University of Virginia Library

LETTER III.

To Mr. Thompson:—Dear Sir—This far I have travelled
in the bowels of the land without any diffikilty,
as Mr. Shakespeer ses; but whether I'm gwine to git
safe to my jurny's eend, or find myself like Jony in the
bowels of a whale's belly before I git home agin, is a
bisness what opens a fine field for speckelation, as the
cotton byers ses.

But that's neither here nor thar. I sot down to tell
you 'bout my jurny to this city. Well, this mornin all
the famly was up before the crack of day gettin reddy
for me to start. Everything was reddy three or four
days ago, but it seemed like the nearer the time come
to start, the more ther was to do. Thar was old Miss
Stallins in the kitchen raisin a harrycane among the
niggers 'bout gettin breckfust for me—the niggers was
all crazy 'bout my gwine away—Ned was rairin and
pitchin 'bout the lot cause one of the little niggers
let the horses git out of the stable—some of the harness
was lent—old Simon had tuck the tar-bucket
off with him, so ther wasn't no way to grease the carrige—Prissy
upsot the tea-kittle, gittin some water for
me to shave—Fanny tripped up and spilt all the biskits
in the yard—the galls was lookin for the kee of my
trunk, what couldn't be found no whar—little Harry
was squallin like blazes cause he couldn't have on his
new hat and cote and go with me in the carriage—and
in the middle of the everlastin rumpus, I like to cut my
nose off with the razer!

Bimeby though, things all settled down into a pretty
considerable calm. Ned cotcht the horses—the harness
was brung home—the wheels was greased—the kee

was found rite whar Mary had put it herself—little
Harry stopped cryin—my nose stopped bleedin, and
breckfust was sot; but after all ther wasn't one could
eat a mouthful, spite of all the 'swadin old Miss Stallins
could do.

Mary tuck on considerable, pore gall; though she
tried to hide it all she could. She didn't have much
to say, but she looked monstrous droopy; and whenever
I tried to cheer her up by tellin her I wouldn't
stay no longer than I could help, her lips would sort o'
quiver, and she'd turn round to tend to the baby or
something; but when she looked at me agin, her long
eyelashes was damp with tears. Ah! Mr. Thompson,
me and you know how to preciate the deep pure founting
from whar them tears flowed—we married men
know how to vally the ever-gushin feelins of a true
woman's hart, which, like the waters of the spring what
no summer can't dry up and no winter freeze, is coolest
when the day is hottest and grows warmer when the
world grows cold. I felt monstrous bad myself, but it
wouldn't do to let on, for I know'd it would only make
her worse.

By this time old Mr. Mountgomery, and cousin Pete,
and a heap more nabors, and all the niggers on the
plantation, was come to bid me good-by. Old Termination,
my driver, was mounted on the box, with his
clean clothes on, and a bran new lash to his whip, the
proudest nigger you ever did see. He couldn't notice
none of the rest of 'em for his shirt collar, but if any
of the little niggers come too close to his team, axin
him to by 'em something in Augusty, he was monstrous
apt to anser 'em with a little tetch of the lash.

When the trunks was tied on, and old Miss Stallins
was sure ther wasn't nothin forgot—which she sed she
know'd ther would be—I went through the shakin hands
with the nabors.

“Good by, Majer,” ses old Mr. Mountgomery, “I
wish you a plesant jurny and a safe return.”

“Thank you,” ses I.

“Good by, Joe,” ses Pete—“don't you git in no
fuss with them abolitionists—if you do, old feller, you
won't find no frends thar, mind I tell you.”

“Don't you fear for me,” ses I—“Good by, and
take care of yourself.”

“Good by, Majer,” ses all of 'em, as they shuck my
hand.

Then here come all the niggers.

“Good by, Massa Joe,” ses all of 'em.

“Good by,” ses I, “and be good niggers till I come
back.”

“Don't let none of dem pesky old bobolitionists kotch
you, Massa Joe,” ses Prissy.

“Massa Joe, massa Joe, ant Moma say cum da!”
ses one of the little niggers.

Pore old Moma was the fust nigger my father ever
owned. She's more'n a hundred years old now, and
her hed's as white as the cotton she use' to pick for us
when she was a gall. She's been monstrous porely this
winter, and hain't been able to go out of her little house
in the yard, whar she's lived ever sense she was too old
to do anything on the plantation. She was 'fraid I was
gwine off without bidden her good by, and that's the
reason she sent for me. She was settin in the door
when I went to her, and she raised her old dim eyes,
almost white with age, and looked at me.

“Why, Massa Joe, God bless you; you gwine away
widout tellin pore ole Moma good by?—ole Moma
what use to nuss you, when you was leetle baby like
leetle massa Harry. Moma no able run after Massa Joe
now—maybe ole Moma neber see you gin. Pore ole
Moma, lib too long—make trouble for white fokes; but
Moma's time mose come.”

“No, no, Moma,” ses I, “you mustn't talk that

away. You know you aint no trouble to us, and you
was always a good servant.”

The pore old creeter brightened up, and tried to
smile.

“Good by, Moma,” ses I, as I tuck her pore old
hand in mine; “take good care of yourself till I cum
home, and let your young misses know whenever you
want any thing. Good by, old nigger.”

“Bless ye, bless ye, Massa Joe—bless Miss Mary
and leetle massa Harry. God bless you all—good
by.”

The faithful old creeter tried to press my hand, but
she was too weak, and when I let go her hand it drapt
into her lap, and she follered me with her eyes as far as
she could see me through her tears.

Then cum the kissin bisness. I took the worst job
fust, and kissed old Miss Stallins and mother. I didn't
mind kissin mother, cause it seemed all right and
natural; but I always did hate to kiss old wimmin
what hain't got no teeth, and I was monstrous glad
old Miss Stallins had her handkerchef to her face, for
in the hurryment I kissed it, and the old woman was
in such a flustration she didn't know her lips from any
thing else. I kissed the galls two or three times a
piece, rite afore cousin Pete, who smacked his lips,
and looked sort o' cross-eyed every time. But when
I cum to look for Mary, she was gone in the house.
Thar she was, sittin in her rockin chair, leanin her face
on her hand, and the tears runnin down her cheeks
in a stream. When I got close to her she riz up and
put her arms round my neck.—I can't tell you what
she sed, nor how many, nor how long, nor how sweet
them kisses was. Them's famly affairs, and ain't for
nobody to know. After she dried her eyes as well
as she could, she went with me to the carrige. Prissy
was holdin little Harry reddy for his kiss. I tuck the
little feller in my arms and gin him one good long

squeeze, and then got in. Termination popped his
whip and away he went, leavin Mary and all of 'em
cryin cause I was gone, and the baby kickin and
squallin like rath cause he couldn't go too.

Separashuns is monstrous tryin things to peeple what
ain't use to 'em, and I couldn't help feelin very sollumcolly
all the way to Augusty. The rode is one of
the lonesummest in the world, and I never was so
put to it to keep my sperits up. Ther was nothin
new or interrestin to attract my 'tention, and whenever
I thought bout home the worse I felt. Mary's partin
injunkshuns was still soundin in my ears, and whenever
I shut my eyes I could see her standin on the
piazzy lookin after me, with the grate big tears runnin
down her cheeks, and sparklin like dimonds in her
curls, that was hangin in disorder 'bout her sweet
face; and then thar was little Harry puttin out his dear
little arms and cryin like his hart would brake, cause
he couldn't ride in the carriage with me. It wouldn't
do to think of them things, so I tried to sing, and
the fust thing I know'd, I was hummin the song what
begins:

You mustn't think that song was suggested by any
jellous fears on my part; no indeed, not by a jug
full: but you know how wimmin will talk sumtimes on
sich occasions. They say a heap, jest to see what
you'll say.

I got here about noon and stopped at the Globe
Hotel, and sent Termination back home with the carrige.
Pore feller, he hated to leave me monstrous,
and when he shuck hands with me, he couldn't hardly
speak, and his eyes looked like two peeled unions

swimmin in their own juice. “Good bye, Massa Joe,”
ses he, “but don't stay away from Miss Mary long, if
you spec to see her live when you cum back.”

After dinner I tuck a walk down the street to see
the town. Augusty's a monstrous pretty city, but it
ain't the place it used to was, not by a grate site.
It seems like it was rottin off at both eends, and ain't
growin much in the middle; and the market-houses
what a few years ago you couldn't hardly see for the
wagons, looks more like pretty considerable large martin-boxes
standin in the middle of the grate wide
street, than places of bisness. The peeple that laid
out the city must been monstrous wide between the
eyes, and made very large calculations for bisness;
for they've got it stretch'd out over ground enuff to
make two or three sich towns, and Broad street, whar
the stores is, is wide enuff for the merchants to charge
exchange from one side to tother. I see by the papers
that they're gwine to dig a big canal, as they call it,
and turn the river up stream into the common, so
they can go into the mannyfacterin of cotton. That's
a sort of bisness I don't know nothin about, and I can't
say how it'll turn out, but there's one thing very certain,
and that is, if the Augusty people don't do something
to start bisness agoin agin, all the houses in the
city won't rent for enuff to feed 'em. The fact is, if
the people of Georgia don't take to makin homespun
and sich truck for themselves, and quit their everlastin
fuss 'bout the tariff and free trade, the fust thing they'll
know, the best part of their popilation will be gone
to the new States, and what'll be left won't be able
to raise cotton enuff to pay for what they'll have to buy
from the North.

The fust man I met in Broad-street was Mr. Peleg.
“Why, hellow, Majer Jones,” ses he, “what's brung
you to town?”

I told him I was gwine to the North.

“Well!” ses he, “Majer, you must spend a day
with us, enny how, and I'll interduce you to some of
my friends here. They're all admirers of your's, and
would be very glad of a oppertunity to make your
acquaintance.”

Well, I walked along with Mr. Peleg to his store,
and on the way he interduced me to 'bout twenty gentlemen,
most all of 'em Pelegs. 'Mong the rest, Mr.
Peleg introduced me to Doctor Klag, perfesser of horticulteral
science in Augusty. Mr. Peleg told me that
the doctor was the greatest man in his line in them
parts, for he could make trees grow twice in two places.
Dr. Klag certainly looks like he might be a genus of
some sort, and seems to be very much tuck up with his
perfession, for the fust thing he sed to me was something
'bout cedars and arbor-vites, what he sed he'd
warrant not to dy. Ther was some mistake about
it, which wasn't very clearly explained by Mr. Peleg.
The Doctor's got one very curious sort of a oyster-lookin
eye, and tother one has a kind of sky-rakin look,
so you can't tell what upon yeath he's lookin at. He
sed he'd call agin, and Mr. Peleg and me stepped
into a watch store whar ther was some more Pelegs,
and then, rite next door, we went in whar ther was a
lot more of 'em. They was all very glad to see me,
and invited me to come up to Mr. Lampblack's that
evenin, to hear a lecture on the moon, by some great
perfesser, whose name I've forgot. They all seemed
like monstrous clever fellers, but I couldn't see how
upon yeath they was all named Pelegs, for they didn't
look no more alike than any body else. But jest before
tea, my old frend Whiskers, what scared Mary so
up to Athens, you know, (would you believe it, Mr.
Thompson, every bit of his sorrel hair drap't out when
he read that Athens letter of mine, and now it's grow'd
all out as black as your hat!) come round to see me
and told me all about the Pelegs.

Well, they is the devilishest set of fellers for playin
tricks on peeple ever was trumped up any whar, you
may depend. Every now and then they're ketchin
up some green feller, and puttin him throo, as they
call it. I'll jest give you a instance. T'other day
one of General Kittledrum's lutenants come over from
South Carolina to git up a singin skool in Augusty.
He brung his commishun from the Guvernor as a
recommendation. That was enuff for the Pelegs, who
tuck him in hand and soon got up all sorts of a skool
for him. He had 'bout a hunderd of 'em down on
his list, at twenty-five dollars a quarter, in no time.
The feller was almost out of his senses at the idee of
makin his fortin so soon, and was willin to do any
thing the Pelegs sed was necessary to stablish his
repetation as a music-master. In the fust place, they
tuck him into a back room and made him put his
hands on the globes, and swore him 'bout his faith
in certain doctrinal pints which they sed was very
important in a singin master. One of 'em red out,
in a very solem voice, bout the rain fallin upon the
yeath forty days and forty nites; and then another one
sed to him, “Lutenant Odin, with your rite hand
on the celestial globe and your left hand on the
terestial globe, do you swar to that?” Ses he, “I
do.” Then they swore him bout Samson killin the
Fillistines with the jaw-bone of a jackass, and bout
Faro and his host get in swallered up in the Red Sea,
and a heap of other things. Then, after puttin him
throo the manuel exercise for bout two owers, rite in
the brilin sun, they sed he must give 'em a specymen
of his vokel powers at the theatre, before all his skollers.
Well, they rigged him out on the stage, and had him
howlin all manner of meeters and kees, and givin explanashuns,
afore a whole theater full of Pelegs, till
they got tired of the fun, when the fust thing the feller
knowd, a man stepped on the stage, and rested him

for hos steelin, rite in the middle of Old Hunderd, on
a high kee. The pore feller was skared almost to deth,
and swore he never tuck a horse nor nothin else what
didn't belong to him, in all his born days—he tuck out
his comishun and show'd the guvernor's hand-ritin.
But all he could do or say didn't signify nothin. The
constable tuck him to a room whar the Pelegs hold their
courts, and thar they put him throo a reglar trial, and
made a convicted hos theaf out of him by the strongest
kind of testimony. Some of the Pelegs was his frends,
and done all they could for him; but it was no use—he
was condem'd to be hung according to Carolina law,
and was to be sent to jail to wait till the day of execution.
The pore feller trembled so he couldn't hardly
stand, and the swet started out of his face like he'd
been mawlin rails all day. His frends told him his
only chance was to escape when they was takin him to
jail, and promised that they'd try to git him loose from
the constable, and then he must run across the bridge
into Carolina as if the very old Harry was after him.
Shore enuff, when they got him near the bridge, his
frends got him away from the constable, and a straiter
coat-tail than he made across that old bridge, was
never seed in Georgia. And that's the last that's
ever been seed or heard of Lutenant Odin, the singin
master.

I spected something wasn't rite when I seed so many
of 'em; but they know who to project with. They
didn't git me to go to none of their lecters on the moon,
mind I tell you.

I'm gwine in the morning to Charleston. It's monstrous
late, and the rale-road starts before day-light.
So no more from