JANUARY 19.
A young mulatto carpenter, belonging to Horace Beckford’s estate of Shrewsbury, came to beg my intercession with his overseer. He had been absent two days without leave, and on these occasions it is customary for the slaves to apply to some neighbouring gentleman for a note in their behalf’ which, as I am told, never fails to obtain the pardon required, as the managers of estates are in general but too happy to find an excuse for passing over without punishment any offences which are not very heinous; indeed, what with the excellent laws already enacted for the protection of the slaves, and which every year are still further ameliorated, and what with the difficulty of procuring more negroes—(which can now only be done by purchasing them from other estates),—which makes it absolutely necessary for the managers to preserve the slaves, if they mean to preserve their own situations,—I am fully persuaded that instances of tyranny to negroes are now very rare, at least in this island. But I must still acknowledge, from my own sad experience, since my arrival, that unless a West-Indian proprietor occasionally visit his estates himself, it is utterly impossible for him to be certain that his deputed authority is not abused, however good may be his intentions, and however vigilant his anxiety.
My father was one of the most humane and generous persons that ever existed; there was no indulgence which he ever denied his negroes, and his letters were filled with the most absolute injunctions for their good treatment. When his estates became mine, the one upon which I am now residing was managed by an attorney, considerably advanced in years, who had been long in our employment, and who bore the highest character for probity and humanity. He was both attorney and overseer; and it was a particular recommendation to me that he lived in my own house, and therefore had my slaves so immediately under his eye, that it was impossible for any subaltern to misuse them without his knowledge. His letters to me expressed the greatest anxiety and attention respecting the welfare and comfort of the slaves;—so much so, indeed, that when I detailed his mode of management to Lord Holland, he observed, “that if he did all that was mentioned in his letters, he did as much as could possibly be expected or wished from an attorney;” and on parting with his own, Lord Holland was induced to take mine to manage his estates, which are in the immediate neighbourhood of Cornwall. This man died about two years ago, and since my arrival, I happened to hear, that during his management a remarkably fine young penn-keeper, named Richard (the brother of my intelligent carpenter, John Fuller), had run away several times to the mountains. I had taken occasion to let the brothers know, between jest and earnest, that I was aware of Richard’s misconduct; and at length, one morning, John, while he blamed his brother’s running away, let fall, that he had some excuse in the extreme ill-usage which he had received from one of the bookkeepers, who “had had a spite against him.” The hint alarmed me; I followed it, and nothing could equal my anger and surprise at learning the whole truth.
It seems, that while I fancied my attorney to be resident on Cornwall, he was, in fact, generally attending to a property of his own, or looking after estates of which also he had the management in distant parts of the island. During his absence, an overseer of his own appointing, without my knowledge, was left in absolute possession of his power, which he abused to such a degree, that almost every slave of respectability on the estate was compelled to become a runaway. The property was nearly ruined, and absolutely in a state of rebellion; and at length he committed an act of such severity, that the negroes, one and all, fled to Savannah la Mar, and threw themselves upon the protection of the magistrates, who immediately came over to Cornwall, investigated the complaint, and now, at length, the attorney, who had known frequent instances of the overseer’s tyranny, had frequently rebuked him for them, and had redressed the sufferers, but who still had dared to abuse my confidence so grossly as to continue him in his situation, upon this public exposure thought proper to dismiss him. Yet, while all this was going on—while my negroes were groaning under the iron rod of this petty tyrant—and while the public magistrature was obliged to interfere to protect them from his cruelty—my attorney had the insolence and falsehood to write me letters, filled with assurances of his perpetual vigilance for their welfare—of their perfect good treatment and satisfaction; nor, if I had not come myself to Jamaica, in all probability should I ever have had the most distant idea how abominably the poor creatures had been misused.
I have made it my business to mix as much as possible among the negroes, and have given them every encouragement to repose confidence in me; and I have uniformly found all those, upon whom any reliance can be placed, unite in praising the humanity of their present superintendant. Instantly on his arrival, he took the whole power of punishment into his own hands: he forbade the slightest interference in this respect of any person whatever on the estate, white or black; nor have I been able to find as yet any one negro who has any charge of harsh treatment to bring against him.
However, having been already so grossly deceived, I will never again place implicit confidence in any person whatever in a matter of such importance. Before my departure, I shall take every possible measure that may prevent any misconduct taking place without my being apprised of it as soon as possible; and I have already exhorted my negroes to apply to the magistrates on the very first instance of ill-usage, should any occur during my absence.
I am indeed assured by every one about me, that to manage a West-Indian estate without the occasional use of the cart-whip, however rarely, is impossible; and they insist upon it, that it is absurd in me to call my slaves ill-treated, because, when they act grossly wrong, they are treated like English soldiers and sailors. All this may be very true; but there is something to me so shocking in the idea of this execrable cart-whip, that I have positively forbidden the use of it on Cornwall; and if the estate must go to rack and ruin without its use, to rack and ruin the estate must go. Probably, I should care less about this punishment, if I had not been living among those on whom it may be inflicted; but now, when I am accustomed to see every face that looks upon me, grinning from ear to ear with pleasure at my notice, and hear every voice cry “God bless you, massa,” as I pass, one must be an absolute brute not to feel unwilling to leave them subject to the lash; besides, they are excellent cajolers, and lay it on with a trowel. Nicholas and John Fuller came to me this morning to beg a favour, “and beg massa hard, quite hard!” It was, that when massa went away, “he would leave his picture for the negroes;” that they might talk to it, “all just as they did to massa.” Shakspeare says—
“A little flattery does well sometimes!”
But, although the mode of expressing it may be artifice, the sentiment of good-will may be shown. A dog grows attached to the person who feeds and makes much of him; and as they have never experienced as yet any but kind treatment from me personally, it would be against common sense and nature to suppose that my negroes do not feel kindly towards me.
JANUARY 20.
THE RUNAWAY.
Peter, Peter was a black boy;
Peter, him pull foot one day:
Buckra girl, him * Peter’s joy;
Lilly white girl entice him away.
Fye, Missy Sally, fye on you!
Poor Blacky Peter why undo?
Oh! Peter, Peter was a bad boy;
Peter was a runaway.
* The negroes never distinguish between “him” and “her” in their conversation.
Peter, him Massa thief—Oh! fye!
Missy Sally, him say him do so.
Him money spent, Sally bid him bye.
And from Peter away him go;
Fye, Missy Sally, fye on you!
Poor Blacky Peter what him do?
Oh! Peter, Peter was a sad boy;
Peter was a runaway!
Peter, him go to him Massa back;
There him humbly own him crime:
“Massa, forgib one poor young Black!
Oh! Massa, good Massa, forgib dis time!”—
Then in come him Missy so fine, so gay,
And to him Peter thus him say:
“Oh! Missy, good Missy, you for me pray!
Beg Massa forgib poor runaway!”
“Missy, you cheeks so red, so white;
Missy, you eyes like diamond shine I
Missy, you Massa’s sole delight,
And Lilly Sally, him was mine!
Him say—6 Come, Peter, mid me go!’—
Could me refuse him? Could me say 6 no?’—»
Poor Peter—‘no’ him could no say!
So Peter, Peter ran away!”—
Him Missy him pray; him Massa so kind
Was moved by him prayer, and to Peter him says
“Well, boy, for this once I forgive you!—but mind!
With the buckra girls you no more go away!
Though fair without, they’re foul within;
Their heart is black, though white their skin.
Then Peter, Peter with me stay;
Peter no more run away!”—