XXXIV.
Horticulture—Chateaubriand—A Mississippi garden and plants—A novel scene—Sick slaves—Care of masters for their sick—Shamming—Inertness of negroes—Burial of slaves—Negro mothers—A nursery—Negro village on the Sabbath—Religious privileges of slaves—Marriages—Negro "passes"—The advantages of this regulation—Anecdote of a runaway.
In America, where vegetation is on a scale of magnificence commensurate with her continental extent—it is remarkable that a taste for horticulture should be so little cultivated. In the southern United States, nature enamels with a richness of colouring and a diversity of materials which she has but sparingly employed in decorating the hills and valleys of other lands. The grandeur of the forests in the south, and the luxuriance of the shrubs and plants, have no parallel. But southerners tread the avenues, breathe the air, and recline under the trees and in the arbours of their paradise, thankfully accepting and enjoying their luxurious boon, but seldom insinuating, through the cultivation of flowers, that nature has left her work imperfect. There are, it is true, individual exceptions. One of the finest private gardens in the United States, which has suggested these remarks, is in the south, and within two hours ride of Natchez. But as a general rule, southerners, with the exception of the cultivation of a few plants in a front yard, pay little regard to horticulture. So in New-England, a lilac tree between the windows, a few rose bushes and indigenous plants lining the walk, and five or six boxes or vases containing exotics standing upon the granite steps on either side of the front door, constitute the sum of their flower plants and the extent to which this delightful science is carried. The severity of northern winters and the shortness of the summers, may perhaps preclude perfection in this pleasing study, but not excuse the present neglect of it. The English, inhabiting a climate but a little milder, possess a strong and decided horticultural taste—England itself is one vast garden made up of innumerable smaller ones, each, from the cluster of shrubbery around the humblest cottage to the magnificent park, that spreads around her palaces, displaying the prevailing national passion.
Though southerners do not often pursue horticulture as a science, yet they are passionately fond of flowers. At the south, gentlemen, without the charge of coxcombry or effeminacy, wear them in the button-holes of their vests—fair girls wreathe them in their hair, and children trudge to school loaded with bouquets. The south is emphatically the land of flowers; nature seems to have turned this region from her hand as the chef d'œuvre of her skill. Here, in the glowing language of Chateaubriand, are seen "floating islands of Pistia and Nenuphar, whose yellow roses spring up like pavilions; here magnificent savanas unfold their green mantles, which seem in the distance to blend their verdure with the azure of the skies. Suspended on the floods of the Mississippi, grouped on rocks and mountains and dispersed in valleys, trees of every odour, every shape, every hue, entwine their variegated heads, and ascend to an immeasurable height; bignonias, vines, and colocynths, wind their slender roots around their trunks, creep to the summit of their branches, and passing from the maple to the tulip tree and alcea, form a thousand bowers and verdant arcades; stretching from tree to tree they often throw their fibrous arms across rivers and erect on them arches of foliage and flowers. Amidst these fragrant clusters, the proud magnolia raises its immoveable cone, adorned with snowy roses, and commanding the whole forest, meets with no other rival than the palm-tree, whose green leaves are softly fanned by refreshing gales." The race here now is for wealth; in good time the passion will change, and men, tired of contesting for the prize in the game of life, which they have won over and over again, will seek a theatre on which to display their golden laurels; and where are men more fond of displaying their wealth than on their persons, equipage, and dwellings? Horticulture, the taste in such cases earliest cultivated, will then shed its genial influence over the valley of the south-west, and noble mansions and tasteful cottages, around which forests now gloomily frown, or rude fields spread their ploughed surfaces, will be surrounded by noble grounds enriched by the hand of taste from the lavish opulence of the forests and savanas. The garden alluded to at the commencement of this letter, is situated upon the plantation, an excursion to which was the subject of my last. As this is said to be the finest garden in Mississippi, to which all others more or less approximate, in the character of their plants, style, and general arrangement, I would describe it, could my pen do adequate justice to the taste of its proprietor, or the variety and beauty of the plants and flowers. Among them—for I will mention a few—which represented every clime, were the cape myrtle, with its pure and delicately formed flower, the oak geranium, the classical ivy, and the fragrant snow-drop. The broad walks were, as usual in southern gardens, bordered by the varnished lauria mundi, occasionally relieved by the cape jessamine, slender althea, and dark green arbor vitæ. The splendidly attired amaryllis, the purple magnolia, the Arabian and night-blooming jessamines, the verbenum, or lemon-scented geranium, with the majestic aloe, that hoary monarch of the garden, which blooms but once in a century, the broad-leaved yarra, or caco, the fragrant snow-drop, and the sweet-scented shrub and oleander, with countless other shrubs and flowers, breathing forth the sweetest fragrance, gratified the senses, and pleased the eye wherever it was turned. There spread the cassia, a creeping plant, bearing a pink flower, and admirably adapted to bind the soil of this region, to prevent its "washing," by the texture of its thickly matted shoots, its tenacity to the soil, and the density of its foliage, all which combined, render it a secure shield laid over the surface of the ground; box-trees, in luxuriant, dark green cones, two or three feet high, were interspersed among the loftier shrubs at the angles of the several avenues, which were lined with diminutive hedges of this thickly-leaved plant. In the centre of the main avenue, which, on account of the inclination of the garden, was a terraced walk, terminating in an artificial pond, was a large diamond-shaped bed of violets enamelled with blue and green, from which arose a cloud of fragrance that floated over the whole garden, gathering rich tributes from a hundred flowers of the sweetest perfume and loveliest hues. Around this pond, were crescents of shrubs and trees, among which the melancholy weeping willow drooped its graceful tendrils over the water.[6] Beyond this little lake, the primeval forests, which on every side bounded the prospect, rose majestically on the summit of a high hill, in front, affording a striking contrast to the Hesperian elegancies spread around the observer.
Arbours of the lauria mundi, and pleasant alcoves invited to repose or meditation; and thickly shaded walks, wound on either side of the principal walk which they occasionally intersected, in graceful serpentine lines, bordered by the eglantine, or Scotch rose, the monthly rose—the flower-pot plant of the north—which here grows in luxuriant hedges, from six to ten feet high. The moss, and wild rose, the last a native, in which the creative power of horticulture annually unfolds new beauties, the dwarf cape jessamine, the Washita willow, with its pretty flower, the laurustina, hypiscus, and citronelle, or fragrant lemon grass, the tea-tree, three feet high, with orange and lemon trees, bending under their golden fruit, and a guava tree, the only one in fruit in the state, clustering with its delicious apple, presented on every side the most delightful offerings to the senses. But I must beg your indulgence for intruding upon you a botanical catalogue of plants in a southern garden, which Pomona, envying the fair divinity presiding there, might sigh to make her empire. Besides this exception to my general philippic in the former part of this letter, against the practical floral taste of Mississippians, there are a few others sufficiently beautiful to atone for the prevailing deficiency of which I have spoken. Clifton, an elegant villa near Natchez, and one of the finest residences in the state, for the beauty of its grounds, and the extent of the prospect from its lofty galleries, boasts a garden of almost unrivalled beauty, and rich in the number and variety of its shrubs and plants. There are three or four other gardens, buried like gems in the centre of old plantations, which, in horticultural wealth and display, nearly rival those above mentioned. I record these instances with pleasure, as indicating the existence of that fine taste, in the germ at least, which refinement, opulence, and leisure, will in time unfold and ripen into maturity.
While standing upon the gallery in the evening, enjoying the various busy scenes and confused sounds peculiar to a plantation at the close of day, my attention was drawn to a lugubrious procession, consisting of seven or eight negroes approaching the house from the "quarters," some with blankets thrown like cloaks over their shoulders, their heads bandaged, and moving with a listless gait of inimitable helplessness. One after another they crawled up and presented themselves, before the open passage in the gallery. Seeing such a sad assembly I approached them with curiosity, while their master, notified of their arrival, came out to examine into the state of this his walking hospital. Of all modifications of the "human face divine," that of the sick negro is the most dolorous. Their miserable, abject, hollow-eyed look has no parallel. The negro is not an Adonis in his best estate. But he increases his natural ugliness by a laxity of the muscles, a rolling of the eye and a dropping of the under jaw, when ill, which give his face a most ludicrously wo-begone appearance. The transparent jet-black hue of his skin altogether disappears, leaving the complexion a dingy brown or sallow, which in no slight degree increases the sadness of his physiognomy. Those who are actually ill generally receive every attention that humanity—not "interest"—dictates. It has been said that interest is the only friend of the slave; that without this lever applied to the feelings of the master, he would never be influenced to care for his slaves either in health or in sickness. However true this may be in individual instances, a vast number of cases have come within my knowledge, which have convinced me that as a general censure this charge is unmerited. Planters, particularly native planters, have a kind of affection for their negroes, incredible to those who have not observed its effects. If rebellious they punish them—if well behaved they not unfrequently reward them. In health they treat them with uniform kindness, in sickness with attention and sympathy. I once called on a native planter—a young bachelor, like many of his class, who had graduated at Cambridge and travelled in Europe—yet northern education and foreign habits did not destroy the Mississippian. I found him by the bed side of a dying slave—nursing him with a kindness of voice and manner, and displaying a manly sympathy with his sufferings honorable to himself and to humanity. On large plantations hospitals are erected for the reception of the sick, and the best medical attendance is provided for them. The physicians of Natchez derive a large proportion of their incomes from attending plantations. On some estates a physician permanently resides, whose time may be supposed sufficiently taken up in attending to the health of from one to two hundred persons. Often, several plantations, if the "force" on each is small, unite and employ one physician for the whole. Every plantation is supplied with suitable medicines, and generally to such an extent, that some room or part of a room in the planter's house is converted into a small apothecary's shop. These, in the absence of the physician in any sudden emergency, are administered by the planter. Hence, the health of the slaves, so far as medical skill is concerned, is well provided for. They are well fed and warmly clothed in the winter, in warm jackets and trowsers, and blanket coats enveloping the whole person, with hats or woolen caps and brogans. In summer they have clothing suitable to the season, and a ragged negro is less frequently to be met with than in northern cities.
The attendance which the sick receive is a great temptation for the slaves to "sham" illness. I was dining not long since in the country where the lady—a planter's daughter, and the wife and mother of a planter—sent from the table some plates of rich soup and boiled fowl to "poor sick Jane and her husband," as she observed in her reply to one who inquired if any of her "people" were unwell. A portion of the dessert was also sent to another who was convalescent. Those who are not considered ill enough to be sent to the hospital, are permitted to remain in their houses or cabins, reporting themselves every evening at the "great hus," as they term the family mansion. The sombre procession alluded to above, which led to these remarks, consisted of a few of these invalids, who had appeared at the gallery to make their evening report. On being questioned as to their respective conditions, a scene ensues that to be appreciated, must be observed.
"What ails you, Peter?" "Mighty sick, master."[7] "Show me your tongue:" and out, inch by inch, projects a long tongue, not unlike the sole of his shoe in size and colour, accompanied by a groan from the very pit of the stomach. If the negro is actually ill, suitable medicine is prescribed, which his master or the physician compels him to swallow in his presence. For, sick or well, and very fond of complaining, they will never take "doctor's stuff," as they term it, but, throwing it away as soon as they are out of sight, either go without any medicine, or take some concoction in repute among the old African beldames in the "quarters," by which they are sickened if well, and made worse if ill, and present themselves for inspection the next evening, by no means improved in health. They are fond of shamming, or "skulking," as sailors term it, and will often voluntarily expose themselves to sickness, in order to obtain exemption from labour.
There is no animal so averse to labour, even to the most necessary locomotion, as the African. His greatest enjoyment seems to be a state of animal inactivity. Inquire of any ordinary field negro why he would like to be free, if he ever happened to indulge the wish, and he will reply, "because me no work all day long." It is well known that the "lazzaroni" of Italy, the gauchos who infest Buenos Ayres, and the half-bloods swarming in the streets of all South American cities, will never labour, unless absolutely obliged to do so for the purpose of sustaining existence, and then only for the temporary supply. I once applied to a half-naked gaucho, who, with his red capote wound about his head, was dozing in the sun on the plaza, to carry a portmanteau. Slowly raising the heavy lids of his large glittering eyes, he took two pieces of money, of small value, from the folds of his red sash, and held them up to my view, murmuring, with a negative inclination of his head—"Tengo dos reales, señor:" thereby implying, "I will take mine ease while my money lasts—no more work till this is gone." By such a feeling is this class of men invariably governed. Individuals of them I have known to work with great industry for a day or two, and earn a few dollars, when they would cease from their usual labour, and, until their last penny was expended, no remuneration would prevail on them to carry a trunk across the square. From my knowledge of negro character at the south, however elevated it may be at the north, I am convinced that slaves, in their present moral condition, if emancipated, would be lazzaroni in every thing but colour. Sometimes a sham patient will be detected; although, to make their complaints the more specious, they frequently discolour the tongue. This species of culprit is often punished by ridicule and exposure to his fellows, whose taunts on such occasions embody the purest specimens of African wit. Not unfrequently these cheats are punished by a dose from the medicine chest, that effectually cures them of such indispositions. Latterly, since steaming has been fashionable, a good steaming has been known to be an equally effective prescription.
When a negro dies, his remains are placed in a coffin and decently interred. Labour is often entirely suspended on the plantation, and the slaves are assembled in their Sunday clothes to attend the funeral. Divine service is sometimes performed in the little chapel on the plantation, at which not only the slaves but the members of the white family are present. A Presbyterian clergyman recently informed me that he had been sent for by a native planter, to attend the funeral of one of his slaves and preach his funeral sermon. He went, though twelve miles distant from his residence, and remarked that he was never present on a more interesting occasion. On most plantations females are allowed a month's cessation from field labour, before and after confinement. But it cannot be denied that on some plantations nothing but actual confinement releases them from the field; to which the mother soon after returns, leaving an infant a few days old at the "quarters," which she is permitted to visit three or four times in the day. Sometimes, when a little older, infants are brought into the field, under the care of an old nurse, to save the time which the mothers would otherwise consume in walking to and from the "quarters." Once, on riding through a plantation, I noticed, under a China tree, which shaded the shelter-house—a rude building, in the centre of extensive cotton fields, in which negroes seek shelter on the approach of a storm—a group of infants and children, whose parents I discovered at work more than half a mile distant. Several little fellows, not two years old, and as naked as young frogs, were amusing themselves in rolling over the grass, heedless of the occasional warning of their gouvernante, "Take care de snake."—Slung from a limb in a blanket reposed two others, very snugly, side by side, mumbling corn bread; while, suspended from the tree, in a rude cradle, were three or four more of this band of nurslings, all in a pile, and fast asleep. I am indebted to this scene for a correct application of the nursery song, which I had never before been able exactly to understand, commencing—
"Rock a bye, baby, upon the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down tumbles baby, cradle and all."
These little candidates for "field honours," are useless articles on a plantation during the first five or six years of their existence. They are then made to take the first lessons in the elementary part of their education. When they have learned their manual alphabet tolerably well, they are placed in the field to take a spell at cotton-picking. The first day in the field is their proudest day. The young negroes look forward to it, with as much restlessness and impatience as school-boys to a vacation. Black children are not put to work so young as many children of poor parents at the north. It is often the case that the children of the domestic servants become pets in the house, and the playmates of the white children of the family. No scene can be livelier or more interesting to a northerner, than that which the negro quarters of a well regulated plantation present, on a Sabbath morning, just before church hour. In every cabin the men are shaving and dressing—the women, arrayed in their gay muslins, are arranging their frizzly hair, in which they take no little pride, or investigating the condition of their children's heads—the old people neatly clothed are quietly conversing or smoking about their doors, and those of the younger portion, who are not undergoing the infliction of the wash-tub, are enjoying themselves in the shade of the trees or around some little pond, with as much zest as though "slavery" and "freedom" were synonymous terms. When all are dressed and the hour arrives for worship, they lock up their cabins, and the whole population of the little village proceeds to the chapel, where divine worship is performed, sometimes by an officiating clergyman, and often by the planter himself, if a church member. The whole plantation is also frequently formed into a Sabbath class, which is instructed by the planter or some member of his family; and often such is the anxiety of masters that they should perfectly understand what they are taught—a hard matter in the present state of African intellect—that no means calculated to advance their progress are left untried. I was not long since shown a manuscript catechism, drawn up with great care and judgment by a distinguished planter, on a plan admirably adapted to the comprehension of negroes. The same gentleman, in conjunction with two or three neighbouring planters, employs a Presbyterian clergyman, formerly a missionary among the Choctaws at the Elliott station before their dispersion, to preach to the slaves, paying him a salary for his services. On those plantations which have no chapel, and no regular worship on the Sabbath, negroes are permitted to go to the nearest town to church; a privilege they seldom know how to appreciate, and prefer converting their liberty into an opportunity for marketing or visiting. Experience, however, has convinced planters that no indulgence to their slaves is so detrimental as this, both to the moral condition of the slave, and the good order of the plantation, for there is no vice in which many of them will not become adepts, if allowed a temporary freedom from restraint, one day in seven. Hence this liberty, except in particular instances, is denied them on some estates; to which they are confined under easy discipline during the day, passing the time in strolling through the woods, sleeping, eating, and idling about the quarters. The evenings of the Sabbath are passed in little gossipping circles in some of the cabins, or beneath the shade of some tree in front of their dwellings, or at weddings. The negroes are usually married by the planter, who reads the service from the gallery—the couple with their attendants standing upon the steps or on the green in front. These marriages, in the eye of the slave, are binding. Clergymen are sometimes invited to officiate by those planters who feel that respect for the marriage covenant, which leads them to desire its strict observance, where human legislation has not provided for it. On nuptial occasions the negroes partake of fine suppers, to which the ladies add many little delicacies, and handsome presents of wearing apparel to the married pair. When the negroes desire a clergyman to perform the ceremony for them, planters seldom refuse to comply with their request.
When negroes leave the plantation, for whatever purpose, whether to attend church, class meeting or market, visit their husbands, wives, or sweethearts, or are sent on errands, they must carry with them a written permission of absence from their master, stating the object for which his slave leaves his plantation, the place or places to which he is going, and the time to which his absence is limited. This written authority is called a "pass," and is usually written somewhat after this form:
"Oakland—June—18—
"Pass J——to Natchez and back again by sunset," or "E—— has permission to visit his wife on Mr. C——'s plantation, to be absent till 9 o'clock."
In such fluctuating property as slaves, it often happens that husband, wife, and children may all belong to different owners; and as negroes belonging to different plantations intermarry, such a provision, which is a state law, is necessary to preserve discipline, and embrace within the eye or knowledge of the master, every movement of his slave. Were slaves allowed to leave the estates without the knowledge of their masters, during a certain portion of every week, an immense body of men in the aggregate, consisting of a few from every plantation in the state, would be moving among the plantations, at liberty to plan and execute any mischief they might choose to set on foot. If negroes leave the plantation without a "pass," they are liable to be taken up by any white person who suspects them to be runaways, and punishment is the consequence. The law allows every white man in town or country this kind of supervision over negroes; and as there are always men who are on the lookout for runaways, for the purpose of obtaining the reward of several dollars for each they can bring back to his master, the slave, should he leave the plantation without his "pass"—the want of which generally denotes the runaway—is soon apprehended. You will see that this regulation is a wise legal provision for the preservation both of private and public security. An anecdote connected with this subject was recently related to me by a planter whose slave was the hero. "A gentleman," said he, "met one of my negroes mounted on horseback, with a jug in his hand, riding toward Natchez." Suspecting him from appearances to be a runaway, he stopped him and asked for his "pass." The slave unrolled first one old rag—an old rag is a negro's substitute for a pocket—and then another without success. "I 'spec' me loss me pass, master." "Whom do you belong to?" "Mr. ——," giving the wrong person. "Where are you going?" "To Natchez, get whiskey, master." At the moment, my brand upon the horse struck the eye of the gentleman; "You are a runaway, boy—you belong to Mr. D——." Instantly the negro leaped from his horse, cleared the fence, and fled through the woods like a deer toward home. The gentleman on arriving at his own house, sent a servant to me with the horse which the runaway had deserted. I immediately assembled the whole force of the plantation and not one of the negroes was missing; the culprit having managed to arrive at the plantation before I could receive any intimation of his absence. I tried a long time to make the guilty one confess, but in vain. So at last, I tried the effect of a ruse. "Well, boys, I know it is one of you, and though I am not able to point out the rogue, my friend who detected him will recognize him at once. So you must walk over to his house. Fall in there—march!"
"They proceeded a short distance, when I ordered a halt. "Mind, boys, the guilty one shall not only be punished by me, but I will give every 'hand' on the plantation the liberty of taking personal satisfaction, for compelling them to take a walk of three miles.—So, march!" They moved on again for about a quarter of a mile, when they came to a full stop—deliberated a few moments and then retraced their steps. "Hie! what now?" "Why, master, Bob say he de one." Bob, who it seems had confessed to his fellow-slaves as the best policy, now stepped forward, and acknowledged himself to be the runaway."