Chapter IX

After dinner, we rode over my friend's plantation. It contained about twelve hundred acres, mainly covered with forest trees, but with here and there an isolated patch of cleared land devoted to corn and cotton. A small tributary of the Trent formed its northern boundary, and bordering the little stream was a tract of three hundred acres of low, swampy ground, heavily timbered with cypress and juniper. Tall old pines, denuded of bark for one third of their height, and their white faces bearded with long, shining flakes of 'scrape turpentine,' crowned the uplands; and scattered among them, about a hundred well-clad, 'well-kept' negro men and women were shouting pleasantly to one another, or singing merrily some simple song of 'Ole Car'lina,' as with the long scrapers they peeled the glistening scales from the scarified trees, or, gathering them in their aprons, 'dumped' them into the rude barrels prepared for their reception. Preston had a kind word for each one that we passed--a pleasant inquiry about an infirm mother or a sick child, or some encouraging comment on their cheerful work; and many were the hearty blessings they showered upon 'good massa,' and many their good-natured exclamations over 'de strange gemman dat sells massa's truck.'

'He'm de kine, 'ou gals,' shouted an old darky, bent nearly double with age, who, leaning against one of the barrels, was 'packing down' the flakes as they were emptied from the aprons of the women: 'He'm de kine, I tell by him eye; de rocks doan't grow fass ter dat gemman's pocket!'

'Well, they don't, uncle,' I replied, tossing him a half-dollar piece, and throwing a handful of smaller coin among the women. A general scramble followed, in which the old fellow nimbly joined, shouting out between his boisterous explosions of merriment:

'Dis am de sort, massa; dis am manna rainin' in de wilderness--de Lord's chil'ren lub dis kine--it'm good ter take, massa, good ter take.'

'Good as black jack, eh, uncle?' I inquired, laughing, for I saw certain lines about his shrunken mouth, and underneath his sunken eyes, which told plainly he was rather too familiar with that delicious compound of strychnine and whiskey.

'Yas, massa, good as black Jack; dat's my name, massa, dat's my name--yah, yah,' and he turned his face, wet with merry tears, and distended in an uncommonly broad grin, up to mine. In a moment, however, his eye caught Preston's. His broad visage collapsed, his distended mouth shrank to a very diminutive opening, and his twinkling eyes assumed a peculiarly stolid expression, as he added, in a deprecatory tone:

'No, massa Robert, not so good as black jack; not so good as dat--'ou knows I doan't keer fur him; you knows I doan't knows him no more, massa Robert.'

'I know you never knew him,' replied Preston, playing on his name. 'He's a hardened old sinner. He has sinned away the day of grace, I'm sure. But you know better than to ask presents of strangers. Give it back to the gentleman at once.'

An indescribable expression stole over the old negro's visage as he thrust his hand through his thin, frosty wool, looked pleadingly up at his master's face, and, seeing no signs of relenting there, slowly and reluctantly opened his palm and offered me the money.

'No, no, Preston, let him keep it; it won't do him any harm,' I said.

'No more'n it woan't, good massa, not a morsel ob harm,' exclaimed the darky, his small eyes twinkling again with pleasurable anticipation, and his broad face widening into its accustomed grin: 'I woan't take nary a drop, massa Robert, nary a drop!'

'Well,' said his master, 'you can keep it if you'll promise not to drink it all to-morrow. So much whiskey would spoil your prayer at the meeting.'

'So it 'ould, massa Robert; so much as dat; but Jack allers prays de stronger fur a little, massa Robert, jess a little--it sort o' 'pears ter warm up a ole man's sperrets, and ter fotch all de 'votion right inter him froat.'

'I suppose it does; all the devotion you ever feel. You're an old sinner, Jack, past praying for, I fear,' replied Preston, good-naturedly, turning his horse to go.

'Not pass prayin' fur 'ou, massa Robert, not pass dat, an' ole Jack neber will be, nudder--not so long as he kin holler loud 'nuff fur de Lord ter yere. 'Ou may 'pend on dat, massa Robert, 'ou may 'pend on dat.'

As we rode away, I asked Preston if the old black led the services at the negro meetings.

'Yes, I am obliged to let him. He was formerly the plantation preacher, and, with all his faults, the blacks are much attached to him. A small rebellion broke out among them, five years ago, when I displaced him, and put Joe into the pulpit. I compromised the difficulty by agreeing that Jack should lead in prayer every Sunday morning. They think he has a gift that way, and _you_ would conclude the day of Pentecost had come, if you should hear him when he is about half-seas-over.'

'Then he does pray better for a little whiskey?'

'Yes, a mug of 'black jack' helps him amazingly--it gives him the real power.'

After a two hours' circuit of the plantation, we halted in the vicinity of the distilleries, which stood huddled together on the bank of the little stream of which I have spoken. There were three of them, each of thirty barrels' capacity--an enormous size--and they were neatly set in brick, and enclosed in a substantial framed structure, which was weatherboarded and coated with paint of a dark brown color. Near the only one then in operation were several large heaps of flake turpentine, three or four hundred barrels of rosin, and a vast quantity of the same material scattered loosely about and mixed with broken staves, worn-out strainers, and the _debris_ of the rosin bins. Pointing to the confused mass, I said to my host:

'I've half a mind to turn missionary. I feel a sort of call to preach to you Southern heathen.'

'I wish you would,' he rejoined, laughing; 'you'd give me a chance to laugh at your sermons, as you have laughed at mine.'

'No, you wouldn't laugh. I'd make you _feel_ way down in your pocket. I'd have but one sermon and one text, and that would be: 'Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost.' You Southern nabobs do nothing but waste--you waste enough in one day to feed the whole North for a week. It's a sin--the unpardonable sin--for you know better.'

'Well, it _is_ wrong, but how can we help it? We can't make the negroes anything but what they are--shiftless and careless of everything but their own ease.'

'I don't know about that. I think such a man as Joe ought to be able to manage them.'

'Joe! Well, he can't. He's all drive, and negroes are human beings; they should be treated kindly.'

We had approached the front of the still, and were fastening our horses to the trunk of a tree, when we heard loud voices issuing from the other side of the enclosure.

'Her'm what I owes you--now pack off ter onst, and don't neber show your face on dis plantation no more,' said a voice, which I at once recognized as that of 'boss Joe.'

'I shan't pack off till I'm ready, you d--d black nigger, I've been bossed 'bout by ye long 'nuff. Clar out, and 'tend ter yer own 'fairs,' rejoined another voice, which had the tone of a white man's.

'I reckon _dis_ am my 'fair, and I shan't leff you git drunk and burn up no more white rosum yere; so take yerseff off. Ef you don't, I'll make you blacker nor I is.'

'Put your hand on me, and I'll take the law on ye, _shore_,' returned the white man.

'Pshaw, you drunken fool, do you s'pose dese darkies would tell on _me_? Ef dey would, dar word ain't 'lowed in de law; so you trabble. I don't keer ter handle you, but I shill ef you don't leab widin five minutes.'

What might have followed will not go down in history, for just then Preston and I, emerging from around the corner of the building, appeared in view of the belligerents. The native--a respectable specimen of the class of poor whites--stood in a defiant attitude before the still-fire, while Joe was seated on a turpentine barrel near, quietly noting the time by a large silver watch which he held in his hand. He kept on counting the minutes, and gave no heed to his master's approach, till Preston said:

'Joe, what's to pay?'

'Nuffin, master Robert, 'cept I'se 'scharged dis man, and he say he won't gwo.'

'Do as Joseph bids you,' said Preston, turning to the white man, 'take your pay and go at once.'

The man stammered out a few words with a cringing air, but the planter cut him short with:

'I want no explanations. If you can't satisfy Joseph, you can't satisfy me.'

The native then leisurely took down a ragged coat that hung from one of the timbers, counted over a small roll of bank notes which Joe gave him, and meekly left the still-house.

Joe and his master devoted the next half hour to piloting me over the distilleries. I commented rather freely on the sad waste of valuable produce which was scattered about, and on the bad economy of keeping three 'stills' to do the work of one.

'It might have done years ago,' I remarked, 'before your trees ran to 'scrape,' and when they yielded enough 'dip' to keep all the stills busy; but now they are eating you up. You have fully four thousand dollars idle here. Sell them, Preston--that amount would help you out of debt.'

'Dat's what I tells master Robert, Mr. Kirke, but he sort o' clings to ole tings, _sar_,' said Joe, in the free, familiar tone usual with him.

'But _you_ do just as badly, Joe,' I replied. 'You let these darkies waste more than they eat, and you keep four here to do the work of three. You are no better than your master.'

'Only half so good, Mr. Kirke,' rejoined the black, showing a set of teeth which a dentist might have used for a door plate; 'only _half_ so good, 'case I'se only half white. But, if master Robert 'ould leff me handle de whip, I'd show him suffin'! I reckon de int'rest 'ouldn't be ahind den.'

'Why? don't you let Joe whip the negroes?' I asked Preston.

'No, not now; I did, till some years ago, when he almost killed one of them, and came near getting me into serious trouble. He could manage them well enough without whipping, if he'd curb his impetuous temper a little.'

'But I does curb it, master Robert, and it tain't ob no use. Dey knows I _can't_ whip 'em, an' dey don't keer fur de starvin', or de tyin' up, or de talkin' to in de meetin'. Dey don't mind fur nuffin' but de whip, an' a little ex'cise wid dat does a nigger good when he'm right down 'fractory. And you has 'lowed, master Robert, dat I warn't so much ter blame in dat 'fair ob Black Cale.'

'Well, perhaps you weren't. It's a good story, Kirke; did I ever tell it to you?'

'No; I'd be glad to hear it.'

'Come, Joe,' said his master, good-naturedly, 'you can tell it better than I. You know it by heart.'

'Well, master, if you says so,' replied Joe; and as we seated ourselves in a semicircle on some rosin barrels, the black proceeded to give the following illustration of the working of free and slave institutions:

'Well, you see, Mr. Kirke, de darky's name wus Black Cale, an' he wus a raised up 'long wid me by de ole gemman--dat am master Robert's gran'fer. He wus allers a hard-bitted, 'fractory darky, but he wus smart, awful smart, and could do a heap ob work when a minded to; but he wusn't a minded to bery of'en, an' ole master used to hab ter flog him--flog him bery hard. Well, finarly, de ole gemman grow'd tired ob doin' so much ob dat, an' he call Cale ter him one day, an' he say:

''Cale, you'se a likely nigger, an' I _don't_ like ter flog you so much. Now, I'll leff you hire you' time, an' gwo down ter Newbern, an' shirk fur you'seff.'

'Ole master knowed Cale wus habin' a bad 'fect on de oder darkies, an' he 'lowed 'twould be cheap leffin' him gwo ef he didn't get a picayune fur him. Well, Cale, he took ter dat ter onst, an' he 'greed to gib ole master one fifty a year fur his time; an' so he put off ter Newbern. Well, ebery ting gwo on right smart till de ole gemman die. Cale, he work hard, pay master ebery year, and sabe up quite a heap. Well, ole master die widout a will, an' all de property gwo ter de two sons; dat am master James an' master Thomas--he war master Robert's fader. Now master James he neber lib'd on de plantation, so he sold all his half ob de nigs to master Thomas, an' put all de 'vails inter his bisness down dar ter Mobile, whar he am now, doin' a heap in de cotton way. But he didn't sell his half ob Cale, 'case master Thomas wouldn't buy him, nohow. Well, dey owned Cale tugedder fur a spell, an' Cale he work on right smart, till one day master James come home, and he tells master Thomas dat on de way he'd a stopped at Newbern, and sole his half ob Cale ter Cale heseff, fur five hundred dollar, and giben him de free papers. Well, den Cale he want to buy de oder half ob heseff ob master Thomas, an' master Thomas he offer to take de same money; but Cale say de oder half not wuth so much as de fust, an' dat he wouldn't gib only two fifty.'

'Not worth so much--why not?' I asked.

'Why, Cale say 'case he could do what he like wid de free half, and he reckoned he shouldn't be quite so 'sponsible _den_ fur de slave half,' and here Joe broke into a merry fit of laughter, in which Preston joined.

'Well, master Thomas an' Cale couldn't 'gree 'bout de buyin', but Cale promise to gib seventy-five dollar a year fur de use ob master's half, an' he gwo off agin ter Newbern. Den de time gwo by fur a yar or two, but master neber git nary dime out ob Cale fur his half. Cale would say dat only half ob him wus free, an' de oder half wasn't 'sponsible, and couldn't pay its debts, nohow. Finarly, master, seein' he couldn't git nuffin out ob Cale, only offers ob two fifty fur de oder half--and _dat_ he wouldn't take, nohow--sent me down to Newbern to sort o' mediate 'tween Cale an' he. Well, I coaxed Cale to 'gree to wuck one monfh for heseff and de oder monfh fur massa, and I come home; but it warn't ob no use; Cale would wuck, but massa neber seed a fip ob de pay. Finarly, af'er he'd a gone on dat way 'bout ten yar, stowin' 'way what he arned whar nobody could fine it, an' allers off'rin' two fifty fur de oder half ob heseff, master Thomas he die, and master Robert he come ter lib on de plantation. Den master Robert axed me what he should do wid Cale, and I tole him to take de two fifty, and leff him gwo. But he say, 'no,' dat he wouldn't sell him fur dat, nohow.' And here the black looked slyly at his master, and a merry twinkle came into his eyes. 'Well, den, I tole master Robert dat I tought I could fix Cale ef he'd leff me manage him jess as I like. He 'greed to dat, an' I gwoes down to Newbern, an' makes Cale come home, an' den I say to him:

''Now, Cale, you stay yere, an' gwo to wuck. Ebery monfh you wuck fur me, an' ebery oder monfh you wuck fur you'seff, an' when you wuck fur you'seff I pay you so much fur ebery barr'l ob dip, an' so much fur ebery barr'l ob scrape, an' so much fur ebery day when you wuck roun'; an' I makes you pay so much fur what you lib on. Well, Cale, he 'gree to dat. He wuck de fust monfh fur heseff, an' he _did_ wuck--he done twice so much as any hand on de plantation; but de next monfh, when he wuck fur _me_, he don't do nuffin but lay 'bout, an' git drunk. I stood dat till de monfh wus up--fur I neber did take ter whippin' de nigs, an' master Robert know dat--an' den w'en Cale wus clean sober, I tied him up to gib him a floggin'. Well, w'en he wus a stripped, an' I was jess gwine to lay on de lashes, Cale say to me, says he:

''Look a yere, 'ou Joe, 'ou may whip massa's half ob dis nig jess so long as 'ou likes, but ef 'ou put de lash onter _my_ half, I'll take de law on 'ou. I will, shore.'

'Dat sot me a tinkin'; fur de fac wus, I'd nary right to flog _his_ half; but den it 'curred ter me dat none but darkies wus roun', an' so I tought I had him, _shore_. Well, I puts on de lashes, an' he keeps a tellin' me he'd hab de law on me, which make me sort o' 'zasparated, till I put 'em on right smart, an' at lass he gib in. Well, w'en I'd a got him a feelin' 'bout right, an' wus only jess puttin' de lass blows on to finish up makin' a decent nigger ob him, master Robert he come up, and when he seed de blood a runnin' down his back, he say Cale had been whipped 'bout 'nough, and I must stop. Cale turned up missin' dat night, an' got off to Newbern; an' shore 'nuff, de next evenin', long 'bout dark, de sherrif he rode up to de house wid a writ fur master Robert fur habin' made 'salt an' batt'ry on one collud man, called Caleb Preston, an' he pulled out a suspeny dat make massa Robert witness agin heseff! ha! ha! You see Cale wus smart; he know'd master Robert b'longed to de Baptist meeting, an' wouldn't lie fur all de niggers in Jones county; so he had him dar, ha! ha!'

Here Joe for some minutes was unable to continue the narrative. His merriment was contagious. I laughed till my sides were sore, and Preston enjoyed the story quite as much as I did.

'Well, what was the end of it?' I asked.

'Only, master Robert hed to be toted off to Newbern dat night, git bail or sleep in de jail, and de next mornin', af'er de nig hed a hed ten yars' use ob heseff fur nuffin, master Robert hed to do what _he'd_ a said, an' his fader afore him hed said, dey neber would do--dat is, take two fifty fur de oder half ob Cale! Ha! ha! De next time I gwoes to Newbern I hunt Cale up, an' I tell him he must study fur de law, shore; an' dat ef he done it, I know'd master Robert would pay de 'spences, out ob lub to de country.'

The negroes who were attending the still had dropped their work to listen to Joe's story, and at its close guffawed in a chorus that made the woods ring. Hearing it, Joe sprang to his feet, shouting out: 'Yere--'bout you' wuck dar; leff me kotch you eavesdroppin' on gemmen agin, an' I'll gib you what I gabe Cale. 'Bout you' wuck, I say.' They turned nimbly to their tasks, and Joe resumed his seat.

'I see the moral of that story, Preston,' I said, when the negro had concluded.

'What is it?'

'That a darky may be as smart as a white man. Cale outwitted you.'

'Well, he did,' he replied, laughing; 'but that isn't the moral: it is that flogging never accomplishes its object.'

'I'm not so sure of that. Joe had brought Cale to terms, 'made a decent nigger on him,' when you, unluckily, interfered.'

'It ain't so much de floggin' on 'em, Mr. Kirke,' said Joe, 'as dar knowin' dat you _will_ do it ef dey desarve it. Dar ain't a darky on de plantation dat don't know master Robert an' de good missus 'ould rader be flogged demselves dan flog dem; an' dat wucks bad, Mr. Kirke, sorry bad;' and the negro shook his head with a grave, thoughtful air.

'Tell me, Preston,' I said, after a slight pause, 'how is it that your neighbor Dawsey, with only seventy-five negroes, sends us more produce than you do with a hundred and fifty?'

'Simply because he treats his hands like brutes, while I treat mine like men.'

'I hope you'll take no offence,' I replied, 'but it appears to me there must be some other reason. He has only _half_ your number.'

'Well, I will tell you how he and I manage, and you can judge for yourself. Dawsey has seventy-five slaves; forty child-bearing women, twenty men, and fifteen children under five years. The sixty adults are all prime hands. They are given daily tasks, which they cannot possibly do in less than fifteen hours, leaving them only nine hours out of the twenty-four for eating, sleeping, feeding their children, and the waking rest necessary to working people. He never whips them on a week day, because it wastes working time, but makes Sunday a general flogging season. He has two women where he has one man, and each woman is expected to bear a child a year. If she doesn't, she is sold. They are made to work in the field till the labor pains are on them; and they are allowed only two weeks' rest after confinement. Three of them have borne children in the woods this season. He keeps only one nurse for the fifteen children, and as soon as each child is five years old--the age at which it can be legally sold away from its mother--it is disposed of to the traders. In addition, three of these women are his own mistresses and they are expected to have children as fast as the others. He serves their children like the rest; that is, rears them to the age of five, and then sells them as he would so many hogs.'

'My God!' I exclaimed, 'he's a monster.'

'There are different opinions about that. Dawsey passes for a jovial good fellow; keeps open house for his friends; spends money freely at the elections, and two years ago 'got religion' at a camp meeting. He merely regards his slaves as chattels, and manages his plantation in perhaps the only way that is profitable in an old section of country like this.'

'And how is it with you? How do you manage?' I asked.

'Leff _me_ tell, master Robert,' said the black, smiling. 'I knows all de 'ticulars 'bout dat.'

'Well, go on,' said Preston, laughing, 'but don't be too hard on _me_.'

'We hab,' continued the black, 'countin' me in, a hundred an' fifty-one darkies, all in fam'lies--faders, mudders, children, and some on 'em gran'faders and gran'mudders,'most all born on de plantation, an' some on 'em livin' on it fur forty, fifty, sixty, an' seventy yar. Out ob dese, we hab only forty-two full hands, 'case some ob de wimmin dat come in de ages fur full wuck am sickly, puny tings, only fit fur house wuck or nussin'. From de whole I gits equal to fifty-four full hands. 'Cordin' to master Robert's direction, I gib 'em easy ten-hour tasks; but suffin' or anoder turn up 'most ebery day, so dat 'bout half on 'em don't do full wuck, an' I reckon dey don't make, on de whole, more'n 'bout nine hour a day. So you see, Cunnel Dawsey, he hab sixty, an' he wuck em fifteen hour a day; we hab only fifty-four, an' we wuck 'em nine hour a day; an' 'cordin' to my 'rithmetic, dat would make de Cunnel turn out 'bout twice as much truck as we does.'

'And you have twice as many mouths to feed as he,' I remarked; 'and the result is he makes money, while you--'

'Lose nigh onter two thousand a year, Mr. Kirke, an' hab done it ebery yar fur five yar, eber since master Robert come on to de plantation, an' gwo to workin' on human principles, as he calls 'em.'

This was said in so sad and regretful a tone, that, in spite of the serious manner of both the black and his master, I laughed heartily. When my merriment had somewhat subsided, I said:

'Joe, what would you do to mend this state of affairs?'

'It can't be mended if we stay in dis ole country, an' wuck 'cordin' to master Robert's notion.'

'Then you mean to say you can't apply humane principles to slave labor, in an old district of country, and make money?'

'Yes,' said Preston, rising and pacing up and down in the small semi-circle formed by the rosin barrels, 'that is what he means to say, and it is true.'

'Then how do the majority of turpentine planters in this section make money? They _do_ make it, that is certain.'

'By overworking their hands, as Dawsey does. All may not be as severe with them as he is, but all overwork them, more or less,' replied Preston.

'I don't know 'bout dat, master Robert, twelve and eben firteen hour a day neber hurt a prime hand, if he hab good feed.

'Well, it is six o'clock, and supper must be in waiting,' said Preston, drawing out his watch; 'we'll talk more on this subject to-night. Joe, bring the books up to the house this evening. Mr. Kirke has promised to look into our affairs, and I shall need you.'

'Yas, master Robert,' replied the black; and, mounting the horses, Preston and I rode off to the mansion.