As soon as my sister and myself had learned to read and cipher, we
were inspired with a desire to teach the negroes who were about the
house and kitchen; and my father promised to reward my sister with a
handsome guitar if she would teach two boys--designed for
mechanics--arithmetic.
Our regular system was every night to place chairs around the
dining-table, ring a bell, and open school, she presiding at one end
of the table and I at the other, each propped up on books to give us
the necessary height and dignity for teachers.
Our school proved successful. The boys learned arithmetic, and the
guitar was awarded. All who tried learned to read, and from that day
we have never ceased to teach all who desired to learn.
Thus my early life was passed amid scenes cheerful and agreeable, nor
did anyone seem to have any care except my mother. Her cares and
responsibilities were great, with one hundred people continually upon
her mind, who were constantly appealing to her in every strait, real
or imaginary. But it had pleased God to place her here, and nobly did
she perform the duties of her station. She often told us of her
distress on realizing for the first time the responsibilities
devolving upon the mistress of a large plantation, and the nights of
sorrow and tears these thoughts had given her.
On her arrival at the plantation after her marriage, the negroes
received her with lively demonstrations of joy, clapping their hands
and shouting: "Thank God, we got a mistess!" some of them throwing
themselves on the ground at her feet in their enthusiasm.
The plantation had been without a master or mistress for twelve years,
my father, the sole heir, having been away at school and college.
During this time the silver had been left in the house, and the
servants had kept and used it, but _nothing had been stolen_.
The books, too, had been undisturbed in the library, except a few
volumes of the poets, which had been carried to adorn some of the
cabin shelves.
It was known by the negroes that their old master's will set them free
and gave them a large body of land in the event of my father's death;
and some of his college friends suggested that he might be killed
while passing his vacations on his estate. But this only amused him,
for he knew too well in what affection he was held by his negroes, and
how each vied with the other in showing him attention, often spreading
a dinner for him at their cabins when he returned from hunting or
fishing.
I think I have written enough to show the mutual affection existing
between the white and black races, and the abundant provision
generally made for the wants of those whom God had mysteriously placed
under our care.
The existence of extreme want and poverty had never entered my mind
until one day my mother showed us some pictures entitled "London Labor
and London Poor," when we asked her if she believed there were such
poor people in the world, and she replied: "Yes, children, there are
many in this world who have nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat."
Still we could not realize what she said, for we had never seen a
beggar. But from that time it began to dawn upon us that all the world
was not a plantation, with more than enough on it for people to eat.
And when we were old enough to read and to compare our surroundings
with what we learned about other countries, we found that our laboring
population was more bountifully supplied than that of any other land.
We read about "myriads of poor, starving creatures, with pinched faces
and tattered garments," in far-off cities and countries. We read of
hundreds who, from destitution and wretchedness, committed suicide. We
read these things, but could not fully sympathize with such want and
suffering; for it is necessary to witness these in order to feel the
fullest sympathy, and we had never seen anything of the kind on our
own or our neighbors' plantations.
Our negroes' religious instruction, I found, had not been more
neglected than among the lower classes in England, Ireland, France,
and elsewhere. Every church--there was one of some denomination near
every plantation--had special seats reserved for the negroes. The
minister always addressed a portion of his sermon particularly to
them, and held service for them exclusively on Sabbath afternoons.
Besides, they had their own ministers among themselves, and held night
prayer-meetings in their cabins whenever they chose.
Many prayers ascended from earnest hearts for their conversion, and I
knew no home at which some effort was not made for their religious
instruction.
One of our friends--a Presbyterian minister and earnest
Christian--devoted the greater part of his time to teaching and
preaching to them, and many pious ministers throughout the State
bestowed upon them time and labor.
I once attended a gay party where the young lady of the house, the
center of attraction, hearing that one of the negroes was suddenly
very ill, excused herself from the company, carried her prayer-book to
the cabin, and passed the night by the bedside of the sick man,
reading and repeating verses to him. I have also had young lady
friends who declined attending a wedding or party when a favorite
servant was ill.
[Illustration: "READING AND REPEATING VERSES TO HIM."--_Page 26._]
On one occasion an English gentleman--a surgeon in the Royal
Artillery--visiting at our house, accompanied us to a wedding, and,
hearing that two young ladies had not attended on account of the
illness of a negro servant, said to me: "This would not have occurred
in England, and will scarcely be believed when I tell it on my
return."
The same gentleman expressed astonishment at one of our neighbors
sitting up all night to nurse one of his negroes who was ill. He was
amused at the manner of our servants' identifying themselves with the
master and his possessions, always speaking of "our horses," "our
cows," "our crop," "our mill," "our blacksmith's shop," "our
carriage," "our black folks," etc. He told us that he also observed a
difference between our menials and those of his own country, in that,
while here they were individualized, there they were known by the
names of "Boots," "'Ostler," "Driver," "Footman," "Cook," "Waiter,"
"Scullion," etc. On our plantations the most insignificant stable-boy
felt himself of some importance.
When I heard Mr. Dickens read scenes from "Nicholas Nickleby," the
tone of voice in which he personated Smike sent a chill through me,
for I had never before heard the human voice express such hopeless
despair. Can there be in England, thought I, human beings afraid of
the sound of their own voices?
There was a class of men in our State who made a business of buying
negroes to sell again farther south. These we never met, and held in
horror. But even they, when we reflect, could not have treated them
with inhumanity; for what man would pay a thousand dollars for a piece
of property, and fail to take the best possible care of it? The
"traders" usually bought their negroes when an estate became involved,
for the owners could not be induced to part with their negroes until
the last extremity--when everything else had been seized by their
creditors. Houses, lands,--everything went first before giving up the
negroes; the owner preferring to impoverish himself in the effort to
keep and provide for these,--which was unwise financially, and would
not have been thought of by a mercenary people.
But it was hard to part with one's "own people," and to see them
scattered. Still our debts had to be paid,--often security debts after
the death of the owner, when all had to be sold. And who of us but can
remember the tears of anguish caused by this, and scenes of sorrow to
which we can never revert without the keenest grief? Yet, like all
events in this checkered human life, even these sometimes turned out
best for the negroes, when by this means they exchanged unpleasant for
agreeable homes. Still it appeared to me a great evil, and often did I
pray that God would make us a way of escape from it. But His ways are
past finding out, and why He had been pleased to order it thus we
shall never know.
Instances of harsh or cruel treatment were rare. I never heard of more
than two or three individuals who were "hard" or unkind to their
negroes, and these were ostracized from respectable society, their
very names bringing reproach and blight upon their descendants.
We knew of but one instance of cruelty on our plantation, and that was
when "Uncle Joe," the blacksmith, burned his nephew's face with a hot
iron. The man carries the scar to this day, and in speaking of it
always says: "Soon as my marster fin' out how Uncle Joe treated me, he
wouldn't let me work no mo' in his shop."