They were three little sisters, daughters of a Southern planter, and they lived in a big white house on a cotton plantation in Mississippi. The house stood in a grove of cedars and live-oaks, and on one side was a flower-garden, with two summer-houses covered with climbing roses and honey-suckles, where the little girls would often have tea-parties in the pleasant spring and summer days. Back of the house was a long avenue of water-oaks leading to the quarters where the negroes lived.
Major Waldron, the father of the children, owned a large number of slaves, and they loved him and his children very dearly. And the little girls loved them, particularly “Mammy,” who had nursed their mother, and now had entire charge of the children; and Aunt Milly, a lame yellow woman, who helped Mammy in the nursery; and Aunt Edy, the head laundress, who was never too busy to amuse them. Then there was Aunt Nancy, the “tender,” who attended to the children for the field-hands, and old Uncle Snake-bit Bob, who could scarcely walk at all, because he had been bitten by a snake when he was a boy: so now he had a little shop, where he made baskets of white-oak splits for the hands to pick cotton in; and he always had a story ready for the children, and would let them help him weave baskets whenever Mammy would take them to the shop.
Besides these, there were Riar, Chris, and Dilsey, three little negroes, who belonged to the little girls and played with them, and were in training to be their maids by-and-by.
Diddie, the oldest of the children, was nine years of age, and had a governess, Miss Carrie, who had taught her to read quite well, and even to write a letter. She was a quiet, thoughtful little girl, well advanced for her age, and lady-like in her manners.
Dumps, the second sister, was five, full of fun and mischief, and gave Mammy a great deal of trouble on account of her wild tomboyish ways.
Tot, the baby, was a tiny, little blue-eyed child of three, with long light curls, who was always amiable and sweet-tempered, and was petted by everybody who knew her.
Now, you must not think that the little girls had been carried to the font and baptized with such ridiculous names as Diddie, Dumps, and Tot: these were only pet names that Mammy had given them; but they had been called by them so long that many persons forgot that Diddie’s name was Madeleine, that Dumps had been baptized Elinor, and that Tot bore her mother’s name of Eugenia, for they were known as Diddie, Dumps and Tot to all of their friends.
The little girls were very happy in their plantation home. ’Tis true they lived ’way out in the country, and had no museums nor toy-shops to visit, no fine parks to walk or ride in, nor did they have a very great variety of toys. They had some dolls and books, and a baby-house furnished with little beds and chairs and tables; and they had a big Newfoundland dog, Old Bruno; and Dumps and Tot both had a little kitten apiece; and there was “Old Billy,” who once upon a time had been a frisky little lamb, Diddie’s special pet; but now he was a vicious old sheep, who amused the children very much by running after them whenever he could catch them out-of-doors. Sometimes, though, he would butt them over and hurt them and Major Waldron had several times had him turned into the pasture; but Diddie would always cry and beg for him to be brought back and so Old Billy was nearly always in the yard.
Then there was Corbin, the little white pony that belonged to all of the children together, and was saddled and bridled every fair day, and tied to the horse-rack, that the little girls might ride him whenever they chose; and ’twas no unusual sight to see two of them on him at once, cantering down the big road or through the grove.
And, besides all these amusements, Mammy or Aunt Milly or Aunt Edy, or some of the negroes, would tell them tales; and once in a while they would slip off and go to the quarters, to Aunt Nancy the tender’s cabin, and play with the little quarter children. They particularly liked to go there about dark to hear the little negroes say their prayers.
Aunt Nancy would make them all kneel down in a row, and clasp their hands and shut their eyes: then she would say, “Our Father, who art in heaven,” and all the little darkies together would repeat each petition after her; and if they didn’t all keep up, and come out together, she would give the delinquent a sharp cut with a long switch that she always kept near her. So the prayer was very much interrupted by the little “nigs” telling on each other, calling out “Granny” (as they all called Aunt Nancy), “Jim didn’t say his ‘kingdom come.’”
“Yes I did, Granny; don’t yer b’lieve dat gal; I said jes’ much ‘kingdom come’ ez she did.”
And presently Jim would retaliate by saying,
“Granny, Polly nuber sed nuf’n ’bout her ‘cruspusses.’”
“Lord-ee! jes’ lis’n at dat nigger,” Polly would say. “Granny, don’t yer min’ ’im; I sed furgib us cruspusses, jes’ ez plain ez anybody, and Ginny hyeard me; didn’t yer, Ginny?”
At these interruptions Aunt Nancy would stop to investigate the matter, and whoever was found in fault was punished with strict and impartial justice.
Another very interesting time to visit the quarters was in the morning before breakfast, to see Aunt Nancy give the little darkies their “vermifuge.” She had great faith in the curative properties of a very nauseous vermifuge that she had made herself by stewing some kind of herbs in molasses, and every morning she would administer a teaspoonful of it to every child under her care; and she used to say,
“Ef’n hit want fur dat furmifuge, den marster wouldn’t hab all dem niggers w’at yer see hyear.”
Now, I don’t know about that; but I do know that the little darkies would rather have had fewer “niggers” and less “furmifuge;” for they acted shamefully every time they were called upon to take a dose. In the first place, whenever Aunt Nancy appeared with the bottle and spoon, as many of the children as could get away would flee for their lives, and hide themselves behind the hen-coops and ash-barrels, and under the cabins, and anywhere they could conceal themselves.
But that precaution was utterly useless, for Aunt Nancy would make them all form in a line, and in that way would soon miss any absentees; but there were always volunteers to hunt out and run down and bring back the shirkers, who, besides having to take the vermifuge, would get a whipping into the bargain.
And even after Aunt Nancy would get them into line and their hands crossed behind their backs, she would have to watch very closely, or some wicked little “nig” would slip into the place of the one just above him, and make a horrible face, and spit, and wipe his mouth as if he had just taken his dose; and thereby the one whose place he had taken would have to swallow a double portion, while he escaped entirely; or else a scuffle would ensue, and a very animated discussion between the parties as to who had taken the last dose; and unless it could be decided satisfactorily, Aunt Nancy would administer a dose to each one; for, in her opinion, “too much furmifuge wuz better’n none.”
And so you see the giving of the vermifuge consumed considerable time. After that was through with she would begin again at the head of the line, and making each child open its mouth to its fullest extent, she would examine each throat closely, and, if any of them had their “palates down,” she would catch up a little clump of hair right on top of their heads and wrap it around as tightly as she could with a string, and then, catching hold of this “top-knot,” she would pull with all her might to bring up the palate. The unlucky little “nig” in the meanwhile kept up the most unearthly yells, for so great was the depravity among them that they had rather have their palates down than up. Keeping their “palate locks” tied was a source of great trouble and worriment to Aunt Nancy.
The winter was always a great season with the children; Mammy would let them have so many candy-stews, and they parched “goobers” in the evenings, and Aunt Milly had to make them so many new doll’s clothes, to “keep them quiet,” as Dumps said; and such romps and games as they would have in the old nursery!
There were two rooms included in the nursery—one the children’s bedroom and the other their playroom, where they kept all their toys and litter; and during the winter bright wood fires were kept up in both rooms, that the children might not take cold, and around both fireplaces were tall brass fenders that were kept polished till they shone like gold. Yet, in spite of this precaution, do you know that once Dilsey, Diddie’s little maid, actually caught on fire, and her linsey dress was burned off, and Aunt Milly had to roll her over and over on the floor, and didn’t get her put out till her little black neck was badly burned, and her little wooly head all singed. After that she had to be nursed for several days. Diddie carried her her meals, and Dumps gave her “Stella,” a china doll that was perfectly good, only she had one leg off and her neck cracked; but, for all that, she was a great favorite in the nursery, and it grieved Dumps very much to part with her; but she thought it was her “Christian juty,” as she told Diddie; so Aunt Milly made Stella a new green muslin dress, and she was transferred to Dilsey.
There was no railroad near the plantation, but it was only fifteen miles to the river, and Major Waldron would go down to New Orleans every winter to lay in his year’s supplies, which were shipped by steamboats to the landing and hauled from there to the plantation. It was a jolly time for both white and black when the wagons came from the river; there were always boxes of fruits and candies and nuts, besides large trunks which were carried into the store-room till Christmas, and which everybody knew contained Christmas presents for “all hands.” One winter evening in 1853, the children were all gathered at the big gate, on the lookout for the wagons. Diddie was perched upon one gate-post and Dumps on the other, while Tot was sitting on the fence, held on by Riar, lest she might fall. Dilsey and Chris were stationed ’way down the road to catch the first glimpse of the wagons. They were all getting very impatient, for they had been out there nearly an hour, and it was now getting so late they knew Mammy would not let them stay much longer.
“I know de reason dey so late, Miss Diddie,” said Riar, “dey got dat new mule Sam in de lead in one de wagins, and Unker Bill say he know he gwine cut up, f’um de look in he’s eyes.”
“Uncle Bill don’t know everything,” answered Diddie. “There are six mules in the wagon, and Sam’s jest only one of ’em; I reckon he can’t cut up much by hisself; five’s more’n one, ain’t it?”
“I do b’lieve we’ve been out hyear er hun-der-d hours,” said Dumps, yawning wearily; and just then Dilsey and Chris came running towards the gate, waving their arms and crying,
“Hyear dey come! hyear dey come!” and, sure enough, the great white-covered wagons came slowly down the road, and Major Waldron on Prince, his black horse, riding in advance.
He quickened his pace when he caught sight of the children; for he was very fond of his little daughters, and had been away from them two weeks, trading in New Orleans. He rode up now to the fence, and lifting Tot to the saddle before him, took her in his arms and kissed her.
Diddie and Dumps scrambled down from the gate-posts and ran along by the side of Prince to the house, where their mamma was waiting on the porch. And oh! such a joyful meeting! such hugging and kissing all around!
Then the wagons came up, and the strong negro men began taking out the boxes and bundles and carrying them to the storeroom.
“Hand me out that covered basket, Nelson,” said Major Waldron to one of the men; and taking it carefully to the house, he untied the cover, and there lay two little white woolly puppies—one for Diddie, and one for Dumps.
The little girls clapped their hands and danced with delight.
“Ain’t they lovely?” said Dumps, squeezing hers in her arms.
“Lubly,” echoed Tot, burying her chubby little hands in the puppy’s wool, while Diddie cuddled hers in her arms as tenderly as if it had been a baby.
Mammy made a bed for the doggies in a box in one corner of the nursery, and the children were so excited and so happy that she could hardly get them to bed at all; but after a while Tot’s blue eyes began to droop, and she fell asleep in Mammy’s arms, murmuring, “De booful itty doggie.”
“De booful itty doggies,” however, did not behave very well; they cried and howled, and Dumps insisted on taking hers up and rocking him to sleep.
“Hit’s er gittin’ so late, honey,” urged Mammy, “let ’um stay in de box, an’ go ter bed now, like good chil’en.”
“I know I ain’t, Mammy,” replied Dumps. “You mus’ think I ain’t got no feelin’s ter go ter bed an’ leave ’im hollerin’. I’m er goin’ ter rock ’im ter sleep in my little rockin’-cheer, an’ you needn’t be er fussin’ at me nuther.”
“I ain’t er fussin’ at yer, chile; I’m jes’ ’visin’ uv yer fur yer good; caze hit’s yer bed-time, an’ dem puppies will likely holler all night.”
“Then we will sit up all night,” said Diddie, in her determined way. “I’m like Dumps; I’m not going to bed an’ leave ’im cryin’.”
So Mammy drew her shawl over her head and lay back in her chair for a nap, while Diddie and Dumps took the little dogs in their arms and sat before the fire rocking; and Chris and Dilsey and Riar all squatted on the floor around the fender, very much interested in. the process of getting the puppies quiet.
Presently Dumps began to sing:
“Ef’n ’ligion was er thing that money could buy,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign;
De rich would live, an’ de po’ would die,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign.
Chorus
O reign, reign, reign, er my Lord,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign:
O reign, reign, reign, er my Lord,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign.
But de Lord he ’lowed he wouldn’t have it so.
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign;
So de rich mus’ die jes’ same as de po’,
O reign, Marse Jesus, er reign.”
This was one of the plantation hymns with which Mammy often used to sing Tot to sleep, and all the children were familiar with the words and air; so now they all joined in the singing, and very sweet music it was. They had sung it through several times, and the puppies, finding themselves so outdone in the matter of noise, had curled up in the children’s laps and were fast asleep, when Diddie interrupted the chorus to ask:
“Dumps, what are you goin’ ter name your doggie?”
“I b’lieve I’ll name ’im ‘Papa,’” replied Dumps, “because he give ’im ter me.”
“‘Papa,’ indeed!” said Diddie, contemptuously; “that’s no name for a dog; I’m goin’ ter name mine after some great big somebody.”
“Lord-ee! I tell yer, Miss Diddie; name ’im Marse Samson, atter de man w’at Mammy wuz tellin’ ’bout totin’ off de gates,” said Dilsey.
“No yer don’t, Miss Diddie; don’t yer name ’im no sich,” said Chris; “le’s name im’ Marse Whale, w’at swallered de man an’ nuber chawed ’im.”
“No, I sha’n’t name him nothin’ out’n the Bible,” said Diddie, “because that’s wicked, and maybe God wouldn’t let him live, just for that; I b’lieve I’ll name him Christopher Columbus, ’cause if he hadn’t discovered America there wouldn’t er been no people hyear, an’ I wouldn’t er had no father nor mother, nor dog, nor nothin’; an’, Dumps, sposin’ you name yours Pocahontas, that was er beau-ti-ful Injun girl, an’ she throwed her arms ’roun’ Mr. Smith an’ never let the tomahawks kill ’im.”
“I know I ain’t goin’ to name mine no Injun,” said Dumps, decidedly.
“Yer right, Miss Dumps; now yer’s er talkin’,” said Riar; “I wouldn’t name ’im no Injun; have ’im tearin’ folks’ hyar off, like Miss Diddie reads in de book. I don’t want ter hab nuffin ’tall ter do wid no Injuns; no, sar! I don’t like’ dem folks.”
“Now, chil’en de dogs is ’sleep,” said Mammy, yawning and rubbing her eyes; “go ter bed, won’t yer?”
And the little girls, after laying the puppies in the box and covering them with an old shawl, were soon fast asleep. But there was not much sleep in the nursery that night; the ungrateful little dogs howled and cried all night. Mammy got up three times and gave them warm milk, and tucked them up in the shawl; but no sooner would she put them back in the box than they would begin to cry and howl. And so at the breakfast-table next morning, when Dumps asked her papa to tell her something to name her puppy, Diddie gravely remarked,
“I think, Dumps, we had better name ’um Cherubim an’ Seraphim, for they continually do cry.”
And her papa was so amused at the idea that he said he thought so too; and thus the puzzling question of the names was decided, and the little wooly poodles were called Cherubim and Seraphim, and became great pets in the household.
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