CHAPTER II.THE FARM. Oft expectation fails, and most oft there SHAKESPEARE. THE Peytons remained in Somerton about two weeks. The excitement which the necessity for exertion had produced in Charles, seemed to have a wonderfully favorable effect in enabling him to throw off, with much more facility than would have been possible under other circumstances, the languor produced by the long and debilitating fever. Obliged by the necessity of the case to leave their large plantation with no overseer but Nathan, and he having been hastily intrusted with the office with no direction but the general one, to keep every thing in as good order as he could, Mrs. Fairfax dreaded the return. "We must expect to find the greatest confusion,"
said she, as they were on their way back to Cedar
Hill. "The servants seem to have looked on this
time as a kind of Saturnalia, and to have done whatever they pleased. Dr. Parker's family found their store-room and smoke-house completely emptied of their contents, and Mr. Carpenter, Keziah's old master, you know, found every article of furniture or clothing he had left in his house had either been stolen or spoiled. Mrs. Carpenter, poor old lady, was more distressed at the appearance of her floors than any thing else. It was the labor of her life to keep them well-waxed and bright, and they were so cut and marked that it will take weeks of hard rubbing to make them look decently. I have not seen Keziah so pleased since you recovered as she was when she told me about it, for those floors had been a source of torment to her for years. She told me that there was not one in the whole house that had not caused her a whipping." "When mother told her she ought not to rejoice over others' misfortunes," said Virginia, "she said, 'I know that, missis; but I've not got clar of de ole man yet; I has tough fights with him sometimes, and dis time he's got the upper hand. I's glad in my heart, I is;' and she laughs whenever she thinks of it." "How did the Lees find their place?" asked Charles. "That was kept in very good order," replied
Mrs. Fairfax, "for the overseer remained there.
He said he had lived with them more than twenty years, and would not leave them at a time when they most needed him. But Frank did not know that he intended to stay, or he would not have consented to it; he expected him to follow them almost immediately." "Well, if the old house is left standing," said Charles, "I don't think we have any cause for complaint." "Complaint, no!" exclaimed Margaret; "when I recall the feelings with which I last passed over this road, and my sensations now,' I can hardly realize my happiness." Virginia had caught a glimpse of the white-covered wagon, which, laden with groceries for the family, toiled slowly after the carriage, and interrupting the flow of reminiscences, that were as yet too painful for her to dwell upon, she broke forth into the "Old Ship of Zion." After doing full justice to as much of it as she knew, she amused herself and her more thoughtful companions by singing little snatches of all the songs she could recall, until she was stopped in the midst of "Home, sweet Home!" by the opening of the big gate. "How dy, Polydore?" said Charles to that servant, who was busy cutting down a lightning-struck tree near the carriage road. "How dy, Mas'r Charles?" replied Polydore,
coming forward quickly to shake hands; "I'm mighty glad to see you again, and Miss Margaret, and the chilluns, and ole missis, and Miss Virginny too," shaking hands with each one. "I've got a new Bible, with big print, for you, uncle Polydore," called out Philip from his seat by the coachman. "Thank you, Mas'r Phil," said Polydore, with a look of intense delight. "How are things going on about the place?" asked Charles. "Couldn't be better," was the reply. "Nathan's 'bout the best driver I seen in all my life. He makes the niggers stan' roun' like dey was sent for." "Have you heard any thing of Mr. Burke?" asked Mrs. Fairfax. "Yes, Miss Margaret, dey say he so 'flicted with havin' been took so by sprise, and flyin' off dat er way, dat he's gone clar off, whar he come from. I reckon we sha'n't see him no more." From the roadside gate to the house was a distance of about half a mile, and when the arrival of the family was made known, in that mysterious way by which all news travels, the progress of the carriage was greatly impeded by the troops of busy idlers who flocked around to welcome them back. At length the coachman succeeded in bringing
his horses harmlessly through the swarm of little negroes, who had seemed bent of immolating themselves in the triumphant progress of "the family," as their kindred spirits throw themselves beneath the rolling wheels of the car of Juggernaut, and, having surmounted the last gentle slope, the old mansion arose before them in the massive homeliness so dear and familiar to their eyes. "See how fast aunt Abby is walking," said Virginia; "I thought she was entirely too dignified ever to hurry about in that way," as the short, rotund figure of the old housekeeper appeared on the piazza, giving directions and uttering exclamations of joy at once. "You, Peter, tote some light 'ud in the dinin'-room, this minute. I'd ha' been all ready, missis, but I didn't spect you till to-morrow. Ben, run and tell Apphia I'm comin' to give out supper directly. Oh, Miss Margret, I'se so glad to see you, and the chillun too! Bless 'em all!" and she kissed them heartily. Keziah now came up, having alighted from the wagon, and, by the aid of her general efficiency, fires were soon lighted in the different rooms, and an abundant supper—a Virginia supper—prepared for the once more happy family. In going over the house, and examining it thoroughly the next day, Mrs. Fairfax was astonished
and delighted to find every thing left untouched, except by aunt Abby's careful hands. Before her promotion to the office of housekeeper, Abby had been the especial attendant of Mrs. Peyton, who, when she became too stout, and burdened with the weight of too many years, to move as readily as she had once done, showed her opinion of her integrity by giving all the keys of the house into her care. "Why, aunt Abby," said Mrs. Fairfax, "how did you manage to keep every thing so safe?" "I jes' lock all the do's, Miss Margaret, and I ses, nobody but me and Nathan is to come about the place. Dey all wanted to come and help me put every thing straight, but I ses no; I don't want none of your help. I knows what I am, but I don't know what you are; so get away with you. And Nathan, he's kep 'em right tight to work. But, bless your heart, Miss Margaret, dey didn't need no keeping; dey never worked half so well in all dere lives." Charles found that this assertion was true. He
accounted for it—not by the idea that his servants
were better than those on some of the neighboring
plantations, who had showed themselves unworthy
of trust, nor by the flattering thought that more
indulgent treatment than they received elsewhere
had awakened more noble qualities, for there were
many planters around, who held the reins of discipline with a looser grasp, and whose easy tempers led them to pass unnoticed over faults that Mr. Peyton would have punished severely; but their religious training was more carefully attended to than usual, and besides, the principal ones among them were, without exception, persons of tried integrity, fidelity, and Christian principle. There is nowhere a more sympathetic or imitative race than the African, and by working skillfully on their feelings, Nathan, who possessed something of the "wisdom of the serpent," had contrived, with little difficulty, to induce each one to perform voluntarily his daily task. As soon as things had fallen into their usual routine, Charles began to reflect upon the best means to repay the debt of gratitude he owed to his dependents, and, at the same time, to fulfill his vow. He consulted his sister about it. "There are some to whom I must give their
freedom," said he; "I should as soon think of
keeping my own brother in unwilling bondage, as
those to whom we owe so much. But what shall
I do with them or for them afterward? The best
plan I can think of is to place them on a farm. I
have some very valuable land lying on Rocky Run,
about three miles from here. I think I might
manage to settle at least ten of them on it, with a
prospect of making a comfortable subsistence, if they are only industrious." "A very important if," said Margaret Fairfax. "Judging by the free negroes we see around us, the probabilities are that they will degenerate from honest, faithful servants, into idle, degraded, and worthless men, a burden and a nuisance to every respectable person near them." "If I thought that, of course it would prove an insuperable objection to my project; but how can I believe that a man who has stood the test of the ordeal through which Nathan, and Stephen, and Polydore, and many others of our servants have passed—not only this last trial of their fidelity, but the countless temptations they must meet each day—should become like those who have grown up in ignorance and idleness? I can not imagine that they would ever become a burden, much less an injury to society." "They may not, brother," said Margaret; "but who shall answer for their descendants? Many of those we see around us received their freedom as a reward for their good conduct; and if they have not degenerated, is there an instance where even that could be said of their children?" "Yes, Margaret, I think there is," said Charles;
and after a few moments of thought, he mentioned
two or three who had vindicated their claim to the
title of freemen by their industry and uprightness. "Is there any other way I could take, my dear sister," continued he, "to elevate my people to the position in which I wish to see them placed?" At that time Liberia was unthought of, or existed only in the minds of those far-sighted enthusiasts to whom it owes its commencement. The question perplexed Mrs. Fairfax, so that she remained for some time without replying. "There certainly ought to be some other course open in such a case as this—some way not only to free our negroes, but to place them in a situation where the superior position and cultivation of the whites will not react upon them, so as to deprive them of the hope, and, with it, of the wish to elevate themselves; but, I confess, I do not see any other. What do you say to sending them to the free states?" "I have thought of that; but, besides the climate
being so ill adapted to them, they are not regarded there with the same kindness and toleration as
with us. The tie that unites us to them—the only
possible tie, it seems to me, between the two races,
has taught us to regard their necessities as our peculiar care. We are so familiar with their habits of
improvidence and indolence, that it does not strike
us with the same feelings of surprise and contempt
that it does the thrifty Northerners. Besides, I would like to keep my people near me. After they have been taken care of by our family so long, I would not like to have them suffer, even by their own fault. We hear of a great deal of suffering in those Northern cities, especially among the negroes." "Yes, that is true," replied Mrs. Fairfax; "that I know from observation. You remember my taking mammy Betty to New York with me, when Philip was a baby, and that she was persuaded to leave me. I remained in the city several months, and heard nothing of her. Indeed, I never expected to see her again; but one day I received a message, imploring me to come to her. I shall never forget the horror and misery of the places through which Mr. Fairfax and I had to pass in order to reach her room. We found her sick, and almost starving, and pure pity, if nothing else, would haye forced us to take her back with us. Poor mammy can never bear to hear of the 'big norrard' since. To be sure, that is only a single instance; but I have heard of many others." "We hear of them, and see them constantly at
the North. No, Margaret, I have great hopes that
I shall be successful in this plan; and if I am, I
know many other planters who will follow my example, for there are but few that are not troubled
by the present state of our relations to our servants
And when the slaves see that by their good conduct they may hope to attain freedom and respectability, who can tell how great a stimulus the prospect will be to them?" Mr. Peyton was generally distinguished by great calmness and coolness of judgment; but the warmth and earnestness with which he entered into this project for repaying the great debt he owed his bondmen, kindled a degree of enthusiasm in his heart that made him set aside all doubts and misgivings as unworthy his design, and the people who were to carry it into execution. "I am working with pure heart and hands," thought he, "and it seems impossible that I should fail; but if I do, it shall not dishearten me." When Nathan was informed that his master intended to bestow upon him and all his family the great gift of freedom, together with enough land to render him independent, partly in recompense for his past services, and partly, Mr. Peyton said, that the neighborhood might have no cause to complain that he had thrown his people upon them for support, he could hardly believe the good tidings. He hastened to impart them to his wife, but soon returned with a more anxious face than he had often been known to wear. "My ole woman say, mas'r, how will Junius do
'bout his learnin'? He's mighty fond of books, and would be a preacher one of these days, if he can go on. He's been studyin' Latin, and Greek, and Hebrew, and I don't know what else, with Mas'r Philip's tutorer, and he say he's the best scholar he has had for a long time. But if he has to work on a farm, he must give up studyin'." Mr. Peyton knew that Junius was a boy of uncommon abilities, and he had given the tutor permission to teach him, but he had no idea he was so far advanced. "I will see Junius myself, Nathan," replied Mr, Peyton, "and if I find him so good a scholar as you say, I will do the best I can for him." For Mr. Peyton to promise was almost the same that it is for other people to perform, so Nathan went away quite satisfied. Mr. Peyton found that Nathan had not exaggerated about his son, but that the acquirements of
Junius were so great as to appear wonderful when
compared with his slender advantages. He was
never more perplexed. "What shall I do with
Junius," thought he, "if, by my connivance, he
fulfills the promise of his boyhood, and becomes a
learned man? What position in America can he
occupy?" Then the question arose, "Is it right
to stifle the yearnings for knowledge in any human
soul, particularly when the knowledge can be ob-
tained without the violation of any duty?" Every feeling in Mr. Peyton's generous heart said no. It was then resolved that Junius, freed with the rest of the family, should remain with Mr. Peyton, and, fulfilling the duties of his position, that of assistant waiter, he might devote the rest of his time to the improvement of his mind, with all the assistance he could obtain from the tutor or Mr. Peyton's library. Essex, an old family servant, the head waiter and butler, was next informed by his master of the happiness in store for him. He was a true Virginia servant of the old school. His courteousness and suavity of manner, his dignified politeness and ceremoniousness, might have put Beau Brummel to the blush. "The first gentleman in Europe" bore himself with no more stateliness and consciousness of his high position on the mightiest throne in the world, than did Essex when, with a wave of his silver waiter, he ushered the high-bred ladies and gentlemen of the "Old Dominion" to their seats at the table in the dining-room of Cedar Hill. "Have I ever disobliged you, master?" asked he, with a magnificent bow and flourish of his hand. "No, Essex, you have always been a most faithful servant." "Is it Madam Peyton's wish that I should leave you?" "My mother wishes you to go, as it will probably be for your greater usefulness and happiness; but, on her own account, she dislikes very much to part with you. You were father's body-servant so long, that she has become strongly attached to you." "That will do, Master Charles. If I could forsake the family I was born in, it would not be while my old mistress needs me. If I decline into an invalid, or become supernumerary afterward," with another flourish, "you can turn me off, if you please. For myself, I do not approve of novelties. As I came into this world, so I go out of it. And, if you please, Master Charles, don't speak the word to me again." Another bow—another flourish, somewhat more deprecating than the others—and he was gone. Amused and gratified rather than discouraged by his vain attempt to make Essex understand the value of the great boon he offered him—an offer Essex evidently took as a slight to his services, and a civil way of telling him he was no longer needed— Mr. Peyton continued his efforts with unabated zeal. The next person from whom he experienced any opposition was one of the last from whom he expected it. Ben, the coachman, a bright mulatto, and a man full of energy and ambition, in his own way, after consulting his wife Clara about accepting his master's proposal, came to him with a positive refusal. "If it was to work about hosses, now, mas'r, I wouldn't say no, for that I knows all about, and likes better than to eat my dinner; but I never know'd any thing about working on a farm, and never 'spect to. 'Pears to me like a mighty coming down, to go to field-work after I've been raised in the house. Clary thinks so too." "But the land will be your own—a very different thing from working for a master." "I'm much 'bliged to you, mas'r; and ef it was any thing else but going on a farm, I'd 'cept your offer; but, 'deed, I couldn't do that for nobody"— for Ben possessed the negro passion for horses to its fullest extent. "But, Ben," continued Mr. Peyton, "think that you can be a free and independent man." "Yes, Mas'r Charles, I told Clary so; and she said it didn't make no difference to speak of—a nigger's nothing but a nigger, whether he is free or not." "I am afraid Clara dreads the hard work that may fall to her lot, if she leaves her comfortable home here," said Mr. Peyton. "Call her to me, Ben; I will talk to her about it." She had been down to the quarter administering a dose of medicine to some child, by Mrs. Fairfax's orders, and, summoned by Ben, she soon appeared, slowly emerging from the clump of trees, and ascending the slope that led to the house. "Hurry, Clary, hurry; mas'r's waitin' for you," said Ben. "I am hurrying; don't you see I'm running as fast as I can?" replied Clara, changing her leisurely movement into what might be called rather a brisk walk, if the epithet brisk could be applied to Clara's graceful, swaying motions. She was a picturesque-looking object; and, gazing upon her then as she crossed the lawn, the imagination would be irresistibly carried away from this land of universal activity, useful inventions, and angular movements, to those Eastern climes, where the sun and the genial soil do all the labor, and their spoiled children have but to receive and enjoy. With just such a gait of stately languor—regal in its indolent repose—might Pharaoh's daughter have walked, amid her attendant maidens, along the rush-bordered Nile. Tall and slender, with beautifully-moulded limbs and bust, small hands and feet, softly-rounded features, and large, deeply-fringed eyes, in whose dark depths the gazer might fancy he could discover terrible capabilities of passion or feeling, or infinite powers of love and tenderness, she was yet only a gentle and affectionate woman, very vain, and very fond of ease and enjoyment, but, in the main, faithful and true-hearted. She had been generally employed about Mrs.
Peyton's person, and, as Charles Peyton supposed,
dreaded the hardships and privations of a life of labor on a farm. But she had accompanied her mistress on two journeys to Philadelphia; and the fine dressing she had seen among persons of her own rank there, with their opportunities for enjoyment, had struck her so favorably, that she had been since very desirous of returning. She told her master that, if he could get Ben a situation as coachman with some of his friends in Philadelphia, she would be very glad to help him as much as she could by sewing, but that nothing would make her consent to undertake the farm. Mr. Peyton would not agree to this proposal, and therefore, with many misgivings, Ben decided to remain a slave. Another surprise was in store for Mr. Peyton. "I shall make the same proposal to Keziah that I have done to Nathan and the others," said he, "but I do not suppose she will accept it." "Oh, no, certainly not," exclaimed Virginia; "I should not wonder if she felt even more hurt than poor uncle Essex." But Keziah embraced the offer with an irrepressible delight most foreign to her nature. Mr. Peyton could not prevent a sensation of disappointment, for he had felt convinced that Keziah loved him too well to leave him. She instinctively divined his feeling. "I belong to you all the same, mas'r; and if you ever want me, speak the word, and I come from the farmost ends of the arth; but I's born to be free, mas'r; I allers know'd it. Some niggers born for slaves—heaps on 'em fit for nothin' else; but this chile ain't one of them ar people." And she turned to go away; but quickly changing her mind, she returned, raised her eyes, generally downcast and brooding, and fixed them, with a searching look, full on his face. "Mas'r Charles, next to God Almighty, I love you; and you taught me to love Him the best: if you want me to stay with you, I stay." "No, Keziah," replied Mr. Peyton, the momentary feeling of disappointment having passed away; "probably you will be of more real service and advantage to me by the good effect your industry and honesty will have on your companions on the farm, than if you spent your life in my service." To carry out this attempt to free his servants, and teach them self-reliance, Mr. Peyton selected ten of the best men upon his place. Nathan, with his wife Sally, and a family of six children, and Polydore, with his patient eyes still fixed on Keziah, who possessed a strange power over the docile giant, were among the most prominent of the band. Mr. Peyton himself had built as many cabins as
were needed, and furnished them with the articles
that were absolutely necessary. The rest they were to obtain by their own exertions. But many a millionaire has begun with less. During the first year they worked the land for Mr. Peyton, as he wished to ascertain if it were sufficient for their support. With the conscientious Nathan as their overseer, and animated by the desire of proving themselves worthy of their liberty, all faithfully performed their part in the common task. Even Polydore seemed more thoroughly awake, and no longer took advantage of the opportunity offered, by being appointed to drive a cart or wagon, to enjoy a stolen slumber, while the sagacious animals chose their own gait and direction. There was a story still current, that one night he had waked up to find himself fast in a swamp, ten miles from home, which he had left at sunrise to obtain a load of wood. But no such disaster befell him now. Perhaps Keziah's rebukes, sharp and decided, though rare, had some effect. He had selected a cabin close by hers, and employed all his leisure time in assisting the severe mistress of his soul in cultivating a little flower-garden she had planted; for, great an anomaly as it might seem, Keziah was an ardent admirer of every thing beautiful or lovely in nature. The farm proved so much more profitable the
first year than Mr. Peyton had expected, that he was much encouraged. Distributing the proceeds among the laborers when he gave them their freedom, he asked them whether they preferred to work the land together as they had been doing, or to have it divided into lots. As they all relied greatly on Nathan's judgment, they decided to continue the first arrangement. Keziah opposed this decidedly, but, overruled by numbers, she yielded. The second year was not so favorable. In Mr. Peyton's frequent visits to Rocky Run farm, he found Nathan often sad and disheartened. "Every thing is gettin' behin' han', mas'r," he said one day. "The niggers won't work; if dey has de least ache or pain, dey nusses demselves mos' to death. Keziah's de best man in de lot, and she keeps Polydore pretty well up to the mark; but de rest—dey work one day, and rest two." The result proved that Nathan's complaints were well founded. Instead of making more than enough for their support, as they should have done, they found themselves in debt, and some of them had to apply to Mr. Peyton for relief. The next year matters were still worse; they had tasted the pleasure of an indolent life, and were not inclined to resume their old habits of active exertion. Few men naturally like a life of labor. It was first inflicted as a curse; and though obedience often transmutes it into a blessing, yet people generally, white as well as black, count it a happiness if they are elevated above the necessity for exertion. It was easy for Mr. Peyton's freedmen to work enough to satisfy their consciences, and to procure a part of what was necessary for their subsistence, and often a great part; for it is wonderful, to those of many wants, how little will suffice to satisfy those whose only desires spring from their animal nature. And they knew they had an unfailing resource, if sickness or distress came upon them. Mr. Peyton never refused them what they really needed, both for the sake of past services, and because he did not wish to be the means of burdening others in the community with the care of his people. But he marked, with bitter disappointment, the downward progress of what, in his sanguine visions, he had depicted to himself as the Utopia of the colored race. It needed no prophetic eye to see that the children trained in indolence and self-indulgence would probably, when his restraining influence and willing aid were withdrawn, become the pest of the neighborhood by their thriftlessness and dishonesty. By the end of the third year, Nathan's patience
was worn out. He came to Mr. Peyton with the proposal that the land should be divided. The reasons that he gave were, that the labor fell principally on himself, and those of his children who were able to work, Polydore and Keziah; yet the others expected an equal share of the profits, and were inclined to find fault with him, on account of the falling off in their crops; and if he managed to lay up any little store for himself, the rest evidently thought that, as long as it lasted, they had as good a right to it as he, and would come to him very much as they would have applied to a master, only with more freedom and importunity. The African is naturally generous, kind-hearted, and yielding, and Nathan often found himself unable to refuse, though, in the end, he was the greatest, perhaps the only real sufferer; for the rest, without hesitation, went to Mr. Peyton when other means failed; but Nathan had determined that nothing but "extreme extremities" should force him to do that. "If I can not support myself and my family after
all that Mas'r Charles has done for me, I don't ought
to be free;" and so his family often, during the third
winter, lived for days on hoe-cake. Sometimes his
oldest boys would succeed in catching an opossum,
or some rabbits, which made a welcome variety in
their fare, and fuel could always be obtained for
the trouble of collecting it from the neighboring forests. Yet, even in this, Nathan's patience was put to a hard trial; for, being naturally what the Northerners call "a fore-handed man," he laid in quite a store of wood, "light 'ud, back-logs," and all, before the cold weather came on. The first stormy day in winter, hearing a clattering and commotion outside his house, he opened the wooden shutter, which served also for a window, in the back of the cabin, and saw a number of little busy hands helping themselves liberally from his wood-pile. "What are you doin' dar?" he asked, in no gentle tones, while a disposition to run was clearly visible in the greater number of the little depredators; but a commanding "Stop! you hear?" kept them in their places, standing silent and abashed, with rolling eyes, and teeth, whose pearly brightness lit up occasionally some dark, chubby face, as, notwithstanding the awe in which uncle Nathan was held, an involuntary giggle would break forth. At length one of the smaller ones took heart of grace, and said, "Daddy sent me, uncle Nathan; he's got de rheumatiz, and mammy has to stay to take care of him. He said he knew you'd give him some wood." "Well, ax me nex time; now take it, and be off wid ye. What you doin' yer, Jack?" "Mammy's sick; she got de spine in her back-bone drefful bad; she got it working so hard in de tater patch, and now de doctor say she mus' lie in bed ever so long. Daddy's nussin' de baby." "All he's fit for," muttered Nathan; but, touched by the singular nature of his mother's illness, Jack also received permission to go home with full arms. One by one, each of the little throng came forward with his excuses, which were "no excuses," and his humble request, which, backed by the chilling rain, and raw, gusty wind, Nathan found irresistible. It rained, and snowed, and sleeted for nearly a week, and by the end of that time Nathan's woodpile was, as he pathetically observed, "nowhar." In this emergency, he went in to consult with Keziah, who, pointing triumphantly to her undiminished stock of fuel, said, "She'd dare any lazy nigger to lay a finger on it." "Yes, aunt Keziah, dat's all right; but, you see, I feels somehow like a father to dem all, and I can't see 'em suffer as long as dey are under me." "Why don't you give 'em up, den, and go to work for yourself, as I wanted you to do at fust?" "Dat's the 'dentical ting I've come yer about," replied Nathan; "let's hold a conference on dat very subject." Just then a clumsy shuffling and stamping was
heard outside the door; then a knocking, which, being answered by a loud "Come in" from Keziah, Polydore appeared, leaving, after the custom of the Turks, though probably unaware of the existence of such a nation or custom, his shoes outside. Keziah's floor was not to be profaned by the mass of mud that Polydore gathered in his daily tramps; for, like the Hebrews of old, he was content if he could supply his wants from day to day, giving, literally, the morrow no thought. "You've ben gone in de woods longer dan common," said Keziah. "Yes," replied he, placing on the table several bunches of holly, with its red berries and glossy leaves; "fust, I had to tote home wood for myself, and den one and den anoder axed me to fetch some for dem, and I've ben as busy as dat ar bee missis used to preach 'bout till dis blessed minute. I fetched dat green stuff to you, for I know'd you'd like it to stick 'bout de room for Christmas times, and dat's comin' soon. I'll bring some more to-morrow." "Have you had any breakfast?" asked Keziah. "No," replied Polydore, with the reluctant, abashed manner of a child confessing a fault, and at the
same time excusing it; "I hadn't no wood. It
'peared to me yesterday I had fetched home plenty
for two days; but fust one came, and den anoder,
and dis one was sick, and dat one was wuss, and it was all gone 'fore I know'd it." "You and uncle Nathan is two blessed fools," said Keziah, with a sort of resigned contempt, as she went to work mixing a hoe-cake in the most scientific manner, and, after placing it in the hot ashes to bake, began making an olla podrida that sent forth a most savory odor. While thus engaged, she kept up with Nathan a discussion of "ways and means." When they differed in their opinion as to the best course to choose, they appealed to Polydore, who would gladly have acted the umpire with impartiality and dignity; but his attention, distracted by the good things that were in preparation, he found it impossible, and, after chafing Keziah's temper to the uttermost by several mal apropos answers, he lapsed into a state of entire confusion, but placid satisfaction, and contented himself with clinching every proposal of hers with a "'Zackly so, Keziah," "Dat's all right, ole woman," until, soothed by his admiration, she resumed her usual grim composure, and placed the smoking viands before him. To have seen the enjoyment with which Polydore
fell upon these "creature comforts," would have
given unalloyed pleasure to any benevolent heart.
No fragments were left; but when Keziah had removed the dishes, she said,
"You know, Polydore, this is a very important subjec' Nathan and I are consultin' about, and we want your 'pinion." "'Zackly so, Keziah; I knows dat. Drive ahead." Thus adjured, she went on to tell him that the subject they were conversing about was no less than the advantages that would spring from a division of the property, each one cultivating their own farm, instead of working it in common as they had been doing. They were also considering what places they would prefer for their own share, if Mr. Peyton should approve of the division; for they still considered themselves as so much his charge, that they did nothing of importance without obtaining his consent. They concluded that they would like to remain as they were, neighbors, as then they could mutually assist each other in their plans for improvement, and protection from the extortions of the indolent people around them. All this was explained to Polydore, and discussed
for his benefit, while he sat quietly on a section of
the trunk of a tree, which, stripped of its bark, and
carefully smoothed, filled well enough the place of
an ottoman. It had a nice cushion and covering
of bright chintz, which gave quite a brilliant look
to Keziah's little cabin; but these only came out
in pleasant weather, when visitors from Cedar Hill
might be expected. When thus arrayed, Polydore never thought of occupying it, but now he had settled himself very comfortably, and, turning his head a little away from them, listened, apparently in motionless attention, to Nathan's calm, slowly-spoken arguments, and Keziah's pithy and decided remarks. They finished what they had to say, and waited to hear his opinion. A lower droop of the head, and a deep, heavy breath rewarded their patience. "He's dead asleep," said Keziah. "I believe in my heart if he was on de fiel' of battle he'd go to sleep with de bullets flyin' roun' him. But it don't make no defference—he'll do what we do." "He'll do what you want him to do, Keziah," said Nathan, with a gallant bow; "de ladies is mighty powerful over our weakness." Nathan was not much given to the vanity of complimenting, and Keziah appreciated his remark the more on that account. After a few more words, Nathan rose to go, saying, "I'll tell my ole woman what we've been talking about, and de very fust
chance I get at Mas'r
Charles, I'll let him know how every thing is goin'
wrong, and, to save my soul, I can't make it right;
and I know he'll agree with us. You see, Keziah,
I feel troubled 'bout my chillun. Naterally, dey
ar as good chillun as ever lived, and we tries our
best to larn 'em to obey dar parents, and to walk in de ways of de Lord. But we can't keep 'em from 'sociating with de oders; and dey larn such mighty bad tricks and words. If we have a farm to ourselves, we can live more to one side, you know." And this conversation led to the proposal to Mr. Peyton that the land should be divided. To this he readily consented. He saw that matters could not be much worse, and perhaps, when each one felt himself individually responsible, they might improve. He had a long talk with the delinquents, to urge them to their duty. They all acknowledged their short-comings, and promised amendment; but when he placed several motives before them to incite them to improvement—among others, the increased respect with which they would be regarded—he always received this reply—varied occasionally in language, but conveying the same idea— "Laws! Mas'r Charles, a nigger can't be any thing but a nigger." The only resource he had, when reduced to this emergency, was to remind them that in heaven all distinction of race or color is unknown, and that they could hardly attain a state of blessedness in the other world without performing their duty in this. But there were only a few on whom this argu-
ment seemed to produce any effect. It is a melancholy fact, that the external reality of heavenly things is but little felt, even by the greater part of those whose minds are trained to consider them from infancy. How, then, can we blame these ignorant beings, whose mental faculties lie almost dormant for want of exercise, if, having no earthly motives to stimulate them, they neglect the divine ones that are offered in their stead? To do right, for the pure love of right, or the love of God, is a very difficult thing. Few know how difficult; for there are but few who have not some other helps to their upward course, in the approbation of friends, the increased esteem of their acquaintances, and the growing influence they must feel they exert in society. These inducements can be applied but in a limited degree to the negro; and, with every earthly aspiration crushed out of his heart by the overpowering superiority of the white man in social and political advantages, it is no wonder he improves so slowly, or displays so little desire for intellectual cultivation. The division of the land worked admirably for Nathan, Keziah, and Polydore. All encouraging and assisting each other, their little places soon wore a look of thrift and comfort that gladdened Mr. Peyton's heart. Their farms looked, amid the general decay and desolation around them, like oases in the desert, and, by contrast, served to bring out more prominently the improvidence and want of steadiness of purpose in the others, who had the same advantages. Those only whose lives were regulated by their consciences and the word of God, were found strong enough to bear the trial of worldly prosperity. Those governed by lower motives sank, as soon as fear of their master's displeasure, or desire of his approval, were withdrawn, into a state of apathy as far as regarded every thing but their bodily comforts—and even those were reduced to a lower scale than before. Mr. Peyton, though sick at heart whenever he thought of the failure of this experiment, commenced with such sanguine hopes, yet did not lose his interest in those who had once been his peculiar charge. He labored earnestly to undo the evil he had unwittingly done to the community, by throwing upon it so many idle and useless people, who were allowing their children to grow up in practices of petty pilfering and vagrancy, which rendered them a nuisance to the neighborhood. Every year of Mr. Peyton's life made his mistake
clearer to him. Yet he was just enough not to
attribute his disappointment to an inherent defect
in the character of the colored race. Other people so situated, with so few inducements to self-improvement, might have worked much greater injury to society than they had done. He only felt that extreme caution was necessary before again taking a step that involved so much. |