[D]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."
[D]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."
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.
"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."
"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."
"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."
"Excuse me, Aunty; I know your master is a man of honor; but he's very much excited, and very angry with Scip."
"No matter for dat, sar; Massa Davy neber done a mean ting sense he war born."
"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.
"What ef he am crazy? You'se safehar," rejoined the old woman, dropping her aged limbs into a chair, and rocking away with much the air which ancient white ladies occasionally assume.
"Wont you ax Massa K—— to a cheer?" said Scip; "he hab ben bery kine to me."
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.
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 crackedglasses, 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.
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.
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;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.
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."
"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."
"The Colonel, then, has befriended you at some time?"
"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."
"Thenwhydid you do it?"
The black hesitated a moment, and glanced at the old negress, then said:
"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."
I noticed certain convulsive twitchings about the corners of the old woman's mouth as she rose from herseat, threw her arms around Scip, and, in words broken by sobs, faltered out:
"Youam my chile; I loves you better dan Massa Davy—better dan all de worle."
The scene, had they not been black, would have been one for a painter.
"You were the Colonel's nurse, Aunty," I said, when she had regained her composure. "Have you always lived with him?"
"Yas, sar, allers; I nussed him, and den de chil'ren—all ob 'em."
"Allthe children? I thought the Colonel had but one—Miss Clara."
"Wal, he habn't, massa, only de boys."
"What boys? I never heard he had sons."
"Neber heerd of young Massa Davy, nor Massa Tommy! Haint youseedMassa Tommy, sar?"
"Tommy! I was told he was Madam P——'s son."
"So he am; Massa Davy hadherlong afore he had missus."
The truth flashed upon me; but could it be possible? Was I in South Carolina or in Utah?
"WhoisMadam P——?" I asked.
The old woman hesitated a moment as if in doubt whether she had not said too much; but Scip quietly replied:
"She'm jess what aunty am—de Cunnel's slave!"
"Hisslave!it can't be possible; she is white!"
"No, massa; she am brack, and de Cunnel's slave!"
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.
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 greatlyattached to her, and much of the Colonel's wealth was due to her excellent management of the plantation.
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, buttheyhad 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.
As she finished the story, the old woman said, "Massa Davy am bery kind to the missus, sar, but helovede ma'am; an' he can't help it, 'cause she'm jess so good as de angels."[E]
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 themore common relationexisting between masters and slaves.
I looked at my watch—it was nearly ten o'clock, and I rose to go. As I did so the old negress said:
"Don't yer gwo, massa, 'fore you hab sum ob aunty's wine; you'm good friends wid Scip, and I knowsyou'senot too proud to drink wid brack folks, ef you am from de Norf."
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!
"Aunty," I said, "this wine is as fine as I ever tasted."
"Oh, yas, massa, it am de raal stuff. I growed de grapes myseff."
"You grew them?"
"Yas, sar, an' Massa Davy make de wine. He do it ebery yar for de ole nuss."
"The Colonel is very good. Do you raise any thing else?"
"Yas, I hab collards and taters, a little corn, and most ebery ting."
"But who does your work?Youcertainly can't do it?"
"Oh, de ma'am looks arter dat, sar; she'm bery good to de ole aunty."
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.
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.
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.
"Where in creation have you been, my dear fellow?" he asked, as we took our seats.
"At old Lucy's cabin, with Scip," I replied.
"Indeed. I supposed the darky had gone."
"No, he doesn't go till the morning."
"I told you he wouldn't, David," said Madame P——; "now, send for him—make friends with him before he goes."
"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."
"No matter for that; our people would like you the better for it."
"No, no. I can't do it. I mean him no harm, but I can't do that."
"He told mewhyhe interfered between you and Moye," I remarked.
"Why did he?"
"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."
"It is true, David; you would have had to answer for it."
"Nonsense! what influence could this North County scum have againstme?"
"Perhaps none. But that makes no difference; Scipio did right, and you should tell him you forgive him."
The Colonel then rang a small bell, and a negro womansoon 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."
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."
"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."
"Aunt Lucy say ma'am am an angel, sar, and it am tru—it am tru, sar," replied the negro with considerable feeling.
The lady rose, also, and took Scip's hand, saying, "Inot only forgive you, but Ithankyou for what you have done. I shall never forget it."
"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."
"I know you didn't, Scip; but we'll say no more about it;—good-by," said the Colonel.
Shaking hands with each one of us, the darky left the apartment.
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 cuttingoff 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.
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."
"Such cases are not rare, sir. They show the paternal character of our 'institution.' We areforcedto care for our servants in their old age."
"But have your other aged slaves the same comforts that Aunt Lucy has?"
"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."
"Is not the support of that class a heavy tax upon you?"
"Yes, itisheavy. We have, of course, to deduct it from the labor of the able-bodied hands."
"What is the usual proportion of sick and infirm on your plantation?"
"Counting in the child-bearing women, I reckon about twenty per cent."
"And what does it cost you to support each hand?"
"Well, it costsme, for children and all, about seventy-five dollars a year. In some places it costs less.Ihave to buy all my provisions."
"What proportion of your slaves are able-bodied hands?"
"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-fourfullhands. You understand that we classify them: some do only half tasks, some three-quarters. I havemorethan a hundred and fifty-four working-men and women, but they do only that number of full tasks."
"What does the labor of afullhand yield?"
"At the present price of turpentine, my calculation is about two hundred dollars a year."
"Then your crop brings you about thirty-one thousand dollars, and the support of your negroes costs you twenty thousand."
"Yes."
"If that's the case, my friend, let me advise you to sell your plantation, free your niggers, and go North."
"Why so, my dear fellow?" asked the Colonel laughing.
"Because you'd make money by the operation."
"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.
"Well, you have two hundred and seventy negroes,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 reallyclearnow. Besides, if you should invest seventy thousand dollars in almost any legitimate business at the North, and should add to it,as you now do, yourtimeandlabor, you would realize far more than you do at present from your entire capital."
"I never looked at the matter in that light. But I have given you my profits as theynoware; some years I make more; six years ago I made twenty-five thousand dollars."
"Yes; and six years hence you may make nothing."
"That's true. But it would cost me more to live at the North."
"There you are mistaken. What do you pay for your corn, your pork, and your hay, for instance?"
"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."
"And in New York you could buy it now at sixty to seventy cents. What does your hay cost?"
"Thirty-five dollars. I pay twenty for it in New York—the balance is freight and hauling."
"Your pork costs you two or three dollars, I suppose, for freight and hauling."
"Yes; about that."
"Then in those items you might save nearly a hundred per cent.; and they are the principal articles you consume."
"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."
"That may be true. But it only shows that our laborers fare better than your slaves."
"I am not sure of that. Iamsure, however, that our slaves are more contented than the run of laboring men at the North."
"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.You Southern nabobswillhave it; and you have topay for it."
"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."
"Ithink," 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.'"
"It does more than that, sir," said Madam P——, with animation; "it brutalizes and degrades themasterand theslave; 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 itmustcome to an end."
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, andby his slave. The Colonel, however, expressed no surprise and no disapprobation. It was evidently no new thing to him.
"It is rare, madam," I said, "to hear such sentiments from a Southern lady—one reared among slaves."
Before she could reply, the Colonel laughingly said:
"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?"
"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 convertyou, and Mr. K—— can see the result."
It had grown late; and with my head full of working niggers and white slave-women, I went to my apartment.
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.
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.
"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."
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 gatheredin 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 thathetoo was of their despised, degraded race.
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.[F]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.
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 awayat 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 showedtheydidn'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."
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."
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.
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?"
"Is that you, Aunty?" said the Colonel. "How d'ye do?"
"Sort o' smart, Massa Davy; sort o' smart; how is ye?"
"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.
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 asif they too had caught the spirit of the music. In the midst of it, the Colonel said to me, in an exultant tone:
"Well, my friend, what do you think of slaverynow?"
"About the same that I thought yesterday. I see nothing to change my views."
"Why, are not these people happy? Is not this perfect enjoyment?"
"Yes; just the same enjoyment that aunty's pigs are having; don't you hearthemsinging to the music? I'll wager they are the happier of the two."
"No; you are wrong. The higher faculties of the darkies are being brought out here."
"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 makeSunday"hideous" with wild jollity, while Sam's fate may be theirs to-morrow."
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?"
"But you," I rejoined, good-humoredly, "are not a moderate man. You and Garrison are of the same stripe, both extremists.Youhave mounted one hobby,heanother; that is all the difference."
"I should be sorry," he replied, recovering his good nature, "to think myself like Garrison. I consider him the —— scoundrel unhung."
"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."
"I, for one,won'tbe held. If I can't get out of this cursed Union in any other way, I'll emigrate to Cuba."
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.
"Hallo, Jim," I said; "have you got back?"
"Yas, sar," replied Jim, grinning all over as if he had some agreeable thing to communicate.
"Where is Moye?" asked the Colonel.
"Kotched, massa; I'se got de padlocks on him."
"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.
"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."
"Never fear, Aunty," said the Colonel; "I'll give him ——."
How the Colonel kept his word will be told in another chapter.
[E]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 mypersonalknowledge 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.
[E]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 mypersonalknowledge 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.
[F]Among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is aname. 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.
[F]Among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is aname. 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.
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 uponit; 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.
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.
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 shorthickory 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.
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."
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 hiswomenhad nearly lost the use of their hands, and been incapacitated for field labor, by its too frequent repetition. "My —— drivers,"[G]he added, "have no discretion, and no humanity; if they have a pique against a nigger, they show him no mercy."
The old shanty I have described was now the place of the overseer's confinement. Open as it was at top, bottom,and sides, it seemed an unsafe prison-house; but Jim had secured its present occupant by placing "de padlocks on him."
"Where did you catch him?" asked the Colonel, as, followed by every darky on the plantation, we took our way to the old building.
"In de swamp, massa. We got Sandy and de dogs arter him—dey treed him, but he fit like de debble."
"Any one hurt?"
"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."
"How was it? tell me," said his master, while we paused, and the darkies gathered around.
"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."
"Never mind that; go on," said the Colonel.
"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—hecum down." Here the darky showed a row of ivory that would have been a fair capital for a metropolitan dentist.
"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."
"Is Jake much hurt?" interrupted the Colonel.
"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."
"Well, what then?" inquired the Colonel.
"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."
"Where is Jake?" asked the Colonel.
"Dunno, massa, but reckon he'm to hum."
"One of you boys go and bring him to the cabin," said the Colonel.
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.
Stretched at full length on the floor, his clothes tornto 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!
"Isshehere?" I said, involuntarily, as I caught sight of the group.
"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."
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?
"Don't waste your time on him, Alice," said the Colonel, kindly; "he isn't worth the rope that'll hang him."
"He was bleeding to death; unless he has care he'll die," said the octoroon woman.
"Then let him die, d—— him," replied the Colonel, advancing to where the overseer lay, and bending down to satisfy himself of his condition.
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 individualswhose 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.
"You can't come the possum here. Get up, you —— hound," said the Colonel, rising and striking the bleeding man with his foot.
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!"
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.
"You wont be killed yet," said the Colonel. "You've a small account to settle with me before you reckon with the devil."
At this moment the dark crowd in the doorway parted, and Jake entered, his arm bound up and in a sling.
"Jake, come here," said the Colonel; "this man would have killed you. What shall we do with him?"
"'Taint for a darky to say dat, massa," said the negro, evidently unaccustomed to the rude administration ofjustice which the Colonel was about to inaugurate; "he did wuss dan dat to Sam, massa—he orter swing for shootin' him."
"That'smyaffair; we'll settle your account first," replied the Colonel.
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.[H]Be a man, Jake, and say dat."
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.
"Do you say that, boys;" said the Colonel, turning to the other negroes; "shall he have fifty lashes?"
"Yas, massa, fifty lashes—gib de ole debble fifty lashes," shouted about fifty voices.
"He shall have them," quietly said the master.
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!"
Not a muscle of her face moved, but, turning to the excited crowd, she mildly said, "Fifty lashes would kill him.Jakedoes not say that—your master leaves it to him, andhewill not whip a dying man—will you, Jake?"
"No, ma'am—not—not ef you gwo agin it," replied the negro, with very evident reluctance.
"But he whipped Sam, ma'am, when Sam war nearer dead thanheam," said Jim, whose station as house-servant allowed him a certain freedom of speech.
"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?"
"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."
"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."
"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 poreig'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 datmymassa let a brudder man be killed in cole blood."
"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.
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.
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?"
"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.
"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."
"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, nowtotally 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 ——."
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."
"De Cunnel am my massa, ma'am—hesay ole Moye am to be whipped, and I'se gwine to do it—shore."
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."
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."
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 underthose dark faces a fire was burning that a breath would have fanned into a flame.
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; Godwillbless 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!"
"Don't fear," said the Madam; "you shall have a fair trial. No harm shall come to you here."
"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.
"Don't say any more now," said Madam P——, quietly; "you must rest and be quiet, or you wont get well."
"Shan't I get well? Oh, I can't die—I can't dienow!"
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.
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 onthe piazza, smoking a cigar. He perceived us, and halted in the doorway.
"So you've brought that d—— bloodthirsty villain into my house!" he said to Madam P—— in a tone of strong displeasure.
"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.
"Why shouldyouinterfere 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 servedyouwell—youhave nothing against him that the law will not punish."
"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.
"Well, Jim, what is it?" asked his master.
"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."
"Well, if he's sorry, that's enough; but tell him he'll get fifty another time," said the lady.
"What Sam is it?" asked the Colonel.
"Big Sam, the driver," said Jim.
"Why was he whipped?"
"He told meyouwere his master, and insisted on whipping Moye," replied the lady.
"Did he dare to do that? Give him a hundred, Jim, not one less," roared the Colonel.
"Yas, massa," said Jim, turning to go.
The lady looked significantly at the negro and shook her head, but said nothing, and he left.
"Come, Alice, it is nearly time for meeting, and I want to stop and see Sandy on the way."
"I reckon I wont go," said Madam P——.
"You stay to take care of Moye, I suppose," said the Colonel, with a slight sneer.
"Yes," replied the lady, "he is badly hurt, and in danger of inflammation."
"Well, suit yourself. Mr. K——, come,we'llgo—you'll meet some of thenatives."
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.
"Who's looking after Sam?" asked the Colonel.
"Nobody, Cunnel; de ma'am leff him gwo."
"How dare you disobey me? Didn't I tell you to give him a hundred?"
"Yas, massa, but de ma'am tole me notter."
"Well, another time you mind whatIsay—do you hear?" said his master.
"Yas, massa," said the negro, with a broad grin, "I allers do dat."
"Youneverdo it, you d—— nigger; I ought to have flogged you long ago."
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.
As we rode slowly along the Colonel said to me, "Well, you see that the best people have to flog niggers sometimes."
"Yes,Ishould 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."
"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."
"Why is that?"
"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;thatattaches them to her. She is an extraordinary woman."
"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.
"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."
"Wouldn't it be better to make them go to hear the old preacher; couldn't they learn something from him?"
"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."
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 passalong. 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.
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."
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.
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.
"Wal, Cunnul, how dy'ge?" said the stranger, as we stepped from the carriage.
"Very well, Ned; how are you?"
"Purty wal, Cunnul; had the nagur lately, right smart, but'm gittin' 'roun'."
"You're in a bad fix here, I see. Can Jim help you?"
"Wal, p'raps he moight. Jim, how dy'ge?"
"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.
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.
"Where are you hauling your turpentine?" asked the Colonel.
"To Sam Bell's, at the 'Boro'."
"What will he pay you?"
"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."
"By tale?"
"No, for tu hun'red and eighty pound."
"Well,I'llgive you two dollars and a half, by weight."
"Can't take it, Cunnel; must get three dollar."
"What, will you go sixty miles with this team, and waste five or six days, for fifty cents on six barrels—three dollars!"
"Can't 'ford the time, Cunnel, but must git three dollar a barr'l."
"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."
"He puts a young cow to a decidedly original use," I remarked.
"Oh no, not original here; the ox and the cow with us are both used for labor."
"You don't mean to say that cows are generally worked here?"
"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."
"You don't! I could have sworn it was in my coffee this morning."
"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."
"Then how do you get your butter?"
"From the North. I've had mine from my New York factors for over ten years."
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.