The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 2, August, 1862. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      'Ye ar welcome, stranger.'

      'I sincerely thank you, madam; I am a stranger in these parts.'

      She tendered me a chair; while her husband opened a sideboard, and brought forth a box of Havanas and a decanter of Scuppernong. As I took the proffered seat, he offered me the refreshments. I drank the lady's health in the wine, but declined the cigars. Seeing this, she remarked:

      'Yer from th' North, sir, arn't ye?'

      'Yes, madam, I live in New-York; but I was born in New-England.'

      'I reckoned so; I knew ye didn't belong in Car'lina.'

      'How did you know that, madam?' I asked, laughing.

      'I seed ye doan't smoke 'fore wimmin. But ye mustn't mind me; I sort o' likes it; it's a great comfut to John, and may be it ar to ye.'

      'Well, I do relish a good cigar; but I never smoke before any lady except my wife, and though she's only 'a little lower than the angels,' she does, once in a while, say it's a shame to make the house smell like a tobacco-factory.'

      Barnes handed me the box again, and I took one. As I was lighting it, he said:

      'Ye've got a good 'oman, hev ye?'

      'There's none better; at least, I think so.'

      'Wal, I'm 'zactly uv thet 'pinion 'bout mine; I wouldn't trade her fur all this worle an' th' best half uv t'other.'

      'Don't ye talk so, John,' said the lady. Then addressing me, she added: 'It's a good husband thet makes a good wife, sir.'

      'Sometimes, madam, but not always, I've known some of the best of wives who had miserable husbands.'

      'An' I'm d—d ef I made my wife th' 'oman she ar',' said the corn-cracker.

      'Hush, John, ye mustn't swar so; ye knows how often ye've said ye wouldn't.'

      'Wal, I du, an' I won't agin, by—.' But Sukey, whar's th' young uns?'

      'Out in the lot, I reckon; but ye mustn't holler'm in—they'r all dirt.'

      'No matter for that, madam,' I said, 'dirt is healthy for little ones; rolling in the mud makes them grow.'

      'Then ourn orter grow right smart, fur they'r in it allers.'

      'How many have you, madam?'

      'Two; a little boy, four, and a little gal, six.'

      'They're of interesting ages.'

      'Yas, the' is int'restin'; ev'ry uns own chil'ren is smart; but the' does know a heap. John was off ter Charl'ston no great while back, an' the little boy used ter pray ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter cum hum. I larned 'em thet jest so soon as the' talked, 'cause thar's no tellin' how quick the' moight be tooken 'way. Wal, the little feller prayed ev'ry mornin' an' ev'nin' fur his fader ter cum back, and John didn't cum; so finarly he got sort o' provoked with th' Lord, an' he said God war aither deaf an' couldn't har or he war naughty an' wouldn't tell fader thet little Johnny wanted to seed 'im 'werry mooch,'' and here the good lady laughed pleasantly, and I joined in most heartily.

      Blessed are the children that have such a mother!

      Soon the husband returned with the little girl and boy and four young ebonies, all bare-headed and all dressed alike, in thick trowsers and a loose linsey shirt. Among them was my new acquaintance, 'Dandy Jim, of ole Car'lina.'

      The little girl came to me, and soon I had two white children on one knee and two black on the other, with Dandy Jim between my legs, playing with my watchchain. The family made no distinction between the colors, and as the children were all equally clean, I did not see why I should do so.

      The lady renewed the conversation by remarking: 'P'raps ye reckon it's quar, sir, that we 'low ourn to 'sociate 'long with th' black chil'ren; but we karn't help it. On big plantations, it works sorry bad, fur th' white young uns larn all manner of evil from the black uns; but I've laboored ter teach ourn so one won't do no harm ter t'other.'

      'I suppose, madam, that is one of the greatest evils of slavery. The low black poisons the mind of the white child, and the bad influence lasts through life.'

      'Yas, it's so, stranger; an' it's the biggest keer I hev. It often 'pears strange ter me thet our grow'd up men arn't no wuss than the' is.'

      In those few words, that unlettered woman had said what would—if men were but wise enough to hear and heed the great truth which she spoke—banish slavery from this continent forever!

      After a while, the farmer told the juvenile delineator of Mrs. Hemans and the other poets to give us a song; and planting himself in the middle of the floor, the little darky sang 'Dixie' and several other negro songs, which his master had taught him, but into which he had introduced some amusing variations of his own. The other children joined in the choruses; and then Jim danced breakdowns, 'walk-along-Joes,' and other darky dances, his master accompanying him on a cracked fiddle, till my sides were sore with laughter, and the hostess begged them to stop. Finally the clock struck twelve, and the farmer, going to the door, gave a long, loud blast on a cow's horn. In about five minutes, one after another of the field hands came in, till the whole ten had seated themselves on the verandah. Each carried a bowl, a tin-cup, or a gourd, into which my host—who soon emerged from a back room1 with a pail of whisky in his hand—poured a gill of the beverage. This was the day's allowance, and the farmer, in answer to a question of mine, told me he thought negroes were healthier and worked better for a small quantity of alcohol daily. 'The' work hard, and salt feed doan't set 'em up 'nough,' was his remark.

      Meanwhile the hostess busied herself with preparations for dinner, and it was soon spread on a bright cherry table, covered by a spotless white cloth. The little darkies had scattered to the several cabins, and we soon sat down to as good a meal as I ever ate at the South.

      We were waited on by a tidy negro woman, neatly clad in a calico gown, with shoes on her feet, and a flaming red and yellow kerchief on her head. This last was worn in the form of a turban, and one end escaping from behind and hanging down her back, it looked for all the world like a flag hung out from a top turret. Observing it, my host said:

      'Aggy—showin' yer colors? Ye'r Union gal—hey?'

      'Yas, I is dat, massa; Union ter de back-bone,' responded the negress, grinning widely.

      'All th' Union ye knows on,' replied the master, winking slyly at me, 'is th' union yer goin' ter hitch up 'long with black Cale over ter Squire Taylor's.'

      'No, 'tan't, massa; takes more'n tu ter make de Union.'

      'Yas, I knows; it gin'rally takes ten or a dozen: reckon it'll take a dozen with ye.'

      'John, ye mustn't talk so ter th' sarvents; it spiles 'em,' said his wife.

      'No it doan't; do it, Aggy?'

      'Lor', missus, I doan't keer what massa say; but I doan't leff no oder man run on so ter me!'

      'No more'n ye doan't, gal! only Cale.'

      'Nor him, massa; I makes him stan' 'roun', I reckon.'

      'I reckon ye du; ye wudn't be yer massa's gal ef ye didn't.'

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