Chapter 17 - Page 2

over
his boiling pots, reading out of a book which was very much soiled and
covered with grease spots: for he kept it stuck into a little leather
strap, nailed to the keg where he kept the fat skimmed off the water in
which the salt beef was cooked. I could hardly believe my eyes when I
found this book was the Bible.

I loved to peep in upon him, when he was thus absorbed; for his smoky
studio or study was a strange-looking place enough; not more than five
feet square, and about as many high; a mere box to hold the stove, the
pipe of which stuck out of the roof.

Within, it was hung round with pots and pans; and on one side was a
little looking-glass, where he used to shave; and on a small shelf were
his shaving tools, and a comb and brush. Fronting the stove, and very
close to it, was a sort of narrow shelf, where he used to sit with his
legs spread out very wide, to keep them from scorching; and there, with
his book in one hand, and a pewter spoon in the other, he sat all that
Sunday morning, stirring up his pots, and studying away at the same
time; seldom taking his eye off the page. Reading must have been very
hard work for him; for he muttered to himself quite loud as he read; and
big drops of sweat would stand upon his brow, and roll off, till they
hissed on the hot stove before him. But on the day I speak of, it was no
wonder that he got perplexed, for he was reading a mysterious passage in
the Book of Chronicles. Being aware that I knew how to read, he called
me as I was passing his premises, and read the passage over, demanding
an explanation. I told him it was a mystery that no one could explain;
not even a parson. But this did not satisfy him, and I left him poring
over it still.

He must have been a member of one of those negro churches, which are to
be found in New York. For when we lay at the wharf, I remembered that a
committee of three reverend looking old darkies, who, besides their
natural canonicals, wore quaker-cut black coats, and broad-brimmed black
hats, and white neck-cloths; these colored gentlemen called upon him,
and remained conversing with him at his cookhouse door for more than an
hour; and before they went away they stepped inside, and the sliding
doors were closed; and then we heard some one reading aloud and
preaching; and after that a psalm was sting and a benediction given;
when the door opened again, and the congregation came out in a great
perspiration; owing, I suppose, to the chapel being so small, and there
being only one seat besides the stove.

But notwithstanding his religious studies and meditations, this old
fellow used to use some bad language occasionally; particularly of cold,
wet stormy mornings, when he had to get up before daylight and make