CHAPTER IX.
THE COUNTRY CHURCH.
Had we not been absorbed in conversation, we might have discovered, sometime previous to our arrival at the church door, that the services hadcommenced, for the preacher was shouting at the top of his lungs. Heevidently thought the Lord either a long way off, or very hard ofhearing. Not wishing to disturb the congregation while at theirdevotions, we loitered near the doorway until the prayer was over, andin the mean time I glanced around the vicinity.
The "meeting-house," of large unhewn logs, was a story and a half inheight, and about large enough to seat comfortably a congregation of twohundred persons. It was covered with shingles, with a roof projectingsome four feet over the walls, and was surmounted at the front gable bya tower, about twelve feet square. This also was built of logs, andcontained a bell "to call the erring to the house of prayer," though,unfortunately, all of that character thereabouts dwelt beyond the soundof its voice. The building was located at a cross-roads, about equallydistant from two little hamlets (the nearer nine miles off), neither ofwhich was populous enough to singly support a church and a preacher. Thetrees in the vicinity had been thinned out, so that carriages coulddrive into the woods, and find under the branches shelter from the rainand the sun; and at the time of my visit, about twenty vehicles of allsorts and descriptions, from the Colonel's magnificent barouche to therude cart drawn by a single two-horned quadruped, filled the openings.There was a rustic simplicity about the whole scene that charmed me. Thelow, rude church, the grand old pines that towered in leafy magnificencearound it, and the soft, low wind, that sung a morning hymn in thegreen, wavy woods, seemed to lift the soul up to Him who inhabitetheternity, but who deigns to visit the erring children of men.
The preacher was about to "line out" one of Watts' psalms when weentered the church, but he stopped short on perceiving us, and, bowinglow, waited till we had taken our seats. This action, and thesycophantic air which accompanied it, disgusted me, and turning to theColonel, I asked, jocosely:
"Do the chivalry exact so much obsequiousness from the country clergy?Do you require to be bowed up to heaven?"
In a low voice, but high enough, I thought, for the preacher to hear,for we sat very near, the Colonel replied:
"He's a renegade Yankee--the meanest thing on earth."
I said no more, but entered into the services as seriously as thestrange gymnastic performances of the preacher would allow of my doing;for he was quite as amusing as a circus clown.
With the exception of the Colonel's, and a few other pews in thevicinity of the pulpit, all of the seats were mere rough benches,without backs, and placed so closely together as to interfereuncomfortably with the knees of the sitters. The house was full, and thecongregation as attentive as any I ever saw. All classes were there; theblack serving-man away off by the doorway, the poor white a littlehigher up, the small turpentine-farmer a little higher still, and thewealthy planter, of the class to which the Colonel belonged, on "thehighest seats of the synagogue," and in close proximity to the preacher.
The "man of prayer" was a tall, lean, raw-boned, angular-builtindividual, with a thin, sharp, hatchet-face, a small sunken eye, andlong, loose hair, brushed back and falling over the collar of a seedyblack coat. He looked like a dilapidated scare-crow, and his pale,sallow face, and cracked, wheezy voice, were in odd and comic keepingwith his discourse. His text was: "Speak unto the children of Israel,that they go forward." And addressing the motley gathering of poorwhites and small planters before him as the "chosen people of God," heurged them to press on in the mad course their state had taken. It was apolitical harangue, a genuine stump-speech, but its frequent allusionsto the auditory as the legitimate children of the old patriarch, and therightful heirs of all the promises, struck me as out of place in arural district of South Carolina, however appropriate it might have beenin one of the large towns, before an audience of merchants and traders,who are, almost to a man, Jews.
The services over, the congregation slowly left the church. Gathered ingroups in front of the "meeting-house," they were engaged in a generaldiscussion of the affairs of the day, when the Colonel and I emergedfrom the doorway. The better class greeted my host with considerablecordiality, but I noticed that the well-to-do small planters, whocomposed the greater part of the assemblage, received him with decidedcoolness. These people were the "North County folks," on whom theoverseer had invoked a hanging. Except that their clothing was moreuncouth and ill-fashioned, and their faces generally less "cute" ofexpression, they did not materially differ in appearance from the rusticcitizens who may be seen on any pleasant Sunday gathered around thedoorways of the rural meeting-houses of New England.
One of them, who was leaning against a tree, quietly lighting a pipe,was a fair type of the whole, and as he took a part in the scene whichfollowed, I will describe him. He was tall and spare, with a swinging,awkward gait, and a wiry, athletic frame. His hair, which he wore almostas long as a woman's, was coarse and black, and his face stronglymarked, and of the precise color of two small rivulets of tobacco-juicethat escaped from the corners of his mouth. He had an easy,self-possessed manner, and a careless, devil-may-care way about him,that showed he had measured his powers, and was accustomed to "rough it"with the world. He wore a broadcloth coat of the fashion of some yearsago, but his waistcoat and nether garments of the common, reddishhomespun, were loose and ill-shaped, as if their owner did not wastethought on such trifles. His hat, as shockingly bad as Horace Greeley's,had the inevitable broad brim, and fell over his face like acalash-awning over a shop-window. As I approached him he extended hishand with a pleasant "How are ye, stranger?"
"Very well," I replied, returning his grasp with equal warmth, "how areyou?"
"Right smart, right smart, thank ye. You're----" the rest of thesentence was cut short by a gleeful exclamation from Jim, who, mountedon the box of the carriage, which was drawn up on the cleared plot infront of the meeting-house, waved an open newspaper over his head, andcalled out, as he caught sight of the Colonel:
"Great news, massa--great news from Charls'on!"
(The darky, while we were in church, had gone to the post-office, somefour miles away, and got the Colonel's mail, which consisted of lettersfrom his New York and Charleston factors, the Charleston _Courier_ and_Mercury_ and the New York _Journal of Commerce_. The latter sheet, atthe date of which I am writing, was in wide circulation at the South,its piety (!) and its politics being then calculated with mathematicalprecision for secession latitudes.)
"What is it, Jim?" shouted his master. "Give it to us."
The darky had somehow learned to read, but holding the paper at arm'slength, and throwing himself into a theatrical attitude, he cried out,with any amount of gesticulation:
"De news am, massa, and gemmen and ladies, dat de ole fort foreCharls'on hab ben devacuated by Major Andersin and de sogers, and deyhab stole 'way in de dark night and gone to Sumter, whar dey can't betook; and dat de ole Gubner hab got out a procdemation dat all dat don'tlub de Aberlishen Yankees shill cum up dar and clar 'em out; and depaper say dat lots ob sogers hab cum from Georgi and Al'bama, and 'waydown Souf, to help 'em. Dis am w'at de _Currer_ say," he continued,holding the paper up to his eyes and reading: "Major Andersin, ob deUnited States army hab 'chieved de 'stinction ob op'ning cibil war'tween American citizens; he hab desarted Moulfrie, and by falsefretexts hab took dat ole Garrison and all his millinery stores to FortSumter."
"Get down, you d----d nigger," said the Colonel, laughing, and mountingthe carriage-box beside him. "You can't read. Old Garrison isn'tthere--he's the d----d Northern Abolitionist."
"I knows dat, Cunnel, but see dar," replied Jim, holding the paper outto his master, "don't dat say he'm dar? It'm him dat make all detrubble. P'raps dis nig can't read, but ef dat aint readin' I'd like toknow it!"
"Clear out," said the Colonel, now actually roaring with laughter; "it'sthe garrison of soldiers that the _Courier_ speaks of, not theAbolitionist."
"Read it
yoursef, den, massa, I don't seed it dat way."
Jim was altogether wiser than he appeared, but while equally as wellpleased with the news as his master, he was so for an entirely differentreason. In the crisis which these tidings announced, he saw hope for hisrace.
The Colonel then read the paper to the assemblage. The news was receivedwith a variety of manifestations by the auditory, the larger portion, Ithought, hearing it, as I did, with sincere regret.
"Now is the time to stand by the state, my friends," said my host, as hefinished the reading. "I hope every man here is ready to do his duty byold South Carolina."
"Yes, _sar_! if she does _har_ duty by the Union. We'll go to the deathfor har just so long as she's in the right, but not a d----d step ifshe arn't," said the long-legged native I have introduced to the reader.
"And what have _you_ to say about South Carolina? What does she owe to_you_?" asked the Colonel, turning on the speaker with a proud and angrylook.
"More, a darned sight, than she'll pay, if ye cursed 'ristocrats run herto h---- as ye'r doin'. She owes me, and 'bout ten as likely niggers asye ever seed, a living, and we've d----d hard work to get it out onher _now_, let alone what's comin'."
"Don't talk to me, you ill-mannered cur," said my host, turning his backon his neighbor, and directing his attention to the remainder of theassemblage.
"Look har, Cunnel," replied the native, "if ye'll jest come down fromthar, and throw 'way yer shootin'-irons, I'll give ye the all-firedestthrashing ye ever did get."
The Colonel gave no further heed to him, but the speaker mounted thesteps of the meeting-house and harangued the natives in a strain of rudeand passionate declamation, in which my host, the aristocrats, and thesecessionists came in for about equal shares of abuse. Seeing that thenative (who, it appeared, was quite popular as a stump-speaker) wasdrawing away his audience, the Colonel descended from the driver's seat,and motioning for me to follow, entered the carriage. Turning the horseshomeward, we rode off at a brisk pace.
"Not much secession about that fellow, Colonel," I remarked, after awhile.
"No," he replied, "he's a North Carolina 'corn-cracker,' one of theugliest specimens of humanity extant. They're as thick as fleas in thispart of the state, and about all of them are traitors."
"Traitors to the state, but true to the Union. As far as I've seen, thatis the case with the middling class throughout the South." "Well, itmay be, but they generally go with us, and I reckon they will now, whenit comes to the rub. Those in the towns--the traders andmechanics--will, certain; its only these half-way independent plantersthat ever kick the traces. By the way," continued my host, in a jocoseway, "what did you think of the preaching?"
"I thought it very poor. I'd rather have heard the stump-speech, had itnot been a little too personal on you."
"Well, it was the better of the two," he replied, laughing, "but the olddevil can't afford any thing good, he don't get enough pay."
"Why, how much does he get?"
"Only a hundred dollars."
"That _is_ small. How does the man live?"
"Well, he teaches the daughter of my neighbor, Captain Randall, whobelieves in praying, and gives him his board. Randall thinks thatenough. The rest of the parish can't afford to pay him, and I _wont_."
"Why wont you?"
"Because he's a d----d old hypocrite. He believes in the Union with allhis heart--at least so Randall, who's a sincere Union man, says--andyet, he never sees me at meeting but he preaches a red-hot secessionsermon."
"He wants to keep you in the faith," I replied.
A few more miles of sandy road took us to the mansion, where we founddinner in waiting. Meeting "Massa Tommy"--who had staid at home withhis mother--as we entered the doorway, the Colonel asked after theoverseer.
"He seems well enough, sir; I believe he's coming the possum overmother."
"I'll bet on it, Tommy; but he wont fool you and me, will he, my boy?"said his father, slapping him affectionately on the back.
After dinner I went, with my host to the room of the wounded man. Hishead was still bound up, and he was groaning piteously, as if in greatpain; but I thought there was too fresh a color in his face to beentirely natural in one who had lost so much blood, and been so severelywounded as he affected to have been.
The Colonel mentioned our suspicions to Madam P----, and suggested thatthe shackles should be put on him.
"Oh! no, don't do that; it would be inhuman," said the lady; "the coloris the effect of fever. If you fear he is plotting to get away, let himbe watched."
The Colonel consented, but with evident reluctance, to the arrangement,and retired to his room to take a _siesta_, while I lit a segar, andstrolled out to the negro quarters.
Making my way through the woods to the scene of the morning'sjollification, I found about a hundred darkies gathered around Jim, onthe little plot in front of old Lucy's cabin. He had evidently beengiving them the news. Pausing when I came near, he exclaimed:
"Har's Massa K----, he'll say dat I tells you de trufh;" and turning tome, he said: "Massa K----, dese darkies say dat Massa Andersin am anab'lisherner, and dat none but de ab'lisherners will fight for de Union;am dat so, sar?"
"No, I reckon not, Jim; I think the whole North would fight for it if itwere necessary."
"Am dat so, massa? am dat so?" eagerly inquired a dozen of the darkies;"and am dar great many folks at de Norf--more dan dar am down har?"
"Yas, you fools, didn't I tell you dat?" said Jim, as I, not exactlyrelishing the idea of preaching treason, in the Colonel's absence, tohis slaves, hesitated to reply. "Haint I tole you," he continued, "datin de big city ob New York dar'm more folks dan in all Car'lina? I'sebeen dar, and I knows; and Massa K----'ll tell you dat dey--most on'em--feel mighty sorry for de brack man."
"No he wont," I replied, "and besides, Jim, you should not talk in thisway before me; I might tell your master."
"No! you wont do dat; I knows you wont, massa. Scipio tole us he'd trusthis bery life wid _you_."
"Well, perhaps he might; it's true I would not injure you;" saying that,I turned away, though my curiosity was greatly excited to hear more.
I wandered farther into the woods, and a half-hour found me near one ofthe turpentine distilleries. Seating myself on a rosin barrel, I quietlyfinished my segar, and was about lighting another, when Jim made hisappearance.
"Beg pardon, Massa K----," said the negro, bowing very low, "but I wantsto ax you one or two tings, ef you please, sar."
"Well," I replied, "I'll tell you any thing that I ought to."
"Der yer tink, den, massa, dat dey'll git to fightin' at Charl'son?"
"Yes, judging by the tone of the Charleston papers you've read to-day, Ithink they will."
"And der yer tink dat de rest ob de Souf will jine wid Souf Car'lina, ifshe go at it fust?"
"Yes, Jim, I'm inclined to think so."
"I hard you say to massa, dat ef dey goes to war, 'twill free all deniggers--der you raily b'lieve dat, sar?"
"_You_ heard me say that; how did you hear it?" I exclaimed, insurprise.
"Why, sar, de front winder ob de carriage war down jess a crack, so Ihard all you said."
"Did you let it down on purpose?"
"P'r'aps so, massa. Whot's de use ob habin' ears, ef you don't har?"
"Well, I suppose not much; and you tell all you hear to the othernegroes?"
"I reckon so, massa," said the darky, looking very demure.
"That's the use of having a tongue, eh?" I replied, laughing.
"Dat's it 'zactly, massa."
"Well, Jim, I do think the slaves will be finally freed; but it willcost more white blood to do it than all the niggers in creation areworth. Do you think the darkies would fight for their freedom?"
"Fight, sar!" exclaimed the negro, straightening up his fine form, whilehis usual good-natured look passed from his face, and gave way to anexpression that made him seem more like an incarnate devil than a humanbeing; "FIGHT, sar; gib dem de
chance, and den see."
"Why are you discontented? You have been at the North, and you know theblacks are as well off as the majority of the poor laboring men there."
"You says dat to _me_, Massa K----; you don't say it to de _Cunnel_. Weam _not_ so well off as de pore man at de Norf! You knows dat, sar. Hehab his wife and chil'ren, and his own home. What hab we, sar? No wife,no chil'ren, no home; all am de white man's. Der yer tink we wouldn'tfight to be free?" and he pressed his teeth together, and there passedagain over his face the same look it wore the moment before.
"Come, come, Jim, this may be true of your race; but it don't apply toyourself. Your master is kind and indulgent to _you_."
"He am kine to me, sar; he orter be," said the negro, the savageexpression coming again into his eyes. For a moment he hesitated; then,taking a step toward me, he placed his face down to mine, and hissed outthese words, every syllable seeming to come from the very bottom of hisbeing. "I tell you he orter be, sar, FUR I AM HIS OWN FATHER'S SON!"
"His brother!" I exclaimed, springing to my feet, and looking at him inblank amazement. "It can't be true!"
"It am true, sar--as true as there's a hell! His father had mymother--when he got tired of her, he sold her Souf. _I war too young deneben to know her!_"
"This is horrible--too horrible!" I said.
"It am slavery, sar! Shouldn't we be contented?" replied the negro witha grim smile. Drawing, then, a large spring-knife from his pocket, hewaved it above his head, and added: "Ef I had de hull white racedar--right dar under dat knife, don't yer tink I'd take all darlives--all at one blow--to be FREE!"
"And yet you refused to run away when the Abolitionists tempted you, atthe North. Why didn't you go then?"
"'Cause I had promised, massa."
"Promised the Colonel before you went?"
"No, sar; he neber axed me; but _I_ can't tell you no more. P'rapsScipio will, ef you ax him."
"Oh! I see; you're in that league of which Scip is a leader. You'll getinto trouble, _sure_," I replied, in a quick, decided tone, whichstartled him.
"You tole Scipio dat, sar, and what did _he_ tell you?"
"That he didn't care for his life."
"No more do I, sar," said the negro, turning on his heel with a proud,almost defiant gesture, and starting to go.
"A moment, Jim. You are very imprudent; never say these things to anyother mortal; promise me that."
"You'se bery good, massa, bery good. Scipio say you's true, and he'mallers right. I ortent to hab said what I hab; but sumhow, sar, dat newsbrought it all up _har_" (laying his hand on his breast), "and it wudcome out."
The tears filled his eyes as he said this, and turning away withoutanother word, he disappeared among the trees.
I was almost stunned by this strange revelation, but the more Ireflected on it, the more probable it appeared. Now too, that mythoughts were turned in that direction, I called to mind a certainresemblance between the colonel and the negro that I had not heededbefore. Though one was a high-bred Southern gentleman, claiming an oldand proud descent, and the other a poor African slave, they had somestriking peculiarities which might indicate a common origin. Thelikeness was not in their features, for Jim's face was of theunmistakable negro type, and his skin of a hue so dark that it seemedimpossible he could be the son of a white man (I afterward learned thathis mother was a black of the deepest dye), but it was in their form andgeneral bearing. They had the same closely-knit and sinewy frame, thesame erect, elastic step, the same rare blending of good-natured easeand dignity--to which I have already alluded as characteristic of theColonel--and in the wild burst of passion that accompanied the negro'sdisclosure of their relationship, I saw the same fierce, unbridledtemper, whose outbreaks I had witnessed in my host.
What a strange fate was theirs! Two brothers--the one the owner of threehundred slaves, and the first man of his district--the other, a bondedmenial, and so poor that the very bread he ate, and the clothes he wore,were another's!
I passed the remainder of the afternoon in my room, and did not againmeet my host until the family assembled at the tea-table. Jim thenoccupied his accustomed seat behind the Colonel's chair, and thatgentleman was in more than his usual spirits, though Madam P----, Ithought, wore a sad and absent look.
The conversation rambled over a wide range of subjects, and was carriedon mainly by the Colonel and myself; but toward the close of the mealthe lady said to me:
"Mr. K----, Sam and young Junius are to be buried this evening; if youhave never seen a negro funeral, perhaps you'd like to attend."
"I will be happy to accompany you, Madam, if you go," I replied,
"Thank you," said the lady.
"Pshaw! Alice, you'll not go into the woods on so cold a night as this!"said the Colonel.
"Yes, I think I ought to. Our people will expect me."
Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time Page 10
