The slaves could not remain uninterested listeners to the conversations concerning liberty that were held everywhere--at the dinner-table, and on the street. They interpreted literally the language of their masters, and in their simple hearts imagined that the dawn of liberty had come. What else could it mean? The white people were already free; and if liberty was to become universal--and people on each side declared it would become so, if their party should succeed in the election--then the "black folks"

would enjoy its blessings, "sure."

On Sundays the slaves from "town" met their plantation friends at their fish-traps on the river, and there the joyful news was communicated--in whispers at first--but as they became more certain that their hopes were well-grounded, they gradually grew bolder, till at length they dared to discuss the subject in their religious meetings. The preachers were inspired by this bright hope of freedom, and as it grew nearer its imagined fulfilment they preached it to their people with thrilling eloquence.

" 'Taint no dream, nor no joke," cried one of these; "de time's a'most yer. Der won't be no mo' whippin', no mo' oversee's, no mo'

patrollers, no mo' huntin' wid dogs; everybody's a gwine to be free, and de white ma.s.s's a gwine to pay 'em for der work. O, my brudders! de bressed time's a knockin' at de door! De good Lord 'll ramshackle de devil, and all de people in dis yer world, bof white and black, is a gwine to live togedder in peace."

Alas! their bright visions were speedily shadowed. Their masters learned the subject of their earnest discussions, and then a system of espionage was established, which pursued its objects with a vindictive energy worthy of the best days of the Inquisition.

The black preachers were silenced; all a.s.sembling of the slaves forbidden; and patrols established through all the country. Every negro encountered by the patrols was whipped, if he had no pa.s.s; and even that important slip of paper often lost its magic, if the bearer chanced to have the reputation of being a man of spirit.

A panic pervaded the whole community. "The negroes intend to rise," was whispered with white lips by timid ladies in their morning visits; and every sigh of the night-wind through the lofty trees was interpreted by the fearful into the rush of black a.s.sa.s.sins.

Old stories of negro insurrections were revived, and the most faithful and attached servants became objects of suspicion.

This excitement, however, like that to which it owed its origin, at length pa.s.sed away. The few old privileges were restored to the slaves, and the services of the patrols were no longer in constant requisition. Yet the confidence of the slaveholder is always imperfect, and easily shaken. When injustice const.i.tutes the base of the system, how can faith adorn the super-structure?

Some of the better cla.s.s of servants about Tusc.u.mbia have not to this day recovered from the effects of the suspicions which they then incurred. Many, in their joyful excitement, had run after the wagons that bore in procession the log cabin with its admirers, and cried, "The year of jubilee is come! We all's a gwine to be free!"

These were almost crushed by the disappointment, and by the sufferings consequent on too frank an expression of their hopes.

They were scourged and persecuted in a manner befitting the nature of their offence.

Toward the close of 1840, Peter was hired for the ensuing year to Mr. McKiernan. To this he was greatly opposed, even though he would by such an arrangement be able daily to enjoy the society of his family. He loved his wife and children most fondly, but their master had long sought to buy him, and Peter feared that if he went there, he might succeed in accomplishing his wish. The idea of becoming the property of such a man was dreadful to him, and this fear shadowed the otherwise bright prospect of living constantly with his beloved Vina. Yet he carefully concealed his feelings on the subject from any that would report them to Mr. McKiernan.

His wife was in the tyrant's power, and he dared not offend him.

CHAPTER XXI.

BABY LIFE IN THE CABINS.

WE left Vina at the landing straining her weeping eyes to retain the images of the flat-boats that were bearing the goods of Mr.

Peoples down the river. Long she stood gazing there; even till the last faint outline of a boat was lost, and than with swollen eyes and aching heart she returned to her cabin.

She had then two children, Peter, the eldest was a little more than three years old, and Levin, who was born on the twenty-fourth of June previous, had seen about six months. They were 'peart,'

healthy little fellows, and they received much better care than is usually bestowed upon the children of a field woman.

At that time there was no old woman on the place to take care of the children; and every mother, when she went to the field in the morning, locked her little ones in her cabin, leaving some bread where they could get it when they became hungry. Or, if there was one too small to help itself to bread, the thoughtful mother tied a little mush in a rag upon its finger so that when, as babies will, it thrust its finger in its mouth, it could suck, the mush through the rag, and that would keep it quiet.

Sometimes, when the day was very hot, the mothers left their cabin doors open, that the little ones might have air. Then those that were able would creep out over the low threshold, and perhaps fall asleep on the hot ground, "Many's the time," says Vina, "I come home and find my baby sleepin' with the sun a beatin' on its head, enough, 'peared like, to addle its brains."

Very few infants lived on this plantation. The mothers were obliged to work so hard before their birth, and so often suffered cruel beatings while in a situation that required the utmost kindness, that most of the children, if born alive, died in spasms when a few days old.

When Vina's children were small, not an article of clothing was provided for them by the master, till they were old enough to be employed in some light work about the house. Their mother might manage to clothe them, or let them go naked. But for the last few years, they have lost so many in consequence of the total lack of necessaries, that now they give each mother clothing for her child.

But if the baby dies, every little garment must be carried back to the mistress, not even excepting a covering for the tiny corpse. If the mother cannot provide something to shroud her baby, she may have it buried without. Those clothes must be laid by for some future necessity.

In 1831, October twenty-fifth, another little voice was heard in Vina's cabin, pleading for care. She called the baby William, and he was a fine brave boy, His little brothers gave him a joyous welcome, and so did his fond parents; though, in truth, they scarcely knew how they were to supply his baby wants. "But 'pears like," says the mother, "every baby I had I growed smarter, so 't when I had three, I tuck just as good care of 'em all as I did of the first one."

When little William was a few months old, a child belonging to a woman named Ann, was burned to death while its mother was away in the field at work. It was winter, and the mother, as was necessary at that season, had built sufficient fire to keep her half-naked children comfortable; and then, locking her door, had left them to amuse themselves during her absence. When she came in, her child was lying lifeless upon the clay hearth. It had crept too near the pretty blaze, and had probably fallen on the burning coals.

The burning of Ann's child brought about a new order of things on the plantation. Thereafter, every mother was required to leave her little children at the kitchen when she went to the field, and then the cook could mind them.

One morning, not long after this law was made, Vina was "pushed"

to get out in time. She had slept but little during the night, and she did not wake as early as usual. So she thought she would leave the children in the cabin till she came in to nurse her baby, and then she would carry them to the kitchen.

The other little ones were crowing and crying about when the mistress's eye missed Vina's. She counted them all over.

"Where are Vina's children?"

"She never brought 'em dis mornin', ma'am."

"Well, I'll settle with her when she comes. I've told them all not to leave their children at home--they don't care whether they're burnt up or not."

When Vina came at breakfast time to her cabin, (all but the mothers of young children ate their breakfast before they went out) she took her three little ones to the kitchen, and sat down there to nurse the baby[.] Soon the mistress came in, holding the cowhide partly behind her.

"How's this, Vina?" said she, "I thought I told you that you wasn't to leave your children in your house of a morning."

"Well, Missus, I's pushed this mornin'. I hadn't time--"

"I don't care how much you was pushed. I told you to bring them here; and if the sun was an hour high you should obey me. Lay down your child; I'm going to whip you now, for I said I would do it. If your children had got burnt up, you would have blamed me about it."

"No, ma'am, I wouldn't--"

"Lay your child down. I'll let you know you are to obey me."

Vina obeyed; and when her weary shoulders had received twenty hard lashes, she went out to her work. Verily, as a lady in that neighborhood remarked, not long since, to a Northern friend: "The negroes ought to be very thankful to us for taking care of them: they make us a great deal of trouble."

CHAPTER XXII.

FACTS.

AMONG the slaves on Mr. McKiernan's plantation were a number of handsome women. Of these the master was extremely fond, and many of them he beguiled with vile flatteries, and cheated. by false promises of future kindness, till they, became victims to his unbridled pa.s.sions.

Upon these unfortunate women fell the heavy hatred of their mistress; and year after year, as new instances of her husband's perfidy came to her knowledge, her jealousy ran higher, till at length reason seemed banished from her mind, and kindliness became a stranger to her heart. Then she sought a solace in the wine-cup; and the demon of intoxication fanned the fires of hatred that burned within her, till they consumed all that was womanly in her nature, and rendered her an object of contempt and ridicule, even among her own dependents.

The master was, at the time of which we are writing, not far from fifty years of age. He was short and burly in person, with a large head, and a very red face. His hair was quite grey, and as he walked towards the quarter in the morning with his hat on one side, cursing and spitting with equal zeal, he looked, as some of his slaves remarked, "like a big buzzard just ready to fly."

Vina thoroughly understood her master's character; she knew also the temper of her mistress; and she strove by her prudence and correctness of demeanor, to avoid exciting the evil pa.s.sions of either. But one day, when William was a baby, her trial came. The following is her own account of her contest with her master, and it shows that she possessed a brave, true spirit:

"I was in my house a spinnin' one rainy day, and firs' I knowed, Ma.s.s'r he come to the door, and ax me what was I doin'. I told him I's a spinnin' fine yarn. 'Who's thar with you?' says he, 'Thar aint no person yer but my chillerns,' says I; and so he come in and sent Peter and Levin out. I knowed what was a comin' then, for his eyes looked mighty mean.

"He sot down and talked till I got tired a hearin', and I told him I wished he'd go 'way and leave me alone. I told him he got a wife o'

his own, and I didn't never want no fuss with her. Well, he 'lowed she wouldn't never know nothin' about it, no how, so it wouldn't do her no hurt.

"I told him that thar wasn't my principle, to wrong any person behind their back, thinkin' they wouldn't know it. I wouldn't like any body should do me so. At las' I told him I got a task to do, and if he wouldn't go off, and let me do it, I'd go myself;--so I started for the door.

"He sprung after me, and cotch me by the neck of my coat, and tore it half way down the skirt behind. That made me mad, and I fell at him, and tore his shirt mighty nigh off his back. I pulled his hair too, right smart, and scratched his face, and then tripped and flung him on the floor.

He was powerful mad when he got up, and he say he gwine whip me well for that. I told him just so sure as he give me a lick, I'd tell Missus what it's for; and he knowed he never'd git no chance to whip me 'bout my work, so he needn't make no such pretence. 'You tell her one word,' says he,' 'bout this yer, and I'll cut your two ears off close to your head!' 'No, sir, you wont,' says I, 'I you know you dares not c.r.a.p one of your servants.'

"Then he went up to the house, and slipped in sly, and put on a clean shirt. But that thar raggety one never was seen. His wife missed it, though, for she knowed he put on a clean shirt that day.

She axed all the house servants had they seen it, but none of 'em didn't know nuthin' 'bout it. Then she 'lowed some of 'em done stole it, and she laid it to Jinny,-- she was cook then. She 'lowed she done give it to Jacob her husband. They both 'clared they's innocent; but the missus and the overseer give 'em more'n three hundred lashes to make 'em own they got it.

" 'One of your best shirts is gone,' says she to the Ma.s.s'r, 'and I'm determined to whip the servants till I make them tell where it is.