Humble Heroism.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 931, 3 January 1890, Page 9

Humble Heroism.

AN INCIDENT OF THE FLOOD IN THE ALABAMA RIVER DURING THE SPRING OF 1886. Negroes frequently exhibit a wonderful degree of heroism in times of danger. An instance of this I witnessed in the spring of 1886, when a freshet in the Alabama River caused the country on each side to be overflowed by water for many miles. The negroes on the river plantations were the greatest sufferers. Their cabins would be under water almost before they knew that danger threatened them, and hundreds of them were sometimes found huddled together upon some knoll sufficiently elevated to be above the water. There they often remained two or three days and nights without food, and exposed to a soaking rain. Fortunately, the weather was not cold. Many relief expeditions were sent out from the neighbouring towns to rescue them. These consisted of one or more boats, manned by expert oarsmen and swimmers, and filled with cooked provisions, blankets, &c. One day the news came that the negroes on a certain plantation had Bonght refuge upon a corn crib, around which the water was rapidly rising, and so rendering their condition exceedingly precarious. Two boats started ont at once to their assistance. In one of these I went, accompanied by another white man and a negro. An amusing occurrence took place not long after our starting. In the middle of a submerged field about 100 yards to our right, we saw a little woolly black head, with a frightened black face beneath it, projecting from the water. We rowed hastily towards it, and drew out of the muddy water a negro boy about 8 years old, perfectly naked, and held him np among us. ' Here, Moseß,’ cried one, holding a tin cup with whiskey in it to his month, * here, take a drink/ ■ Take a bite of this bread, Moses/ cried another, trying to crowd the bread into his month. ‘No, let Moses have some of this fiied bacon. It 11 do him the most good,’ said the negro oarsman. ,f

But Moses shook his head and turned aside from all the proffered food. ‘l’se erbleeged to yer, marsters/ he said, while his whit 9 teeth shone and his eyes rolled wildly. ‘ I’se erbleeged to yer, but I bain’t sot down in two days, er tryin’ to keep my head out’u de watab, an’ all I wants, ef yer please, is to set down/ He was promptly wrapped in a blanket and set down, where for an hour he sat without moving, enj'oying the perfect rest of his new position. At the end of that time he began to eat. I draw a veil over his performance in this line. We feared we had rescued him from a watery grave to kill him with corn bread and bacon, although the negro oarsman insisted that he had never heard of a ‘ niggah bein’ hurt by too much to bat/ Meeting a returning boat soon after, 'tve put Moses in' it and sent him to town. I never heard of him again, but presume he fen rviyed,both hisxinusuhl bath and banquet. W,b resumefi'ouf ibuVbey, and just before dark sighted the corn crib, updn which a mass of biac.k humanity' clustered like a pwajro ojf bees.' A heavy "rain"was now falling, and daylight beginning to fade away, their condition became most distressing, as they sat in perfeot silence watching our approach.

f But we did not appreciate their extreme peril, until as the boat struck against the frail log house, which was in the water to the edges of the roof, it visibly shook and tottered. The poor creatures began to clamber hurriedly down to the boat. * Stop !’ I cried. ‘ The women and children first.’ The men obediently resumed their seats. We took in first the children and then the women, getting them all in safely, and were about to pu3h off, telling the men we would hurry back to them as quickly as possible or send the first boat we met, vs ben a very old woman (I noticed she was the last to get in the boat, and had done so reluctantly) seized the corner of the house, and looking anxiously into my face, said : * Marster, ain’t you gwine take my ole man ?’ * No, auntie,’ I answered, ' the boat is too full now. He must wait till we come back.’ The words were hardly out of my mouth when with a sudden spring she was up and on the roof again. It shook as she scrambled all fours upon it, and took her seat by a little, withered did man, whose hand she seized and held, as if she was afraid we would tear her away from him, ' Come, auntie,’ 1 cried, ‘ this won’t do. We can’t leave you here, and we can’t wait any longer on you.’ ‘Go on, marster,* she answered. ‘I thanks yer, en I pray de good Lawd to fetch you all safe home ; but I gwine to stay hyah wid my ole man. Ef Simon got to git drownded, Liddy gwine to git drownded, too. We dun bin tdgedder too long to part now.’ And we had to leave her, after throwing them some blankets and a lot of provisions. As we rode off in the rain and night a high falsetto voice, tremulous with age, came across the waters from the crib, where we left the almost certainly doomed gvoup in the blackness of darkness. They dared not

have a light, for fear of setting fire to their frail support. We stopped our oars to listen to the song. It canoe clear and distinct. First Lydda’s trembling voice, and then a chorus of a dozen or more of the deep bass voices of the men : ' We’re a clinpin' to de ark, Take us in, take us in. Fur de watah’s deep en dark, Take us in, take us in. Do’ de flesh i 3 po’ en weak, i Take us in, take us in. ’Tis de Lawd we gwinter see, Take us in, take us in. Den Lawd, hole out dy han’, Take us in, take us in. Draw de sinnalis to de lan’. Take us in, take us in. We could wait and listen to the weird sound no longer, but struck our oars into the water and harried away. Most fortunately we came across a boat, bent upon the same errand as ourselves, which went immediately to the crib and saved all of its living freight. The crib had apparently been held down by their weight, for as the last one left it it turned over and floated away to the gulf. Their rescuers told us afterwards that as they neared the crib the first sound they heard was an old woman’s voice singing : ‘ De Lawd is hyah’d our cry, Answered by the men : Take ns in, take us in. En He’ll save us by en by, Take us in, take us in/ To this simple-hearted old creature divorce courts and separations were unknown. With her it was ‘until death do us part.’ M.E.S.