Cruelty to 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 hunted the
runaway, charging so much per day, or a round sum for the _catch_.
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.
[Illustration: 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
bent their 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 and turning 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 resumed the 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
ole king 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.”
[Illustration: 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 some clearing 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:--
“When I was a mourner just like you,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb,
I fasted and prayed till I got through,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb.
CHORUS.--“Come along, sinner, and go with us;
If you don’t you will be cussed.”
“Religion’s like a blooming rose,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb,
As none but those that feel it knows,
Washed in the blood of the Lamb.”--_Cho._
The singing, joined in by all present, brought the enthusiasm of the
assembly up to white heat, and the shouting, with the loud “Amen,” “God
save the sinner,” “Sing it, brother, sing it,” made the welkin ring.