It was five years after the events recorded in the previous chapter,
when, one day late in October, I started on my annual tour among the
Southern correspondents of the mercantile-house of which I was then a
member. Arriving at Richmond shortly after noon, I took a hasty meal at
the wretched restaurant near the railway-station, and, with a segar in
my mouth, seated myself on a trunk in the baggage-car, to proceed on my
journey. As the train moved off from the depot, a hand was placed on my
arm, and a familiar voice said:
'Lord bless me! Kirke, is this you?'
Looking up, I saw Mr. Robert Preston--or, as he was known among his
acquaintance, 'Squire Preston of Jones'--a gentleman whose Northern
business I had transacted for several years. He had been on a visit to
some Virginia relatives, and was returning to his plantation on the
Trent, about twenty miles from Newbern. Though I had never been at his
home, he had often visited mine, and we were well--in fact, intimately
acquainted. I soon explained that I was on the way to New-Orleans, and
mentioned that I might, on my return, find the route to his plantation.
He urged me to visit it at once, and I finally consented to do so. We
rode on by the cars as far as Goldsboro, and there, after a few hours'
rest, and a light breakfast of corn-cake, hominy, and bacon, took seats
on the stage, which then was the only public conveyance to Newbern.
Preston was an intelligent, cultivated gentleman, and, at that time,
appeared to be about thirty-three years of age. He was tall, athletic,
and of decidedly prepossessing appearance; and, though somewhat careless
in his dress, had a simple dignity about him that is not furnished by
the tailor. The firm lines about his mouth, his strong jaw, wide
nostrils, and large nose--straight as if cut after a bevel--indicated a
resolute, determined character; but his large, dreamy eyes--placed far
apart, as if to give fit proportion to his broad, overhanging
brows--showed that his nature was as gentle and tender as a woman's. He
spoke with the broad Southern accent, and his utterance was usually slow
and hesitating, and his manner quiet and deliberate; but I had seen him
when his words came like a torrent of hot lava, when his eyes flashed
fire, his thin nostrils opened and shut, and his whole frame seemed
infused with the power and the energy of the steam-engine.
Educated for the ministry, in early life he had been a popular preacher
in the Baptist denomination, but at the date of which I am writing, he
was devoting himself to the care of his plantation, and preached only
now and then, when away from home, or when the little church at Trenton
was without a pastor. Altogether he was a man to be remarked upon, A
stranger casually meeting him, would turn back, and involuntarily ask:
'Who is he?'
Only five of the nine seats inside the stage were occupied, but as the
day, though cold, was clear and pleasant, we mounted the box, and took
the vacant places beside the driver. That worthy was a rough, surly
character, with a talent for profanity truly wonderful. His horses were
lean, half-starved quadrupeds, with ribs protruding from their sides
like hoops from a whisky-barrel, and he accounted for their condition,
and for the scarcity of fences on the highroad, by saying that the
stage-owners fed them on rails; but I suspected that the constant curses
he discharged at them had worried the flesh off their bones, and induced
the fences to move to a more godly latitude.
On the top of the coach, coiled away on a pile of horse-blankets, was a
woman whose skin and dress designated her as one of the species of
'white trash' known in North-Carolina as 'clay-eaters.' She was about
thirty years of age, and if her face had been bleached, and her teeth
introduced to a scrubbing-brush, might have passed for being tolerably
good-looking. After a number of preliminary cracks of the whip, and
sundry oaths and loud shouts administered to the 'leaders,' the driver
got under way, and we were soon jolting--at a speed of about four miles
an hour--over the 'slews' and ruts made by the recent rains. Shortly
after we started the woman said to me:
'I say, stranger, ye han't no 'backer 'bout ye, hev ye?'
I was about to say I had none, when Preston handed her a paper of
'Richmond Sweet.' Without pausing to thank him, she coolly stuffed
nearly a half of it into her mouth. My companion did not seem at all
surprised, but I remarked:
'You do not _smoke_, then, madam?'
'Oh! yas, I smokes; but I durned sight d'ruther chaw.'
'Let me give you a segar,' I said, taking one from my pocket, and slyly
winking at Preston.
'I never smokes them sort o' things; I takes nat'rally ter pipes--did
when I'se a gal,' she replied, ejecting a mouthful of saliva of the same
color as her skin.
'This gentleman,' said the Squire, smiling, 'isn't fully up to our ways.
He thinks it queer that women chew tobacco.'
'Quar thet wimmin chaws! Han't the' as much right ter as ye? _I_ reckon
what's good fur th' gander'll do fur th' goose!
'Good logic, that,' said Preston, laughing heartily.
The woman kept on expectorating for a time, when she again spoke to my
companion:
'I say! ye b'long ter Newbern, doan't ye?'
'No, not now; but I live near there.'
'Ye doan't know a feller down thar called Mulock, I doan't s'pose--Bony
Mulock?'
'Yes, I do; I know him well.'
'So do I. I'm gwine ter see 'im.'
'Where were you acquainted?'
'Up ter Harnett--I b'long thar--nigh on ter Chalk Level. He war raised
thar.'
'Yes, I know; but he left there long ago.'
'Nigh on ter nine year. I'm his wife.'
'You his wife!' exclaimed the Squire, turning round and looking at her.
'Yas. He put eöut nine year ago, and I han't heerd nor seed nary a thing
on him sence, till a spell back. But I'll stick ter him this time, like
a possum ter a rail. He woan't put eöut no more, ye kin bet high on
thet!'
'But he has another wife now!'
'Wall, I thort he moight hev--but she'll lean, raather sudden, I reckon.
What is she--white or nigger?'
'She's a likely quadroon girl. She has almost made a man of him.'
'Hi Lordy! then she's right smart. I'm gol-durned ef _I_ could!'
'If you have so poor an opinion of him, why do you follow him?'
'Wall, I goes for a 'ooman's hevin' har own. When he put eöut I swore
ter gol I'd foller 'im as soon as I got on his trail, ef I hed ter go to
h--ll fur it!'
The low vulgarity of the woman disgusted me, and it seemed to have the
same effect on the Squire, for he turned his back on her when she made
the last remark. Not appearing to notice his manner, she said, after a
moment:
'I say, Gin'ral! what 'bout thet stealin' bisness?'
'Bony was taken up a while back, for buying turpentine of the negroes. I
reckon he's in jail yet.'
'Yas, I heerd uv thet--thet's how I treed 'im. Cunnel Lamsin--nigh on
ter me--he seed it in the paper. I know'd 'im by th' Bonaparty. "When'll
he be mauled?'
'Very soon, I reckon. He was sentenced to fifty lashes a week ago.'
'It'll do 'im good; I'd given 'im more'n thet. He war allers up ter
dealin' with nigs.'
The road, when we started, was in a very bad condition, and as we
proceeded it grew gradually worse, till, in the vicinity of the runs
where we then were, it had become almost impassable. We frequently
turned off into the woods and open fields to avoid the worst places, but
even there the jolting of the coach was so violent that I momentarily
expected our 'lady' passenger would roll off into the mud. Seeing that
she was in absolute danger, and being also willing to dispense with her
refined society, I finally said to her:
'Would you not prefer an inside seat?'
'Yas, I would; but I han't th' money fur't. The' axed so like durnation
fur totein' me in thar, I couldn't stan' it, no how.'
'What fare did she pay, driver?' I asked of the Jehu.
'Half-price.'
'That's enough for seventy miles over a road like this. Let her get
inside.'
'Karn't, stranger, 'tan't 'lowed, (d'rot yer dirty hide--you,
Jake--g'up!) the old man would raise 'tic'lar (wha 'bout--g'lang, ye
lazy critter) music ef I done thet.'
'How much more do you want?' I inquired.
'The hull figur, (g'up thar, g'lang, ye durnation brute,) nary a red
less.'
'I will see that Dibble finds no fault, and you shall 'moisten up' at
the doctor's,' said Preston.
'Wall, Squire, (d----n yer rotten pictur, why don't ye g'lang?) ef ye
says thet, (whoa--whoa, thar, ye all-fired rockabone--whoa!) it's a
trade.'
The stage halted, and the woman got inside.
We arrived at Kinston about an hour after noon, and stopped to dine. The
village was composed of about twenty dingy, half-painted
dwelling-houses, and a carriage manufactory--the latter establishment
being carried on by an enterprising Yankee, a brother to the stage
proprietor. He told me that he furnished large numbers of vehicles to
the planters in all parts of the State, and took in pay, cotton, tar,
and turpentine, which he shipped to another brother doing business in
New York. There were, if I remember aright, five of these brothers,
living far apart, but all in co-partnership, and owning every thing in
common. They were native and natural Yankees, and no disgrace to the
species.
After a meagre meal at 'the doctor's' (that gentleman eked out a dull
practice among his neighbors by a sharp practice on his guests,) we
again mounted the stage. We had proceeded to within eighteen miles of
Newbern, when suddenly, as the Squire and I were lighting our second
after-dinner segars, 'kerchunk' went one of the forward wheels, and over
went the coach in a twinkling. I saved myself by clinging to the seat,
but Preston was not so fortunate. The first I saw of him he was immersed
in a pool of water some ten feet distant. Luckily the ground was soft,
and he escaped personal injury. When he rose to his feet, his coat, like
Joseph's, was of many colors, a dull clayey-red predominating.
It was fortunate for the clay-eating feminine that her conversation had
disgusted me. Had she remained outside she might have sighed for her
'Bonaparty' in the torrid region of which she had spoken.
The other passengers escaped with a few bruises, and after an hour's
exercise with rails and saplings, we succeeded in prying the wheels out
of the mire. Then the driver discovered that one of the horses had lost
his shoes, and insisted on having them replaced before he proceeded. We
were midway between two 'relay-houses,' each being six miles distant,
and the Jehu decided on taking the shoeless horse back to the one we had
passed. As he was unharnessing the animal, I said to him:
'You say there is a blacksmith at each station--why not go on to the one
ahead? It will save time.'
'The boy at Tom's Store's ran off. Thar an't nary a nig thar to hold the
critter's huff.'
'Can not the blacksmith do that himself? I never heard of it's taking
two men to shoe one horse!'
'Wall, it do, stranger. I reckon ye never done that sort o' bisness.'
'But, can't _you_ do it?'
'_I_ do it! My bisness ar drivin' hosses, not shoein' on 'em. When I
takes ter thet I'll let ye know!'
He had then taken off the harness and was preparing to mount the animal.
'Come, come, my good fellow, don't go back for that. Go on, and _I'll_
hold the horse's feet.'
'_Ye_ hold 'em! I reckon ye wull! I'd like to see a man uv yer cloth a
holdin' a critter's fut! Ha! ha!' Then throwing his leg over the horse's
bare back, he added: 'We doan't cum it over trav'lers thet way, in these
diggin's--we doan't. We use 'em like folks--we do. Ye can bet yer pile
on thet!'
Preston had been quietly enjoying the dialogue, and as the driver rode
away, said to me:
'I knew you wouldn't make any thing out of him. Come, let us walk on; a
little exercise, after our warm work, will do us good.'
Leaving the other passengers to await the motions of the driver, the
blacksmith, and the black 'huff'-holder, we trudged on through the mud,
and in about two hours reached the next station.
The reader will find the spot which bears the dignified cognomen of
'Tom's Store,' if he looks on the map of North-Carolina. It is there
destitute of a name, but is plainly designated by the circular character
which is applied by geographers to villages. It is situated on the bank
of a small tributary of the Neuse, and consists of a one-story building
about twenty feet wide, and forty feet long, divided into two
apartments, and built of pine slabs. One half of the village is sparsely
filled with dry-goods, groceries, fish-hooks, log-chains, goose-yokes,
tin-pans, cut-nails, and Jews'-harps, while the other is densely crowded
with logwood, 'dog-leg,' strychnine, juniper-berries, New-England rum,
and cistern-water, all mixed together. This latter region is the more
populous neighborhood; and at the date of my visit it was absolutely
packed with thirsty natives, who were imbibing certain fluids known
'down South' as 'blue-ruin,' 'bust-head, 'red-eye,' 'tangle-foot,'
'rifle-whisky,' and 'devil's-dye,' at the rate of a 'bit' a glass, and
of four 'bits' for 'as much as one could carry.'
I was introduced by the Squire to Tom himself, the illustrious founder
of the village. He was a stout, bloated specimen of humanity, with a
red, pimpled face, a long grizzly beard, small inflamed eyes, and a nose
that might have been mistaken for a peeled beet. His whole appearance
showed that he was an _habitué_ of the more fashionable quarter of his
village, (the groggery,) and a liberal imbiber of his own compounds. He
informed me that he did a 'right smart' business; bought dry-goods in
'York,' 'sperrets' in 'Hio, and rum in Bostin', and he added: 'Stranger,
I never keeps none but th' clar juice, th' raal, genuwine critter,
d----d ef I do. Come, take a drink.'
I declined, when a bystander who seemed to know--he could scarcely keep
his feet--overhearing the remark, confirmed it by saying with a big
oath:
'It's so, stranger, Tom do keep th' reg'lar critter, th' genuwine juice!
Thar's no mistake 'bout thet, fur it gets tight itself ev'ry cold
snap--d----d if it doan't!'
The village, at the date of my visit, had a population of about one
hundred men, women, and children, and they were all assembled on the
cleared plot in front of the store, witnessing a 'turkey-match.' Wishing
to avoid the noisy crowd, and being fatigued with our long tramp over
the muddy road, my companion and I entered the more reputable portion of
Tom's Store in quest of a seat. It was nearly deserted. A lazy yellow
boy was stretched at full length on a pine counter, which kept customers
at an honest distance from the rows of half-filled shelves, occupying
three sides of the room, and on a low bench in front of him sat a woman
and two children. These four were the only persons in the apartment. The
woman seemed to be not more than twenty-five, and was dressed in a neat
calico gown, and had a tidy appearance. A thin woolen shawl was thrown
over her shoulders, and she wore on her head a clean red and yellow
kerchief, tied as a turban, and on her feet white cotton stockings and
coarse untanned shoes. These last were nearly new, and very clumsy, and,
like the rest of her costume, travel-stained and bespattered with mud.
She had evidently walked a long distance that morning.
Her figure was slight and graceful, and her face very beautiful. She had
long, black, glossy hair, straight, regular features, a rich olive
complexion, and large, dark lustrous eyes, which, as she sat opposite
the open door, were fixed on the thick, gloomy woods with an earnest,
almost agonizing gaze, as if they were reading in its tangled depths the
dark, uncertain future that lay before her. Never shall I forget the
expression of her face. Never have I seen its look of keen, intense
agony, and its full, perfect, utter despair.
One of the children was a little girl of about seven years, with a
sweet, hopeful face, a clear rosy skin, and brown, wavy hair; and the
other, a little mulatto boy, a few years older. They each held one of
the woman's hands, and something peculiar in their attitudes made me
look closely at them. A thin piece of iron, called by slave-traders a
'bracelet,' encircled their wrists, and fastened their arms to the
woman's! They were slaves!
I entered the cabin a few steps in advance of Preston, who paused in the
doorway as he caught sight of the group. The woman did not notice him,
but his face turned to a marble white, and his voice trembled with
emotion as he exclaimed:
'My God! Phyllis, is this _you_?'
The woman looked up, sprang to her feet, took one step forward, and then
sank to the floor. Stretching out her shackled arms, bound to the
children as they were, she clasped his knees and cried out:
'O Master Robert! dear Master Robert, save me! Oh! save me; for the love
of the dear children, save me!'
The little boy and girl took hold of his skirts, and both crying hard,
turned their faces up to his. The youngest said:
'Oh! do, massa! take us 'way from dis man; he bery bad, massa. He whip
you' little Rosey 'case she couldn't walk all de way--all de way har,
massa!'
The water gathered in Preston's eyes as he asked:
'Why did they sell you, Phyllis? Why didn't I know of it?'
'Missus went to you, Master Robert, but you warn't to home. Master had
to have the money right off. The trader was thar. Master couldn't wait
till you come back. Oh! save me! He's takin' me to Orleans, to Orleans,
Master Robert. Do save me! Think of the chil'ren, Master Robert. Oh!
think of the chil'ren!' And she loosened her hold of his limbs, and wept
as if her very heart was breaking.
Preston's words came thick and broken, his frame shook, he almost
groaned as he said:
'I would to God that I could, Phyllis; but I am in debt--pressed on
every side. I could not raise the money to save my soul!'
'O my God! what will become of us?' exclaimed the woman. 'Think of
little Lule, Master Robert! They've taken me 'way from her! Oh! what
will become of her, Master Robert? What will become of _her_?' and she
moaned and wept harder than before.
He stood like a man on whom the sentence of death had fallen. A cold,
glassy look came into his eyes, a thick, heavy sweat started from his
forehead, his iron limbs seemed giving way under him. Placing my hand
gently on his shoulder, I said:
'How much is needed, my friend?'
'I don't know,' he replied, pressing his head with his hands as if to
keep it from bursting. 'How much, Phylly?'
'Twelve hundred, Master Robert--they sold us for twelve hundred?'
'Well, well, my good woman, don't feel badly any more. I'll let Master
Robert have the money.'
The woman stared at me incredulously for a moment; then, while the
children came and clung to my coat as if I were an old friend, she said:
'Oh! bless you, sir! bless you! I will love you, sir! the children will
forever love you for it.'
A struggle seemed to be going on in Preston's mind. He was silent for
some moments; then in a slow, undecided voice he said:
'It an't right; I can't take it, Kirke. I owe you now. I'm in debt
elsewhere. A judgment has been got against me. My crops have turned out
poorly, I've been to Virginia for money, and can't get a dollar. It
would not be honest. I can't take it.'
No words can picture the look on the woman's face as she said:
'Oh! do take it, Master Robert! _Do_ take it. I'll work. I'll make it. I
can make it _very soon_, Master Robert. Oh! _do_ take it!'
'How much is the judgment?' I asked.
'Only six hundred; but old ---- has it, and he has no mercy. He'll have
the money at once, or sell every thing--the negroes--every thing!' and
he choked down the heavy groan which half-escaped his lips.
'Have you no produce at home?'
'Yes, about a thousand barrels of rosin; but the river is low. I can't
get it down.'
'Well, that's worth five hundred where it is. Any cotton?'
'Only eleven bales--low middling.'
'That's three hundred more. Consider it ours, and draw at ninety days
for the whole, judgment and all.'
The woman had risen during this conversation, and stood with her eyes
riveted on his face and mine as if her eternal destiny hung on our
words. When I made the last remark she staggered toward me and fell, as
if dead, at my feet. I brought water from the stream hard by, and we
soon restored her to herself. Preston then lifted her from the floor,
and placing her tenderly on the bench, said, taking my hand:
'She and her children are very dear to me. You can not understand how
much you have done for me. Words are weak--they can not tell you. I will
pay you out of the next crop. Meanwhile, I will re-draw and keep it
afloat.'
'Do as you like about that. Where is your owner, Phyllis?'
'Outside, dear master. You'll know him. He's more of us poor creatures
with him.'
'Come, Preston, let's see him at once--we've no time to lose--the stage
will be along soon.'
'I've no heart for trading now. You manage it, my friend.'
'Well, as you say; but you'd better be with me. Come.'
'I will in a moment.'
He lingered behind, and when I left the cabin was speaking in a low tone
to the slave-woman. Thinking he would follow in a moment, I went in
quest of the trader.