CHINA--UNCLE MAT'S PRAYER MEETING.
Compared to the field-hands, who were little more than heathen and
barbarian, our favorite China was a princess. One day and night among
them proved to the unhappy girl that her master was in the right--she
could not live with them. If she had met with suspicion, jealousy, and
envy beneath her master's roof, she could not expect to escape it in her
new home, where ignorance and all the baser passions ruled.
Toward night on the following day, which was Saturday, the master
appeared at the cabins. He found China weeping disconsolately in the
shade of a tree. So profoundly was she buried in her grief, she saw not
her master until she heard his voice. For many hours had she watched his
coming. When she had ceased to look for him, his kind voice aroused her
to a momentary gladness.
"O, Master Duncan! Master Duncan!" was all she could utter.
"Bad enough, yes; I knew how it would be; I knew you would be willing to
leave Kennons after you had tried this. I have just returned from Flat
Rock; have had all the papers made for you; China, you are a free
woman!"
"O, Master Duncan! good Master Duncan!" was all she could say again.
"Here, China, this is probably the last present I shall ever make you,"
handing to her a portmonnaie containing a few pieces of silver and gold,
as also the invaluable papers of manumission. He withdrew it again as
she was extending her hand, remarking:
"It is better, however, that it should be in the hands of Mr. Fuller. He
is to go with you to-night to Flat Rock. You will remain at the 'Bald
Eagle' until the train passes on Monday. You could remain at Petersburg
if you chose, but my friends at Richmond can help you. I have written
them, and they will see you properly cared for. Mr. Fuller will hand you
this"--referring to the portmonnaie--"and you must guard it carefully.
It is not sufficient that you carry it in your pocket; you should
secrete it in some part of your dress, fastening it securely. You have a
needle and thread? Well, then, do as I have told you. Be a good
girl--honest and truthful; when I come to Richmond I will see you.
There, don't cry now; you can yet be happy. I must have another talk
with Fuller;"--seeing that personage approaching--"I shall not see you
again; take care of yourself, and good-bye;"--and the master stretched
down his hand--for he was still on horseback--which China grasped and
presumed to kiss.
"There, that will do, my good girl; and don't forget what your Miss
Ellice taught you."
This unusual reference to her former mistress was another stab for poor
China. As her master rode away, she threw herself down upon the ground,
making mournful moans that might have softened the hardest heart.
The field-hands, coming up from work an hour later, beheld with rage and
dismay the intended victim of their malice mounted upon one of the
fleetest horses upon the plantation, and Mr. Fuller all ready to mount
another. He was but waiting to give additional orders to this unruly
gang. This being done, each equestrian gave a slight stroke of the whip,
and the horses galloped away from a hundred staring eyes.
"Let us fling a stone at her," said one.
"Let us set up a mighty howl," suggested a second.
"And git a mighty floggin' for yer pains," sneered a third, who was
possessed of a grain of discretion.
China's heart lightened as she left the cabins and the intolerable red
sands upon which they were situated. It was not the first time she had
seen the uncouth faces and forms of the motley group who had been
vengefully regarding her; but their appearance had seemed doubly
appalling when viewed in the light of being her associates for life. Out
of their sight she breathed freely again, and coming shortly into the
main road, a feeling almost of joy seized her.
"I will not weep or be sad any more. I will leave the old life behind
me, and Miss Rusha too, thank the Lord. Ah, poor Master Duncan! what a
life he must live of it--the best master that ever servant had--good,
kind Master Duncan! The trees hide Kennons from view; I shall not see
it again. I would liked to have said farewell to Bessie, and to Chloe
and Amy, and to Miss Rusha's Kizzie, too. I wonder if I ever shall see
one of them any more;" and in spite of her resolution not to cry, China
was obliged to wipe the tears that blinded her eyes.
Mr. Fuller was a model overseer. Nobody knew from what quarter of the
world he had hailed. He had been overseer for Duncan Lisle during seven
years, and no one had ever heard him allude to any antecedents. He was a
silent, reserved man of fifty years, perhaps, possessed good judgment,
discerning sense of right and wrong, was inflexibly just, and invariably
faithful to his word.
Duncan Lisle might well felicitate himself upon having secured so
invaluable an assistant. He had never found, and was never expecting to
find, his confidence misplaced. Trust begets trust, and master and
overseer had become excellent friends.
Mr. Fuller had, however, a history of his own, but it lay away in
England, where he prudently resolved to let it remain forever buried.
For China he discharged his mission faithfully, exchanging with her only
indispensable words, and, confiding to her care the precious
portmonnaie, bade adieu both to her and to the "Bald Eagle," returning
to Kennons after midnight.
China formed a pleasant acquaintance with the servants of the "Bald
Eagle," and passed her Sunday very agreeably. At night she was invited
to attend Uncle Mat's prayer-meeting. Uncle Mat was a personage of
importance, not only in his own estimation, but in that of many others.
His master was a drunken fellow, who had squandered most of his
substance. By degrees he had lost the greater part of his plantation,
had sold the most of his servants, his wife had died, children married
and gone, and but for Mat he would have gone to utter ruin long ago. It
was Mat who interfered in bloody quarrels, receiving blows and
vituperations himself; it was Mat who walked by his master's side from
elections, fairs, shows, etc., steadying him when he reeled, picking him
up when he fell, dragging him from horses' feet and drunken men's
knives, and keeping the breath of life in him by sheer watchfulness and
unflagging exertion.
In return for this devotion, the master, Dick Rogers, gave but abuse of
hand and tongue. But Uncle Mat was a Christian. He had a gift at prayer
and exhortation. He could read, strange to say, and sing, of course. Mat
was older than his master. Dick had been an only son, petted and
spoiled. Mat had been his body-servant from his babyhood. Dick's father,
upon his dying bed, had exacted from Mat a promise that he would always
have a care for his reckless son. Mat had fulfilled his vow. Mat had
learned to read by hearing the governess teach Dick. To shame the latter
into diligence, it was a habit with Miss Train to call up the black boy,
who exhibited more capacity and willingness than her pupil.
The servant was of a serious, reflective turn of mind. He became
converted at a Methodist camp-meeting, and as he became a kind of
preacher among his own people, he staid converted. He had one fault, to
speak not of others. He was irascible to a great degree; a mosquito or a
flea would drive him into a passion. But throughout his long career as
guardian of his master, he had been never known to lose patience with
him. Even mothers become vexed exceedingly with undutiful children; but
this care of Mat for his worthless master exceeded even that of a mother
for her child. Exceeded? Nay, we will say equalled.
It was somewhat rare in the slave States for servants to meet for
religious purposes; insurrection might brood under such a cover. Mat,
however, was so well known and so universally esteemed in his
neighborhood, that he was allowed to hold his prayer-meetings every
Sunday night.
It was to one of these that China went with her new-made friends. Nancy
Carter's cabin was the meeting-house _pro tem_. It had been prepared for
the occasion by an elaborate trimming of oak leaves and green boughs.
Bouquets of flowers were interspersed with lights upon the preacher's
stand. This invasion against white people's customs was due probably to
the intense love which Afric's sons and daughters have for the
"beautiful flowers."
Mat, tall and dignified always, seemed magnified in proportions and
dignity when installed behind his stand of flowers and lights. His
initial proceeding was invariably a great flourish of his white cotton
handkerchief.
If Mat had a source of vanity deeper than another, it was of this
above-mentioned article; and this, too, was so well known of him, that
most of his presents consisted of handkerchiefs. He had, among his
deposits, a good-sized box full of these useful and ornamental
inventions. There was one from Lucy and Lizzie, four Sallies, three
Dinahs, three Betties, two or three Janes, as many Anns, and hosts of
others too numerous to mention. And every one of those donors looked
steadily at the flourish of the preacher, if happily her own gift had
come to the coveted honor.
The first prayer consisted of very large words very fervently uttered.
This was comparatively brief, as a lengthy one for the whole world was
to follow the first hymn.
Mat had adopted, of course, the custom of his superiors in the matter of
singing. He read from the book the first two lines of the hymn, which
the congregation seized and sung to the best of their ability. Two lines
more were read, when music of voice, if not of words, became
distinguishable.
Upon this occasion the preacher seemed troubled with unusual
indistinctness of vision. He took his glasses from his nose more than
once, violently rubbing them with his spotless handkerchief. Taking up
his book for the third time, his eyes or his spectacles seemed still to
be at fault. Perplexed and irritated, he exclaimed, unguardedly:
"Dog-gone-it! my eyes are dim; I cannot see to read this hymn."
The congregation supposing it all right, tuned up, and repeated it,
though one would have been at great loss to make sense out of the
myriad-syllabled confusion.
The preacher, surprised, attempted to explain. He said energetically,
book still in hand:
"I did not mean to sing that hymn, I only meant my eyes were dim."
The simple people, still supposing the hymn to be continued, again
poured forth volumes of sound.
In vain the preacher gesticulated, stamped, and threatened. So varied
usually were the performances, this was thought to be but part of the
programme. When the music hushed again the preacher cried:
"The devil must be in you all, that is no hymn to sing at all!"
Were those black people wilfully stupid? By no means. They did not know
but they were doing as they had always done. The hymn-book was Greek to
them, words were words; therefore they took up Uncle Mat's last words as
innocently as if they had been
"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye."
Uncle Mat's patience gave out completely; he hurled his book at the
musical leader's head:
"Dere, now see if ye can stop yer 'fernal noise. What bizness yer sing
dat? Dats nothin' for to sing. You don't know nothin'. You biggest heap
o' wooly heads I eber did see. Was der eber such a pack o'
ignerant-ramuses eber in dis world afore? I answer 'firmatively--no!
What's de use o' temptin' to preach to sich people? Dey wouldn't know if
one was to rise from de dead. Not know de diff'rence 'tween psalm tunes
an nuffin else! Dis people be dismissed."
The latter sentence was pronounced most disdainfully. The chorister,
with head unbroken, and temper unruffled, arose and begged they might
all be forgiven their heedlessness; it would be so great a
disappointment to have the meeting broken up so prematurely, it would
give them great pleasure if Uncle Mat would be _so_ kind as to dispense
with singing and proceed to prayers and exhortations. One or two other
prominent members followed in much the same strain, flattering the
indignant preacher by making special reference to his eloquence and
popularity.
This had the desired effect. Uncle Mat became mollified, and wiping the
angry perspiration from his brow, he embarked upon his longest
prayer--during which our China and many others fell fast asleep.