Our Nig; Or, Sketches from the Life of a Free Black by Harriet E. Wilson

Author:Harriet E. Wilson [Wilson, Harriet E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amazon Classics
Published: 2021-07-19T18:30:00+00:00

7

SPIRITUAL CONDITION OF NIG

“What are our joys but dreams? and what our hopes

But goodly shadows in the summer cloud?”

H. K. W.

James did not improve as was hoped. Month after month passed away, and brought no prospect of returning health. He could not walk far from the house for want of strength; but he loved to sit with Aunt Abby in her quiet room, talking of unseen glories, and heart experiences, while planning for the spiritual benefit of those around them. In these confidential interviews, Frado was never omitted. They would discuss the prevalent opinion of the public, that people of color are really inferior; incapable of cultivation and refinement. They would glance at the qualities of Nig, which promised so much if rightly directed. “I wish you would take her, James, when you are well, home with you,” said Aunt Abby, in one of these seasons.

“Just what I am longing to do, Aunt Abby. Susan is just of my mind, and we intend to take her; I have been wishing to do so for years.”

“She seems much affected by what she hears at the evening meetings, and asks me many questions on serious things; seems to love to read the Bible; I feel hopes of her.”

“I hope she is thoughtful; no one has a kinder heart, one capable of loving more devotedly. But to think how prejudiced the world are toward her people; that she must be reared in such ignorance as to drown all the finer feelings. When I think of what she might be, of what she will be, I feel like grasping time till opinions change, and thousands like her rise into a noble freedom. I have seen Frado’s grief, because she is black, amount to agony. It makes me sick to recall these scenes. Mother pretends to think she don’t know enough to sorrow for anything; but if she could see her as I have, when she supposed herself entirely alone, except her little dog Fido, lamenting her loneliness and complexion, I think, if she is not past feeling, she would retract. In the summer I was walking near the barn, and as I stood I heard sobs. ‘Oh! oh!’ I heard, ‘Why was I made? Why can’t I die? Oh, what have I to live for? No one cares for me only to get my work. And I feel sick; who cares for that? Work as long as I can stand, and then fall down and lay there till I can get up. No mother, father, brother, or sister to care for me, and then it is, You lazy nigger, lazy nigger—all because I am black! Oh, if I could die!’

“I stepped into the barn, where I could see her. She was crouched down by the hay with her faithful friend Fido, and as she ceased speaking, buried her face in her hands, and cried bitterly; then, patting Fido, she kissed him, saying, ‘You love me, Fido, don’t you? But we must go work in the field.

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