My little girls, who had been looking on, eager-eyed, for mamma's old trunk had always possessed a mysterious charm for Floy, and Grace, enhanced since some years previous, when, after I had given up the idea of having new cloaks for them for the winter, I chanced to see an advertisement for Confederate bonds, and succeeded in finding enough of these in my old trunk to supply the needed cloaks, and also other things.
"Who was Tay?" they both exclaimed. I felt a sense of self-reproach at the question; and I am sure to Tay herself the idea that one of her "chillun's chillun" could have reached the mature age of ten years and never had heard of her existence would have seemed incredible. It was not from any lack of kindly recollection of the old woman that I had not told the children of her; but my life had been a busy one, with many invalid times, when the reverses of life pressed heavily, and I shrank from speaking voluntarily of my childhood days, which had been so different from theirs; and besides the children of the South to-day, whose mothers were half-grown girls at the time of emancipation, belong to a new order of things, and are out of sympathy with their parents on many subjects. They do not understand their elders' feelings toward the negroes. They regard them with very impartial eyes, and see them as they are to-day. And as the succession of careless, ignorant cooks and housemaids come and go they cannot understand the kind allowances made for their faults by those who remember the tender nursing of the dear old maumas. But to return to Tay.
"Who was Tay?" I repeated. "Why, one of the best of women; and it is high time you should hear about her, and love her memory. So if you will get your knitting and sit very quite I will tell you her story.
"Her name was Kitty, but we children always called her Tay. When your grandmother was married Tay was given to her as her maid; and a most accomplished one she was, besides being a skilled seamstress, and clear starcher. A younger woman had taken her place as maid when I first remember her, and she was the upper servant, always carrying the keys, and taking charge of the household, when your grandmother was ill or absent. She was at least six feet tall; her waist claimed nearly half her length, or looked as if it did. She was quite light-colored, with large black eyes that looked as if a millstone would be no obstacle to her vision. I assure you her appearance was calculated to inspire awe in our breasts. Her great height was of itself impressive, and made more so by her costume. She usually wore a black frock with a very tight body, and full skirt; and an enormous bustle, such as was not worn in those days; a white hankerchief over her shoulders, pinned across her bosom; a white apron; and to cap the climax a very stiffly starched white turban (all the worn muslin dresses of the family went to keep up the supply). She always tied her turbans on a block to shape them, and stuffed a newspaper in the top to keep the shape; and when she finally put one on her head the effect was tremendous. Her pride in gold earrings was great. She always wore them, and kept them as shiny as could be. With the basket of keys on her arm, she would look like a person not to be trifled with, nor did we ever so venture. Her devotion to us all was very great—'Miss, Maussa, an' de chillun' bounded her horizon. Her idea was to economize; 'for Maussa,' she would say, 'is so freehanded, an' six chillun is a houseful.'"
"To us children she showed her regard by great sternness of demeanor, but compensated by the beautiful tucking she did on our dresses—the only sewing she ever did. And your grandmother had no respite until she supplied the material Tay thought necessary. Your grandmother was so sure of her trustworthiness that she never interfered with her management. We never thought of remonstrating, although she mortified us sometimes by her treatment of our friends. She had no patience with too many visitors, and always presided at our tea, serving us with our cups of milk, and bread and treacle. We had some little friends who were very apt to run in just at the tea hour. Once, when they came steadily for a week, we saw clouds gathering on Tay's brow, and were not surprised when, one evening after she had helped us all, she turned to our friends and said: 'To-morrow, take yo' supper befo' you come. Maussa cyan't affo'd to support two families.' This broke up our tea parties.
"Tay had a husband as remarkable in his way as she was in hers. He was taller than she, slim, and very black; and was a very prosperous negro. He belonged to two maiden ladies, and lived a very independent life, free from care. He was a cooper by trade, and in his own shop plied his calling on his own account, only every quarter bringing his owners his set wages. And whenever illness or trouble of any kind overtook him, to his owners he came for care or protection. He finally concluded to buy his freedom, and asked your grandfather to become his guardian, as required by the law, if he could accomplish his purpose. He also asked him to be so kind as to ask his owners what they would take for him. Your grandfather saw the ladies, who fixed as moderate a price as they could; and when he told Daddy Sam the result of his negotiations, instead of being gratified, he was angry, and said: 'My mistresses has no idea how valuable I is. I t'ought dey would ask 'bout $300 mo'. Dey can't affo'd to part wid me fer less, an' I means to pay it.' The ladies were not obdurate, and no doubt had an increased idea of Daddy Sam's value.
"This worthy pair had no children; and Daddy Sam died not long before the war, leaving Tay quite a little sum of money. He had offered to buy her freedom for her, but she did not desire it. I remember that when he died she took off her turban when she went to church, and donned a gigantic crape veil. One day she came home very angry. She had met some sportsmen going hunting, who had begged her to go along with them as a ramrod, as they had lost theirs!
"When the war began she was very unhappy. There is no doubt that at that period there was a feeling of expectation and disaffection among the negroes; but Tay was of a thoroughly loyal nature, and had no sympathy with the negro character, and understood it entirely; and their meaner traits were revolting to her.
"One day in the early part of 1861, she came as usual after breakfast to consult your grandmother about the marketing that had been sent home. She had such a funny way of describing the pieces; she always involuntarily touched the part of her frame she was supposed to be designating, of mutton, or lamb. I was a light-hearted child then, and many a hearty laugh have I had at Tay's expense, as she would touch her leg, or shoulder, or even her head if a calf's head were in question. But to return to this day. She must have heard some talk among the negroes, for after she had got through her business, she lingered and said to her mistress, 'O Miss, I've had an awful dream,' Your grandmother spoke kindly to her, and asked her what it was. The faithful creature sat on the floor, and looking up into our faces she said:
"I dreamed we was all in confusion an' dere was a big crowd, an' Maussa was sick, an' you all looked very sad, an' you all was dressed common; but dere was heaps of niggers 'round, but dey was all a-runnin' 'round, an' a-kickin' up a noise; an' deir arms in deir kimbos, an' not one a-workin'; and you all called for some water, an' not one went to git it, but I ran for it, an' I said, 'O Miss, you has been a good frien' to me, an' sometimes a bottom rail is more use dan a same quality one; an' so long as Kitty is here dere will always be somethin' between you an' the groun.' And she burst into tears and left the room.