Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1849-04-06
Frsn Willis's Home Journal.
THE NIGHT FUNERAL OF A SLAVE:
FEBRUARY, l649.


business, in the interior Of Georgia, reached
just at sunset, the mansion of the proprietor,
through whose estate for the last hal: hour Of
my journey. had pursued my way. My tired
companion pricked his ears, and with low |
whisper indicated his pleasure, as turned up I,
the broad avenue leading to the honse. Call
ing to black boy in view babe him inquire
of his owner i'll could be Accommodated with
lodgings for the night.
My request brought the proprietor himself
to the door, and from thence to the gate when
after scrutinizing glance at my person. and
equipment he enquired my name, business
and destination.-I promptly responded to his
questions, and he invited me to alight and
enter the house, in the true spirit of Southern
hospitality.
He was apparently thirty years of age,
and evidently a man of education and refine
ment. l soon observed an air of gloomy alb
straction about him; he said but little, and
even that little seemed the result of an effort
to obviate the seeming want of civility to a
stranger. At supper, the mistress of the
mansion appeared, and did the honors of the
table, in her particular department she was
exceedingly lady-like and beautiful, only as
Southern aDon'en are, that is beyond comparison
with those ofany other portion of this republic
have ever seen. She retired Immediately
after supper. and a servant handing some
splendid Habannas on a small silver tray, we
had just seated ourselves comfortably before
the enormous FIRE of oak WOOD when servant
appeared at the end door near my host hat in
hand, and uttered in subdued but distinct tones
the, to me, startling words
master, de coffin hab come
very well, 'twas the only reply, and the
servant disappeared.
My host remarked my gaze of inquisitive
wonder, and replied to it
Il have been sad, sad.' said he, 'to-day.
l have had greater misfortune than l have
experienced since my fathers death. lost
this morning the truest and the most reliable
friend had in the world-one whom have
been accustomed to honor and respect since
my earliest recollection; he was the playmate
of my fathers youth, and the mentor Of mine;
faithful servant, an honest man and sim
cere christian. stood by his bedside to-day
and with his hands clasped III mine, heard
the last words he uttered they were, MAS
ter, meet me in heaven"
His voice faltered moment, and he con-
tinned after pause, with increased excite
ment-
His loss is melancholy one TO me. If
left my home, said to him, John ; see that
all things are taken care Of and knew that
my wife and child, property and all. were as
safe as though they were guarded by hun
dred soldiers. l never spoke harsh word to
him in all my life, for he never merited it.
have hundred others, many of them faithful
and true, bnt his loss is irreparable.'
come from section of the Union where
slavery does not exist; and l brought with
me all the prejudices which so generally pre-
vail in the free States in regard to this 'insti-
tuton.' had already seen much to soften
these, but the observation of years would
have failed to give me so clear an insight In
TO the relation between master and servant as
this simple incident. 1t was not the haugh.
ty planter, the lordly tyrant, talking of his
dead slave, as of his dead horse, but the kind
hearted gentleman, lamenting the loss, and
eulogizing the virtues of his good old friend.
After an Interval OF silence, my host resumed
'There are,' said he, many of the old mans
relatives and friends who would wish to at
tend his funeral. To afford them an oppor-
tunity, several plantations have been notified
that he will be buried tonight; some. pre-
sumo, have already arrived ; and desiring to
see that all things are properly prepared fol
his interment, trust you will excuse my alb
sence for few moments
Most certainly, sir; butt l added. ii
there is no improperly, would be pleased
to accompany YOU
There is none,' he replied; and followed
him to one of a long row of cabins, situated
the distance of some three hundred yards from
the mansion. The house was crowded will
negroes, who all arose on our entrance, ant
many of them exchanged greetings with my
hest, in tones that convinced me that the,
| oIf hat ol, af Inv Ynr
: them! The corpse was deposited in the cof
, fin, attired in shroud of the finest cottol
: materials, and the coffin itself painted black
2 The master stopped at his head, ana laying
z his hand upon the cold brow Of his faithful
S bondsman. gazed long and intently upon fea
; lures with which he had been so long famil
lar, and which he now looked upon for tn
g. last time on earth raising his eyes at lengsI
2 and glancing at the serious conferences nov
!. bent upon his, he said solemnly and will
much feeling
: He was faithful servant and true chris
,. tian if you follow his example, and live al
d he lived, none of you need fear when the tim
n comes for you to lay here
d A patriarch, with the snow of eighty win
2 tiers on his head, answered.
), 'Master, it is true, and we will try to liv
b like him.
1t There was murmur of general assent, ant
# after giving some instructions relative to tn
# burial, we returned TO the dwelling.
e About nine o'clock servant appeared wit
n the notice that they were ready to move, an
d to know if further instructions were necessa
I, ~. My host remarked TO me, that by step
v ping into the piazza, would probably wit
r, ness, to me, novel scene. The processio
IS had moved, and its route led within fey
e yards of the mansion. There were one hur
h dred and fifty negroes, arranged four deep
e and following wagon, in which was place
Is the coffin; down the entire length Of the line
b at intervals of few feet, on each side, wef
p carried torches of the resinous pine. and her
!. called iightwood. About the centre was sta
~ toned the black preacher, man of giganti
/ frame and stentorian lungs, who gave out fror
Of memory the words of hymn suitable to tn
d. occasion. The Southern negroes are prove
o. bal for the melody and compass Of their vo
e. ces, and thought that hymn, mellowed b
" distance, the most solemn and yet the swee
n Est music that had ever fallen upon my ca
f. The stiffness Of the ght and strength of the
ne voices, enabled me to distinguish the air
" the distance of half mile.
a. 1t was to me strange and solemn seen
b. and no incident of my life has impressed n
with more powerful emotions than the nigl
funeral of the poor negro. For this reason,
M have hastily and most imperfectly sketche
n