Kate Barclay’s collection of short stories, poems, and essays aims to instruct young readers about the horrors of slavery as well as to help them become obedient Christians. The titular story centers on a young white girl’s discovery that the nursemaid with whom she has developed a close relationship is missing and will be sold at auction. Minnie May says a prayer and grabs her Bible before running to the auction block in an attempt to rescue her nurse from being sold to a brutal new enslaver. The selections here similarly highlight aspects of slavery that render the lives of the enslaved most unfortunate and precarious. In an essay entitled “The Slave,” Barclay makes plain the sentiment that informs her commitment to helping to nurture a new generation of selfless Christian abolitionists, “Dear reader, you cannot imagine how much suffering is endured by the poor blacks . . . O, I do want you to feel for their condition, and, when you pray ask God to bless them.”
“When those ladies called here this afternoon, who was it they were talking about? Who was put in chains?”
“It was poor Cuffee, a colored man, who had once been a slave.”
“Will you tell me the story now? I did not understand much of it, but I was sorry for poor Cuffee.”
“Yes, Anna, I will tell you. Cuffee had lived away at the south, where the oranges grow, you know. He was a slave there, and I suppose served his master, or his massa, as he called him, very faithfully; for one summer he was brought as far north as the State of Maryland by some of his master’s family, who came there and wanted Cuffee to wait on them. As they were travelling from place to place, Cuffee heard about negroes a little farther to the north being free and living by themselves, or working for white people and being paid for it; and if they were not well treated at one place and did not wish to stay, they could leave and go to another; and as long as they were industrious and behaved well they could make a good living and be happy. Cuffee began to wonder why he couldn’t live in this way as well as any of them, and not go back to the south and be always a slave, toiling for nothing and having few comforts. Besides this, he was likely to be sold at any time to a bad massa who would treat him very cruelly. He had often seen those on a neighboring plantation beaten for almost nothing. They themselves often could hardly tell why the whip was laid over their shoulders. He could by some means get away from the family who owned him and go to the free states where they could not find him. Then they would go back without him, and then he would be free, and he would get work as others did and be paid for it. He thought it all over and over again, and every time he wished more and more to be free, until one day he said to himself, ‘I will be free! It is my right, and I will have it.’ After a time he had a good opportunity to get away, and he left his master’s family and travelled off farther and farther north. He could work, and had no trouble in finding good places where he was well treated and well paid. So he worked his way along, learned how people live at the north, and bought him some clothes, and did just as other free people do. He kept himself very quiet and out of the way for a long while. But when he thought there was no danger of being found out and taken back to the south to be a slave again, he became a waiter at a hotel in the city. He pleased the landlord, and all liked him very much. He lived there three or four years and felt quite safe. One day there came a gentleman to this hotel who watched Cuffee very closely and asked some questions about him of those in the bar room. The landlord listened, and began to suspect that this was a southern gentleman. He feared he was a slaveholder on the lookout for some runaway slave, and he determined to send Cuffee out of the way until he left the house. Quite a number were sitting and standing around, smoking, and talking, and taking their ease, when in came Cuffee, bringing a trunk and an umbrella. He set them down and turned to go out. The landlord stepped to the door to speak with him, and, giving him some general orders, sent him off until he could get an opportunity to tell him what he suspected. The southern gentleman watched the movements, but said nothing, and soon after paid his bill and left the house. The next morning Cuffee was nowhere to be found. No one there knew any thing about him. The landlord hoped he was in some safe place, safe from the slaveholder; but it was not so, as they soon found out. The southern gentleman, who had watched him so closely, had laid claim to him as his slave and had him seized and bound. As soon as it was known there was a great excitement about it, and the friends of freedom tried to rescue him; but they could not do it. The law allowed the man to take him; and nothing could now be done to save him. Poor Cuffee was bound with chains and carried back into slavery again.”
“O, that was too bad! I am so sorry for Cuffee! Is that all you know about him?”
“Very nearly all. The last that was known of him by any one at the north was what a blacksmith told about him. He said a man came into his shop one day to get him to fix a pair of handcuffs which did not exactly fit the wrists they were wanted for. The blacksmith would not touch the handcuffs, and said, with some spirit, that he never did such miserable work as that. He looked out at the door, and there sat Cuffee in a wagon, with heavy chains upon him; and he looked as if all courage and hope had gone out of him.”
“Poor Cuffee! I fear he will never be free again. His bonds will seem worse than ever now, I am sure. His heart must be almost broken and life but a burden.”
THE SALE.
“‘Sale at twelve o’clock!’ Now, what does it mean?
Dear mother, do just look at that!
See that girl standing there, with her head bent down,
By that man in a beaver hat!
“And that one behind, with his hand on her arm,
Seems pushing or pulling her back:
I wonder if that is a slave being sold;
She don’t look to me very black.”
“Yes, Johnny; this is a slave auction you see;
There’s the auctioneer standing up there,
With mallet in hand, crying, ‘What will you bid?’
And the purchasers stand down there.
“How my very heart fills with sadness and grief
As I think of that poor girl’s fate!—
Not a friend to protect or shield her from crime,
Nor lift from her spirit the weight
“That vile slavery’s curse must evermore bind
On all who are held in its thrall:
Poor delicate, sensitive, heart-bowed quadroon,
You must bear the rudeness of all.
“You stand on that block to be sold for a sum
That to you is nothing at all;
The one who bids highest will claim as his own
Your body, your spirit, your all.
“How sad and how hopeless your young life must be!
How hard to endure its rough blast!
O, may you but hear of the Savior’s kind power,
And on Jesus your sorrows all cast.
“Then, when this life is o’er and the soul roams free
In that blessed home above,
’Twill be sweet to bow down in adoring praise
To the God of infinite love.”
Whose heart does not bleed for the wrongs inflicted on Africa’s sons? What eye can remain unmoistened at the recital of their woes?
Not a great many years ago, a woman came from one of the Southern States to a town in New England, accompanied by a female slave. She was very ignorant; had never been taught her letters; and was not permitted on the Sabbath to hear the word of God read or explained. A colored man, who heard of her condition, wished very much to set her free; and after one or two ineffectual attempts he succeeded, with the help of a colored woman, in taking her from her cruel mistress. A chaise was in readiness, and the slave was carried about thirty miles from town to an acquaintance of one who had previously engaged the situation. But the poor woman was not contented here: she thought of her husband and children whom she had left at the south, and this made her feel unhappy. Meanwhile her mistress offered individuals fifty dollars and one hundred dollars if they would find and return her: but none made search.
After the slave had been absent two or three weeks, she was so discontented and anxious for her children that she was brought back to town, and, of her own accord, went back to her mistress. “You shall pay dear enough for this when I return,” said she; and the poor African was sorry that she had not retained her liberty. But now she could not be set free again; for her mistress watched her very narrowly, and confined her in a chamber a great part of the time she remained in town.
Little children cannot conceive of the wretchedness and the miserable condition of the poor slaves. Many of their owners treat them more like dumb beasts than like human beings. It was so with the mistress of this slave. After she had returned to her with the hope of meeting again her husband and children, even this privilege was denied her; for on the homeward-bound passage she was sold to a slaveholder in North Carolina. Ah, then were all her hopes of ever seeing again those whom she loved as life at an end. How must her heart have been rent with agony at the thought! her beloved partner no more to enjoy her company, and her dear children to mourn the loss of a tender and affectionate mother.
Little children, pity the poor slaves—pity them with all your heart. How would you feel to be separated forever from your kind mother—to see her face no more—no more to see her smiling look of approbation—no more to receive the kiss of affection? I ask, how would you feel? Dear reader, you cannot imagine how much suffering is endured by the poor blacks. Husbands are separated from wives, children from parents, brothers from sisters. O, I do want you to feel for their condition, and, when you pray, ask God to bless them. Can it be that some of you fret and scold, and disobey your parents and your teachers, when you have so much to enjoy and make you happy? Think of the poor blacks. Do you sometimes say you are cruelly treated when requested to leave your play to do some favor for your parents? Think of the poor blacks. At all times, when you imagine you have reason to be angry, or complain, or disobey your friends, I entreat you to remember the condition of a great many thousands of your fellow-beings who are in slavery—ignorant, unhappy, and miserable.
I pity the poor little slave,
Who labors hard through all the day,
And has no one,
When day is done,
To teach his youthful heart to pray.
No words of love, no fond embrace,
No smiles from parents kind and dear;
No tears are shed
Around his bed
When fevers rage and death is near.
None feel for him when heavy chains
Are fastened to his tender limb;
No pitying eyes,
No sympathies,
No prayers are raised to Heaven for him.
But I will pity the poor slave,
And pray that he may soon be free;
That he at last,
When days are past,
In heaven may have his liberty.