Читать книгу My Southern Home: Or, the South and Its People - William Wells Brown - Страница 6

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I have already said that Dr. Gaines was a man of deep religious feeling, and this interest was not confined to the whites, for he felt that it was the Christian duty to help to save all mankind, white and black. He would often say, “I regard our negroes as given to us by an All Wise Providence, for their especial benefit, and we should impart to them Christian civilization.” And to this end, he labored most faithfully.

No matter how driving the work on the plantation, whether seed-time or harvest, whether threatened with rain or frost, nothing could prevent his having the slaves all in at family prayers, night and morning. Moreover, the older servants were often invited to take part in the exercises. They always led the singing, and, on Sabbath mornings, were permitted to ask questions eliciting Scriptural explanations. Of course, some of the questions and some of the prayers were rather crude, and the effect, to an educated person, was rather to call forth laughter than solemnity.

Leaving home one morning, for a visit to the city, the Doctor ordered Jim, an old servant, to do some mowing in the rye-field; on his return, finding the rye-field as he had left it in the morning, he called Jim up, and severely flogged him without giving the man an opportunity of telling why the work had been neglected. On relating the circumstance at the supper-table, the wife said—

“I am very sorry that you whipped Jim, for I took him to do some work in the garden, amongst my flower-beds.”

TROPICAL LUXURIANCE.

To this the Doctor replied, “Never mind, I’ll make it all right with Jim.”

And sure enough he did, for that night, at prayers, he said, “I am sorry, Jim, that I corrected you, to-day, as your mistress tells me that she set you to work in the flower-garden. Now, Jim,” continued he, in a most feeling manner, “I always want to do justice to my servants, and you know that I never abuse any of you intentionally, and now, to-night, I will let you lead in prayer.”

Jim thankfully acknowledged the apology, and, with grateful tears, and an overflowing heart, accepted the situation; for Jim aspired to be a preacher, like most colored men, and highly appreciated an opportunity to show his persuasive powers; and that night the old man made splendid use of the liberty granted to him. After praying for everything generally, and telling the Lord what a great sinner he himself was, he said—

“Now, Lord, I would specially ax you to try to save marster. You knows dat marster thinks he’s mighty good; you knows dat marster says he’s gwine to heaven; but Lord, I have my doubts; an’ yet I want marster saved. Please to convert him over agin; take him, dear Lord, by de nap of de neck, and shake him over hell and show him his condition. But, Lord, don’t let him fall into hell, jes let him see whar he ought to go to, but don’t let him go dar. An’ now, Lord, ef you jes save marster, I will give you de glory.”

The indignation expressed by the doctor, at the close of Jim’s prayer, told the old negro that for once he had overstepped the mark. “What do you mean, Jim, by insulting me in that manner? Asking the Lord to convert me over again. And praying that I might be shaken over hell. I have a great mind to tie you up, and give you a good correcting. If you ever make another such a prayer, I’ll whip you well, that I will.”

Dr. Gaines felt so intensely the duty of masters to their slaves that he, with some of his neighbors, inaugurated a religious movement, whereby the blacks at the Corners could have preaching once a fortnight, and that, too, by an educated white man. Rev. John Mason, the man selected for this work, was a heavy-set, fleshy, lazy man who, when entering a house, sought the nearest chair, taking possession of it, and holding it to the last.

He had been employed many years as a colporteur or missionary, sometimes preaching to the poor whites, and, at other times, to the slaves, for which service he was compensated either by planters, or by the dominant religious denomination in the section where he labored. Mr. Mason had carefully studied the character of the people to whom he was called to preach, and took every opportunity to shirk his duties, and to throw them upon some of the slaves, a large number of whom were always ready and willing to exhort when called upon.

We shall never forget his first sermon, and the profound sensation that it created both amongst masters and slaves, and especially the latter. After taking for his text, “He that knoweth his master’s will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes,” he spoke substantially as follows:—

“Now when correction is given you, you either deserve it, or you do not deserve it. But whether you really deserve it or not, it is your duty, and Almighty God requires that you bear it patiently. You may, perhaps, think that this is hard doctrine, but if you consider it right you must needs think otherwise of it. Suppose then, that you deserve correction, you cannot but say that it is just and right you should meet with it. Suppose you do not, or at least you do not deserve so much, or so severe a correction for the fault you have committed, you, perhaps, have escaped a great many more, and are at last paid for all. Or suppose you are quite innocent of what is laid to your charge, and suffer wrongfully in that particular thing, is it not possible you may have done some other bad thing which was never discovered, and that Almighty God, who saw you doing it, would not let you escape without punishment one time or another? And ought you not, in such a case, to give glory to Him, and be thankful that he would rather punish you in this life for your wickedness, than destroy your souls for it in the next life? But suppose that even this was not the case (a case hardly to be imagined), and that you have by no means, known or unknown, deserved the correction you suffered, there is this great comfort in it, that if you bear it patiently, and leave your cause in the hands of God, he will reward you for it in heaven, and the punishment you suffer unjustly here, shall turn to your exceeding great glory, hereafter.”

At this point, the preacher hesitated a moment, and then continued, “I am now going to give you a description of hell, that awful place, that you will surely go to, if you don’t be good and faithful servants.

“Hell is a great pit, more than two hundred feet deep, and is walled up with stone, having a strong, iron grating at the top. The fire is built of pitch pine knots, tar barrels, lard kegs, and butter firkins. One of the devil’s imps appears twice a day, and throws about half a bushel of brimstone on the fire, which is never allowed to cease burning. As sinners die they are pitched headlong into the pit, and are at once taken up upon the pitchforks by the devil’s imps, who stand, with glaring eyes and smiling countenances, ready to do their master’s work.”

Here the speaker was disturbed by the “Amens,” “Bless God, I’ll keep out of hell,” “Dat’s my sentiments,” which plainly told him that he had struck the right key.

“Now,” continued the preacher, “I will tell you where heaven is, and how you are to obtain a place there. Heaven is above the skies; its streets are paved with gold; seraphs and angels will furnish you with music which never ceases. You will all be permitted to join in the singing and you will be fed on manna and honey, and you will drink from fountains, and will ride in golden chariots.”

“I am bound for hebben,” ejaculated one.

“Yes, blessed God, hebben will be my happy home,” said another.

These outbursts of feeling were followed, while the man of God stood with folded arms, enjoying the sensation that his eloquence had created.

After pausing a moment or two, the reverend man continued, “Are there any of you here who would rather burn in hell than rest in heaven? Remember that once in hell you can never get out. If you attempt to escape little devils are stationed at the top of the pit, who will, with their pitchforks, toss you back into the pit, curchunk, where you must remain forever. But once in heaven, you will be free the balance of your days.” Here the wildest enthusiasm showed itself, amidst which the preacher took his seat.

A rather humorous incident now occurred which created no little merriment amongst the blacks, and to the somewhat discomfiture of Dr. Gaines—who occupied a seat with the whites who were present.

Looking about the room, being unacquainted with the negroes, and presuming that all or nearly so were experimentally interested in religion, Mr. Mason called on Ike to close with prayer. The very announcement of Ike’s name in such a connection called forth a broad grin from the larger portion of the audience.

Now, it so happened that Ike not only made no profession of religion, but was in reality the farthest off from the church of any of the servants at “Poplar Farm”; yet Ike was equal to the occasion, and at once responded, to the great amazement of his fellow slaves.

Ike had been, from early boyhood, an attendant upon whites, and he had learned to speak correctly for an uneducated person. He was pretty well versed in Scripture and had learned the principal prayer that his master was accustomed to make, and would often get his fellow-servants together at the barn on a rainy day and give them the prayer, with such additions and improvements as the occasion might suggest. Therefore, when called upon by Mr. Mason, Ike at once said, “Let us pray.”

After floundering about for a while, as if feeling his way, the new beginner struck out on the well-committed prayer, and soon elicited a loud “amen,” and “bless God for that,” from Mr. Mason, and to the great amusement of the blacks. In his eagerness, however, to make a grand impression, Ike attempted to weave into his prayer some poetry on “Cock Robin,” which he had learned, and which nearly spoiled his maiden prayer.

After the close of the meeting, the Doctor invited the preacher to remain over night, and accepting the invitation, we in the great house had an opportunity of learning more of the reverend man’s religious views.

When comfortably seated in the parlor, the Doctor said, “I was well pleased with your discourse, I think the tendency will be good upon the servants.”

“Yes,” responded the minister, “The negro is eminently a religious being, more so, I think, than the white race. He is emotional, loves music, is wonderfully gifted with gab; the organ of alimentativeness largely developed, and is fond of approbation. I therefore try always to satisfy their vanity; call upon them to speak, sing, and pray, and sometimes to preach. That suits for this world. Then I give them a heaven with music in it, and with something to eat. Heaven without singing and food would be no place for the negro. In the cities, where many of them are free, and have control of their own time, they are always late to church meetings, lectures, or almost anything else. But let there be a festival or supper announced and they are all there on time.”

“But did you know,” said Dr. Gaines, “that the prayer that Ike made to-day he learned from me?”

“Indeed?” responded the minister.

“Yes, that boy has the imitative power of his race in a larger degree than most negroes that I have seen. He remembers nearly everything that he hears, is full of wit, and has most excellent judgment. However, his dovetailing the Cock Robin poetry into my prayer was too much, and I had to laugh at his adroitness.”

The Doctor was much pleased with the minister, but Mrs. Gaines was not. She had great contempt for professional men who sprung from the lower class, and she regarded Mr. Mason as one to be endured but not encouraged. The Rev. Henry Pinchen was her highest idea of a clergyman. This gentleman was then expected in the neighborhood, and she made special reference to the fact, to her husband, when speaking of the “negro missionary,” as she was wont to call the new-comer.

The preparation made, a few days later, for the reception of Mrs. Gaines’ favorite spiritual adviser, showed plainly that a religious feast was near at hand, and in which the lady was to play a conspicuous part; and whether her husband was prepared to enter into the enjoyment or not, he would have to tolerate considerable noise and bustle for a week.

“Go, Hannah,” said Mrs. Gaines, “and tell Dolly to kill a couple of fat pullets, and to put the biscuit to rise. I expect Brother Pinchen here this afternoon, and I want everything in order. Hannah, Hannah, tell Melinda to come here. We mistresses do have a hard time in this world; I don’t see why the Lord should have imposed such heavy duties on us poor mortals. Well, it can’t last always. I long to leave this wicked world, and go home to glory.”

At the hurried appearance of the waiting maid the mistress said: “I am to have company this afternoon, Melinda. I expect Brother Pinchen here, and I want everything in order. Go and get one of my new caps, with the lace border, and get out my scolloped-bottomed dimity petticoat, and when you go out, tell Hannah to clean the white-handled knives, and see that not a speck is on them; for I want everything as it should be while Brother Pinchen is here.”

Mr. Pinchen was possessed with a large share of the superstition that prevails throughout the South, not only with the ignorant negro, who brought it with him from his native land, but also by a great number of well educated and influential whites.

On the first afternoon of the reverend gentleman’s visit, I listened with great interest to the following conversation between Mrs. Gaines and her ministerial friend.

“Now, Brother Pinchen, do give me some of your experience since you were last here. It always does my soul good to hear religious experience. It draws me nearer and nearer to the Lord’s side. I do love to hear good news from God’s people.”

“Well, Sister Gaines,” said the preacher, “I’ve had great opportunities in my time to study the heart of man. I’ve attended a great many camp-meetings, revival meetings, protracted meetings, and death-bed scenes, and I am satisfied, Sister Gaines, that the heart of man is full of sin, and desperately wicked. This is a wicked world, Sister Gaines, a wicked world.”

“Were you ever in Arkansas, Brother Pinchen?” inquired Mrs. Gaines; “I’ve been told that the people out there are very ungodly.”

Mr. P. “Oh, yes, Sister Gaines. I once spent a year at Little Rock, and preached in all the towns round about there; and I found some hard cases out there, I can tell you. I was once spending a week in a district where there were a great many horse thieves, and, one night, somebody stole my pony. Well, I knowed it was no use to make a fuss, so I told Brother Tarbox to say nothing about it, and I’d get my horse by preaching God’s everlasting gospel; for I had faith in the truth, and knowed that my Saviour would not let me lose my pony. So the next Sunday I preached on horse-stealing, and told the brethren to come up in the evenin’ with their hearts filled with the grace of God. So that night the house was crammed brimfull with anxious souls, panting for the bread of life. Brother Bingham opened with prayer, and Brother Tarbox followed, and I saw right off that we were gwine to have a blessed time. After I got ’em pretty well warmed up, I jumped on to one of the seats, stretched out my hands and said: ‘I know who stole my pony; I’ve found out; and you are in here tryin’ to make people believe that you’ve got religion; but you ain’t got it. And if you don’t take my horse back to Brother Tarbox’s pasture this very night, I’ll tell your name right out in meetin’ to-morrow night. Take my pony back, you vile and wretched sinner, and come up here and give your heart to God.’ So the next mornin’, I went out to Brother Tarbox’s pasture, and sure enough, there was my bob-tail pony. Yes, Sister Gaines, there he was, safe and sound. Ha, ha, ha!”

Mrs. G. “Oh, how interesting, and how fortunate for you to get your pony! And what power there is in the gospel! God’s children are very lucky. Oh, it is so sweet to sit here and listen to such good news from God’s people? [Aside.] ‘You Hannah, what are you standing there listening for, and neglecting your work? Never mind, my lady, I’ll whip you well when I am done here. Go at your work this moment, you lazy huzzy! Never mind, I’ll whip you well.’ Come, do go on, Brother Pinchen, with your godly conversation. It is so sweet! It draws me nearer and nearer to the Lord’s side.”

Mr. P. “Well, Sister Gaines, I’ve had some mighty queer dreams in my time, that I have. You see, one night I dreamed that I was dead and in heaven, and such a place I never saw before. As soon as I entered the gates of the celestial empire, I saw many old and familiar faces that I had seen before. The first person that I saw was good old Elder Pike, the preacher that first called my attention to religion. The next person I saw was Deacon Billings, my first wife’s father, and then I saw a host of godly faces. Why, Sister Gaines, you knowed Elder Goosbee, didn’t you?”

Mrs. G. “Why, yes; did you see him there? He married me to my first husband.”

Mr. P. “Oh, yes, Sister Gaines, I saw the old Elder, and he looked for all the world as if he had just come out of a revival meetin’.”

Mrs. G. “Did you see my first husband there, Brother Pinchen?”

Mr. P. “No, Sister Gaines, I didn’t see Brother Pepper there; but I’ve no doubt but that Brother Pepper was there.”

Mrs. G. “Well, I don’t know; I have my doubts. He was not the happiest man in the world. He was always borrowing trouble about something or another. Still, I saw some happy moments with Mr. Pepper. I was happy when I made his acquaintance, happy during our courtship, happy a while after our marriage, and happy when he died.” [Weeps.]

Hannah. “Massa Pinchen, did you see my ole man Ben up dar in hebben?”

Mr. P. “No, Hannah, I didn’t go amongst the niggers.”

Mrs. G. “No, of course Brother Pinchen didn’t go among the blacks. What are you asking questions for? [Aside.] ‘Never mind, my lady, I’ll whip you well when I’m done here. I’ll skin you from head to foot.’ Do go on with your heavenly conversation, Brother Pinchen; it does my very soul good. This is indeed a precious moment for me. I do love to hear of Christ and Him crucified.”

Mr. P. “Well, Sister Gaines, I promised Sister Daniels that I’d come over and see her a few moments this evening, and have a little season of prayer with her, and I suppose I must go.”

Mrs. G. “If you must go, then I’ll have to let you; but before you do, I wish to get your advice upon a little matter that concerns Hannah. Last week Hannah stole a goose, killed it, cooked it, and she and her man Sam had a fine time eating the goose; and her master and I would never have known anything about it if it had not been for Cato, a faithful servant, who told his master all about it. And then, you see, Hannah had to be severely whipped before she’d confess that she stole the goose. Next Sabbath is sacrament day, and I want to know if you think that Hannah is fit to go to the Lord’s Supper, after stealing the goose.”

“Well, Sister Gaines,” responded the minister, “that depends on circumstances. If Hannah has confessed that she stole the goose, and has been sufficiently whipped, and has begged her master’s pardon, and begged your pardon, and thinks she will not do the like again, why then I suppose she can go to the Lord’s Supper; for—