‘While the lamp holds out to burn,The vilest sinner may return.’
‘While the lamp holds out to burn,The vilest sinner may return.’
But she must be sure that she has repented, and won’t steal any more.”
“Do you hear that, Hannah?” said the mistress. “For my part,” continued she, “I don’t think she’s fit to go to the Lord’s Supper; for she had no cause to steal the goose. We give our servants plenty of good food. They have a full run to the meal-tub, meat once a fortnight, and all the sour milk on the place, and I am sure that’s enough for any one. I do think that our negroes are the most ungrateful creatures in the world. They aggravate my life out of me.”
During this talk on the part of the mistress, the servant stood listening with careful attention, and at its close Hannah said:—
“I know, missis, dat I stole de goose, an’ massa whip me for it, an’ I confess it, an’ I is sorry for it. But, missis, I is gwine to de Lord’s Supper, nextSunday, kase I ain’t agwine to turn my back on my bressed Lord an’ Massa for no old tough goose, dat I ain’t.” And here the servant wept as if she would break her heart.
Mr. Pinchen, who seemed moved by Hannah’s words, gave a sympathizing look at the negress, and said, “Well, Sister Gaines, I suppose I must go over and see Sister Daniels; she’ll be waiting for me.”
After seeing the divine out, Mrs. Gaines said, “Now, Hannah, Brother Pinchen is gone, do you get the cowhide and follow me to the cellar, and I’ll whip you well for aggravating me as you have to-day. It seems as if I can never sit down to take a little comfort with the Lord, without you crossing me. The devil always puts it into your head to disturb me, just when I am trying to serve the Lord. I’ve no doubt but that I’ll miss going to heaven on your account. But I’ll whip you well before I leave this world, that I will. Get the cowhide and follow me to the cellar.”
In a few minutes the lady returned to the parlor, followed by the servant whom she had been correcting, and she was in a high state of perspiration, and, on taking a seat, said, “Get the fan, Hannah, and fan me; you ought to be ashamed of yourself to put me into such a passion, and cause me to heat myself up in this way, whipping you. You know that it is a great deal harder for me than it is for you. I have to exert myself, and it puts me all in a fever; while you have only to stand and take it.”
On the following Sabbath,—it being Communion,—Mr. Pinchen officiated. The church being at the Corners, a mile or so from “Poplar Farm,” the Communion wine, which was kept at the Doctor’s, was sent over by the boy, Billy. It happened to be in the month of April, when the maple trees had been tapped, and the sap freely running.
Billy, while passing through the “sugar camp,” or sap bush, stopped to take a drink of the sap, which looked inviting in the newly-made troughs. All at once it occurred to the lad that he could take a drink of the wine, and fill it up with sap. So, acting upon this thought, the youngster put the decanter to his mouth, and drank freely, lowering the beverage considerably in the bottle.
But filling the bottle with the sap was much more easily contemplated than done. For, at every attempt, the water would fall over the sides, none going in. However, the boy, with the fertile imagination of his race, soon conceived the idea of sucking his mouth full of the sap, and then squirting it into the bottle. This plan succeeded admirably, and the slave boy sat in the church gallery that day, and wondered if the communicants would have partaken so freely of the wine, if they had known that his mouth had been the funnel through which a portion of it had passed.
Slavery has had the effect of brightening the mental powers of the negro to a certain extent, especially those brought into close contact with the whites.
It is also a fact, that these blacks felt that when they could get the advantage of their owners, they had a perfect right to do so; and the boy, Billy, no doubt, entertained a consciousness that he had done a very cunning thing in thus drinking the wine entrusted to his care.
Dr. Gaines’practice being confined to the planters and their negroes, in the neighborhood of “Poplar Farm,” caused his income to be very limited from that source, and consequently he looked more to the products of his plantation for support. True, the new store at the Corners, together with McWilliams’ Tannery and Simpson’s Distillery, promised an increase of population, and, therefore, more work for the physician. This was demonstrated very clearly by the Doctor’s coming in one morning somewhat elated, and exclaiming: “Well, my dear, my practice is steadily increasing. I forgot to tell you that neighbor Wyman engaged me yesterday as his family physician; and I hope that the fever and ague, which is now taking hold of the people, will give me more patients. I see by the New Orleans papers that the yellow fever is raging there to a fearful extent. Men of my profession are reaping a harvest in that section thisyear. I would that we could have a touch of the yellow fever here, for I think I could invent a medicine that would cure it. But the yellow fever is a luxury that we medical men in this climate can’t expect to enjoy; yet we may hope for the cholera.”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Gaines, “I would be glad to see it more sickly, so that your business might prosper. But we are always unfortunate. Everybody here seems to be in good health, and I am afraid they’ll keep so. However, we must hope for the best. We must trust in the Lord. Providence may possibly send some disease amongst us for our benefit.”
On going to the office the Doctor found the faithful servant hard at work, and saluting him in his usual kind and indulgent manner, asked, “Well, Cato, have you made the batch of ointment that I ordered?”
Cato.“Yes, massa; I dun made de intment, an’ now I is making the bread pills. De tater pills is up on the top shelf.”
Dr. G.“I am going out to see some patients. If any gentlemen call, tell them I shall be in this afternoon. If any servants come, you attend to them. I expect two of Mr. Campbell’s boys over. You see to them. Feel their pulse, look at their tongues, bleed them, and give them each a dose of calomel. Tell them to drink no cold water, and to take nothing but water gruel.”
Cato.“Yes, massa; I’ll tend to ’em.”
The negro now said, “I allers knowed I was a doctor, an’ now de ole boss has put me at it; Imuss change my coat. Ef any niggers comes in, I wants to look suspectable. Dis jacket don’t suit a doctor; I’ll change it.”
Cato’s vanity seemed at this point to be at its height, and having changed his coat, he walked up and down before the mirror, and viewed himself to his heart’s content, and saying to himself, “Ah! now I looks like a doctor. Now I can bleed, pull teef, or cut off a leg. Oh, well, well! ef I ain’t put de pill stuff an’ de intment stuff togedder. By golly, dat ole cuss will be mad when he finds it out, won’t he? Nebber mind, I’ll make it up in pills, and when de flour is on dem, he won’t know what’s in ’em; an’ I’ll make some new intment. Ah! yonder comes Mr. Campbell’s Pete an’ Ned; dem’s de ones massa sed was comin’. I’ll see ef I looks right. [Goes to the looking-glass and views himself.] I ’em some punkins, ain’t I? [Knock at the door.] Come in.”EnterPeteandNed.
Pete.“Whar is de Doctor?”
Cato.“Here I is; don’t you see me?”
Pete.“But whar is de ole boss?”
Cato.“Dat’s none you business. I dun tole you dat I is de doctor, an’ dat’s enuff.”
Ned.“Oh, do tell us whar de Doctor is. I is almos’ dead. Oh, me! oh, dear me! I is so sick.” [Horrible faces.]
Pete.“Yes, do tell us; we don’t want to stan’ here foolin’.”
Cato.“I tells you again dat I is de doctor. I larn de trade under massa.”
Ned.“Oh! well den; give me somethin’ to stop dis pain. Oh, dear me! I shall die.”
Cato.“Let me feel your pulse. Now, put out your tongue. You is berry sick. Ef you don’t mine, you’ll die. Come out in de shed, an’ I’ll bleed you.” [Taking them out and bleeding them.] “Dar, now, take dese pills, two in de mornin’, and two at night, and ef you don’t feel better, double de dose. Now, Mr. Pete, what’s de matter wid you?”
Pete.“I is got de cole chills, an’ has a fever in de night.”
“Come out in de shed, an’ I’ll bleed you,” said Cato, at the same time viewing himself in the mirror, as he passed out. After taking a quart of blood, which caused the patient to faint, they returned, the black doctor saying, “Now, take dese pills, two in de mornin’, and two at night, an’ ef dey don’t help you, double de dose. Ah! I like to forget to feel your pulse, and look at your tongue. Put out your tongue. [Feels his pulse.] Yes, I tells by de feel ob your pulse dat I is gib you de right pills?”
Just then, Mr. Parker’s negro boy Bill, with his hand up to his mouth, and evidently in great pain, entered the office without giving the usual knock at the door, and which gave great offence to the new physician.
“What you come in dat door widout knockin’ for?” exclaimed Cato.
Bill.“My toof ache so, I didn’t tink to knock. Oh, my toof! my toof! Whar is de Doctor?”
Cato.“Here I is; don’t you see me?”
Bill.“What! you de Doctor, you brack cuss! You looks like a doctor! Oh, my toof! my toof! Whar is de Doctor?”
Cato.“I tells you I is de doctor. Ef you don’t believe me, ax dese men. I can pull your toof in a minnit.”
Bill.“Well, den, pull it out. Oh, my toof! how it aches! Oh, my toof!” [Cato gets the rusty turnkeys.]
Cato.“Now lay down on your back.”
Bill.“What for?”
Cato.“Dat’s de way massa does.”
Bill.“Oh, my toof! Well, den, come on.” [Lies down. Cato gets astraddle of Bill’s breast, puts the turnkeys on the wrong tooth, and pulls—Bill kicks, and cries out]—Oh, do stop! Oh, oh, oh! [Cato pulls the wrong tooth—Bill jumps up.]
Cato.“Dar, now, I tole you I could pull your toof for you.”
Bill.Oh, dear me! Oh, it aches yet! Oh, me! Oh, Lor-e-massy! You dun pull de wrong toof. Drat your skin! ef I don’t pay you for this, you brack cuss! [They fight, and turn over table, chairs, and bench—Pete and Ned look on.]
During themelée, Dr. Gaines entered the office, and unceremoniously went at them with his cane, giving both a sound drubbing before any explanation could be offered. As soon as he could get an opportunity, Cato said, “Oh, massa! he’s to blame, sir, he’s to blame. He struck me fuss.”
Bill.“No, sir; he’s to blame; he pull de wrong toof. Oh, my toof! oh, my toof!”
NEGRO DENTISTRY.
NEGRO DENTISTRY.
Dr. G.“Let me see your tooth. Open your mouth. As I live, you’ve taken out the wrong tooth. I am amazed. I’ll whip you for this; I’ll whip you well. You’re a pretty doctor. Now, liedown, Bill, and let him take out the right tooth; and if he makes a mistake this time, I’ll cowhide him well. Lie down, Bill.” [Bill lies down, and Cato pulls the tooth.] “There, now, why didn’t you do that in the first place?”
Cato.“He wouldn’t hole still, sir.”
Bill.“I did hole still.”
Dr. G.“Now go home, boys; go home.”
“You’ve made a pretty muss of it, in my absence,” said the Doctor. “Look at the table! Never mind, Cato; I’ll whip you well for this conduct of yours to-day. Go to work now, and clear up the office.”
As the office door closed behind the master, the irritated negro, once more left to himself, exclaimed, “Confound dat nigger! I wish he was in Ginny. He bite my finger, and scratch my face. But didn’t I give it to him? Well, den, I reckon I did. [He goes to the mirror, and discovers that his coat is torn—weeps.] Oh, dear me! Oh, my coat—my coat is tore! Dat nigger has tore my coat. [He gets angry, and rushes about the room frantic.] Cuss dat nigger! Ef I could lay my hands on him, I’d tare him all to pieces,—dat I would. An’ de old boss hit me wid his cane after dat nigger tore my coat. By golly, I wants to fight somebody. Ef ole massa should come in now, I’d fight him. [Rolls up his sleeves.] Let ’em come now, ef dey dare—ole massa, or anybody else; I’m ready for ’em.”
Just then the Doctor returned and asked, “What’s all this noise here?”
Cato.“Nuffin’, sir; only jess I is puttin’ thingsto rights, as you tole me. I didn’t hear any noise, except de rats.”
Dr. G.“Make haste, and come in; I want you to go to town.”
Once more left alone, the witty black said, “By golly, de ole boss like to cotch me dat time, didn’t he? But wasn’t I mad? When I is mad, nobody can do nuffin’ wid me. But here’s my coat tore to pieces. Cuss dat nigger! [Weeps.] Oh, my coat! oh, my coat! I rudder he had broke my head, den to tore my coat. Drat dat nigger! Ef he ever comes here agin, I’ll pull out every toof he’s got in his head—dat I will.”
Duringthe palmy days of the South, forty years ago, if there was one class more thoroughly despised than another, by the high-born, well-educated Southerner, it was the slave-trader who made his money by dealing in human cattle. A large number of the slave-traders were men of the North or free States, generally from the lower order, who, getting a little money by their own hard toil, invested it in slaves purchased in Virginia, Maryland, or Kentucky, and sold them in the cotton, sugar, or rice-growing States. And yet the high-bred planter, through mismanagement, or other causes, was compelled to sell his slaves, or some ofthem, at auction, or to let the “soul-buyer” have them.
Dr. Gaines’ financial affairs being in an unfavorable condition, he yielded to the offers of a noted St. Louis trader by the name of Walker. This man was the terror of the whole South-west amongst the black population, bond and free,—for it was not unfrequently that even free colored persons were kidnapped and carried to the far South and sold. Walker had no conscientious scruples, for money was his God, and he worshipped at no other altar.
An uncouth, ill-bred, hard-hearted man, with no education, Walker had started at St. Louis as a dray-driver, and ended as a wealthy slave-trader. The day was set for this man to come and purchase his stock, on which occasion, Mrs. Gaines absented herself from the place; and even the Doctor, although alone, felt deeply the humiliation. For myself, I sat and bit my lips with anger, as the vulgar trader said to the faithful man,—
“Well, my boy, what’s your name?”
Sam.“Sam, sir, is my name.”
Walk.“How old are you, Sam?”
Sam.“Ef I live to see next corn plantin’ time I’ll be twenty-seven, or thirty, or thirty-five,—I don’t know which, sir.”
Walk.“Ha, ha, ha! Well, Doctor, this is rather a green boy. Well, mer feller, are you sound?”
Sam.“Yes, sir, I spec I is.”
Walk.“Open your mouth and let me see your teeth. I allers judge a nigger’s age by his teeth,same as I dose a hoss. Ah! pretty good set of grinders. Have you got a good appetite?”
Sam.“Yes, sir.”
Walk.“Can you eat your allowance?”
Sam.“Yes, sir, when I can get it.”
Walk.“Get out on the floor and dance; I want to see if you are supple.”
Sam.“I don’t like to dance; I is got religion.”
Walk.“Oh, ho! you’ve got religion, have you? That’s so much the better. I likes to deal in the gospel. I think he’ll suit me. Now, mer gal, what’s your name?”
Sally.“I is Big Sally, sir.”
Walk.“How old are you, Sally?”
Sally.“I don’t know, sir; but I heard once dat I was born at sweet pertater diggin’ time.”
Walk.“Ha, ha, ha! Don’t you know how old you are? Do you know who made you?”
Sally.“I hev heard who it was in de Bible dat made me, but I dun forget de gentman’s name.”
Walk.“Ha, ha, ha! Well, Doctor, this is the greenest lot of niggers I’ve seen for some time.”
The last remark struck the Doctor deeply, for he had just taken Sally for debt, and, therefore, he was not responsible for her ignorance. And he frankly told him so.
“This is an unpleasant business for me, Mr. Walker,” said the Doctor, “but you may have Sam for $1,000, and Sally for $900. They are worth all I ask for them. I never banter, Mr. Walker.There they are; you can take them at that price, or let them alone, just as you please.”
Walk.“Well, Doctor, I reckon I’ll take ’em; but it’s all they are worth. I’ll put the handcuffs on ’em, and then I’ll pay you. I likes to go accordin’ to Scripter. Scripter says ef eatin’ meat will offend your brother, you must quit it; and I say ef leavin’ your slaves without the handcuffs will make ’em run away, you must put the handcuffs on ’em. Now, Sam, don’t you and Sally cry. I am of a tender heart, and it allers makes me feel bad to see people cryin’. Don’t cry, and the first place I get to, I’ll buy each of you a great bigginger cake,—that I will.”
And with the last remark the trader took from a small satchel two pairs of handcuffs, putting them on, and with a laugh said: “Now, you look better with the ornaments on.”
Just then, the Doctor remarked,—“There comes Mr. Pinchen.” Walker, looking out and seeing the man of God, said: “It is Mr. Pinchen, as I live; jest the very man I wants to see.” And as the reverend gentleman entered, the trader grasped his hand, saying: “Why, how do you do, Mr. Pinchen? What in the name of Jehu brings you down here to Muddy Creek? Any camp-meetins, revival meetins, death-bed scenes, or anything else in your line going on down here? How is religion prosperin’ now, Mr. Pinchen? I always like to hear about religion.”
Mr. Pin.“Well, Mr. Walker, the Lord’s work is in good condition everywhere now. I tell you,Mr. Walker, I’ve been in the gospel ministry these thirteen years, and I am satisfied that the heart of man is full of sin and desperately wicked. This is a wicked world, Mr. Walker, a wicked world, and we ought all of us to have religion. Religion is a good thing to live by, and we all want it when we die. Yes, sir, when the great trumpet blows, we ought to be ready. And a man in your business of buying and selling slaves needs religion more than anybody else, for it makes you treat your people as you should. Now, there is Mr. Haskins,—he is a slave-trader, like yourself. Well, I converted him. Before he got religion, he was one of the worst men to his niggers I ever saw; his heart was as hard as stone. But religion has made his heart as soft as a piece of cotton. Before I converted him he wouldsell husbands from their wives, and seem to take delight in it; but now he won’t sell a man from his wife, if he can get any one to buy both of them together. I tell you, sir, religion has done a wonderful work for him.”
REV. HENRY PINCHEN.
REV. HENRY PINCHEN.
Walk.“I know, Mr. Pinchen, that I ought to have religion, and I feel that I am a great sinner; and whenever I get with good pious people like you and the Doctor, it always makes me feel that I am a desperate sinner. I feel it the more, because I’ve got a religious turn of mind. I know that I would be happier with religion, and the first spare time I get, I am going to try to get it. I’ll go to a protracted meeting, and I won’t stop till I get religion.”
The departure of the trader with his property left a sadness even amongst the white members of the family, and special sympathy was felt for Hannah for the loss of her husband by the sale. However, Mrs. Gaines took it coolly, for as Sam was a field hand, she had often said she wanted her to have one of the house servants, and as Cato was without a wife, this seemed to favor her plans. Therefore, a week later, as Hannah entered the sitting-room one evening, she said to her:—“You need not tell me, Hannah, that you don’t want another husband, I know better. Your master has sold Sam, and he’s gone down the river, and you’ll never see him again. So go and put on your calico dress, and meet me in the kitchen. I intend for you tojump the broomstickwith Cato. You need not tell me you don’t wantanother man. I know there’s no woman living that can be happy and satisfied without a husband.”
Hannah said: “Oh, missis, I don’t want to jump de broomstick wid Cato. I don’t love Cato; I can’t love him.”
Mrs. G.“Shut up, this moment! What do you know about love? I didn’t love your master when I married him, and people don’t marry for love now. So go and put on your calico dress, and meet me in the kitchen.”
As the servant left for the kitchen, the mistress remarked: “I am glad that the Doctor has sold Sam, for now I’ll have her marry Cato, and I’ll have them both in the house under my eyes.”
As Hannah entered the kitchen, she said: “Oh, Cato, do go and tell missis dat you don’t want to jump de broomstick wid me,—dat’s a good man. Do, Cato; kase I nebber can love you. It was only las week dat massa sold my Sammy, and I don’t want any udder man. Do go tell missis dat you don’t want me.” To which Cato replied: “No, Hannah, I ain’t a-gwine to tell missis no such thing, kase I does want you, and I ain’t a-gwine to tell a lie for you ner nobody else. Dar, now you’s got it! I don’t see why you need to make so much fuss. I is better lookin’ den Sam; an’ I is a house servant, an’ Sam was only a fiel hand; so you ought to feel proud of a change. So go and do as missis tells you.”
As the woman retired, the man continued: “Hannah needn’t try to get me to tell a lie; I ain’t a-gwineto do it, kase I dose want her, an’ I is bin wantin’ her dis long time, an’ soon as massa sold Sam, I knowed I would get her. By golly, I is gwine to be a married man. Won’t I be happy? Now, ef I could only jess run away from ole massa, an’ get to Canada wid Hannah, den I’d show ’em who I was. Ah! dat reminds me of my song ’bout ole massa and Canada, an’ I’ll sing it. Dis is my moriginal hyme. It comed into my head one night when I was fass asleep under an apple tree, looking up at de moon.”
While Hannah was getting ready for the nuptials, Cato amused himself by singing—
De happiest day I ever did see,I’m bound fer my heavenly home,When missis give Hannah to me,Through heaven dis chile will roam.Chorus.—Go away, Sam, you can’t come a-nigh me,Gwine to meet my friens in hebben,Hannah is gwine along;Missis ses Hannah is mine,So Hannah is gwine along.Chorus,repeated.Father Gabriel, blow your horn,I’ll take wings and fly away,Take Hannah up in the early morn,An’ I’ll be in hebben by de break of day.Chorus.—Go away, Sam, you can’t come a-nigh me,Gwine to meet my friens in hebben,Hannah is gwine along;Missis ses Hannah is mine,So Hannah is gwine along.
De happiest day I ever did see,I’m bound fer my heavenly home,When missis give Hannah to me,Through heaven dis chile will roam.
Chorus.—Go away, Sam, you can’t come a-nigh me,Gwine to meet my friens in hebben,Hannah is gwine along;Missis ses Hannah is mine,So Hannah is gwine along.
Chorus,repeated.
Father Gabriel, blow your horn,I’ll take wings and fly away,Take Hannah up in the early morn,An’ I’ll be in hebben by de break of day.
Chorus.—Go away, Sam, you can’t come a-nigh me,Gwine to meet my friens in hebben,Hannah is gwine along;Missis ses Hannah is mine,So Hannah is gwine along.
Mrs. Gaines, as she approached the kitchen, heard the servant’s musical voice and knew that he was in high glee; entering, she said, “Ah! Cato, you’re ready, are you? Where is Hannah?”
Cato.“Yes, missis; I is bin waitin’ dis long time. Hannah has bin here tryin’ to swade me to tell you dat I don’t want her; but I telled her dat you sed I must jump de broomstick wid her, an’ I is gwine to mind you.”
Mrs. G.“That’s right, Cato; servants should always mind their masters and mistresses, without asking a question.”
Cato.“Yes, missis, I allers dose what you and massa tells me, an’ axes nobody.”
While the mistress went in search of Hannah, Dolly came in saying, “Oh, Cato, do go an’ tell missis dat you don’t want Hannah. Don’t yer hear how she’s whippin’ her in de cellar? Do go an’ tell missis dat you don’t want Hannah, and den she’ll stop whippin’ her.”
Cato.“No, Dolly, I ain’t a gwine to do no such a thing, kase ef I tell missis dat I don’t want Hannah, den missis will whip me; an’ I ain’t a-gwine to be whipped fer you, ner Hannah, ner nobody else. No, I’ll jump the broomstick wid every woman on de place, ef missis wants me to, before I’ll be whipped.”
Dolly.“Cato, ef I was in Hannah’s place, I’d see you in de bottomless pit before I’d live wid you, you great, big, wall-eyed, empty-headed, knock-kneed fool. You’re as mean as your devilish old missis.”
Cato.“Ef you don’t quit dat busin’ me, Dolly, I’ll tell missis as soon as she comes in, an’ she’ll whip you, you know she will.”
As Mrs. Gaines entered she said, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Hannah, to make me fatigue myself in this way, to make you do your duty. It’s very naughty in you, Hannah. Now, Dolly, you and Susan get the broom, and get out in the middle of the room. There, hold it a little lower—a little higher; there, that’ll do. Now, remember that this is a solemn occasion; you are going to jump into matrimony. Now, Cato, take hold of Hannah’s hand. There, now, why could n’t you let Cato take hold of your hand before? Now, get ready, and when I count three, do you jump. Eyes on thebroomstick! All ready. One, two, three, and over you go. There, now you’re husband and wife, and if you don’t live happy together, it’s your own fault; for I am sure there’s nothing to hinder it. Now, Hannah, come up to the house, and I’ll give you some whiskey, and you can make some apple-toddy, and you and Cato can have a fine time. Now, I’ll go back to the parlor.”
Dolly.“I tell you what, Susan, when I get married, I is gwine to have a preacher to marry me. I ain’t a-gwine to jump de broomstick. Dat will do for fiel’ hands, but house servants ought to be ’bove dat.”
Susan.“Well, chile, you can’t spect any ting else from ole missis. She come from down in Carlina, from ’mong de poor white trash. She don’t know anybetter. You can’t speck nothin’ more dan a jump from a frog. Missis says she is one ob de akastocacy; but she ain’t no more of an akastocacy dan I is. Missis says she was born wid a silver spoon in her mouf; ef she was, I wish it had a-choked her, dat’ what I wish.”
The mode of jumping the broomstick was the general custom in the rural districts of the South, forty years ago; and, as there was no law whatever in regard to the marriage of slaves, this custom had as binding force with the negroes, as if they had been joined by a clergyman; the difference being the one was not so high-toned as the other. Yet, it must be admitted that the blacks always preferred being married by a clergyman.
Dr. Gainesand wife having spent the heated season at the North, travelling for pleasure and seeking information upon the mode of agriculture practised in the free States, returned home filled with new ideas which they were anxious to put into immediate execution, and, therefore, a radical change was at once commenced.
Two of the most interesting changes proposed, were the introduction of a plow, which was to take the place of the heavy, unwieldy one then in use,and a washing-machine, instead of the hard hand-rubbing then practised. The first called forth much criticism amongst the men in the field, where it was christened the “Yankee Dodger,” and during the first half a day of its use, it was followed by a large number of the negroes, men and women wondering at its superiority over the old plow, and wanting to know where it was from.
But the excitement in the kitchen, amongst the women, over the washing-machine, threw the novelty of the plow entirely in the shade.
“An’ so dat tub wid its wheels an’ fixin’ is to do de washin’, while we’s to set down an’ look at it,” said Dolly, as ten or a dozen servants stood around the new comer, laughing and making fun at its ungainly appearance.
“I don’t see why massa didn’t buy a woman, out dar whar de ting was made, an’ fotch ’em along, so she could learn us how to wash wid it,” remarked Hannah, as her mistress came into the kitchen to give orders about the mode of using the “washer.”
“Now, Dolly,” said the mistress, “we are to have new rules, hereafter, about the work. While at the North, I found that the women got up at four o’clock, on Monday mornings, and commenced the washing, which was all finished, and out on the lines, by nine o’clock. Now, remember that, hereafter, there is to be no more washing on Fridays, and ironing on Saturdays, as you used to do. And instead of six of you great, big women to do the washing, two of you with the ‘washer,’ can do thework.” And out she went, leaving the negroes to the contemplation of the future.
“I wish missis had stayed at home, ’stead of goin’ round de world, bringin’ home new rules. Who she tinks gwine to get out of bed at four o’clock in de mornin’, kase she fotch home dis wash-box,” said Dolly, as she gave a knowing look at the other servants.
“De Lord knows dat dis chile ain’t a-gwine to git out of her sweet bed at four o’clock in de mornin’, for no body; you hears dat, don’t you?” remarked Winnie, as she gave a loud laugh, and danced out of the room.
Before the end of the week, Peter had run the new plow against a stump, and had broken it beyond the possibility of repair.
When the lady arose on Monday morning, at half-past nine, her usual time, instead of finding the washing out on the lines, she saw, to her great disappointment, the inside works of the “washer” taken out, and Dolly, the chief laundress, washing away with all her power, in the old way, rubbing with her hands, the perspiration pouring down her black face.
“What have you been doing, Dolly, with the ‘washer?’” exclaimed the mistress, as she threw up her hands in astonishment.
“Well, you see, missis,” said the servant, “dat merchine won’t work no way. I tried it one way, den I tried it an udder way, an’ still it would not work. So, you see, I got de screw-driver an’ I tookit to pieces. Dat’s de reason I ain’t got along faster wid de work.”
Mrs. Gaines returned to the parlor, sat down, and had a good cry, declaring her belief that “negroes could not be made white folks, no matter what you should do with them.”
Although the “patent plow” and the “washer” had failed, Dr. and Mrs. Gaines had the satisfaction of knowing that one of their new ideas was to be put into successful execution in a few days.
While at the North, they had eaten at a farm-house, some new cheese, just from the press, and on speaking of it, she was told by old Aunt Nancy, the blackmammaof the place, that she understood all about making cheese. This piece of information gave general satisfaction, and a cheese-press was at once ordered from St. Louis.
The arrival of the cheese-press, the following week, was the signal for the new sensation. Nancy was at once summoned to the great house for the purpose of superintending the making of the cheese. A prouder person than the old negress could scarcely have been found. Her early days had been spent on the eastern shores of Maryland, where the blacks have an idea that they are, by nature, superior to their race in any other part of the habitable globe. Nancy had always spoken of the Kentucky and Missouri negroes as “low brack trash,” and now, that all were to be passed over, and the only Marylander on the place called in upon this “great occasion,” her cup of happiness was filled to the brim.
“What do you need, besides the cheese-press, to make the cheese with, Nancy?” inquired Mrs. Gaines, as the old servant stood before her, with her hands resting upon her hips, and looking at the half-dozen slaves who loitered around, listening to what was being said.
“Well, missis,” replied Nancy, “I mus’ have a runnet.”
“What’s a runnet?” inquired Mrs. Gaines.
“Why, you see, missis, you’s got to have a sheep killed, and get out of it de maw, an’ dat’s what’s called de runnet. An’ I puts dat in de milk, an’ it curdles the milk so it makes cheese.”
“Then I’ll have a sheep killed at once,” said the mistress, and orders were given to Jim to kill the sheep. Soon after the sheep’s carcass was distributed amongst the negroes, and “de runnet,” in the hands of old Nancy.
That night there was fun and plenty of cheap talk in the negro quarters and in the kitchen, for it had been discovered amongst them that a calf’s runnet, and not a sheep’s, was the article used to curdle the milk for making cheese.
The laugh was then turned upon Nancy, who, after listening to all sorts of remarks in regard to her knowledge of cheese-making, said, in a triumphant tone, suiting the action to the words,—
“You niggers tink you knows a heap, but you don’t know as much as you tink. When de sheep is killed, I knows dat you niggers would git de meat to eat. I knows dat.”
With this remark Nancy silenced the entire group. Then putting her hand a-kimbo, the old woman sarcastically exclaimed: “To-morrow you’ll all have calf’s meat for dinner, den what will you have to say ’bout old Nancy?” Hearing no reply, she said: “Whar is you smart niggers now? Whar is you, I ax you?”
“Well, den, ef Ant Nancy ain’t some punkins, dis chile knows nuffin,” remarked Ike, as he stood up at full length, viewing the situation, as if he had caught a new idea. “I allers tole yer dat Ant Nancy had moo in her head dan what yer catch out wid a fine-toof comb,” exclaimed Peter.
“But how is you going to tell missis ’bout killin’ de sheep?” asked Jim.
Nancy turned to the head man and replied: “De same mudder wit dat tole me to get some sheep fer you niggers will tell me what to do. De Lord always guides me through my troubles an’ trials. Befoe I open my mouf, He always fills it.”
The following day Nancy presented herself at the great house door, and sent in for her mistress. On the lady’s appearing, the servant, putting on a knowing look, said: “Missis, when de moon is cold an’ de water runs high in it, den I have to put calf’s runnet in de milk, instead of sheep’s. So, lass night, I see dat de moon is cold an’ de water is runnin’ high.”
“Well, Nancy,” said the mistress, “I’ll have a calf killed at once, for I can’t wait for a warm moon. Go and tell Jim to kill a calf immediately,for I must not be kept out of cheese much longer.” On Nancy’s return to the quarters, old Ned, who was past work, and who never did anything but eat, sleep and talk, heard the woman’s explanation, and clapping his wrinkled hands exclaimed: “Well den, Nancy, you is wof moo den all de niggers on dis place, fer you gives us fresh meat ebbry day.”
After getting the right runnet, and two weeks’ work on the new cheese, a little, soft, sour, hard-looking thing, appearing like anything but a cheese, was exhibited at “Poplar Farm,” to the great amusement of the blacks, and the disappointment of the whites, and especially Mrs. Gaines, who had frequently remarked that her “mouth was watering for the new cheese.”
No attempt was ever made afterwards to renew the cheese-making, and the press was laid under the shed, by the side of the washing machine and the patent plow. While we had three or four trustworthy and faithful servants, it must be admitted that most of the negroes on “Poplar Farm” were always glad to shirk labor, and thought that to deceive the whites was a religious duty.
Wit and religion has ever been the negro’s forte while in slavery. Wit with which to please his master, or to soften his anger when displeased, and religion to enable him to endure punishment when inflicted.
Both Dr. and Mrs. Gaines were easily deceived by their servants. Indeed, I often thought that Mrs. Gaines took peculiar pleasure in being misledby them; and even the Doctor, with his long experience and shrewdness, would allow himself to be carried off upon almost any pretext. For instance, when he retired at night, Ike, his body servant, would take his master’s clothes out of the room, brush them off and return them in time for the Doctor to dress for breakfast. There was nothing in this out of the way; but the master would often remark that he thought Ike brushed his clothes too much, for they appeared to wear out a great deal faster than they had formerly. Ike, however, attributed the wear to the fact that the goods were wanting in soundness. Thus the master, at the advice of his servant, changed his tailor.
MRS. SARAH PEPPER GAINES.
MRS. SARAH PEPPER GAINES.
About the same time the Doctor’s watch stopped at night, and when taken to be repaired, the watchmaker found it badly damaged, which he pronounced had been done by a fall. As the Doctor was always very careful with his time-piece, he could in no way account for the stoppage. Ike was questioned as to his handling of it, but he could throw no light upon the subject. At last, one night about twelve o’clock, a message came for the Doctor to visit a patient who had a sudden attack of cholera morbus. The faithful Ike was nowhere to be found, nor could any traces of the Doctor’s clothes be discovered. Not even the watch, which was always laid upon the mantle-shelf, could be seen anywhere.
It seemed clear that Ike had run away with his master’s daily wearing apparel, watch and all. Yes, and further search showed that the boots, with one heel four inches higher than the other, had also disappeared. But go, the Doctor must; and Mrs. Gaines and all of us went to work to get the Doctor ready.
While Cato was hunting up the old boots, and Hannah was in the attic getting the old hat, Jim returned from the barn and informed his master that the sorrel horse, which he had ordered to be saddled, was nowhere to be found; and that he had got out the bay mare, and as there was no saddle on the place, Ike having taken the only one, he, Jim, had put the buffalo robe on the mare.
It was a bright moonlight night, and to see the Doctor on horseback without a saddle, dressed inhis castaway suit, was, indeed, ridiculous in the extreme. However, he made the visit, saved the patient’s life, came home and went snugly to bed. The following morning, to the Doctor’s great surprise, in walked Ike, at his usual time, with the clothes in one hand and the boots nicely blacked in the other. The faithful slave had not seen any of the other servants, and consequently did not know of the master’s discomfiture on the previous night.
“Were any of the servants off the place last night?” inquired the Doctor, as Ike laid the clothes carefully on a chair, and was setting down the boots.
“No, I speck not,” answered Ike.
“Were you off anywhere last night?” asked the master.
“No, sir,” replied the servant.
“What! not off the place at all?” inquired the Doctor sharply. Ike looked confused and evidently began to “smell a mice.”
“Well, massa, I was not away only to step over to de prayer-meetin’ at de Corners, a little while, dat’s all,” said Ike.
“Where’s my watch?” asked the Doctor.
“I speck it’s on de mantleshelf dar, whar I put it lass night, sir,” replied Ike, and at the same time reached to the time-piece, where he had laid it a moment before, and holding it up triumphantly, “Here it is, sir, right where I left it lass night.”
Ike was told to go, which he was glad to do. “What shall I do with that fellow?” said the Doctor to his wife, as the servant quitted the room.
Ike had scarcely reached the back yard when he met Cato, who told him of his absence on the previous night being known to his master. When Ike had heard all, he exclaimed, “Well, den ef de ole boss knows it, dis nigger is kotched sure as you is born.”
“I would not be in your shoes, Ike, fer a heap, dis mornin’,” said Cato.
“Well,” replied Ike, “I thank de Lord dat I is got religion to stand it.”
Dr. Gaines, as he dressed himself, found nothing out of the way until he came to look at the boots. The Doctor was lame from birth. Here he saw unmistakable evidence that the high heel had been taken off, and had been replaced by a screw put through the inside, and the seam waxed over. Dr. Gaines had often thought, when putting his boots on in the morning, that they appeared a little loose, and on speaking of it to his servant, the negro would attribute it to the blacking, which he said “made de lether stretch.”
That morning when breakfast was over, and the negroes called in for family prayers, all eyes were upon Ike.
It has always appeared strange that the negroes should seemingly take such delight in seeing their fellow-servants in a “bad fix.” But it is nevertheless true, and Ike’s “bad luck” appeared to furnish sport for old and young of his own race. At the conclusion of prayers, the Doctor said, “Now, Ike, I want you to tell me the truth, and nothing but thetruth, of your whereabouts last night, and why you wore away my clothes?”
“Well, massa,” said Ike, “I’m gwine to tell you God’s truth.”
“That’s what I want, Ike,” remarked the master.
“Now,” continued the negro, “I ware de clothes to de dance, kase you see, massa, I knowed dat you didn’t want your body servant to go to de ball looking poorer dressed den udder gentmen’s boys. So you see I had no clothes myself, so I takes yours. I had to knock the heel off de lame leg boot, so dat I could ware it. An’ den I took ‘ole Sorrel,’ kase he paces so fass an’ so easy. No udder hoss could get me to de city in time fer de ball, ceptin’ ‘ole Sorrel.’ You see, massa, ten miles is a good ways to go after you is gone to bed. Now, massa, I hope you’ll forgive me dis time, an’ I’ll never do so any moo.”
During Ike’s telling his story, his master kept his eyes rivetted upon him, and at its conclusion said: “You first told me that you were at the prayer-meeting at the Corners; what did you do that for?”
“Well, massa,” replied Ike, “I knowed dat I ought to had gone to de prar-meetin’, an’ dat’s de reason I said I was dar.”
“And you’re a pretty Christian, going to a dance, instead of your prayer-meeting. This is the fifth time you’ve fallen from grace,” said the master.
“Oh, no,” quickly responded Ike; “dis is only de fourf time dat I is back slid.”
“But this is not the first time that you have taken my clothes and worn them. And there’s my watch,you could not tell the time, what did you want with that?” said the Doctor.
“Yes, massa,” replied Ike, “I’ll tell de truth; I wore de clothes afore dis time, an’ I take de watch too, an’ I let it fall, an’ dat’s de reason it stop dat time. An’ I know I could not tell de time by de watch, but I guessed at it, an’ dat made de niggers star at me, to see me have a watch.”
The announcement that Col. Lemmy was at the door cut short the further investigation of Ike’s case. The Colonel was the very opposite to Dr. Gaines, believing that there was no good in the negro, except to toil, and feeling that all religious efforts to better the condition of the race was time thrown away.
The Colonel laughed heartily as the Doctor told how Ike had worn his clothes. He quickly inquired if the servant had been punished, and when informed that he had not, he said: “The lash is worth more than all the religion in the world. Your boy, Ike, with the rest of the niggers around here, will go to a prayer meetin’ and will tell how good they feel or how bad they feel, just as it may suit the case. They’ll cry, groan, clap their hands, pat their feet, worry themselves into a lather of sweat, sing,