Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time Read online

  CHAPTER I.

  ON THE ROAD.

  Some winters ago I passed several weeks at Tallahassee, Florida, andwhile there made the acquaintance of Colonel J----, a South Carolinaplanter. Accident, some little time later, threw us together again atCharleston, when I was gratified to learn that he would be my _compagnondu voyage_ as far north as New York.

  He was accompanied by his body-servant, "Jim," a fine specimen of thegenus darky, about thirty years of age, and born and reared in hismaster's family. As far as possible we made the journey by day, stoppingat some convenient resting-place by night; on which occasions theColonel, Jim, and myself would occupy the same or adjoining apartments,"we white folks" sleeping on four posts, while the more democratic negrospread his blanket on the floor. Thrown together thus intimately, itwas but natural that we should learn much of each other.

  The "Colonel" was a highly cultivated and intelligent gentleman, andduring this journey a friendship sprung up between us--afterward keptalive by a regular correspondence--which led him, with his wife anddaughter, and the man Jim, to my house on his next visit at the North,one year later. I then promised--if I should ever again travel in SouthCarolina--to visit him on his plantation in the extreme north-easternpart of the state.

  In December last, about the time of the passage of the ordinance ofsecession, I had occasion to visit Charleston, and, previous to settingout, dispatched a letter to the Colonel with the information that I wasready to be led of him "into the wilderness." On arriving at thehead-quarters of secession, I found a missive awaiting me, in which myfriend cordially renewed his previous tender of hospitality, gave meparticular directions how to proceed, and stated that his "man Jim"would meet me with a carriage at Georgetown, and convey me thence,seventy miles, to "the plantation."

  Having performed the business which led me to Charleston, I set out forthe rendezvous five days before the date fixed for the meeting,intending to occupy the intervening time in an exploration of theancient town and its surroundings.

  The little steamer Nina (a cross between a full-grown nautilus and ahalf-grown tub), which a few weeks later was enrolled as the firstman-of-war of the Confederate navy, then performed the carrying tradebetween the two principal cities of South Carolina. On her, togetherwith sundry boxes and bales, and certain human merchandise, I embarkedat Charleston, and on a delicious morning, late in December, landed atGeorgetown.

  As the embryo war-steamer rounded up to the long, low, rickety dock,lumbered breast-high with cotton, turpentine, and rosin, not a whiteface was to be seen. A few half-clad, shiftless-looking negroes,lounging idly about, were the only portion of the population in waitingto witness our landing.

  "Are all the people dead?" I inquired of one of them, thinking itstrange that an event so important as the arrival of the Charlestonpacket should excite no greater interest in so quiet a town. "Not dead,massa," replied the black, with a knowing chuckle, "but dey'm gettin'ready for a fun'ral." "What funeral?" I asked. "Why, dey'm gwine toshoot all de boblition darkies at de Norf, and hab a brack burying; he!he!" and the sable gentleman expanded the opening in his countenance toan enormous extent, doubtless at the brilliancy of his wit.

  I asked him to take my portmanteau, and conduct me to the best hotel. Hereadily assented, "Yas, yas, massa, I show you whar de _big-bugs_ stop;"but at once turning to another darky standing near, he accosted himwith, "Here, Jim, you lazy nigga, tote de gemman's tings."

  "Why don't you take them yourself?" I asked; "you will then get all thepay." "No, no, massa; dat nigga and me in partenship; he do de work, andI keeps de change," was the grinning reply, and it admirably illustratesa peculiarity I have observed to be universal with the negro. When leftto his own direction, he invariably "goes into partenship" with some onepoorer than himself, and no matter how trivial the task, shirks all thelabor he can.

  The silent darky and my portmanteau in the van, and the garrulous oldnegro guarding my flank, I wended my way through the principal street tothe hotel. On the route I resumed the conversation:

  "So, uncle, you say the people here are getting ready for a blackburying?"

  "Yas, massa, gwine to bury all dem mis'able free niggas at de Norf."

  "Why? What will you do that for?"

  "Why for, massa! you ax why for!" he exclaimed in surprise.

  "I don't know," I rejoined; "I'm a stranger here."

  "Well, you see, massa, dem boblition niggas up dar hab gone and 'lecteda ole darky, dey call Uncle Abe; and Old Abe he'se gwine to come downSouf, and cut de decent niggas' troats. He'll hab a good time--_hewill_! My young massa's captin ob de sogers, and he'll cotch de olecoon, and string him up so high de crows won't scent him; yas, hewill;" and again the old darky's face opened till it looked like theentrance to the Mammoth Cave. He, evidently, had read the Southernpapers.

  Depositing my luggage at the hotel, which I found on a side street--adilapidated, unpainted wooden building, with a female landlord--Istarted out to explore the town, till the hour for dinner. Retracing mysteps in the direction of the steamboat landing, I found the streetsnearly deserted, although it was the hour when the business of the dayis usually transacted. Soon I discovered the cause. The militia of theplace were out on parade. Preceded by a colored band, playing nationalairs--in doleful keeping with the occasion--and followed by a motleycollection of negroes of all sexes and ages, the company was enteringthe principal thoroughfare. As it passed me, I could judge of theprowess of the redoubtable captain, who, according to Pompey, will hangthe President "so high de crows won't scent him." He was aharmless-looking young man, with long, spindle legs, admirably adaptedto running. Though not formidable in other respects, there _was_ acertain martial air about an enormous sabre which hung at his side, andoccasionally got entangled in his nether integuments, and a fiery,warlike look to the heavy tuft of reddish hair which sprouted inbristling defiance from his upper lip.

  The company numbered about seventy, some with uniforms and some without,and bearing all sorts of arms, from the old flint-lock musket to themodern revolving rifle. They were, however, sturdy fellows, and lookedas if they might do service at "the imminent deadly breach." Their fullranks taken from a population of less than five hundred whites, toldunmistakably the intense war feeling of the community.

  Georgetown is one of the oldest towns in South Carolina, and it has adecidedly _finished_ appearance. Not a single building, I was informed,had been erected there in five years. Turpentine is one of the chiefproductions of the district; yet the cost of white lead and chromeyellow has made paint a scarce commodity, and the houses, consequently,all wear a dingy, decayed look. Though situated on a magnificent bay, alittle below the confluence of three noble rivers, which drain a countryof surpassing richness, and though the centre of the finest rice-growingdistrict in the world, the town is dead. Every thing about it wears anair of dilapidation. The few white men you meet in its streets, or seelounging lazily around its stores and warehouses, appear to lack allpurpose and energy. Long contact with the negro seems to have given themhis shiftless, aimless character.

  The ordinance of secession passed the legislature shortly prior to myarrival, and, as might be expected, the political situation was theall-engrossing topic of thought and conversation. In the estimation ofthe whites a glorious future was about to open on the little state.Whether she stood alone, or supported by the other slave states, shewould assume a high rank among the nations of the earth; her cotton andrice would draw trade and wealth from every land, and when she spoke,creation would tremble. Such overweening state pride in _such_ apeople--shiftless, indolent, and enervated as they are--strikes astranger as in the last degree ludicrous; but when they tell you, in thepresence of the black, whose strong brawny arm and sinewy frame showthat in him lies the real strength of the state, that this great empireis to be built on the shoulders of the slave, your smile of incredulitygives way to an expression of pity, and you are tempted to ask if thosesinewy machines may not THINK, and some day rise, and topple down themig
hty fabric which is to be reared on their backs!

  Among the "peculiar institutions" of the South are its inns. I do notrefer to the pinchbeck, imitation St. Nicholas establishments, whichflourish in the larger cities, but to those home-made affairs, noted forhog and hominy, corn-cake and waffles, which crop out here and there inthe smaller towns, the natural growth of Southern life and institutions.A model of this class is the one at Georgetown. Hog, hominy, andcorn-cake for breakfast; waffles, hog, and hominy for dinner; and hog,hominy, and corn-cake for supper--and such corn-cake, baked in the ashesof the hearth, a plentiful supply of the grayish condiment stillclinging to it!--is its never-varying bill of fare. I endured this farefor a day, _how_, has ever since been a mystery to me, but when nightcame my experiences were indescribable. Retiring early, to get the restneeded to fit me for a long ride on the morrow, I soon realized that"there is no rest for the wicked," none, at least, for sinners at theSouth. Scarcely had my head touched the pillow when I was besieged by anarmy of red-coated secessionists, who set upon me without mercy. Iwithstood the assault manfully, till "bleeding at every pore," and thenslowly and sorrowfully beat a retreat. Ten thousand to one is greaterodds than the gallant Anderson encountered at Sumter. Yet I determinednot to fully abandon the field. Placing three chairs in a row, I mountedupon them, and in that seemingly impregnable position hurled defiance atthe enemy, in the words of Scott (slightly altered to suit theoccasion):

  "Come one, come all, these chairs shall flyFrom their firm base as soon as I."

  My exultation, however, was of short duration. The persistent foe,scaling my intrenchments, soon returned to the assault with redoubledvigor, and in utter despair I finally fled. Groping my way through thehall, and out of the street-door, I departed. The Sable Brother--aliasthe Son of Ham--alias the Image of GOD carved in Ebony--alias theOppressed Type--alias the Contraband--alias the IrrepressibleNigger--alias the Chattel--alias the Darky--alias the Cullud Pusson--hadinformed me that I should find the Big Bugs at that hotel. I had foundthem.

  Staying longer in such a place was out of the question, and I determinedto make my way to the up-country without longer waiting for Jim. Withthe first streak of day I sallied out to find the means of locomotion.

  The ancient town boasts no public conveyance, except a one-horse gigthat carries the mail in tri-weekly trips to Charleston. That vehicle,originally used by some New England doctor, in the early part of thepast century, had but one seat, and besides, was not going the way Iintended to take, so I was forced to seek a conveyance at alivery-stable. At the only livery establishment in the place, kept by a"cullud pusson," who, though a slave, owns a stud of horses that might,among a people more _movingly_ inclined, yield a respectable income, Ifound what I wanted--a light Newark buggy, and a spanking gray. Providedwith these, and a darky driver, who was to accompany me to mydestination, and return alone, I started. A trip of seventy miles issomething of an undertaking in that region, and quite a crowd gatheredaround to witness our departure, not a soul of whom, I will wager, willever hear the rumble of a stage-coach, or the whistle of a steam-car, inthose sandy, deserted streets.

  We soon left the village, and struck a broad avenue, lined on eitherside by fine old trees, and extending in an air-line for several miles.The road is skirted by broad rice-fields, and these are dotted here andthere by large antiquated houses, and little collections of negro huts.It was Christmas week; no hands were busy in the fields, and every thingwore the aspect of Sunday. We had ridden a few miles when suddenly theroad sunk into a deep, broad stream, called, as the driver told me, theBlack River. No appliance for crossing being at hand, or in sight, I wasabout concluding that some modern Moses accommodated travellers bypassing them over its bed dry-shod, when a flat-boat shot out from thejungle on the opposite bank, and pulled toward us. It was built oftwo-inch plank, and manned by two infirm darkies, with frosted wool, whoseemed to need all their strength to sit upright. In that leaky craft,kept afloat by incessant baling, we succeeded, at the end of an hour, incrossing the river. And this, be it understood, is travelling in one ofthe richest districts of South Carolina!

  We soon left the region of the rice-fields, and plunged into denseforests of the long-leafed pine, where for miles not a house, or anyother evidence of human occupation, is to be seen. Nothing could well bemore dreary than a ride through such a region, and to while away thetedium of the journey I opened a conversation with the driver, who up tothat time had maintained a respectful silence.

  He was a genuine native African, and a most original and interestingspecimen of his race. His thin, close-cut lips, straight nose andEuropean features contrasted strangely with a skin of ebon blackness,and the quiet, simple dignity of his manner betokened superiorintelligence. His story was a strange one. When a boy, he was with hismother, kidnapped by a hostile tribe, and sold to the traders at CapeLopez, on the western coast of Africa. There, in the slave-pen, themother died, and he, a child of seven years, was sent in the slave-shipto Cuba. At Havana, when sixteen, he attracted the notice of a gentlemanresiding in Charleston, who bought him and took him to "the States." Helived as house-servant in the family of this gentleman till 1855, whenhis master died, leaving him a legacy to a daughter. This lady, a kind,indulgent mistress, had since allowed him to "hire his time," and hethen carried on an "independent business," as porter, and doer of allwork around the wharves and streets of Georgetown. He thus gained acomfortable living, besides paying to his mistress one hundred and fiftydollars yearly for the privilege of earning his own support. In everyway he was a remarkable negro, and my three days' acquaintance with himbanished from my mind all doubt as to the capacity of the black forfreedom, and all question as to the disposition of the slave to strikeoff his chains when the favorable moment arrives. From him I learnedthat the blacks, though pretending ignorance, are fully acquainted withthe questions at issue in the pending contest. He expressed the opinion,that war would come in consequence of the stand South Carolina hadtaken; and when I said to him: "But if it comes you will be no betteroff. It will end in a compromise, and leave you where you are." Heanswered: "No, massa, 't wont do dat. De Souf will fight hard, and deNorf will get de blood up, and come down har, and do 'way wid de _cause_ob all de trubble--and dat am de nigga."

  "But," I said, "perhaps the South will drive the North back; as you say,they will fight hard."

  "Dat dey will, massa, dey'm de fightin' sort, but dey can't whip deNorf, 'cause you see dey'll fight wid only one hand. When dey fight deNorf wid de right hand, dey'll hev to hold de nigga wid de leff."

  "But," I replied, "the blacks wont rise; most of you have kind mastersand fare well."

  "Dat's true, massa, but dat an't freedom, and de black lub freedom asmuch as de white. De same blessed LORD made dem both, and HE made demall 'like, 'cep de skin. De blacks hab strong hands, and when de daycome you'll see dey hab heads, too!"

  Much other conversation, showing him possessed of a high degree ofintelligence, passed between us. In answer to my question if he had afamily, he said: "No, sar. My blood shall neber be slaves! Ole massaflog me and threaten to kill me 'cause I wouldn't take to de wimmin; butI tole him to kill, dat 't would be more his loss dan mine."

  I asked if the negroes generally felt as he did, and he told me thatmany did; that nearly all would fight for their freedom if they had theopportunity, though some preferred slavery because they were sure ofbeing cared for when old and infirm, not considering that if theirlabor, while they were strong, made their masters rich, the same laborwould afford _them_ provision against old age. He told me that there arein the _district_ of Georgetown twenty thousand blacks, and not morethan two thousand whites, and "Suppose," he added, "dat one-quarter obdese niggas rise--de rest keep still--whar den would de white folks be?"

  "Of course," I replied, "they would be taken at a disadvantage; but itwould not be long before aid came from Charleston, and you would beoverpowered."

  "No, massa, de chivarly, as you call dem, would be 'way in Virginny, and'fore dey h
ard of it Massa Seward would hab troops 'nough in Georgetownto chaw up de hull state in less dan no time."

  "But you have no leaders," I said, "no one to direct the movement. Yourrace is not a match for the white in generalship, and without generals,whatever your numbers, you would fare hardly."

  To this he replied, an elevated enthusiasm lighting up his face, "DeLORD, massa, made generals ob Gideon and David, and de brack man know asmuch 'bout war as dey did; p'raps," he added, with a quiet humor, "debrack aint equal to de white. I knows most ob de great men, likeWashington and John and James and Paul, and dem ole fellers war white,but dar war Two Sand (Tousaint L'Overture), de Brack Douglass, and deNigga Demus (Nicodemus), dey war brack."

  The argument was unanswerable, and I said nothing. If the day which seesthe rising of the Southern blacks comes to this generation, that negrowill be among the leaders. He sang to me several of the songs currentamong the negroes of the district, and though of little poetic value,they interested me, as indicating the feelings of the slaves. The blacksare a musical race, and the readiness with which many of them improvisewords and melody is wonderful; but I had met none who possessed thereadiness of my new acquaintance. Several of the tunes he repeatedseveral times, and each time with a new accompaniment of words. I willtry to render the sentiment of a few of these songs into as good negrodialect as I am master of, but I cannot hope to repeat the precisewords, or to convey the indescribable humor and pathos which my darkyfriend threw into them, and which made our long, solitary ride throughthose dreary pine-barrens pass rapidly and pleasantly away. The firstreferred to an old darky who was transplanted from the cotton-fields of"ole Virginny" to the rice-swamps of Carolina, and who did not like thechange, but found consolation in the fact that rice is not grown on "theother side of Jordan."

  "Come listen, all you darkies, come listen to my song, It am about ole Massa, who use me bery wrong. In de cole, frosty mornin', it an't so bery nice, Wid de water to de middle to hoe among de rice; When I neber hab forgotten How I used to hoe de cotton, How I used to hoe de cotton, On de ole Virginny shore; But I'll neber hoe de cotton, Oh! neber hoe de cotton Any more.

  "If I feel de drefful hunger, he tink it am a vice, And he gib me for my dinner a little broken rice, A little broken rice and a bery little fat-- And he grumble like de debil if I eat too much of dat; When I neber hab forgotten, etc.

  "He tore me from my DINAH; I tought my heart would burst-- He made me lub anoder when my lub was wid de first, He sole my picaninnies becase he got dar price, And shut me in de marsh-field to hoe among de rice; When I neber had forgotten, etc.

  "And all de day I hoe dar, in all de heat and rain, And as I hoe away dar, my heart go back again, Back to de little cabin dat stood among de corn, And to de ole plantation where she and I war born! Oh! I wish I had forgotten, etc.

  "Den DINAH am beside me, de chil'ren on my knee, And dough I am a slave dar, it 'pears to me I'm free, Till I wake up from my dreaming, and wife and chil'ren gone, I hoe away and weep dar, and weep dar all alone! Oh! I wish I had forgotten, etc.

  "But soon a day am comin, a day I long to see, When dis darky in de cole ground, foreber will be free, When wife and chil'ren wid me, I'll sing in Paradise, How HE, de blessed JESUS, hab bought me wid a price. How de LORD hab not forgotten How well I hoed de cotton, How well I hoed de cotton On de ole Virginny shore; Dar I'll neber hoe de cotton, Oh! neber hoe de cotton Any more."

  The politics of the following are not exactly those of the rulers atWashington, but we all may come to this complexion at last:

  "Hark! darkies, hark! it am de drum Dat calls ole Massa 'way from hum, Wid powder-pouch and loaded gun, To drive ole ABE from Washington; Oh! Massa's gwine to Washington, So clar de way to Washington-- Oh! wont dis darky hab sum fun When Massa's gwine to Washington!

  "Dis darky know what Massa do; He take him long to brack him shoe, To brack him shoe and tote him gun, When he am 'way to Washington. Oh! Massa's gwine to Washington, So clar de way to Washington, Oh! long afore de mornin' sun Ole Massa's gwine to Washington!

  "Ole Massa say ole ABE will eat De niggas all excep' de feet-- De feet, may be, will cut and run, When Massa gets to Washington, When Massa gets to Washington; So clar de way to Washington-- Oh! wont dis darky cut and run When Massa gets to Washington!

  "Dis nigga know ole ABE will save His brudder man, de darky slave, And dat he'll let him cut and run When Massa gets to Washington, When Massa gets to Washington; So clar de way to Washington, Ole ABE will let the darkies run When Massa gets to Washington."

  The next is in a similar vein:

  "A storm am brewin' in de Souf, A storm am brewin' now, Oh! hearken den and shut your mouf, And I will tell you how: And I will tell you how, ole boy, De storm of fire will pour, And make de darkies dance for joy, As dey neber danced afore: So shut your mouf as close as deafh, And all you niggas hole your breafh, And I will tell you how.

  "De darkies at de Norf am ris, And dey am comin' down-- Am comin' down, I know dey is, To do de white folks brown! Dey'll turn ole Massa out to grass, And set de niggas free, And when dat day am come to pass We'll all be dar to see! So shut your mouf as close as deafh, And all you niggas hole your breafh, And do de white folks brown!

  "Den all de week will be as gay As am de Chris'mas time; We'll dance all night and all de day, And make de banjo chime-- And make de banjo chime, I tink, And pass de time away, Wid 'nuf to eat and 'nuf to drink, And not a bit to pay! So shut your mouf as dose as deafh. And all you niggas hole your breaf, And make de banjo chime.

  "Oh! make de banjo chime, you nigs, And sound de tamborin, And shuffle now de merry jigs, For Massa's 'gwine in'-- For Massa's 'gwine in,' I know, And won't he hab de shakes, When Yankee darkies show him how Dey cotch de rattle-snakes![A] So shut your mouf as close as deafh, And all you niggas hole your breaf, For Massa's 'gwine in'-- For Massa's 'gwine in,' I know, And won't he hab de shakes When Yankee darkies show him how Dey cotch de rattle-snakes!"

  The reader must not conclude that my darky acquaintance is an averagespecimen of his class. Far from it. Such instances of intelligence arevery rare, and are never found except in the cities. There, constantintercourse with the white renders the black shrewd and intelligent, buton the plantations, the case is different. And besides, my musicalfriend, as I have said, is a native African. Fifteen years ofobservation have convinced me that the imported negro, after beingbrought in contact with the white, is far more intelligent than theordinary Southern-born black. Slavery cramps the intellect and dwarfsthe nature of a man, and where the dwarfing process has gone on, infather and son, for two centuries, it must surely be the case--as surelyas that the qualities of the parent are transmitted to the child--thatthe later generations are below the first. This deterioration in thebetter nature of the slave is the saddest result of slavery. His moraland intellectual degradation, which is essential to its very existence,constitutes the true argument aga
inst it. It feeds the body but starvesthe soul. It blinds the reason, and shuts the mind to truth. It degradesand brutalizes the whole being, and does it purposely. In that lies itsstrength, and in that, too, lurks the weakness which will one day toppleit down with a crash that will shake the Continent. Let us hope thedireful upheaving, which is now felt throughout the Union, is theearthquake that will bury it forever.

  The sun was wheeling below the trees which skirted the western horizon,when we halted in the main road, abreast of one of those by-paths, whichevery traveller at the South recognizes as leading to a planter'shouse. Turning our horse's head, we pursued this path for a shortdistance, when emerging from the pine-forest, over whose sandy barrenswe had ridden all the day, a broad plantation lay spread out before us.On one side was a row of perhaps forty small but neat cabins; and on theother, at the distance of about a third of a mile, a huge building,which, from the piles of timber near it, I saw was a lumber-mill. Beforeus was a smooth causeway, extending on for a quarter of a mile, andshaded by large live-oaks and pines, whose moss fell in graceful draperyfrom the gnarled branches. This led to the mansion of the proprietor, alarge, antique structure, exhibiting the dingy appearance which allhouses near the lowlands of the South derive from the climate, but witha generous, hospitable air about its wide doors and bulky windows, thatseemed to invite the traveller to the rest and shelter within. I hadstopped my horse, and was absorbed in contemplation of a scene asbeautiful as it was new to me, when an old negro approached, andtouching his hat, said: "Massa send his complimens to de gemman, andhappy to hab him pass de night at Bucksville."

  "Bucks_ville_!" I exclaimed, "and where is the village?"

  "Dis am it, massa; and it am eight mile and a hard road to de 'Boro"(meaning Conwayboro, a one-horse village at which I had designed tospend the night). "Will de gemman please ride up to de piazza?"continued the old negro.

  "Yes, uncle, and thank you," and in a moment I had received the cordialwelcome of the host, an elderly gentleman, whose easy and polishedmanners reminded me of the times of our grandfathers in glorious NewEngland. A few minutes put me on a footing of friendly familiarity withhim and his family, and I soon found myself in a circle of daughters andgrandchildren, and as much at home as if I had been a long-expectedguest.

  [Footnote A: The emblem of South Carolina.]