Among the Pines Part 11

"Not old yet, Alice," said the Colonel, in a singularly familiar tone; "you seem to me no older than when you were fifteen."

"You have been long acquainted," I remarked, not knowing exactly what to say.

"Oh, yes," replied my host, "we were children together."

"Your Southern country, Madam, affords a fine field for young men of enterprise."

"My eldest son resides in Germany," replied the lady. "He expects to make that country his home. He would have pa.s.sed his examination at Heidelberg this autumn had not circ.u.mstances called him here."

"You are widely separated," I replied.

"Yes, sir; his father thinks it best, and I suppose it is. Thomas, here, is to return with his brother, and I may live to see neither of them again."

My curiosity was naturally much excited to learn more, but nothing further being volunteered, and the conversation soon turning to other topics, I left the table with it unsatisfied.

After enjoying a quiet hour with the Colonel in the smoking-room, he invited me to join him in a ride over the plantation. I gladly a.s.sented, and Jim shortly announced the horses were in waiting. That darky, who invariably attended his master when the latter proceeded from home, accompanied us. As we were mounting I bethought me of Scip, and asked where he was.

"He'm gwine to gwo, ma.s.sa, and want to say good-by to you."

It seemed madness for Scip to start on a journey of seventy miles without rest, so I requested the Colonel to let him remain till the next day. He cheerfully a.s.sented, and sent Jim to find him. While waiting for the darky, I spoke of how faithfully he had served me during my journey.

"He's a splendid n.i.g.g.e.r," replied the Colonel; "worth his weight in gold. If affairs were more settled I would buy him."

"But Colonel A---- tells me he is too intelligent. He objects to 'knowing' n.i.g.g.e.rs."

"_I_ do not," replied my host, "if they are honest, and I would trust Scip with uncounted gold. Look at him," he continued, as the negro approached; "were flesh and bones ever better put together?"

The darky _was_ a fine specimen of sable humanity, and I readily understood why the practiced eye of the Colonel appreciated his physical developments.

"Scip," I said, "you must not think of going to-day; the Colonel will be glad to let you remain until you are fully rested."

"Tank you, ma.s.sa, tank you bery much, but de ole man will spec' me, and I orter gwo."

"Oh, never mind old----," said the Colonel, "I'll take care of him."

"Tank you, Cunnel, den I'll stay har till de mornin'."

Taking a by-path which led through the forest in the rear of the mansion, we soon reached a small stream, and, following its course for a short distance, came upon a turpentine distillery, which the Colonel explained to me was one of three that prepared the product of his plantation for market, and provided for his family of nearly three hundred souls.

It was enclosed, or rather roofed, by a rude structure of rough boards, which was open at the sides, and sustained on a number of pine poles about thirty feet in height, and bore a strong resemblance to the usual covering of a New England haystack.

Three stout negro men, divested of all clothing excepting a pair of coa.r.s.e gray trowsers and a red shirt--it was a raw, cold, wintry day--and with cotton bandannas bound about their heads, were "tending the still." The foreman stood on a raised platform level with its top, but as we approached very quietly seated himself on a turpentine barrel which a moment before he had rolled over the mouth of the boiler.

Another negro was below, feeding the fire with "light wood," and a third was tending the trough by which the liquid rosin found its way into the semicircle of rough barrels intended for its reception.

"h.e.l.lo, Junius, what in creation are you doing there?" asked the Colonel, as we approached, of the negro on the turpentine barrel.

"Holein' her down, Cunnel; de ole ting got a mine to blow up dis mornin'; I'se got dis barrl up har to hole her down."

"Why, you everlasting n.i.g.g.e.r, if the top leaks you'll be blown to eternity in half a second."

"Reckon not, ma.s.sa; be barrl and me kin hole her. We'll take de risk."

"Perhaps _you_ will," said the Colonel, laughing, "but I wont. n.i.g.g.e.r property isn't of much account, but you're too good a darky, June, to be sent to the devil for a charge of turpentine."

"Tank you, ma.s.sa, but you dun kno' dis ole ting like I do. You cudn't blow her up nohow; I'se tried her afore dis way."

"Don't you do it again; now mind; if you do I'll make a white man of you." (This I suppose referred to a process of flaying with a whip; though the whip is generally thought to _redden_, not _whiten_, the negro.)

The black did not seem at all alarmed, for he showed his ivories in a broad grin as he replied, "Jess as you say, ma.s.sa; you'se de boss in dis shanty."

Directing the fire to be raked out, and the still to stand unused until it was repaired, the Colonel turned his horse to go, when he observed that the third negro was shoeless, and his feet chapped and swollen with the cold. "Jake," he said, "where are your shoes?"

"Wored out, ma.s.sa."

"Worn out! Why haven't you been to me?"

"'Cause, ma.s.sa, I know'd you'd jaw; you tole me I wears 'em out mighty fa.s.s."

"Well, you do, that's a fact; but go to Madam and get a pair; and you, June, you've been a decent n.i.g.g.e.r, you can ask for a dress for Rosy. How is little June?"

"Mighty pore, ma.s.sa; de ma'am war dar la.s.s night and dis mornin', and she reckun he'm gwine to gwo, sartain."

"Sorry to hear that," said the Colonel. "I'll go and see him. Don't feel badly, June," he continued, for the tears welled up to the eyes of the black man as he spoke of his child; "we all must die."

"I knows dat, ma.s.sa, but it am hard to hab 'em gwo."

"Yes, it is, June, but we may save him."

"Ef you cud, ma.s.sa! Oh, ef you cud!" and the poor darky covered his face with his great hands and sobbed like a child.

We rode on to another "still," and there dismounting, the Colonel explained to me the process of gathering and manufacturing turpentine.

The trees are "boxed" and "tapped" early in the year, while the frost is still in the ground. "Boxing" is the process of scooping a cavity in the trunk of the tree by means of a peculiarly shaped axe, made for the purpose; "tapping" is scarifying the rind of the wood above the boxes.

This is never done until the trees have been worked one season, but it is then repeated year after year, till on many plantations they present the marks of twenty and frequently thirty annual "tappings," and are often denuded of bark for a distance of thirty feet from the ground. The necessity for this annual tapping arises from the fact that the scar on the trunk heals at the end of a season, and the sap will no longer run from it; a fresh wound is therefore made each spring. The sap flows down the scarified surface and collects in the boxes, which are emptied six or eight times in a year, according to the length of the season. This is the process of "dipping," and it is done with a tin or iron vessel constructed to fit the cavity in the tree.

The turpentine gathered from the newly boxed or virgin tree is very valuable, on account of its producing a peculiarly clear and white rosin, which is used in the manufacture of the finer kinds of soap, and by "Rosin the Bow." It commands, ordinarily, nearly five times the price of the common article. When barrelled, the turpentine is frequently sent to market in its crude state, but more often is distilled on the plantation, the gatherers generally possessing means sufficient to own a still.

In the process of distilling, the crude turpentine is "dumped" into the boiler through an opening in the top--the same as that on which we saw Junius composedly seated--water is then poured upon it, the aperture made tight by s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g down the cover and packing it with clay, a fire built underneath, and when the heat reaches several hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the process of manufacture begins. The volatile and more valuable part of the turpentine, by the action of the heat, rises as vapor, then condensing flows off through a pipe in the top of the still, and comes out spirits of turpentine, while the heavier portion finds vent at a lower aperture, and comes out rosin.

No article of commerce is so liable to waste and leakage as turpentine.

The spirits can only be preserved in tin cans, or in thoroughly seasoned oak barrels, made tight by a coating of glue on the inner side. Though the material for these barrels exists at the South in luxuriant abundance, they are all procured from the North, and the closing of the Southern ports has now entirely cut off the supply; for while the turpentine farmer may improvise coopers, he can by no process give the oak timber the seasoning which is needed to render the barrel spirit-tight. Hence it is certain that a large portion of the last crop of turpentine must have gone to waste. When it is remembered that the one State of North Carolina exports annually nearly twenty millions in value of this product, and employs fully two-thirds of its negroes in its production, it will be seen how dearly the South is paying for the mad freak of secession. Putting out of view his actual loss of produce, how does the turpentine farmer feed and employ his negroes? and pressed as these blacks inevitably are by both hunger and idleness, those prolific breeders of sedition, what will keep them quiet?

"What effect will secession have on your business?" I asked the Colonel, after a while.

"A favorable one. I shall ship my crop direct to Liverpool and London, instead of selling it to New York middle-men."

"But is not the larger portion of the turpentine crop consumed at the North?"

"Oh, yes. We shall have to deal with the Yankees anyhow, but we shall do as little with them as possible."