It is like the account of a great battle, in which we learn, in round numbers, that ten thousand were killed and wounded, and throw the paper' by without a thought. So, when we read of sixty or eighty thousand human beings being raised yearly and sold in the market, it passes through our mind, but leaves no definite trace.
Sterne says that when he would realize the miseries of captivity, he had to turn his mind from the idea of hundreds of thousands languishing in dungeons, and bring before himself the picture of one poor, solitary captive pining in his cell. In like manner, we cannot give any idea of the horribly cruel and demoralizing effect of this trade, except by presenting facts in detail, each fact being a specimen of a class of facts.
For a specimen of the public sentiment and the kind of morals and manners which this breeding and trading system produces, both in slaves and in their owners, the writer gives the following extracts from a recent letter of a friend in one of the Southern States.
Dear Mrs. S:—The sable goddess who presides over our bod and wash-stand is such a queer specimen of her race, that I would give a good deal to have you see her. Her whole appearance, as she goes giggling and curtseying about, is perfectly comical, and would lead a stranger to think her really deficient in intellect. This is, however, by no means the case. During our two months' acquaintance with her, we have seen many indications of sterling good sense, that would do credit to many a white person with ten times her advantages. She is disposed to be very communicative;—seems to feel that she has a claim upon our sympathy, in the very fact that we come from the North; and we could undoubtedly gain no little knowledge of the practical workings of the "peculiar institution," if we thought proper to hold any protracted conversation with her. This, however, would insure a visit from the authorities, requesting us to leave town in the next train of cars; so we are forced to content ourselves with gleaning a few items, now and then, taking care to appear quite indifferent to her story, and to cut it short by despatching her on some trifling errand;—being equally careful, however, to note down her peculiar expressions, as soon as she has disppeared. A copy of these I have thought you would like to see, especially as illustrating the views of the marriage institution which is a necessary result of the great human property relation system.
A Southern lady, who thinks "negro sentiment" very much exaggerated in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," assures us that domestic attachments cannot be very strong, where one man will have two or three wives and families, on as many different plantations.(!) And the lady of our hotel tells us of her cook having received a message from her husband, that he has another wife, and she may find another husband, with perfect indifference; simply expressing a hope that "she won't find another here during the next month, as she must then be sent to her owner, in Georgia, and would be more unwilling to go." And yet, both of these ladies are quite religious, and highly resent any insinuation that the moral character of the slaves is not far above that of the free negroes at the North.
With Violet's story, I will also enclose that of one of our waiters; in which, I think, you will be interested.
Violet's father and mother both died, as she says, "'fore I had any sense," leaving eleven children—all scattered. "To sabe my life. Missis, couldn't tell dis yer night where one of dem is. Massa lib in Charleston. My first husband,—when we was young,—nice man; he had seven children; den he sold off to Florida—neber hear from him 'gain. Ole folks die. O, dat's be my boderation, Missis,—when ole people be dead, den we be scattered all 'bout. Den I sold up here—now hab 'noder husband—hab four children up here. I lib bery easy when my young husband 'libe—and we had children bery fast. But now dese yer ones tight fellers. Massa don't 'low us to raise noting; no pig—no goat—no dog—no noting; won't allow us raise a bit of corn. We has to do jist de best we can. Dey don't gib us a single grain but jist two homespun frocks—no coat 'tall.
"Can't go to meetin, 'cause. Missis, get dis work done—den get dinner. In summer, I goes ebery Sunday ebening; but dese yer short days, time done get dinner dishes washed, den time get supper. Gen'lly goes Baptist church."
"Do your people usually go there?"
"Dere bees tree shares ob dem—Methodist gang. Baptist gang, 'Piscopal gang. Last summer, use to hab right smart[1] meetins in our yard, Sunday night. Massa Johnson preach to us. Den he said couldn't hab two meetins—we might go to church."
"Why?"
"Gracious knows. I lubs to go to meetin allers—'specially when dere's good preaching—lubs to hab people talk good to me—likes to hab people read to me, too. 'Cause don't b'long to church, no reason why I shan't."
"Does your master like to have others read to you?"
"He won't hinder—I an't bound tell him when folks reads to me. I hab my soul to sabe—he hab his soul to sabe. Our owners won't stand few minutes and read to us—dey tink it too great honor—dey's bery hard on us. Brack preachers sometimes talk good to us, and pray wid us,—and pray a heap for dem too.
"I jest done hab great quarrel wid Dinah, down in de kitchen. I tells Dinah, 'De way you goes on spile all de women's character.'—She say she didn't care, she do what she please wid herself. Dinah, she slip away somehow from her first husband, and hab 'noder child by Sambo (he b'long to Massa D.); so she and her first husband dey fall out somehow. Dese yer men, yer know, is so queer, Missis, dey don't neber like sich tings.
"Ye know. Missis, tings we lub, we don't like hab anybody else hab 'cm. Such a ting as dat. Missis, tetch your heart so, ef you don't mind,
't will fret you almost to death. Ef my husband- ↑ Right smart of—that is, a great many of—an idiom of Anglo-Ethiopia.
