TENNESSEE.
Cabin, “Frame House,” and “Little Brick.”
MISS ALICE E. CARTER, NASHVILLE.
My method of work probably does not bear the merit of originality, yet the work itself holds for me all the charm and freshness of novelty. Day by day draws me closer to the hearts of the people; day by day draws us together closer to that universal Heart, nearer to the Christ whom we try to serve.
To make a beginning of visiting seemed at first a puzzling and almost perilous matter. To attempt the mazes of the city—alleys where one cabin differed from another cabin only in its greater or less dilapidation without, and squalor within; to hazard a walk across the common and bottoms through the almost impassable mud, were equally difficult beginnings, and yet it is in these city alleys and in the bottoms and commons outside the city limits that the work is waiting—a harvest too great for the few laborers.
There were many ways, I soon learned, to make entrance to the homes of the people. The halloo at the gate would immediately bring the loud “come in,” and a simple excuse, as a wish to warm or rest, or to inquire where such a cabin might be, would gain for me a ready welcome. Then, with a few minutes’ chatting and close observation, it would be an easy matter to detect the special need there.
At first I chose for my visits only the cabins, or, in the parlance of the people, the shanties, but, as my work has widened, I have often learned of need and suffering in many a “frame house,” or “little brick.” Indeed, it seems as if the difference between those in the cabin and those in the frame house and the little brick lies here: the former have never tried to get above their wretched poverty; the latter have tried, and, with a measure of success, still remain poor. Those in the cabins need everything—food and clothing primarily, no doubt; but of paramount importance are their other needs, viz., to be elevated from their sloth and indolence and licentiousness by the forces of education and religion. Those in the frame house and little brick need encouragement in the path already chosen.
I was asked to visit one day in a neat brick cottage which I should have passed many times with no suspicion of need within. On entering, the first thing that attracted my attention was that the walls and ceiling were entirely unfinished; the walls were the bare bricks, and overhead were the flooring beams, and, where the walls and ceiling met, were wide open spaces for the wind to sift up from under the eaves. The inmates were a colored woman, unfitted for work by age and rheumatism, and her daughter; the daughter was her widowed mother’s only dependence, yet the poor girl was lying sick with pneumonia, and had been two weeks without medical treatment. They had no money, but pride kept them reticent of their affairs. To provide medicines, and later, little delicacies; to visit the sick girl every day and sometimes twice a day was my care for three weeks. She is now well again, and they are independent.
I have made, up to December 31, one hundred and twenty-five calls, and have succeeded in relieving some suffering with gifts of fuel and food, although the little accomplished in that direction is as one drop in the sea.
From barrels of clothing received from the North I have sold and given a great many garments; have oftener sold, because it seems always wiser, although the prices may be ridiculously small. This money helps me to purchase medicine for the many sick persons. Let me add here, that with homeopathic remedies I have had most flattering success, always preparing the medicines myself, and carefully renewing them until the patients, without exception so far, are cured.
In addition to my visits, I have tried to reach the women by means of cabin prayer-meetings, and to help the girls and young women by the medium of sewing-schools. I have two schools in successful operation in different parts of the city. One numbers twenty pupils, the other nearly forty. We begin with prayer and short Scripture reading, and then with great eagerness the girls set about their sewing, or lesson in cutting, as the case may be. When a garment is finished, each girl purchases her own work for a dime or fifteen cents.
While they sew I read to them, if occasion permits, and sometimes they sing. They have begged to meet twice a week—a fact which proves their enthusiasm. My kind friends in Boston and Providence have done much toward supplying me with print, gingham and cotton cloth for my sewing-schools.
In Sunday-school work I have succeeded in drawing some strangers into my own class at Howard Chapel, and in forming some other classes for volunteer teachers from Jubilee Hall.