A Tale of the Southern States

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The hearts of the passers-by grew softer, while gazing upon that
young mother as she pressed sweet kisses on the sad, smiling lips
of the infant that lay in her lap. The small, dimpled hands of the
innocent creature were slyly hid in the warm bosom on which the
little one nestled. The blood of some proud Southerner, no doubt,
flowed through the veins of that child.

When the boat arrived at Natches, a rather good-looking,
genteel-appearing man came on board to purchase a servant. This
individual introduced himself to Jennings as the Rev. James
Wilson. The slave-trader conducted the preacher to the
deck-cabin, where he kept his slaves, and the man of God, after
having some questions answered, selected Agnes as the one best
suited to his service.

It seemed as if poor Marion's heart would break when she found that
she was to be separated from her mother. The preacher, however,
appeared to be but little moved by their sorrow, and took his
newly-purchased victim on shore. Agnes begged him to buy her
daughter, but he refused, on the ground that he had no use for
her.

During the remainder of the passage, Marion wept bitterly.

After a ran of a few hours, the boat stopped at Baton Rouge, where
an additional number of passengers were taken on board, among whom
were a number of persons who had been attending the races at that
place. Gambling and drinking were now the order of the day.

The next morning, at ten o'clock, the boat arrived at New Orleans
where the passengers went to their hotels and homes, and the
negroes to the slave-pens.

Lizzie, the white slave-mother, of whom we have already spoken,
created as much of a sensation by the fairness of her complexion
and the alabaster whiteness of her child, when being conveyed on
shore at New Orleans, as she had done when brought on board at
Grand Gulf. Every one that saw her felt that slavery in the
Southern States was not confined to the negro. Many had been taught
to think that slavery was a benefit rather than an injury, and
those who were not opposed to the institution before, now felt
that if whites were to become its victims, it was time at least
that some security should be thrown around the Anglo-Saxon to gave
him from this servile and degraded position.

CHAPTER VI

THE SLAVE-MARKET.

NOT far from Canal Street, in the city of New Orleans, stands a
large two-story, flat building, surrounded by a stone wall some
twelve feet high, the top of which is covered with bits of glass,
and so constructed as to prevent even the possibility of any one's
passing over it without sustaining great injury. Many of the rooms
in this building resemble the cells of a prison, and in a small
apartment near the "office" are to be seen any number of iron
collars, hobbles, handcuffs, thumbscrews, cowhides, chains, gags,
and yokes.

A back-yard, enclosed by a high wall, looks something like the
playground attached to one of our large New England schools, in
which are rows of benches and swings. Attached to the back
premises is a good-sized kitchen, where, at the time of which we
write, two old negresses were at work, stewing, boiling, and
baking, and occasionally wiping the perspiration from their
furrowed and swarthy brows.

The slave-trader, Jennings, on his arrival at New Orleans, took up
his quarters here with his gang of human cattle, and the morning
after, at 10 o'clock, they were exhibited for sale. First of all
came the beautiful Marion, whose pale countenance and dejected
look told how many sad hours she had passed since parting with her
mother at Natchez. There, too, was a poor woman who had been
separated from her husband; and another woman, whose looks and
manners were expressive of deep anguish, sat by her side. There
was "Uncle Jeems," with his whiskers off, his face shaven clean,
and the gray hairs plucked out ready to be sold for ten years
younger than he was. Toby was also there, with his face shaven and
greased, ready for inspection.

The examination commenced, and was carried on in such a manner as
to shock the feelings of anyone not entirely devoid of the milk of
human kindness.

"What are you wiping your eyes for?" inquired a fat, red-faced man,
with a white hat set on one side of his head and a cigar in his
mouth, of a woman who sat on one of the benches.

"Because I left my man behind."

"Oh, if I buy you, I will furnish you with a better man than you
left. I've got lots of young bucks on my farm."

"I don't want and never will have another man," replied the woman.

"What's your name?" asked a man in a straw hat of a tall negro who
stood with his arms folded across his breast, leaning against the
wall.

"My name is Aaron, sar."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"Where were you raised?"

"In ole Virginny, sar."

"How many men have owned you?"

"Four."

"Do you enjoy good health?"

"Yes, sar."

"How long did you live with your first owner?"

"Twenty years."

"Did you ever run away?"

"No, sar."

"Did you ever strike your master?"

"No, sar."

"Were you ever whipped much?"

"No, sar; I s'pose I didn't deserve it, sar."

"How long did you live with your second master?"

"Ten years, sar."

"Have you a good appetite?"

"Yes, sar."

"Can you eat your allowance?"

"Yes, sar,--when I can get it."

"Where were you employed in Virginia?"

"I worked de tobacker fiel'."

"In the tobacco field, eh?"

"Yes, sar."

"How old did you say you was?"

"Twenty-five, sar, nex' sweet-'tater-diggin' time."

"I am a cotton-planter, and if I buy you, you will have to work in
the cotton-field. My men pick one hundred and fifty pounds a day,
and the women one hundred and forty pounds; and those who fail to
perform their task receive five stripes for each pound that is
wanting. Now, do you think you could keep up with the rest of the
hands?"

"I' don't know sar but I 'specs I'd have to."

"How long did you live with your third master?"

"Three years, sar."

"Why, that makes you thirty-three. I thought you told me you were
only twenty-five?"

Aaron now looked first at the planter, then at the trader, and
seemed perfectly bewildered. He had forgotten the lesson given him
by Pompey relative to his age; and the planter's circuitous
questions--doubtless to find out the slave's real age--had thrown
the negro off his guard.

"I must see your back, so as to know how much you have been
whipped, before I think of buying."

Pompey, who had been standing by during the examination, thought
that his services were now required, and, stepping forth with a
degree of officiousness, said to Aaron,--

"Don't you hear de gemman tell you he wants to 'zamin you. Cum,
unharness yo'seff, ole boy, and don't be standin' dar."

Aaron was soon examined, and pronounced "sound;" yet the
conflicting statement about his age was not satisfactory.

Fortunately for Marion, she was spared the pain of undergoing such
an examination. Mr. Cardney, a teller in one of the banks, had
just been married, and wanted a maid-servant for his wife, and,
passing through the market in the early part of the day, was
pleased with the young slave's appearance, and his dwelling the
quadroon found a much better home than often falls to the lot of a
slave sold in the New Orleans market.

CHAPTER VII

THE SLAVE-HOLDING PARSON.

THE Rev. James Wilson was a native of the State of Connecticut
where he was educated for the ministry in the Methodist
persuasion. His father was a strict follower of John Wesley, and
spared no pains in his son's education, with the hope that he
would one day be as renowned as the leader of his sect. James had
scarcely finished his education at New Haven, when he was invited
by an uncle, then on a visit to his father, to spend a few months
at Natchez in Mississippi. Young Wilson accepted his uncle's
invitation, and accompanied him to the South. Few Young men, and
especially clergymen, going fresh from college to the South, but
are looked upon as geniuses in a small way, and who are not
invited to all the parties in the neighborhood. Mr. Wilson was not
an exception to this rule. The society into which he was thrown,
on his arrival at Natchez, was too brilliant for him not to be
captivated by it, and, as might have been expected, he succeeded
in captivating a plantation with seventy slaves if not the heart
of the lady to whom it belonged.

Added to this, he became a popular preacher, and had a large
congregation with a snug salary. Like other planters, Mr. Wilson
confided the care of his farm to Ned Huckelby, an overseer of high
reputation in his way.

The Poplar Farm, as it was. called, was situated in a beautiful
valley, nine miles from Natchez, and near the Mississippi River.
The once unshorn face of nature had given way, and the farm now
blossomed with a splendid harvest. The neat cottage stood in a
grove, where Lombardy poplars lift their tops almost to prop the
skies, where the willow, locust and horse-chestnut trees spread
forth their branches, and flowers never ceased to blossom.

This was the parson's country residence, where the family spent
only two months during the year. His town residence was a fine
villa, seated on the brow of a hill at the edge of the city.

It was in the kitchen of this house that Agnes found her new home.
Mr. Wilson was every inch a democrat, and early resolved that "his
people," as he called his slaves should be well-fed and not
over-worked, and therefore laid down the law and gospel to the
overseer as well as to the slaves. "It is my wish," said he to Mr.
Carlingham, an old school-fellow who was spending a few days with
him,--"It is my wish that a new system be adopted on the
plantations in this State. I believe that the sons of Ham should
have the gospel, and I intend that mine shall have it. The gospel
is calculated to make mankind better and none should be without
it."

"What say you," said Carlingham, "about the right of man to his
liberty?"

"Now, Carlingham, you have begun to harp again about men's rights.
I really wish that you could see this matter as I do."'

"I regret that I cannot see eye to eye with you," said Carlingham.
"I am a disciple of Rousseau, and have for years made the rights
of. man my study, and I must confess to you that I see no
difference between white and black, as it regards liberty."

"Now, my dear Carlingham, would you really have the negroes enjoy
the same rights as ourselves?"

"I would most certainly. Look at our great Declaration of
Independence! look even at the Constitution of our own Connecticut
and see what is said in these about liberty."

"I regard all this talk about rights as mere humbug. The Bible is
older than the Declaration of Independence, and there I take my
stand."

A long discussion followed, in which both gentlemen put forth their
peculiar ideas with much warmth of feeling.

During this conversation, there was another person in the room,
seated by the window, who, although at work, embroidering a fine
collar, paid minute attention to what was said. This was
Georgiana, the only daughter of the parson, who had but just
returned from Connecticut, where she had finished her education.
She had had the opportunity of contrasting the spirit of
Christianity and liberty in New England with that of slavery in her
native State, and had learned to feel deeply for the injured
negro. Georgiana was in her nineteenth year, and had been much
benefited by her residence of five years at the North. Her form
was tall and graceful, her features regular and well-defined, and
her complexion was illuminated by the freshness of youth, beauty,
and health.

The daughter differed from both the father and visitor upon the
subject which they had been discussing; and as soon as an
opportunity offered, she gave it as her opinion that the Bible was
both the bulwark of Christianity and of liberty. With a smile she
said,--

"Of course, papa will overlook my difference with him, for although
I am a native of the South, I am by education and sympathy a
Northerner." Mr. Wilson laughed, appearing rather pleased than
otherwise at the manner in which his daughter had expressed
herself. From this Georgiana took courage and continued,--

'"Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' This single passage of
Scripture should cause us to have respect for the rights of the
slave. True Christian love is of an enlarged and disinterested
nature. It loves all who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity,
without regard to color or condition."

"Georgiana, my dear, you are an abolitionist,--your talk is
fanaticism!" said Mr. Wilson, in rather a sharp tone; but the
subdued look of the girl and the presence of Carlingham caused him
to soften his language.

Mr. Wilson having lost his wife by consumption, and Georgiana being
his only child, he loved her too dearly to say more, even if he
felt disposed. A silence followed this exhortation from the young
Christian, but her remarks had done a noble work. The father's
heart was touched, and the sceptic, for the first time, was
viewing Christianity in its true light.

CHAPTER VIII

A NIGHT IN THE PARSON'S KITCHEN.

BESIDES Agnes, whom Mr. Wilson had purchased from the slave-trader,
Jennings, he kept a number of house-servants. The chief one of
these was Sam, who must be regarded as second only to the parson
himself. If a dinner-party was in contemplation, or any company
was to be invited, after all the arrangements had been talked over
by the minister and his daughter. Sam was sure to be consulted on,
the subject by "Miss Georgy," as Miss Wilson was called by all the
servants. If furniture, crockery, or anything was to be purchased,
Sam felt that he had been slighted if his opinion was not asked.
As to the marketing, he did it all. He sat at the head of the
servants' table in the kitchen, and was master of the ceremonies.
A single look from him was enough to silence any conversation or
noise among the servants in the kitchen or in any other part of
the premises.

There is in the Southern States a great amount of prejudice in
regard to color, even among the negroes themselves. The nearer the
negro or mulatto approaches to the white, the more he seems to
feel his superiority over those of a darker hue. This is no doubt
the result of the prejudice that exists on the part of the whites
against both the mulattoes and the blacks.

Sam was originally from Kentucky, and through the instrumentality
of one of his young masters, whom he had to take to school, he had
learned to read so as to be well understood, and, owing to that
fact, was considered a prodigy, not only among his own master's
slaves, but also among those of the town who knew him. Sam had a
great wish to follow in the footsteps of his master and be a poet,
and was therefore often heard singing doggerels of his own
composition.

But there was one drawback to Sam, and that was his color. He was
one of the blackest of his race. This he evidently regarded as a
great misfortune; but he endeavored to make up for it in dress.
Mr. Wilson kept his house servants well dressed, and as for Sam,
he was seldom seen except in a ruffled shirt. Indeed, the
washerwoman feared him more than any one else in the house.

Agnes had been inaugurated chief of the kitchen department, and had
a general supervision of the household affairs. Alfred, the
coachman, Peter, and Hetty made up the remainder of the
house-servants. Besides these, Mr. Wilson owned eight slaves who
were masons. These worked in the city. Being mechanics, they were
let out to greater advantage than to keep them on the farm.

Every Sunday evening, Mr. Wilson's servants, including the
bricklayers, assembled in the kitchen, where the events of the week
were fully discussed and commented upon. It was on a Sunday
evening, in the month of June, that there was a party at Mr.
Wilson's house, and, according to custom in the Southern States,
the ladies had their maidservants with them. Tea had been served
in "the house," and the servants, including the strangers, had
taken their seats at the table in the kitchen. Sam, being a
"single gentleman," was unusually attentive to the ladies on this
occasion. He seldom let a day pass without spending an hour or two
in combing and brushing his "har." He had an idea that fresh
butter was better for his hair than any other kind of grease, and
therefore on churning days half a pound of butter had always to be
taken out before it was salted. When he wished to appear to great
advantage, he would grease his face to make it "shiny." Therefore,
on the evening of the party, when all the servants were at the
table, Sam cut a big figure. There he sat, with his wool well
combed and buttered, face nicely greased, and his ruffles
extending five or six inches from his bosom. The parson in his
drawing-room did not make a more imposing appearance than did his
servant on this occasion.

"I is bin had my fortune tole last Sunday night," said Sam, while
helping one of the girls.

"Indeed!" cried half a dozen voices.

"Yes," continued he; "Aunt Winny tole me I's to hab de prettiest
yallah gal in de town, and dat I's to be free!"

All eyes were immediately turned toward Sally Johnson, who was
seated near Sam.

"I 'specs I see somebody blush at dat remark," said Alfred.

"Pass dem pancakes an' 'lasses up dis way, Mr. Alf, and none ob
your sinuwashuns here," rejoined Sam.

"Dat reminds me," said-Agnes, "dat Dorcas Simpson is gwine to git
married."

"Who to, I want to know?" inquired Peter.

"To one of Mr. Darby's field-hands," answered Agnes.

"I should tink dat gal wouldn't frow herseff away in dat ar way,"
said Sally; "She's good lookin' 'nough to git a house-servant, and
not hab to put up wid a field-nigger."

"Yes," said Sam, "dat's a werry unsensible remark ob yourn, Miss
Sally. I admires your judgment werry much, I 'sures you. Dar's
plenty ob susceptible an' well-dressed house-serbants dat a gal ob
her looks can git widout takin' up wid dem common darkies."

The evening's entertainment concluded by Sam relating a little of
his own experience while with his first master, in old Kentucky.
This master was a doctor, and. had a large practice among his
neighbors, doctoring both masters and slaves. When Sam was about
fifteen years old, his master set him to grinding up ointment and
making pills. As the young student grew older and became more
practised in his profession, his services were of more importance
to the doctor. The physician having a good business, and a large
number of his patients being slaves,--the most of whom had to call
on the doctor when ill,--he put Sam to bleeding, pulling teeth,
and administering medicine to the slaves. Sam soon acquired the
name among the slaves of the "Black Doctor." With this appellation
he was delighted; and no regular physician could have put on more
airs than did the black doctor when his services were required. In
bleeding, he must have more bandages, and would rub and smack the
arm more than the doctor would have thought of.

Sam was once seen taking out a tooth for one of his patients, and
nothing appeared more amusing. He got the poor fellow down on his
back, and then getting astride of his chest, he applied the
turnkeys and pulled away for dear life. Unfortunately, he had got
hold of the wrong tooth, and the poor man screamed as loud as he
could; but it was to no purpose, for Sam had him fast, and after a
pretty severe tussle out came the sound grinder. The young doctor
now saw his mistake, but consoled himself with the thought that as
the wrong tooth was out of the way, there was more room to get at
the right one.

Bleeding and a dose of calomel were always considered indispensable
by the "old boss," and as a matter of course, Sam followed in his
footsteps.

On one occasion the old doctor was ill himself, so as to be unable
to attend to his patients. A slave, with pass in hand, called to
receive medical advice, and the master told Sam to examine him and
see what he wanted. This delighted him beyond measure, for
although he had been acting his part in the way of giving out
medicine as the master ordered it, he had never been called upon by
the latter to examine a patient, and this seemed to convince him
after all that he was no sham doctor. As might have been expected,
he cut a rare figure in his first examination. Placing himself
directly opposite his patient, and folding his arms across his
breast, looking very knowingly, he began,--

"What's de matter wid you?"

"I is sick."

"Where is you sick?"

"Here," replied the man, putting his hand upon his stomach.

"Put out your tongue," continued the doctor.

The man ran out his tongue at full length.

"Let me feel your pulse;" at the same time taking his patient's
hand in his, and placing his fingers upon his pulse, he said,--

"Ah! your case is a bad one; ef I don't do something for you, and
dat pretty quick, you'll be a gone coons and dat's sartin."

At this the man appeared frightened, and inquired what was the
matter with him, in answer to which Sam said,

"I done told dat your case is a bad one, and dat's enuff."

On Sam's returning to his master's bedside, the latter said,

"Well, Sam, what do you think is the matter with him?"

"His stomach is out ob order, sar," he replied.

"What do you think had better be done for him?"

"I tink I'd better bleed him and gib him a dose ob calomel,"
returned Sam.

So, to the latter's gratification, the master let him have his own
way.

On one occasion, when making pills and ointment, Sam made a great
mistake. He got the preparations for both mixed together, so that
he could not legitimately make either. But fearing that if he
threw the stuff away, his master would flog him, and being afraid
to inform his superior of the mistake, he resolved to make the
whole batch of pill and ointment stuff into pills. He well knew
that the powder over the pills would hide the inside, and the fact
that most persons shut their eyes when taking such medicine led
the young doctor to feel that all would be right in the end.
Therefore Sam made his pills, boxed them up, put on the labels,
and placed them in a conspicuous position on one of the shelves.

Sam felt a degree of anxiety about his pills, however. It was a
strange mixture, and he was not certain whether it would kill or
cure; but he was willing that it should be tried. At last the
young doctor had his vanity gratified. Col. Tallen, one of Dr.
Saxondale's patients, drove up one morning, and Sam as usual ran
out to the gate to hold the colonel's horse.

"Call your master," said the colonel; "I will not get out."

The doctor was soon beside the carriage, and inquired about the
health of his patient. After a little consultation, the doctor
returned to his office, took down a box of Sam's new pills, and
returned to the carriage.

"Take two of these every morning and night," said the doctor, "and
if you don't feel relieved, double the dose."

"Good gracious," exclaimed Sam in an undertone, when he heard his
master tell the colonel how to take the pills.

It was several days before Sam could learn the result of his new
medicine. One afternoon, about a fortnight after the colonel's
visit Sam saw his master's patient riding up to the gate on
horseback. The doctor happened to be in the yard, and met the
colonel and said,--

"How are you now?"

"I am entirely recovered," replied the patient. "Those pills of
yours put me on my feet the next day."

"I knew they would," rejoined the doctor.

Sam was near enough to hear the conversation, and was delighted
beyond description. The negro immediately ran into the kitchen,
amongst his companions, and commenced dancing.

"What de matter wid you?" inquired the cook.

"I is de greatest doctor in dis country," replied Sam. "Ef you
ever get sick, call on me. No matter what ails you, I is de man
dat can cure you in no time. If you do hab de backache, de
rheumaties, de headache, de coller morbus, fits, er any ting else,
Sam is de gentleman dat can put you on your feet wid his pills."

For a long time after, Sam did little else than boast of his skill
as a doctor.

We have said that the black doctor was full of wit and good
sense. Indeed, in that respect, he had scarcely an equal in the
neighborhood. Although his master resided some little distance out
of the city, Sam was always the first man in all the negro balls
and parties in town. When his master could give him a pass, he
went, and when he did not give him one, he would steal away after
his master had retired, and run the risk of being taken up by the
night-watch. Of course, the master never knew anything of the
absence of the servant at night without permission. As the negroes
at these parties tried to excel each other in the way of dress,
Sam was often at a loss to make that appearance that his heart
desired, but his ready wit ever helped him in this. When his master
had retired to bed at night, it was the duty of Sam to put out the
lights, and take out with him his master's clothes and boots, and
leave them in the office until morning, and then black the boots,
brush the clothes, and return them to his master's room.

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