When I reached the house, I went in directly to Miss Betsey. I found her
in great distress; and she cried out as soon as she saw me, "Oh, Mary! my
father is going to sell you all to raise money to marry that wicked woman.
You are _my_ slaves, and he has no right to sell you; but it is all to
please her." She then told me that my mother was living with her father's
sister at a house close by, and I went there to see her. It was a
sorrowful meeting; and we lamented with a great and sore crying our
unfortunate situation. "Here comes one of my poor picaninnies!" she said,
the moment I came in, "one of the poor slave-brood who are to be sold
to-morrow."

Oh dear! I cannot bear to think of that day,--it is too much.--It recalls
the great grief that filled my heart, and the woeful thoughts that passed
to and fro through my mind, whilst listening to the pitiful words of my
poor mother, weeping for the loss of her children. I wish I could find
words to tell you all I then felt and suffered. The great God above alone
knows the thoughts of the poor slave's heart, and the bitter pains which
follow such separations as these. All that we love taken away from us--Oh,
it is sad, sad! and sore to be borne!--I got no sleep that night for
thinking of the morrow; and dear Miss Betsey was scarcely less distressed.
She could not bear to part with her old playmates, and she cried sore and
would not be pacified.

The black morning at length came; it came too soon for my poor mother and
us. Whilst she was putting on us the new osnaburgs in which we were to be
sold, she said, in a sorrowful voice, (I shall never forget it!) "See, I
am _shrouding_ my poor children; what a task for a mother!"--She then
called Miss Betsey to take leave of us. "I am going to carry my little
chickens to market," (these were her very words,) "take your last look of
them; may be you will see them no more." "Oh, my poor slaves! my own