but had not learned to manage the negroes yet, as when he scolded them they got scared and ran off, and when he did not they would not work. . .1

On both places the work is done on the old system, by task. We tried working by the day, indeed I think we were obliged to do so by the agent of the Freedmen's Bureau, to whom all our contracts had to be submitted, but we found it did not answer at all, the negroes themselves begging to be allowed to go back to the old task system. One man indignantly asked Major D- what the use of being free was, if he had to work harder than when he was a slave. .

In all other ways the work went on just as it did in old times. The force, of about three hundred, was divided into gangs, each working under a head man- the old negro drivers, who are now called captains, out of compliment to the changed times. These men make a return of the work each night. . . To make them do odd jobs was hopeless, as I found when I got some hands from Butler's Island, and tried to make them clear up the grounds about the house, cut the undergrowth and make a garden. Unless I stayed on the spot all the time, the insant I disappeared they disappeared as well. . . I set a man to churn some butter. After leaving him for a few moments, I returned to find him sitting on the floor with the churn between his legs, turning the handle slowly, about once a minute. "Cato," I exclaimed, "that will never do. You must turn just as fast as ever you can to make butter!" Looking up very gravely, he replied, "Missus, in dis country de butter must be coaxed; der no good to hurry." And I generally found that if I wanted a thing done I first had to tell the negroes to do it, then show them how, and finally do it myself.

They always were perfectly good-tempered, and received my orders with, "Dat's so, missus; just as missus says," and then always somehow or other left the thing undone.

I have had a good deal of trouble this last week with my people not serious, but desperately wearisome. They are the most extraordinary creatures, and the mixture of leniency

1. Mrs. Leigh's note, date of 1882.

and severity which it is requisite to exercise in order to manage them is beyond belief. Each thing is explained satisfactorily to them and they go to work. Suddenly some one, usually the most stupid, starts an idea that perhaps by-and-by they may be expected to do a little more work, or be deprived of some privilege; upon which the whole field gets in the most excited state, they put down their hoes and come up to the house for another explanation, which lasts till the same thing happens again.

Making Contracts with Negroes

Leigh, Ten Years on a Georgia Plantation, pp. 86-127 passim. Extracts from letters. For several years after the war contracts were required by the Freedmen's Bureau. Verbal agreements have since been the rule.

[1867, 1868]

NOT one signed the contract without a long argument on the subject, most of them refusing to sign at all, though they all assured me they wished to work for me as long "as de Lord spared dem." I knew, however, too well, that this simply meant that they were willing to continue to live on St. Simon's as long as the Lord spared them, but not to work, so I was firm, and said, "No, you must sign or go away." So one by one, with groans and sighs they put their marks down opposite to their names.

The next morning at ten, I had the big mill bell rung to summon the people here to sign the contract, and then my work began in earnest. For six mortal hours I sat in the office without once leaving my chair, while the people poured in and poured out, each one with long explanations, objections, and demonstrations. I saw that even those who came fully intend ing to sign would have their say, so after interrupting one man and having him say gravely, ""Top, missus, don't cut my dis course," I sat in a state of dogged patience and let everyone have his talk out, reading the contract over and over again as each one asked for it, answering their many questions and meeting their many objections as best I could. One wanted this altered in the contract, and another that. One was willing to work in the mill but not in the field. Several would not

agree to sign unless I promised to give them the whole of Saturday for a holiday. Others. . would "work for me till they died," but would put their hand to no paper. And so it went on all day, each one "making me sensible," as he called it.

But I was immovable. "No, they must sign the contract as it stood." "No, I could not have anyone work without signing." "No, they must work six days and rest on Sunday," &c., &c. Till at last six o'clock in the evening came and I closed the books with sixty-two names down, which was a good deal of a triumph as my agent told me he feared none would sign the contract, they were so dissatisfied with last year's settle

ment.

Tuesday and Wednesday my stragglers came dropping in, the last man arriving under a large cotton umbrella, very defiant that he would not sign unless he could have Saturday for a holiday. "Five days I'll work, but . . I works for no man on Saturday." "Then," said I, "William, I am sorry, but you can't work for me, for any man who works for me must work on Saturday." "Good morning, den, missus," says my man, with another flourish of the umbrella, and departs. About an hour afterwards he returned, much subdued, with the umbrella shut, which I thought a good sign, and informed me that after "much consideration wid himself," he had returned to sign.

They are prepared again to make their own, and different, terms for next year, but except for the bother and trouble I don't feel very anxious about it, for we have a gang of Irishmen doing the banking and ditching, which the negroes utterly refuse to do any more at all, and therefore, until the planting begins, we can do without the negro labour.

The First Pay Day on a Plantation

Leigh, Ten Years on a Georgia Plantation, p. 74.

[1867]

My father had given each negro a little pass-book, in which had been entered from time to time the food, clothing, and money which each had received from him on account. these little books there were over three hundred, which repre

Of

sented their debits; then there was the large plantation ledger, in which an account of the work each man had . . done every day for nearly two years, had been entered, which represented their credits.

Night after night, when the day's work was over, I sat up till two and three o'clock in the morning, going over and over the long lines of figures, and by degrees got them pretty straight. I might have saved myself the trouble. Not one negro understood it a bit, but all were quite convinced they had been cheated, most of them thinking that each man was entitled to half the crop. I was so anxious they should understand and see they had been fairly dealt with, that I went over and over again each man's account with him, and would begin, “Well, Jack, . . you got on such a date ten yards of homespun from your master." "Yes, missus, massa gave me dat." "Then on such and such a day you had ten dollars." "Yes, missus, dat so." And so on to the end of their debits, all of which they acknowledged as just at once. . . When all these items were named and agreed to, I read the total amount, and then turned to the work account. And here the trouble began, every man insisting upon it that he had not missed one day in the whole two years, and had done full work each day. So after endless discussions, which always ended just where they began, I paid them the money due to them, which was always received with the same remark, "Well, well, work for massa two whole years, and only get dis much." Finding that their faith in my father's justice never wavered, I repeated and repeated and repeated, "But I am paying you from your master's own books and accounts." But the answer was always the same, "No, no, missus, massa not treat us so." Neither, oddly enough, did they seem to think I wished to cheat them, but that I was powerless to help matters, one man saying to me one day, "You see, missus, a woman ain't much 'count." I learned very soon how useless all attempts at "making them sensible" were, and after a time, used to pay them their wages and tell them to be off, without allowing any of the lengthy arguments and discourses over their payments they

wished to indulge in, often more, I think, with an idea of asserting their independence and dignity, than from any real belief that they were not properly paid.

Their love for, and belief in my father, was beyond expression, and made me love them more than I can say.

Notwithstanding their dissatisfaction at the settlement, six thousand dollars was paid out among them, many getting as much as two or three hundred apiece. The result was that a number of them left me and bought land of their own. . . The land they bought, and paid forty, fifty dollars and even more for an acre, was either within the town limits, for which they got no titles, and from which they were soon turned off, or out in the pine woods, where the land was so poor they could not raise a peck of corn to the acre. These lands were sold to them by a common class of men, principally small shopkeepers and Jews (the gentlemen refusing to sell their land to the negroes, although they occasionally rented it to them), and most frightfully cheated the poor people were. But they had got their land, and were building their little log cabins on it, fully believing that they were to live on their property and incomes the rest of their lives.

The Land Question in Virginia

Robert Somers, The Southern States, p. 21. Somers was an Englishman. He traveled through the South investigating economic conditions.

[1871]

THE first question asked of a stranger is whether he has come to look at land. I was not three minutes in Richmond till a pushing Irishman offered to sell me a very fine milch cow and calf on the spot, or tell me where I could get a nice bit of land on very economical terms. But the stranger who is landward-bound is not left to such chance means of information. There are dozens of respectable estate-agents, every one of whom has lists of farms and estates for sale which he advertises in the newspapers, and offers in fee-simple at a rate per acre that in England or Scotland, or even Ireland, would be deemed but a moderate annual rent, and payment of which