In reply to our questions, she said that
her father and mother were slaves; that she has several younger brothers
and sisters; that Miss D. is very rich. "'Spect she has above a hundred
slaves;" and that she is very kind to them all. "Can you read?" "No;
Miss D. has often tried to teach me, but I never could learn. 'Spect I
am too large to learn now." We lectured her about this, and gave her Sir
Edward Parry's favourite advice, to "try again." I then asked her if she
went to church. "No, never." "Does Miss D.?" "Mighty seldom." "Do you
know who made you?" "Yes, God." "Do you ever pray?" "No, never; used to,
long ago; but," with a most sanctimonious drawl, "feel such a burden
like, when I try to kneel down, that I can't." This was such a
gratuitous imitation of what she must have heard the _goody_[6] niggers
say, that I felt sorely disposed to give her young black ears a sound
boxing, for supposing such a piece of acting could impose upon us.
However, leaving the dark ears alone, I urged the duty of prayer upon
her, as strongly and simply as I could, and made her promise to kneel
down every night and morning and pray. She had heard of Christ, and
repeated some text (again a quotation, no doubt, from the _goody_
niggers) about his death; but she did not know, on further examination,
who He is, nor what death He died.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119