A PLANTATION MEETING AND UNCLE DANIEL’S SERMON
“Are you gwine ter meetin’, Mammy?” asked Diddie one Sunday evening, as
Mammy came out of the house attired in her best flowered muslin, with
an old-fashioned mantilla (that had once been Diddie’s grandmother’s)
around her shoulders.
“Cose I gwine ter meetin’, honey; I’se er tryin’ ter sarve de Lord, I
is, caze we ain’t gwine stay hyear on dis yearth all de time. We got
ter go ter nudder kentry, chile; an’ efn yer don’t go ter meetin’, an’
watch an’ pray, like de Book say fur yer ter do, den yer mus’ look out
fur yerse’f wen dat Big Day come wat I hyears ’em talkin’ ’bout.”
“Can’t we go with you, Mammy? We’ll be good, an’ not laugh at ’em
shoutin’.”
“I dunno wat yer gwine loff at ’em shoutin’ fur; efn yer don’t min’ de
loff gwine ter be turnt some er deze days, an’ dem wat yer loffs at
hyear, dem’s de ones wat’s gwine ter do de loffin’ wen we gits up
yon’er! But, let erlone dat, yer kin go efn yer wants ter; an’ efn
yer’ll make has’e an’ git yer bunnits, caze I ain’t gwine wait no gret
wile. I don’t like ter go ter meetin’ atter hit starts. I want ter
hyear Brer Dan’l’s tex’, I duz. I can’t neber enj’y de sermon doutn I
hyears de tex’.”
You may be sure it wasn’t long before the children were all ready for
they knew Mammy would be as good as her word, and would not wait for
them. When they reached the church, which was a very nice wooden
building that Major Waldron had had built for that purpose, there was a
large crowd assembled; for, besides Major Waldron’s own slaves, quite a
number from the adjoining plantations were there. The younger negroes
were laughing and chatting in groups outside the door, but the older
ones wore very solemn countenances, and walked gravely in and up to the
very front pews. On Mammy’s arrival, she placed the little girls in
seats at the back of the house, and left Dilsey and Chris and Riar on
the seat just behind them, “fur ter min’ em’,” as she said (for the
children must always be under the supervision of somebody), and then
she went to her accustomed place at the front; for Mammy was one of the
leading members, and sat in the amen corner.
Soon after they had taken their seats, Uncle Gabe, who had a powerful
voice, and led the singing, struck up:
“Roll, Jordan, roll! roll, Jordan, roll!
I want ter go ter heb’n wen I die,
Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll.
“Oh, pray, my brudder, pray!
Yes, my Lord;
My brudder’s settin in de kingdom,
Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll.
Chorus
“Roll, Jordan, roll! roll, Jordan, roll!
I want ter go ter heb’n wen I die,
Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll.
“Oh, shout, my sister, shout!
Yes, my Lord;
My sister she’s er shoutin’
Caze she hyears sweet Jordan roll.
“Oh, moan, you monahs, moan!
Yes, my Lord;
De monahs sobbin’ an’ er weepin’,
Fur ter hyear sweet Jordan roll.
“Oh, scoff, you scoffers, scoff!
Yes, my Lord;
Dem sinners wat’s er scoffin’
Can’t hyear sweet Jordan roll.”
And as the flood of melody poured through the house, the groups on the
outside came in to join the singing.
After the hymn, Uncle Snake-bit Bob led in prayer, and what the old man
lacked in grammer and rhetoric was fully made up for in fervency and
zeal.
The prayer ended, Uncle Daniel arose, and, carefully adjusting his
spectacles, he opened his Bible with all the gravity and dignity
imaginable, and proceeded to give out his text.
Now the opening of the Bible was a mere matter of form, for Uncle
Daniel didn’t even know his letters; but he thought it was more
impressive to have the Bible open, and therefore never omitted that
part of the ceremony.
“My bredren an’ my sistren,” he began, looking solemnly over his specs
at the congregation, “de tex’ wat I’se gwine ter gib fur yer ’strucshun
dis ebenin’ yer’ll not fin’ in de foremus’ part er de Book, nur yit in
de hine part. Hit’s swotuwated mo’ in de middle like, ’boutn ez fur fum
one een ez ’tiz fum tudder, an’ de wuds uv de tex’ is dis:
“‘Burhol’, I’ll punish um! dey young men shall die by de s’ord, an’ dey
sons an’ dey daughters by de famine.’
“My bredren, embracin’ uv de sistren, I’se ben ’stressed in my min’
’boutn de wickedness I sees er gwine on. Eby night de Lord sen’ dar’s
dancin’ an’ loffin’ an’ fiddlin’; an’ efn er man raises ’im er few
chickens an’ watermillions, dey ain’t safe no longer’n his back’s
turnt; an’, let erlone dat, dar’s quarlin’ ’longer one nudder, an’
dar’s sassin’ uv white folks an’ ole pussuns, an’ dar’s drinkin’ uv
whiskey, an’ dar’s beatin’ uv wives, an’ dar’s dev’lin’ uv husban’s,
an’ dar’s imperrence uv chil’en, an’ dar’s makin’ fun uv ’ligion, an’
dar’s singin’ uv reel chunes, an’ dar’s slightin’ uv wuck, an’ dar’s
stayin’ fum meetin’, an’ dar’s swearin’ an’ cussin’, an’ dar’s eby kin’
er wickedness an’ dev’lment loose in de land.
“An’, my bredren, takin’ in de sistren, I’ve talked ter yer, an’ I’ve
tol’ yer uv de goodness an’ de long-suff’rin uv de Lord. I tol’ yer
outn his Book, whar he’d lead yer side de waters, an’ be a Shepherd ter
yer; an’ yer kep’ straight on, an’ neber paid no ’tenshun; so tudder
night, wile I wuz er layin’ in de bed an’ er steddin’ wat ter preach
’bout, sumpin’ kin’ er speak in my ear; an’ hit sez, ‘Brer Dan’l,
yer’ve tol’ ’em ’bout de Lord’s leadin’ uv ’em, an’ now tell ’em ’boutn
his drivin’ uv ’em. An’, my bredren, includin’ uv de sistren, I ain’t
gwine ter spare yer feelin’s dis day. I’m er stan’in’ hyear fur ter
’liver de message outn de Book, an’ dis is de message:
“‘Burhol’, I’ll punish um! dey young men shall die by de s’ord, an’ dey
sons an’ dey daughters by de famine.’
“Yer all hyear it, don’t yer? An’ now yer want ter know who sont it. De
Lord! Hit’s true he sont it by a po’ ole nigger, but den hit’s his own
wuds; hit’s in his Book. An’, fussly, we’ll pursidder dis: IS HE ABLE
TER DO IT? Is he able fur ter kill marster’s niggers wid de s’ord an’
de famine? My bredren, he is able! Didn’ he prize open de whale’s mouf,
an’ take Jonah right outn him? Didn’ he hol’ back de lions wen dey wuz
er rampin’ an’ er tearin’ roun’ atter Dan’l in de den? Wen de flood
come, an’ all de yearth wuz drownded, didn’ he paddle de ark till he
landed her on top de mount er rats? Yes, my bredren, embracin’ uv de
sistren, an’ de same Lord wat done all er dat, he’s de man wat’s got de
s’ords an’ de famines ready fur dem wat feels deyse’f too smart ter
’bey de teachin’s uv de Book. ‘Dey young men shall die by de s’ord, an’
dey sons an’ dey daughters by de famine.’
“Oh, you chu’ch membahs wat shouts an’ prays uv er Sundays an’ steals
watermillions uv er week-days! Oh, you young men wat’s er cussin’ an’
er robbin’ uv henrooses! Oh, you young women wat’s er singin’ uv reel
chunes! Oh, you chil’en wat’s er sassin’ uv ole folks! Oh, you ole
pussons wat’s er fussin’ an’ quarlin’! Oh, you young folks wat’s er
dancin’ an’ prancin’! Oh, you niggers wat’s er slightin’ uv yer wuck!
Oh! pay ’tenshun ter de message dis ebenin’, caze yer gwine wake up
some er deze mornin’s, an’ dar at yer do’s ’ll be de s’ord an’ de
famine.
“‘Burhol’, I’ll punish um! dey young men shall die by de s’ord, an’ dey
sons an’ dey daughters by de famine.’
“Bredren, an’ likewise sistren, yer dunno wat yer foolin’ wid! Dem
s’ords an’ dem famines is de wust things dey is. Dey’s wuss’n de
rheumatiz; dey’s wuss’n de toof-ache; dey’s wuss’n de cramps; dey’s
wuss’n de lockjaw; dey’s wuss’n anything. Wen Adam an’ Ebe wuz turnt
outn de gyarden, an’ de Lord want ter keep ’em out, wat’s dat he put
dar fur ter skyer ’em? Wuz it er elfunt? No, sar! Wuz it er lion? No,
sar! He had plenty beases uv eby kin’, but den he didn’ cyar ’boutn
usen uv ’em. Wuz hit rain or hail, or fire, or thunder, or lightnin’?
No, my bredren, hit wuz er s’ord! Caze de Lord knowed weneber dey seed
de s’ord dar dey wan’t gwine ter facin’ it. Oh, den, lis’en at de
message dis ebenin’.
“‘Dey young men shall die by de s’ord.’
“An’ den, ergin, dar dem famines, my bredren, takin’ in de sistren—dem
famines come plum fum Egypt! dey turnt ’em erloose dar one time, mun,
an’ de Book sez all de lan’ wuz sore, an’ thousan’s pun top er
thousan’s wuz slaint.
“Dey ain’t no way fur ter git roun’ dem famines. Yer may hide, yer may
run in de swamps, yer may climb de trees, but, bredren, efn eber dem
famines git atter yer, yer gone! dey’ll cotch yer! dey’s nuffin like
’em on de face uv de yearth, les’n hit’s de s’ord; dar ain’t much chice
twix dem two. Wen hit comes ter s’ords an’ famines, I tell yer, gemmun,
hit’s nip an’ tuck. Yit de message, hit sez, ‘dey young men shall die
by de s’ord, an’ dey sons an’ dey daughters by de famine.’
“Now, bredren an’ sistren, an’ monahs an’ sinners, don’t le’s force de
Lord fur ter drive us; le’s try fur ter sarve him, an’ fur ter git
erlong doutn de s’ords an de famines. Come up hyear roun’ dis altar,
an’ wrestle fur ’ligion, an’ dem few uv us wat is godly—me an’ Brer
Snake-bit Rob an’ Sis Haly an’ Brer Gabe, an’ Brer Lige an’ Brer
One-eyed Pete, an’ Sis Rachel (Mammy) an’ Sis Hannah—we’re gwine put in
licks fur yer dis ebenin’. Oh, my frens, yer done hyeard de message.
Oh, spar’ us de s’ords and de famines! don’t drive de Lord fur ter use
’em! Come up hyear now dis ebenin’, an’ let us all try ter hep yer git
thu. Leave yer dancin’ an’ yer singin’ an’ yer playin’, leave yer
whiskey an’ yer cussin’ an’ yer swearin’, an’ tu’n yer min’s ter de
s’ords an’ de famines.
“Wen de Lord fotches dem s’ords outn Eden, an’ dem famines outn Egyp’,
an’ tu’n ’em erloose on dis plantation, I tell yer, mun, dar’s gwine be
skyeared niggers hyear. Yer won’t see no dancin’ den; yer won’t hyear
no cussin’, nor no chickens hollin’ uv er night; dey won’t be no reel
chunes sung den; yer’ll want ter go ter prayin’, an’ yer’ll be er
callin’ on us wat is stedfus in de faith fur ter hep yer; but we can’t
hep yer den. We’ll be er tryin’ on our wings an’ er floppin’ ’em”
(“Yes, bless God!” thus Uncle Snake-bit Bob), “an’ er gittin’ ready fur
ter start upuds! We’ll be er lacin’ up dem golden shoes” (“Yes,
marster!” thus Mammy), “fur ter walk thu dem pearly gates. We can’t
stop den. We can’t ’liver no message den; de Book’ll be shot. So,
bredren, hyear it dis ebenin’. ‘Dey young men shall die by de s’ord,
an’ dey sons an’ dey daughters by de famine.’
“Now, I’ve said ernuff; day’s no use fur ter keep er talkin’, an’ all
you backslidin’ chu’ch membahs, tremblin’ sinners, an’ weepin’ monahs,
come up hyear dis ebenin’, an’ try ter git erroun’ dem s’ords an’ dem
famines. Now my skyearts is clar, caze I done ’liver de message. I done
tol’ yer whar hit come fum. I tol’ yer ’twas in de Book, ’boutn
middle-ways twix’ een an’ een; an’ wedder David writ it or Sam’l writ
it, or Gen’sis writ it or Paul writ it, or Phesians writ it or Loshuns
writ it, dat ain’t nudder hyear nor dar; dat don’t make no diffunce;
some on ’em writ it, caze hit’s sholy in de Book, fur de oberseer’s
wife she read hit ter me outn dar; an’ I tuck ’tickler notice, too,
so’s I could tell yer right whar ter fin’ it. An’, bredren, I’m er
tellin’ yer de truf dis ebenin’; hit’s jes ’bout de middle twix’ een
an’ een. Hit’s dar, sho’s yer born, an’ dar aint no way fur ter
’sputin’ it, nor ter git roun’ it, ’septin’ fur ter tu’n fum yer
wickedness. An’ now, Brudder Gabe, raise er chune; an’ sing hit lively,
bredren; an’ wile dey’s singin’ hit, I want yer ter come up hyear an’
fill deze monahs’ benches plum full. Bredren, I want monahs ’pun top er
monahs dis ebenin’. Brethren I want ’em in crowds. I want ’em in
droves. I want ’em laid ’pun top er one ernudder, bredren, tell yer
can’t see de bottumus’ monahs. I want ’em piled up hyear dis ebenin’. I
want ’em packed down, mun, an’ den tromped on, ter make room fur de
nex’ load. Oh, my bredren, come! fur ‘dey young men shall die by de
s’ord, an’ dey sons an’ dey daughters by de famine.’”
The scene that followed baffles all description. Uncle Gabe struck up—
“Oh, lebe de woods uv damnation;
Come out in de fields uv salvation;
Fur de Lord’s gwine ter bu’n up creation,
Wen de day uv jedgment come.
“Oh, sinners, yer may stan’ dar er laffin’,
Wile de res’ uv us er quaffin’
Uv de streams wich de win’s is er waffin’
Right fresh fum de heb’nly sho’.
“But, min’, der’s er day is er comin’,
Wen yer’ll hyear a mighty pow’ful hummin’;
Wen dem angels is er blowin’ an’ er drummin’,
In de awful jedgment day.
“Oh, monahs, you may stan’ dar er weepin’,
Fur de brooms uv de Lord is er sweepin’,
An’ all de trash dey’s er heapin’
Outside er de golden gate.
“So, sinners, yer’d better be er tu’nin’,
Er climin’ an’ er scramblin’ an’ er runnin’,
Fur ter ’scape dat drefful burnin’
In de awful jedgment day.”
And while the hymn was being sung, Uncle Daniel had his wish of “monahs
’pun top er monahs,” for the benches and aisles immediately around the
altar were soon crowded with the weeping negroes. Some were crying,
some shouting Glory! some praying aloud, some exhorting the sinners,
some comforting the mourners, some shrieking and screaming, and, above
all the din and confusion, Uncle Daniel could be heard halloing, at the
top of his voice, “Dem s’ords an’ dem famines!” After nearly an hour of
this intense excitement, the congregation was dismissed, one of them,
at least, more dead than alive; for “Aunt Ceely,” who had long been
known as “er pow’ful sinful ooman,” had fallen into a trance, whether
real or assumed must be determined by wiser heads than mine; for it was
no uncommon occurrence for those “seekin’ ’ligion” to lie in a state of
unconsciousness for several hours, and, on their return to
consciousness, to relate the most wonderful experiences of what had
happened to them while in the trance. Aunt Ceely lay as if she were
dead, and two of the Christian men (for no sinner must touch her at
this critical period) bore her to her cabin, followed by the “chu’ch
membahs,” who would continue their singing and praying until she “come
thu,” even if the trance should last all night. The children returned
to the house without Mammy, for she was with the procession which had
followed Aunt Ceely; and as they reached the yard, they met their
father returning from the lot.
“Papa,” called Dumps, “we’re goin’ ter have awful troubles hyear.”
“How, my little daughter?” asked her father.
“The Lord’s goin’ ter sen’ s’ords an’ famines, an’ they’ll eat up all
the young men, an’ ev’ybody’s sons an’ daughters,” she replied,
earnestly. “Uncle Dan’s said so in meetin’; an’ all the folks was
screamin’ an’ shoutin’, an’ Aunt Ceely is in a trance ’bout it, an’ she
ain’t come thu yet.”
Major Waldron was annoyed that his children should have witnessed any
such scene, for they were all very much excited and frightened at the
fearful fate that they felt was approaching them; so he took them into
his library, and explained the meaning of the terms “swords and
famines,” and read to them the whole chapter, explaining how the
prophet referred only to the calamities that should befall the Hebrews;
but, notwithstanding all that, the children were uneasy, and made Aunt
Milly sit by the bedside until they went to sleep, to keep the “swords
and the famines” from getting them.