Eighty Years and More | Page 7

Returning home, we were allowed, as a great Christmas treat, to watch
all Peter's preparations for dinner. Attired in a white apron and turban,
holding in his hand a tin candlestick the size of a dinner plate,
containing a tallow candle, with stately step he marched into the
spacious cellar, with Jacob and three little girls dressed in red flannel at
his heels. As the farmers paid the interest on their mortgages in barrels
of pork, headcheese, poultry, eggs, and cider, the cellars were well

crowded for the winter, making the master of an establishment quite
indifferent to all questions of finance. We heard nothing in those days
of greenbacks, silver coinage, or a gold basis. Laden with vegetables,
butter, eggs, and a magnificent turkey, Peter and his followers returned
to the kitchen. There, seated on a big ironing table, we watched the
dressing and roasting of the bird in a tin oven in front of the fire. Jacob
peeled the vegetables, we all sang, and Peter told us marvelous stories.
For tea he made flapjacks, baked in a pan with a long handle, which he
turned by throwing the cake up and skillfully catching it descending.
Peter was a devout Episcopalian and took great pleasure in helping the
young people decorate the church. He would take us with him and
show us how to make evergreen wreaths. Like Mary's lamb, where'er
he went we were sure to go. His love for us was unbounded and fully
returned. He was the only being, visible or invisible, of whom we had
no fear. We would go to divine service with Peter, Christmas morning
and sit with him by the door, in what was called "the negro pew." He
was the only colored member of the church and, after all the other
communicants had taken the sacrament, he went alone to the altar.
Dressed in a new suit of blue with gilt buttons, he looked like a prince,
as, with head erect, he walked up the aisle, the grandest specimen of
manhood in the whole congregation; and yet so strong was prejudice
against color in 1823 that no one would kneel beside him. On leaving
us, on one of these occasions, Peter told us all to sit still until he
returned; but, no sooner had he started, than the youngest of us slowly
followed after him and seated herself close beside him. As he came
back, holding the child by the hand, what a lesson it must have been to
that prejudiced congregation! The first time we entered the church
together the sexton opened a white man's pew for us, telling Peter to
leave the Judge's children there. "Oh," he said, "they will not stay there
without me." But, as he could not enter, we instinctively followed him
to the negro pew.
Our next great fête was on the anniversary of the birthday of our
Republic. The festivities were numerous and protracted, beginning then,
as now, at midnight with bonfires and cannon; while the day was
ushered in with the ringing of bells, tremendous cannonading, and a

continuous popping of fire-crackers and torpedoes. Then a procession
of soldiers and citizens marched through the town, an oration was
delivered, the Declaration of Independence read, and a great dinner
given in the open air under the trees in the grounds of the old
courthouse. Each toast was announced with the booming of cannon. On
these occasions Peter was in his element, and showed us whatever he
considered worth seeing; but I cannot say that I enjoyed very much
either "general training" or the Fourth of July, for, in addition to my
fear of cannon and torpedoes, my sympathies were deeply touched by
the sadness of our cook, whose drunken father always cut antics in the
streets on gala days, the central figure in all the sports of the boys,
much to the mortification of his worthy daughter. She wept bitterly
over her father's public exhibition of himself, and told me in what a
condition he would come home to his family at night. I would gladly
have stayed in with her all day, but the fear of being called a coward
compelled me to go through those trying ordeals. As my nerves were
all on the surface, no words can describe what I suffered with those
explosions, great and small, and my fears lest King George and his
minions should reappear among us. I thought that, if he had done all the
dreadful things stated in the Declaration of '76, he might come again,
burn our houses, and drive us all into the street. Sir William Johnson's
mansion of solid masonry, gloomy and threatening, still stood in our
neighborhood. I had seen the marks of the Indian's tomahawk on the
balustrades and heard of the bloody