Nothing of all she had enjoyed in life, nor all that she yet called her
own, could give her one hour of life or one peaceful moment in death!
Oh! what a scene was that! The wind blew, and great drops of rain fell on
the casements. The room lighted only with a single taper; the wretched
wife mingles her dying groans with the howling of the storm, until, as the
clock struck the hour of midnight she fell back upon her pillow and
expired, amid the tears and cries of her family and friends, who not only
deplored the loss of a wife and mother, but were grieved by the manner in
which she died.
The slaves were all deeply affected by the scene; some doubtless truly
lamented the death of their mistress; others rejoiced that she was no
more, and all were more or less frightened. One of them I remember went to
the pump and wet his face, so as to appear to weep with the rest.
What a field was opened for reflection, by the agonizing death of Mrs.
Helm? Born and reared in affluence; well educated and highly accomplished,
possessed of every means to become a useful woman and an ornament to her
sex; which she most likely would have been, had she been instructed in the
Christian religion, and had lived under a different influence. As
infidelity ever deteriorates from the female character, so Slavery
transforms more than one, otherwise excellent woman, into a feminine
monster.
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