After dinner, we rode over my friend's plantation. It contained about
twelve hundred acres, mainly covered with forest trees, but with here
and there an isolated patch of cleared land devoted to corn and cotton.
A small tributary of the Trent formed its northern boundary, and
bordering the little stream was a tract of three hundred acres of low,
swampy ground, heavily timbered with cypress and juniper. Tall old
pines, denuded of bark for one third of their height, and their white
faces bearded with long, shining flakes of 'scrape turpentine,' crowned
the uplands; and scattered among them, about a hundred well-clad,
'well-kept' negro men and women were shouting pleasantly to one another,
or singing merrily some simple song of 'Ole Car'lina,' as with the long
scrapers they peeled the glistening scales from the scarified trees, or,
gathering them in their aprons, 'dumped' them into the rude barrels
prepared for their reception. Preston had a kind word for each one that
we passed--a pleasant inquiry about an infirm mother or a sick child, or
some encouraging comment on their cheerful work; and many were the
hearty blessings they showered upon 'good massa,' and many their
good-natured exclamations over 'de strange gemman dat sells massa's
truck.'
'He'm de kine, 'ou gals,' shouted an old darky, bent nearly double with
age, who, leaning against one of the barrels, was 'packing down' the
flakes as they were emptied from the aprons of the women: 'He'm de kine,
I tell by him eye; de rocks doan't grow fass ter dat gemman's pocket!'
'Well, they don't, uncle,' I replied, tossing him a half-dollar piece,
and throwing a handful of smaller coin among the women. A general
scramble followed, in which the old fellow nimbly joined, shouting out
between his boisterous explosions of merriment:
'Dis am de sort, massa; dis am manna rainin' in de wilderness--de Lord's
chil'ren lub dis kine--it'm good ter take, massa, good ter take.'
'Good as black jack, eh, uncle?' I inquired, laughing, for I saw certain
lines about his shrunken mouth, and underneath his sunken eyes, which
told plainly he was rather too familiar with that delicious compound of
strychnine and whiskey.
'Yas, massa, good as black Jack; dat's my name, massa, dat's my
name--yah, yah,' and he turned his face, wet with merry tears, and
distended in an uncommonly broad grin, up to mine. In a moment, however,
his eye caught Preston's. His broad visage collapsed, his distended
mouth shrank to a very diminutive opening, and his twinkling eyes
assumed a peculiarly stolid expression, as he added, in a deprecatory
tone:
'No, massa Robert, not so good as black jack; not so good as dat--'ou
knows I doan't keer fur him; you knows I doan't knows him no more, massa
Robert.'
'I know you never knew him,' replied Preston, playing on his name. 'He's
a hardened old sinner. He has sinned away the day of grace, I'm sure.
But you know better than to ask presents of strangers. Give it back to
the gentleman at once.'
An indescribable expression stole over the old negro's visage as he
thrust his hand through his thin, frosty wool, looked pleadingly up at
his master's face, and, seeing no signs of relenting there, slowly and
reluctantly opened his palm and offered me the money.
'No, no, Preston, let him keep it; it won't do him any harm,' I said.
'No more'n it woan't, good massa, not a morsel ob harm,' exclaimed the
darky, his small eyes twinkling again with pleasurable anticipation, and
his broad face widening into its accustomed grin: 'I woan't take nary a
drop, massa Robert, nary a drop!'
'Well,' said his master, 'you can keep it if you'll promise not to drink
it all to-morrow. So much whiskey would spoil your prayer at the
meeting.'
'So it 'ould, massa Robert; so much as dat; but Jack allers prays de
stronger fur a little, massa Robert, jess a little--it sort o' 'pears
ter warm up a ole man's sperrets, and ter fotch all de 'votion right
inter him froat.'
'I suppose it does; all the devotion you ever feel. You're an old
sinner, Jack, past praying for, I fear,' replied Preston,
good-naturedly, turning his horse to go.
'Not pass prayin' fur 'ou, massa Robert, not pass dat, an' ole Jack
neber will be, nudder--not so long as he kin holler loud 'nuff fur de
Lord ter yere. 'Ou may 'pend on dat, massa Robert, 'ou may 'pend on
dat.'
As we rode away, I asked Preston if the old black led the services at
the negro meetings.
'Yes, I am obliged to let him. He was formerly the plantation preacher,
and, with all his faults, the blacks are much attached to him. A small
rebellion broke out among them, five years ago, when I displaced him,
and put Joe into the pulpit. I compromised the difficulty by agreeing
that Jack should lead in prayer every Sunday morning. They think he has
a gift that way, and _you_ would conclude the day of Pentecost had come,
if you should hear him when he is about half-seas-over.'
'Then he does pray better for a little whiskey?'
'Yes, a mug of 'black jack' helps him amazingly--it gives him the real
power.'
After a two hours' circuit of the plantation, we halted in the vicinity
of the distilleries, which stood huddled together on the bank of the
little stream of which I have spoken. There were three of them, each of
thirty barrels' capacity--an enormous size--and they were neatly set in
brick, and enclosed in a substantial framed structure, which was
weatherboarded and coated with paint of a dark brown color. Near the
only one then in operation were several large heaps of flake turpentine,
three or four hundred barrels of rosin, and a vast quantity of the same
material scattered loosely about and mixed with broken staves, worn-out
strainers, and the _debris_ of the rosin bins. Pointing to the confused
mass, I said to my host:
'I've half a mind to turn missionary. I feel a sort of call to preach to
you Southern heathen.'
'I wish you would,' he rejoined, laughing; 'you'd give me a chance to
laugh at your sermons, as you have laughed at mine.'
'No, you wouldn't laugh. I'd make you _feel_ way down in your pocket.
I'd have but one sermon and one text, and that would be: 'Gather up the
fragments, that nothing be lost.' You Southern nabobs do nothing but
waste--you waste enough in one day to feed the whole North for a week.
It's a sin--the unpardonable sin--for you know better.'
'Well, it _is_ wrong, but how can we help it? We can't make the negroes
anything but what they are--shiftless and careless of everything but
their own ease.'
'I don't know about that. I think such a man as Joe ought to be able to
manage them.'
'Joe! Well, he can't. He's all drive, and negroes are human beings; they
should be treated kindly.'
We had approached the front of the still, and were fastening our horses
to the trunk of a tree, when we heard loud voices issuing from the other
side of the enclosure.
'Her'm what I owes you--now pack off ter onst, and don't neber show your
face on dis plantation no more,' said a voice, which I at once
recognized as that of 'boss Joe.'
'I shan't pack off till I'm ready, you d--d black nigger, I've been
bossed 'bout by ye long 'nuff. Clar out, and 'tend ter yer own 'fairs,'
rejoined another voice, which had the tone of a white man's.
'I reckon _dis_ am my 'fair, and I shan't leff you git drunk and burn up
no more white rosum yere; so take yerseff off. Ef you don't, I'll make
you blacker nor I is.'
'Put your hand on me, and I'll take the law on ye, _shore_,' returned
the white man.
'Pshaw, you drunken fool, do you s'pose dese darkies would tell on _me_?
Ef dey would, dar word ain't 'lowed in de law; so you trabble. I don't
keer ter handle you, but I shill ef you don't leab widin five minutes.'
What might have followed will not go down in history, for just then
Preston and I, emerging from around the corner of the building, appeared
in view of the belligerents. The native--a respectable specimen of the
class of poor whites--stood in a defiant attitude before the still-fire,
while Joe was seated on a turpentine barrel near, quietly noting the
time by a large silver watch which he held in his hand. He kept on
counting the minutes, and gave no heed to his master's approach, till
Preston said:
'Joe, what's to pay?'
'Nuffin, master Robert, 'cept I'se 'scharged dis man, and he say he
won't gwo.'
'Do as Joseph bids you,' said Preston, turning to the white man, 'take
your pay and go at once.'
The man stammered out a few words with a cringing air, but the planter
cut him short with:
'I want no explanations. If you can't satisfy Joseph, you can't satisfy
me.'
The native then leisurely took down a ragged coat that hung from one of
the timbers, counted over a small roll of bank notes which Joe gave him,
and meekly left the still-house.
Joe and his master devoted the next half hour to piloting me over the
distilleries. I commented rather freely on the sad waste of valuable
produce which was scattered about, and on the bad economy of keeping
three 'stills' to do the work of one.
'It might have done years ago,' I remarked, 'before your trees ran to
'scrape,' and when they yielded enough 'dip' to keep all the stills
busy; but now they are eating you up. You have fully four thousand
dollars idle here. Sell them, Preston--that amount would help you out of
debt.'
'Dat's what I tells master Robert, Mr. Kirke, but he sort o' clings to
ole tings, _sar_,' said Joe, in the free, familiar tone usual with him.
'But _you_ do just as badly, Joe,' I replied. 'You let these darkies
waste more than they eat, and you keep four here to do the work of
three. You are no better than your master.'
'Only half so good, Mr. Kirke,' rejoined the black, showing a set of
teeth which a dentist might have used for a door plate; 'only _half_ so
good, 'case I'se only half white. But, if master Robert 'ould leff me
handle de whip, I'd show him suffin'! I reckon de int'rest 'ouldn't be
ahind den.'
'Why? don't you let Joe whip the negroes?' I asked Preston.
'No, not now; I did, till some years ago, when he almost killed one of
them, and came near getting me into serious trouble. He could manage
them well enough without whipping, if he'd curb his impetuous temper a
little.'
'But I does curb it, master Robert, and it tain't ob no use. Dey knows I
_can't_ whip 'em, an' dey don't keer fur de starvin', or de tyin' up, or
de talkin' to in de meetin'. Dey don't mind fur nuffin' but de whip, an'
a little ex'cise wid dat does a nigger good when he'm right down
'fractory. And you has 'lowed, master Robert, dat I warn't so much ter
blame in dat 'fair ob Black Cale.'
'Well, perhaps you weren't. It's a good story, Kirke; did I ever tell it
to you?'
'No; I'd be glad to hear it.'
'Come, Joe,' said his master, good-naturedly, 'you can tell it better
than I. You know it by heart.'
'Well, master, if you says so,' replied Joe; and as we seated ourselves
in a semicircle on some rosin barrels, the black proceeded to give the
following illustration of the working of free and slave institutions:
'Well, you see, Mr. Kirke, de darky's name wus Black Cale, an' he wus a
raised up 'long wid me by de ole gemman--dat am master Robert's
gran'fer. He wus allers a hard-bitted, 'fractory darky, but he wus
smart, awful smart, and could do a heap ob work when a minded to; but he
wusn't a minded to bery of'en, an' ole master used to hab ter flog
him--flog him bery hard. Well, finarly, de ole gemman grow'd tired ob
doin' so much ob dat, an' he call Cale ter him one day, an' he say:
''Cale, you'se a likely nigger, an' I _don't_ like ter flog you so much.
Now, I'll leff you hire you' time, an' gwo down ter Newbern, an' shirk
fur you'seff.'
'Ole master knowed Cale wus habin' a bad 'fect on de oder darkies, an'
he 'lowed 'twould be cheap leffin' him gwo ef he didn't get a picayune
fur him. Well, Cale, he took ter dat ter onst, an' he 'greed to gib ole
master one fifty a year fur his time; an' so he put off ter Newbern.
Well, ebery ting gwo on right smart till de ole gemman die. Cale, he
work hard, pay master ebery year, and sabe up quite a heap. Well, ole
master die widout a will, an' all de property gwo ter de two sons; dat
am master James an' master Thomas--he war master Robert's fader. Now
master James he neber lib'd on de plantation, so he sold all his half ob
de nigs to master Thomas, an' put all de 'vails inter his bisness down
dar ter Mobile, whar he am now, doin' a heap in de cotton way. But he
didn't sell his half ob Cale, 'case master Thomas wouldn't buy him,
nohow. Well, dey owned Cale tugedder fur a spell, an' Cale he work on
right smart, till one day master James come home, and he tells master
Thomas dat on de way he'd a stopped at Newbern, and sole his half ob
Cale ter Cale heseff, fur five hundred dollar, and giben him de free
papers. Well, den Cale he want to buy de oder half ob heseff ob master
Thomas, an' master Thomas he offer to take de same money; but Cale say
de oder half not wuth so much as de fust, an' dat he wouldn't gib only
two fifty.'
'Not worth so much--why not?' I asked.
'Why, Cale say 'case he could do what he like wid de free half, and he
reckoned he shouldn't be quite so 'sponsible _den_ fur de slave half,'
and here Joe broke into a merry fit of laughter, in which Preston
joined.
'Well, master Thomas an' Cale couldn't 'gree 'bout de buyin', but Cale
promise to gib seventy-five dollar a year fur de use ob master's half,
an' he gwo off agin ter Newbern. Den de time gwo by fur a yar or two,
but master neber git nary dime out ob Cale fur his half. Cale would say
dat only half ob him wus free, an' de oder half wasn't 'sponsible, and
couldn't pay its debts, nohow. Finarly, master, seein' he couldn't git
nuffin out ob Cale, only offers ob two fifty fur de oder half--and _dat_
he wouldn't take, nohow--sent me down to Newbern to sort o' mediate
'tween Cale an' he. Well, I coaxed Cale to 'gree to wuck one monfh for
heseff and de oder monfh fur massa, and I come home; but it warn't ob no
use; Cale would wuck, but massa neber seed a fip ob de pay. Finarly,
af'er he'd a gone on dat way 'bout ten yar, stowin' 'way what he arned
whar nobody could fine it, an' allers off'rin' two fifty fur de oder
half ob heseff, master Thomas he die, and master Robert he come ter lib
on de plantation. Den master Robert axed me what he should do wid Cale,
and I tole him to take de two fifty, and leff him gwo. But he say, 'no,'
dat he wouldn't sell him fur dat, nohow.' And here the black looked
slyly at his master, and a merry twinkle came into his eyes. 'Well, den,
I tole master Robert dat I tought I could fix Cale ef he'd leff me
manage him jess as I like. He 'greed to dat, an' I gwoes down to
Newbern, an' makes Cale come home, an' den I say to him:
''Now, Cale, you stay yere, an' gwo to wuck. Ebery monfh you wuck fur
me, an' ebery oder monfh you wuck fur you'seff, an' when you wuck fur
you'seff I pay you so much fur ebery barr'l ob dip, an' so much fur
ebery barr'l ob scrape, an' so much fur ebery day when you wuck roun';
an' I makes you pay so much fur what you lib on. Well, Cale, he 'gree to
dat. He wuck de fust monfh fur heseff, an' he _did_ wuck--he done twice
so much as any hand on de plantation; but de next monfh, when he wuck
fur _me_, he don't do nuffin but lay 'bout, an' git drunk. I stood dat
till de monfh wus up--fur I neber did take ter whippin' de nigs, an'
master Robert know dat--an' den w'en Cale wus clean sober, I tied him up
to gib him a floggin'. Well, w'en he wus a stripped, an' I was jess
gwine to lay on de lashes, Cale say to me, says he:
''Look a yere, 'ou Joe, 'ou may whip massa's half ob dis nig jess so
long as 'ou likes, but ef 'ou put de lash onter _my_ half, I'll take de
law on 'ou. I will, shore.'
'Dat sot me a tinkin'; fur de fac wus, I'd nary right to flog _his_
half; but den it 'curred ter me dat none but darkies wus roun', an' so I
tought I had him, _shore_. Well, I puts on de lashes, an' he keeps a
tellin' me he'd hab de law on me, which make me sort o' 'zasparated,
till I put 'em on right smart, an' at lass he gib in. Well, w'en I'd a
got him a feelin' 'bout right, an' wus only jess puttin' de lass blows
on to finish up makin' a decent nigger ob him, master Robert he come up,
and when he seed de blood a runnin' down his back, he say Cale had been
whipped 'bout 'nough, and I must stop. Cale turned up missin' dat night,
an' got off to Newbern; an' shore 'nuff, de next evenin', long 'bout
dark, de sherrif he rode up to de house wid a writ fur master Robert fur
habin' made 'salt an' batt'ry on one collud man, called Caleb Preston,
an' he pulled out a suspeny dat make massa Robert witness agin heseff!
ha! ha! You see Cale wus smart; he know'd master Robert b'longed to de
Baptist meeting, an' wouldn't lie fur all de niggers in Jones county; so
he had him dar, ha! ha!'
Here Joe for some minutes was unable to continue the narrative. His
merriment was contagious. I laughed till my sides were sore, and Preston
enjoyed the story quite as much as I did.
'Well, what was the end of it?' I asked.
'Only, master Robert hed to be toted off to Newbern dat night, git bail
or sleep in de jail, and de next mornin', af'er de nig hed a hed ten
yars' use ob heseff fur nuffin, master Robert hed to do what _he'd_ a
said, an' his fader afore him hed said, dey neber would do--dat is, take
two fifty fur de oder half ob Cale! Ha! ha! De next time I gwoes to
Newbern I hunt Cale up, an' I tell him he must study fur de law, shore;
an' dat ef he done it, I know'd master Robert would pay de 'spences, out
ob lub to de country.'
The negroes who were attending the still had dropped their work to
listen to Joe's story, and at its close guffawed in a chorus that made
the woods ring. Hearing it, Joe sprang to his feet, shouting out:
'Yere--'bout you' wuck dar; leff me kotch you eavesdroppin' on gemmen
agin, an' I'll gib you what I gabe Cale. 'Bout you' wuck, I say.' They
turned nimbly to their tasks, and Joe resumed his seat.
'I see the moral of that story, Preston,' I said, when the negro had
concluded.
'What is it?'
'That a darky may be as smart as a white man. Cale outwitted you.'
'Well, he did,' he replied, laughing; 'but that isn't the moral: it is
that flogging never accomplishes its object.'
'I'm not so sure of that. Joe had brought Cale to terms, 'made a decent
nigger on him,' when you, unluckily, interfered.'
'It ain't so much de floggin' on 'em, Mr. Kirke,' said Joe, 'as dar
knowin' dat you _will_ do it ef dey desarve it. Dar ain't a darky on de
plantation dat don't know master Robert an' de good missus 'ould rader
be flogged demselves dan flog dem; an' dat wucks bad, Mr. Kirke, sorry
bad;' and the negro shook his head with a grave, thoughtful air.
'Tell me, Preston,' I said, after a slight pause, 'how is it that your
neighbor Dawsey, with only seventy-five negroes, sends us more produce
than you do with a hundred and fifty?'
'Simply because he treats his hands like brutes, while I treat mine like
men.'
'I hope you'll take no offence,' I replied, 'but it appears to me there
must be some other reason. He has only _half_ your number.'
'Well, I will tell you how he and I manage, and you can judge for
yourself. Dawsey has seventy-five slaves; forty child-bearing women,
twenty men, and fifteen children under five years. The sixty adults are
all prime hands. They are given daily tasks, which they cannot possibly
do in less than fifteen hours, leaving them only nine hours out of the
twenty-four for eating, sleeping, feeding their children, and the waking
rest necessary to working people. He never whips them on a week day,
because it wastes working time, but makes Sunday a general flogging
season. He has two women where he has one man, and each woman is
expected to bear a child a year. If she doesn't, she is sold. They are
made to work in the field till the labor pains are on them; and they are
allowed only two weeks' rest after confinement. Three of them have borne
children in the woods this season. He keeps only one nurse for the
fifteen children, and as soon as each child is five years old--the age
at which it can be legally sold away from its mother--it is disposed of
to the traders. In addition, three of these women are his own mistresses
and they are expected to have children as fast as the others. He serves
their children like the rest; that is, rears them to the age of five,
and then sells them as he would so many hogs.'
'My God!' I exclaimed, 'he's a monster.'
'There are different opinions about that. Dawsey passes for a jovial
good fellow; keeps open house for his friends; spends money freely at
the elections, and two years ago 'got religion' at a camp meeting. He
merely regards his slaves as chattels, and manages his plantation in
perhaps the only way that is profitable in an old section of country
like this.'
'And how is it with you? How do you manage?' I asked.
'Leff _me_ tell, master Robert,' said the black, smiling. 'I knows all
de 'ticulars 'bout dat.'
'Well, go on,' said Preston, laughing, 'but don't be too hard on _me_.'
'We hab,' continued the black, 'countin' me in, a hundred an' fifty-one
darkies, all in fam'lies--faders, mudders, children, and some on 'em
gran'faders and gran'mudders,'most all born on de plantation, an' some
on 'em livin' on it fur forty, fifty, sixty, an' seventy yar. Out ob
dese, we hab only forty-two full hands, 'case some ob de wimmin dat come
in de ages fur full wuck am sickly, puny tings, only fit fur house wuck
or nussin'. From de whole I gits equal to fifty-four full hands.
'Cordin' to master Robert's direction, I gib 'em easy ten-hour tasks;
but suffin' or anoder turn up 'most ebery day, so dat 'bout half on 'em
don't do full wuck, an' I reckon dey don't make, on de whole, more'n
'bout nine hour a day. So you see, Cunnel Dawsey, he hab sixty, an' he
wuck em fifteen hour a day; we hab only fifty-four, an' we wuck 'em nine
hour a day; an' 'cordin' to my 'rithmetic, dat would make de Cunnel turn
out 'bout twice as much truck as we does.'
'And you have twice as many mouths to feed as he,' I remarked; 'and the
result is he makes money, while you--'
'Lose nigh onter two thousand a year, Mr. Kirke, an' hab done it ebery
yar fur five yar, eber since master Robert come on to de plantation, an'
gwo to workin' on human principles, as he calls 'em.'
This was said in so sad and regretful a tone, that, in spite of the
serious manner of both the black and his master, I laughed heartily.
When my merriment had somewhat subsided, I said:
'Joe, what would you do to mend this state of affairs?'
'It can't be mended if we stay in dis ole country, an' wuck 'cordin' to
master Robert's notion.'
'Then you mean to say you can't apply humane principles to slave labor,
in an old district of country, and make money?'
'Yes,' said Preston, rising and pacing up and down in the small
semi-circle formed by the rosin barrels, 'that is what he means to say,
and it is true.'
'Then how do the majority of turpentine planters in this section make
money? They _do_ make it, that is certain.'
'By overworking their hands, as Dawsey does. All may not be as severe
with them as he is, but all overwork them, more or less,' replied
Preston.
'I don't know 'bout dat, master Robert, twelve and eben firteen hour a
day neber hurt a prime hand, if he hab good feed.
'Well, it is six o'clock, and supper must be in waiting,' said Preston,
drawing out his watch; 'we'll talk more on this subject to-night. Joe,
bring the books up to the house this evening. Mr. Kirke has promised to
look into our affairs, and I shall need you.'
'Yas, master Robert,' replied the black; and, mounting the horses,
Preston and I rode off to the mansion.