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[Illustration:

  Meh Marster, you mo’ an’ mo’ like Mars Francis ev’y day, same bright
    eyes, like uh fish hawk’s, but sorf an’ big.
]




                                OLE MARS
                                  AN’
                                OLE MISS


                                   BY

                     EDMUND K. GOLDSBOROUGH, M. D.

[Illustration]

                           WASHINGTON, D. C.:
                        NATIONAL PUBLISHING CO.,
                                 1900.




                            COPYRIGHT, 1900

                                   BY

                     EDMUND K. GOLDSBOROUGH, M. D.




                             ILLUSTRATIONS

                                   ❧❧


 _Ole Mars_,                                              _Frontispiece_

                                                                  _Page_

 _Miss Sanson in the saddle_,                                        _8_

 _Ef’n you don’ git of’n dat cow I’ll whup you tell dere
   ain’ no bref lef’ in you_,                                       _14_

 _Tench Tilghman_,                                                  _18_

 _Anne Francis_,                                                    _20_

 _Miss Henrietta’s gift that hung over the pulpit_,                 _28_

 _Tench Francis_,                                                   _32_

 _Mars Pinckney when a boy_,                                        _48_

 _Pawson Demby baptizing Tilly Mink just after cutting
   ice_,                                                            _50_

 _Mars Pinckney’s home, “Fausley,”_                                 _62_

 _The picture on the face of the Moses clock_,                      _78_

 _Mars Torm fishing in Black Creek_,                                _90_

 _Rob Roy and Rose_,                                                _94_

 _Yo’ gwine ter merry uh King an’ hab thutteen chillun_,           _106_

 _Dem two gals, Marfy an’ Muhtilda, out da in de watah
   sorf crabbin’, is meh gran’chillun_,                            _112_

 _Deah gre’t gran’mammy gibs ’em too much cawn-bred, an’
   hit natchelly puts noshuns in deah haids_,                      _114_

 _Ole Mars had de gre’tes’ confluence in meh ’rasity_,             _118_

 _Scipio Jonas Jones and Nimrod_,                                  _120_

 _So I bine meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ wen’ ter see
   Ole Mars’ boutin Saul_,                                         _128_

 _Black Creek Falls_,                                              _136_

 _Ole Mistis at sweet sixteen_,                                    _140_

 _Ole Miss (Miss Henrietta)_,                                      _152_

 _Black Creek Ford_,                                               _170_

 _Skylark_,                                                        _172_

 _Mars Matthew_,                                                   _174_

 _Ezra_,                                                           _176_

 _Miss Mary_,                                                      _182_

 _Mars Arthur_,                                                    _184_

 _Miss Sanson_,                                                    _190_

 _Mars Torm_,                                                      _194_

 _Ezra and the children_,                                          _196_

 _Mammy_,                                                          _212_




                              INTRODUCTION

                                   ❧❧


_My subjects are all typical Eastern-Shore-of-Maryland darkies, some of
whom “had erligion, ’longed ter de Babtis’ chuch an’ wuz monstus pious.”
Others danced, sang, played the banjo, fiddled, fished and frolicked in
Talbot County “Befo’ de Wah.”_

                “_Ole Joe kickin’ up behin’ an’ befo’,
                Yaller gal kirkin’ up behin’ ole Joe._”

_Their smiling, shining, happy faces can be fully appreciated only by
those who played with them, heard them sing, preach and pray, and had
among them Mammies._

                 _To all such I dedicate this volume._

[Illustration:

  MISS SANSON IN THE SADDLE.
]




                          PERSONS REPRESENTED

                                   ❧❧


                           _Parson Phil Demby_

 _An adept in breaking colts and steers, and especially hearts. Can read
   a wee bit and has a remarkable memory. Very gallant among the dusky
           damsels. Has the best coon dogs on the plantation._


                           _Uncle Reubin Viney_

  _Sensible, truthful and pious. Sir Oracle among the negroes. Can read
                  some and is familiar with the Bible._


                             _Damon Danridge_

     _Courtly, intelligent and observant body servant to Rev. William
           Pinckney. His bow would have charmed Beau Brummel._


                                  _Ezra_

   _Quite as much of a beau as Rosin, and not as pious as the prophet._


                              _Frisby Jemes_

       _A pupil of Uncle Reubin Viney. Afraid of shirks [sharks]._


                              _Scipio Jones_

      _A firm believer in witches, ghosts and “spirits,” especially
                               applejack._


                            _Hesakiah Sprouts_

             _Would rather coon hunt than debate. A fiddler._


                              _Little Billy_

                      _A crafty wag. Nimble witted._


                               _Juba Viney_

        _A fine singer and hymn raiser. Kinsman to Uncle Reubin._


                       _Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes_

      _A pompous, dandy darkey; very wise in his own conceit. A good
                                preacher._


                     _Stephen Demby (Uncle Stephen)_

       _A dear old servant. A devoted fisherman. Little and Bent._


                               _John Poney_

   _A very entertaining darkey. Took hold of his wool when he bowed to
                                  you._



                     _Jerry Butler and Caesar Butler_

       _Brothers. Very credulous and superstitious. Free negroes._


                              _Horace Duley_

                                _Janitor._


                              _Aunt Phillis_

     _Gentle, sweet tempered, intelligent cook. Everybody liked Aunt
                                Phillis._


                               _Tilly Mink_

   _Chickens were afraid of her, and roosted high when she was about._


                               _Sue Benson_

                    _A good natured, lazy housemaid._


                             _Becky Williams_

                           _A faithful nurse._


                              _Sister Chew_

                              _A dairymaid._


                                 _Mammy_

                             _Good as gold._


                              _Nancy Young_

                           _A fortune teller._


                              _Uncle David_

                          _Who loved his mule._




                                CONTENTS

                                   ❧❧


 “_Fogitfulness_,”                                                  _21_

  _Acts 7:8—“Ab’ham fogot Isaac, Isaac fogot Jacob, an’ Jacob fogot de
                     twelve Petracks [Patriarchs].”_

 _Debate_,                                                          _34_

 _Ef’n uh man er ’ooman hab salbation in deah hyarts, will dey be feard
                  ter babtize wha shirks [sharks] is._

 _“Romp’s Mustake”—Doggerel_,                                       _45_

 _“Little Billy’s Pumpkin”—Story_,                                  _47_

 _Sermon—Psalm 63:6_,                                               _60_

 _Debate_,                                                          _76_

  _From Zachariah 2:6—“Ef’n Ho Ho wan’ uh Chine er Japne, who wuz he?”_

 _“Rash-nal an’ Pus-nal”—Doggerel_,                                 _90_

 _“De Composation ub de Snipe”—Story_,                              _91_

 _“Nancy Young”—Story_,                                            _100_

 _“Mars Pinckney’s ’Simmons”—Doggerel_,                            _110_

 _“Dem Days”—Story_,                                               _112_

 _“Dat Chrismus Cake”—Doggerel_,                                   _126_

 _“When Saul Run ’Way”—Story_,                                     _127_

 _“Let Us Meck Brick”—Sermon_,                                     _137_

 _“Juba Viney’s Yaller Pants”—Story_,                              _153_

 _“His Bref Kinleth Coals”—Sermon_,                                _164_

 _“Dat Auntydote”—Doggerel_,                                       _171_

 _“Ezra”—Story_,                                                   _173_

 _“Mammy”—Doggerel_,                                               _213_

 _“Anah”—Story_,                                                   _215_




                               “OTWELL.”


Otwell was originally an estate of some 2,000 acres, situated on a
beautiful peninsula, the land rich and productive, and the forest would
have charmed Silvanus. Here and there on the shores of the inlets grew
majestic oaks, black walnut, and immemorial elms. The peach, pear,
apricot, fig and other fruit trees flourished, and would have charmed
Eve, and the Cart House apples, Adam.

The forest was entirely of lofty pines—many of the trees so large that
one tree made a canoe; they were made and used principally by the
servants and were in evidence almost everywhere. The forest had very
little undergrowth; the ground was carpeted and cushioned with pine
fallings, and the huntsmen were delighted when reynard was started
there. The murmuring of the wind in the lofty pine tops, the tongueing
of the hounds “like sweet bells jangled out of tune,” delighted the
hearts of the Tilghmans, Chamberlains, Dickinsons, Tripps, Robins,
Lloyds and many others that followed the hounds, horsemen of the
first-flight type. The hunt over, there was “The feast of reason and the
flow of soul.”

The river was as lovely as the Bay of Spezia, and from its bed and
shores the canvas-back and red-head plucked the wild celery and
fattened. Fish, terrapin and oysters abounded, and the _mint_
luxuriated. The Eastern Shore of Maryland was then as now the garden
spot and sunny side of creation.

Before the hour of parting two songs were always sung, “Sportsman Hall”
and “The Bottle,” the former sent by The Beef Steak Club of London to
one of the above named gentlemen. I could give the words, rich and rare,
left me by my father, but delicacy forbids; both are exquisite double
entendres fit to sing before kings, but not before queens.

There was a school at Otwell, taught by John Singleton and —— Garrick,
two fine belles-lettres scholars, to which came the Robins from Job’s
Content, Tilghmans from Plimhimmon, Chamberlains from Bondfield, Haskins
from Canterbury Manor, Morrises and Collisters from Oxford. John
Singleton’s sister was the mother of the eminent portrait painter, John
Singleton Copley, who on a visit to his Uncle at Otwell with his former
preceptor, Smibert, made portraits of Anne Francis, James Tilghman,
Matthew Tilghman and his wife, nee Annie Lloyd, whilst spending
Christmas there.

[Illustration:

  Dem’s meh gre’t gran’ chillun an’ dey monstus bad! Ef’n you don’ git
    of’n dat cow I’ll whup you till da ain’ no bref lef ’in you.
]

Standing on his front porch Ole Mars Nickey viewed his broad acres,
whose shores were washed by the Tred-Avon, by crystal creeks, and coves
with beautiful mouths that kissed with briny lips the bosom of the
river. The windmill on the shore added to the scenery as its sails moved
languidly, grinding the wheat and corn for the negroes.

To the south on the river side was the little town of Oxford, a tobacco
port, and riding at anchor was a brigantine from Liverpool, being loaded
with tobacco by Morris & Callister (Robert Morris and Henry Callister),
shipping merchants.[1]

From the back porch, through a long, wide and high arbor entwined with
fruitful grapevines, you saw Otwell Creek, and the arbor-way led you
into a more enchanting garden than the one mentioned in “EZRA,” where my
fancy loves to wander, for “a thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

It was some fifteen acres in extent. The encircling fences were so
overgrown with honeysuckle, clematis and trailing roses as to look like
a flowery hedge, with here and there lilacs and snowballs. The winding,
wooing walks were hedged with box, and bowing trees were caressed by
fruitful grapevines. It was a banqueting place for bees, and a paradise
for birds, from little Jennie Wren to the proud mocking bird, and they
filled acres of air with their melodious lays.

Ezra loved to assist old Kurchibell, the Scotch gardener, and one day he
was heard to say, “Mr. Kurchibell ain’ no gyardner less’n he kill dem
plegon sassy catbirds and robins; dey jes spilin’ all dem cherries. I’m
gwine right straight an tell Ole Mars an Ole Miss!” Betimes Ezra would
saunter with basket on each arm to the garden and gather the dew-kissed
peaches, apricots, juicy melons and other fruits, and later cull the
100–leaf roses and assist the old gardener in distilling them. The rose
cakes left were tucked away in the house linen, the fragrance of which
in fancy I still inhale.

The apple trees flung down so many blossoms that they covered the
ground. All are gone! so are the other fruit trees and fragrant vines.

                  “Leaves have their time to fall
                    And flowers to wither at the North
                  Wind’s breath,
                    And stars to set; but all—
                    Thou hast all seasons for thine
                  Own, O death!”

About the middle of the garden was a large bower, roughly made of cedar,
but as strong as Jacob’s ladder. Clematis, honeysuckle and beautiful
trailing roses covered its sides and dome-shaped top so thoroughly that
only here and there little sunbeams could pierce and play among the
interwoven vines and blossoms. In the center of the bower was a large
table, from which fruit was eaten, cards played, tea made (echo), and
love made! Almost within arm’s reach of the arbor was a brimming spring,
whose water was soft and pure as a dewdrop. The spring is there to-day,
and, like the brook, flows on forever.

When the weather was dry Miss Henrietta dipped its pellucid water and
sprinkled the thirsty arbor vines,

                “But O! for the touch of a vanished hand
                And the sound of a voice that is still.”

Around the spring grew _mint_ in exuberance, that was as much cared for
as the foxhounds. Mayhap in that arbor Tench Francis tinkled the sides
of his glass in mixing _sugar_ and _grass with spirits_, sipped and read
letters from his gay and brilliant nephew, [2]Sir Phillip Francis, the
supposed author of the letters of Junius, then one of England’s Counsel
for India; maybe told all about his duel with Warren Hastings, then
Governor-General of India; for we know that his cousin, the beautiful
Anne Francis, visited “Otwell” with her husband, James Tilghman, who met
there his brother, Matthew, the great patriot, and his wife, who was
charming Anne Lloyd. There, too, Tench Tilghman, aide-de-camp to
Washington, and his wife, spent happy hours. Later his daughter married
the host, and there in luxury and loving kindness lived

                        “OLE MARS an’ OLE MISS.”

’Twas a very cold Sunday in December. The sun shone brightly, but the
wind was on a frolic. High-crested, white-capped waves leaped upon and
lashed the shore. Ole Miss, as usual, had service for the house servants
in the brick kitchen. She said the Lord’s prayer, read the 63d psalm,
commented upon their deportment for the past week and then they were
dismissed.

Pawson Demby was to preach in the new Zion church, and the servants were
now on the lawn looking for the Plimhimmon, Bondfield and Job’s Content
boats. In those days visiting was done for the most part by water, the
numerous creeks, coves and bays making distance so great by land. The
servants used the eight-oared barges, boats of burden, with sails and
generally two masts, called a pinnace; they carried to the large
schooners wheat, corn and other cereals for the Baltimore market, and in
return brought hogsheads of molasses, sugar, coffee, rice, boots and
shoes for the servants.

[Illustration:

  TENCH TILGHMAN.
]

Presently Little Billy sang out, “Heah dey come!” and sure enough,
rounding Wind Mill Point and turning into Otwell Creek, were three
barges—tip-tap-toe—each pulled by eight lusty oars. The angry roar of
the waves, the struggling boats, the landscape and the breaking billows
made it a picturesque sight. Soon they were at the wharf. Most of them
were house servants, and it would be for me a hopeless task to describe
their raiment, the old-time courtesies, graceful bows and how-dys with
which they greeted one another.

Those negroes were environed for generations with kindness, culture,
refinement and Christian teaching, so that many of them had finished
manners, knew perfectly

                           “How ter wait
                 On Marster’s table an’ han’ de plate,
                 Pars de bottle when he dry
                 And brush away de blue-tail fly.”

They were dependent, kind, obedient, full of music, contentment, and
happiness. The venom of the politician and carpetbagger had not stung
them.

Greetings over, they all strolled to the new brick church, distant about
three-quarters of a mile. Like all the churches of that day, the pulpit
was much nearer heaven than the pews, and above it hung a picture given
them by Miss Henrietta. It had a bell, a clock—described in Ho-Ho—and a
fireplace large enough for half a dozen darkies to stand and warm
themselves. When all were seated Uncle Stephen was asked to pray, and
then Parson Phil Demby preached.

His text was “Fogitfulness.”

[Illustration:

  ANNE FRANCIS.
]




                           “FOGITFULNESS.”[3]


“Dat is de subjec’ ub my discose dis mawnin’ and I is preachen mo’
’specially to de chillun in de meetin’ house. Uncle Reubin Viney an’ I
was a huskin’ cawn lars’ week an’ he tol’ me boutin dis tex’, and arsked
me to preach fum it; an’ you will find de ’zact words in de 7th chapta
ub Acts, 8th vus: ‘Ab’ham fogot Isaac, Isaac fogot Jacob and Jacob fogot
de twelve Petracks.’ Dem ole Petracks was a pow’ful fogitful race ub
people! Now, ten ub dem Petracks, Simeon, Levi an’ Zebulon, dey wuz Miss
Leah’s chillun (I fogit de names ub de res’ ub her chillun, but dey wuz
all Jews). An’ Joseph an’ Benjamin, dey wuz Miss Rachel’s chillun, an’
de Bible say dey wuz saints. One ub ’em er his uncle, I fogit which,
foun’ some mules in de wilderness ez he wuz watchin’ his father’s sheep,
but he wuz so fogitful dat he didn’t gib de names ub de mules or how
many dey wuz—some people say da wan’ no mules at all, dey wuz all
Jackasses. Well, lemmy see—da wuz two mo’ ub Jacob’s sons (I dun mention
five), an’ I fogit deah Ma’s name, but deah names wuz Dan an’ Naptha, or
sompin’ like dat (I lef’ my specks hom’). I don’ think dey wuz Jews, er
Dukes like Esau’s sons, an’ I don’ ’zactly no deah ’ligion, but I specks
dem two wuz Babtis’s. ’Pears to me I hearn Uncle Reubin say so!
How-some-eber, all ub dem chillun ub Jacob’s wuz born in Panorama
[Padanaram] an’ dey’s all uh pow’ful fogitful race ub people.

“Brudderin, da is nothin’ ez bad ez fogitfulness. Ef’n my memory wuz not
good (kase I lef’ my specks at hom’) I could not gib you any ub dese
beautiful names. Now, den, dese ten brudders wuz sent by deah Pa way
down in Egyp’ lan’ futto buy cawn fum deah eleventh brudder. An’ bless
yo’ soul, when dey got down da, dey didn’t eben no deah brudder—but he
no’d dem. Mebby de color ub his coat ’fused ’em. I tell you dem old
Petracks is a pow’ful fogitful race ub people. So wuz deah Ma’s an’
Pa’s. Laban, de Granpa ub de Petracks, and prob’ly de bigist farmer in
dem days, wuz uh fogitful man. We is told dat Jacob (wonder why dey jes’
call ’em Jacob), an’ Noahy, an’ Moses, an’ Peter, an’ Rasmus dey’s mos’
ub ’em kings an’ dukes an’ sich like. I mus’ ask Uncle Reubin boutin
dat. Well, Jacob merried Miss Rachel, so he did, but I specks Jacob got
a little _het up_ at de weddin’. An’ Laban, he mus’ hab had some ros’
apples wid apple-jack. Brudderin, apples is bin makin’ trubble eber
since Adam totch ’em—kase Laban he fogot which daughter Jacob wuz gwine
ter marry. ’Pears like Jacob fogot, too, kase he didn’t scover de
mustak’ till de nex’ mawnin’. An’ ’pears like Miss Leah an’ Miss Rachel
fogot. Now, wan’ dey uh fogitful lot ub people? De nex’ mawnin’ arfter
de weddin’—or as de Bible say, de feas’—when Jacob got up to milk de
cows an’ yoke de oxin, da was Miss Leah up, an’ shakin’ down de stove
an’ grindin’ de coffee. An’ Jacob say, ‘Wha Rachel?’ an’ Miss Leah say,
‘I dunno nuffin boutin Rachel.’ Da wuz uh mustak’ some wha, sho. So
Jacob merried ’em bof to be sartin an’ pleas’ Laban. No wonder dat de
Petracks wuz uh fogitful race wid four Ma’s an’ uh Pa all fogitful; an’,
mine you, Miss Rachel she wuz so fogitful seems to me her mine mus’ hab
been ’stressed, kase you recommember when her boys Jacob an’ Esau went
out an’ kilt uh deer, she fogot which kilt it—leas’wise it ’pears so.
Well, as fo’ dat, I specks de fus’ man, Adam, hissef was absen’-minded.
He sut’ny lubbed fruit. We all knows dat. An’ I specks he wuz hongry,
an’ mebby po’ Adam when he clum up de apple tree in de dark tho’t it wuz
uh peach tree—kase when a man is hongry he ain’ ’stressin’ hissef boutin
de fruit, so it’s good. An’ I specks he got ’fused ’bout de trees, kase
dat gyarden wuz full ub fruit trees, from apple trees clean down to
cucumbers and watermillions.

“King Dabid come outin uh fogitful fam’ly. De Bible tell us dat in dem
days Pharez fogot Hezron, an’ Hezron fogot Ram——”

Sister Becky (interrupting): “Pawson Demby, you mus’ mean Ham or Sham?”

“Chile, I kin read; I means Ram! Dat’s what I mean! Ram wuz uh white
pusson; Ham wuz uh cullud pusson. Well, dey kep’ on fogittin’ till Jesse
fogot Dabid. But blessid to say, de lars’ one wuz not uh fogitter; he
recommembered mos’ too well—leas’wise fuh dese days. He had Uriahy kilt
kase he wuz rite smart tuck on Uriahy’s wife. In dese days it’s mo’ dan
de chuch ’low; how-some-eber, in dem days it didn’t stress uh pusson
ef’n uh man’s wife fogot him, kase dey had so many dey wouldn’t miss
’em, ’cep’in five er six lef’ ’em. Now, chillun, boys wuz bad in dem
days same as now. Po’ King Dabid’s son ’stressed him pow’ful, but he
neber fogot him, an’ he mus’ uh favo’d he Pa and bin uh monstus
fine-lookin’ chile, kase de Bible say—lemmy read it to you: ‘Ab-so-lum
wuz prais’ fuh he beauty fum de sole ub he foot ebin to de crown ub he
haid.’ An’ de king wuz gwine to meck a Babtis’ preacher outin him, but
he fogot his po’ father an’ run uh way; and what wuz de consequasion ub
dat boy’s badness? Sistus an’ chillun, it’s wussa dan stealin’
watermillions er chickens; it’s mos’ ez bad ez dancin’ an’ playin’ de
fiddle on de Sabbuth. Well, de Bible tell us dat Ab-so-lum[4] rid ’pon
uh mule, an’ de mule went under de thick bows ub uh jack oak, an’ his
haid kotch hold ub de oak (I mean de haid ub little Ab-so-lum) an’ he
wuz’ tuck up ’tween de heaben an’ de uth; an’ de mule dat wuz under him
went ’way, an’ dat wuz de las’ ub po’ Ab-so-lum. Ez many hosses ez dat
ventersum chil’ mus’ uh had, an’ ez many ez his brudder Solomon had,
it’s quare to me why he rid uh ornry mule. Dey mus’ uh bin uh breed ub
mules an’ jackasses dat’s died out—kase mules an’ jackasses wuz de
favorite beases in dem days.

“De chillun ub Ephram fogot de works ub de Lawd, an’ his wonders, arfter
he had rain down manner ’pon ’em to eat. Uncle Reubin say de manner wuz
mushrooms. De reason ub de flood, is kase de chillun ub man fogot deah
benefits. Dey wan’t satisfied wid creeks an’ ribbers, but dey mus’
provok’ uh flood. Is dar any pusson in dis chuch dat would fogit Miles
Ribber? De Petracks would. Dunno though! Kase I reckin da wan’t no
ribbers in dem days lubly as Miles Ribber. Kin I eber fogit her wha’ I
wuz born? How it charm an’ conjur me when I goes fishin’, oysterin’ er
crabbin’ in de mawnin’s, when de ribber is cam. Den de trees is ’flected
in de watah an’ de heb’nly clouds meck rainbows in de watah. An’ dat
Miles Ribber is so clare when de trees is ’flected in de mawnin’ befo’
de sun-up, you kin see de jewdraps on de leabes. An’ sometimes all day
long when de breeze is sorf de sun plays on de ripples, an’ when de sun
git tired an’ sink in de wes’ de moon plays on de watah sorter ridin’ de
canterin’ wabes. An’ de hooppo-wills sing, an’ de mockin’ birds chant,
an’ de wabes chases de moonlight, an’ de moonlight chases de wabes; an’
de stars way down deep in de watah winks an’ twinks at yer, an’ dey
looks ez bright ez de eyes ub Phareoh’s daughter an’ almos’ ez sorf’ ez
uh possum’s. It’s uh sin to play on de fiddle, flute an’ fife, an’ to
dance, but, brudderin, it’s ’spirin’ an’ heb’nly to see de moon dance on
Miles Ribber, spreadin’ hissef on de top ub de wabes, makin’ dem de
color ub silver, jes’ like dear ole Missis hyah.

“Yes! Pawson Demby born close to Miles Ribber, an’ he lubs de watah nex’
to music. I’d lub to hab bin on de ark; dey tells me mos’ everything wuz
on it, so ’cose music wuz. An’ I wouldn’t be s’prised ef dat sweet
little cullud boy, Ham, didn’t play de banjo, an’ Sham de bones, an’
’cose de udder brudder (I fogit his name) played! I reckin de hyarp.
Kase hyarps wuz in de fashin in dem days. Dear little Dabid used to play
de hyarp at night when he watched his Pa’s flocks, to make hissef feel
happy, an’ to skere de wolves an’ bars ’way. An’ he played fuh Saul er
his daughter, I fogit which. Wonder how dey got deah hyarp an’ banjo
strings dem days. Well, I kin almos’ see dat jus’ man, de captin ub de
boat, arfter all de beases bin fed an’ bedded, set down in de stern ub
de ship, take de rudder, lite his pipe, sigh fuh de watahs to cease an’
long fuh his dove to come back. An’ when de moon ris I specks Ham chune
his banjo, Sham his bones, an’ de udder brudder wid a quare name, twank
de hyarp. An’ den dey mus’ hab played, ‘Roll, Jordan, Roll,’ ‘One Bright
Ribber to Cross,’ ‘Swing Lo’, Sweet Chariot,’ ‘Go Down Moses,’ till de
stars sunk in de skies, and de beases got relarmed.

“Brudderin, we ain’t sung dat lars him fuh uh long time. Uncle Eph, you
rase it an’ we will sing some ub de vuses, so I kin res’ mehsef uh
little.”


                             GO DOWN MOSES.

                When Israel wuz in Egypt’s lan’:
                  Let meh people go,
                Oppressed so hard dey could not stand,
                  Let meh people go.

                Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt land,
                Tell ole Pharoh, Let meh people go.

                O, twuz uh dark an’ dismal nite,
                  Let meh people go;
                When Moses led de Israelites,
                  Let meh people go.

                Go down, Moses, etc.

                O, cum ’long Moses, yo’ll not git los’,
                  Let meh people go;
                Stritch out yo’ rod an cum across,
                  Let meh people go.

                Go down, Moses, etc.

                Yo’ll not git los’ in de wilderness,
                  Let meh people go;
                Wid a lighted candle in yo’ bres’,
                  Let meh people go.

                Go down, Moses, etc.

                ’Twas jes ’boutin harvis’ time,
                  Let meh people go;
                When Joshua led his hos’ divine,
                  Let meh people go.

                Go down, Moses, etc.

[Illustration:

  Miss Henrietta’s gift, that hung above the pulpit.
]

“Brudderin, da wuz one man dat wuz not fogitful, an’ a man we all should
intimate. I hab befo’ briefly ’luded to him. I say briefly, kase a
pawson mite talk boutin him fum de commencement to de closin’ ub a big
camp meetin’ an’ not git fur on de subjec’. He nebber fogot. T’ink ub de
animals he had to recommember, fum elephants clean down to coons an’
’possums. Dey tells me he eben kep’ de chickens fum eatin’ up de
watermillion seeds. He wuz uh sailor, gyardner, farmer, blacksmith,
carpenter—King Dabid wuz no wha when he wuz ’bout. His name wuz Noahy.
Uncle Reubin say de elephants, whales and hippopotamusses wuz so big an’
bad dat he chained dem outside de boat an’ let ’em float to make room.
An’ de shirks an’ crocodiles had et up all de dogs, sepin fo’ coon dogs.
So Noahy chained dem outside, too. ’Cose Noahy wuz uh gre’t animal
tamer, an’ I kin ondastan’ how he like so many animals, but I kyant
ondastan’ why he didn’t pisen dem shirks. De Bible tells ’bout
fishhooks, fishpools, fish spears an’ fishermen, an’ all ’bout Peter’s
gwine uh fishin’, an’ de five loaves an’ two fishes (dey mus’ uh bin
whales, kase dey fed so many)—but it don’t say nuffin boutin shirks.
How-some-eber, I specks when Peter’s net broke da wuz uh shirk in it,
kase when dey cum ’long da ain’ no use you takin’ up yo’ net, kase it’s
clean gone. Uncle Reubin say ef’n it wan’ fuh de pitch on de wood ub de
ark dey would hab chawed uh hole thoo huh. Dey’s kep’ many a sister fum
comin’ in de Babtis’ chuch, when dar’s only salt watah to dip in, like
it is down heah on de Easton Sho’.”

Aunt Phillis Viney (interrupting): “Pawson Demby, ef’n dem sistus had
salbation in deah hearts dey wouldn’t keer fuh dem shirks any mo’ dan
little Moses keered fuh de Bull-rushes.”

Voices: “Dat’s what I say, too!” “Yas, dat’s it!” “You done sed it.”
“Dat’s de law, Sistah Viney.”

Tilly Mink: “I’s got salbation mehsef.”

“Uncle Eph, will you pleas’ pars de barsket ’roun’? An’ I hope dis
congation will stop dis shirk ’citement an’ not be fogitful boutin de
collection. I exhort sistus an’ all heah present to gib lib’ly, an’ not
be like dem fogitful ole Petracks.

“We will include by singin’ de three fus’ vusses ub him seventy-fo’.”

                Zion is de place fuh me,
                  Oh, I want to git da;
                Zaccheus clum uh sycamo’ tree,
                  Oh, I want to git da.

                In de heb’nly hom’ we’ll all be free,
                  Oh, I want to git da;
                De Angel Gabriel den we’ll see,
                  Oh, I want to git da.

                Mary an’ Marfa’s gone befo’;
                  Oh, I want to git da;
                Baptized an’ shoutin’ on de golden sho’;
                  Oh, I want to git da.

Pawson Demby requested Uncle Stephen to “Please led us in prayer,”
whereupon Uncle Stephen prayed as follows:

“Sistus, brers an’ little chillun, recommember! Dat’s de qualificashun,
an’ don’ fogit it. Po’ Lot’s wife, she fogot, looked back, an wuz turnt
inter uh pillow ub salt.

“Fogitfulness is wuss’n playin’ de fiddle, dancin’, an’ uh cuss’n one
nerr. Hits almos’ ez bad ez fishin’ on de Sabbuth day. Y-a-s, Lawd,
fogitfulness is bin uh ’stressin’ people ev’y sense Adam clum de apple
tree an’ eat dem apples. Ab-so-lum fogot his Pa’s ’structions, er he
wudn’ er rid un’er dat oak tree an’ let dat lim’ twiss his neck ef’n he
hadn’ bin frolikin’, I specks, wid dat ornry King Fario. Y-a-s, Lawd,
tech us ter recommember. De prodigal son fogot he Pa’s ways, an’ you
know de consequation. Sted ub fogittin’, meck us ter recommember; y-a-s,
Lawd, meck us ter recommember dat de debbil is uh rovin’ lion, seekin’
who he may eat up.[5] Don’ let us be like Jacob, de Petrack, who fogot
hissef an’ tried ter rassel wid uh angel, an’ de fus’ fall he got his
leg wuz flung outin jint.

“But da is one thing dat you kin fogit; hits dem shirks [sharks] in
Miles Ribber. Some ub our sistus is got de shirk fright so bad dey is
persidderin jinin’ de Presbyters. Sweet sistus, don’ yer do hit. Ev’y
man’s mouf ain’ uh prayerbook, an’ uh case orntried is hyard ter
justify. Persidder us, deah Lawd, burhol us, be wid us, cum down right
now in de spirit ub de lam’; cum right th’oo de roof, Ole Mars will pay
fuh de shingles. Dese moners is uh waitin’ fuh you. Y-a-s, indeed, cum
down dis minit an’ _cur-tail_ de work ub de debbil.”

By this time old Harrison, Colonel Lloyd’s faithful and credulous
servant from “Wye,” became so much excited that he jumped up and
shouted, “Yas, Lawd, cum down an _cut_ he tail clean orf,” whereupon
Uncle Stephen arose, patting his hands, and singing:


                     DIDN’T MY LORD DELIVER DANIEL.

            Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel,
            D’liver Daniel, d’liver Daniel,
            Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel,
            And why not a every man?

            He deliver’d Daniel from the lion’s den,
            Jonah from the belly of the whale,
            And the Hebrew children from the fiery furnace,
            And why not every man?

            Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel,
            D’liver Daniel, d’liver Daniel,
            Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel,
            And why not a every man?

            The wind blows East, and the wind blows West,
            It blows like the judgment day,
            And every poor soul that never did pray,
            ’Ll be glad to pray that day.

[Illustration:

  TENCH FRANCIS.
]

The singing over, Parson Demby announced—“Befo’ goin’ I wan’ ter say dat
de deacons is so ’stressed ober ’mersion dey has ’cided ter hold uh
rebate in de Zion Chuch fo’ weeks fum nex’ Chusday, an’ de subjec’
chusin will be, ‘Ef’n uh man er woman hab salbation in deah hyarts, will
dey be feared ter babtiz wha shirks is?’ Ef’n hits ’cided hits
dangersome, salbation er no salbation, I hope dis congation will git
somebody’s ice pon’, an’ ef’n dey kyant do no better, somebody’s big
hoss trough fuh de ’mersions.

“I ’pints rebaters fuh dem dat’s not feared—Frisby Jemes, Hesekiah
Sprouts, Damon Mink.

“Fuh dem dat’s feared, Uncle Reubin Viney, Juba Viney, Scipio Jones,
Horace Duley. I puts fo’ on de side ub dem dat’s feared, kase it’s de
weak side.

“Judges—Pawson Phil Demby, Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes.”




                                DEBATE.


Ef’n uh man er woman hab salbation in deah hearts, will dey be feared
ter babtiz wha’ shirks [sharks] is?

“Aunt Tillie, is de ’bate commence?”

“No, indeed, honey, but you almos’ late fuh de feas’—dar’s resins,
ammons an’ dates lef’.”

“Is dem dates? Bless Gord, I tho’t dey wuz dried ’simmons; well, I’ll
teck some resins an’ dates. How cum de ’bate not commence?”

“Why, Phillis, dey got word ter ’speck three loads ub people fum
Kyarline County, an’ two loads fum Queen Anne’s an’ Kent.”

“Now, hush!”

“Y-a-s dey did! So dey’s waitin’; besides, dey ain’ got all de books
outin de kyart. Uncle Reubin Viney fotch uh wheelbarr load hissef, an’
dey tell me Damon Mink is so ’thused fuh his side, dat fuh two weeks he
has bin speakin’ ter hissef. How cum you so late, Phillis? We had uh lot
ub plum-puddin’.”

“Well, dat lars chile ub Miss Mary’s is pow’ful hyard ter put ter sleep;
when I commenc’ ter nuss de chile I had jes’ larnt dat new hym, “Git on
board little chillun’”, an’ I am sut’ny sorry Pawson Demby fotch dat hym
ter de chuch, kase dat chile mecks me sing it ober an’ ober, till I
sho’ly ’spise de chune. Mon dat, de chile wuz bo’n on de fus’ ub de
moon; lars yeah wuz leap yeah, an’ da wuz only three full moons, an’ dat
chile wuz bo’n on one ub dem moons. ’Cose Miss Mary kyant help dat. Dey
tells me cats bo’n on de full ub de moon neber mecks mousers, an’
chickens hatched on de full ub de moon is fussin’ all de time and neber
mecks good layers.

“I lef’ home plenty time er nuff ter git ter de feas’. De moon wuz so
bright I tuck de parf th’oo de peach archard, ’stead er gwine roun’ by
de road; you see, it cuts orf erbout uh harf mile. When I wuz ’bout harf
way th’oo de archard I saw in de parf uh hooppo-will singin’ fuh deah
life, goin’ jes’ like uh pump handle; an’ wussa yit, when I look good da
wuz two ub ’em. Dey say it’s bad luck fuh nine year ef’n you flush uh
hooppo-will, so what mus’ it be ef’n you flush two? I wudn’ hab flushed
dem two hooppo-wills fuh uh load ub watermillions—so I walked heah
erlong de ribber sho’; den I wuz almos’ skeer’d stiff, fuh I
recommember’d what I had fogot, an’ dat wuz, dat lars’ wintah Scipio
Jones wuz mus’-rattin’ an’ uh Jack-uh-ma-lantern tuck an’ led him in de
watah clean up ter his neck, jes’ erbout wha I wuz walkin’, kep him in
de ribber fuh two hours, uh laffin’ at an’ sassin’ him.”

Aunt Tillie: “Served him right, fuh dem days he wuz al’ays trav’lin’
’roun’ wid uh juice-hyarp in his mouf.”

“Aunt Tillie, dey tell me Mars George’s Bob is broke his erligion an’
tuck up his fiddle ergin. Howsome-eber, Mars Richard say de Bible tells
all erbout trumpets, shams an’ flutes, but you see dem trumpets wuz made
ub ram’s hohns; leas’wise de trumpets dat Gideon made de Pawsons play—so
Uncle Reubin say, so ubcose, dey wan’t bad like brass hohns; nobody kin
meck me bleebe dat playin’ on brass hohns wid keys an’ locks is right. I
think Pawson Demby orter keep ev’y one outin de chuch dat plays de
fiddle er hohns. John Poney’s son, Jim, is goin’ erstray; I hearn him
walkin’ ’long de road lars nite sorter twankin er tryin’ ter twank uh
cow’s hohn an’ singin’ loud ernuf futto almos’ bus’ hissef—

                       I ain’ no tukkey buzzard
                         I ain’ no saint,
                       I ain’ no tukkey buzzard,
                         So glad I ain’t.

“Now, wan’t dat scanlus? It’s jes’ ez bad ez fishin’ on Sunday. Dat’s
what gib Jim Brooks de brake-bone fever, fishin’ on Sunday; but de
doctor tole Kyarline, his wife, not ter be relarmed, but reposed; dat de
_bone-set_ tea he wuz ergibbin’ him would kow de wus kine ub brake-bone
fever. Doctor Dawson is sut’ny uh pow’ful doctor. Fuh instinct, meh arms
wuz all broke out. He say dey wuz too clean fum habin’ dem in soapsuds
too much, so he tole me ter grease meh arms wid goose grease befo’ I
commenc’ ter wash. Well, it made de skin sorf, kep’ de water outin de
poors, an’ it sholy cured meh arms. Aunt Betsy wuz ’tirely mustakin; she
say dat when I got het up washin’ da wuz uh checkeration ub
pusspuration, an’ dat made it.

“I heah de bell ringin’, Aunt Tillie, so let’s go in, fuh dat mus’ mean
de speechifyin’ gwine futto commence.”

Just as they entered Pawson Phil Demby said: “Sistus an’ brudders, de
fus’ ter pester dis subjec’ will be Brer Frisby Jemes; den Brer Rasmus
Jemes, den Brer Hesakiah Sprouts, an’ de gre’t speller an’ reader, Uncle
Reubin Viney. Da ain’ no use ub interjuicin’ ’em, kase almos’ ev’ybody
heah has kep’ company wid ’em.”

Frisby Jemes: “I wuz ’pinted on dis side, an’ de mo’ I think erbout it
de mo’ I think hits de rong side; de fac’ is, meh mind is pow’ful
’stressed. You see, I bin rasslin’ wid bof sides ub de ’bate, an’ de
consequation is, I is bin dreamin’ ’bout ole shirks an’ young shirks fuh
two weeks, till I kyant res’; an’ I kyant see why dey tuck such uh fishy
subjec’ ter ’bate erbout. Reposin’ on erligion, I shall res’ meh remarks
on de salbation part ub dis ’bate, an’ I wan’ ter say rite heah dat
salbation an’ de funnel-shape pen is all dat will preserb you fum dem
shirks. We _mus’_ hab de pen, fuh ef’n da is anyone heah ornsartin
erbout deah faith, an’ nach’ly timid like many ub de sistus (_ub cose we
men ain’ feard_), dat pen mus’ be built an’ de rails kivvered wid tar,
ter keep dem shirks fum chawin’ de rails. Now, we kin make uh
funnel-shaped pen, an’ hab de mouf ub de funnel jes’ big ernuf fuh one
at uh time ter go in; de shirks, ub cose, kyant git in.”

Wilson Small (interrupting): “Why kyant dey git in? Kyant dey jump same
ez you? Dey kin chaw up de pen. Dey is monstus sens’ble, an’ ef’n dey
raal hongry dey would jump in, tell dey fill dat pen an’ hab all ub dem
moners in uh cluster.”

Damon Mink: “You kyant qualify what you say, an’ fum yo’ talk, uh pusson
mite s’pose de shirks know’d deah A. B. C.’s. Mon dat, you ain’ in dis
’bate! Wha you cum fum, anyhow?”

“Fum Queen Anne’s County; I’m uh free pusson.”

Damon: “Well, we don’ ’low no free niggahs ter ’bate heah!”

“Suppose meh sistah ’longs ter Mars John Tilghman? What den?”

“Set down; we ain’ talkin’ ’bout yo’ sistah, an’ dis subjec’ is
’stressin’ ernuf ’doutin you breakin’ de hyarts ub dese po’ sistus
talkin’ erbout _jumpin’_ shirks!”

Hesakiah Sprouts: “Fris, you ain’ got salbation nuff in yo’ heart, dat’s
what’s de matter wid you! Ef’n you had uh bin wha Jona wuz, in de
whale’s belly fuh three days, you’d uh had spavins an’ cramps, kase you
wudn’ had any faith an’ condidence in de whale, but Jona did.”

Frisby Jemes: “Hessa, ef’n you had bin ris’ by de qual’ty you wudn’ say
belly in de presence ub dese sistus; hits bad nuff in de presence ub
shirks. Den ergin, da ain’ no whales in dis ’bate.”

Hessa: “Why, you don’ no nuffin erbout de Bible, Fris! Talkin’ ’bout
qual’ty; I reckon de prodigal son ’longed ter de qual’ty, didn’t he? His
father had plenty ub serbants, fuh de Bible say: ‘An’ when he cum ter
hissef he said, “How many hired serbants ub meh father’s hab bread ter
spare an’ I perish wid honger?”’ An’ now, lis’n to dis: ‘An’ he fain wud
hab filled his _belly_ wid de husks dat de swine did eat.’ Now, ef’n
Jona, de prodigal son, St. Matthew, King Solomon, Jerry Myah, Genesis,
an’ lars, but not leas’, John de Babtis, who all hab spoke on dis
subjec’, didn’ cum fum de qual’ty, wha’ did de qual’ty cum fum? I will
preserb de res’ ub meh remarks fuh de ’clusion.”

Aunt Kyarline (in a whisper): “Hes, don’ you mine Fris; his haid bin
turnt since he bin drivin’ de coach fuh Ole Miss.”

Uncle Reubin Viney was Sir Oracle among the negroes. He was very pious
and austere, looked like an old portrait, could read a little, and spent
his Sundays in reading and memorizing verses from the Bible. If he
talked to you five minutes he would quote something from the Bible. When
he got up all ears were listening, and all mouths were open. He said:

“Sistus, brudders an’ chillun, I is bin readin’ an’ studdyin’ fuh three
weeks on dis ’bate, an’ Becky say she is tired ub dippin’ candles fuh me
ter read by. De young oxen I is brakin’ is de wus’ I eber han’led; so
worryin’ wid dem in de day time an’ rasslin’ wid dis ’bate at night,
mecks me truly glad dat de time is come ter arbiter. I shall try an’
confine mehsef ter one word—watah. You will see de application pres’ny.
Sister Sue, meck dat boy teck his musrat gum of’n de pew; you kin set
yo’ musrat gum in de mash ez much ez you want, but not on dese pews,
kase dey’re sanctified.

“We read in de fus’ book ub Gensis, ’dat a ribber went out ub Edum ter
watah de gyarden,’ an’ in Sams, ‘He maketh me ter lie down in green
pastures, he leadeth me beside de still watahs.’ De _still_ watah wuz de
drink ub Mars Adum an’ Miss Eve in deah Edum home. Da wan’ no snakes,
shirks, frogs, whales, er crockdiles in dat watah, fuh de Bible
spressify hit wuz _still_ watah. An’ mon dat, it mussa bin fresh, kase
dey drunk it, an’ it mussa bin jes’ ez clare ez uh jewdrap, fuh I heah
uh gre’t Meffodis’ preacher say: ‘It ’flected back de lubliness ub Miss
Eve when she dress hersef.’”

Aunt Tillie: “Uncle Reubin, Miss Eve didn’ hab no clos’ ter dress wid!”

Uncle Reubin: “Well, I didn’ say what sort she put on; mout erbin
crows-foot, spechly ef’n de fros’ had kilt de fig leaves, er it mout
erbin Firginny Creeper, er she mout uh rap hersef in clusters ub
grapevines; we all no dar wan’ no fashion in _dem days_.

“De Bible say: ‘Ez in water de face anserreth ter face, so de hart ub
man ter man;’ so de water wuz Miss Eve’s lookin’ glass, dat’s what it
mean; an’ all dat watah wuz fresh; de consequation wuz, da wuz no shirks
in it.”

Jim Brooks, from Queen Anne’s County: “I rid 20 miles ter heah dis
’bate, an’ I wan’ ter no what watah got ter do wid it. Ev’body seems ter
hab fogot de shirks.”

Uncle Reubin: “I has jes’ ’cited uh vus fum Sams, an’ I will ’cite an
nerr fum Proberbs: ‘Tho’ thou shouldst bray uh fool in uh morter ’mong
wheat wid uh pessal, yet will not his foolishness depart fum him.’ Why,
Brer Brooks, ef’n it hadn’ bin fuh watah de twelve Petracks mout neber
bin bo’n. De narration say dat Mars Jacob met Miss Rachael at de well,
an’ ef’n de well had uh bin dry he mout neber hab met de mudder ub de
Petracks.

“Now, what wud dat gyarden bin ’dout plenty watah? Dey wud uh lef’ it,
an’ got an nerr gyarden; fuh not only Mars Adum an’ Miss Eve baved in
dat Paradice watah, but de seeds an’ de vegetables sipped it, de flowers
when deah faces got dusty, washed in it, de cups ub de blossoms hilt it,
I specks, till de watah tu’n inter perfume, an’ I kin almos’ see de
jewdraps hangin’ on ev’y leaf, mo’ lubly dan uh oyster pearl. It makes
Uncle Reubin glad when he looks at watah, fuh it tu’ns our mills, gibs
us cawn bred, brings de big schooners wid our boots, shoes, clothes an’
mullasses, an’ when de tide comes in, ’specially at sundown, when de
birds is goin’ ter deah nesses, an’ de busy bees is wanderin’ home, da
is nuffin I lubs mo’ ter look at, it’s so quiet an’ repose. No place kin
be lonely ef’n watah is da; but it’s uh sad thing, too, fuh what is mo’
’stressin’ dan eyes full ub tears. But mos’ ub all, young people ub dis
chuch don’ fogit dat watah wash yo’ sins uh way, an’ meck you ez white
ez de lam’. But I am condident da is only one kind fit fuh ’mersion, an’
dat’s fresh watah.”

Sister Sue: “Dat’s it; now yo’r climin’ dem golden stairs, Brer Viney!”

Sally Mink: “Blessid be his brow, he’s fairly chantin’ de songs ub de
Sams.”

Mrs. Rodgers’ Ned: “I is convicted, Brer Viney, an’ I plays de fiddle no
mo’!”

Uncle Reubin: “Now, you begin ter see de application. Jordan, wha’ John
de Babtis, wuz ’mersed, is fresh watah. Not far fum Jordan is de dead
sea, which has mo’ salt dan Miles Ribber, kase it will float uh man same
ez uh egg; but de ’Postles tuck de fresh watah, kase I hab no doubt
skirks wuz bad in dem days, an’ prob’ly wusser, ’speci’lly in de dead
sea. Jes’ think ub our dear sistus, trem’lin’, soaked wid faith an’
salbation, speckin’ ev’y minit ter hab deah legs bit orf! Da ain’ uh
sistuh in dis chuch dat ain’ had chills dis spring. De cold watah got
nuffin ter do wid it; it’s shirk fright; dat’s what’s de matter wid ’em.
But blessin’s cum in disguise, an’ Providence mus’ hab brought dis
’bate, fuh it sot me ter readin’, thinkin’ an’ prayin’, an’ I am
confluent we will all hab ter be babtize a-_fresh_; den da will be mo’
moners, mo’ shoutin’, an’ bless Gord, no shirk fright. I shall hab mo’
ter say ef’n de application ain’ well ondastood.”

Hesakiah Sprouts (in a whisper): “Pawson Demby, uh young man jes’ cum in
wants ter speak ter you. He is bashful; bin peepin’ an’ lis’nin’ at de
do’. Mebby Uncle Reubin’s speechifyin’ hab made salbation in his heart.”

“Jes’ so! Young man, who you ’long ter? Mars John Skinner? Well, wispuh
what’s in yo’ heart; don’ be feared, kase salbation’s free!”

“Pawson Demby, yo’ dogs is treed uh coon ’cross Peach Blossom Creek. Meh
boat is on dis side.”

Pawson Demby: “Belubbed sistus, as Brer Viney’s gre’t an’ pow’ful speech
has fuh _ever_ ’cided dis question fuh fresh watah, it is move, secon’,
an’ carried, dat dis meetin’ ’jurn.”




                            ROMP’S MUSTAKE.


        Lars Sunday night me[6] an’ Fred went ter de swamp
          An’ it wan’ many minits fo’ we heahd ole Romp
        Talkin’ ter hissef, an’ tree’in’ up’n uh pine
          Dat wuz all obergrow’d wid uh big grapevine.

        Speak ter him Romp! Mus’ be uh ’possum, Fred,
          De way dat dog is cacklin’ an’ losin’ ub he hed.
        An’ feedin’ on dese fros-bit grapes an’ fat
          Ef he won’ meck yo’ lip go flip-flop, teck dis hat.

        Well, it won’ be long fo’ de breck ub day;
          An’ de possum, showly, he kyant git ’stray,
        So den I’ll clime dat little black-gum tree;
          Dat pine’s too full ub grapevines futto see.

        De day broke clare, an’ up’n de tree I clum,
          An’ in dem grapevines, twixt de pine an’ gum,
        A ressin ub his’self, yaller, slick an’ fat,
          Da lay uh gre’t big ornry Thormas cat!

        I tuck uh match an’ lit de varmint’s tail,
          An’ when he jump po’ Romp an’ Fred dey wail;
        Dat yaller Thormas cat, on fire, ub cose,
          Dey tuck to be uh red-hot, flamin’ ghose!

        Romp ain’ no use fuh night dog any mo’,
          An’ neber ter de swamp he wants ter go;
        An’ when he comes uh cross uh wile grapevine
          He al’ays gits relarmed an’ ’gins ter growl an’ whine.

        Ef Romp had bin ub houn’ blood, stid ub cur,
          He’d know’d de difference in de scent ub fur.
        So arfter dis I wants uh thorrybred;
          When dey speaks up’n uh tree you ain’ misled.

        But if I steals de finis’ thorrybred
          Da ain’ no use ub praisin’ him ter Fred—
        He’s jined de chuch. Dat yaller Thormas cat
          He tho’t uh ghose is all de cause ub dat.

        I ’gin ter think mehsef dat cat uh witch,
          Fuh in de swamp ef it is dark ez pitch,
        An he cum out! de branch it looks so bright
          De brabest niggah’s obercome wid fright.

        I ’spises cats, an’ fuh dem hab no use,
          But it’s mos’ time I’d ended wid uh buse,
        Fuh when I think erboutin’ “Romps mustake”
          Dis haid ub mine cummences soon ter ache.




                        LITTLE BILLY’S PUMPKIN.


Hayland Meadow was some ten miles in length, and on the upper half, used
for growing timothy and for grazing, here and there stood
aristocratic-looking trees—poplar, black-walnut, majestic oaks, imposing
and graceful elms. The lower half was thickly wooded with smaller trees
of many varieties, among which flourished the persimmon. Nature had with
generous hands festooned many of the trees with wild grapevines, and
when these were in bloom and twilight dews fell upon their blossoms,
they filled that meadow with a delicious fragrance, sweet enough for
Eden; every dewdrop in the dell seemed perfumed.

Through this vale, over mossy stones and snowy pebbles, chattered and
meandered a crystal creek which joined other streams and emptied at
Hayland marsh into Miles River.

The woodcock nested there, and in warm June days dozed under the shade
of the fine old trees; and there the oriole sang a lullaby to her
hanging cradle that rocked in the wind.

The tranquilness of the place was never disturbed save by the canticles
of song birds and the almost nightly baying of some coon dog, for until
of late the darkies never thought of going anywhere else to put up coons
or ’possums than “Haylan’” Branch, as they called it.

Little Billy was not pious, and, if he knew his prayers, never said
them. He doted on all sorts of sports, and, though a poor shot, entered
all the turkey-shooting contests Thanksgiving Day. He chewed the best
tobacco, danced with the dancers, played the banjo and jewsharp, always
had a jug of molasses, a pair of gum boots, fiddle-strings and
fiddle—all purchased with his coon, ’possum and muskrat money.

Scipio Jones’ experience had pretty well frightened off Miles River Neck
hunters (see “Romp’s Mustake”), but of late darkies from Queen Anne’s
and Caroline Counties had been hunting Hayland Branch, and Billy became
jealous, wanting to be the only hunter, and sought to get his Mars
Pinckney, who owned the meadow, to help him; and his success was more
than he anticipated.

“Romp’s Mustake” had been talked about until the story had so grown that
most of the darkies thought the cat a ghost, and among the converts was
Scip’ Jones. The matter was discussed at bush meetings, corn-huskings
and cake-walks; so after the christening of Mollie Jones’ son (Scipio
Jonas Jones) at Zion Church, John Poney, Uncle Stephen Demby and Scip’
Jones were appointed to investigate Hayland Branch.

[Illustration:

  MARS PINCKNEY WHEN A BOY.
]

Billy was at the christening, of course, and wanted the ghost story to
flourish, as it kept Talbot coon hunters from the branch. So he told his
Mars Pinckney that “niggahs cum fum Kyarline an’ Queen Anne’s County ter
hunt dat mash an’ branch, an’ ’skusin’ de Talbot hunters, he wouldn’ be
s’prised ef dey som’ time, when dey hongry, teck de oysters fum de
cove;” (Billy did)—“an’, young Marster, won’ you qualify me ter say dat
de branch hanted pow’ful?”

His Mars’ Pinckney said with sternness: “Billy, that is not the truth! I
want, however, to keep rogues and intruders out, and I will make and
give you something that will scare every nigger out of my meadow from
this day forward forevermore.”

So his Mars Pinckney, full of youth and deviltry, took a big pumpkin,
cut a hole through the top and bottom, and through the latter pushed a
tallow candle with a big wick. He cut eyeholes and a mouth, and, at
Billy’s suggestion, tacked on a medium-sized cucumber for a nose, and on
the sides or cheeks of the pumpkin, put sheepskin for whiskers, as Billy
said, “ter meck hit look sassy;” and then a grapevine was trimmed up and
tied through the top, and Billy was instructed what to do.

Parson Phil Demby was to baptize some sisters the next day—Sunday—and
Billy thought that a good time to consummate his plans.

It was very cold. The boys were skating, and the sisters were dipped
where the farmers had been cutting ice the day before. When Tilly Mink
was shoved under she had one of her pockets full of apples. The water
shocked her so, she immediately commenced to throw her arms around,
pawed the bottom, pawed Parson Demby overturned an’ thoroughly drenched
him (it was an honest dip) and pawed and tore the pocketful of apples;
and when Little Billy saw the apples come popping up, bobbing like
net-corks, and the Parson’s haste to get on dry land, he called out:

“Jes’ gib huh ’nubba dip, Pawson Demby; huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh
in clustahs!”

The negroes on the shore thought salvation at last had struck Billy,
and, the immersion over, they crowded about him.

Billy in a moment embraced his opportunity, and after a few remarks
about the cold, wanted to know where he could buy another coon dog;
expatiated upon the coon and ’possum tracks he had recently seen in
Hayland meadows, and further said, apparently unconcerned:

“I kyant ondastan why dey don’ hunt dat branch mo’. Ef’n I had uh nubba
dog (Jasper is foot-sore, an’ I gwine ter git one), I’d pestah dat lubly
branch when ebnin’ cum, an’ ornless hit snow er rain, I’d hunt ev’y parf
in it.”

[Illustration:

  Jes’ gib huh an-nubba dip, Pawson Demby, huh sins is cummin’ up fum
    huh in clusters!
]

Then and there the witch committee arranged for a hunt the next night.
They asked Billy to go, but “he wuz gwine ter Kyarline County futto buy
uh dog.”

The moon was new and went down about 11 o’clock, and Billy calculated
they would be along about that hour. So, holding the grapevine in his
hand, he climbed a _witch-elm_ tree, threw the vine over its slippery
limb, rested his pumpkin-face on the ground, and whilst he was
“meddowtatin’” he heard the voice of Scipio say to his thoroughbred
hound: “Put ’im up, Noahy!” and later, “I like de stile an’ rovin’ ub
dat dog, don’ you, Uncle Stephen?”

Uncle Stephen said, “Monstus fine! Carry hissef jes’ like uh houn’ I
hunted over lars’ wintah in Kyarline County dat wuz stole fum de man dat
los’ him; an’ I heah him say he hope dat dog tree nuffin fuh de pusson
dat stole him ’ceppin’ ghos’es, witches an’ sperrits, an’ ef’n he ebba
ketch him, dis uth wud trimble when he twiss he neck.”

Scip’s eyes began to feel too big—his roguery rebuked him; Noahy was the
stolen dog. But his conscience was momentarily relieved by Noahy’s
giving tongue, and was tickled and delighted when Uncle Stephen said:

“Dat’s uh coon, an’ dat’s uh qualified coon dog; uh sweetah tongue I
ain’ heahd sence Mars’ Nickey’s Jerry-Myah died, name arfter a profit;
an’ he wuz a profit, too.”

By this time they were all in a brisk trot, Uncle Stephen grumbling
about the pace and declaring he could not keep up.

The witch committee were about one hundred and fifty yards from Billy,
and when he saw the dog some thirty yards off, and hunting towards him,
he quickly lit the tallow candle and slowly pulled the pumpkin face a
few feet from the ground. Noahy saw it in a moment, retreated and yelped
like a wild dog. All was consternation, and all hearts went pitapat.
Presently Uncle Stephen, who had the most courage, said:

“’Pears ter me dat dog cum ’long wid som’ varment he ain’ ’quainted wid.
I had a composation yistiddy week wid uh coon hunter I’s knowed fuh uh
long time, an’ he say dogs dat ain’ ris on de watah al’ays gits skeered
de fus’ time dey see pompusses an’ shirks playin’ on de ribber sho’.”

Scipio caressed the dog with trembling hands, and said:

“I don’ ondastan’ de ’spression ub dis dog. Otters is ornpropper
varments ter projic’ wid; maybe he s’prised a sleepin’ otter, an’ de
otter smack him, an’ den babtiz him in de creek tell he mos’ drown. Dey
will do it! ’Specially on de new moon.”

John Poney said: “De dog mus’ uh scent dat witch Scipio bu’n de tail ub,
sted killin’. Hit wuz ornrichious not ter kill dat witch, an’ de fus’
ting we know, de witch will hab young uns, an’ den dis branch will hab
ter be gib up, kase uh branch full ub scan’lous witches is wuss’n uh
woods full ub sperrits.”

Scipio Jones (affrighted): “Don’ talk dat way, Brer Poney.”

By this time Billy had slowly pulled his pumpkin face some twenty feet
from the ground, and as the _witch-elm_ bow was gently moved by the
breeze, it gave the pumpkin face such a weird look that even Billy got
_lonesome_. Uncle Stephen, less timid and more observant, though behind,
was the first to see the pumpkin face. With a gasp, and dropping quickly
on his knees, he wailed:

“Ef’n you is a ghos’, Mars’ Ghos’, I ’spec you is uh ghos’, an’ ef’n you
is uh witch, my Mistis Witch, I ’spec you is uh witch! I nebber sed
nuffin ergin ghos’es an’ witches in meh life, an’ I’s 70 year ole—an’
nebber see an’ bleebe in witches an’ ghos’es; but I bleebe now, ’fo’ de
Lawd, I do! an’ now I ondastan’ why dis branch so full ub _witch-elm_
an’ _witch-hazel_ trees.”

Just then Billy gave his grapevine a gentle pull, bobbed the pumpkin,
and Uncle Stephen, more frightened than ever, exclaimed in great
humility:

“O Lawd, ’fen’ Stephen, an’ let he salbation resis’ dat witch, an’ de
witch resis’ he salbation, an’ keep de witch fum leadin’ po’ Stephen
ter”——

“Is you got de kramps, Uncle Stephen?” half frantically exclaimed Scip’.
Uncle Stephen pointed his trembling hands at the witch-elm tree, and
Scipio and John saw the pumpkin face.

A few minutes thereafter Uncle Stephen was trotting homeward
alone—tired, dejected and scared almost out of his senses, and every now
and then ejaculating, as he stumbled and trotted along:

“Dat orn’ry niggah, Scipio Jones, done breck up coon huntin’ in dis
branch!”

Scipio and John ran until they came to a haystack some two miles away,
in which they made a hole and hid themselves until daylight, when Scipio
took Noahy back to his owner.

On Sunday next Parson Demby gave notice “Dat Scipio Jones had got
salbation in he hyart, an’ wud be babtiz’ Sunday cummin’.”

There was a great difference of opinion among the committee as to the
appearance of the witch, and this was their testimony:

Scip’ thought “Hit wuz erboutin ez big ez uh cow, an’ had hohns ez long
ez uh fencerail.”

John Poney thought “Hit wuz ’boutin de size ub uh shock ub wheat, wid
eyes ’bout de size ub buckets, an’ uh mouf ’bout ez big ez uh shirk’s.”

Uncle Stephen said he “Wuz sho’ de face wuz ’boutin ez big ez uh barrel,
an’ melted lead run fum he nose, an’ pusspuration ub fire drapped fum
all ober he face, an’ ebbry time de win’ blow his eyes wink an’ his mouf
larf.”

A few days after the ghost investigation Little Billy went over to the
quarters of Uncle Stephen to hear the news, and found the old man
putting his little grandchild to sleep and singing:

                     Sooky licked de ladle,
                     An’ de baby rocked de cradle.
                       Rock——

Billy interrupted him, saying: “Howdy, Uncle Stephen?”

The old man was glad to see him, nervous and startled, too, for he had
not gotten over his witch fright.

“Po’ly, Billy, ve’y po’ly; pow’ful mis’ry in meh back an’ legs.”

Billy said, in an innocent sort of way: “I jes’ bought fum Kent County
de fines’ kin’ ub coon dog—cross ’tween uh houn’ an’ rat-tan-terrier—an’
I drap in ter arsk ef’n you won’ teck uh hunt wid me in Haylan’ Branch
to-night. Tell me hit’s full ub coons, an’ uh hunt mout do yo’ back
good.”

Uncle Stephen gave Billy a solemn, stern look and said: “I wan’ nuffin
ter do wid coons, ’possums er ’coon dogs. Scip’ Jones an’ John Poney dey
bof exerted me. I’s los’ meh tase fuh night hun’in’; an’ when you heah
de ’po’t ub de witch committee, you will sell yo’ dog, kase when dat
’po’t gits knowed, da won’ be no use fuh coon dogs, leas’wise ’roun’
heah. I had uh talk wid Caesar Butler yistiddy, an’ he say: ‘He sho’ dat
Haylan’ Branch witch tuck an’ stole he ’possum fum de ashes lars’ fall,
an’ bin stealin’ he oystus all wintah.’ Now de wexin’ quession is, What
we gwine ter do? Hit wud not s’prise me ef’n I move fum de county.”

“Uncle Stephen, what wuz de ’port ub de witch committee?”

“Well, dey met lars’ night over Bennett Tumlinson’s wheelwright shop.
Pawson Demby wuz chusen ter teck de cheah. Den we hed uh long
composation an’ hit wuz ’cided dat ghos’es may lib in cows’ hohns, but
witches don’—leas’wise de breed dat’s in Haylan’ Branch. We also ’cide
dat ef’n all de cowhohns in Miles Ribber Neck wuz made inter one hohn,
hit wud be too small fuh de witch ub Haylan’ Branch ter ’pose in. Hit
wuz also ’cluded dat de sperrit in Haylan’ Branch wuz uh witch, kase hit
hab whiskuhs, an’ ghos’es don’ hab whiskuhs. Pawson Demby say he sho’
hit’s de same breed ub witches dat’s spok’ ub in Samuel de Fus’, and dat
we mus’ stop coon hun’in’, hintimate Saul, an’ all go ter witch hun’in’
an’ witch killin’. Dat de Bible ’splicitly spressify in de book ub
Ex-odus: ‘Thou shal’ not suffah uh witch ter lib.’ Pawson Demby mus’ be
mustakin’. Hit kyant be de same breed ub witches Saul kilt, an’ ef’n dey
is, dey’s grown monstus since dem days; an’ I bleebe ’sted ub de
brudders ub Zion Chuch ’stroyin’ de witches, de witches will ’stroy de
brudders. Talk ’bout babtizin’ in de presence ub shirks! I’d rudder
sleep wid shirks dan see dat witch ergin. Hits de lars’ time I’s gwine
on any committee! Mo’n dat, I’s made up meh min’ ter jine uh chuch dat
don’ ’low coon huntin’, an dat chuch is de Presbyters.”

After the war Billy, old and dispirited, drifted to a small town in
Maryland. His independence, quaint humor (narrations and mirations) soon
attached the townspeople to him, who kept him in tobacco, clothed and
made him comfortable. Billy never tired of expatiating upon his old
home, haunts, ole Miss and ole Mars. It was his nature to exaggerate,
and he told about the fo’-in-hands he drove (he never drove) until it
got to be a joke; and they would tease him and say they had heard he
only drove mules and steers, which made him furious, and he would
brandish his cane at his accusers.

When Mr. Cleveland was first elected President Billy was very much
disturbed. He thought all the negroes would be sold into slavery, and
his loquaciousness and solicitude suggested the following joke, which
was played upon him to the amusement of the township:

At several places in the town, to which Billy’s attention was called,
printed notices were tacked up that on a certain day all negroes in
Maryland would be sold to the highest bidder. When Billy saw it, he
swore lustily, and on the day of sale he was made to stand on a
goodsbox, and cried to the highest bidder. It was a very funny sight.
Billy said: “Ef’n ole Mars, er Miss Henrietta wuz erlive dey’d kill
ebery lars’ one ub you.”

The spectators walked around him, looked in his mouth feigning to tell
his age, and praised his noble appearance. Billy looked scornfully at
the laboring people, some of whom had been instructed to bid on him, and
graciously at the gentry present. A pretended buyer asked if he belonged
to the church.

Billy said: “I don’ ’long ter no chuch, an’ I ain’ gwine ter jine, an’
gib up meh fiddle an’ banjo.”

Just then some one looked him over and said: “Splendid, honest face! I
will give $5,000 for him.”

Billy said, with great pomposity: “I al’ays knewed uh quality niggah,
an’ I’s glad ter be uh slabe, ef’n uh gemman buy me. I tole de niggahs
ef’n dey wote de Dimcrat ticket dey’d all be sol’ ergin, but dey sech
ornry fools.”

Finally a man said $5,000 was nothing for him; he would give $10,000.
Whereupon a carpenter nailing shingles on a roof within earshot of the
sale, knowing Billy’s weakness for talking about his ole master’s
horses, and thinking to draw him out and please him, asked: “Can Billy
drive a carriage?” Whereupon Billy broke up the sale by saying: “What in
de h—l you wan’ ter know fuh? You nebba own uh kerridge.”




                               SERMON.[7]


Befo’ preachin’ I gib notice dat Miss Henrietta gwine ter gib uh
cake-walk Chris’mus night ter all de serbents ’ceppin’ Scipio Jones. Dar
will also be uh feas’ in de brick kitchen arfter de walk. De ’freshments
will be uh cake ub figs, two clustahs ub resins, harf bushel ub kisses,
pancakes, an’ uh keg ub molasses. Some sistuh at de rebate ax Aunt
Phillis how she cook pancakes. She ’ques’ me ter say: “Three eggs bet up
light, wid uh pint ub milk an’ uh pint ub flower, den add uh
tablespoonful ub butter an’ lard, den cook, _de mo’ carelesser de
better_.”

All de chillun dat got bladders hog killin’ time an’ kep’ ’em, kin bus’
’em Chris’mus night arfter de cake-walk.

Mollie Jones will also hab her two chillun chrissin. She qualify me
futto say de names chusin will be Scipio Jonas Jones an’ Nimrod.

De c’lection lars’ Sunday wuz 83 cents. Aunt Phillis wuz sick wid de
rumatiz an’ wan’ heah. She ’ques’ me ter gib notice when she cum she
will gib uh levy—dat will make 95½ cents.

De deacons has ’cided ter buy wid it, de new strain ub watermillion
seeds, call de Annarandal Sweets.

Dey will be put in little packs, an’ straws will be drawed fuh de packs.

Da will be uh fes-ti-val in de meetin’ house nex’ monf. De money made
will be tuck ter buy uh kyarpet to go ’roun’ de pulpit. Some ub de
brudders fum Kyarline has promis’ twelve gourds, uh new kine wid curled
handles, one bushel ub sweet potatar slips, eight ’possums, an’ fo’ new
mus’rat gums.

I am charm ter say de deacons has secur’d fum Mr. Plummer fuh 25 cents
uh monf de priblig ub babtizin’ in de Wye Mills dam, ’ceppin in de
winter, _jes’ befo’ dey cut ice_.

You will find meh tex’ in de 63 Sam, 6 Vus, writ by King Dabid when he
wuz in de wilderness ub Juda an’ hidin’ hissef in de mountain ub Zip.

“When I recommember de ’pon meh bed, an’ meddowtate on de in de night
watches.”

Sistus, brudders an’ little chillun, we might fill dis chuch full ub
some ub Mars Nickey’s craps, cawn, oats, wheat, hay, fodder, an’
buckwheat, an’ fill de corners wid spider’s webs, wasp nesses, mouse
beds an’ sich like, hab de chuch jam full, an’ ubcose when it full it
kyant be any fuller, den dey wud hab ter go ter de bawn; but dat what
dey call mem’ry require no bawn. It can be packed jes’ like dis chuch,
ev’y crack filled, ev’y little hole chinked, an’ yit da wud be plenty ub
room.

Ef’n yo’ mem’ry wuz chock full ub all de chunes in de Zion hymbook, an’
uh camp meetin’ cum wid 500 new hyms, dat mem’ry wud right straight meck
uh place fuh dem chunes an’ teck ’em in widout crowdin’ anything.

Ef’n de Angel Gabrul wuz ter meet you, an’ gib you ’struction fuh uh
week, an’ say: “I miricle you ter recommember all dis Scriptur’,” dat
strange thing called mem’ry wud in uh moment make room, de mos’ triflin’
thing wud not be ’sturbed. Oh! it’s uh pow’ful thing, mem’ry. “When I
recommember de ’pon meh bed”—dat’s de application. What wud we do
widoutin mem’ry?

[Illustration:

  MARS PINCKNEY’S HOME. “FAUSLEY.”
]

S’pose, fuh instinct, de tremlin’ stars _fogot_ ter cum out ter keep
deah faithful watch; s’pose de moon fogot de stars an’ lay uh sleep fuh
six months. But wussa still, s’pose de sun fogot de sunrise, sunset an’
twilight, an’ as de Bible say, “Darknes’ brooded ober de deep.” Mars
Pinckney say, “No wegetables an’ plants wud grow, ’ceppin pisin ones; de
trees wud all die, da wud be no birds singin’ ’ceppin de martingales an’
hooppo-wills, no bees hummin’, no flowers bloomin’, no playful colts an’
skippin’ lam’s—it wud be like de lars’ day fuh sinnahs.” But I heah
somebody cummin’ long talkin’ ter hissef. It’s mem’ry, an’ he meck de
stars say: “I recommember an’ lub de young moon, de harf moon an’ de
harves’ moon.” Den de man in de moon say, “’Cose you do; kase I am de
crown an’ you de stars in it.” Den de moon say, “I recommember de
ribbers, coves, creeks, all de beases ub de field, all de fishes dat
keep quiet in de day but leap an’ play in meh meller light, an’ I rides
th’oo de clowds mo’ prowder dan King Solomon did wid his prancin’ race
hosses an’ chariots in Egyp’ lan’ co’tin’ Phareo’s daughter; kase I is
so gran’ I am bleege ter be noble, fuh I hab millions ub trees, ribbers,
creeks, ribbulets, fruits an’ flowers—all de beases ub de field ter
burhol, but dey hab only one moon ter make mirations erboutin, so I am
de gran’ oberseer ub de night.”

Den heah cum de sun creepin’ up, sorter playin’ hide an’ seek wid de
mawnin’, an’ say ter de dawn, “Recommember me! Recommember me!” Den de
dawn put his arms roun’ de yearth an’ you heah de sweet jewdraps say ter
de flowers, trees an’ watermillion blossoms, “Good bye;” an’ right ’way
de birds sip de jewdraps jes’ befo’ dey melt, ter wet deah th’oats fuh
de lars’ mawnin’. Hallaluja, dey’r gwine ter sing.

Bimeby de sunbeams cummenc’ ter play an’ say, “I recommember uh dark
place; I will drap in an’ meck it bright,” an’ de sweet potater wines,
cucumber wines, all de wegetables, fruits, flowers, craps an’ grasses is
kiss’ an’ caress’ by dem sunbeams.

Ah, sistus an’ chillun, I cud preach uh monf boutin dat sun, but I mus’
pars on an’ say befo’ I include recommembrance, dat we kin all be
sunbeams; we kin hab uh brighter light in our bresses dan de sunlight,
ef’n we recommember what babtism will do, feas’ our hyarts on de ripe
fruit ub salbation, hab on our feet de golden slippas ub faith, an’
shoostrings ub justifycation. Den de sunlight ub de c’lestial home will
flud our souls ez we sing an’ pray ter be at de lars’ day ’mong de
cherupins an’ serupins dat dances—no, not dances—dat shouts by de light
ub de sun, moon an’ stars, on de c’lestial sho’.

We will now teck de nex’ application ub meh tex’, “Meddowtate on dee in
de night watches.”

Brudderin, all nature is uh meddowtationist; dat is, all satisfied
nature.

Did you eber think erboutin it?

Now, teck fus’ uh cow, when she gits plenty ub grass, lays down an’
chaws huh cud, blinks, winks huh eyes an’ meddowtates, an’ ef’n she is
not uh stripper, I specks she thinks how nice it will be when somebody
milks huh gre’t big bag, so full ub milk dat it will ’stress huh befo’
long ef’n it’s not stripped.

Uh settin’ hen is uh gre’t muser (I wan’ ter ’splain dat what dey call
meddowtatin’ in de Bible days, dey call musin’ in dese days, an’ what
dey call damsels in Bible days, we call ladies in dese days). Yes! uh
settin’ hen is uh gre’t meddowtater, prob’ly one ub de gre’tes’. Dey
sets twenty-one days, an’ dey say ter git uh good hatchin’ dey should be
sot on twenty-one eggs, so as ter ’low huh one egg uh day ter muse on.
’Cose she thinks erboutin what de diffunt color ub de chicks will be,
how many will be roostus, how many hens, how many will be black legs,
specklelegs, yaller legs, an’ how many good layers. Den she gib uh
little cackle, which is larfin’ ’mong fowls, an’ say ter huhsef: “Heah
cum ole Miss Osman, de hous’keeper, de keys jinglin’ same ez bells fum
huh ap’on strings, lookin’ ergin fuh dat speckle hen, settin’ an’ musin’
un’er de steps right at de do’.”

But, brudderin, de gre’tes’ meddowtaters is de ’cendents ub Mars Adam
an’ Miss Ebe, an’ ’mong de ladies in de Bible, I s’pose Miss Rachel, de
mudder ub some ub de Petracks, wuz de slyis’ meddowtater, an’ de mos’
’spected, kase Uncle Reubin say she hab de finis’ toom, de biggist
chariot, an’ mos’ moners ub any ooman de Bible speak ub. When Jacob fus’
met huh at de well she wuz musin’; dat is, huh ’flections wuz deep like
de well. She look so peart, sweet, an’ sad-like, de narration say, dat
Jacob wep’. How-some-eber, Jacob wuz uh unsuspectin’ shepherd, an’ wuz
smut ’mejately by Miss Rachel’s cunnin’ lubliness. Mo’n dat, Miss Rachel
had bin ris’ by de qual’ty, an’ knew’d how ter look sorf-eyed an’ sly,
jes’ like Miss Henrietta use ter look when she feel sassy; ’sides, Miss
Rachel cum outin’ uh musin’ fambly. Her pa, Mars Laban, meddowtate (so
de Bible say) seven year befo’ he gib Miss Rachel ter Jacob, an’ he made
uh mustake den, kase Jacob soon tu’n ornry, an’ hab fo’ wives.

One ub de gre’tes’ meddowtaters mention ’mong de men in de Bible, is
spoke ub in de fus’ book ub clover.

Rasmus Jasper Jemes: Pawson Demby, da ain’ no book ub clover in de
Bible.

Did I say clover, Rasmus? Well, den, I meant de fus’ book ub Timothy.
I’s bin mowin’ grass all de week, an’ I got ’fuse erbout de name.

But I mus’ hurry on to de gre’tes’ meddowtater in de Bible, de one dat
writ de ’squisit’ tex’ I preach fum, King Dabid! I ain’ bin able ter
fin’ it in de Bible, but I think he mus’ uh bin close kin ter Noahy,
kase he had mos’ ez much charm ober beases, an’ he had uh _arm ub
steal_. Jes’ think ub dat! It wuz his lef’ arm. De Bible don’ say what
his right arm made ub, but I ’specks it wuz made ub steal er brass, kase
he kotch de lion by de beard wid his lef’ han’, smut an’ kilt him wid
his right han’. Now, Sampson kilt uh lion, but it wuz uh young one.
Little Dabid mus’ uh bin thinkin’ ’bout dem lions when he writ, “Meh
hyart wuz _hot_ widin me; when I wuz musin’ de fire burned.” Well, it
cum ter pars dat de Lawd say unter Samuel de fus’, “I wan’ uh king;” an’
Samuel de fus’ say, “I no uh man named Obid, dat’s got some monstus fine
sons, but Obid he ain’ no ’count kase he fogot his son name Jesse; but
it turn out all fuh de bes’, kase Jesse got ’fended, run ’way, an’
merried what dey call in dem days uh damsel, an’ ris uh fine lot ub
sons.”

While Samuel wuz musin’ erbout deah quare names, who should cum ’long
but Jesse, deah pa. So Samuel say, “Wha you gwine?” An’ Jesse say, “Ter
help Saul ter ’noint meh youngis’ son.” An’ Saul meck uh ’miration
erbout his oldes’ boys, an’ say, “How many chillun you got, anyway?” An’
Jesse say, “Six sons, an’ de youngis’ uh sweet boy name Dabid, fair ub
eyes, lubly coun’nance, an’ uh monstus cunnin’ hyarp player. I s’pose
he’s meh favorite son, kase he so bad; dat’s why I wan’ you ter ’noint
him.” An’ Saul say, “Wha is he? I will ’noint him an’ meck him uh king.”
Jesse wuz so s’prise he almos’ had uh spavin, an’ say, “Dat chile nuffin
but uh boy, an’ you kyant think how bad he is. Mo’n dat, I kyant well
spare him; he mines de sheep, sells de hides ub de beases; an’ ’tain’
nuffin fuh him ter kill uh ox kyart load uh week, ub lions, bars and
striped tigers.”

Belubbed, Jesse didn’ wan’ ter say anything ergin his son, but de fac’
is, dat boy spent mos’ ub his time playin’ de hyarp wid uh cunnin’ arm
an’ han’ ub steal, an’ wussa yit, young ez he wuz, meddowtatin’ an’
longin’ fuh Phareo’s daughter an’ other damsels.

Jesse bu’nt insects erroun’ hissef, an’ ’pon ’flection ’cided ter let he
son be uh king, an’ git salbation.

Befo’ I go any fudder wid dis King Dabid narration I wan’ ter say ter de
chillun in de chuch, you don’ hab ter be so strong ter de looks ter be
gran’. De feebles’ an’ de baddes’ chile in dis chuch may meck de
strongis’ man an’ de bes’ Babtis’ preacher.

King Dabid wuz tuck fuh uh king, tho’ he wuz de younges’ an’ de feebles’
ub dem boys, wid uh lubly face an’ long curls, jes’ de way Miss
Henrietta’s use’ ter grow—but heah is de application:

De Lawd look in de hyart ub little Dabid; he saw brabery, an’ de future
writer ub Sams; so he right way gib him uh arm ub steal an’ meck him
king!

Will he meck you uh king?

Yas; de Lawd will gib you uh erligious arm ub steal, meck ebery chile in
dis chuch uh king in his army ub salbation, an’ mebbe uh Sams writer,
ef’n you intimate little Dabid.

Well, arfter dis’ gression, I cum ter de time when Dabid grow up, hab uh
beard, git mad wid Saul an’ de Flistines, an’ meck his barbers cut orf
one side ub de Flistines’ whiskus ter tell dem in battle fum his
soldiers; so when Goliar heah tell ub it he larf, stroke he beard, an’
say: “He nuffin’ but uh sassy boy.”

How, it cum ter pars when King Dabid fine out how Goliar talk erbout
him, he den an’ da meddowtate in de night watches how he kill Goliar,
an’ s’prisin’ ter say, he ’cluded ter kill him wid uh stone. So he jump
fum his chariot, tuck fum uh brook five stones, put ’em in his sheppard
bag, an’ in his han’ ub steal he had uh sling. When Goliar saw him, de
Bible say, “He disdain him kase he wuz but uh striplin’” an’ he tole him
ef’n he totch him “he wud gib his flesh ter de fowls ub de air (cose dey
mus’ uh bin buzzards), an’ ter de beases ub de field.”

Goliar look so much biggah dan de cunnin’ little hyarp player, ’magin’
dat he stop futto meddowtate, an’ ter git his steal arm wuckin’. He put
his han’ in his sheep bag, tuck out uh stone, an’ when Goliar wuz
erboutin fo’ hunard yards orf he sling dat stone, not ’speckin’ ter hit
him de fus’ sling; but bless yo’ souls, dat stone tuck de hole top uh he
haid orf—ez de Injuns say, “scalped him.” Den Dabid run, stood on
Goliar, cut de res’ ub he haid orf, hurray an’ shout, when his
sharpshooters cum up an’ run de army ub Goliar to deah tents.

De nex’ day de man dat King Dabid wuz feared ub, wuz feared ub King
Dabid, fuh it almos’ tuck Dabid’s bref when Saul cum wid uh white flag
an’ say:

“I is tuck Goliar’s place; you had better s’render; ef’n you will I will
gib you meh daughter.”

David meddowtate, shuck Saul’s han’, tuck his daughter, had huh sant ter
his tent, an’ as de Bible say, “Behabe hissef wisely.” When King Dabid
look good at Saul an’ think how small he wuz ter Goliar, he felt peart,
spunky, an’ say, “Ef’n you cud see de mules, jackasses, chariots, an’
jablins dat I hab got you wudn’ talk dat way” (er words signifyin’ dat).

Brudderin, Saul’s temper ris, he throw’d one ub dem jablins at him,
which Dabid dodge, run home ter his damsel, tole huh erboutin his
father-in-law. Now, what did dat ’stress damsel say? She say, “You ain’
heahd de wus yit. Pappy sant me word dat when you teck yo’ robe orf, go
ter baid, an’ fall uh sleep, futto let him no; dat den he will cum an’
’sasinate you. Dat’s what I merried you fuh, but you got sech winnin’
ways, you sech uh lion killer, hab sech strong ahms, look so lubly when
you play de hyarp, dat you hab conjur me, an’ I lub you jam down ter de
roots ub meh soul. Dey shan’t ’sasinate you; so jine yo’ army, I will
put uh scarecrow in de baid, an’ while he rejoice an’ stab de baid you
kin be marchin’ on his army.”

[8]Bimeby Saul cum ’long, stole in de room, stab dat scarecrow all ter
smash; but jes’ den he heah de artil’ry ub Dabid. So he run ter his
army, an’ walk ober uh hunard acre field full ub kilt Flistines, an’ saw
de res’ ub his army flyin’, leabin’ all deah camels an’ jackasses.

Saul had de biggist army, kase dat night ’cruits cum fum Zip, an’ de
nex’ day dey met ergin, fit and skirmish, skirmish an’ fit, till bof
armies got ve’y tired.

Saul, he ’gin ter meddowtate, an’ think King Dabid uh witch, kase he
sho’ he kilt him in baid, so he got pow’ful skerd, ’fraid ub King
Dabid—too skerd futto wait till de night watches ter meddowtate; so he
meddowtate all day, an’ dat night he made spittoon bridges, tuck his
army ’cross de ribber, so he cud ’cruit fuh jackasses an’ camels, ez da
wan’ none lef’ ’ceppin’ sixteen white asses dat pull his chariot, so he
cummenc’ ter mortify de place, sant his staff futto look fuh uh drobe ub
asses, an’ his sutler say, “We kyant fine dem asses.”

Saul say, “I kin fine dat drobe; so he meck bleebe he look fuh de asses,
but all de time he wuz ’rangin’ ter ezert.” (Meh eyes is so bad I kyant
wear meh specks, so I got Uncle Reubin ter read dis gran’ narration ter
me lars’ week; so I is preachin’ ezactly de way de Bible say.) Well,
Saul say ter Jonah, his spittoon oberseer, “King Dabid is so cute an’
cunnin’ I’s feared he may hab one ub dem torpeders un’er dis mountain
futto blow us up; dafo’ I am gwine ter ezert, an’ wan’ you ter go wid me
’cross de ribber in one ub dese spittoon bridges ter see King Dabid.”

Jonah say he lub King Dabid, hab de gret’s speck fuh him, wuz anxious
ter be an’ exerter, but he had once bin in de whale’s belly three days
and three nights; so he had ernuff ub de sea. Den he wep’ on de bres’ ub
his Pappy Amelikite, who wuz skerd stiff, an’ wuz weepin’ on de bres’ ub
Jonah, who fudder say, dat he rudder risk his life in battle, er be kilt
by de jawbone ub an ass, dan sink on one ub dem spittoon bridges an’ be
et up by shirks.”

Amelikite had condidence in de spittoon bridges, ezerted wid Saul, an’
wid two fence rails dey paddled de boat ober ter de camp ub King Dabid.

Sister Becky: “Pawson Demby, wha’ dey git fence rails fum dem days?”

Sister Becky, mos’ any pusson but me wud teck a _fence_ at dat question.

Ev’ybody nose dat de rods ub ches’nut, hazel, poplar an’ pine Jacob, de
son-in-law ub Mars Laban, had piled up, wuz fence rails. In dese days
dey call ’em fence rails; in dem days, rods. Ez big uh farmer ez Jacob
wuz, wid all de thousands ub mules, jack-asses, speckled cattle, goats,
sheep an’ cows he had, how he gwine ter raise de cawn, oats, wheat an’
barley he did ’doutin fences? Why, his beases wud hab ’stroyed his craps
in one day.

It cum ter pars Amelikite wen’ wid Saul, an’ Saul say, “Tell it not in
Gath” (I s’pose dat wuz uh army ’spression er watchword); so dey bail
out de boat, paddle ’cross de ribber, an’ landed near uh tent. Da sot
King Dabid on uh sycamo’ stump (sycamo’ trees wuz de fa-vo-rites in dem
days; dat’s de tree dat little Zackius clum), musin’ an’ I s’pose
longin’ fuh de wife ub Urihy, an’ meddowtatin’ er dotin’ on Miss
Abigail, de wife ub Nabal, who wuz smut wid him, cudn’ resis’ his
beauty, an’ cum ter him wid five damsels ez bridemaids, all uh straddle
ub asses. I kyant gib deah names kase Samuel de fus fogot ter mention
’em.

Saul open de composation, an’ speak fus by sayin’: “King Dabid, dis man
kep’ comp’ny wid me crossin’ de ribber; his name Amelikite. We is bof’n
us ezerters an’ tired ub wah.” Den King Dabid say, “Set down; I speck
you horngry, too? Hab some kid an’ hardtack, an’ tell me de news.”

Saul told him de Flistines wuz mortifyin’ de mountain, an’ ev’y man wud
die befo’ dey waccinate de place.

King Dabid ris up, shuck his curls, an’ say, “Ef’n it ain’ waccinated
mejately I’ll cross de ribber wid uh thousan’ chariots, fifty thousan’
artil’ry, twenty thousan’ cavelry on mules, all my damsels on white
jackasses, all blowin’ rams’ hohn’s, an’ de Flistin’s I don’ ’stroy I’ll
teck pris’ners, throw in de ribber to de shirks dat’s bin feedin’ heah
fuh two weeks on some ub meh dead mules.”

Jes’ den one ub his spies cum in an’ say, “King Dabid, dat young mule
yo’ son Ab-so-lum bin ridin’ hung him in uh oak tree!”

Den King Dabid snort smoke fum his nose, weep an’ wep’, an’ wep’ an’
weep; jes’ ez he begin ter git pearter his fus’ wife heah Saul’s voice,
so she stold ’way fum de res’ ub de wives, stood by de sycamo’ stump an’
say ter King Dabid:

[9]“I look thoo uh winder lars week, saw you leapin’ an’ dancin’ befo’
de Lawd wid all yo’ might, an’ I ’spise you in my hyart!”

Den King Dabid cry, grit he teeth, meddowtate, an’ made up he mind ter
stop dancin’, sin no mo’ an’ jine de Babtis’ chuch; so he throw erway
his swo’d an’ say, gimmy de pen, cummenc’ ter wright sweet Sams, an’ he
eyes shine same ez two stars, he lubly face glo’ wid de beauty ub
holiness, he call fuh he hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings, twank it—an’
lemmy read you what he sing:

“De Lawd is meh shepherd; I shall not want. He meck me ter lie down in
green pastures; he leadeth me ’side de still waters. He resto’eth meh
soul; he leadeth me in parfs ub richtousnes fuh his name sake (mus’ ask
Uncle Reubin who he name fuh). Yea, tho’ I wa’k thoo de valley ub de
shadder ub death, I will feah no evil, fuh thou art wid me; thy rod an’
thy staff dey comfort me.”

Den he chuned his hyarp ergin; he wep’ an’ he weep, an’ he weep an he
wep’. Den he meddowtate an’ bimeby he say: “O, my son Ab-so-lum, my son,
my son, Ab-so-lum!”

Uncle Reubin Viney: “Befo’ we teck up de c’lection I wan’ ter say, da
will be uh gre’t rebate Thanksgibbin night in Zion Baptis’ Chuch;
subjec’, secon’ chapta Zacharyhy, 6 vus.

“‘Ho, ho, cum forth an’ flee fum de lan’ ub de north, saith de Lawd; fuh
I hab spred you uh broad ez de fo’ winds ub heabin saith de Lawd.’

“De rebate will be ter ’cide ef’n Ho, ho wan’ uh Chine er Japne, who wuz
he?”




                                HO, HO.


There had been a great deal of discussion among the darkies as to who
was “The gret’s rebater, Mars’ Pinckney’s Damon Danridge, er Mars’
Nickey’s Rasmus Jasper Jemes,” and a committee was appointed to select a
subject, with the advice and consent of the negro preachers of Queen
Anne, Caroline and Talbot counties. They were about three weeks
deliberating, and finally a part of the following verse from Zachariah
was selected:

“Ho, Ho, come forth, and flee from the land of the North, saith the
Lord: for I have spread you abroad as the four winds of heaven, saith
the Lord.” (Chapter II, verse 6.)

Deacon Damon Danridge for the affirmative.

Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes for the negative.

Damon Danridge was the body servant of the Rev. Wm. Pinckney, once
Bishop of Maryland, and was a splendid servant, neat, orderly, and as a
rule very dignified—“Kase he driv uh preacher.” He heard most of his
marster’s sermons, was a good listener, and was so devout and worthy
that his brilliant and learned marster became much attached to him, read
to him, and taught him to read.

His learning made him very top-lofty, and he assumed an air of great
wisdom with all, was credulous and simple-hearted; the darkies thought
him wondrous wise because they could not understand the big words he
used. He conjured up and cherished the preaching and sayings of his
grand marster, and delighted in repeating the same. If his marster had
said to him, “Do you see yonder cloud, that’s almost in shape of a
camel,” he would have seen it as did Polonius.

Rasmus Jasper Jemes had a great local reputation as a debater; he was a
deacon, and when the regular preacher did not turn up Ras filled the
“pull-pit,” and filled it well; two of his sermons—“His Bref Kinleth
Coals” and “Let Us Meck Brick”—were considered marvelous by the darkies.
Indeed, some of them thought him inspired (Ras thought he was)—for
instance, in 1833, when the stars fell, all the negroes on the
plantation were terrified; they hid under beds, in barnlofts, hay and
straw stacks; they thought judgment day had come. Finally Aunt Phillis,
John Poney and Little Billy, more courageous than the rest, went to see
Rasmus. He was frying some bacon and did not know about the falling
stars. He walked boldly and confidently out of his quarter, but when he
saw the shower of stars, was soon affrighted, and dodging about, said,
“Look out, Mars Lawd, hits Rasmus Jasper Jemes.”

Ras could read a little, was far from being dull and doted on debating.
The subject, “Ho, Ho,” had been discussed far and near, and Rasmus had
“rassled” with it diligently; and now that the time had come, Zion
Church was packed and jammed. Uncle Reubin Viney, good and just, Sir
Oracle among his “Brers,” was judge.

The servants had all chipped in and gotten Captain Stitchberry, of the
grain schooner Margaret Jane, to buy the best $15 church-clock in
Baltimore. It was bought just after Parson Demby preached his great
sermon on “Fogitfulness.” Three-fourths of them could not tell the time.

On the door-face of the clock was a picture and written under it, “The
Finding of Moses.” It represented eleven females and a camel. Four of
the figures were very black. One of them, sitting in the bullrushes and
water, held in her lap a large basket with a top, in which was Moses,
and the daughter of Pharoah was looking wistfully at the prophet, who
was crying lustily, judging from the size of the tears in the picture.
The black figures had in their ears immense gold-colored earrings,
almost big enough for Moses to crawl through.

[Illustration:

  The picture on the face of the Moses clock.
]

Captain Stitchberry had selected wisely, for no rosary could have been
more adored than that clock. The sun, moon and stars went by it. When it
struck you would suppose a small dinner-gong dwelt within.

Uncle Reubin Viney was seated on the platform when in strode Damon and
Rasmus, looking as proud as peacocks and confident as two victorious
gladiators.

They were both well-figured and had fine faces. Rasmus had on a blue
swallowtail coat with brass buttons, which he had borrowed from Ned
Young and which was given the latter by his marster _twenty years
before_. It was still new-looking, and rarely ever worn except on
Sundays.

Damon wore a coat given him by his marster. It was too big and too long;
however, it gave him a priestly look—was once worn by his “Mars’
Pinckney,” and of course, fit him. Shortly after they were seated, had
sipped some water and cleared their throats loud enough for the deaf to
hear, the Moses clock struck eight, whereupon Uncle Reubin arose and
said: “Sistus an’ brudders, I hab bin ’pinted futto judge an’ ’cide dis
rebate, which am, ‘Ef’n Ho, Ho wan’ uh Chine er Japne, who wuz he?’

“De jan’tor will please light de big lard-oil lamp, an’ ev’y nuss, dairy
maid, maid, cook, laundress an’ farmhand, young an’ ole, is ’quested not
ter gib any ’spression ter deah feelin’s ez dis house is sanctifide. I
now hab de honah ter interjuice Brer Deacon Damon Danridge.”

Damon sipped water complacently, pulled up his coatsleeves that were too
long, and said: “Sistus an’ brudders, I heahd meh Mars’ Pinckney ub de
Piscopalium Chuch an’ de gret’s preacher on uth, say, ‘De gret’s books
ebber writ wuz de Bible an’ uh book called Shakespeare,’ which say,
‘Dar’s mo’ things in heaben an’ yearth, _Horace_, dan wuz ebber dremp ub
in our phlos’phy’ (phlos’phy means rash-nal), an’ I’s gwine ter cummenc’
meh speech wid de miration he woun’ up wid—leas’wise it will sorter
clustah ’roun’ meh arg’ment.

“Lars wintah arfter meh Mars’ Pinckney got fros’-bit crossin’ Miles
Ribber ferry, an’ wuz kep’ in bed, ev’y day he used ter read an’ ’splain
de Bible ter me, an’ arfter he drap uh sleep, ter keep meh mind fum
bein’ too sot on erligeon I used ter go down to Haylan’ Branch an’ set
snares. One mawnin’ Little Billy went to de snares wid me, so in one ub
’em wuz uh dog fox, kotch by he tail.”

Deacon Jemes (interrupting): “What Little Billy an’ fox tails got ter do
wid dis rebate?”

Damon Danridge: “Uncle Reubin, dis is de rash-nal part ub my discose.”

Uncle Reubin: “Is you layin’ de foundation, Damon?”

Damon: “Ezactly so; precisely!”

“Well, Little Billy he say, ‘Strange ter me Noahy didn’ pizin dem shirks
in de yark, an’ strange, gre’t ez he wuz, he didn’ hab mo’ ’fluence wid
de Petracks.’

“‘Erboutin’ what?’ sez I.

“‘Well,’ sez Little Billy, ‘why did dey meck de animals’ tails so
curisome? Why did dey gib uh fox long hyah so uh fly kyant bite he skin,
an’ uh long bushy tail dat ain’ no use ter him?’

“Kase when de fields is frosty, de houn’s feel good, an’ his tail git
wet—jes’ full ub fros’ an’ dew—den dar’s sho’ ter be uh kilt fox, an’
den Mars Nickey will say, _not pursidderin’ de wet tail_, ‘Da ain’ no
red fox on uth kin git erway fum meh houn’s.’

“Brudderin, dis is uh gre’t subjec’. Now, teck uh pig fuh instinct, dat
we lubs ter eat; dat ain’ ornry like uh fox, yet he’s made fuh de flys
ter pester! His leetle curly tail is not much bigger dan uh goose quill,
an’ not mo’n harf ez long; uh tail he kyant switch when de blue-tail fly
dribes him in de ribber.

“‘Well,’ sez I, ’s’posen de fox hab de pigtail; it would breck up fox
huntin’; dey nebber cud ketch him den! Mo’n dat, de Bible say Sampson
went out an’ kotch 300 foxes an’ tern ’em tail ter tail, an’ lit deah
tails wid uh torch, den sot ’em loose an’ dey run ’mong de cawn an’
craps ub de Flistines an’ buhn ’em up. Now, s’spose Sampson, sted ub
takin’ 300 foxtails, tuck 300 pigtails—sot dem uh fire. Da wud uh bin uh
pow’ful lot ub squeelin’, dat’s all!’

“An’ Little Billy say, ‘Jes’ so; jes’ so!’

“Uh terrapin’s tail ain’ longer dan yo’ eyelash, an’ uh mus’rat’s tail
almos’ ez long ez _Rasmus’ foot_; you skins mus’rats, hangs ’em up by de
tail, an’ sells de skins, but you don’ sell terrapin skins, an’ don’
hang ’em up—consequencely dat’s de application.

“S’pose de peacock hab de elephant’s tail, an’ de elephant de peacock
tail, _now how wud dat look_? Er uh cow had uh roostuh’s tail, an’ uh
roostuh uh cow tail? Da is some free niggahs fum Henracka County,
Furginny, haulin’ deah sain in Miles Ribber, an’ fum what I kin heah,
dey wud soon breck up de breed ub chickins, ornless de chickins all
hens. Jes’ tread on de roostuh’s tail, dat’s all.

“Sistus an’ brudders, I no I got yo’ condidence—I cud _swap tails_ all
night, an’ you wud see all de time de wissum ub de c’rator ergin
swappin’. ‘Da is mo’ things in heaben an’ yearth, Horace, dan is dremp
ub in our phlos’phy.’

“Now, dis is de rash-nal part ub meh discose, ter show dat you kyant
change things ’doutin’ makin’ mustakes. You kyant meck Ho Ho uh Chine
any mo’ dan you kin change de animals’ tails.

“Dese days people don’ meddowtate ernuff. Ef’n people wud meddowtate an’
read de Bible like I is fuh two weeks on dis subjec’, dey wud hab no
doubt ’boutin de thurrybred Japne ped’gree ub Ho Ho. Hit’s plain ez
daybreck, an’ I spressify ergin, you kyant change it any mo’ dan you kin
change de animals’ tails.

“Now, dis brings us ter de pus-nal part ub meh discose, an’ ef’n you
projic wid dat fambly you kyant git erway fum de fac’ dat Noahy wuz uh
man ub quare tase, an’ prob’ly had uh harf dozen wibes, which wuz de
fashion in dem days.

“Noahy mus’ uh bin uh man ve’y fon’ ub de differn’ shades ub color; fuh
instinct, Ham’s Ma mus’ uh bin uh cullud pusson, _Sham’s_ uh white
pusson an’ _Jap_heth’s uh Japne.

“I am confluent dat Ho Ho wuz uh Japne, wid uh strain ub Chine blood,
an’ my phlos’phy will show it.

“De Bible tells us plain ez plain kin be, dat Noahy had three
sons—_Sham_, Ham an’ _Jap_heth. Sham, ez befo’ mentioned, wuz uh white
pusson; Ham wuz uh cullud pusson, an’ _Jap_heth mus’ uh bin uh Japne. I
bleebe ef’n Noahy cud speak, he wud say so, an’ ef’n you will follow de
application, hit will be ez clare ez de jewdraps on de vines, er de
fros’ on de fodder.

“I ain’ bin ridin’ wid Mars Pinckney fuh nuffin.”

By this time the audience was fast getting “Japne,” and Rasmus anxious.
So he said: “Damon, Mars Pinckney bin heppin’ you wid dis rebate!”

“Well, s’pose he is; don’ I ’long ter him an’ he ’long ter me?”

“Well, hit don’ pester me, fuh Mars _Arthur_ holp _me_. He ain’ no
preacher, but I reckon he kin read an’ wright ter keep pace wid de bes’
ub preachers.”

“Meshac wuz de son ub _Jap_heth. He wuz uh cunjerrer an’ cud walk on
fire, an’ ub cose he got hit fum he Japne Pa.

“In de fus’ book ub Cronicles, fus’ vus, by ’westigation, you will fine
dat _Jap_heth wuz de gre’t-gre’t-gre’t uncle ter Joktan, an’ he had uh
son name Jobab (you see how dey keep up de fambly names), an’ Joktan wuz
kin ter Mibsam (dat’s wha de Chine cross cum in), an’ Joktan wuz also uh
connection ub Ja_k_an. Well, put uh “p” wha dat “k” am, an’ you hab
Ja_p_an. Mars Pinckney say hit’s plain ter his mind.

“Dar’s fusion in de Bible erbout de name, kase in some places dey call
it Akan; an’ dat fusion is kase dey got uh “k” ’sted ub uh “p” in po’
Jakan’s name. It’s uh sad thing ter twiss uh man’s name dat way.

“Ez I hab de ’cludin’ re-marks, I will add mo’ ter de application ef’n
Brer Rasmus rassles hyard wid de subjec’.”

Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes:

“Sistus an’ brudders ub Kyarline, Queen Anne’s an’ Talbot County: Ef’n
Shake—what de res’ ub he name?”

Uncle Reubin Viney (with austerity)—“Shakespeare.”

“Well, ef’n Shakespeare an’ Horace (I dunno what Horace he talkin’
erbout, but ef’n he mean Miss Rodgers’ Horace, I won’ bleebe anything he
say), an’ if dat book an’ Horace is ez ornsortin an’ mixed up ez de
mirations ub Brer Damon Danridge, den I don’ think much ub de book. Mo’n
dat, Rash-nal an’ Pus-nal got nuffin ter do wid dis rebate, an’, Brer
Viney, I wan’ you ter rule Shakespeare, Horace, Rash-nal an’ Pus-nal
outin’ it.

“Hits ornpropper ter talk erbout dat book ’long side de Bible. I wouldn’
walk ’cross dis room ter shake hands wid Shakes-peare, an’ ef’n de truf
wuz knewed, I speck he wuz one ub dem Quakers.

“Belubbed, ev’ybody kin see fum Deacon Danridge speech dat he got no
confluence in Ho Ho’s breedin’, ebin got ter bring pig-tails in dis
rebate. What dey got ter do wid uh Japne er Chine?”

Deacon Damon Danridge—“Ef’n you had read any phlos’phy you’d no dat
Chinese hab pig-tails.”

“You kyant see th’oo a millstone less’n it got uh hole in it, but you
kin see th’oo uh pain ub glass ef’n da ain’ no hole in it, an’ it’s
clare ez uh pain ub glass dat Ho Ho wan’ no Chine er Japne. I kyant read
an’ spell so ve’y well, ez I nebber _’longed ter er dribe fuh uh
Piscopalium preacher_, but Little Billy kin read, an’ he bin readin’
ober an’ ober ter me de Book ub Cronicles, Rebellation, Jerry-Myehr,
Sams, Daniel, Jona an’ Zacharihy, so I reckon dem books jes’ ez trufful
ez de Book ub Genesis. Now, de Book ub Daniel say, chapter de fus’, “De
chillun ub Juda, Daniel, Hana-Nia, Mishel an’ Azarihy all had deah name
chang’ by Nebacudnezzer. Daniel’s change ter Bell-Shazzer, uh ooman’s
name; Hana-Nia, uh man wid uh ooman’s name, ter Shadrack; Mishel ter
Meshac, an’ Azarihy ter Abed_negro_. ’Cose he mus uh bin uh dark pusson
like Ham””——

Deacon Damon Danridge—“Brer Jemes, kin you qualify dat lars miration?”

“Sut’ny I kin! Hit’s all in de Book ub Daniel erboutin de time Daniel
saw de han’writin’ on de wall. Now, ef’n de chillun ub Juda had deah
names changed, why cudn’ Noahy change de animals’ tails ef’n he felt
like it? Brer Danridge, wha’s Rash-nal now? An’ wha’s yo’ condidence in
Ho Ho’s breedin’?

“Why dey change de names ub dem chillun is mo’ dan I kin ondastan; dey
wan’ ornry, an’ had dun nuffin; fac’ is, de king say [reading from the
Bible], ‘Dey ten times better dan de musisioners an’ ’stronemers in de
law;’ an’ dey wuz fine players, too. De Bible say, ‘Dey played de
cornet, flute, hyarp, an’ sackbut.’ Dat lars’ instrument is ez much uh
myst’ry ter me ez Ho Ho.

“We read in de book ub Daniel dey played _all kinds ub music_; mo’n dat,
dey wuz all ’ceppin’ Daniel _fireproof_.

“I kin almos’ see sweet little Ham playin’ wid dem gre’t musisioners.
Kin anybody see Ho Ho? Not ef he wuz uh Chine er Japne, kase dey wudn’
_’low no sech music ez dat dem days_, when de Petracks made de laws.”

Now, Zacharyhy he only name fo’ pussons—(I’m readin’ fum de Book ub
Zacharyhy)—an’ all de names ’ceppin’ Ho Ho’s cummenc’ wid de letter “b.”
He lubbed “b” so much, wonder he didn’ name Ho Ho Bo Bo. I s’pose Brer
Damon wud call Bochim, Bill-hah, Be-Tah, Beth-Sham an’ Belzebub Chine er
Japne. Well, I reckon _de lars one_ wuz Chine. Leab you alone, Brer
Danridge, you’d meck rat-eaters ub all de saints.

“Obid, de pa ub Jesse, is only spoke ub uh few times in de Bible;
how-some-ebber, he wuz uh gran’ man, an’ he gre’t-gre’t-gre’t-gre’t
granpa wuz Ram.”

Damon—“Ras, you mean Sham.”

“No, I don’; I mean Ram! I reckon I bin readin’ an’ westigatin’ de Bible
ez well ez Brer Damon, an’ I wan’ ter tell him when C’lumbus ’sciver’d
Americy he ’sciver’d Talbot County befo’ he did Kyarline County. I
s’pose you’d call Obid uh Chine?

“Ho Ho is only mentioned once in Zacharyhy’s narration, but think what
er gre’t man he wuz, fuh de vus say, ‘Ho Ho, cum forth an’ flee fum de
lan’ ub de North, saith de Lawd: fuh I hab spread you abroad (jes see
what condidence Zacharyhy had in him) as de fo’ winds ub de heaben,
saith de Lawd.’

“In dem days de fo’ winds mus’ uh all blow’d _Souf_, kase Zacharyhy
tells him ‘Ter flee fum de lan’ ub de _Norf_.’

“My erpinion is dat Ho Ho wuz de nick name fuh one ub de Petracks, fuh I
once heah Mars Pinckney say in uh sermon dat Ab’ham, Isaac er Jacob, I
fogit which, dwelt in de Souf country.

“Zacharyhy knew how ter spressify hissef. ’Tain’ no use mentionin’ gre’t
people all de time. Damon nose how ter spressify hissef _sometimes_, but
not ter night. He wudn’ interjuice Rash-nal, Pus-nal, Horace,
Shakespeare, an’ all sorts ub animals’ tails in dis rebate, ef’n he
wan’t skeetin’ [skating] on thin ice, an’ fustyfied.

“Mo’n dat, is da _any_ pusson heah dat s’poses Zacharyhy, whose Pa wuz
uh king, would put all dat condidence in uh Japne er Chine?

“Lars’ but not leas’, Little Billy say he thinks he read somewha in de
Bible dat Ho Ho hab a beard. Now, ef’n de Japnes an’ Chinese don’ hab
beards dese days, ’twuz ornpossible dey had beards dem days.”

Uncle Reubin Viney: “Dis hab bin uh pow’ful arg’ment, an’ arfter careful
meddowtatin’, I ’sposed ter think Ho Ho uh Japne wid two Chine crosses,
but it’s uh subjec’ ub gre’t consequation; dafo’ I pint Pawson Phil
Demby, Deacon Damon Danridge an’ Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes arbiters
futto such de Scripturs, an’ ef’n dey fine Ho Ho had heavy whiskus den I
’cide Ho Ho wan’ no Japne er Chine.”

Little Billy: “Pawson Demby, hit woudn’ s’prise me ef’n hoe-cake wuz _Ho
Ho_ cake, name arfter Ho Ho. John Poney al’ays sez ho ho cake.”

Tilly Mink: “Dat’s kase he stutters! Let dat man’s tung ’lone, Billy;
you no he tung-tide.”

Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes (with great ostentation): “Uncle Reubin, it’s
bad ’nuff ter hab Horace, Rash-nal, Pus-nal an’ Shakespeare in dis
rebate, an’ wussa still ter call Ho Ho uh Japne er Chine, but ter call
de sweet hoe-cake uh Japne er Chine cake, is mo’ dan I kin ondastan, an’
hit’s scanlous an’ ornichious.”




                         RASH-NAL AN’ PUS-NAL.


     De summer night hit’s lubly when you wa’kin wid yo’ gal
       An’ she sweetah dan de honey ub de bee;
     An’ she ’low dat you kyant kiss huh, kase hit ain’ rash-nal,
       At de grapevine hangin’ by de holly tree.

     But de summer night gits lublier, when swingin’ ’side dat gal,
       An’ yo’ ahm a’mos’ destracted ’roun’ huh waise;
     Kase she look inter yo’ face, an’ say, “Ain’ you pus-nal?”
       When you go down on huh mouf an’ teck uh tas’e.

     Da’s no swing like de grapevine! hit’s sut’ny de bes’,
       Kase you hab ter set ornpropper all de time,
     You swing so close togedda dat you kine er mus’ caress,
       Fuh you al’ays got dat black gal on yo’ mine.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

  BLACK CREEK, BELOW THE FALLS.
]




                      DE COMPOSATION UB DE SNIPE.


Little Billy was as black as a tar pot, short of stature, very
bow-legged, cunning as a fox, and smart. When he drew his bow across a
fiddle it made you feel like dancing, and when there was a dance among
the overseers, Billy played, and called out, “Swing yo’ partners;”
“pigeon wing,” “ladies ter de center,” etc. He set muskrat traps, fished
on Sundays, and often coon and ’possum hunted Sunday nights. His bow
legs enabled him to climb like a cat, and no tree was too big for him to
_negotiate_ if Truman treed up the same; and when Billy sang out, “Put
him up, True!” and Truman “chawed de bark an’ wep, an’ ’stressed
hissef,” as Billy would say, you might be sure there was a coon in the
tree.

Billy was a slave, helped to milk the cows, tote fire wood, pick the
chickens, turkeys and geese, and was “horngry” all the time. The negroes
thought Billy monstrous wise, but thought Satan would get him. He was an
innocent fabricator, and a harmless rogue.

One day whilst husking corn he said he had once killed twelve eagles at
a shot. The darkies remonstrated with him, and said they had never seen
more than two eagles at a time, whereupon Billy said he had killed ten.
They continued to taunt him until he dropped to three, and then said,
“I’ll die befo’ I drap another eagle!”

One Saturday in March Billy sauntered to the humble cabin of Jerry and
Caesar Butler, brothers and free negroes, to steal a dozen raw. They
lived at the head of a creek, fished, oystered, and hunted the marsh for
muskrats for a livelihood. Saturday night the boat came, and he knew
they would have several barrels of oysters for the steamer. The weather
was not very cold and he assumed they were oystering, because the day
before whilst they were out Billy had slipped over and stolen a cooking
’possum. Arriving at the cabin, lo! and behold, Caesar and Jerry were
both on deck, the former lamenting and pondering about his ’possum, the
latter skinning a lot of muskrats he had trapped the night before.

Caesar was fond of ’possum, and returning from oystering hungry and
tired, stopped at the country store, bought a pint of applejack and a
fat ’possum, went home, put his ’possum in the ashes, covered it with
coals, took several swigs of applejack, and went soundly to
sleep—_’possum struck_.

When Billy appeared the ’possum was nicely roasted, which Billy ate,
piled the bones in Caesar’s lap, greased his hands and face, so when
Caesar awoke he found his hands and cheeks greasy, and a pile of ’possum
bones in his lap. He licked his hands, and said, “Dat’s ’possum;” felt
his cheeks and said, “Dat’s ’possum sho’,” and when he saw the pile of
bones in his lap, said: “Dat’s ’stonishin’ applejack, an’ de mos’
ornsatisfactionis’ ’possum dat ebber I et.”

Billy was very generous and when he had money would buy oysters, but
without money would invite himself to take, and generally took them, for
he was prodigal. It was nothing unusual for him to go to the country
store and buy two eggs’ worth of molasses, of which he was very fond.

Billy had to have an excuse for his midday visit, so he pondered quite a
while inventing one. The ’possum came to mind, and his heart sank into
his boots. Then he thought of the snipe that had pitched on the marsh
the night before, and soon had a yarn ready; so as the two old brothers
sat gazing into the soothing fire, watching some bacon fry, he sauntered
in, looking _meek like_, and said he had “come to tell dem what he heahd
de Jack Snipe say on de mash lars nite, when he wuz mus’rattin’.” Jerry
and Caesar were credulous and superstitious, but questioned Billy’s
hearing the snipe talk. True they thought them “ve’y ’ceitful and
_quare_ birds, but nebber heahd dem talk.” Billy said, “Crows an’
parrots talk, but dey wan’ anyt’ing ter jack snipe. Ghoses an’ witches
libbed in cow’s hohns! Watah rail tu’ned inter frogs an’ jack snipe
tu’ned into jack-uh-ma-lanterns, which wuz ’ceitful larf in witches, but
after all, hit all ain’ harf ez strange ez uh little blossom meckin’ uh
watermillion.”

The brothers were now perplexed and anxious to hear Billy’s story, and
when urged said he “wuz too horngry to tell ’bout hit, mus’ go home an’
git some dinner;” whereupon Jerry suggested oysters, which Billy said he
“wuz not ve’y fon’ ub, but dey wud do.” Then he gave the snipe story, as
follows:

“I wuz mus’rattin’ on de mash lars’ nite. De moon had jes’ riz, an’ de
tide wuz creepin’ in jes’ ez quiet an’ rash-nal ez uh settin’ hen. De
creek an’ de mash look so lubly, I ’gin ter muse an’ fogot ’bout de
mus’rats, an’ wuz t’inkin’ boutin uh new chune I’s learnin’ ter play,
call, ‘I Sweeps de Kitchen Clean’—when, sizz! cum uh flite ub dem snipe,
an’ dey mos’ lit on me. I reckon dey wud, but I say, ‘You better mine
yo’sef, snipe!’ Bimeby one ub ’em say ter uh frog dat wuz chawin’ uh
grasshopper not mo’n de length ub uh fence rail fum me, ‘Lubly nite, Mr.
Frog!’”

Jerry: “Now, hush! I al’ays sed dem birds wuz strange—cum ter day an’
gone ter morrow!”

[Illustration:

  Partridge Hunting at “Fairlands”—Rob Roy and Rose.
]

“Den de snipe say, ‘What sort ub frogs you bin keepin’ comp’ny wid?’
Uncle Jerry, I got so skeerd an’ cole I ain’ got warm yit.”

Uncle Caesar: “Po’ Billy! Won’ you hab ub sip ub applejack?”

“Ef you don’ t’ink I’ll get too het up.”

Uncle Caesar: “’Cose you won’!”

“Well, den, heah’s luck!”

“Sarvis ter you, Billy! Now go on ’bout dat sassy frog an’ snipe.”

“Well, de frog he say, ‘I’s uh white-bellied frog, I is! I ain’ no kin
ter toad frogs. I is uh qual’ty frog. What kounty you fum, Mr. Snipe?’”

Uncle Jerry Butler: “Now, Billy, you mean ter tell me you heahd dat
composation?”

Little Billy: “’Cose I did! Ain’ you nebber heahd uh frog talk, Uncle
Jerry?”

“No indeed, chile!”

“Dat’s kase you don’ keep quiet ’nuff. How cum dey hab sich _long tungs_
ef’n dey kyant talk? Why, heah’s uh book gib me by Mars John Charles
lars’ Chrismus, writ by (I kyant read de fus’ part ub de name, but hit
en’s wid Sop) [Aesop]. Dat pictur’ is wha de frogs is askin’ fuh uh
king.”

Uncle Jerry: “De Lawd bless meh soul, what is we ter speck nex’? Lemme
see de pictur’, Billy.”

“Well, I struck at dat frog wid meh paddle. He jes’ wink he eye, grunt,
an’ gib me sich uh curisome look, dat I got so skeered an’ cole I kyant
git wa’m; so I don’ feel peart ’nuff ter tell de res’ ub de story.”

Uncle Jerry: “Teck sum mo’ applejack, Billy; but don’ teck much, kase
hit’s applejack dat mecks you _ve’y fogitful_.”

“Dat lars’ drink mecks me feel nice an’ wa’m! Well, when de frog say,
‘What kounty you cum fum?’ de snipe say, ‘Souf Kharlina!’ Den de frog
say, “What meck you set so fur out in de mash? De mud, grass an’ bresh
is fine in heah, an’ jes’ ez wa’m ez uh tose, an’ plenty ub tussocks,
too.’ De jacksnipe say, ‘I nebber sleep er feed ’doutin I kin see all
’roun’ me. I’s got uh game leg, an’ I will tell you all erbout mehsef.
What yo’ fus’ name, Mr. Frog? Bull! Dat’s uh lubly name. Meh name is
Cap’n Jack Snipe!’”

“Mr. Frog: ‘What sorter spring you hab?’

“Cap’n Snipe: ‘Not ve’y nice. Grasshoppus an’ wumms is so sca’ce, an’ ez
I befo’ tole you, I got uh game leg an’ kyant git ’roun’ good. “All
moufs mus’ eat, but all moufs musn’ eat gravel.” Dat’s chicken an’
tukkey food, I eats wumms, grasshoppus, an’ sich like.’

“‘Well, how boutin de game leg, Cap’n? I ’gin ter think you ain’ got no
game leg.’

“‘Deed I is; an’ dat game leg cum fum fallin’ in lub. Let me tell you
fus’ what meh tase is an’ how brabe I is. I lub de juicy mash, glade an’
meadow, an’ I is feared ub nuffin ceppin hawks, owls, guns, dogs an’
mus’rats. But when I tu’ns inter uh Jack-uh-ma-lantern I ain’ feared ub
nuffin.’”

Uncle Jerry: “Billy, look at me! You sho’ dat snipe spressify dey tu’n
inter Jack-uh-ma-lanterns?”

“Cross meh hyart an’ bref.”

Uncle Jerry: “Well, den, I eat no mo’ snipe! Dat mus’ be de reason I’s
bin dreamin’ so bad.”

Little Billy: “Talkin’ ’bout dem Jack-uh-ma-lanterns meck me feel quare.
I is trimlin’ like uh aspine leaf.”

“Teck ’nubba nip, Billy, an’ try ter ’stain yo’sef tell you git th’oo
dis s’prisin’ narration.”

“Well, he say: ‘Meh name Cap’n Jack Snipe, an’ I cummand uh comp’ny ub
snipe, an’ we gwine ter summer on dis mash wid some cute young lady
snipe fum Souf Kyarlina, dat’s gwine ter mate heah, an’ ub cose, nes’.
De mus’rats don’ meck any mo’ mirations ’bout dis mash den I do. An’ de
wumms, an’ de sweet roots dat grow heah wud ’tract uh snipe fum any
State. I heahd uh woodcock say lars’ summer dat she had trabel uh good
deal, but had nebber seen sich uh mash ez Wile Goose Mash. I sleeps well
out on de mash kase I am de cap’n ub dis comp’ny ub snipe, an’ has ter
watch out. Dat’s why I ain’ shuck yo’ han’, Mr. Frog; kase I is ve’y
sociable, an’ likes frogs eben ef dey do say when he go co’tin’ he carry
uh swo’d an’ pisel by he side. Hit’s mos’ my co’tin’ time!’

“Mr. Frog: ‘When’s dat?’

“‘When de peach an’ cherry trees am bloomin’, when de bees am suckin’
clober, an’ de patridge say, “Bob White,” we gits in lub, an’ wants uh
mate. It’s ’nuff ter meck you cry, Mr. Frog, but dat’s de time I got uh
game leg. Hit wuz one lubly day early in May. I wuz sorter dozin’ ’side
uh tussock, ebery now an’ den ketchin’ uh grub wum, when I saw uh gran’
lookin’ pinter dog, gallopin’ same ez uh race hoss, cummin’ my way, an’
not fur behin’ him uh man in gum boots. Sez I ter mehsef, sez I, when
you git erboutin uh hun’erd ya’ds fum me I’ll dart ’way. Jes’ den uh
putty young lady snipe fum Firginny darted fum un’er uh nearby tussock,
winked huh lubly black eyes in de mos’ coaxin’ way, spread huh tail like
uh dear little fan.’”

Uncle Caesar: “Wan’ she uh sassy snipe?”

“‘So I say in de p’lites’ way, “Won’ you tase dis wum?” In uh moment she
stood ’side me an’ say in words mo’ sweetah dan de mockin’ birds, “I’s
got such miration fuh you I kyant resis’.” A moment later I heahd dat
gunner say, “Careful da!” I ris up. Bang! Uh number ten shot wen’ th’oo
meh thigh, an’ dat’s why I got uh game leg.’”

Uncle Jerry Butler: “Billy, I s’pose I mus’ bleebe yo’ story, kase I
heah ’em read down ter de sto’ lars’ nite, dat uh hen lay uh gole egg,
which is wussa yit. How-some-eber, I sut’ny wud lub ter ketch one ub dem
breed ub chickens uh roosin’ ’roun’ heah.”




                              NANCY YOUNG.


In Pleasant Valley, at the head of Fausley Creek, there were several
quarters, in one of which lived Nancy Young, not a stone’s throw from
the quarter of Aunt Cassey. Nancy helped in milking the cows, churning,
making butter, and at harvest time helped the cooks, but Mammy Nancy, as
the darkies called her, was virtually her own mistress, and was never
required to do hard work; in short, she was the plantation doctress, and
it was seldom that any little darkies came into the world without Mammy
Nancy’s assisting their advent. The negroes thought her inspired, and
when they had ailments Nancy made them a decoction that went to the
spot; in brief, she was well acquainted with the use of herbs. She had
faithfully nursed Mrs. Isaac Atkinson, a Quakeress and neighbor, who
imparted to her many of her secret remedies; some of these would have
enlightened a modern doctor. For example, she had a remedy for what she
called “cowbuncle,” which was almost a specific for carbuncle. Nancy
especially doted on making catnip tea, and when she held in her faithful
arms a cantankerous baby, and crooned and gave it catnip tea, “De chile
wan’ pestered no mo.’”

She was motherly, sympathetic and a born nurse, and not only attended
the servants, but nursed the ladies of the neighborhood. She was
extremely pious, and if she had not been, I do not know what would have
become of Little Billy; she was his wife.

Nancy was full of determination and spirit, and when Billy came in early
in the morning from ’possum hunting without a ’possum, she always
suspected he had been to Major Rudd’s store, and took the strong hand
with him that he took with his steers, and would not let him have his
banjo and pipe.

The earliest watermelons grew in her garden, and she had spring chicken
weeks before her neighbors. Billy was not allowed even to go into the
garden, for she was afraid he might disturb her herb patch. It did not
disturb Billy, however, who preferred his corncob pipe and banjo. Nancy
was very fond of music, and once she said to me: “Billy ain’ got no
erligion, but he do play de banjo same ez uh cherrypin” [cherubim].

Some gypsies struck their tents on the main road about a mile from
Nancy’s home, and one night a man rode up, inquired for Mammy Nancy, and
said his wife was sick. She was soon with the gypsy, who was ailing some
two weeks, and when Nancy returned she was not only a doctress, but a
firm believer in witchcraft, and could tell your fortune by looking at
your hand.

Nancy was making some bone-set and snake-root tea—Billy had the shakes,
so she said—when Billy broke the silence by asking, “Nancy, what’s de
matter wid dem hens?”

“Billy, you know uh mink skerd de hens week ’fo’ lars’, an’ ’sturbed
deah mem’ry fuh layin’. I ain’ got but eight eggs ter-day an’ none
yistiddy, so dese all we got fuh suppah.”

“Is you got de spider hot? Well, den, cut orf eight slices ub bacon an’
den we will hab uh slice ub bacon fuh each egg. Heah’s some kinlin’ wood
I picked up in Mars Pinckney’s woodpile, an’ by de time de bacon is
fryin’ good—dat is, de grease bilin’—speck me back wid fo’ catfish I
kotch in de net lars’ nite, which will keep us fum gittin’ horngry befo’
suppah time. I’m gwine ter de rebate ter-night.”

“Billy, ez I ondastan’ hit da ain’ much use gwine. Uncle Reubin, Pawson
Demby an’ Damon Danridge is on de side futto ’sterminate de witches, an’
dat fusty niggah, Jerry Jones, is fuh lettin’ de witches lib. Now I don’
kuh any mo’ fuh him dan I do fuh uh shirk! Tell me, lars’ nite at Mage
Rudd’s sto’ he spressify hissef dat he wuz so well ’quainted wid de
witches in Haylan’ Branch dat dey al’ays bow ter him when dey meet him;
an’ he say he of’n hab composation wid ’em, an’ dat dey hab de gre’tes’
condidence in him; an’ Mage Rudd say he has heahd de witches mo’n once
praisin’ him. He’s got uh bran’ new fiddle an’ bo’ dat cos’ $9, which he
made fum coon hides in one monf. De fac’ is, strange ez hit may seem,
dey won’ let nobody hunt in Haylan’ Branch ceppin Jerry. Mo’n dat, dey
tell me he said he wan’ feared ub de sponsibility ub rebatin’ by hissef;
dat de witches sass him sometimes, but fuh de mos’ part dey kine and
lubly.”

“Now, Nancy, Jerry nebba spressify dat de witches lubly.”

“Yas he did! Mo’n dat, Ceaser an’ Jerry Butler heah him, an’ dey so
pestered ’boutin dem witches ’stead ub walkin’ fum deah house thoo
Pleasant Walley ter wha dey keep deah boat on de ribba, not mo’n uh
quarter ub uh mile fum deah house, dey walks two miles ’roun’ de walley,
dey so feared dem witches ride an’ whup ’em. Hit wudn’ s’prise me ef’n
de debbil wuz ter transplant Jerry same ez de Lawd transplanted Eunuch.
Why, he’s ebin ’cused de Petracks ub lubbin’ an’ keepin’ comp’ny wid
witches. Hit’s scan’lus! Damon Danridge say dat he heah Jerry Jones say
dat Samuel de fus’ use ter let witches roos’ all erroun’ his house, an’
dat hit’s true dat Moses fell out wid uh witch an’ say, [10]”Thou shall
not suffah uh witch ter lib,” an’ he mout uh kilt ’em all, but jes’ den
Mars Noahy an’ his cullud son Ham driv up wid uh bag an’ say, “Saul, I’m
bleeged ter hab uh par ub witches fuh meh boat,” an’ Jerry ’low dat de
sponsibility resses wid Mars Noahy, de father ub dat lubly boy Ham.

“Stephen, what is de rebate ezactly? I dunno what you gwine fuh! I hab
uh gre’t mine ter meck you stay home an’ hab nuffin ter do wid witches.
How kin you go ter de rebate when da is three hens hatchin’, an’ minks
imperdent? Da is only one thing I want you ter go fuh, an’ I bin layin’
out futto tell you.

“Yistiddy mawnin’ I wuz crossin’ de road gwine ter de thicket wha dat
speckled hen name “Yaller Legs” is hatchin’—in de pile ub jack-oak brush
close ter de spring—when, lo an’ beholst! dat free niggah Jim Brooks cum
erlong. He wuz dribin’ in his kyart uh po’ leetle harf-starbed steer,
an’ I wuz jes’ thinkin’ ter mehsef, Is dat kyart movin’ er no, so slow
wuz he gwine. De truf is de leetle steer wan’ much bigger dan one ub
Mars Pinckney’s wethers. Tho’ I nebba been interjuced ter dat Jim Brooks
(me dat waits on de qual’ty), jes’ ez I cross de road dat free niggah
say ter his steer, ‘Step up, Pete, step up; an’ look out, stranger, dat
you don’ git run ober!’ Now, I cornsider dat de wus’ sort ub impotence,
an’ I wan’ you ter tell him so ef’n he is at Zion ter-night. I’m not
gwine ter stan’ hit. Ef’n he had uh par ub fars-trottin’ steers like
Uncle Simon’s, hit wud be bad ’nuff, but ter be ’sulted by dat sort ub
miration is scan’lus.”

“Well, Nancy, stay home an’ let me go ter de rebate; dem chickens’
hatchin’ is pow’ful waluble. I gib Mage Rudd five levys fuh thutty ub
dem eggs, an’ he say dat breed ub chickens cum fum Henrico County,
Firginny, an’ once lay uh gole egg; so ub cose dey wuf watchin’ day an’
nite. Mo’n dat, I am one ub de arbiters, an’ I won’ let dat imperdent
free niggah Jim Brooks dat ’sulted you cum in Zion, ef’n hit breck up de
rebate. I holp ter meck de brick fuh dat chuch, an’ I sut’ny got some
sponsibility in de matter.”

“Well, Billy, when you spressify yo’sef dat way, ez de moon is so young,
an’ hit so dark, I will stay home.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, which
Nancy opened and exclaimed, “Bless meh soul an’ body, an’ body an’ soul,
ef’n hit ain’ young Mistis! Why, honey, howdy; an’ wha you bin?”

“Mammy Nancy, one of Father’s ewes died in February and left a dear
little lamb. I took it to the house, fed it from a bottle, and it became
like Mary’s little lamb—everywhere that I went the lamb was sure to go.
Early this morning I started out to get the first spring flowers. After
I had walked about a mile I heard Snow Flake bleating, and looking back
saw her gambolling after me. When I passed the fold a hundred or more of
beautiful leaping lambs romped around her, and soon my sweet Snow Flake
seemed to forget me and skipped and played with the other lambs. I felt
that I would be a wolf to take that lamb from the flock; and yet, Mammy
Nancy, I love that little lamb so much. And, oh! how I have watched and
tended it! Finally I walked to your spring, sat down and cried, and then
I felt thirsty; and when I looked for the gourd that hangs on the nail
in the pine tree it was gone. So I have come for the gourd.”

“Dat’s Billy’s carlesomeness; dar’s de gourd, honey, in de watah bucket.
Miss Marg’retta, you looks ez sweet ez dem flowers dat’s reposin’ on yo’
bres’. I bin heahin’ erbout you. Dey tell me de bows jes’ cum in drobes
futto see you. De fac’ is, you is mo’ beau’ful an’ beau’ful ev’y day.
Dey tells me dat de young marsters cum fum Balt’mo’ ter see you;
how-some-eber, I heah dat Mars John Charles Dickinson, fum Queens Anne’s
County, is yo’ favorite. He! He! He! Dat’s what Miss Osman say. Got uh
new ring on yo’ fingah, too; but Ole Mars ain’ gwine ter let you merry
anybody ceppin uh Pres’dent er sompin’ like dat. Chile, lemmy tell yo’
fortune?”

[Illustration:

  Courtesy Knaffl Bros., Knoxville, Tenn.

  You gwine ter merry uh king an’ hab thutteen chillun!
]

“All right, Mammy Nancy.”

“Do you wan’ uh long fortune er uh short fortune?”

“Well, a short one to-day and to-morrow I will come and get the long
one.”

“Mistis, I will teck yo’ lef’ han’ ter-day. How does you keep yo’ han’s
so white an’ dimpled? Dar’s many uh one ub dem young men dat fox hunts
wid Ole Mars dat wud gib deah hyarts ter hole dis han’; deed dey wud.
One, two, three, fo’ five, six, sebin, eight, nine, ten, ’lebin, twelbe,
thutteen. Yo’ gwine ter merry uh king an’ hab thutteen chillun. Billy,
go out an’ see how dem hens is hatchin’.”

When Billy was sent out Margaretta thought it was going to be a long
fortune, so she switched the conversation off and said, “Has Billy got
religion? We haven’t heard of his being at Major Rudd’s store of late,
fiddling and banjo playing.”

Nancy said, “Billy goes ter Mr. Dawson’s sto’ now, uh mile fudder up de
rode, futto sell his eggs, mus’rat hides an’ coon hides. You see Mage
Rudd fell out wid Billy, an’ ’twuz all uh accident. It wuz dis way: Fus’
place Mage Rudd sol’ Billy some eggs dat cos’ 2 cents uh piece. He say
dat de breed ub chickens dat dey cum fum once laid uh gole egg. Well,
Billy’s eggs all hatched ducks. Billy wuz furisome, an’ wen’ right ’way
ter Mage Rudd’s sto’, but he got sich uh way ub twissin’ his tongue dat
he twiss out ub it by sayin’ dat somebody swap eggs wid Billy. Cose den
I molested him boutin dem duck eggs, an’ he say, ‘Nancy, I hab got uh
ve’y fine new lantern fuh sale, an’ I wan’ ter sell you one.’ Sez I,
‘Why; I’s got uh good lantern.’ ‘Well,’ sez he, ‘Billy’s so black you
wan’ uh fus’-class lantern ter stick outin de winder in de mawnin’ ter
see ef’n day is broke!’ Now, qual’ty people wud nebba talk dat way, an’
dat’s what made Billy skeer dem frogs ub Mage Rudd’s.”

“Well, what did Billy do?”

“Well, Mage Rudd had uh empty mullasses barrel in front ub de sto’, an’
de flies wuz swa’min’ erroun’ hit same ez uh swa’m ub bees, an’ Mage
Rudd’s toad-frogs wuz almos’ ez thick ez de flies, an’ dey wuz ketchin’
de flies same ez de debbil ketches sinnahs.

“Well, ’twuz erboutin sundown when Billy cum erlong an’ seed dem flies
an’ frogs. So he got uh piece ub ole rope, hide hissef ’hine de barrel,
an’ den he twiss dat rope thoo de grass ezactly like uh snake. De frogs
dat wan’ full ub flies an’ cud jump went all ober dat sto’, in de
butter, mullasses, sugar, brakin’ eggs, lamp chimneys, nockin’ down
bottles, an’ wussa still, dey jumped ’roun’ Mage Rudd’s ole maiden
sistuh’s feets an’ ankles, tell she tuck up huh dress like she gwine
wadin’. Mars Pinckney say she mussa tho’t de frogs wuz _garter_ snakes.
But de mos’ ’stressin’ part ub all wuz de frogs dat wuz full ub flies
an’ cudn’ hop; dey los’ deah mines—bellerd an’ wep’, wep’ an’ bellered
wuss dan uh pon’ full ub horngry calves. Uh big frog pon’ wuz nuffin ter
hit.

“Mage Rudd ’low he didn’ keer fuh de flies, er de things dat wuz
’stroyed in de sto’, but he did keer _fuh dem frogs_; dat he wuz uh
widderer, wid no chillun, an’ summer ebenin’s dem frogs ’mused him; an’
lars, but not leas’, dat he wuz keepin’ dat rope _fuh Billy_, an’ when
he kotch him he wud meck him jump leap frog.”

Billy fully intended going to the debate, but on his way he met a lot of
coon hunters, forgot the debate and returned to his quarter about
daylight, when he explained matters to Mammy Nancy. She said, “You
shan’t hab yo’ pipe fuh uh monf.” Whereupon Billy, to melt Mammy Nancy,
tuned his banjo, twanged it and sang:

              “Didn’ my Lawd d’liver Daniel?
                D’liver Daniel, d’liver Daniel.
              Didn’ my Lawd d’liver Daniel?
                An’ why not ev’y man.

              “He d’liver’d Daniel fum de lions’ den,
                Jo-nah fum de belly ub de whale,
              An’ de He-boo chillun fum de fiery furnace,
                An’ why not ev’y man.

              “De win’ blows Eas’ an’ de win’ blow Wes’;
                It blows like de judgment day,
              An’ ev’y po’ soul dat nebba did pray
                Will be glad ter pray dat day.”

When Billy had finished singing Nancy said, “I reckon you kin hab yo’
pipe, Billy, ef’n you promise ter jine de chuch.” And Billy promised
“ter jine.”




                        MARS PINCKNEY’S ’SIMMONS


 De chickens all hab gone ter roos’, de milkin’s almos’ ober;
 I heah de hooppo-will’s loud song, de rabbits in de clober,
 De ’possum gittin’ out ub bed, de coon he ’gin ter wake,
 An’ one, er bof, in Haylan’ Branch, I specks ter obertake.

 Da ain’ no moon, de stars is brite, de ’simmons ripe an’ sweet—
 De ve’y night fuh Traveler ter sent uh varment’s feet;
 Befo’ de roostus crow hit’s day, an’ ’fo’ de Bob White stir,
 I no I’ll heah de lubly tongue ub meh dog Traveler.

 Jes’ ez I harked him in de branch, an’ wa’k ’long de parf,
 I seed de bushes moobin’, an’ I heahd uh leetle larf;
 ’Twuz den de dog cum ter de tree an’ made uh monstus fuss,
 An’ what wuz in dat ’simmon tree wuz wuss dan scanalous.

 At fus’ I tho’t hit wuz uh owl, but coon dogs don’ tree owls,
 An’ Traveler wuz too skeer’d ter bark, ’twuz jes’ uh stream ub howls;
 So den I look up in de tree, an’ settin’ ’pon uh lim’,
 Wuz uh cunnin’ leetle niggah, sorter hummin’ ub uh hymn.

 I saw ’twuz leetle Ezzy feedin’ on dem ’simmons ripe—
 De night befo’ he’d tole “De composation ub de snipe;”
 He al’ays spressify hissef in sech uh cutesome way
 Dat ev’ybody lubbed him, an’ bleebe what Billy say.

 So I didn’ wan’ ter ’stress him, but meck bleebe I did,
 An’ said, “Fum Caesar’s quarters hencefof you is fuhbid;”
 An’ den dat leetle roscal say he didn’ cuh fuh me,
 “Dese is Mars Pinckney’s ’simmons, an’ Mars Pinckney’s ’simmon tree.”

 I tole him ef’n I had uh ax I’d cut de fruit tree down,
 An’ ef he fell an’ breck he neck when he struck on de groun’
 Hit wouldn’ ’stress me any, kase you t’ink yo’sef so wise,
 An’ you de sort ub niggah dat de Babtis’ chuch dispise.




                              “DEM DAYS.”


“Is this Uncle Stephen Demby?”

“Yas, honey; dat’s meh name! I jes’ got in fum crabbin’. Lemmy put meh
paddles un’er de house ter keep dese carelessom’ gre’t-gran’chillun ub
mine fum fin’in’ ’em. Dem two gals, Marfy an’ Muhtilda, out da in de
watah sorf crabbin’ is meh gran’chillun. An’ jes’ look at dem two boys
er ridin’ dat cow ub Mars Pinckney’s; dem is meh gre’t-gran’chillun, an’
dey monstus bad. (Ef’n you don’ git of’n dat cow I’ll whup you till da
ain’ no bref in you!) Dar’s three ub dem boys, an’ dey name Stephen,
Saul an’ Bonypart, an’ like ez not de one name Bonypart is ridin’ dat
cow’s calf. Deah gre’t-gran’mammy gibs ’em too much cawn bred, an’ hit
natchelly puts noshuns in deah haids.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yas’um; but de road don’ go no fudder. You’r sho’ly on de rong road,
chile; dat’s de road ter de Royal Oak, an’ de road you on is wha dey bin
haulin’ oyster shells, ter fix de road you lef’.”

[Illustration:

  Dem two gals, Marthy an’ Muhtilda, out da in de watah sorf crabbin’ is
    meh gran’chillun.
]

“Uncle Stephen, I know exactly where I am, and I have come to see you,
and want you to tell me all about Talbot County before the war, so that
I can put it in my magazine.”

“Well, bless meh soul an’ body, an’ meh body an’ soul. Heh! heh! heh!
Jes’ speckin’, I reckon, futto see Mars Pinckney ’roun’ heah; I’m sho’
he bin meckin’ ’mirations at yer. Uh foxhoun’ don’ lub uh fox hunt mo’
dan de ladies ’roun’ heah lub Mars Pinckney, an’ I heah Mars John
Charles Tilghman say ter ole Mars Nickey, ‘He is ez hainsome ez de son
ub King Dabid-Ab-so-lum, dat got kilt by uh mule.’ Mules wuz ornry in
dem days. Now, how you gwine ter put Talbot County in yo’ mag’zine? You
jes’ tezin’ po’ ole Stephen. You see I’s al’ays libbed wid de qual’ty,
an’ ain’ easy ter fool. Now, you sho’ly ain’ got uh mag’zine?”

“Indeed I have, dear Uncle Stephen.”

“Well, what we gwine ter cum ter. Ef’n meh dear ole Missis had ebin seed
one ub huh chillun ridin’ on one ub dem one-wheel t’ings she’d uh tuck
an’ spanked huh an’ kep’ huh in bed fuh two weeks; but ter t’ink ub uh
lubly young mistis like you is, habin’ uh mag-zine—chile, I is libbed
too long. It’s mos’ ez bad ez ghoses an’ witches.”

“Uncle Stephen, don’t you think I could manage a magazine and put the
nicest sort of stories in it?”

“Well, den, what good it gwine ter do you? I wish de one dat ’sploded at
Petersbu’g had nuffin in it but stories. Why, honey, it blowed up an’
kilt fo’ thousan’ mules, an’ I dunno how many millions ub solders, an’
de good Lawd only nose how many plantations. Is you got uh pa? Well,
chile, you will twiss yo’ po’ pa’s feelin’s sum ub dese days ornless you
stop playin’ wid mag-zines.”

“Why, Uncle Stephen, you are too old to have been a soldier in the civil
war.”

“Indeed I wuz, honey, an’ I wuz skeer’d stiff! You see dey tuck me ter
Easton, gib me toddy, ’fused me, an’ ’swaded me ter go. I’s got uh
pension, fuh I drobed uh fo’-hoss mule team fuh six monfs. I didn’ keah
fuh de wah; fac’ is, I kep’ ’way fum de battlefields. I wud uh bin uh
exerter, but wuz fear’d ter ezert! So I jes’ had ter pine fuh ole mars,
ole miss, an’ Sookey. Sookey’s meh wife, an’ she al’ays wid ’em. She use
ter look fuh ole mars’ specks, an’ keep de flies of’n ole miss.”

“Uncle Stephen, my magazine is a kind of book that comes out every month
and has pretty stories in it, and they tell me that you can tell a
pretty story.”

“Heh! heh! heh! mistis, I al’ays know’d I wuz uh qual’ty niggah.”

[Illustration:

  Deah gre’t gran’ mammy gibs ’em too much cawn-bred, an’ hit natchelly
    puts noshuns in deah haids.
]

“So I have brought you a nice bundle of tea, tobacco, and a new straw
hat, for I want you to tell me all about yourself and something about
Talbot County before the war.”

“Well, I s’pose dey name books arfter mag’zines, kase dey big soun’in’
t’ings? I’s pow’ful bleeged ter you fuh de tea, ’baccy an’ de hat. I’ll
hab ter teck dis sweet blue ban’ of’n de hat, kase it will skeer de fish
an’ keep ’em fum bitin’. You mus’ be fum de Souf?”

“No, I am from the North.”

“Well, you mus’ uh had uh mammy fum de Souf, den.”

“Maybe, Uncle Stephen. And now tell me something about the Eastern Shore
of Maryland, Talbot County, before the war.”

“Well, hunny, I cum outin’ uh fambly dat lib wha you see dem tall elm,
hoss chestnut an’ big oak trees. De place name Otwell. I wuz bo’n da—and
so wuz meh fava an’ his fava. Meh fava’s name wuz Phil Demby, an’ Pawson
Demby, de ’stinguis’ Babtis preecher, is meh brudder, an’ name arfter
meh fava. None of my fambly wuz free niggahs, er ’longed ter po’ white
trash. My muvva she named Phillis. Dey called huh Arnt Phillis; an’ she
libbed at Otwell, an’ wuz Mars Nickey’s favorite cook. All de niggahs on
dat plantation slep’ wid sheets on deah beds. Mars Nickey didn’ hab, an’
he wouldn’ hab no common niggahs. When de oberseers cum ter de po’ch ter
git deah orders, dey al’ays stood wid deah haids unkivvered, rain er no
rain; dey know’d deah place. An’ Chrismus Ole Mars gib all de serbents
toddy, but ef’n dey get tipsy, he whup ’em sho’! Meh muvva, Phillis, wuz
de fus’ cook at Otwell. Chile, she wuz uh cook! but one ub de slow-paced
sort. Nowdays dey cook uh ham in fo’ hours; dem days it tuck meh muvva
two days, an’ dem wuz Mars Nickey’s orders.

“How-some-eber ev’yt’ing wuz slow in dem days. Dey use ter teck uh gre’t
big silver tank dat hilt boutin uh gallon, er mebby two gallons, an’
fill it wid mint julip, an’ it had two gre’t big han’les jes’ like ram’s
hohns on de sides. An’ Saul an’ Damon—dey wuz de house serbents—dey meck
de julips (I use ter holp when dey ve’y busy, an’ tase de julip an’ see
ef’n it sweet nuff), an’ when de gemmen cum in fum fox hun’in’, Saul an’
Damon wud pars ’roun’ de tank; an’ _you kyant tell how slow dey wud
drink fum dat tank_. An’ when dinner time cum it tuck ’em boutin fo’
hours, sometimes mo’n fo’, an’ sometimes all nite futto eat dinner. Dey
riz bees, an’ dey meck peach brandy, an’ dey drink what you call peach
an’ honey. How cum dey don’ drink peach an’ honey dese days? Why, de
ve’y bref ub it mecks you feel nice.

“Fo’ de wah all de hom’ny wuz bet in uh gre’t big morter; de hom’ny dey
mecks nowdays is nuffin ter hit. All de wheat wuz cut wid uh cradle, an’
when dey all in uh row swingin’ deah cradles, sayin’ nuffin an’ lookin’
so full ub condidence, it remin’ you ub de fus’ ub de flood tide in de
creek—mus’ go on. Uncle Reuben al’ays tuck de haid row. Swing he cradle
same ez Sampson. Steambo’ts cum once uh week dem days, an’ dey tuck all
day ter cum, an’ dey stay all nite, an’ go ’way nex’ mawnin’. Now dey
cum in fo’ hours, an’ fo’ er five uh day.

“People ebin dance slower dem days; use ter dance de min-e yet. Mars
Tilghman co’tin’ Mis Henrietta, an’ he bow ter huh same ez uh tall
poplar when de win’ blow hyard; an’ ez fuh Miss Henrietta, she jes’ ez
graceful ez uh putty kitten, an’ stylish ez uh unbroken thurrybred colt.
Ef’n de flo’ had uh bin kivverd wid de hunard-leaf roses, an’ she wuz uh
dancin’, she wudn’ mash one. Many uh time, thoo de wintah, I’b seed ’em
dance. I’d bin de haid waitah at ‘Otwell’ ef’n I hadn’ bin so waluble
futto breck de steers an’ colts. Ole Mars’ he had de gre’tes’ confluence
in meh ’rasity, an’ I wuz al’ays ’roun’ de kitchen, kase, ez I befo’
tole you, meh Muvva Phillis de haid cook. Mam Juby, she de secon’ cook,
and ’sis’ mammy.

“Why, hunny, ebin de peaches an’ watahmillions wuz bigger dem deys, kase
dey didn’ grow up so fars; dey tuck deah time; an’ ez fuh oysters an’
fish, why dem days you cud walk out in dat cobe not fudder dan yo’ nees,
an’ git all de oysters you wan’, an’ set rite at dat stake an’ pull in
de fish tell you go ’stracted, an’ de wile ducks quackin’ all ’roun’
you. Dat’s de stake Leetle Billy wuz uh fishin’ at when de shirk pull
him ove’bode. Leetle Billy wuz uh ornry niggah, al’ays playin’ de
fiddle, mus’rattin’, tellin’ ghose stories, fishinin’ on Sunday, an’
dancin’. Mo’n dat, he nebber ’longed ter de chuch, an’ it wan’ no use
ter talk ter him. How-some-eber, ev’ybody liked Billy; al’ays peart,
al’ays hab ’baccy in he pocket, an’ gib lib’ly. Billy wuz uh qua’ chap;
he wan’ lazy, but he didn’ lub hyard wuck. Well, he tied he bote at _dat
ve’y stake_, an’ jes’ fuh fun, befo’ de tide tu’n an’ de fish bite, he
put uh gre’t big sorf crab on he hook, flung de bait out, tied de line
’roun’ he leg, tuck his fiddle out an’ ’mence ter play jigs an’ sich
like. Bimeby he wen’ uh sleep, an’ uh shirk cum ’long an’ tuck dat bait,
pulled po’ Billy ove’bode, an’ Billy wen’ uh skeetin’, bobbin’ up an’
down like uh passel ub ’scovey ducks bavin’ deah sef, an’ prayin’ fas’
ez he cud git de watah fum he mouf. Billy say he wuz jes’ prayin’ dat de
fiddle wudn’ git los’, but Cap’n Stitchberry sez he nebba heahd uh
moanah pray mo’ pow’ful. Mo’n dat, ef’n Cap’n Stitchberry hadn’ cum
’long in he pungy wid uh load ub oyster shells, an’ kotch Billy when he
wuz fai’ly sailin’ ’long, de shirk wud hab ’stroyed Billy. Mars Innis
Randolph says, ‘Dey kyant tell whedder de niggah wuz uh fishinin’ er de
fish wuz uh niggerin’.’ Dat’s de way people gits talked boutin dat
fishes on Sunday.

[Illustration:

  I’d bin de haid waitah at “Otwell” ef’n I hadn’ bin so waluble futto
    breck de steers an’ colts. Ole Mars had de gret’s confluence in meh
    ’rasity.
]

“Dem days dear ole Mars Nickey had seben sons, an’ dey all wen’ Souf in
de wah; all got kilt ’ceppin’ Mars Pinckney, name arfter uh Bishop, an’
he wuz de wiles’ an’ de gayes’, an’ he didn’ git uh scratch. Dem chillun
gittin’ kilt, wid _me_ leabin’ Ole Mars, meck him seck an’ breck his
hyart. (’Skuse dese teahs, young mistis!) So he died! Meh pappy Demby
use ter ’long ter Mars Nickey’s fava, an’ dribe de fo’-in-han’ an’ rid’
’hine in de saddle when Mars Nickey drobe in de gig. Bof ub ’em wuz name
Nickey, an’ he wuz de fif’ Nickey dat wuz bo’n at Otwell. I heah Leetle
Billy say dat he heah Mars Tilghman say dat he heah Mr. Stevens say—de
man dat use ter run Mars Nickey’s win’ mill—dat de fus’ Mars Nickey cum
ober de bay wid uh man name Klumbus, an’ dey ’scover Talbot Kounty. Dat
wuz in de time ub de Petracks. [Patriarchs.]

“Dem days dey had what you call gigs. ’Cose you nebber saw one ub dem
ole-time gigs. Well, you almos’ had ter git up in ’em wid uh leetle
ladder, dey so tall an’ stylish. Dey wuz fuh two hosses tandy, one in de
shaf’, de udder in de lead. Dat’s de way dey wen’ co’tin’, an’ dey wo’
silk stockin’s, an’ no pants, ’ceppin’ ter deah knees. Pappy say
ev’ything wuz slow in dem days, ’ceppin’ de race hosses, foxhoun’s, an’
de young; an’ de ole marsters, dey luck so peart an’ ’squisit’ in deah
silk coats an’ socks, silk all ober, dat de young ladies cudn’ resis’
’em. Dem days som’times dey had three er four wibes. One mistis hardly
hab de hunnysuccle growin’ ober huh grabe ’fo’ dey git annurr wife. I
had five wibes mehsef. Heh! Heh! Heh!

“When Pawson Demby, meh brudder, got ’ligion, den I got ’ligion. ’Fo’
dat I use ter ride race hosses, an’ me an’ Mrs. Rodgers’ Ned, an’ Mars
Nickey’s Big Billy (you see dey had two Billys, an’ dey use ter call one
Big Billy an’ de udder Leetle Billy) use ter play de fiddle, an’ two
waitahs fum Myrtle Grobe, Hesakiah Sprouts an’ John Poney, use ter play
de flute an’ banjo, an’, hunny, people use ter cum fum Kyarline an’
Qweens Anne’s County futto heah us play, ‘Wha You Gwine, Sistah Sue?’
‘Rosin de Bow,’ ‘Debbil ’mong de Tailors,’ ‘Yaller Cow,’ an’ sich like.

[Illustration:

  SCIPIO JONAS JONES AND NIMROD.
]

“Meh deah chile, I cud tell you heap mo’ ’boutin dem days; but when I
look ober da—Ole Mars’ gone, all de hoss ches’nut, elms an’ poplars (dey
call dem Lombardy poplars) dead—de apple an’ de peach archard ’stroyed
wid age, de cobe wha dey use ter swim de hosses so shaller dat uh kildee
kin wa’k ’cross, an’ wussa yit, de man what wuz wonce uh oberseer
libbin’ in de ole house, how you ’speck I feel? An’ much ez I lub de ole
place, I’s ’fear’d ter go da; fuh dey tell me Leetle Billy plays de
fiddle an’ dances in de yard sometimes, an’ he bin dead six monfs nex’
harves’. Ef’n I hadn’ preserbation in meh hyart, an’ ’long ter de chuch,
I’d be ’fear’d ter lib heah. Do you ’long ter de chuch? Ef’n you don’
git salbation rite ’way, den yo’ mag’zine will bloom jes’ like de
blossoms on dem crabapple trees, an’ you will long fuh de chuch jes’ ez
much ez uh hen longs fuh huh los’ chickens. Ef’n I hadn’ jine de chuch
I, tu, mout be uh ghose like po’ Billy—he died fum eatin’ tu much
watahmillion he stole—an’ I mout uh bin wid him.

“Ef’n Ole Mars wuz libbin’ dem crabapple trees wud hab uh new fence
’roun’ dem. Das wha’ he burried Cicero, he favorite p’inter dog. Hunny,
I will nebber fogit dat name; I recommember it jes’ ez well ez I
recommember yistiddy. All de niggahs in de mansion call him Cis, an’ it
meck Ole Mars ’stracted. He stan’ us all, young an’ ole, leetle an’ big,
Aunt Phillis, tu, all in uh line, befo’ de po’ch, an’ he say: ‘Dem me,
ef’n I don’ sell you all ter Georgy ef’n you don’ stop callin’ dat dog
Cis. He’s uh gre’t dog, an’ name arfter uh gre’t man; I won’ hab it. I
will wuck de plantation wid free niggahs ’fo’ I hab it.’ An’ he tell de
leetle niggahs dey kyant play ’roun’ de po’ch fuh uh monf ef’n dey don’
learn ter call dat dog Cicero. Den he meck us all say arfter him,
C-i-c-e-r-o, C-i-c-e-r-o, C-i-c-e-r-o—Cicero!

“When he wuz uh young dog, boutin two year ole, Ole Mars cum fum
partridge shootin’ one day, an’ all de dogs jump out de wagon at de
po’ch ’ceppin’ Cicero; he wuz almos’ tu tired an’ sleepy ter mobe. But
when Mammy Phillis call him he got hongry rite ’way; jump out an’ struck
he haid ’gin de iron scraper dey teck de mud of’n deah boots wid, an’
kill hissef. Hongry an’ thusty ez Ole Mars wuz, he wep’! An’ he say, ‘I
wan’ you an’ Reubin ter dig uh grabe un’er dem crabapple trees, an’ in
de mawnin’ we will burry him.’ An’ so de nex’ mawnin’ Uncle Reubin an’ I
wuz stan’in’ by de grabe meddowtatin’, an’ heah wuz me, heah wuz Uncle
Reubin, an’ heah wuz Cis. Pres’ny Marster cum an’ put Cis in de grabe,
an’ I thowd uh spade full ub uth on Cis; an’ Uncle Reubin riz up his
haid, an’ he say, ‘Mars Nickey, ain’ you gwine ter say nuffin?’ An’ Mars
Nickey he luck like his hyart wud breck, an’ he say ‘Nuffin, Reubin!’
Den Uncle Reubin thowd in uh spade full ub uth, lean on he shovel an’
sorter whispuh like, ‘Den I will say he wuz uh good _ole_ dog!’

“Marster’s favorite dogs wuz houn’s; he lub ’em so he nebber low you ter
call uh houn’ uh dog. An’ he had seben hosses dat done nuffin but hunt
ober dem dogs; an’ dey _wuz_ hosses, fuh it tuck uh hoss ub qual’ty ter
kerry him; he wuz uh pow’ful man. Fus’ you read de Bible, hunny, boutin
de time King Dabid wuz all dress up in his new nuniform an’ whup de
Flistins, an’ den teck uh look at Ole Mars’ pictur, you sho’ly wud think
King Dabid favo’d Ole Mars, he so hainsome; an’ Mars Pinckney de ve’y
spit ub him! When Mars Nickey git on he hun’in’ close he glitter jes’
same ez uh star! Yaller wes’ (yaller wuz he favorite color), no pants
’ceppin’ ter de nees, an’ dey yaller; an’ green welwet cote—bless meh
soul an’ body, an’ meh body an’ soul, he look jes’ like King Solomon
mus’ uh look when he wen’ struttin’ arfter annurr wife. An’ when he blow
he hohn an’ you heah de houn’s moanin’ an’ Jedge Kyarmichael’s, Mars
Lloyd’s, Kun’l Winders, an’ Mars Tilghman’s an’ all de qual’ty dogs
cummin’ troo de cawn fields almos’ nockin’ down de cawn, an’ all ub ’em
carryin’ uh chune, chile you’d almos’ wish yo’sef uh houn’! Yas, indeed,
hunny, dem wuz days futto recommember. An’ sich hosses Ole Mars had; dey
jes’ jump an’ hunt. Da ain’ no hosses dese days like de hosses dem days.
Fuh instinct, like Don Won, Black Nite, Jew-drap, Junius, Fanny Esler,
an’ Sky Lark. Jes’ cum in meh quarter an’ I’ll show de pictur ub dem
hosses. I done lef’ ’em ter Mars Pinckney when I die; you see, I wan’
ter keep ’em in de fambly.

“Mars Nickey had he quare ways, tu, jes’ like udder people. Fuh
instinct, he wud nebber lite he cigah fum uh match, al’ays fum uh cole
uh fire, stuck on uh fork; an’ I lub ter tote de fork ter him—sho’ futto
gimmy uh levy. When he shabe he nebber look at uh glass; jes’ wa’k all
’roun’ de room meddowtatin’ an’ shabin’, an’ shabin’ an’ meddowtatin’,
kase he wo’ no whiskus, an’ ’spise uh beard. One time I nebber will
fogit; Mars Jimmy cum fum Woodstock, had his fiddle in de kerridge an’
wuz full ub peartness. He wuz dribin’ Robbin an’ Red Bird tandy
togedda—jes’ cum futto see he pa—an’ tho’t he wuz ve’y fine wid uh
mustache on he lip. Ole Mars wuz in uh fine umuh, wid uh barsket full ub
mushrooms on he ahms, but when he see dat mustache on Mars Jimmy, he
say, cussin: “You kyant lite tell you cut dat hyah orf.”

“I recommember one thing mo’ I fogot. Ef you wants ter git uh good view
ub de ribber, an’ be tu fur fum de house ter heah Billy’s fiddle, jes’
teck dat parf, an’ hit’s uh nice leetle wa’k ter dat grobe ub cedar
trees, an’ when you gits da you will see what’ll s’prise you. Ole
Marster lubbed ev’yt’ing dat wuz good—an’ da’s wha he burried he good
an’ favorite foxhoun’s. I kyant read, but I nose ev’y name on dem
_houn’s toomstone poses_. He nebber done anyt’ing ’dout hit rashnal, an’
he sho’d dat ’sponsibility when he name he foxhoun’s. Lite-foot wuz uh
booful houn’; neck almos’ ez long ez uh goose’s, an’ sich long, sorf
ears, gre’t big brown eyes, an’ sech uh signifyin’ ’spression ’bout he
haid, dat when he los’ de sent, an’ bay an’ look at de sky, hit made yer
raal sad. He wuz so swif’ an’ nimble dat he skeercely tech de uth, an’
hardly bresh de jewdraps fum de clober.

“Chimes had uh tongue dat wuz ez sweet ez uh _martingale’s_, same ez uh
bell. Jefferson wuz uh gran’ feller, white all ober, ’ceppin’ uh yaller
spot on he lef’ side, not much bigger dan uh new moon. He wuz ve’y
stylis’ an’ clean, ’pear’d like he wuz dressup all de time. He wuz ez
brabe ez Mars Pinckney, an’ ez gentle ez uh lam’—’ceppin’ uh _black_ dog
cum ’long; den da wuz trubble. Mars Nickey didn’ like nuffin _black_
hissef, ’ceppin’ de niggahs, so he ’cided ter hab no mo’ black houn’s er
black sheep on de plantation, all fuh de lub ub _Jefferson_.

“But Ole Mars had one houn’ he lub mos’; he wan’ so pow’ful fas’, but he
wuz al’ays true. Ef de sent wuz cole, er ef’n it wuz uh los’ sent, you’d
heah ’em say, ‘Wait tell Jerry cum ’long, he will pick it up;’ an’ de
young an’ de ole houn’s had condidence in him, an’ ’spected him. His
name wuz Jerry-Myah, an’ Ole Mars say he gib him dat name kase
Jerry-Myah wuz uh profit.”




                           DAT CHRISMUS CAKE.


    Scipio Jones say dey gwine ter hab uh cake walk
    An’ uh hus’in’ Mars John’s cawn—it wuz ev’ybody’s talk,
    So dey ’pinted uh cummittee ter ’quire ’bout de cake
    Ter be raal sho’ dat Scipio wuz makin’ no mustake.

    He al’ays foun’ out ev’yt’ing, an’ yet he wuz no good,
    An’ ef’n he tried ter tell de truf, wuz nebber ondastood;
    Fuh de ghoses an’ de witches he lubbed ter talk erbout
    Wuz al’ays in de cow’s hohns when udder people out.

    De cummittee went uh ’quirin’ an’ dey foun’ dat Sistuh Chew
    Had tole de plum-cake secret ter only one er two;
    An’ Scipio he lis’en while she milk de cows an’ say
    Dat Mistis gwine ter meck uh cake dat’s walked fuh Chrismus Day.

    So Mistis mixed de Chrismus cake an’ fill it full ub plums,
    An’ Scipio look in de stobe an’ stuck in it his thum’s.
    De heat wuz so ornple’sant an’ bu’n dat roscal so
    He scream an’ cry, “Aunt Phillis cool de thum’s ub Scipio.”

    When Mistis saw de Chrismus cake an’ heahd ’bout dem thum’s
    She say, “Dat niggah Scipio shan’t ebin hab de crum’s;”
    An’ when dat walk wuz ober you cud see rite on he face—
    Don’ stick yo’ thum’s in plum cake an’ git yo’sef disgrace.

    Da ain’ no use ub talkin’; it’s al’ays out ub place
    Ter stick yo’ thum’s in anyt’ing ter ebin git uh tase—
    Ornless you bin inwited, an’ den it’s al’ays bes’
    Ter wait an’ hab cool fingahs an’ eat wid all de res’.




                          WHEN SAUL RUN ERWAY.


Miss Marg’retta wuz ve’y fon’ ub Saul, an’ when he run erway hit ’stress
huh pow’ful. Uh showman cum ’long wid uh circus an’ ’swaded po’ Saul ter
go. Miss Marg’retta teach him ter read an’ rite, kase da wuz
recommembrances clustah’d ’roun’ Saul’s mammy dat made Miss Marg’retta
fon’ ub de chile. Lars’ week I had uh lettah fum de po’ boy, rote fum
Balt’mo’. Mars Pinckney red hit fuh me, an’ hit say dat when de circus
got ter Balt’mo’ de showman sot him ter wuck feedin’ de snakes. Saul’s
letter spressify dat he lef’ dat circus in uh run! Saul al’ays wuz
smart. He! He! He! Ef’n he had fed dem snakes, he mite bin ’flicted like
Uncle Snake-bit Jim.

Arfter uh few days Saul say he got de place ub waitah on uh tugboat; uh
nice place, but de lettah say he wuz so sad an’ lonesom’ he wuz mos’
dead. (’Skuse meh cryin’, Muhtilda.) He say he misses de ribber so—de
cluckin’ hens, crowin’ roostus, de calbes moanin’ fuh deah ma’s, de
sweet little skippin’ lam’s an’ de singin’ birds—but he say he mos’ miss
Mars Nickey’s houn’s, an’ dat he will nebber refuse ter hunt fuh hens’
nesses fuh he aunty ef’n he kin git home, but he sho’ Ole Mars won’ let
his foot tech Woodstock.

Fus’ I tho’t ub gwine ter Ole Mistis, but she so sad I ’cided not ter
trubble huh. Muhtilda, she will nebber git ober de deaf ub Mars Francis.
Ev’y day befo’ he died she teck uh barsket on huh ahm, pahr cissers in
huh han’, an’ go ter de gyarden befo’ de jewdraps of’n de flowers, an’
wid dem cissers she wud cut wiolets, heal’trope, ’benas, sweet-lizziums,
roses an’ udder sweet flowers, tell de barsket full. Den Mistis wud meck
’em in bokays, an’ meck me ty ’em wid lamp wick. You see hit’s sorf, an’
don’ squench de flowers. Dem days I had ter put one ub de bokays in ev’y
room, but dese days she don’ hab no bokays; jes’ puts all dem flowers
ev’y mawnin’ on Mars Francis’ grabe.

Whenebber I tho’t ub po’ Saul meh hyart got sick; ’pears ter me ’twuz
sick all de time. So I wa’k up an’ down de gyarden prayin’ sorf ter
mehsef, thinkin’ an’ thinkin’, so I ’cluded ter see Ole Mars, an’ bine
meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ wen’ ter see Ole Mars erboutin Saul. He
wuz gwine fox huntin’, wuz settin’ in de hall, Damon wuz puttin’ on he
spuhs, when I wa’k in, made uh curchysy an’ cummenc’ ter cry an’ limp.
Ole Mars lif’ up he hainsome face an’ say:

“Well, Sookey, what’s de matter?”

[Illustration:

  So I bine meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ wen’ ter see Ole Mars boutin
    Saul.
]

I say, “I heahd fum Saul; it meck me so ’stressed an’ po’ly, Marster. He
say he so rejected an’ lonesom’, dat his hyart mos’ breck. He wan’ ter
cum home.”

Den Marster cuss an’ say: “Wha de scan’lus scoun’l at?”

An’ I say wid meh hankcheah ter meh eyes, “Balt’mo’.”

Den Ole Marster say: “Sookey, Saul’s muvva Nancy (yo’ sistah) wuz uh
splendid ’ooman; nuss’d yo’ Miss Marg’retta when she had de scarlet
fevah. Saul wuz uh baby, an’ she mos’ fogot Saul, she wuz so faithful
ter yo’ Miss Marg’retta.”

Den I say: “’Zac’ly so, precisely, Marster!”

Den he say: “Nancy kotch de fevah an’ died; yo’ Miss Marg’retta wuz so
’stracted she mos’ ’dopted dat chile—tech him ter read an’ rite.” Den
Mars Nickey cuss ergin an’ say: “Eddication mecks niggahs bad!”

Den I say: “So hit do, Marster, so hit do; fuh hit sut’ny meck Saul bad.
Fuh he wuz riz so careful. Miss Marg’retta ebin bo’t him uh nanny-goat
fuh uh wet nuss, an’ dey got so fon’ one nerr dat when Saul wud tottle
outin de quartah de goat wud ’mejately nanny, twinkle huh little tail
jes’ like uh aspine leaf, run up ter de chile, an’ he wud set un’er dat
goat, nuss huh hissef, an’ pat he han’s on de goat’s sides. It mecks me
think ub yo’ son Mars Francis what died. I nuss him tell he so big he
hab teef. When he wuz horngry he wud run up ter me same ez uh little
lam’, pat meh bresses when he nussin’, same ez Saul did de goat’s sides,
an’ sometimes when he feel sassy—mos’ got ernuff (jes’ playin’ wid de
milk)—he wud bite me. An’ many uh time I had ter smack him hyard; an’
den his brite eyes, brite ez uh fish-hawk’s, but big an’ sorf, wud fill
up wid teahs. Den he wud git in meh lap, pat meh ole face an’ say,
‘Mammy! Mammy!’ play wid an’ put he fingah froo meh earring, jes’ ez
gentle an’ lubbin ez uh cherrypin er serrypin. My! he little fingah jes’
ez smoobe ez de inside ub uh oyster shell. Den I sing, ‘Git on bode,
little chillun.’ Den he go ter sleep, an’ he bref on meh cheek jes’ ez
sorf ez de down on uh goslin’.” Den I say, “Mars Nickey, he wuz de ve’y
spit ub you!”

Den Mars Nickey teck out his silk hankcheah, wipe he weepin’ eye,
trem’lin mouf, an’ he say, “Sookey, teck uh seat!”

Jes’ think ub meh settin’ down befo’ Ole Mars! Den he teck uh pinch ub
snuff, th’ow some on de flounces ub he shut, call Damon an’ say, “Bring
me some peach an’ honey!”

Den he say: “I will ’struct Cap’n Stitchberry, de fus’ time de Margaret
Jane sails fuh Balt’mo’, futto bring Saul home, but he kyant lib heah
wid meh good an’ faithful serbents; he got ter lib at ‘Fausley,’ drap
cawn, plough—be wuf sompin’. Kyant hab any mo’ boots. Tho’ Nancy wuz his
mother, got ter weah shoes; I only gib de bes’ serbents boots!”

Muhtilda, I jes’ natchelly swep’ de flo’ wid meh curchysys, I feel so
thankful. An’ when I lef’ I say: “Meh Marster, yo’ mo’ an’ mo’ like Mars
Francis ev’y day; same brite eyes, like uh fish-hawk’s, but sorf an’
big!”

Den Ole Mars teck nubba pinch ub snuff, dust he shut flounces wid it,
cut hissef on de leg wid he ridin’ whup an’ say: “Sookey, I change meh
mine; when Saul cum back he kin wuck in de gyardin wid yo’ husban’,
Stephen.”

When I wen’ out de do’ da wuz Cap’n Stitchberry stan’in’ befo’ de steps
wid he haid orncover’d waitin’ fuh his orders fum Mars Nickey; Stephen
wuz holdin’ Sylph, Marster’s favorite mare; Music, Jerry-Myah,
Sweet-lips, Jefferson, Chimes, an’ all de res’ ub de houn’s (Ole Mars
wudn’ let you call ’em dogs) wuz playin’ erroun’ Stephen, chunin’ up,
an’ Sylph wuz almos’ crazy fuh Ole Mars ter git in de saddle—she jes’
scorn de yearth when she gallopin’ an’ cud almos’ jump ober de moon.
Well, I felt ez prowd an’ happy ez Sylph an’ de houn’s did, kase,
Muhtilda, ev’ything look’d lubly ter me. So I meck up meh mind I ain’
gwine ter scold Stephen any mo’—he did look so peart, holdin’ Sylph wid
uh yaller wes’ Ole Marster jes’ gib him. But what meck me mos’ happy, I
heahd de wabes moanin’, I luck at de ribber, an’ da wuz de Margaret Jane
wid huh sails sot, jes’ prancin’. I knew’d what dat signify—so hit won’
be long befo’ Saul cum back.

Saul sing songs, play de hohn dat Little Billy gib him, wid locks an’
keys, dances, too. How-some-eber, hit’s jes’ what de qual’ty do; but da
ain’ nuffin wichious erboutin Saul, an’ I sut’ny has miss him pow’ful.
Da ain’ uh houn’ on dis place dat ain’ look sad sence Saul lef’. When
dey cum home wid deah sore feet, ears an’ legs all scratch up, full ub
briars, Saul, ’doutin Ole Mars habin’ ter tell him ev’y day, biles uh
pot ub squaw-root, baves dem houn’s feet an’ legs, an’ you kin see dem
settin’ ’roun’ waitin’ fuh deah turn.

Heah cum Ole Miss now; look at dem chickins an’ de cows all lookin’ at
huh—ub cose meckin’ mirations ter deahsebs erbout huh. Dat lady behin’
wid uh barsket on huh ahm an’ all dem keys on huh ap’on strings, is Miss
Betsey Orsman, de housekeeper. Dey bin ter kivver all dat grabe ub Mars
Francis wid flowers—’ceppin’ de toomstone. De vusses on hit ev’y serbent
in dis house has larnt. Think ub dat!

“Kyant you say ’em, Aunt Sookey?”

“Yas, indeed, chile, dat I kin; but I will arsk Miss Betsey arfter Ole
Miss gits by. Honey, she’s uh ’citer; she jes’ gibs huhsef up ter glory
when she speechifyin’. I will ax huh kase she likes ter say it.

“Miss Betsey, will you say dem vusses what’s on Mars Francis’
toomstone?”

“Why, certainly, Sookey; now listen good:

                       “The seasons as they fly,
           Snatch from us in their course, year after year
             Some sweet connection, some endearing tie.
           The parent, ever honored, ever dear,
             Claims from the filial breast the pious sigh;
           A brother’s urn demands the filial tear,
             And gentle sorrows gush from friendship’s eye.
           To-day we frolic in the rosy bloom
           Of jocund youth—to-morrow knells us to the tomb.”

“Miss Betsy is an ole maid, Muhtilda. De reason she’s wa’kin’ fum us so
slow is kase she’s meddowtatin’. Dey tell me dat one time Cap’n
Stitchberry wuz in lub wid huh, but he gib huh up kase she tu fon’ ub
vusses; an’ he tell Mars Pinckney dat she lubbed him tu much. She’s ve’y
fon’ ub Mars Pinckney, an’ don’ mine his teasin’, so de udder day he
tole huh—

            “Da nebber wuz uh goose so gray but soon er late
            Wud fine some wan’rin’ gander fuh uh mate.”

“Now, wan’ dat sassy?

“Saul wuz pow’ful fon’ ub cracklin’-pone wid mullasses, an’ I gwine dis
minit futto meck uh pone fuh dat po’ boy. I’s bin watchin’ de ribber all
de mawnin’. It wudn’ s’prise me ef’n de Margaret Jane cum in de ribber
befo’ de sun sot; so don’ you go home, Muhtilda. Den I will sen’ fuh
Little Billy futto tell us some stories; Susan fum Mars Carroll’s is
cummin ober—ub cose Ezra Viney will keep comp’ny wid huh; an’ lars’, but
not leas’, Stephen got three dozen sorf crabs, six watahmillions an’ two
ole hens I kilt yistiddy dat had stopped layin’. So we will hab uh happy
time eben ef’n Saul don’ cum ter night.

“Dar’s Billy now, talkin’ ter Juba Viney; got his banjo hung ’roun’ his
neck. Dem’s mus’rat hides he’s got tied ’roun’ his wais’; gwine ter Mage
Rudd’s sto’, I ’specks. O—h, Billy; we are ’speckin’ Saul dis eb’nin’.
Kyant you cum ober, sing us some songs an’ play us some chunes arfter
Stephen goes ter set his net? He rejects ter you bein’ so pus-nal wid de
witches;[11] ain’ fogib you yit fuh gittin’ up’n dat ’simmon tree an’
sassin’ Uncle Caesar Butler.”[12]

Billy knew Aunt Sookey would have something good for supper, and knew
that she doted on Saul, so he soon turned up at her quarters, and
quickly asked for Uncle Stephen, whom he knew would not welcome him.

“Da he is, jes’ paddlin’ his boat fum de sho;” responded Aunt Sookey.
“Gwine ter set his net.”

Billy smelt the frying crabs, and asked in apparent ignorance: “Is you
had supper, Aunt Sookey?”

“No indeed, honey; de lard jes’ cummenc’ ter bile.”

“Well, den, I will sing uh new chune I jes’ larnt, while de table
gittin’ sot:

          “On Tom-big-bee ribber so fair I wuz bawn,
          In uh hut made ub leabes ub de tall yaller cawn;
          An’ dar I fus’ met wid meh Ju-la so true,
          An’ I row’d huh erbout in meh gum-tree canoe,
          Singin’ row away row, o’er de watahs so blue,
          Like uh feather we’ll float, in meh gum-tree canoe.

          “Wid meh hands on de banjo an’ toe on de oar,
          I sing ter de soun’ ub de ribber’s sorf roar;
          While de stars dey look down at meh Ju-la so true,
          An’ dance in huh eye in meh gum-tree canoe.
          Singin’ row away row, o’er de watahs so blue,
          Like uh feather we’ll float, in my gum-tree canoe.”

“Billy, dat’s lubly; kyant you sing jes’ one mo’ song befo’ I puts de
butter on dese sorf crabs?”

“Yes’m!”

                 “Sometimes I libs on de fat ub de lan;
                   Sometimes I libs on de lean;
                 An’ when I gits meh day’s wuck done
                   I sweeps de kitchen clean.
                 Den heah meh true lub weep,
                   Heah meh true lub sigh,
                 Way down in Callio
                   Dis niggah’s bawn ter die.”

“I kyant sing an nerr vus, Aunt Sookey, kase I so horngry, an’ I kyant
stay tu long kase I ain’ sot meh mus’rat gums yit, an’ I bleege ter go
ter de sto’ futto sell dese hides. Mo’n dat, Mars Pinckney gwine fox
hun’in’ de fus’ thing in de mawnin’ long befo’ de sun up.”

Billy ate heartily, and the _jamboree_ was broken up by the incoming of
Uncle Stephen. Billy, to be very polite to Uncle Stephen, whom he knew
did not like him, said: “Uncle Stephen, I jes’ watch you all _day_ long
yistiddy ketchin’ oysters; you sut’ny kin ketch oysters.”

Uncle Stephen leaned wearily on his paddle and said: “Y-a-s, Billy! Ef’n
I wuz uh chicken you wud watch me all _night_!”

Billy soon departed, and when he was well into the darkness, twanged his
banjo and sang:

                       “I ain’ no tukkey buzzard,
                         I ain’ no saint;
                       I ain’ no tukkey buzzard,
                         So glad I aint.”

[Illustration:

  BLACK CREEK FALLS.
]




                          “LET US MECK BRICK.”


Sistus, brudders an’ chillun: Pawson Demby wuz ’specially ’quested futto
prech at de gre’t bushmeetin’ gwine on in Bolingbrook Neck, an’ dey sent
up uh _fo’-hoss-mule team_ an’ kyart fuh him lars’ night. He ’quested me
futto say ter de congation dat he wanted yo’ pray’rs fuh de gre’t cause
he gwine ter prech erbout, an’ he also qualify me ter say his tex’ will
be fum de book ub Deutron’my, 22d chaptah, 10th vus: “Thou shalt not
plough wid uh ox an’ uh ass togedda.”

Some free niggahs ’long de Choptank dat cum fum Henraccah County,
Firginny, is ploughin’ wid uh mule an’ uh ox, an’ hit’s stressin’ de
Babtis’ ’roun’ de ribba pow’ful, kase hit’s sech uh wiolation ub de
Scripturs.

De witches in Haylan’ Branch is keepin’ uh good many sistus fum cummin’
ter de chuch Sunday nights. De c’lections consequationly is so small I
is ’fraid we kyant git de kyarpet fuh de pulpit by Chrismus; but ev’y
little bit helps, ef’n hit’s only uh rabbit’s foot, kase dey will sell
at de festival fuh 6 cents uh dozen.

Ez I ain’ had uh ve’y long notice, meh discose dis ebinin’ will be
breef. You will fine meh tex’ in de book ub Gen’sis, 11th chaptah, thud
vus:

                          “LET US MECK BRICK.”

Den, ergin, de fif’ chaptah ub Exodus, all ub de sebinth vus: “Ye shall
no mo’ gib de people straw ter meck brick, ez heahtofo’; let dem go an’
gavva straw fuh demsebs.”

You all recommember dat Mars Nickey say lars’ New Year Day dat ef’n his
serbents, young an’ ole, ’habe demsebs well fuh uh hole yeah he gwine
ter build ’em uh little brick chuch. Well, de serbents is bin monstus
good fuh uh hole yeah, ’skusin’ Little Billy, an’ he so curisome Marster
don’ mine him. ’Sides, he muvva Nancy nuss Mars Pinckney. So arfter de
cawn wuz hus’in’ Mars Nickey tole me an’ Reubin ter go ter de clay bank
an’ meck boutin fifty thousan’ bricks, an’ dey wud be uh plenty ter
build uh chuch dat wud hab uh real top-lofty pulpit, uh moaners’ corner,
an’ hole boutin two hun’erd serbents. Mars John Chamberlain, Mars Tench
Tilghman, Mars Samuel Dickinson holp ter buy de shingles an’ furnachy.

Wuckin’ dat clay (an’ Moses wud hab praised dat clay), meckin’ an’
haulin’ dem bricks ter dat lubly cedar grove, made me think ub dis tex’
night an’ day, an’ I is wanted fuh uh yeah ter preach on dis gre’t
subjec’.

I see some dear sistus heah fum Queen Anne’s. I s’pose you cum ober ter
de bushmeetin’ in Oxford Neck, so I wan’ you ter ondastan what uh
’squisite spot Cedar Grove is fuh uh brick chuch, befo’ I git fudda wid
meh spressifications boutin bricks.

Sistus, da is uh little creek called Peach Blossom. De fus’ peach seed
dat cum ter Amer’ca wuz fotch ober an’ planted ’long Peach Blossom
Creek, Mars Pinckney say, erbout de time Klumbus ’skivered Amer’ca;
dat’s why hit’s called Peach Blossom. De same man fotch ober some apple
seed, an’ de apples wuz named arfter him, Catlin apples.

Peach Blossom is erboutin uh harf mile long an’ uh hun’erd ya’ds wide,
an’ empties inter Fausley Creek. De watah is fum five ter eight feet
deep, de bottom ez clean ez de deck ub Cap’n Stitchberry’s schooner, de
Margaret Jane, sandy, an’ ez hyard ez uh mule’s haid, but you kyant see
de bottom ’ceppin heah an’ heah, kase da’s wha Mars Nickey got he
oysters bedded, an’ da’s wha Uncle Stephen sets Mars Nickey’s net,
ketches de spot, hogfish an’ pan rock dat cums in dat creek ter feed
ober de oysters, an’ den ter meddowtate. Mos’ at de haid ub de creek is
uh proud-lookin’ grove ub cedars; ’mong dem cedars is _twenty cedar
toomstone poses_, wha Ole Mars burried he good an’’ favorite houn’s, an’
da’s wha de new Zion Chuch gwine ter be swottuated.

Belubbed, da nebber wuz uh mo’ ’chantin’ creek! On hits banks grows
lubly trees, fum de sas’fras an’ dogwood ter de gre’t elms, walnut an’
poplar trees. Sistuh Cassey, befo’ she died had uh cabin at de haid ub
de creek; de honeysuckle an’ wile rose seeds strayed fum huh house all
’long de banks ub dat creek, an’ now de honeysuckle an’ wile roses
blooms an’ clustus ’roun’ one nerr day an’ night—hit’s uh heb’nly spot.
Hit don’ matter how de win’ blow, ef’n you paddle yo’ skiff in Peach
Blossom Creek hit’s so cam, quiet an’ shady you kin heah de little jinny
wrens, sparrows an’ crickets singin’. De watah looks so smove an’ happy
when de tide go out an’ when de tide cum in, dat it al’ays mecks me
think ub Ole Miss’ face; fac’ is, you jes’ wanter set down an’ muse, an’
you won’er why all erligeons ain’ de Babtis in Talbot County, ter wash
deah sins erway in Peach Blossom. But I mus’ tu’n ter de application.

Little Billy wucked two days dribin’ uh ox team, den ub cose he got
tired. Mammy Nancy ’quested me ter arsk you all ter pray fuh him arfter
de doxol’gy; he is ve’y bad. Ef’n Mars Nickey knew’d what he say he’d
whup him sho’; kase he say Mars Nickey wud hab built dat chuch, good er
bad niggahs; dat he tole him all dat he wanted him ter do wuz ter see
ezactly wha de bricks wuz drapped, an’ ter be sho’ none ub dem bricks
wuz drapped ergin dem _houn’ cedar pos’ toomstones_. Billy fudda
spressify dat he bleebe de chuch wuz gwine ter be uh kind ub monumen’
ter he good an’ faithful houn’s an’ good an’ faithful serbents.

[Illustration:

  Ole Miss, when sweet sixteen, going to dance the minuet.
]

Meh brudderin, I hab now laid de foundation. So I wan’ you fus’ ter
persidder de pictur on de face ub dat lubly clock; befo’ she strike
ergin I am gwine ter tell you who de fus’ brickmakers wuz, an’ how dey
cum ter meck bricks.

Way down in Egyp’ lan’ long time befo’ Klumbus ’skivvered Talbot County,
da wuz uh king named Fario. He wuz uh gre’t man, an’ you kin ’magin’
what style he lib in fum de fac’ he had six hun’erd wibes, two chariots
fuh each wife, an’ dey nebber is bin able ter fine out ezactly how many
hosses, mules, jackasses, steers, cows, sheep, goats an’ serbents he
had; an’ he had so much ter meck him peart dat he got ter be uh ve’y
wile man. Well, dis king had uh lubly daughter, de apple ub he mouf an’
de ve’y spit ub de king. She had uh nice ’scluded little ribba (I specks
it wuz mos’ ez putty ez Fausley Creek) futto bave in; she likewise had
fo’ er five hun’erd han’maids, an’ all longed ter de qual’ty. De Bible
call ’em damsels. I think hit’s uh good name fuh maids dese days,
’skusin’, ub cose, free niggahs. Well, de narration say dat Miss Fario
wen’ down ter de ribba wid huh damsels futto bave. Dey wuz orndressin’
huh, ten maids wuz teckin’ de rings of’n huh ten fingahs, two mo’ maids
wuz teckin’ huh earrings out, an’ uh nubba teckin’ de _earrings_ outin
huh nose. (All de qual’ty wo’ rings in deah noses dem days.) Jes’ ez she
erboutin orndress—you see dey didn’ ware no bavin’ suits in de time ub
de Petracks, an’ bad ez de men wuz dey didn’ bave wid de ladies; so da
wuz sut’ny no mails ’roun’, ’ceppin’ uh monstus fine baby boy three
monfs ole, dat wuz kivverd up wid bullrushes, an’ ’rapped in flags (I
s’pose de flags wuz some ole sorf battle-flags)—well, jes’ ez de king’s
daughter put huh little feets in de watah ter see ef’n it tu cole, she
heah uh chile cry. She jumped back relarmed, an’ say ter huh maids,
“What’s dat?” Den she look in de bullrushes, an’ lo an’ beholst, da wuz
uh cutesome lookin’ cradle wid flags ’roun’ hit (Is’lite flags, I
s’pose), an’ uh baby fairly harkin’; he cryin’ so.

Hit is s’pose by narrationists dat de ma ub de chile got de frog fright,
kase frogs wuz so thick, an’ gittin’ thicker, dat dey wuz in de
kitchens, smoke houses, parlors, tubs, cookin’ ubbins, an’ in de beds;
so de chile’s ma meck uh sort ub deck-ober cradle ub mud, tar, pitch an’
beeswax, dat made hit frog-proof, an’ da’s wha dey sho’ly foun’ de baby.
Pres’ny Miss Fario saw uh ooman stan’in’ neah by, so she say, “Is you de
muvva ub dis chile?” She say, “Yes’m!” Miss Fario say, “Cum heah an’
nuss dis chile right ’way an’ I’ll pay you ter be de chile’s mammy. I’m
gwine ter ’dopt him; he uh monstus fine chile. ’Sides I want something
futto caress; an’ ez I foun’ him in de watah, I’m gwine ter gib him de
lubly name ub Moses, kase de Bible say in Egyp’ lan’ Moses is de name
fuh watah.”

Bimeby he grow’d up ter be uh gre’t man, an’ wuz ve’y friendly wid de
Petracks. Pres’ny you will see de application.

Well, de king say ter de Petracks, “We is gwine ter hab uh gre’t famin’,
kase de frogs, locusses an’ grasshoppus is uh carryin’ on high.” So dey
all ’cided ter buy all de cawn dat wuz riz dat yeah. Pres’ny heah cum de
famin’, sho’ nuff; den de Gyptian farmers an’ sheppards cum ter Joseph.
Dey say, “Joseph, we horngry; we ain’ got no cawn!” Joseph right ’way
say, “I’s got plenty cawn!” So dey buy uh plantation ub cawn, an’ Joseph
teck de money ter de King, an’ de King he hab uh gay time ober dat money
ub de Is’lites.

Now, strange ter say, wid all de hosses, chariots, foxhoun’s, an’ I
’specks, fine coon dogs dat dey could wusship, an’ wid deah wissum tu
(kase Mars Pinckney say dey knew’d mo’n we do)—fuh all dat dey wusship
crockdiles (why, de Bible say King Solomon had six hun’erd wibes an’
three hun’erd _crockdiles_; jes’ think ub dat!), el’phants, ants, bulls,
butterflies, grasshoppus, frogs, an’ I dunno what not, an’ dey didn’
keer no mo’ fuh one ooman dan uh man keer fuh uh yaller-jacket’s nes’.
Yas, indeed; dey wusship ’mos’ ev’ything ’ceppin’ uh damsel. Dey had
drobes ub wibes, but dey didn’ hab no condidence in deah wibes. Why,
ef’n dey hab uh composation ebin wid uh Pawson, dem Kings an’ Judges wud
’mejately hab deah haids cut orf.

Well, hit cum ter pars in erboutin uh yeah dem po’ Is’lites cum back ter
de Petracks mo’ horngry dan ebba, an’ tell deah tale ub ’stress. Dey
say, “We ain’ got no money; we spend hit all fuh cawn. Our fodder is all
’zausted, so we fotch our cattle; we will gib dese cattle fuh cawn. So
Joseph count de cattle an’ teck ’em fuh cawn. Now, dat’s two yeahs ub de
famine. Dar’s five mo’ yit.”

Well, hit cum ter pars uh yeah arfter dat dey cum ergin an’ dey say, “We
ain’ got uh _cent dis time_, an’ no cattle; how-some-eber, we mus’ hab
cawn; we kyant lib ’dout hit. So dey gib all deah plantations. So King
Fario own all Egyp’ lan’, an’ he carry on higher still, jes’ scan’lus,
ve’y mischevious, kase he own mos’ ez many plantations ez Ab’ham.”

Brudderin, uh yeah went by, an’ heah cum dem po’ horngry sheppards an’
farmers ergin. Dey say, “We almos’ starbed we so horngry.” King Fario
say “What you got ter gimmy, now?” An’ dey say, “Nuffin ’ceppin’ our
bodies, futto be yo’ slabes.”

Moses wuz uh gre’t man, ve’y gre’t man (he nuss wuz uh cullud pusson),
so he look on all de time, stroked his whiskus, leaned on dat cutesome
rod ub his’n an’ didn’ say nuffin, jes’ meddowtate an’ muse, muse an’
meddowtate. Now, Moses natch’ly felt po’ly kase he had kilt uh Gyptian
de day befo’ fuh kickin’ uh Is’lite, one ub he people. Pres’ny heah cum
King Fario, dribin’ fo’ jack-asses in uh chariot he had jes’ bought wid
sum ub his cawn money. Little Billy say he read somewha in de Bible dat
King Fario shuck han’s wid Moses, an’ say ter him in uh whispuh:

“Moses, I’m gwine ter teck all dem Gyptians ez slabes. Dar’s such uh
drouf, so many frogs, locusses an’ grasshoppus, da ain’ no use ter set
’em at wuck in de fiel’s, so I’m gwine ter meck ’em wuck hyard fuh dat
cawn. I wan’ at leas’ uh harf million sot ter wuck dis day, but what dey
gwine ter do? Dat’s de consequation! Dar’s uh gre’t deman’ fuh bricks
ev’ywha, but meh clay ain’ ve’y good.”

Den Moses riz up his rod, gib it uh twiss, an’ cunjured dat rod. Den dey
had uh little serpent dance, an’ while dey wuz uh dancin’ Moses say,
“You got ’bun’ance ub straw, an’ ef’n de straw gib out you got plenty ub
stubble.” King Fario say, “Uh case orntried is hyard ter justify.” Den
Moses gib he rod nubba twiss (Little Billy say dat de rod wuz made outin
witch hazel wood), an’ he spressify, “I’s foun’ out uh way ter meck
bricks ’doutin straw!” An’ right ’way dem po’ slabes wuz sot ter
brick-meckin’.

“Let us meck brick.”

Den arfter dey bin meckin bricks ’boutin two hun’erd yeah hit cum ter
pars dat de profit Ex-o-dus said, “Ye shall no mo’ gib de people straw
ter meck bricks, ez heahtofo’; let ’em go an’ gavva straw fuh demsebs.”

Brudderin, when you gib bricks uh _solid_ thought hit’s uh pow’ful
subjec’. Fac’ is, we is all bricks, an’ made fum de same clay. I is not
spressifyin’ de application ter straw bricks, kase I dunno how dey is
turnt ter clay.

Bricks is our house futto dwell in an’ wusshup in while we libbin’, an’
our house in de groun’ tell de day cum when de gre’t Marster blow He
hohn an’ we stan’ befo’ uh gate finah dan any King Sol’man ebba had.
Belubbed, is you gwine ter try an’ swing on dat gate? [A voice: “Yas,
Lawd!”] an’ be da ter heah St. Peter say “Heah cum meh chillun; lemmy
call deah names.” Brudderin, sistus an’ little chillun, will he call yo’
names?

Tilly Mink: “Brer Rasmus, I’m mos’ swingin’ on dat gate now!”

Well, den, meck dat boy Scipio Jones, settin’ ’side you, teck dat
sweet-tater harness orf, an’ dat piece ub sheep rib outin his mouf, he
chawin’, fuh uh bit.

At de lars camp meetin’ uh ve’y ’stinguish’ Babtis’ pawson said he wuz
s’prised dat de lubly daughter ub King Fario merried King Sol’mon, uh
man dat wusshup’d frogs, bulls, el’phants an’ crock’diles fuh pets. My
’pinion is she fell in lub wid dat _brick_ house ub de King’s, dat de
Bible say had two thousan’ baf tubs, an’ teck thutteen yeah ter buil’.
Den, ergin, de bricks wuz laid in gole. King Fario’s daughter cudn’
resis’ uh house like dat, an’ I don’ think ’twuz hyard ter ondastan’.
Huh merryin’ de King, dafo’, wuz uh subjec’ dat wuz rash-nal.

When we gittin’ our heb’nly trunk packed, an’ when we trabblin’ up ter
St. Peter’s gait, I kin see Uncle Reubin, Aunt Phillis, Uncle Stephen,
Aunt Sookey, Rasmus Jemes, Damon Danridge, Pawson Phil Demby an’ Mammy
Nancy trottin’ ’long de road in de beauty ub holiness, goin’ ter St.
Peter’s gait an’ longin’ ter git deah han’s on de gait futto ring dat
bell. An’ I kin see Little Billy (be sho’ an’ pray fuh him, Sistus; ef’n
coons, ’possums, fiddles an’ banjos had nebba ’zisted, he wudn’ be uh
sinnah)—yas, I kin see Little Billy stan’in’ wid Jasper pullin’ dat bell
tell he mos’ breck de wire, an’ pester St. Peter so dat he say, “Who dat
tryin’ ter breck meh bell?” Den de bell wen’ jing-uh-ling ergin! Den St.
Peter ’mejately stuck he lubly haid ober de gate an’ say, “Gwuffum heah,
Little Billy; you ain’ bin ’nointed. Yon got ter lib wid dem you likes
ter keep cump’ny wid; fuh instinc’, witches, ghoses, jack-uh-ma-lanterns
an’ de chillun in de wilderness ub Zip!” You kin ’magine how po’ Billy’s
face look—much mo’ sadder dan Scip Jones’ look at de cake-walk lars’
Chris’mus; an’ when St. Peter smile same ez uh serrypin an’ say, “Heah
cum meh chillun; walk in de watah, fuh hit’s al’ays wahm; let me babtiz
you in de golden ribba,” Billy wuz so ’stressed dat he kicked Jasper an’
say, “Hit’s all yo’ fault; ef’n you wan’ sech uh good coon dog I’d nebba
bin led ’stray.”

Now, dis will cum ter pars: When St. Peter sees Aunt Phillis an’ Uncle
Reubin cummin’ ’long he will say, jes’ ez sho’ ez judgmen’ day is
cummin’, “Cherrypins an’ serrypins, an’ Ham, de cullud son ub Noahy,
bresh de dust fum two ub de bes’ seats in de Lawd’s kitchen fuh dem two
saints, an’ tell ’em we gwine ter hab uh festibal!” I wan’ Ham ter set
’long side you an’ pint out Samuel de fus’, an’ secon’, Moses, King
Dabid, King Fario, Zackeus de climber, an’ lars’, but not leas’, Ho Ho,
an’ you’ll see fum he habin’ whiskus he ain’ no Chine er Japne. Den de
profit Noahy will renounce dat King Dabid an’ he son, King Sol’mon,
gwine ter sing uh jewette togedda—King David, ub cose, playin’ on his
hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings; an’ I ’specks dat sweetes’ son ub Noahy,
Ham, will play de banjo. Bless meh soul an’ body, an’ meh body an’ soul,
belubbed, what uh festibal hit will be! Sistus, I kin see ’em all.

Tilly Mink: “Yas, Brer Rasmus, all clustah’d ’roun’ de pul-pit.”

John Poney: “Kin you see me, Brer Rasmus?”

No; I am lis’nin’ ter ’em talk. Dear little Jona will tell erboutin’ his
sea voyage; St. Peter, dat lubly ’possel, ub how many shirks he kotch
an’ kilt; Little Jack-a-ass erboutin how slippery wuz de sycamo’ tree he
clum; Jacob erboutin de lubly streeked, striped an’ speckled cattle he
riz; Nimrod erboutin coon dogs, King Sol’mon erboutin he
thorrybreds—brudderin’ I cud preach fum dis tex’ fuh uh monf an’ nebba
git rejected, but I mus’ migrate ter dem dat ain’ bin ’mersed. Wha will
dey be when dat sweet festibal is gwine on? Cole ez hit is—an’ dar’s fo’
back logs on de fire—I say cole ez hit is, tu cole fuh uh ’possum ter be
out, yit I feel so het up fum dis discose dat I kin almos’ tase de red
hot melted lead, an’ sizzlin’ brimstone dat de sinnah hab ter resis’ on.

“You kyant eat uh hoe-cake but once!” so cum ter de moanah’s bench now;
cum while de hoe-cake ub salbation is brown wid faith, an’ all kivver’d
ober wid de graby ub redemption, an’ hab yo’ fingahs filled wid streams
ub goodness. When you go befo’ St. Peter, de gre’t fisherman, he got
Moses stan’in’ by he side wid dat curisome rod ub his’n.[13] Den Moses
tap you on de han’ wid he rod, an’ ef’n you good yo’ fingah nails will
fly back, an’ Moses will pull fum yo’ fingahs gre’t long strings ub
goodness; an’ ef’n you bad, gre’t long black bad strings.

Uncle Reubin Viney say dat he heah uh gre’t Mefodis’ pawson say dat
Unuch, who wuz transplanted, wuz so good dat he didn’ hab any fingah
nails, an’ de Mefodis’ pawson also say de reason de debbil is called Ole
Scratch is kase he fingah nails long ez uh roostus spuhs.

Now, when Moses tap yo’ fingahs what he gwine ter pull out? Belubbed,
now is de time fuh de checkeration ub yo’ sins. Burhol’ de golden stairs
starin’ you in de face! Sistus an’ brudders, you mus’ try ter clim’ dem
stairs. Hit will meck yo’ legs, ahms, risses an’ hyarts so strong, jes’
ez it did little Zackasses when he clum dat slippery sycamo’ tree; an’
when you git ter de top ub dem golden stairs you will see fus’ Ole Mars
Nickey, Mars Tilghman, Mars Jimmy an’ Miss Henrietta wid wings _’hine_
an’ _befo’_ an’ cullud angels consonly breshin’ de dus’ fum Miss
Henrietta’s cheah, an’ lookin’ fuh huh specks, an’ you’ll see de same
sweet ringlets in huh hyah. Yas, indeed! kissen huh lubly brow, neck an’
bres’ jes’ like de jewdraps kisses de snowballs in de gyardin. An’
pres’ny she will raise up dem sweet han’s ub huh’n dat’s of’n bin bu’nt
meckin’ poltices fuh good an’ bad serbents, open huh cherrypin mouf an’
say, “Dem’s meh good serbents; I knew’d dey’d be heah!” An’ den she’ll
call Ham an’ say, “Gib ’em nice seats in de Lawd’s kitchen;” an’ while
she gibbin’ orders King Dabid chune he hyarp, Gabriel he trumpet, an’
all de res’ ub de gre’t singers an’ players git ’roun’ de organ. Den
King Sol’mon, wid uh pow’ful bow an’ uh book ub songs un’er his arm, ax
Miss Henrietta futto play de organ; an’ Miss Henrietta bow fum him an’
look ez prowd ez uh peacock—an’ she wuz, tu! An’, belubbed, she say,
“I’m sho’ you ain’ pus-nal, den ergin you ain’ rash-nal, King Sol’mon,
kase you had tu many wibes; an’ ef’n it wan’ fuh dem lubly songs ub yo’n
I wudn’ fogib yo’ sassyness er keep comp’ny wid you.”

Lars’ but not leas’, I ’specks Aunt Phillis sot at de melojin in de
Lawd’s kitchen wid all Marster’s good an’ faithful serbents ’roun’ huh,
an’ when Moses teck he rod an’ gib dat rod uh twiss, dey all included by
singin’ togedda, de fo’f vus ub hym 473:

      “He suvrin pow’r widout our aid
        Made us ub clay [dar’s de application] an’ formed us men;
      An’ when like wan’rin’ sheep we strayed,
        He fotch us ter his fol’ ergen.”

Befo’ we sojourn I fogot ter renounce dat Mage Rudd say de keys ub de
heb’nly organ wuz all made ub gole. Yistiddy I ax Mars Pinckney erboutin
hit, an’ he say, “Sho’! Da wuz uh _Key_ made ub gole dat writ uh gre’t
an’ pow’ful song.” Think ub dat! I dunno what he mean ezac’ly, but I
s’pose hit sompin in rebellation.

[Illustration:

  OLE MISS.

  (Miss Henrietta.)
]




                       JUBA VINEY’S YALLER PANTS.


Flowers were fading. Roses, hyacinths, honeysuckle, buttercups and
bluebells all gave “sigh for sigh.” ’Twas the last of summer—the hour
when birds fly homeward to their nests, wandering bees seek their hives,
chickens their roosts. ’Twas twilight, and its dews bathed the blooming
clematis, climbing and caressing the latticed porch; a wooing breeze
wafted its perfume through Otwell House, and awoke the waves on the
slumbering river.

Aunt Phillis had early leave to attend a Baptist prayer meeting,
consequently the crickets were having a concert in the kitchen, little
darkies were romping merrily on the lawn. Ole Mars was visiting Col.
Leonard Hollyday and shooting sora and blue-wing duck on Wild Goose
Marsh. Miss Henrietta had just tuned her harp and bade the servants be
quiet. Presently all was silence, save the drowsy burr of some insect.

Her voice was mellifluous, her face pure and noble, and the servants
worshipped her as the ancient Jews worshipped Queen Esther. She sang,
“There is a green hill far away,” and her beautiful fingers at times
touched the strings softly as snowflakes that fall upon the warm cheek
of a maiden and melt into tears—as did her voice.

Below the porch sat Little Billy an enrapt listener. Just as the song
was ended Juba Viney strolled by, and Little Billy said:

“Howdy, Juba! Which way you bin?”

“Ain’ bin no wha; jes’ gwine.”

“Wha you gwine?”

“Gwine ter Mage Rudd’s[14] sto’; tells me mus’rat hides is riz—wuf uh
levy. I’m gwine ter sell mine.”

“Well, wait tell I chain Jasper, den I’ll go wid you.”

“What’s de matter wid Jasper, Billy?”

“Why, uh coon bit him in de foot lars nite. Nebber wud hab bit him ef’n
Jasper hadn’ been ’fused. I smoked de coon outin uh holler, an’ de smoke
’fused de dog.”

“I’s glad futto hab you go, Billy, kase I wants yo’ ’sponsibility. I’s
gwine ter buy some things at de sto’. I specks ter fill bof dese bags,
dat’s full ub mus’rat hides, wid what I buy.”

“I wud teck meh mus’rat hides, too, but I sprain meh ankle, back, ahms,
risses an’ han’s lars nite clim’in’ uh tree. I ain’ able ter tote
nuffin, so I kyant teck meh skins ter nite.”

“Tho’t you say you smoke de coon out?”

“So I did, but dis wuz uh nubba coon.”

“I hope Mage Rudd won’ be shut up; I wan’ ter git sompin nice fuh Susan.
She ’bout done promise she gwine ter hab me, Billy; wud uh merried me
long ’go, ’ceppin’ fuh dat yaller niggah dat dribes fuh Mrs. Rodgers.
She nebba bin in lub wid Jerry; hit’s only when Mrs. Rodgers cum ter see
Miss Henrietta, an’ he got on glubs dat’s got fuz on ’em, uh ban’ ’roun’
he hat; bras’ buttons on he coat, white-top boots on, an’ uh sorter pine
burr on de side ub he hat, an’ al’ays hab he pocket full ub can’y dat’s
got vusses in ’em. Billy, don’ you say nuffin boutin hit, but I’m gwine
ter hab meh pockets made bigga, an’ gwine ter hab one pocket full ub dat
can’y all de time. What you s’pose dat can’y got in it? Hit almos’
cunjah Susan.

“Ef’n Susan cud jes’ see me once dress up dat way, why, man, she cudn’
resis’ me futto sabe huh life. Nite befo’ lars’ when she seed me gwine
ter Zion, wid meh yaller pants on dat’s got black stripes down de legs,
dem I bo’t at Mage Rudd’s, she jes’ wuz charm’; an’ when I show’d huh
meh new par ub gallisters[15] I got ter ware wid dem pants, she ’low,
‘Juba, you sut’ny do look peart.’ When Aunt Sookey seed me she sez,
‘Juba, you luck tu sweet ter lib.’ Den Uncle Stephen he smole uh grin
an’ say, ‘Wait tell Jerry cum prancin’ erlong, you won’ think so.’ Den
dey cummenc’ titterin’ an’ pokin’ deah necks out jes’ like uh passel ub
geese wid young goslin’s; mos’ ’gusted me! Billy, Mrs. Rodgers al’ays
call dat niggah Jerry-Myah. I nebba knew’d any niggah ’roun’ heah name’
Myah, did you?”

“Not dat I kin recommember. He cum outin de Cyahrmichael fambly, an’ dey
monstus cute sort ub niggahs.”

“Well, he ain’ ’stressin’ me! I walk home fum Zion lars’ Sunday wid
Susan. She did luck tu cute in dat new Josey ub hern! I dunno which
’track huh mos’, de gre’t sermon ub Pawson Demby er meh yaller pants. He
prech fum de book ub Daniel erboutin de time de William goat (Pawson
Demby say ’twan’ perlite ter say Billy goat in de pulpit) fit an’ smut
de ram an’ breck he hohns. He ’cluded fum two profits (I fogit de name
ub de fus’ one, but hit got Zek in it), an’ hit wuz all erboutin de new
moon, six lam’s an’ uh ram. De udder profit wuz de gre’t Gencis, an’
Pawson Demby ’splain ter us ’bout de two hun’erd yews an’ twenty rams
dat Jacob sont See-saw.”

“Juba, you mean Esau, de hunter.”

“Yas, dat’s hit, Billy. You see, I kyant read ter ’fresh meh mem’ry.
Well, hit wuz uh real farmer’s sermon, but I wuz glad when de ’cludin’
time cum, kase Pawson Demby prech two hours an’ uh harf, de pew wuz so
crowded an’ we sot so close dat bof meh feet wen’ ’sleep; truf is, dey
got so tired, an’ ’twuz so wahm, I wud hab tuck meh shoes orf, but I
didn’ hab no stockin’s on. Mrs. Rodgers’ Jerry wan’ at chuch. Tilly, he
sistah, say he had uh chill. Wish hit had shake he haid orf! So I walk
home wid Susan. When she got in de kitchen an’ tuck huh shoes orf she
say ergin, ‘Juba, you sut’ny do look peart!’ Den she put huh han’ in huh
pocket, pull out one dem can’y vusses, an’ she say hit say:

                       “Wiolets red, roses blue,
                       Sugah sweet; me too.”

“Den she pull out nubba, an’ hit say—

                   Lub hangs ’round dis lubbin’ hyart
                   Like flies ’roun’ uh apple tart.

“Den she put huh han’s un’er de ap’on strings ’roun’ huh ’squisit’
waise—so! ’Cose I knewed what dat me’nt, so I tuck uh good tase ub dem
big sweet lips ub huh’n. Den she try ter look like she ’fended, an’ say,
‘Go ’way, Juba; you al’ays wan’ ter be pus-nal.’ Den she skip ’long ter
de dairy, an’ huh feet tech de groun’ jes’ ez sorf an’ lite ez uh
’possum’s. Bimeby she cum back wid huh ahms full ub uh gre’t big crock
ub clabba, all kivvered ober wid brown sugah. Den I hilt huh an’ kiss’d
huh sho’ nuff, mo’n six er seben times. I’d uh kiss huh six er seben
hun’erd times, but I heahd Miss Henrietta cummin’ ter see boutin some
ginger cakes she cookin’ in de stobe. I wuz sut’ny glad to heah huh, tu,
kase I specks Susan wud uh scolded me pow’ful. Dunno tho’; kase when
Miss Henrietta cum tippin’ in so sorf dat huh little feets wudn’ uh mash
uh rose ef’n de kitchen flo’ bin kivvered wid ’em, Susan she wuz uh
singin’, ‘Dar is uh happy lan’ fa’, fa’ erway,’ same ez uh martingale.
How-some-ebba, she mus’ uh bin uh little ’fused, kase she cummenc’ ter
stir dat clabba—when I heah Miss Henrietta an’ breck uh ’way—same ez hit
wuz eggs, butta, cawn meal an’ butta milk, gittin’ stirred fuh
johnny-cake. I’s teckin dis bag futto carry what I’s gwine ter buy huh.
I wudn’ teck uh kyart-load ub mus’rat hides fuh dat gal’s lub! An’ ef’n
Mage Rudd is got ’em, I’s gwine ter buy harf peck ub dat sweet can’y
dat’s got vusses, some ammons, resins, dates an’ apples—’nuff futto fill
dis bag. Den fuh mehsef I wan’ ter git uh mouf orgin, two mo’
juice-hyarps, an’ wid de res’ ub de money I’s gwine ter see ef’n I kyant
buy uh new par ub pants, yaller wid black stripes, an’ uh fiddle.”

“You better buy sompin’ dat will meck money.”

“What’s dat?”

“Why, some ub dem new kine ub steel traps, ’sted ub wasein’ yo’ money on
can’y, resins, an’ sich like fuh dat gal Susan futto eat wid Mrs.
Rodgers’ Jerry. Juba, you sut’ny mus’ t’ink ’tain’ no trubble ter ketch
mus’rats an’ skin ’em, de way you wase yo’ money; mo’n dat, I wants ter
borry two dollars fum you mehsef tell I sell meh mus’rat hides. Now,
what you wan’ wid two par yellow pants’ Dey ve’y putty, but one par nuff
fuh dis summer, dat’s harf gone.”

“Well, Billy, I spile dem pants day befo’ yistiddy, which I will tell
you boutin, tho’ hits uh composation dat’s ornpleasan’ ter me. Well, I
had bin haulin’ cawn all day ter Cap’n Stitchberry’s schooner, de
Margaret Jane. I wan’ ter dress up ter teck Susan ter de ’bate at Zion
Chuch, so I jes’ fed Crow an’ Ab’ham, tu’n ’em loose, an’ didn’ teck
deah yoke off. Fus’ place, dat white steer Crow is dangersome ter projic
wid—Uncle Stephen say de gre’tes’ kicker he ebba saw; an’ he say de nite
Crow wuz bohn wuz de wus’ nite he ebba saw. Blowin’, dark an’ snowin’—so
dark dat’s why dey call him Crow. Uncle Stephen say when uh leetle ca’f
he wud kick his ma, ole Snowball, quick ez he wud kick you. So, ’cose I
didn’ wan’ dat steer ter kick me big ez he is. I heahd Uncle Silas say
one time he wuz plowin’ wid Dove an’ Pigeon—dey wuz de bigges’ an’
strongis’ mules Mars Nickey had. He plow’d up uh yaller-jackets’ nes’,
an’ he wuzn’ watchin Dove er Pigeon; he wuz jes’ watchin’ an’ fightin’
dem yaller-jackets. He say he had mos’ wo’ out uh bran’ new straw hat
fightin’ ’em, an’ wuz mos’ ’zausted, when dey got on Dove. She gib uh
kick, _bof_ huh feet hit him on de haid an’ gib him de haidache all day.
An’ dat uh steer name Sampson—an’ he wan’ sech uh pow’ful steer
neba—kick him on de haid wid _one_ foot, an’ he haid ache fuh _two_
days.

“Well, ez I wuz tellin’ you, I hadn’ mo’n fed Crow an’ Ab’ham, when dat
new oberseer, Dan Sharp, cum ’long an’ sez ter me, jes’ ez I wuz
startin’ ter see Susan, ‘Why didn’ you teck de yoke of’n dem steers?’ So
I say, ‘Kase I fogot hit!’ ‘Well, den,’ he say, ’you lazy roscal, teck
hit orf now!’ I wuz all dress up in meh bes’ summer close, an’ I
recommembered what you say boutin dat oberseer; so I riz meh haid up an’
say, sassy-like, ‘You roscal yo’sef.’ Billy, wid dat he fairly foam at
de mouf, run arfter me fas’ ez uh colt; den I run an’ run, but he gain
on me (you see, I had meh shoes on), an’ I wuz so feard gittin’ kotch
an’ whupped, da wuz nuffin lef’ fuh me but ter run in de creek, at de
mouf ub Haylan’ Branch, up ter meh neck—_wid dem new yaller pants on_.
Arfter I had bin in de watah boutin twenty minutes, mebby uh harf hour,
long nuff fuh Dan Sharp ter git his bref back, he say, ‘Who uh roscal,
you black imp; me er you?’ I sez rite quick, ‘I is!’ Den he say, ‘You
kin cum outin de creek.’ Den I tu’n fool, ez hit tu’n out, an’ say, ‘I
ain’ gwine ter cum out; I’s gwine ter suffah in heah. I’s gwine ter git
de cramps, an’ uh mis’ry in meh back, an’ den go an’ tell Mars Nickey
an’ Miss Henrietta how I kotch dem cramps.’ Den Dan Sharp say, ‘Ef’n you
gwine ter tell yo’ Mars Nickey an’ Miss Henrietta, den I will keep you
in heah tell midnite.’ Den he teck out he watch an’ say, ‘I’ll send de
fus’ one ub de chillun dat cum ’long de road fuh meh supper. I ain’
sorry ter stay heah, kase I heah tell ub de dancin’ parties de witches
hab in dis branch, an’ I wanter see how long hit will teck ’em ter gib
you spavins when dey gits ter dancin’ an’ meddowtatin’ ’roun’ you an’
tryin’ ter meck sturrups in yo’ hyah.’

“Billy, I had meh hyah all tied up in twisses, but when de oberseer talk
dat fashion, meh hyah riz up on meh haid so quick hit bus’ dem twisses.
I mos’ had uh spavin, sho’ nuff. When meh bref cum back I say, ‘Befo’ de
Lawd, Mr. Sharp, I promis’ not ter tell.’ Den he lemmy cum out. Well,
Billy, ef’n you cud hab seed de colour de salt watah tu’n dem lubly
pants, you’d uh wep’. Do you recommember uh ole white-eyed, pie-coloured
hoss dat good ole Quakah, Mars Isaac Atkinson, had name Skeuball?”

“’Cose I do. Mars Isaac use ter say witches made stirrups in he main,
an’ sometimes rid him ober ter Fausley.” [Billy was that witch!]

“Well, de colour ub dem pants ’mine me ub ole Skeuball; I kyant ’magin’
what de man dat made de muslin cud uh put in hit. An’ Billy, I kyant
ondastan’ how cum Mr. Sharp run me in dat creek. I’m mo’n twice ez big
ez you is, an’ you say when he cuss you, you cuss him back. ’Cose arfter
what you spressify ter me, when he sass me I rite ’way ’cluded ter sass
him. So I say, ‘You roscal yo’sef.’ Billy you no de consequation ub dat
miration. I ’ten’ ter ax Mr. Sharp when he meck up wid me how cum hit
dat Billy kin cuss him an’ I kyant ebin sass him.”

“Juba, don’ tu’n fool ergin. Don’ say nuffin ter him nohow; hit will
jes’ meck him mad ergin, an’ dat gre’t big man mite breck bof our necks.
Da wuz uh checkeration in our composation de nite I tole you, fuh Mage
Rudd tuck his broom an’ fairly swep’ me outin his sto’ fuh spillin’
mullasses on de sto’ flo’, an’ I wuz tu fusstified ter tell you de res’
ub what I did boutin Mr. Sharp. Well, Juba, de res’ is, when I wan’ ter
cuss him I goes way up ter de top ub de hill ’hin’ de bawn. Den I looks
all ’roun’ an’ ’roun’, an’ ef’n I don’ see Mr. Sharp no wha neah, I jes’
cuss, cuss, an’ cusses him; an’ dat way, hit do mo’ good dan yo’ way,
kase you kin git mad ez you wan’ ter, spressify yo’sef jes’ ez yo’ wan’
ter, an’ hit don’ teck de colour outin yo’ pants.”

“Well, Billy, I ain’ fogot de spilein’ ub dem pants, I tell you. I bin
t’inkin’ ’bout breckin’ meh wud an’ tyin’ meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’
tellin’ Mars Nickey de ve’y fus’ time he ax me how I feel. Den I’ll say,
“Po’ly, Mars Nickey; ve’y po’ly eber sence Mr. Sharp run me in yo’ creek
at de foot ub Haylan’ Branch mash an’ kep’ me stan’in’ in da mos’ all
nite tramplin’ on yo’ oysters. Now, what do you t’ink, Billy, boutin
dat?”

“Ez you gwine ter tell Marster in de summah time er de wintah time?”

“Dunno, Billy; I ain’ t’ink ’bout dat.”

“Well, teck my ’vice an’ tell him in de summah time, kase boutin uh harf
hour arfter you tell him, da will be tu pussons stan’in’ in de creek up
ter deah moufs—one will be Mr. Sharp, tudda, Juba Viney.”




                       “HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”


Sistus, brudders an’ chillun: You will fine meh tex’ in de forty-fus’
chaptah ub Job, an’ uh part ub de twenty-fus’ vus: “His bref kinleth
coals.”

Fus’ly, meh discose ter-day will be ’boutin strange things.

Da is some people in dis congation, ’tickerly Little Billy, dat kyant
ondastan’ why we don’ no mo’ erboutin witches, an’ ghoses. De fac’ is,
sence de witch cummittee went inter Haylan’ Branch, saw uh ghose er
sperrit—an’ dey sut’ny saw one er de udda—da has bin too much witch talk
in dis congation. Fuh instinct, what diffunc’ do hit meck ef’n hit de
same sort, er not de same sort, ub witches dat Saul talk erboutin when
he say, “Thou shal’ not suffah uh witch ter lib.” Mo’n dat, he cud ’ford
ter talk dat way, fars ez he cud run.

De Bible say, “Saul an’ Jonithan wuz swiftah dan eagles.”

Secon’ly, Meh belubbed sistus, da is some things you nebba kin fine
out, stranger dan witches an’ mo’ ’structive dan witches er
jack-uh-ma-lanterns.

Thudly, Dis lubly oak pulpit Mars Nickey had built full us wuz once uh
acorn—think ub dat; an’ you may keep on thinkin’, but you kyant
ondastan’ it.

Fo’fly, Miss Henrietta cum in de chuch yistiddy an’ look ’roun’ while I
wuz sweepin’. She say: “Reubin, Chris’mus I gwine ter gib de chuch uh
melojin.” She had in huh bres’ fo’ er five little wiolets, an’ dey jes’
fill de chuch full ub deah sweetness—dunno tho’, kase I specks some ub
de sweetness wuz fum huh bref, kase hit’s jes’ like uh lam’s.

Now, den, what cud be mo’ strange dan de odah fum uh little wiolet? Hit
cums peepin’ up in de early spring, den hit buds an’ blooms, an’ uh bed
ub dem wiolets is ez sweet ez dat hyarp ub uh thousan’ strings dat
little Dabid played ’pon. What’s in de groun’ ’ceppin’ de wumms ter gib
dat wiolet odah? Mars Nickey say dat wumms sweeten de uth an’ meck holes
futto let de air in. You kin smell de wiolet, but you kyant kerry dat
odah ’way wid you; but uh jewdrap kin cum ’long erboutin sundown, drap
on dat flowah, res’ uh little while, an’ what’s de consequation? Why,
dat little jewdrap will ’sorb ernuff ub dat odah ter meck yo’ hankcheah
smell sweet fuh uh hole Sunday, an’ you kin teck hit outin yo’ pocket
ev’y five minutes, ef’n you wan’ter.

What’s witches er ghoses ’long side de mistification ub uh jewdrap? Why,
de action ub young chickens is mo’ curisome ter me dan witches. Ef’n uh
chicken is only two days ole, and not strong ernuff ter git on he ma’s
back, an’ uh wile tukkey, er wile goose, er buzzard cum sailin’ ’long,
hit don’ pesterfy de ole hen er any ub huh chicks. Dey keep on playin’
wid dere toes an’ tryin’ ter pick up ebery little trem’lin’ sunbeam
dat’s playin’ wid de grass; but jes’ let uh little sparrow-hawk, er any
kind ub hawk cum ’long, you’ll see dat ole hen renounce hit ter huh
chicks quick ez you kin wink yo’ eye. Den you kin look an’ look, but you
kyant fine one ub dem little chickens ter sabe yo’ life.

Now, why is dat? Hits da _in_-sence; dat is, de sence dat’s in ’em.

Sixly, Teck uh little cherry blossom dat you cud put in Miss Henrietta’s
thimble; hit mecks uh cherry tree. I’s talkin’ now boutin dem small
breed ub cherry blossoms dat grows at Fausley, on dem monstus gre’t big
trees. Why, some ub de bumps on dem trees is big ernuff ter set on.
Pow’ful big cherry trees! What’s witches ter de cherry blossoms dat
mecks dem big trees? You kyant ’splain hit.

We do no sompin’ erbout witches; fuh instinct, we kin ondastan how some
breed ub witches kin lib in cows’ hohns—dem small ones dat Little Billy
say lit on Pigeon’s mane (an’ you no mules don’ hab long manes) jes’
same ez uh pack ub mice wid wings, one night when he ridin’ Pigeon thoo
Haylan’ Branch. Billy say de biggis’ one he saw dat time wuz uh white
one, wid spuhs on, boutin ez big ez uh young rabbit befo’ dey leabe deah
nes’—an’ ub cose at uh ’stressin’ time like dat Billy mus’ uh saw twice.
Mo’ober he say ef’n de witches had uh had bobtails he wud uh tuck ’em
fuh rabbits; but deah tails wuz ve’y curisome—erbout twice ez long ez uh
’possum’s, an’ rap all ’roun’ deah ahms.

But de stranges’ thing ub all is what I now cum ter seben’ly—

                       “HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”

We kyant say our pr’ars widout hit. Hit’s got fingahs, I s’pose plays
hohns an’ all insterments dat you blow on. Hit sings, howls, whispuhs
an’ moans same ez uh mo’nah. Hit’s uh thing wid three names.

Ev’ybody lubs de part dat ’longs ter him mo’n uh jus’ man lub his wife,
er King Dabid lubb’d Ab-so-lum. We kin see hit in wintah when hit’s cole
an’ frosty, but kyant see hit in de summah when it dry. Hit’s wid us
whedder we ersleep er wake. Som’times hit’s ez weak ez uh nat, den ergin
stronger dan de little hills dat de Bible say, “skipped like lam’s.”
Hit’s wahm in summah an’ cole in wintah. Hit’s gentle one day an’ sassy
nubba day. Hit kerries in hit’s bres’ de storm an’ scatters de clowds.
Hit wuz wid Jonah in de whale’s belly. Hit kin sow an’ reap. Ezactly so,
precisely. Hit’s stronger dan all de steers, cows, hosses, mules an’ men
on dis plantation. In quaresomeness da’s nuffin kin tech it; uh barnyard
full ub witches is nuffin ter dis mis’try.

                       “HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”

Ately, hit kin be ez sorf ez de fevvers on uh hummin’ bird’s bres’ er de
down on uh wile goose’s neck. Belubbed, hit’s nebba still; al’ays goin’
somewha, an’ de Bible say you kyant see hit. No snail kin creep ’long
slower dan hit kin, an’ no ghose run fasser.

Ninely, Hit kin canter, rack, gallop, trot; hit’s got all de gaits, an’
when hit comes ter swif’ness, dar ain’ nuffin un’er de sun, an’ I specks
ober de sun, dat kin run erway fum hit. Hit kin sing ez high ez Aunt
Phillis an’ ez low ez Little Billy. Sometimes hit coughs same ez an ole
cow dat’s tryin’ ter swaller uh nubbin ’dout chawin’ hit.

Leb’nly, De fac’ is, sistus an’ brudders, our bref, de win’, er
air—three names fuh one thing—mus’ be uh pusson. How cud it cough,
whistle, sing, cry, moan same ez uh sinnah, whispuh, sow an’ reap, ef’n
it wan’ one ub dem Possels er Petracks in disgise.

                       “HIS BREF KINLETH COALS.”

Twelf’ly, _Any way you look at hit_, hit sut’ny mus’ be some kine ub
pusson. Brudderin, hit mus’ be Job, fuh Job say, “O, recommember dat meh
life _is wind_.”[16] Dar’s uh gre’t deal mo’ ub it in Haylan’ Branch dan
witches. In de summahtime hit sweetens Haylan’ Branch; huvverin’ ober de
wile grapewines, dem nights in June, drinks itself full ub ’licious
odahs an’ brings dem two miles ter Mars Nickey, Miss Henrietta an’ de
chillun settin’ on de po’ch lookin’ at de Tred Avon, an’ ter ev’y good
an’ bad niggah on de plantation. Sistus, I specks de gyarden ub Edum wuz
full ub wile grapewines. ’Cose Miss Eve knew’d what de sweetes’ ub odahs
wuz, an’ I specks Mars Adam an’ Miss Eve spent da moon-honey ’roun’ dem
wile grapewines.

Thutteenly, Ter cum back ter de application, what is de win’? Is it uh
Cherrypin er Serrypin, er Job in disgise?

Damon Danridge: “Uncle Reubin hit cudn’ be uh Cherrypin er Serrypin,
kase sometimes de win’ good-temper’d, den ergin hit’s angry.”

Uncle Reubin: “Damon, I ’cepts yo’ ’spons’bility, kase when de win’ gits
rale mad hit orften mecks de clowds weep snow an’ cry rain. Think ub
dat! An’ when you see de ole steamboat Marylan’ lash ter de warf, an’
Cap’n Stitchberry’s ole yaller sail schooner, de Margaret Jane, clair up
ter de haid ub Fausley Creek, you kin see ’mejately de win’ almos’ got
uh spavin.”

Fo’teenly, Sistus, brudders an’ little chillun, teck care ub yo’ bref;
fuh de Bible say, “We all do fade ez de leaf.” You wan’s de bref ub life
all de time, night an’ day, right wid you. Brudders, sometimes hit’s too
full ub applejack, udder times mebby hit’s wasted tellin’ lies, dancin’,
playin’ de fiddle, singin’ songs, stealin’ watahmillions, an’ habin’
foolish composations erbout ghoses, jack-uh-ma-lanterns an’ witches,
when de same bref mout uh bin used futto pray wid an’ sing hyms. Ef’n
you don’ teck care ub yo’ bref you will be class wid dem dat’s call uh
bag ub win’—an’ da ain’ nuffin mo’ onsartin’ dan de win’.

Lars’ but not leas’, when you go home talk erboutin’ de win’ ’sted ub
ghoses an’ witches, ondastan’ yo’sebs, pray fuh de bref ub de lam’ futto
be wid you, an’ when you rassle wid yo’ lars bref an’ hit whispuh sorf
ez uh Cherrypin—

                  “Yo’ll not git los’ in de wildernes’
                  Wid uh lighted can’le in yo’ bres’.”

Light de can’le! Ef’n you don’ light hit good an’ hab de wick ub
salbation, den de blessed Lawd will _blow_ hit out an’ say ergin: “Foxes
hab holes, an’ de birds ub de _air_ (dar’s de application) hab nesses;
but de Son ub Man hath not wha ter lay His haid.”

[Illustration:

  BLACK CREEK FORD.
]




                           DAT AUNTYDOTE.[17]


                           Dramatis Personae.

                      Mars Dick—A country doctor.
                      Ben—a credulous darkey.
                      Mike—a Talbot County mule.


                                 ACT I.


                   SCENE I.—Ben’s cabin near a swamp.

 When Mike, meh mule, tuck sick Mars Dick cum ridin’ by
 An’ say, “Uh case orntried is hyard ter jestify;
 Still, I kin git him well, meck up yo’ mine ter dat,
 Ef you will turn yo’ pollyticks an’ be uh Dimmycrat.

 “I’s gwine ter try an’ git inter de Legislater, Ben,
 An’ I wan’ ter run uh haid ub de res’ ub all de men.”
 De consequation wuz I say, “I’ll vote fuh you, Mars Dick,
 Fuh dis po’ wretched mule ub mine is mighty, monstus sick.”

 Den Mars Dick say, “Be quick! Run ter de swamp an’ get
 Snake-root, squaw-root, mash-mallers an’ bone-set;
 Ros’ ’em in uh spidah tell dey squench up inter uth,
 Den da ain’ no tellin’ what sich uh powder’s wuth.”

 Hit seems ter me de price wuz big dat I got fuh meh vote,
 Kase Mars Dick say dem swamp yearbs wuz uh pow’ful auntydote
 Fuh hic-cups, cramps, brownchytiz, bruises, bu’ns, haidaches,
 Rheumatiz an’ measles, conwulsions and de shakes.

 An’ den Mars Dick he tole me, in de mawnin’ ’fo’ I feed
 Futto go inter de swamp an’ git de largis’ reed I seed,
 An’ fill hit full fum en’ ter en’ wid dat gran’ auntydote,
 Pull out Mike’s tongue, put in de reed, an’ blow hyard down he thote.


                               SCENE II.

 In ’bout uh week I heahd uh nock—’twuz Mars Dick at de do’;
 I’d jes’ begun uh leetle bit ter walk ’cross de flo’;
 De pussperation baved meh face, an’ I had so leetle bref,
 Dat Mars Dick say, “Why, Ben, what’s de matter wid yo’sef?”

 I say ter him, “Dat auntydote wuz wus’n dangerous,
 De mule he gib uh pow’ful snort, _an’ his blow wuz de fus’_!
 De bone-set’s clustah’d ’roun’ meh bones, de snake-root’s in meh brain,
 Meh back is full ub mis’ry, an’ meh haid is full ub pain.”


                                 MORAL.

 Young Marster ain’ de kine ub man dat suits de Legislater,
 He spressify his condidence too much ter meck uh ’bater;
 Dat auntydote dey call it wud nebber tech meh thote
 Ef I hadn’ pestered pollyticks an’ sole fuh weeds meh vote.

[Illustration:

  “SKYLARK.”

  Mars Matthew wuz ridin’ in de lead on Skylark, an’ his favorite hound,
    Jerry Myah, wuz tonguein’
  ez sweet ez er Melojin, an’ leadin’ de pack.
]




                                 EZRA.


Ezzy, as the servants called him, was a brother to Little Billy, almost
as smart, but in character as unlike as Jacob and Esau were in
appearance, for Billy had very little character and Ezzy a great deal.
He was short of stature, well figured, good featured, perfect teeth, and
though 60 years old, was full of life, gracious and light-hearted. He
doted on a horse race, could cut the pigeon wing and was as fond of a
fox hunt as Squire Weston. As much as he loved to eat, he would leave a
steaming breakfast of hominy and sparerib if he heard a pack in full
cry.

He had a most remarkable memory; for instance, he knew the mothers of
all the calves and lambs, the names of all the oyster pungies, schooners
and canoes in the river. I suppose in Bolingbrook District there were a
hundred foxhounds; he knew all of their names, and when they passed him
in full cry would exclaim, “Da goes Chimes, Jerry-Myah, Boxer, Juno,
Jew-Drap, Sweet-lips, Heatherbell, Sweetheart,” etc. He sang, played the
banjo and was a decided beau. Indeed, he was a born sport, and like his
brother, Little Billy, not fond of hard work. He was an exceptionally
good horseman, had good hands and good judgment; in Queen Anne’s County
had ridden and won two races for his Marster; could break a yoke of oxen
in a week; schooled the hunters, broke the colts, rode them bare-back,
and, as he would say, “Dey jes’ drapped into his ways.”

Ezra had his faults, however, and annoyed the overseers with his
shortcomings. For example, he doted on coon hunting, and when he had
been coon hunting all night, would go to sleep for hours next day
husking corn and not husk enough to pay for his bacon. If a fox was run
through the estate, Ezra would pack in and forget his work. When the
overseers would call him to account he would say, “I cudn’ help gittin’
’stracted an’ harkin’ up dem houn’s. Mars Matthew wuz ridin’ in de lead
on Skylark, an’ his favorite houn’, Jerry-Myah, wuz tonguein’ ez sweet
ez uh melojin, an’ leadin’ de pack.”

Late in September, 1857, to judge Cotswold sheep his Marster was invited
to the great cattle and horse show to be held in Memphis, Tenn., the
next month. As Ezra was fond of animals, and trifling about hard work,
had good manners and full of kindness, his Marster concluded to send him
to Memphis with eight sheep, the pick of the flock.

[Illustration:

  Dey ’long ter Mars Matthew; his Gre’t Gran Pa, dey tell me, hope
    C’lumbus ter ’sciver Talbot County, an’ dat wuz befo’ de Petracks
    (Patriarchs) cum ober.
]

They stopped in Baltimore, where Noah Walker & Company fitted him out
with two suits of brown livery with brass buttons. He was given a new
hat, as he expressed it, “Wid uh burr on one side de hat;” but his new
boots particularly charmed him, as the best servants got boots, and the
others shoes. From Baltimore, Ezra was sent direct to Memphis, and his
Mars Matthew joined, in Richmond, Col. John Ware, of Virginia, who bred
Cotswold sheep and exhibited in Memphis.

At the Memphis show, three of Ezra’s sheep took blue ribbons, one a red
ribbon. He was standing in front of his sheep cot, two days after
arriving—standing as though he was going to have his picture taken,
delighted with himself and the blue ribbons. A man came along and said:

“Has your Marster many sheep like these?”

“Many? Erbout ten thousan’; dey jes’ run an’ tuck de fus’ dey kotch.”

Another man said, “Whose sheep are these?”

“Dey ’long ter Mars Matthew; his gre’t granpa, dey tell me, holp
C’lumbus ’sciver Talbot County, an’ dat wuz befo’ de Petracks cum ober.”

Presently a neat, likely looking mulatto girl came along, looked
admiringly at Ezra, leaned over the rail of the sheep cot and said
demurely, “Kin I pat one ub yo’ sheep?”

“Sut’ny, honey; dey won’ bite,” Ezra said. “Do you lib ’roun’ heah?”

“Yas, indeed;” and she added, “Wha you cum fum; ’roun’ heah?”

“Bless meh soul an’ body an’ meh body an’ soul—ter think I cum fum dis
place! Why, dar ain’ no salt watah heah! I cum fum de Eastern Sho’ ub
Maryland, Talbot County. Uncle Stephen Viney say dat he heah John Poney
say dat he heah Pawson Phil Demby say dat meh fambly bin libbin’ in
Talbot County fum de times ub de Petracks. It’s de fines’ place on uth;
don’ hab ter wuck much; da ain’ much lan’, mos’ ev’ything salt watah,
ribbers, bays, creeks and cobes. Fuh instinct, I tecks meh boat”——

“Is you uh free pusson?”

“Me? Dey don’ ’low free niggahs down dar; dey all qual’ty slabes.”

“Well, you said you had uh boat.”

“Sut’ny I did. Ef’n uh serbent wants uh boat he jes’ say ter Mars
Matthew, ‘I wants uh pine tree, meh Marster, futto meck uh boat,’ an’
rite ’way he say, ‘Teck yo’ choice in de fores’;’ an’ den ten er twelbe
serbents almos’ meck dat boat in one night; dey call ’em dug-outs. Well,
I kin teck meh boat an’ cross de watah fum Mars Matthew’s ter Mars
Jimmy’s, erbout uh harf mile, in uh harf hour an’ mebby fish meh net on
de way; ef’n I had ter go by lan’, it wud be twelbe miles erroun’.”

“Is de fishin’ good down da? Any mullets?”

[Illustration:

  Meh name is Ezra, but dey call me Ezzy.
]

“Mullets! We gib dem ter de hogs. We eats what dey call spot, hog-fish,
yaller-neds, catfish, pearch, sheepshead, crokusses, bay mackrel—dat
lars fish de bes’ ub all; don’ hab ter mobe yo’ lips an’ tongue ’tall;
hit jes’ melt in yo’ mouf—an’ crabs an’ oysters dey almos’ beg you ter
eat ’em. Coons in de swamps, an’ ’possums in mos’ ev’y ’simmon tree.
Serbents don’ hab much ter do; I dress up dis way mos’ all de time.”

“Well, you sut’ny do look peart in dat suit, an’ you sut’ny mus’ lib in
uh pow’ful fine country. I’m a chambermaid, an’ ’longs ter Mars Bedford
Forrest, who’s showin’ some game chickens an’ fine cattle, heah; dat’s
one ub his serbents stan’in’ in front ub dem cattle; ax him ter bring
you ’roun’ ter-night ter see me; I’s jes’ pinin’ ter heah sum mo’ erbout
dem ribbers an’ ocean. Meh name is Muhtilda.”

“Meh name is Ezra, but dey call me Ezzy.”

“Well, kin I ’speck you, Ezzy?”

“Yes’m; erboutin supper time.”

Every night Ezra went to see Matilda, and every day, as long as she
could get off, Matilda came to see Ezra. The result was, at the end of
the week they were married. Ezra never said a word to his Marster about
it, and urged her to be silent. She was faithful, dependent and
obedient. Ezra told her “he wuz not gwine ter say anything ter his ole
Marster tell de day befo’ gwine home, and den his Mars Matthew wud buy
huh. Ef’n I say anything rite ’way he mout git rejected, teck me home by
mehsef, teck off dis nuniform; mo’n dat, he mout whup me, an’ nebba let
me go ter any mo’ shows.” Matilda grew so worried that she cried and
cried; she was more than perplexed, almost hysterical, so she told Ezra
she was going to see and talk to his Marster. Ezra was affrighted, and
said, “Ef’n you tu’n fool an’ git ter prancin’ erroun’ Marster, he will
say dat he is sho’ you mus’ uh run ’way wid me, an’ dat he don’ like
Tennessee niggahs.”

Matilda had more courage, however, than Ezra, so she interviewed Ezra’s
Marster, who said:

“Are you a slave?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope your Marster is good and kind to you?”

“Y-a-s, indeed, meh Marster; he is ve’y ’zactin’ an’ punnounced, but he
is jes’ ez kind ez kind kin be; ef’n I hadn’ fell in lub wid Ezzy, dat
Eastern Sho’ an’ his boat, I wudn’ arsk you ter buy me an’ leabe Mars
Bedford; but you know Ezzy hab ve’y cutesome ways.”

“Suppose I can get your Marster to buy Ezra and make him promise never
to sell him as long as he behaves himself; how then? I hate to part with
him, but I have servants enough.”

“Meh Marster, dat will settle de ’spute rite ’way; please sell Ezzy to
Mars Bedford. I’m sho’ he wudn’ part wid me, an’ Ezzy wild suit him
futto handle de hosses.”

Mr. Forrest said he would not take five thousand dollars for Matilda;
she was all in all the best servant he ever owned, and after a brief
talk not only bought Ezra, but the sheep; so they did not have to come
home and carry their tails behind them.

N. B. Forrest soon became attached to Ezra, thought the world of him,
and when the Civil War broke out took him as his body servant. Ezra
served him faithfully during the war, and when General Forrest disbanded
his troops at Gainesville, Ala., May 9th, 1865, General Forrest told
Ezra he would give him a home and take care of him as long as he lived.
Ezra said, “He wud like once mo’ ter see Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary an’
den cum back.” Whereupon General Forrest presented him with Pigeon, a
mule, and gave him money enough to go home. He rode some hundred and
seventy miles to the home of a Mrs. Sanson, where he stayed two weeks,
and then took the train from Rome, Ga., for home; and one bright,
beautiful morning early in June, timid and lonesome the steamer landed
him at Miles River Wharf, Talbot County, Maryland, a mile by water from
“Fairlands.”

All faces were strange to him; he knew no one and no one knew him. “The
Rest” had been burned during the war, and the new house looked strange.
Across the river and opposite “The Rest” was “The Anchorage.” It looked
changed; there were no little negroes playing on the lawn. “The Villa”
further up the river was almost hidden by the trees that had grown so
since he left. Timidly he turned his longing eyes on “Fairlands,” and he
saw, a mile away across the river, grand pecan nut, majestic oak, poplar
and horse-chestnut trees. He pulled from his pocket a bandanna
handkerchief almost big enough to cover a baby’s crib, and said,
brushing tears from his eyes, “Dat’s wha Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary lib.
Dat’s ‘Fairlands.’” He asked an old darkey unloading fish and soft crabs
from his canoe if, for thirty cents, he would land him at the foot of
the “Fairlands” garden. “Git abode; I got meh net sot at de foot ub de
gyarden.”

“Ev’ything is so changed,” he said inaudibly, as he took his seat in the
bow of the boat. “Mars Bedford tole me I al’ays had uh home wid him,”
and he almost regretted leaving his far Southern home.


What a lovely day it was! The air was of caressing softness; the breeze
was so light that the sail sometimes jibed, the ripples kissed lightly
the sides of the boat that floated lazily along; the balmy June air, the
sweet breath of the salt water, all, coupled with Ezra’s fatigue,
soothed him and presently he was asleep. His hat fell off beside him,
and

                 Da wuz no wool on de top ub his haid,
                 In de place wha de wool orter grow.

Here and there on his face were little tufts of beard that looked like
tiny grains of popped corn.

In about an hour the boatman turned the stern of his boat towards the
shore and pushed her on the beach at the foot of the garden back of the
dwelling—spanked the water with his paddle, and Ezra awoke, got out,
walked through the water bushes and soon was strolling along one of the
garden walks. He thought how strange it was in the month of June those
once leafless and carpet-like walks should be strewn with leaves; then
he noticed that the box hedges were ragged and in places had paths
through them; the grape arbors were decayed here and there and
tottering, and many grapevines were trailing over and embracing leafless
and dying peach and pear trees——

                  All that’s bright must fade,
                    The brightest still the fleetest;
                  All that’s sweet was made
                    But to be lost when sweetest!

Only the birds seemed to care for and own this once enchanting and
beautiful garden, “warbled their native wood notes wild” and sang
hallelujahs to the morning-glories and other flowers. Acres of air were
filled with the delicious perfume of blooming grapevines, and the
canticles of birds.

Ezra sank upon an old rustic seat and said again, “Mars Bedford say he
wud al’ays teck care ub me. I’m sorry I spent meh money and lef’ de
Souf, but I wan’ ter see Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary once mo’,” and again
he took out that bandanna handkerchief. His solitude was broken by old
Sam’l, once one of the gardeners, the only servant that stayed when they
were emancipated. He had on his arm a basketful of cling peaches. He
said, “I s’pose you bin sorf crabbin’ ’long de sho’ an’ cum up heah ter
res’ yo’sef dis sweet, lubly day?”

Ezra said: “I ain’ bin crabbin’, do’ I lubs crabbin’ an’ lubs crabs
futto eat. I’m jes’ fum de wah; fit in mos’ ev’y battle. Mars Bedford
Forrest _wuz wid me all de time_. Ub cose you hearn tell ub him.”

Sam’l looked at him inquisitively, and said:

“Now, hush!”

And then Ezra’s face beamed, he recognized old Sam’l, and he said, “Don’
you recommember me, Brer Sam? I’s Ezzy, Leetle Billy’s brudder, dat Mars
Matthew sold ter Mars Bedford befo’ de wah.” Whereupon they embraced.

[Illustration:

  So by and by “Ezra” was bowing to and greeting Miss Mary.
]

Ezra was very hungry, and soon commenced to eat up the peaches, when a
little darkey about three years old whom Sam’l said was his grandchild,
looked into the basket and said something that probably meant to ask for
peaches. Whereupon Ezra said:

“Do de chile talk, Brer Sam?”

Brer Sam’l said, “Well, I kyant tell ezactly; he mecks de sounds, but
kyant fo’m de wuds yit.”

Then with timidity and a trembling voice he asked Sam’l for Mars Matthew
and Miss Mary. Sam’l said, “Losin’ he good an’ faithful serbents dat wuz
’swaded ’way, seein’ de lawn kivvered all de time wid twigs an’ leabes,
ev’ything goin’ ter wase, young Mars Matthew gittin’ kilt at Petersbu’g,
’stressed him so pow’ful dat he got so he cudn’ recommember anything;
fuh instinct, he wud fogit de tex’ befo’ he lef’ de chuch; he almos’
fogot his A B C’s; den ergin, he wuz eighty years ole, an’ den he died.
Mistis ’structed Pawson Phil Demby, John Poney, Damon Danridge, Rasmus
Jemes an’ mehsef ter meck de toom. She wudn’ hab nobody else, an’ you
kyant ’magine how fine it look.

“Ezzy, sence you bin ’way we has had uh gre’t preacher at Zion Chuch,
an’ we hab all got erligion an’ tu’n Presbyters; de shirks wuz so bad we
had ter gib up de Babtis’ erligion. Jes’ let me git annerr barsket ub
peaches, Ezzy, an’ den I’ll go up an’ tell Ole Mistis you’r heah, an’
she will sho’ly see you.”

Whilst Sam’l was gone, Ezra thought of the straw stacks he used to climb
and slide down, how his young Marster, killed at Petersburg, used to
drive Rasmus, Saul, Little Billy and himself tandem, all harnessed up
with sweet potato vines, and prancing with sheep-rib bits in their
mouths like colts. And then he recalled the colts he broke, gazed upon
the river where he used to wade the hunting horses along the beach to
wash and tone up their legs; then he thought of his brother, Little
Billy, his coon dog, Jasper, and of his boat, and wondered where they
all were. He wiped his eyes, took a chew of tobacco, when his crowded
thoughts were diverted by Sam’l’s return. So by and by Ezra was bowing
to and greeting his “Ole Mistis.” Thinking to condole with her and leave
the impression that he always thought his Marster of sound mind, he
said, “Miss Mary, people use ter say dat Mars Matthew wuz rash-nal, but
I nebber did think Mars Matthew wuz rash-nal.”

The old lady could scarcely repress a smile, and told Ezra the quarter
where he was born and lived (on Heart’s Cove, a beautiful sheet of water
near the homestead and an arm of Miles River) should be renovated and
made comfortable as his home, and all that she required of him in his
declining years was to keep her in oysters, fish and crabs, an easy task
and eminently to the taste of Ezra.

[Illustration:

  MARS ARTHUR.
]

In a few days, helped by his young Marster Arthur, Ezra was comfortably
domiciled in his quarter on Heart’s Cove, and was very happy. He wished
he had ridden Pigeon home instead of giving her away; he missed her so.
He did not seem to worry about his wife the war had separated from him.
One day whilst he was chinking and fixing up his boat, which old Sam’l
had taken good care of, and singing lustily—

                 “When Israel wuz in Egyp’ lan’;
                     Let meh people go;
                 Oppress’d so hyard dey cud not stan’;
                     Let meh people go;
                 Go down Moses, way down in Egyp’ lan’;
                     Tell ole Phario,
                     Let meh people go”—

his young Marster Arthur, a lad of 15, who had already grown fond of
him, and found him always entertaining, took a seat near him, asked him
some questions about the South and if he saw anything of the war.

“Who, me? Mars Bedford wuz wid _me_ an’ we fit mo’n uh hunard battles, I
specks, skirmages an’ all.”

“Who do you mean by Mars Bedford?”

“Why, Gen’l Forrest; de gre’tes’ warrior dat ebber libbed. Yo’ Pa sole
me ter him. He wuz jes’ Mistah Forrest dem days, an’ wuz uh private de
fus’ ub de wah; think ub dat! Well, when de wah broke out he tuck me fuh
one ub his bodyguard; dat is, ter guard his body an’ keep dem blue coats
’way. He had uh hunard an’ fifty men in his bodyguard, an’ I wuz rite
’side him, his serbent an’ waitah—an’ mo’n dat, wid him night an’ day,
ceppin in de battle; den I al’ays hilt his hoss when he fight on foot.
You see when de battle ’tall ornsartin he meck dat bodyguard git of’n
deah bosses an’ he draw dat big swo’d ub his’n an’ say, ‘Foller me,’ an’
’mejately de blue coats see Mars Bedford an’ dat long swo’d ub his’n,
dey sho’ ter run, don’ meck no difference ef’n dey ez thick ez
grasshoppus. Some people say he cud look like uh goblin an’ tu’n inter
uh sperrit in uh han’-ter-han’ fight; once uh week he sharpen his swo’d
same ez uh raiser, an’ arfter his brudder got kilt (nebba saw uh man cry
so in meh life) he sharpen dat swo’d ev’y day an’ he say, ‘Ef’n dey don’
s’render arfter I say s’render, I’ll cut de haids of’n ev’y one I gits
close ’nuff ter,’ and he did it, too.”

“Now, Ezra!”

“Young Marster, I hab seed too much sufferin’ an’ too much sorrow ter
meck fun ub it; mo’n dat, I’m gittin’ ter be uh ole man, an’ I wan’ meh
heb’nly Marster’s lub; so what I am tellin’ you is de truf. I will cross
meh hyart an’ bref uh thousan’ times ef’n you wan’ me ter.’ Then he was
contemplative for a moment, when he resumed chinking his boat and
singing—

               “Oh, cum ’long Moses, you’ll not git los’;
                   Let meh people go;
               Stritch out yo’ rod an’ cum ercross;
                   Let meh people go.”

“Stop singing, Uncle Ezzy, and go on with your story.”

“Jes’ think ub dat chile callin’ me uncle. I’s gwine ter teck him
fishinin’ ev’y day wid me, an’ sorf crabbin’, too, when I gits dis boat
fix’. He is de ve’y spit ub Ole Mars. Well, young Marster, I wo’ uh gray
nuniform, an’ rode de bes’ mule in de Souf, name Pigeon. Some wha
erboutin Chrismus, 1862, close ter Lexington, Tenn., uh gre’t big kunnel
s’rendered ter Mars Bedford. He wuz almos’ skeered stiff, trem’lin’ like
uh aspine leaf, but when Mars Bedford say, smilin’, ‘You fellows didn’
meck much ub uh fight,’ it gib dat kunnel condidence, an’ rite ’way he
look peart an’ say, ‘Gen’l, won’ you please exchange me soon?’ An’ Mars
Bedford say, ‘Yas; go an’ git me de bes’ mule in yo’ cumman’, an’ I’ll
exchange you fuh de mule.’ Dat’s how I got Pigeon. Befo’ dat I had uh
wufless, lazy hoss, an’ Mars Bedford wanted ev’ything lively ’roun’ him.
Den ergin, I carried uh coffeepot, jes’ big ’nuff fuh _me_ and Mars
Bedford, sugah, coffee, hard-tack, blackin’, blackin’ brush, soap an’
towels, an’ sich like. De Gen’l tied strings ’roun’ de bottoms ub uh
heavy par ub canvas pants, an’ I stuffed deah legs full, tell dey jes’
strut out; den I put dem straddle Pigeon’s back an’ tied ’em ter de
saddle so ef’n de amblabus wuz behin’ I had ’nuff perwissions fuh Mars
Bedford an’ me tell de amblabus cum up. Pigeon, she al’ays kep’ up. De
mammy ub dat mule mus’ uh bin uh thurrybred, she wuz al’ays peart an’
fresh; de fac’ is, da wan’ much jackass erbout huh; she nebber blowed
huh trumpet ’ceppin she horngry. When I got ev’ything on meh ahmy
saddle, front an’ back, de pack wuz erbout up ter meh shoulders when I
sot in de saddle, but den ergin, it didn’ pester me, kase I wuz almos’
settin’ in uh bungproof.

“Pigeon wuz ve’y feard ub watah (da sut’ny wuz no Babtis’ blood in huh)
an’ dat mecks me think ub what dey call de Streight raid. It wuz in
April, 1863. Mars Bedford had been fightin’ consonly fuh days, an’ de
hosses an’ men hadn’ slep’ fuh two nights, ’ceppin in de saddle, an’ had
nuffin ter eat. Mars Bedford picked up uh box ub crackers, put dem in
his amblabus an’ divided ’em wid his men. Da wan’ uh thing in meh pants
legs futto eat, ’twuz ’zausted. Befo’ tryin’ ter cross what dey call
Black Creek de Gen’l made uh speech ter his men, callin’ fuh all dat wuz
willin’ ter cross; all ’sponded ’ceppin de men asleep in deah saddles,
_an’ I wuz one ub ’em_. Gen’l Streight wuz retretin’ jes’ ez fars’ ez he
cud, an’ cross ober an’ bu’nt de bridge ober Black Creek. De creek wuz
muddy, swollen, deep an’ dangersome. Mars Bedford wuz meddotatin’ how
ter cross, an’ de sharpshooters wuz firin’ fum de udder side. Seberal
ladies walked up, an’ one ub ’em erbout sebenteen year ole, say, ‘Whose
cumman’ is dis?’ an’ somebody said, ‘De advance ub Gen’l Forrest’s
cavelry.’ She wuz all stirred up, an’ she say, ‘Pint Gen’l Forrest out,’
an’ when dey pinted him out she made such uh curchysy she mos’ swep’ de
groun’, wiped wid huh ap’on de pusspuration fum huh face and said, ‘Dear
Gen’l Forrest an’ brabe soldiers, I know ub an ole ford neah heah,
erboutin uh harf mile ’way, an’ ef’n I had uh mount I cud teck you rite
ter de ford. We hab no hosses; dem blue coats teck ’em all. De way is
th’oo briars an’ fallen trees an’ drif’wood an’ sich like. I kyant walk
well in it.’ Den Mars Bedford say, ‘I will put you up behin’ me, my
chile.’ Then huh ma say, ‘No! No! meh daughter; you mout git kilt, an’
you is meh only yew lam’.’ Den Mars Bedford say, drappin’ dem sorf eyes
ub his’n on huh an’ lookin’ ez fine ez uh cherrypin er serrypin, ‘Git up
behin’ me fum dis fallen tree.’ Den huh mudda almos’ hab spavins, but
she clum up on dat hoss. Mars Bedford call fuh uh scout an’ ’way he
went. Ub cose I wuz wid him; jumpin’ logs, tearin’ up de briars an’
weeds. Arfter dey had gone boutin uh harf mile, Miss Emma, dat wuz huh
name, say, ‘Stop, Gen’l Forrest, dis heah ravine runs down ter dat ford
an’ de ford runs dis way: =>= .’ Den dey got off an’ walked ter de
ribba, but de watah wuz so high an’ so muddy dey cudn’ see de ford; but
she say, ‘It’s bin heah ev’y sence I wuz uh baby. I know almos’ ev’y
rock in it an’ ezac’ly wha it is.’ Den I heah bang! bang! bang! and den
erboutin fo’ty bangs, an’ heah cum de bullets. I wuz peepin’ wid Pigeon
fum behin’ uh big rock. _Oh, I wuz al’ays wid him._ Den I heah Miss Emma
say, ‘Gen’l stan’ behin’ me; dey won’ shoot me.’ Mars Bedford say, ‘Git
behin’ dat rock an’ stay da tell I cum fuh you.’ Den Mars Bedford teck
out his spyglass an’ spied all ’roun’ an’ he heah some twigs crackin’
behin’ him, an’ he looked ’roun’, an’ da wuz dat chile almos’ in his
footprints. De Gen’l’s eyes almos’ spit fire, an’ his mouf trimbled. Den
he say, jes’ like he orderin’ uh charge, ‘Stay behin’ dat rock!’ Den she
say, ‘Gen’l, I wuz fear’d you mout be wounded, an’ I wanted ter be neah
you.’ Den he sot down befo’ de rock—me an’ Pigeon wuz behin’—tu’n’d his
sorf eyes up ter de sky an’ say, ’_De worl’ kyant whup us wid sech
women!_’[18] Pres’ny he holped huh up de ravine—all de time de
sharpshooters wuz firin’, an’ some ub de balls wen’ th’oo huh dress—an’
when she got up de ravine she say, ‘Dey jes’ wounded meh crin’line!’ an’
she tuck orf huh sunbonnet an’ shuck it at ’em. Gen’l Forrest sant her
back ter tell de res’ ub de cumman’ ter cum, artil’ry fus’. Almos’ befo’
dey got ter de ford dey limbered up, fired uh few bung-shots, an’ dem
blue coats soon lef’ dat ford. Den Mars Bedford tole one ub his officers
ter teck uh regiment an’ hole dat ford, and dey hilt it. Ev’ything wuz
ready, an’ Mars Bedford started erhaid ober de ford, when Miss Emma call
him back, almos’ cryin’, and she say, ‘You’r gwine ’rong; you see de
ford run dis way: =>= .’ Den she clum er rock an’ say, ‘Lemmy git up in
front ub you an’ show de way.’ De Gen’l say, ‘No; git up behin’; dey
mout shoot you.’ An’ she say, ‘No; I mus’ ride in front, hab de reins,
so dat I meck no mustake.’ Den Mars Bedford teck orf his nuniform coat,
fold an’ put it in front ub him, den he teck orf his felt hat an’ put it
on de coat, an’ she jump on jes’ ez spry ez uh colt, an’ he say ter his
soldiers, ‘Follow me.’ His scout, Mars Torm, wuz one ub de fus’ ter
follow. Mars Bedford stop his hoss an’ say, ‘You kyant go; yo’ ahm is
badly shot an’ broken; you is not fit ter fight er swim.’ So den he wuz
orf ergin. De hosses wuz neighin’, de creek wuz twissin’, rum’lin’ an’
tum’lin’, de hosses stoppin’, stum’lin’, an’ backin’ jes’ de same ez
ef’n ’twuz dark. I cudn’ say nuffin but meh prayers, an’ I mos’ choke
sayin’ dem. Mo’n dat, Pigeon she wuz carryin’ on high, jes scan’lus;
wudn’ eben put huh feet in de watah. De watah wuz so high dey had ter
teck de caissions orf, an’ de soldiers waded wid de powder on deah
shoulders. It tuck two hours ter cross, but bless Gord, dey all got
ober. Befo’ dey got harf way ’cross Mrs. Sanson, Miss Emma’s mudda, wuz
at de ford, an’ she wuz almos’ ’zausted fum walkin’ th’oo de briars an’
tangled bushes.”

[Illustration:

  MISS EMMA. DAT WUZ HUH NAME.
]

Ezra commenced again to chink his boat, singing—

                 “You’ll not git los’ in de wilderness;
                   Let meh people go;
                 Wid uh lighted can’le in yo’ bres’;
                   Let meh people go.”

Arthur was by this time intensely interested, and after Ezra had bitten
off a fresh chew of tobacco, said, “Well, what then?”

“Well, den Mars Bedford rode back wid Miss Emma, got orf his hoss, tuck
her down—I nebba saw him so ’cited an’ hainsome. Den he mounted, tuck
orf his hat, kissed his han’, jes’ so, an’ soon he wuz dashin’ up de
hill ter jine his troops. Mars Torm, po’ feller, did look so ’stressed
ter be lef’ behin’.

“When Mars Bedford wan’ talkin’ his eyes jes’ ez sorf ez uh ’possum’s,
but when he wuz serioussum an’ opened his mouf, da wan’ no apples in his
eyes, nuffin but fire, an’ when he tole his favorite scout, Mars Torm,
ter stay back, he jes’ tuck root on dat spot.

“He wuz uh ve’y curisome man; fuh instinc’, he had uh swo’d made jes’
futto suit hissef. It wan’ quite ez long ez uh fence-rail, but mos’
nighly; you wudn’ think he wud cut blue coats haids orf but he wud. It’s
so curisome—he wuz so gentle an’ he talk so sorf, but den ergin his
eyes, when he on uh scout er charge, jes’ like uh fish-hawk’s.
How-some-ebba, I once heah ole Mars Nickey say uh race hoss dat prances
an’ bucks an’ goes ev’y which way at de pos’—jes’ like uh dug-out in
rough watah—ain’ no race hoss; dey th’ow up deah tails befo’ dey go two
miles. But de nice quiet ones like de fo-mile hosses Mars Matthew use
ter own, when dey at de pos’ you’d s’pose dey habin’ deah pictur taken.
Well, Mars Bedford wuz sho’ly uh fo’-miler in his ways, an’ he al’ays
had his way, too.

“Mrs. Sanson inwited Mars Torm ter meck huh house his home tell he git
well; mo’n dat, she spressify huhsef dat she al’ays lubbed ter nuss
Cornfederates. Den she look at Pigeon an’ me an’ say, ‘I kin teck good
care ub you, too, an’ yo’ mule. Peter, Simon an’ Nancy is ve’y ole, so
you kin holp ’em ter milk de cows, chu’n de butter an’ pick de
strawberries. Young Marster, I stayed da fuh two weeks, until de watah
fell in Black Creek. I got fat, so did Pigeon, an’ den I crossed de
creek an’ jined Mars Bedford.

                   “’Twuz jes’ erboutin harves’ time;
                       Let meh people go;
                   When Joshua led his hos’ divine;
                       Let meh people go.”

“Oh, go on, Uncle Ezzy.”

“Well, in erboutin free monfs Mars Torm, de scout, jined us. He looked
fat an’ slick, an’ Gen’l Forrest lubbed an’ ’spected him so he kissed
him. He didn’ kiss me, but I wud uh kissed him.”

Between you and me, kind reader, after greeting General Forrest, “Mars
Torm” hurried to his humble hammock. His thoughts were more of “Black
Creek” than the tented field. From a pocket in his gray jacket he pulled
out and fondly kissed a daguerreotype. When he opened it a pressed rose
leaf fell out. It may have been the rose leaf which a dear kind hand had
placed between the pages she loved to read to him, and the mate to the
one he had. He sank into his hammock, and the tranquil twilight saw him
weeping, and then reciting:

[Illustration:

  MARS TORM.

  (From a time-worn photograph.)

  His thoughts were more of “Black Creek” than the tented field.
]

                “Between two songs of Petrarch,
                    I’ve a purple rose leaf prest,
                More sweet than common rose leaves,
                    For it once lay in her breast.
                When she gave me that her eyes were wet,
                    The rose was full of dew;
                The rose is withered long ago—
                    The page is blistered, too.

                “One night we sat below the porch,
                    And out in that warm air,
                  A firefly, like a dying star,
                    Fell tangled in her hair;
                But I kissed him lightly off again,
                    And he glittered up the vine,
                  And died into the darkness——”

A bugle sounded. Forrest was in the saddle. The scout’s reverie was
over.

“Well, de nex’ big fight wuz at what dey call ‘Brice’s Cross Roads;’
dat’s de place Mars Bedford had uh spavin [fainted] fuh one hour. I
fanned him consonly wid meh hat; he had de gre’tes’ condidence in me. At
uh place call ‘Ripley’, a few days befo’ dis fight, uh farmer sant what
dey call in Mississippi, mountain oysters ter Mars Bedford. Dey ain’
nuffin ter Eastern Sho’ oysters; some people say dat Mars Bedford eat
too many an’ dey gib him de spavin, but I know dat ain’ so. I wuz
waitin’ on de table an’ stan’in’ rite behin’ him, an’ arfter helpin’
Gen’l Beauford an’ Gen’l Rucker he stir dat soup fuh mo’n five minutes
befo’ uh mountain oyster cum on top. Den I say, ‘Dar’s one, Marster,’
an’ he tu’n an’ gimmy uh look wid dem eagle eyes ub his’n dat meck me
trimble. I know what meck him sick, an’ I’m gwine ter tell you. De
fightin’ wuz so furisome dat Gen’l Forrest say ter his bodyguard,
‘Dismount; draw yo’ swo’ds an’ foller me,’ an’ when de blue coats seed
Mars Bedford, ’way dey went. Well, he had so few men ’long side de blue
coats, dat not uh man cud be spared ter go an’ git watah, so Mars
Bedford felt so thusty an’ weary dat he drunk de powder watah fum de
sponge bucket, an’ dat’s what gib him dat spavin.

“Honey, you ain’ but fifteen years ole, so Brer Sam’l say, an’ ef’n I
wuz ter tell you how many wuz kilt an’ wounded in dat fight it might
meck you see ghoses an’ witches in yo’ sleep, an’ keep you fum growin’.
I hilt Gen’l Forrest’s hoss, Pigeon an’ two other hosses when he
dismounted, an’ ’pears ter me de hosses looked ’stressed, da wuz so many
kilt on bof sides. Now, dat’s all I’m gwine ter tell you erboutin
battles.

“Young Marster, chillun musn’ know too much. Fuh instinct, yistiddy I
wuz chinkin’ dis boat (an’ I gwine ter name huh Miss Emma) when Mars
Jimmy’s chillun cum erlong gwine home fum school; dey clum all ober me,
an’ pres’ny one ub ’em say, ‘Uncle Ezzy, what is uh vulgar fraction?’ Ub
cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say, ‘Hit’s somethin’ little boys an’
girls musn’ talk erbout.’

[Illustration:

  Uncle Ezzy, what is a vulgar fraction?

  Ub cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say hit’s somethin’ little boys
    an’ girls mus’n’ talk erbout.
]

“In May, 1865, we all s’rendered at Gainesville, Alabama. Mars Bedford
gib me Pigeon an’ money ter cum home wid ef’n I wanted ter. Fuh fo’ days
I hunted ’roun’ Gainesville ’mong de troops futto fine Mars Torm. I
knew’d he lib near Rome, Georgia, an’, ub cose, he had ter ride de same
road I did, so I wanted him ter let me ride ez far ez Mrs. Sanson’s wid
him. Dem sweet people wuz so kine ter me I wuz gwine ter gib ’em Pigeon;
mo’n dat, I wuz feard ter ride by mebsef in uh gray nuniform fum
Gainesville ter Black Creek, erboutin two hunard miles. How-some-ebba, I
’cluded ter ride jes’ at night, an’ bless Gord, in erbout uh week I
struck Black Creek ford horngry an’ tired. De birds wuz singin’, roostus
crowin’, hens uh cacklin’ an’ de watah in de creek ez clear ez uh
jewdrap, an’ Pigeon she jes’ nach’ly went in de watah kase she seed Mrs.
Sanson’s house—wuz horngry an’ ve’y tired. I wuzn’ watchin’ de mule, an’
de fus’ thing I knewed Pigeon gib uh monstus buck an’ mos’ jumped of’n
de ford in dat deep watah; den she tuck uh good look wid huh ears an’
went ’long—-an’ what you s’pose frighten’d dat mule? He! he! he! he! dar
sot on uh plank ’tween two rocks Mars Torm (no wunna I cudn’ fine him)
an’ Miss Emma fishin’ in de deep watah at de foot ub de ford. I meck
bleebe I didn’ see ’em, _an’ dey sut’ny didn’ see me_; you see dey wuz
fishin’. When I got ’cross de ford, Pigeon wuz so tired she stop an’
res’, an’ I watch to see ef’n de fish bitin’, kase I wuz al’ays fond ub
fishin’, and I heah Mars Torm say, in words ez sorf ez dem riffles, ‘I
lub dis creek; de watah so repose, an’ cums twissin’ in dis big pool
gittin’ stiller an’ stiller tell it seems ter stop, res’ an’ be so
happy. Oh, ef’n meh hyart wuz ez happy ez dis stream! It chatters, an’
sings, an’ smiles, an’ baves itself in de sunlight; it looks so
contented, but I am so sad’—an’ he did look rejected. Den Miss Emma open
huh cherrypin mouf an’ say raal sorf, ‘What’s de mattah; yo’ ole woun’
hurt you?’ An’ he say, ‘No; it’s de new woun’; I mus’ leabe ter-morrow,
so I mus’ tell you dat yo’ sweet eyes, lubly hyart, beautiful, brabe
soul has ’chanted me ev’y sence I fus’ saw you, an’ I wan’ ter arsk
befo’ I go, dear Miss Emma, dat you will let me lub you. I don’ arsk you
ter lub me.’ Jes’ de way I use ter cote—He! He! He! ’ceppin I use ter
say:

                       “Roses red, wiolets blue,
                       Sugah sweet, me too.”

“Den Mars Torm spressify, ‘Fuh free monfs, dear hyart, I et yo’ bread
an’ butter’—an’ I think he say mullasses—‘an’ ter-morrow I go ter seek
meh fortune, an’ ef’n Gord prospers me, I shall arsk you to meck meh
life ’chanted.’ Den she say, ez sorf ez de note ub uh _martingale_,
‘Thormas.’ Den he say, ‘Angel, did you say Thormas?’ An’ she say, ‘Yes;
meh brabe an’ gentle’—an’ rite ’way ’pears ter me dey bof had on dat big
sunbonnet ub her’n; an’ wussa yit, de two fishin’ rods wid deah reels
wuz floatin’ down dat ribba, ober an’ ober de riffles. Dey wuz fogot
when dem two chillun said yes ter one nerr.

“Well, ’pears ter me all ub uh sudden I got so sleepy dat I put meh ahms
’roun’ Pigeon’s neck (she wuz use ter dat) an’ went ter sleep. Bimeby I
woke up wid uh curisome an’ mos’ quaresome feelin’. Bless de Lawd, I
tho’t uh jack-uh-ma-lantern had got me, sho’. Dem chilluns wuz feelin’
so peart an’ sassy dat dey tied erroun’ meh neck uh live eel dey had
kotch, an’ I wudn’ fogit er fogib ’em ter dis day ’ceppin dey wuz in lub
an’ I wuz uh lissinin.’ Honey, I wuz skeard stiff. Bung shells wuz
nuffin ter dat.

“Dey wuz all so kin’ at Mrs. Sanson’s (de Lawd bless dem people) I
stayed dar two weeks res’in’, an’ den dey sent me ter Rome, Georgy,
futto teck de train fuh ‘Fairlands.’ When I got in de kerridge ’long
side Simon, Miss Emma say, ‘Dear me, Ezra, what is you gwine ter do wid
Pigeon?’ So I say, larffin’ an’ sassy like, ‘I gib huh ter you, Miss
Emma, an’ Mars Torm, fuh uh weddin’ present.’ Mars Thormas smile an’
say, ‘You scan’lus ole scamp.’”

In his narrative dear old Ezra showed wonderful memory, but forgot to
mention that in that hour of anguish, whilst crossing Black Creek, as
the waters got deeper and deeper, finally up to the flanks of the
horses, Mrs. Sanson sank upon her knees and with wrinkled, aged and
uplifted hands, said:

“From lightning and tempest, from plague, pestilence and famine, from
battle and murder, and from sudden death.

“_Good Lord deliver us._”


Early in the spring of 1866 Ezzy frequently paddled his canoe over to
“Woodstock,” where in a cabin on the riverside lived Jerry and Ceasar
Butler, old bachelor brothers. Their sister Cassey, a widow of some six
months, was their guest. The brothers for the most part lived out on the
water, oystering, fishing and crabbing. Cassey liked her surroundings so
much that her visit was now three months long, and she interested
herself mostly in raising chickens and ducks. The dusky damsels in the
neighborhood said Cassey was going to marry Brer Snake Bit Jim, a hand
on Captain Stitchberry’s schooner, the “Margaret Jane,” and he had been
keeping company, as they expressed it, with her for about five months.
She was the loudest singer in Zion church, a _wholesale_ Baptist, and
walked in the water like a pious one when immersion time came, and some
uncharitable people said that when she came home from meeting chickens
had better roost high. Though twenty years younger than Ezra, his war
stories and adventures charmed her. She thought him a hero and soon they
were betrothed. Ezra was not one of the slow-paced sort.

Ezra’s young Marster was very much annoyed at the idea of his marrying
Cassey. He knew her to be self-willed and high tempered, and told Ezra
that if he brought her to Fairlands he would charge him $25 a year for
his quarter and ten acres; but Ezra was too fond of telling war tales
and having a listener that almost smothered him with caresses when he
told of hair-breadth escapes. So one bright May day Parson Phil Demby
pronounced them man and wife—his third wife.

Ezra made a living crabbing, fishing, oystering and cultivating a little
grain. He was an expert angler, and if a dinner was given by any of the
gentry between May and November and a boiling rock wanted, Ezra was
notified and he would be sure to catch the rock. He loved children and
children loved him. If the overseers’ little ones wanted to go fishing,
they would go to the garden and in sight of him commence to dig worms
and when they reached the bateau, he would be there bailing or shoving
her from shore. Soon he would add sufficient peelers and soft crabs to
the bate, and then to the hurdle. Ezra’s pole, some eighteen feet long,
was of cedar growth, with the bark stripped off; a coarse line and cork
about the size of a duck egg, and when he gave a grunt and slashed it
out, the water almost surged; but somehow or other, the fish, and good
ones, too, loved his bait. “Ef’n you chilluns don’ stop er talkin’ an’
rockin’ dis boat I’ll paddle straight home. You pester de fish so dey
won’ bite, an’ hit ’stresses me pow’ful.”

Autumn came and he did not find his quarter as happy as formerly. As a
consequence, he spent a great deal of his time at the mansion. Even the
solemn and sour old maiden housekeeper, Miss Betsy, whose apron strings
were strung with keys and who for forty years had lived at Fairlands,
was indulgent, and welcomed him. One day I came upon him cleaning her
bird cage and singing over and over:

                      “Tell me a dream, M-a-r-y,
                      Tell me a dream;
                      My Lawd, de King ub Manuel.”

I said, “Why don’t those canaries lay?”

“Miss Betsy say dey bof boys,” was his reply.

The cook liked him, and he liked her more than he did Cassey. He often
toted for her baskets of chips to make the fire burn brightly, put on
the big back logs, and turned the turkey in the tin kitchen. Twice a
week on winter nights he was sent for to beat the hominy in the big
mortar. When he grew weary of the iron pestle, and wanted to chaff
some servant, he would say, “I sut’ny does lub ter beat dis
hominy—a—heh—heh—heh,” and then we boys would “spell” him and he would
praise our industry until we nearly collapsed from fatigue.

“O, call back yesterday; bid time return.”


He had a local reputation for his original sayings and deserved it. For
example: “You kyant eat uh hoecake but once;” “All moufs mus’ eat, but
all moufs kyant eat gravel;” “Ev’y man’s mouf ain’ uh prayer book;” “Uh
case orntried is hyard ter justify;” etc., but from being chaffed by the
young men at the “Royal Oak” and St. Michaels, towns near by, where he
sold his crabs and fish, and bought fishhooks and tobacco, had become
somewhat shy and reticent.

One cold and windy day in December I started for Wild Goose Marsh,
famous as snipe ground, with the view of burning the same. So to fully
enjoy Ezra’s confidence and to get him to talk freely, I put a
half-dollar in his hand, invited him to stop shucking oysters and go
with me to the marsh and assist in burning the same. His young Marster’s
pointers, “Rob Roy” and “Rose,” whom he had adopted and who had adopted
him, were lying in his boat. He expatiated a few moments upon the
“quaresomeness ub snipe an’ jack-uh-ma-lanterns,” and then got in my
carriage. Meantime I was taking in his raiment. He said, “I’m not dress
up, kase I’m shuckin’ oysters.” He wore an old dressing gown some one
had given him in the long ago. It must have had twenty patches from the
size of a blacking box up to a tin plate. His vest, from patches, was of
many colors; it was fastened with seven buttons, and no two of them
alike. One foot was shod, and the other wrapped in an old piece of
carpet. “Meh cawns hu’t me so,” he said. He was smaller and more bent
than ever, and extremely interesting. A drink of applejack and a good
lunch, the brilliancy of the burning marsh and my interest in him made
him very loquacious. With apparent earnestness I said, “Uncle Ezra, how
long have you lived on this estate?”

“Who, me! Bawn heah erboutin uh hunard year ago. I cum outin de Hollyday
fambly. Ole Mars’ grabe is ober dar wha you see dem willows weepin’.
Dar’s uh gre’t big slab ober de grabe, an’ on hit is uh passel ub A. B.
C.’s an’ uh anker, wid stars an’ eagles an’ little grapevines all
erroun’ ’em. Mars Pinckney say, ‘Dat’s what dey call in dem days de coat
ub mail.’ His wuz uh gre’t fambly, an’ Mars Thormas wuz uh cap’n an’ fit
an’ wuz kilt in de Resolutionary Wah.”

“Are you sure of that, Uncle Ezzy?”

“’Cose I is. I heah Phil Demby’s fadda say dat he holp ter put him in de
amblabus when he wuz shot. He saw de British what shot him, an’ de ve’y
bungshot dat hit him. Boss, what glorisome days dem wuz. I kin
recommember ’em mehsef. Dese days ’pears ter me dey is spilin’ ev’ything
by changin’. An’ hits ergin de Scripturs. Fuh instinct, when I wuz uh
young man de Mefodis’ ’roun’ heah use ter hab what dey call meetin’
houses; dey use ter shout an’ moan, an’ moan an’ shout pow’ful. Dey
cummence ter pray at fus’ sorf, an’ den deah voice got so strong
toreckly you cud heah ’em uh mile orf. An’ de chunes wuz so fine, dey
didn’ stop at de corners; dey jes’ swong ’roun’; dey cud turn deah
voices same ez uh whirl-win’ an’ ter play de fiddle, dance, er hab uh
melojin wuz cornsidered ornry an’ onricheous, an’ hit wuz, too. But in
dese days ev’ything is changed in all de chuches, ’ceppin de Babtis’; de
only change de Babtis’ made is ter babtize regular in fresh watah in
Cap’n Tomlinson’s mill pon’, _’ceppin jes’ befo’ dey cut ice_. You see
dey had ter gib up salt watah, de shirks wuz so bad. Mo’n dat, de Bible
don’ spressify salt watah. Den ergin Pawson Demby tuck de shirk fright
an’ de consequasion wuz he hilt several pussons down too long. Tilly
Mink got erligion an’ wuz thinkin’ boutin it so much (jes’ persidderin
hit all de time) dat she fogot ter teck outin her dress some apples dat
wuz swotuated in huh pocket. Well, Pawson Demby hilt her un’er so long
dat she pawed de bottom; almos’ tore huh dress orf, an’ she mout erbin
hilt un’er de watah tell she wuz drowned, but she got holt Pawson
Demby’s legs, an’ fuh erwhile it ’peared like she wuz babtizin’ him.
Brer Billy los’ his specks lars’ spring, so cudn’ see good, an’ when he
seed de apples uh bobbin’ up, I s’pose he tho’t dey wuz sperrits, kase
he sung out ter Pawson Demby, ‘Jes’ gib huh annubba dip, Pawson Demby,
huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clustahs;’ but Pawson Demby lef’ well
ernuff be well ernuff. Kase Tilly Mink nebba did hab much erligion, an’
when she seed dat distructed frock an’ dem kyart-house apples dat we all
knew’d growed in Ole Mars’ archard, huh ’ligion lef’ huh jes’ ez fars ez
she got it. Huh hyah riz on huh haid, an’ she talked jes’ scan’lous, an’
’lowed she gwine ter jine de Presbyters. Well, hit may be fuh de bes’,
but uh case orntried is hyard ter jestify.”

“Yas, sah; ev’ything is changed. Ebin Mefodis’ preachers an’ de elders,
shuh. Dey struts an’ prances erroun’ same ez colts an’ tukkey gobblers
in de spring, an’ hits dribin uh lot ub ’em ter distruction. All moufs
ain’ prayer books, boss. Hit’s de same thing wid dem Presbyters dat
Tillie’s gwine ter jine, an’ when it cums ter de ’Piscopaliums hit’s
wussa yit. Up heah at St. Thormasses dey bu’n insects in what dey call
uh—I fogit de name—an’ dem preachers dat kyant talk good—an’ mos’ ub ’em
kyant—dey sorter sing what dey talkin’. I heah Cap’n Stitchberry’s brer
say who halls de sain—an’, ub cose, he er Babtis’—dat ef’n Ole Mars wuz
erlive an’ went ter St. Thormasses, he wudn’ no wha he wuz, kase dey
bows like uh passel ub muscovy drakes. Boss, dem muscoves is quaresome
ducks. T’other day I saw Brer Sam’s boy, Rasmus, bowin’ ter uh passel ub
muscovy drakes an’ dey wuz bowin’ ter him. So I say ter de boy, ‘What
you doin’ ter dem ducks?’

“‘Talkin’ drake talk.’

“‘Well, what de ducks say?’

“‘I dunno, but _dey_ do!’

“All dis changin’ business is ergin de Bible, too. Lars’ Sunday Pawson
Demby preached erbout hit. His tex’ wuz fum de Profit Jerry-Myah: ‘Kin
uh Ethiopium change his skin er uh leopard his spots?’ An’ Pawson Demby
say ’twuz ornpossible.

“Jes’ befo’ Chrismus I went ter Easton wid uh load ub Chrismus trees,
an’ one ub de fus’ things I seed wuz uh lubly lookin’ young Mistis
dribin uh cullud pusson; he wuz uh settin’ behin’ huh wid his ahms
folded, all dress up an’ smilin’ same ez uh ole gray goose smilin’ on uh
gander. Well, I nebba ’spected ter lib ter see uh change like dat. Fac’
is, mos’ all de ladies ’roun’ heah gittin’ changed, an’ ve’y sassy,
tryin’ ter be like de men. Fuh instinct, dar is uh lady doctor an’ uh
lady lawyer, dey tells me, in Balt’mo’. Think ub dat! An’ hit’s all
ergin de’ structions ub Gen’sis, Rebullation, Jerry-Myah, Noahy an’ I
’specks all ub de profits. Kase de Bible say dat ’ooman kyant ebin pray
in publuc. Boss, da ain’ no use talkin’, fum de cricket an’ grasshopper
clean up ter man, de male de gre’tes’ an’ bes’ lookin’. Dar’s uh little
Jinny Wren settin’ on dat reed singin’ beau’ful. Now, ain’ hit s’prisin’
wha he git dat voice fum dat you kin heah ’cross de ribba; hit sut’ny is
strange. Well, dat he wren, don’ he look peart; an’ he is peart, too. He
kin meck uh hawk hide hissef. You see he’s de male. Well, look at dat
cock sparrow; don’ de hen look meek ’long side him? Boss, I’m gwine ter
teck mos’ ev’ything dat wuz in de yark, ter show dat ladies musn’ try
ter be men, an’ change deahsebs. Hit kyant be did any mo’ dan you kin
gib de female birds de feathers ub de males. I s’pose de bobolink is de
mos’ dress up ub all birds, fuh he changes his clothes twice uh yeah,
an’ when he got on dat beau’ful spring suit ub his’n his wives do
clustah erroun’ him. De cock partridge (some people call ’em Bob White),
de oriole, pigeon, teal duck, tukkey, canlas-back duck, woodpecker,
red-wing blackbird, de wood-duck, tu beau’ful futto kill; how lubly de
males is ’long side de females. Den ergin, pursidder de roostus; don’
matter ef’n dey shankhy, banty, game, er what not, dey’r boun’ ter hab
lubly feathers all streaked an’ striped same ez dem cattle dat Jacob, de
father ub de Petracks, owned. Mo’n dat, ef’n two roostus fight, de one
dat whups jes’ crows, flaps his wings, an’ heah cums his wives an’ de
udder roostah’s wives all runnin’ off wid him. Dat’s jes’ de way de
ladies ’roun’ heah runs arfter Mars Pinckney.”

Ezra seemed much pleased with his talk, and with a wisp of burning grass
in each hand, continued to fire the marsh, and for the moment forgot my
presence and sang:

       “We cum ter dis worl’ bof naked an’ bare,
       We al’ays goes thoo it wid sorrow an’ care;
       We go when we die de Lawd only nose wha’;
       Ef’n you’r uh thurrybred heah, yo’ll be uh thurrybred da.”

Pretending to entirely dissent with Ezra and to keep him interested and
talkative, I said, “Well, how about robins, doves, mocking birds, jack
snipe, woodcock and other birds where the male and female are alike?”

“Well, boss, Mars Pinckney say ef’n you gib de birds you kyant tell
erbout uh wumm, ef’n _he_ takes it hit’s uh he, an ef’n _she_ takes it
hit’s uh she.”

“How about owls, Ezra; they look alike, and they don’t eat worms?”

“Well, Noahy, dey tell me, name him de bird ub wissum, an’ ub cose made
him wise, an’ de female kyant fool him, _like dey mos’ gen’ly kin de
males_. Fuh instinct, when de female owls think deahsebs smart—bin out
all night an’ talkin’ in condidence ’mong deahsebs erbout it—de male,
ef’n he deceitful (_an’ some males is_), kin lissen an’ nod his haid
jes’ same ez ef he wuz uh sleep an’ meck bleebe he uh lady owl, an by
an’ by all unbenonsted ter de lady owl, fine out ef’n his wife bin uh
tootin’ an’ uh hootin’ erroun’. Mo’n dat, he mout erbin keepin’ comp’ny
hissef all night wid some sassy lady owl. _Dar’s wha his wissum cum in._

“S’pose de gentlemens an’ ladies look jes’ like one nerr an’ dress up de
same, Lawdy, by an’ by heah wud cum judgment day sho’ nuff, an’ we wud
soon burhol dis worl’ on fire an’ uh cislin’. So hit won’ do fuh dem ter
look de same, an’ we don’ wan’ no changin’, deed we don’; we wants de
males ter look proud an’ prancin’ all de time, an’ de females ter burhol
’em an’ not look sassy. I mos’ fogot one ub de lubliest ub de fowls, dat
will meck meh sponsibility stronger—dat’s de peacock. When de peacock
spreads his tail in de spring an’ looks his peartest, dey tells me
sometimes de hens git too po’ ter lay; dey so in lub dey jes’ eat
nuffin; jes’ meddowtate an’ look at deah mates struttin’ erbout. Da ain’
nuffin like uh peacock’s tail ’ceppin sometimes in de fall when de dew
is ve’y heavy an’ sorter fog-like an’ fros’-like, jes’ uh little missy,
an’ heah cum de sun risin’; an’ when hit strikes de trees, bushes an’
wines full ub dat fog, fros’ an’ mis’, da ain’ no rainbow er peacock’s
tail kin hole uh can’le ter it, I don’ keah who raises de peacock. Well,
boss, I am sho’ you see de application, but strange futto say, Mars
Pinckney, wid all his wissum an’ pursidderin’, is, ’pears ter me, on de
fence. Natchelly, ub cose, he is s’pose ter change kase he got so many
sweethyarts. He is ve’y fon’ ub fishin’ wid me. One day we wuz fishin’
fuh rock an’ tailor an’ waitin’ fuh de tide ter tu’n. I rents meh house
fum him. I don’ al’ays pay at de lars’ ub de monf, er de lars’ ub nex’
monf, an’ I owed him so much rent I wuz mos’ ’fear’d ter argue wid him
an’ talk ter him wid all meh soul erboutin dis changin’ business ’roun’
heah, an’ ub de lubliness ub de male in contras’ ter de female; but I
did it. Well, den he say, sorter snuffin’ meh composation orf, ‘Ezra,
you no mo’ erbout sorf crabs, fish an’ watahmillions dan you do erbout
things changin’.’ Den he say, ‘Don’ people all erroun’ heah change
money, change deah names when dey git merried? Don’ de watah we fish in
change fum ebb tide ter flood? Eggs ter chickens, sinnahs ter moaners,
sun, moon, win’ an’ seasons change. De acorn changes ter de oak, peach
stone ter de peach tree. Wumms ter butterflies.”

“Ezra, your Mars Pinckney is right. That’s the long and short of it.
Your Parson changed baptizing in salt water for fresh water. You have
confessed it, and you are changing all the time. Your hair was once
black, now it is white. To-day is bright, cold, windy and sunny.
To-morrow will be changed; it can’t be just like to-day. Even your oxen,
Lawyer and Farmer, like a change. Grass is good enough when there is no
wheat field to jump into, but when the wheat is green, sweet and rich,
they leave the grass.”

“Jes’ so, boss, jes’ so.”

“Why, you would get tired of bacon and cabbage if you had it all the
time.”

“Who, me? I nebba got tired ub it yit.”

“And, Ezra, if Aunt Cassey, your good and kind wife, hadn’t changed her
mind and married you instead of Uncle Snake Bit Jim, her name would now
be Mrs. Snake Bit Jim.”

“Dat’s what I say, boss; dat’s de application ezactly. I don’ like dis
changin’ business. Bless Gord, I wish Cassey hadn’ change huh mine.”

Memories of happier days come to us all. May they soften the pillow of
dear old Ezra. His first wife was my nurse, and many a time his willing
hands, to give her’s rest, have rocked my cradle.

[Illustration]

                    Who could our baby tears repress
                    And lull us into drowsiness.
                                            Mammy.




                                 MAMMY.


There are pictures of the past in memory’s gallery before which we love
to linger. To one it is perhaps the old homestead in the North, or the
South. To another, a woman’s face. To a woman mayhap this picture is
suggested by a simple tress of hair, or fragrant dust, _once_ violets,
or an old letter, perchance kissed many times, or tear-wet, who may
know? To me it is my old—


                                 MAMMY.

                Who nursed and fed us from her breast
                And in her tender arms caressed?
                                          Mammy.

                Who washed our faces, combed our hair
                And tied us in our baby chair?
                                          Mammy.

                Who soaped and bathed our little forms,
                And rocked us in her loving arms?
                                          Mammy.

                Who, when we stumped our little toes,
                Put balsam on to heal our woes?
                                          Mammy.

                Who could our baby tears repress,
                And lull us into drowsiness?
                                          Mammy.

                Who tucked us in our baby cot,
                And all our badness soon forgot?
                                          Mammy.

                Who always patted us to sleep,
                And “Prayed the Lord our souls to keep?”
                                          Mammy.

                Who rests from sorrow ’neath the sod,
                And all the paths of duty trod?
                                          Mammy.




                                 ANAH.


Uncle David, though threescore years and ten and bent with age, was
quite useful on the plantation, and was not afraid of work. His labor,
however, had not been of a wearing kind. Once a week he drove Sue, a
kind and gentle mare, to the mill with a load of corn and returned with
bags of sweet cornmeal, the like of which is hard to get nowadays.

In 1853 Sue foaled a bay mule colt with a black stripe down his back
that made a cross on his shoulders. David christened the colt Anah,
because he heard Parson Phil Demby preach a _pow’ful_ sermon Christmas,
the text of which was, “This was that Anah that found the mules in the
wilderness, as he fed the asses of Zibion his father.”[19]

Anah was a lively colt, and when David went to the mill often romped
ahead of Sue on the road, much to the anxiety of the mother, and
sometimes in a don’t-care way lagged behind for a quarter of a mile or
more; and though Uncle David characterized him as _worrysome an’
scan’lous_, he was very fond of the colt and the colt fond of him. By
and by Anah was big and old enough to break, and David soon had him
going kindly and taking his old dam’s place in the cart.

David was always relied upon to select and haul the Christmas tree,
which was placed in the brick kitchen. It was literally a tree, and on
its many boughs hung gifts for the household and servants.

The woods loam was selected by David and hauled by Anah for Kerchibell,
the old Scotch gardener, who put it on his early spring plants and
flowers; indeed, almost every day the mule was hauling something, with
David on the cart singing or nodding.

Every Saturday at 12 o’clock the servants were allowed to quit work and
haul the seine. The terrapins caught were brought to the mansion, with a
goodly number of spot, hog and other fish; the rest of the fish the
servants were allowed to market for pin-money. At such times Uncle David
was always on deck with Anah.

For twenty-five years Anah did faithful work, and David loved him and
talked to him as though he was a human being, and said, “Anah almos’
knew’d his A. B. C’s.” Like most mules, however, in his old age he got
full of kinks, and would bite and kick anyone but David, who said, “He
hab grow’d ’ceitful an’ ub cose I hab ter scole him.”

The old man was very credulous and as easily chaffed by his marster as
Polonius was by Hamlet. For example: One day whilst Anah was kicking up
and putting on airs and David was grumbling and saying, “He ain’ no good
no how; I sut’ny am tired ub dis mule,” his Mars Jimmy walked past the
cart and said, “I’m going to sell that worthless old mule and get you a
nice little mare I can buy at a bargain. True she is hip-shot, spavined
and very lazy, but will do for your work.”

David was perplexed and disconsolate and at bed-hour went to the stable.
Anah was munching his oats, and David, little and bent, stood behind the
mule, who switched his tail and laid back his ears as if to say, You are
going to take away my oats. The old man’s eyes brimmed with tears; he
had a big, kind heart, and his affection for the mule was really
touching. Finally he said, “You recommember me all de time, don’ you,
Anah? Don’ I al’ays feed you good an’ rub you an’ gib you uh sorf bed?”
Then he walked into the stall, stroked the mule’s ear and said, “Jes’ ez
sorf ez uh ’possum’s ear; you know I ain’ gwine ter let ’em sell you,
Anah. Mars Jimmy kyant find an nerr mule in Talbot County like you. He
ain’ gwine ter sell you, an’ ef’n he do, he got ter sell me wid you, dat
he is! Well, da ain’ no tellin’; Mars Jimmy mout sell dis mule
ter-morry, so I’m gwine ter sleep wid him dis night, fuh it mout be de
po’ mule’s lars’ night heah. I’ll put some mo’ hay in de bottom ub de
manger, an’ wid dese corn-cobs I’ll meck ub pillah, put meh coat on it,
an’ den I’ll kivver mehsef wid hay. Lemmy see—no, I won’ teck meh shoes
orf, kase I mout hab ter git up futto git him some oats.” His bed
arranged, the old man said, “I heah Pawson Demby say dat our blessid
Lawd an’ Sabior wuz bawn in ub stable, so hit sut’ny good ernuff fuh
me.” Weary and sad, he leaned against the manger, said his prayers, and
then he snuggled in the hay and sang his favorite hymn:

 =“What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear?
     Golden slippers!
 What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear?
 Golden slippers I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glitter-in’ sun.=

 =What kind ub crown you gwine ter wear?
     Star-ry crown!
 What kind ub crown you gwine ter wear?
 Star-ry crown I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glitter-in’ sun.=

 =What kind ub robe you gwine ter wear?
     White robe!
 What kind ub robe you gwine ter wear?
     White robe!
 Long white robe I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glit-ter-in’ sun.=

 =What kind ub hymn you gwine ter sing?
     New hymn!
 What kind ub hyarp you gwine ter play?
     Golden hyarp!
 Golden hyarp I’m bound ter play, dat outshines de glit—ter—in’——sun——.”=

Then all was hushed!

Mayhap Uncle David dreamed he had on his golden slippers that outshone
the glittering sun, wore a starry crown and long white robe, sang a new
hymn, and played upon a golden harp, for the Bible tells us—

               =“The sleep of a laboring man is sweet.”=

-----

Footnote 1:

  Robert Morris was the father of the revolutionary financier, and Henry
  Callister, a philanthropist who befriended the deported hapless
  Acadians, sent to Annapolis, Md., in 1775, and gave large sums from
  his own pocket to relieve their suffering, to the serious impairment
  of his moderate fortune.

Footnote 2:

  Macaulay says, “Our own firm belief is that he was.”

Footnote 3:

  To appreciate this sermon the 29th chapter of Genesis should be read
  if the reader is not familiar with the same.

Footnote 4:

  II Samuel xviii, 9, 10.

Footnote 5:

  Genesis, Chapter 32, Ver. 24, 25.

Footnote 6:

  Scipio Jones.

Footnote 7:

  Dr. John P. Durbin, one of the most eloquent of American orators, was
  able to speak to a child with such beauty of expression and propriety
  of enunciation that a company of educated ladies and gentlemen were
  entranced. Conversation was suspended and regret felt when the doctor
  turned from the delighted child to the rest of the company. In an
  earlier period, when enfeebled voice compelled him to suspend public
  efforts, he had gone from cabin to cabin among the negroes on the
  plantations of Kentucky, conversing with them on religion, and claimed
  that by this process he acquired his marvelously simple style.

  Extemporaneous Oratory, Buckley, p. 94.

Footnote 8:

  Samuel i, 19.

Footnote 9:

  II Samuel vi, 16.

Footnote 10:

  Exodus xxii, 18.

Footnote 11:

  See Little Billy’s Pumpkin.

Footnote 12:

  See Mars Pinckney’s ’Simmons.

Footnote 13:

  A negro superstition.

Footnote 14:

  Told the negroes he was a major in the war of 1812. He was a teamster.

Footnote 15:

  Suspenders.

Footnote 16:

  Job vii, 7.

Footnote 17:

  A story of the late Senator Vance Versified.

Footnote 18:

  “The legislature of Alabama donated to Miss Sanson a section of the
  unappropriated public lands of the state as a testimonial of the high
  appreciation of her services by the people of Alabama, and directed
  the Governor of the State to provide and present her with a gold
  medal, inscribed with suitable devices commemorative of her conduct.”

Footnote 19:

  Genesis xxxvi, 24.

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as
      printed.
 3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together
      at the end of the last chapter.
 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
 5. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.





End of Project Gutenberg's Ole Mars an' Ole Miss, by Edmund K. Goldsborough