University of Virginia Library

LETTER LIX.

This evening, about an hour before sundown, I was
seated in the library, looking over a port-folio of superb
engravings, which my ever attentive husband had brought
with him from New Orleans, as a birth-day gift to me;
for he is very good to remember every anniversary in
any way associated with me, or my happiness. One of
these engravings was a large representation of “The
Descent from the Cross.” While I was sadly contemplating
it, and trying to realize that such a scene had
actually passed on earth, I heard behind me an exclamation
from my old black nurse, “Aunt Winny,” “Bress
de Lor'! dat am zact image ob de Lor'!”

I looked round and beheld the eyes of the good old
African woman fixed steadily and in a sort of adoring
wonder upon the pale, majestic face of the pictured Saviour.
In her arms struggled little Harry, with hands
and feet outstretched to get at the picture, for he has a
great fancy for engravings.

“Sure, de young Mass' Harry shall see it! Look,
Missis, how he lobe de Saviour 'ready!” and she held the
child so near that it put out its little rose-bud mouth and
kissed the face of Christ; for the little fellow is full and
running over with love, and kisses everything that pleases
him, sometimes his toys and bouquets; and once, I caught

him kissing with great delight his own little, chubby, dimpled
arm.

“De marcy! Did you see dat, Missy Kate!” exclaimed
Aunt Winny, with amazement and joy. “Dis
chil' good nuff to go rite up to Heaben! who ebber see
de like?”

Aunt Winny, with her Nubian-eyed daughter Eda,
was a present to me from the colonel, Isabel's father,
whom I trust you have not forgotten. Isabel is living
near Mobile, on the Lake Ponchartrain, in an elegant
villa, in sight of the sea; and as I shall soon pay her a
visit, you will hear from her through my gossiping pen.
She is a dear, good, old, pious soul, (I mean Aunt Winny,)
and looked up to by the rest of the servants as a sort of
saint, en silhouette.

“Aunt Winny, how came you to say this face in the
picture is that of the blessed Lord?” I asked; for I
knew that there was a devoutly believed tradition in the
colored part of the family that “she had seen Jesus in a
vision;” and I presumed her remark had in some way
reference to this.

“Coz, Missy Kate, I hab de fabor of habbin see de
Lor',” answered Winny, with a solemn air.

“How was it, Aunt Winny, and when?” I asked.

“Ah, bress de baby! If he wos on'y quiet one minute,
and not kick so like a young bear, I'd gib you my 'xperience.”

“I would like to hear it of all things,” I answered.
“Florette shall take Harry down to the Lake to see Neptune
swim.”

So the noisy little fellow was transferred to a pretty,
little, dark-eyed, Creole maid of fifteen, who speaks only

French, and which my husband's mother presented to me;
and who acts as a sort of sub-nurse to Aunt Winny, Eda
being as formerly my tasteful dressing maid.

“Well, Missy Kate, de Lor' is good! I hope to lib
to see dat Mass' Harry a grand Bishop. He know'd de
Lor' soon as he seed him on de pictur'! Sartain de chil'
did. But den babies is so little while ago come from the
Lor' up in Heaben, dat dey a'n't had time to forgot him.
Dat de reason Mass' Harry 'member him and kiss
him!”

“This was a good reason, no doubt, Aunt Winny,” I
said; “but now to your experience. While I am finishing
this piece of crochet-work, you tell me your whole
story.”

The dear, good, old woman, whose face is the very
picture of human kindness, (done on a black ground,) then
clasped her hands in a pious way and rolled her whiteorbed
eyes solemnly to the ceiling—a queer expression,
which little Harry, who imitates everything, has caught
to perfection, giving it with the drollest precision. She
then heaved a long sigh and began:—

“You sees, Missy Kate, I wos com' from ol' Wirginny
to Tennessee, an' I had a heap o' troubles leavin' my
folks, an' two childer, an' everybody I know'd way 'hind
me. So I felt drefful bad-like, and took on miserable
about it; an' after we'd got into Tennessee, and moves
to Big Barren Creek, I cried many a night about it;
and went 'bout mazin' sorry-like all day, a wishin I was
dead and buried!”

“Why, Aunt Winny!”

“Yiss, I did, Missis! I wasn't 'ligious then, and
didn't know how to take troubles. Well, one day as I

was gwine down to be spring in de hollor, I hearn a voice
right ober my head. It say,

“`What you do now? You got nobody care for you
in dis wil' country! Whar you get friend but Jesus
Christ?'

“Bress de Lor', Missis, it made me look up skeared
cenamost to nothin', coz there wasn't no tree nor nothin'
it could come from ober head, on'y de open blue sky.”

“But did you hear a voice?” I asked with a tone expressive
of my full scepticism.

“Hear? bress de heart! to be sure, Missy Kate, I did
hear de voice plain as I heard you speak dis blessed
minute. It sounded like a silver trumpet speakin' to
me!”

“Where did you ever hear a silver trumpet speak?” I
asked wickedly of the good woman.

“Nebber, Miss, but den I hear read bout 'em in der
Bible, and knows how I tink dey sound.”

This was emphatically said, and silenced me.

“This voice I know'd was Master Jesus Christ himself
talkin',” resumed the old nurse with dignity. “It made
me feel mighty bad, and I determined from dat minnet
I'd get deligion! Well, Missy Kate,” continued Aunt
Winny with a sigh, “I was four long months fightin'
hard wid de Debbil.”

“What, have you seen that gentleman in black?” I
asked of my nurse, with a grave face.

“He any ting but gemman, Missy,” answered the
African lady with a look of indignation; “and he an't
black, but red as a coal ob fire—gist a fireman all ober.
Seen him, Missis? I seen him fifty times, and onct I
had 'mazin' hard fight wid him! He wos use to gib

me mortal trouble when I wos tryin' to git deligion, but
whensomebber I seen him comin', I sot to prayin' desput,
an' he put off wid hesef, for de Debbil can't stan' a
prayer, no how! He get out ob de way rite off.”

“How did he look, Aunt Winny?” I asked.

“Oh, dear sus! I couldn't tell ye, Missy Kate, but he
was drefful ugly beas', an' hab cloven hoof and sebben
horns, and a switchin' tail. But, bress de goodness! he
don't come near me now! He han't troubled me for good
many year since I got deligion. He lost one, when he
los' me!”

This last sentence was enunciated with great unction
and emphasis; and accompanied by a look of pious satisfaction.

“Well, Missy Kate,” resumed the old nurse, “I wor
four months tryin' hard to git deligion an' I couldn't.”

“And why, Aunt Winny?” I asked gravely.

“Because you sees, I wosn't born agen. Nobody can
git deligion,” she added with reverent looks, “till dey is
born ob de Sperit! Don't you 'member, Missis, how ol'
Nicodemus was stumped on dat kwestion? But I didn't
know bout de Bible den as I does now. Now I can read
ebbery word ob it.”

“Read the Bible, Aunt Winny?” I exclaimed with
surprise, knowing she could not read at all.

“To be sures I ken, Missis,” answered Winny with
dignity. “I reads it by de eye ob faith. Bress your
dear heart, Miss Kate, when we is born'd agen, we can
read Scriptur' doctrine jis de same wid de eye ob faith
as white folk can wid de eye ob de flesh if dey isn't
born'd agen. Didn't de 'postles speak languages dey
nebber larnt when de Holy Sperit descended 'pon dere

heads? Sure dey did, sure. It teach me all de Scriptur'
doctrin' since I was born de last time! Well,
Missis, I didn't know nothin' bout Scriptur' doctrin' in
dem days, poor ignorum black woman, an' so I prayed
and kept on prayin', and it didn't do no good, and jiss
coz I wosn't baptized.”

“And how did you find out you ought to be baptized?”
I inquired of the good old lady; and here let me insert
that I have taken down this conversation actually as it
occurred; and that I record it, not with any irreverence
for such a sacred subject, but to show how religion affects
the mind of the thoughtful slave. Doubtless
thousands of the poor pious negroes can relate experiences
and spiritual operations almost precisely similar;
hence the deep interest which attaches to a fair recital
of one of them, as in the case of Aunt Winny. Nearly
all negroes, according to themselves, are converted by
some great miracle. This is the test of their being religious
with each other. A conversion without a “marvel”
in it goes for nothing among them.

“I foun' out in dis way, Missis,” answered Aunt
Winny. “You see I prayed all de time I could git. I
wos in a wild country, and had no 'lations nor kin of no
kind dere, and I felt lonely like, and I knew if I could
get Jesus Christ to love me, he'd be 'lations, an' friends,
and childer, an' ebbery ting to me. So, one day, as I
was a-prayin' 'hind a bush, I felt a hand laid rite on de
top of my head, dis a-way! (here Aunt Winny suited
the action to the word,) and a voice sed, `Sinner, when
are you gwine to be baptize?' Dis was nuff! I seed den
wot I wanted! So I went rite off and told the preacher
(his name was Petitt, Miss) how as I wanted to be baptize.

Well, de branch was up wid a oberflow, and he
couldn't do it den; an' when de branch got low he was
took sick, and so it was three week afore I could get
baptize. But oh, I saw Jesus an' de angels in dem free
weeks!” she added clasping her hands in a sort of devotional
ecstasy.

“How was that, Aunt Winny?” I asked, laying
down the crochet-work I was upon, and looking her
with some surprise, full in the face.

“I was comin' home from a neighbor's whar I'd been
on a narran'. All at onct I seed de hebben open—”

“Over your head?”

“No, Missis, not 'zactly ober my head, but in de east
like—right ober in de east quarter; an' dere I see Jesus
Christ standin' up in hebben, wid he arms stretched out,
dis a-way,” (here she suited the action to the word,)
“and smiling on millions ob thousand ob angels, dat
were lookin' so happy, an' smilin', and praisin' God;
you nebber see any ting so b'u'ful, Missis! an' I see de
line ob mark, straight as a clo'se line, drawn across ober
de hebben to separate de bad folk from de good people
ob de Lord.”

“Then you saw bad folks in heaven, Aunt Winny?”

“No, Missis, not in hebben, but kind o' one side like
—on de lef' han', an' de line keep 'em back! Oh, no, I
seed no bad folks dar, dey couldn't come dar at all! dey
couldn't get ober dat line! De Lor' an' de angels wos
all clothe in clouds.”

“In clouds, Aunt Winny?”

“Yes, Missis; in de brightest clouds ebber was!
Ebbery one ob dem hab a star shining on he forehead,
and a splendimos' cloud, like de rainbow, floatin' 'bout

der bodies like de robe ob righteousness. Ah, Missis, it
wos de handsomest site ebber any body see!”

“Did you see any black folks in heaven among the
angels?”

“Plenty, Missis,” answered Winny, with emphasis.
“But dey wasn't black dere,—not one ob 'em, but white
as de angels, an' der faces shine like Moses' face, an'
dey hab shinin' clouds 'bout 'em too! I expec' to be dere
one ob dese days, bless God! Black? no, no! No black
skin dere—all white as de light!”

“And have you seen heaven since then, Aunt
Winny?”

“Oh, dear sus! Whenebber I feels happy, I can see
hebben any time. Eye ob faith see any ting! Don't I
know my Saviour? I seen Him too often not to know
Him as quick as I knows you, Missy Kate. An' now I
tell you 'bout my baptism! Soon as I was put under
water I seed hebben agen, an' hear de angels shoutin'
ober head, `Glory!' an' soon as I wos lifted out again, de
Sperit lit rite on my shoulder, like a little bird, an'
whispered in my ear dese words, and I hearn 'em as
plain as I hearn you speak jus now; he say—

“`De whom I am well pleasen!”

“Said what?” I asked, with amazement, and not
fully comprehending the first word.

“`De whom I am well pleasen,' he said to me,” answered
Winny, with marked decision. “Well, I know'd
den I was born agen! I felt happy as I could live! I
went home a-shoutin' `Glory an' amen!' an' I seemed to
hear all de birds in de woods singing `glory' too! De
next mornin', when I got up afore day, to go into de
field, I saw a light fill de cabin, an' when I look, I see

it shinin' out of my hand. When I look, I see writ inside
ob it on de palm de name dat no one can read but
dem as is born agen, an' dey has it writ on dere palms
an' on dere hearts.”

“You must be mistaken, Aunt Winny, about seeing
this writing,” I said, with manifest incredulity.

“No, I wosn't, Missis! I seed it plain as eber I seed
de writin' you make wid you pen at dat writin' desk,
ony dis wos gold writin'. When I shet my hand it was
dark in de room; when I open de palm, it was bright as
moonlight.”

“Could you read the writing, Aunt Winny?”

“Yes, sure and plain enough, by de eye ob faith, an'
soon as I'd read, it just faded out, and went up my arm
an' into my heart, and dere it was 'graven on my heart,
and dere it is now, an' Jesus Christ will read it dere at
de last day, and know who am his!”

“But what was the writing, Winny?”

“Dat can't be read nor know'd but by faith. It's
writ on my heart—dat's all I want, Missis,” answered
the old black lady, (for a lady Winny is, as well as a
pious good soul,) with a solemn air, and an expression
of inward hope and faith.

Some further questions and answers of no particular
moment terminated our conversation, and Aunt Winny,
making me a low courtesy for my kindness in listening
to her, left to look after Harry.

This whole “confession” was so extraordinary—it
came so unexpectedly, from such a staid, quiet old body
as Aunt Winny—it was such a complete and continuous
history of religious experience in an uncultivated mind—
it gives such an insight into the alleged modus operandi

of conversion among our African population—it presents,
altogether, such a history of mingled truth and
error, faith and superstition, that I could not resist penning
it down at once for your perusal and reflection.

It was told, too, in the most serious and earnest manner,
with such sincerity of look and tone of voice, and
such absence of fanaticism or excitement in telling it,
that I could not but respect her “faith;” and I have
more than once asked myself, “May it not be possible
that God has “hid these things from the wise,” and
“revealed them unto babes?”

The whole “experience” furnishes subject for profound
and serious meditation. There can be no doubt of Aunt
Winny's piety. She is a good Christian woman in all
her daily walk and conversation. She would not wilfully
speak an untruth. She is not given to “high-flights;”
but, on the contrary, is usually staid and soberminded.
How do we know that God does not vouchsafe
special and peculiar revelations to the ignorant, who
cannot read His word? May He not, to the poor African,
who otherwise cannot know Him, reveal what to the
wiser is concealed? for the wiser may have access directly
to God's word.

These ideas shape themselves into questions under
my pen, and questions they must ever here remain; for,
in this world, they will find no answers. Not knowing
all the “secrets of God,” we ought not to despise one
of these “little ones,” who believe in Him, and “whose
angels always behold the face of the Father.”

The assertion that negroes are highly imaginative,
and that all negroes have similar notions, does not lessen
the impression which such an “experience” as the

above makes upon the mind; but, on the contrary, serves
to render it more striking. The universal experience,
from their own confession, that they have such revelations,
would lead irresistibly to the conclusion that they
do have them.

I now hear you, Mr. —, putting the question point-direct—

“Do you, Lady of the Needles, believe Aunt Winny
saw all and heard all she says that she did?”

Now, my answer to this very inquisitive interrogatory
from you, whereby you desire to commit me, you will
please find in Proverbs, xxix, 11.