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Transcriber's Note: This document is the text of Minnie's Sacrifice. Any bracketed notations such as [Text missing], [?], and those inserting letters or other comments are from the original text.
Transcriber's Note About the Author:Francis Ellen Watkins Harper (1825-1911) was born to free parents inBaltimore, Maryland. Orphaned at three, she was raised by her uncle, ateacher and radical advocate for civil rights. She attended the Academyfor Negro Youth and was educated as a teacher. She became a professionallecturer, activist, suffragette, poet, essayist, novelist, and the authorof the first published short story written by an African-American. Herwork spanned more than sixty years.
A Rediscovered Novel by
Frances E.W. Harper
Edited By Frances Smith Foster
Miriam sat in her lowly cabin, painfully rocking her body to and fro;for a great sorrow had fallen upon her life. She had been the mother ofthree children, two had died in their infancy, and now her last, herloved and only child was gone, but not like the rest, who had passedaway almost as soon as their little feet had touched the threshold ofexistence. She had been entangled in the mazes of sin and sorrow; andher sun had gone down in darkness. It was the old story. Agnes, fair,young and beautiful, had been a slave, with no power to protect herselffrom the highest insults that brutality could offer to innocence. Boundhand and foot by that system, which has since gone down in wrath, andblood, and tears, she had fallen a victim to the wiles and power of hermaster; and the result was the introduction of a child of shame into aworld of sin and suffering; for herself an early grave; and for hermother a desolate and breaking heart.
While Miriam was sitting down hopelessly beneath the shadow of hermighty grief, gazing ever and anon on the pale dead face, which seemedto bear in its sad but gentle expression, an appeal from earth toheaven, some of the slaves would hurry in, and looking upon the fairyoung face, would drop a word of pity for the weeping mother, and thenhurry on to their appointed tasks. All day long Miriam sat alone withher dead, except when these kindly interruptions broke upon the monotonyof her sorrow.
In the afternoon, Camilla, the only daughter of her master, entered hercabin, and throwing her arms around her neck exclaimed, "Oh! Mammy, I amso sorry I didn't know Agnes was dead. I've been on a visit to Mr. LeGrange's plantation, and I've just got back this afternoon, and as soonas I heard that Agnes was dead I hurried to see you. I would not evenwait for my dinner. Oh! how sweet she looks," said Camilla, bending overthe corpse, "just as natural as life. When did she die?"
"This morning, my poor, dear darling!" And another burst of anguishrelieved the overcharged heart.
"Oh! Mammy, don't cry, I am so sorry; but what is this?" said she, asthe little bundle of flannel began to stir.
"That is poor Agnes' baby."
"Agnes' baby? Why, I didn't know that Agnes had a baby. Do let me seeit?"
Tenderly the grandmother unfolded the wrappings, and presented thelittle stranger. He was a beautiful babe, whose golden hair, bright blueeyes and fair complexion showed no trace of the outcast blood in