CHINA—UNCLE MAT'S PRAYER MEETING.
Compared to the field-hands, who were little more than heathen and barbarian, our favorite China was a princess. One day and night among them proved to the unhappy girl that her master was in the right—she could not live with them. If she had met with suspicion, jealousy, and envy beneath her master's roof, she could not expect to escape it in her new home, where ignorance and all the baser passions ruled.
Toward night on the following day, which was Saturday, the master appeared at the cabins. He found China weeping disconsolately in the shade of a tree. So profoundly was she buried in her grief, she saw not her master until she heard his voice. For many hours had she watched his coming. When she had ceased to look for him, his kind voice aroused her to a momentary gladness.
"O, Master Duncan! Master Duncan!" was all she could utter.
"Bad enough, yes; I knew how it would be; I knew you would be willing to leave Kennons after you had tried this. I have just returned from Flat Rock; have had all the papers made for you; China, you are a free woman!"
"O, Master Duncan! good Master Duncan!" was all she could say again.
"Here, China, this is probably the last present I shall ever make you," handing to her a portmonnaie containing a few pieces of silver and gold, as also the invaluable papers of manumission. He withdrew it again as she was extending her hand, remarking:
"It is better, however, that it should be in the hands of Mr. Fuller. He is to go with you to-night to Flat Rock. You will remain at the 'Bald Eagle' until the train passes on Monday. You could remain at Petersburg if you chose, but my friends at Richmond can help you. I have written them, and they will see you properly cared for. Mr. Fuller will hand you this"—referring to the portmonnaie—"and you must guard it carefully. It is not sufficient that you carry it in your pocket; you should secrete it in some part of your dress, fastening it securely. You have a needle and thread? Well, then, do as I have told you. Be a good girl—honest and truthful; when I come to Richmond I will see you. There, don't cry now; you can yet be happy. I must have another talk with Fuller;"—seeing that personage approaching—"I shall not see you again; take care of yourself, and good-bye;"—and the master stretched down his hand—for he was still on horseback—which China grasped and presumed to kiss.
"There, that will do, my good girl; and don't forget what your Miss Ellice taught you."
This unusual reference to her former mistress was another stab for poor China. As her master rode away, she threw herself down upon the ground, making mournful moans that might have softened the hardest heart.
The field-hands, coming up from work an hour later, beheld with rage and dismay the intended victim of their malice mounted upon one of the fleetest horses upon the plantation, and Mr. Fuller all ready to mount another. He was but waiting to give additional orders to this unruly gang. This being done, each equestrian gave a slight stroke of the whip, and the horses galloped away from a hundred staring eyes.
"Let us fling a stone at her," said one.
"Let us set up a mighty howl," suggested a second.
"And git a mighty floggin' for yer pains," sneered a third, who was possessed of a grain of discretion.
China's heart lightened as she left the cabins and the intolerable red sands upon which they were situated. It was not the first time she had seen the uncouth faces and forms of the motley group who had been vengefully regarding her; but their appearance had seemed doubly appalling when viewed in the light of being her associates for life. Out of their sight she breathed freely again, and coming shortly into the main road, a feeling almost of joy seized her.
"I will not weep or be sad any more. I will leave the old life behind me, and Miss Rusha too, thank the Lord. Ah, poor Master Duncan! what a life he must live of it—the best master that ever servant had—good, kind Master Duncan! The trees hide Kennons from view; I shall not see it again. I would liked to have said farewell to Bessie, and to Chloe and Amy, and to Miss Rusha's Kizzie, too. I wonder if I ever shall see one of them any more;" and in spite of her resolution not to cry, China was obliged to wipe the tears that blinded her eyes.
Mr. Fuller was a model overseer. Nobody knew from what quarter of the world he had hailed. He had been overseer for Duncan Lisle during seven years, and no one had ever heard him allude to any antecedents. He was a silent, reserved man of fifty years, perhaps, possessed good judgment, discerning sense of right and wrong, was inflexibly just, and invariably faithful to his word.
Duncan Lisle might well felicitate himself upon having secured so invaluable an assistant. He had never found, and was never expecting to find, his confidence misplaced. Trust begets trust, and master and overseer had become excellent friends.
Mr. Fuller had, however, a history of his own, but it lay away in England, where he prudently resolved to let it remain forever buried. For China he discharged his mission faithfully, exchanging with her only indispensable words, and, confiding to her care the precious portmonnaie, bade adieu both to her and to the "Bald Eagle," returning to Kennons after midnight.
China formed a pleasant acquaintance with the servants of the "Bald Eagle," and passed her Sunday very agreeably. At night she was invited to attend Uncle Mat's prayer-meeting. Uncle Mat was a personage of importance, not only in his own estimation, but in that of many others. His master was a drunken fellow, who had squandered most of his substance. By degrees he had lost the greater part of his plantation, had sold the most of his servants, his wife had died, children married and gone, and but for Mat he would have gone to utter ruin long ago. It was Mat who interfered in bloody quarrels, receiving blows and vituperations himself; it was Mat who walked by his master's side from elections, fairs, shows, etc., steadying him when he reeled, picking him up when he fell, dragging him from horses' feet and drunken men's knives, and keeping the breath of life in him by sheer watchfulness and unflagging exertion.
In return for this devotion, the master, Dick Rogers, gave but abuse of hand and tongue. But Uncle Mat was a Christian. He had a gift at prayer and exhortation. He could read, strange to say, and sing, of course. Mat was older than his master. Dick had been an only son, petted and spoiled. Mat had been his body-servant from his babyhood. Dick's father, upon his dying bed, had exacted from Mat a promise that he would always have a care for his reckless son. Mat had fulfilled his vow. Mat had learned to read by hearing the governess teach Dick. To shame the latter into diligence, it was a habit with Miss Train to call up the black boy, who exhibited more capacity and willingness than her pupil.
The servant was of a serious, reflective turn of mind. He became converted at a Methodist camp-meeting, and as he became a kind of preacher among his own people, he staid converted. He had one fault, to speak not of others. He was irascible to a great degree; a mosquito or a flea would drive him into a passion. But throughout his long career as guardian of his master, he had been never known to lose patience with him. Even mothers become vexed exceedingly with undutiful children; but this care of Mat for his worthless master exceeded even that of a mother for her child. Exceeded? Nay, we will say equalled.
It was somewhat rare in the slave States for servants to meet for religious purposes; insurrection might brood under such a cover. Mat, however, was so well known and so universally esteemed in his neighborhood, that he was allowed to hold his prayer-meetings every Sunday night.
It was to one of these that China went with her new-made friends. Nancy Carter's cabin was the meeting-house pro tem. It had been prepared for the occasion by an elaborate trimming of oak leaves and green boughs. Bouquets of flowers were interspersed with lights upon the preacher's stand. This invasion against white people's customs was due probably to the intense love which Afric's sons and daughters have for the "beautiful flowers."
Mat, tall and dignified always, seemed magnified in proportions and dignity when installed behind his stand of flowers and lights. His initial proceeding was invariably a great flourish of his white cotton handkerchief.
If Mat had a source of vanity deeper than another, it was of this above-mentioned article; and this, too, was so well known of him, that most of his presents consisted of handkerchiefs. He had, among his deposits, a good-sized box full of these useful and ornamental inventions. There was one from Lucy and Lizzie, four Sallies, three Dinahs, three Betties, two or three Janes, as many Anns, and hosts of others too numerous to mention. And every one of those donors looked steadily at the flourish of the preacher, if happily her own gift had come to the coveted honor.
The first prayer consisted of very large words very fervently uttered. This was comparatively brief, as a lengthy one for the whole world was to follow the first hymn.
Mat had adopted, of course, the custom of his superiors in the matter of singing. He read from the book the first two lines of the hymn, which the congregation seized and sung to the best of their ability. Two lines more were read, when music of voice, if not of words, became distinguishable.
Upon this occasion the preacher seemed troubled with unusual indistinctness of vision. He took his glasses from his nose more than once, violently rubbing them with his spotless handkerchief. Taking up his book for the third time, his eyes or his spectacles seemed still to be at fault. Perplexed and irritated, he exclaimed, unguardedly:
"Dog-gone-it! my eyes are dim; I cannot see to read this hymn."
The congregation supposing it all right, tuned up, and repeated it, though one would have been at great loss to make sense out of the myriad-syllabled confusion.
The preacher, surprised, attempted to explain. He said energetically, book still in hand:
"I did not mean to sing that hymn, I only meant my eyes were dim."
The simple people, still supposing the hymn to be continued, again poured forth volumes of sound.
In vain the preacher gesticulated, stamped, and threatened. So varied usually were the performances, this was thought to be but part of the programme. When the music hushed again the preacher cried:
"The devil must be in you all, that is no hymn to sing at all!"
Were those black people wilfully stupid? By no means. They did not know but they were doing as they had always done. The hymn-book was Greek to them, words were words; therefore they took up Uncle Mat's last words as innocently as if they had been
| "On Jordan's stormy banks I stand, |
| And cast a wishful eye." |
Uncle Mat's patience gave out completely; he hurled his book at the musical leader's head:
"Dere, now see if ye can stop yer 'fernal noise. What bizness yer sing dat? Dats nothin' for to sing. You don't know nothin'. You biggest heap o' wooly heads I eber did see. Was der eber such a pack o' ignerant-ramuses eber in dis world afore? I answer 'firmatively—no! What's de use o' temptin' to preach to sich people? Dey wouldn't know if one was to rise from de dead. Not know de diff'rence 'tween psalm tunes an nuffin else! Dis people be dismissed."
The latter sentence was pronounced most disdainfully. The chorister, with head unbroken, and temper unruffled, arose and begged they might all be forgiven their heedlessness; it would be so great a disappointment to have the meeting broken up so prematurely, it would give them great pleasure if Uncle Mat would be so kind as to dispense with singing and proceed to prayers and exhortations. One or two other prominent members followed in much the same strain, flattering the indignant preacher by making special reference to his eloquence and popularity.
This had the desired effect. Uncle Mat became mollified, and wiping the angry perspiration from his brow, he embarked upon his longest prayer—during which our China and many others fell fast asleep.