Puslapio vaizdai
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fruit and vegetable cellar to learn if the apples did not need looking over or that the potatoes were not rotting? If any one thinks that a Southern woman trod a primrose path, let him remember that all this had to be done by the mistress of the house or by one of her daughters. My grandmother had a big medicine-box from which she dispensed pills and powders, and liberal doses of castor-oil and calomel, for ordinary ailments, and then, if these failed, the doctor was called to bleed the patient. It was the heroic age of medicine.

One of our favorite amusements was to run down to the big gate, climb to the top of the fence, and watch the passers-by. There was an almost endless procession of white, cloth-covered wagons, and some one of us never failed to sing out, "Where are you going to and where did you come from?" I can still hear, "Comin' from Posey County, Indiana, and goin' back to South Ca'liny." They were an unhealthy, yellow-complexioned lot

of people. Often they craved leave to camp "thar and git water and water the critters," which my gentle old grandfather always allowed, and would send corn-meal and eggs and milk down by the ready hands of the children. If any one was sick, my grandmother went down and administered pills and powders to the patient. Once, I remember, a vender of patent medicines, passing down the turnpike, had the misfortune to have his horse die in front of the house, and traded many hundred boxes of Halloway's pills in exchange for a charger to replace the one lost. My grandmother was wrathful at first at my grandfather for taking them, saying that she preferred to mix her own blue mass; but the boxes bore a most enticing list of all ills under the sun which they were warranted to cure, and really they must have been harmless, for we took them for all diseases, and none of us died.

Not all the passers down that winding pike were cheerful ones, for I can recall long lines of negroes chained two

by two to an iron chain that clanked as they slouched along, a sorrowful, sometimes a ferocious, procession of men and women going down to the cotton- and tobacco-fields of the South. How my heart swelled with pity for them! I did not know exactly what "going down South" meant, but something dreadful, I feared; for if at any time a servant was disobedient or lazy, the threat, "If you don't do better, you will be sold South," was sufficient to tame the most refractory. Even negro mothers would quell a

crying child by saying, "Old marse will sell you Souf if you holler so loud."

This dread of the South was exceeded only by the fear of being sent to Liberia. About this time the Liberia Colonization Society was trying to solve the problem of slavery. It was a very expensive experiment, for not only was there the cost of the long journey, but the colonist must be fitted with a settler's outfit and means to maintain himself until there was some return from his crops. Such dark tales came back of fever and snakes and alligators "that jes waited to gobble you down befo' you could git on

shore," that it was a brave negro indeed who could be persuaded to purchase freedom at such a price. My grandfather sent two, but could not induce any more to follow.

The gold fever of 1849 struck Kentucky, and my father's elder brother, having an adventurous spirit, took five men and started on that long journey across the plains. The negro men were to have their freedom after two years of work. The news came back of their safe arrival and of their having struck gold, and the negro carpenter whom my aunt had taught to read sent her the first gold he mined, which she had made into a ring and wears today. But, alas! my uncle shot himself while hunting, and died, and California was far away in those days, and we never heard what became of the negroes. We did hear that Sam, the carpenter, tried to buy his wife, who belonged on a neighboring plantation. But her owner, who was a notoriously mean man, asked him two thousand dollars for her; and Sam wrote him he could buy a wife in California cheaper than that, and made no further effort.

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"She was too small to do anything but tag around after me"

The quarters for the negroes were built at a distance from the house, and from the turnpike had the appearance

of a small village. Each house had a little garden where a few vegetables and flowers were cultivated, and sometimes a small patch of tobacco. As I remember them, the negroes seemed a jolly, laughing, care-free race, singing, patting Juba, and dancing what they called a "hoe-down." One old woman called a Guinea negro was held in great awe by the rest of the negroes; they regarded her as having some supernatural powers. She was a tall, slender old woman of a bright-yellow color, always trimly dressed, with slender hands and feet. She claimed that she came from Africa and that her father was a king. Certainly she made no effort to disclaim that she had dealings with the

evil one, and we children stood in great fear of her. The negroes lived principally on fat pork and corn-bread, beans and potatoes, and such vegetables as were in season. They had a woman, Aunt Rosy, who cooked for them alone. They could never bear to have white folks watch them eat, and I can recall being sent into the house on such occasions.

Convenience could not have been a prime factor in Southern life, since all kitchens were fully forty or fifty feet away from the dining-room and in a separate building. Hot dishes for meals were borne in by waiters who ran at full speed, carrying the dishes in their uplifted hands.

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Very often on the birth of a baby, a negro child near its own age was given to it, and the two were not only inseparable companions in childhood, but the association lasted through later years, the slave becoming the maid or body-servant of the mistress or master. I never heard the word valet used in Kentucky; it was always body-servant. My father was much attached to William, his body-servant, and brought him to St. Louis when we came to Illinois; but there he had to leave him, as the law did not permit a man to bring a negro into a free State. William was left with instructions to steal his way across the Missis

sippi, and it was nearly a year before we heard a knock one morning, and in came a smiling black face, with "Here I is, Marse John." William had arrived. I am sorry to add that William fell a victim to the charms of a "yaller gal" whose name was Rose and whose character was far from good, and they reared a numerous progeny. I often hear of persons bearing the family name being taken up in Jacksonville and Decatur for petty larceny.

A negro girl of about my own age was given to me. I tyrannized over her, but I loved her. I do not think I should have loved her if I could have helped it, for even at that early age I was fully aware of the difference in our positions; but little Liz was so devoted to me that I could not help but love her in return. She was too small to do anything but tag around after me, and many were the interesting happenings we saw in that complex household.

Every morning we all gathered at the horse-block to see my aunts and the numberless house guests go on their daily rides, and I can recall how jealous every maid was of the beauty and horsemanship of her own lady. My aunt Susan's maid once said: "I bet you none of them ladies can beat my Miss Suse. Law! you ought to see her r'ar back on her trinity and ride off lak a queen!" I do not recall ever sitting at the first table with the white folks.

Such honor was not for my years. In those ante-bellum days children were always served at a second table after the grown people had finished. What anguish filled our hearts at the frequent announcement, "White folks done et all de biscuits; you chillen got to eat co'n-bread." But such was our awe of Aunt Rindy, the

big, fat black genius who presided over the kitchen, that no murmur against her providing ever reached her. Indeed, I think that even my grandmother did not correct Aunt Rindy much. I do recall a tradition that my grandfather once passed Aunt Rindy leaning against a door and pushed her aside.

"Whut you pushin' me fur, Marse Harry? I ain't doin' nothin'," declared the colored autocrat.

"Just what I am pushing you for, Rindy," answered her master.

Our house was in a yard filled with trees, and a winding road led down to the turnpike. On one side was the garden, my grandmother's garden. Delectable place! There was a plant called ambrosia, a long, green wreathlike affair, with tiny balls of a bitter, aromatic odor. It was a lovely plant, and lent itself to any scheme of decoration. I can recall one special occasion when a young aunt wove it into a bridal wreath for Jane, a tall, black housemaid who was to be "nunited in merriage" to Mesty, the butler. At least he would be called the butler now, for he served in the dining-room; but we called him "You Mesty." My aunt was a young woman of original conceptions, and placed three tiny red tomatoes in the very front of the wreath as a crowning point of beauty. We called them "love apples," but they are more prosaically known as "cherry tomatoes." It was the first wedding of my memory, so no wonder I can recall every detail of Jane's dress, which was of a stiff white muslin. As Jane was very tall and very thin and the shade of ebony, she must have looked lovely. I remember feeling hurt because mammy said Jane was skinny. I think mammy did not like the match.

Mesty's full name was Mephistopheles, a name given to him by a young uncle home from college whom mammy had entreated to "name de baby." Marse Will had been asked to give "a real gran', highfalutin name," and mammy was much pleased with the result. "De onliest fault wid dat name is it don't come handy to your mind," she said; so she called him "Mesty" for daily use, asking occasionally, "Marse Will, would you min' sayin' dat chile's name over ag'in?"

In my grandmother's garden there were beds of a mossy green plant that bloomed in hundreds of yellow and white and red satiny blossoms every day, and had tiny silvery seeds that burst from their pointed caps when you tried to pick them. These satiny blooms had a long name, portulaca, which captivated my ear by its romantic foreign sound. And there was a great bed of petunias. Never were blossoms more loved. You could do so many things with them! You could make lovely dolls. First, you picked the petunia, and after you had pulled the green stem off and sucked the honey out, you could slip any number of other blossoms on the long, slender flower-stalk, thus forming a flounced gown, finishing the whole effect by sticking a bud on top for a head. When you had exhausted the daily novelty of Madam and the Misses Petunia, you could blow elfin music through the dainty purple-and-white trumpets. Lastly, you could watch the bees and bumblebees that came buzzing and droning about before creeping into the sweet, sticky cups of your favorites; and as the day declined, humming-birds hovered on swift wings over the blossoms and dipped their long, slender bills down into the

very depths of their chalices, while great gray moths, looking like first cousins to the humming-birds, fluttered after them. In the lower end of the garden a shallow stream swept with swift current over its rocky bed, and tall iris blossoms waved purple banners amid their lance-like leaves. Silver-stemmed alder-bushes bore great fronds of creamy white blossoms that made lovely parasols to play lady with, and later, as their beauty waned, the white blooms changed into dark winered clusters of berries that served the same purpose. There were many useful things in my grandmother's garden; poke-berries, for instance. I wager no belle on Broadway ever felt more perfectly attired than I, with my cheeks painted a glowing poke-berry red, a horse-radish leaf for a fan, and my auburn locks shielded from the sun by an alderberry sunshade. At each end of the porch-steps stood great tubs of hydrangeas that had fairylike flowers that were green one day, white the next, then blushed into a faint pink that in time gave way to a delicate lavender. I have seen many hydrangeas since, but they were just hydrangeas, with nothing magical about them, and I had not the least inclination to stand watching them for hours in the hope that some time the magical changes would take place while I was looking.

While little Liz had no regular occupation, there were two offices she sometimes unwillingly filled, in neither of which, truth compels me to admit, was she a success. She sometimes fanned my grandmother during her afternoon nap, but she would get sleepy herself, and hit my grandmother on that august feature of her face, the nose. Then, too, when she kept the flies off the table, she would dip the fly-brush

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