The devotion of these simple black men and women to their master was not only genuine, it was pathetic. He had never before conceived the abject depths to which a human being might sink in contentment with chains.
And he had come to break chains! These poor ignorant blacks kissed the hand that bound them and called him their best friend.
The man they called master actually moved among them, a minister of love and mercy. He advised the negroes about the care of their families in his long absence. He talked as a Hebrew Patriarch to his children. He urged the younger men and women to look after the old and helpless.
He was particularly solicitous about Bob, the oldest man on the place. Over and over again he enumerated the comforts he thought he might need and made provision to supply them. He sent him enough cochineal flannel for his rheumatism to wrap him four-ply deep. For Rhinah, his wife, he ordered enough flannel blankets for two families.
"Is there anything else you can think of, Uncle Bob?" he asked kindly.
The old man scratched his gray head and hesitated, looked into his master's face, smiled and said:
"I would like one er dem rockin' cheers outen de big house, Marse Jeff.—yassah!"
"Of course, you shall have it. Come right up, you and Rhinah, and pick out the two you like best."
With suppressed laughter Socola watched the old negroes try each chair in the hallway and finally select the two best rockers in the house.