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

'My God! drowned herself and her child!' exclaimed the Colonel, with deep emotion.

'Come, my friend, let us go to them at once,' I said, laying my hand on his arm, and drawing him unresistingly away.

A pair of mules was speedily harnessed to a large turpentine-wagon, and the horses we had ridden the day before were soon at the door. When the Colonel, who had been closeted for a few minutes with Madam P—, came out of the house, we mounted and rode off with the 'corn-cracker.'

The native's farm was located on the stream which watered my friend's plantation, and was about ten miles distant. Taking a by-road which led to it through the woods, we rode rapidly on in advance of the wagon.

'Sort o' likely gal, thet, warn't she?' remarked the turpentine-maker, after a while.

'Yes, she was,' replied the Colonel, in a half-abstracted manner, ' very likely.'

'Kill harself 'case har man war shot by thet han'som overseer uv yourn?'

'Not altogether for that, I reckon,' replied my host,' I fear the main reason was her being put at field-work, and abused by the driver.'

'Thet comes uv not lookin' arter things yerself, Cunnel. I 'tend ter my niggers parsonally, and they keer a durned sight more fur this world then fur kingdom-cum. Ye cudn't hire 'em ter kill 'emselves fur no price.'

'Well,' replied the Colonel, in a low tone, 'I did look after her. I put her at full field-work myself.'

'By—!' cried the native, reining his horse to a dead stop, and speaking in an excited manner; 'I doan't b'lieve it, 'taint 't all like ye; yer a d—d seceshener—thet comes uv yer bringin'-up; but ye've a soul bigger'n a meetin'-house, and ye cudn't hev put thet slim, weakly gal inter th' woods, no how!'

The Colonel and I instinctively halted our horses, as the 'corn-cracker' stopped his.

'It is true, Barnes,' said my host, in a low voice, 'I did do it!'

'May God Almighty furgive ye, Cunnel,' said the native, starting his horse forward, ' I wudn't hev dun it fur all yer niggers, by–.'

The Colonel made no reply, and we rode on the rest of the way in silence.

The corn-cracker's house—a low, unpainted, wooden building—stood near the little stream, and in the centre of a cleared plot of some ten acres. This plot was surrounded by a post and rail fence, and in its front portion was a garden, which grew a sufficient supply of vegetables to serve a family of twenty persons. In the rear, and at the sides of the dwelling, were about seven acres, devoted mainly to corn and potatoes. In one corner of the lot were three tidy-looking negro-houses, and close beside them I noticed a low shed, near which a large quantity of the stalks of the tall, white corn, common to that section, was stacked in the New-England fashion. Browsing on the corn-stalks were three sleek, well-kept milch-cows and a goat.

About four hundred yards from the farmer's house, and on the bank of the little run, which there was quite wide and deep, stood a turpentine-distillery, and around it were scattered a large number of rosin and turpentine barrels, some filled and some empty. A short distance higher up, and far enough from the 'still' to be safe in the event of a fire, was a long, low, wooden shed, covered with rough, unjointed boards, placed upright, and unbattened. This was the 'spirit-house,' used for the storage of the spirits of turpentine when barreled for market, and awaiting shipment. In the creek, and filling nearly one-half of the channel in front of the spirit-shed, was a raft of pine-timber, on which were laden some two hundred barrels of rosin. On such rude conveyances the turpentine-maker sent his produce to Conwayboro. There the timber-raft was sold to my wayside friend, Captain B—, and its freight shipped on board vessel for New-York.

Two 'prime' negro men, dressed in the usual costume, were 'tending the still,' and a negro-woman, as stout and strong as the men, and clad in a short, loose, linsey gown, from beneath which peeped out a pair of coarse leggins, was adjusting a long wooden trough, which conveyed the liquid rosin from the 'still' to a deep excavation in the earth, at a short distance. In the pit was a quantity of rosin sufficient to fill a thousand barrels.

'Here, Bill,' said Barnes to one of the negro men, as we pulled up at the distillery, 'put these critters up, and give 'em some oats, and when they've cooled off a bit, water 'em.'

'Yas, yas, massa,' replied the negro, springing nimbly forward, and taking the horses by the bridles, 'an' rub 'em down, massa?'

'Yas, rub 'em down right smart,' replied the corn-cracker; then turning to me, as we dismounted, he said: 'Stranger, thet's th' sort o' niggers fur ye; all uv mine ar' jess like him, smart and lively as kittens.'

'He does seem to go about his work cheerfully,' I replied.

'Cheerfully! d—d ef he doan't—all on 'em du! They like me better'n thar own young 'uns, an' it's 'case I use 'em like human bein's;' and he looked slyly toward the Colonel, who just then was walking silently away, in the direction of the run, as if in search of the drowned 'chattels.'

'Not thar, Cunnel,' cried the native, 'they're inter th' shed,' and he started to lead the way to the 'spirit-house.'

'Not now, Barnes,' I said, putting my hand on his arm, 'leave him alone for a little while. He is feeling badly, and we'd better not disturb him.'

The native motioned me to a seat on a rosin-barrel, as he replied:

'Wal, he 'pears ter, thet's a fact, and he orter. D—d ef it arn't wicked to use niggers like cattle, as he do.'

'I don't think he means to ill-treat them; he's a kind-hearted man.'

'Wal, he ar' sort o' so; but he's left ev'ry thing ter thet d—d overseer uv his'n. I wudn't ha' trusted him to feed my hogs.'

'Hogs!' I exclaimed, laughing; 'I supposed you didn't feed hogs in these diggings. I supposed you 'let 'em run.''

' I doan't; an' I've got th' tallest porkys 'round har.'

'I've been told that they get a good living in the woods.'

'Wal, p'raps the' du jest make eout ter live thar; but my ole 'oman likes 'em ter hum. They clean up a place like, eat up all th' leavin's, an' give th' young nigs suthin' ter du.'

'It seems to me,' I said, resuming the previous thread of the conversation, 'that overseers are a necessity on a large plantation.'

'Wal, the' ar', an' thet's why thar ortent ter be no big plantations; God Almighty didn't make human bein's ter be herded togethar in th' woods. No man orter ter hev more'n twenty on 'em—he can't look arter no more himself, an' it's agin natur' ter set a feller over 'em what han't no int'rest in 'cm, an' no feelin' fur 'em, an' who'll drive 'em round like brutes. I never struck one on 'em in my life, an' my ten du more'n ony fifteen th' Cunnel's got.'

'I thought they needed occasional correction. How do you manage them without whipping?'

'Manage them! why, 'cordin' ter scriptur'—do ter 'em as I'd like ter be dun ter, ef I war a nigger. Every one on 'em knows I'd part with my last shirt, an' live on taters an' cow-fodder, 'fore I'd sell 'em; an' then I give 'em Saturdays for 'emselfs; but thet's cute dealin' in me, (tho' th' pore, simple souls doan't see it,) fur ye knows the' work thet day fur 'emselfs, an' raise nigh all thar own feed, 'cept th' beef and whisky, an' it sort o' makes 'em feel like folks, too, more like as ef the' war free —the' work th' better fur it all th' week.'

'Then you think the blacks would work better if free?'

'In course I does—it's agin man's natur' to be a slave. Thet lousy parson ye herd ter meetin' a Sunday, makes slavery eout a divine institooshun, but my wife's a Bible 'oman, and she says 'tan't so; an' I'm d—d ef she arn't right.'