CHAPTER II. CHRISTMAS ON THE OLD PLANTATION
CHAPTER III. MAMMY’S STORY
CHAPTER IV. OLD BILLY
CHAPTER V. DIDDIE’S BOOK
CHAPTER VI. UNCLE SNAKE-BIT BOB’S SUNDAY-SCHOOL
CHAPTER VII. POOR ANN
CHAPTER VIII. UNCLE BOB’S PROPOSITION
CHAPTER IX. AUNT EDY’S STORY
CHAPTER X. PLANTATION GAMES
CHAPTER XI. DIDDIE IN TROUBLE
CHAPTER XII. HOW THE WOODPECKER’S HEAD AND THE ROBIN’S BREAST CAME TO BE RED
CHAPTER XIII. A PLANTATION MEETING, AND UNCLE DANIEL’S SERMON
CHAPTER XIV. DIDDIE AND DUMPS GO VISITING
CHAPTER XV. THE FOURTH OF JULY
CHAPTER XVI. “’STRUCK’N UV DE CHIL’EN”
CHAPTER XVII. WHAT BECAME OF THEM
TO MY DEAR FATHER
DR. RICHARD CLARKE
OF SELMA, ALABAMA
MY HERO AND MY BEAU IDEAL OF A GENTLEMAN
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
WITH THE LOVE OF HIS
DAUGHTER
PREFACE
In writing this little volume, I had for my primary object the idea of
keeping alive many of the old stories, legends, traditions, games,
hymns, and superstitions of the Southern slaves, which, with this
generation of negroes, will pass away. There are now no more dear old
“Mammies” and “Aunties” in our nurseries, no more good old “Uncles” in
the workshops, to tell the children those old tales that have been told
to our mothers and grandmothers for generations—the stories that kept
our fathers and grandfathers quiet at night, and induced them to go
early to bed that they might hear them the sooner.
Nor does my little book pretend to be any defence of slavery. I know
not whether it was right or wrong (there are many pros and cons on the
subject); but it was the law of the land, made by statesmen from the
North as well as the South, long before my day, or my father’s or
grandfather’s day; and, born under that law a slave-holder, and the
descendant of slave-holders, raised in the heart of the cotton section,
surrounded by negroes from my earliest infancy, “I KNOW whereof I do
speak”; and it is to tell of the pleasant and happy relations that
existed between master and slave that I write this story of _Diddie,
Dumps, and Tot._
The stories, plantation games, and Hymns are just as I heard them in my
childhood. I have learned that Mr. Harris, in _Uncle Remus,_ has
already given the “Tar Baby”; but I have not seen his book, and, as our
versions are probably different, I shall let mine remain just as
“Chris” told it to the “chil’en.”
I hope that none of my readers will be shocked at the seeming
irreverence of my book, for that _intimacy _with the “Lord” was
characteristic of the negroes. They believed implicitly in a Special
Providence and direct punishment or reward, and that faith they
religiously tried to impress upon their young charges, white or black;
and “heavy, heavy hung over our heads” was the DEVIL!
The least little departure from a marked-out course of morals or
manners was sure to be followed by, “Nem’ min’, de deb’l gwine git
yer.”
And what the Lord ’lowed and what he didn’t ’low was perfectly well
known to every darky. For instance, “he didn’t ’low no singin’ uv
week-er-day chunes uv er Sunday,” nor “no singin’ uv reel chunes”
(dance music) at any time; nor did he “’low no sassin’ of ole pussons.”
The “chu’ch membahs” had their little differences of opinion. Of course
they might differ on such minor points as “immersion” and “sprinklin’,”
“open” or “close” communion; but when it came to such grave matters as
“singin’ uv reel chunes,” or “sassin’ uv ole pussons,” Baptists and
Methodists met on common ground, and stood firm.
Nor did our Mammies and Aunties neglect our manners. To say “yes” or
“no” to any person, white or black, older than ourselves was considered
very rude; it must always be “yes, mam,” “no, mam”; “yes, sir,” “no,
sir”; and those expressions are still, and I hope ever will be,
characteristic of Southerners.
The child-life that I have portrayed is over now; for no hireling can
ever be to the children what their Mammies were, and the strong tie
between the negroes and “marster’s chil’en” is broken forever.
So, hoping that my book (which claims no literary merit) will serve to
amuse the little folks, and give them an insight into a childhood
peculiar to the South in her palmy days, without further preface I send
out my volume of Plantation Child-life.
LOUISE-CLARKE PYRNELLE.
COLUMBUS, GA.
DIDDIE, DUMPS AND TOT
CHAPTER I
DIDDIE, DUMPS AND TOT
They were three little sisters, daughters of a Southern planter, and
they lived in a big white house on a cotton plantation in Mississippi.
The house stood in a grove of cedars and live-oaks, and on one side was
a flower-garden, with two summer-houses covered with climbing roses and
honey-suckles, where the little girls would often have tea-parties in
the pleasant spring and summer days. Back of the house was a long
avenue of water-oaks leading to the quarters where the negroes lived.
Major Waldron, the father of the children, owned a large number of
slaves, and they loved him and his children very dearly. And the little
girls loved them, particularly “Mammy,” who had nursed their mother,
and now had entire charge of the children; and Aunt Milly, a lame
yellow woman, who helped Mammy in the nursery; and Aunt Edy, the head
laundress, who was never too busy to amuse them. Then there was Aunt
Nancy, the “tender,” who attended to the children for the field-hands,
and old Uncle Snake-bit Bob, who could scarcely walk at all, because he
had been bitten by a snake when he was a boy: so now he had a little
shop, where he made baskets of white-oak splits for the hands to pick
cotton in; and he always had a story ready for the children, and would
let them help him weave baskets whenever Mammy would take them to the
shop.
Besides these, there were Riar, Chris, and Dilsey, three little
negroes, who belonged to the little girls and played with them, and
were in training to be their maids by-and-by.
Diddie, the oldest of the children, was nine years of age, and had a
governess, Miss Carrie, who had taught her to read quite well, and even
to write a letter. She was a quiet, thoughtful little girl, well
advanced for her age, and lady-like in her manners.
Dumps, the second sister, was five, full of fun and mischief, and gave
Mammy a great deal of trouble on account of her wild tomboyish ways.
Tot, the baby, was a tiny, little blue-eyed child of three, with long
light curls, who was always amiable and sweet-tempered, and was petted
by everybody who knew her.
Now, you must not think that the little girls had been carried to the
font and baptized with such ridiculous names as Diddie, Dumps, and Tot:
these were only pet names that Mammy had given them; but they had been
called by them so long that many persons forgot that Diddie’s name was
Madeleine, that Dumps had been baptized Elinor, and that Tot bore her
mother’s name of Eugenia, for they were known as Diddie, Dumps and Tot
to all of their friends.
The little girls were very happy in their plantation home. ’Tis true
they lived ’way out in the country, and had no museums nor toy-shops to
visit, no fine parks to walk or ride in, nor did they have a very great
variety of toys. They had some dolls and books, and a baby-house
furnished with little beds and chairs and tables; and they had a big
Newfoundland dog, Old Bruno; and Dumps and Tot both had a little kitten
apiece; and there was “Old Billy,” who once upon a time had been a
frisky little lamb, Diddie’s special pet; but now he was a vicious old
sheep, who amused the children very much by running after them whenever
he could catch them out-of-doors. Sometimes, though, he would butt them
over and hurt them and Major Waldron had several times had him turned
into the pasture; but Diddie would always cry and beg for him to be
brought back and so Old Billy was nearly always in the yard.
Then there was Corbin, the little white pony that belonged to all of
the children together, and was saddled and bridled every fair day, and
tied to the horse-rack, that the little girls might ride him whenever
they chose; and ’twas no unusual sight to see two of them on him at
once, cantering down the big road or through the grove.
And, besides all these amusements, Mammy or Aunt Milly or Aunt Edy, or
some of the negroes, would tell them tales; and once in a while they
would slip off and go to the quarters, to Aunt Nancy the tender’s
cabin, and play with the little quarter children. They particularly
liked to go there about dark to hear the little negroes say their
prayers.
Aunt Nancy would make them all kneel down in a row, and clasp their
hands and shut their eyes: then she would say, “Our Father, who art in
heaven,” and all the little darkies together would repeat each petition
after her; and if they didn’t all keep up, and come out together, she
would give the delinquent a sharp cut with a long switch that she
always kept near her. So the prayer was very much interrupted by the
little “nigs” telling on each other, calling out “Granny” (as they all
called Aunt Nancy), “Jim didn’t say his ‘kingdom come.’”
“Yes I did, Granny; don’t yer b’lieve dat gal; I said jes’ much
‘kingdom come’ ez she did.”
And presently Jim would retaliate by saying,
“Granny, Polly nuber sed nuf’n ’bout her ‘cruspusses.’”
“Lord-ee! jes’ lis’n at dat nigger,” Polly would say. “Granny, don’t
yer min’ ’im; I sed furgib us cruspusses, jes’ ez plain ez anybody, and
Ginny hyeard me; didn’t yer, Ginny?”
At these interruptions Aunt Nancy would stop to investigate the matter,
and whoever was found in fault was punished with strict and impartial
justice.
Another very interesting time to visit the quarters was in the morning
before breakfast, to see Aunt Nancy give the little darkies their
“vermifuge.” She had great faith in the curative properties of a very
nauseous vermifuge that she had made herself by stewing some kind of
herbs in molasses, and every morning she would administer a teaspoonful
of it to every child under her care; and she used to say,
“Ef’n hit want fur dat furmifuge, den marster wouldn’t hab all dem
niggers w’at yer see hyear.”
Now, I don’t know about that; but I do know that the little darkies
would rather have had fewer “niggers” and less “furmifuge;” for they
acted shamefully every time they were called upon to take a dose. In
the first place, whenever Aunt Nancy appeared with the bottle and
spoon, as many of the children as could get away would flee for their
lives, and hide themselves behind the hen-coops and ash-barrels, and
under the cabins, and anywhere they could conceal themselves.
But that precaution was utterly useless, for Aunt Nancy would make them
all form in a line, and in that way would soon miss any absentees; but
there were always volunteers to hunt out and run down and bring back
the shirkers, who, besides having to take the vermifuge, would get a
whipping into the bargain.
And even after Aunt Nancy would get them into line and their hands
crossed behind their backs, she would have to watch very closely, or
some wicked little “nig” would slip into the place of the one just
above him, and make a horrible face, and spit, and wipe his mouth as if
he had just taken his dose; and thereby the one whose place he had
taken would have to swallow a double portion, while he escaped
entirely; or else a scuffle would ensue, and a very animated discussion
between the parties as to who had taken the last dose; and unless it
could be decided satisfactorily, Aunt Nancy would administer a dose to
each one; for, in her opinion, “too much furmifuge wuz better’n none.”
And so you see the giving of the vermifuge consumed considerable time.
After that was through with she would begin again at the head of the
line, and making each child open its mouth to its fullest extent, she
would examine each throat closely, and, if any of them had their
“palates down,” she would catch up a little clump of hair right on top
of their heads and wrap it around as tightly as she could with a
string, and then, catching hold of this “top-knot,” she would pull with
all her might to bring up the palate. The unlucky little “nig” in the
meanwhile kept up the most unearthly yells, for so great was the
depravity among them that they had rather have their palates down than
up. Keeping their “palate locks” tied was a source of great trouble and
worriment to Aunt Nancy.
The winter was always a great season with the children; Mammy would let
them have so many candy-stews, and they parched “goobers” in the
evenings, and Aunt Milly had to make them so many new doll’s clothes,
to “keep them quiet,” as Dumps said; and such romps and games as they
would have in the old nursery!
There were two rooms included in the nursery—one the children’s bedroom
and the other their playroom, where they kept all their toys and
litter; and during the winter bright wood fires were kept up in both
rooms, that the children might not take cold, and around both
fireplaces were tall brass fenders that were kept polished till they
shone like gold. Yet, in spite of this precaution, do you know that
once Dilsey, Diddie’s little maid, actually caught on fire, and her
linsey dress was burned off, and Aunt Milly had to roll her over and
over on the floor, and didn’t get her put out till her little black
neck was badly burned, and her little wooly head all singed. After that
she had to be nursed for several days. Diddie carried her her meals,
and Dumps gave her “Stella,” a china doll that was perfectly good, only
she had one leg off and her neck cracked; but, for all that, she was a
great favorite in the nursery, and it grieved Dumps very much to part
with her; but she thought it was her “Christian juty,” as she told
Diddie; so Aunt Milly made Stella a new green muslin dress, and she was
transferred to Dilsey.
There was no railroad near the plantation, but it was only fifteen
miles to the river, and Major Waldron would go down to New Orleans
every winter to lay in his year’s supplies, which were shipped by
steamboats to the landing and hauled from there to the plantation. It
was a jolly time for both white and black when the wagons came from the
river; there were always boxes of fruits and candies and nuts, besides
large trunks which were carried into the store-room till Christmas, and
which everybody knew contained Christmas presents for “all hands.” One
winter evening in 1853, the children were all gathered at the big gate,
on the lookout for the wagons. Diddie was perched upon one gate-post
and Dumps on the other, while Tot was sitting on the fence, held on by
Riar, lest she might fall. Dilsey and Chris were stationed ’way down
the road to catch the first glimpse of the wagons. They were all
getting very impatient, for they had been out there nearly an hour, and
it was now getting so late they knew Mammy would not let them stay much
longer.
“I know de reason dey so late, Miss Diddie,” said Riar, “dey got dat
new mule Sam in de lead in one de wagins, and Unker Bill say he know he
gwine cut up, f’um de look in he’s eyes.”
“Uncle Bill don’t know everything,” answered Diddie. “There are six
mules in the wagon, and Sam’s jest only one of ’em; I reckon he can’t
cut up much by hisself; five’s more’n one, ain’t it?”
“I do b’lieve we’ve been out hyear er hun-der-d hours,” said Dumps,
yawning wearily; and just then Dilsey and Chris came running towards
the gate, waving their arms and crying,
“Hyear dey come! hyear dey come!” and, sure enough, the great
white-covered wagons came slowly down the road, and Major Waldron on
Prince, his black horse, riding in advance.
He quickened his pace when he caught sight of the children; for he was
very fond of his little daughters, and had been away from them two
weeks, trading in New Orleans. He rode up now to the fence, and lifting
Tot to the saddle before him, took her in his arms and kissed her.
Diddie and Dumps scrambled down from the gate-posts and ran along by
the side of Prince to the house, where their mamma was waiting on the
porch. And oh! such a joyful meeting! such hugging and kissing all
around!
Then the wagons came up, and the strong negro men began taking out the
boxes and bundles and carrying them to the storeroom.
“Hand me out that covered basket, Nelson,” said Major Waldron to one of
the men; and taking it carefully to the house, he untied the cover, and
there lay two little _white woolly puppies_—one for Diddie, and one for
Dumps.
The little girls clapped their hands and danced with delight.
“Ain’t they lovely?” said Dumps, squeezing hers in her arms.
“Lubly,” echoed Tot, burying her chubby little hands in the puppy’s
wool, while Diddie cuddled hers in her arms as tenderly as if it had
been a baby.
Mammy made a bed for the doggies in a box in one corner of the nursery,
and the children were so excited and so happy that she could hardly get
them to bed at all; but after a while Tot’s blue eyes began to droop,
and she fell asleep in Mammy’s arms, murmuring, “De booful itty
doggie.”
“De booful itty doggies,” however, did not behave very well; they cried
and howled, and Dumps insisted on taking hers up and rocking him to
sleep.
“Hit’s er gittin’ so late, honey,” urged Mammy, “let ’um stay in de
box, an’ go ter bed now, like good chil’en.”
“I know I ain’t, Mammy,” replied Dumps. “You mus’ think I ain’t got no
feelin’s ter go ter bed an’ leave ’im hollerin’. I’m er goin’ ter rock
’im ter sleep in my little rockin’-cheer, an’ you needn’t be er fussin’
at me nuther.”
“I ain’t er fussin’ at yer, chile; I’m jes’ ’visin’ uv yer fur yer
good; caze hit’s yer bed-time, an’ dem puppies will likely holler all
night.”
“Then we will sit up all night,” said Diddie, in her determined way.
“I’m like Dumps; I’m not going to bed an’ leave ’im cryin’.”
So Mammy drew her shawl over her head and lay back in her chair for a
nap, while Diddie and Dumps took the little dogs in their arms and sat
before the fire rocking; and Chris and Dilsey and Riar all squatted on
the floor around the fender, very much interested in. the process of
getting the puppies quiet.
Presently Dumps began to sing:
“Ef’n ’ligion was er thing that money could buy,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign;
De rich would live, an’ de po’ would die,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign.
Chorus
O reign, reign, reign, er my Lord,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign:
O reign, reign, reign, er my Lord,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign.
But de Lord he ’lowed he wouldn’t have it so.
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign;
So de rich mus’ die jes’ same as de po’,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign.”
This was one of the plantation hymns with which Mammy often used to
sing Tot to sleep, and all the children were familiar with the words
and air; so now they all joined in the singing, and very sweet music it
was. They had sung it through several times, and the puppies, finding
themselves so outdone in the matter of noise, had curled up in the
children’s laps and were fast asleep, when Diddie interrupted the
chorus to ask:
“Dumps, what are you goin’ ter name your doggie?”
“I b’lieve I’ll name ’im ‘Papa,’” replied Dumps, “because he give ’im
ter me.”
“‘Papa,’ indeed!” said Diddie, contemptuously; “that’s no name for a
dog; I’m goin’ ter name mine after some great big somebody.”
“Lord-ee! I tell yer, Miss Diddie; name ’im Marse Samson, atter de man
w’at Mammy wuz tellin’ ’bout totin’ off de gates,” said Dilsey.
“No yer don’t, Miss Diddie; don’t yer name ’im no sich,” said Chris;
“le’s name im’ Marse Whale, w’at swallered de man an’ nuber chawed
’im.”
“No, I sha’n’t name him nothin’ out’n the Bible,” said Diddie, “because
that’s wicked, and maybe God wouldn’t let him live, just for that; I
b’lieve I’ll name him Christopher Columbus, ’cause if he hadn’t
discovered America there wouldn’t er been no people hyear, an’ I
wouldn’t er had no father nor mother, nor dog, nor nothin’; an’, Dumps,
sposin’ you name yours Pocahontas, that was er _beau-ti-ful_ Injun
girl, an’ she throwed her arms ’roun’ Mr. Smith an’ never let the
tomahawks kill ’im.”
“I know I ain’t goin’ to name mine no Injun,” said Dumps, decidedly.
“Yer right, Miss Dumps; now yer’s er talkin’,” said Riar; “I wouldn’t
name ’im no Injun; have ’im tearin’ folks’ hyar off, like Miss Diddie
reads in de book. I don’t want ter hab nuffin ’tall ter _do_ wid no
Injuns; no, sar! I don’t like’ dem folks.”
“Now, chil’en de dogs is ’sleep,” said Mammy, yawning and rubbing her
eyes; “go ter bed, won’t yer?”
And the little girls, after laying the puppies in the box and covering
them with an old shawl, were soon fast asleep. But there was not much
sleep in the nursery that night; the ungrateful little dogs howled and
cried all night. Mammy got up three times and gave them warm milk, and
tucked them up in the shawl; but no sooner would she put them back in
the box than they would begin to cry and howl. And so at the
breakfast-table next morning, when Dumps asked her papa to tell her
something to name her puppy, Diddie gravely remarked,
“I think, Dumps, we had better name ’um Cherubim an’ Seraphim, for they
continually do cry.”
And her papa was so amused at the idea that he said he thought so too;
and thus the puzzling question of the names was decided, and the little
wooly poodles were called Cherubim and Seraphim, and became great pets
in the household.