My Southern Home: Or, the South and Its People. William Wells BrownЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Cato, ef I was in Hannah’s place, I’d see you in de bottomless pit before I’d live wid you, you great, big, wall-eyed, empty-headed, knock-kneed fool. You’re as mean as your devilish old missis.”
Cato. “Ef you don’t quit dat busin’ me, Dolly, I’ll tell missis as soon as she comes in, an’ she’ll whip you, you know she will.”
As Mrs. Gaines entered she said, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Hannah, to make me fatigue myself in this way, to make you do your duty. It’s very naughty in you, Hannah. Now, Dolly, you and Susan get the broom, and get out in the middle of the room. There, hold it a little lower—a little higher; there, that’ll do. Now, remember that this is a solemn occasion; you are going to jump into matrimony. Now, Cato, take hold of Hannah’s hand. There, now, why could n’t you let Cato take hold of your hand before? Now, get ready, and when I count three, do you jump. Eyes on the broomstick! All ready. One, two, three, and over you go. There, now you’re husband and wife, and if you don’t live happy together, it’s your own fault; for I am sure there’s nothing to hinder it. Now, Hannah, come up to the house, and I’ll give you some whiskey, and you can make some apple-toddy, and you and Cato can have a fine time. Now, I’ll go back to the parlor.”
Dolly. “I tell you what, Susan, when I get married, I is gwine to have a preacher to marry me. I ain’t a-gwine to jump de broomstick. Dat will do for fiel’ hands, but house servants ought to be ’bove dat.”
Susan. “Well, chile, you can’t spect any ting else from ole missis. She come from down in Carlina, from ’mong de poor white trash. She don’t know any better. You can’t speck nothin’ more dan a jump from a frog. Missis says she is one ob de akastocacy; but she ain’t no more of an akastocacy dan I is. Missis says she was born wid a silver spoon in her mouf; ef she was, I wish it had a-choked her, dat’ what I wish.”
The mode of jumping the broomstick was the general custom in the rural districts of the South, forty years ago; and, as there was no law whatever in regard to the marriage of slaves, this custom had as binding force with the negroes, as if they had been joined by a clergyman; the difference being the one was not so high-toned as the other. Yet, it must be admitted that the blacks always preferred being married by a clergyman.
CHAPTER V.
Dr. Gaines and wife having spent the heated season at the North, travelling for pleasure and seeking information upon the mode of agriculture practised in the free States, returned home filled with new ideas which they were anxious to put into immediate execution, and, therefore, a radical change was at once commenced.
Two of the most interesting changes proposed, were the introduction of a plow, which was to take the place of the heavy, unwieldy one then in use, and a washing-machine, instead of the hard hand-rubbing then practised. The first called forth much criticism amongst the men in the field, where it was christened the “Yankee Dodger,” and during the first half a day of its use, it was followed by a large number of the negroes, men and women wondering at its superiority over the old plow, and wanting to know where it was from.
But the excitement in the kitchen, amongst the women, over the washing-machine, threw the novelty of the plow entirely in the shade.
“An’ so dat tub wid its wheels an’ fixin’ is to do de washin’, while we’s to set down an’ look at it,” said Dolly, as ten or a dozen servants stood around the new comer, laughing and making fun at its ungainly appearance.
“I don’t see why massa didn’t buy a woman, out dar whar de ting was made, an’ fotch ’em along, so she could learn us how to wash wid it,” remarked Hannah, as her mistress came into the kitchen to give orders about the mode of using the “washer.”
“Now, Dolly,” said the mistress, “we are to have new rules, hereafter, about the work. While at the North, I found that the women got up at four o’clock, on Monday mornings, and commenced the washing, which was all finished, and out on the lines, by nine o’clock. Now, remember that, hereafter, there is to be no more washing on Fridays, and ironing on Saturdays, as you used to do. And instead of six of you great, big women to do the washing, two of you with the ‘washer,’ can do the work.” And out she went, leaving the negroes to the contemplation of the future.
“I wish missis had stayed at home, ’stead of goin’ round de world, bringin’ home new rules. Who she tinks gwine to get out of bed at four o’clock in de mornin’, kase she fotch home dis wash-box,” said Dolly, as she gave a knowing look at the other servants.
“De Lord knows dat dis chile ain’t a-gwine to git out of her sweet bed at four o’clock in de mornin’, for no body; you hears dat, don’t you?” remarked Winnie, as she gave a loud laugh, and danced out of the room.
Before the end of the week, Peter had run the new plow against a stump, and had broken it beyond the possibility of repair.
When the lady arose on Monday morning, at half-past nine, her usual time, instead of finding the washing out on the lines, she saw, to her great disappointment, the inside works of the “washer” taken out, and Dolly, the chief laundress, washing away with all her power, in the old way, rubbing with her hands, the perspiration pouring down her black face.
“What have you been doing, Dolly, with the ‘washer?’ ” exclaimed the mistress, as she threw up her hands in astonishment.
“Well, you see, missis,” said the servant, “dat merchine won’t work no way. I tried it one way, den I tried it an udder way, an’ still it would not work. So, you see, I got de screw-driver an’ I took it to pieces. Dat’s de reason I ain’t got along faster wid de work.”
Mrs. Gaines returned to the parlor, sat down, and had a good cry, declaring her belief that “negroes could not be made white folks, no matter what you should do with them.”
Although the “patent plow” and the “washer” had failed, Dr. and Mrs. Gaines had the satisfaction of knowing that one of their new ideas was to be put into successful execution in a few days.
While at the North, they had eaten at a farm-house, some new cheese, just from the press, and on speaking of it, she was told by old Aunt Nancy, the black mamma of the place, that she understood all about making cheese. This piece of information gave general satisfaction, and a cheese-press was at once ordered from St. Louis.
The arrival of the cheese-press, the following week, was the signal for the new sensation. Nancy was at once summoned to the great house for the purpose of superintending the making of the cheese. A prouder person than the old negress could scarcely have been found. Her early days had been spent on the eastern shores of Maryland, where the blacks have an idea that they are, by nature, superior to their race in any other part of the habitable globe. Nancy had always spoken of the Kentucky and Missouri negroes as “low brack trash,” and now, that all were to be passed over, and the only Marylander on the place called in upon this “great occasion,” her cup of happiness was filled to the brim.
“What do you need, besides the cheese-press, to make the cheese with, Nancy?” inquired Mrs. Gaines, as the old servant stood before her, with her hands resting upon her hips, and looking at the half-dozen slaves who loitered around, listening to what was being said.
“Well, missis,” replied Nancy, “I mus’ have a runnet.”
“What’s a runnet?” inquired Mrs. Gaines.
“Why, you see, missis, you’s got to have a sheep killed, and get out of it de maw, an’ dat’s what’s called de runnet. An’ I puts dat in de milk, an’ it curdles the milk so it makes cheese.”
“Then I’ll have a sheep killed at once,” said the mistress, and orders were given to Jim to kill the sheep. Soon after the sheep’s carcass was distributed amongst the negroes, and “de runnet,” in the hands of