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Gilmore</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: super; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Among the Pines, by James R. Gilmore</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Among the Pines</p> +<p> or, South in Secession Time</p> +<p>Author: James R. Gilmore</p> +<p>Release Date: October 11, 2007 [eBook #22960]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMONG THE PINES***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by David Garcia, Annie McGuire,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net/c/">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> + from page images generously made available by the<br /> + Kentuckiana Digital Library<br /> + (<a href="http://kdl.kyvl.org/">http://kdl.kyvl.org/</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ccccff;"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + Kentuckiana Digital Library. See + <a href="http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=B96-8-34456937&view=toc"> + http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=B96-8-34456937&view=toc</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h1>AMONG THE PINES.</h1> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + + + + +<h4>A NEW WORK, Descriptive of Southern Social Life,</h4> + +<h4>BY THE AUTHOR OF AMONG THE PINES,</h4> + +<h4>Is now in course of publication in THE "CONTINENTAL MONTHLY,"</h4> + +<h4>PUBLISHED BY J. R. GILMORE, 532 Broadway, NEW YORK.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></h4> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4><a name="AMONG_THE_PINES" id="AMONG_THE_PINES"></a>AMONG THE PINES:</h4> + +<h4>or,</h4> + +<h4>SOUTH IN SECESSION TIME.</h4> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h4>EDMUND KIRKE.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + +<h4>TENTH THOUSAND.</h4> + +<h4>NEW YORK: J. R. GILMORE, 532 BROADWAY.</h4> + +<h4>CHARLES T. EVANS.</h4> + +<h4>1862.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></h4> + +<h4>Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1862,</h4> + +<h4>BY J. R. GILMORE,</h4> + +<h4>In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States,</h4> + +<h4>for the Southern District of New York.</h4> + +<h4>M'CREA & MILLER, STEREOTYPERS. C. A. ALVORD, PRINTER<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></h4> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + + + + +<h4>TO</h4> + +<h4>RICHARD B. KIMBALL,</h4> + +<h4>THE ACCOMPLISHED AUTHOR, THE POLISHED GENTLEMAN,</h4> + +<h4>AND</h4> + +<h4>MY OLD AND EVER-VALUED FRIEND,</h4> + +<h4>THESE SKETCHES ARE DEDICATED</h4> + +<h4>BY THE</h4> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Author</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></h4> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<ul class="TOC" style="list-style-type:upper-roman;"> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b>On The Road.</b></a><br /> +<p>Arrival at Georgetown.—The Village Inn.—Nocturnal Adventures.—My +African Driver.—His Strange History.—Genuine Negro Songs.—Arrival +at Bucksville. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b>Wayside Hospitality.</b></a><br /> +<p>A Strange Meeting.—A Well Ordered Plantation.—A Thunder-storm.—A +Guest.—The Hidden Springs or Secession Exposed.—On the Way +Again.—Intelligence of the Negro.—Renconter with a Secessionist. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b>Crossing the Runs.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Black Declines His Freedom.—His Reasons for so Doing.—A "native" Abolitionist.—Swimming +the Run.—Black Spirits and White.—Shelter. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b>Poor Whites.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Mills House.—South Carolina Clay-Eaters.—Political +Discussion.—President Lincoln a Negro.—"Three in a Bed and one in the +Middle."—$250 reward.—A Secret League. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b>On the Plantation.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Planter's Dwelling.—His House-Keeper.—The Process of Turpentine +Making.—Loss to Carolina by Secession.—The Dying Boy.—The Story +of Jim.—A Northern Man with Southern Principles.—Sam Murdered.—Pursuit +of the Overseer. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b>The Planter's Family.</b></a><br /> +<p>The old Nurse.—Her Story.—A White Slave-Woman's Opinion of Slavery.—The Stables.—The +Negro-Quarters.—Sunday Exercises.—The Taking of Moye. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b>Plantation Discipline.</b></a><br /> +<p>The "Ole Cabin."—The Mode of Negro Punishment.—The "Thumb-Screw."—A +Ministering Angel.—A Negro Trial.—A Rebellion.—A Turpentine Dealer.—A +Boston Dray on its Travels. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b>The Negro Hunter.</b></a><br /> +<p>Young Democrats.—Political Discussion.—Startling Statistics.—A Freed Negro. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b>The Country Church.</b></a><br /> +<p>Its Description.—The "Corn-Cracker."—The News.—Strange Disclosure. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b>The Negro Funeral.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Burial Ground.—A Negro Sermon.—The Appearance of Juley.—The +Colonel's Heartlessness.—The Octoroon's Explanation of it.—The Escape of Moye. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b>The Pursuit.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Start.—"Carolina Race-Horses."—A Race.—We Lose the Trail.—A +Tornado.—A Narrow Escape. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b>The Yankee Schoolmistress.</b></a><br /> +<p>Our Ne Apparel.—"Kissing Goes by Favor."—Schools at the South. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b>The Railway Station.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Village.—A Drunken Yankee.—A Narrow Escape.—Andy Jones.—A Light-Wood +Fire.—The Colonel's Departure. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b>The Barbacue.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Camp-Ground.—The Stump-Speaker.—A Stump Speech.—Almost a +Fight.—The Manner of Roasting the Ox. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b>The Return.</b></a><br /> +<p>Arrival at the Plantation.—Disappearance of Juley and her child.—The Old Preacher's Story.—Scene +Between the Master and the Slave. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b>"One More Unfortunate."</b></a><br /> +<p>Attempted Whipping of Jim.—Appearance of the "Corn-Cracker."—"Drowned.—Drowned." +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b>The Small Planter.</b></a><br /> +<p>His House.—His Wife.—His Negroes.—A Juvenile Darky.—Lazarus in "Ab'ram's +Buzzum."—White and Black Labor Compared.—The Mysteries of "Rosum" +manufacture. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b>The Burial of Jule.</b></a><br /> +<p>"He Tempers the Wind to the Shorn Lamb."—The Funeral. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b>Homeward Bound.</b></a><br /> +<p>Colonel A—— Again.—Parting with Scipio.—Why this Book was Written. +</p> +</li> +<li><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b>Conclusion.</b></a><br /> +<p>The Author's Explanations.—Last News from Moye and Scipio.—Affecting Letter from +Andy Jones.—The End.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +</p> +</li> +</ul> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>ON THE ROAD.</h3> + + +<p>Some winters ago I passed several weeks at Tallahassee, Florida, and +while there made the acquaintance of Colonel J——, a South Carolina +planter. Accident, some little time later, threw us together again at +Charleston, when I was gratified to learn that he would be my <i>compagnon +du voyage</i> as far north as New York.</p> + +<p>He was accompanied by his body-servant, "Jim," a fine specimen of the +genus darky, about thirty years of age, and born and reared in his +master's family. As far as possible we made the journey by day, stopping +at some convenient resting-place by night; on which occasions the +Colonel, Jim, and myself would occupy the same or adjoining apartments, +"we white folks" sleeping on four posts, while the more democratic negro +spread his blanket on the floor. Thrown together thus<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> intimately, it +was but natural that we should learn much of each other.</p> + +<p>The "Colonel" was a highly cultivated and intelligent gentleman, and +during this journey a friendship sprung up between us—afterward kept +alive by a regular correspondence—which led him, with his wife and +daughter, and the man Jim, to my house on his next visit at the North, +one year later. I then promised—if I should ever again travel in South +Carolina—to visit him on his plantation in the extreme north-eastern +part of the state.</p> + +<p>In December last, about the time of the passage of the ordinance of +secession, I had occasion to visit Charleston, and, previous to setting +out, dispatched a letter to the Colonel with the information that I was +ready to be led of him "into the wilderness." On arriving at the +head-quarters of secession, I found a missive awaiting me, in which my +friend cordially renewed his previous tender of hospitality, gave me +particular directions how to proceed, and stated that his "man Jim" +would meet me with a carriage at Georgetown, and convey me thence, +seventy miles, to "the plantation."</p> + +<p>Having performed the business which led me to Charleston, I set out for +the rendezvous five days before the date fixed for the meeting, +intending to occupy the intervening time in an exploration of the +ancient town and its surroundings.</p> + +<p>The little steamer Nina (a cross between a full-grown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> nautilus and a +half-grown tub), which a few weeks later was enrolled as the first +man-of-war of the Confederate navy, then performed the carrying trade +between the two principal cities of South Carolina. On her, together +with sundry boxes and bales, and certain human merchandise, I embarked +at Charleston, and on a delicious morning, late in December, landed at +Georgetown.</p> + +<p>As the embryo war-steamer rounded up to the long, low, rickety dock, +lumbered breast-high with cotton, turpentine, and rosin, not a white +face was to be seen. A few half-clad, shiftless-looking negroes, +lounging idly about, were the only portion of the population in waiting +to witness our landing.</p> + +<p>"Are all the people dead?" I inquired of one of them, thinking it +strange that an event so important as the arrival of the Charleston +packet should excite no greater interest in so quiet a town. "Not dead, +massa," replied the black, with a knowing chuckle, "but dey'm gettin' +ready for a fun'ral." "What funeral?" I asked. "Why, dey'm gwine to +shoot all de boblition darkies at de Norf, and hab a brack burying; he! +he!" and the sable gentleman expanded the opening in his countenance to +an enormous extent, doubtless at the brilliancy of his wit.</p> + +<p>I asked him to take my portmanteau, and conduct me to the best hotel. He +readily assented, "Yas, yas, massa, I show you whar de <i>big-bugs</i> stop;" +but at once turning to another darky standing near, he accosted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> him +with, "Here, Jim, you lazy nigga, tote de gemman's tings."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you take them yourself?" I asked; "you will then get all the +pay." "No, no, massa; dat nigga and me in partenship; he do de work, and +I keeps de change," was the grinning reply, and it admirably illustrates +a peculiarity I have observed to be universal with the negro. When left +to his own direction, he invariably "goes into partenship" with some one +poorer than himself, and no matter how trivial the task, shirks all the +labor he can.</p> + +<p>The silent darky and my portmanteau in the van, and the garrulous old +negro guarding my flank, I wended my way through the principal street to +the hotel. On the route I resumed the conversation:</p> + +<p>"So, uncle, you say the people here are getting ready for a black +burying?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, gwine to bury all dem mis'able free niggas at de Norf."</p> + +<p>"Why? What will you do that for?"</p> + +<p>"Why for, massa! you ax why for!" he exclaimed in surprise.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," I rejoined; "I'm a stranger here."</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, massa, dem boblition niggas up dar hab gone and 'lected +a ole darky, dey call Uncle Abe; and Old Abe he'se gwine to come down +Souf, and cut de decent niggas' troats. He'll hab a good time—<i>he +will</i>! My young massa's captin ob de sogers, and he'll cotch de ole +coon, and string him up so high de crows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> won't scent him; yas, he +will;" and again the old darky's face opened till it looked like the +entrance to the Mammoth Cave. He, evidently, had read the Southern +papers.</p> + +<p>Depositing my luggage at the hotel, which I found on a side street—a +dilapidated, unpainted wooden building, with a female landlord—I +started out to explore the town, till the hour for dinner. Retracing my +steps in the direction of the steamboat landing, I found the streets +nearly deserted, although it was the hour when the business of the day +is usually transacted. Soon I discovered the cause. The militia of the +place were out on parade. Preceded by a colored band, playing national +airs—in doleful keeping with the occasion—and followed by a motley +collection of negroes of all sexes and ages, the company was entering +the principal thoroughfare. As it passed me, I could judge of the +prowess of the redoubtable captain, who, according to Pompey, will hang +the President "so high de crows won't scent him." He was a +harmless-looking young man, with long, spindle legs, admirably adapted +to running. Though not formidable in other respects, there <i>was</i> a +certain martial air about an enormous sabre which hung at his side, and +occasionally got entangled in his nether integuments, and a fiery, +warlike look to the heavy tuft of reddish hair which sprouted in +bristling defiance from his upper lip.</p> + +<p>The company numbered about seventy, some with uniforms and some without, +and bearing all sorts of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> arms, from the old flint-lock musket to the +modern revolving rifle. They were, however, sturdy fellows, and looked +as if they might do service at "the imminent deadly breach." Their full +ranks taken from a population of less than five hundred whites, told +unmistakably the intense war feeling of the community.</p> + +<p>Georgetown is one of the oldest towns in South Carolina, and it has a +decidedly <i>finished</i> appearance. Not a single building, I was informed, +had been erected there in five years. Turpentine is one of the chief +productions of the district; yet the cost of white lead and chrome +yellow has made paint a scarce commodity, and the houses, consequently, +all wear a dingy, decayed look. Though situated on a magnificent bay, a +little below the confluence of three noble rivers, which drain a country +of surpassing richness, and though the centre of the finest rice-growing +district in the world, the town is dead. Every thing about it wears an +air of dilapidation. The few white men you meet in its streets, or see +lounging lazily around its stores and warehouses, appear to lack all +purpose and energy. Long contact with the negro seems to have given them +his shiftless, aimless character.</p> + +<p>The ordinance of secession passed the legislature shortly prior to my +arrival, and, as might be expected, the political situation was the +all-engrossing topic of thought and conversation. In the estimation of +the whites a glorious future was about to open on the little state. +Whether she stood alone, or supported<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> by the other slave states, she +would assume a high rank among the nations of the earth; her cotton and +rice would draw trade and wealth from every land, and when she spoke, +creation would tremble. Such overweening state pride in <i>such</i> a +people—shiftless, indolent, and enervated as they are—strikes a +stranger as in the last degree ludicrous; but when they tell you, in the +presence of the black, whose strong brawny arm and sinewy frame show +that in him lies the real strength of the state, that this great empire +is to be built on the shoulders of the slave, your smile of incredulity +gives way to an expression of pity, and you are tempted to ask if those +sinewy machines may not <span class="smcap">THINK</span>, and some day rise, and topple down the +mighty fabric which is to be reared on their backs!</p> + +<p>Among the "peculiar institutions" of the South are its inns. I do not +refer to the pinchbeck, imitation St. Nicholas establishments, which +flourish in the larger cities, but to those home-made affairs, noted for +hog and hominy, corn-cake and waffles, which crop out here and there in +the smaller towns, the natural growth of Southern life and institutions. +A model of this class is the one at Georgetown. Hog, hominy, and +corn-cake for breakfast; waffles, hog, and hominy for dinner; and hog, +hominy, and corn-cake for supper—and such corn-cake, baked in the ashes +of the hearth, a plentiful supply of the grayish condiment still +clinging to it!—is its never-varying bill of fare. I endured this fare +for a day, <i>how</i>, has ever since been a mystery to me, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> when night +came my experiences were indescribable. Retiring early, to get the rest +needed to fit me for a long ride on the morrow, I soon realized that +"there is no rest for the wicked," none, at least, for sinners at the +South. Scarcely had my head touched the pillow when I was besieged by an +army of red-coated secessionists, who set upon me without mercy. I +withstood the assault manfully, till "bleeding at every pore," and then +slowly and sorrowfully beat a retreat. Ten thousand to one is greater +odds than the gallant Anderson encountered at Sumter. Yet I determined +not to fully abandon the field. Placing three chairs in a row, I mounted +upon them, and in that seemingly impregnable position hurled defiance at +the enemy, in the words of Scott (slightly altered to suit the +occasion):</p> + +<p> +"Come one, come all, these chairs shall fly<br /> +From their firm base as soon as I."<br /> +</p> + +<p>My exultation, however, was of short duration. The persistent foe, +scaling my intrenchments, soon returned to the assault with redoubled +vigor, and in utter despair I finally fled. Groping my way through the +hall, and out of the street-door, I departed. The Sable Brother—alias +the Son of Ham—alias the Image of GOD carved in Ebony—alias the +Oppressed Type—alias the Contraband—alias the Irrepressible +Nigger—alias the Chattel—alias the Darky—alias the Cullud Pusson—had +informed me that I should find the Big Bugs at that hotel. I had found +them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>Staying longer in such a place was out of the question, and I determined +to make my way to the up-country without longer waiting for Jim. With +the first streak of day I sallied out to find the means of locomotion.</p> + +<p>The ancient town boasts no public conveyance, except a one-horse gig +that carries the mail in tri-weekly trips to Charleston. That vehicle, +originally used by some New England doctor, in the early part of the +past century, had but one seat, and besides, was not going the way I +intended to take, so I was forced to seek a conveyance at a +livery-stable. At the only livery establishment in the place, kept by a +"cullud pusson," who, though a slave, owns a stud of horses that might, +among a people more <i>movingly</i> inclined, yield a respectable income, I +found what I wanted—a light Newark buggy, and a spanking gray. Provided +with these, and a darky driver, who was to accompany me to my +destination, and return alone, I started. A trip of seventy miles is +something of an undertaking in that region, and quite a crowd gathered +around to witness our departure, not a soul of whom, I will wager, will +ever hear the rumble of a stage-coach, or the whistle of a steam-car, in +those sandy, deserted streets.</p> + +<p>We soon left the village, and struck a broad avenue, lined on either +side by fine old trees, and extending in an air-line for several miles. +The road is skirted by broad rice-fields, and these are dotted here and +there by large antiquated houses, and little collections of negro huts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +It was Christmas week; no hands were busy in the fields, and every thing +wore the aspect of Sunday. We had ridden a few miles when suddenly the +road sunk into a deep, broad stream, called, as the driver told me, the +Black River. No appliance for crossing being at hand, or in sight, I was +about concluding that some modern Moses accommodated travellers by +passing them over its bed dry-shod, when a flat-boat shot out from the +jungle on the opposite bank, and pulled toward us. It was built of +two-inch plank, and manned by two infirm darkies, with frosted wool, who +seemed to need all their strength to sit upright. In that leaky craft, +kept afloat by incessant baling, we succeeded, at the end of an hour, in +crossing the river. And this, be it understood, is travelling in one of +the richest districts of South Carolina!</p> + +<p>We soon left the region of the rice-fields, and plunged into dense +forests of the long-leafed pine, where for miles not a house, or any +other evidence of human occupation, is to be seen. Nothing could well be +more dreary than a ride through such a region, and to while away the +tedium of the journey I opened a conversation with the driver, who up to +that time had maintained a respectful silence.</p> + +<p>He was a genuine native African, and a most original and interesting +specimen of his race. His thin, close-cut lips, straight nose and +European features contrasted strangely with a skin of ebon blackness, +and the quiet, simple dignity of his manner betokened superior +intelligence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> His story was a strange one. When a boy, he was with his +mother, kidnapped by a hostile tribe, and sold to the traders at Cape +Lopez, on the western coast of Africa. There, in the slave-pen, the +mother died, and he, a child of seven years, was sent in the slave-ship +to Cuba. At Havana, when sixteen, he attracted the notice of a gentleman +residing in Charleston, who bought him and took him to "the States." He +lived as house-servant in the family of this gentleman till 1855, when +his master died, leaving him a legacy to a daughter. This lady, a kind, +indulgent mistress, had since allowed him to "hire his time," and he +then carried on an "independent business," as porter, and doer of all +work around the wharves and streets of Georgetown. He thus gained a +comfortable living, besides paying to his mistress one hundred and fifty +dollars yearly for the privilege of earning his own support. In every +way he was a remarkable negro, and my three days' acquaintance with him +banished from my mind all doubt as to the capacity of the black for +freedom, and all question as to the disposition of the slave to strike +off his chains when the favorable moment arrives. From him I learned +that the blacks, though pretending ignorance, are fully acquainted with +the questions at issue in the pending contest. He expressed the opinion, +that war would come in consequence of the stand South Carolina had +taken; and when I said to him: "But if it comes you will be no better +off. It will end in a compromise, and leave you where you are." He +answered:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> "No, massa, 't wont do dat. De Souf will fight hard, and de +Norf will get de blood up, and come down har, and do 'way wid de <i>cause</i> +ob all de trubble—and dat am de nigga."</p> + +<p>"But," I said, "perhaps the South will drive the North back; as you say, +they will fight hard."</p> + +<p>"Dat dey will, massa, dey'm de fightin' sort, but dey can't whip de +Norf, 'cause you see dey'll fight wid only one hand. When dey fight de +Norf wid de right hand, dey'll hev to hold de nigga wid de leff."</p> + +<p>"But," I replied, "the blacks wont rise; most of you have kind masters +and fare well."</p> + +<p>"Dat's true, massa, but dat an't freedom, and de black lub freedom as +much as de white. De same blessed LORD made dem both, and HE made dem +all 'like, 'cep de skin. De blacks hab strong hands, and when de day +come you'll see dey hab heads, too!"</p> + +<p>Much other conversation, showing him possessed of a high degree of +intelligence, passed between us. In answer to my question if he had a +family, he said: "No, sar. My blood shall neber be slaves! Ole massa +flog me and threaten to kill me 'cause I wouldn't take to de wimmin; but +I tole him to kill, dat 't would be more his loss dan mine."</p> + +<p>I asked if the negroes generally felt as he did, and he told me that +many did; that nearly all would fight for their freedom if they had the +opportunity, though some preferred slavery because they were sure of +being cared for when old and infirm, not considering that if their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +labor, while they were strong, made their masters rich, the same labor +would afford <i>them</i> provision against old age. He told me that there are +in the <i>district</i> of Georgetown twenty thousand blacks, and not more +than two thousand whites, and "Suppose," he added, "dat one-quarter ob +dese niggas rise—de rest keep still—whar den would de white folks be?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," I replied, "they would be taken at a disadvantage; but it +would not be long before aid came from Charleston, and you would be +overpowered."</p> + +<p>"No, massa, de chivarly, as you call dem, would be 'way in Virginny, and +'fore dey hard of it Massa Seward would hab troops 'nough in Georgetown +to chaw up de hull state in less dan no time."</p> + +<p>"But you have no leaders," I said, "no one to direct the movement. Your +race is not a match for the white in generalship, and without generals, +whatever your numbers, you would fare hardly."</p> + +<p>To this he replied, an elevated enthusiasm lighting up his face, "De +<span class="smcap">Lord</span>, massa, made generals ob Gideon and David, and de brack man know as +much 'bout war as dey did; p'raps," he added, with a quiet humor, "de +brack aint equal to de white. I knows most ob de great men, like +Washington and John and James and Paul, and dem ole fellers war white, +but dar war Two Sand (Tousaint L'Overture), de Brack Douglass, and de +Nigga Demus (Nicodemus), dey war brack."</p> + +<p>The argument was unanswerable, and I said nothing. If the day which sees +the rising of the Southern blacks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> comes to this generation, that negro +will be among the leaders. He sang to me several of the songs current +among the negroes of the district, and though of little poetic value, +they interested me, as indicating the feelings of the slaves. The blacks +are a musical race, and the readiness with which many of them improvise +words and melody is wonderful; but I had met none who possessed the +readiness of my new acquaintance. Several of the tunes he repeated +several times, and each time with a new accompaniment of words. I will +try to render the sentiment of a few of these songs into as good negro +dialect as I am master of, but I cannot hope to repeat the precise +words, or to convey the indescribable humor and pathos which my darky +friend threw into them, and which made our long, solitary ride through +those dreary pine-barrens pass rapidly and pleasantly away. The first +referred to an old darky who was transplanted from the cotton-fields of +"ole Virginny" to the rice-swamps of Carolina, and who did not like the +change, but found consolation in the fact that rice is not grown on "the +other side of Jordan."</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Come listen, all you darkies, come listen to my song,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">It am about ole Massa, who use me bery wrong.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">In de cole, frosty mornin', it an't so bery nice,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Wid de water to de middle to hoe among de rice;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">When I neber hab forgotten</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">How I used to hoe de cotton,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">How I used to hoe de cotton,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 9em;">On de ole Virginny shore;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">But I'll neber hoe de cotton,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Oh! neber hoe de cotton</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Any more.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"If I feel de drefful hunger, he tink it am a vice,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And he gib me for my dinner a little broken rice,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">A little broken rice and a bery little fat—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And he grumble like de debil if I eat too much of dat;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">When I neber hab forgotten, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"He tore me from my <span class="smcap">Dinah</span>; I tought my heart would burst—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">He made me lub anoder when my lub was wid de first,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">He sole my picaninnies becase he got dar price,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And shut me in de marsh-field to hoe among de rice;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">When I neber had forgotten, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"And all de day I hoe dar, in all de heat and rain,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And as I hoe away dar, my heart go back again,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Back to de little cabin dat stood among de corn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And to de ole plantation where she and I war born!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">Oh! I wish I had forgotten, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Den <span class="smcap">Dinah</span> am beside me, de chil'ren on my knee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And dough I am a slave dar, it 'pears to me I'm free,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Till I wake up from my dreaming, and wife and chil'ren gone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">I hoe away and weep dar, and weep dar all alone!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">Oh! I wish I had forgotten, etc.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"But soon a day am comin, a day I long to see,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When dis darky in de cole ground, foreber will be free,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When wife and chil'ren wid me, I'll sing in Paradise,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">How <span class="smcap">He</span>, de blessed <span class="smcap">Jesus</span>, hab bought me wid a price.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">How de <span class="smcap">Lord</span> hab not forgotten</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">How well I hoed de cotton,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">How well I hoed de cotton</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">On de ole Virginny shore;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">Dar I'll neber hoe de cotton,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8.5em;">Oh! neber hoe de cotton</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">Any more."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The politics of the following are not exactly those of the rulers at +Washington, but we all may come to this complexion at last:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Hark! darkies, hark! it am de drum</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Dat calls ole Massa 'way from hum,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Wid powder-pouch and loaded gun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To drive ole <span class="smcap">Abe</span> from Washington;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Oh! Massa's gwine to Washington,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">So clar de way to Washington—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Oh! wont dis darky hab sum fun</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">When Massa's gwine to Washington!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Dis darky know what Massa do;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">He take him long to brack him shoe,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">To brack him shoe and tote him gun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When he am 'way to Washington.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Oh! Massa's gwine to Washington,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">So clar de way to Washington,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Oh! long afore de mornin' sun</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Ole Massa's gwine to Washington!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Ole Massa say ole <span class="smcap">Abe</span> will eat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">De niggas all excep' de feet—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">De feet, may be, will cut and run,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When Massa gets to Washington,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">When Massa gets to Washington;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">So clar de way to Washington—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Oh! wont dis darky cut and run</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">When Massa gets to Washington!</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Dis nigga know ole <span class="smcap">Abe</span> will save</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">His brudder man, de darky slave,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And dat he'll let him cut and run</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When Massa gets to Washington,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">When Massa gets to Washington;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">So clar de way to Washington,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">Ole <span class="smcap">Abe</span> will let the darkies run</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6.5em;">When Massa gets to Washington."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The next is in a similar vein:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"A storm am brewin' in de Souf,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">A storm am brewin' now,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Oh! hearken den and shut your mouf,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And I will tell you how:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And I will tell you how, ole boy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">De storm of fire will pour,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And make de darkies dance for joy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">As dey neber danced afore:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">So shut your mouf as close as deafh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And all you niggas hole your breafh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And I will tell you how.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"De darkies at de Norf am ris,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And dey am comin' down—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Am comin' down, I know dey is,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">To do de white folks brown!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Dey'll turn ole Massa out to grass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And set de niggas free,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And when dat day am come to pass</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">We'll all be dar to see!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">So shut your mouf as close as deafh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And all you niggas hole your breafh,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And do de white folks brown!</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Den all de week will be as gay</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">As am de Chris'mas time;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">We'll dance all night and all de day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And make de banjo chime—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And make de banjo chime, I tink,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And pass de time away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Wid 'nuf to eat and 'nuf to drink,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And not a bit to pay!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">So shut your mouf as dose as deafh.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And all you niggas hole your breaf,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And make de banjo chime.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Oh! make de banjo chime, you nigs,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And sound de tamborin,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And shuffle now de merry jigs,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For Massa's 'gwine in'—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Massa's 'gwine in,' I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And won't he hab de shakes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When Yankee darkies show him how</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Dey cotch de rattle-snakes!<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">So shut your mouf as close as deafh,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">And all you niggas hole your breaf,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">For Massa's 'gwine in'—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">For Massa's 'gwine in,' I know,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">And won't he hab de shakes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">When Yankee darkies show him how</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Dey cotch de rattle-snakes!"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The reader must not conclude that my darky acquaintance is an average +specimen of his class. Far from it. Such instances of intelligence are +very rare, and are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>never found except in the cities. There, constant +intercourse with the white renders the black shrewd and intelligent, but +on the plantations, the case is different. And besides, my musical +friend, as I have said, is a native African. Fifteen years of +observation have convinced me that the imported negro, after being +brought in contact with the white, is far more intelligent than the +ordinary Southern-born black. Slavery cramps the intellect and dwarfs +the nature of a man, and where the dwarfing process has gone on, in +father and son, for two centuries, it must surely be the case—as surely +as that the qualities of the parent are transmitted to the child—that +the later generations are below the first. This deterioration in the +better nature of the slave is the saddest result of slavery. His moral +and intellectual degradation, which is essential to its very existence, +constitutes the true argument against it. It feeds the body but starves +the soul. It blinds the reason, and shuts the mind to truth. It degrades +and brutalizes the whole being, and does it purposely. In that lies its +strength, and in that, too, lurks the weakness which will one day topple +it down with a crash that will shake the Continent. Let us hope the +direful upheaving, which is now felt throughout the Union, is the +earthquake that will bury it forever.</p> + +<p>The sun was wheeling below the trees which skirted the western horizon, +when we halted in the main road, abreast of one of those by-paths, which +every traveller<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> at the South recognizes as leading to a planter's +house. Turning our horse's head, we pursued this path for a short +distance, when emerging from the pine-forest, over whose sandy barrens +we had ridden all the day, a broad plantation lay spread out before us. +On one side was a row of perhaps forty small but neat cabins; and on the +other, at the distance of about a third of a mile, a huge building, +which, from the piles of timber near it, I saw was a lumber-mill. Before +us was a smooth causeway, extending on for a quarter of a mile, and +shaded by large live-oaks and pines, whose moss fell in graceful drapery +from the gnarled branches. This led to the mansion of the proprietor, a +large, antique structure, exhibiting the dingy appearance which all +houses near the lowlands of the South derive from the climate, but with +a generous, hospitable air about its wide doors and bulky windows, that +seemed to invite the traveller to the rest and shelter within. I had +stopped my horse, and was absorbed in contemplation of a scene as +beautiful as it was new to me, when an old negro approached, and +touching his hat, said: "Massa send his complimens to de gemman, and +happy to hab him pass de night at Bucksville."</p> + +<p>"Bucks<i>ville</i>!" I exclaimed, "and where is the village?"</p> + +<p>"Dis am it, massa; and it am eight mile and a hard road to de 'Boro" +(meaning Conwayboro, a one-horse village at which I had designed to +spend the night). "Will de gemman please ride up to de piazza?" +continued the old negro.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, uncle, and thank you," and in a moment I had received the cordial +welcome of the host, an elderly gentleman, whose easy and polished +manners reminded me of the times of our grandfathers in glorious New +England. A few minutes put me on a footing of friendly familiarity with +him and his family, and I soon found myself in a circle of daughters and +grandchildren, and as much at home as if I had been a long-expected +guest.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The emblem of South Carolina.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>WAYSIDE HOSPITALITY.</h3> + + +<p>Years ago—how many it would not interest the reader to know, and might +embarrass me to mention—accompanied by a young woman—a blue-eyed, +golden-haired daughter of New-England—I set out on a long journey; a +journey so long that it will not end till one or the other of us has +laid off forever the habiliments of travel.</p> + +<p>One of the first stations on our route was—Paris. While there, +strolling out one morning alone, accident directed my steps to the <i>Arc +d'Etoile</i>, that magnificent memorial of the greatness of a great man. +Ascending its gloomy staircase to the roof, I seated myself, to enjoy +the fine view it affords of the city and its environs.</p> + +<p>I was shortly joined by a lady and gentleman, whose appearance indicated +that they were Americans. Some casual remark led us into a conversation, +and soon, to our mutual surprise and gratification, we learned that the +lady was a dear and long-time friend of my travelling-companion. The +acquaintance thus begun, has since grown into a close and abiding +friendship.</p> + +<p>The reader, with this preamble, can readily imagine my pleasure on +learning, as we were seated after our evening meal, around that pleasant +fireside in far-off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> Carolina, that my Paris acquaintance was a favorite +niece, or, as he warmly expressed it, "almost a daughter" of my host. +This discovery dispelled any lingering feeling of "strangeness" that had +not vanished with the first cordial greeting of my new-found friends, +and made me perfectly "at home."</p> + +<p>The evening wore rapidly away in a free interchange of "news," opinions, +and "small-talk," and I soon gathered somewhat of the history of my +host. He was born at the North, and his career affords a striking +illustration of the marvellous enterprise of our Northern character. A +native of the State of Maine, he emigrated thence when a young man, and +settled down, amid the pine-forest in that sequestered part of +Cottondom. Erecting a small saw-mill, and a log shanty to shelter +himself and a few "hired" negroes, he attacked, with his own hands, the +mighty pines, whose brothers still tower in gloomy magnificence around +his dwelling.</p> + +<p>From such beginnings he had risen to be one of the wealthiest land and +slave owners of his district, with vessels trading to nearly every +quarter of the globe, to the Northern and Eastern ports, Cadiz, the West +Indies, South America, and if I remember aright, California. It seemed +to me a marvel that this man, alone, and unaided by the usual appliances +of commerce, had created a business, rivalling in extent the +transactions of many a princely merchant of New York and Boston.</p> + +<p>His "family" of slaves numbered about three hundred, and a more healthy, +and to all appearance, happy set of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> laboring people, I had never seen. +Well fed, comfortably and almost neatly clad, with tidy and well-ordered +homes, exempt from labor in childhood and advanced age, and cared for in +sickness by a kind and considerate mistress, who is the physician and +good Samaritan of the village, they seemed to share as much physical +enjoyment as ordinarily falls to the lot of the "hewer of wood and +drawer of water." Looking at them, I began to question if Slavery is, in +reality, the damnable thing that some untravelled philanthropists have +pictured it. If—and in that "<i>if</i>" my good Abolition friend, is the +only unanswerable argument against the institution—if they were taught, +if they knew their nature and their destiny, the slaves of such an owner +might unprofitably exchange situations with many a white man, who, with +nothing in the present or the future, is desperately struggling for a +miserable hand-to-mouth existence in our Northern cities. I say "of such +an owner," for in the Southern Arcadia such masters are "few and far +between"—rather fewer and farther between than "spots upon the sun."</p> + +<p>But they are <i>not</i> taught. Public sentiment, as well as State law, +prevents the enlightened master, who would fit the slave by knowledge +for greater usefulness, from letting a ray of light in upon his darkened +mind. The black knows his task, his name, and his dinner-hour. He knows +there is a something within him—he does not understand precisely +what—that the white man calls his soul, which he is told will not rest +in the ground when his body is laid away in the grave, but will—if he +is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> "good nigger," obeys his master, and does the task allotted +him—travel off to some unknown region, and sing hallelujahs to the +<span class="smcap">Lord</span>, forever. He rather sensibly imagines that such everlasting singing +may in time produce hoarseness, so he prepares his vocal organs for the +long concert by a vigorous discipline while here, and at the same time +cultivates instrumental music, having a dim idea that the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> has an +ear for melody, and will let him, when he is tired of singing, vary the +exercise "wid de banjo and de bones." This is all he knows; and his +owner, however well-disposed he may be, cannot teach him more. Noble, +Christian masters whom I have met—have told me that they did not <i>dare</i> +instruct their slaves. Some of their negroes were born in their houses, +nursed in their families, and have grown up the playmates of their +children, and yet they are forced to see them live and die like the +brutes. One need not be accused of fanatical abolitionism if he deems +such a system a <i>little</i> in conflict with the spirit of the nineteenth +century!</p> + +<p>The sun had scarcely turned his back upon the world, when a few drops of +rain, sounding on the piazza-roof over our heads, announced a coming +storm. Soon it burst upon us in magnificent fury—a real, old-fashioned +thunderstorm, such as I used to lie awake and listen to when a boy, +wondering all the while if the angels were keeping a Fourth of July in +heaven. In the midst of it, when the earth and the sky appeared to have +met in true Waterloo fashion, and the dark branches of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> pines seemed +writhing and tossing in a sea of flame, a loud knock came at the +hall-door (bells are not the fashion in Dixie), and a servant soon +ushered into the room a middle-aged, unassuming gentleman, whom my host +received with a respect and cordiality which indicated that he was no +ordinary guest. There was in his appearance and manner that indefinable +something which denotes the man of mark; but my curiosity was soon +gratified by an introduction. It was "Colonel" A——. This title, I +afterward learned, was merely honorary: and I may as well remark here, +that nearly every one at the South who has risen to the ownership of a +negro, is either a captain, a major, or a colonel, or, as my ebony +driver expressed it: "Dey'm all captins and mates, wid none to row de +boat but de darkies." On hearing the name, I recognized it as that of +one of the oldest and most aristocratic South Carolina families, and the +new guest as a near relative to the gentleman who married the beautiful +and ill-fated Theodosia Burr.</p> + +<p>In answer to an inquiry of my host, the new-comer explained that he had +left Colonel J——'s (the plantation toward which I was journeying), +shortly before noon, and being overtaken by the storm after leaving +Conwayboro, had, at the solicitation of his "boys" (a familiar term for +slaves), who were afraid to proceed, called to ask shelter for the +night.</p> + +<p>Shortly after his entrance, the lady members of the family retired; and +then the "Colonel," the "Captain," and myself, drawing our chairs near +the fire, and each lighting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> a fragrant Havana, placed on the table by +our host, fell into a long conversation, of which the following was a +part:</p> + +<p>"It must have been urgent business, Colonel, that took you so far into +the woods at this season," remarked our host.</p> + +<p>"These are urgent times, Captain B——," replied the guest. "All who +have any thing at stake, should be <i>doing</i>."</p> + +<p>"These <i>are</i> unhappy times, truly," said my friend; "has any thing new +occurred?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of moment, sir; but we are satisfied Buchanan is playing us +false, and are preparing for the worst."</p> + +<p>"I should be sorry to know that a President of the United States had +resorted to underhand measures! Has he really given you pledges?"</p> + +<p>"He promised to preserve the <i>statu quo</i> in Charleston harbor, and we +have direct information that he intends to send out reinforcements," +rejoined Colonel A——.</p> + +<p>"Can that be true? You know, Colonel, I never admired your friend, Mr. +Buchanan, but I cannot see how, if he does his duty, he can avoid +enforcing the laws in Charleston, as well as in the other cities of the +Union."</p> + +<p>"The 'Union,' sir, does not exist. Buchanan has now no more right to +quarter a soldier in South Carolina than I have to march an armed force +on to Boston Common.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> If he persists in keeping troops near Charleston, +we shall dislodge them."</p> + +<p>"But that would make war! and war, Colonel," replied our host, "would be +a terrible thing. Do you realize what it would bring upon us? And what +could our little State do in a conflict with nearly thirty millions?"</p> + +<p>"We should not fight with thirty millions. The other Cotton States are +with us, and the leaders in the Border States are pledged to Secession. +They will wheel into line when we give the word. But the North will not +fight. The Democratic party sympathizes with us, and some of its +influential leaders are pledged to our side. They will sow division +there, and paralyze the Free States; besides, the trading and +manufacturing classes will never consent to a war that will work their +ruin. With the Yankees, sir, the dollar is almighty."</p> + +<p>"That may be true," replied our host; "but I think if we go too far, +they will fight. What think you, Mr. K——?" he continued, appealing to +me, and adding: "This gentleman, Colonel, is very recently from the +North."</p> + +<p>Up to that moment, I had avoided taking part in the conversation. Enough +had been said to satisfy me that while my host was a staunch +Unionist,<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> his visitor was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>not only a rank Secessionist, but one of +the leaders of the movement, and even then preparing for desperate +measures. Discretion, therefore, counselled silence. To this direct +appeal, however, I was forced to reply, and answered: "I think, sir, the +North does not yet realize that the South is in earnest. When it wakes +up to that fact, its course will be decisive."</p> + +<p>"Will the Yankees <i>fight</i>, sir?" rather impatiently and imperiously +asked the Colonel, who evidently thought I intended to avoid a direct +answer to the question.</p> + +<p>Rather nettled by his manner, I quickly responded: "Undoubtedly they +will, sir. They have fought before, and it would not be wise to count +them cowards."</p> + +<p>A true gentleman, he at once saw that his manner had given offence, and +instantly moderating his tone, rather apologetically replied: "Not +cowards, sir, but too much absorbed in the 'occupations of peace,' to go +to war for an idea."</p> + +<p>"But what you call an 'idea,'" said our host, "<i>they</i> may think a great +fact on which their existence depends. <i>I</i> can see that we will lose +vastly by even a peaceful separation. Tell me, Colonel, what we will +gain?"</p> + +<p>"Gain!" warmly responded the guest. "Everything! Security, freedom, room +for the development of our institutions,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> and each progress in wealth as +the world has never seen."</p> + +<p>"All that is very fine," rejoined the "Captain," "but where there is +wealth, there must be work; and who will do the work in your new +Empire—I do not mean the agricultural labor; you will depend for that, +of coarse, on the blacks—but who will run your manufactories and do +your mechanical labor? The Southern gentleman would feel degraded by +such occupation; and if you put the black to any work requiring +intelligence, you must let him <i>think</i>, and when he <span class="smcap">THINKS</span>, <i>he is +free</i>!"</p> + +<p>"All that is easily provided for," replied the Secessionist. "We shall +form intimate relations with England. She must have our cotton, and we +in return will take her manufactures."</p> + +<p>"That would be all very well at present, and so long as you should keep +on good terms with her; but suppose, some fine morning, Exeter Hall got +control of the English Government, and hinted to you, in John Bull +fashion, that cotton produced by free labor would be more acceptable, +what could three, or even eight millions, cut off from the sympathy and +support of the North, do in opposition to the power of the British +empire?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, perhaps, if we <i>were</i> three or even eight millions, but we +shall be neither one nor the other. Mexico and Cuba are ready, now, to +fall into our hands, and before two years have passed, with or without +the Border States, we shall count twenty millions. Long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> before England +is abolitionized, our population will outnumber hers, and our territory +extend from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and as far south as the +Isthmus. We are founding, sir, an empire that will be able to defy all +Europe—one grander than the world has seen since the age of Pericles!"</p> + +<p>"You say, with or without the Border States," remarked our host. "I +thought you counted on their support."</p> + +<p>"We do if the North makes war upon us, but if allowed to go in peace, we +can do better without them. They will be a wall between us and the +abolitionized North."</p> + +<p>"You mistake," I said, "in thinking the North is abolitionized. The +Abolitionists are but a handful there. The great mass of our people are +willing the South should have undisturbed control of its domestic +concerns."</p> + +<p>"Why, then, do you send such men as Seward, Sumner, Wilson, and Grow to +Congress? Why have you elected a President who approves of +nigger-stealing? and why do you tolerate such incendiaries as Greeley, +Garrison, and Phillips?"</p> + +<p>"Seward, and the others you name," I replied, "are not Abolitionists; +neither does Lincoln approve of nigger-stealing. He is an honest man, +and I doubt not, when inaugurated, will do exact justice by the South. +As to incendiaries, you find them in both sections. Phillips and +Garrison are only the opposite poles of Yancey and Wise."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not so, sir; they are more. Phillips, Greeley, and Garrison create and +control your public opinion. They are mighty powers, while Yancey and +Wise have no influence whatever. Yancey is a mere bag-pipe; we play upon +him, and like the music, but smile when he attempts to lead us. Wise is +a harlequin; we let him dance because he is good at it, and it amuses +us. Lincoln may be honest, but if made President he will be controlled +by Seward, who hates the South. Seward will whine, and wheedle, and +attempt to cajole us back, but mark what I say, sir, I <i>know</i> him; he is +physically, morally, and constitutionally a <span class="smcap">COWARD</span>, and will never +strike a blow for the <span class="smcap">Union</span>. If hard pressed by public sentiment, he +may, to save appearances, bluster a little, and make a show of getting +ready for a fight; but he will find some excuse at the last moment, and +avoid coming to blows. For our purposes, we had rather have the North +under his control than under that of the old renegade, Buchanan!"</p> + +<p>"All this may he very true," I replied, "but perhaps you attach too much +weight to what Mr. Seward or Mr. Lincoln may or may not do. You seem to +forget that there are twenty intelligent millions at the North, who will +have something to say on this subject, and who may not consent to be +driven into disunion by the South, or wheedled into it by Mr. Seward."</p> + +<p>"I do not forget," replied the Secessionist, "that you have four +millions of brave, able-bodied men, while we have not, perhaps, more +than two millions; but bear in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> mind that you are divided, and therefore +weak; we united, and therefore strong!"</p> + +<p>"But," I inquired, "<i>have</i> you two millions without counting your +blacks; and are <i>they</i> not as likely to fight on the wrong as on the +right side?"</p> + +<p>"They will fight on the right side, sir. We can trust them. You have +travelled somewhat here. Have you not been struck with the contentment +and cheerful subjection of the slaves?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I have not been! On the contrary, their discontent is evident. +You are smoking a cigar on a powder-barrel."</p> + +<p>An explosion of derisive laughter from the Colonel followed this remark, +and turning to the Captain, he good-humoredly exclaimed: "Hasn't the +gentleman used his eyes and ears industriously!"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he is more than half right," was the reply. "If this thing +should go on, I would not trust my own slaves, and I think they are +truly attached to me. If the fire once breaks out, the negroes will rush +into it, like horses into a burning barn."</p> + +<p>"Think you so!" exclaimed the Colonel in an excited manner. "By Heaven, +if I believed it, I would cut the throat of every slave in Christendom! +What," addressing me, "have you seen or heard, sir, that gives you that +opinion?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing but a sullen discontent and an eagerness for news, which show +they feel intense interest in what is going on, and know it concerns +<i>them</i>."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I haven't remarked that," he said rather musingly, "but it <i>may</i> be so. +Does the North believe it? If we came to blows, would they try to excite +servile insurrection among us?"</p> + +<p>"The North, beyond a doubt, believes it," I replied, "yet I think even +the Abolitionists would aid you in putting down an insurrection; but +war, in my opinion, would not leave you a slave between the Rio Grande +and the Potomac."</p> + +<p>The Colonel at this rose, remarking: "You are mistaken. You are +mistaken, sir!" then turning to our host, said: "Captain, it is late: +had we not better retire?" Bidding me "good-night," he was gone.</p> + +<p>Our host soon returned from showing the guest to his apartment, and with +a quiet but deliberate manner, said to me: "You touched him, Mr. K——, +on a point where he knows we are weakest; but allow me to caution you +about expressing your opinions so freely. The Colonel is a gentleman, +and what you have said will do no harm, but, long as I have lived here, +<i>I</i> dare not say to many what you have said to him to-night."</p> + +<p>Thanking the worthy gentleman for the caution, I followed him up stairs, +and soon lost, in a sweet oblivion, all thoughts of Abolitionists, +niggers, and the "grand empire."</p> + +<p>I was awakened in the morning by music under my window, and looking out +discovered about a dozen darkies gathered around my ebony driver, who +was clawing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> away with all his might at a dilapidated banjo, while his +auditory kept time to his singing, by striking the hand on the knee, and +by other gesticulations too numerous to mention. The songs were not much +to boast of, but the music was the genuine, dyed-in-the-wool, darky +article. The following was the refrain of one of the songs, which the +reader will perceive was an exhortation to early rising:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"So up, good massa, let's be gwoin',</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">Let's be scratchin' ob de grabble;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">For soon de wind may be a blowin',</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">An' we'se a sorry road to trabble."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The storm of the previous night had ceased, but the sky was overcast, +and looked as if "soon de wind might be a-blowin'." Prudence counselled +an early start, for, doubtless, the runs, or small creeks, had become +swollen by the heavy rain, and would be unsafe to cross after dark. +Besides, beyond Conwayboro, our route lay for thirty miles through a +country without a solitary house where we could get decent shelter, were +we overtaken by a storm.</p> + +<p>Hurriedly performing my toilet, I descended to the drawing-room, where I +found the family assembled. After the usual morning salutations were +exchanged, a signal from the mistress caused the sounding of a bell in +the hall, and some ten or twelve men and women house-servants, of +remarkably neat and tidy appearance, among whom was my darky driver, +entered the apartment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> They took a stand at the remote end of the room, +and our host, opening a large, well-worn family <span class="smcap">Bible</span>, read the +fifty-fourth chapter of Isaiah. Then, all kneeling, he made a short +extemporaneous petition, closing with the <span class="smcap">Lord's</span> Prayer; all present, +black as well as white, joining in it. Then Heber's beautiful hymn, +"From Greenland's icy mountains," was sung; the negroes, to my ear, +making much better music than the whites.</p> + +<p>The services over, we adjourned to the dining-room, and after we were +seated, the "Colonel" remarked to me: "Did you notice how finely that +negro 'boy' (he was fully forty years old) sung?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied, "I did. Do you know him, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes, very well. His mistress wishes to sell him, but finds +difficulty in doing so. Though a likely negro, people will not buy him. +He's too smart."</p> + +<p>"That strikes me as a singular objection," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Oh! no, not at all! These <i>knowing</i> niggers frequently make a world of +trouble on a plantation."</p> + +<p>It was after ten o'clock before we were ready to start. The mills, the +negro-quarters, and various other parts of the plantation, and then +several vessels moored at the wharf, had to be seen before I could get +away. Finally, I bade my excellent host and his family farewell, and +with nearly as much regret as I ever felt at leaving my own home. I had +experienced the much-heard-of Southern hospitality, and had found the +report far below the reality.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>The other guest had taken his leave some time before, but not till he +had given me a cordial invitation to return by the way I came, and spend +a day or two with him, at his plantation on the river, some twenty miles +below.</p> + +<p>The sky was lowery, and the sandy road heavy with the recent rain, when +we started. The gloomy weather seemed to have infected the driver as +well as myself. He had lost the mirthfulness and loquacity of the +previous day, and we rode on for a full hour in silence. Tiring at last +of my own thoughts, I said to him: "Scip, what is the matter with you? +what makes you so gloomy?"</p> + +<p>"Nuffin, massa; I war only tinkin'," he abstractedly replied.</p> + +<p>"And what are you thinking about?"</p> + +<p>"I's wond'rin', massa, if de <span class="smcap">Lord</span> mean de darkies in dose words of HIS +dat Massa B—— read dis mornin'."</p> + +<p>"What words do you mean?</p> + +<p>"Dese, massa: 'O dou 'fflicted! tossed wid de tempest, and habin no +comfort, behold, I will make you hous'n ob de fair colors, and lay dar +foundations wid safomires. All dy chil'ren shill be taught ob de <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, +and great shill be dar peace. In de right shill dey be 'stablished; dey +shill hab no fear, no terror; it shan't come nigh 'em, and who come +against dem shill fall. Behold! I hab make de blacksmif dat blow de +coals, and make de weapons; and I hab make de waster dat shill destroy +de oppressors.'"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>If he had repeated one of Webster's orations I could not have been more +astonished. I did not remember the exact words of the passage, but I +knew he had caught its spirit. Was this his recollection of the reading +heard in the morning? or had he previously committed it to memory? These +questions I asked myself; but, restraining my curiosity, I answered: +"Undoubtedly they are meant for both the black and the white."</p> + +<p>"Do dey mean, massa, dat we shall be like de wite folks—wid our own +hous'n, our chil'ren taught in de schools, and wid weapons to strike +back when dey strike us?"</p> + +<p>"No, Scipio, they don't mean that. They refer principally to spiritual +matters. They were a promise to <i>all the world</i> that when the <span class="smcap">Saviour</span> +came, all, even the greatly oppressed and afflicted, should hear the +great truths of the <span class="smcap">Bible</span> about <span class="smcap">God</span>, <span class="smcap">Redemption</span>, and the <span class="smcap">Future</span>."</p> + +<p>"But de <span class="smcap">Saviour</span> hab come, massa; and dose tings an't taught to de black +chil'ren. We hab no peace, no rights; nuffin but fear, 'pression, and +terror."</p> + +<p>"That is true, Scipio. The <span class="smcap">Lord</span> takes <span class="smcap">His</span> own time, but <span class="smcap">His</span> time will +<i>surely</i> come."</p> + +<p>"De <span class="smcap">Lord</span> bless you, massa, for saying dat; and de <span class="smcap">Lord</span> bless you for +telling dat big Cunnel, dat if dey gwo to war de brack man will be +<span class="smcap">Free</span>!"</p> + +<p>"Did you hear what we said?" I inquired, greatly surprised, for I +remembered remarking, during the interview<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> of the previous evening, +that our host carefully kept the doors closed.</p> + +<p>"Ebery word, massa."</p> + +<p>"But how <i>could</i> you hear? The doors and windows were shut. Where were +you?"</p> + +<p>"On de piazzer; and when I seed fru de winder dat de ladies war gwine, I +know'd you'd talk 'bout politics and de darkies—gemmen allers do. So I +opened de winder bery softly—you didn't har 'cause it rained and blowed +bery hard, and made a mighty noise. Den I stuffed my coat in de crack, +so de wind could'nt blow in and lef you know I was dar, but I lef a hole +big 'nough to har. My ear froze to dat hole, massa, bery tight, I 'shore +you."</p> + +<p>"But you must have got very wet and very cold."</p> + +<p>"Wet, massa! wetter dan a 'gator dat's been in de riber all de week, but +I didn't keer for de rain or de cold. What I hard made me warm all de +way fru."</p> + +<p>To my mind there was a rough picture of true heroism in that poor darky +standing for hours in his shirt-sleeves, in the cold, stormy night, the +lightning playing about him, and the rain drenching him to the +skin—that he might hear something he thought would benefit his +down-trodden race.</p> + +<p>I noticed his clothing though bearing evident marks of a drenching, was +then dry, and I inquired: "How did you dry your clothes?"</p> + +<p>"I staid wid some ob de cullud folks, and arter you gwoes up stars, I +went to dar cabin, and dey gabe me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> some dry cloes. We made up a big +fire, and hung mine up to dry, and de ole man and woman and me sot up +all night and talked ober what you and de oder gemmen said."</p> + +<p>"Will not those folks tell what you did, and thus get you into trouble?"</p> + +<p>"Tell! <span class="smcap">Lord</span> bless you, massa, <i>de bracks am all freemasons</i>; dat ar ole +man and woman wud die 'fore dey'd tell."</p> + +<p>"But are not Captain B—-'s negroes contented?" I asked; "they seem to +be well treated."</p> + +<p>"Oh! yas, dey am. All de brack folks 'bout har want de Captin to buy +'em. He bery nice man—one ob de LORD'S own people. He better man dan +David, 'cause David did wrong, and I don't b'lieve de Captin eber did."</p> + +<p>"I should think he was a very good man," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Bery good man, massa, but de white folks don't like him, 'cause dey say +he treats him darkies so well, all dairn am uncontented."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Scipio," I resumed after a while, "how it is you can repeat +that passage from Isaiah so well?"</p> + +<p>"Why, bless you, massa, I know Aziar and Job and de Psalms 'most all by +heart. Good many years ago, when I lib'd in Charles'on, the gub'ness +learned me to read, and I hab read dat BOOK fru good many times."</p> + +<p>"Have you read any others?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"None but dat and Doctor Watts. I hab <i>dem</i>, but wite folks wont sell +books to de bracks, and I wont steal 'em. I read de papers sometimes."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>I opened my portmanteau, that lay on the floor of the wagon, and handed +him a copy of Whittier's poems. It happened to be the only book, +excepting the <span class="smcap">Bible</span>, that I had with me.</p> + +<p>"Read that, Scipio," I said. "It is a book of poetry, but written by a +good man at the North, who greatly pities the slave."</p> + +<p>He took the book, and the big tears rolled down his cheeks, as he said: +"Tank you, massa, tank you. Nobody war neber so good to me afore."</p> + +<p>During our conversation, the sky, which had looked threatening all the +morning, began to let fall the big drops of rain; and before we reached +Conwayboro, it poured down much after the fashion of the previous night. +It being cruelty to both man and beast to remain out in such a deluge, +we pulled up at the village hotel (kept, like the one at Georgetown, by +a lady), and determined to remain overnight, unless the rain should +abate in time to allow us to reach our destination before dark.</p> + +<p>Dinner being ready soon after our arrival (the people of Conwayboro, +like the "common folks" that Davy Crockett told about, dine at twelve), +I sat down to it, first hanging my outer garments, which were somewhat +wet, before the fire in the sitting-room. The house seemed to be a sort +of public boarding-house, as well as hotel, for quite a number of +persons, evidently town's-people were at the dinner-table. My appearance +attracted some attention, though not more, I thought, than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> would be +naturally excited in so quiet a place by the arrival of a stranger; but +"as nobody said nothing to me, I said nothing to nobody."</p> + +<p>Dinner over, I adjourned to the "sitting-room," and seating myself by +the fire, watched the drying of my "outer habiliments." While thus +engaged, the door opened, and three men—whom I should have taken for +South Carolina gentlemen, had not a further acquaintance convinced me to +the contrary—entered the room. Walking directly up to where I was +sitting, the foremost one accosted me something after this manner:</p> + +<p>"I see you are from the North, sir."</p> + +<p>Taken a little aback by the abruptness of the "salute," but guessing his +object, I answered: "No, sir; I am from the South."</p> + +<p>"From what part of the South?"</p> + +<p>"I left Georgetown yesterday, and Charleston two days before that," I +replied, endeavoring to seem entirely oblivious to his meaning.</p> + +<p>"We don't want to know whar you war yesterday; we want to know whar you +<i>belong</i>," he said, with a little impatience.</p> + +<p>"Oh! that's it. Well, sir, I belong <i>here</i> just at present, or rather I +shall, when I have paid the landlady for my dinner."</p> + +<p>Annoyed by my coolness, and getting somewhat excited, he replied +quickly: "You mustn't trifle with us, sir. We know you. You're from the +North. We've seen it on your valise, and we can't allow a man who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +carries the New York <i>Independent</i> to travel in South Carolina."</p> + +<p>The scoundrels had either broken into my portmanteau, or else a copy of +that paper had dropped from it on to the floor of the wagon when I gave +the book to Scipio. At any rate, they had seen it, and it was evident +"Brother Beecher" was getting me into a scrape. I felt indignant at the +impudence of the fellow, but determined to keep cool, and, a little +sarcastically, replied to the latter part of his remark:</p> + +<p>"That's a pity, sir. South Carolina will lose by it."</p> + +<p>"This game wont work, sir. We don't want such people as you har, and the +sooner you make tracks the better."</p> + +<p>"I intend to leave, sir, as soon as the rain is over, and shall travel +thirty miles on your sandy roads to-day, if you don't coax me to stay +here by your hospitality," I quietly replied.</p> + +<p>The last remark was just the one drop needed to make his wrath "bile +over," and he savagely exclaimed: "I tell you, sir, we will not be +trifled with. You must be off to Georgetown at once. You can have just +half an hour to leave the Boro', not a second more."</p> + +<p>His tone and manner aroused what little combativeness there is in me. +Rising from my chair, and taking up my outside-coat, in which was one of +Colt's six-shooters, I said to him: "Sir, I am here, a peaceable man, on +peaceable, private business. I have started to go up the country, and go +there I shall; and I shall leave this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> place at my convenience—not +before. I have endured your impertinence long enough, and shall have no +more of it. If you attempt to interfere with my movements, you will do +so at your peril."</p> + +<p>My blood was up, and I was fast losing that better part of valor called +discretion; and <i>he</i> evidently understood my movement, and did not +dislike the turn affairs were taking. There is no telling what might +have followed had not Scip just at that instant inserted his woolly head +between us, excitedly exclaiming: "Lord bless you, Massa B——ll; what +<i>am</i> you 'bout? Why, dis gemman am a 'ticlar friend of Cunnel A——. +He'm a reg'lar sesherner. He hates de ablisherners worser dan de debble. +I hard him swar a clar, blue streak 'bout dem only yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Massa B——ll" was evidently taken aback by the announcement of the +negro, but did not seem inclined to "give it up so" at once, for he +asked: "How do you know he's the Colonel's friend, Scip? Who told you +so?"</p> + +<p>"Who told me so?" exclaimed the excited negro, "why, didn't he stay at +Captin B——'s, wid de Cunnel, all night last night; and didn't dey set +up dar doin' politic business togedder till arter midnight? Didn't de +Cunnel come dar in all de storm 'pressly to see dis gemman?"</p> + +<p>The ready wit and rude eloquence of the darky amused me, and the idea of +the "Cunnel" travelling twenty miles through the terrible storm of the +previous night to meet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> a man who had the New York <i>Independent</i> about +him, was so perfectly ludicrous, that I could not restrain my laughter. +That laugh did the business for "Massa B——ll." What the negro had +said staggered, but did not convince him; but my returning good-humor +brought him completely round. Extending his hand to me, he said: "I see, +sir, I've woke up the wrong passenger. Hope you'll take no offence. In +these times we need to know who come among us."</p> + +<p>"No offence whatever, sir," I replied. "It is easy to be mistaken; but," +I added smilingly, "I hope, for the sake of the next traveller, you'll +be less precipitate another time."</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> rather hasty; that's a fact," he said. "But no harm is done. So +let's take a drink, and say no more about it. The old lady har keeps +nary a thing, but we can get the <i>raal stuff</i> close by."</p> + +<p>Though not a member of a "Total Abstinence Society," I have always +avoided indulging in the quality of fluid that is the staple beverage at +the South. I therefore hesitated a moment before accepting the +gentleman's invitation; but the alternative seemed to be squarely +presented, pistols or drinks; cold lead or poor whiskey, and—I am +ashamed to confess it—I took the whiskey.</p> + +<p>Returning to the hotel, I found Scip awaiting me. "Massa," he said, "we +better be gwine. Dat dar sesherner am ugly as de bery ole debble; and +soon as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> knows I cum de possum ober him 'bout de Cunnel, he'll be +down on you <i>shore</i>."</p> + +<p>The rain had dwindled to a drizzle, which the sun was vigorously +struggling to get through with a tolerable prospect of success, and I +concluded to take the African's advice. Wrapping myself in an +India-rubber overcoat, and giving the darky a blanket of the same +material, I started.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> I very much regret to learn, that since my meeting with this most +excellent gentleman, being obnoxious to the Secession leaders for his +well-known Union sentiments, he has been very onerously assessed by them +for contributions for carrying on the war. The sum he has been forced to +pay, is stated as high as forty thousand dollars, but that may be, and I +trust is, an exaggeration. In addition—and this fact is within my own +knowledge—five of his vessels have been seized in the Northern ports by +our Government. This exposure of true Union men to a double fire, is one +of the most unhappy circumstances attendant upon this most unhappy war.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>CROSSING THE "RUNS."</h3> + + +<p>The long, tumble-down bridge which spans the Waccamaw at Conwayboro, +trembled beneath our horse's tread, as with lengthened stride he shook +the secession mud from his feet, and whirled us along into the dark, +deep forest. It may have been the exhilaration of a hearty dinner of +oats, or it may have been sympathy with the impatience of his +fellow-travellers that spurred him on; whichever it was, away he went as +if Lucifer—that first Secessionist—were following close at his heels.</p> + +<p>The sun, which for a time had been industriously wedging his way into +the dark masses of cloud, finally slunk out of sight and left us +enveloped in a thick fog, which shut from view all of Cottondom, except +a narrow belting of rough pines, and a few rods of sandy road that +stretched out in dim perspective before us. There being nothing in the +outside creation to attract my attention, I drew the apron of the +carriage about me, and settling myself well back on the seat to avoid +the thick-falling mist, fell into a train of dreamy reflection.</p> + +<p>Niggers, slave-auctions, cotton-fields, rice-swamps, and King Cotton +himself, that blustering old despot, with his swarthy arms and +"under-pinning," his face of brass,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> and body of "raw material," passed +through my mind, like Georgia trains through the Oconee Swamp, till +finally my darky friend came into view. He seemed at first a little +child, amid the blazing ruins of his wilderness home, gazing in stupid +horror on the burning bodies of his father and his kindred. Then he was +kneeling at the side of his dying mother in the slave-pen at Cape Lopez, +and—still a child—cooped in the "Black-hole" of the accursed +slave-ship, his little frame burning with the fever-fire, and his +child-heart longing for death. Then he seemed mounting the Cuban +slave-block, and as the "going! going! gone!" rung in my ear, he was +hurried away, and driven to the cruel task—still a child—on the hot, +unhealthy sugar-field. Again he appeared, stealing away at night to a +lonely hut, and by the light of a pine-knot, wearily poring over the +<span class="smcap">Book</span> of <span class="smcap">Books</span>, slowly putting letters into words, and words into +sentences, that he might know "<i>What God says to the black man</i>." Then +he seemed a man—splendid of frame, noble of soul—suspended in the +whipping-rack, his arms bound above his head, his body resting on the +tips of his toes, and the merciless lash falling on his bare back, till +the red stream ran from it like a river—scourged because he would not +aid in creating beings as wretched as himself, and make merchandise of +his own blood to gorge the pocket of an incarnate white devil.</p> + +<p>As these things passed before me, and I thought of his rare +intelligence, of his fine traits of character, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> of the true heroism +he had shown in risking, perhaps, his own life to get me—a +stranger—out of an ugly hobble, I felt a certain spot in my left side +warming toward him, very much as it might have done had his blood been +as pure as my own. It seemed to me a pity—anti-Abolitionist and +Southern-sympathizer though I was—that a man of such rare natural +talent, such character and energy, should have his large nature dwarfed, +be tethered for life to a cotton-stalk, and made to wear his soul out in +a tread-mill, merely because his skin had a darker tinge and his shoe a +longer heel than mine.</p> + +<p>As I mused over his "strange, eventful history," and thought of the +handy way nature has of putting the <i>right</i> man in the <i>wrong</i> place, it +occurred to me how "Brother Beecher" one evening, not a long time +before, had charmed the last dollar from my waistcoat pocket by +exhibiting, <i>à la</i> Barnum, a remarkably ugly "cullud pusson" on his +pulpit stairs, and by picturing the awful doom which awaited her—that +of being reduced from baby-tending to some less useful employment—if +his audience did not at once "do the needful." Then it occurred to me +how much finer a spectacle my ebony friend would make; how well his six +feet of manly sinew would grace those pulpit stairs; how eloquently the +reverend gentleman might expatiate on the burning sin of shrouding the +light of such an intellect in the mists of niggerdom, only to see it +snuffed out in darkness; how he might enlarge on what the black could do +in elevating his race, either as "cullud" assistant to "Brother<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> Pease" +at the Five-Points, or as co-laborer with Fred Douglass at abolition +conventions, or, if that didn't <i>pay</i>, how, put into the minstrel +business, he might run the white "troupes" off the track, and yield a +liberal revenue to the "Cause of Freedom." As I thought of the probable +effect of this last appeal, it seemed to me that the thing was already +done, and that <span class="smcap">Scip</span> was <span class="smcap">Free</span>.</p> + +<p>I got back from dreamland by the simple act of opening my eyes, and +found myself still riding along in that Jersey wagon, over that heavy, +sandy road, and drenched with the mists of that dreary December day. The +reverie made, however, a deep impression on me, and I gave vent to it +somewhat as follows:</p> + +<p>"Colonel A—— tells me, Scip, that your mistress wants to sell you. Do +you know what she asks?"</p> + +<p>"She ax fifteen hundred dollar, massa, but I an't worth dat now. Nigger +property's mighty low."</p> + +<p>"What is your value now?"</p> + +<p>"P'raps eight hundred, p'raps a thousand dollar, massa."</p> + +<p>"Would your mistress take a thousand for you?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know, sar, but reckon she would. She'd be glad to get shut of me. +She don't like me on de plantation, 'cause she say de oder darkies tink +too much ob me; and she don't like me in de city, 'cause she 'fraid I +run away."</p> + +<p>"Why afraid you'll runaway? Did you ever try to?"</p> + +<p>"Try to! <span class="smcap">Lor</span> bless you, massa, I neber taught ob such a ting—wouldn't +gwo ef I could."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But wouldn't you?" I asked, thinking he had conscientious scruples +about running away; "wouldn't you if you could buy yourself, and go +honestly, as a <i>free</i> man?"</p> + +<p>"Buy myself, sar!" he exclaimed in surprise; "buy <i>my own</i> flesh and +blood dat de <span class="smcap">Lord</span> hissef gabe me! No, no! massa; I'd likes to be free, +but I'd neber do <i>dat</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Why not do that?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"'Cause 't would be owning dat de white folks hab a right to de brack; +and 'cause, sar, if I war free I couldn't stay har."</p> + +<p>"Why should you stay here? You have no wife nor child; why not go where +the black man is respected and useful?"</p> + +<p>"I'se 'spected and useful har, massa. I hab no wife nor child, and dat +make me feel, I s'pose, like as ef all de brack people war my chil'ren."</p> + +<p>"But they are not your children; and you can be of no service to them. +At the North you might learn, and put your talents to some use."</p> + +<p>"Sar," he replied, a singular enthusiasm lighting up his face, "de <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, +dat make me what I ar, put me har, and I must stay. Sometimes when tings +look bery brack, and I feel a'most 'scouraged, I goes to <span class="smcap">Him</span>, and I say, +'<span class="smcap">Lord</span>, I's ob no use, take me 'way; let me get fru wid dis; let me no +more see de suffrin' and 'pression ob de pore cullud race;' den <span class="smcap">He</span> say +to me, just so plain as I say it to you, 'Keep up good courage, Scipio, +de time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> will come;'<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> and now, bless de <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, de time am coming!"</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i> time is coming, Scipio?"</p> + +<p>He gave me a quick, suspicious glance, but his face in a moment resumed +its usual expression, as he replied: "I'se sure, massa, dat I could +trust you. I feel you am my friend, but I can't say no more."</p> + +<p>"You need not, Scip—I can guess. What you have said is safe with me. +But let me counsel you—wait for the white man. Do not let your freedom +come in blood!"</p> + +<p>"It will come, massa, as de <span class="smcap">Lord</span> will. When <span class="smcap">He</span> war freed <i>de earth +shook, and de vail ob de temple war rent in twain</i>!"</p> + +<p>We said no more, but rode on in silence; the darky absorbed in his own +reflections, I musing over the black volcano, whose muffled echoes I +then heard "away down South in Dixie."</p> + +<p>We had ridden on for about an hour, when an opening in the trees +disclosed a by-path, leading to a plantation. Following it for a short +distance, we came upon a small clearing, in the midst of which, flanked +by a ragged corn and potato patch, squatted a dilapidated, unpainted +wooden building, a sort of "half-way house" <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>between a hut and a shanty. +In its door-way, seated on a chair which wanted one leg and a back, was +a suit of linsey-woolsey, adorned by enormous metal buttons, and +surmounted by a queer-looking headpiece that might have passed for +either a hat or an umbrella. I was at a loss to determine whether the +object were a human being or a scarecrow, when, at the sound of our +approach, the umbrella-like article lifted, and a pair of sunken eyes, a +nose, and an enormous beard, disclosed themselves. Addressing myself to +the singular figure, I inquired how far we were from our destination, +and the most direct route to it.</p> + +<p>"Wal, stranger," was the reply, "it's a right smart twenty mile to the +Cunnel's, but I reckon ye'll get thar, if ye follow yer critter's nose, +and ar good at swimming."</p> + +<p>"Why good at swimming?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"'Cause the 'runs' have ris, and ar considerable deep by this time."</p> + +<p>"That's comforting news."</p> + +<p>"Yas, to a man as seems in a hurry," he replied, looking at my horse, +which was covered with foam.</p> + +<p>"How far is it to the nearest run?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Wal, it mought be six mile; it mought be seven, but you've one or two +all-fired ones to cross arter that."</p> + +<p>Here was a pleasant predicament. It was nearly five o'clock, and our +horse, though a noble animal, could not make the distance on an +unobstructed route, in the then heavy state of the roads, in less than +three hours. Long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> before that time it would be dark, and no doubt +stormy, for the sky, which had lowered all the afternoon, every now and +then uttered an ominous growl, and seemed ready to fall down upon us. +But turning back was out of the question, so, thanking the "native," I +was about to proceed, when he hailed me as follows:</p> + +<p>"I say, stranger, what's the talk in the city?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, sir," I replied, "but fight and Secession."</p> + +<p>"D—n Secession!" was the decidedly energetic answer.</p> + +<p>"Why so, my friend? That doctrine seems to be popular hereabouts."</p> + +<p>"Yas, pop'lar with them South Car'lina chaps. They'd be oneasy in heaven +if Gabriel was cook, and the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> head-waiter."</p> + +<p>"They must be hard to suit," I said; "I 'kalkerlate' <i>you're</i> not a +South Carolinian."</p> + +<p>"No, sir-ee! not by several mile. My mother moved over the line to born +me a decent individual."</p> + +<p>"But why are you for the Union, when your neighbors go the other way?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause it's allers carried us 'long as slick as a cart with new-greased +wheels; and 'cause, stranger, my grand'ther was one of Marion's boys, +and spilt a lettle claret at Yewtaw for the old consarn, and I reckon +he'd be oneasy in his grave if I turned my back on it now."</p> + +<p>"But, my friend," I said, "they say Lincoln is an Abolitionist, and if +inaugurated, he will free every darky you've got."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He can't do that, stranger, 'cordin' to the Constetution, and +grand'ther used to say that ar dokermunt would hold the d—l himself; +but, for my part, I'd like to see the niggers free."</p> + +<p>"See the niggers free!" I replied in undisguised astonishment; "why, my +good sir, that is rank treason and abolition."</p> + +<p>"Call it what yer a mind to, them's my sentiments; but I say, stranger, +if thar's ony thing on airth that I uttarly dispise it ar a Northern +dough-face, and it's clar yer one on 'em."</p> + +<p>"There, my friend, you're mistaken. I'm neither an Abolitionist nor a +dough-face. But <i>why</i> do you go for freeing the niggers?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause the white folks would be better off. You see, I have to feed and +clothe my niggers, and pay a hundred and twenty and a hundred and fifty +a year for 'em, and if the niggers war free, they'd work for 'bout half +that."</p> + +<p>Continuing the conversation, I learned that the umbrella-hatted +gentleman worked twenty hired negroes in the gathering of turpentine; +and that the district we were entering was occupied by persons in the +same pursuit, who nearly all employed "hired hands," and entertained +similar sentiments; Colonel J——, whom I was about to visit, and who +was a large slave-<i>owner</i>, being about the only exception. This, the +reader will please remember, was the state of things at the date of +which I am writing, in the <i>very heart</i> of Secessiondom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>Bidding the turpentine-getter a rather reluctant "good-by," I rode on +into the rain.</p> + +<p>It was nearly dark when we reached the first "run," but, fortunately, it +was less swollen than our way-side acquaintance had represented, and we +succeeded in crossing without difficulty. Hoping that the others might +be equally as fordable, we pushed rapidly on, the darkness meanwhile +gathering thickly about us, and the rain continuing to fall. Our way lay +through an unbroken forest, and as the wind swept fiercely through it, +the tall dark pines which towered on either side, moaned and sighed like +a legion of unhappy spirits let loose from the dark abodes below. +Occasionally we came upon a patch of woods where the turpentine-gatherer +had been at work, and the white faces of the "tapped" trees, gleaming +through the darkness, seemed an army of "sheeted ghosts" closing +steadily around us. The darkness, the rain, and the hideous noises in +the forest, called up unpleasant associations, and I inwardly determined +to ask hospitality from the first human being, black or white, whom we +should meet.</p> + +<p>We had ridden on for about an hour after dark, when suddenly our horse's +feet plashed in the water, and he sank to his middle in a stream. My +first thought was that we were in the second "run," but as he pushed +slowly on, the water momentarily growing deeper, and spreading on either +side as far as we could see, it flashed upon me that we had missed the +road in the darkness, and were fairly launched into the Waccamaw river!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +Turning to the darky, who was then driving, I said quickly:</p> + +<p>"Scip, stop the horse. Where are we?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know, massa; reckon we'se in de riber."</p> + +<p>"A comfortable situation this. We can't turn round. The horse can't swim +such a stream in harness. What shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"Can you swim, massa?" he quietly asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, like an eel."</p> + +<p>"Wal, den, we'd better gwo on. De hoss'll swim. But, massa, you might +take off your boots and overcoat, and be ready for a spring ef he gwo +down."</p> + +<p>I did as he directed, while he let down the apron and top of the wagon, +and fastened the reins loosely to the dash-board, saying as he did so, +"You must allers gib a hoss his head when he swim, massa; if you rein +him, he gwo down, shore." Then, undoing a portion of the harness, to +give the horse the free use of his legs, he shouted, "Gee up, ole Gray," +and we started.</p> + +<p>The noble animal stepped off slowly and cautiously, as if fully aware of +the danger of the passage, but had proceeded only about fifty yards when +he lost his footing, and plunged us into an entirely new and decidedly +cold hip-bath. "Now's de time, ole Gray," "show your broughten up, ole +boy," "let de gemman see you swim, ole feller," and similar remarks +proceeded rapidly from the darky, who all the time avoided touching the +reins.</p> + +<p>It may have been one minute, it may have been five minutes—I took "no +note of <i>time</i>"—before the horse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> again struck bottom, and halted from +sheer exhaustion, the water still almost level with his back, and the +opposite bank too far-off to be seen through the darkness. After a short +rest, he again "breasted the waters," and in a few moments landed us on +the shore; not, unfortunately, in the road, but in the midst of the +pine-trees, there so entangled with under-growth, that not even a man, +much less a horse, could make his way through them. Wet to the skin, and +shivering with the cold, we had no time to lose "in gittin' out of dat," +if we would avoid greater dangers than those we had escaped. So, +springing from the wagon, the darky waded up the stream, near its bank, +to reconnoitre. Returning in a few minutes, he reported that we were +about a hundred yards below the road. We had been carried that far down +stream by the strength of the current. Our only course was to follow the +"run" up along its bank; this we did, and in a short time had the +satisfaction of striking the high road. Arranging the harness, we were +soon under way again, the horse bounding along as if he felt the +necessity of vigorous exercise to restore his chilled circulation. We +afterward learned that it was not the Waccamaw we had crossed, but the +second "run" our native friend had told us of, and that the water in the +middle of its stream was fifteen feet deep!</p> + +<p>Half-dead with cold and wet, we hurried on, but still no welcome light +beckoned us to a human habitation. The darkness grew denser till we +could not even distinguish the road, much less our horse's nose, which +we had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> been directed to follow. Inwardly cursing the folly which +brought me into such a wilderness, I said to the darky:</p> + +<p>"Scip, I'm sorry I took you on such a trip as this."</p> + +<p>"Oh! neber mind me, massa; I ruther like de dark night and de storm."</p> + +<p>"Like the night and the storm! why so?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause den de wild spirits come out, and talk in de trees. Dey make me +feel bery strong <i>har</i>," he replied, striking his hand on his breast.</p> + +<p>"The night and the storm, Scip, make <i>me</i> feel like cultivating another +sort of <i>spirits</i>. There are some in the wagon-box; suppose we stop and +see what they are."</p> + +<p>We stopped, and I took out a small willow-flask, which held the "spirits +of Otard," and offered it to the darky.</p> + +<p>"No, massa," he said, laughing, "I neber touch dem sort ob spirits; dey +raise de bery ole deble."</p> + +<p>Not heeding the darky's example, I took "a long and a strong pull," +and—felt the better for it.</p> + +<p>Again we rode on, and again and again I "communed with the spirits," +till a sudden exclamation from Scip aroused me from the half-stupor into +which I was falling. "What's the matter?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"A light, massa, a light!"</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"Dar, way off in de trees—"</p> + +<p>"Sure enough, glory, hallelujah, there it is! We're all right now, +Scip."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>We rode on till we came to the inevitable opening in the trees, and were +soon at the door of what I saw, by the light which came through the +crevices in the logs, was a one-story shanty, about twenty feet square. +"Will you let us come in out of de rain?" asked Scip of a +wretched-looking, half-clad, dirt-bedraggled woman, who thrust her head +from the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Who ar ye?" was the reply.</p> + +<p>"Only massa and me, and de hoss, and we'm half dead wid de cold," +replied Scip; "can we cum in out ob de rain?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, strangers," replied the woman, eyeing us as closely as the +darkness would permit, "you'll find mighty poor fixins har, but I reckon +ye can come in."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> The Southern blacks, like all ignorant people, are intensely +fanatical on religious subjects. The most trifling occurrences have to +their minds a hidden significance, and they believe the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> speaks to +them in signs and dreams, and in almost every event of nature. This +superstition, which has been handed down from their savage ancestry, has +absolute sway over them, and one readily sees what immense power it +would give to some leading, adroit mind, that knew how to use it. By +means of it they might be led to the most desperate deeds, fully +believing all the while that they were "led ob de <span class="smcap">Lord</span>."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>POOR WHITES.</h3> + + +<p>Entering the house, we saw, by the light of a blazing pile of +pine-knots, which roared and crackled on the hearth, that it contained +only a single apartment. In front of the fire-place, which occupied the +better half of one side of this room, the floor was of the bare earth, +littered over with pine chips, dead cinders, live coals, broken pots, +and a lazy spaniel dog. Opposite to this, at the other end of the room, +were two low beds, which looked as if they had been "slept in forever, +and never made up." Against the wall, between the beds and the +fire-place, stood a small pine table, and on it was a large wooden bowl, +from whose mouth protruded the handles of several unwashed pewter +spoons. On the right of the fire was a razeed rocking-chair, evidently +the peculiar property of the mistress of the mansion, and three blocks +of pine log, sawn off smoothly, and made to serve for seats. Over +against these towered a high-backed settle, something like that on which</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">"sot Huldy all alone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When Zeke peeked thru the winder;"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>and on it, her head resting partly on her arm, partly on the end of the +settle, one small, bare foot pressing the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> ground, the other, with the +part of the person which is supposed to require stockings, extended in a +horizontal direction—reclined, not Huldy, but her Southern cousin, who, +I will wager, was decidedly the prettier and dirtier of the two. Our +entrance did not seem to disconcert her in the least, for she lay there +as unmoved as a marble statue, her large black eyes riveted on my face, +as if seeing some nondescript animal for the first time. I stood for a +moment transfixed with admiration. In a somewhat extensive observation +of her sex in both hemispheres, I had never witnessed such a form, such +eyes, such faultless features, and such wavy, black, luxuriant hair. A +glance at her dress—a soiled, greasy, grayish linsey-woolsey gown, +apparently her only garment—and a second look at her face, which, on +closer inspection, had precisely the hue of a tallow candle, recalled me +to myself, and allowed me to complete the survey of the premises.</p> + +<p>The house was built of unhewn logs, separated by wide interstices, +through which the cold air came, in decidedly fresh if not health-giving +currents, while a large rent in the roof, that let in the rain, gave the +inmates an excellent opportunity for indulging in a shower-bath, of +which they seemed greatly in need. The chimney, which had intruded a +couple of feet into the room, as if to keep out of the cold, and +threatened momentarily to tumble down, was of sticks, built up in clay, +while the windows were of thick, unplaned boards.</p> + +<p>Two pretty girls, one of perhaps ten and the other of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> fourteen years, +evidently sisters of the unadorned beauty, the middle-aged woman who had +admitted us, and the dog—the only male member of the +household—composed the family. I had seen negro cabins, but these +people were whites, and these whites were <i>South Carolinians</i>. When such +counterparts of the feudal serfs still exist, who will say that the days +of chivalry are over!</p> + +<p>After I had seated myself by the fire, and the driver had gone out to +stow the horse away under the tumble-down shed at the back of the house, +the elder woman said to me—</p> + +<p>"Reckon yer wet. Ben in the rain!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam, we've been out most of the day, and got in the river below +here."</p> + +<p>"Did ye? Ye mean the 'run.' I reckon it's right deep now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, our horse had to swim," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Ye orter strip and put on dry cloes to onst."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, madam, I will."</p> + +<p>Going to my portmanteau, which the darky had placed near the door, I +found it dripping with wet, and opening it I discovered that every +article had undergone the rite of immersion.</p> + +<p>"Every thing is thoroughly soaked, madam. I shall have to dry myself by +your fire. Can you get me a cup of tea?"</p> + +<p>"Right sorry, stranger, but I can't. Haint a morsel to eat or drink in +the house."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>Remembering that our excellent hostess of the night before had insisted +on filling the wagon-box with a quantity of "chicken fixins," to serve +us in an emergency, and that my brandy flask was in my India-rubber +coat, I sent Scip out for them.</p> + +<p>The stores disclosed boiled chicken, bacon, sandwiches, sweet potatoes, +short cake, corn-bread, buttered waffles, and 'common doin's' too +numerous to mention, enough to last a family of one for a fortnight, but +all completely saturated with water. Wet or dry, however, the provisions +were a godsend to the half-starved family, and their hearts seemed to +open to me with amazing rapidity. The dog got up and wagged his tail, +and even the marble-like beauty rose from her reclining posture and +invited me to a seat with her on the bench.</p> + +<p>The kettle was soon steaming over the fire, and the boiling water, mixed +with a little brandy, served as a capital substitute for tea. After the +chicken was recooked, and the other edibles "warmed up," the little pine +table was brought out, and I learned—what I had before suspected—that +the big wooden bowl and the half dozen pewter spoons were the only +"crockery" the family possessed.</p> + +<p>I declined the proffered seat at the table, the cooking utensils being +any thing but inviting, and contented myself with the brandy and water; +but, forgetting for a moment his color, I motioned to the darky—who was +as wet and jaded, and much more hungry than I was—to take the place +offered to me. The negro did not seem<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> inclined to do so, but the woman, +observing my gesture, yelled out, her eyes flashing with anger:</p> + +<p>"No, sar! No darkies eats with us. Hope you don't reckon <i>yerself</i> no +better than a good-for-nothin', no account nigger!"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, madam; I intended no offence. Scipio has served me +very faithfully for two days, and is very tired and hungry. I forgot +myself."</p> + +<p>This mollified the lady, and she replied:</p> + +<p>"Niggers is good enuff in thar place, but warn't meant to 'sociate with +white folks."</p> + +<p>There may have been some ground for a distinction in that case; there +certainly was a difference between the specimens of the two races then +before me; but, not being one of the chivalry, it struck me that the +odds were on the side of the black man. The whites were shiftless, +ragged, and starving; the black well clad, cleanly, energetic, and as +much above the others in intellect as Jupiter is above a church steeple. +To be sure, color was against him, and he was, after all, a servant in +the land of chivalry and of servant-owners. Of course the woman was +right.</p> + +<p>She soon resumed the conversation with this remark:</p> + +<p>"Reckon yer a stranger in these parts; whar d'ye come from?"</p> + +<p>"From New York, madam."</p> + +<p>"New York! whar's that?"</p> + +<p>"It's a city at the North."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! yas; I've heern tell on it: that's whar the Cunnel sells his +turpentime. Quite a place, arnt it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite a place. Something larger than all South Carolina."</p> + +<p>"What d'ye say? Larger nor South Carolina. Kinder reckon tain't, is't?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam, it is."</p> + +<p>"Du tell! 'Taint so large as Charles'n, is't?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, twenty times larger than Charleston."</p> + +<p>"Lord o'massy! How does all the folks live thar?"</p> + +<p>"Live quite as well as they do here."</p> + +<p>"Ye don't have no niggers thar, does ye?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but none that are slaves."</p> + +<p>"Have Ablisherners thar, don't ye? them people that go agin the South?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, some of them."</p> + +<p>"What do they go agin the South for?"</p> + +<p>"They go for freeing the slaves. Some of them think a black man as good +as a white one."</p> + +<p>"Quar, that; yer an Ablisherner, arnt ye?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm an old-fashioned Whig."</p> + +<p>"What's that? Never heerd on them afore."</p> + +<p>"An old-fashioned Whig, madam, is a man whose political principles are +perfect, and who is as perfect as his principles."</p> + +<p>That was a "stumper" for the poor woman, who evidently did not +understand one-half of the sentence.</p> + +<p>"Right sort of folks, them," she said, in a half inquiring tone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, but they're all dead now."</p> + +<p>"Dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dead, beyond the hope of resurrection."</p> + +<p>"Iv'e heern all the dead war to be resurrected. Didn't ye say ye war one +on 'em? <i>Ye</i> aint dead yet," said the woman, chuckling at having +cornered me.</p> + +<p>"But I'm more than <i>half</i> dead just now."</p> + +<p>"Ah," replied the woman, still laughing, "yer a chicken."</p> + +<p>"A chicken! what's that?"</p> + +<p>"A thing that goes on tu legs, and karkles," was the ready reply.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear madam, you can out-talk me."</p> + +<p>"Yas, I reckon I kin outrun ye, tu. Ye arnt over rugged." Then, after a +pause, she added—"What d'ye 'lect that darky, Linkum, President for?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't elect him. <i>I</i> voted for Douglas. But Lincoln is not a darky."</p> + +<p>"He's a mullater, then; I've heern he war," she replied.</p> + +<p>"No, he's not a mulatto; he's a rail-splitter."</p> + +<p>"Rail-splitter? <i>Then he's a nigger, shore.</i>"</p> + +<p>"No, madam; white men at the North split rails."</p> + +<p>"An' white wimmin tu, p'raps," said the woman, with a contemptuous toss +of the head.</p> + +<p>"No, they don't," I replied, "but white women <i>work</i> there."</p> + +<p>"White wimmin work thar!" chimed in the hitherto speechless beauty, +showing a set of teeth of the exact color of her skin—<i>yaller</i>. "What +du the' du?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Some of them attend in stores, some set type, some teach school, and +some work in factories."</p> + +<p>"Du tell! Dress nice, and make money?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied, "they make money, and dress like fine ladies; in fact, +<i>are</i> fine ladies. I know one young woman, of about your age, that had +to get her own education, who earns a thousand dollars a year by +teaching, and I've heard of many factory-girls who support their +parents, and lay by a great deal of money, by working in the mills."</p> + +<p>"Wal!" replied the young woman, with a contemptuous curl of her +matchless upper lip; "schule-marms arn't fine ladies; fine ladies don't +work; only niggers works <i>har</i>. I reckon I'd rather be 'spectable than +work for a livin'."</p> + +<p>I could but think how magnificently the lips of some of our glorious +Yankee girls would have curled had they have heard that remark, and have +seen the poor girl that made it, with her torn, worn, greasy dress; her +bare, dirty legs and feet, and her arms, neck, and face so thickly +encrusted with a layer of clayey mud that there was danger of +hydrophobia if she went near a wash-tub. Restraining my involuntary +disgust, I replied:</p> + +<p>"We at the North think work is respectable. We do not look down on a man +or a woman for earning their daily bread. We all work."</p> + +<p>"Yas, and that's the why ye'r all sech cowards," said the old woman.</p> + +<p>"Cowards!" I said; "who tells you that?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My old man; he says one on our <i>boys</i> can lick five of your Yankee +<i>men</i>."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so. Is your husband away from home?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, him and our Cal. ar down to Charles'n."</p> + +<p>"Cal. is your son, is he?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, he's my oldest, and a likely lad he ar tu—he's twenty-one, and +his name are <span class="smcap">John Cal'oun Mills</span>. He's gone a troopin' it with his +fader."</p> + +<p>"What, both gone and left you ladies here alone?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, the Cunnel sed every man orter go, and they warn't to be ahind the +rest. The Cunnel—Cunnel J.—looks arter us while they is away."</p> + +<p>"But I should think the Colonel looked after you poorly—giving you +nothing to eat."</p> + +<p>"Oh! it's ben sech a storm to-day, the gals couldn't go for the vittles, +though 'tain't a great way. We'r on his plantation; this house is +his'n."</p> + +<p>This last was agreeable news, and it occurred to me that if we were so +near the Colonel's we might push on, in spite of the storm, and get +there that night; so I said:</p> + +<p>"Indeed; I'm going to the Colonel's. How far is his house from here?"</p> + +<p>"A right smart six mile; it's at the Cross roads. Ye know the Cunnel, du +ye?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I know him well. If his home is not more than six miles off, I +think we had better go on to-night. What do you say, Scip?"</p> + +<p>"I reckon we'd better gwo, massa," replied the darky,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> who had spread my +travelling-shawl in the chimney-corner, and was seated on it, drying his +clothes.</p> + +<p>"Ye'd better not," said the woman; "ye'd better stay har; thar's a right +smart run twixt har and the Cunnel's, and 'tain't safe to cross arter +dark."</p> + +<p>"If that is so we'd better stay, Scip; don't you think so?" I said to +the darky.</p> + +<p>"Jess as you say, massa. We got fru wid de oder one, and I reckon taint +no wuss nor dat."</p> + +<p>"The bridge ar carried away, and ye'll hev to swim <i>shore</i>," said the +woman. "Ye'd better stay."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, madam, I think we will," I replied, after a moment's +thought; "our horse has swum one of your creeks to-night, and I dare not +try another."</p> + +<p>Having taken off my coat, I had been standing, during the greater part +of this conversation, in my shirt-sleeves before the fire, turning round +occasionally to facilitate the drying process, and taking every now and +then a sip from the gourd containing our brandy and water; aided in the +latter exercise by the old woman and the eldest girl, who indulged quite +as freely as I did.</p> + +<p>"Mighty good brandy that," at last said the woman. "Ye like brandy, +don't ye?"</p> + +<p>"Not very much, madam. I take it to-night because I've been exposed to +the storm, and it stimulates the circulation. But Scip, here, don't like +spirits. He'll get the rheumatism because he don't."</p> + +<p>"Don't like dem sort of sperits, massa; but rumatics neber trubble me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I've got it mighty bad," said the woman, "<i>and I take 'em whenever +I kin get 'em</i>."</p> + +<p>I rather thought she did, but I "reckoned" her principal beverage was +whiskey.</p> + +<p>"You have the rheumatism, madam, because your house is so open; a +draught of air is always unhealthy."</p> + +<p>"I allers reckoned 'twar <i>healthy</i>," she replied. "Ye Yankee folks have +quar notions."</p> + +<p>I looked at my watch, and found it was nearly ten o'clock, and, feeling +very tired, said to the hostess:</p> + +<p>"Where do you mean we shall sleep?"</p> + +<p>"Ye can take that ar bed," pointing to the one nearer the wall, "the +darky can sleep har;" motioning to the settle on which she was seated.</p> + +<p>"But where will you and your daughters sleep? I don't wish to turn you +out of your beds."</p> + +<p>"Oh! don't ye keer for us; we kin all bunk together; dun it afore. Like +to turn in now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you, I would;" and without more ceremony I adjourned to the +further part of the room, and commenced disrobing. Doffing my boots, +waistcoat, and cravat, and placing my watch and purse under the pillow, +I gave a moment's thought to what a certain not very old lady, whom I +had left at home, might say when she heard of my lodging with a +grass-widow and three young girls, and sprang into bed. There I removed +my under-mentionables, which were still too damp to sleep in, and in +about two minutes and thirty seconds sunk into oblivion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>A few streaks of grayish light were beginning to creep through the +crevices in the logs, when a movement at the foot of the bed awakened +me, and glancing downward I beheld the youngest girl emerging from under +the clothes at my feet. She had slept there, "cross-wise," all night. A +stir in the adjoining bed soon warned me that the other feminines were +preparing to follow her example; so, turning my face to the wall, I +feigned to be sleeping. Their toilet was soon made, when they quietly +left Scip and myself in possession of the premises.</p> + +<p>The darky rose as soon as they were gone, and, coming to me, said:</p> + +<p>"Massa, we'd better be gwine. I'se got your cloes all dry, and you can +rig up and breakfust at de Cunnel's."</p> + +<p>The storm had cleared away, and the sun was struggling to get through +the distant pines, when Scip brought the horse to the door, and we +prepared to start. Turning to the old woman, I said:</p> + +<p>"I feel greatly obliged to you, madam, for the shelter you have given +us, and would like to make you some recompense for your trouble. Please +to tell me what I shall pay you."</p> + +<p>"Wal, stranger, we don't gin'rally take in lodgers, but seein' as how as +thar ar tu on ye, and ye've had a good night on it, I don't keer if ye +pay me tu dollars."</p> + +<p>That struck me as "rather steep" for "common doin's," particularly as we +had furnished the food and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> "the drinks;" yet, saying nothing, I handed +her a two-dollar bank-note. She took it, and held it up curiously to the +sun for a moment, then handed it back, saying, "I don't know nuthin' +'bout that ar sort o' money; haint you got no silver?"</p> + +<p>I fumbled in my pocket a moment, and found a quarter-eagle, which I gave +her.</p> + +<p>"Haint got nary a fip o' change," she said, as she took it.</p> + +<p>"Oh! never mind the change, madam; I shall want to stop and <i>look</i> at +you when I return," I replied, good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! yer a chicken," said the woman, at the same time giving me a +gentle poke in the ribs. Fearing she might, in the exuberance of her joy +at the sight of the money, proceed to some more decided demonstration of +affection, I hastily stepped into the wagon, bade her good-by, and was +off.</p> + +<p>We were still among the pines, which towered gigantically all around us, +but were no longer alone. Every tree was scarified for turpentine, and +the forest was alive with negro men and women gathering the "last +dipping," or clearing away the stumps and underbrush preparatory to the +spring work. It was Christmas week; but, as I afterward learned, the +Colonel's negroes were accustomed to doing "half tasks" at that season, +being paid for their labor as if they were free. They stopped their work +as we rode by, and stared at us with a stupid, half-frightened +curiosity, very much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> like the look of a cow when a railway train is +passing. It needed but little observation to convince me that their +<i>status</i> was but one step above the level of the brutes.</p> + +<p>As we rode along I said to the driver, "Scip, what did you think of our +lodgings?"</p> + +<p>"Mighty pore, massa. Niggas lib better'n dat."</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied, "but these folks despise you blacks; they seem to be +both poor and proud."</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, dey'm pore 'cause dey wont work, and dey'm proud 'cause +dey'r white. Dey wont work 'cause dey see de darky slaves doin' it, and +tink it am beneaf white folks to do as de darkies do. Dis habin' slaves +keeps dis hull country pore."</p> + +<p>"Who told you that?" I asked, astonished at hearing a remark showing so +much reflection from a negro.</p> + +<p>"Nobody, massa; I see it myseff."</p> + +<p>"Are there many of these poor whites around Georgetown?"</p> + +<p>"Not many 'round Georgetown, sar, but great many in de up-country har, +and dey'm all 'like—pore and no account; none ob 'em kin read, and dey +all eat clay."</p> + +<p>"Eat clay!" I said; "what do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't you see, massa, how yaller all dem wimmin war? Dat's 'cause dey +eat clay. De little children begin 'fore dey kin walk, and dey eat it +till dey die; dey chaw it like 'backer. It makes all dar stumacs big, +like as you seed 'em, and spiles dar 'gestion. It'm mighty onhealfy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can it be possible that human beings do such things! The brutes +wouldn't do that."</p> + +<p>"No, massa, but <i>dey</i> do it; dey'm pore trash. Dat's what de big folks +call 'em, and it am true; dey'm long way lower down dan de darkies."</p> + +<p>By this time we had arrived at the "run." We found the bridge carried +away, as the woman had told us; but its abutments were still standing, +and over these planks had been laid, which afforded a safe crossing for +foot-passengers. To reach these planks, however, it was necessary to +wade into the stream for full fifty yards, the "run" having overflowed +its banks for that distance on either side of the bridge. The water was +evidently receding, but, as we could not well wait, like the man in the +fable, for it all to run by, we alighted, and counselled as to the best +mode of making the passage.</p> + +<p>Scip proposed that he should wade in to the first abutment, ascertain +the depth of the stream, and then, if it was not too deep for the horse +to ford to that point, drive that far, get out, and walk to the end of +the planking, leading the horse, and then again mount the wagon at the +further end of the bridge. We were sure the horse would have to swim in +the middle of the current, and perhaps for a considerable distance +beyond; but, having witnessed his proficiency in aquatic performances, +we had no doubt he would get safely across.</p> + +<p>The darky's plan was decided on, and divesting himself of his trowsers, +he waded into the "run" to take the soundings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>While he was in the water my attention was attracted to a printed paper, +posted on one of the pines near the roadside. Going up to it, I read as +follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"$250 REWARD.</p> + +<p>"Ran away from the subscriber, on Monday, November 12th, his +mulatto man, <span class="smcap">Sam</span>. Said boy is stout-built, five feet nine inches +high, 31 years old, weighs 170 lbs., and walks very erect, and with +a quick, rapid gait. The American flag is tattooed on his right arm +above the elbow. There is a knife-cut over the bridge of his nose, +a fresh bullet-wound in his left thigh, and his back bears marks of +a recent whipping. He is supposed to have made his way back to +Dinwiddie County, Va., where he was raised, or to be lurking in the +swamps in this vicinity.</p> + +<p>"The above reward will be paid for his confinement in any jail in +North or South Carolina, or Virginia, or for his delivery to the +subscriber on his plantation at ——.</p> + +<p>"——, December 2, 1860."</p></div> + +<p>The name signed to this hand-bill was that of the planter I was about to +visit.</p> + +<p>Scip having returned, and reported the stream fordable to the bridge, I +said to him, pointing to the "notice:"</p> + +<p>"Read that, Scip."</p> + +<p>He read it, but made no remark.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean—that fresh bullet wound, and the marks of a recent +whipping?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It mean, massa, dat de darky hab run away, and ben took; and dat when +dey took him dey shot him, and flogged him arter dat. Now, he hab run +away agin. De Cunnel's mighty hard on his niggas!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is he? I can scarcely believe that."</p> + +<p>"He am, massa; but he arnt so much to blame, nuther; dey'm awful bad, +most ob 'em—so dey say."</p> + +<p>Our conversation was here interrupted by our reaching the bridge. After +safely "walking the plank," and making our way to the opposite bank, I +resumed it by asking:</p> + +<p>"Why are the Colonel's negroes so particularly bad?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause, you see, massa, de turpentime business hab made great profits +for sum yars now, and de Cunnel hab been gettin' rich bery fass. He put +all his money, jes so fass as he make it, into darkies, so to make more; +for he's got bery big plantation, and need nuffin' but darkies to work +it to make money jess like a gold mine. He goes up to Virginny to buy +niggas; and up dar <i>now</i> dey don't sell none less dey'm bad uns, 'cep +when sum massa die or git pore. Virginny darkies dat cum down har aint +gin'rally ob much account. Dey'm either kinder good-for-nuffin, or dey'm +ugly; and de Cunnel'd ruther hab de ugly dan de no-account niggas."</p> + +<p>"How many negroes has he?"</p> + +<p>"'Bout two hundred, men and wimmin, I b'lieve, massa."</p> + +<p>"It can't be pleasant for his family to remain in such an out-of-the-way +place, with so bad a gang of negroes about them, and no white people +near."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, massa, not in dese times; but de missus and de young lady arnt dar +now."</p> + +<p>"Not there now? The Colonel said nothing to me about that. Are you +sure?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yas, massa; I seed 'em gwo off on de boat to Charles'n most two +weeks ago. Dey don't mean to cum back till tings am more settled; dey'm +'fraid to stay dar."</p> + +<p>"Would it be safe for the Colonel there, if a disturbance broke out +among the slaves."</p> + +<p>"'T wouldn't be safe den anywhar, sar; but de Cunnel am a bery brave +man. He'm better dan twenty of <i>his</i> niggas."</p> + +<p>"Why better than twenty of <i>his</i> niggers?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause dem ugly niggas am gin'rally cowards. De darky dat is quiet, +'spectful, and does his duty, am de brave sort; <i>dey'll</i> fight, massa, +till dey'm cut down."</p> + +<p>We had here reached a turn in the road, and passing it, came suddenly +upon a coach, attached to which were a pair of magnificent grays, driven +by a darky in livery.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, dar!" said Scip to the driver, as we came nearly abreast of the +carriage. "Am you Cunnel J——'s man?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, I is dat," replied the darky.</p> + +<p>At this moment a woolly head, which I recognized at once as that of the +Colonel's man "Jim," was thrust from the window of the vehicle.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Jim," I said. "How do you do? I'm glad to see you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lor bress me, Massa K——, am dat you?" exclaimed the astonished negro, +hastily opening the door, and coming to me. "Whar <i>did</i> you cum from? +I'se mighty glad to see you;" at the same time giving my hand a hearty +shaking. I must here say, in justice to the reputation of South +Carolina, that no respectable Carolinian refuses to shake hands with a +black man, unless—the black happens to be free.</p> + +<p>"I thought I wouldn't wait for you," I replied. "But how did you expect +to get on? the 'runs' have swollen into rivers."</p> + +<p>"We got a 'flat' made for dis one—it's down by dis time—de oders we +tought we'd get ober sumhow."</p> + +<p>"Jim, this is Scip," I said, seeing the darkies took no notice of each +other.</p> + +<p>"How d'ye do, Scip<i>io?</i>" said Jim, extending his hand to him. A look of +singular intelligence passed over the faces of the two negroes as their +hands met; it vanished in an instant, and was so slight that none but a +close observer would have detected it, but some words that Scip had +previously let drop had put me on the alert, and I felt sure it had a +hidden significance.</p> + +<p>"Wont you get into de carriage, massa?" inquired Jim.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, Jim. I'll ride on with Scip. Our horse is jaded, and you +had better go ahead."</p> + +<p>Jim mounted the driver's seat, turned the carriage, and drove off at a +brisk pace to announce our coming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> at the plantation, while Scip and I +rode on at a slower gait.</p> + +<p>"Scip, did you know Jim before?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Hab seed him afore, massa, but neber know'd him."</p> + +<p>"How is it that you have lived in Georgetown five years, and have not +known him?"</p> + +<p>"I cud hab know'd him, massa, good many time, ef I'd liked, but darkies +hab to be careful."</p> + +<p>"Careful of what?"</p> + +<p>"Careful ob who dey knows; good many bad niggas 'bout."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw, Scip, you're 'coming de possum'; there isn't a better nigger +than Jim in all South Carolina. I know him well."</p> + +<p>"P'raps he am; reckon he <i>am</i> a good 'nuff nigga."</p> + +<p>"Good enough nigga, Scip! Why, I tell you he's a splendid fellow; just +as true as steel. He's been North with the Colonel, often, and the +Abolitionists have tried to get him away; he knew he could go, but +wouldn't budge an inch."</p> + +<p>"I knew he wouldn't," said the darky, a pleasurable gleam passing +through his eyes; "dat sort don't run; dey face de music!"</p> + +<p>"Why don't they run? What do you mean by facing the music?"</p> + +<p>"Nuffin' massa—only dey'd rather stay har."</p> + +<p>"Come, Scip, you've played this game long enough. Tell me, now, what +that look you gave each other when you shook hands meant."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What look, massa? Oh! I s'pose 'twar 'cause we'd both <i>heerd</i> ob each +oder afore."</p> + +<p>"'Twas more than that, Scip. Be frank; you know you can trust <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Wal, den, massa," he replied hesitatingly, adding, after a short pause, +"de ole woman called you a Yankee, sar—you can guess."</p> + +<p>"If I should guess, 't would be that it meant <i>mischief</i>."</p> + +<p>"It don't mean mischief, sar," said the darky, with a tone and air that +would not have disgraced a Cabinet officer; "it mean only <span class="smcap">Right</span> and +<span class="smcap">Justice</span>."</p> + +<p>"It means that there is some secret understanding between you."</p> + +<p>"I toled you, massa," he replied, relapsing into his usual manner, "dat +de blacks am all Freemasons. I gabe Jim de grip, and he knowd me. He'd +ha knowd my name ef you hadn't toled him."</p> + +<p>"Why would he have known your name?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause I gabe de grip, dat tole him."</p> + +<p>"Why did he call you Scip<i>io</i>? I called you <i>Scip</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh! de darkies all do dat. Nobody but de white folks call me <i>Scip</i>. I +can't say no more, massa; <span class="smcap">I shud break de oath ef I did</span>!"</p> + +<p>"You have said enough to satisfy me that there is a secret league among +the blacks, and that you are a leader in it. Now, I tell you, you'll get +yourself into a scrape. I've taken a liking to you, Scip, and I should +be <i>very sorry</i> to see you run yourself into danger."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I tank you, massa, from de bottom ob my soul I tank you," he said, as +the tears moistened his eyes. "You bery kind, massa; it do me good to +talk wid you. But what am my life wuth? What am any <i>slave's</i> life wuth? +<i>Ef you war me you'd do like me!</i>"</p> + +<p>I could not deny it, and I made no reply.</p> + +<p>The writer is aware that he is here making an important statement, and +one that may be called in question by those persons who are accustomed +to regard the Southern blacks as only reasoning brutes. The great mass +of them <i>are</i> but a little above the brutes in their habits and +instincts, but a large body are fully on a par, except in mere +book-education, with their white masters.</p> + +<p>The conversation above recorded is, <i>verbatim et literatim</i>, <span class="smcap">TRUE</span>. It +took place at the time indicated, and was taken down, as were other +conversations recorded in this book, within twenty-four hours after its +occurrence. The name and the locality, only, I have, for very evident +reasons, disguised.</p> + +<p>From this conversation, together with others, held with the same negro, +and from after developments made to me at various places, and at +different times, extending over a period of six weeks, I became +acquainted with the fact that there exists among the blacks a secret and +wide-spread organization of a Masonic character, having its grip, +pass-word, and oath. It has various grades of leaders, who are +competent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> and <i>earnest</i> men, and its ultimate object is <span class="smcap">Freedom</span>. It is +quite as secret and wide-spread as the order of the "Knights of the +Golden Circle," the kindred league among the whites.</p> + +<p>This latter organization, which was instituted by John C. Calhoun, +William L. Porcher, and others, as far back as 1835, has for its sole +object the dissolution of the Union, and the establishment of a Southern +Empire—Empire is the word, not Confederacy, or Republic; and it was +solely by means of its secret but powerful machinery that the Southern +States were plunged into revolution, in defiance of the will of a +majority of their voting population.</p> + +<p>Nearly every man of influence at the South (and many a pretended Union +man at the North) is a member of this organization, and sworn, under the +penalty of assassination, to labor "in season and out of season, by fair +means and by foul, at all times, and all occasions," for the +accomplishment of its object. The blacks are bound together by a similar +oath, and only <i>bide their time</i>.</p> + +<p>The knowledge of the real state of political affairs which the negroes +have acquired through this organization is astonishingly accurate; their +leaders possess every essential of leadership—except, it may be, +military skill—and they are fully able to cope with the whites.</p> + +<p>The negro whom I call Scipio, on the day when Major Anderson evacuated +Fort Moultrie, and before he or I knew of that event, which set all +South Carolina in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> blaze, foretold to me the breaking out of this war +in Charleston harbor, and as confidently predicted that it would result +in the freedom of the slaves!</p> + +<p>The fact of this organization existing is not positively known (for the +black is more subtle and crafty than any thing human), but it is +suspected by many of the whites, the more moderate of whom are disposed +to ward off the impending blow by some system of gradual +emancipation—declaring all black children born after a certain date +free—or by some other action that will pacify and keep down the slaves. +These persons, however, are but a small minority, and possess no +political power, and the South is rushing blindly on to a catastrophe, +which, if not averted by the action of our government, will make the +horrors of San Domingo and the French Revolution grow pale in history.</p> + +<p>I say the action of our government, for with it rests the +responsibility. What the black wants is freedom. Give him that, and he +will have no incentive to insurrection. If emancipation is proclaimed at +the head of our armies—emancipation for <i>all</i>—confiscation for the +slaves of rebels, compensation for the slaves of loyal citizens—the +blacks will rush to the aid of our troops, the avenging angel will pass +over the homes of the many true and loyal men who are still left at the +South, and the thunderbolts of this war will fall only—where they +should fall—on the heads of its blood-stained authors. If this is not +done, after we have put down the whites we shall have to meet the +blacks, and after we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> have waded knee-deep in the blood of both, we +shall end the war where it began, but with the South desolated by fire +and sword, the North impoverished and loaded down with an everlasting +debt, and our once proud, happy, and glorious country the by-word and +scorn of the civilized world.</p> + +<p>Slavery is the very bones, marrow, and life-blood of this rebellion, and +it cannot be crushed till we have destroyed that accursed institution. +If a miserable peace is patched up before a death-stroke is given to +slavery, it will gather new strength, and drive freedom from this +country forever. In the nature of things it cannot exist in the same +hemisphere with liberty. Then let every man who loves his country +determine that if this war must needs last for twenty years, it shall +not end until this root of all our political evils is weeded out +forever.</p> + +<p>A short half-hour took us to the plantation, where I found the Colonel +on the piazza awaiting me. After our greeting was over, noticing my +soiled and rather dilapidated condition, he inquired where I had passed +the night. I told him, when he burst into a hearty fit of laughter, and +for several days good-naturedly bantered me about "putting up" at the +most aristocratic hotel in South Carolina—the "Mills House."</p> + +<p>We soon entered the mansion, and the reader will, I trust, pardon me, if +I leave him standing in its door-way till another chapter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>ON THE PLANTATION.</h3> + + +<p>The last chapter left the reader in the door-way of the Colonel's +mansion. Before entering, we will linger there awhile and survey the +outside of the premises.</p> + +<p>The house stands where two roads meet, and, unlike most planters' +dwellings, is located in full view of the highway. It is a rambling, +disjointed structure, thrown together with no regard to architectural +rules, and yet there is a rude harmony in its very irregularities that +has a pleasing effect. The main edifice, with a frontage of nearly +eighty feet, is only one and a half stories high, and is overshadowed by +a broad projecting roof, which somehow, though in a very natural way, +drops down at the eaves, and forms the covering of a piazza, twenty feet +wide, and extending across the entire front of the house. At its +south-easterly angle, the roof is truncated, and made again to form a +covering for the piazza, which there extends along a line of irregular +buildings for sixty yards. A portion of the verandah on this side being +enclosed, forms a bowling-alley and smoking-room, two essential +appendages to a planter's residence. The whole structure is covered with +yellow-pine weather boarding, which in some former age was covered with +paint of a grayish brown color. This, in many places, has peeled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> off +and allowed the sap to ooze from the pine, leaving every here and there +large blotches on the surface, somewhat resembling the "warts" I have +seen on the trunks of old trees.</p> + +<p>The house is encircled by grand old pines, whose tall, upright stems, +soaring eighty and ninety feet in the air, make the low hamlet seem +lower by the contrast. They have stood there for centuries, their rough, +shaggy coats buttoned close to their chins, and their long green locks +waving in the wind; but the long knife has been thrust into their veins, +and their life-blood is now fast oozing away.</p> + +<p>With the exception of the negro huts, which are scattered at irregular +intervals through the woods in the rear of the mansion, there is not a +human habitation within an hour's ride; but such a cosy, inviting, +hospitable atmosphere surrounds the whole place, that a stranger does +not realize he has happened upon it in a wilderness.</p> + +<p>The interior of the dwelling is in keeping with the exterior, though in +the drawing-rooms, where rich furniture and fine paintings actually +lumber the apartments, there is evident the lack of a nice perception of +the "fitness of things," and over the whole hangs a "dusty air," which +reminds one that the Milesian Bridget does not "flourish" in South +Carolina.</p> + +<p>I was met in the entrance-way by a tall, fine-looking woman, to whom the +Colonel introduced me as follows:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. K——, this is Madam P——, my housekeeper; she will try to make +you forget that Mrs. J—— is absent."</p> + +<p>After a few customary courtesies were exchanged, I was shown to a +dressing-room, and with the aid of Jim, a razor, and one of the +Colonel's shirts—all of mine having undergone a drenching—soon made a +tolerably presentable appearance. The negro then conducted me to the +breakfast-room, where I found the family assembled.</p> + +<p>It consisted, besides the housekeeper, of a tall, raw-boned, +sandy-haired personage, with a low brow, a blear eye, and a sneaking +look—the overseer of the plantation; and of a well-mannered, +intelligent lad—with the peculiarly erect carriage and uncommon +blending of good-natured ease and dignity which distinguished my +host—who was introduced to me as the housekeeper's son.</p> + +<p>Madam P——, who presided over the "tea-things," was a person of perhaps +thirty-five, but a rich olive complexion, enlivened by a delicate red +tint, and relieved by thick masses of black hair, made her appear to a +casual observer several years younger. Her face bore vestiges of great +beauty, which time, and, perhaps, care, had mellowed but not +obliterated, and her conversation indicated high cultivation. She had +evidently mingled in refined society in this country and in Europe, and +it was a strange freak of fortune that had reduced her to a menial +condition in the family of a backwoods planter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>After some general conversation, the Colonel remarked that his wife and +daughter would pass the winter in Charleston.</p> + +<p>"And do <i>you</i> remain on the plantation?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I am needed here," he replied; "but Madam's son is with my +family."</p> + +<p>"Madam's son!" I exclaimed in astonishment, forgetting in my surprise +that the lady was present.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," she remarked, "my oldest boy is twenty."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Madam; I forgot that in your climate one never grows old."</p> + +<p>"There you are wrong, sir; I'm sure I <i>feel</i> old when I think how soon +my boys will be men."</p> + +<p>"Not old yet, Alice," said the Colonel, in a singularly familiar tone; +"you seem to me no older than when you were fifteen."</p> + +<p>"You have been long acquainted," I remarked, not knowing exactly what to +say.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," replied my host, "we were children together."</p> + +<p>"Your Southern country, Madam, affords a fine field for young men of +enterprise."</p> + +<p>"My eldest son resides in Germany," replied the lady. "He expects to +make that country his home. He would have passed his examination at +Heidelberg this autumn had not circumstances called him here."</p> + +<p>"You are widely separated," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; his father thinks it best, and I suppose it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> is. Thomas, +here, is to return with his brother, and I may live to see neither of +them again."</p> + +<p>My curiosity was naturally much excited to learn more, but nothing +further being volunteered, and the conversation soon turning to other +topics, I left the table with it unsatisfied.</p> + +<p>After enjoying a quiet hour with the Colonel in the smoking-room, he +invited me to join him in a ride over the plantation. I gladly assented, +and Jim shortly announced the horses were in waiting. That darky, who +invariably attended his master when the latter proceeded from home, +accompanied us. As we were mounting I bethought me of Scip, and asked +where he was.</p> + +<p>"He'm gwine to gwo, massa, and want to say good-by to you."</p> + +<p>It seemed madness for Scip to start on a journey of seventy miles +without rest, so I requested the Colonel to let him remain till the next +day. He cheerfully assented, and sent Jim to find him. While waiting for +the darky, I spoke of how faithfully he had served me during my journey.</p> + +<p>"He's a splendid nigger," replied the Colonel; "worth his weight in +gold. If affairs were more settled I would buy him."</p> + +<p>"But Colonel A—— tells me he is too intelligent. He objects to +'knowing' niggers."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> do not," replied my host, "if they are honest, and I would trust +Scip with uncounted gold. Look at him,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> he continued, as the negro +approached; "were flesh and bones ever better put together?"</p> + +<p>The darky <i>was</i> a fine specimen of sable humanity, and I readily +understood why the practiced eye of the Colonel appreciated his physical +developments.</p> + +<p>"Scip," I said, "you must not think of going to-day; the Colonel will be +glad to let you remain until you are fully rested."</p> + +<p>"Tank you, massa, tank you bery much, but de ole man will spec' me, and +I orter gwo."</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind old——," said the Colonel, "I'll take care of him."</p> + +<p>"Tank you, Cunnel, den I'll stay har till de mornin'."</p> + +<p>Taking a by-path which led through the forest in the rear of the +mansion, we soon reached a small stream, and, following its course for a +short distance, came upon a turpentine distillery, which the Colonel +explained to me was one of three that prepared the product of his +plantation for market, and provided for his family of nearly three +hundred souls.</p> + +<p>It was enclosed, or rather roofed, by a rude structure of rough boards, +which was open at the sides, and sustained on a number of pine poles +about thirty feet in height, and bore a strong resemblance to the usual +covering of a New England haystack.</p> + +<p>Three stout negro men, divested of all clothing excepting a pair of +coarse gray trowsers and a red shirt—it was a raw, cold, wintry +day—and with cotton bandannas bound about their heads, were "tending +the still." The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> foreman stood on a raised platform level with its top, +but as we approached very quietly seated himself on a turpentine barrel +which a moment before he had rolled over the mouth of the boiler. +Another negro was below, feeding the fire with "light wood," and a third +was tending the trough by which the liquid rosin found its way into the +semicircle of rough barrels intended for its reception.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Junius, what in creation are you doing there?" asked the +Colonel, as we approached, of the negro on the turpentine barrel.</p> + +<p>"Holein' her down, Cunnel; de ole ting got a mine to blow up dis +mornin'; I'se got dis barrl up har to hole her down."</p> + +<p>"Why, you everlasting nigger, if the top leaks you'll be blown to +eternity in half a second."</p> + +<p>"Reckon not, massa; be barrl and me kin hole her. We'll take de risk."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps <i>you</i> will," said the Colonel, laughing, "but I wont. Nigger +property isn't of much account, but you're too good a darky, June, to be +sent to the devil for a charge of turpentine."</p> + +<p>"Tank you, massa, but you dun kno' dis ole ting like I do. You cudn't +blow her up nohow; I'se tried her afore dis way."</p> + +<p>"Don't you do it again; now mind; if you do I'll make a white man of +you." (This I suppose referred to a process of flaying with a whip; +though the whip is generally thought to <i>redden</i>, not <i>whiten</i>, the +negro.)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>The black did not seem at all alarmed, for he showed his ivories in a +broad grin as he replied, "Jess as you say, massa; you'se de boss in dis +shanty."</p> + +<p>Directing the fire to be raked out, and the still to stand unused until +it was repaired, the Colonel turned his horse to go, when he observed +that the third negro was shoeless, and his feet chapped and swollen with +the cold. "Jake," he said, "where are your shoes?"</p> + +<p>"Wored out, massa."</p> + +<p>"Worn out! Why haven't you been to me?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause, massa, I know'd you'd jaw; you tole me I wears 'em out mighty +fass."</p> + +<p>"Well, you do, that's a fact; but go to Madam and get a pair; and you, +June, you've been a decent nigger, you can ask for a dress for Rosy. How +is little June?"</p> + +<p>"Mighty pore, massa; de ma'am war dar lass night and dis mornin', and +she reckun he'm gwine to gwo, sartain."</p> + +<p>"Sorry to hear that," said the Colonel. "I'll go and see him. Don't feel +badly, June," he continued, for the tears welled up to the eyes of the +black man as he spoke of his child; "we all must die."</p> + +<p>"I knows dat, massa, but it am hard to hab 'em gwo."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is, June, but we may save him."</p> + +<p>"Ef you cud, massa! Oh, ef you cud!" and the poor darky covered his face +with his great hands and sobbed like a child.</p> + +<p>We rode on to another "still," and there dismounting,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> the Colonel +explained to me the process of gathering and manufacturing turpentine. +The trees are "boxed" and "tapped" early in the year, while the frost is +still in the ground. "Boxing" is the process of scooping a cavity in the +trunk of the tree by means of a peculiarly shaped axe, made for the +purpose; "tapping" is scarifying the rind of the wood above the boxes. +This is never done until the trees have been worked one season, but it +is then repeated year after year, till on many plantations they present +the marks of twenty and frequently thirty annual "tappings," and are +often denuded of bark for a distance of thirty feet from the ground. The +necessity for this annual tapping arises from the fact that the scar on +the trunk heals at the end of a season, and the sap will no longer run +from it; a fresh wound is therefore made each spring. The sap flows down +the scarified surface and collects in the boxes, which are emptied six +or eight times in a year, according to the length of the season. This is +the process of "dipping," and it is done with a tin or iron vessel +constructed to fit the cavity in the tree.</p> + +<p>The turpentine gathered from the newly boxed or virgin tree is very +valuable, on account of its producing a peculiarly clear and white +rosin, which is used in the manufacture of the finer kinds of soap, and +by "Rosin the Bow." It commands, ordinarily, nearly five times the price +of the common article. When barrelled, the turpentine is frequently sent +to market in its crude state, but more often is distilled on the +plantation, the gatherers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> generally possessing means sufficient to own +a still.</p> + +<p>In the process of distilling, the crude turpentine is "dumped" into the +boiler through an opening in the top—the same as that on which we saw +Junius composedly seated—water is then poured upon it, the aperture +made tight by screwing down the cover and packing it with clay, a fire +built underneath, and when the heat reaches several hundred degrees +Fahrenheit, the process of manufacture begins. The volatile and more +valuable part of the turpentine, by the action of the heat, rises as +vapor, then condensing flows off through a pipe in the top of the still, +and comes out spirits of turpentine, while the heavier portion finds +vent at a lower aperture, and comes out rosin.</p> + +<p>No article of commerce is so liable to waste and leakage as turpentine. +The spirits can only be preserved in tin cans, or in thoroughly seasoned +oak barrels, made tight by a coating of glue on the inner side. Though +the material for these barrels exists at the South in luxuriant +abundance, they are all procured from the North, and the closing of the +Southern ports has now entirely cut off the supply; for while the +turpentine farmer may improvise coopers, he can by no process give the +oak timber the seasoning which is needed to render the barrel +spirit-tight. Hence it is certain that a large portion of the last crop +of turpentine must have gone to waste. When it is remembered that the +one State of North Carolina exports annually nearly twenty millions in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +value of this product, and employs fully two-thirds of its negroes in +its production, it will be seen how dearly the South is paying for the +mad freak of secession. Putting out of view his actual loss of produce, +how does the turpentine farmer feed and employ his negroes? and pressed +as these blacks inevitably are by both hunger and idleness, those +prolific breeders of sedition, what will keep them quiet?</p> + +<p>"What effect will secession have on your business?" I asked the Colonel, +after a while.</p> + +<p>"A favorable one. I shall ship my crop direct to Liverpool and London, +instead of selling it to New York middle-men."</p> + +<p>"But is not the larger portion of the turpentine crop consumed at the +North?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. We shall have to deal with the Yankees anyhow, but we shall do +as little with them as possible."</p> + +<p>"Suppose the Yankees object to your setting up by yourselves, and put +your ports under lock and key?"</p> + +<p>"They wont do that, and if they do, England will break the blockade."</p> + +<p>"We may rap John Bull over the knuckles in that event," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Well, suppose you do; what then?"</p> + +<p>"Merely, England would not have a ship in six months to carry your +cotton. A war with her would ruin the shipping trade of the North. Our +marine would seek employment at privateering, and soon sweep every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +British merchant ship from the ocean. We could afford to give up ten +years' trade with you, and to put secession down by force, for the sake +of a year's brush with John Bull."</p> + +<p>"But, my good friend, where would the British navy be all this while?"</p> + +<p>"Asleep. The English haven't a steamer that can catch a Brookhaven +schooner. The last war proved that government vessels are no match for +privateers."</p> + +<p>"Well, well! but the Yankees wont fight."</p> + +<p>"Suppose they do. Suppose they shut up your ports, and leave you with +your cotton and turpentine unsold? You raise scarcely any thing +else—what would you eat?"</p> + +<p>"We would turn our cotton fields into corn and wheat. Turpentine-makers, +of course, would suffer."</p> + +<p>"Then why are not <i>you</i> a Union man?"</p> + +<p>"My friend, I have nearly three hundred mouths to feed. I depend on the +sale of my crop to give them food. If our ports are closed, I cannot do +it—they will starve, and I be ruined. But sooner than submit to the +domination of the cursed Yankees, I will see my negroes starving, and my +child a beggar!"</p> + +<p>At this point in the conversation we arrived at the negro shanty where +the sick child was. Dismounting, the Colonel and I entered.</p> + +<p>The cabin was almost a counterpart of the "Mills House," described in +the previous chapter, but it had a plank flooring, and was scrupulously +neat and clean.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> The logs were stripped of bark, and whitewashed. A +bright, cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, and an air of rude +comfort pervaded the whole interior. On a low bed in the farther corner +of the room lay the sick child. He was a boy of about twelve years, and +evidently in the last stages of consumption. By his side, bending over +him as if to catch his almost inaudible words, sat a tidy, +youthful-looking colored woman, his mother, and the wife of the negro we +had met at the "still." Playing on the floor, was a younger child, +perhaps five years old, but while the faces of the mother and the sick +lad were of the hue of charcoal, <i>his</i> skin by a process well understood +at the South, had been bleached to a bright yellow.</p> + +<p>The woman took no notice of our entrance, but the little fellow ran to +the Colonel and caught hold of the skirts of his coat in a free-and-easy +way, saying, "Ole massa, you got suffin' for Dicky?"</p> + +<p>"No, you little nig," replied the Colonel, patting his woolly head as I +might have done a white child's, "Dicky isn't a good boy."</p> + +<p>"Yas, I is," said the little darky; "you'se ugly ole massa to gib +nuffin' to Dick."</p> + +<p>Aroused by the Colonel's voice, the woman turned toward us. Her eyes +were swollen, and her face bore traces of deep emotion.</p> + +<p>"Oh massa!" she said, "de chile am dyin'! It'm all along ob his workin' +in de swamp—no <i>man</i> orter work dar, let alone a chile like dis."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you think he is dying, Rosy?" asked the Colonel, approaching the +bed-side.</p> + +<p>"Shore, massa, he'm gwine fass. Look at 'im."</p> + +<p>The boy had dwindled to a skeleton, and the skin lay on his face in +crimpled folds, like a mask of black crape. His eyes were fixed, and he +was evidently going.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know massa, my boy?" said the Colonel, taking his hand +tenderly in his.</p> + +<p>The child's lips slightly moved, but I could hear no sound. The Colonel +put his ear down to him for a moment, then, turning to me, said:</p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> dying. Will you be so good as to step to the house and ask +Madam P—— here, and please tell Jim to go for Junius and the old man."</p> + +<p>I returned in a short while with the lady, but found the boy's father +and "the old man"—the darky preacher of the plantation—there before +us. The preacher was a venerable old negro, much bowed by years, and +with thin wool as white as snow. When we entered, he was bending over +the dying boy, but shortly turning to my host, said:</p> + +<p>"Massa, de blessed Lord am callin' for de chile—shall we pray?"</p> + +<p>The Colonel nodded assent, and we all, blacks and whites, knelt down on +the floor, while the old preacher made a short, heart-touching prayer. +It was a simple, humble acknowledgment of the dependence of the creature +on the Creator—of His right to give and to take away, and was uttered +in a free, conversational tone, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> if long communion with his Maker had +placed the old negro on a footing of friendly familiarity with Him, and +given the black slave the right to talk with the Deity as one man talks +with another.</p> + +<p>As we rose from our knees my host said to me, "It is <i>my</i> duty to stay +here, but I will not detain <i>you</i>. Jim will show you over the +plantation. I will join you at the house when this is over." The scene +was a painful one, and I gladly availed myself of the Colonel's +suggestion.</p> + +<p>Mounting our horses, Jim and I rode off to the negro house where Scip +was staying.</p> + +<p>Scip was not at the cabin, and the old negro woman told us he had been +away for several hours.</p> + +<p>"Reckon he'll be 'way all day, sar," said Jim, as we turned our horses +to go.</p> + +<p>"He ought to be resting against the ride of to-morrow. Where has he +gone?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno, sar, but reckon he'm gwine to fine Sam."</p> + +<p>"Sam? Oh, he's the runaway the Colonel has advertised."</p> + +<p>"Yas, sar, he'm 'way now more'n a monfh."</p> + +<p>"How can Scip find him?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno, sar. Scipio know most ebery ting—reckon he'll track him. He +know him well, and Sam'll cum back ef he say he orter."</p> + +<p>"Where do you think Sam is?"</p> + +<p>"P'raps in de swamp."</p> + +<p>"Where is the swamp?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Bout ten mile from har."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! the shingles are cut there. I should think a runaway would be +discovered where so many men are at work."</p> + +<p>"No, massa, dar'm places dar whar de ole debble cudn't fine him, nor de +dogs nudder."</p> + +<p>"I thought the bloodhounds would track a man anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Not fru de water, massa; dey lose de scent in de swamp."</p> + +<p>"But how can a man live there—how get food?"</p> + +<p>"De darkies dat work dar take 'em nuff."</p> + +<p>"Then the other negroes know where the runaways are; don't they +sometimes betray them?"</p> + +<p>"Neber, massa; a darky neber tells on anoder. De Cunnel had a boy in dat +swamp once good many years."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible! Did he come back?"</p> + +<p>"No, he died dar. Sum ob de hands found him dead one mornin' in de hut +whar he lib'd, and buried him dar."</p> + +<p>"Why did Sam run away?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause de oberseer flog him. He use him bery hard, massa."</p> + +<p>"What had Sam done?"</p> + +<p>"Nuffin, massa."</p> + +<p>"Then why was he flogged? Did the Colonel know it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yas; Moye cum de possum ober de Cunnel, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> make him b'lieve Sam +war bad. De Cunnel dunno de hull ob dat story."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't <i>you</i>, tell him? The Colonel trusts <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"'T wudn't hab dun no good; de Cunnel wud hab flogged me for tellin' on +a wite man. Nigga's word aint ob no account."</p> + +<p>"What is the story about, Sam?"</p> + +<p>"You wont tell dat <i>I</i> tole you, massa?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I'll tell the Colonel the truth."</p> + +<p>"Wal den, sar, you see Sam's wife am bery good-lookin', her skin's most +wite—her mudder war a mulatter, her fader a wite man—she lub'd Sam +'bout as well as de wimmin ginrally lub dar husbands" (Jim was a +bachelor, and his observation of plantation morals had given him but +little faith in the sex), "but most ob 'em, ef dey'm married or no, tink +dey must smile on de wite men, so Jule she smiled on de oberseer—so Sam +tought—and it made him bery jealous. He war sort o' sassy, and de +oberseer strung him up, and flog him bery hard. Den Sam took to de +swamp, but he didn't know whar to gwo, and de dogs tracked him; he'd ha' +got 'way dough ef ole Moye hadn't a shot him; den he cudn't run. Den +Moye flogged him till he war 'most dead, and arter dat chained him down +in de ole cabin, and gave him 'most nuffin' to eat. De Cunnel war gwine +to take Sam to Charles'on and sell him, but somehow he got a file and +sawed fru de chain and got 'way in de night to de 'still.' Den when de +oberseer come dar in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> de mornin', Sam jump on him and 'most kill him. +He'd hab sent him whar dar aint no niggas, ef Junius hadn't a holed him. +<i>I'd</i> a let de ole debble gwo."</p> + +<p>"Junius, then, is a friend of the overseer."</p> + +<p>"No, sar; <i>he</i> haint no friends, 'cep de debble; but June am a good +nigga, and he said 'twarn't right to kill ole Moye so sudden, for den +dar'd be no chance for de Lord to forgib him."</p> + +<p>"Then Sam got away again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yas; nary one but darkies war round, and dey wouldn't hole him. Ef +dey'd cotched him den, dey'd hung him, shore."</p> + +<p>"Why hung him?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause he'd struck a wite man; it'm shore death to do dat."</p> + +<p>"Do you think Scip will bring him back?"</p> + +<p>"Yas; 'cause he'm gwine to tell massa de hull story. De Cunnel will +b'lieve Scipio ef he <i>am</i> brack. Sam'll know dat, so he'll come back. De +Cunnel'll make de State too hot to hole ole Moye, when he fine him out."</p> + +<p>"Does Sam's wife 'smile' on the overseer now?"</p> + +<p>"No; she see de trubble she bring on Sam, and she bery sorry. She wont +look at a wite man now."</p> + +<p>During the foregoing conversation, we had ridden for several miles over +the western half of the plantation, and were again near the house. My +limbs being decidedly stiff and sore from the effect of the previous +day's journey, I decided to alight and rest until the hour for dinner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<p>I mentioned my jaded condition to Jim, who said:</p> + +<p>"Dat's right, massa; come in de house. I'll cure de rumatics; I knows +how to fix dem."</p> + +<p>Fastening the horses at the door, Jim accompanied me to my +sleeping-room, where he lighted a fire of pine knots, which in a moment +blazed up on the hearth and sent a cheerful glow through the apartment; +then, saying he would return after stabling the horses, the darky left +me.</p> + +<p>I took off my boots, drew the sofa near the fire, and stretched myself +at full length upon it. If ever mortal was tired, "I reckon" I was. It +seemed as though every joint and bone in my body had lost the power of +motion, and sharp, acute pains danced along my nerves, as I have seen +the lightning play along the telegraph wires. My entire system had the +toothache.</p> + +<p>Jim soon returned, bearing in one hand a decanter of "Otard," and in the +other a mug of hot water and a crash towel.</p> + +<p>"I'se got de stuff dat'll fix de rumatics, massa."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Jim; a glass will do me good. Where did you get it?" I +asked, thinking it strange the Colonel should leave his brandy-bottle +within reach of the negroes, who have an universal weakness for spirits.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I keeps de keys; de Cunnel hissef hab to come to me when he want +suffin' to warm hissef."</p> + +<p>It was the fact; Jim had exclusive charge of the wine-cellar; in short, +was butler, barber, porter, footman, and body-servant, all combined.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now, massa, you lay right whar you is, and I'll make you ober new in +less dan no time."</p> + +<p>And he did; but I emptied the brandy-bottle. Lest my temperance friends +should be horror-stricken, I will mention, however, that I took the +fluid by external absorption. For all rheumatic sufferers, I would +prescribe hot brandy, in plentiful doses, a coarse towel, and an active +Southern darky, and if on the first application the patient is not +cured, the fault will not be the negro's. Out of mercy to the chivalry, +I hope our government, in saving the Union, will not annihilate the +order of body-servants. They are the only perfect institution in the +Southern country, and, so far as I have seen, about the only one worth +saving.</p> + +<p>The dinner-bell sounded a short while after Jim had finished the +scrubbing operation, and I went to the table with an appetite I had not +felt for a week. My whole system was rejuvenated, and I am not sure that +I should, at that moment, have declined a wrestling match with Heenan +himself.</p> + +<p>I found at dinner only the overseer and the young son of Madam P——, +the Colonel and the lady being still at the cabin of the dying boy. The +dinner, though a queer mixture of viands, would not have disgraced, +except, perhaps, in the cooking, the best of our Northern hotels. +Venison, bacon, wild fowl, hominy, poultry, corn bread, French +"made-dishes," and Southern "common doin's," with wines and brandies of +the choicest brands, were placed on the table together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dis, massa," said Jim, "am de raal juice; it hab been in de cellar eber +since de house war built. Massa tole me to gib you some, wid him +complimen's."</p> + +<p>Passing it to my companions, I drank the Colonel's health in as fine +wine as I ever tasted.</p> + +<p>I had taken an instinctive dislike to the overseer at the +breakfast-table, and my aversion was not lessened by learning his +treatment of Sam; curiosity to know what manner of man he was, however, +led me, toward the close of our meal, to "draw him out," as follows:</p> + +<p>"What is the political sentiment, sir, of this section of the State?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, I reckon most of the folks 'bout har' is Union; they'm from the +'old North,' and gin'rally pore trash."</p> + +<p>"I have heard that the majority of the turpentine-farmers are +enterprising men and good citizens—more enterprising, even, than the +cotton and rice planters."</p> + +<p>"Wal, they is enterprisin', 'cause they don't keer for nuthin' 'cep' +money."</p> + +<p>"The man who is absorbed in money-getting is generally a quiet citizen."</p> + +<p>"P'raps that's so. But I think a man sh'u'd hev a soul suthin' 'bove +dollars. Them folks will take any sort o' sarce from the Yankees, ef +they'll only buy thar truck."</p> + +<p>"What do you suffer from the Yankees?"</p> + +<p>"Suffer from the Yankees? Don't they steal our niggers, and haint they +'lected an ab'lishener for President?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've been at the North lately, but I am not aware that is so."</p> + +<p>"So! it's damnably so, sir. I knows it. We don't mean to stand it eny +longer."</p> + +<p>"What will you do?"</p> + +<p>"We'll give 'em h—l, ef they want it!"</p> + +<p>"Will it not be necessary to agree among yourselves before you do that? +I met a turpentine farmer below here who openly declared that he is +friendly to abolishing slavery. He thinks the masters can make more +money by hiring than by owning the negroes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the talk of them North County<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> fellers, who've squatted +round har. We'll hang every mother's son on 'em, by ——."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't do that: in a free country every man has a right to his +opinions."</p> + +<p>"Not to sech opinions as them. A man may think, but he mustn't think +onraasonable."</p> + +<p>"I don't know, but it seems to me reasonable, that if <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>the negroes cost +these farmers now one hundred and fifty dollars a year, and they could +hire them, if free, for seventy-five or a hundred, that they would make +by abolition."</p> + +<p>"Ab'lish'n! By—, sir, ye aint an ab'lishener, is ye?" exclaimed the +fellow, in an excited manner, bringing his hand down on the table in a +way that set the crockery a-dancing.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, my friend," I replied, in a mild tone, and as unruffled as +a pool of water that has been out of a December night; "you'll knock off +the dinner things, and I'm not quite through."</p> + +<p>"Wal, sir, I've heerd yer from the North, and I'd like to know if yer an +ab'lishener."</p> + +<p>"My dear sir, you surprise me. You certainly can't expect a modest man +like me to speak of himself."</p> + +<p>"Ye can speak of what ye d— please, but ye can't talk ab'lish'n har, +by—," he said, again applying his hand to the table, till the plates +and saucers jumped up, performed several jigs, then several reels, and +then rolled over in graceful somersaults to the floor.</p> + +<p>At this juncture, the Colonel and Madam P—— entered.</p> + +<p>Observing the fall in his crockery, and the general confusion of things, +my host quietly asked, "What's to pay?"</p> + +<p>I said nothing, but burst into a fit of laughter at the awkward +predicament of the overseer. That gentleman also said nothing, but +looked as if he would like to find<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> vent through a rat-hole or a +window-pane. Jim, however, who stood at the back of my chair, gave <i>his</i> +eloquent thoughts utterance, very much as follows:</p> + +<p>"Moye hab 'sulted Massa K——, Cunnel, awful bad. He hab swore a blue +streak at him, and called him a d— ab'lishener, jess 'cause Massa K—— +wudn't get mad and sass him back. He hab disgrace your hosspital, +Cunnel, wuss dan a nigga."</p> + +<p>The Colonel turned white with rage, and striding up to Moye, seized him +by the throat, yelling, rather than speaking, these words: "You +d—— —— —— —— —— —— ——, have you dared to insult a guest in my +house?"</p> + +<p>"I did'nt mean to 'sult him," faltered out the overseer, his voice +running through an entire octave, and changing with the varying pressure +of the Colonel's fingers on his throat; "but he said he war an +ab'lishener."</p> + +<p>"No matter what he said, he is my guest, and in my house he shall say +what he pleases, by—. Apologize to him, or I'll send you to h—in a +second."</p> + +<p>The fellow turned cringingly to me, and ground out something like this, +every word seeming to give him the face-ache:</p> + +<p>"I meant no offence, sar; I hope ye'll excuse me."</p> + +<p>This satisfied me, but, before I could reply, the Colonel again seized +him by the throat and yelled:</p> + +<p>"None of your sulkiness; you d— white-livered hound, ask the gentleman's +pardon like a man."</p> + +<p>The fellow then got out, with less effort than before:</p> + +<p>"I 'umbly ax yer pardon, sar, very 'umbly, indeed."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I am satisfied, sir," I replied. "I bear you no ill-will."</p> + +<p>"Now go," said the Colonel; "and in future take your meals in your +cabin. I have none but gentlemen at my table."</p> + +<p>The fellow went. As soon as he closed the door, the Colonel said to me:</p> + +<p>"Now, my dear friend, I hope you will pardon <i>me</i> for this occurrence. I +sincerely regret you have been insulted in my house."</p> + +<p>"Don't speak of it, my dear sir; the fellow is ignorant, and really +thinks I am an abolitionist. His zeal in politics led to his warmth. I +blame him very little," I replied.</p> + +<p>"But he lied, Massa K——," chimed in Jim, very warmly; "you neber said +you war an ab'lishener."</p> + +<p>"You know what <i>they</i> are, Jim, don't you?" said the Colonel, laughing, +and taking no notice of his breach of decorum in wedging black ideas +into a white conversation.</p> + +<p>"Yas, I does dat," said the darky, grinning.</p> + +<p>"Jim," said his master, "you're a prince of a nigger, but you talk too +much; ask me for something to-day, and I reckon you'll get it; but go +now, and tell Chloe (the cook) to get us some dinner."</p> + +<p>The negro left, and, excusing myself, I soon followed suit.</p> + +<p>I went to my room, laid down on the lounge, and soon fell asleep. It was +nearly five o'clock when a slight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> noise in the apartment awoke me, and, +looking up, I saw the Colonel quietly seated by the fire, smoking a +cigar. His feet were elevated above his head, and he appeared absorbed +in no very pleasant reflections.</p> + +<p>"How is the sick boy, Colonel?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It's all over with him, my friend. He died easy; but 'twas very painful +to me; I feel I have done him wrong."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"I was away all summer, and that cursed Moye sent him to the swamp to +tote for the shinglers. It killed him."</p> + +<p>"Then you are not to blame," I replied.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could feel so."</p> + +<p>The Colonel remained with me till supper-time, evidently much depressed +by the events of the morning, which had affected him more than I should +have thought possible. I endeavored, by directing his mind to other +topics, to cheer him, and in a measure succeeded.</p> + +<p>While we were seated at the supper table, the black cook entered from +the kitchen—a one-story shanty, detached from, and in the rear of the +house—and, with a face expressive of every conceivable emotion a negro +can feel—joy, sorrow, wonder, and fear all combined—exclaimed, "O +massa, massa! dear massa! Sam, O Sam!"</p> + +<p>"Sam!" said the Colonel; "what about Sam?"</p> + +<p>"Why, he hab—dear, dear massa, don't yer, don't yer hurt him—he hab +come back!"</p> + +<p>If a bombshell had fallen in the room, a greater sensation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> could not +have been produced. Every individual arose from the table, and the +Colonel, striding up and down the apartment, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Is he mad? The everlasting fool! Why in h—has he come back?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't ye hurt him massa," said the black cook, wringing her hands. +"Sam hab been bad, bery bad, but he won't be so no more."</p> + +<p>"Stop your noise, aunty," said the Colonel, but with no harshness in his +tone. "I shall do what I think right."</p> + +<p>"Send for him, David," said Madame P——; "let us hear what he has to +say. He would not come back if he meant to be ugly."</p> + +<p>"<i>Send</i> for him, Alice!" replied my host. "He's prouder than Lucifer, +and would send me word to come to <i>him</i>. I will go. Will you accompany +me, Mr. K——? You'll hear what a runaway nigger thinks of slavery: Sam +has the gift of speech, and uses it regardless of persons."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I'll go with pleasure."</p> + +<p>It was about an hour after nightfall when we emerged from the door of +the mansion and took our way to the negro quarters. The full moon had +risen half way above the horizon, and the dark pines cast their shadows +around the little collection of negro huts, which straggled about +through the woods for the distance of a third of a mile. It was dark, +but I could distinguish the figure of a man striding along at a rapid +pace a few hundred yards in advance of us.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is'nt that Moye?" I asked the Colonel, directing his attention to the +receding figure.</p> + +<p>"I reckon so; that's his gait. He's had a lesson to-day that'll do him +good."</p> + +<p>"I don't like that man's looks," I replied, carelessly; "but I've heard +of singed cats."</p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> a sneaking d—l," said the Colonel; "but he's very valuable to +me. I never had an overseer who got so much work out of the hands."</p> + +<p>"Is he severe with them?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I reckon he is; but a nigger is like a dog—you must flog him to +make him like you."</p> + +<p>"I judge your niggers haven't been flogged into liking Moye."</p> + +<p>"Why, have you heard any of them speak of him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; though, of course, I've made no effort to draw gossip from them. I +had to hear."</p> + +<p>"O yes; I know; there's no end to their gabble; niggers will talk. But +what have you heard?"</p> + +<p>"That Moye is to blame in this affair of Sam, and that you don't know +the whole story."</p> + +<p>"What <i>is</i> the whole story?" he asked, stopping short in the road; "tell +me before I see Sam."</p> + +<p>I then told him what Jim had recounted to me. He heard me through +attentively, then laughingly exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Is that all! Lord bless you, he didn't seduce her. There's no seducing +these women; with them it's a thing of course. It was Sam's d— high +blood that made the trouble. His father was the proudest man in +Virginia,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> and Sam is as like him as a nigger can be like a white man."</p> + +<p>"No matter what the blood is, it seems to me such an injury justifies +revenge."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw, my good fellow, you don't know these people. I'll stake my +plantation against a glass of whiskey there's not a virtuous woman with +a drop of black blood in her veins in all South Carolina. They prefer +the white men; their husbands know it, and take it as a matter of +course."</p> + +<p>We had here reached the negro cabin. It was one of the more remote of +the collection, and stood deep in the woods, an enormous pine growing up +directly beside the doorway. In all respects it was like the other huts +on the plantation. A bright fire lit up its interior, and through the +crevices in the logs we saw, as we approached, a scene that made us +pause involuntarily, when within a few rods of the house. The mulatto +man, whose clothes were torn and smeared with swamp mud, stood near the +fire. On a small pine table near him lay a large carving-knife, which +glittered in the blaze, as if recently sharpened. His wife was seated on +the side of the low bed at his back, weeping. She was two or three +shades lighter than the man, and had the peculiar brown, kinky hair, +straight, flat nose, and speckled, gray eyes which mark the metif. +Tottling on the floor at the feet of the man, and caressing his knees, +was a child of perhaps two years.</p> + +<p>As we neared the house, we heard the voice of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> overseer issuing from +the doorway on the other side of the pine-tree.</p> + +<p>"Come out, ye black rascal."</p> + +<p>"Come in, you wite hound, ef you dar," responded the negro, laying his +hand on the carving-knife.</p> + +<p>"Come out, I till ye; I sha'n't ax ye agin."</p> + +<p>"I'll hab nuffin' to do wid you. G'way and send your massa har," replied +the mulatto man, turning his face away with a lordly, contemptuous +gesture, that spoke him a true descendant of Pocahontas. This movement +exposed his left side to the doorway, outside of which, hidden from us +by the tree, stood the overseer.</p> + +<p>"Come away, Moye," said the Colonel, advancing with me toward the door; +"<i>I'll</i> speak to him."</p> + +<p>Before all of the words had escaped the Colonel's lips, a streak of fire +flashed from where the overseer stood, and took the direction of the +negro. One long, wild shriek—one quick, convulsive bound in the +air—and Sam fell lifeless to the floor, the dark life-stream pouring +from his side. The little child also fell with him, and its greasy, +grayish shirt was dyed with its father's blood. Moye, at the distance of +ten feet, had discharged the two barrels of a heavily-loaded shot-gun +directly through the negro's heart.</p> + +<p>"You incarnate son of h—," yelled the Colonel, as he sprang on the +overseer, bore him to the ground, and wrenched the shot-gun from his +hand. Clubbing the weapon, he raised it to brain him. The movement +occupied but a second; the gun was descending, and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> another instant +Moye would have met Sam in eternity, had not a brawny arm caught the +Colonel's, and, winding itself around his body, pinned his limbs to his +side so that motion was impossible. The woman, half frantic with +excitement, thrust open the door when her husband fell, and the light +which came through it revealed the face of the new-comer. But his voice, +which rang out on the night air as clear as a bugle, had there been no +light, would have betrayed him. It was Scip. Spurning the prostrate +overseer with his foot, he shouted:</p> + +<p>"Run, you wite debble, run for your life!"</p> + +<p>"Let me go, you black scoundrel," shrieked the Colonel, wild with rage.</p> + +<p>"When he'm out ob reach, you'd kill him," replied the negro, as cool as +if he was doing an ordinary thing.</p> + +<p>"I'll kill you, you black—hound, if you don't let me go," again +screamed the Colonel, struggling violently in the negro's grasp, and +literally foaming at the mouth.</p> + +<p>"I shan't lef you gwo, Cunnel, till you 'gree not to do dat."</p> + +<p>The Colonel was a stout, athletic man, in the very prime of life, and +his rage gave him more than his ordinary strength, but Scip held him as +I might have held a child.</p> + +<p>"Here, Jim," shouted the Colonel to his body-servant, who just then +emerged from among the trees, "'rouse the plantation—shoot this +d— nigger."</p> + +<p>"Dar aint one on 'em wud touch him, massa. He'd send <i>me</i> to de debble +wid one fist."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You ungrateful dog," groaned his master. "Mr. K——, will you stand by +and see me handcuffed by a miserable slave?"</p> + +<p>"The black means well, my friend; he has saved you from murder. Say he +is safe, and I'll answer for his being away in an hour."</p> + +<p>The Colonel made one more ineffectual attempt to free himself from the +vice-like grip of the negro, then relaxing his efforts, and, gathering +his broken breath, he said, "You're safe <i>now</i>, but if you're found +within ten miles of my plantation by sunrise, by—you're a dead man."</p> + +<p>The negro relinquished his hold, and, without saying a word, walked +slowly away.</p> + +<p>"Jim, you—rascal," said the Colonel to that courageous darky, who was +skulking off, "raise every nigger on the plantation, catch Moye, or I'll +flog you within an inch of your life."</p> + +<p>"I'll do dat, Cunnel; I'll kotch de ole debble, ef he's dis side de hot +place."</p> + +<p>His words were echoed by about twenty other darkies, who, attracted by +the noise of the fracas, had gathered within a safe distance of the +cabin. They went off with Jim, to raise the other plantation hands, and +inaugurate the hunt.</p> + +<p>"If that — nigger hadn't held me, I'd had Moye in — by this time," said +the Colonel to me, still livid with excitement.</p> + +<p>"The law will deal with him, my friend. The negro has saved you from +murder."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The law be d—; it's too good for such a—hound; and that the d— nigger +should have dared to hold me—by—he'll rue it."</p> + +<p>He then turned, exhausted with the recent struggle, and, with a weak, +uncertain step, entered the cabin. Kneeling down by the dead body of the +negro, he attempted to raise it; but his strength was gone. He motioned +to me to aid him, and we placed the corpse on the bed. Tearing open the +clothing, we wiped away the still flowing blood, and saw the terrible +wound which had sent the negro to his account. It was sickening to look +on, and I turned to go.</p> + +<p>The negro woman, who was weeping and wringing her hands, now approached, +and, in a voice nearly choked with sobs, said:</p> + +<p>"Massa, oh massa, I done it! it's me dat killed him!"</p> + +<p>"I know you did, you d——. Get out of my sight."</p> + +<p>"Oh, massa," sobbed the woman, falling on her knees, "I'se so sorry; oh, +forgib me!"</p> + +<p>"Go to ——, you ——, that's the place for you," said the Colonel, striking +the kneeling woman with his foot, and felling her to the floor.</p> + +<p>Unwilling to see or hear more, I left the master with the slave.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> The "North Counties" are the north-eastern portion of North +Carolina, and include the towns of Washington and Newbern. They are an +old turpentine region, and the trees are nearly exhausted. The finer +virgin forests of South Carolina, and other cotton States, have tempted +many of the North County farmers to emigrate thither, within the past +ten years, and they now own nearly all the trees that are worked in +South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. They generally have few slaves of +their own, their hands being hired of wealthier men in their native +districts. The "hiring" is an annual operation, and is done at Christmas +time, when the negroes are frequently allowed to go home. They treat the +slaves well, give them an allowance of meat (salt pork or beef), as much +corn as they can eat, and a gill of whiskey daily. No class of men at +the South are so industrious, energetic, and enterprising. Though not so +well informed, they have many of the traits of our New England farmers; +in fact, are frequently called "North Carolina Yankees." It was these +people the overseer proposed to hang. The reader will doubtless think +that "hanging was not good enough for them."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>THE PLANTER'S "FAMILY."</h3> + + +<p>A quarter of a mile through the woods brought me to the cabin of the old +negress where Scip lodged. I rapped at the door, and was admitted by the +old woman. Scip, nearly asleep, was lying on a pile of blankets in the +corner.</p> + +<p>"Are you mad?" I said to him. "The Colonel is frantic with rage, and +swears he will kill you. You must be off at once."</p> + +<p>"No, no, massa; neber fear; I knows him. He'd keep his word, ef he loss +his life by it. I'm gwine afore sunrise; till den I'm safe."</p> + +<p>"Der ye tink Massa Davy wud broke his word, sar?" said the old negress, +bridling up her bent form, and speaking in a tone in which indignation +mingled with wounded dignity; "p'raps gemmen do dat at de Norf—dey +neber does it har."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Aunty; I know your master is a man of honor; but he's very +much excited, and very angry with Scip."</p> + +<p>"No matter for dat, sar; Massa Davy neber done a mean ting sense he war +born."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>"Massa K—— tinks a heap ob de Cunnel, Aunty; but he reckon he'm sort +o' crazy now; dat make him afeard," said Scip, in an apologetic tone.</p> + +<p>"What ef he am crazy? You'se safe <i>har</i>," rejoined the old woman, +dropping her aged limbs into a chair, and rocking away with much the air +which ancient white ladies occasionally assume.</p> + +<p>"Wont you ax Massa K—— to a cheer?" said Scip; "he hab ben bery kine +to me."</p> + +<p>The negress then offered me a seat; but it was some minutes before I +rendered myself sufficiently agreeable to thaw out the icy dignity of +her manner. Meanwhile I glanced around the apartment.</p> + +<p>Though the exterior of the cabin was like the others on the plantation, +the interior had a rude, grotesque elegance about it far in advance of +any negro hut I had ever seen. The logs were chinked with clay, and the +one window, though destitute of glass, and ornamented with the +inevitable board-shutter, had a green moreen curtain, which kept out the +wind and the rain. A worn but neat and well swept carpet partly covered +the floor, and on the low bed was spread a patch-work counter-pane. +Against the side of the room opposite the door stood an antique, +brass-handled bureau, and an old-fashioned table, covered with a faded +woollen cloth, occupied the centre of the apartment. In the corner near +the fire was a curiously-contrived sideboard, made of narrow strips of +yellow pine, tongued and grooved together, and oiled so as to bring out +the beautiful grain of the wood. On it were several broken and cracked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +glasses, and an array of irregular crockery. The rocking chair, in which +the old negress passed the most of her time, was of mahogany, wadded and +covered with chintz, and the arm-seat I occupied, though old and patched +in many places, had evidently moved in good society.</p> + +<p>The mistress of this second-hand furniture establishment was arrayed in +a mass of cast-off finery, whose gay colors were in striking contrast +with her jet-black skin and bent, decrepit form. Her gown, which was +very short, was of flaming red and yellow worsted stuff, and the +enormous turban that graced her head and hid all but a few tufts of her +frizzled, "pepper-and-salt" locks, was evidently a contribution from the +family stock of worn-out pillow-cases. She was very aged—upward of +seventy—and so thin that, had she not been endowed with speech and +motion, she might have passed for a bundle of whalebone thrown into +human shape, and covered with a coating of gutta-percha. It was evident +she had been a valued house-servant, whose few remaining years were +being soothed and solaced by the kind and indulgent care of a grateful +master.</p> + +<p>Scip, I soon saw, was a favorite with the old negress, and the marked +respect he showed me quickly dispelled the angry feeling my doubts of +"Massa Davy" had excited, and opened her heart and her mouth at the same +moment. She was terribly garrulous; her tongue, as soon as it got under +way, ran on as if propelled by machinery and acquainted with the secret +of perpetual motion;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> but she was an interesting study. The +single-hearted attachment she showed for her master and his family gave +me a new insight into the practical working of "the peculiar +institution," and convinced me that even slavery, in some of its +aspects, is not so black as it is painted.</p> + +<p>When we were seated, I said to Scip, "What induced you to lay hands on +the Colonel? It is death, you know, if he enforces the law."</p> + +<p>"I knows dat, massa; I knows dat; but I had to do it. Dat Moye am de ole +debble, but de folks round har wud hab turned on de Cunnel, shore, ef +he'd killed him. Dey don't like de Cunnel; dey say he'm a stuck-up +seshener."</p> + +<p>"The Colonel, then, has befriended you at some time?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, sar; 'twarn't dat; dough I'se know'd him a long w'ile—eber +sense my ole massa fotched me from Habana—but 'twarn't dat."</p> + +<p>"Then <i>why</i> did you do it?"</p> + +<p>The black hesitated a moment, and glanced at the old negress, then said:</p> + +<p>"You see, massa, w'en I fuss come to Charles'n, a pore little ting, wid +no friend in all de worle, dis ole aunty war a mudder to me. She nussed +de Cunnel; he am jess like her own chile, and I know'd 'twud kill her ef +he got hissef enter trubble."</p> + +<p>I noticed certain convulsive twitchings about the corners of the old +woman's mouth as she rose from her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> seat, threw her arms around Scip, +and, in words broken by sobs, faltered out:</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> am my chile; I loves you better dan Massa Davy—better dan all de +worle."</p> + +<p>The scene, had they not been black, would have been one for a painter.</p> + +<p>"You were the Colonel's nurse, Aunty," I said, when she had regained her +composure. "Have you always lived with him?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, sar, allers; I nussed him, and den de chil'ren—all ob 'em."</p> + +<p>"<i>All</i> the children? I thought the Colonel had but one—Miss Clara."</p> + +<p>"Wal, he habn't, massa, only de boys."</p> + +<p>"What boys? I never heard he had sons."</p> + +<p>"Neber heerd of young Massa Davy, nor Massa Tommy! Haint you <i>seed</i> +Massa Tommy, sar?"</p> + +<p>"Tommy! I was told he was Madam P——'s son."</p> + +<p>"So he am; Massa Davy had <i>her</i> long afore he had missus."</p> + +<p>The truth flashed upon me; but could it be possible? Was I in South +Carolina or in Utah?</p> + +<p>"Who <i>is</i> Madam P——?" I asked.</p> + +<p>The old woman hesitated a moment as if in doubt whether she had not said +too much; but Scip quietly replied:</p> + +<p>"She'm jess what aunty am—<i>de Cunnel's slave!</i>"</p> + +<p>"His <i>slave!</i> it can't be possible; she is white!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, massa; she am brack, and de Cunnel's slave!"</p> + +<p>Not to weary the reader with a long repetition of negro-English, I will +tell in brief what I gleaned from an hour's conversation with the two +blacks.</p> + +<p>Madam P—— was the daughter of Ex-Gov. ——, of Virginia, by a quarteron +woman. She was born a slave, but was acknowledged as her father's child, +and reared in his family with his legitimate children. When she was ten +years old her father died, and his estate proving insolvent, the land +and negroes were brought under the hammer. His daughter, never having +been manumitted, was inventoried and sold with the other property. The +Colonel, then just of age, and a young man of fortune, bought her and +took her to the residence of his mother in Charleston. A governess was +provided for her, and a year or two afterward she was taken to the North +to be educated. There she was frequently visited by the Colonel; and +when fifteen her condition became such that she was obliged to return +home. He conveyed her to the plantation, where her elder son, David, was +soon after born, "Aunt Lucy" officiating on the occasion. When the child +was two years old, leaving it in charge of the aged negress, she +accompanied the Colonel to Europe, where they remained for a year. +Subsequently she passed another year at a Northern seminary; and then, +returning to the homestead, was duly installed as its mistress, and had +ever since presided over its domestic affairs. She was kind and good to +the negroes, who were greatly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> attached to her, and much of the +Colonel's wealth was due to her excellent management of the plantation.</p> + +<p>Six years after the birth of "young Massa Davy," the Colonel married his +present wife, that lady having full knowledge of his left-handed +connection with Madam P——, and consenting that the "bond-woman" should +remain on the plantation, as its mistress. The legitimate wife resided, +during most of the year, in Charleston, and when at the homestead took +little interest in domestic matters. On one of her visits to the +plantation, twelve years before, her daughter, Miss Clara, was born, and +within a week, under the same roof, Madam P—— presented the Colonel +with a son—the lad Thomas, of whom I have spoken. As the mother was +slave, the children were so also at birth, but <i>they</i> had been +manumitted by their father. One of them was being educated in Germany; +and it was intended that both should spend their lives in that country, +the taint in their blood being an insuperable bar to their ever +acquiring social position at the South.</p> + +<p>As she finished the story, the old woman said, "Massa Davy am bery kind +to the missus, sar, but he <i>love</i> de ma'am; an' he can't help it, 'cause +she'm jess so good as de angels."<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></p> + +<p>In conversation with a well-known Southern gentleman, not long since, I +mentioned these two cases, and commented on them as a man educated with +New England ideas might be supposed to do. The gentleman admitted that +he knew of twenty such instances, and gravely defended the practice as +being infinitely more moral and respectable than the <i>more common +relation</i> existing between masters and slaves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>I looked at my watch—it was nearly ten o'clock, and I rose to go. As I +did so the old negress said:</p> + +<p>"Don't yer gwo, massa, 'fore you hab sum ob aunty's wine; you'm good +friends wid Scip, and I knows <i>you'se</i> not too proud to drink wid brack +folks, ef you am from de Norf."</p> + +<p>Being curious to know what quality of wine a plantation slave indulged +in, I accepted the invitation. She went to the side-board, and brought +out a cut-glass decanter, and three cracked tumblers, which she placed +on the table. Filling the glasses to the brim, she passed one to Scip, +and one to me, and, with the other in her hand, resumed her seat. +Wishing her a good many happy years, and Scip a pleasant journey home, I +emptied my glass. It was Scuppernong, and the pure juice of the grape!</p> + +<p>"Aunty," I said, "this wine is as fine as I ever tasted."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yas, massa, it am de raal stuff. I growed de grapes myseff."</p> + +<p>"You grew them?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, sar, an' Massa Davy make de wine. He do it ebery yar for de ole +nuss."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The Colonel is very good. Do you raise any thing else?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, I hab collards and taters, a little corn, and most ebery ting."</p> + +<p>"But who does your work? <i>You</i> certainly can't do it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, de ma'am looks arter dat, sar; she'm bery good to de ole aunty."</p> + +<p>Shaking hands with both the negroes, I left the cabin, fully convinced +that all the happiness in this world is not found within plastered +apartments.</p> + +<p>The door of the mansion was bolted and barred; but, rapping for +admission, I soon heard the Colonel's voice asking, "Who is there?" +Giving a satisfactory answer, I was admitted. Explaining that he +supposed I had retired to my room, he led the way to the library.</p> + +<p>That apartment was much more elegantly furnished than the drawing-rooms. +Three of its sides were lined with books, and on the centre-table, +papers, pamphlets, and manuscripts were scattered in promiscuous +confusion. In an arm-chair near the fire, Madame P—— was seated, +reading. The Colonel's manner was as composed as if nothing had +disturbed the usual routine of the plantation; no trace of the recent +terrible excitement was visible; in fact, had I not been a witness to +the late tragedy, I should have thought it incredible that he, within +two hours, had been an actor in a scene which had cost a human being his +life.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where in creation have you been, my dear fellow?" he asked, as we took +our seats.</p> + +<p>"At old Lucy's cabin, with Scip," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Indeed. I supposed the darky had gone."</p> + +<p>"No, he doesn't go till the morning."</p> + +<p>"I told you he wouldn't, David," said Madame P——; "now, send for +him—make friends with him before he goes."</p> + +<p>"No, Alice, it wont do. I bear him no ill-will, but it wont do. It would +be all over the plantation in an hour."</p> + +<p>"No matter for that; our people would like you the better for it."</p> + +<p>"No, no. I can't do it. I mean him no harm, but I can't do that."</p> + +<p>"He told me <i>why</i> he interfered between you and Moye," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Why did he?"</p> + +<p>"He says old Lucy, years ago, was a mother to him; that she is greatly +attached to you, and it would kill her if any harm happened to you; and +that your neighbors bear you no good-will, and would have enforced the +law had you killed Moye."</p> + +<p>"It is true, David; you would have had to answer for it."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! what influence could this North County scum have against +<i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps none. But that makes no difference; Scipio did right, and you +should tell him you forgive him."</p> + +<p>The Colonel then rang a small bell, and a negro woman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> soon appeared. +"Sue," he said, "go to Aunt Lucy's, and ask Scip to come here. Bring him +in at the front door, and, mind, let no one know he comes."</p> + +<p>The woman in a short time returned with Scip. There was not a trace of +fear or embarrassment in the negro's manner as he entered the room. +Making a respectful bow, he bade us "good evening."</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Scip," said the Colonel, rising and giving the black his +hand; "let us be friends. Madam tells me I should forgive you, and I +do."</p> + +<p>"Aunt Lucy say ma'am am an angel, sar, and it am tru—<i>it am tru</i>, sar," +replied the negro with considerable feeling.</p> + +<p>The lady rose, also, and took Scip's hand, saying, "<i>I</i> not only forgive +you, but I <i>thank</i> you for what you have done. I shall never forget it."</p> + +<p>"You'se too good, ma'am; you'se too good to say dat," replied the darky, +the moisture coming to his eyes; "but I meant nuffin' wrong—I meant +nuffin' dis'specful to de Cunnel."</p> + +<p>"I know you didn't, Scip; but we'll say no more about it;—good-by," +said the Colonel.</p> + +<p>Shaking hands with each one of us, the darky left the apartment.</p> + +<p>One who does not know that the high-bred Southern gentleman considers +the black as far below him as the horse he drives, or the dog he kicks, +cannot realize the amazing sacrifice of pride which the Colonel made in +seeking a reconciliation with Scip. It was the cutting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> off of his right +hand. The circumstance showed the powerful influence held over him by +the octoroon woman. Strange that she, his slave, cast out from society +by her blood and her life, despised, no doubt, by all the world, save by +him and a few ignorant blacks, should thus control a proud, self-willed, +passionate man, and control him, too, only for good.</p> + +<p>After the black had gone, I said to the Colonel, "I was much interested +in old Lucy. A few more such instances of cheerful and contented old +age, might lead me to think better of slavery."</p> + +<p>"Such cases are not rare, sir. They show the paternal character of our +'institution.' We are <i>forced</i> to care for our servants in their old +age."</p> + +<p>"But have your other aged slaves the same comforts that Aunt Lucy has?"</p> + +<p>"No; they don't need them. She has been accustomed to live in my house, +and to fare better than the plantation hands; she therefore requires +better treatment."</p> + +<p>"Is not the support of that class a heavy tax upon you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it <i>is</i> heavy. We have, of course, to deduct it from the labor of +the able-bodied hands."</p> + +<p>"What is the usual proportion of sick and infirm on your plantation?"</p> + +<p>"Counting in the child-bearing women, I reckon about twenty per cent."</p> + +<p>"And what does it cost you to support each hand?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, it costs <i>me</i>, for children and all, about seventy-five dollars a +year. In some places it costs less. <i>I</i> have to buy all my provisions."</p> + +<p>"What proportion of your slaves are able-bodied hands?"</p> + +<p>"Somewhere about sixty per cent. I have, all told, old and young—men, +women, and children—two hundred and seventy. Out of that number I have +now equal to a hundred and fifty-four <i>full</i> hands. You understand that +we classify them: some do only half tasks, some three-quarters. I have +<i>more</i> than a hundred and fifty-four working-men and women, but they do +only that number of full tasks."</p> + +<p>"What does the labor of a <i>full</i> hand yield?"</p> + +<p>"At the present price of turpentine, my calculation is about two hundred +dollars a year."</p> + +<p>"Then your crop brings you about thirty-one thousand dollars, and the +support of your negroes costs you twenty thousand."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"If that's the case, my friend, let me advise you to sell your +plantation, free your niggers, and go North."</p> + +<p>"Why so, my dear fellow?" asked the Colonel laughing.</p> + +<p>"Because you'd make money by the operation."</p> + +<p>"I never was good at arithmetic; go into the figures," he replied, still +laughing, while Madam P——, who had laid aside her book, listened very +attentively.</p> + +<p>"Well, you have two hundred and seventy negroes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> whom you value, we'll +say, with your mules, 'stills,' and movable property, at two hundred +thousand dollars; and twenty thousand acres of land, worth about three +dollars and a half an acre; all told, two hundred and seventy thousand +dollars. A hundred and fifty-four able-bodied hands produce you a yearly +profit of eleven thousand dollars, which, saying nothing about the cost +of keeping your live stock, the wear and tear of your mules and +machinery, and the yearly loss of your slaves by death, is only four per +cent. on your capital. Now, with only the price of your land, say +seventy thousand dollars, invested in safe stocks at the North, you +could realize eight per cent.—five thousand six hundred dollars—and +live at ease; and that, I judge, if you have many runaways, or many die +on your hands, is as much as you really <i>clear</i> now. Besides, if you +should invest seventy thousand dollars in almost any legitimate business +at the North, and should add to it, <i>as you now do</i>, your <i>time</i> and +<i>labor</i>, you would realize far more than you do at present from your +entire capital."</p> + +<p>"I never looked at the matter in that light. But I have given you my +profits as they <i>now</i> are; some years I make more; six years ago I made +twenty-five thousand dollars."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and six years hence you may make nothing."</p> + +<p>"That's true. But it would cost me more to live at the North."</p> + +<p>"There you are mistaken. What do you pay for your corn, your pork, and +your hay, for instance?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, my corn I have to bring round by vessel from Washington (North +Carolina), and it costs me high when it gets here—about ten bits (a +dollar and twenty-five cents), I think."</p> + +<p>"And in New York you could buy it now at sixty to seventy cents. What +does your hay cost?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty-five dollars. I pay twenty for it in New York—the balance is +freight and hauling."</p> + +<p>"Your pork costs you two or three dollars, I suppose, for freight and +hauling."</p> + +<p>"Yes; about that."</p> + +<p>"Then in those items you might save nearly a hundred per cent.; and they +are the principal articles you consume."</p> + +<p>"Yes; there's no denying that. But another thing is just as certain: it +costs less to support one of my niggers than one of your laboring men."</p> + +<p>"That may be true. But it only shows that our laborers fare better than +your slaves."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure of that. I <i>am</i> sure, however, that our slaves are more +contented than the run of laboring men at the North."</p> + +<p>"That proves nothing. Your blacks have no hope, no chance to rise; and +they submit—though I judge not cheerfully—to an iron necessity. The +Northern laborer, if very poor, may be discontented; but discontent +urges him to effort, and leads to the bettering of his condition. I tell +you, my friend, slavery is an expensive luxury.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> You Southern nabobs +<i>will</i> have it; and you have to <i>pay for it</i>."</p> + +<p>"Well, we don't complain. But, seriously, my good fellow, I feel that I +am carrying out the design of the Almighty in holding my niggers. I +think he made the black to serve the white."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> think," I replied, "that whatever He designs works perfectly. Your +institution certainly does not. It keeps the producer, who, in every +society, is the really valuable citizen, in the lowest poverty, while it +allows those who do nothing to be 'clad in fine linen, and to fare +sumptuously every day.'"</p> + +<p>"It does more than that, sir," said Madam P——, with animation; "it +brutalizes and degrades the <i>master</i> and the <i>slave</i>; it separates +husband and wife, parent and child; it sacrifices virtuous women to the +lust of brutal men; and it shuts millions out from the knowledge of +their duty and their destiny. A good and just God could not have +designed it; and it <i>must</i> come to an end."</p> + +<p>If lightning had struck in the room I could not have been more startled +than I was by the abrupt utterance of such language in a planter's +house, in his very presence, and <i>by his slave</i>. The Colonel, however, +expressed no surprise and no disapprobation. It was evidently no new +thing to him.</p> + +<p>"It is rare, madam," I said, "to hear such sentiments from a Southern +lady—one reared among slaves."</p> + +<p>Before she could reply, the Colonel laughingly said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bless you, Mr. K——, madam is an out-and-out abolitionist, worse by +fifty per cent. than Garrison or Wendell Phillips. If she were at the +North she would take to pantaloons, and 'stump' the entire free States; +wouldn't you, Alice?"</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt of it," rejoined the lady, smiling. "But I fear I +should have poor success. I've tried for ten years to convert <i>you</i>, and +Mr. K—— can see the result."</p> + +<p>It had grown late; and with my head full of working niggers and white +slave-women, I went to my apartment.</p> + +<p>The next day was Sunday. It was near the close of December, yet the air +was as mild and the sun as warm as in our Northern October. It was +arranged at the breakfast-table that we all should attend service at +"the meeting-house," a church of the Methodist persuasion, located some +eight miles away; but as it wanted some hours of the time for religious +exercises to commence, I strolled out after breakfast, with the Colonel, +to inspect the stables of the plantation. "Massa Tommy" accompanied us, +without invitation; and in the Colonel's intercourse with him I observed +as much freedom and familiarity as he would have shown to an +acknowledged son. The youth's manners and conversation showed that great +attention had been given to his education and training, and made it +evident that the mother whose influence was forming his character, +whatever a false system of society had made her life, possessed some of +the best traits of her sex.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>The stables, a collection of one-story framed buildings, about a hundred +rods from the house, were well lighted and ventilated, and contained all +"the modern improvements." They were better built, warmer, more +commodious, and in every way more comfortable than the shanties occupied +by the human cattle of the plantation. I remarked as much to the +Colonel, adding that one who did not know would infer that he valued his +horses more than his slaves.</p> + +<p>"That may be true," he replied, laughing. "Two of my horses are worth +more than any eight of my slaves;" at the same time calling my attention +to two magnificent thorough-breds, one of which had made "2.32" on the +Charleston course. The establishment of a Southern gentleman is not +complete until it includes one or two of these useless appendages. I had +an argument with my host as to their value compared with that of the +steam-engine, in which I forced him to admit that the iron horse is the +better of the two, because it performs more work, eats less, has greater +speed, and is not liable to the spavin or the heaves; but he wound up by +saying, "After all, I go for the thorough-breds. You Yankees have but +one test of value—use."</p> + +<p>A ramble through the negro-quarters, which followed our visit to the +stables, gave me some further glimpses of plantation life. Many of the +hands were still away in pursuit of Moye, but enough remained to make it +evident that Sunday is the happiest day in the darky calendar. Groups of +all ages and colors were gathered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> in front of several of the cabins, +some singing, some dancing, and others chatting quietly together, but +all enjoying themselves as heartily as so many young animals let loose +in a pasture. They saluted the Colonel and me respectfully, but each one +had a free, good-natured word for "Massa Tommy," who seemed an especial +favorite with them. The lad took their greetings in good part, but +preserved an easy, unconscious dignity of manner that plainly showed he +did not know that <i>he</i> too was of their despised, degraded race.</p> + +<p>The Colonel, in a rapid way, gave me the character and peculiarities of +nearly every one we met. The titles of some of them amused me greatly. +At every step we encountered individuals whose names have become +household words in every civilized country.<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a> Julius Cæsar, slightly +stouter than when he swam the Tiber, and somewhat tanned from long +exposure to a Southern sun, was seated on a wood-pile, quietly smoking a +pipe; while near him, Washington, divested of regimentals, and clad in a +modest suit of reddish-gray, his thin locks frosted by time, and his +fleshless visage showing great age, was gazing, in rapt admiration, at a +group of dancers in front of old Lucy's cabin.</p> + +<p>In this group about thirty men and women were making the ground quake +and the woods ring with their unrestrained jollity. Marc Antony was +rattling away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> at the bones, Nero fiddling as if Rome were burning, and +Hannibal clawing at a banjo as if the fate of Carthage hung on its +strings. Napoleon, as young and as lean as when he mounted the bridge of +Lodi, with the battle-smoke still on his face, was moving his legs even +faster than in the Russian retreat; and Wesley was using his heels in a +way that showed <i>they</i> didn't belong to the Methodist church. But the +central figures of the group were Cato and Victoria. The lady had a face +like a thunder-cloud, and a form that, if whitewashed, would have +outsold the "Greek Slave." She was built on springs, and "floated in the +dance" like a feather in a high wind. Cato's mouth was like an +alligator's, but when it opened, it issued notes that would draw the +specie even in this time of general suspension. As we approached he was +singing a song, but he paused on perceiving us, when the Colonel, +tossing a handful of coin among them, called out, "Go on, boys; let the +gentleman have some music; and you, Vic, show your heels like a beauty."</p> + +<p>A general scramble followed, in which "Vic's" sense of decorum forbade +her to join, and she consequently got nothing. Seeing that, I tossed her +a silver piece, which she caught. Grinning her thanks, she shouted, +"Now, clar de track, you nigs; start de music. I'se gwine to gib de +gemman de breakdown."</p> + +<p>And she did; and such a breakdown! "We w'ite folks," though it was no +new thing to the Colonel or Tommy, almost burst with laughter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>In a few minutes nearly every negro on the plantation, attracted by the +presence of the Colonel and myself, gathered around the performers; and +a shrill voice at my elbow called out, "Look har, ye lazy, +good-for-nuffin' niggers, carn't ye fotch a cheer for Massa Davy and de +strange gemman?"</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Aunty?" said the Colonel. "How d'ye do?"</p> + +<p>"Sort o' smart, Massa Davy; sort o' smart; how is ye?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty well, Aunty; pretty well. Have a seat." And the Colonel helped +her to one of the chairs that were brought for us, with as much +tenderness as he would have shown to an aged white lady.</p> + +<p>The "exercises," which had been suspended for a moment, recommenced, and +the old negress entered into them as heartily as the youngest present. A +song from Cato followed the dance, and then about twenty "gentleman and +lady" darkies joined, two at a time, in a half "walk-round" half +breakdown, which the Colonel told me was the original of the well-known +dance and song of Lucy Long. Other performances succeeded, and the whole +formed a scene impossible to describe. Such uproarious jollity, such +full and perfect enjoyment, I had never seen in humanity, black or +white. The little nigs, only four or five years old, would rush into the +ring and shuffle away at the breakdowns till I feared their short legs +would come off; while all the darkies joined in the songs, till the +branches of the old pines above shook as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> if they too had caught the +spirit of the music. In the midst of it, the Colonel said to me, in an +exultant tone:</p> + +<p>"Well, my friend, what do you think of slavery <i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>"About the same that I thought yesterday. I see nothing to change my +views."</p> + +<p>"Why, are not these people happy? Is not this perfect enjoyment?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; just the same enjoyment that aunty's pigs are having; don't you +hear <i>them</i> singing to the music? I'll wager they are the happier of the +two."</p> + +<p>"No; you are wrong. The higher faculties of the darkies are being +brought out here."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that," I replied. "Within the sound of their voices, two +of their fellows—victims to the inhumanity of slavery—are lying dead, +and yet they make <i>Sunday</i> "hideous" with wild jollity, while Sam's fate +may be theirs to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Spite of his genuine courtesy and high breeding, a shade of displeasure +passed over the Colonel's face as I made this remark. Rising to go, he +said, a little impatiently, "Ah, I see how it is; that d—— Garrison's +sentiments have impregnated even you. How can the North and the South +hold together when moderate men like you and me are so far apart?"</p> + +<p>"But you," I rejoined, good-humoredly, "are not a moderate man. You and +Garrison are of the same stripe, both extremists. <i>You</i> have mounted one +hobby, <i>he</i> another; that is all the difference."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I should be sorry," he replied, recovering his good nature, "to think +myself like Garrison. I consider him the —— scoundrel unhung."</p> + +<p>"No; I think he means well. But you are both fanatics, both 'bricks' of +the same material; we conservatives, like mortar, will hold you together +and yet keep you apart."</p> + +<p>"I, for one, <i>won't</i> be held. If I can't get out of this cursed Union in +any other way, I'll emigrate to Cuba."</p> + +<p>I laughed, and just then, looking up, caught a glimpse of Jim, who +stood, hat in hand, waiting to speak to the Colonel, but not daring to +interrupt a white conversation.</p> + +<p>"Hallo, Jim," I said; "have you got back?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, sar," replied Jim, grinning all over as if he had some agreeable +thing to communicate.</p> + +<p>"Where is Moye?" asked the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Kotched, massa; I'se got de padlocks on him."</p> + +<p>"Kotched," echoed half a dozen darkies, who stood near enough to hear; +"Ole Moye is kotched," ran through the crowd, till the music ceased, and +a shout went up from two hundred black throats that made the old trees +tremble.</p> + +<p>"Now gib him de lashes, Massa Davy," cried the old nurse. "Gib him what +he gabe pore Sam; but mine dat you keeps widin de law."</p> + +<p>"Never fear, Aunty," said the Colonel; "I'll give him ——."</p> + +<p>How the Colonel kept his word will be told in another chapter.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> Instances are frequent where Southern gentlemen form these +left-handed connections, and rear two sets of differently colored +children; but it is not often that the two families occupy the same +domicil. The only other case within my <i>personal</i> knowledge was that of +the well-known President of the Bank of St. M——, at Columbus, Ga. That +gentleman, whose note ranked in Wall Street, when the writer was +acquainted with that locality, as "A No. 1," lived for fifteen years +with two "wives" under one roof. One, an accomplished white woman, and +the mother of several children—did the honors of his table, and moved +with him in "the best society;" the other—a beautiful quadroon, also +the mother of several children—filled the humbler office of nurse to +her own and the other's offspring.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> Among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is a +<i>name</i>. A slave has no family designation. It may be for that reason +that a high-sounding appellation is usually selected for the single one +he is allowed to appropriate.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>PLANTATION DISCIPLINE.</h3> + + +<p>The "Ole Cabin" to which Jim had alluded as the scene of Sam's +punishment by the overseer, was a one-story shanty in the vicinity of +the stables. Though fast falling to decay, it had more the appearance of +a human habitation than the other huts on the plantation. Its thick +plank door was ornamented with a mouldy brass knocker, and its four +windows contained sashes, to which here and there clung a broken pane, +the surviving relic of its better days. It was built of large unhewn +logs, notched at the ends and laid one upon the other, with the bark +still on. The thick, rough coat which yet adhered in patches to the +timber had opened in the sun, and let the rain and the worm burrow in +its sides, till some parts had crumbled entirely away. At one corner the +process of decay had gone on till roof, superstructure, and foundation +had rotted down and left an opening large enough to admit a coach and +four horses. The huge chimneys which had graced the gable ends of the +building were fallen in, leaving only a mass of sticks and clay to tell +of their existence, and two wide openings to show how great a figure +they had once made in the world. A small space in front of the cabin +would have been a lawn, had the grass been willing to grow upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> it; and +a few acres of cleared land in its rear might have passed for a garden, +had it not been entirely overgrown with young pines and stubble. This +primitive structure was once the "mansion" of that broad plantation, +and, before the production of turpentine came into fashion in that +region, its rude owner drew his support from its few surrounding acres, +more truly independent than the present aristocratic proprietor, who, +raising only one article, and buying all his provisions, was forced to +draw his support from the Yankee or the Englishman.</p> + +<p>Only one room, about forty feet square, occupied the interior of the +cabin. It once contained several apartments, vestiges of which still +remained, but the partitions had been torn away to fit it for its +present uses. What those uses were, a moment's observation showed me.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the floor, a space about fifteen feet square was +covered with thick pine planking, strongly nailed to the beams. In the +centre of this planking, an oaken block was firmly bolted, and to it was +fastened a strong iron staple that held a log-chain, to which was +attached a pair of shackles. Above this, was a queer frame-work of oak, +somewhat resembling the contrivance for drying fruit I have seen in +Yankee farmhouses. Attached to the rafters by stout pieces of timber, +were two hickory poles, placed horizontally, and about four feet apart, +the lower one rather more than eight feet from the floor. This was the +whipping-rack, and hanging to it were several stout whips with short<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +hickory handles, and long triple lashes. I took one down for closer +inspection, and found burned into the wood, in large letters, the words +"Moral Suasion." I questioned the appropriateness of the label, but the +Colonel insisted with great gravity, that the whip is the only "moral +suasion" a darky is capable of understanding.</p> + +<p>When punishment is inflicted on one of the Colonel's negroes, his feet +are confined in the shackles, his arms tied above his head, and drawn by +a stout cord up to one of the horizontal poles; then, his back bared to +the waist, and standing on tip-toe, with every muscle stretched to its +utmost tension, he takes "de lashes."</p> + +<p>A more severe but more unusual punishment is the "thumb-screw." In this +a noose is passed around the negro's thumb and fore-finger, while the +cord is thrown over the upper cross-pole, and the culprit is drawn up +till his toes barely touch the ground. In this position the whole weight +of the body rests on the thumb and fore-finger. The torture is +excruciating, and strong, able-bodied men can endure it but a few +moments. The Colonel naively told me that he had discontinued its +practice, as several of his <i>women</i> had nearly lost the use of their +hands, and been incapacitated for field labor, by its too frequent +repetition. "My —— drivers,"<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a> he added, "have no discretion, and no +humanity; if they have a pique against a nigger, they show him no +mercy."</p> + +<p>The old shanty I have described was now the place of the overseer's +confinement. Open as it was at top, bottom, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>and sides, it seemed an +unsafe prison-house; but Jim had secured its present occupant by placing +"de padlocks on him."</p> + +<p>"Where did you catch him?" asked the Colonel, as, followed by every +darky on the plantation, we took our way to the old building.</p> + +<p>"In de swamp, massa. We got Sandy and de dogs arter him—dey treed him, +but he fit like de debble."</p> + +<p>"Any one hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, Cunnel; he knifed Yaller Jake, and ef I hadn't a gibin him a +wiper, you'd a had anudder nigger short dis mornin'—shore."</p> + +<p>"How was it? tell me," said his master, while we paused, and the darkies +gathered around.</p> + +<p>"Wal, yer see, massa, we got de ole debble's hat dat he drapped wen you +had him down; den we went to Sandy's fur de dogs—dey scented him to +onst, and off dey put for de swamp. 'Bout twenty on us follored 'em. +He'd a right smart start on us, and run like a deer, but de hounds +kotched up wid him 'bout whar he shot pore Sam. He fit 'em and cut up de +Lady awful, but ole Cæsar got a hole ob him, and sliced a breakfuss out +ob his legs. Somehow, dough, he got 'way from de ole dog, and clum a +tree. 'Twar more'n an hour afore we kotched up; but dar he war, and de +houns baying 'way as ef dey know'd what an ole debble he am. I'd tuk one +ob de guns—you warn't in de house, massa, so I cudn't ax you."</p> + +<p>"Never mind that; go on," said the Colonel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wal, I up wid de gun, and tole him ef he didn't cum down I'd gib him +suffin' dat 'ud sot hard on de stummuk. It tuk him a long w'ile, but—he +<i>cum down</i>." Here the darky showed a row of ivory that would have been a +fair capital for a metropolitan dentist.</p> + +<p>"When he war down," he resumed, "Jake war gwine to tie him, but de ole +'gator, quicker dan a flash, put a knife enter him."</p> + +<p>"Is Jake much hurt?" interrupted the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Not bad, massa; de knife went fru his arm, and enter his ribs, but de +ma'am hab fix him, and she say he'll be 'round bery sudden."</p> + +<p>"Well, what then?" inquired the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Wen de ole debble seed he hadn't finished Jake, he war gwine to gib him +anudder dig, but jus den I drap de gun on his cocoanut, and he neber +trubble us no more. 'Twar mons'rous hard work to git him out ob de +swamp, 'cause he war jess like a dead man, and had to be toted de hull +way; but he'm dar now, massa (pointing to the old cabin), and de +bracelets am on him."</p> + +<p>"Where is Jake?" asked the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Dunno, massa, but reckon he'm to hum."</p> + +<p>"One of you boys go and bring him to the cabin," said the Colonel.</p> + +<p>A negro man went off on the errand, while we and the darkies resumed our +way to the overseer's quarters. Arrived there, I witnessed a scene that +words cannot picture.</p> + +<p>Stretched at full length on the floor, his clothes torn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> to shreds, his +coarse carroty hair matted with blood, and his thin, ugly visage pale as +death, lay the overseer. Bending over him, wiping away the blood from +his face, and swathing a ghastly wound on his forehead, was the negress +Sue; while at his shackled feet, binding up his still bleeding legs, +knelt the octoroon woman!</p> + +<p>"Is <i>she</i> here?" I said, involuntarily, as I caught sight of the group.</p> + +<p>"It's her nature," said the Colonel, with a pleasant smile; "if Moye +were the devil himself, she'd do him good if she could; another such +woman never lived."</p> + +<p>And yet this woman, with all the instincts that make her sex +angel-ministers to man, lived in daily violation of the most sacred of +all laws—because she was a slave. Can Mr. Caleb Cushing or Charles +O'Conor tell us why the Almighty invented a system which forces his +creatures to break laws of His own making?</p> + +<p>"Don't waste your time on him, Alice," said the Colonel, kindly; "he +isn't worth the rope that'll hang him."</p> + +<p>"He was bleeding to death; unless he has care he'll die," said the +octoroon woman.</p> + +<p>"Then let him die, d—— him," replied the Colonel, advancing to where +the overseer lay, and bending down to satisfy himself of his condition.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile more than two hundred dusky forms crowded around and filled +every opening of the old building. Every conceivable emotion, except +pity, was depicted on their dark faces. The same individuals<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> whose +cloudy visages a half hour before I had seen distended with a wild mirth +and careless jollity, that made me think them really the docile, +good-natured animals they are said to be, now glared on the prostrate +overseer with the infuriated rage of aroused beasts when springing on +their prey.</p> + +<p>"You can't come the possum here. Get up, you —— hound," said the +Colonel, rising and striking the bleeding man with his foot.</p> + +<p>The fellow raised himself on one elbow and gazed around with a stupid, +vacant look. His eye wandered unsteadily for a moment from the Colonel +to the throng of cloudy faces in the doorway; then, his recent +experience flashing upon him, he shrieked out, clinging wildly to the +skirts of the octoroon woman, who was standing near, "Keep off them +cursed hounds—keep them off, I say—they'll kill me! they'll kill me!"</p> + +<p>One glance satisfied me that his mind was wandering. The blow on the +head had shattered his reason, and made the strong man less than a +child.</p> + +<p>"You wont be killed yet," said the Colonel. "You've a small account to +settle with me before you reckon with the devil."</p> + +<p>At this moment the dark crowd in the doorway parted, and Jake entered, +his arm bound up and in a sling.</p> + +<p>"Jake, come here," said the Colonel; "this man would have killed you. +What shall we do with him?"</p> + +<p>"'Taint for a darky to say dat, massa," said the negro, evidently +unaccustomed to the rude administration of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> justice which the Colonel +was about to inaugurate; "he did wuss dan dat to Sam, massa—he orter +swing for shootin' him."</p> + +<p>"That's <i>my</i> affair; we'll settle your account first," replied the +Colonel.</p> + +<p>The darky looked undecidedly at his master, and then at the overseer, +who, overcome by weakness, had sunk again to the floor. The little +humanity in him was evidently struggling with his hatred of Moye and his +desire for revenge, when the old nurse yelled out from among the crowd, +"Gib him fifty lashes, Massa Davy, and den you wash him down.<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a> Be a +man, Jake, and say dat."</p> + +<p>Jake still hesitated, and when at last he was about to speak, the eye of +the octoroon caught his, and chained the words to his tongue, as if by +magnetic power.</p> + +<p>"Do you say that, boys;" said the Colonel, turning to the other negroes; +"shall he have fifty lashes?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, fifty lashes—gib de ole debble fifty lashes," shouted +about fifty voices.</p> + +<p>"He shall have them," quietly said the master.</p> + +<p>The mad shout that followed, which was more like the yell of demons than +the cry of men, seemed to arouse Moye to a sense of his real position. +Springing to his feet, he gazed wildly around; then, sinking on his +knees before the octoroon, and clutching the folds of her dress, he +shrieked, "Save me, good lady, save me! as you hope for mercy, save me!"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>Not a muscle of her face moved, but, turning to the excited crowd, she +mildly said, "Fifty lashes would kill him. <i>Jake</i> does not say +that—your master leaves it to him, and <i>he</i> will not whip a dying +man—will you, Jake?"</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am—not—not ef you gwo agin it," replied the negro, with very +evident reluctance.</p> + +<p>"But he whipped Sam, ma'am, when Sam war nearer dead than <i>he</i> am," said +Jim, whose station as house-servant allowed him a certain freedom of +speech.</p> + +<p>"Because he was brutal to Sam, should you be brutal to him? Can you +expect me to tend you when you are sick, if you beat a dying man? Does +Pompey say you should do such things?"</p> + +<p>"No, good ma'am," said the old preacher, stepping out, with the freedom +of an old servant, from the black mass, and taking his stand beside me +in the open space left for the "w'ite folks;" "de ole man dusn't say +dat, ma'am; he tell 'em dat de Lord want 'em to forgib dar en'mies—to +lub dem dat pursyskute 'em;" and, turning to the Colonel, he added, as +he passed his hand meekly over his thin crop of white wool and threw his +long heel back, "ef massa'll 'low me I'll talk to 'em."</p> + +<p>"Fire away," said the Colonel, with evident chagrin. "This is a nigger +trial; if you want to screen the d—— hound you can do it."</p> + +<p>"I dusn't want to screed him, massa, but I'se bery ole and got soon to +gwo, and I dusn't want de blessed Lord to ax me wen I gets dar why I +'lowed dese pore<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> ig'nant brack folks to mudder a man 'fore my bery +face. I toted you, massa, 'fore you cud gwo, I'se worked for you till I +can't work no more; and I dusn't want to tell de Lord dat <i>my</i> massa let +a brudder man be killed in cole blood."</p> + +<p>"He is no brother of mine, you old fool; preach to the nigs, don't +preach to me," said the Colonel, stifling his displeasure, and striding +off through the black crowd, without saying another word.</p> + +<p>Here and there in the dark mass a face showed signs of relenting; but +much the larger number of that strange jury, had the question been put, +would have voted—DEATH.</p> + +<p>The old preacher turned to them as the Colonel passed out, and said, "My +chil'ren, would you hab dis man whipped, so weak, so dyin' as he am, ef +he war brack?"</p> + +<p>"No, not ef he war a darky—fer den he wouldn't be such an ole debble," +replied Jim, and about a dozen of the other negroes.</p> + +<p>"De w'ite aint no wuss dan de brack—we'm all 'like—pore sinners all on +us. De Lord wudn't whip a w'ite man no sooner dan a brack one—He tinks +de w'ite juss so good as de brack (good Southern doctrine, I thought). +De porest w'ite trash wudn't strike a man wen he war down."</p> + +<p>"We'se had 'nough of dis, ole man," said a large, powerful negro (one of +the drivers), stepping forward, and, regardless of the presence of Madam +P—— and myself, pressing close to where the overseer lay, now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> totally +unconscious of what was passing around him. "You needn't preach no more; +de Cunnel hab say we'm to whip ole Moye, and we'se gwine to do it, +by ——."</p> + +<p>I felt my fingers closing on the palm of my hand, and in a second more +they might have cut the darky's profile, had not Madam P—— cried out, +"Stand back, you impudent fellow: say another word, and I'll have you +whipped on the spot."</p> + +<p>"De Cunnel am my massa, ma'am—<i>he</i> say ole Moye am to be whipped, and +I'se gwine to do it—shore."</p> + +<p>I have seen a storm at sea—I have seen the tempest tear up great +trees—I have seen the lightning strike in a dark night—but I never saw +any thing half so grand, half so terrible, as the glance and tone of +that woman as she cried out, "Jim, take this man—give him fifty lashes +this instant."</p> + +<p>Quicker than thought, a dozen darkies were on him. His hands and feet +were tied and he was under the whipping-rack in a second. Turning then +to the other negroes, the brave woman said, "Some of you carry Moye to +the house, and you, Jim, see to this man—if fifty lashes don't make him +sorry, give him fifty more."</p> + +<p>This summary change of programme was silently acquiesced in by the +assembled negroes, but many a cloudy face scowled sulkily on the +octoroon, as, leaning on my arm, she followed Junius and the other +negroes, who bore Moye to the mansion. It was plain that under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> those +dark faces a fire was burning that a breath would have fanned into a +flame.</p> + +<p>We entered the house by its rear door, and placed Moye in a small room +on the ground floor. He was laid on a bed, and stimulants being given +him, his senses and reason shortly returned. His eyes opened, and his +real position seemed suddenly to flash upon him, for he turned to Madam +P——, and in a weak voice, half choked with emotion, faltered out: "May +God in heaven bless ye, ma'am; God <i>will</i> bless ye for bein' so good to +a wicked man like me. I doesn't desarve it, but ye woant leave me—ye +woant leave me—they'll kill me ef ye do!"</p> + +<p>"Don't fear," said the Madam; "you shall have a fair trial. No harm +shall come to you here."</p> + +<p>"Thank ye, thank ye," gasped the overseer, raising himself on one arm, +and clutching at the lady's hand, which he tried to lift to his lips.</p> + +<p>"Don't say any more now," said Madam P——, quietly; "you must rest and +be quiet, or you wont get well."</p> + +<p>"Shan't I get well? Oh, I can't die—I can't die <i>now</i>!"</p> + +<p>The lady made a soothing reply, and giving him an opiate, and arranging +the bedding so that he might rest more easily, she left the room with +me.</p> + +<p>As we stepped into the hall, I saw through the front door, which was +open, the horses harnessed in readiness for "meeting," and the Colonel +pacing to and fro on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> the piazza, smoking a cigar. He perceived us, and +halted in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"So you've brought that d—— bloodthirsty villain into my house!" he +said to Madam P—— in a tone of strong displeasure.</p> + +<p>"How could I help it? The negroes are mad, and would kill him anywhere +else," replied the lady, with a certain self-confidence that showed she +knew her power over the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Why should <i>you</i> interfere between them and him? Has he not insulted +you enough to make you let him alone? Can you so easily forgive his +taunting you with"—He did not finish the sentence, but what I had +learned on the previous evening from the old nurse gave me a clue to its +meaning. A red flame flushed the face and neck of the octoroon +woman—her eyes literally flashed fire, and her very breath seemed to +come with pain; in a moment, however, this emotion passed away, and she +quietly said, "Let me settle that in my own way. He has served <i>you</i> +well—<i>you</i> have nothing against him that the law will not punish."</p> + +<p>"By ——, you are the most unaccountable woman I ever knew," exclaimed +the Colonel, striding up and down the piazza, the angry feeling passing +from his face, and giving way to a mingled expression of wonder and +admiration. The conversation was here interrupted by Jim, who just then +made his appearance, hat in hand.</p> + +<p>"Well, Jim, what is it?" asked his master.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We'se gib'n Sam twenty lashes, ma'am, but he beg so hard, and say he so +sorry, dat I tole him I'd ax you 'fore we gabe him any more."</p> + +<p>"Well, if he's sorry, that's enough; but tell him he'll get fifty +another time," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"What Sam is it?" asked the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Big Sam, the driver," said Jim.</p> + +<p>"Why was he whipped?"</p> + +<p>"He told me <i>you</i> were his master, and insisted on whipping Moye," +replied the lady.</p> + +<p>"Did he dare to do that? Give him a hundred, Jim, not one less," roared +the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa," said Jim, turning to go.</p> + +<p>The lady looked significantly at the negro and shook her head, but said +nothing, and he left.</p> + +<p>"Come, Alice, it is nearly time for meeting, and I want to stop and see +Sandy on the way."</p> + +<p>"I reckon I wont go," said Madam P——.</p> + +<p>"You stay to take care of Moye, I suppose," said the Colonel, with a +slight sneer.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied the lady, "he is badly hurt, and in danger of +inflammation."</p> + +<p>"Well, suit yourself. Mr. K——, come, <i>we'll</i> go—you'll meet some of +the <i>natives</i>."</p> + +<p>The lady retired to the house, and the Colonel and I were soon ready. +The driver brought the horses to the door, and as we were about to enter +the carriage, I noticed Jim taking his accustomed seat on the box.</p> + +<p>"Who's looking after Sam?" asked the Colonel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nobody, Cunnel; de ma'am leff him gwo."</p> + +<p>"How dare you disobey me? Didn't I tell you to give him a hundred?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, but de ma'am tole me notter."</p> + +<p>"Well, another time you mind what <i>I</i> say—do you hear?" said his +master.</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa," said the negro, with a broad grin, "I allers do dat."</p> + +<p>"You <i>never</i> do it, you d—— nigger; I ought to have flogged you long +ago."</p> + +<p>Jim said nothing, but gave a quiet laugh, showing no sort of fear, and +we entered the carriage. I afterward learned from him that he had never +been whipped, and that all the negroes on the plantation obeyed the lady +when, which was seldom, her orders came in conflict with their master's. +They knew if they did not, the Colonel would whip them.</p> + +<p>As we rode slowly along the Colonel said to me, "Well, you see that the +best people have to flog niggers sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>I</i> should have given that fellow a hundred lashes, at least. I +think the effect on the others would have been bad if Madam P—— had +not had him flogged."</p> + +<p>"But she generally goes against it. I don't remember of her having it +done in ten years before. And yet, though I've the worst gang of niggers +in the district, they obey her like so many children."</p> + +<p>"Why is that?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, there's a kind of magnetism about her that makes everybody love +her; and then she tends them in sickness, and is constantly doing little +things for their comfort; <i>that</i> attaches them to her. She is an +extraordinary woman."</p> + +<p>"Whose negroes are those, Colonel?" I asked, as, after a while, we +passed a gang of about a dozen, at work near the roadside. Some were +tending a tar-kiln, and some engaged in cutting into fire-wood the pines +which a recent tornado had thrown to the ground.</p> + +<p>"They are mine, but they are working now for themselves. I let such as +will, work on Sunday. I furnish the "raw material," and pay them for +what they do, as I would a white man."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it be better to make them go to hear the old preacher; +couldn't they learn something from him?"</p> + +<p>"Not much; Old Pomp never read any thing but the Bible, and he doesn't +understand that; besides, they can't be taught. You can't make 'a +whistle out of a pig's tail;' you can't make a nigger into a white man."</p> + +<p>Just here the carriage stopped suddenly, and we looked out to see the +cause. The road by which we had come was a mere opening through the +pines; no fences separated it from the wooded land, and being seldom +travelled, the track was scarcely visible. In many places it widened to +a hundred feet, but in others tall trees had grown up on its opposite +sides, leaving scarcely width enough for a single carriage to pass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +along. In one of these narrow passages, just before us, a queer-looking +vehicle had upset, and scattered its contents in the road. We had no +alternative but to wait till it got out of the way; and we all alighted +to reconnoitre.</p> + +<p>The vehicle was a little larger than an ordinary handcart, and was +mounted on wheels that had probably served their time on a Boston dray +before commencing their travels in Secessiondom. Its box of pine +boarding and its shafts of rough oak poles were evidently of Southern +home manufacture. Attached to it by a rope harness, with a primitive +bridle of decidedly original construction, was—not a horse, nor a mule, +nor even an alligator, but a "three-year-old heifer."</p> + +<p>The wooden linch-pin of the cart had given way, and the weight of a +half-dozen barrels of turpentine had thrown the box off its balance, and +rolled the contents about in all directions.</p> + +<p>The appearance of the proprietor of this nondescript vehicle was in +keeping with his establishment. His coat, which was much too short in +the waist and much too long in the skirts, was of the common reddish +gray linsey, and his nether garments, which stopped just below the +knees, were of the same material. From there downwards, he wore only the +covering that is said to have been the fashion in Paradise before Adam +took to fig-leaves. His hat had a rim broader than a political platform, +and his skin a color half way between tobacco-juice and a tallow +candle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wal, Cunnul, how dy'ge?" said the stranger, as we stepped from the +carriage.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Ned; how are you?"</p> + +<p>"Purty wal, Cunnul; had the nagur lately, right smart, but'm gittin' +'roun'."</p> + +<p>"You're in a bad fix here, I see. Can Jim help you?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, p'raps he moight. Jim, how dy'ge?"</p> + +<p>"Sort o' smart, ole feller. But come, stir yerseff; we want ter gwo +'long," replied Jim, with a lack of courtesy that showed he regarded the +white man as altogether too "trashy" to be treated with much ceremony.</p> + +<p>With the aid of Jim, a new linch-pin was soon whittled out, the +turpentine rolled on to the cart, and the vehicle put in a moving +condition.</p> + +<p>"Where are you hauling your turpentine?" asked the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"To Sam Bell's, at the 'Boro'."</p> + +<p>"What will he pay you?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, I've four barr'ls of 'dip,' and tu of 'hard.' For the hull, I +reckon he'll give three dollar a barr'l."</p> + +<p>"By tale?"</p> + +<p>"No, for tu hun'red and eighty pound."</p> + +<p>"Well, <i>I'll</i> give you two dollars and a half, by weight."</p> + +<p>"Can't take it, Cunnel; must get three dollar."</p> + +<p>"What, will you go sixty miles with this team, and waste five or six +days, for fifty cents on six barrels—three dollars!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can't 'ford the time, Cunnel, but must git three dollar a barr'l."</p> + +<p>"That fellow is a specimen of our 'natives,'" said the Colonel, as we +resumed our seats in the carriage. "You'll see more of them before we +get back to the plantation."</p> + +<p>"He puts a young cow to a decidedly original use," I remarked.</p> + +<p>"Oh no, not original here; the ox and the cow with us are both used for +labor."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say that cows are generally worked here?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. Our breeds are good for nothing as milkers, and we put +them to the next best use. I never have cow's milk on my plantation."</p> + +<p>"You don't! I could have sworn it was in my coffee this morning."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't trust you to buy brandy for me, if your organs of taste are +not keener than that. It was goat's milk."</p> + +<p>"Then how do you get your butter?"</p> + +<p>"From the North. I've had mine from my New York factors for over ten +years."</p> + +<p>We soon arrived at Sandy, the negro-hunter's, and halted to allow the +Colonel to inquire as to the health of his family of children and +dogs—the latter the less numerous, but, if I might judge by +appearances, the more valued of the two.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> The negro-whippers and field overseers.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> Referring to the common practice of bathing the raw and bleeding +backs of the punished slaves with a strong solution of salt and water.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE NEGRO HUNTER.</h3> + + +<p>Alighting from the carriage, I entered, with my host, the cabin of the +negro-hunter. So far as external appearance went, the shanty was a +slight improvement on the "Mills House," described in a previous +chapter; but internally, it was hard to say whether it resembled more a +pig-sty or a dog-kennel. The floor was of the bare earth, covered in +patches with loose plank of various descriptions, and littered over with +billets of "lightwood," unwashed cooking utensils, two or three cheap +stools, a pine settee—made from the rough log and hewn smooth on the +upper side—a full-grown bloodhound, two younger canines, and nine +half-clad juveniles of the flax-head species. Over against the +fire-place three low beds afforded sleeping accommodation to nearly a +dozen human beings (of assorted sizes, and dove-tailed together with +heads and feet alternating), and in the opposite corner a lower couch, +whose finer furnishings told plainly it was the peculiar property of the +"wee ones" of the family—a mother's tenderness for her youngest thus +cropping out even in the midst of filth and degradation—furnished +quarters for an unwashed, uncombed, unclothed, saffron-hued little +fellow about fifteen months old, and—the dog "Lady." She was of a dark +hazel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> color—a cross between a pointer and a bloodhound—and one of the +most beautiful creatures I ever saw. Her neck and breast were bound +about with a coarse cotton cloth, saturated with blood, and emitting a +strong odor of bad whiskey; and her whole appearance showed the +desperate nature of the encounter with the overseer.</p> + +<p>The nine young democrats who were lolling about the room in various +attitudes, rose as we entered, and with a familiar but rather +deferential "How-dy'ge," to the Colonel, huddled around and stared at me +with open mouths and distended eyes, as if I were some strange being, +dropped from another sphere. The two eldest were of the male gender, as +was shown by their clothes—cast-off suits of the inevitable +reddish-gray, much too large, and out at the elbows and the knees—but +the sex of the others I was at a loss to determine, for they wore only a +single robe, reaching, like their mother's, from the neck to the knees. +Not one of the occupants of the cabin boasted a pair of stockings, but +the father and mother did enjoy the luxury of shoes—coarse, stout +brogans, untanned, and of the color of the legs which they encased.</p> + +<p>"Well, Sandy, how is 'Lady?'" asked the Colonel, as he stepped to the +bed of the wounded dog.</p> + +<p>"Reckon she's a goner, Cunnel; the d—— Yankee orter swing fur it."</p> + +<p>This intimation that the overseer was a countryman of mine, took me by +surprise, nothing I had observed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> in his speech or manners having +indicated it, but I consoled myself with the reflection that Connecticut +had reared him—as she makes wooden hams and nutmegs—expressly for the +Southern market.</p> + +<p>"He <i>shall</i> swing for it, by ——. But are you sure the slut will die?"</p> + +<p>"Not shore, Cunnel, but she can't stand, and the blood <i>will</i> run. I +reckon a hun'red and fifty ar done for thar, sartin."</p> + +<p>"D—— the money—I'll make that right. Go to the house and get some +ointment from Madam—she can save her—go at once," said my host.</p> + +<p>"I will, Cunnel," replied the dirt-eater, taking his broad-brim from a +wooden peg, and leisurely leaving the cabin. Making our way then over +the piles of rubbish and crowds of children that cumbered the apartment, +the Colonel and I returned to the carriage.</p> + +<p>"Dogs must be rare in this region," I remarked, as we resumed our seats.</p> + +<p>"Yes, well-trained bloodhounds are scarce everywhere. That dog is well +worth a hundred and fifty dollars."</p> + +<p>"The business of nigger-catching, then, is brisk, just now?"</p> + +<p>"No, not more brisk than usual. We always have more or less runaways."</p> + +<p>"Do most of them take to the swamps?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, nine out of ten do, though now and then one gets off on a trading +vessel. It is almost impossible for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> a strange nigger to make his way by +land from here to the free states."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you Carolinians make such an outcry about the violation of +the Fugitive Slave Law?"</p> + +<p>"For the same reason that dogs quarrel over a naked bone. We should be +unhappy if we couldn't growl at the Yankees," replied the Colonel, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"<i>We</i>, you say; you mean by that, the hundred and eighty thousand nabobs +who own five-sixths of your slaves?"<a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a></p> + +<p>"Yes, I mean them, and the three millions of poor whites—the ignorant, +half-starved, lazy vermin you have just seen. <i>They</i> are the real basis +of our Southern oligarchy, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>as you call it," continued my host, still +laughing.</p> + +<p>"I thought the negroes were the serfs in your feudal system?"</p> + +<p>"Both the negroes and the poor whites are the serfs, but the white trash +are its real support. Their votes give the small minority of +slave-owners all their power. You say we control the Union. We do, and +we do it by the votes of these people, who are as far below our niggers +as the niggers are below decent white men. Who that reflects that this +country has been governed for fifty years by such scum, would give a +d—— for republican institutions?"</p> + +<p>"It does speak badly for <i>your</i> institutions. A system that reduces +nearly half of a white population to the level of slaves cannot stand in +this country. The late election shows that the power of your 'white +trash' is broken."</p> + +<p>"Well, it does, that's a fact. If the states should remain together, the +West would in future control the Union. We see that, and are therefore +determined on dissolution. It is our only way to keep our niggers."</p> + +<p>"The West will have to consent to that project. My opinion is, your +present policy will, if carried out, free every one of your slaves."</p> + +<p>"I don't see how. Even if we are put down—which we cannot be—and are +held in the Union against our will, government cannot, by the +constitution, interfere with slavery in the states."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I admit that, but it can confiscate the property of traitors. Every +large slave-holder is to-day, at heart, a traitor. If this movement goes +on, you will commit overt acts against the government, and in +self-defence it will punish treason by taking from you the means of +future mischief."</p> + +<p>"The Republicans and Abolitionists might do that if they had the power, +but nearly one-half of the North is on our side, and will not fight us."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so; but if <i>I</i> had this thing to manage, I would put you down +without fighting."</p> + +<p>"How would you do it—by preaching abolition where even the niggers +would mob you? There's not a slave in all South Carolina but would shoot +Garrison or Greeley on sight."</p> + +<p>"That may be, but if so, it is because you keep them in ignorance. Build +a free-school at every cross-road, and teach the poor whites, and what +would become of slavery? If these people were on a par with the farmers +of New England, would it last for an hour? Would they not see that it +stands in the way of their advancement, and vote it out of existence as +a nuisance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, perhaps they would; but the school-houses are not at the +cross-roads, and, thank God, they will not be there in this generation."</p> + +<p>"The greater the pity; but that which will not flourish alongside of a +school-house, cannot, in the nature of things, outlast this century. Its +time must soon come."</p> + +<p>"Enough for the day is the evil thereof. I'll risk the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> future of +slavery, if the South, in a body, goes out of the Union."</p> + +<p>"In other words, you'll shut out schools and knowledge, in order to keep +slavery in existence. The Abolitionists claim it to be a relic of +barbarism, and you admit it could not exist with general education among +the people."</p> + +<p>"Of course it could not. If Sandy, for instance, knew he were as good a +man as I am—and he would be if he were educated—do you suppose he +would vote as I tell him, go and come at my bidding, and live on my +charity? No, sir! give a man knowledge, and, however poor he may be, +he'll act for himself."</p> + +<p>"Then free-schools and general education would destroy slavery?"</p> + +<p>"Of course they would. The few cannot rule when the many know their +rights. If the poor whites realized that slavery kept them poor, would +they not vote it down? But the South and the world are a long way off +from general education. When it comes to that, we shall need no laws, +and no slavery, for the millennium will have arrived."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you think slavery will not exist during the millennium," I +replied, good-humoredly; "but how is it that you insist the negro is +naturally inferior to the white, and still admit that the 'white trash,' +are far below the black slaves?"</p> + +<p>"Education makes the difference. We educate the negro enough to make him +useful to us; but the poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> white man knows nothing. He can neither read +nor write, and not only that, he is not trained to any useful +employment. Sandy, here, who is a fair specimen of the tribe, obtains +his living just like an Indian, by hunting, fishing, and stealing, +interspersed with nigger-catching. His whole wealth consists of two +hounds and pups; his house—even the wooden trough his miserable +children eat from—belongs to me. If he didn't catch a runaway-nigger +once in a while, he wouldn't see a dime from one year to another."</p> + +<p>"Then you have to support this man and his family?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, what I don't give him he steals. Half a dozen others poach on me +in the same way."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you set them at work?"</p> + +<p>"They can't be made to work. I have hired them time and again, hoping to +make something of them, but I never got one to work more than half a day +at a time. It's their nature to lounge and to steal."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you keep them about you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, to be candid, their presence is of use in keeping the blacks in +subordination, and they are worth all they cost me, because I control +their votes."</p> + +<p>"I thought the blacks were said to be entirely contented?"</p> + +<p>"No, not contented. I do not claim that. I only say that they are unfit +for freedom. I might cite a hundred instances in which it has been their +ruin."</p> + +<p>"I have not heard of one. It seems strange to me that a man who can +support another cannot support himself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! no, it's not at all strange. The slave has hands, and when the +master gives him brains, he works well enough; but to support himself he +needs both hands and brains, and he has only hands. I'll give you a case +in point: At Wilmington, N. C., some years ago, there lived a negro by +the name of Jack Campbell. He was a slave, and was employed, before the +river was deepened so as to admit of the passage of large vessels up to +the town, in lightering cargoes to the wharves. He hired his time of his +master, and carried on business on his own account. Every one knew him, +and his character for honesty, sobriety, and punctuality stood so high +that his word was considered among merchants as good as that of the +first business-men of the place. Well, Jack's wife and children were +free, and he finally took it into his head to be free himself. He +arranged with his master to purchase himself within a specified time, at +eight hundred dollars, and he was to deposit his earnings in the hands +of a certain merchant till they reached the required sum. He went on, +and in three years had accumulated nearly seven hundred dollars, when +his owner failed in business. As the slave has no right of property, +Jack's earnings belonged by law to his master, and they were attached by +the Northern creditors (mark that, <i>by Northern creditors</i>), and taken +to pay the master's debts. Jack, too, was sold. His new owner also +consented to his buying himself, at about the price previously agreed +on. Nothing discouraged, he went to work again. Night and day he toiled, +and it surprised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> every one to see so much energy and firmness of +purpose in a negro. At last, after four more years of labor, he +accomplished his purpose, and received his free-papers. He had worked +seven years—as long as Jacob toiled for Rachel—for his freedom, and +like the old patriarch he found himself cheated at last. I was present +when he received his papers from his owner—a Mr. William H. Lippitt, +who still resides at Wilmington—and I shall never forget the ecstasy of +joy which he showed on the occasion. He sung and danced, and laughed, +and wept, till my conscience smote me for holding my own niggers, when +freedom might give them so much happiness. Well, he went off that day +and treated some friends, and for three days afterward lay in the +gutter, the entreaties of his wife and children having no effect on him. +He swore he was free, and would do as he 'd—— pleased.' He had +previously been a class-leader in the church, but after getting his +freedom he forsook his previous associates, and spent his Sundays and +evenings in a bar-room. He neglected his business; people lost +confidence in him, and step by step he went down, till in five years he +sunk into a wretched grave. That was the effect of freedom on <i>him</i>, and +it would be the same on all of his race."</p> + +<p>"It is clear," I replied, "<i>he</i> could not bear freedom, but that does +not prove he might not have 'endured' it if he had never been a slave. +His overjoy at obtaining liberty, after so long a struggle for it, led +to his excesses and his ruin. According to your view, neither the black +nor the poor white is competent to take care of himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> The Almighty, +therefore, has laid upon <i>you</i> a triple burden; you not only have to +provide for yourself and your children, but for two races beneath you, +the black and the clay-eater. The poor nigger has a hard time, but it +seems to me you have a harder one."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's a fact, we do. I often think that if it wasn't for the color +and the odor, I'd willingly exchange places with my man Jim."</p> + +<p>The Colonel made this last remark in a half-serious, half-comic way, +that excited my risibilities, but before I could reply, the carriage +stopped, and Jim, opening the door, announced:</p> + +<p>"We's har, massa, and de prayin' am gwine on."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> The foregoing statistics are correct. That small number of +slave-holders sustains the system of slavery, and has caused this +terrible rebellion. They are, almost to a man, rebels and secessionists, +and we may cover the South with armies, and keep a file of soldiers upon +every plantation, and not smother this insurrection, unless we break +down the power of that class. Their wealth gives them their power, and +their wealth is in their slaves. Free their negroes by an act of +emancipation, or confiscation, and the rebellion will crumble to pieces +in a day. Omit to do it, and it will last till doomsday. +</p><p> +The power of this dominant class once broken, with landed property at +the South more equally divided, a new order of things will arise there. +Where now, with their large plantations, not one acre in ten is tilled, +a system of small farms will spring into existence, and the whole +country be covered with cultivation. The six hundred thousand men who +have gone there to fight our battles, will see the amazing fertility of +the Southern soil—into which the seed is thrown and springs up without +labor into a bountiful harvest—and many of them, if slavery is crushed +out, will remain there. Thus a new element will be introduced into the +South, an element that will speedily make it a loyal, prosperous, and +<i>intelligent</i> section of the Union. +</p><p> +I would interfere with no one's rights, but a rebel in arms against his +country has no rights; all that he has "is confiscate." Will the loyal +people of the North submit to be ground to the earth with taxes to pay +the expenditures of a war, brought upon them by these Southern +oligarchists, while the traitors are left in undisturbed possession of +every thing, and even their slaves are exempted from taxation? It were +well that our legislators should ask this question now, and not wait +till it's asked of them by <span class="smcap">THE PEOPLE</span>.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>THE COUNTRY CHURCH.</h3> + + +<p>Had we not been absorbed in conversation, we might have discovered, some +time previous to our arrival at the church door, that the services had +commenced, for the preacher was shouting at the top of his lungs. He +evidently thought the Lord either a long way off, or very hard of +hearing. Not wishing to disturb the congregation while at their +devotions, we loitered near the doorway until the prayer was over, and +in the mean time I glanced around the vicinity.</p> + +<p>The "meeting-house," of large unhewn logs, was a story and a half in +height, and about large enough to seat comfortably a congregation of two +hundred persons. It was covered with shingles, with a roof projecting +some four feet over the walls, and was surmounted at the front gable by +a tower, about twelve feet square. This also was built of logs, and +contained a bell "to call the erring to the house of prayer," though, +unfortunately, all of that character thereabouts dwelt beyond the sound +of its voice. The building was located at a cross-roads, about equally +distant from two little hamlets (the nearer nine miles off), neither of +which was populous enough to singly support a church and a preacher. The +trees in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> the vicinity had been thinned out, so that carriages could +drive into the woods, and find under the branches shelter from the rain +and the sun; and at the time of my visit, about twenty vehicles of all +sorts and descriptions, from the Colonel's magnificent barouche to the +rude cart drawn by a single two-horned quadruped, filled the openings. +There was a rustic simplicity about the whole scene that charmed me. The +low, rude church, the grand old pines that towered in leafy magnificence +around it, and the soft, low wind, that sung a morning hymn in the +green, wavy woods, seemed to lift the soul up to Him who inhabiteth +eternity, but who deigns to visit the erring children of men.</p> + +<p>The preacher was about to "line out" one of Watts' psalms when we +entered the church, but he stopped short on perceiving us, and, bowing +low, waited till we had taken our seats. This action, and the +sycophantic air which accompanied it, disgusted me, and turning to the +Colonel, I asked, jocosely:</p> + +<p>"Do the chivalry exact so much obsequiousness from the country clergy? +Do you require to be bowed up to heaven?"</p> + +<p>In a low voice, but high enough, I thought, for the preacher to hear, +for we sat very near, the Colonel replied:</p> + +<p>"He's a renegade Yankee—the meanest thing on earth."</p> + +<p>I said no more, but entered into the services as seriously as the +strange gymnastic performances of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> preacher would allow of my doing; +for he was quite as amusing as a circus clown.</p> + +<p>With the exception of the Colonel's, and a few other pews in the +vicinity of the pulpit, all of the seats were mere rough benches, +without backs, and placed so closely together as to interfere +uncomfortably with the knees of the sitters. The house was full, and the +congregation as attentive as any I ever saw. All classes were there; the +black serving-man away off by the doorway, the poor white a little +higher up, the small turpentine-farmer a little higher still, and the +wealthy planter, of the class to which the Colonel belonged, on "the +highest seats of the synagogue," and in close proximity to the preacher.</p> + +<p>The "man of prayer" was a tall, lean, raw-boned, angular-built +individual, with a thin, sharp, hatchet-face, a small sunken eye, and +long, loose hair, brushed back and falling over the collar of a seedy +black coat. He looked like a dilapidated scare-crow, and his pale, +sallow face, and cracked, wheezy voice, were in odd and comic keeping +with his discourse. His text was: "Speak unto the children of Israel, +that they go forward." And addressing the motley gathering of poor +whites and small planters before him as the "chosen people of God," he +urged them to press on in the mad course their state had taken. It was a +political harangue, a genuine stump-speech, but its frequent allusions +to the auditory as the legitimate children of the old patriarch, and the +rightful heirs of all the promises, struck me as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> out of place in a +rural district of South Carolina, however appropriate it might have been +in one of the large towns, before an audience of merchants and traders, +who are, almost to a man, Jews.</p> + +<p>The services over, the congregation slowly left the church. Gathered in +groups in front of the "meeting-house," they were engaged in a general +discussion of the affairs of the day, when the Colonel and I emerged +from the doorway. The better class greeted my host with considerable +cordiality, but I noticed that the well-to-do small planters, who +composed the greater part of the assemblage, received him with decided +coolness. These people were the "North County folks," on whom the +overseer had invoked a hanging. Except that their clothing was more +uncouth and ill-fashioned, and their faces generally less "cute" of +expression, they did not materially differ in appearance from the rustic +citizens who may be seen on any pleasant Sunday gathered around the +doorways of the rural meeting-houses of New England.</p> + +<p>One of them, who was leaning against a tree, quietly lighting a pipe, +was a fair type of the whole, and as he took a part in the scene which +followed, I will describe him. He was tall and spare, with a swinging, +awkward gait, and a wiry, athletic frame. His hair, which he wore almost +as long as a woman's, was coarse and black, and his face strongly +marked, and of the precise color of two small rivulets of tobacco-juice +that escaped from the corners of his mouth. He had an easy, +self-possessed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> manner, and a careless, devil-may-care way about him, +that showed he had measured his powers, and was accustomed to "rough it" +with the world. He wore a broadcloth coat of the fashion of some years +ago, but his waistcoat and nether garments of the common, reddish +homespun, were loose and ill-shaped, as if their owner did not waste +thought on such trifles. His hat, as shockingly bad as Horace Greeley's, +had the inevitable broad brim, and fell over his face like a +calash-awning over a shop-window. As I approached him he extended his +hand with a pleasant "How are ye, stranger?"</p> + +<p>"Very well," I replied, returning his grasp with equal warmth, "how are +you?"</p> + +<p>"Right smart, right smart, thank ye. You're——" the rest of the +sentence was cut short by a gleeful exclamation from Jim, who, mounted +on the box of the carriage, which was drawn up on the cleared plot in +front of the meeting-house, waved an open newspaper over his head, and +called out, as he caught sight of the Colonel:</p> + +<p>"Great news, massa—great news from Charls'on!"</p> + +<p>(The darky, while we were in church, had gone to the post-office, some +four miles away, and got the Colonel's mail, which consisted of letters +from his New York and Charleston factors, the Charleston <i>Courier</i> and +<i>Mercury</i> and the New York <i>Journal of Commerce</i>. The latter sheet, at +the date of which I am writing, was in wide circulation at the South, +its piety (!) and its politics<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> being then calculated with mathematical +precision for secession latitudes.)</p> + +<p>"What is it, Jim?" shouted his master. "Give it to us."</p> + +<p>The darky had somehow learned to read, but holding the paper at arm's +length, and throwing himself into a theatrical attitude, he cried out, +with any amount of gesticulation:</p> + +<p>"De news am, massa, and gemmen and ladies, dat de ole fort fore +Charls'on hab ben devacuated by Major Andersin and de sogers, and dey +hab stole 'way in de dark night and gone to Sumter, whar dey can't be +took; and dat de ole Gubner hab got out a procdemation dat all dat don't +lub de Aberlishen Yankees shill cum up dar and clar 'em out; and de +paper say dat lots ob sogers hab cum from Georgi and Al'bama, and 'way +down Souf, to help 'em. Dis am w'at de <i>Currer</i> say," he continued, +holding the paper up to his eyes and reading: "Major Andersin, ob de +United States army hab 'chieved de 'stinction ob op'ning cibil war +'tween American citizens; he hab desarted Moulfrie, and by false +fretexts hab took dat ole Garrison and all his millinery stores to Fort +Sumter."</p> + +<p>"Get down, you d——d nigger," said the Colonel, laughing, and mounting +the carriage-box beside him. "You can't read. Old Garrison isn't +there—he's the d——d Northern Abolitionist."</p> + +<p>"I knows dat, Cunnel, but see dar," replied Jim, holding the paper out +to his master, "don't dat say he'm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> dar? It'm him dat make all de +trubble. P'raps dis nig can't read, but ef dat aint readin' I'd like to +know it!"</p> + +<p>"Clear out," said the Colonel, now actually roaring with laughter; "it's +the garrison of soldiers that the <i>Courier</i> speaks of, not the +Abolitionist."</p> + +<p>"Read it yoursef, den, massa, I don't seed it dat way."</p> + +<p>Jim was altogether wiser than he appeared, but while equally as well +pleased with the news as his master, he was so for an entirely different +reason. In the crisis which these tidings announced, he saw hope for his +race.</p> + +<p>The Colonel then read the paper to the assemblage. The news was received +with a variety of manifestations by the auditory, the larger portion, I +thought, hearing it, as I did, with sincere regret.</p> + +<p>"Now is the time to stand by the state, my friends," said my host, as he +finished the reading. "I hope every man here is ready to do his duty by +old South Carolina."</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>sar</i>! if she does <i>har</i> duty by the Union. We'll go to the death +for har just so long as she's in the right, but not a d——d step if +she arn't," said the long-legged native I have introduced to the reader.</p> + +<p>"And what have <i>you</i> to say about South Carolina? What does she owe to +<i>you</i>?" asked the Colonel, turning on the speaker with a proud and angry +look.</p> + +<p>"More, a darned sight, than she'll pay, if ye cursed 'ristocrats run her +to h—— as ye'r doin'. She owes me, and 'bout ten as likely niggers as +ye ever seed, a living,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> and we've d——d hard work to get it out on +her <i>now</i>, let alone what's comin'."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me, you ill-mannered cur," said my host, turning his back +on his neighbor, and directing his attention to the remainder of the +assemblage.</p> + +<p>"Look har, Cunnel," replied the native, "if ye'll jest come down from +thar, and throw 'way yer shootin'-irons, I'll give ye the all-firedest +thrashing ye ever did get."</p> + +<p>The Colonel gave no further heed to him, but the speaker mounted the +steps of the meeting-house and harangued the natives in a strain of rude +and passionate declamation, in which my host, the aristocrats, and the +secessionists came in for about equal shares of abuse. Seeing that the +native (who, it appeared, was quite popular as a stump-speaker) was +drawing away his audience, the Colonel descended from the driver's seat, +and motioning for me to follow, entered the carriage. Turning the horses +homeward, we rode off at a brisk pace.</p> + +<p>"Not much secession about that fellow, Colonel," I remarked, after a +while.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "he's a North Carolina 'corn-cracker,' one of the +ugliest specimens of humanity extant. They're as thick as fleas in this +part of the state, and about all of them are traitors."</p> + +<p>"Traitors to the state, but true to the Union. As far as I've seen, that +is the case with the middling class throughout the South."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> "Well, it +may be, but they generally go with us, and I reckon they will now, when +it comes to the rub. Those in the towns—the traders and +mechanics—will, certain; its only these half-way independent planters +that ever kick the traces. By the way," continued my host, in a jocose +way, "what did you think of the preaching?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it very poor. I'd rather have heard the stump-speech, had it +not been a little too personal on you."</p> + +<p>"Well, it was the better of the two," he replied, laughing, "but the old +devil can't afford any thing good, he don't get enough pay."</p> + +<p>"Why, how much does he get?"</p> + +<p>"Only a hundred dollars."</p> + +<p>"That <i>is</i> small. How does the man live?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he teaches the daughter of my neighbor, Captain Randall, who +believes in praying, and gives him his board. Randall thinks that +enough. The rest of the parish can't afford to pay him, and I <i>wont</i>."</p> + +<p>"Why wont you?"</p> + +<p>"Because he's a d——d old hypocrite. He believes in the Union with all +his heart—at least so Randall, who's a sincere Union man, says—and +yet, he never sees me at meeting but he preaches a red-hot secession +sermon."</p> + +<p>"He wants to keep you in the faith," I replied.</p> + +<p>A few more miles of sandy road took us to the mansion, where we found +dinner in waiting. Meeting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> "Massa Tommy"—who had staid at home with +his mother—as we entered the doorway, the Colonel asked after the +overseer.</p> + +<p>"He seems well enough, sir; I believe he's coming the possum over +mother."</p> + +<p>"I'll bet on it, Tommy; but he wont fool you and me, will he, my boy?" +said his father, slapping him affectionately on the back.</p> + +<p>After dinner I went, with my host to the room of the wounded man. His +head was still bound up, and he was groaning piteously, as if in great +pain; but I thought there was too fresh a color in his face to be +entirely natural in one who had lost so much blood, and been so severely +wounded as he affected to have been.</p> + +<p>The Colonel mentioned our suspicions to Madam P——, and suggested that +the shackles should be put on him.</p> + +<p>"Oh! no, don't do that; it would be inhuman," said the lady; "the color +is the effect of fever. If you fear he is plotting to get away, let him +be watched."</p> + +<p>The Colonel consented, but with evident reluctance, to the arrangement, +and retired to his room to take a <i>siesta</i>, while I lit a segar, and +strolled out to the negro quarters.</p> + +<p>Making my way through the woods to the scene of the morning's +jollification, I found about a hundred darkies gathered around Jim, on +the little plot in front of old Lucy's cabin. He had evidently been +giving them the news. Pausing when I came near, he exclaimed:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Har's Massa K——, he'll say dat I tells you de trufh;" and turning to +me, he said: "Massa K——, dese darkies say dat Massa Andersin am an +ab'lisherner, and dat none but de ab'lisherners will fight for de Union; +am dat so, sar?"</p> + +<p>"No, I reckon not, Jim; I think the whole North would fight for it if it +were necessary."</p> + +<p>"Am dat so, massa? am dat so?" eagerly inquired a dozen of the darkies; +"and am dar great many folks at de Norf—more dan dar am down har?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, you fools, didn't I tell you dat?" said Jim, as I, not exactly +relishing the idea of preaching treason, in the Colonel's absence, to +his slaves, hesitated to reply. "Haint I tole you," he continued, "dat +in de big city ob New York dar'm more folks dan in all Car'lina? I'se +been dar, and I knows; and Massa K——'ll tell you dat dey—most on +'em—feel mighty sorry for de brack man."</p> + +<p>"No he wont," I replied, "and besides, Jim, you should not talk in this +way before me; I might tell your master."</p> + +<p>"No! you wont do dat; I knows you wont, massa. Scipio tole us he'd trust +his bery life wid <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps he might; it's true I would not injure you;" saying that, +I turned away, though my curiosity was greatly excited to hear more.</p> + +<p>I wandered farther into the woods, and a half-hour found me near one of +the turpentine distilleries. Seating myself on a rosin barrel, I quietly +finished my segar,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> and was about lighting another, when Jim made his +appearance.</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, Massa K——," said the negro, bowing very low, "but I wants +to ax you one or two tings, ef you please, sar."</p> + +<p>"Well," I replied, "I'll tell you any thing that I ought to."</p> + +<p>"Der yer tink, den, massa, dat dey'll git to fightin' at Charl'son?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, judging by the tone of the Charleston papers you've read to-day, I +think they will."</p> + +<p>"And der yer tink dat de rest ob de Souf will jine wid Souf Car'lina, if +she go at it fust?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Jim, I'm inclined to think so."</p> + +<p>"I hard you say to massa, dat ef dey goes to war, 'twill free all de +niggers—der you raily b'lieve dat, sar?"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> heard me say that; how did you hear it?" I exclaimed, in +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Why, sar, de front winder ob de carriage war down jess a crack, so I +hard all you said."</p> + +<p>"Did you let it down on purpose?"</p> + +<p>"P'r'aps so, massa. Whot's de use ob habin' ears, ef you don't har?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose not much; and you tell all you hear to the other +negroes?"</p> + +<p>"I reckon so, massa," said the darky, looking very demure.</p> + +<p>"That's the use of having a tongue, eh?" I replied, laughing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dat's it 'zactly, massa."</p> + +<p>"Well, Jim, I do think the slaves will be finally freed; but it will +cost more white blood to do it than all the niggers in creation are +worth. Do you think the darkies would fight for their freedom?"</p> + +<p>"Fight, sar!" exclaimed the negro, straightening up his fine form, while +his usual good-natured look passed from his face, and gave way to an +expression that made him seem more like an incarnate devil than a human +being; "<span class="smcap">fight</span>, sar; gib dem de chance, and den see."</p> + +<p>"Why are you discontented? You have been at the North, and you know the +blacks are as well off as the majority of the poor laboring men there."</p> + +<p>"You says dat to <i>me</i>, Massa K——; you don't say it to de <i>Cunnel</i>. We +am <i>not</i> so well off as de pore man at de Norf! You knows dat, sar. He +hab his wife and chil'ren, and his own home. What hab we, sar? No wife, +no chil'ren, no home; all am de white man's. Der yer tink we wouldn't +fight to be free?" and he pressed his teeth together, and there passed +again over his face the same look it wore the moment before.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, Jim, this may be true of your race; but it don't apply to +yourself. Your master is kind and indulgent to <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"He am kine to me, sar; he orter be," said the negro, the savage +expression coming again into his eyes. For a moment he hesitated; then, +taking a step toward me, he placed his face down to mine, and hissed out +these words, every syllable seeming to come from the very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> bottom of his +being. "I tell you he orter be, sar, <span class="smcap">fur I am his own father's son</span>!"</p> + +<p>"His brother!" I exclaimed, springing to my feet, and looking at him in +blank amazement. "It can't be true!"</p> + +<p>"It am true, sar—as true as there's a hell! His father had my +mother—when he got tired of her, he sold her Souf. <i>I war too young den +eben to know her!</i>"</p> + +<p>"This is horrible—too horrible!" I said.</p> + +<p>"It am slavery, sar! Shouldn't we be contented?" replied the negro with +a grim smile. Drawing, then, a large spring-knife from his pocket, he +waved it above his head, and added: "Ef I had de hull white race +dar—right dar under dat knife, don't yer tink I'd take all dar +lives—all at one blow—to be <span class="smcap">free</span>!"</p> + +<p>"And yet you refused to run away when the Abolitionists tempted you, at +the North. Why didn't you go then?"</p> + +<p>"'Cause I had promised, massa."</p> + +<p>"Promised the Colonel before you went?"</p> + +<p>"No, sar; he neber axed me; but <i>I</i> can't tell you no more. P'raps +Scipio will, ef you ax him."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I see; you're in that league of which Scip is a leader. You'll get +into trouble, <i>sure</i>," I replied, in a quick, decided tone, which +startled him.</p> + +<p>"You tole Scipio dat, sar, and what did <i>he</i> tell you?"</p> + +<p>"That he didn't care for his life."</p> + +<p>"No more do I, sar," said the negro, turning on his heel with a proud, +almost defiant gesture, and starting to go.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A moment, Jim. You are very imprudent; never say these things to any +other mortal; promise me that."</p> + +<p>"You'se bery good, massa, bery good. Scipio say you's true, and he'm +allers right. I ortent to hab said what I hab; but sumhow, sar, dat news +brought it all up <i>har</i>" (laying his hand on his breast), "and it wud +come out."</p> + +<p>The tears filled his eyes as he said this, and turning away without +another word, he disappeared among the trees.</p> + +<p>I was almost stunned by this strange revelation, but the more I +reflected on it, the more probable it appeared. Now too, that my +thoughts were turned in that direction, I called to mind a certain +resemblance between the colonel and the negro that I had not heeded +before. Though one was a high-bred Southern gentleman, claiming an old +and proud descent, and the other a poor African slave, they had some +striking peculiarities which might indicate a common origin. The +likeness was not in their features, for Jim's face was of the +unmistakable negro type, and his skin of a hue so dark that it seemed +impossible he could be the son of a white man (I afterward learned that +his mother was a black of the deepest dye), but it was in their form and +general bearing. They had the same closely-knit and sinewy frame, the +same erect, elastic step, the same rare blending of good-natured ease +and dignity—to which I have already alluded as characteristic of the +Colonel—and in the wild burst of passion that accompanied the negro's +disclosure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> of their relationship, I saw the same fierce, unbridled +temper, whose outbreaks I had witnessed in my host.</p> + +<p>What a strange fate was theirs! Two brothers—the one the owner of three +hundred slaves, and the first man of his district—the other, a bonded +menial, and so poor that the very bread he ate, and the clothes he wore, +were another's!</p> + +<p>I passed the remainder of the afternoon in my room, and did not again +meet my host until the family assembled at the tea-table. Jim then +occupied his accustomed seat behind the Colonel's chair, and that +gentleman was in more than his usual spirits, though Madam P——, I +thought, wore a sad and absent look.</p> + +<p>The conversation rambled over a wide range of subjects, and was carried +on mainly by the Colonel and myself; but toward the close of the meal +the lady said to me:</p> + +<p>"Mr. K——, Sam and young Junius are to be buried this evening; if you +have never seen a negro funeral, perhaps you'd like to attend."</p> + +<p>"I will be happy to accompany you, Madam, if you go," I replied,</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw! Alice, you'll not go into the woods on so cold a night as this!" +said the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think I ought to. Our people will expect me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>THE NEGRO FUNERAL.</h3> + + +<p>It was about an hour after nightfall when we took our way to the +burial-ground. The moon had risen, but the clouds which gathered when +the sun went down, covered its face, and were fast spreading their +thick, black shadows over the little collection of negro-houses. Near +two new-made graves were gathered some two hundred men and women, as +dark as the night that was setting around them. As we entered the circle +the old preacher pointed to seats reserved for us, and the sable crowd +fell back a few paces, as if, even in the presence of death, they did +not forget the difference between their race and ours.</p> + +<p>Scattered here and there among the trees, torches of lightwood threw a +wild and fitful light over the little cluster of graves, revealing the +long, straight boxes of rough pine that held the remains of the two +negroes, and lighting up the score or two of russet mounds where slept +the dusky kinsmen who had gone before them.</p> + +<p>The simple head-boards that marked these humble graves chronicled no bad +biography or senseless rhyme, and told no false tales of lives that +might better not have been, but "<span class="smcap">Sam, age 22</span>;" "<span class="smcap">Pompey</span>;" "<span class="smcap">Jake's +Eliza</span>;"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> "<span class="smcap">Aunt Sue</span>;" "<span class="smcap">Aunt Lucy's Tom</span>;" "<span class="smcap">Joe</span>;" and other like +inscriptions, scratched in rough characters on the unplaned boards, were +all the records there. The rude tenants had passed away and "left no +sign;" their birth, their age, their deeds, were alike unknown—unknown, +but not forgotten! for are they not written in the book of His +remembrance—and when he counteth up his jewels, may not some of them be +there?</p> + +<p>The queer, grotesque dress, and sad, earnest looks of the black group; +the red, fitful glare of the blazing pine, and the white faces of the +tapped trees, gleaming through the gloom like so many sheeted ghosts +gathered to some death-carnival, made up a strange, wild scene—the +strangest and the wildest I had ever witnessed.</p> + +<p>The covers of the rude coffins were not yet nailed down, and when we +arrived, the blacks were, one by one, taking a last look at the faces of +the dead. Soon, Junius, holding his weeping wife by the hand, approached +the smaller of the two boxes, which held all that was left of their +first-born. The mother, kneeling by its side, kissed again and again the +cold, shrunken lips, and sobbed as if her heart would break; and the +strong frame of the father shook convulsively, as he choked down the +great sorrow which welled up in his throat, and turned away from his boy +forever. As he did so, old Pompey said:</p> + +<p>"Don't grebe, June, he'm whar de wicked cease from trubling, whar de +weary am at rest."</p> + +<p>"I knows it; I knows it, Uncle. I knows de Lord<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> am bery good to take +'im 'way; but why did he take de young chile, and leab de ole man har?"</p> + +<p>"De little sapling dat grow in de shade may die while it'm young; de +great tree dat grow in de sun must lib till he'm rotted down."</p> + +<p>These words were the one drop wanting to make the great grief which was +swelling in the negro's heart overflow. Giving one low, wild cry, he +folded his wife in his arms, and burst into a paroxysm of tears.</p> + +<p>"Come now, my chil'ren," said the old preacher, kneeling down, "let us +pray."</p> + +<p>The whole assemblage then knelt on the cold ground, while the old man +prayed, and a more sincere, heart-touching prayer never went up from +human lips to that God "who hath made of one blood all nations that +dwell on the face of the earth." Though clothed in rags, and in feeble +age at the mercy of a cruel taskmaster, that old slave was richer far +than his master. His simple faith, which saw through the darkness around +him into the clear and radiant light of the unseen day, was of far more +worth than all the wealth and glory of this world. I know not why it +was, but as I looked at him in the dim red light, which fell on his bent +form and cast a strange halo around his upturned face, I thought of +Stephen, as he gazed upward and behold heaven open, and "the Son of Man +seated at the right hand of the throne of God."</p> + +<p>Rising from his knees, the old preacher turned slowly to the black mass +that encircled him, and said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear brederin and sisters, de Lord say dat 'de dust shill return to +de earth as it war, and de spirit to Him who gabe it,' and now, 'cordin' +to dat text, my friends, we'm gwine to put dis dust (pointing to the two +coffins) in de groun' whar it cum from, and whar it shill lay till de +bressed Lord blow de great trumpet on de resumrection mornin'. De +spirits of our brudders har de Lord hub already took to hisseff. 'Our +brudders,' I say, my chil'ren, 'case ebery one dat de Lord hab made am +brudders to you and to me, whedder dey'm bad or good, white or brack.</p> + +<p>"Dis young chile, who hab gone 'way and leff his pore fader and mudder +suffrin' all ober wid grief, <i>he</i> hab gone to de Lord, <i>shore</i>. <i>He</i> +neber done no wrong; he allers 'bey'd his massa, and neber said no hard +word, nor found no fault, not eben w'en de cruel, bad oberseer put de +load so heaby on him dat it kill him. Yes, my brederin and sisters, <i>he</i> +hab gone to de Lord; gone whar dey don't work in de swamps; whar de +little chil'ren don't tote de big shingles fru de water up to dar knees. +No swamps am dar; no shingles am dar; dey doan't need 'em, 'case dar de +hous'n haint builded wid hands, for dey'm all builded by de Lord, and +gib'n to de good niggers, ready-made, and for nuffin'. De Lord don't +say, like as ded massa say, 'Pomp, dar's de logs and de shingles' (dey'm +allers pore shingles, de kine dat woant sell; but massa say, 'dey'm good +'nuff for niggers,' ef de roof do leak). De Lord doan't say: 'Now, Pomp, +you go to work and build you' own house; but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> mine dat you does you, +task all de time, jess de same!' But de Lord—de bressed Lord—He say, +w'en we goes up dar, 'Dar, Pomp, dar's de house dat I'se been a buildin' +for you eber sence 'de foundation ob de worle.' It'm done now, and you +kin cum in; your room am jess ready, and ole Sal and de chil'ren dat I +tuk 'way from you eber so long ago, and dat you mourned ober and cried +ober as ef you'd neber see dem agin, dey'm dar too, all on 'em, a +waitin' for you. Dey'm been fixin' up de house 'spressly for you all +dese long years, and dey'b got it all nice and comfible now.' Yas, my +friends, glory be to Him, dat's what our Heabenly massa say, and who ob +you wouldn't hab sich a massa as dat? A massa dat doan't set you no hard +tasks, and dat gibs you 'nuff to eat, and time to rest and to sing and +to play! A massa dat doan't keep no Yankee oberseer to foller you 'bout +wid de big free-lashed whip; but dat leads you hisseff to de green +pastures and de still waters; and w'en you'm a-faint and a-tired, and +can't go no furder, dat takes you up in his arms, and carries you in his +bosom! What pore darky am dar dat wudn't hab sich a massa? What one ob +us, eben ef he had to work jess so hard as we works now, wudn't tink +heseff de happiest nigger in de hull worle, ef he could hab sich hous'n +to lib in as dem? dem hous'n 'not made wid hands, eternal in de +heabens!'</p> + +<p>"But glory, glory to de Lord! my chil'ren, wese all got dat massa, ef we +only knowd it, and He'm buildin' dem hous'n up dar, now, for ebery one +ob us dat am tryin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> to be good and to lub one anoder. <i>For ebery one ob +us</i>, I say, and we kin all git de fine hous'n ef we try.</p> + +<p>"Recolember, too, my brudders, dat our great Massa am rich, bery rich, +and he kin do all he promise. <i>He</i> doant say, w'en wese worked ober time +to git some little ting to comfort de sick chile, 'I knows, Pomp, you'se +done de work, an' I did 'gree to gib you de pay; but de fact am, Pomp, +de frost hab come so sudden dis yar, dat I'se loss de hull ob de sebenfh +dippin', and I'se pore, so pore, de chile muss go widout dis time.' No, +no, brudders, de bressed Lord He neber talk so. He neber break, 'case de +sebenfh dip am shet off, or 'case de price of turpentime gwo down at de +Norf. He neber sell his niggers down Souf, 'case he lose his money on he +hoss-race. No, my chil'ren, our <span class="smcap">Heabenly</span> Massa am rich, <span class="smcap">rich</span>, I say. He +own all dis worle, and all de oder worles dat am shinin' up dar in de +sky. He own dem all; but he tink more ob one ob you, more ob one ob +you—pore, ign'rant brack folks dat you am—dan ob all dem great worles! +Who wouldn't belong to sich a Massa as dat? Who wouldn't be his +nigger—not his slave—He doant hab no slaves—but his chile; and 'ef +his chile, den his heir, de heir ob God, and de jined heir wid de +bressed Jesus.' O my chil'ren! tink of dat! de heir ob de Lord ob all de +'arth and all de sky! What white man kin be more'n dat?</p> + +<p>"Don't none ob you say you'm too wicked to be His chile; 'ca'se you +haint. He lubs de wicked ones de best,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> 'ca'se dey need his lub de most. +Yas, my brudders, eben de wickedest, ef dey's only sorry, and turn roun' +and leab off dar bad ways, he lub de bery best ob all, 'ca'se he'm all +lub and pity.</p> + +<p>"Sam, har, my chil'ren, war wicked, but don't <i>we</i> pity him; don't <i>we</i> +tink he hab a hard time, and don't we tink de bad oberseer, who'm layin' +dar in de house jess ready to gwo and answer for it—don't we tink he +gabe Sam bery great probincation?</p> + +<p>"Dat's so," said a dozen of the auditors.</p> + +<p>"Den don't you 'spose dat de bressed Lord know all dat, and dat He pity +Sam too. If we pore sinners feel sorrer for him, haint de Lord's heart +bigger'n our'n, and haint he more sorrer for him? Don't you tink dat ef +He lub and pity de bery worse whites, dat He lub and pity pore Sam, who +warn't so bery bad, arter all? Don't you tink He'll gib Sam a house? +P'r'aps' 'twont be one ob de fine hous'n, but wont it be a comfible +house, dat hain't no cracks, and one dat'll keep out de wind and de +rain? And don't you s'pose, my chil'ren, dat it'll be big 'nuff for +Jule, too—dat pore, repentin' chile, whose heart am clean broke, 'ca'se +she hab broughten dis on Sam—and won't de Lord—de good Lord—de +tender-hearted Lord—won't He touch Sam's heart, and coax him to forgib +Jule, and to take her inter his house up dar? I knows he will, my +chil'ren. I knows——"</p> + +<p>The old negro paused abruptly; there was a quick swaying in the black +crowd—a hasty rush—a wild cry—and Sam's wife burst into the open +space around the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> preacher, and fell at his feet. Throwing her arms +wildly about him, she shrieked out:</p> + +<p>"Say dat agin, Uncle Pomp! for de lub ob de good Lord, oh! say dat +agin!"</p> + +<p>Bending down, the old man raised her gently in his arms, and folding her +there, as he would have folded a child, he said, in a voice thick with +emotion:</p> + +<p>"It am so, Juley. I knows dat Sam will forgib you, and take you wid him +up dar."</p> + +<p>Fastening her arms frantically around Pompey's neck, the poor woman +burst into a paroxysm of grief, while the old man's tears fell in great +drops on her upturned face, and many a dark cheek was wet, as with rain.</p> + +<p>The scene had lasted a few minutes, and I was turning away to hide the +emotion that fast filled my eyes, and was creeping up, with a choking +feeling, to my throat, when the Colonel, from the farther edge of the +group, called out:</p> + +<p>"Take that d—— d—— away—take her away, Pomp!"</p> + +<p>The old negro turned toward his master with a sad, grieved look, but +gave no heed to the words.</p> + +<p>"Take her away, some of you, I say," again cried the Colonel. "Pomp, you +mustn't keep these niggers all night in the cold."</p> + +<p>At the sound of her master's voice the metif woman fell to the ground as +if struck by a Minie-ball. Soon several negroes lifted her up to bear +her off; but she struggled violently, and rent the woods with her wild +cries for "one more look at Sam."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look at him, you d—— d——; then go, and don't let me see you again."</p> + +<p>She threw herself on the face of the dead, and covered the cold lips +with her kisses; then she rose, and with a weak, uncertain step, +staggered out into the darkness.</p> + +<p>Was not the system which had so seared and hardened that man's heart, +begotten in the lowest hell?</p> + +<p>The old preacher said no more, but four stout negro men stepped forward, +nailed down the lids, and lowered the rough boxes into the ground. +Turning to Madam P——, I saw her face was red with weeping. She turned +to go as the first earth fell, with a dull, heavy sound, on the rude +coffins; and giving her my arm, I led her from the scene.</p> + +<p>As we walked slowly back to the house, a low wail—half a chant, half a +dirge—rose from the black crowd, and floated off on the still night +air, till it died away amid the far woods, in a strange, unearthly moan. +With that sad, wild music in our ears, we entered the mansion.</p> + +<p>As we seated ourselves by the bright wood-fire on the library hearth, +obeying a sudden impulse which I could not restrain, I said to Madam +P——:</p> + +<p>"The Colonel's treatment of that poor woman is inexplicable to me. Why +is he so hard with her? It is not in keeping with what I have seen of +his character."</p> + +<p>"The Colonel is a peculiar man," replied the lady. "Noble, generous, and +a true friend, he is also a bitter, implacable enemy. When he once +conceives a dislike,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> his feelings become even vindictive. Never having +had an ungratified wish, he does not know how to feel for the sorrows of +those beneath him. Sam, though a proud, headstrong, unruly character, +was a great favorite with him; he felt his death much; and as he +attributes it to Jule, he feels terribly bitter toward her. She will +have to be sold to get her out of his way, for he will <i>never</i> forgive +her."</p> + +<p>It was some time before the Colonel joined us, and when at last he made +his appearance, he seemed in no mood for conversation. The lady soon +retired; but feeling unlike sleep, I took down a book from the shelves, +drew my chair near the fire, and fell to reading. The Colonel, too, was +deep in the newspapers, till, after a while, Jim entered the room:</p> + +<p>"I'se cum to ax ef you've nuffin more to-night, Cunnel?" said the negro.</p> + +<p>"No, nothing, Jim," replied his master; "but, stay—hadn't you better +sleep in front of Moye's door?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno, sar; jess as you say."</p> + +<p>"I think you'd better," returned the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa," and the darky left the apartment.</p> + +<p>The Colonel shortly rose, and bade me "good-night." I continued reading +till the clock struck eleven, when I laid the book aside and went to my +room.</p> + +<p>I lodged, as I have said before, on the first floor, and was obliged to +pass by the overseer's apartment in going to mine. Wrapped in his +blanket, and stretched at full length on the ground, Jim lay there, fast +asleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> I passed on, thinking of the wisdom of placing a tired negro on +guard over an acute and desperate Yankee.</p> + +<p>I rose in the morning with the sun, and had partly donned my clothing, +when I heard a loud uproar in the hall. Opening my door, I saw Jim +pounding vehemently at the Colonel's room, and looking as pale as is +possible with a person of his complexion.</p> + +<p>"What the d—l is the matter?" asked his master, who now, partly +dressed, stepped into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Moye hab gone, sar—he'm gone and took Firefly (my host's +five-thousand-dollar thorough-bred) wid him."</p> + +<p>For a moment the Colonel stood stupified; then, his face turning to a +cold, clayey white, he seized the black by the throat, and hurled him to +the floor. With his thick boot raised, he seemed about to dash out the +man's brains with its ironed heel, when, on the instant, the octoroon +woman rushed, in her night-clothes, from his room, and, with desperate +energy, pushed him aside, exclaiming: "What would you do? Remember <span class="smcap">who +he is</span>!"</p> + +<p>The negro rose, and the Colonel, without a word, passed into his own +apartment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>THE PURSUIT.</h3> + + +<p>I sauntered out, after the events recorded in the last chapter, to +inhale the fresh air of the morning. A slight rain had fallen during the +night, and it still moistened the dead leaves which carpeted the woods, +making an extended walk out of the question; so, seating myself on the +trunk of a fallen tree, in the vicinity of the house, I awaited the hour +for breakfast. I had not remained there long before I heard the voices +of my host and Madam P—— on the front piazza:</p> + +<p>"I tell you, Alice, I cannot—must not do it. If I overlook this, the +discipline of the plantation is at an end."</p> + +<p>"Do what you please with him when you return," replied the lady, "but do +not chain him up, and leave me, at such a time, alone. You know Jim is +the only one I can depend on."</p> + +<p>"Well, have your own way. You know, my darling, I would not cause you a +moment's uneasiness, but I must follow up this d——d Moye."</p> + +<p>I was seated where I could hear, though I could not see the speakers, +but it was evident from the tone of the last remark, that an action +accompanied it quite as tender<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> as the words. Being unwilling to +overhear more of a private conversation, I rose and approached them.</p> + +<p>"Ah! my dear fellow," said the Colonel, on perceiving me, "are you +stirring so early? I was about to send to your room to ask if you'll go +with me up the country. My d——d overseer has got away, and I must +follow him at once."</p> + +<p>"I'll go with pleasure," I replied. "Which way do you think Moye has +gone?"</p> + +<p>"The shortest cut to the railroad, probably; but old Cæsar will track +him."</p> + +<p>A servant then announced breakfast—an early one having been prepared. +We hurried through the meal with all speed, and the other preparations +being soon over, were in twenty minutes in our saddles, and ready for +the journey. The mulatto coachman, with a third horse, was at the door, +ready to accompany us. As we mounted, the Colonel said to him:</p> + +<p>"Go and call Sam, the driver."</p> + +<p>The darky soon returned with the heavy, ugly-visaged black who had been +whipped, by Madam P——'s order, the day before.</p> + +<p>"Sam," said his master, "I shall be gone some days, and I leave the +field-work in your hands. Let me have a good account of you when I +return."</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, you shill dat," replied the negro.</p> + +<p>"Put Jule—Sam's Jule—into the woods, and see that she does full +tasks," continued the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Haint she wanted 'mong de nusses, massa?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Put some one else there—give her field-work; she needs it."</p> + +<p>On large plantations the young children of the field-women are left with +them only at night, and are herded together during the day, in a +separate cabin, in charge of nurses. These nurses are feeble, sickly +women, or recent mothers; and the fact of Jule's being employed in that +capacity was evidence that she was unfit for outdoor labor.</p> + +<p>Madam P——, who was waiting on the piazza to see us off, seemed about +to remonstrate against this arrangement, but she hesitated a moment, and +in that moment we had bidden her "Good-bye," and galloped away.</p> + +<p>We were soon at the cabin of the negro-hunter, and the coachman, +dismounting, called him out.</p> + +<p>"Hurry up, hurry up," said the Colonel, as Sandy appeared, "we haven't a +moment to spare."</p> + +<p>"Jest so—jest so, Cunnel; I'll jine ye in a jiffin," replied he of the +reddish extremities.</p> + +<p>Emerging from the shanty with provoking deliberation—the impatience of +my host had infected me—the clay-eater slowly proceeded to mount the +horse of the negro, while his dirt-bedraggled wife, and clay-encrusted +children, followed close at his heels, the younger ones huddling around +for the tokens of paternal affection usual at parting. Whether it was +the noise they made, or their frightful aspect, I know not, but the +horse, a spirited animal, took fright on their appearance, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> nearly +broke away from the negro, who was holding him. Seeing this, the Colonel +said:</p> + +<p>"Clear out, you young scare-crows. Into the house with you."</p> + +<p>"They arn't no more scare-crows than yourn, Cunnel J——," said the +mother, in a decidedly belligerent tone. "You may 'buse my old man—he +kin stand it—but ye shan't blackguard my young 'uns!"</p> + +<p>The Colonel laughed, and was about to make a good-natured reply, when +Sandy yelled out:</p> + +<p>"Gwo enter the house and shet up, ye —— ——."</p> + +<p>With this affectionate farewell, he turned his horse and led the way up +the road.</p> + +<p>The dog, who was a short distance in advance, soon gave a piercing howl, +and started off at the speed of a reindeer. He had struck the trail, and +urging our horses to their fastest speed, we followed.</p> + +<p>We were all well mounted, but the mare the Colonel had given me was a +magnificent animal, as fleet as the wind, and with a gait so easy that +her back seemed a rocking-chair. Saddle-horses at the South are trained +to the gallop—Southern riders not deeming it necessary that one's +breakfast should be churned into a Dutch cheese by a trotting nag, in +order that he may pass for a horseman.</p> + +<p>We had ridden on at a perfect break-neck pace for half an hour, when the +Colonel shouted to our companion:</p> + +<p>"Sandy, call the dog in; the horses wont last ten miles at this +gait—we've a long ride before us."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>The dirt-eater did as he was bidden, and we soon settled into a gentle +gallop.</p> + +<p>We had passed through a dense forest of pines, but were emerging into a +"bottom country," where some of the finest deciduous trees—then brown +and leafless, but bearing promise of the opening beauty of +spring—reared, along with the unfading evergreen, their tall stems in +the air. The live-oak, the sycamore, the Spanish mulberry, the holly, +and the persimmon—gaily festooned with wreaths of the white and yellow +jessamine, the woodbine and the cypress-moss, and bearing here and there +a bouquet of the mistletoe, with its deep green and glossy leaves +upturned to the sun—flung their broad arms over the road, forming an +archway grander and more beautiful than any the hand of man ever wove +for the greatest hero the world has worshipped.</p> + +<p>The woods were free from underbrush, and a coarse, wiry grass, unfit for +fodder, and scattered through them in detached patches, was the only +vegetation visible. The ground was mainly covered with the leaves and +burrs of the pine.</p> + +<p>We passed great numbers of swine, feeding on these burrs, and now and +then a horned animal browsing on the cypress-moss where it hung low on +the trees. I observed that nearly all the swine were marked, though they +seemed too wild to have ever seen an owner, or a human habitation. They +were a long, lean, slab-sided race, with legs and shoulders like deer, +and bearing no sort of resemblance to the ordinary hog, except in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> the +snout, and that feature was so much longer and sharper than the nose of +the Northern swine, that I doubt if Agassiz would class the two as one +species. However, they have their uses—they make excellent bacon, and +are "death on snakes." Ireland itself is not more free from the +serpentine race than are the districts frequented by these long-nosed +quadrupeds.</p> + +<p>"We call them Carolina race-horses," said the Colonel, as he finished an +account of their peculiarities.</p> + +<p>"Race-horses! Why, are they fleet of foot?"</p> + +<p>"Fleet as deer. I'd match one against an ordinary horse at any time."</p> + +<p>"Come, my friend, you're practising on my ignorance of natural history."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it. See! there's a good specimen yonder. If we can get him +into the road, and fairly started, I'll bet you a dollar he'll beat +Sandy's mare on a half-mile stretch—Sandy to hold the stakes and have +the winnings."</p> + +<p>"Well, agreed," I said, laughing, "and I'll give the pig ten rods the +start."</p> + +<p>"No," replied the Colonel, "you can't afford it. He'll <i>have</i> to start +ahead, but you'll need that in the count. Come, Sandy, will you go in +for the pile?"</p> + +<p>I'm not sure that the native would not have run a race with Old Nicholas +himself, for the sake of so much money. To him it was a vast sum; and as +he thought of it, his eyes struck small sparks, and his enormous beard +and mustachio vibrated with something that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> faintly resembled a laugh. +Replying to the question, he said:</p> + +<p>"Kinder reckon I wull, Cunnel; howsomdever, I keeps the stakes, ony +how?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said the planter, "but be honest—win if you can."</p> + +<p>Sandy halted his horse in the road, while the planter and I took to the +woods on either side of the way. The Colonel soon man[oe]uvred to +separate the selected animal from the rest of the herd, and, without +much difficulty, got him into the road, where, by closing down on each +flank, we kept him till he and Sandy were fairly under way.</p> + +<p>"He'll keep to the road when once started," said the Colonel, laughing: +"and he'll show you some of the tallest running you ever saw in your +life."</p> + +<p>Away they went. At first the pig, seeming not exactly to comprehend the +programme, cantered off at a leisurely pace, though he held his own. +Soon, however, he cast an eye behind him—halted a moment to collect his +thoughts and reconnoitre—and then, lowering his head and elevating his +tail, put forth all his speed. And such speed! Talk of a deer, the wind, +or a steam-engine—they are not to be compared with it. Nothing in +nature I ever saw run—except, it may be, a Southern tornado, or a Sixth +Ward politician—could hope to distance that pig. He gained on the horse +at every step, and it was soon evident that my dollar was gone!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'In for a shilling, in for a pound,' is the adage, so, turning to the +Colonel, I said, as intelligibly as my horse's rapid pace and my excited +risibilities would allow:</p> + +<p>"I see I've lost, but I'll go you another dollar that <i>you</i> can't beat +the pig!"</p> + +<p>"No—sir!" the Colonel got out in the breaks of his laughing explosions; +"you can't hedge on me in that manner. I'll go a dollar that <i>you</i> can't +do it, and your mare is the fastest on the road. She won me a thousand +not a month ago."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll do it—Sandy to have the stakes."</p> + +<p>"Agreed," said the Colonel, and away <i>we</i> went.</p> + +<p>The swinish racer was about a hundred yards ahead when I gave the mare +the reins, and told her to go. And she <i>did</i> go. She flew against the +wind with a motion so rapid that my face, as it clove the air, felt as +if cutting its way through a solid body, and the trees, as we passed, +seemed struck with panic, and running for dear life in the opposite +direction.</p> + +<p>For a few moments I thought the mare was gaining, and I turned to the +Colonel with an exultant look.</p> + +<p>"Don't shout till you win, my boy," he called out from the distance +where I was fast leaving him and Sandy.</p> + +<p>I <i>did not shout</i>, for spite of all my efforts the space between me and +the pig seemed to widen. Yet I kept on, determined to win, till, at the +end of a short half-mile, we reached the Waccamaw—the swine still a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +hundred yards ahead! There his pigship halted, turned coolly around, +eyed me for a moment, then with a quiet, deliberate trot, turned off +into the woods.</p> + +<p>A bend in the road kept my companions out of sight for a few moments, +and when they came up I had somewhat recovered my breath, though the +mare was blowing hard, and reeking with foam.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Colonel, "what do you think of our bacon 'as it runs?'"</p> + +<p>"I think the Southern article can't be beat, whether raw or cooked, +standing or running."</p> + +<p>At this moment the hound, who had been leisurely jogging along in the +rear, disdaining to join in the race in which his dog of a master and I +had engaged, came up, and dashing quickly on to the river's edge, set up +a most dismal howling. The Colonel dismounted, and clambering down the +bank, which was there twenty feet high, and very steep, shouted:</p> + +<p>"The d——d Yankee has swum the stream!"</p> + +<p>"Why so?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"To cover his tracks and delay pursuit; but he has overshot the mark. +There is no other road within ten miles, and he must have taken to this +one again beyond here. He's lost twenty minutes by this man[oe]uvre. +Come, Sandy, call in the dog, we'll push on a little faster."</p> + +<p>"But he tuk to t'other bank, Cunnel. Shan't we trail him thar?" asked +Sandy.</p> + +<p>"And suppose he found a boat here," I suggested, "and made the shore +some ways down?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He couldn't get Firefly into a flat—we should only waste time in +scouring the other bank. The swamp this side the next run has forced him +into the road within five miles. The trick is transparent. He took me +for a fool," replied the Colonel, answering both questions at once.</p> + +<p>I had reined my horse out of the road, and when my companions turned to +go, was standing at the edge of the bank, overlooking the river. +Suddenly I saw, on one of the abutments of the bridge, what seemed a +long, black log—strange to say, <i>in motion</i>!</p> + +<p>"Colonel," I shouted, "see there! a live log as I'm a white man!"</p> + +<p>"Lord bless you," cried the planter, taking an observation, "it's an +alligator!"</p> + +<p>I said no more, but pressing on after the hound, soon left my companions +out of sight. For long afterward, the Colonel, in a doleful way, would +allude to my lamentable deficiency in natural history—particularly in +such branches as bacon and "live logs."</p> + +<p>I had ridden about five miles, keeping well up with the hound, and had +reached the edge of the swamp, when suddenly the dog darted to the side +of the road, and began to yelp in the most frantic manner. Dismounting, +and leading my horse to the spot, I made out plainly the print of +Firefly's feet in the sand. There was no mistaking it—that round shoe +on the off forefoot. (The horse had, when a colt, a cracked hoof, and +though the wound was outgrown, the foot was still tender.)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> These prints +were dry, while the tracks we had seen at the river were filled with +water, thus proving that the rain had ceased while the overseer was +passing between the two places. He was therefore not far off.</p> + +<p>The Colonel and Sandy soon rode up.</p> + +<p>"Caught a live log! eh, my good fellow?" asked my host, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"No; but here's the overseer as plain as daylight; and his tracks not +wet!"</p> + +<p>Quickly dismounting, he examined the ground, and then exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"The d—l——it's a fact—here not four hours ago! He has doubled on +his tracks since, I'll wager, and not made twenty miles—we'll have him +before night, sure! Come, mount—quick."</p> + +<p>We sprang into our saddles, and again pressed rapidly on after the dog, +who followed the scent at the top of his speed.</p> + +<p>Some three miles more of wet, miry road took us to the run of which the +Colonel had spoken. Arrived there, we found the hound standing on the +bank, wet to the skin, and looking decidedly chop-fallen.</p> + +<p>"Death and d——n!" shouted the Colonel; "the dog has swum the run, and +lost the trail on the other side! The d—d scoundrel has taken to the +water, and balked us after all! Take up the dog, Sandy, and try him +again over there."</p> + +<p>The native spoke to Cæsar, who bounded on to the horse's back in front +of his master. They then crossed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> the stream, which there was about +fifty yards wide, and so shallow that in the deepest part the water +merely touched the horse's breast; but it was so roiled by the recent +rain that we could not distinguish the foot-prints of the horse beneath +the surface.</p> + +<p>The dog ranged up and down the opposite bank, but all to no purpose: the +overseer had not been there. He had gone either up or down the +stream—in which direction, was now the question. Calling Sandy back to +our side of the run, the Colonel proceeded to hold a 'council of war.' +Each one gave his opinion, which was canvassed by the others, with as +much solemnity as if the fate of the Union hung on the decision.</p> + +<p>The native proposed we should separate—one go up, another down the +stream, and the third, with the dog, follow the road; to which he +thought Moye had finally returned. Those who should explore the run +would easily detect the horse's tracks where he had left it, and then +taking a straight course to the road, all might meet some five miles +further on, at a place indicated.</p> + +<p>I gave my adhesion to Sandy's plan, but the Colonel overruled it on the +ground of the waste of time that would be incurred in thus recovering +the overseer's trail.</p> + +<p>"Why not," he said, "strike at once for the end of his route? Why follow +the slow steps he took in order to throw us off the track? He has not +come back to this road. Ten miles below there is another one leading +also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> to the railway. He has taken that. We might as well send Sandy and +the dog back and go on by ourselves."</p> + +<p>"But if bound for the Station, why should he wade through the creek +here, ten miles out of his way? Why not go straight on by the road?" I +asked.</p> + +<p>"Because he knew the dog would track him, and he hoped by taking to the +run to make me think he had crossed the country instead of striking for +the railroad."</p> + +<p>I felt sure the Colonel was wrong, but knowing him to be tenacious of +his own opinions, I made no further objection.</p> + +<p>Directing Sandy to call on Madam P—— and acquaint her with our +progress, he then dismissed the negro-hunter, and once more led the way +up the road.</p> + +<p>The next twenty miles, like our previous route, lay through an unbroken +forest. As we left the watercourses, we saw only the gloomy pines, which +there—the region being remote from the means of transportation—were +seldom tapped, and presented few of the openings that invite the weary +traveller to the dwelling of the hospitable planter.</p> + +<p>After a time the sky, which had been bright and cloudless all the +morning, grew overcast, and gave out tokens of a coming storm. A black +cloud gathered in the west, and random flashes darted from it far off in +the distance; then gradually it neared us; low mutterings sounded in the +air, and the tops of the tall pines a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> few miles away, were lit up now +and then with a fitful blaze, all the brighter for the deeper gloom that +succeeded. Then a terrific flash and peal broke directly over us, and a +great tree, struck by a red-hot bolt, fell with a deafening crash, half +way across our path. Peal after peal followed, and then the rain—not +filtered into drops as it falls from our colder sky, but in broad, +blinding sheets—poured full and heavy on our shelterless heads.</p> + +<p>"Ah! there it comes!" shouted the Colonel. "God have mercy upon us!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke, a crashing, crackling, thundering roar rose above the +storm, filling the air, and shaking the solid earth till it trembled +beneath our horses' feet, as if upheaved by a volcano. Nearer and nearer +the sound came, till it seemed that all the legions of darkness were +unloosed in the forest, and were mowing down the great pines as the +mower mows the grass with his scythe. Then an awful, sweeping crash +thundered directly at our backs, and turning round, as if to face a foe, +my horse, who had borne the roar and the blinding flash till then +unmoved, paralyzed with dread, and panting for breath, sunk to the +ground; while close at my side the Colonel, standing erect in his +stirrups, his head uncovered to the pouring sky, cried out:</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Thank God, we are saved!</span>"</p> + +<p>There—not three hundred yards in our rear, had passed the +<span class="smcap">TORNADO</span>—uprooting trees, prostrating dwellings, and sending many a soul +to its last account, but sparing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> <i>us</i> for another day! For thirty miles +through the forest it had mowed a swath of two hundred feet, and then +moved on to stir the ocean to its briny depths.</p> + +<p>With a full heart, I remounted, and turning my horse, pressed on in the +rain. We said not a word till a friendly opening pointed the way to a +planter's dwelling. Then calling to me to follow, the Colonel dashed up +the by-path which led to the mansion, and in five minutes we were +warming our chilled limbs before the cheerful fire that roared and +crackled on its broad hearth-stone.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>THE YANKEE-SCHOOL-MISTRESS.</h3> + + +<p>The house was a large, old-fashioned frame building, square as a +packing-box, and surrounded, as all country dwellings at the South are, +by a broad, open piazza. Our summons was answered by its owner, a +well-to-do, substantial, middle-aged planter, wearing the ordinary +homespun of the district, but evidently of a station in life much above +the common "corn-crackers" I had seen at the country meeting-house. The +Colonel was an acquaintance, and greeting us with great cordiality, our +host led the way directly to the sitting-room. There we found a bright, +blazing fire, and a pair of bright sparkling eyes, the latter belonging +to a blithesome young woman of about twenty, with a cheery face, and a +half-rustic, half-cultivated air, whom our new friend introduced to us +as his wife.</p> + +<p>"I regret not having had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. S—— before, but +am very happy to meet her now," said the Colonel, with all the +well-bred, gentlemanly ease that distinguished him.</p> + +<p>"The pleasure is mutual, Colonel J——," replied the lady, "but thirty +miles in this wild country, should not have made a neighbor so distant +as you have been."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Business, madam, is at fault, as your husband knows. I have much to do; +and besides, all my connections are in the other direction—with +Charleston."</p> + +<p>"It's a fact, Sally, the Colonel is the d—— busy man in these parts. +Not content with a big plantation and three hundred niggers, he looks +after all South Carolina, and the rest of creation to boot," said our +host.</p> + +<p>"Tom will have his joke, Madam, but he's not far from the truth."</p> + +<p>Seeing we were dripping wet, the lady offered us a change of clothing, +and retiring to a chamber, we each appropriated a suit belonging to our +host, giving our own to a servant, to be dried.</p> + +<p>Arrayed in our fresh apparel, we soon rejoined our friends in the +sitting-room. The new garments fitted the Colonel tolerably well, but, +though none too long, they were a world too wide for me, and as my wet +hair hung in smooth flat folds down my cheeks, and my limp shirt-collar +fell over my linsey coat, I looked for all the world like a cross +between a theatrical Aminodab Sleek and Sir John Falstaff, with the +stuffing omitted. When our hostess caught sight of me in this new garb, +she rubbed her hands together in great glee, and, springing to her feet, +gave vent to a perfect storm of laughter—jerking out between the +explosions:</p> + +<p>"Why—you—you—look jest like—a scare-crow."</p> + +<p>There was no mistaking that hearty, hoydenish manner; and seizing both +of her hands in mine, I shouted:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> "I've found you out—you're a +"country-woman" of mine—a clear-blooded Yankee!"</p> + +<p>"What! <i>you</i> a Yankee!" she exclaimed, still laughing, "and here with +this horrid 'secesherner,' as they call him."</p> + +<p>"True as preachin', Ma'am," I replied, adopting the drawl—"all the way +from Down East, and Union, tu, stiff as buckram."</p> + +<p>"Du tell!" she exclaimed, swinging my hands together as she held them in +hers. "If I warn't hitched to this 'ere feller, I'd give ye a smack +right on the spot. I'm <i>so</i> glad to see ye."</p> + +<p>"Do it, Sally—never mind <i>me</i>," cried her husband, joining heartily in +the merriment.</p> + +<p>Seizing the collar of my coat with both hands, she drew my face down +till my lips almost touched hers (I was preparing to blush, and the +Colonel shouted, "Come, come, I shall tell his wife"): but then turning +quickly on her heel, she threw herself into a chair, exclaiming, "<i>I</i> +wouldn't mind, but the <i>old man would be jealous</i>." Addressing the +Colonel, she added, "<i>You</i> needn't be troubled, sir, no Yankee girl will +kiss <i>you</i> till you change your politics."</p> + +<p>"Give me that inducement, and I'll change them on the spot," said the +Colonel.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Dave, 'twouldn't do," replied the planter; "the conversion +wouldn't be genuwine—besides such things arn't proper, except 'mong +blood-relations—and all the Yankees, you know are first-cousins."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>The conversation then subsided into a more placid mood, but lost none of +its genial, good humor. Refreshments were soon set before us, and while +partaking of them I gathered from our hostess that she was a Vermont +country-girl, who, some three years before, had been induced by liberal +pay to come South as a teacher. A sister accompanied her, and about a +year after their arrival, she married a neighboring planter. Wishing to +be near her sister, our hostess had also married and settled down for +life in that wild region. "I like the country very well," she added; +"it's a great sight easier living here than in Vermont; but I do hate +these lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing niggers; they are <i>so</i> slow, and +<i>so</i> careless, and <i>so</i> dirty, that I sometimes think they will worry +the very life out of me. I do believe I'm the hardest mistress in all +the district."</p> + +<p>I learned from her that a majority of the teachers at the South are from +the North, and principally, too, from New England. Teaching is a very +laborious employment there, far more so than with us, for the +Southerners have no methods like ours, and the same teacher usually has +to hear lessons in branches all the way from Greek and Latin to the +simple A B C. The South has no system of public instruction; no common +schools; no means of placing within the reach of the sons and daughters +of the poor even the elements of knowledge. While the children of the +wealthy are most carefully educated, it is the policy of the ruling +class to keep the great mass of the people in ignorance; and so long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> as +this policy continues, so long will that section be as far behind the +North as it now is, in all that constitutes true prosperity and +greatness.</p> + +<p>The afternoon wore rapidly and pleasantly away in the genial society of +our wayside-friends. Politics were discussed (our host was a Union man), +the prospects of the turpentine crop talked over, the recent news +canvassed, the usual neighborly topics touched upon, and—I hesitate to +confess it—a considerable quantity of corn whiskey disposed of, before +the Colonel discovered, all at once, that it was six o'clock, and we +were still seventeen miles from the railway station. Arraying ourselves +again in our dried garments, we bade a hasty but regretful "good-bye" to +our hospitable entertainers, and once more took to the road.</p> + +<p>The storm had cleared away, but the ground was heavy with the recent +rain, and our horses were sadly jaded with the ride of the morning. We +gave them the reins, and, jogging on at their leisure, it was ten +o'clock at night before they landed us at the little hamlet of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>W—— +Station, in the state of North Carolina.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE RAILWAY STATION.</h3> + + +<p>A large hotel, or station-house, and about a dozen log shanties made up +the village. Two of these structures were negro-cabins; two were small +groceries, in which the vilest alcoholic compounds were sold at a bit +(ten cents) a glass; one was a lawyer's office, in which was the +post-office, and a justice's court, where, once a month, the small +offenders of the vicinity "settled up their accounts;" one was a +tailoring and clothing establishment, where breeches were patched at a +dime a stitch, and payment taken in tar and turpentine; and the rest +were private dwellings of one apartment, occupied by the grocers, the +tailor, the switch-tenders, the postmaster, and the negro <i>attachés</i> of +the railroad. The church and the school-house—the first buildings to go +up in a Northern village—I have omitted to enumerate, because—they +were not there.</p> + +<p>One of the natives told me that the lawyer was a "stuck-up critter;" "he +don't live; he don't—he puts-up at th' hotel." And the hotel! Would +Shakspeare, had he have known it, have written of taking one's <i>ease</i> at +his inn? It was a long, framed building, two stories<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> high, with a +piazza extending across the side and a front door crowded as closely +into one corner as the width of the joist would permit. Under the +piazza, ranged along the wall, was a low bench, occupied by about forty +tin wash-basins and water-pails, and with coarse, dirty crash towels +suspended on rollers above it. By the side of each of these towels hung +a comb and a brush, to which a lock of everybody's hair was clinging, +forming in the total a stock sufficient to establish any barber in the +wig business.</p> + +<p>It was, as I have said, ten o'clock when we reached the Station. +Throwing the bridles of our horses over the hitching-posts at the door, +we at once made our way to the bar-room. That apartment, which was in +the rear of the building, and communicated with by a long, narrow +passage, was filled almost to suffocation, when we entered, by a cloud +of tobacco smoke, the fumes of bad whiskey, and a crowd of drunken +chivalry, through whom the Colonel with great difficulty elbowed his way +to the counter, where "mine host" and two assistants were dispensing +"liquid death," at the rate of ten cents a glass, and of ten glasses a +minute.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Cunnel, how ar' ye," cried the red-faced liquor-vender, as he +caught sight of my companion, and, relinquishing his lucrative +employment for a moment, took the Colonel's hand, "how ar' ye?"</p> + +<p>"Quite well, thank you, Miles," said the Colonel, with a certain +patronizing air, "have you seen my man, Moye?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Moye, no! What's up with him?"</p> + +<p>"He's run away with my horse, Firefly—I thought he would have made for +this station. At what time does the next train go up?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, it's due half arter 'leven, but 'taint gin'rally 'long till nigh +one."</p> + +<p>The Colonel was turning to join me at the door, when a well-dressed +young man of very unsteady movements, who was filling a glass at the +counter, and staring at him with a sort of dreamy amazement, stammered +out, "Moye—run—run a—way, zir! that—k—kant be—by G—. I know—him, +zir—he's a—a friend of mine, and—I'm—I'm d——d if he ain't +hon—honest."</p> + +<p>"About as honest as the Yankees run," replied the Colonel, "he's a +d——d thief, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Look here—here, zir—don't—don't you—you zay any—thing 'gainst—the +Yankees. D——d if—if I aint—one of 'em mezelf—zir," said the fellow +staggering toward the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't care <i>what</i> you are; you're drunk."</p> + +<p>"You lie—you—you d——d 'ris—'ristocrat," was the reply, as the +inebriated gentleman aimed a blow, with all his unsteady might, at the +Colonel's face.</p> + +<p>The South Carolinian stepped quickly aside, and dexterously threw his +foot before the other, who—his blow not meeting the expected +resistance—was unable to recover himself, and fell headlong to the +floor. The planter turned on his heel, and was walking quietly away, +when the sharp report of a pistol sounded through the apartment,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> and a +ball tore through the top of his boot, and lodged in the wall within two +feet of where I was standing. With a spring, quick and sure as the +tiger's, the Colonel was on the drunken man. Wrenching away the weapon, +he seized the fellow by the neck-tie, and drawing him up to nearly his +full height, dashed him at one throw to the other end of the room. Then +raising the revolver he coolly levelled it to fire!</p> + +<p>But a dozen strong men were on him. The pistol was out of his hand, and +his arms were pinioned in an instant; while cries of "Fair play, sir!" +"He's drunk!" "Don't hit a man when he's down," and other like +exclamations, came from all sides.</p> + +<p>"Give <i>me</i> fair play, you d——d North Carolina hounds," cried the +Colonel, struggling violently to get away, "and I'll fight the whole +posse of you."</p> + +<p>"One's 'nuff for <i>you</i>, ye d——d fire-eatin' 'ristocrat;" said a long, +lean, bushy-haired, be-whiskered individual, who was standing near the +counter: "ef ye want to fight, <i>I'll</i> 'tend to yer case to onst. Let him +go, boys," he continued as he stepped toward the Colonel, and parted the +crowd that had gathered around him: "give him the shootin'-iron, and +let's see ef he'll take a man thet's sober."</p> + +<p>I saw serious trouble was impending, and stepping forward, I said to the +last speaker, "My friend, you have no quarrel with this gentleman. He +has treated that man only as you would have done."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>"P'raps thet's so; but he's a d——d hound of a Secesherner thet's +draggin' us all to h—ll; it'll du the country good to git quit of one +on 'em."</p> + +<p>"Whatever his politics are, he's a gentleman, sir, and has done you no +harm—let me beg of you to let him alone."</p> + +<p>"Don't beg any thing for me, Mr. K——," growled the Colonel through his +barred teeth, "I'll fight the d——d corn-cracker, and his whole race, +at once."</p> + +<p>"No you won't, my friend. For the sake of those at home you won't;" I +said, taking him by the arm, and partly leading, partly forcing him, +toward the door.</p> + +<p>"And who in h—ll ar you?" asked the corn-cracker, planting himself +squarely in my way.</p> + +<p>"I'm on the same side of politics with you, Union to the core!" I +replied.</p> + +<p>"Ye ar! Union! Then give us yer fist," said he, grasping me by the hand; +"by —— it does a feller good to see a man dressed in yer cloes thet +haint 'fraid to say he's Union, so close to South Car'lina, tu, as this +ar! Come, hev a drink: come boys—all round—let's liquor!"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me now, my dear fellow—some other time I'll be glad to join +you."</p> + +<p>"Jest as ye say, but thar's my fist, enyhow."</p> + +<p>He gave me another hearty shake of the hand, and the crowd parting, I +made my way with the Colonel out of the room. We were followed by Miles, +the landlord, who, when we had reached the front of the entrance-way, +said, "I'm right sorry for this row, gentlemen; the boys will hev a time +when they gets together."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind;" said the Colonel, who had recovered his coolness; "but +why are all these people here?"</p> + +<p>"Thar's a barbacue cumin' off to-morrer on the camp-ground, and the +house is cram full."</p> + +<p>"Is that so?" said the Colonel, then turning to me he added, "Moye has +taken the railroad somewhere else; I must get to a telegraph office at +once, to head him off. The nearest one is Wilmington. With all these +rowdies here, it will not do to leave the horses alone—will you stay +and keep an eye on them over to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will, cheerfully."</p> + +<p>"Thar's a mighty hard set, round har now, Cunnel," said the landlord; +"and the most peaceable get enter scrapes ef they hain't no friends. +Hadn't ye better show the gentleman some of your'n, 'fore you go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I didn't think of that. Who is here?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, thar's Cunnel Taylor, Bill Barnes, Sam Heddleson, Jo Shackelford, +Andy Jones, Rob Brown, and lots of others."</p> + +<p>"Where's Andy Jones?"</p> + +<p>"Reckon he's turned in; I'll see."</p> + +<p>As the landlord opened a door which led from the hall, the Colonel said +to me, "Andy is a Union man; but he'd fight to the death for me."</p> + +<p>"Sal!" called out the hotel keeper.</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, I'se har," was the answer from a slatternly woman, awfully +black in the face, who soon thrust her head from the door-way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is Andy Jones har?" asked Miles.</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, he'm turned in up thar on de table."</p> + +<p>We followed the landlord into the apartment. It was the dining-room of +the hotel, and by the dim light which came from a smoky fire on the +hearth, I saw it contained about a hundred people, who, wrapped in +blankets, bed-quilts and travelling-shawls, were disposed in all +conceivable attitudes, and scattered about on the hard floor and tables, +sleeping soundly. The room was a long, low apartment—extending across +the entire front of the house—and had a wretched, squalid look. The +fire, which was tended by the negro-woman—(she had spread a blanket on +the floor, and was keeping a drowsy watch over it for the night)—had +been recently replenished with green wood, and was throwing out thick +volumes of black smoke, which, mixing with the effluvia from the lungs +of a hundred sleepers, made up an atmosphere next to impossible to +breathe. Not a window was open, and not an aperture for ventilation +could be seen!</p> + +<p>Carefully avoiding the arms and legs of the recumbent chivalry, we +picked our way, guided by the negro-girl, to the corner of the room +where the Unionist was sleeping. Shaking him briskly by the shoulder, +the Colonel called out: "Andy! Andy! wake up!"</p> + +<p>"What—what the d——l is the matter?" stammered the sleeper, gradually +opening his eyes, and raising himself on one elbow, "Lord bless you, +Cunnel, is that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>you? what in —— brought <i>you</i> har?"</p> + +<p>"Business, Andy. Come, get up, I want to see you, and I can't talk +here."</p> + +<p>The North Carolinian slowly rose, and throwing his blanket over his +shoulders, followed us from the room. When we had reached the open air +the Colonel introduced me to his friend, who expressed surprise, and a +great deal of pleasure, at meeting a Northern Union man in the Colonel's +company.</p> + +<p>"Look after our horses, now, Miles; Andy and I want to talk," said the +planter to the landlord, with about as little ceremony as he would have +shown to a negro.</p> + +<p>I thought the white man did not exactly relish the Colonel's manner, but +saying, "All right, all right, sir," he took himself away.</p> + +<p>The night was raw and cold, but as all the rooms of the hotel were +occupied, either by sleepers or carousers, we had no other alternative +than to hold our conference in the open air. Near the railway-track a +light-wood fire was blazing, and, obeying the promptings of the frosty +atmosphere, we made our way to it. Lying on the ground around it, +divested of all clothing except a pair of linsey trousers and a flannel +shirt, and with their naked feet close to its blaze—roasting at one +extremity, and freezing at the other—were several blacks, the +switch-tenders and woodmen of the Station—fast asleep. How human beings +could sleep in such circumstances seemed a marvel, but further +observation convinced me that the Southern negro has a natural aptitude +for that exercise, and will, indeed, bear more exposure than any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> other +living thing. Nature in giving him such powers of endurance, appears to +have specially fitted him for the life of hardship and privation to +which he is born.</p> + +<p>The fire-light enabled me to scan the appearance of my new acquaintance. +He was rather above the medium height, squarely and somewhat stoutly +built, and had an easy and self-possessed, though rough and unpolished +manner. His face, or so much of it as was visible from underneath a +thick mass of reddish gray hair, denoted a firm, decided character; but +there was a manly, open, honest expression about it that gained one's +confidence in a moment. He wore a slouched hat and a suit of the +ordinary "sheep's-grey," cut in the "sack" fashion, and hanging loosely +about him. He seemed a man who had made his own way in the world, and I +subsequently learned that appearances did not belie him. The son of a +"poor white" man, with scarcely the first rudiments of book-education, +he had, by sterling worth, natural ability, and great force of +character, accumulated a handsome property, and acquired a leading +position in his district. Though on "the wrong side of politics," his +personal popularity was so great that for several successive years he +had been elected to represent the county in the state legislature. The +Colonel, though opposed to him in politics—and party feeling at the +South runs so high that political opponents are seldom personal +friends—had, in the early part of his career, aided him by his +endorsements; and Andy had not forgotten the service. It was easy to see +that while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> two men could not be more unlike in character and appearance +than my host and the North Carolinian, they were warm and intimate +friends.</p> + +<p>"So, Moye has been raising h—ll gin'rally, Colonel," said my new +acquaintance after a time. "I'm not surprised. I never did b'lieve in +Yankee nigger-drivers—sumhow it's agin natur' for a Northern man to go +Southern principles quite so strong as Moye did."</p> + +<p>"Which route do you think he has taken?" asked the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"Wal, I reckon arter he tuk to the run, he made fur the mountings. He +know'd you'd head him on the travelled routes; so he's put, I think, fur +the Missussippe, where he'll sell the horse and make North."</p> + +<p>"I'll follow him," said the Colonel, "to the ends of the earth. If it +costs me five thousand dollars, I'll see him hung."</p> + +<p>"Wal," replied Andy, laughing, "if he's gone North you'll need a +extradition treaty to kotch him. South Car'lina, I b'lieve, has set up +fur a furrin country."</p> + +<p>"That's true," said the Colonel, also laughing, "she's "furrin" to the +Yankees, but not to the old North State."</p> + +<p>"D——d if she haint," replied the North Carolinian, "and now she's got +out on our company, I swear she must keep out. We'd as soon think of +goin' to h——ll in summer time, as of jining partnership with her. +Cunnel, you'r the only decent man in the State—d——d if you +haint—and <i>your</i> politics are a'most bad 'nuff to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> spile a township. It +allers seemed sort o'queer to me, that a man with such a mighty good +heart as your'n, could be so short in the way of brains."</p> + +<p>"Well, you're complimentary," replied the Colonel, with the utmost +good-nature, "but let's drop politics; we never could agree, you know. +What shall I do about Moye?"</p> + +<p>"Go to Wilmington and telegraph all creation: wait a day to har, then if +you don't har, go home, hire a native overseer, and let Moye go to the +d——l. Ef it'll do you any good I'll go to Wilmington with you, though +I did mean to give you Secesherners a little h—har to-morrer."</p> + +<p>"No, Andy, I'll go alone. 'Twouldn't be patriotic to take you away from +the barbacue. You'd 'spile' if you couldn't let off some gas soon."</p> + +<p>"I do b'lieve I shud. Howsumdever, thar's nary a thing I wouldn't do for +you—you knows that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, and I wish you'd keep an eye on my Yankee friend here, and +see he don't get into trouble with any of the boys—there'll be a hard +set 'round, I reckon."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I will," said Andy, "but all he's to do is to keep his mouth +shet."</p> + +<p>"That seems easy enough," I replied, laughing.</p> + +<p>A desultory conversation followed for about an hour, when the +steam-whistle sounded, and the up-train arrived. The Colonel got on +board and bidding us "good-night," went on to Wilmington. Andy then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +proposed we should look up sleeping accommodations. It was useless to +seek quarters at the hotel, but an empty car was on the turn-out, and +bribing one of the negroes we got access to it, and were soon stretched +at full length on two of its hard-bottomed seats.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> CHAPTER XIV.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER_XIV</a></h2> + +<h3>THE BARBACUE.</h3> + + +<p>The camp-ground was about a mile from the station, and pleasantly +situated in a grove, near a stream of water. It was in frequent use by +the camp-meetings of the Methodist denomination—which sect at the South +is partial to these rural religious gatherings. Scattered over it, with +an effort at regularity, were about forty small but neat log cottages, +thatched with the long leaves of the turpentine pine, and chinked with +branches of the same tree. Each of these houses was floored with leaves +or straw, and large enough to afford sleeping accommodations for about +ten persons, provided they spread their bedding on the ground, and lay +tolerably close together. Interspersed among the cabins were about a +dozen canvas tents which had been erected for this especial occasion.</p> + +<p>Nearly in the centre of the group of huts a rude sort of scaffold, four +or five feet high, and surrounded by a rustic railing, served for the +speaker's stand. It would seat about a dozen persons, and was protected +by a roof of pine-boughs, interlaced together so as to keep off the sun, +without affording protection from the rain. In the rear of this stand +were two long tables, made of rough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> boards, and supported on stout +joists, crossed on each other in the form of the letter X. A canopy of +green leaves shaded the grounds, and the whole grove, which was +perfectly free from underbrush, was carpeted with the soft, brown +tassels of the pine.</p> + +<p>Being fatigued with the ride of the previous day, I did not awake till +the morning was far advanced, and it was nearly ten o'clock when Andy +and I took our way to the camp-ground. Avoiding the usual route, we +walked on through the forest. It was mid-winter, and vegetation lay dead +all around us, awaiting the time when spring should breathe into it the +breath of life, and make it a living thing. There was silence and rest +in the deep woods. The birds were away on their winter wanderings; the +leaves hung motionless on the tall trees, and nature seemed resting from +her ceaseless labors, and listening to the soft music of the little +stream which sung a cheerful song as it rambled on over the roots and +fallen branches that blocked its way. Soon a distant murmur arose, and +we had not proceeded far before as many sounds as were heard at Babel +made a strange concert about our ears. The lowing of the ox, the +neighing of the horse, and the deep braying of another animal, mingled +with a thousand human voices, came through the woods. But above and over +all rose the stentorian tones of the stump speaker,</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"As he trod the shaky platform,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">With the sweat upon his brow."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>About a thousand persons were already assembled on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> the ground, and a +more motley gathering I never witnessed. All sorts of costumes and all +classes of people were there; but the genuine back-woods corn-crackers +composed the majority of the assemblage. As might be expected much the +larger portion of the audience were men, still I saw some women and not +a few children; many of the country people having taken advantage of the +occasion to give their families a holiday. Some occupied benches in +front of the stand, though a larger number were seated around in groups, +within hearing of the speaker, but paying very little attention to what +he was saying. A few were whittling—a few pitching quoits, or playing +leap-frog, and quite a number were having a quiet game of whist, euchre +or "seven-up."</p> + +<p>The speaker was a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking man and a tolerably +good orator. He seemed accustomed to addressing a jury, for he displayed +all the adroitness in handling his subject, and in appealing to the +prejudices of his hearers, that we see in successful special pleaders. +But he overshot his mark. To nine out of ten of his audience, his words +and similes, though correct, and sometimes beautiful, were as +unintelligible as the dead languages. He advocated immediate, +unconditional secession; and I thought from the applause which met his +remarks, whenever he seemed to make himself understood, that the large +majority of those present were of the same way of thinking.</p> + +<p>He was succeeded by a heavy-browed, middle-aged man, slightly bent, and +with hair a little turned to gray,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> but still hale, athletic, and in the +prime and vigor of manhood. His pantaloons and waistcoat were of the +common homespun, and he used, now and then, a word of the country +dialect, but as a stump-speaker he was infinitely superior to the more +polished orator who had preceded him.</p> + +<p>He, too, advocated secession, as a right and a duty—separation, now and +forever, from the dirt-eating, money-loving Yankees, who, he was ashamed +to say, had the same ancestry, and worshipped the same God, as himself. +He took the bold ground that slavery is a curse to both the black and +the white, but that it was forced upon this generation before its birth, +by these same greedy, grasping Yankees, who would sell not only the +bones and sinews of their fellow men, but—worse than that—their own +souls, for gold. It was forced upon them without their consent, and now +that it had become interwoven with all their social life, and was a +necessity of their very existence, the hypocritical Yankees would take +it from them, because, forsooth, it is a sin and a wrong—as if <i>they</i> +had to bear its responsibility, or the South could not settle its own +affairs with its <span class="smcap">Maker</span>!</p> + +<p>"Slavery is now," he continued, "indispensable to us. Without it, +cotton, rice, and sugar will cease to grow, and the South will starve. +What if it works abuses? What if the black, at times, is overburdened, +and his wife and daughters debauched? Man is not perfect anywhere—there +are wrongs in every society. It is for each one to give his account, in +such matters, to his God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> But in this are we worse than they? Are there +not abuses in society at the North? Are not their laborers overworked? +While sin here hides itself under cover of the night, does it not there +stalk abroad at noon-day? If the wives and daughters of blacks are +debauched here, are not the wives and daughters of whites debauched +there? and will not a Yankee barter away the chastity of his own mother +for a dirty dollar? Who fill our brothels? Yankee women! Who load our +penitentiaries, crowd our whipping-posts, debauch our slaves, and cheat +and defraud us all? Yankee men! And I say unto you, fellow-citizens," +and here the speaker's form seemed to dilate with the wild enthusiasm +which possessed him, "'come out from among them; be ye separate, and +touch not the unclean thing,' and thus saith the Lord God of Hosts, who +will guide you, and lead you, if need be, to battle and to victory!"</p> + +<p>A perfect storm of applause followed. The assemblage rose, and one long, +wild shout rent the old woods, and made the tall trees tremble. It was +some minutes before the uproar subsided; when it did, a voice near the +speaker's stand called out, "Andy Jones!" The call was at once echoed by +another voice, and soon a general shout for "Andy!" "Union Andy!" "Bully +Andy!" went up from the same crowd which a moment before had so wildly +applauded the secession speaker.</p> + +<p>Andy rose from where he was seated beside me, and quietly ascended the +steps of the platform. Removing his hat, and passing to his mouth a huge +quid of tobacco<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> from a tin box in his pantaloons-pocket, he made +several rapid strides up and down the speaker's stand, and then turned +squarely to the audience.</p> + +<p>The reader has noticed a tiger pacing up and down in his cage, with his +eyes riveted on the human faces before him. He has observed how he will +single out some individual, and finally stopping short in his rounds, +turn on him with a look of such intense ferocity as makes a man's blood +stand still, and his very breath come thick and hard, as he momentarily +expects the beast will tear away the bars of the cage and leap forth on +the obnoxious person. Now, Andy's fine, open, manly face had nothing of +the tiger in it, but, for a moment, I could not divest myself of the +impression, as he halted in his walk up and down the stage, and turned +full and square on the previous speaker—who had taken a seat among the +audience near me—that he was about to spring upon him. Riveting his eye +on the man's face, he at last slowly said:</p> + +<p>"A man stands har and quotes Scriptur agin his feller man, and forgets +that 'God made of one blood all nations that dwell on the face of the +'arth.' A man stands har and calls his brother a thief, and his mother a +harlot, and axes us to go his doctrin's! I don't mean his brother in the +Scriptur sense, nor his mother in a fig'rative sense, but I mean the +brother of his own blood, and the mother that bore him; for <span class="smcap">he</span>, +gentlemen (and he pointed his finger directly at the recent speaker, +while his words came slow and heavy with intense scorn), <span class="smcap">he</span> is a Yankee! +And now, I say, gentlemen, d—n sech<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> doctrin's; d——n sech +principles, and d——n the man that's got a soul so black as to utter +'em!"</p> + +<p>A breathless silence fell on the assemblage, while the person alluded to +sprang to his feet, his face on fire, and his voice thick and broken +with intense rage, as he yelled out: "Andy Jones, by——, you shall +answer for this!"</p> + +<p>"Sartin," said Andy, coolly inserting his thumbs in the armholes of his +waistcoat; "enywhar you likes—har—now—ef 'greeable to you."</p> + +<p>"I've no weapon here, sir, but I'll give you a chance mighty sudden," +was the fierce reply.</p> + +<p>"Suit yourself," said Andy, with perfect imperturbability; "but as you +haint jest ready, s'pose you set down, and har me tell 'bout your +relations: they're a right decent set—them as I knows—and I'll swar +they're 'shamed of you."</p> + +<p>A buzz went through the crowd, and a dozen voices called out: "Be civil, +Andy"—"Let him blow"—"Shut up"—"Go in, Jones"—with other like +elegant exclamations.</p> + +<p>A few of his friends took the aggrieved gentleman aside, and, soon +quieting him, restored order.</p> + +<p>"Wal, gentlemen," resumed Andy, "all on you know whar I was raised—over +thar in South Car'lina. I'm sorry to say it, but it's true. And you all +know my father was a pore man, who couldn't give his boys no chance—and +ef he could, thar warn't no schules in the district—so we couldn't hev +got no book-larning ef we'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> been a minded to. Wal, the next plantation +to whar we lived was old Cunnel J——'s, the father of this cunnel. He +was a d——d old nullifier, jest like his son—but not half so decent a +man. Wal, on his plantation was an old nigger called Uncle Pomp, who'd +sumhow larned to read. He was a mighty good nigger, and he'd hev been in +heaven long afore now ef the Lord hadn't a had sum good use for him down +har—but he'll be thar yet a d——d sight sooner than sum on us white +folks—that's sartin. Wal, as I was saying, Pomp could read, and when I +was 'bout sixteen, and had never seen the inside of a book, the old +darky said to me one day—he was old then, and that was thirty years +ago—wal, he said to me, 'Andy, chile, ye orter larn to read, 'twill be +ob use to ye when you'se grow'd up, and it moight make you a good and +'spected man—now, come to ole Pomp's cabin, and he'll larn you, Andy, +chile.' Wal, I reckon I went. He'd nothin' but a Bible and Watts' Hymns; +but we used to stay thar all the long winter evenin's, and by the light +o' the fire—we war both so darned pore we couldn't raise a candle +atween us—wal, by the light o' the fire he larned me, and fore long I +could spell right smart.</p> + +<p>"Now, jest think on that, gentlemen. I, a white boy, and, 'cordin' to +the Declaration of Independence, with jest as good blood in me as the +old Cunnel had in him, bein' larned to read by an old slave, and that +old slave a'most worked to death, and takin' his nights, when he orter +hev been a restin' his old bones, to larn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> me! I'm d——d if he don't +get to heaven for that one thing, if for nothin' else.</p> + +<p>"Wal, you all know the rest—how, when I'd grow'd up, I settled har, in +the old North State, and how the young Cunnel backed my paper, and set +me a runnin' at turpentining. P'raps you don't think this has much to do +with the Yankees, but it has a durned sight, as ye'll see rather sudden. +Wal, arter a while, when I'd got a little forehanded, I begun shipping +my truck to York and Bostin'; and at last my Yankee factor, he come out +har, inter the back woods, to see me, and says he, 'Jones, come North +and take a look at us.' I'd sort o' took to him. I'd lots o' dealin's +with him afore ever I seed him, and I allers found him straight as a +shingle. Wal, I went North, and he took me round, and showed me how the +Yankees does things. Afore I know'd him, I allers thought—as p'raps +most on you do—that the Yankees war a sort o' cross atween the devil +and a Jew; but how do you s'pose I found 'em? I found that they <i>sent +the pore man's children to schule</i>, <span class="smcap">free</span>—and that the schule-houses war +a d——d sight thicker than the bugs in Miles Privett's beds! and +that's sayin' a heap, for ef eny on you kin sleep in his house, excep' +he takes to the soft side of the floor, I'm d——d. Yas, the pore man's +children are larned thar, <span class="smcap">free</span>!—all on 'em—and they've jest so good a +chance as the sons of the rich man! Now, arter that, do you think that +I—as got all my schulein, from an old slave, by the light of a borrored +pine-knot—der you think that <i>I</i> kin say any thing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> agin the Yankees? +P'r'aps they <i>do</i> steal—though I doant know it—p'r'aps they <i>do</i> +debauch thar wives and darters, and sell thar mothers' vartue for +dollars—but, ef they do, I'm d——d if they doant send pore children +to schule—and that's more'n we do—and let me tell you, until we do +thet, we must expec' they'll be cuter and smarter nor we are.</p> + +<p>"This gentleman, too, my friends, who's been a givin' sech a hard +settin' down ter his own relation, arter they've broughten him up, and +given him sech a schulein for nuthin', he says the Yankees want to +interfere with our niggers. Now, thet haint so, and they couldn't ef +they would, 'case it's agin the Constertution. And they stand on the +Constertution a durned sight solider nor we do. Didn't thar big +gun—Daniel Webster—didn't he make mince-meat of South Car'lina Hayne +on thet ar' subjec'? But I tell you they haint a mind ter meddle with +the niggers; they're a goin' to let us go ter h—l our own way, and +we're goin' thar mighty fast, or I haint read the last census."</p> + +<p>"P'r'aps you haint heerd on the ab'lsh'ners, Andy?" cried a voice from +among the audience.</p> + +<p>"Wal, I reckon I hev," responded the orator, "I've heerd on 'em, and +seed 'em, too. When I was North I went to one on thar conventions, and +I'll tell you how they look. They've all long, wimmin's har, and thin, +shet lips, with big, bawlin' mouths, and long, lean, tommerhawk faces, +as white as vargin dip—and they all talk through the nose (giving a +specimen), and they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> all look for all the world jest like the South +Car'lina fire-eaters—and they <i>are</i> as near like 'em as two peas, +excep' they don't swar quite so bad, but they make up for thet in +prayin'—and prayin' too much, I reckon, when a man's a d——d +hippercrit, is 'bout as bad as swearin'. But, I tell you, the decent +folks up North haint ablisheners. They look on <i>'em</i> jest as we do on +mad dogs, the itch, or the nigger traders.</p> + +<p>"Now, 'bout this secession bis'ness—though 'taint no use to talk on +that subjec', 'case this state never'll secede—South Car'lina has done +it, and I'm raather glad she has, for though I was born thar—and say it +as hadn't orter say it—she orter hev gone to h—l long ago, and now +she's got thar, why—<i>let her stay</i>! But, 'bout thet bis'ness, I'll tell +you a story.</p> + +<p>"I know'd an old gentleman once by the name of Uncle Sam, and he'd a +heap of sons. They war all likely boys—but strange ter tell, though +they'd all the same mother, and she was a white woman, 'bout half on 'em +war colored—not black, but sorter half-and-half. Now, the white sons +war well-behaved, industrious, hard-workin' boys, who got 'long well, +edicated thar children, and allers treated the old man decently; but the +mulatter fellers war a pesky set—though some on 'em war better nor +others. They wouldn't work, but set up for airystocracy—rode in +kerriges, kept fast horses, bet high, and chawed tobaccer like the +devil. Wal, the result was, <i>they</i> got out at the elbows, and 'case they +warn't gettin' 'long quite so fast as the white 'uns—though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> that war +all thar own fault—they got jealous, and one on 'em who was blacker nor +all the rest—a little feller, but terrible big on braggin'—he packed +up his truck one night, and left the old man's house, and swore he'd +never come back. He tried to make the other mulatters go with him, but +they put thar fingers to thar nose, and says they, 'No you doant.' I was +in favor of lettin' on him stay out in the cold, but the old man was a +bernevolent old critter, and so <i>he</i> says: 'Now, sonny, you jest come +back and behave yourself, and I'll forgive you all your old pranks, and +treat you jest as I allers used ter; but, ef you wont, why—I'll make +you, thet's all!'</p> + +<p>"Now, gentlemen, thet quarrelsome, oneasy, ongrateful, tobaccer-chawin', +hoss-racin', high-bettin', big-braggin', nigger-stealin', +wimmin-whippin', yaller son of the devil, is South Car'lina, and ef she +doant come back and behave herself in futur', I'm d——d ef she wont be +ploughed with fire, and sowed with salt, and Andy Jones will help ter do +it."</p> + +<p>The speaker was frequently interrupted in the course of his remarks by +uproarious applause—but as he closed and descended from the platform, +the crowd sent up cheer after cheer, and a dozen strong men, making a +seat of their arms, lifted him from the ground and bore him off to the +head of the table, where dinner was in waiting.</p> + +<p>The whole of the large assemblage then fell to eating. The dinner was +made up of the barbacued beef and the usual mixture of viands found on a +planter's table, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> water from the little brook hard by, and a +plentiful supply of corn-whiskey. (The latter beverage had, I thought, +been subjected to the rite of immersion, for it tasted wonderfully of +water.)</p> + +<p>Songs and speeches were intermingled with the masticating exercises, and +the whole company was soon in the best of humor.</p> + +<p>During the meal I was introduced by Andy to a large number of the +"natives," he taking special pains to tell each one that I was a Yankee, +and a Union man, but always adding, as if to conciliate all parties, +that I also was a guest and a friend of <i>his</i> very particular friend, +"thet d——d seceshener, Cunnel J——."</p> + +<p>Before we left the table, the secession orator happening near where we +were seated, Andy rose from his seat, and, extending his hand to him, +said: "Tom, you think I 'sulted you; p'r'aps I did, but you 'sulted my +Yankee friend har, and your own relation, and I hed to take it up, jest +for the looks o' the thing. Come, there's my hand; I'll fight you ef you +want ter, or we'll say no more 'bout it—jest as you like."</p> + +<p>"Say no more about it, Andy," said the gentleman, very cordially; "let's +drink and be friends."</p> + +<p>They drank a glass of whiskey together, and then leaving the table, +proceeded to where the ox had been barbacued, to show me how cooking on +a large scale is done at the South.</p> + +<p>In a pit about eight feet deep, twenty feet long, and ten feet wide, +laid up on the sides with stones, a fire of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> hickory had been made, over +which, after the wood had burned down to coals, a whole ox, divested of +its hide and entrails, had been suspended on an enormous spit. Being +turned often in the process of cooking, the beef had finally been "done +brown." It was then cut up and served on the table, and I must say, for +the credit of Southern cookery, that it made as delicious eating as any +meat I ever tasted.</p> + +<p>I had then been away from my charge—the Colonel's horses—as long as +seemed to be prudent. I said as much to Andy, when he proposed to return +with me, and, turning good-humoredly to his reconciled friend, he said: +"Now, Tom, no secession talk while I'm off."</p> + +<p>"Nary a word," said "Tom," and we left.</p> + +<p>The horses had been well fed by the negro whom I had left in charge of +them, but had not been groomed. Seeing that, Andy stripped off his coat, +and setting the black at work on one, with a handful of straw and pine +leaves, commenced operations on the other, whose hair was soon as smooth +and glossy as if it had been rubbed by an English groom.</p> + +<p>The remainder of the day passed without incident till eleven at night, +when the Colonel returned from Wilmington.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></h2> + +<h3>THE RETURN.</h3> + + +<p>Moye had not been seen or heard of, and the Colonel's trip was +fruitless. While at Wilmington he sent telegrams, directing the +overseer's arrest, to the various large cities of the South, and then +decided to return home, make arrangements preliminary to a protracted +absence from the plantation, and proceed at once to Charleston, where he +would await replies to his dispatches. Andy agreed with him in the +opinion that Moye, in his weak state of health, would not take an +overland route to the free states, but would endeavor to reach some town +on the Mississippi, where he might dispose of the horse, and secure a +passage up the river.</p> + +<p>As no time was to be lost, we decided to return to the plantation on the +following morning. Accordingly, with the first streak of day we bade +"good-bye" to our Union friend, and started homeward.</p> + +<p>No incident worthy of mention occurred on the way, till about ten +o'clock, when we arrived at the house of the Yankee schoolmistress, +where we had been so hospitably entertained two days before. The lady +received us with great cordiality, forced upon us a lunch to serve our +hunger on the road, and when we parted, enjoined on me to leave the +South at the earliest possible moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> She was satisfied it would not +for a much longer time be safe quarters for a man professing Union +sentiments. Notwithstanding the strong manifestations of loyalty I had +observed among the people, I was convinced the advice of my pretty +"countrywoman" was judicious, and I determined to be governed by it.</p> + +<p>Our horses, unaccustomed to lengthy journeys, had not entirely recovered +from the fatigues of their previous travel, and we did not reach our +destination till an hour after dark. We were most cordially welcomed by +Madam P——, who soon set before us a hot supper, which, as we were +jaded by the long ride, and had fasted for twelve hours, on +bacon-sandwiches and cold hoe-cake, was the one thing needful to us.</p> + +<p>While seated at the table the Colonel asked:</p> + +<p>"Has every thing gone right, Alice, since we left home?"</p> + +<p>"Every thing," replied the lady, "except"—and she hesitated, as if she +dreaded the effect of the news; "except that Jule and her child have +gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone!" exclaimed my host; "gone where?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. We have searched everywhere, but have found no clue to +them. The morning you left Sam set Jule at work among the pines; she +tried hard, but could not do a full task, and at night was taken to the +cabin to be whipped. I heard of it, and forbade it. It did not seem to +me that she ought to be punished for not doing what she had not strength +to do. When released from the cabin, she came and thanked me for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> having +interfered for her, and talked with me awhile. She cried and took on +fearfully about Sam, and was afraid you would punish her when you +returned. I promised you would not, and she left me seeming more +cheerful. I supposed she would go directly home after getting her child +from the nurse's quarters; but it appears she went to Pompey's, where +she staid till after ten o'clock. Neither she nor the child have been +seen since."</p> + +<p>"Did you get no trace of her in the morning?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but soon lost it. When she did not appear at work, Sam went to her +cabin to learn the cause, and found the door open, and her bed +undisturbed. She had not slept there. Knowing that Sandy had returned, I +sent for him, and, with Jim and his dog, he commenced a search. The dog +tracked her directly from Pompey's cabin to the bank of the run near the +lower still. There all trace of her disappeared. We dragged the stream, +but discovered nothing. Jim and Sandy then scoured the woods for miles +in all directions, but the hound could not recover the trail. I hope +otherwise, but I fear some evil has befallen her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! there's no fear of that," said the Colonel: "she is smart: she +waded up the run far enough to baffle the dog, and then made for the +swamp. That is why you lost her tracks at the stream. Rely upon it, I am +right: but she shall not escape me."</p> + +<p>We shortly afterward adjourned to the library. After being seated there +a while the Colonel, rising quickly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> as if a sudden thought had struck +him, sent for the old preacher.</p> + +<p>The old negro soon appeared, hat in hand, and taking a stand near the +door, made a respectful bow to each one of us.</p> + +<p>"Take a chair, Pompey," said Madam P——, kindly.</p> + +<p>The black meekly seated himself, when the Colonel asked: "Well, Pomp, +what do you know about Jule's going off?"</p> + +<p>"Nuffin', massa—I shures you, nuffin'. De pore chile say nuffin to ole +Pomp 'bout dat."</p> + +<p>"What did she say?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, you see, massa, de night arter you gwo 'way, and arter she'd +worked hard in de brush all de day, and been a strung up in de ole cabin +fur to be whipped, she come ter me wid har baby in har arms, all a-faint +and a-tired, and har pore heart clean broke, and she say dat she'm jess +ready ter drop down and die. Den I tries ter comfut har, massa; I takes +har up from de floor, and I say ter har dat de good Lord He pity +har—dat He woant bruise de broken reed, and woant put no more on her +dan she kin b'ar—dat He'd touch you' heart, and I toled har you'se a +good, kine heart at de bottom, massa—and I knows it, 'case I toted you +'fore you could gwo, and when you's a bery little chile, not no great +sight bigger'n har'n, you'd put your little arms round ole Pomp's neck, +and say dat when you war grow'd up you'd be bery kine ter de pore brack +folks, and not leff 'em be 'bused like dey war in dem days."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Never mind what <i>you</i> said," interrupted the Colonel, a little +impatiently, but showing no displeasure; "what did <i>she</i> say?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, massa, she tuk on bery hard 'bout Sam, and axed me ef I raaily +reckoned de Lord had forgib'n him, and took'n him ter Heself, and gibin' +him one o' dem hous'n up dar, in de sky. I toled her dat I <i>know'd</i> it; +but she say it didn't 'pear so ter har, 'case Sam had a been wid har out +dar in de woods, all fru de day; dat she'd a <i>seed</i> him, massa, and +dough he handn't a said nuffin', he'd lukd at har wid sech a sorry, +grebed luk, dat it gwo clean fru har heart, till she'd no strength leff, +and fall down on de ground a'most dead. Den she say big Sam come 'long +and fine har dar, and struck har great, heaby blows wid de big whip!"</p> + +<p>"The brute!" exclaimed the Colonel, rising from his chair, and pacing +rapidly up and down the room.</p> + +<p>"But p'r'aps he warn't so much ter blame, massa," continued the old +negro, in a deprecatory tone; "maybe he 'spose she war shirkin' de work. +Wal, den she say she know'd nuffin' more, till byme-by, when she come +to, and fine big Sam dar, and he struck har agin, and make har gwo ter +de work; and she did gwo, but she feel like as ef she'd die. I toled har +de good ma'am wudn't leff big Sam 'buse har no more 'fore you cum hum, +and dat you'd hab 'passion on har, and not leff har gwo out in de woods, +but put har 'mong de nusses, like as afore.</p> + +<p>"Den she say it 'twarn't de work dat trubble har—dat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> she orter work, +and orter be 'bused, 'case she'd been bad, bery bad. All she axed war +dat Sam would forgib har, and cum to har in de oder worle, and tell har +so. Den she cried, and tuk on awful; but de good Lord, massa, dat am so +bery kine ter de bery wuss sinners, He put de words inter my mouf, and I +tink dey gib har comfut, fur she say dat it sort o' 'peared to har den +dat Sam <i>would</i> forgib har, and take har inter his house up dar, and she +warn't afeard ter die no more.</p> + +<p>"Den she takes up de chile and gwo 'way, 'pearin' sort o' happy, and +more cheerful like dan I'd a seed har eber sense pore Sam war shot."</p> + +<p>My host was sensibly affected by the old man's simple tale, but +continued pacing up and down the room, and said nothing.</p> + +<p>"It's plain to me, Colonel," I remarked, as Pompey concluded, "she has +drowned herself and the child—the dog lost the scent at the creek."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" he replied; "I think not. I never heard of a negro committing +suicide—they've not the courage to do it."</p> + +<p>"I fear she <i>has</i>, David," said the lady. "The thought of going to Sam +has led her to it; yet, we dragged the run, and found nothing. What do +you think about it, Pompey?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno, ma'am, but I'se afeard of dat; and now dat I tinks ob it, I'se +afeard dat what I tole har put har up ter it," replied the old preacher, +bursting into tears. "She 'peared so happy like, when I say she'd be +'long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> wid Sam in de oder worle, dat I'se afeard she's a gone and done +it wid har own hands. I tole har, too, dat de Lord would oberlook good +many tings dat pore sinners do when dey can't help 'emselfs—and it make +har do it! Oh! it make har do it!" and the old black buried his face in +his hands, and wept bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Don't feel so, Pomp," said his master, <i>very</i> kindly. "You did the best +you could; no one blames you."</p> + +<p>"I knows <i>you</i> doant, massa—I knows you doant, and you'se bery good +nottur—but oh! massa, de Lord!" and his body swayed to and fro with the +great grief; "I fears de Lord do, massa, for I'se sent har ter Him wid +har own blood, and de blood of dat pore innercent chile, on har hands. +Oh, I fears de Lord neber'll forgib me—neber'll forgib me for <i>dat</i>."</p> + +<p>"He will, my good Pomp—He will!" said the Colonel, laying his hand +tenderly on the old man's shoulder. "The Lord will forgive you, for the +sake of the Christian example you've set your master, if for nothing +else;" and here the proud, strong man's feelings overpowering him, his +tears fell in great drops on the breast of the old slave, as they had +fallen there in his childhood.</p> + +<p>Such scenes are not for the eye of a stranger, and turning away, I left +the room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>"ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE."</h3> + + +<p>The family met at the breakfast-table at the usual hour on the following +morning; but I noticed that Jim was not in his accustomed place behind +the Colonel's chair. That gentleman exhibited his usual good spirits, +but Madam P—— looked sad and anxious, and <i>I</i> had not forgotten the +scene of the previous evening.</p> + +<p>While we were seated at the meal, the negro Junius hastily entered the +room, and in an excited manner exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Oh, massa, massa, you muss cum ter de cabin—Jim hab draw'd his knife, +and he swar he'll kill de fuss 'un dat touch him!"</p> + +<p>"He does, does he!" said his master, springing from his seat, and +abruptly leaving the apartment.</p> + +<p>Remembering the fierce burst of passion I had seen in the negro, and +fearing there was danger a-foot, I rose to follow, saying, as I did so:</p> + +<p>"Madam, cannot you prevent this?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot, sir; I have already done all I can. Go and try to pacify the +Colonel—Jim will die before he'll be whipped."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> Jim was standing at the +farther end of the old cabin, with his back to the wall, and the large +spring knife in his hand. Some half-dozen negroes were in the centre of +the room, apparently cowed by his fierce and desperate looks, and his +master was within a few feet of him.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, Cunnel," cried the negro, as I entered, "you touch me at +your peril!"</p> + +<p>"You d——d nigger, do you dare to speak so to me?" said his master, +taking a step toward him.</p> + +<p>The knife rose in the air, and the black, in a cool, sneering tone, +replied: "Say your prayers 'fore you come nigher, for, so help me God, +you'm a dead man!"</p> + +<p>I laid my hand on the Colonel's arm, to draw him back, saying, as I did +so: "There's danger in him! I <i>know</i> it. Let him go, and he shall ask +your pardon."</p> + +<p>"I shan't ax his pardon," cried the black; "leff him an' me be, sir; +we'll fix dis ourselfs."</p> + +<p>"Don't interfere, Mr. K——," said my host, with perfect coolness, but +with a face pallid with rage. "Let me govern my own plantation."</p> + +<p>"As you say, sir," I replied, stepping back a few paces; "but I warn +you—there is danger in him!"</p> + +<p>Taking no notice of my remark, the Colonel turning to the trembling +negroes, said: "One of you go to the house and bring my pistols."</p> + +<p>"You kin shoot me, ef you likes," said Jim, with a fierce, grim smile; +"but I'll take you ter h—l wid me, <i>shore</i>. You knows <span class="smcap">we</span> wont stand a +blow!"</p> + +<p>The Colonel, at the allusion to their relationship,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> started as if shot, +and turning furiously on the negro, yelled out: "I'll shoot you for +that, you d——d nigger, by ——."</p> + +<p>"It 'pears ter me, Cunnel, ye've hed 'bout nuff shootin' round har, +lately; better stop thet sort o' bis'ness; it moight give ye a sore +throat," said the long, lean, loose-jointed stump-speaker of the +previous Sunday, as he entered the cabin and strode directly up to my +host.</p> + +<p>"What brought you here, you d——d insolent hound?" cried the Colonel, +turning fiercely on the new-comer.</p> + +<p>"Wal, I cum ter du ye a naaboorly turn—I've kotched two on yer niggers +down ter my still, and I want ye ter take 'em 'way," returned the +corn-cracker, with the utmost coolness.</p> + +<p>"Two of my niggers!" exclaimed the Colonel, perceptibly moderating his +tone—"which ones?"</p> + +<p>"A yaller gal, and a chile."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Barnes; excuse my hard words—I was excited."</p> + +<p>"All right, Cunnel; say no more 'bout thet. Will ye send fur 'em? I'd +hev fotched 'em 'long, but my waggin's off jest now."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll send at once. Have you got them safe?"</p> + +<p>"Safe? I reckon so! Kotched 'em last night, arter dark, and they've kept +right still ever sense, I 'sure ye—but th' gal holds on ter th' young +'un ter kill—we cudn't get it 'way no how."</p> + +<p>"How did you catch them?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They got 'gainst my turpentime raft—the curren' driv 'em down, I +s'pose."</p> + +<p>"What! are they dead?"</p> + +<p>"Dead? deader'n drownded rats!" replied the native,</p> + +<p>"My God! drowned herself and her child!" exclaimed the Colonel, with +deep emotion.</p> + +<p>"It is terrible, my friend. Come, let us go to them, at once," I said, +laying my hand on his arm, and drawing him unresistingly away.</p> + +<p>A pair of mules was speedily harnessed to a large turpentine wagon, and +the horses we had ridden the day before were soon at the door. When the +Colonel, who had been closeted for a few minutes with Madam P——, came +out of the house, we mounted, and rode off with the "corn-cracker."</p> + +<p>The native's farm was located on the stream which watered my friend's +plantation, and was about ten miles distant. Taking a by-road which led +to it through the woods, we rode rapidly on in advance of the wagon.</p> + +<p>"Sort o' likely gal, thet, warn't she?" remarked the turpentine-maker, +after a while.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she was," replied the Colonel, in a half-abstracted manner; +"<i>very</i> likely."</p> + +<p>"Kill harself 'case har man war shot by thet han'som overseer uv +your'n?"</p> + +<p>"Not altogether for that, I reckon," replied my host; "I fear the main +reason was her being put at field-work, and abused by the driver."</p> + +<p>"Thet comes uv not lookin' arter things yerself, Cunnel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> I tend ter my +niggers parsonally, and they keer a durned sight more fur this world +then fur kingdom-cum. Ye cudn't hire 'em ter kill 'emselves fur no +price."</p> + +<p>"Well," replied the Colonel, in a low tone, "I <i>did</i> look after her. I +put her at full field-work, myself!"</p> + +<p>"By——!" cried the native, reining his horse to a dead stop, and +speaking in an excited manner: "I doant b'lieve it—'taint 't all like +ye—yer a d——d seceshener; thet comes uv yer bringin'-up—but ye've a +soul bigger'n a meetin'-house, and ye cudn't hev put thet slim, weakly +gal inter th' woods, no how!"</p> + +<p>The Colonel and I instinctively halted our horses, as the "corn-cracker" +stopped his, and were then standing abreast of him in the road.</p> + +<p>"It's true, Barnes," said my host, in a voice that showed deep +dejection; "I <i>did</i> do it!"</p> + +<p>"May God Almighty furgive ye, Cunnel," said the native, starting his +horse forward; "<i>I</i> wudn't hev dun it fur all yer niggers, by ——."</p> + +<p>The Colonel made no reply, and we rode on the rest of the way in +silence.</p> + +<p>The road was a mere wagon-track through the trees, and it being but +little travelled, and encumbered with the roots and stumps of the pine, +our progress was slow, and we were nearly two hours in reaching the +plantation of the native.</p> + +<p>The corn-cracker's house—a low, unpainted wooden building—stood near +the little stream, and in the centre of a cleared plot of some ten +acres. This plot was surrounded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> by a post-and-rail fence, and in its +front portion was a garden, which grew a sufficient supply of vegetables +to serve a family of twenty persons. In the rear, and at the sides of +the dwelling, were about seven acres, devoted mainly to corn and +potatoes. In one corner of the lot were three tidy-looking negro-houses, +and close beside them I noticed a low shed, near which a large quantity +of the stalks of the tall, white corn, common to that section, was +stacked in the New England fashion. Browsing on the corn-stalks were +three sleek, well-kept milch cows, and a goat.</p> + +<p>About four hundred yards from the farmer's house, and on the bank of the +little run, which there was quite wide and deep, stood a turpentine +distillery; and around it were scattered a large number of rosin and +turpentine barrels, some filled and some empty. A short distance higher +up, and far enough from the "still" to be safe in the event of a fire, +was a long, low, wooden shed, covered with rough, unjointed boards, +placed upright, and unbattened. This was the "spirit-house," used for +the storage of the spirits of turpentine when barrelled for market, and +awaiting shipment. In the creek, and filling nearly one-half of the +channel in front of the spirit-shed, was a raft of pine timber, on which +were laden some two hundred barrels of rosin. On such rude conveyances +the turpentine-maker sent his produce to Conwayboro'. There the +timber-raft was sold to my way-side friend, Captain B——, and its +freight shipped on board vessel for New York.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> Two "prime" negro men, +dressed in the usual costume, were "tending the still;" and a negro +woman, as stout and strong as the men, and clad in a short, loose, +linsey gown, from beneath which peeped out a pair of coarse leggins, was +adjusting a long wooden trough, which conveyed the liquid rosin from the +"still" to a deep excavation in the earth, at a short distance. In the +pit was a quantity of rosin sufficient to fill a thousand barrels.</p> + +<p>"Here, Bill," said Barnes to one of the negro men, as we pulled up at +the distillery, "put these critters up, and give 'em sum oats, and when +they've cooled off a bit, water 'em."</p> + +<p>"Yas, yas, massa," replied the negro, springing nimbly forward, and +taking the horses by the bridles, "an' rub 'em down, massa?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, rub 'em down right smart," replied the corn-cracker; then turning +to me, as we dismounted, he said: "Stranger, thet's th' sort o' niggers +fur ye; all uv mine ar' jess like him—smart and lively as kittens."</p> + +<p>"He does seem to go about his work cheerfully," I replied.</p> + +<p>"Cheerfully! d——d ef he doant—all on 'em du! They like me better'n +thar own young 'uns, an' it's 'cause I use 'em like human bein's;" and +he looked slyly toward the Colonel, who just then was walking silently +away, in the direction of the run, as if in search of the browned +"chattels."</p> + +<p>"Not thar, Cunnel," cried the native; "they're inter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> th' shed;" and he +started to lead the way to the "spirit-house."</p> + +<p>"Not now, Barnes," I said, putting my hand on his arm: "leave him alone +for a little while. He is feeling badly, and we'd better not disturb him +just yet."</p> + +<p>The native motioned me to a seat on a rosin-barrel, as he replied:</p> + +<p>"Wal, he 'pears ter—thet's a fact, and he orter. D——d ef it arn't +wicked to use niggers like cattle, as he do."</p> + +<p>"I don't think he means to ill-treat them—he's a kind-hearted man."</p> + +<p>"Wal, he ar sort o' so; but he's left ev'ry thing ter thet d——d +overseer uv his'n. I wudn't ha' trusted him to feed my hogs."</p> + +<p>"Hogs!" I exclaimed, laughing; "I supposed you didn't <i>feed</i> hogs in +these diggins. I supposed you 'let 'em run.'"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> doant; an' I've got th' tallest porkys round har."</p> + +<p>"I've been told that they get a good living in the woods."</p> + +<p>"Wal, p'r'aps the' du jest make eout ter live thar; but my ole 'oman +likes 'em ter hum—they clean up a place like—eat up all th' leavin's, +an' give th' young nigs suthin' ter du."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," I said, resuming the previous thread of the +conversation; "that overseers are a necessity on a large plantation."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +"Wal, the' ar', an' thet's why thar ortent ter be no big plantations; +God Almighty didn't make human bein's ter be herded togethar in th' +woods like hogs. No man orter ter hev more'n twenty on 'em—he can't +look arter no more himself, an' its agin natur ter set a feller over 'em +what hain't no int'rest in 'em, an' no feelin' fur 'em, an' who'll drive +'em round like brutes. I never struck one on 'em in my life, an' my ten +du more'n ony fifteen th' Cunnel's got."</p> + +<p>"I thought they needed occasional correction. How do you manage them +without whipping?"</p> + +<p>"Manage them! why 'cordin' ter scriptur—do ter 'em as I'd like ter be +dun ter, ef I war a nigger. Every one on 'em knows I'd part with my last +shirt, an' live on taters an' cow-fodder, fore I'd sell em; an' then I +give 'em Saturdays for 'emselfs—but thet's cute dealin' in me (tho' th' +pore, simple souls doant see it), fur ye knows the' work thet day for +'emselfs, an' raise nigh all thar own feed, 'cept th' beef and +whiskey—an' it sort o' makes 'em feel like folks, too, more like as ef +the' war <i>free</i>—the' work th' better fur it all th' week."</p> + +<p>"Then you think the blacks would work better if free?"</p> + +<p>"In <i>course</i> I does—its agin man's natur to be a slave. Thet lousy +parson ye herd ter meetin, a Sunday, makes slavery eout a divine +institooshun, but my wife's a Bible 'oman, and she says 'taint so; an' +I'm d——d ef she arn't right."</p> + +<p>"Is your wife a South Carolina women?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, she an' me's from th' old North—old Car'tret, nigh on ter Newbern; +an' we doant take nat'rally to these fire-eaters."</p> + +<p>"Have you been here long?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, nigh on ter six yar. I cum har with nuthin' but a thousan' ter my +back—slapped thet inter fifteen hun'red acres—paid it down—and then +hired ten likely, North Car'lina niggers—hired 'em with th' chance uv +buyin' ef the' liked eout har. Wal, th' nigs all know'd me, and the' +sprung ter it like blazes; so every yar I've managed ter buy two on 'em, +and now I've ten grow'd up, and thar young'uns; th' still and all th' +traps paid fur, an' ef this d——d secesh bis'ness hadn't a come 'long, +I'd hev hed a right smart chance o' doin' well."</p> + +<p>"I'm satisfied secession will ruin the turpentine business; you'll be +shut up here, unable to sell your produce, and it will go to waste."</p> + +<p>"Thet's my 'pinion; but I reckon I kin' manage now witheout turpentime. +I've talked it over 'long with my nigs, and we kalkerlate, ef these ar +doin's go eny furder, ter tap no more trees, but clar land an' go ter +raisin' craps."</p> + +<p>"What! do you talk politics with your negroes?"</p> + +<p>"Nary a politic—but I'm d——d ef th' critters doan't larn 'em sumhow; +the' knows 'bout as much uv what's goin' on as I du—but plantin arn't +politics; its bisness, an' they've more int'rest in it nor I hev, 'cause +they've sixteen mouths ter feed agin my four."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad, my friend, that you treat them like men:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> but I have supposed +they were not well enough informed to have intelligent opinions on such +subjects."</p> + +<p>"Informed! wal, I reckon the' is; all uv mine kin read, an' sum on 'em +kin write, too. D'ye see thet little nig thar?" pointing to a juvenile +coal-black darky of about six years, who was standing before the "still" +fire; "thet ar little devil kin read an' speak like a parson. He's got +hold, sumhow, uv my little gal's book o' pieces, an' larned a dozen on +'em. I make him cum inter th' house, once in a while uv an evenin', an' +speechify, an' 'twould do yer soul good ter har him, in his shirt tail, +with a old sheet wound round him fur a toger (I've told him th' +play-acters du it so down ter Charles'on), an' spoutin' out: 'My name am +Norval; on de Gruntin' hills my fader feed him hogs!' The little coon +never seed a sheep, an' my wife's told him a flock's a herd, an' he +thinks 'hog' <i>sounds</i> better'n 'flock,' so, contra'y ter th' book, he +puts in 'hogs,' and hogs, you knows, hev ter grunt, so he gits 'em on +th' 'Gruntin hills;" and here the kind-hearted native burst into a fit +of uproarious laughter, in which, in spite of myself, I had to join.</p> + +<p>When the merriment had somewhat subsided, the turpentine-maker called +out to the little darky:</p> + +<p>"Come here, Jim."</p> + +<p>The young chattel ran to him with alacrity, and wedging in between his +legs, placed his little black hands, in a free-and-easy way, on his +master's knees, and, looking up trustfully in his face, said:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wal, massa?"</p> + +<p>"What's yer name?"</p> + +<p>"Dandy Jim, massa."</p> + +<p>"Thet arn't all—what's th' rest?"</p> + +<p>"Dandy Jim of ole Car'lina."</p> + +<p>"Who made ye?"</p> + +<p>"De good God, massa."</p> + +<p>"No, He didn't: God doant make little nigs. He makes none but white +folks;" said the master, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yas He'm do; Missus say He'm do; dat He make dis nig jess like He done +little Totty."</p> + +<p>"Wal, He did, Jim. I'm d——d ef <i>He</i> didn't, fur nobody else cud make +<i>ye</i>!" replied the man, patting the little woolly head with undisguised +affection.</p> + +<p>"Now, Jim, say th' creed fur 'de gemman.'"</p> + +<p>The young darky then repeated the Apostle's Creed and the Ten +Commandments.</p> + +<p>"Is thet all ye knows?"</p> + +<p>"No, massa, I knows a heap 'sides dat."</p> + +<p>"Wal, say suthin' more—sum on 'em pieces thet jingle."</p> + +<p>The little fellow then repeated with entire correctness, and with +appropriate gestures, and emphasis, though in the genuine darky +dialect—which seems to be inborn with the pure-Southern black—Mrs. +Hemans' poem:</p> + +<p> +"The boy stood on the burning deck."<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Hemans draped in black!" I exclaimed, laughing heartily: "How +would the good lady feel, could she look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> down from where she is, and +hear a little darky doing up her poetry in that style?"</p> + +<p>"D——d ef I doant b'lieve 'twud make her love th' little nig like I +do;" replied the corn-cracker, taking him up on his knee as tenderly as +he would have taken up his own child.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, my little man," I said: "who taught you all these things?"</p> + +<p>"I larned 'em, myseff, sar," was the prompt reply.</p> + +<p>"You learned them, yourself! but who taught you to read?"</p> + +<p>"I larned 'em myseff, sar!"</p> + +<p>"You couldn't have learned <i>that</i> yourself; didn't your 'massa' teach +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, sar."</p> + +<p>"Oh! your 'missus' did."</p> + +<p>"No, sar."</p> + +<p>"No, sar!" I repeated; then suspecting the real state of the case, I +looked him sternly in the eye, and said: "My little man, it's wrong to +tell lies—you must <i>always</i> speak the truth; now, tell me truly, did +not your 'missus' teach you these things?"</p> + +<p>"No, sar, I larned 'em myseff."</p> + +<p>"Ye can't cum it, Stranger; ye moight roast him over a slow fire, an' +not git nary a thing eout on him but thet," said the corn-cracker, +leaning forward, and breaking into a boisterous fit of laughter. "It's +agin th' law, an' I'm d——d ef I teached him. Reckon he <i>did</i> larn +himself!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I must know your wife, my friend. She's a good woman."</p> + +<p>"Good! ye kin bet high on thet; she's uv th' stuff th' Lord makes angels +eout on."</p> + +<p>I had no doubt of it, and was about to say so, when the Colonel's +turpentine wagon drove up, and I remembered I had left him too long +alone.</p> + +<p>The coachman was driving, and Jim sat on the wagon beside him.</p> + +<p>"Massa K——," said the latter, getting down and coming to me: "Whar am +dey?"</p> + +<p>"In the spirit-shed."</p> + +<p>He was turning to go there, when I called him back, saying: "Jim, you +must not see your master now; you'd better keep out of sight for the +present."</p> + +<p>"No, massa; de ma'am say de Cunnel take dis bery hard, and dat I orter +tell him I'se sorry for what I'se done."</p> + +<p>"Well, wait a while. Let me go in first."</p> + +<p>Accompanied by the corn-cracker, I entered the turpentine-shed. A row of +spirit-barrels were ranged along each of its sides, and two tiers +occupied the centre of the building. On these a number of loose planks +were placed, and on the planks lay the bodies of the metif woman and her +child. The Colonel was seated on a barrel near them, with his head +resting on his hands, and his eyes fixed on the ground. He did not seem +to notice our entrance, and, passing him without speaking, I stepped to +the side of the dead.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p>The woman's dress, the common linsey gown worn by her class, was still +wet, and her short, kinky, brown hair fell in matted folds around her +face. One arm hung loosely by her side; the other was clasped tightly +around her child, which lay as if asleep on her bosom. One of its small +hands clung to its mother's breast, and around its little lips played a +smile. But how shall I describe the pale, sweet beauty of the face of +the drowned girl, as she lay there, her eyes closed, and her lips +parted, as in prayer? Never but once have I seen on human features the +strange radiance that shone upon it, or the mingled expression of hope, +and peace, and resignation that rested there—and that was in the +long-gone time, when, standing by her bedside, I watched the passing +away of one who is now an angel in heaven!</p> + +<p>"Come, my dear friend, let us go," I said, turning and gently taking the +Colonel by the arm, "the negroes are here, and will take charge of the +dead."</p> + +<p>"No, no!" he replied, rising, and looking around, as if aroused from a +troubled dream; "that is for <i>me</i> to do!" Then he added, after a +moment's pause, "Will you help me to get them into the wagon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will, certainly."</p> + +<p>He made one step toward the body of the dead girl, then sinking down +again on the barrel, covered his face with his hands, and cried out: "My +God! this is terrible! Did you ever see such a look as that? It will +haunt me forever!"</p> + +<p>"Come, my friend, rouse yourself—this is weakness;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> you are tired with +the long ride and excitement of the past few days. Come, go home—I will +look after them."</p> + +<p>"No, no! I must do it. I will be a man again;" and he rose and walked +steadily to the dead bodies. "Is there any one here to help?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Jim was standing in the door-way, and I motioned to him to come forward. +The great tears were streaming down his face as he stepped timidly +towards his master, and said: "I'll do dis, massa, don't you trubble +yerself no more."</p> + +<p>"It's good of you, Jim. You'll forgive me for being so cruel to you, +wont you?" said the Colonel, taking the black by the hand.</p> + +<p>"Forgib ye, massa! <i>I</i> war all ter blame—but ye'll forgib me, +massa—ye'll forgib me!" cried the black, with strong emotion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; but say no more about it. Come, let us get Julie home."</p> + +<p>But the poor girl was already <i>home</i>—home where her sufferings and her +sorrows were over, and all her tears were wiped away forever!</p> + +<p>We four bore away the mother and the child. A number of blankets were in +the bottom of the wagon, and we laid the bodies carefully upon them. +When all seemed ready, the Colonel, who was still standing by the side +of the dead, turned to my new friend, and said: "Barnes, will you loan +me a pillow? I will send it back to-night."</p> + +<p>"Sartin, Cunnel;" and the farmer soon brought one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> from the house. +Lifting tenderly the head of the drowned girl, the Colonel placed it +beneath her, and smoothing back her tangled hair, he gently covered her +face with his handkerchief, as if she could still feel his kindness, or +longer cared for the pity or the love of mortal. Yet, who knows but that +her parted soul, from the high realm to which it had soared, may not +then have looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>THE SMALL PLANTER.</h3> + + +<p>In the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends, and the words of +consolation bring no relief. How much more harshly do such words grate +on the ear when the soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret! +Then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with God.</p> + +<p>I saw that the Colonel would be alone, and turning to him, as he +prepared to follow the strange vehicle, which, with its load of death, +was already jolting its way over the rough forest road, I said,</p> + +<p>"Will you pardon me, if I remain with your friend here for awhile? I +will be at the mansion before dark."</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly, my friend, come when you feel disposed," he replied, and +mounting his horse he was soon out of sight among the trees.</p> + +<p>"Now, Barnes," I said, shaking off the gloomy feelings that had +oppressed me: "come, I must see that wife of yours, and get a glimpse of +how you live?"</p> + +<p>"Sartin, stranger; come in; I'll give ye th' tallest dinner my 'oman can +scare up, an' she's sum pumkins in th' cookin' line;" and he led the way +to the farm-house.</p> + +<p>As I turned to follow, I slipped a half-dollar into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> hand of the +darky who was holding my horse, and asked him to put her again into the +stable.</p> + +<p>"I'll do dat, sar, but I karn't take dis; masaa doant 'low it nohow;" he +replied, tendering me back the money.</p> + +<p>"Barnes, your negroes have strange ways; I never met one before who'd +refuse money."</p> + +<p>"Wal, stranger, 'taint hosspetality to take money on yer friends, and +Bill gets all he wants from me."</p> + +<p>I took the silver and gave it to the first darky I met, who happened to +be an old centenarian belonging to the Colonel. As I tossed it to him, +he grinned out: "Ah, massa, I'll git sum 'backer wid dis; 'pears like I +hadn't nary a chaw in forty yar." With more than one leg in the grave +the old negro had not lost his appetite for the weed—in fact, that and +whiskey are the only "luxuries" ever known to the plantation black.</p> + +<p>As we went nearer, I took a closer survey of the farm-house. It was, as +I have said, a low, unpainted wooden building, located in the middle of +a ten acre lot. It was approached by a straight walk, paved with a +mixture of sand and tar, similar to that which the reader may have seen +in the Champs Elysees. I do not know whether my back-woods friend, or +the Parisian pavior, was the first inventor of this composition, but I +am satisfied the corn-cracker had not stolen it from the stone-cracker. +The walk was lined with fruit-bearing shrubs, and directly in front of +the house, were two small flower-beds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p> + +<p>The dwelling itself, though of a dingy brown wood-color, was neat and +inviting. It may have been forty feet square on the ground, and was only +a story and a half high, but a projecting roof, and a front +dormer-window, relieved it from the appearance of disproportion. Its +gable ends were surmounted by two enormous brick chimneys, carried up on +the outside, in the fashion of the South, and its high, broad windows +were ornamented with Venetian blinds. Its front door opened directly +into the "living-room," and at the threshold we met its mistress.</p> + +<p>As the image of that lady has still a warm place in a pleasant corner of +my memory, I will describe her. She was about thirty years of age, and +had a fresh, cheerful face. To say that she was handsome, would not be +strictly true; though she had that pleasant, gentle, kindly expression +that sometimes makes even a homely person seem beautiful. But she was +not homely. Her features were regular, her hair, glossy and brown, and +her eyes, black and brilliant, and, for their color, the mildest and +softest I had ever seen. Her figure was tall, and in its outline +somewhat sharp and angular, but she had an ease and grace about her that +made one forget she was not moulded as softly and roundly as others. She +seemed just the woman on whose bosom a tired, worn, over-burdened man +might lay his weary head, and find rest and forgetfulness.</p> + +<p>She wore a neat calico dress, fitting closely to the neck, and an apron +of spotless white muslin. A little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> lace cap perched cosily on the back +of her head, hiding a portion of her wavy, dark hair, and on her feet—a +miracle, reader, in one of her class—were stockings and shoes! Giving +me her hand—which, at the risk of making her husband jealous, I held +for a moment—she said, making a gentle courtesy:</p> + +<p>"Ye ar welcome, stranger."</p> + +<p>"I sincerely thank you, madam; I <i>am</i> a stranger in these parts."</p> + +<p>She tendered me a chair, while her husband opened a sideboard, and +brought forth a box of Havanas, and a decanter of Scuppernong. As I took +the proffered seat, he offered me the refreshments. I drank the lady's +health in the wine, but declined the cigars. Seeing this, she remarked:</p> + +<p>"Yer from th' North, sir; arn't ye?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam, I live in New York, but I was born in New-England."</p> + +<p>"I reckoned so; I knew ye didn't belong in Car'lina."</p> + +<p>"How did you know that, madam?" I asked, laughing.</p> + +<p>"I seed ye doan't smoke 'fore wimmin. But ye musn't mind me; I sort o' +likes it; its a great comfut to John, and may be it ar to ye."</p> + +<p>"Well, I do relish a good cigar, but I never smoke before any lady +except my wife, and though she's only 'a little lower than the angels,' +she <i>does</i>, once in awhile, say it's a shame to make the <i>house</i> smell +like a tobacco factory."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>Barnes handed me the box again, and I took one. As I was lighting it, he +said:</p> + +<p>"Ye've got a good 'oman, hev ye?"</p> + +<p>"There's none better; at least, I think so."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I'm 'zactly uv thet 'pinion 'bout mine: I wouldn't trade her fur +all this worle, an' th' best half uv 'tother."</p> + +<p>"Don't ye talk so, John," said the lady; then addressing me, she added: +"It's a good husband thet makes a good wife, sir."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, madam, but not always. I've known some of the best of wives +who had miserable husbands."</p> + +<p>"An' I'm d——d ef I made my wife th' 'oman she ar'," said the +corn-cracker.</p> + +<p>"Hush, John; ye musn't sw'ar so; ye knows how often ye've said ye +wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I du, an' I wont agin, by ——. But Sukey, whar's th' young 'uns?"</p> + +<p>"Out in the lot, I reckon; but ye musn't holler'm in—they'r all dirt."</p> + +<p>"No matter for that, madam," I said; "dirt is healthy for little ones; +rolling in the mud makes them grow."</p> + +<p>"Then our'n orter grow right smart, fur they'r in it allers."</p> + +<p>"How many have you, madam?"</p> + +<p>"Two; a little boy, four, and a little gal, six."</p> + +<p>"They're of interesting ages."</p> + +<p>"Yas, the' is int'restin'; ev'ry 'uns own chil'ren is smart; but the' +does know a heap. John was off ter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> Charl'ston no great while back, an' +the little boy used ter pray ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter +cum hum. I larned 'em thet jest so soon as the' talked, 'cause thar's no +tellin' how quick the' moight be tooken 'way. Wal, the little feller +prayed ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter cum back; an' John +didn't cum; so finarly he got sort o' provoked with th' Lord; an' he +said God war aither deaf, an' couldn't har, or he war naughty, an' +wouldn't tell fader thet little Johnny wanted to seed 'im 'werry +mooch'"—and here the good lady laughed pleasantly, and I joined in most +heartily.</p> + +<p>Blessed are the children that have such a mother.</p> + +<p>Soon the husband returned with the little girl and boy, and four young +ebonies, all bare-headed, and dressed alike, in thick trousers, and a +loose linsey shirt. Among them was my new acquaintance, "Dandy Jim, of +ole Car'lina."</p> + +<p>The little girl came to me, and soon I had two white children on one +knee, and two black on the other, and Dandy Jim between my legs, playing +with my watch-chain. The family made no distinction between the colors, +and as the children were all equally clean I did not see why <i>I</i> should +do so.</p> + +<p>The lady renewed the conversation by remarking; "P'raps ye reckon it's +quar, sir, that we 'low our'n to 'sociate 'long with th' black chil'ren; +but we karn't help it. On big plantations it works sorry bad, fur th' +white young 'ons larn all manner of evil from the black 'uns; but I've +laboored ter teach our'n so one wont do no harm ter 'tother."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose, madam, that is one of the greatest evils of slavery. The low +black poisons the mind of the white child, and the bad influence lasts +through life."</p> + +<p>"Yas, it's so, stranger; an' it's the biggest keer I hev. It often +'pears strange ter me thet our grow'd up men arn't no wuss then the' +is."</p> + +<p>In those few words that unlettered woman had said, what would—if men +were but wise enough to hear and heed the great truth which she +spoke—banish slavery from this continent forever!</p> + +<p>After awhile the farmer told the juvenile delineator of Mrs. Hemans, and +the other poets, to give us a song; and planting himself in the middle +of the floor, the little darky sang "Dixie," and several other negro +songs, which his master had taught him, but into which he had introduced +some amusing variations of his own. The other children joined in the +choruses; and then Jim danced breakdowns, "walk-along-Joes," and other +darky dances, his master accompanying him on a cracked fiddle, till my +sides were sore with laughter, and the hostess begged them to stop. +Finally the clock struck twelve, and the farmer, going to the door, gave +a long, loud blast on a cow's horn. In about five minutes one after +another of the field hands came in, till the whole ten had seated +themselves on the verandah. Each carried a bowl, a tin-cup, or a gourd, +into which my host—who soon emerged from a back room<a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a> with a pail of +whiskey in his hand—poured <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>a gill of the beverage. This was the day's +allowance, and the farmer, in answer to a question of mine, told me he +thought negroes were healthier, and worked better for a small quantity +of alcohol daily. "The' work hard, and salt feed doant set 'em up +'nough," was his remark.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the hostess busied herself with preparations for dinner, and +it was soon spread on a bright cherry table, covered by a spotless white +cloth. The little darkies had scattered to the several cabins, and we +soon sat down to as good a meal as I ever ate at the South.</p> + +<p>We were waited on by a tidy negro woman, neatly clad in a calico gown, +with shoes on her feet, and a flaming red and yellow 'kerchief on her +head. This last was worn in the form of a turban, and one end escaping +from behind, and hanging down her back, it looked for all the world like +a flag hung out from a top turret. Observing it, my host said:</p> + +<p>"Aggy—showin' yer colors? Ye'r Union gal—hey?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, I is dat, massa; Union ter de back bone;" responded the negress, +grinning widely.</p> + +<p>"All th' Union <i>ye</i> knows on," replied the master, winking slyly at me, +"is th' union yer goin' ter hitch up 'long with black Cale over ter +Squire Taylor's."</p> + +<p>"No, 'taint, massa; takes more'n tu ter make de Union."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yas, I knows—it gin'rally takes ten or a dozen: reckon it'll take a +dozen with ye."</p> + +<p>"John, ye musn't talk so ter th' sarvents; it spiles 'em," said his +wife.</p> + +<p>"No it doant—do it, Aggy?"</p> + +<p>"Lor', missus, I doant keer what massa say; but I doant leff no oder man +run on so ter me!"</p> + +<p>"No more'n ye doant, gal! only Cale."</p> + +<p>"Nor him, massa; I makes him stan' roun' <i>I</i> reckon."</p> + +<p>"I reckon ye du; ye wudn't be yer massa's gal ef ye didn't."</p> + +<p>When the meal was over, I visited, with my host, the negro houses. The +hour allowed for dinner<a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a> was about expiring, and the darkies were +preparing to return to the field. Entering one of the cabins, where were +two stout negro men and a woman, my host said to them, with a perfectly +serious face:</p> + +<p>"Har, boys, I've fotched ye a live Yankee ab'lishener; now, luk at 'im +all roun'. Did ye ever see sech a critter?"</p> + +<p>"Doant see nuffin' quar in dat gemman, massa," replied one of the +blacks. "Him 'pears like bery nice gemman; doant 'pear like +ab'lishener;" and he laughed, and scraped his head in the manner +peculiar to the negro, as he added: "kinder reckon he wudn't be har ef +he war one of <i>dem</i>."</p> + +<p>"What der <i>ye</i> knows 'bout th' ab'lisheners? Ye never seed one—what +d'ye 'spose the' luk like?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dey say dey luk likes de bery ole debil, massa, but reckon taint so."</p> + +<p>"Wal, the' doant; the' luk wusa then thet: they'm bottled up thunder an' +lightnin', an' ef the' cum down har, they'll chaw ye all ter hash."</p> + +<p>"I reckon!" replied the darky, manipulating his wool, and distending his +face into a decidedly incredulous grin.</p> + +<p>"What do you tell them such things for?" I asked, good-humoredly.</p> + +<p>"Lor, bless ye, stranger, the' knows th' ab'lisheners ar thar friends, +jest so well as ye du; and so fur as thet goes, d——d ef the' doan't +know I'm one on 'em myseff, fur I tells 'em, ef the' want to put, the' +kin put, an' I'll throw thar trav'lin 'spences inter th' bargin. Doan't +I tell ye thet, Lazarus."</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, but none ob massa's nigs am gwine ter put—lesswise, not so +long as you an' de good missus, am 'bove groun'."</p> + +<p>The darky's name struck me as peculiar, and I asked him where he got it.</p> + +<p>"<i>'Tain't</i> my name, sar; but you see, sar, w'en massa fuss hire me ob +ole Capt'in ——, up dar ter Newbern-way, I war sort o' sorry +like—hadn't no bery good cloes—an' massa, he den call me Lazarus, +'case he say I war all ober rags and holes, an' it hab sort o' stuck ter +me eber sense. I war a'mighty bad off 'fore dat, but w'en I cum down har +I gets inter Abr'am's buzzum, I does;" and here the darky actually +reeled on his seat with laughter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is this woman your wife?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No, sar; my wife 'longs to Cunnel J——; dat am my new wife—my ole +wife am up dar whar I cum from!"</p> + +<p>"What! have you two wives?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, I'se two."</p> + +<p>"But that's contrary to Scripture."</p> + +<p>"No, sar; de Cunnel say 'tain't. He say in Scriptur' dey hab a heap ob' +'em, and dat niggers kin hab jess so many as dey likes—a hun'red ef dey +want ter."</p> + +<p>"Does the Colonel teach that to his negroes?" I asked, turning to the +native.</p> + +<p>"Yas, I reckon he do—an' sits 'em th' 'zample, too," he replied, +laughing; "but th' old sinner knows better'n thet; he kin read."</p> + +<p>"Do you find that in the Bible, Lazarus?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa; whar I reads it. Dat's whar it tell 'bout David and Sol'mon +and all dem—dey hab a heap ob wives. A pore ole darky karn't hab +'nuffin 'sides dem, an' he <i>orter</i> be 'low'd jess so many as he likes."</p> + +<p>Laughing at the reasoning of the negro, I asked:</p> + +<p>"How would <i>you</i> like it, if your wife over at Colonel J——'s, had as +many husbands as <i>she</i> liked?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, I couldn't fine no fault, massa: an' I s'pose she do; dough I +doan't knows it, 'case I'se dar only Sundays."</p> + +<p>"Have you any children?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, sar; I'se free 'longin' ter de Cunnel, an' four or five—I doant +'zactly know—up ter hum; but <i>dey'se</i> grow'd up."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is your wife, up there, married again?"</p> + +<p>"Yas, massa, she got anoder man jess w'en I cum 'way; har ole massa make +har do it."</p> + +<p>We then left the cabin, and when out of hearing of the blacks, I said to +the corn-cracker: "That <i>may be</i> Scripture doctrine, but <i>I</i> have not +been taught so!"</p> + +<p>"Scriptur or no Scriptur, stranger, it's d——d heathenism," replied +the farmer, who, take him all in all, is a superior specimen of the +class of small-planters at the South; and yet, seeing polygamy practised +by his own slaves, he made no effort to prevent it. He told me that if +he should object to his darky cohabiting with the Colonel's negress, it +would be regarded as unneighborly, and secure him the enmity of the +whole district! And still we are told that slavery is a <i>Divine</i> +institution!</p> + +<p>After this, we strolled off into the woods, where the hands were at +work. They were all stout, healthy and happy-looking, and in answer to +my comments on their appearance, the native said that the negroes on the +turpentine farms are always stronger and longer-lived, than those on the +rice and cotton-fields. Unless carried off by the fevers incident to the +climate, they generally reach a good old age, while the rice-negro +seldom lives to be over forty, and the cotton-slave very rarely attains +sixty. Cotton-growing, however, my host thought, is not, in itself, much +more unhealthy than turpentine-gathering, though cotton-hands work in +the sun, while the turpentine slaves labor altogether in the shade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +"But," he said, "the' work 'em harder nor we does, an' doan't feed 'em +so well. We give our'n meat and whiskey ev'ry day, but them articles is +skarse 'mong th' cotton blacks, an' th' rice niggers never get 'em +excep' ter Chris'mas time, an' thet cums but onst a yar."</p> + +<p>"Do you think the white could labor as well as the black, on the rice +and cotton-fields?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Yas, an' better—better onywhar; but, in coorse, 'tain't natur' fur +black nor white ter stand long a workin' in th' mud and water up ter +thar knees; sech work wud kill off th' very devil arter a while. But th' +white kin stand it longer nor the black, and its' 'cordin' ter reason +that he shud; fur, I reckon, stranger, that the sperit and pluck uv a +man hev a durned sight ter du with work. They'll hole a man up when he's +clean down, an' how kin we expec' thet the pore nig', who's nary a thing +ter work fur, an' who's been kept under an' 'bused ever sense Adam was a +young un'—how kin we expec' he'll work like men thet own 'emselfs, an' +whose faders hev been free ever sense creation? I reckon that the +parient has a heap ter du with makin' th' chile. He puts the sperit +inter 'im: doan't we see it in hosses an' critters an' sech like? It +mayn't crap eout ter onst, but it's shore ter in th' long run, and +thet's th' why th' black hain't no smarter nor he is. He's been a-ground +down an' kept under fur so long thet it'll take more'n 'un gin'ration +ter bring him up. 'Tain't his fault thet he's no more sperit, an' +p'raps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> 'tain't ourn—thet is, them on us as uses 'em right—but it war +the fault uv yer fader an' mine—yer fader stole 'em, and mine bought +'em, an' the' both made cattle uv 'em."</p> + +<p>"But I had supposed the black was better fitted by nature for hard +labor, in a hot climate, than the white?"</p> + +<p>"Wal, he arn't, an' I knows it. Th' d——d parsons an' pol'tishuns say +thet, but 'tain't so. I kin do half agin more work in a day then th' +best nig' I've got, an' I've dun it, tu, time an' agin, an' it didn't +hurt me nuther. Ye knows ef a man hev a wife and young 'uns 'pendin' on +him, an' arn't much 'forehanded, he'll work like th' devil. I've dun it, +and ye hev ef ye war ever put ter it; but th' nig's, why the' hain't got +no wives and young 'uns ter work fur—the law doan't 'low 'em ter hev +any—the' hain't nary a thing but thar carcasses, an' them's thar +masters'."</p> + +<p>"You say a man works better for being free; then you must think 'twould +be well to free the negroes?"</p> + +<p>"In coorse, I does. Jest luk at them nig's o' mine; they're ter all +'tents an' purposes free, 'case I use 'em like men, an' the' knows the' +kin go whenever the' d——d please. See how the' work—why, one on 'em +does half as much agin as ony hard-driv' nigger in creation."</p> + +<p>"What would you do with them, if they were <i>really</i> free?"</p> + +<p>"Du with 'em? why, hire 'em, an' make twice as much eout on 'em as I +does now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I don't think the two races were meant to live together."</p> + +<p>"No more'n the' warn't. But 'tain't thar fault thet they's har. We +hain't no right ter send 'em off. We orter stand by our'n an' our +faders' doin's. The nig' keers more fur his hum, so durned pore as it +ar', then ye or I does fur our'n. I'd pack sech off ter Libraria or th' +devil, as wanted ter go, but I'd hev no 'pulsion 'bout it."</p> + +<p>"Why, my good friend, you're half-brother to Garrison. You don't talk to +your neighbors in this way?"</p> + +<p>"Wal; I doan't;" he replied, laughing. "Ef I dun it, they'd treat me to +a coat uv tar, and ride me out uv th' deestrict raather sudden, I +reckon; but yer a Nuthener, an' the' all take nat'rally ter freedum, +excep' th' d——d dough-faces, an' ye aren't one on 'em, I'll swar."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not. Do many of your neighbors think as you do?"</p> + +<p>"Reckon not many round har; but op in Cart'ret, whar I cum from, heaps +on 'em do, though the' darn't say so."</p> + +<p>By this time we had reached the still, and, directing his attention to +the enormous quantity of rosin that had been run into the pit which I +have spoken of, I asked him why he threw so much valuable material away.</p> + +<p>"Wal, 'tain't wuth nothin' har. Thet's th' common, an' it won't bring in +York, now, more'n a dollar forty-five. It costs a dollar an' two bits +ter get it thar, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> pay fur sellin' on it, an' th' barr'l's wuth th' +diff'rence. I doan't ship nuthin wuss nor No. 2."</p> + +<p>"What is No. 2?"</p> + +<p>He took the head from one of the barrels, and with an adze cut out a +small piece, then handing me the specimen, replied:</p> + +<p>"Now hole thet up ter th' sun. Ye'll see though its yaller, it's clean +and clar. Thet's good No. 2, what brings now two dollars and two bits, +in York, an' pays me 'bout a dollar a barr'l, its got eout o' second yar +dip, an' as it comes eout uv th' still, is run through thet ar +strainer," pointing to a coarse wire seive that lay near. "Th' common +rosum, thet th' still's runnin' on now, is made eout on th' yaller +dip—thet's th' kine o' turpentine thet runs from th' tree arter two +yars' tappin'—we call it yallar dip ca'se it's allers dark. We doant +strain common 't all, an' it's full uv chips and dirt. It's low now, but +ef it shud ever git up, I'd tap thet ar' heap, barr'l it up, run a +little fresh stilled inter it, an' 'twould be a'most so good as new."</p> + +<p>"Then it is injured by being in the ground."</p> + +<p>"Not much; it's jest as good fur ev'rything but makin' ile, puttin it in +the 'arth sort o' takes th' sap eout on it, an' th' sap's th' ile. +Natur' sucks thet eout, I s'pose, ter make th' trees grow—I expec' my +bones 'ill fodder 'em one on these days."</p> + +<p>"Rosin is put to very many uses?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but common's used mainly for ile and soap, th' Yankees put it +inter hard yaller soap, 'case it makes it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> weigh, an' yer folks is up +ter them doin's," and he looked at me and gave a sly laugh. I could not +deny the "hard" impeachment, and said nothing. Taking a specimen of very +clear light-colored rosin from a shelf in the still-house, I asked him +what that quality was worth.</p> + +<p>"Thet ar brought seven dollars, for two hundred an' eighty pounds, in +York, airly this yar. It's th' very best No. 1; an' its hard ter make, +'case ef th' still gets overhet it turns it a tinge. Thet sort is run +through two sieves, the coarse 'un, an' thet ar," pointing to another +wire strainer, the meshes of which were as fine as those of the flour +sieve used by housewives.</p> + +<p>"Do your seven field hands produce enough 'dip' to keep your still a +running?"</p> + +<p>"No, I buys th' rest uv my naboors who haint no stills; an' th' Cunnel's +down on me 'case I pay 'em more'n he will; but I go on Franklin's +princerpel: 'a nimble sixpence's better'n a slow shillin.' A great ole +feller thet, warn't he? I've got his life."</p> + +<p>"And you practice on his precepts; that's the reason you've got on so +well."</p> + +<p>"Yas, thet, an' hard knocks. The best o' doctrin's am't wuth a d——n +ef ye doan't work on 'em."</p> + +<p>"That is true."</p> + +<p>We shortly afterward went to the house, and there I passed several hours +in conversation with my new friend and his excellent wife. The lady, +after a while, showed me over the building. It was well-built, +well-arranged, and had many conveniences I did not expect to find in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +back-woods dwelling. She told me its timbers and covering were of +well-seasoned yellow pine—which will last for centuries—and that it +was built by a Yankee carpenter, whom they had "'ported" from +Charleston, paying his fare, and giving him his living, and two dollars +and a half a day. It had cost as near as she "cud reckon, 'bout two +thousan' dollars."</p> + +<p>It was five o'clock, when, shaking them warmly by the hand, I bade my +pleasant friends "good-bye," and mounting my horse rode off to the +Colonel's.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> The whiskey was kept in a back room, above ground, because the +dwelling had no cellar. The fluid was kept safely, under lock and key, +and the farmer accounted for that, by saying that his negroes would +steal nothing but whiskey. Few country houses at the South have a +cellar—that apartment deemed so essential by Northern housekeepers. The +intervening space between the ground and the floor is there left open, +to allow of a free circulation of air.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></a> No regular dinner-hour is allowed the blacks on most turpentine +plantations. Their food is usually either taken with them to the woods, +or carried there by house servants, at stated times.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE BURIAL OF "JULE."</h3> + + +<p>The family were at supper when I returned to the mansion, and, entering +the room, I took my accustomed place at the table. None present seemed +disposed to conversation. The little that was said was spoken in a low, +subdued tone, and no allusion was made to the startling event of the +day. At last the octoroon woman asked me if I had met Mrs. Barnes at the +farmer's.</p> + +<p>"Yes," I replied, "and I was greatly pleased with her. She seems one of +those rare women who would lend grace to even the lowest station."</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i> a rare woman; a true, sincere Christian. Every one loves her; +but few know all her worth; only those do who have gone to her in sorrow +and trial, as—" and her voice trembled, and her eyes moistened—"as I +have."</p> + +<p>And so that poor, outcast, despised, dishonored woman, scorned and +cast-off by all the world, had found one sympathizing, pitying friend. +Truly, "He tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."</p> + +<p>When the meal was over, all but Madam P—— retired to the library. +Tommy and I fell to reading, but the Colonel shortly rose and continued +pacing up and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> down the apartment till the clock sounded eight. The lady +then entered, and said to him.</p> + +<p>"The negroes are ready, David; will <i>you</i> go, Mr. K——?"</p> + +<p>"I think not, madam," I replied; "at least not now."</p> + +<p>I continued reading, for a time, when, tiring of the book, I laid it +down, and followed them to the little burial-ground.</p> + +<p>The grave of Sam was open, and the plantation blacks were gathered +around it. In the centre of the group, and at the head of the rude +coffin, the Colonel was seated, and near him the octoroon woman and her +son. The old preacher was speaking.</p> + +<p>"My chil'ren," he said: "she hab gone ter Him, wid har chile: gone up +dar, whar dey doan't sorrer no more, whar dey doan't weep no more, whar +all tears am wiped from dar eyes foreber. I knows she lay han's on +harseff, and dat, my chil'ren, am whot none ob us shud do, 'case we'm de +Lord's; He put us har, an' he'll take us 'way when we's fru wid our +work, not afore. We hab no right ter gwo afore. Pore Juley did—but +p'raps she cudn't help it. P'raps de great sorrer war so big in har +heart, dat she cudn't fine rest nowhar but in de cole, dark riber. +P'raps she warn't ter blame—p'raps," and here his eyes filled: "p'raps +ole Pomp war all ter blame, for I tole har, my chil'ren"—he could say +no more, and sinking down on a rude seat, he covered his face, and +sobbed audibly. Even the Colonel's strong frame heaved with emotion, and +not a dry eye was near. After a time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> the old man rose again, and with +streaming eyes, and upturned face, continued:</p> + +<p>"Dars One up dar, my chil'ren, dat say: 'Come unter Me, all ye dat am a +weary an' a heaby laden, an' I will gib you ress.' He, de good Lord, He +say dat; and p'raps Juley hard Him say it, an' dat make har gwo." Again +his voice failed, and he sank down, weeping and moaning as if his heart +would break.</p> + +<p>A pause followed, when the Colonel rose, and aided by Jim and two other +blacks, with his own hands nailed down the lid, and lowered the rude +coffin into the ground. Then the earth was thrown upon it, and then the +long, low chant which the negroes raise over the dead, mingling now with +sobs and moans, and breaking into a strange wild wail, went up among the +pines, and floating off on the still night air, echoed through the dark +woods, till it sounded like music from the grave. I have been in the +chamber of the dying; I have seen the young and the beautiful laid away +in the earth; but I never felt the solemn awfulness of death, as I did, +when, in the stillness and darkness of night, I listened to the wild +grief of that negro group, and saw the bodies of that slave mother and +her child, lowered to their everlasting rest by the side of Sam.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>HOMEWARD.</h3> + + +<p>The morning broke bright and mellow with the rays of the winter sun, +which in Carolina lends the warmth of October to the chills of January, +when, with my portmanteau strapped, and my thin overcoat on my arm, I +gave my last "God bless you" to the octoroon woman, and turned my face +toward home.</p> + +<p>Jim shouted "all ready," the driver cracked his whip, and we were on our +way to Georgetown.</p> + +<p>The recent rains had hardened the roads, the bridges were repaired, and +we were whirled rapidly forward, and, at one o'clock, reached +Bucksville. There we met a cordial welcome, and remained to dinner. Our +host pressed us to pass the night at his house, but the Colonel had +business with one of his secession friends residing down the road—my +wayside acquaintance, Colonel A——, and desired to stay overnight with +him. At three o'clock, bidding a kindly farewell to Captain B—— and his +excellent family, we were again on our way.</p> + +<p>The sun was just sinking among the western pines, when we turned into a +broad avenue, lined with stately old trees, and rode up to the door-way +of the rice-planter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> It was a large, square, dingy old house, seated on +a gentle knoll, a short half-mile from the river, along whose banks +stretched the rice-fields. We entered, and were soon welcomed by its +proprietor.</p> + +<p>He received my friend warmly, and gave me a courteous greeting, +remarking, when I mentioned that I was homeward bound, that it was wise +to go. "Things are very unsettled; there's no telling what a day may +bring forth; feeling is running very high, and a Northern man, whatever +his principles, is not safe here. By-the-way," he added, "did you not +meet with some little obstruction at Conwayboro', on your way up?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did; a person there ordered me back, but when things began to +look serious, Scipio, the negro whom you saw with me, got me out of the +hobble."</p> + +<p>"Didn't he tell the gentleman that you were a particular friend of mine, +and had met me by appointment at Captain B——'s?" he asked, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I believe he did, sir; but I assure you, <i>I</i> said nothing of the kind, +and I think the black should not be blamed, under the circumstances."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; I don't blame him. I think he did a smart thing. He might have +said you were my grandmother, if it would have served you, for that low +fellow is as fractious as the devil, and dead sure on the trigger."</p> + +<p>"You are very good, sir," I replied: "how did you hear of it?"</p> + +<p>"A day or two afterward, B—— passed here on his way to Georgetown. I +had been riding out, and happened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> to be at the head of my avenue when +he was going by. He stopped, and asked if I knew you. Not knowing, then, +the circumstances, I said that I had met you casually at Bucksville, but +had no particular acquaintance with you. He rode on, saying nothing +further. The next morning, I had occasion to go to Georgetown, and at +Mr. Fraser's office, accidentally heard that Scip—who is well-known and +universally liked there—was to have a public whipping that evening. +Something prompted me to inquire into it, and I was told that he had +been charged by B—— with shielding a well-known abolitionist at +Conwayboro'—a man who was going through the up-country, distributing +such damnable publications as the New York <i>Independent</i> and <i>Tribune</i>. +I knew, of course, it referred to you, and that it wasn't true. I went +to Scip and got the facts, and by stretching the truth a little, finally +got him off. There was a slight discrepancy between my two accounts of +you" (and here he laughed heartily), "and B——, when we were before the +Justice, remarked on it, and came d——d near calling me a liar. It was +lucky he didn't, for if he had, he'd have gone to h—l before the place +was hot enough for him."</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you, my dear sir, how grateful I am to you for this. It +would have pained me more than I can express, if Scip had suffered for +doing a disinterested kindness to me."</p> + +<p>Early in the morning we were again on our way, and twelve o'clock found +us seated at a dinner of bacon,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> corn-bread, and waffles, in the "first +hotel" of Georgetown. The Charleston boat was to leave at three o'clock; +and, as soon as dinner was over, I sallied out to find Scip. After a +half-hour's search I found him on "Shackelford's wharf," engaged in +loading a schooner bound for New York with a cargo of cotton and +turpentine.</p> + +<p>He was delighted to see me, and when I had told him I was going home, +and might never see him again, I took his hand warmly in mine, and said:</p> + +<p>"Scip, I have heard of the disgrace that was near being put upon you on +my account, and I feel deeply the disinterested service you did to me; +now, I <i>can not</i> go away without doing <i>something</i> for you—showing you +in <i>some</i> way that I appreciate and <i>like</i> you."</p> + +<p>"I like's <i>you</i>, massa," he replied, the tears coming to his eyes: "I +tuk ter you de bery fuss day I seed you, 'case, I s'pose," and he wrung +my hand till it ached: "you pitied de pore brack man. But you karnt do +nuffin fur <i>me</i>, massa; I doant want nuffin; I doant want ter leab har, +'case de Lord dat put me har, arn't willin' I shud gwo. But you kin do +suffin, massa, fur de pore brack man,—an' dat'll be doin' it fur <i>me</i>, +'case my heart am all in dat. You kin tell dem folks up dar, whar you +lib, massa, dat we'm not like de brutes, as dey tink we is. Dat we's got +souls, an' telligence, an' feelin's, an' am men like demselfs. You kin +tell 'em, too, massa,—'case you's edication, and kin talk—how de pore +wite man 'am kep' down har; how he'm ragged, an' starvin', an' ob no +account, 'case de brack man am a slave. How der<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> chil'ren can't get no +schulein', how eben de grow'd up ones doan't know nuffin—not eben so +much as de pore brack slave, 'case de 'stockracy wan't dar votes, an +cudn't get 'em ef dey 'low'd 'em larning. Ef your folks know'd all de +trufh—ef dey know'd how both de brack an' de pore w'ite man, am on de +groun', and can't git up, ob demselfs—dey'd do <i>suffin'</i>—dey'd break +de Constertution—dey'd do suffin' ter help us. I doant want no one +hurted, I doant want no one wronged; but jess tink ob it, massa, four +million ob bracks, and nigh so many pore wites, wid de bressed gospil +shinin' down on 'em, an' dey not knowin' on it. All dem—ebry one of +'em—made in de image ob de great God, an' dey driven roun', an' 'bused +wuss dan de brutes. You's seed dis, massa, wid your own eyes, an' you +kin tell 'em on it; an' you <i>will</i> tell 'em on it, massa;" and again he +took my hand while the tears rolled down his cheeks; "an' Scip will +bress you fur it, massa; wid his bery lass breaf he'll bress you; an' de +good Lord will bress you, too, massa; He will foreber bress you, for +He'm on de side ob de pore, an' de 'flicted: His own book say dat, an' +it am true, I knows it, fur I feels it <i>har</i>;" and he laid his hand on +his heart, and was silent.</p> + +<p>I could not speak for a moment. When I mastered my feelings, I said, "I +<i>will</i> do it Scip; as God gives me strength, I <i>will</i>."</p> + +<p>Reader, I am keeping my word.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></h2> + +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> + + +<p>This is not a work of fiction. It is a record of facts, and therefore +the reader will not expect me to dispose of its various characters on +artistic principles—that is, lay them away in one of those final +receptacles for the creations of the romancer—the grave and matrimony. +Death has been among them, but nearly all are yet doing their work in +this breathing, busy world.</p> + +<p>The characters I have introduced are real. They are not drawn with the +pencil of fancy, nor, I trust, colored with the tints of prejudice. The +scenes I have described are true. I have taken some liberties with the +names of persons and places, and, in a few instances, altered dates; but +the events themselves occurred under my own observation. No one +acquainted with the section of country I have described, or familiar +with the characters I have delineated, will question this statement. +Lest some one who has not seen the slave and the poor white man of the +South, as he actually is, should deem my picture overdrawn, I will say +that "the half has not been told!" If the whole were related—if the +Southern system, in all its naked ugliness, were fully exposed—the +truth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> would read like fiction, and the baldest relation of fact like +the wildest dream, of romance.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The overseer was never taken. A letter which I received from Colonel +J——, shortly prior to the stoppage of the mails, informed me that Moye +had succeeded in crossing the mountains into Tennessee, where, in an +interior town, he disposed of the horse, and then made his way by an +inland route to the free states. The horse the Colonel had recovered, +but the overseer he never expected to see. Moye is now, no doubt, +somewhere in the North, and is probably at this present writing a +zealous Union man, of somewhat the same "stripe" as the conductors of +the New York <i>Herald</i> and the Boston <i>Courier</i>.</p> + +<p>I have not heard directly from Scipio, but one day last July, after a +long search, I found on one of the wharves of South Street, a coasting +captain, who knew him well, and who had seen him the month previous at +Georgetown. He was at that time pursuing his usual avocations, and was +as much respected and trusted, as when I met him.</p> + +<p>A few days after the tidings of the fall of Sumter were received in New +York, and when I had witnessed the spontaneous and universal uprising of +the North, which followed that event, I dispatched letters to several of +my Southern friends, giving them as near as I could an account of the +true state of feeling here, and representing the utter madness of the +course the South was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> pursuing. One of these letters went to my Union +acquaintance whom I have called, in the preceding pages, "Andy Jones."</p> + +<p>He promptly replied, and a pretty regular correspondence ensued between +us, which has continued, at intervals, even since the suspension of +intercourse between the North and the South.</p> + +<p>Andy has stood firmly and nobly by the old flag. At the risk of every +thing, he has boldly expressed his sentiments everywhere. With his life +in his hand, and—a revolver in each of his breeches-pockets, he walked +the streets of Wilmington when the secession fever was at its height, +openly proclaiming his undying loyalty to the Union, and "no man dared +gainsay him."</p> + +<p>But with all his patriotism, Andy keeps a bright eye on the "main +chance." Like his brother, the Northern Yankee, whom he somewhat +resembles and greatly admires, he never omits an opportunity of "turning +an honest penny." In defiance of custom-house regulations, and of our +strict blockade, he has carried on a more or less regular traffic with +New York and Boston (<i>via</i> Halifax and other neutral ports), ever since +North Carolina seceded. His turpentine—while it was still his +property—has been sold in the New York market, under the very eyes of +the government officials—and, honest reader, <i>I</i> have known of it.</p> + +<p>By various roundabout means, I have recently received letters from him. +His last, dated in April, and brought to a neutral port by a shipmaster +whom he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> implicitly trusts, has reached me since the previous chapters +were written. It covers six pages of foolscap, and is written in +defiance of all grammatical and orthographical principles; but as it +conveys important intelligence, in regard to some of the persons +mentioned in this narrative, I will transcribe a portion of it.</p> + +<p>It gave me the melancholy tidings of the death of Colonel J——. He had +joined the Confederate army, and fell, bravely meeting a charge of the +Massachusetts troops, at Roanoke.</p> + +<p>On receiving the news of his friend's death, Andy rode over to the +plantation, and found Madam P—— plunged in the deepest grief. While he +was there a letter arrived from Charleston, with intelligence of the +dangerous illness of her son. This second blow crushed her. For several +days she was delirious, and her life despaired of; but throughout the +whole the noble corn-cracker, neglecting every thing, remained beside +her.</p> + +<p>When she returned to herself, and had in a measure recovered her +strength, she learned that the Colonel had left no will; that she was +still a slave; and soon to be sold, with the rest of the Colonel's +<i>personal property</i>, according to law.</p> + +<p>This is what Andy writes about the affair. I give the letter as he wrote +it, merely correcting the punctuation, and enough of the spelling, to +make it intelligible.</p> + +<p>"W'en I hard thet th' Cunel hadent leff no wil, I was hard put what ter +dew; but arter thinkin' on it over a spell, I knowed shede har on it +sumhow; so I 'cluded to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> tel har miseff. She tuk on d——d hard at +fust, but arter a bit, grew more calm like, and then she sed it war +God's wil, an' she wudent komplane. Ye nows I've got a wife, but wen the +ma'am sed thet, she luk'd so like an angel, thet d——d eff I cud help +puttin' my arms round har, an' hugin' on har, till she a'moste +screeched. Wal, I toled har, Id stan' by har eff evrithing went ter +h—l—an I wil, by ——.</p> + +<p>"I made up mi minde to onst, what ter dew. It war darned harde work tur +bee'way from hum jess then, but I war in fur it; soe I put ter +Charleston, ter see th' Cunel's 'oman. Wal, I seed har, an' I toled har +how th' ma'am felte, an' how mutch shede dun at makein' th' Cunel's +money—(she made nigh th' hul on it, 'case he war alers keerles, an' tuk +no 'count uv things; eff tadent ben fur thet, hede made a wil,) an' I +axed har ter see thet the ma'am had free papers ter onst. An' whot der +ye 'spoze she sed? Nuthin, by —— 'cept she dident no nuthin' 'bout +bisniss, an' leff all uv sech things ter har loryer. Wal, then I went +ter him—he ar one on them slick, ily, seceshun houn's, who'd sell thar +soles fur a kountterfit dollar—an' he toled me, th' 'ministratur hadent +sot yit, an' he cudent dew nuthin til he hed. Ses I: 'ye mean th' +'ooman's got ter gwo ter th' hi'est bider?' 'Yas,' he sed, 'the Cunel's +got dets, an' the've got ter bee pade, an' th' persoonel prop'ty muste +bee sold ter dew it.' Then I sed, 'twud bee sum time fore thet war dun, +an' the 'ooman's 'most ded an' uv no use now; 'what'll ye <i>hire</i> har tur +me fur.' He sed a hun'red for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> sicks months. I planked down the money +ter onst, an' put off.</p> + +<p>"I war bilin' over, but it sumhow cum inter my hed thet the Cunnel's +'ooman cudn't bee <i>all</i> stun; so I gose thar agin; an' I toled har what +the loryer sed, an' made a reg'lar stump-'peal tew har bettar natur. I +axed har eff she'd leff the 'ooman who'd made har husban's fortun, who +war the muther ov his chil'ren, who fur twenty yar, hed nussed him in +sickness, an' cheered him in healtf; ef shede let <i>thet 'ooman</i>, bee +auckyund off ter th' hi'est bider. I axed al thet, an' what der ye think +she sed, Why jest this. '<i>I</i> doant no nuthin' bout it, Mister Jones. Ye +raily must talke ter mi loryer; them maters I leaves 'tirely ter him.' +Then, I sed, I 'spozed the niggers war ter bee advertist. 'O, yas!' she +sed, (an' ye see, she know'd a d——d site 'bout <i>thet</i>), 'all on 'em +muss be solde, 'case, ye knows, I never did luv the kuntry,—'sides <i>I</i> +cud'ent karry on the plantashun, no how.' Then, sed I: 'the Orlean's +traders 'ill be thar—an' she wunt sell fur but one use, fur she's +hansum yit; an' ma'am, ye wunt leff a 'ooman as white as you is, who fur +twenty yar, hes ben a tru an' fatheful <i>wife</i> tar yer own ded husban,' +(I shudn't hev put thet in, but d——d ef I cud help it,) ye wunt put +<i>har</i> up on the block, an' hev har struck down ter the hi'est bider, ter +bee made a d—— d—— on?'</p> + +<p>"Wal, I s'pose she hadent forgot thet, fur more'n twelve yar, the Cunnel +hed <i>luv'd</i> t'other 'ooman, an' onely <i>liked</i> har; fur w'en I sed thet, +har ize snapped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> like h—l, an' she screetched eout thet she dident 'low +no sech wurds in har hous', an' ordurd me ter leave. Mi'tey sqeemish +thet, warn't it? bein' as shede ben fur so mony yar the Cunnel's ——, +an' th' tuther one his raal wife.</p> + +<p>"Wal, I <i>did</i> leav'; but I left a piece of mi mind a-hind. I toled har +I'de buy that ar 'ooman ef she cost all I war wuth and I had ter pawne +my sole ter git the money; an' I added, jess by way ov sweet'nin' the +pill, thet I ow'd all I hed ter har husband, an' dident furget <i>my</i> +debts ef she did <i>her'n</i>, an' ef his own wife disgraced him, I'd be +d——d ef <i>I</i> wud.</p> + +<p>"Wal, I've got th' ma'am an' har boy ter hum, an' my 'ooman hes tuk ter +har a heep. I doant no w'en the sale's ter cum off, but ye may bet hi' +on my beein' thar; an' I'll buy har ef I hev ter go my hull pile on har, +an' borrer th' money fur ole Pomp. But <i>he'll</i> go cheap, 'case the +Cunnel's deth nigh dun him up. It clean killed Ante Lucey. She never +held her hed up arter she heerd 'Masser Davy' war dead, fur she sot har +vary life on him. Don't ye fele consarned 'bout the ma'am—I knows ye +sot hi' on har—<i>I'll buy har</i>, shore. Thet an' deth ar th' onely things +thet I knows on, in this wurld, jess now, that ar <span class="smcap">sartin</span>."</p> + +<p>Such is Andy's letter. Mis-spelled and profane though it be, I would not +alter a word or a syllable of it. It deserves to be written in +characters of gold, and hung up in the sky, where it might be read by +all the world. And it <i>is</i> written in the sky—in the great +record-book—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> it will be read when you and I, reader, meet the +assembled universe, to give account of what <i>we</i> have done and written. +God grant that our record may show some such deed as that!</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMONG THE PINES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 22960-h.txt or 22960-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/9/6/22960">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/9/6/22960</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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