O bright-winged peace! long didst thou rest o'er the homes of old
Virginia; while cheerful wood fires blazed on hearth-stones in parlor
and cabin, reflecting contented faces with hearts full of peace and
good will toward men! No thought entered there of harm to others; no
fear of evil to ourselves. Whatsoever things were honest, whatsoever
things were pure, whatsoever things were gentle, whatsoever things
were of good report, we were accustomed to hear around these parlor
firesides; and often would our grandmothers say:
"Children, ours is a blessed country! There never will be another war!
The Indians have long ago been driven out, and it has been nearly a
hundred years since the English yoke was broken!"
The history of our country, to our minds, was contained in two
pictures on the walls of our house: "The Last Battle with the
Indians," and "The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown."
No enemies within or without our borders, and peace established among
us forever! Such was our belief. And we wondered that men should get
together and talk their dry politics, seeing that General Washington
and Thomas Jefferson--two of our Virginia plantation men--had
established a government to last as long as the earth, and which could
not be improved. Yet they _would_ talk, these politicians, around our
parlor fire, where often our patience was exhausted hearing
discussions, in which we could not take interest, about the Protective
Tariff, the Bankrupt Law, the Distribution of Public Lands, the
Resolutions of '98, the Missouri Compromise, and the Monroe Doctrine.
These topics seemed to afford them intense pleasure and satisfaction,
for, as the "sparks fly upward," the thoughts of men turn to politics.
In 1859 we had a visit from two old friends of our family--a
distinguished Southern Senator and the Secretary of War[18]--both
accustomed to swaying multitudes by the power of their eloquence--which
lost none of its force and charm in our little home circle. We listened
with admiration as they discussed the political issues of the day--no
longer a subject uninteresting or unintelligible to us, for every
word was of vital importance. Their theme was, _The best means of
protecting our plantation homes and firesides_. Even the smallest
children now comprehended the greatest politicians.
[18] General Toombs and General Floyd.
Now came the full flow and tide of Southern eloquence--real
soul-inspiring eloquence.
Many possessing this gift were in the habit of visiting us at that
time; and all dwelt upon one theme--the secession of Virginia--with
glowing words from hearts full of enthusiasm; all agreeing it was
better for States, as well as individuals, to separate rather than
quarrel or fight.
But there was one[19]--our oldest and best friend--who differed from
these gentlemen; and his eloquence was gentle and effective. Unlike
his friends, whose words, earnest and electric, overwhelmed all
around, this gentleman's power was in his composure of manner without
vehemence. His words were well selected without seeming to have been
studied; each sentence was short, but contained a gem, like a
solitaire diamond.
[19] Charles Mosby.
For several months this gentleman remained untouched by the fiery
eloquence of his friends, like the Hebrew children in the burning
furnace. Nothing affected him until one day the President of the
United States demanded by telegraph fifty thousand Virginians to join
an army against South Carolina. And then this gentleman felt convinced
it was not the duty of Virginians to join an army against their
friends.
About this time we had some very interesting letters from the Hon.
Edward Everett--who had been for several years a friend and agreeable
correspondent--giving us his views on the subject, and very soon after
this all communication between the North and South ceased, except
through the blockade, for four long years.
And then came the long dark days--the days when the sun seemed to
shine no more; when the eyes of wives, mothers, and sisters were
heavy with weeping; when men sat up late in the night studying
military tactics; when grief-burdened hearts turned to God in prayer.
The intellectual gladiators who had discoursed eloquently of war
around our fireside buckled their armor on and went forth to battle.
Band after band of brave-hearted, bright-faced youths from Southern
plantation homes came to bleed and die on Virginia soil; and for four
long years old Virginia was one great camping-ground, hospital, and
battlefield. The roar of cannon and the clash of arms resounded over
the land. The groans of the wounded and dying went up from hillside
and valley. The hearts of women and children were sad and careworn.
But God, to whom we prayed, protected us in our plantation homes,
where no white men or even boys remained, all having gone into the
army. Only the negro slaves stayed with us, and these were encouraged
by our enemies to rise and slay us; but God in his mercy willed
otherwise. Although advised to burn our property and incited by the
enemy to destroy their former owners, these negro slaves remained
faithful, manifesting kindness, and in many instances protecting the
white families and plantations during their masters' absence.
Oh! the long terrible nights passed by these helpless women and
children, the enemy encamped around them, the clash of swords heard
against the doors and windows, the report of guns on the air which
might be sending death to their loved ones!
But why try to describe the horrors of such nights? Who that has not
experienced them can know how we felt? Who can imagine the
heartsickness when, stealing to an upper window at midnight, we
watched the fierce flames rising from some neighboring home, expecting
our own to be destroyed by the enemy before daylight in the same way?
Such pictures, dark and fearful, were the only ones familiar to us in
old Virginia those four dreadful years.
At last the end came--the end which seemed to us saddest of all. But
God knoweth best. Though "through fiery trials" he had caused us to
pass, he had not forsaken us. For was not his mercy signally shown in
the failure of the enemy to incite our negro slaves to insurrection
during the war? Through his mercy those who were expected to become
our enemies remained our friends. And in our own home, surrounded by
the enemy those terrible nights, our only guard was a faithful negro
servant who slept in the house, and went out every hour to see if we
were in immediate danger; while his mother--the kind old nurse--sat
all night in a rocking-chair in our room, ready to help us. Had we
not, then, amid all our sorrows, much to be thankful for?
Among such scenes one of the last pictures photographed on my memory
was that of a negro boy who was very ill with typhoid fever in a cabin
not far off, and who became greatly alarmed when a brisk firing,
across our house, commenced between the contending armies. His first
impulse--as it always had been in trouble--was to fly to his mistress
for protection, and, jumping from his bed, his head bandaged with a
white cloth, and looking like one just from the grave, he passed
through the firing as fast as he could, screaming: "O mistess, take
kur o' me! Put me in yo' closet, and hide me from de Yankees!" He
fell at the door exhausted. My mother had him brought in, and a bed
was made for him in the library. She nursed him carefully, but he died
in a day or two from fright and exhaustion.
Soon after this came the surrender at Appomattox, and negro slavery
ended forever.
All was ruin around us,--tobacco factories burned down, sugar and
cotton plantations destroyed. The negroes fled from these desolated
places, crowded together in wretched shanties on the outskirts of
towns and villages, and found themselves, for the first time in their
lives, without enough to eat, and with no class of people particularly
interested about their food, health, or comfort. Rations were
furnished them a short time by the United States government, with
promises of money and land which were never fulfilled. Impoverished by
the war, it was a relief to us no longer to have the responsibility of
supporting them. This would, indeed, have been impossible in our
starving condition.
Years have passed, and the old homes have been long deserted where the
scenes I have attempted to describe were enacted. The heads of the
families lie buried in the old graveyards, while their descendants are
scattered from the Atlantic to the Pacific, always holding sacred in
memory the dear old homes in Virginia.
The descendants of the negroes here portrayed,--where are they? It
would take a long chapter, indeed, to tell of them. Many are crowded
on the outskirts of the towns and villages North and South, in
wretched thriftlessness and squalor, yet content and without ambition
to alter their condition.
On the other hand, a good proportion of the race seek to improve their
opportunities in schools and colleges, provided partly by the aid of
Northern friends, but principally from taxes paid by their former
owners in spite of the impoverished condition of the South.
Many have acquired independent homes, with the laudable purpose of
becoming useful and respected citizens. The majority, however, are
best pleased with itineracy.
It is needless to say that those of the latter class can never become
desirable domestics in a well-ordered, cleanly house. And those whose
youth has been passed in schoolrooms, with no training in the habits
of refined life, have not acquired sufficient education to avail much
in the line of letters. Thus the problem of their race remains
unsolved, even by those who know it most intimately.
In the matter of classical education the question occurs: Will the
literature of the one race meet the requirements of the other, or the
heroes and heroines of one be acceptable to the other? Has not God
given each country its distinct race and literature? The history of
every country occupied by antagonistic races has been that the
stronger has dominated or exterminated the other.
Thinking of the superficial education at some of our schools, I am
reminded of a colored boy's subject for a composition.
Not long since a "colored scholar," seventeen years old, with very
fair intelligence, who had never missed a day at the public school,
was asked by a white gentleman who was much interested in the boy, and
who often took the trouble to explain to him words in common use, the
meaning of which the boy was wholly ignorant,--
"Peter, what lessons have you to-night?"
"Well, sir, I got a composition to write to-night."
"A composition? What's your subject?"
"Dey tell me, sir, to write a composition on de administration o' Mr.
Pierce."
"Administration of Mr. Pierce!" exclaimed the gentleman, himself an
eminent journalist and statesman. "And what could you know about the
administration of Mr. Pierce? Did you ever hear of Mr. Pierce?"
"No, sir, I nuvver has."
The tie which once bound the two races together is broken forever, and
entire separation in churches and schools prevents mutual interest or
intercourse.
Our church schools are doing much to elevate and improve the negroes,
and we have to thank many kind, warm friends in the North for timely
aid in missionary boxes, books, and Bibles to carry on the colored
Sunday-school work in which many Southern people are deeply
interested, without the means of conducting them as they wish.
The negroes still have a strange belief in what they call "tricking,"
and often the most intelligent, when sick, will say they have been
"tricked," for which they have a regular treatment and "trick doctors"
among themselves. This "tricking" we cannot explain, and only know
that when one negro became angry with another he would bury in front
of his enemy's cabin door a bottle filled with pieces of snakes,
spiders, bits of tadpole, and other curious substances; and the party
expecting to be "tricked" would hang up an old horseshoe outside of
his door to ward off the "evil spirits."
Since alienated from their former owners they are, as a general thing,
more idle and improvident; and, unfortunately, the tendency of their
political teaching has been to make them antagonistic to the better
class of white people, which renders it difficult for them to be
properly instructed. That such animosity should exist toward those who
could best understand and help them is to be deplored. For the true
negro character cannot be fully comprehended or described but by those
who, like ourselves, have always lived with them.
At present their lives are devoted to a religious excitement which
demoralizes them, there seeming to be no connection between their
religion and morals. In one of their Sabbath schools is a teacher who,
although often arrested for stealing, continues to hold a high
position in the church.
Their improvidence has passed into a proverb, many being truly objects
of charity; and whoever would now write a true tale of poverty and
wretchedness may take for the hero "Old Uncle Tom without a cabin."
For "Uncle Tom" of the olden time, in his cabin, with a blazing log
fire and plenty of corn bread, and the Uncle Tom of to-day, are
pictures of very different individuals.