Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time

by James R. Gilmore

  CHAPTER VI.

  THE PLANTER'S "FAMILY."

  A quarter of a mile through the woods brought me to the cabin of the oldnegress where Scip lodged. I rapped at the door, and was admitted by theold woman. Scip, nearly asleep, was lying on a pile of blankets in thecorner.

  "Are you mad?" I said to him. "The Colonel is frantic with rage, andswears he will kill you. You must be off at once."

  "No, no, massa; neber fear; I knows him. He'd keep his word, ef he losshis life by it. I'm gwine afore sunrise; till den I'm safe."

  "Der ye tink Massa Davy wud broke his word, sar?" said the old negress,bridling up her bent form, and speaking in a tone in which indignationmingled with wounded dignity; "p'raps gemmen do dat at de Norf--deyneber does it har."

  "Excuse me, Aunty; I know your master is a man of honor; but he's verymuch excited, and very angry with Scip."

  "No matter for dat, sar; Massa Davy neber done a mean ting sense he warborn."

  "Massa K---- tinks a heap ob de Cunnel, Aunty; but he reckon he'm sorto' crazy now; dat make him afeard," said Scip, in an apologetic tone.

  "What ef he am crazy? You'se safe _har_," rejoined the old woman,dropping her aged limbs into a chair, and rocking away with much the airwhich ancient white ladies occasionally assume.

  "Wont you ax Massa K---- to a cheer?" said Scip; "he hab ben bery kineto me."

  The negress then offered me a seat; but it was some minutes before Irendered myself sufficiently agreeable to thaw out the icy dignity ofher manner. Meanwhile I glanced around the apartment.

  Though the exterior of the cabin was like the others on the plantation,the interior had a rude, grotesque elegance about it far in advance ofany negro hut I had ever seen. The logs were chinked with clay, and theone window, though destitute of glass, and ornamented with theinevitable board-shutter, had a green moreen curtain, which kept out thewind and the rain. A worn but neat and well swept carpet partly coveredthe floor, and on the low bed was spread a patch-work counter-pane.Against the side of the room opposite the door stood an antique,brass-handled bureau, and an old-fashioned table, covered with a fadedwoollen cloth, occupied the centre of the apartment. In the corner nearthe fire was a curiously-contrived sideboard, made of narrow strips ofyellow pine, tongued and grooved together, and oiled so as to bring outthe beautiful grain of the wood. On it were several broken and crackedglasses, and an array of irregular crockery. The rocking chair, in whichthe old negress passed the most of her time, was of mahogany, wadded andcovered with chintz, and the arm-seat I occupied, though old and patchedin many places, had evidently moved in good society.

  The mistress of this second-hand furniture establishment was arrayed ina mass of cast-off finery, whose gay colors were in striking contrastwith her jet-black skin and bent, decrepit form. Her gown, which wasvery short, was of flaming red and yellow worsted stuff, and theenormous turban that graced her head and hid all but a few tufts of herfrizzled, "pepper-and-salt" locks, was evidently a contribution from thefamily stock of worn-out pillow-cases. She was very aged--upward ofseventy--and so thin that, had she not been endowed with speech andmotion, she might have passed for a bundle of whalebone thrown intohuman shape, and covered with a coating of gutta-percha. It was evidentshe had been a valued house-servant, whose few remaining years werebeing soothed and solaced by the kind and indulgent care of a gratefulmaster.

  Scip, I soon saw, was a favorite with the old negress, and the markedrespect he showed me quickly dispelled the angry feeling my doubts of"Massa Davy" had excited, and opened her heart and her mouth at the samemoment. She was terribly garrulous; her tongue, as soon as it got underway, ran on as if propelled by machinery and acquainted with the secretof perpetual motion; but she was an interesting study. Thesingle-hearted attachment she showed for her master and his family gaveme a new insight into the practical working of "the peculiarinstitution," and convinced me that even slavery, in some of itsaspects, is not so black as it is painted.

  When we were seated, I said to Scip, "What induced you to lay hands onthe Colonel? It is death, you know, if he enforces the law."

  "I knows dat, massa; I knows dat; but I had to do it. Dat Moye am de oledebble, but de folks round har wud hab turned on de Cunnel, shore, efhe'd killed him. Dey don't like de Cunnel; dey say he'm a stuck-upseshener."

  "The Colonel, then, has befriended you at some time?"

  "No, no, sar; 'twarn't dat; dough I'se know'd him a long w'ile--ebersense my ole massa fotched me from Habana--but 'twarn't dat."

  "Then _why_ did you do it?"

  The black hesitated a moment, and glanced at the old negress, then said:

  "You see, massa, w'en I fuss come to Charles'n, a pore little ting, widno friend in all de worle, dis ole aunty war a mudder to me. She nussedde Cunnel; he am jess like her own chile, and I know'd 'twud kill her efhe got hissef enter trubble."

  I noticed certain convulsive twitchings about the corners of the oldwoman's mouth as she rose from her seat, threw her arms around Scip,and, in words broken by sobs, faltered out:

  "_You_ am my chile; I loves you better dan Massa Davy--better dan all deworle."

  The scene, had they not been black, would have been one for a painter.

  "You were the Colonel's nurse, Aunty," I said, when she had regained hercomposure. "Have you always lived with him?"

  "Yas, sar, allers; I nussed him, and den de chil'ren--all ob 'em."

  "_All_ the children? I thought the Colonel had but one--Miss Clara."

  "Wal, he habn't, massa, only de boys."

  "What boys? I never heard he had sons."

  "Neber heerd of young Massa Davy, nor Massa Tommy! Haint you _seed_Massa Tommy, sar?"

  "Tommy! I was told he was Madam P----'s son."

  "So he am; Massa Davy had _her_ long afore he had missus."

  The truth flashed upon me; but could it be possible? Was I in SouthCarolina or in Utah?

  "Who _is_ Madam P----?" I asked.

  The old woman hesitated a moment as if in doubt whether she had not saidtoo much; but Scip quietly replied:

  "She'm jess what aunty am--_de Cunnel's slave!_"

  "His _slave!_ it can't be possible; she is white!"

  "No, massa; she am brack, and de Cunnel's slave!"

  Not to weary the reader with a long repetition of negro-English, I willtell in brief what I gleaned from an hour's conversation with the twoblacks.

  Madam P---- was the daughter of Ex-Gov. ----, of Virginia, by a quarteronwoman. She was born a slave, but was acknowledged as her father's child,and reared in his family with his legitimate children. When she was tenyears old her father died, and his estate proving insolvent, the landand negroes were brought under the hammer. His daughter, never havingbeen manumitted, was inventoried and sold with the other property. TheColonel, then just of age, and a young man of fortune, bought her andtook her to the residence of his mother in Charleston. A governess wasprovided for her, and a year or two afterward she was taken to the Northto be educated. There she was frequently visited by the Colonel; andwhen fifteen her condition became such that she was obliged to returnhome. He conveyed her to the plantation, where her elder son, David, wassoon after born, "Aunt Lucy" officiating on the occasion. When the childwas two years old, leaving it in charge of the aged negress, sheaccompanied the Colonel to Europe, where they remained for a year.Subsequently she passed another year at a Northern seminary; and then,returning to the homestead, was duly installed as its mistress, and hadever since presided over its domestic affairs. She was kind and good tothe negroes, who were greatly attached to her, and much of theColonel's wealth was due to her excellent management of the plantation.

  Six years after the birth of "young Massa Davy," the Colonel married hispresent wife, that lady having full knowledge of his left-handedconnection with Madam P----, and consenting that the "bond-woman" shouldremain on the plantation, as its mistress. The legitimate wife resided,during most of the year, in Charleston, and when at the homestead tooklittle interest in domestic matt
ers. On one of her visits to theplantation, twelve years before, her daughter, Miss Clara, was born, andwithin a week, under the same roof, Madam P---- presented the Colonelwith a son--the lad Thomas, of whom I have spoken. As the mother wasslave, the children were so also at birth, but _they_ had beenmanumitted by their father. One of them was being educated in Germany;and it was intended that both should spend their lives in that country,the taint in their blood being an insuperable bar to their everacquiring social position at the South.

  As she finished the story, the old woman said, "Massa Davy am bery kindto the missus, sar, but he _love_ de ma'am; an' he can't help it, 'causeshe'm jess so good as de angels."[E]

  In conversation with a well-known Southern gentleman, not long since, Imentioned these two cases, and commented on them as a man educated withNew England ideas might be supposed to do. The gentleman admitted thathe knew of twenty such instances, and gravely defended the practice asbeing infinitely more moral and respectable than the _more commonrelation_ existing between masters and slaves.

  I looked at my watch--it was nearly ten o'clock, and I rose to go. As Idid so the old negress said:

  "Don't yer gwo, massa, 'fore you hab sum ob aunty's wine; you'm goodfriends wid Scip, and I knows _you'se_ not too proud to drink wid brackfolks, ef you am from de Norf."

  Being curious to know what quality of wine a plantation slave indulgedin, I accepted the invitation. She went to the side-board, and broughtout a cut-glass decanter, and three cracked tumblers, which she placedon the table. Filling the glasses to the brim, she passed one to Scip,and one to me, and, with the other in her hand, resumed her seat.Wishing her a good many happy years, and Scip a pleasant journey home, Iemptied my glass. It was Scuppernong, and the pure juice of the grape!

  "Aunty," I said, "this wine is as fine as I ever tasted."

  "Oh, yas, massa, it am de raal stuff. I growed de grapes myseff."

  "You grew them?"

  "Yas, sar, an' Massa Davy make de wine. He do it ebery yar for de olenuss."

  "The Colonel is very good. Do you raise any thing else?"

  "Yas, I hab collards and taters, a little corn, and most ebery ting."

  "But who does your work? _You_ certainly can't do it?"

  "Oh, de ma'am looks arter dat, sar; she'm bery good to de ole aunty."

  Shaking hands with both the negroes, I left the cabin, fully convincedthat all the happiness in this world is not found within plasteredapartments.

  The door of the mansion was bolted and barred; but, rapping foradmission, I soon heard the Colonel's voice asking, "Who is there?"Giving a satisfactory answer, I was admitted. Explaining that hesupposed I had retired to my room, he led the way to the library.

  That apartment was much more elegantly furnished than the drawing-rooms.Three of its sides were lined with books, and on the centre-table,papers, pamphlets, and manuscripts were scattered in promiscuousconfusion. In an arm-chair near the fire, Madame P---- was seated,reading. The Colonel's manner was as composed as if nothing haddisturbed the usual routine of the plantation; no trace of the recentterrible excitement was visible; in fact, had I not been a witness tothe late tragedy, I should have thought it incredible that he, withintwo hours, had been an actor in a scene which had cost a human being hislife.

  "Where in creation have you been, my dear fellow?" he asked, as we tookour seats.

  "At old Lucy's cabin, with Scip," I replied.

  "Indeed. I supposed the darky had gone."

  "No, he doesn't go till the morning."

  "I told you he wouldn't, David," said Madame P----; "now, send forhim--make friends with him before he goes."

  "No, Alice, it wont do. I bear him no ill-will, but it wont do. It wouldbe all over the plantation in an hour."

  "No matter for that; our people would like you the better for it."

  "No, no. I can't do it. I mean him no harm, but I can't do that."

  "He told me _why_ he interfered between you and Moye," I remarked.

  "Why did he?"

  "He says old Lucy, years ago, was a mother to him; that she is greatlyattached to you, and it would kill her if any harm happened to you; andthat your neighbors bear you no good-will, and would have enforced thelaw had you killed Moye."

  "It is true, David; you would have had to answer for it."

  "Nonsense! what influence could this North County scum have against_me_?"

  "Perhaps none. But that makes no difference; Scipio did right, and youshould tell him you forgive him."

  The Colonel then rang a small bell, and a negro woman soon appeared."Sue," he said, "go to Aunt Lucy's, and ask Scip to come here. Bring himin at the front door, and, mind, let no one know he comes."

  The woman in a short time returned with Scip. There was not a trace offear or embarrassment in the negro's manner as he entered the room.Making a respectful bow, he bade us "good evening."

  "Good evening, Scip," said the Colonel, rising and giving the black hishand; "let us be friends. Madam tells me I should forgive you, and Ido."

  "Aunt Lucy say ma'am am an angel, sar, and it am tru--_it am tru_, sar,"replied the negro with considerable feeling.

  The lady rose, also, and took Scip's hand, saying, "_I_ not only forgiveyou, but I _thank_ you for what you have done. I shall never forget it."

  "You'se too good, ma'am; you'se too good to say dat," replied the darky,the moisture coming to his eyes; "but I meant nuffin' wrong--I meantnuffin' dis'specful to de Cunnel."

  "I know you didn't, Scip; but we'll say no more about it;--good-by,"said the Colonel.

  Shaking hands with each one of us, the darky left the apartment.

  One who does not know that the high-bred Southern gentleman considersthe black as far below him as the horse he drives, or the dog he kicks,cannot realize the amazing sacrifice of pride which the Colonel made inseeking a reconciliation with Scip. It was the cutting off of his righthand. The circumstance showed the powerful influence held over him bythe octoroon woman. Strange that she, his slave, cast out from societyby her blood and her life, despised, no doubt, by all the world, save byhim and a few ignorant blacks, should thus control a proud, self-willed,passionate man, and control him, too, only for good.

  After the black had gone, I said to the Colonel, "I was much interestedin old Lucy. A few more such instances of cheerful and contented oldage, might lead me to think better of slavery."

  "Such cases are not rare, sir. They show the paternal character of our'institution.' We are _forced_ to care for our servants in their oldage."

  "But have your other aged slaves the same comforts that Aunt Lucy has?"

  "No; they don't need them. She has been accustomed to live in my house,and to fare better than the plantation hands; she therefore requiresbetter treatment."

  "Is not the support of that class a heavy tax upon you?"

  "Yes, it _is_ heavy. We have, of course, to deduct it from the labor ofthe able-bodied hands."

  "What is the usual proportion of sick and infirm on your plantation?"

  "Counting in the child-bearing women, I reckon about twenty per cent."

  "And what does it cost you to support each hand?"

  "Well, it costs _me_, for children and all, about seventy-five dollars ayear. In some places it costs less. _I_ have to buy all my provisions."

  "What proportion of your slaves are able-bodied hands?"

  "Somewhere about sixty per cent. I have, all told, old and young--men,women, and children--two hundred and seventy. Out of that number I havenow equal to a hundred and fifty-four _full_ hands. You understand thatwe classify them: some do only half tasks, some three-quarters. I have_more_ than a hundred and fifty-four working-men and women, but they doonly that number of full tasks."

  "What does the labor of a _full_ hand yield?"

  "At the present price of turpentine, my calculation is about two hundreddollars a year."

  "Then your crop brings you about thirty-one thousand dollars, and thesupport of your negroes costs you twenty thousand."r />
  "Yes."

  "If that's the case, my friend, let me advise you to sell yourplantation, free your niggers, and go North."

  "Why so, my dear fellow?" asked the Colonel laughing.

  "Because you'd make money by the operation."

  "I never was good at arithmetic; go into the figures," he replied, stilllaughing, while Madam P----, who had laid aside her book, listened veryattentively.

  "Well, you have two hundred and seventy negroes, whom you value, we'llsay, with your mules, 'stills,' and movable property, at two hundredthousand dollars; and twenty thousand acres of land, worth about threedollars and a half an acre; all told, two hundred and seventy thousanddollars. A hundred and fifty-four able-bodied hands produce you a yearlyprofit of eleven thousand dollars, which, saying nothing about the costof keeping your live stock, the wear and tear of your mules andmachinery, and the yearly loss of your slaves by death, is only four percent. on your capital. Now, with only the price of your land, sayseventy thousand dollars, invested in safe stocks at the North, youcould realize eight per cent.--five thousand six hundred dollars--andlive at ease; and that, I judge, if you have many runaways, or many dieon your hands, is as much as you really _clear_ now. Besides, if youshould invest seventy thousand dollars in almost any legitimate businessat the North, and should add to it, _as you now do_, your _time_ and_labor_, you would realize far more than you do at present from yourentire capital."

  "I never looked at the matter in that light. But I have given you myprofits as they _now_ are; some years I make more; six years ago I madetwenty-five thousand dollars."

  "Yes; and six years hence you may make nothing."

  "That's true. But it would cost me more to live at the North."

  "There you are mistaken. What do you pay for your corn, your pork, andyour hay, for instance?"

  "Well, my corn I have to bring round by vessel from Washington (NorthCarolina), and it costs me high when it gets here--about ten bits (adollar and twenty-five cents), I think."

  "And in New York you could buy it now at sixty to seventy cents. Whatdoes your hay cost?"

  "Thirty-five dollars. I pay twenty for it in New York--the balance isfreight and hauling."

  "Your pork costs you two or three dollars, I suppose, for freight andhauling."

  "Yes; about that."

  "Then in those items you might save nearly a hundred per cent.; and theyare the principal articles you consume."

  "Yes; there's no denying that. But another thing is just as certain: itcosts less to support one of my niggers than one of your laboring men."

  "That may be true. But it only shows that our laborers fare better thanyour slaves."

  "I am not sure of that. I _am_ sure, however, that our slaves are morecontented than the run of laboring men at the North."

  "That proves nothing. Your blacks have no hope, no chance to rise; andthey submit--though I judge not cheerfully--to an iron necessity. TheNorthern laborer, if very poor, may be discontented; but discontenturges him to effort, and leads to the bettering of his condition. I tellyou, my friend, slavery is an expensive luxury. You Southern nabobs_will_ have it; and you have to _pay for it_."

  "Well, we don't complain. But, seriously, my good fellow, I feel that Iam carrying out the design of the Almighty in holding my niggers. Ithink he made the black to serve the white."

  "_I_ think," I replied, "that whatever He designs works perfectly. Yourinstitution certainly does not. It keeps the producer, who, in everysociety, is the really valuable citizen, in the lowest poverty, while itallows those who do nothing to be 'clad in fine linen, and to faresumptuously every day.'"

  "It does more than that, sir," said Madam P----, with animation; "itbrutalizes and degrades the _master_ and the _slave_; it separateshusband and wife, parent and child; it sacrifices virtuous women to thelust of brutal men; and it shuts millions out from the knowledge oftheir duty and their destiny. A good and just God could not havedesigned it; and it _must_ come to an end."

  If lightning had struck in the room I could not have been more startledthan I was by the abrupt utterance of such language in a planter'shouse, in his very presence, and _by his slave_. The Colonel, however,expressed no surprise and no disapprobation. It was evidently no newthing to him.

  "It is rare, madam," I said, "to hear such sentiments from a Southernlady--one reared among slaves."

  Before she could reply, the Colonel laughingly said:

  "Bless you, Mr. K----, madam is an out-and-out abolitionist, worse byfifty per cent. than Garrison or Wendell Phillips. If she were at theNorth she would take to pantaloons, and 'stump' the entire free States;wouldn't you, Alice?"

  "I have no doubt of it," rejoined the lady, smiling. "But I fear Ishould have poor success. I've tried for ten years to convert _you_, andMr. K---- can see the result."

  It had grown late; and with my head full of working niggers and whiteslave-women, I went to my apartment.

  The next day was Sunday. It was near the close of December, yet the airwas as mild and the sun as warm as in our Northern October. It wasarranged at the breakfast-table that we all should attend service at"the meeting-house," a church of the Methodist persuasion, located someeight miles away; but as it wanted some hours of the time for religiousexercises to commence, I strolled out after breakfast, with the Colonel,to inspect the stables of the plantation. "Massa Tommy" accompanied us,without invitation; and in the Colonel's intercourse with him I observedas much freedom and familiarity as he would have shown to anacknowledged son. The youth's manners and conversation showed that greatattention had been given to his education and training, and made itevident that the mother whose influence was forming his character,whatever a false system of society had made her life, possessed some ofthe best traits of her sex.

  The stables, a collection of one-story framed buildings, about a hundredrods from the house, were well lighted and ventilated, and contained all"the modern improvements." They were better built, warmer, morecommodious, and in every way more comfortable than the shanties occupiedby the human cattle of the plantation. I remarked as much to theColonel, adding that one who did not know would infer that he valued hishorses more than his slaves.

  "That may be true," he replied, laughing. "Two of my horses are worthmore than any eight of my slaves;" at the same time calling my attentionto two magnificent thorough-breds, one of which had made "2.32" on theCharleston course. The establishment of a Southern gentleman is notcomplete until it includes one or two of these useless appendages. I hadan argument with my host as to their value compared with that of thesteam-engine, in which I forced him to admit that the iron horse is thebetter of the two, because it performs more work, eats less, has greaterspeed, and is not liable to the spavin or the heaves; but he wound up bysaying, "After all, I go for the thorough-breds. You Yankees have butone test of value--use."

  A ramble through the negro-quarters, which followed our visit to thestables, gave me some further glimpses of plantation life. Many of thehands were still away in pursuit of Moye, but enough remained to make itevident that Sunday is the happiest day in the darky calendar. Groups ofall ages and colors were gathered in front of several of the cabins,some singing, some dancing, and others chatting quietly together, butall enjoying themselves as heartily as so many young animals let loosein a pasture. They saluted the Colonel and me respectfully, but each onehad a free, good-natured word for "Massa Tommy," who seemed an especialfavorite with them. The lad took their greetings in good part, butpreserved an easy, unconscious dignity of manner that plainly showed hedid not know that _he_ too was of their despised, degraded race.

  The Colonel, in a rapid way, gave me the character and peculiarities ofnearly every one we met. The titles of some of them amused me greatly.At every step we encountered individuals whose names have becomehousehold words in every civilized country.[F] Julius Caesar, slightlystouter than when he swam the Tiber, and somewhat tanned from longexposure to a Southern sun, was seated on a wood-pile, quietly smoking apipe; while nea
r him, Washington, divested of regimentals, and clad in amodest suit of reddish-gray, his thin locks frosted by time, and hisfleshless visage showing great age, was gazing, in rapt admiration, at agroup of dancers in front of old Lucy's cabin.

  In this group about thirty men and women were making the ground quakeand the woods ring with their unrestrained jollity. Marc Antony wasrattling away at the bones, Nero fiddling as if Rome were burning, andHannibal clawing at a banjo as if the fate of Carthage hung on itsstrings. Napoleon, as young and as lean as when he mounted the bridge ofLodi, with the battle-smoke still on his face, was moving his legs evenfaster than in the Russian retreat; and Wesley was using his heels in away that showed _they_ didn't belong to the Methodist church. But thecentral figures of the group were Cato and Victoria. The lady had a facelike a thunder-cloud, and a form that, if whitewashed, would haveoutsold the "Greek Slave." She was built on springs, and "floated in thedance" like a feather in a high wind. Cato's mouth was like analligator's, but when it opened, it issued notes that would draw thespecie even in this time of general suspension. As we approached he wassinging a song, but he paused on perceiving us, when the Colonel,tossing a handful of coin among them, called out, "Go on, boys; let thegentleman have some music; and you, Vic, show your heels like a beauty."

  A general scramble followed, in which "Vic's" sense of decorum forbadeher to join, and she consequently got nothing. Seeing that, I tossed hera silver piece, which she caught. Grinning her thanks, she shouted,"Now, clar de track, you nigs; start de music. I'se gwine to gib degemman de breakdown."

  And she did; and such a breakdown! "We w'ite folks," though it was nonew thing to the Colonel or Tommy, almost burst with laughter.

  In a few minutes nearly every negro on the plantation, attracted by thepresence of the Colonel and myself, gathered around the performers; anda shrill voice at my elbow called out, "Look har, ye lazy,good-for-nuffin' niggers, carn't ye fotch a cheer for Massa Davy and destrange gemman?"

  "Is that you, Aunty?" said the Colonel. "How d'ye do?"

  "Sort o' smart, Massa Davy; sort o' smart; how is ye?"

  "Pretty well, Aunty; pretty well. Have a seat." And the Colonel helpedher to one of the chairs that were brought for us, with as muchtenderness as he would have shown to an aged white lady.

  The "exercises," which had been suspended for a moment, recommenced, andthe old negress entered into them as heartily as the youngest present. Asong from Cato followed the dance, and then about twenty "gentleman andlady" darkies joined, two at a time, in a half "walk-round" halfbreakdown, which the Colonel told me was the original of the well-knowndance and song of Lucy Long. Other performances succeeded, and the wholeformed a scene impossible to describe. Such uproarious jollity, suchfull and perfect enjoyment, I had never seen in humanity, black orwhite. The little nigs, only four or five years old, would rush into thering and shuffle away at the breakdowns till I feared their short legswould come off; while all the darkies joined in the songs, till thebranches of the old pines above shook as if they too had caught thespirit of the music. In the midst of it, the Colonel said to me, in anexultant tone:

  "Well, my friend, what do you think of slavery _now_?"

  "About the same that I thought yesterday. I see nothing to change myviews."

  "Why, are not these people happy? Is not this perfect enjoyment?"

  "Yes; just the same enjoyment that aunty's pigs are having; don't youhear _them_ singing to the music? I'll wager they are the happier of thetwo."

  "No; you are wrong. The higher faculties of the darkies are beingbrought out here."

  "I don't know that," I replied. "Within the sound of their voices, twoof their fellows--victims to the inhumanity of slavery--are lying dead,and yet they make _Sunday_ "hideous" with wild jollity, while Sam's fatemay be theirs to-morrow."

  Spite of his genuine courtesy and high breeding, a shade of displeasurepassed over the Colonel's face as I made this remark. Rising to go, hesaid, a little impatiently, "Ah, I see how it is; that d---- Garrison'ssentiments have impregnated even you. How can the North and the Southhold together when moderate men like you and me are so far apart?"

  "But you," I rejoined, good-humoredly, "are not a moderate man. You andGarrison are of the same stripe, both extremists. _You_ have mounted onehobby, _he_ another; that is all the difference."

  "I should be sorry," he replied, recovering his good nature, "to thinkmyself like Garrison. I consider him the ---- scoundrel unhung."

  "No; I think he means well. But you are both fanatics, both 'bricks' ofthe same material; we conservatives, like mortar, will hold you togetherand yet keep you apart."

  "I, for one, _won't_ be held. If I can't get out of this cursed Union inany other way, I'll emigrate to Cuba."

  I laughed, and just then, looking up, caught a glimpse of Jim, whostood, hat in hand, waiting to speak to the Colonel, but not daring tointerrupt a white conversation.

  "Hallo, Jim," I said; "have you got back?"

  "Yas, sar," replied Jim, grinning all over as if he had some agreeablething to communicate.

  "Where is Moye?" asked the Colonel.

  "Kotched, massa; I'se got de padlocks on him."

  "Kotched," echoed half a dozen darkies, who stood near enough to hear;"Ole Moye is kotched," ran through the crowd, till the music ceased, anda shout went up from two hundred black throats that made the old treestremble.

  "Now gib him de lashes, Massa Davy," cried the old nurse. "Gib him whathe gabe pore Sam; but mine dat you keeps widin de law."

  "Never fear, Aunty," said the Colonel; "I'll give him ----."

  How the Colonel kept his word will be told in another chapter.

  [Footnote E: Instances are frequent where Southern gentlemen form theseleft-handed connections, and rear two sets of differently coloredchildren; but it is not often that the two families occupy the samedomicil. The only other case within my _personal_ knowledge was that ofthe well-known President of the Bank of St. M----, at Columbus, Ga. Thatgentleman, whose note ranked in Wall Street, when the writer wasacquainted with that locality, as "A No. 1," lived for fifteen yearswith two "wives" under one roof. One, an accomplished white woman, andthe mother of several children--did the honors of his table, and movedwith him in "the best society;" the other--a beautiful quadroon, alsothe mother of several children--filled the humbler office of nurse toher own and the other's offspring.]

  [Footnote F: Among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is a_name_. A slave has no family designation. It may be for that reasonthat a high-sounding appellation is usually selected for the single onehe is allowed to appropriate.]