THE
    BLACK BORDER

    GULLAH STORIES OF
    THE CAROLINA COAST

    (With a Glossary)

    BY

    AMBROSE E. GONZALES

    COLUMBIA, S. C.
    THE STATE COMPANY
    1922




    COPYRIGHT 1922
    THE STATE COMPANY




TO

ROBERT ELLIOTT GONZALES




CONTENTS


                                                                    Page

    Foreword                                                           7

    GULLAH STORIES

    Noblesse Oblige                                                   19

    My Maussuh                                                        24

    An Antemortem Demise                                              29

    The Lion of Lewisburg                                             35

    The Lion Killer                                                   45

    Old Barney                                                        53

    Billybedam                                                        58

    A Short Cut to Justice                                            64

    Sam Dickerson                                                     72

    Simon the “Squerril” Hunter                                       82

    The “Cunjuh” That Came Back                                       87

    The Raccoon Hunter                                                96

    The Turkey Hunter                                                107

    The ’Gator Hunter                                                116

    The “Wiles That in the Women Are”                                128

    A Ricefield Idyll                                                134

    The Dower House                                                  142

    At the Cross Roads Store                                         150

    Mingo the Drill Master                                           158

    Old Harrison                                                     166

    A Marriage of Convenience                                        174

    The Plat-Eye                                                     183

    Old Pickett                                                      190

    The Lost Buck                                                    202

    Jim Moultrie’s Divorce                                           212

    Buh Alligettuh en’ Buh Deer                                      216

    Buh Hawss en’ Buh Mule (a Fable)                                 219

    Liss “Bin Eensult”                                               221

    The Retort Courteous                                             223

    The Cat Was Crazy                                                225

    A Congaree Water-Color                                           230

    Waiting Till the Bridegrooms Come                                233

    A Gullah’s Tale of Woe                                           238

    The Doctor Didn’t “Exceed”                                       242

    The Lady Couldn’t “Specify”                                      246

    A Question of Privilege                                          249

    Conductor Smith’s Dilemma                                        252

    One Was Taken--the Other Left                                    256

    Egg-zactly                                                       259

    An Interrupted Offertory                                         262

    A Flaw in the “Eenditement”                                      267

    Old Wine--New Bottles                                            271


    A Glossary of the Gullah                                         277

    The Tar-Baby Story, as Told by Col. C. C.
    Jones and Joel Chandler Harris                                   343




FOREWORD


Just under the left shoulder of Africa, which juts out boldly into
the Atlantic, as though to meet half way the right shoulder of South
America, lie, between Sierra Leone and the Bight of Benin, the Slave
Coast, the Ivory Coast, and the Gold Coast. It was the lure of gold
and ivory that brought to these shores the enterprising traders who
first offered the African slave-holders a stable foreign market for the
captives of bow and spear and knobkerrie.

Out of this fetid armpit of the Dark Continent came the first black
bondsmen to curse the Western world. Thence, across the narrowing
ocean, but a night’s flight for Walt Whitman’s “Man-of-War-Bird”--

“At dusk that look’st on Senegal, at morn America”--Portuguese and
Spanish traders, but a few years after Columbus had set foot on San
Salvador, transported their first human cargoes to the plantations of
Brazil and the rich islands of the Caribbean. Here the labor of the
blacks proved so profitable that the envious English soon engaged in
the traffic, and during the reign of the virginal Elizabeth certain
of her noble subjects sought concessions for the monopoly of the West
Indian slave trade.

A generation or two later, the first slaves filtered through to the
mainland colonies of North America from the Barbados, Antigua, and
other West Indian Islands. After the institution had become firmly
established, the New England eye, not lacking “speculation,” saw the
promise of the East, and New England, pocketing her prayer book while
pouching her musket balls, freighted her bluff-bowed ships with red
flannel and glass beads with which to accentuate, if not to clothe,
the heathen nakedness, and set sail for the rising sun. Thenceforth
the New England slavers sailed in cycles, and their course was charted
by rum, slaves, and molasses. The “black-birders” bartered their human
cargoes for West Indian molasses, which, by a spirituous, if not a
spiritual, process, became New England rum. “Old Medford” filled their
holds, westerly winds filled their bellying sails, and the rum was soon
converted into more slaves, to be in turn converted again into molasses
in completing the gainful cycle.

For a hundred and fifty years Rhode Island and Massachusetts competed
successfully with England for the North American trade, and these
colonies (with “God’s grace”) throve exceedingly. In the early years of
the last century, however, the importation of slaves was interdicted
and the last Yankee slaver converted the last rum-bought slave into
cash, then, converting himself, he became an Abolitionist, and the
well-known “New England conscience” was developed.

But the Puritan slaver, whatever “woes unnumbered” he brought upon his
own race, was, in transferring these bought or stolen blacks to the
humane Cavalier planters of the South, an unconscious benefactor to
thousands of Negro captives and to millions of their descendants, whose
masters gave them Christianity and such a measure of civilization,
that, in the short space of two hundred years from the cannibal
savagery of the stew-pot and the spit, they were fitted, in the New
England mind, at least, for manhood suffrage, which came to enlightened
England only after more than a thousand years of development!

None of the encyclopedias mentions the Gullah Negroes, nor does the
name appear in the dictionaries. Mr. John Bennett, the well-known
writer of Charleston, who has, for twenty years, been gathering data
concerning this interesting people, places the Gullahs among the
Liberian group of tribes; “formerly powerful and numerous, they have
been crowded and overrun; their remnant remains about thirty miles
inward from Monrovia;” but in 1822, in a publication by the Charleston
City Council at the time of the attempted Negro insurrection, reference
is made to “Gullah Jack” and his company of “Gullah or Angola” Negroes,
thereby making the suggestion that “Gullah” is a corruption of Angola.
As Angola and Liberia are at least fifteen hundred miles apart, the
former being nearly one thousand miles south of the Equator, these two
opinions seem to be in hopeless conflict.

Mr. Bennett says further: “Among the many African tribes brought to
this country, the presence of very many Gullah Negroes is apparent from
the earliest times. On some plantations, before the days of experienced
precaution, it is highly probable they formed a majority of the hands.
As early as 1730 a plan had been hatched against Charleston by these
Negroes....

“The dialect of the West Coast, from which came these Gullah Negroes,
was early commented upon as peculiarly harsh, quacking, flat in
intonation, quick, clipped and peculiar even in Africa. Bosman, the
Dutch sailor, described its peculiar tonality, and calls its speakers
the ‘Qua-quas,’ because they gabbled like ducks.

“The clinging together of these Gullah tribesmen, as indicated above,
and their apparent resolute and persistent character, evidently
assisted in impressing their dialectical peculiarities on weaker and
more plastic natures brought in contact with them, and fixed the
tonality of the Negro dialect of the Carolina low-country....

“For the above reason, of prevalence and domination as a peculiar
dialect with singular and marked tonality, the characteristic patois of
the districts where these Negroes most abounded, came to be universally
referred to as the Gullah dialect.”

Whatever the origin of these Gullahs, Mr. Bennett is probably correct
in his estimate of their influence upon low-country Negro speech.

Slovenly and careless of speech, these Gullahs seized upon the peasant
English used by some of the early settlers and by the white servants of
the wealthier Colonists, wrapped their clumsy tongues about it as well
as they could, and, enriched with certain expressive African words, it
issued through their flat noses and thick lips as so workable a form of
speech that it was gradually adopted by the other slaves and became in
time the accepted Negro speech of the lower districts of South Carolina
and Georgia. With characteristic laziness, these Gullah Negroes
took short cuts to the ears of their auditors, using as few words
as possible, sometimes making one gender serve for three, one tense
for several, and totally disregarding singular and plural numbers.
Yet, notwithstanding this economy of words, the Gullah sometimes
incorporates into his speech grotesquely difficult and unnecessary
English words; again, he takes unusual pains to transpose numbers and
genders.

On some of the sea-islands and on portions of the mainland, sparsely
inhabited by whites, the Gullah speech still persists in its original
“purity.” The explanation for this is that the Negroes, before
and after the war, were in so tremendous a majority on the great
plantations of the low-country that only the house servants came
in frequent contact with their masters’ families, and these house
servants, certainly those who had been “in the house” for generations,
spoke with scarcely a taint of Negro speech. The field hands, seldom
coming in contact with whites, had neither opportunity nor temptation
to amend their speech. There was none to “impeach” their language, and
so virile was this Gullah that, in some sections higher up the state,
as in Barnwell and Sumter counties, where, in the settlement of estates
certain families or colonies of coast-bred Negroes were sold before
the war, the Gullah tongue, although with difficulty understood by the
other Negroes of the community, still persists like lingual oases in
the desert of up-country Negro speech.

This Gullah dialect is interesting, not merely for its richness, which
falls upon the ear as opulently as the Irish brogue, but also for the
quaint and homely similes in which it abounds and for the native wit
and philosophy of its users. Isolated from the whites as were these
coast Negroes, and having no contact with the more advanced slaves
of the up-country, who, belonging as a rule to small slave-holders,
were in close touch with their masters’ families, the coast Negroes
retained more of the habits and traditions of their African ancestry
and presented, therefore, a more interesting study of the Negro as he
was, and to a certain extent “ever shall be.” Living close to nature,
they were learned in woodcraft and the ways of animals and birds and
fish, and used this knowledge to illustrate their dealings with their
own kind.

The peasantry, the lower classes generally, are the conservators of
speech. Writers who have exploited the white mountaineers of the
Appalachian ranges of North Carolina and Tennessee have heard from
their lips Biblical and Shakesperean English now almost forgotten
among educated people. So these coast Negroes still use fragments of
Shakesperean English long obsolete among their former masters.

To Mr. Bennett and other philological investigators must be committed
the task of working out the sources of many words of this interesting
tongue. The purpose here is simply to record the oddities of the
dialect as the Coast Country Negroes use it. After all, grotesque and
interesting as is this speech to those familiar with it, it is only a
vehicle for carrying to the reader the thought and life of an isolated
group among the varied peoples that make up the complex population of
this Republic.

       *       *       *       *       *

There have been many writers of Negro dialect. Some stories that
have come out of the North, feminine effusions chiefly, have been
fearfully and wonderfully made; the thoughts of white people, and
very common-place thoughts at that, issuing from Negro mouths in such
phonetic antics as to make the aural angels weep!

In fact, no Northern writer has ever succeeded even indifferently
well in putting Negro thought into Negro dialect. Even Poe, in “the
Goldbug,” put into the mouth of a Charleston Negro such vocables as
might have been used by a black sailor on an English ship a hundred
years ago, or on the minstrel stage, but were never current on the
South Carolina coast. To recent Southern writers, therefore, one must
turn for intelligent understanding of the Negro character and the
recording of his speech, which varies in the different sections of the
South.

Thomas Nelson Page, recognized as the outstanding exponent of the
Virginia Negro in literature, has yet touched his field lightly,
considering chiefly the old family man servant and his relations with
his master’s household. Very beautifully and tenderly, because very
truthfully, Mr. Page has portrayed the ante-bellum Negro man servant;
but as to the younger Negro, Negro life before and since the war, and
the relations of Negroes to one another, it is to be regretted that he
has contributed little or nothing.

The genius of Joel Chandler Harris, who, with Judge Longstreet and his
“Georgia Scenes,” fixed Georgia firmly upon the literary map of the
world, embalmed the Negro myths and folk-tales of the South so subtly
in the amber of his understanding that “Uncle Remus” is known and loved
by the children of half the civilized world. There was little creative
work in “Uncle Remus.” Mr. Harris claimed to record the stories only
“like hit wer’ gun ter me.” These myths were known and told by Negro
nurses to the white children over all the Southern states, and in the
West Indian Islands as well, but the artistry of Harris lay in the
sympathetic understanding of children prompted by his kindly heart, and
the human appeal of the tender relations of “the little boy” and the
old Negro family servant was irresistible, not only to the children,
but to those happy grown-ups who loved them.

It is interesting to know that in the low-country of South Carolina,
instead of “Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox,” it is invariably “Buh Rabbit en’
Buh Wolf.” Strange, too, because wolves must have been found in upper
Georgia and Carolina for more than a hundred years after they were
exterminated along the coast, within whose forests still abound the
grey foxes whose natural prey is the rabbit.

Encouraged by the success of the “Uncle Remus” stories, which greatly
surprised this singularly modest man, Mr. Harris wrote novels and other
stories of Georgia life among whites and blacks. While these were
published successfully, it is upon the animal tales of “Uncle Remus”
that his fame has been permanently established.

In the introduction to one of his volumes Mr. Harris has made a rather
exhaustive study and analysis of the origin of these Negro myths. That
they are of African origin none can doubt, but as on the West Coast
of Africa, whence the slaves came to the American continent and the
West Indian Islands, there are neither wolves, foxes, nor rabbits, it
would be interesting to know what African animals were their legendary
prototypes. In Jamaica many of the “Uncle Remus” tales are current
and have been told to English children by their black nurses for
generations, but there the Anancy Spider, a black, hairy tarantula-like
creature, is substituted for the rabbit in the mythical triumph of
mind over matter--cunning over physical strength--while the tiger
does duty for the outwitted fox. Whence comes the Jamaican tiger?
One can only surmise that tales of the strength and ferocity of the
Jaguar (“el tigre” to the Spaniards) the great spotted cat of South
and Central America, were brought from the mainland to the West Indies
by the Indians of the Caribbean Coast or the earlier Negro slaves; but
in Jamaica even the saddle-horse story is told complete in all its
details, the spider, clapping spurs to the tiger’s flanks and riding
him up to the house of the “nyung ladies” (Mis’ Meadows an de gals)
hitching him to a post and walking boldly in to love’s conquest. For
the “Tar Baby” story, instead of the violated spring, the drinking
preserve of fox or wolf, a “tar pole” is set up in a banana grove, and
to this sticky lure the pilfering spider is found stuck fast by the
lord of the plantation when he makes his morning rounds.

Harry Stillwell Edwards, of Macon, is another Georgian whose charming
stories in the up-country or cotton plantation dialect have given
pleasure to thousands. With an unusual knowledge of the Negro
character--the first consideration, if one would present truthful
pictures of Negro life--he combines a charming literary style, and his
writings deservedly rank high among Negro stories.

Harris touched the Gullah dialect very lightly and not with authority.
In “Nights with Uncle Remus,” a later collection of Negro myths, he
puts into the mouth of “Daddy Jack” certain variants of the Uncle Remus
stories told in the dialect of the coast, and in his introduction
to this volume he acknowledges his obligation to correspondents in
Charleston and elsewhere on the Carolina and Georgia Coasts for the
Gullah stories. It is almost certain that he lacked first-hand contact
with the story-tellers, and thus missed some of the subtleties of
their speech as well as the peculiar construction of their sentences,
differing entirely, as they do, from those of the up-country Negroes.
Mr. Harris also includes in his introduction a brief glossary of Gullah
words, and expresses the opinion that this peculiar dialect is more
easily read than the Georgia dialect of “Uncle Remus,” an opinion in
which, unfortunately for the popularity of “Gullah,” few will concur.

In “Myths of the Georgia Coast,” Col. Charles Colcock Jones, of Georgia
(and South Carolina, also, by the way) has given, in generally correct
Gullah dialect, the stories current along the coast, many of them
variants of those told in “Uncle Remus.” A careful lawyer, Col. Jones
has set down, with most meticulous exactness, and without imagination
or embellishment, the stories as they were told him on the plantation.

One familiar with Negro speech recognizes that these tales are recorded
as they fell from Negro lips, and as such they must be regarded, as
far as they go, as the most authentic record of Negro myths on the
continent--probably the originals of many of the “Uncle Remus” stories,
for the slaves first came from Africa to the coast, bringing with them
their myths and legends which gradually infiltrated into the hinterland.

A comparison of Jones’s story of the rabbit and the tar baby with Uncle
Remus’s version of the same tale will be interesting as showing, not
only the richer and quainter dialect of the Gullah, but also his more
direct and homely mode of thought.

The “Coteney” sermons of the Reverend John G. Williams, of Barnwell
County, which appeared in the Charleston News & Courier about
twenty-five years ago and were subsequently published in pamphlet form,
purporting to be pulpit deliverances and consequently showing chiefly
the Negro’s conception of his relation to religion, are full of homely
wit, and, written in the language of the coast, constitute a noteworthy
contribution to dialectal literature.

Mrs. A. M. H. Christensen, of Beaufort, although of Northern birth,
enjoyed soon after the war unusual opportunities for acquiring
folk-lore stories of the sea-islands and littoral, and she has set
forth in a small volume certain of the tales that were told her, which
are in the main variants of versions of those already related by Harris
and Jones.

Another booklet, by the late J. Jenkins Hucks, of Georgetown, S. C.,
recording some of the cases that came before him as Magistrate, is,
perhaps, the most humorous example extant of Gullah undefiled.

Following the Stories, will be found a fairly complete Glossary of the
Gullah speech as used by the Negroes of the Carolina-Georgia Coast and
sea-islands, perhaps the only extensive vocabulary of Gullah that has
yet been compiled.

The words are, of course, not African, for the African brought over or
retained only a few words of his jungle-tongue, and even these few are
by no means authenticated as part of the original scant baggage of the
Negro slaves.

What became of this jungle-speech? Why so few words should have
survived is a mystery, for, even after freedom, a few native Africans
of the later importations were still living on the Carolina Coast,
and the old family servants often spoke, during and after the war, of
native Africans they had known; but, while they repeated many tales
that came by word of mouth from the Dark Continent--the story-tellers
were almost invariably of royal blood, and did not hesitate to own
it--they seem to have picked from the mouths of their African brothers
not a single jungle-word for the enrichment of their own speech.

As the small vocabulary of the jungle atrophied through disuse and
was soon forgotten, the contribution to language made by the Gullah
Negro is insignificant, except through the transformation wrought
upon a large body of borrowed English words. Adopting, as needed and
immediately when needed, whatever they could assimilate, they have
reshaped perhaps 1,700 words of our language by virtue of an unwritten
but a very definite and vigorous law of their own tongue.

In connection with the Glossary, certain characteristic features of
this strange tongue are noted. Their consideration will facilitate the
reader’s exploration of “The Black Border.”

Of the stories included in this volume, the last fourteen were written
and published in The State in the Spring of 1892. The remaining
twenty-eight were written and published during the year 1918.

    AMBROSE E. GONZALES.

    Columbia, August, 1922.




THE BLACK BORDER




NOBLESSE OBLIGE


Joe Fields was the most onery looking darkey on Pon Pon. Squat,
knock-kneed, lopsided, slew-footed, black as a crow, pop-eyed, with
a few truculent looking yellow teeth set “slantindicularly” in a
prognathous jaw, he was the embodiment of ramshackle inefficiency.
Although he worked only now and then, thanks to the industry of a
hard-working wife, he usually owned, encumbered by a chattel mortgage,
a wretched half-starved horse upon which he rode to his occasional
employments.

Joe, runt as he was, had two sources of pride--the aristocratic
lineage of his “owners,” for he had belonged to the Heywards, and
the achievement, on his own behalf, of the paternity of twins. Poor,
patient Philippa, being only the mother, and a person of no family to
speak of, having been the slave of a Charleston baker--whose fortunes
rose during the war, though his Confederate yeast didn’t--Philippa,
of the bourgeoisie, was not taken into account. “Dem two twin duh
my’own,” and “Me nyuse to blonx to Mass Clinch,” were the Andante and
Allegro of Joe’s prideful song. When some lusty young wench, during
the customary “chaffing” of the plantation dinner hour, would ridicule
his small size, Joe would swell with importance, grin like a ’possum,
and overwhelm her with the retort: “Little axe cut down big tree! You
see dem two twin, enty? Dem duh _my’own_.” But the “two twins,” poor
little dusky wights, were in evidence in the neighborhood and could be
estimated at their true value and Joe’s paternal prowess appraised
accordingly, but “Mass Clinch” lived away off “een Walterburruh” and,
later, as governor, in Columbia, and his name, mouthed unctuously
by his former slave, carried with it a weird, mystical importance,
a portentous something that held his auditors with staring eyes and
dropping jaws till Joe reached his climax, when the tension relaxed and
they returned to earth.

Once started, Joe’s imagination fed upon his words as a dog upon his
own fleas. One day when Philippa reprobated his want of industry, Joe,
other negroes being present, began to brag: “Wunnuh haffuh wu’k ’cause
wunnuh blan blonx to po’ buckruh. Yo’ maussuh _’self_ haffuh wu’k! Enty
I shum een town one time duh stan’ een ’e bake sto’ duh mek bread, en’
’e kibbuh wid flour ’tell ’e baid stan’ sukkuh deseyuh cedar hedge duh
wintuhtime w’en w’ite fros’ dey ’puntop’um?”

“Enty yo’ maussuh wu’k, Joe?”

“_Who?_ _My Maussuh?_ _Mass Clinch?_ ’Ooman, you mus’ be fool! Enty
wunnuh know him duh quality? You ebbuh yeddy ’bout _quality_ wu’k?
Wuffuh him haffuh wu’k? No, suh! Him hab him ob’shay, Mistuh Jokok, fuh
wu’k. _My_ maussuh tek ’e pledjuh. ’E ride hawss, ’e eat ricebu’d en’
summuh duck en’ t’ing’. Him hab t’irteen plantesshun ’puntop Cumbee
Ribbuh. Him plant seb’n t’ous’n’ acre’ rice.”

“_Seb’n t’ous’n’ acre’!_”

“Yaas, enty uh tell wunnuh ’e plant nine t’ous’n’ acre’ rice? Wunnuh
t’ink me duh lie, enty? Uh swaytogawd, w’en uh bin Cumbee one time
uh count fo’ t’ous’n’ head uh nigguh’ duh hoe rice een de baa’nyaa’d
fiel’. Nigguh’ stan’ een Mass Clinch’ fiel’ sukkuh crow’ duh mustuh!
En’ him hab seb’n hund’ud mule’!”

“De mule’ wu’k ’pun Cumbee?” asked an iconoclast.

“Co’se de mule’ wu’k, en’ de nigguh’ wu’k, en’ Mistuh Jokok wu’k.
Eb’rybody wu’k ’scusin’ my maussuh. Dem mule’ hab long tail’ dull
summuhtime fuh switch fly, but w’en wintuhtime come en’ dem ’leb’n
hund’ud mule’ tail’ roach, de pyo’ hair wuh shabe off’um mek one pile
stan’ big mo’nuh rice rick!”

“Hukkuh yo’ maussuh plant all dat rice en’ t’ing’ ef ’e yent wu’k?”

“Enty I tell wunnuh him lib een Walterburruh? Duh summuhtime ’e does
dribe duh plantesshun now en’ den fuh see how him crap stan’. Him dribe
two hawss’, en’ de buckle on ’e haa’ness shine lukkuh gol’. One nigguh
duh seddown behine ’e buggy wid alltwo ’e han’ fol’ befor’um lukkuh hog
tie. Mass Clinch hab on one kid glub ’pun ’e han’ wuh come to ’e elbow.
W’en ’e git Cumbee, ’e light out ’e buggy. T’ree nigguh’ run up fuh
hol’ ’e hawss’ head. Mistuh Jokok mek’um uh low bow. Mass Clinch iz uh
berry mannussubble juntlemun, alldo’ him _iz_ quality, en’ him ’spon’
to de bow. Den ’e biggin fuh walk. Him hab shishuh rich walk! Den ’e
cock ’e hat one side ’e head. You nebbuh see nobody kin cock ’e hat
stylish lukkuh Mass Clinch. Den ’e onbutt’n ’e weskit. ’E pit ’e lef’
han’ een ’e britchiz pocket, en’ swing ’e walkin’ stick een ’e right
han’, en’ biggin fuh quizzit him ob’shay. By dis time ’e git ’puntop de
baa’nyaa’d hill en’ look obuh ’e fiel’.

“‘Jokok’,” ’e say, “‘dat de stretch flow you got on my rice, enty?’”

“‘No, suh, dat de haa’bis’ flow.’”

“‘De debble’!” ’e say. “‘’E mus’ be mos’ time fuh ricebu’d!’”

“‘Yaas, suh. We gwine hab some fuh dinnuh’.”

“‘Wuh else you got fuh eat?’” Maussuh quizzit’um.

“‘We got one cootuh soup mek out’uh tarrypin’ wuh bin een one pen duh
fatten ’pun gritch en’ t’ing,’ en’ one trout fish, en’ summuh duck’.”

“‘You hab enny mint?’”

“‘Yaas, suh, we hab ’nuf.’”

“‘Berry well, mek we a few julip’,” ’e say. “‘You got enny mo’ ’pawtun’
bidness dat ’quire my ’tenshun?’”

“‘Yaas, suh; snake hole en’ crawfish en’ t’ing’ spile one uh we bank,
en’ de trunk blow out, en’ uh hab uh berry bad break, en’ Cumbee ribbuh
comin’ een de fiel’. You wantuh shum, suh?’”

“‘No, I t’engk you’,” ’e say. “‘Leh de ribbuh tek ’e co’se. Leh we
eat’.”

“W’en ’e gitt’ru ’e bittle, ’e hab ’e fo’ hawss’ hitch up, en’ Mistuh
Jokok pit two-t’ree bag uh cootuh en’ ricebu’d en’ summuh duck een him
cyaaridge, en’ ’e gone _spang_ Walterburruh, same lukkuh bu’d fly! Da’
duh _my_ maussuh!”

By the time Joe concluded his story the noon hour was over, and the
awed negroes rose silently to resume their work. One old mauma, turning
to Joe as she knocked the ashes out of her clay pipe and carefully
stuck it in the knotty wool behind her ear, said, “Joe, dat duh Gawd
you binnuh talk ’bout, enty?”

“No, enty I tell wunnuh duh Mass Clinch Heywu’d! Him duh my maussuh, me
duh him nigguh. Me ain’ haffuh wu’k, him ain’ haffuh wu’k. W’en wunnuh
look ’puntop’uh she, wunnuh look ’puntop’uh me. Me en’ him alltwo stan’
same fashi’n.”

“I t’aw’t,” said the old woman, scornfully, “I t’aw’t ’e mus’ be de
blessed Gawd you bin gib shishuh high praise, but I always yeddy
suh Him duh de ainjul’ maussuh, en’ I yeddy suh de ainjul’ w’ite en’
shiny lukkuh staar een de sky, but _you_, nigguh! _YOU black_ ez uh
_buzzut_!”




“MY MAUSSUH”


How beneficent must have been the institution of slavery under kindly
masters which could cause Joe Fields, black, yellow-eyed, knock-kneed,
slew-footed, longtime husband of Philippa, sometime father of twins,
to boast, 53 years after the war, of the prowess and attainments of
his former master, Duncan Clinch Heyward, sometime governor of South
Carolina, now collector of internal revenue and sitting at the receipt
of customs in the tall Palmetto building at Columbia, with dominion
over war tax, surtax and every other impost internally levied by
a benevolent government upon its loyal people. Although, perhaps,
an infant in arms when Joe first looked freedom in the face, this
“master” was exalted in the mind of his former slave to almost Godlike
proportions. “Joe’ maussuh duh him Jedus,” conservatively remarked
Philippa.

The negroes about Pon Pon had been considerably exercised over the
lengthening of the daylight hours by pushing forward the hands of
the clock. Always suspicious of a Caucasian in the woodpile, it was
generally regarded as a device for increasing the hours of negro labor.
At a recent gathering of the idle black at Adams Run station, the
opinion was expressed that the President, although a “Dimmycrack,” must
be “a smaa’t man” to have lengthened the days on the darkeys and taken
over the railroads.

New York, in the minds of the coast negroes, is the _ultima Thule_--at
once the farthest North, and the very core and center of Yankeedom,
where, in awful majesty, the President of the United States is
supposed to sit like Zeus upon Mt. Olympus, or “my maussuh” in
Columbia.

“Yaas, man,” said Joe, “de Prezzydent smaa’t man, fuh true, but ’e yent
smaa’t lukkuh maussuh, ’cause my maussuh haffuh gone New Yawk fuh tell
de Prezzydent wuh fuh do. Same lukkuh maussuh tell Mistuh Jokok, him
ob’shay ’puntop Cumbee, hummuch rice en’ t’ing’ fuh plant, same fashi’n
him tell de Prezzydent wuh fuh do, en’ de Prezzydent smaa’t ’nuf fuh
do’um.

“Todduh day uh hab uh hebby disapp’int. Uh yeddy suh uh big buckruh
wedd’n’ bin fuh hab een Adam’ Run billage, en’ uh yeddy suh my maussuh
fuh come spang f’um Cuhlumbia to de wedd’n’. Uh gone en’ pit on me
shoe’ en’ da’ new britchiz wuh uh buy yeah ’fo’ las’, en’ uh pit
on uh old weskit wuh uh bin hab, so ’e kin mek me fuh look lukkuh
maussuh, en’ uh tek me two foot en’ walk, ’cause da’ las’ oxin wuh
uh buy done dead onduhneet’ de mawgidge da’ buckruh mek me fuh pit
’puntop’um, en’ uh yent hab nutt’n’ fuh ride, en’ uh gone slam Adam’
Run billage to de wedd’n’, so uh kin see maussuh, en’ uh stan’ outside
de ’Piskubble chu’ch en uh fast’n’ alltwo me yeye ’pun de do’ fuh see
w’en de buckruh’ gone een en’ w’en dem come out, en’ ’nuf buggy en’
cyaaridge en’ t’ing’ dribe up to de do’, en’ some dem torruh t’ing wuh
buckruh hab now--uh cyan’ call ’e name, but ’e hab fo’ w’eel en’ ’e run
lukkuh bu’d fly, en’ ’e smell lukkuh kyarrysene--en’ uh see de buckruh
git out en’ gone een de chu’ch en’ de preechuh pit on ’e new shroud,
’cause ’e done buy anodduh one attuh Estelle t’ief de fus’ one ’e hab.
Bimeby, eb’rybody come out de do’, en’ uh look ’tell uh pop-eye,’ but
uh nebbuh see no maussuh; en’ den uh fin’ out suh maussuh ent hab uh
chance fuh come to de wedd’n’ cause him haffuh gone New Yawk fuh tell
de Prezzydent wuh fuh do! Yaas, suh, da’ duh my maussuh! Same way ’e
mek Mistuh Jokok en’ dem nigguh’ en’ t’ing’ fuh stan’ ’roun’ ’puntop’uh
Cumbee ribbuh, uh yeddy suh same fashi’n him fuh do een Cuhlumbia en’
New Yawk. Uh yeddy suh my maussuh fuh lib een Cuhlumbia een one high
house. ’E high mo’nuh loblolly pine tree. De house hab seb’n hund’ud
room’, but dem buckruh’ wuh bin Cuhlumbia tell me de house ent hab no
step fuh climb. W’en maussuh ready fuh go to de top uh ’e house, ’e
gone een one leetle room, en’ ’e shet de do’ en ’e shet ’e yeye. Fus’
t’ing you know, ’e gone _spang_ to de top uh ’e house. Wen ’e op’n
’e yeye de do’ op’n, en’ ’e walk een ’e office en’ ’e hab ’nuf man
en’ nyung lady een ’e office. ’E seddown befo’ ’e table. ’E table big
lukkuh winnuh-house flatfawm. ’E pit uh seegyaa’ een ’e mout’. ’E cross
’e foot. ’E call one dem nyung lady. ‘You got any match?’ maussuh ax’um.

“‘Yaas, suh,’ ’e say.”

“‘Please gimme uh matches,’ maussuh say, berry puhlite, ‘en’ light’um
fuh me.’ De nyung lady g’em de match, but him say suh maussuh hab mo’
’speriunce fuh light match’ den w’at him hab. Maussuh say, ‘berry
well,’ en’ him ’cratch’ de match ’pun ’e britchiz. ’E ketch fire. ’E
light ’e seegyaa’. ’E blow smoke! ’E study! Bimeby ’e reach obuh ’e
table. ’E tetch one leetle sump’n’nurruh lukkuh rattlesnake’ butt’n.
De t’ing hab lightnin’ een’um, but ’e nebbuh t’unduh. W’en maussuh
tetch’um, de felluh go ‘_ping_,’ same lukkuh oonuh t’row stick ’puntop
tallygraf wire. Bimeby, fo’ man’ run een de room. ‘Hummuch money oonuh
tek f’um de buckruh teday?’ maussuh ax’um. ‘You tek all dem got?’”

“‘Yaas, suh,’ dem say. ‘Eb’n so we tek dem fowl off de roos’!’”

“‘Berry well,’ maussuh say. ‘Ef you tek all dem got, uh haffuh study
’pun uh plan fuh git mo’, en’ ’e tell de fo’ man’ fuh gone. W’en dem
gone, maussuh study. ’E pit ’e head one side sukkuh bluejay. ’E blow
smoke, en’ ’e study. Maussuh _too_ schemy! Bimeby, ’e say to ’eself:
‘Wuh me en’ de Prezzydent gwine do? Us done ketch all de money wuh de
buckruh got, en’ us yent lef’um nutt’n’ ’cep’ de railroad. Nigguh’
ent got nutt’n’ but dem han’ en’ dem foot’. Nigguh’ ent fuh hab no
money. Nigguh’ fuh w’uk. Leh we see,’ ’e say. ‘Fus’ t’ing, me en’ de
Prezzydent haffuh wu’k! Alltwo uh we duh juntlemun, en’ juntlemun ent
fuh wu’k.’ Maussuh pit on ’e hat. ’E gone deepo’ een Cuhlumbia. ’E
ride de westyblue strain, en’ ’e nebbuh git off ’tell ’e git spang New
Yawk! ’E gone to de Prezzydent’ house. De Prezzydent mek’um uh bow. ’E
ax’um, ‘How you lef’ yo’ fambly en’ yo’ crap?’ Maussuh treat’um berry
mannussubble. ’E tell’um ’e fambly well, but ’e crap ent stan’ so berry
good, ’cause nigguh’ seem lukkuh dem ent lub fuh wu’k ’fo’ day clean
een de mawnin’, en’ dem dat good-fuhnutt’n’ dem wan’ knock-off soon ez
daa’k come. ‘Dem eegnunt tuh dat,’ de Prezzydent tell’um. ‘Ent you hab
moonlight night’ ’puntop Cumbee ribbuh?’ Maussuh tell’um yaas, him hab
moonlight, fuh true, but seem lukkuh moonlight night’ duh summuhtime
nigguh’ fuhrebbuh duh shout en’ beat stick. Maussuh tell’um ef him kin
mek uh law fuh pit anodduh hour een eb’ry day, him kin git mo’ wu’k out
de nigguh’. ‘Berry well,’ de Prezzydent tell’um. En’ ’e mek law fuh
sattify maussuh, same lukkuh maussuh tell’um.

“Den maussuh cross ’e foot, en’ ’e study some mo’. ’E git schemy ’gen!
Maussuh tell’um t’engky fuh de law wuh ’e mek, but ’e tell’um one t’ing
wuh bodduhr’um duh de railroad wuh run f’um W’ite Hall fuh gone town.
’E tell’um eb’ry Sattyday W’ite Hall deepo’ black wid nigguh’ fuh
gone town fuh t’row’way dem money. Maussuh tell’um de ticket en’ de
’scusshun too cheap, en’ ef de Prezzydent gi’ _him_ de railroad, him
will chaa’ge mo’ money fuh de ticket, en’ den de nigguh’ cyan’ trabble
so fas’. De Prezzydent tell’um, yaas, ’e plan berry good, but him hab
uh sonny-law wuh hab uh berry good ecknowledge fuh git money out’uh
buckruh’, en’ ef him kin git’um out’uh buckruh’, him kin git’um out’uh
nigguh’ alltwo, so ’e say ’e gwine tek de railroad f’um de buckruh’ en’
g’em to ’e sonny-law, en’ maussuh tell’um berry well, him ’low’um fuh
do dat, en’ den maussuh come home en’ write uh ansuh to Mistuh Jokok
fuh tell’um nigguh’ fuh wu’k one mo’ hour eb’ry day Gawd sen’, en’
Mistuh Jokok pass de wu’d; en’, please Gawd, de Prezzydent’ sonny-law
mek nigguh’ fuh pay mo’ fuh ride de railroad, en eb’rybody say suh de
Prezzydent shishuh smaa’t man fuh mek dem law, but, oonuh yeddy me! duh
_my maussuh_ mek de Prezzydent fuh mek law! Him schemy fuh t’ink all
dem t’ing so him en’ de Prezzydent ent haffuh wu’k! _My_ maussuh ent
full wu’k. No, _suh_!”




AN ANTEMORTEM DEMISE


Under whatever star Philippa had been born, she had known only ill
luck since her acquisition of a husband in Joe Fields, the slew-footed
former slave of former Governor Heyward. Joe’s pride in his former
master was too great to permit him to walk, and the mortgaged horse
or mule which he usually owned seldom lived very long on the light
rations and scant attention it received. Its demise would soon be
followed by another animal purchase, another mortgage, and another
death. Joe occasionally worked when it suited him, but Philippa toiled
unceasingly, and, although she seldom lived at home, she was very
proud of the little establishment which her labor maintained. Always
distrustful of Joe, she yet gave him the custody of, and dominion over,
the few material things she possessed, representing in her character
the contradictions not infrequently met with among those of her sex in
higher circles.

Once upon a time, Philippa aspired to animal husbandry. Tired of
buying bacon for Joe at the Cross Roads store, she applied the savings
of several months of hard labor to the purchase of a young sow, and,
perhaps in compliment to Joe, she bought a Berkshire, the blackest pig
she could find. During the months of anticipation, while she worked for
the money with which to make the purchase, her mind was full of the
little black pigs that some time would be running about her yard around
the cabin in the woodland, furnishing meat in prospect, and immediate
companionship for Joe and their taciturn black daughter, Christopher
Columbus, who kept the home fires burning with whatever lightwood knots
she could pick up in the pineland, while the wife and mother worked for
“de buckruh” several miles away.

“Joe en’ Cuhlumbus sho’ gwine hab uh good cump’ny w’en uh buy da’ hog
en’ sen’ um home,” she thought. “Ef uh kin raise ten pig’ dis’yeah,
maybe nex’ yeah uh kin raise two-t’ree hund’ud, en’ dem kin git ’nuf
fuh eat een de swamp en’ de pinelan’ bidout buy’um no bittle.”

So her fancy pictured her humble premises teeming with little pigs,
first squirming in their beds among the straw, then grunting and
running about the place, while Joe and Columbus, squatting on the door
step of the cabin, communed with them in spirit and watched them grow.
Later, the husky shoats would forage the pinelands and swamps for
mast and acorns, and root about in the muddy branches for slugs and
crayfish, then, grown to fat porkers, they would be slaughtered, salted
and smoked, and hams, shoulders, and flitches would hang in festoons
from the cabin rafters. So they successively passed through the seven
ages of swine. At last the sow that was to transmute Philippa’s dreams
into realities was bought and paid for, and a message dispatched to Joe
to come and take her home. In due time he arrived with ox and cart and,
admonished by Philippa to meet the responsibility placed upon him, he
drove away, the guardian of her hopes.

But Joe was not a forward-looking man. His eyes, lacking speculation,
were filled with the insistent materialism of the moment. A present
pig was worth a hundred in prospect. His eyeballs popped and his lips
leaked as he viewed Opportunity that grunted so tantalizingly at his
door, and the gnawings of “Guamba” (the meat hunger of the savage
African tribes) played Lady Macbeth to his halting thoughts of murder
and turned them into resolution.

“Yaas, ma’am, uh glad fuh git uh chance fuh wu’k out ’gen, ’cause Joe’
shishuh po’ puhwiduh. ’E nebbuh hab no bittle een de house fuh eat. ’E
lub fuh eat, but ’e say suh ’cause him maussuh duh quality, suh him
ent fuh nyam no dry bittle. Cawn hom’ny ent wut’ fuh Joe ’scusin’ ’e
got hog meat ’long’um fuh greese ’e mout’, en’ da’ time we’n uh binnuh
wu’k Pon Pon uh lavuh’ haa’d fuh two munt’ fuh buy uh sow so uh kin
raise hog meat fuh keep f’um fuhrebbuh duh run duh sto’ fuh bodduh
wid dem Jew’ en’ t’ing’, en’ w’en uh done pay fuh de sow, uh sen’ one
metsidge fuh tell Joe fuh come fuh fetch’um home. Yuh come Joe een ’e
oxin cyaa’t! ’E _dat_ swonguh, ’e mos’ mek somebody wuh ent know’um
t’ink suh _himself_ wu’k fuh buy de hog. Joe tie all fo’ de sow’ foot,
’e pit’um een ’e cyaa’t, en’ ’e gone! Attuh uh week done gone, uh
sen’ wu’d fuh tell Joe fuh come fuh see me fuh tell me how de hog git
’long. Bimeby Joe come, ’e tell me de hog hab uh berry good he’lt’.
Uh t’engkful fuh yeddy dat, ’cause uh study ’puntop da’ hog tummuch.
Anodduh week done gone, uh sen’ fuh Joe ’gen. ’E come. Uh ax’um how de
hog’ he’lt’. ’E say ’e he’lt’ ent so berry good, ’e say seem lukkuh de
hog kind’uh po’ly. Uh baig’um fuh ent tek ’e yeye off de hog, en’ ’e
mek me uh prommus suh ’e gwine watch’um same lukkuh de sow duh ’e own
chile. Anodduh week gone. Joe come ’gen. ’E fetch uh berry sad news
f’um de hog, ’cause ’e say suh de hog duh leddown, en’ him berry ’f’aid
suh ’e dey at de p’int uh de’t’. Wen him tell me dat, uh seddown
en’ uh cry, but w’en uh look ’puntop’um uh see suh Joe hab uh berry
sattify’ face, en’ ’e jaw look hebby ’tell ’e stan’ lukkuh mufflejaw
fowl, but stillyet uh nebbuh ’spishun nutt’n’, en’ uh ax Joe wuffuh mek
’e jaw fat. ’E tell me ’e hab uh teet’ache, en’ dat w’ymekso ’e jaw
swell. Joe gone. Nex’ week ’e come ’gen. ’E jowl hebby ez uh buckruh’
barruh Chris’mus time, en’ ’e face look berry sattify. Uh ax’um how
de hog? ’E say de hog dead ’tell buzzut done eat’um. Wen uh yeddy dat
wu’d, me h’aa’t hebby ’tell ’e ready fuh drap out me t’roat ’pun de
du’t. Uh look ’pun Joe ’gen. Uh study ’pun how ’e jaw fat. Uh biggin
fuh ’spishun. Uh ax’um ef ’e still hab uh teet’ache een ’e jaw. ’E
tell me yaas, ’e teet’ache hot’um ’tell ’e cyan’ nyam ’e cawn hom’ny.
Uh ax’um ef ’e teet’ hot’um to dat, hukkuh him mout’ kin grin lukkuh
possum mout’ duh wintuhtime w’en ’e dey een possimmun tree? ’E say suh
’e teet’ache hot’um ’tell ’e mek’um fuh grin. W’en ’e tell me dat, uh
know him duh lie, en’ uh know berry well weh de hog gone, ’cause him
hab shishuh selfish face uh know suh nutt’n’ gwine mek’um grin ’cep’n’
’e belly tight. Dat, en’ brag ’bout ’e maussuh, duh de only two t’ing
fuh sweet’n ’e face fuh mek laugh come een ’e mout’! Uh tell’um, berry
well, uh fret ’bout de hog ’tell uh haffuh gone home en’ look ’puntop
de po’ creetuh’ bone. ’E tell me suh buzzut done scattuh ’e bone. Uh
tell’um, nemmine, uh gwine fin’um ef uh haffuh hunt spang tuh Caw Caw
Swamp! Joe stick out ’e mout’ ’tell ’e oagly ez uh catfish, but uh
yent mine’um, en’ uh climb’ een de oxin cyaa’t en’ mek’um fuh dribe
tuh de house. Uh know berry well suh uh kin mek Cuhlumbus fuh tell me
de straight ’bout de hog, ’cause uh train’um fuh watch ’e Pa same ez
beebu’d watch beehibe. W’en uh git home uh holluh fuh Cuhlumbus, but
’e yent mek no ansuh en’ uh know ’e mus’be gone deepo. Uh look full de
key een de knot hole een one de house’ log weh ’e does lef’um w’en ’e
gone out, but befo’ uh gone een de house uh tell Joe fuh show me weh de
hog done dead, so uh kin look ’pun ’e bone. Joe look shameface’ ez uh
suck-aig dog w’en oonuh ketch’um een uh hen nes,’ but ’e nebbuh crack
’e teet’, en’ ’e gone tuh de aige uh de swamp en’ ’e tell me suh dey
de hog dead, en’ de buzzut mus’be flew ’way ’long ’e bone, ’cause none
ain’ lef’. Uh tell’um ’e buzzut strong fuh true, but de nigguh lie so
easy, uh haffuh suck me teet’ at’um. Uh gone dull house, uh onlock de
do’ en’ uh gone een. De fiah done out een de chimbly, but een de cawnuh
uh de chimbly uh see de big spiduh duh set, kibbuh’ up wid ashish en’
dead coal’. Uh ax Joe wuh ’e got fuh eat. ’E say ’e dunno wuh Cuhlumbus
cook’ befo’ ’e gone out. ’E say ’e ’spec’ Cuhlumbus him roas’ tettuh,
eeduhso bile’ hom’ny een de spiduh. Uh tek off de kibbuh. Please me
Jedus, uh see de hog’ head dey een de spiduh _done cook_, en’ uh know
’e duh my’own, ’cause ’e hab de w’ite people’ maa’k wuh uh buy’um f’um
een alltwo ’e yez! W’en uh look ’puntop de sow head, en’ ’membuh all
de t’ing uh bin agguhnize ’bout fuh git da’ hog, uh hab uh berry hebby
sperrit en’ water full’ alltwo me yeye. Uh ax Joe weh da’ hog meat come
f’um? ’E say him ent know nutt’n’ ’t’all ’bout’um, ’e say suh somebody
mus’be gi’ Cuhlumbus de meat. ’E say suh him binnuh nyam de pyo’ cawn
hom’ny ’tell him hab uh dry drought een ’e t’roat. Uh tell’um, ‘Joe,
you sho’ iz uh fait’ful liah fuh tell lie. Yo’ jaw swell wid de pyo’
fat you git f’um eat my hog, en’ da’ berry sow gwine ride you duh night
time. ’E fuh haant you long ez you lib.’ Cuhlumbus come. Uh ax’um
hukkuh de sow git ’e de’t’. ’E say suh ebbuh sence de hog come home,
’e Pa binnuh hankuh at’um fuh eat. ’E say suh eb’ry day ’e Pa seddown
on de do’ step duh watch de hog duh root ’bout de yaa’d, en’ eb’ry
time de hog grunt, ’e Pa dat hongry fuh eat’um, ’e gnash ’e teet’ en’
water run out ’e mout’. One time de hog git ketch een de fench en’
squeal. W’en Joe yeddy ’e woice ’e run out, en’ ’stead’uh ’e loose’um
out de fench, ’e tek axe, knock’um een e’ head, en’ ’e tell Cuhlumbus
’e kill’um fuh pit’um out ’e mis’ry. Den ’e staa’t fuh eat’um to ’e
tail en’ eat spang t’ru de hog ’tell ’e git to ’e head wuh uh fin’ een
de pot! De berry day da’ nigguh tell me suh de sow eenjy uh berry po’
he’lt’, ’e done eat de hog’ two hanch! Uh _done_ wid feed Joe! Ef ’e
maussuh lub’um tuh dat, _him_ kin feed’um! Meself, _uh done_!”

Though the abandoned Joe made bones of Philippa’s hopes, he made none
about acknowledging the butchery, and boasting of it, away from home.

“Joe, you sho’ iz fat.”

“Yaas, man, uh fat fuh true. Uh binnuh eat hog meat. Philpuh him buy uh
hog en’ sen’ um home, en’ de hog meet uh acksident een de fench, en’ uh
’f’aid ’e gwine dead lukkuh da’ todduh hog ’e hab fuh dead on me han’
one time, en’ buzzut git’um ’fo’ uh hab uh chance fuh eat’um. Buzzut
git uhhead’uh me one time, but ’e nebbuh do’um two time! My maussuh’
nigguh haffuh smaa’t mo’nuh buzzut! Stepney[1] ain’ fuh come een _my_
house! Me fuh ’low my maussuh’ nigguh fuh perish fuh hog meat? _Me_ jaw
full dry ’long cawn hom’ny, en’ buzzut mout’ fuh greesy ’long de ’ooman
hog meat, enty? No suh! Uh gwine nyam’um fus’! _Uh kill’um ’fo’ ’e
dead!_”




THE LION OF LEWISBURG


Several years ago there lived on the “Lewisburg” rice plantation of
former Governor Duncan Clinch Heyward, one Monday White, a yellow negro
and a persistent and imaginative practical joker. The little “Devil’s
Fiddles” which boys construct of empty tin cans and rosined string emit
unchristian squeaks and groans when played upon with smooth hardwood
sticks, and Monday believed that a similar device on a larger scale
could be so manipulated as to frighten into hysterics half the negro
population along Combahee River. Begging from the store a large empty
powder keg, he surreptitiously rigged it up with stout twine which,
well rubbed with rosin and scraped with a dry hickory stick for a bow,
produced a hoarse and horrible sound which might have passed among the
uninitiated for the roar of a lion--or for anything else.

Monday knew that the superstitious negroes feared most the unknown. The
negro who would have taken a chance with alligator or bull, or the even
more dangerous hind legs of a mule, could be scared stiff by a weird,
unfamiliar sound in the woods at night. So Monday decided that the
ear-jarring sound emitted by his double-bass “Devil’s Fiddle” should
do service for the roar of a lion, as these creatures were unknown on
Combahee, and the few negroes who had once seen lions when the circus
visited Walterboro, brought back marvelous tales of their ferocity and
their terrible voices.

Monday baited his victims skilfully. One Saturday night when the store
was crowded with trading negroes, he led the conversation lionwards. He
needed tales of terror, and the two or three negroes who had once seen
lions were willing to oblige. One of them had even seen them fed. “W’en
uh bin Walterburruh, uh look ’puntop one dem annimel fuh call lion, en’
uh shum w’en dem duh g’em ’e bittle fuh eat.”

“Nigguh g’em ’e bittle?

“No man, buckruh feed’um. Nigguh ent fuh feed’um. Da’ t’ing dainjus
tummuch! Nigguh duh him bittle. Lion en’ nigguh alltwo come f’um
Aff’iky, en’ w’en dem Aff’ikin king en’ t’ing hab lion een dem cage,
’e g’em uh nigguh fuh eat eb’ry day Gawd sen’, en’ ’e crack nigguh’
hambone een ’e jaw sukkuh dem Beefu’t nigguh crack crab claw’ w’en ’e
done bile. Him _done_ fuh lub nigguh! W’en dem sukkus man fuh feed’um
een Walterburruh, dem fetch half uh bull yellin’ fuh ’e bittle, en’
w’en da’ t’ing look ’puntop de meat, ’e tail t’rash’ ’pun de flo’
sukkuh nigguh duh t’rash rice ’long flail, en’ ’e gyap ’e mout’ same
lukkuh Mistuh Jokok op’n ’e trunk mout’ fuh t’row uh flow ’puntop Mass
Clinch’ rice! ’E woice roll lukkuh t’unduh roll, en’ w’en ’e holluh,
eb’ry Chryce’ nigguh t’row ’e han’ obuh e’ two’ yez en’ run out de
tent, en’ gone!”

“Tengk Gawd dem annimel nebbuh come ’puntop Cumbee!” a woman fervently
exclaimed.

“Yaas, tittie,” said another, “ef da’ t’ing ebbuh come yuh, me fuh run
Sabannuh. Uh nebbuh stop run ’tell uh done pass de Yamassee!”

Others joined in the trembling chorus and Monday, when they had become
sufficiently worked up, shrewdly spilled the first spoonful of powder
leading to his mine. “Oonuh nigguh, one buckruh binnuh talk ’puntop
de flatfawm to W’ite Hall deepo dis mawnin’, en’ uh yeddy’um tell dem
torruh buckruh suh one sukkus hab uh acksident to Orangebu’g, en’ one
lion git out ’e cage en’ run een de swamp en’ gone, en’ de buckruh try
fuh ketch’um but dem ’f’aid fuh gone een de swamp, en’ dem sen’ dem dog
attuhr’um, en’ de lion kill t’irteen beagle one time!”

“Oh Jedus!” cried an excited woman, “Uh berry ’f’aid da’ t’ing gwine
come Cumbee! Hummuch mile Orangebu’g stan’ f’um yuh?”

“Uh dunno hummuch mile,” Monday replied, “but uh know lion kin mek’um
’tween middlenight en’ dayclean, en’ ef uh ebbuh yeddy ’e woice roll
een dish’yuh swamp, meself gwine git een me trus’me’gawd coonoo en’ uh
fuh gone down Cumbee ribbuh, en’ uh nebbuh stop paddle ’tell uh git
Beefu’t!”

A week passed. Like the waves from a stone thrown into still waters,
the lion stories spread among the outlying plantations in all
directions. Saturday night found Monday early at the store. Another
convenient buckra at White Hall station had told that morning of the
lion’s escape from the Edisto and his crossing over the intervening
pinelands into the Salkehatchie Swamp and, as most people know, the
Salkehatchie River, below the line of the Charleston and Savannah
railway, becomes the Combahee. The lion was loose, therefore, in their
own proper swamp, and might even now be riding a floating log down the
current of their beloved river!

Monday stealthily slipped out. An hour later, when the negroes in and
about the store had worked themselves up to a delectable pitch of
excitement, an unearthly groaning roar came from the woods nearby. The
night was hot, but the negroes almost froze with fear, and the clerk,
in whom Monday had confided, raised no objection when the negroes
within the store called in their companions from the outside and asked
permission to bar the door.

“Oonuh yeddy’um, enty! Wuh uh tell you ’bout da’ t’ing’ woice?” said
the negro who had seen lions in Walterboro.

Monday’s “Devil’s Fiddle” groaned again, and as its dying notes
trembled on the summer night, a rush was made to close and bolt the
windows. The kerosene lamps smoked and flared in the fetid air. The men
listened and shuddered as the recurrent roars, now muffled, reached
their expectant ears. The women wailed. “O Gawd! uh lef’ me t’ree
chillun shet up een me house,” cried one. “Uh ’spec’ da’ t’ing done
nyam’um all by dis time!”

“Shet yo’ mout’, ’ooman,” said a masculine comforter. “Hukkuh him kin
eat en’ holluh alltwo one time? Yo’ chillun ent fuh eat.”

“Me lef’ my juntlemun een de house,” said another woman, with
resignation, “Uh ’spec’ him done eat.”

“Wuh you duh bodduh ’bout loss uh man?” said the mother. “Man easy fuh
git tummuch. Me yent duh bodduh ’bout man. Uh kin git anodduh juntlemun
ef da’ t’ing nyam my’own, but weh uh fuh git mo’ chillun?”

“Go’way, gal, ef you kin fuh git anodduh juntlemun, same fashi’n Gawd
help you fuh git anodduh chillun.”

After a while the roaring ceased and the clerk, being perilously near
suffocation, calmed the fears of the negroes and opened the windows.
The trembling darkeys cocked their ears and listened apprehensively,
but the shrilling of the Cicada among the pines and the bellowing of
the bullfrogs in the distant canals were the only sounds that broke
the silence of the night so recently full of terrors. After awhile
the door also was unbarred and opened, and a bold man borrowed an
axe from the storekeeper and adventured far enough to cut some slabs
of lightwood from a familiar stump. The hero added to his popularity
by splitting these up and distributing them among the members of the
gentler sex, whose escorts lighted torches and convoyed them in a body
back to the quarters, where the children and husbands whom they left at
home were found intact.

At church on Sunday, the Lewisburg negroes spread among their brethren
from the other plantations the news of the coming of the lion, and the
“locus pastuh” fervently touched upon the king of beasts. “Puhtec’ we,
Maussuh Jedus, f’um da’ t’ing oonuh call lion. Lead’um, Lawd, to weh
de buckruh’ cow en’ t’ing’ duh bite grass so him kin full ’e belly
bedout haffuh nyam nigguh, en’ ef ’e _yiz_ haffuh tek nigguh fuh ’e
bittle, do, Lawd, mek’um fuh tek dem sinful nigguh wuh ent wut, en’
lef’ de Lawd’ renointed. Mek’um fuh do wid de good sistuh en’ bredduh
’puntop dis plantesshun same lukkuh oonuh mek’um fuh do long Dannil--”
“Yaas, Lawd,” shouted Monday, the hypocrite, “ef ’e _yiz_ fuh eat
nigguh, mek’um fuh eat dem nigguh ’puntop’uh Bonny Hall ’cross de
ribbuh, en’ tek ’e woice out’uh we pinelan’.” “Yaas, Lawd!” “Please
suh fuh do’um, Lawd!” shouted the fervent brethren and sisters. And
stealthily, about two hours after dark that night, while the emotional
negroes were alternately laughing, shouting and praying, Monday put
his Devil’s Fiddle into a sack, slipped into his canoe, and, crossing
to the opposite shore of the river, roared frightfully along the Bonny
Hall water line, terrifying the negroes on that plantation and filling
the Lewisburg darkeys with thankfulness that their prayers had been
answered.

Another week passed. Monday, playing with them as a cat plays with a
mouse, kept quiet, until by Saturday night, no news having come of any
damage at Bonny Hall, the Lewisburg negroes hoped that the lion had
been captured by “de sukkus buckruh,” or had left the neighborhood, and
soon after nightfall, half the plantation gathered at the store.

About nine o’clock, when the store was jammed with briskly trading
negroes, from afar in the woods came the ominous roar of the hand-made
lion. It was distant, and the negroes, while badly frightened, stood
their ground to await developments, but a few minutes later the awful
sound came again from a nearer point, and by the time the roaring
had come within a quarter of a mile of the place, the negroes were
panic-stricken, and most of them hurried from the store and ran to
the quarters, where they bolted themselves in, to pass a night in
fear and trembling, for at intervals until past midnight, their
ears carried terror to their souls. On Sunday, Monday, wearing the
sanctimonious expression of a cat that has just swallowed the canary,
moved among them, listening with sympathetic ears to the tales of
perilous adventures that some of them had experienced. “Bredduh W’ite,”
said a church sister, “lemme tell you. Las’ night uh gone to Sistuh
Bulow’ house attuh daa’k. Uh did’n’ bin to de sto’, ’cause las’ week
de buckruh credik me, en’ uh ’f’aid ’e gwine ax’me fuh pay’um wuh
uh owe’um, en’ uh gi’ Sistuh Bulow de money fuh buy me rashi’n’ en’
t’ing’, en’ uh seddown een ’e yaa’d fuh wait ’tell ’e come back. Him
house ent dey een nigguhhouse yaa’d, ’e stan’ to ’eself ’pun de aige
uh de pinelan’. Bumby uh yeddy da’ t’ing’ woice. W’en uh yeddy’um fus’,
’e bin fudduh, en’ uh t’awt ’e bin Jackass duh holluh, but w’en ’e
git close, uh ruckuhnize ’e woice, en’ uh know ’e duh lion. Uh _dat_
’f’aid, uh cyan’ talk. Uh trimble sukkuh mule’ shoulduh duh shake off
cowfly. W’en da’ t’ing come t’ru de bush en’ look ’puntop me, me two
eye’ pop’ out me head! ’E stan’ high mo’nuh Mass Clinch’ mule. ’E
yeye shine lukkuh dem fiah buckruh does mek ’puntop’uh Jackstan’ duh
pinelan’ duh summuhtime fuh keep off muskittuh! W’en ’e op’n ’e jaw,
’e t’roat red lukkuh beef haslett! ’E mout’ full’up wid teet’ sukkuh
harruh, en’ blood duh drip out ’e jaw sukkuh water drap outuh nigguh
mout’ w’en ’e look ’puntop’uh watuhmilyun! W’en uh shum stan’ so, uh
drap’ ’puntop me two knee’ en’ uh baig’ me Jedus fuh sabe me! Uh dat
’f’aid, uh shet me yeye’, en’ w’en uh done pray en’ op’n’um’ ’gen, de
t’ing gone!” And so on, each tale of dreadful experience told by one
negro, being over-matched by the next, who, if one gave “free rein”
to her imagination, would be sure to strip the bridle off her’s and
throw it away. “Meself shum,” related a 20th Century Munchausen in
petticoats. “Uh bin down de road uh piece ’bout two hour’ attuh daa’k
fuh try fuh ketch da’ gal, ’cause uh kinduh ’spishun my juntlemun, en’
uh binnuh folluh ’e track fuh ketch’um, but uh nebbuh ketch’um yet,
but uh gwine fuh ketch’um, ’cause uh got me yeye ’puntop da’ gal f’um
W’ite Hall wuh tote dem bottle en’ t’ing onduhneet’ ’e frock fuh sell
rum to all dese man eb’ry Satt’d’y night, en’ mek’um fuh t’row ’way dem
money ’stead’uh g’em to dem wife en’ t’ing’, en’ uh bin swif’ ’pun da’
gal track, ’cause yistidd’y w’en my juntlemun git pay’off fuh ’e wu’k,
’e come en’ pit half ’e money een me han’ befo’ uh kin ax’um fuhr’um,
en’ da’ t’ing mek me fuh know him duh fool me. Uh look ’puntop’um en’
uh shum duh grin. Sattifaction duh run roun’ da’ nigguh mout’ same
lukkuh puppy run roun’ de yaa’d attuh ’e own tail! Uh know man tummuch,
en’ w’en ’e stan’ so, ’e yent fuh trus’! Eb’ry time man gi’ money to
’e lawfully lady, ’e h’aa’t duh cry, en’ w’en him look lukkuh ’e glad
fuh g’em, ’e face duh lie, ’e try fuh kibbuh up ’e h’aa’t, en’ ’e done
mek’up ’e min’ fuh fool’um, but me! uh got uh ecknowledge fuh look
t’ru ’e face, en’ w’en uh look ’puntop ’e h’aa’t, ’e stan’ crookety ez
uh cowpaat’! Da’ gal kin fool some dem todduh ’ooman, but ’e yent fuh
fool me! Him hab two petticoat’, one mek out’uh homespun clawt’, lukkuh
we’own, en’ todduh one hab skollup’, lukkuh buckruh lady’ own. W’en him
hab on de clawt’ petticoat, none de man nebbuh bodduhr’um, but w’en
’e walk t’ru Lewisbu’g nigguhhouse yaa’d wid da’ skollup’ petticoat
staa’ch’ _stiff_, en’ ’e frock hice up high fuh show’um, en’ dem man
look ’puntop de skollup en’ yeddy de staa’ch duh talk ‘_she, she, she_’
w’en ’e walk, dem _know_ suh ’e got rum fuh sell--dat duh ’e sign--dem
t’roat’ biggin fuh dry, en’ dem eb’ry Gawd’ one pick uh chance fuh
folluhr’um, but dem todduh ’ooman, dem t’ink suh man lub da’ skollup’
t’ing ’cause ’e stylish, en’ dem study ’bout git skollup’ petticoat
demself fuh mek man fuh folluhr’um, but duh nutt’n’ but de pyo’ rum dem
man dey attuh. Dem fuh folluh da’ gal ef ’e petticoat mek out’uh grano
sack!

“W’en uh did’n’ ketch de gal, uh staa’t’ fuh gone home, en’ uh look
’way off t’ru de pinelan’ en’ uh see two t’ing duh shine sukkuh injine
headlight! Uh look ’gen, ’e come close, en’ uh see ’e duh annimel eye!
Bumby ’e op’n’ ’e mout’ fuh holluh. Spaa’k’ duh come outuhr’um en’ ’e
woice roll ’tell de groun’ shake. Uh nebbuh hab no time fuh pray. W’en
uh see da’ fiah come out ’e mout’, uh tell’um, ‘so long, bubbuh, _uh
gone_!’ en’ uh hice me ’coat en’ uh tek me two foot een me han’ en’ uh
nebbuh study ’bout no road. Uh gone slam t’ru de bush! Brian ’cratch’
me, uh dunkyuh. Jackwine’ ketch’ me foot en’ obuht’row me, uh jump up,
uh gone ’gen! One harricane tree bin ’cross de paat’, uh bus’ t’ru’um
sukkuh fiah gone t’ru broom grass fiel’. Nutt’n’ nebbuh stop me,
’cause, bubbuh, _uh run_! W’en uh git een de big road, uh hog binnuh
leddown fuh tek ’e res’. Wen ’e yeddy me foot duh beat groun’, ’e jump
up fuh run, but uh obuhtek’um dat swif’, me foot kick’um ez uh gwine,
en’ uh yeddy’um holluh behin’ me sukkuh tarrier duh graff’um by ’e yez!
Briah tayre off me frock ’tell, time uh git nigguhhouse yaa’d, uh yent
hab nutt’n’ lef’ but me shimmy, en’ w’en dem nigguh look ’puntop me dem
t’ink uh sperrit come out de ’ood. Uh run een me house, uh shet me do’,
en’ uh nebbuh come out ’gen ’tell sunhigh!”

Monday inclined his ear and listened to the negroes, but he showed
them no mercy, and before the end of the third week his lion became
so bold that a roar came even in broad daylight from among the reeds
along the river bank, frightening the laborers out of the fields and
even prompting a neighboring planter to order his foreman to lock up
the mules for safety when he saw the hands flying in terror from the
ricefields! At last, to avoid industrial paralysis, the owner of the
plantation, discovering Monday’s plot, suppressed the powder keg lion.
And the master saved his people, the Halcyon nested again on the waves
of the Combahee, bringing peaceful days and peaceful ways to the
Lewisburg plantation, with nothing more exciting than the quest of “da’
skollup’ petticoat,” but--“that’s another story.”




THE LION KILLER


The lion of Lewisburg was dead. By order of former Governor Duncan
Clinch Heyward, the Devil’s Fiddle with which Monday White,
yellow-skinned plantation practical joker, had terrorized the negroes
of the neighborhood for three weeks, had been hidden away, and the
groaning roar of the powder keg lion was no longer heard in the land.
Monday, the clerk at the store and the master of the plantation,
guarded the secret carefully and the negroes, who no longer heard
the terrible voice echoing through the woods at night, or along the
reeds by the river, believed that the lion, exorcised by the spirit of
prayer, had departed from among them and gone to some less regenerate
community. Those who had told marvelous tales of the fierce creature
whose flaming eyes had burned into their souls, whose bloody jaws had
frozen them with fright, told and retold with elaboration and close
attention to detail,--and finally themselves believed, the first told
stories of their encounters with the monster. Some of those who had
had no personal experience with the lion of Lewisburg believed only
part of the oft told tales. Others were frankly skeptical, for, while
practically all of them believed in the lion, few were willing to yield
to the story-tellers the prestige of having come unscathed through such
perilous adventures. These stories are always liberally discounted
among the negroes, however. At a “baptizing” on the Combahee, the big
black pastor had doused in the canal one after another of the “seeking”
sisters. They emerged from the turbid waters gurgling and choking, but
all were too full of water, or the spirit, for utterance. At last one
lusty wench with better breath control than the others came up smiling,
and with wind enough for speech. “Oh Jedus!” she yelled, determined to
create a sensation, “uh see Gawd onduhneet’ de water! Uh fin’ me Gawd.
_’E look ’puntop me!_”

“You lie!” said the envious sister who had just preceded her, “_’tis
cootuh!_ Enty I shum?”

Gradually the negroes recovered their confidence, and resumed their
nocturnal rambles, visiting from one plantation to another, but they
usually went in small companies and seldom adventured alone, save
when some bibulous man, glimpsing the “skollup’ petticoat” of the
peripatetic bootlegger from White Hall as she swished her starched
symbol through the Lewisburg quarters on Saturday nights, followed with
parched tongue and arid throat to some convenient spot where coin could
be exchanged for contraband.

In some way it was generally understood that, supplementing the
plantation prayers, “Mass Clinch,” through personal magnetism or
the exercise of some former-gubernatorial authority, had had a
great deal to do with speeding the going leonine guest. This rumor
traveled by grapevine thirty-odd miles from Combahee to Adams Run,
the abiding place of Joe Fields, the former governor’s former slave,
whose confidence in “Maussuh’s” powers of accomplishment, equalled
the Mohammedan belief in the esteemed Prophet’s ability to stock the
Hereafter with Houris. It was true that “Maussuh” had commanded the
roaring to cease--and it did, but Joe’s imagination insisted upon
supplying all the “corroborative detail.”

Joe foregathered with some of his friends at the railway station,
for things were not going pleasantly at home. His wife Philippa was
one of those hard-working, aggravating creatures who, by her very
industry and self-abnegation, forced upon the lordly loafer by whom
she was husbanded a sense of his own inferiority. Philippa worked out
among the white people, cooking and washing and scrubbing, while Joe
rode about on a mortgaged horse or ox and boasted as a Sir Oracle at
the Cross Roads or the station. Philippa was always willing to feed
Joe, but she was none the less ready to season his food with the sauce
of her tongue, and whenever she came home, her sense of duty urged
her to remind Joe of his shortcomings. Once a fighter, hard work and
scanty food had worn her body and somewhat broken her spirit, and
she no longer thrashed her grown daughter Christopher Columbus as
she once did, “jes’ ’cause ’e look lukkuh ’e pa,” but Joe, having to
take the sauce with the meat, seldom wasted time in replying that he
could utilize in eating, and thus the more speedily put himself out of
earshot. Once away among his cronies, however, he expressed himself
boldly and truculently. “Da’ ’ooman keep on fuh onrabble ’e mout’ ’tell
uh w’ary fuh yeddy’um. ’E stan’ sukkuh briah patch w’en blackberry
ripe. ’E gi’ you bittle fuh eat, but ’e ’cratch you w’ile you duh
eat’um! Him iz uh fait’ful ’ooman fuh true, en’ ’e lub fuh wu’k, but
w’en him dey home, uh yent fuh hab no peace. Seem lukkuh nutt’n’ wuh uh
do nebbuh suit’um. Ef uh seddown een me rockin’ cheer duh fiah fuh tek
me res’ w’ile uh duh nyam me bittle, ’e fau’t me fuh dat. Same fashi’n
ef uh git ’puntop me oxin fuh ride to de Cross Road, oonuh kin yeddy’um
talk ’bout uh lazy man ent wut!”

“’E ebbuh fau’t you w’en you got axe, eeduhso hoe een yo’ han’?”

“Who, me? _Me_ fuh hab hoe een me han’? No, suh! Maussuh’ nigguh ent
fuh hol’ hoe! Wuffuh me haffuh hol’ hoe w’en uh hab po’buckruh nigguh
fuh wife? _Him_ fuh hol’ hoe! Philpuh’ maussuh duh po’ buckruh f’um
town. Him binnuh bake bread ebbuh sence slabery time. Wuh him ebbuh do?
_Him_ ebbuh kill lion?”

“_Kill lion!_ Wuh you duh talk ’bout nigguh? Whoebbuh you ebbuh yeddy
kin kill lion?”

“My maussuh fuh kill’um!”

“Go’way, Joe! You duh dream. Een de fus’ place, no lion ent fuh dey een
dis country, een de two place, you ent got no maussuh, en’ een de t’ree
place, ef you iz bin hab maussuh, him ent able fuh kill no lion.”

“Me yent hab no maussuh! Enty you know suh uh nyuse to blonx to Mass
Clinch Heywu’d to Lewisbu’g plantesshun ’puntop Cumbee? Oonuh eegnunt
nigguh’, oonuh yent know suh him hab t’ree t’ous’n’ acre’ rice en’
mo’nuh t’ree t’ous’n’ nigguh’ en’ mule en’ t’ing’? Oonuh nebbuh yeddy
’bout da’ lion wuh git’way f’um de sukkus to Orangebu’g todduh day
en’ gone down Sawlketchuh swamp ’tell ’e git Cumbee, en’ ’e run all
Maussuh’ nigguh’ out ’e fiel’ en’ ’e mek Maussuh’ ob’shay, Mistuh
Jokok, fuh climb tree?”

“Nobody nebbuh yeddy ’bout’um, Joe, en’ _you_ nebbuh yeddy ’bout’um.
Hukkuh you fuh yeddy ’bout’um? You bin Cumbee?”

“Uh yent bin no Cumbee, but uh got uh tittie lib on Maussuh’ place
Cumbee, dat how uh yeddy ’bout’um.”

“Wuh yo’ tittie tell you, Joe?”

“W’en de lion git’way out de sukkus ’e gone spang f’um Orangebu’g to
Sawlketchuh swamp en’ ’e nebbuh stop ’tell ’e git Lewisbu’g!”

“Wuffuh him haffuh stop Lewisbu’g, Joe?”

“Enty you know suh Maussuh’ nigguh’ fat? Maussuh’ nigguh’ fat fuh sowl!
Lion hab sense ’nuf fuh know fat nigguh w’en ’e shum, en’ him kin smell
_fat_ nigguh mo’ fudduh den him kin smell _po’_ nigguh, en’ Maussuh mek
shishuh hebby crap uh rice en’ ’tettuh en’ t’ing dat him nigguh’ fat
mo’nuh all dem todduh nigguh’ ’puntop Cumbee ribbuh!

“Soon ez de lion git Lewisbu’g, ’e stop. ’E know suh him bittle dey
dey, en’ ’e mout’ biggin fuh run water. Bumbye duh night-time, ’e woice
roll een Maussuh’ pinelan’ en’ all dem nigguh’ tarrify’ sukkuh chickin
tarrify’ w’en fu’lhawk’ wing t’row shadduh obuhr’um! Dem nigguh’ ’f’aid
’tell dem fool! Dem lock demself een dem house duh night, en’, alldo’
’e duh summuhtime, dem mek fiah fuh bu’n so de lion cyan’ come down
de chimbly. W’en de lion cyan’ git no nigguh’ fuh eat ’cause dem all
lock’up, ’e gone duh ’ood en’ meet uh cow en’ ’e kill _him_ fuh ’e
bittle. W’en ’e done nyam de t’ree cow--”

“_T’ree cow!_ Joe, hukkuh him kin eat t’ree cow’ w’en ’e only kill one?”

“Him nyam t’ree cow’, enty? Him kin nyam’um uh dunkyuh ef ’e yent dead.
You ebbuh see lion? Wuh Pon Pon nigguh know ’bout lion? Seem lukkuh
w’en ’e done nyam dem t’ree cow’, ’e jis’ mek’um fuh hongry good, en’
’e gone back nigguhhouse yaa’d fuh see ef him kin git uh chance fuh
nyam nigguh’. ’E walk up en’ down, ’e t’rash’ ’e tail, ’e gnash’ ’e
teet’ en’ ’e holluh sukkuh jackass en’ alligettuh en’ bull all t’ree
one time! You kin yeddy dem nigguh’ een dem house duh pray. Dem eb’ry
Gawd’ one prommus dem Jedus fuh folluh Him wu’d, ef ’e only spayre dem
life. One tell’um suh ef Him tek de lion’ jaw off’um, him nebbuh t’ief
Maussuh’ rice no mo’, en’ eb’ry one tell de Lawd ’bout some uh dem
light sin wuh dem willin’ fuh t’row’way ef dem life sabe.”

“Light sin! Mekso dem ent prommus fuh t’row’way dem hebby sin?”

“No, man, dem ent fuh t’row’way dem hebby sin, uh dunkyuh ef lion crack
dem bone’. Een slabery time nigguh baig ’e maussuh’ paa’d’n fuh t’ief
’e fowl w’en ’e git ketch, but w’en ’e kill _cow_, ’e nebbuh crack ’e
teet’, en’ eb’n so ef ’e maussuh ketch’um duh skin de cow, him fuh tell
’e maussuh ’e fin’um dead een de ’ood, en’ ’e duh skin’um fuh tek de
hide to ’e maussuh fuh sabe’um f’um buzzut! No, man; oonuh fuh hol’
oonuh hebby sin sukkuh sheep buhr hol’ mule’ tail, ’tell Gabrull blow
’e hawn en’ de Lawd tek’um off!”

“Bumbye w’en dayclean en’ de lion nebbuh git no nigguh, ’e gone en’
kill fo’ mo’ cow’, en’ w’en ’e done nyam’um ’e gone duh ’ood en’
leddown fuh tek ’e res’, en’ nobody nebbuh yeddy’um ’gen ’tell Sat’d’y
night come. All t’ru de week de nigguh’ swonguh en’ sattify een dem
min’ ’cause dem t’ink suh dem pray’ mek de lion fuh gone’way en’
le’m’lone, but ’e yent duh no pray’ mek’um fuh gone, duh dem fo’ cow’
wuh ’e nyam, mek’ ’e belly full ’tell ’e yent hab no room fuh nigguh!”

“W’en Sat’d’y night come, de lion holluh ’gen en’ all de nigguh’ run
out de sto’ en’ gone een dem house fuh hide. Monday come, en’ de
nigguh’ ’f’aid fuh gone een Maussuh’ fiel’ fuh wu’k. Mistuh Jokok dunno
wuh fuh do. Him sen’ uh ansuh to Cuhlumbia fuh tell Maussuh ’cep’n’ him
come Lewisbu’g, all him nigguh’ fuh eat. Maussuh ride de train. ’E
come. ’E git off W’ite Hall deepo, ’e git ’pun ’e hawss, ’e tu’n to ’e
ob’shay, ’Jokok,’ ’e say, ‘Weh da’ annimel fuh hide? Lemme shum!’”

“Mistuh Jokok tell’um de las’ time dem yeddy ’e woice, ’e bin een de
t’icket en’ reed en’ t’ing by de ribbuh bank. Maussuh nebbuh wait fuh
yeddy no’ mo’. ’E snatch ’e rifle out’uh Mistuh Jokok’ han’, ’e jam
’e two spuhr een e’ hawss’ belly, ’e hawss jump’ nine foot off de
groun’ een de ellyment, en’ ’e gone! Maussuh run ’e hawss ’tell ’e git
’cross de causeway ’pun de ribbuh bank, den ’e biggin fuh ride slow
en’ t’row ’e yeye befor’um fuh see weh da’ t’ing fuh hide. W’en ’e git
close de briah en’ t’ing, ’e hawss cock’ ’e yez befor’um, ’e snawt’
en’ ’e ’tan’up ’trait ’pun ’e hine foot. W’en ’e do dat, Maussuh know
suh de lion dey een dem bush! De hawss come down ’pun ’e fo’ foot. ’E
duh shake sukkuh rice t’rasher shake. Maussuh yeddy sump’nurruh duh
groan een de t’icket. Bumbye de lion come out. W’en ’e op’n’ ’e mout’
’e teet’ long sukkuh cawncob! Maussuh t’row ’e rifle to ’e yeye. ’E
only hab one ball een’um en’ ’e know suh ef him ent kill da’ t’ing
_dead_, da’ lion fuh nyam him en’ ’e hawss alltwo. Maussuh tek aim at
’e t’roat. ’E cut loose, ‘_bam!_’ W’en de gun crack, ’e look! De lion’
head roll down de bank ’tell ’e fall een de ditch! Maussuh cantuh up to
Lewisbu’g. ’E tell Mistuh Jokok fuh sen’ uh waagin en’ fo’ mule’ fuh
fetch’um to de yaa’d. Dem medjuhr’um en’ ’e stan’ t’irteen foot long!
W’en de nigguh’ yeddy suh ’e dead, dem stop wu’k en’ dem fuh mek fiah
en’ shout roun’ da’ lion de Gawd’ night! Bumbye buckruh’ come fuh look
’puntop’um en’ w’en dem yeddy suh ’e seb’nteen foot long, dem ’stonish!”

“Yaas, uh ’spec’ nigguh’ en’ buckruh’ alltwo fuh ’stonish ef dem kin
yeddy you fuh tell’um, Joe. Da’ lion duh git mo’ longuh! W’ile ago you
bin fuh mek’um t’irteen foot long.”

“Fus’ time dem medjuhr’um ’e yent bin hab no head. Enty ’e fuh medjuh
mo’ attuh dem tie ’e head back ’pun ’e neck weh Maussuh’ ball cut’um
off? Oonuh mus’be fool!”

“Joe,” said another doubting crony, “hukkuh da’ leely ball kin fuh cut
off da’ lion’ head? ’E tek soad, eeduhso axe, fuh do da’ t’ing?”

“Who’ Maussuh kill da lion! Duh yo’ Maussuh, enty? Enty uh tell oonuh
eegnunt nigguh’ suh de hawss skayre ’tell ’e shake, en’, same time
Maussuh pull’ ’e trigguh, de hawss trimble’ ’tell ’e mek da’ ball fuh
wabble ‘cross de lion’ neck ’tell _’e cut ’e t’roat f’um yez to yez_!”




“OLD BARNEY”


Old Friday Giles was the English purist of Penny Creek. A former
“driver” and slave of Mr. Edward Barnwell, his manners were pompous,
though ingratiating. His speech was unusually good save for his
ludicrous use of “she” and “her” for all things singular, animate or
inanimate.

For many years “Old Barney,” an Ayrshire bull acquired from the
Barnwell family, was the terror of all the negroes roundabout. True to
his Scottish breeding, Barney was both stubborn and acquisitive and
lived up to

    “The good old rule * * * the simple plan
    That they should take who have the power
    And they should keep who can.”

Barney had the power. Therefore he took. He loved green peavines as
the Scot loves his haggis, and whenever he fancied them he had but
to lean against the miserable fences enclosing the negroes’ patches,
walk through, and help himself. The negroes would shoot him up with
firearms and ammunition of all sorts and his hide was constantly full
of lead of every size from mustard seed to swan shot, but fear kept
the marksmen from getting near enough to hurt him seriously, so Barney
philosophically took the lead without, and the peavines within, and
after eating his fill would lie down in the field and chew his cud
complacently, walking out later through the owner’s front yard, pausing
to paw the dirt contemptuously and pull a few mouthfuls from the
Seewee bean vines that climbed about the garden palings.

One day Friday’s field was invaded, and, hat in hand, he came to the
doorstep to complain. “Missis,” he said, “dat bull Baa’ney, she is
ridickilus! Missis, I mek my fench ten rail high. I stake her and I
rider her, but ole Baa’ney she put her breas’ agains’ my fench, she
lean on her, she break her down. She enter my fiel’, she eat my peas. I
shoot her, but she is indifferent to my shot. When she conclude eatin’
my peas, she lie down, and, Missis, she was so full that she could not
rise!” But Friday was a gentlemanly old darkey and treated his sturdy,
quick-talking wife, Minda, with great gallantry, _practical_ gallantry,
too, as she bore him (and raised) 17 sons and daughters, thereby
earning the well-done of her kindly though thrifty old master. “Maussuh
lub me ’cause uh hab chillun so fas’,” she boasted. “I fetch’um uh fine
nigguh eb’ry year Gawd sen’!”--meaning that the old gentleman had a
pre-Rooseveltian objection to race suicide on the plantation.

Although old Bo’sun Smashum, the herdsman, who had raised Barney from
a calf, would twist his tail in the barnyard and chevy him about with
impunity, the bull was truculent toward outsiders and on more than
one occasion disputed the highway with planters of the neighborhood,
who were forced to turn back and drive a mile or so out of the way
in the interest of safety; while negroes riding or driving oxen, on
sighting Barney in the road half a mile away, would take to the woods
or the fields and make a wide and respectful detour. The danger would
be enhanced should the animal between the shafts of the primitive cart
be one of the “bull yellin’s” so much affected by the freedmen for
combination purposes. The silly song, “Everybody works but father,” had
not then been evolved from the near-brain of the writer of music hall
lyrics, and the labors of a beast of burden were held not incompatible
with the paternity of a bovine family. So these little creatures
multiplied and continued to lead their double lives. Barney held in
utter contempt even the authenticated bulls of the community, but he so
terrorized the little harnessed scrubs that their owners could hardly
avert a stampede when the great bull bellowed in the vicinity.

One hot Sunday afternoon three or four hundred negroes were holding
services at the old log church near the Parker’s Ferry cross-roads.
Too numerous for the building, they were using outdoor bush shelters
covered with green boughs and with hewn saplings for seats. At the tail
of a “distracted meetin’” that had been running for several days, while
grass grew in their crops, they were in a state of exaltation, and
the high, sweet voices of the women blended in harmony with the deep,
rich basses of the men in the perfect rhythm characteristic of African
music. Old time hymns and “sperrituals” alternated. At first, only two
or three voices followed the leader, then one by one the singers joined
in major and minor keys, until at the last the entire congregation
swelled the diapason that floated away on the summer wind. The little
oxen and bulls, whose harness permitted the indulgence, lay down at
their hitching posts, the less fortunate stood between the shafts and
chewed their cuds, drowsing with half-closed eyes in the soft, warm air
of the pineland, fragrant with the blossoming partridge peas.

The singers walked up and down the aisles of the open-air church,
working up enthusiasm in camp meeting fashion.

“Sistuh Chizzum, won’t you meet me yonduh?” Sister Chisolm would, so
she responded to the masculine invitation, “Oh yaas, Lawd!”

“Bredduh Hacklus, won’t you meet me yonduh?” And Brother Hercules,
a wizened little member of Sister Chisolm’s “class,” shouted in
acquiescent gallantry, “Oh yaas, Lawd!”

The meeting drew to a close, the last inspiring “sperritual,” of
African suggestiveness, remained to be sung. Who should raise the tune?
Simon Jenkins the “squerril” hunter, a devout old rascal, called to his
brother-in-law, John Chisolm, “hice’um, Chizzum! You hice de chune.”

John’s resonant voice rolled out--

    “Jedus, hol’ de lion jaw,
    Jedus, hol’ de lion jaw,
    Jedus, hol’ de lion jaw,
    ’Tell I git on de grazin’ groun’,
    Oh, ’tell I git on de grazin’ groun’,”

    “_Hol’um, Jedus!_”
    “_Don’ tun’um loose, Lawd!_”
    “_Maussuh Jedus, hol’ ’e jaw!_”

came the responses in bass and treble, then, as the refrain again
swelled and died away, “Oh-h ’tell I git on de grazin’ groun’,” an
ominous “mmmm, mmmm, mmmm, mmh! mmh! mnmh!” rolled through the woods.
“_Duh Baa’ney! Great Gawd, duh Baa’ney!_” shrieked the panic-stricken
women who scattered in every direction, while the men ran to release
their hitched animals as old Barney leisurely approached, routing
sonorously. “Mek’ace, gal, mek’ace! Him duh walk sedate but ’e bex,”
shouted a man to a leggy, dry-boned black girl who, although guiltless
of shoes and stockings, had worn to the meeting an antiquated hoopskirt
which now impeded her progress. “Hice’um, gal! Hice yo’ ’coat en’
_run_!” She “hiced” her petticoat and ran, but the crinoline billowed
about her knees as she passed Dick Smashum on her way to the Savage
plantation. Dick was duck-legged and as slow of speech as of foot, but
discretion had urged him to get an early start and he was well out of
the danger zone. Later, when Atalanta’s mother overtook him and asked,
“You see my gal? Weh ’e gone?” he replied. “Uh yiz see one sump’nurruh
duh run like de debble, gwine Sabbidge. ’E pass me duh paat’, en’ ’e
binnuh trabble so swif’ uh yent ruckuhnize um ’zackly, but ’e stan’
sukkuh two blacksnake duh ’tretch out een one bu’dcage.”




“BILLYBEDAM”


Billybedam was bibulous.

None knew how he achieved his devilmaycare nickname--the only name he
had, but everybody around Pocotaligo knew that he came by his thirst
through patient industry, and that he loved his work. No round-paunched
monk of the Middle Ages, no Falstaff of the English taverns, ever
absorbed dusky Tuscan wine or Sherris Sack with more appreciative
avidity than Billybedam soaked up the “Fus’ X” corn sold on the sly
by Yemassee blind tigers and bootleggers, for Billybedam had acquired
his “liquorish mouth” during the days, the glorious, honorable days,
of the State Dispensary, when, under the operation of that “Great
Moral Institution,” certain sons of “Grand old South Carolina” had
shown the world that the Caucasian was not “played out,” but could,
upon occasion, graft like any freedman of the good old days of
Reconstruction!

So the bibulousness of Billybedam became a byword all about “de
Yamassee,” where “de Po’ Trial” Railway--significant name--crosses the
Atlantic Coast Line, and, not infrequently, the tempers of passengers
bound for Beaufort and Port Royal.

Perhaps it was the frequent pouring of libations--his gods were all in
his gullet--that enabled Billybedam to crook his elbow so expertly,
but this facility, and a marvelous twist of the wrist, contributed
to his success as a fisherman, and the greater part of what he ate
and drank and wore, came from the brown waters of the Salkehatchie,
whose deep and narrow current flowed between wooded banks a mile or
so away. With rod and line he fished the stream by day, and many a
string of bream and redbreast perch was sold at the station to buy the
precious whiskey, while the narrow-mouthed “blue cats,” caught on his
set lines over night, were traded among the negroes in exchange for his
scanty food and shelter, for Billybedam was a bachelor and a vagabond,
unattached and unaffiliated, and called no roof his own.

Sometimes in the spring when the sturgeon were running, the fisherman
would get the big-game fever, and, armed with a “grain” which he threw
as the whaler throws a harpoon, stationed himself on some log that
jutted out over the water, or in the fork of a low, overhanging tree,
and took toll from the passing thousands. During the sturgeon run,
when, too, mulberries and blackberries were plentiful, the negroes grew
fat and “swonguh” and became more than usually irresponsible.

The heavy, sensuous Southern spring was in the air. The bayous or
“backwaters,” which irrigated the inland swamp ricefields, were dotted
with the sweet white pond lilies, or aflame with the yellow lotus,
while over the broad leaves of lily and lotus, purple gallinules
tripped daintily. Every log that floated and every stump that rose
above the water carried a string or a cluster of terrapins, their
glistening backs reflecting the sunshine. The sloping trunks of the
willows that fringed the banks were festooned with water snakes,
basking in the grateful warmth. Here and there on tussock or muddy
flat, rough-backed alligators lay dozing. Blue flags flaunted along the
marges. Tall white cranes stalked slowly about the shallows, pausing
now and then with spear-like bill poised, watching, waiting.

Billybedam was full of the magic of the spring-time, but it was
not altogether a satisfying fullness, and as he pushed the shallow
flat-bottomed skiff off from shore, he laid down the paddle long enough
to eat a hunk of coarse corn bread and swallow a nip from his “Fus’ X”
flask. And then, thoroughly satisfied with the world, he dipped his
blade and, with alternate strokes to right and left, pushed the clumsy
snub-nosed bateau across the backwater to a famous “drop,” a deep pool
just below a gap in the dam where the dark waters flowed slowly through
from an upper reservoir. This was Billybedam’s favorite preserve
whenever high water in the Salkehatchie forced the river fishermen to
seek their living elsewhere.

Today, however, he made an unpropitious start. After his earthworm bait
had been repeatedly stripped from his hook by the troublesome silver
fish, whose small mouths enabled them to nibble it away piecemeal
without getting hooked, his cork bobbed furiously, and he jerked
quickly, only to bring swinging over the boat one of the malodorous
little black turtles commonly called “limus cootuh” by the low-country
negroes. This unwelcome catch he disengaged from the hook and threw as
far away from him as possible. “You good fuh nutt’n’ _nigguh_! Yunnuh
t’ink me come spang f’um Macfuss’nbil fuh ketch limus cootuh, enty? Who
eenwite you fuh eat ’long fish? You ebbuh see nigguh eat ’long buckruh?
De debble!” Running his cork a foot or two higher up the line, he
fished at a deeper level and soon began to haul in fine perch, which he
strung on the willow withes he had provided. At the end of two hours
he had several strings of marketable fish, and, as the sun had set, he
paddled to shore, threw away his now empty flask, tied his boat to a
snag, and started for Yemassee to convert his catch into cash.

An hour later, with silver jingling in his pocket, he encountered in
the dusk, Miss Maria Wineglass, a much sought-after ornament of colored
society. Miss Wineglass was, in a manner of speaking, a peripatetic
paradox. Altho’ dour-looking and glum, she was noted for her spirits
(80 proof); bootless and bare-legged, she was McPhersonville’s most
daring and accomplished bootlegger, and so circumspect and resourceful
that she seldom met the law face to face.

When her course crossed that of Billybedam, she was traveling an
unfrequented path on the outskirts of the settlement, and, with little
need for caution, she walked rapidly, giving out as she moved a faint,
hollow sound like the subdued tones of a xylophone. She hailed the
bibulous one as a regular and valued customer.

“Weh you gwine, bubbuh?”

“Wuh you got? I gwine ’tell I fin’um.”

“I got ’nuf.”

“Gimme uh pint;” and he held out half a dollar.

“Gimme seb’nty fi’ cent. Dishyuh t’ing hol’ mo’n uh pint.”

“Wuh kinduh t’ing dat? Lemme shum.”

“Yuh him,” and Miss Wineglass fumbled under her skirt and, from a
marvelously durable and comprehensive pair of bloomers made of two
cottonseed meal sacks sewed together at the top, produced a gourd
holding about three half-pints, and passed it over. The gourd was
bottle-shaped and cob-stoppered and ingeniously laced about with
hickory bark, as flasks of Chianti are wrapped with flags. The knocking
together of half a dozen of these gourds, tied around her waist and
suspended within her bloomers, had produced the xylophone music. The
money paid, they parted.

Billybedam went his ways. Whatever the nature of the nepenthe the “Fus’
X” extracted from the calabash, it so ’whelmed his wits that oblivion
lurked in the bottom of the gourd and overcame him. He fell among
thieves, who stripped him of a new shirt he wore and left him, in his
trousers only, by the roadside, where a local constable found him next
morning and haled him before the magistrate for being inadequately
clothed on the public highway.

“What have you to say for yourself?”

“Cap’n, uh yent hab nutt’n’ fuh say. Uh gone fish duh backwatuh, en’
een de fus’ gwinin’ off, uh did’n’ hab no luck, ’cause silbuhfish tek
me bait en’ uh nubbuh ketch’um, en’ one limus cootuh grab de hook en’
uh ketch _him_ en’ t’row’um’way, en’ den uh ketch ’nuf fish, en’ uh
gone Yamassee en’ sell’um, en’ uh binnuh walk duh paat’, en’ uh meet
one gal duh walk duh paat’, name ’Riah Wineglass, en’ uh yeddy’um befo’
uh shum, ’cause ’e mek one soun’ w’en ’e walk sukkuh cow foot crack
w’en him duh run, en’ w’en uh _yiz_ shum close, ’e frock duh bunch out
all roun’um sukkuh cootuh ’tring out ’puntop’uh log, en’ uh ax’um,
’gal, wuh you got fuh fifty cent?’ en’ ’e say ’e yent got nutt’n’ fuh
fifty cent but ’e hab ’nuf fuh seb’nty fi’ cent, en’ I tell’um ’lemme
shum,’ en’ ’e hice ’e frock, en’ him hab one t’ing onduhneet’ him
frock, dem call’um bloomuh, uh nubbuh see shishuh debble’ub’uh t’ing
befo’ sence uh bawn! ’E hol’ ’bout t’ree-fo’ bushel, en’ ’e mek outuh
grano sack, en’ britchiz duh ’e farruh en’ frock duh ’e murruh, en’
’e stan’ sukkuh alltwo. Den de gal graff een da’ t’ing wunnuh call’um
so, en’ ’e full’uh de pyo’ killybash ’long Fus’ X, en’ ’e ketch’out
one en’ gimme, en’ uh gone off en’ drink’um, en’ fus’ t’ing uh know uh
yent know _nutt’n’_, ’tell de counstubble fin’ me dis mawnin’, en’ las’
night w’en uh bin een one strance, some dem Macfussn’nbil nigguh’ t’ief
one new shu’t off me back, en’,” said Billybedam, “uh tengk Gawd uh
did’n’ bin hab on uh new _britchiz_!”




A SHORT CUT TO JUSTICE


Ever since the days of Solomon, the courts and tribunals of the
law in all lands have sought short cuts to justice, but one of the
straightest and strangest in the history of jurisprudence was achieved
by one Daniel W. Robinson, colored, sometime Magistrate or Trial
Justice of the sovereign State of South Carolina, for the Bailiwick of
Jacksonboro, in lower Colleton County.

Under the trying days of Reconstruction in South Carolina, the white
men and boys living in the so-called “black belt,” comprising the
coastal counties of the State, were constantly seeking to lure the
black voters into the fold of Democracy, with but indifferent success,
for the wary freedman, under the secret instructions given him by the
leaders of his own race and the white-skinned spoilers, native and
alien, who controlled his political activities for their own profit,
was hard to wean away from the idols set up for him within “the awful
circle” of the Republican fold.

These poor, deluded negroes, absolutely dependent upon their former
masters, the landholders, for food, for clothing, for shelter, for
remunerative work--often for free medicines and medical treatment in
communities where there were no doctors and no drug stores--though
making profuse lip service for benefits received, forgot them all on
election day when, under the influence of the knaves who manipulated
them, they turned away from their best friends and, hurdled at the
polls like sheep, voted blindly the ballots put into their hands by the
corruptionists.

At one of these elections the Republican ballot was headed with the
national flag in colors, swathed around the ample loins and spreading
hips of the figure of Liberty, with the legend “Union Republican
ticket.” One of these flamboyant affairs was secured from the printer
a day or two before the election and the Democratic tickets were also
printed in red ink with a rooster at the top, in the hope that some
of the negroes might accept and vote them for Republican ballots. One
of these rooster ballots was offered an old darkey at the polls by a
Democratic negro worker, but the wary old fellow had been rehearsed in
his lesson too well, and he rejected it indignantly, saying: “No, man!
uh yent want da’ t’ing! Gimme da’ ticket fuh wote wuh hab de gal wid de
Balmuhral sku’t wrop roun’um!” And he got it.

Then came ’76 and the “Straight-Out” campaign. Every white man and boy
who could raise two or three dollars to buy a few yards of flannel,
sported a red shirt, usually put together by the loving hands of some
member of his family, but, occasionally, fearfully and wonderfully
made by a sweetheart or feminine acquaintance--some perhaps “a little
more than kin,” but all “less than kind.” The boys, however, upon whom
had been wished the needlework activities of their lady friends, wore
them jauntily nevertheless, absolutely indifferent to the want of
co-ordination of “seam and gusset and band.”

As the campaign progressed and enthusiasm increased, an occasional
courageous black, taking his life in his hands and braving the hatred
and ostracism of his fellows, even of his church and his family, would
boldly put on a red shirt and ride with the whites to political
meetings or rallies. One of these, old Clitus Wilson, a life-long
Democrat, who, as his master’s body servant, fought with him in the
battle of Gettysburg, flaunted his red shirt bravely and defiantly.
Another was Paul Jenkins, a thrifty, property-owning negro, whose
courageous work in the first Hampton campaign was remembered by the
whites, who elected him county commissioner soon after the Democrats
came into power. Paul, a wiry, coal-black negro, was once beset by
several members of the Grant family, “Free-Issue” mulatto Republicans,
and cruelly beaten. In the courts of radicalism there was no redress
for a negro Democrat, but Paul bided his time and, meeting one of the
Grants alone, retaliated so vigorously that the mulatto was laid up for
a week. The victim went before Trial Justice Robinson, over the river
at Jacksonboro, and swore out a warrant, charging Paul with aggravated
assault and battery.

Paul, summoned to appear on the following Saturday, came in great
trouble to a stripling planter of the neighborhood who willingly
accompanied him to see that the Democrat got justice, and to go on his
bond in case he should be sent up to a higher court.

On Saturday morning the deep and swift Edisto, lacking a ferry,
was crossed in a shallow bateau, the saddle-horses, held by their
bridles, swimming alongside, and the accused and his protector soon
appeared before the august Court, sitting in a small shanty, facing an
imposing layout of writing materials and a copy of the statutes. The
young planter told the Court that he had come over with Paul to look
after his interests and see that he got justice. The Court responded
graciously that he was “glad to welcome the distinguished counsel from
across the river” and took pleasure in extending to him the courtesies
of his Court.

A jury was asked for and Justice Robinson, calling up some of the idle
negroes who hung about his office, selected five elderly darkeys, all
of them as black as crows. To these five jurors the magistrate added
“the distinguished counsel from across the river,” whom he graciously
requested to consent to serve as foreman. In the interest of justice
the request was complied with.

Grant, the aggrieved, appeared as prosecuting witness, “tore a passion
to tatters” in describing the sudden and furious onslaught made upon
him by the black Democrat, and rantingly demanded justice. Paul simply
told the story of the attack made upon him by the Grant family and
admitted his retaliation, which he held was justifiable, and the jury
withdrew to a vacant room nearby which was indicated as the place of
deliberation.

The foreman was given a primitive split white-oak chair with a rawhide
seat, while his five dusky associates ranged themselves like roosting
buzzards upon a teetering bench, whose supports, two short boards
sawed into the semblance of legs at the bottom, were placed so close
together that the utmost skill was required on the part of the sitters
to maintain their equilibrium, for if the central section rose, both
end men had to sit tight until they could rise simultaneously, else the
laggard would be in jeopardy.

And now the jurors were ready for the case. Paul, having beaten his
man fairly and in righteous retaliation, was entitled to an acquittal
and to this end the foreman directed his efforts. As a preliminary,
Paul was called to the shanty window, provided with sixty cents, and
despatched to Arnold’s store for a quart of corn whiskey. Upon his
return with the pallid pop-skull, there was an excited shifting of
five seats on the shaky bench and five pairs of eagerly expectant
eyes rested their kindly regard upon the messenger of Bacchus as he
withdrew, leaving his fate in their hands.

The lone and crafty Caucasian, playing Iago to five Othellos, picked
out a gorilla-like old codger on the near end of the bench as the
dominant personality among them, and extending the flask told him to
take a drink and serve his fellows. Hacklus Manigo jumped up with such
alacrity, and was followed so quickly by the negroes who sat next him,
that the near end of the bench, relieved of their combined weight, flew
up, and the two remaining jurors tumbled ignominiously and indignantly
to the floor. The grumbling of the fallen and the derisive guffawing of
the risen, ceased suddenly, however, as eight saucered and fascinated
eyes fastened upon old Manigo’s Adam’s apple which moved up and down
his neck in perfect unison with the “glug, glug,” of the liquid
flowing so easily down his throat. The drinker’s ocular and auricular
demonstration of hydraulics was too much for his associates, who cried
out in indignant protest. “Tek’care, man! We’own dey een da’ t’ing!”
“Cap’n, please, suh, mek’um tek ’e mout’ off da’ bottle. ’E gwine drink
eb’ry Gawd’ drap!”

Manigo, having absorbed almost one-fourth of the contents of the flask,
gave it into the nearest of the eager hands held out to receive it,
drew his coat sleeve with a great swipe across his wet and glistening
mouth, gave a grateful grunt, “umh, da’ t’ing _good_! Tengky, Boss,
tengky, suh!” accompanied by an elaborate scrape of the foot and a low
obeisance, and took his seat in the center of the bench, where he was
soon flanked by the four, whose watchful eyes, each upon the other, had
not permitted their attainment of Manigo’s state of exaltation.

“Now, Manigo, and you boys,” said Iago. “This is a plain story. Three
or four yellow men double-team a black man and beat him up. He doesn’t
take them to court but waits his chance, and when he catches one of
these yellow men away from his gang, why the black man beats him to pay
him back for what the yellow man helped to do to him. Now, that’s what
Paul did to this free-issue yellow fellow Grant. Paul is black like all
of you. Do you want to send him to jail for laying hands on a mulatto,
just because mulattoes think themselves better than you blacks?”

“Great Gawd, _no, suh_!” shouted Manigo, springing up. Turning half
way round out of respect to the foreman, he alternately jumped in the
air and squatted like a gigantic frog, while he whirled his arms and
harangued his fellow blacks, cutting his eye around now and then for
a nod of approval from Iago. “De debble! Punkin-skin’ nigguh fuh beat
black nigguh en’ black nigguh ent fuh beat’um back, enty? Oonuh ebbuh
yeddy ’bout shishuh t’ing sence you bawn? Me fuh ’low yalluh nigguh
fuh knock me en’ me yent fuh knock’um back! No, man! Uh knock’um ef uh
dead!”

“Yaas, man, _knock’um, knock’um_!” came the cries of approval as old
Hacklus, having put up his yellow man of straw, leaped about as he
proceeded to bowl him over.

“Uh yent fuh wait ’tell ’e knock me fus’. Uh gwine knock’um befo’ ’e
hice ’e han’! Uh knock’um een ’e yeye, uh kick’um on ’e shin, alltwo
one time. Den uh butt’um een ’e belly. Uh double’um up ’cause ’e too
swonguh, ’e too ’laagin’! Cap’n, who dis yalluh nigguh nyuse to blonx
to een slabery time?” he asked the foreman.

“To nobody. He was free. He belonged to himself.”

“Great Gawd! Cap’n, all dese’yuh mans blonx to quality! All uh we yuh
nyuse to blonx to Baa’nwell, eeduhso Heywu’d en’ Wandross. All duh
juntlemun’ nigguh. Nigguh stan’ sukkuh ’e maussuh. Ef ’e blonx to
juntlemun, him gwine mannusubble, ef ’e blonx to po’buckruh, him ent
nutt’n’, ’cause uh po’buckruh nigguh _ent wut_, but ef ’e blonx to
’eself, ’e blonx to nigguh, en’ da’ yalluh t’ing wuh blonx to nigguh
tek ’t’oruhty ’puntop ’eself fuh knock nigguh wuh blonx to juntlemun,
en bex w’en de nigguh knock’um back! No, suh, ’e mus’ be fool! Leh we
tu’n Bredduh Paul loose!”

“Yaas, man, _tu’n’um loose, tu’n’um loose_!” came the chorus.

“Well, boys, before we go, you’d better finish the flask.”

“_Tengk Gawd, suh!_” ejaculated old Hacklus whose mouth was now as
cottony as a stump-tailed water moccasin’s, as he lifted the flask to
his lips, “me t’roat dry. Uh binnuh talk.”

“_Hol’ on, man!_”

“_Don’ tek’um all!_”

“Manigo drink’ too hebby!”

“’E gwine dreen’um dry!” came the protests, but Manigo had swallowed
the lion’s share before he passed the flask to the next man. “Boss, we
fuh pit da’ yalluh Grant een jail, enty?” and he was much disappointed
when told it couldn’t be done.

The jury returned to the Court room with their verdict of acquittal,
and received the thanks of the Court, who assured them all, “and
especially the distinguished foreman,” of his appreciation of the
expedition with which they had dispatched the business of the Court.
As Paul and his protector mounted their horses for the homeward ride,
Daniel stood bare-headed at the Court room door, and expressed the hope
that he might again welcome to his temple of justice “the distinguished
counsel from across the river.”




SAM DICKERSON


For many years after the war, Sam Dickerson, a former slave of the
Horlbeck family, ranted around the courts of the lower counties of
South Carolina in the practice of the legal profession, which he
had acquired in a jack-leg sort of way soon after his emancipation.
Tall, black, pompous, and as voluble as an overshot water-wheel, he
cut his grotesque antics in higher and lower courts to the intense
amusement of blacks as well as of whites. He habitually carried with
him a bag of tawdry and greasy law books, which he hauled out and
spread upon tables, wherever the space was available, to impress
jurors and court-room spectators with his importance. With monkey-like
imitativeness he copied the court-room gestures and mannerisms of
prominent lawyers of the white race, and he had memorized certain
passages from the statutes and the law blanks, which he spouted
whenever opportunity offered. Upon one occasion Dickerson was defending
in a magistrate’s court a negro accused of larceny. The word written
on the indictment pleased him and he mouthed and slobbered over it as
one mouths the pit of a clingstone peach. “Dis man bin chaa’ge’, yo’
onnuh, wid laa’ceny! He bin chaa’ge’ wid laa’ceny! W’at am laa’ceny,
yo’ onnuh?”

“Do you know what it is to steal?” retorted the court.

“Of co’se uh does, yo’ onnuh. Laa’ceny is t’ief, en’ t’ief is steal,
en’ uh man w’ich steal is uh man w’ich enter anodduh man’ house een
de dead ub night en’ did mos’ feloniously steal, tek, carry away en’
appropriate to he own use de whole or uh paa’t dereof uh de juntlemun’
proputty. But de chaa’ge, yo’ onnuh, am laa’ceny!”

Dickerson was so well known about the magistrates’ courts of the City
of Charleston that many prominent white citizens were attracted to
the trials when it was known that this simian-like advocate was going
to participate in the proceedings, and it was quite the thing to take
Northern visitors or the captains of vessels in port, to the court room
to see the black perform, and sometimes the magistrate, or the opposing
counsel, would be given a hint to stir him up for the entertainment of
the visitors.

In a trial before a Charleston magistrate, the black lawyer once sought
to have a bad case continued because of “the absence of a material
witness,” that threadbare plea so frequently urged in our courts. The
magistrate, inclined to bait him, insisted that the material witness be
produced in court forthwith.

“Yo’ onnuh, I hope you will not insis’ upun de material witness bein’
produce’ een dis co’t.”

The court demanded his reason.

“Yo’ onnuh, de material witness am a female en’ she cannot
cunweenyuntly be produce’ een dis co’t.”

“Why can’t a female witness be produced in court? What is the matter
with the witness?”

“Yo’ onnuh, I hope you will not compel me to state w’at is de matter
wid de material witness w’y she cannot be produce’ een dis co’t.”

“Unless you can give me good reasons why the material witness should
not be brought to court, I will insist upon going on with the case,”
said the court.

“Yo’ onnuh, I appeal to you as a juntlemun ub delicacy not to fo’ce me
to tell de co’t w’y de material witness cannot be produce’ een co’t.”

But the appeal to the magistrate’s delicacy of mind was of no avail and
he peremptorily ordered the case to proceed.

“Well, yo’ onnuh, my delicacy will not permit me to state een de
English langwidge w’at is de reason w’y de material witness cannot
be produce’ een co’t.”--just then a laugh from a gentleman of French
extraction in the audience, caused him to turn his head, and he
proceeded. “Yaas, suh, you kin laugh, but you cannot fo’ce me to use
de English langwidge, en’ I will haffuh fall back on my French.” Then,
wheeling around and facing the magistrate, “de reason, yo’ onnuh, w’y
de material witness cannot be produce’ een co’t, is ’cause de material
witness is”--just then a negro woman entered the room, and, hurrying up
to Dickerson pulled him by the sleeve and whispered in his ear. Turning
dramatically, he shouted, “may it please yo’ onnuh, I hab jus’ hear
from de material witness en’ I kin now resume de English langwidge.
De reason w’y de material witness cannot be produce’ een dis co’t, is
’cause _de material witness hab two twin_!”

On a certain summer day, twenty or thirty negroes from the Toogoodoo
section, assembled at the office of the trial justice at Adams Run
station to settle a legal matter. The dispute to be adjusted involved
the ownership of a brindled ox, to which claims, apparently equally
strong, were set up by two black ladies from “Down on de Salt.” One,
Bina Youngblood, the “lawfully lady” of Scipio Youngblood, the other
the lone, though not lorn, Clara Jenkins, for the moment unaffiliated.
Scipio, the “sea-lawyer” of the Swinton plantation, undertook to plead
his wife’s cause before the magistrate, while Clara, having money in
her purse, because, perhaps, she had just then no man to support, had
“done git de buckruh fuh write uh letter town, fuh tell Sam Dickuhsin
fuh come fuh rupezunt me een de co’t.” At 9 o’clock Sam arrived from
Charleston on “de shoofly strain,” as the negroes call the local which
stops at all way stations. The ox, having caused mutual wool-pulling
on the part of both claimants, had been put in the custody of the
magistrate’s constable, and, tied to the picket fence surrounding a
corn patch near the station, was chewing his cud complacently, viewing
with drowsy eyes the human turmoil about him. Clara laid excited hands
upon the Charleston advocate and pulled him into the presence of the
ox, which she introduced. “Dish’yuh duh him, Mistuh Dickuhsin. Dish’yuh
duh de oxin wuh me en’ Mis’ Nyungblood agguhnize ’bout. Uh buy dis oxin
f’um Bredduh Izick Puhshay wuh lib tuh Slann’ Ilun’ en’ Buh Izick him
buy’um f’um de Jew wuh hab uh sto’ to Wadmuhlaw, en’ ’e buy’um f’um
de Jew ’cause de oxin gone een de maa’sh fuh eat, en’ ’e bog een de
maa’sh, en’ de Jew stan’ ’puntop de bluff en’ ’e look ’puntop de oxin,
en’ ’e ’f’aid ’e gwine drowndid, en’ ’e shake alltwo ’e han’ ’bout de
oxin, en’ Buh Izick binnuh stan’up close’um, en’ de Jew try fuh sell’um
de oxin, ’cause ’e t’ink de oxin gwine dead een de maa’sh, en’ Buh
Izick tell’um him willin’ fuh g’em fibe dolluh’ fuh de oxin, en’ him
will tek’um out de maa’sh ’eself, eb’nso ef ’e dead, en’ de Jew tell’um
no, ’e yent fuh sell him oxin fuh no fibe dolluh’ ’cause him kin sell
’e meat fuh mo’n fibe dolluh’ eb’nso ef ’e done dead, but ’e say ’e
willin’ fuh tek ten dolluh’ fuhr’um weh ’e stan’. Buh Izick tell’um him
will nebbuh git’um out ef ’e dead, ’cause him well acquaintun wid uh
quicksan’ dey een de maa’sh puhzackly weh de oxin duh bog’up een de
maa’sh, en’ ’e say suh de quicksan’ gwine swalluhr’um up, en’ den de
Jew ent fuh git nutt’n’. W’en de Jew yeddy ’bout de quicksan’, ’e dat
’f’aid him gwine loss ’e oxin, ’e sell’um tuh Buh Izick fuh de fibe
dolluh’, en’ soon ez ’e buy’um en’ ’e done pit de money een de Jew’
han’, Buh Izick know berry well suh no quicksan’ dey een de maa’sh, en’
e’ gone weh de oxin duh stan’up een de mud, en’ ketch’um by ’e tail en’
twis’um two’t’ree time, en’ de oxin walk out de maa’sh jis’ ez good
ez you en’ me, en’ Buh Izick git’um een de flat en’ fetch’um ’cross,
en’ ’e nebbuh stop ’tell ’e git’um spang home weh ’e lib. Uh bin to
Buh Izick house de berry day w’en him fetch de oxin home, en’ uh yent
hab nutt’n’ fuh plow, en’ uh buy de oxin f’um Buh Izick fuh fifteen
dolluh’, en’ pay’um ten dolluh’, en’ owe’um de odduh res’ uh de money.

“W’en de Jew fin’out how Buh Izick obuhreach’um, ’e dat bex ’e yent
able fuh nyam ’e bittle, en’ ’e study all day ’bout how him kin git ’e
oxin ’gen. ’E h’aa’t hebby ’bout de oxin, en’ ’e jaw drap eb’ry time
’e t’ink ’pun Buh Izick, ’cause him t’ink suh nigguh ent fuh smaa’t
’nuf fuh cheat no Jew. Nex’ day ’nuf nigguh f’um Swintun en’ Toale gone
Wadmuhlaw full dig Irish tettuh, en’ dem gone tuh de Jew’ sto’ fuh buy
gunjuh en’ nickynack en’ t’ing. Mis’ Nyungblood en’ ’e juntlemun alltwo
gone to de sto’, en’ de Jew yeddy’um duh talk ’bout one brinly oxin wuh
buy een dem nigguhhouse yaa’d, wuh come f’um Wadmuhlaw Ilun’, en’ de
Jew tell’um yaas, duh him oxin, en’ ’e tell’um de oxin sell fuh true,
but all de money ent done pay, en’ ’e sen’ ansuh fuh tell me wuh got de
oxin fuh sen’um ten dolluh’ mo’ fuh de oxin, ’scusin’ him gwine tek’um
’way en’ sell’um ’gen. Buh Scipio en’ ’e lady alltwo fetch de Jew’
metsidge jis’ ez ’e come out ’e mout’, but uh nebbuh bodduh ’bout’um,
’cause uh know uh hab witness fuh de money uh done pay Buh Izick, en’
uh look tuh Buh Izick fuh puhteck me, but de nex’ week Mis’ Nyungblood
gone Wadmuhlaw ’gen, en’ de Jew ’suade him fuh buy de oxin fuh fifteen
dolluh’, en’ him pay’um t’ree dolluh’ on de oxin, en’ de Jew g’em uh
paper fuh tek de oxin wehrebbuh ’e kin fin’um. W’en ’e git home, de
’ooman walk een my yaa’d wid de Jew’ papuh een ’e han’, en’ e’ walk
swonguh, en’, please Gawd, ’e gone to de oxin weh ’e duh bite grass een
de fench cawnuh, en’ ’e tek’um by ’e bridle en’ staa’t fuh lead’um out
de yaa’d. Bubbuh, uh yent got no man ’bout de house fuh puhteck me,
but uh got dese ten finger ’puntop alltwo me han’ fuh puhteck meself,
en’ w’en uh see de ’ooman ’long de oxin, blood full’ alltwo me yeye!
Uh peaceubble ’tell uh bex, but w’en uh bex, uh ready fuh dead, en’
uh light ’puntop’uh da’ ’ooman same lukkuh fu’lhawk light ’puntop’uh
chickin! Me en’ him en’ de oxin, alltwo tanglety’up een de du’t ’tell
dem man een de nigguhhouse yaa’d haffuh suffuhrate we. Nex’ day me’
en’ de ’ooman hitch ’gen, w’en him come een de yaa’d fuh onhitch de
oxin de two-time, en’ uh ’cratch’ him face en’ him ’cratch’ my’own, en’
attuh dat, de trial jestuss yeddy ’bout’um en’ sen’ ’e counstubble fuh
tek’way de oxin, en’ lef’ one metsidge fuh alltwo uh we fuh come Adam’
Run deepo fuh try de case, en’ uh glad dem fuh try’um teday, teday,
’cause me en’ da’ ’ooman en’ da’ oxin ent fuh lib tuhgedduh ’puntop no
Swintun plantesshun!”

“Come eento co’t,” yelled the constable, and Clara and her counsel went
within.

The two principals and their partisans, glowering at one another,
ranged themselves on opposite sides of the little room, and the
proceedings were opened. Bina came to the witness stand with a slowly
healing gridiron of scratches covering her face, tokens of the
efficiency of Clara’s finger nails, which courtesies she had handsomely
reciprocated.

“Uh gone Wadmuhlaw fuh dig Irish tettuh, en’ w’en middleday come, me
en’ all dem todduh man en’ ’ooman gone to de Jew fuh buy bittle fuh
eat, en’ him yeddy suh we come f’um Swintun place, en’ him yeddy we
duh talk ’bout one brinly oxin wuh come f’um Wadmuhlaw, wuh one uh we
’ooman buy f’um Izick Puhshay, en’ de Jew say suh de oxin duh him’own,
en’ nex’ time me en’ my juntlemun gone Wadmuhlaw, de Jew say suh de
oxin ent pay fuh, en’ him fuh sell’um ’gen, en’ w’en ’e say dat, uh
buy’um en’ pay t’ree dolluh’ exwance on’um en’ de Jew gimme uh papuh
fuh tek de oxin wehrebbuh uh fin’um, en’ w’en uh gone home uh tek de
papuh en’ gone een de ’ooman’ yaa’d en’ tek de oxin out de fench cawnuh
en’ staa’t fuh gone, en’ ’fo’ uh kin git out de yaa’d, da’ debble’ub’uh
blacksnake ub uh ’ooman tek uh exwantidge w’en uh yent binnuh study
’bout’um, en’ him git een de fus’ lick, en’ ’e yent sattify fuh ’cratch
me eyeball’ en’ fight deestunt lukkuh lady fuh fight, but him haffuh
bite me een de same time, en’ ’e teet’ shaa’p ez ottuh’ teet’, en’
de ’ooman mek ’e fang’ fuh meet een me yez, but me Jedus help me fuh
obuht’row’um, en’ befo’ dem man suffuhrate we, uh done spile ’e face
’tell ’e maamy yent fuh know’um! Uh gone t’ru’um sukkuh bulltongue plow
gone t’ru blackberry wine! You shum stan’ dey? Duh me mek ’e mout’ fuh
twis’up oagly same lukkuh him binnuh chaw green possimmun!”

With a curtsy to the court and a scornful glance at her opponent,
Bina retired, and after Clara had repeated word for word the story
previously related to her attorney--for some negroes have the
faculty of memorizing and repeating a romantic story over and over
again, omitting none of the mendacious minutiæ--Scipio, a stout,
self-conscious black, rose to match his plantation wit with that of the
experienced advocate.

“Jedge, w’en my lady ubtain dis cow f’um de Jew tuh Wadmuhlaw--”

Old Sam rose impressively. “Do my distinguish’ fr’en’ frum Toogoodoo
allude to de annimel dat is now een de custody ub dis honuhrubble co’t
ez _cow_?”

“Yaas, uh call’um cow! Cow duh ’e name! Mekso me yent fuh call’um cow!
Uh call’um cow, uh dunkyuh ef e’ duh _bull_! Enty roostuh en’ hen
alltwo is fowl? Uh call’um cow, yaas! Wuh de debble town nigguh’ know
’bout annimel?”

“Kin de ‘town nigguh’ eenfawm de distinguish’ counsel,” observed Sam,
sarcastically, “dat he is berry well acquaintun wid uh sutt’n annimel
dat eenhabit de jungle ub Aff’iky, but, ontell teday, he hab always
obserb dis annimel fuh hab tail. Puhhaps de specie’ dat roam t’ru de
fores’ ub Toogoodoo is bawn bidout tail!”

“Great King! ’E fuh call me _monkey_!” protested Scipio, as the
audience exploded with laughter, for however resentful they may be of
such characterization by the whites, in their lighter moments, the
coast negroes, at least, delight in the exchange among themselves of
“monkey,” “’ranguhtang,” “crow,” “buzzut,” “blacksnake,” “nigguh” and
like terms of opprobrious endearment. “Da’ ’ranguhtang f’um town fuh
call me monkey! _Him gran’daddy ’self duh monkey!_”

The magistrate put a stop to these amenities between counsel, but
Scipio’s verbal machine gun was jammed and, too full for utterance, he
took his seat, muttering wrathfully as Sam rose triumphant.

“Ef it please de co’t,” said Sam, “I repeah een dis tribunul fuh
rupezunt dis defenseless female ub de Aff’ikin race f’um de paa’simony
ub uh membuh ub de tribe dat tek Juhruzelum f’um de Christ’un t’ree
t’ous’n’ yeah’ ago!”

“Now ’e duh talk’um!” commented a spectator.

“I am sattisfy’, yo’ onnuh, dat I kin repeal to yo’ onnuh’ sense ub
jestuss fuh gib dis po’ ’ooman de puhtekshun to w’ich de po’ en’ weak
am eentitle’ f’um de rich en’ de strong, ’cause, yo’ onnuh, een de
langwidge ub uh distinguish’ membuh ub de Chaa’lstun baa’, w’enebbuh we
enter de sacrid premussis ub uh co’t ub law, we all seddown onduhneet’
de eagle ub jestuss as de chicken seddown onduhneet’ de hen!

“Now, yo’ onnuh, what am de fack? Dish’yuh tenduh female, yo’ onnuh,
bidout de puhtekshun ub uh man fuh gyaa’d’um f’um de human race, is
t’rowed on his back fuh puhteck ’eself, lukkuh de wil’cat t’row ’eself
’pun ’e back onduhneet’ de harricane tree fuh refen’ ’eself ’genst de
pack ub houn’ by whom she is attacktid.”

“Yaas, him ’cratch lukkuh wil’cat fuh true!” commented Mrs. Youngblood.

“Yo’ onnuh, dis tenduh female buy de ox een queschun f’um Izick
Puhshay, uh respected citizen ub de Newnited State’, en’ she hab
witness fuh proobe dat de money wuz to him een han’ pay, en’ to
’stablish his ’t’oruhty obuh de ox. De afo’sed Izick Puhshay buy de
ox f’um de Jew, de paa’ty ub de fus’ paa’t, residin’ een de premussis
afo’sed ’pun de Ilun’ ub Wadmuhlaw, een de State ub Sous Cuhlina. De
Jew’ ox hab fall eento de pit, yo’ onnuh, en’ ’less ’e is fuh perish,
de ox is sell to Izick Puhshay, dis respected citizen ub de Newnited
State’ afo’sed, who by his ability twis’ de tail ub de ox en’ mek’um
fuh ’bandun he puhsishun een de maa’sh, en’ betake himself to de high
groun’. W’en de membuh ub de tribe ub Juhruzelum see dat de ability ub
de Aff’ikin race sabe de life ub de ox, he feel disapp’int’ wid ’eself,
en’ he seek to agen ubtain de proputty dat he hab loss, en’ ’e sell de
’denticul ox de two time, to de paa’ty ub de secon’ paa’t.

“Deyfo’, yo’ onnuh, I mek uh plea fuh dis tenduh female ub de human
race, alldo’ his skin is black, dat jestuss be done, en’ dat his ox
shall not be tek away.”

His plea was effective, for Clara returned joyfully to Toogoodoo with
the restored ox tied behind the cart in which she had come, while Bina
nursed her wrath to keep it warm until she could return to Wadmalaw to
seek to recover her three dollars “exwance” from “de membuh ub de tribe
ub Juhruzelum.”




SIMON, THE “SQUERRIL” HUNTER


As boys, a few years after the war, we knew him as a mighty squirrel
hunter, and the negroes in the neighborhood knew him as a mighty
slippery old scoundrel, whose smoothness had earned him the sobriquet
of Okra--at once a tribute and a reproach--for the skill acquired in
slaughtering “de buckruh’ cow en’ t’ing’” in the swamps, was sometimes
used to lift a shoat from some nearby colored brother or sister when
Simon did not care to hunt far afield, and, however commendable one’s
prowess in preying upon “de buckruh,” who, for purposes of spoliation,
stood in the same relation to the newly freed slaves that the esteemed
Egyptians did to the children of Israel, it was regarded in dusky
circles as somewhat unethical to steal from one’s own color.

Although always suspected, old Okra was never caught. When he killed
a cow or other large game, the hide, and the head with its telltale
ear-marks, were carefully buried in the woods, and part of the meat
distributed among his cronies, insuring not only their protective
silence, but a full crop of elaborate alibis for Simon, should
suspicion ripen into accusation. “Nigguh haffuh stan’ by we colluh,”
being the motto on all the plantations round about.

The squirrel hunter was as lean and hungry-looking as Cassius, with a
shifty eye and a face deeply pock-marked. His footfall was stealthy and
noiseless and he could walk the woods from dawn to dusk without tiring.

For several years following the war, many low-country negroes carried
condemned army muskets which they bought for a dollar or two--long,
heavy muzzle-loaders, straight of stock and hard of trigger. Although
rifled, their proud owners rammed down and shot out of their grooved
barrels anything and everything but ball. Shot of uniform size was not
only held unnecessary, but really undesirable, an assortment of sizes
running from No. 8 to No. 2, the latter called “high duckshot,” being
regarded as a mixed dose seriously jeoparding the safety of rabbit or
“squerril” at a distance of “two tas’”--two tasks (½ an acre).

Most of the new-fledged negro sportsmen were content to hunt the
little cat squirrels that were plentiful in the wooded swamps and the
oak and hickory knolls, but Simon was ambitious and habitually hunted
the beautiful fox squirrels, grays and blacks, wary creatures, rarely
met with and found only among tall pines--sometimes in the long leaf
_palustris_ of the ridges, but oftener in the great “loblollies”
skirting the bays, the height of the trees and the Spanish moss that
clustered thick about their towering tops, making them safe retreats,
once reached. One of these big squirrels would sometimes be surprised
on or near the ground, offering a shot before he got far up the tall
trunks which he always ascended rapidly with a great clatter of claws
on the bark, cunningly keeping on the off side from the hunter, but
never slackening speed till a fork or one of the higher branches was
reached, upon which he would flatten out and keep absolutely still.
Even a boy then knew it was wasting precious powder and shot to attempt
to make him break sanctuary, but not so old Okra. He had implicit faith
and infinite pride in the shooting powers of his old “muskick,”--“Ole
Betsey, him cya’ shot fuh sowl,” and he would crack away as long as
his ammunition lasted, at a gray or black spot at the tip-top of some
forest giant; often indeed, at a dead squirrel, for these “foxes” have
an exceedingly inconsiderate habit of digging their claws so deeply
into the bark that they hang on after death and are hard to dislodge.
Often the boy hunter roaming the woods, day-dreaming of the buck or big
gobbler that was always about to spring up just ahead of him, to fall
gloriously to his little single barrel, would hear at intervals the
heavy “_duhbaw!_” of Simon’s ordnance and know that the indefatigable
old sinner was, like most of us, reaching up after the unattainable.

Curiosity to learn how he was faring would sometimes overcome caution,
for Simon always begged for powder, and his ingratiating “Mass----
so freehan’,” seldom failed to coax from the flask part of the boy’s
scanty store, but woe to the scanty store if Simon was permitted to
“po’rum.” “Berry well den, suh, you po’rum,” and into the deeply
cupped palm of the avaricious hand he held out, the precious powder
would trickle. Simon never stinted his gun, and as long as the donor
would pour, the recipient had no scruples about drams running into
ounces. Whatever you poured into his hand went into the gun, and when
she responded in recalcitrance to a double charge, sending her owner
staggering back among the gallberry bushes, he would grin proudly and
remark, “Him duh tell we tengky fuh wuh we g’em. Betsey him hab uh
hebby belly fuh powder.”

One crisp winter’s day, Simon and his half-grown son, “Boyzie,” were
encountered on a high pineland plateau dotted with a chain of shallow,
sedgy ponds. Suddenly, from the marge of a pond a hundred yards away,
the plume-like tail of a big gray fox squirrel was seen waving jerkily
over the ground as he ran for the timber. The party gave chase and
succeeded in putting him up in a clump of tall long-leaf saplings
before he could reach the big trees. Simon’s eyes shone like brown
pebbles through the sunlit waters of a shallow brook. His slouch was
gone and he was all alertness, apprehension.

“Weh him, Boyzie? Weh him?”

“Yuh him, Pa! Yuh him! Shum! Shum!”

“_Duhbaw!_” boomed Betsey, and Simon reeled from the recoil as the
load cut the top from a sapling down which the squirrel raced to the
ground and scampered off for a big pine not far away, rushing up the
trunk in long spirals. “Watch’um, Boyzie! Don’ tu’n yo’ yeye loose
off’um ’tell I git Betsey load’,” and Simon hurriedly rammed down his
charge with many furtive glances at the watching sentinel to see that
he didn’t “tu’n ’e yeye loose.” Extracting from a greasy rag a huge
copper cap of the grandfather’s hat pattern, he fitted the nipple and
cocked his musket, as strenuous an operation as pulling the trigger,
for at half-cock Betsey’s hammer leaned back like the head of a
strutting gobbler, while at the full, the cup yawned toward the heavens
like the crater of a miniature Mauna Loa. Circling the pine he tried
to locate the squirrel now lying flat in a crotch near the crown of
the long-leaf, his long tail hanging down while his body was securely
hidden. Boyzie pointed out the drooping tail. “Dey him, pa, dey him,
but ’e too fudduh. You cyan’ reach’um.”

“_Who?_ Dat squerril? _Watch’um!_” The piece was raised, two sinewy
fingers clutched the trigger with a jerk that would have disconcerted
any aim, and the hammer, describing a parabola, fell upon the cap
which exploded with a report like a parlor rifle, but Betsey’s muzzle
remained glum and silent.

“’S’mattuh, Betsey? You got ’ooman name en’ you ent got ’ooman mout’?
You cyan’ talk? De debble!” Another cap was fitted, another hopeful aim
taken and another futile “paow!” echoed among the pines. Simon, now
having only two caps left, accepted the suggestion that priming might
help. He also accepted the powder which he poured with a liberal hand
down the capacious nipple and rammed home with a lightwood splinter.

“Now watch’um come down.” Another careful sight at the tantalizing
tail up aloft, another “popped” cap with a little blue smoke from the
priming, and a sorely puzzled squirrel hunter.

“Witch mus’ be pit bad mout’ ’puntop Betsey. I ’spec’ ’e done cunjuh.”

“Pa, is you pit any powduh een dat gun?”

“Who? Me? Wuh gun? Betsey? C’ose I pit powduh een ’um.”

“Bettuh try’um,” said doubting youth, and he did. When the shot was
drawn and the screw of the long iron ramrod clicked against the breech
of the musket, old Okra’s face was a study. “Yaas, ef I did’n’ bin
haffuh watch Boyzie duh watch de squerril, I wouldn’t bin fuhgit fuh
load’um.” Consoling himself with this shifting of responsibility,
he loaded deliberately and fired, bringing down, with a lot of pine
needles, half the squirrel’s tail, which he stuck in the cord which
bound his old hat with the remark, “Well, ennyhow I git all wuh I shoot
at. _Ef man kin git all wuh ’e try fuh git, him oughtuh tengkful!_”




THE “CUNJUH” THAT CAME BACK


Lucy Jones, of Pon Pon, square and stout and widowed, had in her youth
been as frequently husbanded as the Wife of Bath. One by one, however,
through death, incompatibility of temperament, or indifference, she
had lost these affiliations, and now, a “settled woman,” Lucy lacked
the masterful ways and the loving club of a man about the house, for
it is axiomatic among the Gullah ladies of the Carolina coast that
love and physical chastisement are inseparable. “Ef man ent lick you,
’e yent lub you.” So, yearning for the touch of a vanished hoe handle
or axe helve, Lucy languished. There was no longer satisfaction in
“cawnhom’ny” or “tu’n flour.” There was no savor in “poke” greens or
lamb’s-quarter. Fat bacon, while greasing her mouth, no longer anointed
her soul. Her cabin was snug and comfortable, her bed was wide, and
covered with a patchwork quilt that would have made Joseph’s coat look
like a drab jacket of butternut jeans. This quilt, slowly fabricated
of all the bits of bright cloth--silk, cotton and wool--that she had
begged from “de buckruh” during a period of several years, she had
stitched together with painstaking fingers and exalted soul, absolutely
confident that with its completion would come a husband to share
its chromatic glories. “All de time uh binnuh mek dat quilt uh bin
agguhnize een me min’ duh study ’pun wuh kinduh husbun’ uh gwine git
w’en ’e done finish. Sometime’ uh t’ink uh gwine git uh nyung nigguh,
en’ den uh ’membuh suh dese’yuh nyung nigguh ent wut. Dem too lub fuh
t’row bone. En’ den, ’nodduh time uh study en’ uh t’ink uh’ll git uh
settle’ man, but uh know berry well uh haffuh git some kind’uh man
’cause uh lonesome tummuch, en’ uh keep on sew de quilt ’tell ’e done,
en’ uh pit’um on de bed, en’ dat night w’en uh gone’sleep onduhneet’ de
quilt, uh hab one dream, en’ one sperrit come to me een de dream en’
tell me suh me fuh marry Isaac Middletun.”

So the notion got into her head. Isaac was tall, as Lucy was short;
Isaac was thin, as Lucy was stout, and Isaac was wary, as Lucy was
predaceous. Himself an elderly widower, he was living alone when Lucy
delicately intimated to him her desire to change the Welsh name of
Jones for the aristocratic English patronymic of Middleton. Middleton,
acknowledging the compliment, politely declined the offer, preferring
to keep his lonely cabin to himself. “Uh tell’um wuh de sperrit say,”
she said, “en’ uh tell’um de sperrit say him fuh come fuh marry me dat
same night. Uh hab fait’ een de sperrit’ wu’d, en’ uh scour’ out de
house en’ uh mek de bed, en’ uh pit de tea by de fiah, en’ still yet
Middletun ent come. Uh nebbuh know shishuh eegnunt nigguh. W’en uh fin’
suh ’e yent come, uh gone deepo fuh fin’um, en’ uh tell’um ’gen wuh de
sperrit say. Uh tell’um ’bout de quilt en’ de tea en’ t’ing’, en’ uh
tell’um nemmine’ ’bout him house, cause myself hab house fuh alltwo uh
we fuh lib een, but Middletun ent haa’kee to wuh uh tell’um ’bout de
sperrit. ’E say suh de sperrit hab bidness fuh talk ’long nyung ’ooman
ef de sperrit fuh send wife fuh him. Uh tell’um uh nyung ’ooman cyan’
specify fuh wife fuh settle’ man lukkuh Middletun, ’cause dem lub fuh
dress tummuch, but seem lukkuh uh cyan’ git Middletun’ min’ straight.”
So she “took her foot in her hand” and went home, dejected but not
hopeless, for she determined to stick to the trail, as the hound to the
slot, until she ran the wily quarry to earth, to wit, cabin, for she
hankered after him with an intense hankering.

“Lucy Middletun,” “Mis’ Middletun,” how it filled the mouth and the
ear, and exalted the spirit with satisfaction! Ever since emancipation
the negroes have laid great store by their “titles,” prefaced by
“Mistuh” or “Mis’.” Very dear to their hearts was the evolution of
“Cuffee,” “Cudjo” and “Sancho” of slavery, into “Mistuh Scott,”
“Mistuh Hawlback” and “Mistuh Middletun,” of freedom, and, in the
twinkling of an eye, “Dinah” and “Bina” and “Bella,” the grubs, were
transformed into “Mis’ Wineglass,” “Mis’ Chizzum” and “Mis’ Manigo,”
the butterflies. So, as Lucy mused and spun the spider web of fancy in
which she hoped to entrap the wary and unappreciative Isaac, her mind
crossed the stormy seas of Endeavor, and, resting in the snug harbor of
Achievement, she thought of the deed as done, and imagined herself as
going to work on week days, to church on Sundays, and to class meetings
in the evenings, carrying, as appurtenant to her person, the longed-for
“title” of Isaac, and as she thought upon the occasions when on public
road or by-path she should “pass the time of day” in the ceremonial
salutations so dear to her kind, she was filled to the jowls with
ecstasy and her eardrums vibrated with the melody of “Middleton.”

“Mawnin’, Mis’ Jones, how you do, ma’am?”

“Mawnin’, Mis’ Wineglass, uh tengk Gawd fuh life, but you know uh yent
name Mis’ Jones now. Me duh Mis’ Middletun.”

“Dat so? I nebbuh yeddy ’bout Bredduh Jones dead.”

“No, ma’am, ’e yent dead, ma’am, but him hab anodduh lady, en’ me hab
Isaac Middletun. You know dat same Mistuh Middletun lib close Adam’ Run
deepo? Well, she duh my juntlemun now, en’ me duh Mis’ Middletun.”

“Yaas, ma’am, well, mawnin’, ma’am,” and so on.

And always as Lucy sat in the sunshine before the cabin door and smoked
her short clay pipe, or in the loneliness of night lay pondering and
ponderable under the quilt that looked like a county map of Texas,
constantly she projected thought waves towards Adams Run station,
near which abode the recalcitrant Middleton. Along this main-traveled
roadway of the Atlantic Coast Line, many trains passed by day and
by night. The shrill shriek of the local freight, as it took the
siding at the distant station, reminded her that Middleton’s ears
were filled with the same sound. The hoarse warning of the Florida
Limited at the curve, as it rushed southward filled with Northern
tourists, who,--viewing from observation cars the fruit-laden thickets
of gallberry bushes covering the damp, flat pinelands--marveled at
the prodigality of the Southern climate that ripened huckleberries in
midwinter, every whistle that blew along the busy line reminded Lucy
of the railroad, and the railroad reminded her of the station, and
the station reminded her of Middleton. Theoretically, a member of the
gentler sex has only to wish herself upon a man and the man is as good
as wived, and the dogma that “a woman has only to make up her mind to
marry a man and she gets him,” is probably as old as the Creation,
for Adam, like the gentleman he was, accepted philosophically and
uncomplainingly--even gallantly--the spouse which kind Heaven had
wished upon him. But much thought had brought Lucy to the conclusion
that in her chase of a husband she was after all a dachshund, while the
elusive Middleton was a fox. His defenses having proved impenetrable by
direct attack, she had tried sapping and mining without success, even
the “sperrit” bomb projected Middletonwards had fizzled at the fuse,
and her cabin and its encircling yard and garden were still, alas! “no
man’s land!”

In her desperation Lucy decided to conjure! Like old Lorenzo in “La
Mascotte,” she believed in “signs, omens, dreams, predictions,” and
also in the potency of the dried frog, the blacksnake skin and the
kerosene-soaked red flannel rag, as charms to pull a bashful wooer up
to the scratch, to put a “spell,” resulting in sickness or death, upon
an enemy, or for any other purpose suggested by the mind of the one
preparing the charm, for, a sort of aftermath of voodooism, “cunjuhs”
are still believed in by many of these superstitious people.

Lucy bethought her of old Simon, not an authenticated witch-doctor,
for he demanded no fixed fees, but a wily old sinner, a sort of
amateur in black magic, who gave advice free of charge, although his
services were always rewarded with gifts of eggs, or sweet potatoes,
or clean rice. As snake skins and dried frogs were component parts of
almost all old Simon’s “charms,” the boys of the community frequently
brought him those they killed or found dead by the roadside. These,
at his convenience, old Simon skinned and salted, or rubbed with
ashes and smoked and dried and put away, for use when occasion should
require. The low-country negroes seldom pass a dead frog lying on its
back, believing that if so exposed for any length of time, rain will
inevitably follow, and those so found, if not turned over to prevent
the floods from Heaven, were taken to old Simon and added to his store.

So in the dusk of the early night and the dark of the moon, for Lucy
did not wish the black sisterhood to know her business, she locked her
cabin door, put a shawl over her head and slipped away to Simon.

The weather was cold and Simon’s door was shut. She rapped faintly and
furtively, and a fierce bark challenged from within. Simon hobbled to
the door and opened it, a black cur growling at his knee. Kicking the
dog away, he bade Lucy enter.

“Come een, sistuh, how you do?”

“Tengk Gawd fuh life, Unk’ Simun. Uh come yuh fuh ax you fuh gimme uh
cunjuh fuh t’row uh spell ’puntop Isaac Middletun wuh lib Adam’ Run
deepo, fuh mek’um haa’kee to de sperrit’ wu’d, wuh tell’um fuh hab me
fuh wife, ’cause uh done tell’um _two time_ wuh de sperrit hab fuh say,
but him ent study ’bout no sperrit, en’ ’e suck ’e teet’ at me, en’
him say suh him fuh marry nyung ’ooman ’cause him ent hab no appetite
fuh marry settle’ ’ooman, en’ uh done tell’um suh nyung ’ooman cyan’
specify fuh settle’ man, but Middletun dat eegnunt en’ haa’d-head’, uh
cyan’ git’um fuh do nutt’n’, en’ please suh fuh mek one hebby cunjuh,
’cause Middletun stubbunt sukkuh oxin en’ mule alltwo, en’ w’en you
gimme de cunjuh, tell me wuh fuh do ’long’um en’ weh uh mus’ pit’um fuh
t’row de spell ’puntop’uh Middletun, en’ uh fetch t’ree aig’ en’ some
yalluh yam tettuh fuh you fuh eat.” And she took these gifts out of her
apron and presented them to the weaver of spells.

Simon was a man of few words. Going to an old cupboard where he kept
his store of raw materials, he fumbled about and at last drew forth the
dried skin of a “copper-belly” moccasin, about three feet long. This
he wound about a smoke-dried toad, to which had been added two rusty
horseshoe nails. Around them all a dirty strip of red flannel, well
soaked in kerosene, was tied, and the charm was ready. Wrapping it in a
piece of brown paper he gave it to Lucy who, tremulous with happiness
and excitement, tied it in a corner of her apron.

“Daughtuh, you f’aid fuh walk duh paat’ duh middlenight?”

“No, suh, uh yent ’f’aid fuh go Middletun’ house.”

“Berry well den, you fuh go Middletun’ house middlenight tenight. You
fuh tek dis cunjuh en’ pit’um ’puntop de do’step to Middletun’ house,
en’ you fuh walk easy so him ent fuh yeddy you. Onduhstan’?”

“Yaas, suh, tengk Gawd.” And she hurried homeward.

For awhile she dozed before her fire, and then, an hour before
midnight, with that uncanny instinct which guides those who live close
to nature, she roused herself, and with her precious charm, set out
hot-foot for the station. As she hurried through the dark a raccoon
padded noiselessly across the path. Farther on, a grey fox trotted
fearlessly in front of her for a few yards then sprang into the bushes
and disappeared. The terrifying shriek and wild laugh of a barred owl
just overhead, as she passed along a dark aisle in the forest, made
her heart stand still for an instant, but the thought of Middleton
warmed its cockles again and she kept on her way. At last she reached
Middleton’s cabin and, thanking her stars that he kept no dog, she
cautiously lifted the latch of his yard gate and tiptoed up to the
steps where, with a silent prayer for success, she deposited the
precious “cunjuh” and quietly slipped away.

Just at the end of the “dog watch” of the mariners, just before the
“day clean” of the negroes--the hour known to all night workers, when,
with the imminence of the dawn, somewhat of the weight of the world
seems lifted from their shoulders--Middleton rose from his cornshuck
couch and opening his cabin door looked forth, as is the custom of the
early-rising negroes, to scan the sky and appraise the promise of the
coming day. A gibbous moon of dusky gold, new-risen, hung low in the
East. Diana had been banting for ten days and altho’ her waist was
waning, she yet shed sufficient light to open the eyes and engage the
throats of all the roosters round about, and from the yards of lonely
woodland cabin, and plantation quarters, their voices, shrill and
clear, deep and raucous, came to Middleton’s ears as they saluted the
fools’ gold of the moonlight in the belief that they were heralding the
dawn.

“Fowl’ mus’ be t’ink day’ clean,” commented Middleton, and as he opened
the door wider to get a better outlook, his bare toe came into contact
with the gelid snakeskin and he sprang back in fear. Striking a match,
he lit a lightwood splinter and discovered the “cunjuh” mysteriously
placed at his very threshold. He scratched his puzzled head. “Eh, eh!
wuh dis t’ing? Me nebbuh do nutt’n’ to nobody. Uh wonduh who duh try
fuh t’row spell ’puntop me! Tengk Gawd, uh nebbuh ’tep obuhr’um,”
secure in the belief that as he had not stepped over it, no harm could
come to him. So, picking it up fearlessly, he put it away in a chink
in the clay chimney until he should find use for the dread instrument
which Providence had placed in his hands. All day he pondered, for,
having no enemies, there was none to whom he wished harm. At last, as
evening fell, dark thoughts came with the dusk, and a sinister purpose
slid into his soul, which he lost no time in putting into execution.
Venus was the evening star but she told him nothing, for there was
no love in his heart and his mind held only the definite purpose
to rid himself once and for all of the vexing importunities of the
husband-hunter.

“Uh gwine tek dis t’ing to da’ ’ooman’ house en’ t’row one spell
’puntop’um fuh mek’um pit ’e min’ ’puntop some dem todduh man en’
lemme ’lone,” and walking briskly to Lucy’s house, where she slept
unsuspiciously beneath the unalluring quilt, he carefully placed the
charm in the middle of the top step and went his ways under the starlit
heavens.




THE RACCOON HUNTER


All through the autumn, when golden-rod and sumac flaunted the colors
of Spain from every neglected fence corner, and the ripening sun
burned from the blue through the haze that hung over the earth, when
the crows, uttering their care-free harvest note, flew over the tawny
fields of corn, and negroes with nimble fingers pulled the reluctant
locks from the half-opened Sea Island cotton bolls, when squirrels
chattered and barked contentedly among the hickories as they commenced
to gather their winter’s store, and wild pigs nosed about for acorns
among the rustling leaves in the oak groves--all through these
September and October days, the boy had pestered old Abram, the most
successful ’coon hunter on Pon Pon, to organize a torchlight hunt and
take him along. Abram White, or “’Bram,” as he was commonly called, was
a slow-talking, slow-thinking, slow-moving old darkey; so deliberate
that the mental effort involved in answering the simplest question
would furrow his brow like an old-fashioned washboard. He had been
allowed to clear up a piece of rich land on Cotton Hill, far removed
from the “quarters” of the other negroes, and this field he held
rent-free in return for the labor of bringing it under cultivation. The
task occupied old ’Bram for several years. First building a substantial
cabin for his smart wife, Delia, he proceeded to “ring” the forest
trees and, leaving them to die, slowly grubbed up the smaller trees
and undergrowth, planting in the little cleared plots patches of
corn, peas and sweet potatoes, increasing his field bit by bit each
year. He was employed regularly as night watchman for the plantation
and, armed with his long “muskick”--a condemned army weapon--walked
his beat about barn and stables from dark till dawn, returning from
each round to drowse near the big fire which he invariably made in an
open spot, summer as well as winter, for the coast negroes are true
fire-worshipers and their love for the flames that leap and the embers
that glow is as great as their skill in fire-making. Abram owned the
best ’coon dog in the community, a black mongrel of medium size with a
blaze in the face and a white ring around his neck. Devoted as he was
to Delia, Abram’s love for “Ring” was almost as great, and his pride in
the dog’s accomplishments and reliability was infinite. The abandoned
rice field now overgrown, near old Abram’s new-ground, was full of
raccoons and ’possums and the old hunter often got permission to put on
a substitute watchman for part of the night, while he foraged the woods
with almost invariable success, and all through the winter the jambs
of his wide-throated clay chimney were hung with the smoked flesh of
his spoils, while their pelts--ring-tailed and rat-tailed--adorned the
outer walls of his log cabin.

The veteran ’coon dog will rarely follow any other animal than
raccoon or ’possum--the lawful prey of his negro master--ignoring the
frequently crossed trails of deer or fox. Puppies and undisciplined
dogs often break away and run rabbits, of course, but they are always
caught and thrashed and the occasional lapse is held derogatory to
the dog’s master. Both objects of the chase are nocturnal feeders,
sleeping most of the day in hollow trees or logs. Sometimes the hollow
is high up in the fork of some forest giant, completely hidden by the
lianas that run from the ground to the topmost branches. A dog will
occasionally bark at a tree whence the ’coon has descended, or one from
which the quarry has crossed on a limb or vine to another tree, and
whenever the hunter finds that his dog has “treed” at a vacant tree,
the poor animal is held to have “lied” and is given a severe whipping,
so seasoned dogs make few mistakes and old Abram’s Ring was always true.

At last, as October drew to a close and the first white frost nipped
the potato vines, the boy’s importunities bore fruit in a promise from
Abram to take him on the first clear night in the dark of the moon, the
condition being that the boy should furnish travel rations. The night
appointed proved fine and frosty, with a sharp tang in the air, and an
hour or two after dark the hunt assembled. Besides his single-barreled
muzzle-loader, the boy “packed” a knapsack filled with smoked herrings
and hardtack from the plantation commissary. Abram had his musket, and
Tom Ford and Joe Smashum, two young negroes, their axes. All three
carried bundles of “fat” lightwood for torches strapped to their backs.
Sike, a half-grown black boy, carried himself. All the negroes were
bare-footed, the horny soles of their feet having become so toughened
as to make them indifferent to briars and snags. Ring wagged his tail
expectantly and, like his master, looked contemptuously upon the two
young curs that followed Joe.

And now they started single file, the boy in front, then old ’Bram, the
torch-bearers last, throwing a flood of light ahead of them, the dogs
at heel close to their respective masters. So, down the broad avenue
of live-oaks, the great trees heavily bearded with the gray Spanish
moss, assuming fantastic shapes in the flare of the torches, on across
the old King’s Highway, past the Big Spring and over a low causeway
that spanned an old rice field. Here the party hesitated between two
“drives” that seemed equally promising, one to the right across the
“half moon” dam to a thickly wooded island in the big savanna, the
other with a slant to the left through a grove of big beeches toward
the “Blue House” back water. While old Abram scratched his head for
a decision which “the stubborn glebe” was slow to yield, Ring, who
had been nosing about, dashed suddenly among the undergrowth of
saw-palmettoes that covered the ground under the beeches and, giving
tongue on a hot trail, ended his master’s cogitations. The other dogs
followed the veteran in full cry, and in a few minutes Ring’s slow and
measured barking apprised his master that he had “treed.” The negroes
shouted encouragingly, “_speak, Ring!_” “_Speak to’um, boy!_” as the
party pushed through the thicket and found Ring sitting before a
loblolly pine, one of a group of three which grew close together with
their upper limbs almost touching.

There are three methods of getting a raccoon out of a tree. By
“shining” his eyes, which is done by holding the torch behind one, and
shooting him; by cutting down the tree and trusting to the dogs to
capture him before he gets away; or by climbing the tree and shaking
him down or making him jump off. As Tom Ford was a noted climber and
the tree was not too large for him to “hug,” it was decided to climb,
after the “shining” method had been resorted to without success. Tom
cut a stick about six feet long which he tied around his neck and
dragged up after him. This was to be used to poke the quarry off the
limb in case he came to close quarters. He threw off his jacket and cap
and commenced swarming up the trunk which stretched full forty feet
without a limb, lifting himself with his powerful ape-like arms and
the cupped hollows of his bare, horny feet, with which he gripped the
trunk. In a few minutes he reached the first limb and the excitement
below him increased, both hunters and dogs looking earnestly upward as
the climber stood on the limb and looked above and around him, trying
to locate the quarry.

“Weh ’e dey, Tom?” called Abram. “You shum?”

“Uh yent shum,” was the laconic response.

Tom again hugged the tree, whose narrowed trunk now gave him a better
hold, and went up ten or twelve feet to the next limb. Just as he
pulled himself over it and got to his feet, there was a great rattling
of claws on the bark of a long outstretching limb a few feet over his
head, and, silhouetted against the patches of starlight that broke
the leafage above him, he could make out the cunning ’coon running
along the limb to its very end where it touched a far-reaching bough
from the second tree of the group. Tom yelled, with the hope that he
might frighten the animal into missing its step and falling, but the
sure-footed creature passed safely and disappeared among the dark
needles that veiled his sanctuary.

“Look out, Unk’ Ebbrum, look out! ’E done cross to de todduh tree,”
Tom called, as he began to slide toward the earth. The group on the
ground flared torches and looked anxiously at the new retreat, but no
shining eyes were visible, and the futility of further pursuit of this
particular ’coon was realized, as he had demonstrated that he could
cross too readily from one to another of the three sister pines. The
short chase had lasted only a few minutes and the hunt took up its
equipment and returned to the Caw Caw Swamp Road, Abram, after much
pondering, having decided to exploit the “Tombs” drive, a noted hunting
ground. Half a mile farther and the party turned to the right and in
a few minutes passed near “the Tombs,” one of the Colonial burying
grounds found occasionally in the low-country forests.

The solitary negro will seldom pass one of these graveyards at night,
and even with companions and torches the ’coon-hunters walked more
rapidly until “the Tombs” was passed. As they entered an old field
with several large persimmon trees full of ripening fruit, to Abram’s
experienced eye a presage of ’possums, sure enough, in a moment, one
of Joe’s curs, with a shrill yelp, struck a hot trail and off they
went across the big field, followed rapidly by men and boys. The dogs
overtook the quarry at the edge of the clearing and treed at a young
oak, near whose top the torches revealed a big ’possum about thirty
feet from the ground. As the tree was easy, Sike, the fourteen-year-old
novice, was given the place of honor as climber, and up he went, full
of the pride that goeth before a fall. Sike was short and fat, and
spread-eagled himself like a great black frog as he laboriously worked
his way upward. The going was heavy, and having his hands or his arms
full, he did not take the precaution to look above him until he had
almost put his hand on the animal. A sudden snarl from the hunted, and
a frightened yell from the hunter, who lost his hold and fell six or
eight feet toward the ground, clutching wildly at the branches on the
way down, fortunately landing on one strong enough to bear his weight.
He did not linger in the tree but slid to the ground as quickly as
possible, where he was received with shouts of laughter. “Haw, Buck! ef
oonuh ’f’aid _’possum_, how you gwine t’row down _rokkoon_?” But Sike
said nothing, while Joe went up the tree and threw down the ’possum,
which rolled into a ball as soon as he touched the ground, and, after
having been mouthed over by the dogs, was tied up in a sack and given
to Sike to carry.

And now into the big swamp that stretched from the Tombs to Long Life
Spring, a noted water-hole that never failed in even the worst drought.
Ring gave tongue querulously once or twice on a cold trail. “Rokkoon,”
Abram laconically remarked, and, as a shrill outcry from Joe’s
nondescripts rang through the woods in another direction, “rabbit,”
he added contemptuously. The younger negroes soon caught and thrashed
the rabbit-chasers and, as Ring had now developed his trail and was
giving tongue more freely, the other dogs were hied away to join him
and soon added their voices to his. The cry skirted the swamp and in a
few minutes their barking indicated that they had treed a quarter of a
mile away. The ’coon had taken refuge in a big rosemary, whose smooth
bark and thick trunk presented difficulties to a climber, and Abram
decided to cut it down. Tom and Joe on opposite sides plied their axes
vigorously. How many magnificent forest trees have been sacrificed
since the war by the wasteful negro hunters who have no compunction
about cutting down a ten dollar tree, belonging to some one else, to
capture a “two-bit” raccoon! And the negro who would grunt grievously
if had to fell three or four big pines for a day’s work, will throw an
equal number as a pastime, in an hour or two at night! Soon the tree
began to crack, and the dogs were seized, to prevent them from rushing
under the falling trunk in their eagerness to be on hand when the ’coon
should jump out of the thick branches at the top. They were released
as the tree crashed to earth. Although they quickly surrounded the
top, the wary ’coon had already made a getaway, but the cry followed
hot-foot and forced him up a white oak a hundred yards distant. The
tree, of moderate size, was thickly branched and no glimpse of the
’coon could be discerned through the heavy leafage. Tom tied a long
stick over his shoulder and was soon on the first big limb which he
proceeded to explore, “cooning” it out, while the torch-bearers held
their lights under the end of the limb, and thus the second and third
limbs were explored, but no dark form appeared against the light, and
Tom climbed to a fork thirty feet from the ground. He paused for a
moment and looked about him, then yelled “Great Gawd, Unk’ Ebbrum, duh
_two_ rokkoon!”

“Weh ’e dey, boy? _T’row’um down!_”

“Dem alltwo dey ’pun dish’yuh lef’ han’ limb.”

“Shine dem eye, Joe, lemme shoot’um,” said Abram.

“Tek’care oonuh ent shine my’own en’ shoot me!” cried Tom.

“Nigguh eye yent fuh shine,” Abram replied, but he was spared the
embarrassment of having to distinguish between Tom’s eyes and the
raccoons’, for one of the animals, a half grown individual, broke
sanctuary, and, dashing past Tom, slid down the tree to a lower limb,
from whose extremity he sprang to the ground, unhappily for him, only
a few feet distant from the watching Ring, who was on him before he
could get started. There was a furious scuffle for a few minutes but
the veteran dog soon choked the ’coon to death.

Tom now commenced crawling out on the limb after the big raccoon, who
growled menacingly and backed as the negro neared him. At last the limb
began to sag under Tom’s weight and the ’coon at the very end, eight or
ten feet beyond him, teetered uneasily, as the torches flared beneath
him and the dogs yelped expectantly. The long stick was now brought
into play and Tom straddled the bough while he tried to pry off the
quarry, but in his zeal he overreached himself and slid too far. The
bough buckled under him like a whip and he lost his balance, but while
regaining his hold with monkey-like agility he clutched so frantically
at the raccoon’s end of the limb as to dislodge its occupant, who fell
in the very teeth of the dogs. In the fierce fight that ensued, the
raccoon slit the ears of the younger dogs and mauled them severely
before Ring could get the throat-hold he wanted. Once secured, however,
he soon choked the ’coon to death. As midnight approached, it was
decided to eat supper and go home.

A lot of dry wood was gathered and a big fire made in a little glade.
The younger negroes sat around the flames waiting for the coals upon
which to broil the smoked herrings. Old ’Bram stretched out on the
ground with the soles of his bare feet toward, and almost in, the fire,
and, true to the traditions of a night watchman, he soon fell asleep.
The flames crackled. Tom and Joe and the solemn Sike blinked at the
light and nodded, the dogs licked their wounds and whimpered at the
sharper twinges of pain. Suddenly old Abram grunted and “sniffed the
tainted gale.”

“Eh, eh! Uh smell foot duh bu’n! Somebody’ foot mus’ be duh bu’n! Uh
wunduh who’ foot duh bu’n?” Then, as he sat up and saw the curling
smoke rising from the thick horny sole of one of his own feet, “Great
Gawd, duh _my’own! Duh my foot duh bu’n!_ Tom, oonuh binnuh seddown duh
fiah duh look ’puntop my foot duh bu’n, hukkuh you nubbuh tell me?”

“Me shum duh bu’n fuh true, Unk’ Ebbrum, but oonuh binnuh sleep en’ uh
t’awt ’e would bex you fuh wake.”

“Oonuh had no bidness fuh t’awt nutt’n’! You seddown duh fiah en’ look
’puntop my foot duh bu’n en’ nubbuh tell me. Joe, oonuh binnuh seddown
duh fiah duh look ’puntop my foot duh bu’n, hukkuh you nubbuh tell me?”

“Unk’ ’Bram, I shum duh smoke, but uh nebbuh t’ink ’e bu’n bad ’nuf fuh
hot you.”

“Co’se ’e didn’ bu’n bad ’nuf fuh hot me, but ef uh yent bin had sense
’nuf fuh smell’um en’ know suh somebody’ foot duh bu’n, ’e might uh
bu’n off, en’ you seddown duh fiah en’ look ’puntop my foot duh bu’n
en’ nubbuh tell me. Sike, oonuh binnuh seddown duh fiah duh look
’puntop my foot duh bu’n, hukkuh you nubbuh tell me?”

“Me nebbuh shum, suh, uh binnuh sleep.”

“Meself binnuh sleep. Enty uh smell somebody’ foot duh bu’n en’ mek me
fuh wake? Oonuh boy’ grow up sence freedum, oonuh _ent wut_!”

The herrings were broiled and eaten with the hardtack, the spoils were
slung around the shoulders of the hunters, the fire beaten out, the
torches relit, and a short cut taken for home. As old Abram relieved
his substitute at the watchfire in the barnyard, his voice rumbled
through his beard like the muttering of slow and distant thunder, “Uh
done tell Mas’ Rafe suh dese’yuh nigguh’ grow’ up sence freedum, dem
ent wut! Dem good fuh nutt’n’ _debble’ub’uh_ no’count boy, dem seddown
duh fiah duh look ’puntop my foot duh bu’n en’ dem nubbuh tell me suh
my foot duh bu’n. _Dem nubbuh tell me!_”




THE TURKEY HUNTER


Sabey, a queer, misshapen mulatto, almost an albino, with green eyes
and yellow wool lighting and thatching a shrewd and twisted, though
good-natured, monkey face, lived, a few years after the war, on Pon
Pon. His wife, Bess, a good-looking black girl, was devoted to him as a
good husband and a first-rate provider. When twitted by the other negro
women with her husband’s lack of personal pulchritude, she was always
ready with a retort.

“Mekso you marri’d monkey fuh man, Bess?”

“Sabey oagly en’ him look lukkuh monkey fuh true, but him iz uh good
puhwiduh en’ no odduh man haffuh come een him house fuh feed him wife,
en’ _Stepney_ nebbuh come een needuh.”

Sabey lived in a cabin at the edge of the woods, far away from the
other plantation settlements, seldom mixing with the other negroes,
who rather feared him, having a vague sort of belief in his ability to
throw spells. When not hunting, he worked, but he was usually hunting
in winter, and hunting successfully, for although his piece was one
of the condemned army muskets carried by so many low-country negroes
after Freedom, he was a good shot and possessed infinite patience and
considerable woodcraft. Energetic, too, his twisted legs carried him
for miles through the forests and along the backwaters and abandoned
ricefields where, creeping on all-fours and worming his way through
cane-brakes and briars, he frequently surprised summer ducks, and
occasionally mallard and teal, feeding on the grass seeds along the
margins, or the rich acorns from the live-oaks whose far-flung boughs
stretched over the canals, and Sabey was an economist and seldom wasted
shot on a single bird. On frosty mornings when he peeped over the
embankments and saw green-wing teal strung upon a floating log basking
in the first rays of the wintry sun, he would maneuver and crawl
around, regardless of bogs or briars, until he got into a position
where he could line them up, when, after his old “muskick” had spoken,
he would sometimes gather up a dozen or more, which he sold to “de
buckruh” on the plantations, or at the railway station; but it was as a
turkey hunter that Sabey achieved distinction in the community.

Wild turkeys were very plentiful in the low-country soon after the
war, and in the winter season flocks sometimes came up in the live-oak
avenues and tangled gardens of the war-ruined plantations, making a
boy’s heart thump against his ribs as he watched them picking up the
acorns just out of gunshot of his little single-barrel. In roaming
the woods, Sabey knew every dogwood knoll between the Stackyard and
Beaver Dam, and when, in midwinter or later, he saw where the turkeys
had “scratched” among the leaf mould for the glossy red berries that
form their favorite wild food, he scattered handfuls of peas or rough
rice about and returned a day or two later to see if the turkeys had
taken the bait. If the scattered grain was untouched, he would offer
temptation elsewhere until the wary birds had overcome suspicion and
established relations with the rich man-grown food placed before them.
The bait once taken, Sabey returned at two or three-day intervals and
spread the feast anew, which after a while came to be to the turkeys
as their daily bread. Then, behind some hurricane tree or old log
nearby, the hunter prepared the “blind”--usually a pit three or four
feet deep, camouflaged with boughs or great pieces of pine bark, with a
gun opening toward an open space where, in a shallow trench, grain was
scattered. From the scratching ground under the dogwoods, a trail would
be laid to the trench, which was visited and replenished day after day
until the greedy birds had become fearless and came regularly to their
breakfast table. Then “one fine day,” just at dawn, Sabey would shamble
off to the forest and creep within his blind, where he almost held his
breath in “watchful waiting” for the coming of his quarry.

Nothing save Sir Walter’s conception of the mutability of the feminine
mind, is quite so uncertain as the hour of the coming of wild turkeys
to a blind. Sometimes at daylight, as they fly from their roosts on
the topmost limbs of the great pines, they go at once to the bait. The
next day, perhaps, they may roam the woods for hours and not reach the
blind until noon, and on yet other days the fickle creatures resist
temptation altogether, so “it is well understood” that whoso would
shoot turkeys at a blind must have abundant patience and a certain
complacent attitude toward his own society.

Who can tell what thoughts moved through Sabey’s brain cells as he
sat “steadfast, ummovable” through the waiting hours. Did the tips of
Aurora’s rosy fingers mean anything to him as she lifted the somber
curtains of the night and ushered in the radiant God of day? Did the
harsh yet homey “chauw, chauw” of the brown thrasher--the first winter
bird to awaken in copse or forest--take his thoughts to the lonely
cabin where Bess dreamed of the Sunday calico or the new shoes that
would follow Sabey’s successful shot? Did the last hoot of the barred
owl as, his night hunting over, he slipped away on muffled wing to
the thick woods to drowse his days away, tell him anything of the
human prototypes of all birds of prey? They, too, the selfish and the
predatory, clutter up the by-ways of the world, closing their eyes to
the light of service and the pulsing of humanity about them till, with
the falling shadows, their eyes open and they prowl in quest of the
unwary!

But whatever Sabey’s musings, he crept morning after morning into
his blind and waited patiently as the hours slipped by, for the
game that never came. Perhaps the wary birds had sensed danger at
the blind--perhaps they had found a more convenient food supply
elsewhere--but late every morning for a week Sabey had returned home
weary and empty-handed, but, with a true sportsman’s spirit, determined
to try again. Sunday intervened. A strong superstition in the negro’s
mind, that to fire a gun on Sunday is to “hab sin,” kept him out of
the woods, and he shambled off to church, but four o’clock the next
morning, an hour before dawn, found him at the tryst which, through
thought-waves, he believed he had made with the flock of turkeys.

They kept the tryst. The dawn came up slowly and silently, bringing in
one of those rare windless, low-country winter days, when all the air
is pale blue and gold and the forests are green and purple and brown.
The first rays of the sun touched with pallid flame the topmost boughs
of the tall pines and glanced from the myriad glistening needles that
hung motionless in the chilly air. As the sun climbed yet higher,
its sensuous warmth drank up the white frost that lay like a crystal
blanket upon the open spaces and the light vapors that hung over the
dark places in the forest, and, as the warmer and softer air fell about
Sabey, he drowsed at his post.

The outdoor negroes of the coast need neither watch nor clock to tell
the time of day. From “middlenight” or “fus’ fowl crow,” on through the
procession of the hours to “dayclean,” “sun’up,” “one,” “two,” “t’ree
hour attuh sun’up,” to “middleday,” and then on, as the sun slants
downward, through “t’ree hour,” “two hour,” “one hour to sundown,” and
“fus’ daa’k,” he makes a close approximation. So, as Phœbus shot with
flat trajectory across the Southern sky, Sabey, snuggled down among the
dry pine needles with which he had nearly filled his trench, dozed and
listened and dozed, and waking, muttered “middleday,” and dozed again.

A slight rustling of dead leaves like the whisper of gently falling
rain, and ten beautiful gobblers entered the little glade and going
straight to the trench, began picking up the grain greedily. The
sunlight flashed from their gleaming breasts as from planished bronze.
Their iridescent plumage showed all the tints of glorified autumn
leaves, and, as they stooped to feed, their long beards touched the
ground. A braver sight to a hunter’s eye than bear or buck or any other
game that roams the Southern forests!

Sabey slowly opened his eyes and stiffened like a setter at the point.
His long musket, already aligned to rake the trench, rested securely
in a forked stick driven into the ground. As a sibilant whistle came
from his twisted lips, ten heads uprose like the armed men from the
mythical dragon’s teeth, and came in line with the leveled gun. At
a warning “putt” from their suspicious leader, they stood on tiptoe
for a breakaway, but Sabey pulled his clumsy trigger, and following
the heavy roar, he clambered out of the blind and ran forward to find
seven great birds fluttering on the ground, while the others ran at
race-horse speed for thirty or forty feet (your turkey, like your
condor and your aeroplane, must take wing from a running start) and,
rising on a long slant with a great beating of the air, topped the
pines a quarter of a mile away and sailed off beyond “the Cypress.”
The big birds, shot in the head, soon lay still and Sabey’s simian
face wrinkled with satisfaction. “Tengk Gawd, uh git oonuh at las’,”
he chuckled. “One, two, t’ree, fo’, fibe, six, seb’n,” he slowly
counted--“t’ree git’way.” And then he scratched his head. Sabey was
undersized, “him leetle but ’e ole,” the negroes observed, and could
he pack far more than his weight in turkeys to the “big house” a mile
away? It seemed a task too great for his strength, but his spirit was
high, and, as he thought of the wildcats and gray foxes that abounded
in these forests so seldom entered by hunter or woodman, he shook his
head, pulled out a formidable-looking clasp knife and began to peel the
bark from a young hickory. “No,” he said to himself, “uh yent fuh lef’
none. Uh tote’um all ef ’e tek me ’tell sundown fuh git Pon Pon. All
wuh Mas’ Rafe ent buy, uh gwine tek deepo. No fox, needuhso wil’cat,
nebbuh git ’e teet’ een dem tuckrey!” and he quickly removed the outer
bark from the long strips he had skinned from the sapling and scraped
and twisted the tough inner fibre into serviceable thongs. This strong
hickory bark is the common cordage of the plantation negroes and serves
for girths, bridles and harness for horse and ox, and is also plaited
into the long whips used by herdsmen and bird-minders, the “pop” of
whose lash or “cracker” is as far-sounding as the report of a rifle.
Sabey tied six of the birds in pairs by their long necks, distributing
them as comfortably as he could about his ungainly person--one pair
over each shoulder, while the other, hanging forward, supported by the
back of his neck, was balanced by the seventh bird hung at his back,
suspended from the barrel of his musket. Thus laden like a pack donkey,
he threaded the thick woods, avoiding as best he could the tangled
vines and dangerous stump holes, and came at last to the open clearing
of “Cotton Hill.” Here he laid down his burden and rested, “fuh ketch
me secun’ win’.” Half an hour later he took up his load and, mindful
of the fact that he had been poaching, avoided the direct way through
the fields to the settlement and, skirting the old ricefield, traversed
with furtive eye the negro burying ground where, shaded by giant
live-oaks, seven generations of slaves and freedmen slept under the
thick mould. For many of the far-scattered family negroes still bring
their dead to rest in these hallowed places on the old plantations.
Apart from the sentiment, it gives them standing among the low-caste
darkeys who had belonged to “po’ buckruh” and whose forbears slept in
no ancestral graveyards. Passing behind the “Echo Oak,” Sabey reached
the big road and, a quarter of a mile beyond, tramped boldly up the
great avenue to sell “Mas’ Rafe” his own game. He made a dramatic
entrance into the yard, his deformed body completely covered by the
splendid birds, their black beards hanging from their burnished breasts
and their feet nearly touching the ground. The hounds, which had run
out with bristling backs and open mouths at the unwonted sight, wagged
their tails and whimpered as they caught the familiar scent of the game.

“Well, you copper-colored imp of Satan! Where did you shoot those
turkeys?”

“Uh shoot’um Beabuh Dam.”

“No, Sabey. Beaver Dam is more than two miles off, and I heard a gun in
the Stackyard.”

“Yaas, suh, but duh Beabuh Dam uh shoot’um. Uh mek uh bline’ on da’
po’ buckruh’ groun’, ’cause him all-time duh mek bline’ ’puntop’uh
yo’ groun’, en’ uh shoot him tuckrey fuh pay’um back, en’ uh ’spec’
da’ gun you yeddy shoot duh da’ po’ buckruh wuh bin attuh da’ gang
uh tuckrey wuh use een dem dogwood t’icket. Meself been yeddy uh gun
shoot Stackyaa’d w’en uh bin Beabuh Dam.” “Mas’ Rafe” passed his hand
admiringly over the glossy breast of the largest bird while deftly
feeling his crop. “What did you bait these turkeys with?”

“Uh bait’um wid cawn, ’cause uh nebbuh mek no peas las’yeah, needuhso
no rice.”

“Did you work here last week?”

“Yaas, suh, uh wu’k Chuesday and T’ursday ebenin’.”

“What did you do?”

“Uh beat rice, suh.”

“How much rice did you take home in that bag you carried?”

“Eh, eh, Mas’ Rafe! You see me wid bag? You t’ink suh me t’ief yo’
rice? Wuh nyuse me hab fuh rice? Me en’ Bess alltwo lub fuh eat cawn
hom’ny tummuch.”

“You didn’t bait these turkeys with rice, did you?”

“Who? Me! Mas’ Rafe, you hu’t me feelin’s fuh talk ’bout bait dese
tuckrey wid rice! Weh me fuh git rice? Dese tuckrey nebbuh see uh rice
sence dem bawn!”

“How did the rice get in their crops?”

“Dem got rice een dem craw? Mas’ Rafe, dem tuckrey mus’be bin spang
Willtown dis mawnin’ fuh use een Baa’nwell’ ricefiel’, en’ full dem
craw, en’ attuh dat dem come six mile to de bline’ weh uh kill’um.”

“But it is only five miles from Willtown to Beaver Dam, Sabey, and six
miles to the Stackyard, where you _didn’t_ kill the turkeys!”

Completely cornered, Sabey grinned. “Mas’ Rafe, you sho’ hab uh good
onduhstan’ fuh know nigguh! Nigguh ent fuh fool you! No, suh!”

And then the former slaveholder bought the game shot on his own land
and baited with his own grain, from the freedman who had stolen both,
which is not infrequently the way of former slave-holders in dealing
with former slaves.




THE GATOR HUNTER


Crook-legged, pumpkin-colored, yellow-wooled, green-eyed Sabey--the
mightiest turkey hunter on Pon Pon--sat in the midsummer sunshine at
his cabin door and talked, partly to himself and partly to his black
wife, Bess, who busied herself within. A protracted drought was over
the land, and Sabey’s summer harvest was at hand. Hunting turkeys
and ducks in the winter, he was equally successful in his summer
quest for the much-esteemed fresh water terrapins which abounded in
the backwaters and the sluggish lily-covered canals that intersected
the abandoned inland ricefields. They found a ready market on the
plantations or at the railway station, whence they were shipped to
Charleston, to appear on the tables of her discriminating gourmets in
the form of highly spiced soups and stews. These big terrapins were
frequently offered for sale by negroes who surprised the slow creatures
while crossing the road or path on their way from one canal or pond
to another, or trapped them in some shallow water hole. A few negroes
even hunted them occasionally, the only equipment necessary being an
empty crocus bag and a pair of legs--naked or trousered--with bare feet
attached. Sneaking as close as possible to the floating log on which
the terrapins sunned themselves, the hunter crept up until they became
alarmed and slid off into the water, when he jumped in after them,
and if the water was not more than three or four feet deep he could
usually locate them by feeling about on the bottom near the log with
his bare feet, when he would bob his head and his hands under, and the
prize would go into the sack hung about his neck. But Sabey followed
successfully, not only the ordinary methods of capture, but during dry
spells adopted the hazardous expedient of going down into the alligator
holes after them. As Prairie dogs, owls and rattlesnakes live together
in the same burrows on the Western plains, terrapins are always found
in alligator holes with their hosts in dry spells when the water is
low, and he who would secure them must either get the alligator out
first, or go down into the hole with him--one a difficult, the other a
dangerous, adventure.

In the cruel midsummer droughts that sometimes occurred in the
low-country, even the wet savannas and backwaters were parched to
desert dryness. The muddy bottoms, ordinarily covered with water,
even the shallower canals and ditches, sun-baked and cracked open,
were abandoned by the life that sometime swam or waded in the waters
now receded. Only the deeper places held water, and these roiled with
the teeming fish and eels and terrapins that cluttered up the muddy
pools. Crane and heron--greater and lesser--flew squawking overhead,
or stalked along the marges taking heavy toll of their helpless prey,
while in the mud round about countless tracks of otter, mink and
raccoon showed that, like lions at the African water holes, these
lesser creatures, too, held nightly carnival at the water. Now came
the human spoilers--negroes with “jampots” or “churnpots”--cylindrical
contrivances about fifteen inches in diameter by thirty inches in
height, made of canes tied together with hickory bark thongs, and
looking like tall, bottomless waste-baskets. Wading in the shallow
waters, the fisherman holds his jampot by the upper rim with both
hands, churning the water in front of him. Apprised by splash or
flutter that a fish has been trapped, he reaches one hand into the
cage, withdraws his catch, which he bestows in a bag hung about his
neck, and “churns” again. When conditions were favorable for this form
of fishing, the negroes, in the years immediately following the war,
caught not only the coarse mudfish and “cats” which they so affect,
but destroyed also countless thousands of trout and bream and other
fine food fish. In Sabey’s time, almost every other negro in the
well-watered districts owned a jampot, and the making of this was an
important side line of the old plantation chair and basket-makers, but,
synchronously perhaps with the destruction of the fish, the art, or the
practice, of “churning” passed away, and it is seldom heard of now.

Now that a “hebby dry drought” was on, Sabey licked his chaps in
pleasant anticipation. No rain was in prospect. The roaring of
alligators is regarded by low-country weather sharps as a sign of
coming rain, but, although the old bulls had bellowed lustily at dawn
on several consecutive mornings, the sun still blazed from a cloudless
sky and the heat waves danced and shimmered in the breathless air,
giving point to the saw that in a drought all signs fail, which was
once strikingly illustrated by an old-time plantation driver, whose
master, needing rain, drew comfort from the persistent bellowing of
the alligators. “Did you hear those ’gators this morning, Scipio? That
should bring rain.”

“Yaas, Maussuh, uh yeddy’um, but dis duh Dry Drought, enty?”

“Yes, a very severe drought.”

“Berry well, suh. Enty you know, Maussuh, suh Dry Drought duh him own
maussuh, en’ him ent ’f’aid alligettuh? En’, Maussuh, Dry Drought
him haa’d-head’ ez de berry Satan! Nobody ent fuh mek’um fuh do
nutt’n’! All dem todduh kinduh wedduh dem berry ’f’aid alligettuh.
W’en alligettuh belluh fuh rain, dem big Bloodynoun frog dem jine’um,
‘_come’yuh rain, come’yuh’ rain, come’yuh rain!_’ Den dem po’ leely
frog een de tree, dem hab shishuh mo’nful woice, dem biggin fuh cry.
Bimeby, rain come. But Dry Drought, him ent stan’ so. W’en Dry Drought
come, bullfrog know suh alligettuh cyan’ mek’um fuh wedduh, en’ you
yeddy’um holluh ‘_’e yent fuh rain, ’e yent fuh rain, ’e yent fuh
rain!_’ Alligettuh bex. ’E holluh ’gen. Dry Drought suck ’e teet’
at’um. ’Scuse me fuh cuss, Maussuh, but Dry Drought him ent care uh
_dam_ ’bout alligettuh, uh dunkyuh ef’ ’e holluh ’tell ’e belly bus’!”

So, as the unterrified “Dry Drought” burned about him, Sabey prepared
to start his campaign. The waters, long drying up, were now low
enough. Many alligators had been forced to move, and the smaller ones
were frequently encountered in the road--sometimes even on the high
pineland plateaus--as they traveled toward the river or adventured in
search of deeper canals or water holes. They always showed fight, too,
swelling up like pouter pigeons, standing high off the ground, and
hissing like geese, while they watched for a chance to lash out with
dangerous tail. But, with the conservatism of age and wealth, the big
old fellows seldom moved from their favorite pools on which opened
their subterranean holes or burrows, excavated with their forefeet,
like those of other burrowing creatures. Here in the deep pools were
fish at hand, and nearby were the pig paths along which unwary shoats,
going to the water, or nosing about in the soft earth for succulent
roots, would often come in reach of the sweeping tail, and add to the
variety of the big ’gator’s fare. In these deep underground holes,
the ugly creatures hibernated from autumn to spring, until, with the
earliest warm sunshine, first the nose and eyes would appear cautiously
above the water which covered the entrance to the hole, and, growing
bolder day by day, as the weather became warmer, next the head, and, at
last the entire body would be exposed, lying on the muddy bank, or on a
tussock among the rushes. Here, perhaps, he would be descried by some
adventurous boy, who, sighting carefully despite his palpitating heart,
would shatter the ’gator’s skull with a rifle bullet or reach his heart
by a well-aimed charge of buckshot behind the shoulder; but, barring
the boy, the days of the big ’gators were long in the land, for they
became more wary with advancing years and seldom fell to the negroes’
firearms.

While the drought was yet young, the heaviest alligator in the
community had been located by Sabey at the “Half Moon” dam, and now the
deep pool into which his hole opened contained all the water that was
left in the great savanna. The yawning mouth of the big ’gator hole,
ordinarily covered with water, now disclosed a parched throat wide
enough to have taken in a barrel. From day to day during the pendency
of the drought, Sabey had sneaked up to the pool hoping to surprise
the ’gator out of his hole and by a lucky shot get him out of the way
and clear the path to the terrapins, but he had not been fortunate
enough to see him, although he knew he was there by the tracks and the
impress of his great body in the baked mud that lay between the pool
and the entrance to his hole. Even had Sabey found him, he could have
slain him only with a close shot in the unprotected region just under
the arm, for the negro seldom shoots anything larger than number two
shot, which would have glanced harmlessly off the tough scales with
which the ’gator was almost completely armored.

Forced to oust the householder, in order to get at his unbidden guests,
the terrapin hunter was now turned ’gator hunter. Although almost
invariably hunting alone, pulling the smaller ’gators out of their
holes with an iron hook and killing them with his axe, the master of
the Half Moon pool was too ugly a customer to be so easily disposed
of, and, after pondering long, Sabey determined to organize a ’gator
hunt for the following day and call to his aid some of the plantation
negroes.

On Saturday morning a dozen negroes, men and boys, met Sabey at the
Half Moon. They were making holiday and laughed and chaffed in high
spirits. A few carried jampots, intending to churn the waters for
their favorite mudfish. Others, directed by Sabey, had brought strong
plow lines which they had borrowed without leave from “de buckruh’,”
and three or four were provided with axes. Besides his musket, Sabey
carried on his shoulder a stout seven-foot hickory staff, at one end
of which the village blacksmith had attached an iron ring, while at
the other he had riveted a strong iron shaft shaped somewhat like a
medieval pike--a spear-like point with which to prod and stir up his
’gatorship, and a sharp, though heavy, hook with which to drag him out
of his retreat. Although Sabey was the master craftsman of them all in
this form of adventure, the two or three old darkeys in the bunch could
not refrain from giving advice. “Git een de hole, Sabey, git een de
hole,” said old Cato Giles, the plantation foreman. “Tek de plow line
en’ tie’um to ’e foot, den we mans kin drag’um out.”

“Duh me gwine een de hole, enty? Hukkuh uh gwine git at da’ alligettuh’
foot bedout git at ’e head fus’? Me fuh pit my head een ’e mout’ w’ile
uh duh tie ’e foot, enty? No, suh!”

Cutting a long, supple pole from a nearby thicket, Sabey ran it down
the hole in order to determine its underground course and locate its
occupant. He knelt at the opening and ran his sapling down carefully,
listening for the scraping of the far end against the rough scales
of the alligator. The hole, which slanted downward at an angle of 45
degrees, proved to be almost straight, and, when twelve feet of the
pole had been shoved in, Sabey heard the grating sound he had been
listening for, and knew what work was before him. Withdrawing the pole,
he first made fast a double plow line to the ring end of his staff,
while he tied another line around one of his ankles and prepared to go
down into the hole. “Tek off yo’ shu’t, man,” advised old Cato. “Ef da’
’gatuh bite you ’e gwine spile’um, en’ no use fuh t’row’way uh shu’t.”

“Yaas, man,” another said, “tek’um off. You kin slip een da’ hole
bettuh bedout’um.”

So Sabey cast off shirt and hat, and, with a warning to his companions
to pull him out quickly if he should call, went down on his hands and
knees and crawled head-foremost into the hole, pushing his billhook
before him. Wriggling like a snake, he dragged himself slowly and
cautiously downward, and, about the time he had gone down far enough to
leave only his toes sticking out of the mouth of the hole, the sharp
point of his staff rattled against the ’gator’s skull as he lay head on
toward the entrance. The strong, musky smell of the great saurian would
have suffocated one less tough than Sabey, but he paid no attention to
it, and prodded with his staff until he had maneuvered the sharp point
of his hook under the ’gator’s throat when, with a quick upward jerk,
he fastened it in the creature’s lower jaw, and, as a hissing sigh met
him in the face, he shouted and kicked his heels at the same time as
a signal that he wished to come up. They pulled so lustily that his
crooked leg was almost jerked out of its socket, and his head came out,
grumbling and scolding, “Oonuh t’ink me duh alligettuh ’long fo’ foot,
enty? Wuh me fuh do fuh foot attuh oonuh pull off dem wuh uh got? Oonuh
mus’be fool! Oonuh nebbuh pull nigguh outuh alligettuh hole befo’?”

But they were now too excited to quarrel, and, seizing the double
plow lines, they began, under Sabey’s direction, to pull slowly on
the ’gator. Had Sabey hooked him in a less sensitive part, they could
not have budged him. He was too well braced for hanging back, but his
throat was comparatively tender, and inch by inch he began to come up,
while the negroes shouted and chanted with delight, their excitement
increasing as the line shortened and the quarry neared the mouth of
the hole, till at last the ugly snout was pushed forward, and then
the head, full two feet long, appeared as the fore feet followed, and
the ’gator reared up. Frightened, the negroes retreated to the very
end of the line. Meanwhile, Sabey had seized his musket and executed
a flank movement, and realizing that, as the ’gator’s tail was still
underground, there was little danger in a close approach, crept up and,
firing when the muzzle of his gun almost touched the ’gator’s side,
tore a great hole just behind the shoulder. The negroes shouted with
joy, for they realized that the wound was mortal. But ’gators take a
long time to die, and they kept pulling, and he kept crawling, until
his entire length of nine feet had been drawn out of the hole. Sabey
was wary, and insisted on their retaining hold of the staff, which
was still hooked in the ’gator’s throat, and he warned his companions
of the danger in approaching within reach of the treacherous tail,
but after awhile, as the great creature slowly bled to death, several
of the younger negroes walked too near, and, while appraising with
gastronomic appreciation the great tail, which many of the negroes eat
with avidity, it lashed out suddenly. A feeble effort, but with force
enough to send the frightened negroes on both sides of him sprawling
and rubbing their bruised legs which the ’gator’s sweep, delivered with
full force, could have broken like pipe stems.

And now that the Dragon that guarded the treasure had been haled from
the dungeon and put _hors de combat_, Sabey tied a couple of empty
sacks, each to a plow line, and essayed a second nose dive into the
pit of promise. There is always danger of getting jammed or stuck in
exploring a ’gator hole, but Sabey was experienced and cautious, and
the hole was large, so down he went, taking the sacks with him, and
soon reached the bottom, which had widened into a considerable cavity
eighteen feet from the mouth. His exploring hands, feeling in front
of him, found a small pool of water literally alive with terrapins.
Having ample room to turn around, Sabey lost no time in filling one
of his sacks with terrapins, which, at a jerk of the line, was hauled
up out of his way. The second sack held all that remained, and, when
this had followed the first, he turned, and, facing upward, decided
to go head-foremost, preferring to crawl out like a self-respecting
caterpillar, under his own steam, rather than be hauled up by the
heels like a slaughtered shoat. But, fearing suffocation in the close
quarters underground, he had admonished the men above, who managed the
rope attached to his foot, to pull him up quickly at the first jerk,
and, as he turned upward, his free leg became entangled with the tied
one. In kicking loose, he gave the line a jerk, to which his friends
responded so suddenly that they hauled his legs up under him, trussing
him into the semblance of a bronze statuette of a squatting Buddha.
Sabey yelled with pain and anger, for the hole, while large enough for
a man to pass extended, was too close for him doubled up, and Sabey
was stuck in the barrel. His muffled cries reached his friends, but
they thought them calls for more speed, and the harder they pulled, the
tighter they jammed the unhappy wretch.

“Eh, eh! Da’ felluh pull _hebby_!”

“Yaas, man, Buh Sabey pull hebby sukkuh alligettuh.”

It was old Cato who noticed that they had not budged him an inch.
“_’Top_, oonuh man, _’top_!” he shouted. “’Ee yent duh moobe. Slack de
rope.”

As they stopped pulling, Sabey hauled in the slack, released his legs,
and, hauling on the rope hand over hand, was soon at the mouth of
the hole, where he lay for several minutes to fill up with fresh air.
When, recovered sufficiently to get mad, he rose on all-fours like an
alligator, he presented a fearful sight. His yellow wool, his face, and
his copper-colored arms and torso were smeared and streaked with black
mud, his ragged trousers, water-soaked and muddy, clung to his crooked
legs, and he looked like a composite of iguana and ape.

Though ordinarily a taciturn negro, Sabey, under the spur of anger,
galloped through his vocabulary of invective at top speed. “Oonuh good
fuh nutt’n’ debble’ub’uh _no’count nigguh_! Oonuh ent _wut_! Uh tell
oonuh ’sponsubble fuh haul de rope w’en uh pull’um ’long me han’, uh
nebbuh tell oonuh fuh haul’um w’en uh kick’um ’long me foot! Oonuh ent
know de diff’unce ’twix’ man’ han’ en’ ’e foot? Ef man tell oonuh fuh
tek uh cucklebuhr outuh mule _yez_, oonuh gwine saa’ch fuhr’um een ’e
_tail_, enty? Oonuh mus’be tek me fuh annimel!”

“Ef you ent wash off dem mud en’ t’ing ’fo’ you gone home, Bess gwine
tek you fuh cootuh, eeduhso fuh ’ranguhtang, en’ him ent gwi’ leh you
fuh gone een him house,” they chaffed.

Sabey washed in the muddy pool, resumed his shirt, tied the two sacks
of terrapins together, hung them over the gun barrel at his back, and
prepared to shake the mud of the Half Moon off his feet. “W’en uh done
sell dese yuh yalluh-belly cootuh en’ gone een me house wid alltwo me
han’ full’up wid money, Bess gwine lub me tummuch, ef uh _yiz_ look
lukkuh ’ranguhtang. Monkey hab fo’ han’, en’ de mo’res’ han’ man hab,
de mo’ ’ooman lub’um! Oonuh black Aff’ikin _Guinea nigguh_! Oonuh
kin nyam da’ alligettuh, en’ w’en oonuh _yiz_ nyam’um, _oonuh duh
cannibel_!”




“THE WILES THAT IN THE WOMEN ARE”


For many years old John, as country coachman for the late Governor
Aiken, periodically drove a pair of switch-tailed mules to the
Governor’s carriage, making round trips between Jehossee Island and
Adams Run station, whenever his employer came from Charleston to visit
the great rice plantation. John was a trim and finicky old darkey, with
quite a manner, and, in his old beaver hat and long-tailed coat, made a
notable figure among the darkeys usually loafing about the station.

Low-country negroes never miss a train. Journeying by rail, they take
no chances, but invariably reach the station several hours ahead of
train time, where, chattering and gossiping, the waiting time passes
quickly and pleasantly.

Among these groups old John, with his long-handled whip of plaited
buckskin, correctly looped, and carried coachman fashion, moved and
exchanged pleasantries. He, too, was always ahead of time, and his
docile mules, switching their long, untrimmed tails about, and hitched
to the only closed carriage in the community, were always objects of
interest to the station idlers.

“Uncle John, mekso oonuh ent shabe dem mule tail?” inquired one of a
group that squatted upon the platform.

“Sistuh, you ebbuh yeddy ’bout Johossee muskittuh’?”

“No, suh.”

“Ahnhn, uh t’awt so. Gal, you ebbuh see blackbu’d’ ’puntop’uh rice
rick? You _is_ shum, enty? Berry well; dem muskittuh’ een Johossee
maa’sh stan’ same fashi’n. W’en dem light ’puntop’uh mule, dem
kibbuhr’um ’tell oonuh cyan’ see dem haa’ness! One time, jis’ attuh
daa’k, uh binnuh dribe comin’ een late f’um Adam’ Run, en’ w’en uh
’trike de causeway, all ub uh sudd’nt uh nebbuh yeddy no mule’ foot duh
trot ’puntop’uh de groun’! De cyaaridge duh moobe, but uh yent yeddy
no soun’ f’um de mule’ foot. Uh say tuh mese’f, eh, eh, duh warruh
dish’yuh? Uh look ’gen, en’, uh ’cla’ tuh goodness, de muskittuh’ _dat_
t’ick ’puntop de mule’ belly, dem hice’um up off de groun’, en’ duh
flew t’ru de ellyment duh cya’um ’long! Dem wing’ duh sing sukkuh bee
duh swawm, en’ de mule’ duh trot wid all fo’ dem foot, but ’e nebbuh
tetch no groun’! Uh nebbuh do nutt’n ’tell uh cross de bridge, ’cause
de bridge mek out’uh pole, en’ dem berry slip’ry duh night time, en’
uh glad de mule’ ent haffuh pit dem foot ’puntop’um, but attuh uh
done cross de bridge, uh tek me lash en’ uh cut de mule’ two’t’ree
time onduhneet’ dem belly, en’, uh ’cla’ tuh my Mastuh, t’ree peck uh
muskittuh’ drap ’puntop de groun’ en’ uh yeddy de mule’ foot duh trot
’gen een de road! So, attuh dat, uh nebbuh shabe de Gub’nuh’ cyaaridge
mule’ tail no mo’, en’ now you shum stan’ dey, dem kin lick muskittuh’,
fly en’ t’ing’ same lukkuh hawss.”

So old John, coachman and raconteur, a faithful and respected servant,
lived his days, which were long, and when at last he was gathered to
his fathers, his funeral was the talk of the colored countryside, and
his grave, ornately decorated with broken bits of old blue china and
the stone bottles in which Bass’ ale had once been imported, was much
admired by those whose sad occasions brought them to the plantation
God’s-Acre under the spreading live-oaks.

“Eh, eh, Buh John sho’ hab uh fine grabe.”

“Yaas, tittie, ’e fine fuh true. You see da’ blue chaney, enty? Dat
chaney bin ’e Missis’ pitchuh ’tell de pitchuh’ mout’ done bruk out.
One time ’e missis sen’ one leely nigguh gal duh big spring wid ’e blue
pitchuh fuh fetch watuh. De gal full’ de pitchuh en’ pit’um ’puntop ’e
head duh walk duh paat’ comin’ fuh de house. De gal duh walk ca’less
like, duh swing ’e han’, en’ ’e yeye high, en’ ’e nebbuh look ’puntop
de paat’, en’ one limus cootuh binnuh cross ’e paat’, en’ him git to
de paat’ same time de gal git dey, en’ de gal ’tump ’e toe ’puntop
de cootuh, en’ de cootuh t’row’um down, en’ de pitchuh fall off de
gal’ head en’ ’trike ’puntop’uh root, en’ de pitchuh’ mout’ bruk out
en’ de gal gone back duh big spring en’ full’ de pitchuh ’gen, en’
pit’um ’puntop ’e head en’ gone big house duh paat’, but ’e dat ’f’aid
suh limus cootuh gwine hit’um ’gen, ’e ’tep’ high, en’ w’en ’e ’tep’
high de watuh wuh ’e fetch f’um big spring ’plash’ out de pitchuh’
bruk mout’ en’ drap’ ’puntop de gal two eye’ en’ run down ’e face en’
gone een ’e mout’, en’ w’en de gal git duh big house, ’e missis look
’puntop all de watuh en’ t’ing’ dey ’puntop ’e face en’ ’e missis
t’ink de gal cry tuh dat, en’ ’e missis sorry fuhr’um en’ ’e nebbuh
lick’um nuh nutt’n’, en’ ’e gi’ de bruk mout’ pitchuh to de gal, en’
w’en de gal grow up, Buh John hab’um fuh wife, en’ da’ de way Buh John
git de pitchuh, en’ attuh Buh John done dead, ’e wife wuh ’e lef’ tek
hatchitch en’ bruk de pitchuh ’gen, en’ pit eb’ry Gawd piece ’puntop
Buh John’ grabe, en’ da’ w’ymekso ’e stan’ so.”

“’E grabe look stylish fuh true, but uh know berry well w’en _my_
juntlemun dead me yent fuh bruk no pitchuh en’ t’ing fuh pit ’puntop
_him_ cawpse, ’cause da’ nigguh _ent wut_, ’e too lub fuh drink rum,
en’ w’en ’e fetch’um home, him fuhrebbuh duh fall down en’ bruk de
bottle wuh ’e fetch’um een, en’ uh hab all dem bruk bottle pile’ een de
fench cawnuh fuh pit ’puntop him grabe w’en ’e dead. Two’t’ree time Joe
seem lukkuh ’e kinduh spishus ’bout de bruk bottle, en’ ’e ax me wuffuh
uh duh sabe’um, but uh tell’um uh sabe’um fuh beat’um up ’long pessle,
fuh pizen buckruh’ dog, en’ dat sattify ’e mine’ en’ ’e lemme ’lone.”

“You sho’ hab uh good onduhstan’, tittie, ’cause man ent fuh know
tummuch. Ef ’ooman tell’um de trute ’e nebbuh sattify. ’Ooman haffuh
fool’um fuh mek’um easy een ’e mine’!”

“You duh talk trute, tittie, him _lub_ you fuh fool’um. Fool’um duh de
only t’ing him gwine b’leebe.”

“Yaas, man, meself hab uh good ecknowledge fuh fool’um. One time Paul,
him duh my juntlemun, binnuh wu’k to de maa’l, duh dig rock, down to
John Ilun’. Monday mawnin’, him git up soon, ’e gone deepo, ’e ketch
de shoofly strain, en’ ’e gone! Uh nebbuh shum ’gen ’tell Sattyday
night. Wuh me fuh do? Seddown een me house ’tell him come home en’
watch ’tettuh duh bile? No, suh! Uh lub fuh talk tummuch! Soon ez uh
yeddy de strain blow, en’ uh sattify’ my juntlemun gone, uh tek me two
foot en’ uh gone Paa’ker’ Ferry Cross Road’ weh da’ buckruh hab ’e big
sto’. All dem boy’ wuh ent hab nutt’n’ fuh do, dey dey duh talk, en’
’nuf ’ooman’ dey dey duh hol’ cumpuhshashun ’long de man en’ t’ing.
W’en daa’k come, uh gone home. Uh cook, uh eat, uh leddown duh bed,
uh sleep. Chuesday mawnin’, uh gone same fashi’n, en’ eb’ry Gawd’
day ’tell bimeby Sattyday come ’gen. Uh clean de house, uh wash, uh
sweep de yaa’d, en’ uh gone Cross Road’. Uh pass de time uh day ’long
dem todduh nigguh’ ’tell uh yeddy de strain f’um town blow deepo, den
uh gone home fuh wait ’tell Paul come. Befo’ uh lef’ de sto’, Sancho
Frajuh binnuh drink rum en’ ’e t’row’way ’e money berry freehan’, en’
’e buy ’bout two quawt’ uh candy, dese’yuh ’ticky kind’uh t’ing, dem
hab ’ooman name, de buckruh call’um Carrie Mel, but eb’n so, ’e mek
out’uh pinegum en’ muhlassis, en’ ef oonuh chaw’um ’e gwine hol’ yo’
jaw ’tell t’unduh roll. De buckruh hab’um een ’e sto’ sence las’ yeah
en de t’ing haa’d ez uh i’un. Sancho gi’ eb’ry ’ooman two han’ful’.
Uh wrop one de han’ful’ een uh papuh en’ drap’um een me ap’un pocket.
Uh t’row de todduh han’ful een me mout’ en’ biggin fuh chaw. Uh chaw,
en’ uh chaw, uh chaw, en’ uh chaw. De t’ing sweet’n’ me fuh true, but
’e ketch me jaw’ en’ ’e hol’um same lukkuh pinegum plastuh! De mo’ uh
chaw’um de mo’ ’e swell. Time uh git tuh me house, de t’ing wrop roun’
eb’ry teet’ een me head lukkuh jackwine wrop roun’ tree. Alltwo me jaw’
stan’ same fashi’n ez mufflejaw fowl, en’ me mout’ swell’up same lukkuh
Buh Quash’ mout’ stick out w’en ’e bex! W’en uh git tuh de do’, Paul
dey dey duh wait fuh me! ’Fo’ him kin ax me no squeschun, uh smaa’t
’nuf fuh t’row me ap’un tuh me mout’ fuh hide’um, en’ uh kibbuhr’um up
en’ biggin fuh moan. Uh moan, en’ uh moan. Paul ax me wuffuh uh mek
shishuh hebby cumplain. Uh ’ca’cely kin able fuh talk, but uh tell’um
uh binnuh walk roun’ de fench en’ uh walk ’puntop yalluh jacket nes’
en’ de t’ing ’ting me tuh dat. ’E ax me w’ich one de jaw ’e ’ting
me ’pun. Uh p’int tuh me lef han’ jaw. ’E ax me ’smattuh mek alltwo
de jaw’ swell. Uh tell’um gumbile mek todduh one fuh swell. Den uh
biggin fuh cry. Watuh stan’ een me two eye’. Uh baig’um fuh gone deepo
en’ baig some dem buckruh’ fuh g’em some linniment fuh de mis’ry een
alltwo me jaw’. Paul say suh him kin gone Cross Road’ en’ buy’um, but
uh ’f’aid ef him gone Cross Road’, Sancho dem gwine tell’um suh me bin
dey, en’ uh tell’um no, uh yent want’um fuh t’row’way him money ’cause
uh lub’um tummuch, en’ uh mo’ redduh him fuh baig de buckruh’, den fuh
buy’um out him own money. Dat mek’um sattify, en’ ’e gone deepo. Soon
ez ’e gone, uh try fuh git da’ debble’ub’uh ’ceitful Carrie Mel out me
mout’. De t’ing ’tick same lukkuh Buh Rabbit ’tick tuh Taar Baby. ’E
won’ tu’n me loose! Den me bline’gawd tell me fuh greese’um. Uh gone
duh house, uh mek fiah, uh pit one fat bakin een de pan, en’ w’en de
meat done fry, uh tek’um een me mout’ en’ biggin fuh chaw. Bimeby de
greese biggin fuh loose de Carrie Mel, en’ uh tek alltwo me han’ en’ uh
pull’um out me mout’, en’ uh t’row’um ’way, en’ uh t’row’um _fudduh_!

“W’en Paul come back wid de buckruh linniment, uh duh hol’ me two jaw’
en’ uh dull moan. Him gimme de t’ing, uh rub’um, en’ attuhw’ile, w’en
him done cook de bittle wuh ’e fetch f’um John Ilun’, uh call’um fuh
look ’puntop me two jaw’ weh de swell’ done gone, en’ ’e dat sattify,
’e gimme de money wuh him bin fuh buy linniment duh Cross Road, en’ ’e
nebbuh yeddy ’bout no Sancho!”

“Yaas, tittie, ’ooman fool’um fuh true! Him _done_ fuh fool’um!”




A RICEFIELD IDYLL


A brilliant tropical day in late August. A strong breeze from the
river moved the glistening leaves and swayed the long pennons of
gray Spanish moss that swung from every bough and twig of the great
live-oaks, whose spreading arms stretched their protecting shade over
the plateau upon which stood the Big House, crowning the highest point
of Prospect Hill. A mile away swept the flowing tide of the broad
and beautiful Edisto, whose shimmering waters, opposed by the summer
wind, danced and sparkled in the sunlight. Upon the lower levels
between the uplands and the river lay the great fields of early rice,
now ready for the sickle. Intersecting the fields or “squares” at
regular intervals, and contrasting with their green and gold opulence,
shining silver-blue canals ran from river to headland. Far across the
river on “the Island,” the eye rested upon an emerald expanse of June
rice which would come to harvest six weeks later. From the ripening
fields the “harvest flow” had been taken off, the squares dried, and
on this Monday morning 100 hands had gathered by sunrise, for, by the
mysterious grapevine telegraph through which negroes on one plantation
hear almost instantaneously what is going forward on other plantations
miles away, the news had gone about that rice-cutting was to commence
at Prospect Hill, and the gregarious negroes, deserting the smaller
settlements, flocked hither to the big plantation where, working in
gangs, they could exchange quip and jest and gather the gossip of the
countryside. Some of the best rice-cutters were the sturdy young
women, who, with skirts tied up above their knees and wearing men’s
wool hats to mitigate the heat of the sun, kept pace with the best of
their masculine associates. Cutting and tying by piece work, an active
hand could readily complete his task, the allotment for a day’s work,
an hour before noon, and some of those who had walked six or seven
miles in the morning would knock off as soon as the task was finished
and loaf around the quarters until sundown, while others, pushing their
luck, held on until the evening, putting two days’ work into one. Armed
with the saw-edged, sickle-like “rice hooks,” the cutters stretched
across the squares, each seizing with her left hand as large a bundle
of the heavy-headed stalks as she could conveniently grasp, which, with
one stroke of her right arm, she quickly severed a few inches above the
ground, laid the bundle on the stubble ready for those who tied into
sheaves behind her, and, with a sweep of her left, gathered another
handful for the embrace of the crescent-shaped blade. Down the steaming
field moved a skirmish line of lusty black wenches, bare-armed,
bare-footed and bare-legged, their skirts drawn above their knees by
a cord about the waist, which took up the slack. Here and there among
them worked men, and these, often physically inferior to the females
of the species, were subjected to constant raillery and frequent
challenges to equal the self-appointed tasks of the women.

Venus Chisolm and Diana Smashum, two strapping Amazons, were the most
expert of the women rice-cutters, and excelled most of the men in
efficiency. Scipio Jenkins, a smart young buck, was the special butt
of the gang of which Diana and Venus were the leaders. Scipio was
unusually black, with the common combination of yellow eyes and blue
gums, and upon this color scheme his tormentors lit like bee martins on
a crow.

    “Blue gum, yalluh eye,
    Black nigguh berry sly;
    Yalluh eye, blue gum,
    Black nigguh lub rum.

    Yalluh eye, w’en you shum,
    Black nigguh lub rum.”

“Yaas, tittie, ’e stan’ so fuh true. Sat’d’y night da’ nigguh gone
Cross Road’. ’E buy uh killybash full uh rum f’um de buckruh. ’E
drink’um eb’ry Gawd’ drap. ’E nebbuh gi’ nobody none. ’E gone home.
Sunday, _’e dead_! ’E nebbuh know nutt’n’ ’tell Sunday night ’e maamy
full’ uh piggin full uh watuh out de well en’ t’row’um ’puntop’uh
Scipio, weh ’e duh leddown ’puntop de flo’, fuh mek’um fuh wake. De
nigguh binnuh leddown ’puntop ’e back fuh sleep. ’E sleep’ haa’d. ’E
groan’ en’ ’e groan! ’E groan’ en’ ’e groan’! ’E mout’ op’n roun’ same
lukkuh snake hole. W’en de watuh full’ ’e mout’, ’e blow lukkuh de
’strucshun strain injine duh blow off steam w’en ’e duh load grabble!
De t’ing ’trangle’um. ’E choke! ’E jump out ’e maamy’ do’ en’ ’e gone
t’ru de briah-patch dat fas’ ’e lef’ half ’e britchiz ’puntop de briah!
Bumbye, w’en ’e maamy gone duh ’ood fuh fine’um, please Gawd, de nigguh
binnuh leddown flat ’puntop ’e belly een de du’t, duh swim! Da’ piggin
full uh watuh hab shishuh cuntrady tas’e een ’e mout’, ’e mek’um t’ink
suh him dey een de ribbuh! ’E ’tretch out all fo’ ’e han’ en’ ’e foot.
’E ten finguh’ duh grabble een de du’t. Bumbye, w’en ’e han’ loos’n
de du’t, ’e feel uh pinetree root. ’E graff’um een alltwo ’e han’! ’E
holluh. ‘_Tengk Gawd_,’ ’e say, ‘_uh done sabe! Uh yent fuh drowndid no
mo!_’ En’ da’ fool nigguh pull ’pun de pinetree root fuh hice ’eself
out de ribbuh! Da’ rum do’um _bad_!”

Scipio swelled with wrath, but at first “too full for sound or foam,”
bent to his task and, cutting savagely at the thickest stalks, under
the impetus of anger, soon forged ahead of the others and led the line.
Before he drew away, however, he projected this Parthian shot with a
torpedo in its tail: “Benus en’ Diana, oonuh alltwo duh bodduh me,
w’ymekso oonuh ent study ’bout Paul? Him duh alltwo oonuh sweeth’aa’t
en’ t’ing. Diana t’ink suh Paul duh him’own ’cause ’e ge’m da’ catfish
’e ketch las’ Sat’d’y, en’ Benus t’ink suh him duh she’own, ’cause ’e
buy gunjuh fuhr’um duh Cross Road’, but Paul nebbuh buy no frock fuh
Diana, en’ ’e nebbuh buy none fuh Benus, but him buy’um fuh Minda,
en’ ’e duh keep cump’ny ’long Minda, en’ him duh yalluh gal, en’ Paul
nebbuh fuh study ’bout no black nigguh’ no mo’! Him duh fool oonuh
alltwo!”

The torpedo exploded.

Two dusky faces quickly changed from smirking comedy to girding
tragedy. Two stalwart forms stiffened in their tracks and stood
astraddle like two Colossi of Rhodes. Two pairs of powerful arms
akimboed, and two sets of sinewy fingers clutched the handles of their
rice hooks!

“Hukkuh Paul happ’n fuh gi’ you catfish? You mus’be baig fuhr’um, enty?”

“_Baig fuhr’um!_ Me fuh baig man fuh catfish! _I_ iz uh lady, uh wan’
you fuh know, en’ ef _you_ haffuh baig’um fuh _gunjuh_, me yent haffuh
baig’um fuh _catfish_!”

“Wuh you got fuh do wid wuh Paul gi’ me? Him duh _yo’_ juntlemun, enty?”

“Ef ’e yent my’own, uh know berry well suh him ent fuh blonx to no
black nigguh lukkuh you!”

“_Nigguh!_ Who you call nigguh? _De Debble is uh nigguh!_”

“Him duh nigguh fuh true, but dis ricefiel’ full uh ’e chillun, en’ ’e
gran’chillun alltwo, en’ uh ’spec’ you duh one uh ’e gran’!”

A shriek of laughter from Scipio filled Diana’s cup of anger to
overflowing, and, with a savage rice-cutting swing, she sideswiped
Venus with her saw-edged sickle, and cut her acquaintance below, and
behind, the belt. Bustles were not then worn, but the victim was saved
from a most inconvenient wound by the folds of her looped-up skirt,
which, like a furled sail, hung just abaft the beam, and she received
only a scratch. Starting at the scratch, however, Diana was twenty feet
away and going strong when Venus, yelling with pain, turned and gave
chase. Screams of laughter mingled with shouts of excitement, as Diana
tripped and fell on the stubble, and Venus, too close to check her
speed, stumbled over her prostrate assailant and came a cropper, the
rice hook flying out of her hand as she fell. Diana’s weapon, having
been taken from her by one of the men, the two ladies were on equal
terms with nature’s weapons, and, both being on all-fours, literally
and figuratively, they soon fastened their “ten commandments” in each
other’s wool. They fought viciously and silently, and not until,
collapsed from exhaustion, they had been separated by the men, did they
again become vocal. Venus’ gingham skirt had suffered a cruel rent.
As she reached behind her and felt the yawning gap in her sartorial
hinterland, and realized the ignominy that had been put upon her by
this “most unkindest cut of all,” she shrieked in anger. “Uh gwine
tek you Trial Jestuss! You fuh gone Adam’ Run fuh dis t’ing wuh you
done do!” and she flung wrathfully out of the field. Out of the babel
of voices that arose among the partisans of the two goddesses, the
dominant note was abuse of Scipio, who had flung Paul, the apple, or
rather the Guinea squash, of discord among them.

“Wuh you haffuh do ’long Paul’ name? Ef him _iz_ buy gunjuh en’ frock
en’ t’ing fuh t’ree ’ooman’, uh sho’ ’e mo’ bettuh den fuh nebbuh buy
nutt’n’ fuh none!” showing the world-wide feminine appreciation of a
free spender. “Wuh you ebbuh buy fuh ’ooman? Eb’ry Sat’d’y night da’
buckruh’ sto’ duh Cross Road’ full up wid ’ooman, en’ _you_ ebbuh buy
uh tencent wut’ uh bakin fuh greese dem mout’? No, suh! You lub fuh
talk sweetmout’ talk ’long’um, but you dat stingy you nebbuh buy uh
candy, eeduhso uh sugar, fuh sweet’n dem mout’. Ent you know suh ’ooman
lub uh freehan’ man?”

“Yaas, tittie! You talk trute! ’Ooman redduh hab ’e mout’ full’uh
muhlassis den ’e yez full’uh sweetmout’ talk!”

“Him lub’um alltwo,” observed a sapient one. “Him mout’ en’ him yez
alltwo fuh full one time!”

       *       *       *       *       *

On the second Saturday thereafter, having been summoned by Big Jim
Green, the negro constable, Venus and Diana, with their respective
satellites, appeared before the Trial Justice at Adams Run station,
where Diana, duly indicted, was charged in the comprehensive
phraseology of the Criminal Code with such a string of offenses against
the peace and dignity of the State of South Carolina and the proper
person of Venus Chisolm that her ears tingled and her eyes popped with
amazement.

“Guilty or not guilty?”

“Uh yent know wuh you call so, Jedge, but uh nebbuh do none uh dem
t’ing wuh da’ papuh call dem name. Ef Jedus yeddy me, uh nebbuh do uh
Gawd’ t’ing but cut da’ ’ooman, en’ uh nebbuh hab uh chance fuh cut’um
_good_, ’cause ’e hab ’e frock tie’up ’roun’ ’e wais’, en’ w’en uh cut
at ’e hanch en’ de rice hook ketch ’e frock weh ’e roll’up behine’um,
dat sabe de ’ooman’ meat, en’ uh only able fuh ’cratch ’e skin, but
uh ’cratch’um ’nuf fuh mek’um holluh same lukkuh hog’ holluh w’en
oonuh cut dem yez fuh maa’k’um, en’ alldo’ uh yent puhzac’ly _cut_ de
’ooman, uh _try_ fuh cut’um, but uh cut ’e frock en’ uh only able fuh
’cratch’um, en’ ef uh _yiz_ bin cut’um, duh Scipio mek’ me fuh do’um,
’cause him come duh ricefiel’ wid da’ bluegum mout’ uh him’own full’uh
pizen talk fuh bex me nuh Benus, en’ uh always yeddy suh ef uh bluegum
nigguh bite you ’e gwine pizen you same lukkuh moccasin, en’ same
fashi’n de talk wuh come out da’ nigguh’ jaw pizen alltwo uh we en’ mek
we fuh fight, but, Jedge, uh nebbuh cut Benus lukkuh da’ papuh say,
’cause ef uh had’uh cut’um _fuh true, true_! da’ ’ooman would’uh haffuh
stan’up ’puntop’uh ’e two foot fuh t’ree week!”

“Received as information,” observed the magistrate, and he called
Venus, who came up smiling. “You have heard Diana’s story. What have
you to say?”

“Uh yeddy’um, suh. But ’e cut me.”

“Where did she cut you?”

“Suh?”

“Where did she cut you?”

“’E cut me een Mas’ Edwu’d’ ricefiel’, suh.”

“Yes, I know you were all in the ricefield, but where did she cut you?”

“’E cut me een ten acre, suh.”

“Cut you in ten acre!”

“’E cut me een da’ ten acre square wuh stan’ close to de baa’nyaa’d,
suh.”

“Well, you have given the location in the ricefield, now, where on your
person did Diana cut you with a rice hook?”

“Suh?”

“Your person is your body. Did she cut you on your body?”

“Yaas, suh, ’e cut me.”

“Well, on what part of your body did she cut you?”

“Da’ same place wuh you call ’e name, suh.”

“What place?”

“’E cut me on me _pussun_, suh, en’, Jedge, de t’ing sweet’n’ me so
bad, ef uh could’uh ketch da’ ’ooman ’fo’ uh ketch me foot en’ fall
obuhr’um, da’ ’ooman would uh _dead_!”

As there was murderous intent in the sudden heat and passion of both
Venus and Diana, the court imposed upon the defendant a fine only
sufficient to rehabilitate the wardrobe of the prosecuting witness,
who sailed out of court thoroughly satisfied with the new frock in
prospect and the present enrichment of her vocabulary by the buckra
word “pussun.”




THE DOWER HOUSE


The “Dower House,” which Abram Drayton had inherited from his father,
old John, now resting under the great live-oaks of the plantation
burying ground, was quite a pretentious affair, two stories high, with
two chimneys and a leak. The stories were not very high, only six or
seven feet in the clear, but it was sometimes convenient to be able
to reach up and touch the ceiling, and, after all, it was a two-story
house and, like all two-story houses among the negroes, added greatly
to the prestige of the owner’s family. In the usual one-story negro
cabin, the boarded-over “loft,” reached by ladder, is at once the
sleeping room for the children, the granary for corn and peas, and the
hay mow for whatever straw or fodder the householder possesses, but
the Dower House had a real second story, attained by steps, narrow
and teetering ’tis true, which the ascending biped usually “cooned”
on all-fours, but they were steps, not rungs, and, however vigorously
the negro expresses in hymns and spirituals his willingness, indeed
anxiety, to “climb up Jacob’s ladder,” in the present life he prefers
the creak of a board under his foot.

Under the law of primogeniture, arbitrarily established by old John for
the disposition and control of his landed property, the “Two-Chimbly
House” was bequeathed by word of mouth to his eldest son, and similarly
settled upon his eldest grandson, and so on, as long as the line
lasted, or until the shingles fell off, when dynastic difficulties
would inevitably intervene. Perhaps he had heard of primogeniture and
dower houses while waiting at the table of his English-bred master
in the old times, but however the idea came into his kinky head, once
in, it stuck, and he determined that a Dower House he would leave, and
a Dower House entailed. “Uh gwine tie de ’tail ’puntop da’ house fuh
hol’um _fas’_! Uh tie’um fus’ ’puntop my boy, Ebbrum, en’ den ’e fuh
tie ’puntop _him_ boy, my gran’, en’ de ’tail ent fuh tek’off! De ’tail
ent fuh tie ’puntop no ’ooman. ’Ooman ent fuh hab no house. Man fuh
hab’um en’ him fuh hol’um, so him kin fetch de ’ooman to ’e han’!”

So, the “’tail” still tied to Abram, in due time he came into the Dower
House, and here, in the woods on the road from Adams Run Station to Caw
Caw Swamp, he lived and reared a family.

At the tail of the summer his wife partook “not wisely but too well”
of watermelon and buttermilk, and through the unfortunate combination
was forthwith translated from the bosom of Abram to that of Abraham.
The widowed man resigned himself to the will of the Lord, and accepted
his bereavement not the less philosophically that his crop was already
made and partly gathered. “Ef de Lawd haffuh tek’um, uh glad ’E yent
tek’um ’tell de crap done mek,” he reflected gratefully and reverently.
In a week he had picked and sold the last of his cotton, and out of the
proceeds outfitted his old mare with a new saddle, bridle and cloth,
notwithstanding which, the ungrateful creature, with true feminine
perversity, “gone en’ leddown en’ _dead_, jis’ ’cause uh yent feed’um
fuh two’t’ree day. Uh nebbuh know da’ mare gwine hongry to dat! ’E
hongry ’tell ’e dead, en’ now uh haffuh tek me two foot en’ walk!”

Abram, being now more than a “settled” man, jogged along in single
harness uneventfully for several months. “Not so young, sir, to love a
woman for singing, nor so old as to dote on her for anything,” he now,
in the autumn of his days, became somewhat critical in the matter of
feminine needlework. His grown daughter esteemed herself a competent,
almost a skilful, patcher of broken, frayed or frazzled raiment. She
knew very well how to put crocus or burlap patches on the knees of
the jeans or blue denim trousers affected by her sire, but though she
could attach them in such fashion that they would hold, the edges
always overlapped like the strakes of a clinker-built whale boat. But
whatever these patches lacked in symmetrical attachment, they served
well enough, for, as Abram advanced in years, he did not kneel so often
as he sat. The seats of his trousers, however, yawned in pathetic
neglect for, however acceptably his daughter repaired his broken knees,
the half-soling of the seats was a much more serious matter, which she
lacked the high spirit to undertake, and he carried about with him,
whithersoever he went, gaping wounds in his sartorial equipment where,
according to Hudibras, “a kick in that part more hurts honor than deep
wounds before.” Not that anyone would ever have kicked him, for he was
of a quiet and inoffensive disposition.

Most observers of humanity have noted with interest the close
resemblance of certain types of the “wild (and tame) animals one has
known.” The horse, the ass, the bulldog, the pug, sheep and goat,
fox, raccoon and rat, the ’possum, grinning with pious hypocrisy,
and the Berkshire pig with slanting eyes and champing jowls, are all
marked likenesses frequently reproduced in human faces, representing
the stupid, the sly, the selfish, the grasping, the predaceous, the
stubborn, the sensual, the combative, the treacherous--all of them to
be avoided, or warily appraised, for the good of one’s soul--and of
one’s pocket. Unhappily, those who have been blessed with so rich an
experience as to have suffered both fools and knaves, seldom learn
to read the buoys with which nature has wisely marked the dangerous
reefs in her physiognomonic charts, until the keels of their craft
grind upon the rocks! But Abram’s face was that of the mild-eyed,
introspective ox. There was no militant personality in the neighborhood
to “walk a mile out of his way to kick a sheep,” and, even had there
been, to have kicked Abram would have been anatomically impossible,
for the unsportsmanlike may shoot a sitting bird, but he cannot kick
(offensively) a sitting man, and Abram was usually sitting! So, having
held inviolate against the insulting toe the seats of his trousers,
which he had lost only through the slow attrition of honest sloth, he
retained his self-respect, though he was a peripatetic scandal whenever
he went abroad upon his “peaceful occasions.” With praiseworthy
propriety, he now came in late to church or prayer-meeting, and, a
vigorous and devout “class leader,” coached his class from the bench,
dreading the publicity of the sidelines. Then he sat discreetly at the
close of the services until “de ’ooman en’ t’ing” had gained an offing
and sailed away, when, as he showed a fairly presentable front, he
would follow after them and engage in long distance conversation.

“Come on, Bredduh Drayton. Mekso you walk so slow?”

“Uh haffuh walk slow, tittie, ’cause dese debble’ub’uh britchiz bus’,
en’ dem ent wut. Da’ gal uh my’own able fuh pit uh berry deestunt patch
’puntop de knee, but seem lukkuh him ent able fuh do nutt’n’ ’long de
seat. Da’ w’ymekso dish’yuh britchiz do berry well fuh man fuh seddown
een’um, but dem cyan’ specify fuh walk.”

“Wuh mekso you ent tek anodduh lady fuh wife? You got big house en’
’nuf groun’ fuh mek crap, mekso you ent fuh hab ’ooman?”

“Uh hab house en’ groun,’ fuh true. Uh got uh two-chimbly house, but
’ooman shishuh onsaa’t’n t’ing, uh kinduh ’f’aid fuh tek anodduh
chance. Ebbuh sence my lady nyam dem watuhmilyun en’ buttuhmilk en’ him
Jedus tek’um, uh yent hab nutt’n’ fuh bodduh me. Uh kin seddown een de
sunhot eenjurin’ de whole day en’ nebbuh yeddy no ’ooman’ woice duh
call fuh tell me fuh git’up. Uh kin seddown tell uh fuh gone ’sleep.”

“Yaas, my Bredduh, you binnuh seddown, fuh true!” a church sister
laughingly retorted. “Da’ de reas’n w’ymekso you shame’ fuh stan’up fuh
lead yo’ class! Long seddown mek short stan’up, you know.”

“Go ’way, gal! ’Nuf man wuh hab wife een dem house, dem britchiz ent
able fuh specify. Dem wife lazy tummuch fuh patch’um.” And so Abram,
always backward in company, put on the best front he could for a while
and, unlike Edward Bellamy, never looked behind him. At last the
raillery told on him, however, and he made up his mind to take another
plunge into the roiling waters of married life. Not the “uncertain sea
of matrimony” beloved of poets, but just the black and sluggish current
of the branch or run, in which, among snags and cypress knees, swam
the slimy catfish and the venomous moccasin. The hazard was not great,
for, however forbidding they looked, the waters were shallow, and the
low-country negro, stepping into matrimony, keeps at least one big toe
on dry ground, and, if one steps in the wrong place, one can always
step out again, and try elsewhere. So, with more than a toe-hold of
mental reservation, Abram at last, like the storied frog, “would a
wooing go”--and he went. “Uh gwine Cross Road’. Uh gwine Sat’d’y night
w’en ’nuf ’ooman dey dey, en’ uh gwine saa’ch dem eb’ry Gawd’ one ’tell
uh git one wuh kin specify. Uh yent wan’ no settle’ ’ooman, ’cause dem
done hab ’nuf man fuh marri’d, en’ dem know tummuch. Dem too schemy!
Seem lukkuh de mo’ husbun’ en’ t’ing dem fuh hab, de mo’ schemy dem
git! Ef uh tek uh nyung gal fuh wife, wuh ent know nutt’n’, uh kin
bruk’um fuh suit, same lukkuh oxin bruk fuh pull plow. Uh kin fetch’um
onduhneet’ me han’!”

With these masterful masculine reflections, Abram went his ways to the
Cross Roads, and having, like Poe’s Raven, acquired the sitting habit,
down he sat near the store on a convenient log which offered at once
rest for his weary bones and camouflage for his sartorial infirmities.
For an hour or more he watched with an appraising eye the women coming
and going, acknowledging the salutations of those who passed near
him. At last, his approving regard rested upon what the ante-bellum
advertisements would have called a “likely girl” who curtseyed as she
came opposite him. “Come’yuh, gal,” he called. “Wuh you name?”

“Sukey, suh.”

“You duh An’ Minda’ gal, enty?”

“Yaas, suh, him duh my Grumma en’ me duh him gran’.”

“You onduhstan’ ’bout cook en’ wash, enty?”

“Yaas, suh, uh well acquaintun wid alltwo.”

“Berry well. You know how fuh patch man’ britchiz en’ t’ing?”

“No, suh, uh know how fuh patch ’ooman’ frock, but uh yent know nutt’n’
’bout no britchiz ’cause none ent fuh dey een we house.”

“You hab Pa, enty?”

“No, suh, uh yent hab no Pa. Uh yeddy ’bout’um but uh nebbuh shum.
Grumma tell me suh one time uh bin hab Pa, but Ma run’um off en’ ’e
’f’aid fuh come back, en’ attuhw’ile w’en uh biggin fuh grow big, Ma
sen’ me fuh lib ’long Grumma, ’cause ’e say suh uh tek attuh Pa ’tell
eb’ry time ’e look ’puntop me ’e bex ’tell him haffuh lick me, en’ him
say suh ’e yent hab time fuh fuhrebbuh duh lick me.”

“You tek attuh yo’ Pa, enty?”

“Yaas, suh, uh nebbuh shum, but eb’rybody say suh uh look luk’um en’
tek attuhr’um alltwo.”

“You ent tek attuh yo’ Ma, iz you?”

“No, suh, uh yent tek attuh _him_.”

“Berry well, uh gwine hab you fuh wife. You know who uh yiz, enty? Me
duh Ebbrum Drayton, en’ uh lib todduh side Adam’ Run deepo, en’ uh hab
uh two-chimbly house en’ ’e got two story, en’ uh bin hab uh mare, but
him gone en’ dead. En’ w’en you gone home, tell yo’ Grumma uh gwine fuh
shum Sunday night fuh tell’um uh gwine hab you fuh wife.”

“Yaas, suh. Well, good ebenin’, suh,” and, with another curtsy, she was
gone.

But Abram’s plans they gang’d agley, for old John, in putting the
word-of-mouth entail on the Dower House, had tied the “’tail” so
loosely that its terms and conditions were constantly subject to family
discussion and interpretation, and Abram’s son now objected to his
father’s marriage, believing that it would break the entail and deprive
him of the right of succession to “de Two-Chimbly House.” “W’en Grumpa
him tie de ’tail ’puntop de house, ’e say ’sponsubble suh ’e yent fuh
tek off, en’ suh ’e yent fuh tie ’puntop no ’ooman. Pa ent know uh
Gawd’ t’ing ’bout da’ gal him duh talk ’bout hab fuh wife. ’E nebbuh
see ’e Ma, ’e nebbuh shum fight. Da’ gal’ Ma iz de debble! W’en da’
’ooman fight da’ gal’ Pa, ’e run’um ’long hoe en’ hatchitch alltwo! Da’
nigguh run ’tell ’e cross Jacksinburruh. ’E nebbuh stop’ ’tell ’e gone
spang Ti Ti! W’en ’e bog up to ’e crotch ’mong dem waa’ment’ en’ t’ing
’e git sattify een ’e mine’. No, suh! Pa ent study nutt’n’ ’cep’ hab
wife fuh sweep ’e house en’ patch ’e britchiz. Bumbye, w’en da’ gal’
maamy’ sperrit git een’um en’ ’e bex fuh true! Ki! Da’ gal gwine tek
de ’tail off Grumpa’ house en’ none uh we gwine shum ’gen! W’en Pa duh
bog up to ’e crotch een Ti Ti, wuh saa’bis den fuh hab patch ’puntop ’e
britchiz? No, suh!”

His daughter sought to comfort Abram, who, in the short space of 36
hours, had loved and wooed, and won and lost. “Nemmine’, Pa, you got
yo’ Two-Chimbly House.”

“Yaas, but uh cyan’ seddown befo’ alltwo de chimbly one time.”




AT THE CROSS ROADS STORE


For many years after freedom came to the negroes of the low-country,
they were cruelly and ignobly cheated by the tradespeople who set up
little Cross Roads stores in every community. Many of these were German
corner-shopkeepers from the cities. Others were wandering Jews, whose
predatory instincts took them wherever there were pickings to be had.
Yet others, to their shame, were certain low-class South Carolinians
that did not scruple to take advantage of the ignorant freedmen who,
a wasteful and improvident people, whose needs had all been supplied
under slavery, squandered the money they were unaccustomed to handling
and unable to compute.

Imitative as monkeys, however, it is to the credit of their
intelligence, if not of their morality, that they soon learned to
retaliate, and many a brick and rusty plowshare was weighed in their
bags of seed cotton and paid for by the tricky shopkeeper who, knowing
that in many cases the cotton was stolen from the planter for whom the
negro worked, and brought stealthily by night to the sophisticated
merchant, did not scan his purchase too closely, and many an ancient
nest egg, too, was sold to the shopkeeper as a new-laid “yaa’d aig” and
shipped away to city customers.

The marks upon the brass beams of the counter-scales with which the
negroes’ purchases were weighed, were so obscured and tarnished
that they could not be deciphered, even by customers who could
read, but the wily shopman knew exactly where to put his weight to
give a twelve-ounce pound, which is what the negro usually got.
Always suspecting “de buckruh” of cheating him, and being unable to
do even the smallest addition, the negro soon learned to protect
himself, if not from short weights, at least from short change, and
it was interesting to observe a shopper making her week’s purchases
on Saturday nights at one of these neighborhood stores. The women,
commonly more alert, and always more suspicious, than the men, were
usually charged with the buying. If a customer had a dollar to spend,
she would first price the various commodities under consideration.

“Hummuch you ax fuh sugar?”

“Ten cents a pound.”

“Ten cent’ uh poun’?”

“Yes.”

“Hummuch fuh fibe cent’?”

“Half a pound.”

“Gimme fibe cent’ wut.”

The short-weight sugar wrapped up and handed out, the customer would
draw it to her bosom and, leaning on the counter, put her protecting
arms around it. The dollar, ceremonially unwrapped from a corner of her
apron, would be handed over, and ninety-five cents in change returned,
which she would count over carefully before proceeding with her next
purchase.

“You got any bakin’?”

“Yes.”

“Wuh kind’uh bakin’?”

“Side meat and shoulder meat.”

“Hummuch fuh him?”

“Ten cents for the shoulders and twelve and a half cents for the sides.”

“Gimme ten cent’ wut uh side meat.”

When that was delivered, ten cents would be slowly taken from the
little pile and paid over.

“Wuh kinduh clawt’ you got?”

“Homespun, gingham, calico. What kind you want?”

“Lemme shum.”

Bolts of each would be placed before her.

“Hummuch da’ speckly kin’?” (pointing to the gingham).

“Ten cents a yard.”

“Gimme ten cent’ wut.”

A thirty-three-inch yard would be torn off.

“You got any salt?”

“Yes.”

“Hummuch fuh him?”

“Five cents a quart.”

“Gimme t’ree cent’ wut.”

“You got any flour?”

“Yes.”

“Hummuch you ax fuh him?”

“Five cents a pound.”

“Gimme ten cent’ wut.”

The flour and the salt would come within the encircling arms, fifteen
cents be counted out, and all transactions suspended until the two
cents change was returned to her.

“Wuh kinduh tubackuh you got?”

Two or three samples of plug tobacco, the only sort in common use,
would be offered for inspection, and perhaps the advice of a colored
sister asked before deciding upon a selection.

By the time the dollar was expended, the clerk had walked a hundred
yards or so, had used up lots of brown paper and paper twine and had
had his patience sorely tried, but he charged liberally for his time
and trouble, and the poor darkey got far less than she paid for.

In the funny columns of Northern periodicals, and in the immemorial
minstrel jokes and songs, the negro not only steals chickens, but
eats them. The low-country negroes, however, while all of them keep
chickens, seldom, if ever, eat them, the coarsest fat bacon being far
more to the negro’s taste than the juiciest broiler. Then, too, eggs
and chickens are currency in most negro communities and can always be
converted into cash at the country store or at the back door of the
nearest white family.

The country negroes on the coast still speak of “fo’punce” chickens
and “seb’npunce” chickens, meaning the sizes that were sold for four
pence and seven pence respectively before the Revolution, when British
coinage was the currency of the country.

“Gal, ketch da’ seb’npunce chickin en’ dem t’ree fo’punce chickin’ en
tek dese’yuh six aig’, en’ tek’um to de Cross Road’, en’ buy de six
aig’ wut’uh tubackuh en’ de seb’npunce chickin wut’uh flour, en’ one de
fo’punce chickin’ wut’uh sugar, en’ norruh one uh de fo’punce chickin’
wut’uh side meat, en’ de todduh fo’punce chickin wut’uh muhlassis, en’
tek dish’yuh bucket fuh fetch’um een, en’ don’ ’low de buckruh fuh
cheat you, en’ tie de aig’ een yo’ hengkitchuh, en’ tie all fo’ de
fowl’ foot so dem cyan’ git’way, en’ hol’um een yo’ ap’un, en’ don’
stay duh sto’ too long, en’ w’en you tek de chickin’ out de ap’un,
hol’um by ’e two foot fuh mek ’e head heng down, so ’e wing’ kin ’pread
out fuh mek’um look big so de buckruh t’ink suh de fo’punce chickin’
duh seb’npunce chickin’, en’ w’en de buckruh po’ out de muhlassis,
mek’um fuh po’rum ’tell de muhlassis stop run out de medjuh, ’cause
ef you ent watch’um ’e sho’ fuh lef’ some een de quawt cup, en’ w’en
you come back duh night’time, walk middle’uh de paat’, ’cause ’e rain’
teday en’ toadfrog does jump ’bout w’en de ground en’ t’ing wet, en’
moccasin does folluhr’um fuh ketch’um, en’ uh yent wan’ you fuh git
’structed by no snake duh paat’.”

The little girl leaned on the counter, slowly unrolled an old bandanna
handkerchief, and spread the six eggs before her, carefully keeping the
unhappy chickens concealed in her apron.

“Ebenin’, suh. Ma tell me fuh git uh plug’uh tubackuh wid dese aig’.”

“You can get only half a plug for half a dozen eggs. Eggs are ten cents
a dozen!”

“Yaas’suh, but Ma tell me fuh git’uh whole plug,” said the shrewd
little trader. “Ma tell me fuh ax you ef you ent g’em uh whole plug uh
tubackuh fuh de six aig’, please, suh, fuh gimme uh gunjuh--tengky,
suh,” as the obliging clerk handed her a big scalloped molasses cake
and short-cut the plug of tobacco enough to pay for it.

The tobacco trade consummated, the girl fumbled furtively in her apron,
and, feeling about deftly, located and drew forth the “seb’npunce”
chicken. That adolescent fowl, a rooster whose voice was changing,
alternately peeped and squawked, as the seller with outstretched
arm dangled him by the legs high over the counter, his outspread
wings making him look a full size larger, but the shopkeeper was
country-bred, and felt the rooster’s breastbone. “Fifteen cents,” he
said.

“Ma tell me fuh git twenty-fibe cent’ wut uh flour ’long dish’yuh one,”
she fibbed.

“I’ll give you twenty cents’ worth,” he countered, and, as she nodded
in acquiescence, jubilant at the thought of having outwitted him, he
plunged his scoop into a barrel and weighed out twelve cents’ worth of
flour. When this had been wrapped and delivered, the clerk, knowing by
her expectant look that further commercial transactions were imminent,
stood at attention, while the girl abstracted the first of the three
“fo’punce” chickens from her apron and held the noisy fledgling, naked
and unashamed, at arm’s length above the counter. “Ma tell me fuh
git dis seb’npunce chickin wut uh side meat,” she ventured, craftily
watching the face of the Caucasian whom she sought to overreach.

“Why, that’s a fo’punce chicken. He ain’t half the size of the other
one.”

“Yaas’suh, alltwo come out de same nes’ en’ alltwo hatch out de same
time. Da’ todduh one duh dish’yuh one bubbuh, en’ dish’yuh one duh
da’ todduh one tittie. Him look big mo’nuh dish’yuh one ’cause him
duh roostuh en’ him hab comb, en’ dish’yuh one duh pullet en’ him
ent hab no comb, en’ de roostuh greedy mo’nuh de pullet, en’ him
nyam de mor’is’ bittle, en’ dat mek ’e stan’ so,” she prevaricated
unblushingly. These earnest asseverations had no effect on the
purchaser, however, and, appraising the gallinaceous juveniles at ten
cents each, he stood pat, and one by one they were withdrawn from the
apron and exchanged for bacon, sugar and molasses. Upon the pouring of
the latter commodity, however, Aryan and African again locked horns.
The weather was warm, and as even the thick “blackstrap” molasses
flowed freely, the careless shopman very nearly gave his customer the
full quart for which she had paid--an inadvertence which, it should be
said in justice to his commercial acumen, he very seldom committed.
Realizing too late that nearly all the molasses had run into the tin
bucket out of the quart measure (false-bottomed as it was) he gave it
a quick upward flirt to save what he could, and started back to the
barrel, but was checked by the girl’s scream of protest. “Ma tell’ me
fuh tell you ’sponsubble fuh mek you fuh po’rum out ’tell eb’ry drop
done dreen een de bucket,” she cried excitedly, and, in shame-faced
compliance, he let her hold the measure till the uttermost drop had
been “dreened” out. With a sideswipe of a very questionable finger, she
garnered the dulcet drops that clung to the curved lip of the cup and,
sucking the sweetened digit greedily, she grinned with satisfaction.
And now, with the packages carefully tied up in the bandanna in one
hand, and the covered tin bucket in the other, she dropped a curtsy,
for she was a polite little darkey, and went her ways homeward,
sweetened in soul and saliva.

The night was dark, and the path traversed a small bay, where the
sweetgums spread their limbs above the track, and their heavy foliage
hid the stars and deepened the shadows along the way. Along the edge
of the bay, in the sodden soil, grew lush water-grasses, and they
were very sweet to a vagabond ox, as he cropped them, undisturbed by
flies, in the cool night air. But the peaceful ox, playing truant, poor
wretch, from his negro master, was full of tragedy, for the ox was
white, and no solitary negro in the low-country, where the forests are
full of little negro graveyards, can bear the sight of anything white
in the woods at night. The fear of ghosts is always with them, and a
white cow, grazing in or near a graveyard, will often stampede a road
full of worshipers returning from a prayer-meeting.

As she reached the shadowy places along the way, the child heard a
rustling sound in the bushes that suggested snakes. She instinctively
jumped to the other side of the path, at the same time looking over
her shoulder in the direction of the sound. One glance was enough! The
pallid ox loomed gigantic in her affrighted eyes, and, with a scream of
terror, she fled homeward and was soon, wide-eyed and trembling, before
her mother. Faithful to her trust, she had held on to bundle and tin
bucket, but the molasses was spattered liberally over her bare legs and
had soaked her homespun skirt and apron.

“_Wuh ’smattuh, gal?_ You done t’row’way half de muhlassis! Wuh de
debble mek you duh trimble?”

“Ma, w’en uh binnuh walk t’ru de branch, een da’ daa’k t’icket
onduhneet’ dem gum tree, uh yeddy sump’nurruh duh shake de bush, en’ uh
t’ink ’e duh snake, en’ uh jump en’ look ’roun’, en’ uh see uh sperrit,
one big w’ite sump’n’ high mo’nuh dis house, en’ de t’ing groan’ at me,
en’ uh dat ’f’aid’um, uh run’way, en’ ’e nebbuh ketch me, en’ uh mek de
buckruh gimme twenty cent’ wut uh flour fuh de seb’npunce chickin, en’
’e gimme uh gunjuh!”

“Tell yo’ bubbuh fuh git da’ hom’ny spoon en’ ’crape da’ muhlassis off
yo’ two knee, en’ pit’um een da’ pan, en’ tek off yo’ ap’un, en’ you
en’ yo’ bubbuh alltwo kin chaw’um, so de muhlassis ent fuh t’rowway.”




MINGO, THE DRILL MASTER


At the close of the war, thousands of disbanded negro troops, how many,
only the Lord knows and the pension roll shows, swarmed over the Coast
Counties comprising the South Carolina Black Belt. Swagger in their
new-minted freedom, and resplendent in the light blue trousers and
dark blue coats of the Federal uniform, with ridiculous little forage
caps perched aslant upon the sides of their kinky heads, like chickens
roosting on leaning poles, girdled with great brass-buckled U. S.
Belts, and shouldering army muskets, full of insolence and of ribaldry,
they took the highways and the by-ways for their own. Their former
masters, however kindly they had been to them before and since freedom,
were frequently spoken of behind their backs as “de rebel,” and the
days of slavery were referred to as “rebel time” (times). Some of these
soldiers had served for years, perhaps, others for months or weeks,
few of them had smelt powder, all of them had smelt and fattened upon
the bad--wickedly bad--bacon with which the loyal sutlers had supplied
the invading army. (And, by the way, thousands of tierces of that same
sutler’s bacon of the years ’64 and ’65 were still at large for full
five years thereafter, supplied by the Charleston and Savannah factors
to the low-country planters for their plantation commissaries.)

In addition to the disbanded troops, thousands of other negroes, who
had never seen service, wore cheaply bought Federal uniforms and
long, light blue overcoats, and sported caps and belts and condemned
muskets, so that the whole countryside was black and blue, and they
were constantly drilling, while the women, peahens that they were,
worked for them and admired the strutting of their lordly peacocks.
Often at night, from the quarters of a distant plantation, instead of
the peaceful “tap, tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap, tap-a-tap,” of the sticks
which the negroes beat on the floor to mark time for their dancing and
“shouting,” there would come the rattle of a snaredrum, and one knew
that an awkward squad was being put through awkward evolutions in the
compound or “nigguhhouse yaa’d” for the edification of the quarters.

It was a psychological study to watch one of these squads or companies
drilling or parading on the public highway, when a white man of a
former slave-holding family approached. Neither stern disciplinary
eye, nor sharp command, could keep the lines straight until after “de
buckruh” had passed. There were sure to be some members of the squad
whose hereditary respect--stronger far than the fear of the drill
master--would impel them to scrape a foot or pull wool, till the
alignment was as wabbly as a swimming moccasin.

One August day in the early ’70s, Prince Manigo, captain of the
Adams Run Company, ordered his command out for drill, inspection and
maneuvers. Sixty-five men reported; these were of all ages from 17
to 70. Some of them belonged around the village, but most of them
came from about Toogoodoo, “down on de Salt,” as the inland negroes
designate the sea coast and the contiguous lands lying along the salt
rivers and creeks.

The place of assembly indicated by Captain Manigo was about a mile
south of the village on the way to Toogoodoo. Once a member of Col
Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s negro regiment, the “First South Carolina
Volunteers,” organized at Beaufort in 1862, he had known picket duty
about Port Royal Ferry during the war, and wished to familiarize his
dusky outfit with service in the field. The road ran along the edge
of a deep swamp, or bay. The growth on the rich lowlands was heavy,
and beautiful magnolias, close-limbed and tall, as is their habit of
growth in thick places, rose to a height of sometimes a hundred feet,
the sunlight flashing from the curved backs of their dark and glossy
leaves. Under these great trees, sweet bay, red bay, beech and maple
grew in a tangle, and below these, tall canes and great sword ferns,
with riotous vines of bamboo and wild grape, thickened into an almost
impenetrable chaparral. In these woods, dimmed to a twilight darkness,
Captain Manigo established his picket posts. Fifteen or twenty men
were selected for this dangerous duty, for, at this season, the swamp
was full of rattlesnakes and some of those picked for outpost duty
objected. “Man, I cyan’ go een da’ t’icket. Snake dey dey tummuch.”

“Snake cyan’ see fuh bite now,” said another. “Ent you know suh
rattlesnake’ hab skin ’puntop ’e yeye een Augus’ munt’? ’E bline’. ’E
cyan’ see fuh bite.”

“Uh dunkyuh ef ’e yiz bline’, ef uh ’tep ’puntop’um ’e gwine bite me.”

“Go ’way, man, snake ent gwine bite you w’en you hab muskick een you
han’ wid dat shaa’p bay’net en t’ing ’puntop’um.”

So all objections were overruled, and the posts established at
intervals of a few hundred yards, the password “raccoon” was given
to the corporals, and the captain and his inspectors, dismissing the
remaining members of the company for a rest period, prepared to test
the line of outposts. Making a wide detour they sneaked through the
woods almost noiselessly. The dead leaves, fallen during the preceding
winter, had softened long ago and were rapidly settling into the thick
mold that covered the damp earth. Sneaking up on the farthest sentinel
from the rear, Prince was almost upon him before the startled negro
challenged “Halt! Weh oonuh gwine? Gimme de passwu’d!”

“Raccoon,” Prince responded.

“Oonuh cyan’ go t’ru ’puntop dat wu’d.”

Prince expostulated. “Raccoon” was the password he had given the
corporals to pass on to their men, and having been selected as a word
of singular appeal to the negroes, should have been one of the easiest
to remember, so he repeated petulantly “_Raccoon, raccoon, raccoon_.”

“_’E yent wut_,” insisted the sentinel, as the long bayonet projected
threateningly through the gum bushes. “Dat passwu’d cyan’ specify. Da’
longmout’ nigguh f’um Slann’ Ilun’, name Mingo, him dull de cawprul en’
him done tell me de wu’d two time, en’ ’scusin’ oonuh hab dat wu’d,
oonuh yent fuh pass.”

As the corporal was several hundred yards away, Prince retired
grumbling, and attempted the line at another point. He approached a
wary old picket, a noted ’coon hunter, whose experienced ear detected
even the soft footfalls of the inspectors, and he hailed them at a
distance of 50 yards, in most unmilitary language. “Haw, buck! Oonuh
try fuh sneak ’puntop me, enty? Uh binnuh hunt rokkoon en’ dem todduh
waa’ment en’ t’ing ’fo’ you bawn! Come out, bubbuh! Uh yeddy you’ foot
en’ uh see bush duh shake alltwo. Come out de t’icket. Exwance en’
gimme de passwu’d!”

But they couldn’t give it; not at least intelligibly to the ear of
old Cæsar. Prince spoke with only a slight taint of Gullah, and when
he had given “raccoon” to his Toogoodoo corporals, who understood him
only after several repetitions, he didn’t realize that they would pass
it on as “rokkoon” and that as “rokkoon” the “open sesame” of the
countersign must be given. Again, therefore, with his own password
correctly pronounced, the Captain had reached an impasse, and as Cæsar
truculently stuck out both his mouth and his bayonet, the Corporal of
the guard was demanded.

“Cawprul uh de gyaa’d! Pos’ number t’ree!” he bellowed. “Mek’ace en’
come’yuh! T’ree mans dey yuh duh try fuh git t’ru bedout no passwu’d.
Ef dem got’um dem cyan’ call ’e name. Uh dunkyuh ef one is de cap’n,
oonuh done tell me ’sponsubble suh ’e yent fuh pass bedout ’e got de
wu’d.”

The thick-lipped corporal came.

“’Smattuh, Unk’ Cæsar? Yuh fuh call me?”

“Yaas, uh fuh call you fuh true. Mek dese’yuh man fuh gi’ we de sign.”

“Raccoon!” bellowed Prince.

“You shum, enty! Enty uh tell you ’e yent hab’um!”

“Yaas, man, da’ duh him! ’Rokkoon’ duh de passwu’d wuh Buh Prince gi’
we, but him ent call ’e name lukkuh we call’um, ’cause him bin Beefu’t
rebel time ’long dem Nyankee en’ t’ing, en’ duh so dem call’um.”

“Uh dunkyuh how dem eegnunt Nyankee call rokkoon’ name, demself cyan’
pass dis t’icket ’scusin’ dem call’um lukkuh we call’um ’puntop
Toogoodoo. En’ ’cause dis nigguh bin Beefu’t, him fuh ’spute ’long me
en’ tell me how fuh call rokkoon’ name w’en uh binnuh ketch rokkoon
befo’ ’e daddy hab ’e maamy! Ef ’e cyan’ call rokkoon’ name, uh keep’um
yuh ’tell t’unduh roll!”

“_Rokkoon!_” conceded the chapfallen captain, and he passed, somewhat
chagrined at the outcome of his picketing experiment.

The outposts were recalled, the other negroes aroused from among the
roadside bushes where they had been resting, and the full company
assembled for drill. The outfit was heavily officered, and the captain
allowed them to take turns at putting the men through their paces.
At last they were turned over to Mingo Brown, a pompous corporal, so
puffed up with “a little brief authority” that most of the negroes
grinned in his face, and some openly guffawed, “eh, eh, Buh Mingo
swonguh fuh sowl!” The men, a ragged line, were ranged on one side of
the road, and, facing them on the other, Mingo drew a great cavalry
sabre and began to cut such anthropoidal antics before high heaven,
that three gentlemen, returning from a successful hunt, reined in their
horses a few yards away and paused to see the fun.

“’Tenshun! ’Tan’up ’traight, oonuh man! Oonuh stan’ crookety sukkuh
wurrum fench w’en dem staa’t fuh t’row off ’e riduh fuh tayre’um down
fuh moobe cowpen!

“Shoulduh, _aam!_ Pit oonuh muskick ’puntop oonuh shoulduh en’ hol’um
’traight. You mus’be t’ink dem duh hoe, enty? Fo’ man fuh stan’ side
en’ side fuh mek one t’ickness. Faw-wud, _maa’ch! ’Top!_ Weh de debble
oonuh gwine? Uh done tu’n oonuh head fuh face Toogoodoo Bridge, en’,
please Gawd, oonuh w’eel sukkuh mule hab cucklebuhr een ’e yez, ’en fuh
gone Adam’ Run billage!” Sure enough, as the execution of the command
would have taken them over hunters and pack, they had reversed the
order and started in the opposite direction.

“Fuh true, bubbuh, enty you see Mas’ Rafe en’ Mas’ Tom en’ dem duh
paat’? Nigguh fuh maa’ch obuh buckruh, enty?”

“Buckruh, de debble! Enty de Freedmun Bruro mek we fuh free? Uh free
tell uh fool! Prizzunt, _aam!_”

Some were shouldered, others ordered, a few “presented” with the butt
of the piece against the waist and the bayonet sticking out at right
angles to the body. “’Tenshun! Da’ man f’um Slann’ Ilun’ wuh duh
’tan’up close da’ ’tump fuh hol’ ’e gun een alltwo ’e han’. Him mus’be
t’ink suh gun duh oshtuh rake! Groun’, _aam!_” And the whole perspiring
line squatted and laid their pieces on the ground, rising just as the
hunters gathered up their reins and rode along the line, while the
hounds, with lofty tails, trotted after them, sniffing scornfully at
the warriors’ legs as they passed.

“Huddy, Mas’ Rafe. How ole Missis en’ dem?”

“Mas’ Tom, you look nyung mo’nuh Mas’ Rafe.”

“Yaas, suh. Phyllis him well, suh, tengk Gawd.”

“Mas’ Dick, you sho’ hab uh hebby buck,” as the great velveted horns
of a fine buck tied behind the hunter’s saddle brushed against him.
And all down the line, their hands being free, men touched their
little monkey caps or tugged at their kinky forelocks and scraped
their feet, in token of the kindly respect in which, spite of freedom
and franchise, muskets and uniforms, and the poisonous propaganda
of the Freedman’s Bureau, they yet held those known throughout the
countryside as having been kindly masters to their slaves, and just and
liberal employers of the freedmen.

“Mas’ Rafe, please suh, gimme some tubackuh,” and the outstretched hand
received a generous share of the contents of the donor’s pouch.

“Da’ duh my maussuh,” said the recipient proudly, filling his pipe as
the hunters rode away.

“Cump’ny fawm two t’ickness’ een de rank,” shouted Mingo savagely.
“_Don’ look at de buckruh, look at yo’ officer!_” and, turning to the
smoker, he added: “Me yent hab no maussuh. _Uh free ez uh buzzut!_”

“Yaas, bubbuh. Buzzut free en’ buzzut black, but buzzut ent free ’nuf
fuh light ’puntop nutt’n’ ’cep’n’ ’e dead, en’ nigguh ent free ’nuf fuh
mek buckruh fuh bex!”




“OLD HARRISON”


A few years after the war old John Harrison came into the coast country
from somewhere beyond Caw Caw Swamp. He boasted a strain of Indian
blood, and he showed it in his pigeon-toed walk and the red, coppery
tint that stained his bronzed face. Six feet tall and powerfully
built, he carried his fifty-odd years lightly, although his high,
heavy shoulders were somewhat hunched from the heavy burdens to which
they were accustomed for, a noted “pot hunter,” he thought nothing of
“packing” a hundred and fifty-pound buck five or ten miles through the
forest. During the close season for game he was not averse to working,
and had quite a local reputation as a shingle-maker and rail-splitter.
His speech was the ordinary “cracker” dialect of the low-country with a
suggestion of the Gullah, but he clipped his words, and when excited,
his sentences ran into a quick crescendo, almost unintelligible and
defying reproduction in print.

When he came to Pon Pon he was allowed to clear a small field in a
distant part of the plantation, a mile away from the “big house,”
now only a beautiful ruin, with ivy, woodbine, and Lamarque roses
clambering 50 feet in the air over the 200-year-old chimneys of English
brick. On his “new ground,” old Harrison built a large and trim-looking
log cabin, and here he took up residence with his motherless children,
two small girls and a straight and strapping son of 18, who helped his
father with his work, but not in the chase, for Harrison hunted alone,
sometimes, with a single well-trained hound, disappearing for two or
three days at a time, to return laden with venison or wild turkeys
which were sold at the railway station. His dog, like those of most of
the “pot hunters” who follow the chase on foot, was trained to silence,
and never gave tongue. A small bell was attached to his collar and he
was seldom out of sight of his master, who could tell by the movement
of his ears and tail when the animal had found a trail, and when the
lifting of the ears and the more rapid wagging of the tail indicated
the near approach to the myrtle thicket where the deer lay in his bed,
both barrels of the muzzle-loader were cocked and Harrison usually got
a shot as the deer “jumped.”

Ben Summers, a large black negro in late middle-age, was a “locus”
preacher in the neighborhood and, a jackleg carpenter, worked as well
as preached. Throughout his life he had been partial to wives, having
been more or less affiliated with six or seven, whom he put away and
took back again, with no more ceremony than his change of mind. Unruly
and insubordinate as a slave, he became “swonguh” with freedom, and
was more or less insolent, save to his former master’s family. He was
regarded as a rascal by whites and blacks, and when a calf or a shoat
was missed in the community, Ben was not infrequently suspected of
having shared the meat, either as a participant in the slaughter, or as
a welcomed guest at the banqueting board of the thief.

One of Ben’s wives had achieved a son by a former husband, before Ben
took her over, and this stepson had acquired a wife, a husky, cornfed
wench, an Amazon in strength and fierceness. Soon after her marriage,
old Ben, a rough-talking, brutal fellow, who tyrannized over the women
of his entourage, undertook to discipline this step-daughter-in-law
with physical chastisement. Cutting a hickory, he proceeded to
manhandle her as he had been accustomed to use his wives. She accepted
two or three blows, and then turned upon him so swiftly that he was
swept off his feet and mauled almost into unconsciousness. After he had
been patched up and rehabilitated, and the first bitterness of defeat
had worn off, he really liked to tell the story, laying the unction to
his soul that only his Christian spirit had stayed his hand and saved
the life of the virago.

“Ben, you are a big strong man, why did you let that woman beat you?”

“Gin’ul, lemme tell you de trute, Gawd bin wid me dat day. You know,
all me life uh bin uh strong man. Uh nebbuh hab no man fuh outdo me fuh
wu’k, eeduhso fuh fight, en’ uh bin nyuse fuh lick ’ooman en’ t’ing all
me life. W’en ’ooman ent sattify me wid ’e wu’k, eeduhso ’e mannus, uh
lick’um fuh mek’um mannusubble. W’en my wife Sarah’ son John’ wife come
een my house dat day, ’e sassy ’tell ’e mek me bex. Uh nebbuh tek sassy
f’um no ’ooman, uh dunkyuh ef ’e big ez cow, en’ da’ gal big ’ooman fuh
true. So uh cut one ’tick en’ uh graff’um by ’e sleebe en’ biggin fuh
lick’um. Gin’ul, de ’ooman tu’n on me en’ box me same lukkuh him duh
man. Blood bin een me yeye! Uh ’membuh de time w’en uh could’uh box’um
en’ kick’um alltwo one time, en’ ef uh ebbuh leh de _foot_ folluh de
_han’_, uh would uh kill’um _dead_. But Gawd hol’ me han’ en’ me foot,
alltwo, Gawd tell me fuh peaceubble, en’ spayre de ’ooman life. Gin’ul,
me don’ want no ’ooman life ’pun me han’. Enty you know, suh, ef uh
had uh kick dat ’ooman ’e would uh dead? Gawd tek’care uh ol’ Ben dat
day. Da’ ’ooman t’ink suh him lick me, Gin’ul, but enty you know suh
him oughtuh tengk Gawd fuh sabe’um? Ef uh didn’ bin hab ’lij’un, da’
’ooman’ cawpse would’uh gone Jacksinburruh een one oxin cyaa’t weh ’e
come f’um. All de time ’e binnuh box me, uh bin study ’bout how da’
’ooman’ cawpse would’uh look ef uh had uh hit’um like de time w’en uh
nyuse to be uh Ben! En’ uh study ’pun him husbun’, my wife Sarah’ boy
John, en’ uh study ’pun John’ maamy, en’ uh t’ink ’bout how dem will
mo’n ef uh kill dis ’ooman, en’ wid Gawd’ help uh hab strengk ’nuf fuh
hol’ me han’. Gin’ul, w’enebbuh uh look ’puntop de’ dead ’ooman een me
mine’, uh tengk Gawd eb’ry day fuh hol’ me han’!”

Once a fine shoat strayed too near to Ben’s little field and soon found
its way into the old man’s larder, where it was found by a search
party in charge of old Harrison. An examination showed that the animal
had been shot with duck shot, and shot of the same size having been
found in the undischarged barrel of the negro’s double-barrel, Ben
was arrested and sent to Walterboro jail and Harrison was summoned
as a witness. Harrison was fond of a dram and looked forward to the
approach of court week which would bring him a visit to the county seat
with witness fees of 50 cents a day and mileage. Walterboro was 35
miles away, and five cents a mile both ways meant $3.50, which loomed
large in the mind of the old hunter. On the Saturday night before the
convening of court, he prepared a week’s rations of cornbread, bacon
and baked sweet potatoes, and early Sunday morning filled a great
knapsack, and, with his long gun on his shoulder, walked all the way to
the county seat. On the following day the pig thief was duly arraigned,
the jury organized, and old Harrison, loaded to the muzzle with
Walterboro whiskey, to which he had been treated by the youngsters who
liked to hear him talk, came to the witness stand, a 20-pound knapsack
of provisions around his shoulders and his long gun in his hand. His
direct testimony was:

“Sunday mornin’ bin over t’ Cap’n Elliott’s, coz mostly Sunday mornin’
ef uh goes by th’ house Cap’n gennully gives me uh pow’ful drink, en’
uh allus likes me dram. W’en uh got through me dram, uh was walkin’
’long by ol’ Ben’s house, en’ uh heerd uh gun shoot. Uh meet some boys
and went to th’ house en’ fin’ th’ shoat en’ fin’ number two duck shot
een ’im. Uh fin’ ol’ Ben’s gun in the corner, one barrel been fired,
en’ uh drawed th’ load of t’other barrel en’ fin’ number two duck shot,
same size ez een th’ shoat. Then uh told Cap’n, he give me ’nother
dram, we ’rested ol’ Ben in th’ pulpit where he was preachin’ to a raft
uh niggers, en’ we send him to Walterboro.”

Then came the cross-examination. The young lawyer for the defense
baited old Harrison to the great amusement of the court room.

“What do you know about duck shot?” he was asked. “I don’t believe you
know the size of a duck shot.”

“Uh don’t know de size uv uh duck shot! _Course_ uh knows de size uv
uh duck shot. Bin hunt’n’ all me life, bin shoot’n’ _duck shot_ all me
life.”

“If you know the size of a duck shot, take this pencil and let the jury
see you draw one on the court house wall.”

Harrison rose with bleary eyes and a fatuous smile on his bronzed
face. Unable to read or write, he held the pencil as a small boy
holds a sizzling firecracker, but he was game and stepped up to the
wall primed with the confidence born of ignorance. Judge, jury and
spectators craned their necks to see the performance. The draftsman
stuck close to the wall and moved the pencil slowly and laboriously
over the whitewashed surface. When at last he stepped back and turned
around proudly to reveal his work, the court house exploded with
laughter, from Judge Wallace on the bench, to the tipstaff at the
door, for the tipsy old hunter’s outline of a duck shot was about
eight inches long and five inches wide and bore a striking resemblance
to the continent of Africa. He returned to the witness chair. Taking
the shouts of merriment as tributes to the accuracy of his sketch, he
looked scornfully at the young lawyer.

“Ain’t I tell ye uh know’d d’size uv uh duck shot? Bin shoot’n’ duck
shot all me life. _Course_ uh knows d’size uv uh duck shot!” And there
was more laughter.

The negro was convicted, and sent to the penitentiary for two years,
but was soon leased to a railroad contractor, and, becoming a “trusty”
and a cook, had an easy time. When he returned to Pon Pon he resumed
his place in the pulpit without the slightest loss of caste, and often
referred to his sojourn in the Capital City, telling many stories to
the members of his flock about “de time w’en uh bin penitenshus,” or
“w’en uh bin Cuhlumbia.”

One Christmas morning old Harrison came to the house with the
portentous information that he intended to marry the widow Pendarvis,
was then on his way to her habitation seven or eight miles away, and
would bring back his bride the same evening.

“Dat whut uh yaim t’do Cap’n. Uh knows hits pow’ful resky t’marry uh
widder, coz dey allus knows toomuch, but uh needs uh ’ooman to clean
up en’ do about d’house, en’ look after d’children, en’ de widder
Pendarvis is uh right peart creeter, en’ she ain’t got uh lazy bone
een her, so uh reck’n uh’ll resk it. Den, she’s got a son, John Henry,
’bout d’age uh my William. John Henry he ain’t much account, but uh
needs anuther han’ en’ uh reck’n uh kin make out wid John Henry, so uh
yaims to tek d’widder.”

The old adventurer was fitted out with a white shirt and a
handkerchief, a pocketful of Christmas candies and a couple of stiff
snifters, and so, fortified, he started toward the widow, stepping
high, gun on shoulder. “Uh allus totes m’gun. Y’never knows whut
y’gwine t’see.”

So the widow Pendarvis was duly acquired and proved a faithful and
useful spouse, but old Harrison soon reached the conclusion that he had
been gold-bricked in John Henry. “He ain’t no manner uv account. Ain’t
wuth d’powder’n shot it ud’take t’kill’im! W’en uh married d’widder,
uh didn’ aim t’git much uv uh bargin in John Henry, he was jus’ kinder
throw’d een fuh good measure like, but now uh wisht he mout uh bin
throw’d out.”

A year or two later William Harrison was walking the woods one day, and
from a shallow grave at the edge of a negro’s field, his dogs dug up
the hide and head of a stolen cow which the thief had buried to hide
the ear-marks and the brand. The negro was sent to jail to await trial
and William was subpœnæd as the chief witness. Old Harrison protested.
“’Taint uh bit uh use t’sen’ William t’Walterboro fuh fifty cents uh
day, w’en ’e’s makin’ seventy-five cents uh day now. W’y don’t yuh take
my stepson John Henry Pendarvis fer uh witness? He ain’t a workin’ en’
he’ll be glad t’git d’fifty cents uh day.” It was explained to the old
hunter that as John Henry had not found the telltale hide and head, and
knew nothing about the case, he could not be accepted as proxy. “Don’t
make uh bit uh diff’unce. William kin tell John Henry whut he found en’
John Henry kin go t’Walterboro en’ swear to it. John Henry he’s a noble
liar, en’ he kin lie en’ stick to’t. Them Walterboro lawyers can’t
shake him.”

After awhile, bad health came upon the former widow, and in taking
palliatives to relieve her pain, she became addicted to opium and spent
all she could scrape for the drug at the village store. At last the
neighborhood doctor warned her husband, “Harrison, if you don’t look
out, some day your wife will take an overdose of laudanum and go up the
spout.”

“Well, Doctor, ’tain’t fuh me to go ag’in her! She’s bin’uh noble
’ooman in ’er time. She’s never had uh lazy bone een ’er body. She’s
bin uh pow’ful hand to do about, en’ she’s bin as peart uh ’ooman as
ever was wropped up in that much hide, but she’s gitt’n kinder poorly
now, she ain’t whut she used to be, she ain’t much account now, she
can’t scrub no mo’, she’s got de rheumatism in de jints, so, Doctor,
if she aims to go, uh reck’n d’best thing to do is to let her take a
pow’ful dost en’ _let ’er go_!” So--poor, tired soul--she went.




A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE


Twenty-five years ago, old Jane was the very efficient cook at
the Pawley’s Island hotel. A widow woman of fifty-odd, her black
countenance, with its aquiline nose and sharp chin, was shrewd and
witchlike.

“Old maids” are seldom met with among the low-country negroes, most of
the women achieving matrimony, or having matrimony thrust upon them,
at an early age in communities where marrying and unmarrying are but
the merest incidents in their social and economic lives--and they are
largely socio-economic relations,--“Uh haffuh hab wife fuh cook fuh me
en’ wash me clo’es, enty?” “Uh haffuh hab man fuh wu’k fuh me en’ min’
me, enty?”--“and so they were married.”

Often, however, in early life, less frequently in middle age, women
are, for the moment, unmarried, or, as one might more correctly say,
unaffiliated, and if one of these “unaffiliations” should last long
enough to constitute more than a very brief intermission in the
matrimonial program, one, if of the fiercer sex, incurs the odium
supposedly attaching to “oldmaidenhood.”

Jane had in her time looked upon husbands in yellow and brown and
black, and had almost run the chromatic scale in temperament as in
pigmentation. The sharps had irritated, the flats had wearied her--the
“naturals,” being neither too sharp nor too flat, were, like the small
wee bear’s belongings, “just right,” and Jane, like Chaucer’s Wife of
Bath, thanked the Lord for them while they lasted. “But pleasures are
like poppies spread,” and, as in Georgetown colored circles husbands
don’t always “stay put,” one by one Jane’s poppies--perhaps she
thought them snap-dragons--folded their petals and their tents, and,
forsaking the dusky companionship of the old love, flitted away to
present freedom and prospective enslavement to the new--for there’s
always a new--“ef rokkoon only hab one tree fuh climb, dog ketch’um,”
being an axiom among them. As Jane couldn’t trot in double harness,
she single-footed successfully for several years--so successfully,
indeed, that she developed a fine scorn for the opposite sex. “Dem ent
wut,” she thought, and “_dem ent wut_,” she said, whenever men were
mentioned. In her solitude she found solace in industry, and, working
at odd jobs during the winter, supplemented her summer earnings at the
hotel and soon acquired enough to buy “uh piece uh groun’” (the coast
negroes never speak of land) and built thereon a comfortable cabin,
near which, within a wattled clapboard fence, she enclosed a plot where
she grew the easy-going squashes and beans in summer, and Georgia
collards--the holly-hocks of the vegetable garden--in winter.

Jane’s domain was on the mainland in the flat pine woods thick sown
with clumps of the dark green tropical-looking saw-palmettoes, and
bordered the marsh-fringed inlet or tidal lagoon, beyond which, half
a mile distant, lay the broad ocean beach, the rolling sand dunes and
the dwarf live-oak and cedar scrub of “the Island.” Here, nestling
among the thickets, and sheltered under the protecting shoulders of
the hills, were the summer cottages of the Islanders, and here, too,
just opposite Jane’s cottage, stood the hotel, where all through the
summer days she fried whiting, boiled sheepshead, deviled crabs, and
did sundry other things to the sea-food that the fishermen constantly
brought to her kitchen. Jane’s riparian rights permitted her a landing
where, moored to a primitive little pier, she kept the flat-bottomed
skiff in which morning and evening she crossed the unvexed waters that
lay between her home and her work.

Esau, a trifling, ramshackle, youngish negro, made an easy living by
fishing, crabbing and doing odd jobs about the Island community. He
was venturesome, as most saltwater negroes are, and often in the early
mornings ran his leaky skiff through the breakers at the mouth of
the inlet, and rowing--or wafted, when the wind favored, by a rag of
a sail--adventured out to sea five miles from the beach, dropped an
anchor made of two condemned iron pots tied together, and fished upon
the blackfish rocks in the broiling sun till noon, returning to shore
to sell the good fish to the Islanders and, later, eat the culls and
odds and ends himself. On other days, when the East wind warned him
that the fish wouldn’t bite, he bogged about the little creeks and runs
of the marsh, or along the edge of the lagoon, and caught crabs by the
basketful, which usually found a ready market.

Bringing his fish often to the hotel, Esau was on pleasant
conversational terms with old Jane, and she often handed him out
toothsome bits of “buckruh bittle” that fell from the overflowing
table. In return for these gastronomic courtesies, Esau would chop
wood, split kindling, or do other manly things that chivalrous colored
bucks not infrequently perform for the females outside of their own
family circles.

One hot August morning, Esau gathered lines and bait as soon as it
was broad daylight, and, slipping over the shallow bar at the mouth
of the lagoon, sculled lazily out to the “drop” on the rocks. It was
a windless dawn, the sea was without a ripple, and the slow, heaving
swells reflected the opalescent tints of the eastern sky. The tide was
still on the ebb, and its impulse, augmenting his speed, soon brought
him to the drop where he cast anchor, and the boat swung round, bow
to land, while Esau, in the stern, sat with his back to the rising
sun and threw out his lines. The fish bit well, and at the end of two
or three hours the bottom of Esau’s boat was well covered with the
shining catch, chiefly speckled sea trout, whiting and blackfish. The
sun increased in warmth, and Esau nodded and dozed and then slept,
although, with the turn of the tide, the prow of his boat now pointed
seaward and the sunshine burned in his face. At last, at noon, when
its beams fell vertically upon his kinky head, he awoke with a start
as a big horse-mackerel leaped from the water so near him that he was
drenched with its spray. He looked out upon a sea of molten silver.
A great shark, as long as his boat, rose slowly from the depths to
within a foot of the surface, and, lying motionless, regarded him with
cold, expressionless eyes. Esau shuddered. “_Great Gawd_,” he muttered,
“_time fuh gone home_!” and, as the sinister creature sank out of
sight, he quickly hauled up anchor, shipped oars, and pulled lustily
to shore. It was high tide when he reached the inlet, and he rode the
long rollers over the bar, and soon ran the nose of his skiff ashore
on the oyster shells of the landing. He strung his fish and set out
to find a market, but the time lost while he slept had made him too
late to supply the dinners of his usual customers, and, as his fish
were now stale, he had no recourse but to eat them himself, so he
set about cleaning them, and an hour later, when Jane, having served
the hotel dinner, was dining alone in the kitchen, Esau appeared and
ingratiatingly asked the loan of a frying pan, “please, ma’am, en’ some
greese fuh greese’um.” As neither fat nor fuel cost Jane anything,
she graciously complied, in the handsome spirit that prompts so many
of us to be generous at the expense of others. Esau rubbed the greasy
bacon-rind over the broad, generous bottom of the hotel frying pan and,
having lubricated it sufficiently, cast in his fish, and the horrible
sound and the horrible smell of frying soon filled the ears and the
nostrils of every one about the establishment. Esau fried and he fried
until, having filled a large tray with fish, he hung up the frying pan,
took down his appetite, and began to eat. Esau was an eater, and had
no half-dealings with his art. Seizing a fish by the head and tail,
he moved it laterally across his mouth as some traveling men maneuver
green corn on the cob, or as the village darkey plays the mouth-organ,
until, in the twinkling of an eye, only the bones remained in his
greasy fingers; then he played another mouth-organ, until in a few
minutes he was filled to the neck, and only ten or twelve fried trout
remained, and these he _cached_ with old Jane for future attention,
and betook himself to the shade of a scrubby live-oak nearby to rest.
He threw himself on the sand and slept for several hours like a
gorged Anaconda. At last, toward sundown, the land breeze brought the
mosquitoes from the mainland across the lagoon, and they swarmed over
him. Thrashing about in his troubled sleep, some of the cockspurs that
grow everywhere in the Island sands worked their way through his thin
homespun trousers and stung him into wakefulness. He arose grouchy and
grumbling, and returned to the kitchen where Jane was already preparing
supper. “Eh, eh, weh you bin, Esau?” she greeted him.

“Uh binnuh sleep, ma’am, en’ muskittuh’ en’ cockspuhr’ en’ t’ing wake
me en’ mek me fuh git up.”

“Wuh you gwine do wid dese fish wuh you lef’, Esau? De buckruh sen’
wu’d suh dem fish duh bodduhr’um, en’ ’e tell me fuh t’row’um een de
ribbuh.”

“Uh had bidness fuh eat all dem fish one time, den uh wouldn’ haffuh
t’row’um ’way.” And Esau sidled over to the tray of fish, and, looking
at them regretfully, pinched off nibbling bits with his fingers and
carried them to his mouth.

“You bettuh t’row’way da’ t’ing, Esau,” admonished Jane as she bustled
about her work.

“Yaas, ma’am, uh gwine t’row’um ’way bumbye. Uh yent duh eat’um, uh
jis’ duh pinch’um.” And he went slowly out toward the lagoon with
the tray under his arm, but, as he walked, he pinched the fish so
assiduously that, by the time he came to the water, little save the
bones remained.

Two hours later, Jane approached the mistress of the house with an
anxious face. “Please, ma’am, fuh gimme some ginjuh en’ t’ing fuh
gi’ Esau ’fo’ ’e dead. Da’ nigguh sho’ hab uh hebby appetite fuh eat
bittle. ’E ketch all dem fish, en’ ’e couldn’ sell’um to de buckruh
’cause dem binnuh leddown all day een de sunhot, en’ him fry’um en’
nyam t’ree string by ’eself, en’ ’e lef’ one string ’tell aw’ile ago,
en’ uh tell’um fuh t’row’way dat one, en’ ’e staa’t’ fuh t’row’um
’way, but de fish cry out fuh Esau en’ Esau yeddy de cry, en’ ’e
pinch de fish, en’ ’e keep on pinch’um, pinch ’um, ’tell ’e done nyam
mos’ all de fish, en’ now de fish pinch _him_! Uh bin hab uh bottle uh
hawss linniment fuh rub hawss, en’ uh t’row dat een’um, but de bottle
didn’ bin mo’nuh half full, en’ uh ’f’aid de linniment ent ’nuf fuh
do’um good, alldo’ ’e strangle Esau w’en him swalluhr’um, en’ mek’um
fuh spit sukkuh crab spit. Now, ’e duh roll obuh en’ obuh ’pun de
groun’ same lukkuh mule roll w’en ’e tu’n out duh Sunday, en’ oonuh
kin yeddy’um groan sukkuh dem ’ooman groan to the sett’n’up, w’en dem
husbun’ en’ t’ing dead. Ef you please, ma’am, kin gimme some linniment,
uh sump’n’nurruh fuh g’em, uh dunkyuh ef ’tis kyarrysene, ’cause da’
nigguh gwine dead!”

“What do you want, Jane--ginger, peppermint or whiskey?”

“Wuh da’ las’ one you call ’e name, Missis?”

“Whiskey.”

“Missis, da’ t’ing too sca’ceful fuh t’row’um ’way ef da’ nigguh gwine
dead. Ef you ent got de linniment, please, ma’am, gimme de ginjuh en’
de peppuhmint alltwo, so uh kin t’row’um een Esau.”

“Don’t give him too many things, Jane, one is enough.”

“Missis, enty da’ nigguh eat _fo’ kinduh fish_? Uh wan’ g’em meddisin
fuh reach all de kinduh fish wuh ’e done eat. Uh yent want’um fuh
dead on my han’, ’cause him ent hab no fambly, en’ ’e yent blonx to
no suhciety fuh bury’um, en’ uh know berry well me yent fuh t’row’way
money fuh buy shroud en’ cawpse en’ t’ing fuh no Esau, so please,
ma’am, mek’ace en’ gimme de t’ing fuh t’row een’um en’ see ef uh kin
sabe ’e life!”

A liberal dose of mixed ginger and peppermint was poured into a tin
cup, the rim of which Jane forced between Esau’s teeth, and drenched
him so successfully that in a few minutes he was flopping over the
ground like a fish just pulled out of the water. His spasms were soon
over, however, and he lay in a state of semi-coma. Jane was delighted.
“Missis, me en’ you done sabe Esau’ life. Da’ nigguh blonx to me en’
you, Missis, en’ uh gwine mek’um wu’k.”

Summer passed into early autumn. The days shortened. September suns
burned fiercely upon the ripening corn, and through the lengthening
nights heavy dews fell on the purple petticoat-grass and the
golden-rod. Between sunset and dusk, summer ducks flew over from their
feeding grounds to their roosts in the pineland ponds, and all through
the night sounded the faint “tweet, tweet” of the ricebirds passing on
to their winter quarters.

So Jane, in the late summer of her days, looked kindly upon the man
she had saved, even though she did not value the salvage very highly,
and Esau gradually got in the habit of hanging about her kitchen and
submitting to the air of proprietorship which she assumed toward him,
chopping wood and doing other little chores for her, as a matter of
course.

At last, one Thursday evening toward the end of the month, Jane
bashfully appeared before her mistress, holding a corner of her apron
against a corner of her mouth, which widened almost from ear to ear.

“Missis, uh come fuh tell you, ma’am, uh gwine marri’d Esau. Da’ nigguh
duh heng roun’ de kitchen ’tell ’e git een me way. Uh cyan’ tu’n roun’
bidout step ’puntop’um, so uh gwine tek’um fuh husbun’.”

The announcement caused quite a flutter among the ladies at the hotel,
and, as Jane had fixed the following Saturday evening for the wedding,
they hastened to overhaul their wardrobes for suitable material with
which to deck out the bride. An old dotted-swiss muslin, found hidden
away, was contributed by its owner as something sweet and virginal with
which to rig out the craft that had sailed the seven seas of matrimony.
Another guest of the hotel contributed a pair of white stockings,
and, as Jane desired a veil, a breadth of old mosquito-netting,
stiffly starched and skilfully laundered, was added to the outfit.
On Saturday night, an hour after supper time, Jane, under the convoy
of Esau and accompanied by the “locus pastuh” (the local preacher
of her church) appeared before the hotel company assembled on the
piazza, and announced her readiness to wed. The mosquito-net veil had
been artistically looped about her by some of the ladies, and the
dotted-swiss enveloped her with its starched stiffness. The knot was
soon tied, and Jane, carrying the bride cake in her arms and followed
by her new husband, floated away like a smutty coal-carrying brig,
under a new suit of sails.

On the following morning, Jane appeared in the kitchen earlier than
usual. The lady of the house asked what she had done with her new
husband. “Uh run’um off, missis. Uh yent want’um. Wuh me fuh do wid
man! Enty uh hab proputty! Uh marri’d Esau fuh git husbun’, uh yent
marry’um fuh git man! Nigguh’ wuh grow up sence freedum, dem ent wut!
Uh marry’um, den uh t’row’um ’way!”

“Why did you marry him, then, if you didn’t want him?”

“Ki! Missis! _Uh marry’um fuh shet dem todduh ’ooman’ mout’! You t’ink
me wan’ dem gal’ fuh call me ole maid?_”




THE PLAT-EYE


All low-country negroes believe more or less in “sperrits,” “haants”
and other mysterious appearances, but the “plat-eye,” peculiar to
the Georgetown coast, is the weirdest and most fearsome that vexes
the roaming negroes at night. Plat-eyes appear to old and young of
both sexes, sometimes in the form of a small dog or other animal,
while at other times they may float like wraiths along the marshes
or unfrequented paths, or stoop like low-hung clouds and envelop the
victim. Most frequently, however, the plat-eye appears in the form
of some familiar animal which, glaring at the beholder with eyes of
fire, springs upon him, frightening him into rigidity, and, just as he
expects his vitals to be torn out, the apparition vanishes, and the
trembling negro hurries on his way. The belief has been expressed that,
in some instances, the negroes to whom plat-eyes appear have fallen
asleep as they walked, and, dreaming of these terrors, awakened to find
them gone. In whatsoever form they come, however, the negroes dread the
visitations as Werewolves were feared in Europe not so long ago.

Now, old Jane, the cook at the Pawley’s Island summer hotel, the
many-times widowed woman who, having saved the life of Esau, the
fisherman, by drenching him with horse liniment after he had partaken
too freely of the spoils of his lines, had wedded that same Esau to
save herself the reproach of oldmaidenhood, and had chased him away the
morning after her _Marriage de Convenance_, was a fervent and fearful
believer in plat-eyes. Whenever and wherever she went her ways at
night, she was on the lookout for them, and the expectation of their
momentary appearance kept her nerves in a pleasant state of jumpiness.
A stray calf at the edge of the clearing, a raccoon ambling along a
woodland path, a sudden rabbit bouncing up before her, the horned owl
that lifted her wayward fowls from their runaway roost on the ridgepole
of her cabin, even the ghostly sandcrabs that drifted along the beaches
at night as lightly as wind-blown foam, were all potential plat-eyes!

Two weeks had passed since Jane, the self-made celibate, had ejected
the transitory husband of her bosom from the “bed and board” to
which, under colored custom, if not under State law, he was supposed
to be entitled. Esau wandered about, following his usual vagrant
occupations, but vaguely conscious of his rather indefinite status
as a husband--responsibilities there were none. Jane, to whom the
marriage had brought wifehood--in the abstract, and very real things in
the dotted-swiss and the white stockings of her bridal outfit--being
withal as free and untrammeled in her property and her person as she
had been before the episode, felt herself the gainer, and, to do her
justice, regarded Esau rather as a slaughtered innocent. In respect
of one small matter, however, Esau, too, had gained something. During
his tentative courtship, or rather while, without his knowledge, Jane
had had him under consideration, he chopped wood and did other chores
for her without specific contract for compensation, for Jane was then
an unrelated and unconnected female of the species, and he willingly
performed these gallantries for her; but once married, even though
she had so speedily and unceremoniously divorced, or put him away,
she was yet his woman--in thought at least, his chattel--and, harking
back to his African ancestry, he bethought him that women were but
hewers of wood and drawers of water, the domestic slaves of the lordly
males, and, before laying hand to axe or stooping to pick up chips or
driftwood, he never failed to bargain and chaffer with the cook for
what she should pay him--at the expense of the lady of the house.

“Esau, uh wish you please kin pick up some chip’ fuh me fuh staa’t me
fiah.”

“Wuh you gwi’ gimme?”

“Wuffuh me haffuh pay you fuh chop wood, Esau?”

“Enty uh done marri’d you fuh wife? Wuffuh man haffuh chop wood fuh ’e
own wife?”

“Uh marri’d you, fuh true, Esau, but enty uh done run you off, en’ now
you stan’ same lukkuh all dem todduh man wuh uh nebbuh bin hab fuh
husbun’?”

Esau scratched his head, the point being rather fine for his
comprehension, but he grunted stubbornly, nevertheless.

“Man hab wife fuh cook ’e bittle fuhr’um, enty? Hukkuh ooman kin cook
bittle bidout ’e chop wood, eeduhso pick up chip’ fuh mek fiah? No,
ma’am! Wuh you gwine gimme fuh eat ef uh chop wood fuh you?” Therefore,
whenever Esau chopped wood, the hotel kitchen paid the fee.

September burned and passed away. October came. Among the brown and
purple trunks of the pines, the red-bronze foliage of blackgum and
sourwood glowed like dull fires. Tripods rose above the breakers, and,
from the vantage of their elevated tops, the Islanders fished with rod
and reel for the beautiful channel bass which came up with the rising
tide. The long rollers crashed upon the strand and broke into lace-like
spray that the sea-wind tossed into a thousand miniature rainbows. The
plaintive cry of the sea-birds, the whisper of the wild-oats as their
ripening seed panicles rustled in the wind, and the sharp tang in the
air, brought to the spirit the poignant sadness of autumn--“Falling
Leaf and Fading Tree,” and Tosti’s haunting melody.

On a certain night, Jane permitted Esau’s escort to a cottage two
miles up the beach, whither she had undertaken an errand for her
employer. The night was dark and overcast, and the air was heavy with a
promise of coming rain. A fitful breeze picked up the loose sand above
highwater mark into little whorls, sent them dancing about the upper
beach, and set the clumps of wild-oats on the dunes above to shivering
weirdly. The tide was at the flood, and the long dun rollers boomed
sullenly on the beach and sucked at the sands as though loath to leave
them.

As she got farther away from the comforting lights of the hotel
and adventured into the creepy darkness that lay before her,
Jane shuddered, and lifted the shawl from her shoulders over her
bandanna-topped head as though to shut out from her apprehensive ears
all fearsome sounds. Esau shuffled along beside her, but he, too, was
uncomfortable, for he was a timid negro, and even the boldest are none
too brave at night.

A sudden gust of wind lifted the foam cap from a breaking wave, blew
it in their faces and whistled eerily through the wild-oats. A ghost
crab sprang up at their very feet and scurried away, affrighted. Jane
clutched Esau’s arm. “_Great Gawd!_” she groaned, “_duh plat-eye!_ Uh
shum! uh shum!”

“Weh-weh ’e dey?” stammered her frightened but less imaginative escort.

Before she could point to the flying crab, another pallid, spider-like
creature drifted across her path and followed the first. Jane was
poised for flight, but Esau stood firm and steadied her nerves, and
in a few moments they moved on again, but with wide eyes and hesitant
steps. At last they had covered half the distance, and a mile away,
beyond the dark, a spot of yellow light marked their goal, which they
might have reached but for the raccoons’ love for shell fish. At a low
spot in the broad beach the tide had eaten out a narrow channel through
which the waters rushed almost up to the sand-hills, bringing small
fish and shrimp and clams far beyond the break of the rollers, and, at
the entrance to this cut, facing the ocean, a big raccoon was fishing
at the moment the negroes reached the tidal rivulet and paused to look
for a crossing. Esau, with trousers rolled up to his knees, adventured
first, and as Jane, “standing with reluctant feet,” on the marge,
called to him to ask the depth, she unhappily cast her eyes seaward
just as the four-footed fisherman, startled by the voices behind him,
wheeled, and turned his round, green eyes full upon them. As their
sinister light shone fearsomely against the dark background of the
waves, Jane shrieked in agony. “_Oh Jedus! de plat-eye! de plat-eye!_”
And, turning tail, she fled along the back track, screaming at every
jump. Esau’s gallantry, and one look at the shining eyes, prompted
him to follow Jane, which he did at top speed, while the wretched
raccoon, frightened out of his supper by the havoc he had unwittingly
wrought, lost no time in attaining sanctuary among the scrub beyond the
sand-hills.

On sped Jane. Her screaming-wind gave out after the first hundred
yards, and, save for her labored breathing, she ran silently, Esau, a
black shadow, close behind. In an incredibly short time, Jane and her
runner-up reached the hotel, speechless with exhaustion and fright.
When she had recovered her breath, Jane hurried to her mistress.
“Missis, ma’am, uh nebbuh tek de ansuh wuh you sen’ to da’ juntlemun
todduh side de Ilun’, ’cause uh nebbuh git dey, Missis; en’, ef Jedus
yeddy me, uh nebbuh fuh gone to da’ place no mo’ duh night-time!
Missis, dem plat-eye t’ick ’puntop da’ beach sukkuh fiddluh crab’
t’ick een de maa’sh w’en tide low! Uh binnuh walk ’long Esau, en’ one
sumpn’nurruh come off de wabe’ top, en’ ’e float by me sukkuh cloud wuh
hab uh sperrit een’um. Uh shet me yeye, en’ ’e gone. Den de win’ mek uh
jump, en’ ’e biggin fuh shake dem grass en’ t’ing ’puntop de san’hill
’tell ’e mek me hair fuh rise! Same time uh see two w’ite sperrit run
’cross de paat’. Esau binnuh trimble ’tell uh graff’um by ’e sleebe fuh
keep’um f’um run’way, but none de t’ing nebbuh hab uh chance fuh t’row
dem eye ’puntop me ’tell uh git to de place weh de tide bruk t’ru de
beach. W’en uh git dey, Missis, Esau roll up ’e britchiz fuh cross. Me
duh wait ’tell him git ’cross befo’ uh staa’t’ fuh hice me ’coat fuh
walk t’ru’um, en’, ef me Jedus didn’ tell me fuh t’row me yeye fuh look
roun’, uh nebbuh would’uh bin yuh, but w’en uh look, uh see da’ t’ing’
two eye’ duh shine sukkuh lightship’ eye’ shine ’puntop’uh Rattlesnake
shoal’! Missis, w’en uh fus’ look ’puntop’um uh t’ink ’e duh lightship
fuh true, but bumbye ’e shake ’e head en’ uh know suh ’e duh plat-eye,
en’ ’e duh try fuh t’row uh spell ’puntop me fuh mek me fuh dead! Uh
yent hab time fuh kneel down, but uh staa’t fuh pray een me h’aa’t,
en’ uh baig Gawd, ef da’ plat-eye haffuh ketch nigguh, fuh mek’um fuh
ketch Esau en’ lef me, ’cause, Missis, eb’rybody know’ suh Esau ent
wut! But seem lukkuh Gawd nebbuh yeddy de pray’, ’cause me mout’ bin
shet w’en uh mek’um, ’cause uh yent wan’ Esau fuh yeddy wuh uh say,
en’ de plat-eye nebbuh tek ’e yeye off’uh my’own. ’E look en’ ’e look,
en’ ’e yeye git mo’ bigguh en’ mo’ shiny, en’ w’en uh see suh him duh
look ’puntop’uh me en’ ent duh study ’bout Esau, Missis, _uh comin’
fuh home_! Missis, you see dog run, you see hawss run, you see bu’d
fly, en’ you see pawpus jump een de ribbuh, but you nebbuh see none dem
t’ing trabble lukkuh me trabble w’en uh staa’t fuh run! W’en me ten
toe’ dig een de du’t, ’e t’row de san’ mo’nuh half uh acre behin’ me!
De win’ wuh uh mek t’row dem wil’oats en’ grass en’ t’ing flat ’pun de
groun’, en’ all de time uh duh run uh yeddy Esau’ foot duh beat drum
behin’ me, en’ w’en uh yeddy’um, uh tengkful, ’cause uh know da’ t’ing
fuh ketch him fus’ ’fo’ ’e kin git me; en’, Missis, ef you ain’ hab no
’jeckshun, ma’am, uh gwine tek Esau fuh husbun’ ’gen, ’cause, attuh
tenight, uh know suh me kin run fas’ mo’nuh him, en’ him will be uh
nyuseful t’ing fuh tek ’long w’en uh duh walk duh paa’t duh night-time,
’cause, ef plat-eye mek alltwo uh we fuh run, him _’bleege_ fuh ketch
Esau _fus’_, en’, alldo’ da’ nigguh ent wut, ’e hab shishuh slow foot,
Missis, uh kin mek’um fuh sabe me life!”




“OLD PICKETT”


Before the war, the low-country planters, migrating each summer to
their mountain homes at Flat Rock, N. C., frequently bought horses and
mules from the drovers as they passed along the Buncombe Road on their
way South from the stock ranges of Kentucky and Tennessee. Sometimes
beautiful ponies were brought from the Pink Beds, away back in the
North Carolina mountains, others came from the nearer valleys of the
French Broad, but most of the Seacoast planters supplied their needs
from the Tennessee drovers as they moved down the main-traveled road.

From an old drover named Pickett, a mule was acquired to which the
negroes gave the drover’s name. Although a young mule, and of the
opposite sex, she was christened “Old Pickett,” and bore the name
with distinction for nearly a quarter of a century. Long and low, and
powerfully built, Old Pickett was a light bay in color, with the brown
stripe down the back and the zebra legs which mule wranglers regard as
evidence of toughness--and Old Pickett was tough.

Old Pickett came into the hands of the family late in October. A
thin skin of ice had formed along the shores of the lakes. Flocks of
blue-winged teal whistled through the air and splashed as they alighted
on the clear waters. Chestnuts had fallen, and their green and brown
burrs covered the ground under the far-spreading limbs of the big
trees. Their little cousins, the chinquapins, had long been gathered
and strung in necklaces, or roasted at the hearths of the glowing wood
fires. The pheasant-shooting was nearly over, and Westly-Richards and
Greener were cleaned and oiled and slipped into their buckskin covers,
in readiness for the campaign against deer and duck and turkey in the
low-country. With the first days of November, as the branches of the
great oaks cracked under the weight of the roosting wild pigeons, and
the sloping sides of old Pinnacle and all the lesser peaks burned with
the flame-like foliage of the hickory and the ruby fires of the oaks,
the family started down the mountain for Greenville, the first stop
in the ten-day journey to the sea. Carriages for the ladies and the
elders, saddle horses for the younger men, and comfortable covered
wagons for the house servants, the cavalcade moved out, Old Pickett and
her companions tethered behind the wagons to take their turn at the
pole later on.

Arrived at the big plantation, Old Pickett became familiar with the
plow, the cart and the Gullah negro, and for twelve years led an
uneventful life, buckling to the tough “joint grass” of the uplands in
summer, and bogging pastern deep in winter as the slim plowshare slid
through the sticky soil of the ricefields and turned the stubble into
long greasy-looking furrows. While a willing worker, Old Pickett took
her time and always “gang’d her ain gait.” She was nimble, too, with
her heels, and the stable boys about the mule lot could always amuse
themselves by throwing sticks or light clods of earth on Old Pickett’s
hindquarters to make her “kick up,” when she came in to be unharnessed
after her day’s work, and she was always ready to oblige. Wearing a
blind bridle, she could not see behind her, but she was strong for the
uplift, and whatever touched her in the rear had to go up, whether
stick, or clod or stable boy!

Then the war! In the dawn of an April morning, came the sound of the
big guns in Charleston harbor thirty miles away, and, a few months
later, from another direction, rolled the thunder of yet heavier and
more distant guns, bombarding Port Royal, and still Old Pickett plowed
and carted, and otherwise plodded in the ways of peace, but not for
long. The questing eye of the Confederate Government looked approvingly
on Old Pickett’s short legs, arched loins and well-sprung ribs, and,
discerning an artillery mule, intimated a desire for ownership, but Old
Pickett, compelling as she did the little negroes who walked behind and
around her to become alert and watchful, was a plantation institution
and could not be parted with permanently, but she was loaned to the
Confederacy, and for a year or two hauled caissons and cannon and army
wagons about the coast section wherever an attack was threatened by the
invaders.

At last, the booming of cannon came nearer, an expedition having
reached Willtown only seven miles away, and, as negroes from nearby
plantations were “running away to the Yankees,” a farm was leased in
the far away land of Abbeville, and thither, for safekeeping, went
a number of slaves under Zedekiah Johnson, a kindly and reliable
overseer. With this venture went Old Pickett, and here, until the end
of the war, she faithfully followed the curved and crooked furrows that
ran around the terraced hills, and stubbed her unshod hoofs against the
flinty stones thick sown about the ruddy soil. In the up-country, women
sometimes plowed, and Old Pickett, blinkered and forward-looking as
she was forced to be, submitted to the indignity of being “gee’d” and
“haw’d” and chevied along by a bare-footed, sun-bonneted female of the
species.

Freedom came. The low-country negroes whom it overtook in Abbeville,
went their ways. The wagons and mules, all save old Pickett, were sold
for the pitiful greenbacks that the profiteering few who had them, were
willing to pay, and old Pickett came home. A low-country freedman,
wishing to return to his habitat, kindly consented to ride her the two
hundred miles, cannily exchanging his fore-knowledge of the road for
the use of her four legs. And what a home-coming! The “big house” at
the head of the wide live-oak avenue lay in ruins, sentineled by the
tall, charred trunks of “Sherman’s laurels,” the two great magnolias
that sometime stood in their glossy green liveries overhanging the
hospitable hearths that once glowed within. Wildcats lurked in the
briar thickets now upsprung from the fertile soil where once stood
the great stables. The plantation quarters, whose streets formerly
resounded with jest and laughter, at the touch of the vandal’s torch
had flared into flame and vanished, and among their ashes Jimpson weed
and other rank growths struggled.

In a rough stable, hastily improvised of blackgum logs, Old Pickett was
introduced to strange, young Western mules, new to negro ways, but,
from the time of her home-coming, she seemed to grow resentful toward
all the world. While still performing her tasks faithfully, she would
not be hurried, and no freedman was ever able to urge her into a trot,
so, by example, if not by precept, the younger mules associated with
her gradually acquired somewhat of trickiness and of truculence. Old
Pickett still respected the former slave-holding planters, and under
one of these (she was a good saddle animal) she would still condescend
to canter, but the small white boy of ten or eleven years, and the
negroes of all ages, she held in utter contempt. Saddles and bridles
were scarce after the war, and spurs were rare. “The Captain” had a
single ante-bellum spur with which he urged recalcitrant horse or mule
to such bursts of speed as a grass diet would warrant. When rallied
by his hunting companions on his lack of the twin spur, he shrewdly
observed that if he could make one side of his steed travel fast enough
to suit him, the other could always be induced to go along, too. As
this precious tool was never loaned, the small boy who aspired to
equestrian exercise was forced to kick his steed in the ribs with his
bare heel, to which was sometimes tied, with a piece of hickory bark,
a forked stick shaped like a wishbone, usually an effective goad with
which to tickle the equine flank, but Old Pickett was unresponsive.
She was, in a manner of speaking, on all-fours with St. Paul. “None
of these things move me,” she thought--and they didn’t. The ambitious
boy who expressed a willingness to adventure a trip to the railway
station, two miles away, for the mail, only for the chance to ride, was
sometimes offered Old Pickett, just to chill his ardor. If he accepted
the mount, he was given a plow bridle, a folded crocus bag upon which
to sit, and was allotted a few hours in which to make the trip. A stout
switch was permitted him, which he carried in his right-hand for style,
rather than for any impression he hoped to make on Old Pickett’s tough
hide. Fortunately, the kindly amenities of war had left the great
avenue without a gate, or he could not have passed, as no amount of
urging could have brought Old Pickett within arm’s length of the latch,
so the way was clear to the old King’s Highway. The boy had plenty
of time to admire the scenery as Old Pickett walked sedately along
between the willow-fringed canals that flanked the approach to the
“Two Bridges.” In the summer, water snakes dropped quietly into their
element from the overhanging branches upon which they had been sunning
themselves, terrapins slid from their floating logs, and now and then
a small alligator sank slowly downward, leaving only his eyes above
the water. Just beyond, where the boughs of a grove of Spanish oaks
stretched above the road, squirrels sometimes played, alighting among
the smaller branches with a soft “swish” as they sprang from tree to
tree. Then, on to Jupiter Hill, or “Town Hill,” as the negroes called
it, because it lay in the direction of Charleston. Here, with a clay
hole on one side and a Colonial milestone on the other--“31 M. to C
Town” cut in its brown sandstone face--the roads forked, the right-hand
leading to the Village, the left to the station. Although Old Pickett’s
way always led to the station, she never failed to submit the selection
of the road to argument, and invariably leaned to the right. Whether
the memory of the brave, hopeful, early days of the Confederacy, when
she had drawn artillery or army wagons along this road, urged her to
tread again the once familiar paths, or whether she sought only to
match her will and her wits against the boy’s, one may not know, but,
as far as the boy was concerned, the discipline was wholesome, for
loss of temper availed nothing against Old Pickett. Her response to
an application of the switch was to sidle up to the nearest tree or
sapling, against which she would rub her rider’s bare legs, so she
was seldom switched. Sometimes the boy would sit on her back ten or
fifteen minutes without moving, while she drowsed and dreamed of the
past, and then, when, perhaps, she had forgotten the dispute between
them, he would get her started in the way she should go. At other
times, however, when she could not be wheedled out of the Village road,
her rider let her have her way, and, after going two or three hundred
yards, would slowly turn her head into the pineland and, gradually
sweeping around in a wide semi-circle to the left, would reenter
the road to the station a quarter of a mile beyond. Arrived at his
destination, the boy would be fortunate to find some idle negro around
who would bring out the mail to him, for, once dismounted, he could not
remount without assistance, Old Pickett invariably backing her ears,
baring her teeth, and altogether turning toward him “an unforgiving
eye and a damned disinheriting countenance.” To grown-ups Old Pickett
was dangerous only at the rear, but to a dismounted boy she was loaded
at both ends and--a revolver at that--she was so pivoted that head and
tail could swap places with surprising facility. Old Pickett’s tracks
on her way home, however, were the prints of peace. Like so many of the
human race, she knew the way to the trough, and thither she was willing
to be guided.

On Sundays, Old Pickett was turned into the big pasture with the other
mules, for rest and recreation, but, while her companions galloped
or trotted and played, she kept away from them, grazing alone until
satisfied, when, withdrawing to a far corner of the field, and resting
her head upon the rider of the rail fence, she would gaze into space
with retrospective eyes. Sometimes the Sunday outings would be in
cornfields after harvest, where the slovenly freedmen usually left
bunches of rank-growing sheep burrs, having a strong affinity for the
manes and tails of horses and mules. Of these, Old Pickett acquired
her share. The negro who plowed her extracted without difficulty those
which lodged in her mane, but the taking of them out of her tail was
an event in stableyard circles. Strongly tethered in her stall with a
short halter, a stout bar was run into grooves behind her, so hampering
her hindquarters that she could not extend herself. Thus helpless, she
was ignominiously despoiled of the burrs that clung to her tail, even
the small black boys participating in the spoliation, of which they did
not fail to brag later to their companions at the quarters.

“You see dis sheep buhr, enty? Uh tek’um out’uh Ole Pickett’ tail,”
said one, proudly pulling a burr out of the wool about his ears.

“No, you nebbuh! You duh Gawd fuh projick ’long Old Pickett’ tail? ’E
yent come out’um!”

“’E yiz, now!”

“’E yent!”

“’E yiz!”

“’E yent!” and then they fought.

Besides the burrs acquired by her mane and tail, Old Pickett sometimes
got them in her ears, and then a circus act was necessary to get the
bridle over her head in the morning.

One summer afternoon, crook-legged, yellow Sabey came up to the house
to borrow a mule with which to drag from a distant backwater a large
alligator he had just killed, offering to recompense the favor by
bringing a portion of the creature’s oily flesh to be cooked for the
always hungry hounds. As all the other farm animals were busy, Sabey
was told that he might have Old Pickett, who grazed alone in a distant
pasture. Not knowing Old Pickett intimately, the poor darkey scraped
his foot gratefully, and taking a bridle from the rack, an ear of
corn from the crib and a bundle of fodder from the stack, he set out
as gaily and as full of faith as the small boy who, receiving from an
elder his first handful of “fresh salt,” goes forth in quest of the
elusive robin’s tail. Arrived at the pasture, Sabey shambled toward Old
Pickett, holding the ear of corn and the blades coaxingly before him.
The bridle was hidden from sight at his back, tied to a hickory bark
suspender. As Sabey approached, though he looked like no Greek that
ever walked, or fought, or ran, Old Pickett, appraising the provender
as camouflage and fearing even the Gullah bearing gifts, raised her
head and looked at him suspiciously, but, as Sabey slowed down his
pace and called “coab, coab, coab” softly and appealingly, she let him
come up to her and condescended to nibble at the outstretched handful
of blades. The negro’s favorite method of catching a loose mule is to
seize her firmly by the ear, and to this Old Pickett, without an earful
of sheep burrs, might have submitted, but, as Sabey grabbed, the sharp
burrs were pressed so painfully into the inner lining of her ear, that
she wheeled as quick as a flash and, lashing out with heels that had
lost none of their youthful vigor, would have lifted Sabey into the
air had he not with quick presence of mind thrown himself flat on the
ground, so that she kicked over him. When the immediate danger had
passed, Sabey rose to his feet and followed her about the pasture for
two hours, in the vain effort to coax her again within reach, or to
drive her into a fence corner, where he might, by getting a rail behind
her, so pen her up that the bridle could be slipped over her head
without danger. But Old Pickett could neither be led nor driven, and,
just as the sun was setting, Sabey returned alone to the house.

“Mas’ Rafe, uh bin ketch cootuh een me time, uh bin ketch alligettuh,
but uh yent fuh ketch no t’unduh en’ no lightnin’, en’ da’ t’ing oonuh
call Ole Pickett, him duh t’unduh en’ lightnin’ _alltwo one time_! Uh
gone een de pastuh en’ alltwo me han’ full’up wid bittle fuh da’ mule
fuh eat. Uh hab uh kin’ feelin’ een me h’aa’t fuh da’ mule ’tell uh
fin’um out, but now, uh nebbuh fuh trus’um ’gen no mo’! Mas’ Rafe, da’
mule ’ceitful ez uh ’ooman! ’E nyam de bittle out me han’, en’ w’en uh
graff ’e yez fuh ketch’um, please Gawd, ’e head en’ ’e yez gone, en’
me han’ duh graff ’e two hin’ foot! Uh nebbuh see shishuh swif’ hin’
foot lukkuh da’ mule got. Ef me Jedus didn’ bin tell me fuh fall flat
’puntop me belly, sukkuh alligettuh, uh would’uh dead; but w’en uh do
dat, een Gawd’ mussy, de mule kick obuh me, en’ de du’t en’ t’ing wuh
’e kick up out de pastuh, gone ’way up een de ellyment, en’ w’en ’e
fall ’puntop me ’e kibbuh me up same lukkuh dem t’row du’t ’puntop’uh
man een ’e grabe! Mas’ Rafe, uh tengkful fuh you fuh len’ me da’ mule
fuh ride, but ’fo’ uh try fuh ketch’um ’gen, uh redduh walk on me han’
en’ me foot frum yuh _spang_ Caw Caw Swamp!”

Old Pickett had now passed her twenty-fifth year, and day by day
became sadder and wiser. She accepted her daily tasks with resignation,
but not with enthusiasm. The sockets above her weary eyes grew deeper,
and white hairs thickened among the tawny pelage about her brow. Her
ears, once so erect and responsive to all the sounds of the world about
her, now flopped dejectedly like an unstarched “cracker” sunbonnet.
Her lips, as pendulous as those of the bull moose that once tried to
bite the Faunal Naturalist, hung lower and lower, and the hour drew
near when she must shuffle off the mortal harness she had worn so long.
Her eyes had looked upon smiling Peace, upon grim War, and--under
Reconstruction, the once proud planters on foot and their quondam
slaves on horseback--it was time to go. Turned out in the pasture to
spend her last days in idleness, she walked listlessly about, cropping
here and there a bunch of tender grass, while she waited for the
summons. When it came, and she lay down to rise no more, a black spot,
slowly circling in the sky, stooped, and, on a lower level, sailed
again in narrowing circles. The keen eyes of other questing vultures,
miles away, watched the drop, and followed. From the four corners of
the heavens they came, and, alighting on rail fence and blasted pine,
or hovering low on shadowy wings, they watched and waited, until at
last Old Pickett’s glazing eyes told them that her heart and her heels
were stilled forever.

A month or two later in the Autumn, when the family returned to the
plantation from the pineland village, the boy indignantly reproached
the negroes for not having given Old Pickett decent sepulture, and two
of them were induced to gather up her whitened bones and bury them
in a shallow grave at the edge of the ante-bellum “horse burying
ground,” where the old family horses rested under the live-oaks. The
negroes could not understand the boy’s emotion as the clods fell on the
bones of the faithful old mule. “Eh, eh, buckruh boy too commikil. Him
duh cry ’cause mule dead!” They did not know that the passing of Old
Pickett severed a link with the golden past, and that into her grave
went something of The Lost Cause!




THE LOST BUCK


An hour after sunrise, hunters and pack assembled at the appointed
rendezvous, a centrally situated plantation. There was the usual
exchange of pleasant badinage as to the relative speed, stamina
and other qualities of the different hounds, who, now united in an
imposing pack of twenty, combined almost every type known to the deer
hunter, and each had its admirers. The older men preferred the native
low-country stock, a blend, perhaps, of the blood of fox hound and
beagle, bred for a hundred years or more from dogs brought from England
long, long ago. These were fine, high-bred looking animals, mostly
“blue speckled,” flecked with patches of black and fawn, whose twisted
ears, soft as velvet, were long enough to tie under their wearers’
throats--very aristocrats of the dog world, from their long muzzles
to the tips of their slender “rat” tails, not very fast, perhaps, but
with noses so “cold” that they could follow a deer trail more than
twenty-four hours old. Then, too, their cry! “Rolling tongues,” all of
them, sweet and sonorous, whose blending of deep and high-pitched tones
sent the blood tingling through the veins. The hard-riding youngsters,
however, preferred the recently imported “English” dogs--thick-set,
powerful creatures, white, with great patches of black and tan,
broad-eared and “feather-tailed.” Their noses were not cold, nor was
the music of their yelping “chopped” tongues inspiring, but they had
great speed, and their feet were so hard that they could be run day
after day without becoming footsore. Here and there, a somber spot in
the pack, was a black and tan and--a touch of flame--a big “red-bone”
of a western North Carolina strain, a rangy fellow, bred to speed
and endurance in a rough, red-fox country. So each type and each
individual had special qualities and special advocates, and all were
gathered--Countess, Echo, Music, Harper, Lead, Luck, Modoc, Rowser,
Blueman, the panther-like Huntress, and many younger dogs--into a pack
whose all-round efficiency could not have been matched between Ashley
River and the tawny waters of the Savannah!

At last the horns were sounded, and horsemen and hounds passed up the
Cypress road. Soon after crossing the two bridges a mile or so away,
a short consultation was had, and the “Elliott Big Drive” was decided
upon. The elder huntsmen directed the standers to their positions and,
after allowing sufficient time for those who had been assigned the more
distant passes to reach their stands, the two expert and daring riders
who had been designated as the “drivers” put in the eager pack and they
spread fanlike among the myrtles.

The old buck, whose trophies were the special object of this day’s
hunt, had long baffled the Nimrods of the neighborhood. Unusually large
and with a magnificent head of “basket” horns, his resourcefulness had
always enabled him to escape his pursuers. He varied his tactics as
occasion required. In the early fall and winter, while lying with does
and yearlings in the myrtles, or on the sunny side of some broomgrass
field, he would cunningly keep his place upon the approach of hounds
and hunters, allowing his companions to spring up and lead the cry off
on a long run for the river. Then, when the danger was over, he would
sneak away and take sanctuary in some distant thicket. Later on, in
February and March, when the bucks, having dropped their horns, herded
together like timid sheep, he pursued the same course, allowing the
younger and less experienced to “jump” at the approach of the pack
and lead it away while he remained in safety. In his bachelor days,
however, he changed his methods, and, at the first cry of a distant
dog opening upon the trail, the wary buck would “sneak,” and, by the
time the pack reached his erstwhile bed, they found only the outline of
his burly body in the petticoat grass where he had made his luxurious
couch, while the old fellow would be perhaps six or seven miles away
in the Ti Ti across the Edisto, or in some remote and inaccessible
fastness beyond the Toogoodoo. In summer, when his great antlers in
the “velvet” were tender and sensitive to the slightest touch of twig
or foliage, he avoided thickets and tangled places, skirting the
ridges that rose like shoulders on either side of the narrow bays that
intersected the great forests of long-leaf pine.

But on this crisp November day, the woods were clean and clear, with
no tangle of summer foliage, and the big buck, now carrying iron-hard
horns, was as free to run through swamp or thicket as on the higher
knolls and ridges, and, cunning and deceitful, he changed his tactics
from chase to chase, and kept his pursuers guessing as to whether he
would “jump” or “sneak,” whether his course would be east, south or
west. Northward he never ran, for thither lay the railway and the flat
woods, with no rivers beyond whose waters lay sanctuary.

One of the standers, well-mounted, took up a distant pass at Elliott’s
Wells, the site of a settlement abandoned many generations ago.
Concealing his horse in a thicket at the rear of the stand, he returned
to the knoll, stood in front of a great pine, a giant among its lofty
fellows, and listened for the cry of the pack. But listening was
difficult and no cry came to his ears. The wind was high, and, singing
among the pine tops like æolian harps, rose and swelled and softened
and died away, now whispering of the wold with its peaceful sheep,
and quiet meadows where cattle grazed, now thundering of stormswept
mountain tops and the break of ocean surges on rockbound coasts, and
again softened to the lap of sluggish wavelets on the shining shores
of placid bays, and sighing told of those that grieved, and shrieked
with the anguish of those that suffered, and softened again with the
laughter of little children, and told the myriad stories and waked the
thousand memories that the weird and mysterious songs of the wind among
the pines bring to those whose hearts are attuned to nature. More than
once the stander stood at attention, thinking he heard the cry of a
distant hound, but, with a lull in the wind, the aural will-o’-the-wisp
was gone, so misleading are the wind-sounds to even the trained ear. An
hour passed. Two hours--but only the wind was heard, no bay of dog, no
blast of horn betraying the presence of hunter or hound anywhere in the
great expanse of forest.

Not far away was an old graveyard, one of the Colonial villages of
the dead occasionally found in the low-country forests. The lettering
on the marble slabs that covered the eternal sleepers revealed them
as members of important families, many of them children who died of
fever during the summer months before the days of quinine, deep wells
and wire screens. The stander, while listening for the cry of the
pack, read the lichen-covered inscriptions on the tombs and mused
like Gray and Omar. With a whimsical smile, he looked at the towering
crown of a great water-oak deep-rooted in the mould of a stout-hearted
17th century squire--a “five-bottle man” perhaps, and marveled at the
alchemy of nature that could, from Madeira, Port and old Jamaica Rum,
resolve a dew to nourish a Water Oak! Then, with ineffable sadness, he
read the brief life-stories of God’s little children, “Mary,” “Anne,”
“William,” “beloved daughter,” “beloved son” “of ---- and ---- his
wife,” “died August 171-,” “died September 172-.” A cherub deep-carved
in the marble, the line “Suffer little children to come unto Me”--no
more! Seven, eight generations of men and women had lived their lives
and passed since these little children were taken home 200 years ago!
Yet, how near the tragedy seemed! The father returning from field
or forest to find the mother in agony over the stricken child, no
doctor, no ice, no effective medicines. The brilliant eyes, the burning
cheeks, delirium, the end. The little mound in the woodland, wet with a
mother’s tears, the graver’s chisel in the marble--and that was all. So
men and women lived, and little children died--two hundred years ago!

At the end of the fourth hour of waiting, the stander, hearing only the
wind-harps among the pine-tops, and realizing that, either the pack
had jumped and been led by the chase out of the drive--a cunning old
buck sometimes running contrary to all precedent--or that, striking
no trail, the drivers had “blown out” of the Big Drive and called the
hunt together for exploitation elsewhere, mounted his horse and rode
due west through the woods for the Willtown road, which, running north
and south, and nearly parallel with the Edisto and its tributary Penny
Creek, would be crossed by any deer making for the river. Just as he
reached the road, he accosted a negro walking toward Parker’s Ferry
X-Roads, and asked if he had heard horns or hounds.

“Maussuh, uh binnuh stan’ een Willtown road close to Mas’ Edwu’d
Baa’nwell’ Clifton place, w’en uh yeddy de dog duh comin’ fuh me, en’
uh stop fuh liss’n. Bimeby, uh see de mukkle duh shake, en’, fus’ t’ing
uh know, de deer jump out de t’icket en’ light een de big road en’ look
’puntop me! ’E foot fall saaf’ly ’pun de groun’ same lukkuh cat duh
sneak ’puntop’uh bu’d. ’E tu’n ’e head en’ ’e look ’puntop me lukkuh
somebody, ’cep’n’ suh ’e yeye big lukkuh hawn owl’ eye. ’E look at me
so positubble, uh t’ink mus’be ’e duh haant, en’ uh dat ’f’aid ’e gwine
t’row one spell ’puntop me, uh tu’n ’way me head. W’en uh look roun’
’gen, ’e gone! Yuh come de dog’! Uh nebbuh see summuch dog’! Dem full’
de road, en’ dem woice’ roll ’tell you nebbuh yeddy shishuh music. Dem
cross’ de road, en’ dem gone! Attuh leetle w’ile, uh yeddy’um duh gib
dem toung een de gyaa’d’n uh ole Maussuh’ Clifton house wuh dem Nyankee
bu’n down eenjurin’ uh de wah. De gyaa’d’n big ez uh cawnfiel’, en’
’e full’uh high rose bush duh climb up ’pun de tree, en’ all kind’uh
briah en’ t’icket dey dey. Uh yeddy de dog’ mek uh sukkle roun’ de
gyaa’d’n, den dem stop. Bimeby, yuh come de ole buck duh run puhzackly
’pun ’e back track, en’, w’en ’e git to de big road weh him lef’ me duh
stan’up, uh t’awt at de fus’ ’e bin gwine jump ’puntop me, but ’e tu’n
shaa’p roun’ en’ light down de road gwine Paa’kuh’ Ferry Cross-road’.
’E run ’traight een de big road, en’ uh’ spec’ ’e gone ’way todduh
side Allstun’ Abenue befo’ de dog’ git back to de big road on ’e trail.
De dog’ comin’ so fas’ uh git out ’e way fuh l’em pass, en’ dem so
hasty, dem nebbuh ’top fuh smell weh de deer tu’n off down de road, en’
dem gone uh bilin’ t’ru de mukkle t’icket on de back track weh dem come
f’um, en’ dem run ’bout uh mile befo’ dem fin’ out sun dem bin ’puntop
de back track, den dem tu’n roun’ en’ come back fuh weh uh binnuh stan’
up. One leetle blue speckle’ toad bus’ out de pack en’ tek de fresh
trail weh de buck jump off de back track, en’ gone! Soon ez dem todduh
dog’ yeddy him woice, dem lef’ de ole trail en’ bu’n de win’ down de
big road on de fresh track. Da’ duh de las’ uh shum, en’ uh nebbuh
yeddy’um no mo’ attuh ’e done gone.”

Sure enough, the veteran Echo, the most intelligent dog in the pack,
was running wide when she reached the road for the second time and
detected the old buck’s maneuver. With a roar, the pack followed her
at top speed down the open road, but, by the time the cry reached the
Allston place on Penny Creek, the buck, with two or three miles the
start of them, had run directly through the negro quarters, causing
general consternation in the settlement, and had taken the water at
the landing. Instead of crossing, however, he swam rapidly up stream
and, aided by the flood tide, was a mile away before the pursuing pack
reached the water’s edge. True to their usual practice, they crossed
the creek and spread over the swamp on the other side in search of the
trail, but trail there was none. The puzzled hounds ran up and down
the bank for several hundred yards, whimpering with disappointment,
but, for them that day, the buck was lost as completely as though the
brown waters had swallowed him up, and one by one the disappointed
dogs reluctantly recrossed the stream, and, as there was no sound of
horn to summon them, singly and in groups they made their way to their
respective homes.

Realizing that the buck had run far out of the chive, and, by giving
all the passes a wide berth had lost the hunt, the sometime stander of
Elliott’s Wells followed the spreading slot of the deer in the “big
road” as far as Allston’s, and, riding up to the quarters, sought
information of hounds and quarry from an old negress who was seated on
the steps of her cabin, trying to loosen, with a tough horn comb, the
kinky wool of a little black girl who sat on a lower step between her
knees.

“Mauma, have you seen anything of a deer or dogs?”

The old woman, true to her training, tried to rise to drop a curtsy
before replying, but the wide-eyed imp of darkness between her knees
sat stolidly on the hem of her homespun skirt and prevented her rising.

“Git up, gal, ent you hab sense ’nuf fuh mek yo’ mannus w’en you see
w’ite people? Uh bin agguhnize ’long all dem fowl’ fedduh en’ t’ing you
hab een you head, en’ dem tanglety up ’tell uh cyan’ git ’um out, en’
you hab no bidness fuh gone en’ creep t’ru da’ fowlh’us’ winduh fuh git
dem aig’. Git up en’ gone!”

But long before she reached the end of her sentence, the girl was up
and gone, and, with a deep curtsy, the old woman answered the hunter.

“Maussuh, ’bout two hour attuh middleday, dish’yuh nigguhhouse yaa’d
bin full’uh nigguh’, ’cause duh Sattyday, en’ all dese’yuh ’ooman duh
wash dem clo’es. All ub uh sudd’nt, uh yeddy’um holluh same lukkuh
roostuh holluh w’en ’e see hawk’ shadduh ’puntop de groun’, en’ eb’ry
Gawd’ nigguh, ’ooman en’ chillun alltwo, drap eb’ryt’ing wuh dem got
een dem han’ en’ run fuh dem house. Uh look ’roun’ fuh see wuh ’smattuh
mek’um fuh holluh, en’, ef you b’leebe me, suh, one deer duh comin’
down de paat’, big same lukkuh ole Baa’ney, Mas’ Rafe dem bull! ’E
hawn big ’nuf fuh hol’ bushel tub, en’, w’en ’e jump, ’e rise een de
ellyment high mo’nuh dem house ebe’. W’en ’e look ’puntop me wid alltwo
’e yeye, uh ’f’aid suh de debble dey een’um, en’ uh drap ’pun me knee
een de du’t en’ uh pray! Bimeby uh look ’roun’, en’ uh yent see nutt’n’
but ’e tail. De pyo’ tail dat big ’e kibbuhr’um, en’ ’e ’pread out
w’ite lukkuh buckruh’ shu’t buzzum duh Sunday w’en ’e yent got on no
weskit! ’E gone duh crick, ’e jump een, en’ nobody shum no mo’! All
de nigguh’ come out dem house fuh look, en’ attuh w’ile dem yeddy de
dog’ duh comin’, en’ dem run back ’gen. De beagle’ tayre up de street
’long dem foot, en’ dem mek shishuh woice de fowl’ fly up ’puntop de
roof, en’ dem jis’ leely w’ile come down. Tengky, Maussuh, Gawd bless
you, suh!--Come’yuh, gal! Yo’ head full’uh fedduh’ ’tell ’e stan’ same
lukkuh frizzle’ hen! Come’yuh!”

Meanwhile, the big buck’s sensitive ears told him what had happened.
He knew that the pack, at fault and silent, a mile behind him, was
out of the running for that day, at least as far as he was concerned,
and, touching bottom on a little wampee-covered spit of land that
thrust itself into the creek, his dun and dripping body rose from the
waters as he leisurely walked to shore, landing conveniently near a
dense canebrake, within whose safe seclusion he found a dry bed until
nightfall. With the rising of the moon soon thereafter, he slowly fed
his way homeward through the forest, pausing, first near the edge of
the Baring backwater, and then on every knoll where he could find
a grove of the beautiful swamp white-oaks, for his favorite autumn
food, the great over-cup acorns. At last, as the morning star blazed
in the east and the far off roosters--long before Maude Adams won her
spurs and her tail-feathers in Edmond Rostand’s Chanticler--heralded
the coming of the dawn, the old fellow returned to his bed among the
myrtles in the Big Drive, and, full of acorns and the satisfaction of
having again outwitted his pursuers, lay down to his well-earned rest,
undisturbed by dreams of horn or hound.




JIM MOULTRIE’S DIVORCE


The tail of a cold, blustering February day. In the creeks and leads of
the Jehossee marshes the ducks sought protection from the wind until
flushed by the hunter. Since early morning he had successfully explored
every promising hiding place in the great marsh, under the guidance
of Jim Moultrie, a skilled negro hunter and paddler, who pushed the
nose of his clumsy dugout canoe up every little run that looked like a
likely shelter for the wary game. As the sun sank below the horizon,
staining the sky a dull red, the hunter quitted the marshes, and the
bow of the canoe was turned toward Willtown, five miles away. Crouching
low in the stern, Jim paddled silently and strenuously against the
current for an hour. Like birdshot “patterns” thrown against the red
sky, flocks of belated blackbirds hurried to their roosts.

Gradually the shadowy mantle of the dusk shrouded marsh and headland
and the shimmering waters that slid by the struggling canoe; then night
fell and healed the blood-red wound in the West. The dugout crept along
the shore where the current was less swift. Now and then a raccoon
hunting in the marsh sprang away affrighted. The whistling wings of
a swift-flying teal cut through the icy air. Far up the river, like
low-hung stars, twinkled the watchfires of a great timber raft outward
bound for the estuary of the North Edisto. From a distant plantation
came the sweet lu-la-lu of a happy negro freed from work. The raft,
borne upon the bosom of the strong ebb-tide, neared rapidly, and,
around its fires built on earth-covered platforms, the negro raftsmen
talked and laughed as they cooked their supper, and the flames lighted
the face and magnified the figure of the black steersman who stood by
the great sweep oar with which, at the stern of the raft, he guided its
course down stream.

For an hour Jim had silently bucked the tide, impelling the boat under
the powerful strokes of his paddle, alternately left and right.

“What are you thinking of, Jim?”

“Study ’bout ’ooman, suh.” (A short silence.)

“’Ooman shishuh cuntrady t’ing, dem nebbuh know w’en dem well off. You
kin feed dem, you kin pit clo’es ’puntop dem back, you kin pit shoe
’puntop dem foot, you kin pit hat ’puntop dem head, you kin pit money
een dem han’, en’ still yet oonuh nebbuh know de ’ooman, nebbuh know
w’en dem min’ gwine sattify. Dem fuhrebbuh duh lookout fuh trubble.
Ef dem ent meet trubble duh paat’, dem gwine hunt fuhr’um duh ’ood. I
dunkyuh howsoeb’uh fudduh de trubble dey, dem gwine _fin’um_. Ef dem
cyan’ see ’e track fuh trail’um, dem gwine pit dem nose een de du’t en’
try fuh smell’um, but dem gwine _fin’um_! I duh study ’pun dat wife I
nyuse fuh hab, name Mary. Look how him done, w’en him hab no cajun! You
yeddy ’bout me trubble, enty, suh? Lemme tell you. One Sat’d’y night I
gone home frum de ribbuh. I tek two duck’, bakin, flour en’ sugar en’
tea, den I pit fibe dolluh’ een Mary’ lap. Enty you know, suh, dat is
big money fuh t’row een nigguh’ lap? W’en I binnuh boy en’ you t’row uh
’ooman uh fifty cent, ’e t’ink ’e rich, but I bin all dat week wid one
cump’ny uh dese yuh rich Nyankee buckruh’ dat Mr. FitzSimmun hab yuh
fuh shoot, en’ dem buckruh’ t’row me fibe dolluh bill same lukkuh dem
bin dime’! W’en I t’row de money in de ’ooman’ lap, en’ pit de todduh
t’ing wuh I fetch ’pun de flo’, Mary nebbuh crack ’e teet’. I ax’um
’smattuh mek’um stan’ so? ’E mek ansuh, ’nutt’n’. Nex’ day de ’ooman
keep on same fashi’n. ’E nebbuh crack ’e bre’t’. I quizzit’um ’gen. I
ax’um ’smattuh ’long’um. Him say, ’nutt’n’. Den I say ’berry well den.’
Monday mawnin’ I tek me gun, I call me dog en’ den I talk to de ’ooman.
I say, ’Mary, I gwine duh ribbuh, en’ I gwine come back Sat’d’y two
week’. I dunno ’smattuh mek you stan’ so, but I know suh de debble dey
een you. No ’ooman ’puntop dis ribbuh hab mo’ den you, no ’ooman got
so much, but I yent able fuh lib dis way ’long no ’ooman wuh tie’up ’e
mout’, en’, w’en I come back las’ Sat’d’y two week’, I gwine ’tarrygate
you one mo’ time, en’ I gwine ax you ’smattuh mek you stan’ so, en’ ef
oonuh still een de same min’ ez now, den me nuh you paa’t.’

“Well, suh, Sat’d’y two week’, I gone back en’ I say, ‘well, Mary, I
come, how ’bout’um, wuh you got fuh say?’ Him mek ansuh: ‘Ent nutt’n’
’bout’um. Yent got nutt’n’ fuh say.’ Den I tell’um ’berry well, den, I
gone my way, en’ you tek you’n. Now, Mary, I yent no Wanderbilt fuh gi’
you fibe t’ousan’ dolluh’ allimunny fuh lib off, so you is free fuh lib
’cawd’n’ to yo’ own min’, en’ I is free fuh do ez I please.’ Den I tek
me gun, I call me dog, en’ I _gone_!

“De nex’ week, I bin comin’ out de maa’sh on Mr. Rab’nel’ place, w’en I
meet Mary. Him binnuh wait fuh me. I say ‘hello! dat duh you?’ Him say:
‘Jim, I come fuh tell you dat all dem t’ing I bin yeddy ’bout you, I
fin’ out dem is lie, en’ I want you fuh come back to me.’ I say, ‘enty
I tell you dat de finull wu’d would be talk w’en I come back fuh me
ansuh Sat’d’y two week’, en’ ent dat time done pass? You bidness fuh
fin’ out ’bout dat lie een dem twelbe day’ time wuh I done gib you. ’E
too late now.’ En’ I walk off en’ lef’um!”

“Have you another wife, Jim?”

“I hab dat gal you see wid me dis mawnin’ een Mr. FitzSimmun’ yaa’d.
_Him_ ent wut’!”




“BUH ALLIGETTUH EN’ BUH DEER”


One time, w’en nutt’n’ cep’ de bu’d en’ de annimel en’ de Injun bin
yuh, buh deer en’ buh alligettuh ain’ bin fr’en’, en’ buh alligettuh
blan does kill buh deer en’ nyam’um w’enebbuh ’e git uh chance, en’ buh
deer does ’f’aid fuh swim ’cross ribbuh, en’ w’enebbuh ’e go down to de
ribbuh’ aige fuh drink, ’e does cock ’e yez en’ squint ’e yeye fuh buh
alligettuh befo’ ’e pit ’e mout’ down fuh drink; but, bimeby, yuh come
de buckruh, en’ bimeby ’gen, de buckruh fetch de nigguh, en’ bimeby
’e fetch houn’ dog, en’ den de Injun gone, en’ de buckruh’ biggin fuh
hunt buh deer wid dem English houn’, en’ de dog’ so swif’ en’ dem blan
push buh deer so close, de only chance ’e hab fuh git’way is fuh tek
de watuh ’spite uh buh alligettuh, so, w’edduh de ribbuh dey close uh
fudduh, buh deer mek fuhr’um w’enebbuh de dog jump’um.

Now, de fus’ time de buckruh’ run buh deer wid houn’, buh deer ain’
’quaintun’ wid’um, en’ ’e leddown een ’e bed een one mukkle t’icket on
de aige uh de broom grass fiel’ duh tek ’e res’, ’tell de dog mos’ git
up tuhr’um, den ’e fin’ him ain’ able fuh hide, en’ ’e buss’ out de
mukkle en’ lean fuh de ribbuh fuh who las’ de longes’! Yuh come de ole
buck, yuh come de English houn’! Buh deer ’f’aid. ’E jump. ’E run. ’E
git dey fus’. Jis’ ez ’e ketch de bluff fuh jump off een de ribbuh, buh
alligettuh’ two eye’ rise out de watuh duh wait fuhr’um! De alligettuh
hongry. Bittle berry sca’ceful. ’E belly pinch’um. Buh deer fat. ’E fat
fuh sowl. Buh deer dey een one hebby trouble. Alligettuh dey befor’um,
beagle’ dey behin’um, en’ dem toung duh roll t’ru de swamp en’ dem
comin’ _fas’_. Wuh buh deer gwi’ do? ’E yeye dey ’pun de alligettuh,
’e yez dey ’pun de beagle’. ’E mek uh sudd’n twis’ jis’ befo’ de dog’
sight’um, en’ bu’n de win’ down de ribbuh bank ’bout seb’n acre f’um de
bluff and tek de watuh ’cross weh buh alligettuh nebbuh shum.

Yuh come de beagle’ uh bilin’ fuh de bluff. Dem come so fas’ ’pun buh
deer track dem nebbuh stop, en’ two’t’ree gone obuh de bank en’ drap
een de watuh close buh alligettuh’ snout. Buh alligettuh reason wid
’eself. “Wuh dis t’ing? I nebbuh see shishuh annimel befo’, but, duh
bittle!” en’ ’e graff one de beagle’ en’ pull’um onduhneet’ de water.
Todduh dog’ swim out en’ tek dem foot een dem han’ en’ gone home.

Buh deer git’way dis time. ’E gone! W’en ’e ready fuh tu’n back ’cross
de ribbuh, ’e walk easy to de bank duh skin ’e yeye fuh buh alligettuh,
en’ bimeby ’e shum ’tretch out ’pun one mud bank een de sunhot. ’E
belly full’uh beagle. ’E sattify. ’E duh sleep. Buh deer sneak close
to de ribbuh fuh tek a chance fuh git ’cross, but befo’ him kin wet ’e
foot, buh alligettuh shum, en’ ’e slip off de bank fuh meet’um. Yuh de
debble now! How buh deer kin git ’cross to ’e fambly? Him biggin fuh
study, but befo’ him kin crack ’e teet’ fuh talk, buh alligettuh op’n
de cumposhashun.

“Budduh,” ’e tell buh deer, “dat t’ing wuh I done eat, wunnuh call’um
beagle, berry good bittle. Me lub um berry well. ’E easy fuh ketch, en’
’e ent gots no hawn fuh ’cratch me t’roat. Me _done_ fuh lub’um!”

“Ef you lub’um, mekso wunnuh don’ ketch’um, en’ lef’ me en’ my fambly
’lone?” buh deer ax’um. Buh alligettuh mek ansuh: “Me cyan’ ketch de
dog ’cep’n’ wunnuh fetch’um t’ru de ribbuh, so leh we mek ’greement
fuh las’ long ez de ribbuh run. Wunnuh tek de ribbuh, me tek de
beagle’. Me fuh you, en’ you fuh me, en’ alltwo fuh one’nurruh.”

Dat w’ymekso ebbuh sence de’ ’greement mek, w’enebbuh dog run’um, buh
deer tek de ribbuh en’ buh alligettuh lem’lone, en’ w’en de beagle’
come ’e ketch’um, but ef buh deer ebbuh come duh ribbuh bidout dog dey
att’um, him haffuh tek ’e chance.




BUH HAWSS EN’ BUH MULE

A FABLE


    Buh Hawss’ tail long sukkuh willuh switch,
    Buh Mule’ own stan’ lukkuh t’istle.

One time Buh Hawss en’ Buh Mule tu’n out duh pastuh duh Sunday. Dem
alltwo blonx to high buckruh. Buh Hawss binnuh dribe een buggy, en’ Buh
Mule binnuh wu’k duh plow. Dem alltwo glad fuh git out en’ dem alltwo
kick up dem foot en’ play ’bout de fiel’. Buh Hawss cantuh. ’E bow ’e
neck sukkuh gobbluh duh strut, en’ ’e tail heng sukkuh willuh switch.
Buh Mule trot. ’E ’tretch ’e neck out ’traight sukkuh Muscoby duck
duh fly. ’E step high en’ ’e tail stan’ up sukkuh t’istle. Buh Mule
tail oagly, fuh true, but da’ duh all de tail wuh ’e got en’ ’e berry
well sattify ’long um. Buh Hawss biggin fuh brag. “Look ’puntop oonuh
tail,” ’e say. “Mekso oonuh ent hab tail lukkuh my’own?” ’e ax’um.
“Oonuh yent kin switch fly ’long’um ’cause ’e shabe. Shishuh no’count
tail ent wut’,” ’e tell’um. “Me duh buckruh, you duh nigguh!” Buh Mule
biggin fuh shame. ’E yent sattify ’long ’e tail no mo’. Buh Mule cyan’
switch fly, fuh true, but ’e skin tough, en’ fly don’ bodduhr’um, but
Buh Hawss git’um so agguhnize’ een ’e min’ ’e fuhgit fuh tell’um suh ’e
yent hab cajun fuh switch fly ’long ’e tail, en’ ’e heng ’e head en’ ’e
tail alltwo, en’ ’e lef Buh Hawss en’ ’e gone off todduh side de fiel’
en’ ’e study. Bimeby, ’e look obuh de pastuh, en’ todduh side de fench
’e see one las’yeah cawnfiel’ weh de nigguh lef’ ’nuf sheep buhr duh
stan’ ’long de cawnstalk. Buh Mule biggin fuh laugh. ’E op’n ’e mout’.
’E blow ’e hawn. “_Aw-e-Aw-e-Aw-e!_” Buh Hawss cantuh. ’E come close.
’E ax’um ’smattuh mek ’e duh laugh. Buh Mule say ’e laugh ’cause Buh
Hawss ent smaa’t ’nuf fuh jump de fench en’ run’um uh race t’ru de
cawnfiel’. Buh hawss tek’um up. ’E jump de fench. ’E behin’ foot ketch
de top rail en’ knock’um off. Buh Mule tumble t’ru. Yuh dem come! Buh
Hawss cantuh, Buh Mule trot, up en’ down de fiel’ t’ru de sheep buhr.
Buh Mule tail shabe ’tell ’e slick. ’E switch’um roun’ en’ roun’ ’mong
de buhr but none nebbuh stick. Bimeby, Buh Hawss’ tail biggin fuh
hebby. ’E ketch full’uh buhr. Dem tanglety een ’e tail ’tell ’e stan’
sukkuh timbuh cyaa’t rope. ’E duh drag. Eb’ry time ’e switch’um roun’
’e hanch, de buhr sting’um. ’E say to ’eself, “wuh dis t’ing? Me fuh
lick me own self! Me fuh hab spuhr een me own tail! De debble! Me dey
een trubble, fuh true!” ’E talk trute. ’E tail lick’um en’ spuhr’um
alltwo one time.

Buh Mule pass’um. ’E look ’puntop Buh Hawss’ tail, en’ ’e yent shame no
mo’. “Tengk Gawd,” ’e say, “fuh shabe tail. Low tree stan’ high win’!”




LISS “BIN EENSULT”


From Olar, that favored spot in a fruitful section of the State,
where, under the guidance of a Carolina Burbank, the amorous Iron
pea, loving the “Shinny” despite her freckles, wooed and won her
to wilt-resistance, where quiet farmers are classical scholars and
hermits are hospitable, comes a story of Liss, a character as noted in
local colored circles for oddity as for ugliness. A white neighbor,
who recently met her, noticing that she was swelling with wrath, and,
seeking to get a rise out of her, asked:

“What’s the fun today, Liss?”

“No fun een dis t’ing; I done bin eensult.”

“Who has insulted you?”

“Mimy’ yalluh gal Clara eensult me, suh. Dat gal en’ ’e maamy mek crap
fuh Cap’n Willie. I bin to Mimy’ house, en’ one bale uh cotton bin fuh
haul town fuh sell. Clara tell ’e maamy, ‘Ma, lemme go town wid dat
bale, en’ lemme git a spo’tin’ suit out dat bale uh cotton?’

“Now, Mimy swell up bex, same lukkuh bullfrog. ‘Spo’t suit de debble!’
’e say. ‘You binnuh do nutt’n’ but spo’t de Gawd’ blessed yeah. You
don’t git a shimmy out dat bale uh cotton.’

“Den de gal mek ansuh en’ say:

“‘Ma, ef you don’t lemme git dat spo’tin’ suit, I gwi’ do eb’ry bad
t’ing I know ’bout. I gwi’ do bad right now.’

“Clara hab on one deseyuh newfanglety kinduh t’ing dem call
‘_middle-blouse_.’ You know um, suh. ’E stan’ same lukkuh man shu’t,
wid ’e shu’t tail heng out, excusin’ ’e got one kind’uh shoe string
tie onduhneet’ de gal’ buzzum. _My Gawd, w’at a gal!_ Alldo’ t’ree man
dey een ’e ma’ house, Clara staa’t fuh tek off ’e middle-blouse. I
tell’um:

“‘Gal, ef you tek off dat middle-blouse een dis house befo’ dese mans,
you will sho’ hab sin.’

“‘Sin, _nutt’n’_! I gwi’ strip nakit ez a jaybu’d befo’ ’e fedduh’
grow! I gwi’ do bad!’ W’en de gal say dis wu’d, ’e ketch ’e
middle-blouse by ’e shu’t tail wid alltwo ’e han’ en’ hice’um obuh ’e
head! Befo’ ’e kin git’um off, all t’ree de man jump out de do’, en’
w’en I look out een de yaa’d, I shum duh roll obuh en’ obuh een de du’t
same lukkuh hawss roll, en’ duh buss’ demself wid laugh. Now, w’en I
see de gal’ yalluh skin biggin fuh shine lukkuh dese yuh yalluh-belly
cootuh, myself git eensult, en’ I lef’ ’e ma’ house, ’cause I is a
_lady_, suh, en’ dat is a _ondeestunt gal_!”




THE RETORT COURTEOUS


Her name was Patty. She was as black as a tar baby, as oleaginous as a
cotton oil mill and--like Captain Merrimac in Olivette--as broad in the
beam and as square in the rig as a Dutch brig, when she appeared before
a tidewater trial justice as the prosecuting witness _in re_ the State
of South Carolina _vs._ Cudjo Manigo, charged with malicious mischief.

Taking the stand, she put her head on one side and complacently smiled
until the corners of her mouth--evidently designed for the wholesale
trade--approached dangerously near her ears. Twisting his amber
imperial, his Honor began:

Q. “What’s your full name?”

A. “Mis’ Wineglass, suh.”

Q. “Where’s your residence?”

A. “’E yent come teday, suh.”

Q. “I mean where do you live?”

A. “Yaas, suh. I lib on Mass Kit FitzSimmun’ plantesshun, w’ich’n ’e
jis’ done buy’um de Chuesday een week befo’las’ mek six munt’ done
gone, en’ I glad ’e buy’um, too, bekasew’y jis’ ez soon ez ’e buy’um ’e
run dat las’ husbun’ w’ich I marry een Augus’ off de place, w’ich’n me
en’ dat nigguh nebbuh could ’gree, ’cause, een de fus’ place, ’e too
lub fuh lick ’e lady; en’, een de two place, ’e too oncommun lazy en’
no’count, en’, een de t’ree place, ’e fus’ wife en’ me nebbuh could
git ’long, en’, een de fo’ place, him is a class-leaduh een de Baptis’
chu’ch, en’ eb’rybody know berry well dat wehreas class-leaduh mek a
berry po’ kind’uh husbun’ fuh ’e own wife, en’--”

His Honor--“That will do. What is your charge against the defendant?”

A. “Bredduh Cudjo, suh?”

Q. “Yes. What’s your charge?”

A. “I nebbuh chaa’g’um nutt’n’, suh.”

Q. “Well, what did Cudjo do?”

A. “B’Cudjo is a berry nomannus nigguh, suh. Him is de class-leaduh een
my chu’ch, en w’en eeduhso de preachuh on de sukkus, elsehow de locus
preechuh, onable to filfill de pulpit, den B’Cudjo does hol’ saa’bis
een de chu’ch, en’ w’en B’Cudjo done resplain de Lawd’ wu’d, ’e berry
lub fuh talk sweetmout’ talk to all ’e freemale sistuh een de chu’ch,
en’ eb’ry time ’e meet me een de road ’e baig me fuh kiss’um, en’ I
yent wantuh kiss no shishuh oagly, twis’mout’ nigguh lukkuh B’Cudjo,
en’ I tell’um so, en’ den ’e does cuss at me berry nomannusubble, en’
de las’ time I meet’um een de paat’, ’e quizzit me berry rappit, en’
I tell’um ‘go’way, B’Cudjo, bekasew’y I ent wantuh yeddy no shishuh
cumposhashun’, en’ yet B’Cudjo keep on peruse ’long de paat’, en’ ’e
keep on ax’me shish squeschun, en’ fus’ t’ing I know ’e cuss me a berry
bad cuss.”

Q. “What did he curse you?”

A. “’E tell me dat my mout’ does wide same lukkuh Ashley ribbuh!”

Q. “What else?”

A. “Dat all ’e had chance fuh tell me, ’cause I tell’um, ‘Haa’k’ee at
me good fashi’n, B’Cudjo, ’fo’ de Lawd, ef my mout’ _is_ stan’ lukkuh
Ashley ribbuh, _you cyan’ paddle yo’ boat cross’um’_, en’ den ’e git
bex en’ knock me wid ’e hoe handle, en’ dat w’yso I fetch’um yuh.”

At this stage of the proceedings, the Toogoodoo trial justice adjourned
court to measure the Ashley River.




THE CAT WAS CRAZY


On a recent Sunday afternoon, an itinerant evangelist with a throat of
brass was stationed at the corner of Richardson and Plain Streets in
Columbia, singing hymns in the laudable endeavor to save a soul or two.

From an upper window of the Grand Central Hotel a fair face looked out
to the westward, while a child tapped upon the pane.

At a club window opposite, a young bachelor banker sipped his Sunday
cocktail while he eyed critically the passers-by on their way from
church. How many of their financial secrets did he hold in his keeping!
How many of their obligations were locked in his vaults! The note
of that jauntily dressed young man, who held his head so high as he
spurned the dust from his patent leathers, had gone to protest but
yesterday. The extravagance of yonder portly lady, who, with silken
sails spread to the breeze, towed after her, as a tug tows a coal
barge, one of the fashionable fourteen-inch trains, scattering in her
wake banana peel, cigar butts and other miscellaneous wreckage of the
street, had cost her husband another mortgage.

The banker was of a thrifty mind, and he wondered why, in the name of
Saint Peter--why, in the name of the patron saints of cleanliness and
all the gods of common-sense, fashion should exact of its devotees
the performance of the unæsthetic work of the street-sweeper and the
scavenger! Thinking, with a sigh, that shorter skirts might have
permitted longer bank accounts, he turned his eyes to the wooded hills
of Lexington above which hung the setting sun, a great disk of gold.
With his mental coupon shears, the speculative financier quickly
clipped the “orb of day” into gold treasury certificates, put them
out at interest--compounded, of course--and, with one more Vermouth
cocktail to aid his imaginative computation, he was, in a twinkling,
possessed of the wealth of Monte Cristo. And now the world and all
beyond was his! On fancy’s wings he sailed away, away to Arcadie.
Instead of herding bulls and bears, a shepherd now was he. Like
Strephon, he played upon a pipe, while at his feet the lambkins played,
or huddled together in the sunshine “so warm and sleepy and white.”

Garlanded with roses, the shepherdess led him through leafy bowers
into an open glade, where, among the buttercups and daisies, he fell
asleep, and dreamed. _Ay, Dios!_ How few of us realize, until all
too late, that the simplest pleasures are the best, that in home and
friends we may make for ourselves happiness far above that which must
be sought beyond our circle. How few of us realize that there is more
exhilaration in a five-mile spin than in a quart of champagne, that
’tis more blessed to swish the briefest cotton skirt in Arcadie--if in
Arcadie we belong--than to drag a satin train in a Paris salon!

But the banker dreamed, and the strains of the Santiago waltz were in
his ears, and the houris of Mahomet glided along before him wreathed
in--smiles. One, fairer than the rest, beckoned, and he followed on and
on. Out into the darkness he followed the golden gleam of her beautiful
bi-carbonated hair, followed through tangled forest and treacherous
fen--alas! the will-o’-the-wisp!

With a start, he awoke from his reverie to find--like the market girl
who stumbled and smashed the basket of eggs from which she had hatched
out all her hopes--that his gold was gone, for suddenly the sharp edge
of the horizon was drawn like a scimitar across the throat of the
sinking sun, and in an instant the western sky, away up to the zenith,
was stained as with his life blood!

With a shudder, as though chilled from sitting in the overdraft of his
imagination, the banker took his hat and went out into the street,
where the evangelist, having closed his song service, was exhorting the
little group clustered around him.

Suddenly, on the edge of the gathering, an old negro, bent with age
and with a face furrowed by grief, appeared. He led by the hand a
little black girl about ten years old. Her eyes were round with fright,
and about her thin legs a ragged red calico skirt flapped like a
weather-stained flag at half-mast.

The old man skirted the group, eagerly scanning each face as though
looking for a sympathetic ear into which to pour his sorrows. Not
finding what he wanted, he hurried on toward the State House, dragging
the child after him, until, in front of a newspaper office, he saw
a round-waisted gentleman with a priestly look talking to a tall,
long-bearded one of the old school. Detecting benevolence in the faces
of both, he approached the shorter of the two, and, in an anxious
voice, inquired--“Maussuh, please, suh, tell me ef cat kin git crazy?”

“Do you mean is it possible for a cat to have rabies?”

“No, suh, ’taint rabbit, ’tis cat.”

“I apprehend,” said the English purist, “that you desire to ascertain
whether it is possible for a cat to have the rabies. I may say,
for your information, that there are, literally and mathematically
speaking, 18 phases of insanity to which humanity is subject, ranging
from the emotional insanity of commerce, to the popular _mania a
potu_, vulgarly called _delirium inebriosa_. I do not care to give
an off-hand opinion as to whether or not a cat may have one or more
of these kinds of insanity, unless you will accurately describe the
symptoms and put your questions categorically. It is manifestly a work
of supererogation--”

“Great Gawd, maussuh!” said the old man, turning appealingly to the
tall gentleman. “Please, suh, tell dis juntlemun dat my cat nebbuh had
no rabbit, ’e only had kitten’. Yaas, suh. My cat name Jane, en’ ’e
b’long to dis leetle gal chile w’ich is my gran’, en’ him (dat is de
gal) name Jane, en’ Jane (dat is de cat) b’long to Jane (w’ich is de
gal) en’ Jane does use to folluh Jane eb’ryweh ’e go, en’ Jane does
berry lub Jane, en’ w’enebbuh Jane does ketch rat, ’e fetch’um een de
house, en’ w’enebbuh Jane does git ’e bittle fuh eat, ’e always keep
some uh de bittle fuh Jane, en’ w’en Jane (dat is de cat) had nine
kitten’ een Mistuh Claa’k’ smokehouse on de t’ree Chuesday een dis same
berry munt’, den Jane (dat is de gal) set up all night fuh nuss Jane
(dat is de cat) en’, please Gawd, maussuh, jis’ as soon as de nyung
kitten’ eye’ biggin fuh op’n, one shaa’pmout’ black dog, wid ’e tail
stan’ like dese bu’d fedduh buckruh ’ooman does lub fuh pit on ’e hat
w’en Sunday come, dis dog jump obuh de fench en’ bite’um, en’ Jane
(dat is de cat en’ de gal alltwo) git berry agguhnize en’ twis’ up een
alltwo dem min’, en’ Jane (dat is de cat) him jump obuh de fench en’
run’way, en’ de dog en’ Jane (dat is de gal) run attuh Jane (dat is
de cat) ’tell w’en Jane (dat is de cat) staa’t fuh run down de lane,
Jane (dat is de gal) see ole Unk’ Bill Rose--w’ich’n him is de Gub’nuh’
Claa’k, walkin’ good fashi’n down de lane. Now, de gal holluh att’um
fuh ketch de cat, but eb’rybody know dat Unk’ Bill Rose is leetle
kinduh bowleggit, en’, alldo’ him hol’ alltwo ’e foot togedduh, ’e
foot couldn’ specify, en’ Jane (dat is de cat) jump clean t’ru Unk’
Bill Rose’ britchiz, en’ ’e git’way en’ gone, please Gawd, en’ lef’
Jane (dat is de gal) en’ lef’ ’e nine kitten’, w’ich all dem eye’ ent
done open, een Mistuh Claa’k’ smokehouse, en’ gone en’ jump obuh de
fench w’ich run roun’ de ’Sylum yaa’d--en’ dat de reaz’n w’ymekso I
know berry well Jane (dat is de cat) mus’ be gone crazy, ’cause he gone
_spang_ een de ’Sylum!”




A CONGAREE WATER-COLOR


During the last freshet in the Congaree river, three negroes living on
the Childs plantation five miles below Columbia took advantage of the
high water to go rabbit hunting in a boat. Paddling about between the
tree trunks, they scanned the knolls and tussocks that, rising above
the flood, afforded sanctuary to the cotton-tail refugees.

So intent were they upon the chase, that the carelessly managed skiff
struck a cypress “knee” and was instantly swamped. Fortunately, the
trees were thick, and the wrecked crew climbed into a tall gum, where,
far above the swelling flood, they spent the entire day, sending out
from time to time across the waste of waters a piteous cry for help,
until, late in the evening, their voices were heard from the highlands,
and a boat was sent to their rescue by Mr. Childs.

Mingo Singletary, one of the treed nimrods, was in the city yesterday,
and gave the following account of the adventure:

“Yaas, suh, me en’ Silus Smit’ en Hacklus Rab’nel, w’ich Hacklus is my
niece, ’cause _him_ gran’ en’ _my_ gran’ alltwo is de same man, en’
_him_ farruh en’ _my_ farruh is two twin; so, berrywellden, me en’ dese
two mans gone out een de bateau fuh hunt rabbit, ’cause w’en de ribbuh
high, rabbit is a berry easy t’ing fuh ketch, ’cause dey berry ’f’aid
fuh git dem foot wet, en’ dey does climb high ’puntop de tussock. So
we paddle ’long en’ quizzit all de tussock, en’ de same time w’en me
en’ Silus binnuh peep onduhneet’ one briah bush weh rabbit does hide,
fus’ t’ing we know, we ain’ know _nutt’n’_, ’cause my niece Hacklus,
w’ich dat nigguh nebbuh did hab a Gawd’ piece uh sense, him paddle
de boat ’puntop de snag, en’ de boat’ bottom couldn’ specify, en’ de
boat’ bottom buss’, en’ lef’ we een de water. Now, Silus had a fight
wid he lady las’ week, en’ he lady strong mo’den Silus, en’ Silus’
lady lick’um en’ mos’ bruk ’e back, so w’en Silus try fuh swim ’e back
couldn’ specify, en’ jis’ ez ’e biggin to drowndid, my niece Hacklus
ketch’um by ’e britchiz, but de britchiz buss’, en’ Silus gone down
onduhneet’ de water fuh de two time, en’ w’en ’e rise ’gen I graff’um
by ’e lef’ han’ foot en’ hice’um up close to one big gum tree, en’
all t’ree uh we climb de tree ’tell we git ’puntop de limb, en’ den,
please Gawd, we seddown, en’ seddown, en’ seddown; en’ we all t’ree
berry well sattify fuh seddown, ’tell hongry biggin fuh ketch we, en
w’en _him_ come, den we staa’t fuh holluh’ en’ holluh’ en’ holluh.
But de mo’ we holluh, de mo’ we hongry, en’ bimeby we see Silus’ lady
walkin’ by de ribbuh’ aige wid dat yalluh boy Sam, w’ich lib to Mistuh
Hamptun’ place, en’ Silus holluh at ’e lady en’ scole’um, but you know
berry well, suh, ’ooman is de debble, en’ dat ’ooman nebbuh had Silus
een de back uh ’e head. So, we stillyet seddown, en’ seddown, ’tell
we mos’ ready fuh drap off de tree limb; en’ Silus is a class-leader,
en’ him biggin fuh praise de Lawd, en’ bimeby him tell we ’bout how de
rab’n feed ’Lijah, en’ we look high een de ellyment en’ we see ’nuf
buzzut flyin’ high obuh de tree top, en’ Hacklus call to de buzzut fuh
fetch de bittle, but de buzzut keep on flew high een de ellyment, en’
nebbuh bodduh ’e head ’bout Hacklus. Den, bimeby ’gen, Silus resplain
de Scriptuh ’bout how Noah’ dub fetch tree branch en’ all kinduh t’ing
een ’e mout’ w’en de water high; en’, fus’ t’ing we know, we see one
dub fly t’ru de swamp, en’ de sun shine on ’e breas’ en’ mek’um look
like gol’, en’, likewise also, we call to _him_, but ’e didn’ hab
nutt’n’ een ’e mout’, en’ _him_ fly ’way en’ gone, please Gawd! Den,
w’en de sun biggin fuh lean ’cross de tree top ’en staa’t fuh walk down
de sky fuh go to ’e res’, we git mos’ skaytode’t’, en’ we staa’t fuh
sing sperritual’ en’ praise de Lawd, en’ Silus ketch ’e tex’ f’um de
fo’teen chaptuh een Nickuhdemus, en’ him tell we ’bout how de Lawd tu’n
Nickuhdemus eento cow w’en him hongry, so ’e could git grass fuh eat,
but I tell’um dat tex’ couldn’ specify, ’cause how de debble--een de
fus’ place, man cyan’ eat grass w’en him dey high een de tree top.

“En’ den de sun gone down, en’ one leetle cat squerril come out ’e hole
een de gum tree en’ tu’n ’e tail obuh ’e back en’ say ‘_paak, paak,
paak_’, en’ one big owl fly close to we en’ seddown een we tree en’ say
‘_whaak, whaak, whaak, whaak, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo!_’ en’ den I know
de Lawd tek pity on we en’ sen’ we cump’ny, en’ we git mo’ fait’ een de
Lawd, en’ we biggin fuh holluh ’gen, en’ dis time, suh, Mistuh Chile
yeddy we woice en’ sen’ ’e boat en’ tek we off, en’ w’en we git back to
de nigguhhouse yaa’d, eb’rybody on de plantesshun sing praise en’ glad
we come back--eb’rybody ’scusin’ Silus’ wife, en’, you b’leebe me, suh!
Silus’ lady him bex ’cause ’e husbun’ britchiz buss’, en’ ’e lick Silus
’cause ’e didn’ drowndid.”




WAITING TILL THE BRIDEGROOMS COME


On a hot June day a year or two ago, a tall, pumpkin-colored negro was
leisurely plowing an unambitious mule in a cornfield in Lower Carolina.
Minzacter Singleton was his euphonious name, and he was about 55 years
of age.

As he passed up and down the furrows he whistled cheerily, for the
brown earth that curled away in long waves from his plowshare was
mellow and rich, and the bourgeoning corn that bristled around him, a
grand industrial army, uniformed in blue green, epauletted with crimson
silk and plumed with cream white tassels, was full of promise for the
autumn. Here and there a convolvolus vine that had escaped the last
hoeing twined lovingly around a sturdy stalk and, clambering boldly up,
swung its purple, white-throated cups among the feathery blooms of the
corn, where the swift-winged honey bee and the yellow-barred bumblebee
plied their busy trade.

These sights, however, affected not Minzacter. He was a materialist,
not a poet; and, mindful of his one-third interest in the crop that
he was “laying by,” he concerned himself far more with the occasional
bumping of his singletree against the corn stalks, than with the soft
music of the wind harps that crept from among the broad blades as the
breeze passed through them.

High up in the blue, a crow flew slowly over the field, twisting his
head from side to side, while he critically inspected the work in
progress; and, finding that it was good, croaked out an occasional
“ckwarrow, ckwarrow.”

As the friar of the middle ages--the prototype of this black-robed
fellow--unctuously took from the fields of his flock a tithe of the
garnered store, so, when the blades should be stripped away and
September suns harden the grain, would this “sukkus preechuh” claim the
reward of his interest in, and inspection of, the growing crop. As the
ominous shadow passed between him and the sun, Minzacter, looking up,
said: “N’mine, bredduh! Tek care buzzut don’ dance at yo’ fun’rul dis
same berry fall! You smaa’t ’nuf fuh know w’en man got gun een ’e han’,
but yo’ eddycashun cyan’ specify w’en ’e come fuh tell w’en shell’ cawn
got pizen een um. You fly high een de ellyment teday, tek care you don’
flew low befo’ Chris’mus come!”

Upon reaching the end of his row, Minzacter found awaiting him the
burly black constable of a neighboring Trial Justice, accompanied by a
middle-aged brown woman, who, as the plowman came to a halt, accosted
him with: “Mistuh Singleton, I t’awt you was a juntlemun, but I come
to fin’ out you cyan’ specify as a juntlemun, ’cause you run’way en’
lef’ me obuh to Goose Crik, en’ gone en’ marry Paul Jenkin’ grumma jes’
’cause ’e got fo’ cow en’ I ent got no cow. You run’way en’ lef’ yo’
lawfully lady, en’ I come to tek you to de Trial Jestuss fuh t’row you
een Walterburruh jail.”

With apparent nonchalance, Minzacter said: “Go ’way, gal! Who you
call husbun’? I nebbuh see you sence I bawn. I gots no time fuh hol’
cumposhashun wid eb’ry w’ich en’ w’y ’ooman dat come ’long de road. Dis
cawn gots to lay by.”

Julia Singleton, the _ecru_ claimant, left him with the threat that
she would go home and fetch the marriage “stuhstiffikit” to prove that
Minzacter was her lawful husband.

Sure enough, on the day set for the preliminary examination, she
appeared with not only the marriage certificate, but accompanied by her
brother and the Rev. Sancho Middleton, the Goose Creek “locus pastuh,”
who was alleged to have performed the ceremony.

Upon being arraigned for bigamy, Minzacter denied indignantly any
knowledge of the woman. The “stuhstiffikit” was put in evidence, but
as it read simply, “I marry Mistuh Singleton to Missis Singleton,” the
Trial Justice ruled that it couldn’t “specify.” The claimant’s brother
and the preacher had been tampered with by an agent of Minzacter’s and,
at the last moment, they went back on the prosecuting witness. The
brother was put up first, and Julia did the questioning.

“Bredduh,” said she, “ent you ’membuh dat een June munt’ een de same
year w’en us cut down dat new groun’ ’cross Caw Caw Swamp, en’ de same
time w’en Sistuh Frayjuh him had two twin, ent you ’membuh dat de
pastuh renite me to dis juntlemun?”

“I yent know nutt’n’ ’bout’um,” said the traitor, “nebbuh shum sence
I bawn, ent know ’e name, needuhso ’e farruh, needuhso ’e murruh. Mo’
den one punkin-skin nigguh lib een dis wull’. Yalluh nigguh’ t’ick on
de groun’ same as yalluh-hammuh’ t’ick on de tree, en’, as fuh _dis_
nigguh--nebbuh shum sence I bawn.”

“Mistuh Jestuss,” said Julia, ruefully, “I come to ketch my juntlemun,
en’ my _juntlemun_ lie. I gone en’ fetch my bredduh Sam, en’ my bredduh
_Sam_ lie. I gone en’ fetch de stuhstiffikit, en’ de _stuhstiffikit_
lie. Now, I will ’tarrygate my locus pastuh, en’ I know berry well
_him_ ent gwine lie. Pa Sancho,” said she, turning to the sleek divine,
“ent you ’membuh, suh, w’en Sistuh Frayjuh him had two twin?”

“Oh yaas, my sistuh, I ’membuh dat, ’cause dat same time Nickuhdemus
Wineglass’ niece Joe, w’ich ’e had by ’e fus’ lady, git ’e foot ketch
een de ottuh trap on Mistuh Fishpun’ place, en’ de doctuh haffuh cut
off ’e right han’ feet close to ’e knee.”

“Well, suh, ent you ’membuh w’en you renite me to dis same juntlemun?”

“My sistuh,” said he, slowly and deliberately, “you see, dis is a berry
onrabblin’ t’ing fuh yo’ pastuh fuh ’xamin’ ’e min’ ’bout. You know,
all dese common eb’ryday kind’uh nigguh’ kin talk all dese gwinin’ en’
gwinin’, but de preechuh is de Lawd’ _renointed_, en’, w’en him open he
mout’, e’ gots to quizzit ’e min’ berry close, ’speshly w’en ’e talk
wid ’ooman, ’cause ’ooman so ’ceitful, ef you ent min’, him will fool
de two eye’ out yo’ head; en’, fuh dictate now ’bout dis juntlemun, I
mos’ kinduh t’ink I ’membuh leetle kinduh sump’n’, ’bout de time w’en
I marry you to a kinduh punkin-skin juntlemun, en’ w’en I fus’ see dis
juntlemun, I mos’ t’ink ’e look leetle like yo’ juntlemun, but w’en I
come to saa’ch’um close en’ peruse’um puhtickluh, I mos’ kinduh t’ink
maybe dis ent yo’ juntlemun.”

“Please Gawd,” said Julia despairingly, “I gone en try fuh ketch my
juntlemun en’ I fetch’um yuh, en’ _him_ lie. Den I gone en’ ketch my
bredduh en’ fetch’um yuh, en’ _him_ lie. Den I gone en’ ketch de
stuhstuffikit en’ fetch’um yuh, en’ _him_ lie; en’, fin’lly at las’,
I ketch de locus pastuh en ’fetch’um yuh, en’, ’fo’ de Lawd, _him_
lie. Now, I gwine home en’ fetch de six bridegroom’ w’at bin to dis
wedd’n’ w’en I marry dis juntlemun--w’ich my sistuh Amy bin one uh de
bridegroom’--en’ I know berry well _dem_ will crucify dat dis is my
juntlemun.”

At last accounts, the Justice was still awaiting their coming.




A GULLAH’S TALE OF WOE


From the clay chimney of a negro cabin in the lower part of Hampton
County the blue smoke curled and floated away in graceful rings.
Within, the flames crackled cheerily in the generous fireplace, and a
woman, surrounded by half a dozen children, was preparing the evening
meal. The building was of logs, with moss and clay plastered into the
crevices, and the roof which covered it was of clapboards. An humble
dwelling it was, but big enough and warm enough to shelter old Scipio
Wineglass and his family, and it represented--together with the few
acres of land surrounding it--the net earnings of twenty-seven years of
toil “sence freedum fus’ come een.”

The crop had been gathered and locked in the little corn crib that
nestled up under the eaves of the cabin, and among the shucks that lay
around the door a few pigs were rooting. As the twilight fell on this
crisp December evening, the querulous bark of a squirrel came from the
swamp, and away down the road the sound of a horse’s hoofs in a sharp
canter became louder and louder, until, at last, a horseman rode up and
asked for a drink of water, just as old Scipio came in from the woods
with a log on his head and threw it down with a grunt.

Bringing a gourd of water out to the gate, he eyed the stranger closely
as he drank, and as he took back the dipper he asked, “Maussuh, enty
puhlicituh kin oughtuh able fuh read?”

“Certainly, solicitors are able to read. Why do you ask?”

“Well, suh, please Gawd, I gots nutt’n’ but trouble all dis yeah done
gone. Een de fus’ place, jis’ ez soon ez I git de crap plant een de
t’ree week een las’ Epprull, de waa’ment en’ t’ing biggin fuh onrabble
en’ distruss me een me min’ ’tell, please de Lawd, I yent know Rebus
frum Rebelashun! Soon ez I t’row de cawn seed een de groun’, de
waa’ment biggin fuh agguhnize me. I didn’t had no coal taar fuh pit
’pun de cawn, en’ soon ez I pit’um een de groun’, de debble’ub’uh’
crow come ’long en’ pull up half de cawn, en w’at de crow ent pull
up, de cut wurrum ketch, en w’at de cut wurrum lef’, de dry drought
’stroy’d _him_, en’, soon ez de dry drought gone’way, den my ole mare
Silby, _him_ haffuh gone en’ dead! Yaas’suh, dat old mare done gone
en’ leddown en’ dead, en’ lef’ me wid de fiel’ full’uh j’int grass,
en’ nott grass, en’ crab grass en’ t’ing, en’ I yent got a hawss fuh
ride now ’cep’n’ ’tis dese two foot, but stillyet I praise de Lawd
en’ glorify’um, ’cause, ef dat mare didn’t dead, de debble would’uh
had Scipio Wineglass done roas’ en bu’n’up een de fiah ’fo’ dis time!
Yaas’suh, one night een las’ Augus’ een de daa’k uh de moon, jis’ ez
I biggin to drap ’sleep, I yerry one rap ’pun de do’, en’ w’en I tell
de somebody fuh come een, one sperrit buss’ op’n de do’, en’ stan’ on
’e two foot een de middle uh de flo! W’en I shum wid dese two eye’,
I bin dat skay’to’de’t’ dat I didn’t ’membuh fuh ax’um ’e name, but
I mos’ t’ink ’e bin eeduh de ’Postle Paul, elseso Pollido’. En’ dis
sperrit ’tarrygate me good fashi’n, en’ ’e say, sezzee, ‘Scipio’;
sezzi, ‘Suh.’ Sezzee, ‘Scipio, you got a great load uh sin ’puntop yo’
soul!’ Sezzi, ‘Yaas’suh, I know dat, suh.’ Den ’e say, ‘Scipio, ef dat
load uh sin ent tek off yo’ soul, you cyan’ specify w’en de great day
come, en’ you will sho’ to ebbuhlastin’ dead en’ bu’n’up.’ En’ den I
say ‘Yaas, suh, maussuh ainjul.’ En’ den I drap on dese two knee’ en’
pray de Lawd fuh tell de sperrit fuh tek de sin off my soul, en’ den
de ainjul say ’e couldn’ tek de sin off my soul, ’cep’n’ ’e pit’um
’puntop somebody else’ own, en’ den I baig’um fuh pit de sin on ole
Unk’ Hacklus Pinesett’ soul, ’cause Unk’ Hacklus lub fuh t’ief fowl en’
t’ing, en’ him is a nomannus nigguh, en’ de sperrit say ‘berrywell,’
en’ ’e wawm ’e han’ by de fiah en’ gone out de do’, en’, soon ez ’e
gone, I yerry ole Silby duh kick en’ grunt een de stable, but I bin too
twis’up in me min’ fuh pay ’tenshun to _him_, en’, een de mawnin’ soon,
w’en I gone out to de stable fuh feed ole Silby, please de Mastuh,
’e stretch-out, _dead_! En’ stillyet, alldo’ ’e dead en’ gone, yet I
glorify de Lawd en’ praise ’e name, ’cause I know ’e tek de sin off
me en’ pit’um ’puntop ole Silby, en’ all de time I yerry’um binnuh
grunt een de stable, dat sin binnuh ride’um roun’ en’ roun’, ’tell ’e
kill’um. I wonduh w’ymekso dat sperrit ent tek dat ansuh to de Lawd
de way I sen’um, ’cause I buy dat mare to Mistuh Larrissy’ place fuh
seb’nty-fibe dollar, en’ Unk’ Hacklus Pinesett ent wut’ a t’ree cent,
stillyet de Lawd tek ole Silby, en’ lef _him_!

“Now, w’en Silby dead, I tek de hoe een me han’ en’ lay by de crap,
en’, tengk Gawd, I mek fo’teen bushel’ uh cawn een dis same fiel’.
Well, suh, w’en de cawn done lay by, I git ’long berrywell ’tell Mingo
Puhlite’ son Sambo t’ief’ de fattes’ hog I got. Een Septembuh munt’,
soon ez I ketch’um, I tek’um to de Trial Jestuss, en’ him sen’um to
Hamptun jail.

“Now, w’en de trial come in de fall, Sambo git Mistuh Tillin’ass’ to
refen’ she, en I gone to Mistuh Muffey, de puhlicituh, en’ tell’um all
’bout de t’iefin’. Den Mistuh Tillin’ass’ squizzit me en’ ax me all
kinduh squesehun, en’ Mistuh Muffey squizzit Sambo en’ ax _him_ all
kinduh squesehun, en den ole Judge Hutsin him put on one black frock
same lukkuh ’ooman, en’ him ax me all kinduh squeschun, en’ den Mass
Billy Causey, de Claa’k ub de Co’t, tek de eenditement (dat w’at ’e
call de papuh) een ’e han’, en’ ’e tu’n’um upside down en’ ’e read’um
wrong, en’ den Mistuh Tillin’ass’ tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down
en’ him read’um wrong, en’ den Judge Hutsin tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um
upside down en’ _him_ read’um wrong, en’ den, please Gawd, Mistuh
Muffey, de puhlicituh, _Him_ tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down en’
_Him_ read’um wrong! Yaas’suh, de jury bin all buckruh’, en’ all dem
care ’bout is fuh sen’ one nigguh to de penetenshus fuh eb’ry hog
w’at git t’ief, en’ de Claa’k ub de Co’t git my name en’ Sambo’ name
tanglety’up on de papuh, en’, fus’ t’ing I know--’cep’n’ dat Sambo own
to t’ief de hog fuh git meat fuh eat to de passobuh preachin’ w’ich was
hol’ to Sistuh Frajuh’ house--please Gawd, de buckruh’ would’uh sen’
me to de penetenshus fuh t’ief me _own hog_! En’ dat de reason, suh,
w’ymekso I ax wedduh puhlicituh kin read, ’cause I didn’t bex so much
’bout Mistuh Tillin’ass’, en’ Mass Billy Causey, en’ ole Judge Hutsin
wid ’e black frock sukkuh ’ooman, but I _did_ t’ink dat Mistuh Muffey,
de puhlicituh, could’uh _read_.”




THE DOCTOR DIDN’T “EXCEED”


Down upon the banks of the turbid Toogoodoo--one of the many creeks
that indent the seacoast of Colleton County--lives June Middleton, a
negro of the old school. As a body servant, he followed his master
through Virginia “eenjurin’ uh de wah,” and, at its close, he received
for his faithful service a few acres of the plantation upon which he
had been reared. His little holding was as dear to him as was ever an
entailed estate to an English noble, for, like all Southern negroes who
had formerly belonged to families of culture and refinement, he shared
the pride of his quondam owners in their ancestral acres and in their
distinguished names.

The comfortable frame house, in which June had spent the days of his
slavehood, had long since gone up in smoke, for no habitation of man
or beast was too lowly to escape the torch of Sherman’s bummers, who,
in 1865 illumined the “benighted South.” Upon its site now stands a
clay-chimneyed log cabin, and by its door ebb and flow the waters of
the creek from which June had for years drawn his sustenance. While he
did not exactly “go down to the sea in ships,” he paddled his little
“dugout” canoe out to the mouth of the stream at nearly every low tide
during the winter season, and shared with the raccoons the little
sharp-shelled bunch oysters that covered the exposed mud banks.

In the spring, when the yellow jessamine swung its golden cups above
the forest undergrowth, and the silver stars of the dogwood gleamed
from the chaparral, he mended his nets and lines in preparation for
the summer campaign, and, later, when the woods were odorous with the
blossoms of the elder and the wild grape, he commenced his nocturnal
forays against the finny tribes. On dark nights, when the piping of the
marsh hens apprised him that the tide was out, he took with him a boy
to paddle his cranky little craft, and, standing in the bow, threw his
cast-net with a “swish” far out into the schools of shrimp and “finger
mullet.” His catch, together with an occasional string of whiting and
yellowtail taken with the hook and line, he converted at a distant
village into the necessaries of life.

For many years there had scarcely been a ripple on this placid life of
June’s, save when a “puppy-shark” would occasionally make away with his
bait, sending the whiting line whizzing through his fingers and almost
upsetting the little craft with his impetuous rush, or when, two or
three times a year, the itinerant preacher would visit his cabin to
swap ecclesiastical platitudes for fresh fish.

On a bright day in early summer, old June sat at his doorstep basking
in the sun and watching the glistening waters as they hurried by.
Occasionally, a kingfisher would leave his station on a dead limb and,
zig-zagging in his flight, would swoop down on some small fish that
showed on the surface, and, having swallowed his prey, would leisurely
return to his perch with a harsh note of triumph. The “preechuh on de
sukkus” had just arrived to pay his periodical visit, and, scattering
a group of half-naked children who were playing around the door, June
brought out another three-legged stool and extended the hospitalities
of the establishment.

“Reb’ren’,” said he, “I berry glad you come teday.”

“Why, bredduh, ’smattuh mekso?”

“Well, suh,” said June, whose philosophical patience and faith might
put to the blush many who quarrel with their lot, “I yent min’ ’bout me
myself, suh, ’cause I tengk Gawd fuh life en’ de bre’t’ w’at Him lef’
een dis body. My lady, w’ich dead een las’ Augus’, had de consumpshus
en’ de remonia alltwo, en’ him en’ me alltwo nyuse to smoke de same
pipe befo’ him dead, en’ I berry ’f’aid dat I gwine likeso fuh ketch
de consumpshus en’ de remonia frum dat same berry pipe, en’, den, I
got mis’ry een de back, en’ I sen’ dat leetle gal ’Riah--dat is my
gran’--to de cross road sto’ fuh git fibe cent’ wut’ ub tup’mtime,
but de buckruh tek de fibe cent frum de gal en’ t’row water een de
tup’mtime, en’ w’en I rub de back wid de tup’mtime de tup’mtime couldn’
specify, en’ de mis’ry keep on jes’ de same, en’ I git so po’ly now dat
I kin sca’cely git een de crik fuh ketch swimp en’ t’ing, en’ bittle
git berry sca’ceful dese days, suh; but tengk Gawd fuh life, suh, tengk
Gawd fuh life, en’ I berry glad you come, ’cause I want’uh ax yo’
’pinion ’bout my gran’, Sooky. You know’um, suh, him is uh ’leben yeahs
ole gal chile, en’ ’e git sick een de two week een las’ Jinnywerry
done gone mek one yeah, en’ Doctuh Baa’nwell t’row one dollar en’
sebenty-fi’ cent’ wut’ uh med’sin een de gal, but somehow I don’t t’ink
de Doctuh exceed so well wid de gal, ’cause, een de fus’ week een dis
same Jinnywerry--befo’ de yeah well out--de gal tek wid mo’ mis’ry
een ’e lef’ han’ foot, en’ w’en I sen’um back to de Doctuh ’e want’uh
chaa’ge anodduh dolluh en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’ fuh t’row mo’ physic’ een
de gal, en’ dat mek me bex, ’cause eb’rybody know ’tis too soon fuh
t’row’way anodduh dolluh en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’, en’ likeso eb’rybody
know dat Doctuh Baa’nwell couldn’ be exceed so well wid de gal, en’ ’e
med’sin couldn’ specify, elseso ’e wouldn’ haffuh cyo’ one en’ de same
gal two time een one en’ de same yeah!”




THE LADY COULDN’T “SPECIFY”


The Rev. Nepchun Kinlaw, the “locus pastuh” of a Colleton County flock,
sat in the sunshine at the door of his cabin, drawing from the sights
and sounds around him inspiration for his next Sunday’s sermon.

Although he could not read, an open Bible was on his knee, and his head
was bowed reverently over the well-thumbed pages. His only knowledge
of their contents was acquired from the circuit preacher whose
quarterly sermons furnished the “class-leaders” and local preachers
with scriptural data wherewith to conduct the campaign against Satan
until his next round. These Bible truths “Pa Kinlaw”--as the female
members of his charge delighted to call him--instilled into his flock
by homely illustrations. Out in the yard before him, a little ridge of
earth, which gradually increased in length, indicated the presence of a
ground-mole that was burrowing through the hard ground. “Dat gru’mole
hab fait’,” said he. “’E yent gots no eye een ’e head, en’ ’e cyan’ see
de wurrum een de eart’, but ’e hab fait’, en’ de Lawd lead’um ’long to
weh de wurrum does lib, en’ de gru’mole ketch de wurrum en’ eat’um.
Same fashi’n, man en’ ’ooman gots to hab fait’ een de Lawd, elsehow dem
ent able fuh _specify_ w’en Gabrull blow ’e hawn en’ de great day come.
Ef you ent got _fait’_, please Gawd, oonuh nebbuh ketch de wurrum ub
Salwashun!”

His reflections were rudely interrupted by the advent of Jim Green,
the colored constable of a neighboring trial justice, who, mounted on
a razor-backed rat of a Texas pony, rode up to the door and, in the
name of the State of South Carolina, demanded from the “Reb’ren’” a
dollar and a quarter, the balance due on a two-dollar marriage ceremony
performed in October last by the aforesaid trial justice, “who did then
and there, at the time and place aforesaid, unite one Nepchun Kinlaw to
one Minda Manigo.”

Not a red flag flaunted before a bull--nor a rival’s becoming Easter
bonnet before a society woman--could have been provocative of more
wrath than was the constable’s demand upon “Pa Kinlaw.” Rising from his
seat, with the natural color of his face deepened by anger until it was
as dark as the hinges of Hades, he said: “Green, you kin go back to de
Trial Jestuss en’ tell’um dat de lady, w’at him renite me to een de two
Chuesday een las’ Octobuh, cyan’ specify. Tell’um dat de only reason
w’ymekso I hab dis lady is bekasew’y my fus’ wife dead een las’ June.
Dat ’ooman w’at dead wuz de fait’fules’ ’ooman I ebbuh come ’cross een
dis wull’. I g’em praise fuh _dat_! De only fau’t I had wid’um, is
’cause ’e gone en’ dead een _June_! Ef de ’ooman had’uh dead een de
fall w’en de crop done lay by, I wouldn’ uh min’ summuch, but ’e gone
en’ leddown en’ dead een June, please Gawd, een _June_ munt’, w’en de
grass duh grow, en’ w’en de time haa’d, en bittle berry sca’ceful, en’
’e lef’ seb’n chillun een de house, en’ lef’ de cawn een de fiel’ befo’
’e gitt’ru hoe’um two time, en’ de jaybu’d flew een de fiel’ en’ nyam
de cawn, en’ de redbu’d flew een de fiel’ en’ nyam de cawn, en de crow
en’ de rokkoon en de ’possum en’ all de odduh’res’ waa’ment nyam de
cawn, ’cause I yent gots nobody fuh min’um out’n de fiel’, en’ stillyet
dat ’ooman gone en’ dead een _June_! Now, w’en I see all dese chillun,
wid ’e mout’ open same lukkuh chuckwilluh’ mout’, en’ I yent gots no
bittle fuh pit een ’um, I mek up my min’ dat I gots to git anodduh
lady, en’ sistuh Minda en’ him fus’ husbun’ paa’t, en’ I quizzit de
fus’ husbun’ ’bout’um en’ ’e gib de lady uh berry good cyarrictuh, so
I tek’um to de trial jestuss en’ marri’d’um, but w’en I marri’d’um I
t’aw’t ’e could _specify_, so I pay de jestuss sebenty-fi’ cent’, en’
owe’um dolluh en’ uh quawtuh on de ’ooman, en’ I tek de ’ooman home
en’ t’row’um een de fiel’ fuh done lay by de crap en’ plant peas een
de cawn, but, please Gawd, soon ez I lef’ de ’ooman ’e leddown flat
’puntop ’e back en’ gone ’sleep een de sunhot, en’ ’e ’low de crow
en’ t’ing fuh spile eb’ry Gawd’ crop een de fiel’ eenjurin’ de week
day, en’, w’en Sunday come, de lady put one high brustle ’puntop ’e
back en’ gone chu’ch same lukkuh him duh buckruh! En’ w’en I fin’ all
dese gwinin’ en’ gwinin’ bout de ’ooman, I kinduh git disgus’ wid, de
’ooman, en’ I yent feel like pay out no mo’ money fuh de ’ooman w’en
’e cyan’ speci_fy_. W’en I ’gree fuh pay de jestuss two dolluh’ fuh
marri’d dis lady, I t’aw’t ’e could speci_fy_, en’ I didn’ min’ ’bout
payin’ two dolluh’ fuh uh smaa’t ’ooman, but sence I tek de ’ooman home
en’ try’um, I fin’ dat de ’ooman cyan’ speci_fy_, en’ ’e yent wut’ mo’
den de sebenty-fi’ cent’ w’at I done pay on’um; en’, ef de jestuss ent
sattify wid dat--befo’ I pay de odduh’res’ ub de money--befo’ I pay’um
de dolluh en’ a quawtuh w’at I still jue on de ’ooman--_him kin tek de
lady back_!”




A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE


The Republican State Convention was in session in the hall of the
House of Representatives at Columbia. There was a contest between two
rival delegations from Berkeley County, the one representing the “old
line” Republicans, the other the younger element which had recently
affiliated with the conservative Democrats. The fight came up on the
seating of the delegations, and it was agreed that five minutes should
be allotted to the chairman of each delegation for the presentation of
his claims to the convention.

A young African, fancifully arrayed in a spotless white flannel suit,
rose in behalf of the younger delegation and arraigned his opponents in
an “impassioned” speech.

Before his five minutes had expired, Mr. Thompson, the ape-like
chairman of the elder statesmen, interrupted him with an appeal to the
chair.

“Mistuh Chair,” said he, “I rise to uh squeschun ub priblidge.”

The Chair--“Does de juntlemun rise to de priblidge, eeduhso de
squeschun?”

“Great Gawd,” said the thoroughly aroused delegate, “I rise to de
priblidge en’ de squeschun, alltwo one time, en’ I also rise to uh
squeschun ub _inflummashun_, ’cause I bin pussonully _attacktid_.
Mistuh Chair, dis ondelicate nyung juntlemun w’ich pusceed me has
prizzunt to dis augus’ body de credenshul ub de contestuss delegashun
frum Bucksley County to Mount Pleasant presinck fuh sen’ one delegashun
to Cuhlumbia, fuh sen’ anodduh delegashun to Chicagyo fuh nominashun
de Prezzydent uh dese Newnited State! Mistuh Chair, de ’Publikin
paa’ty een Bucksley County is gots fuh speci_fy_, en’ I will likes
to quizzit dis immaculate nyung juntlemun frum Bucksley County en’
ax’um a few cumposhashun! I will likes fuh ’tarrygate’um en’ ax she
weh _him_ bin een de yeah sebenty-stree, w’en I bayre my breas’ to
de bullet uh de Dimmycrack frum de mountain to de sea_boa’d_! I will
like, suh, fuh peruse de min’ uh dis ondeestunt nyung juntlemun
en’ ax’um how de debble him kin specify en’ ruppezunt de ’Publikin
paa’ty een Bucksley County to Mount Pleasant presinck, w’en him
binnuh lib een Mistuh Puhshay Smit’ yaa’d, en’ binnuh nyam buckruh’
bittle ebbuh sence ’e farruh gone penetenshus fuh t’iefin’ hog een
de yeah sebenteen-eighty-stree! I will likes to ax dis ondelicate
_chillun-nigguh_ how him kin come yuh wid ’e jaw teet’ full uh Puhshay
Smit’ hog meat en’ onduhtek fuh seddown him contestuss delegashun ’pun
dis historicus _flo’_!

“W’en, Mistuh Chair, dis meetin’ wuz hol’ to Bucksley County to
Mount Pleasant presinck, fuh sen’ dis delegashun to Cuhlumbia fuh
sen’ anodduh delegashun to Chicagyo fuh nominashun de Prezzydent uh
dese Newnited _State_, dis immaculate juntlemun, Mistuh Dannil T.
Middletun, repose heself ’gense de conwenshun plan fuh nominashun, en’
adswocate de primus ward[2] _plan_. Now, w’en de juntlemun fin’ dat
de conwenshun plan is wictoria obuh de primus ward plan, de juntlemun
git disgus’, en’ de juntlemun lef’ de flo’ uh de conwenshun en’ gone
down de step, follow’ by he cohort, Mistuh Gibbes! Now, Mistuh Chair, I
punnounce shish ondeestunt behavior, on de paa’t uh Mistuh Middletun,
uh disgustuss splotch ’pun de ’Publikin paa’ty’ cawpsus politicksus,
en’ ef de juntlemun will contuhdix de wu’d w’ich I nyuse, I will
punnounce she to be a _lie_! Mistuh Chair, de juntlemun’ mout’ is too
black for she to be a Dimmycrack, en’ ’e yeye is too red fuh he to
be a ’Publikin, en’ I punnounce’um, on de flo’ uh dis conwenshun, uh
monstrosity politicuss _muffledice_!”[3]




CONDUCTOR SMITH’S DILEMMA


Is there one, among the thousands that have traveled on his train, who
does not know and, knowing, does not esteem, Conductor Smith--“Billy”
Smith of the Blue Ridge Railroad? Surely not, for like his prototype,
Baines Carew, the sympathetic attorney of the Bab Ballads, who was so
overcome by the recital of his clients’ woes that he “had scarcely
strength to take his fee,” Billy, the embodiment of courtesy and
kindliness, never collected a fare or punched a ticket without a
deprecatory smile and look of sympathy, as tho’ it grieved him very
much. This accommodating disposition has made him an easy prey to an
exacting public. Other trains have passed over his road, but the cream
of the travel has always been reserved for Billy. His the happiness
of looking after tow-headed boys sent to visit distant relatives; his
the honor of escorting to and from boarding-school, grown girls who
have been provided with half-fare tickets by their thrifty mothers;
his the privilege of hauling to and fro, ladies who have been blessed
with twins by a prodigal Providence, ladies with birdcages, ladies with
baby-carriages, ladies with cats in baskets, ladies with geraniums
in pots, ladies with home-made jams and pickles in jars, ladies with
bundles and bandboxes, ladies with an overweening desire to pour into
his sympathetic ear divers family secrets--the exact number of teeth
the last baby but one has cut, the number and variety of fashionable
ailments considerately diagnosed by their family physicians, etc., etc.
With these and like confidences the patient conductor’s time is not
infrequently whiled away between stations.

Thus for years has Billy Smith trod--or rather joggled along--the path
of duty between Walhalla and Belton. In the spring-time, when rill and
river are swollen by heavy rains, and the tawny waters rush down the
hillsides, gullying the plowed lands and scattering the rich soil “out
among the neighbors,” when the pale blue wild violet and the waxen
Easter lily peep from dell and dingle, and the peach and plum trees,
clustering around the farmsteads, open their pink and white petals to
the sunshine and the dew; in the summer, when the golden bees swarm
over the clover blooms and the ripe grain falls before the sweep of
the scythe; in the autumn, when the chestnut burrs lie on the sod and
the dead leaves swirl in the blast; in the winter, when the Blue Ridge
is wrapped in a slumber-robe of snow and the frost crystals, forced
out of the icy earth, sparkle on the sides of the deep cuts--in all
seasons and in all weathers--Billy Smith plods on. Time and toil have
streaked his beard with gray, and deepened the lines in his face,
but his smile is as sweet and his hands and feet as willing as ever
they were in his younger days, and, until he shall run his last train
through the golden gates of the new Jerusalem and pass in his manifests
to be checked up by the Almighty Auditor, he will doubtless be seen at
the termini of the Blue Ridge Railroad, loaded to the gunwales, like a
lighter at a coaling station, with babies, pug dogs, flowering plants
and all the miscellaneous paraphernalia apparently inseparable from
itinerant femininity, and will still take a commanding position in the
centre of his coach and diurnally sing, alas! “that old sweet song:”
“Belton, Belton! Junction Columbia and Greenville Railroad! About
fifty minutes, fifty minutes, before the train comes for Columbia!
Passengers going in the direction of Columbia will have to git off now,
you’ll have to git off, as this train leaves in about ten minutes,
ten minutes, for Greenville, for Greenville--which is in the opposite
direction from Columbia!”

There are moments in every life when flowers are no longer sweet, and
women no longer fair; when there is no music in the song of birds, no
merriment in the laughter of children, and all the world seems dark.

One of these moments came to Billy Smith the other day, when Conductor
Fielding of the main line unloaded at Belton, Diana Hawlback, an
elderly black woman from Beaufort County, who, with her grand-daughter
“Lizzybet’,” a spotted pig in a bag, two barnyard roosters and a hen,
tied by the legs, four quarts of roasted peanuts, a bushel of “Crazy
Jane” sweet potatoes, a large bundle of bedding, and divers and sundry
other belongings, was on her way to Pendleton to visit relatives. “The
fight came up,” as the Congressional reporters say, “on the recurrence
of the previous question,” which was, in this case, an emphatic demand
for the payment of full fare for Diana’s “gran’,” “Lizzybet’,” a leggy
girl of apparently fourteen years of age. “Cap’n,” said Diana, “dat gal
is a ’leben yeahs old gal, en’ wehrebbuh I does tek’um on de train,
de buckruh nebbuh does chaa’ge me mo’ den chillun money fuh de gal.
Enty you ’membuh, suh, de yeah w’en de dry drought come? Well, dat gal
bawn een dat same berry yeah een de middle paa’t ub de summuh, ’cause
I ’membuh berrywell de dry drought dry up all de swamp en’ backwatuh
en’ t’ing een Augus’, en’ all de man on de plantesshun gone out een
de swamp en’ ketch de alligettuh out’n ’e hole, en’ dis gal Lizzybet’
ma--him name Benus--eat too much alligettuh w’en Lizzybet’ wuz a t’ree
weeks’ ole gal, en’ de ’ooman dead en’ lef’ dis gal on my han’. De
gal’ pa wuz my nyoungis’ son, Pollydo’, en’ alldo’ de scriptuh say,
‘Paul kin plant en’ Pollydo’ kin water, but Gawd duh de man w’at gib
de greese,’ stillyet Pollydo’ en’ him bredduh Paul plant de crap en’
watuhr’um alltwo ’tell de dry drought come, but Gawd nebbuh sen’ de
greese ’tell Pollydo’ ketch de alligettuh en’ bile’um, en’ stillyet,
alldo’ ’e folluh’ de scriptuh’ wu’d en’ gib ’e lady de alligettuh
greese w’at de Lawd sen’, yet de lady dead, so I don’t t’ink dat tex’,
w’at my locus pastuh resplain, could be specify, elseso I don’t t’ink
Pa Kinlaw could be onduhstan’ de scriptuh berry well, or de greese
nebbuh would’uh ’stroy’d de ’ooman. Stan’ up gal, en’ ’low de buckruh
fuh look ’puntop yo’ foot. Cap’n, you ebbuh see, sence you bawn,
shishuh feet lukkuh dat on a fo’teen yeahs ole gal? Ent you know,”
said she, as Conductor Smith’s eyes opened at the size of the pedal
extremities exhibited, “ent you know dat a ’leben yeahs ole gal gots
bigguh foot den a fo’teen yeahs ole gal? Dis gal nebbuh had a shoe ’pun
’e foot, en’ ’e foot gots nutt’n’ fuh stop’um frum grow. Befo’ you
tek’way all my money fuh tek dis gal to Pendletun, I wish you, please,
suh, kin eeduh go yo’self, elseso sen’ uh ansuh to my sistuhlaw, Miss
Frajuh, w’at lib to Mistuh Brissle place to Cumbee, en’ ax’um wedduh
dis gal Lizzybet’, w’ich him is my gran’, is mo’ den ’leben yeah ole.”




ONE WAS TAKEN--THE OTHER LEFT


On the hot white sand of a cart road that wound along the edge of
a ricefield in lower Carolina, lay the stiffened body of a yellow,
crop-eared cur. By his side, a companion in death, was a cottonmouth
moccasin, beaten almost to a pulp.

The road was flanked on either side by a canal half filled with
stagnant water, dotted here and there with water lilies and shaded by
the feathery foliage of the pond willows, while, among the clumps of
rushes that fringed the edges, blue flags nodded. Over all, the July
sun glared fiercely, and up on the willow branches, where, here and
there, his rays penetrated the dense foliage, lay a water snake basking
in the golden light. Now and then a blue heron--the “Po’ Joe” of the
plantation negro--rose lazily from his fishing station out in the
ricefield, and, trailing his long legs after him, moved on to another
“drop.” The whole world seemed to be asleep in the warm sunshine--all
the world save old Ca’lina Manigo, who sat on a cypress log by the side
of the road and gazed sorrowfully at the dead dog, and the snake that
had caused its death, while he muttered to himself:

“Po’ ole Hol’fas’ dead, yaas, suh, dead en’ gone! Ketch ’e de’t’ en’
git ’structed by uh debble’ub’uh snake! De preechuh say dat w’en de
Lawd tek’way good man en’ good ’ooman frum dis wull’ ’tis bekasew’y
Him lub ’um en’ gots nyuse fuhr’um, but I wunduh w’y mekso Him tek’way
Hol’fas’? Cyan’ be dem does ketch rokkoon en’ ’possum en’ t’ing een
Heben! I nebbuh yerry ’bout no shishuh t’ing, but, my Mastuh! ef
dem _is_ got’um dey, Hol’fas’ will tree’um befo’ dayclean tomorruh
mawnin’, ’speshly ef ’e got sense ’nuf fuh fin’ Bredduh Cudjo, my
class-leader, w’at de Lawd tek las’ Fibbywerry, ’cause B’Cudjo nyuse to
lub fuh folluh de waa’ment’ track een de swamp same lukkuh ’e nyuse to
lub fuh folluh de ’Postle Paul’ en’ Nickuhdemus’ track een de Scriptuh,
en’, I tell you, suh, w’en B’Cudjo git on a hot trail, wedduh’so ’e duh
trail ’possum or ’postle, ’e berry haa’d fuh t’row’um off!

“Dat mek me ’membuh ’bout de las’ time me en’ him en’ Hol’fas’ ketch
de hebby rokkoon een de Cypress swamp close to Beabuh dam. Yaas’suh,
dat dog couldn’ _tu’ndown_ fuh rokkoon! ’E wuz jes’ ’bout fus’
fowlcrow; de mawnin’ staar climb up de sky ’tell ’e stan’ ’puntop de
treehead, en’, ’way obuh de swamp een de big dribe, we yerry de owl
‘whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo,’ en’ bimeby pres’n’ly, we list’n good en’ we
yerry Hol’fas’ comin’ ’pun one hot trail, en’, bimeby ’gen, we know by
’e baa’k dat ’e done tree; so, w’en we come to de dog, ’e bin at de
biggis’ sweetgum tree een de swamp en’ duh gib ’e tongue berry rappit.
Now, w’en we pit de light’ood junk behin’ we fuh shine ’e yeye, we
see de rokkoon ’puntop de berry top uh de gum tree, en’ we yent gots
no gun fuh shoot de rokkoon, so B’Cudjo staa’t’ fuh climb de tree fuh
t’row down de rokkoon, en’ ’e git’long berry well ’tell ’e git mos’ to
de rokkoon, en’ B’Cudjo so hongry fuh ketch de rokkoon, dat ’e nebbuh
quizzit de limb w’at him binnuh seddown ’puntop, en’ w’en ’e _graff_
at de rokkoon, please Gawd, de limb couldn’ specify, en’ de limb bruk,
en’ w’en B’Cudjo graff de rokkoon by ’e tail, him en’ de rokkoon
alltwo drap out de tree, en’ hit de groun’ ‘_bim_!’ De rokkoon dead,
but B’Cudjo, een Gawd’ mussy, fall ’puntop ’e head, en’ dat hukkuh ’e
didn’ bruk ’e back!

“Well, praise de Mastuh, Him tek’way Hol’fas’. I yent grudge’um de dog,
ef Him want’um, but I wish ’E had uh bin tek my lady Bina en’ lef’ de
dog, ’cause de dog nebbuh lie, en’ de ’ooman _fuhrebbuh_ duh lie, en’
de dog wuz a fait’ful dog, en’ de ’ooman is a ’ceitful ’ooman, en’
w’en you feed de dog, de dog wag ’e tail, but de _’ooman!_ him nebbuh
tengkful fuh _nutt’n’_. You nebbuh kin sattify _him_!”




EGG-ZACTLY


“Come’yuh, gal, en’ lemme look ’puntop yo’ foot. W’en I call you, yo’
foot hebby ez i’on, en’ w’en I tu’n you loose, ’e light ez uh fedduh.
Wuh ’smattuh? Yo’ two foot’ mus’ be tie togedduh, enty? Befo’ de Lawd,
you stan’ same lukkuh yo’ maamy en’ yo’ gran’maamy alltwo. You is
tarrypin w’en time come fuh wu’k, en’ bu’d w’en time come fuh play!”

Old Carolina Manigo sat on a three-legged stool at the door of his
cabin, as he thus addressed his grand-daughter, Lucinda, a scrawny
negress of twelve or thirteen years. With reluctant feet, the girl,
a pitiful object, approached him. Her dress and appearance were in
keeping with the wretched poverty of her grandfather and all his
surroundings, and evidenced the utter incapacity of the average negro,
thrown by “freedom” upon his own resources, to care decently for his
family. The frowzy wool on her unkempt head had been plaited weeks
before into little pigtails that bristled all over her crown like
black caterpillars. Her face was gray with dirt, around her thick lips
lingered the encrusted remnants of her sweet-potato dinner of the day
before, while down her cheeks lay, like the rills of resinous gum that
streak the bark of the pine tree “boxed” for turpentine, the tracks
of recent tears. Through the rifts in the ragged cotton dress that
constituted her sole attire, her scraggy limbs showed as she walked,
or limped, rather, toward her grandfather. Around her left foot was
wrapped a piece of burlap bagging, and, whenever she stepped upon it,
her pinched face contracted with pain.

“’Smattuh, gal, snake bite you, enty? Dis house mus’be hab sin, ’cause
dis mek de two time Gawd, een ’e mussy, sen’ mis’ry en’ water-moccasin
een dis fambly. Las’ week dem ’stroy’d Hol’fas’ (w’ich him wuz de bes’
rokkoon dog ebbuh git ’pun a trail) en’ now, please de Mastuh, de snake
gone en’ structid dis chillun gal, en’ ’e gwine to dead on my han’, en’
’e know berry well ’e ma gone town, en’, ef ’e _yiz_ dead befo’ ’e ma
git back frum town, him will lef’ me bidout a Gawd’ somebody fuh min’
bu’d out de cawnfiel’, en’ I nebbuh see, sence I bawn, shishuh hebby
gang uh woodpeckuh’, crow’ en’ all kind’uh annimel lukkuh dis same
Augus’ munt’. Gal! You ent gots no eye een yo’ head ’scusin’ fuh look
fuh blackberry, enty? You walk duh paat’ en’ tu’n yo’ gaze ’puntop de
sky, ’stead’uh quizzit de groun’ weh you duh walk! W’en you dead, who
gwine keep jaybu’d’ out’n dis fiel’? I good min’ to lick you!”

“Gran’puh,” whimpered ’Cindy, “I nebbuh step ’puntop no snake, suh,
’tis briah w’at ’cratch me foot.”

“Briah!” laughed old Ca’lina, derisively. _“Briah!_ Who’ebbuh yerry
’bout shishuh t’ing! Briah! I sway to Gawd, gal, you mos’ mek me laugh!
Weh de debble you ebbuh know briah kin ’cratch nigguh’ foot? You mus’
be t’ink you is buckruh, enty? You binnuh walk een briah en’ t’ing
ebbuh sence you bawn, ’tell de bottom uh yo’ foot haa’d same lukkuh
alligettuh’ back, en’ you gots de impedin’ to come’yuh en’ tell yo’
gran’puh dat briah ’cratch yo’ foot! Step fas’, gal. Slow walkin’ mek
quick lickin’, en’ fus t’ing you know briah will ’cratch you ’puntop
yo’ back ’stead’uh ’pun yo’ lef’ han’ feet. Mek’ace, gal, en’ come’yuh.
Ent you ’membuh dat, een de ’Postle Paul’ ’Pistle to de ’Feeshun’, him
resplain de wu’d dat ’long talk ketch run’way nigguh?’ Ent you know dat
dey ent uh Chryce’ hom’ny een de house fuh eat? De las’ fr’en’ I got
een dis wull’ wuz ole Hol’fas’, en’ snake gone en’ structid dat dog
en’ kill’um, en’ ebbuh sence ’e dead, de waa’ment en’ t’ing come en’
’stroy’d eb’ry Gawd’ fowl on de place, en’ las’ night wil’cat come en’
ketch de frizzle hen wat binnuh set onduhneet’ de cedar bush een de
fench cawnuh, en’ de hen ’low de cat fuh ketch’um, en’ t’ree uh de aig’
is duck aig’ en’ two uh de odduh’res’ is tuckrey aig’, en’ you bettuh
tek de aig’ to Mistuh Ram’ sto’ to de Cross Road’, en’ chaa’ge’um
seb’npunce fuh de aig’, ’cause I don’t t’ink de aig’ kin specify berry
well, ’cause de hen w’at bin seddown ’puntop de aig’ git ketch by de
wil’cat en’ de aig’ binnuh seddown een de jew en’ t’ing, but ef de
buckruh ’tarrygate you en’ quizzit you too ondeestunt ’bout de aig’,
you kin tell’um dat de aig’ kin specify, ’cause de frizzle hen w’at de
wil’cat ketch ent binnuh seddown ’puntop dem aig’ mo’n t’ree week, en’
you kin tell’um dat wehreas de hen aig’ oughtuh hatch’out een t’ree
week’ de duck aig’ en’ de tuckrey aig’ ent jue fuh hatch’out ’tell de
fo’ week done out, en’ tell’um dat wehreas de hen aig’ en’ de duck aig’
en’ de tuckrey aig’ all binnuh keep one’nudduh cump’ny, de hen aig’ is
too mannusubble fuh hatch’out befo’ de odduh’res’ aig’, so de hen aig’
keep ’e cyarrictuh f’um spile, ’tell all ’e cump’ny done hatch’out.”




AN INTERRUPTED OFFERTORY


Out at the edge of the woods that fringed a sea-island cotton field
in the lower part of Colleton County, stood a little bush church--a
primitive affair, constructed by setting four ten-foot stakes at the
corners of a square, laying ridgepoles in their forked tops, and
covering the whole with green boughs of the sweetgum. Humble as it was,
this summer sanctuary of the Rev. Nepchun Kinlaw’s congregation was
as dear to them as was ever minareted mosque to Moslem, or cloister
to Monk. Here, during the warm weather, when the more pretentious
clapboard church became unbearably hot, they assembled two or three
times a week to receive the pearls of theological thought that, clothed
in the Gullah dialect of the Carolina coast, fell from the thick
lips of their beloved “locus pastuh.” Here, sheltered from sunshine
and shower, they sat, like roosting chickens, on pine poles that,
upholstered only with the bark that covered them, rested upon upright
stakes sawed square at the top and driven into the ground. When these
“pews” were filled to the ends, the overflow found lodgment on the
stumps and logs that lay within sound of the preacher’s voice in the
environing forest.

On a night in the early summer, an unusually large congregation had
gathered at this trysting place of the faithful, for the news had
spread that “Pa Kinlaw” was going to say something sensational on
the subject of pastoral ways and means. The night was dark, the sky
overcast, and now and then the low rumble of distant thunder and a
fitful gust of wind from the south-east, that soughed through the
tops of the pines for a moment and then died away, betokened the
coming storm. Around the place of worship, two or three pine-knot
fires blazed brightly, furnishing, at once, light for the comfort of
the congregation, and smoke for the discomfiture of the gnats and
sandflies that swarmed about the church. Around and between the fires,
the negroes, men and women, moved, avoiding the smoke and sparks that
the wind, from time to time, sent among them, the firelight falling
on their dark faces recalling the “hot-pot” scene in Rider Haggard’s
“She.” While they awaited the advent of their preacher, they discussed
their daily pleasures, trials, hopes and fears--the reduced cost of
bacon or calico at the country store, the demand for labor, and the
increased price therefor, at the rice plantations along the river, the
destruction of the early corn by the cutworms and the crows, etc.

“I yerry,” said one old woman to another, “I yerry dat Mistuh
FitzSimmun done tek de sprout flow off ’e rice, en’ ’e gwine hoe’um
nex’ week, T’ursday.”

“Dat so?” said her companion. “Den, I gwine dey sho’ ez Gawd lemme go.
Ef my juntlemun kin git uh hawss, eeduhso uh oxin, fuh knock de middle
out’n ’e crap, I will mek she go ’long too, alldo’ ’e gots de mis’ry
een ’e back ’tell ’e cyan’ specify wid ’e hoe lukkuh ’e nyuse to do.”

“I ’spec’,” said old Ca’lina Manigo, “I ’spec’, I mos’ sho’, rokkoon
duh walk duh paat’ dis berry night! Please Gawd, ef Him didn’ mek
dat snake ’stroy’d Hol’fas’ las’ yeah, I could’uh ketch one tenight,
tenight, duh de night!”

“Ef you so hongry fuh rokkoon meat, w’en de praise done gitt’ru, we
kin tek my dog Ring en’ tek a leetle dribe,” said Monday Parker, a
stalwart black fellow.

“_Ring!_” said Ca’lina, scornfully. “_Ring!_ Boy, ef you talk Ring’
name een de same bre’t’ wid Hol’fas’ name, you will mek me hab sin
right yuh tenight! I kin tek ole Hol’fas’ jawbone out’n de du’t weh de
buzzut done lef’um, en’ I kin pit dat jawbone ’puntop uh rokkoon track,
en’ him will mek de rokkoon git een de tree top, befo’ Ring kin ketch a
fleas out’n ’e own tail! Go’way, Paa’kuh, man, you know berry well yo’
dog cyan’ specify!”

“’Nuf t’ing, ’scusin’ dog, dey een dis wull’ w’at cyan’ specify,” said
a deep voice from the darkness without, and, in a moment more, the
long-looked-for pastor, mounted on a raw-boned brindled ox, rode into
the broad disk of firelight that filled the glade. A grain sack stuffed
with corn shucks was his saddle, and a long grapevine wound around and
around the unhappy ox, together with martingales and crupper of the
same, held it in place. A bridle and stirrups of frayed cotton rope
completed the extraordinary equestrian equipment.

“Cow iz shishuh ’ceitful t’ing fuh ride, dat I mos’ didn’ mek me
’p’int,” said the preacher, as he dismounted and hitched his animal to
a bush.

“Paul Jinkin’ got some shinny peas plant close by de road aige, en’
dis cow bin so hongry dat, w’en I git to weh de fench bruk down, ’e
tek ’eself en’ me en’ all, en’ gone een de fiel’ en’ staa’t fuh nyam
de peas, en’ I try fuh git’um out de fiel’, ’cause Paul ent b’long to
we chu’ch, but de cow haa’d-head ez a ’ooman, en’ I couldn’ git’um
fuh lef’ de fiel’, ontel we yerry Paul call to ’e lady fuh git up en’
he’p’um ketch de somebody w’at dey een de fiel’, en’ w’en I yerry
_dat_, I yent want’uh git de cow’ cyarrictuh spile, so I mek’um come
out’n’ de fiel’--en’ dat how I git yuh late.”

Taking his stand in the tall box of rough pine boards that served for
a pulpit, he looked askance at the contributions to his support that
various members of his congregation brought to the altar and laid on
the ground beside him. A quart of grist, a dozen eggs, a chicken, a
pint of “clean” rice, a nickle--ostentatiously brought forth from a
knot in the corner of an apron and placed by the proud donor “een de
Reb’ren’ han’”--such were the offerings of this simple people, but,
although representing more than a tithe of their possessions, they
found little favor in the pastor’s eyes.

“Sistuh Wineglass,” said he, as a bustling middle-aged woman smilingly
presented a chicken. “Sistuh Wineglass, chickin’ seems to sca’ceful een
dis congregashun ez debble sca’ceful een heab’n! Dis mek only de t’ree
chickin’ w’at bin contri_butes_ to dis chu’ch sence de las’ quawt’ly
preachin’, en’ I done tell oonuh one time ’ready dat dis pulpit cyan’
filfill’ bidout _bittle_. Ent de Scriptuh say een de fo’teen chaptuh
een Nickuhdemus, dat de lab’ruh wut’ ’e hire? I gots to lef’ my crap
kibbuh wid grass, en’ come yuh fuh ’rassle en’ agguhnize wid oonuh
sinful soul en’ t’ing, en’ you gots de nomannus to come een de Lawd’
house wid t’ree aig’ en’ one leetle fo’punce chickin een yo’ han’, en’
’spec’ fuh ketch salwashun, enty? Ef you saa’ch Nickuhdemus’ wu’d you
will fin’ dat ’e say ’sponsubble dat a fo’punce chickin cyan’ specify
fuh seb’npunce’ wut’ uh salwashun! You tell me week befo’ las’ dat you
couldn’ git no chickin’ ’scusin’ you git aig’, en’ you cyan’ gots no
aig’ ’cep’n’ de hen lay’um, but de Lawd’ wu’d say, ef yo’ right han’,
eeduhso yo’ right han’ feet, refen’ you, you mus’ cut’um off, en’ ef de
hen cyan’ specify, you mus’ cut off him head same fashi’n en’”--

The pastor’s prelude was brought to a sudden close by a deafening peal
of thunder that echoed and re-echoed through the forest. A gust of
wind lifted the sweetgum thatch from the rafters of the little church
and scattered the boughs to leeward, and, as the big raindrops began
to fall upon the assembled worshipers, Pa Kinlaw gathered together his
prog, mounted his ox, and trotted off in the darkness, calling to his
flock as he went, “de Lawd en’ me alltwo cyan’ talk one time! De nex’
preachin’ will be to Sistuh Rab’nel’ house ’bout fus’ daa’k Chuesday
night!”




A FLAW IN THE “EENDITEMENT”


She came into the office of a Walterboro lawyer and engaged his
services to reverse, upset and “spile” the decision of a trial
justice who had just fined her “nine dolluh’ en’ de cawss’, suh,” for
obstructing a public highway.

Grace Rivers was her “eentitlement.” The color of her skin was so
deep that a piece of charcoal drawn across her face would have left a
pallid mark. Although literally on the “shady side” of seventy, she was
not regardless of the advantages of dress, and her costume was, like
Katisha’s left elbow, worth “coming miles to see.” The gray wool that
covered her head was snarled and tangled like a burry merino pelt, but
a man’s black straw hat, battered and weather-stained, was set upon
it as jauntily as was ever worn the rakish cap of Fra Diavolo! When a
fashion-plate had last been seen in her habitat near Ion’s Cross Roads,
bustles were “the thing.” Although these protuberances on the human
form divine had long since been called in and relegated to the rear
(?) they were still “the thing” for Grace. The balloon bustle of the
society actress, the oscillating bustle, the coiled-spring variety that
rebelled at being sat upon, and, when “crushed to earth,” like truth,
would “rise again,” having passed away, were not now obtainable at the
country stores; so the ingenuity of this dusky devotee of fashion was
called into play, and she had constructed as unique a “dress improver”
as was ever worn under the sun--or under a homespun skirt, either, for
that matter. A rift in the rear of her gown disclosed the mechanism of
this work of art, which was merely a piece of an iron barrel hoop, bent
into a half-elipse, and wound with two or three thicknesses of cotton
bagging. Primitive as it was, it sufficed to elevate the hind part of
her skirt several inches above the level of the lower periphery of
the front breadth, which was hidden by an apron made of a rough-dried
guano sack, on which appeared in bold stenciled letters, “Ashepoo Acid
Phosphate, 200 pounds--privilege tax paid.”

Taking a seat in the counsellor’s office, she said: “Majuh, I come fuh
git jestuss yuh teday, teday! W’en my juntlemun, Mistuh Ribbuhs, dead
yeah befo’ las’, een Augus’ munt’ (en’ ’e dead ’cause snake structid’um
on ’e lef’ han’ feet w’en ’e binnuh gwine to praise meetin’ to Sistuh
Gibbes’ house on Hawss Shoe causeway) w’en him dead, ’e lef’ me t’irty
acre’ lan’ w’ich ’e buy frum Cap’n Gracy befo’ ’e dead. Now, w’en
my juntlemun binnuh lib, Cudjo Singletun en’ ’e fambly buy a piece
uh groun’ close to weh we lib, en’ likeso Sambo Hawlback buy groun’
eenjinin’ de same lan’. ’Long ez my juntlemun binnuh _lib_, dem berry
well sattify fuh trabble ’longside de aige uh my groun’ w’en dem duh
gwine chu’ch, eeduhso to de sto’, but soon ez my juntlemun _dead_, de
eegnunt nigguh’ git so swell’up en’ ’laagin’, dem come en’ cut paat’
t’ru my pinelan’, en’ call’um pulblic road. W’en I see de ’ceitfulness’
en’ de ondeestunt gwinin’ en’ gwinin’ uh dese nomannus nigguh’, I git
disgus’ wid de nigguh’, en’ I mek a fench ’cross de road, ’tell de road
couldn’ specify. Now, w’en Sunday night come, Sambo tek ’e lady een ’e
oxin cyaa’t, en’ staa’t lukkuh him duh gwine chu’ch, but ’e nebbuh git
to chu’ch, suh, ’cause ’e oxin ent gots good eye duh night time, en’
de oxin git tanglety’up een de fench, befo’ Sambo ruckuhnize weh ’e
duh gwine, en’ de oxin t’row Sambo’ lady out’n de cyaa’t, en’ de lady
fuhgit de ’lij’un w’at ’e staa’t fuh tek to chu’ch, en’ ’e git bex,
en’ Sambo git bex, en, fin’lly at las’, dem didn’ gone chu’ch, but dem
tu’n back home, en’ nex’ mawnin’ Sambo gone to de Trial Jestuss en’
swayre out warrant fuh ’res’ me en’ my groun’ fuh twis’up en’ obstruck
de pulblic highway, en’ de Jestuss sen’ a mufflejaw’ nigguh counstubble
to my house, en’ him tek me off befo’ I gitt’uh chance eb’nso fuh pit
on me shoesh, en’ I tell’um dat ’e yent deestunt, no, suh, fuh ’res’
a lady en’ tek’um to co’t, bidout ’e shoesh ’puntop ’e foot, but dat
counstubble raise’ by po’ buckruh en’ ’e yent gots uh Chryce’ mannus to
’e name!”

“Well,” said the attorney, when he had stemmed this torrent of speech,
“did you tell him that you were not ready for trial; that you wished
time to secure counsel and to summon witnesses to testify in your
behalf?”

“I _baig’um_, I tell’um, ‘Mistuh Awkuhmun, I want to quizzit you on
dis p’int, how de debble you kin ’res’ a lady fuh obstruck uh highway,
w’en you know berrywell de road w’ich de nigguh’ mek t’ru my lan’, run
t’ru _low groun’_! How, een de name uh Gawd, kin I eentuhfayre wid de
pulblic _highway_ w’en de road so _low_ dat ’e full uh watuh ’tell
limus cootuh en’ t’ing duh swim een’um! No, suh! ’scusin’ you kin ansuh
me dat parable, yo’ eenditement cyan’ specify’.”

“What was his reply,” asked the lawyer.

“’E didn’ reply _nutt’n’_, suh. ’E jis’ tell me I gots fuh specify wid
nine dolluh’ en’ de cawss’, ’scusin’ I want’uh leddown een Walterburruh
jail ontell de t’ree Sat’d’y een June. I didn’ gots no money fuh g’em,
so I g’em mawgidge on my cow en’ t’ing ’tell I kin come yuh to you,
suh, en’ git you fuh see me t’ru, ’cause dis ondelicate buckruh ’res’
me’, en’ try me en’ all, een one en’ de same day. ’E wouldn’ eb’n gimme
time fuh go home en’ reconstruck meself, en’, please suh, Majuh, w’en
my juntlemun dead, ’e tell me fuh fin’ out w’at you will chaa’ge me fuh
tek care uh me en’ my cow en’ my groun’ en’ t’ing by de yeah--eb’n so
ef I duh sleep--I want you fuh see how much you will chaa’ge fuh keep
nigguh, en’ counstubble, en’ po’buckruh en’ all kind’uh waa’ment en’
t’ing off my groun’, ’tell I _dead_, suh.”

The lawyer told her he would consider the matter, and, Ashepoo’s “Nada,
the Lily,” with a curtsy to the stranger within the attorney’s gate,
drifted out into the brilliant sunlight that lay like a golden mantle
on field and woodland.




OLD WINE--NEW BOTTLES


He lived in Spartanburg, and was the proud valet (pronounced “valley”
in the up-country) of a young physician. Whether the charcoal hue of
his face, or his employer’s profession, prompted a clever woman to
bestow upon him the appellation of “the valley of the shadow of death,”
I do not know, but it certainly seemed, to every one acquainted with
him, a peculiarly appropriate “eentitle_ment_.”

Whence he came was a mystery. He tramped into the town one day, with
his kinky wool full of the red dust of the up-country roads and his
mouth full of the Gullah dialect of the coast, and asked for work.
Although not more than thirteen years of age, his hardened muscles and
pinched face indicated that he had known both toil and starvation.
“Gran’puh lick me en’ I run’way en’ lef’um,” was all he said, and,
as he proved industrious and reasonably honest, there was no further
inquiry into his antecedents.

One day, soon after he had established himself in his Spartanburg
sanctuary, I chanced, while on a visit to the low-country, to learn
something of his history. Passing through a plantation, formerly the
home of a distinguished South Carolina family, but now abandoned to the
occupancy of a few negro squatters, whose slovenly agricultural methods
extracted but a scanty subsistence from the naturally fertile soil, I
came to a miserable cabin, half a mile away from the main settlement.
On its site had once stood a comfortable frame house of the type in
general use on Southern plantations for ante-bellum negro quarters,
but the woodwork had long since been destroyed by fire, and the brick
chimney alone remained. Among the negroes of the coast, where brick are
scarce and the cabin chimneys are generally made of clay or mud, the
possession of a brick “chimbly” is a sort of badge of aristocracy and a
passport to high position in colored society, and old Scipio Smashum,
having been a house servant before the war, and, retaining through all
the hardships that had come to him with freedom, a profound contempt
for the coarser-fibred “field hands,” preferred to live apart from
them, and had reared around the isolated brick chimney a habitation
which, even when new, was never weatherproof, and was now in a pitiable
state of dilapidation.

From the pine saplings, of which the walls were constructed, the
rotting bark had fallen away, disclosing the perforations of the wood
borers or “sawyers,” whose industry had almost honey-combed the sappy
logs. The clapboards which covered the house were falling to pieces
with decay, and here and there on the weather-worn roof lay, like oases
in a desert of gray, patches of green mould.

The surroundings of the cabin were as unkempt and unattractive as the
building itself. Dogfennel and “Jimpson” weed grew almost up to the
threshold. A few rows of corn and beans in a garden nearby were choked
with grass and had been abandoned soon after the plants were up. The
“wattled” fence of clapboards surrounding it was tumbling down, and
through the fallen panels the neighbors’ cows and pigs roamed at will.
On the top of a little log chicken coop, a young Dominique rooster
cackled loudly while he awaited the coming of his partner, who was, at
the moment, busied with domestic duties within.

On a bench near the door sat old Scipio. The wool which covered his
head was as white as the back of a Cotswold sheep, and the face, in
which his bleared and jaundiced eyes were deeply set, was seamed with
care.

As I approached, he was upbraiding the boastful rooster. “You so
’laagin’. Soon ez yo’ lady git on ’e nes’ you biggin fuh cackle same
lukkuh _you_ duh specify, ’stead’uh _him_. You stan’ dey wid yo’ back
speckle’ lukkuh one dese red-head’ woodpeckuh’, en’ t’ink you gots mo’
eentruss’ een dat aig den de hen ’eself.--Mawnin’, maussuh, t’engk
_Gawd_ I see you teday. De time so berry haa’d, maussuh; ef you didn’
bin come soon, I ’spec’ you wouldn’ uh fine’ yo’ ole nigguh yuh teday.
I mos’ t’ink de big Maussuh gwine to call me putty soon, ’cause de
mis’ry een de back git mo’ wuss den ’e nyuse to be, en’ bittle git so
sca’ceful dese day’, en’ I cyan’ hol’ de hoe like I could’uh do one
time, en’ I cyan’ git no cow, needuhso no mule, fuh plow de groun’,
’tell I cyan’ raise no crop, en’ eb’nso w’en de crop done plant, I yent
gots no chillun en’ t’ing’ fuh keep de waa’_ment_ out’n’um, en’ I mos’
t’ink ef you didn’ come teday, _Stepney_ would’uh git dis po’ ole body.
Trouble come sence you bin yuh las’, sho’ ez Gawd! Dat boy Joe run’way
en’ gone to de up-country jis’ ’cause I lick’um, en’ soon as _him_
gone, old Sancho Haywu’d’ lady dead, en’ Sancho come en’ tek’way my
gran’daa’tuh ’Riah, en’ tek’um home fuh wife. I t’aw’t dat ole nigguh
had mo’ sense, but w’en I peruse ’e cyarrictuh close, I see ’e cyan’
specify ez uh sensubble man.”

“When did his wife die?” I asked.

“’E dead een Fibbywerry, suh. ’E binnuh cook supper, en’ ’e gone to
de shelf fuh git salt fuh pit een de hom’ny, en’ ebbuh sence ’e gots
catt’rack’ een ’e yeye ’e cyan’ see berry well, en’ ’stead’uh tek de
can wid de salt, ’e tek de can wid de consecrate’ lye, en’ ’e pit de
consecrate’ lye een de hom’ny, en’ fus’ t’ing ’e know, ’e yent know
_nutt’n’_ ’cause ’e dead! Oh yaas’suh, ’e git relij’un jis’ befo’ ’e
dead, en’ ’e dead beautiful, yaas’ suh, en’ ’e had de biggis’ fun’rul
you ebbuh see, en’ ole Pa Sancho pit ’e lady een de groun’ lukkuh
teday, en’, please Gawd, ez ’e gwine home frum de fun’rul dat same
berry day, ’e come by my house en’ tek my gran’ ’Riah en’ tek she home
fuh wife! Ef I had’uh bin home, I wouldn’uh let’um tek de gal befo’ de
munt’ done out, ’e would’uh look mo’ _deestunt_, yaas’suh. But I don’
min’ ’bout Sancho, ’cause dat gal gwine to mek’um t’ink t’unduhsnake
got’um befo’ dis yeah gone, yaas’suh. I tell’um, ‘Sancho, you better
min’! Tek care bettuh mo’nuh baig paa’d’n[4], en’ Paul’ wu’d to
Buhrabbus een de Scriptuh specify puhtickluh dat you cyan’ pit uh nyung
grapewine een uh ole killybash, en’ you cyan’ pit a nyung ’ooman een uh
ole ’ooman’ frock, ’cause dem alltwo will buss’. Sancho, you know berry
well you cyan’ specify, en’ you ent gots de strengk fuh lick dat nyung
’ooman, en’ likeso Buhrabbus say dat ef you don’ lick yo’ lady you will
spile ’e chile,’ but I sway-to-Gawd, suh, dat gal tu’n Pa Sancho staa’t
fool, en’ ’e nebbuh had my exwice een de back’uh ’e head! En’ now,
maussuh, sence de gal gone, I ent gots nobody fuh do nutt’n’ fuh me.
Dese nigguh’ w’at grow up sence freedom come een ent gots no mannus,
en’ dey would’uh lemme dead een dis house, ef de w’ite people didn’
see me t’ru. W’en ole Missis binnuh lib, bress Gawd, ’e always ’membuh
de ole nigguh, but now, sence him dead en’ de grass duh grow obuh ’e
grabe out yonduh onduhneet’ de libe-oak tree, en’ all de w’ite people
w’at I raise lef’ de ole plantesshun en’ scattuh all obuh de wull’,
en’ all kind’uh low-down buckruh, w’at couldn’ ’sociate wid we w’ite
people’ fambly een ole time’, come fuh lib on de place, please Gawd, I
yent gots nutt’n’ much fuh lib fuh now, dese days. T’engk you, nyung
maussuh, t’engk you, suh, Gawd bress you!”




A GULLAH GLOSSARY


The Glossary included in this volume, while making no pretense to
absolute accuracy, is offered as a workable list of the words in
common use by the Negroes of the South Carolina coast. It is doubtful,
however, if the vocabulary of any single individual comprises more
than half the list, for many words in everyday use about Georgetown
or Charleston occur rarely at Beaufort, or on the Combahee. Then,
too, many terms and expressions have only a local significance.
On the seacoast and along the lower reaches of the tidal rivers,
“trus’-me-Gawd” (I trust my God) is the common name for the cranky,
unseaworthy dugout canoe, the hazard of whose use on the rough waters
of the coast implies faith in the watchful care of a divine Providence.
Higher up the same river, however, where smoother waters exact smaller
faith, the coffin-like craft is merely a “coo-noo,” a “cun-noo,” or a
“con-noo.”

He who adventures into Gullah and would “make head or tail” of its
queer phonetics, must keep in mind the sounds “uh,” “e,” “ran,” and
“a.” In no other tongue, perhaps, can so much be expressed with so
little strain upon brain or lips or glottis as by the Gullah’s laconic
use of these grunting jungle-sounds.

To the Gullah, the naked “a” at the top of the first column of the
dictionary is “uh,” the dominant note upon which his speech is pitched.
With “uh” he boastfully proclaims the personal pronoun “I.” As
“bubbuh,” or “budduh,” or “buh,” he greets his brethren; as “sistuh,”
or “tittuh,” his sisters. Sweet potatoes he roasts and eats as
“tettuh.” His father, mother, daughter, are “farruh, murruh, daa’tuh;”
his ever is “ebbuh,” his never is “nebbuh;” forever, “fuhrebbuh.” His
answer is “ansuh,” his master is “mastuh,” his pastor is “pastuh” (and
so is his pasture); his either is “eeduh,” his neither is “needuh,”
his fever is “febuh,” his river is “ribbuh,” his cooter is “cootuh,”
his silver is “silbuh.” If in daylight he falls asleep in an open
place, the vulture’s wing that hovers over him will cast a “shadduh.”
His neighbor is “navuh,” his favor is “fabuh,” his labor is “lavuh,”
his Savior is “Sabeyuh.” His bother is “bodduh,” his other is “odduh,”
his t’other is “todduh;” another, “anodduh.” Otter is “ottuh,” and
’gator is “’gatuh;” better, “mo’bettuh,” and alligator, “alligettuh.”
Barrow is “barruh,” burrow is “burruh,” furrow is “furruh,” harrow is
“harruh,” borrow is “borruh;” tomorrow, “tomorruh.” His mourner is
“mo’nuh,” and so is his more than (more nor) and corner is “cawnuh,”
“mauma” is “maumuh,” “maussa” is “maussuh,” cover is “kibbuh;” uncover,
“onkibbuh,” the white man is “buckruh,” the Negro is “Nigguh.” And
finger is “finguh,” as ginger is “ginjuh.” Pshaw is “shuh,” and sir is
“suh.” His feather is “fedduh,” his weather is “wedduh,” his measure is
“medjuh,” his pleasure is “pledjuh.” And if, in pleasantry or wrath,
he cries out upon a compatriot, he scornfully apostrophizes him as “uh
Gulluh nigguh!”

Following “uh” in frequency of occurrence comes “’e,” a contraction
of he, she (but used also for it)--usually pronounced as “ee” in see,
but sometimes approaching “e” in set and “i” in sit; but, without the
use of diacritical marks, the exact shading cannot be expressed. This
“’e” is ever in the Gullah mouth. If a man has shuffled off this mortal
coil, “’e dead;” if a fruitful woman has blessed the earth, “’e hab
chile;” if the dusky infant cries out upon the world, “’e cry;” if a
mule be too free with her hindlegs, “’e kick.” If winter comes, “’e
freeze,” and in summer weather “’e hot.” If a storm approaches, “’e
gwine to wedduh;” when it breaks, “’e t’unduh, ’e lightnin’, ’e blow
win’, ’e rain.”

In “Myths of the Georgia Coast,” Colonel Jones’s Gullahs pronounce this
contraction “eh,” but with this a clearer phonetic apprehension of the
Gullah does not permit agreement. “Eh” is a good English word which the
Gullah pronounces correctly and frequently utters in the ejaculation
“eh, eh!” to express surprise or bewilderment.

Almost the twin of “’e” is “um,” expressing him, her, it and them. Did
that man steal your pig? “’E t’ief’um.” Did the woman whip the boy? “’E
lick’um.” Did the fire burn your house? “’E bu’n’um.” Have you finished
your task? “Uh done’um.” Did you shoot those crows? “Uh shoot’um.” And
“um” added to see or saw becomes “shum.” See that woman? “Uh shum.”
Did you see her yesterday? “Uh shum.” Will you see her tomorrow? “Uh
gwine shum.” “Shum” expresses see, seeing, or saw him, her, it, or them.

If the Gullah Negro, in “fuh him” and “fuh she,” changes the pronoun to
“um,” he adds an “r” for euphony and utters a rolling “fuhr’um;” and,
similarly, “tuh him,” “tuh she” are changed to “tuhr’um.”

The Gullah’s favorite pronunciation of our first vowel is that of
“a” in at, hat, bat--words that, like all others having the same “a”
sound, he invariably pronounces correctly. Drawled to the double “a”
as in “baa,” it does yeoman service in “paat’,” path; “paa’t,” part;
“smaa’t,” smart; “cyaa’t,” cart; “h’aa’t,” heart; “shaa’p,” sharp;
“baa’n,” barn; “yaa’d,” yard; “maamy,” mother; “maa’k,” mark; “staa’t,”
start; and so in many other words.

In the Gullah there are many contradictions, the Negro sometimes taking
surprisingly short-cuts, expressing himself succinctly and saying a
great deal with but a mouthful of words; while at others he rambles
interminably and wanders so far afield in his verbal intoxication that
he can hardly come soberly again to his starting point.

In this tongue one word or combination of words frequently does duty
for singular and plural numbers, past and present tenses, and for
masculine, feminine, and neuter genders. Thus “Uh shum” may mean I
saw him, I see him, I saw her, I see her, I saw it, I see it, I saw
them, I see them. So “Uh tell’um” means I told or I tell him, her, or
them. Oxen and bulls, as well as cows, are generally classified and
denominated as “cow,” oxen as “ox,” “two ox,” “ten ox,” etc., while a
single ox, if not called a “cow,” is invariably “one oxin.” “’Ooman”
is both woman and women; “man” stands also for men, although “mens” is
sometimes used for the plural, as “t’ree man,” or “fo’ mens.”

Many words the Gullahs pronounce correctly. These are here spelled
in the normal way, as to respell them would result only in a useless
mutilation of the text.

Very often the Gullah usage consists in new and peculiar applications
of words, twisted to meet its own needs, and making a single vocable
serve the purpose of many.

With a single “knock,” the Gullah knocks, has knocked, is knocking.

With but a “rock,” he rocks, has rocked, is rocking.

With “fight,” he fights, has fought, is fighting.

With “run,” he runs, has run, is running; and so on with many other
words, used to express singular and plural numbers, or all the simple
tenses of the verb.

While the Gullah usually holds fast to his favorite pronunciation,
he sometimes permits himself a grotesque variation. For example, his
usual pronunciation of car is “cyaa’,” which he utters as flatly as a
Charlestonian of the Battery; but should he permit himself a “cyaar,”
he will roll you an “r” as raucously as any Ohioan.

Of course, all Gullah Negroes pronounce certain English words
correctly, while others approximate, in varying degrees, the speech
of their former masters. This fact accounts for the slight variations
that will be noticed in the speech of different individuals in these
stories, and in the several pronunciations sometimes occurring
in the Glossary. For example, the Gullah word for you, ye, your,
yours, is variously pronounced “ona, oona, oonuh, unnuh,” and,
among dyed-in-the-wool dialecticians, “yunnuh” and “wunnuh.” So,
the Orang-utan is called by some “’Rangatang” and by the extremists
“’Ranguhtang.”

Warm is “wawm;” form or inform, “fawm,” “eenfawm;” morning is
“mawnin’;” corn, “cawn;” horse or horses, “hawss;” horn, “hawn;”
born, “bawn;” cow is correctly pronounced, and calf is near enough
to the Charleston usage to pass. Tore, torn, tears, and tearing are
never used, tear taking the place of all. As: the girl tore her
petticoat--“De gal tayre ’e ’coat.” That man’s shirt is torn--“Da’ man’
shu’t tayre.” This cloth tears badly--“Dis clawt’ tayre bad.” They are
tearing off the boards--“Dem duh (does) tayre off de boa’d’.”

Them (“dem”) is universally used for they and their. They took off
their shoes--“Dem tek off dem shoesh.” Dog and hog, while sometimes
drawled, are very rarely lengthened to “dawg” and “hawg,” tho’ God is
almost invariably “Gawd.” The contraction of your is “yo’;” and yet,
for yours, instead of “yo’n”--the mountaineers’ “yourn”--they prefer
“you’own,” as theirs or their own is always “dem’own.”

Unlike Mr. Weller, the Gullah does not affect the letter V, which
he always changes to W or B--Violet modestly shrinking to Wi’let or
Bi’let, while, as Benus, the amorous Aphrodite doubtless loves quite as
ardently in her humble way. And the soft and teasing vex suggests, as
“bex,” anger swift and passionate!

“Lukkuh,” or “same lukkuh,” a corruption of like unto or same like
unto--“same lukkuh” occasionally shortened into “sukkuh” by an excited
or rapid talker--express likeness, resemblance.

“Hukkuh” is, of course, how come, or how came.

“’E fat” means that the man, the woman, the pig, or the lightwood, is
or was fat. “’E fat fuh true” (in truth) adds emphasis, while “’E fat
fuh sowl” brooks no contradiction.

“’Puntop,” sometimes “’puntap,” or “’pantap,” on or near Edisto Island,
means not only on top and on, but at. As: “De squinch owl light ’puntop
de chimbly;” “Him plant’ ’puntop Cumbee ribbuh;” “W’en uh look ’puntop
de ’ooman en’ see ’e yeye red, uh know him bex.” “Biggin” is equivalent
to begin, began, begun, or beginning.

“Haffuh” is both have to and had to. “W’en de strain leff’um to John’
Ilun’, him haffuh tek him foot en’ gone _spang_ town,” meaning when she
missed the train at John’s Island station she had to walk all the way
to Charleston.

“Same fashi’n,” expressing likeness, has no sartorial significance.

“Alltwo” may mean both or each; as: “alligettuh en’ cootuh alltwo stan’
same fashi’n, alltwo hab fo’ foot en’ one tail, en’ alltwo trabble
’puntop dem belly.” So “stan’ lukkuh” and “stan’ sukkuh” mean look
alike or bear a close resemblance, whether standing, sitting, crawling,
lying, flying, or swimming.

“Wuffuh,” or “woffuh,” means why, or what for.

At times, “duh” and “suh” (not the “suh” for sir) have peculiar usage.
“Wuffuh you duh do dat?” What for, or why are you doing that? “Him gone
duh ribbuh,” he has gone to the river. “Him walk duh paat’,” he walks
in the path (or the road). So, too, “’e duh sleep” for he does sleep,
or he sleeps; and “duh wintuh time” for in the winter or during the
winter. “Nuh” is another oddity, “me nuh him” being he and I.

Many years ago, the Reverend Kinlaw, upon hearing an educated darkey
reading aloud one of the Kinlaw sermons from a newspaper, exclaimed:
“Uh ’cla’ to Gawd da’ buckruh do me too bad! Dem t’ing suh him suh suh
me susso, me nubbuh susso. Me t’ink’um, aw, but uh nubbuh susso, en’
how de debble him know suh me t’ink’um, w’en uh nubbuh susso?” Which,
interpreted, means: “I declare that buckra did me too bad. Those things
that he said I said, I never said so. I thought them, it is true, but I
never said them, and how did he know that I thought them, when I never
said them?” Kinlaw was an extremely uncouth creature and his Gullah was
of the rankest, spoken with the hot-potato-in-the-mouth effect of the
low-comedy stage Irishman, hence his use of “suh” for that as well as
for said, and of “nubbuh” for never, instead of the usual “nebbuh.”

“Aw,” for true, or to be sure, is seldom used.

“Ki,” rarely “kwi,” or “kwoy,” is an exclamation.

“Nyam,” or “nyam-nyam,” means to eat.

“Bittle,” is, of course, victuals--food.

“Blan,” pronounced with the nasal resonance of the French “blanc,” but
without the broad “a” sound, or as the French would pronounce “blin,”
is probably a corruption of belong, and means used to or accustomed to.

“Study” means to think, ponder, plan.

The Gullah, like the Queen of Spain, has no legs, “foot” serving for
the lower limbs as well as for their extremities. “Deer hab long foot,
him run fas’;” “Cootuh hab shawt foot, him trabble slow.”

“Yez” is ear or ears, and “yeddy,” sometimes “yerry,” is hear, or
hearing, heard; while “haa’kee” (hark ye) is also hear, and so on,
whether addressed to one or to more persons, and is used not only in
admonition, as “haa’kee at me good fashi’n,” but is sometimes spoken
lightly, as certain modern flappers and their bifurcated companions
say “listen!” “Haa’kee” also does duty interchangeably for “yeddy,”
as “haa’kee att’um,” “yeddy’um”--hearken to him! hear him! And one
who holds a warning as of small account, will often say in response
to an admonitory “haa’kee!” “Yaas, bubbuh, uh haa’kee, but uh yent
yeddy”--literally, I hearken but I don’t hear, while actually meaning I
hear but I don’t heed, going in one ear and coming out of the other.

“’Nuf” means not only enough, sufficiency, but more often abundance.
Thus “you hab enny mint?” “Yaas, suh, we hab ’nuf,” carries assurance
of not merely enough for a few juleps, but a patch of fragrant greenery
that could cover the graves of a score of old-school Virginians!

“Specify,” one of the most characteristic Gullah words, from the
English “specify,” serves for most of the varied meanings of
“specifications”--“making good.” If a woman proves an unsuitable mate,
she “cyan’ specify.” If trousers are frail, and “de britchiz buss’,”
“’e yent specify.” If a “cunnoo” proves unseaworthy--“him cyan’
specify.” And even of a Bible text, the fulfilment of whose promise
seems inadequate, the Gullah says: “Buhrabbus’ wu’d, him ent specify
berry well.”

“Enty,” “ent,” “yent,” sometimes “ain’,” serve for isn’t, aren’t,
didn’t, don’t, doesn’t. “Ent you shum?” “enty you shum?” may mean
didn’t you see? or don’t you see? him, her, it, or them.

Preceded by a soft vowel sound, “iz” and “ent” are changed to “yiz” and
“yent;” as: “him iz,” “him ent,” become, by the substitution of “’e”
for him, “’e yiz,” “’e yent.

“’Cep’n’” is except or excepting, and so is “’scusin’” or “excusin’.”

There is no nephew in the Gullah vocabulary, “niece” being used instead.

“Wunnuh,” “yunnuh,” “oonuh,” “unnuh,” occasionally “hoonuh,” probably
from one and another, is used for you and ye, usually in addressing
more than one, though sometimes also in the singular.

Except along the Georgia and Carolina seacoast and the outlying
islands, the older Negroes are almost invariably addressed as “uncle”
and “auntie” by the whites of all ages, and by the younger Negroes,
but, wherever the Gullah dialect predominates, “daddy” and “mauma”
take their places. For that reason, perhaps, white children in the
low-country never call their fathers “daddy,” pa or papa frequently
taking the place of the more formal “father.”

Where the name of the person addressed or spoken of is used, “mauma” is
changed to “maum,” as “Maum Kate.”

The simple name of the month is seldom sufficient, but must be
fortified by the addition of “munt’,” as: “Uh hab da’ gal een June
munt’.”

Second, third, etc., are seldom used, the preferred forms being
“two-time,” “t’ree-time,” etc. “Uh done tell oonuh fuh de two-time fuh
lef’ da’ gal ’lone”--I’ve told you for the second time to leave that
girl alone; and “two-time” is invariably used for twice. “Uh done call
you two-time”--I’ve called you twice. The third Tuesday in August would
be “De t’ree Chuesday een Augus’.”

“Onrabble ’e mout’”--unravel her mouth, for it’s always a feminine
skein that’s to be unwound--is as comprehensive as it is picturesque.
At times the verbal tide flows on unchecked from a full ball of yarn;
again, the ravelings are pulled angrily, jerkily, from the warp of a
threadbare subject. “Onrabble ’e mout’!”

“Lef’”--left--is given not only its own proper meaning, but serves for
leave, leaving, as “loss” does extra duty for lose, losing, lost.

“She-she talk”--a contemptuous characterization by Gullah bucks of
feminine gossip--is suggestive of the whispering _frou-frou_ of silken
petticoats.

“En’ t’ing’”--and things--is a verbal grab-bag comprehensive enough
to hold every etcetera, animate or inanimate, that one may lay tongue
to. A woman’s “chillun en’ t’ing’” may cover her chickens as well as
her children; her “husbun’ en’ t’ing’” may include also her gentlemen
friends, while reference to King Solomon’s “wife en’ t’ing’” would
assuredly have lumped in with his wives every petticoat on the
“Proverbial” premises!

The Gullah contraction of defend, is “’fen’,” yet, if that defense be
inadequate, he will invariably “refen’” himself. If he anoint, ’tis
“’n’int,” yet his pastor is the Lord’s “renointed.”

As the Gullah’s tongue has no trouble with “eart’”--his correctly
pronounced contraction of “earth”--he should have no difficulty with
dirt or shirt, but these are invariably pronounced “du’t” and “shu’t;”
and, although the “uh” sound is so easily uttered, he always “shets” a
door, and tries to “shet,” but never shuts, his lady’s mouth.

Among the Negroes on Pon Pon, Stepney--a man’s name--is commonly used
as a synonym for hunger, want. He who hoped to keep the wolf away would
“haffuh wu’k haa’d fuh keep Stepney frum de do’,” while the fabled ant
would admonish _La Cigale_, the grasshopper, “tek care, gal, you duh
sing duh summuhtime, tek care Stepney don’ come een yo’ house ’fo’
wintuhtime!”

There are, of course, many variations, some Negroes using only a few
Gullah words, while practically all the house servants spoke without
a taint. During the Confederate War, Phyllis, a highly trained young
maid who had been taught deportment under Maum Bella, a fine old family
servant in Charleston, once “impeached” the language of the five-year
old boy under her charge. “Mass----, you shouldn’t say path, you should
say parth.” How a broad “a” got loose in Charleston one can’t imagine,
unless it came in with the buxom Virginia girls who periodically
descended upon “the City” to marry her most eligible young men.

The Gullah grabs his prophets, his kings, and his apostles out of the
Old and New Testaments, haphazard, and uses them as they come, “to
point a moral or adorn a tale”--and he believes in elaborate adornment.

Himself unlettered, he catches the names as they come to his ears from
the lips of the whites, or of educated Negroes, and frequently gets
his personnel inextricably mixed, the mouth-filling “Nickuhdemus”
being quite as frequently turned out to graze, “bite grass,” as the
esteemed “Nebuhkuhnezzuh.” The Apostle Paul is most often quoted by
the class-leaders and local preachers, but they love to mouth over
“Buhrabbus,” while entirely ignorant of the character.

What Old Testament book can it be that the Gullah calls “Rebus?”
Perhaps some Bible student will hazard a guess. It may be a far-fetched
corruption of Genesis, for, in giving assurance of his having pursued
a subject or an investigation from beginning to end, he will often say:
“Uh bin t’ru da’ t’ing frum Rebus _spang_ to Rebelashun!”

Edisto Island was, before the war, through the fine Sea Island cotton
produced there, one of the garden spots of the earth, and has been for
many generations noted for the hospitality, culture, and refinement
of its families; but in old times it was also noted for an unusual
provincialism and for the habitual use of Gullah dialect by many of the
planters’ young sons. These were in constant association with their
slaves on hunting and fishing parties, and unconsciously adopted the
highly picturesque and expressive speech of their black servitors. They
were accordingly subjected to many hard stories by their neighbors on
the main land, who declared that, when the tardy news of Napoleon’s
exile to St. Helena, one hundred years ago, reached Edisto, the young
islanders, believing their neighboring island of St. Helena to be the
place of safekeeping, were apprehensive of another “return from Elba,”
and, fearing the great Corsican as a potential liberator of their
precious slaves, held an indignation meeting and resolved that: “Ef dem
buckruh’ ’pantap Sa’leenuh choose fuh hab ’Poleon come ’pantap _dem_
ilun’, berry well, but, uh sway-to-Gawd, him cyan’ come ’pantap _dis_
ilun’, ’cause dat duh dainjus buckruh, en’, fus’ t’ing wunnuh know, him
set we Nigguh’ free.”

The Edisto marshes abounded in wild donkeys, and a favorite Sunday
amusement used to be the chevying of these unhappy animals out of the
marshes by the white and black boys who, using sections of jackvine
for whips, chased them over the plantations. A story is told of a
young Edisto Islander who, a few days after matriculation at the
University of Virginia, was requested by his fellow students to tell
them something about the favorite sports and amusements of the South
Carolina coast. He enlightened them as follows: “Great King wunnuh boy!
Me nuh Cudjo blan hab fun duh Sunday. Cudjo him ketch long tail’ hawss,
me ketch shawt tail’ hawss; we tek dem jack-wine, run dem jackass
out’uh maa’sh, run’um all obuh plantesshun; den we blan go duh crik,
ketch dem _big_ pap-eye mullet!”




VOCABULARY

The following list contains some seventeen hundred words. About this
vocabulary two things are to be noted:

First, the Gullah is entirely a spoken, never a written, language;

Second, these 1,700 and odd words are so extended and applied according
to Gullah usage as to serve the purpose and scope of at least 5,000
English words.


    A

    AA’GYFY--argue, argues, argued, arguing.

    AA’GYMENT--argument, arguments.

    AA’M--arm, arms.

    AA’MY--army, armies.

    ABBUHTIZE--advertise, advertises, advertised, advertising.

    AB’NUE--avenue, avenues.

    ACKSIDENT--accident, accidents.

    ACQUAINTUN--acquainted. (See “’quaintun”).

    ADSWOCATE--advocate, advocates, advocated, advocating.

    AFF’IKIN--African, Africans.

    AFF’IKY--Africa.

    AFO’SED--aforesaid.

    AGGUHNIZE--agonize, agonizes, agonized, agonizing.

    AIG--(n. and v.) egg, eggs, egged, egging; as “him aig’um on.”

    AIGE--(n. and v.) edge, edges, edged, edging.

    AIN’--(ain’t) is not, isn’t. (See “ent” and “yent”).

    AINJUL--angel, angels.

    ALLDO’--although. (See “’do’”).

    ALLIGETTUH--alligator, alligators. (See “’gatuh”).

    ALLIMUNNY--alimony.

    ALLTIME--all the time, always.

    ALLTWO--both, also each.

    ALL UB UH SUDD’N/ALL UB UH SUDD’NT/ALL UB UH
    SUTT’N--all of a sudden, suddenly.

    AMBRELLUH--umbrella, umbrellas.

    ANNIMEL--animal, animals.

    ANODDUH/ANUDDUH--another.

    ANSUH--answer, answers, answered, answering. Also used
    for message, especially for one requiring an answer;
    as: “Uh sen’ uh ansuh to de gal fuh tell’um uh
    wan’ hab’um fuh wife”--I sent a message to the
    girl to tell her that I wanted to marry her.

    AP’UN--apron, aprons.

    AREY/ARUH--each, either.

    ASHISH--ashes.

    ATTACKTID--attacked. (See “’tack’” and “’tacktid”).

    ATTUH--after.

    ATTUHR’UM--after him, her, it, them.

    ATTUHW’ILE--after a while.

    AUGUS’--August.

    AW--a queer word, sometimes used instead of “fuh true;”
    meaning, it is true, in truth.

    AWKUHMUN--Ackerman--name of a white family.

    AX--ask, asks, asked, asking.

    AXIL--axle, axles.

    AX’ME--ask, asks, asked, asking me.

    AX’UM--ask or asked him, her, it, them.


    B

    BAA’BUH--barber, barbers.

    BAA’K--(n. and v.) bark, barks, barked, barking.

    BAA’NWELL--Barnwell. A low-country family name.

    BAA’NYAA’D/BA’NYAA’D--barnyard, barnyards.

    BACTIZE--baptize, baptizes, baptized, baptizing.

    BAD MOUT’--bad mouth--a spell, a form of curse.

    BAID--beard, beards.

    BAIG--beg, begs, begged, begging.

    BAIG’UM--beg, begs, begged, begging him, her, it, them.

    BAIT’UM--bait, baits, baited, baiting him, her, it, them.

    BAKIN--bacon.

    BALMUHRAL SKU’T--Balmoral skirt--a dark worsted underskirt
    with red stripes above the hem, of the time of
    Queen Victoria and named for her castle at Balmoral.

    ’BANDUN--abandon, abandons, abandoned, abandoning.

    BAPTIS’--Baptist, Baptists.

    BARRIL--barrel, barrels.

    BARRUH--barrow, a bacon hog.

    BAWN--born.

    BAYRE--bare, bares, bared, baring.

    BEABUH--beaver, beavers.

    BEAGLE--fox hound, fox hounds.

    BEDOUT/BIDOUT--without, unless, except.

    BEEBU’D--bee-martin, king bird or Tyrannus Tyrannus.

    BEEFU’T--Beaufort.

    BEEHIBE--beehive, beehives.

    BEFO’--before; as: “Befo’ de wah.” (See “’fo’”).

    BEFO’ DAY--before day. (See “crack-uh-day,” and “’fo’ day”).

    BEHABE--behave, behaves, behaved, behaving.

    BEHIME/BEHIN’/BEHINE--behind.

    BEKASE/BEKASEW’Y--because, because why.

    BEHOL’--behold, beholds, beheld, beholding.

    BELLUH--bellow, bellows, bellowed, bellowing.

    BELLUS--bellows (blacksmith’s).

    BEMEAN--to be mean to any one, to slander, abuse.

    BEN’--bend, bends, bent, bending.

    BENUS--(sometimes “Wenus”)--Venus.

    BERRY--(sometimes “werry”)--very.

    BERRYWELL--very well.

    BERRYWELLDEN--very well then.

    BES’--best.

    BETTUH--better.

    BEX--vex, vexes, vexing; angry, anger, angers, angered,
    angering.

    BIDNESS--business.

    BIGGIN--begin, begins, begun, began.

    BIGGUH--bigger.

    BIGHOUSE--the Master’s house.

    BILE--boil, boils, boiled, boiling.

    BILIN’--boiling.

    BILLIGE/BILLAGE--village, villages.

    BIMEBYE/BUMBYE--bye and bye.

    BIN--been, was.

    BINNUH--been, was, was a; as: “W’en uh binnuh boy”--when
    I was a boy.

    BITTLE--victuals, food.

    BLACKBU’D--blackbird, blackbirds.

    BLAN--belong, belongs, belonged, belonging; used redundantly;
    as: “Da’ gal him blan blonx to my Maussuh”--That
    girl she belonged to belong, or used to
    belong, to my Master.

    B’LEEBE--believe, believes, believed, believing.

    ’BLEEGE--oblige, obliges, obliged, obliging.

    BLINE--(n. and v.) blind, blinds, blinded, blinding.

    BLINE GAWD--blind God--personal idol or fetish of African
    suggestiveness whose aid is invoked to further the
    desires of its owner.

    B’LONG/BLONX--belong, belongs, belonged, belonging.

    BLOODYNOUN--the great bullfrog of the swamps.

    BOA’D--(n. and v.) board, boards, boarded, boarding.

    BODDUH--bother, bothers, bothered, bothering; worry, worries,
    worried, worrying.

    BODDUHR’UM--bother, bothers, bothered, or bothering him,
    her, it, them.

    BOFE--both. (See “alltwo”).

    BOL’--bold.

    BORRUH--borrow, borrows, borrowed, borrowing.

    BOUN’--bound, resolved upon.

    ’BOUT--about.

    BOWRE--bore, bores, bored, boring.

    BRAWTUS--broadus, lagniappe.

    BREAS’--breast, breasts.

    BREDDUH--(also brudduh) brother, brethren (formal).

    BREKWUS’/BRUKWUS’--breakfast, breakfasts.

    BRESH--brush, brushwood; brush, brushes, brushed, brushing.

    BRESS--bless, blesses, blessed, blessing.

    BRE’T’--breath.

    BRIAH--briar, briars.

    BRINLY--brindled.

    BRITCHIN’--breeching (harness).

    BRITCHIS/BRITCHIZ--breeches, trousers.

    BRUK--break, breaks, broke, breaking, broken; “bruk-foot
    man”--a broken-legged man.

    BRUK-AA’M--broken-arm.

    BRUK-FOOT--broken-foot, or leg.

    BRUK’UP--break up, broke up, broken up: “De meetin’ done
    bruk’up.”

    BRURO--bureau, as “Freedmun’ bruro.”

    BRUSTLE--bustle, bustles.

    BUBBUH/BUDDUH--(familiar) brother.

    BUCKRUH--a white person or persons; the white people.

    BUCKRUH-BITTLE--white man’s food.

    BUCKRUH-NIGGUH--white man’s Negro, used contemptuously.

    BUCKSLEY--Berkeley (county).

    BUD--bud, buds, budded, budding.

    BU’D--bird, birds.

    BU’DCAGE--birdcage, birdcages.

    BUH--brother, as “Buh Rabbit.”

    BUHHIME/BUHHINE--behind.

    BUHR--burr, burrs.

    BULL-YELLIN’--bull-yearling, or yearlings.

    BU’N--burn, burns, burned, burning.

    BURRUH--burrow, burrows, burrowed, burrowing.

    BUSS’/BUS’--burst, bursts, bursting.

    BUTT’N--button, buttons, buttoned, buttoning.

    BUZZUM--bosom, bosoms.

    BUZZUT--buzzard, buzzards; vulture, vultures.


    C

    ’CAJUN--occasion, occasions.

    CALLICRO--calico.

    CANNIBEL--cannibal, cannibals.

    CANTUH--canter, canters, cantered, cantering.

    CATT’RACK--cataract, cataracts (eye).

    ’CAUSE--because. (See “bekase”).

    CAW CAW SWAMP--a great low-country savanna.

    ’CAWCH--scorch, scorches, scorched, scorching.

    CAWN--corn.

    CAWNFIEL’--corn field, corn fields.

    CAWNSTALK--corn stalk, corn stalks.

    CAWNUH--(n. and v.) corner, corners, cornered, cornering.

    CAWPRUL--corporal, corporals.

    CAWPSE--corpse, corpses; coffin, coffins.

    CAWPSUS--“corpus;” as: “cawpsus politicksus”--body politic.

    CAWSETT--corset, corsets.

    CAWSS’--(n. and v.) cost, costs, costing.

    ’CEEBE/’CEIBE--deceive, deceives, deceived.

    ’CEEBIN’/’CEIBIN’--deceiving.

    ’CEITFUL--deceitful.

    ’CEP’/’CEP’M/’CEP’N--except, excepts, excepted, excepting; accept,
    accepts, accepted, accepting; unless.

    CHAA’GE--charge, charges, charged, charging.

    CHAA’STUN--Charleston, S. C. (See “Town”).

    CHANY--china, chinaware.

    CHANYBERRY--Chinaberry, or Pride of India tree.

    CHAW--chew, chews, chewed, chewing; also noun, as of
    tobacco.

    CHEEP--cheep, cheeps, cheeped, cheeping.

    CHEER--chair, chairs.

    CHICAGYO--Chicago.

    CHICKIN--chicken, chickens.

    CHILE--child, children.

    CHILLUN--child, children.

    CHIMBLY--chimney, chimneys.

    CHINKYPEN--chinquapin, chinquapins.

    CHIZZUM--Chisolm--a low country family name.

    CHOP’TONGUE--hounds with short yelp; the cry of the modern
    English fox-hound, as distinguished from the long
    bell-like notes of the Carolina deer-hounds.

    CHRIS’MUS--Christmas.

    CHRYCE--Christ.

    CHU’CH--church, churches.

    CHU’CHYAA’D--churchyard, churchyards.

    CHUCKWILLUH--Chuck-Will’s Widow, used to indicate the
    wide-open mouth of a hungry child.

    CHUESDAY--Tuesday.

    CHUNE--(n. and v.) tune, tunes; tune, tunes, tuned, tuning
    (up).

    CHUNK--(n. and v.) chunk, chunks, chunked, chunking.

    CHUPID/CHUPIT--stupid.

    CLAWT’--cloth.

    ’CLA’ TO GAWD--declare to God--a mild oath.

    CLIMB--climb, climbs, climbed, climbing.

    COA’SE--coarse.

    ’COAT--petticoat, petticoats (man’s “coat” is always “jacket”).

    COAX--coax, coaxes, coaxed, coaxing.

    COCKSPUHR--cockspur, cockspurs.

    COHOOT--cahoot, agreement, association with, as: “Me en’
    Joe gone een uh cohoot fuh kill de buckruh’ cow.”

    COHORT--colleague, colleagues.

    COL’--cold.

    COLLUH--collar, collars, collared, collaring.

    COLLUH--color, colors (“we colluh,” our color, or Negroes).

    COME--come, comes, came, coming.

    COME’YUH--come here.

    COMMIKIL--comical, peculiar.

    CONKYWINE--concubine, concubines; used for masculine as
    well as for feminine affiliations.

    CONNOO/COONOO/CUNNOO--canoe, canoes.

    CONSAA’N/CUNSAA’N--(n. and v.) concern, concerns,
    concerned, concerning.

    CONSECRATE LYE--concentrated lye.

    CONSUMPSHUS/CUNSUMPSHUS--consumption.

    CONTESTUSS--contested, contesting.

    CONTUHDIX--contradict, contradicts, contradicted, contradicting.

    COOK--cook, cooks, cooked, cooking.

    COOTUH--cooter, cooters; terrapin, terrapins.

    CO’SE--course, courses, as of a stream.

    ’CO’SE--course, of course.

    CO’T--(n. and v.) court, courts; court, courts, courted, courting.

    COULDN’--could not.

    COULD’UH--could have.

    COUNSTUBBLE--constable, constables.

    COW--cow, cows; bull, bulls; ox, oxen; cattle.

    COW-PAAT’--cow-path.

    CRACK ’E BRE’T’--crack his or her breath; same as “crack ’e
    teet’.”

    CRACK ’E TEET’--crack, cracks, cracked, cracking his, her or
    their teeth, meaning opened her or his mouth to
    speak; as: “’E yent crack ’e teet’”--She never
    opened her mouth.

    CRACK-UH-DAY--crack or break of day.

    CRAP--(n. and v.) crop, crops; crops, cropped, cropping.

    ’CRAPE--(n. and v.) scrape, scrapes, scraped, scraping.

    ’CRATCH--(n. and v.) scratch, scratches, scratched, scratching.

    CREDENSHUL--credential, credentials.

    CREDIK--(n. and v.) credit, credits, credited, crediting.

    CREETUH--creature, creatures. Commonly applied to a beast
    of burden.

    CRIK--creek, creeks.

    CROOKETY--crooked; also tricky, unreliable.

    CROSS-ROAD--the cross roads.

    CRUCIFY--crucify, crucifies, crucified, crucifying; also improperly
    used for testify, testifies, testified, testifying.

    CUCKLEBUHR--cockleburr, cockleburrs.

    CUHLUMBIA--Columbia.

    CUHLUMBUS--Columbus.

    CULLOO--curlew, curlews.

    CULLUD--colored, colored people, the dark race

    CUMBEE--the Combahee river, also the lands lying along the
    stream. This is, by the way, the correct pronunciation.

    CUMPLAIN--(n. and v.) complain, complains, complained,
    complaining; complaint, complaints.

    CUMP’NY--company, companies.

    CUMPOSHASHUN/CUMPUHSHASHUN/COMPUHSHASHUN--conversation,
    talk, parley, interrogatories, argument.

    CUNDEMN/CONDEMN--condemn, condemns, condemned, condemning;
    but more frequently used to denote guilt or the
    appearance of guilt; as: “W’en uh ketch Joe
    wid de hog, ’e look so cundemn.”

    CUNFUSHUN--confusion.

    CUMPLAIN--(n. and v.) complain, complains, complained.

    CUNTRADY--contrary, provoking.

    CUNWEENYUNT--convenient, conveniently, convenience.

    CUNWEENYUNTLY--conveniently.

    CUNWENSHUN--convention, conventions.

    CUSS--(n. and v.) curse, curses, cursed, cursing.

    CUT’DOWN, or TEK’DOWN--dejected, chagrined.

    CUZ/CUZ’N--cousin, cousins. (Shakespeare’s “coz”).

    CYA’--carry, carries, carried, carrying.

    CYAA’/CYAAR--car, cars.

    CYAAF--(n. and v.) calf, calves; to calve, etc.

    CYAAM--calm, calms; “uh cyaam sea.”

    CYAA’PENTUH/CYAA’P’NTUH--carpenter, carpenters.

    CYAARIDGE--carriage, carriages.

    CYAA’T--cart, carts.

    CYACKLY/CACKLE--cackle, cackles, cackled, cackling.

    CYAN’--can’t.

    CYAS’--cast, casts, casting.

    CYAS’NET--cast-net used for taking shrimp and mullet from
    tidal creeks.

    CYA’UM--carry, carried, etc., him, her, it, them.

    CYO’--cure, cures, cured, curing.


    D

    DA’/DAT--that.

    DAA’K--dark.

    DAA’KY--darken, darkens, darkened, darkening.

    DAA’TUH--daughter, daughters.

    DA’ DEY--that there.

    DAINJUS--dangerous.

    DAMIDGE--(n. and v.) damage, damages, damaged, damaging.

    DAY-BRUK--day-break, day has broken.

    DAYCLEAN--broad daylight.

    DEAD--dead; die, dies, died, dying.

    DEBBLE’UB’UH--devil of a.

    DECEMBUH--December.

    DEEF--deaf.

    DEEPO’--depot, railway station.

    DEESTRUSS--distress. (See “distruss”).

    DEESTUNT--decent, respectable.

    DEM--them, they, those, their, theirs. Also used for “and
    them,” as “Sancho dem,” meaning Sancho and his
    companions.

    DEM’OWN--theirs, their own.

    DEMSELF--them, they, themselves.

    DEN--then, than.

    DEN--(v.) to den, stay in a den.

    ’DENTICUL--identical.

    DE ROCK--the “Rock,” or phosphate mines near Charleston.

    DES’--just, as “des’ so,” just so. (See also “jis’”).

    DESE--these.

    DESEYUH--these here.

    DESSO/DISSO--just so. (See “jesso”).

    DE’T’--death.

    DEY--they.

    DEY--there.

    DEY DEY--there, there; right there; a repetition for greater
    emphasis.

    DEYFO’--therefore.

    DIBE--dive, dives, dived, dove, diving.

    DICTATE--dictate, dictates, dictated, dictating; giving orders,
    overseeing; sometimes for explaining.

    DIFFUH/DIFFUNCE--differ, difference.

    DIMMYCRACK--Democrat, Democrats, Democratic.

    DINNUH--dinner, dinners.

    DIS’--this; just. (See “jis’”).

    DISAPP’INT--(n. and v.) disappoint, disappoints, disappointed,
    disappointing, disappointment, disappointments.

    DISGUS’--disgust, disgusts, disgusted, disgusting.

    DISGUSTUSS--disgusting.

    DISHYUH--this, this here.

    DISTRUS’--distrust, distrusts, distrusted, distrusting.

    DISTRUSS--distress. (See “deestruss”).

    DISTUNT--distant, distance.

    DO--do, does, did, doing.

    DO’--door, doors.

    ’DO’--though, although. (See “alldo’”).

    DOCTUH--doctor, doctors.

    DOG--(n. and v.) dog, dogs, dogged, dogging.

    DON’--don’t, doesn’t.

    DONE--done, did, already, has, finish, finished, as: “W’en
    you gwine done da’ t’ing?”--when are you going
    to finish that thing? “Uh done’um,” or “Uh done-done’um”--I
    have done or finished it.

    DONE FUH--done for--meaning excessively, as: “Da’ ’ooman
    done fuh fat”--that woman is excessively or very
    fat.

    DONE DONE’UM/DONE DO’UM--did it, finished the job.

    DONE’UM--did it.

    DO’STEP--doorstep, doorsteps.

    DO’UM--do it, does it, did it, doing it.

    DRAP--(n. and v.) drop, drops, dropped, dropping.

    DREEN--(n. and v.) drain, drains, drained, draining.

    DRIBE--drive, drives, drove, driven, driving.

    DRIBE--(n.) a run, cover, or section of woods where certain
    game is found or hunted.

    DROBE--(n.) drove, droves, as of animals.

    DROUGHT--drought, droughts; “dry drought,” protracted
    drought.

    DROWNDID--drown, drowns, drowned, drowning.

    DRY-BONE--dry-boned--thin, lean, often applied to dusky
    ladies who do not incline to _embonpoint_.

    DRY SO--just so.

    DUB--dove, doves.

    DUH--do, does; in, to, toward. Thus “duh paat’,” means
    going in the path, walking in the path; “duh ribbuh,”
    going to the river, going on the river; “duh fiah,”
    going to the fire; “duh ’ood,” going to the woods,
    going in or through the woods; “duh Sunday,” on
    Sunday; “duh weekyday,” on a week day, week days;
    “duh summuh,” summer, or in the summer; “duh
    wintuh,” winter, or in the winter.

    DUNKYUH--don’t care, doesn’t care, didn’t care.

    DUNNO--don’t know, doesn’t know, didn’t know.

    DU’T--dirt, earth.

    DU’TTY--dirty, soiled.


    E

    ’E--he, she, it.

    EART’--earth, world, or soil, ground. (See “ye’t” and “yu’t”).

    EBBRUM--Abraham, Abram.

    EBBUH--ever.

    EBBUHLASTIN’--everlasting.

    EBE--Eve, woman’s name; also eaves.

    EBENIN’--evening, evenings; “good evening,” a salutation.

    EB’N--even.

    EB’NSO--even so.

    EB’RY--every.

    EB’RYT’ING--everything.

    EB’RYWEH--everywhere.

    ECKNOWLEDGE--knowledge, ability, understanding.

    EDDYCASHUN--education.

    EEDUH--either.

    EEDUHSO--either so, either, else, or.

    EEGNUNT--ignorant.

    EEN--in.

    EENBITE--(also eenwite) invite, invites, invited, inviting.

    EENFAWM--inform, informs, informed, informing.

    EENHABIT--inhabit, inhabits, inhabited, inhabiting.

    EENJINE--engine, engines. (See “injine”).

    EENJININ’--adjoining.

    EENJURIN’/ENJURIN’--enduring, during.

    EENJY--enjoy, enjoys, enjoyed, enjoying; experience; as:
    “Uh eenjy uh berry oncomfuhtubble night’ res’”--I
    had or experienced a very uncomfortable night’s
    rest.

    EENSIDE--inside.

    EENSULT--(n. and v.) insult, insults, insulted, insulting.

    EENTITLE--entitle, entitles, entitled, entitling.

    EENTITLEMENT--entitlement, “title;” as “Mr. Chizzum,” “Mis’
    Wineglass.”

    EENTRUSS--interest.

    EENTUHFAYRE--interfere, interferes, interfered, interfering.

    EF--if.

    EH, EH!--an exclamation.

    ELSESO--else, unless; either.

    ELLYFUNT--elephant, elephants.

    ELLYMENT--element, air, sky.

    EN’--end, ends, and.

    ENNY--any.

    ENT--(also yent) ain’t, are not, is not, isn’t.

    EN’ T’ING’--and things, and everything.

    ENTY--ain’t it, isn’t it, are they not, etc.

    ENT WUT’--isn’t worth, meaning totally worthless, of no
    account.

    EPPRULL--April.

    ’ESE’F--himself, herself, itself.

    ’E STAN’ SO--it, he or she, stands so, it is so, it looks so, etc.

    EXCEED--succeed, succeeds, succeeded, succeeding.

    EXCUSIN’--excusing, except, excepting. (See “’scusin’”).

    EXWANCE--advance, advances, advanced, advancing.

    EXWANTIDGE--advantage, advantages.

    EXWICE--advice.

    EXWISE--advise, advises, advised, advising.

    EZ--as.


    F

    FABUH--(n. and v.) favor, favors, favored, favoring.

    ’F’AID--afraid, afraid of.

    FAIT’--faith.

    FAIT’FUL--faithful, earnest.

    FAITFULES’--faithfulest.

    FAMBLY--family, families; family’s, families’.

    FANNUH--a wide, shallow basket used for winnowing beaten
    rice or separating the corn husks from grist after
    grinding.

    FARRUH--father, fathers.

    FARRUHLAW--father-in-law, fathers-in-law.

    FAS’--fast.

    FASHI’N--fashion, like, resemblance.

    FAST’N--fasten, fastens, fastened, fastening.

    FAU’T--fault, faults.

    FAWK--(n. and v.) fork, forks, forked, forking.

    FAWM--(n. and v.) form, forms, formed, forming.

    FAWTY--forty.

    FAWWU’D--forward.

    FEBUH--fever, fevers.

    FEBBYWERRY/FIBBYWERRY--February.

    FEDDUH--feather, feathers.

    FEED’UM--feed, feeds, fed, feeding him, her, it, them.

    ’FEESHUN’--Ephesians--Paul’s Epistle to.

    FEET--frequently used for foot; as: “Snake bite da’ gal ’pun
    ’e lef han’ feet”--The snake bit that girl on her left
    foot.

    FELLUH--fellow, fellows.

    ’FEN’--fend, defend. (See “refen’”).

    FENCH--(n. and v.) fence, fences, fenced, fencing.

    FIAH--(n. and v.) fire, fires, fired, firing.

    FIBE/FI’--five; “fibe dolluh en’ seb’nty-fi’ cent’.”

    FIDDLUH--fiddler, fiddlers; violinists and fiddler crabs.

    FIEL’--field, fields.

    FIEL’HAN’--field hand, field hands.

    FIEL’NIGGUH--a laborer in the fields--the “peasant” of the
    plantation.

    FIGHT--fight, fights, fought, fighting.

    FILFIL--fulfill, fulfills, fulfilled, fulfilling; also fill, as
    to fill a pulpit.

    FIN’--find, finds, found, finding; also to find, found, in the
    sense of furnishing or supplying rations.

    FIN’LLY AT LAS’--meaning at last, finally.

    FIN’UM--find, finds, found, finding him, her, it, them.

    FISHPON’--fishpond, fishponds.

    FISHPUN--Fishburne--name of a low country family.

    FITZSIMMUN--FitzSimons--a low-country family name.

    FLABUH--(n. and v.) flavor, flavors, flavored, flavoring; as:
    “Da’ buckruh’ hogmeat flabuh me mout’ ’tell uh done
    fuhgit uh hab sin fuh kill’um”--That white man’s
    pork flavored my mouth so that I forgot the sin I
    committed in killing the hog.

    FLATFAWM--platform, platforms.

    FLEW--fly, flies, flew, flying.

    FLO’--floor, floors, floored, flooring.

    FLY--flies, flew, flying.

    FO’--four.

    ’FO’--before. (See “befo’”).

    FO’CE--force, forces, forced, forcing.

    FODDUH--fodder, used only for cured corn-blades.

    FOLLUH--follow, follows, followed, following.

    FOOT--foot, almost universally used for feet; also for leg.

    FO’PUNCE--four pence. Used universally to indicate size of
    chickens sold for four pence before the Revolution,
    when British money was the currency of the Colonies.
    See, also, “seb’npunce,” which was used in a
    similar way.

    FORRUD--forehead, foreheads.

    FO’TEEN--fourteen.

    FOWL--fowl, fowls; chicken, chickens.

    FRAIL--to whip or lash.

    FRAJUH--Fraser, Frazier--a low-country family name.

    FRAZZLE--(n. and v.) frazzle, fray, etc.

    FREEDMUN--freedman, freedmen.

    FREEDMUN’ BRURO--Freedman’s Bureau.

    FREEDUM--freedom.

    FREEHAN’--freehanded, generous, liberal.

    FREEMALE--female, females.

    FR’EN’--friend, friends.

    FRIZZLE--frizzle, frizzles, frizzled, frizzling.

    FROS’--frost.

    FRUM/F’UM--from.

    FRY-BAKIN--fried bacon.

    FRY-BAKIN FROG--the small pond frogs, whose constant cry
    is interpreted by the Negroes as “fry-bacon, tea-table;
    fry-bacon, tea-table.”

    FUDDUH--far, farther, farthest; further.

    FUH--for, for to.

    FUHGIT--forget, forgets, forgot, forgetting, forgotten.

    FUH HAB--for have: “One dance bin fuh hab deepo’ las’
    night”--a dance was to have been had at the depot
    last night.

    FUHR’EBBUH--forever, always, all the time.

    FUHR’UM--for him, her, it, them.

    FUH SOWL--for truth, truly, used as emphasis; as: “’E fat
    fuh sowl”--He, she, it or they is, was, were or are
    very fat. “Sowl” is perhaps from the Irish pronunciation
    of soul; as in “upon me sowl!”

    FUH SUTT’N--for certain, sure.

    FUH TRUE--in truth, for truth, it is so.

    FU’LHAWK--fowlhawk, fowlhawks.

    FU’LHUS’--fowl-house, fowl-houses.

    FULL--fill, fills, filled, filling.

    FULL’UP--filled up, as a hive with honey, or a lady with
    wrath.

    FUN’RUL--funeral, funerals.

    FUS’--first.

    FUS’ DAA’K/FUS’ DUS’--first dark, dusk, twilight in the evening.

    FUS’ FOWL CROW--first fowl crow--midnight, or soon thereafter.

    FUS’ GWININ’ OFF--first going off, at the beginning.


    G

    GABRULL--Angel Gabriel--he of the horn.

    ’GAGE--engage, engages, engaged, engaging; hire, hired, etc.

    GAL--girl, girls; girl’s, girls’. Also used familiarly in
    addressing women.

    ’GATUH--alligator, alligators. (See “alligettuh”).

    GAWD--God, Gods, God’s.

    GEDDUH--gather, gathers, gathered, gathering.

    GELT/GIRT’--girth, girths.

    G’EM--give, gives, gave, giving him, her, it, them.

    ’GEN--again.

    ’GENSE--against.

    GI’/GIB’--give, gives, gave, giving.

    GIMME--give me, gives me, gave me, giving me.

    GINJUH--ginger.

    GIN’NLLY--generally, in general.

    GIN’UL--general.

    GIT--get, gets, getting, got.

    GITTA--get a (See “gittuh”).

    GITT’RU--get through, got through; finish, finished.

    GITTUH--get a (See “gitta”).

    GIT’WAY--get, gets, getting, got away.

    GI’WE--give us, gives us, gave us, giving us.

    ’GLEC’--neglect, neglects, neglected, neglecting.

    GLUB--glove, gloves.

    GO--go, goes, going, gone, went.

    GOL’--gold, golden.

    GONE--go, goes, going, gone; “time fuh gone”--time for me
    to go.

    GONE’WAY--go away, goes away, gone away, went away.

    GONNIL--gunwale, gunwales.

    GOOD-FASHI’N--good fashion--well, thoroughly; as: “Uh lick
    da’ gal good-fashi’n”--I gave that girl a thorough
    whipping.

    GOT/GOTS--get, gets, have, had; also, has got to.

    GO’WAY--go away! get out!

    GRABBLE--(n. and v.) gravel, gravels, graveled, graveling.

    GRABE--grave, graves.

    GRAFF--grab, grabs, grabbed, grabbing; grasp, seize, seized.

    GRAMMA--grandmother. (See “grumma”).

    GRAN’--grand--grandchild, grandson, or anyone in such
    relationships of “grand”.

    GRAN’MAAMY--grandmother.

    GRANNY--grandmother, but used for any old Negro woman,
    whether related or not.

    GRANO--guano, phosphate, commercial fertilizers.

    GRAN’PUH--grandfather. (See “grumpa,” “grumpuh”).

    ’GREE--agree, agrees, agreed, agreeing.

    ’GREEMENT--agreement, agreements.

    GREESE--(n. and v.) grease: “greese ’e mout’,” to feed with
    fatness, as with bacon.

    GREESY--greasy.

    GRIN’SALT--“grinding salt,” said of a hawk or vulture circling
    aloft.

    GRITCH--grist, grits.

    GROUN’--ground, land, piece of land.

    GRUMMA--grandma.

    GRUMMOLE/GRU’MOLE--ground-mole, ground-moles.

    GRUM’PA/GRUM’PUH--grandpa, grandfather.

    GRUNNOT/GRUNNUT--groundnut, groundnuts, peanuts. (See
    “pinduh”).

    GUBNUH--governor, governors.

    GUNJUH--the scalloped molasses cakes sold in Southern
    country stores and commissaries.

    GWI’/GWINE--going, going to.

    GWININ’ EN’ GWININ’--goings and goings on. Usually characterizing
    the light conduct of idle or irresponsible
    persons.

    GYAA’D--(n. and v.) guard, guards, guarded, guarding.

    GYAA’D’N--garden, gardens.

    GYAP--gap, gaps, as in a fence or hedge.

    GYAP--gape, gapes, gaped, gaping; also for speech, as: “’E
    nebbuh gyap”--she never opened her mouth.


    H

    HAA’BIS’--harvest.

    HAA’BIS’-FLOW--harvest-flow, or last irrigation of the ricefields
    preceding the harvest.

    HAA’D--hard.

    HAA’D-HEAD--hard-head, hard-headed.

    HAA’KEE--hark you or ye, hear.

    HAA’NESS--(n. and v.) harness, harnesses, harnessed, harnessing.

    HAANT--haunt, haunts; apparition; ghost, ghosts.

    H’AA’T--heart, hearts.

    H’AA’T’--hearth, hearths.

    HAB--have, has, had, having.

    HACK’LUS--Hercules.

    HAFFUH--have to, had to.

    HAIR RIZ’--hair rose (with fright). An expression adopted
    from the whites, as upon the kinky heads of the
    coast Negroes there is nothing that even fright
    could cause to rise.

    HALF-ACRE--half acre--210 feet square--a measure of distance
    or area.

    HAN’--(n. and v.) hand, hands, handed, handing.

    HANCH--haunch, haunches, hind quarters.

    HANKUH--hanker, long, longs, longed, longing for; desire,
    desired, desiring.

    HAPP’N--happen, happens, happened, happening.

    HARRICANE--hurricane, hurricanes; “harricane tree,” one
    thrown down by storm.

    HARRUH--(n. and v.) harrow, harrows, harrowed, harrowing.

    HATCHITCH--hatchet, hatchets.

    HAWN--horn, horns.

    HAWN’OWL--the great horned owl.

    HAWSS--horse, horses.

    HEAD--(n. and v.) head, heads; head, heads, headed, heading
    off.

    HEAD’UM--get, gets, got, getting ahead of him, her, it, them.

    HEBBY--heavy, great; as: “uh hebby cumplain’”--a great
    outcry.

    HE’LT’--health.

    HE’LT’Y--healthy.

    HENDUH--hinder, hinders, hindered, hindering.

    HENG--hang, hangs, hanged, hung, hanging.

    HENGKITCHUH--handkerchief, handkerchiefs.

    HICE--hoist, hoists, hoisted, hoisting.

    HICE DE CHUNE--hoist or raise the tune.

    HIGGUHRI-HEE--the great horned owl. (See “hawn-owl”).

    HIM--he, she, it, his, her’s, its.

    HIM’OWN--his, her’s, his own, her own, its own.

    HIN’/HINE--hind, behind; as, “hine foot”--hind feet.

    HISTORICUSS--historic, historical.

    HITCH--hitch, hitches, hitched, hitching; also for marry,
    marrying.

    HOL’--(n. and v.) hold, holds, held, holding.

    HOL’FAS’--Hold Fast--a favorite dog name.

    HOLLUH--(n. and v.) hollow, hollows, hollowed, hollowing.

    HOLLUH--halloo, halloos, hallooed, hallooing.

    HOM’NY--hominy.

    HONGRY--hungry, hunger.

    HOONUH--you, ye. (See “oonuh” and “wunnuh”).

    HOT--heat, heats, heated, heating.

    HUCCOME/HUKKUH--how come, how came; how does or did it
    come; how came it?

    HUDDY--howdy, how do you do?--“tell’um heap’uh huddy.”

    HUMMUCH--how much, or how many.

    HUND’UD--hundred, hundreds.

    HU’T/HO’T--(n. and v.) hurt, hurts, hurting.


    I

    IMPEDIN’--impudence, impudent.

    INFLUMMASHUN--information.

    INGINE--engine, engines. (See “eenjine”).

    INJUN--Indian, Indians.

    INTUHCEDE--intercede, intercedes, interceded, interceding.

    I’ON/I’UN--(n. and v.) iron, irons, ironed, ironing.


    IZ/YIZ--is.


    IZICK--Isaac.


    J

    JACK--(n. and v.) jack, jacks, jacked, jacking.

    JACKSINBURRUH--Jacksonboro.

    JACKSTAN’--jack-stand--stands on which fires are kept at
    night in summer settlements for protection against
    mosquitoes and other insects.

    JACKY-LANTU’N--Jack-o’-lantern--will-o’-the-wisp.

    JALLUS--jealous, jealousy.

    JAYBU’D--jaybird, jaybirds.

    ’JECK’--reject, rejects; object, objects, objected, objecting;
    objection.

    ’JECKSHUN--objection, objections.

    ’JECK’UM--reject or rejected him, as an undesirable juror.

    JEDGE--(n. and v.) judge, judges, judged, judging.

    JEDUS--Jesus.

    JESTUSS--justice.

    JEW--Jew, Jews.

    JEW--dew.

    JIMPSIN-WEED/JIMSIN-WEED--Jimpson or Jamestown-weed.

    JINE--join, joins, joined, joining.

    JININ’--joining; adjoining. (See “eenjinin’”).

    JINNYWERRY--January.

    JIS’--just. (See “dis’”).

    JISSO/JESSO--just so. (See “disso”).

    JOHOSSEE--Jehossee--a rice-growing island of the South
    Carolina Coast.

    JOKOK--Jaycocks--the name of former Governor Heyward’s
    overseer on the Combahee.

    JOOK--jab, jabs, jabbed, jabbing.

    JOOKASS--jackass, jackasses.

    JUDUS CAESAR--Julius Caesar.

    JUE--due, dues.

    JUHRUZELUM--Jerusalem.

    JU’K--jerk, jerks, jerked, jerking.

    JULIP--the vanished mint julep.

    JULLY--July.

    JUNK--chunk, chunks, as of lightwood.

    JUNTLEMUN--gentleman, gentlemen; also a woman’s “man”
    or husband; as, “him juntlemun,” meaning her husband.

    JUNTLEMUN’ NIGGUH--gentleman’s Negro, meaning one who
    as a slave had belonged to people of position--the
    “quality.”


    K

    ’KACE--scarce. (See “sca’ce”).

    ’KACELY--scarcely, hardly. (See “sca’cely”).

    KETCH--catch, catches, caught, catching; took, take; as: “’E
    ketch ’e tex f’um de fus’ chaptuh een Nickuhdemus”--He
    took his text from the first chapter of Nicodemus.
    Also for reach, reached; as: “Time uh ketch de ribbuh
    bank, de dog done gone.”

    KETCH’UM--catch, catches, caught, catching him, her, it,
    them.

    KI--an exclamation. (Sometimes “kwi” or “kwoy”).

    KIBBUH--(n. and v.) cover, covers, covered, covering.

    KIBBUHR’UM--cover, covers, covered, covering him, her, it,
    them.

    KILLYBASH--calabash, calabashes; gourd, gourds.

    KIN--can.

    KIN--kin, kindred.

    KIN’--kind, kinds; sort, sorts.

    KIND’UH--kind of, sort of.

    KNOCK--knock, knocks, knocked, knocking.

    ’KNOWLEDGE--acknowledge, acknowledges, acknowledged, acknowledging;
    admit, etc.

    KNOW’UM--know, knows, knew him, her, it, them.

    KYAG--keg, kegs.

    KYARRYSENE--kerosene.


    L

    LAA’CENY--larceny.

    LAA’D--lard.

    LAA’GIN’--enlarging, swaggering, boastful.

    LAA’N--learn, learns, learned, learning.

    LAB’RUH--laborer, laborers.

    LAM’QUAWTUH--lamb’s-quarter--an edible wild herb of which,
    like the tender leaves of the pokeberry, the Negroes
    are very fond, using it for boiling.

    LANGWIDGE--language, talk.

    LAS’--last, lasts, lasted, lasting; last (adverb); shoemaker’s
    last.

    LAS’YEAH--last year, last year’s.

    LAUGH--(n. and v.) laugh, laughs, laughed, laughing.

    LAVUH--(n. and v.) labor, labors, labored, laboring.

    LAWFULLY LADY--a Negro’s legally married wife.

    LEABE--leaf, leaves.

    LEABE--(n. and v.) leave, leaves, left, leaving (see “lef’”);
    permit, permission.

    LEAN FUH--lean for--set out for with haste and speed.

    ’LEBEN/’LEB’N--eleven.

    LEDDOWN--lay, lays, laid or lie, lies, lay, lying down.

    LEEK--lick, licks, licked, licking--with the tongue.

    LEELY/LILLY--little, in size or quantity.

    LEETLE--little, in size or quantity.

    LEF’--leave, leaves, left, leaving. (See “leabe”).

    LEF’ HAN’--left hand or left handed, “lef han’ foot,” or “lef
    han’ feet”--left foot or left leg.

    LEF’UM--leave, leaves, left or leaving him, her, it, them.

    LEGGO--let go, lets go, letting go.

    LEH--let, lets, letting.

    LEH WE--let us.

    LE’M--let them.

    LEM’LONE--let, lets him, her, it, them alone.

    LEMME--let me.

    LEN’--(v.) lend, lends, loaned, lending.

    LENGK--length, lengths.

    ’LESS--(or onless) unless.

    LIAH/LIE--liar, liars.

    LIB--live, lives, lived, living.

    LIBBIN’--living.

    ’LIBE--alive.

    LIBBUH--liver, livers.

    ’LIBBUH--deliver, delivers, delivered, delivering.

    LICK--(n. and v.) a blow; to whip, whips, whipped.

    LICK BACK--turn, turns, turned, turning back, while moving
    rapidly.

    LICKIN’--(n. and v.) a licking, lickings, whipping, etc.

    LIGHT ON--light on--mount, mounts, mounted, mounting.

    LIGHT’OOD--lightwood--resinous pine-wood.

    LIGHT OUT--to start, start off, or away.

    ’LIJAH/’LIJUH--Elijah, the prophet.


    ’LIJUN--religion.

    LIKESO/LIKEWISE ALSO--likewise, also.


    LIMUS-COOTUH--a small, malodorous black terrapin, held in
    contempt by both races.

    LINNIMENT--liniment.

    LISS’N--listen, listens, listened, listening.

    LOBLOLLY-PINE--the great short-leaf pine growing in low
    ground.

    LOCUS PASTUH--local pastor, or preacher.

    ’LONG--along, along with.

    LONGIS’--longest.

    LONGMOUT’--long mouth--descriptive of the surly or contemptuous
    pushing out of the lips of an angry or
    discontented Negro.

    ’LONGSIDE--alongside.

    LONG TALK KETCH RUN’WAY NIGGUH--meaning long talk or
    conversation by the roadside often causes or caused
    runaway slaves to be caught by the “patrol.”

    LONGUH--longer.

    ’LONG’UM--along with, or with him, her, it, them.

    LOSS--lose, loses, lost, losing.

    ’LOW’UM--allow, allows, allowed, allowing him, her, it, them.

    LUB--(n. and v.) love, loves, loved, loving; like, likes, liked,
    liking.

    LUK--like, alike.

    LUKKUH--like, like unto, resembling.

    LUK’UM--like or resembling him, her, it, them.


    M

    MAA’CH--March; march, marches, marched, marching.

    MAA’K--(n. and v.) mark, marks, marked, marking.

    MAA’L--the marl or phosphate mines. (See “de Rock”).

    MA’AM--madam.

    MAAMY--mother, mothers.

    MAA’SH--marsh, marshes.

    MACFUSS’NBIL--McPhersonville--a summer village.

    MAN--man, man’s; men, men’s.

    MANGE--mane.

    MANNUS--manners, politeness, courtesy.

    MANNUSSUBBLE--well-mannered, polite.

    MARRI’D--married, marry, marries, marrying.

    MASS/MAS’--master when used with a name: as, “Mass Clinch,”
    “Mas’ Rafe.”

    MASTUH--Master--used only for God.

    MATCH--(n. and v.) match, matches, matched, matching. Yet
    “matches” is sometimes used for the singular; as,
    “Gimme uh matches”--give me a match.

    MAUM--same as “maumuh,” when used with the name of the
    person spoken to or of, as “Maum Kate.”

    MAUMUH--mauma, the equivalent of the up-country
    “mammy.”

    MAUSSUH--master, masters. NOTE: See above “Mastuh.”
    While the Gullah can pronounce “mastuh,” he reserves
    this for God, even saying “Maussuh Jedus”--Master Jesus.

    MAWGIDGE--(n. and v.) mortgage, mortgages, mortgaged,
    mortgaging.

    MAWNIN’--morning, mornings; also “good morning!”

    ME--I, my.

    MEAN--mean, meanness.

    MEDDISIN/MED’SIN--medicine, medicines, physic

    MEDJUH--(n. and v.) measure, measures, measured, measuring.

    MEDJUHR’UM--measure, measures, measured, measuring him,
    her, it, them.

    MEK--make, makes, made, making.

    MEK’ACE--make haste.

    MEK ANSUH--make, makes, making, made reply.

    MEK FUH--make for; to go to, goes to, went to, going to.

    MEK OUT--make, makes, made, making out; a makeshift.

    MEK YO MANNUS--make your manners, your obeisance.

    MEMBUH--member, members as of a church or society.

    ’MEMBUH--remember, remembers, remembered, remembering;
    remind, etc.

    ’MEMB’UNCE--remembrance, remembrances.

    MEN’ ’E PACE--mend his, her, its, their pace; hurry, hurry up,
    etc.

    MENS--men.

    MESELF/MUHSELF--myself.

    MET’DIS’--Methodist, Methodists.

    METSIDGE--message, messages.

    MIDDLEBLOUSE--middy-blouse, middy-blouses.

    MIDDLEDAY--midday, noon.

    MIDDLENIGHT--midnight.

    MIN’--mind, minds, minded, minding; heed, etc.; take care of,
    protect, cherish, guard.

    ’MIRATION--admiration, wonder, astonishment.

    MIS’/MISS--Miss, Mrs., Mistress, when accompanied by a
    name, as Miss Anne, “Mis’ Chizzum.”

    MISSIS--mistress, mistresses.

    MISTUH--Mr.

    MO’--more.

    MOAN--moan, moans, moaned, moaning.

    MO’ BETTUH--more better, better.

    MOCCASIN--water-moccasin, a venomous snake.

    MO’ LONGUH--more longer, longer.

    MO’N--mourn, mourns, mourned, mourning.

    MO’NFUL--mournful.

    ’MONG/’MOUNG--among, amid.

    MONGK’Y/MONK’Y--monkey, monkeys.

    MONSTROSITY--monstrous.

    MO’NUH--mourner, mourners.

    MO’NUH--more than.

    MO’NUH DA’--more than that.

    MOOBE--move, moves, moved, moving.

    MO’OBUH--moreover.

    MO’RIS’/MO’RES’--most.

    MOUT’--mouth, mouths.

    MUFFEY--Murphy.

    MUFFLEDICE--hermaphrodite.

    MUFFLEJAW--muffle-jawed--a strain of barnyard fowl, heavily
    feathered about the cheeks.

    MUHLASSIS--molasses.

    MUKKLE--myrtle, myrtles; myrtle thickets.

    MUNT’--month, months.

    MURRUH--mother, mothers.

    MURRUHLAW--mother-in-law.

    MUS’BE--must be, must have, must have been.

    MUSCOBY--Muscovy--a breed of domestic ducks much affected
    by low-country Negroes.

    MUSKICK--musket, muskets.

    MUSKITTUH--mosquito, mosquitoes.

    MUSSIFUL--merciful.

    MUSSY--mercy, mercies.

    MUSTU’D--mustard.

    MUSTUH--muster, musters, mustered, mustering.

    MY’OWN--mine, my.


    N

    NAKID/NAKIT--naked.

    NAKITY--naked, nakedness.

    ’NARRUH--another. (See “’nodduh” and “’norruh”).

    NAVUH--neighbor, neighbors.

    NEBBUH--never. (See “nubbuh”).

    NEEDUH--neither.

    NEEDUHSO--neither so, neither, nor.

    N’MIN’/N’MINE/NEMMIN’/NEMMINE/NUMMINE--never mind.

    NEPCHUNE--Neptune.

    NES’--(n. and v.) nest, nests, nested, nesting.

    NEWFANGLETY--newfangled.

    NEWNITED STATES--United States.

    NICKYNACK--“nic-nac” crackers, biscuit.

    NIGGUHHOUSE--Negro house or houses, cabin or cabins.

    NIGGUHHOUSE YAA’D--Negro house yard, the main street running
    through the plantation Negro quarters.

    NIGH--near, also draw near to; as: “W’en de bull biggin fuh
    nigh’um de gal tek ’e foot een ’e han’ en’ run ’way.”

    NIGHT--night, night-time, at night.

    NIGH’UM--near, or nearing him, her, it, them.

    ’N’INT--anoint, anoints, anointed, anointing. (See “renoint”).

    NO--any.

    NO’COUNT--no account, worthless.

    ’NODDUH--another. (See “’narruh” and “’norruh”).

    NOMANNUS/NOMANNUSSUBBLE--impolite, without manners, rude.

    NOMINASHUN--nominate, nominates, nominated, nominating;
    also nomination, nominations.

    ’NORRUH--another. (See “’narruh” and “’nodduh”).

    NOTT--nut, nuts; as “nott-grass,” nut grass.

    NOTUS--(n. and v.) notice, notices, noticed, noticing.

    NOWEMBUH--November.

    NUBBUH--never. (See “nebbuh”).

    ’NUF--enough, abundance.

    NUH--nor; also for and.

    ’NURRUH--another.

    NUSS--(n. and v.) nurse, nurses, nursed, nursing.

    NUSSUH/NUSSO--not so.

    NUTT’N’--nothing.

    NYAM--eat, eats, eating, ate; sometimes “nyam-nyam,” a
    repetition for emphasis.

    NYANKEE--Yankee, Yankees.

    NYOUNG/NYUNG--young.

    NYOUNGIS’--youngest.

    NYUSE/USE--(n. and v.) use, uses, used, using. (See “uz’n”).

    NYUZE/NYUZ’N--(v.) used, using.


    O

    OAGLY--ugly.

    OBJECK’--object. (See “’jeck’”).

    OBSERB’--observe, observes, observed, observing.

    OB’SHAY--overseer, overseers.

    OBUH--over, above.

    OBUHTEK--overtake, overtakes, overtook, overtaking.

    OBUHT’ROW--overthrow, overthrows, overthrew, overthrowing;
    overthrown.

    OCTOBUH--October.

    ODDUH--other, others.

    ODDUHRES’--the other rest, the rest, remainder.

    OFF’UH--off, off of.

    OFFUH--offer, offers, offered, offering.

    OFF’UM--off, or off of him, her, it, them.

    OLE--old.

    ONBUTT’N--unbutton, unbuttons, unbuttoned, unbuttoning.

    ONCOMMUN--uncommon.

    ONDEESTUNT--indecent, indecency.

    ONDELICATE--indelicate, presumptuous.

    ONDUH--under.

    ONDUHNEET’--underneath.

    ONDUHSTAN’--understand, understands, understood, understanding.
    Also, as an understanding.

    ONDUHTEK--undertake, undertakes, undertook, undertaking.

    ONE--only; “me one,” I only.

    ONE’NARRUH/ONE’NODDUH/ONE’NUDDUH/ONE’NURRUH--one another.

    ONETIME--once, once upon a time.

    ONHITCH--unhitch, unhitches, unhitched, unhitching; also
    marital separation.

    ONKIBBUH--uncover, uncovers, uncovered, uncovering.

    ONLOCK--unlock, unlocks, unlocked, unlocking.

    ONMANNUSSUBBLE--unmannerly, impolite, rude. (See “nomannussubble”).

    ONNUH--(n. and v.) honor, honors, honored, honoring.

    ONNUHRUBBLE--honorable.

    ONRABBLE--unravel, unravels, unraveled, unraveling; untangle.

    ONREASUNNUBBLE--unreasonable.

    ONSAA’T’N--uncertain.

    ONSATTIFY--unsatisfied, unsatisfying.

    ONTEL--until.

    ONTIE--untie, unties, untied, untying.

    ’OOD--wood, woods.

    ’OOMAN--woman, woman’s; women, women’s. “’Ooman iz uh
    sometime t’ing”--Woman is a fickle, uncertain
    creature, sometimes one thing, sometimes another.

    OONUH--ye, sometimes you. (See “wunnuh,” etc.).

    OSHTUH--oyster, oysters.

    OSHTUH RAKE--long-handled rake or tongs for gathering
    oysters.

    OUGHTUH--ought, ought to, ought to be; as: “Man oughtuh
    t’engkful”--man ought to be thankful.

    OUT/OUT’N--to go out, put out, extinguish; as: “Uh out de fiah”--
    I put out the fire. “Uh out’n’um”--I put it out.

    OUT’UH--out of, out.

    OX--oxen.

    OXIDIZE--to turn into an ox.

    OXIN--ox.


    P

    PAA’D’N--(n. and v.) pardon, pardons, pardoned, pardoning.

    PAA’DNUH--partner, partners.

    PAA’KUH--Parker--a low-country family name.

    PAA’LUH--parlor, parlors.

    PAA’SIMONY--parsimony, also avarice or rapacity.

    PAA’S’N--parson, parsons.

    PAAT’--path, paths.

    PAA’T--(n. and v.) part, parts, parted, parting.

    PAA’TY--party.

    PALABUHRIN’--palavering--soft talk of a philanderer with
    the gentler sex.

    PAPUH--(n. and v.) paper, papers, papered, papering; also a
    written instrument, a note or letter.

    PARRYSAWL--parasol, parasols.

    PASHUN/PASHUNT--patience; patient, forbearing.

    PASSOBUH--Passover.

    PASS’UM--pass, passes, passed, passing him, her, it, them.

    PASTUH--pastor, pastors; pasture, pastures.

    PATTY-AUGUH/PETTY-AUGUH--piragua, pirogue.

    PAWPUS--porpoise, porpoises.

    ’PAWTUN’/’PORTUN’--important.

    ’PAWTUNCE/’PORTUNCE--importance.

    PEACEUBBLE--peaceable, peaceful.

    PEAWINE--peavine, peavines.

    PENITENSHUS--penitentiary.

    ’PEN’PUN--depend, depends, depended, depending upon.

    PERUSE--to saunter, walk in a leisurely manner, as: “Da’ gal
    him bin peruse ’long de road en’ ’e nebbuh study
    ’bout nutt’n’;” also investigate, examine, consider.

    PESSLE--pestle, pestles; a double-headed wooden implement
    for beating rice.

    PHOSKIT/PHUSKIT--phosphate, commercial fertilizer; also “de
    Phoskit” the phosphate mines.

    PIGGIN--a small cedar pail in universal use among Negroes
    of the coast.

    PINCH’UM--pinch, pinches, pinched, pinching him, her, it,
    them; sometimes gripping, as of pain.

    ’PIN--spin, spins, spun, spinning.

    PINDUH--pindar, peanut, peanuts. (See “grunnot”).

    PINELAN’--pineland, pinelands.

    ’PINION--opinion, opinions.

    P’INT--(n. and v.) point, points, pointed, pointing; direct,
    etc.

    ’P’INT--appoint, appoints, appointed, appointing.

    ’P’INTMENT--appointment, appointments.

    ’PISKUBBLE--Episcopal, Episcopalian.

    ’PISTLE--Epistle, Epistles (Bible).

    PITCHUH--pitcher, pitchers.

    PIT--put, puts, put, putting.

    PIT’UM--put him, her, it, them.

    PIZEN--poison, poisons, poisoned, poisoning.

    PIZEN-OAK--poison-oak, or poison ivy.

    ’PLASH--(n. and v.) splash; to splash, splashes, splashed,
    splashing.

    PLAT-EYE--a ghostly apparition, common to the Georgetown
    section of the coast.

    PLAY ’POSSUM--to make believe, to fool, deceive.

    PLEASE KIN--please can--a redundancy; as: “please kin
    gimme”--please give me.

    PLEDJUH--pleasure, pleasures.

    PLEDJUHR’UM--please, give pleasure to him, her, it, them.

    PO’--poor, also thin, lean, low in flesh.

    PO’BUCKRUH--a poor white man, the poor whites.

    PO’BUCKRUH-NIGGUH--a Negro who had formerly belonged
    to the poorer whites, or those not of the “quality.”

    PO’CH--porch, porches.

    POLITICKSUS/POLITICUSS--political. (See “cawpsus politicksus”).

    POLLYDO’--Polydore--a favorite man’s name among the
    Negroes; used also for Apollos.

    PO’LY--poorly, describing health.

    PON PON--the lower Edisto and the region south of the A.
    C. L. Ry., opposite Jacksonboro.

    POOTY/PUTTY--pretty.

    PO’R--pour, pours, poured, pouring.

    PO’R’UM--pour, pours, poured, pouring it, that.

    POS’--(n. and v.) post, posts, posted, posting.

    POSITUBBLE--positive, positively.

    POSSIMMUN--persimmon, persimmons; the tree and fruit.

    PO’TRIAL--Port Royal.

    PRAISE-MEETIN’--prayer-meeting.

    PRAY--(n. and v.) prayer, prayers; prays, prayed, praying.

    ’PREAD--spread, spreads, spreading.

    PREECHUH--preacher, preachers; minister, ministers.

    PREECHUH ON DE SUKKUS--the circuit or traveling preacher.

    PREMUSSIZ--premises.

    PRESINCK--precinct.

    PRES’N’LY--presently.

    PREZZYDENT--president.

    PRIBLIDGE--(n. and v.) privilege, privileges, privileged.

    PRIMUS WARD--ward primary.

    PRIZZUNT--present, presents, presented, presenting.

    PRIZZUNT AA’M--present arms.

    PROJIC’--to “monkey with,” to hazard.

    PROMMUS--(n. and v.) promise, promises, promised, promising.

    PROOBE--prove, proves, proved, proving.

    PROPUTTY--property, wealth.

    ’PUBLIKIN--Republican.

    PUHCEED/PUSCEED--proceed, proceeds, proceeded, proceeding.

    PUHHAPS--perhaps.

    P’UHJEC’--project, projected, as: “W’en da’ ’ooman bex, him
    p’uh’jec’ him mout’ at me”--When that woman was
    angry she stuck out her mouth at me.

    PUHJUH--perjure, perjures, perjured, perjuring.

    PUHLICITUH--solicitor, solicitors; the dreaded prosecuting attorney
    of the Criminal Court, held in awe by all
    low-country Negroes.

    PUHLITE--polite, politely. Also a popular Negro name, as
    “Mingo Puhlite.”

    PUHSHAY--Porcher--name of a low-country family.

    PUHTEK--protect, protects, protected, protecting.

    PUHTEKSHUN--protection.

    PUHTETTUH--potato, potatoes--usually sweet. (See “tettuh”).

    PUHTICKLUH--particular, particularly.

    PUHWIDE--provide, provides, provided, providing.

    PUHWID’N--providing, also provided.

    PUHWIDUH--provider, providers.

    PUHWISHUN--provision, provisions; ration, ration.

    PUHWOKE--provoke, provokes, provoked, provoking.

    PUHWOKIN’--provoking.

    PUHZAC’LY--exactly, precisely.

    PUHZISHUN--position, positions.

    PULBLIC--public, the public.

    PULL WOOL--to pull the kinky forelock in salutation to “de
    Buckruh.”

    PUNKIN--pumpkin, pumpkins.

    PUNKIN-SKIN--pumpkin colored or mulatto Negro.

    PUNNOUNCE--pronounce, pronounces, pronounced, pronouncing.

    ’PUNTOP/’PUNTAP/’PANTAP--upon, on, on top of.

    ’PUNTOP’UH--upon top of, on top of, at.

    PUPPUS--purpose, on purpose.

    PUSS’N/PUSSON/PUSSUN--person, persons.

    PUSS’NULLY/PUSSONULLY/PUSSUNULLY--personally.


    Q

    ’QUAINTUN’--acquainted, acquainted with.

    ’QUAINTUNCE--acquaintance, acquaintances. (See “acquaintun’”).

    QUARRIL/QUAWL--quarrel, quarrels.

    QUARRILMENT/QUAWLMENT--quarrel, quarrels, quarreled, quarrelling.

    QUAWT--quart, quarts.

    QUAWT’LY--quarterly.

    QUAWTUH--(n. and v.) quarter, quarters, quartered, quartering.

    ’QUEEZE--squeeze, squeezes, squeezed, squeezing.

    QUESCHUN/SQUESCHUN--(n. and v.) question, questions, questioned,
    questioning. Rarely used, “quizzit” taking its
    place.

    QUILE--(n. and v.) coil, coils, coiled, coiling.

    ’QUIRE--require, requires, required, requiring.

    ’QUIRE--inquire, inquires, inquired, inquiring.

    QUIZZIT--(quiz) ask, asks, asked, asking; to question, questions,
    questioned, questioning. (See “squizzit,” a
    rarely used variant).


    R

    RABBISH--ravish, ravishes, ravished, ravishing.

    RAB’N--raven, ravens; vulture, vultures; buzzard, buzzards.

    RAB’NEL--Ravenel, Ravenels--a family name, also a station
    on Atlantic Coast Line Railway.

    RACKTIFY--to break, breaks, broke, broken, breaking. Confuse
    in mind: “Da’ buggy racktify”--that buggy is dilapidated.
    “Da’ ’ooman racktify een ’e min’”--that
    woman’s mind is distracted.

    RAIN--(n. and v.) rain, rains, rained, raining.

    RALE--real, very, truly.

    RAMIFY--to act like a ram.

    RANGE--range, ranges, ranged, ranging.

    ’RANGUHTANG--Orang-Utan, Orang-Utans.

    RAPPIT--rapid, rapidly.

    RASHI’N--(n. and v.) ration, rations, rationed, rationing.

    RAYRE--rear, rears, reared, rearing.

    ’READY--already.

    REBEL TIME--rebel times--the freedmen’s offensive characterization
    of the period before freedom when their
    former masters controlled the government of their
    own states.

    REB’REN’--reverend--used also as a noun, as “de reb’ren’.”

    RECISHUN--decision, decisions.

    REDDUH--rather. (See “rudduh”).

    REFEN’--defend, defends, defended, defending. (See “’fen’”).

    REINGE--reins.

    REMONIA--pneumonia.

    RENITE--unite, unites, united, uniting.

    RENOINT--anoint, anoints, anointed, anointing. (See “’n’int”).

    RENOINTED--anointed.

    REPEAH--appear, appears, appeared, appearing.

    REPLOY--(rare) reply, replies, replied, replying.

    REPOSE--oppose, opposes, opposed, opposing.

    RESPLAIN--explain, explains, explained, explaining; elucidate,
    etc.

    RETCH--reach, reaches, reached, reaching.

    ’RIAH--Maria.

    RIBBUH--river, rivers.

    RICEBU’D--ricebird, ricebirds.

    RIDICK’LUS--ridiculous, also outrageous, scandalous. (Often
    so used by illiterate whites).

    ROAS’--roast, roasts, roasted, roasting.

    ROCK--rock, rocks, rocked, rocking. Also for phosphate rock.
    (See “de Rock”).

    ROKKOON--raccoon, raccoons.

    ROLL--roll, rolls, rolled, rolling.

    ROOS’--(n. and v.) roost, roosts, roosted, roosting.

    ROOSTUH--rooster, roosters.

    ROZZUM--(n. and v.) rosin, rosins, rosined, rosining.

    RUBBIDGE--rubbish.

    RUCKUHNIZE--recognize, recognizes, recognized, recognizing.

    RUDDUH--rather. (See “redduh”).

    RUDDUH--rudder, rudders.

    RUMPLETAIL--(rumpless) a tailless fowl.

    RUN--run, runs, ran, running.

    RUPPEZUNT--represent, represents, represented, representing.


    S

    SAA’B--serve, serves, served, serving.

    SAA’BINT--(also “saa’bunt”) servant, servants.

    SAA’BINT DAY--servants’ day--perhaps originally a corruption
    of Sabbath day.

    SAA’BIS--(also sarbis) service, services, use.

    SAA’CH--search, searches, searched, searching; also examine,
    examined, etc.

    SAA’F--soft.

    SAA’F’LY--softly.

    SAA’PINT/SAA’PUNT--serpent (Biblical).

    SAA’T’N/SUTT’N--certain.

    SABANNUH/SAWANNUH--Savannah; savanna, savannas.

    SABBIDGE--savage, savages.

    SABE--save, saves, saved, saving.

    SABEYUH--the Savior.

    SA’LEENUH--St. Helena Island, on the South Carolina coast.

    SAME LUKKUH--(also sukkuh) same like, like, resembling.

    SAN’--sand.

    SAT’D’Y/SATTYDAY--Saturday.

    SATTIFACKSHUN--satisfaction.

    SATTIFY--satisfy, satisfies, satisfied, satisfying.

    SAWLKETCHUH--Salkehatchie--upper reaches of the Combahee
    above the A. C. L. Ry.

    SAWT--(n. and v.) sort, sorts, sorted, sorting.

    SAWTUH--sort of--after a fashion.

    SAY--say, says, said, saying.

    SCA’CE/SCA’CEFUL--scarce.

    SCA’CELY--scarcely, hardly. (See “kacely”).

    SCATTUH--scatter, scatters, scattered, scattering.

    SCHEMY--scheming, tricky.

    SCOLE--scold, scolds, scolded, scolding.

    SCRIPTUH--Scripture--the Bible.

    ’SCUSE--(noun) excuse, excuses.

    ’SCUSIN’--excusing, except.

    ’SCUSSHUN--excursion, excursions.

    ’SCUZE--(verb) excuse, excuses, excused, excusing.

    SEAZ’NIN’--seasoning.

    SEB’N--seven.

    SEB’NPUNCE--seven pence. (See “fo’punce”).

    SEB’NTEEN--seventeen.

    SEB’NTY--seventy.

    SECKRITERRY--secretary, secretaries.

    SECTEMBUH--September.

    SECUN’--second.

    SEDATE--sedately, quietly, in a leisurely manner: “De mule
    walk so sedate uh couldn’ plow fas’.”

    SEDDOWN--sit or set down, sits or sets down, sat or set down,
    sitting or setting down.

    SEE--see, sees, saw, seen, seeing.

    SEEGYAA’--cigar, cigars.

    SEEM--seem, seems, seemed, seeming.

    ’SELF--himself, herself, itself, themselves; as: “Him maussuh
    ’self haffuh wu’k”--his master himself has to
    work.

    SELFISH--selfish--glum, dour.

    SENCE--since.

    SEN’UM--send, sends, sent, sending him, her, it, them.

    SESSO--say so, says so, said so, saying so. (See “susso”).

    SET--sit, sits, sat, sitting. (See “seddown”).

    SETTLE’--settled, as: “settle’ ’ooman,” a settled woman, a
    Negro woman of a certain age, not a flapper.

    SETT’N’--sitting.

    SETT’N’UP--sitting up--a Negro wake; a small religious meeting.

    SEZZEE--says he, said he.

    SEZZI--says I, said I.

    SHAA’K--shark, sharks.

    SHAA’P--sharp.

    SHAA’P’N--sharpen, sharpens, sharpened, sharpening.

    SHABE--shave, shaves, shaved, shaving.

    SHADDUH--(n. and v.) shadow, shadows, shadowed, shadowing.

    SHAME--(n. and v.) shame, shames, shamed, shaming;
    ashamed.

    SHAWT--short--“shawt-pashunt,” short patience or irritable,
    irritability.

    SHAYRE--share, shares, shared, sharing.

    SHAYRE’UM--share, shares, shared, sharing him, her, it, them.
    Also for shear, shears, sheared, shearing him, her,
    it, them.

    SHEEPBUHR--sheepburr, sheepburrs.

    SHE’OWN--her own.

    SHEPU’D--shepherd, shepherds.

    SHE-SHE TALK--woman’s talk, gabble.

    SHET--shut, shuts, shut, shutting.

    SHIMMY--chemise, chemises.

    SHISH--such.

    SHISHUH--such a.

    SHO’--sure, surely.

    SHOE--(n. and v.) shoe, shoes, shod, shoeing.

    SHOESH--shoes.

    SHO’LY--surely.

    SHOOT’UM--shoot, shoots, shot, shooting him, her, it, them.

    SHOULDUH--shoulder, shoulders, shouldered, shouldering.

    SHOULD’UH--should have.

    SHOUT--(n. and v.) shout, shouts; shout, shouts, shouted,
    shouting; frenzied outcries of a religious devotee. A
    plantation dancing festival, frequently accompanied
    by beating sticks on the floor.

    SHOW--show, shows, showed, showing.

    SHOW’UM--show, shows, showed, showing him, her, it, them.

    SHROUD--shroud, shrouds; also surplice, surplices, as: “De
    ’Piskubble preechuh pit on ’e shroud.”

    SHUB--shove, shoves, shoved, shoving.

    SHUH--pshaw!

    SHUM--see, sees, saw, seeing him, her, it, them.

    SHU’T--shirt, shirts.

    SIDE’UH--on the side of, alongside.

    SILBUH--silver--“silbuhfish,” silver fish.

    SILBY--Silvia.

    SILUNT--silent, silence, as “silunt een co’t!”--silence in court!

    SILUS--Silas.

    SISTUH--(formal) sister, sisters.

    SKAY’D--scared.

    SKAYRE--scare, scares, scared, scaring.

    SKAY-TO-DE’T’--scare or scared to death.

    SKOLLUP--escallop, escallops, escalloped, escalloping.

    SKU’T--skirt, skirts.

    SLABE--slave, slaves.

    SLABERY--slavery.

    SLABERY TIME--slavery times--before freedom.

    SLAM--a synonym for “spang,” expressing distance, all the
    way.

    SLANN’ ILUN’--Slann’s Island, a tract lying along the North
    Edisto inlet and Toogoodoo creek.

    SLEEBE--sleeve, sleeves.

    ’SLEEP--asleep; sleep, sleeps, slept, sleeping.

    SLIP’RY--slippery.

    SMAA’T--smart.

    ’SMATTUH--what is the matter?

    SNAWT--snort, snorts, snorted, snorting.

    SNOW’RE--snore, snores, snored, snoring.

    SOAD--sword, swords.

    SOBUH--sober.

    SOBUHR’UM--sober, sobers, sobered, sobering him, her, them.

    SODJUH--(n. and v.) soldier, soldiers; soldiering, etc. To loaf
    on the job.

    SOF’--soft.

    SOMEBODY--somebody’s, some one, some one’s.

    SOMEBODY’OWN--somebody’s own.

    SONNYLAW--son-in-law, sons-in-law.

    SOON-MAN--a smart, alert, wide-awake man.

    SOOPLY--supple.

    SPAA’K--spark, sparks.

    SPANG--all the way, expressive of distance.

    SPARRUH--sparrow, sparrows.

    SPARRUH-GRASS--asparagus.

    SPARRUHHAWK--sparrow-hawk or hawks.

    ’SPEC’--expect, expects, expected, expecting; suspect, suspects,
    suspected, suspecting.

    SPECIE’--species.

    SPECIFY--from specify, but greatly extended to include almost
    all meanings of “specifications”--proving inadequate,
    not coming up to expectations, etc. (See
    Introduction to this Glossary).

    SPECKLY--speckled.

    SPEN’--spend, spends, spent, spending.

    SPERRITUAL--spiritual, spirituals, the Negro religious songs.

    ’SPERIUNCE--experience, experiences, experienced, experiencing.

    SPESHLY--specially, especially.

    SPIDUH--spider, spiders; also a cooking utensil in universal
    use among the Coast Negroes.

    SPILE--spoil, spoils, spoiled, spoiling.

    ’SPISHUN--suspicion, suspicions.

    ’SPISHUS--suspicious, suspiciously.

    ’SPIZE--despise, despises, despised, despising.

    ’SPLAIN--explain, explains, explained, explaining.

    SPLOTCH--blot, blots; stain, stains.

    ’SPON’--respond, responds, responded, responding.

    ’SPONSUBBLE--responsible, also used emphatically or specifically;
    as: “Tell’um ’sponsubble fuh do da’ t’ing.”

    ’SPOSE--expose, exposes, exposed, exposing.

    S’POSE--suppose, supposes, supposed, supposing.

    SPO’T--sport, sports; also sporting man.

    SPO’TIN’/SPOT’N’--(n. and v.) sport, sports, sported, sporting.

    SPO’TY--sporty.

    S’PREME--(n.) supreme--only in “s’preme co’t.”

    SPUHR--(n. and v.) spur, spurs, spurred, spurring.

    ’SPUTE--(n. and v.) dispute, disputes, disputed, disputing;
    contest with.

    ’SPUTE’N--disputing.

    SQUAYRE--(also squay) square--also a parallelogram in a
    ricefield divided from other squares by irrigation
    ditches.

    SQUESCHUN--question--sometimes used for the more common
    “quizzit,” which see. (Also see “queschun”).

    SQUIZZIT--a rarely used variant of “quizzit,” which see.

    STAA’CH--(n. and v.) starch, starches, starched, starching.

    STAAR--star, stars.

    STAA’T--start, starts, started, starting.

    STAA’T NAKID--stark naked.

    ’STABLISH--establish, establishes, established, establishing.

    STAN’--stand, stands, stood, standing; look, looks, looked,
    looking.

    STAN’--a stand, stands; deer stands, etc.

    STAN’LUKKUH--stand, stands, stood, standing like; to look
    like, etc.

    STAN’SUKKUH--stand same like unto, same meaning as “stan’lukkuh.”

    ’STEAD’UH--(also ’stidduh) instead of.

    STEAL--steal, steals, stole, stealing.

    STO’--store, stores; shop, shops.

    ’STONISH--astonish, astonishes, astonished, astonishing.

    ’STRACTID--protracted, as a “’stractid meet’n’,” a protracted
    meeting.

    STRAIGHT’N FUH--make for, made for, making for; run
    quickly or swiftly.

    STRANCE--trance, trances.

    STREE--three; as in “seb’nty-stree.” Rarely used. (See “t’ree”).

    STRENGK--strength.

    STRETCH-OUT--stretch out--extend. (See “’tretch-out”).

    STRIKE--strike, strikes, struck, striking. (See “’trike”).

    ’STROY’D--destroy, destroys, destroyed, destroying.

    ’STRUCKSHUN--destruction.

    ’STRUCKSHUN--construction.

    ’STRUCKSHUN STRAIN--construction train.

    STRUCTID--struck, striking.

    STUBB’N--(also stubbunt) stubborn.

    STUDY--think, plan, ponder.

    STUHR--stir, stirs, stirred, stirring.

    STUHSTIFFIKIT--certificate.

    STYLISH--stylish, meaning also appropriate, dignified, suitable,
    as: “uh stylish grabe,” being a grave ornately
    decorated with broken china or glass.

    ’SUADE--persuade, persuades, persuaded, persuading.

    SUCK--suck, sucks, sucked, sucking.

    SUCK-AIG--suck-egg--as: “uh suck-aig dog.”

    SUCK ME TEET’--and “suck ’e teet’”--a contemptuous gesture,
    frequently indulged in by the fair sex.

    SUDD’NT--sudden, suddenly.

    SUFFUHRATE--separate, separates, separated, separating; also
    divorce, divorcing, etc.

    SUH--sir.

    SUH--that, say. (See “susso” and “sesso”).

    SUHCIETY--society, societies.

    SUKKLE--(n. and v.) circle, circles, circled, circling.

    SUKKUH--(a contraction of “same lukkuh” used by rapid
    speakers) same, same like, resembling.

    SUKKUHR’UM--same like, or like him, her, it, them.

    SUKKUS--circus, circuses.

    SUKKUS--circuit, circuits.

    SUKKUS-PREECHUH--circuit preacher.

    SUMMUCH--so much, so many.

    SUMMUH/SUMMUHTIME--summer, summers, summer-time.

    SUMP’N’--something.

    SUMP’N’NURRUH--something or other.

    SUNDOWN--sunset.

    SUNHIGH--late morning, about the middle of the forenoon.

    SUNHOT--sunshine, heat of sun.

    SUN-LEAN--period of the day when the sun begins to decline,
    and its declining: “sun-lean fuh down.”

    SUN’UP--sunrise.

    SUPPLOY--supply, supplies, supplied, supplying.

    SUPPUH--supper.

    SUPSHUN--substance, sustenance, strength of food, as of
    a juicy roast: “Da’ meat hab supshun een’um”--that
    meat has much nourishment.

    SUSSO/SUH-SO--say so, says so, said so, saying so. (See “sesso”).

    SUTT’N--certain, certainly.

    SUTT’NLY--certainly.

    SWALLUH--(n. and v.) swallow, swallows, swallowed, swallowing.

    SWALLUHR’UM--swallow, swallows, swallowed, swallowing
    him, her, it, them.

    SWAWM--(n. and v.) swarm, swarms, swarmed, swarming.

    SWAY’/SWAYRE--swear, swears, swore, swearing.

    SWAYTOGAWD--swear to God.

    SWEETH’AA’T--sweetheart, sweethearts.

    SWEETMOUT’--sweetmouth--blarney, flattery.

    SWEETMOUT’ TALK--soft talk of a philanderer with the
    gentler sex.

    SWELL--swell, swells, swelled, swelling; swollen.

    SWELL-UP--swelled, swollen up, puffed up with anger, importance
    or authority.

    SWEET’N--sweeten, sweetens, sweetened, sweetening.

    SWEET’NIN’--“sweetening.”

    SWIF’--swift, fast.

    SWIMP--shrimp, shrimps.

    SWINGE--singe, singes, singed, singeing.

    SWINK--shrink, shrinks, shrunk, shrinking.

    SWONGUH--“swank,” swagger, swaggering, boastful.


    T

    TAAR--(n. and v.) tar, tars, tarred, tarring.

    ’TACK--(n. and v.) attack, attacks, attacked, attacking.

    ’TACKTID--attacked. (See “attacktid”).

    TACKLE--(n. and v.) tackle, tackles, tackled, tackling; arraign,
    hold accountable.

    ’TAGUHNIZE--antagonize, antagonizes, antagonized, antagonizing;
    arraign, arraigned, etc.

    ’TAIL--(n. and v.) entail, entails, entailed, entailing.

    ’TAKE--(n. and v.) stake, stakes, staked, staking.

    TALK’UM--talk, talks, talked, talking; talking it, speak out,
    etc.

    TALLUH--tallow.

    TALLYGRAF--(n. and v.) telegraph, telegraphs, telegraphed,
    telegraphing; telegram, telegrams.

    ’TAN’--stand, stands, stood, standing.

    ’TAN’UP--stand, stands, stood, standing up.

    ’TARRYGATE--interrogate, interrogates, interrogated, interrogating;
    question, questioned, etc.

    TARRYPIN--terrapin, terrapins.

    TARRIFY--terrify, terrifies, terrified, terrifying.

    TARRUH--t’other, the other. (See “torruh,” “todduh”).

    TAS’--task--a measure of distance as well as of area: 105
    feet or 105 feet square. A “tas’,” or one-fourth of an
    acre, being the daily task during slavery on a sea-island
    cotton plantation, in “listing,” “hauling,” or
    hoeing sea-island cotton, a task being frequently
    completed before noon, when the slave was free for
    the rest of the day. Used as meaning distance of a
    shot; as: “My gun kin shoot two tas’”--My gun can
    kill at 210 feet (70 yards).

    TAS’E--taste, tastes, tasted, tasting.

    TAS’E ’E MOUT’--put a taste in his, her or their mouth or
    mouths; meaning something appetizing to eat.

    T’AW’T--(n. and v.) thought, thoughts. (See also “t’ink”).

    ’TAY--stay, stays, stayed, staying.

    TAYRE--tear, tears, tore, tearing.

    TAYRE’UM--tear, tears, tore, tearing him, her, it, them.

    TEDAY--today.

    TEET’--tooth, teeth.

    TEET’ACHE--toothache.

    TEK--take, takes, took, taken, taking.

    TEK’CARE--take-care--as: “Tek’care bettuh mo’nuh baig
    paa’d’n”--Take care is better more than beg pardon;
    meaning an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of
    cure.

    TEK’ESELF--take, takes, took, taking himself, herself, itself,
    themselves.

    TEK ME FOOT EEN ME HAN’--“tek him foot een ’e han’”--Took
    my foot in my hand, took his or her foot or their
    feet in his, her, or their hand or hands--meaning
    hastened, hurried, speeded up.

    TEK’UM--take, took, taken him, it, them; as: “tek’um en’
    t’engky.”

    TEK’WAY--take, takes, took, taking away.

    TEK WID’UM--taken with, pleased with him, her, it, them.

    ’TELL--till, until.

    TELL’UM--tell, tells, telling, told him, her, it, them. “Tell’um
    huddy fuh me”--tell him howdy for me.

    ’TEN’--attend, attends, attended, attending; intend, intends,
    etc.

    TENDDUH--tender.

    T’ENGKFUL--thankful.

    T’ENGK’GAWD--thank God!--thank, thanks, thanked, thanking
    God.

    T’ENGKY--thanks, thank you.

    TENIGHT--tonight.

    ’TENSHUN--attention.

    ’TENSHUN--intention; as: “Uh ’tenshun fuh go” it is my intention
    to go.

    ’TEP--(n. and v.) step, steps, stepped, stepping.

    TETCH--(n. and v.) touch, touches, touched, touching. Also
    a remnant, as: “T’engk Gawd, ’e lef’ uh leetle tetch
    een de bottle.”

    TETCH’UM--touch, touches, touched, touching him, her, it,
    them.

    ’TETTUH--potato, potatoes--usually sweet. (See “puhtettuh”).

    T’ICK--thick.

    ’TICK--(n. and v.) stick, sticks, stuck, slicking.

    T’ICKIT--thicket, thickets.

    ’TICKLUH--(n. and v.) particular, particulars. (See “puhtickluh”).

    T’ICKNESS--thickness, thicknesses.

    ’TICKY--sticky.

    T’IEF--(n. and v.) thief, thieves; steal, steals, stole, stolen,
    stealing. “T’ief iz bad, but t’ief en’ ketch iz de
    debble”--It is bad to steal, but to steal and be
    caught is worse.

    T’IEFIN’--thieving.

    TIE’UM--tie, ties, tied, tying him, her, it, them.

    TIE UP ’E MOUT’--tie, ties, tied, tying up his, her, or their
    mouth or mouths; meaning held his, her, or their
    speech.

    TILLIN’ASS’--Tillinghast--a low-country family name.

    T’ING--thing, things.

    ’TING--sting, stings, stung, stinging.

    T’INK--think, thinks, thought, thinking.

    T’IRTEEN--thirteen.

    T’IRTY--thirty.

    T’ISTLE--thistle, thistles.

    TITTIE/TITTUH--sister, sisters (informal).

    TOAD--a young female dog (old English).

    TOAD-FROG--toad, toads.

    TODDUH/TUDDUH--the other, t’other, the others. (See “tarruh,”
    and “torruh”).

    TOL’--rare, for told. (See “tell’um”).

    TONGUE/TOUNG--tongue, tongues.

    TOOGOODOO--a short tidal creek or river in former Colleton,
    now Charleston, County.

    ’TOOP--stoop, stoops, stooped, stooping.

    TOOT’--tooth, teeth.

    ’TOP--stop, stops, stopped, stopping.

    TOP--(n. and v.) top, tops; top, tops, topped, topping.

    ’TOPPUH--on, on top of.

    TORRUH--(also tarruh and todduh) t’other; the other, the
    others; as: “Dem todduh one”--those other ones.

    ’T’ORUHTY--authority.

    TOTE--“tote”--carry, carries, carried, carrying.

    T’OUS’N/T’OUZ’N--thousand.

    TOWN--Charleston, “the City.” (See “Chaa’stun”).

    TRABBLE--travel, travels, traveled, traveling.

    ’TRAIGHT--straight.

    ’TRAIGHT’N--straighten, straightens, straightened, straightening.
    “’Traight’n fuh”--straighten for, to hurry or
    extend oneself for a certain point.

    ’TRANGLE--strangle, strangles, strangled, strangling.

    T’RASH--thrash, thrashes, thrashed, thrashing; thresh,
    threshed, etc.

    T’RASHUH--thrasher, thrashers; thresher, threshers.

    TREDJUH--treasure, treasures.

    TREDJURUH--treasurer, treasurers.

    TREE--(v.) tree, trees, treed, treeing.

    T’REE--rarely “stree”--three.

    T’REE-TIME--three times.

    ’TRETCH--stretch, stretches, stretched, stretching.

    ’TRETCH-OUT--stretch out. (See “stretch-out”).

    TRIGGUH--trigger, triggers.

    ’TRIKE--strike, strikes, struck, striking.

    TRIMBLE--tremble, trembles, trembled, trembling.

    ’TRING--string, strings, strung, stringing; “’tringbean”--string
    or snap-beans.

    T’ROAT--throat, throats.

    T’ROW--throw, throws, threw, thrown, throwing.

    T’ROWBONE--throw “bones” (dice) play craps.

    T’ROW’D--threw, thrown.

    T’ROW’WAY/T’RUH’WAY--throw, throws, threw, throwing, thrown away.

    T’RU--through.

    TRUBBLE--(n. and v.) trouble, troubles, troubled, troubling.

    TRUS’--(n. and v.) trust, trusts, trusted, trusting.

    TRUS’-ME-GAWD--a narrow dugout canoe, so cranky that one
    who ventures forth upon the waters must have faith
    in God to bring him through.

    TRUTE--truth.

    TRUTE-MOUT’--truth-mouth--one who will not lie.

    TRYBUNUL--tribunal, tribunals.

    TUCKREY--turkey, turkeys.

    TUH--to.

    TUHBACKUH--tobacco.

    TUH DAT--to that--as: “’E chupid tuh dat”--he is stupid
    to that extent; he is that stupid. “Ef him maussuh
    lub’um tuh dat”--if his master loves him so greatly.

    TUHGEDDUH--together.

    TUHRECKLY--directly.

    TUHR’UM--to him, her, it, them.

    TUK--took. (See “tek”).

    TUMMUCH--too much, intensely, ardently, fervently.

    ’TUMP--(n. and v.) stump, stumps; stump, stumps, stumped,
    stumping.

    ’TUMP--stub, stubs, stubbed, stubbing.

    ’TUMPSUCKUH--stump-sucker, a crib-sucking horse or mule.

    TU’N--(n. and v.) turn, turns, turned, turning.

    T’UNDUH--(n. and v.) thunder, thunders, thundered, thundering.

    T’UNDUHSNAKE--thundersnake, thundersnakes.

    TU’NFLOUR--turned flour, scalded corn meal, mush or porridge;
    same as Italian polenta.

    TU’NUP--turnip, turnips.

    TU’N UP--turn, turns, turned, turning up.

    TUP’MTIME/TUP’NTINE--turpentine.

    T’URSD’Y--Thursday.

    TWELB’--twelve.

    TWIS’--(n. and v.) twist, twists, twisted, twisting.

    TWIS’-MOUT’--twist mouth--twist-mouthed.

    TWIS’UP--twist or twisted up.

    TWO CHUESDAY, TWO T’URSDAY, etc.--the second Tuesday or
    the second Thursday in the month.

    TWO PLACE--second place, in the second place. NOTE: Other
    numbers used similarly.

    TWO TIME--two times, twice.

    TWO-T’REE--two or three.


    U

    UB--of. (See “uh”).

    UBTAIN--obtain, obtains, obtained, obtaining.

    UB UH--of a--“Uh debble ub uh mule”--a devil of a mule.

    UH--I; a, an. Also of. (See “ub”).

    UHHEAD--ahead.

    UHHEAD’UH--ahead of.

    UHLLY/YUHLLY--early.

    UM--him, her, it, them.

    UP TUH DE NOTCH--up to the notch--to the Queen’s taste,
    perfect.

    US--we, our.

    USE--use, uses, used, using; also for game or cattle frequenting
    certain feeding grounds. (See “nyuse”).

    USE’N/UZE’N--used to be, in the habit of.

    USE-TUH--used to, accustomed to.


    W

    WAAGIN--wagon, wagons.

    WAA’MENT--“varmint, varmints,” destructive animals or birds.

    WADMUHLAW--Wadmalaw--an island of the Carolina coast.

    WAH--war.

    WAIS’--waist, waists.

    WANJUE-RANGE--sometimes “Banjue-Range”--Vendue Range,
    the old Charleston slave market.

    WANTUH--want to, wants to, wanted to, wanting to.

    WARRUH/WADDUH--what, what is that.

    W’ARY--weary.

    WAS’E--waste, wastes, wasted, wasting.

    WASH-UP/WUSH-UP--worship (religious).

    WATUHMILYUN--watermelon, watermelons.

    WAWM--(n. and v.) warm, warms, warmed, warming.

    WAWN--(n. and v.) warn, warns, warned, warning.

    WAWSS’--wasp, wasps.

    WAWSS’NES’--wasp’s nest.

    WE--our, us.

    W’EAT--wheat.

    W’EAT-FLOUR--flour, wheat-flour.

    WEDDUH--weather, weather; to rain or storm, in such phrases
    as: “’E gwine tuh wedduh”--it is going to or looks
    like rain or storm.

    WEDD’N’--wedding, weddings.

    WEEKY-DAY--a week day.

    W’EEL--(n. and v.) wheel, wheels, wheeled, wheeling.

    W’EELBARRUH--wheelbarrow, wheelbarrows.

    WEGITUBBLE--vegetable, vegetables.

    WEH--where.

    WEHR’AS--whereas.

    WEHREBBUH--wherever.

    W’ENEBBUH--whenever.

    W’ENSD’Y--Wednesday.

    WE’OWN--our own, ours.

    WERRY--very. (See “berry”).

    WE’SELF--ourselves.

    WESKIT--waistcoat, waistcoats.

    WESTIBLUE--vestibuled--the fast “limited” or tourist train.

    WHOEBBUH--whoever.

    WICTORIA--Victoria--also victorious.

    ’WICE--(also “exwice”) advice, advices.

    W’ICH/W’ICH’N--which.

    W’ICH EN’ W’Y--which and why--as: “W’ich en’ w’y talk”--contradictory
    talk.

    WICKITY/WICKIT--wicked, wickedness.

    WID--with.

    WIDDUH--widow, widows.

    WIDT’--width, widths.

    W’ILE--while, awhile.

    WIL’CAT--wild cat, the bay-lynx of the Southern swamps.

    WILLUH--willow, willows.

    WIN’--(n. and v.) wind, winds; wind, winded.

    WIN’--(n. and v.) wind, winds, wound, winded, winding.

    WINDUH--window, windows.

    WINE--vine.

    WINEGUH--vinegar.

    WINNUH--winnow, winnows, winnowed, winnowing.

    WINNUHHOUSE--winnowhouse, winnowhouses, where in the
    old days rice was winnowed.

    WINTUHTIME--winter, in the winter season.

    ’WISE--(also “exwise”) advise, advises, advised, advising.

    WISH DE TIME UH DAY--“pass de time uh day”--a salutation,
    greeting.

    WISIT--(n. and v.) visit, visits, visited, visiting.

    W’ISKEY--whiskey; formerly used, now an obsolete vocable
    among the Gullah.

    WITCH--witch, witches.

    ’WITCH--bewitch, bewitches, bewitched, bewitching.

    W’ITE--white.

    WOICE--voice, voices.

    WOODPECKUH--woodpecker, woodpeckers.

    WOODPECKUH LAA’K--woodpecker lark--the flicker.

    WROP--wrap, wraps, wrapped, wrapping.

    WU’D--word, words.

    WUDDUH DA’--what is that.

    WUFFUH--what for, why.

    WUH--what, that.

    WUHEBBUH--whatever.

    WU’K--(n. and v.) work, works, worked, working.

    WU’LL’--world, worlds.

    WUNDUH--(n. and v.) wonder, wonders, wondered, wondering.

    WUNT--won’t, will not.

    WURRUM--worm, worms.

    WUS’DEN’EBBUH--worse than ever.

    WUSS/WUS’--worse, worst.

    WUSSUH--worse.

    WUT’--worth, is worth, was worth, etc. “Ent wut’”--a disparaging
    characterization.

    WUZ--was.

    W’YMEKSO--what makes it so, why.


    Y

    YAA’D--yard, yards.

    YAA’N--yarn, yarns.

    YAAS--yes.

    YAAS’SUH--yes-sir.

    YALLUH--yellow.

    YALLUHHAMMUH--yellowhammer--the flicker or golden-winged
    woodpecker.

    YALLUH YAM--yellow yam--a variety of sweet potato.

    YANDUH--yonder.

    YEAH--ear, ears (corn or other grain); also year, years.

    YEARIN’--hearing.

    YEDDY/YERRY--hear, hears, heard, hearing.

    YEDDY’UM--hear, hears, heard, or hearing him, her, it, them.

    YELLIN’--yearling, yearlings.

    YENT--(ent) ain’t, is not, are not; so pronounced when preceded
    by a soft vowel sound.

    YE’T/YU’T--earth. (See “eart’”).

    YEYE--eye, eyes; so pronounced when preceded by a soft
    vowel sound. “’E yeye red”--his or her eyes are
    bloodshot with anger.

    YEZ--ear, ears (human or animal).

    YISTIDDY--yesterday.

    YIZ--is; so pronounced when preceded by a soft vowel sound.

    YO’/YOU--your, yours.

    YOU’OWN--your own, yours.

    YOWE--ewe. (“Yowe” is in use in Early English).

    YUH--here.

    YUH HIM--here he, she, it is, or they are.


    Z

    ’ZACKLY--exactly. (See “puhzackly”).

    ’ZAMMIN’--examine, examines, examined, examining; question,
    questioned, etc.

    ’ZYD’N’--presiding; as: “’Zyd’n’ elduh”--presiding elder.




THE TAR BABY STORY

AS TOLD BY COL. C. C. JONES AND JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS




BUH WOLF, BUH RABBIT, AND DE TAR BABY

JONES’S VERSION


Buh Wolf and Buh Rabbit, dem bin lib nabur. De dry drout come. Ebry
ting stew up. Water scace. Buh Wolf dig one spring fuh him fuh git
water. Buh Rabbit, him too lazy an too scheemy fuh wuk fuh isself. Eh
pen pon lib off tarruh people. Ebry day, wen Buh Wolf yent duh watch
um, eh slip to Buh Wolf spring, an eh full him calabash long water an
cah um to eh house fuh cook long and fuh drink. Buh Wolf see Buh Rabbit
track, but eh couldnt ketch um duh tief de water.

One day eh meet Buh Rabbit in de big road, an eh ax um how eh make out
fur water. Buh Rabbit say him no casion fuh hunt water: him lib off
de jew on de grass. Buh Wolf quire: “Enty you blan tek water outer me
spring?” Buh Rabbit say: “Me yent.” Buh Wolf say: “You yis, enty me see
you track?” Buh Rabbit mek answer: “Yent me gone to you spring. Must
be some edder rabbit. Me nebber bin nigh you spring. Me dunno way you
spring day.” Buh Wolf no question um no mo: but eh know say eh bin Buh
Rabbit fuh true, an eh fix plan fuh ketch um.

De same ebenin eh mek Tar Baby, an eh gone an set um right in de middle
er de trail wuh lead to de spring, and dist in front er de spring.

Soon a mornin Buh Rabbit rise an tun in fuh cook eh bittle. Eh pot
biggin fuh bun. Buh Rabbit say: “Hey! me pot duh bun. Lemme slip to Buh
Wolf spring an git some water fuh cool um.” So eh tek eh calabash an
hop off fuh de spring. Wen eh ketch de spring, eh see de Tar Baby duh
tan dist een front er de spring. Eh stonish. Eh stop. Eh come close.
Eh look at um. Eh wait fur um fuh mobe. De Tar Baby yent notice um. Eh
yent wink eh yeye. Eh yent say nuttne. Eh yent mobe. Buh Rabbit, him
say: “Hey titter, enty you guine tan one side an lemme git some water?”
De Tar Baby no answer. Den Buh Rabbit say: “Leely Gal, mobe, me tell
you, so me kin dip some water outer de spring long me calabash.” De
Tar Baby wunt mobe. Buh Babbit say: “Enty you know me pot duh bun?
Enty you know me hurry? Enty you yeddy me tell you fuh mobe? You see
dis han? Ef you dont go long and lemme git some water, me guine slap
yon ober.” De Tar Baby stan day. Buh Rabbit haul off an slap um side
de head. Eh han fastne. Buh Rabbit try fuh pull eh hand back, en eh
say: “Wuh you hole me han fuh? Lemme go. Ef you dont loose me, me guine
box de life outer you wid dis tarruh han.” De Tar Baby yent crack eh
teet. Buh Rabbit hit um, bim, wid eh tarruh han. Dat han fastne too
same luk tudder. Buh Babbit say: “Wuh you up teh? Tun me loose. Ef you
dont leggo me right off, me guine knee you.” De Tar Baby hole um fas.
Buh Rabbit skade an bex too. Eh faid Buh Wolf come ketch um. Wen eh
fine eh cant loosne eh han, eh kick de Tar Baby wid eh knee. Eh knee
fastne. Yuh de big trouble now. Buh Rabbit skade den wus den nebber. Eh
try fuh skade de Tar Baby. Eh say: “Leely Gal, you better mine who you
duh fool long. Me tell you, fuh de las time, tun me loose. Ef you dont
loosne me han an me knee right off, me guine bus you wide open wid dis
head.” De Tar Baby hole um fas. Eh yent say one wud. Den Buh Rabbit but
de Tar Baby een eh face. Eh head fastne same fashion luk eh han an eh
knee. Yuh de ting now. Po Buh Rabbit done fuh. Eh fastne all side. Eh
cant pull loose. Eh gib up. Eh bague. Eh cry. Eh holler. Buh Wolf yeddy
um. Eh run day. Eh hail Buh Rabbit: “Hey Budder; wuh de trouble? Enty
you tell me you no blan wisit me spring fuh git water? Who calabash
dis? Wuh you duh do yuh anyhow?” Buh Rabbit so condemn eh yent hab one
wud fuh talk. Buh Wolf, him say: “Nummine, I done ketch you dis day.
I guine lick you now.” Buh Rabbit bague. Eh bague. Eh prommus nebber
fuh trouble Buh Wolf spring no mo. Buh Wolf laugh at um. Den eh tek an
loose Buh Rabbit from de Tar Baby, an eh tie um teh one spakleberry
bush, an eh git switch an eh lick um tel eh tired. All de time Buh
Rabbit bin a bague an a holler. Buh Wolf yent duh listne ter um, but
eh keep on duh pit de lick ter um. At las Buh Rabbit tell Buh Wolf:
“Dont lick me no mo. Kill me one time. Mek fire an bun me up. Knock me
brains out gin de tree.” Buh Wolf mek answer: “Ef I bun you up, ef I
knock you brains out, you guine dead too quick. Me guine trow you in de
brier-patch, so de brier kin scratch you life out.” Buh Rabbit say: “Do
Buh Wolf, bun me: broke me neck, but dont trow me in de brier patch.
Lemme dead one time. Dont tarrify me no mo.” Buh Wolf yent bin know wuh
Buh Rabbit up teh. Eh tink eh bin guine tare Buh Rabbit hide off. So,
wuh eh do? Eh loose Buh Rabbit from de spakleberry bush, an eh tek um
by de hine leg, an eh swing um roun, an eh trow um way in de tick brier
patch fuh tare eh hide an cratch eh yeye out. De minnit Buh Rabbit drap
in de brier patch, eh cock up eh tail, eh jump, an holler back to Buh
Wolf: “Good bye, Budder! Dis de place me mammy fotch me up,--dis de
place me mammy fotch me up.” An eh gone befo Buh Wolf kin ketch um. Buh
Rabbit too scheemy.




THE WONDERFUL TAR-BABY STORY

HARRIS’S VERSION


“Didn’t the fox _never_ catch the rabbit, Uncle Remus?” asked the
little boy the next evening.

“He come mighty nigh it, honey, sho’s you born--Brer Fox did. One day
atter Brer Rabbit fool ’im wid dat calamus root, Brer Fox went ter
wuk en got ’im some tar, en mix it wid some turkentime, en fix up a
contrapshun wat he call a Tar-Baby, en he tuck dish yer Tar-Baby en he
sot ’er in de big road, en den he lay off in de bushes for to see wat
de news wuz gwineter be. En he didn’t hatter wait long, nudder, kaze
bimeby here come Brer Rabbit pacin’ down de road--lippity-clippity,
clippity-lippity--dez ez sassy ez a Jay-bird. Brer Fox he lay low. Brer
Rabbit come prancin’ ’long twel he spy de Tar-Baby, en den he fotch up
on his behime legs like he wuz ’stonished. De Tar-Baby, she sot dar,
she did, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘Mawnin’!’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee--’nice wedder dis mawnin’,’ sezee.

“Tar-Baby ain’t sayin’ nothin’, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘How duz yo’ sym’tums seem ter segashuate?’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.

“Brer Fox, he wink his eye slow, en lay low, en de Tar-Baby she ain’t
sayin’ nothin’.

“‘How you come on, den? Is you deaf?’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘Kaze if
you is, I kin holler louder,’ sezee.

“Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox he lay low.

“‘Youer stuck up, dat’s w’at you is,’ says Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘en I’m
gwineter kyore you, dat’s w’at I’m a gwineter do,’ sezee.

“Brer Fox, he sorter chuckle in his stummuck, he did, but Tar-Baby
ain’t sayin’ nothin’.

“‘I’m gwineter larn you howter talk ter ’spectubble fokes ef hit’s de
las’ ack,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. ‘Ef you don’t take off dat hat en
tell me howdy, I’m gwineter bus’ you wide open,’ sezee.

“Tar-Baby stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“Brer Rabbit keep on axin ’im, en de Tar-Baby, she keep on sayin’
nothin’, twel present’y Brer Rabbit draw back wid his fis’, he did,
en blip he tuck ’er side er de head. Right dar’s whar he broke his
merlasses jug. His fis’ stuck, en he can’t pull loose. De tar hilt ’im.
But Tar-Baby, she stay still, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘Ef you don’t lemme loose, I’ll knock you agin,’ Brer Rabbit, sezee,
en wid dat he fotch ’er a wipe wid de udder han’, en dat stuck.
Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nothin’, en Brer Fox, he lay low.

“‘Tu’n me loose, fo’ I kick de natal stuffin’ outen you,’ sez Brer
Rabbit, sezee, but de Tar-Baby, she ain’t sayin’ nothin.’ She des hilt
on, en den Brer Rabbit lose de use er his feet in de same way. Brer
Fox, he lay low. Den Brer Rabbit squall out dat ef de Tar-Baby don’t
tu’n ’im loose he butt ’er cranksided. En den he butted, en his head
got stuck. Den Brer Fox, he sa’ntered fort’, lookin’ des ez innercent
ez one er yo’ mamy’s mockin’-birds.

“‘Howdy, Brer Rabbit,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee. ‘You look sorter stuck
up dis mawnin’,’ sezee, en den he rolled on de groun’, en laughed en
laughed twel he couldn’t laugh no mo’. ‘I speck you’ll take dinner wid
me dis time, Brer Rabbit. I done laid in some calamus root, en I ain’t
gwineter take no skuse,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.”

Here Uncle Remus paused, and drew a two-pound yam out of the ashes.

“Did the fox eat the rabbit”? asked the little boy to whom the story
had been told.

“W’en Brer Fox fine Brer Rabbit mixt up wid de Tar-Baby, he feel mighty
good, en he roll on de groun’ en laff. Bimeby he up’n say, sezee:

“‘Well, I speck I got you dis time, Brer Rabbit,’ sezee: ‘maybe I
ain’t, but I speck I is. You been runnin’ roun’ here sassin’ atter me
a mighty long time, but I speck you done come ter de een’ er de row.
You bin cuttin’ up yo’ capers en bouncin’ roun’ in dis neighberhood
ontwel you come ter b’leeve yo’se’f de boss er de whole gang. En den
youer allers some’rs whar you got no bizness,’ sez Brer Fox sezee. ‘Who
ax you fer ter come en strike up a ’quaintance wid dish yer Tar-Baby?
En who stuck you up dar whar you iz? Nobody in de roun worril. You des
tuck en jam yo’se’f on dat Tar-Baby widout waitin’ fer enny invite,’
sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en dar you is, en dar you’ll stay twel I fixes up
a bresh-pile and fires her up, kaze I’m gwineter bobbycue you dis day,
sho,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee.

“Den Brer Rabbit talk mighty ’umble.

“‘I don’t keer w’at you do wid me, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘so you don’t
fling me in dat brier-patch. Roas’ me, Brer Fox,’ sezee, ‘but don’t
fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.

“‘Hit’s so much trouble fer ter kindle a fier,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee,
‘dat I speck I’ll hatter hang you,’ sezee.

“‘Hang me des ez high as you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee,
‘but do fer de Lord’s sake don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.

“‘I ain’t got no string,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll
hatter drown you,’ sezee.

“‘Drown me des ez deep ez you please, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit,
sezee, ‘but do don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.

“‘Dey ain’t no water nigh,’ sez Brer Fox, sezee, ‘en now I speck I’ll
hatter skin you,’ sezee.

“‘Skin me, Brer Fox,’ sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, ‘snatch out my eyeballs,
t’ar out my years by de roots, en cut off my legs,’ sezee, ‘but do
please, Brer Fox, don’t fling me in dat brier-patch,’ sezee.

“Co’se Brer Fox wanter hurt Brer Rabbit bad ez he kin, so he cotch ’im
by de behime legs en slung ’im right in de middle er de brier-patch.
Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en
Brer Fox sorter hang ’roun’ fer ter see w’at wus gwineter happen.
Bimeby he hear somebody call ’im, en way up de hill he see Brer Rabbit
settin’ cross-legged on a chinkapin log koamin’ de pitch outer his har
wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop off mighty bad. Brer
Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler
out:

“‘Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox--bred en bawn in a
brier-patch!’ en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de
embers.”




FOOTNOTES:

[1] A Gullah synonym for hunger.

[2] Ward primary.

[3] Hermaphrodite.

[4] “Take care” is better than “beg pardon.”




Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_.