard to prove her mistress's point, to show that Mrs. Dumont and she were right in the argument, and to gain power over Isabella. Yes, she was moving way too fast, ignoring the little figure of justice sitting in the corner, with scales perfectly balanced, ready to give everyone what they deserved.

But the time had come when she couldn't be ignored any longer. It was Getty's turn to speak up. "Oh Poppee! Oh Poppee!" she exclaimed, "Kate has been putting ashes in with the potatoes! I saw her do it! Look at those that fell on the outside of the pot! Now you can see what made the potatoes look so dull every morning, even though Bell washed them clean!" She kept telling her story to everyone who came by, until the trick was as well-known as Isabella's criticism had been. Her mistress looked shocked and stayed silent—her master muttered something that sounded a lot like a curse—and poor Kate was so downcast, she looked like a guilty criminal who wished she could hide herself, now that her deceit was exposed, to cover her embarrassed pride and deep disappointment.

Isabella and her master had a big win, and she became more eager than ever to impress him. He encouraged her ambition by praising her and bragging to his friends, saying, "That wench" (pointing to Isabel) "is better to me than a man—for she will do a good family's washing at night and be ready in the morning to work in the field, where she'll rake and bind as well as my best workers." Her drive to please was so strong that she often worked several nights in a row, catching only short naps while sitting in her chair. Some nights, she wouldn't let herself sleep at all, just leaning against the wall, afraid that if she sat down, she'd sleep too long. These extra efforts to please, and the praise she got for them, made her fellow slaves jealous, and they mocked her, calling her the "white folks' nigger." But on the flip side, she earned more trust from her master and got small favors that others couldn't. I asked her if her master, Dumont, ever whipped her. She replied, "Oh yes, he sometimes whipped me soundly, but never cruelly. The worst whipping he ever gave me was because I was cruel to a cat." Back then, she saw her master as a god and believed he knew everything about her, just like God. She would sometimes confess her wrongdoings, thinking he already knew and she'd be better off if she admitted them. If anyone talked to her about the unfairness of being a slave, she'd dismiss them and immediately tell her master. She truly believed that slavery was right and honorable. Now, she clearly sees the wrongness of the situation for both masters and slaves. She looks back, amazed at the ridiculous claims made by the masters over people meant by God to be as free as kings, and at the complete foolishness of the slaves for accepting those claims even for a moment.

Following her mother's guidance, she had taught herself to be so honest that, when she became a mother, she would sometimes punish her child for crying for bread rather than secretly give it a piece, fearing it might learn to take what wasn't theirs. And the writer of this knows, from personal experience, that the slaveholders in the South believe it's their religious duty to teach their slaves to be honest and never take what isn't theirs. Oh consistency, aren't you a treasure? Yet Isabella takes pride in the fact that she was loyal and true to her master; she says, 'It made me true to my God'—meaning it helped her develop a character that loved truth, hated lies, and saved her from the painful consequences and fears that inevitably come with insincerity and hypocrisy.

As she got older, a bond developed between her and a slave named Robert. But his owner, an Englishman named Catlin, was determined that no one else's property should benefit from the increase of his slaves. So, he forbade Robert from visiting Isabella and ordered him to marry someone from his fellow servants. Despite this ban, Robert, following his heart, continued to visit Isabel secretly, believing he was doing so without his master's knowledge. However, one Saturday afternoon, when he heard that Bell was sick, he decided to go see her. The first sign she had of his visit was her master asking if she had seen Bob. When she said no, he told her, "If you see him, tell him to watch out because the Catlins are after him." Almost immediately, Bob showed up, and the first people he ran into were his old and young masters. They were furious to find him there, and the older one started cursing and told his son to "knock down the d-d black rascal." They both attacked him like wild animals, beating him with the heavy ends of their canes, brutally injuring his head and face, and causing blood to pour from his wounds, making him look like a slaughtered animal—a truly horrifying sight. Mr. Dumont stepped in at this point, telling the attackers they couldn't spill human blood on his property anymore—he wouldn't allow "any niggers killed there." The Catlins then took a rope they had brought with them and tied Bob's hands behind his back so tightly that Mr. Dumont insisted on loosening it, saying that no creature should be tied like that on his property. As they led him away like a criminal, the more compassionate Dumont followed them home to protect Robert. When he returned, he kindly went to Bell, as he called her, and told her he didn't think they would hit him anymore since their anger had cooled down before he left. Isabella had watched this scene from her window and was deeply disturbed by the brutal treatment of poor Robert, whom she truly loved, and whose only crime, in the eyes of his persecutors, was his love for her. This beating, and who knows what other treatment, completely broke his spirit, and Robert never dared to visit Isabella again. Instead, like a loyal and obedient servant, he married someone from his master's household. Robert didn't live many years after his last visit to Isabel, but eventually passed away to a place where "they neither marry nor are given in marriage," and where oppressors can't harm him.

Isabella's Wedding

Later on, Isabella got married to another slave named Thomas. He had already been married twice before, and at least one, if not both, of his previous wives had been taken from him and sold far away. It's very likely that he was not only allowed but encouraged to marry again each time this happened. I say it's likely because the person writing this has seen firsthand that this is the norm among slaveholders today. During a twenty-month stay with them, we never heard anyone speak out against this practice. When we criticized it harshly, the slaveholders had nothing to say, and the slaves argued that given the situation, they couldn't do any better.

Such a terrible situation is quietly accepted, at the very least, by slaveholders—no matter who denies it. And what kind of religion is it that allows, even by staying silent, everything that is part of the 'peculiar institution?' If there's anything more completely opposite to the teachings of Jesus than the workings of this soul-crushing system—which is as genuinely supported by American religion as its ministers and churches—we'd like to see where it can be found.

As we mentioned, Isabella was married to Thomas. In the context of slavery, one of the slaves conducted the ceremony for them. No genuine minister of Christ could perform such a ceremony, knowing it to be a mere farce—a mock marriage not recognized by any civil law and subject to being annulled at any moment, depending on the whims or interests of the master.

How do slaveholders expect us to react to their fear of "amalgamation" in the future, when they know we are fully aware of how calmly they accept the current state of immorality that their own unjust laws have caused? This issue affects not just the slaves, but also the more privileged people in the South.

To me, it seems like slaveholders pay attention to the flaws of a slave in the same way someone might notice the bad behavior of their horse. These flaws can be inconvenient, but beyond that, they don't really bother themselves with it.

Isabella as a Mom.

Over time, Isabella became the mother of five children, and she felt a twisted sense of joy in being allowed to increase the wealth of her oppressors. Just imagine, dear reader, without feeling ashamed, if you can, a mother willingly and proudly offering her own children, her own flesh and blood, to the horrors of slavery—a sacrifice to the cruel Moloch. But we must remember that those capable of such sacrifices aren't truly mothers; they are merely 'things,' 'chattels,' 'property.'

Since then, the person in this story has made some progress from being treated like property to becoming a woman and a mother. Now, she looks back on her thoughts and feelings from that time, when she was in a state of ignorance and degradation, as if she's recalling a confusing and dark dream. Sometimes it feels like just a scary illusion, but other times it seems like a terrible reality. I wish to God it were just a dream and not the awful reality it still is for about three million people treated like property.

I've already mentioned how she was careful not to teach her kids to steal by setting a good example. She says, with deep emotion, 'The Lord only knows how many times I let my children go hungry, rather than secretly take the bread I didn't want to ask for.' All parents who undermine their own teachings with their daily actions could learn a lot from her example.

Another example of her master's kind heart is shown in this story. If her master came into the house and found her baby crying (since she couldn't always take care of the baby and follow her mistress's orders at the same time), he would give his wife a reproachful look and ask why she hadn't taken care of the child. He would say, very seriously, 'I will not hear this crying; I can't bear it, and I will not hear any child cry so. Here, Bell, take care of this child, if no more work is done for a week.' And he would stick around to make sure his orders were followed and not ignored.

When Isabella went to work in the field, she would put her baby in a basket, tie a rope to each handle, and hang the basket from a tree branch. She'd have another small child swing it. This way, the baby was safe from any reptiles and could be easily taken care of or even rocked to sleep by a child too young for other chores. I was really impressed by the cleverness of this baby-swinging method, just like I am sometimes with the swinging hammock that a native mother makes for her sick baby—it seems so much easier than anything we have in our more modern homes. It's easier for the child because it gets the motion without any jolts, and easier for the caregiver because the hammock is hung high enough to avoid bending over.

Slaveholder's Promises

After the state declared emancipation, a few years before it was supposed to take effect, Isabella's master promised her that if she worked hard and stayed loyal, he would give her "free papers" a year before she was legally free. In 1826, she had a severely injured hand, which made her less useful. But when July 4, 1827, came around—the date she was supposed to get her "free papers"—she asked her master to keep his promise. He refused, claiming it was because of the loss he suffered due to her hand. She argued that she had worked the whole time and did many tasks she wasn't fully capable of, even though she knew she wasn't as useful as before. Still, her master wouldn't budge. Ironically, her loyalty might have worked against her, as he found it harder than expected to give up the benefits of having such a dedicated worker like Bell, who had served him so well for so long.

But Isabella decided to stay quietly with him only until she had spun his wool—about a hundred pounds—and then she would leave, taking the rest of the time for herself. "Ah!" she says, with a passion that's hard to put into words, "the slaveholders are terrible for promising to give you this or that, or some kind of privilege, if you do this or that; and when the time comes to fulfill the promise, and you ask for it, they conveniently forget everything: and you're likely to be called a liar; or at best, the slave is accused of not holding up their end of the deal." "Oh!" she said, "I've felt like I couldn't survive the ordeal sometimes. Just think of us! So eager for our pleasures, and just foolish enough to keep feeding ourselves with the idea that we would get what was promised; and when we think it's almost in our grasp, we're flatly denied! Just think! How could we bear it? Why, there was Charles Brodhead who promised his slave Ned that when the harvest was over, he could go see his wife, who lived about twenty or thirty miles away. So Ned worked early and late, and as soon as the harvest was done, he asked for the promised reward. His master said he had only told him he 'would see if he could go, when the harvest was over; but now he saw that he couldn't go.' But Ned, who still believed in the promise he had fully relied on, continued cleaning his shoes. His master asked if he intended to go, and when Ned said 'yes,' he picked up a sled-stick nearby and hit him on the head, breaking his skull and killing him instantly. The poor Black people all felt crushed by the blow." Ah! and well they might. Yet it was just one of a long series of bloody, and other most effective blows, struck against their freedom and their lives. But let's get back on track.

The person in this story was supposed to be free on July 4, 1827, but she stayed with her master until the wool was spun and the toughest part of the fall work was finished. Then she decided to take her freedom into her own hands and look for opportunities elsewhere.