After he discovered my situation, he was like a restless spirit from the pit.  He came every day; and I was subjected to such insults as no pen can describe.  I would not describe them if I could; they were too low, too revolting.  I tried to keep them from my grandmother’s knowledge as much as I could.  I knew she had enough to sadden her life, without having my troubles to bear.  When she saw the doctor treat me with violence, and heard him utter oaths terrible enough to palsy a man’s tongue, she could not always hold her peace.  It was natural and motherlike that she should try to defend me; but it only made matters worse.

When they told me my new-born babe was a girl, my heart was heavier than it had ever been before.  Slavery is terrible for men; but it is far more terrible for women.  Superadded to the burden common to all, they have wrongs, and sufferings, and mortifications peculiarly their own.

Dr. Flint had sworn that he would make me suffer, to my last day, for this new crime against him, as he called it; and as long as he had me in his power he kept his word.  On the fourth day after the birth of my babe, he entered my room suddenly, and commanded me to rise and bring my baby to him.  The nurse who took care of me had gone out of the room to prepare some nourishment, and I was alone.  There was no alternative.  I rose, took up my babe, and crossed the room to where he sat.  “Now stand there,” said he, “till I tell you to go back!” My child bore a strong resemblance to her father, and to the deceased Mrs. Sands, her grandmother.  He noticed this; and while I stood before him, trembling with weakness, he heaped upon me and my little one every vile epithet he could think of.  Even the grandmother in her grave did not escape his curses.  In the midst of his vituperations I fainted at his feet.  This recalled him to his senses.  He took the baby from my arms, laid it on the bed, dashed cold water in my face, took me up, and shook me violently, to restore my consciousness before any one entered the room.  Just then my grandmother came in, and he hurried out of the house.  I suffered in consequence of this treatment; but I begged my friends to let me die, rather than send for the doctor.  There was nothing I dreaded so much as his presence.  My life was spared; and I was glad for the sake of my little ones.  Had it not been for these ties to life, I should have been glad to be released by death, though I had lived only nineteen years.

Always it gave me a pang that my children had no lawful claim to a name.  Their father offered his; but, if I had wished to accept the offer, I dared not while my master lived.  Moreover, I knew it would not be accepted at their baptism.  A Christian name they were at least entitled to; and we resolved to call my boy for our dear good Benjamin, who had gone far away from us.

My grandmother belonged to the church; and she was very desirous of having the children christened.  I knew Dr. Flint would forbid it, and I did not venture to attempt it.  But chance favored me.  He was called to visit a patient out of town, and was obliged to be absent during Sunday.  “Now is the time,” said my grandmother; “we will take the children to church, and have them christened.”