Story: The Secret Slave. Part 10.

by Camille Langtry and SW

The slaves were ordered to line up on the steps as the guests began to arrive. A disturbing thought crossed Sophie's mind: what if one of the guests recognized her? It was not inconceivable to imagine the possibility, even though she was far from home. She anxiously scanned the faces of arriving guests as they exited their carriages and ascended the stairs to be greeted by Caroline, who received them in an attitude of almost regal formality, and, with great relief, Sophie failed to find any familiar faces.

The entire performance for the reception of guests was very well rehearsed with each slave knowing precisely where to stand and what to do. The prettier girls, Sophie among them, were placed at the top of the stairs behind the hostess. Their assigned job was to collect the men's canes, gloves and hats and put them away on a specially designated rack, while the rest of the slaves were required to curtsey or bow in unison for each new arrival. Apparently this ritual was well-known to them, yet the grim-looking housekeeper stood slightly to the side to make sure everyone did their best and there was no chattering or giggles.

The guests were escorted to the garden where the tables had been set out. The sun was still high and the ladies in attendance paraded with their parasols to protect their delicate skin from the treacherous Southern sun. The house maids, dressed in their neat calico uniforms, were quick to offer refreshments to the guests, one or two of whom had traveled for several hours to get to Cypress Hill.

The “small affair” that Caroline had spoken of that morning amounted to about two dozen guests, most of whom, by the look of things, were neighbors and knew each other well. Patricia Tremont brought her two daughters, aged 18 and 16, and, as promised, a newcomer, her cousin - a dashing dark-haired man in a sleek suit, who gave Sophie a smile - the only one of all the guests to have done so - as he handed her his top hat and gloves on arrival. The Reverend Andrews, a tall and thin man with a long, unsmiling face, was the last to arrive.

Caroline, dressed in an azure gown specially made for the occasion, was at her hospitable best as she graciously moved between her guests, exchanging pleasantries, a lovely smile on her face. There was absolutely no trace of the nasty and ill-tempered creature, pretty on the outside petty and dirty rotten on the inside, who could order a fellow human being whipped or commit other unspeakable acts of cruelty as if it were her God-given right and obligation. For all these well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, there was only one face of Caroline: that of a proper and well-mannered young lady.

It suddenly occurred to Sophie, much to her chagrin, that even if Caroline's treatment of her slaves was publicly known, it would have little effect on the planter daughter’s reputation. To her equals she would remain a respectable member of society. Certainly, there were some bleeding hearts that advocated softer treatment - after all the slaves were fellow Christians, were they not? - but even they would hardly be shocked by the young mistress's methods and ways. After all, she wasn’t doing anything that thousands of fellow slave owners hadn’t been doing to some degree (including Sophie herself!) for many decades and Caroline, for all her vindictiveness and ill temper, was hardly the worst of them. There were sordid tales of rape and torture told by slaves and masters alike that could turn even the staunchest supporter of the Southern way of life into an abolitionist but these accounts were hushed and suppressed from wider society. The way things were at Cypress Hill was not in any way out of the ordinary.

A couple of hours before the party commenced Rosa briefly introduced the new girl to the other dancers and showed her some movements. After she had seen Sophie’s stiff, wooden motions, she shook her head in disbelief: “Ah don know why Miz Caroline says you be good for da dance, gal. You doesn’t got ‘em moves. You jus’ follow them other gals da best you can and stay out of da way.”

It wasn’t the dance itself that concerned Sophie the most though, it was her costume. She had seen slave jigs and ring shouts both at her own plantation and in town, but the dancers were always dressed in regular clothing. However, Caroline’s idea of a dance costume was a skimpy outfit, an approximation of what Negro girls wore in darkest Africa. It consisted of a short skirt made from white beads, that fully covered her loins and thighs and then only if she stood still, and a large, multilayered wooden necklace over her breasts and barely adequate to preserve decency.

If there was any way to escape the indignity of appearing dressed like that in front of Caroline’s guests without confronting her mistress and causing a scene, Sophie would have done so. It was obvious to her she did not have the courage for that and that meant she had to swallow her pride and dress like a savage for Caroline’s entertainment and that of her guests.

At the serving table Sophie filled fresh crystal glasses with mint julep and goblets with wine when she became aware of a lady nearby, who raised her hand and summoned her.  Sophie tingled with excitement for she found serving a large party of her “betters” to be intoxicating and knowing too that so many eyes were upon her. She carefully collected the salver of drinks and stepped over to the guest who was standing with one other lady. The two had evidently been admiring flowers at the veranda border.  Sophie dipped and fixed her serving smile as she proffered the gleaming tray. As the guests took their refreshments the one who had called her over, a young lady with cold eyes and disdainful, unattractively thin lips, turned to Sophie, unceremoniously studied her for a moment and then asked in a rather unrefined drawling voice:

“Tell me girl, are you trained for all housework?”

Sophie looked at the woman and made an instant and unfavorable estimation of her; the over-powdered face and the garish dress which was of top quality silk but bespoiled with an excessive elaboration of trimmings - rather like a frilly opera house curtain.  Her shining jewelry too, was ostentatious and, whilst undoubtedly expensive, lacking in tasteful reserve and quite inappropriate for a garden party. Sophie wouldn't have wished to be seen dead in such a vulgar outfit back home - and neither could she imagine her Mistress could ever dress so. She assumed the woman belonged to the 'New Money' class which substituted taste, refinement and manners of old with splashy displays of wealth.  But she smiled at the woman nonetheless and with dutiful servility replied, “Yes'm Miz.  Ise bin trained fo' da house real well.”

“I see,' said the other, 'and can you tend a lady's hair and clothes?”

Sophie ducked her head and replied, “Yes,m Miz. Ah suah can.”

The woman turned to her rather plain-looking companion, and asked, “What do you think Charlotte?  You know I'm looking for a good chambermaid.  Would you think this one might do?”

The woman's friend briefly glanced, disinterestedly, at Sophie and answered, “Margaret, I suppose she might. She seems good enough at her work. Her manners appear satisfactory and I do believe she is quite comely …. for a nigra.  I expect she might not be let go for less than a thousand though.”

“Oh, my dear ladies, Sophie here can attend to many things. I can attest to that,’’ smiling, Philip appeared from nowhere - an almost drained wine glass in his hand - and gave Sophie a wink. “Sophie, do we also have whiskey here? Don’t tell me Caroline put it away again!” Looking at his wine he added, “This doesn’t do much for me.”

“Ah doesn’t know, Massa Philip, suh. Ah ain’t seen none here. Reckon Rosa gots some at de otha servin’ table, suh,’’ Sophie replied respectfully with a little curtsey.

“I’ll be damned,’’ Philip cursed under his nose and moved away, leaving the two women snickering at his apparent lack of manners, but not before he bent to Sophie’s ear, a sour smell of alcohol in his breath,  and whispered: “My room. After the party.”

With Philip moving away to search for the elusive whiskey bottle, the inquiring lady turned again to Sophie and began to interrogate her experience and abilities in more detail when Sophie heard her name called from the veranda and she turned to see Elizabeth wave a beckoning hand to her.  Sophie said quickly, “Pahdon me Miz but will that be all?  My missus is callin' me Ma'am.”

The woman pursed her thin lips and said curtly, “Very well, you may go but I'll be watching you girl.  I need a new maid for my chamber and I'm looking to buy. I may speak to your Mistress about you later.”

Sophie smiled again and replied, “Yes'm, thank yo' Miz,” and after dipping a quick curtsey she hurried toward the porch where she observed Elizabeth seated with the handsome dark-haired bachelor who's hat she had taken upon his arrival.  She quickly mounted the steps and moved to the little table where the couple sat.  There she curtseyed, smiled widely and presented her tray to her mistress.

Elizabeth swept her eyes over the offering and raised a dismissive hand saying, “I have had a sufficiency of wine for now Sophie.  Serve Mister McGowan and then bring lemonade for me.”

Sophie replied meekly,  “Yes'm, I gits it fo' yo' jes as soon as Ise served the gen'l'man Missa,” and she stepped to him and, smiling, bent low and offered her tray of drinks.  The man gave her a lingering and admiring look and made no move to take a glass but neither did he wave her away and she was obliged to remain bending before him as he remarked:

 ''Miss'?  So this girl belongs to you Madame Deveraux?”

Elizabeth returned:

“Yes, Sophie is my girl, I brought her here to attend me.  She is my personal maid at home.”

At last, after what seemed like an age to Sophie, the gentleman took a glass of wine and after she had stood upright he looked to Elizabeth and said:

“I confess, I cannot recall seeing a comelier serving girl.  But that, most certainly, is only right and proper,”  He smiled warmly - flashing good white teeth - and continued, “after all, the most beautiful lady in the South should surely possess only the very finest of maids,” and he looked at Elizabeth with fire burning in his piercingly gray eyes. 

Mistress and slave both blushed.  Certainly, his remarks had been forward, perhaps even a little audacious, but there was nothing in his manner to cause unease or alarm – indeed both felt that the handsome bachelor was quite the daring and mischievous charmer and, in truth, both had been rather pleased and flattered by his words.  Elizabeth held her fan to her reddening cheeks and giggled girlishly and he turned again to Sophie who blinked her long eyelashes in anticipation of whatever was to come next.  Smiling at her he said in a questioning but not unfriendly tone:

“I hope you do well for your Mistress, Sophie?” and she answered, her face burning with a mixture of exciting emotions, “Yes suh. Ah allus tries ter do the bes' fo' mah mistiss suh.”

He laughed and said lightly, “That's a good girl.  Your mistress deserves only the very best, you know that don't you?'  Her cheeks still aflame, Sophie nodded, curtsied again and murmured, “Yes suh, reckon Ah know it suh.” She was glad then to be dismissed when Elizabeth said firmly, as she lowered her shawl just a little to reveal her naked white shoulders, “Fetch that drink now Sophie and see that you bring it in a tall glass,” then smiling at Mister McGowan she added in a seductive tone,  “I am much in need of a cooling refreshment.  Why, I am feeling quite faint with the heat.”

When Sophie returned and served the lemonade for her mistress she asked, “Will that be all Missa?”  Elizabeth replied with a dismissive wave of the hand and without even a glance in her direction; “Yes girl, go back to your rounds.” When Sophie curtseyed and left the two to their chatter and laughter she understood Elizabeth's eagerness to be alone with her strikingly good-looking companion.  She had noted too that the gentleman had already been permitted the intimacy of addressing his companion simply as 'Elizabeth' and, with a little smile, Sophie wondered if her mistress would soon have a suitor - any problems that such an eventuality might create for her in the future never crossed her mind.

Sophie rejoined the other slaves in serving drinks, but could not help but secretly observe what her Mistress was doing even though she could not hear a word. The two were clearly having a lively conversation: Elizabeth was laughing and fanning her face vigorously, her shawl now fully removed, revealing her bare alabaster shoulders and the top of her full breasts, pushed high by the stays into which Sophie had laced her before the party.  Soon they were joined by the gaudy lady from earlier, who said a few words to Elizabeth and pointed in Sophie’s direction. Elizabeth, who appeared pleasantly surprised, responded and the lady uttered something in return, clearly disappointed with what she had heard, and left the pair alone.

As Sophie passed by with her tray she overheard Reverend Andrews say: “Miss Cranstone, I travel around the state quite a lot and I must say Cypress Hill is possibly the best-run plantation in all of Georgia,” adding “Your father, my dear friend, must be so proud of you. My only pity is that I don’t see you that often at service. How long has it been, six months? You family has been the biggest supporter of our parish for the past 30 years...”

“Thank you, Reverend. Yes, it is not easy running a household like this. I must say it has taken way too much of my time and I do promise you will see me a lot more often in coming months,” Caroline replied modestly and took a glass from Sophie’s tray. “Look at all these slaves around you. I am like a mother to them, taking care of all their needs because they are like little children that can’t be left alone.”

“Very well put, Miss Cranstone. Titus: Teach slaves to be subject to their masters in everything, to try to please them, not to talk back to them, and not to steal from them, but to show that they can be fully trusted, so that in every way they will make the teaching about God our Savior attractive”, the Revered said and raised his right arm as if to bless Caroline, but lowered it as if he changed his mind at the last moment.  “But don’t forget, it is also said: Masters, provide your slaves with what is right and fair, because you know that you also have a Master in heaven!”

"Hallelujah!" Philip, sitting alone by the wall, blurted out drunkenly and raised a glass.

“Reverend, rest assured that what we do here at Cypress Hill is always right and fair,’’ Caroline said dryly and gave her brother an angry look. “Doesn’t it also say something about obeying one’s masters with respect and fear as one would do Lord Jesus Christ?”

“Yes, Miss Cranstone,” the Revered replied and fumbled in his pocket for a large handkerchief to wipe sweat from his forehead. “It most certainly does. but...”

Sophie though did not hear the end of that conversation because Rosa stood at the edge of the veranda waving her to go over - it was time to get dressed for the dance. She left her serving tray with another slave girl and followed Rosa to a storage cabin a short distance from the house where the costumes were kept.

"Dear friends," Caroline announced in a somewhat solemn tone. "Can I ask everyone to move to the rear garden? The slaves have prepared something very special for our entertainment. Please, follow me.”

The jolly crowd of chattering ladies and gentlemen followed Caroline behind the main house where two rows of chairs were placed on the lawn in front of an unlit bonfire. A group of slave musicians - four men with large drums, a fiddler and two banjo-pickers - were already there, waiting for the guests to take their seats.

“Dear Caroline, I simply love these outfits you have the serving girls wear,’’ one of the guests - a woman of about 50 years holding a lorgnette in her hand - commented excitedly as they walked through the garden. “It is so refreshing to see masters that take care of how their slaves look. My, it is so depressing to see them wear their rags and ugly headwraps. In these nice uniforms they look so dignified!”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Bradford. They certainly look pleasing, do they not? It was quite an investment of time and effort to have them made, but the result is well worth it,’’ Caroline responded with not a small amount of pride as if it was her personally who had spent day and night sewing the uniforms for her slaves.

"I too have to commend on your choice, Miss Cranstone,” Mr. McGowan, who was walking right behind Caroline, joined the conversation. “It is now considered a sign of great taste in Europe to have one's servants well-attired. Colored uniforms are peculiarly in vogue in France this season. I can recall that at Duchess de Bourbon's ball two months ago the serving girls were wearing very similar livery. "

“Thank you very much, Mr. McGowan. I would love to hear more about your European travels after the entertainment is over,’’ Caroline replied, flattered that she was attuned to what the best houses across the Atlantic were doing.

After the guests were seated, about a dozen slaves joined the musicians in front of the bonfire and stood there, waiting for a permission to begin. Caroline nodded, the music started and the field slaves gathered in a large circle and began moving to the rhythm, clapping their hands and cheering loudly. The ring shout, with the slaves’ moves becoming faster and more extravagant by the minute as they jumped and twisted to the raucous music, lasted for a while and the jolly dance culminated with the lighting of the bonfire.

The dancers moved to one side to give way to five men dressed in only loincloths, their dark, exceptionally muscular bodies on full display. Their faces and torsos were covered with white painted dots, circles and zigzags that gave them an appropriately savage appearance. Caroline smiled to herself as she heard the collective “ooh” that came from the women - and some men - in the audience. Wait until they see the rest, she thought to herself.  The men jumped around the fire for a few minutes to the exotic drum rhythm, rotating their arms and twisting their legs in a wild dance - a contrived approximation - of that of their African homeland.

The drums were at their fastest and loudest when the men were joined by five barefoot slave girls, Sophie among them, each dressed in identical short bead skirts. On their arms and ankles were rows of copper jewelry that rattled with every move they made. Their breasts were covered by large wooden necklaces. The slave girls’ faces were daubed with tribal markings similar to the men’s and colored beads had been woven into their hair.

If it had not been for her lighter skin, Sophie would have been completely unrecognizable among them in her outrageous ‘native’ attire. During their brief rehearsal before the party, when she had been shown the costume and the dance movements and gyrations she would have to perform, Rosa suggested dying Sophie’s skin a darker shade so that she wouldn’t stick out from the rest like a sore thumb, but there was really no time for that - neither was Sophie too keen on the idea. Now, however, she felt that she should have accepted the offer as everyone’s eyes were clearly on her - or so it seemed when she briefly skimmed the audience and saw Elizabeth with a mixture of surprise and excitement on her pretty face.

The five male slaves gave way to the girls as they formed a line in front of the burning fire, shaking their hips to the exotic beat of the drums, the rattle of their jewelry adding to the rhythm. Sophie did her best to imitate the other girls’ moves, jumping, squatting, spinning around and bending low to the ground at the knee.  The extravagant dance was unlike anything Sophie had ever done before - if anything, it resembled a silly child’s frolics more than what she learned at her dance lessons. This was certainly no cotillion or waltz or any other real dance that people danced at balls, yet she found herself surprisingly drawn to it. The energetic dancers next to her were clearly enjoying themselves and slowly she joined in the fun, submitting completely to the vibrant rhythm, almost forgetting how deeply degrading it really was for someone like her. The look of complete shock on some of the guests’ faces that she couldn’t help but notice only added to her enjoyment.

The dance grew wilder, more intense as the men formed pairs with the girls and held them tight in their embrace with their strong arms, twisting and shaking to the exotic beat. The slaves were spinning faster and faster, as if unable to stop, the girls were bending lower and lower, until the drums suddenly stopped and everything came to a halt.

Caroline rose to her feet and looked around her, satisfied with the impact this performance had on her guests: their reactions ranged from mild embarrassment to utter shock. The only one clearly enjoying himself was Philip, who started clapping furiously the moment the dance was over. Revered Andrews rose from his seat, but when he was about to say something Caroline raised her hand and said: “Dear guests, please don’t judge the slaves too harshly. Their customs may seem savage to us, but I am sure they had the best of intentions in mind when they prepared this performance. Some of them may be born in America, but this African culture, so alien to us, is deeply rooted in their blood.”

“Girls, I want you to serve the final round of drinks for the guests,’’ Caroline addressed Sophie and her fellow dancers who were catching their breath next to the fire. “You can change later. I want to get a better look at your lovely costumes before you are back into your serving uniforms.”

Sophie looked at her dancing partners, but, needless to say, none of them showed even the slightest hesitation as they obediently went to the veranda and quickly returned with trays filled with glasses. She had no choice but to follow them and was soon serving drinks in her humiliating garb and face paint, trying not to notice the stares of everyone around her.

“You look lovely, Sophie,’’ she heard Philip’s drunken whisper in her ear again and felt his arm on her behind.

“Suh, someone might see, please..” she pleaded, but instead of removing his hand, he painfully squeezed her thigh.

“See you in five minutes in my room. Don’t be late,” he answered and moved away, almost tripping over a chair on his way.

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