As soon as my sister and myself had learned to read and cipher, we were
inspired with a desire to teach the negroes who were about the house
and kitchen; and my father promised to reward my sister with a handsome
guitar if she would teach two boys--designed for mechanics--arithmetic.
Our regular system was every night to place chairs around the dining
table, ring a bell and open school; she presiding at one end and I at
the other of the table, each propped on books to give us the necessary
height and dignity for teachers.
Our school proved successful. The boys learned arithmetic and the
guitar was awarded. All who tried learned to read, and from that day we
have never ceased to teach all who desired to learn.
Thus my early life was passed amid scenes cheerful and agreeable, nor
did any one seem to have any care except my mother. Her cares and
responsibilities were great, with one hundred people continually upon
her mind, who were constantly appealing to her in every strait, real or
imaginary. But it had pleased God to place her here, and nobly did she
perform the duties of her station. She often told us of her distress
on realizing for the first time the responsibilities devolving upon
the mistress of a large plantation, and the nights of sorrow and tears
these thoughts had given her.
On her arrival at the plantation after her marriage, the negroes
received her with lively demonstrations of joy, clapping their hands
and shouting: "Thank God, we got a mistess!" Some of them throwing
themselves on the ground at her feet in their enthusiasm.
The plantation had been without a master or mistress twelve years; my
father--the sole heir--having been off at school and College. During
this time the silver had been left in the house, and the servants had
kept and used it, but _nothing had been stolen_.
The books, too, had been undisturbed in the library, except a few
volumes of the poets which had been carried to adorn some of the cabin
shelves.
It was known by the negroes that their old master's will set them free
and gave them a large body of land in the event of my father's death;
and some of his College friends suggested he might be killed while
passing his vacations on his estate. But this only amused him, for he
knew too well in what affection he was held by his negroes, and how
each vied with the other in showing him attention--spreading a dinner
often for him at their cabins when he returned from hunting or fishing.
I think I have written enough to show the mutual affection existing
between the white and black races--and the abundant provision generally
made for the wants of those whom God had mysteriously placed under our
care.
The existence of extreme want and poverty had never entered my mind,
until one day my mother showing us some pictures, entitled "London
Labor and London Poor," we asked her if she believed there were such
poor people in the world, and she replied: "Yes, children, there are
many in this world who have nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat."
Still we could not realize what she said, for we had never seen a
beggar. But from that time it began to dawn upon us that all the world
was not a plantation, with more than enough on it for people to eat.
And when we were old enough to read and compare our surroundings with
what we learned about other countries, we found that our laboring
population was more bountifully supplied than that of any other land.
We read about "myriads of poor, starving creatures, with pinched faces
and tattered garments," in far off cities and countries. We read of
hundreds who, from destitution and wretchedness, committed suicide. We
read these things, but could not fully sympathise with such want and
suffering; for it is necessary to witness these in order to feel the
fullest sympathy, and we had never seen anything of the kind on our own
or our neighbor's plantations.
Their religious instruction, I found, had not been more neglected
than among the lower classes in England, Ireland, France, Russia and
elsewhere. Every church--there was one of some denomination near every
plantation--had special seats reserved for the negroes. The minister
always addressed a portion of his sermon particularly to them, and held
service for them exclusively on Sabbath afternoon. Besides, they had
their own ministers among themselves, and had night prayer meetings in
their cabins whenever they chose.
Many prayers ascended from earnest hearts for their conversion, and
I knew no home at which some effort was not made for their religious
instruction.
One of our friends--a Presbyterian minister and earnest
Christian--devoted the greater part of his time to preaching and
teaching them. And many pious ministers, throughout the State,
bestowed upon them time and labor.
I once attended a gay party where the young lady of the house--the
center of attraction--hearing that one of the negroes was suddenly very
ill, excused herself from the company, carried her Prayer-book to the
cabin, and passed the night by the bedside of the sick man, reading
and repeating verses to him. I have also had young lady friends who
declined attending a wedding or party when a favorite servant was ill.
On one occasion an English gentleman--Surgeon in the Royal
Artillery--visiting at our house, accompanied us to a wedding and
hearing that two young ladies had not attended on account of the
illness of a negro servant, said to me: "This would not have been in
England, and will scarcely be believed when I tell it on my return."
The same gentleman expressed astonishment at one of our neighbor's
sitting up all night to nurse one of his negroes who was ill. He was
amused at the manner of our servants' identifying themselves with the
master and his possessions, always speaking of "our horses," "our
cows," "our crop," "our mill," "our blacksmith's shop," "our carriage,"
"our black folks," &c. He told us he observed also a difference between
our menials and those of his own country, in that, while here they
were individualized, there they were known by the names of "Boots,"
"'Ostler," "Driver," "Footman," "Cook," "Waiter," "Scullion," &c.
On our plantations the most insignificant stable boy felt himself of
some importance.
When I heard Mr. Dickens read scenes from Nicholas Nickleby, the tone
of voice in which he personated Smike sent a chill through me, for I
had never before heard the human voice express such hopeless despair.
Can there be in England, thought I, human beings afraid of the sound of
their own voices?
There was a class of men in our State who made a business of buying
negroes to sell again farther south. These we never met, and held in
horror. But even they, when we reflect, could not have treated them
with inhumanity; for what man would pay a thousand dollars for a
piece of property, and fail to take the best possible care of it? The
"traders" usually bought their negroes when an estate became involved,
for the owners could not be induced to part with their negroes until
the last extremity--when everything else had been seized by their
creditors. Houses, lands, everything went first, before giving up the
negroes; the owner preferring to impoverish himself in the effort to
keep and provide for these--which was unwise, financially, and would
not have been thought of by a mercenary people.
But it was hard to part with one's "own people," and see them
scattered. Still our debts had to be paid; often security debts after
the death of the owner, when all had to be sold. And who of us but can
remember the tears of anguish caused by this, and scenes of sorrow to
which we can never revert without the keenest grief? Yet, like all
events in this chequered human life, even these sometimes turned out
best for the negroes, when by this means they exchanged unpleasant for
more agreeable homes. Still it appeared to me a great evil, and often
did I pray that God would make us a way of escape from it. But His ways
are past finding out, and why He had been pleased to order it thus we
shall never know.
Instances of harsh or cruel treatment were rare. I never heard of
more than two or three individuals who were "hard" or unkind to their
negroes, and these were ostracised from respectable society, their very
names bringing reproach and blight upon their descendants.
We knew of but one instance of cruelty on our plantation, and that was
when "Uncle Joe," the blacksmith, burnt his nephew's face with a hot
iron. The man carries the scar to this day, and in speaking of it,
always says: "Soon as my master found out how Uncle Joe treated me he
wouldn't let me work no more in his shop."