THE SMALL PLANTER.
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 the hand 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 little lace 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; I _am_ a 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,'
she _does_, once in awhile, say it's a shame to make the _house_ smell
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 ter Charl'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 why _I_ should
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--poured a 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' Union _ye_ knows 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' _I_ reckon."
"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 of _dem_."
"What der _ye_ knows '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't_ my 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' he _orter_ be 'low'd jess so many as he likes."
Laughing at the reasoning of the negro, I asked:
"How would _you_ like it, if your wife over at Colonel J----'s, had as
many husbands as _she_ liked?"
"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; but _dey'se_ grow'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: "That _may be_ Scripture doctrine, but _I_ have 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 a _Divine_
institution!
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 were _really_ free?"
"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, and pay 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 it weigh, 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 a
back-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.
[Footnote J: The whiskey was kept in a back room, above ground, because the
dwelling had no cellar. The fluid was kept safely, under lock and key,
and the farmer accounted for that, by saying that his negroes would
steal nothing but whiskey. Few country houses at the South have a
cellar--that apartment deemed so essential by Northern housekeepers. The
intervening space between the ground and the floor is there left open,
to allow of a free circulation of air.]
[Footnote K: No regular dinner-hour is allowed the blacks on most
turpentine plantations. Their food is usually either taken with them to
the woods, or carried there by house servants, at stated times.]