On one occasion, after my old master had returned home from the Legislature (of which he was a member), he had many new visitors. One of these, a Major Moore, called in my master’s absence. The major had never been to our place before, and therefore we were all strangers to him. The servant showed the visitor into the parlor, and the mistress soon after came in, and to whom the major introduced himself. I was at that time about ten years old, and was as white as most white boys. Whenever visitors came to the house, it was my part of the programme, to dress myself in a neat suit, kept for such times, and go into the room, and stand behind the lady’s chair. As I entered the room on this occasion, I had to pass near by the major to reach the mistress. As I passed him, mistaking me for the son, he put out his hand, and said, “How do you do, bub?” And, before any answer could be given, he continued, “Madam, I would have known your son if I had met him in Mexico; for he looks so much like his papa.” The lady’s face reddened up, and she replied, “That’s one of the niggers, sir;” and told me to go to the kitchen.
On my master’s return home, I heard him and the major talking the matter over in the absence of the mistress. “I came near playing the devil here to-day, colonel,” said the major.—“In what way?” inquired the former. “It is always my custom,” said the latter, “to make fond of the children where I visit; for it pleases the mammas. So, to-day, one of your little niggers came into the room, and I spoke to him, reminding the madam how much he resembled you.”—“Ha, ha, ha!” exclaimed the colonel, and continued, “you did not miss it much by calling him my son. Ha, ha, ha!”
An incident of a rather amusing character took place on Cayuga Lake some years ago. I had but recently returned from England, where I had never been unpleasantly reminded of my color, when I was called to visit the pretty little city of Ithaca. On my return, I came down the lake in the steamer which leaves early in the morning. When the bell rang for breakfast, I went to the table, where I found some twenty or thirty persons. I had scarcely taken my seat, when a rather snobby-appearing man, of dark complexion, looking as if a South-Carolina or Georgia sun had tanned him, began rubbing his hands, and, turning up his nose, called the steward, and said to him, “Is it the custom on this boat to put niggers at the table with white people?” The servant stood for a moment, as if uncertain what reply to make, when the passenger continued, “Go tell the captain that I want him.” Away went the steward. I had been too often insulted on account of my connection with the slave, not to know for what the captain was wanted. However, as I was hungry, I commenced helping myself to what I saw before me, yet keeping an eye to the door, through which the captain was soon to make his appearance. As the steward returned, and I heard the heavy boots of the commander on the stairs, a happy thought struck me; and I eagerly watched for the coming-in of the officer.
A moment more, and a strong voice called out, “Who wants me?”
I answered at once, “I, sir.”
“What do you wish?” asked the captain.
“I want you to take this man from the table,” said I. At this unexpected turn of the affair, the whole cabin broke out into roars of laughter; while my rival on the opposite side of the table seemed bursting with rage. The captain, who had joined in the merriment, said,—
“Why do you want him taken from the table?”
“Is it your custom, captain,” said I, “to let niggers sit at table with white folks on your boat?”
This question, together with the fact that the other passenger had sent for the officer, and that I had “stolen his thunder,” appeared to please the company very much, who gave themselves up to laughter; while the Southern-looking man left the cabin with the exclamation, “Damn fools!”