by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
THE "NIGGER QUARTER."
I soon reached the stables, where I was welcomed by a low whimper frommy horse. Scipio was not there.
"He is gone upon some other business," thought I; "perhaps to meet thecarriage. No matter, I shall not summon him. The saddle is on, and Ican bridle the steed myself--only poor Scipio loses his quarter-dollar."
I soon had my steed bitted and bridled; and, leading the animal outside,I sprang into the saddle, and rode off.
The path I was taking led past the "negro quarters," and then throughsome fields to the dark cypress and tupelo woods in the rear. Fromthese led a cross-way that would bring me out again upon the Levee road.I had travelled this path many a time, and knew it well enough.
The "nigger quarter" was distant some two hundred yards from the "grandemaison," or "big house," of the plantation. It consisted of some fiftyor sixty little "cabins," neatly built, and standing in a double row,with a broad way between. Each cabin was a facsimile of its neighbour,and in front of each grew a magnolia or a beautiful China-tree, underthe shade of whose green leaves and sweet-scented flowers little negroesmight be seen all the livelong day, disporting their bodies in the dust.These, of all sizes, from the "piccaninny" to the "good-sized chunk ofa boy," and of every shade of slave-colour, from the fair-skinnedquadroon to the black Bambarra, on whom, by an American witticism ofdoubtful truthfulness; "charcoal would make a white mark!" Divestingthem of dust, you would have no difficulty in determining theircomplexion. Their little plump bodies were nude, from the top of theirwoolly heads to their long projecting heels. There roll they, black andyellow urchins, all the day, playing with pieces of sugar-cane, ormelon-rind, or corn-cobs--cheerful and happy as any little lords couldbe in their well-carpeted nurseries in the midst of the costliest toysof the German bazaar!
On entering the negro quarter, you cannot fail to observe tall papawpoles or cane-reeds stuck up in front of many of the cabins, andcarrying upon their tops large, yellow gourd-shells, each perforatedwith a hole in the side. These are the dwellings of the purple martin,(_Hirundo purpurea_)--the most beautiful of American swallows, and agreat favourite among the simple negroes, as it had been, long beforetheir time, among the red aborigines of the soil. You will notice, too,hanging in festoons along the walls of the cabins, strings of red andgreen pepper-pods (species of capsicum); and here and there a bunch ofsome dried herb of medicinal virtue, belonging to the negro_pharmacopoeia_. All these are the property of "aunt Phoebe," or "auntyCleopatra," or "ole aunt Phillis;" and the delicious "pepper pot" thatany one of those "aunts" can make out of the aforesaid green and redcapsicums, assisted by a few other ingredients from the little garden"patch" in the rear of the cabin, would bring water to the teeth of anepicure.
Perhaps on the cabin walls you will see suspended representatives of theanimal kingdom--perhaps the skin of a rabbit, a raccoon, an opossum, orthe grey fox--perhaps also that of the musk-rat (_Fiber zibethicus_),or, rarer still, the swamp wild-cat (bay lynx--_Lynx rufus_). The ownerof the cabin upon which hangs the lynx-skin will be the Nimrod of thehour, for the cat is among the rarest and noblest game of theMississippi _fauna_. The skin of the panther (_cougar_) or deer youwill not see, for although both inhabit the neighbouring forest, theyare too high game for the negro hunter, who is not permitted the use ofa gun. The smaller "varmints" already enumerated can be capturedwithout such aid, and the pelts you see hanging upon the cabins are theproduce of many a moonlight hunt undertaken by "Caesar," or "Scipio," or"Hannibal," or "Pompey." Judging by the nomenclature of the negroquarter, you might fancy yourself in ancient Rome or Carthage!
The great men above-named, however, are never trusted with such adangerous weapon as a rifle. To their _skill_ alone do they owe theirsuccess in the chase; and their weapons are only a stick, an axe, and a"'coon-dog" of mongrel race. Several of these last you may see rollingabout in the dust among the "piccaninnies," and apparently as happy asthey. But the hunting trophies that adorn the walls do not hang thereas mere ornaments. No, they are spread out to dry, and will soon giveplace to others--for there is a constant export going on. When uncleCeez, or Zip, or Hanny, or Pomp, get on their Sunday finery, and repairto the village, each carries with him his stock of small pelts. Therethe storekeeper has a talk with them, and a "pic" (picayune) for the"mussrat," a "bit" (Spanish real) for the "'coon," and a "quarter" forthe fox or "cat," enable these four avuncular hunters to lay in a greatvariety of small luxuries for the four "aunties" at home; which littlecomforts are most likely excluded from the regular rice-and-pork rationsof the plantation.
So much is a little bit of the domestic economy of the negro quarter.
On entering the little village,--for the negro quarter of a grandplantation merits the title,--you cannot fail to observe all of theselittle matters. They are the salient points of the picture.
You will observe, too, the house of the "overseer" standing apart; or,as in the case of the plantation Besancon, at the end of the double row,and fronting the main avenue. This, of course, is of a more pretentiousstyle of architecture; can boast of Venetian blinds to the windows, twostories of height, and a "porch." It is enclosed with a paling to keepoff the intrusion of the children, but the dread of the painted cowhiderenders the paling almost superfluous.
As I approached the "quarter," I was struck with the peculiar characterof the picture it presented,--the overseer's house towering above thehumbler cabins, seeming to protect and watch over them, suggesting thesimilarity of a hen with her brood of chickens.
Here and there the great purple swallows boldly cleft the air, or,poised on wing by the entrance of their gourd-shell dwellings, utteredtheir cheerful "tweet--tweet--tweet;" while the fragrant odour of theChina-trees and magnolias scented the atmosphere to a long distancearound.
When nearer still, I could distinguish the hum of human voices--of men,women, and children--in that peculiar tone which characterises the voiceof the African. I fancied the little community as I had before seenit--the men and women engaged in various occupations--some resting fromtheir labour, (for it was now after field hours,) seated in front oftheir tent-like cabins, under the shade-tree, or standing in littlegroups gaily chatting with each other--some by the door mending theirfishing-nets and tackle, by which they intended to capture the great"cat" and "buffalo fish" of the bayous--some "chopping" firewood at thecommon "wood-pile," which half-grown urchins were "toating," to thecabins, so that "aunty" might prepare the evening-meal.
I was musing on the patriarchal character of such a picture,half-inclined towards the "one-man power"--if not in the shape of aslaveholder, yet something after the style of Rapp and his "socialeconomists."
"What a saving of state machinery," soliloquised I, "in this patriarchalform! How charmingly simple! and yet how complete and efficient!"
Just so, but I had overlooked one thing, and that was the imperfectnessof human nature--the possibility--the probability--nay, the almostcertainty, that the _patriarch_ will pass into the _tyrant_.
Hark! a voice louder than common! It is a cry!
Of cheerful import? No--on the contrary, it sounds like the utteranceof some one in pain. It is a cry of agony! The murmur of other voices,too, heard at short intervals, carries to my ear that deep portentoussound which accompanies some unnatural occurrence.
Again I hear the cry of agony--deeper and louder than before! It comesfrom the direction of the negro quarter. What is causing it?
I gave the spur to my horse, and galloped in the direction of thecabins.