Blake or The Huts of America

by Martin R. Delany

  CHAPTER 3

  The Fate of Maggie

  After dinner Colonel Franks again pressed the inquiry concerning the disposition of his lady. At this time the maid was in the culinary department taking her dinner. The children having been served, she preferred the company of her old mother whom she loved, the children hanging around, and upon her lap. There was no servant save the boy Tony present in the parlor.

  “I can’t, I won’t let her go! she’s a dear good girl!” replied Mrs. Franks. “The children are attached to her, and so am I; let Minny or any other of them go–but do not, for Heaven’s sake, tear Maggie from me!”

  “Maria, my dear, you’ve certainly lost your balance of mind! Do try and compose yourself,” admonished the Colonel. “There’s certainly no disposition to do contrary to your desires; try and be a little reasonable.”

  “I’m sure, cousin, I see no cause for your importunity. No one that I know of designs to hurt the Negro girl. I’m sure it’s not me!” impatiently remarked Mrs. Ballard.

  During this, the boy had several times gone into the hall, looking toward the kitchen, then meaningly into the parlor as if something unusual were going on.

  Mammy Judy becoming suspicious, went into the hall and stood close beside the parlor door, listening at the conversation.

  “Cousin, if you will listen for a moment, I wish to say a word to you,” said Mrs. Ballard. “The Judge, as you know, has a countryseat in Cuba near the city of Havana, where we design making every year our winter retreat. As we cannot take with us either free Negroes or white servants, on account of the existing restrictions, I must have a slave, and of course I prefer a well-trained one, as I know all yours to be. The price will be no object; as I know it will be none to you, it shall be none to me.”

  “I will not consent to part with her, cousin Arabella, and it is useless to press the matter any further!” emphatically replied Mrs. Franks.

  “I am sure, cousin Maria, it was well understood between the Colonel and the Judge, that I was to have one of your best-trained maidservants!” continued Mrs. Ballard.

  “The Colonel and the Judge! If any such understanding exist, it is without my knowledge and consent, and——”

  “It is true, my dear,” interposed the Colonel, “but——”

  “Then,” replied she, “heaven grant that I may go too! from—”

  “Pah, pah! cousin Maria Franks, I’m really astonished at you to take on so about a Negro girl! You really appear to have lost your reason. I would not behave so for all the Negroes in Mississippi.”

  “My dear,” said Franks, “I have been watching the conduct of that girl for some time past; she is becoming both disobedient and unruly, and as I have made it a rule of my life never to keep a disobedient servant, the sooner we part with her the better. As I never whip my servants, I do not want to depart from my rule in her case.”

  Maggie was true to her womanhood, and loyal to her mistress, having more than once communicated to her ears facts the sounds of which reflected no credit in his. For several repulses such as this, it was that she became obnoxious to her master.

  “Cousin Maria, you certainly have forgotten; I’m sure, when last at the North, you promised in presence of the girl, that I was to have her, and I’m certain she’s expecting it,” explained Mrs. Ballard.

  “This I admit,” replied Mrs. Franks, “but you very well know, cousin Arabella, that that promise was a mere ruse, to reconcile an uneasiness which you informed me you discovered in her, after overhearing a conversation between her and some free Negroes, at Saratoga Springs.”

  “Well, cousin, you can do as you please,” concluded Mrs. Ballard.

  “Colonel, I’m weary of this conversation. What am I to expect?” enquired Mrs. Franks.

  “It’s a settled point, my dear, she must be sold!” decisively replied Franks.

  “Then I must hereafter be disrespected by our own slaves! You know, Colonel, that I gave my word to Henry, her husband, your most worthy servant, that his wife should be here on his return. He had some misgiving that she was to be taken to Cuba before his return, when I assured him that she should be here. How can I bear to meet this poor creature, who places every confidence in what we tell him? He’ll surely be frantic.”

  “Nonsense, cousin, nonsense,” sneered Mrs. Ballard. “Frantic, indeed! Why you speak of your Negro slaves as if speaking of equals. Make him know that whatever you order, he must be contented with.”

  “I’ll soon settle the matter with him, should he dare show any feelings about it!” interposed Franks. “When do you look for him, Maria?”

  “I’m sure, Colonel, you know more about the matter than I do. Immediately after you left, he took the horses to Baton Rouge, where at the last accounts he was waiting the conclusion of the races. Judge Dilbreath had entered them according to your request–one horse for each day’s races. I look for him every day. Then there are more than him to reconcile. There’s old Mammy Judy, who will run mad about her. You know, Colonel, she thought so much of her, that she might be treated tenderly the old creature gave up her situation in the house as nurse and foster mother to our children, going into the kitchen to do the harder work.”

  “Well, my dear, we’ll detain your cousin till he comes. I’ll telegraph the Judge that, if not yet left, to start him home immediately.”

  “Colonel, that will be still worse, to let him witness her departure; I would much rather she’d leave before his return. Poor thing!” she sighed.

  “Then she may go!” replied he.

  “And what of poor old mammy and his boy?”

  “I’ll soon settle the matter with old Judy.”

  Mrs. Franks looking him imploringly in the face, let drop her head, burying her face in the palms of her hands. Soon it was found necessary to place her under the care of a physician.

  Old Mammy Judy had long since beckoned her daughter, where both stood in breathless silence catching every word that passed.

  At the conclusion, Maggie, clasping her hands, exclaimed in suppressed tones, “O mammy, O mammy! what shall I do? O, is there no hope for me? Can’t you beg master–can’t you save me!”

  “Look to de Laud, my chile! Him ony able to bring yeh out mo’ nah conkeh!” was the prayerful advice of the woe-stricken old mother. Both, hastening into the kitchen, falling upon their knees, invoked aloud the God of the oppressed.

  Hearing in that direction an unusual noise, Franks hastened past the kitchen door, dropping his head, and clearing his throat as he went along. This brought the slaves to an ordinary mood, who trembled at his approach.

  CHAPTER 4

  Departure of Maggie

  The countryseat of Franks, or the “great house” of the cotton plantation, was but a short distance from the city. Mrs. Franks, by the advice of her physician, was removed there to avoid the disturbance of the town, when at the same time Mrs. Ballard left with her slave Maggie en route for Baltimore, whither she designed leaving her until ready to sail for Cuba.

  “Fahwell, my chile! fahwell; may God A’mighty be wid you!” were the parting words of the poor old slave, who with streaming eyes gazed upon her parting child for the last time.

  “O mammy! Can’t you save me? O Lord, what shall I do? O my husband! O my poor child! O my! O my!” were the only words, the sounds of which died upon the breeze, as the cab hastily bore her to a steamer then lying at the wharf.

  Poor old Mammy Judy sat at the kitchen door with elbows resting upon her knee, side of the face resting in the palm of the hand, tears streaming down, with a rocking motion, noticing nothing about her, but in sorrow moaning just distinctly enough to be understood: “Po’ me! Po’ me! Po’ me!”

  The sight was enough to move the heart of anyone, and it so affected Franks that he wished he had “never owned a Negro.”

  Daddy Joe, the husband of Mammy Judy, was a field hand on the cotton place, visiting his wife at the town residence every Saturday night. Colonel Franks was a fine, grave, senatoria
l-looking man, of medium height, inclined to corpulency, black hair, slightly grey, and regarded by his slaves as a good master, and religiously as one of the best of men.

  On their arrival at the great house, those working nearest gathered around the carriage, among whom was Daddy Joe.

  “Wat a mautta wid missus?” was the general inquiry of the gang.

  “Your mistress is sick, boys,” replied the master.

  “Maus, whah’s Margot?” enquired the old man, on seeing his mistress carried into the house without the attendance of her favorite maidservant.

  “She’s in town, Joe,” replied Franks.

  “How’s Judy, seh?”

  “Judy is well.”

  “Tank’e seh!” politely concluded the old man, with a bow, turning away in the direction of his work-with a countenance expressive of anything but satisfaction–from the interview.

  The slaves, from their condition, are suspicious; any evasion or seeming design at suppressing the information sought by them frequently arouses their greatest apprehension.

  Not unfrequently the mere countenance, a look, a word, or laugh of the master, is an unerring foreboding of misfortune to the slave. Ever on the watch for these things, they learn to read them with astonishing precision.

  This day was Friday, and the old slave consoled himself with the thought that on the next evening he would be able to see and know for himself the true state of things about his master’s residence in town. The few hours intervening were spent with great anxiety, which was even observed by his fellow slaves.

  At last came Saturday evening and with it, immediately after sunset, Daddy Joe made his appearance at the hall door of the great house, tarrying only long enough to inquire “How’s missus?” and receive the reply, “she’s better,” when a few moments found him quite out of sight, striding his way down the lane toward the road to the city.

  The sudden and unexpected fate of Maggie had been noised among the slaves throughout the entire neighborhood; many who had the opportunity of doing so, repairing to the house to learn the facts.

  In the lower part of the town, bordering on the river there is a depot or receptacle for the slave gangs brought by professional traders. This part of the town is known as “Natchez-under-the-Hill.”[1] It is customary among the slaves when any of their number are sold, to say that they are gone “under the hill,” and their common salutation through the day was that “Franks’ Mag had gone under the hill.”

  As with quickened steps Daddy Joe approached the town, his most fearful apprehensions became terribly realized when meeting a slave who informed him that “Margot had gone under the hill.” Falling-upon his knees, in the fence corner, the old man raised his voice in supplication of Divine aid: “O Laud! dow has promis’ in dine own wud, to be a fadah to de fadaless, an’ husban to de widah! O Laud, let dy wud run an’ be glorify! Sof’en de haud haut ob de presseh, an’ let my po’ chile cum back! an’——”

  “Stop that noise there, old nigger!” ordered a patrol approaching him. “Who’s boy are you?”

  “Sahvant, mausta!” saluted the old slave, “I b’long to cunei Frank, seh!”

  “Is this old Joe?”

  “Dis is me maus Johnny.”

  “You had better trudge along home then, as it’s likely old Judy wants to see you about this time.”

  “Tank’e seh,” replied the old man, with a bow, feeling grateful that he was permitted to proceed.

  “Devilish good, religious old Negro,” he remarked to his associates, as the old man left them in the road.

  A few minutes more, and Daddy Joe entered the kitchen door at his master’s residence. Mammy Judy, on seeing him, gave vent afresh to bitter wailing, when the emotion became painfully mutual.

  “O husban’! Husban! Onah po’ chile is gone!” exclaimed the old woman, clasping him around the neck.

  “Laud! dy will be done!” exclaimed he. “Ole umin, look to de Laud! as he am suffishen fah all tings”; both, falling on their knees, breathed in silence their desires to God.

  “How long! How long! O Laud how long!” was the supplicating cry of the old woman being overcome with devotion and sorrow.

  Taking the little grandchild in his arms, “Po’ chile,” said the old man, “I wish yeh had nebeh been baun!” impressing upon it kisses whilst it slept.

  After a fervant and earnest prayer to God for protection to themselves, little grandson Joe, the return of his mother their only child, and blessings upon their master and the recovery of their mistress, the poor old slaves retired to rest for the evening, to forget their sorrows in the respite of sleep.

  CHAPTER 5

  A Vacancy

  This morning the sun rose with that beauty known to a Southern sky in the last month of autumn. The day was Sabbath, and with it was ushered in every reminiscence common to the customs of that day and locality.

  That she might spend the day at church for the diversion of her mind, Mrs. Franks was brought in to her city residence; and Natchez, which is usually gay, seemed more so on this day than on former occasions.

  When the bells began to signal the hour of worship, the fashionable people seemed en masse to crowd the streets. The carriages ran in every direction, bearing happy hearts and cheerful faces to the various places of worship-there to lay their offerings on the altar of the Most High for the blessings they enjoyed, whilst peering over every gate, out of every alley, or every kitchen door, could be seen the faithful black servants who, staying at home to prepare them food and attend to other domestic duties, were satisfied to look smilingly upon their masters and families as they rode along, without for a moment dreaming that they had a right to worship the same God, with the same promise of life and salvation.

  “God bless you, missus! Pray fah me,” was the honest request of many a simplehearted slave who dared not aspire to the enjoyment of praying for himself in the Temple of the living God.

  But amidst these scenes of gaiety and pleasure, there was one much devoted to her church who could not be happy that day, as there to her was a seeming vacancy which could not be filled–the seat of her favorite maidservant. The Colonel, as a husband and father, was affectionate and indulgent; but his slave had offended, disobeyed his commands, and consequently, had to be properly punished, or he be disrespected by his own servants. The will of the master being absolute, his commands should be enforced, let them be what they may, and the consequences what they would. If slavery be right, the master is justifiable in enforcing obedience to his will; deny him this, and you at once deprive him of the right to hold a slave–the one is a necessary sequence of the other. Upon this principle Colonel Franks acted, and the premise justified the conclusion.

  When the carriage drove to the door, Mrs. Franks wept out most bitterly, refusing to enter because her favorite maid could not be an incumbent. Fears being entertained of seriousness in her case, it was thought advisable to let her remain quietly at home.

  Daddy Joe and Mammy Judy were anxious spectators of all that transpired at the door of the mansion, and that night, on retiring to their humble bed, earnestly petitioned at the altar of Grace that the Lord would continue upon her his afflictions until their master, convinced of his wrongs, would order the return of their child.

  This the Colonel would have most willingly done without the petition of Joe or Judy, but the case had gone too far, the offense was too great, and consequently there could be no reconsideration.

  “Poor things,” muttered Mrs. Franks in a delirium, “she served him right! And this her only offense! Yes, she was true to me!”

  Little Joe, the son of Maggie, in consequence of her position to the white children–from whom her separation had been concealed–had been constantly with his grandmother, and called her “mammy.” Accustomed to being without her, he was well satisfied so long as permitted to be with the old woman Judy.

  So soon as her condition would permit, Mrs. Franks was returned to her countryseat to avoid the contingencies of the city.r />
  CHAPTER 6

  Henry’s Return

  Early on Monday morning, a steamer was heard puffing up the Mississippi. Many who reside near the river, by custom can tell the name of every approaching boat by the peculiar sound of the steampipe, the one in the present instance being the “Sultana.”

  Daddy Joe had risen and just leaving for the plantation, but stopped a moment to be certain.

  “Hush!” admonished Mammy Judy. “Hush! Sho chile, do’n yeh heah how she hollah? Sholy dat’s de wat’s name! wat dat yeh call eh? ‘Suckana,’ wat not; sho! I ain’ gwine bautha my head long so–sho! See, ole man see! Dah she come! See dat now! I tole yeh so, but yeh uden bleve me!” And the old man and woman stood for some minutes in breathless silence, although the boat must have been some five miles distant, as the escape of steam can be heard on the western waters a great way off.

  The approach toward sunrise admonished Daddy Joe of demands for him at the cotton farm, when after bidding “good monin’ ole umin,” he hurried to the daily task which lay before him.

  Mammy Judy had learned–by the boy Tony–that Henry was expected on the “Sultana,” and at the approach of every steamer, her head had been thrust out of the door or window to catch a distinct sound. In motionless attitude after the departure of her husband this morning, the old woman stood awaiting the steamer, when presently the boat arrived. But then to be certain that it was the expected vessel–now came the suspense.

  The old woman was soon relieved from this most disagreeable of all emotions, by the cry of newsboys returning from the wharf: “ ’Ere’s the ‘Picayune,’ ‘Atlas,’ ‘Delta’! Lates’ news from New Orleans by the swift steamer ‘Sultana’!”

  “Dah now!” exclaimed Mammy Judy in soliloquy. “Dah now! I tole yeh so!–de wat’s name come!” Hurrying into the kitchen, she waited with anxiety the arrival of Henry.