Many prayers ascended from earnest hearts for their conversion, and I knew no home at which some effort was not made for their religious instruction.
One of our friends—a Presbyterian minister and earnest Christian—devoted the greater part of his time to teaching and preaching to them, and many pious ministers throughout the State bestowed upon them time and labor.
I once attended a gay party where the young lady of the house, the center of attraction, hearing that one of the negroes was suddenly very ill, excused herself from the company, carried her prayer-book to the cabin, and passed the night by the bedside of the sick man, reading and repeating verses to him. I have also had young lady friends who declined attending a wedding or party when a favorite servant was ill.
"READING AND REPEATING VERSES TO HIM."—Page 26.
On one occasion an English gentleman—a surgeon in the Royal Artillery—visiting at our house, accompanied us to a wedding, and, hearing that two young ladies had not attended on account of the illness of a negro servant, said to me: "This would not have occurred in England, and will scarcely be believed when I tell it on my return."
The same gentleman expressed astonishment at one of our neighbors sitting up all night to nurse one of his negroes who was ill. He was amused at the manner of our servants' identifying themselves with the master and his possessions, always speaking of "our horses," "our cows," "our crop," "our mill," "our blacksmith's shop," "our carriage," "our black folks," etc. He told us that he also observed a difference between our menials and those of his own country, in that, while here they were individualized, there they were known by the names of "Boots," "'Ostler," "Driver," "Footman," "Cook," "Waiter," "Scullion," etc. On our plantations the most insignificant stable-boy felt himself of some importance.
When I heard Mr. Dickens read scenes from "Nicholas Nickleby," the tone of voice in which he personated Smike sent a chill through me, for I had never before heard the human voice express such hopeless despair. Can there be in England, thought I, human beings afraid of the sound of their own voices?
There was a class of men in our State who made a business of buying negroes to sell again farther south. These we never met, and held in horror. But even they, when we reflect, could not have treated them with inhumanity; for what man would pay a thousand dollars for a piece of property, and fail to take the best possible care of it? The "traders" usually bought their negroes when an estate became involved, for the owners could not be induced to part with their negroes until the last extremity—when everything else had been seized by their creditors. Houses, lands,—everything went first before giving up the negroes; the owner preferring to impoverish himself in the effort to keep and provide for these,—which was unwise financially, and would not have been thought of by a mercenary people.
But it was hard to part with one's "own people," and to see them scattered. Still our debts had to be paid,—often security debts after the death of the owner, when all had to be sold. And who of us but can remember the tears of anguish caused by this, and scenes of sorrow to which we can never revert without the keenest grief? Yet, like all events in this checkered human life, even these sometimes turned out best for the negroes, when by this means they exchanged unpleasant for agreeable homes. Still it appeared to me a great evil, and often did I pray that God would make us a way of escape from it. But His ways are past finding out, and why He had been pleased to order it thus we shall never know.