The table is spread in the open air， and loaded withvarieties of meat and piles of vegetables. Bacon and cornmeal at such times are dispensed with. Sometimes thecooking is performed in the kitchen on the plantation， atothers in the shade of wide branching trees. In the lattercase， a ditch is dug in the ground， and wood laid in andburned until it is filled with glowing coals， over whichchickens， ducks， turkeys， pigs， and not unfrequently the entire body of a wild ox， are roasted. They are furnishedalso with flour， of which biscuits are made， and often withpeach and other preserves， with tarts， and every mannerand deion of pies， except the mince， that being anarticle of pastry as yet unknown among them. Only theslave who has lived all the years on his scanty allowanceof meal and bacon， can appreciate such suppers. Whitepeople in great numbers assemble to witness thegastronomical enjoyments.
They seat themselves at the rustic table—the maleson one side， the females on the other. The two betweenwhom there may have been an exchange of tenderness，invariably manage to sit opposite； for the omnipresentCupid disdains not to hurl his arrows into the simplehearts of slaves. Unalloyed and exulting happiness lightsup the dark faces of them all. The ivory teeth， contrastingwith their black complexions， exhibit two long， whitestreaks the whole extent of the table. All round thebountiful board a multitude of eyes roll in ecstacy.
Giggling and laughter and the clattering of cutlery andcrockery succeed. Cuffee’s elbow hunches his neighbor’sside， impelled by an involuntary impulse of delight； Nellyshakes her finger at Sambo and laughs， she knows notwhy， and so the fun and merriment flows on.
When the viands have disappeared， and the hungrymaws of the children of toil are satisfied， then， next in theorder of amusement， is the Christmas dance. My businesson these gala days always was to play on the violin. The African race is a music-loving one， proverbially； andmany there were among my fellow—bondsmen whoseorgans of tune were strikingly developed， and who couldthumb the banjo with dexterity； but at the expense ofappearing egotistical， I must， nevertheless， declare， thatI was considered the Ole Bull of Bayou Boeuf. My masteroften received letters， sometimes from a distance of tenmiles， requesting him to send me to play at a ball orfestival of the whites. He received his compensation， andusually I also returned with many picayunes jingling inmy pockets—the extra contributions of those to whosedelight I had administered. In this manner I becamemore acquainted than I otherwise would， up and downthe bayou. The young men and maidens of Holmesvillealways knew there was to be a jollification somewhere，whenever Platt Epps was seen passing through the townwith his fiddle in his hand. “Where are you going now，Platt？” and “What is coming off tonight， Platt？” would beinterrogatories issuing from every door and window， andmany a time when there was no special hurry， yieldingto pressing importunities， Platt would draw his bow， andsitting astride his mule， perhaps， discourse musically to acrowd of delighted children， gathered around him in thestreet.
Alas！ had it not been for my beloved violin， I scarcelycan conceive how I could have endured the long yearsof bondage. It introduced me to great houses —relievedme of many days’ labor in the field—supplied me with conveniences for my cabin—with pipes and tobacco，and extra pairs of shoes， and oftentimes led me awayfrom the presence of a hard master， to witness scenesof jollity and mirth. It was my companion—the friendof my bosom triumphing loudly when I was joyful， anduttering its soft， melodious consolations when I wassad. Often， at midnight， when sleep had fled affrightedfrom the cabin， and my soul was disturbed and troubledwith the contemplation of my fate， it would sing me asong of peace. On holy Sabbath days， when an hour ortwo of leisure was allowed， it would accompany me tosome quiet place on the bayou bank， and， lifting up itsvoice， discourse kindly and pleasantly indeed. It heraldedmy name round the country—made me friends， who，otherwise would not have noticed me—gave me anhonored seat at the yearly feasts， and secured the loudestand heartiest welcome of them all at the Christmas dance.
The Christmas dance！ Oh， ye pleasure-seeking sons anddaughters of idleness， who move with measured step，listless and snail-like， through the slow-winding cotillon，if ye wish to look upon the celerity， if not the “poetryof motion” —upon genuine happiness， rampant andunrestrained—go down to Louisiana， and see the slavesdancing in the starlight of a Christmas night.
