I noticed his clothing though bearing evident marks of a drenching, was then dry, and I inquired: "How did you dry your clothes?"
"I staid wid some ob de cullud folks, and arter you gwoes up stars, I went to dar cabin, and dey gabe mesome 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."
"Will not those folks tell what you did, and thus get you into trouble?"
"Tell!Lordbless you, massa,de bracks am all freemasons; dat ar ole man and woman wud die 'fore dey'd tell."
"But are not Captain B—-'s negroes contented?" I asked; "they seem to be well treated."
"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."
"I should think he was a very good man," I replied.
"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."
"Tell me, Scipio," I resumed after a while, "how it is you can repeat that passage from Isaiah so well?"
"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."
"Have you read any others?" I asked.
"None but dat and Doctor Watts. I habdem, but wite folks wont sell books to de bracks, and I wont steal 'em. I read de papers sometimes."
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 theBible, that I had with me.
"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."
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."
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.
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, thanwould 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."
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:
"I see you are from the North, sir."
Taken a little aback by the abruptness of the "salute," but guessing his object, I answered: "No, sir; I am from the South."
"From what part of the South?"
"I left Georgetown yesterday, and Charleston two days before that," I replied, endeavoring to seem entirely oblivious to his meaning.
"We don't want to know whar you war yesterday; we want to know whar youbelong," he said, with a little impatience.
"Oh! that's it. Well, sir, I belongherejust at present, or rather I shall, when I have paid the landlady for my dinner."
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 whocarries the New YorkIndependentto travel in South Carolina."
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:
"That's a pity, sir. South Carolina will lose by it."
"This game wont work, sir. We don't want such people as you har, and the sooner you make tracks the better."
"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.
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."
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 thisplace 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."
My blood was up, and I was fast losing that better part of valor called discretion; andheevidently 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; whatamyou '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."
"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?"
"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?"
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 meeta man who had the New YorkIndependentabout 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."
"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."
"Iamrather 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 theraal stuffclose by."
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.
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 heknows I cum de possum ober him 'bout de Cunnel, he'll be down on youshore."
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.
[B]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.
[B]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.
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.
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.
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,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 theBookofBooks, slowly putting letters into words, and words into sentences, that he might know "What God says to the black man." 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.
As these things passed before me, and I thought of his rare intelligence, of his fine traits of character, andof 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.
As I mused over his "strange, eventful history," and thought of the handy way nature has of putting therightman in thewrongplace, 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,à laBarnum, 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 "BrotherPease" at the Five-Points, or as co-laborer with Fred Douglass at abolition conventions, or, if that didn'tpay, 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 thatScipwasFree.
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:
"Colonel A—— tells me, Scip, that your mistress wants to sell you. Do you know what she asks?"
"She ax fifteen hundred dollar, massa, but I an't worth dat now. Nigger property's mighty low."
"What is your value now?"
"P'raps eight hundred, p'raps a thousand dollar, massa."
"Would your mistress take a thousand for you?"
"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."
"Why afraid you'll runaway? Did you ever try to?"
"Try to!Lorbless you, massa, I neber taught ob such a ting—wouldn't gwo ef I could."
"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 afreeman?"
"Buy myself, sar!" he exclaimed in surprise; "buymy ownflesh and blood dat deLordhissef gabe me! No, no! massa; I'd likes to be free, but I'd neber dodat!"
"Why not do that?" I asked.
"'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."
"Why should you stay here? You have no wife nor child; why not go where the black man is respected and useful?"
"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."
"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."
"Sar," he replied, a singular enthusiasm lighting up his face, "deLord, 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 toHim, and I say, 'Lord, 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;' denHesay to me, just so plain as I say it to you, 'Keep up good courage, Scipio, de timewill come;'[C]and now, bless deLord, de time am coming!"
"Whattime is coming, Scipio?"
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."
"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!"
"It will come, massa, as deLordwill. WhenHewar freedde earth shook, and de vail ob de temple war rent in twain!"
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."
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"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.
"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."
"Why good at swimming?" I inquired.
"'Cause the 'runs' have ris, and ar considerable deep by this time."
"That's comforting news."
"Yas, to a man as seems in a hurry," he replied, looking at my horse, which was covered with foam.
"How far is it to the nearest run?" I asked.
"Wal, it mought be six mile; it mought be seven, but you've one or two all-fired ones to cross arter that."
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. Longbefore 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:
"I say, stranger, what's the talk in the city?"
"Nothing, sir," I replied, "but fight and Secession."
"D—n Secession!" was the decidedly energetic answer.
"Why so, my friend? That doctrine seems to be popular hereabouts."
"Yas, pop'lar with them South Car'lina chaps. They'd be oneasy in heaven if Gabriel was cook, and theLordhead-waiter."
"They must be hard to suit," I said; "I 'kalkerlate'you'renot a South Carolinian."
"No, sir-ee! not by several mile. My mother moved over the line to born me a decent individual."
"But why are you for the Union, when your neighbors go the other way?"
"'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."
"But, my friend," I said, "they say Lincoln is an Abolitionist, and if inaugurated, he will free every darky you've got."
"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."
"See the niggers free!" I replied in undisguised astonishment; "why, my good sir, that is rank treason and abolition."
"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."
"There, my friend, you're mistaken. I'm neither an Abolitionist nor a dough-face. Butwhydo you go for freeing the niggers?"
"'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."
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-owner, 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 thevery heartof Secessiondom.
Bidding the turpentine-getter a rather reluctant "good-by," I rode on into the rain.
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.
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!Turning to the darky, who was then driving, I said quickly:
"Scip, stop the horse. Where are we?"
"Don't know, massa; reckon we'se in de riber."
"A comfortable situation this. We can't turn round. The horse can't swim such a stream in harness. What shall we do?"
"Can you swim, massa?" he quietly asked.
"Yes, like an eel."
"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."
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.
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.
It may have been one minute, it may have been five minutes—I took "no note oftime"—before the horseagain 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!
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 hadbeen directed to follow. Inwardly cursing the folly which brought me into such a wilderness, I said to the darky:
"Scip, I'm sorry I took you on such a trip as this."
"Oh! neber mind me, massa; I ruther like de dark night and de storm."
"Like the night and the storm! why so?"
"'Cause den de wild spirits come out, and talk in de trees. Dey make me feel bery stronghar," he replied, striking his hand on his breast.
"The night and the storm, Scip, makemefeel like cultivating another sort ofspirits. There are some in the wagon-box; suppose we stop and see what they are."
We stopped, and I took out a small willow-flask, which held the "spirits of Otard," and offered it to the darky.
"No, massa," he said, laughing, "I neber touch dem sort ob spirits; dey raise de bery ole deble."
Not heeding the darky's example, I took "a long and a strong pull," and—felt the better for it.
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.
"A light, massa, a light!"
"Where?"
"Dar, way off in de trees—"
"Sure enough, glory, hallelujah, there it is! We're all right now, Scip."
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.
"Who ar ye?" was the reply.
"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?"
"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."
[C]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 theLordspeaks 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 deLord."
[C]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 theLordspeaks 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 deLord."
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
"sot Huldy all alone,When Zeke peeked thru the winder;"
and on it, her head resting partly on her arm, partly on the end of the settle, one small, bare foot pressing theground, 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.
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.
Two pretty girls, one of perhaps ten and the other offourteen 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 wereSouth Carolinians. When such counterparts of the feudal serfs still exist, who will say that the days of chivalry are over!
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—
"Reckon yer wet. Ben in the rain!"
"Yes, madam, we've been out most of the day, and got in the river below here."
"Did ye? Ye mean the 'run.' I reckon it's right deep now."
"Yes, our horse had to swim," I replied.
"Ye orter strip and put on dry cloes to onst."
"Thank you, madam, I will."
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.
"Every thing is thoroughly soaked, madam. I shall have to dry myself by your fire. Can you get me a cup of tea?"
"Right sorry, stranger, but I can't. Haint a morsel to eat or drink in the house."
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.
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.
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.
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 seeminclined to do so, but the woman, observing my gesture, yelled out, her eyes flashing with anger:
"No, sar! No darkies eats with us. Hope you don't reckonyerselfno better than a good-for-nothin', no account nigger!"
"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."
This mollified the lady, and she replied:
"Niggers is good enuff in thar place, but warn't meant to 'sociate with white folks."
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.
She soon resumed the conversation with this remark:
"Reckon yer a stranger in these parts; whar d'ye come from?"
"From New York, madam."
"New York! whar's that?"
"It's a city at the North."
"Oh! yas; I've heern tell on it: that's whar the Cunnel sells his turpentime. Quite a place, arnt it?"
"Yes, quite a place. Something larger than all South Carolina."
"What d'ye say? Larger nor South Carolina. Kinder reckon tain't, is't?"
"Yes, madam, it is."
"Du tell! 'Taint so large as Charles'n, is't?"
"Yes, twenty times larger than Charleston."
"Lord o'massy! How does all the folks live thar?"
"Live quite as well as they do here."
"Ye don't have no niggers thar, does ye?"
"Yes, but none that are slaves."
"Have Ablisherners thar, don't ye? them people that go agin the South?"
"Yes, some of them."
"What do they go agin the South for?"
"They go for freeing the slaves. Some of them think a black man as good as a white one."
"Quar, that; yer an Ablisherner, arnt ye?"
"No, I'm an old-fashioned Whig."
"What's that? Never heerd on them afore."
"An old-fashioned Whig, madam, is a man whose political principles are perfect, and who is as perfect as his principles."
That was a "stumper" for the poor woman, who evidently did not understand one-half of the sentence.
"Right sort of folks, them," she said, in a half inquiring tone.
"Yes, but they're all dead now."
"Dead?"
"Yes, dead, beyond the hope of resurrection."
"Iv'e heern all the dead war to be resurrected. Didn't ye say ye war one on 'em?Yeaint dead yet," said the woman, chuckling at having cornered me.
"But I'm more thanhalfdead just now."
"Ah," replied the woman, still laughing, "yer a chicken."
"A chicken! what's that?"
"A thing that goes on tu legs, and karkles," was the ready reply.
"Ah, my dear madam, you can out-talk me."
"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?"
"I didn't elect him.Ivoted for Douglas. But Lincoln is not a darky."
"He's a mullater, then; I've heern he war," she replied.
"No, he's not a mulatto; he's a rail-splitter."
"Rail-splitter?Then he's a nigger, shore."
"No, madam; white men at the North split rails."
"An' white wimmin tu, p'raps," said the woman, with a contemptuous toss of the head.
"No, they don't," I replied, "but white womenworkthere."
"White wimmin work thar!" chimed in the hitherto speechless beauty, showing a set of teeth of the exact color of her skin—yaller. "What du the' du?"
"Some of them attend in stores, some set type, some teach school, and some work in factories."
"Du tell! Dress nice, and make money?"
"Yes," I replied, "they make money, and dress like fine ladies; in fact,arefine 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."
"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 workshar. I reckon I'd rather be 'spectable than work for a livin'."
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:
"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."
"Yas, and that's the why ye'r all sech cowards," said the old woman.
"Cowards!" I said; "who tells you that?"
"My old man; he says one on ourboyscan lick five of your Yankeemen."
"Perhaps so. Is your husband away from home?"
"Yas, him and our Cal. ar down to Charles'n."
"Cal. is your son, is he?"
"Yas, he's my oldest, and a likely lad he ar tu—he's twenty-one, and his name areJohn Cal'oun Mills. He's gone a troopin' it with his fader."
"What, both gone and left you ladies here alone?"
"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."
"But I should think the Colonel looked after you poorly—giving you nothing to eat."
"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."
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:
"Indeed; I'm going to the Colonel's. How far is his house from here?"
"A right smart six mile; it's at the Cross roads. Ye know the Cunnel, du ye?"
"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?"
"I reckon we'd better gwo, massa," replied the darky,who had spread my travelling-shawl in the chimney-corner, and was seated on it, drying his clothes.
"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."
"If that is so we'd better stay, Scip; don't you think so?" I said to the darky.
"Jess as you say, massa. We got fru wid de oder one, and I reckon taint no wuss nor dat."
"The bridge ar carried away, and ye'll hev to swimshore," said the woman. "Ye'd better stay."
"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."
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.
"Mighty good brandy that," at last said the woman. "Ye like brandy, don't ye?"
"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."
"Don't like dem sort of sperits, massa; but rumatics neber trubble me."
"But I've got it mighty bad," said the woman, "and I take 'em whenever I kin get 'em."
I rather thought she did, but I "reckoned" her principal beverage was whiskey.
"You have the rheumatism, madam, because your house is so open; a draught of air is always unhealthy."
"I allers reckoned 'twarhealthy," she replied. "Ye Yankee folks have quar notions."
I looked at my watch, and found it was nearly ten o'clock, and, feeling very tired, said to the hostess:
"Where do you mean we shall sleep?"
"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.
"But where will you and your daughters sleep? I don't wish to turn you out of your beds."
"Oh! don't ye keer for us; we kin all bunk together; dun it afore. Like to turn in now?"
"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.
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.
The darky rose as soon as they were gone, and, coming to me, said:
"Massa, we'd better be gwine. I'se got your cloes all dry, and you can rig up and breakfust at de Cunnel's."
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:
"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."
"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."
That struck me as "rather steep" for "common doin's," particularly as we had furnished the food and"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?"
I fumbled in my pocket a moment, and found a quarter-eagle, which I gave her.
"Haint got nary a fip o' change," she said, as she took it.
"Oh! never mind the change, madam; I shall want to stop andlookat you when I return," I replied, good-humoredly.
"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.
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 muchlike the look of a cow when a railway train is passing. It needed but little observation to convince me that theirstatuswas but one step above the level of the brutes.
As we rode along I said to the driver, "Scip, what did you think of our lodgings?"
"Mighty pore, massa. Niggas lib better'n dat."
"Yes," I replied, "but these folks despise you blacks; they seem to be both poor and proud."
"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."
"Who told you that?" I asked, astonished at hearing a remark showing so much reflection from a negro.
"Nobody, massa; I see it myseff."
"Are there many of these poor whites around Georgetown?"
"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."
"Eat clay!" I said; "what do you mean by that?"
"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."
"Can it be possible that human beings do such things! The brutes wouldn't do that."
"No, massa, butdeydo 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."
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.
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.
The darky's plan was decided on, and divesting himself of his trowsers, he waded into the "run" to take the soundings.
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: