Among the Cotton Plantations—Rations and Ways of Work.
A day or two after my visit to the plantations just described, I started
on a little horseback trip down the river. I was furnished with letters
to a planter, nineteen or twenty miles down, and I supposed that the
distance might be easily made in three hours. I left Natchez at two; but
the delays at the ferry made it three before I reached the Louisiana
side of the river. The February frosts had been keen, but the afternoon
was oppressively warm. For miles along the bank of the river the horizon
was blue and misty with the columns of smoke from the trash-gangs on the
plantations. Here and there an ox-team was passed by the roadside,
hauling willow-poles from the river banks to repair the fences. The
negroes were at work on every plantation—the plows near the road, the
trash-gang further back toward the swamp that everywhere shut in the
view. Houses appeared at but rare intervals, not averaging one per mile.
But few seemed to be more than the mere lodgings for the overseers.
There were no poor whites in this country, from which the aristocratic
planters had driven them. Behind or beside each house stretched the
unvarying double row of quarters, with the little mud-floored porches in
front, and the swarms of little picaninnies tumbling about in the
sunshine. Every one had accommodations for at least a hundred negroes.
Coveys of quails and broods of pigeons started up with a whir by the
roadside; and, occasionally, from the fields came faintly the shout of
some plowman to his team. Other sounds they were none—the country seemed
almost as silent as the unbroken wilderness. Not a traveler was seen on
the whole road.
I had miscalculated the strength of my horse, and nightfall found me six
or seven miles from my destination. For some time the road had been
leading along the top of a high levee, a little distance from the river.
The plantations were very low and partially covered with water. Finally
the levee led off directly into the cypress swamp at a point where the
land had been thought too low to be worth clearing out. Briars grew over
its sides and occasionally stretched across the path; the road was very
rough, and to leave it, on either hand, was to ride down the side of the
levee into the swamp. Finally the exhausted horse could carry me no
further, and I was compelled to dismount and plod slowly along on foot.
Now and then the whir of a covey of quails sounded startling in the
darkness—on either hand could be heard the rush of ducks and geese in
the water. There were deer in the swamps, I had been told, and likewise
bears. The latter suggestion was scarcely a pleasant one.
By and by the darkness became less profound on the river side of the
levee; and straining my eyes to make out the dimly defined objects, I
saw what seemed a two thousand acre plantation, with a large set of
negro quarters _outside_ the levee. Outside or inside, I was determined
to stop there. Starting down the side of the levee I soon found that the
ground was swampy. Returning, and following along the beaten road, I
presently came directly up to the river—stopped short, in fact, within
half-a-dozen feet of its brink. Turning up the bank I started again for
the quarters, now more clearly seen. It was no slight disappointment to
discover that they were unoccupied! The plantation had been thrown
outside the levee, on account of a change in the current of the river,
had been abandoned for years, and was under water every spring!
Groping my way tediously back to the road, I started again down the
river. Half an hour’s walk brought me to a light, glimmering through the
open windows of some negro quarters. The blacks showed the way to the
house—further back from the levee—and here explicit directions were
given for the plantation I was seeking. I had only to go down the river
a couple of miles further, then turn off through a gate, follow the road
across a little lake and along its bank for a quarter of a mile. All
went well till I crossed the lake. Then, near where I supposed the house
ought to be, bright lights were shining, and a beaten path, through an
open gate led to them, and so I walked half across the plantation to
find that the trash-gang had been firing some dead cypress trees, and
that, instead of the house, I was near the swamp!
It was after ten o’clock when at last, groping my way among the negro
quarters, I reached the double cabin, fronting the street, where the
overseer lived. No other person was at home, but the welcome was a
hearty one. Fried bacon and corn-bread were speedily served up for
supper, and the fatigues of the journey forgotten as the jovial overseer
told his experiences in running off slaves to Texas, when the Yankees
came, and his disgust, that after all his trouble, the whole work proved
useless.
This plantation contained eight hundred acres of land cleared for
cotton, besides a thousand or twelve hundred of timber-land, covered
with hackberry, cypress, and cotton-wood; a portion of which ran down to
the river bank and afforded an excellent site for a wood-yard. Plenty of
negroes could be hired to chop wood for a dollar per cord. Half a dollar
more would pay for its delivery on the river bank, where steamboats
bought all they could get for five dollars per cord—thus affording the
proprietor of the wood-yard a net profit of three dollars and a half on
every cord.
Less than fifty hands had yet been hired on the plantation; not as many
by at least thirty, the overseer said, as were absolutely needed to
cultivate the eight hundred acres; but with this inadequate force the
work on the plantation was further advanced than on any I had seen. The
most cordial good-feeling seemed to exist between the negroes and the
overseer. “Him allus good man in de ole slavery times. He allus did
jussice to us niggers,” said one of them. For twenty years this man had
done nothing but oversee negroes. He boasted of having made, one
unusually good year, seventeen bales to the hand. Here he expected to
make about twelve or thirteen—not less, if the high water did not
interfere, than a bale to every acre of the whole eight hundred. The
proprietors paid ten thousand dollars for the lease. Twenty thousand
dollars would probably pay the running expenses, (including the hire of
additional hands, if they could be got,) and the net profit therefore
ought to be nearly or quite fifty thousand dollars in a favorable year.
The laborers here went to the fields at daybreak. About eight o’clock
all stopped for breakfast, which they had carried with them in their
little tin buckets. Half an hour later they were at work again. At
twelve they went to the quarters for dinner; at half-past one they
resumed work, and at sunset they could be seen filing back in long noisy
rows across the plantation, shouting, singing, and arranging for the
evening dance.
They were divided into three gangs: the “hoes, log-rollers, and plows.”
The plantation had been neglected for the last four years; briars grew
everywhere, and the ground was covered with logs. The whole scene, when
the laborers were at work, was one of the utmost animation. The overseer
kept the three gangs near each other, the hoes ahead, pushing hard
behind them the log-rollers, and shouting constantly to the log-rollers
to keep out of their way the plowmen. The air was filled with a dense
smoke from the burning briars and logs. Moving about among the fires,
raking together the trash, chopping the briars, now seizing a brand from
a burning heap, and dextrously firing half-a-dozen new ones, then
hurrying forward to catch up with the gang, singing, laughing, teasing
the log-rollers to “cotch us if you kin,” were the short-skirted,
black-faced damsels, twenty or twenty-five in number, who composed the
trash-gang.
[Illustration: _Trash, Log and Plow Gangs at work.—Page 496._]
Before the little heaps were half burnt the log-rollers were among them.
A stout, black fellow, whisky bottle in hand, gave directions. At least
half the gang were women, each armed, like the men, with a formidable
handspike. They were very proud of their distinction, and wanted it
understood that dey wasn’t none ob you’ triflin’ hoe han’s; dey was
log-rollers, dey was. Selecting the log hardest to be moved, as the
center for a heap, the driver shouted, “Now, heah, hurry up dat log
dere, and put it on dis side heah!” A dozen handspikes were thrust under
the log, and every woman’s voice shouted, in shrill chorus, “Come up wid
de log! come up wid the log!” Sometimes the spikes were thrust under,
and the log was lifted bodily, the foreman shouting, “Man agin man dere!
gal agin gal! all togedder wid you, if you ’spec any water out o’ dis
bottle!”
Sometimes, before these heaps were fired, the plows were upon them,
every plowman urging his mules almost into a trot, and the driver
occasionally shouting, “Git out o’ de way, there, you lazy log-rollers,
or we plow right ober ye.” The land was a loose loam, turning up like an
ash-heap; and both negroes and mules seemed to thrive on the hard work.
The overseer rarely left the field. With one leg lazily thrown across
the pummel of his saddle, he lounged in his seat, occasionally
addressing a mild suggestion to one of the men, or saying to the driver
that the other gangs were pressing him pretty close. Then, riding over
to the next, he would quietly hint that the trash-gang was getting ahead
of them, or that the plows would catch them soon, if they weren’t
careful. All treated him with the utmost respect. I am satisfied that no
Northern laborers, of the same degree of intelligence, ever worked more
faithfully, more cheerfully, or with better results.
On the first of April, the overseer told me, he intended to stop plowing
and plant the land then prepared. Then he should resume plowing, and
keep on plowing and planting till the whole eight hundred acres were
taken up. If he could finish it by the middle of May he should feel sure
of a good crop. Planting ended, he should go over the land, throwing the
earth _away_ from the young and tender cotton-plant, with a moldboard
plow. The hoes would follow the plows, carefully dressing up the rows,
and thinning out the cotton to one stalk for about every eighteen
inches. Then fresh scrapings, and plowings, and hoeings, continued,
without intermission, till perhaps the middle of July. Then would follow
a month of leisure, to be spent making cotton baskets, repairing fences,
and preparing the gins. By the middle of August, the lower bolls would
be opening, and the pickers would take the field. A couple of days later
the gin would be started. From that time until Christmas there would be
one constant hurry to pick and gin the crop as it bolled out. Fifty
bales a week were the capacity of the gin, and the overseer expected to
keep it driven to the utmost. Every Saturday, the cotton baled through
the week would be hauled to the river bank and shipped to New Orleans.
By the last of August, returns would be coming in from the crop, and
from that time the financial battle for the proprietors was over.
* * * * *
A day or two later I rode several miles further down the river, to a
plantation of two thousand five hundred acres, one thousand two hundred
of cleared land, which had recently been purchased for fifty-six
thousand dollars by a Northern man. The house was a comfortable
two-story frame, with abundant porches and large windows, looking
directly out through the carefully trimmed shrubbery, upon the
Mississippi, which flowed scarcely twenty yards from the door-step. At
the North, it would have been considered a very proper residence for a
substantial farmer owning a couple of hundred acres. On the river-bank
stood a curious log structure, built from the fragments of two or three
old flat-boats. Here, with genuine Yankee thrift, the new proprietor had
established a store to catch the negro trade. Its business was done
entirely for cash, and its sales averaged over fifty dollars a day—all
made at an average profit of one hundred per. cent. Calicoes,
cottonades, denims, shoes, hats, brass jewelry, head handkerchiefs,
candy, tobacco, sardines, cheese, and whisky were the great staples. The
latter was always watered down at least one-fourth, and the “fine” was
kept up by a liberal introduction of red pepper-pods.
The work here did not seem to be progressing so well as at the
plantation last visited. The negroes were dissatisfied—why they seemed
scarcely able to explain. The new proprietor had not yet acquired their
confidence; he had perhaps been unfortunate in not properly yielding on
one or two points to their prejudices, and his overseer, with whom he
had quarreled, was doing his best to foment the discontent. This
overseer, it seemed, had been assigned a room in the house with the
family. To the great disgust of a daughter of the proprietor, he brought
a negro women with him. She couldn’t “stand such goings on under her
roof;” and, in the absence of her father, she promptly notified the
overseer “to turn out that nigger or leave.” The overseer preferred the
latter alternative, moved out to the quarters with the woman, and
speedily had the negroes in such a dissatisfied state that the
proprietor discharged him, drove off a number of the negroes, and went
to Georgia for more. Near Eufala he found a number who had formerly
belonged to the plantation. The most of them were getting nothing but
rations and lodging for their labor; six or eight dollars per month were
the highest wages any received, and all were eager to go back to
Louisiana, provided they were sure they wouldn’t be taken to Cuba and
sold. He had partially convinced them on this point, and he hoped soon
to have fifty or sixty fresh laborers, who would enable him to snap his
fingers at the discharged overseer and the dissatisfied laborers.
The owner of this plantation, on his discharge from the army two years
before, had come down to this country not worth a hundred dollars. He
opened a wood-yard, got some fortunate wood contracts with the
government, accumulated a little money, and the next year leased some
plantations. His money was soon exhausted; but, by the aid of dextrous
manipulations of his credit and unlimited bragging about the value of
his crop, he worried through. His profits were about forty thousand
dollars, out of which he owed ten thousand dollars lease, and, perhaps,
as much more in small sums for supplies. His creditors, growing
impatient, sued him. This suited him exactly; the law’s delays were all
in his favor; and meantime he took the money and bought this plantation;
mortgaged it at once and so borrowed enough to carry him through the
year. Thus he was in two years the owner of a property which, before the
war, had been valued at two hundred thousand dollars; and with one good
crop would be entirely out of debt.
* * * * *
Next day I went to another plantation, not more than a mile or two
distant, to witness the Saturday issue of rations. It was a small
plantation, of six or eight hundred acres cleared land; but the owner
had, as yet, only twenty-five negroes, and did not expect to raise more
than three or four hundred bales. He had no overseer, went among the
hands himself, supervised their operations, and in his absence trusted
mainly to the two or three negroes to whom the rest had been accustomed
to look up as leaders.
The little, one-story double cabin stood fronting the double row of
quarters. The street was thoroughly cleaned, the quarters all looked
neat, (for negro quarters,) and the negroes themselves seemed in the
finest spirits. A group of them stood gathered about the door of one of
the cabins, which was used as a store-room, with a motley collection of
tin buckets, bread-bowls, troughs, old candle-boxes, little bags, and
the like, in which to receive “de ’lowance.” One of the negroes chopped
up the rounds of mess pork, and weighed out four pounds to each,
carefully shaving off, with a knife, till the scales were exactly
balanced. The meal was measured by the proprietor himself, who had a
pleasant word or a joke for every applicant as she approached. Then a
negro took a tin cup, and baring his brawny arm to the elbow, dipped
down into the molasses barrel, bringing up cup, hand, and wrist clammy
with the black, viscous fluid, which was soon daubed over clothes,
barrels, and faces promiscuously.
Room was presently made for a wrinkled, white-wooled old auntie,
blear-eyed, trembling, and thin-voiced. “Please, massa, can’t you gib me
little piece ob meat?” and she laughed a low, oily gobble of a laugh, as
though she thought her presuming to ask for it rather funny. “Why,
auntie, I thought you were so old you didn’t eat any now?” “Bress ye,
sah, I eats lots, an’ wen de cotton come, sah, I picks some for ye. Aint
strong ’nuff to pick much, sah, but I picks little for ye, close to de
house.”
“Massa” handed her a piece of meat, and filled her outstretched apron
with flour; and the old woman stepped back into the crowd, her face
fairly aglow. A moment afterward, one of the girls said, as she took her
flour, “I wants meal dis time; had flour las’.” “You g’long!” exclaimed
the old woman with unwonted animation, “if you can’t take what white
folks gibs you, go widout.”
“Heah, Lucy, you don’t want none.” Thus said the sable meat-chopper to
one of the women, young, and, according to negro ideas, pretty. “Jus’
trus’ me wid your’n, den. You’ll be shore I wouldn’ steal it, ef I don’
wan’ none.” “Lo’d! might jus’ ’s well frow it ’way ’t once. Take you’
meat and g’long wid you!” But the beauty stood her ground, pork in one
hand, and pail of meal balanced on her head, distributing her dangerous
glances around, in a manner manifestly disconcerting to more than one of
her admirers.
Nothing could exceed the general good humor. “They’re always so,” said
the owner. “If I had fifty more such hands I’d make a fortune this year;
but they really seem to have disappeared from the country.” Still he
hoped to pick up a few more as the season advanced.