THE FONT.
Knapp-of-reeds was the name of a plantation which was one of the
numerous possessions of P. Desmit, Colonel and Esquire, of the
county of Horsford, in the northernmost of those States which good
Queen Caroline was fortunate enough to have designated as memorials
of her existence. The plantation was just upon that wavy line which
separates the cotton region of the east from the tobacco belt that
sweeps down the pleasant ranges of the Piedmont region, east of
the Blue Appalachians. Or, to speak more correctly, the plantation
was in that indeterminate belt which neither of the great staples
could claim exclusively as its own--that delectable land where every
conceivable product of the temperate zone grows, if not in its
rankest luxuriance, at least in perfection and abundance. Tobacco
on the hillsides, corn upon the wide bottoms, cotton on the gray
uplands, and wheat, oats, fruits, and grasses everywhere. Five
hundred acres of hill and bottom, forest and field, with what was
termed the Island, consisting of a hundred more, which had never been
overflowed in the century of cultivation it had known, constituted
a snug and valuable plantation. It had been the seat of an old
family once, but extravagant living and neglect of its resources
had compelled its sale, and it had passed into the hands of its
present owner, of whose vast possessions it formed an insignificant
part.
Colonel Desmit was one of the men who applied purely business
principles to the opportunities which the South afforded in the
olden time, following everything to its logical conclusion, and
measuring every opportunity by its money value. He was not of an
ancient family. Indeed, the paternal line stopped short with his
own father, and the maternal one could only show one more link,
and then became lost in malodorous tradition which hung about an
old mud-daubed log-cabin on the most poverty-stricken portion of
Nubbin Ridge.
There was a rumor that the father had a left-handed kinship with
the Brutons, a family of great note in the public annals of the
State. He certainly showed qualities which tended to confirm this
tradition, and abilities which entitled him to be considered the
peer of the best of that family, whose later generations were by
no means the equals of former ones. Untiring and unscrupulous, Mr.
Peter Smith rose from the position of a nameless son of an unknown
father, to be as overseer for one of the wealthiest proprietors of
that region, and finally, by a not unusual turn of fortune's wheel,
became the owner of a large part of his employer's estates. Thrifty
in all things, he married in middle life, so well as nearly to
double the fortune then acquired, and before his death had become
one of the wealthiest men in his county. He was always hampered by
a lack of education. He could read little and write less. In his
later days he was appointed a Justice of the Peace, and was chosen
one of the County Court, or "Court of Pleas and Quarter Sessions,"
as it was technically called. These honors were so pleasant to
him that he determined to give his only son a name which should
commemorate this event. The boy was, therefore, christened after the
opening words of his commission of the peace, and grew to manhood
bearing the name Potestatem Dedimus [Footnote: Potestatem dedimus:
"We give thee power, etc." The initial words of the clause conferring
jurisdiction upon officers, in the old forms of judicial commissions.
This name is fact, not fancy.] Smith. This son was educated
with care--the shrewd father feeling his own need--but was early
instilled with his father's greed for gain, and the necessity for
unusual exertion if he would achieve equal position with the old
families who were to be his rivals.
The young man proved a worthy disciple of his father. He married,
it is true, without enhancing his fortune; but he secured what was
worth almost as much for the promotion of his purposes as if he
had doubled his belongings. Aware of the ill-effects of so recent a
bar sinister in his armorial bearings, he sought in marriage Miss
Bertha Bellamy, of Belleville, in the State of Virginia, who
united in her azure veins at least a few drops of the blood of all
the first families of that fine-bred aristocracy, from Pocahontas's
days until her own. The _role_ of the gentleman had been
too much for the male line of the Bellamys to sustain. Horses and
hounds and cards and high living had gradually eaten down their
once magnificent patrimony, until pride and good blood and poverty
were the only dowry that the females could command. Miss Bertha,
having already arrived at the age of discretion, found that to match
this against the wealth of young Potestatem Dedimus Smith was as
well as she could hope to do, and accepted him upon condition that
the vulgar _Smith_ should be changed to some less democratic
name.
The one paternal and two maternal ancestors had not made the very
common surname peculiarly sacred to the young man, so the point was
yielded; and by considerable persistency on the part of the young
wife, "P. D. SMITH" was transformed without much trouble into "P.
DESMIT," before the administrator had concluded the settlement of
his father's estate.
The vigor with which the young man devoted himself to affairs and
the remarkable success which soon began to attend his exertions
diverted attention from the name, and before he had reached middle
life he was known over almost half the State as "Colonel Desmit,"
"Old Desmit," or "Potem Desmit," according to the degree of familiarity
or respect desired to be displayed. Hardly anybody remembered and
none alluded to the fact that the millionaire of Horsford was only
two removes from old Sal Smith of Nubbin Ridge. On the other hand
the rumor that he was in some mysterious manner remotely akin to
the Brutons was industriously circulated by the younger members of
that high-bred house, and even "the Judge," who was of about the
same age as Colonel Desmit, had been heard more than once to call
him "Cousin." These things affected Colonel Desmit but little. He
had set himself to improve his father's teachings and grow rich. He
seemed to have the true Midas touch. He added acre to acre, slave
to slave, business to business, until his possessions were scattered
from the mountains to the sea, and especially extended on both sides
the border line in the Piedmont region where he had been bred. It
embraced every form of business known to the community of which
he was a part, from the cattle ranges of the extreme west to the
fisheries of the farthest east. He made his possessions a sort of
self-supporting commonwealth in themselves. The cotton which he
grew on his eastern farms was manufactured at his own factory, and
distributed to his various plantations to be made into clothing
for his slaves. Wheat and corn and meat, raised upon some of his
plantations, supplied others devoted to non-edible staples. The
tobacco grown on the Hyco and other plantations in that belt was
manufactured at his own establishment, supplied his eastern laborers
and those which wrought in the pine woods to the southward at the
production of naval supplies. He had realized the dream of his own
life and the aspiration of his father, the overseer, and had become
one of the wealthiest men in the State. But he attended to all this
himself. Every overseer knew that he was liable any day or night
to receive a visit from the untiring owner of all this wealth, who
would require an instant accounting for every bit of the property
under his charge. Not only the presence and condition of every
slave, mule, horse or other piece of stock must be accounted for,
but the manner of its employment stated. He was an inflexible
disciplinarian, who gave few orders, hated instructions, and only
asked results. It was his custom to place an agent in charge of a
business without directions, except to make it pay. His only care
was to see that his property did not depreciate, and that the course
adopted by the agent was one likely to produce good results. So
long as this was the case he was satisfied. He never interfered,
made no suggestions, found no fault. As soon as he became dissatisfied
the agent was removed and another substituted. This was done without
words or controversy, and it was a well-known rule that a man once
discharged from such a trust could never enter his employ again.
For an overseer to be dismissed by Colonel Desmit was to forfeit
all chance for employment in that region, since it was looked upon
as a certificate either of incapacity or untrustworthiness.
Colonel Desmit was especially careful in regard to his slaves.
His father had early shown him that no branch of business was, or
could be, half so profitable as the rearing of slaves for market.
"A healthy slave woman," the thrifty father had been accustomed
to say, "will yield a thousand per cent upon her value, while
she needs less care and involves less risk than any other species
of property." The son, with a broader knowledge, had carried his
father's instructions to more accurate and scientific results. He
found that the segregation of large numbers of slaves upon a single
plantation was not favorable either to the most rapid multiplication
or economy of sustenance. He had carefully determined the fact
that plantations of moderate extent, upon the high, well-watered
uplands of the Piedmont belt, were the most advantageous locations
that could be found for the rearing of slaves. Such plantations,
largely worked by female slaves, could be made to return a small
profit on the entire investment, without at all taking into account
the increase of the human stock. This was, therefore, so much
added profit. From careful study and observation he had deduced
a specific formulary by which he measured the rate of gain. With
a well-selected force, two thirds of which should be females, he
calculated that with proper care such plantations could be made to
pay, year by year, an interest of five per cent on the first cost,
and, in addition, double the value of the working force every eight
years. This conclusion he had arrived at from scientific study of
the rates of mortality and increase, and in settling upon it he
had cautiously left a large margin for contingencies. He was not
accustomed to talk about his business, but when questioned as to
his uniform success and remarkable prosperity, always attributed it
to a system which he had inexorably followed, and which had never
failed to return to him at least twenty per cent. per annum upon
every dollar he had invested.
So confident was he in regard to the success of this plan that he
became a large but systematic borrower of money at the legal rate
of six per cent, taking care that his maturing liabilities should,
at no time, exceed a certain proportion of his available estate.
By this means his wealth increased with marvelous rapidity.
The success of his system depended, however, entirely upon the care
bestowed upon his slaves. They were never neglected. Though he had
so many that of hundreds of them he did not know even the faces, he
gave the closest attention to their hygienic condition, especially
that of the women, who were encouraged by every means to bear children.
It was a sure passport to favor with the master and the overseer:
tasks were lightened; more abundant food provided; greater liberty
enjoyed; and on the birth of a child a present of some sort was
certain to be given the mother.
The one book which Colonel Desmit never permitted anybody else to
keep or see was the register of his slaves. He had invented for
himself an elaborate system by which in a moment he could ascertain
every element of the value of each of his more than a thousand slaves
at the date of his last visitation or report. When an overseer was
put in charge of a plantation he was given a list of the slaves
assigned to it, by name and number, and was required to report
every month the condition of each slave during the month previous,
as to health and temper, and also the labor in which the same had
been employed each day. It was only as to the condition of the slaves
that the owner gave explicit directions to his head-men. "Mighty
few people know how to take care of a nigger," he was wont to say;
and as he made the race a study and looked to them for his profits,
he was attentive to their condition.
Among the requirements of his system was one that each slave born
upon his plantations should be named only by himself; and this was
done only on personal inspection. Upon a visit to a plantation,
therefore, one of his special duties always was to inspect, name,
and register all slave children who had been born to his estate
since his previous visitation.
It was in the summer of 1840 that a traveler drove into the grove
in front of the house at Knapp-of-Reeds, in the middle of a June
afternoon, and uttered the usual halloo. He was answered after a
moment's delay by a colored woman, who came out from the kitchen
and exclaimed,
"Who's dah?"
It was evident at once that visitors were not frequent at
Knapp-of-Reeds.
"Where's Mr. Ware?" asked the stranger.
"He's done gone out in de new-ground terbacker, long wid de han's,"
answered the woman.
"Where is the new-ground this year?" repeated the questioner.
"Jes' down on the p'int 'twixt de branch an' de Hyco," she replied.
"Anybody you can send for him?"
"Wal, thar mout be some shaver dat's big enough to go, but Marse
War's dat keerful ter please Marse Desmit dat he takes 'em all
outen de field afore dey can well toddle," said the woman doubtfully.
"Well, come and take my horse," said he, as he began to descend
from his gig, "and send for Mr. Ware to come up at once."
The woman came forward doubtfully and took the horse by the bit,
while the traveler alighted. No sooner did he turn fully toward
her than her face lighted up with a smile, and she said,
"Wal, dar, ef dat a'n't Marse Desmit hisself, I do believe! How
d'ye do, Mahs'r?" and the woman dropped a courtesy.
"I'm very well, thank ye, Lorency, an' glad to see you looking so
peart," he responded pleasantly. "How's Mr. Ware and the people?
All well, I hope."
"All tol'able, Mahs'r, thank ye."
"Well, tie the horse, and get me some dinner, gal. I haven't eaten
since I left home."
"La sakes!" said the woman in a tone of commiseration, though she
had no idea whether it was twenty or forty miles he had driven
since his breakfast.
The man who sat upon the porch and waited for the coming of
Mr. Silas Ware, his overseer, was in the prime of life, of florid
complexion, rugged habit, short stubbly hair--thick and bristling,
that stood close and even on his round, heavy head from a little
way above the beetling brows well down upon the bull-like neck which
joined but hardly separated the massive head and herculean trunk.
This hair, now almost white, had been a yellowish red, a hue which
still showed in the eyebrows and in the stiff beard which was allowed
to grow beneath the angle of his massive jaw, the rest of his face
being clean shaven. The eyes were deep-sunk and of a clear, cold
blue. His mouth broad, with firm, solid lips. Dogged resolution,
unconquerable will, cold-blooded selfishness, and a keen hog-cunning
showed in his face, while his short, stout form--massive but not
fleshy--betrayed a capacity to endure fatigue which few men could
rival.
"How d'ye, Mr. Ware?" he said as that worthy came striding in from
the new-ground nervously chewing a mouthful of home-made twist,
which he had replenished several times since leaving the field,
without taking the precaution to provide stowage for the quantity
he was taking aboard.
"How d'ye, Colonel?" said Ware uneasily.
"Reckon you hardly expected me to day?" continued Desmit, watching
him closely. "No, I dare say not. They hardly ever do. Fact is, I
rarely ever know myself long enough before to send word."
He laughed heartily, for his propensity for dropping in unawares
upon his agents was so well known that he enjoyed their confusion
almost as much as he valued the surprise as a means of ascertaining
their attention to his interests. Ware was one of his most trusted
lieutenants, however, and everything that he had ever seen or
heard satisfied him of the man's faithfulness. So he made haste to
relieve him from embarrassment, for the tall, awkward, shambling
fellow was perfectly overwhelmed.
"It's a long time since I've been to see you, Mr. Ware--almost
a year. There's mighty few men I'd let run a plantation that long
without looking after them. Your reports have been very correct,
and the returns of your work very satisfactory. I hope the stock
and hands are in good condition?"
"I must say, Colonel Desmit," responded Ware, gathering confidence,
"though perhaps I oughtn't ter say it myself, that I've never seen
'em lookin' better. 'Pears like everything hez been jest about ez
favorable fer hands an' stock ez one could wish. The spring's work
didn't seem ter worry the stock a mite, an' when the new feed come
on there was plenty on't, an' the very best quality. So they shed
off ez fine ez ever you see ennything in yer life, an' hev jest
been a doin' the work in the crop without turnin' a hair."
"Glad to hear it, Mr. Ware," said Desmit encouragingly.
"And the hands," continued Ware, "have jest been in prime condition.
We lost Horion, as I reported to you in--lemme see, February, I
reckon--along o' rheumatism which he done cotch a runnin' away from
that Navigation Company that you told me to send him to work for."
"Yes, I know. You told him to come home if they took him into
Virginia, as I directed, I suppose."
"Certainly, sir," said Ware; "an' ez near ez I can learn they took
him off way down below Weldon somewheres, an' he lit out to come
home jest at the time of the February 'fresh.' He had to steal
his way afoot, and was might'ly used up when he got here, and died
some little time afterward."
"Yes. The company will have to pay a good price for him. Wasn't a
better nor sounder nigger on the river," said Desmit.
"That ther warn't," replied Ware. "The rest has all been well.
Lorency had a bad time over her baby, but she's 'round again as
peart as ever." "So I see. And the crops?"
"The best I've ever seed sence I've been here, Colonel. Never had
such a stand of terbacker, and the corn looks prime. Knapp-of-Reeds
has been doin' better 'n' better ever sence I've knowed it; but
she's jest outdoin' herself this year."
"Haven't you got anything to drink, Ware?"
"I beg your _parding_, Colonel; I was that flustered I done
forgot my manners altogether," said Ware apologetically. "I hev
got a drap of apple that they say is right good for this region,
and a trifle of corn that ain't nothing to brag on, though it does
for the country right well."
Ware set out the liquor with a bowl of sugar from his sideboard as
he spoke, and called to the kitchen for a glass and water.
"That makes me think," said Desmit. "Here, you Lorency, bring me
that portmanty from the gig."
When it was brought he unlocked it and took out a bottle, which he
first held up to the light and gazed tenderly through, then drew
the cork and smelled of its contents, shook his head knowingly,
and then handed it to Ware, who went through the same performance
very solemnly.
"Here, gal," said Desmit sharply, "bring us another tumbler. Now,
Mr. Ware," said he unctuously when it had been brought, "allow me,
sir, to offer you some brandy which is thirty-five years old--pure
French brandy, sir. Put it in my portmanty specially for you, and
like to have forgot it at the last. Just try it, man."
Ware poured himself a dram, and swallowed it with a gravity which
would have done honor to a more solemn occasion, after bowing low
to his principal and saying earnestly, "Colonel, your very good
health."
"And now," said Desmit, "have the hands and stock brought up while
I eat my dinner, if you please. I have a smart bit of travel before
me yet to-day."
The overseer's horn was at Ware's lips in a moment, and before the
master had finished his dinner every man, woman, and child on the
plantation was in the yard, and every mule and horse was in the
barn-lot ready to be brought out for his inspection.
The great man sat on the back porch, and, calling up the slaves one
by one, addressed some remark to each, gave every elder a quarter
and every youngster a dime, until he came to the women. The first
of these was Lorency, the strapping cook, who had improved the time
since her master's coming to make herself gay with her newest gown
and a flaming new turban. She came forward pertly, with a young
babe upon her arm.
"Well, Lorency, Mr. Ware says you have made me a present since I
was here?"
"Yah! yah! Marse Desmit, dat I hab! Jes' de finest little nigger
boy yer ebber sot eyes on. Jes' you look at him now," she continued,
holding up her brighteyed pickaninny. "Ebber you see de beat ub
dat? Reg'lar ten pound, an' wuff two hundred dollars dis bressed
minnit."
"Is that it, Lorency?" said Desmit, pointing to the child. "Who
ever saw such a thunder-cloud?"
There was a boisterous laugh at the master's joke from the assembled
crowd. Nothing abashed, the good-natured mother replied, with ready
wit,
"Dat so, Marse Kunnel. He's _brack_, he is. None ob yer bleached
out yaller sort of coffee-cullud nigger 'bout _him_. De rale
ole giniwine kind, dat a coal make a white mark on. Yah I yah! what
yer gwine ter name him, Mahs'r? Gib him a good name, now, none o'
yer common mean ones, but jes' der bes' one yer got in yer book;"
for Colonel Desmit was writing in a heavy clasped book which rested
on a light stand beside him.
"What is it, Mahs'r?"
"Nimbus," replied the master.
"Wh--what?" asked the mother. "Say dat agin', won't yer, Mahs'r?"
"Nimbus--_Nimbus_," repeated Desmit.
"Wal, I swan ter gracious!" exclaimed the mother. "Ef dat don't
beat! H'yer! little--what's yer name? Jes' ax yer Mahs'r fer a
silver dollar ter pay yer fer hevin' ter tote dat er name 'roun'
ez long ez yer lives."
She held the child toward its godfather and owner as she spoke, amid
a roar of laughter from her fellow-servants. Desmit good-naturedly
threw a dollar into the child's lap, for which Lorency courtesied,
and then held out her hand.
"What do you want now, gal?" asked Desmit.
"Yer a'n't a gwine ter take sech a present ez dis from a pore cullud
gal an' not so much ez giv' her someting ter remember hit by, is
yer?" she asked with arch persistency.
"There, there," said he laughing, as he gave her another dollar.
"Go on, or I shan't have a cent left."
"All right, Marse Kunnel. Thank ye, Mahs'r," she said, as she walked
off in triumph.
"Oh, hold on," said Desmit; "how old is it, Lorency?"
"Jes' sebben weeks ole dis bressed day, Mahs'r," said the proud
mother as she vanished into the kitchen to boast of her good-fortune
in getting two silver dollars out of Marse Desmit instead of the one
customarily given by him on such occasions. And so the record
was made up in the brass-clasped book of Colonel Potestatem Desmit,
the only baptismal register of the colored man who twenty-six
years afterward was wondering at the names which were seeking him
against his will.
_697--Nimbus--of Lorency--Male--April 24th, 1840--Sound--Knapp-of-Reeds._
It was a queer baptismal entry, but a slave needed no more--indeed
did not need that. It was not given for his sake, but only for the
convenience of his godfather should the chattel ever seek to run
away, or should it become desirable to exchange him for some other
form of value. There was nothing harsh or brutal or degraded about
it. Mr. Desmit was doing, in a business way, what the law not only
allowed but encouraged him to do, and doing it because it paid.