At this time, when ruthless war, without respect to slave laws, was breaking the chains of bondmen, two contrabands became servants under my own roof. One of them was a black man about twenty-five years old. He said his name was Jim, and so we called him, though his full name was James Jackson. He did the rougher work required by the household, split the wood, brought in the coal, kept the yard in trim, ran errands, and cared for the horse and carriage. He proved to be teachable and trustworthy. According to his light, he was a good man. One day when he was splitting wood, I said to him: “Jim, they say that if you negroes are set free you will not be able to take care of yourselves, to earn your own living. What do you say to that?” He left his axe sticking in the log that he was splitting and fell into a brown study, but soon replied: “I’se can’t see that. We’se took care of them and us too for a long time, and can’t we’se take care of ourselves?” That seemed to be good reasoning, and I felt sure that Jim could earn his own way.

He said that he would like to learn to read, and for a good many weeks I tried to instruct him in the art. But being utterly unaccustomed to that sort of mental effort, he made very slow progress. However, by degrees, he mastered the names of the letters, and was able with painful effort to read a few of the simplest words. He was a Christian and wanted to read the Bible. So I bought him a New Testament of large, plain print and, after a hard struggle, he was seemingly able to read the text: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” He was very happy over his acquisition, and so was I. He would read that text over and over again. He had no doubt that he really read it, nor had I. But wishing him to add something to his acquisitions, I turned to another chapter in the Gospel of Matthew, and, putting my finger on a verse, asked him to read it. He intently fixed his eyes upon it and began: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” I asked him to read another verse, in another chapter, and running his finger along the words, he read: “Come unto me, etc.” I afterwards found him at times reading his New Testament, but I feel quite sure that he never found anything in it except that gracious, tender invitation of his Saviour. He of course read simply from his memory, but thought that he read from his book.

I afterwards united him in marriage to an excellent colored woman. They set up housekeeping for themselves. They did well and were happy. Whether Jim lives now or not, I do not know, but if he has passed away, I am sure that in the hour of his death he heard his Lord say: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

The other contraband servant was a middle-aged woman, who gave her name as Harriet. She was large and muscular, and black as ink. She would pick up, as though it were a trifle, a washtub full of water and carry it across the room. Nothing seemed to weary her, She did cheerfully her daily tasks. She was happy in her new-found freedom. To receive week by week money for her labor made her cup of joy brim over. The dawning consciousness that she belonged to herself and had a right to what she earned filled her with unspeakable gladness.

She too had an abiding trust in Christ. She said she was “Methdis.” She had an active mind. She was intellectually much brighter than Jim. Her new condition and surroundings awakened within her mind many inquiries. Busy with her new thoughts as she worked, one day she said: “Dar ah some tings that I doan unerstan. Up in de State where I lived, wen thar was ’vival meetin an dey wanted us to be good and ’jine’ de chuch, den we had souls; but wen dey wants to sell us down souf, den we has no souls. Can you tell me about dat? Seems mighty strange!”

This was an outburst from an honest, sturdy soul, that had been kept in ignorance. It vividly revealed the antagonistic forces that often battled for supremacy in the minds of Christian slaveholders. When they sorely needed money they stifled their consciences with the figment that their slaves were merely beasts, that might be sold with impunity; but when their better selves were touched by heavenly influences, they felt that their chattels had immortal souls that might be saved or lost. It has been said that some men, like modern ships, are made up of distinct compartments, which, in moral action, have no communication with each other. So it seems to have been with some professedly Christian slaveholders; at slave sales and whipping-posts the tyrant compartment was in full and exclusive activity; while at revival meetings the Christian compartment put forth its exclusive energy.

CHAPTER XVIII
DIFFICULT CURRENCY

When the Federal government, soon after the breaking out of the war, began to issue paper money, all specie, both gold and silver, speedily disappeared. For many years the five-cent piece had been the smallest coin used in the stores and markets of St. Louis. It was silver, since the day of the nickel had not yet come. The copper cent, then large and cumbersome, was absolutely tabooed in our city; it was nowhere current except at the post-office. This was always a surprise to newcomers, and sometimes an embarrassment. A lady, who was a comparative stranger to our customs, going to the market when cabbages were unusually abundant, asked a vender the price of them, and was quite upset when he replied, “Six for five cents, madam.” “But,” she gasped, “I don’t want so many.” “Very well,” he said, “take them as you want them.”

But when all coins had disappeared both buyers and sellers were often at their wits’ end, and only by patience and mutual forbearance could ordinary business be transacted.

This want of coin for a time also seriously interfered with travel in our city. Happy were those who had horses and carriages; but most of us must either go afoot, or take the horse-cars. Nobody then had so much as dreamed of either the grip-car or trolley. But the vexed question was, how could we pay our fare? Neither we nor the conductor had any change and none was to be had. But necessity is the mother of invention; and necessity for a considerable period drove us to pay our horse-car fare in postage-stamps. But in summer the weather in St. Louis is often very warm, sometimes sissing hot. On such days we found the requisite stamps glued to our pocketbooks, or, if folded in our vest pockets, melted into a glutinous mass. How we then worked to separate the sticky things so as not to destroy them! How dilapidated they were when finally disengaged from their adhesive fellows! In getting them ready for service, some lost patience and expressed themselves in words that would not pass muster in polite society; while others differently made up broke out into laughter at the comicality of the whole thing.