Clotel, William Wells Brown [i like reading books .txt] 📗

“As far as I can see your slaves appear to good advantage,” replied Carlton. “But,” continued he, “if it is a fair question, do you have preaching among your slaves on Sunday, Mr. Jones?”

“No, no,” returned he, “I think that’s all nonsense; my negroes do their own preaching.”

“So you do permit them to have meetings.”

“Yes, when they wish. There’s some very intelligent and clever chaps among them.”

“As tomorrow is the Sabbath,” said Carlton, “if you have no objection, I will attend meeting with them.”

“Most certainly you shall, if you will do the preaching,” returned the planter.

Here the young man was about to decline, but he remembered the parting words of Georgiana, and he took courage and said, “Oh, I have no objection to give the negroes a short talk.” It was then understood that Carlton was to have a religious interview with the blacks the next day, and the young man waited with a degree of impatience for the time.

In no part of the South are slaves in a more ignorant and degraded state than in the cotton, sugar, and rice districts.

If they are permitted to cease labour on the Sabbath, the time is spent in hunting, fishing, or lying beneath the shade of a tree, resting for the morrow. Religious instruction is unknown in the far South, except among such men as the Rev. C. C. Jones, John Peck, and some others who regard religious instruction, such as they impart to their slaves, as calculated to make them more trustworthy and valuable as property. Jones, aware that his slaves would make rather a bad show of intelligence if questioned by Carlton, resolved to have them ready for him, and therefore gave his driver orders with regard to their preparation. Consequently, after the day’s labour was over, Dogget, the driver, assembled the negroes together and said, “Now, boys and gals, your master is coming down to the quarters tomorrow with his visitor, who is going to give you a preach, and I want you should understand what he says to you. Now many of you who came of Old Virginia and Kentuck know what preaching is, and others who have been raised in these parts do not. Preaching is to tell you that you are mighty wicked and bad at heart. This, I suppose, you all know. But if the gentleman should ask you who made you, tell him the Lord; if he ask if you wish to go to heaven, tell him yes. Remember that you are all Christians, all love the Lord, all want to go to heaven, all love your masters, and all love me. Now, boys and gals, I want you to show yourselves smart tomorrow: be on your p’s and q’s, and, Monday morning, I will give you all a glass of whiskey bright and early.”

Agreeable to arrangement the slaves were assembled together on Sunday morning under the large trees near the great house, and after going through another drilling from the driver, Jones and Carlton made their appearance. “You see,” said Jones to the negroes, as he approached them, “you see here’s a gentleman that’s come to talk to you about your souls, and I hope you ’ill all pay that attention that you ought.” Jones then seated himself in one of the two chairs placed there for him and the stranger.

Carlton had already selected a chapter in the Bible to read to them, which he did, after first prefacing it with some remarks of his own. Not being accustomed to speak in public, he determined, after reading the Bible, to make it more of a conversational meeting than otherwise. He therefore began asking them questions. “Do you feel that you are a Christian?” asked he of a full-blooded negro that sat near him.

“Yes, sir,” was the response.

“You feel, then, that you shall go to heaven.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course you know who made you?”

The man put his hand to his head and began to scratch his wool; and, after a little hesitation, answered, “De overseer told us last night who made us, but indeed I forgot the gentmun’s name.”

This reply was almost too much for Carlton, and his gravity was not a little moved. However, he bit his tongue, and turned to another man, who appeared, from his looks, to be more intelligent. “Do you serve the Lord?” asked he.

“No, sir, I don’t serve anybody but Mr. Jones. I neber belong to anybody else.”

To hide his feelings at this juncture, Carlton turned and walked to another part of the grounds, to where the women were seated, and said to a mulatto woman who had rather an anxious countenance, “Did you ever hear of John the Baptist?”

“Oh yes, marser, John de Baptist; I know dat nigger bery well indeed; he libs in Old Kentuck, where I come from.”

Carlton’s gravity here gave way, and he looked at the planter and laughed right out. The old woman knew a slave near her old master’s farm in Kentucky, and was ignorant enough to suppose that he was the John the Baptist inquired about. Carlton occupied the remainder of the time in reading Scripture and talking to them.

“My niggers ain’t shown off very well today,” said Jones, as he and his visitor left the grounds.

“No,” replied Carlton.

“You did not get hold of the bright ones,” continued the planter.

“So it seems,” remarked Carlton.

The planter evidently felt that his neighbour, Parson Peck, would have a nut to crack over the account that Carlton would give of the ignorance of the slaves, and said and did all in his power to remove the bad impression already made; but to no purpose. The report made by Carlton, on his return, amused the parson very much. It appeared to him the best reason why professed Christians like himself should be slaveholders. Not so with Georgiana. She did not even smile when Carlton was telling his story, but seemed sore at heart that such ignorance should prevail in their midst. The question turned upon the