“Now gentlemen,” said Grason, “I’m going to show you a sight!” having in his hand a long whip, the cracking of which he commenced, as a ringmaster in the circus.
The child gave him a look never to be forgotten; a look beseeching mercy and compassion. But the decree was made, and though humanity quailed in dejected supplication before him, the command was imperative, with no living hand to stay the pending consequences. He must submit to his fate, and pass through the ordeal of training.
“Wat maus gwine do wid me now? I know wat maus gwine do,” said this miserable child, “he gwine make me see sights!” when going down on his hands and feet, he commenced trotting around like an animal.
“Now gentlemen, look!” said Grason. “He’ll whistle, sing songs, hymns, pray, swear like a trooper, laugh, and cry, all under the same state of feelings.”
With a peculiar swing of the whip, bringing the lash down upon a certain spot on the exposed skin, the whole person being prepared for the purpose, the boy commenced to whistle almost like a thrush; another cut changed it to a song, another to a hymn, then a pitiful prayer, when he gave utterance to oaths which would make a Christian shudder, after which he laughed outright; then from the fullness of his soul he cried:
“O maussa, I’s sick! Please stop little!” casting up gobs of hemorrhage.*
Franks stood looking on with unmoved muscles. Armsted stood aside whittling a stick; but when Ballard saw, at every cut the flesh turn open in gashes streaming down with gore, till at last in agony he appealed for mercy, he involuntarily found his hand with a grasp on the whip, arresting its further application.
“Not quite a Southerner yet Judge, if you can’t stand that!” said Franks on seeing him wiping away the tears.
“Gentlemen, help yourself to brandy and water. The little Negro don’t stand it nigh so well as formerly. He used to be a trump!”
“Well, Colonel,” said the Judge, “as I have to leave for Jackson this evening, I suggest that we return to the city.”
The company now left Grason’s, Franks for the enjoyment of home, Ballard and Armsted for Jackson, and the poor boy Reuben, from hemorrhage of the lungs, that evening left time for eternity.
*This is a true Mississippi scene.
CHAPTER 17
Henry at Large
On leaving the plantation carrying them hanging upon his arm, thrown across his shoulders, and in his hands Henry had a bridle, halter, blanket, girt, and horsewhip, the emblems of a faithful servant in discharge of his master’s business.
By shrewdness and discretion–such was his management as he passed along–that he could tell the name of each place and proprietor long before he reached them. Being a scholar, he carefully kept a record of the plantations he had passed, that when accosted by a white, as an overseer or patrol, he invariably pretended to belong to a back estate, in search of his master’s racehorse. If crossing a field, he was taking a near cut; but if met in a wood, the animal was in the forest, as being a great leaper no fence could debar him, though the forest was fenced and posted. The blanket, a substitute for a saddle, was in reality carried for a bed.
With speed unfaltering and spirits unflinching, his first great strive was to reach the Red River, to escape from his own state as quickly as possible. Proceeding on in the direction of the Red River country, he met with no obstruction except in one instance, when he left his assailant quietly upon the earth. A few days after an inquest was held upon the body of a deceased overseer–verdict of the Jury, “By hands unknown.”
On approaching the river, after crossing a number of streams, as the Yazoo, Ouchita, and such, he was brought to sad reflections. A dread came over him, difficulties lay before him, dangers stood staring him in the face at every step he took. Here for the first time since his maturity of manhood responsibilities rose up in a shape of which he had no conception. A mighty undertaking, such as had never before been ventured upon, and the duty devolving upon him, was too much for a slave with no other aid than the aspirations of his soul panting for liberty. Reflecting upon the peaceful hours he once enjoyed as a professing Christian, and the distance which slavery had driven him from its peaceful portals, here in the wilderness, determining to renew his faith and dependence upon Divine aid, when falling upon his knees he opened his heart to God, as a tenement of the Holy Spirit.
“Arm of the Lord, awake! Renew my faith, confirm my hope, perfect me in love. Give strength, give courage, guide and protect my pathway, and direct me in my course!” Springing to his feet as if a weight had fallen from him, he stood up a new man.
The river is narrow, the water red as if colored by iron rust, the channel winding. Beyond this river lie his hopes, the broad plains of Louisiana with a hundred thousand bondsmen seeming anxiously to await him.
Standing upon a high bank of the stream, contemplating his mission, a feeling of humbleness and a sensibility of unworthiness impressed him, and that religious sentiment which once gave comfort to his soul now inspiring anew his breast, Henry raised in solemn tones amidst the lonely wilderness:
Could I but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o’er;
Not Jordan’s streams, nor death’s cold flood,
Could drive me from the shore!
To the right of where he stood was a cove, formed by the washing of the stream at high water, which ran quite into the thicket, into which the sun shone through a space among the high trees.
While thus standing and contemplating his position, the water being too deep to wade, and on account of numerous sharks and alligators, too dangerous to swim, his attention was attracted by the sound of a steamer coming up the channel. Running into the cove to shield himself, a singular noise disturbed him, when to his terror he found himself amidst a squad of huge alligators, which sought the advantages of the sunshine.
His first impulse was to surrender himself to his fate and be devoured, as in the rear and either side the bank was perpendicular, escape being impossible except by the way he entered, to do which would have exposed him to the view of the boat, which could not have been avoided. Meantime the frightful animals were crawling over and among each other, at a fearful rate.
Seizing the fragment of a limb which lay in the cove, beating upon the ground and yelling like a madman, giving them all possible space, the beasts were frightened at such a rate, that they reached the water in less time than Henry reached the bank. Receding into the forest, he thus escaped the observation of the passing steamer, his escape serving to strengthen his fate in a renewed determination of spiritual dependence.
While gazing upon the stream in solemn reflection for Divine aid to direct him, logs came floating down, which suggested a proximity to the raft with which sections of that stream is filled, when going but a short distance up, he crossed in safety to the Louisiana side. His faith was now fully established, and thenceforth, Henry was full of hope and confident of success.
Reaching Alexandria with no obstruction, his first secret meeting was held in the hut of aunt Dilly. Here he found them all ready for an issue.
“An dis you, chile?” said the old woman, stooping with age, sitting on a low stool in the chimney corner. “Dis many day, I heahn on yeh!” though Henry had just entered on his mission. From Alexandria he passed rapidly on to Latuer’s, making no immediate stops, prefering to organize at the more prominent places.
This is a mulatto planter, said to have come from the isle of Guadaloupe. Riding down the road upon a pony at a quick gallop was a mulatto youth, a son of the planter, an old black man on foot keeping close to the horse’s heels.
“Whose boy are you?” enquired the young mulatto, who had just dismounted, the old servant holding his pony.
“I’m in search of master’s race horse.”
“What is your name?” further enquired the young mulatto.
“Gilbert, sir.”
“What do you want?”
“I am hungry, sir.”
“Dolly,” said he t
o an old black woman at the woodpile, “show this man into the Negro quarter, and give him something to eat; give him a cup of milk. Do you like milk, my man?”
“Yes, sir, I have no choice when hungry; anything will do.”
“Da is none heah but claubah, maus Eugene,” replied the old cook.
“Give him that,” said the young master. “You people like that kind of stuff I believe; our Negroes like it.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Henry when the lad left.
“God knows ’e needn’ talk ‘bout wat we po’ black folks eat, case da don’ ghin us nothin’ else but dat an’ caun bread,” muttered the old woman.
“Don’t they treat you well, aunty?” enquired Henry.
“God on’y knows, my chile, wat we suffeh.”
“Who was that old man who ran behind your master’s horse?”
“Dat Nathan, my husban’.”
“Do they treat him well, aunty?”
“No, chile, wus an’ any dog, da beat ’im foh little an nothin’.”
“Is uncle Nathan religious?”
“Yes, chile, ole man an’ I’s been sahvin’ God dis many day, fo yeh baun! Wen any one on ’em in de house git sick, den da sen foh ‘uncle Nathan’ come pray foh dem; ‘uncle Nathan’ mighty good den!”
“Do you know that the Latuers are colored people?”
“Yes, chile; God bless yeh soul yes! Case huh mammy ony dead two-three yehs, an’ she black as me.”
“How did they treat her?”
“Not berry well; she nus da childen; an eat in a house arter all done.”
“What did Latuer’s children call her?”
“Da call huh ‘mammy’ same like wite folks childen call de nus.”
“Can you tell me, aunty, why they treat you people so badly, knowing themselves to be colored, and some of the slaves related to them?”
“God bless yeh, hunny, de wite folks, dese plantehs make ’em so; da run heah, an’ tell ’em da mus’n treat deh niggers well, case da spile ‘em.”
“Do the white planters frequently visit here?”
“Yes, hunny, yes, da heah some on ’em all de time eatin’ an’ drinkin’ long wid de old man; da on’y tryin’ git wat little ’e got, dat all! Da ’tend to be great frien’ de ole man; but laws a massy, hunny, I doh mine dese wite folks no how!”
“Does your master ever go to their houses and eat with them?”
“Yes, chile, some time ’e go, but den half on ’em got nothin’ fit to eat; da hab fat poke an’ bean, caun cake an’ sich like, dat all da got, some on ’em.”
“Does Mr. Latuer give them better at his table?”
“Laws, hunny, yes; yes’n deed, chile! ’E got mutton–some time whole sheep mos’–fowl, pig, an’ ebery tum ting a nuddeh, ’e got so much ting dah, I haudly know wat cook fus.”
“Do the white planters associate with the family of Latuer?”
“One on ’em, ten ’e coatin de dahta; I don’t recon ’e gwine hab heh. Da cah fool long wid ’Toyeh’s gals dat way.”
“Whose girls, Metoyers?”
“Yes, chile.”
“Do you mean the wealthy planters of that name?”
“Dat same, chile.’
“Well, I want to understand you; you don’t mean to say that they are colored people?”
“Yes, hunny, yes; da good culed folks anybody. Some five-six boys’ an five-six gals on ’em; da all rich.”
“How do they treat their slaves?”
“Da boys all mighty haud maustas, de gals all mighty good; salivants all like ’em.”
“You seem to understand these people very well, aunty. Now please tell me what kind of masters there are generally in the Red River country.”
“Haud ’nough, chile, haud ’nough, God on’y knows!”
“Do the colored masters treat theirs generally worse than the whites?”
“No, hunny, ‘bout da same.”
“That’s just what I want to know. What are the usual allowances for slaves?”
“Da ’low de fiel’ han’ two suit a yeah; foh umin one long linen coat,* make suit; an’ foh man, pantaloon an’jacket.”
“How about eating?”
“Half-peck meal ah day foh family uh fo!”
“What about weekly privileges? Do you have Saturday to yourselves?”
“Laud, honny, no! No, chile, no! Da do’n ‘low us no time, ’tall. Da ’low us ebery uddeh Sunday wash ouh close; dat all de time we git.”
“Then you don’t get to sell anything for yourselves?”
“No, hunny, no. Da don’ ‘low pig, chicken, tucky, goose, bean, pea, tateh, nothin’ else.”
“Well, aunty. I’m glad to meet you, and as evening’s drawing nigh, I must see your husband a little, then go.”
“God bless yeh, chile, whah ebeh yeh go! Yeh ain’ arteh no racehos, dat yeh ain’t.”
“You got something to eat, my man, did you?” enquired the lad Eugene, at the conclusion of his interview with uncle Nathan.
“I did, sir, and feasted well!” replied Henry in conclusion. “Good bye!” and he left for the next plantation suited to his objects.
“God bless de baby!” said old aunt Dolly as uncle Nathan entered the hut, referring to Henry.
“Ah, chile!” replied the old man with tears in his eyes; “my yeahs has heahn dis day!”
*Coat-a term used by slaves for frock.
CHAPTER 18
Fleeting Shadows
In high spirits Henry left the plantation of Latuer, after sowing seeds from which in due season, he anticipated an abundant harvest. He found the old man Nathan all that could be desired, and equal to the task of propagating the scheme. His soul swelled with exultation on receiving the tidings, declaring that though nearly eighty years of age, he never felt before an implied meaning, in the promise of the Lord.
“Now Laud!” with uplifted hand exclaimed he at the conclusion of the interview. “My eyes has seen, and meh yeahs heahn, an’ now Laud! I’s willin’ to stan’ still an’ see dy salvation!”
On went Henry to Metoyers, visiting the places of four brothers, having taken those of the white planters intervening, all without detection or suspicion of being a stranger.
Stopping among the people of Colonel Hopkins at Grantico summit, here as at Latuer’s and all intermediate places, he found the people patiently looking for a promised redemption. Here a pet female slave, Silva, espied him and gave the alarm that a strange black was lurking among the Negro quarters, which compelled him to retirement sooner than intended.
Among the people of Dickson at Pine Bluff, he found the best of spirits. There was Newman, a young slave man born without arms, who was ready any moment for a strike.
“How could you fight?” said Henry. “You have no arms!”
“I am compelled to pick with my toes, a hundred pound of cotton a day,* and I can sit on a stool and touch off a cannon!” said this promising young man whose heart panted with an unsuppressed throb for liberty.
Heeley’s, Harrison’s, and Hickman’s slaves were fearfully and pitiably dejected. Much effort was required to effect a seclusion, and more to stimulate them to action. The continual dread “that maus wont let us!” seemed as immovably fixed as the words were constantly repeated; and it was not until an occasion for another subject of inquest, in the person of a pest of an old black slave man, that an organization was effected.
Approaching Crane’s on Little River, the slaves were returning from the field to the gin. Many-being females, some of whom were very handsome–had just emptied their baskets. So little clothing had they, and so loosely hung the tattered fragments about them, that they covered themselves behind the large empty baskets tilted over on the side, to shield their person from exposure.
The overseer engaged in another direction, the master absent, and the family at the great house, a good opportunity presented for an inspection of affairs.
“How do you do, young woman?” saluted Henry.
“How de do
, sir!” replied a sprightly, comely young mulatto girl, who stood behind her basket with not three yards of cloth in the tattered relic of the only garment she had on.
“Who owns this place?”
“Mr. Crane, sir,” she politely replied with a smile.
“How many slaves has he?”
“I don’o, some say five ’a six hunded.”
“Do they all work on this place?”
“No, sir, he got two-three places.”
“How many on this place?”
“Oveh a hundred an’ fifty.”
“What allowances have you?”
“None, sir.”
“What! no Saturday to yourselves?”
“No, sir.”
“They allow you Sundays, I suppose.”
“No, sir, we work all day ev’ry Sunday.”
“How late do you work?”
“Till we can’ see to pick no mo’ cotton; but w’en its moon light we pick till ten o’clock at night.”
“What time do you get to wash your clothes?”
“None, sir; da on’y low us one suit ev’ry New Yehs day,* an’ us gals take it off every Satady night aftah de men all gone to bed and wash it fah Sunday.”
“Why do you want clean clothes on Sunday, if you have to work on that day?”
“It’s de Laud’s day, an’ we wa to be clean, and we feel betteh.”
“How do the men do for clean clothes?”
“We wash de men’s clothes afteh da go to bed.”
“And you say you are only allowed one suit a year? Now, young woman, I don’t know your name but——”
“Nancy, sir.”
“Well, Nancy, speak plainly, and dont be backward; what does your one suit consist of?”
“A frock, sir, made out er coarse tow linen.”
“Only one piece, and no underclothes at all?”
“Dat’s all, sir!” replied she modestly looking down and drawing the basket, which sufficiently screened her, still closer to her person.
“Is that which you have on a sample of the goods your clothes are made of?”
Blake or The Huts of America Page 11