Harriet

The Moses of Her People

By Sarah H. Bradford

HARRIET TUBMAN

"I wouldn't trust Uncle Sam wid my people no longer”.

Here in her thirteenth year she is just recovering from the first terrible effects of an injury inflicted by her master, who in an ungovernable fit of rage threw a heavy weight at the unoffending child, breaking in her skull, and causing a pressure upon her brain, from which in her old age she is suffering still. This pressure it was which caused the fits of somnolency so frequently to come upon her, and which gave her the appearance of being stupid and half-witted in those early years. But that brain which seemed so dull was full of busy thoughts, and her life problem was already trying to work itself out there.

She had heard the shrieks and cries of women who were being flogged in the negro quarter; she had listened to the groaned out prayer, "Oh, Lord, have mercy!" She had already seen two older sisters taken away as part of a chain gang, and they had gone no one knew whither; she had seen the agonized expression on their faces as they turned to take a last look at their "Old Cabin Home;" and had watched them from the top of the fence, as they went off weeping and lamenting, till they were hidden from her sight forever. She saw the hopeless grief of the poor old mother, and the silent despair of the aged father, and already she began to revolve in her mind the question, "Why should such things be?" "Is there no deliverance for my people?"

Harriet is very old and feeble now; she does not know how old, but probably between eighty and ninety. Her years of toil and adventure have told upon her, and she may not last much longer. If she does, she will still need help which she would never ask for herself, but which this little book may give her; when she dies, it may aid in putting up a fitting monument to her memory, which should always be "kept green."