It was a long time before it dawned upon my mind that there were
places and people different from these. The plantations we visited
seemed exactly like ours. The same hospitality was everywhere; the
same kindliness existed between the white family and the blacks.
Confined exclusively to plantation scenes, the most trifling incidents
impressed themselves indelibly upon me.
One day, while my mother was in the yard attending to the planting of
some shrubbery, we saw approaching an old, feeble negro man, leaning
upon his stick. His clothes were nearly worn out, and he was haggard
and thin.
"Good-day, mistess," said he.
"Who are you?" asked my mother.
"Mistess, you don't know John whar use to belonks to Mars Edwin
Burl--Mars Edwin, yo' husban' uncle, whar die on de ocean crossin' to
Europe for he health. An' 'fo' he start he make he will an' sot me
free, an' gie me money an' lan' near Petersbu'g, an' good house, too.
But, mistess, I marry one free mulatto 'oman, an' she ruin me; she one
widow 'oman, an' she was'e all my money tell I aint got nothin', an' I
don't want be free no mo'. Please, mistess, take me on yo' plantation,
an' don't let me be free. I done walk hund'ed mile to git yer. You
know Mars Edwin think Miss Betsy gwine marry him, so he lef' her his
lan' an' black folks. But we niggers knowed she done promis' twelve
mo' gen'men to marry 'em. But she take de propity an' put on long
black veil make like she grievin', an' dat's how de folks all git
scattered, an' I aint got nowhar to go 'ceptin' hit's yer."
[Illustration: "I DON'T WANT BE FREE NO MO."--_Page 12._]
I wondered what was meant by being "free," and supposed from his
appearance it must be some very dreadful and unfortunate condition of
humanity. My mother heard him very kindly, and directed him to the
kitchen, where "Aunt Christian" would give him plenty to eat.
Although there were already many old negroes to be supported, who
no longer considered themselves young enough to work, this old man was
added to the number, and a cabin built for him. To the day of his
death he expressed gratitude to my mother for taking care of him, and
often entertained us with accounts of _his_ "old marster times," which
he said were the "grandes' of all."
By way of apology for certain knotty excrescences on his feet he used
to say: "You see dese yer knots. Well, dey come fum my bein' a monsus
proud young nigger, an' squeezin' my feet in de tightes' boots to
drive my marster carriage 'bout Petersbu'g. I nuver was so happy as
when I was drivin' my coach an' four, and crackin' de postilion over
de head wid my whip."
These pleasant reminiscences were generally concluded with: "Ah! young
misses, _you'll_, nuver see sich times. No more postilions! No more
coach an' four! And niggers drives _now_ widout white gloves. Ah! no,
young misses, _you'll_ nuver see nothin'! _Nuver_ in _your_ time."
With these melancholy predictions would he shake his head, and sigh
that the days of glory had departed.
Each generation of blacks vied with the other in extolling the virtues
of their particular mistress and master and "_their times_"; but,
notwithstanding this mournful contrast between the past and present,
their reminiscences had a certain charm. Often by their cabin
firesides would we listen to the tales of the olden days about our
forefathers, of whom they could tell much, having belonged to our
family since the landing of the African fathers on the English slave
ships, from which their ancestors had been bought by ours. Among these
traditions none pleased us so much as that an unkind mistress or
master had never been known among our ancestors, which we have always
considered a cause for greater pride than the armorial bearings left
on their tombstones.
We often listened with pleasure to the recollections of an old blind
man--the former faithful attendant of our grandfather--whose mind was
filled with vivid pictures of the past. He repeated verbatim
conversations and speeches heard sixty years before--from Mr. Madison,
Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Clay, and other statesmen, his master's special
friends.
"Yes," he used to say, "I stay wid your grandpa ten years in Congress,
an' all de time he was secretary for President Jefferson. He nuver
give me a cross word, an' I nuver saw your grandma de leas' out of
temper nuther but once, an' dat was at a dinner party we give in
Washington, when de French Minister said something disrespectful 'bout
de United States."
Often did he tell us: "De greates' pleasure I 'spect in heaven is
seein' my old marster." And sometimes: "I dreams 'bout my marster an'
mistess when I'se asleep, an' talks wid 'em an' sees 'em so plain it
makes me so happy I laughs out right loud."
This man was true and honest,--a good Christian. Important trusts had
been confided to him. He frequently drove the carriage and horses to
Washington and Baltimore,--a journey of two weeks,--and was sometimes
sent to carry large sums of money to a distant county.
His wife, who had accompanied him in her youth to Washington, also
entertained us with gossip about the people of that day, and could
tell exactly the size and color of Mrs. Madison's slippers, how she
was dressed on certain occasions, "what beautiful manners she had,"
how Mr. Jefferson received master and mistress when "we" drove up to
Monticello, what room they occupied, etc.
Although my grandfather's death occurred thirty years before, the
negroes still remembered it with sorrow; and one of them, speaking of
it, said to me: "Ah, little mistess, 'twas a sorrowful day when de
news come from Washington dat our good, kind marster was dead. A
mighty wail went up from dis plantation, for we know'd we had los' our
bes' friend."
The only negro on the place who did not evince an interest in the
white family was a man ninety years old, who, forty years before,
announced his intention of not working any longer,--although still
strong and athletic,--because, he said, "the estate had done come down
so he hadn't no heart to work no longer." He remembered, he said,
"when thar was three an' four hund'ed black folks, but sence de
British debt had to be paid over by his old marster, an' de
Macklenbu'g estate had to be sold, he hadn't had no heart to do
nothin' sence." And "he hadn't seen no _real_ fine white folks--what
_he_ called real fine white folks--sence he come from Macklenbu'g."
All his interest in life having expired with an anterior generation,
we were in his eyes but a poor set, and he refused to have anything to
do with us. Not being compelled to work, he passed his life
principally in the woods, and wore a rabbit-skin cap and a leather
apron. Having lost interest in and connection with the white family,
he gradually relapsed into a state of barbarism, refusing toward the
end of his life to sleep in his bed, preferring a hard bench in his
cabin, upon which he died.
Another very old man remembered something of his father, who had come
from Africa; and when we asked him to tell us what he remembered of
his father's narrations, would say:
"My daddy tell we chillun how he mammy liv' in hole in de groun' in
Afiky, an' when a Englishmun come to buy him, she sell him fur a
string o' beads. An' 'twas monsus hard when he fus' come here to war
close; ev'y chance he git he pull off he close an' go naked, kase
folks don't war no close in he country. When daddy git mad wid we
chillun, mammy hide us, kase he kill us. Sometime he say he gwine sing
he country, an' den he dance an' jump an' howl tell he skeer we
chillun to deaf."
They spoke always of their forefathers as the "outlandish people."
On some plantations it was a custom to buy the wife when a negro
preferred to marry on another estate. And in this way we became
possessed of a famous termagant, who had married our grandfather's
gardener, quarreled him to death in one year, and survived to quarrel
forty years longer with the other negroes. She allowed no children
about her cabin--not even a cat or dog could live with her. She had
been offered her freedom, but refused to accept it. Several times she
had been given away--once to her son, a free man, and to others with
whom she fancied she might live--but, like the bad penny, was always
returned to us. She always returned in a cart, seated on top of her
wooden chest and surrounded by her goods and chattels. She was dressed
in a high hat with a long black plume standing straight up, gay
cloth spencer, and short petticoat,--the costume of a hundred years
ago. Although her return was a sore affliction to the plantation, my
sister and myself found much amusement in witnessing it. The cold
welcome she received seemed not to affect her spirits, but,
re-establishing herself in her cabin, she quickly resumed the
turbulent course of her career.
[Illustration: "SHE ALWAYS RETURNED IN A CART."--_Page 18._]
Finally one morning the news came that this woman, old Clara, was
dead. Two women went to sweep her cabin and perform the last sad
offices. They waited all day for the body to get cold. While sitting
over the fire in the evening, one of them, happening to glance at a
small mirror inserted in the wall near the bed, exclaimed: "Old
Clara's laughing!" They went nearer, and there was a horrible grin on
the face of the corpse! Old Clara sprang out of bed, exclaiming: "Git
me some meat and bread. I'm most perish'd!"
"Ole 'oman, what you mean by foolin' us so?" asked the nurses.
"I jes' want see what you all gwine do wid my _things_ when I _was_
dade!" replied the old woman, whose "things" consisted of all sorts
of old and curious spencers, hats, plumes, necklaces, caps, and
dresses, collected during her various wanderings, and worn by a
generation long past.
Among these old cabin legends we sometimes collected bits of romance,
and were often told how, by the coquetry of a certain Richmond belle,
we had lost a handsome fortune, which impressed me even then with the
fatal consequences of coquetry.
This belle engaged herself to our great-uncle, a handsome and
accomplished gentleman, who, to improve his health, went to Europe,
but before embarking made his will, leaving her his estate and
negroes. He died abroad, and the lady accepted his property, although
she was known to have been engaged to twelve others at the same time!
The story in Richmond ran that these twelve gentlemen--my grandfather
among them--had a wine party, and toward the close of the evening some
of them, becoming communicative, began taking each other out to tell a
secret, when it was discovered they all had the same secret--each was
engaged to Miss Betsy McC.... This lady's name is still seen on fly
leaves of old books in our library,--books used during her reign by
students at William and Mary College,--showing that the young
gentlemen, even at that venerable institution, sometimes allowed their
classic thoughts to wander.