settle with me before you reckon with the devil.'
At this moment the dark crowd in the doorway parted, and Jake entered,
his arm bound up and in a sling.
'Jake, come here,' said the Colonel; 'this man would have killed you.
What shall we do with him?'
''Tain't fur a darky to say dat, massa,' said the negro, evidently
unaccustomed to the rude administration of justice which the Colonel was
about to inaugurate; 'he did wuss dan dat to Sam, mass--he orter swing
for shootin' him.'
'That's _my_ affair; we'll settle your account first,' replied the
Colonel.
The darky looked undecidedly at his master, and then at the Overseer,
who, overcome by weakness, had sunk again to the floor. The little
humanity in him was evidently struggling with his hatred of Moye and his
desire of revenge, when the old nurse yelled out from among the crowd,
'Gib him fifty lashes, Massa Davy, and den you wash him down.[M] Be a
man, Jake, and say dat.'
Jake still hesitated, and when at last he was about to speak, the eye of
the octoroon woman caught his, and chained the words to his tongue, as
if by magnetic power.
'Do you say that, boys;' said the Colonel, turning to the other negroes;
'shall he have fifty lashes?'
'Yas, massa, fifty lashes--gib de ole debil fifty lashes,' shouted about
fifty voices.
'He shall have them,' quietly said the master.
The mad shout that followed, which was more like the yell of demons than
the cry of men, seemed to arouse the Overseer to a sense of the real
state of affairs. Springing to his feet, he gazed wildly around; then,
sinking on his knees before the octoroon, and clutching the folds of her
dress, he shrieked, 'Save me, good lady, save me! as you hope for mercy,
save me!'
Not a muscle of her face moved, but, turning to the excited crowd, she
mildly said, 'Fifty lashes would kill him. _Jake_ does not say
that--your master leaves it to him, and he will not whip a dying
man--will you, Jake?'
'No, ma'am--not--not ef you go agin it,' replied the negro, with very
evident reluctance.
'But he whipped Sam, ma'am, when he was nearer dead than _he_ am,' said
Jim, whose station as house-servant allowed him a certain freedom of
speech.
'Because he was brutal to Sam, should you be brutal to him? Can you
expect me to tend you when you are sick, if you beat a dying man? Does
Pompey say you should do such things?' said the lady.
'No, good ma'am,' said the old preacher, stepping out, with the freedom
of an old servant, from the black mass, and taking his stand beside me
in the open space left for the 'w'ite folks;' 'de ole man dusn't say
dat, ma'am; he tell 'em de Lord want 'em to forgib dar en'mies--to lub
dem dat pursyskute em;' then, turning to the Colonel, he added, as he
passed his hand meekly over his thin crop of white wool and threw his
long heel back, 'ef massa'll 'low me I'll talk to 'em.'
'Fire away,' said the Colonel, with evident chagrin. 'This is a nigger
trial; if you want to screen the d---- hound you can do it.'
'I dusn't want to screed him, massa, but I'se bery ole and got soon to
gwo, and I dusn't want de blessed Lord to ax me wen I gets dar why I
'lowed dese pore ig'nant brack folks to mudder a man 'fore my bery face.
I toted you, massa, fore you cud gwo, I'se worked for you till I can't
work no more; and I dusn't want to tell de Lord dat _my_ massa let a
brudder man be killed in cole blood.'
'He is no brother of mine, you old fool; preach to the nigs, don't
preach to me,' said the Colonel, stifling his displeasure, and striding
off through the black crowd, without saying another word.
Here and there in the dark mass a face showed signs of relenting; but
much the larger number of that strange jury, had the question been put,
would have voted--DEATH.
The old preacher turned to them as the Colonel passed out, and said, 'My
chil'ren, would you hab dis man whipped, so weak, so dyin' as he am, of
he war brack?'
'No, not ef he war a darky--fer den he wouldn't be such an ole debil,'
replied Jim, and about a dozen of the other negroes.
'De w'ite ain't no wuss dan de brack--dey'm all 'like--pore sinners all
ob 'em. De Lord wudn't whip a w'ite man no sooner dan a brack one--He
tinks de w'ite juss so good as de brack (good Southern doctrine, I
thought). De porest w'ite trash wudn't strike a man wen he war down.'
'We'se had 'nough of dis, ole man,' said a large, powerful negro (one of
the drivers), stepping forward, and, regardless of the presence of Madam
P---- and myself, pressing close to where the Overseer lay, now totally
unconscious of what was passing around him. 'You needn't preach no more;
de Cunnul hab say we'm to whip ole Moye, and we'se gwine to do it, by
----.'
I felt my fingers closing on the palm of my hand, and in a second more
they would have cut the darky's profile, had not Madam P---- cried out,
'Stand back, you impudent fellow: say another word, and I'll have you
whipped on the spot.'
'De Cunnul am my massa, ma'am--_he_ say ole Moye shall be whipped, and
I'se gwine to do it--shore.'
I have seen a storm at sea--I have seen the tempest tear up great
trees--I have seen the lightning strike in a dark night--but I never saw
anything half so grand, half so terrible, as the glance and tone of that
woman as she cried out, 'Jim, take this man--give him fifty lashes this
instant.'
Quicker than thought, a dozen darkies were on him. His hands and feet
were tied and he was under the whipping-rack in a second. Turning then
to the other negroes, the brave woman said, 'Some of you carry Moye to
the house, and you, Jim, see to this man--if fifty lashes don't make him
sorry, give him fifty more.'
This summary change of programme was silently acquiesced in by the
assembled darkies, but many a cloudy face scowled sulkily on the
octoroon, as, leaning on my arm, she followed Junius and the other
negroes, who bore Moye to the mansion. It was plain that under those
dark faces a fire was burning that a breath would have fanned into a
flame.
We entered the house by its rear door, and placed Moye in a small room
on the ground floor. He was laid on a bed, and stimulants being given
him, his senses and reason shortly returned. His eyes opened, and his
real position seemed suddenly to flash upon him, for he turned to Madam
P----, and in a weak voice, half-choked with emotion, faltered out, 'May
God in heaven bless ye, ma'am; God _will_ bless ye for bein' so good to
a wicked man like me. I doesn't desarve it, but ye woant leave me--ye
woant leave me--they'll kill me ef ye do!'
'Don't fear,' said the Madam; 'you shall have a fair trial. No harm
shall come to you here.'
'Thank ye, thank ye,' gasped the Overseer, raising himself on one arm,
and clutching at the lady's hand, which he tried to lift to his lips.
'Don't say any more now,' said Madam P----, quietly; 'you must rest and
be quiet, or you won't get well.'
'Shan't I get well? Oh, I can't die--I can't die _now_!'
The lady made a soothing reply, and giving him an opiate, and arranging
the bedding so that he might rest more easily, she left the room with
me.
As we stepped into the hall, I saw through the front door, which was
open, the horses harnessed in readiness for 'meeting,' and the Colonel
pacing to and fro on the piazza, smoking a cigar. He perceived us, and
halted in front of the doorway.
'So, you've brought that d---- blood-thirsty villain into my house!' he
said to Madam P----, in a tone of strong displeasure.
'How could I help it? The negroes are mad, and would kill him anywhere
else,' replied the lady, with a certain self-confidence that showed she
knew her power over the Colonel.
'Why should _you_ interfere between them and him? Has he not insulted
you often enough to make you let him alone? Can you so easily forgive
his taunting you with'--He did not finish the sentence, but what I had
learned on the previous evening from the old nurse gave me a clue to its
meaning. A red flame flushed the face and neck of the octoroon
woman--her eyes literally flashed fire, and her very breath seemed to
come with pain; in a moment, however, this emotion passed away, and she
quietly said, 'Let me settle that in my own way. He has served _you_
well--_you_ have nothing against him that the law will not punish.'
'By ----, you are the most unaccountable woman I ever knew,' exclaimed
the Colonel, striding up and down the piazza, the angry feeling passing
from his face, and giving way to a mingled expression of wonder and
admiration. The conversation was here interrupted by Jim, who just then
made his appearance, hat in hand.
'Well, Jim, what is it?' asked his master.
'We'se gib'n Sam twenty lashes, ma'am, but he beg so hard, and say he so
sorry, dat I tole him I'd ax you 'fore we gabe him any more.'
'Well, if he's sorry, that's enough; but tell him he'll get fifty
another time,' said the lady.
'What Sam is it?' asked the Colonel.
'Big Sam, the driver,' said Jim.
'Why was he whipped?'
'He told me _you_ were his master, and insisted on whipping Moye,'
replied the lady.
'Did he dare to do that? Give him a hundred, Jim, not one less,' roared
the Colonel.
'Yas, massa,' said Jim.
The lady looked significantly at the negro and shook her head, but said
nothing, and he left.
'Come, Alice, it is nearly time for meeting, and I want to stop and see
Sandy on the way.'
'I reckon I won't go,' said Madam P----.
'You stay to take care of Moye, I suppose,' said the Colonel, with a
slight sneer.
'Yes,' replied the lady; 'he is badly hurt, and in danger of
inflammation.'
'Well, suit yourself. Sir. K----, come, _we'll_ go--you'll meet some of
the _natives_.'
The lady retired to the house, and the Colonel and I were soon ready.
The driver brought the horses to the door, and as we were about to enter
the carriage, I noticed Jim taking his accustomed seat on the box.
'Who's looking after Sam?' asked the Colonel.
'Nobody, Cunnul; de ma'am leff him gwo.'
'How dare you disobey me? Didn't I tell you to give him a hundred?'
'Yas, massa, but de ma'am tole me notter.'
'Well, another time you mind what _I_ say--do you hear?' said his
master.
'Yas, massa,' said the negro, with a broad grin, 'I allers do dat.'
'You _never_ do it, you d---- nigger; I ought to have flogged you long
ago.'
Jim said nothing, but gave a quiet laugh, showing no sort of fear, and
we entered the carriage. I afterwards learned from him that he had never
been whipped, and that all the negroes on the plantation obeyed the lady
when, which was seldom, her orders came in conflict with their master's.
They knew if they did not, the Colonel would whip them.
As we rode slowly along the Colonel said to me, 'Well, you see that the
best people have to flog their niggers sometimes.'
'Yes, _I_ should have given that fellow a hundred lashes, at least. I
think the effect on the others would have been bad if Madam P---- had
not had him flogged.'
'But she generally goes against it. I don't remember of her having it
done in ten years before. And yet, though I've the worst gang of niggers
in the district, they obey her like so many children.'
'Why is that?'
'Well, there's a kind of magnetism about her that makes everybody love
her; and then she tends them in sickness, and is constantly doing little
things for their comfort; _that_ attaches them to her. She is an
extraordinary woman.'
'Whose negroes are those, Colonel?' I asked, as, after a while, we
passed a gang of about a dozen, at work near the roadside. Some were
tending a tar-kiln, and some engaged in cutting into fire-wood the pines
which a recent tornado had thrown to the ground.
'They are mine, but they are working now for themselves. I let such as
will, work on Sunday. I furnish the "raw material," and pay them for
what they do, as I would a white man.'
'Would'nt it be better to make them go to hear the old preacher;
could'nt they learn something from him?'
'Not much; Old Pomp never read anything but the Bible, and he don't
understand that; besides, they can't be taught. You can't make "a
whistle out of a pig's tail;" you can't make a nigger into a white man.'
Just here the carriage stopped suddenly, and we looked out to see the
cause. The road by which we had come was a mere opening through the
pines; no fences separated it from the wooded land, and being seldom
traveled, the track was scarcely visible. In many places it widened to a
hundred feet, but in others tall trees had grown up on its opposite
sides, and there was scarcely width enough for a single carriage to pass
along. In one of these narrow passages, just before us, a queer-looking
vehicle had upset, and scattered its contents in the road. We had no
alternative but to wait till it got out of the way; and we all alighted
to reconnoitre.
The vehicle was a little larger than an ordinary hand-cart, and was
mounted on wheels that had probably served their time on a Boston dray
before commencing their travels in Secessiondom. Its box of pine
boarding and its shafts of rough oak poles were evidently of Southern
home manufacture. Attached to it by a rope harness, with a primitive
bridle of decidedly original construction, was--not a horse, nor a mule,
nor even an alligator, but a 'three-year-old heifer.'
The wooden linch-pin of the cart had given way, and the weight of a
half-dozen barrels of turpentine had thrown the box off its balance, and
rolled the contents about in all directions.
The appearance of the proprietor of this nondescript vehicle was in
keeping with the establishment. His coat, which was much too short in
the waist and much too long in the skirts, was of the common reddish
gray linsey, and his nether garments, of the same material, stopped just
below the knees. From there downwards, he wore only the covering that is
said to have been the fashion in Paradise before Adam took to
fig-leaves. His hat had a rim broader than a political platform, and his
skin a color half way between that of tobacco-juice and a tallow candle.
'Wal, Cunnul, how dy'ge?' said the stranger, as we stepped from the
carriage.
'Very well, Ned; how are you?'
'Purty wal, Cunnul; had the nagur lately, right smart, but'm gittin'
'roun.'
'You're in a bad fix here, I see. Can't Jim help you?'
'Wal, p'raps he moight. Jim, how dy'ge?'
'Sort o' smart, ole feller. But come, stir yerseff; we want ter gwo
'long,' replied Jim, with a manifest lack of courtesy that showed he
regarded the white man as altogether too 'trashy' to be treated with
much ceremony.
With the aid of Jim, a new linch-pin was soon whittled out, the
turpentine rolled on to the cart, and the vehicle put in a moving
condition.
'Where are you hauling your turpentine?' asked the Colonel.
'To Sam Bell's, at the "Boro'."'
'What will he pay you?'
'Wal, I've four barr'ls of "dip," and tu of "hard." For the hull, I
reckon he'll give three dollars a barr'l.'
'By tale?'
'No, for two hun'red and eighty pound.'
'Well, _I'll_ give you two dollars and a half by weight.'
'Can't take it, Cunnel; must get three dollar.'
'What, will you go sixty miles with this team, and waste five or six
days, for fifty cents on six barrels--three dollars?'
'Can't 'ford the time, Cunnel, but must git three dollar a barr'l.'
'That fellow is a specimen of our "natives,"' said the Colonel, as we
resumed our seats in the carriage. 'You'll see more of them before we
get back to the plantation.'
'He puts a young cow to a decidedly original use,' I remarked.
'Oh no, not original here; the ox and the cow with us are both used for
labor.'
'You don't mean to say that cows are generally worked here?'
'Of course I do. Our breeds are good for nothing as milkers, and we put
them to the next best use. I never have cow's milk on my plantation.'
'You don't! why, I could have sworn it was in my coffee this morning.'
'I wouldn't trust you to buy brandy for me, if your organs of taste are
not keener than that. It was goat's milk.'
'Then how do you get your butter?'
'From the North. I've had mine from my New York factors for over two
years.'
We soon arrived at Sandy the negro-hunter's, and halted to allow the
Colonel to inquire as to the health of his family of children and
dogs,--the latter the less numerous, but, if I might judge by
appearances, the more valued of the two.
* * * * *
SOUTHERN AIDS TO THE NORTH.
II.
If war did little else, it would have its value from the fact that it
acts so extensively as an institution for the dissemination of useful
knowledge. Every murmur of political dissension sends thousands to
consult the map, and repair their early neglect of geography. Perhaps if
atlases and ethnographical works were more studied we should have less
war. And it is by no means impossible that the mutual knowledge which
has been or is to be acquired by the people of the South and the North
during this present war will eventually aid materially in establishing a
firm bond of union.
That we have much to learn is shown in the firm faith with which so many
have listened to the threats of 'a united South.' Until recently the
fierce and furious assurances of the rebel press, that south of Mason
and Dixon's line all were wedded heart and soul to their cause, were
taken almost without a doubt. Who has forgotten the late doleful
convictions of the dough-faces that the South would hold together to the
last in spite of wind or weather, concluding invariably with the old
refrain,--'Suppose we conquer them--what then?' Had the country at large
known in detail, as it _should_ have known from a common-school
education, what the South _really_ is,--or from experience of life what
human nature really is,--it would never have believed that this boasted
unanimity was based on aught save ignorance or falsehood. The Southern
press itself, almost without an exception, betrays gross ignorance of
its own country, and is very superficial in its statistics, inclining
more than any other to warp facts and figures to suit preconceived
views. We, like it, have tacitly adopted the belief that south of a
certain line a certain climate invariably prevailed, and that under its
influences, from the Border to the Gulf of Mexico, there has been
developed a race essentially alike in all its characteristics. The
planter and the slave-owner, or the city merchant, has been the type
with which our writers have become familiar at the hotel and the
watering-place, or in the 'store,' and we have accepted them as speaking
for the South, quite forgetful that in America, as in other countries,
the real man of the middle class travels but little, and when he does,
is seldom to be found mingling in the 'higher circles.' Yet even this
Southern man of the middle class and of 'Alleghania,' when at the North
frequently affects a 'Southern' air, which is not more natural to him
than it is to the youthful scions of Philadelphia and New York, who,
when in Europe, so often talk pro-slavery and bowie knife, as though
they lived in the very heart of planterdom. But the truth is that when
we search the South out closely we find that in reality there is a very
great difference between its districts and their inhabitants, and, in
_fact_, as has been very truly said, 'not only is there no geographical
boundary between the free and slave States, but no moral and
intellectual boundary.'
In the great temperate region which, parting from either side of the
Alleghanies, extends from Virginia to Alabama, and is still continued in
the pleasant level of Texas, slavery has rolled away from either
mountain side like a flood, leaving it the home of a hardy population
which regards with jealousy and dislike both the wealthy planter and the
negro. James W. Taylor, in his valuable collection of facts, claims that
through the whole extent of the Southern Alleghania slavery has
relatively diminished since 1850, and that the forthcoming census tables
will establish the assertion. 'The superintendent of the census,' he
says, 'would furnish a document, valuable politically and for military
use, if he would anticipate the publication of this portion of his
voluminous budget.' If government, indeed, were to communicate to the
public what information it now holds, and has long held, relative to the
numbers and strength of the Union men of the South, an excitement of
amazement would thrill through the North. It was on the basis of this
knowledge that our great campaign was planned,--and it can not be denied
that thousands of stanch Union men were greatly astonished at the
revelations of sympathy which burst forth most unexpectedly in districts
where the stars and stripes have been planted. But the Cabinet 'knew
what it knew' on this subject. Much of its knowledge never can be
revealed, but enough will come to-night to show that in our darkest hour
we had an enormous mass of aid, little suspected by those weaker
brethren who stood aghast at the Southern bugbear, and who, falling
prostrate in nerveless terror at the windy spectre, quaked out repeated
assurances that _they_ had no intention of 'abolitionizing the war,' and
even earnestly begged and prayed that the emancipationists might all be
sent to Fort Warren,--so fearful were the poor cowards lest the united
South, in the final hour of victory, might include them in its catalogue
of the doomed. What would they say if they knew the number and power of
the ABOLITIONISTS OF THE SOUTH,--a body of no trifling significance,
whose fierce grasp will yet be felt on the throat of rebellion and of
slavery? It is grimly amusing to think of the aid which the South
counted on receiving from these Northern dough-faces,--little thinking
that within itself it contained a counter-revolutionary party, far more
dangerous than the Northern friends were helpful.
It should be borne in mind that where such an evil as slavery exists
there will be numbers of grave, sensible men, who, however quiet they
may keep, will have their own opinions as to the expediency of
maintaining it. The bigots of the South may rave of the beauty of 'the
institution,' and make many believe that they speak for the whole,--a
little scum when whipped covers the whole pail,--but beneath all lies a
steadily-increasing mass of practical men who would readily enough
manifest their opposition should opportunity favor free speech. Such
people, for instance, are not insensible to the enormously corrupting
influence of negroes on their children. Let the reader recall Olmsted's
experiences,--that, for example, where he speaks of three negro women
who had charge of half a dozen white girls of good family, 'from three
to fifteen years of age.'
Their language was loud and obscene, such as I never heard
before from any but the most depraved and beastly women of the
streets. Upon observing me they dropped their voices, but not
with any appearance of shame, and continued their altercation
until their mistresses entered. The white children, in the mean
time, had listened without any appearance of wonder or
annoyance. The moment the ladies opened the door, they became
silent.--_Cotton Kingdom_, vol. i. p. 222.
The Southern _Cultivator_ for June, 1855, speaks of many young men and
women who have 'made shipwreck of all their earthly hopes, and been led
to the fatal step by the seeds of corruption which in the days of
childhood and youth were sown in their hearts by the indelicate and
lascivious manners and conversation of their fathers' negroes.' If we
had no other fact or cause to cite, this almost unnamable one might
convince the reader that there must be a groundwork somewhere in the
South among good, moral, and decent people, for antipathy to
slavery,--human nature teaches us as much. And such people exist, not
only among the hardy inhabitants of the inland districts, who are not
enervated by wealth and 'exclusiveness,' but in planterdom itself.
There are few in the North who realize the number of persons in the
South who silently disapprove of slavery on sound grounds, such as I
have mentioned. Does it seem credible that nearly _ten millions_ of
people should socially sympathize with some three hundred thousand
slave-holders, who act with intolerable arrogance to all
non-slave-holders? 'Even in those regions where slavery is profitable,'
as a writer in the Boston _Transcript_ well expresses it, 'the poor
whites feel the slaveocracy as the most grinding of aristocracies.'