LETTER IX.
I do not recollect whether in my former letter, I
have mentioned the rural little Gothic chapel which is on
the estate. It was erected at the private expense of the
noble-hearted Christian gentleman who is its proprietor.
The model is borrowed from an exquisite chapel which
the colonel saw on the estate of the Earl of C—, when
he was in England. The situation of our chapel is romantic;
and, being seen from all parts of the plantation,
is an interesting feature in the scenery. It is about
fifty-five feet long and built of stone; with turrets and
mullioned Gothic windows of stained glass, and a floor
of Tennessee marble. Its site is upon the verge of a
green plantation, which overhangs the brook, and is, in
its turn, overhung by a projecting spur of the lion's
cliff. Majestic oaks embrace it, and ivy is trained up its
walls. A broad lawn, crossed by graveled paths, surrounds
it. These paths lead: one to the villa, one to the
next plantation, and one to the African village where
the slaves reside; for, be it known to you, that this
beautiful chapel, the cost of which was $3000, has been
built for the slaves of the estate. The body of the chapel
is reserved for them, while in a gallery above the entrance
are four pews, two on each side of the organ, in
which the colonel's family, and sometimes the families
of one or two of the neighboring planters, sit during service.
This is performed every Sabbath morning by a
gray-headed gentleman, who acts as lay reader, and on
week days occupies himself in teaching the classics to
two sons of a gentleman who lives two miles off. For
his services on Sunday the colonel gives him a salary.
The second Sunday after I came here I was invited to
attend service in the chapel with the family. Upon
entering it, I found the body of the floor occupied by the
black men and women of the plantation, seated in chairs
with the utmost decency and quiet, and all neatly and
cleanly attired. We took our seats in the gallery, while
Isabel placed herself at the organ to play a voluntary.
Until the old gentleman who officiated entered, I had
time to look at the interior of this bijou of a church. On
the right of the chancel was an exquisite group of statuary,
executed in Italy expressly for this chapel by the colonel's
order, at an expense of $800. It represented the Madonna
and her child. The design was full of taste and artistic
excellencies. On the opposite side was a table of the
purest white marble, surmounted by a dove with its wings
extended. It was a memento of the death of a little son
of the colonel. There were no pews in the body of the
church, only low chairs of oak, a chair to each worshiper,
with an aisle between.
The service was very solemn; and my Puritanic objections
to praying from a prayer-book, have been
wholly removed by this day's experience. The singing
was very remarkable. The African women all sing well,
having naturally soft voices; with the organ, and full
fifty fine voices swelling in harmony with it, the effect
was very fine. “Is it possible,” I asked myself, “that
these are slaves? Is it possible that this rich voice
which leads in such manly tones is their master's? Is it
possible that the fair girl who unites, by an accompaniment
upon the organ, her praise with theirs, is one of
the `haughty daughters of the South?”'
The responses were all full and timely; for the slaves
soon learn words by ear; and many of them go through
the whole service, save the psalter, without a mistake.
The sermon, which was printed, was read well by the
elderly layman; it was simple, suitable, and practical.
After service, the gray-headed old slaves stood respectfully
without the door, and, with uncovered heads, bowed
to the colonel and ladies, the latter of whom stopped to
speak to some of them, and to make kind inquiries of the
old “aunties,” as all old female slaves are affectionately
termed, as the term “uncle” is applied to the old men.
I have seen a good deal of the African race since I have
been here, and I am persuaded that they are far more religiously
disposed than the lower and middle class of whites.
There are but four negroes on the colonel's plantation,
that are not “members” of the church, and who do not
try to square their lives with the precepts of the Gospel
so far as they understand them. This is the case, I learn,
on all the neighboring plantations, and I am informed
by intelligent persons that it is more or less so throughout
the whole South. It would thus seem, that God, in
his providence, has permitted slavery to be the instrument
of christianizing Africa, by bringing Africa to Christian
shores; and colonization by re-action on the shores of
Africa, is completing the mysterious dispensation.
I have an amusing incident to relate of which our
chapel was last Sunday the scene. The annual visitation
of the Bishop being expected, the venerable layreader
got ready some twenty adults to be confirmed,
and forty children to be baptized. The Bishop duly
arrived, accompanied by two clergymen. Our little
chapel, you may be assured, felt quite honored with the
presence of such distinguished visitors. There were
several neighboring families present, who, with ours,
quite filled the gallery.
When the time came to baptize them, the marble font
being filled with fair water, the black babies were brought
up by their ebony papas. The colonel stood sponsor for
the boys, and his sister, an excellent and witty maiden
lady, for the girls.
“What is his name?” asked a clergyman who was to
baptize, taking in his arms a little inky ball of ebony
infancy with a pair of white, shining eyes.
“Alexander de Great, massa!”
I saw a smile pass from face to face of the reverend
gentlemen in the chancel. The babe was duly baptized.
“What name?” he demanded of another Congo papa.
“General Jackson, massa!” and by this name the little
barbarian was duly made a Christian.
“What name?” “Walter Scott!” “What name?”
“Peter Simple!” “What name?” “Napoleon Bonaparte!”
Splash went the water upon its face, and another
ebony succeeded. His name was “Potiphar.”
Another's was “Pharaoh.” Another was christened
“General Twiggs;” another “Polk and Dallas;” another
“General Taylor;” indeed, every General in the American
army was honored, while “Jupiter,” “Mars,”
“Apollo Belvidere,” and “Nicodemus,” will give you
a specimen of the rest of the names. The female infants
received such names as “Queen Victoria,” “Lady
Morgan,” “Lady Jane Grey,” “Madame de Stael,”
“Zenobia,” “Venus,” “Juno,” “Vesta,” “Miss Martineau,”
“Fanny Wright,” “Juliana Johnson,” and
“Coal Black Rose.” The water in the font, greasy
and blackened by the process of baptizing so many
black babies, had to be twice removed and replaced by
fresh. The Bishop could scarcely keep his countenance
as name after name was given, and the assistant clergyman
twice had to leave the church, I verily believe, to
prevent laughing in the church. The whole of this
scandalous naming originated in the merry brain of the
colonel's sister. Of course, the clergyman had to baptize
by the name given, and the whole scene was irresistible.
