CHAPTER V.
ON THE PLANTATION.
The last chapter left the reader in the door-way of the Colonel'smansion. Before entering, we will linger there awhile and survey theoutside of the premises.
The house stands where two roads meet, and, unlike most planters'dwellings, is located in full view of the highway. It is a rambling,disjointed structure, thrown together with no regard to architecturalrules, and yet there is a rude harmony in its very irregularities thathas a pleasing effect. The main edifice, with a frontage of nearlyeighty feet, is only one and a half stories high, and is overshadowed bya broad projecting roof, which somehow, though in a very natural way,drops down at the eaves, and forms the covering of a piazza, twenty feetwide, and extending across the entire front of the house. At itssouth-easterly angle, the roof is truncated, and made again to form acovering for the piazza, which there extends along a line of irregularbuildings for sixty yards. A portion of the verandah on this side beingenclosed, forms a bowling-alley and smoking-room, two essentialappendages to a planter's residence. The whole structure is covered withyellow-pine weather boarding, which in some former age was covered withpaint of a grayish brown color. This, in many places, has peeled offand allowed the sap to ooze from the pine, leaving every here and therelarge blotches on the surface, somewhat resembling the "warts" I haveseen on the trunks of old trees.
The house is encircled by grand old pines, whose tall, upright stems,soaring eighty and ninety feet in the air, make the low hamlet seemlower by the contrast. They have stood there for centuries, their rough,shaggy coats buttoned close to their chins, and their long green lockswaving in the wind; but the long knife has been thrust into their veins,and their life-blood is now fast oozing away.
With the exception of the negro huts, which are scattered at irregularintervals through the woods in the rear of the mansion, there is not ahuman habitation within an hour's ride; but such a cosy, inviting,hospitable atmosphere surrounds the whole place, that a stranger doesnot realize he has happened upon it in a wilderness.
The interior of the dwelling is in keeping with the exterior, though inthe drawing-rooms, where rich furniture and fine paintings actuallylumber the apartments, there is evident the lack of a nice perception ofthe "fitness of things," and over the whole hangs a "dusty air," whichreminds one that the Milesian Bridget does not "flourish" in SouthCarolina.
I was met in the entrance-way by a tall, fine-looking woman, to whom theColonel introduced me as follows:
"Mr. K----, this is Madam P----, my housekeeper; she will try to makeyou forget that Mrs. J---- is absent."
After a few customary courtesies were exchanged, I was shown to adressing-room, and with the aid of Jim, a razor, and one of theColonel's shirts--all of mine having undergone a drenching--soon made atolerably presentable appearance. The negro then conducted me to thebreakfast-room, where I found the family assembled.
It consisted, besides the housekeeper, of a tall, raw-boned,sandy-haired personage, with a low brow, a blear eye, and a sneakinglook--the overseer of the plantation; and of a well-mannered,intelligent lad--with the peculiarly erect carriage and uncommonblending of good-natured ease and dignity which distinguished myhost--who was introduced to me as the housekeeper's son.
Madam P----, who presided over the "tea-things," was a person of perhapsthirty-five, but a rich olive complexion, enlivened by a delicate redtint, and relieved by thick masses of black hair, made her appear to acasual observer several years younger. Her face bore vestiges of greatbeauty, which time, and, perhaps, care, had mellowed but notobliterated, and her conversation indicated high cultivation. She hadevidently mingled in refined society in this country and in Europe, andit was a strange freak of fortune that had reduced her to a menialcondition in the family of a backwoods planter.
After some general conversation, the Colonel remarked that his wife anddaughter would pass the winter in Charleston.
"And do _you_ remain on the plantation?" I inquired.
"Oh yes, I am needed here," he replied; "but Madam's son is with myfamily."
"Madam's son!" I exclaimed in astonishment, forgetting in my surprisethat the lady was present.
"Yes, sir," she remarked, "my oldest boy is twenty."
"Excuse me, Madam; I forgot that in your climate one never grows old."
"There you are wrong, sir; I'm sure I _feel_ old when I think how soonmy boys will be men."
"Not old yet, Alice," said the Colonel, in a singularly familiar tone;"you seem to me no older than when you were fifteen."
"You have been long acquainted," I remarked, not knowing exactly what tosay.
"Oh, yes," replied my host, "we were children together."
"Your Southern country, Madam, affords a fine field for young men ofenterprise."
"My eldest son resides in Germany," replied the lady. "He expects tomake that country his home. He would have passed his examination atHeidelberg this autumn had not circumstances called him here."
"You are widely separated," I replied.
"Yes, sir; his father thinks it best, and I suppose it is. Thomas,here, is to return with his brother, and I may live to see neither ofthem again."
My curiosity was naturally much excited to learn more, but nothingfurther being volunteered, and the conversation soon turning to othertopics, I left the table with it unsatisfied.
After enjoying a quiet hour with the Colonel in the smoking-room, heinvited me to join him in a ride over the plantation. I gladly assented,and Jim shortly announced the horses were in waiting. That darky, whoinvariably attended his master when the latter proceeded from home,accompanied us. As we were mounting I bethought me of Scip, and askedwhere he was.
"He'm gwine to gwo, massa, and want to say good-by to you."
It seemed madness for Scip to start on a journey of seventy mileswithout rest, so I requested the Colonel to let him remain till the nextday. He cheerfully assented, and sent Jim to find him. While waiting forthe darky, I spoke of how faithfully he had served me during my journey.
"He's a splendid nigger," replied the Colonel; "worth his weight ingold. If affairs were more settled I would buy him."
"But Colonel A---- tells me he is too intelligent. He objects to'knowing' niggers."
"_I_ do not," replied my host, "if they are honest, and I would trustScip with uncounted gold. Look at him," he continued, as the negroapproached; "were flesh and bones ever better put together?"
The darky _was_ a fine specimen of sable humanity, and I readilyunderstood why the practiced eye of the Colonel appreciated his physicaldevelopments.
"Scip," I said, "you must not think of going to-day; the Colonel will beglad to let you remain until you are fully rested."
"Tank you, massa, tank you bery much, but de ole man will spec' me, andI orter gwo."
"Oh, never mind old----," said the Colonel, "I'll take care of him."
"Tank you, Cunnel, den I'll stay har till de mornin'."
Taking a by-path which led through the forest in the rear of themansion, we soon reached a small stream, and, following its course for ashort distance, came upon a turpentine distillery, which the Colonelexplained to me was one of three that prepared the product of hisplantation for market, and provided for his family of nearly threehundred souls.
It was enclosed, or rather roofed, by a rude structure of rough boards,which was open at the sides, and sustained on a number of pine polesabout thirty feet in height, and bore a strong resemblance to the usualcovering of a New England haystack.
Three stout negro men, divested of all clothing excepting a pair ofcoarse gray trowsers and a red shirt--it was a raw, cold, wintryday--and with cotton bandannas bound about their heads, were "tendingthe still." The foreman stood on a raised platform level with its top,but as we approached very quietly seated himself on a turpentine barrelwhich a moment before he had rolled over the mouth of the boiler.Another negro was below, feeding the fire with "light wood," and a thirdwas tending the trough by which the liquid rosin found it
s way into thesemicircle of rough barrels intended for its reception.
"Hello, Junius, what in creation are you doing there?" asked theColonel, as we approached, of the negro on the turpentine barrel.
"Holein' her down, Cunnel; de ole ting got a mine to blow up dismornin'; I'se got dis barrl up har to hole her down."
"Why, you everlasting nigger, if the top leaks you'll be blown toeternity in half a second."
"Reckon not, massa; be barrl and me kin hole her. We'll take de risk."
"Perhaps _you_ will," said the Colonel, laughing, "but I wont. Niggerproperty isn't of much account, but you're too good a darky, June, to besent to the devil for a charge of turpentine."
"Tank you, massa, but you dun kno' dis ole ting like I do. You cudn'tblow her up nohow; I'se tried her afore dis way."
"Don't you do it again; now mind; if you do I'll make a white man ofyou." (This I suppose referred to a process of flaying with a whip;though the whip is generally thought to _redden_, not _whiten_, thenegro.)
The black did not seem at all alarmed, for he showed his ivories in abroad grin as he replied, "Jess as you say, massa; you'se de boss in disshanty."
Directing the fire to be raked out, and the still to stand unused untilit was repaired, the Colonel turned his horse to go, when he observedthat the third negro was shoeless, and his feet chapped and swollen withthe cold. "Jake," he said, "where are your shoes?"
"Wored out, massa."
"Worn out! Why haven't you been to me?"
"'Cause, massa, I know'd you'd jaw; you tole me I wears 'em out mightyfass."
"Well, you do, that's a fact; but go to Madam and get a pair; and you,June, you've been a decent nigger, you can ask for a dress for Rosy. Howis little June?"
"Mighty pore, massa; de ma'am war dar lass night and dis mornin', andshe reckun he'm gwine to gwo, sartain."
"Sorry to hear that," said the Colonel. "I'll go and see him. Don't feelbadly, June," he continued, for the tears welled up to the eyes of theblack man as he spoke of his child; "we all must die."
"I knows dat, massa, but it am hard to hab 'em gwo."
"Yes, it is, June, but we may save him."
"Ef you cud, massa! Oh, ef you cud!" and the poor darky covered his facewith his great hands and sobbed like a child.
We rode on to another "still," and there dismounting, the Colonelexplained to me the process of gathering and manufacturing turpentine.The trees are "boxed" and "tapped" early in the year, while the frost isstill in the ground. "Boxing" is the process of scooping a cavity in thetrunk of the tree by means of a peculiarly shaped axe, made for thepurpose; "tapping" is scarifying the rind of the wood above the boxes.This is never done until the trees have been worked one season, but itis then repeated year after year, till on many plantations they presentthe marks of twenty and frequently thirty annual "tappings," and areoften denuded of bark for a distance of thirty feet from the ground. Thenecessity for this annual tapping arises from the fact that the scar onthe trunk heals at the end of a season, and the sap will no longer runfrom it; a fresh wound is therefore made each spring. The sap flows downthe scarified surface and collects in the boxes, which are emptied sixor eight times in a year, according to the length of the season. This isthe process of "dipping," and it is done with a tin or iron vesselconstructed to fit the cavity in the tree.
The turpentine gathered from the newly boxed or virgin tree is veryvaluable, on account of its producing a peculiarly clear and whiterosin, which is used in the manufacture of the finer kinds of soap, andby "Rosin the Bow." It commands, ordinarily, nearly five times the priceof the common article. When barrelled, the turpentine is frequently sentto market in its crude state, but more often is distilled on theplantation, the gatherers generally possessing means sufficient to owna still.
In the process of distilling, the crude turpentine is "dumped" into theboiler through an opening in the top--the same as that on which we sawJunius composedly seated--water is then poured upon it, the aperturemade tight by screwing down the cover and packing it with clay, a firebuilt underneath, and when the heat reaches several hundred degreesFahrenheit, the process of manufacture begins. The volatile and morevaluable part of the turpentine, by the action of the heat, rises asvapor, then condensing flows off through a pipe in the top of the still,and comes out spirits of turpentine, while the heavier portion findsvent at a lower aperture, and comes out rosin.
No article of commerce is so liable to waste and leakage as turpentine.The spirits can only be preserved in tin cans, or in thoroughly seasonedoak barrels, made tight by a coating of glue on the inner side. Thoughthe material for these barrels exists at the South in luxuriantabundance, they are all procured from the North, and the closing of theSouthern ports has now entirely cut off the supply; for while theturpentine farmer may improvise coopers, he can by no process give theoak timber the seasoning which is needed to render the barrelspirit-tight. Hence it is certain that a large portion of the last cropof turpentine must have gone to waste. When it is remembered that theone State of North Carolina exports annually nearly twenty millions invalue of this product, and employs fully two-thirds of its negroes inits production, it will be seen how dearly the South is paying for themad freak of secession. Putting out of view his actual loss of produce,how does the turpentine farmer feed and employ his negroes? and pressedas these blacks inevitably are by both hunger and idleness, thoseprolific breeders of sedition, what will keep them quiet?
"What effect will secession have on your business?" I asked the Colonel,after a while.
"A favorable one. I shall ship my crop direct to Liverpool and London,instead of selling it to New York middle-men."
"But is not the larger portion of the turpentine crop consumed at theNorth?"
"Oh, yes. We shall have to deal with the Yankees anyhow, but we shall doas little with them as possible."
"Suppose the Yankees object to your setting up by yourselves, and putyour ports under lock and key?"
"They wont do that, and if they do, England will break the blockade."
"We may rap John Bull over the knuckles in that event," I replied.
"Well, suppose you do; what then?"
"Merely, England would not have a ship in six months to carry yourcotton. A war with her would ruin the shipping trade of the North. Ourmarine would seek employment at privateering, and soon sweep everyBritish merchant ship from the ocean. We could afford to give up tenyears' trade with you, and to put secession down by force, for the sakeof a year's brush with John Bull."
"But, my good friend, where would the British navy be all this while?"
"Asleep. The English haven't a steamer that can catch a Brookhavenschooner. The last war proved that government vessels are no match forprivateers."
"Well, well! but the Yankees wont fight."
"Suppose they do. Suppose they shut up your ports, and leave you withyour cotton and turpentine unsold? You raise scarcely any thingelse--what would you eat?"
"We would turn our cotton fields into corn and wheat. Turpentine-makers,of course, would suffer."
"Then why are not _you_ a Union man?"
"My friend, I have nearly three hundred mouths to feed. I depend on thesale of my crop to give them food. If our ports are closed, I cannot doit--they will starve, and I be ruined. But sooner than submit to thedomination of the cursed Yankees, I will see my negroes starving, and mychild a beggar!"
At this point in the conversation we arrived at the negro shanty wherethe sick child was. Dismounting, the Colonel and I entered.
The cabin was almost a counterpart of the "Mills House," described inthe previous chapter, but it had a plank flooring, and was scrupulouslyneat and clean. The logs were stripped of bark, and whitewashed. Abright, cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, and an air of rudecomfort pervaded the whole interior. On a low bed in the farther cornerof the room lay the sick child. He was a boy of about twelve years, andevidently in the last stages of consumption. By his side, bending overhim as if to catch his almost
inaudible words, sat a tidy,youthful-looking colored woman, his mother, and the wife of the negro wehad met at the "still." Playing on the floor, was a younger child,perhaps five years old, but while the faces of the mother and the sicklad were of the hue of charcoal, _his_ skin by a process well understoodat the South, had been bleached to a bright yellow.
The woman took no notice of our entrance, but the little fellow ran tothe Colonel and caught hold of the skirts of his coat in a free-and-easyway, saying, "Ole massa, you got suffin' for Dicky?"
"No, you little nig," replied the Colonel, patting his woolly head as Imight have done a white child's, "Dicky isn't a good boy."
"Yas, I is," said the little darky; "you'se ugly ole massa to gibnuffin' to Dick."
Aroused by the Colonel's voice, the woman turned toward us. Her eyeswere swollen, and her face bore traces of deep emotion.
"Oh massa!" she said, "de chile am dyin'! It'm all along ob his workin'in de swamp--no _man_ orter work dar, let alone a chile like dis."
"Do you think he is dying, Rosy?" asked the Colonel, approaching thebed-side.
"Shore, massa, he'm gwine fass. Look at 'im."
The boy had dwindled to a skeleton, and the skin lay on his face incrimpled folds, like a mask of black crape. His eyes were fixed, and hewas evidently going.
"Don't you know massa, my boy?" said the Colonel, taking his handtenderly in his.
The child's lips slightly moved, but I could hear no sound. The Colonelput his ear down to him for a moment, then, turning to me, said:
"He _is_ dying. Will you be so good as to step to the house and askMadam P---- here, and please tell Jim to go for Junius and the old man."
I returned in a short while with the lady, but found the boy's fatherand "the old man"--the darky preacher of the plantation--there beforeus. The preacher was a venerable old negro, much bowed by years, andwith thin wool as white as snow. When we entered, he was bending overthe dying boy, but shortly turning to my host, said:
"Massa, de blessed Lord am callin' for de chile--shall we pray?"
The Colonel nodded assent, and we all, blacks and whites, knelt down onthe floor, while the old preacher made a short, heart-touching prayer.It was a simple, humble acknowledgment of the dependence of the creatureon the Creator--of His right to give and to take away, and was utteredin a free, conversational tone, as if long communion with his Maker hadplaced the old negro on a footing of friendly familiarity with Him, andgiven the black slave the right to talk with the Deity as one man talkswith another.
As we rose from our knees my host said to me, "It is _my_ duty to stayhere, but I will not detain _you_. Jim will show you over theplantation. I will join you at the house when this is over." The scenewas a painful one, and I gladly availed myself of the Colonel'ssuggestion.
Mounting our horses, Jim and I rode off to the negro house where Scipwas staying.
Scip was not at the cabin, and the old negro woman told us he had beenaway for several hours.
"Reckon he'll be 'way all day, sar," said Jim, as we turned our horsesto go.
"He ought to be resting against the ride of to-morrow. Where has hegone?"
"Dunno, sar, but reckon he'm gwine to fine Sam."
"Sam? Oh, he's the runaway the Colonel has advertised."
"Yas, sar, he'm 'way now more'n a monfh."
"How can Scip find him?"
"Dunno, sar. Scipio know most ebery ting--reckon he'll track him. Heknow him well, and Sam'll cum back ef he say he orter."
"Where do you think Sam is?"
"P'raps in de swamp."
"Where is the swamp?"
"'Bout ten mile from har."
"Oh, yes! the shingles are cut there. I should think a runaway would bediscovered where so many men are at work."
"No, massa, dar'm places dar whar de ole debble cudn't fine him, nor dedogs nudder."
"I thought the bloodhounds would track a man anywhere."
"Not fru de water, massa; dey lose de scent in de swamp."
"But how can a man live there--how get food?"
"De darkies dat work dar take 'em nuff."
"Then the other negroes know where the runaways are; don't theysometimes betray them?"
"Neber, massa; a darky neber tells on anoder. De Cunnel had a boy in datswamp once good many years."
"Is it possible! Did he come back?"
"No, he died dar. Sum ob de hands found him dead one mornin' in de hutwhar he lib'd, and buried him dar."
"Why did Sam run away?"
"'Cause de oberseer flog him. He use him bery hard, massa."
"What had Sam done?"
"Nuffin, massa."
"Then why was he flogged? Did the Colonel know it?"
"Oh, yas; Moye cum de possum ober de Cunnel, and make him b'lieve Samwar bad. De Cunnel dunno de hull ob dat story."
"Why didn't _you_, tell him? The Colonel trusts _you_."
"'T wudn't hab dun no good; de Cunnel wud hab flogged me for tellin' ona wite man. Nigga's word aint ob no account."
"What is the story about, Sam?"
"You wont tell dat _I_ tole you, massa?"
"No, but I'll tell the Colonel the truth."
"Wal den, sar, you see Sam's wife am bery good-lookin', her skin's mostwite--her mudder war a mulatter, her fader a wite man--she lub'd Sam'bout as well as de wimmin ginrally lub dar husbands" (Jim was abachelor, and his observation of plantation morals had given him butlittle faith in the sex), "but most ob 'em, ef dey'm married or no, tinkdey must smile on de wite men, so Jule she smiled on de oberseer--so Samtought--and it made him bery jealous. He war sort o' sassy, and deoberseer strung him up, and flog him bery hard. Den Sam took to deswamp, but he didn't know whar to gwo, and de dogs tracked him; he'd ha'got 'way dough ef ole Moye hadn't a shot him; den he cudn't run. DenMoye flogged him till he war 'most dead, and arter dat chained him downin de ole cabin, and gave him 'most nuffin' to eat. De Cunnel war gwineto take Sam to Charles'on and sell him, but somehow he got a file andsawed fru de chain and got 'way in de night to de 'still.' Den when deoberseer come dar in de mornin', Sam jump on him and 'most kill him.He'd hab sent him whar dar aint no niggas, ef Junius hadn't a holed him._I'd_ a let de ole debble gwo."
"Junius, then, is a friend of the overseer."
"No, sar; _he_ haint no friends, 'cep de debble; but June am a goodnigga, and he said 'twarn't right to kill ole Moye so sudden, for dendar'd be no chance for de Lord to forgib him."
"Then Sam got away again?"
"Oh yas; nary one but darkies war round, and dey wouldn't hole him. Efdey'd cotched him den, dey'd hung him, shore."
"Why hung him?"
"'Cause he'd struck a wite man; it'm shore death to do dat."
"Do you think Scip will bring him back?"
"Yas; 'cause he'm gwine to tell massa de hull story. De Cunnel willb'lieve Scipio ef he _am_ brack. Sam'll know dat, so he'll come back. DeCunnel'll make de State too hot to hole ole Moye, when he fine him out."
"Does Sam's wife 'smile' on the overseer now?"
"No; she see de trubble she bring on Sam, and she bery sorry. She wontlook at a wite man now."
During the foregoing conversation, we had ridden for several miles overthe western half of the plantation, and were again near the house. Mylimbs being decidedly stiff and sore from the effect of the previousday's journey, I decided to alight and rest until the hour for dinner.
I mentioned my jaded condition to Jim, who said:
"Dat's right, massa; come in de house. I'll cure de rumatics; I knowshow to fix dem."
Fastening the horses at the door, Jim accompanied me to mysleeping-room, where he lighted a fire of pine knots, which in a momentblazed up on the hearth and sent a cheerful glow through the apartment;then, saying he would return after stabling the horses, the darky leftme.
I took off my boots, drew the sofa near the fire, and stretched myselfat full length upon it. If ever mortal was tired, "I reckon" I was. Itseemed as though every joint and bone in my body had lost the power o
fmotion, and sharp, acute pains danced along my nerves, as I have seenthe lightning play along the telegraph wires. My entire system had thetoothache.
Jim soon returned, bearing in one hand a decanter of "Otard," and in theother a mug of hot water and a crash towel.
"I'se got de stuff dat'll fix de rumatics, massa."
"Thank you, Jim; a glass will do me good. Where did you get it?" Iasked, thinking it strange the Colonel should leave his brandy-bottlewithin reach of the negroes, who have an universal weakness for spirits.
"Oh, I keeps de keys; de Cunnel hissef hab to come to me when he wantsuffin' to warm hissef."
It was the fact; Jim had exclusive charge of the wine-cellar; in short,was butler, barber, porter, footman, and body-servant, all combined.
"Now, massa, you lay right whar you is, and I'll make you ober new inless dan no time."
And he did; but I emptied the brandy-bottle. Lest my temperance friendsshould be horror-stricken, I will mention, however, that I took thefluid by external absorption. For all rheumatic sufferers, I wouldprescribe hot brandy, in plentiful doses, a coarse towel, and an activeSouthern darky, and if on the first application the patient is notcured, the fault will not be the negro's. Out of mercy to the chivalry,I hope our government, in saving the Union, will not annihilate theorder of body-servants. They are the only perfect institution in theSouthern country, and, so far as I have seen, about the only one worthsaving.
The dinner-bell sounded a short while after Jim had finished thescrubbing operation, and I went to the table with an appetite I had notfelt for a week. My whole system was rejuvenated, and I am not sure thatI should, at that moment, have declined a wrestling match with Heenanhimself.
I found at dinner only the overseer and the young son of Madam P----,the Colonel and the lady being still at the cabin of the dying boy. Thedinner, though a queer mixture of viands, would not have disgraced,except, perhaps, in the cooking, the best of our Northern hotels.Venison, bacon, wild fowl, hominy, poultry, corn bread, French"made-dishes," and Southern "common doin's," with wines and brandies ofthe choicest brands, were placed on the table together.
"Dis, massa," said Jim, "am de raal juice; it hab been in de cellar ebersince de house war built. Massa tole me to gib you some, wid himcomplimen's."
Passing it to my companions, I drank the Colonel's health in as finewine as I ever tasted.
I had taken an instinctive dislike to the overseer at thebreakfast-table, and my aversion was not lessened by learning histreatment of Sam; curiosity to know what manner of man he was, however,led me, toward the close of our meal, to "draw him out," as follows:
"What is the political sentiment, sir, of this section of the State?"
"Wal, I reckon most of the folks 'bout har' is Union; they'm from the'old North,' and gin'rally pore trash."
"I have heard that the majority of the turpentine-farmers areenterprising men and good citizens--more enterprising, even, than thecotton and rice planters."
"Wal, they is enterprisin', 'cause they don't keer for nuthin' 'cep'money."
"The man who is absorbed in money-getting is generally a quiet citizen."
"P'raps that's so. But I think a man sh'u'd hev a soul suthin' 'bovedollars. Them folks will take any sort o' sarce from the Yankees, efthey'll only buy thar truck."
"What do you suffer from the Yankees?"
"Suffer from the Yankees? Don't they steal our niggers, and haint they'lected an ab'lishener for President?"
"I've been at the North lately, but I am not aware that is so."
"So! it's damnably so, sir. I knows it. We don't mean to stand it enylonger."
"What will you do?"
"We'll give 'em h--l, ef they want it!"
"Will it not be necessary to agree among yourselves before you do that?I met a turpentine farmer below here who openly declared that he isfriendly to abolishing slavery. He thinks the masters can make moremoney by hiring than by owning the negroes."
"Yes, that's the talk of them North County[D] fellers, who've squattedround har. We'll hang every mother's son on 'em, by ----."
"I wouldn't do that: in a free country every man has a right to hisopinions."
"Not to sech opinions as them. A man may think, but he mustn't thinkonraasonable."
"I don't know, but it seems to me reasonable, that if the negroes costthese farmers now one hundred and fifty dollars a year, and they couldhire them, if free, for seventy-five or a hundred, that they would makeby abolition."
"Ab'lish'n! By--, sir, ye aint an ab'lishener, is ye?" exclaimed thefellow, in an excited manner, bringing his hand down on the table in away that set the crockery a-dancing.
"Come, come, my friend," I replied, in a mild tone, and as unruffled asa pool of water that has been out of a December night; "you'll knock offthe dinner things, and I'm not quite through."
"Wal, sir, I've heerd yer from the North, and I'd like to know if yer anab'lishener."
"My dear sir, you surprise me. You certainly can't expect a modest manlike me to speak of himself."
"Ye can speak of what ye d-- please, but ye can't talk ab'lish'n har,by--," he said, again applying his hand to the table, till the platesand saucers jumped up, performed several jigs, then several reels, andthen rolled over in graceful somersaults to the floor.
At this juncture, the Colonel and Madam P---- entered.
Observing the fall in his crockery, and the general confusion of things,my host quietly asked, "What's to pay?"
I said nothing, but burst into a fit of laughter at the awkwardpredicament of the overseer. That gentleman also said nothing, butlooked as if he would like to find vent through a rat-hole or awindow-pane. Jim, however, who stood at the back of my chair, gave _his_eloquent thoughts utterance, very much as follows:
"Moye hab 'sulted Massa K----, Cunnel, awful bad. He hab swore a bluestreak at him, and called him a d-- ab'lishener, jess 'cause Massa K----wudn't get mad and sass him back. He hab disgrace your hosspital,Cunnel, wuss dan a nigga."
The Colonel turned white with rage, and striding up to Moye, seized himby the throat, yelling, rather than speaking, these words: "Youd---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----, have you dared to insult a guest inmy house?"
"I did'nt mean to 'sult him," faltered out the overseer, his voicerunning through an entire octave, and changing with the varying pressureof the Colonel's fingers on his throat; "but he said he war anab'lishener."
"No matter what he said, he is my guest, and in my house he shall saywhat he pleases, by--. Apologize to him, or I'll send you to h--in asecond."
The fellow turned cringingly to me, and ground out something like this,every word seeming to give him the face-ache:
"I meant no offence, sar; I hope ye'll excuse me."
This satisfied me, but, before I could reply, the Colonel again seizedhim by the throat and yelled:
"None of your sulkiness; you d-- white-livered hound, ask the gentleman'spardon like a man."
The fellow then got out, with less effort than before:
"I 'umbly ax yer pardon, sar, very 'umbly, indeed."
"I am satisfied, sir," I replied. "I bear you no ill-will."
"Now go," said the Colonel; "and in future take your meals in yourcabin. I have none but gentlemen at my table."
The fellow went. As soon as he closed the door, the Colonel said to me:
"Now, my dear friend, I hope you will pardon _me_ for this occurrence. Isincerely regret you have been insulted in my house."
"Don't speak of it, my dear sir; the fellow is ignorant, and reallythinks I am an abolitionist. His zeal in politics led to his warmth. Iblame him very little," I replied.
"But he lied, Massa K----," chimed in Jim, very warmly; "you neber saidyou war an ab'lishener."
"You know what _they_ are, Jim, don't you?" said the Colonel, laughing,and taking no notice of his breach of decorum in wedging black ideasinto a white conversation.
"Yas, I does dat," said the darky, grinning.
"Jim," said his master,
"you're a prince of a nigger, but you talk toomuch; ask me for something to-day, and I reckon you'll get it; but gonow, and tell Chloe (the cook) to get us some dinner."
The negro left, and, excusing myself, I soon followed suit.
I went to my room, laid down on the lounge, and soon fell asleep. It wasnearly five o'clock when a slight noise in the apartment awoke me, and,looking up, I saw the Colonel quietly seated by the fire, smoking acigar. His feet were elevated above his head, and he appeared absorbedin no very pleasant reflections.
"How is the sick boy, Colonel?" I asked.
"It's all over with him, my friend. He died easy; but 'twas very painfulto me; I feel I have done him wrong."
"How so?"
"I was away all summer, and that cursed Moye sent him to the swamp totote for the shinglers. It killed him."
"Then you are not to blame," I replied.
"I wish I could feel so."
The Colonel remained with me till supper-time, evidently much depressedby the events of the morning, which had affected him more than I shouldhave thought possible. I endeavored, by directing his mind to othertopics, to cheer him, and in a measure succeeded.
While we were seated at the supper table, the black cook entered fromthe kitchen--a one-story shanty, detached from, and in the rear of thehouse--and, with a face expressive of every conceivable emotion a negrocan feel--joy, sorrow, wonder, and fear all combined--exclaimed, "Omassa, massa! dear massa! Sam, O Sam!"
"Sam!" said the Colonel; "what about Sam?"
"Why, he hab--dear, dear massa, don't yer, don't yer hurt him--he habcome back!"
If a bombshell had fallen in the room, a greater sensation could nothave been produced. Every individual arose from the table, and theColonel, striding up and down the apartment, exclaimed:
"Is he mad? The everlasting fool! Why in h--has he come back?"
"Oh, don't ye hurt him massa," said the black cook, wringing her hands."Sam hab been bad, bery bad, but he won't be so no more."
"Stop your noise, aunty," said the Colonel, but with no harshness in histone. "I shall do what I think right."
"Send for him, David," said Madame P----; "let us hear what he has tosay. He would not come back if he meant to be ugly."
"_Send_ for him, Alice!" replied my host. "He's prouder than Lucifer,and would send me word to come to _him_. I will go. Will you accompanyme, Mr. K----? You'll hear what a runaway nigger thinks of slavery: Samhas the gift of speech, and uses it regardless of persons."
"Yes, sir, I'll go with pleasure."
It was about an hour after nightfall when we emerged from the door ofthe mansion and took our way to the negro quarters. The full moon hadrisen half way above the horizon, and the dark pines cast their shadowsaround the little collection of negro huts, which straggled aboutthrough the woods for the distance of a third of a mile. It was dark,but I could distinguish the figure of a man striding along at a rapidpace a few hundred yards in advance of us.
"Is'nt that Moye?" I asked the Colonel, directing his attention to thereceding figure.
"I reckon so; that's his gait. He's had a lesson to-day that'll do himgood."
"I don't like that man's looks," I replied, carelessly; "but I've heardof singed cats."
"He _is_ a sneaking d--l," said the Colonel; "but he's very valuable tome. I never had an overseer who got so much work out of the hands."
"Is he severe with them?"
"Well, I reckon he is; but a nigger is like a dog--you must flog him tomake him like you."
"I judge your niggers haven't been flogged into liking Moye."
"Why, have you heard any of them speak of him?"
"Yes; though, of course, I've made no effort to draw gossip from them. Ihad to hear."
"O yes; I know; there's no end to their gabble; niggers will talk. Butwhat have you heard?"
"That Moye is to blame in this affair of Sam, and that you don't knowthe whole story."
"What _is_ the whole story?" he asked, stopping short in the road; "tellme before I see Sam."
I then told him what Jim had recounted to me. He heard me throughattentively, then laughingly exclaimed:
"Is that all! Lord bless you, he didn't seduce her. There's no seducingthese women; with them it's a thing of course. It was Sam's d-- highblood that made the trouble. His father was the proudest man inVirginia, and Sam is as like him as a nigger can be like a white man."
"No matter what the blood is, it seems to me such an injury justifiesrevenge."
"Pshaw, my good fellow, you don't know these people. I'll stake myplantation against a glass of whiskey there's not a virtuous woman witha drop of black blood in her veins in all South Carolina. They preferthe white men; their husbands know it, and take it as a matter ofcourse."
We had here reached the negro cabin. It was one of the more remote ofthe collection, and stood deep in the woods, an enormous pine growing updirectly beside the doorway. In all respects it was like the other hutson the plantation. A bright fire lit up its interior, and through thecrevices in the logs we saw, as we approached, a scene that made uspause involuntarily, when within a few rods of the house. The mulattoman, whose clothes were torn and smeared with swamp mud, stood near thefire. On a small pine table near him lay a large carving-knife, whichglittered in the blaze, as if recently sharpened. His wife was seated onthe side of the low bed at his back, weeping. She was two or threeshades lighter than the man, and had the peculiar brown, kinky hair,straight, flat nose, and speckled, gray eyes which mark the metif.Tottling on the floor at the feet of the man, and caressing his knees,was a child of perhaps two years.
As we neared the house, we heard the voice of the overseer issuing fromthe doorway on the other side of the pine-tree.
"Come out, ye black rascal."
"Come in, you wite hound, ef you dar," responded the negro, laying hishand on the carving-knife.
"Come out, I till ye; I sha'n't ax ye agin."
"I'll hab nuffin' to do wid you. G'way and send your massa har," repliedthe mulatto man, turning his face away with a lordly, contemptuousgesture, that spoke him a true descendant of Pocahontas. This movementexposed his left side to the doorway, outside of which, hidden from usby the tree, stood the overseer.
"Come away, Moye," said the Colonel, advancing with me toward the door;"_I'll_ speak to him."
Before all of the words had escaped the Colonel's lips, a streak of fireflashed from where the overseer stood, and took the direction of thenegro. One long, wild shriek--one quick, convulsive bound in theair--and Sam fell lifeless to the floor, the dark life-stream pouringfrom his side. The little child also fell with him, and its greasy,grayish shirt was dyed with its father's blood. Moye, at the distance often feet, had discharged the two barrels of a heavily-loaded shot-gundirectly through the negro's heart.
"You incarnate son of h--," yelled the Colonel, as he sprang on theoverseer, bore him to the ground, and wrenched the shot-gun from hishand. Clubbing the weapon, he raised it to brain him. The movementoccupied but a second; the gun was descending, and in another instantMoye would have met Sam in eternity, had not a brawny arm caught theColonel's, and, winding itself around his body, pinned his limbs to hisside so that motion was impossible. The woman, half frantic withexcitement, thrust open the door when her husband fell, and the lightwhich came through it revealed the face of the new-comer. But his voice,which rang out on the night air as clear as a bugle, had there been nolight, would have betrayed him. It was Scip. Spurning the prostrateoverseer with his foot, he shouted:
"Run, you wite debble, run for your life!"
"Let me go, you black scoundrel," shrieked the Colonel, wild with rage.
"When he'm out ob reach, you'd kill him," replied the negro, as cool asif he was doing an ordinary thing.
"I'll kill you, you black--hound, if you don't let me go," againscreamed the Colonel, struggling violently in the negro's grasp, andliterally foaming at the mouth.
"I shan't lef you gwo, Cunnel, till you 'gree not to do dat."
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The Colonel was a stout, athletic man, in the very prime of life, andhis rage gave him more than his ordinary strength, but Scip held him asI might have held a child.
"Here, Jim," shouted the Colonel to his body-servant, who just thenemerged from among the trees, "'rouse the plantation--shoot thisd-- nigger."
"Dar aint one on 'em wud touch him, massa. He'd send _me_ to de debblewid one fist."
"You ungrateful dog," groaned his master. "Mr. K----, will you stand byand see me handcuffed by a miserable slave?"
"The black means well, my friend; he has saved you from murder. Say heis safe, and I'll answer for his being away in an hour."
The Colonel made one more ineffectual attempt to free himself from thevice-like grip of the negro, then relaxing his efforts, and, gatheringhis broken breath, he said, "You're safe _now_, but if you're foundwithin ten miles of my plantation by sunrise, by--you're a dead man."
The negro relinquished his hold, and, without saying a word, walkedslowly away.
"Jim, you--rascal," said the Colonel to that courageous darky, who wasskulking off, "raise every nigger on the plantation, catch Moye, or I'llflog you within an inch of your life."
"I'll do dat, Cunnel; I'll kotch de ole debble, ef he's dis side de hotplace."
His words were echoed by about twenty other darkies, who, attracted bythe noise of the fracas, had gathered within a safe distance of thecabin. They went off with Jim, to raise the other plantation hands, andinaugurate the hunt.
"If that -- nigger hadn't held me, I'd had Moye in -- by this time," saidthe Colonel to me, still livid with excitement.
"The law will deal with him, my friend. The negro has saved you frommurder."
"The law be d--; it's too good for such a--hound; and that the d-- niggershould have dared to hold me--by--he'll rue it."
He then turned, exhausted with the recent struggle, and, with a weak,uncertain step, entered the cabin. Kneeling down by the dead body of thenegro, he attempted to raise it; but his strength was gone. He motionedto me to aid him, and we placed the corpse on the bed. Tearing open theclothing, we wiped away the still flowing blood, and saw the terriblewound which had sent the negro to his account. It was sickening to lookon, and I turned to go.
The negro woman, who was weeping and wringing her hands, now approached,and, in a voice nearly choked with sobs, said:
"Massa, oh massa, I done it! it's me dat killed him!"
"I know you did, you d----. Get out of my sight."
"Oh, massa," sobbed the woman, falling on her knees, "I'se so sorry; oh,forgib me!"
"Go to ----, you ----, that's the place for you," said the Colonel, strikingthe kneeling woman with his foot, and felling her to the floor.
Unwilling to see or hear more, I left the master with the slave.
[Footnote D: The "North Counties" are the north-eastern portion of NorthCarolina, and include the towns of Washington and Newbern. They are anold turpentine region, and the trees are nearly exhausted. The finervirgin forests of South Carolina, and other cotton States, have temptedmany of the North County farmers to emigrate thither, within the pastten years, and they now own nearly all the trees that are worked inSouth Carolina, Georgia, and Florida. They generally have few slaves oftheir own, their hands being hired of wealthier men in their nativedistricts. The "hiring" is an annual operation, and is done at Christmastime, when the negroes are frequently allowed to go home. They treat theslaves well, give them an allowance of meat (salt pork or beef), as muchcorn as they can eat, and a gill of whiskey daily. No class of men atthe South are so industrious, energetic, and enterprising. Though not sowell informed, they have many of the traits of our New England farmers;in fact, are frequently called "North Carolina Yankees." It was thesepeople the overseer proposed to hang. The reader will doubtless thinkthat "hanging was not good enough for them."]
Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time Page 6