"Miss, you right; en we cry guilty, guilty! We own um, we's guilty, en you know, miss, w'en a man stan' 'e trial een de co't, en dat man cry guilty, de jedge don' put de law so heaby to um. We dun wrong, miss; we egkno'ledge we sin, en we pleads yo' mussy!"
I was completely taken aback. I was prepared for anything but this, and I had no idea what to say in my surprise. While I considered they stood with bowed heads, eyes fixed on the ground, and every air of complete surrender. I was disarmed, and of course did not follow up my victory as I should. I gave them a little discourse on judgment and mercy and on the awful sin of deceiving and taking advantage of one who had trusted one. Then I told them they could take the timber they had cut and hauled, to market and give me half instead of one-third, and that after selling these logs they must not touch a stick of timber of any kind again.
With expressions of profound thanks they led the way down to the swamp as I told them to do, and showed me all the trees they had cut. It was heartrending to see the havoc they had wrought, and which nothing could undo. It took away my breath almost for a time, and I felt almost as though I had been wrong not to proceed against these men and have them brought to justice. I knew perfectly I would get no money to speak of from them.
It is impossible for me to watch the woodland and swamp myself—if there is no one to see after my interest there it is indeed hopeless. Bonaparte used to do it, but now he seems to have been intimidated in some way, and will not undertake to see after it at all.
December 14.
It poured heavily all day. At 1 o'clock they came in to say the wagon had come for the cotton. Of course I could not send it in the rain, and I had to send the man back. He was very wet and cold and I gave him some potato pudding and milk, all that was ready. The gin is about twelve miles away and I had engaged them to send for my cotton to-day. It was folly to send in the rain. Still I suppose I will have to pay for it.
Chloe went to St. Cyprian's last night and had much to tell of the service and her approval of the sermon. She said Mr. G. was "a good preacher en preached de pure gospel." She told me she had walked back with old Anthony and that he praised the sermon and then told her of his dissatisfaction with his minister, a Baptist. She said:—
"Br'er Tinny say, him don' like de preacher dem got; say dem ax de man fo' preach out to Tolson village, en as him had to cum clean f'um Gregory ebrybody carry 'nuf money for t'row een, but w'en him beggin fo' preach dem fin' him preach politiks, en slur, en Latin, en dem 'ordn't t'row een dem money, en de man neber git but one dollar en a half f'um dat big crowd o' people."
"Well, Chloe, you will have to tell me what preaching 'slur' means."
"Miss Pashuns, dat mean him hol' up him perfesshun high, en him scandalize all dem oder Christianity, en dat mek dem feel shame en dem didn't like dat. Him bin a Babtist, yu see, en de chutch bin full o' Methodist."