John Randolph, of Roanoke, and other sketches
of character, including William Wirt together with tales of real life |
OLD NAT.
A FACT. |
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 | John Randolph, of Roanoke, and other sketches
of character, including William Wirt |  |
OLD NAT.
A FACT.
In my boyhood, while dwelling at my uncle's,
about three miles from Baltimore, on the York
turnpike road, I remember to have been deeply
grieved by the invitation to our household to attend
the funeral of our neighbor and friend, Mr. Richardson.
The deceased dwelt about half a mile
from my uncle's, between the Falls and York turnpike
roads, in a broad strip of bottom-land, where
he cultivated a farm and carried on a mill. The
mill-dam, to my boyish ideas, was an ocean! How
rankly the weeds and long grass grew upon its
sides. The water-snakes therein were only out-numbered
by the bull-frogs thereof, while the mudturtles,
like a neutral party, with the assistance of
the floating chips that looked like them, would
have polled somewhat more than either. The summer
barks that I have set afloat there, and which
and which went down, like Tom Moore's (though
not “at sea”), when heaven was all tranquillity—
well do I remember them! Often have my school-mates
and I there proved Cardinal Wolsey's illustration
of “Little wanton boys that swim on bladders.”
By the mill-race, how it delighted me to
loll and throw chips into the rushing waters! I
thought then, and the simile came to me from nature,
as it has many times since from books that
were a thousand years older than either myself or
the mill-race, that, like those pent-up waters breaking
forth, was the outbreak of human passions.
The house stood on a gentle knoll beside the
dam, and multitudinous were the numbers of geese,
ducks, chickens, and turkeys, which the frugal
housewife exulted in raising. Here the two latter
races wandered and worried, when the two former
paddled and plashed in the mill-dam. And while
chickens and hens, with the rooster in their midst,
or at their flank, or in their rear, and the turkeys
with their grand seignior, the gobler, in similar
fashion, would take up a scattering trail for the
barnyard or the woods—it was amusing to observe
with what regular solemnity, in contrast, the ducks,
with the drake at their head, but more especially
the geese with the truculent and burly gander in
advance, would parade in Indian file, along the
devious, narrow race-path to the mill-dam. In my
now. Well may I remember the first time I saw
them. I was then but a child, and was sent on the
farthest adventure I had ever made from home
alone, on an errand to Mr. Richardson's. I passed
the graveyard tremulously; the rustling leaves
whispered ghost stories to me, and the booming
beetle struck against me like a rushing train of
funeral spirits met in mid career, but I got safe
through the bars which inclosed the dam. There
I thought I might be lost in the hazel-bushes, or
that some Georgia man, as the negroes then called
the slave-dealers—for to Georgia many of the
negroes were then sold, and it was their horror—
would leap upon me from the woods, paint me
black, and forthwith sell me into slavery. But the
bushes were passed safely, though an old stump,
which glanced at me on the side of the road, had
hastened me through them. I had now but to turn
a sudden angle in the race-path, and the house of
Mr. Richardson would be full in view and near by.
I trod upon it, with my little crutch under my arm,
bravely. Lo, as I turned the angle, I beheld, not
ten feet from me, the old gander, at the head of a
considerable troop, making a dignified descent on
the mill-dam. The path was of the narrowest,
made by the footsteps of those who attended to
the dam, and it was closely girt by high thick
grass and alder-bushes; it was evident that either
them. Numbers were against me; but I, who had
passed graveyard and Georgia men all alone, I, it
was certain, could not nor would not be such a
goose as to give way to a gander. Through the
trees I saw the slaves of Mr. Richardson at play
about the house, and I resolved, notwithstanding
the democracy of numbers was against me,
to maintain my path. The gander condescended
not to notice me until we had got within
five feet of each other. He then raised his head
with a hissing sound; I waved my hand mechanically,
and ejaculated “shoo!” The gander
stood for a moment at bay, expanding his wings
and protruding his neck, then, with a hiss, hiss,
hiss, malignant as a viper's, he made right at me.
The suddenness, and, I may say, the unexpectedness
of the assault, rather than fear, caused me to
recoil, and, as I did so, my crutch slipped, and I
tumbled on my side and rolled over on my face on
my way down the hill. In that position I seized
an alder-bush, with the intention of maintaining
my ground and regaining an upright position, when,
just as I did so, the gander's hiss ceased, and for a
good reason. On the skirt of my jacket the gander
seized murderously—over and upon me he flapped
his wings with diabolical energy, tightening,
as he did so, his grapple, while his whole bevy
raised such a clatter that I felt myself in a whirl-wind
hour had come. Oh, the agony of dying away
from home! I lifted my voice and screamed aloud.
The progenitors of this race saved Rome, but they
certainly would have done for me, had not “Old
Nat” arrived at this instant, and most valorously
rescued me.
This was my first acquaintance with old Nat.
He wiped the dust and dirt from my face and
hands, readjusted my disordered habiliments, and
led me to the house. I delivered my message, and
departed for home, where I arrived in safety, but
not by the mill-race path.
I never saw Nat after this until I saw him at
his master's grave. My uncle had been down to
Mr. Richardson's, offering all the consolation and
assistance in his power. It was rather late for us
to get to the dwelling of the deceased before the
funeral-train should leave it, when my relative returned
for us; and, as the ceremony was to be performed
at the grave, which was between Mr.
Richardson's and our residence, it was agreed that
we should go directly to the graveyard. In fact,
it lay on the side of the road which communicated
between the two estates. As it was not more than
a quarter of a mile off, my uncle took me by the
hand, and, with his wife on his arm, we repaired
thither. We found ourselves somewhat late when
we approached the graveyard, for the coffin had
clergyman was performing his last offices. The
widow did not attend, but the children of the
deceased stood weeping over him, and the grief of
one of them, John, a playmate of mine, was
touching in the extreme.
That we might not disturb the hallowed feelings
of the mourners, my uncle stopped with us on the
outskirts of the group. I saw him directing the
attention of my aunt to Nat, and my eye followed
hers. Nat's mother was a dark mulatto, and his
father a negro; there was, therefore, a slight admixture
of the races in his veins.
He was tall, raw-boned, and erect, with very long
arms. His mouth was small, considering the predominance
of his African blood, and his nose
straight, but with very big nostrils; and he had a
quick, shrewd eye, which wore generally any but
a sad expression.
Now it was far different; and any one who might
have looked at him, would have known, at a glance,
that the deceased was a kind master, for Nat
leaned with both hands upon his spade, with which
he was to throw the earth upon the coffin, while
the big round tears gushed down his cheeks. He
looked at my schoolmate, and then into the grave,
and, stepping to his side, said:—
“Oh, Master John, look here, now; don't take
on so.”
“Susan,” said my uncle to my aunt, as he
dashed a tear from his eye, “Mr. Richardson's
servants are to be free after they have served a
certain time for which they are to be sold, according
to his will, and I shall certainly buy Nat.”
On the day of sale, in fulfilment of the purpose
which my uncle expressed at the grave, he
attended, taking me with him in his gig. Nat
was forty years of age, and was sold for five
years, at the expiration of which he was to be free.
He expressed great gratitude when my uncle told
him he meant to purchase him, saying that he was
glad he was not to leave the neighborhood where
he had worked so long with his old master.
As soon as the bidding had ceased, and Nat was
struck down to my relative, a broad grin broke
over his countenance, and, stepping up to him, he
said: “Master, I'll go to my new home now, if you
say so.”
My uncle nodded assent, and, after shaking
hands all around with his fellow-slaves, he departed
with alacrity. Having no other purpose at
the sale but the purchase of Nat, my uncle soon
followed that worthy homeward. Our route lay
directly by the graveyard where Mr. Richardson
was buried, and, as we approached it, we beheld
Nat, leaning with his arms on the top of the fence,
and gazing wistfully at the grave. As soon as he
found him on our arrival.
My uncle's dwelling was a long one-story mansion,
with immense windows, that made it look, at a
distance, like a large country church, for which, in
fact, it has been more than once mistaken. It had
a basement story, where were the sleeping apartments
of many of the slaves, together with the
kitchen. As soon as I had finished my tea—for the
sale took place in the afternoon, and we found the
table set when we got home—I descended into the
kitchen, with the wish to see my old acquaintance,
Nat, and, by recognizing him, do my boyish best
to make him feel at home in his new quarters.
Nat needed not my welcome to place him at
home. He was seated quietly in the chimney-corner,
smoking a pipe with the ease of a Turk in
his own especial sanctum. The cook, Viney, who
had a race of nearly a dozen about her, was
listening respectfully to the new-comer, as was also
Cuffy, an African, whom my uncle's brother had
purchased in one of the slave-markets of the West
Indies. One day my uncle's brother was passing
through the slave-market in Cuba, I think, when
the poor fellow sprang from among the gang, and,
throwing himself on his knees before him, implored
him, by signs most impressive, to become his purchaser.
Touched by the scene, he purchased him,
and a deep attachment had grown up between the
always called him, was now on a visit to the United
States, and had brought Cuffy with him.
Lem, or, as he preferred being called, in full,
Lemuel, the coachman, was pretending to busy
himself with something or other by the dresser, as
it was called, in which the dishes were spread out
on shelves; but he was evidently listening to, and
scrutinizing Nat, with the desire of not being
observed.
Lem wore livery, drove the carriage, and waited
on the table, and, of course, held himself in aristocratic
elevation above the field-hands. He was a
short, duck-legged negro, with a forehead slanting
directly back from his eyebrows. It was short, and,
to make the most of it, Lem combed, with much
care, every bit of wool back from it. His nose
turned up, as if to take a view over the top of his
head, or, perhaps, to avoid the chasm of his immense
mouth, which was garnished with two rows
of dusky teeth, that were not half as white as
Cuffy's, though Lem, every morning, in imitation
of his master, used a toothbrush. My uncle was
a dyspeptic, and Lem was a dyspeptic, too. He
was an envious, conceited fellow, and nothing would
have pleased him more, had he been farther south,
than to have been placed, whip in hand, as a driver
over his fellows. “Sarvant, master William,” said
Nat, offering me a chair, and taking a seat on a
things sold well, for missus and the children's sake.
I suppose you didn't notice, though.”
“Uncle says they did, Nat,” I replied. “What
were you talking about?”
“Whether or not spirits walk, sir; an' I maintains
it as how they does, sir.”
“Why?” asked I, with boyish fear, approaching
nearer to him.
“Because I seed my old master the other night
as plainly as I see you. I had been sent in town
by missus, to market, the Saturday master died,
and, feeling sad like, I had to take my bitters
pretty often. I felt something was going to happen
to me; and that night, after I got home, I
spent mighty uneasy. The next day, being Sunday,
I had to myself, and, by way of breaking the
spell, I goes down on to the road, right by here,
and spent my time with the boys. I stayed there
all day, and just after night-time I starts for home.
I had always tried to do what was right by old
master, so I took my way by the graveyard, a kind
o' sorrowing for him, but not afeard for myself,
though I felt rather awful for all. You know the
graveyard comes right to a pint as you are agwine
down the hill. I kind of looks over at the grave,
and there, after I looked steady a moment, something
white rises. I knew it must be old master,
for right at once it come over me that I had been
everybody, might and main. I tell you, my hair
riz as straight as yourn. I walked right on, as
hard as I could go; it followed. You know the
fence leads right straight down to the barn, by the
big grape-vine, whar' you go into the mill; it followed
to thar. I couldn't look round—I heer'd
it; but, as I got over the fence, I looked, an' I saw
master. It was him. I saw him, as plain as I see
you, turn into a little white dog, an'—”
“It was the dog that followed you,” said Lem,
from the graveyard; “you must have been intoxhacated.”
“Intoxhacated!” re-echoed Nat: “I thanks you,
sir, for your manners to a strange gentleman.
If it had been a dog,” resumed Nat, turning to
me, but answering Lem, “how comes I to hear it
walk with two heavy feet, like master used to
walk afore me, and hear nothing when it walked
away?”
Lem's interruption discomposed Nat's dignity,
and he resumed his pipe and quitted his story.
Lem's notion was no doubt, however, correct, for
Nat, who was given to the bottle, was a great seer
of sights when he had over-indulged himself. Nat
and Lem never became friends, and I always attributed
it to this little circumstance.
Lem, as I have said, imitated his master in
everything, even in his complaints.
My uncle was very dyspeptic; he took a great
many nostrums, without their producing any good
effect upon him (of course). At last, however, he
fancied that old Doctor Mann, a French physician,
who kept at the corner of Calvert and Market
streets, had compounded certain pills which gave
him relief. My uncle generally obtained them
through Nat, whom he sent into the city to market
regularly twice a week, and who hauled at other
times wood to the city, and manure for the farm
from it. The coach was not often used, except on
Sundays, when the family went to church, so that
Nat went much oftener to the city than Lem. Lem
though was quite a moneyed man, for he was always
in waiting to hold the horses of the friends of my
uncle when they visited us, and he was sure to obtain
a piece of silver when they remounted.
One day I overheard Lem say very pompously
to Nat (slaves with each other generally bear the
names of their masters, as the servants in the admirable
farce of “High Life below Stairs,” become
dukes and lords with each other, and Nat retained
his old master's name), “Mr. Richardson,
you would obligate me if with this money,” putting
a twenty-five cent piece into Nat's hand, “you would
obtain for me from Doctor Mann a box of his dispeptus
pills. My bowels is terribly disordered,
and there's nothin' that takes me to town to-day.
they'll help me too.”
Nat took the money, and said he would do so.
About half an hour afterwards he came to me and
said,
“Master William, if you will give me some of
them old pill-boxes of master's, what I seed you
have, I'll get you all the chestnuts you want.”
That I esteemed a most liberal offer on the part
of Nat, and I was not slow in closing the bargain,
by handing him several of the empty boxes. I
heard no more about the pills for three or four
weeks, during which time Nat had obtained several
boxes of them for Lem, until one day Nat asked
him how they operated.
“To a fraction,” replied Lem, with dignity, “and
they am not hard to take, only they 'casion a little
nauseum on account of their tasting a leetle fishy.”
“Master William,” said Nat, slyly to me, when
Lem was out of hearing, “I tells you something if
you says nothing about it.”
“Not a word.”
“Them old pill-boxes of master's you got for me,
I rubs mackerel eyes in flour—them's the pills, and
I spends Lem's quarters drinking his health, and
a hoping they may do him much good.”
Nat was an active muscular fellow, and a great
walker. I was passionately fond of attending husking
matches; so was Nat. I had accompanied him
and I could not go far at night on my crutch, unless
I knew the road, and not even then if the
ground was soft, Nat would stoop down, and placing
his hands for stirrups, with the left arm shorter
than the other, I would mount, and he would jog
along as easily as if I were not heavier than his
axe—in truth, I was not much heavier. In this
way I have gone with him five or six miles to a
husking frolic, and back again the same night.
There was one stipulation between us always upon
these occasions, namely, that Nat was not to get
drunk, which would have prevented my getting
home, and that I, when we got home, was to supply
him with as much whiskey as he wanted. This
I could easily do, as the keys of the storeroom,
which was in the basement, were, when not in use,
always hung up in the sitting-room, and my uncle
and aunt indulged me in everything.
One night, though Nat religiously kept his
promise with me, I broke mine with him. He
revenged himself. We were late on the next occasion
in starting to the husking, which was some
five miles off. I walked about a hundred yards,
and then mounted on Nat's back. Away we went,
over meadow and ploughed land, and through the
woods. Who more full of fun than I? With my
handkerchief around Nat's neck, for the rein,
sometimes I would lean away back, and press my
of his fiery steed, while Nat, humoring the
notion, would prance, caper, neigh, and play the
Bucephalus entirely to my admiration. Then again
I would be seized with the fear that he would
throw me, and would pat his big ears and cheeks,
and coax him into a walk. I even went so far on
this occasion as to introduce two large pins into
the heels of my shoes, spur-like; but, upon my
applying them, my steed, like Balaam's ass, not
only became endowed with speech, but laid me right
flat down upon my back in the woods, nor would
he suffer me to remount until I had placed my evidences
of knighthood in his possession. After this,
we got to the husking-match safe, and Nat showed
forth conspicuously. His companions pressed him
over and over to drink, and, amidst the uproarious
conviviality, he laid no restraint upon himself, and
soon broke loose from the bounds of sobriety.
When I again mounted for home, I found that
no spur was necessary. I tied my crutch with my
handkerchief, so as to fix it to my arm, and seized
with both hands the collar of Nat's linsey-woolsey
jacket, in right-down earnest. It was necessary,
for Nat pitched and heaved like a war-steed when
stricken a desperate blow by the foe. It was quite
natural, for Nat was combating his worst enemy.
We got in this way into the woods. He staggered
fore and aft, brought up against a huge tree, with
tumble into the leaves at his feet, while he grasped
the trunk. Steadying himself thereby, he looked
down at me, and hiccoughed out—
“You sees the konsekense, Master Billy, of
breaking bargains. I kept every word of my word
to you on drinking, refusing the fellows, and
awaiting till we got home, and there was no liquor.
I've got my liquor now, because I could not get it
at home, and you knows whose fault it is.”
So speaking, the old fellow tumbled down in the
leaves at my feet, and, all I could do, I could not
rouse him, except to an inarticulate remark. In
two minutes he was fast asleep.
Though I felt provoked, I reflected that old Nat
had served me right, and I sank down by his side,
hoping that in a half hour or so he would recover.
While waiting for that event, I changed my sitting
to a recumbent position, and was soon as fast asleep
as himself. I did not awake until he himself
aroused me at daybreak, and hurried with me off
home. After that I broke no bargains with Nat.
Nat was a lover of the sex, a kind of colored
Lothario. One day, as I was playing in front of
the house, I cast my eyes down the road, and beheld
Nat seated on a board in front of the cart,
returning from town, with a perfect specimen of
one of Africa's daughters beside him. She was a
likely slave of some eighteen or upwards, whom my
Nat was seated bolt upright beside her, with an
inclination of his person towards the damsel, after
the fashion which he had witnessed in the most
splendid vehicles of the city, as their lords drove
out with the fair. The damsel, whose name was
Becky, had less of art, and more of nature in her
manner. She was dressed in her best, which was
a spotted-muslin gown, with an old lace cape, that
her former mistress had given her. A flaming
bandanna was tastefully tied round her head, and
she looked tidy, attentive, and neat, but not without
a consciousness. Nat was explaining the localities
of the farm to her, having no doubt previously
satisfied her of the kind qualities of her new master.
I had certainly come in for a share of panegyric,
for I saw him point me out to her, and a broad grin
of satisfaction broke over her countenance.
At the back door Nat descended first from
the cart, according to fashion, and then handed
down Miss Becky. From the side door my aunt
spoke to her kindly, and desired her to hand some
of the bundles into the house. When they were
disposed of, Nat resumed his seat, and I took
Becky's beside him, for the purpose of riding to
the stable, and hearing his opinion of the new-comer.
To my inquiry he replied—
“Master bought her to-day, from the widow
Bushrod, Master William. She is a likely colored
and a kind of eased her mind as to her new master
and mistress. She is not married, quite a gal like,
an' I s'pose the next thing we shall know, Mr. Lem
will be dodging round, and axing old master for
her for a wife.”
“Nat, as you are not married either, why don't
you get uncle to give her to you?”
“Master William,” replied Nat quickly, “I have
been thinking of that; but in course old master will
give her to the one she likes, an' you know what a
fooling way Lem has. I'm a getting on to the outskirts
of the vale of years, as the preacher says,
an' Lem's not twenty-three. Anyhow, I'm a free
man in six months from this; my time will be out
then, for which my first master sold me. My master,
that's now, may-be though would hire me, if I
was to get Becky, so I could stay about the place.”
“You knew Becky before?” I remarked.
“Yes, slightly, as you'd say, Master William;
an' Lem never seed her before.”
A fierce rivalry forthwith commenced between
Lem and Nat for Miss Becky's favor. Well do I
remember the tactics practised by either party, and
many a lover whom I have met in society practised
his arts with not half the tact of these
colored gentlemen. As for Becky, she proved that
the gift of coquetry was not confined exclusively
to the fairer portion of Adam's race of her sex.
evenings, to discourse with Nat upon the intricate
subject of bird and rabbit-catching; and there I
witnessed man-catching practised with equal adroitness.
Lem was coachman; so he considered himself
Nat's superior. Nat was possessed of a great
deal of ingenuity, could do almost anything about
a farm, and often, when Lem was otherwise employed,
drove the coach; therefore he was disposed
not at all to yield to Lem on the score of personal
pretension, except as regarded years, and they,
Nat said, when not conversing with me on the subject,
but to his fellows, entitled him to the greater
respect; a consideration which a prudent personage
would not certainly press upon the sex in a love-affair.
In the progress of events, it appeared certain
that Lem was about to be victor. He had
greater facilities for obtaining money than his
rival, from the fact that he held the horses, and
waited on my uncle's visitors; and much of it he
spent in making propitiatory sacrifices to the goddess
of his idolatry. While affairs were in this
posture, the time for which Nat was sold expired.
He was a free man. Struck with jealousy at the
success of his more fortunate rival, he determined,
like Ernest Maltravers, the Bulwerian hero, when
he thought Vasgrave about to be the happy man,
to exile himself from the presence of the charmer.
Accordingly, Nat announced his determination to
was raised. Now, Nat was my uncle's man-of-all-work,
his man Friday, and my relative felt that he
should be at great loss without him. Besides, my
uncle was much older than my aunt, and, notwithstanding
this, and in spite of many rivals, he had
succeeded in his suit. He was aware of the rivalry
which existed between Lem and Nat, and, I believe,
from a fellow-feeling, he entertained a sly wish
that Nat should outgeneral his compeer. Controlled,
I think, by these feelings, my uncle offered
Nat fifteen dollars a month to stay with him, which
our colored worthy most thankfully accepted.
A few days after Nat's first monthly payment,
Lem's star paled, for Nat was as generous as a
prince, and rivalry, as well as love and generosity,
combined to make him open his purse-strings to
Miss Becky.
My uncle paid Nat his fifteen dollars in silver
one Saturday night, no doubt with a purpose, for
he was full of sly humor, and was fond of observing
the characters of those about him. Becky had
been engaged to go with Lem to the country
Methodist Church on Sunday, but she suddenly
declined, and was all smiles upon Nat during the
day. The next Sunday she appeared at church,
attended by Nat, in habiliments that far outshone
the gorgeous daughters of Africa in the throng.
From that day forth, Lem's case was hopeless.
following Sunday Nat and Becky appeared together
at church as man and wife, after the fashion
of their people.
By way of revenge, Lem broke open a blacksmith-shop
down on the road, stole the tools, and
buried them in a patch of ground which my uncle
allowed Nat to cultivate for himself. Search
was made for the tools, and Lem, with an accomplice
and backer, named Toney, who belonged to a
neighbor, asserted that they had seen Nat secreting
them in the patch, one night. Luckily, Nat proved
an alibi conclusively. Alas for Lem! it was decided
that he should receive thirty-nine lashes on
the bare back, and, by way of preventing mistakes,
he was compelled to count them himself. This
was not all; he was degraded from the coach-box
into the field-service, in which he speedily recovered
of his dyspepsia, and became a hale, hearty fellow.
And yet this circumstance, which placed Nat in
the ascendant, was, after all, his ruin. He was
elevated to the coach-box. As my cousins were
growing up, the carriage was called into frequent
requisition, and Nat was driving to and from town
constantly. His opportunities for the obtaining of
liquor were frequent, and also, like many a better
man, he not only availed himself of every opportunity
to drink, but he exhibited a great deal of
tact in making them. No matter how drunk, he
hardy ones, in which the vital powers hold on to
the last, and the extremities yield first. Gradually
his left foot increased to double its size, became
misshapen like a club-foot, and the old fellow had
to have a shoe made expressly for it. Still he sat
on the coach-box. But this was not all. One
Christmas eve, returning from a shooting-match
down on the road, and supplying himself from a
flask of whiskey which he had stowed away in his
pocket, he became so drunk as to be unable to
proceed, and pitched down into the snow, where
he remained all night.
The consequence was that old Nat became a
martyr to the rheumatism, which not only rendered
him incapable of service, but an expense to my
relative, for medical attendance. It was two
months before the old fellow could crawl out, and
then he made his appearance on crutches.
When Nat was first taken, Becky's attentions
to him were unremitting; she was so anxious to
restore him to the field, and thereby prevent the
abatement of his wages; but, as his prospects of
future labor diminished, and his medical expense
to my uncle increased, Becky became indifferent
to him.
The great minstrel of the North, after speaking
of the general waywardness of woman, says, in
because true):—
A ministering angel thou!
Becky might have been a ministering angel to
old Nat, but she removed her quarters from his
room, and made her visits, like other “angel visits,”
a good distance apart.
Almost by miracle Nat's rheumatism left him
for a season, and Becky lighted the torch of hymen
anew, but the flames had scarcely ascended when
the old fellow had a relapse. In this way for years
Nat lingered along, at times apparently well except
his lameness, but with relapses that, at each
recurrence, were at lesser intervals and more severe.
Becky's attentions to him graduated accordingly.
At last Nat's wages were reduced one-half, and
her complaints against his habits were loud and
frequent; but old Nat was sincerely attached to
her, and bore them after the manner of Socrates.
Becky made meanwhile a less brilliant appearance
at church, though her domestic qualities gathered
no new energy.
Years slipped away, and I approached man 's estate.
Nat eked out now what my uncle allowed
him, which was but a few dollars a month, for he
had become almost useless, by setting traps for rabbits
or at market. Almost every cent he received
was transferred to Becky ere it touched his
pocket.
I was a good deal amused one day, poor fellow,
at his lamentation over his lame leg. He said—
“Master William, I don 't care for the looks of
the thing, but for the thing itself. You see Becky
will dress, and old master has docked my wages
on account of my rhumatiz, and my not being
able to work as I did, and now when I expected to
make a catching of rabbits and partridges, the
niggers all about here track me through the snow
by my lame leg, and steals everything. There's
Bryant's Toney, I suspects him strong. Master
William, suppose you walks down with me to-morrow
morning to the clump of trees next to Bryant's.
Right in the sheep-track, there I've set my
gun (a trap made out of a hollow log), and by
hokey I know we'll catch that Toney stealing my
rabbit out if there's airy one in.”
“Agreed,” said I, and the next morning bright and
early, for the purpose of defending the old fellow's
rights, I attended him to the clump of trees. There
stood the trap with the fall-down about ten feet
from us.
“We 're afore the tarnal rabbit thief this morning,
Master William,” exclaimed Nat, stepping up
to the trap, and preparing to take from it the live
mornings past, there's been somebody here, and
helped themselves, and then set the trap again, for
I has a 'tickler way of setting my traps, and can
tell.”
By this time, secundum artem, Nat had extracted
the rabbit from his trap, and with the affrighted
animal under his arm, was proceeding to set it
again, when he looked up and observed—
“See! Master William, yonder! that's Toney
Bryant's. Toney, he's the thief, you may depend on
it. He's coming this way; he's looking out for
other traps, but he ha'n't seed me yet; let's hide,
Master William, behind the trees, and catch the
varmint.”
We accordingly hid, and in a whisper, Nat
pointed Toney out to me at some distance off on
the skirts of the woods, closely eyeing the ground
as he walked on in search of traps. With an eye
glittering through the bushes at him, Nat said,
“That agravating varmint 'll find the trap down,
and think there's a rabbit in—he, he.”
Toney walked directly to Nat's trap, and, finding
the fall down, concluded, of course, that the game
was there. Accordingly he got down on his knees,
for the purpose of purloining it, muttering to himself,
as he did so, “I'll save old Nat the trouble
again.”
Nat, meanwhile, was not an uninteresting picture.
while he held the rabbit by the hind legs, with its
head under his arm. Every now and then the
animal gave a convulsive start, in its efforts to
escape, at which the old fellow would grasp it
harder, and gaze the keener at Toney, who, on
finding the trap empty and down, concluded that
some other poacher had been there before him.
He therefore determined, it seemed, to remove it
to some place where he could make sure of its contents,
and accordingly he very deliberately lifted
it up and adjusted it under his arm.
At this instant Nat stepped forth, and confronted
him, saying, with great dignity—
“You've no 'casion to take that trap.”
Toney started, and dropped the trap, but, in an
instant, recovered himself, and, putting his foot
on it, he said—
“The trap's mine.”
Nat, full of courage from my presence, though
I was unobserved by Toney, exclaimed—
“You lie, you thief!” And forthwith he slung
(forgetting in his passion what would be his loss)
the rabbit full in his face.
Toney had the reputation of being a dexterous
fellow, and amply proved it on this occasion, for
he caught the rabbit as it struck him, and, bursting
into a loud laugh, he held it over his head a moment,
with it into the woods.
Matters were in this state with Nat when I left
my uncle's, and domesticated myself in the city, as
a student of the law.
In due time I was admitted to practice, and did
so for nearly twelve months, when increasing indisposition
compelled me to repair to the country for
my health. There I found old Nat a hanger-on
about the farm, incapable of doing anything but
feed the poultry, or some such light service. He
earned no wages now, and, as a matter of kindness,
my uncle supported him. Meanwhile a stout, black,
free negro, named Joe Mooney, of about Becky's
age, and a preacher withal, made his appearance
at my uncle's, as a visitor of Becky. Nat hated
him from the first, for he was fond of discoursing
against intemperance, and doubtless did so intentionally,
aiming his shafts at Nat in the presence
of Becky. She was held a beauty by her race.
She was now reduced to the plain habiliments of a
servant, and could no more make the display on
Sundays at the meeting-house which was her wont
in the days of Nat's prosperity. If we could dissect
human motives to their first mainspring, I
have no doubt we should find Becky's first partiality
to the preacher arose from his complimenting
her upon the plainness of her attire, with well-directed
observations upon the impropriety of appearing
to make it known that choice, not necessity, had
caused the change. The result was, Becky joined
the church under Mooney. The next thing, her
conscience was troubled about the unceremonious
manner in which she had become Nat's wife, so she
discarded the old fellow eventually. She and
Mooney held long conversations together, and the
issue was that she determined to be married over
again, as she expressed it, but not to Nat.
The old negro plainly proved that the demon
jealousy is not confined to its habitancy of a white
bosom. He was now old and decrepit, but he remembered
well, and it made his age the more
desolate, that all his means, when he had any, were
given, without scarcely a cent's expenditure upon
himself, to one who now, from compunctions of
conscience, spurned him from her bed and board.
He advised with me about speaking to my uncle
on the matter, but I told him it would be of no use;
for he well knew, as his own case proved, that my
relative never interfered in such matters among his
slaves.
Nat's only resource now was in the bottle, and
he thanked his stars that I was near by, from whom
he could obtain the needful “bit.” I could not
find it in my heart to refuse to add a dram or
two to the daily one my uncle allowed him, which
was always sent down to him at dinner time. In
he most needed his “bitters,” and then it was that
I used to start one of the little black boys off to the
tavern on the road for a pint for Nat. How the
old toper's eyes gloated on it when it came! In
fact, his long habits of intemperance had made
stimulus necessary to his existence. At least so
the country doctor said, who was given to stimulus
himself.
As soon as Nat had his bottle filled in the morning,
he would repair instantly to the barn-yard,
where, after having poured into a tin cup a considerable
portion of “old rye,” he would fill from
the glowing udder of the cow the remainder up to
the brim with the warm milk, and take it down as
a Virginian or Kentuckian takes his “mint juleps”
at rising, with a gusto, a lighting up of the eye,
followed by an immediate tendency to loquacity.
Alas for old Nat, it was then that he would come
and take a seat by me, and live his life over again.
How he would chuckle as he reminded me of the
time I had to sleep out all night, and how he would
laugh over Lem and his “dyspeptus pills.”
After taking his morning bitters, Nat touched
not again through the day except at dinner, when
he disposed of the dram which my uncle sent him.
But at night, and particularly if “Parson Joe”
came over to see Becky, he was sure to have recourse
ready for my “bit” in the morning.
Besides the pocket-money that Nat gathered
between my uncle and myself, my relative frequently
gave him vegetables, fruits, &c., which he
sold to the neighbors. After my relative had set
out his early York cabbages, he told Nat that he
might have all the “plantings” that were left,
which amounted to a thousand or more, and were
selling at twenty-five cents per hundred. Happy
in the opportunity of putting so much “grog-money”
in his pocket, Nat went forth among the
neighbors to effect sales. There was an old man
near by named Tatem, who was always called
Squire Tatem, from the fact that the governor had
given him a commission in the magistracy. This
commission brought Tatem little more than the
dignity, for there were squires enough before he
was made one. He had kept an extensive shoe-store
in Baltimore, and failed. He lived at this
time on a little farm of few acres, which previous
to his failure he had deeded to his wife. The front
of Tatem's barn bounded on the opposite side of
the road from my uncle's, about a quarter of a mile
below the termination of his estate. As Tatem
had been used to a town life, and liked company,
it was his custom, whenever the weather permitted,
to leave his house, which was situated a hundred
or more yards off of the road, and take his station
whatever passengers he chanced to know in their
way to and from town, to learn the news.
Nat had sold four hundred of his early York
“plantings” to Squire Tatem, but on their delivery
the Squire had failed to make payment, and had
put Nat off from time to time, whenever the old
negro had requested him thereto. One day Nat
came to me and stated his grievance, saying,
“You must know, Master William, that I sold
him, that Squire Tatem, the four hundred early
York plantings at twenty-five cents a hundred.
You can see how good they was, for look at old
master's and look at the Squire's or mine, for mine
they are, when you pass by his place. Finer early
Yorks the hand of black or white man never
planted. Well, after I handed 'em to him, he said
he had no change then, an' that he would pay me
the first time he seed me. I let him, Master William,
see me every time I had a chance for a full
month afterwards, but he never said a word. So
one day I meets him down at the tavern on the
road, where there was a quantity of gentlemen,
an' I says to him as purlite as possible, taking off
my hat at the same time, `Servant, Squire,' says
I. `Nathaniel, my worthy,'—he called me at full
length, Nathaniel—`Nathaniel, my worthy,' says
he, very kind, `how's your health?' Says I, `I
thanks you, Squire, very kindly, my rheumatiz is
`Early Yorks,' says he, snapping his eye quickly
at me. `Oh, my fine fellow, near the road? Admirably.
Your master never had any like them,
hey?' `Yes, Master Squire,' says I, `them ere
come from old master's; they're growing first
rate, and, Squire,' says I, making a low purlite
bow, `Nat would be your 'bedient servant, if you
would let him have that change for 'em!' `Change,'
said he; `them few plantings I got from you wasn't
worth a snap; it's my opinion you stole 'em from
your master, you drunken vagabond; I shall call
and see him; but for my respect for him I should
commit you to jail right off.' Then Bob Hollands
told him that the receiver was as bad as the thief.
How everybody did laugh; but the Squire looked
so angry at me that I thought it best to leave, so I
did.”
“Have you ever spoken to him since about the
matter?” I asked.
“Yes, Master William; the other day I finds
him leaning over the fence; and he told me if I
ever spoke to him in the company of gentlemen
about such things again, that he would cowhide me
the first time he caught me on the road. He said
when he had any change he'd let me know, without
my axing for it. Now, Master William, you knows
the law; what are a colored man to do under them
circumstances?”
“Was there no white person by,” I asked, “when
you sold the cabbages to the Squire?”
“Not a soul, black or white, Master William.”
“It's a pity, Nat,” I replied, “that he did not
confess the debt in the presence of some of those
gentlemen at the tavern. You are now a free man,
and you could sue him for the amount, and bring
one of those gentlemen to prove that he confessed
the debt.”
“Ha, now I understand it, Master William.
That's the reason why the Squire didn't want to
hear anything of it before them are gentlemen; he
knew I could make him pay. So, if he was to
confess, in the presence of a white person, as how
he owed me the money, then I could sue him, and
make him pay.”
“Precisely so, Nat,” I replied. Nat chuckled
to himself, and then said: “The Squire'll find I'm
not such a cabbage-head as he takes me for.”
A week or so after this, and when I had forgotten
the circumstance, Nat was one day driving
me into the city in the carriage. As we approached
Squire Tatem's, Nat turned round, and said quickly
to me:—
“Master William, there's the Squire now. Don't
let him see you, and just mark, now, how I'll tickle
him along about the cabbage. If I stops, he'll
think of a konsekence there's nobody in.” Accordingly,
with great respect, Nat spoke to the
the news was.”
“Nothing 'tickler, Squire. I hopes you is well
to-day, sir.”
“Very well, Nathaniel; how's your master?”
“Well, I tanks you, Squire. How nice your
place looks! You beats up the whole of us all hollow,
Squire, a-gardening.”
“Yes, the place looks pretty well. What do you
think of those cabbages, you rascal, hey?” and
the Squire spoke half humorously.
“That is a great soil, yours, Squire; ours is
nothing like 'em.”
“Why didn't you say so, then, the other day,
you black scamp, when I asked you?”
“I didn't like, Squire, to run down things at
home before company.”
“Ha, ha! you don't, hey? But you come dunning
before company, do you?”
“You wouldn't hear me through, then, Squire;
I was gwine to say, when you stopped me, that
master talked about buying that cider-press of
yourn, to get all ready for the cider season.”
“That was it, hey? I have said I would sell it
to a neighbor, so I will.”
“Master wants me to look at it, Squire.”
“Ay, come and do so, Nathaniel, as you come
out, and we'll talk about that little change I owe
you. How much was it?”
“Four hundred, Squire, at twenty-five cents a
hundred,” replied Nathaniel.
“Yes, yes, so it is—exactly right. I owe you
one dollar, Nathaniel, and when your master buys
the cider-press I'll pay you.”
“Squire,” exclaimed Nat, in a changed tone,
“whether master buys that press or not, you've got
to pay me. I just tell you I have a white gentleman
in here, an' he'll prove it.” And before, between
indignation and surprise, the Squire could
reply, Nat put whip to his horses, and away he
went.
Nat informed me, a few days afterwards, that
he had met the Squire on the road since; that the
Squire “gave him a hard cussing, but chucked the
dollar at him.”
“Who can control his fate?” as Othello says.
Nat struggled in vain against his. Becky, after
she had discarded Nat, and the formalities of a
courtship were gone through with, married “Parson
Joe.” I must do Joe, too, the justice to state,
that by hard labor he obtained the means, before
the birth of her first child by him, of buying her
from my uncle. The old gentleman let him have
her at half her value, and rented cheaply, to her
husband, a cabin and lot on the road-side. Joe
treats her well, and is doing well. Joe never entertained
any ill-feeling towards Nat, but, on the
contrary, treated him with kindness—with much
great dignity at the door of her own household, and
offer Nat three cents to split wood for her, and rate
him soundly for not splitting the money's worth!
I had made up my mind to push my fortunes in
the West, and, on the eve of my departure, I left
the city, to which I had again returned, for the
purpose of spending a week with my kind uncle
and aunt. My cousins had all married off, and
they were the only white persons on the farm.
There was old Nat, and right glad was he to see
me, and have his bottle filled; but he felt desolate
and deserted, and could not get over Becky's treatment
of him. Sad, sad was my parting with my
relatives. Nat had not driven the carriage for
some time, but he asked permission to drive me
into the city, on my leave-taking, and I could not
refuse him. Just as we reached Barnum's steps,
we saw the stage in which I had taken my seat
turn from Market (now Baltimore) Street into Calvert
Street. “Master William,” said old Nat, with
heart so full that he could hardly speak it, “you'll
never see Nat any more. We'll never have any
more talks together. Though you're gwine far
over the mountains, you must think of old Nat
when you're there; an' when you write home,
you must name me in black and white, an' old
master'll read it to me. If old master lives, I
shall have a good home as long as I wants one;
poorhouse. But it is no matter where old Nat
dies; he's old, now, and of no account nohow to
nobody. Master William,” and here the old fellow's
voice grew firm and admonitory, “remember
this what I tell you at our last parting. Master
William, arter the experience of sixty years, a
woman can deceive any man.”
“The stage waits, sir,” exclaimed the driver to
me. Old Nat assisted me in, grasped my hand
convulsively, but had no words. The tears down
his dusky cheek spoke for him. Away we dashed,
and the last sight I caught of my humble friend
was as we whirled around the corner; he was
gazing after me with a full heart. I am still a
bachelor. Nat's advice certainly has not confined
me to my present solitary state; yet it is as certain
that on many a night of festivity in lighted
hall, and on many a moonlight ramble, his words
have crossed me like the disenchanting power of
some ugly old elf o'er the wanderer in fairy land.
| John Randolph, of Roanoke, and other sketches
of character, including William Wirt | |