Читать книгу Dealings with the Dead (Vol. 1&2) - Lucius M. Sargent - Страница 39

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Viewed in every possible relation, the most melancholy and distressing funerals, of which I have any knowledge, were a series of interments, which occurred in Charleston, South Carolina, not very many years ago, and of which, in 1840, I received, while sojourning there, a particular account, from an inhabitant of that hospitable city. These funerals were among the blacks; and, as there was no epidemic at the time, their frequency, at length, attracted observation. Every day or two, the colored population were seen, bearing, apparently, one of their number to the place, appointed for all living. Suspicion was, at last, awakened—a post mortem examination was resolved on—the graves, which proved to be uncommonly shallow, were opened—the coffins lifted out, and examined—and found to be filled, not with corpses, but with muskets, swords, pistols, pikes, knives, hatchets, and such other weapons, as might be necessary, for the perfection of a deadly work, which had been long projected, and was then not far from its consummation.

These, I say, were the most melancholy funerals, of which I have any knowledge. This was burying the hatchet, in a novel sense. In 1840, the tumult of mind, resulting from immediate apprehension, had, in a great degree, subsided; yet a rigorous system of espionage continued, in full operation—the spirit of vigilance was still on tiptoe—the arsenal was in excellent working order, and capable, at any moment, of turning its iron shower, in every direction—the separate gathering of the blacks, for religious worship, had been, and still was, prohibited; for it was believed, that the little tabernacle, in which, before this alarming discovery, the colored people were in the habit of assembling, had been used, in some sort, for the purpose of holding insurrectionary conclaves; perhaps for the purpose also of muttering prayers, between their teeth, to the bondman’s God, to give him strength to break his fetters.

At the time, to which I refer, the slaves, who attended religious services, on the Sabbath, entered the same temples with their masters, who paid their vows, on cushions, while many of the slaves worshipped, squatting in the aisles. At this time, slaves, ex cautela, were forbidden, under penalty of imprisonment and the lash, from being present at any conflagration. Under a like penalty, they were commanded to retire instantly, upon the very first stroke of the curfew bell, to their homes and cabins. At every quarter of an hour, through the whole night, the cry of all’s well was sent forth by the armed sentinel, from the top of St. Michael’s tower. Such was the state of things, in 1840, in the city of Charleston.

Melancholy as were these funerals, the undertakers were quite as ingenious, as those cunning Greeks, who contrived the Trojan horse, divinâ Palladis arte. Melancholy and ominous funerals were they—for they were incidents of slavery, the CURSE COLOSSAL—that huge, unsightly cicatrice, upon the very face of our heritage. Well may we say to the most favored nation of the earth, in Paul’s proud words—would to God ye were not only almost, but altogether such as we are, saving these bonds.

After taking a mental and moral coup d’œil of these matters, I remember that I lay long, upon my pillow, not consigning my Southern friends and brethren, votively, to the devil; but thanking God, for that blessed suggestion, which led good, old Massachusetts, and the other states of the North, to abolish slavery, within their own domains.

Slavery is a curse, not only to the long-suffering slave, but to the mortified master. This chivalry of the South—what is it? Every man of the South, or the North, who comes to the blessed conclusion, that, while others own jackasses, horses, and horned cattle, he actually owns men—what a thought!—will soon become filled with this very chivalry. It is the lordly consciousness of dominion over one’s fellow-man—a sort of Satrap-like feeling of power—a sentiment extremely oriental, which begets that important and consequential air of superiority, that marks the Southern man and the Southern boy—Mr. Calhoun, diving, like one of Pope’s heroes, after first principles, and fetching up, for a fact, the pleasant fancy, that man is not born of a woman—or the young, travelling gentleman, full of “Suth Cralina,” who comes hither, to sojourn awhile, and carries in every look, that almost incomprehensible mixture of pride and sensitiveness, which is equally repulsive and ridiculous.

The bitterness of sectional feeling is a necessary incident of slavery. Civil and servile wars are among its terrible contingencies. Slavery cannot endure in our land, though the end be not yet. I had rather the cholera should spread, than this moral scourge, over our new domains—not, upon my honor, because the former would be a help to our profession, but because a dead is more bearable, than a living curse.

Of all the sciolists, who have offered their services, to remedy this evil, the conscience party is the most remarkable. A self-consecrated party, with their phlogistic system, would deal with the whole South, which, on this topic, is a perfect hornet’s nest already, precisely as an intelligent farmer, in Vermont, dealt with a hornet’s nest, under the eaves of his dwelling—he applied the actual cautery; his practice was successful—he destroyed the nest, and with it his entire mansion. There are men, of this party, to whom the constitution and laws of the Union are objects of infinite contempt; who despise the Bible; who would overthrow the civil magistrate; and unfrock the clergy. But there are many others, who abjure such doctrines—a species of conscience comeouters—who intend, after they have unkennelled the whirlwind, to appoint a committee of three, from every county, to hold it by the tail, ne quid detrimenti respublica caperet. These are to be selected from the most careful and judicious, who, when the firebrand is thrown into the barrel of gunpowder, will have a care, that not more than a moderate quantity shall be ignited.

The constitution is a contract, made by our fathers, and binding on their children. Who shall presume to say that contract is void, for want of consideration, or because the subject is malum in se? Who shall decide the question of nudum pactum or not? Not one of the parties, nor two, nor any number, short of the whole, can annul this solemn contract; nor can a decision of the question of constitutionality come from any other tribunal, than the Supreme Judicial Court of the United States.

Lord Mansfield’s celebrated dictum—fiat justitia, ruat Cælum, has been often absurdly applied, and in connection with this very question of slavery and its removal. Justitia is a broad word, and refers not solely to the rights of the slave, but to those of the freeman. The proposition of the full-bottomed abolitionist—immediate emancipation, or dissolution of the Union, and civil and servile war to boot, if it must be so—is fit to be taught, only to the tenants of a madhouse. But there is a spirit abroad, whose tendency cannot be mistaken. Slavery is becoming daily more and more odious, in the east, in the west, in the north, ay, and in the south. Individually, many slaveholders are becoming less attached to their property. There may be too much even of this good thing. Slavery would continue longer, in the present slave states, if it were extended to the new territories; for it would be rendered more bearable in the former, by the power of sloughing off the redundancy, on profitable terms. The spirit of emancipation is striding over the main land, walking upon the waters, and planting its foot, upon one dark island after another. Let us hope—better to do that, than mischief. Let us rejoice, that, as the Scotch say, there is a God aboon a’—better to do that, than spit upon our Bibles, and scoff at law and order. It is always better to stand still, than move rudely and rashly, in the dark. Such was the decided opinion of my old friend and fellow-sexton, Grossman, when he fell, head first, into an unclosed tomb, and broke his enormous nose.