In general, the less the cleavage of creed between master and man, the better for both, since every factor conducing to solidarity of sentiment was of advantage in promoting harmony and progress.  When the planter went to sit under his rector while the slave stayed at home to hear an exhorter, just so much was lost in the sense of fellowship.  It was particularly unfortunate that on the rice coast the bulk of the blacks had no co-religionists except among the non-slaveholding whites with whom they had more conflict than community of economic and sentimental interest.  On the whole, however, in spite of the contrary suggestion of irresponsible religious preachments and manifestations, the generality of the negroes everywhere realized, like the whites, that virtue was to be acquired by consistent self-control in the performance of duty rather man by the alternation of spasmodic reforms and relapses.

Occasionally some hard-headed negro would resist the hypnotic suggestion of his preacher, and even repudiate glorification on his death-bed.  A Louisiana physician recounts the final episode in the career of “Old Uncle Caleb,” who had long been a-dying.  “Before his departure, Jeff, the negro preacher of the place, gathered his sable flock of saints and sinners around the bed.  He read a chapter and prayed, after which they sang a hymn....  Uncle Caleb lay motionless with closed eyes, and gave no sign.  Jeff approached and took his hand.  ‘Uncle Caleb,’ said he earnestly, ’de doctor says you are dying; and all de bredderin has come in for to see you de last time.  And now, Uncle Caleb, dey wants to hear from your own mouf de precious words, dat you feels prepared to meet your God, and is ready and willin’ to go,’ Old Caleb opened his eyes suddenly, and in a very peevish, irritable tone, rebuffed the pious functionary in the following unexpected manner:  ’Jeff, don’t talk your nonsense to me!  You jest knows dat I an’t ready to go, nor willin’ neder; and dat I an’t prepared to meet nobody,’ Jeff expatiated largely not only on the mercy of God, but on the glories of the heavenly kingdom, as a land flowing with milk and honey, etc.  ’Dis ole cabin suits me mon’sus well!’ was the only reply he could elicit from the old reprobate.  And so he died."[9]

[Footnote 9:  William H. Holcombe, “Sketches of Plantation Life,” in the Knickerbocker Magazine, LVII, 631 (June, 1861).]

The slaves not only had their own functionaries in mystic matters, including a remnant of witchcraft, but in various temporal concerns also.  Foremen, chosen by masters with the necessary sanction of the slaves, had industrial and police authority; nurses were minor despots in sick rooms and plantation hospitals; many an Uncle Remus was an oracle in folklore; and many an Aunt Dinah was arbitress of style in turbans and of elegancies in general.  Even in the practice of medicine a negro here and there gained a sage’s reputation.  The governor of Virginia reported