Southern Lights and Shadows Part 10

By William Ludwell Sheppard

I never knew a time in which I did not know Mammy. She was simply a part of my consciousness; it seems to me now a more vivid one in my earliest years than that of the existence of my parents. We five, though instructed by an elder sister in the rudiments of learning, spent many more of our waking hours with Mammy; and whilst we drew knowledge from one source, we derived the greater part of our pleasure from the other--that is, outside of our playmates.

The moments just preceding bedtime, in which we were undergoing the process of disrobing at the hands of Mammy, were periods of dreadful pleasure to us. As I look back upon them, I wonder that we got any sleep at all after some of her recitals. They were not always sanguinary or ghostly, and of course when I scan them in the light of later years, it is apparent that Mammy, like the majority of people, "without regard to color or previous condition of servitude," suffered her walk and conversation to be influenced by her state of health, mental and bodily. Her walk--I am afraid I must admit, as all biographers seem privileged to deal with the frailties of their victims as freely as with their virtues--her walk, viewed through the medium already alluded to, did not owe its occasional uncertainty to "very coa.r.s.e veins," though that malady, with a slight phonetic difference, Mammy undoubtedly suffered from, in common with the facts. She was a great believer in "dram" as a remedial agent, and h.o.m.oeopathic practice was unknown with us at that period.

Mammy's code of laws for our moral government was one of threats of being "repoated to ole mahster," tempered by tea of her own making dulcified by brown sugar of fascinating sweetness, anecdote, and autobiography.

The anecdotal part consisted almost exclusively of the fascinating repertoire of Uncle Remus. Indeed, to know the charm of that chronicle is reserved to the man or woman whose childhood dates from the _ante bellum_ period, and who had a Mammy.

In the autobiographical part Mammy spread us a chilling feast of horrors, varied by the supernatural. Long years after this period I read a protest in some Southern paper against this practice in the nursery, with its manifest consequences on the minds of children. It set me to wondering how it was that the consequences in my day seemed inappreciable. I do not understand it now. Some of Mammy's stories would have been bonanzas to a police reporter of today; others would have bred emulation in Edgar Poe.

And yet I do not recall any subsequent terrors.

An account of the execution of some pirates, which she had witnessed when a "gal," was popular. She had a rhyme which condensed the details. The condemned were Spaniards:

Pepe hung, Qulo fell, Felix died and went to ----

Mammy always gave the rhyme with awful emphasis.

She had had an experience before coming into our family, by purchase, which gave her easy precedence over all the mammies of all our friends. To be sure, it was an experience which the other mammies, as "good membahs of de chutch," regarded as unholy; one which they congratulated themselves would never lie on their consciences, and of which poor Mammy was to die unshriven in their minds; for she never became a "sister," so far as I ever learned.

But to us this experience was fruitful of many happy hours. Mammy had been tire-woman to Mrs. Gilfert, the reigning star of that date, at the old Marshall Theatre--the successor to one burnt in 1811.

The habit of the stock companies in those days was to remain the whole season, sometimes two or more, so Mammy had the opportunity to "a.s.sist" at the entire repertoire. It is one of the regrets of my life that I am not able to recall verbatim Mammy's arguments of the play, her descriptions of some of the actors, and her comments.

For some reason, when later on I wished to refresh my memory of these, Mammy had either forgotten them or suspected the intention of my asking.

She ranked her experiences at the theatre along with her account of the adventures of the immortal "Mollie Cottontail" (for we did not know him as "Brer Rabbit"), and the rest of her lore, I suppose, and so could not realize that my maturer mind would care for any of them.

When I had subsequently made some acquaintance with plays, or read them, I recognized most of those described by Mammy. Some remain unidentified.

Hamlet she preserved in name. Whilst she had no quotations of the words, she had a vivid recollection of the ghost scenes, and "pisenin' de king's ear." She also gave us scenes in which "one uv them kings was hollerin' for his horse"--plainly Richard. Julius Caesar she easily kept in mind, as some acquaintance of her color bearing that name was long extant. I can still conjure up her tones and manner when she declaimed "'Dat you, Brutus?' An'

he done stick him like de rest uv um; and him raised in de Caesar fam'ly like he wuz a son!"

The ingrat.i.tude of the thing struck through our night-gowns even then.

The period when Mammy's sway weakened was indeterminate. We boys after a while swapped places with Mammy, and made her the recipient of our small pedantries. I do not recollect, however, that we were ever cruel enough to throw her ignorance up to her.

At last the grown-up sisters absorbed all of Mammy's spare time. Sympathy was kept up between them after her bond with us was loosened, and they even took hints from her in matters of the toilet that were souvenirs of her stage days.

In the course of time reverses and bereavements came to the family. The girls had grown to womanhood and matrimony, and had begun their new lives in other places. Then came the inevitable to the elders, and it became necessary to convert all property into cash.

We were happy in being able to retain a good many of our household G.o.ds, and they are the Lares and Penates of our several homes to this day. We had long since ceased to think of Mammy Becky--she was never Rebecca--as property. In fact, we younger ones never thought of her as such. By law we were each ent.i.tled to a fifth in Mammy.

This came upon us in the nature of a shock at a family consultation on ways and means, and there was a disposition on the part of every party to the ownership to shift that responsibility to another.

I must do ourselves the justice to say that such a thing as converting Mammy into cash, and thus making her divisible, never for a moment entered our minds. It seemed, however, that the difficulty had occurred to her.

We all felt so guilty, when Mammy served tea that last evening, that we were sure she read our thoughts in our countenances. It would be nearer the truth to say that it was rather our fears that she should ever come to the knowledge that the word "sale" had been coupled with her name.

The next day we were to scatter, and it was imperative that some disposition should be made of Mammy. The old lady--for old we deemed her, though she could scarcely have been fifty--went calmly about the house looking to the packing of the thousand and one things, and not only looking, but using her tongue in language expressing utter contempt for all "lazy n.i.g.g.e.rs" of these degenerate days--referring to the temporary "help."

The eldest sister was deputed to approach and sound Mammy on the momentous question.

The deputy went on her mission in fear and trembling. The interview was easily contrived in the adjoining room.

We were exceedingly embarra.s.sed when we discovered that Mammy's part of the dialogue was perfectly audible. As for the sister's, her voice could be barely heard. So that the effect to the unwilling eavesdropper was that which we are familiar with in these days of hearing a conversation at the telephone.

"Don't you bother yo'self 'bout me, Miss Frances."

Interval.

"No, marm. I'd ruther stay right here in dis town whar ev'body knows me.

Doan yawl study 'bout me."

Several bars' rest, apparently.

"Yes'm, I know hit's yo' duty to look after me, an' I belongs to all of you; but Ise concluded to let yawl off. You can't divide me into five parts, an' they ain' nah one uv you 't.i.tled to any partickler part if you could; most uv me ain't much 'count nohow, what with very coa.r.s.e veins an'

so fothe. Oh, yes'm! I done study 'bout it plenty, an' I done concluded that I'll let yawl off an' do fur myself. You know I'm a prime cake-maker, bread-maker, an' kin do a whole pahcel uv other things besides; an' dress young ladies for parties, whar I learnt at the ole the-etter, which they built it after the fust one burnt up and all dem people whar dey got the Monnymental Chutch over um now; an' any kind of hair-dress-in', curlin' wid irons or quince juice, an' so fothe. No, don't you bother 'bout me."

So Mammy was installed in a small house in a portion of the city occupied by a good many free people, and, as we subsequently ascertained, not bearing a very savory reputation.

We had heard it rumored that there were some suitors for Mammy's hand. She had always avowed that she had been a "likely gal," but we had to take her word for this, as she had very slender claims to "likelihood"--if the word suits hers--in our remembrance. She was nearly a mulatto--very "light gingerbread," or "saddle-colored"--and a widow of some years' standing.

Still, there was no accounting for tastes amongst the colored folks, any more than there was amongst the whites in this matter. We surmised that some of the aspirants suspected Mammy of having a _dot_, the acc.u.mulation of many perquisites for her a.s.sistance on wedding occasions. It may be remarked that she had no legal right to demand anything for such services.

One of the sisters approached Mammy timidly on this subject, and was a.s.sured positively by her that "they ain't no n.i.g.g.e.r in the whole university whar I would marry. No, ma'm. I done got 'nough of um."

We knew that Mammy's married life had been a stormy one. Her husband, Jerry, had been a skilful coach-painter, and got good wages for his master, who was liberal in the 'lowance that was made by all generous owners to slaves of this cla.s.s. Jerry was a fervent "professor," who came home drunk nearly every night, and never failed to throw up to Mammy her dangerous spiritual condition. Jerry was so vulnerable a subject that Mammy was prepared to score some strong points against him. He invariably met these retorts with roars of laughter and loud a.s.sertions of his being "in grace once for all."

Left the sole representative of my family in the city, I had to start a new establishment, just as Mammy did.

I made a visit to hers a few days after our separation, and came away with my heart in my mouth at the sight of some of the familiar objects of Mammy's room, and such of our own as she had fallen heir to, in strange places and appositions. I also felt that Mammy's room had a more homelike aspect than my own.

There was no doubt that Mammy enjoyed her new conditions and surroundings.

She had been provided with a paper signed by some of us, stating that it was with our permission that she lived to herself. This secured her free movement at all times--the privilege of very few of her race not legally manumitted.

Her visits to me were quite frequent, and she never failed to find something that needed putting to rights, and putting it so immediately, with fierce comments on the worthlessness of all "high-lands," which was _negroce_ for hirelings--a cla.s.s held in contempt by the servants owned in families.

I think that Mammy must have discovered the fact that my estate was somewhat deteriorated.

I was painfully conscious of this myself, and saw no prospect of its amelioration. The little cash that had come to me was quite dissipated, and my meagre salary was insufficient to satisfy my artificial wants--the only ones that a young man cannot dispense with and be happy.

In spite of the opinion prevailing in those days, that when a young man embraced the career of an artist it was a farewell to all hope of a sober and prosperous career, my father had been willing for me to follow my manifest bent, and I was to sacrifice a university career as the alternative. But the last enemy stepped between me and my hopes, and there was nothing for it but to go to work.

I had an ardent admirer in Mammy, who, in her innocence of a proper standard, frequently compared my productions to a "music back" or a tobacco label. That was before the days of chromos.

Mammy turned up Sunday mornings to look after my b.u.t.tons. Those were days of fond reminiscence and poignant regret on my part.

"Seems to me hit's time for you to be getting some new shirts, Mahs William," she said, one Sunday morning. Mammy touched me sorely there. A crisis was certainly impending in my lingerie.