<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter p6">
<ANTIMG src="images/i019.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="373" alt="The Laborers of the South" /></div>
<h2>THE LABORERS OF THE SOUTH.</h2>
<p><ANTIMG src="images/dcw.jpg" alt="W" width-obs="125" height-obs="109" class="floatl" /></p>
<p>HO shall do the work for us? is the
inquiry in this new State, where there
are marshes to be drained, forests to
be cut down, palmetto-plains to be grubbed up,
and all under the torrid heats of a tropical sun.</p>
<p>"Chinese," say some; "Swedes," say others;
"Germans," others.</p>
<p>But let us look at the facts before our face and
eyes.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The thermometer, for these three days past,
has risen over ninety every day. No white
man that we know of dares stay in the fields
later than ten o'clock: then he retires under
shade to take some other and less-exposing
work. The fine white sand is blistering hot:
one might fancy that an egg would cook, as on
Mt. Vesuvius, by simply burying it in the sand.
Yet the black laborers whom we leave in the
field pursue their toil, if any thing, more actively,
more cheerfully, than during the cooler
months. The sun awakes all their vigor and
all their boundless jollity. When their nooning
time comes, they sit down, not in the shade,
but in some good hot place in the sand, and
eat their lunch, and then stretch out, hot and
comfortable, to take their noon siesta with the
full glare of the sun upon them. Down in the
swamp-land near our house we have watched
old Simon as from hour to hour he drove his
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</SPAN></span>
wheelbarrow, heavy with blocks of muck, up a
steep bank, and deposited it. "Why, Simon!" we
say: "how <i>can</i> you work so this hot weather?"</p>
<p>The question provokes an explosion of laughter.
"Yah, hah, ho, ho, ho, misse! It be hot;
dat so: ho, ho, ho!"</p>
<p>"How <i>can</i> you work so? I can't even think
how you can do such hard work under such
a sun."</p>
<p>"Dat so: ho, ho! Ladies can't; no, dey can't,
bless you, ma'am!" And Simon trundles off with
his barrow, chuckling in his might; comes up with
another load, throws it down, and chuckles
again. A little laugh goes a great way with
Simon; for a boiling spring of animal content is
ever welling up within.</p>
<p>One tremendously hot day, we remember our
steamer stopping at Fernandina. Owing to the
state of the tide, the wharf was eight or ten feet
above the boat; and the plank made a steep inclined
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</SPAN></span>
plane, down which a mountain of multifarious
freight was to be shipped on our boat.
A gang of negroes, great, brawny, muscular fellows,
seemed to make a perfect frolic of this job,
which, under such a sun, would have threatened
sunstroke to any white man. How they ran and
shouted and jabbered, and sweated their shirts
through, as one after another received on their
shoulders great bags of cotton-seed, or boxes
and bales, and ran down the steep plane with
them into the boat! At last a low, squat giant
of a fellow, with the limbs and muscles of a great
dray-horse, placed himself in front of a large
truck, and made his fellows pile it high with
cotton-bags; then, holding back with a prodigious
force, he took the load steadily down the
steep plane till within a little of the bottom,
when he dashed suddenly forward, and landed
it half across the boat. This feat of gigantic
strength he repeated again and again, running up
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</SPAN></span>
each time apparently as fresh as if nothing had
happened, shouting, laughing, drinking quarts of
water, and sweating like a river-god. Never was
harder work done in a more jolly spirit.</p>
<p>Now, when one sees such sights as these, one
may be pardoned for thinking that the negro is
the natural laborer of tropical regions. He is
immensely strong; he thrives and flourishes
physically under a temperature that exposes
a white man to disease and death.</p>
<p>The malarial fevers that bear so hard on the
white race have far less effect on the negro:
it is rare that they have what are called here
the "shakes;" and they increase and multiply,
and bear healthy children, in situations
where the white race deteriorate and grow
sickly.</p>
<p>On this point we had an interesting conversation
with a captain employed in the Government
Coast Survey. The duties of this survey involve
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</SPAN></span>
much hard labor, exposure to the fiercest extremes
of tropical temperature, and sojourning
and travelling in swamps and lagoons, often
most deadly to the white race. For this reason,
he manned his vessel with a crew composed entirely
of negroes; and he informed us that the
result had been perfectly satisfactory. The
negro constitution enabled them to undergo
with less suffering and danger the severe exposure
and toils of the enterprise; and the
gayety and good nature which belonged to the
race made their toils seem to sit lighter upon
them than upon a given number of white men.
He had known them, after a day of heavy exposure,
travelling through mud and swamps, and
cutting saw-grass, which wounds like a knife, to
sit down at evening, and sing songs and play on
the banjo, laugh and tell stories, in the very best
of spirits. He furthermore valued them for their
docility, and perfect subjection to discipline.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</SPAN></span>
He announced strict rules, forbidding all drunkenness
and profanity; and he never found a difficulty
in enforcing these rules: their obedience
and submission were perfect. When this gentleman
was laid up with an attack of fever in St.
Augustine, his room was beset by anxious negro
mammies, relations of his men, bringing fruits,
flowers, and delicacies of their compounding for
"the captain."</p>
<p>Those who understand and know how to
treat the negroes seldom have reason to complain
of their ingratitude.</p>
<p>But it is said, by Northern men who come
down with Northern habits of labor, that the
negro is inefficient as a laborer.</p>
<p>It is to be conceded that the influence of
climate and constitution, and the past benumbing
influences of slavery, do make the habits of
Southern laborers very different from the habits
of Northern men, accustomed, by the shortness
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</SPAN></span>
of summer and the length of winter, to set the
utmost value on their working-time.</p>
<p>In the South, where growth goes on all the
year round, there really is no need of that intense,
driving energy and vigilance in the use
of time that are needed in the short summers of
the North: an equal amount can be done with
less labor.</p>
<p>But the Northern man when he first arrives,
before he has proved the climate, looks with impatient
scorn on what seems to him the slow,
shilly-shally style in which both black and white
move on. It takes an attack of malarial fever
or two to teach him that he cannot labor the
day through under a tropical sun as he can in
the mountains of New Hampshire. After a
shake or two of this kind, he comes to be
thankful if he can hire Cudjo or Pompey to
plough and hoe in his fields through the blazing
hours, even though they do not plough and hoe
with all the alacrity of Northern farmers.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</SPAN></span></p>
<p>It is also well understood, that, in taking
negro laborers, we have to take men and women
who have been educated under a system the
very worst possible for making good, efficient,
careful, or honest laborers. Take any set of
white men, and put them for two or three generations
under the same system of work without
wages, forbid them legal marriage and secure
family ties, and we will venture to predict that
they would come out of the ordeal a much worse
set than the Southern laborers are.</p>
<p>We have had in our own personal experience
pretty large opportunities of observation. Immediately
after the war, two young New-England
men hired the Mackintosh Plantation, opposite
to Mandarin, on the west bank of the St. John's
River. It was, in old times, the model plantation
of Florida, employing seven hundred negroes,
raising sugar, rice, Sea-Island cotton. There
was upon it a whole village of well-built, comfortable
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</SPAN></span>
negro houses,—as well built and comfortable
as those of any of the white small farmers
around. There was a planter's house; a schoolhouse,
with chambers for the accommodation of a
teacher, who was to instruct the planter's children.
There were barns, and a cotton-gin
and storehouse, a sugar-house, a milk and dairy
house, an oven, and a kitchen; each separate
buildings. There were some two or three hundred
acres of cleared land, fit for the raising of
cotton. This whole estate had been hired by
these young men on the principle of sharing
half the profits with the owner. After they had
carried it on one year, some near relatives became
partners; and then we were frequent
visitors there. About thirty laboring families
were employed upon the place. These were
from different, more northern States, who had
drifted downward after the Emancipation Act to
try the new luxury of being free to choose their
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</SPAN></span>
own situation, and seek their own fortune.
Some were from Georgia, some from South and
some from North Carolina, and some from New
Orleans; in fact, the <i>débris</i> of slavery, washed
together in the tide of emancipation. Such as
they were, they were a fair specimen of the
Southern negro as slavery had made and left him.</p>
<p>The system pursued with them was not either
patronizing or sentimental. The object was to
put them at once on the ground of free white
men and women, and to make their labor profitable
to their employers. They were taught
the nature of a contract; and their agreements
with their employers were all drawn up in writing,
and explained to them. The terms were a
certain monthly sum of money, rations for the
month, rent of cottage, and privileges of milk
from the dairy. One of the most efficient and
intelligent was appointed to be foreman of the
plantation; and he performed the work of old
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</SPAN></span>
performed by a driver. He divided the hands
into gangs; appointed their places in the field;
settled any difficulties between them; and, in fact,
was an overseer of the detail. Like all uneducated
people, the negroes are great conservatives.
They clung to the old ways of working,—to the
gang, the driver, and the old field arrangements,—even
where one would have thought another
course easier and wiser.</p>
<p>In the dim gray of the morning, Mose blew
his horn; and all turned out and worked their
two or three hours without breakfast, and then
came back to their cabins to have corn-cake
made, and pork fried, and breakfast prepared.
We suggested that the New-England manner
of an early breakfast would be more to the purpose;
but were met by the difficulty, nay, almost
impossibility, of making the negroes work in
any but the routine to which they had been
accustomed. But in this routine they worked
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</SPAN></span>
honestly, cheerfully, and with a will. They had
the fruits of their labors constantly in hand,
in the form either of rations or wages; and there
appeared to be much sober content therewith.</p>
<p>On inquiry, it was found, that, though living in
all respectability in families, the parties were,
many of them, not legally married; and an attempt
was made to induce them to enter into
holy orders. But the men seemed to regard
this as the imposing of a yoke beyond what they
could bear. Mose said he had one wife in
Virginny, and one in Carliny; and how did he
know which of 'em he should like best? Mandy,
on the female side, objected that she could not
be married yet for want of a white lace veil,
which she seemed to consider essential to the
ceremony. The survey of Mandy in her stuff
gown and cow-hide boots, with her man's hat
on, following the mule with the plough, brought
rather ludicrous emotions in connection with
this want of a white veil.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Nevertheless, the legal marriages were few
among them. They lived faithfully in their respective
family relations; and they did their
work, on the whole, effectively and cheerfully.
Their only amusement, after working all day,
seemed to be getting together, and holding
singing and prayer meetings, which they often
did to a late hour of the night. We used to sit
and hear them, after ten or eleven o'clock, singing
and praying and exhorting with the greatest
apparent fervor. There were one or two of
what are called preachers among them,—men
with a natural talent for stringing words together,
and with fine voices. As a matter of
curiosity, we once sat outside, when one of these
meetings was going on, to hear what it was like.</p>
<p>The exhortation seemed to consist in a string
of solemn-sounding words and phrases, images
borrowed from Scripture, scraps of hymns, and
now and then a morsel that seemed like a
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</SPAN></span>
Roman-Catholic tradition about the Virgin
Mary and Jesus. The most prominent image,
however, was that of the angel, and the blowing
of the last trumpet. At intervals, amid the flying
cloud of images and words, came round
something about Gabriel and the last trump, somewhat
as follows: "And He will say, 'Gabriel, Gabriel,
blow your trump: take it cool and easy,
cool and easy, Gabriel: dey's all bound for to
come.'"</p>
<p>This idea of taking even the blowing of the
last trump cool and easy seemed to be so like
the general negro style of attending to things,
that it struck me as quite refreshing. As to
singing, the most doleful words with the most
lugubrious melodies seemed to be in favor.</p>
<p class="poem">"Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound,"</p>
<p>was a special favorite. With eyes shut, and
mouth open, they would pour out a perfect
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</SPAN></span>
storm of minor-keyed melody on poor old Dr.
Watts's hymn, mispronouncing every word, till
the old doctor himself could not have told whether
they were singing English or Timbuctoo.</p>
<p>Yet all this was done with a fervor and earnest
solemnity that seemed to show that <i>they</i> found
something in it, whether we could or not: who
shall say? A good old mammy we used to
know found great refreshment in a hymn, the
chorus of which was,—</p>
<div class="poem">
<p class="o1">"Bust the bonds of dust and thunder;</p>
<p class="i1">Bring salvation from on high."</p>
</div>
<p>Undoubtedly the words suggested to her very
different ideas from what they did to us; for she
obstinately refused to have them exchanged for
good English. But when the enlightened, wise,
liberal, and refined for generations have found
edification and spiritual profit from a service
chanted in an unknown tongue, who shall say
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</SPAN></span>
that the poor negroes of our plantation did not
derive real spiritual benefit from their night
services? It was at least an aspiration, a
reaching and longing for something above animal
and physical good, a recognition of God and
immortality, and a future beyond this earth,
vague and indefinite though it were.</p>
<p>As to the women, they were all of the class
born and bred as field-hands. They were many
of them as strong as men, could plough and
chop and cleave with the best, and were held
to be among the best field-laborers; but, in all
household affairs, they were as rough and unskilled
as might be expected. To mix meal,
water, and salt into a hoe-cake, and to fry salt
pork or ham or chicken, was the extent of their
knowledge of cooking; and as to sewing, it is
a fortunate thing that the mild climate requires
very slight covering. All of them practised,
rudely, cutting, fitting, and making of garments
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</SPAN></span>
to cover their children; but we could see how
hard was their task, after working all day in the
field, to come home and get the meals, and then,
after that, have the family sewing to do. In our
view, woman never was made to do the work
which supports the family; and, if she do it, the
family suffers more for want of the mother's
vitality expended in work than it gains in the
wages she receives. Some of the brightest and
most intelligent negro men begin to see this,
and to remove their wives from field-labor; but
on the plantation, as we saw it, the absence of
the mother all day from home was the destruction
of any home-life or improvement.</p>
<p>Yet, with all this, the poor things, many of
them, showed a most affecting eagerness to be
taught to read and write. We carried down
and distributed a stock of spelling-books among
them, which they eagerly accepted, and treasured
with a sort of superstitious veneration; and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</SPAN></span>
Sundays, and evenings after work, certain of
them would appear with them in hand, and
earnestly beg to be taught. Alas! we never felt
so truly what the loss and wrong is of being deprived
of early education as when we saw how
hard, how almost hopeless, is the task of acquisition
in mature life. When we saw the sweat
start upon these black faces, as our pupils
puzzled and blundered over the strange cabalistic
forms of the letters, we felt a discouraged
pity. What a dreadful piece of work the reading
of the English language is! Which of us
would not be discouraged beginning the alphabet
at forty?</p>
<p>After we left, the same scholars were wont to
surround one of the remaining ladies. Sometimes
the evening would be so hot and oppressive,
she would beg to be excused. "O
misse, but two of us will fan you all the time!"
And "misse" could not but yield to the plea.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</SPAN></span></p>
<p>One of the most dreaded characters on the
place was the dairy-woman and cook Minnah.
She had been a field-hand in North Carolina,
and worked at cutting down trees, grubbing
land, and mauling rails. She was a tall, lank,
powerfully-built woman, with a pair of arms like
windmill-sails, and a tongue that never hesitated
to speak her mind to high or low. Democracy
never assumes a more rampant form than in
some of these old negresses, who would say
their screed to the king on his throne, if they
died for it the next minute. Accordingly, Minnah's
back was all marked and scored with the
tyrant's answers to free speech. Her old master
was accustomed to reply to her unpleasant
observations by stretching her over a log, staking
down her hands and feet, and flaying her
alive, as a most convincing style of argument.
For all that, Minnah was neither broken nor
humbled: she still asserted her rights as a
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</SPAN></span>
human being to talk to any other human being
as seemed to her good and proper; and many
an amusing specimen of this she gave us. Minnah
had learned to do up gentlemen's shirts passably,
to iron and to cook after a certain fashion,
to make butter, and do some other household
tasks: and so, before the wives of the gentlemen
arrived on the place, she had been selected as
a sort of general housekeeper and manager in
doors; and, as we arrived on the ground first,
we found Minnah in full command,—the only
female presence in the house.</p>
<p>It was at the close of a day in May, corresponding
to our August, that Mrs. F—— and
baby and myself, with sundry bales of furniture
and household stuff, arrived at the place. We
dropped down in a lazy little sail-boat which had
lain half the day becalmed, with the blue, hazy
shores on either side melting into indefinite
distance, and cast anchor far out in the stream;
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</SPAN></span>
and had to be rowed in a smaller boat to the
long wharf that stretched far out into the waters.
Thence, in the thickening twilight, we ascended,
passed through the belt of forest-trees that overhung
the shore, and crossed the wide fields of
fine white sand devoted to the raising of cotton.
The planter's house was a one-story cottage, far
in the distance, rising up under the shelter of
a lofty tuft of Spanish oaks.</p>
<p>Never shall we forget the impression of
weird and almost ludicrous dreariness which
took possession of us as Mrs. F—— and myself
sat down in the wide veranda of the one-story
cottage to wait for the gentlemen, who
had gone down to assist in landing our trunks
and furniture. The black laborers were coming
up from the field; and, as one and another
passed by, they seemed blacker, stranger, and
more dismal, than any thing we had ever seen.</p>
<p>The women wore men's hats and boots, and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</SPAN></span>
had the gait and stride of men; but now and
then an old hooped petticoat, or some cast-off,
thin, bedraggled garment that had once been
fine, told the tale of sex, and had a wofully
funny effect.</p>
<p>As we sat waiting, Minnah loomed up upon
us in the twilight veranda like a gaunt
Libyan sibyl, walking round and round, surveying
us with apparent curiosity, and responding
to all our inquiries as to who and what she
was by a peculiarly uncanny chuckle. It appeared
to amuse her extremely that Mr.
F—— had gone off and left the pantry locked
up, so that she could not get us any supper; we
being faint and almost famished with our day's
sail. The sight of a white baby dressed in
delicate white robes, with lace and embroidery,
also appeared greatly to excite her; and she
stalked round and round with a curious simmer
of giggle, appearing and disappearing at uncertain
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</SPAN></span>
intervals, like a black sprite, during the
mortal hour and a half that it cost our friends to
land the goods from the vessel.</p>
<p>After a while, some supper was got for us in
a wide, desolate apartment, fitted up with a
small cooking-stove in the corner.</p>
<p>Never shall we forget the experience of endeavoring
to improvise a corn-cake the next
morning for breakfast.</p>
<p>We went into the room, and found the table
standing just as we had left it the night before,—not
a dish washed, not a thing done in the way
of clearing. On inquiry for Minnah, she was
gone out to milking. It appeared that there
were sixteen cows to be milked before her return.
A little colored girl stood ready to wait
on us with ample good nature.</p>
<p>"Lizzie," said we, "have you corn-meal?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes'm!" and she brought it just as the
corn had been ground, with the bran unsifted.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"A sieve, Lizzie."</p>
<p>It was brought.</p>
<p>"A clean pan, Lizzie. Quick!"</p>
<p>"All right," said Lizzie: "let me get a pail of
water." The water was to be drawn from a deep
well in the yard. That done, Lizzie took a pan,
went out the door, produced a small bit of rag,
and rinsed the pan, dashing the contents upon
the sand.</p>
<p>"Lizzie, haven't you any dish-cloth?"</p>
<p>"No'm."</p>
<p>"No towels?"</p>
<p>"No'm."</p>
<p>"Do you always wash dishes this way?"</p>
<p>"Yes'm."</p>
<p>"Well, then, wash this spoon and these two
bake-pans."</p>
<p>Lizzie, good-natured and zealous as the day
is long, bent over her pail, and slopped and
scrubbed with her bit of rag.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Now for a pan of sour milk," said we.</p>
<p>It was brought, with saleratus and other condiments;
and the cake was made.</p>
<p>But, on examination, the flues of the little
cooking-stove were so choked with the resinous
soot of the "light-wood" which had been used
in it, that it would scarcely draw at all; and
the baking did not progress as in our nice
Stuart stove in our Northern home. Still the
whole experience was so weirdly original, that,
considering this was only a picnic excursion, we
rather enjoyed it.</p>
<p>When we came to unpack china and crockery
and carpets, bureau and bedsteads and dressing-glass,
Minnah's excitement knew no bounds.
Evidently she considered these articles (cast-off
remnants of our Northern home) as the height
of splendor.</p>
<p>When our upper chamber was matted, and
furnished with white curtains and shades, and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</SPAN></span>
bed, chairs, and dressing-glass, Minnah came in
to look; and her delight was boundless.</p>
<p>"Dear me! O Lord, O Lord!" she exclaimed,
turning round and round. "Dese yer
Northern ladies—they hes every thing, and
they does every thing!"</p>
<p>More especially was she taken with the
pictures we hung on the walls. Before one of
these (Raphael's Madonna of the Veil) Minnah
knelt down in a kind of ecstatic trance, and
thus delivered herself:—</p>
<p>"O good Lord! if there ain't de Good Man
when he was a baby! How harmless he lies
there! so innocent! And here we be, we wicked
sinners, turning our backs on him, and going to
the Old Boy. O Lord, O Lord! we ought to
be better than we be: we sartin ought."</p>
<p>This invocation came forth with streaming
tears in the most natural way in the world; and
Minnah seemed, for the time being, perfectly
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</SPAN></span>
subdued. It is only one of many instances
we have seen of the overpowering influence of
works of art on the impressible nervous system
of the negro.</p>
<p>But it is one thing to have an amusing and
picturesque specimen of a human being, as
Minnah certainly was, and another to make one
useful in the traces of domestic life.</p>
<p>As the first white ladies upon the ground,
Mrs. F—— and myself had the task of organizing
this barbaric household, and of bringing it
into the forms of civilized life. We commenced
with the washing.</p>
<p>Before the time of our coming, it had been
customary for the gentlemen to give their
washing into the hands of Minnah or Judy, to
be done at such times and in such form and
manner as best suited them.</p>
<p>The manner which <i>did</i> suit them best was
to put all the articles to soak indefinitely, in
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</SPAN></span>
soapsuds, till such time as to them seemed good.
On being pressed for some particular article, and
roundly scolded by any of the proprietors, they
would get up a shirt, a pair of drawers, a collar
or two, with abundant promises for the rest
when they had time.</p>
<p>The helpless male individuals of the establishments
had no refuge from the feminine ruses
and expedients, and the fifty incontrovertible
reasons which were always on hand to prove to
them that things could be done no other way than
just as they were done; and, in fact, found it
easier to get their washing back again by blandishments
than by bullying.</p>
<p>We ladies announced a regular washing-day,
and endeavored to explain it to our kitchen
cabinet; our staff consisting of Minnah and
Judy, detailed for house-service.</p>
<p>Judy was a fat, lazy, crafty, roly-poly negress,
the Florida wife of the foreman Mose, and
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</SPAN></span>
devoted to his will and pleasure in hopes to supplant
the "Virginny" and "Carliny" wives.
Judy said yes to every thing we proposed; but
Minnah was "kinky" and argumentative: but
finally, when we represented to her that the
proposed arrangement was customary in good
Northern society, she gave her assent.</p>
<p>We first proceeded to make a barrel of soda
washing-soap in a great iron sugar-kettle, which
stood out under the fig-trees, and which had
formerly been used for evaporating sugar.</p>
<p>Minnah took the greatest interest in the
operation, and, when the soap was finished,
took the boiling liquid in pailfuls, setting them
on the top of her head, and marching off to the
barrel in the house with them, without ever
lifting a finger.</p>
<p>We screamed after her in horror,—</p>
<p>"Minnah, Minnah! If that should fall, it
would kill you!"
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</SPAN></span></p>
<p>A laugh of barbaric exultation was the only
response, as she actually persisted in carrying
pailful after pailful of scalding soap on her head
till all was disposed of.</p>
<p>The next day the washing was all brought out
under the trees and sorted, Mrs. F—— and
myself presiding; and soon Minnah and Judy
were briskly engaged at their respective tubs.
For half an hour, "all went merry as a marriage-bell."
Judy was about half through her first
tubful, when Mose came back from his morning
turn in the fields, and summoned her to come
home and get his breakfast. With Judy's very
leisurely and promiscuous habits of doing business,
this took her away for half the forenoon.
Meanwhile, Minnah murmured excessively at
being left alone, and more especially at the continuous
nature of the task.</p>
<p>Such a heap of clothes to be washed <i>all in
one day</i>! It was a mountain of labor in Minnah's
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</SPAN></span>
imagination; and it took all our eloquence and
our constant presence to keep her in good
humor. We kept at Minnah as the only means
of keeping her at her work.</p>
<p>But, after all, it was no bad picnic to spend a
day in the open air in the golden spring-time of
Florida. The birds were singing from every
covert; the air was perfectly intoxicating in
its dreamy softness; and so we spread a camp
for the baby, who was surrounded by a retinue
of little giggling, adoring negroes, and gave
ourselves up to the amusement of the scene.
Our encampment was under the broad leaves
of a group of fig-trees; and we hung our
clothes to dry on the sharp thorns of a gigantic
clump of Yucca gloriosa, which made an admirable
clothes-frame.</p>
<p>By night, with chuckling admiration, Minnah
surveyed a great basketful of clean clothes,—all
done in one day.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</SPAN></span></p>
<p>The next day came the lesson on ironing; and
the only means of securing Minnah and Judy
to constant work at the ironing-table was the
exercise of our own individual powers of entertainment
and conversation. We had our own
table, and ironed with them; and all went well
till Judy remembered she had preparations for
Mose's dinner, and deserted. Minnah kept up
some time longer; till finally, when we went in
the next room on an errand, she improved the
opportunity to desert. On returning, we saw
Minnah's place vacant, a half-finished shirt
lying drying on the table.</p>
<p>Searching and calling, we at last discovered
her far in the distance, smoking her pipe, and
lolling tranquilly over the fence of a small enclosure
where were sixteen calves shut up together,
so that maternal longings might bring
the cow mothers home to them at night.</p>
<p>"Why, Minnah, what are you doing?" we
said as we came up breathless.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Laws, missis, I wanted to feed my calves. I
jest happened to think on't." And forthwith she
turned, started to the barn, and came back with
a perfect hay-mow on her head. Then, crossing
the fence into the enclosure, she proceeded to
make division of the same among the calves,
who tumultuously surrounded her. She patted
one, and cuffed another, and labored in a most
maternal style to make them share their commons
equally; laughing in full content of heart,
and appearing to have forgotten her ironing-table
and all about it.</p>
<p>It was in vain to talk. "She was tired ironing.
Did anybody ever hear of doing up
all one's things in a day? Besides, she
wanted to see her calves: she felt just like it."
And Minnah planted her elbows on the fence,
and gazed and smoked and laughed, and talked
baby-talk to her calves, till we were quite provoked;
yet we could not help laughing. In fact,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</SPAN></span>
long before that day was done, we were out of
breath, used up and exhausted with the strain
of getting the work out of Minnah. It was the
more tantalizing, as she <i>could</i> do with a fair
amount of skill any thing she pleased, and
could easily have done the whole in a day had
she chosen.</p>
<p>It is true, she was droll enough, in a literary
and artistic view, to make one's fortune in a
magazine or story; but, when one had a house to
manage, a practical humorist is less in point
than in some other places.</p>
<p>The fact was, Minnah, like all other women
bred to the fields, abominated housework like a
man. She could do here and there, and by fits
and starts and snatches; but to go on in any
thing like a regular domestic routine was simply
disgusting in her eyes. So, after a short period
of struggle, it was agreed that Minnah was to
go back to field-work, where she was one of the
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</SPAN></span>
most valuable hands; and a trained house-servant
was hired from Jacksonville.</p>
<p>Minnah returned to the field with enthusiasm.
We heard her swinging her long arms,
and shouting to her gang, "Come on, den, boys
and gals! I'm for the fields! I was born, I was
raised, I was fairly begot, in de fields; and I
don't want none o' your housework."</p>
<p>In time we obtained a cook from Jacksonville,
trained, accomplished, neat, who made beautiful
bread, biscuit, and rolls, and was a comfort
to our souls.</p>
<p>But this phœnix was soon called for by the
wants of the time, and was worth more than we
could give, and went from us to enjoy forty
dollars per month as cook in a hotel.</p>
<p>Such has been the good fortune of all the
well-trained house-servants since emancipation.
They command their own price.</p>
<p>The untrained plantation hands and their
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</SPAN></span>
children are and will be just what <i>education</i>
may make them.</p>
<p>The education which comes to them from the
State from being freemen and voters, able to
make contracts, choose locations, and pursue their
own course like other men, is a great deal; and
it is operating constantly and efficaciously.</p>
<p>We give the judgment of a practical farmer
accustomed to hire laborers at the North and
the South; and, as a result of five years' experiment
on this subject, he says that the negro
laborer <i>carefully looked after</i> is as good as any
that can be hired at the North.</p>
<p>In some respects they are better. As a class
they are more obedient, better natured, more
joyous, and easily satisfied.</p>
<p>The question as to whether, on the whole, the
negroes are valuable members of society, and
increasing the material wealth of the State, is
best answered by the returns of the Freedman's
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</SPAN></span>
Savings and Trust Company,—an institution
under the patronage of government.</p>
<p>The report of this institution for the year
1872 is before us; and from this it appears that
negro laborers in the different Southern States
have deposited with this Trust Company this
year the sum of THIRTY-ONE MILLION TWO
HUNDRED AND SIXTY THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED
AND NINETY-NINE DOLLARS.</p>
<p>The report also shows, that, year by year, the
amount deposited has increased. Thus, in 1867,
it was only $1,624,883; in 1868 it was three
million odd; in 1869 it was seven million and
odd; in 1870, twelve million and odd; in 1871,
nineteen million and odd.</p>
<p>These results are conclusive to the fact, that,
as a body, the Southern laborers are a thrifty,
industrious, advancing set; and such as they
are proved by the large evidence of these
figures, such we have observed them in our
more limited experience.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Our negro laborers, with all the inevitable defects
of imperfect training, ignorance, and the
negligent habits induced by slavery, have still
been, as a whole, satisfactory laborers. They
keep their contracts, do their work, and save
their earnings. We could point to more than
one black family about us steadily growing up
to competence by industry and saving.</p>
<p>All that is wanted to supply the South with a
set of the most desirable skilled laborers is
simply education. The negro children are
bright; they can be taught any thing: and if
the whites, who cannot bear tropical suns and
fierce extremes, neglect to educate a docile race
who both can and will bear it for them, they
throw away their best chance of success in a
most foolish manner. No community that properly
and carefully educates the negro children
now growing up need complain of having an
idle, thriftless, dishonest population about them.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</SPAN></span>
Common schools ought to prevent that. The
teaching in the common schools ought to be
largely industrial, and do what it can to prepare
the children to get a living by doing something
well. Practical sewing, cutting and fitting, for
girls, and the general principles of agriculture
for boys, might be taught with advantage.</p>
<p>The negroes are largely accused of being
thievish and dishonest.</p>
<p><i>A priori</i> we should expect that they would be
so. We should imagine, that to labor without
wages for generations, in a state of childish
dependence, would so confuse every idea of
right and wrong, that the negro would be a
hopeless thief.</p>
<p>Our own experience, however, is due in justice
to those we have known.</p>
<p>On the first plantation, as we have said, were
about thirty families from all the different
Southern States. It might be supposed that
they were a fair sample.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Now as to facts. It was the habit of the
family to go to bed nights, and leave the house
doors unlocked, and often standing wide open.
The keys that locked the provisions hung up in
a very accessible place; and yet no robbery was
ever committed. We used to set the breakfast-table
over night, and leave it with all the silver
upon it, yet lost nothing.</p>
<p>In our own apartment we put our rings and
pins on our toilet-cushions, as had been our
habit. We had bits of bright calico and ribbons,
and other attractive articles, lying about; and
the girl that did the chamber-work was
usually followed by a tribe of little curious,
observing negroes: and yet we never missed
so much as a shred of calico. Neither was this
because they did not want them; for the gift of
a strip of calico or ribbon would throw them
into raptures: it was simply that they did not
steal.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Again: nothing is more common, when we
visit at the North, than to have the complaint
made that fruit is stolen out of gardens. We
have had people tell us that the vexation of
having fruit carried off was so great, that it
took away all the pleasure of a garden.</p>
<p>Now, no fruit is more beautiful, more tempting,
than the orange. We live in an orange-grove
surrounded by negroes, and yet never have
any trouble of this kind. We have often seen
bags of fine oranges lying all night under the
trees; and yet never have we met with any perceptible
loss. Certainly it is due to the negroes
that we have known to say that they are above
the average of many in the lower classes at
the North for honesty.</p>
<p>We have spoken now for the average negro:
what we have said is by no means the best that
can with truth be said of the finer specimens
among them.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</SPAN></span></p>
<p>We know some whose dignity of character,
delicacy, good principle, and generosity, are
admirable, and more to be admired because
these fine traits have come up under the most
adverse circumstances.</p>
<p>In leaving this subject, we have only to repeat
our conviction, that the prosperity of the more
Southern States must depend, in a large degree,
on the right treatment and education of the
negro population.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i20.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="326" alt="Southern Negro" /></div>
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