My Young Master: A Novel

This is the story of a master, told by his slave. As I sit now, after the flight of so many years, and gaze at the pictures in the fire--the hills and the valleys of my boyhood, so bright, so glowing--I am oppressed with the fear that my rude hand can but ill execute the work that I have undertaken. And yet, I feel the force that truth alone can lend, for although my transcript may be crude, I know that in the years now far away but which are coming toward us, my history will be read by the thoughtful man who seeks to portray the strange social conditions that once existed in our country.

I was born in the State of Kentucky, on the blue-grass farm owned by Guilford Gradley. Many changes may have taken place, but in my day the northern boundary line of the farm and the southern corporate limit of the town of Litchford here came together; and I think that one of my earliest recollections is of a Sunday morning, when my young master and I got on the ground and parted the long grass to search for the line. I know it must have been on a Sunday, for the church bells were ringing, and Old Master and Old Miss (as we always called his wife) passed us on their way to town. Old Master was one of the most prominent men in the State (had been a general in the militia), and this influence was felt even by the humblest negro on the place, for to belong to a great man was of itself a social prominence not enjoyed by the bondman of the ordinary individual. Why, I remember seeing a little negro boy weep bitterly because a playmate had taunted him with the humiliating fact that his master lived in a log house. Ah, those old days, by turns a sad and a happy freak in the history of man!

Old Master had three children, Miss Lou, who had married a doctor; Miss May, about twelve years old, when my story begins; and Mars. Bob, about my age. The doctor that married Miss Lou was a neat man, all the time picking at himself and cleaning his fingernails, it seemed to me, and I had thought that he must be a great man, being a doctor and wearing so white a shirt, until one day I heard Old Master tell Old Miss that he wasn't worth the powder and lead to kill him. And after that I noticed that he didn't amount to much, and I firmly believed that Toney, the yellow blacksmith on our farm, could throw him down. Miss Lou was a handsome young woman, with beautiful eyes; and even now her voice sometimes comes to me at twilight, singing, 'I have no mother now.' The song always made me cry, for I had no mother. Old Balch, the shoemaker, used to tell me about my mother. He said that he had often seen her standing in the door of the cabin, with me in her arms, singing that song; and he said that she was a beautiful creature, with hair almost straight. And I recall that the first time he told me this, I slipped away, into old Mammy Liza's cabin, where I climbed upon a chair to look at myself in an old broken glass, to see how white I was. And it occurs to me that this must have been the day when a preacher, evidently from the North, made Old Miss boiling mad by patting me on the head and saying, "What a handsome little fellow." Mars. Bob was with me on the veranda at the time and it was a great scandal that the preacher should not have given him his first and most flattering attention. But he did not, and his stay in our house was short.

One morning, Old Master called Mars. Bob and me into his library. He sat there, smoking his long-stem pipe, with his elbow resting on a table. I had often run through the room, but this was the first time that I had ever taken a good look at it, with its innumerable books and dark busts of long-haired men. And I was staring about when Old Master said:

"Dan, look at me."

I turned my eyes upon him, not in fear, but more in awe, for I felt his greatness, not so much in his ownership of me, as in the searching light in his eye and the rumbling depths of his voice.

"Dan," he said, "your Mars. Bob is six years old to-day--you and he are nearly of an age--and I have given you to him for a birthday present." I looked at Mars. Bob and he looked at me. Old Master continued: "You are to be his, to go with him, to fight with him, and to play with him. If the time ever comes when it is necessary for you to die in order to save him, do it. Bob."

"Yes, sir," said Mars. Bob.

"Whose boy is this?" (looking at me).

"Mine, sir," Mars. Bob answered proudly.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Take him with me wherever I go."

"And if anyone tries to whip him, what are you going to do?"

"Kill the feller that tries it;" Mars. Bob answered fiercely; and Old Master leaned back and laughed. "You musn't kill anybody if you can help it," he said. "Now run on."

We ran out into the yard and tumbled upon the grass under a tree.

"You belong to me, don't you?" said Bob.

"Yes."

"Are you glad?"

"I don't know yet."

"But you'd rather belong to me than to your Mars. George, wouldn't you?" he asked, meaning the doctor.

"I wouldn't belong to him," I replied. "He ain't worth the powder and lead to kill him. I'd fight before I'd belong to him."

"You musn't say that, Dan--but, so would I." And, after a silence, he said: "If anybody starts to whip you, don't make any difference who it is, come and tell me, won't you?"

"Yes, and we will both fight him, won't we?"

"Yes, but I can whip you when I want to, can't I?"

"Yes, but nobody else shall."

"I know that, but I can, can't I?"

"Sometimes, but not all the time."

"Yes, I can."

"No, you can't."

"I'll whip you now if you say much."

"Much!"

He struck me and I struck him; we clinched and I threw him, and the next moment I was snatched into the air by the doctor. "You little scoundrel!" he shouted, "I'll wear you out." And he was proceeding to do it, with a riding whip, when Bob jumped upon him like a mad cat; and there we had it, both of us biting him, when Old Master ran out and frightened us all nearly to death. Old Miss came out, too, and declared that I ought to be given a hundred lashes, but then came Miss Lou. She took me by the hand and said, "No, you must not whip the poor little fellow." And at this Old Master turned upon her. "Who the devil's going to whip him, I'd like to know? George Bates, don't you touch this boy again."

And now Old Miss bristled up. "Guilford, you are always showing partiality for that little imp. You let him take the place. I won't stand it for one."

"Madam," said Old Master, putting me behind him, "he may be what you call him, but justice should be shown even to an imp. Boys that have any spirit at all will fight and you can't help it, and by--" here he swore a terrible oath that made us all stare. "I say, if Bob can't defend himself, he must take the consequences. Boys, run off down yonder and play, now. Madam, do as you choose. George Bates, attend to your own affairs. My daughter, come with me."

Miss Lou was hurt at the way Master had spoken to her husband, and as he took her hand to lead her into the house, she put her face upon his bosom and I heard her say, "Please don't talk to him that way, father."

He kissed her. And then he turned to the doctor, who hung about abashed. "George, I beg your pardon, sir. I was a little hasty and I admit it. There, it's all right. I'll make you a present of that clay-bank horse you admire so much. Get him and take a ride, sir."

"Oh, father," Miss Lou cried, "you are the best man in the world."

"No, I'm an old pepper-box. Look out, you're tramping all over my feet. You boys go on down the creek and catch some fish or I'll whip both of you. Madam," he added, turning to Old Miss and handing her a roll of bank notes, "go to town and do your shopping."