The family met at the breakfast-table at the usual hour on the following morning; but I noticed that Jim was not in his accustomed place behind the Colonel's chair. That gentleman exhibited his usual good spirits, but Madam P—— looked sad and anxious, andIhad not forgotten the scene of the previous evening.
While we were seated at the meal, the negro Junius hastily entered the room, and in an excited manner exclaimed:
"Oh, massa, massa, you muss cum ter de cabin—Jim hab draw'd his knife, and he swar he'll kill de fuss 'un dat touch him!"
"He does, does he!" said his master, springing from his seat, and abruptly leaving the apartment.
Remembering the fierce burst of passion I had seen in the negro, and fearing there was danger a-foot, I rose to follow, saying, as I did so:
"Madam, cannot you prevent this?"
"I cannot, sir; I have already done all I can. Go and try to pacify the Colonel—Jim will die before he'll be whipped."Jim was standing at the farther end of the old cabin, with his back to the wall, and the large spring knife in his hand. Some half-dozen negroes were in the centre of the room, apparently cowed by his fierce and desperate looks, and his master was within a few feet of him.
"I tell you, Cunnel," cried the negro, as I entered, "you touch me at your peril!"
"You d——d nigger, do you dare to speak so to me?" said his master, taking a step toward him.
The knife rose in the air, and the black, in a cool, sneering tone, replied: "Say your prayers 'fore you come nigher, for, so help me God, you'm a dead man!"
I laid my hand on the Colonel's arm, to draw him back, saying, as I did so: "There's danger in him! Iknowit. Let him go, and he shall ask your pardon."
"I shan't ax his pardon," cried the black; "leff him an' me be, sir; we'll fix dis ourselfs."
"Don't interfere, Mr. K——," said my host, with perfect coolness, but with a face pallid with rage. "Let me govern my own plantation."
"As you say, sir," I replied, stepping back a few paces; "but I warn you—there is danger in him!"
Taking no notice of my remark, the Colonel turning to the trembling negroes, said: "One of you go to the house and bring my pistols."
"You kin shoot me, ef you likes," said Jim, with a fierce, grim smile; "but I'll take you ter h—l wid me,shore. You knowswewont stand a blow!"
The Colonel, at the allusion to their relationship,started as if shot, and turning furiously on the negro, yelled out: "I'll shoot you for that, you d——d nigger, by ——."
"It 'pears ter me, Cunnel, ye've hed 'bout nuff shootin' round har, lately; better stop thet sort o' bis'ness; it moight give ye a sore throat," said the long, lean, loose-jointed stump-speaker of the previous Sunday, as he entered the cabin and strode directly up to my host.
"What brought you here, you d——d insolent hound?" cried the Colonel, turning fiercely on the new-comer.
"Wal, I cum ter du ye a naaboorly turn—I've kotched two on yer niggers down ter my still, and I want ye ter take 'em 'way," returned the corn-cracker, with the utmost coolness.
"Two of my niggers!" exclaimed the Colonel, perceptibly moderating his tone—"which ones?"
"A yaller gal, and a chile."
"I thank you, Barnes; excuse my hard words—I was excited."
"All right, Cunnel; say no more 'bout thet. Will ye send fur 'em? I'd hev fotched 'em 'long, but my waggin's off jest now."
"Yes, I'll send at once. Have you got them safe?"
"Safe? I reckon so! Kotched 'em last night, arter dark, and they've kept right still ever sense, I 'sure ye—but th' gal holds on ter th' young 'un ter kill—we cudn't get it 'way no how."
"How did you catch them?"
"They got 'gainst my turpentime raft—the curren' driv 'em down, I s'pose."
"What! are they dead?"
"Dead? deader'n drownded rats!" replied the native,
"My God! drowned herself and her child!" exclaimed the Colonel, with deep emotion.
"It is terrible, my friend. Come, let us go to them, at once," I said, laying my hand on his arm, and drawing him unresistingly away.
A pair of mules was speedily harnessed to a large turpentine wagon, and the horses we had ridden the day before were soon at the door. When the Colonel, who had been closeted for a few minutes with Madam P——, came out of the house, we mounted, and rode off with the "corn-cracker."
The native's farm was located on the stream which watered my friend's plantation, and was about ten miles distant. Taking a by-road which led to it through the woods, we rode rapidly on in advance of the wagon.
"Sort o' likely gal, thet, warn't she?" remarked the turpentine-maker, after a while.
"Yes, she was," replied the Colonel, in a half-abstracted manner; "verylikely."
"Kill harself 'case har man war shot by thet han'som overseer uv your'n?"
"Not altogether for that, I reckon," replied my host; "I fear the main reason was her being put at field-work, and abused by the driver."
"Thet comes uv not lookin' arter things yerself, Cunnel.I tend ter my niggers parsonally, and they keer a durned sight more fur this world then fur kingdom-cum. Ye cudn't hire 'em ter kill 'emselves fur no price."
"Well," replied the Colonel, in a low tone, "Ididlook after her. I put her at full field-work, myself!"
"By——!" cried the native, reining his horse to a dead stop, and speaking in an excited manner: "I doant b'lieve it—'taint 't all like ye—yer a d——d seceshener; thet comes uv yer bringin'-up—but ye've a soul bigger'n a meetin'-house, and ye cudn't hev put thet slim, weakly gal inter th' woods, no how!"
The Colonel and I instinctively halted our horses, as the "corn-cracker" stopped his, and were then standing abreast of him in the road.
"It's true, Barnes," said my host, in a voice that showed deep dejection; "Ididdo it!"
"May God Almighty furgive ye, Cunnel," said the native, starting his horse forward; "Iwudn't hev dun it fur all yer niggers, by ——."
The Colonel made no reply, and we rode on the rest of the way in silence.
The road was a mere wagon-track through the trees, and it being but little travelled, and encumbered with the roots and stumps of the pine, our progress was slow, and we were nearly two hours in reaching the plantation of the native.
The corn-cracker's house—a low, unpainted wooden building—stood near the little stream, and in the centre of a cleared plot of some ten acres. This plot was surroundedby a post-and-rail fence, and in its front portion was a garden, which grew a sufficient supply of vegetables to serve a family of twenty persons. In the rear, and at the sides of the dwelling, were about seven acres, devoted mainly to corn and potatoes. In one corner of the lot were three tidy-looking negro-houses, and close beside them I noticed a low shed, near which a large quantity of the stalks of the tall, white corn, common to that section, was stacked in the New England fashion. Browsing on the corn-stalks were three sleek, well-kept milch cows, and a goat.
About four hundred yards from the farmer's house, and on the bank of the little run, which there was quite wide and deep, stood a turpentine distillery; and around it were scattered a large number of rosin and turpentine barrels, some filled and some empty. A short distance higher up, and far enough from the "still" to be safe in the event of a fire, was a long, low, wooden shed, covered with rough, unjointed boards, placed upright, and unbattened. This was the "spirit-house," used for the storage of the spirits of turpentine when barrelled for market, and awaiting shipment. In the creek, and filling nearly one-half of the channel in front of the spirit-shed, was a raft of pine timber, on which were laden some two hundred barrels of rosin. On such rude conveyances the turpentine-maker sent his produce to Conwayboro'. There the timber-raft was sold to my way-side friend, Captain B——, and its freight shipped on board vessel for New York.Two "prime" negro men, dressed in the usual costume, were "tending the still;" and a negro woman, as stout and strong as the men, and clad in a short, loose, linsey gown, from beneath which peeped out a pair of coarse leggins, was adjusting a long wooden trough, which conveyed the liquid rosin from the "still" to a deep excavation in the earth, at a short distance. In the pit was a quantity of rosin sufficient to fill a thousand barrels.
"Here, Bill," said Barnes to one of the negro men, as we pulled up at the distillery, "put these critters up, and give 'em sum oats, and when they've cooled off a bit, water 'em."
"Yas, yas, massa," replied the negro, springing nimbly forward, and taking the horses by the bridles, "an' rub 'em down, massa?"
"Yas, rub 'em down right smart," replied the corn-cracker; then turning to me, as we dismounted, he said: "Stranger, thet's th' sort o' niggers fur ye; all uv mine ar' jess like him—smart and lively as kittens."
"He does seem to go about his work cheerfully," I replied.
"Cheerfully! d——d ef he doant—all on 'em du! They like me better'n thar own young 'uns, an' it's 'cause I use 'em like human bein's;" and he looked slyly toward the Colonel, who just then was walking silently away, in the direction of the run, as if in search of the browned "chattels."
"Not thar, Cunnel," cried the native; "they're interth' shed;" and he started to lead the way to the "spirit-house."
"Not now, Barnes," I said, putting my hand on his arm: "leave him alone for a little while. He is feeling badly, and we'd better not disturb him just yet."
The native motioned me to a seat on a rosin-barrel, as he replied:
"Wal, he 'pears ter—thet's a fact, and he orter. D——d ef it arn't wicked to use niggers like cattle, as he do."
"I don't think he means to ill-treat them—he's a kind-hearted man."
"Wal, he ar sort o' so; but he's left ev'ry thing ter thet d——d overseer uv his'n. I wudn't ha' trusted him to feed my hogs."
"Hogs!" I exclaimed, laughing; "I supposed you didn'tfeedhogs in these diggins. I supposed you 'let 'em run.'"
"Idoant; an' I've got th' tallest porkys round har."
"I've been told that they get a good living in the woods."
"Wal, p'r'aps the' du jest make eout ter live thar; but my ole 'oman likes 'em ter hum—they clean up a place like—eat up all th' leavin's, an' give th' young nigs suthin' ter du."
"It seems to me," I said, resuming the previous thread of the conversation; "that overseers are a necessity on a large plantation.""Wal, the' ar', an' thet's why thar ortent ter be no big plantations; God Almighty didn't make human bein's ter be herded togethar in th' woods like hogs. No man orter ter hev more'n twenty on 'em—he can't look arter no more himself, an' its agin natur ter set a feller over 'em what hain't no int'rest in 'em, an' no feelin' fur 'em, an' who'll drive 'em round like brutes. I never struck one on 'em in my life, an' my ten du more'n ony fifteen th' Cunnel's got."
"I thought they needed occasional correction. How do you manage them without whipping?"
"Manage them! why 'cordin' ter scriptur—do ter 'em as I'd like ter be dun ter, ef I war a nigger. Every one on 'em knows I'd part with my last shirt, an' live on taters an' cow-fodder, fore I'd sell em; an' then I give 'em Saturdays for 'emselfs—but thet's cute dealin' in me (tho' th' pore, simple souls doant see it), fur ye knows the' work thet day for 'emselfs, an' raise nigh all thar own feed, 'cept th' beef and whiskey—an' it sort o' makes 'em feel like folks, too, more like as ef the' warfree—the' work th' better fur it all th' week."
"Then you think the blacks would work better if free?"
"IncourseI does—its agin man's natur to be a slave. Thet lousy parson ye herd ter meetin, a Sunday, makes slavery eout a divine institooshun, but my wife's a Bible 'oman, and she says 'taint so; an' I'm d——d ef she arn't right."
"Is your wife a South Carolina women?"
"No, she an' me's from th' old North—old Car'tret, nigh on ter Newbern; an' we doant take nat'rally to these fire-eaters."
"Have you been here long?"
"Wal, nigh on ter six yar. I cum har with nuthin' but a thousan' ter my back—slapped thet inter fifteen hun'red acres—paid it down—and then hired ten likely, North Car'lina niggers—hired 'em with th' chance uv buyin' ef the' liked eout har. Wal, th' nigs all know'd me, and the' sprung ter it like blazes; so every yar I've managed ter buy two on 'em, and now I've ten grow'd up, and thar young'uns; th' still and all th' traps paid fur, an' ef this d——d secesh bis'ness hadn't a come 'long, I'd hev hed a right smart chance o' doin' well."
"I'm satisfied secession will ruin the turpentine business; you'll be shut up here, unable to sell your produce, and it will go to waste."
"Thet's my 'pinion; but I reckon I kin' manage now witheout turpentime. I've talked it over 'long with my nigs, and we kalkerlate, ef these ar doin's go eny furder, ter tap no more trees, but clar land an' go ter raisin' craps."
"What! do you talk politics with your negroes?"
"Nary a politic—but I'm d——d ef th' critters doan't larn 'em sumhow; the' knows 'bout as much uv what's goin' on as I du—but plantin arn't politics; its bisness, an' they've more int'rest in it nor I hev, 'cause they've sixteen mouths ter feed agin my four."
"I'm glad, my friend, that you treat them like men:but I have supposed they were not well enough informed to have intelligent opinions on such subjects."
"Informed! wal, I reckon the' is; all uv mine kin read, an' sum on 'em kin write, too. D'ye see thet little nig thar?" pointing to a juvenile coal-black darky of about six years, who was standing before the "still" fire; "thet ar little devil kin read an' speak like a parson. He's got hold, sumhow, uv my little gal's book o' pieces, an' larned a dozen on 'em. I make him cum inter th' house, once in a while uv an evenin', an' speechify, an' 'twould do yer soul good ter har him, in his shirt tail, with a old sheet wound round him fur a toger (I've told him th' play-acters du it so down ter Charles'on), an' spoutin' out: 'My name am Norval; on de Gruntin' hills my fader feed him hogs!' The little coon never seed a sheep, an' my wife's told him a flock's a herd, an' he thinks 'hog'soundsbetter'n 'flock,' so, contra'y ter th' book, he puts in 'hogs,' and hogs, you knows, hev ter grunt, so he gits 'em on th' 'Gruntin hills;" and here the kind-hearted native burst into a fit of uproarious laughter, in which, in spite of myself, I had to join.
When the merriment had somewhat subsided, the turpentine-maker called out to the little darky:
"Come here, Jim."
The young chattel ran to him with alacrity, and wedging in between his legs, placed his little black hands, in a free-and-easy way, on his master's knees, and, looking up trustfully in his face, said:
"Wal, massa?"
"What's yer name?"
"Dandy Jim, massa."
"Thet arn't all—what's th' rest?"
"Dandy Jim of ole Car'lina."
"Who made ye?"
"De good God, massa."
"No, He didn't: God doant make little nigs. He makes none but white folks;" said the master, laughing.
"Yas He'm do; Missus say He'm do; dat He make dis nig jess like He done little Totty."
"Wal, He did, Jim. I'm d——d efHedidn't, fur nobody else cud makeye!" replied the man, patting the little woolly head with undisguised affection.
"Now, Jim, say th' creed fur 'de gemman.'"
The young darky then repeated the Apostle's Creed and the Ten Commandments.
"Is thet all ye knows?"
"No, massa, I knows a heap 'sides dat."
"Wal, say suthin' more—sum on 'em pieces thet jingle."
The little fellow then repeated with entire correctness, and with appropriate gestures, and emphasis, though in the genuine darky dialect—which seems to be inborn with the pure-Southern black—Mrs. Hemans' poem:
"The boy stood on the burning deck."
"Mrs. Hemans draped in black!" I exclaimed, laughing heartily: "How would the good lady feel, could she lookdown from where she is, and hear a little darky doing up her poetry in that style?"
"D——d ef I doant b'lieve 'twud make her love th' little nig like I do;" replied the corn-cracker, taking him up on his knee as tenderly as he would have taken up his own child.
"Tell me, my little man," I said: "who taught you all these things?"
"I larned 'em, myseff, sar," was the prompt reply.
"You learned them, yourself! but who taught you to read?"
"I larned 'em myseff, sar!"
"You couldn't have learnedthatyourself; didn't your 'massa' teach you?"
"No, sar."
"Oh! your 'missus' did."
"No, sar."
"No, sar!" I repeated; then suspecting the real state of the case, I looked him sternly in the eye, and said: "My little man, it's wrong to tell lies—you mustalwaysspeak the truth; now, tell me truly, did not your 'missus' teach you these things?"
"No, sar, I larned 'em myseff."
"Ye can't cum it, Stranger; ye moight roast him over a slow fire, an' not git nary a thing eout on him but thet," said the corn-cracker, leaning forward, and breaking into a boisterous fit of laughter. "It's agin th' law, an' I'm d——d ef I teached him. Reckon hedidlarn himself!"
"I must know your wife, my friend. She's a good woman."
"Good! ye kin bet high on thet; she's uv th' stuff th' Lord makes angels eout on."
I had no doubt of it, and was about to say so, when the Colonel's turpentine wagon drove up, and I remembered I had left him too long alone.
The coachman was driving, and Jim sat on the wagon beside him.
"Massa K——," said the latter, getting down and coming to me: "Whar am dey?"
"In the spirit-shed."
He was turning to go there, when I called him back, saying: "Jim, you must not see your master now; you'd better keep out of sight for the present."
"No, massa; de ma'am say de Cunnel take dis bery hard, and dat I orter tell him I'se sorry for what I'se done."
"Well, wait a while. Let me go in first."
Accompanied by the corn-cracker, I entered the turpentine-shed. A row of spirit-barrels were ranged along each of its sides, and two tiers occupied the centre of the building. On these a number of loose planks were placed, and on the planks lay the bodies of the metif woman and her child. The Colonel was seated on a barrel near them, with his head resting on his hands, and his eyes fixed on the ground. He did not seem to notice our entrance, and, passing him without speaking, I stepped to the side of the dead.
The woman's dress, the common linsey gown worn by her class, was still wet, and her short, kinky, brown hair fell in matted folds around her face. One arm hung loosely by her side; the other was clasped tightly around her child, which lay as if asleep on her bosom. One of its small hands clung to its mother's breast, and around its little lips played a smile. But how shall I describe the pale, sweet beauty of the face of the drowned girl, as she lay there, her eyes closed, and her lips parted, as in prayer? Never but once have I seen on human features the strange radiance that shone upon it, or the mingled expression of hope, and peace, and resignation that rested there—and that was in the long-gone time, when, standing by her bedside, I watched the passing away of one who is now an angel in heaven!
"Come, my dear friend, let us go," I said, turning and gently taking the Colonel by the arm, "the negroes are here, and will take charge of the dead."
"No, no!" he replied, rising, and looking around, as if aroused from a troubled dream; "that is formeto do!" Then he added, after a moment's pause, "Will you help me to get them into the wagon?"
"Yes, I will, certainly."
He made one step toward the body of the dead girl, then sinking down again on the barrel, covered his face with his hands, and cried out: "My God! this is terrible! Did you ever see such a look as that? It will haunt me forever!"
"Come, my friend, rouse yourself—this is weakness;you are tired with the long ride and excitement of the past few days. Come, go home—I will look after them."
"No, no! I must do it. I will be a man again;" and he rose and walked steadily to the dead bodies. "Is there any one here to help?" he asked.
Jim was standing in the door-way, and I motioned to him to come forward. The great tears were streaming down his face as he stepped timidly towards his master, and said: "I'll do dis, massa, don't you trubble yerself no more."
"It's good of you, Jim. You'll forgive me for being so cruel to you, wont you?" said the Colonel, taking the black by the hand.
"Forgib ye, massa!Iwar all ter blame—but ye'll forgib me, massa—ye'll forgib me!" cried the black, with strong emotion.
"Yes, yes; but say no more about it. Come, let us get Julie home."
But the poor girl was alreadyhome—home where her sufferings and her sorrows were over, and all her tears were wiped away forever!
We four bore away the mother and the child. A number of blankets were in the bottom of the wagon, and we laid the bodies carefully upon them. When all seemed ready, the Colonel, who was still standing by the side of the dead, turned to my new friend, and said: "Barnes, will you loan me a pillow? I will send it back to-night."
"Sartin, Cunnel;" and the farmer soon brought onefrom the house. Lifting tenderly the head of the drowned girl, the Colonel placed it beneath her, and smoothing back her tangled hair, he gently covered her face with his handkerchief, as if she could still feel his kindness, or longer cared for the pity or the love of mortal. Yet, who knows but that her parted soul, from the high realm to which it had soared, may not then have looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him!
In the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends, and the words of consolation bring no relief. How much more harshly do such words grate on the ear when the soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret! Then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with God.
I saw that the Colonel would be alone, and turning to him, as he prepared to follow the strange vehicle, which, with its load of death, was already jolting its way over the rough forest road, I said,
"Will you pardon me, if I remain with your friend here for awhile? I will be at the mansion before dark."
"Oh, certainly, my friend, come when you feel disposed," he replied, and mounting his horse he was soon out of sight among the trees.
"Now, Barnes," I said, shaking off the gloomy feelings that had oppressed me: "come, I must see that wife of yours, and get a glimpse of how you live?"
"Sartin, stranger; come in; I'll give ye th' tallest dinner my 'oman can scare up, an' she's sum pumkins in th' cookin' line;" and he led the way to the farm-house.
As I turned to follow, I slipped a half-dollar into thehand of the darky who was holding my horse, and asked him to put her again into the stable.
"I'll do dat, sar, but I karn't take dis; masaa doant 'low it nohow;" he replied, tendering me back the money.
"Barnes, your negroes have strange ways; I never met one before who'd refuse money."
"Wal, stranger, 'taint hosspetality to take money on yer friends, and Bill gets all he wants from me."
I took the silver and gave it to the first darky I met, who happened to be an old centenarian belonging to the Colonel. As I tossed it to him, he grinned out: "Ah, massa, I'll git sum 'backer wid dis; 'pears like I hadn't nary a chaw in forty yar." With more than one leg in the grave the old negro had not lost his appetite for the weed—in fact, that and whiskey are the only "luxuries" ever known to the plantation black.
As we went nearer, I took a closer survey of the farm-house. It was, as I have said, a low, unpainted wooden building, located in the middle of a ten acre lot. It was approached by a straight walk, paved with a mixture of sand and tar, similar to that which the reader may have seen in the Champs Elysees. I do not know whether my back-woods friend, or the Parisian pavior, was the first inventor of this composition, but I am satisfied the corn-cracker had not stolen it from the stone-cracker. The walk was lined with fruit-bearing shrubs, and directly in front of the house, were two small flower-beds.
The dwelling itself, though of a dingy brown wood-color, was neat and inviting. It may have been forty feet square on the ground, and was only a story and a half high, but a projecting roof, and a front dormer-window, relieved it from the appearance of disproportion. Its gable ends were surmounted by two enormous brick chimneys, carried up on the outside, in the fashion of the South, and its high, broad windows were ornamented with Venetian blinds. Its front door opened directly into the "living-room," and at the threshold we met its mistress.
As the image of that lady has still a warm place in a pleasant corner of my memory, I will describe her. She was about thirty years of age, and had a fresh, cheerful face. To say that she was handsome, would not be strictly true; though she had that pleasant, gentle, kindly expression that sometimes makes even a homely person seem beautiful. But she was not homely. Her features were regular, her hair, glossy and brown, and her eyes, black and brilliant, and, for their color, the mildest and softest I had ever seen. Her figure was tall, and in its outline somewhat sharp and angular, but she had an ease and grace about her that made one forget she was not moulded as softly and roundly as others. She seemed just the woman on whose bosom a tired, worn, over-burdened man might lay his weary head, and find rest and forgetfulness.
She wore a neat calico dress, fitting closely to the neck, and an apron of spotless white muslin. A littlelace cap perched cosily on the back of her head, hiding a portion of her wavy, dark hair, and on her feet—a miracle, reader, in one of her class—were stockings and shoes! Giving me her hand—which, at the risk of making her husband jealous, I held for a moment—she said, making a gentle courtesy:
"Ye ar welcome, stranger."
"I sincerely thank you, madam; Iama stranger in these parts."
She tendered me a chair, while her husband opened a sideboard, and brought forth a box of Havanas, and a decanter of Scuppernong. As I took the proffered seat, he offered me the refreshments. I drank the lady's health in the wine, but declined the cigars. Seeing this, she remarked:
"Yer from th' North, sir; arn't ye?"
"Yes, madam, I live in New York, but I was born in New-England."
"I reckoned so; I knew ye didn't belong in Car'lina."
"How did you know that, madam?" I asked, laughing.
"I seed ye doan't smoke 'fore wimmin. But ye musn't mind me; I sort o' likes it; its a great comfut to John, and may be it ar to ye."
"Well, I do relish a good cigar, but I never smoke before any lady except my wife, and though she's only 'a little lower than the angels,' shedoes, once in awhile, say it's a shame to make thehousesmell like a tobacco factory."
Barnes handed me the box again, and I took one. As I was lighting it, he said:
"Ye've got a good 'oman, hev ye?"
"There's none better; at least, I think so."
"Wal, I'm 'zactly uv thet 'pinion 'bout mine: I wouldn't trade her fur all this worle, an' th' best half uv 'tother."
"Don't ye talk so, John," said the lady; then addressing me, she added: "It's a good husband thet makes a good wife, sir."
"Sometimes, madam, but not always. I've known some of the best of wives who had miserable husbands."
"An' I'm d——d ef I made my wife th' 'oman she ar'," said the corn-cracker.
"Hush, John; ye musn't sw'ar so; ye knows how often ye've said ye wouldn't."
"Wal, I du, an' I wont agin, by ——. But Sukey, whar's th' young 'uns?"
"Out in the lot, I reckon; but ye musn't holler'm in—they'r all dirt."
"No matter for that, madam," I said; "dirt is healthy for little ones; rolling in the mud makes them grow."
"Then our'n orter grow right smart, fur they'r in it allers."
"How many have you, madam?"
"Two; a little boy, four, and a little gal, six."
"They're of interesting ages."
"Yas, the' is int'restin'; ev'ry 'uns own chil'ren is smart; but the' does know a heap. John was off terCharl'ston no great while back, an' the little boy used ter pray ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter cum hum. I larned 'em thet jest so soon as the' talked, 'cause thar's no tellin' how quick the' moight be tooken 'way. Wal, the little feller prayed ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter cum back; an' John didn't cum; so finarly he got sort o' provoked with th' Lord; an' he said God war aither deaf, an' couldn't har, or he war naughty, an' wouldn't tell fader thet little Johnny wanted to seed 'im 'werry mooch'"—and here the good lady laughed pleasantly, and I joined in most heartily.
Blessed are the children that have such a mother.
Soon the husband returned with the little girl and boy, and four young ebonies, all bare-headed, and dressed alike, in thick trousers, and a loose linsey shirt. Among them was my new acquaintance, "Dandy Jim, of ole Car'lina."
The little girl came to me, and soon I had two white children on one knee, and two black on the other, and Dandy Jim between my legs, playing with my watch-chain. The family made no distinction between the colors, and as the children were all equally clean I did not see whyIshould do so.
The lady renewed the conversation by remarking; "P'raps ye reckon it's quar, sir, that we 'low our'n to 'sociate 'long with th' black chil'ren; but we karn't help it. On big plantations it works sorry bad, fur th' white young 'ons larn all manner of evil from the black 'uns; but I've laboored ter teach our'n so one wont do no harm ter 'tother."
"I suppose, madam, that is one of the greatest evils of slavery. The low black poisons the mind of the white child, and the bad influence lasts through life."
"Yas, it's so, stranger; an' it's the biggest keer I hev. It often 'pears strange ter me thet our grow'd up men arn't no wuss then the' is."
In those few words that unlettered woman had said, what would—if men were but wise enough to hear and heed the great truth which she spoke—banish slavery from this continent forever!
After awhile the farmer told the juvenile delineator of Mrs. Hemans, and the other poets, to give us a song; and planting himself in the middle of the floor, the little darky sang "Dixie," and several other negro songs, which his master had taught him, but into which he had introduced some amusing variations of his own. The other children joined in the choruses; and then Jim danced breakdowns, "walk-along-Joes," and other darky dances, his master accompanying him on a cracked fiddle, till my sides were sore with laughter, and the hostess begged them to stop. Finally the clock struck twelve, and the farmer, going to the door, gave a long, loud blast on a cow's horn. In about five minutes one after another of the field hands came in, till the whole ten had seated themselves on the verandah. Each carried a bowl, a tin-cup, or a gourd, into which my host—who soon emerged from a back room[J]with a pail of whiskey in his hand—poureda gill of the beverage. This was the day's allowance, and the farmer, in answer to a question of mine, told me he thought negroes were healthier, and worked better for a small quantity of alcohol daily. "The' work hard, and salt feed doant set 'em up 'nough," was his remark.
Meanwhile the hostess busied herself with preparations for dinner, and it was soon spread on a bright cherry table, covered by a spotless white cloth. The little darkies had scattered to the several cabins, and we soon sat down to as good a meal as I ever ate at the South.
We were waited on by a tidy negro woman, neatly clad in a calico gown, with shoes on her feet, and a flaming red and yellow 'kerchief on her head. This last was worn in the form of a turban, and one end escaping from behind, and hanging down her back, it looked for all the world like a flag hung out from a top turret. Observing it, my host said:
"Aggy—showin' yer colors? Ye'r Union gal—hey?"
"Yas, I is dat, massa; Union ter de back bone;" responded the negress, grinning widely.
"All th' Unionyeknows on," replied the master, winking slyly at me, "is th' union yer goin' ter hitch up 'long with black Cale over ter Squire Taylor's."
"No, 'taint, massa; takes more'n tu ter make de Union."
"Yas, I knows—it gin'rally takes ten or a dozen: reckon it'll take a dozen with ye."
"John, ye musn't talk so ter th' sarvents; it spiles 'em," said his wife.
"No it doant—do it, Aggy?"
"Lor', missus, I doant keer what massa say; but I doant leff no oder man run on so ter me!"
"No more'n ye doant, gal! only Cale."
"Nor him, massa; I makes him stan' roun'Ireckon."
"I reckon ye du; ye wudn't be yer massa's gal ef ye didn't."
When the meal was over, I visited, with my host, the negro houses. The hour allowed for dinner[K]was about expiring, and the darkies were preparing to return to the field. Entering one of the cabins, where were two stout negro men and a woman, my host said to them, with a perfectly serious face:
"Har, boys, I've fotched ye a live Yankee ab'lishener; now, luk at 'im all roun'. Did ye ever see sech a critter?"
"Doant see nuffin' quar in dat gemman, massa," replied one of the blacks. "Him 'pears like bery nice gemman; doant 'pear like ab'lishener;" and he laughed, and scraped his head in the manner peculiar to the negro, as he added: "kinder reckon he wudn't be har ef he war one ofdem."
"What deryeknows 'bout th' ab'lisheners? Ye never seed one—what d'ye 'spose the' luk like?"
"Dey say dey luk likes de bery ole debil, massa, but reckon taint so."
"Wal, the' doant; the' luk wusa then thet: they'm bottled up thunder an' lightnin', an' ef the' cum down har, they'll chaw ye all ter hash."
"I reckon!" replied the darky, manipulating his wool, and distending his face into a decidedly incredulous grin.
"What do you tell them such things for?" I asked, good-humoredly.
"Lor, bless ye, stranger, the' knows th' ab'lisheners ar thar friends, jest so well as ye du; and so fur as thet goes, d——d ef the' doan't know I'm one on 'em myseff, fur I tells 'em, ef the' want to put, the' kin put, an' I'll throw thar trav'lin 'spences inter th' bargin. Doan't I tell ye thet, Lazarus."
"Yas, massa, but none ob massa's nigs am gwine ter put—lesswise, not so long as you an' de good missus, am 'bove groun'."
The darky's name struck me as peculiar, and I asked him where he got it.
"'Tain'tmy name, sar; but you see, sar, w'en massa fuss hire me ob ole Capt'in ——, up dar ter Newbern-way, I war sort o' sorry like—hadn't no bery good cloes—an' massa, he den call me Lazarus, 'case he say I war all ober rags and holes, an' it hab sort o' stuck ter me eber sense. I war a'mighty bad off 'fore dat, but w'en I cum down har I gets inter Abr'am's buzzum, I does;" and here the darky actually reeled on his seat with laughter.
"Is this woman your wife?" I asked.
"No, sar; my wife 'longs to Cunnel J——; dat am my new wife—my ole wife am up dar whar I cum from!"
"What! have you two wives?"
"Yas, massa, I'se two."
"But that's contrary to Scripture."
"No, sar; de Cunnel say 'tain't. He say in Scriptur' dey hab a heap ob' 'em, and dat niggers kin hab jess so many as dey likes—a hun'red ef dey want ter."
"Does the Colonel teach that to his negroes?" I asked, turning to the native.
"Yas, I reckon he do—an' sits 'em th' 'zample, too," he replied, laughing; "but th' old sinner knows better'n thet; he kin read."
"Do you find that in the Bible, Lazarus?"
"Yas, massa; whar I reads it. Dat's whar it tell 'bout David and Sol'mon and all dem—dey hab a heap ob wives. A pore ole darky karn't hab 'nuffin 'sides dem, an' heorterbe 'low'd jess so many as he likes."
Laughing at the reasoning of the negro, I asked:
"How wouldyoulike it, if your wife over at Colonel J——'s, had as many husbands assheliked?"
"Wal, I couldn't fine no fault, massa: an' I s'pose she do; dough I doan't knows it, 'case I'se dar only Sundays."
"Have you any children?"
"Yas, sar; I'se free 'longin' ter de Cunnel, an' four or five—I doant 'zactly know—up ter hum; butdey'segrow'd up."
"Is your wife, up there, married again?"
"Yas, massa, she got anoder man jess w'en I cum 'way; har ole massa make har do it."
We then left the cabin, and when out of hearing of the blacks, I said to the corn-cracker: "Thatmay beScripture doctrine, butIhave not been taught so!"
"Scriptur or no Scriptur, stranger, it's d——d heathenism," replied the farmer, who, take him all in all, is a superior specimen of the class of small-planters at the South; and yet, seeing polygamy practised by his own slaves, he made no effort to prevent it. He told me that if he should object to his darky cohabiting with the Colonel's negress, it would be regarded as unneighborly, and secure him the enmity of the whole district! And still we are told that slavery is aDivineinstitution!
After this, we strolled off into the woods, where the hands were at work. They were all stout, healthy and happy-looking, and in answer to my comments on their appearance, the native said that the negroes on the turpentine farms are always stronger and longer-lived, than those on the rice and cotton-fields. Unless carried off by the fevers incident to the climate, they generally reach a good old age, while the rice-negro seldom lives to be over forty, and the cotton-slave very rarely attains sixty. Cotton-growing, however, my host thought, is not, in itself, much more unhealthy than turpentine-gathering, though cotton-hands work in the sun, while the turpentine slaves labor altogether in the shade."But," he said, "the' work 'em harder nor we does, an' doan't feed 'em so well. We give our'n meat and whiskey ev'ry day, but them articles is skarse 'mong th' cotton blacks, an' th' rice niggers never get 'em excep' ter Chris'mas time, an' thet cums but onst a yar."
"Do you think the white could labor as well as the black, on the rice and cotton-fields?" I asked.
"Yas, an' better—better onywhar; but, in coorse, 'tain't natur' fur black nor white ter stand long a workin' in th' mud and water up ter thar knees; sech work wud kill off th' very devil arter a while. But th' white kin stand it longer nor the black, and its' 'cordin' ter reason that he shud; fur, I reckon, stranger, that the sperit and pluck uv a man hev a durned sight ter du with work. They'll hole a man up when he's clean down, an' how kin we expec' thet the pore nig', who's nary a thing ter work fur, an' who's been kept under an' 'bused ever sense Adam was a young un'—how kin we expec' he'll work like men thet own 'emselfs, an' whose faders hev been free ever sense creation? I reckon that the parient has a heap ter du with makin' th' chile. He puts the sperit inter 'im: doan't we see it in hosses an' critters an' sech like? It mayn't crap eout ter onst, but it's shore ter in th' long run, and thet's th' why th' black hain't no smarter nor he is. He's been a-ground down an' kept under fur so long thet it'll take more'n 'un gin'ration ter bring him up. 'Tain't his fault thet he's no more sperit, an' p'raps'tain't ourn—thet is, them on us as uses 'em right—but it war the fault uv yer fader an' mine—yer fader stole 'em, and mine bought 'em, an' the' both made cattle uv 'em."
"But I had supposed the black was better fitted by nature for hard labor, in a hot climate, than the white?"
"Wal, he arn't, an' I knows it. Th' d——d parsons an' pol'tishuns say thet, but 'tain't so. I kin do half agin more work in a day then th' best nig' I've got, an' I've dun it, tu, time an' agin, an' it didn't hurt me nuther. Ye knows ef a man hev a wife and young 'uns 'pendin' on him, an' arn't much 'forehanded, he'll work like th' devil. I've dun it, and ye hev ef ye war ever put ter it; but th' nig's, why the' hain't got no wives and young 'uns ter work fur—the law doan't 'low 'em ter hev any—the' hain't nary a thing but thar carcasses, an' them's thar masters'."
"You say a man works better for being free; then you must think 'twould be well to free the negroes?"
"In coorse, I does. Jest luk at them nig's o' mine; they're ter all 'tents an' purposes free, 'case I use 'em like men, an' the' knows the' kin go whenever the' d——d please. See how the' work—why, one on 'em does half as much agin as ony hard-driv' nigger in creation."
"What would you do with them, if they werereallyfree?"
"Du with 'em? why, hire 'em, an' make twice as much eout on 'em as I does now."
"But I don't think the two races were meant to live together."
"No more'n the' warn't. But 'tain't thar fault thet they's har. We hain't no right ter send 'em off. We orter stand by our'n an' our faders' doin's. The nig' keers more fur his hum, so durned pore as it ar', then ye or I does fur our'n. I'd pack sech off ter Libraria or th' devil, as wanted ter go, but I'd hev no 'pulsion 'bout it."
"Why, my good friend, you're half-brother to Garrison. You don't talk to your neighbors in this way?"
"Wal; I doan't;" he replied, laughing. "Ef I dun it, they'd treat me to a coat uv tar, and ride me out uv th' deestrict raather sudden, I reckon; but yer a Nuthener, an' the' all take nat'rally ter freedum, excep' th' d——d dough-faces, an' ye aren't one on 'em, I'll swar."
"Well, I'm not. Do many of your neighbors think as you do?"
"Reckon not many round har; but op in Cart'ret, whar I cum from, heaps on 'em do, though the' darn't say so."
By this time we had reached the still, and, directing his attention to the enormous quantity of rosin that had been run into the pit which I have spoken of, I asked him why he threw so much valuable material away.
"Wal, 'tain't wuth nothin' har. Thet's th' common, an' it won't bring in York, now, more'n a dollar forty-five. It costs a dollar an' two bits ter get it thar, andpay fur sellin' on it, an' th' barr'l's wuth th' diff'rence. I doan't ship nuthin wuss nor No. 2."
"What is No. 2?"
He took the head from one of the barrels, and with an adze cut out a small piece, then handing me the specimen, replied:
"Now hole thet up ter th' sun. Ye'll see though its yaller, it's clean and clar. Thet's good No. 2, what brings now two dollars and two bits, in York, an' pays me 'bout a dollar a barr'l, its got eout o' second yar dip, an' as it comes eout uv th' still, is run through thet ar strainer," pointing to a coarse wire seive that lay near. "Th' common rosum, thet th' still's runnin' on now, is made eout on th' yaller dip—thet's th' kine o' turpentine thet runs from th' tree arter two yars' tappin'—we call it yallar dip ca'se it's allers dark. We doant strain common 't all, an' it's full uv chips and dirt. It's low now, but ef it shud ever git up, I'd tap thet ar' heap, barr'l it up, run a little fresh stilled inter it, an' 'twould be a'most so good as new."
"Then it is injured by being in the ground."
"Not much; it's jest as good fur ev'rything but makin' ile, puttin it in the 'arth sort o' takes th' sap eout on it, an' th' sap's th' ile. Natur' sucks thet eout, I s'pose, ter make th' trees grow—I expec' my bones 'ill fodder 'em one on these days."
"Rosin is put to very many uses?"
"Yes, but common's used mainly for ile and soap, th' Yankees put it inter hard yaller soap, 'case it makes itweigh, an' yer folks is up ter them doin's," and he looked at me and gave a sly laugh. I could not deny the "hard" impeachment, and said nothing. Taking a specimen of very clear light-colored rosin from a shelf in the still-house, I asked him what that quality was worth.
"Thet ar brought seven dollars, for two hundred an' eighty pounds, in York, airly this yar. It's th' very best No. 1; an' its hard ter make, 'case ef th' still gets overhet it turns it a tinge. Thet sort is run through two sieves, the coarse 'un, an' thet ar," pointing to another wire strainer, the meshes of which were as fine as those of the flour sieve used by housewives.
"Do your seven field hands produce enough 'dip' to keep your still a running?"
"No, I buys th' rest uv my naboors who haint no stills; an' th' Cunnel's down on me 'case I pay 'em more'n he will; but I go on Franklin's princerpel: 'a nimble sixpence's better'n a slow shillin.' A great ole feller thet, warn't he? I've got his life."
"And you practice on his precepts; that's the reason you've got on so well."
"Yas, thet, an' hard knocks. The best o' doctrin's am't wuth a d——n ef ye doan't work on 'em."
"That is true."
We shortly afterward went to the house, and there I passed several hours in conversation with my new friend and his excellent wife. The lady, after a while, showed me over the building. It was well-built, well-arranged, and had many conveniences I did not expect to find in aback-woods dwelling. She told me its timbers and covering were of well-seasoned yellow pine—which will last for centuries—and that it was built by a Yankee carpenter, whom they had "'ported" from Charleston, paying his fare, and giving him his living, and two dollars and a half a day. It had cost as near as she "cud reckon, 'bout two thousan' dollars."
It was five o'clock, when, shaking them warmly by the hand, I bade my pleasant friends "good-bye," and mounting my horse rode off to the Colonel's.