A trait which suggests an inconsistency with the other low characteristics of the negro is the male negro's affection for his mother, irrespective of how cruelly he may have been spurned at birth. Nothing can more provoke a negro to instant enragement and subsequent violence, than a disrespectful remark about his mother, no matter how trifling or inconsequential this remark may appear to be. The male negro son will be diligent in securing the comfort of his mother, be she in sickness or in health. It must be acknowledged that there is some virtue to the negro's loyalty in this respect, and some virtue also in the negro's attitude towards the older members of his ebon community. Old negroes are seldom allowed to live alone or required to perform the duties of cooking. Whether infirm or not, these responsibilities are borne by younger people who will administer to their needs, including attending to their provision grounds in the mountains. They do so in exchange for a trifling return of produce, and all manner of negroes, be they creole or African, treat the elderly with respect and kindness, and endeavour to make their old age comfortable.
Our earthly sojourn must terminate in death, and to mark this occasion the negroes have devised many strange and fantastical ceremonies which they perform in their own gardens. If the corpse is that of an adult they consult it as to the manner and location in which it pleases to be interred. Then, bearing the coffined weight of the carcass upon their shoulders, a group of negroes sets out to locate this resting place, each receiving various signals from their long-lost acquaintance, each pulling in different directions, so that it is by no means unusual for the coffin to jump from their shoulders and tumble to the ground while the bearers settle the matter with their fists. Having committed their fellow creatures to the earth, the negroes sit by the mound determined to accompany their friends wherever it may be that they are going on their final journey upon this earth before they commence a new existence.
As the negroes are very superstitious I found it unusual that they chose to have their dead buried in their gardens, for they fear jumbys (ghosts) with a vengeance. These jumbys or apparitions are believed to compel the onlooker to follow them, and even run off from the plantation, although it might be more rationally considered that on these occasions the negroes make something of a convenience of their jumbys. Apparently the jumbys the negroes must truly fear are those of their enemies, and even in death they never suffer their foes to be buried near them. The difference between a benign and a malignant jumby is given much consideration. It follows then that the negroes generally believe in a life beyond this world which will involve their return to their own country. However, the decline in sable freight has led to fewer of the negroes having any idea of a country beyond these shores, so that some other place not rooted in reality has long since been substituted for the concept of a home country.
It was surprising for me to note how many of those negroes who claimed some memory or association with Africa denied any affection for this link. Whether I was being humoured on account of my alabaster skin I know not, but such conversations often proceeded as follows. Were you a free man in Africa? 'Me a Mandingo and dey tek me a Guinea coast to sell to Buckra captain. But me well glad to leave that cruel place, misses, well glad.' How old were you on your arrival in the West Indies? 'A big, big man, but me no wan' go back in Africa for they slave me and whip me to death. Whip me, lash me to death, so me like this West Indies truly.' But what of your friends and family in Africa? 'Friends and family happy to sell pickaninny to Buckra-man so me no trust them at all. Me go yonder and see England next, me wan' to see English cold.' Do you know what ice is? 'Me know, me know, ice is Englishman's water. Me hear so, me wan' go see with these two peepers.'
Perhaps the commonest of all the negro airs that I have given ear to, and one of the very few that I have been able to distinguish as English, reflects the rootlessness of these people who have been torn from their native soil and thrust into the busy commerce of our civilized world. It is much to be doubted that they will ever again reclaim a true sense of self. The evidence before my eyes suggests that such a process will unfold only after the passage of many decades, perhaps many centuries. It will not be swift.
If me want for go in a Ebo
Me can't go there!
Since dent tief me from a Guinea
Me can't go there!
If me want for go in a Congo
Me can't go there!
Since dem tief me from my tatter
Me can't go there!
If me want for go in a Baytown,
Me can't go there!
Since massa go in a England,
Me can't go there!
I shall conclude my brief observations with the anecdote of Caesar, a poor creature who, with his thick, sullen features, over-hanging eyebrows, and face half covered in hair, gives a convincing portrayal of Master Bruin himself. Sadly, he was recently stricken with a progressive malady, but I nursed him with particular care and he is almost recovered and returned to his trade as a carpenter. The poor fellow, so he believes, cannot sufficiently express his gratitude, and whenever he sees me, dances about extravagantly, crying, 'God bless you, misses! Me glad, glad to see you. God bless you!' He will then burst into a roar of laughter so wild and clamorous that I fear I shall never accustom myself to its rude excess. The poor fellow's jargon is beyond me, but I cannot write the salt tears, affecting looks, and piteous gestures that render it truly pathetic. Suffice to say, this Caesar appears determined to laud me to the skies with his untiring eloquence. It seems as though I am to be his eternal heroine, though I did but apply a small poultice to his brow and sit with him on two afternoons.