Folks from Dixie

It was winter. The gray old mansion of Mr. Robert Selfridge, of Fayette County, Ky., was wrapped in its usual mantle of winter sombreness, and the ample plantation stretching in every direction thereabout was one level plain of unflecked whiteness. At a distance from the house the cabins of the negroes stretched away in a long, broken black line that stood out in bold relief against the extreme whiteness of their surroundings.

About the centre of the line, as dark and uninviting as the rest, with its wide chimney of scrap limestone turning clouds of dense smoke into the air, stood a cabin.

There was nothing in its appearance to distinguish it from the other huts clustered about. The logs that formed its sides were just as seamy, the timbers of the roof had just the same abashed, brow-beaten look; and the keenest eye could not have detected the slightest shade of difference between its front and the bare, unwhitewashed fronts of its scores of fellows. Indeed, it would not have been mentioned at all, but for the fact that within its confines lived and thrived the heroine of this story.

Of all the girls of the Selfridge estate, black, brown, or yellow, Anner ’Lizer was, without dispute, conceded to be the belle. Her black eyes were like glowing coals in their sparkling brightness; her teeth were like twin rows of shining ivories; her brown skin was as smooth and soft as silk; and the full lips that enclosed her gay and flexile tongue were tempting enough to make the heart of any dusky swain throb and his mouth water.

Was it any wonder, then, that Sam Merritt—strapping, big Sam, than whom there was not a more popular man on the place—should pay devoted court to her?

Do not gather from this that it was Sam alone who paid his devoirs to this brown beauty. Oh, no! Anner ’Lizer was the “bright, particular star” of that plantation, and the most desired of all blessings by the young men thereabout. But Sam, with his smooth but fearless ways, Sam, with his lightsome foot, so airy in the dance, Sam, handsome Sam, was the all-preferred. If there was a dance to go to, a corn-husking to attend, a social at the rude little log church, Sam was always the lucky man who was alert and able to possess himself of Anner ’Lizer’s “comp’ny.” And so, naturally, people began to connect their names, and the rumour went forth, as rumours will, that the two were engaged; and, as far as engagements went among the slaves in those days, I suppose it was true. Sam had never exactly prostrated himself at his sweetheart’s feet and openly declared his passion; nor had she modestly snickered behind her fan, and murmured yes in the approved fashion of the present. But he had looked his feelings, and she had looked hers; while numerous little attentions bestowed on each other, too subtle to be detailed, and the attraction which kept them constantly together, were earnests of their intentions more weighty than words could give. And so, let me say, without further explanation, that Sam and Anner ’Lizer were engaged. But when did the course of true love ever run smooth?

There was never a time but there were some rocks in its channel around which the little stream had to glide or over which it had to bound and bubble; and thus it was with the loves of our young friends. But in this case the crystal stream seemed destined neither to bound over nor glide by the obstacle in its path, but rather to let its merry course be checked thereby.

It may, at first, seem a strange thing to say, but it was nevertheless true, that the whole sweep and torrent of the trouble had rise in the great religious revival that was being enthusiastically carried on at the little Baptist meeting-house. Interest, or, perhaps more correctly speaking, excitement ran high, and regularly as night came round all the hands on the neighbouring plantations flocked to the scene of their devotions.

There was no more regular attendant at these meetings, nor more deeply interested listener to the pastor’s inflammatory exhortations, than Anner ’Lizer. The weirdness of the scene and the touch of mysticism in the services—though, of course, she did not analyse it thus—reached her emotional nature and stirred her being to its depths. Night after night found her in her pew, the third bench from the rude pulpit, her large eyes, dilated to their fullest capacity, following the minister through every motion, seeming at times in their steadfastness to look through him and beyond to the regions he was describing,—the harp-ringing heaven of bliss or the fire-filled home of the damned.

Now Sam, on the other hand, could not be induced to attend these meetings; and when his fellow-servants were at the little church praying, singing, and shouting, he was to be found sitting in one corner of his cabin, picking his banjo, or scouring the woods, carrying axe and taper, and, with a dog trotting at his heels, hunting for that venison of the negro palate,—’coon.

Of course this utter irreverence on the part of her lover shocked Anner ’Lizer; but she had not entered far enough into the regions of the ecstasy to be a proselyte; so she let Sam go his way, albeit with reluctance, while she went to church unattended. But she thought of Sam; and many a time when she secretly prayed to get religion she added a prayer that she might retain Sam.

He, the rogue, was an unconscious but pronounced sceptic; and day by day, as Anner ’Lizer became more and more possessed by religious fervour, the breach between them widened; still widening gradually until the one span that connected the two hearts was suddenly snapped asunder on the night when Anner ’Lizer went to the mourner’s bench.

She had not gone to church with that intention; indeed not, although she had long been deeply moved by a consciousness of her lost estate. But that night, when the preacher had pictured the boundless joys of heaven, and then, leaning over the pulpit and stretching out his arms before him, had said in his softest tone, “Now come, won’t you, sinnahs? De Lawd is jes’ on de othah side; jes’ one step away, waitin’ to receibe you. Won’t you come to him? Won’t you tek de chance o’ becomin’ j’int ’ars o’ dat beautiful city whar de streets is gol’ an’ de gates is pearl? Won’t you come to him, sinnah? Don’t you see de pityin’ look he’s a-givin’ you, a-sayin’ Come, come?” she lost herself. Some irresistible power seemed dominating her, and she arose and went forward, dropping at the altar amid a great shouting and clapping of hands and cries of “Bless de Lawd, one mo’ recruit fu’ de Gospel ahmy.”

Some one started the hymn, “We’ll bow around the altar,” and the refrain was taken up by the congregation with a fervour that made the rafters of the little edifice ring again.

The conquest of Anner ’Lizer, the belle of that section of Kentucky, was an event of great moment; and in spite of the concentration of the worshippers’ minds on their devotions, the unexpected occurrence called forth a deal of discussion among the brothers and sisters. Aunt Hannah remarked to Aunt Maria, over the back of the seat, that she “nevah knowed de gal was unner c’nviction.” And Aunt Maria answered solemnly, “You know, sistah, de Lawd wuks in a myste’ious way his wondahs to pu’fo’m.”

Meanwhile the hymn went on, and above it rose the voice of the minister: “We want all de Christuns in de house to draw up aroun’ de altah, whar de fiah is bu’nin’: you know in de wintah time when hit’s col’ you crowds up clost to de fiahplace; so now ef you wants to git spi’tually wa’m, you mus’ be up whar de fiah is.” There was a great scrambling and shuffling of feet as the members rose with one accord to crowd, singing, around the altar.

Two of the rude benches had been placed end to end before the pulpit, so that they extended nearly the full width of the little church; and at these knelt a dozen or more mourners, swaying and writhing under the burden of their sins.

The song being ended, the preacher said: “Brer’ Adams, please tek up de cross.” During the momentary lull that intervened between the end of the song and the prayer, the wails and supplications of the mourners sounded out with weird effect. Then Brer’ Adams, a white-haired patriarch, knelt and “took up the cross.”

Earnestly he besought the divine mercy in behalf of “de po’ sinnahs, a-rollin’ an’ a-tossin’ in de tempes’ of dere sins. Lawd,” he prayed, “come down dis evenin’ in Sperit’s powah to seek an’ to save-ah; let us heah de rumblin’ of yo’ cha’iot wheels-ah lak de thundah f’om Mount Sinai-ah; oh, Lawd-ah, convert mou’nahs an’ convict sinnahs-ah; show ’em dat dey mus’ die an’ cain’t lib an’ atter death to judg-a-ment; tu’n ’em aroun’ befo’ it is evahlastin’ an’ eternally too late.” Then warming more and more, and swaying his form back and forth, as he pounded the seat in emphasis, he began to wail out in a sort of indescribable monotone: “O Lawd, save de mou’nah!”

“Save de mou’nah!” came the response from all over the church.

“He’p ’em out of de miah an’ quicksan’s of dere sins!”

“He’p, Lawd!”

“And place deir feet upon de evahlastin’ an’ eternal rock-ah!”

“Do, Lawd!”

“O Lawd-ah, shake a dyin’ sinnah ovah hell an’ fo’bid his mighty fall-ah!”

“O Lawd, shake ’em!” came from the congregation.

By this time every one was worked up to a high state of excitement, and the prayer came to an end amid great commotion. Then a rich, mellow voice led out with:

“Sabe de mou’nah jes’ now, Sabe de mou’nah jes’ now, Sabe de mou’nah jes’ now, Only trust Him jes’ now, Only trust Him jes’ now, He’p de sinnah jes’ now;”

and so to indefinite length the mournful minor melody ran along like a sad brook flowing through autumn woods, trying to laugh and ripple through tears.

Every now and then some mourner would spring half up, with a shriek, and then sink down again trembling and jerking spasmodically. “He’s a-doubtin’, he’s a-doubtin’!” the cry would fly around; “but I tell you he purt’ nigh had it that time.”

Finally, the slender form of Anner ’Lizer began to sway backward and forward, like a sapling in the wind, and she began to mourn and weep aloud.

“Praise de Lawd!” shouted Aunt Hannah, “de po’ soul’s gittin’ de evidence: keep on, honey, de Lawd ain’t fa’ off.” The sudden change attracted considerable attention, and in a moment a dozen or more zealous altar-workers gathered around Anner ’Lizer, and began to clap and sing with all their might, keeping time to the melodious cadence of their music with heavy foot-pats on the resounding floor.

“Git on boa’d-ah, little childering, Git on boa’d-ah, little childering, Git on boa’d-ah, little childering, Dere’s room fo’ many mo’.

“De gospel ship is sailin’, It’s loaded down wid souls. If you want to mek heab’n yo’ happy home, You mus’ ketch it ’fo’ it goes. Git on boa’d, etc.

“King Jesus at de hellum, Fu’ to guide de ship erright. We gwine fu’ to put into heab’n’s po’t Wid ouah sails all shinin’ white. Git on boa’d,” etc.

With a long dwell on the last word of the chorus, the mellow cadence of the song died away.

“Let us bow down fu’ a season of silent praar,” said the minister.