Terrebonne County Louisiana Archives News.....Fifty Years Ago No. 40 February 27, 1897 ************************************************ Copyright. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ************************************************ File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: Savanna King savanna18king@gmail.com August 11, 2023, 1:46 am The Thibodaux Sentinel February 27, 1897 To see slaves work in the fields was a revelation and a novelty to me. I had never witnessed much work by gangs of laborers, especially where women and men were mixed together. To watch them cutting sugar cane, loading it into carts and wagon and dumping it down by the cane carriers at the sugarhouse was a novel scene to me. The slaves both in the fields and in the sugarhouse seemed to enjoy their toil, especially when the weather was good. The piling of the sugar cane on the carrier, particularly at night when it had to be “toted,” often 200 or 300 feet was quite different labor to the improved methods of today, and a great deal harder work. The men at the kettles who stood for 18 hours, skinning the foam and filth from the cane juice and transferring it from one kettle to another found it emphatically toilsome all of which is now done by the simple turning of a valve to permit steam to perform the work required. The slave was generally a happy fellow. Let the engine stop at any time the hands would begin a dance, sing, or drop down into a sound sleep in less time than it takes to write it. There were no cares on his mind besides the execution of the labor assigned him. He did not think or worry himself about whence would come his rations on the morrow. The height at which his neighbor's chicken roosted was occasionally a matter of deep study for his mind. The slave was a great songster. Often in the fields cutting cane, or hoeing the growing crop, or at night when employed about the sugar houses, their taste for music would be indulged. A leader would sing a line or two when all the others, men, women, and boys would unite in the chorus. The leader would start up: “God made the world And man made money.” When the chorus would strike in: “And we’ll all go up yonder” “God made the bees And the bees made the honey.” “And we’ll all go up yonder.” “God made the Devil And the Devil made sin.” “And we’ll all go up yonder.” “God made a hole And he put the devil in.” “And we’ll all go up yonder.” “Nigger makes de sugar And massa takes de money.” “And we’ll all go up yonder.” And so on for half an hour, the leader making it up as he goes along or repeating the same stanzas. These weird songs ringing out in the still hours of the night were peculiarly attractive to a stranger. The end of sugar making was also an interesting occasion. When the canes were cut, the cane cutters, men, and women, would form into a procession, each carrying a big sugar cane, and very likely singing one of their happy songs, and march to and into the sugar house, very probably if master, manager, or employees were found on their way, picking them up bodily and “tote” them through the building. Then the traditional jug was brought out, and the master taking one or two of the finest canes, with a cup of whiskey would baptize them, when all of them would wish and drink prosperity and success for the next crop, hoping that it might surpass any previous one. This done the men would gather up in their arms engineer, sugar boiler or some one and “tote” him around the building to the music of their songs, to be followed by another swig at the irrepressible jug. On these occasions the cane cutters were masters of the situation for the rest of the day, and did pretty much as they pleased. Planters often had difficulty in getting enough men on watch on that night to keep his apparatus moving, as many of the slaves with their frequent libations were incapable of doing any work for that night. When the canes were all hauled in and the last ones had gone through the mill another rejoicing was gone through by those who could not participate in the first one. It used always to excite my sympathy for the kettle hands &c., who were compelled to stand at their posts while their fellow toilers were rejoicing. Masters generally permitted their slaves great indulgences on such occasions, making the end of sugar rolling always a merry time to all. These, as I have before stated, were followed by a week’s holiday at christmas, or if the grinding season had not been completed in time immediately thereafter. Then preparations for a new crop were made and the work of planting cane and corn was commenced. There was one peculiarity with some slaves that was incomprehensible to me, and for which I never could discover any just reason. That was the desire to “run away.” In some instances, cruelty practiced upon them, doubtlessly had that effect but I knew some of the best slaves who did their work well, who were well treated and cared for, who invariably failed to answer at roll call, twice, or oftener during the year. After hiding in the woods and cane fields for a few weeks they would return, receive a good thrashing and go to work, although punishment did not necessarily follow. I once inquired of those runaways why he did so. I said: “You are never punished, you are well cared for, you are one of the best laborers on the plantation, and yet without any cause you will runaway.” His answer: “Well master I can’t help it I just must go. I don’t want to go, yet I cannot resist; I suppose somebody ‘voudous’ me.” Much has been said and written about bloodhounds kept for tracing these runaways. There were ordinary hounds kept for that purpose, but not bloodhounds. Some overseers kept two or three for their own use, but there was occasionally some men who kept a pack to hunt runaways for the money that they would receive for their infamous work. I say INFAMOUS because no man had any respect for such men or such occupations, whilst the very owners who sometimes employed them did it with the same feeling that a dude would experience in handling pitch. I remember a fellow who had his headquarters in Thibodaux in the early “Fifties.” His name was Cavendish. He kept a pack of hounds. He found little sympathy among the people in this vicinity but on one night a lot of young men thought that they would give him a testimonial. They hunted him, took him above town in front of the old sawmill, where they found a pile of shingles, a goodly number of which were used on a part of his naked body, as it was held over an empty barrel. He was then put in a skiff and told to cross over Bayou Lafourche and bid Thibodaux an immediate and everlasting farewell, which he most emphatically did. File at: http://files.usgwarchives.net/la/terrebonne/newspapers/fiftyyea779gnw.txt This file has been created by a form at http://www.genrecords.org/lafiles/ File size: 7.0 Kb