Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time. James R. Gilmore

Among the Pines; or, South in Secession Time - James R. Gilmore


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be like de wite folks—wid our own hous'n, our chil'ren taught in de schools, and wid weapons to strike back when dey strike us?"

      "No, Scipio, they don't mean that. They refer principally to spiritual matters. They were a promise to all the world that when the Saviour came, all, even the greatly oppressed and afflicted, should hear the great truths of the Bible about God, Redemption, and the Future."

      "But de Saviour hab come, massa; and dose tings an't taught to de black chil'ren. We hab no peace, no rights; nuffin but fear, 'pression, and terror."

      "That is true, Scipio. The Lord takes His own time, but His time will surely come."

      "De Lord bless you, massa, for saying dat; and de Lord bless you for telling dat big Cunnel, dat if dey gwo to war de brack man will be Free!"

      "Did you hear what we said?" I inquired, greatly surprised, for I remembered remarking, during the interview of the previous evening, that our host carefully kept the doors closed.

      "Ebery word, massa."

      "But how could you hear? The doors and windows were shut. Where were you?"

      "On de piazzer; and when I seed fru de winder dat de ladies war gwine, I know'd you'd talk 'bout politics and de darkies—gemmen allers do. So I opened de winder bery softly—you didn't har 'cause it rained and blowed bery hard, and made a mighty noise. Den I stuffed my coat in de crack, so de wind could'nt blow in and lef you know I was dar, but I lef a hole big 'nough to har. My ear froze to dat hole, massa, bery tight, I 'shore you."

      "But you must have got very wet and very cold."

      "Wet, massa! wetter dan a 'gator dat's been in de riber all de week, but I didn't keer for de rain or de cold. What I hard made me warm all de way fru."

      To my mind there was a rough picture of true heroism in that poor darky standing for hours in his shirt-sleeves, in the cold, stormy night, the lightning playing about him, and the rain drenching him to the skin—that he might hear something he thought would benefit his down-trodden race.

      I noticed his clothing though bearing evident marks of a drenching, was then dry, and I inquired: "How did you dry your clothes?"

      "I staid wid some ob de cullud folks, and arter you gwoes up stars, I went to dar cabin, and dey gabe me some dry cloes. We made up a big fire, and hung mine up to dry, and de ole man and woman and me sot up all night and talked ober what you and de oder gemmen said."

      "Will not those folks tell what you did, and thus get you into trouble?"

      "Tell! Lord bless you, massa, de bracks am all freemasons; dat ar ole man and woman wud die 'fore dey'd tell."

      "But are not Captain B—'s negroes contented?" I asked; "they seem to be well treated."

      "Oh! yas, dey am. All de brack folks 'bout har want de Captin to buy 'em. He bery nice man—one ob de LORD'S own people. He better man dan David, 'cause David did wrong, and I don't b'lieve de Captin eber did."

      "I should think he was a very good man," I replied.

      "Bery good man, massa, but de white folks don't like him, 'cause dey say he treats him darkies so well, all dairn am uncontented."

      "Tell me, Scipio," I resumed after a while, "how it is you can repeat that passage from Isaiah so well?"

      "Why, bless you, massa, I know Aziar and Job and de Psalms 'most all by heart. Good many years ago, when I lib'd in Charles'on, the gub'ness learned me to read, and I hab read dat BOOK fru good many times."

      "Have you read any others?" I asked.

      "None but dat and Doctor Watts. I hab dem, but wite folks wont sell books to de bracks, and I wont steal 'em. I read de papers sometimes."

      I opened my portmanteau, that lay on the floor of the wagon, and handed him a copy of Whittier's poems. It happened to be the only book, excepting the Bible, that I had with me.

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