During the 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 of them, 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 big _ginger 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 would sell 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.”
[Illustration: 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 to _jump the
broomstick_ with Cato. You need not tell me you don’t want another
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-gwine to 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.
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 the _broomstick_! 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 any better. 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.