"I 'spect you intended that black and white folks should have them alike," said her sister.
"Yes, that was the intention."
"Not a mouthful have I had. I am as poor as white folks. All my life I have worked for them. I have given them houses and lands; they have rode in their fine carriages, sat in their nice parlors, taken voyages over the waters, and had money enough, which I and my people earned for them. I have had my back cut up. I have been sent to jail because I cried for my children, which were stolen from me. I have been stripped of my clothing, exposed before men. My daughters have been compelled to break God's commandment,—they couldn't help themselves,—I couldn't help them; white men have done with us just as they pleased. Now they turn me out of my poor old cabin, and say they own it. O dear Jesus, help me!"
"Come, come, sister, don't take on; but you just give thanks for what the Lord has done for you," said Aunt Nellie.
Her sister rose, stately as a queen, and said,—
"I thank you, sir, for your kind words to me to-night. I thank all the good people in the North for what they have done for me and my people. The good Lord be with you."
As she and her husband left the room, Aunt Nellie said,—
"Poor girl! she can't forget her children. She's cried for them day and night."
Never till then had I felt the full force of Whittier's burning lines:—
"A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood,—
A wail where Camden's martyrs fell,—
By every shrine of patriot blood,
From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well!