My mistress grew weary of her vigils; they did not prove satisfactory.  She changed her tactics.  She now tried the trick of accusing my master of crime, in my presence, and gave my name as the author of the accusation.  To my utter astonishment, he replied, “I don’t believe it; but if she did acknowledge it, you tortured her into exposing me.”  Tortured into exposing him!  Truly, Satan had no difficulty in distinguishing the color of his soul!  I understood his object in making this false representation.  It was to show me that I gained nothing by seeking the protection of my mistress; that the power was still all in his own hands.  I pitied Mrs. Flint.  She was a second wife, many years the junior of her husband; and the hoary-headed miscreant was enough to try the patience of a wiser and better woman.  She was completely foiled, and knew not how to proceed.  She would gladly have had me flogged for my supposed false oath; but, as I have already stated, the doctor never allowed any one to whip me.  The old sinner was politic.  The application of the lash might have led to remarks that would have exposed him in the eyes of his children and grandchildren.  How often did I rejoice that I lived in a town where all the inhabitants knew each other!  If I had been on a remote plantation, or lost among the multitude of a crowded city, I should not be a living woman at this day.

The secrets of slavery are concealed like those of the Inquisition.  My master was, to my knowledge, the father of eleven slaves.  But did the mothers dare to tell who was the father of their children?  Did the other slaves dare to allude to it, except in whispers among themselves?  No, indeed!  They knew too well the terrible consequences.

My grandmother could not avoid seeing things which excited her suspicions.  She was uneasy about me, and tried various ways to buy me; but the never-changing answer was always repeated:  “Linda does not belong to me.  She is my daughter’s property, and I have no legal right to sell her.”  The conscientious man!  He was too scrupulous to sell me; but he had no scruples whatever about committing a much greater wrong against the helpless young girl placed under his guardianship, as his daughter’s property.  Sometimes my persecutor would ask me whether I would like to be sold.  I told him I would rather be sold to any body than to lead such a life as I did.  On such occasions he would assume the air of a very injured individual, and reproach me for my ingratitude.  “Did I not take you into the house, and make you the companion of my own children?” he would say.  “Have I ever treated you like a negro?  I have never allowed you to be punished, not even to please your mistress.  And this is the recompense I get, you ungrateful girl!” I answered that he had reasons of his own for screening me from punishment, and that the course he pursued made my mistress hate me and persecute me.  If I wept, he would say, “Poor child!  Don’t cry! don’t cry!  I will make peace for you with your mistress.  Only let me arrange matters in my own way.  Poor, foolish girl! you don’t know what is for your own good.  I would cherish you.  I would make a lady of you.  Now go, and think of all I have promised you.”