It was a beautiful morning, and the breakfast was over by eight
o'clock, notwithstanding the tremendously long grace with which Mr.
McGrubber thought fit to season it. There was some chance, therefore,
of a cool walk, although I could not think Mrs. Stringer's plan a good
one; for it seems to me that the early mornings and the late evenings
are the only endurable periods in a Virginian summer.
Bessy Davenport ran up stairs to get some covering for her head; and I
stood in the porch waiting for her, ready for our visit to my
mysterious negro, and to the no less remarkable personage to whom she
had promised to introduce me. But a moment before she came down, who
should appear but Billy Byles coming round from the stable where he
had put up his horse.
"It is all arranged," he said, speaking in a low tone, and shaking me
by the hand. "On Saturday morning at six, in Hunter's Wood."
"Why, that is three days still," I said, somewhat annoyed at the
delay.
"We couldn't arrange it otherwise," he answered; "the pistols stuck in
Bob Thornton's throat desperately. He did not care a d----n how he
fought you for that matter--muskets and buckshot as lief as any other
way; but he should have to send for pistols. I told him we were in the
same predicament, but that pistols it must be; and so we fixed
Saturday morning to give him time. You had better come over and dine
with me on Friday, and take a bed at----"
Just then appeared Bessy Davenport, and he stopped short; but I
answered at once, as if he had concluded his sentence, "With a great
deal of pleasure; at what hour do you dine?"
"Oh, at three, at three," answered Billy Byles. "I have not got into
these people's bad habits yet."
"Indeed!" cried Bessy coming up. "I did not know that you ever let any
bad habit pass you, Mr. Byles, without trying it on at least."
"You are a wicked little satirist, Miss Bessy," he answered; "but I
know the cause of your malice: you are angry at my taking Sir Richard
away from you to dine with me on Friday."
"If you don't do any worse with him than that, I don't care," said
Bessy; "but I doubt you both, I tell you. Come, cousin Richard, let us
go, or we shall have a warm walk back."
And leaving Mr. Byles, we walked on towards the edge of the forest.
For the first hundred yards or so Bessy walked on profoundly silent,
with her eyes fixed upon the ground; but then she looked up, with a
sigh and a sad shake of the head, saying, "It wont do, Richard."
It were needless to deny that the interest displayed in my fate by
such a lovely creature produced very sweet emotions; but still there
was no possibility of making any reply to what she said without
subjecting myself to questions which I could not answer sincerely; and
therefore, affecting not to have heard her speak, I tried to lead her
mind away in some other direction. Though I think she saw the object,
she gave in to it quietly; and we walked on for about a mile, talking
of various matters of mere passing interest. Our way lay through the
woods; and I may notice here how much more of the land, especially in
this state of Virginia, is uncultivated than we generally imagine in
England. When we talk of a plantation, we think of a wide tract of
country all smoothly laid out in maize, or tobacco, or cotton, or
rice, and don't comprehend that perhaps two-thirds of that plantation
will be forest, either the first or second growth. I must remark, too,
that a good deal of the country, especially on the sea-board, has gone
back to forest; the earlier colonists having been like prodigals newly
come into a fortune, and exhausted their lands with unvarying crops,
principally of tobacco. Thus, what was once, we have every reason to
believe, very fertile soil, will now only bear pine or other trees of
hardy habits.
At length we came to a small open space between the wood through which
we had passed and another beyond. It could not be more than a hundred
and fifty yards wide, but extended on either hand as far as the eye
could see, like a long avenue through the forest. The grass with which
the ground was covered was very green and soft, being sheltered, I
suppose, from the heat of the sun by the woods on either side, and
fertilized by the moisture which trees invariably draw around them.
"This is a curious interval in the woods," I said, looking up and
down. "I should almost be tempted to think a river once flowed down
here."
"Oh, no," she answered; "they have a tradition in the country that it
was caused by what they call here a _flaw_ of wind, which broke clear
through the forest, like a hemmed-in warrior cutting his way through
his enemies. The trees that the blast overthrew have long since
decayed; but the path that he made for himself still remains. Man
boasts his mighty deeds; but when will king or conqueror leave such
permanent traces of his footsteps as are here?"
"And yet, dear Bessy," I answered, "man can occasionally hew for
himself ways more magnificent, more indelible than this. The forest
around may be cut down, the roots rot away, the plough-share pass over
where we stand, and not a trace be left. But the mighty human mind,
when nobly and vigorously exerted, opens out, for everlasting ages,
paths which millions follow every day, and which are never blotted
out. He who sweeps away the prejudices of a race--he who opens out a
wide and noble path for the human mind--he who leads an Exodus from
any land of darkness to a land of light, performs a more powerful and
more permanent work than the tempest--ay, and one more beneficent."
"True, true," she cried eagerly, "very true; but such thoughts set my
little weak brain whirling. I should like to have been a man, and done
some great deeds; but here I am, a mere Virginian girl, no stronger
than a butterfly, and fit only for small thoughts and petty personal
adventures. But, talking of adventures, I could make your hair stand
on end, if I chose, by a tale of what happened in this wood, through
which we are going. It has been called 'The Hunter Wood' ever since."
"And what is it?" I asked.
"No, no," she answered, "I won't tell you now; I should only frighten
myself; and in ten minutes we shall be at Nat Turner's cottage, for
this is the boundary of Mr. Travis's property. We will come back the
other way, for the sun will then throw the shade more northerly, and
that will bring us to the house where uncle Jack, as they call him,
pays a visit every year."
"Is that the old man you spoke of yesterday?" I asked.
"Yes; and very old he is," she replied; "how old, nobody knows,
exactly; but he must be more than ninety, for he was brought from the
coast of Africa, they say, when a good big boy, more than eighty years
ago, in one of the last slave ships that ever came to Virginia."
"He is a slave, then," I said.
"Oh no," she answered; "he is so very much loved and respected, that
several people joined together, and purchased his freedom."
"He must, indeed, be an extraordinary man to create such feelings in
his favour," I remarked.
"The most extraordinary thing of all, perhaps," added she, "is, that
he has not the slightest touch of the negro pronunciation. I dare say,
you must have remarked, cousin Richard, that none of them can ever
learn to speak English properly; that there is always a sort of
thickness, a difficulty, about their utterance; and some sounds they
cannot form at all. But this old man speaks as good English as you
do."
"That is, indeed, extraordinary," I answered; "for so universal is
that difficulty of utterance which you mention in the African race,
whatever language they are speaking, that I imagined it to proceed
from a natural defect. I have heard they talk both French and Spanish
in the same peculiar manner that they talk English."
"Hear this man talk in a dark room, and you would not know him from an
American," said Bessy.
But I had soon an opportunity of judging for myself, for, shortly
after, we came in sight of two or three cabins, with a larger house
peeping over the trees at some little distance. Approaching the hut,
farthest from us, I knocked at the door, on my fair companion's
suggestion. We had heard voices speaking within, and, on entering, we
found the cabin tenanted by two negroes, who were seated at a small
table, with a bowl of milk, and some bread made of Indian corn between
them. The first was my friend, Nat Turner, and a powerful, though
spare man he was. The other was fully as dark in complexion, and had
probably once been as strong in form; but he was now an old man, with
the wool upon his head as white as snow, and a good many wrinkles in
his dingy skin. He was well dressed in black, with very white linen,
and a white neck-cloth tied in what I may call clerical style. I
should have judged him to have been a man of about seventy, and stout
and hale for his age; but, nevertheless, this was Bessy Davenport's
negro, Jack, and, I must say, there was something very reverent and
prepossessing in his appearance as he rose and made us a respectful,
but not servile, bow.
"Well, Mr. Turner," I said, "I promised to pay you a visit, and Miss
Davenport has been kind enough to guide me; otherwise, as a stranger
in the land, I might have missed my way."
"You are very welcome, sir," answered Nat. "Pray, Miss Bessy, take dis
stool. Here is good uncle Jack, whom you know."
Bessy held out her hand to uncle Jack, who shook it kindly; but he did
not miss an opportunity of reproof, and looking sadly at Nat Turner,
he shook his head, saying,
"Whom callest thou good? There is none good but one--that is God."
"Well, I meant good as this world goes," answered Nat Turner.
"There is so little difference between any two of us," replied the old
man, "that no one has a right to claim or receive the title of good;
far less to arrogate superiority over other brethren."
"That is an admirable text you have quoted, my friend," I said; "but
do you know, I one time heard a man make it an argument against the
divinity of our Saviour?"
"He was very much mistaken," answered uncle Jack, mildly. "The young
man to whom he spoke had addressed him as a man, and called him 'Good
master,' looking upon him as nothing but a man. Christ reproved him
for calling any mere man good, and in so doing spoke of himself in his
human character. That man must have been very hard pressed for an
argument against a belief that was too powerful for him."
"The case of many a man, I fear," replied I; "but do not let us
interrupt your breakfast, Mr. Turner," I continued, turning to Nat.
"It matters not to me when I eat or when I drink," answered Nat
Turner, in what seemed to be a somewhat stilted tone. "The man who
wishes to bring the body under the mind must not care about such
things. I have often gone without food for three days."
"I should think that must require some practice and preparation," I
observed, somewhat inclined to smile, "and unless it was done from
necessity, I do not see the use of it."
"Nor I either," said uncle Jack; "food and drink were given to us for
our natural support, and while we reverence God's blessings, by using
them moderately, we should show our thankfulness for them, by using
them as He wills."
"The use was very great," exclaimed Nat Turner, in a more excited tone
than before; "and as for preparation, I have accustomed myself to
abstinence from my childhood. I knew from my earliest years that I was
born for great things. What placed that mark upon my forehead before
my birth?" And he laid his finger upon a sort of scar on his brow
resembling a cross. But before I could examine it accurately, he went
on in the same tone--"Who taught me things which happened before I was
born, and which were only known to my mother and my father? If it was
God who did this, why did He do so but to show that He intended me
to--to--do great things?"
I looked round to uncle Jack, beginning to think that the man was
going mad, and the old man, taking my glance as a question,
answered,--
"All the people will tell you it is as he says, sir. But I think Nat
lets his mind rest too much upon such things. I fear it may do him
harm. He has plenty of strong, good sense, and if he will but
continually seek God's grace, to use it right, he may, indeed, do
great things amongst the poor people who surround him. But the
quickest walker goes farthest wrong, when he does not take the right
way, and I fear that may be Nat's case."
"No fear, no fear," cried the other. "God, who willed me to be what I
am, will teach me to do what I have to do." Then, dropping his voice
into an almost sepulchral tone, he added, "He will give me a sign--He
has promised it."
Uncle Jack shook his head very gravely, and Bessy Davenport, who had
not yet spoken, remarked,--
"We are often inclined, Nat, to misunderstand signs. Take care that
you don't apply to yourself signs that may be intended for the whole
world. Don't you remember, when there was an eclipse a little while
ago, you said it was a sign sent to you?"
"I don't know what you mean by an eclipse," answered the man,
gloomily; "but I know there _was_ a sign, and a terrible sign too.
However," he continued, in a more cheerful tone, "every one must read
such things by the lights he has got, and the Lord will not suffer
those whom he favours to mistake. He will direct us," he added, with a
sigh, and then seemed inclined to change the conversation.
I tried to keep it in the same course, for I wanted to hear more of
his views on such subjects; but, with a great deal of skill--I might
almost say, cunning--he avoided it; and I purposely brought up the
subject of freedom and slavery. The old preacher spoke upon it frankly
and freely enough, and with a degree of liberality towards the
masters, which greatly surprised me. He said that the great majority
were excellent, good, and kind-hearted people, and that, if they were
all such, his race would be much more happy under their management
than they could be under their own.
"The great evil of slavery, sir," he continued, "is the possibility of
any extent of ill-treatment. Where such a possibility exists, the
thing will occur. It is true, I have no opportunity of comparing any
other state of society with this; and for aught I know, there may be
evils as great, or greater, in all others. I cannot remember my own
country at all distinctly. Some vague, general notions I have about
it; and, if they be correct, I was a great deal worse off there than I
am here; but I cannot be sure whether these notions come from my own
recollections, or from what I have read or heard. One thing, however,
is certain, slavery has existed in all ages. The Hebrews had their
bond servants, and they themselves were hewers of wood and drawers of
water to the king of Egypt."
"Ay, but they rose and delivered themselves, and God helped and
directed them," said Nat Turner, with a peculiar flash in his dark
eye.
"He is a God of justice and strong to deliver," said a voice at the
door, speaking in a very nasal tone; and turning round, to my
surprise, I saw the lanky and extraordinary figure of the Rev. Mr.
McGrubber.
Nat Turner started forward, and shook him by the hand, and uncle Jack
made him a formal, and, I thought, somewhat stiff bow. Bessy Davenport
gave me a rueful and yet a merry glance; and, judging that we should
not profit much by what was likely to follow, I prepared to take my
departure.
Nat Turner, however, instantly began the conversation with his
visitor, who was evidently an old acquaintance and friend, by calling
upon him to tell uncle Jack all that he had been telling him the day
before. "_You_ will convince him, but I can't," cried the man; not
heeding a cloud that came over Mr. McGrubber's brow, and a quick sign
that he made to him to be silent. "His heart seems as hard as the
nether millstone towards his own people."
"My heart is not hard, Nathaniel," answered uncle Jack; "but I love my
own people too well to try and make them discontented with a situation
from which they cannot escape, but which may be ameliorated, if they
show themselves peaceable, quiet, and faithful. It is my duty to
preach peace and good will, resignation to the will of God and
dependence upon his mercy; and not to stimulate men's passions, either
in a right or wrong cause, to conduct which may end, God only knows
how."
While the two negroes had been speaking, Mr. McGrubber had evidently
been upon thorns; though, at the end of uncle Jack's reply, he had put
on a look of meek and pious resignation.
"Far be it from me, brother," he said, "to stimulate men's passions or
induce them to act in any violent and hasty manner. God forbid that I
should bring poor people into trouble, or do anything, which is not
pointed out by calm reason and religion. But we are told that we shall
not spare to speak God's truth; and when I am asked what is right and
what is wrong, must I not say what is right? Ay, if any poor soul
demands of me, 'Has my fellow-man a right to keep me in bondage?'
wouldst thou have me reply 'Yea' or 'Nay?' I preach the truth,
brother; let the results be what they may. That is in God's hand, not
mine."
Uncle Jack shook his head, with a somewhat melancholy look; but merely
said, "The Apostle teaches us to be obedient to the powers that are;
and again, we are told that servants should obey their masters. He who
teaches differently, I cannot look upon as speaking by the Holy
Spirit, and I fear that evil will come of it."
Thus saying, he left the cabin; and Bessy Davenport and I followed,
after having taken leave of Nat Turner. I thought, as I walked away,
that I heard the voice of Mr. McGrubber, raised loudly and harshly;
and I doubted not that poor Nat was receiving a stout reproof for
having betrayed to the ears of others the nature of the reverend
gentleman's communications with himself.
On the whole, my visit had a good deal disappointed me. My first
interview with Nat Turner had impressed me with an idea that he was
very much more superior to the rest of his race than I found him upon
further acquaintance. That he was superior, there could be no doubt;
but I thought I had discovered traits in him that day of almost all
the peculiar weaknesses of tho African race. That he was cunning,
superstitious, and conceited, was very clear; and there was something
in the expression of his face and the glance of his eye which inclined
me to believe that there might be a certain degree of ruthless cruelty
and fierce passion within, though now concealed, if not subdued, by
the command he had acquired over himself.
In comparing the two negroes with each other, one thing was very
remarkable. In uncle Jack you could not, as Miss Davenport had already
indicated, trace the slightest vestige of the African pronunciation.
What I may call Virginianisms he unquestionably had: there was a
certain intonation and also a pronunciation of some letters and
syllables which in England we do not consider English; for instance,
he pronounced the word "to" as we should pronounce "toe;" but nothing
at all negro could be detected in it. On the contrary, Nat Turner,
though he had evidently a good command of language, and could express
himself with great fluency and propriety, had that sort of thick and
jerking utterance which characterizes the African race.
Uncle Jack was walking on slowly before us, and Bessy and I soon
overtook him; but the good old man seemed unwilling to enter any
farther upon the subjects we had been discussing.
"Mr. McGrubber," he said, "was a very good man, he had no doubt; but
he did not think a very discreet one." As to Nat Turner, he remarked,
"It was grievous to him to see a man fitted for better things, delude
himself by vain imaginations. I believe, Miss Bessy," he continued,
looking with a smile at my fair companion, "half the faults of men and
women arise from vanity. This poor youth Nat, if he did not believe
himself far greater than he is, would be far better than he is. But he
is a good young man, and means well to all, I do believe."
Soon after, we left him, and went upon our way, discussing between
ourselves the characters of those whom we had just left.
"I cannot help thinking," I said, "that Mr. McGrubber is a rather
dangerous man in this part of the country."
"He is a very odious one," answered Bessy, in the true woman spirit;
for ladies, my dear sister, you must acknowledge, place the agreeable
qualities, in comparison with the more important ones, higher in
estimation than men do.
"He must have been speaking," I continued, "of things he did not wish
us to hear, and was evidently in a great fright when Nat Turner
alluded to them."
"Oh, that was quite clear," answered Bessy. "Uncle Jack clearly
intimated, I thought, that the man had been trying to instigate the
slaves against their masters. He is an Abolitionist, we all know, and
I have a great mind to talk to Mr. Stringer about it, but it may make
mischief."
"Every man has a right to his own opinion, of course," I said; "but I
can imagine nothing more unpardonable than for a foolish fanatic to
come into a state, not his own, and attempt, in his vain self-conceit,
to cause a violent change in the relations of the different classes of
society without a consideration of all the consequences."
"The consequences would be frightful," exclaimed Bessy. "Were the
slaves to get the mastery, imagination itself cannot picture what
would be the result. They are so violent in their temper--their
passions are so uncontrollable, that the very thought makes one
shudder. Did you ever see a negro in a passion, cousin Richard? It is
the most frightful thing you ever beheld. He looks, and acts, and
speaks, and, I am sure, feels, more like a demon than a human
creature. I recollect when I was living with dear Aunt Bab, there was
a girl in the house who had taken a peculiar and sort of irrational
fancy for one of the small ornaments on the mantelpiece. Twice she had
been detected and stopped in attempting to purloin it; but, at length,
one day it was gone. Nobody doubted who had got it, and my aunt
ordered the girl's room to be searched. I was present, though quite a
little thing, and I remember her quite well, standing in the middle of
the room, silent and motionless, her eyes following the other servants
as they made the examination, with an expression I shall never forget.
For some time, they found nothing, and she was beginning to look quite
triumphant; but, at length, the object of search was discovered hidden
away in the most cunning manner--suspended, hi fact, by threads
underneath the bed. The moment it was disclosed, she burst forth, not
with any contrition, but with rage and fury, such as I never saw in
another human being. She stamped, she raved, she cried, she poured
forth words so fast that no one could understand them, and she ended
by tearing her clothes to pieces like a mad thing."
"And what did my aunt do?" I asked.
"Just what might be expected of her," answered Bessy. "'Tis rather a
sad story; but aunt Bab was not to blame. She looked at her very
gravely, and said,--
"'Have you gone mad, Juno? You must remain here till you have
recovered yourself, and are able to listen like a reasonable being,
and I will then come and talk to you. Now it would be of no use.'
"She then left her, ordering her to be locked in. But we had not been
gone five minutes, when one of the servants came running in to say,
that Juno had jumped out of the window, and was dreadfully hurt. My
aunt would not suffer me to see her, and all, I know further is, that
she lingered for about five weeks, and then she died, and Aunt Bab
wept very bitterly over the poor misguided creature, as she called
her."
"It is a sad picture of human nature, indeed," I said, "and from what
I see of the negro population I am inclined to attribute less power to
education and more to race than I once did."
"The more you see of them, the more you will think so," answered
Bessy. "Good education might, and I have no doubt does, produce a
great deal of improvement; but as no cosmetic that ever was tried will
make a black man white, so I don't believe any education will make his
mind and character those of a white man. And yet, this good old
preacher, uncle Jack, appears to be an extraordinary exception."
"It does not seem to me," I replied, "that that proves anything. The
fair test might be, to take a certain number of children of different
races, and educate them from the earliest period exactly upon the same
system, and then judge of the race by the average number of each which
you found capable, in a certain time, of arriving at an ascertained
point of cultivation. Thus, if out of a hundred Anglo-Saxon children
ten should reach the highest proposed point in ten years, and only one
negro, we might conclude that the Anglo-Saxon race was far more
susceptible of cultivation than that of the negro. But solitary
instances prove nothing. And now, my dear Bessy, let us, for Heaven's
sake, talk of some other subjects, for, otherwise, we shall both of us
sink into philosophers--a degradation for which, I am sure, nature
never intended us."
"I suspect you intend to be saucy, Richard," answered my fair
companion; "but, in sober sadness, we have had a very grave and solemn
walk of it--very different from yesterday's."
"And I like yesterday's style best," I said.
But though we changed to lighter tones throughout the rest of the walk
homeward, we came upon none of those exciting, perhaps I may say
dangerous, topics, in which we had previously indulged. I believe the
truth is, with every young man and every young woman while unconscious
of danger--unconscious that there is near them what, in common
gallantry, I must not call a precipice, but a great leap to be taken
or not, at their pleasure, which, nevertheless, they may still chance
to fall over unawares--they go on sporting up to the very edge of the
bank, and then, when finding themselves so near it, they pause and
look down with some degree of doubt, and draw a little back and avoid
the brink, till resolution comes, and over they go.
Thus our talk on the way homeward was very commonplace, and at about a
hundred yards from the house, amongst the peach-trees, we met Mr.
Stringer, and with him, to my surprise, my Norfolk friend, Mr.
Wheatley.