I soon reached the stables, where I was welcomed by a low whimper from
my horse. Scipio was not there.
"He is gone upon some other business," thought I; "perhaps to meet the
carriage. No matter, I shall not summon him. The saddle is on, and I
can bridle the steed myself--only poor Scipio loses his quarter-dollar."
I soon had my steed bitted and bridled; and, leading the animal outside,
I sprang into the saddle, and rode off.
The path I was taking led past the "negro quarters," and then through
some fields to the dark cypress and tupelo woods in the rear. From
these led a cross-way that would bring me out again upon the Levee road.
I had travelled this path many a time, and knew it well enough.
The "nigger quarter" was distant some two hundred yards from the "grande
maison," or "big house," of the plantation. It consisted of some fifty
or sixty little "cabins," neatly built, and standing in a double row,
with a broad way between. Each cabin was a facsimile of its neighbour,
and in front of each grew a magnolia or a beautiful China-tree, under
the shade of whose green leaves and sweet-scented flowers little negroes
might be seen all the livelong day, disporting their bodies in the dust.
These, of all sizes, from the "piccaninny" to the "good-sized chunk of
a boy," and of every shade of slave-colour, from the fair-skinned
quadroon to the black Bambarra, on whom, by an American witticism of
doubtful truthfulness; "charcoal would make a white mark!" Divesting
them of dust, you would have no difficulty in determining their
complexion. Their little plump bodies were nude, from the top of their
woolly heads to their long projecting heels. There roll they, black and
yellow urchins, all the day, playing with pieces of sugar-cane, or
melon-rind, or corn-cobs--cheerful and happy as any little lords could
be in their well-carpeted nurseries in the midst of the costliest toys
of the German bazaar!
On entering the negro quarter, you cannot fail to observe tall papaw
poles or cane-reeds stuck up in front of many of the cabins, and
carrying upon their tops large, yellow gourd-shells, each perforated
with a hole in the side. These are the dwellings of the purple martin,
(_Hirundo purpurea_)--the most beautiful of American swallows, and a
great favourite among the simple negroes, as it had been, long before
their time, among the red aborigines of the soil. You will notice, too,
hanging in festoons along the walls of the cabins, strings of red and
green pepper-pods (species of capsicum); and here and there a bunch of
some dried herb of medicinal virtue, belonging to the negro
_pharmacopoeia_. All these are the property of "aunt Phoebe," or "aunty
Cleopatra," or "ole aunt Phillis;" and the delicious "pepper pot" that
any one of those "aunts" can make out of the aforesaid green and red
capsicums, assisted by a few other ingredients from the little garden
"patch" in the rear of the cabin, would bring water to the teeth of an
epicure.
Perhaps on the cabin walls you will see suspended representatives of the
animal kingdom--perhaps the skin of a rabbit, a raccoon, an opossum, or
the grey fox--perhaps also that of the musk-rat (_Fiber zibethicus_),
or, rarer still, the swamp wild-cat (bay lynx--_Lynx rufus_). The owner
of the cabin upon which hangs the lynx-skin will be the Nimrod of the
hour, for the cat is among the rarest and noblest game of the
Mississippi _fauna_. The skin of the panther (_cougar_) or deer you
will not see, for although both inhabit the neighbouring forest, they
are too high game for the negro hunter, who is not permitted the use of
a gun. The smaller "varmints" already enumerated can be captured
without such aid, and the pelts you see hanging upon the cabins are the
produce of many a moonlight hunt undertaken by "Caesar," or "Scipio," or
"Hannibal," or "Pompey." Judging by the nomenclature of the negro
quarter, you might fancy yourself in ancient Rome or Carthage!
The great men above-named, however, are never trusted with such a
dangerous weapon as a rifle. To their _skill_ alone do they owe their
success in the chase; and their weapons are only a stick, an axe, and a
"'coon-dog" of mongrel race. Several of these last you may see rolling
about in the dust among the "piccaninnies," and apparently as happy as
they. But the hunting trophies that adorn the walls do not hang there
as mere ornaments. No, they are spread out to dry, and will soon give
place to others--for there is a constant export going on. When uncle
Ceez, or Zip, or Hanny, or Pomp, get on their Sunday finery, and repair
to the village, each carries with him his stock of small pelts. There
the storekeeper has a talk with them, and a "pic" (picayune) for the
"mussrat," a "bit" (Spanish real) for the "'coon," and a "quarter" for
the fox or "cat," enable these four avuncular hunters to lay in a great
variety of small luxuries for the four "aunties" at home; which little
comforts are most likely excluded from the regular rice-and-pork rations
of the plantation.
So much is a little bit of the domestic economy of the negro quarter.
On entering the little village,--for the negro quarter of a grand
plantation merits the title,--you cannot fail to observe all of these
little matters. They are the salient points of the picture.
You will observe, too, the house of the "overseer" standing apart; or,
as in the case of the plantation Besancon, at the end of the double row,
and fronting the main avenue. This, of course, is of a more pretentious
style of architecture; can boast of Venetian blinds to the windows, two
stories of height, and a "porch." It is enclosed with a paling to keep
off the intrusion of the children, but the dread of the painted cowhide
renders the paling almost superfluous.
As I approached the "quarter," I was struck with the peculiar character
of the picture it presented,--the overseer's house towering above the
humbler cabins, seeming to protect and watch over them, suggesting the
similarity of a hen with her brood of chickens.
Here and there the great purple swallows boldly cleft the air, or,
poised on wing by the entrance of their gourd-shell dwellings, uttered
their cheerful "tweet--tweet--tweet;" while the fragrant odour of the
China-trees and magnolias scented the atmosphere to a long distance
around.
When nearer still, I could distinguish the hum of human voices--of men,
women, and children--in that peculiar tone which characterises the voice
of the African. I fancied the little community as I had before seen
it--the men and women engaged in various occupations--some resting from
their labour, (for it was now after field hours,) seated in front of
their tent-like cabins, under the shade-tree, or standing in little
groups gaily chatting with each other--some by the door mending their
fishing-nets and tackle, by which they intended to capture the great
"cat" and "buffalo fish" of the bayous--some "chopping" firewood at the
common "wood-pile," which half-grown urchins were "toating," to the
cabins, so that "aunty" might prepare the evening-meal.
I was musing on the patriarchal character of such a picture,
half-inclined towards the "one-man power"--if not in the shape of a
slaveholder, yet something after the style of Rapp and his "social
economists."
"What a saving of state machinery," soliloquised I, "in this patriarchal
form! How charmingly simple! and yet how complete and efficient!"
Just so, but I had overlooked one thing, and that was the imperfectness
of human nature--the possibility--the probability--nay, the almost
certainty, that the _patriarch_ will pass into the _tyrant_.
Hark! a voice louder than common! It is a cry!
Of cheerful import? No--on the contrary, it sounds like the utterance
of some one in pain. It is a cry of agony! The murmur of other voices,
too, heard at short intervals, carries to my ear that deep portentous
sound which accompanies some unnatural occurrence.
Again I hear the cry of agony--deeper and louder than before! It comes
from the direction of the negro quarter. What is causing it?
I gave the spur to my horse, and galloped in the direction of the
cabins.