*Interview with "Uncle" Louis*
--_David Holt, Mobile_
_PSYCHOLOGY OF A RUNAWAY SLAVE_
Of course you know that we always called the older colored men "Uncle"
and the older colored women "Aunt." It was proper manners.
Old "Uncle" Louis was the oldest slave on the plantation, "Uncle" Toby
having died. Louis was a "Guinea nigger." His ancestors had been brought
from the Guinea coast of Africa. He had the characteristic marks of his
tribe, being short, strong and very black, with heavy neck, thick lips,
flat nose and eyes like those of a hog. He had great knowledge of wild
plants, claimed to understand the language of birds and beasts. He
prided himself on his powers as a hunter and also claimed intimate
friendship with ghosts and spooks. Being what was known as a "yard
servant," he had picked up much of the talk of his white masters and
spoke his own version of their language.
Old Louis was what was called a "runaway nigger." He would run away in
the latter part of the summer once in every two or three years and come
back in time to help dig sweet potatoes. I was out in the sweet potato
patch one morning when he returned. The doctor was there, also. When
Louis walked up he simply said, "Hello, Louis; are you well?"
"Yes sir, Marster."
"Well, take that basket and go to picking up potatoes." Not a word was
said about his running away. After the hands had knocked off work and
Louis was sitting in front of his cabin, I went to him for an interview.
"Uncle Louis, what makes you run away? You don't get whipped or abused
in any way."
The old slave scratched his grizzled head, puffed at his clay pipe and
pondered the subject for some time before he replied:
"Marse Davie, I does cause de woods seems to call me. When de fall
insec's is singin' in de grass an' the 'simmons is gettin' soft an' de
leaves is beginnin' to turn, I jes natcherly has ter go. De wild sloes,
de red haws an' de crab apples is ripe. De walnuts an de hickory nuts an
de beach mast drappin' an de blue smoke comes over de woods, an de woods
birds an de yard birds goes souf wid de cranes an ducks an wil' geese an
de blackbirds an de crows goes in droves--it seem lack all dat is jes
callin' me."
"Where do you go?" I asked.
"Lorsy, Marse Davie, I never goes off de plantation. I always go to de
woods back o' de past'er. Ole Master knows whar I is an so does Henry.
Don't you know dat holler dat come down on de lef' han' side of de
branch--de fus holler you comes to, not more dan two hundred yards in de
woods?" I knew it well.
"Don't you 'member a big green oak tree growin' on de right han' side of
de holler bout a hunder yard up de path?"
"Well, sir, dat tree is my home. I done toted some poles an some sedge
gress up dar an made me a bed--but you can't see it from de groun'. When
I gets up dar I can see all 'roun'. I seen you an Marse Joe de las' time
you go fishin'. I lays dar all day and listen to de birds and critters
talkin'. A chicadee tole me you was comin' long befo' I seen you. Den a
jay bird caught a sight of you an he tole me. Can't nobody come along
widout de birds tellin' me. Dey pays no min' to a horse or a dog but
when dey spies a man dey speaks. I done tame' a squi'l so he comes see
me ever'day.
"De birds and critters sho is good comp'ny. I done made frens wid up all
but de owl and de hawk. Dey is jes natchally bad an de other critters
hates 'em. A ole red-breast' hawk come an lit in a daid pine tree. I
seen him so plain til I knowed what he was thinkin' about. He was jes
mad clean down in his craw and was cussin' ever'thin'. A little pewee
bird seen him an begin to fuss. A crow fly over and hear de pewee, den
fly down close an take a good look at mister hawk den he fly up and
start callin' de other crows. In a little while a whole drove of crows
is flyin' 'roun dat pine tree. Den de jay birds come an dey is callin'
for a fight, but de ole hawk never move. Den de mocking birds come an
dey sair right in and starts pecking at de hawk until he dove into de
woods and gets away, an all de birds begin to talkin' 'bout bugs an
things."
The old man was wound up for an interminable talk on his favorite theme,
the talk of critters, and to change the subject I asked: "Uncle Louis,
ain't you afraid of ghosts?"
"Lor', chile, I ain't feared of no ghos' or spook, as I's seed lots of
both. All a ghos' do is jes show hise'f. You never hear of one doin'
nothin' to nobody. Dey is sociable an wants to be near livin' people.
When folks gets scared it hurts de ha'nt's feelin's an dey goes
somewhere else. Dey has all de feelin's dey had when dey was livin'. You
wouldn't stay by wid folks dat's fear'd of you an want to run away from
where you is.
"Las' night, when I was up in my nes', an my fire had died out, all
'sept one little chunk, an de moon was shinin' like day, I lay down, I
did, an I take a li'l nap o' sleep. Den I wakes up sudden an looks 'roun
ag'in. Well, sir, de norf side of de hill was covered wid ghoses an
spooks; dey was layin' down, standin' up and leanin' agin trees, but
mos'ly dey was jes sittin' on de groun', all lookin' at me hard as dey
could, widout battin' an eye.
"De neares' one to me was a little white ooman. She war sittin' flat on
de groun', holdin' a baby in her lap. She look mighty pitiful an I say
'please Missis, can I ho'p you an yo' baby? I'd be 'bleeged if you tell
me.' Her lips move but I couldn't hear no sound. Den I lay me down an
drap off to sleep agin. When I wakes up de ghosses is all dere an de
little white ooman look lak she want to say somethin', but can't, an I
say, 'I ain' nothin' but a poor runaway nigger, but my Marster is a
mighty kin' man, he'll sholy he'p you; but she didn't say nothin' an I
goes back to sleep. De next time I wakes up de sun was risin' an I jes
lays dere an watches de ghosses an spooks get thin, an fade away like a
fog."
The old Negro was sitting in the twilight, talking in a low, impressive
monotone, in a language we both understood but which I find difficulty
in transcribing after all these years that intervene. A screech owl was
"miseryflying" in the family grave yard back of the quarters, a fitting
abligato to the narrative. Though creepy sensations crawled up my spine,
I still had my doubts.
"Uncle Louis, do you really believe you saw all that, and didn't dream
it while you were curled up in your nest?" I asked.
The old man seemed aggrieved at my doubts as he replied:
"It ain't no beleevin' about it. I knows what I knows an I sees what I
sees. De ghos' is what lives when de body is done wore out, but it don't
die."
"It's all imagination," I said, in defense of reason and nature, as I
understood these things.
"I wants to ax you what does de imaginin'. It's your ghos' that does the
imagin' so you can see other ghosses an spooks."
In recognition of Louis' knowledge and powers of reasoning my brother
William wrote a diploma in Latin and presented it to him. After that he
was called "Doctor" Louis.
I recall that it was about that time that I read a book on psychology
but later discovered that there were those on the plantation who had a
better working knowledge of the subject than was taught in the book.
Bibliography: Old Plantation Days, an unpublished work by the Venerable
David Elred Holt, late Archdeacon of the Sacramento Diocese (Protestant
Episcopal) of California, and a native of Buffalo Plantation, near
Natchez, Mississippi.