“Is they anything else for us to do Henry?” enquired Charles.
“Yes, a very important part of your duties has yet to be stated. I now go as a runaway, and will be suspected of lurking about in the thickets, swamps and caves; then to make the ruse complete, just as often as you think it necessary, to make a good impression, you must kill a shoat, take a lamb, pig, turkey, goose, chickens, ham of bacon from the smoke house, a loaf of bread or crock of butter from the spring house, and throw them down into the old waste well at the back of the old quarters, always leaving the heads of the fowls lying about and the blood of the larger animals. Everything that is missed dont hesitate to lay it upon me, as a runaway, it will only cause them to have the less suspicion of your having such a design.”
“That’s it–the very thing!” said Charles. “An it so happens that they’s an ole waste well on both Franks’ and Potter’s places, one for both of us.”
“I hope Andy, you have no religious objections to this?”
“It’s a paut ah my ’ligion Henry, to do whateveh I bleve right, an’ shall sholy do dis, God being my helpah!”
“Now he’s talkin!” said Charles.
“You must make your religion subserve your interests, as your oppressors do theirs!” advised Henry. “They use the Scriptures to make you submit, by preaching to you the texts of ‘obedience to your masters’ and ‘standing still to see the salavation,’ and we must now begin to understand the Bible so as to make it of interest to us.”
“Dat’s gospel talk,” sanctioned Andy. “Is da anything else yeh want tell us boss–I calls ’im boss, ’case ’e aint nothing else but ‘boss’–so we can make ’ase an’ git to wuck? ’case I feels like goin’ at ’em now, me!”
“Having accomplished our object, I think I have done, and must leave you tomorrow.”
“When shall we hear from you, Henry?” enquired Charles.
“Not until you shall see me again; when that will be, I don’t know. You may see me in six months, and might not not in eighteen. I am determined, now that I am driven to it, to complete an organization in every slave state before I return, and have fixed two years as my utmost limit.”
“Henry, tell me before we part, do you know anything about little Joe?” enquired Charles.
“I do!”
“Wha’s da chile?” enquired Andy.
“He’s safe enough, on his way to Canada!” at which Charles and Andy laughed.
“Little Joe is on ’is way to Canada?” said Andy. “Mighty young travelah!”
“Yes,” replied Henry with a smile.
“You’re a-joking Henry?” said Charles, enquiringly.
“I am serious, brethren,” replied he. “I do not joke in matters of this kind. I smiled because of Andy’s surprise.”
“How did ’e go?” further enquired Andy.
“In company with his ‘mother’ who was waiting on her ‘mistress!’ ” replied he quaintly.
“Eh heh!” exclaimed Andy. “I knows all ’bout it now; but whah’d da ‘mammy’ come from?”
“I found one!”
“Aint ’e high!” said Andy.
“Well, brethren, my time is drawing to a close,” said Henry, rising to his feet.
“O!” exclaimed Andy. “Ah like to forgot, has yeh any money Henry?”
“Have either of you any?”
“We has.”
“How much?”
“I got two-three hundred dollahs!” replied Andy.
“An’ so has I, Henry!” added Charles.
“Then keep it, as I have two thousand dollars now around my waist, and you’ll find use for all you’ve got, and more, as you will before long have an opportunity of testing. Keep this studiously in mind and impress it as an important part of the scheme of organization, that they must have money, if they want to get free. Money will obtain them everything necessary by which to obtain their liberty. The money is within all of their reach if they only knew it was right to take it. God told the Egyptian slaves to ‘borrow from their neighbors’–meaning their oppressors–‘all their jewels;’ meaning to take their money and wealth wherever they could lay hands upon it, and depart from Egypt. So you must teach them to take all the money they can get from their masters, to enable them to make the strike without a failure.[3] I’ll show you when we leave for the North, what money will do for you, right here in Mississippi. Bear this in mind; it is your certain passport through the white gap, as I term it.”
“I means to take all ah can git; I bin doin’ dat dis some time. Ev’ry time ole Pottah leave ’is money pus, I borrys some, an’ e’ all’as lays it on Miss Mary, but ’e think so much uh huh, dat anything she do is right wid ’im. Ef ’e ’spected me, an’ Miss Mary say ’twant me, dat would be ’nough fah ’im.”
“That’s right!” said Henry. “I see you have been putting your own interpretation on the Scriptures, Andy, and as Charles will now have to take my place, he’ll have still a much better opportunity than you, to “borrow from his master.’ ”
“You needn’t fear, I’ll make good use of my time!” replied Charles.
The slaves now fell upon their knees in silent communion, all being affected to the shedding of tears, a period being put to their devotion by a sorrowful trembling of Henry’s voice singing to the following touching words:
Farewell, farewell, farewell!
My loving friends farewell!
Farewell old comrades in the cause,
I leave you here, and journey on;
And if I never more return,
Farewell, I’m bound to meet you there![4]
“One word before we part,” said Charles. “If we never should see you again, I suppose you intend to push on this scheme?”
“Yes!”
“Insurrection shall be my theme!
My watchword ‘Freedom or the grave!’
Until from Rappahannock’s stream,
To where the Cuato* waters lave,
One simultaneous war cry
Shall burst upon the midnight air!
And rouse the tyrant but to sigh—
Mid sadness, wailing, and despair!”
Grasping each eagerly by the hand, the tears gushing from his eyes, with an humble bow, he bid them finally “farewell!” and the runaway was off through the forest.
*A river in Cuba.
CHAPTER 12
The Discovery
“It can’t be; I won’t believe it!” said Franks at the breakfast table on Sunday morning, after hearing that little Joe was missed. “He certainly must be lost in the shrubbery.”
After breakfast a thorough search was made, none being more industrious than Ailcey in hunting the little fugitive, but without success.
“When was he last seen?” enquired Franks.
“He wah put to bed las’ night while we wuh at de suppeh seh!” replied Ailcey.
“There’s something wrong about this thing, Mrs. Franks, and I’ll be hanged if I don’t ferret out the whole before I’m done with it!” said the Colonel.
“I hope you don’t suspect me as——”
“Nonsense! my dear, not at all–nothing of the sort, but I do suspect respectable parties in another direction.”
“Gracious, Colonel! Whom have you reference to? I’m sure I can’t imagine.”
“Well, well, we shall see! Ailcey, call Judy.”
“Maus Stephen, yeh sen’ fah me?” enquired the old woman, puffing and blowing.
“Yes, Judy. Do you know anything about little Joe? I want you to tell me the truth!” sternly enquired Franks.
“Maus Stephen! I cah lie! so long as yeh had me, yu nah missus neveh knows me tell lie. No, bless de Laud! Ah sen’ my soul to de ole boy dat way? No maus Stephen, ah uhdn give wat I feels in my soul——”
“Well never mind, Judy, about your soul, but tell us about——”
“Ah! maus Stephen, ah ’spects to shout wen de wul’s on fiah! an——”
“Tell us about the boy, Judy, and we
’ll hear about your religion another time.”
“If you give her a little time, Colonel, I think she’ll be able to tell about him!” suggested Mrs. Franks on seeing the old woman weeping.
“Sho, mammy!” said Ailcey in a whisper with a nudge, standing behind her, “wat yeh stan’ heah cryin’ befo’ dese ole wite folks fah!”
“Come, come, Judy! what are you crying about! let us hear quickly what you’ve got to say. Don’t be frightened!”
“No maus Stephen, I’s not feahed; ah could run tru troop a hosses an’ face de debil! My soul’s happy, my soul’s on fiah! Whoo! Blessed Jesus! Ride on, King!” when the old woman tossed and tumbled about so dexterously, that the master and mistress considered themselves lucky in getting out of the way.
“The old thing’s crazy! We’ll not be able to get anything out of her, Mrs. Franks.”
“No maus Stephen, blessed be God a’mighty! I’s not crazy, but sobeh as a judge! An——”
“Then let us hear about little Joe, as you can understand so well what is said around you, and let us have no more of your whooping and nonsense, distracting the neighborhood!”
“Blessed God! Blessed God! Laud sen’ a nudah gale! O, fah a nudah showeh!”
“I really believe she’s crazy! We’ve now been here over an hour, and no nearer the information than before.”
“I think she’s better now!” said Mrs. Franks.
“Judy, can you compose yourself long enough to answer my questions?” enquired Franks.
“O yes, mausta! ah knows wat I’s ‘bout, but w’en mausta Jesus calls, ebry body mus’ stan’ back, case Vs ’bove all!”
“That’s all right, Judy, all right; but let us hear about little Joe–do you know anything about him, where he is, or how he was taken away?”
“ ’E wah dah Sattiday night, maus Stephen.”
“What time, Judy, on Saturday evening was he there?”
“W’en da wah eatin suppeh, seh.”
“How do you know, when you were at the lower quarters, and he in your hut?”
“ ’E wah put to bed den.”
“Who put him to bed-you?”
“No, seh, Ailcey.”
“Ailcey–who went with her, any one?”
“Yes seh, Van Wintah Ben went wid uh.”
“Van Winter’s Ben! I thought we’d get at the thieves presently; I knew I’d ferret it out! Well now, Judy, I ask you as a Christian, and expect you to act with me as one Christian with another–has not Mrs. Van Winter been talking to you about this boy?”
“No seh, nebeh!”
“Nor to Henry?”
“No seh!”
“Did not she, to your knowledge, send Ben there that night to steal away little Joe?”
“No, seh!”
“Did you not hear Ailcey tell some one, or talking in her sleep, say that Mrs. Van Winter had something to do with the abduction of that boy?”
“Maus Stephen, ah do’n undehstan’ dat duckin uh duckshun, dat w’at yeh call it–dat big wud!”
“O! ‘abduction’ means stealing away a person, Judy.”
“Case ah waun gwine tell nothin ’bout it.”
“Well, what do you know, Judy?”
“As dah’s wud a troof in me, ah knows nothin’ ’bout it.”
“Well, Judy, you can go now. She’s an honest old creature, I believe!” said Franks, as the old fat cook turned away.
“Yes, poor old black fat thing! She’s religious to a fault,” replied Mrs. Franks.
“Well, Ailcey, what do you know about it?” enquired the master.
“Nothin’ seh, o’ny Mammy Judy ask me toat ’im up to da hut an’ put ’im in bed.”
“Well, did you do it?”
“Yes, seh!”
“Did Ben go with you?”
“Yes, seh!”
“Did he return with you to the lower quarters?”
“Yes, seh!”
“Did he not go back again, or did he remain in the house?”
“ ’E stay in.”
“Did you not see some one lurking about the house when you took the boy up to the hut?”
“Ah tot ah heahn some un in da bushes, but Ben say ’twan no one.”
“Now Ailcey, don’t you know who that was?”
“No, seh!”
“Was’nt it old Joe?”
“No, seh, lef’ ’im in de low quahteh.”
“Was it Henry?”
“Dun no, seh!”
“Wasn’t it Mrs. Van Winter’s——”
“Why Colonel!” exclaimed Mrs. Franks with surprise.
“Negroes, I mean! You didn’t let me finish the sentence, my dear!” explained he, correcting his error.
“Ah dun’o, seh!”
“Now tell me candidly, my girl, who and what you thought it was at the time?”
“Ah do’n like to tell!” replied the girl, looking down.
“Tell, Ailcey! Who do you think it was, and what they were after?” enquired Mrs. Franks.
“Ah do’n waun tell, missus!”
“Tell, you goose you! did you see any one?” continued Franks.
“Ah jis glance ’em.”
“Was the person close to you?” further enquired Mrs. Franks.
“Yes, um, da toched me on da shouldeh an’ run.”
“Well, why don’t you tell then, Ailcey, who you thought it was, and what they were after, you stubborn jade you, speak!” stormed Franks, stamping his foot.
“Don’t get out of temper, Colonel! make some allowance for her under the circumstances. Now tell, Ailcey, what you thought at the time?” mildly asked Mrs. Franks.
“Ah tho’t t’wah maus Stephen afteh me.”
“Well, if you know nothing about it, you may go now!” gruffly replied her master. “These Negroes are not to be trusted. They will endeavor to screen each other if they have the least chance to do so. I’ll sell that girl!”
“Colonel, don’t be hasty in this matter, I beg of you!” said Mrs. Franks earnestly.
“I mean to let her go to the man she most hates, that’s Crow.”
“Why do you think she hates Crow so badly?”
“By the side looks she gives him when he comes into the house.”
“I pray you then, Colonel, to attempt no more auction sales, and you may avoid unpleasant association in that direction.”
“Yes, by the by, speaking of the auction, I really believe Mrs. Van Winter had something to do with the abduction of that little Negro.”
“I think you do her wrong, Colonel Franks; she’s our friend, and aside from this, I don’t think her capable of such a thing.”
“Such friendship is worse than open enmity, my dear, and should be studiously shunned.”
“I must acquit her, Colonel, of all agency in this matter.”
“Well, mark what I tell you, Mrs. Franks, you’ll yet hear more of it, and that too at no distant day.”
“Well it may be, but I can’t think so.”
“May be!” I’m sure so. And more: I believe that boy has been induced to take advantage of my clemency, and run away. I’ll make an example of him, because what one Negro succeeds in doing, another will attempt. I’ll have him at any cost. Let him go on this way and there won’t be a Negro in the neighborhood presently.”
“Whom do you mean, Colonel?”
“I mean that ingrate Henry, that’s who.”
“Henry gone!”
“I have no doubt of it at all, as he had a pass to Woodville and Jackson; and now that the boy is stolen by someone, I’ve no doubt himself. I might have had some leniency towards him had he not committed a theft, a crime of all others the most detestable in my estimation.”
“And Henry is really gone?” with surprise again enquired Mrs. Franks.
“He is, my dear, and you appear to be quite inquisitive about it!” remarked Franks as he thought he observed a concealed smile upon her lips.
“I am inquisitive, Colonel, because whatever interests yo
u should interest me.”
“By Monday evening, hanged if I don’t know all about this thing. Ailcey, call Charles to get my saddle horse!”
“Charles ain’ heah, maus Stephen.”
“Where’s old Joe?”
“At de hut, seh.”
“Tell him to saddle Oscar immediately, and bring him to the door.”
“Yes, seh!” replied the girl, lightly tripping away.
The horse was soon at the door, and with his rider cantering away.
“Tony, what is Mammy Judy about?” enquired Mrs. Franks as evening approached.
“She’s sif’en meal, missus, to make mush fah ouah suppah.”
“You must tell mammy not to forget me, Tony, in the distribution of her mush and milk.”
“Yes, missus, ah tell uh right now!” when away ran Tony bearing the message, eager as are all children to be the agents of an act of kindness.
Mammy Judy, smiling, received the message with the assurance of “Yes, dat she shall hab much as she want!” when, turning about, she gave strict orders that Ailcey neglect not to have a china bowl in readiness to receive the first installment of the hasty pudding.
The hut of Mammy Judy served as a sort of headquarters on Saturday and Sunday evenings for the slaves from the plantation, and those in town belonging to the “estate,” who this evening enjoyed a hearty laugh at the expense of Daddy Joe.
Slaves are not generally supplied with light in their huts; consequently, except from the fat of their meat and that gathered about the kitchen with which they make a “lamp,” and the use of pinewood tapers, they eat and do everything about their dwellings in the dark.
Hasty pudding for the evening being the bill of fare, all sat patiently awaiting the summon of Mammy Judy, some on blocks, some on logs of wood, some on slab benches, some on inverted buckets and halfbarrel wash tubs, and whatever was convenient, while many of the girls and other young people were seated on the floor around against the wall.
“Hush, chilen!” admonished Mammy Judy, after carefully seeing that each one down to Tony had been served with a quota from the kettle.
“Laud, make us truly tankful fah wat we ’bout to ’ceive!” petitioned Daddy Joe with uplifted hands. “Top dah wid yo’ nause an’ nonsense ole people cah heah deh yeahs to eat!” admonished the old man as he took the pewter dish between his knees and commenced an earnest discussion of its contents. “Do’n yeh heah me say hush dah? Do’n yeh heah!”
Blake or The Huts of America Page 8
