THE first day of the new service was over. The two babies had been carried to the house and put to bed as usual at sunset, and Mammy Grace had mixed the corn-pone for supper, and laid it to bake beneath the hot ashes.
Tidy stretched herself at full length near the open door of the cabin, and resting her head upon her hand looked out. All was still save the hum of voices from the house, and now and then the plaintive song of the whippoorwill in the meadow. The new moon was just hiding its silvery crescent behind Tulip Mountain, and the shadows were growing every moment darker among the flower-laden trees that covered its sides. It was just the hour for thinking; and as the weary child lay there, watching the stars that, one by one, stepped with such strange, noiseless grace out upon the clear, blue sky, soothed by the calm influence that breathed through the beautiful twilight, she soon forgot herself and her surroundings, and was lost in the mazes of speculation and wonder. What were these bright spots that kept coming thicker and faster over her head, winking and blinking at her, as if with a conscious and friendly intelligence? Who made them? what were they doing? where did they hide in the daytime? If she could climb up yonder mountain, and then get to the top of those tall tulip-trees, she was sure she could reach them, or, at least, see better what they were. Were they candles, that some unseen hand had lighted and thrust out there, that the night might not be wholly dark? That could not be, for then the wind, which was fanning the trees, would blow them out. How the little mind longed to fathom the mystery! Once she had ventured to ask Miss Matilda what those bright specks up in the sky were, and she answered, in an indifferent sort of way, "Stars, you little silly goose,—why, don't you know? They are stars." And then she was just about as wise and as satisfied as she had been before.
She was so busy with her thoughts, that she did not perceive Mammy Grace, as she drew the old, broken-backed rocking-chair up to the door, and sitting down, with her elbows on her knees and her head upon her hands, leaned forward, to discover, if possible, what the child was so intently gazing at. She could discern no object in the deep twilight; but, struck herself with the still beauty of the scene, she exclaimed,—
"Pooty night, a'n't it? How de stars of heaben do shine!"
The voice disturbed Tidy in her reverie. Her first impulse was to get up and walk away, that she might finish out her thinking in some other place, where she could be alone. But the thought flashed through her mind, that perhaps the kind-looking old nurse at her side might be able to tell her some of the many things she was so perplexed about; and, almost before she knew she was speaking, she blurted out,—
"What's them things up thar?"
"Dem bright little shiny tings, honey, in de firm'ment? Laws, don' ye know? Whar's ye lived all yer days, if ye don' know de stars when ye sees 'em?"
"Who owns 'em? and what they stuck up ther for?" asked the child, somewhat encouraged.
"Who owns 'em? Hi! dey's de property ob de Lord ob heaben, chile, I reckons; and dey's put dar to gib us light o'nights. Jest see 'em shine! and what a sight of 'em dar is, too; nobody can't count 'em noway. And de Lord he hold 'em all in de holler ob his hand," said the old negress, shaping her great black palm to suit the idea; "and he knows 'em all by name, too. Specs 'tis wonderful; but ebery one ob dem leetle, teenty tings has got a name, and de great Lord he 'members 'em ebery one."
Tidy's wonder was not at all diminished by what she heard; and the questions she wanted to ask came up so fast in her mind, she hardly knew which to utter first. What they were made out of, how they came and went, what they meant by twinkling so, were things she had long desired to know; but for the moment these were forgotten in the burning, eager curiosity she had, now that she had heard the name of their Maker, to know more of him, and where he was to be found. Half rising from her former position, and looking earnestly in the face of her humble instructor, which was beaming with her own admiration of the glorious works and power of the Lord, she exclaimed vehemently,—
"That Lord,—who's him? I's never heerd of him afore."
"Laws, honey, don' ye know? He's de great Lord of heaben and earf, dat made you and me and ebery body else. He made all de tings ye sees,—de trees, de green grass, de birds, de pigs,—dere's noffin dat he didn't make. Oh, he's de mighty Lord, I tells ye, chile! Didn't ye neber hear 'bout him afore?"
Tidy shook her head; she could hardly speak.
"Tell me some more," she said at last.
"Well, chile, dis great Lord he lib up in de heaben of heabens, way up ober dat blue sky, and he sits all de time on a great trone, and he sees ebery ting dat goes on down har in dis yer world. Ef ye does any ting bad, he puts it down in a great book he's got, and byme-by he'll punish de wicked folks right orful."
"Whip?" questioned Tidy.
"Whip! no; burn in de hot fire and brimstone for eber and for eber. 'Tis orful to be wicked, and hab de great Lord punish."
"I ha'n't done noffin," cried out Tidy, fairly trembling with terror.
"Laws, no,—course not, chile; ye's noffin but a chile, ye know; but some folks does orful tings. But ye needn't be afeard, honey; he's a good Lord, and lubs us all; and ef ye tries to be good, and 'beys missus, and neber lies, nor steals, nor swars, he'll be a good friend to ye. He'll make de sun to shine on yer, and de rain to fall; and when ye dies, he'll take yer right up dar, to lib wid him allus. There now, jest hark,—dat's old Si comin' up de lane. Don' ye h'ar him singin'? He lubs de Lord, he does, and he's allus a-singin'. Hark, now! a'n't it pooty? Guess de pone's done by dis time;" and she shuffled to the fireplace, to look after her cake.
Tidy, almost overwhelmed with the weight of knowledge that had been poured in upon her inquiring spirit, and hardly knowing whether what she had heard should make her glad or sorry, leaned back against the door-post, and carelessly listened to the voice, as it came nearer and nearer. In a minute the words fell with pleasing distinctness upon the ear.
"Dear sister, didn't you promise me
To help me shout and praise him?
Den come and jine your voice to mine,
And sing his lub amazin'.
I tink I hear de trumpet sound,
About de break of day;
Good Lord, we'll rise in de mornin',
And fly, and fly away,
On de mornin's wings, to Canaan's land,
To heaben, our happy home,
Bright angels shall convey our souls
To de new Jerusalem."
"Hallelujah, amen, bress de Lord. How is ye dis night, Mammy Grace?" said a cheerful voice at the cabin-door.
"Ho! go 'long, Simon,—I knowed ye was comin'. Ye allus blows yer trumpet 'fore yer gits here. Come in, help yerse'f to a cha'r. Here, chile," addressing Tidy, "here's yer supper,—eat it now; and don' ye neber let what I's telled ye slip out of yer 'membrance."
Which Tidy was not at all likely to do. She picked up the bread which was thrown to her, and, munching it as she went along, walked away to the pump to get a drink of water.
Children, when you rise in the morning and come down stairs to the cheerful breakfast, or when you are called at noon and night, to join the family circle again around a neatly-spread table, did you ever think what a refining influence this single custom has upon your life? The savage eats his meanly-prepared food from the vessel in which it is cooked, each member of his household dipping with his fingers, or some rude utensil, into the one dish. He is scarcely raised above the cattle that eat their fodder at the crib, or the dog that gnaws the bone thrown to him upon the ground. And are the slaves any better off? They are neither allowed time, convenience, or inducements to enjoy a practice, which is so common with us, that we fail to number it among our privileges, or to recognize its elevating tendency; and yet they are stigmatized as a debased and brutish class. Can we expect them to be otherwise? Who is accountable for this degradation? By what system have they become so reduced? and have any suitable efforts ever been made for their elevation?
Since I wrote this chapter, I have learned some things with regard to the freed men at Port Royal, where so many fugitive slaves have taken refuge during the war, and are now employed by Government, and being educated by Christian teachers, which will make what I have just said more apparent. Dr. French, who has labored among this people, in a public address, drew a pleasing picture of the improvements introduced into the home-life of the negroes,—how, as they began to feel free, and earn an independent subsistence, their cabins were whitewashed, swept clean, kept in order, and pictures and maps, cut from illustrated newspapers, were pasted up on the walls by the women as a decoration. He spoke of the rivalry in neatness thus produced, and of the general elevating and refining effect. On his representation, the commanding officers and the society by whom he is employed permitted him to introduce into some twenty-five of the cabins, on twenty-five different plantations, what had never been known before,—a window with panes of glass. To this luxury were added tables, good, strong, tin wash-basins, and soap, stout bed-ticks, and a small looking-glass. The effect of the father of the family, sitting at the head of his new table, while his sable wife and children gathered around it, and asking a blessing on the simple fare, was very touching. Hitherto they had boiled their hominy in a common skillet, and eaten it out of oyster-shells, when and wherever they could, some in-doors and some outside, in every variety of attitude. He said, also, that the ludicrous pranks of both old and young, on eying themselves for the first time in the mirror, were quite amusing.
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