Again and again I had traversed those dreary twelve miles, to and from the town; and all the way, I was meditating upon some means of escape for myself and my children.  My friends had made every effort that ingenuity could devise to effect our purchase, but all their plans had proved abortive.  Dr. Flint was suspicious, and determined not to loosen his grasp upon us.  I could have made my escape alone; but it was more for my helpless children than for myself that I longed for freedom.  Though the boon would have been precious to me, above all price, I would not have taken it at the expense of leaving them in slavery.  Every trial I endured, every sacrifice I made for their sakes, drew them closer to my heart, and gave me fresh courage to beat back the dark waves that rolled and rolled over me in a seemingly endless night of storms.

The six weeks were nearly completed, when Mr. Flint’s bride was expected to take possession of her new home.  The arrangements were all completed, and Mr. Flint said I had done well.  He expected to leave home on Saturday, and return with his bride the following Wednesday.  After receiving various orders from him, I ventured to ask permission to spend Sunday in town.  It was granted; for which favor I was thankful.  It was the first I had ever asked of him, and I intended it should be the last.  I needed more than one night to accomplish the project I had in view; but the whole of Sunday would give me an opportunity.  I spent the Sabbath with my grandmother.  A calmer, more beautiful day never came down out of heaven.  To me it was a day of conflicting emotions.  Perhaps it was the last day I should ever spend under that dear, old sheltering roof!  Perhaps these were the last talks I should ever have with the faithful old friend of my whole life!  Perhaps it was the last time I and my children should be together!  Well, better so, I thought, than that they should be slaves.  I knew the doom that awaited my fair baby in slavery, and I determined to save her from it, or perish in the attempt.  I went to make this vow at the graves of my poor parents, in the burying-ground of the slaves.  “There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest.  There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor; the servant is free from his master.”  I knelt by the graves of my parents, and thanked God, as I had often done before, that they had not lived to witness my trials, or to mourn over my sins.  I had received my mother’s blessing when she died; and in many an hour of tribulation I had seemed to hear her voice, sometimes chiding me, sometimes whispering loving words into my wounded heart.  I have shed many and bitter tears, to think that when I am gone from my children they cannot remember me with such entire satisfaction as I remembered my mother.