University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER 10 Merry Making

The day is Saturday, a part of which is given by many liberal masters to their slaves, the afternoon being spent as a holiday, or in vending such little marketable commodities as they might by chance possess.

As a token of gratitude, it is customary in many parts of the South for the slaves to invite their masters to their entertainments. This evening presented such an occasion on the premises of Colonel Stephen Franks.

This day Mammy Judy was extremely busy, for in addition to the responsibility of the culinary department, there was her calico habit to be done up — she would not let Potter's Milly look any better than herself — and an old suit of the young master George's clothes had to be patched and darned a little before little Joe could favorably compare with Craig's Sooky's little Dick. And the cast-off linen given to her husband for the occasion might require a “little doing up.”

“Wat missus sen' dis shut heah wid de bres all full dis debilment an' nonsense fah?” said Mammy Judy, holding up the garment, looking at

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the ruffles. “Sho! Missus mus' be crack, sen' dis heah! Ole man ain' gwine sen' he soul to de ole boy puttin' on dis debilment!” And she hastened away with the shirt, stating to her mistress her religious objections. Mrs. Franks smiled as she took the garment, telling her that the objections could be easily removed by taking off the ruffles.

“Dat look sumphen like!” remarked the old woman, when Ailcey handed her the shirt with the ruffles removed.

“Sen' dat debilment an' nonsense heah! Sho!” And carrying it away smiling, she laid it upon the bed.

The feast of the evening was such as Mammy Judy was capable of preparing when in her best humor, consisting of all the delicacies usually served up on the occasion of corn huskings in the graingrowing region.

Conscious that he was not entitled to their gratitude, Colonel Franks declined to honor the entertainment, though the invitation was a ruse to deceive him, as he had attempted to deceive them.

The evening brought with it much of life's variety, as may be seen among the slave population of the South. There were Potter's slaves, and the people of Mrs. Van Winter, also those of Major Craig, and Dr. Denny, all dressed neatly, and seemingly very happy.

Ailcey was quite the pride of the evening, in an old gauze orange dress of her mistress, and felt that she deserved to be well thought of, as proving herself the friend of Henry, the son-in-law of Daddy Joe and Mammy Judy, the heads of the entertainment. Mammy Judy and Potter's Milly were both looking matronly in their calico gowns and towlinen aprons, and Daddy Joe was the honored and observed of the party, in an old black suit with an abundance of surplus.

“He'p yeh se'f, chilen!” said Mammy Judy, after the table had been blessed by Daddy Joe. “Henry ain' gwine be heah, 'e gone to Woodville uh some whah dah, kick'n up 'e heel. Come, chilen, eat haughty, mo' whah dis come f'om. He'p yeh se'f now do'n — — ”

“I is, Aun' Judy; I likes dis heah kine a witals!” drawled out Potter's Nelse, reaching over for the fifth or sixth time. “Dis am good shaut cake!”

“O mammy, look at Jilson!” exclaimed Ailcey, as a huge, rough field hand — who refused to go to the table with the company, but sat sulkily by himself in one corner — was just walking away, with two whole “cakes” of bread under his arm.

“Wat yeh gwine do wid dat bread, Jilson?” enquired the old woman.

“I gwine eat it, dat wat I gwine do wid it! I ain' had no w'eat bread dis two hauvest!” he having come from Virginia, where such articles of food on harvest occasion were generally allowed the slave.

“Big hog, so 'e is!” rebukingly said Ailcey, when she saw that Jilson was determined in his purpose.

“Nebeh mine dat childen, plenty mo!” responded Mammy Judy.

“Ole umin, dat chile in de way dah; de gals haudly tu'n roun,” suggested Daddy Joe, on seeing the pallet of little Joe crowded upon as the girls were leaving the table, seating themselves around the room.

“Ailcey, my chile, jes' run up to de hut wid 'im, 'an lay 'im in de bed; ef yeh fuhd, Van Wintah' Ben go wid yeh; ah knows 'e likes to go wid de gals,” said Mammy Judy.

Taking up his hat with a bland smile, Ben obeyed orders without a demur.

The entertainment was held at the extreme end of a two-acre lot in the old slave quarters, while the hut of Mammy Judy was near the great house. Ailcey thought she espied a person retreat into the shrubbery and, startled, she went to the back door of the hut, but Ben hooted at the idea of any person out and about on such an occasion, except indeed it was Jilson with his bread. The child being carefully placed in bed, Ailcey and her protector were soon mingled with the merry slaves.

There were three persons generally quite prominent among the slaves of the neighborhood, missed on this occasion; Franks' Charles, Denny's Sam, and Potter's Andy; Sam being confined to bed by sickness.

“Ailcey, whah's Chaules — huccum 'e not heah?” enquired Mammy Judy.

“Endeed, I dun'o mammy.”

“Huccum Pottah's Andy ain' heah muddah?”

“Andy a' home tonight, Aun' Judy, an' uh dun'o whah 'e is,” replied Winny.

“Gone headlong out yandah, arteh no good, uh doh reckon, an' Chaules 'e gone dah too,” replied the old woman.

“Da ain' nothin' mattah wid dis crowd, Aun' Judy,” complimented Nelse as he sat beside Derba. At this expression Mammy Judy gave a deep sigh, on the thought of her absent daughter.

“Come, chilen,” suggested Mammy Judy, “yeh all eat mighty hauty,

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an' been mighty merry, an' 'joy yehse'f much; we now sing praise to de Laud fah wat 'e done fah us,” raising a hymn in which all earnestly joined:

“Young folk, yeh all bettah git ready now an' go, fo' de patrollas come out. Yeh all 'joy yeh se'f much, now time yeh gone. Hope yeh all sauv God Sunday. Ole man fo' de all gone, hab wud uh prah,” advised the old woman; the following being sung in conclusion:

when the gathering dispersed, the slaves going cheerfully to their homes.

“Come ole man, yeh got mautch? light sum dem shavens dah, quick. Ah cah fine de chile heah on dis bed!” said Mammy Judy, on entering the hut and feeling about in the dark for little Joe. “Ailcey, wat yeh done wid de chile?”

“E's dah, Mammy Judy, I lain 'im on de bed, ah spose 'e roll off.” The shavings being lit, here was no child to be found.

“My Laud, ole man! whah's de chile? Wat dis mean! O, whah's my po' chile gone; my po' baby!” exclaimed Mammy Judy, wringing her hands in distress.

“Stay, ole 'umin! De tree! De tree!” When, going out in the dark, feeling the trunk of the willow, three notches in the bark were distinct to the touch.

“Ole 'umin!” exclaimed Daddy Joe in a suppressed voice, hastening into the hut. “It am he, it am Henry got 'im!”

“Tang God, den my po' baby safe!” responded Mammy Judy, when they raised their voices in praise of thankfulness:

Falling upon their knees, the old man offered an earnest, heartful prayer to God, asking his guardianship through the night, and protection through the day, especially upon their heartbroken daughter, their runaway son-in-law, and the little grandson, when the two old people retired to rest with spirits mingled with joy, sorrow, hope, and fear; Ailcey going into the great house.