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Napoleon Bonaparte (search for this): chapter 4
family not church-members and why not divorced, and not married, and both Christian morality and slavery surprising ignorance of the slaves concerning Napoleon Bonaparte Europe and the slave who never heern ob him colored Contentment what the boys said the willing Exile pro and Con slaveholders criminal even if ignoran, I repeated, affecting an ignorance of Southern geography, and that you lived at St. Helena. Was St. Helena an island? Yes, massa. The island that Napoleon Bonaparte lived at? Napol'on Bonapard! he repeated. Did you never hear of Napoleon Bonaparte? 1 asked. No, massa, he returned, who was him? It is the nNapoleon Bonaparte? 1 asked. No, massa, he returned, who was him? It is the name of a gentleman, who did a thing or two in Europe, I returned. But do you know what Europe is? No, massa, said the slave, I never heerd on him? I explained that Europe was a State annexable to the United States, and, therefore, destined to be one of them in the good time coming, boys. Contentment and morality. Were
Thomas Jefferson (search for this): chapter 4
es before answering: Oh, er-r-er-he-he-he-eee I he laughed, I was saying dat de white pop'lation would be maina some remarks on dat ‘ar nigger. Oh! Oh! I answered, old fellow, how can you lie so? Oh no, I isn't massa, said the old jolly-looking slave, as he relapsed into a fit of chuckling, interspersed by ejaculations of very broken English. Are you a slave, old fellow? Oh, yes, massa, said the chuckler. How old are you? Sixty, massa, he replied. I's eighteen when Jefferson war President, and dat war in 1812; I mind ‘bout de war. De rigiments camped on dat hill. I carried de wood for dem. Have you been a slave ever since? Yes, massa, and long afore dat. Would you like to be free? The chuckling laugh was again put in full blast. He seemed to use it for the purpose that young ladies reserve their swoons for — to avoid continuing disagreeable conversation; or, that Senator Douglas uses footpad language on the stump for — to avoid the answering o
Nicholas Smith (search for this): chapter 4
m the colored storekeeper of whom I have spoken at considerable length. Of course I alter the real names of the different parties mentioned in the statement. I omit, also, many of my questions: My name is Pete Barclay. I was born in Newberg, South Carolina. I'm ‘bout tirty years old now.) Why, don't you know your exact age? No, sah, said the slave. Let me see. I'll tell you ‘xactly how old I'm now. I've bin two years here — not quite two years till nex‘ month — and I know Nicholas Smith — I seen him only de oder day; he says I'm ‘xactly de same age as he is. I'm ‘xactly thirty-two years old. Dat's his age. Is he free? Yes, sah, he's a freeman. He was raised where I growed. Long after this sentence was spoken, I found a world of sad histories in this accidental utterance. Raised — and growed! Is he a white man? Oh, yes, sah, he's a white man, he's not a colored man at all. He knows everytina — more dan I do — he kin read and write, and
en euphonize as the South! ), and loyalty to venerable rye; and of the most friendly feelings, too, toward Parson Brownlow, Virginia short-cut, and the Honorable Mr. Jones, his representative in Congress. He praised Mr. Jones first and foremost: Jones was bound to be President, he said, and had come down here (but I mustn't tell nMr. Jones first and foremost: Jones was bound to be President, he said, and had come down here (but I mustn't tell nary one about it) to put himself right with the South Carolina fire-eaters, who were offended at a Union speech that he had recently delivered in New York city! Couldn't I help him out of his fix by giving him a good notice — right kind, you know, of pitchina into him, eh? That was a d----d good fellow? Wouldn't I take a chaw? Jones was bound to be President, he said, and had come down here (but I mustn't tell nary one about it) to put himself right with the South Carolina fire-eaters, who were offended at a Union speech that he had recently delivered in New York city! Couldn't I help him out of his fix by giving him a good notice — right kind, you know, of pitchina into him, eh? That was a d----d good fellow? Wouldn't I take a chaw? No? Was it possible I never chawed? Well, suppose we liquored then? Oh, curse it now — that was piling on the agony altogether too loud — neither chaw nor drink? That came of being in the Tribune office. Damn such isms, he said. But when he found that I was a willing and delighted listener to his stories of Tennessee, he se
Americans (search for this): chapter 4
he seemed to forgive my unfamiliar isms. The told me that he had often seen Parson Brownlow, in the pulpit, before opening his Bible to read the text of his sermon, first take out a couple of loaded pistols and lay one of them on each side of the holy volume. This precaution, he said, he was obliged to take, in order to defend himself, if suddenly assailed, by ruffians whom he often denounced. The anecdotes, admiringly told, that he related of the parson, proved him to be, of all living Americans — not even Stephen A. Douglas excepted — the most indecent and unscrupulous of speech. Let it be remembered that Parson Brownlow is still the pastor, in good standing, of an orthodox Southern Church, although he endorsed and eulogized the conduct of a mob, who publicly burned a negro slave to death, without form of law. The editor knew Greeley too. Greeley, upon the hull, was a clever fellow personally; but a d----d rascal, no two ways about it, politically. Worst man in the countr
s your name, Bob? Bill, he grinned. What's your other name? Hain't got none! said Bill. Are you a free boy? No, I'se a slave. Have you a father and a mother? Yes, he-he-e-e-he! grinned Bill. Who do you belong to? Mrs. Snooks, said Bill. Would you like to be free and go North? No! he said, I wouldn't go North; I don't want to be free; he-he-he-ee-e! Were you ever sold? I asked. No, he returned, Mrs. Snooks He gave her real name: of course, I adoMrs. Snooks He gave her real name: of course, I adopt instead a generic title. never sold her slaves all her life. I don't see what good selling slaves does, he added. Nor I! . . . Never sold a slave in her life . . Bill? I asked with appropriate solemnity; will you tell your mistress that a Northerner said she was a trump? Yes, grinned Bill, I'll tell her: he-he-he-e-e-e, and he ran away trilling off his grins as he went along. So much for the Old Dominion. A Corroboration.--They (the blacks) invariably give way to the white peo
Thomas J. Randolph (search for this): chapter 4
esolution which conferred such unusual honors on the representatives of the New York press. There were other reasons: which he would not name here. It was unprecedented. That was enough! He sat down. Shrill and loud, and in ringing tones came the sentence through the theatre: And if it is not enough, Mr. President, I have other reasons to give! I turned round, and saw, in the Georgia delegation, a tall, lank, bony, red-headed man, with his thin wiry finger stretched out à la Randolph — his body more than half bent over the gallery. Unpre-re-cedented! he shrilly shouted, quivering with indignation, unpre-re-cedented, why! sir, it's unparalleled, outrageous and insufferable. What, sir! have we come here to tolerate in our midst, and not only tolerate, no sir, not only that, but honor, sir, honor, sir, an emissary of that infamous abolition sheet, the New York Tribune! I chuckled! The poker was stirring; the lions and lesser beasts were beginning to roar! For
Baptist Recorder (search for this): chapter 4
ldren? Yes, massa, she said, I's had five by dis ole man, and seven by de last un. You are both Christians? I asked. Yes, massa, she said, we goes to de church; we's not members ob de church, kase we's colored people, and dey won't let us be. This statement does not hold everywhere. It may be true, however, of South Carolina. That's not a great misfortune, I remarked, as I recalled to my recollection a long editorial article that I had lately read in the North Carolina Baptist Recorder, entitled, The fanaticism of the New England clergy; which was written by a professed minister of the gospel of love, for the purpose of proving that Jesus Christ, the friend of oppressed humanity, was a Southern Rights man; and that God, the Father of our race, whose name is love, had revealed it to be his will that the negro should be, and should be kept as a bondman; and consequently, of course — this was the inference — that sugar houses, treadmills, whips, paddles, brine-barrels, b
Paradise Lost (search for this): chapter 4
of the play-bills, for respectable colored persons? If there are not, and if the Southern proslavery divines ever get there, we may expect a second Satanic rebellion against Authority so indifferent to the finer feelings — the refined sensibilities — of the slaveholding saints. With such a doughty champion as Mr. Parson Brownlow, in the character of Beelzebub, the coming conflict must be terrible indeed, and will require as its historian, a genius more exalted by far than the author of Paradise Lost. May I be there to see! A Sheriff's advertisement. I walked from the cemetery to the Court House, accompanied some distance by a slave, who was whistling, as he drove along, a popular line, which faithfully describes his lot in life: Jordan am a hard road to trabble! Undoubtedly, I mused; and so, too, was the Red Sea to the Egyptians! I intended to attend the Mayor's Court, but when I reached the hall his honor had not yet arrived. On the outer door of the hall, was p
Richardson (search for this): chapter 4
I knowed him as well as I know dat candle. This conversation occurred in a house occupied partly by colored people, during candle light. Dat's how I came to be called Roberts, he said, he took her name. After I left Roberts I belonged to Richardson. I was about six years old when I went to Mr. Richardson. I was a present from Roberts to him; dat's how I came to belong to him. I stayed wid him till ‘bout two years since — not quite two years; it's not two years till May. Den I was sold Mr. Richardson. I was a present from Roberts to him; dat's how I came to belong to him. I stayed wid him till ‘bout two years since — not quite two years; it's not two years till May. Den I was sold to dis ole man, my boss now. It is unnecessary to say dat dis ole man, my boss now, was not present at this nocturnal meeting of Southern colored and Northern un-colored woolly-heads. What sort of a boss is he? I inquired. The answer was brief enough and as bitter as brief: He's de meanest ole scamp goina. Are the colored people of your acquaintance all discontented with their present condition? Yes, sah, he replied, all on ‘em; I knows lots and lots on ‘em since I came
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