Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time

by James R. Gilmore

  CHAPTER III.

  CROSSING THE "RUNS."

  The long, tumble-down bridge which spans the Waccamaw at Conwayboro,trembled beneath our horse's tread, as with lengthened stride he shookthe secession mud from his feet, and whirled us along into the dark,deep forest. It may have been the exhilaration of a hearty dinner ofoats, or it may have been sympathy with the impatience of hisfellow-travellers that spurred him on; whichever it was, away he went asif Lucifer--that first Secessionist--were following close at his heels.

  The sun, which for a time had been industriously wedging his way intothe dark masses of cloud, finally slunk out of sight and left usenveloped in a thick fog, which shut from view all of Cottondom, excepta narrow belting of rough pines, and a few rods of sandy road thatstretched out in dim perspective before us. There being nothing in theoutside creation to attract my attention, I drew the apron of thecarriage about me, and settling myself well back on the seat to avoidthe thick-falling mist, fell into a train of dreamy reflection.

  Niggers, slave-auctions, cotton-fields, rice-swamps, and King Cottonhimself, that blustering old despot, with his swarthy arms and"under-pinning," his face of brass, and body of "raw material," passedthrough my mind, like Georgia trains through the Oconee Swamp, tillfinally my darky friend came into view. He seemed at first a littlechild, amid the blazing ruins of his wilderness home, gazing in stupidhorror on the burning bodies of his father and his kindred. Then he waskneeling at the side of his dying mother in the slave-pen at Cape Lopez,and--still a child--cooped in the "Black-hole" of the accursedslave-ship, his little frame burning with the fever-fire, and hischild-heart longing for death. Then he seemed mounting the Cubanslave-block, and as the "going! going! gone!" rung in my ear, he washurried away, and driven to the cruel task--still a child--on the hot,unhealthy sugar-field. Again he appeared, stealing away at night to alonely hut, and by the light of a pine-knot, wearily poring over theBOOK of BOOKS, slowly putting letters into words, and words intosentences, that he might know _"What God says to the black man."_ Thenhe seemed a man--splendid of frame, noble of soul--suspended in thewhipping-rack, his arms bound above his head, his body resting on thetips of his toes, and the merciless lash falling on his bare back, tillthe red stream ran from it like a river--scourged because he would notaid in creating beings as wretched as himself, and make merchandise ofhis own blood to gorge the pocket of an incarnate white devil.

  As these things passed before me, and I thought of his rareintelligence, of his fine traits of character, and of the true heroismhe had shown in risking, perhaps, his own life to get me--astranger--out of an ugly hobble, I felt a certain spot in my left sidewarming toward him, very much as it might have done had his blood beenas pure as my own. It seemed to me a pity--anti-Abolitionist andSouthern-sympathizer though I was--that a man of such rare naturaltalent, such character and energy, should have his large nature dwarfed,be tethered for life to a cotton-stalk, and made to wear his soul out ina tread-mill, merely because his skin had a darker tinge and his shoe alonger heel than mine.

  As I mused over his "strange, eventful history," and thought of thehandy way nature has of putting the _right_ man in the _wrong_ place, itoccurred to me how "Brother Beecher" one evening, not a long timebefore, had charmed the last dollar from my waistcoat pocket byexhibiting, _a la_ Barnum, a remarkably ugly "cullud pusson" on hispulpit stairs, and by picturing the awful doom which awaited her--thatof being reduced from baby-tending to some less useful employment--ifhis audience did not at once "do the needful." Then it occurred to mehow much finer a spectacle my ebony friend would make; how well his sixfeet of manly sinew would grace those pulpit stairs; how eloquently thereverend gentleman might expatiate on the burning sin of shrouding thelight of such an intellect in the mists of niggerdom, only to see itsnuffed out in darkness; how he might enlarge on what the black could doin elevating his race, either as "cullud" assistant to "Brother Pease"at the Five-Points, or as co-laborer with Fred Douglass at abolitionconventions, or, if that didn't _pay_, how, put into the minstrelbusiness, he might run the white "troupes" off the track, and yield aliberal revenue to the "Cause of Freedom." As I thought of the probableeffect of this last appeal, it seemed to me that the thing was alreadydone, and that SCIP was FREE.

  I got back from dreamland by the simple act of opening my eyes, andfound myself still riding along in that Jersey wagon, over that heavy,sandy road, and drenched with the mists of that dreary December day. Thereverie made, however, a deep impression on me, and I gave vent to itsomewhat as follows:

  "Colonel A---- tells me, Scip, that your mistress wants to sell you. Doyou know what she asks?"

  "She ax fifteen hundred dollar, massa, but I an't worth dat now. Niggerproperty's mighty low."

  "What is your value now?"

  "P'raps eight hundred, p'raps a thousand dollar, massa."

  "Would your mistress take a thousand for you?"

  "Don't know, sar, but reckon she would. She'd be glad to get shut of me.She don't like me on de plantation, 'cause she say de oder darkies tinktoo much ob me; and she don't like me in de city, 'cause she 'fraid Irun away."

  "Why afraid you'll runaway? Did you ever try to?"

  "Try to! LOR, massa, I neber taught ob such a ting--wouldn'tgwo ef I could."

  "But wouldn't you?" I asked, thinking he had conscientious scruplesabout running away; "wouldn't you if you could buy yourself, and gohonestly, as a _free_ man?"

  "Buy myself, sar!" he exclaimed in surprise; "buy _my own_ flesh andblood dat de LORD hissef gabe me! No, no! massa; I'd likes to be free,but I'd neber do _dat_!"

  "Why not do that?" I asked.

  "'Cause 't would be owning dat de white folks hab a right to de brack;and 'cause, sar, if I war free I couldn't stay har."

  "Why should you stay here? You have no wife nor child; why not go wherethe black man is respected and useful?"

  "I'se 'spected and useful har, massa. I hab no wife nor child, and datmake me feel, I s'pose, like as ef all de brack people war my chil'ren."

  "But they are not your children; and you can be of no service to them.At the North you might learn, and put your talents to some use."

  "Sar," he replied, a singular enthusiasm lighting up his face, "de LORD,dat make me what I ar, put me har, and I must stay. Sometimes when tingslook bery brack, and I feel a'most 'scouraged, I goes to HIM, and I say,'LORD, I's ob no use, take me 'way; let me get fru wid dis; let me nomore see de suffrin' and 'pression ob de pore cullud race;' den HE sayto me, just so plain as I say it to you, 'Keep up good courage, Scipio,de time will come;'[C] and now, bless de LORD, de time am coming!"

  "_What_ time is coming, Scipio?"

  He gave me a quick, suspicious glance, but his face in a moment resumedits usual expression, as he replied: "I'se sure, massa, dat I couldtrust you. I feel you am my friend, but I can't say no more."

  "You need not, Scip--I can guess. What you have said is safe with me.But let me counsel you--wait for the white man. Do not let your freedomcome in blood!"

  "It will come, massa, as de LORD will. When HE war freed _de earthshook, and de vail ob de temple war rent in twain_!"

  We said no more, but rode on in silence; the darky absorbed in his ownreflections, I musing over the black volcano, whose muffled echoes Ithen heard "away down South in Dixie."

  We had ridden on for about an hour, when an opening in the treesdisclosed a by-path, leading to a plantation. Following it for a shortdistance, we came upon a small clearing, in the midst of which, flankedby a ragged corn and potato patch, squatted a dilapidated, unpaintedwooden building, a sort of "half-way house" between a hut and a shanty.In its door-way, seated on a chair which wanted one leg and a back, wasa suit of linsey-woolsey, adorned by enormous metal buttons, andsurmounted by a queer-looking headpiece that might have passed foreither a hat or an umbrella. I was at a loss to determine whether theobject were a human being or a scarecrow, when, at the sound of ourapproach, the umbrella-like article lifted, and a pair of sunken eyes, anose, and an enormous
beard, disclosed themselves. Addressing myself tothe singular figure, I inquired how far we were from our destination,and the most direct route to it.

  "Wal, stranger," was the reply, "it's a right smart twenty mile to theCunnel's, but I reckon ye'll get thar, if ye follow yer critter's nose,and ar good at swimming."

  "Why good at swimming?" I inquired.

  "'Cause the 'runs' have ris, and ar considerable deep by this time."

  "That's comforting news."

  "Yas, to a man as seems in a hurry," he replied, looking at my horse,which was covered with foam.

  "How far is it to the nearest run?" I asked.

  "Wal, it mought be six mile; it mought be seven, but you've one or twoall-fired ones to cross arter that."

  Here was a pleasant predicament. It was nearly five o'clock, and ourhorse, though a noble animal, could not make the distance on anunobstructed route, in the then heavy state of the roads, in less thanthree hours. Long before that time it would be dark, and no doubtstormy, for the sky, which had lowered all the afternoon, every now andthen uttered an ominous growl, and seemed ready to fall down upon us.But turning back was out of the question, so, thanking the "native," Iwas about to proceed, when he hailed me as follows:

  "I say, stranger, what's the talk in the city?"

  "Nothing, sir," I replied, "but fight and Secession."

  "D--n Secession!" was the decidedly energetic answer.

  "Why so, my friend? That doctrine seems to be popular hereabouts."

  "Yas, pop'lar with them South Car'lina chaps. They'd be oneasy in heavenif Gabriel was cook, and the LORD head-waiter."

  "They must be hard to suit," I said; "I 'kalkerlate' _you're_ not aSouth Carolinian."

  "No, sir-ee! not by several mile. My mother moved over the line to bornme a decent individual."

  "But why are you for the Union, when your neighbors go the other way?"

  "'Cause it's allers carried us 'long as slick as a cart with new-greasedwheels; and 'cause, stranger, my grand'ther was one of Marion's boys,and spilt a lettle claret at Yewtaw for the old consarn, and I reckonhe'd be oneasy in his grave if I turned my back on it now."

  "But, my friend," I said, "they say Lincoln is an Abolitionist, and ifinaugurated, he will free every darky you've got."

  "He can't do that, stranger, 'cordin' to the Constetution, andgrand'ther used to say that ar dokermunt would hold the d--l himself;but, for my part, I'd like to see the niggers free."

  "See the niggers free!" I replied in undisguised astonishment; "why, mygood sir, that is rank treason and abolition."

  "Call it what yer a mind to, them's my sentiments; but I say, stranger,if thar's ony thing on airth that I uttarly dispise it ar a Northerndough-face, and it's clar yer one on 'em."

  "There, my friend, you're mistaken. I'm neither an Abolitionist nor adough-face. But _why_ do you go for freeing the niggers?"

  "'Cause the white folks would be better off. You see, I have to feed andclothe my niggers, and pay a hundred and twenty and a hundred and fiftya year for 'em, and if the niggers war free, they'd work for 'bout halfthat."

  Continuing the conversation, I learned that the umbrella-hattedgentleman worked twenty hired negroes in the gathering of turpentine;and that the district we were entering was occupied by persons in thesame pursuit, who nearly all employed "hired hands," and entertainedsimilar sentiments; Colonel J----, whom I was about to visit, and whowas a large slave-_owner_, being about the only exception. This, thereader will please remember, was the state of things at the date ofwhich I am writing, in the _very heart_ of Secessiondom.

  Bidding the turpentine-getter a rather reluctant "good-by," I rode oninto the rain.

  It was nearly dark when we reached the first "run," but, fortunately, itwas less swollen than our way-side acquaintance had represented, and wesucceeded in crossing without difficulty. Hoping that the others mightbe equally as fordable, we pushed rapidly on, the darkness meanwhilegathering thickly about us, and the rain continuing to fall. Our way laythrough an unbroken forest, and as the wind swept fiercely through it,the tall dark pines which towered on either side, moaned and sighed likea legion of unhappy spirits let loose from the dark abodes below.Occasionally we came upon a patch of woods where the turpentine-gathererhad been at work, and the white faces of the "tapped" trees, gleamingthrough the darkness, seemed an army of "sheeted ghosts" closingsteadily around us. The darkness, the rain, and the hideous noises inthe forest, called up unpleasant associations, and I inwardly determinedto ask hospitality from the first human being, black or white, whom weshould meet.

  We had ridden on for about an hour after dark, when suddenly our horse'sfeet plashed in the water, and he sank to his middle in a stream. Myfirst thought was that we were in the second "run," but as he pushedslowly on, the water momentarily growing deeper, and spreading on eitherside as far as we could see, it flashed upon me that we had missed theroad in the darkness, and were fairly launched into the Waccamaw river!Turning to the darky, who was then driving, I said quickly:

  "Scip, stop the horse. Where are we?"

  "Don't know, massa; reckon we'se in de riber."

  "A comfortable situation this. We can't turn round. The horse can't swimsuch a stream in harness. What shall we do?"

  "Can you swim, massa?" he quietly asked.

  "Yes, like an eel."

  "Wal, den, we'd better gwo on. De hoss'll swim. But, massa, you mighttake off your boots and overcoat, and be ready for a spring ef he gwodown."

  I did as he directed, while he let down the apron and top of the wagon,and fastened the reins loosely to the dash-board, saying as he did so,"You must allers gib a hoss his head when he swim, massa; if you reinhim, he gwo down, shore." Then, undoing a portion of the harness, togive the horse the free use of his legs, he shouted, "Gee up, ole Gray,"and we started.

  The noble animal stepped off slowly and cautiously, as if fully aware ofthe danger of the passage, but had proceeded only about fifty yards whenhe lost his footing, and plunged us into an entirely new and decidedlycold hip-bath. "Now's de time, ole Gray," "show your broughten up, oleboy," "let de gemman see you swim, ole feller," and similar remarksproceeded rapidly from the darky, who all the time avoided touching thereins.

  It may have been one minute, it may have been five minutes--I took "nonote of _time_"--before the horse again struck bottom, and halted fromsheer exhaustion, the water still almost level with his back, and theopposite bank too far-off to be seen through the darkness. After a shortrest, he again "breasted the waters," and in a few moments landed us onthe shore; not, unfortunately, in the road, but in the midst of thepine-trees, there so entangled with under-growth, that not even a man,much less a horse, could make his way through them. Wet to the skin, andshivering with the cold, we had no time to lose "in gittin' out of dat,"if we would avoid greater dangers than those we had escaped. So,springing from the wagon, the darky waded up the stream, near its bank,to reconnoitre. Returning in a few minutes, he reported that we wereabout a hundred yards below the road. We had been carried that far downstream by the strength of the current. Our only course was to follow the"run" up along its bank; this we did, and in a short time had thesatisfaction of striking the high road. Arranging the harness, we weresoon under way again, the horse bounding along as if he felt thenecessity of vigorous exercise to restore his chilled circulation. Weafterward learned that it was not the Waccamaw we had crossed, but thesecond "run" our native friend had told us of, and that the water in themiddle of its stream was fifteen feet deep!

  Half-dead with cold and wet, we hurried on, but still no welcome lightbeckoned us to a human habitation. The darkness grew denser till wecould not even distinguish the road, much less our horse's nose, whichwe had been directed to follow. Inwardly cursing the folly whichbrought me into such a wilderness, I said to the darky:

  "Scip, I'm sorry I took you on such a trip as this."

  "Oh! neber mind me, massa; I ruther like de dark night and de storm."

  "Like the night and the
storm! why so?"

  "'Cause den de wild spirits come out, and talk in de trees. Dey make mefeel bery strong _har_," he replied, striking his hand on his breast.

  "The night and the storm, Scip, make _me_ feel like cultivating anothersort of _spirits_. There are some in the wagon-box; suppose we stop andsee what they are."

  We stopped, and I took out a small willow-flask, which held the "spiritsof Otard," and offered it to the darky.

  "No, massa," he said, laughing, "I neber touch dem sort ob spirits; deyraise de bery ole deble."

  Not heeding the darky's example, I took "a long and a strong pull,"and--felt the better for it.

  Again we rode on, and again and again I "communed with the spirits,"till a sudden exclamation from Scip aroused me from the half-stupor intowhich I was falling. "What's the matter?" I asked.

  "A light, massa, a light!"

  "Where?"

  "Dar, way off in de trees--"

  "Sure enough, glory, hallelujah, there it is! We're all right now,Scip."

  We rode on till we came to the inevitable opening in the trees, and weresoon at the door of what I saw, by the light which came through thecrevices in the logs, was a one-story shanty, about twenty feet square."Will you let us come in out of de rain?" asked Scip of awretched-looking, half-clad, dirt-bedraggled woman, who thrust her headfrom the doorway.

  "Who ar ye?" was the reply.

  "Only massa and me, and de hoss, and we'm half dead wid de cold,"replied Scip; "can we cum in out ob de rain?"

  "Wal, strangers," replied the woman, eyeing us as closely as thedarkness would permit, "you'll find mighty poor fixins har, but I reckonye can come in."

  [Footnote C: The Southern blacks, like all ignorant people, are intenselyfanatical on religious subjects. The most trifling occurrences have totheir minds a hidden significance, and they believe the LORD speaks tothem in signs and dreams, and in almost every event of nature. Thissuperstition, which has been handed down from their savage ancestry, hasabsolute sway over them, and one readily sees what immense power itwould give to some leading, adroit mind, that knew how to use it. Bymeans of it they might be led to the most desperate deeds, fullybelieving all the while that they were "led ob de LORD."]