Chapter 22
Christmas Celebrations
Christmas was approaching. Grandmother brought me materials, and I busied myself making some new garments and little playthings for my children. Were it not that hiring day is near at hand, and many families are fearfully looking forward to the probability of separation in a few days, Christmas might be a happy season for the poor slaves. Even slave mothers try to gladden the hearts of their little ones on that occasion. Benny and Ellen had their Christmas stockings filled. Their imprisoned mother could not have the privilege of witnessing their surprise and joy. But I had the pleasure of peeping at them as they went into the street with their new suits on. I heard Benny ask a little playmate whether Santa Claus brought him any thing. “Yes,” replied the boy; “but Santa Claus ain’t a real man. It’s the children’s mothers that put things into the stockings.” “No, that can’t be,” replied Benny, “for Santa Claus brought Ellen and me these new clothes, and my mother has been gone this long time.”
Christmas was approaching. Grandmother brought me materials, and I kept busy making new clothes and little toys for my children. Christmas might be a happy season for poor enslaved people if hiring day were not so near. Many families feared they would be separated within a few days. Even enslaved mothers try to make their little ones happy at Christmas. Benny and Ellen had their Christmas stockings filled. Their imprisoned mother could not be there to see their surprise and joy. But I had the pleasure of peeking at them as they went into the street wearing their new clothes. I heard Benny ask a little playmate whether Santa Claus had brought him anything. “Yes,” the boy replied, “but Santa Claus isn’t a real man. The children’s mothers put things in their stockings.” “No, that can’t be,” Benny replied, “because Santa Claus brought Ellen and me these new clothes, and my mother has been gone for a long time.”
How I longed to tell him that his mother made those garments, and that many a tear fell on them while she worked!
How I longed to tell him that his mother made those clothes and shed many tears on them as she worked!
Every child rises early on Christmas morning to see the Johnkannaus. Without them, Christmas would be shorn of its greatest attraction. They consist of companies of slaves from the plantations, generally of the lower class. Two athletic men, in calico wrappers, have a net thrown over them, covered with all manner of bright-colored stripes. Cows’ tails are fastened to their backs, and their heads are decorated with horns. A box, covered with sheepskin, is called the gumbo box. A dozen beat on this, while others strike triangles and jawbones, to which bands of dancers keep time. For a month previous they are composing songs, which are sung on this occasion. These companies, of a hundred each, turn out early in the morning, and are allowed to go round till twelve o’clock, begging for contributions. Not a door is left unvisited where there is the least chance of obtaining a penny or a glass of rum. They do not drink while they are out, but carry the rum home in jugs, to have a carousal. These Christmas donations frequently amount to twenty or thirty dollars. It is seldom that any white man or child refuses to give them a trifle. If he does, they regale his ears with the following song:—
Every child gets up early on Christmas morning to see the Johnkannaus. Without them, Christmas would lose its greatest attraction. The Johnkannaus are groups of enslaved people from the plantations, generally from the lower class. Two athletic men wear calico wraps and have nets thrown over them, covered with all kinds of brightly colored stripes. Cows’ tails are fastened to their backs, and their heads are decorated with horns. A box covered with sheepskin is called the gumbo box. A dozen people beat on the box, while others strike triangles and jawbones. Groups of dancers keep time to the music. For a month beforehand, they compose songs to sing on this occasion. These groups, each with a hundred people, set out early in the morning. They are allowed to go around asking for contributions until twelve o’clock. They visit every door where there is the slightest chance of getting a penny or a glass of rum. They do not drink while they are out. Instead, they carry the rum home in jugs for a celebration. These Christmas donations often amount to twenty or thirty dollars. Few white men or children refuse to give them a little something. If one does refuse, they treat his ears to the following song:
“Poor massa, so dey say; Down in de heel, so dey say; Got no money, so dey say; Not one shillin, so dey say; God A’mighty bress you, so dey say.”
“Poor master, so they say, Down at the heel, so they say, Has no money, so they say, Not one shilling, so they say, God Almighty bless you, so they say.”
Christmas is a day of feasting, both with white and colored people. Slaves, who are lucky enough to have a few shillings, are sure to spend them for good eating; and many a turkey and pig is captured, without saying, “By your leave, sir.” Those who cannot obtain these, cook a ’possum, or a raccoon, from which savory dishes can be made. My grandmother raised poultry and pigs for sale; and it was her established custom to have both a turkey and a pig roasted for Christmas dinner.
Christmas is a day of feasting for both white and Black people. Enslaved people lucky enough to have a few shillings are sure to spend them on good food. Many a turkey and pig is taken without asking, “May I, sir?” Those who cannot get a turkey or pig cook an opossum or a raccoon instead. Either can make a savory dish. My grandmother raised poultry and pigs to sell. She always had both a turkey and a pig roasted for Christmas dinner.
On this occasion, I was warned to keep extremely quiet, because two guests had been invited. One was the town constable, and the other was a free colored man, who tried to pass himself off for white, and who was always ready to do any mean work for the sake of currying favor with white people. My grandmother had a motive for inviting them. She managed to take them all over the house. All the rooms on the lower floor were thrown open for them to pass in and out; and after dinner, they were invited up stairs to look at a fine mocking bird my uncle had just brought home. There, too, the rooms were all thrown open, that they might look in. When I heard them talking on the piazza, my heart almost stood still. I knew this colored man had spent many nights hunting for me. Every body knew he had the blood of a slave father in his veins; but for the sake of passing himself off for white, he was ready to kiss the slaveholders’ feet. How I despised him! As for the constable, he wore no false colors. The duties of his office were despicable, but he was superior to his companion, inasmuch as he did not pretend to be what he was not. Any white man, who could raise money enough to buy a slave, would have considered himself degraded by being a constable; but the office enabled its possessor to exercise authority. If he found any slave out after nine o’clock, he could whip him as much as he liked; and that was a privilege to be coveted. When the guests were ready to depart, my grandmother gave each of them some of her nice pudding, as a present for their wives. Through my peep-hole I saw them go out of the gate, and I was glad when it closed after them. So passed the first Christmas in my den.
On this occasion, I was warned to stay extremely quiet because two guests had been invited. One was the town constable. The other was a free Black man who tried to pass as white. He was always ready to do any mean work to gain favor with white people. My grandmother had a reason for inviting them. She managed to take them all over the house. All the downstairs rooms were opened so they could go in and out. After dinner, they were invited upstairs to see a fine mockingbird my uncle had just brought home. All the upstairs rooms were opened too, so they could look inside. When I heard them talking on the porch, my heart almost stopped. I knew this Black man had spent many nights hunting for me. Everyone knew he had a slave father. But to pass as white, he was ready to kiss the slaveholders’ feet. How I despised him! The constable, on the other hand, did not pretend to be someone he was not. His official duties were despicable, but he was better than his companion because he was honest about who he was. Any white man who could raise enough money to buy a slave would have considered it degrading to be a constable. But the job gave a man authority. If he found any slave out after nine o’clock, he could whip him as much as he liked. And that was a privilege to be desired. When the guests were ready to leave, my grandmother gave each of them some of her nice pudding for their wives. Through my peephole, I watched them go out through the gate. I was glad when it closed behind them. That was how I spent the first Christmas in my den.