University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.
TIFF'S PREPARATIONS.

The announcement of the expected camp-meeting produced
a vast sensation at Canema, in other circles beside
the hall. In the servants' department, everybody was full
of the matter, from Aunt Katy down to Tomtit. The
women were thinking over their available finery; for these
gatherings furnish the negroes with the same opportunity
of display that Grace Church does to the Broadway
belles. And so, before Old Tiff, who had brought the first
intelligence to the plantation, had time to depart, Tomtit
had trumpeted the news through all the cluster of negro-houses
that skirted the right side of the mansion, proclaiming
that “dere was gwine to be a camp-meeting, and tip-top
work of grace, and Miss Nina was going to let all de niggers
go.” Old Tiff, therefore, found himself in a prominent
position in a group of negro-women, among whom Rose,
the cook, was conspicuous.

“Law, Tiff, ye gwine? and gwine to take your chil'en?
ha! ha! ha!” said she. “Why, Miss Fanny, dey 'll tink
Tiff 's yer mammy! Ho! ho! ho!”

“Yah! yah! Ho! ho! ho!” roared in a chorus of
laughter on all sides, doing honor to Aunt Rosy's wit; and
Tomtit, who hung upon the skirts of the crowd, threw up
the fragment of a hat in the air, and kicked it in an abandon
of joy, regardless of the neglected dinner-knives. Old Tiff,
mindful of dignities, never failed to propitiate Rose, on his
advents to the plantation, with the gift which the “wise
man saith maketh friends;” and, on the present occasion, he

had enriched her own peculiar stock of domestic fowl by
the present of a pair of young partridge-chicks, a nest of
which he had just captured, intending to bring them up by
hand, as he did his children. By this discreet course, Tiff
stood high where it was of most vital consequence that he
should so stand; and many a choice morsel did Rose cook
for him in secret, besides imparting to him most invaluable
recipes on the culture and raising of sucking babies. Old
Hundred, like many other persons, felt that general attention
lavished on any other celebrity was so much taken from
his own merits, and, therefore, on the present occasion, sat
regarding Tiff's evident popularity with a cynical eye. At
last, coming up, like a wicked fellow as he was, he launched
his javelin at Old Tiff, by observing to his wife,

“I 's 'stonished at you, Rose! You, cook to de Gordons,
and making youself so cheap — so familiar with de
poor white folks' niggers!”

Had the slant fallen upon himself, personally, Old Tiff
would probably have given a jolly crow, and laughed as
heartily as he generally did if he happened to be caught out
in a rain-storm; but the reflection on his family connection
fired him up like a torch, and his eyes flashed through his
big spectacles like fire-light through windows.

“You go 'long, talking 'bout what you don' know nothing
'bout! I like to know what you knows 'bout de old Virginny
fam'lies? Dem 's de real old stock! You Car'lina folks
come from dem, stick and stock, every blest one of you!
De Gordons is a nice family — an't nothing to say agin de
Gordons — but whar was you raised, dat ye did n't hear
'bout de Peytons? Why, old Gen'al Peyton, did n't he
use to ride with six black horses afore him, as if he 'd been
a king? Dere wan't one of dem horses dat had n't a tail
as long as my arm. You never see no such critters in your
life!”

“I han't, han't I?” said Old Hundred, now, in his turn,
touched in a vital point. “Bless me, if I han't seen de Gordons
riding out with der eight horses, any time o' day!”

“Come, come, now, dere was n't so many!” said Rose,
who had her own reasons for staying on Tiff 's side. “Nobody
never rode with eight horses!”

“Did too! You say much more, I 'll make sixteen on
'em! 'Fore my blessed master, how dese yer old niggers
will lie! Dey 's always zaggerating der families. Makes
de very har rise on my head, to hear dese yer old niggers
talk, dey lie so!” said Old Hundred.

“You tink folks dat take to lying is using up your business,
don't ye?” said Tiff. “But, I tell you, any one dat
says a word agin de Peytons got me to set in with!”

“Laws, dem chil'en an't Peytons!” said Old Hundred;
“dey 's Crippses; and I like to know who ever hearn of de
Crippses? Go way! don't tell me nothing about dem
Crippses! Dey 's poor white folks! A body may see dat
sticking out all over 'em!”

“You shut up!” said Tiff. “I don't b'lieve you was
born on de Gordon place, 'cause you an't got no manners.
I spects you some old, second-hand nigger, Colonel Gordon
must a took for debt, some time, from some of dese yer mean
Tennessee families, dat don' know how to keep der money
when dey gets it. Der niggers is allers de meanest kind.
'Cause all de real Gordon niggers is ladies and gen'lemen —
every one of 'em!” said Old Tiff, like a true orator, bent
on carrying his audience along with him.

A general shout chorused this compliment; and Tiff,
under cover of the applause, shook up his reins, and rode
off in triumph.

“Dar, now, you aggravating old nigger,” said Rose,
turning to her bosom lord, “I hope yer got it now! De
plaguest old nigger dat ever I see! And you, Tom, go
'long and clean your knives, if yer don't mean to be cracked
over!”

Meanwhile Tiff, restored to his usual tranquillity, ambled
along homeward behind his one-eyed horse, singing “I 'm
bound for the land of Canaan,” with some surprising variations.

At last Miss Fanny, as he constantly called her, interposed
with a very pregnant question.

“Uncle Tiff, where is the land of Canaan?”

“De Lord-a-mercy, chile, dat ar 's what I 'd like to know,
myself.”

“Is it heaven?” said Fanny.

“Well, I reckon so,” said Tiff, dubiously.

“Is it where ma is gone?” said Fanny.

“Chile, I reckon it is,” said Tiff.

“Is it down under ground?” said Fanny.

“Why, no! ho! ho! honey!” said Tiff, laughing heartily.
“What put dat ar in your head, Miss Fanny?”

“Did n't ma go that way?” said Fanny; “down through
the ground?”

“Lordy, no, chile! Heaven 's up!” said Tiff, pointing
up to the intense blue sky which appeared through the
fringy hollows of the pine-trees above them.

“Is there any stairs anywhere? or any ladder to get up
by?” said Fanny. “Or do they walk to where the sky
touches the ground, and get up? Perhaps they climb up
on the rainbow.”

“I don' know, chile, how dey works it,” said Uncle
Tiff. “Dey gets dar somehow. I 's studdin' upon dat
ar. I 's gwine to camp-meeting to find out. I 's been to
plenty of dem ar, and I never could quite see clar. 'Pears
like dey talks about everything else more 'n dey does about
dat. Dere 's de Methodists, dey cuts up de Presbyter'ans;
and de Presbyter'ans pitches into de Methodists; and den
both on 'em 's down on de 'Piscopals. My ole mist' was
'Piscopal, and I never seed no harm in 't. And de Baptists
think dey an't none on 'em right; and, while dey 's all a
blowing out at each other, dat ar way, I 's a wondering
whar 's de way to Canaan. It takes a mighty heap o' learning
to know about dese yer things, and I an't got no larning.
I don' know nothing, only de Lord, he 'peared to your ma,
and he knows de way, and he took her. But, now, chile,
I 's gwine to fix you up right smart, and take you, Teddy,

and de baby, to dis yer camp-meeting, so you can seek de
Lord in yer youth.”

“Tiff, if you please, I 'd rather not go!” said Fanny, in
an apprehensive tone.

“O, bress de Lord, Miss Fanny, why not? Fust-rate
times dere.”

“There 'll be too many people. I don't want them to
see us.”

The fact was, that Rose's slant speech about Tiff's maternal
relationship, united with the sneers of Old Hundred,
had their effect upon Fanny's mind. Naturally proud, and
fearful of ridicule, she shrank from the public display which
would thus be made of their family condition; yet she
would not for the world have betrayed to her kind old
friend the real reason of her hesitation. But Old Tiff's
keen eye had noticed the expression of the child's countenance
at the time. If anybody supposes that the faithful
old creature's heart was at all wounded by the perception,
they are greatly mistaken.

To Tiff it appeared a joke of the very richest quality;
and, as he rode along in silence for some time, he indulged
himself in one of his quiet, long laughs, actually shaking
his old sides till the tears streamed down his cheeks.

“What 's the matter with you, Tiff?” said Fanny.

“O, Miss Fanny, Tiff knows! — Tiff knows de reason ye
don't want to go to camp-meeting. Tiff's seen it in yer
face — ye ho! ho! ho! Miss Fanny, is you 'fraid dey 'll
take Old Tiff for yer mammy? — ye ho! ho! ho! — for yer
mammy? — and Teddy's, and de baby's? — bless his little
soul!” And the amphibious old creature rollicked over
the idea with infinite merriment. “Don't I look like it,
Miss Fanny? Lord, ye por dear lamb, can't folks see ye 's
a born lady, with yer white, little hands? Don't ye be
'feared, Miss Fanny!”

“I know it 's silly,” said Fanny; “but, beside, I don't
like to be called poor white folksy!”

“O, chile, it 's only dem mean niggers! Miss Nina 's

allers good to ye, an't she? Speaks to ye so handsome!
Ye must memorize dat ar, Miss Fanny, and talk like Miss
Nina. I 's 'feard, now yer ma 's dead, ye 'll fall into some
o' my nigger ways of talking. 'Member you must n't
talk like Old Tiff, 'cause young ladies and gen'lemen
must n't talk like niggers. Now, I says `dis and dat, dis
yer and dat ar.' Dat ar is nigger talk, and por white
folksy, too. Only de por white folks, dey 's mis'able, 'cause
niggers knows what 's good talk, but dey does n't. Lord,
chile, Old Tiff knows what good talk is. An't he heard de
greatest ladies and gen'lemen in de land talk? But he
don't want de trouble to talk dat ar way, 'cause he 's a
nigger! Tiff likes his own talk — it 's good enough for
Tiff. Tiff's talk serves him mighty well, I tell yer. But,
den, white children must n't talk so. Now, you see, Miss
Nina has got de prettiest way of saying her words. Dey
drops out one after another, one after another, so pretty!
Now, you mind, 'cause she 's coming to see us off and on —
she promised so. And den you keep a good lookout how
she walks, and how she holds her pocket-handkerchief. And
when she sits down she kind o' gives a little flirt to her
clothes, so dey all set out round her like ruffles. Dese yer
little ways ladies have! Why, dese yer por white folks,
did yer ever mind der settin' down? Why, dey jist slaps
down into a chair like a spoonful o' mush, and der clothes
all stick tight about 'em. I don't want nothing poor white
folksy 'bout you. Den, if you don't understand what people
's a saying to you, any time, you must n't star, like por
white chil'en, and say, `what?' but you must say `I beg
pardon, sir,' or, `I beg pardon, ma'am.' Dat ar 's de way.
And, Miss Fanny, you and Teddy, you must study yer
book; 'cause, if you can't read, den dey 'll be sure to say
yer por white folks. And, den, Miss Fanny, you see dat
ladies don't demean demselves with sweeping and scrubbing,
and dem tings; and yet dey does work, honey! Dey
sews, and dey knits; and it would be good for you to larn
how to sew and knit; 'cause, you know, I can't allers make
up all de clothes; 'cause, you see, young ladies haves ways
wid 'em dat niggers can't get. Now, you see, Miss Fanny,
all dese yer tings I was telling you, you must 'bserve.
Now, you see, if you was one of dese yer por white folks,
dere be no use of your trying; 'cause dat ar 'scription o'
people could n't never be ladies, if dey was waring themselves
out a trying. But, you see, you 's got it in you; you
was born to it, honey. It 's in de blood; and what 's in de
blood must come out — ho! ho! ho!” And, with this final
laugh, Tiff drew up to his dwelling.

A busy day was before Old Tiff; for he was to set
his house in order for a week's campaign. There was his
corn to be hoed, his parsley to be weeded, there was his
orphan family of young partridges to be cared for. And
Tiff, after some considerable consideration, resolved to take
them along with him in a basket; thinking, in the intervals
of devotion, he should have an abundant opportunity to
minister to their wants, and superintend their education.
Then he went to one of his favorite springes, and brought
from thence, not a fatted calf, to be sure, but a fatted coon,
which he intended to take with him, to serve as the basis
of a savory stew on the camp-ground. Tiff had a thriving
company of pot-herbs, and a flourishing young colony of
onions; so that, whatever might be true of the sermons, it
was evident that the stew would lack no savor. Teddy's
clothes, also, were to be passed in review; washing and
ironing to be done; the baby fitted up to do honor to his
name, or rather to the name of his grandfather. With all
these cares upon his mind, the old creature was even more
than usually alert. The day was warm, and he resolved,
therefore, to perform his washing operations in the magnificent
kitchen of nature. He accordingly kindled a splendid
bonfire, which was soon crackling at a short distance from
the house, slung over it his kettle, and proceeded to some
other necessary avocations. The pine-wood, which had
been imperfectly seasoned, served him the ungracious trick
that pine-wood is apt to do: it crackled and roared merrily

while he was present, but while he was down examining
his traps in the woods went entirely out, leaving only the
blackened sticks.

“Uncle Tiff,” said Teddy, “the fire is all gone out!”

“Ho! ho! ho! — Has it?” said Tiff, coming up. “Curus
enough! Well, bress de Lord, got all de wood left, any
way; had a real bright fire, beside,” said Tiff, intent on
upholding the sunniest side of things. “Lord, it 's de sun
dat puts de fire out o' countenance. Did you ever see fire
dat would n't go out when de sun 's shining right in its
face? Dat ar is a curus fact. I 's minded it heaps o' times.
Well, I 'll jist have to come out wid my light-wood kindlings,
dat 's all. Bress de Lord, ho! ho! ho!” said Tiff, laughing
to himself, “if dese yer an't the very sp'rit of de camp-meeting
professors! Dey blazes away at de camp-meeting,
and den dey 's black all de year round! See 'em at de
camp-meetings, you 'd say dey war gwine right into de
kingdom, sure enough! Well, Lord have marcy on us all!
Our 'ligion 's drefful poor stuff! We don' know but a
despert leetle, and what we does know we don' do. De
good Mas'r above must have his hands full, with us!”