CHAPTER IV.
POOR WHITES.
Entering the house, we saw, by the light of a blazing pile ofpine-knots, which roared and crackled on the hearth, that it containedonly a single apartment. In front of the fire-place, which occupied thebetter half of one side of this room, the floor was of the bare earth,littered over with pine chips, dead cinders, live coals, broken pots,and a lazy spaniel dog. Opposite to this, at the other end of the room,were two low beds, which looked as if they had been "slept in forever,and never made up." Against the wall, between the beds and thefire-place, stood a small pine table, and on it was a large wooden bowl,from whose mouth protruded the handles of several unwashed pewterspoons. On the right of the fire was a razeed rocking-chair, evidentlythe peculiar property of the mistress of the mansion, and three blocksof pine log, sawn off smoothly, and made to serve for seats. Overagainst these towered a high-backed settle, something like that on which
"sot Huldy all alone, When Zeke peeked thru the winder;"
and on it, her head resting partly on her arm, partly on the end of thesettle, one small, bare foot pressing the ground, the other, with thepart of the person which is supposed to require stockings, extended in ahorizontal direction--reclined, not Huldy, but her Southern cousin, who,I will wager, was decidedly the prettier and dirtier of the two. Ourentrance did not seem to disconcert her in the least, for she lay thereas unmoved as a marble statue, her large black eyes riveted on my face,as if seeing some nondescript animal for the first time. I stood for amoment transfixed with admiration. In a somewhat extensive observationof her sex in both hemispheres, I had never witnessed such a form, sucheyes, such faultless features, and such wavy, black, luxuriant hair. Aglance at her dress--a soiled, greasy, grayish linsey-woolsey gown,apparently her only garment--and a second look at her face, which, oncloser inspection, had precisely the hue of a tallow candle, recalled meto myself, and allowed me to complete the survey of the premises.
The house was built of unhewn logs, separated by wide interstices,through which the cold air came, in decidedly fresh if not health-givingcurrents, while a large rent in the roof, that let in the rain, gave theinmates an excellent opportunity for indulging in a shower-bath, ofwhich they seemed greatly in need. The chimney, which had intruded acouple of feet into the room, as if to keep out of the cold, andthreatened momentarily to tumble down, was of sticks, built up in clay,while the windows were of thick, unplaned boards.
Two pretty girls, one of perhaps ten and the other of fourteen years,evidently sisters of the unadorned beauty, the middle-aged womanwho had admitted us, and the dog--the only male member of thehousehold--composed the family. I had seen negro cabins, but thesepeople were whites, and these whites were _South Carolinians_. When suchcounterparts of the feudal serfs still exist, who will say that the daysof chivalry are over!
After I had seated myself by the fire, and the driver had gone out tostow the horse away under the tumble-down shed at the back of the house,the elder woman said to me--
"Reckon yer wet. Ben in the rain!"
"Yes, madam, we've been out most of the day, and got in the river belowhere."
"Did ye? Ye mean the 'run.' I reckon it's right deep now."
"Yes, our horse had to swim," I replied.
"Ye orter strip and put on dry cloes to onst."
"Thank you, madam, I will."
Going to my portmanteau, which the darky had placed near the door, Ifound it dripping with wet, and opening it I discovered that everyarticle had undergone the rite of immersion.
"Every thing is thoroughly soaked, madam. I shall have to dry myself byyour fire. Can you get me a cup of tea?"
"Right sorry, stranger, but I can't. Haint a morsel to eat or drink inthe house."
Remembering that our excellent hostess of the night before had insistedon filling the wagon-box with a quantity of "chicken fixins," to serveus in an emergency, and that my brandy flask was in my India-rubbercoat, I sent Scip out for them.
The stores disclosed boiled chicken, bacon, sandwiches, sweet potatoes,short cake, corn-bread, buttered waffles, and 'common doin's' toonumerous to mention, enough to last a family of one for a fortnight, butall completely saturated with water. Wet or dry, however, the provisionswere a godsend to the half-starved family, and their hearts seemed toopen to me with amazing rapidity. The dog got up and wagged his tail,and even the marble-like beauty rose from her reclining posture andinvited me to a seat with her on the bench.
The kettle was soon steaming over the fire, and the boiling water, mixedwith a little brandy, served as a capital substitute for tea. After thechicken was recooked, and the other edibles "warmed up," the little pinetable was brought out, and I learned--what I had before suspected--thatthe big wooden bowl and the half dozen pewter spoons were the only"crockery" the family possessed.
I declined the proffered seat at the table, the cooking utensils beingany thing but inviting, and contented myself with the brandy and water;but, forgetting for a moment his color, I motioned to the darky--who wasas wet and jaded, and much more hungry than I was--to take the placeoffered to me. The negro did not seem inclined to do so, but the woman,observing my gesture, yelled out, her eyes flashing with anger:
"No, sar! No darkies eats with us. Hope you don't reckon _yerself_ nobetter than a good-for-nothin', no account nigger!"
"I beg your pardon, madam; I intended no offence. Scipio has served mevery faithfully for two days, and is very tired and hungry. I forgotmyself."
This mollified the lady, and she replied:
"Niggers is good enuff in thar place, but warn't meant to 'sociate withwhite folks."
There may have been some ground for a distinction in that case; therecertainly was a difference between the specimens of the two races thenbefore me; but, not being one of the chivalry, it struck me that theodds were on the side of the black man. The whites were shiftless,ragged, and starving; the black well clad, cleanly, energetic, and asmuch above the others in intellect as Jupiter is above a church steeple.To be sure, color was against him, and he was, after all, a servant inthe land of chivalry and of servant-owners. Of course the woman wasright.
She soon resumed the conversation with this remark:
"Reckon yer a stranger in these parts; whar d'ye come from?"
"From New York, madam."
"New York! whar's that?"
"It's a city at the North."
"Oh! yas; I've heern tell on it: that's whar the Cunnel sells histurpentime. Quite a place, arnt it?"
"Yes, quite a place. Something larger than all South Carolina."
"What d'ye say? Larger nor South Carolina. Kinder reckon tain't, is't?"
"Yes, madam, it is."
"Du tell! 'Taint so large as Charles'n, is't?"
"Yes, twenty times larger than Charleston."
"Lord o'massy! How does all the folks live thar?"
"Live quite as well as they do here."
"Ye don't have no niggers thar, does ye?"
"Yes, but none that are slaves."
"Have Ablisherners thar, don't ye? them people that go agin the South?"
"Yes, some of them."
"What do they go agin the South for?"
"They go for freeing the slaves. Some of them think a black man as goodas a white one."
"Quar, that; yer an Ablisherner, arnt ye?"
"No, I'm an old-fashioned Whig."
"What's that? Never heerd on them afore."
"An old-fashioned Whig, madam, is a man whose political principles areperfect, and who is as perfect as his principles."
That was a "stumper" for the poor woman, who evidently did notunderstand one-half of the sentence.
"Right sort of folks, them," she said, in a half inquiring tone.
"Yes, but they're all dead now."
"Dead?"
"Yes, dead, beyond the hope of resurrection."
"Iv'e heern all the dead war to be resurrected. Didn't ye say ye war oneon 'em? _Ye_ aint dead yet," said the woman
, chuckling at havingcornered me.
"But I'm more than _half_ dead just now."
"Ah," replied the woman, still laughing, "yer a chicken."
"A chicken! what's that?"
"A thing that goes on tu legs, and karkles," was the ready reply.
"Ah, my dear madam, you can out-talk me."
"Yas, I reckon I kin outrun ye, tu. Ye arnt over rugged." Then, after apause, she added--"What d'ye 'lect that darky, Linkum, President for?"
"I didn't elect him. _I_ voted for Douglas. But Lincoln is not a darky."
"He's a mullater, then; I've heern he war," she replied.
"No, he's not a mulatto; he's a rail-splitter."
"Rail-splitter? _Then he's a nigger, shore._"
"No, madam; white men at the North split rails."
"An' white wimmin tu, p'raps," said the woman, with a contemptuous tossof the head.
"No, they don't," I replied, "but white women _work_ there."
"White wimmin work thar!" chimed in the hitherto speechless beauty,showing a set of teeth of the exact color of her skin--_yaller_. "Whatdu the' du?"
"Some of them attend in stores, some set type, some teach school, andsome work in factories."
"Du tell! Dress nice, and make money?"
"Yes," I replied, "they make money, and dress like fine ladies; in fact,_are_ fine ladies. I know one young woman, of about your age, that hadto get her own education, who earns a thousand dollars a year byteaching, and I've heard of many factory-girls who support theirparents, and lay by a great deal of money, by working in the mills."
"Wal!" replied the young woman, with a contemptuous curl of hermatchless upper lip; "schule-marms arn't fine ladies; fine ladies don'twork; only niggers works _har_. I reckon I'd rather be 'spectable thanwork for a livin'."
I could but think how magnificently the lips of some of our gloriousYankee girls would have curled had they have heard that remark, and haveseen the poor girl that made it, with her torn, worn, greasy dress; herbare, dirty legs and feet, and her arms, neck, and face so thicklyencrusted with a layer of clayey mud that there was danger ofhydrophobia if she went near a wash-tub. Restraining my involuntarydisgust, I replied:
"We at the North think work is respectable. We do not look down on a manor a woman for earning their daily bread. We all work."
"Yas, and that's the why ye'r all sech cowards," said the old woman.
"Cowards!" I said; "who tells you that?"
"My old man; he says one on our _boys_ can lick five of your Yankee_men_."
"Perhaps so. Is your husband away from home?"
"Yas, him and our Cal. ar down to Charles'n."
"Cal. is your son, is he?"
"Yas, he's my oldest, and a likely lad he ar tu--he's twenty-one, andhis name are JOHN CAL'OUN MILLS. He's gone a troopin' it with hisfader."
"What, both gone and left you ladies here alone?"
"Yas, the Cunnel sed every man orter go, and they warn't to be ahind therest. The Cunnel--Cunnel J.--looks arter us while they is away."
"But I should think the Colonel looked after you poorly--giving younothing to eat."
"Oh! it's ben sech a storm to-day, the gals couldn't go for the vittles,though 'tain't a great way. We'r on his plantation; this house ishis'n."
This last was agreeable news, and it occurred to me that if we were sonear the Colonel's we might push on, in spite of the storm, and getthere that night; so I said:
"Indeed; I'm going to the Colonel's. How far is his house from here?"
"A right smart six mile; it's at the Cross roads. Ye know the Cunnel, duye?"
"Oh, yes, I know him well. If his home is not more than six miles off, Ithink we had better go on to-night. What do you say, Scip?"
"I reckon we'd better gwo, massa," replied the darky, who had spread mytravelling-shawl in the chimney-corner, and was seated on it, drying hisclothes.
"Ye'd better not," said the woman; "ye'd better stay har; thar's a rightsmart run twixt har and the Cunnel's, and 'tain't safe to cross arterdark."
"If that is so we'd better stay, Scip; don't you think so?" I said tothe darky.
"Jess as you say, massa. We got fru wid de oder one, and I reckon taintno wuss nor dat."
"The bridge ar carried away, and ye'll hev to swim _shore_," said thewoman. "Ye'd better stay."
"Thank you, madam, I think we will," I replied, after a moment'sthought; "our horse has swum one of your creeks to-night, and I dare nottry another."
Having taken off my coat, I had been standing, during the greater partof this conversation, in my shirt-sleeves before the fire, turning roundoccasionally to facilitate the drying process, and taking every now andthen a sip from the gourd containing our brandy and water; aided in thelatter exercise by the old woman and the eldest girl, who indulged quiteas freely as I did.
"Mighty good brandy that," at last said the woman. "Ye like brandy,don't ye?"
"Not very much, madam. I take it to-night because I've been exposed tothe storm, and it stimulates the circulation. But Scip, here, don't likespirits. He'll get the rheumatism because he don't."
"Don't like dem sort of sperits, massa; but rumatics neber trubble me."
"But I've got it mighty bad," said the woman, "_and I take 'em wheneverI kin get 'em_."
I rather thought she did, but I "reckoned" her principal beverage waswhiskey.
"You have the rheumatism, madam, because your house is so open; adraught of air is always unhealthy."
"I allers reckoned 'twar _healthy_," she replied. "Ye Yankee folks havequar notions."
I looked at my watch, and found it was nearly ten o'clock, and, feelingvery tired, said to the hostess:
"Where do you mean we shall sleep?"
"Ye can take that ar bed," pointing to the one nearer the wall, "thedarky can sleep har;" motioning to the settle on which she was seated.
"But where will you and your daughters sleep? I don't wish to turn youout of your beds."
"Oh! don't ye keer for us; we kin all bunk together; dun it afore. Liketo turn in now?"
"Yes, thank you, I would;" and without more ceremony I adjourned to thefurther part of the room, and commenced disrobing. Doffing my boots,waistcoat, and cravat, and placing my watch and purse under the pillow,I gave a moment's thought to what a certain not very old lady, whom Ihad left at home, might say when she heard of my lodging with agrass-widow and three young girls, and sprang into bed. There I removedmy under-mentionables, which were still too damp to sleep in, and inabout two minutes and thirty seconds sunk into oblivion.
A few streaks of grayish light were beginning to creep through thecrevices in the logs, when a movement at the foot of the bed awakenedme, and glancing downward I beheld the youngest girl emerging from underthe clothes at my feet. She had slept there, "cross-wise," all night. Astir in the adjoining bed soon warned me that the other feminines werepreparing to follow her example; so, turning my face to the wall, Ifeigned to be sleeping. Their toilet was soon made, when they quietlyleft Scip and myself in possession of the premises.
The darky rose as soon as they were gone, and, coming to me, said:
"Massa, we'd better be gwine. I'se got your cloes all dry, and you canrig up and breakfust at de Cunnel's."
The storm had cleared away, and the sun was struggling to get throughthe distant pines, when Scip brought the horse to the door, and weprepared to start. Turning to the old woman, I said:
"I feel greatly obliged to you, madam, for the shelter you have givenus, and would like to make you some recompense for your trouble. Pleaseto tell me what I shall pay you."
"Wal, stranger, we don't gin'rally take in lodgers, but seein' as how asthar ar tu on ye, and ye've had a good night on it, I don't keer if yepay me tu dollars."
That struck me as "rather steep" for "common doin's," particularly as wehad furnished the food and "the drinks;" yet, saying nothing, I handedher a two-dollar bank-note. She took it, and held it up curiously to thesun for a moment, then handed it back, saying, "I don't
know nuthin''bout that ar sort o' money; haint you got no silver?"
I fumbled in my pocket a moment, and found a quarter-eagle, which I gaveher.
"Haint got nary a fip o' change," she said, as she took it.
"Oh! never mind the change, madam; I shall want to stop and _look_ atyou when I return," I replied, good-humoredly.
"Ha! ha! yer a chicken," said the woman, at the same time giving me agentle poke in the ribs. Fearing she might, in the exuberance of her joyat the sight of the money, proceed to some more decided demonstration ofaffection, I hastily stepped into the wagon, bade her good-by, and wasoff.
We were still among the pines, which towered gigantically all around us,but were no longer alone. Every tree was scarified for turpentine, andthe forest was alive with negro men and women gathering the "lastdipping," or clearing away the stumps and underbrush preparatory to thespring work. It was Christmas week; but, as I afterward learned, theColonel's negroes were accustomed to doing "half tasks" at that season,being paid for their labor as if they were free. They stopped their workas we rode by, and stared at us with a stupid, half-frightenedcuriosity, very much like the look of a cow when a railway train ispassing. It needed but little observation to convince me that their_status_ was but one step above the level of the brutes.
As we rode along I said to the driver, "Scip, what did you think of ourlodgings?"
"Mighty pore, massa. Niggas lib better'n dat."
"Yes," I replied, "but these folks despise you blacks; they seem to beboth poor and proud."
"Yas, massa, dey'm pore 'cause dey wont work, and dey'm proud 'causedey'r white. Dey wont work 'cause dey see de darky slaves doin' it, andtink it am beneaf white folks to do as de darkies do. Dis habin' slaveskeeps dis hull country pore."
"Who told you that?" I asked, astonished at hearing a remark showing somuch reflection from a negro.
"Nobody, massa; I see it myseff."
"Are there many of these poor whites around Georgetown?"
"Not many 'round Georgetown, sar, but great many in de up-country har,and dey'm all 'like--pore and no account; none ob 'em kin read, and deyall eat clay."
"Eat clay!" I said; "what do you mean by that?"
"Didn't you see, massa, how yaller all dem wimmin war? Dat's 'cause deyeat clay. De little children begin 'fore dey kin walk, and dey eat ittill dey die; dey chaw it like 'backer. It makes all dar stumacs big,like as you seed 'em, and spiles dar 'gestion. It'm mighty onhealfy."
"Can it be possible that human beings do such things! The bruteswouldn't do that."
"No, massa, but _dey_ do it; dey'm pore trash. Dat's what de big folkscall 'em, and it am true; dey'm long way lower down dan de darkies."
By this time we had arrived at the "run." We found the bridge carriedaway, as the woman had told us; but its abutments were still standing,and over these planks had been laid, which afforded a safe crossing forfoot-passengers. To reach these planks, however, it was necessary towade into the stream for full fifty yards, the "run" having overflowedits banks for that distance on either side of the bridge. The water wasevidently receding, but, as we could not well wait, like the man in thefable, for it all to run by, we alighted, and counselled as to the bestmode of making the passage.
Scip proposed that he should wade in to the first abutment, ascertainthe depth of the stream, and then, if it was not too deep for the horseto ford to that point, drive that far, get out, and walk to the end ofthe planking, leading the horse, and then again mount the wagon at thefurther end of the bridge. We were sure the horse would have to swim inthe middle of the current, and perhaps for a considerable distancebeyond; but, having witnessed his proficiency in aquatic performances,we had no doubt he would get safely across.
The darky's plan was decided on, and divesting himself of his trowsers,he waded into the "run" to take the soundings.
While he was in the water my attention was attracted to a printed paper,posted on one of the pines near the roadside. Going up to it, I read asfollows:
"$250 REWARD.
"Ran away from the subscriber, on Monday, November 12th, his mulatto man, SAM. Said boy is stout-built, five feet nine inches high, 31 years old, weighs 170 lbs., and walks very erect, and with a quick, rapid gait. The American flag is tattooed on his right arm above the elbow. There is a knife-cut over the bridge of his nose, a fresh bullet-wound in his left thigh, and his back bears marks of a recent whipping. He is supposed to have made his way back to Dinwiddie County, Va., where he was raised, or to be lurking in the swamps in this vicinity.
"The above reward will be paid for his confinement in any jail in North or South Carolina, or Virginia, or for his delivery to the subscriber on his plantation at ----.
"----, December 2, 1860."
The name signed to this hand-bill was that of the planter I was about tovisit.
Scip having returned, and reported the stream fordable to the bridge, Isaid to him, pointing to the "notice:"
"Read that, Scip."
He read it, but made no remark.
"What does it mean--that fresh bullet wound, and the marks of a recentwhipping?" I asked.
"It mean, massa, dat de darky hab run away, and ben took; and dat whendey took him dey shot him, and flogged him arter dat. Now, he hab runaway agin. De Cunnel's mighty hard on his niggas!"
"Is he? I can scarcely believe that."
"He am, massa; but he arnt so much to blame, nuther; dey'm awful bad,most ob 'em--so dey say."
Our conversation was here interrupted by our reaching the bridge. Aftersafely "walking the plank," and making our way to the opposite bank, Iresumed it by asking:
"Why are the Colonel's negroes so particularly bad?"
"'Cause, you see, massa, de turpentime business hab made great profitsfor sum yars now, and de Cunnel hab been gettin' rich bery fass. He putall his money, jes so fass as he make it, into darkies, so to make more;for he's got bery big plantation, and need nuffin' but darkies to workit to make money jess like a gold mine. He goes up to Virginny to buyniggas; and up dar _now_ dey don't sell none less dey'm bad uns, 'cepwhen sum massa die or git pore. Virginny darkies dat cum down har aintgin'rally ob much account. Dey'm either kinder good-for-nuffin, or dey'mugly; and de Cunnel'd ruther hab de ugly dan de no-account niggas."
"How many negroes has he?"
"'Bout two hundred, men and wimmin, I b'lieve, massa."
"It can't be pleasant for his family to remain in such an out-of-the-wayplace, with so bad a gang of negroes about them, and no white peoplenear."
"No, massa, not in dese times; but de missus and de young lady arnt darnow."
"Not there now? The Colonel said nothing to me about that. Are yousure?"
"Oh yas, massa; I seed 'em gwo off on de boat to Charles'n most twoweeks ago. Dey don't mean to cum back till tings am more settled; dey'm'fraid to stay dar."
"Would it be safe for the Colonel there, if a disturbance broke outamong the slaves."
"'T wouldn't be safe den anywhar, sar; but de Cunnel am a bery braveman. He'm better dan twenty of _his_ niggas."
"Why better than twenty of _his_ niggers?"
"'Cause dem ugly niggas am gin'rally cowards. De darky dat is quiet,'spectful, and does his duty, am de brave sort; _dey'll_ fight, massa,till dey'm cut down."
We had here reached a turn in the road, and passing it, came suddenlyupon a coach, attached to which were a pair of magnificent grays, drivenby a darky in livery.
"Hallo, dar!" said Scip to the driver, as we came nearly abreast of thecarriage. "Am you Cunnel J----'s man?"
"Yas, I is dat," replied the darky.
At this moment a woolly head, which I recognized at once as that of theColonel's man "Jim," was thrust from the window of the vehicle.
"Hallo, Jim," I said. "How do you do? I'm glad to see you."
"Lor bress me, Massa K----, am dat you?" exclaimed the astonished negro,hastily opening the door, and coming to me. "Whar _did_ you cum from?I'se
mighty glad to see you;" at the same time giving my hand a heartyshaking. I must here say, in justice to the reputation of SouthCarolina, that no respectable Carolinian refuses to shake hands with ablack man, unless--the black happens to be free.
"I thought I wouldn't wait for you," I replied. "But how did you expectto get on? the 'runs' have swollen into rivers."
"We got a 'flat' made for dis one--it's down by dis time--de oders wetought we'd get ober sumhow."
"Jim, this is Scip," I said, seeing the darkies took no notice of eachother.
"How d'ye do, Scip_io?_" said Jim, extending his hand to him. A look ofsingular intelligence passed over the faces of the two negroes as theirhands met; it vanished in an instant, and was so slight that none but aclose observer would have detected it, but some words that Scip hadpreviously let drop had put me on the alert, and I felt sure it had ahidden significance.
"Wont you get into de carriage, massa?" inquired Jim.
"No, thank you, Jim. I'll ride on with Scip. Our horse is jaded, and youhad better go ahead."
Jim mounted the driver's seat, turned the carriage, and drove off at abrisk pace to announce our coming at the plantation, while Scip and Irode on at a slower gait.
"Scip, did you know Jim before?" I asked.
"Hab seed him afore, massa, but neber know'd him."
"How is it that you have lived in Georgetown five years, and have notknown him?"
"I cud hab know'd him, massa, good many time, ef I'd liked, but darkieshab to be careful."
"Careful of what?"
"Careful ob who dey knows; good many bad niggas 'bout."
"Pshaw, Scip, you're 'coming de possum'; there isn't a better niggerthan Jim in all South Carolina. I know him well."
"P'raps he am; reckon he _am_ a good 'nuff nigga."
"Good enough nigga, Scip! Why, I tell you he's a splendid fellow; justas true as steel. He's been North with the Colonel, often, and theAbolitionists have tried to get him away; he knew he could go, butwouldn't budge an inch."
"I knew he wouldn't," said the darky, a pleasurable gleam passingthrough his eyes; "dat sort don't run; dey face de music!"
"Why don't they run? What do you mean by facing the music?"
"Nuffin' massa--only dey'd rather stay har."
"Come, Scip, you've played this game long enough. Tell me, now, whatthat look you gave each other when you shook hands meant."
"What look, massa? Oh! I s'pose 'twar 'cause we'd both _heerd_ ob eachoder afore."
"'Twas more than that, Scip. Be frank; you know you can trust _me_."
"Wal, den, massa," he replied hesitatingly, adding, after a short pause,"de ole woman called you a Yankee, sar--you can guess."
"If I should guess, 't would be that it meant _mischief_."
"It don't mean mischief, sar," said the darky, with a tone and air thatwould not have disgraced a Cabinet officer; "it mean only RIGHT andJUSTICE."
"It means that there is some secret understanding between you."
"I toled you, massa," he replied, relapsing into his usual manner, "datde blacks am all Freemasons. I gabe Jim de grip, and he knowd me. He'dha knowd my name ef you hadn't toled him."
"Why would he have known your name?"
"'Cause I gabe de grip, dat tole him."
"Why did he call you Scip_io_? I called you _Scip_."
"Oh! de darkies all do dat. Nobody but de white folks call me _Scip_. Ican't say no more, massa; I SHUD BREAK DE OATH EF I DID!"
"You have said enough to satisfy me that there is a secret league amongthe blacks, and that you are a leader in it. Now, I tell you, you'll getyourself into a scrape. I've taken a liking to you, Scip, and I shouldbe _very sorry_ to see you run yourself into danger."
"I tank you, massa, from de bottom ob my soul I tank you," he said, asthe tears moistened his eyes. "You bery kind, massa; it do me good totalk wid you. But what am my life wuth? What am any _slave's_ life wuth?_Ef you war me you'd do like me!_"
I could not deny it, and I made no reply.
The writer is aware that he is here making an important statement, andone that may be called in question by those persons who are accustomedto regard the Southern blacks as only reasoning brutes. The great massof them _are_ but a little above the brutes in their habits andinstincts, but a large body are fully on a par, except in merebook-education, with their white masters.
The conversation above recorded is, _verbatim et literatim_, TRUE. Ittook place at the time indicated, and was taken down, as were otherconversations recorded in this book, within twenty-four hours after itsoccurrence. The name and the locality, only, I have, for very evidentreasons, disguised.
From this conversation, together with others, held with the same negro,and from after developments made to me at various places, and atdifferent times, extending over a period of six weeks, I becameacquainted with the fact that there exists among the blacks a secret andwide-spread organization of a Masonic character, having its grip,pass-word, and oath. It has various grades of leaders, who arecompetent and _earnest_ men, and its ultimate object is FREEDOM. It isquite as secret and wide-spread as the order of the "Knights of theGolden Circle," the kindred league among the whites.
This latter organization, which was instituted by John C. Calhoun,William L. Porcher, and others, as far back as 1835, has for its soleobject the dissolution of the Union, and the establishment of a SouthernEmpire--Empire is the word, not Confederacy, or Republic; and it wassolely by means of its secret but powerful machinery that the SouthernStates were plunged into revolution, in defiance of the will of amajority of their voting population.
Nearly every man of influence at the South (and many a pretended Unionman at the North) is a member of this organization, and sworn, under thepenalty of assassination, to labor "in season and out of season, by fairmeans and by foul, at all times, and all occasions," for theaccomplishment of its object. The blacks are bound together by a similaroath, and only _bide their time_.
The knowledge of the real state of political affairs which the negroeshave acquired through this organization is astonishingly accurate; theirleaders possess every essential of leadership--except, it may be,military skill--and they are fully able to cope with the whites.
The negro whom I call Scipio, on the day when Major Anderson evacuatedFort Moultrie, and before he or I knew of that event, which set allSouth Carolina in a blaze, foretold to me the breaking out of this warin Charleston harbor, and as confidently predicted that it would resultin the freedom of the slaves!
The fact of this organization existing is not positively known (for theblack is more subtle and crafty than any thing human), but it issuspected by many of the whites, the more moderate of whom are disposedto ward off the impending blow by some system of gradualemancipation--declaring all black children born after a certain datefree--or by some other action that will pacify and keep down the slaves.These persons, however, are but a small minority, and possess nopolitical power, and the South is rushing blindly on to a catastrophe,which, if not averted by the action of our government, will make thehorrors of San Domingo and the French Revolution grow pale in history.
I say the action of our government, for with it rests theresponsibility. What the black wants is freedom. Give him that, and hewill have no incentive to insurrection. If emancipation is proclaimed atthe head of our armies--emancipation for _all_--confiscation for theslaves of rebels, compensation for the slaves of loyal citizens--theblacks will rush to the aid of our troops, the avenging angel will passover the homes of the many true and loyal men who are still left at theSouth, and the thunderbolts of this war will fall only--where theyshould fall--on the heads of its blood-stained authors. If this is notdone, after we have put down the whites we shall have to meet theblacks, and after we have waded knee-deep in the blood of both, weshall end the war where it began, but with the South desolated by fireand sword, the North impoverished and loaded down with an everlastingdebt, and our once proud, happy, and glorious country the by-word andscorn of the civilized
world.
Slavery is the very bones, marrow, and life-blood of this rebellion, andit cannot be crushed till we have destroyed that accursed institution.If a miserable peace is patched up before a death-stroke is given toslavery, it will gather new strength, and drive freedom from thiscountry forever. In the nature of things it cannot exist in the samehemisphere with liberty. Then let every man who loves his countrydetermine that if this war must needs last for twenty years, it shallnot end until this root of all our political evils is weeded outforever.
A short half-hour took us to the plantation, where I found the Colonelon the piazza awaiting me. After our greeting was over, noticing mysoiled and rather dilapidated condition, he inquired where I had passedthe night. I told him, when he burst into a hearty fit of laughter, andfor several days good-naturedly bantered me about "putting up" at themost aristocratic hotel in South Carolina--the "Mills House."
We soon entered the mansion, and the reader will, I trust, pardon me, ifI leave him standing in its door-way till another chapter.
Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time Page 5
