Christmas was approaching. Grandmother brought me materials, and I
busied myself making some new garments and little playthings for
my children. Were it not that hiring day is near at hand, and many
families are fearfully looking forward to the probability of separation
in a few days, Christmas might be a happy season for the poor slaves.
Even slave mothers try to gladden the hearts of their little ones on
that occasion. Benny and Ellen had their Christmas stockings filled.
Their imprisoned mother could not have the privilege of witnessing
their surprise and joy. But I had the pleasure of peeping at them as
they went into the street with their new suits on. I heard Benny ask
a little playmate whether Santa Claus brought him any thing. “Yes,”
replied the boy; “but Santa Claus ain’t a real man. It’s the children’s
mothers that put things into the stockings.” “No, that can’t be,”
replied Benny, “for Santa Claus brought Ellen and me these new clothes,
and my mother has been gone this long time.”
How I longed to tell him that his mother made those garments, and that
many a tear fell on them while she worked!
Every child rises early on Christmas morning to see the Johnkannaus.
Without them, Christmas would be shorn of its greatest attraction. They
consist of companies of slaves from the plantations, generally of the
lower class. Two athletic men, in calico wrappers, have a net thrown
over them, covered with all manner of bright-colored stripes. Cows’
tails are fastened to their backs, and their heads are decorated with
horns. A box, covered with sheepskin, is called the gumbo box. A dozen
beat on this, while others strike triangles and jawbones, to which
bands of dancers keep time. For a month previous they are composing
songs, which are sung on this occasion. These companies, of a hundred
each, turn out early in the morning, and are allowed to go round till
twelve o’clock, begging for contributions. Not a door is left unvisited
where there is the least chance of obtaining a penny or a glass of
rum. They do not drink while they are out, but carry the rum home in
jugs, to have a carousal. These Christmas donations frequently amount
to twenty or thirty dollars. It is seldom that any white man or child
refuses to give them a trifle. If he does, they regale his ears with
the following song:—
“Poor massa, so dey say;
Down in de heel, so dey say;
Got no money, so dey say;
Not one shillin, so dey say;
God A’mighty bress you, so dey say.”
Christmas is a day of feasting, both with white and colored people.
Slaves, who are lucky enough to have a few shillings, are sure to
spend them for good eating; and many a turkey and pig is captured,
without saying, “By your leave, sir.” Those who cannot obtain these,
cook a ’possum, or a raccoon, from which savory dishes can be made.
My grandmother raised poultry and pigs for sale; and it was her
established custom to have both a turkey and a pig roasted for
Christmas dinner.
On this occasion, I was warned to keep extremely quiet, because two
guests had been invited. One was the town constable, and the other was
a free colored man, who tried to pass himself off for white, and who
was always ready to do any mean work for the sake of currying favor
with white people. My grandmother had a motive for inviting them. She
managed to take them all over the house. All the rooms on the lower
floor were thrown open for them to pass in and out; and after dinner,
they were invited up stairs to look at a fine mocking bird my uncle
had just brought home. There, too, the rooms were all thrown open,
that they might look in. When I heard them talking on the piazza, my
heart almost stood still. I knew this colored man had spent many nights
hunting for me. Every body knew he had the blood of a slave father
in his veins; but for the sake of passing himself off for white, he
was ready to kiss the slaveholders’ feet. How I despised him! As for
the constable, he wore no false colors. The duties of his office were
despicable, but he was superior to his companion, inasmuch as he did
not pretend to be what he was not. Any white man, who could raise
money enough to buy a slave, would have considered himself degraded by
being a constable; but the office enabled its possessor to exercise
authority. If he found any slave out after nine o’clock, he could whip
him as much as he liked; and that was a privilege to be coveted. When
the guests were ready to depart, my grandmother gave each of them some
of her nice pudding, as a present for their wives. Through my peep-hole
I saw them go out of the gate, and I was glad when it closed after
them. So passed the first Christmas in my den.