 | CHAPTER XI. The wigwam and the cabin |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
Meanwhile, the youthful master of the veteran Mingo, meditated
in the silence of his hall, the mode by which to save that
amorous personage from the threatened consequences of his
impertinence. Not that he felt any desire to screen the fellow
from chastisement. Had he been told that husband and wife had
simply resolved to scourge him with many stripes, he would have
struck hands and cried “cheer” as loudly as any more indifferent
spectator. But the vengeance of the Catawba Othello, promised
to be of a character far too extreme, and, the inferior moral sense
and sensibility of both Indian and negro considered, too greatly disproportioned
to the offence. It was therefore necessary that what
he proposed to do should be done quickly; and, taking his hat,
Colonel Gillison sallied forth to the negro quarter, in the centre
of which stood the superior habitation of the Driver. His object
was simply to declare to the unfaithful servant that his evil
designs and deeds were discovered, as well by himself as by the
Catawba—to promise him the due consequences of his falsehood
to himself, and to warn him of what he had to fear, in the event
of his again obtruding upon the privacy of the squatters. To
those who insist that the working classes in the South should enjoy
the good things of this world in as bountiful a measure as the
wealthy proprietors of the soil, it would be very shocking to see
that they lived poorly, in dwellings which, though rather better than
those of the Russian boor, are yet very mean in comparison with
those built by Stephen Girard, John Jacob Astor, and persons of that
calibre. Nay, it would be monstrous painful to perceive that the
poor negroes are constantly subjected to the danger of ophthalmic
and other diseases, from the continued smokes in which they live,
the fruit of those liberal fires which they keep up at all seasons, and
which the more fortunate condition of the poor in the free States,
does not often compel them to endure at any. It would not
greatly lessen the evil of this cruel destiny, to know that each
plat around it, and that his cabbages, turnips, corn and potatoes,
not to speak of his celery, his salad, &c., are, in half the number
of cases, quite as fine as those which appear on his master's
table. Then, his poultry-yard, and pig-pen—are they not there
also?—but then, it must be confessed that his stock is not quite
so large as his owner's, and there, of course, the parallel must
fail. He has one immunity, however, which is denied to the
owner. The hawk, (to whose unhappy door most disasters of the
poultry yard are referred,) seldom troubles his chickens—his
hens lay more numerously than his master's, and the dogs always
prefer to suck the eggs of a white rather than those of a black
proprietor. These, it is confessed, are very curious facts, inscrutable,
of course, to the uninitiated; and, in which the irreverent
and sceptical alone refuse to perceive any legitimate cause of
wonder. You may see in his hovel and about it, many little
additaments which, among the poor of the South, are vulgarly considered
comforts; with the poor of other countries, however, as
they are seldom known to possess them, they are no doubt
regarded as burthens, which it might be annoying to take care of
and oppressive to endure. A negro slave not only has his own
dwelling, but he keeps a plentiful fire within it for which he pays
no taxes. That he lives upon the fat of the land you may readily
believe, since he is proverbially much fatter himself than the
people of any other class. He has his own grounds for cultivation,
and, having a taste for field sports, he keeps his own dog for
the chase—an animal always of very peculiar characteristics,
some of which we shall endeavour one day to analyse and develope.
He is as hardy and cheerful as he is fat, and, but for one
thing, it might be concluded safely that his condition was very
far before that of the North American Indian—his race is more
prolific, and, by increasing rather than diminishing, multiply
necessarily, and unhappily the great sinfulness of mankind.
This, it is true, is sometimes urged as a proof of improving civilization,
but then, every justly-minded person must agree with
Miss Martineau, that it is dreadfully immoral. We suspect we
have been digressing.
Col. Gillison soon reached the negro quarter, and tapping at the
by the legitimate spouse of that gallant. Mingo had been
married to Diana, by the Reverend Jonathan Buckthorn, a
preacher of the Methodist persuasion, who rode a large circuit,
and had travelled, with praiseworthy charity, all the way from
Savannah River, in all weathers, and on a hard going nag, simply
to unite this worthy couple in the holy bonds of wedlock. At
that time, both the parties were devout members of the Church,
but they suffered from frequent lapses; and Mingo, having been
engaged in sundry liaisons—which, however creditable to, and
frequent among the French, Italian and English nobility, are
highly censurable in a slave population, and a decisive proof of
the demoralizing tendency of such an institution—was, at the
formal complaint of the wife, “suspended” from the enjoyment
of the Communion Table, and finally, on a continuance of this
foreign and fashionable practice, fully expelled from all the privileges
of the brotherhood. Diana had been something of a
termagant, but Mingo had succeeded in outstorming her. For
the first six months after marriage, the issue was considered
very doubtful; but a decisive battle took place at the close of
that period, in which the vigorous woman was compelled to give
in and Mingo remained undisputed master of the field. But
though overthrown and conquered, she was not quiescent; and
her dissatisfaction at the result, showed itself in repeated struggles,
which, however, were too convulsive and transient, to render
necessary any very decided exercise of the husband's energies.
She growled and grumbled still, without cessation, and though
she did not dare to resent his frequent infidelities, she nevertheless
pursued them with an avidity, and followed the movements
of her treacherous lord with a jealous watchfulness, which proved
that she did not the less keenly feel them. Absolute fear alone
made her restrain the fury which was yet boiling and burning in
her soul. When her master declared his desire to see Mingo,
what was her answer? Not, certainly, that of a very dutiful or
well satisfied spouse.
“Mingo, mossa? Whay him dey? Ha! mossa, you bes'ax
ebbry woman on de plantation 'fore you come to he own wife. I
bin marry to Mingo by Parson Buckthorn, and de Parson bin make
tree day after we bin man and wife. He nebber bin lub 't all;
and as for 'bey,—lor' ha' massy 'pon me, mossa, I speak noting
but de trute when I tell you,—he 'bey ebbry woman from yer to
town 'fore he 'bey he own dear wife. Der's not a woman, mossa,
'pon de tree plantation, he aint lub more dan Di. Sometime he
gone to Misser Jacks place—he hab wife dere! Sometime he
gone to Misser Gabeau—he hab wife dere! Nex' time, he gone
to Squir' Collins,—he hab wife dere! Whay he no hab wife,
mossa? Who can tell? He hab wife ebbry which whay, and
now, he no sacrify, he gone—you aint gwine to bleeb me, mossa,
I know you aint—he gone and look for wife at Indian camp,
whay down by de `Red Gulley.' De trute is, mossa, Mingo is a
mos' powerful black rascal of a nigger as ebber lib on gentleman
plantation.”
It was fortunate for young Gillison that he knew something of
the nature of a termagant wife, and could make allowances for
the injustice of a jealous one. He would otherwise have been
persuaded by what he heard that his driver was one of the most
uncomely of all the crow family. Though yielding no very
credulous faith to the complaints of Diana, he still found it impossible
to refuse to hear them; and all that he could do by dint of
perseverance, was to diminish the long narratives upon which she
was prepared to enter to prove her liege lord to be no better than
he should be. Having exhausted all his efforts and his patience
in the attempt to arrive at some certain intelligence of the husband's
“whereabouts,” without being able to divert the stream of
her volubility from the accustomed channels, he concluded by
exclaiming—
“Well, d—n the fellow, let him take the consequences. He
stands a chance of having his throat cut before twenty-four hours
are over, and you will then be at liberty, Di., to get a husband
who will be more faithful. Should Mingo not see me by ten
o'clock to-morrow, he's a dead man. So, you had better stir
your stumps, my good woman, and see after him, unless you are
willing to be a widow before you have found out a better man for
your husband. Find Mingo and send him to me to-night, or he's
a dead man to-morrow.”
“Le' 'em dead—who care? He d'zarb for dead. I sure he
no care if Di bin dead twenty tousand time. Le' 'em dead!”
Gillison left the hut and proceeded to other parts of the settlement
where he thought it not improbable that the driver might be
found; but a general ignorance was professed by all the negroes
with respect to the particular movements of that worthy; and he
soon discovered that his search was fruitless. He gave it up in
despair, trusting that he should be able to succeed better at an
hour seasonably early in the morning, yet half disposed, from
his full conviction of his roguery, to leave the fellow to his fate.
Strange to say, such was not the determination of the dissatisfied
Diana. Wronged and neglected as she had been, and was,
there was still a portion of the old liking left, which had first
persuaded her to yield her youthful affections to the keeping of
this reckless wooer; and though she had avowed her willingness
to her young master, that the “powerful black rascal of a nigger”
should go to the dogs, and be dog's meat in twenty-four hours,
still, better feelings came back to her, after due reflection, to soften
her resolves. Though not often blessed with his kind words and
pleasant looks, now-a-days, still, “she could not but remember
such things were, and were most percious to her.”
Left to herself, she first began to repeat the numberless conjugal
offences of which he had been guilty; but the memory of
these offences did not return alone. She remembered that these
offences brought with them an equal number of efforts at atonement
on the part of the offender; and when she thought of his
vigorous frame, manly, dashing and graceful carriage, his gorgeous
coat, his jauntily worn cap, his white teeth, and the insinuating
smile of his voluminous lips, she could not endure the idea
of such a man being devoted to a fate so short and sudden as that
which her young master had predicted. She had not been told, it is
true, from what quarter this terrible fate was to approach. She
knew not under what aspect it would come, but the sincerity of her
master was evident in his looks, words, and general air of anxiety,
and she was convinced that there was truth in his assurance. Perhaps,
her own attachment for the faithless husband—disguised as
it was by her continual grumbling and discontent—was sufficiently
strong to bring about this conviction easily. Diana determined
to save her husband, worthless and wicked as he was,—and possibly,
to this resolution, that, gratitude alone, for so great a service,
might effect a return of the false one to that allegiance which
love had hitherto failed to secure. She left her dwelling to seek
him within half an hour after the departure of her master. But
the worst difficulty in her way was the first. She trembled with
the passion of returning jealousy when she reflected that the most
likely place to find him would be at the “Red Gulley” in instant
communion with a hateful rival—a red Indian—a dingy squaw,—
whose colour, neither white nor black, was of that sort, which,
according to Diana in her jealous mood, neither gods nor men
ought to endure. Her husband's admiration she naturally ascribed
to Catawba witchcraft. She doubted—she hesitated—she
almost re-resolved against the endeavour. Fortunately, however,
her better feelings prevailed. She resolved to go forward—to
save her husband—but, raising her extended hands and parted
fingers, as she came to this determination, and gnashing her teeth
with vindictive resolution as she spoke, she declared her equal
resolve to compensate herself for so great a charity, by sinking
her ten claws into the cheeks of any copper coloured damsel
whom she should discover at the Red Gulley in suspicious propinquity
with that gay deceiver whom she called her lord.
Having thus, with due solemnity, registered her oath in Heaven—
and she was not one under such circumstances to “lay perjury upon
her soul”—she hurried away under the equal impulse of a desire
to save Mingo, and to “capper-claw” Caloya. It was not long
after, that young Gillison, who was more troubled about the fate
of his driver than he was willing to acknowledge even to himself,
came to a determination also to visit the “Red Gulley.” A little
quiet reflection, after he had reached home, led him to fear that he
might not be in season to prevent mischief if he waited till the
morning for Mingo's appearance; and a sudden conjecture that,
at that very moment, the audacious negro might be urging his
objects in the wigwam of the squatters, made him fearful that
even his instant interference would prove too late. As soon as
this conjecture filled his mind, he seized his cap, and grasping his
rifle, and calling his favourite dog, set forth with all possible
speed towards the spot, destined to be memorable forever after, in
all local chronicles, in consequence of these events.
| CHAPTER XI. The wigwam and the cabin | |