In the brush

by Hamilton W. Pierson

"I tell you, sir, the man that wrote that book was a very smart man. They say 'twas a woman; but I tell you, sir, the man that wrote that book was a very smart man."

A large number of his slaves were passing in and out of the room, preparing our dinner. At length he said to me:

"I tell you, stranger, that is my greatest trouble. What is to become of these people when I am gone?"

I knew that the laws of the State forbade his emancipating and leaving them there, and so I said:

"I suppose you know that some masters are freeing their slaves and sending them to Liberia."

"I know that, sir," said he, "and I have told mine that I would free them all and send them there if they would go. But they have told me they would rather I would chop them into mince-meat than go there."

Their ears had been filled with such tales in regard to Liberia that this was their idea of the place. As I never saw the old man but this once, I do not know what became of him or his slaves.

In former chapters I have spoken of my visit to a celebrated watering-place. I met there some very strange characters. My sermon in a "ballroom" was preached at this watering-place. I found it much more of a resort for gamblers than clergymen. In the general suspension of travel on the Southern and Western rivers, on account of the low stage of the water, and other causes, the gamblers, who usually plied their vocation upon the river-steamers, congregated in large numbers at these Springs. The waters were famed for cleansing the system, and preventing malarious diseases. In addition to this improvement of their health, and preparation for the renewal of their usual employment on the steamers, and at the cities and towns along the rivers, they found many subjects upon whom to practice their arts successfully, among the numerous and often verdant visitors at the Springs.

Wishing to avail myself of the benefit of these waters, I spent some two or three weeks here, visiting meanwhile a large number of neighborhoods in the vicinity, in the prosecution of my labors. I witnessed here the most remarkable devotion to card-playing that I have ever seen or known. The principal sleeping-apartments for the hundred or more guests were in a long, low, log structure, but a single story high—a series of cabins—with a piazza along the whole front which served as the general promenade for the visitors. In going to and from my room, day after day, I passed a table standing upon this piazza, within a foot or two of my door, which was surrounded by card-players. The principal character at this table was an old, gray-headed man, apparently not less than seventy years of age. In the morning he always accompanied his wife to the dining-room, and, as they returned from breakfast, they separated at the door, and she went alone up the piazza to her room, and he walked down the piazza in the opposite direction, and took his seat at this card-table. It was the hottest July weather, and the old man took off his coat and vest, rolled up his shirt-sleeves above his elbows, and sat down and played cards, without any interval, until the first bell rang for dinner. He then went to his room and waited upon his wife to the table. As they returned, he parted with her at the door of the dining-room, as after breakfast, walked down to his card-table, disrobed himself, and took his seat as in the morning, and played without cessation until the first bell rang for supper. He then went to his room and waited upon his wife to the table as before. This was repeated, with unfailing regularity, day after day, and week after week. I was told that he was not a professional gambler. As I passed the table, which I was compelled to do every time I went to my room, there was not usually a great deal of money lying upon it at stake in the game—only "enough to keep up the interest and excitement." But sometimes there were piles of gold lying over the table, and they seemed to be gambling in earnest and for large amounts.

The devotion of this old man to cards or gambling was so remarkable that I confess I was somewhat surprised to see him enter the ballroom with his wife among the first of those who assembled to hear me preach on the Sabbath. I had preached at a court-house, a few miles away, in the morning, and returned here to address the people at four in the afternoon. There was a general attendance of the visitors, including the well-known professional gamblers, and all gave me as respectful a hearing as I could desire. I was furnished with a Bible for the occasion, but there was no hymn-book. I expected to resort to the expedient of "lining out" some familiar hymns, which was the most frequent method of singing in this region. But the old card-player came forward to the table where I was sitting, and handed me an Old School Presbyterian hymn-book, which I had seen his wife bring into the ballroom, and which she sent up for my use, as she saw there was no hymn-book on the table. Some months after I recognized the aged couple in a large city congregation to which I was preaching, and was afterward told by its honored and beloved pastor that the old man was one of the most regular and attentive attendants at his church, and that his habits as I have described them were widely known. His manner was so apparently reverential, and his attention so marked, that strangers preaching there often got the impression that he was one of the elders of the church. So strange and paradoxical are the "characters that make up the world."