I’m a-gwine to keep a-climbin’ high,See de hebbenly land;Till I meet dem er angels in a de skySee de hebbenly lan’.Dem pooty angels I shall see,See de hebbenly lan’;Why don’t de debbil let a-me be,See de hebbenly lan’.
I’m a-gwine to keep a-climbin’ high,See de hebbenly land;Till I meet dem er angels in a de skySee de hebbenly lan’.
Dem pooty angels I shall see,See de hebbenly lan’;Why don’t de debbil let a-me be,See de hebbenly lan’.
“Yes, Doctor; these niggers will pray till twelve o’clock at night; break up their meeting and go home shouting and singing, ‘Glory hallelujah!’ and every darned one of them will steal a chicken, turkey, or pig, and cry out ‘Come down, sweet chariot, an’ carry me home to hebben!’ yes, and still continue to sing till they go to sleep. You may give your slaves religion, and I’ll give mine the whip, an’ I’ll bet that I’ll get the most tobacco and hemp out of the same number of hands.”
“I hardly think,” said the Doctor, after listening attentively to his neighbor, “that I can let Ike pass without some punishment. Yet I differ with you in regard to the good effects of religion upon all classes, more especially our negroes, for the African is pre-eminently a religious being; with them, I admit, there is considerable superstition. They have a permanent belief in good and bad luck, ghosts, fortune-telling, and the like; but we whites are not entirely free from such notions.”
At the last sentence or two, the Colonel’s eyes sparkled, and he began to turn pale, for it was well known that he was a firm believer in ghosts and fortune-telling.
“Now, Doctor,” said Col. Lemmy, “every sensible man must admit the fact that ghosts exist, and that there is nothing in the world truer than that the future can be told. Look at Mrs. McWilliams’ lawsuit with Major Todd. She went to old Frank, the nigger fortune-teller, and asked him which lawyer she should employ. The old man gazed at her fora moment or two, and said, ‘missis, you’s got your mind on two lawyers,—a big man and a little man. Ef you takes de big man, you loses de case; ef you takes de little man, you wins de case.’ Sure enough, she had in contemplation the employment of either McGuyer or Darby. The first is a large man; the latter was, as you know, a small man. So, taking the old negro’s advice, she obtained the services of John F. Darby, and gained the suit.”
“Yes,” responded the Doctor, “I have always heard that the Widow McWilliams gained her case by consulting old Frank.”
“Why, Doctor,” continued the Colonel, in an animated manner, “When the races were at St. Louis, three years ago, I went to old Betty, the blind fortune-teller, to see which horse was going to win; and she said, ‘Massa, bet your, money on de gray mare.’ Well, you see, everybody thought that Johnson’s black horse would win, and piles of money was bet on him. However, I bet one hundred dollars on the gray mare, and, to the utter surprise of all, she won. When the race was over, I was asked how I come to bet on the mare, when everybody was putting their funds on the horse. I then told them that I never risked my money on any horse, till I found out which was going to win.
“Now, with regard to ghosts, just let me say to you, Doctor, that I saw the ghost of the peddler that was murdered over on the old road, just as sure as you are born.”
“Do you think so?” asked the Doctor.
“Think so! Why, I know it, just as well as I know that I see you now. He had his pack on his back; and it was in the daytime, no night-work about it. He looked at me, and I watched him till he got out of sight. But wasn’t I frightened; it made the hair stand up on my head, I tell you.”
“Did he speak to you?” asked the Doctor.
“Oh, no! he didn’t speak, but he had a sorrowful look, and, as he was getting out of sight, he turned and looked over his shoulder at me.”
Most of the superstition amongst the whites, in our section, was the result of their close connection with the blacks; for the servants told the most foolish stories to the children in the nurseries, and they learned more, as they grew older, from the slaves in the quarters, or out on the premises.
Profitableand interesting amusements were always needed at the Corners, the nearest place to the “Poplar Farm.” At the tavern, post-office, and the store, all the neighborhood assembled to read the news, compare notes, and to talk politics.
Shows seldom ventured to stop there, for want of sufficient patronage. Once in three months, however, they had a “Gander Snatching,” which never failed to draw together large numbers of ladies aswell as gentlemen, theelite, as well as the common. The getter-up of this entertainment would procure a gander of the wild goose species. This bird had a long neck, which was large as it rose above the breast, but tapered gradually, for more than half the length, until it became small and serpent-like in form, terminating in a long, slim head, and peaked bill. The head and neck of the gander was well-greased; the legs were tied together with a strong cord, and the bird was then fastened by its legs, to a swinging limb of a tree. TheSnatcherswere to be on horseback, and were to start fifteen or twenty rods from the gander, riding at full speed, and, as they passed along under the bird, they had the right to pull his head off if they could. To accelerate the speed of the horses, a man was stationed a few feet from the gander, with orders to give every horse a cut with his whip, as he went by.
Sometimes the bird’s head would be caught by ten or a dozen before they would succeed in pulling it off, which was necessary; often by the sudden jump of the animal, or the rider having taken a little too much wine, he would fall from his horse, which event would give additional interest to the “Snatching.”
The poor gander would frequently show far more sagacity than its torturers. After having its head caught once or twice, the gander would draw up its head, or dodge out of the way. Sometimes the snatcher would have in his hand a bit of sandpaper, which would enable him to make a tighter grasp. But this mode was generally consideredunfair, and, on one occasion, caused a duel in which both parties were severely wounded.
But the most costly and injurious amusement that the people in our section entered into was that of card-playing, a species of gambling too much indulged in throughout the entire South. This amusement causes much sadness, for it often occurs that gentlemen lose large sums at the gambling-table, frequently seriously embarrassing themselves, sometimes bringing ruin upon whole families.
Mr. Oscar Smith, residing near “Poplar Farm,” took a trip to St. Louis, thence to New Orleans and back. On the steamer he was beguiled into gaming.
“Go call my boy, steward,” said Mr. Smith, as he took his cards one by one from the table.
In a few moments a fine-looking, bright-eyed mulatto boy, apparently about fifteen years of age, was standing by his master’s side at the table.
“I will see you and five hundred dollars better,” said Smith, as his servant Jerry approached the table.
“What price do you set on that boy?” asked Johnson, as he took a roll of bills from his pocket.
“He will bring a thousand dollars, any day, in the New Orleans market,” replied Smith.
“Then you bet the whole of the boy, do you?”
“Yes.”
“I call you, then,” said Johnson, at the same time spreading his cards out upon the table.
“You have beat me,” said Smith, as soon as he saw the cards.
Jerry, who was standing on top of the table, withthe bank-notes and silver dollars round his feet, was now ordered to descend from the table.
“You will not forget that you belong to me,” said Johnson, as the young slave was stepping from the table to a chair.
GAMBLING FOR A SLAVE.
GAMBLING FOR A SLAVE.
“No, sir,” replied the chattel.
“Now go back to your bed, and be up in time to-morrow morning to brush my clothes and clean my boots, do you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” responded Jerry, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
As Mr. Smith left the gaming-table, he said: “I claim the right of redeeming that boy, Mr. Johnson. My father gave him to me when I came of age, and I promised not to part with him.”
“Most certainly, sir, the boy shall be yours whenever you hand me over a cool thousand,” replied Johnson.
The next morning, as the passengers were assembling in the breakfast saloons, and upon the guards of the vessel, and the servants were seen running about waiting upon or looking for their masters, poor Jerry was entering his new master’s state-room with his boots.
The genuine wit of the negro is often a marvel to the whites, and this wit or humor, as it may be called, is brought out in various ways. Not unfrequently is it exhibited by the black, when he really means to be very solemn.
Thus our Sampey met Davidson’s Joe, on the road to the Corners, and called out to him several times without getting an answer. At last, Joe, appearing much annoyed, stopped, looked at Sampey in an attitude of surprise, and exclaimed: “Ain’t you got no manners? Whare’s your eyes? Don’t you see I is a funeral?”
It was not till then that Sampey saw that Joe hada box in his arms, resembling a coffin, in which was a deceased negro child. The negro would often show his wit to the disadvantage of his master or mistress.
When visitors were at “Poplar Farm,” Dr. Gaines would frequently call in Cato to sing a song or crack a joke, for the amusement of the company. On one occasion, requesting the servant to give a toast, at the same time handing the negro a glass of wine, the latter took the glass, held it up, looked at it, began to show his ivory, and said:
“De big bee flies high,De little bee makes de honey,De black man raise de cotton,An’ de white man gets de money.”
“De big bee flies high,De little bee makes de honey,De black man raise de cotton,An’ de white man gets de money.”
The same servant going to meeting one Sabbath, was met on the road by Major Ben. O’Fallon, who was riding on horseback, with a hoisted umbrella to keep the rain off. The Major, seeing the negro trudging along bareheaded and with something under his coat, supposing he had stolen some article which he was attempting to hide, said, “What’s that you’ve got under your coat, boy?”
“Nothin’, sir, but my hat,” replied the slave, and at the same time drawing forth a second-hand beaver.
“Is it yours?” inquired the Major.
“Yes, sir,” was the quick response of the negro.
“Well,” continued the Major, “if it is yours, whydon’t you wear it and save your head from the rain?”
“Oh!” replied the servant, with a smile of seeming satisfaction, “de head belongs to massa an’ de hat belongs to me. Let massa take care of his property, an’ I’ll take care of mine.”
Dr. Gaines, while taking a neighbor out to the pig sty, to show him some choice hogs that he intended for the next winter’s bacon, said to Dolly who was feeding the pigs: “How much lard do you think you can get out of that big hog, Dolly?”
The old negress scratched her wooly head, put on a thoughtful look, and replied, “I specks I can get a pail full, ef de pail aint too big.”
“I reckon you can,” responded the master.
The ladies are not without their recreation, the most common of which is snuff-dipping. A snuff-box or bottle is carried, and with it a very small stick or cane, which has been chewed at the end until it forms a small mop. The little dippers or sticks are sold in bundles for the use of the ladies, and can be bought simply cut in the requisite lengths or chewed ready for use. This the dipper moistens with saliva, and dips into the snuff-box, and then lifts the mop thus loaded inside the lips. In some parts they courteously hand round the snuff and dipper, or place a plentiful supply of snuff on the table, into which all the company may dip.
Amongst even the better classes of whites, the ladies would often assemble in considerable numbers, especially during revival meeting times, place awash-dish in the middle of the room, all gather around it, commence snuff-dipping, and all using the wash-dish as a common spittoon.
Every well bred lady carries her own snuff-box and dipper. Generally during church service, where the clergyman is a little prosy, snuff-dipping is indispensible.
Fortyyears ago, in the Southern States, superstition held an exalted place with all classes, but more especially with the blacks and uneducated, or poor, whites. This was shown more clearly in their belief in witchcraft in general, and the devil in particular. To both of these classes, the devil was a real being, sporting a club-foot, horns, tail, and a hump on his back.
The influence of the devil was far greater than that of the Lord. If one of these votaries had stolen a pig, and the fear of the Lord came over him, he would most likely ask the Lord to forgive him, but still cling to the pig. But if the fear of the devil came upon him, in all probability he would drop the pig and take to his heels.
In those days the city of St. Louis had a large number who had implicit faith in Voudooism. I once attended one of their midnight meetings. In the pale rays of the moon the dark outlines of alarge assemblage was visible, gathered about a small fire, conversing in different tongues. They were negroes of all ages,—women, children, and men. Finally, the noise was hushed, and the assembled group assumed an attitude of respect. They made way for their queen, and a short, black, old negress came upon the scene, followed by two assistants, one of whom bore a cauldron, and the other, a box.
The cauldron was placed over the dying embers, the queen drew forth, from the folds of her gown, a magic wand, and the crowd formed a ring around her. Her first act was to throw some substance on the fire, the flames shot up with a lurid glare—now it writhed in serpent coils, now it darted upward in forked tongues, and then it gradually transformed itself into a veil of dusky vapors. At this stage, after a certain amount of gibberish and wild gesticulation from the queen, the box was opened, and frogs, lizards, snakes, dog liver, and beef hearts drawn forth and thrown into the cauldron. Then followed more gibberish and gesticulation, when the congregation joined hands, and began the wildest dance imaginable, keeping it up until the men and women sank to the ground from mere exhaustion.
In the ignorant days of slavery, there was a general belief that a horse-shoe hung over the door would insure good luck. I have seen negroes, otherwise comparatively intelligent, refuse to pick up a pin, needle, or other such object, dropped by a negro, because, as they alleged, if the person who dropped the articles had a spite against them, totouch anything they dropped would voudou them, and make them seriously ill.
Nearly every large plantation, with any considerable number of negroes, had at least one, who laid claim to be a fortune-teller, and who was regarded with more than common respect by his fellow-slaves. Dinkie, a full-blooded African, large in frame, coarse featured, and claiming to be a descendant of a king in his native land, was the oracle on the “Poplar Farm.” At the time of which I write, Dinkie was about fifty years of age, and had lost an eye, and was, to say the least, a very ugly-looking man.
No one in that section was considered so deeply immersed in voudooism, goopherism, and fortune-telling, as he. Although he had been many years in the Gaines family, no one could remember the time when Dinkie was called upon to perform manual labor. He was not sick, yet he never worked. No one interfered with him. If he felt like feeding the chickens, pigs, or cattle, he did so. Dinkie hunted, slept, was at the table at meal time, roamed through the woods, went to the city, and returned when he pleased, with no one to object, or to ask a question. Everybody treated him with respect. The whites, throughout the neighborhood, tipped their hats to the old one-eyed negro, while the policemen, or patrollers, permitted him to pass without a challenge. The negroes, everywhere, stood in mortal fear of “Uncle Dinkie.” The blacks who saw him every day, were always thrown upon their good behavior, when in his presence. I once askeda negro why they appeared to be afraid of Dinkie. He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, smiled, shook his head and said,—
“I ain’t afraid of de debble, but I ain’t ready to go to him jess yet.” He then took a look around and behind, as if he feared some one would hear what he was saying, and then continued: “Dinkie’s got de power, ser; he knows things seen and unseen, an’ dat’s what makes him his own massa.”
It was literally true, this man was his own master. He wore a snake’s skin around his neck, carried a petrified frog in one pocket, and a dried lizard in the other.
A slave speculator once came along and offered to purchase Dinkie. Dr. Gaines, no doubt, thought it a good opportunity to get the elephant off his hands, and accepted the money. A day later, the trader returned the old negro, with a threat of a suit at law for damages.
A new overseer was employed, by Dr. Gaines, to take charge of “Poplar Farm.” His name was Grove Cook, and he was widely known as a man of ability in managing plantations, and in raising a large quantity of produce from a given number of hands. Cook was called a “hard overseer.” The negroes dreaded his coming, and, for weeks before his arrival, the overseer’s name was on every slave’s tongue.
Cook came, he called the negroes up, men and women; counted them, looked them over as a purchaser would a drove of cattle that he intended to buy. As he was about to dismiss them he sawDinkie come out of his cabin. The sharp eye of the overseer was at once on him.
“Who is that nigger?” inquired Cook.
“That is Dinkie,” replied Dr. Gaines.
“What is his place?” continued the overseer.
“Oh, Dinkie is a gentleman at large!” was the response.
“Have you any objection to his working?”
“None, whatever.”
“Well, sir,” said Cook, “I’ll put him to work to-morrow morning.”
Dinkie was called up and counted in.
At the roll call, the following morning, all answered except the conjurer; he was not there.
The overseer inquired for Dinkie, and was informed that he was still asleep.
“I will bring him out of his bed in a hurry,” said Cook, as he started towards the negro’s cabin. Dinkie appeared at his door, just as the overseer was approaching.
“Follow me to the barn,” said the impatient driver to the negro. “I make it a point always to whip a nigger, the first day that I take charge of a farm, so as to let the hands know who I am. And, now, Mr. Dinkie, they tell me that you have not had your back tanned for many years; and, that being the case, I shall give you a flogging that you will never forget. Follow me to the barn.” Cook started for the barn, but turned and went into his house to get his whip.
At this juncture, Dinkie gave a knowing look tothe other slaves, who were standing by, and said, “Ef he lays the weight ob his finger on me, you’ll see de top of dat barn come off.”
The reappearance of the overseer, with the large negro whip in one hand, and a club in the other, with the significant demand of “follow me,” caused a deep feeling in the breast of every negro present.
Dr. Gaines, expecting a difficulty between his new driver and the conjurer, had arisen early, and was standing at his bedroom window looking on.
The news that Dinkie was to be whipped, spread far and near over the place, and had called forth men, women, and children. Even Uncle Ned, the old negro of ninety years, had crawled out of his straw, and was at his cabin door. As the barn doors closed behind the overseer and Dinkie, a death-like silence pervaded the entire group, who, instead of going to their labor, as ordered by the driver, were standing as if paralyzed, gazing intently at the barn, expecting every moment to see the roof lifted.
Not a word was spoken by anyone, except Uncle Ned, who smiled, shook his head, put on a knowing countenance, and said, “My word fer it, de oberseer ain’t agwine to whip Dinkie.”
Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed, and the usual sound of “Oh, pray, massa! Oh, pray, massa!” heard on the occasion of a slave being punished, had not yet proceeded from the barn.
Many of the older negroes gathered around Uncle Ned, for he and Dinkie occupied the same cabin,and the old, superannuated slave knew more about the affairs of the conjurer, than anyone else. Ned told of how, on the previous night, Dinkie had slept but little, had closely inspected the snake’s skin around his neck, the petrified frog and dried lizard, in his pockets, and had rubbed himself all over with goopher; and when he had finished, he knelt, and exclaimed,—
“Now, good and lovely devil, for more than twenty years, I have served you faithfully. Before I got into your service, de white folks bought an’ sold me an’ my old wife an’ chillen, an’ whip me, and half starve me. Dey did treat me mighty bad, dat you knows. Den I use to pray to de Lord, but dat did no good, kase de white folks don’t fear de Lord. But dey fears you, an’ ever since I got into your service, I is able to do as I please. No white dares to lay his hand on me; and dis is all owing to de power dat you give me. Oh, good and lovely devil! please to continer dat power. A new oberseer is to come here to-morrow, an’ he wants to get me in his hands. But, dear devil, I axe you to stand by me in dis my trial hour, an’ I will neber desert you as long as I live. Continer dis power; make me strong in your cause; make me to be more faithful to you, an’ let me still be able to conquer my enemies, an’ I will give you all de glory, and will try to deserve a seat at your right hand.”
With bated breath, everyone listened to Uncle Ned. All had the utmost confidence in Dinkie’s “power.” None believed that he would be punished,while a large number expected to see the roof of the barn burst off at any moment. At last the suspense was broken. The barn door flew open; the overseer and the conjurer came out together, walking side by side, and separated when half-way up the walk. As they parted, Cook went to the field, and Dinkie to his cabin.
The slaves all shook their heads significantly. The fact that the old negro had received no punishment, was evidence of his victory over the slave driver. But how the feat had been accomplished, was a mystery. No one dared to ask Dinkie, for he was always silent, except when he had something to communicate. Everyone was afraid to inquire of the overseer.
There was, however, one faint chance of getting an inkling of what had occurred in the barn, and that was through Uncle Ned. This fact made the old, superannuated slave the hero and centre of attraction, for several days. Many were the applications made to Ned for information, but the old man did not know, or wished to exaggerate the importance of what he had learned.
“I tell you,” said Dolly, “Dinkie is a power.”
“He’s nobody’s fool,” responded Hannah.
“I would not make him mad wid me, fer dis whole world,” ejaculated Jim.
Just then, Nancy, the cook, came in brim full of news. She had given Uncle Ned some “cracklin bread,” which had pleased the old man so much that he had opened his bosom, and told her all that he got from Dinkie. This piece of information flewquickly from cabin to cabin, and brought the slaves hastily into the kitchen.
It was night. Nancy sat down, looked around, and told Billy to shut the door. This heightened the interest, so that the fall of a pin could have been heard. All eyes were upon Nancy, and she felt keenly the importance of her position. Her voice was generally loud, with a sharp ring, which could be heard for a long distance, especially in the stillness of the night. But now, Nancy spoke in a whisper, occasionally putting her finger to her mouth, indicating a desire for silence, even when the breathing of those present could be distinctly heard.
“When dey got in de barn, de oberseer said to Dinkie, ‘Strip yourself; I don’t want to tear your clothes with my whip. I’m going to tear your black skin.’
“Den, you see, Dinkie tole de oberseer to look in de east corner ob de barn. He looked, an’ he saw hell, wid all de torments, an’ de debble, wid his cloven foot, a-struttin’ about dar, jes as ef he was cock ob de walk. An’ Dinkie tole Cook, dat ef he lay his finger on him, he’d call de debble up to take him away.”
“An’ what did Cook say to dat?” asked Jim.
“Let me ’lone; I didn’t tell you all,” said Nancy. “Den you see de oberseer turn pale in de face, an’ he say to Dinkie, ‘Let me go dis time, an’ I’ll nebber trouble you any more.’”
This concluded Nancy’s story, as related to her by old Ned, and religiously believed by all present.Whatever caused the overseer to change his mind in regard to the flogging of Dinkie, it was certain that he was most thoroughly satisfied to let the old negro off without the threatened punishment; and, although he remained at “Poplar Farm,” as overseer, for five years, he never interfered with the conjurer again.
It is not strange that ignorant people should believe in characters of Dinkie’s stamp; but it is really marvellous that well-educated men and women should give any countenance whatever, to such delusions as were practised by the oracle of “Poplar Farm.”
The following illustration may be taken as a fair sample of the easy manner in which Dinkie carried on his trade.
Miss Martha Lemmy, being on a visit to Mrs. Gaines, took occasion during the day to call upon Dinkie. The conjurer knew the antecedents of his visitor, and was ready to give complete satisfaction in his particular line. When the young lady entered the old man’s cabin, he met her, bade her be welcome, and tell what she had come for. She took a seat on one stool, and he on another. Taking the lady’s right hand in his, Dinkie spit into its palm, rubbed it, looked at it, shut his one eye, opened it, and said: “I sees a young gentman, an’ he’s rich, an’ owns plenty of land an’ a heap o’ niggers; an’, lo! Miss Marfa, he loves you.”
The lady drew a long breath of seeming satisfaction, and asked, “Are you sure that he loves me, Uncle Dinkie?”
“Oh! Miss Marfa, I knows it like a book.”
“Have you ever seen the gentleman?” the lady inquired.
The conjurer began rubbing the palm of the snow-white hand, talked to himself in an undertone, smiled, then laughed out, and saying: “Why, Miss Marfa, as I lives it’s Mr. Scott, an’ he’s thinkin’ ’bout you now; yes, he’s got his mind on you dis bressed minute. But how he’s changed sense I seed him de lass time. Now he’s got side whiskers an’ a mustacher on his chin. But, let me see. Here is somethin’ strange. De web looks a little smoky, an’ when I gets to dat spot, I can’t get along till a little silver is given to me.”
Here the lady drew forth her purse and gave the old man a half dollar piece that made his one eye fairly twinkle.
He resumed: “Ah! now de fog is cleared away, an’ I see dat Mr. Scott is settin in a rockin-cheer, wid boff feet on de table, an’ smokin’ a segar.”
“Do you think Mr. Scott loves me?” inquired the lady.
“O! yes,” responded Dinkie; “he jess sets his whole heart on you. Indeed, Miss Marfa, he’s almos’ dyin’ ’bout you.”
“He never told me that he loved me,” remarked the lady.
“But den, you see, he’s backward, he ain’t got his eye-teef cut yet in love matters. But he’ll git a little bolder ebbry time he sees you,” replied the negro.
“Do you think he’ll ever ask me to marry him?”
“O! yes, Miss Marfa, he’s sure to do dat. As he sets dar in his rockin-cheer, he looks mighty solem-colly—looks like he wanted to ax you to haf him now.”
“Do you think that Mr. Scott likes any other lady, Uncle Dinkie?” asked Miss Lemmy.
“Well, Miss Marfa, I’ll jess consult de web an’ see.” And here the conjurer shut his one eye, opened it, shut it again, talked to himself in an undertone, opened his eye, looked into the lady’s hand, and exclaimed: “Ah! Miss Marfa, I see a lady in de way, an’ she’s got riches; but de web is smoky, an’ it needs a little silver to clear it up.”
With tears in her eyes, and almost breathless, Miss Lemmy hastily took from her pocket her purse, and handed the old man another piece of money, saying: “Please go on.”
Dinkie smiled, shook his head, got up and shut his cabin door, sat down, and again took the lady’s hand in his.
“Yes, I see,” said he, “I see it’s a lady; but bless you soul, Miss Marfa, it’s a likeness of you dat Mr. Scott is lookin’ at; dat’s all.”
This morsel of news gave great relief, and Miss Lemmy dried her eyes with joy.
Dinkie then took down the old rusty horseshoe from over his cabin door, held it up, and said: “Dis horseshoe neffer lies.” Here he took out of his pocket a bag made of the skin of the rattlesnake, and took from it some goopher, sprinkled it over the horseshoe, saying: “Dis is de stuff, Miss Marfa, dat’sgwine to make you Mr. Scott’s conqueror. Long as you keeps dis goopher ’bout you he can’t get away from you; he’ll ax you fer a kiss, de berry next time he meets you, an’ he can’t help hisself fumdoin’ it. No woman can get him fum you so long as you keep dis goopher ’bout you.”
RUNNING DOWN SLAVES WITH DOGS.—Page 82.
RUNNING DOWN SLAVES WITH DOGS.—Page 82.
Here Dinkie lighted a tallow candle, looked at it, smiled, shook his head,—“You’s gwine to marry Mr. Scott in ’bout one year, an’ you’s gwine to haf thirteen children—sebben boys an’ six gals, an’ you’s gwine to haf a heap of riches.”
Just then, Dinkie’s interesting revelations were cut short by Ike and Cato bringing along Peter, who, it was said, had been killed by the old bell sheep.
It appears that Peter had a way of playing with the old ram, who was always ready to butt at any one who got in his way. When seeing the ram coming, Peter would get down on his hands and knees and pretend that he was going to have a butting match with the sheep. And when the latter would come full tilt at him, Peter would dodge his head so as to miss the ram, and the latter would jump over the boy, turn around angrily, shake his head and start for another butt at Peter.
This kind of play was repeated sometimes for an hour or more, to the great amusement of both whites and blacks. But, on this occasion, Peter was completely caught. As he was on his hands and knees, the ram started on his usual run for the boy; the latter, in dodging his head, run his face against a stout stub of dry rye stalk, which caused him to quickly jerk up his head, just in time for the sheep to give him a fair butt squarely in the forehead, which knocked Peter senseless. The ram,elated with his victory, began to back himself for another lick at Peter, when the men, seeing what had happened to the poor boy, took him up and brought him to Dinkie’s cabin to be resuscitated, or “brought to,” as they termed it.
Nearly an hour passed in rubbing the boy, before he began to show signs of consciousness. He “come to,” but he never again accepted a butting match with the ram.
Crueltyto negroes was not practised in our section. It is true there were some exceptional cases, and some individuals did not take the care of their servants at all times, that economy seemed to demand. Yet a certain degree of punishment was actually needed to insure respect to the master, and good government to the slave population. If a servant disobeyed orders, it was necessary that he should be flogged, to deter others from following the bad example. If a servant ran away, he must be caught and brought back, to let the others see that the same fate awaited them if they made similar attempts.
While the keeping of bloodhounds, for running down and catching negroes, was not common, yet a few were kept by Mr. Tabor, an inferior white man, near the Corners, who hired them out, or huntedthe runaway, charging so much per day, or a round sum for thecatch.
Jerome, a slave owned by the Rev. Mr. Wilson, when about to be punished by his master, ran away. Tabor and his dogs were sent for. The slave-catcher came, and at once set his dogs upon the trail. The parson and some of the neighbors went along for the fun that was in store.
TABOR’S CATCH-DOG, “GROWLER.”
TABOR’S CATCH-DOG, “GROWLER.”
These dogs will attack a negro, at their master’s bidding, and cling to him as a bull-dog will cling to a beast. Many are the speculations as to whether the negro will be secured alive or dead, when these dogs get on his track. However, on this occasion, there was not much danger of ill-treatment, for Mr. Wilson was a clergyman, and was of a humane turn, and bargained with Tabor not to injure the slave if he could help it.
The hunters had been in the wood a short time, ere they got on the track of two slaves, one of whom was Jerome. The negroes immediately benttheir steps toward the swamp, with the hope that the dogs would, when put upon the scent, be unable to follow them through the water. Nearer and nearer the whimpering pack pressed on; their delusion began to dispel.
All at once the truth flashed upon the minds of the fugitives like a glare of light,—that it was Tabor with his dogs! They at last reached the river, and in the negroes plunged, followed by the catch-dog. Jerome was finally caught, and once more in the hands of his master; while the other man found a watery grave. They returned, and the preacher sent his slave to the city jail for safekeeping.
While the planters would employ Tabor, without hesitation, to hunt down their negroes, they would not receive him into their houses as a visitor any sooner than they would one of their own slaves. Tabor was, however, considered one of the better class of poor whites, a number of whom had a religious society in that neighborhood. The pastor of the poor whites was the Rev. Martin Louder, somewhat of a genius in his own way. The following sermon, preached by him, about the time of which I write, will well illustrate the character of the people for whom he labored.
More than two long, weary hours had now elapsed since the audience had been convened, and the people began to exhibit slight signs of fatigue. Some few scrapings and rasping of cowhide boots on the floor, an audible yawn or two, a little twisting andturning on the narrow, uncomfortable seats, while, in one or two instances, a somnolent soul or two snored outright. These palpable signs were not lost upon our old friend Louder. He cast an eye (emphatically, an eye) over the assemblage, and then—he spoke:—
“My dear breethering, and beloved sistering! You’ve ben a long time a settin’ on your seats. You’re tired, I know, an’ I don’t expect you want to hear the ole daddy preach. Ef you don’t want to hear the ole man, jist give him the least bit of a sign. Cough. Hold up your hand. Ennything, an’ Louder’ll sit rite down. He’ll dry up in a minit.”
At this juncture of affairs, Louder paused for a reply. He glanced furtively over the audience, in search of the individual who might be “tired of settin’ on his seat,” but no sign was made: no such malcontent came within the visual range.
“Go on, Brother Louder!” said a sonorous voice in the “amen corner” of the house. Thus encouraged, the speaker proceeded in his remarks:—
“Well, then, breethering, sense you say so, Louder’ll perceed; but he don’t intend to preach a reg’lar sermon, for it’s a gittin’ late, and our sect which hit don’t believe in eatin’ cold vittles on the Lord’s day. My breethering, ef the ole Louder gits outen the rite track, I want you to call him back. He don’t want to teach you any error. He don’t want’ to preach nuthin’ but what’s found between the leds of this blessed Book.”
“My dear breethering, the Lord raised up his servant, Moses, that he should fetch his people Isrel up outen that wicked land—ah. Then Moses, he went out from the face of the Lord, and departed hence unto the courts of the old tyranickle king—ah. An’ what sez you, Moses? Ah, sez he, Moses sez, sez he to that wicked old Faro: Thus sez the Lord God of hosts, sez he: Let my Isrel go—ah. An’ what sez the ole, hard-hearted king—ah? Ah! sez Faro, sez he, who is the Lord God of hosts, sez he, that I should obey his voice—ah? An’ now what sez you, Moses—ah. Ah, Moses sez, sez he: Thus saith the Lord God of Isrel, let my people go, that they mought worship me, sez the Lord, in the wilderness—ah. But—ah! my beloved breethering an’ my harden’, impenitent frien’s—ah, did the ole, hard-hearted king harken to the words of Moses, and let my people go—ah? Nary time.”
This last remark, made in an ordinary, conversational tone of voice, was so sudden and unexpected that the change, the transition from the singing state was electrical.
“An’ then, my beloved breethering an’ sistering, what next—ah? What sez you, Moses, to Faro—that contrary ole king—ah? Ah, Moses sez to Faro, sez he, Moses sez, sez he: Thus seth the Lord God of Isrel: Let my people go, sez the Lord, leest I come, sez he, and smite you with a cuss—ah! An’ what sez Faro, the ole tyranickle king—ah? Ah, sez he, sez ole Faro, Let their tasks be doubled,and leest they mought grumble, sez he, those bricks shall be made without straw—ah! [Vox naturale.] Made ’em pluck up grass an’ stubble outen the fields, breethering, to mix with their mud. Mity hard on the pore critters; warn’t it, Brother Flood Gate?” [The individual thus interrogated replied, “Jess so;” and “ole Louder” moved along.]
“An’ what next—ah? Did the ole king let my people Isrel go—ah? No, my dear breethering, he retched out his pizen hand, and he hilt ’em fash—ah. Then the Lord was wroth with that wicked ole king—ah. An’ the Lord, he sed to Moses, sez he: Moses, stretch forth now thy rod over the rivers an’ the ponds of this wicked land—ah; an’ behold, sez he, when thou stretch out thy rod, sez the Lord, all the waters shall be turned into blood—ah! Then Moses, he tuck his rod, an’ he done as the Lord God of Isrel had commanded his servant Moses to do—ah. An’ what then, say you, my breethering—ah? Why, lo an’ behold! the rivers of that wicked land was all turned into blood—ah; an’ all the fish an’ all the frogs in them streams an’ waters died a—h!”
“Yes!” said the speaker, lowering his voice to a natural tone, and glancing out of the open window at the dry and dusty road, for we were at the time suffering from a protracted drouth: “An’ I believe the frogs will all die now, unless we get some rain purty soon. What do you think about it, Brother Waters?” [This interrogatory was addressed to a fine, portly-looking old man in the congregation. Brother W. nodded assent, and old Louder resumedthe thread of his discourse.] “Ah, my beloved breethering, that was a hard time on old Faro an’ his wicked crowd—ah. For the waters was loathsome to the people, an’ it smelt so bad none of ’em cood drink it; an’ what next—ah? Did the oleking obey the voice of the Lord, and let my people Isrel go—ah? Ah, no, my breethering, not by a long sight—ah. For he hilt out agin the Lord, and obeyed not his voice—ah. Then the Lord sent a gang of bull-frogs into that wicked land—ah. An’ they went hoppin’ an’ lopin’ about all over the country, into the vittles, an’ everywhere else—ah. My breethering, the old Louder thinks that was a des’prit time—ah. But all woodent do—ah. Ole Faro was as stubborn as one of Louder’s mules—ah, an’ he woodent let the chosen seed go up outen the land of bondage—ah. Then the Lord sent a mighty hail, an’, arter that, his devourin’ locuses—ah! An’ they et up blamed nigh everything on the face of the eth—ah.”
REV. MR. WILSON AND HIS CAPTURED SLAVE.—Page 83.
REV. MR. WILSON AND HIS CAPTURED SLAVE.—Page 83.
“Let not yore harts be trubbled, for the truth is mitay and must prevale—ah. Brother Creek, you don’t seem to be doin’ much of ennything, suppose you raise a tune!”
This remark was addressed to a tall, lank, hollow-jawed old man, in the congregation, with a great shock of “grizzled gray” hair.
“Wait a minit, Brother Louder, till I git on my glasses!” was the reply of Brother Creek, who proceeded to draw from his pocket an oblong tin case, which opened and shut with a tremendous snap, from which he drew a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles. These he carefully “dusted” with his handkerchief, and then turned to the hymn which the preacher had selected and read out to the congregation. After considerable deliberation, and someclearing of the throat, hawking, spitting, etc., and other preliminaries, Brother Creek, in a quavering, split sort of voice, opened out on the tune.
Louder seemed uneasy. It was evident that he feared a failure on the part of the worthy brother. At the end of the first line, he exclaimed:—
“’Pears to me, Brother Creek, you hain’t got the right miter.”
Brother Creek suspended operations a moment, and replied, “I am purty kerrect, ginerally, Brother Louder, an’ I’m confident she’ll come out all right!”
“Well,” said Louder, “we’ll try her agin,” and the choral strain, under the supervision of Brother Creek, was resumed in the following words:—