Daisy
Preston in any tone but one. I went steadily and slowly on, without
even turning my head to look at him. I had hardly life enough to talk
to him in _that_ tone.
"Will you tell me what is the matter with you?" he said, at last, very
impatiently.
"I am tired, I think."
"Think? Medusa is stiffening the life out of you. _Think_ you are
tired! You are tired to death; but that is not all. What ails you?"
"I do not think anything ails me."
"What ails _me_, then? What is the matter? What makes you act so?
Speak, Daisy--you must speak!"
I turned about and faced him, and I know I did not speak then as a
child, but with a gravity befitting fifty years.
"Preston, did you strike Uncle Darry yesterday?"
"Pooh!" said Preston. But I stood and waited for his answer.
"Nonsense, Daisy!" he said again.
"What is nonsense?"
"Why, _you_. What are you talking about?"
"I asked you a question."
"A ridiculous question. You are just absurd."
"Will you please to answer it?"
"I don't know whether I will. What have you to do with it?"
"In the first place, Preston, Darry is not your servant."
"Upon my word!" said Preston. "But yes, he is; for mamma is regent
here now. He must do what I order him anyhow."
"And then, Preston, Darry is better than you, and will not defend
himself; and somebody ought to defend him; and there is nobody but
me."
"Defend himself!" echoed Preston.
"Yes. You insulted him yesterday."
"Insulted him!"
"You know you did. You know, Preston, some men would not have borne
it. If Darry had been like some men, he would have knocked you down."
"Knocked me down!" cried Preston. "The sneaking old scoundrel! He
knows that I would shoot him if he did."
"I am speaking seriously, Preston. It is no use to talk that way."
"I am speaking very seriously," said my cousin. "I would shoot him,
upon my honour."
"Shoot him!"
"Certainly."
"What right have you to shoot a man for doing no worse than you do? I
would _rather_ somebody would knock me down, than do what you did
yesterday." And my heart swelled within me.
"Come, Daisy, be a little sensible!" said Preston, who was in a fume
of impatience. "Do you think there is no difference between me and an
old nigger?"
"A great deal of difference," I said. "He is old and good; and you are
young, and I wish you were as good as Darry. And then he can't help
himself without perhaps losing his place, no matter how you insult
him. I think it is cowardly."
"Insult!" said Preston. "Lose his place! Heavens and earth, Daisy! are
you such a simpleton?"
"You insulted him badly yesterday. I wondered how he bore it of you;
only Darry is a Christian."
"A fiddlestick!" said Preston impatiently. "He knows he must bear
whatever I choose to give him; and therein he is wiser than you are."
"Because he is a Christian," said I.
"I don't know whether he is a Christian or not; and it is nothing to
the purpose. I don't care what he is."
"Oh, Preston! he is a good man--he is a servant of God; he will wear a
crown of gold in heaven; and you have dared to touch him."
"Why, hoity, toity!" said Preston, "what concern of mine is all that!
All I know is, that he did not do what I ordered him."
"What did you order him?"
"I ordered him not to show you the saddle I had got for you, till I
was here. I was going to surprise you. I am provoked at him!"
"I am surprised," I said. But feeling how little I prevailed with
Preston, and being weak in body as well as mind, I could not keep back
the tears. I began to walk on again, though they blinded me.
"Daisy, don't be foolish. If Darry is to wear two crowns in the other
world, he is a servant in this, all the same; and he must do his
duty."
"I asked for the saddle," I said.
"Why, Daisy, Daisy!" Preston exclaimed, "don't be such a child. You
know nothing about it. I didn't touch Darry to hurt him."
"It was a sort of hurt that if he had not been a Christian he would
have made you sorry for."
"He knows I would shoot him if he did," said Preston coolly.
"Preston, don't speak so!" I pleaded.
"It is the simple truth. Why shouldn't I speak it?"
"You do not mean that you would do it?" I said, scarce opening my eyes
to the reality of what he said.
"I give you my word, I do. If one of these black fellows laid a hand
on me I would put a bullet through him, as quick as a partridge."
"But then you would be a murderer," said I. The ground seemed taken
away from under my feet. We were standing still now, and facing each
other.
"No, I shouldn't," said Preston. "The law takes better care of us than
that."
"The law would hang you," said I.
"I tell you, Daisy, it is no such thing! Gentlemen have a right to
defend themselves against the insolence of these black fellows."
"And have not the black fellows a right to defend themselves against
the insolence of gentlemen?" said I.
"Daisy, you are talking the most unspeakable nonsense," said Preston,
quite put beyond himself now. "_Don't_ you know any better than that?
These people are our servants--they are our property--we are to do
what we like with them; and of course the law must see that we are
protected, or the blacks and the whites could not live together."
"A man may be your servant, but he cannot be your property," I said.
"Yes he can! They are our property, just as much as the land is; our
goods to do as we like with. Didn't you know that?"
"Property is something that you can buy and sell," I answered.
"And we sell the people, and buy them too, as fast as we like."
"_Sell_ them!" I echoed, thinking of Darry.
"Certainly."
"And who would buy them?"
"Why all the world; everybody. There has been nobody sold off the
Magnolia estate, I believe, in a long time; but nothing is more
common, Daisy; everybody is doing it everywhere, when he has got too
many servants, or when he has got too few."
"And do you mean," said I, "that Darry and Margaret and Theresa and
all the rest here, have been _bought_?"
"No; almost all of them have been born on the place."
"Then it is not true of these," I said.
"Yes, it is; for their mothers and fathers were bought. It is the same
thing."
"Who bought them?" I asked, hastily.
"Why our mothers, and grandfather and great-grandfather."
"_Bought_ the fathers and mothers of all these hundreds of people?"
said I, a slow horror creeping into my veins, that yet held childish
blood, and but half comprehended.
"Certainly--ages ago," said Preston. "Why, Daisy, I thought you knew
all about it."
"But who sold them first?" said I, my mind in its utter rejection of
what was told to me, seeking every refuge from accepting it. "Who sold
them first?"
"Who first? Oh, the people that brought them over from Africa, I
suppose; or the people in their own country that sold them to _them_."
"They had no right to sell them," I said.
"Can't tell about that," said Preston. "We bought them. I suppose we
had a right to do that."
"But if the fathers and mothers were bought," I insisted, "that gave
us no right to have their children."
"I would like you to ask Aunt Felicia or my Uncle Randolph such a
question," said Preston. "Just see how they would like the idea of
giving up all their property! Why, you would be as poor as Job,
Daisy."
"That land would be here all the same."
"Much good the land would do you, without people to work it."
"But other people could be hired as well as these," I said, "if any of
these wanted to go away."
"No, they couldn't. White people cannot bear the climate nor do the
work. The crops cannot be raised without coloured labour."
"I do not understand," said I, feeling my child's head puzzled. "Maybe
none of our people would like to go away?"
"I dare say they wouldn't," said Preston, carelessly. "They are better
off here than on most plantations. Uncle Randolph never forbids his
hands to have meat; and some planters do."
"Forbid them to have meat!" I said, in utter bewilderment.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"They think it makes them fractious, and not so easy to manage. Don't
you know, it makes a dog savage to feed him on raw meat! I suppose
cooked meat has the same effect on men."
"But don't they get what they choose to eat?"
"Well, I should think not!" said Preston. "Fancy their asking to be
fed on chickens and pound cake. That is what they would like."
"But cannot they spend their wages for what they like?"
"Wages!" said Preston.
"Yes," said I.
"My dear Daisy," said Preston, "you are talking of what you just
utterly don't understand; and I am a fool for bothering you with it.
Come! let us make it up and be friends."
He stooped to kiss me, but I stepped back.
"Stop," I said. "Tell me--can't they do what they like with their
wages?"
"I don't think they have wages enough to 'do what they like' exactly,"
said Preston. "Why, they would 'like' to do nothing. These black
fellows are the laziest things living. They would 'like' to lie in the
sun all day long."
"What wages does Darry have?" I asked.
"Now, Daisy, this is none of your business. Come, let us go into the
house and let it alone."
"I want to know, first," said I.
"Daisy, I never asked. What have I to do with Darry's wages?"
"I will ask himself," I said; and I turned about to go to the stables.
"Stop, Daisy," cried Preston. "Daisy, Daisy! you are the most
obstinate Daisy that ever was, when once you have taken a thing in
your head. Daisy, what have you to do with all this? Look here--these
people don't want wages."
"Don't want wages?" I repeated.
"No; they don't want them. What would they do with wages? they have
everything they need given them already; their food and their clothing
and their houses. They do not want anything more."
"You said they did not have the food they liked," I objected.
"Who does?" said Preston. "I am sure _I_ don't--not more than one day
in seven, on an average."
"But don't they have any wages at all?" I persisted. "Our coachman at
Melbourne had thirty dollars a month; and Logan had forty dollars and
his house and garden. Why shouldn't Darry have wages, too? Don't they
have any wages at all, Preston?"
"Why, yes! they have plenty of corn, bread, and bacon, I tell you; and
their clothes. Daisy, they _belong_ to you, these people do."
Corn, bread, and bacon was not much like chickens and pound cake, I
thought; and I remembered our servants at Melbourne were very, very
differently dressed from the women I saw about me here, even in the
house. I stood bewildered and pondering. Preston tried to get me to go
on.
"Why shouldn't they have wages?" I asked at length, with lips which I
believe were growing old with my thoughts.
"Daisy, they are your servants; they _belong_ to you. They have no
right to wages. Suppose you had to pay all these creatures--seven
hundred of them--as you pay people at Melbourne: how much do you
suppose you would have left to live upon yourselves? What nonsense it
is to talk!"
"But they work for us," I said.
"Certainly. There would not be anything for any of us if they didn't.
Here, at Magnolia, they raise rice crops and corn, as well as cotton;
at our place we grow nothing but cotton and corn."
"Well, what pays them for working?"
"I told you! they have their living and clothing and no care; and they
are the happiest creatures the sun shines on."
"Are they willing to work for only that!" I asked.
"Willing!" said Preston.
"Yes," said I, feeling myself grow sick at heart.
"I fancy nobody asks them that question. They have to work, I reckon,
whether they like it or no."
"You said they _like_ to lie in the sun. What makes them work?"
"Makes them!" said Preston, who was getting irritated as well as
impatient. "They get a good flogging if they do not work--that is all.