Immediately after the Rebellion ceased, the freedmen throughout the
South, desiring no doubt to be fully satisfied that they were actually
free and their own masters, and could go where they pleased, left
their homes in the country and took up their abode in the cities and
towns. This, as a matter of course, threw them out of business, and
large numbers could be seen idly lolling about the steps of the court
house, town hall, or other county buildings, or listlessly wandering
through the streets. That they were able to do this seemed to them
positive evidence that they were really free. It was not long, however,
before they began to discover that they could not live without work,
and that the only labor that they understood was in the country on
the plantations. Consequently they returned to the farms, and in many
instances to their former masters. Yet the old love for visiting the
cities and towns remained, and they became habituated to leaving their
work on Saturdays, and going to the place nearest to them. This caused
Saturday to be called “nigger day,” in most of the Southern States.
On these occasions they sell their cotton or other produce, do their
trading, generally having two jugs, one for the molasses, the other for
the whiskey, as indispensible to the visit. The store-keepers get ready
on Saturday morning, putting their brightest and most gaudy-colored
goods in the windows or on the front of their counters. Jew shops
put their hawkers at their doors, and the drinking saloons, billiard
saloons, and other places of entertainment, kept for their especial
accommodation, either by men of their own race or by whites, are all
got ready for an extra run.
Being on a visit to the State of Alabama, for a while, I had a fair
opportunity of seeing the colored people in that section under various
circumstances. It was in the autumn and I was at Huntsville. The
principal business houses of the city are situated upon a square which
surrounds the court house, and at an early hour in the morning this
is filled with colored people of all classes and shades. On Saturdays
there are often fully two thousand of them in the streets at one time.
At noon the throng was greatest, and up to that time fresh wagon-loads
of men, women, and children, were continually arriving. They came not
only in wagons, but on horses, and mules, and on foot. Their dress
and general appearance were very dissimilar. Some were dressed in a
queer looking garment made of pieces of old army blankets, a few were
apparelled in faded military overcoats, which were liberally supplied
with patches of other material. The women, unlike their husbands and
other male relations, were dressed in finery of every conceivable
fashion. All of them were decked out with many-colored ribbons. They
wore pinchbeck jewelry in large quantities. A few of the young girls
displayed some little taste in the arrangement of their dress; and some
of them wore expensive clothes. These, however, were “city niggers,”
and found but little favor in the eyes of the country girls. As the
farmers arrived they hitched their tumble-down wagons and bony mules
near the court house, and then proceeded to dispose of the cotton and
other products which they had brought to town.
While the men are selling their effects, the women go about from store
to store, looking at the many gaudy articles of wearing apparel which
cunning shop-keepers have spread out to tempt their fancy. As soon as
“the crop” is disposed of, and a negro farmer has money in his pocket,
his first act is to pay the merchant from whom he obtained his supplies
during the year. They are improvident and ignorant sometimes, but it
must be said, to their credit, that as a class they always pay their
debts, the moment they are in a position to do so. The country would
not be so destitute if a larger number of white men followed their
example in this respect. When they have settled up all their accounts,
and arranged for future bills, they go and hunt up their wives, who
are generally on the look-out. They then proceed to a dining saloon,
call for an expensive meal, always finishing with pies, puddings, or
preserves, and often with all three. When they have satisfied their
appetites, they go first to the dry-goods stores. Here, as in other
shops, they are met by obsequious white men, who conduct them at once
to a back or side room, with which most of the stores are supplied. At
first I could not fathom the mystery of this ceremony. After diligent
inquiry, however, I discovered that, since the war, unprincipled
store-keepers, some of them northern men, have established the custom
of giving the country negroes, who come to buy, as much whiskey as
they wish to drink. This is done in the back rooms I have mentioned,
and when the unfortunate black men and women are deprived of half their
wits by the vile stuff which is served out to them, they are induced to
purchase all sorts of useless and expensive goods.
In their soberest moments average colored women have a passion for
bright, colored dresses which amounts almost to madness, and, on such
occasions as I have mentioned, they never stop buying until their
money is exhausted. Their husbands have little or no control over
them, and are obliged, whether they will or not, to see most of their
hard earnings squandered upon an unserviceable jacket, or flimsy
bonnet, or many-colored shawl. I saw one black woman spend upward of
thirty dollars on millinery goods. As she received her bundle from the
cringing clerk she said, with a laugh:
“I ’clare to the Lord I’se done gone busted my old man, sure.”
“Never mind,” said the clerk, “he can work for more.”
“To be sure,” answered the woman, and then flounced out of the store.
The men are but little better than the women in their extravagance. I
saw a man on the square who had bargained for a mule, which he very
much needed, and which he had been intending to purchase as soon as he
sold his cotton. He agreed to pay fifty-seven dollars for the animal,
and felt in his pocket for the money, but could find only sixteen
dollars. Satisfying himself that he had no more, he said:
“Well, well, ef dis ain’t de most stravagant nigger I ever see; I sole
two bales of cotton dis bressed day, an’ got one hundred and twenty-two
dollars, an’ now I is got only dis.” Here he gave a loud laugh and said:
“Ole mule, I want you mighty bad, but I’ll have to let you slide dis
time.”
While the large dealers were selling their products and emptying their
wagons, those with vegetables and fruits were vending them in different
sections of the city. A man with a large basket upon his head came
along through one of the principal streets shouting:
“Hellow, dar, in de cellar, I is got fresh aggs, jess fum de hen, lay
’em dis mornin’ fer de ’casion; here dey is, big hen’s aggs, cheap.
Now’s yer time. Dees aggs is fresh an’ good, an’ will make fuss-rate
agg-nog. Now’s yer time fer agg-nogg wid new aggs in it; all laid dis
mornin’.” Here he set down his basket as if to rest his head. Seeing a
colored servant at one of the windows, he called out:
“Here, sister, here’s de fresh aggs; here dey is, big aggs fum big hen,
much as she could do to lay ’em. Now’s yer time; don’t be foolish an’
miss dis chance.”
Just then, a man with a wagon-load of stuff came along, and his voice
completely shut out the man with “de fresh aggs.”
“Here,” cried he, “here’s yer nice winter squash, taters,--Irish
taters, sweet taters, Carliner taters. Big House, dar, Big House, look
out de winder; here’s yer nice cabbages, taters, sweet taters, squash.
Now’s yer time to get ’em cheap. To-morrow is Christmas, an’ yer’ll
want ’em, shore.”
The man with the basket of eggs on his head, and who had been silenced
by the overpowering voice of the “tater” man, called out to the other,
“Now, I reckon yer better go in anudder street. I’s been totin’ dees
aggs all day, an’ I don’t get in nobody’s way.”
“I want to know, is dis your street?” asked the “tater” man.
“No; but I tank de Lord, I is got some manners ’bout me. But, den, I
couldn’t speck no more fum you, fer I knowed you afore de war; you was
one of dem cheap niggers, clodhopper, never taste a bit of white bread
till after de war, an’ den didn’t know ’twas bread.”
“Well, den, ef you make so much fuss ’bout de street, I’ll go out of
it; it’s nothin’ but a second-handed street, no how,” said the “tater”
man, and drove off, crying, “taters, sweet taters, Irish taters, an’
squash.”
Passing into a street where the colored people are largely represented,
I met another head peddler. This man had a tub on his head and with a
musical voice was singing:--
“Here’s yer chitlins, fresh an’ sweet,
Who’ll jine de Union?
Young hog’s chitlins hard to beat,
Who’ll jine de Union?
Methodist chitlins, jest been biled,
Who’ll jine de Union?
Right fresh chitlins, dey ain’t spiled,
Who’ll jine de Union?
Baptist chitlins by de pound,
Who’ll jine de Union?
As nice chitlins as ever was found,
Who’ll jine de Union?
“Here’s yer chitlins, out of good fat hog; jess as sweet chitlins as
ever yer see. Dees chitlins will make yer mouf water jess to look at
’em. Come an’ see ’em.”
At this juncture the man took the tub from his head, sat it down, to
answer a woman who had challenged his right to call them “Baptist
chitlins.”
“Duz you mean to say dat dem is Baptiss chitlins?”
“Yes, mum, I means to say dat dey is real Baptist chitlins, an’ nuffin’
else.”
“Did dey come out of a Baptiss hog?” inquired the woman.
“Yes, mum, dem chitlins come out of a Baptist hog.”
“How duz you make dat out?”
“Well, yer see, dat hog was raised by Mr. Roberson, a hard-shell
Baptist, de corn dat de hog was fatted on was also raised by Baptists,
he was killed and dressed by Geemes Boone, an’ you all know dat he’e as
big a Baptist as ever lived.”
“Well,” said the woman, as if perfectly satisfied, “lem-me have two
poun’s.”
By the time the man had finished his explanation, and weighed out her
lot, he was completely surrounded with women and men, nearly all of
whom had their dishes to get the choice morsel in.
“Now,” said a rather solid-looking man. “Now, I want some of de
Meth-diss chitlins dat you’s bin talking ’bout.”
“Here dey is, ser.”
“What,” asked the purchaser, “you take ’em all out of de same tub?”
“Yes,” quickly replied the vender.
“Can you tell ’em by lookin’ at ’em?” inquired the chubby man.
“Yes, ser.”
“How duz you tell ’em?”
“Well, ser, de Baptist chitlins has bin more in de water, you see, an’
dey’s a little whiter.”
“But, how duz I know dat dey is Meth-diss?”
“Well, ser, dat hog was raised by Uncle Jake Bemis, one of de most
shoutin’ Methodist in de Zion connection. Well, you see, ser, de hog
pen was right close to de house, an’ dat hog was so knowin’ dat when
Uncle Jake went to prayers, ef dat hog was squeelin’ he’d stop. Why,
ser, you could hardly get a grunt out of dat hog till Uncle Jake was
dun his prayer. Now, ser, ef dat don’t make him a Methodist hog, what
will?”
“Weigh me out four pounds, ser.”
“Here’s your fresh chitlins, Baptist chitlins, Methodist chitlins, all
good an’ sweet.”
And in an hour’s time the peddler, with his empty tub upon his head,
was making his way out of the street, singing,--
“Methodist chitlins, Baptist chitlins,
Who’ll jine de Union?”
Hearing the colored cotton-growers were to have a meeting that night,
a few miles from the city, and being invited to attend, I embraced the
opportunity. Some thirty persons were assembled, and as I entered the
room, I heard them chanting--
Sing yo’ praises! Bless de Lam!
Getting plenty money!
Cotton’s gwine up--’deed it am!
People, ain’t it funny?
CHORUS.--Rise, shine, give God the glory.
[_Repeat_ glory.]
Don’t you tink hit’s gwine to rain?
Maybe was, a little;
Maybe one ole hurricane
’S bilin’ in de kittle!--_Chorus._
Craps done fail in Egypt lan’--
Say so in de papers;
Maybe little slight o’ hand
’Mong de specerlaters.--_Chorus._
Put no faith in solemn views;
Keep yo’ pot a smokin’,
Stan’ up squah in yo’ own shoes--
Keep de debble chokin’!--_Chorus._
Fetch me ’roun’ dat tater juice!
Stop dat sassy grinnin’!
Turn dat stopper clean a-loose--
Keep yo’ eye a skinnin’!--Chorus.
Here’s good luck to Egypt lan’!
Hope she ain’t a-failin’!
Hates to see my fellerman
Straddle ob de pailin’!--Chorus.
The church filled up; the meeting was well conducted, and measures
taken to protect cotton-raisers, showing that these people, newly-made
free, and uneducated, were looking to their interests.
Paying a flying visit to Tennessee, I halted at Columbia, the capital
of Maury County. At Redgerford Creek, five miles distant from Columbia,
lives Joe Budge, a man with one hundred children. Never having met one
with such a family, I resolved to make a call on the gentleman and
satisfy my own curiosity.
This distinguished individual is seventy-one years old, large frame, of
unadulterated blood, and spent his life in slavery up to the close of
the war.
“How many children have you, Mr. Budge?” I asked.
“One hundred, ser,” was the quick response.
“Are they all living?”
“No, ser.”
“How many wives had you?”
“Thirteen, ser.”
“Had you more than one wife living at any time?”
“O, yes, ser, nearly all of dem ware livin’ when de war broke out.”
“How was this, did the law allow you to have more than one wife at a
time?”
“Well, yer see, boss, I waren’t under de law, I ware under marser.”
“Were you married to all of your wives by a minister?”
“No, ser, only five by de preacher.”
“How did you marry the others?”
“Ober de broomstick an’ under de blanket.”
“How was that performed?”
“Well, yer see, ser, dey all ’sembles in de quarters, an’ a man takes
hold of one en’ of de broom an’ a ’oman takes hole of tudder en’,
an’ dey holes up de broom, an’ de man an’ de ’oman dats gwine to get
married jumps ober an’ den slips under a blanket, dey put out de light
an’ all goes out an’ leabs em dar.”
“How near together were your wives?”
“Marser had fore plantations, an’ dey live ’bout on ’em, dem dat warn’t
sold.”
“Did your master sell some of your wives?”
“O! yes, ser, when dey got too ole to bare children. You see, marser
raised slaves fer de market, an’ my stock ware called mighty good, kase
I ware very strong, an’ could do a heap of work.”
“Were your children sold away from you?”
“Yes, ser, I see three of ’em sole one day fer two thousand dollars
a-piece; yer see dey ware men grown up.”
“Did you select your wives?”
“Dunno what you mean by dat word.”
“Did you pick out the women that you wanted?”
“O! no, ser, I had nuthin ter say ’bout dat. Marser allers get ’em, an’
pick out strong, hearty young women. Dat’s de reason dat de planters
wanted to get my children, kase dey ware so helty.”
“Did you never feel that it was wrong to get married in such a light
manner?”
“No, ser, kase yer see I toted de witness wid me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Why, ser, I had religion, an’ dat made me feel dat all ware right.”
“What was the witness that you spoke of?”
“De change of heart, ser, is de witness dat I totes in my bosom; an’
when a man’s got dat, he fears nuthin, not eben de debble himsef.”
“Then you know that you’ve got the witness?”
“Yes, ser, I totes it right here.” And at this point, Mr. Budge put his
hand on his heart, and looked up to heaven.
“I presume your master made no profession of religion?”
“O! yes, ser, you bet he had religion. He ware de fustest man in de
church, an’ he ware called mighty powerful in prayer.”
“Do any of your wives live near you now, except the one that you are
living with?”
“Yes, ser, dar’s five in dis county, but dey’s all married now to udder
men.”
“Have you many grand-children?”
“Yes, ser, when my ’lations am all tergedder, dey numbers ’bout fore
hundred, near as I ken get at it.”
“Do you know of any other men that have got as many children as you?”
“No, ser, dey calls me de boss daddy in dis part of de State.”
Having satisfied my curiosity, I bade Mr. Budge “good-day.”