slaves!" said dear Miss Betsey, "you belong to me; and it grieves my heart
to part with you."--Miss Betsey kissed us all, and, when she left us, my
mother called the rest of the slaves to bid us good bye. One of them, a
woman named Moll, came with her infant in her arms. "Ay!" said my mother,
seeing her turn away and look at her child with the tears in her eyes,
"your turn will come next." The slaves could say nothing to comfort us;
they could only weep and lament with us. When I left my dear little
brothers and the house in which I had been brought up, I thought my heart
would burst.

Our mother, weeping as she went, called me away with the children Hannah
and Dinah, and we took the road that led to Hamble Town, which we reached
about four o'clock in the afternoon. We followed my mother to the
market-place, where she placed us in a row against a large house, with our
backs to the wall and our arms folded across our breasts. I, as the
eldest, stood first, Hannah next to me, then Dinah; and our mother stood
beside, crying over us. My heart throbbed with grief and terror so
violently, that I pressed my hands quite tightly across my breast, but I
could not keep it still, and it continued to leap as though it would burst
out of my body. But who cared for that? Did one of the many by-standers,
who were looking at us so carelessly, think of the pain that wrung the
hearts of the negro woman and her young ones? No, no! They were not all
bad, I dare say; but slavery hardens white people's hearts towards the
blacks; and many of them were not slow to make their remarks upon us
aloud, without regard to our grief--though their light words fell like
cayenne on the fresh wounds of our hearts. Oh those white people have
small hearts who can only feel for themselves.

At length the vendue master, who was to offer us for sale like sheep or
cattle, arrived, and asked my mother which was the eldest. She said