University of Virginia Library

23. A Slave's Reminiscences
By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN (1864)

PASSING by a church, I saw the sexton, with brush in hand, sweeping the aisles. The edifice was a substantial, ancient structure, with a mahogany pulpit of the old style, a broad aisle, chandelier pendent from the arched roof, filagree and panel-work around the galleries. Old and aristocratic families had sat in the cushioned pews,— men of vast wealth, owning houses, lands, and slaves. A great organ loomed high up in the gallery, its gilt pipes fronting the pulpit. Marriages and funerals had been solemnized at the altar. For fifteen years, Sunday after Sunday, this sexton had faithfully discharged his duties at the church.

He was stout, thick-set, strong, with well-developed muscles and a clear eye. He was gentlemanly in his deportment, and his voice was one of the most musical I ever heard.

"Shall I take a look at the church ?

"Certainly, Sir. Walk in."

His words were as if he had chanted them, so faultless the tone, inflection, and cadence. His features were well formed, but anthracite coal is not blacker than his complexion. I was interested in him at once. He leaning upon his broom, and I sitting in one of the pews, had a free conversation upon the events of his life.

He was born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1829.

"My old master died,"said he, "and I fell to his son, who went off to college and got to spreeing it, lost all his property, and of course I had to be sold. I brought twelve hundred dollars,— that was in 1849,

—but another man offered the man who bought me a hundred and fifty dollars bonus for his bargain, which was accepted, and I was brought to Charleston. I have always been a slave."

"But you are a free man now; just as free as I am."

"Yes, Sir, so General Sherman told me. I had a talk with him; and he talked just as free with me as if I was his own brother. But I don't feel it in my heart, Sir, to go away and leave my old master, now that he is poor, and calamity has come upon him."

"Has he always treated you well ?"

"Yes, Sir,— that is, he never scarred my back. Some masters are mighty hard, Sir. I don't blame some negroes for running away from their masters now that they can, for they have been treated mighty bad, Sir; but my master has had great calamity come upon him, Sir. When I was brought here from Norfolk, master's son Bob, who is in Texas,—a captain in the Southern army now,— saw me, and liked me, and I liked him, and his father bought me for Bob, and Bob and I have been like brothers to each other. I have no complaint to make. But master has lost two sons in Virginia. One of them was killed in the first battle of Manassas."

"I suppose you have heard many prayers here for Jeff Davis?"

"Yes, Sir, and mighty fine sermons for the Southern army, Sir; and there have been solemn scenes in this church, Sir. Six bodies, one Sunday, after the first battle of Manassas, were here in this broad aisle. I had the communion-table set out here, right in front of the pulpit, and, there they lay,—six of 'em. I couldn't help crying when I saw 'em, for they were just like old friends to me. They used to attend the

Sunday school when they were boys, and used to cut up a little wild, and it was my business to keep 'em straight. They belong to the Oglethorpe Light Infantry, and went with Colonel Barton. They went away gayly, and thought they were going to Richmond to have a nice time. Their mothers and sisters told them to go and fight the Yankees. They didn't expect to see them brought back dead, 1 reckon. It was a sad day, sir."

"Then the women were as eager as the men for the war ?"

"Yes, sir,—more. They were crazy about fighting the Yankees. I know that some of the boys didn't want to fight against the flag, but the women made 'em. The men had to wear Secession badges, as something to show that they were for the South. If it hadn't been for the ladies, I reckon we wouldn't have had the war."

"What do the women think now?"

"Well, sir, some of them are as bitter as ever they were against the Yankees, but I reckon they don't care to say much; and then there are others who see it ain't no use to try to hold out any longer. There are lots of 'em who have lost their husbands and brothers and sons. I reckon there are very few of the Light Infantry left. I know 'em all, for I took care of their hall,— their armory,— and they made me hoist the union flag down one day. That made me feel very bad, sir. I always loved the flag, and I love it now better than ever. It makes me feel bad to think that my boys 'fought against it. But I reckon it is the Lord's doing, sir, and~ that it will be a blessing to us in the end."

"Can you read and write? "I asked.

"A little, sir. I never had any one to show me, but I used to sit down here in the pews and take up the hymn-book, and spell out the words, and one day master Bob set me a copy in writing, and so I have learned a little. I can read the newspapers, sir, and have kept track of the war."

We talked upon the prospects of the colored people now that they were free.

"I reckon, sir,"said he, 'I that a good many of 'em will be disappointed. They don't know what freedom is. But they will find that they have got to work, or else they won't get anything to cat. They are poor, ignorant creatures; but I reckon, sir, that after a while, when things get settled, they will learn how to take care of themselves. But I think they are mighty foolish to clear out and leave their old masters, when they can have good situations, and good pay, and little to do. Then, sir, it is kind of ungrateful like, to go away and leave their old masters when the day of calamity comes. I could not do it, sir; besides, I reckon I will be better off to stay here for the present, sir."