//^ A Moral Drama From Slavery to Citizenship; AND, From tlie Cotton FieMs to \^mi\m Pi™. By C. S. smith, ipU EX-MEMBER OF THE ALABAMA LEGISLATURE. CAST OF CHARACTERS, UNCLE BILLY Religious and Forgiving. Col. JONES and WIFE Warlike and Bitter. JANE AND JOE Mischievous and Comical. SCHOOL MISTRESS True and Faithful. AUNT MARIA Dry and Amusing. BALD EAGLE ORATOR Eloquent and Determined. POMPEY JONES Loyal AND Daring. HEZEKIAH Earnest and Musical. [Copyright applied for.] TMP96-007172 A Moral D ORAL JURAMA. From Slavery to Citizenship; AND, from tlie Coitoii Mt to GrassliOier Plaias. By C. S. smith, ex member of the alabama legislal ure. ACT J. [Part I. — Scene. — The ^^laves' niiduighr, mteting. PJace, a swamp; hour, midiiighr, and no light hut a siugle torch. Position on the stage, extreme rear. An iuf-urrection jjro- posed by the jouug men, but Uncle Bil]y perbuadei* il)tm lo forbear.] Speaker No. 1. — Fellow sarvantw, I say dat ole mat=sa is 'giunin' to be too cruel. He u.-*ed to treat >ks f^ort ob halfway right, but eber since dey hung massa Jt»hii Browu he's got so dat he hardly 'lows us to speak to one annuder. He wool let ushab no meetin', not ebeu a prawer meelin'; an' he tells us dat we mustn't pray any more. Now, I tell you dat I'se g«-ttin' ujighty tired of dis here ting, and for one I'se in tor doiu' as dey did in Kayti. A Voice. — How was dat ? No. 1. — Why de slavts got up a resurrection and murdered all de white folks. Voice. — How do you know ? No. 1. — Kase I hear massa talking to de oberseer about it one day. Speaker No. 2. — Well, if dat am so, dat's jis what I'm in fabur of us doing. Kill de white folks, I say. Kill 'em and take all Har land. Dey raout as well die as us, for dey're kiilin' us l)y inches, any vvay. • Spkaker No. 3.— I say kill 'em, too. We ain't got no guns, bet we can take de shovel and de hoe, and go to dey're houses when dey're aslff^p, and knock dem in de head. Several Voices.— Kill 'em ! Kill 'eu> ! And let's do it dis here wery night. Let's start, and de Lord dat tout for Israel will fiirht for us. [Uncle Biliy addresses them thus:] Chil'ren, mo.^t ob you am young, and y( u ain't bore de bur-' den and heat ob de day like deole man, and I w.ant you to listen to all dat I hab got to say. You say, kill massa and missis, and take dey're land. Now dat ain't right. And you say dat de Lord will fight for us. But you're mistaken. You see you can't read de Bible like de ole man can. De Lord say, lub your enemies and pray for dey dat spitefully persecute you. Moreober, He say, in dis world ye shall hab tribulation, but be ob good cheer, I hab obercome de world. De fust shall be last, and de last shall be fust. I know dat ole massa's got mighty mean and dat we hab hard trials and tribulations. But we must bar dem if we say dat we's de childer- en ob de Lord. Why, dey crucified de Sabiour and nailed him to de cross, and yet, like a dumb lamb, he opened not his mouf Now, we's to be like Him, and you know He say, when dey smite de right cheek, turn to dem de oder also. Why, dey hab been smitin' me for lo dese many years, and yet I wouldn't hurt a hair ob ole massa's head. It won't do, childeren. Listen to de ele man, and let's go home and pray for de angel to come down and shake our dungeon as he did in de days ob Paul and Silas. De ole man is growin' feeble and he'll soon be gone, and I'se got to say, dat dey may beat upon my body, but dey cannot harm de soul ; I'll jine de forty t'ousand by and by. De good Lord send me news from heben de oder night. Voices. — What am it ? > Uncle B. — Why de angel Gabr'el 'veals it to me howdar's gwine to be a mighty war in dis here land, and dat de Lord's gwine to lead us out ob de house ob bondage, as he did de chil- deren ob Israel. Voices. — Good! BressdeLord! Do you tink dat will be soon. Uncle Billy ? Uncle B. — Yes, I tink it will come to passeben in my day, and dat's why I say let's go home and work, and wait de coming ob de Lord. Voices. — All right ! Uncle B. — But, childeren, before we go let us kneel in se- cret prawer, and den sing dat good old song, " Keep me from sinking down." {Curtain falls.) PART II. [ScENF. — Southern hcmie. CoDversatioc between a planter and his wife. Time, evening. Planter returns from city, enters parlor with an excited appearance, takes a newspaper from his pocket and begins to read. He is followed by his wife, when the following conversation ensues :] Wife. — Good evening, my dear. I'm glad to see you, as tea is ready. Planter. — W e-1-1, I don't feel much like eating tea. W. — Why, what's the matter? Are you sick? P. — Sick ? I'm worse than sick. ' W. — O my dear, what's the matter ? P. — Well, sit down and I will try and tell you. [Wife sits down.] There's going to be a war. W.^War! Where? P. — In this country. W. — Why, who is there in this country to go to war ? P. — This morning's papers predict a war between the North and South. For a long time, as you know, a lot of Yankee devils have been trying to stir up a fuss about the South holding slaves. W. — Well, what is that to their business ? P. — Nothing ; but the infernal wretches are trying to make it their bu*iiness, and seeking to interfere wilh our constitutional rights. Our men are insulted in Congress, branded as a set of heartless wretches, and charged with having no humane feelings for the slaves. W. — What impudence! P. — You see these Yankees had slaves themselves once, but it was too cold for the niggers up North, and so they were shipped down South and sold to us, and now we are invited to set them free ; but we'll never do that until the last drop of Southern blood has been shed. W.— Well, my dear, I guess they're just trying to scare us ; but, you know, they can't do that. P. — No, they're not trying to scare us, and they intend to take our slaves from us if they can ; but by the powers of heaven they'll never succeed in doing that. W.— What do they intend to do ? P. — They're going to split the Union and form a govern- ment of our own by the formation of all the Southern States in- to a confederacy. W.— Good ! That's just what ought to be done, and they ought to hang every sneaking Yankee that's caught in it. P.— You needn't fear but what we'll do that. I was going to send to Kichmond for some more slaves, but I have concluded to wait and see what is going to be the result of the present agi- tation. . W. — I would not wait, my dear. I would send for them. We need some right away, if we're going to stock the new plan- tation. P. — Yes, I know ; but I've received a circular to-day which has been sent to all the large slaveholders, advising them not to invest any more money in slaves or other property at present, but to keep it in hand, lest it be needed for war purposes. W. — But, my dear, do you really think there's going to be a war? P. — Yes, it is bound to come. The Southern representatives are going to resign their seats in Congress, and it is known to a few that a meeting will soon be held to plot secession. W. — Is there no way to prevent it? War is a terrible thing, you know. P. — There is only one way, and that is for us to submit to Yankee tyranny, and give up our slaves. W. — Give up our slaves ? Never! How could we get along without them ? Who would raise our cotton and corn, and wash and cook, and do our house-wcrk? Do the Yankees think that refined and delicate Southern women can do these things? Why the idea of such things fills me with indignation. I would cut the heart-strings out of the Yankees before these delicate hands should go into the wash-tub. O, the thought of it makes me sick! P. — Hush ! I thought I saw some one peeping from behind the door just now. [Jane enters.] Jane. — Massa, supper am ready. P. — Have you been standing at the door listening? J. — Why, la me ! no, matsa, I jis come from de kitchen. P. — Well, you go back there and w^ait until we come. [Exit Jane.] W. — I'll tell you, ever since these niggers heard about old John Brown they've got mighty sly, and we'll have to be careful what we say when they're around. P. — Knock the first one down you catch listening, or send them to me and I'll fix them so they won't listen any more, W. — Wouldn't you like to have a hot toddy before supper ? P. — I would rather have some of the peach brandy I brought home last week. W. — Well, I'll have some brought. [Rings bell. Joe, the house-boy, enters.] Joe, get your master some peach brandy out of that new demijohn which sits on the bottom shelf of the side- board. Joe. — Yes, marm. [Goes.] P. — I'm going to attend a meeting this evening, when Fll learn more about the reports that have been received to day. [Joe enters with waiter, etc.] You neeihi't wain fVir these thitig^s ; you caij come after thetu while we are at supper. [Exit Joe.] W. — Say, niy Hear, I want to i?how you the new bonnet I received t<> Hay. [Takes bonnet from box and puts it on.] I?n't it a beauty ? P. — Indeed it is, and it makes > nn iodk veiy ban(],-ome. But here! 1 want to ask you a quesfion. Would }{»u rather that we should uo to war than j^ive up our t-ilaves ? W. — Yes, my dear, yes! Anyihiujj: to keep our &]«ves. But if it comes to that, there won't be mu(^h of a war, as I have al- ways heard pa shv that (»:e Southern boy couhl whip a dizen blue- bid lied Yankees. f P. — Well, don't be uneasy. Keep close watch over the ser- vants that are around, and be caretul not to menri((n any <'f these matters in their hearing. Lmi's go to supper. [Exeunt] [Joe enters, tbliow^'d by Jane.] Jane. — O, Joe! Great day ! What (io yo' tink ? I done heard raassa and mis>is say dat dar's gwine to be a war, anri dat de Yankees am gwine to set us free. Joe. — Go way, nigger, wid your foolin'. Jane. — I declare 'fore God I did, and missis say dat we done ifot awful sly here ob late. Joe. — Am dat really so? Jane. — It am, sure's y<.u 're burn. Joe. — Did }ou hear what Uncle Billy say de oder night at de meetin' ? Jane. — No ! what am it ? Joe. — Well, ^ome ob dem wanted to raise a resurrerfiiui and kill nias.sa and missis ; but he tell dem nor. to do it, tore we're soon gwine to be free, kase de x\ngel Gabriel 'veal it to him dat dare's gwine to be a mighty war in dis heie land, and dat God's gwine to bring us out ob He hou.-e ob bondage like he did He children ob Israel. Jane. — Dat am so; fur dat's jis what massa and nii.-sis talk about dis ebeuin', an' I hears dem, fur I was standin' at de door listenin', atid raassa tinks he sees me, and I tell bin) I hears nuf- fin' — dat I jis come from de kitchen. Glory to God ! And I hear missis say she gets sick when she tinks if we get free maybe she hab to gi> in de wash-tub. Joe. — Yes, and massa hab to hoe de cotton and de corn. O, won't dat be glorious ? Jane. — How does I look in missis' bonnet ? [Takes bciunet from table ar\d puts it on.] Joe. — Yes, and how does I look wid massa's hat on ? [Puts on massa's high hat, and both prora-nade before the mirror.] Jane. — Dis am de kind ob bonnet I'm gwine to hab when I get free. Joe. — Yes, and I'm gwine to hab a hat jis like dis. Won't 6 we be gemrac'D and ladies den. [Jane swings ar( und and say?, "Shoo, ain't I some pumpkins?"] Let's promenade here on mis- sis' carpet. [Thev lock arms and promenade. Joe attempts to steal a kiss from Jane and receives a slap in the mouth.] Look here, nigcj;er, if it wasri't for missis' bonnet, I'd mash dat head oh yours. Better take dat bonnet off anyway 'fore you fill it wid lice. Jane. — You 's a fool. I washes my head and I greases it wid coon fat ebery moruiug. I got some 'fumery, too, dat uiy sweetheart brings me. Joe. — Say, who is yo' sweetheart ? Jane. — None o' yo' business. Joe. — I knows. It am old Sam Sleekemchop, and he's got a mouf as big as a corn-crib. Jane. — You 's a liar, Joe, and I'll mash dat chicken roost ob yours. [Strikes at Joe's nose, but Jue dodges, and massa's hat falls off. He picks it up, and they both look at it to see if it is soiled. It is all right, and they make friends by Jane kissing Joe. They promenade.] Jane. — Joe, when I tinks dat we 's gvvine to be free I feels like shoutin'. Joe. — You 'd better not — massa hear you. Jane. — Dey 're coming. Joe — [Pours out a glass of brandy and hands it to Jane.] Here, nigger, drink dis quick. [Helps himself, and they both skip out.] [Planter enters and rings for Joe, who comes in.] Planter. — Joe, I'm going to lie down on the sofa a while, and I want you to keep the flies off of me. [Lies down, and Joe gets a fly-brush and obeys the order.] [Planter's wife enters suddenly and hands him a dispatch, which he opens and reads.] Planter. — Joe, you may go. [Exit Joe. Planter springs to his feet.] Great heavens ! Fort Sumter has been fired upon, and [ am requested to report immediately at Richmond. Wife.— [Excitedly] What ! You don't tell me ? P. — Yes, it is so. Read this. [Hands her the dispatch.] Well, I must get ready to go to Richmond. W. — What? You going to Richmond, and leave me here. P. — Yes, I am bound to go. W. — Well, my dear, before you go you had better make ar- rangements to have the field servants sent to Mississippi to uncle, for if the Yankees should reach here they will certainly take them away. P. — Well, I'll see about it. Go and have my valise packed and get Joe ready to go with me, while I go and see the over- seer. {Ourtain falls.) PART in. [Recruiting offioe scene. Three colored individuals enter and ask the (ffficer if any more troops are wanted.] Officer (savagely).— Yes; but what do you suppose we want with you coons ? Don't you know that this is a white man's fight, and that we don't want any niggers in it? Bill. — Well, you needn't talk so saucy about it. O. (angrily.")— Look here, you skedaddle out of here, or I'll give you ray boot. [Exeunt hurriedly.] O. to Kxaminer.— The idea of niggers talking about fight- ing. Who ever knew a nigger to fight any thing but Sl ham bone ? Ex. — Yes, but maybe they would do some pretty good fight- ing now, as they think they would be helping to free their race O. — Free their race! That's not what we are fighting for, and if I thought it was I would never raise my hand to help the government We're fighting for the Union. Ex. — Yes, I know ; hut after all it will result in the eman- cipation of the slaves. O, say, did you read in the Tribune this morning about our forces being pushed ; and I'll tell you if things don't change speedily we'll have to call on the niggers or some one else to assist us. O. — Yes, I read that, and things do look rather gloomy. I wonder what message this is now. [Boy enters and hands the oflScer a message.] O. reads and says : — The devil ! It's instructions to enlist colored troops. [Colored individuals have heard the news and return.] Bill. — Wall, I reckon you'll enlist us now. O. — Yes, but you'll have to be examined first. Come up here and pull off your coats, and let this man [pointing to Ex- aminer] sound you. B. — What does he want to sound us for ? O. — According to the law a man has to be of a certain age, hight, and sound in body and mind. B. — Well, I reckon I's sound enough. O. — Well, we'll soon see. [Examiner first inspects Bill.] Will he do ? Ex.— No. B. — What's de matter wid me ? Ex. — Why, your mouth is too big. It would take too many hard tack to feed you. FNext, Jim.] O.— Will he do? Ex.— No. Jim. — Well, what's de matter wid me ? 8 Ex. — Your feet are too big. If the rebels were to ^et after you you couldn't run fast enough. • [Next, Sam.] O.— Will he do? Ex.— No. Sam. — What's dat you say ? AVhat's de matter wid me ? Ex. — You're cock-eyed. You couldu't shoot straight. Bill. — Well, I suppose you ain't gwioe to 'list us. O. — No ; we can't. You don't come up to the standard. B. — Look here, white man. You didn't want us in de fust place. [Exeunt, growling.] O. — Those niggers are mad. Ex. — They would make red hot soldiers. Did you notice the fellow that had only one sleeve to his shirt? O. — Here comes another one. [Forlorn colored individual enters and seems to have got in- to the wrong place.] O. — Halloo ! Sam. Come here. Don't you want to enlist ? S.— 'List ! What for, massa ? O. — To fight for your freedom. 8. — What does you mean by dat ? O. — Why, to join the army, go down South and fight to free your race. S. — Me ? I don't go to races, fur I 's got no boss nor no money to bet on nobody else's boss. I 's awful poor, and I comes around to see if you wouldn't give me a penny to buy ginger bread. O. — I'm not talking about "hoss"-racing. I mean to go down South and fight for your people. S. — I aint got no people ; done dead long ago. O. — Well, fight f )r your aunts, and uncles, and cousins. S. — Aint got none ob dem, eder. Dey 's all dead, too. O. — You 're a fool, nigger. S. — Yes. Well, massa, do you tinks I could fight ? O. — I suppose so, if you wanted to. S. — Well, look here, massa, I tinks so, too. But did you eber see two dogs fighting for a bone ? O.— Yes. 8. — Well, did you eber see de bone get up and fight? O. — No, you fool you. 8. — Well, I 's de bone ob dis here war, I tell you. Now who 's de fool ? [Sam. moves toward the door, and the officer throws an ink bottle after him.] O. — [To Examiner.] Well, after that sell, let's go and take a drink. [Exeunt.] ( Curtain falls.) PART IV. [Scene. — Procession eiiteriDg place of meeting. Temporary pJat- forra decorated with flags, bunting, &c. Cheers rend the air as the crowd move toward the stand. Programme — 1, meeting called to order by the chairman ; 2, reading proc- lamation ; 3, oration by the " bald eagle " orator, George Washington Fitzsimmons ; 4, song, " Shout, we are free," and dismissal.] Chairman. — Fellow citizens: We 's come to-day to cele- brate our deliberance from de house ob bondage. Pharaoh and his host hab been drownded in de Red Sea, while we hab cfossed ober, and like de childereu ob Israel we stand on Canaan's shore and shout — sound de timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea, Jehobah am triumphed; his people am free. [Cheers.] But I 's not gwine to deliber a 'ration. Brudder Simmons is gwine to do dat. I only gits up here to make a few 'liminaries, and to see dat all tings am right in de 'ginnin'. I hope you'll all aib good 'tention and listen to what's gwine to be said. Miss Julia, de school teacher, will now read de news from massa Lincum. [Miss Julia reads the proclamation of emancipation, which is received with tremendous cheering.] [The "bald eagle" orator is now introduced to deliver him- self as follows :] Ladies and gemmen : — It am a mighty task dat I is to 'form dis day. When I look upon dese flags and all dese happy people and 'members from whar we come, my throat chokes up wid el- oquence, and I can't find thought to 'spress my laugwidge. But hoping you will bar wid me I will try an' say somethin' wordy ob your 'memberance. Our faders told us dat dis day would come, and dis am de day for which dey prayed. I neber spected to lib to see it, but I t'auks God dat I am spawed to 'jice wid you dat freedom's come. [Cheers.] We's now free to go whar we please an' to come when we gits ready. When we work now we can eat de fruits ob our own labor, an' I hope dat we all will work. We hab nobody to do anything for us, and we must trab- bel de hard road ob Jordan for ourselbs. De white folks say dat kase we're free we'll starb to def. But am dat so? [Voices, No!] Can't we work now de same as we eber did ? [Voices, Yes!] I know dat. De white folks jis say dat kase dey're mad dat we am free. But we's gwine to lib and hab de promised land. [Voices, Amen !] De Lord hab said dat de fust shall be last and de last shall be fust. Well we's been last all de time and now we's gwine to be fust. [Voices, Yes, Lord !] We raised corn and cotton for massa, and we kin raise it for ourselbs. But massa says dat we shan't work his land — dat de Yankees done sot us free and dat dey can take care ob us. He say dat dey's gwine to bring de Jawmans, and de Weeds, and de Kanes to 10 raise de cotton, and gib us nuffin to do. Kut kin dey starb us? [Voices, No!] Dai's so ; kase we can hunt de 'possum'an' de coon, an' git de persimmons and blackberries, and lib on dem. De Jawmans an' de oder white folks won't stay her Jong, dough, tor de sun am too hot. [Voices, Dai's so !] Now, gemmens and ladies, I teJl you di, I have. B. E O. — Well, show nje some o' your gymnastics, den. P. — [Pulling off his coat and moving toward B. E. O. in a fighting attitude.] Squar' up, an' I'll show yo' dem. Chairman. — Stop, gem men, or I'll hab yo' 'rested. P. — [Pointing to B. E. O.] Dat nigger am a Democrat — a wolf in sheep's clothin'. B. E. O.— [Fiercely.] Mr. Cha'rman 1 Voices.— Put 'im out. Chairman. — I 's gwine to speak or die. Dey say I'm a Democrat. Voices. — So yo' are. Chairman.— It am a lie. 'Fore I 'd be a Democrat I 'd cotch de sun by its fetlocks, soar fru de efereal regions, an'swink in de seas ob oblivion. [Great cheering, during which some one pulls his seat back, and he sits down on the floor, which causes the meeting to break up in great confusion.] PART II. [Colloquy on "De Cibil Rights Bill" between Josiah and Uncle Billy.] J.— Good mawnin'. Uncle Billy. You heard de news? B,._\yhat ? 'Bout de bustin' up ob de Freedmen's Sabin' Bank? 16 J. — No ! 'Bout de swivel rights bill. B.— What 'bout it ? • J. — Why, it am passed de Senate ob de 'Nited States wid- out a mumble. B. — Well, what good dat gwine lu ao us? J. — Why, yo' see, Uiicie Billy, vvo 'd gwino t,o be 'lowed to ride in de fust class car wid de whit,:, folk^, put our foots on de percushion, an' when de conductor com.- ''oug to ax us fo' our ticket, we's gwine to tell him to send to Vfashin'tun, dat de swiv- el rights bill am passed. B. — Am dat so, Josiah ? J. — Dat am so, Uncle Billy. And, Uncle Billy, we. 's gwine to be lowed to go to de fust class hotel, set at de head ob de ta- ble, whar we can git de biggest slices ob de ham an' de chicken, eat squall on toast, pick our teef wid a fedder, go in de pawlor, sit down on de sofia, sp t on de carpet an' hear de white gals play on de planner; an' when de 'prietor comes roun' wid his bill, we 's gwine to tell him to charge it to Massa Grant, dat de swivel rights bilJ am passed. B. — Go 'way, 'Siah ! Yo' are foolin'. J. — It am so, Uncle Billy. An' Uncle Bill, we 's gwine to send our childeren to de white folks school, whar dey larn ortog- rafy, emology, swinetax, hogany, Greek, Dutch an' Choctaw. B. — Great hebens ! Josiah, dat can't be so ? J. — It am so, Uncle Billy. An' Uncle Billy, when we die we's gwine to de grabe yard in de white folks' hearse, an' be put in a italic coffin wid a lookin'-glass ober our face, an' gwine to be buried on top ob de white folks, so dat in mawnin ob de resur- recshun when de Angel Gabriel comes along an' blows his trum- pet, he 's gwine to say "Toot-a-toot ! All ye cuUud gemmen rise fust !" B. — Josiah, you don't tell me so. J. — It am so. Uncle Billy ; and de perwisions ob dat bill — B. — What's dat you say, Josiah ? J. — De perwisions ob dat ar bill — B. — Stop dar, Josiah ! Say dat again. J. — AVell, as I was gwine on to tell you, de perwisions ob — B. — Stop right dar, Josiah ! Dat will do. If dar am any perwisions in dat dar bill, come along [takes hold of Josiah and moves out] and git me a sack ob flour right now, for I's hungry. (^Curtain falls.) PART III. [Exodus at the river bank. Waiting for the boat to take them to Kansas. General conversation and promiscuous move- ments are manifested, until Col. Jones appears with jug in hand and addresses them thus :] 17 Col. J. — Now, boys, look here ! There's no use of this. What in the world do you want to go way for ? Why, look here, you're not going to leave the old plantation, where we used to play together and have our good times? Let's talk this mat- ter over, for I don't think that you fully realize the disastrous results that will follow the step you are about to take. I thought once that I would say nothing to you, but in my dreams Jast night I saw you up North, standing out in the cold, shivering and almost starved to death ; and I was so impressed that I con- cluded to come down and have a friendly talk with you, and see if I couldn't persuade you not to go. I'm interested in your wel- fare, and always have been, but the Yankees care nothing about you. Some of you think that you're going to get a farm in Kansas, but you won't. Didn't the Yankees fool you once by telling you that they were going to give you forty acres of land and a mule. [A voice, Dat's so massa Jones.] And didn't they get you to put your money in a bank and then steal it all from you ; and didn't the carpet-baggers tell you that if you put them in office they would take away the white people's homes and give them to you. [A voice, dat's so, too, massa.] But did they do it ? No ! They robbed us all and filled their pockets and left you with the bag to hold. They took the turkey and gave you the buzzard. You can't trust a Yankee. He's as slippery as an eel. They say they set you free, and can't you see they want to get you North to work for them to pay for it. I know that you have had a hard time and haven't been treated right ; but I was at the Vicksburg convention and all the leading white men agreed to give all the colored people better wages, put down the Rifle Clubs and White Leaguers, and allow you to vote the same as we do. A Voice (pointing to the jug). — What's dat you got in dat lUg, massa ? Col. J.— Whisky. Voice. — Will you gib us some ? Col. J.— Of course I will. Come and help yourselves. Have you got anything to drink out of? Voice. — Yes, sah. [Hunts up the cups to drink.] Voice. — Dis am de bes' corn juice I drinks in a good while, massa. Col. J. — I wouldn't offer you anything but the best. How does that taste, Joe ? Joe. — Too good to tell you, massa. Col. J. resumes. — It was a grand convention at Vicksburg. I wish you could have seen how the white men and colored men locked arms, shook hands and sat together in the same seats. Jane. — Massa, would you lock arms wid me now ? Col. J.— Of course I would. [Takes her arm.] In that convention they resolved to bury the hatchet and be one hereaf- 18 ter. Times are getting better, cotton will be higher, and every- body will have plenty of money. 1 know there are sorae who say let you ^o, but it is only the j)()or trash, and you needn't caie tor them. A nigger always was b< tter than a poor white man. The men who own the land don't want you to go. [A voice, We knows dat.] And I doii't want you to go, and I am willing to do what's right by you if you'll stay. I will rent you land for ten dollars an acre and funii>h you meat at twenty-five cents a pound, and meal for a dollar a bushel. I will also let you have a garden spot to raise vegetables and won't charge you anything for it. You can also use my mules to haul your wood, and ride them to town once a month. Aint that fair ? Voice — Dat's what you eay, massa. Col. J. — Well, aint that what you sav, too ? Voice. — We's not got nufBn to say. AVe's gwine to Kansas. Col. J. (earnestly). — Yes, and you'll wish you were back here before six months. I've been up North and the sun don't shine there all day like it does here, and the colored people are a great deal worse off there than they are here. There are no Dutch and Irish here to keep you from getting work. You have all the work here to do. A Voice. — Dat's true. Col. J. — Of course it is, and that's why I want you to stay. Voice. — We's done gone bawt our tickets. Col. J. — Well, never mind that. If you will agree to stay I'll give you what you paid for your tickets and send my wagons down to haul your things back. What do you say ? Several Voices. — Well, massa, I reckon we'll hab to go since we started, an' if we don't like it den we'll come back. Col. J. — No, you won't, for, if you go, by the time the Dutch and Irish get through with you there will be nothing left of you to come back. Well, if you will go I'll not get mad with you. Come and tell me good by. [All approach and shake hands. Jane begins to cry.] • Voice. — What's de matter wid you, Jane ? Jane. — I don't want to leave massa. Voice. — Well, stay wid him den. Col. J. — That's right, Jane ; you've got some sense. [He takes Jane and goes out, and sends Uncle Billy down to talk to them.] Uncle B. (with jug in hand, and seemingly surprised). — Why, la me ! chillun, what's all dis mean ? Whar you gwine ? Voices. — We'a gwine to Kansas, Uncle Billy. U. B. — Why, la, me ! chillun, don't you know de grass- hoppers eat Kansas up long ago ? Voices. — No dey habn't. De Lord done kill all de grass- hoppers and sabed Kansas for our promised land. U. B. — You '11 see. Mind what I tell you. Wasn't I jig 19 now readiu' in de newspaper dat de grasshoppers bin in Kansas so tick dat dey put de sun out, and de people had to light deir candles at noonday, and dat dey eat up eberytiug in de fields an' den marched into de kitchen an' eat up eberyting dar eben to de dish rag. Hezekiah— Look here, Uncle Billy, dat won't do, fur how could dey eat up de dish rag widout eatiu' up de dish pan too. U. B.— Weil dat 's what de 'spatches say. [Jane is seen coming back.] H.— Why, la me ! iiere comes Jane. [Enter Jane.] Hal- loo, Jane ! what brings you back ? Jane.— Why, I ask massa who he 's gwine to git to. work fur him now, an' he say he gwine to git de Shineeman wid pig- tails. I tells him I couldn't stay wid dem critters, an' I turns back, an' he tries to cotch me, but I beats him ruunin'. XJ. B.— Now dat nigger am lyin', fur he tole me dat he don't know who he 's gwine to git ef yo' go 'way. I tell yo', children, dat ole massa aint dc meanest man, after all. He sees me last night, au' he tells me all about what he's gwine to do fur you if you stay. He 's gwine to be mighty good. H.— He ought to done some ,ob dat goodness long ago. Look here, Uncle Billy, do yo' tink we ought to stay ? U. B. — Ob course I do. H.— Well, I don't. Massa tell us dat we'll git nuffin up Norf ; well, we git nuffia here. We 's bin workin eber since 'mancipation, an' we 's got nuffin. Ebery year massa tell us dat he 's gwine to do better, an' den when Christmas comes he tells us dat we 's in debt to him. Aint dat so, childereu ? Several Voices. — Dat am jis so. U. B. — Well, how comes dat ? H —How comes dat ? Easy 'nuff. Massa he comes out an' tells us he's gwine to settle wid us, an' takes hU pencil an' tells us how much he was to gib an' how much wc git from him, an' den he 'gins to add, an' he adds an' he adds, an' den he 'gins to mul- tiply, an' he multiplies an' he multiplies, an' den he 'gins to car- ry, an' he carries an' he carries, till he carries eberyting off, and den he goes to town an' he sing, "Naught 's a naught, and a fig- ger am a figger, all fur de white man an' none fur de nigger.^ An' den do yo' tink we 's gwine to stay here ? No, sah ! We 's gwine to Kansas if de grasshoppers eat us up an' dance on our grabes. Massa send you here anyway, an' we 'specks you, Un- cle Billy, but don't make us mad by axin us to stay here and work for nuffin. U. B.— Massa didn't send me here ; I come myself, and I don't kar if de truf does make you mad. I tell you dat up in Kansas de snow am fifty-five feet high an' de ice don t melt all summer. Yo' go dar now, an' if it aint so yo' jis say dat Uncle 20 Billy is one ob de biggest liars dat eber chased a coon in Buck Hollow. • Joe. — [Pointing to the jug.] Say, Uncle Billy, what 's dat yo' got in dat jug? U. B. — Corn juice. J. — Will yo' gib us some ? U. B. — Course I will, childeren. [All scramble for their cups and drink.] J. — Uncle Billy, aint yo' gwine to drink? U. B. — No, I 's done jined de Murphy club. Don't you see my red ribbon ? [Holds up a red rag.] Massa done jine it too. Jane. — Why, la me ! massa done drink wid us. Dedn't he? Several Voices. — Yes. U. B. — Well, I specks he done fell from grace. Jane. — Yes, an' I specks he didn't hab far to fall. [Gene- ral laugh.] U. B. — Well, now, look here, children ; it am no time to laugh. Dis am a serious matter. Just tink ob whar you gwine to leab behind. You gwine in a strange land, what you knows nobody and nobody knows you. You 're gwine to cross ribers, an' hills, an' mountains, wid nobody to show you de way, an' if you git lost fo' forty years in de wilderness, jus' tink ob what oje Uncle Billy say. You '11 hab no money when you git dar, not eben to buy a gingerbread. H. — Yes we will. Uncle Billy, for de white folks up Norf am takin' up 'scriptions, an' all we 's got to do when we wants anyting is to stand on de corner ob de street and hold out our hand an' say we 's from de Souf. U. B. — Who 's been foolin' you, son ? When de Yankees were down here and we gib dem de spring chickens, didn't dey go and take de ole hens an' look roun' fur de roosters, an' snatch de hoe cake off ob de griddle, and den yo' specks dey 's gwine to put money in your hand. I wouldn't believe dat 'cept de Lord himself say so. No, childeren, yo' are here, an' yo' know all 'bout dis land — Voice. — We know too much 'bout it. U. B. — Here we 's been bawn an' growed up. Here we 's danced an' frolicked an' chased de 'possum an' de coon. Here am de ole plantation, de cabins, de meetin'-house, an' de grabes ob our faders an' childeren, and you 's gwine away to leab all ob dese? Several Voices. — Yes, Uncle Billy, we 's bound to go. U. B. — Hezekiah, can't de ole man 'swade you to stay? Yo' gwine to leab me ? O, no ! Remember de old man's gray bar's an' dat he 's trying to 'swade you for de best. H. — Yes, Uncle Billy, I know ; but we want to go up to de promised land, whar we can get lots ob milk and honey. 21 U. B. — Childeren, hab yo' ever taut who 's gwine to take kar ob yo' up dar ? H. — Uncle Billy, yo' 'member dat good ole song we used to sing : "De Lord is ray Shepherd, I shall not want"? U. B. — 'Deed I do. An' won't yo' sing dat for de ole man 'fore de boat comes along ? Several Voices. — Ob course we will. [They sing.] (^Curtain falls.) PART IV. [Weeping, wailing and great lamentation, consequent on disap- pointment. Enter forlorn individual, shivering and cold, with others making their appearance from time to time, un- til they number about the same company that we just took leave of. Sick of Kansas and going to return South.] Hezekiah (looking about for some place to get warm.) — I wonder if dar am any fire here. Who-o-ee ! Talk 'bout dis yer Norf bein' de promised land. My Lord, de win' aint done nuf- fin but whistle hark from de tomb, under my coat tail since I's bin here Massa done tell de truf when he say dat de Souf am better for a black man. [Sees some one coming.] I wonder what forsaken lookin' contraban' dis am comin'. [Enter Jane, clad in rags and pretty well bundled up.] Why, bless my life ! if dis aint Jane. Jane (drawing back). — Who am you ? H, — Don't you know me, Jane ? I's Hezekiah. J. — Why, Hezekiah, how am you ? You's looking awful hard. Whar's you bin ? H. — Well, chile, I's so cold I ken hardly tell you. Aint you got sumfin you. ken loan me to wrap my limbs wid. [Jane hands him a piece of an old quilt.] Well, now look here, Jane, let's sit down an' talk ober t'iugs in gineral. You ask whar I's bin. Well, de 'mittee on 'ception of refugees sends me 'long wid some white man to 'Peka, and he makes me drive de bosses all day in de snow, an' don't gib me nuffin to eat but bean soup an' corn bread. He gib me nufiin but an ole coat to wear, an' when I ask him if dat am all he gibs me, he says dat I am a saucy nigger an' if I don't like dat I can jus' git up and git, an' so I 'eludes to git. I tell you dat dis Norf won't do an' I's gwine back Souf. Jane. — Dat am jis so, Hezekiah, and I'll tell you dat de cullud population hab no business here. Dey send me 'lond wid a white woman and she makes me git up 'fore day, start de fire all ober de house, carry water fru de snow, an' feed de cows, do all de washin' an' scrubbin', an' didn't want me to go to meetin' kase, she say, dat de Norvern niggers would spile me an' make me no 'count. 22 She 'specks me to do eberythiDg, an' when I ask her for money she say I got no business wid it, dat I had none when I was in de Souf. She scolds me all de time an' talks 'bout beatin' me, an' I gits mad an' tells her dat she's a fool, dat no white woman ken beat me, dat I's free, an' den she says dat I's a saucy black wench, an' dribes me out ob de house an' wouldn't let me take de o!e close dat she gib me. I tell you dat dc^e v^ hil^ ;ojks t'ink kase we come from de Souf dat we don't know nuffin. But dey's fools. I'm gwine back to ole massa. Jane.— [Looking out.] Bress my life! Here am Uncle Pomp^y, Aunt Sally, Cmsin Sue, an' all de rest ob de folks a comin'. H.— Whar? J. — [Pointing to the entrance.] Look out dar. H. — Sure 'nuff. But I knows dey were comin', fur I gits a letter from Uncle Pompey. [Enter all, looking seedy and forlorn.] H. and J. — [Approaching them.] So glad yo' come. Mighty lonesome here by ourselves. Uncle Pompey. — La me, chillen, de ole man didn't 'speck to see yo' any moah dis side ob Jordan, [sits down] for he tinks dat he wud freeze to def dis winter. But de good Lord has spaw- ed my life an' I wants to git back to de ole plantation. We 's had nuffin but trials and tribulations since we 's been here. It's been so cold dat I feels ray bones freeze in de night time, and when I goes out de tears freeze on my eye- brows, an' de spit hangs like 'cicles on my beard. Look here, chillen, aint dar no fire round heah ? J. — Not a bit, Uncle Pompey. De man say dat dey take de stove out in Apral. U. P.— Take it out in Apral ? I should tink dey ought to hab stoves here all summer. Moriar, whar 's de skillet ? Maria. — It 's here. AVhat yo' want wid it ? U.P. — I'rf gwine to see if we ken hab a little fire. Joe, go see if you can find some pieces of brick an' a few chips an' we'll make a little fire in de skillet, 'nuff* to warm our fingers. Reckon white folks won't kar. • [Joe goes out and returns with the bricks and chips, and Uncle Pompey sets the skillet upon the bricks to keep from burn- ing the floor, and tries to make a fire. There is too much smoke.] White Man. — [Entering.] Put out that fire ! U. P.— Look here, white man, we 's cold an' we wants to hab a little fire. W. M.— Can't help that. I'm sorry for you, but I'm afraid the building might catch fire. [Puts water on it.] U. P. — What time does de kars git here ? W. M. — [Going out.] Pretty soon ; you won't have long to wait. 23 U. P. — He 's sorry, yes ! Dey say dat in de Norf a white man am as good as a nigger if he behabes himself, but I cvnt seen de fust white man behabe hisself since I 's bin here. Dey 's all mean. Talk 'bout dis land flowin wid milk an' honey ! Why I aint seen a bungle-bee, let alone any honey. If it am here de white folks gits it all. Aunt Miriah. — Well, ole man, dare aint no use gruci- blin. Uncle Billy told us dis 'fore we come. It aint only de white folks but de niggers am mean too. De fust time dat I went to de meetin' some ob dem was so proud dat when I goes to sit down dey gits 'way from me like I was some varmint. And sich a meetin' ! My Lord ! It was so cold dat I didn't feel de spirit all de time I was dar. Dey didn't sing nuffin but new fashioned songs, and de preacher talks 'bout de sun an' de moon an' de stars, and some infiddle dat he calls Kurnel Niggersoll, instead of preachin' de truf. No sich meetin' as we hab on de ole plantashun, when de sperit come down so pow'fully dat it makes yo' fear an' trem'le. Cousin Mary.— Dat am so, Aunt Maria, for I isn't felt de sperit sence I 's bin here. U. P. — [Taking a paper out of his pocket.] Look here ! I want some ob you chillun to read dis paper dat a cullud gen> men gib me de oder day when he was tellin' me 'bout a camp meetin dey had last summer. J.— I'll read it. U. P. — [Handing it to her.] Well, here den, read it. J. — [Looking at it for a moment.] Why, it aint nuffin but 'bout a camp meetin'. Dere 's a heap ob names on it. U. P.— Well, read dem. J. — [Reading.] The followin' preachers will assist at de meetin' : Kev. John Jones, B. D., Rev. T. A. Jackson, B. D., Rev. James Lewis, B. D. U. P. — Dat will do, Jane ; I understans de names, but I want yo' to tell me what de B. D. means. A. M. — Ole man, I specks dat means bury de debil. J. — No it don't, Aunt Moriar. A. M. — Well, what does it mean den ? Yo' tinks yo' is so smart. J. — It means dem preachers am boss darkies. [All laugh.] A. M. — I know'd Jane 'ud come wid some ob her foolishness. Voicfi. — Some ob yo' laffin, but I 's too cold to laf— so cold I hab to cry. U. P. — AVell, now, look here, chillun. Dat am so, but we's had 'nuff weepin', an' wailin', an' lamentation. We 's done bin , fooled, but we mout as well laf as cry. Ole massa send us mon- ey to git back home wid, an' de bullgine will soon be here. Tink dat we 's gwine back to de ole home in de Souf, an' be hawpy. Hezekiah, sing us a good ole song. 24 Several Voices. — Dat's it ! Siag us a song. H. — Well, I 's got a new song, an' yo' must all jine iti de chorus. Voices.— All right. [Song, " I 's done been to Kansas."] finale. LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS ■HH 016 103 697 3 ^ / ^v-/- iiifMli'ii, 016 103 697 3