Twelve Years a Slave
It is made of bones calcinated in close vessels, and is used for the
purpose of decolorizing, by filtration, the cane juice before boiling.
Through these five filterers it passes in succession, and then runs
into a large reservoir underneath the ground floor, from whence it is
carried up, by means of a steam pump, into a clarifier made of sheet
iron, where it is heated by steam until it boils. From the first
clarifier it is carried in pipes to a second and a third, and thence
into close iron pans, through which tubes pass, filled with steam.
While in a boiling state it flows through three pans in succession,
and is then carried in other pipes down to the coolers on the ground
floor. Coolers are wooden boxes with sieve bottoms made of the finest
wire. As soon as the syrup passes into the coolers, and is met by the
air, it grains, and the molasses at once escapes through the sieves
into a cistern below. It is then white or loaf sugar of the finest
kind--clear, clean, and as white as snow. When cool, it is taken out,
packed in hogsheads, and is ready for market. The molasses is then
carried from the cistern into the upper story again, and by another
process converted into brown sugar.
There are larger mills, and those constructed differently from the one
thus imperfectly described, but none, perhaps, more celebrated than
this anywhere on Bayou Boeuf. Lambert, of New-Orleans, is a partner of
Hawkins. He is a man of vast wealth, holding, as I have been told, an
interest in over forty different sugar plantations in Louisiana.
* * * * *
The only respite from constant labor the slave has through the whole
year, is during the Christmas holidays. Epps allowed us three--others
allow four, five and six days, according to the measure of their
generosity. It is the only time to which they look forward with any
interest or pleasure. They are glad when night comes, not only because
it brings them a few hours repose, but because it brings them one day
nearer Christmas. It is hailed with equal delight by the old and the
young; even Uncle Abram ceases to glorify Andrew Jackson, and Patsey
forgets her many sorrows, amid the general hilarity of the holidays.
It is the time of feasting, and frolicking, and fiddling--the carnival
season with the children of bondage. They are the only days when they
are allowed a little restricted liberty, and heartily indeed do they
enjoy it.
It is the custom for one planter to give a "Christmas supper,"
inviting the slaves from neighboring plantations to join his own on
the occasion; for instance, one year it is given by Epps, the next
by Marshall, the next by Hawkins, and so on. Usually from three to
five hundred are assembled, coming together on foot, in carts, on
horseback, on mules, riding double and triple, sometimes a boy and
girl, at others a girl and two boys, and at others again a boy, a girl
and an old woman. Uncle Abram astride a mule, with Aunt Phebe and
Patsey behind him, trotting towards a Christmas supper, would be no
uncommon sight on Bayou Boeuf.
Then, too, "of all days i' the year," they array themselves in their
best attire. The cotton coat has been washed clean, the stump of a
tallow candle has been applied to the shoes, and if so fortunate as
to possess a rimless or a crownless hat, it is placed jauntily on the
head. They are welcomed with equal cordiality, however, if they come
bare-headed and barefooted to the feast. As a general thing, the women
wear handkerchiefs tied about their heads, but if chance has thrown in
their way a fiery red ribbon, or a cast-off bonnet of their mistress'
grandmother, it is sure to be worn on such occasions. Red--the deep
blood red--is decidedly the favorite color among the enslaved damsels
of my acquaintance. If a red ribbon does not encircle the neck, you
will be certain to find all the hair of their woolly heads tied up
with red strings of one sort or another.
The table is spread in the open air, and loaded with varieties of
meat and piles of vegetables. Bacon and corn meal at such times are
dispensed with. Sometimes the cooking is performed in the kitchen on
the plantation, at others in the shade of wide branching trees. In
the latter case, a ditch is dug in the ground, and wood laid in and
burned until it is filled with glowing coals, over which chickens,
ducks, turkeys, pigs, and not unfrequently the entire body of a wild
ox, are roasted. They are furnished also with flour, of which biscuits
are made, and often with peach and other preserves, with tarts, and
every manner and description of pies, except the mince, that being an
article of pastry as yet unknown among them. Only the slave who has
lived all the years on his scanty allowance of meal and bacon, can
appreciate such suppers. White people in great numbers assemble to
witness the gastronomical enjoyments.
They seat themselves at the rustic table--the males on one side, the
females on the other. The two between whom there may have been an
exchange of tenderness, invariably manage to sit opposite; for the
omnipresent Cupid disdains not to hurl his arrows into the simple
hearts of slaves. Unalloyed and exulting happiness lights up the dark
faces of them all. The ivory teeth, contrasting with their black
complexions, exhibit two long, white streaks the whole extent of
the table. All round the bountiful board a multitude of eyes roll
in ecstacy. Giggling and laughter and the clattering of cutlery
and crockery succeed. Cuffee's elbow hunches his neighbor's side,
impelled by an involuntary impulse of delight; Nelly shakes her finger
at Sambo and laughs, she knows not why, and so the fun and merriment
flows on.
When the viands have disappeared, and the hungry maws of the children
of toil are satisfied, then, next in the order of amusement, is
the Christmas dance. My business on these gala days always was
to play on the violin. The African race is a music-loving one,
proverbially; and many there were among my fellow-bondsmen whose
organs of tune were strikingly developed, and who could thumb the
banjo with dexterity; but at the expense of appearing egotistical,
I must, nevertheless, declare, that I was considered the Ole Bull
of Bayou Boeuf. My master often received letters, sometimes from a
distance of ten miles, requesting him to send me to play at a ball or
festival of the whites. He received his compensation, and usually I
also returned with many picayunes jingling in my pockets--the extra
contributions of those to whose delight I had administered. In this
manner I became more acquainted than I otherwise would, up and down
the bayou. The young men and maidens of Holmesville always knew there
was to be a jollification somewhere, whenever Platt Epps was seen
passing through the town with his fiddle in his hand. "Where are you
going now, Platt?" and "What is coming off to-night, Platt?" would be
interrogatories issuing from every door and window, and many a time
when there was no special hurry, yielding to pressing importunities,
Platt would draw his bow, and sitting astride his mule, perhaps,
discourse musically to a crowd of delighted children, gathered around
him in the street.
Alas! had it not been for my beloved violin, I scarcely can
conceive how I could have endured the long years of bondage. It
introduced me to great houses--relieved me of many days' labor in the
field--supplied me with conveniences for my cabin--with pipes and
tobacco, and extra pairs of shoes, and oftentimes led me away from the
presence of a hard master, to witness scenes of jollity and mirth. It
was my companion--the friend of my bosom--triumphing loudly when I was
joyful, and uttering its soft, melodious consolations when I was sad.
Often, at midnight, when sleep had fled affrighted from the cabin, and
my soul was disturbed and troubled with the contemplation of my fate,
it would sing me a song of peace. On holy Sabbath days, when an hour
or two of leisure was allowed, it would accompany me to some quiet
place on the bayou bank, and, lifting up its voice, discourse kindly
and pleasantly indeed. It heralded my name round the country--made me
friends, who, otherwise would not have noticed me--gave me an honored
seat at the yearly feasts, and secured the loudest and heartiest
welcome of them all at the Christmas dance. The Christmas dance! Oh,
ye pleasure-seeking sons and daughters of idleness, who move with
measured step, listless and snail-like, through the slow-winding
cotillon, if ye wish to look upon the celerity, if not the "poetry of
motion"--upon genuine happiness, rampant and unrestrained--go down to
Louisiana, and see the slaves dancing in the starlight of a Christmas
night.
On that particular Christmas I have now in my mind, a description
whereof will serve as a description of the day generally, Miss Lively
and Mr. Sam, the first belonging to Stewart, the latter to Roberts,
started the ball. It was well known that Sam cherished an ardent
passion for Lively, as also did one of Marshall's and another of
Carey's boys; for Lively was _lively_ indeed, and a heart-breaking
coquette withal. It was a victory for Sam Roberts, when, rising from
the repast, she gave him her hand for the first "figure" in preference
to either of his rivals. They were somewhat crest-fallen, and, shaking
their heads angrily, rather intimated they would like to pitch into
Mr. Sam and hurt him badly. But not an emotion of wrath ruffled the
placid bosom of Samuel, as his legs flew like drum-sticks down the
outside and up the middle, by the side of his bewitching partner.
The whole company cheered them vociferously, and, excited with the
applause, they continued "tearing down" after all the others had
become exhausted and halted a moment to recover breath. But Sam's
superhuman exertions overcame him finally, leaving Lively alone, yet
whirling like a top. Thereupon one of Sam's rivals, Pete Marshall,
dashed in, and, with might and main, leaped and shuffled and threw
himself into every conceivable shape, as if determined to show Miss
Lively and all the world that Sam Roberts was of no account.
Pete's affection, however, was greater than his discretion. Such
violent exercise took the breath out of him directly, and he dropped
like an empty bag. Then was the time for Harry Carey to try his hand;
but Lively also soon out-winded him, amidst hurrahs and shouts, fully
sustaining her well-earned reputation of being the "fastest gal" on
the bayou.
One "set" off, another takes its place, he or she remaining longest
on the floor receiving the most uproarious commendation, and so the
dancing continues until broad daylight. It does not cease with the
sound of the fiddle, but in that case they set up a music peculiar to
themselves. This is called "patting," accompanied with one of those
unmeaning songs, composed rather for its adaptation to a certain tune
or measure, than for the purpose of expressing any distinct idea. The
patting is performed by striking the hands on the knees, then striking
the hands together, then striking the right shoulder with one hand,
the left with the other--all the while keeping time with the feet, and
singing, perhaps, this song:
"Harper's creek and roarin' ribber,
Thar, my dear, we'll live forebber;
Den we'll go to de Ingin nation,
All I want in dis creation,
Is pretty little wife and big plantation.
_Chorus._ Up dat oak and down dat ribber,
Two overseers and one little nigger."
Or, if these words are not adapted to the tune called for, it may be
that "Old Hog Eye" _is_--a rather solemn and startling specimen of
versification, not, however, to be appreciated unless heard at the
South. It runneth as follows:
"Who's been here since I've been gone?