Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1869-01-07
lFron Packard's Monthly.l
The Shady Side of Metro
politan Life.
BY OLIVER DYER.
Aunt Rachel and Her FaVorite
Song,


| Aunt Rachel was a negress. She
had been a slave. The war had set
her free. She didn't know how old
she was. Her hair was sprinkled with
gray, and her face was furrowed with
wrinkles; but her eye was bright, and
her voice musical.
Aunt Rachel lived in a tenement
fronting the area which is reached
through Fish Alley; and Fish Alley is
caye-like archway or tunnel, which
burrows from Oak street to posterior
regions. 1t is called Fish Alley, be-
cause it, and the area to which it leads,
and the houses fronting the area, used
to be pervaded by petty fish dealers
and their stock in trade. 1t is vet a
scaly place, although the Board of
Health has shorn it of its former feeu-
lent nastiness. l have often waded it
instcp deep in filth, of kind which
it would not do to name in print.
The strong point of Fish Alley is
its smell. Thet cannot be described
1t must be smelt by him who would
know its quality Nor need the visitor
have any fears of missing the strong
point of the Alley. As soon as he sets
foot within the excrementitious pre-
cinct the smell will seize him by the
nose with pungent grip, and wiring that
sensitive organ with avehemence which
will be pretty sure to bring tears to
contiguous eye.
Ny finding Aunt Rachel was purely
accidental, perhaps l should say provi
Dental. l was in search of the resi-
dence of one of my Mission Bible-class
scholars, and had mistaken the house;
and, as fumbled along the dark pas
sage, l heard voice eXclaim,
who's dar, honey?"
Ny interest was at once excited by
the voice, so musical and cherry was
it, and yet so indicative of patient suf
feriug. Standing in the door, which l
found open, l asked who spoke.
ITS me, marstar: Aunt Rachel, as
dey calls me-
| Lighting a match, l held it towards
the voice, and dimly saw Aunt Rachel
| lying on bed on the floor. | shall
never forget that vision of earthly want
and suffering, of sanity trust and res
ignation; the tattered bed; that pinehed
and wrinkled face; those calm and ap-
pealing eyes.
will make no aggrayatlng delay
here by detailing the conversation which
followed. Aunt Rachel had had no
supper, no dinner, no breakfast that
day. She had no light. 1t was bit
ter night in February, but she had no
fire, and no fuel. She had nothing but
rheumatism and faith in God. Yet she
was not downcast, but hopeful and
cheerful.
"De Lords been good to me all my
life long" she said; land know as
how His loves a gwine to hold out un-
til de end.'
1t was not long before fire was
burning in Aunt RachePs rickety stove,
and lights and provisions had been sup
piled from the Mission near by, and
physician sent for. A lady from the
Mission had soon made Aunt Rachel
cup of tea and plate of toast, and
was ministering to the poor old help
less child of the Savior with that sweet
Christian sympathy and benignant win
someness which only Gods elect seem
to have the gift of showing.
From that evening my visits to Aunt |
Rachel, who was soon removed to more
comfortable quarters in James street,
were not unfrequent. l loved the |
poor old saint from the start. / can
not say whether my visits ever did her |
any good or not, but can say that
they did me much good. Her abso-
lutte faith, her perfect resignation to
Gods viii, her perpetual hope, cheered |
and strengthened my own soul beyond |
expression.
Aunt Rachel was fond of talking
about her plantation life, and learned
her story by heart. She had been a
slave in Virginia; just where, she could
not tell; but it must have been within
fifteen or twenty miles Of Suffolk, be-
cause, when General Peck was in com
mand of our forces there in 1868, she
had walked from her masters planta-
ton to the Union lines in one afternoon.
She never would tell her master name,
for fear that such revelation might in
some way do him harm.
cole marster was a good man."
Aunt Rachel used to say, can ole
mist'ess was a good woman; but de
young folks was jes like debbils. My
family was al'us kind O. sot by ole
marster. 1t pears as how my family
was 'nected with ole marster's by ties
o blood. De blood gets awfully
mixed down dere, an you's no idee,
chile, how fas' de black folks grows
white, or de white folks grows black
l dunno which, and taint none O. my
business: de Lords will be done.
"But de time come when ole marster
couldn't help us. a nevy (nephew) |
OBJ his n come to our house, who'd done
gone and run'd away from his PARENTS
house, ease his fader wanted him to
marry a one-legged gal down on de
coast, dat owned power of niggers-
six hundred OBJ 'em as twas saddle
young man sayin' as how he'd sooner
marry a gal wild two legs and no mig
gers at Aide which | mus say was
sensible. Dis nevy one day 'salted
my Oldest boy, de which his name was
Jim. and my boy bein' proud-sperited,
he talked back to de neyy. Dat made
de nevy mad, an he struck Jim, and
den Jim jes' knocked i'm clean down
de steps.
eye can't tell, honey chile, what
awful time dat made. De white folks
kin knock de brains out'n de black
folks and nobody's scarf; but eff
black man strikes white man, it pears
as how de HorFs comm to an end.-I