“My ole marster, he done it,” was the reply. “Ole marster say, ‘Tenny, dat li’l pickaninny too white ter be named anything so yaller as a magnolia. Better call her Snowball.’ Ole marster allers would hab his joke, and dat gal of mine wuz jist as brack as de nex’ one. I didn’t want my chile called Snowball. It wuzn’t stylish nohow, but would you b’lebe me, chile? De fust thing I knowed, white and culled wuz a callin’ her Snowball, an’ den I did, too.”
“Where is she now, Tenny? I should think you would want her with you on these trips.”
“Chile, chile, dat’s de thing dat tears dis hyar old heart ob mine,” said the woman, her eyes filling with tears. “Ole marster say she was a ‘likely gal’ an’ she wuz, ef she wuz mine. Dey made much ob her and would hab her roun’ dem all de time. Seem laik nobody could do for ’em laik Snowball. Den ole marster tuk sick and died an’ ole missus she say she hab ter sell us all, kase she didn’t hab no money any mo’. An’ Massa Cap’n he bought me but ’nother man bought Snowball an’ tuk her down to Loosyanny.”
“Why, that is awful!” cried Jeanne, her eyes overflowing, her heart full of sympathy for the darky. She had often heard tales of this kind but this was the first time that this phase of slavery had been brought home to her. A child torn from its mother appealed to her, so many miles from her own dear mother, as nothing else could have done. “Why didn’t Captain Leathers buy her too?” she asked. “He seems like a kind man.”
“He is, honey. ’Deed he is,” replied Tenny wiping her eyes, “an’ he did try, but the yudder man had bought her fust an’ he wouldn’t gib her up. I can’t blame him fer she wuz a likely gal. Lawsie, chile, dat gal wuz smarter’n a whip!”
“How long has she been gone, Tenny?”
“’Twas befo’ de wah broke out. Massa Cap’n he wanted a good cook, an’ I sutinly am dat, so he tuk me. He say dat I’se ter hab my freedum too, but shucks! what’s freedum ter me? I’d rudder hab my gal dan all de freedum in de world.”
“Yes; I suppose so,” said Jeanne dreamily. “Still, Tenny, if you had your freedom you could go to look for Snowball.”
“Now, missy, what could Tenny do? A pore ole nigger can’t do nuffin nohow. S’pose I did fin’ her, what’s I gwine ter do ’bout it? I couldn’t buy her. ’Sides, ef dey cot an ole ’ooman a foolin’ roun’ dat didn’t seem ter ’long ter nobody dey lock me up, suah. Mebbe dey’d whip me. An’, chile, once you had de whip ter yer back you doesn’t want it no mo’. No; I’se gwine ter stay right with Massa Cap’n. He’s a good marster, an’ he’ll take good keer ob Tenny.”
Jeanne sat silently thinking over what she had heard. Her heart ached for the helpless mother and she chafed at her inability to aid her. The darkness of the great slavery evil fell upon her spirit. Was this the land of the free and the home of the brave? she mused. How could she ever sing “The Star Spangled Banner” again so long as it waved over a country a portion of whose inhabitants groaned under a yoke of bondage!