Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time

by James R. Gilmore

  CHAPTER XVII.

  THE SMALL PLANTER.

  In the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends, and the words ofconsolation bring no relief. How much more harshly do such words grateon the ear when the soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret!Then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with God.

  I saw that the Colonel would be alone, and turning to him, as heprepared to follow the strange vehicle, which, with its load of death,was already jolting its way over the rough forest road, I said,

  "Will you pardon me, if I remain with your friend here for awhile? Iwill be at the mansion before dark."

  "Oh, certainly, my friend, come when you feel disposed," he replied, andmounting his horse he was soon out of sight among the trees.

  "Now, Barnes," I said, shaking off the gloomy feelings that hadoppressed me: "come, I must see that wife of yours, and get a glimpse ofhow you live?"

  "Sartin, stranger; come in; I'll give ye th' tallest dinner my 'oman canscare up, an' she's sum pumkins in th' cookin' line;" and he led the wayto the farm-house.

  As I turned to follow, I slipped a half-dollar into the hand of thedarky who was holding my horse, and asked him to put her again into thestable.

  "I'll do dat, sar, but I karn't take dis; masaa doant 'low it nohow;" hereplied, tendering me back the money.

  "Barnes, your negroes have strange ways; I never met one before who'drefuse money."

  "Wal, stranger, 'taint hosspetality to take money on yer friends, andBill gets all he wants from me."

  I took the silver and gave it to the first darky I met, who happened tobe an old centenarian belonging to the Colonel. As I tossed it to him,he grinned out: "Ah, massa, I'll git sum 'backer wid dis; 'pears like Ihadn't nary a chaw in forty yar." With more than one leg in the gravethe old negro had not lost his appetite for the weed--in fact, that andwhiskey are the only "luxuries" ever known to the plantation black.

  As we went nearer, I took a closer survey of the farm-house. It was, asI have said, a low, unpainted wooden building, located in the middle ofa ten acre lot. It was approached by a straight walk, paved with amixture of sand and tar, similar to that which the reader may have seenin the Champs Elysees. I do not know whether my back-woods friend, orthe Parisian pavior, was the first inventor of this composition, but Iam satisfied the corn-cracker had not stolen it from the stone-cracker.The walk was lined with fruit-bearing shrubs, and directly in front ofthe house, were two small flower-beds.

  The dwelling itself, though of a dingy brown wood-color, was neat andinviting. It may have been forty feet square on the ground, and was onlya story and a half high, but a projecting roof, and a frontdormer-window, relieved it from the appearance of disproportion. Itsgable ends were surmounted by two enormous brick chimneys, carried up onthe outside, in the fashion of the South, and its high, broad windowswere ornamented with Venetian blinds. Its front door opened directlyinto the "living-room," and at the threshold we met its mistress.

  As the image of that lady has still a warm place in a pleasant corner ofmy memory, I will describe her. She was about thirty years of age, andhad a fresh, cheerful face. To say that she was handsome, would not bestrictly true; though she had that pleasant, gentle, kindly expressionthat sometimes makes even a homely person seem beautiful. But she wasnot homely. Her features were regular, her hair, glossy and brown, andher eyes, black and brilliant, and, for their color, the mildest andsoftest I had ever seen. Her figure was tall, and in its outlinesomewhat sharp and angular, but she had an ease and grace about her thatmade one forget she was not moulded as softly and roundly as others. Sheseemed just the woman on whose bosom a tired, worn, over-burdened manmight lay his weary head, and find rest and forgetfulness.

  She wore a neat calico dress, fitting closely to the neck, and an apronof spotless white muslin. A little lace cap perched cosily on the backof her head, hiding a portion of her wavy, dark hair, and on her feet--amiracle, reader, in one of her class--were stockings and shoes! Givingme her hand--which, at the risk of making her husband jealous, I heldfor a moment--she said, making a gentle courtesy:

  "Ye ar welcome, stranger."

  "I sincerely thank you, madam; I _am_ a stranger in these parts."

  She tendered me a chair, while her husband opened a sideboard, andbrought forth a box of Havanas, and a decanter of Scuppernong. As I tookthe proffered seat, he offered me the refreshments. I drank the lady'shealth in the wine, but declined the cigars. Seeing this, she remarked:

  "Yer from th' North, sir; arn't ye?"

  "Yes, madam, I live in New York, but I was born in New-England."

  "I reckoned so; I knew ye didn't belong in Car'lina."

  "How did you know that, madam?" I asked, laughing.

  "I seed ye doan't smoke 'fore wimmin. But ye musn't mind me; I sort o'likes it; its a great comfut to John, and may be it ar to ye."

  "Well, I do relish a good cigar, but I never smoke before any ladyexcept my wife, and though she's only 'a little lower than the angels,'she _does_, once in awhile, say it's a shame to make the _house_ smelllike a tobacco factory."

  Barnes handed me the box again, and I took one. As I was lighting it, hesaid:

  "Ye've got a good 'oman, hev ye?"

  "There's none better; at least, I think so."

  "Wal, I'm 'zactly uv thet 'pinion 'bout mine: I wouldn't trade her furall this worle, an' th' best half uv 'tother."

  "Don't ye talk so, John," said the lady; then addressing me, she added:"It's a good husband thet makes a good wife, sir."

  "Sometimes, madam, but not always. I've known some of the best of wiveswho had miserable husbands."

  "An' I'm d----d ef I made my wife th' 'oman she ar'," said thecorn-cracker.

  "Hush, John; ye musn't sw'ar so; ye knows how often ye've said yewouldn't."

  "Wal, I du, an' I wont agin, by ----. But Sukey, whar's th' young 'uns?"

  "Out in the lot, I reckon; but ye musn't holler'm in--they'r all dirt."

  "No matter for that, madam," I said; "dirt is healthy for little ones;rolling in the mud makes them grow."

  "Then our'n orter grow right smart, fur they'r in it allers."

  "How many have you, madam?"

  "Two; a little boy, four, and a little gal, six."

  "They're of interesting ages."

  "Yas, the' is int'restin'; ev'ry 'uns own chil'ren is smart; but the'does know a heap. John was off ter Charl'ston no great while back, an'the little boy used ter pray ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader tercum hum. I larned 'em thet jest so soon as the' talked, 'cause thar's notellin' how quick the' moight be tooken 'way. Wal, the little fellerprayed ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter cum back; an' Johndidn't cum; so finarly he got sort o' provoked with th' Lord; an' hesaid God war aither deaf, an' couldn't har, or he war naughty, an'wouldn't tell fader thet little Johnny wanted to seed 'im 'werrymooch'"--and here the good lady laughed pleasantly, and I joined in mostheartily.

  Blessed are the children that have such a mother.

  Soon the husband returned with the little girl and boy, and four youngebonies, all bare-headed, and dressed alike, in thick trousers, and aloose linsey shirt. Among them was my new acquaintance, "Dandy Jim, ofole Car'lina."

  The little girl came to me, and soon I had two white children on oneknee, and two black on the other, and Dandy Jim between my legs, playingwith my watch-chain. The family made no distinction between the colors,and as the children were all equally clean I did not see why _I_ shoulddo so.

  The lady renewed the conversation by remarking; "P'raps ye reckon it'squar, sir, that we 'low our'n to 'sociate 'long with th' black chil'ren;but we karn't help it. On big plantations it works sorry bad, fur th'white young 'ons larn all manner of evil from the black 'uns; but I'velaboored ter teach our'n so one wont do no harm ter 'tother."

  "I suppose, madam, that is one of the greatest evils of slavery. The lowblack poisons the mind of the white child, and the bad influence laststhrough life."

  "Yas, it's so, stranger;
an' it's the biggest keer I hev. It often'pears strange ter me thet our grow'd up men arn't no wuss then the'is."

  In those few words that unlettered woman had said, what would--if menwere but wise enough to hear and heed the great truth which shespoke--banish slavery from this continent forever!

  After awhile the farmer told the juvenile delineator of Mrs. Hemans, andthe other poets, to give us a song; and planting himself in the middleof the floor, the little darky sang "Dixie," and several other negrosongs, which his master had taught him, but into which he had introducedsome amusing variations of his own. The other children joined in thechoruses; and then Jim danced breakdowns, "walk-along-Joes," and otherdarky dances, his master accompanying him on a cracked fiddle, till mysides were sore with laughter, and the hostess begged them to stop.Finally the clock struck twelve, and the farmer, going to the door, gavea long, loud blast on a cow's horn. In about five minutes one afteranother of the field hands came in, till the whole ten had seatedthemselves on the verandah. Each carried a bowl, a tin-cup, or a gourd,into which my host--who soon emerged from a back room[J] with a pail ofwhiskey in his hand--poured a gill of the beverage. This was the day'sallowance, and the farmer, in answer to a question of mine, told me hethought negroes were healthier, and worked better for a small quantityof alcohol daily. "The' work hard, and salt feed doant set 'em up'nough," was his remark.

  Meanwhile the hostess busied herself with preparations for dinner, andit was soon spread on a bright cherry table, covered by a spotless whitecloth. The little darkies had scattered to the several cabins, and wesoon sat down to as good a meal as I ever ate at the South.

  We were waited on by a tidy negro woman, neatly clad in a calico gown,with shoes on her feet, and a flaming red and yellow 'kerchief on herhead. This last was worn in the form of a turban, and one end escapingfrom behind, and hanging down her back, it looked for all the world likea flag hung out from a top turret. Observing it, my host said:

  "Aggy--showin' yer colors? Ye'r Union gal--hey?"

  "Yas, I is dat, massa; Union ter de back bone;" responded the negress,grinning widely.

  "All th' Union _ye_ knows on," replied the master, winking slyly at me,"is th' union yer goin' ter hitch up 'long with black Cale over terSquire Taylor's."

  "No, 'taint, massa; takes more'n tu ter make de Union."

  "Yas, I knows--it gin'rally takes ten or a dozen: reckon it'll take adozen with ye."

  "John, ye musn't talk so ter th' sarvents; it spiles 'em," said hiswife.

  "No it doant--do it, Aggy?"

  "Lor', missus, I doant keer what massa say; but I doant leff no oder manrun on so ter me!"

  "No more'n ye doant, gal! only Cale."

  "Nor him, massa; I makes him stan' roun' _I_ reckon."

  "I reckon ye du; ye wudn't be yer massa's gal ef ye didn't."

  When the meal was over, I visited, with my host, the negro houses. Thehour allowed for dinner[K] was about expiring, and the darkies werepreparing to return to the field. Entering one of the cabins, where weretwo stout negro men and a woman, my host said to them, with a perfectlyserious face:

  "Har, boys, I've fotched ye a live Yankee ab'lishener; now, luk at 'imall roun'. Did ye ever see sech a critter?"

  "Doant see nuffin' quar in dat gemman, massa," replied one of theblacks. "Him 'pears like bery nice gemman; doant 'pear likeab'lishener;" and he laughed, and scraped his head in the mannerpeculiar to the negro, as he added: "kinder reckon he wudn't be har efhe war one of _dem_."

  "What der _ye_ knows 'bout th' ab'lisheners? Ye never seed one--whatd'ye 'spose the' luk like?"

  "Dey say dey luk likes de bery ole debil, massa, but reckon taint so."

  "Wal, the' doant; the' luk wusa then thet: they'm bottled up thunder an'lightnin', an' ef the' cum down har, they'll chaw ye all ter hash."

  "I reckon!" replied the darky, manipulating his wool, and distending hisface into a decidedly incredulous grin.

  "What do you tell them such things for?" I asked, good-humoredly.

  "Lor, bless ye, stranger, the' knows th' ab'lisheners ar thar friends,jest so well as ye du; and so fur as thet goes, d----d ef the' doan'tknow I'm one on 'em myseff, fur I tells 'em, ef the' want to put, the'kin put, an' I'll throw thar trav'lin 'spences inter th' bargin. Doan'tI tell ye thet, Lazarus."

  "Yas, massa, but none ob massa's nigs am gwine ter put--lesswise, not solong as you an' de good missus, am 'bove groun'."

  The darky's name struck me as peculiar, and I asked him where he got it.

  "_'Tain't_ my name, sar; but you see, sar, w'en massa fuss hire me obole Capt'in ----, up dar ter Newbern-way, I war sort o' sorrylike--hadn't no bery good cloes--an' massa, he den call me Lazarus,'case he say I war all ober rags and holes, an' it hab sort o' stuck terme eber sense. I war a'mighty bad off 'fore dat, but w'en I cum down harI gets inter Abr'am's buzzum, I does;" and here the darky actuallyreeled on his seat with laughter.

  "Is this woman your wife?" I asked.

  "No, sar; my wife 'longs to Cunnel J----; dat am my new wife--my olewife am up dar whar I cum from!"

  "What! have you two wives?"

  "Yas, massa, I'se two."

  "But that's contrary to Scripture."

  "No, sar; de Cunnel say 'tain't. He say in Scriptur' dey hab a heap ob''em, and dat niggers kin hab jess so many as dey likes--a hun'red ef deywant ter."

  "Does the Colonel teach that to his negroes?" I asked, turning to thenative.

  "Yas, I reckon he do--an' sits 'em th' 'zample, too," he replied,laughing; "but th' old sinner knows better'n thet; he kin read."

  "Do you find that in the Bible, Lazarus?"

  "Yas, massa; whar I reads it. Dat's whar it tell 'bout David and Sol'monand all dem--dey hab a heap ob wives. A pore ole darky karn't hab'nuffin 'sides dem, an' he _orter_ be 'low'd jess so many as he likes."

  Laughing at the reasoning of the negro, I asked:

  "How would _you_ like it, if your wife over at Colonel J----'s, had asmany husbands as _she_ liked?"

  "Wal, I couldn't fine no fault, massa: an' I s'pose she do; dough Idoan't knows it, 'case I'se dar only Sundays."

  "Have you any children?"

  "Yas, sar; I'se free 'longin' ter de Cunnel, an' four or five--I doant'zactly know--up ter hum; but _dey'se_ grow'd up."

  "Is your wife, up there, married again?"

  "Yas, massa, she got anoder man jess w'en I cum 'way; har ole massa makehar do it."

  We then left the cabin, and when out of hearing of the blacks, I said tothe corn-cracker: "That _may be_ Scripture doctrine, but _I_ have notbeen taught so!"

  "Scriptur or no Scriptur, stranger, it's d----d heathenism," repliedthe farmer, who, take him all in all, is a superior specimen of theclass of small-planters at the South; and yet, seeing polygamy practisedby his own slaves, he made no effort to prevent it. He told me that ifhe should object to his darky cohabiting with the Colonel's negress, itwould be regarded as unneighborly, and secure him the enmity of thewhole district! And still we are told that slavery is a _Divine_institution!

  After this, we strolled off into the woods, where the hands were atwork. They were all stout, healthy and happy-looking, and in answer tomy comments on their appearance, the native said that the negroes on theturpentine farms are always stronger and longer-lived, than those on therice and cotton-fields. Unless carried off by the fevers incident to theclimate, they generally reach a good old age, while the rice-negroseldom lives to be over forty, and the cotton-slave very rarely attainssixty. Cotton-growing, however, my host thought, is not, in itself, muchmore unhealthy than turpentine-gathering, though cotton-hands work inthe sun, while the turpentine slaves labor altogether in the shade."But," he said, "the' work 'em harder nor we does, an' doan't feed 'emso well. We give our'n meat and whiskey ev'ry day, but them articles isskarse 'mong th' cotton blacks, an' th' rice niggers never get 'emexcep' ter Chris'mas time, an' thet cums but onst a yar."

  "Do you think the white could labor as well as the black, on the riceand cotton-fields?" I aske
d.

  "Yas, an' better--better onywhar; but, in coorse, 'tain't natur' furblack nor white ter stand long a workin' in th' mud and water up terthar knees; sech work wud kill off th' very devil arter a while. But th'white kin stand it longer nor the black, and its' 'cordin' ter reasonthat he shud; fur, I reckon, stranger, that the sperit and pluck uv aman hev a durned sight ter du with work. They'll hole a man up when he'sclean down, an' how kin we expec' thet the pore nig', who's nary a thingter work fur, an' who's been kept under an' 'bused ever sense Adam was ayoung un'--how kin we expec' he'll work like men thet own 'emselfs, an'whose faders hev been free ever sense creation? I reckon that theparient has a heap ter du with makin' th' chile. He puts the speritinter 'im: doan't we see it in hosses an' critters an' sech like? Itmayn't crap eout ter onst, but it's shore ter in th' long run, andthet's th' why th' black hain't no smarter nor he is. He's been a-grounddown an' kept under fur so long thet it'll take more'n 'un gin'rationter bring him up. 'Tain't his fault thet he's no more sperit, an'p'raps 'tain't ourn--thet is, them on us as uses 'em right--but it warthe fault uv yer fader an' mine--yer fader stole 'em, and mine bought'em, an' the' both made cattle uv 'em."

  "But I had supposed the black was better fitted by nature for hardlabor, in a hot climate, than the white?"

  "Wal, he arn't, an' I knows it. Th' d----d parsons an' pol'tishuns saythet, but 'tain't so. I kin do half agin more work in a day then th'best nig' I've got, an' I've dun it, tu, time an' agin, an' it didn'thurt me nuther. Ye knows ef a man hev a wife and young 'uns 'pendin' onhim, an' arn't much 'forehanded, he'll work like th' devil. I've dun it,and ye hev ef ye war ever put ter it; but th' nig's, why the' hain't gotno wives and young 'uns ter work fur--the law doan't 'low 'em ter hevany--the' hain't nary a thing but thar carcasses, an' them's tharmasters'."

  "You say a man works better for being free; then you must think 'twouldbe well to free the negroes?"

  "In coorse, I does. Jest luk at them nig's o' mine; they're ter all'tents an' purposes free, 'case I use 'em like men, an' the' knows the'kin go whenever the' d----d please. See how the' work--why, one on 'emdoes half as much agin as ony hard-driv' nigger in creation."

  "What would you do with them, if they were _really_ free?"

  "Du with 'em? why, hire 'em, an' make twice as much eout on 'em as Idoes now."

  "But I don't think the two races were meant to live together."

  "No more'n the' warn't. But 'tain't thar fault thet they's har. Wehain't no right ter send 'em off. We orter stand by our'n an' ourfaders' doin's. The nig' keers more fur his hum, so durned pore as itar', then ye or I does fur our'n. I'd pack sech off ter Libraria or th'devil, as wanted ter go, but I'd hev no 'pulsion 'bout it."

  "Why, my good friend, you're half-brother to Garrison. You don't talk toyour neighbors in this way?"

  "Wal; I doan't;" he replied, laughing. "Ef I dun it, they'd treat me toa coat uv tar, and ride me out uv th' deestrict raather sudden, Ireckon; but yer a Nuthener, an' the' all take nat'rally ter freedum,excep' th' d----d dough-faces, an' ye aren't one on 'em, I'll swar."

  "Well, I'm not. Do many of your neighbors think as you do?"

  "Reckon not many round har; but op in Cart'ret, whar I cum from, heapson 'em do, though the' darn't say so."

  By this time we had reached the still, and, directing his attention tothe enormous quantity of rosin that had been run into the pit which Ihave spoken of, I asked him why he threw so much valuable material away.

  "Wal, 'tain't wuth nothin' har. Thet's th' common, an' it won't bring inYork, now, more'n a dollar forty-five. It costs a dollar an' two bitster get it thar, and pay fur sellin' on it, an' th' barr'l's wuth th'diff'rence. I doan't ship nuthin wuss nor No. 2."

  "What is No. 2?"

  He took the head from one of the barrels, and with an adze cut out asmall piece, then handing me the specimen, replied:

  "Now hole thet up ter th' sun. Ye'll see though its yaller, it's cleanand clar. Thet's good No. 2, what brings now two dollars and two bits,in York, an' pays me 'bout a dollar a barr'l, its got eout o' second yardip, an' as it comes eout uv th' still, is run through thet arstrainer," pointing to a coarse wire seive that lay near. "Th' commonrosum, thet th' still's runnin' on now, is made eout on th' yallerdip--thet's th' kine o' turpentine thet runs from th' tree arter twoyars' tappin'--we call it yallar dip ca'se it's allers dark. We doantstrain common 't all, an' it's full uv chips and dirt. It's low now, butef it shud ever git up, I'd tap thet ar' heap, barr'l it up, run alittle fresh stilled inter it, an' 'twould be a'most so good as new."

  "Then it is injured by being in the ground."

  "Not much; it's jest as good fur ev'rything but makin' ile, puttin it inthe 'arth sort o' takes th' sap eout on it, an' th' sap's th' ile.Natur' sucks thet eout, I s'pose, ter make th' trees grow--I expec' mybones 'ill fodder 'em one on these days."

  "Rosin is put to very many uses?"

  "Yes, but common's used mainly for ile and soap, th' Yankees put itinter hard yaller soap, 'case it makes it weigh, an' yer folks is upter them doin's," and he looked at me and gave a sly laugh. I could notdeny the "hard" impeachment, and said nothing. Taking a specimen of veryclear light-colored rosin from a shelf in the still-house, I asked himwhat that quality was worth.

  "Thet ar brought seven dollars, for two hundred an' eighty pounds, inYork, airly this yar. It's th' very best No. 1; an' its hard ter make,'case ef th' still gets overhet it turns it a tinge. Thet sort is runthrough two sieves, the coarse 'un, an' thet ar," pointing to anotherwire strainer, the meshes of which were as fine as those of the floursieve used by housewives.

  "Do your seven field hands produce enough 'dip' to keep your still arunning?"

  "No, I buys th' rest uv my naboors who haint no stills; an' th' Cunnel'sdown on me 'case I pay 'em more'n he will; but I go on Franklin'sprincerpel: 'a nimble sixpence's better'n a slow shillin.' A great olefeller thet, warn't he? I've got his life."

  "And you practice on his precepts; that's the reason you've got on sowell."

  "Yas, thet, an' hard knocks. The best o' doctrin's am't wuth a d----nef ye doan't work on 'em."

  "That is true."

  We shortly afterward went to the house, and there I passed several hoursin conversation with my new friend and his excellent wife. The lady,after a while, showed me over the building. It was well-built,well-arranged, and had many conveniences I did not expect to find in aback-woods dwelling. She told me its timbers and covering were ofwell-seasoned yellow pine--which will last for centuries--and that itwas built by a Yankee carpenter, whom they had "'ported" fromCharleston, paying his fare, and giving him his living, and two dollarsand a half a day. It had cost as near as she "cud reckon, 'bout twothousan' dollars."

  It was five o'clock, when, shaking them warmly by the hand, I bade mypleasant friends "good-bye," and mounting my horse rode off to theColonel's.

  [Footnote J: The whiskey was kept in a back room, above ground, because thedwelling had no cellar. The fluid was kept safely, under lock and key,and the farmer accounted for that, by saying that his negroes wouldsteal nothing but whiskey. Few country houses at the South have acellar--that apartment deemed so essential by Northern housekeepers. Theintervening space between the ground and the floor is there left open,to allow of a free circulation of air.]

  [Footnote K: No regular dinner-hour is allowed the blacks on mostturpentine plantations. Their food is usually either taken with them tothe woods, or carried there by house servants, at stated times.]