"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot"
Down in the negro quarters on a Georgia plantation stood a quaint little log cabin overlooking cotton fields that were white with their snowy fruit. Born in slavery, living in slavery and apparently destined to die in slavery, yet old Joe was happy; for to him slavery was not bondage—only a pleasant way of being cared for.
His days of active usefulness were over. He had served long and faithfully in those same cotton fields, then as a house servant and later as a coachman. Now on account of age and the "misery" in his back, he spent his days in mending harness, telling stories to the children and making playthings out of the odd bits of rubbish they brought him.
His wife, Sally, was head cook at the mansion which stood in another part of the plantation, in the midst of trees and flowers. Down a little farther was a tiny brook that sang all the livelong day and turned back, regretfully perhaps, to wind by the window of old Joe's cabin.
"The Pines" was a most hospitable house and usually thronged with guests, for its young mistress had an indulgent husband and money sufficient to gratify every possible whim. Mrs. Langley she was now, but to old Joe she would be "Miss Eunice" always. He had carried her when she was a baby, watched over her when she was ill, and once when a pair of maddened horses dashed down the drive, utterly beyond their owner's control, he had snatched the unconscious child from almost under the wild feet, and—saved her life, they said, but the brave fellow had received internal injuries and had not been able to do much since.
"Yes," he said one afternoon, to an appreciative audience of pickaninnies and white children who sat together around his feet in a truly democratic fashion, "dat ar day war a great time fo ol Joe. I war jes agwine to de house wen I see dese yer hosses comin ker-blip! right whar Miss Eunice war a playin wid her doll-buggy. Dere wasn't no time to call her, so I jes grab her and run, an my foot ketch in de doll-buggy an I trow Miss Eunice ober my haid in some soft grass an den de hosses tram on me an I kinder lost my 'membunce. Pretty soon I fin mysel in de house an de doctor an ol Missis war a standin ober me. Doctor say, 'he come to all right,' an ol Missis, she jes stoop down an kiss ol Joe! Tink ob dat!"
"Den Miss Eunice come in, an ol Missis say 'come here dear, and see Uncle Joe. He done sabe yo life.' An den I lose my 'membunce again. One day Mas'r walk in an he say, 'Joe, here's yo papers, yo's free now, jus ez free ez I is.' I say Mas'r, I don't want to go away from you an Missis an Miss Eunice. I want to stay here on de ol plantation, along 'o my ol woman. And den he wipe is eyes an say, 'I'll gib Sally papers too' an Sally say, 'No Mas'r, me an Joe don't want to be free; we wants to stay here where we's happies' an Mas'r say he keep dose yer papers for us till we done want em. Dose was mighty fine times for ol Joe!" and he beamed at the children around his feet who had been listening with ever-fresh delight to the old, old story.
"Now play something, Uncle," the children cried, and Tommy Langley brought the fiddle that always hung in one corner of the cabin. His eyes brightened at the sight of the old brown thing, but he gently put the eager child away, saying, "No, honey, not dis time. I got de misery in my back wuss en eber. Go way, chillens, ol Joe's—so tired!"
They obediently trooped out of the cabin and the old man's head dropped on his breast. The gaunt grey figure twisted with pain, and he did not move until Sally came in to get his supper.