THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 LYDDY
 
 L YDD Y 
 
 A Tale of the Old South 
 
 By 
 EUGENIA J. BACON 
 
 MDCCCXCVIII 
 CONTINENTAL PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 25 PARK PLACE, NEW YORK
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, 
 BY CONTINENTAL PUBLISHING CO.
 
 \ c>5 
 
 DEDICATED TO MY SISTER 
 LAURA, "CHIM"
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Sold at Auction 13 
 
 2 II. Preacher Frank's Prayer 25 
 
 UJ 
 CO 
 
 ^ III. Eaten by a Bear 41 
 
 cc 
 
 IV. Daddy Toby's Courtship 56 
 
 00 
 
 V. Machiah Baptised 64 
 
 ^ VI. A Gold-Marked Wedding Ring . . 78 
 
 VII. Robin Decides to Marry 92 
 
 VIII. Satan's Rope Cut 102 
 
 IX. A Spanish Trading-Port 117 
 
 r> 
 
 X. Marlborough and His Brute Friend . 129 
 N: 
 
 ) XL Lot Number Four 135 
 
 u 
 
 w XII. Juno's Wedding Festivities .... 142 
 
 XIII. How Can We Let Missy Die ? ... 155 
 
 < 
 
 XIV. An Indian War Dance 167 
 
 XV. The Parson's Dagger 186 
 
 7
 
 11 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVI. Is This Post Day ? 205 
 
 XVII. Lydia's Ghost Story 219 
 
 XVIII. Valentine Versus April-Fool .... 232 
 
 XIX. Sara, Once a Good Wife 248 
 
 XX. Lydia and Marlborough Meet . . . 255 
 
 XXI. A Marriage in Heaven 266 
 
 XXII. Green Forest Sold at Auction . . . 272 
 
 XXIII. News of Juno 278 
 
 XXIV. Mixed Schools, Mixed Marriages . . 283
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 OFFICERS and men that for four years struggled 
 to tear down the Stars and Stripes, are to-day 
 proudly planting Old Glory over a land oppressed 
 by cruelty. In the words of Commodore Dewey, 
 " There is no South, no North, but one united 
 country." 
 
 Old lines of differences are for ever obliterated. 
 
 Descendants of Lee and Grant shouldered arms, 
 and have been standing side by side, doing 
 battle, at the will of the American Government. 
 
 And in this cause of humanity men that were 
 once bound by the yoke of servitude are taking 
 an active part. 
 
 Southern negroes have now enjoyed the bless 
 ings of freedom for more than thirty years, yet 
 their faithfulness and devotion remain fresh in the 
 minds of former owners ; even as the harrowing 
 scenes depicted by Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe 
 continue to attract throngs of men, women, and 
 children to theatres and halls. 
 
 Those of the race that were born slaves will 
 soon have passed away, therefore I deem it a fit 
 
 9
 
 io Preface. 
 
 time to flash the sunshine of Lydia's life before 
 the eyes of the rising generation ; so that they 
 may realise that, in face of the cruelties depicted 
 in " Uncle Tom's Cabin," there were, on the other 
 hand, many such characters as Lydia, with black 
 skins but pure souls. 
 
 My resolution to write Lydia's history came 
 unexpectedly to me while visiting in Edinburgh, 
 Scotland. One evening, at dinner, our party 
 were discussing national dishes, when my vis-a 
 vis inquired of me what, with us, corresponded 
 to their haggis. 
 
 " Hog and hominy," I answered. 
 
 " Then you must be a Southerner ! " she ex 
 claimed. 
 
 " Yes, an old-fashioned slave-owner ; happily 
 reconstructed, however, so as not only to rejoice, 
 but be harmless." 
 
 My friend's little girl, sitting near, looked up 
 with a startled expression. Oblivious to her 
 surroundings, she laid aside her knife and fork, 
 pushed her chair from the table, and hastened to 
 her mother's side. " Was she really a horrid 
 slave-owner?" she faltered. Then her tears fell 
 freely. 
 
 Only a few days before, she had, for the first 
 time, it appeared, witnessed the theatrical repre 
 sentation of " Uncle Tom's Cabin."
 
 Preface. 1 1 
 
 But the pathetic words of this innocent child 
 awakened me : she little knew that the very in 
 stitution by which my life was once surrounded, 
 had been established first in America by her own 
 English-speaking ancestors. I determined there 
 and then to write Lydia's life as I knew it. 
 
 So, dipping my pen into the inkstand of 
 Slavery days, homely scenes of joy and sadness 
 are narrated as they really happened in the life of 
 one of God's black angels, whose wings were 
 stained by sin. 
 
 E. J, B.
 
 LYDDY: 
 
 A TALE OF THE OLD SOUTH. 
 
 I. 
 Sold at Auction. 
 
 " While wild in wood the noble savage ran." 
 
 LYDIA'S grandparents had danced in their 
 primitive state on Africa's sunny shore. 
 She, however, was born a slave, yet her 
 faith and trust in God was pure and abiding, en 
 suring to her the love and devotion of all about 
 her. 
 
 In stature she was of medium height, her skin 
 a glossy black, with broad forehead and great, 
 loving, tender eyes. Unlike most negroes, too, 
 her nose was not very flat, nor her lips thick, and, 
 in laughing, she showed a double row of faultless 
 teeth. 
 
 Her apparel was always simple, a white apron 
 and a coloured turban being the most conspicuous
 
 14 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 parts of it. In her back hair was stuck a large 
 plain tortoise-shell comb a gift from her mistress, 
 whose grandmother had worn it when such orna 
 ments were stuck high in the coiffure. 
 
 No Turk coils his soft white muslin more grace 
 fully than Lydia coiled her bright bandanna. 
 And with the shell to uphold its folds, there was 
 a certain individuality in its symmetrical arrange 
 ment. Other negroes might don hats and furbe 
 lows on Sunday, but Lydia, No. Over a half- 
 worn dress of her mistress, she tied her own spot 
 less tucked apron, gave a twist to her bandanna, 
 and she was dressed in her best. 
 
 Proud of her position in the nursery, she digni 
 fied it with rare good sense, and thus endeared 
 herself not only to the children, but also to all 
 our visitors. 
 
 Lydia was born on the estate of one Samuel 
 Jameston, an Englishman, living near the village 
 of Riseburg. Her father Belfast held the position 
 of foreman on the place, and her mother Nancy 
 that of cook. And what a cook ! sending to the 
 squire's table the richest gumbo, the lightest and 
 hottest waffles, and the fluffiest of biscuits. 
 
 When but a girl Lydia's master died, leaving 
 an only child, Samuel, already motherless, in 
 possession of Fairfield. And so, in time, the old 
 homestead, with its massive English sideboard
 
 The Old South. 15 
 
 supplied with the choicest of wines and finest of 
 cigars, became, with the young master at the head, 
 a rendezvous for fast young men, fond of hunting 
 and driving. The metaphorical latch-string hung 
 outside the door, as it ever hangs in many South 
 ern houses, and invited friends to enter. But 
 nights of revelry for the men were followed by 
 mornings that were trying to the heart of old 
 Nancy. 
 
 " If Mars Sam don't git him a wife what will 
 keep him sober, Nancy must quit de kitchin ! " 
 she often cried in bitterness. 
 
 One person alone on the plantation had any 
 power over Samuel when he was not himself ; 
 and that was old Chloe, who had nursed him from 
 infancy. With her black face wreathed in smiles, 
 notwithstanding the tears of distress welling 
 up at the sight of " her boy's" red eyes, she often 
 soothed him as none other dared to do. One 
 morning, quite accidentally, Nancy detected 
 Chloe's occult power, when she heard her outside 
 the library door, praying : 
 
 " O blessed Lord ! I is done all I kin fer Mars 
 Sam ; certain an' sure de big Devil is laid hold o' 
 my boy. O Master, you what 'buked de storm 
 a ragin' on de sea, come down wid dy mighty 
 power an' say, 'Git behin' me, Satin.' Sure, my 
 w'ite chile will 'spect de, O Lord. At chu'ch
 
 1 6 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Mars C. C. tells us if we prays an' believes, dat 
 de Lord will answer. He will, only we must 
 wait, 'umble-like. Oh, God! ole Chloe is a- 
 waitin' ! " 
 
 Nancy's cares increased : her husband sickened, 
 and died. Then a less experienced man was made 
 foreman at Fairfield. 
 
 After this the crops in a measure failed, debts 
 were increased, until, at last, it became necessary 
 for the young master to sell his negroes, one after 
 another. 
 
 Lydia accordingly was advertised to be 
 " knocked down " to the highest bidder, at Rise- 
 / burg, January 20, 1830. Her mother determined 
 to seek for her a good master came and implored 
 my father living at a small place called Navarre 
 to buy her. 
 
 " Massa, she's as likely a gal as you kin find, 
 an' will make a smart housemaid fer de young 
 lady folks says you's goin' ter bring ter Navarre." 
 
 Riseburg, it may be added, was the county- 
 seat, and boasted of a court-house, two stores, one 
 tavern, and a half-dozen residences. 
 
 At the stores negroes exchanged eggs and 
 chickens not always their own, alas ! for sugar, 
 calico, and tobacco. 
 
 A dilapidated stage-coach, which ran between 
 Savernake and Darius, stopped at the tavern.
 
 The Old South. 17 
 
 Here passengers refreshed themselves on " hog 
 and hominy," accompanied, whenever wanted, 
 with sweet yams and corn-bread. 
 
 Moreover, on certain days in the year, a shrewd 
 business man, with a twang in his voice not 
 Southern, mounted a block or a live-oak stump in 
 front of the court-house, and, in auction style, 
 " knocked down" to the highest bidder negro after 
 negro. 
 
 In this wise Lydia fell to my father ; and, after 
 a touching farewell with her mother, she was 
 driven away, seated beside the coachman Marl- 
 borough. 
 
 Before parting, however, Nancy gave her good 
 advice, and likewise overwhelmed Lydia's new 
 owner with thanks : 
 
 " De Lord bless you, massa, an' help my gal ter 
 sarve you well, so you won't neber be sorry of 
 your barg'in." 
 
 Not long after, Lydia waited at the front steps 
 for her master's bride, whom she conducted to her 
 chamber. Before adjusting her mistress's slip 
 pers, she kissed the tiny feet in token of wel 
 come, and said, " We is all on usgoin' ter love you 
 lots, missy." A dainty hand patted her gay ban 
 danna in appreciation of love so fervently shown ; 
 for, in slavery days no stiffness existed between 
 mistress and maid. 
 
 2
 
 i8 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Nancy frequently spent Sundays at Navarre, 
 and when her son Belfast was sold, he joined his 
 sister, to the delight of their mother, who was 
 bravely doing her duty, separated as she was from 
 her only children. 
 
 " It's not fer long dat I must work 'lone," she 
 groaned, " caise dey'll soon lay me 'side de ole 
 man, an' from my grave a song '11 rise, caise we 
 two chilluns is in de hands of a Godfearin' good 
 master." 
 
 Her prophecy at least as to her daughter's 
 ability proved correct. For, when the position 
 of nurse was to be filled, Lydia was given charge 
 of the child. 
 
 Navarre was sold eventually, and a large and 
 beautiful estate, comprising three thousand acres, 
 known as Green Forest, was purchased. Its 
 homestead, or dwelling, was of little importance ; 
 but its rambling old roofs and overhanging ledges 
 were embowered in a forest of eternal green. In 
 February the yellow jessamine, trailing from tree 
 to tree, gave the grove a wealth of golden beauty, 
 and in spring the magnolia, king of flowers, 
 scented the air with its large bowl-like blossoms. 
 Interspersing these, festoons of long grey moss 
 floated in the summer breeze, or whirled in win 
 ter's wild blasts from live-oak, pine, and olive 
 trees.
 
 The Old South. 19 
 
 To describe the singular effect produced by this 
 curious growth of the Far South, is impossible. 
 Swaying from innumerable tree-limbs, its smoky 
 colour and its spectral shapes impart a gloom 
 even in the midst of spring's gayest tints, or mid 
 summer's blaze of full-blown flowers. Were it 
 possible, indeed, to exterminate this growth, 
 which is not a parasite, the human race could not 
 exist in the miasmatic air that gives it nourish 
 ment. 
 
 The house at Green Forest needing to be en 
 larged and renovated, a mason was given the 
 contract. A skilled workman from Savernake, he 
 was also a free negro ; and so he inspired the 
 plantation people with due respect. For, at that 
 period, few men with coloured skins were their 
 own masters. 
 
 It was not long, however, before Marlborough, 
 the coachman, manifested an intense dislike for 
 the newcomer. 
 
 " I's what folks calls a slave, but I wouldn't 
 change place wid dat copper-coloured fellow. He's 
 his own boss, but from sun up ter sun up he must 
 work ter earn his hog an' hom'ny. 
 
 " Massa's folks sits outside deir cabin, pickin' 
 de banjo, de sun high ober head : Caise why ? dey 
 has finished deir day's task. As fer horses, show 
 me a man what reins a finer pair in Siberty
 
 20 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 county dan Bolivar an' Bonepart, an' in no car 
 riage sets a liklier nurse dan we Lyddy. Any 
 coachman would be proud ter drive her round." 
 
 But in spite of these self-gratulations and this 
 show of contentment, a suspicion was rankling in 
 his mind that the free negro might some day come 
 between him and the woman he loved. In fact, 
 he had already noted signs that indicated that the 
 tender eyes of the nurse had captivated the heart 
 of the mason. 
 
 He longed to know how matters were progress 
 ing ; so he secreted himself behind a low-limbed 
 myrtle bush near where Lydia usually sat when 
 " her babies " were snugly tucked away in bed. 
 Yes, there they were now ! he heard Marmaduke 
 pleading: 
 
 " My lady, I loves you wid all my heart. Say 
 you'll be mine, an' I'll pay down gold an' silver 
 fer you, an' present you wid your own self. 
 You'll be a free lady then, wearin' fine silk frocks 
 an' a hat wid long plumes like de w'ite folks. 
 Jes be mine an' I'll give you a gal ter wait on you. 
 I knows well dat coachman is in love wid you, but 
 he's got nothin' ter offer you ; he's a slave tied ter 
 his master's whippin' post. I'm a free man ! " 
 
 " Massa sets a pow'ful stoh by we coachman ; 
 he ain't tied ter no post. We's growed up ter- 
 gether ; so I knows."
 
 The Old South. 21 
 
 A shout of delight was but scarcely suppressed 
 from behind the myrtle bush. 
 
 " But, my lady, wouldn't you like ter be mistress 
 of your own house ? If you'll be mine, I'll buy 
 you a home soon as I gits paid fer de work here. 
 I knows what it is ter be a slave. When my 
 master, who was also my father, died, he left me 
 free. T'ank God, my han's is got no chains on 
 dem now. I does as I please." 
 
 " But you must work fer your victuals an' 
 clothes! So Bro' Molbro was sayin' in de 
 kitchin." 
 
 " He's a fool, dat man. Don't you listen 
 ter his talk. I'm my own boss an' does jes 
 as I likes. You be mine, an' you kin do de 
 same." 
 
 Marlborough's heart thumped as if made of 
 lead. The realisation of his inability to compete 
 with one able to buy his own wife, giving her, 
 too, a house and housemaid, completely over 
 whelmed him. Hitherto, the wish for heaps of 
 gold had never marred his happy life ; but now, 
 how could he earn enough to overbid his hated 
 rival was his dominant thought. Convinced, 
 finally, that his only chance lay in persuading his 
 master not to sell the nurse, and also to dismiss 
 the mason, getting some one else to complete 
 the work, he determined, if these failed, to way-
 
 22 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 lay Marmaduke and batter his yellow face into 
 jelly. Lydia then wouldn't care to marry him. 
 
 With a woman's discerning eye, the mistress 
 divined that there was trouble existing, and that 
 the wedding-feast she had hoped to order for 
 two of her house-servants would not be for the 
 coming Christmas. 
 
 My father promised Marlborough not to part 
 with the nurse ; but he could not annul the con- 
 tract with Marmaduke, except for incapacity. 
 Marmaduke, however, as has been said, was a 
 skilled workman. 
 
 " Oh, massa ! I never gits a word wid we 
 nurse dese days. If I does ketch up wid her, 
 she talks 'bout elegant gentlemens what does as 
 dey please. Massa, can't you hire Mr. Jackson 
 ter finish de work ? " 
 
 He was told No ! 
 
 But his longed-for chance to speak to Lydia 
 soon came. He had been sent to the grove to 
 summon the nurse home. There he found her 
 seated on a log, her white children gathering wild 
 violets. Forgetting his mission, he gave vent to 
 his feelings. 
 
 " Lyddy, dey is no time fer coteship, you 
 knows you is de idol of my life ; you knows I'd 
 die fer you. But, Lyddy, I has no money ter 
 buy you ; I has no house but what massa'll build ;
 
 The Old South. 23 
 
 I can't give you a gal ter wait on you, but, my 
 love, I'll wait on you myse'f ; I'll be ter you all 
 dat any black man kin be ter a lady. Tell me, 
 Lyddy, tell me, is you goin' ter marry dat hateful 
 vagabon' of a yaller niggar ? " 
 
 Lydia, startled and stunned to find he had 
 gained information of her private affairs, merely 
 tossed her head and said : " Bro' Molbro, is you 
 lef your work' jes ter come here ter tarrify me ? 
 What concern is it o' yourn' if I do choose ter be 
 de mason's wife? You go an' tend ter your own 
 business." 
 
 " Lyddy," he said, " Wen I shets my eyes at 
 night, dat great merlatter man stands over me 
 bellowin' ' Hands off ! ' I ain't fer makin' a 
 racket on Green Forest, but some night I's goin' 
 ter hit dat fellow plumb ter kingdom come." 
 
 As if the deed were already done, Lydia burst 
 into tears. " Will you be a murderer, like Cain ! 
 Oh! Oh!" 
 
 Her white children gathered at her side and 
 covered her with caresses. " Mommer, don't 
 cry ; who has hurt you ? " 
 
 Marlborough one day confided his troubles to 
 his master. Consequently, a letter was written 
 to Savernake, making inquiries as to Marma- 
 duke's marital relation, suspicion, in fact, having 
 whispered that he was already married. Letters
 
 24 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 at that date were carried on horseback, the post 
 age costing twenty-five cents. 
 
 An answer came, in due time. The mason was 
 a married man, with three children, his home on 
 the outskirts of Savernake. 
 
 This news brought joy to the coachman, and his 
 face beamed with delight. Now it would be plain 
 sailing, his pathway clear. For no man, even 
 " a free niggar," could marry two wives. 
 
 The songs in the nursery, once gay and bright, 
 changed into funereal dirges, while the negroes 
 at the quarters, lustily abused " de no 'count 
 free niggar who had fooled de whole plantation, 
 specially de likliest 'oman of de crowd." 
 
 Marmaduke, now in disrepute, hired an assist 
 ant, finished his work, and returned to Savernake, 
 caring nothing about the misery he left behind.
 
 The Old South. 25 
 
 II. 
 
 Preacher Frank's Prayer. 
 
 " In the mud and scum of things 
 Something always, always sings." 
 
 YEAR by year Green Forest was enlarged 
 and beautified, its many buildings so ar 
 ranged as to give the plantation the 
 appearance of a village. 
 
 A wide avenue opened from the Savernake and 
 Darius turnpike. Large overhanging trees en 
 twined on either side, their limbs forming an arch 
 festooned with grey moss, rays of sunlight here 
 and there darting through to the sandy way. 
 One could get merely a glimpse of the Colonial 
 homestead, with its cream-coloured Corinthian 
 columns. 
 
 At right angles with the avenue, a street led 
 to the Sandyrun Road. Its length was dotted 
 with buildings, and row after row of negro houses, 
 a small enclosure in the rear of each for a vege 
 table-garden. The cabins were not made of logs, 
 but of deal, with brick chimneys.
 
 26 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Midway of this street was a circular enclosure, 
 its lattice-paling hidden by a wealth of Cherokee 
 roses, their glossy green leaves and creamy flowers 
 glistening in the noonday rays. And here hung 
 an up-swinging pole, with its moss-covered bucket. 
 Little moss, however, collected, so constantly 
 was the bucket on the dip, its sparkling contents 
 quenching the thirst of hundreds in the quarters. 
 
 A few yards to the left glistened a small duck 
 pond, the rendezvous for geese and ducklings. 
 Splashing and cackling in delight, they were sur 
 rounded often by troops of black piccaninnies, 
 squeezing soft mud between their toes. 
 
 Surmounted by a crowing cock, symbolic of 
 poor Peter's treachery, stood a church with a 
 pointed tower ; in the rear a grave-yard hedged 
 round with young cedar trees. 
 
 Nothing in modern machinery could be more 
 wonderful and impressive to us than was our cot 
 ton-gin. The building simulated a summer-hotel, 
 with a wide uncovered piazza, for drying raw- 
 cotton the principal staple of the place. Day 
 after day Uncle Toby sat in front of a keyboard 
 with sharp savage-looking teeth, running hands- 
 ful of cotton to and fro, from base to treble. But 
 no musical sound came, save the rattling of jet- 
 black seeds into a hamper below as the liberated 
 fleece, like flakes of snow, whirled into a window-
 
 The Old South. 27 
 
 less room. This we longed to enter, but our 
 foreman, Scipio, never allowed us within five feet 
 of the threshold. 
 
 " Is you chilluns a-wantin' ter be suffocated? 
 Sure's you puts your nose inside dat dooe, you 
 is done fer, jes as good as if you is buried six 
 foot underground." 
 
 We were sure a few moments in that fairy 
 chamber could do no harm. But the foreman 
 was wise. From openings in the gin-house floor 
 long bags were suspended. Down into these, 
 negro men, with heavy pestles, compressed five 
 hundred pounds of cotton. Modern invention 
 the great compress does this work in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 Near the sea, on our rich bottom lands, the 
 cotton plant attained a growth of fully six feet, 
 its branches covered with pale yellow blooms 
 with purple centres. These crinkle into an elon 
 gated pod, resembling a hickory-nut ; and when 
 brown and dry pop into four quarters, from 
 which a wealth of fleece quivers in the slightest 
 breath of air. On clear autumnal days, the tall 
 sepia-coloured stalks appeared dry and lifeless ; 
 yet, day after day, soft snow-white tufts hung 
 from myriad branches, thus outlining a picture 
 long to be remembered. 
 
 Near the pond, grouped picturesquely, were
 
 28 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 other buildings: the saw-mill, with its piles of 
 logs seasoning in the sun ; and a circular wheel, 
 where three horses tread, advancing not an inch. 
 
 A ride on this revolving circle was our delight. 
 And Daddy Joe had frequently to rescue us 
 from perilous positions. 
 
 After a Jewish synagogue the blacksmith shop 
 was designed ; and opposite to it was an imposing 
 structure, replete with rice threshers, circular 
 saws, and turning-lathes. Home-grown maple 
 or oak was fashioned there into furniture ; for, 
 negroes that married on the place were "set up" 
 in housekeeping. 
 
 Against the chimney corner of his cabin young 
 Bill often leaned his bench, tingling a besmeared 
 banjo. Sweltering over an open fire, Dinah, his 
 bride, fried slices of bacon, while the corn loaf 
 browned in a ring-top oven. 
 
 " De pone am* done. Come, Bill, les' eat sup 
 per." 
 
 From tin plates they ate their rations ; serving 
 them out, too, in no meagre quantity. 
 
 Dancing in the brick-yard always followed the 
 lighting of kilns. Lydia took " her children " as 
 lookers on ; she herself dared not hook arms in 
 the giddy whirl ; Parson C. C. was far too strict 
 to countenance such frivolity in his church mem 
 bers.
 
 The Old South. 29 
 
 Christmas festivities held a prominent place in 
 the minds of both workers and children. Before 
 the Pleiades faded into the light of morning, we 
 were astir, eager to say first " Merry Christ 
 mas ! " 
 
 " Now deir is dat blessed chile done kotch me ! 
 Here, honey, is a fresh aigg jes dropped yister- 
 day." 
 
 We disbursed our debts from a hamper of 
 cakes. 
 
 A bell summoning us to breakfast, stalwart 
 negro men would perch us upon their shoulders, 
 our arms clasped about their woolly heads. 
 So they trotted home, at a pace dangerous to 
 life and limb. An army of little blacks in our 
 rear whooped and screamed with delight. Many 
 of them, in fact, in hot haste to join the fun, for 
 got to complete their morning toilet, appearing 
 without certain essential garments. 
 
 No queen ever enjoyed a triumphal procession, 
 with its pomp and show, more than we did our 
 home-going on Christmas morning. Our doll 
 tables were for a time replete with eggs, boiled, 
 fried, whisked, or scrambled, with nuts for des 
 sert. 
 
 Southern children lived among such environ 
 ments, petted and spoiled by faithful slaves. 
 
 In front of the church, on Christmas evening
 
 30 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 bright bonfires burned, illuminating a table bur 
 dened with barbecued meats, potatoes, bread, and 
 cakes for the plantation feast. Negro women 
 wore their gorgeous head-turbans and gayest 
 dresses, furbelowed and flounced to the waist 
 line, while the men donned their whitest shirt- 
 fronts and brightest neckties. 
 
 Upon the arrival of the white family, the signal 
 to begin was given. Scipio, the master of cere 
 monies, usually asked his master for a blessing. 
 
 Daddy Frank lifted both hands reverentially, 
 after my father's voice ceased : " De Lord help we 
 niggars ter be true an* faithful ter we w'ite folks 
 what has spread dis here bounty fer we spacious 
 'joyment." 
 
 The foreman then added, with commanding 
 tones, " Hunno people, stand at a 'spectful distance 
 till de w'ite folks is sarved, den you may set to 
 but be sure you eats dis luscious meal in a decent 
 an' proper manner." 
 
 Dancing followed the refreshments, interspersed 
 with the cutting of an imaginary " pigeon's wing." 
 This, as may well be inferred, requires an agile 
 body. 
 
 The noise and frolicking that followed were not 
 produced by stimulants ; it was but the unchecked 
 outburst of happy hearts. Though the negroes 
 possessed no money, they, in reality, had an un-
 
 The Old South. 31 
 
 failing savings bank to draw upon whenever ill- 
 health or old age overtook them ; in short, they 
 felt that they had a right to care and protection, 
 and so holiday amusements served as cords to 
 bind even tighter the owned and the owner. 
 
 Merry-making was not confined to the quarters 
 alone, for the homestead itself was rarely ever 
 free of guests. This, of course, entailed extra 
 domestic work, yet the servants gloried in a house 
 full of people. 
 
 Even now, as many gentlemen know, negro 
 men, are experts in clothes-brushing. It would 
 also be difficult to find a better maid than a negro 
 girl accustomed to attend on her mistress. 
 So, when it became necessary to dismiss Lydia 
 from the nursery, mother's cares were greatly 
 increased, and Phcebe, who succeeded her, had 
 a hard time : 
 
 " Go 'way ! you sha'n't dress us ; we want 
 mommer to button our clothes. Leave go our 
 curls, you're a horrid black niggar, we want mom 
 mer with her red bandanna and white apron. 
 Why don't mommer come in the mornings ; why 
 has she left us to rake up old leaves ? " This 
 fighting and howling went on in the nursery until 
 it almost distracted our mother. 
 
 Letha said one morning, " Phcebe, you sha'n't 
 talk about mommer, she's not bad, she is the best
 
 32 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 mommer in the world. Her skin is black, but 
 God can make it white as snow. Some day she'll 
 be a pure white angel and we'll walk with her in 
 Paradise, she told us so herself before she left." 
 
 And though Lydia had been overwhelmingly 
 humbled, our first thought in the morning 
 was always to run in the direction of the 
 "trash gang," as the convalescent workers were 
 termed. 
 
 Lydia, at sight of her " w'ite chilluns," dashed 
 her rake to the ground and clasped one after an 
 other to her bosom, covering their chubby hands 
 with kisses. 
 
 " Do, chilluns, beg missus ter let me come 
 home ! I wish I was daid ; how can I lib away 
 from my pets ? Is I neber goin' ter be forgiven ? " 
 
 Her hot tears were quickly brushed away by 
 baby fingers. 
 
 She was not the only one on the plantation 
 that was utterly miserable. Marlborough was 
 simply desperate. Not because he was a slave ; 
 not because his pockets were empty of gold and 
 silver. It was because there seemed no prospect 
 of his marrying the woman he loved. Indeed, if 
 she but caught sight of him she either hastened 
 away or hid her face. Gossip accordingly grew 
 rife among the field-hands, many assuring Marl- 
 borough that he wasted his life waiting for a smile
 
 The Old South. 33 
 
 from a woman that vowed she had no confidence 
 in any man, and wouldn't marry the best unless he 
 could give her a house and housemaid, with pur 
 chase papers in her own name, making her thus a 
 free woman. 
 
 With no opportunity to ask her if it be true, 
 the last vestige of hope was crushed, and,man-like, 
 Marlborough sought to comfort himself in the 
 company of another woman. His amatory atten 
 tion was given to a field-worker younger than 
 Lydia, who lived on Mr. Joe Lament's plantation, 
 three miles distant. Their courtship was brief ; 
 scarcely three weeks. 
 
 He gave Flora, the night he married her, a plain 
 gold ring with marks inside, unintelligible to her 
 untutored mind. 
 
 A ginger-coloured baby arrived in course of time 
 in Lydia's cabin. And when we were permitted 
 to visit them, she again and again entreated to 
 be taken back. " Beg missus ter forgive me, an' 
 let me come home." 
 
 Early in summer, wearing a spotless apron 
 and crimson head handkerchief, she resumed her 
 former position, greeted with a clapping of tiny 
 white hands and screams of joy. 
 
 In a year's time she gave the lie to gossip, and 
 was married at Pleasant Grove church by Dr. C. 
 C. to James, servant of Colonel Cummings. 
 3
 
 34 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 James gathered oysters and fish for his master; 
 and he kept " us " well supplied with lovely sea- 
 shells ; our toys, in fact, were the handiwork of 
 different coloured men on the estate. 
 
 Lydia's hands and life were full, caring for a 
 number of children, who embraced every oppor 
 tunity to mount bareback horses, climb trees, 
 get over " stake and rider fences," acting, in fact, 
 like lambs in pasture never still a minute. In 
 our pranks the negro workers helped us, incurring 
 censure rather than report our misdeeds. I re 
 call one dreadful experience: 
 
 Beside the saw-mill stood long box-like struc 
 tures, designed to flood or keep dry rice-fields 
 Sawney had started with four easy-going oxen, 
 carrying one box suspended between lumber 
 wheels. Letha, always my leader, suggested the 
 fun of exploring the other. 
 
 "You go in yonder end!" said she, "we will 
 cross in the centre." We did not think of dimen 
 sions. 
 
 As an infant endeavours to get at its play 
 things scattered on the nursery floor, so we essayed 
 to go through the rice-field trunk. Our creep 
 ing for a time was seemingly unimpeded, then 
 nails protruded, rending pinafores, dresses, pant 
 alets and stockings, not to mention delicate skin. 
 
 We both, in short, possessed a goodly store of
 
 The Old South. 35 
 
 perseverance for wrong-doing ; on the principle, 
 probably, that stolen fruits are sweet. 
 
 We eventually reached the centre of that low, 
 narrow thirty-foot box; but to pass each other 
 was quite another feat. 
 
 If a cat's head goes through an opening, the 
 body easily slips in. We two might have kissed, 
 but there we stuck, nails above, nails below, splin 
 ters on every side pinning us fast in our perilous 
 position. Our tears intensified the darkness. 
 
 " Ding-dong, ding-dong," sounded the dinner- 
 bell, stimulating our healthy appetites. 
 
 Lydia called, " Letha, Dodo, way is you ? De 
 dinner bell is gone. Come quick, aunt Affie is 
 got a big sweet pudden fer you ! " 
 
 Leading his horses to the pond to drink, Marl- 
 borough stopped for a tete-a-tete with Lydia. 
 
 " Bro' Molbro, is you seen my chilluns,, dat 
 only a minute ago was makin' a block-house? 
 Here is deir bonnets, but where's dem two tom 
 boys? " 
 
 Though now a married man, Marlborough's 
 heart still burned with the old love ; so, wishing 
 her to tarry, he replied, " The children will come 
 soon." 
 
 " No ; I hears dem cryin' ; Dey must be up 
 some tree." 
 
 He tied his horses to a branch, and together
 
 36 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 they examined low-limbed trees, where, before, we 
 had been found pinioned to thorns, our aprons in 
 shreds. 
 
 The thud of horses' hoofs jarred us and we heard 
 our nurse's voice still calling. 
 
 " Mommer," we screamed, " here we are ! Take 
 us out, we can't move an inch." 
 
 " Honey, way is you ? De pudden is gittin' cole. 
 Law, bless my soul, Bro' Molbro, if here ain't my 
 two chilluns in de rice-field trunk." 
 
 Marlborough grasped the situation, and, with 
 deafening blows of an axe, liberated us. He 
 then gently lifted us to our feet, a mass of shreds 
 blood-stained hanging about our scratched arms 
 and legs. 
 
 Lydia hastened home and dressed us for din 
 ner, her face wearing an innocent expression. 
 We wouldn't be punished if she could prevent it ! 
 Our clean frocks mother noted ; and this, with 
 her sympathizing words as to bruises on our 
 hands, cut into our guilty hearts. 
 
 " I don't want any pudding to-day, do you, 
 Dodo ? " Letha whispered. " Mother, will you 
 excuse Dodo and me ? There are cardinal birds 
 picking about our trap ; perhaps one is caught." 
 
 She was closing the dining-room door when a 
 gentle voice said, " I would like to speak to my 
 little girls in the nursery before they go out."
 
 The Old South. 37 
 
 Alas ! Our pudding was uneaten, and we were 
 entrapped, instead of red birds. 
 
 Quick as a flash Lydia quitted her post beside 
 the infant's high chair ; for she did not wish the 
 debris on the nursery floor to shock her mis 
 tress. 
 
 Of course punishment ensued ; for we might 
 have been suffocated but for timely aid. Besides, 
 we had often been warned not to put even our 
 noses inside the water-gates. 
 
 "Which would you mind most, Letha, going to 
 bed or having a switching," mother asked. 
 
 " Switch me and let me go to my trap," she 
 replied, crying as if her heart would break. 
 
 "And you, Dodo?" 
 
 " Let me go to bed, please ; I'm so tired, I don't 
 want to play any more to-day." 
 
 She took me by the hand, and calmly turned to 
 Lydia: 
 
 " Put Letha to bed. " 
 
 " Oh, missus, you is made a mistake ; it's Letha 
 don't min' switchin'. " 
 
 Waving her into silence, mother gave us that 
 which was most disagreeable. And while I made 
 the welkin ring, Letha lay robed in white, snugly 
 tucked in bed. 
 
 Rightfully, I should have been one of the best 
 of children, if prayers of the righteous avail. 
 
 45!
 
 38 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 In turning leaves yellow with age, I once read a 
 prayer earnestly offered in my behalf that my 
 father had transcribed. 
 
 On all well-regulated plantations it v/as a cus 
 tom to record daily events. Accordingly, from 
 my father's diary I now quote a few paragraphs, 
 which may give an insight into the relationship 
 existing between master and slave : 
 
 GREEN FOREST, Feb. 2d, 18 . 
 
 The sun rose clear this morning-, blending- its rosy light 
 with a profusion of full-blown peach blossoms. I stood 
 at the nursery window, after an anxious night, watching 
 my field-hands going to work, shouting and rejoicing over 
 the birth of another little girl-mistress. God grant that 
 the wee infant, cradled in its mother's arms, may be a 
 comfort in days to come to my negroes. In God's love 
 may she and her slaves ever rest. 
 
 February ^th. 
 
 According to old-time negro custom, many brought 
 offerings of chickens and eggs for the new-born child, en 
 treating that they might have one peep at its face. 
 " Mother " feared the exposure, but I could not resist 
 their entreaties ; one by one they peered into the soft 
 folds of flannel for a wee baby face nestling in Lydia's 
 arms. 
 
 Lydia's proud look showed she hoped that the child, 
 Saccharissa Alice, would reign some day a princess of 
 royal blood.
 
 The Old South. 39 
 
 The name, too, delighted the old women. " Sure," said 
 they, " it's high time missus had a namesake." 
 
 In truth, this name had been given to two other daugh 
 ters, each in turn, however, christened otherwise. One 
 of Lydia's favorite rhymes seems quite apropos. 
 
 She represents cocks welcoming in the dawn. One 
 crows lustily : " Woman rules here." Answered: "So 
 she does here." An overgrown Shanghai seeming to say, 
 "And everywhere." 
 
 SUNDAY, Feb. \& t th. 
 
 Frank, our coloured preacher, is not an ordained 
 minister, but has been set apart by our pastor and elders 
 at Midway church as a watchman over Green Forest. He 
 has authority to perform the marriage-rite, but not to ad 
 minister the sacrament. He preaches in the negro chapel, 
 every Sunday night where prayer-meetings are held dur 
 ing the week. I attend, by way of encouragement. To 
 night he opened the meeting with an earnest appeal to 
 the Lord in behalf of the "dear good missus an' her 
 baby." 
 
 " O blessed Master, keep dy best benediction fer de 
 young child what is come to us 'long wid de early dew an' 
 de mornin' star. We is hear read 'bout a star what shine 
 ober Israel, when de brederen was a-callin' from de watch 
 tower, ' What of de night ? ' No answer come, only one 
 little star a-twinklin' an' a-twinklin* till lik' a cloud of fire 
 it rise an' stopped ober de manger where de blessed Lord 
 was a-layin'. It ware a joyous break o' day, when de 
 sheperds found deir Saviour a-sleepin' 'long side beasts o' 
 de field. Dey straightway took de best of all dey had 
 an' laid it at de feet of de young child. An angel of love
 
 4O Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 is give us a new missy, an' we none on us kin know what 
 a blessin' dis blessed baby may be to us when we is old 
 an' feeble. Lord, do hold dy holy hand before de baby's 
 face so de debil can't so much as peep at um." 
 
 Frank then took the text, " Unto us a child is born." 
 His scripture quotations are ludicrously twisted, his 
 reasoning powers abstruse, but beneath his tortuous 
 paraphrases is a deep sense of God's love and his own 
 unworthiness." 
 
 March \$th, 
 
 To-day, at Midway, the baby was christened Eugenia 
 Amanda ; but she is nicknamed Dodo.
 
 The Old South. 41 
 
 III. 
 Eaten by a Bear. 
 
 " Do lovely things, not dream them all day long ; 
 And so make life, death, and that vast forever 
 One grand, sweet song." 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 
 
 EARLY in the seventeenth century Midway 
 church was erected by English settlers. 
 General Stewart of Revolutionary fame 
 used it as temporary quarters for his cavalry 
 men, their horses tramping over or lying beside 
 graves of men who gave their lives for the mother- 
 country. 
 
 Wealthy planters of Siberty County wor 
 shipped here, descended, as they were, from old 
 Puritan stock who pinned their faith on West 
 minster Catechetical doctrines. For many years 
 its pulpit was occupied by the Rev. Abel Holmes, 
 whose son, the illustrious poet Oliver Wendel 
 Holmes, retained ever a sympathy with and ten 
 derness for the Southerner. 
 
 At this period every one went to church, even
 
 42 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 babies of a few months' old, plantations being 
 virtually deserted on the Lord's day. 
 
 The choir sat in the centre of the church gal 
 lery, and was led by one playing a flute. The 
 negroes, many of whom were members in good 
 standing, occupied the two sides. 
 
 The first Sunday in each quarter the Lord's 
 table was spread in front, just below the high 
 oaken-carved pulpit. After the whites were 
 served with bread and wine, their slaves de 
 scended, taking the vacated chairs. To their 
 thick lips they lifted reverentially a silver chalice. 
 No one sinner or backsliding Christian ever left 
 before the celebration. And as with me these 
 long communion-table pictures are, I know, indeli 
 bly impressed upon the minds of many that are 
 now hoary-headed. Indeed, well do I recall the 
 high-backed pews, at the head of which sat a man, 
 but never a woman. For, years before, men were 
 armed with flint and steel guns, which they stood 
 in the corner of the pew, ready for use. 
 
 Indians, in those days lurked about, springing 
 unexpectedly upon these pious folk. So, while the 
 gentlemen listened to the voice of the preacher, 
 who expounded for one hour the doctrines 
 of predestination and kindred subjects, they were 
 also on the alert for the approach of the red man. 
 In the tents or in the two-room shanties surround-
 
 The Old South. 43 
 
 ing the church, lunch was served. Our cook Affie 
 prided herself on the quality of her cold turkey 
 and ham, accompanied with rice loaf and other 
 delicacies. 
 
 Friends interchanged visits before afternoon- 
 service, while the old folks strolled among the 
 graves in the cemetery, reflecting, doubtless, how 
 near the bottom of life's hill they were. 
 
 With no thought that fresh sod would some 
 day be upturned to receive them, young people 
 sat on the moss-grown tombstones, flirting or 
 laying bright plans for future lives of love. 
 
 After these long services at Midway, we 
 were allowed to roam about the Green Forest 
 Grove, stopping at the pond to note how young 
 ducklings spent their seventh day. Here, too, 
 we found black boys and girls dabbling in soft 
 sticky mud, though their mothers, before going 
 to church, had scrubbed and dressed them for 
 the week. 
 
 " See missy red frock ! Jes, look at he tippet ! " 
 
 " Dat's my missy what's got yaller spots an' a 
 w'ite aprin wid wheels 'round de bottom." 
 
 " It's no sech t'ing ; dat's Juno missy; ma done 
 say so." 
 
 " You is a liar ! Dat's Juno missy wid de gold 
 shoes (bronze) an' w'ite stockens." 
 
 " Oh, you is a big liar ! "
 
 44 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 "Stop, children," I remonstrated. "You 
 shouldn't call each other liars. Did you never 
 hear of Ananias and Sapphira who told lies and 
 God struck them dead." 
 
 " No, ma'am ; no ma'am. Tell we 'bout Anas 
 an' Saphe." 
 
 On this wise, truths taught us were repeated to 
 groups of eager piccaninnies: how Samuel was 
 called and replied, " Here, Lord, am I " ; how 
 Joseph's coat of many colours was found. There 
 after Sunday stories became a Sabbath amuse 
 ment. It rained one afternoon, and Lydia gained 
 permission for us to meet in the wash-house, thus 
 beginning a Sunday-school that continued for 
 years. 
 
 With the children came a thick-set old woman 
 to be taught. She wore a three-cornered rag tied 
 across her head ; her hair, streaked with grey, and 
 with stray blanket threads as well, was never 
 molested by curry-brush or comb. Aunt Sallie 
 had neither kith nor kin. She expended her best 
 efforts to keep other persons' offspring quiet on 
 week days ; and on Sunday, not caring, it seems, 
 to avail herself of this one chance of rest, she 
 came to Sunday-school. 
 
 For convenience, and to prevent being ejected 
 from a place, she brought under her arm a plank, at 
 each corner of which was a securely-plugged
 
 The Old South. 45 
 
 upright strip. Plumping this bench beside the 
 fireplace, she settled herself against the chimney 
 jamb, her legs stretched, one heel dug into the 
 ash-covered hearth, its mate placed on top, while 
 her ten toes moved restlessly, resisting the effect of 
 a scorching oak-fire. When Samuel's name was 
 called, she enthusiastically sang out, " Here, 
 Lord, is un's." In accordance with her dignity as 
 an old maid, she retained her seat until the gam 
 bolling children were out of her path, maiden-like 
 preferring to go home alone. 
 
 Lydia's narration of Aunt Sallie's capture in 
 Africa had thrilled me with a desire to hear the 
 story from her own lips; so, when I asked her to 
 tell me where she lived before she came to Green 
 Forest, she chirpingly replied, " In de canebrake, 
 in Wangpool." 
 
 " Where is that, tell me ?" 
 
 Picking up her bench, she motioned me to 
 follow, mumbling, " Ole Sal hates board walls." 
 
 Behind the wash-house she led me; then 
 stopped in front of a bench used by house-servants 
 when off duty. Here the winter sun shed its 
 warmest rays. 
 
 The negroes wondered who had hammered the 
 legs of this bench so deep into the earth. Marl- 
 borough declared he knew ; for he had " seen a 
 no 'count yaller man makin' love to de nurse dere
 
 46 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 while de w'ite chilluns was playin'." On this 
 matter Lydia kept her own council. 
 
 Aunt Sallie placed her stool in front of this 
 bench, seated herself, lifting her feet on a level 
 with her body. She then motioned me to take 
 the other end of the seat. 
 
 Chuckling, she exclaimed, " Daught, you is a 
 big gal ; w'en I peeped at you in de nurs'ry you 
 was sech a red rat ! Why don't folks call you 
 Sack? dat's missus' name." 
 
 Lydia had tried to break her of the habit of 
 speaking to us as " daught," but it was useless. 
 " Massa an' missus hears un's call dem 'daught ' ; 
 dey don't 'monstrate wid un's." 
 
 " Now ; how about your father and mother ? " I 
 asked. " Did you leave them in Wangpool ? " 
 
 Huddling herself close beside me, she appeared 
 to fear recapture, " Poo (pa)," she said, " he drink, 
 dess caise de king's pen ware empty ; he punch 
 un's in de rib, 'You'll do.' Moo (ma) was cookin' 
 rice, an' w'en she git a chance she filled a calabash : 
 ' Here, run hide in de canebrake. Let poo see 
 you an' de king'll swallow you whole. 1 De sun 
 was a dippin' ober de cane-top " (she ducked 
 her head into my lap as the scene seemed vividly 
 recalled), " an' poo come a yellin' my name. 
 Down ter de riber-side un's flopped behin' de 
 young cane, quick, a white man slap un's in de
 
 The Old South. 47 
 
 face, den pitch un's oberhe shoulder, so," flirting 
 her handkerchief across my shoulder. 
 
 I bounded out of my seat and on to my feet, 
 sure that a bushy-bearded Hollander was about to 
 capture me as well. 
 
 But Aunt Sallie, having recalled her past, felt 
 she must complete the story : 
 
 " Un's an' lots of un's was pack in a big house 
 a rockin' on de water. De boss com' an' toss 
 'longside of un's rice, but un's didn't want no 
 eaten, caise un's inside was tumblin' out." 
 
 " How many weeks were you in the vessel, and 
 where did the white man take you to ? " I asked. 
 
 With a deep sigh she answered : " Oh, it ware 
 a long time, daught. Eb'ry day one of un's, stiff 
 like a board, was pitched in de water. Un's wished 
 it war un's." 
 
 Suspecting that she had been disembarked at 
 some northern port, I inquired, " When you 
 reached land where did you go ? " 
 
 She rose, and, hobbling on one foot, at 
 tempted to show how she walked when dragged 
 out, her side, she said, bleeding : drawing her 
 faded shawl about her, she chattered her tooth 
 less gums, giving, as she evidently desired, 
 the idea of one suffering from a chill. " De 
 sand was cold, it burned un's toes ; w'ite 
 feathers like rain was droppin' from de moon."
 
 48 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Lifting one foot, then another, she chafed their 
 bare soles. (She could not be induced to wear 
 shoes.) 
 
 " Would you like to go back to the canebrakes 
 in Wangpool?" 
 
 Realising that no present danger surrounded 
 her, she leaned against the wash-house, perched 
 her bare feet once more upon her stool and, in 
 real camp-meeting style, clapped her hands, shout 
 ing, "Glory, glory, bless de Lord! Un's has 
 plenty sun, plenty taters, plenty rice, an' a good 
 boss. Bless de Lord! Glory, hallelujah! Samuel, 
 wey is you ? Here, Lord, is un's." 
 
 And Aunt Sallie understood the art of shouting, 
 too, her rhythm of sound thrilling the soul of 
 every one that ever heard her. When she " got 
 religion," she doubtless was borne out of church 
 on a door, showing no sign of life, save an occa 
 sional cry for mercy or a shout of exultation. 
 
 In spite of .all the cruelties that have been 
 depicted, there were many happy scenes on south 
 ern plantations. Certainly in Siberty county, 
 where we lived. Unfortunately, however, it had 
 to be vacated by the whites from May until 
 November. For, notwithstanding the miasmatic 
 feeding properties of the grey moss, that curse 
 of a southern clime, fever and ague sometimes 
 shook one from head to foot on the hottest
 
 The Old South. 49 
 
 day in August. To avoid this, sixteen wealthy 
 planters settled a village in the pine land, calling 
 it Greenville, in honour of Green Forest's owner. 
 Summer residences dotted the streets, gay flower 
 beds in front and vegetable gardens in the rear. 
 There was one Presbyterian church, in charge of 
 Midway's pastor, and also a school-house ; but no 
 shop or store. 
 
 Children reared in Greenville recall vividly 
 floggings they had in its house of learning. 
 For the master declared that, as he was paid 
 to teach, he would see that "birds that could 
 sing and wouldn't sing, were made to sing." 
 And how he often flounced a boy, face down, 
 across a bench ! using freely an oaken paddle. 
 
 Father McCall, who taught this teacher, had, 
 it appears, set him a bad example. And after a 
 long and arduous life in pulpit and country school, 
 the aged clergyman had, as his sole earthly pos 
 sessions, an old white horse, Bob, and a faithful 
 coloured man, Daniel. His declining years he 
 spent visiting among his former pupils. Our 
 parent was his favourite one to judge from the 
 frequency of his visits. And the mere memory 
 of interminable hours of agony that ensued for 
 Letha and me, still revive apprehension. In fact, 
 whenever we recognised the jogging trot of old Bob 
 coming down the avenue, we fled, if we could. 
 4
 
 50 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Father McCall, however, died at the age of 
 eighty-three, at a neighbour's, in a room named 
 Purgatory. Owing to his dislike for the old clergy 
 man, whom he nevertheless had to entertain, the 
 host had assigned him to this chamber. 
 
 Lydia was deeply impressed by this incident. 
 The truth is, she had despised him for a long 
 time for alway scolding " her children," who 
 chanced to doze while he prayed for twenty 
 minutes round our family altar. She also often 
 thrilled us with accounts of his cruelty when in 
 charge of a country school. 
 
 Indeed, according to Lydia's narration, Father 
 McCall, in the eighteenth century, actually put 
 an unruly boy under the loose slab of a brick 
 grave, birches having been broken over his 
 shoulder without avail. 
 
 " Dat day," Lydia said, "the chilluns was all 
 whisp'rin', wond'rin' if poor Stephens would be 
 smothered. De dismissal bell had no sooner 
 tapped dan de whole school rushed out an' on 
 ter de grave ter see de daid boy. No boy was 
 there, only a pile of loose earth wid a shoe-sole 
 on top, jes as if de skeleton had tossed de 
 cum'brin' clay. ' He's daid ! ' de chilluns shouted ; 
 ' oh, where is Stephen ? ' It was den dat hard 
 hearted man called out, ' Stephen, you rascal, 
 come out o' dat hole ! ' Crawlin' backward from
 
 The Old South. 51 
 
 de tunnel he had dug de poor boy stood up as 
 dirty as a pig, wid a tired, hongry look in his 
 eyes." 
 
 This thrilling story was always told us when 
 tucked in bed, followed by the injunction, " Chil- 
 luns, go ter sleep ; it's late." One of Lydia's 
 peculiarities was that she never forgot harrowing 
 details. 
 
 On Sundays, sitting in a rear pew of Green 
 ville's church, she listened with rapt attention to 
 Biblical accounts of hell-fire and brimstone. 
 
 Letha and I reaped the benefit of her reten 
 tive memory: when more inclined to play than 
 sleep, we have spent agonising moments looking 
 for red flashes beside our trundle-bed. 
 
 Sunday was a holy day in Greenville ; chins 
 dropped two inches, and a really spread-mouth 
 laugh was marked as an unpardonable sin. Horses 
 were never harnessed ; coachmen, therefore, had 
 sly opportunities for quiet flirtations. 
 
 Rows of cabins were built in the rear of the 
 village-dwellings ; for house-servants and the con 
 valescent from our plantations. 
 
 Nights were merry over quilting-frames, where 
 old women helped with the quilting ; coachmen, 
 maids, and footmen standing by, threading 
 needles. 
 
 Feede, Mr. Winn's cook, who was especially
 
 52 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 clever, agreed to superintend the laying of a 
 quilt for Dean's seamstress. Wishing, then, to be 
 sure that everything was ready before quilting 
 began, she tucked her four-year-old son John in 
 bed, covered him head and ears, and hastened to 
 the quilting-bee. 
 
 But green plums and unripe peaches kept John 
 awake, and, notwithstanding his overburdened 
 but unsatisfied stomach, he stole out of bed, in 
 tending to make his way to Dean's, in search of 
 a bite of quilting-supper. For "little pitchers 
 have big ears." John then and there disap 
 peared. 
 
 The quilt was finished, tightly rolled, and laid 
 aside. An hour before dawn, Feede rushed 
 home, hoping to get a wink of sleep before pre 
 paring her master's breakfast. 
 
 To her dismay she found her little girl Amy 
 alone under the blankets. From one cabin to an 
 other she rushed, asking, " Is you see dat rascal 
 of a nigger John ? De black imp is quit my bed 
 an' gone de Lord knows where." 
 
 The negroes of the village, frightened and talk 
 ing together in groups, concluded certain sounds 
 some one had heard, were the growls of the mate 
 of a big black bear killed the summer before 
 in Bulltown Swamp, a few miles away ; Its skin 
 now served as a door-mat, to the horror of some,
 
 The Old South. 53 
 
 and to the amusement of other, small ones of the 
 place. 
 
 After the sun rose, a footman put the black 
 populace into a fever of excitement by declaring 
 that he saw distinct foot-prints of a monster bear 
 in the road opposite Mr. Winn's cottage. 
 
 Rushing to her master's room, Feede roused 
 him with the startling news, that her boy John 
 had been eaten " head an' foot " by a big black 
 bear." 
 
 The men of the village were soon in their 
 saddles, fully armed for a hunt in the swamp. 
 
 Not a vestige of John was found. And though 
 Feede had often thrashed him, declaring he was 
 " de wuss little rascal in Greenville, an' would 
 some day git his desarts if he didn't men' his 
 ways," she now appeared broken-hearted. For a 
 new-made grave covers many faults. 
 
 Lydia, who was familiar with the adventures 
 recorded in the " Young Marooners," determined 
 to protect her household from the jaws of wild 
 beasts. She therefore stripped an old red flannel 
 petticoat into long bits, and tacked them about 
 her cabin door and window, and each night she 
 made sure that a pot of water boiled in the chim 
 ney-corner, with a tin ladle near by, so as to scald 
 Bruin's eyes. 
 
 The servants were not the only ones excited
 
 54 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 over this strange disappearance. Ladies, in ex- 
 changing visits, could talk of little else. 
 
 Greenville was built in the midst of a wide 
 extent of pine forest, where never a traveller 
 passed, and from which long ago the red man had 
 fled to the canebrakes of Florida. 
 
 In the nursery Lydia moaned, " If we could 
 only see dat w'ite scar on de poor daid John's 
 left arm." 
 
 Our summer retreat had no lack of snakes ; a 
 few days of warm sunshine and out they crawled, 
 in new spring coats of many colours. We hung 
 their rusty discarded skins about Lydia's neck ; 
 then she added them to the adornments of her 
 cabin, as " charms to keep 'way ghosts." 
 
 Mocking-birds, our southern nightingales, trilled 
 their softest love-notes from dawn till mid 
 night : imitating the barking of dogs, mewing of 
 cats, and even the crying of children ; and the 
 last so effectively as to deceive mothers and 
 nurses. Near the dwellings they built their nests, 
 and their young were our household pets. 
 
 One morning, I remember, a cry of distress 
 hastened my father from the breakfast-room ; he 
 wondered what could ail one of the feathered 
 denizens of his home. 
 
 Cuddled in a warm nest, between the limbs of 
 a spikenard tree, were four bare-bodied birds,
 
 The Old South. 55 
 
 hungry, and doubtless wondering why the early 
 worm was not at hand. The mother-bird, in truth v 
 was under the power of a monstrous rattlesnake 
 coiled at the root of a spreading laurel-tree. From 
 a wide to a narrowing circle she flew, uttering 
 notes of distress, unable, however, to resist the 
 fascinating eyes of the serpent, glistening above 
 the coil. The tail protruded on the side, its 
 chain of rattles constantly in motion. By a hw 
 of nature rattlesnakes cannot strike, and so eject 
 poison, without first ringing bells as a warning. 
 
 Seeing that the power of the bird was waning, 
 father fired his gun. 
 
 The smoke cleared away. We beheld a reptile 
 six feet long, with twelve rattles and one button, 
 making its age thirteen years. 
 
 Lydia danced with excitement, saying, " De 
 horrid t'ing, day by day watchin' my chilluns at 
 play. He had a taste of poor John's black fing 
 ers, I's sure, caise bears an' snakes is good 
 friends."
 
 56 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 IV. 
 
 Daddy Toby's Courtship, 
 
 " A damsel has ensnared him with the glances 
 Of her dark roving eyes, as herdsmen catch 
 A steer of Andalusia with a lasso." 
 
 LONGFELLOW 
 
 A GORGEOUS Indian summer set in, as the 
 season of sunshine and heated air waned. 
 Peas and bean stalks were dry and 
 withered. Relieving the death-like aspect here 
 and there were poles covered with gay-blooming 
 cypress vines, with crimson stars peeping from 
 beneath the feathery green leaves. The cheek of 
 apples and of quinces, too, had felt the kiss of the 
 summer's sun, helping thus to redeem the look of 
 desolation. 
 
 In the kitchen our cook Affie busied herself in 
 preserving fruit for winter use ; often nodding 
 while her pot boiled. From her father, an Indian 
 warrior, she inherited a fiery temper ; still we de 
 lighted in playing tricks whenever she slept. 
 
 Finding her snoring one day, with her dress- 
 front open, Letha caught a live toad, and bade
 
 The Old South. 57 
 
 me ever her willing servant drop it into Affie's 
 bosom. 
 
 I had no sooner done so, than she picked up a 
 lightwood knot, and, but for timely aid from 
 Marlborough, all practical jokes for me would 
 have been at an end. 
 
 From our parents we inherited a fondness for 
 fun and frolic. Of course no one suspected our 
 mother of playing tricks, with her large family 
 and numerous guests. Notwithstanding, she did 
 play them ; and many. Lydia, too, was always her 
 ready accomplice ; in fact, she would, with a face 
 as serene as if sitting at the communion table, 
 present a dish of night supper to a room full of 
 girls preparing for bed, saying, " Wid de compli 
 ments of Mars John Castle an' his friends." 
 
 In truth, not one load of shot had been ex 
 pended by any of the young men in killing the 
 red-headed woodpeckers that were boiled in the 
 bird pillau, prepared for a night-supper treat, 
 their bitter and uneatable flesh impregnating 
 every grain of rice. 
 
 Mother, at other times, regaled the boys with a 
 platter of cakes well-lined with cotton wool. Girls 
 and boys' declarations of innocence were, of course, 
 never believed by either. 
 
 Evening entertainments were frequent at Green 
 Forest. A very amusing one was when each young
 
 58 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 guest was robed in a sheet, with a pillow-case for 
 turban ; suggestive of ghostly visitors but for 
 rosy lips and laughing voices. However, no one 
 was allowed to waltz or polka save with brothers 
 or cousins. 
 
 It is true that the blue laws of Connecticut 
 had long been abolished, but our parents were 
 very strict. At the festivities held on our planta 
 tion, Daddy Toby and his string band supplied 
 the music for dancing. Toby was the professor 
 of love-making on the estate, coaching young men 
 how to make known their feelings, and maids how 
 to accept a proffered hand or heart. 
 
 In fact, Toby had mastered the science of love- 
 making ; and he magnanimously employed his 
 skill for the benefit of his race. 
 
 One of Green Forest's honored guests, Gerald 
 Jones, being in sore distress, resolved to enlist 
 the professor's aid. " Teach me, Toby," said he, 
 " for my nights are nightmares of despair. My 
 girl laughs when I swear she's the idol of my 
 heart. I must convince her somehow that I 
 adore her." 
 
 Surrounded by a merry group of young people, 
 Toby tingled the strings of his banjo, and grinned 
 from ear to ear. 
 
 " Boss, I can't teach w'ite folks ; it's only 
 niggars needs larnin'."
 
 The Old South. 59 
 
 Gerald's bosom-friend rushed to the supper- 
 room, and returned with half a cake, snow-white, 
 with sugar frosting. " Here, Professor, is your 
 fee ; payable at once. Let's have the lesson." 
 
 Toby claimed a fee for his services: a brace 
 of partridges, a dozen eggs, a chicken, or pos 
 sum. 
 
 The cake was not to be resisted. So, pulling 
 himself together with a desperate effort, he 
 scratched his kinky head, cleared his throat, 
 half closed his eyes, in clairvoyance style, and 
 gently twanged the treble strings of his instru 
 ment. 
 
 "Now, sah," said he, "put on your bes' Sun- 
 day-go-ter-meetin' clothes, parfume your nose 
 rag wid allegator's musk, comb your hair slick 
 wid bear's grease, wash your face wid soft soap 
 suds ; fer it must shine wid love bubblin' in your 
 t'roat. Flirt your hick'ry stick, keepin' time wid 
 your quick-beatin' heart " (indicating the same 
 with his fiddle-bow). " Call at de young lady's 
 house." 
 
 Thumping three times on the body of his banjo, 
 he simulated the voice from within, "'Whose 
 dar?' 
 
 " ' De hon'rable Mr. Axson.' 
 
 " ' Will de hon'rable Mr. Axson pull de latch- 
 string an' com' in ? ' ' Good ev'nin', Miss. De
 
 60 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 hon'rable Mr. Axson is tak' dis fav'rable chance 
 of payin' his 'spects ter de lovely Miss Dix.' Be 
 sure you bows low. 
 
 " ' Will de hon'rable Mr. Axson take a seat 
 an' be seated on de bench in de chimney-jamb ? ' 
 ' T'ank you, my dear miss.' 
 
 " When you is crossed your legs, like w'ifce folks, 
 pull out your han'kerchief ; wipe de bear's grease 
 from your forehead ; blow your nose ; den pro 
 ceed, saying, 'A July sun is turnin' de corn-blades 
 ter windward, de water floodin' de rice-fields sends 
 de stalks galavantin' from side ter side ; ' den, wid 
 a tender understanding ask if de young lady is 
 been watchin' de cotton -sprouts, what de warm 
 sun makes grows, jes like love, 'fore you know it 
 dey is great bushes an' de fowls of de air comes 
 an' builds deir nest. ' Now, miss, has you notice 
 de moon rises later eb'ry quarter, whisp'rin' 
 'cross de fire, dat old prophets say de full moon 
 makes folks fall in love.' At dis moment you 
 must jump ter your feet wid an ecstasy, declarin' 
 dose larned men knew what dey was discoursin' 
 'bout, caise since de las' full moon de heart of 
 de hon'rable Mr. Axson is been burnin' ter cin 
 ders. Dis is a convenient time fer plump your 
 bench close beside de gal cornered by de right 
 han' chimney-jamb. Your heart's a-beatin* lik' a 
 big drum ; it's a ticklish minute, but lean forward,
 
 The Old South. 61 
 
 an' wid de impression of a preacher, whisper 'My 
 dearest Miss Dix, is de hon'rable Mr. Axson's 
 comp'ny 'ceptableso far dis eb'nin' ? ' (Gals likes 
 ter count on fingers an' toes deir chances ter git 
 married. Don't proceed widout a clue.) Tossin' 
 her pretty head, she says, ' I ain't t'ought much 
 'bout it yet.' 
 
 " ' Now, my lovely Miss Dix, bend your intel- 
 egent min' ter cogitate, caise Mr. Axson is mak' 
 dis eb'nin' call wid de full purpose of 'dressin' 
 you wid a cou'tship. Floppin' her han's over 
 her sparklin' eyes, she sings out, so folks kin hear, 
 ' Oh ! -Mr. Axson, you is com* fer mak' game of 
 me.' Now's your chance! Drop on your knees, 
 foldin' your finger-tips ober your heart hammer- 
 in' ginst de coat-front. Turn your eyes upward 
 wid an ag'ny drippin' out de corners; say wid 
 great impression, ' Lord bless your soul, my dear 
 little miss, de sight of you dis eb'nin' is 'nough 
 ter shake de heart of a lion. What you t'inks of 
 a human bein* ? I's been a commissioner fer 
 ladies dis twenty years, an' no young lady is eber 
 before bring Mr. Axson mind ter compose till you 
 has dis eb'nin'. I'd rather have a kiss from your 
 rosy mouth dan t'irty pieces of silver.' 
 
 " Gals makes it a p'int of bein' shy de furs 
 night. But keep your courage ; don't be coward. 
 You is sow'd de seed ; let de peach season in de
 
 62 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 brandy. Make a move ter go home an' watch 
 how Miss Dix hates fer see you leavin'. 
 
 " Your hickory under your armpits, your stove 
 pipe on de back of your head, lean ober, an' when 
 shakin' hands say : * If de hon'rable Mr. Axson's 
 comp'ny is anyway 'ceptable ter Miss Dix, he'll 
 call ag'in at another time an' mak* a call ' ; put 
 your hot lips on de knuckles of Miss Dix's right 
 paw. Niggers is used to cuffin' you may git a 
 real love blow 'long side your nose." 
 
 Toby's thoughts prompted action, and he ac 
 cordingly made a low bow to Gerald, who had 
 stood prominently forward while receiving his 
 instructions. The old man then picked up the 
 frosted cake, and bounded out of the room before 
 any one recovered from their surprise, leaving his 
 banjo and hat behind. Search proved unavailing ; 
 for he was doubtless behind a live-oak tree in the 
 dark storing away the cake, before the honor 
 able Miss Dix, that was, could get hold of it. 
 
 Considerable shrewdness is woven into this 
 stereotyped, parrot-like form of a cornfield negro's 
 courtship. 
 
 I have written it verbatim, but the main har 
 mony and music of it is lost in not hearing it 
 intoned by untutored lips. 
 
 Gerald Jones, with this fair start, was able to 
 conclude his love-making.
 
 The Old South. 63 
 
 Toby voiced the opinion of the plantation, 
 when he declared that, " Had Molbro been prop 
 erly instructed his pie would never have turned to 
 dough " ; while Scipio declared, " It was ahvay so 
 wid hot-headed, pompous mens holdin' a pair of 
 carriage-lines, t'inkin' dey had more sense, even 
 'bout love-makin', dan odder folks ; any blind 
 man could see dat Molbro was caught in briar 
 brambles married to one 'oman an' groanin' for 
 anodder man's wife." He summed up by saying, 
 " Take heed, young mens an' 'omens, take heed ; 
 massais give me 'structions, an' I's goin' ter force 
 dem at de p'int of dis whip," which then emitted 
 a shrill, popping sound. " Men an' 'omens be 
 warned, 'specially ag'in free yaller niggars."
 
 64 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 V. 
 
 Machiah Baptised. 
 
 " That all-softening, overpowering knell, 
 The tocsin of the soul the dinner-bell. 1 ' 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 WHEN we gave place to newcomers in the 
 nursery, Lydia told to our successors 
 the story of a dainty supper enjoyed 
 years before by a Bulltown Swamp bear and a 
 rattlesnake. 
 
 And from time to time she, with cabalistic 
 signs and enigmatic looks, invoked the aid of 
 supernatural spirits to keep order. The most 
 fiery temper would soon be quelled, as the young 
 ster was ever eager to listen to her mysterious 
 narrations. With Toby, she was convinced that 
 all graveyards were full of live ghosts, popping up 
 o' nights, like Jack o' Lanterns. 
 
 Few negroes, in fact, would pass Midway cem 
 etery, or any other one, after dark. Compelled 
 to do so, they turned their pockets wrongside 
 out.
 
 The Old South. 65 
 
 The alternate preachers at Pleasant Grove 
 church in vain warned their congregations not to 
 believe in ghosts ; it was unworthy of a true 
 Christian faith ! At best, however, we are but 
 frail mortals, prone to stumble. And so Parson 
 Lee reflected one night when returning, on horse 
 back, from a deathbed. As he reached Midway 
 cemetery he reined in his weary horse, peering 
 among the dimly-outlined graves. For the en 
 suing Sunday's sermon a suitable text recurred 
 to his mind, and was audibly repeated : " Arise, 
 ye righteous ! Come to judgment ! " 
 
 To his horror, from behind a vaulted sepulchre, 
 came a reply clear and distinct, " Yea, Lord, I'm 
 coming." His mare, urged by rusty spurs, gal 
 loped home. But next Lord's day the preacher's 
 text was not " Arise, ye righteous ! " 
 
 Lydia was not alone in her fondness for ghostly 
 narrations ; workers in cotton and corn-fields 
 were constantly repeating new yarns, mingled 
 with gossip. Interest seemed now to be centred 
 on the frequency of Marlborough's visits to Pro 
 fessor Joe Lament's place, 
 
 James, being a fisherman, he could come to his 
 wife only from Saturday until Monday. 
 
 Marlborough accompanied his master on busi 
 ness trips, and as he was well versed in the news 
 of the day, Lydia was often seen in close talk
 
 66 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 with him. But, though only gratifying her in 
 quiring turn of mind, her action was stigmatized 
 as a flirtation with her former lover. 
 
 One great amusement to her was the arrival of 
 negroes, bought at auction marts. 
 
 As a girl, she had experienced the excitement, 
 and now when three blasts of the plantation 
 bugle assembled the field negroes for the cere 
 mony of an introduction, she was always on the 
 outskirts of the crowd with her " w'ite chilluns." 
 
 Scipio, the foreman, conducted to the front 
 Caesar, a fine-looking negro man, with his wife 
 Molly and his daughter Peggy. 
 
 As was his custom, my father then introduced 
 them ; adding, " Caesar, you and your family have 
 come to work among us. I'm sure my people will 
 give you a welcome." With a merry twinkle in 
 his eyes, he turned to a group of young men : 
 " Cracow, Stephney, Cyrus, you marriageable 
 fellows, come forward. Let me present Peggy ! 
 It's about time we were having a marriage-feast, 
 don't you think? I've a fatted calf, and I'm 
 sure we would all enjoy a slice of wedding-cake. 
 
 Peals of laughter ensued, and scores of fingers 
 pointed in the direction of an overgrown youth, 
 six feet in his shoes. " Massa, ain't you take 
 notice how slick dat boy Cracow combs his wool? " 
 asked one old man. " Don't you see him eb'ry
 
 The Old South. 67 
 
 day helpin' Chloe hoe he row? We is all on us 
 groanin' fer a bite of w'ite cake." 
 
 " Cracow and Chloe, step to the front," said 
 my father. " I'll decide how you'll suit before 
 giving my consent." 
 
 Cracow appeared, proudly touching his fore 
 lock ; he looked wistfully in the direction of a 
 group of women ; but Chloe was nowhere to be 
 seen : she was crouching behind her companions. 
 
 " You have my blessing, Cracow," continued 
 my father. " Remember, women need a bit 
 of coaxing. " Scipio, give Caesar and his family 
 the double house, number twenty-five." 
 
 A small, thickset man, with wife and three 
 young children, was next announced. 
 
 " Machiah, you are now on a plantation where 
 kindness will be shown you. I bought you, 
 determined to allow you a chance to turn over a 
 new leaf and so make a man of yourself, and I'm 
 sure these, my people, will help you. Do your 
 work, and you'll find no cause for complaint 
 here." 
 
 " Dat you won't," happy voices sang out. If 
 you neber had a good master in Floridy, you's 
 got one now ! " 
 
 " Thank you ! " And, with a smile, my father 
 lifted his hat, showing a noble white forehead. 
 
 Machiah's scowl turned to a grin : " My new
 
 68 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 massa, I's goin' ter do my best, but ole man 
 Wiley beat me so, my back was sore de most on 
 de time." 
 
 Again a chorus of voices spoke : " Do your 
 work, brudder, an' you'll hav' no sore back on 
 Green Forest." 
 
 With uncovered head Frank, noting his oppor 
 tunity, bowed to his master ; and then, turning to 
 Machiah, he pointed to Peter's crowing cock. 
 44 Come to dat chu'ch, brudder, deir de Holy 
 Speret teches de innards. I's see lots of niggers 
 no 'count tel de Speret flies at dem, sayin' Stop ! 
 sinner ! stop ! " 
 
 Lydia and 4< her children " huddled together for 
 protection from Ws startling words and gestures. 
 " Stop, I say. Sinner, you may dance up dat 
 broad road, but dose lights is a blazin' from a 
 volcano, an' w'en it bu'st out, 'you'll hurry an' 
 scurry only ter fall ober de Niag'ra where t'undei 
 roars an* de sun of rej'icin* is gone down, de moon 
 turned ter blood. In dat chu'ch a sweet word is 
 callin', ' Don't be fread ! com' ter me. I de Lord 
 kin still de storm. Peace be yourn.' ' 
 
 The crowd responded, "Amen! Amen!" 
 listening so attentively as not to note the sup 
 pressed smile on their master's face, who turned 
 to Scipio, saying, "Give Machiah house number 
 twenty."
 
 The Old South. 69 
 
 A thrifty woman, who, on Sunday nights, occa 
 sionally treated her family to a fried fowl, occupied 
 the adjoining cabin. 
 
 One Monday morning she lodged her com 
 plaint : " Massa, de young rooster was done ter 
 a turn, an' I stepped out de front dooe ter call 
 Bob an' de chilluns ; w'en I goes ter sarve up dat 
 chicken, dey was only de empty fryin' pan a 
 frizzlin'. We track de grease outside de back 
 dooe an' nobody is eat dat fowl but dat no 'count 
 niggar Kiah." 
 
 In truth, it was a week before Machiah was 
 seen, his wife declaring she didn't know where 
 he had gone. 
 
 When the store-room was opened to give 
 weekly rations, on Saturday night, Machiah came 
 in his turn. " Massa," he said, " please, sah, scuse 
 me dis time ; I couldn't help it, sah. But if you'll 
 scuse me I is neber goin' in de woods ag'in." 
 
 Without a word of reproof, his master looked 
 at him. With a kindly but troubled face, he then 
 turned to Scipio, saying, " Give him his meat, 
 peas, potatoes, and corn-meal. I promised to 
 allow him a fair chance to do better." 
 
 However, scarcely a day thereafter but some 
 complaint arose and was lodged against Machiah. 
 
 Frank, as watchman, strove to do his duty, and 
 prayed earnestly at the weekly meetings : " O
 
 70 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Holy Speret ! Fold d'y wings ober de eyes of dat 
 rampant sinner sleepin' in de hedges an' by 
 ways. Wid dy mighty power lead him blin' fold 
 ter de t'rone of grace, whey is bounteous 
 pardon." 
 
 From bench to bench rose " Amen ! Amen ! " 
 
 Scipio fingered his " cotton planter," strapped 
 across his shoulders, an insignia of his rank ! 
 
 Machiah evidently felt the jeers of his fellow- 
 labourers more than he did his master's reproofs; 
 and by a mere accident, a new turn was given to 
 the usual mode of punishment. 
 
 Three blasts of the bugle brought the people 
 together again, many having in their hands long 
 switches. With a tone of sadness my father 
 spoke : 
 
 " Stand to the front, those of you who have 
 been cutting my young trees. Scipio, file them 
 into two lines, six feet apart." 
 
 Lydia wondered whatever was to pay. 
 
 Walking up to Machiah, my father continued, 
 " Here are twenty men and women who can prove 
 that you, Machiah, have stolen from them ; and, 
 though your master admitted to me that you 
 would occasionally sleep in the woods, I brought 
 you to this comfortable home, believing kindness 
 would make you a better man. Frank has urged 
 you to go to church, and offered prayer for you,
 
 The Old South. 71 
 
 but it has done no good ; my young fellows will 
 soon be following your bad example. Now then, 
 pull off your jacket and walk up and down be 
 tween this line. Let those you have wronged 
 punish you. Don't run. Any one of these men 
 will lay hold of you before you have gone ten 
 steps. Pull your jacket off ; I am in earnest." 
 
 " Massa, do lick me yourself ! Let Uncle 
 Scipio t'rash me ; but don't let dem niggars hit 
 me." 
 
 " No. It's from them" you have stolen. Pull 
 your jacket off. If this does no good, then I 
 must sell you." 
 
 The march began between bristling switches, 
 Hetty's birch whistling to the tune of a frying 
 fowl, the bones of which had been found under 
 the culprit's bed. 
 
 As father turned to go, he said, " Don't let me 
 sound another bugle call for undress parade." 
 
 " Massa, you'll not blow no bugle for me ag'in, 
 caise I is done made up my mind fer turn ober 
 dat new leaf, an' I is goin* ter chu'ch, sah." 
 
 " All right ; that's the way to talk ! Do your 
 work and stay at home, leaving other folks' 
 chickens and eggs alone, and you'll be treated 
 kindly." 
 
 In giving his usual report some weeks after, 
 Frank said :
 
 72 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 " Massa, de Speret is touch Kiah wid de p'int 
 of he wing. De odder night de bell hadn't done 
 clappin* when dat runaway nigger walk in de 
 sacred edifice, an' ter-day at Pleasant Grove chu'ch 
 Parson Lee put Kiah under de creek water, 
 some folks say two inches deeper dan odders. 
 He spit de water out he mouth, shoutin', Bless 
 de Lord, my sin is washed away ! Bless de Lord 
 an' my good massa.' Parson Lee say de word dat 
 dem what turn dey back on sin trustin' de Lord, 
 is neber gwine ter be disapp'inted. Last week, 
 when dem boys laugh at Kiah, askin' if he ain't 
 tired sleepin' in a house, an' was fowl-meat sweet, 
 I speaks a kind word : ' Brudder, don't mind what 
 dem rampant sinners say, hold your mind 'umble- 
 like, pray de Lord, an' he'll keep you in de 
 narrow path. I's hear dat de debil tempted de 
 Lord heself ; but he plant he foot on de rock, an' 
 no wind Satan could blow could move him from 
 de firm foundation. Ain't dat so, massa?" 
 
 " Yes. The Bible says if we serve the Lord 
 with an honest heart, He will not forsake even 
 the vilest sinner. The prodigal son, you know, 
 was met by his father, who killed for him the 
 fatted calf, although he had spent all his money 
 in riotous living. Frank, I have noticed you 
 preach too much about hell-fire. Next Sunday 
 take for your text, Love ' God is love.' Come
 
 The Old South. 73 
 
 on Saturday afternoon, and one of your young 
 missies will read what the Bible says about 
 Love." 
 
 " T'ank you, massa, fer de good cheer. It's 
 like de oil flowin' ober Aaron's beard, a reachin' 
 ter de hem of he coat. Sometimes I wishes I 
 could spell. Mars Flem' is teach me c-a-t cat, r-a-t 
 rat, but my head gits suffused. I says, 'Frank, 
 you's got a good memery, 'pend on dat.' Bro' 
 John's studyin', "but after he's been bowin' ober 
 de book, he slams de speller on de floor. Boys,' 
 says he, ' you may talk 'bout readin' an' spellen, 
 but it's de hardest day's work my han's is sot ter 
 dis long time ; de sweat rolls ; hoein' in de August 
 sun don't bring out sech suffusion. Boys, you 
 may hav' de fedder an' speller, giv' me de ax an' 
 hoe.' " 
 
 My father continued : " There's another thing, 
 Frank. When you preach of love, you must 
 show it in your life, keeping your own lamp 
 trimmed and burning. Sinners may often be led 
 with a web of kindness, when they couldn't be 
 driven with scourges. Tell your people of green 
 bay trees, and of the cedars of Lebanon, where 
 Christ as a Shepherd tends His sheep. Have 
 you never seen old Sawney lead my flocks from 
 one pasture to another with a handful of salt ? 
 I wonder if you really love to preach?
 
 74 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 " Masea, it's my glorification ter preach ; ain't 
 dere a word what says scatter de seed broadcast, 
 fling it ober de great congregation ; a stray bird 
 may pick up a grain or two. Some takes root in 
 shaller groun', an' jes as you is 'bout ter cut down 
 dat yaller blade, de spring rains comes, dat corn 
 pops up, an' fore you knows it dere is de shock ; 
 den de ripe corn in de ear. It's so wid dat run 
 away nigger : he seed de love in your eye when 
 you tell Uncle Scipio ter give him meat, peas, 
 potatoes, an' meal, aldo not a lick of work had he 
 done. You showed him de handful of salt, an' 
 den between dose line of switches you cast a net 
 round 'bout de camp of Israel ; caise dat bery 
 night he come ter de Gospel house o' prayer. 
 From dat time we giv' Kiah de right hand o' 
 fellowship, an' neber ceased ter pray dat he would 
 git into de ark of safety. Las' Sunday when I 
 ask all penitents ter come forward, he walk plumb 
 ter de front of de pulpit an' drop on he knees. 
 A hallaluyah rise in de air. De angel Gabriel 
 must a heard de shouts of rej'icin.' I had been 
 holdin' forth a solid hour. Seein' me dry in de 
 mouth, de chu'ch sisterens sing out, ' Pull fer de 
 shore, brudders, pull.' Folks don't count much 
 on 'omens in chu'ch, caise de Bible says it's not 
 fer 'omens to speak aloud in de house of God ; 
 but I notices dey is alway ten in de seats ter eb'ry
 
 The Old South. 75 
 
 one man, an' dey don't snore like de mens ; nod- 
 din' deir head in real 'omen style. No voice sings 
 so clear, ' Heaven bells a-ringin', my soul engage.' 
 De menfolks waits outside de dooe a finishin' 
 dere pipe. Bro' Jack, who is my right-hand staff, 
 says ' Fellows, go in, you'll lose de p'int of de 
 'course.' 
 
 " My speret gits low when dey comes in late. 
 Satan whispers, ' Set down, Frank, dey is los' de 
 early dew ; it's no use ter preach any longer.' " 
 
 " Surely you don't give up so easily ? Cast 
 your bread upon the waters ! Perhaps, after 
 many days, it may return to you, and be sweeter 
 than the honeycomb.' " 
 
 " Dat's so, massa. I's goin' ter try de new gos 
 pel you tell me 'bout. I'll fling de flag o' love 
 ober my congregation an' see how many will 'list 
 under de banner." 
 
 " Tell your people also, Frank, how ' God so 
 loved the world that He gave His only begotten 
 Son to die for their salvation.' " 
 
 " It's so, massa. Folks don't like ter hear 'bout 
 fire an' parched tongues ; dey likes a easier road, 
 what don't 'quire hard rowin'. It ware so wid 
 Kiah. Bro' Jack an' me used ter warn him dat 
 he was standin' on de walls of Jericho. When 
 de t'ird blast blow, look out, brudder, dat you 
 ain't civered with brick an' mortar. But Kiah
 
 y6 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 give answer : ' I ain't on no wall, an' Fs neber see 
 a fence yit but if I's a mind ter I kin climb ober. 
 I ain't comin' in chu'ch ter hear 'bout hell-fire. 
 My back burn 'nough down in Floridy.' 
 
 " When we fling him dis word, ' Come ter me 
 in de ark of safety, come, if you's tired, I'll give 
 you rest, caise I de Lord is done all de work,' den 
 he sing out, ' Here, Lord, is me.' " 
 
 " Frank, it was a kind word that won him at 
 last. And so, in the same way, I try to make my 
 people love me. We want no Uncle Toms, 
 chained and bleeding, on Green Forest. I would 
 pull down every fence, turn cattle to graze in the 
 grain-fields, rather than have my work done with 
 Scipio's " cotton planter " constantly in use. In 
 your families there are times when punishment 
 becomes a duty to your children. Riseburg has 
 its court-house and police ; public offenders are 
 there dealt with by the law. On my plantation 
 /must fill these positions, and it is not always 
 easy to keep peace and order. You remember 
 how my good and faithful coachman came near 
 killing the mason Marmaduke? We must all 
 exercise patience, keeping our hearts right be 
 fore God." 
 
 " Dat's so, massa. No work is worth doin' if 
 de soul ain't dere. No hallelujahs, no songs, kin 
 rise ter de heav'nly choir. Don't git discouraged,
 
 The Old South. 77 
 
 massa, caise when de big book is open I's sure 
 deir will be a word of rej'icin* feryou an' missus; 
 a crown fer both on you. You is done de bes' 
 you could fer we niggars, an' it will be writ down 
 fer Christ's sake, too." 
 
 " Thank you, Frank. When the Lord sits upon 
 His Throne, judging if there is a crown for you 
 and me, we will cast it at His feet, saying, ' Not 
 unto us, not unto us, but unto Him who gave 
 His life that we might live.' ' 
 
 " Dat we will, massa, dat we will ! Praise de 
 Lord ; glory, hallelujah ! "
 
 78 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 VI. 
 
 A Gold-Marked Wedding Ring. 
 
 " Pity's akin to love." 
 
 THOMAS SOUTHERNE. 
 
 NOW it was, that a sudden and overwhelm 
 ing sorrow overtook Lydia ; her husband 
 and three other men, while fishing, were 
 overtaken by a furious gale, that capsized the 
 boat. Only one man reached shore. He told 
 how James and his companions went down, never 
 more to rise. 
 
 Lydia moaned and wept, her mind meanwhile 
 overawed by the dreadful accident that made her 
 four piccaninnies orphans. Her " w'ite chilluns" 
 soothed and petted her, but salty drops ran like 
 rain down her dusky cheeks. 
 
 Marlborough drove the disconsolate widow and 
 her children to Pleasant Grove the ensuing Sun 
 day, where the funeral services were held. Dr. 
 C. C. officiated, and inasmuch as he taught the 
 doctrine of predestination, it was of course the
 
 The Old South. 79 
 
 foreordained will of God that James should lie in 
 a watery grave. 
 
 Lydia wore a black calico dress, with a snow- 
 white bandanna deeply bordered with black. Her 
 children were also robed in emblems of mourn 
 ing. Our "mommer" was a great favourite 
 in the community, therefore the church was 
 packed with people from our own and adjoining 
 plantations, come to " de funeral wid no corpse." 
 
 More than one old woman gave her head a 
 significant shake, saying, " Dat wife Flora, ober 
 at Massa Joe's, had better keep her house in 
 order, else her husband will quit altogedder. 
 Mens is such queer kind o' folks ; dey is neber con 
 tent, t'inking somebody else's peach is got a finer 
 bloom dan de one dey has in hand." 
 
 During the time of this fresh sorrow, Marl- 
 borough, as one of the house-servants, deemed it 
 his duty to console the lonely widow, who was 
 breaking her heart with grief. So, his evening 
 duties finished and a hush of repose spread over 
 the estate, he sat on Lydia's cabin-steps or be 
 side her chimney-corner. 
 
 " Dry your tears, Lyddy ; fer aldo the billows 
 is gone ober James, God's will must be done ; 
 some day it will come right. I know, my dear 
 lady, de sun is set red, like blood, but wait 
 patient, den when de clouds is all blowed over,
 
 8o Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 de mornin' sky will shine, clear an' bright, an' 
 you'll forgit de howlin' blast. I's goin' ter do 
 all I kin fer you an' your orphans. Do try an' 
 be happy. It breaks my heart ter see you weepin' 
 dose salty tears." 
 
 Marlborough felt that this woman needed con 
 solation far more than his wife needed his weekly 
 visits. Flora, accordingly, waited in vain for her 
 husband, knowing well the cause of his absence. 
 But, woman-like, she hid the thorn that pierced 
 deeper and deeper into her heart, and appeared 
 to take little heed of idle gossip in the cornfields ; 
 if anything, boasting more than ever of her fine 
 wedding-ring, " havin' a gol* mark half 'cross de 
 inside." 
 
 But while Marlborough expended his best 
 efforts in wiping away tears, a scene happened in 
 his wife's house that influenced his whole after-life. 
 
 A coloured man of learning, it appears, stopped 
 at Lament's place to have a bite of supper with 
 Flora's brother. While the hoe-cake was brown 
 ing in the oven, he sat before the fire, showing a 
 gold ring he was to put, the next Saturday night, 
 on " de marriage finger of de likeliest gal over at 
 Barnard's landin'." 
 
 " Is it got de gol' mark inside, like mine ? " and 
 Flora handed over hers for him to appreciate its 
 genuineness.
 
 The Old South. 81 
 
 Slowly he spelt " L y d i a Lydia." 
 
 Dropping skillet and corn-loaf, amazed and in 
 dignant, Flora snatched her ring and dashed it 
 into the fire. With angry tones she screamed, 
 " Is dat de gol' mark ? Law ! I'd neber a-wore it 
 wid dat no count niggar's name had I a-knowd. 
 When Flora puts on a ring ag'in it's got ter have 
 ' Flora ' writ inside." 
 
 Her brother hurriedly took the golden hoop 
 from the bed of coals, dropping it on the hearth 
 to cool. 
 
 Pointing disdainfully to it, Flora asked : " Is de 
 name burnt out ? Sure an' fer certain I'll neber 
 tech it ag'in. I'll kick it so behin' dose logs, an' 
 let it turn ter ashes. Dere, let dat hateful man 
 s'arch fer it ; he'll neber find it." 
 
 Southern plantations were independent of even 
 post-bags in those days, having, instead, a system 
 of their own by which news flew, not always 
 correct in detail, I confess. 
 
 Marlborough heard early Monday morning, then, 
 that his youngest child Flora had fallen into the 
 fire ; so, gaining permission to leave the planta 
 tion, he hurried to his wife's house. But he 
 found it empty. He then sought the sufferer 
 in the day nursery, from which a group of 
 " blackies " ran to meet him, screaming, " Dey is 
 
 Flora's pa comin'." 
 6
 
 82 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 Lifting his child into his arms, he asked, " Is 
 you fall in de fire, my little gal? " 
 
 " No, sah, ma licks me if I goes too close in de 
 chimney-corner." 
 
 Leaving her soup pot, old Granny came to the 
 door, mopping her sweltering face with the corner 
 of her apron. 
 
 " How is this, Granny? Word came ter Green 
 Forest dat my little Flora had fallen in de fire ; 
 here she is as spry as a kitten ; massa will t'ink I 
 told a lie." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! It's dat wife of yourn foolin' wid 
 fire, ridin' a high horse 'bout some nonsense writ 
 in de ring she says is finer dan odder folks. 
 Granny is had dis gol' ban' on her finger nigh 
 on ter forty years an' no fuss is ris over it 
 yit." 
 
 Troubled in mind, Marlborough returned to his 
 wife's house, wondering who could have spelt out 
 his secret. It was the dinner hour, and Flora 
 arrived from the field. 
 
 With sarcasm in her voice, she accosted her 
 husband : " Dat's you, a ! Well, take yourself 
 back; I's made up my mind ter have nothin' 
 more ter do wid you. I is had 'nough of your 
 nonsense. Go an' court dat fool-niggar Lyddy, 
 fer all I cares. I kin marry lots of odder mens 
 better dan you is."
 
 The Old South. 83 
 
 They had often quarrelled before, so Marlbor- 
 ough went on arranging a shelf, not deigning to 
 give a reason for his untimely visit. He noted, 
 however, that there was no ring on his wife's 
 finger. 
 
 "You is a 'ceitful fellow! You's brag 'bout 
 dat big gol' mark, but I is done found out it's dat 
 nasty mean 'oman Lyddy's name inside my ring. 
 Liars is ketched up wid ; dey says folks kin steal, 
 but de bag'll be found some time. I's got you 
 cornered now." 
 
 " If dat ring don't suit you, Flora, give it ter me 
 an' stop your jawin'." 
 
 " Hah ! hah ! I ain't got your old brass. I's 
 pitch it in de fire ! Here, you kin s'arch fer it," 
 handing him a hickory stick that always stood 
 beside the chimney-corner " brass don't melt so 
 quick as gol'." 
 
 He turned over and over the ash-heap, but 
 failed to find the golden hoop. Flora muttered 
 to herself, " I always did say dat 'oman Lyddy 
 was no kind o' 'count ; she's got her finger in 
 her missus' eye. She's a mean, nasty hussy." 
 
 Starting to his feet, her husband scowled, say 
 ing, "Shut your mouth, miss, or I'll shut it fer 
 you ; " then he lifted the hickory stick. " Let 
 me hear you call dat name ag'in an' I'll slap your 
 jaws. We nurse is as pure as de angels, an' so
 
 84 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 long as I's name Molbro no man or 'oman shall 
 speak ag'in her." 
 
 " Slap on ! " she enjoined, tilting her cheek to 
 one side. " I has my t'oughts all de same. It 
 'pears to me your pure angel grows a pow'ful 
 black pair o' wings." 
 
 " Take care dat your own life ain't spotted. 
 You huntin' fer tips on odder folks' wings! I is 
 sure if you'd heard sech talk 'bout freedom an' 
 house-maids as Lyddy heard, you w'd have run 
 away from your master. De stain of sin what 
 befell we nurse at Green Forest is all wiped out, 
 an' I tell you ter-day she's de best 'oman dat ever 
 set foot on God's earth, white or black." 
 
 " When mens lays sech store by 'omens dat 
 don't belong ter dem, you may be sure deir life is 
 deep-spotted." 
 
 " Mens is not spected ter be angels. In Miss 
 Chim's picture-books it's ladies what has gos 
 samer wings an' is angels of love. Dose dressed 
 in red, like debils, is mens, jes sech rascals as dat 
 free niggar what tipped we nurse's wings wid 
 black. If I had a smashed his face de firs' day, 
 instead of de las', all dis trouble wouldn't be 
 breakin' my heart." 
 
 " You needn't break your heart ; your red an' 
 yaller debil is gone to Savernake ; shark fish is 
 feed on James. Go, marry your black angel wid
 
 The Old South. 85 
 
 white-spotted wings you has my consent. I's 
 made up my mind you needn't bother ter come 
 here ag'in." 
 
 Little Flora sprang to her father's side at this 
 exciting moment. " Don't slap ma ! it hurts a 
 pow'ful lot." 
 
 Marlborough, who had a tender heart, unwound 
 his little girl's arm, and stepped outside the door. 
 " If it wa'n't fer dese chilluns of mine, I'd neber 
 darken de portal of dis cabin ag'in." 
 
 On his homeward way bitterness consumed his 
 mind. He returned, however, in time to take his 
 master's reins. 
 
 " I hope your child wasn't badly burned ? " 
 
 " T'ank you, massa, my little Flora didn't fall 
 in de fire." 
 
 " How came the news, then ? " 
 
 " Massa, kin I tell you de truth ? My wife 
 Flora is a-kickin' up her heels 'bout de ring I give 
 her de night we was married ; she say it ain't gol', 
 but brass, an' she pitch it in de fire." 
 
 Has she just discovered that her ring is brass ? 
 It's seven years since you were married ! " 
 
 It's not de quality troublin', it's a word inside 
 what's mak' dis fuss an' tarrification." 
 
 " A wedding-ring should have a word of 
 love." 
 
 " I bought it de time you was in Savernake
 
 86 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 talkin' wid dat free niggar what is upset all my 
 life." 
 
 You were in love with our nurse, Lydia, then, 
 were you not ? " 
 
 " I was, massa ; an' she was smilin' an' dancin' wid 
 me ; so I t'ought ter buy de ring. De store-keeper 
 say w'ite folks have deir gals' name inside, an' if 
 I'd pay two bits he'd write it so soap an' water 
 wouldn't wash it out. He write Lyddy. All was 
 goin' well till dat free niggar set foot on we plan 
 tation." He heaved a deep sigh. " I's married, 
 massa, but dey neber will be dat warmin' toward 
 Flora like what burns fer Lyddy. If I had only 
 stopped ter t'ink before dat marriage-deed was 
 done ober at Massa Joe's ! Nobody know'd 'bout 
 dat name in my ring. Flora t'ought it was de 
 gol' mark, till last Sunday night a black man what 
 could read, spell out Lyddy. In a minute Flora 
 kicked at de ring sendin' it behin' de fire an' now 
 she's a-spreadin' out her min', callin' we nurse 
 dreadful names ; an' she don't know ter dis day 
 'bout de gol' mark inside. Massa, ain't we nurse 
 got de best character of any black person in Sib- 
 erty County?" 
 
 " I thought you had a good wife, Marlborough 
 your clothing and that of your children show the 
 care of an attentive mother." 
 
 " Flora's handy wid her needle, sah, an' kin
 
 The Old South. 87 
 
 cook a pot of gumbo equal ter Aunt Affie, but 
 mendin* clothes an' eaten is not all a man looks 
 fer when he goes home. Dere is no intercourse 
 o' mind dere like what I feels fer Lyddy. Even 
 de Angel Gabriel heself couldn't shet he eyes ter 
 we nurse's beauty. W'ite folks breaks up marriages 
 when dey sells niggars. Massa, won't you untie 
 dat knot what binds me ober at Massa Joe La 
 ment's ? Den, massa kin I court we nurse ? " 
 
 Turning squarely round, eyeing his coachman, 
 my father replied, " You are talking rashly. Re 
 member, you, of your own free will, asked permis 
 sion to marry Flora ; and when Dr. C. C. said, ' Will 
 you love her so long as life lasts/ you replied ' I 
 will, sir.' Then he said, ' Whom God has joined 
 together let no man put asunder.' You, Marl- 
 borough, are my slave. But no master has a right 
 to break the marriage-vow. I'm sorry to hear 
 you are not happy, but you must abide by your 
 choice ; had you not been hasty, Juno might have 
 called you Pa, instead of James." 
 
 Dat's so, massa. My pie is turned ter dough ; 
 my harp's a-hangin' on a wilier tree. If James 
 had come back ter tell 'bout dat wat'ry grave, I 
 might hav' kep' my heartache down, but de up- 
 turnin' of dat boat is set Lyddy free, an' dose 
 billows is toss up an 'hit me plumb on my breast 
 ag'in. You reads in de Bible 'bout marriages
 
 88 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 made in heaven. Is dat 'cordin' ter de law, fer 
 me ter buy a ring fer one 'oman I loves better 
 dan myself, den somehow it got put on Flora's 
 finger ? " 
 
 " You put it on yourself ; it was your own do 
 ing, not by command of God or man. There, take 
 this money, go to old man Dunham's, in Riseburg, 
 and buy a real gold ring for Flora. Let me hear 
 no more. 
 
 " T'ank you, massa, I'll do my best over at Mars 
 Joe's fer please you, sah ; caise nobody ever had 
 a better master dan me an' Lyddy is got ; if 
 only Flora would stop talkin' 'bout black wings, 
 when we nurse is as pure as de w'itest w'ite 
 folks." 
 
 Flora asked, on receiving the new ring, " Has 
 it got Flora inside ? " 
 
 " No ! I is had 'nough of writin' names. Niggars 
 gits mystified apein' w'ite folks. De Lord made 
 deir skin different an' He 'lowed dey "better hav' 
 deir own ways an' consequences." 
 
 " Wid black faces can't dey wear gol' ? " Is dis 
 brass ? " fitting it on her marriage-finger. 
 
 " Don't ask me dat word ; I's tired hearin' your 
 talk. I is done my best. If you ain't satisfied, 
 hand me my ring, an* I'll quit Lament's place. 
 Green Forest is good 'nough fer me or any black 
 man."
 
 The Old South. 89 
 
 " All right, go 'long wid you ; but you won't 
 hav' your chilluns, I kin tell you." 
 
 " Don't be too sure ; my master's pockets is full 
 o' money." 
 
 " Jes prezactly like you. Caisc you has a good 
 boss, nobody else has. Mars Joe is a grand pro 
 fessor, but inside his vest front a heart big as a 
 meetin' house thumps. Put your jews-harp ober 
 de door-sill, you'll neber play it fer dat boy o'yourn 
 nowhere but right here. By de bye, tell me is 
 your black angel changed de mournin' head hand 
 kerchief fer red an' yaller ? Is she lookin' fer 
 anodder husband ter give ter shark fish ? " 
 
 " Flora, I came here wid a peace-offerin', an' 
 like a decent black man has offered it ter you ; 
 but you ain't satisfied, you keeps on harpin' 'bout 
 wings tipped wid black. I 'lows most everybody's 
 wings, no matter how w'ite dey is, has black 
 spots. Is you certain no jet-black fedders is in 
 yourn ? Is you neber sinned ? " 
 
 No answer. Then Marlborough bade his wife 
 good-bye. " I's going home where I's content, 
 aldo my heart aches a pow'ful lot." 
 
 He, whose heart was more like lead than flesh, 
 on reaching Green Forest, at once sought the 
 woman uppermost in his thoughts. 
 
 Regardless of Toby's stereotyped form of ex 
 pression, he grasped her black hands.
 
 90 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 " Lyddy, I is fight ag'in my own mind ; has 
 beat my breast till my soul is in my shoe-tips ; 
 but it's no use ; a man's a man an' you can't 
 turn him to a lam'. I took a new peace-offerin' 
 ter Flora, but it's no good ; she keeps jawin' 
 'bout you havin'your fingers in missus' eyes. Oh, 
 go wid me, Liddy, an' let us get down on our 
 knees an' beg her ter 'nul dat contrac' ober at 
 Massa Joe's what I make in a hurry. Den, Lyddy, 
 will you be mine? You knows I love you better 
 dan de apple of my eye, I has neber loved any 
 body else. Make me happy. Be my wife dis 
 very night." 
 
 " Bro' Molbro," and her voice trembled with 
 emotion, " don't talk so ter me. I never forgits 
 how my life is stained wid sin by dat yaller free 
 niggar ; but I is been ter de Lord fer pardon, an' 
 Mars C. C. says Christ kin' wash out de deepest 
 stain of sin. Would you blacken my name ag'in ? 
 You 'bused an' almost killed Marmaduke ; now 
 you are followin' him step by step." Rising, she 
 motioned him away : " Go, go ! De Lord helpin' 
 me, massa an' missus will neber turn me out of 
 de nurs'ry ag'in fer bein' unworthy o' their 
 trust. You would pollute my happy married life 
 an' make my sorrow turn ter fresh weepin' ? Go ! 
 Be true ter Flora, an' if she keeps on talkin' 'bout 
 my black wings, tell her I must suffer fer my own
 
 The Old South. 91 
 
 sin. I'm not ashame', Bro' Molbro, dat I did 
 love you once. But now you belongs ter Flora. 
 In heaven, when we meet, we kin walk arm in arm, 
 washed from sin, an' married 'fore God."
 
 92 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 VII. 
 Robin Decides to Marry. 
 
 "The Gods are vvonderous kind." 
 
 IN one of the cabins for convalescent workers, 
 Lucy died suddenly, leaving six small chil 
 dren. She was wife to Robin and sister of 
 our seamstress, Lily. 
 
 Frank tried to console the husband, who bit 
 terly rebelled against God for taking his wife, 
 leaving Flora to his brother Marlborough, who 
 took little trouble to visit her. 
 
 "I suppose, Bro' Frank," snapped the discon 
 solate man, " dat's de flag of love you flings over 
 your congregation ! It's de banner you wants us 
 ter 'list under! When you kin splain why I is 
 left wid a lot of mudderless chilluns, 'abreakin' 
 my heart over Lucy's grave, I'll com' ter church, 
 not before." 
 
 " I's not a profit, an' can't splain all de Bible 
 words," said Frank, " but don't deride dem ; chil 
 luns was eat up once caise dey derided de old 
 profit."
 
 The Old South. 93 
 
 *' You needn't fret, preacher, I'll not be snatched 
 up like de boy John, at Bulltown swamp." 
 
 Winter rains had pattered over new-made 
 graves, after which cotton and corn sprouted 
 into life under the influence of spring days. 
 Lucy's mound, then, was green with young grass- 
 blades. 
 
 The cloud of sorrow overhanging Robin's home 
 day after day seemed less dark, when he avowed 
 his intention of supplanting the dead woman's 
 place with another wife " 'fore de corn was in de 
 tassel." With an eye to business, he ingratiated 
 himself with the women, calling them " ladies " 
 in place of "hunna people," the plantation par 
 lance for "you people." 
 
 " Ladies, stand fer your rights," he insisted ; 
 " an* most of all, don' take a gol' ring wid a big 
 gol' mark inside. Folks says dat sister-in-law of 
 mine ain't a-consarnin' herself 'bout what's goin' 
 on at Green Forest. Jes t'ink a man wid his 
 wife three miles away an' he not botherin' ter go 
 dere. If it was ten miles I'd go ter my Lucy, 
 an' swim a creek beside. No wonder Flora 
 kicked her weddin' ring in de fire." 
 
 Leaning upon his hoe-handle, Toby, professor 
 of love-making, voiced the opinion of the men, 
 when he said that the coachman did quite right 
 to use the ring he had. " Folks mustn't be hard on
 
 94 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Bro' Molbro. When he found his love-knot had 
 come loose, he hadn't de heart ter pay money 
 fer anodder gol' band. Who would have thought 
 Liddy would fool a fellow ! But gals will be gals ; 
 dey like high airs an' fine dressin' ; never stoppin' 
 ter ask how big a rascal is inside de sto'-clothes. 
 In de fust place, if Bro' Molbro hadn't been so 
 larned in his own mind, an' had a-given me a new 
 pipe wid a bundle o' tobacco, fer fee, de hon'rable 
 Mrs. Cummins might ter-day a bin de hon'rable 
 Mrs. Molbro Janes; but mens is mens, an' I's 
 concluse one-half of dem is fools." 
 
 In the meantime, Robin became impressed with 
 the need of offering his sister-in-law a bit of 
 Christian advice. His fellow-workers tried to 
 dissuade him, saying : 
 
 " You'd best 'tend ter your own business at 
 Green Forest ; ain't dere a lot of likely 'omens 
 here? Folks often gits dere toes burned a warm- 
 in* dem at some odder man's fireplace." 
 
 However, he asked permission to visit at Pro 
 fessor Joe Lament's. And his master, suspecting 
 that he was in search of a wife, gave him a pass 
 covering a month's time. 
 
 No negro in slavery days could leave his owner's 
 estate without a written order. Found without 
 this pass, he made himself liable to corporal pun 
 ishment at the hand of the country patrol.
 
 The Old South. 95 
 
 Her brother-in-law's unexpected call greatly 
 pleased Flora ; for, despite her outward cheerful 
 ness, she was a lonely woman and hourly longed 
 to forget and forgive her many quarrels with her 
 husband. 
 
 She pitf on her table the best her cupboard of 
 fered ; and spoke tenderly to Robin of dead Lucy. 
 Once or twice she sarcastically referred to a pair 
 of spotted wings and a black head handkerchief 
 worn by a woman at Green Forest. But her 
 visitor was engrossed with the hog and hominy in 
 his tin plate. She spread a pallet for the night in 
 front of the fire. 
 
 At break of day she rose to brew a cup 
 of coffee for Robin before he returned to 
 work. 
 
 " Molbro may not be content here, my lady," 
 said her visitor, " but I is, if you'll accept o' my 
 call ag'in at anodder time." 
 
 " Come when de speret moves you," she an 
 swered. 
 
 It frequently did. 
 
 Flora finally resolved that she was not going 
 to waste her life waiting for " a man who didn't 
 care a pin fer her or her chilluns. I'll marry 
 ag'in, but not on Mars Joe's place, ter a fellow 
 always 'round spittin' tobacco juice 'cross de fire, 
 ober pots an' fryin' pans. I don't want ter be
 
 96 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 cookin' an' waitin' on a man ev'ry day in de 
 week. I likes my freedom." 
 
 Gossiping tongues in the cornfields surmised as 
 to " which girl Robin was courtin' over at Mars 
 Joe's. Could his brother's wife be housin' an' 
 feedin' him ? Or, would he give his daid Lucy's 
 ring ter a woman not clever 'nough ter keep her 
 lawful husban' ? gittin' up a quarrel between two 
 brudders not 'specially fond of each odder?" 
 
 Women ready to undertake the task of caring 
 for six motherless children, roundly abused the 
 little ones' father, saying, " What right has Robin 
 ter meddle wid anodder fellow's wife? Wors' 
 of all, his brother's, who aldo he was tied fas' ter 
 one, an' loving anodder, would have ter hold ter 
 his barg'in till kingdom come, unless a t'under- 
 bolt should 'nihilate Flora." 
 
 And Lily, weary of mending and washing for 
 her sister's children, determined that Robin 
 should marry a wife. Not on any other planta 
 tion, however ; for, then the new wife couldn't 
 leave her master to assume duties in her hus 
 band's cabin. 
 
 Exasperated at her failure, she confronted the 
 coachman, whose negligence seemed to prevent 
 the " killing of a fatted calf fer a wedden feast 
 fer Robin, who was now makin' a fool o' himself. 
 I's goin' ter tell missus of de disgraceful proceed-
 
 The Old South. 97 
 
 in's," she declared one morning suddenly accost 
 ing Marlborough. " Womens gits turned out o' 
 de nurs'ry if dey crooks deir finger, but mens 
 does ten times worse an' yit holds tight ter car 
 riage-lines, wid deir head high in air. Here you 
 is day by day wearin' yourself out fer love of 
 Lyddy, leavin' your wife fer Robin, an' he a-let- 
 tin' dose mudderless chilluns sleep in de cabin 
 alone night after night." 
 
 Marlborough sprang to his feet : " Is dat rascal 
 got a pass to visit my wife at Mars Joe's ? I 
 t'ought he was cou'tin' Betty. A yallar free nig- 
 gar slipped from under my hand, but de nex'man 
 who gits in my path, by God, I'll cut his liver out, 
 if he is my own brudder." 
 
 After grooming his master's horses and closing 
 the stable for the night, he hurried to the 
 quarters. 
 
 A message, however, to Robin preceded him : 
 " Fer the sake of your sister Lily keep out of de 
 coachman's way, or you may git your throat 
 cut." 
 
 Robin, it seems, did not sleep at the cabin with 
 his children, nor yet at Professor Joe's. 
 
 At the latter place an exasperated husband 
 waited for him till day-dawn. 
 
 A kind of Tennessee family feud now stirred 
 the two estates into a turmoil of confusion. In 
 7
 
 98 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 the spirit of a hunter, who prizes his game in pro 
 portion to the difficulty he has had in bagging it, 
 Robin held to the place he had won at his 
 brother's fireplace, skilfully eluding Marlbor- 
 ough. 
 
 Scipio brought the facts before Green Forest's 
 master. " It's my painful duty, sir, ter inform 
 you dat your coachman is pretty nigh finished he 
 brudder ter-night. Dey has been quarr'lin', an' 
 news reachin' me dat dey was wrestlin', I 'rested 
 dem an' was comin' ter you, when your bes' man 
 flirt heself out o' my grip, an' he fly at Robin 
 like a wild cat. In one minute he had him flat 
 of he back pommelin' him right an' left. Bro' 
 John tried to help, but your coachman let fly his 
 fist knockin' Bro' John's front teeth plumb in 
 half. Molbro was jes like a wild beast. From 
 de dark he sing out, ' Come to Lament's ; I'll wait 
 fer you till sun-up.' " 
 
 The master, greatly surprised and troubled, 
 hastened to attend to Robin's broken leg. He 
 took from him his pass to visit Professor Joe's. 
 
 The following morning at nine o'clock Scipio 
 appeared at the library door holding Marlbor- 
 ough's coat collar. " Here he is, sah ! Shall I 
 wait your orders?" He hoped to pull off the 
 jacket of this man who provoked his jealousy. 
 
 " You may go. I will see you to-night."
 
 The Old South. 99 
 
 Scraping his feet, he touched his forelock, and 
 turned, while under his breath he murmured, " It's 
 so in dis world, some folks gets de upper hand, 
 even wid deir master. If I had smashed right 
 an' left in de style of last night, foreman as I is, 
 I'd got my punishment ; dis man, wid no work to 
 do but drivin' fine horses, is a holdin' his head 
 high in air." 
 
 As the library door closed, Marlborough, a 
 truly penitent slave, stepped forward, his face 
 bowed to his breast, his hands tightly clasped. 
 
 " O massa," he implored, " do scuse me, sah. 
 I know I is done wrong, but believe me, sah, I 
 couldn't help it. My life is all upside down. 
 Massa, won't you break dat marriage ober at Massa 
 Joe's? I has been back an' tried ter do my best 
 fer Flora, but, my heart ain't dere." 
 
 At noon, that day, a stableman espied Marl- 
 borough secreted behind one of the carriages, 
 securing a shining object in the inner-lining of his 
 vest. He distinctly heard him say : " I'll use this 
 yet, God helpin' me." 
 
 From that time it was an open secret that the 
 coachman carried a bright dagger inside his vest 
 front. Gossip said, too, that no man could look 
 so unhappy if a devil wasn't urging him to an 
 act of violence. " If massa knew 'bout dat knife 
 he'd have him stripped ter de skin." Yet woe
 
 ioo Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 betide the one telling on him ! Even Scipio 
 kept his own counsel. 
 
 Marlborough thereafter calmly awaited a favour 
 able time to use his supposed weapon. 
 
 " The gods to some are wondrous kind." Affie 
 declared, " If de devil was in Molbro's heart, de 
 angels was feedin' him. Why," said she, " he don't 
 eat 'nough to keep a sparrer. When he come fer 
 a bite, Lyddy an' de househol* niggars is left de 
 table, de coffee lost de flavour, an' de biscuits 
 hard an col'. Massa will miss him if he gits sick 
 an' dies. An' me ! I hates new niggars ; dey 
 takes sech a time to learn decent manners, 
 neber 'memberin' eben to bring me a pail o' 
 water.'' 
 
 Knowing the coachman's fondness for his 
 master's children, Lydia did her best to cheer 
 him, begging occasionally, " That he'd give the 
 baby a ride on his shoulder." 
 
 " I ain't got no time, I's too pestered. I wish 
 I was daid, anyhow." 
 
 " Bro' Molbro, do don't talk like dat. Is your 
 heart turned ter stone ? " 
 
 " Stone, Lyddy ! O God ! If it was a brick 
 bat I'd laugh an' be happy, dashin' dis away, " 
 he tapped his waist-coat, " but my heart is sore 
 an' I can't forgit de time when I was de happiest 
 black man in Siberty County. I'll use this yet ! "
 
 The Old South. 101 
 
 he excitedly cried, '* even if it's over an open 
 grave." 
 
 Catching hold of his coat-sleeve, Lydia pleaded 
 " Will you murder your brother, like Cain ? Oh, 
 Bro' Molbro, give me dat dagger. Is this we 
 coachman who is so good an' kind ! Do, Bro' 
 Molbro, cheer up ! Don't look troubled. I 
 wouldn't mind all de talk 'bout Flora an' Bro' 
 Robin. Flora is a good 'oman, only you has 
 been neglectin' her ; an' it's my fault. We can 
 neber be more dan friends an' fellow-servants dis 
 side de heav'nly Jerusalem." 
 
 Her hand still rested on his sleeve. He clasped 
 it. " Lyddy, my Lyddy, does you believe what 
 massa reads in de Bible 'bout 'God is love?' 
 Oh! if He is, " then he rushed away, his sent 
 ence unfinished, but next his beating heart, was 
 still his unused burnished treasure, awaiting a 
 favourable opportunity for use.
 
 IO2 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 VIII. 
 Satan's Rope Cut. 
 
 " A poor man served by thee shall make thee rich : 
 A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong ; 
 Thou shall be served thyself by every sense 
 Of service which thou renderest." 
 
 MRS. BROWNING. 
 
 DURING Robin's convalescence Lydia was 
 sent frequently to his cabin with dainty 
 food from our table. While there, in a 
 spirit of charity, she tidied his room. Eyeing 
 her wistfully, he begged : " Kind lady, do come 
 ag'in ! de light of your eyes makes my heart leap 
 wid joy. Tell missus eb'ry bite she sends by 
 your hand makes me stronger, Bumbye I'll be 
 at work ag'in." 
 
 Waiting outside, Lydia's "white children" 
 watched black youngsters tumble over each other 
 in play. Many were sadly devoid of nether gar 
 ments ; for boys rarely wore their first pants after 
 the pride of possession had waned. Granny, in 
 deed, had often occasion to unearth these breeches
 
 The Old South. 103 
 
 from piles of sand. She replaced them with effec 
 tive blows of her horny hand, saying, " Is 
 dis de place fer your pantaloons, you imp of a 
 Satan?" 
 
 Lily, the seamstress, with a touch of skill, now 
 enlisted her fellow-worker Nannie into a scheme 
 by which she hoped to put an end to stolen visits 
 over at Professor Joe's. 
 
 Nannie was the youngest sister of Marlborough 
 and Robin, and but recently had married Timothy, 
 foreman on Mr. Ben Cay's place, at Barnard's 
 landing. Having been initiated into family se 
 crets, he declared, as his opinion, that only trouble 
 would follow if Lily succeeded ; for the two 
 brothers had, in fact, disagreed from boyhood ; 
 even rending in twain a blanket in a dispute 
 as to who was wrapped in the " Lion's share." 
 Had not the elder brother's marital relations also 
 been interfered with ? 
 
 Undaunted, however, by wild-cat grip or fear of 
 a shining dagger, Robin eagerly adopted his sister- 
 in-law Lily's views. Years before he had given 
 Uncle Toby a fat 'possum ! Now he knew his 
 lesson by heart. His face and hands washed in 
 hot soapsuds, round his neck a bright red scarf, 
 to show his mourning was cast aside, he donned 
 his " Sunday-go-ter meetin' suit " and beaver hat ; 
 with a limp still in his gait, he hobbled toward
 
 104 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 a cabin built on the edge of an orange-grove, 
 surrounding his master's mansion. 
 
 The February night was laden with the perfume 
 of orange blooms, mingled with odours from 
 honeysuckle and jessamines, their vines clambering 
 over the cabin-door, and trailing and twining 
 about the bell-rope stretched from the nursery to 
 the nurse's cabin. 
 
 Brightly shone moon and stars, enhancing the 
 beauty of the scene and tinging the golden fruit 
 with shining lustre. 
 
 At Lydia's cabin-door Robin stood with a 
 tremor in his heart, fearing some one else might 
 be inside; she was a great favourite on the place. 
 
 However, fortune favoured him ; for Lydia sat in 
 front of a blazing pine-fire all alone, mending her 
 children's clothes. In an adjoining shed-room her 
 five youngsters lay sleeping and snoring. Neither 
 cotton nor corn had yet sprouted, therefore Robin 
 found Toby's regulation-topics soon exhausted. 
 But he spoke of the blue and white china glis 
 tening on the shelves, taking minute interest in 
 fashion-book prints tacked about the board-walls, 
 the costumes delineated representing hoopskirts 
 covering yards of carpet-space. 
 
 " Dear Miss Cummin's," said he, it's a sorry 
 time in a man's cabin, no 'oman settin' in de 
 'oman's seat. My chilluns is so full of play, dey
 
 The Old South. 105 
 
 won't pick a basket of chips ter brown de loaf. 
 I see your boy James has piled up your box wid 
 fat pine-knots." 
 
 " My chilluns don't like work no better dan 
 yours. It's we coachman cut de wood." 
 
 " Jes like dat rascal ! I'll be bound he neber 
 gits a stick fer de chimney-corner ober at Mars 
 Joe's." 
 
 " Is you still breakin' massa's law ? Ain't you 
 satisfied wid your lame leg ter stay at home? 
 Don't you know B'ro' Molbro carries a shinin' 
 dagger in his vest-front. Folks says de bridge 
 ter a man's wife's house is narrow ; if two meets 
 on it, blood may be shed. Take my advice, an' 
 stay at home wid your chilluns." 
 
 " My dear an' hon'rable lady," cried Robin, 
 " dat is jes what I is doin', but I must have a 
 mudder fer dem. Seein' you setten dere in a 
 spotless aprin an' black an' w'ite turban, de look 
 in your soft hazel eyes is 'nough ter shake de 
 heart of a lion, let 'lone a man weary livin' by 
 heself. I has brought a bundle of love ter lay at 
 your feet, if you will 'cept of my cou'tship, 'an I'll 
 make you as happy as ever dat brother of mine 
 could." 
 
 " Bro' Robin, I's not askin' fer more happiness, 
 I has plenty ter eat an' wear, my house is comf- 
 table. Massa an' missus treats me like a human,
 
 106 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 my ' w'ite chilluns ' dotes on deir mommer, an' 
 we all rides ter chu'ch in a fine carriage wid de 
 best pair of horses in Siberty County, not ter 
 speak of de likeliest coachman. Bye-de-bye, has 
 you an' your brother made friends yit ? Night 
 after night I dreams of a dagger hangin' over my 
 head, an' I wakes jes as Bro' Molbro pushes it 
 away, so it won't fall on me." 
 
 " Jes like dat coachman ! he's tied to one, an* 
 is a keepin' watch ober another 'oman les' her 
 heart gits touched by what folks calls love ; cuttin' 
 wood here, his lawful weddin' wife is pickin' chips 
 ter warm his chilluns' toes." 
 
 " Judgin' ag'in? Don't you know massa is 
 ordered de wood cut, caise if de nuss'ry bell rings, 
 no matter when, I must go. Missus neber calls 
 les' some one is ill." 
 
 " Most hon'red lady," continued Robin " by 
 marryin' me you'll shut de mouth of folks what 
 says you has coaxed Flora's husband ter leave 
 her." 
 
 " I has suffered 'nough already ; don't come here 
 ter break my heart ! Don't ask me ter marry 
 you. I is happier here wid my fatherless chilluns. 
 Go an' court one of de 'omen's at de quarters. 
 Dey is more suitable ter your understandin' dan 
 I is." 
 
 " Miss Cummin's, a man can't ask any 'oman ter
 
 The Old South. 107 
 
 be his wife ; he must have a warmin' ter her ; no 
 one has brought my heart tcr compose since my 
 poor Lucy died but you, hon'red lady. I'll be 
 better ter you dan ter her, caise now I has been 
 in de 'oman's seat ; I knows de terrification dey 
 has." 
 
 Rocking back and forth in her rocker, Lydia 
 replied, " Don't waste your time cout'in' me. 
 Go to your chillun's." 
 
 The cabin-door closed behind her visitor. 
 Lydia's trouble found audible voice : " Why 
 are folks talkin' 'bout me ? What has I done ? 
 Ain't dere mercy in heaven ? Must my sin 
 follow me forever ? Is de sighs an' groans of 
 a black person got no power wid de Lord ? 
 Massa reads 'bout golden vials full of saints' 
 tears. I's a slave, not rich 'nough ter buy gold." 
 She lifted her eyes in prayer : " O God, won't 
 you 'cept a glass-bottle full of de truest drops 
 dat ever fell from any one's eyes? " 
 
 She slipped from the chair to her knees, press 
 ing her lips to the leaves of an old Bible that 
 once belonged to her former master, Squire 
 Janeston. " I can't read de Word o' God, but, 
 Jesus, do listen to my cry ! Must de trumphet 
 sound ag'in, Woe ! woe! woe! Will de sun turn 
 black an' de moon set like blood ? de burnin' 
 mountain ris' before me? Lord, thou what
 
 io8 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 talked to Sara in de tent door, speak ! tell me 
 what ter do. My heart is as pure as de w'itest 
 w'ite lady, but I hates ter have folks talkin' 'bout 
 my havin" spotted black wings." 
 
 She listened, as mysterious, weird words seemed 
 to hiss from behind the blazing logs, " Marry ! 
 marry ! marry ! " 
 
 The regulation ghostly three times startled 
 her ; she buried her face within the leaves of her 
 Bible ; while into low cadence the words died, 
 " Marry ! marry ! marry ! " 
 
 Hugging to her bosom the well-worn Bible, 
 she groaned, " O, dear Jesus, is dat what you 
 wants me ter do ? " 
 
 The following day mother noticed a strange 
 look of trouble on her nurse's face. But not 
 even to Marlborough did Lydia tell of her 
 heavenly visitant. 
 
 Robin, the ensuing night, shut his cabin door, 
 leaving his motherless children in front of the fire, 
 huddled on the floor, sound asleep. He picked 
 his way to Lydia's chimney, and peered through 
 a crevice from the outside, to make sure that no 
 visitor was within. 
 
 He entered and earnestly renewed his court 
 ship ; but Lydia replied ; " I has lost faith in men's 
 folks, Bro' Robin. I has had one good husband, 
 but it's sech men what gets drownded. No
 
 The Old South. 109 
 
 'count folks lives on an' on, fussin' 'bout trifles, 
 like de quality of gol' rings, talkin' of wings 
 tipped wid de stain of sin. I knows one t'ing, if 
 it wa'n't fer you mens-folks' talk, we 'omens' 
 plumes would be w'ite like snow. You mens is 
 de most on you black as crows wid your guilt. 
 No wonderment is made ober your foul fedders, 
 but jes let a dove show a dark fedder an* howls 
 an' hisses sounds on eb'ry side. If you crows 
 would stay in de cornfield, where you belongs 
 certain sure doves wouldn't leave deir dove-cote 
 ter hunt fer you." 
 
 Saturday night Flora sat singing to her young 
 baby, wondering if Marlborough would spend 
 Sunday with her. She had heard old women 
 comment on the youngster's strong resemblance 
 to its Uncle Robin, but, happily, she was once 
 more on fairly good terms with her lawful hus 
 band, and so she wisely kept her tongue. She 
 listened anxiously for well-known footsteps. 
 
 At cock-crow she was roused from her fruitless 
 wait. Indeed, he who should have been by her 
 side was fulfilling a duty he felt due to his kind 
 master. For weeks Marlborough had suspected 
 that the orange trees about Lydia's cabin were 
 being robbed. Accordingly, he secreted himself 
 in readiness to spring upon the thief. 
 
 Three taps on Lydia's door startled him. To
 
 no Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 a negro three taps means a visit with a precon 
 ceived purpose. 
 
 From his hiding-place he sprang, and the next 
 moment he was on the ground struggling with a 
 man in his firm grip. 
 
 "What business has you a tappin' at dis dooe? 
 Did I bring wood ter warm you, you rascal? I'll 
 cut your liver out " throwing himself over 
 Robin, who screamed lustily, " Sis Liddy, Sis 
 Liddy, come quick, a dagger is cuttin' my throat." 
 His voice grew more and more suppressed, with 
 gurgling sounds. 
 
 Lydia rushed to the rescue, and wound her 
 arms about Maryborough's neck, without casting 
 aside the stocking in which her hand was encased. 
 Consequently, the needle buried itself in his neck 
 and broke uncomfortably near his jugular vein. 
 " Bro' Molbro ! " she cried, " What are you doin', 
 stabbin' your own brother at my very dooe! O 
 God, ain't I suffered 'nough yit?" 
 
 Pointing to the negro quarters, Marlborough 
 said, " Go, sah, where you belong ! You is not 
 worthy ter sweep de trash from dese steps, let 
 'lone goin' inside ter set beside de fire-place. 
 Let me catch you here ag'in an' I'll pound your 
 bones ter powder." 
 
 Resistance was worse than vain ; so, with 
 crushed beaver and soiled Sunday-clothes, Robin,
 
 The Old South. in 
 
 the lover, walked away, not one whit undecided, 
 however, as to his future efforts. 
 
 In the cabin Lydia essayed to withdraw the 
 needle-point. But she was caught in a warm 
 embrace, which instinctively she returned, their 
 lips meeting in an ecstasy of feeling: "My 
 Lyddy, my heart's love, before heaven you are 
 my wife ; come, be mine ! God knows how I 
 loves you ! '' 
 
 She tore herself away, then leaned upon the 
 mantel-shelf, moaning, " It's all my fault, it's a 
 curse folio win' me. Why did I listen ter that 
 rascal wid his talk 'bout silk frocks an' freedom ? 
 Bro' Molbro, we might have married, but it's too 
 late now. Dey calls me a slave. Yes, I am a 
 slave, but my slave-wings must be kept pure an' 
 w'ite." 
 
 " Dey is pure an w'ite, my Lyddy. Jacob 
 waited fer Rachel seven years ; my seven is 
 turned de eight, an' you ain't yit my wife. Massa 
 hates a lie. Don't I lie eb'ry time I goes ter Mars 
 Joe's ? Come, Lyddy, let's go ter massa and 
 missus, an' once more beg dem ter untie de knot 
 what's chained meter Flora. Den you'll be my 
 wife, won't you ? I can't live dis way ; my heart 
 will break." 
 
 " It's too late ; it's too late, Bro' Molbro, it's 
 me done dis deed o' murder. Give me de dagger;
 
 H2 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 let me drag from my own heart what God he- 
 self put dere. I ain't ashamed ter tell you how 
 much I used ter love you. But it's too late ! 
 Go, go ! Be good ter Flora, an' try ter forgit all 
 de wrong I has done you." 
 
 " If I could forgit, Liddy ; but I can't. I has 
 neber wanted freedom, yet now I must be free 
 ter make money ter buy my Lyddy. If dis ain't 
 possible, will you run away wid me ? Folks say 
 dere is an underground way, an' at de odder end 
 w'ite ladies feeds us wid deir own hands. Come, 
 will you go dis very night ? Look, it's not too 
 late, we could be safe before daybreak. Our mar 
 riage was 'ranged in heaven. Let's have it set 
 tled on earth. Come, git ready, Lyddy, we will 
 start at once." 
 
 " Don't talk so fas', Bro' Molbro. No matter 
 where you goes, Flora is your wife ; f er Mars 
 C. C. said, 'before God I pronounces you man 
 an' wife.' ' 
 
 " If w'ite folks breaks up niggar marriages, that 
 don't count. Why can't we do de same ? " pro 
 tested Marlborough. 
 
 " Has you t'ought 'bout leavin' your master 
 an' my w'ite chilluns? Dey would weep deir 
 eyes out fer deir mommer. I'd be mis'rable 'way 
 from dem, an' Mars C. C. would blot my name 
 from de chu'ch books."
 
 The Old South. 113 
 
 " Lyddy, I loves my massa an' all his fam'ly, 
 but as I can't marry you here, we must go where 
 I can. Be quick, tie up your clothes in a bundle ; 
 come, I'll help." 
 
 Three times the bell over his head clanged, like 
 a note from heaven. Quick as a flash Lydia 
 darted out the door, knowing that some one she 
 loved was ill. 
 
 Marlborough then seated himself in the rocking 
 chair, and covered his face with his hands ; he 
 was quivering with excitement. Seemingly ob 
 livious to his companion's absence, he murmured: 
 " It's so, Lyddy, I couldn't live 'way from we 
 good w'ite folks. Satan has his rope 'round my 
 neck." 
 
 Snatching Lydia's Bible from the mantel-shelf, 
 he pressed his lips upon its cover : " I'll cut dat 
 debil's cord, an' wait. Caise massa says, ' God is 
 love.' " 
 
 On his knees he sank, with his black hands 
 folded across his breast, as if to retain his treasure 
 more securely. 
 
 The ensuing night the usual hush and quiet 
 crept over the plantation. Now and then a sen 
 tinel gander gave a signal to let his flock know 
 that he was on duty. The air was cold, and 
 Lydia drew her chair close beside the dying 
 
 embers. She nodded, from loss of sleep. 
 8
 
 114 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 " Marry ! Marry ! Marry ! " again whizzed 
 through the chimney-jamb, startling her from her 
 dreams. 
 
 Though clever herself in invoking aid from 
 supernatural spirits when needed for her "w'ite 
 chilluns," she, nevertheless, was now under the 
 domination of an angel voice. So, fearing to sit 
 in the presence of an heavenly visitant, she knelt, 
 reaching for her Bible, her safeguard in time of 
 anxiety. " O Lord, tell me de name? Is it Bro' 
 Molbro ? Show me dy will, O God ! Speak so I 
 kin hear." 
 
 The feeble flame flared, as if blown upon : 
 " Ro-ro-bin ! Ro-ro-bin ! Ro-ro-bin ! " 
 
 " Great God ! Hast thou oberlooked de sharp 
 dagger what Bro' Molbro carries ? Must I marry 
 Bro' Robin ? " 
 
 Lydia was roused at early dawn from her 
 troubled sleep by the sound of partridges in the 
 fields beyond her cabin. One after another they 
 whistled to their mates " Ro-ro-bin ! Ro-ro-bin ! 
 Ro-ro-bin ! " 
 
 Wiping her face with a wet rag, she hurried to 
 the nursery, to get out of reach of three words, 
 that seemed urging her on to her doom. 
 
 Before her arrival, however, Caroline, Marl- 
 borough's mother, had snugly ensconced herself 
 in front of a blazing fire, kindled for the children
 
 The Old South. 115 
 
 to dress by. Contented, she was testing roasted 
 yams, that had been covered the preceding night 
 beneath red-hot oak ashes, to be ready for hungry 
 young mouths. 
 
 Our assistant nurse, nick-named Old Soul, was 
 a peaceable creature, not troubling herself, it ap 
 peared, even about the broil between her two 
 sons. 
 
 Eccentric in many ways, she never wore shoes, 
 and clicked her bare heels together in walking. 
 Her manner of rousing us from sleep was unheard 
 of, and mother would have shuddered to have 
 seen her in early morning lift our bed-covers at 
 the foot of the bed, grasp our pink feet, then, one 
 after another, pull the toes until they gave a click, 
 as if the muscles had stretched beyond their limit. 
 Were this not sufficient to send us kicking and 
 howling out of bed, she treated our fingers to the 
 same. 
 
 Old Soul gloried in listening to fairy tales con 
 cocted by Lydia. Lydia's most startling expe 
 rience, however, was not told until years after its 
 occurrence. 
 
 Her narrations of Bro' Wolf and Bro' Rabbit, 
 we never forgot. And I vividly recall the excite 
 ment of listening to her tales. With fiery flash 
 ing insects in our handkerchiefs we watched, and 
 waited, hoping and expecting they would mo>
 
 n6 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 mentarily expand into live and radiant fairies, 
 ready to gratify our every wish. This, we were 
 assured by our nurse, would be the case if we 
 sat " as still as mice." 
 
 The beauty of our lawns of the summer even 
 ings was of incomparable charm, innumerable 
 fireflies, or "lightning-bugs," as vulgarly termed, 
 flitting fantastically from side to side.
 
 The Old South. 117 
 
 IX. 
 A Spanish Trading^Port. 
 
 " And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels 
 Than Caesar with a senate at his heels." 
 
 POPE. 
 
 AS history records, St. Augustine, Florida, 
 was at one time a busy Spanish trading- 
 port, as well as in Colonial days a land 
 ing-place for native Africans. Later, it also be 
 came a famous negro mart. Even now the remains 
 of a fort continue to attract visitors that journey 
 south, to winter, under tropical suns, and among 
 orange-groves with perfume-laden sea-air. But 
 of the many visitors attracted there yearly, few, 
 I fancy, give a thought to the aborigines that 
 were driven from their land of flowers to ice 
 bound regions. Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe 
 whose book, " Uncle Tom's Cabin," thrilled the 
 universe, I confess had her winter home in this 
 part of the south, where both good and bad 
 masters brought their slaves to be sold. 
 
 About ten years ago, fire, happily, destroyed
 
 n8 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 the old shed and block (remnants of barbarity), 
 where thousands of human beings were sold like 
 cattle or sheep. Here, too, were kept a pack of 
 blood-hounds, ready to scent fugitive slaves, who 
 dared attempt to escape from a cruel owner. 
 / Strangely enough, the auctioneer was always a 
 northern man. 
 
 Caesar, Machiah, and hundreds of other slaves 
 were bought here and transferred to Green Forest. 
 Marlborough's master, on one occasion, occupied 
 himself before the auction by noting the good 
 points of those to be sold. A likely lad, indus 
 triously whittling a white-oak strip, attracted him. 
 
 Accosting him, he said, " My boy, what are you 
 making ? " 
 
 " A bow, ah ! " 
 
 " A bow ! Surely, at your age, you don't play 
 with bow and arrows, do you ? " 
 
 " I kin stretch a bow as good as de best of dem 
 kin bring down a turkey or steer when we 
 comes 'cross one." 
 
 " Is that right ? would you kill a steer that did 
 not belong to you." 
 
 " You see, boss," he replied, " Pow-wow swears 
 de cows in de oak-lands an' de boars in de cane- 
 break ain't nobody's ; so, by occasion, we kills a 
 fat fellow." 
 
 " Who is Pow-wow ? "
 
 The Old South. 119 
 
 " Dat Injin yonder," pointing to a Cherokee 
 warrior, partly robed and partly plumed, who was 
 leaning against a post of the auction-shed, look 
 ing on merely as a matter of curiosity ; or, per 
 haps, hoping to sell Indian wares. 
 
 " What's your name, my boy ? " 
 
 " Abel, sah." 
 
 " Where is your father ? " 
 
 " Never had none." 
 
 '' There you are mistaken, Abel ; everybody 
 must have had a father." 
 
 " I reckon Pow-wow is my pa." 
 
 " No, indeed ; you are too black, and your hair 
 too kinky to be the son of a red Indian. Is that 
 your mother over there nursing her baby?" 
 
 " I don't 'member my mudder, 'cept dat she 
 lick me one night." 
 
 " How long is it since you've seen her ? " 
 
 " Nigh on ter eighty moons. 
 
 " Impossible ! You are not more than sixteen 
 years old now." 
 
 " Boss says I's twenty." 
 
 "Who is the boss?" 
 
 " Dat man wid de brass buttons ; you'll see 
 him mount de block presently." 
 
 " So, you have been sold here before? " 
 
 " No, sah ! I come one day wid Pow-wow, an' 
 de boss tell him to bring me ter-day. He say
 
 i2o Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 some buckra' man would buy me. Massa, won't 
 you bid fer me ? I likes you ; caise you talks 
 good." 
 
 " Then you have been living with Pow-wow ? 
 Are you just from the wigwam? 
 
 " It's three moons since I fus quit de Injins. 
 Old man Thorne pick up a stick ter make me go 
 an' hoe he turnip patch ; but I tell him last week 
 I wouldn't stay dere ; I likes Floridy de best. 
 We has gumbo an' oranges ; turkey is plenty, 
 too." 
 
 " Where is Thorne ? " 
 
 " You see dat man standin' 'longside a critter 
 wid a calico colt ? Dat's he." 
 
 A tall scrawny pine-land cracker busily adjusted 
 the girth of his saddle. He covertly watched my 
 father questioning Abel, wondering, doubtless, 
 what they could find to talk about. 
 
 " Tell me your mother's name, Abel." 
 
 " Miss call um cook." 
 
 " You had a missis, then ! What was her 
 name ? Was it Thome's wife ? " 
 
 " She ain't no missis ; she 's poor cracker. She 
 ain't no better dan me. I sits 'longside Becky 
 at table ; she's de oldest gal of de fam'ly, an' kin 
 skin a sheep as good as de Injins. She beats her 
 baby jes like it was stone." 
 
 " How did you happen to leave your mother
 
 The Old South. 121 
 
 when so young? Can't you recall her name? 
 Did your master sell you?" 
 
 " I 'members one night I was tired sleepin', so 
 I was goin* in de dark ter de quiltin' an' some 
 body give me a long stick o' candy. We trotted 
 on horseback, an' when I wake up I was sleepin' 
 in de bed wid lots of w'ite chilluns. I didn't 
 have no breeches, so dey gib me one of de w'ite 
 boy's. We chilluns play in de log-house, an' 
 when I cry ter go out, de old w'ite 'oman hoi' 
 me. She say it ware too hot ; I better stay 'long 
 side de fire." 
 
 "Did you live there long?" asked my father, 
 smiling at this incoherent speech. 
 
 " Fs done forgot, sah. We ride on horseback 
 ag'in, an' when I wake up Pow-wow squaw was 
 feedin' me wid gumbo and oranges." 
 
 " Have you been ever since with Pow-wow and 
 his children ? " 
 
 " I's all de chilluns dey's got." 
 
 " Why did Pow-wow want to sell you?" 
 
 " Dat old cracker Thorne tried ter fight wid 
 Pow-wow 'bout me ; den Wunda say dey better 
 sell me an' share de money." 
 
 " Is Wunda your squaw-mother ? " 
 
 "She's good to me. I likes her; she cooks 
 fine gumbo. Massa, does you have any gumbo 
 turkey ? Becky's husband say dis mornin' dat if
 
 122 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 I tell folks I's been libin wid de Injins, some fine 
 night he'll tie me ter a tree head down, an' he'll 
 cut out my tongue an' roast it in de fire. I's 
 'fraid o' fire. Massa, don't tell folks what I tell 
 you. I's gettin' scared." 
 
 " You are safe, Abel, but why are you so afraid 
 of fire?" 
 
 " I fall in de fire once an' burn my arm w'ite." 
 
 " You did ! I must see that scar ; I won't buy 
 you if you are unable to work." 
 
 Having arranged his saddle, Thorne sneaked 
 around to where Abel stood behind a house ; he 
 removed his jacket, while father examined the 
 white scar on his left arm. 
 
 With suspicious eyes Pow-wow was restless, 
 his feathers waving in the sea-breeze. 
 
 Recourse to the law, in order to stop the sale 
 of Abel, would have required time, giving Pow 
 wow another opportunity to secrete his foster- 
 son in the dense canebrakes of Florida. Father 
 deemed it important to take the boy Abel to 
 Siberty County as soon as possible. 
 
 The auctioneer, therefore, agreed to give a 
 deed of sale at once, swearing that he himself had 
 bought the boy from Phil Hertz, down at Tampa 
 Bay. 
 
 At the homestead, when Marlborough reined 
 in his horses, it was dark. " Have your supper
 
 The Old South. 123 
 
 with the boy Abel," his master said, and be at 
 the gate by eight o'clock with fresh horses. I 
 must drive to Mr. Winn's plantation." 
 
 We gathered about father, begging he would 
 tell us how many Indian squaws, with their pap- 
 pooses, he had seen in Florida. But he kissed 
 us good-night, with the words, " Be good chil 
 dren ; to-morrow after breakfast you shall hear a 
 real true Indian story." 
 
 The rumbling of carriage-wheels aroused Mr. 
 Winn, who was dozing beside his library fire. 
 Opening the door himself, he greeted his visitor : 
 
 " Good evening, neighbour. Come in and have 
 a cigar. I've just opened a fresh box of the best 
 Havanas." 
 
 " Thank you, not now ; I am in a hurry. I 
 hear your cook is very ill." 
 
 " She is, faithful old soul ; she will hardly last 
 another twenty-four hours. I was with her a 
 good part of last night. But she's growing 
 weaker, day and night calling for her boy John. 
 Every time the door opens she imagines it's he." 
 
 " Let's go to her at once. Do you think she'll 
 recognise me ? " 
 
 " I can't say. An hour ago her mind was still 
 wandering. She talked incessantly of her lost 
 son, eaten by a big black bear. You know, 
 friend Janes, I have a feeling that that fellow was
 
 124 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 never eaten. I am inclined to join in the super 
 stition that has taken hold of the negroes in the 
 quarters, that John will some day come back, for 
 his mother seems clearly to see him." 
 
 Talking earnestly, the two planters reached the 
 cabin. Marlborough and Abel followed in the 
 rear. 
 
 An aged granny sat in the room nodding by 
 the bed of a dying woman, whose only child 
 Amy, soon to be motherless, lay sound asleep on 
 the floor. 
 
 Mr. Winn spoke. Then his visitor greeted the 
 sufferer: "Are you feeling better to-night, old 
 woman ? I hope you are as happy as you used 
 to be in Greenville some years ago." 
 
 " T'ank you, massa. I feels pow'ful weak." 
 
 " Do you know me ? " 
 
 " Yes, sah, I knows you ; it's Mars Janes. You 
 kill dat big black bear what eat my boy John. 
 Is you got de skin on your floor yit, sah? " 
 
 " Feede, Feede, listen ! Suppose I told you 
 no black bear ever touched your son, would you 
 believe me ?" 
 
 At the name " Feede," Abel, who stood in 
 front of the fire, sprang to the bedside. 
 
 "Ma," he cried, "is dat you?" Then he 
 peered into her half-closed eyes. 
 
 Weak and exhausted, Feede continued:
 
 The Old South. 125 
 
 " Massa, does you t'ink when I gits ter heaven I'll 
 find John dere ? Kin de Lord resurrect him from 
 the maw of de bear? If I could only see my 
 boy once more ! Amy ! push up the fire, ma's 
 gittin' cold." 
 
 "Ma! ma!" continued Abel, "here's your 
 John ! Here I is, ma ! No bear eat me ! Don't 
 you know me ? I ain't name Abel ; I's name 
 John. Don't you 'member you spanked me an' 
 kivered me head an' ears when you was a-going' 
 ter de quiltin' ' " throwing his arms round her 
 neck. 
 
 Startled, Feede returned the embrace. " Bless 
 de Lord ! I's find my boy." Her glazed eyes 
 fastened upon his face. " Pull up your sleeve, 
 John ; let ma see de w'ite scar." 
 
 " Mars Janes," she cried, " here sure 'nough's 
 my John ! Did you kill de bear ? " She gasped 
 a few times, then fell back upon her pillow ; her 
 fingers patted the coverlid. 
 
 " Lie down, John, lie down, let ma kiver you 
 up. Ma's goin' cross de riber, but ma '11 be back 
 bumbye." 
 
 By the influence of a hidden sense, that needed 
 but a trifle to kindle into life a dead memory, 
 Abel picked up the lost thread that bound him 
 to the past : a familiar but forgotten name 
 brought all to mind.
 
 126 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 After Feede's funeral, father bought Amy. 
 When packing her mother's effects, she found a 
 pair of little pants, securely bound up with a bright 
 patchwork quilt that Dean's cook had given 
 Feede. The latter had never been used ; for, 
 with negro superstition, no one would lie beneath 
 a covering that had cost a mother so much sorrow. 
 
 We were to hear a real Indian story before 
 breakfast, but Lydia forestalled her master. 
 Shaking each child excitedly, she said, " Jump up, 
 chilluns, de heavens is weepin' fer joy ! de ground 
 is w'ite wid angels' tears ! Bro' Molbro say he 
 couldn't sleep las' night fer singin' hallalujah ! 
 Dat old bear from Bulltown swamp galloped to 
 Floridy an' puked de boy John plumb 'fore a 
 Injin's' wigwam ; he was pleased wid de mudder- 
 less child ; so de squaw feed him wid gumbo 
 soup an' oranges. Would you believe it, chilluns, 
 he is growd ter be a big man ? It's de same fel 
 low what eat supper in de kitchin las' night. 
 Nobody know'd him. Down in Floridy de Injin 
 warrior mus* a liked massa's talk, caise he give 
 him John ter bring ter his mudder, Feede. When 
 she seed de w'ite scar, she pulled up de quilt 
 what Dean's cook give her an' she patted John's 
 head : ' Lie down, John, let ma kiver you up, 
 I's goin' ober de riber Jordan, but ma's sperit 
 will come bumbye an' keep comp'ny wid you.'
 
 The Old South. 127 
 
 Den old Feede dropped back daid. Be quick, 
 chilluns, and dress ; le's go an* fill a bottle wid 
 de angels' tears, fer it looks like a big fedder 
 bed from de golden city is turned loose in de 
 wind." 
 
 Having never before seen a fall of snow, our 
 nurse's original explanation of a snow-storm 
 suited our excitable young minds. 
 
 In the confusion of dressing, three loud knocks 
 at the adjoining window sent us, one and all, 
 pell-mell into Lydia's arms, with soap, sponge, 
 shoes, stockings, frocks, comb, and brush. 
 
 " Massa," a voice called, " old Jerry is daid, 
 sah ; stiff as a board." 
 
 The horse Jerry was a great favourite with the 
 children, letting them clamber on his broad old 
 back. He was one of a pair bought in Maine. 
 Father surmised that Jerry had sniffed the keen 
 cold air, and, in his efforts to get out and into it, 
 he had, by his own force, throttled himself. All 
 the horses were now turned out. Tom, Jerry's 
 mate, at once laid himself down, rolling in the 
 snow with evident pleasure. The southern bred 
 animals, however, sought the warm stable. 
 
 Exemplifying the force of early education, 
 we, as all southern children, never thought of 
 the dark side of slavery ; we lived regardless of 
 its evil consequences. Similarly, also, knitters
 
 128 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 in the Place de la Concorde, who dropped a stitch 
 to tally with human heads falling into the basket, 
 proved that they were inured to the spectacle, 
 apparently seeing only the bright and happy side 
 of life.
 
 The Old South, 129 
 
 X. 
 
 Marlborough and his Brute Friend. 
 
 " Tears, sighs, prayers fail, but true love lasteth ever." 
 
 ROBERT JONES. 
 
 FEBRUARY'S blooms, beaten about by 
 March winds, lay on the ground, moulder 
 ing. Overhead, festoons of grey moss 
 hung like a funeral shroud. As an earnest of the 
 future, the limbs from which this trailing moss 
 swayed, showed here and there the lifegiving 
 power of spring. Peach and plum trees were 
 already weighted with a wealth of embryo fruit, 
 rounded and enlarged each day. Innumerable 
 pear-shaped figs protruded from dry branches ; 
 for fig trees show no gay blooms as forerunners 
 of a frugal crop. 
 
 Labourers were busy in corn and cotton fields, 
 their hoes glistening with constant friction against 
 mother-earth. The brisker the work, the merrier 
 the glee, on all southern estates. 
 
 Green Forest was no exception. Robin's 
 voice, clear and loud, indicated a new joy had 
 9
 
 130 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 come to supplant his dead memory. His happi 
 ness struck a vibrating cord in the throats of field- 
 lark and thrush ; the woods were resonant with 
 song. 
 
 This reinvigoration of flowers and birds failed, 
 however, to reinspire our nurse's songs : they 
 sounded like funeral dirges. Old April Fool even 
 forgot to play his pranks with the children. 
 
 One day my mother asked Lydia why she 
 had a sad countenance ? " Are you ill ? " 
 
 " T'ank you, ma'am, I's all right, only tryin' ter 
 do my duty. Missus, may I marry Bro' Robin? " 
 Her voice indicated that she half-wished the per 
 mission would be withheld. 
 
 " I have no objection, if you think you will be 
 happier as his wife. You already have a house 
 ful of children, and it seems to me that, with 
 Robin's six, you will have much care." 
 
 " It's so, ma'am, but ain't dere times when one 
 must do deir best ter fulfil de will o' God ? " 
 
 " Yes. If you look upon it as God's will, it's 
 all right. Has Marlborough taught you to be 
 lieve all marriages are made in heaven ? Poor 
 fellow, he will lose his faith in this instance." 
 
 " Bro' Molbro don't know it, ma'am, an' it's fer 
 dat I don't want ter be married in de chu'ch. 
 Won't massa ask Mars C. C. to 'form de ceremony 
 in de nuss'ry ? "
 
 The Old South. 131 
 
 " You may be married in the parlour or dining- 
 room if you wish." 
 
 " De nuss'ry is de sweetest place in de world, 
 ma'am. I want my w'ite chilluns round about. 
 Please don't give me a wedden' feast." 
 
 No one talked about the approaching marriage, 
 arranged by preternatural power. An account of 
 the spiritual influence reached Flora, awing her 
 into silence. 
 
 With heavy heart Affie beat a cake light, groan 
 ing over the fact that, morning by morning, Marl- 
 borough's coffee was weakened with briny drops. 
 Stunned as he had been by the interposition of 
 heaven in ringing the bell overhead when he was 
 following Satan's lead, he, nevertheless, not by a 
 single word, let it be known that he was aware of 
 his brother's good fortune. 
 
 One Saturday afternoon, April twentieth, Dr. 
 C. C. drove to Green Forest to spend the night. 
 Sunday he was due to preach at Pleasant Grove 
 Church. About eight o'clock in the evening, Old 
 Soul, Lily, Juno, James and Georgia, Nanny 
 and Jack, with two broken front teeth, stood 
 in line against the nursery wall. 
 
 The door opened, and the venerable Dr. C. C. 
 entered, leaning upon the arm of Green Forest's 
 master, who was holding in his hand a well-worn 
 Bible, brought from England many years before.
 
 132 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 In the rear followed the mistress, her group 
 of children visibly excited and looking behind. 
 Then came a woman neatly dressed in a blue 
 calico-print, with tucked cambric apron and snow- 
 white bandanna. Beside her walked a man as 
 black as ebony. 
 
 A short prayer, a scripture lesson, and the 
 clergyman said: "In the name of the Lord I 
 pronounce you husband and wife. What God 
 hath joined together let not man put asunder. 
 Amen ! " 
 
 In his usual happy way, he then shook hands, 
 wishing Lydia and Robin joy in their new rela 
 tionship. The master and mistress did the same. 
 From one to another the children handed silver 
 baskets filled with slices of cake. 
 
 Lydia, kissing their dainty hands, whispered, 
 "Call mommer when you's sleepy." 
 
 " Mamma says Old Soul and Lily can put us 
 to bed to-night," piped up Letha. 
 
 " No dey won't, needer. I'll not neglect my 
 w'ite chilluns fer anybody." 
 
 Marlborough fully understood the purport of 
 this clerical visit ; it extinguished his last ray of 
 hope. Into a trough he dashed a measure of 
 corn and bundle of fodder, then he haltered the 
 parson's tired old mare in front of it, scarcely re 
 moving from its ill-kept coat the dust of travel.
 
 The Old South. 133 
 
 Long past his hours of work the heartsick man 
 groomed old Bolivar, first with curry-comb, then 
 with brush. The hide of the worn-out animal, 
 unaccustomed to such attention, was sore rather 
 than refreshed, and he switched his tail and 
 stamped, first one foot then the other, trying, in 
 brute language, to indicate that he had enough. 
 
 " Be still, Bolivar ! Ain't you learned to obey 
 yit ? All my life I has been obliged ter do what 
 I was told ter do; be still, old fellow!" He 
 leaned forward and whispered into his furry ear, 
 " Does you hear a sledge-hammer poundin' heavy 
 blows on my heart? Yit I must keep still w'ile 
 dat rascal calls my Lyddy his wife." To sup 
 press his anger, he gritted his teeth. " Massa's 
 been good ter you an' me, ain't he, old horse ? 
 It's only dat what keeps me from followin' Cain. 
 I couldn't live an' hear my name called as massa 
 called it one morning in de library." He clasped 
 his arms round the muscular neck of the dumb 
 creature. 
 
 " Yes, Bolivar, you an' me is in bondage. Eat 
 your corn, old fellow, wid a t'ankful heart, caise 
 you ain't got no mind ter be cut up as I is. My 
 mouth is bitter. Yonder, folks is eatin' sweet 
 cake. I can't help myself caise Fs a slave. 
 
 He pressed his hand over his breast, where lay 
 his alleged dagger, then back on the hot side of
 
 134 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 the old horse he leaned. Many years before, he 
 had driven Bolivar from Riseburg, with a young 
 woman beside him, on the carriage front. 
 
 " If what massa says is true dat ' God is love/ 
 O Lord, do let me keep dis till I kin win my 
 Lyddy, my angel wid snow-w'ite wings." 
 
 With the tenderness of a woman he caressed 
 his hidden treasure, that some day was to fulfil 
 its mission, even over an open grave.
 
 The Old South. 135 
 
 XI. 
 I,ot Number Four. 
 
 " The golden circlet of life's work well done 
 Set with the shining pearl of perfect rest." 
 
 IN May, as usual, we again left the plantation 
 for our summer residence. Robin visited 
 his wife twice a week, bringing with him a 
 bag of children's clothes to be washed : his wife 
 excelled as a laundress. 
 
 During that summer, the household servants 
 evinced much uneasiness, because three mornings 
 in succession, Fido, the family pet, had been seen 
 dragging his left-hind leg. 
 
 Another uncanny omen startled them when two 
 cranes, which seldom come near human habita 
 tions, settled upon the balustrade, beside the 
 mistress' bedchamber. 
 
 Lydia shouted at them. Whereupon one flew 
 away, soon followed by the other. 
 
 Months passed, but nothing happened to verify 
 the evil omens. 
 
 When hot, sultry days gave place to a glorious
 
 136 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 Indian summer, with its clear, crispy -cool morn 
 ings, we rejoiced. For, after the second frost, it 
 was safe to return to the home in the oaklands 
 which we loved. 
 
 October had now but one day before it would 
 drop from the year's calendar, and, as its last sun 
 was sinking in the west, a baby -boy arrived. 
 
 The natal song was hardly sung, and night was 
 slowly throwing about the earth its sombre gar 
 ment, when the angel of death folded his wings 
 above the mother's couch. Calling Chim, the 
 eldest-born, she committed the cradled infant to 
 her care, saying : " When we are gone, I know 
 you will be a mother and father to your sisters and 
 brothers." Turning to Lydia, she whispered : 
 "Take good care of my little baby boy.' 
 
 The news of the mistress' death, transmitted to 
 Green Forest, caused profound consternation and 
 grief. Nearly all our slaves came to the funeral, 
 accompanied by others from adjoining estates. 
 The spacious summer residence was crowded with 
 friends, the coloured people standing about the 
 steps and gate. As the cortege moved toward 
 Midway Cemetery, with hundreds following, there 
 broke forth a cry of sorrow. Like a dead march 
 muffled in sound, they moaned, " We dear good 
 misses is daid," their words followed by sobs and 
 low cries of anguish.
 
 The Old South. 137 
 
 Beside the hearse a small white dog ran, saliva 
 dropping from the tip of his tongue. The negroes 
 declared he was weeping. The loving wife, mother, 
 and mistress was laid beneath an ancient live-oak, 
 burdened with grey moss. 
 
 Her little dog Fido soon pined and died ; 
 and when the time came to bury it, Lydia and 
 her "w'ite chilluns" stood in mute grief, while 
 Marlborough dug for it a grave beside the myrtle 
 bush. There he had heard the death-knell of his 
 brightest hopes Marmaduke pleading with the 
 one woman he loved. 
 
 Nanny, the waitress, also had presented her 
 husband with a fine healthy black baby, that 
 they called Lucy Ann, after its dead aunt. 
 
 Touched by the wails of the little white orphan, 
 Nanny timidly besought her master to allow her 
 to nourish the child, saying, " My Lucy is strong 
 an' well, she kin drink milk." 
 
 With a grief that was almost breaking his 
 heart, her master assented : " God bless you ! do 
 your best and you will be rewarded." 
 
 Tim Cay often declared that his wife loved the 
 boy better than the girl. For if they both cried, 
 the foster-mother comforted the one, but allowed 
 Lucy Ann to expend her best efforts in dilating 
 her lungs. 
 
 I again copy a few words from the old planta-
 
 138 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 tion diary ; inasmuch as they prove the relation 
 ship that existed between at least one master and 
 
 his slaves. 
 
 January rjth. 
 
 This is Chim's birthday, and I realise that her loving 
 companionship has helped me to bear the desolation of 
 my life. Much comfort comes, too, from my negroes, 
 who, while at work in the fields, do their utmost to cheer 
 me, saying, " Massa, we is broken-hearted, but de will of 
 de Lord mus' be done. Don't fret, sah, we people is 
 a-doin' all we kin fer you an' missus' chilluns." 
 
 A few golden crocuses peeped above the soggy 
 earth, smiling, as it were, over the departure of 
 winter's sharp frosts. On the air came faint 
 odours, intimating that somewhere, in sheltered 
 corners, violets bloomed. 
 
 A crimson flush burned upon the master's 
 cheek, and he removed to Greenville for change. 
 It was beautiful there then ! Spring buds had 
 burst into blossom ; birds, happily mated, built 
 their nests in tree-tops, carolling their love-songs. 
 But again an angel stopped in his flight, saying : 
 " Enter ye into the courts above." The gate of 
 the celestial city, thus once more opened, that two 
 loving hearts might be reunited. Another wail 
 of mourning resounded in that pine-land village. 
 
 Marlborough believed more than ever that mar 
 riages were recorded in heaven. Beside the corpse
 
 The Old South. 139 
 
 Lydia and he seemed to hear music sounding, 
 angels wafting their white robes, crying, " De 
 bridegroom comes on de wing of de mornin', 
 castin' crowns at de feet o' de Lord." 
 
 " Bro' Molbro," she said, " I seed missus last 
 night comin' wid outspread wings, holdin' a gold 
 en-haired boy by de han', that died when my 
 James was a baby ; den all de choir o' angels bowed 
 deir heads fer when massa an' missus met it was 
 too sacred fer dem to look at. ' Dwell from hence 
 in my fadder's house where is many mansions.' 
 Ain't dat de word, Bro' Molbro?" 
 
 " Yes, my Lyddy ; dere is a house not made 
 wid hands fer you an' fer me, too, when we is dun 
 wid de tribulations o' dis world ; you'll have a 
 crown o' gol' wid Lyddy writ on it, so soap an' 
 water can't wash it out. Will you be my wife 
 dere?" he asked, pleadingly. 
 
 Her tears choked her reply into inaudible 
 sound. 
 
 To this day, rich and poor recall with pleasure 
 the merry voice and sweet speech of Green Forest's 
 master. And for years after his death, his loving 
 slaves greeted us with affectionate assurances, 
 as, " We poor orphan chilluns ! De Lord bless 
 we good massa's chilluns." 
 
 Father's estate, according to law, had to be 
 assessed and divided ; for he left no will. Had
 
 140 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 he been a resident of Great Britain, Fleming 
 would have come into possession of the landed 
 property, with the greater part of his father's 
 money. 
 
 Happily, each of us shared equally our parent's 
 property. 
 
 Neither whites nor blacks cared to express 
 preferment as to owner or owned ; although on the 
 day of the division one or two old women dared 
 to whisper, " I's praying I may fall ter you, 
 honey," or " you," as fancy dictated. 
 
 Letha confided to me that she cared little 
 whom she drew, except that list with Scipio at 
 its head. " He's too grand and overpowering. 
 I'd never know how to talk to him." 
 
 In dollars and cents, however, he was the most 
 valuable of the lot. Later, Letha's involuntary 
 expression of dismay, told that her fears were re 
 alized. In my hand was slip number four, headed 
 with Lydia's name and the names of her family. 
 
 I did not wait to run down the column, but, 
 delighted, darted out the front door, to where 
 the plantation people were congregated. 
 
 " Mommer, you are mine ! " I cried. 
 
 In an instant she clasped me to her bosom, my 
 arms wound round her neck. Other slaves kissed 
 my hands, and even my feet, saying, " We 
 missy; we Miss Dodo?"
 
 The Old South. 141 
 
 What similar scenes were enacting round and 
 about never occurred to me to note. The world, 
 recently shrouded in gloom, was now bright. 
 For she who loved our father and mother would 
 never leave me. No picture of happiness was 
 ever painted with brighter colours. Neither the 
 fear of death nor a thought of Lydia's freedom 
 ever intruded to rob that hour of its sweet happi 
 ness; she belonged to me, and would be always 
 near to brush away my tears. 
 
 Lydia went from one to another, comforting 
 them, saying : " Never mind, mommer will come to 
 see you," seeming to think our household was at 
 once to be broken up. 
 
 Hetty, clinging to the baby, called him her 
 "little massa." 
 
 " Wid her last breath, missus told me to take 
 care o' him, an' nobody shall part us. Shall dey, 
 sonny?" And Lydia hugged and kissed the 
 crowing child. 
 
 Juno, a "deed of gift" to me years before, 
 was not included in the appraisement. 
 
 Marlborough fell to the lot of Chim, thereby 
 greatly delighting her, as he had been nearer to 
 his master than any other slave on the place. 
 
 Fleming drew Lily, the seamstress. 
 
 But time passed, and Letha and Dodo my 
 self soon entered a college for young ladies.
 
 142 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 XII. 
 Juno's Wedding Festivities. 
 
 " When you get married I'll wait on you." 
 
 IN southern climates girls develop rapidly, as 
 suming womanly duties when they should 
 still be in short frocks. While yet scarcely 
 more than a child, Letha, accordingly, married her 
 cousin, a captain in the regular army. He had 
 served his country in Mexico. 
 
 One year after, old Jacob mounted his pony 
 and delivered invitations to neighbours for the 
 marriage of Dodo, Lydia's mistress, to a tall, 
 handsome youth, hardly past his teens. 
 
 Rumor said that Revilo Bee, years before, had 
 vowed that he would wed Dodo, then a ten-year- 
 old girl weeping over her mother's bier. 
 
 Believing that marriages were recorded in 
 heaven, Marlborough and Lydia watched with 
 interest the first intimation of love-making that 
 Revilo manifested when he visited Green Forest 
 or Greenville.
 
 The Old South. 143 
 
 In time, then, under the roof of the old home 
 stead, " two lives with but a single thought " 
 were united, and on that winter wedding-day 
 mocking-birds trilled their richest notes in lieu 
 of a wedding-march. 
 
 Juno stood at the steps, the envy of all her as 
 sociates, while hundreds of blacks awaited the 
 moment to shower rice upon the pathway of the 
 newly-wedded pair. 
 
 Juno's attire, as well as her wardrobe, had been 
 arranged with great care. For, she declared, the 
 bride would be adjudged in her new home by the 
 appearance of her maid. For the journey she 
 wore a print frock, with blue drawn-cambric 
 bonnet lined with pink, her face merry with de 
 light, in spite of the fact that she was soon to be 
 separated from her former girl-associates. 
 
 Her mother's farewell words rang in her 
 ears: 
 
 " Be a good gal. Don't let your young massa 
 have cause ter scold you. Be sure you takes care 
 of your nice frocks an* missus' wedden clothes." 
 
 Later, at Swansea, Lydia took her position as 
 chief servant ; often, indeed, giving advice as to 
 how matters should be conducted. I continued 
 to be one of her " w'ite chilluns," subject to her 
 imperative commands. For, as is well-known, 
 southern mammies, with all their tender-hearted-
 
 144 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 ness, were often exacting. In truth, more than 
 one young mistress has wept tears of bitterness 
 rather than wound the feelings of a dear old 
 woman that had cuddled her lovingly when 
 childish griefs seemed insupportable. 
 
 Maids in all lands are wont to imitate their 
 mistresses. It was not long, therefore, before 
 Juno found her susceptible heart touched. Mas 
 tering her naturally timid nature, she informed 
 me one morning that she wished to make a con 
 fession. 
 
 " Well ! " I said, " what have you broken to 
 day ? All my parlour ornaments will be destroyed 
 by your carelessness. I warn you to be careful 
 of our lovely Dresden vases." 
 
 Giving a short cough, she replied, " I wants fer 
 tell you," then another cough came to her aid. 
 
 " You would tell me that you were looking out 
 the window while dusting the mantel, and so did 
 not mean to break anything ? " 
 
 " Missy, I's sure I ain't broke de fus t'ing. I 
 want's fer tell you dat Dick," her cough again 
 interrupted her speech. 
 
 " Oh, it's Dick, then, that has been doing dam 
 age. I suppose he has ridden my horse Beulah 
 lame, when he has orders never to mount her. 
 
 " Don't scold poor Dick, missy, he neber gits 
 on Beulah. I knows, caise we walks ter de
 
 The Old South. 145 
 
 spring, de mare a-pullin' de line, a-nibblin* young 
 grass." 
 
 "If what Dick has done is a pure accident," 
 " I will have to forgive him, for he seems to be a 
 good sort of fellow." 
 
 " He's mighty good an' kind, ma'am. We was 
 goin' ter water de pony yisterday when Dick plant 
 he foot down, an' say : ' Juno, I can't sleep ; dis 
 t'ing must be 'cided one way or todder.' ' She 
 stuck her forefinger between her pearly white 
 teeth, then bent her head to one side. "What 
 would you say, missy, if you was me ?" 
 
 "Juno, have you lost your wits? "What are 
 you talking about ? Lace my boots, and let me 
 finish dressing." 
 
 " Daniel is a-begging me too, ma'am ; " she 
 resumed, after a brief pause, " fer say de same 
 t'ing." 
 
 Lydia, her mother, fortunately entered the 
 room. 
 
 " What trouble is this brewing, Lydia, I said. 
 Juno is trying to confess some complication with 
 both Daniel and Dick. Do you know of it ? " 
 
 " Shoh ! Shoh ! Silly gal, is you fread o' 
 your good missy ? Don't make a fool o' your 
 self. Say square an' plain dat dese fellows has 
 cou't you an' dat you wants ter marry one of 
 dem." 
 10
 
 146 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 " It's the boys' hearts, then, Juno, that you've 
 been breaking, instead of china? I suppose they 
 are crushed into atoms." 
 
 " It's so, ma'am ! Dey say deir hearts is all 
 gone ter pieces, an' nobody kin mend dem but 
 me. If you was me which would you 'cide 
 on?" 
 
 " Indeed, this is a curious state of affairs ! You 
 want your husband chosen for you, from among 
 so many good-looking fellows ! Suppose the 
 one that I select is not the one recorded in 
 heaven ! You'd be tearing each other's wool, or 
 fretting as poor Marlborough did. Some one 
 then would write in a book that darkie girls are 
 not allowed to choose their own husbands, and 
 would thus excite the sympathy of the whole 
 world. I can help you a little. Which do you 
 think is the handsomest, Dick or Daniel ? " 
 
 " Dick is heap handsomer dan Daniel ! he's 
 six foot ! Daniel's head ain't no higher dan 
 mine." 
 
 " He is older and perhaps a better man," I 
 ventured. 
 
 " Law, ma'am, Dick neber tells me a lie. Daniel 
 is all de time foolin'. He promise me a string o' 
 glass beads, an' when I ask him 'bout dem, he 
 laugh an' say : ' My dear little miss, I forgot 
 todder night when I was at Mars Gus' store.
 
 The Old South. 147 
 
 Jes you wait till I cut de ole rooster's spurs ! 
 Den I'll sell him an' buy you de bes' string deir 
 is ; will you have yaller or blue ? ' ' 
 
 " Just like all men, Juno, they always forget. 
 Don't depend on them." 
 
 " If Dick tells me he's goin' ter giv' me any- 
 t'in', certain sure he'll buy it de fu's time massa 
 drives ter de store." 
 
 " Perhaps he is also buying for the other girls 
 in the same way. White and black, they will 
 all flirt ! " 
 
 " Dick say he wouldn't buy a brass pin fer any 
 odder gal. Daniel promise Judy an' Peggy a 
 bundle o' candy, an' Judy is braggin' now 'bout 
 a real gol' pin he's goin' ter give her." 
 
 " Juno, tell me, do you know what people call 
 love? Does your heart ever thump or go pit-a 
 pat ? " 
 
 " Missy, you's makin' game o' me ! Eb'ry time 
 Dick drives de carriage ter de front dooe my 
 heart trembles like." 
 
 " I see only one way that I can help you. Go 
 and get a pencil and a sheet of paper. I'll write 
 Dick and Daniel ; then you may draw names, as 
 you did when you became my maid. After so 
 much trouble in deciding, remember, you must be 
 content with the one you get. 
 
 No time was to be lost ; the excited girl real-
 
 148 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 ised that her destiny was now about to be irrevo 
 cably decided. So casting aside her timidity, she 
 pleaded as if for her very life ! 
 
 " Oh, my dear missy, don't make me draw 
 papers, caise I likes Dick lots better dan Daniel." 
 
 " Foolish girl ! Why then all this useless talk. 
 Couldn't you have told me at first that you loved 
 the coachman. Of course he is more suited to 
 you than a corn-field hand. In a day or two I 
 suppose you'll be asking for wedding clothes and 
 a feast. 
 
 " I's so happy, ma'am. Won't Dick be glad when 
 I tell him ter-night dat we is goin' ter git married. 
 Do buy me a w'ite wedden dress, a w'ite veil an* 
 w'ite flowers an' w'ite gloves ; you know Miss 
 Julia King is done buy lots of putty t'ings ferher 
 Sara what's goin' ter marry Uncle Jack's son, 
 Sam ; won't you give Dick dat coat an' pants 
 massa say he don't want ? an' in de bureau drawer 
 is a w'ite vest tear down de back an' a pair of old 
 w'ite gloves." She did not make one pause in 
 her long request. 
 
 Our coachman's beaming face, the next morn 
 ing, clearly indicated that the engagement was 
 agreed on. And not waiting for orders, he asked, 
 as I entered the carriage, " Shall I drive to Mars 
 Gus' store, ma'am ? " 
 
 I looked at him, and suspecting what he was
 
 The Old South. 149 
 
 thinking of, replied, " You may stop there after 
 my call at Mrs. Rowland's." 
 
 On our homeward way Dick urged his horses 
 more than was his wont. In his heart there was 
 a longing to let it be known over the place that 
 Juno's wedding clothes were bought. Daniel, of 
 course, would hear the news, and would realize 
 that this prize was lost to him. 
 
 As the carriage stopped at the gate, a smiling 
 ginger-coloured face, from an upstairs window, 
 looked out; Juno's heart was thumping wildly. 
 
 When her trousseau was finished, Saturday 
 night was decided upon for the marriage. Early 
 in the week preparations began. 
 
 " Both is of de household fam'ly," said Uncle 
 Toby ; " de big pot must be put in de leetle pot." 
 
 He spoke with authority, as he had been asked 
 by Lydia to overlook the preliminary arrange 
 ments. 
 
 Accordingly , selecting twelve marriageable 
 girls, he gave to each an egg, instructing them 
 that at a given signal they must break them. 
 " Min' you," said he, " the first wench what puts 
 down her two half shells, keeping de yelk with 
 out marrin' it, by de law of fate must be de next 
 one ter have a wedden feast." 
 
 About this circle of joyous egg-breakers a 
 number of sturdy black fellows stood, wondering
 
 1 50 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 if they would stand as groom when the next cake 
 was made. 
 
 At the end of the table Daniel, short of stature, 
 peeped between Judy and Peggy, hoping one or 
 the other would win. 
 
 In slavery days, Southern masters supplied all 
 wedding feasts on their plantations with meat, 
 flour, sugar, butter, and coffee ; while friends of 
 the couple deemed it their pleasure to give 
 chickens and eggs. 
 
 Toby tried to see that supper was sufficient for 
 everybody to have " a right smart bite," other 
 wise, he declared, " dar would neber be any 
 chilluns." 
 
 Swansea, having no chapel, the wash-house was 
 cleared of tubs, its walls decked with cedar boughs 
 sprinkled with white-wash, and tufted with cotton 
 fleece. Two men and two girls stood as waiters. 
 It was so, in fact, that the expression, " When 
 you get married, I'll wait on you," originated. 
 
 By eight o'clock the open fire-place was ablaze 
 with resinous pine-knots. The room soon filled 
 with guests, each bringing his or her own bench. 
 In one corner was a soap-box covered with carpet. 
 This was for the watchman, Frank, who had come 
 from Green Forest to perform the ceremony. 
 
 " Dey is missy comin' now fer de w'ite veil," 
 many whispered.
 
 The Old South. 151 
 
 To ensure happiness at a negro wedding, the 
 tarlatan veil must be arranged by white fingers. 
 
 Like all brides and grooms, both Juno and 
 Dick tried to look their best. And any owner 
 would have been proud of them. As Frank 
 mounted the soap-box, a breathless silence 
 reigned. 
 
 " Bro' Toby," said he, "will you seedat de man 
 an' 'oman is jestly placed, deir right han's tightly 
 clasped." 
 
 " Now, bredderen an' sisteren, let us pray fer 
 de good estate of Israel. Blessed Lord, here is 
 a'sembly congregate in dis house made wid hands 
 ter witness de j'inin' of two of Israel chilluns. 
 We t'ank de, O Fadder, dat dey both on dem is 
 baptise chilluns of de chu'ch, sprinkled wid water 
 blessed in de riber Jordan dat day when a dove 
 come down. 
 
 " Send, O Lord, dis night, a blessin' ter rest 
 on de head of dis pair. Wid one mouth we is 
 prayin' dat so long as dey lives dey will neber 
 forgit what dey is 'bout ter promise. Earthly 
 love is teched deir heart. Lord, in dis solumn 
 hour, burn deir understandin' wid a coal of fire, 
 so dey kin neber 'bliterate from deir mind what 
 dey's goin' ter say." 
 
 " Amen ! amen ! " passed from one to another. 
 
 Looking intently at the groom, he continued :
 
 152 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 " Dick, my brudder, is you fully 'cided ter take 
 dis lovely lady you's holdin' by de hand ter be 
 your lawful weddin' wife?" 
 
 " I is, sah ! " 
 
 " Is you sure you'll love her forever an' ever, 
 better dan yourself?" 
 
 " Yes, sah." 
 
 " Is you willin' ter cut wood, bring water, an' 
 wait on um, not 'lone when she's sick, but when 
 she's well?" 
 
 " I is, sah." 
 
 With a touch of tenderness in his voice, Frank 
 continued : " Juno, my sister, you hears dese 
 good promises. Is you certain sure you loves 
 dis man, squeezin' your han', better dan all de 
 fellows galavantin' up an' down dis plantation ? " 
 he waved his hand over the crowd " Is you 
 made up your mind ter cook, patch, an' wash? 
 Is you willin' ter git up early o' cold mornin's, 
 when de stars is yit a-twinklin', so he breakfast 
 will be cooked t'rough an' t'rough ; not scorched 
 on top? Is you solumnly made up your mind 
 ter obey dis man ter de best of your knowledge ? " 
 
 Toby caught a faint response, and exclaimed, 
 " De lady say ' Yes ' ! " 
 
 " You both on you is now promised ; den in de 
 name of de Lord an' de chu'ch I sarves, wid de 
 consent of your massa an' missy, an* afore all
 
 The Old South. 153 
 
 dese people, I proclaims you both man an' wife. 
 Hunno people, hear what de good book says " 
 he lifted Lydia's English Bible to his lips and 
 kissed it " What is j'ined by de Gods let not 
 man or 'oman interfere wid ! " 
 
 Down from the soap-box he then stepped, lay 
 ing his black hand upon the couple's white 
 cotton gloves, that were in close touch. 
 
 " My brudder, take a bit of advice : When dis 
 lady gits fractious, as all does sometimes, neg- 
 lectin' your work, don't hit urn like a no-count 
 fellow, but jes you walk her straight ter your 
 massa. He's a good man, he'll set it right." 
 
 With still a ring of pathos in his tone, he 
 turned to the bride: "Sister, some day you'll 
 feel like grumbling ; all does. Jes you shet 
 your mouth tight, an' call to min' dis hour, when, 
 like a necklace of roses, de yoke was put ober 
 your head. Roses has prickies, but dey is sweet 
 an' purty. Amen ! " 
 
 He remounted his box, and, lifting both hands, 
 he enjoined : "Bredderen, wid one min' j'in me 
 in supplication : ' Dear Lord Jesus, dis man an' he 
 wife is 'clared in dis public 'sembly dat dey loves 
 one anodder an' 'tends ter be faithful an' true ter 
 todder. We is now come ter de t'rone of Grace 
 ter beg dat a blessed benediction will fall 
 down an' settle on deir head like early dew, what
 
 154 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 keep corn fresh an' green. When de sun gits 
 hot an' trouble comes, Lord, do hold dem like 
 de apple of dy eye, in de hollow of dy hand. 
 Amen!" 
 
 Bowing to the couple, he then said : " Will de 
 gent'man salute he bride wid a holy kiss square 
 in de mouth ? " 
 
 The smack resounded from the four corners of 
 the low ceiling. 
 
 " Amen ! amen ! " burst from the crowd. 
 
 Frank then spoke again : " Hunno people, by 
 de gen'rosity of we good w'ite folks, outside is a 
 table groanin' wid good eaten ; after you has 
 saluted de bride, you is Vited ter de feast. 
 
 In imitation of her mistress, Juno had placed 
 two five-cent pieces in her bride's cake. Her at 
 tendants, or waiters, cut for them. If a man should 
 get it, he would hang it on his watchless chain. 
 If a girl, she would hang in the centre of her 
 string of bright glass beads. 
 
 The supper eaten, music and dancing followed. 
 
 Negro marriages were always on Saturday, 
 friends on an adjoining plantation usually giving 
 a dinner in their honor on Sunday. This, then, 
 was their bridal tour.
 
 The Old South. 155 
 
 XIII. 
 How Can We I/et Missy Die? 
 
 "And statesmen at her council met 
 Who knew the seasons when to take 
 Occasion by the hand and make 
 
 The bounds of freedom wider yet." 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 IN time, another cradle needed to be rocked. 
 And who could sway it more gently than 
 Lydia? 
 
 " Mommer's got 'nother heir," she said, clasp 
 ing the tiny stranger to her bosom. " 'Nother 
 new-born child ; 'nother master ter love an' ter 
 take care of her when she's old. My sweet baby 
 boy ! I prays de Lord you'll be spared ter your 
 mommer." 
 
 Southern plantation-life was not a Utopia, 
 with days gliding by upon wings of ease. Sweet 
 dreams of young married life were, on the con 
 trary, often hampered by vexing cares. To keep 
 order required a steady head. To produce a 
 profitable crop, unremitting care. Men, women, 
 and children needed to be clothed and fed, and
 
 156 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 growing youths required constant change in the 
 patterns of their clothes. 
 
 Complaints frequently came to me: "Missy, 
 jes look at my breeches! Aunt Clarinda mak' 
 dem fer high-water time ; dey is so tight I can't 
 set down. My jacket won't button, an' I couldn't 
 hug a gal wid it on." 
 
 Other boys had, then, to be put into these ill- 
 fitting garments. Slaves, or negroes, too, not 
 having the elastic constitution of factory work 
 ers, died suddenly from cold or exposure. 
 
 Doctors turn out of bed cheerfully, or at least 
 promptly, for gold, but for a child-wife to do so 
 because some old woman declared, "If missy 
 didn't come she would die," seemed hard ; yet 
 their illness represented uninvested capital from 
 which no interest accrued, with added expense 
 of doctor and nurse. Therefore, self-interest 
 prompted a care of the sick. 
 
 It mattered not what ailed a negro pain in 
 the head, body, or chest the forehead invariably 
 had to be bound with a band of white cloth; 
 picturesque, it is true, but to them always sugges 
 tive of pain. They cured sore throat by tightly 
 strapping a tuft of hair on the top of the head ; lift 
 ing, thus, an obtrusive palate. Sighs and groans 
 greeted us every morning : " I's so sick I kin 
 hardly hold up my haid ! "
 
 The Old South. 157 
 
 Caesar's delight was to empty the contents of a 
 castor-oil bottle down his capacious throat. My 
 husband and I have spent hours and hours at 
 night beside ill men or women, not daring to 
 leave the giving of medicine to a nodding granny. 
 
 As may be expected, shamming was not un 
 usual. Lydia, in fact, often spoke of two in 
 stances. Jed, a negro seamstress of an old lady 
 living near Green Forest, hearing of a basket of 
 pinafores to be finished, came one morning with 
 her right hand encased in a meal-poultice. She 
 said she had been roused from sleep by a sudden 
 pain. 
 
 Home-remedies failing, a physician was sum 
 moned. He found neither splinter, rising, nor 
 any symptom of erysipelas; but her will closed 
 her fingers, and nothing could relax the muscles. 
 Thereafter, her life was a state of supreme lei 
 sure, her arm slung to her shoulder. Lydia and 
 her children often caught sight of her open 
 fingers ; but she carried a cake-canister key, and 
 so their lips were sealed. Her hand remained 
 closed until the shackles of slavery were snapped. 
 
 Lydia, with her "w'ite chilluns," sometimes 
 visited old Silvia, bedridden for twenty years. 
 
 Her master, a physician, tried exercise in a 
 hoop suspended from the ceiling, but, left alone, 
 Silvia tumbled to the floor in a lump, her spine
 
 158 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 seeming not strong enough to keep her erect. 
 But, for that matter, with her desire to collapse, 
 no power on earth could have prevented it. 
 
 Her master finally left off all experiments, 
 making her surroundings as comfortable as pos 
 sible. During the war he died, but old Silvia 
 was cared for still, and seemed quite reconciled 
 to her long confinement. 
 
 When the news of freedom reached her, she 
 arose with full power over her legs and spine ; for 
 she had kept them supple by walking at night, 
 while her owners slept. Many negroes knew of 
 her deception, but they feared to inform on her, 
 lest they be treated to a cup of cold poison that 
 she kept concealed. 
 
 Both pleasures and trials surrounded us, and 
 so months doubled into years. In Lydia's cabin 
 there was peace, if not happiness ; and Robin 
 drifted into "a husband of no importance." 
 
 Every one living north of Mason and Dixon's 
 line, without regard to colour, gloried in their 
 freedom. 
 
 South of that latitude thousands wore the yoke 
 of slavery. 
 
 Stephen A. Douglas and other agitators, wish 
 ing to extend the boundary of slave-owning 
 states, waxed hot in discussion. Men delegated 
 to make and amend laws in the Capitol at Wash-
 
 The Old South. 159 
 
 ington, now set their constituency a bad example ; 
 reason lost sway ; for members on the same sena 
 torial benches flew at each other with fiery, hasty 
 words. Sermons and political speeches resounded 
 with the keynote, " Set the negro free ! Colonise 
 them in Liberia ! " Abolition zeal waxed hot, 
 and many negroes were shipped to their native 
 country. Sambo and Cudgo, however, worked 
 their way home, preferring, they said, bondage 
 with clothing and civilisation, to freedom in 
 Liberia. 
 
 Since Captain Hawkins venturesome purchase 
 in 1620, years had passed. Smouldering fires 
 now began to break forth. Under the Stars and 
 Stripes, a glorious union was in danger of being 
 rent asunder. Eventually, our lovely southern 
 homes were engulfed and destroyed, like Pom 
 peii of old, with crumbling walls and heaps of 
 ashes to mark the spots. 
 
 Of the civil war the merest thread will be given, 
 and only as it affected the life of both Lydia and 
 Marlborough. 
 
 South Carolina seceded December 2d, 1860, 
 declaring herself capable of governing her own 
 State affairs. Others followed. Jefferson Davis, 
 of Mississippi, was subsequently elected President 
 of the Confederacy, and Richmond, Virginia, 
 named as its Capital.
 
 160 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 A standing army and navy, commanded by of 
 ficers from West Point and Annapolis, supported 
 by a powerful government at Washington, able 
 instantly to mass and reinforce her troops, should 
 have intimidated a young Confederacy, restricted 
 in materials of warfare and with a wide area over 
 which to disperse her men. But with the words, 
 " Andaces fortuna Juvat," a cry rang wildly 
 over the south, " To arms ! to arms ! " Men and 
 boys buckled on their accoutrements, and, with 
 kisses and words of encouragement from wives, 
 mothers, sisters and sweethearts still warm on their 
 lips, banded into companies and regiments, rush 
 ing to the front, hoping to return wearing the 
 victor's crown. 
 
 Southern gentlemen stuck their heels higher 
 than their heads, smoke curling from the finest of 
 Havana cigars, and laughed at the impudence 
 
 of northern statesmen : "Let the Yankees 
 
 come, we can whip them ; batter down any 
 barrier ; blow up any gunboat daring to interfere 
 on our seacoast." 
 
 The first cannon was fired from Fort Sumter 
 in this spirit. 
 
 Letha and I had spent many a Saturday holi 
 day there, with General Edward C. Anderson. 
 
 Our country " flowed with milk and honey," and 
 money was plentiful. The soil was red with
 
 The Old South. 161 
 
 iron ore. But no one ventured to dig for richer 
 gains, content with its surface-yield of cotton. 
 
 Living in sunny rooms adjoining " Uncle Tom's 
 Cabin," few negroes surmised why white people 
 fought. Lydia listened with interest to details 
 in newspapers, never dreaming, however, that 
 her master would leave his family for the battle 
 field. 
 
 In the south, as well as in the north, breakfast 
 on Sunday is alway late ; and in ante-bellum days 
 it was luxuriously so. The presence too of war 
 in nowise caused any well-to-do southerner to 
 modify this custom. One Sunday Revilo and I 
 were standing on the front piazza, in the spring 
 sunshine, listening to a pet canary, that vied with 
 wild birds in their morning song ; the air was 
 perfumed with roses, and on every side ducks and 
 chickens quacked, clucked, and scratched, regard 
 less of this day of rest. 
 
 Edward appeared at the front door. In his 
 hand he held a long peacock brush. He then 
 scraped first one, then the other, bare foot, 
 touched his forelock, and said, " Missy, massa, 
 ma say de vittals is on de table pipin' hot." 
 
 Hardly was the blessing said, when the boy 
 bounded to the front window, exclaiming " Law ! 
 yonders Mars Charley wid all he regiments on ; 
 
 an' it's Sunday too ! " 
 II
 
 162 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 Every one rushed to the garden gate, fly-brush 
 as well. 
 
 Reining in his horse the young officer shouted : 
 " Meet us at Barnard's landing, Yankee gun 
 boats are steaming up the Riseburg! " 
 
 Having discharged his first active duty, he 
 wheeled his horse, and disappeared. 
 
 " My husband uttered a shrill whistle, which was 
 answered promptly by Dick. " Saddle Romeo at 
 once, with my cavalry saddle ; be ready in your 
 uniform to mount Juliet and go with me." 
 
 He ran up the garden-walk and up the stairs, 
 two steps at a bound, and quickly donned a gray 
 fatigue uniform. With a word of cheer to me, 
 he leaped into his saddle, waved an adieu at the 
 avenue gate, and was gone. 
 
 Joy and happiness had dwelt in our home ; 
 now it appeared shrouded with approaching 
 death and separation. Quick firing guns and 
 cannon drowned the song of birds and the 
 cackle of poultry. Edward resumed his post, 
 manfully fighting greedy and pestiferous flies ; 
 Lydia stood at the steps holding in her arms 
 our crowing baby ; Juno, with a plate of hot waf 
 fles, found the table deserted ; so she looked about 
 and joined those at the front gate ; Maria, the 
 cook, hearing confusion, rushed through the 
 house with hot fluffy biscuits for her master.
 
 The Old South. 163 
 
 He was gone, his pockets bulging with carbine 
 ammunition. Mute with amazement, no one 
 spoke until Juno screamed, " Missy's w'ite as a 
 ghos'." Kind insensibility released the tension, 
 and I fell to the ground. 
 
 Runners rushed to the village for doctor or 
 friends. Not a white man was to be found. The 
 clergyman even was absent ; for with sermon in 
 hand, he was on his way to Barnard's landing. 
 
 " What is we to do ? We can't let missy die, 
 an* massa's away," the negroes cried. 
 
 Lydia stroked my brow, and did her best to 
 console. " Don't min' dat rumblin' ; in spring 
 dere is always t'under in de air," yet not a cloud 
 obscured the sky, "you couldn't hear shootin' 
 at Barnard's landin* ; dat's way down by Pleasant 
 Grove chu'ch." 
 
 Bowl after bowl of gruel, during the day, was 
 sent to my bedside : " Beg missy to take one 
 spoonful fer Chloe, Clarinder, or Peggy," each 
 said, respectively. 
 
 In its circuit the sun traveled down, down be 
 low the horizon. No word of the exaggerated 
 accounts of the killed and wounded were repeated 
 upstairs. At nightfall the firing ceased. After 
 tucking " her baby boy " in bed, Lydia snored in a 
 rocking-chair. Juno nodded beside my bed, in 
 termittently brushing away mosquitoes.
 
 1 64 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 A sound of horses' hoofs came. " Massa's safe," 
 a chorus of voices shouted. " Massa's safe, t'ank 
 de Lord !" 
 
 " Massa's safe ag'in," cried Dick ; " but Mars 
 Charley's stiff daid, dem Yankees shot him t'rough 
 an' t'rough de heart. We is licked de Yankees, 
 Massa's comin' home in de mornin*. We is 
 whipped de Yankees ? Hurrah ! hurrah ! " 
 
 Excited voices of the negroes took up the 
 refrain. 
 
 Lydia spread for herself a pallet beside the 
 crib, bidding Juno do the same in the hall. 
 
 I slept, and dreamed that Revilo had returned 
 untouched by a bullet. In my joy I extended 
 my arms and clasped my husband round his neck. 
 I awoke ! He had returned ; and, without rous 
 ing maid or nurse, was actually leaning over me, 
 listening to my murmur of joy. 
 
 I am sure that similar scenes took place all 
 over Siberty County that fair Sunda)^, when, for 
 the first time, many men and boys faced belching 
 cannon. 
 
 In feverish expectancy we awaited our news 
 paper. The columns were full of accounts of the 
 bombarding of Fort Sumter. Later news came 
 of bloodshed elsewhere. The paper reported, 
 also, " Yankees and Rebels are at it like cats and 
 dogs."
 
 The Old South. 165 
 
 Southerners firmly believed that England, our 
 "mother country," would interfere. To prevent 
 a cotton famine in her land she must interpose. 
 And though many wails of distress arose in Lan 
 cashire, and other English factory-districts, not 
 a finger did Great Britain lift. We soon realised 
 that we had to rely solely upon ourselves and our 
 own meagre resources. 
 
 Battle succeeded battle. The Monitor and 
 Merrimac had their say ; defeat, victory, cannon, 
 and soldiers changed positions. 
 
 History has shown that the most bitter and 
 also the most hopeful in this unnatural strife 
 were women. Lydia could not be reconciled to 
 her master going to the front. And when, owing 
 to failing sight, he was ordered home, no one 
 rejoiced more than she at his return to Swansea. 
 
 It is a well-known fact that southern officers 
 and men went to camp attended by one or more 
 of their slaves. Chim sent Marlborough with her 
 brother Fleming, a captain of cavalry ; she hoped 
 that the change of scene and excitement of army 
 life would rouse him from the lethargy into which 
 he had lapsed after Lydia's marriage in the 
 nursery. His assistant, Amos, Lily's eldest son, 
 enjoyed the tramp, tramp of soldiers and the 
 beating of drums, and his merry whistle sounded 
 in the woods where his master's horses were teth-
 
 1 66 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 ered. Flourishing an old cavalry pistol, minus a 
 lock, he was more self-important than the general 
 in command. Many messages reached his girl at 
 home: "Don't be dancin' wid no 'count fellows, 
 'fore long we is goin' ter lick de Yankees, den I'll 
 come wid a cockade in my hat. You'll be proud 
 ter hang on ter de arm of a real live soldier."
 
 The Old South. 167 
 
 XIV. 
 An Indian War Dance. 
 
 " Wherefore I hold him best at ease 
 That lives content with his estate." 
 
 RICHARD CARLETON. 
 
 SHERMAN'S onward march to the sea made 
 it necessary for us to quit Swansea : par 
 tial blindness would not protect Revilo from 
 capture. We, therefore, left Maria and her hus 
 band Will in charge of our house and its effects. 
 
 Lydia hurriedly packed two trunks, and we left 
 for Mason, where my sisters had gone for safety. 
 Then the plantation negroes, with their master 
 (he the only white person) started through the 
 country for western Georgia. 
 
 In Revilo's heart there was no thought of fear 
 to intensify the hardships of camping at night. 
 His so-called " driven slaves " guarded and cared 
 for him with tenderness. 
 
 In a wild and barren section they settled a 
 home. Cutting down young pines, they peeled
 
 1 68 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 off the outer bark, under which were often found 
 the deadly chaintail scorpion. 
 
 To shelter a large force was no easy matter, 
 and building cabins without even one nail made 
 the labour more difficult. Merrily singing round 
 a blazing log-heap, women and boys whittled 
 wooden pins, as substitutes for nails. Clap 
 boards were then skilfully hung one over another 
 on rough-hewn pine-rafters. 
 
 In that country a fire-brick had never been 
 seen, yet each cabin needed to have a chimney. 
 These were built of sticks and daubed with clay, 
 in real pine-hut fashion. Snugly housed, our ne 
 groes joyfully undertook to build a larger cabin 
 for me their absent mistress, their master en 
 couraging them to use their best skill. 
 
 Alas ! window glass was as scarce as nails. 
 One small opening in the side had before it a 
 wooden-pinned clapboard shutter. A door simi 
 larly constructed hung on wooden hinges, its 
 only inside fastening, an oaken latch, controlled 
 by a swaying cotton cord from the outside. 
 
 Revilo now wrote, asking us to leave Mason for 
 our future home. 
 
 To me it had been a joy to see my sisters safe, 
 and Lydia was jubilant at meeting Old Soul and 
 many of the children of her former fellow -labour 
 ers, who were removed to Mason for safety.
 
 The Old South. 169 
 
 Chim, with her little son, was there, and Letha, 
 too, with her fatherless infant. 
 
 On Saturday night before we left, a sad occur 
 rence spread a gloom over every one. A negro lad 
 with a blind eye and partly deaf, was shot while 
 stealing potatoes from a one-legged soldier ; 
 these yams were all the soldier had to keep wife 
 and children from starving. 
 
 Israel the lad told, on his deathbed, how a 
 black man gave him a Confederate bill to help 
 him fill a bag at the potato bank. " Beg de Lord 
 ter pardon you, Israel," Lydia pleaded. " Mars 
 C. C. say when we is in earnest de God in heaven 
 hears we cry." 
 
 The wounded boy replied : " I is, aunt Lyddy. 
 I is so sorry. Don't you 'member how Sam'l 
 call de Lord, an' he answer, ' Here is me, 
 Sam'l?'" 
 
 The spark of divine truth, grasped by him in the 
 wash-house Sunday-school, led him to the foot 
 of the cross. Tuesday, in a drizzling rain that 
 froze into sparkling crystals on the trees, his 
 body was borne to the graveyard in a rude pine 
 coffin, blackened with diluted soot. Frank, the 
 watchman, was not there, but a coloured Baptist 
 preacher offered a prayer, with words of warning 
 to his young companions who peered into the 
 yawning grave.
 
 i;o Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 The next day we started for the pineland 
 home, where the season of planting corn was at 
 its height. The negroes often asked, " How will 
 missy live in de log-pen, not so good as de poor 
 est cabin at Green Forest or Swansea? " 
 
 On Thursday, after a wearisome drive of four 
 teen miles over a sandy road, we neared our des 
 tination. Shadows dim and dimmer outlined 
 themselves as the wind lazily sighed in pine 
 needles overhead. 
 
 In a tumble-down vehicle, the jogging trot of 
 two mules lulled our party into sleepy uncon 
 sciousness. Dick roused himself occasionally, to 
 cluck to his stubborn team. Lydia nodded, with 
 " her baby boy " in her arms, forgetting that she 
 would soon see her husband. Turning a sharp 
 curve in the country road, a dazzling glare sud 
 denly roused us from dreams and reveries. 
 
 " Indians ! " I cried, muffling my voice ; " there 
 are a tribe of Indians dancing their war dance. 
 See ! their feathers are waving above the flaming 
 torches! Turn quickly, Dick, and drive for your 
 life. If they see us, we will all be scalped. Oh ! 
 why did we leave Swansea? We would have 
 been better treated by the Yankees than by these 
 wild devils." 
 
 Lydia leaned out of one window ; her master 
 out the other ; while our tired mules stood stock-
 
 The Old South. 171 
 
 still, backing their long ears, their tails upright in 
 fright over such an unusual sight. A shout rent 
 the air as the smoke lifted ; and as the fantastic 
 dancers caught a glimpse of our carriage, they 
 shot forward. 
 
 Lydia screamed, " Ain't no Injins ; it's we 
 people. Dey is Uncle Sawney wid a burnin' 
 light'ood knot. Wake up, my 'baby-boy,' we 
 niggars is come ter welcome deir little massa." 
 Joyous as a school-girl, she greeted one after the 
 other. 
 
 In concert, the negroes then joined in a favourite 
 plantation-song : 
 
 "Come love, come, 
 De boat lies low, 
 She lies high an' dry 
 On de Ohio." 
 
 At the new cabin, women lifted me through its 
 door. No room ever looked more attractive. 
 Upon its rough-hewn log floor, covered with dry 
 wire grass, was stretched a carpet, the pattern 
 identical with one at Swansea. On the clay- 
 daubed wall hung two familiar pictures. Pine 
 logs blazed and snapped, and on each side of the 
 large fire-place stood two empty rocking-chairs 
 and a child's arm-chair. 
 
 Ephraim never could be likened to an un-
 
 172 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 turned cake before that blaze ; for, in self-defense, 
 he would shift his position. 
 
 The sweet perfume of roses makes one confi 
 dent that roses are near ; so, at this unexpected 
 sight of rocking-chairs, carpet and pictures, I 
 knew love and devotion surrounded us. Our 
 negroes left Swansea in a desperate hurry, ex- 
 pecting daily the arrival of the enemy. Revilo 
 afterward told me that it was with difficulty he 
 could make them put essential food and clothing 
 into the wagons, so determined they were that 
 their absent mistress should have a few of her 
 former comforts. Under these trying and unusual 
 circumstances their actions left no doubt of their 
 true devotion. 
 
 Lydia named this home Pine Knot, because 
 the clapboard door was covered with rough knots. 
 One room was furnished as parlour and dining- 
 room, with a rude pine table, pinned together with 
 wooden pins ; placed around it were benches 
 similar to aunt Sallie's Sunday-school seat ; not, 
 indeed, ever likely to make one loiter in the hope 
 of courses, not to be served. A frisky young 
 mule's heels had shattered a barrel of china, packed 
 at Swansea ; we, therefore, now used blue plates, 
 brown cups, and white saucers : each, too, of 
 different shape, and belonging mostly to Lydia 
 and Juno.
 
 The Old South. 173 
 
 Outward appearances mattered little to us, so 
 long as our appetites were appeased. Of water 
 and wood there was no lack. Dried blackberry 
 and strawberry leaves, steeped, supplied us with 
 tea. Juno brewed coffee from parched rye and 
 acorn kernels. Lydia made " her boy's " tea of 
 milk and water, without sugar. 
 
 This, in truth, embittered her against the Yan 
 kees more than ever. 
 
 With Confederate money, bank-notes, and even 
 gold we could not procure necessary food ; nor 
 yet raiment. We did grow sufficient corn, or 
 maize, to ward the wolf from our door ; yet with 
 neither salt nor soda, and very little butter, food 
 was tasteless. Sawney churned what butter we 
 did have, by shaking a black bottle up and down, 
 till the thin milk from our wire-grass-fed cow con 
 gealed or thickened into a white, frothy substance. 
 Even the keenest appetite found dry cornbread 
 tasteless, served as it was three times daily, ac 
 companied but seldom with a rasher of poor, 
 smelly bacon. Without salt in a hot climate, 
 beef would not keep. Like the Indians, we 
 " jerked it." 
 
 Juno did her best in the kitchen, grumbling 
 meanwhile because the Yankees did not let her 
 have soda ; her master, she said, always paid cash 
 for what he bought. Simple-hearted Juno ! The
 
 174 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 restrictions of a blockade were too profound for 
 her untutored mind. My limited knowledge of 
 chemistry, however, added greatly to Juno's hap 
 piness, when I showed her how to lighten corn- 
 bread with corn-cob ashes. The thought is sug 
 gestive of grit, I admit, yet the alkaline liquid, 
 mixed with a watery butter-milk, greatly improved 
 the corn-bread. 
 
 At the first experiment Juno screamed with de 
 light, calling, " Ma, you an' aunt Clarinda jes 
 come an' peep in de oven ; de corn bread is a 
 spillin' over de pan." 
 
 She could scarcely wait till the browning, so 
 great was her desire to sample the loaf. Poultry 
 required time to multiply, of course, and ours, 
 also, were too well bred to sleep in log coops, 
 preferring tree-limbs instead. The pine forest 
 was alive with hawks and owls, and so, while they 
 feasted on poultry, we ate dry bread. " Frizzle- 
 top," one of our finest hens, made for herself a 
 nest on the earthen floor of our dairy. I kept a 
 strict account of her eggs, but day after day one 
 disappeared. 
 
 Lydia then took the matter in hand. She was 
 determined to find out who was stealing these 
 eggs, suspecting her son Edward. 
 
 Howls from behind her cabin, and a broken 
 birch flourishing in her hand, later told the story.
 
 The Old South. 175 
 
 " I sees yaller marks 'bout your mouth ! Is you 
 forgot how Israel is all turned ter decompose, all 
 caise he took potatoes what wa'n't his. I means 
 ter t'rash you eb'ry time you eats an aigg." 
 
 " Ma, I's innocent," protested the boy, " you 
 ask missy if I eat dem aiggs. She has eyes all 
 round her head, an' sees eb'ry blessed t'ing I 
 does." 
 
 But Lydia was unconvinced. 
 
 The mystery was solved, however, when Dick 
 killed, near the dairy, a house-snake, and, sever 
 ing it, in the centre, out burst an egg in perfect 
 shell, with another partly digested. 
 
 Edward clapped his hands with delight, saying : 
 " It's always so. I gits all de lickin' ; de snake de 
 good eatin'. " 
 
 Food was not our only want ; for scarcely a day 
 passed but some one asked, " When is we ter git 
 new clothes ? " 
 
 " Missy," Caesar said, " my old 'oman Chloe 
 is patch an' patch ; now she's cut off my coat- 
 tail fer seat my breeches. All my life I's been 
 a ladies' man ; de best beau on de place ; but 
 now I's shame fer go 'mongst de gals ; dey laughs 
 at my coat widout any tail, an' my cowhides wid 
 cypress soles makes such a racket, folks is got no 
 chance ter steal a kiss." 
 
 Not a negro woman at Pine Knot understood
 
 176 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 the art of carding and spinning, nor yet of weav 
 ing. We therefore engaged Mrs. Johns, " a 
 cracker " living near by, to come and teach Juno 
 and others. 
 
 The term " cracker " applied to poor whites 
 comes from their habit of walking beside small 
 carts cracking a long whip. And no greater in 
 sult could be offered to a negro than to compare 
 him to a " poor cracker." " Buckra," meaning 
 rich white folks, originated in Africa, where Mun- 
 go Park was called by the natives the " good 
 buckra man." 
 
 We were fortunate in being able to get two 
 pairs of cards and a spinning wheel. But money 
 could not obtain a loom ; no one would part with 
 theirs. Pine-land crackers suddenly found a 
 market for home-woven cloth. 
 
 Unable to buy a loom, then, our only recourse 
 seemed to be that of making one. This we did ; 
 first, by constructing a miniature model in corn 
 stalks, pinned together with lightwood splinters, 
 instead of nails or tacks. Our carpenter was not 
 skilled in work outside the usual line of planta 
 tion cabin-building, but, with failures and trials, 
 we did, eventually, get a loom, with all its intri 
 cate trappings. Possessed of a loom, with hanks 
 upon hanks of homespun cotton-thread, we were 
 yet as far from the art of weaving cloth as ever.
 
 The Old South. 177 
 
 Mrs. Johns, in consideration of a roll of paper 
 money, came to give Juno her first lesson, siz 
 ing the thread. 
 
 Having dismounted and tethered her " critter," 
 she left it to graze on wire-grass ; she then threw 
 back over her shoulders the front ends of a three- 
 cornered shawl, worn persistently on the hottest 
 day in summer or on the coldest in winter. Her 
 split-board bonnet, tied under her chin, went, with 
 one shove, to the "waterfall " of her hair, disclos 
 ing a leathery thick skin. It was of the same 
 dirty sallow colour of all "cracker" women 
 throughout the country, although these sun-pro 
 tectors should have ensured a fair complexion ; 
 for they are never removed except to be supplant 
 ed by a nightcap. 
 
 Juno was on a broad grin during the entire 
 lesson ; for " crackers " were unaccustomed to 
 servants. 
 
 " Gin I come ag'in be you sure ter have these 
 cob-spools well covered ! " said Mrs. Johns. 
 
 Alas, when she came the second time no reel 
 had been burned through the center. 
 
 " You stupid, dingy, black, ginger-coloured nig- 
 gars," she said, with a scowl, " didn't you know 
 dose cobs had ter go on ter de warpin' bars? " 
 
 We did not. 
 
 The cabin that was built for the loom was now 
 
 12
 
 1 78 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 a place of great interest. Day after day we 
 watched the cloth increase, the click, click, of a 
 hand-swung shuttle making novel and unusual 
 music. Juno, happily, manifested such excellence 
 in weaving that she left the kitchen to reign 
 supreme at the loom. 
 
 Our negroes were not alone in their needs ; for 
 our own garments showed the wear and tear of 
 time. Ten, twenty, fifty-dollar Confederate bills 
 were plentiful ; but no paper signed by Jefferson 
 Davis, and guaranteed by his government, could, 
 alas, cover protruding elbows and knees. 
 
 Our slaves fared better than we ; they still had 
 frocks of Green Forest's dead mistress for Sunday 
 clothes. And how they delighted to flaunt their 
 flounces on festive occasions ! This habit, too, of 
 giving to them half-worn gowns enhanced, doubt 
 less, their love for furbelows and gewgaws. Mid 
 dle-aged negro women always laid aside one gown 
 to be used as a burial robe. Nothing could re 
 voke the doom when once a dress was dedicated 
 to the tomb. 
 
 Chloe's thrift in patching her husband's gar 
 ments suggested to me the idea of renovating my 
 worn sleeves and bodices. Like the last rose of 
 summer, one Sunday frock now hung alone on a 
 wooden peg of our clay-daubed wall. The attic 
 a'; Swansea could have supplied me with many
 
 The Old South. 179 
 
 beautiful bits, had the house and all it contained 
 been other than a heap of ashes. 
 
 On Lydia's cabin-cleaning day, she spread all 
 her belongings upon the grass to sun. 
 
 Surprised, I asked, " Have you that byadier silk 
 dress yet?" " I have never seen you wear it." 
 
 " No ma'am ; I's never put it on ; it's my bu'ial 
 robe." 
 
 " Lydia, it's just the thing to make my old gray 
 silk perfect. I'll give you a new one-hundred dol 
 lar Confederate bill for it." 
 
 " Uncle Toby, what knows, says ef you changes 
 your mind 'bout coffin-clothes you'll sure ter die. 
 Please, missy, don't ask me fer it ; I ain't ready ter 
 leave ' my baby boy ; ' he couldn't get along wid- 
 out his mommer." 
 
 Neatly folded, the byadier dress was put into 
 her chest, with an old English inlaid snuff-box her 
 mother had left her, an heirloom of her master, 
 Squire Jameston. 
 
 Orchards blossomed into full leaf again ; winter 
 birds cast their sombre hues ; and their brilliant 
 plumage flashed in the sun. Thus, nature seemed 
 making ready to join in a glad Easter morning. 
 
 More than one southern woman that Easter 
 tide sighed over her inability to wear a new gown 
 on Easter Sunday. In the first part of Holy 
 week Dick and his master drove to Halby. On
 
 i8o Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 their return, forgetting his tired mules, stamping 
 at the gate, Dick awaited the opening of a store- 
 bundle he had deposited upon the dining-room 
 table : " It's feryou, missy," he said, and his wide 
 spread mouth showed his delight. 
 
 " Ten yards of heavy Osnaburg for me ! " I 
 exclaimed, showing as great joy as a child over 
 its first wax doll. "You paid sixty dollars a yard ! 
 What a lovely gift ! " That Easter Sunday birds 
 and flowers had a rival in our log church. 
 
 Lydia never gave her daughter any peace until 
 there was cloth woven for a new suit for her 
 master. It was made of wool drawn from the 
 edge of our mattress cotton put in its place. 
 A concoction, made of herbs, dyed the warp 
 and woof a brown tint. Five women kept this 
 secret. 
 
 One Saturday night new trousers, waistcoat, and 
 coat hung on a wooden pin, in place of thread 
 bare garments. 
 
 A spirit of friendly jealousy arose the next day 
 at church, when the home-made garments were 
 examined, much to the annoyance of the wearer, 
 who vowed never to don another home-made 
 suit. Paying, as we did, six hundred dollars for 
 one dress, is it surprising that pockets were empty 
 of both handkerchiefs and gloves? It seemed 
 fashionable to be without them.
 
 The Old South. 181 
 
 Hair-pins were as few as hairs upon " Uncle 
 Ned's head." 
 
 Finding a bit of wire, our negro men bent and 
 ground it into shape, giving Lydia the pleasure 
 of presenting me with a dozen hair pins ; hand 
 made and most valuable, it is true, but pulling 
 uncomfortably my hair. Needles and pins were 
 scarce, and a diamond brooch seemed not more 
 valuable than a steel needle, capable of dragging 
 after it, through hand-loom cloth, a length of 
 home-spun thread. 
 
 Lydia's next ambition was to have fine material 
 woven for " her boy's" first knee-pants. 
 
 With a goose-quill dipped into soot, previously 
 mixed with molasses, we wrote letters on scraps 
 of wall paper, thus keeping in touch with sorrow 
 ing friends. At that date nearly every one was 
 weeping for some kinsman. Envelopes we cut 
 from the same figured paper, and sealed them 
 with gum that had exuded from peach or plum- 
 trees. There was not a spoonful of flour in our 
 larder for paste, nor for food. 
 
 Newspapers reached us occasionally, printed 
 on the reverse side of the same nondescript flow 
 ered wall-paper. 
 
 Housewives of the south daily taxed their 
 ingenuity to supply immediate wants. They
 
 1 82 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 were allied to their sisters, the five foolish virgins, 
 having no oil for lamps. 
 
 A burning resinous pine-knot seemed our only 
 way of dispelling the darkness of night. In Au 
 gust, too ! Sawney gained permission to go to the 
 sea-coast, where he boiled hard berries of the sea- 
 myrtle, and, to our delight, returned with a fine 
 cake of sea-green wax. Not a neighbour possessed 
 a candle-mould ; and, of course, workers in tin 
 were at the front, baring their breasts to cannon 
 balls. 
 
 We dipped yard-lengths of twisted cotton- 
 thread into this melted wax, and, when ready to 
 light it, wound it round the neck of a black 
 bottle, one end erect. This served for candle and 
 candle-stick. 
 
 The friction of flint and steel took the place of 
 matches. 
 
 Peruvian bark from swamps gave us needed 
 quinine. 
 
 Every one planted poppies, the creamy juice 
 exuding from green seed-pods when pierced, be 
 ing really opium in its crude state. The per 
 fumed leaves of the Queen of flowers we gath 
 ered for druggists' compounds. 
 
 The Government allowed but one physician to 
 every twenty square miles, and, as may be sup- 
 posed, he was in great demand. Indeed, a messen-
 
 The Old South 183 
 
 ger for one often travelled in vain from house to 
 house. 
 
 There was little medicine save concoctions 
 made from herbs, the component parts of which 
 southern women soon learned to know. 
 
 Nothing was wasted ; salt brine even, from 
 fish or meat, was boiled and clarified with egg 
 shells. This process precipitated a fine salt, 
 much prized for table use. 
 
 Our teeth decayed indiscriminately. Den 
 tists were in the army. Sufferers endured hours 
 of anguish, their faces muffled in scorched cotton. 
 
 Negroes will not bear toothache. A tooth 
 that ached had to be extracted. 
 
 And so Sawney, when hurriedly leaving Swan 
 sea, put into the wagon a massive pair of forceps. 
 
 When Lydia heard that Sawney was about to 
 extract a great molar, she was always present 
 with her little master, to see the fun and give 
 advice : 
 
 " Be sure you stick dat tooth in de chim 
 ney-jam, else your truck patch ain't no 'count fer 
 peas or beans, caise Bro' Toby say it's de Gospel 
 truth dat Bro' Rabbit an' Bro' Wolf once on a 
 time had a big quarrel 'bout teeth. Bro' Wolf, 
 grinnin', laughed at Bro' Rabbit's little teeth." 
 
 " Den Bro' Rabbit he squat on he hind legs an' 
 answer: 'You needn't be a-braggin'. If I's a
 
 1 84 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 min* ter, I kin show teeth bigger dan you 
 has. ' " 
 
 '"You stuck-up w'ite-tail varmin,' said Bro' 
 Wolf, ' fer eb'ry tooth bigger dan mine you bring 
 me' an' he open he jaw wide ' I'll pull out a 
 palin' in a truck patch so you kin eat a good 
 supper.' 
 
 " Bro' Rabbit found lots of nigger teeth in de 
 trash heap 'long side de cabin ; so deir was many 
 a truck patch eat up of nights." 
 
 The art of tanning leather was not understood 
 in the south, but inasmuch as negroes could work 
 well and comfortably without shoes, they felt no 
 deprivation in having to go without foot-wear. 
 But hats they must have, to protect them from a 
 broiling summer sun. It was then by a happy 
 chance that we discovered that wire-grass was 
 suitable for this need. 
 
 Lydia, too, recalled having seen her old 
 mother Nancy steep the ends of a gobbler's tail 
 in hot water, after threading them in the order 
 in which they grew. The softened quills were 
 then easily compressed, and spread into fan- 
 shape. 
 
 This luxury we greatly needed in our log 
 church, where Sunday after Sunday we listened 
 to two sermons, each an hour long. Many a day 
 the thermometer would have registered ninety-
 
 The Old South. 185 
 
 nine and a half degrees in the shade, had we had 
 such a thing. 
 
 Our one young gobbler at Pine Knot, who 
 seemed as fond of a strut as a Hyde Park beau, 
 now stalked or circled about his hens just as 
 bravely without his appendage. His tail did sacri 
 ficial duty in church ; getting me, too, into un 
 measured trouble. For, thereafter, messenger 
 after messenger came to Pine Knot with turkey 
 feathers, saying, " Missy is pull out we gobbler 
 tail ; she say won't you make um into a fan gin 
 next Sunday? " 
 
 At other times the quills were sent with a strip 
 of wall paper attached. It read : " So sorry to 
 trouble you. I have done my best and failed ; 
 please, will you finish this fan, for your loving 
 friend ? " 
 
 Love-work does not always pay. The more 
 considerate, however, sent me either a brace of 
 partridges, caught in a trap, a bit of home- 
 tanned sheep-skin, or a comb of wild honey. 
 
 No one, it is true, at this period, was wearing 
 silken gloves of ease. 
 
 How great a thing it is not to be miserable 
 when skies grow black, and to be content with 
 one's lot !
 
 1 86 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 XV. 
 The Parson's Dagger. 
 
 "Grief and joy and hope and fear 
 Play their pageants everywhere." 
 
 LYDIA looked forward to the arrival of the 
 post with breathless interest. The news 
 papers gave detailed lists of killed and 
 wounded. "T'ankGod Mars Flem's name is not 
 deir," she exclaimed more than once, " but don't 
 you t'ink it's strange dey neber says one word 
 'bout Bro' Molbro? I reckon he must be well, or 
 dey would put his name down too." 
 
 Letters from our brother, the captain, in Vir 
 ginia, often deplored the despondent moods that 
 still oppressed Marlborough. He offered to let 
 him return home, but his faithful servant refused, 
 lest his master should be ill or wounded. No word 
 or message came for Lydia ; and this she could 
 not understand. Handing me letters received 
 months before, she would say, " Read dese ag'in, 
 missy." " Read it careful, caise deir ought ter be
 
 The Old South. 187 
 
 one word fer me. Sure Bro' Molbro ain't forgot 
 me when I prays fer him eb'ry night." 
 
 Owing to his solemn demeanor in camp Marl- 
 borough was known as the " Parson." No one 
 had ever seen him spread his mouth save in a 
 kind of half-smile. Two soldiers started a rumour 
 that " the parson " carried in his waistcoat front 
 a picture that he often kissed. 
 
 A picket squad, lazily joking around a camp 
 fire, waiting for active duty, authorized themselves 
 to ferret out this secret ; for, no trophy, no senti 
 ment, was too sacred among such a set of men. 
 The deputized band surrounded " the parson," 
 and demanded the contents of his vest pockets. 
 
 Feeling sure that his refusal would be followed 
 by force, Marlborough, like a Chesterfield, with 
 drew his military coat and his waistcoat, handing 
 them to a sergeant. His look of pain half inclined 
 the officer to return the garments unsearched. 
 Curiosity, however, screwed to its highest pitch, 
 must needs be satisfied ; nor could they forego 
 the fun of examining his pockets. The sergeant, 
 who had received the waistcoat, turned one pocket 
 after another wrongside out. 
 
 From the first tumbled a jack-knife, with but a 
 fragment of blade ; from the next, a roll of paper 
 wrapped about a broken darning needle. 
 
 " You don't mend clothes with this," said one
 
 1 88 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 man. " Why, it's rusty and broken ; looks too 
 as if it came out of the Ark. Is this the picture 
 you've been kissing?" and he unfolded the 
 paper, 
 
 " See here, boys, ' the parson ' is partial to 
 hoopskirts," laughed the sergeant. 
 
 " There's another pocket in the lining," and a 
 soldier stepped forward, tapping the waistcoat. As 
 he pulled the lining out, there sparkled in the 
 sunlight a plain gold ring, held in place by strong 
 stitches. 
 
 " L-y-d-i-a, Lydia ! That's the lettering inside ! 
 Hurrah, hurrah, boys! Now we have the name 
 of his gal ! Lydia ! Was it she who sold purple 
 and fine linen, according to Bible accounts? 
 Parson, is your Lydia young ? Aren't you afraid 
 she'll forget you while you're soldiering?" 
 
 " Stop, boys, don't tease him. I've a fellow- 
 feeling for him, because it may be the ring of a 
 dead wife. I'm a widower, too, parson ; but 
 don't you despair, when you get home there'll be 
 lots of women glad to marry you with your plume 
 of victory waving in your hat. Take my advice : 
 it don't pay to grieve. Tell me, have you never 
 laughed since your wife died ? " 
 
 Marlborough, with genuine old-fashioned negro 
 deference for white persons, stood in his shirt 
 sleeves awaiting the return of his waistcoat.
 
 The Old South. 189 
 
 Touching his forelock, he replied: " T'ank you, 
 gen'men fer your interest in me, but so far as I 
 knows my wife Flora is still livin' at Mars Joe 
 Lament's plantation." 
 
 One by one the frolic-loving soldiers sneaked 
 away, heartily ashamed of having demanded the 
 contents of the "parson's" pockets. 
 
 General Grant was then marching onward to 
 the sea, and Sherman's tents whitened our sun- 
 kissed sea-shore. Many of our palatial homes 
 were in ruins, and the great pulse-throb of the 
 Confederacy was growing feeble hope seemed 
 gasping its last breath. 
 
 Revilo, requiring the skill of an oculist, left 
 Pine Knot, to be gone a week. He called Belfast, 
 the foreman, before starting, and said, " I leave 
 my little family to your care." 
 
 Torrents of rain fell, overflowing the creeks 
 that surrounded our place, isolating us ; in truth, 
 our nearest neighbour lived five miles away. 
 
 As "may be supposed, my days were weary 
 enough ; but the nights, alas, were absolutely 
 unbearable, with neither a lamp nor a book to 
 shorten the tedium of oppressive darkness. Sew 
 ing was a task, rather than a pleasure ; our half- 
 worn garments had to be mended with home 
 spun thread ; forced, too, into the eye of a needle 
 three sizes too fine ; and its point blunt. My
 
 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 gold thimble was worn into holes by heavy work, 
 and my treasured needle sometimes left its eye 
 in the tip of my finger, greatly exasperating 
 me. 
 
 Lydia was within calling distance at night, yet 
 she insisted that, during her master's absence, 
 she should sleep beside " her boy's " couch. 
 
 "No one has ever molested us; why should 
 they now ; If anything happens, I will scream 
 for you," said I. 
 
 Covering the chubby hands of her little master 
 with kisses, she said good-night : " Sleep, baby, 
 sleep sweet, till mommer comes in de mo'nin'. 
 I 's a spoonful of 'lasses feryour tea." 
 
 About midnight Carlo's bark startled me from 
 sleep ; then I heard stealthy steps advance to 
 ward our shrunken wooden-pinned door: through 
 the crevice the button within could easily be 
 turned. 
 
 There are times in every one's life when seconds 
 seem quadrupled. There was no bell-rope to 
 pull ; to scream would but increase anxiety by 
 rousing a sleeping boy. Were we to be murdered 
 in cold blood? The child, at least, would be 
 spared consciousness. In the pines, hooting 
 owls sounded their dismal notes of wailing, yet, 
 strangely enough, sleep overcame me. At early 
 morn Lydia's voice roused me: "Who's been in
 
 The Old South. 191 
 
 dis cabin wid heavy shoes?" her screams for 
 her brother Belfast hurrying our negroes to the 
 cabin, eager to know if missy was safe. 
 
 On the piazza, by my door, were shoe-tracks 
 made by damp sand. The negroes declared, 
 " Dese is Yankee tracks ; none of we folks has 
 such nails in deir shoes. Bro' Daniel was tellin' 
 last night 'bout two mens wid brass buttons in 
 de woods." 
 
 " I did see dem ; dey call ter me ; but I broke 
 an' run. Dey p'int deir guns at my head." 
 
 Sawney, Daniel's father, with a grave voice, 
 now spoke : " Hunno people, don't you bodder 
 wid blue-coats ; dey tell too many lies. I hears 
 we is all ter git a mule an' forty acres o* land. 
 You know dat's a lie." 
 
 Belfast then snapped the trigger of an old gun 
 that stood in the dining-room : " If I had a load 
 of shot an' powder I'd show dose fellows what's 
 what ; dey comin' here while massa's away ! " 
 
 Lydia spread her pallet that evening beside the 
 bed of her white child ; while I braced the benches 
 and rocking-chairs against the door. 
 
 "Go to sleep, missy," urged Lydia, "you'll 
 wake my boy ; nobody kin put der finger on you 
 an' I here." 
 
 Her every word in childhood was implicitly 
 believed. But not now. What could she do in
 
 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 the face of able-bodied men, as their shoe-tracks 
 had shown them to be ? 
 
 Sleep for me seemed a lost factor. With un 
 defined apprehension, I waited. Suddenly I 
 screamed, " Lydia wake up ! there's a step 
 outside. Be quick ! call for Belfast. Oh, God ! 
 to be murdered like this ! " 
 
 The nurse raised up on her elbow, saying, 
 " Do, Miss Dodo, be quiet ! You know dey is no 
 danger an' I is here." 
 
 I was beyond her control. Even ghostly visit 
 ors, summoned by her cabalistic words, could not 
 keep me quiet now. I sprang to my feet ; she too 
 quickly rose and tried to soothe my fears, holding 
 me fast in her arms. " It's we people," she whis 
 pered, " a keepin' guard ; dey 'greed ter take 
 hour by hour till massa come home." 
 
 Imprisoned though we were by fordless creeks, 
 we were still, as she declared, well guarded by 
 slave-sentinels, doing voluntary night duty. 
 Never king or queen could boast of more disin 
 terested love. 
 
 Some days thereafter each man received a gift. 
 
 " T'ank you, massa, but it's not fer money we 
 kep' watch," they assured Revilo. "We promised 
 ter take care of missy, an' we's done de best we 
 knowed how." 
 
 The next day, at noon, the front gate opened
 
 The Old South. 193 
 
 and two men in blue coats, with brass buttons, 
 walked to the log steps. As if weary, they seated 
 themselves. In a moment our house-servants 
 surrounded me. 
 
 " What do you wish ? " I asked ; " are you 
 ill?" 
 
 " Hungry, ma'am, hungry," said the younger, 
 both looking pale and feeble. " Do give 
 us a bit of bread ; we haven't had a 
 morsel since these nasty creeks over 
 flowed. This is the most God-forsaken coun 
 try I was ever in, and my friend here is dying, 
 with not a drop of whisky or medicine to give 
 him. Not even a pinch of salt to season what we 
 can kill or steal. There's no use telling you a 
 lie, we have stolen," he glanced up to where a 
 string of red peppers hung against the logs. 
 " Some nights ago we tried to reach those ; 
 we thought they were onions. There ain't one 
 blamed mouthful in this place to seize," he con 
 tinued. " I'm sure I can't see how you live. 
 We took some corn, but we couldn't grind it." 
 
 Juno hastened to the kitchen and returned 
 with what food there was cooked. Edward, 
 holding to his mother's skirt, pointed to the 
 heavy boots : " It's dem what make de tracks. 
 Law, dey will neber wear dose shoes out till 
 kingdom come." 
 13
 
 194 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 " Will you give us a few dry peas ? " the men 
 asked, after having devoured bits of hard, saltless 
 cornbread. 
 
 With a questioning look at me Dick hurried 
 off, returning with his hat full. 
 
 A few fell to the ground. The soldiers picked 
 them up, showing thus their early training in 
 thrift. But Dick, prodigal of his master's pro 
 visions, offered to bring more. 
 
 " Thanks, lady ; these are enough. We've been 
 round a good ways since Sherman started for the 
 sea, and now know why our prisoners aren't bet 
 ter fed. No one can blame a government for 
 feeding their wives and children first. Lady, if 
 you could see my wife and beautiful little girl in 
 Michigan, you wouldn't wonder I'm longing to 
 get to them before I die." And the sick man 
 wept aloud. 
 
 At first Lydia's countenance showed that she 
 was indignant ; she was recalling to mind our 
 hours of recent anxiety. But the tears of a man, 
 and he a soldier, softened her. " Boss," said she, 
 her voice having a ring of tenderness, " boss, 
 why don't you go home ter your wife an' daugh 
 ter ; if I was you I wouldn't stay a day fightin' 
 us." 
 
 My husband, who had returned the night be 
 fore, at that moment reined in his pony at the
 
 The Old South. 195 
 
 gate. He lifted from his eyes the blue shade. 
 What ! Bluecoats at his very door, surrounded 
 by his wife and servants ! 
 
 " What does this mean ? What's your business 
 here ? " he demanded. 
 
 The soldier replied, " My friend is ill. On the 
 march from Tomshear we were obliged to rest in 
 the wood, and so have strayed from our corps 
 and been without bread for a week till this good 
 lady (pointing to Juno) gave us a hoecake. 
 We've tried, but couldn't find a ford to these 
 nasty creeks." 
 
 Revilo knew that they were deserters. " Up ! 
 march ! " he said ; " I'll show you a ford. Your 
 corps are encamped near Hatfield. I'll see you 
 safely there. There is no prison nearer than 
 Tomshear, or you'd not have your liberty." 
 
 Dick forgot to lead away the pony, he was so 
 interested in the soldiers. 
 
 Revilo jumped into his saddle and accom 
 panied the two men through the pine-land trail, 
 on to the turnpike. They were out of sight ere 
 it dawned upon me the danger of his going off 
 unarmed with two of our enemies. By my 
 command, Dick, on a bareback mule, hastened to 
 the fields for Belfast and his men to go at once 
 to their master's assistance. 
 
 Lydia tried to console me : " No man what
 
 1 96 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 talks so good 'bout his wife an' child'll harm our 
 master. I do wish dose blue-coats had neber 
 come south. We was all livin' peaceful an* 
 happy, wid plenty ter eat, salt as cheap as dirt. 
 Now, clothes is scarce ; even de foreman treads 
 barefoot. Next t'itig massa an' missy'll have ter 
 do de same : dey livin' ter-day in a log-pen not fit 
 fer a poor ' cracker.' I wonder if Bro' Molbro is 
 got any shoes? Amos sent word by Mars Gus' 
 ole man Pete dat in Faginia daid soldiers, grey 
 an' blue, is lyin' round not more dan a foot under 
 ground. Jackals an' wolfs has good pickin' o' 
 nights. He say on eb'ry side is big cannons 
 ready fer a bomb match ter belch out red-hot 
 balls. De war has only brought sorrow an' tribi- 
 lation. I'll be glad when we kin go ter Swansea. 
 If we beautiful w'ite house is burned down 
 massa kin build anodder." 
 
 A few weeks after, we learned that Green Forest 
 was occupied by a Federal regiment, twelve hun 
 dred strong. The general commanded his men 
 to pitch their tents, the driving of pins and the 
 flapping of canvas making great confusion. 
 
 Inanimate nature could express no feeling, else 
 the grey moss, dragged from the trees for soldier's 
 bedding, would have bristled into needles, and 
 the fire, made of fences, sent forth snakes to 
 poison the soldiers' food.
 
 The Old South. 197 
 
 At the family home, at this time, was Chim, 
 with her son, whose father, a major, was stationed 
 at Vicksburg; Letha and her baby, Lalla a 
 bride ; Flossie, a girl of thirteen ; and Sonnie, 
 Nannie's foster-child. 
 
 During the war, girls would marry, although 
 their young husbands shouldered guns after the 
 ceremony, and returned to camp-life. 
 
 The general with his staff had the house ran 
 sacked, hoping to find Confederate soldiers. 
 
 Women and children were forced into one 
 chamber, while the officers settled themselves in 
 the others, making the dining-room their mess- 
 hall, the parlour their headquarters. The growth 
 of months in the kitchen-garden was consumed 
 in one hour. The negroes, too, returning from 
 the fields, found their coops empty, and every 
 mouthful of food in their cabins gone. 
 
 For protection, black children huddled round 
 Granny, who stood in a doorway, her arms akimbo ; 
 not daring to express her thought " What 
 business has you blue-coats on we Green 
 Forest ? " 
 
 A soldier seized one piccaninny by his shirt, on 
 the point of a bayonet, his legs, arms, and head 
 meeting, while he yelled lustily for help. 
 
 The storeroom likewise was emptied of the 
 little it contained. Affie, old and feeble, hob-
 
 198 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 bling on sticks, remonstrated. " Boss," she 
 pleaded, "you what is all civered with gold, is 
 you willin* ter see ole massa's chilluns starve ? 
 We w'ite mens wouldn't do dat way, caise massa 
 always tell de niggars ter treat omens well. Law, 
 what would he say if he could lift he head from 
 Midway graveyard ! " 
 
 They laughed at her naive speech. 
 
 Affie consulted with Hetty and Nanny as to 
 the best way to feed the inmates of' that rear 
 room. " My Jack couldn't sleep last night," said 
 she, " he was groanin' de best part o' de time. 
 I's a man, Affie, if my face is black ; how kin we 
 git we w'ite folks out o' dis glomeration, if only 
 ter Riseburg?' 
 
 " ' Riseburg ! Why Jack, Uncle Scipio say you 
 can't see de co't house de place is plump full o' 
 gol' buttons an' shinin' swords stickin' in de gun 
 mouth. We guns ain't like dat. I asked yister- 
 day if I could give de baby some mush, de soldier 
 jes' level dat p'int at my t'roat an' I feel my 
 palate cut clean out. We ain't used ter sech suf 
 fusion. What is we ter do ? " 
 
 Each night the old lunch box made for mid 
 day luncheons was smuggled through the win 
 dow, the most of its contents begged from the 
 soldiers, by negro women. 
 
 After the burning of the gin-house and other
 
 The Old South. 199 
 
 buildings, Chim implored the general to send 
 them under flag of truce to the Confederate 
 lines. 
 
 He gladly consented. 
 
 Accordingly, at midnight, a two-wheeled cart 
 drove to the gate for the party of seven. 
 
 One trunk only was allowed. With tears in her 
 eyes Lalla turned over and over her scant bridal 
 attire, trying to decide what to take, what to leave. 
 A chill in the night air enabled them to double 
 their garments, greatly impeding their gait. 
 Hoopskirts being still in fashion, from horizontal 
 white-oak splits dangled bunches of silver spoons, 
 forks, and a cream jug. 
 
 When Flossie appeared, a Yankee officer asked : 
 " Where has this beautiful girl been ? I searched 
 this house myself, yet never saw her." 
 
 Very likely ! Under a high poster valanced 
 bed, Nannie had spread a pallet, where the fair 
 blonde had spent her days. Guarded by Jack, 
 Frank, or Scipio, she exercised after tattoo. 
 
 In leaving, Nannie forgot her fear of the officer ; 
 so grasping her foster-son's hand, she said, " Boss, 
 dis is my ole missus' las' baby, she died w'en he 
 was only a few hours old ; I's suckled de blessed 
 child. Oh ! mister, don't let no harm come ter 
 him ! He's powerful high-tempered, but w'en I 
 says, ' Sonnie, who trouble you?' he t'rows he
 
 2oo Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 arms round my neck, so," embracing the fright 
 ened boy, causing even Yankee eyes to blur. 
 
 The lad was kindly treated. 
 
 On the Sandy Run road, a mile from Green 
 Forest, Jack and two others awaited the cart, 
 bringing corn hoe-cakes, and hoping to go with the 
 refugees. Denied this, they bade the fleeing 
 party good-bye. il Take care of yourself, ma'am," 
 Frank enjoined, " come back soon ! We'll do we 
 best at Green Forest ; but it ain't home widout 
 we w'ite folks. We wish we had some meat for 
 you." 
 
 Noting Letha's feeble condition, the sergeant 
 in charge assisted her to mount the horse's back, 
 her feet resting upon the shaft. From one side to 
 another she wriggled, but eventually begged the 
 driver to allow her to dismount. " Your horse's 
 bones are sharp," she said, " I'd rather walk." 
 In fact, she was seated on an unseen solid silver 
 cream-jug. 
 
 Beyond the white flag, trials were not yet at 
 end ; for food was scarce, and famine tugged at 
 the vitals of every one within the Confederate 
 lines. The officers shared their scanty store with 
 the women, then sent them under escort toward 
 Tomshear. They hoped to reach Pine Knot, 
 where a welcome would be theirs, if not food. 
 
 The lowlands were now inundated. This
 
 The Old South. 201 
 
 compelled the women to remove their only pair 
 of shoes and stockings, and wade for hours in mud 
 and slush. Eventually, footsore and weary, they 
 halted in a deserted village, to rest for a day 
 or so. The cabbage-palmetto, wild berries, and a 
 few pounds of corn meal bought on the journey, 
 constituted their food. 
 
 Letha and the Confederate sergeant pushed on, 
 hoping to secure provisions from a commissary in 
 charge of a train, reported to be near Blackheath. 
 They secured all that they could carry, but 
 decided to stay one night, to be ready for an 
 early start. 
 
 Before dawn the villagers were roused by the 
 cry, " Yankees, Yankees ! " 
 
 Sergeant Way jumped out of his bedroom 
 window, knowing his fate if captured wearing the 
 grey. The little place was completely sur 
 rounded, and, despite Letha's entreaties and her 
 assurances that he was only conducting her to a 
 place of safety, he was taken prisoner, and 
 bound. 
 
 Unable to lift his hat, he cheerily called from 
 the captured train : Don't trouble about me ; I'm 
 truly sorry you've lost that fine side of bacon." 
 
 Lieutenant Mills hearing of his bride's flight, 
 received a furlough to pursue her. He found her 
 in Blackheath with her sisters. Their camping out-
 
 2O2 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 fit comprised one tin boiler, a wooden bucket, two 
 plates, and three cups, with dozens of spoons 
 and other solid silverware. 
 
 Bravely they now set out on the long journey 
 to Pine Knot, where, in fact, there was a spirit of 
 keen unrest ; for wild rumours of the fall of Saver- 
 nake and other important places made us uneasy. 
 
 That mysterious, intangible post-bag planta 
 tion-gossip, with never a letter had brought to 
 Lydia news of Flora's sudden death. She strove 
 to master her excitement, but failed. At her dic 
 tation, I wrote Marlborough a letter on a square 
 of wall paper, ending with a Scripture text : 
 '* Bro' Molbro, don't forgit Mars C. C.'s words, 
 ' Keep your heart full o' de love o' God, an' so 
 live in peace an' everlastin' rest." 
 
 This letter never reached him. Amos and he 
 were on the road to Green Forest, with the body 
 of their master, Captain Fleming Janes, his sword 
 forever sheathed. 
 
 This sad news had not reached Pine Knot. 
 Indeed, instead of mourning, we were rejoicing 
 over a gift of sausages, spare-ribs, and chine- 
 bones sent by Revilo's father, who held the post 
 of commissary in Savernake. These trimmings 
 were a part of his pay. One evening we had just 
 finished a greasy, saltless supper, and were sitting 
 in the open hallway, wondering why news came
 
 The Old South. 203 
 
 neither from Virginia nor Siberty County. Lydia 
 was cuddling " her boy " to sleep, when the rumble 
 of wheels and a helloa at the gate startled us. 
 
 " Who is there ? What do you wish ? " Revilo 
 called. 
 
 A strange voice replied, " Weary travellers." 
 
 Men having been called to the gate, and shot 
 down in cold blood, I clung to Revilo, imploring 
 him not to go until Dick could bring a light-wood 
 torch. But he went, I holding to his coat-tail. 
 We reached the gate before Dick. 
 
 A disguised voice asked : " Can you shelter 
 us for the night ? " Revilo replied, " We have 
 only two rooms and one bed." 
 
 " We are so tired ! and the women fainting with 
 hunger. Do let us sleep on the floor." 
 
 A child's cry for a bit of bread touched the 
 tenderest chord of our hearts, and we unhesitat 
 ingly replied : " Come in, and be welcome. We 
 will share what we have." 
 
 A trembling female voice said : " Thank you 
 very much, we are hungry and tired." The light 
 from Dick's torch just then shone into the travel 
 lers' faces they were my own sisters, driven by 
 Lalla's young husband. 
 
 Like wildfire this news spread. Our negro 
 cabins were accordingly soon empty, the negroes 
 flocking to greet " old massa's chilluns."
 
 204 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 " Whey is you come from, missy : How is de 
 folks at Green Forest? Law! how tired dey 
 look. 'Pon my soul, dey is hongry. Honey, does 
 you want a piece o' bread? Ain't you eat a 
 mouthful ter-day ? " 
 
 Juno and others bustled about the kitchen, 
 preparing another supper, while Lydia knelt be 
 side Chim, her head on the nurse's shoulder. 
 Stroking her soft white hands, Lydia was too over 
 powered with grief and joy to ask a single ques 
 tion. 
 
 On the floor Letha lay, full length, her dark 
 ringlets scattered over Clarinda's lap, while black 
 fingers passed over and over her weary brow. 
 The nervous tension was relaxed upon reaching 
 this haven of rest. 
 
 Our pine table was soon spread ; with a platter 
 of smoking sausages and corn hoe-cakes the en 
 tire bill of fare. Into those hungry eyes there 
 came a look one sees in Zoological gardens at the 
 feeding hour. 
 
 Unbidden, the negro women stripped corn 
 shucks into shreds, and converted the cloth from 
 the loom into a covering for a mattress, thus 
 making the travellers comfortable.
 
 The Old South, 205 
 
 XVI. 
 "Is this post day?" 
 
 " Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 DEFEAT seemed imminent, yet hope buoyed 
 us up ; we believed that the sun of vic 
 tory would soon arise. Even as stars are 
 hidden behind clouds, so we insisted that from 
 beneath a canopy of discouragements, rejoicing 
 might yet ride forth. 
 
 All over the land widows were blending their 
 wails with the mourns of mothers and sisters. 
 
 At Pine Knot we were cut off from the world 
 as completely as if living at the antipodes. 
 Although Abraham Lincoln promulgated the 
 Emancipation, January i, 1863, we had not 
 heard of it. The papers that reached us were 
 mostly out of date, and filled with names of the 
 killed and wounded. True we had heard of the 
 sinking of the Alabama by the Kearsarge, and that
 
 206 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 her men with calmness awaited their doom, losing 
 their ship, but not their honour ; of " our boys 
 in grey " subsisting on half-rations, marching 
 on shoeless feet, unyielding till every man was 
 prostrate in the trenches. General Lee, we felt 
 sure, would lower his flag to none other in the 
 land. 
 
 The tattered uniforms and hob-nailed boots of 
 officers that once sat in law offices, professors' 
 chairs, or on plantation piazzas- told a tale of 
 heroism as clearly as did the words of a Federal 
 Colonel at Gettysburg when he called to his men, 
 saying, " Boys, don't shoot ; it's a pity to kill such 
 brave fellows." 
 
 About our cabin scorched wire-grass showed, 
 here and there fresh green blades sparkling with 
 dew. Mocking-birds, thrush, blue-jays, and logger 
 heads sang in chorus as only birds can sing. The 
 glow of a spring day was as serene as if the uni 
 verse were one vast brotherhood at peace. My 
 morning was engrossed with the care of sick 
 negroes, and on returning home, Revilo's whistle 
 sounded. I hastened to the gate in time to 
 welcome him. He dismounted, with a news 
 paper in hand. 
 
 " Is this post day ? " I asked. 
 
 Not a word did he reply ; his cheeks were pale 
 as death, his lips set tight.
 
 The Old South. 207 
 
 "Are you ill?" I continued. National adver 
 sity was obliterated by the fear of family trouble. 
 
 In those wild days women learned not to mul 
 tiply words, scarcely to shed a tear. With Revilo 
 hand in hand, I entered the cabin. Dick stabled 
 the pony : it was white with foam. 
 
 A hapless future must have mapped itself out 
 to cause Revilo such emotion ; he was usually calm 
 and self-contained. 
 
 With a heave of his breast, he slowly struggled 
 to articulate the words : " The war is ended ; 
 General Lee is defeated, not conquered. Our 
 slaves are free. Dare I tell you that we are 
 impoverished? Oh, have I lived to meet this 
 hour?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "and we will stem the tide 
 of adversity. Remember, your life is spared, 
 while thousands have been killed by bullets. 
 Don't trouble about your wife ; for true love 
 smooths the roughest way, even if it doesn't 
 make the pot boil. " 
 
 A smile suffused his face. The look of despair 
 was supplanted by one of resolve. Lifting his 
 eyes, he said, " God helping me, with energy and 
 industry I will yet surmount this trial." 
 
 On that rough-hewn log floor, we, husband 
 and wife, knelt, each offering a silent petition. 
 
 This shock to us was like unto that felt by a
 
 208 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 ship's crew wrecked in mid-ocean ; there was no 
 gleam of hope from even a distant shore ; our 
 minds were stunned by the fact of our poverty. 
 The mere abolition of slavery gave us little con 
 cern in that hour our thoughts were engrossed 
 with the certainty of want and starvation. The 
 future gnashed its teeth, making it almost mock 
 ery for us to hope. 
 
 Only time could convince of the ultimate good 
 to both parties. 
 
 Taking the dinner-bugle down, Revilo sounded 
 three long blasts. 
 
 Our labourers came from the fields, Belfast 
 inquiring if the work was to be changed? 
 
 " No. Congregate at the front in an hour's 
 time. I have something to say to you." 
 
 Groups of men and women soon were seen talk 
 ing, their quick-drawn breath betraying their anx 
 iety. " What has happened that we must leave 
 off work when grass is overrunning cotton an* 
 corn ? Has anyone been stealin' ? " 
 
 Overhead the sun was just past the merid 
 ian. 
 
 The next day it would arise on a new existence 
 for the black man ; for his brow was about to be 
 crowned with the cap of freedom. It may be 
 interesting, even at this late day, to listen to the 
 negroes' welcome to freedom. Personal expe-
 
 The Old South. 209 
 
 rience only is given, save that of a friend that 
 happened to be in Augusta, and inquired of an 
 old negro-woman what was the unusual noise in 
 the next street. " Law, missy, ain't you heard 
 denews? Mars Sherman is arriv'd ; hesen'awud 
 round dat de Lord is gib ter de Et'opian de wings 
 o' de mornin' an' tell dem ter flee ter de utmost 
 part o' de earth. An' dey is a gwine. Is you 
 want ter buy any berries ter-day, dey is cheap an' 
 sweet, honey?" 
 
 But to return. As requested, our negroes gath 
 ered about the steps, the men removing their 
 wire-grass hats, the women dropping a low cour 
 tesy. The scene was not picturesque as of yore ; 
 instead of gay bandannas, bits of faded cloth 
 bound the women's heads. Lydia sat on the step 
 with " her boy " on her knee ; she realised some 
 thing unusual had happened. Of its significance 
 she was as ignorant as those that lived in the 
 quarters. 
 
 With undisguised agitation my husband rose 
 from his rudely-constructed bench and unfolded 
 a square of wall paper, received that morning at 
 the post office. 
 
 " This newspaper/' said he, for such it was, 
 
 " brings to us important news. I want each one 
 
 to listen attentively, then try to show by your 
 
 conduct that you are sensible men and women. 
 
 14
 
 2io Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 You know for four years there has been hard 
 fighting between the Yankees and we of the south. 
 You have heard the cannon, and this many a 
 month have suffered for food and clothing. Our 
 beloved General Lee has been for a time surround 
 ed by a vast army, and now, with his men starv 
 ing in the trenches, he has been forced to lay 
 down his sword before the Yankee General, Grant. 
 For months I myself have realised that our men 
 could not fight much longer with empty knapsacks 
 and canteens. A proclamation made by Abe 
 Lincoln then comes into force." He stopped, 
 scarcely able to articulate. " This changes all 
 of you from slaves into free men and women. 
 Many of you were born slaves of our parents. 
 God knows we, their children, have tried to do our 
 duty to you. Your young mistress has nursed 
 you on cold winter nights when death seemed 
 hovering over you." 
 
 " Dat she has, massa ! You both on you has ! 
 God knows you's been good ter us, an' He's writ 
 it in de big book! " said old Sawney, his words 
 indicating that, with encouragement, he would 
 shout " Glory, hallelujah ! " 
 
 My husband's voice still trembled. " Remem 
 ber, freedom does not mean a pocketful of money, 
 with plenty to eat and wear ! You are really 
 homeless, and now must feed and clothe your-
 
 The Old South. 211 
 
 selves and your children. Confederate money is 
 of no more value than waste paper," taking from 
 his pocket a roll of one-hundred dollar bills. 
 
 Following his example, negro men turned 
 over the paper currency in their possession, not 
 grasping the fact of its utter worthlessness. They 
 rammed the bills down into their trouser-pockets, 
 resolving to spend them that very night at the 
 country store, where occasionally they bought a 
 twist of tobacco or a pound of sugar. 
 
 " There must be a tremendous change over the 
 whole country," Revilo continued, "and much 
 suffering, before matters adjust themselves. You 
 know I am renting this plantation. The mules, 
 the wagons, and farming utensils are all mine. 
 Not an ax or hoe do you own ; nor a stick of 
 wood to make a fire in your cabins ! which also 
 belong to me. You haven't a foot of land where 
 on to plant corn or cotton ; you have not yet re 
 ceived the mule and forty acres promised with 
 freedom. I doubt if you ever get it." 
 
 Sawney murmured : " I told hunno people it 
 was a black lie." 
 
 " I haven't had time to think of the best plan," 
 Revilo went on to say, " but one thing I do know, 
 the crops you have planted must die without your 
 care. If you work on as usual, until Christmas, 
 I will divide everything into three parts : one
 
 212 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 part must pay the rent and feed the stock; another 
 pay for provisions and clothing, which I must ad 
 vance for you and your children, defraying also 
 my family expenses. At the end of harvest the 
 third part will be divided equally between 
 you ; thus giving you something to live on until 
 you can find employment. For, owing to my fail 
 ing sight, I must go where there is a doctor. 
 
 " Try, then, not to let this new order of things 
 turn your heads. Remember it is no disgrace to 
 be under my authority. Each of us must obey 
 some one ; my wife here, as you know, rules 
 me." He thus gave a cheerful turn to his words, 
 noticing how overwhelmed I was. 
 
 His brother, one arm in a sling, wounded by a 
 bayonet thrust, then rose and read the proclama 
 tion aloud. 
 
 Each word fell upon my ear with a heavy 
 stroke ; but in the midst of my despair joy filled 
 my heart. Revilo was overpowered by the effort 
 he had made, yet beneath his shaded brow was 
 an expression of perfect peace. It told how truly 
 he had tried to be a humane master. 
 
 He rose, and, as a father talking to children, 
 again addressed the negroes, who still stood with 
 heads uncovered, their eyes and mouths wide 
 open, their faces a study in surprise, amazement, 
 and incredulity.
 
 The Old South. 213 
 
 " Do you understand what my brother has 
 read ? " 
 
 The foreman Belfast touched his forehead : 
 " Massa, it sounds bery strange, but fer my part 
 me an' mine is going ter stay here jes as we is. 
 Odder folks kin do as dey choose, I knows when 
 I's well off." Turning to the crowd of negroes, 
 he said : " Hunno people, you has permission now 
 fer speak your mind." 
 
 The frightened look on many faces gave place 
 to expressions of joy. " Don't be troubled, 
 massa," one cried, " we none of us wants ter 
 leave you an' missy." 
 
 Another asked : " Whey's we ter go ? Who's 
 ter feed us? We has no money, we has no 
 land, no mule, no house. Lord ! what is we ter 
 do? We don't want any odder master. He 
 might beat us." 
 
 Sawney, at Pine Knot, like Frank at Green 
 Forest, was the watchman over the spiritual in 
 terest of the people. Deeming it now his privi 
 lege to speak, he advanced close beside the cabin 
 step, his grey hairs shining in the sunlight. Bow 
 ing to his master, he crossed his thin hands over 
 his breast. 
 
 " Hunno people," said he, " Mars C. C. read 
 'bout how de Lord had no place fer lay He head ; 
 not so much as de foxes or de birds of de air. I's
 
 214 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 a t'inldn' we is jes de same. Some on us is 
 gettin' ole an' can't work much longer. Some 
 time we'll be sick, sometime we must die. Wid 
 no massa, wid no missy, law, what trouble dey is 
 ter be, sech tribilation we has neber t'ought o' 
 yit. Some on you may fly off ter git your forty 
 acres an' mule. Hear me, it's a lie ! Afore 
 you knows, you'll be beggin' or stealin', caise ole 
 massa say dey is only three ways ter make a livin'. 
 I tends ter work long as I kin lift a hoe right here 
 wid we good massa." 
 
 His earnestness had its effect. The breathless 
 stillness of that eventful day was broken by a 
 chorus of voices : " You is say de true word, Uncle 
 Sawney, we has no 'tention ter leave we w'ite 
 folks." 
 
 Lydia and " her boy " were in a tight embrace. 
 The child wondered at his dear nurse's tears ; they 
 recalled to him the death and burial of little 
 Lydia, an infant of Belfast, who had been recently 
 laid beneath the pines. 
 
 " Mommer, don't cry," he begged, his wee white 
 hand brushing her tears away. " Don't cry, I 
 love you so much. Who's dead, mommer?" 
 
 Through my own tears I saw drops falling over 
 my husband's full beard. We had long dreaded 
 the culmination of an unequal strife between 
 Yankees and Southerners, yet when the end did
 
 The Old South. 215 
 
 come, it stunned us. Certainly we had not 
 dreamed of having such proofs of love and devo 
 tion from our coloured people, who were now 
 suddenly elevated to the platform of freedom. 
 The turning loose of these millions was as if an 
 orphan school were disbanded, with the words : 
 " Children, go into the world ; provide you homes, 
 food and clothing ; the land is rich with gold and 
 silver ; dig and coin money for yourselves. 
 
 With no experience, building material, or food ; 
 without a spade with which to dig, how could 
 they make a living? True, Lincoln split rails, 
 and Franklin set up type ; but some one ordered 
 the number of rails, and written pages were fur 
 nished Franklin. 
 
 Mere work does not ensure a full meal or a 
 couch on which to rest. Our former slaves were 
 unlettered, and wholly unused to take thought 
 for the morrow. Freedom then dawned to many 
 not so much with gladness, as with a dread of the 
 unborn future. 
 
 In very truth the flag of the Shenandoah had 
 now dipped, never more to wave from flag-staff 
 or mast-head. 
 
 Marlborough and Amos had, but a few weeks 
 before, returned with their master's body. In 
 Midway they laid him to rest, the grey moss 
 waving like a flag of peace over his grave.
 
 216 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 Marlborough then hastened to Professor La- 
 mont's plantation. His wife had died a month 
 before, leaving her children in care of her blind 
 father. 
 
 Marlborough realised now that he had his 
 family to support. And he with not a shingle to 
 cover their heads, and only a roll of worthless Con 
 federate paper-money in his pockets! 
 
 Flora's master again took the chair of a pro 
 fessorship, giving little thought to his estate in 
 Siberty County. It remained in possession of 
 his former slaves. 
 
 Marlborough, not knowing what to do with 
 his family, quite naturally turned to Lydia for 
 comfort and advice. 
 
 By word of mouth, the negro's only means 
 of communication, she heard that her friend and 
 old lover would soon be with her, hoping to find 
 employment in the neighbourhood. 
 
 This news aroused in Robin a keen dread lest 
 he should lose a good wife and a mother for his 
 children ; for free negroes might not think slave- 
 marriages binding. " Dat rascal, what broke my 
 leg an' cut my t'roat, is got no wife now. He's 
 comin' here ter steal my Lyddy. Folks says love 
 is always young. I myself is seed w'ite folks 
 marry wid one foot in de grave, but I'll show dat 
 fellow dat I's a free man an 1 kin come an' go as I
 
 The Old South. 217 
 
 chooses." Shaking off the lethargy his well-kept 
 cabin had superinduced, he informed Lydiaof his 
 intention of going to Tomshear after the crops 
 were divided ; there, she could take in washing 
 and ironing ; ladies might do a bit of housework, 
 but shirt-fronts they couldn't iron ! 
 
 Lydia made no secret of her delight at the 
 prospect of greeting Marlborough. He had come 
 home, she said, " a live soldier, wid a cockade 
 of vict'ry in he hat." The dagger she had 
 dreaded, she now spoke of as lying on a battle 
 field, where she knew Marlborough had more 
 than once drawn it in defence of his master. In 
 her imaginative mind these onesided battles were 
 fought over and over with never a defeat where 
 her loved ones were engaged. 
 
 After his return Amos lost no time ; he mar 
 ried his girl. But up to a moment before the 
 ceremony she was grumbling because she hadn't 
 one inch of white tarlatan for a veil, nor a pair of 
 old white gloves to cover her black hands : " I 
 ain't no more dan half a bride," she pouted, " in 
 such no 'count clo's." She gave her frock a 
 spiteful toss. 
 
 Her husband was more fortunate ; he wore his 
 master's military coat with epaulettes, brass 
 buttons, and gold braid, looking every inch a man 
 any girl might be proud to marry. A red cockade,
 
 218 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 too, of a Federal trooper's, which he had picked 
 up after a battle, in Virginia, he now stuck in 
 his hat. 
 
 No one was prouder than he of his experience 
 at the front. Siberty County negroes listened 
 to his blood-curdling accounts of hair-breadth 
 escapes, feeling that supernatural spirits must 
 have guarded him. 
 
 For all time Amos was a personage.
 
 The Old South. 219 
 
 XVII. 
 J^ydia's Ghost Story. 
 
 " I sing the hymn of the conquered who fell in the battle of life, 
 The hymn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overwhelmed 
 
 in the strife ; 
 The hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in 
 
 heart, 
 Who strove and who failed." 
 
 W. W. STORY. 
 
 THE life of everyone forced to bend his will 
 to that of another, must be beset with 
 trying hours and bitter hardships. 
 So, too, Lydia's life had not been all sunshine ; 
 but she had prized her joys and cherished the 
 flowers that bloomed in her pathway. 
 
 Therefore, when the day. came that she was 
 freed from all shackles of slavery quitting 
 the room adjoining the one metaphorically occu 
 pied, as it had been, by " Uncle Tom " and his 
 chains we hear wailing rather than rejoicing. 
 
 The following poem is so characteristic of the 
 way Lydia felt, and also the way she expressed 
 herself regarding her freedom, I venture to insert
 
 22O Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 it. The author I do not know, and I cannot 
 vouch for the authenticity of the dialect : 
 
 " Oh, mammy, have you heard the news ? " 
 
 Thus spoke a Southern child, 
 As in the nurse's aged face, 
 
 She upward glanced and smiled. 
 
 " What news you mean, my little one ? 
 
 It must be mighty fine, 
 To make my darling's face so red, 
 Her sunny blue eyes shine ! " 
 
 "Why Abram Lincoln, don't you know, 
 
 The Yankee President, 
 Whose ugly picture once we saw 
 When up to town we went ; 
 
 "Why, he is going to free you all, 
 
 And make you rich and grand, 
 And you'll be dressed in silk and gold, 
 Like the proudest in the land. 
 
 " A gilded coach shall carry you 
 
 Where'er you wish to ride, 
 And, mammy, all your work shall be 
 Forever laid aside." 
 
 The eager speaker paused for breath, 
 
 And then the old nurse said, 
 While closer to her swarthy cheek 
 
 She pressed the golden head,
 
 The Old South. 221 
 
 " My little missus, stop an' res', 
 
 You's talkin' mighty fas', 
 Jes' look up dere an' tell me what 
 You see in yonder glass. 
 
 " You see ole mammy's wrinkled face, 
 
 As black as any coal, 
 An' underneath her handkerchief 
 Whole heaps of knotty wool. 
 
 " My darlin's face is red an' white, 
 
 Her skin is sol' an' fine, 
 
 An' on her prutty little head 
 
 De yaller ringlets shine. 
 
 " My chile, who made dis difference 
 
 'Twixt mammy an' 'twixt you ? 
 You reads it in de dear Lord's book, 
 An' you kin tell me true. 
 
 " De dear Lord said it must be so, 
 
 An', honey, I for one 
 Wid t'ankful heart will always say 
 His holy will be done. 
 
 ' I t'anks Mars Lunkin, all de same, 
 
 But when I wants for free 
 I'll ask de Lord ob glory, 
 Not poor buckra man, like he. 
 
 " An' as for gilded carriages 
 
 Dey's berry fine to see, 
 But massa's coach what carries him 
 Is good enough for me.
 
 222 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 " An', honey, when your mammy wants 
 
 To change her homespun dress, 
 She'll pray, like dear ole missus, 
 To be clothed with righteousness. 
 
 " My work's been done dis many a day, 
 
 An' now I takes my ease ; 
 A-waitin' for de Master's call 
 Jes' when de Master please. 
 
 " And when at last de time done come 
 
 An' poor ole granny dies, 
 Your own dear mother's sof ' white ban' 
 Shall close dese tired old eyes. 
 
 " De dear Lord Jesus soon will take 
 
 Ole mammy home to Him, 
 An' He can wash my guilty soul 
 From eb'ry stain of sin. 
 
 " An' at his feet I shall lie down 
 
 Who died an' rose for me, 
 An' den, an' not till den, my chile, 
 Your mammy shall be free. 
 
 " Come, little missus, say your prayers, 
 
 Let ole Mars Lunkin 'lone, 
 De Lord knows who b'longs to him 
 An* he'll care for his own." 
 
 Lydia, in tears, told how " De folk at de quar 
 ters was talkin' 'bout goin* ter live at Green 
 Forest ag'in ; dey t'inks dey'll be happy deir ; but
 
 The Old South. 223 
 
 dey'll find it ain't home widout de w'ite chilluns. 
 Bro' Robin kin go wid his family ; I sha'n't leave 
 my boy fer any o' dem. Miss Dodo," she said, 
 turning to me, " is it right fer Bro' Robin ter 
 drag me away? Bro' Molbro wouldn't 'fuse me 
 dis joy. Now I's gittin grey " lifting the bor 
 der of a new bandanna that " her boy " had given 
 her. 
 
 The child threw himself into her arms. " You 
 sha'n't go, mommer. Daddy Robin can't take 
 you away. I'm hugging you. I'll be a man 
 when my ptints are finished ; then you can live 
 with me." 
 
 " Oh, my sweet chile, I won't go. No, I won't 
 go fer no free nigger, if he is my husband. Colonel 
 Ross is talkin' nonsense at de politic meetens he's 
 holdin' at Mars Bob's plantation. ' You niggars 
 is fools,' says he. Some fine mornin' you'll wake 
 up slaves ag'in. Four years I fought ter set you 
 free, why don't you come an' plant cotton fer me ? 
 In dozens of New York banks I've piles of green 
 backs. My wife an' daughter dress better dan 
 anyone in de settlement, an' if your w'ite folks 
 were kindhearted dey'd call." 
 
 Allured by Colonel Ross's offer, Daniel asked 
 permission to leave us ; he gave as his reason his 
 engagement to the colonel's cook. 
 
 His happiness, however, was short-lived. The
 
 224 Lyddy . A Tale of 
 
 black queen of the pots and skillets tossed him 
 aside in a few weeks for " one more suited ter her 
 understandin' as cook ter a rich buckra man 
 whose coat was civered wid gold, two golden tip 
 pets on he shoulders an' a red rooster's tail wavin' 
 in he hat," 
 
 Daniel married Judy, his old love. 
 
 Lydia told again how " Colonel Ross had said, 
 ' thousands of Yankees was rottin' in deir graves 
 ter give dem freedom.' 
 
 "What does I care if dey is?" she said. "We 
 neber 'vited dem ter leave deirwives an' daughters 
 ter be killed. I knows one t'ing ; if it hadn't been 
 fer free niggars, ter-day I'd be Mrs. Molbro Janes, 
 wid de best husban' dat ever lived. 
 
 "Ah, missy,'' she continued, " soon we'sall ter 
 be scattered ; Juno an' Dick is goin' ter ole Jim. 
 He say he must see Boy an' Cissy a-fore he 
 dies." 
 
 Lydia wished to name her first grandchild 
 " Molbro," but Juno the mother thought it 
 ought to be Dick or Marmaduke. Dick, the 
 father, however, declared it should be neither, 
 but Jim, after his " pa." Before the infant was 
 named, it received the nickname " Boy," which was 
 entered in our plantation book. 
 
 Although I longed to retain Lydia in our serv 
 ice, yet it seemed unwise to interfere. We had
 
 The Old South. 225 
 
 never broken family ties in slavery days ; why 
 should we break them now? 
 
 Lydia strove day by day to cheer and enliven 
 our home, knowing that to us the future appeared 
 dark. A bright smile wreathed her black face 
 when she opened our cabin-door, seemingly for 
 getful of troubles that pricked her own heart. In 
 the spirit of the olden days she recalled many 
 amusing occurrences that had happened in the 
 nursery at Green Forest. A ghost story well 
 known to us her older " w'ite chilluns " she re 
 lated now to " her boy," with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Ober at Mars Ben's," said she, " dey was a 
 man called Sambo, whose wife lived a mile t'other 
 side Midway cem't'ry. Sambo went ter his wife's 
 house 'fore dark, but one night he was belated, 
 an' when beside de wall a col' breeze blowed in 
 he face and icy fingers gripped he ear-tips. 
 Standin' a few yards off was a life-size ghos' in 
 long wavin' hair an' w'ite robes. Sambo first 
 t'ought he'd scream, den he 'membered no one 
 lived near by, so he held he breaf les' he might 
 wake up odder daid people. He wound he arms 
 round a saplin', an' he never could tell how he an' 
 dat tree parted comp'ny. When he come ter he 
 senses his wife Mary was settin' bolt upright in 
 bed screamin', ' Sambo is you plum 'stracted ? Is 
 
 dis de way fer come in a decent 'oman's house ? 
 ii
 
 226 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Git along wid you ! Don't hug me till you learns 
 'spectful manners.' " 
 
 " ' Mary, Mary,' he cried, ' is a sperit come in 
 de dooe behin' me ? It had my ear-tips tight 
 'twixt its cold, bony fingers. ' Sambo by dis 
 time was under de blankets, wid shoes an' hat. 
 In de corn fields nex' day de folks neber give 
 de poor feller any res.' All he say was, ' If any 
 you mens want ter go ter Mary's cabin a'terdark, 
 go 'long wid you. If massa don't 'low me time 
 by daylight it's a long week 'fore Sambo's visage 
 '11 'luminate de portal of dat house ober at Mars 
 Abel's. ' In Siberty County even de w'ite folks 
 didn't like ter pass de graveyard. A chu'ch 
 meetin' was called an' de elders 'structed Sambo's 
 boss ter send him on a Monday night ter show 
 dem where de ghos' could be seen. ' Massa,' 
 says he, ' I likes fer 'bey w'ite folks, but, believe 
 me, sah, nobody'll git me in gunshot o' dat brick 
 wall a'ter dark. ' Deacon Quarterly promised 
 him a new beaver hat an' Sunday go-ter-meeten 
 clothes, so he 'greed ter meet dem at de cross 
 roads if dey would bring a horse fer him ter ride. 
 He didn't have no peace ; de men 'lowed he'd 
 break an' run at de fust sight o' de chu'ch steeple. 
 
 " ' Bro' Gus, ' said Sambo, 'don't you put bad 
 mouth on me, my old beaver is done gone ter 
 pieces. Don't you t'ink mens what prays 'loud
 
 The Old South. 227 
 
 in chu'ch kin keep off ghos' ? I may dim' a tree, 
 but folks say if a ghos' teches a saplin' even a 
 'possum can't hold on.' 
 
 " De men jogged 'long, one star af'er annoder 
 twinklin' over head. Bullfrogs was croakin' an' 
 katydid an' katydidn'ts quar'ling. Pres'n'ly, Bro' 
 Sambo jerked up he horse. ' Massa, we better 
 hitch here, caise when a horse feels a cold win' 
 deir hair rises, an' wid backin' deir ears, no man 
 kin keep de saddle. It's de hones' truf, sah, 
 dat's how Jack loss he fron' teeth.' He young 
 massa had com* home a sure 'nough doctor, and 
 'lowed he mus' have grave-yard bones ter study 
 de corp'ration of de niggar. He bribe Bro' Jack 
 ter help him. Dey had bust open de coffin an' 
 shove de daid niggar in de cart when a cold win' 
 blowed about deir ears. Mars Dr. Sam call out, 
 ' Jack, pick up dose lines an' drive fer your life.' 
 Bro' Jack no sooner stoop dan de ole blin' mare, 
 what's gentle as a lam', let fly her heels an' plum' 
 square hit dem front teeth. Mars Dr. Sam pitch 
 dat fellow in de cart, an' he neber knowed 'till de 
 got ter de stable but what he had two daid nig- 
 gars ter hide. Folks was dumfounded when 
 Bro' Jack com* ter work wid no teeth. It was six 
 months 'fore dey hear how dey was pulled. 
 
 " Midway's old clock was strikin' 'leven when de 
 mens tied deir horses. Deacon Quarterly handed
 
 228 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Sambo a cigar. ' T'ank you, massa,' he said, ' ter- 
 morrow I'll smoke. Sperits don't like brimstone, 
 matches, or 'bacca. Law, massa, I has goose- 
 flesh a crawlin' down my back. Does you feel 
 creepy ? By jolly ! dar he is ! dar ! ' pointing in 
 de direction of de stone wall. He neber bet'ought 
 him 'bout de pony, but ran eb'ry step of de way 
 ter Mary's cabin. De w'ite mens seein' a sure- 
 'noughw'ite figgerwid flowin' robes, los' no time, 
 but mounted deir saddles. Dey was so scared dey 
 neber stopped ter look fer deir own horses. Folks 
 neber knowd how does beasts got in de wrong 
 stables. One pony stomped 'long side de tree all 
 night, neighin' in de mornin' fer he feed. Mary's 
 husband got he beaver an' Sunday clothes. Folks 
 say afterward it was two young mens home from 
 college what found where de ghos' hid heself. 
 Watchin' one night, dey followed plum' ter Wid- 
 der Cook's, an' saw de sperit wid no key turn de 
 front door-lock; an' if it didn't walk straight ter 
 de widder's bed an' lie 'long side de poor w'ite 
 lady what folks say was weepin' fer her husband 
 who had jes been buried in Midway grave-yard." 
 (Rich Mrs. Cook, it seems, walked in her sleep.) 
 
 Lydia told " her boy " this long ghostly narra 
 tion with as much earnestness as if it had hap 
 pened but the week before. 
 
 The first months of that eventful year of 1865,
 
 The Old South. 229 
 
 and of freedom, wore on apace. Corn-shucks 
 turned brown and sear. Busy squirrels darted 
 from tree to tree in search of pine-mast for their 
 winter store. In this they were better off than 
 many of us, having a goodly supply ; we had only 
 a handful of food. 
 
 Sawney and his wife, both old and feeble, gave 
 us no end of anxiety. Sawney fell ill. Business 
 calling us to Halby, we stopped at the old man's 
 cabin to give directions about his medicines. 
 
 " Don't stay long, missy," he pleaded, " Saw 
 ney is hoe he las' row. I's nearin' de end, ma'am. 
 I feels pow'rful weak an' is pray in' de same word 
 me an' my old 'oman pray when massa tell 'bout 
 Mars Abe Linkin. I says dat day, ' Ole 'oman, is 
 you got it in yer head dat massa is a free man ? 
 Sure as you an' me is borned he ain't bleeged ter 
 stay here tarrifyin' he soul an' body feedin' us ; 
 he's a free man. We kneel down an' den I lifts 
 my voice ter de Fadder's throne. ' O Lord,' 
 says I, ' if it is dy holy will, let we missy close we 
 eye ; let me an' de ole 'oman lie under de pines 
 wid de baby Liddy till de trumphet calls we dry 
 bones ter de ressarection cou't ! ' Don't stay 
 long, ma'am, caise de year'll soon terminate. 
 What's me an' Clarinder ter do?" 
 
 "At five on Friday," I said, "we will be 
 home. Don't trouble about your future. God
 
 230 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 has promised to have a care of those who trust 
 Him. Take your gruel regularly." 
 
 " De Lord's will be done. Good-bye, little 
 massa. How is de pet lam' ? " 
 
 The child answered cheerily, " Mommer's goin' 
 to feed it. I'll bring it to see you when we get 
 home." 
 
 A sandy road retarded our return, but, nearing 
 the cabins, Dick urged his mules, excited as he 
 was by seeing a crowd in front of Sawney's 
 cabin. Turning to me he said, " Dey's somet'ing 
 happen, ma'am ; look at de folks ober yonder." 
 
 The negroes cried, " Come, missy, come, de old 
 man's ben a-callin' fer you dis half hour; de 
 charyot is swing low ; he's a-prayin' fer it ter 
 stan' still, jes ter de hour when massa an' missy 
 come. It's a-waitin' fer you, ma'am ! " 
 
 Sawney's glazed eyes turned toward us as we 
 opened the cabin-door, his emaciated hands 
 reaching for an invisible object. " Is dat de 
 charyot wheels a-rumblin' ? " he asked. " Yes, 
 Lord, here is me. On de strike o' de five missy 
 say she'll be home. Deir, I feels her sof han". 
 Shut my eye, ma'am ; I's lay down de shovel an' 
 de hoe. Lord, here is me ! Amen ! " 
 
 So Sawney died. And we all believed that 
 the Christmas-tide found him in the keeping of 
 His Saviour, a ransomed soul.
 
 The Old South. 231 
 
 One night a month after, the fire burning low, 
 Phoebe his daughter, with a new-born infant 
 sleeping in her arms, complained of being cold. 
 Clarinder hastened in search of wood, when a 
 downpour of rain saturated her garments, and 
 she took cold, developing pleurisy. Without a 
 flicker, as with one puff of wind, her life was ex 
 tinguished. Providence, fate, or whatever one 
 chooses to call the power that decides our future, 
 provided for this aged couple. 
 
 My husband and I, attended by the plantation 
 negroes, followed her plain deal coffin. Under 
 the pines we buried her, the old plantation song 
 of " Uncle Ned " ringing in our minds.
 
 232 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Valentine Versus April-fool. 
 
 " Why shadow the beauty of sea or of land 
 
 With a doubt or a fear ? 
 
 God holds all the swift-rolling worlds in His hand 
 And sees what no man can as yet understand, 
 That out of life here, 
 With its smile and its tear, 
 Comes forth into light, from Eternity planned, 
 The soul of good cheer.' 
 
 Don't worry 
 The end shall appear. 
 
 ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD. 
 
 AFTER the produce of the place was gar 
 nered, the bugle summoned the negroes 
 for a division. 
 
 " Whey is you goin', massa ? " they exclaimed. 
 " Dey is hard times ahead fer you an' fer we ; no 
 body ter feed us, nobody ter wait on missy ! I 
 reckon we must all go home ter Green Forest ; 
 we longs ter see de grey moss waving." 
 
 Until the hour arrived, we never suspected 
 what it would cost us to drive away from Pine 
 Knot, thus sundering ties and severing relation-
 
 The Old South. 233 
 
 ships that, with happy memories, bound us to the 
 past. We had been petted and spoiled by more 
 than one black mammie. 
 
 To Ducpon, our new home, Belfast, Lawrence, 
 and Georgia went with a wagon containing a few 
 household effects. These they offered to put in 
 order before our arrival. Dick was now at our 
 gate with a rattling old carnage and two lazy 
 mules. On the front cushion, where a nurse 
 usually sat, were bundles and a home-made cage ; 
 inside a blue-bird hopping from perch to perch. 
 Lunch, our house-pet, was securely tied in a 
 bag. She scratched and meowed insistently. 
 
 " Good-bye, missy, God bless yer," said one 
 negro after another. " Don't forgit we w'at's 
 goin* home ; send your old frocks an' massa's 
 pants. Some one'll be glad fer dem." Juno's 
 little girl Cissy, pulling at my gay balmoral, 
 begged that she might have it. 
 
 All details settled, my husband proposed that 
 we start. " Time and tide wait for no man ! " said 
 he. Then he asked for Lydia and the child ? 
 
 " Sis Lyddy ! " the women called," massa is 
 ready ter git in de carriage. Sonnie, whey is 
 you ? " 
 
 Between sobs Juno said, " I reckon dey is in 
 ma's cabin.'' She went herself in search of dem. 
 
 " Dey ain't deir," she cried. " Ma's box is
 
 234 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 fling open, her clothes scattered on de floor. Oh ! 
 whey is ma ? She never leaves her box open ; 
 hunno people, hunt ; dey's trouble somewhere, 
 caise las' night when Bro' Robin was sayin' he 
 wouldn't tol'rate any nonsense, ma make answer: 
 ' Nobody shall drag me 'way from my boy. I'd 
 rather we died in each odder's arms.' " 
 
 Frenzied at the mere suggestion, I rushed into 
 the empty cabin, only to find glowing pine logs 
 hissing and singing. " Lydia, Lydia," I called, 
 " where are you with our child. Go quickly, one 
 of you, and tell Dick to drag the well. Oh ! they 
 must be there, or they would answer ! " 
 
 We found them behind the cabin built for the 
 loom. The little playhouse stood there with 
 its corn-cob soldiers, home-made toys, and clay 
 marbles. In close embrace the nurse was enfold 
 ing " her boy," his ruby lips pressed against her 
 dusky cheeks, his arms locked around her neck. 
 Of the excitement their absence was causing they 
 were both unconscious. 
 
 We started, finally, and after we were well along 
 our journey, I noticed in the pocket of my little 
 boy's kilt, an inlaid snuff-box, and recognised it 
 as one that had belonged to Lydia's master, 
 Squire Jameston. Snapping the cover to and 
 fro, delighted with his new toy, the child said, 
 " Mommer gave me this to keep for my glass
 
 The Old South. 235 
 
 marbles she's going to send me from Tomshear. 
 Oh, isn't mommer coming to put me to bed to 
 night ? Mommer, please come ! I won't go to 
 sleep till you do," his little voice quivering with 
 emotion. 
 
 A new life dawned upon us, a veritable reality 
 filled with bitter experiences and hardships. We 
 faced stern facts with the energy of young minds, 
 feeling that our future was what we had to deal 
 with, not the past. 
 
 At the quaint little place Ducpon, Revilo held 
 the office of Internal Revenue Collector. A stage 
 coach occasionally passed, dropping a mail bag, 
 so bringing us in touch with the world again. 
 
 The post-office, we were told, was originally 
 called Philanteska, an Indian name for the river 
 near by, on the banks of which the red men once 
 fished and hunted unmolested by whites. The 
 story is, that the pioneer settlers, finding the 
 name difficult to spell, as well as to pronounce, 
 called a meeting to discuss a change of name. A 
 full attendance was present, with Squire Weeks 
 in the chair. Tossing his hat behind him he 
 brought his fist down on the table. " Gentle 
 men," said he, " the object of comin' togedder is 
 to make writin' easy. There is a blame lot of 
 complaint in the settlement ober this blarsted 
 name Pilantesca, brought here by red tomahawk
 
 236 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 Injins. This court is open for suggestions from 
 de benches. Don't be backward in speken your 
 mind, only don't all riz to once." 
 
 A scrawney pineland cracker rose. " Is it a 
 name you is a askin' for ? Ever sense I moved to 
 these diggins dis post-office has been a tarrifica- 
 tion to my soul. Some words is hard to articu 
 late, but this Pilantesca beats my time for spellen'. 
 My boy Bill is at a highfaluten town school ; he 
 thinks he knows more than a judge, an' writes wid 
 a steel pen. A gander's quill is good 'nough for 
 the parson an' me. I 'lows when dis post-office 
 slips from the pint of Bill's writin' stick, it's time 
 for him to cum home an' help me fight rampa- 
 cious grass in the corn-fields. This larned boy has 
 writ for us to name the place Cypress Lake, after 
 the wild duck pon' near by. 
 
 Down came the speaker's fist : " The word 
 Cypress is afore the meeten." 
 
 Mounting a bench, a bow-legged dwarf lifted 
 his hat, which he had neglected to remove. " Mr. 
 Cheer, our larned brother brings forth a conjec- 
 tion. I is ransacking my brain to spell Cypress. 
 Is it a dictionaire word ?" 
 
 Again the room reverberated from the force of 
 another blow on the table. " The brother with 
 the larned son will tell this here meeten the best 
 way to spell Cypress," said the chairman.
 
 The Old South. 237 
 
 Bill's father looked round, then rose slowly, 
 yawning by way of gaining time. " That rascal," 
 said he, " writ the word on a scrap of paper, but 
 I'll be blowed if I kin find it." Each of his 
 pockets he turned wrongside out, scattering rusty 
 nails, twists of tobacco, a jack-knife, and broken 
 links of an ox-chain. " Mr. Speaker," he cried, 
 " you may hang me to a tree-limb if there ain't 
 a y in the word, to middle or at the tail end, I 
 swear I don't know." 
 
 The herb doctor of the settlement sat on the 
 front seat, His shaggy overhanging brows, un 
 shaven face, and wealth of sun-faded locks falling 
 about his shoulders, added to the dignity of his 
 massive figure. Running his hand through his 
 hair, part of which remained on end, he drawled 
 out, '' If the chair will accept my conception of 
 this intricate trouble, I'll move and second that 
 we have a division. The lion's share of a name 
 may be stuck on the post-office door. Then, sir, 
 I names this new-born place Ducpon." He 
 counted the six letters on his fingers. "No one 
 will git sick spellen it." 
 
 Down came the chairman's fist. " Gentlemen, 
 it's moved an' seconded. Those in favor, say 
 Due ; those opposed, Cypress." With a look of 
 intense satisfaction he counted the hands up 
 lifted. " The Due's has it," he yelled. " Now,
 
 238 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 we gentlemen of edication need not scratch our 
 heads, spill the ink, an' turn goose quills backward 
 a spellen this here post-office ; thanks to Dr. Will 
 Pitts Premier." 
 
 Thus it was that our letters were post-marked 
 " Ducpon." 
 
 Poverty, with one decisive stride, had entered 
 our dwelling. Pride, accordingly, should have 
 flown out the window, as love is wont to do. 
 But Love wound its arms a wee bit tighter, and 
 pride hid its head, going bravely yet blindly 
 to work. 
 
 Our front steps and piazza, in the days of slav 
 ery were swept before breakfast. Johanna, our 
 woman of all work at Ducpon, having a hot meal 
 to prepare before eight, had no time for early 
 cleaning. Unaccustomed to such work I, on the 
 other hand, was not strong enough to wield a 
 broom until fortified with food. 
 
 While I swept after breakfast, Revilo's father, 
 who lived across the way, comforted himself with 
 a corncob pipe and the Virginia weed, his heels 
 on the piazza rail, in genuine Southern style. 
 Swallow Cote, his home, had been bought with 
 Confederate money, but was now for sale, cheap 
 for green-backs. 
 
 The second week of February the post brought 
 me from New York a flaming comic valentine,
 
 The Old South. 239 
 
 representing Bridget in gay dress, arms akimbo, 
 her broom resting against the steps. We were all 
 greatly amused, and wondered how my recently 
 industrious moods could be known in New York. 
 Like Brer Rabbit, however, I " lay low," awaiting 
 my turn for a practical joke. 
 
 A northern man was visiting Colonel Ross in 
 the neighbourhood, for the express purpose of in 
 vesting in southern lands. Almost every estate 
 below Mason and Dixon's line at that date was for 
 sale ; so the arrival of a man with surplus capital 
 caused considerable talk in our community. No 
 one, however, knew the newcomer's name. A 
 few spoke of him as Colonel Humphries, others as 
 Major Humbert, of Bull Run fame. 
 
 March winds expended their fury, and Judge 
 Floyd convened the spring term of Court at Old 
 Town, as in days before the war. Colonel Bee 
 Revilo's father, once a prominent lawyer of Sav- 
 ernake was retained by Widow Lamb to defend 
 her case. There was still a chill in the night air, 
 endangering young cotton and corn, making 
 lawyer's fees, accordingly, more doubtful. Not 
 withstanding discouragements, the judge and 
 his advocates were in a gay mood, sitting around 
 a pine-knot fire in the village-tavern, smoking 
 their corncob pipes. A belated stage-coach rat 
 tled up to the door.
 
 240 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 In the centre of the table was one tallow candle, 
 which gave but a feeble light. The men, how-, 
 ever, amused each other by telling stories of 
 thrilling adventures or of funny incidents in their 
 recent camp-life. 
 
 A shout of merriment had followed a yarn 
 told by Captain Wynn, when the portly pro 
 prietor entered with a handful of letters : " Six 
 for Judge Floyd, four for Colonel Bee, Captain 
 Wynn, Lieutenant Terrell," and so on, calling off 
 the names of many ex-Confederate officers. 
 (Smooth-flowing ink and Irish linen had induced 
 wives and sweethearts to write long letters.) 
 
 No word was spoken for a time. Young lawyer 
 Terrell was slyly pressing his fianceVs tinted 
 pages to his lips, when Colonel Bee suddenly 
 sprang to his feet, exultingly waving a gilt-edged 
 blue sheet. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I hope you have each as good news 
 as I. Before the war, I opened business letters 
 first, Now it's reversed ; home-news must be 
 read to brace one up for disappointments that 
 follow each other like cannon balls." 
 
 Fixing his keen black eyes on young Terrell, 
 he said : 
 
 " That billet-doux was sweet, was it ? Well, 
 wait forty years ; then the woman who has stood 
 beside you in cloud or sunshine will pen words
 
 The Old South. 241 
 
 more tender than any written by the fairest 
 maiden in her teens. After reading my dear 
 wife's news, this last real business letter ! has 
 made my head reel, and I'm beside myself with 
 anticipated happiness. Your pockets, like mine, 
 are empty, I reckon, and the thermometer of hope 
 stands somewhere about zero, but, with money 
 in hand, pleasures will quickly return. 
 
 " Your Honour, won't you call to order, that I 
 may read aloud my letter?" He waved the 
 tinted pages overhead. 
 
 Judge Floyd gave the order. 
 
 There was a suspicion of tear-drops on the 
 colonel's glasses ; then he read aloud : 
 
 The Wigwam, Mch. $\st, 1866. 
 Colonel Bee : 
 
 Dear Sir, Through a friend I learn that Swal 
 low Cote is for sale. Kindly let me know your low 
 est cash price. I am prepared to make you an offer 
 of one thousand dollars, with tivo notes additional 
 of five hundred each, payable yearly. 
 
 As I'm leaving for Neiv York, grant me an early 
 response. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 JAMES HUMBERT (Major.} 
 
 Out of their seats the lawyers bounded, scream- 
 16
 
 242 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 ing 4t Hurrah ! Three cheers for Colonel Bee 
 and his good luck ! " 
 
 Hearing an unusual stir, the proprietor pushed 
 open the door. 
 
 " Hello ! " the men cried, " hello ! cigar-vender, 
 bring us a box of your best Havanas, and charge 
 them to Colonel Bee's account." 
 
 Corncob pipes were tossed on the floor : one 
 who had the prospect of selling southern land 
 could supply cigars. Since the guns of Fort 
 Sumter belched their grape-shot, these were the 
 first many had smoked. 
 
 " Colonel, how we would like to be in your 
 shoes, with a thousand dollars of Uncle Sam's 
 green paper to spend." 
 
 More than one begged, " Turn over your law 
 cases to me." 
 
 Lawyer Wren patted his moneyless purse. 
 With a sigh he declared that, "hope deferred" 
 had made his " heart sick." " Colonel Bee," he 
 continued, " a few of your cases would quite 
 revive me." 
 
 Men of dignity, like school children, divided the 
 contents of the cigar-box, sniffing the compressed 
 weed with an unutterable sensation of satisfac 
 tion. Lawyers and Methodist parsons have a 
 wonderful faculty for enjoying their circuit work. 
 
 While the empty cigar-box blazed in the fire,
 
 The Old South. 243 
 
 these defenders of the law bade each other good 
 night. 
 
 Colonel Bee, to pay for his treat, roused the 
 nodding clerk, and placed before him a ten-dollar 
 bill, Widow Lamb's retaining fee. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, a fair and sunny 
 April day. Parson Hill's text " Whatsoever ye 
 shall ask in my name, that will I do " seemed 
 almost prophetic. And the hymn 
 
 " Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, 
 
 Uttered or unexpressed ; 
 The motion of a hidden fire 
 That trembles in the breast," 
 
 at least by one, was sung with deep feeling. 
 Indeed, many looked round to see whose voice 
 was so rich and full. Later Colonel Bee, himself 
 the singer, once or twice took out his papers that 
 day to be sure the letter was there. Early train 
 ing restrained him, however, from reading a busi 
 ness communication on the Sabbath. 
 
 Young Terrell Sunday afternoon covered pages 
 with loving words to his future bride. Colonel 
 Bee wrote to his wife : 
 
 Old Town Tavern, 
 
 April ist, 1866. 
 Darling Wife : 
 
 Like an angel of peace for forty years you have
 
 244 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 ministered to me. God bless you ! In the clash of 
 arms, with bullets whizzing about the heads of our 
 boys, no murmur escaped your lips. The Lord be 
 praised for such a wife and mother ! In our pov 
 erty, brought about by that crazy philanthropist, 
 Abe. Lincoln, you have greeted me day after day 
 ^vith a smile. Now, I hope the sun is about to 
 shine on our silvering locks. I haven't many on the 
 top of my head, but you have. I had a letter last 
 night from Maj. Humbert, by the way, do you 
 remember I told you he was not called Col. Hum 
 phries, offer ing to buy Swallow Cote, paying one 
 thousand cash with two notes of five hundred dol 
 lars each. We will now be able to return to Saver- 
 nake and begin the old life again. 
 
 I will follow this letter on Tuesday. Judge 
 Floyd has agreed to place Widoiv Lamb's case first 
 on the docket to-morroiv, so I may finish my defense 
 before returning to draw and sign the papers for 
 that rich Yankee. I do believe I can bring myself 
 to say ' God bless him ! ' the fellow. 
 Yours till death, 
 
 Harvey. 
 
 P. S. Say to my industrious daughter-in-law 
 across the way, that I will present her with a new 
 improved ladies' broom, and a copper dust-pan. 
 
 Happiness fires young life into excitement,
 
 The Old South. 245 
 
 often dispelling sleep. Older minds, on the con 
 trary, are soothed into refreshing slumber. The 
 colonel not coming down to breakfast at the 
 usual hour on Monday morning, the waiter ex 
 pecting a generous fee tapped at his door : " I's 
 hot coffee an' bacon an' eggs waiting fer you, sah." 
 
 The judge and eleven of the jurors were in 
 their places in court at nine o'clock. 
 
 Colonel Bee, hastily arranging his papers, caught 
 sight of Major Humbert's letter. 
 
 " Before the twelfth man comes," he thought, 
 " I'll be able to answer this for the noon post." 
 He writes : 
 
 In Court. 
 Maj. Humbert, 
 
 Dear Sir : 
 
 / thank you for your kind letter containing 
 an offer for Swallow Cote, which I accept. If 
 nothing prevents I will return on Tuesday, prepared 
 to make you a deed of sale, 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 Harvey C. Bee (Colonel). 
 
 To be sure that the title was Major and not 
 Colonel, he withdrew the letter from its envelope, 
 and ran his eye over its pages. 
 
 Streaming in through blindless windows, the
 
 246 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 clear sunlight revealed the small word "over," in 
 the left-hand corner. 
 
 Judge Floyd sounded three loud raps and an 
 nounced, " This court is convened ! " after which 
 Parson Hill lifted his voice in prayer. 
 
 Colonel Bee reverently leaned forward, his 
 elbows on the desk, his forehead clasped by his 
 interlocked palms. 
 
 The prayer concluded, the clerk arose : " Your 
 Honour, by your order the case of Bullock versus 
 Lamb is placed first on the docket." 
 
 The summing-up of this noted case had been 
 looked forward to with keen interest. Savernake's 
 gifted lawyer, with a new joy in his heart, would 
 now doubtless surpass his former brilliancy of 
 speech. 
 
 In her fresh spring-mourning, widow Lamb sat 
 in the dock, her cheeks rosy red. 
 
 Down came the judge's gavel. 
 
 " The summing-up of the defence will now be 
 heard," he said. 
 
 The widow's advocate appeared to be intently 
 reading an open letter. He moved not a muscle. 
 
 Tapping the colonel on the shoulder, lawyer 
 Wren leaned forward and whispered, " Your case 
 is called." 
 
 Colonel Bee rose slowly, with a dazed 
 look, altogether unlike his usually animated
 
 The Old South. 247 
 
 manner. Without regarding the judge, he ad 
 dressed the twelve men seated to the right of 
 Judge Floyd : " Gentlemen, I thank you for your 
 close attention, but the summing-up now is of no 
 consequence, for my daughter-in-law has won. 
 She has paid me one thousand dollars, with two 
 notes and interest." Lifting his hand to his fore 
 head, as if to collect his thoughts, he bowed to the 
 judge and dropped into his chair, murmuring, 
 "It's a Valentine versus April Fool." 
 
 The lawyers, fearing sudden illness, rushed to 
 his side. Terrell, with keen eye, caught sight of 
 the words, "You are an April Fool," written on 
 the inside of a blue gilt-edge sheet of letter 
 paper. 
 
 Recalling that the day for playing tricks had 
 but just past, he instantly interpreted the joke, 
 the proposed sale of Swallow Cote. 
 
 He handed the letter to the judge.
 
 248 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Sara once a Good Wife. 
 
 " She doeth little kindnesses, 
 Which most leave undone or despise." 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 DURING the years of our refuge in the piney 
 woods, our pigs often brought forth more 
 young than they could rear, hence the 
 little velvety creatures were ruthlessly destroyed, 
 to the horror of poor Juno. Impoverished as we 
 were, there was always some waste, so we agreed 
 between us that she should feed them on the 
 kitchen refuse, and divide the number of pigs 
 fattened. 
 
 When freedom dawned, Juno had five fat pigs 
 almost ready for slaughter. Lydia and her family 
 would at least have meat for a time. 
 
 Robin smacked his lips in anticipation of blood 
 pudding, spare ribs, and sausages. 
 
 Matthew, our man of all work, one afternoon 
 presented his brother, a " Mr. White " who was 
 buying pigs. " Mr. White " held in his hand a 
 great roll of greenbacks.
 
 The Old South. 249 
 
 Eve was tempted beyond her powers of resist 
 ance, and so was I. Our home at Ducpon was 
 barren of every comfort, and the mere sight of 
 money tempted me to sell, so when " Mr. White " 
 made a formal offer of fifty dollars for my pigs, I 
 accepted it. Tea cups, chairs, and warm under 
 wear were now within reach. 
 
 Revilo had made no end of fun of the copartner 
 ship between Juno and me. Now he realised 
 that unless he could produce a like amount of 
 negotiable money for the privilege of shedding 
 swine's blood, the bacon would hang in another's 
 smoke-house. 
 
 The bargain with " Mr. White " whose face 
 was as black as a coal was hardly made when 
 my husband tilted his creaking old rocking-chair 
 forward, whispering, " Your pigs were worth at 
 least seventy-five dollars." 
 
 "Why, then, did you let me take fifty if I 
 could have gotten more." 
 
 " You never consulted me in your anxiety to 
 finger those dirty bills. I have learned by ex 
 perience never to give a woman advice unless she 
 requests it." 
 
 Matthew and his guest had a hearty supper in 
 our kitchen, and " Mr. White's " horse a good feed 
 in the stable. Matthew tapped at the door about 
 bed-time. " Please, sah, kin Mr. White spend de
 
 250 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 night wid me. De pigs ain't come up yit ; dey 
 ranges a good way eaten pine-mas.' ' 
 
 " All right, Matthew," I called. " The receipt 
 will be written and signed when you bring the 
 money." 
 
 At the prospect of comforts in the house our 
 hopes revived, even as grass springs into fresh life 
 after a spell of drought. 
 
 We listened, at early dawn, for the squeal of 
 pigs, which unlike lambs led to the slaughter 
 sound their own death-knell. 
 
 The receipt I had signed lay on our table, but 
 no one came for it : Matthew had gone early in 
 search of the pigs. 
 
 " Mr. White," after a hasty breakfast, left word 
 with Johanna that he would return in two days. 
 Matthew reached home at noon, on his face a 
 weary look; his search had been fruitless. He 
 seemed sure, however, that the pigs were taken up 
 by some one for a reward, as had been the case 
 with our pet pony Ella. 
 
 " Mr. White " returned to Pine Knot twice the 
 following week, but each time taking away with 
 him his soiled greenbacks. 
 
 Two weeks after his last visit I was called to 
 the door one night. Sam, a former slave at Swal 
 low Cote, desired to speak with me. 
 
 As solemnly as if kissing a Bible, he said :
 
 The Old South. 251 
 
 " Missy, it take niggers fer ter ketch up wid nig 
 gers. Hearin' 'bout de loss o' your bacon hogs, I's 
 spotted a fellow singin' hallelujah in Zion's gate. 
 He has most on de time a greasy mouth ; we 
 honest folks is bleeged now ter eat dry hoecake, 
 caise we has no massa ter feed us. In conji- 
 tation I has come to de conclus dat I kin put my 
 finger-tips on your salted meat." 
 
 Thinking of my teacups, I assured Sam he 
 would be well rewarded if he found my pigs, dead 
 or alive. 
 
 " It's not fer money I does it, ma'am ; it's fer 
 ole time sake." 
 
 " Let it be as you wish, only find them." 
 
 Sam scratched his head, jerked up his suspend 
 ers, and showed plainly that there was something 
 more he wished to confide. 
 
 " Missy, as I has de 'tention ter bring you 
 comf'ting news, can't you loan me a dollar? Den 
 I kin gib de hunt 'tire justice. It's a delicate 
 matter, an' I mus' handle it like a new-born baby, 
 an' so can't go ter my work ter-morrow, when I 
 mus' split rails ter git some cash, caise if dere's a 
 pound o' meat in de cabin I don't know it, nor a 
 quart ob meal in de cupboard. By de next day 
 your pigs may be carted off ter Old Town. I 
 dassent go home empty-handed an' pull de latch- 
 string. Sara used ter be a good wife in Slavery
 
 252 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 rime. Now de fus word is, ' What's you got ter 
 eat ? ' Colonel Ross is off'ring fifty cents a day 
 fer wemen. "When I 'ludes ter it, Sara glares at 
 me an' says : ' Is you forgot Mars Abe Linkum 
 set we free ? We is ter be ladies like de w'ite foks. 
 Does you want your wife ter work like a slave 
 nigger? Massa's gals don't hoe in de co'nfields. 
 I's free as dey is, an* don't 'ten' ter chop cotton or 
 co'n fer no w'ite man. I's a free lady. I'll cook an' 
 help eat what you brings, will wash your clo's 
 if dey ain't too bloody wid butcherin', an' if you 
 comes wid a chicken or watermillion I'll put a 
 patch in your breeches. Write down in your book, 
 Sam, Sara's a slave no longer. I's waitin' now 
 ter eat wid gold spoons, dat I is.' I has a wife 
 like dat now, ma'am." 
 
 Sam left my door with a dollar on account. 
 
 Days and weeks passed, as they usually pass in 
 rural districts. Our plant of hope had withered. 
 Once more, however, Sam asked for a confidence. 
 " I find dese bristles in de woods," he whispered, 
 handing me a small paper package ; " de groun' 
 is red wid blood. Keep quiet, ma'am, I has my 
 eyes on a shoutin' chu'ch sinner; he's out o' 
 work, but his mouth is greasy all de same. I 
 dassent tell his name yit, caise free niggers don't 
 take no 'count of a man's life, poppin' a fellow 
 back of he head plum* ter kingdom come."
 
 The Old South. 253 
 
 In the piney woods, all around the altar of 
 sacrifice, valuable blood had been shed, yet no 
 gleam of light revealed the fact to me. 
 
 The kitchen garden was forced into life by a 
 southern sun ; and spring advanced. Matthew 
 should be planting peas and beans. I called 
 him. 
 
 Johanna said she had not seen him. In fact, 
 he was in his cabin, tossing with a high fever. Ac 
 cordingly, we summoned a doctor and a coloured 
 nurse, ourselves each day ministering to his 
 needs. 
 
 One afternoon, finding him partly conscious, 
 I repeated in his hearing a few Scripture texts. 
 
 Great black hands reached out and a pitiful 
 wail escaped his parched lips: " I can't die! Do, 
 Miss Bee, forgive me ? " 
 
 " Be calm, Matthew," said I. " Ask God's for 
 giveness, not mine." 
 
 But he insisted. " Say you forgive me, ma'am. 
 Oh, I can't die till I tell you ! Uncle Sam an' 
 me kill your pigs an' Mr. White carted de meat 
 to Hatville. Oh, forgive me ! " 
 
 His penitence touched me, as I was sure that 
 his end was approaching. He received my full 
 and free pardon. Exhausted, he then swooned 
 into unconsciousness. 
 
 Much to the doctor's astonishment, the next
 
 254 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 day he found Matthew had passed the crisis he 
 would live. No reference was made to his con- 
 fession ; we waited for his recovery. 
 
 He was missed from his cabin one morning. 
 Wheel-tracks showed that he had been taken 
 away by night, with his possessions. We had 
 physician and nurse to pay. His wages, too, he 
 had drawn in full before his illness, " Mr. 
 White's " roll of money possibly. 
 
 Sam swore to his innocence : " Dat fool fellow 
 dyin' got my name suffused wid some no 'count 
 rascal. Don't 'sociate your fam'ly niggers wid 
 such shameful 'ceedings." 
 
 I believed him. 
 
 Swallow Cote was finally sold. Colonel Bee, 
 the silvery-haired lawyer, who effected the sale, 
 sent to me, as a mark of sympathy, a gift of 
 plates, platters, cups, and saucers of one hue ; 
 also a rocking-chair and dust-pan.
 
 The Old South. 255 
 
 XX. 
 
 I,ydia and Marlborough Meet. 
 
 " Dig the grave and let me lie 
 Glad did I live and gladly die." 
 
 R. L. STEVENSON. 
 
 THE first news we received of Lydia, came 
 in a letter written by a lady in Tomshear. 
 She tried to write it as nearly as possible 
 according to Lydia's dictation. 
 
 Tomshear, Ga., Jan. y 1866. 
 My dear Missy, 
 
 An' my Sonnie, 
 
 When you drove off I went straight in de 
 cabin an' turned de button. I didn't want ter see 
 nobody. I sat on de bare floor huggiri my corncob 
 soldier Sonnie told me ter keep, kissin dose clay 
 marbles shinin wid his finger-marks. Outside 
 Juno was breakin her heart cryin " Ma, Bro 1 
 Robin is come, an' your things is fling out on de 
 flo' ." I make answer : ' My byadier silk is all I 
 cares fer." Bro' Robin hit his fist on de dooe. " I's 
 hongry" says he, " / wants my dinner." I open de
 
 256 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 dooe, cooked de hoecake an' tried ter eat ; but it 
 lodged 'long side my palate. De mens built a rail 
 fence round de three graves, den we all started fer 
 Toms/tear, wid my mule an' wagon massa give me. 
 I couldn't walk far, so had ter ride wid de chil- 
 luns, fry in pans an' boxes. It want easy goin 
 like when " my boy " was settin in my lap in de 
 carriage. C ampin* out has give me rhumatis in 
 my legs. I'm crippled a good part of de time. I 
 trembles fer ter-morrow an next day caise Bro 
 Robin ain't patient like Bro Molbro. If dey had 
 only left me under de pines ! I knows how Miss 
 Dodo will trouble when she hears mommer aint 
 well. I am trying not ter fret. Bro' Robin an* 
 Dick has hired a tumblerdown shanty. I aint 
 used ter live in a house wid so many ; not ter tell 
 'bout de dirty do's folks give us ter wash an 
 iron. Dick 's pa is gifting worse, but Juno cant 
 travel. Mars Dr. Sam is here, an' promises ter 
 'tend her. He says it makes him fink o' Green 
 Forest ter see us. Juno frets lots ; she says she 
 knows she's going ter die. 
 
 Sonnie, write me a letter, an' put a kiss so 
 mommer kin press her lips on de spot where her 
 baby's mouth was. Have you got pants on yit ? 
 Send them ter meter wash. I'll flute de ruffles 
 missy said she was * tending ter put up de outside 
 seams.
 
 The Old South. 257 
 
 De folks all sends heap a howdy. 
 
 I's longin fer your picture, Sonnie. Tell massa 
 de bliri mule pulled like a man on de long heavy 
 roads cut up by Yankees big wagons. We came 
 near upsettin lots o 1 times. I 's hoping ter go ter 
 Green Forest, so I keeps de mule tied behin de 
 shanty. It stamps so hard sometimes I cant sleep. 
 We dassent turn it loose ter graze, so many free 
 niggers is roamin round. Bro Molbro lias jes lost 
 his youngest boy. Ts longin ter console him ; he's 
 livin at Lament's, his mother 'tending ter de chil- 
 luns. This letter is writ from the heart of 
 Your loving mommer, 
 
 Lyddy." 
 
 Our fears were confirmed, Robin's family were 
 now in a great measure dependent upon money 
 earned by our nurse. Having climbed her moun 
 tain of life, with no hard work to do, this constant 
 drudgery at the wash-tub hastened her down the 
 plane. We were powerless, save to spare what 
 money we could from my husband's meagre 
 salary. 
 
 Month after month accounts grew more depress 
 ing. When Dick and Juno's infant, Josephine, 
 was old enough to travel, they set out for Siberty 
 County. 
 
 Jim lived but a short time after their arrival. 
 '7
 
 258 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Georgia now married Abel. James was working 
 on the railroad. 
 
 When General Grant issued his Ironclad Oath, 
 Revilo returned his unsigned, and of course lost 
 his position as a government official. This pre 
 vented us from assisting Lydia with money. 
 
 Removing to northern Georgia, we wrote for 
 her to come to us, hoping that the bracing air 
 would invigorate her. We offered to share with 
 her our last crumb. 
 
 Her reply showed the true devotion that per' 
 meated her soul. 
 
 August, 1866. 
 My dear Massa : 
 
 / would 'cept of your kind invitation ter come 
 an' live wid you, but mommer can't even sweep de 
 steps. My feet is swollen twice deir size; ifs all I 
 kin do ter stand long 'nought er iron de shirt-fronts 
 fer Georgia. She is doiri de plain ironin well. 
 
 De weather is hotter dan I eber 'members ter feel 
 it. If missy could give me one dose of medicine wid 
 her own hands, perhaps I'd git better. Bro' Mol- 
 bro sent word if we didn't start at once he'd come 
 heself ter bring me ter Green Forest, where Sis 
 Nannie an' Tim Cay is livin' . How is your eyes, 
 massa ? I knows you has a hard time, an soon " my 
 sonny " mus' be goin' ter college, like odder young 
 gen' men. I was so glad fer de picture you sent me.
 
 The Old South. 259 
 
 He is a sure 'nough man now, in pantaloons, wid 
 his curls cut. 
 
 Tank you, massa, fer de money. I kisses eVry 
 bill, caise I knows you needs it. I keeps " my boys " 
 picture under my pillow, an Bro" Robin says if I 
 kiss it much more dere wont be any marks left. 
 
 Your faitliful servant, 
 
 Lyddy. 
 
 Months doubled and tripled ; in fact, it was a 
 year before Lydia started for the goal of her de 
 sire. From her bed came often the simple strains 
 of an old plantation song, " 'Way down upon de 
 Swanee riber." 
 
 Their tedious journey to Green Forest was 
 nearing its end, when the mule suddenly stopped, 
 refusing to go one step farther in the dark. The 
 party halted beside the road, and, lighting a 
 camp-fire, settled for the night. 
 
 Lydia's cup of delight seemed brimming over, 
 when, at dawn, she aroused the sleeping caravan, 
 " We is at Navarre, dere is de big gate, all tumble 
 down ! de avenue plum' full o' weeds. Oh ! I 
 mus' go an' see de house if it is in ruin." 
 
 Lawrence and Lucy assisted her. 
 
 At sight of the ungainly chimneys, in the midst 
 of a pile of ashes, all that remained of a home
 
 260 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 where, thirty years before, she had awaited her 
 master's young bride, she burst into tears. 
 
 " Gib me a handful o' dat sacred ashes, Law 
 rence, an' promise me you'll strew it in my open 
 grave." 
 
 " Oh, ma, you mus'n't die ! " he cried. " Do 
 send for missy, she kin make you well ; you 
 mus'n't die." 
 
 " It's too late, my son," she responded. " It's 
 too late. If I could have stayed wid dem I might 
 have lived dese many a year. Nobody is ter 
 blame but me. Don't forgit, Lawrence, if you 
 plants corn when de shocks is brown, you'll have 
 corn, but, if you sows tares, dey won't be a grain 
 o' wheat. I had a good master an' missus ; deir 
 coachman ready ter wait on me day an* night ; 
 yet my head got turned by a yaller free-nigger, 
 he promisin' silks an' satins, wid my own house 
 an' maid. I hates free niggers. Tears ter me 
 massa is free, not we, caise we must work harder 
 dan eber. Where is my freedom? I was nebei 
 sech a slave. My feet is tied tighter dan Peter's 
 when de angel struck de fetters an' said, ' Go 
 free, Peter ! ' It won't be long afore an angel 
 will break my bands." 
 
 " Ma, what's you talkin' 'bout? Do come an 1 
 lie down in de wagon ; hear Bro' Robin's a-yellin' 
 fer us now."
 
 The Old South. 261 
 
 On the way to Green Forest, the lazy mule 
 jogging along, Lydia sang another old song, 
 changed to suit herself : 
 
 "We are almost there, we are almost there, 
 Said a dying slave as she neared home ; 
 
 Where are the trees that grew just here, 
 
 Where is the moss hanging on each cone ?" 
 
 Nannie, hearing that they were near Green 
 Forest, arranged a pallet beside her blazing 
 hearth. Tim Cay chopped the weeds around the 
 next cabin, to be occupied by Robin and his 
 family. 
 
 Scarcely waiting to greet any of her former 
 associates on her arrival, Lydia cried, " Dis is not 
 my massa's Green Forest. Whey is we house wid 
 de yaller brick steps? Whey is Uncle Frank's 
 chu'ch ? Whey is de gin-house where ' my chil- 
 luns ' played in de loose cotton ? Is my eyes 
 blin', Sis' Nannie? Dis is not we Green Grove. 
 I don't smell magnolias, jassemine an' orange 
 blossoms. Is not one left ter show where my 
 cabin stood wid de bell-rope stretchin' 'cross ter 
 de nuss'ry ? Bro' Molbro an' me'll never sit under 
 we own vine an' fig-tree ag'in ! " 
 
 The day wore on. Robin and Tim were busy 
 patching the roof of Machiah's house, when a 
 tall, slender black man, his head tinged with grey, 
 quietly entered Nannie's cabin. No one was in
 
 262 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 but a woman asleep on a pallet, a mere shadow 
 of her former self. He knelt, winding his arms 
 about her. Startled, she returned the embrace : 
 " De Lord's name be praised ! If here ain't Bro' 
 Molbro ! " 
 
 At that inopportune moment Robin flung open 
 the door, not knowing of his brother's arrival. 
 
 "Is dat de way you kin use your arms? I 
 t'ought you was crippled wid rhumatis, an' dis 
 long time ain't washed a pocket-henkerchief fer 
 a fellow. Tears to me you's clutchin' dat shirt- 
 collar purty tight." 
 
 " Oh, Bro' Robin," and her arms dropped on 
 her breast, " can't you 'low me one minute's joy 
 wid we coachman ? We growed up togedder ; we 
 loved massa an he bride. Bro' Molbro's voice 
 brings my w'ite chilluns runnin' into my arms, de 
 two gals cryin' in de rice-field trunk, Tom an' 
 Jerry switchin' deir tails an' stampin' by de saw 
 mill. Dose days we was sittin' under we own 
 vine an' fig-tree. Now we's both suff'rin'. But 
 it won't be long ; spare me one leedle hour ob joy, 
 Bro' Robin." 
 
 " Have all you want ; I has no 'jection, you's no 
 'count in de cabin. You might go to Lament's, 
 caise Flora ain't dere ter talk 'bout your black 
 pair of wings." 
 
 Springing to his feet, Marlborough shook his
 
 The Old South. 263 
 
 fist in his brother's face : " I wish I'd smashed 
 your skull fer you years ago," he cried. " Ter 
 t'ink you dares call my Lyddy your wife ! Git 
 out o' dis room or I'll poun' your head into jelly." 
 
 " Put de weight o' your toe-nail on me an' 
 you'll fin' your match. Your hair is grey, an' I's 
 a free nigger." 
 
 The underpinning giving way, Tim Cay called 
 for assistance, leaving the lovers alone. 
 
 " Lyddy, my darlen, com' wid me to Lament's ; 
 be my wife ; I'll take care of you," said Marl- 
 borough ; "gib you a comf'table home an' my gal 
 Flora will wait on you like a maid. I has no 
 carnage nor silk frocks ter offer, but when you 
 can't walk I'll take you in my strong arms. 
 Lyddy, I has loved you all my life. If marriages 
 is made in heaven, like massa used to read, why 
 is dis ring " breaking the threads holding it in 
 his waistcoat front " been waitin' fer ober twenty 
 years ter go on your finger? It has 'Lyddy' 
 writ inside, so soap an' water won't wash it out.' 
 He patted her crippled hand. " Let me put it 
 on now, then we'll be j'ined. You will be my 
 wife." 
 
 " Flora is buried," she replied, " but Bro' Robin 
 is livin', an' Mars C. C. said 'so long as you both 
 lives. Massa neber broke no marriages. He's 
 dead an' gone, but his voice rings in my ear.
 
 264 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 Las' night while we was sleepin' by Navarre, an' 
 we didn't know it, I dreamed I heard him call me, 
 saying, ' Lyddy, here's your young missy. Fs 
 going ter look ter you dat she neber wants fer 
 anyt'ing.' Den in my sleep I hugged her tiny 
 feet an' kissed dem. An* her soft w'ite hand pat 
 ted me on my bandanna ; her sweet voice said, 
 ' I'm goin' ter be good ter you as long as I live.' 
 God knows she was ! I ain't 'shamed, Bro' Mol- 
 bro, ter tell you I has always loved you eber since 
 we used ter sit side by side in de kitchen at Na 
 varre. 'Cordin' ter de angel-voice hissin' in de 
 chimney-jamb, I has tied myself ; but it won't be 
 long. I often hears rumblin' charyot wheels, so 
 I is sure de winged horses is on de way. When 
 my strength gits low, take my finger an* put on 
 de ring wid de gol' mark. My wings has been 
 stained wid sin, but de Lord kin wash dem w'ite. 
 I has not been your wife in de Green Forest, but 
 in Paradise Christ will gib us a mansion not made 
 wid hands ; roamin' dere we'll meet we w'ite folks 
 we loved so well." 
 
 She smiled, as a thought came to mind. " Was 
 dat de dagger I was afraid of?" pointing to the 
 ring. " There'll be no fightin' dere ; no tears, no 
 separations." 
 
 Clasping her wasted form to his heart Marl- 
 borough kissed her. " Lyddy, my heart's wife, .
 
 The Old South. 265 
 
 wid pure w'ite wings, I'll keep de ring here," 
 tapping his waistcoat "till de sweet charyot 
 swings low. Dat word massa gave us, ' God is 
 love', is neber out o' my min'. When we meets 
 in Paradise we'll tell him we has found it 'strue."
 
 266 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A Marriage in Heaven. 
 
 "A soul as white as heaven." 
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 THE Utopian days of Green Forest were 
 past ; its principal buildings in ashes. 
 The sawmill, too, was fallen into decay, 
 the door of the " Jewish Synagogue " lay on the 
 ground, its hinges rusty and weather-beaten. 
 Here and there a Cherokee rose showed where a 
 hedge surrounded the well and the moss-covered 
 bucket, now constantly on the dip, quenching the 
 thirst of freemen. One narrow trodden path, in 
 the midst of rank weeds, marked where bare 
 little black feet trotted back and forth with 
 wooden pails and piggins. 
 
 Enriched with soldier and negro bones a line 
 of cedars, well matured, blended rich green with 
 silvery grey moss. 
 
 Lydia was not strong enough to roam in the 
 grove. Marlborough wheeled her once in a bar 
 row to where tall chimneys stood, sentinel-like
 
 The Old South. 267 
 
 over the past. On a charred rafter they sat chat 
 ting of bygone happiness, when food and raiment 
 were had for the mere acceptance. In weakness, 
 her head rested upon her lover's shoulder. Over 
 head, as gayly as ever, mocking birds sang as they 
 had sung twenty years before. With his soul's 
 wife in his arms, Marlborough was happier than 
 he had been for years. Yet he felt sure Lydia 
 could not last many weeks. 
 
 "I was de happiest man in Siberty County be 
 fore Marmaduke came to plaster dese walls," he 
 said. 
 
 Toying in the debris, he unearthed an iron nut 
 cracker. Fire had melted its silver coating. 
 
 " Bro' Marlbro," Lydia asked, " does you, 
 'member de night massa came from Savernake 
 wid a box o* silber? Dis was in it; he neber 
 forgot us ; you had a silber-handle carriage-whip, 
 an' I a new cradle fer ' my baby ' " ; she thought 
 for a moment ; " it was my Letha, wid de black 
 ringlets on her pretty head. Has all dat silber 
 turned to ashes ?" 
 
 " Neber min', my Lyddy, in de mansions not 
 made wid han's we won't want gold or silber. 
 Mars C. C. said de streets was paved wid crystals 
 sparklin' like di'monds, an' God sittin' on a great 
 w'ite t'rone." 
 
 Drawing from her bosom a well-thumbed
 
 268 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 carte-de-visite photograph, Lydia covered it with 
 kisses. 
 
 " You neber saw my little man in frilled panta 
 loons, after he could talk an' tell his mommer how 
 much he loved her. I tried not terlet Miss Dodo 
 know how my heart was breakin' caise Bro' Robin 
 wouldn't let me stay. I opened de cabin dooe 
 eb'ry mornin' wid a laugh on my face ; but in 
 side was tears ready ter fall like rain. Juno has 
 promised ter put my byadier silk on me, an' you 
 my ring wid de gol' mark, den lay dis pictur' an' 
 my corncob soldier jes where Sonnie's golden 
 curls used ter lie. De clay marbles" counting 
 one by one from her pocket " put dem in de 
 folds of my bur'yal robe. Wheel me home, Bro' 
 Molbro, I must lay me down ter sleep, I'm so 
 tired." 
 
 Not many days after, Juno, with Boy leaning 
 on her knee, rubbed her mother's cold hands. 
 But no friction could warm them. Stroking her 
 chill brow, Marlborough sat silent, great tear-drops 
 running down his black cheeks. Nannie stirred 
 a pot of gruel, hoping to revive her sister-in-law. 
 Dazed by a strange scene of approaching disso 
 lution, Edward stood at the foot of the bed ; while 
 outside, Lawrence hurriedly cut wood to warm 
 the room. 
 
 " Is dis you, Juno ? " Lydia said in a faint voice.
 
 The Old South. 269 
 
 " Hold ma's hand. Molbro," and she tried to 
 look into his face, " I hears de rumblin' o' 
 charyot wheels, de sweet charyot. Sissy, Boy," 
 then for a moment all was still " my pic-tur'. 
 My sold-ier my marbles." 
 
 Encircling her form with his left arm, his lips 
 near hers, Marlborough removed Lucy's ring from 
 her finger and tossed it into the fire. In its place 
 he put one marred by contact with intense heat. 
 " Lyddy, my wife, my angel, wid snow-w'ite wings 
 tipped wid silber," he whispered, "you are mine, 
 forever mine, fer God is love ! " 
 
 Nannie asked, "Shall I call Bro' Robin?" 
 
 With one word Marlborough forbade her. 
 
 Braced by that unaccountable energy that fre 
 quently proceeds dissolution, Lydia lifted her left 
 hand and kissed the ring. In a voice scarcely 
 audible, she spoke : " As de eyes of servants look 
 ter de hand of deir master, an' de eyes of a maid 
 ter de hand of her mistress, so, Lord, my eyes is 
 waitin' on dee. "Molbro, my husband, in heaven 
 we'll meet ! " A smile showed her double row of 
 pearly teeth. Her inanimate body rested in her 
 lover's warm embrace. 
 
 Juno and Lawrence insisted that " if missy had 
 given Ma medicine wid her own han's, she 
 wouldn't 'a' died." 
 
 Lydia lay stretched upon a deal bench, her
 
 270 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 hands enfolding a white boy's picture, a sheet 
 thrown lightly over her body. Her stiffened form 
 was placed in a rude coffin made by Marlborough, 
 Tim Cay, and Dick. With an eye to the future, 
 Robin touched the gold band on her hand. 
 " Shall I take off my ring ? " 
 
 " Dat ring shall be buried wid her. She wished 
 it." Maryborough's stern voice silenced his 
 brother. 
 
 One clay marble rolled to the dead one's feet 
 from the pocket of the byadier silk. 
 
 Four men carried the coffin to the cedar enclos 
 ure. Marlborough, with Juno on his arm, walked 
 as chief mourner, Nannie and Robin following. 
 
 Frank prayed earnestly. Then he announced 
 his text " from de songs of David : ' Aldo we 
 has been among de pots, yet shall we wings be 
 like a dove's, kivered wid silber, de fedders like 
 fine gol*. From hence she shall eat angels' food, 
 fer God is love. De charyots also o' God is 
 thousands of angels, an He has sent forth he 
 winged host fer dis dear sister ; she loved we 
 master's family an' his people." 
 
 The body was lowered into the grave. Marl- 
 borough sprinkled a handful of dust over the 
 coffin, saying, " Dis is de ashes of Navarre, where 
 we nurse was once so happy. Now she's wid her 
 master an' his bride. Friends, she was my wife
 
 The Old South. 271 
 
 by rights. When de sweet charyot swings low 
 fer me, I hopes ter lie here 'longside de purest 
 woman dat eber lived. I has waited fer twenty 
 years. Now she's got my ring on wid a name 
 writ inside wid a pen of fire. In heaven Lyddy 
 is my wife. God is love ; blessed is His name. 
 Amen ! " 
 
 "Amen ! Amen ! " responded the crowd, and 
 sobs heaved from many breasts. 
 
 Marlborough's undying love was in strange con 
 trast to Robin's conduct. In a few weeks the 
 man, whom a seeming supernatural influence 
 had forced Lydia to marry, took to his cabin 
 another wife, Hetty, widow of Jim. 
 
 Marlborough's face had been overcast for years. 
 Now a deeper gloom settled there. Only once 
 did it become radiant ; and that was when, at 
 Lament's, his daughter Flora and Lawrence were 
 pronounced man and wife. 
 
 " My chilluns," said he, " de Lord gib you de 
 joy Lyddy an* me should've had." 
 
 The blossoms that perfumed the air at Green 
 Forest are all dead. Not one green offshoot 
 of the myrtle remains. Lydia's master and 
 " baby boy " survived her but a few years. And 
 while " no marble marks her couch of lowly sleep," 
 yet in the hearts of her " w'ite chilluns," down to 
 their grandchildren, her name is forever enshrined.
 
 272 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 XXII. 
 Green Forest Sold at Auction. 
 
 u Calm 'mid the bewild'ring cry, 
 Confident of victory." 
 
 THE taxes on Green Forest land, year by 
 year, doubled and increased. Letha and 
 I, joint-owners in our widowhood, were 
 unable to cancel these formidable amounts. 
 Hence, a Federal tax-collector one morning gal 
 loped through the tangled moss-grown avenue 
 and nailed in conspicuous places three printed 
 bills. 
 
 John, a more capable rail-splitter than scholar, 
 tried to decipher the words, perspiring freely over 
 the effort. " By Jingo," he cried, " dem blue- 
 coats is offerin' we plantation fer sale ! Dey 
 'tend ter turn de las' one o' us out dese cabins ! " 
 Crowds gathered about him, gazing with un 
 tutored eyes upon the hieroglyphics. No one 
 thought of buying; it was beyond their ken. 
 Tim Cay, however, consulted with Maryborough 
 as to their best course if evicted.
 
 The Old South. 273 
 
 One clear June day, three months after rain 
 had spluttered on, and sunshine faded, the letter 
 ing of this to us cruel order, three horsemen ar 
 rived, and stuck upon the well-pole a bright red 
 flag. 
 
 The Confederate and the Yankee flag the negroes 
 were familiar with, but this blood-red rag " What 
 is it? " said they " de devil's henkerchief ? " 
 
 Marlborough was there, holding in his arms his 
 granddaughter, Lyddy, who brought to his sad 
 face the light of a new love. 
 
 One of the officers borrowed a wooden bench, 
 mounted it, and cried aloud, as if to a crowd of 
 eager purchasers, " Fifty acres of land is for sale ! 
 Who bids?" 
 
 Not a sound, save a cough or a sigh. Marl- 
 borough stood, hat in hand, in courtesy to what 
 was happening on his master's old plantation. 
 
 " Does no one bid for this valuable land," con 
 tinued the auctioneer ? You black men, make me 
 an offer ; if it is only a fat pig. I must have a 
 start." 
 
 Frank, accustomed to lead, stepped forward : 
 " Boss," and helifted hishat, " I hopes you'll ex 
 cuse me, but has you forgot dis place was bought 
 from ole man Hamm by we massa ? It's de finest 
 estate in Siberty County, an' it hurts we niggers' 
 
 feelin's fer you ter ask us fer a fat pig when de 
 18
 
 274 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 goodest man dat eber lived paid down a pile of 
 gol' dollars fer it." 
 
 " You old fool, if you've no money, keep your 
 confounded talk to yourself. We are here to do 
 our duty. Money is what we've come for, and 
 we intend to get it. Does no one bid ? " noticing 
 that Marlborough and Tim Cay whispered to 
 gether " You men over there, give me a bid ! " 
 
 Marlborough put his little girl down before ad 
 dressing a white man, and timidly replied, " Boss, 
 Tim Cay an' me'll gib all we has, if you'll wait 
 on us fer de balance." 
 
 "How much have you? Don't be afraid to 
 speak ! We are here to help you, not harm 
 you. You look to be a sensible man ; bid for 
 this valuable land. Who bids?" 
 
 Tim Cay looked at his brother-in-law, scratched 
 his head, and shot a squirt of tobacco juice to one 
 side. " I reckon it will count nigh on ter twenty- 
 five dollars, when I sells my pig an' Molbro his 
 pony," said he. 
 
 " Twenty-five dollars is bid for fifty acres of 
 Green Forest land ! Does no one bid higher ? 
 Going, going, gone, fifty acres is knocked down 
 to what's your name, sir ? " 
 
 " Molbro." 
 
 " Mr. Molbro ! Is that who I must make the 
 deeds for ? "
 
 The Old South. 275 
 
 " I's plain Molbro Janes, I neber had a mister 
 ter my name all dese years. I don't want one 
 now." 
 
 "Slade, draw up the deed for Molbro Janes, 
 coloured. I thought he was a sensible fellow. 
 I find he's as big a fool as the biggest." 
 
 Scuse me, boss, will you bleege me by stakin' 
 my part over yonder, where does cedar trees is ; 
 de balance, wid one cabin, you kin stick Tim 
 Cay's title on." 
 
 "The deuce ! What do you want with that 
 enclosure ? It looks confoundedly like a grave 
 yard ! The ground is rich with dead bones ; do 
 you hope to grow corn ten feet high, with four 
 ears to each stalk ! Is that your idea?" 
 
 "I has no 'tention of growing* corn, boss. 
 I did plant a sweet-orange seed there, an' de 
 bush is yaller wid fruit; but dey is bitter an' 
 sour." 
 
 " Slade, you and White go and stake off fifty 
 acres, including those cedar trees. Molbro Janes 
 sells his pig to buy the grave of one of his master's 
 children, with an orange-tree growing at the head. 
 I took him to be a sensible man, but he's a dam 
 fool : like all Jackanapes of southern negroes he'll 
 never learn sense. By Jove, some day when he's 
 starving he will find that not one of his master's 
 children would give him a morsel of food, now
 
 276 Lyddy: A Tale of 
 
 that they can't thrash and beat him." The three 
 white men then roared with laughter. 
 
 In voice full of dignity, Marlborough replied, 
 "Boss, I has been taught not ter counterdict w'ite 
 folks, but de word you is jes spoke ain't true. You 
 Yankee people may be dat kind, but our w'ite 
 folks ain't. Massa's chilluns would share de las' 
 crum' o' bread wid us, but we don't look ter dem 
 fer food. Mars Abe Linkun is brought dem ter 
 want ; dey is neber used ter hard work, dey had all 
 dey needed till Blue-coats come south. If you'll 
 allow me, boss, I'll say one more word. De bes' 
 victuals I eber eat an' de happiest days I eber 
 lived was when I was coachman ter massa." He 
 bent his head respectfully in the direction of tall 
 chimneys unsupported by walls or rafters. "In 
 does days we nuss an' me used ter sit under we 
 own vine an' fig tree. Now she's sleepin' 
 in dat cedar hedge, an' I hopes ter jine her 
 soon." 
 
 " Hah ! hah ! old man, is that what you're 
 buying?" A dead wife's grave! And the two in 
 truders roared with merriment. " You ain't lost 
 all sentiment if you are a free nigger, and getting 
 old in the bargain." 
 
 "Boss, I ain't edicated : I don't know what you 
 calls sentiment. But if it's love you's talkin* 
 'bout, I kin love as true as any w'ite man, if my
 
 The Old South. 277 
 
 face is black an' my hair streaked wid grey. 
 Massa told us " God is love," an' he taught us ter 
 respect we selves, an' I hopes ter keep in mind 
 his teachin' till I dies."
 
 278 JLyddy : A Tale of 
 
 XXIII. 
 News of Juno. 
 
 "To reign is worth ambition, though in hell; 
 Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. n 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 MIDWAY church was closed after the war. 
 But a coloured Baptist preacher gained 
 permission to preach in its classic-carved 
 oaken pulpit, on condition that the cemetery be 
 kept in order. Accordingly, at the end of his 
 first service, he proceeded to appoint a com 
 mittee to attend to this matter. 
 
 A woman arose in the congregation and spoke. 
 It was Nannie. " Brothers an' sisterens," said 
 she, " wid your consent I'll promise ter care fer 
 we enclosure where massa an' missus lies. Bro' 
 Molbro an' Amos put we captain dere too." 
 
 "Amen, amen, sister! God bless you!" re 
 sponded more than one voice. At recollections of 
 the past, many shed tears. 
 
 Nannie's care for two decades was unremitting. 
 She kept the sweeping grey moss festooned to the
 
 The Old South. 279 
 
 limbs above, as if the spot were too sacred for 
 touch. Feebleness and age has now interrupted 
 her attentions. 
 
 The devotion of slaves from Green Forest is 
 not exceptional. Many other authentic instances 
 could be given to prove my words. 
 
 I cite but one. Not long ago, in a hotel in 
 Massachusetts, I often met in the hall a coloured 
 maid who reminded me of our Lydia. I greeted 
 her with a Good-morning one day. She stopped. 
 " Missy," she asked, " ain't you from the south? 
 Do you know my Miss Annie and Miss Sallie?" 
 She had been educated in a negro university. 
 
 " Where do they live? " I asked. 
 
 " In Virginia, ma'am. I hear Miss Annie is get 
 ting feeble. Sometimes I think it's my duty to 
 go and live with them. We wouldn't have any 
 thing to live on, because they are poor and 
 weren't brought up to work. I always share my 
 wages with them." 
 
 " How comes it you are so fond of these ladies, 
 you must have been born after freedom." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. It was when Mars Stonewall 
 Jackson was tenting near our plantation. There 
 was a big fight. Blue-coats were killing every 
 thing on the place. Missus got in a carriage to 
 go to Miss Randolph's, across the river, when my 
 pa came wringing his hands. Missus jumped out
 
 280 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 and said, ' Ben, drive the children to Miss Ran 
 dolph's ; tell her I will come in the morning if 
 Ginnie is better.' Our white house was full of 
 soldiers cutting up jack, and my mother has told 
 me how old missus put on me the first clothes I 
 ever wore. She named me Patience. Massawas 
 brought from Gettysburg and missus planted 
 snow-drops on his grave ; but before they was 
 blooming she was layin alongside. When my 
 mother took her last sickness she called me one 
 night. ' Patience,' says she, ' my appointed time 
 is come. There is a rumbling of chariot wheels, 
 the archangel is singing ; heaven bells are a-ring- 
 ing my soul engage. Promise me, Patience, 
 when I'm gone you will always share your wages 
 with Miss Annie and Miss Sallie. If it hadn't 
 been for their mother you nor me would be here 
 to-day.' Lady, do you think I could ever forget 
 my duty to Miss Annie and Miss Sallie ? " 
 
 The pathos in her voice was of itself convincing. 
 
 I give now a letter from Juno, received during 
 my residence abroad : 
 
 Siberty Co., Ga.,Aug., '94.. 
 My Dear Missy : 
 
 I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am to hear 
 of you once more. Your letter reached me from 
 Switzerland. I don't know which was greater,
 
 The Old South. 281 
 
 my surprise or joy. I am so glad to hear you are 
 restored to health : we never thought you would be 
 well ; Miss Let ha has told us of all your sorrow. 
 
 You want to know about your people. I have had 
 ten children, seven living. Boy (Joe] is a big man 
 and has three children and a good wife, Sissy. 
 Matilda is also married. She is the little one, you 
 remember, zv/io used to beg for your balmoral, and 
 you said "All right, I'll give it to you when it's 
 old" I often tell the children about you. They 
 love to hear me talk of old times. My sister Geor 
 gia died five years ago, leaving four sons and one 
 daughter. Lawrence and Edward are still living. 
 Mother s husband, Robin, has been married twice 
 since mother s death. Molbro has been dead for 
 many years. Uncle Belfast and his wife are both 
 dead. Daniel and Phoebe are living. Many of the 
 others have moved away or I have lost sight of 
 them. 
 
 I have no photo of mother. But I have one of 
 my sister, who resembles her. I will send it to 
 you. I am glad you are writing about mother. 
 When it is in print send me a copy, and the kind 
 white friend who is writing this letter will read it 
 aloud for vie. 
 
 Every day I kiss your photograph you sent me ; 
 it is so precious to me! You ask if you were 
 ever unkind to me ? No, my dear missy ; but you
 
 282 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 taught me many useful lessons Pm trying to teach 
 my children. I would love to see you once more. 
 
 We are getting on tolerably well. Times are 
 dreadfully hard some years. Do write me again. 
 
 Your loving servant, 
 
 Juno.
 
 The Old South. 283 
 
 XXIV. 
 Mixed Schools, Mixed Marriages. 
 
 IN Siberty County, broad areas, once teeming 
 with cotton, corn, or rice, are now sub 
 divided into small farms owned by negroes 
 and northern men, who bought the land at tax- 
 collectors' sales. 
 
 The court-house in Ashby County, where 
 Greenville was situated, was destroyed, with its 
 deeds and records. Seven hundred acres of pine 
 land running back of our summer-house also 
 burned were almost forgotten the heirs were 
 engrossed in gaining daily bread. 
 
 The judge of Ashby County convened court 
 in temporary quarters. After calling to order, he 
 asked, " Is there any cause why the petitioner, 
 Samuel Thorne, junior, shall not be granted a 
 squatter's deed to five hundred acres of pine land, 
 on which he has lived unmolested seven years ? I 
 He is an efficient officer, and has kissed the Bible 
 over our Ironclad Oath." 
 
 A stranger arose from a rear seat, and, to the
 
 284 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 dismay of the petitioner, replied, " May it please 
 your honour, I protest. The said land belongs 
 to relatives, who are not aware of Sam Thome's 
 kindness in squatting on their property." 
 
 Sam, Feede's alleged big black bear, years be 
 fore, in a similar manner, had obtained possession 
 of two hundred acres, where his wife Becky now 
 lived, beating her tow-headed children as if they 
 were made of stone. 
 
 Notwithstanding the tremendous monetary 
 loss to us, the release from the trials connected 
 with the care and guidance of slaves is a happy 
 one. Our fair southland has greatly advanced 
 with wider views of life ; the poison of internal 
 strife is now a thing of the past. This new dawn 
 of brotherly love reveals the silver-lining so long 
 obscured. Phcenix-like, towns and village have 
 risen from their ashes into cities of magni 
 tude. Men and women walk to church, remem 
 bering their fine equipages as things of the past. 
 Hardly a score of sensible citizens would, I be 
 lieve, resume their former positions as slave 
 owners. 
 
 Southern women have proved their ability to 
 prepare a dinner fit for a king. In the midst of 
 these homely duties, year by year they spread 
 garlands of flowers over the graves of those that 
 like Lee faced the foe.
 
 The Old South. 285 
 
 When the promise of forty acres of land and a 
 mule failed to materialise, the men made free were 
 disappointed. 
 
 Freedom to the young was a great boon ; but 
 to the aged and sick it meant much suffering. 
 
 At a railway station in Virginia an old negro 
 man accosted me not long ago : " Missy, do buy 
 my fried chicken ; it's bery tasty." 
 
 " Tell me, uncle," I said, " how do you enjoy 
 freedom ? " 
 
 He looked me over to be sure I was northern 
 born, not a southerner, then said : " It's bery good, 
 ma'am, to know I is free. 'Fore de war I work 
 a leedle, eat a pow'ful lot, dance half de night, 
 sleep when de boss wasn't 'round. Now, I works 
 all day in de truck-patch. Comes eb'ry train till 
 midnight fer' sell dese fry. Ole Sue is sick de 
 bes' of de time. It takes all I makes fer pay de 
 doctor. De inteyor harness, what keep soul an' 
 body togedder, is pow'ful easy ter git upside 
 down. Chicken-meat what gits stale, an' bread 
 hard as a brickbat, don't 'gree wid we like de 
 sweet hog an' hominy, wid hoecake. Wen I 
 t'inks of ole massa's smokehouse my eyes an' 
 mouth runs water. Ole Sue, wid her confedera 
 tion wrong, groans fer de household kitchen, or 
 de cabin close by." 
 
 The admixture of colour was a dreadful curse
 
 286 Lyddy : A Tale of 
 
 on southern estates. Now, one has but to note 
 the coppery-tinged children in large northern 
 cities, to realise that this evil has not abated. 
 
 The curse of this social phenomena I leave 
 to be overthrown by others ; merely adding, 
 that the Jew refuses to amalgamate with the 
 Gentile. He keeps an iron band about his circle ; 
 who breaks it, incurs disinheritance. Rarely do 
 artists put two decided colours side by side, or 
 clever gardeners Jacqueminots with lilies of the 
 valley, They grow in the same garden, equally 
 prized ; but one flourishes in sunshine, the other in 
 a northern exposure. The raven and dove, too, 
 feed in the same meadow: they never sit on the 
 same nest. 
 
 Then why should Julia Smith, with her flaxen 
 curls, occupy a school-desk with Clarence Baxter, 
 coloured, unless they may be free to marry ; for 
 intimacy often ripens into love ? Have not 
 statistics shown that they do stand under the 
 same marriage-bell ? God has made a strong 
 divisional line ; therefore we of the south do not 
 approve of mixed schools. 
 
 Why should not the negro race have every 
 advantage, and so make for itself a history ? They 
 have logical and intellectual powers, combined 
 with much that is good and true. They are very 
 sociable, never hesitating to accost a stranger :
 
 The Old South. 287 
 
 " Morning! is you jes from Charleston ? " " Not 
 jes at dis present minute ; shortly, previous to 
 de war I was dere, and shortly previous after de 
 war I was dere ag'in to-day I is journeyin' 
 backward toward Atlanta."
 
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