I rebelled against such government, and would not permit her to strike me; she used shovel, tongs and broomstick in vain, as I disarmed her as fast as she picked up each weapon.  Infuriated at her failure, my opposition and determination not to be whipped, Mrs. Mitchell declared she would report me to Mr. Mitchell and have him punish me.

When her husband returned home, she immediately entered a list of complaints against me as long as the moral law, including my failure to wash her clothes properly, and her inability to break my head for it; the last indictment seemed to be the heaviest she could bring against me.  I was in the shadow of the doorway as the woman raved, while Mr. Mitchell listened patiently until the end of his wife’s grievances reached an appeal to him to whip me with the strength that a man alone could possess.

Then he declared, “Martha, this thing of cutting up and slashing servants is something I know nothing about, and positively will not do.  I don’t believe in slavery, anyhow; it is a curse on this land, and I wish we were well rid of it.”

“Mr. Mitchell, I will not have that saucy baggage around this house, for if she finds you won’t whip her, there will be no living with her, so you shall just sell her, and I insist upon it.”

“Well, Martha,” he answered, “I found the girl with you when we were married, and as you claim her as yours, I shall not interpose any objections to the disposal of what you choose to call your property, in any manner you see fit, and I will make arrangements for selling her at once.”

I distinctly overheard all that was said, and was just as determined not to be sold as I was not to be whipped.  My mother’s lawyer had told her to caution me never to go out of the city, if, at any time, the white people wanted me to go, so I was quite settled as to my course, in case Mr. Mitchell undertook to sell me.

Several days after this conversation took place, Mrs. Mitchell, with her baby and nurse, Lucy Wash, made a visit to her grandmother’s, leaving orders that I should be sold before her return; so I was not surprised to be ordered by Mr. Mitchell to pack up my clothes and get ready to go down the river, for I was to be sold that morning, and leave, on the steamboat Alex.  Scott, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

“Can’t I go see my mother, first?” I asked.

“No,” he replied, not very gently, “there is no time for that, you can see her when you come back.  So hurry up and get ready, and let us have no more words about it!”

How I did hate him!  To hear him talk as if I were going to take a pleasure trip, when he knew that if he sold me South, as he intended, I would never see my dear mother again.

However, I hastily ran up stairs and packed my trunk, but my mother’s injunction, “never to go out of the city,” was ever present in my mind.

Mr. Mitchell was Superintendent of Indian Affairs, his office being in the dwelling house, and I could hear him giving orders to his clerk, as I ran lightly down the stairs, out of the front door to the street, and with fleet foot, I skimmed the road which led to my mother’s door, and, reaching it, stood trembling in every limb with terror and fatigue.