presence of all her fellow-slaves, and with her clothing so detached as to expose her naked shoulders, she was flogged until the blood trickled down her back.
“I felt almost as bad for her,” said the narrator, “as if she had been one of my own kind.”
“Thank God she was not one of your kind!”
exclaimed a voice that fairly sizzled with rage.
The speaker who happened to be present was a relative of the author and a red-hot Abolitionist.
Then came a furious war of words, the two enraged women shouting maledictions in each other's faces.
As a boy, I enjoyed the performance hugely until I began to see that there was danger of a collision.
As the only male present, it would be my duty to interfere in case the combatants came to blows, or rather to scratches and hair-pulling.
I did not like the prospect, which seemed to me to be really alarming, and was thinking of some peaceable solution, when the two women, looking into each other's inflamed faces, suddenly realized the ridiculousness of the situation and broke into hearty peals of laughter.
That, of course, ended the controversy, not a little to the relief of the writer.
If the influence of a great majority of the women of that day was thrown on the side of slavery, as was undoubtedly the case, the minority largely made up for the disparity of numbers by the spunk and aggressiveness of their demonstrations.
A good many of the most indomitable and effective Abolition lecturers were women-such as Mrs. Lucretia Mott
, the Grimke sisters, Abby Kelly
, and others whose names are here omitted, although they richly deserve