sufficient to move smoothly and interestingly; the characters, both
black and white, reveal the Southerner at his best; and the setting
not only furnishes an appropriate background for plot and characters,
but is significant of the leisure, the isolation, and the pride of the
people.
MARSE CHAN[19]
One afternoon, in the autumn of 1872, I was riding leisurely down the
sandy road that winds along the top of the water-shed between two of
the smaller rivers of eastern Virginia. The road I was travelling,
following “the ridge” for miles, had just struck me as most significant
of the character of the race whose only avenue of communication with
the outside world it had formerly been. Their once splendid mansions,
now fast falling to decay, appeared to view from time to time, set back
far from the road, in proud seclusion, among groves of oak and hickory,
now scarlet and gold with the early frost. Distance was nothing to this
people; time was of no consequence to them. They desired but a level
path in life, and that they had, though the way was longer, and the
outer world strode by them as they dreamed.
I was aroused from my reflections by hearing some one ahead of me
calling, “Heah!—heah—whoo-oop, heah!”
Turning the curve in the road, I saw just before me a negro standing,
with a hoe and a watering-pot in his hand. He had evidently just gotten
over the “worm-fence” into the road, out of the path which led zigzag
across the “old field” and was lost to sight in the dense growth of
sassafras. When I rode up, he was looking anxiously back down this path
for his dog. So engrossed was he that he did not even hear my horse,
and I reined in to wait until he should turn around and satisfy my
curiosity as to the handsome old place half a mile off from the road.
The numerous out-buildings and the large barns and stables told that
it had once been the seat of wealth, and the wild waste of sassafras
that covered the broad fields gave it an air of desolation that greatly
excited my interest. Entirely oblivious of my proximity, the negro went
on calling “Whoo-oop, heah!” until along the path, walking very slowly
and with great dignity, appeared a noble-looking old orange and white
setter, gray with age, and corpulent with excessive feeding. As soon as
he came in sight, his master began:
“Yes, dat you! You gittin’ deaf as well as bline, I s’pose! Kyarnt heah
me callin’, I reckon? Whyn’t yo’ come on, dawg?”
The setter sauntered slowly up to the fence and stopped, without even
deigning a look at the speaker, who immediately proceeded to take the
rails down, talking meanwhile:
“Now, I got to pull down de gap, I s’pose! Yo’ so sp’ilt yo’ kyahn
hardly walk. Jes’ ez able to git over it as I is! Jes’ like white
folks—think ’cuz you’s white and I’se black, I got to wait on yo’ all
de time. Ne’m mine, I ain’ gwi’ do it!”
The fence having been pulled down sufficiently low to suit his dogship,
he marched sedately through, and, with a hardly perceptible lateral
movement of his tail, walked on down the road. Putting up the rails
carefully, the negro turned and saw me.
“Sarvent, marster,” he said, taking his hat off. Then, as if
apologetically for having permitted a stranger to witness what was
merely a family affair, he added: “He know I don’ mean nothin’ by what
I sez. He’s Marse Chan’s dawg, an’ he’s so ole he kyahn git long no
pearter. He know I’se jes’ prodjickin’ wid ’im.”
“Who is Marse Chan?” I asked; “and whose place is that over there, and
the one a mile or two back—the place with the big gate and the carved
stone pillars?”
“Marse Chan,” said the darky, “he’s Marse Channin’—my young marster;
an’ dem places—dis one’s Weall’s, an’ de one back dyar wid de rock
gate-pos’s is ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s. Dey don’ nobody live dyar now,
’cep’ niggers. Arfter de war some one or nurr bought our place, but
his name done kind o’ slipped me. I nuver hearn on ’im befo’; I think
dey’s half-strainers. I don’ ax none on ’em no odds. I lives down de
road heah, a little piece, an’ I jes’ steps down of a evenin’ and looks
arfter de graves.”
“Well, where is Marse Chan?” I asked.
“Hi! don’ you know? Marse Chan, he went in de army. I was wid ’im. Yo’
know he warn’ gwine an’ lef’ Sam.”
“Will you tell me all about it?” I said, dismounting.
Instantly, and as if by instinct, the darky stepped forward and took my
bridle. I demurred a little; but with a bow that would have honored old
Sir Roger, he shortened the reins, and taking my horse from me, led him
along.
“Now tell me about Marse Chan,” I said.
“Lawd, marster, hit’s so long ago, I’d a’most forgit all about it,
ef I hedn’ been wid him ever sence he wuz born. Ez ’tis, I remembers
it jes’ like ’twuz yistiddy. Yo’ know Marse Chan an’ me—we wuz boys
togerr. I wuz older’n he wuz, jes’ de same ez he wuz whiter’n me. I wuz
born plantin’ corn time, de spring arfter big Jim an’ de six steers
got washed away at de upper ford right down dyar b’low de quarters ez
he wuz a-bringin’ de Chris’mas things home; an’ Marse Chan, he warn’
born tell mos’ to de harves’ arfter my sister Nancy married Cun’l
Chahmb’lin’s Torm, ’bout eight years arfterwoods.
“Well, when Marse Chan wuz born, dey wuz de grettes’ doin’s at home you
ever did see. De folks all hed holiday, jes’ like in de Chris’mas. Ole
marster (we didn’ call ’im _ole_ marster tell arfter Marster Chan wuz
born—befo’ dat he wuz jes’ de marster, so)—well, ole marster, his
face fyar shine wid pleasure, an’ all de folks wuz mighty glad, too,
’cause dey all loved ole marster, and aldo’ dey did step aroun’ right
peart when ole marster was lookin’ at ’em, dyar warn’ nyar han’ on de
place but what, ef he wanted anythin’, would walk up to de back poach,
an’ say he warn’ to see de marster. An’ ev’ybody wuz talkin’ ’bout de
young marster, an’ de maids an’ de wimmens ’bout de kitchen wuz sayin’
how ’twuz de purties’ chile dey ever see; an’ at dinner-time de mens
(all on ’em hed holiday) come roun’ de poach an’ ax how de missis an’
de young marster wuz, an’ ole marster come out on de poach an’ smile
wus’n a ’possum, an’ sez, ’Thankee! Bofe doin’ fust rate, boys’; an’
den he stepped back in de house, sort o’ laughin’ to hisse’f, an’ in
a minute he come out ag’in wid de baby in he arms, all wrapped up in
flannens an’ things, an’ sez, ’Heah he is, boys.’ All de folks den, dey
went up on de poach to look at ’im, drappin’ dey hats on de steps, an’
scrapin’ dey feets ez dey went up. An’ pres’n’y old marster, lookin’
down at we all chil’en all packed togerr down dyah like a parecel o’
sheep-burrs, cotch sight _o’ me_ (he knowed my name, ’cause I use’ to
hole he hoss fur ’im sometimes; but he didn’t know all de chile’n by
name, dey wuz so many on ’em), an’ he sez, ’Come up heah!’ So up I goes
tippin’, skeered like, an’ old marster sez, ’Ain’ you Mymie’s son?’
’Yass, seh,’ sez I. ’Well,’ sez he, ’I’m gwine to give you to yo’ young
Marse Channin’ to be his body-servant,’ an’ he put de baby right in my
arms (it’s de truth I’m tellin’ yo’!), an’ yo’ jes’ ought to a-heard
de folks sayin’, ’Lawd! marster, dat boy’ll drap dat chile!’ ’Naw, he
won’t,’ sez marster; ’I kin trust ’im.’ And den he sez: ’Now, Sam, from
dis time you belong to yo’ young Marse Channin’; I wan’ you to tek keer
on ’im ez long ez he lives. You are to be his boy from dis time. An’
now,’ he sez, ’carry ’im in de house.’ An’ he walks arfter me an’ opens
de do’s fur me, an’ I kyars ’im in my arms, an’ lays ’im down on de
bed. An’ from dat time I was tooken in de house to be Marse Channin’s
body-servant.
“Well, you nuver see a chile grow so. Pres’n’y he growed up right big,
an’ ole marster sez he must have some edication. So he sont ’im to
school to ole Miss Lawry down dyar, dis side o’ Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s,
an’ I use’ to go ’long wid ’im an’ tote he books an’ we all’s snacks;
an’ when he larnt to read an’ spell right good, an’ got ’bout so-o
big, old Miss Lawry she died, an’ old marster said he mus’ have a man
to teach ’im an’ trounce ’im. So we all went to Mr. Hall, whar kep’ de
school-house beyant de creek, an’ dyar we went ev’y day, ’cep Sat’d’ys
of co’se, an’ sich days ez Marse Chan din’ warn’ go, an’ ole missis
begged ’im off.
“Hit wuz down dyar Marse Chan fust took notice o’ Miss Anne. Mr. Hall,
he taught gals ez well ez boys, an’ Cun’l Chahmb’lin he sont his
daughter (dat’s Miss Anne I’m talkin’ about). She wuz a leetle bit o’
gal when she fust come. Yo’ see, her ma wuz dead, an’ old Miss Lucy
Chahmb’lin, she lived wid her brurr an’ kep’ house for ’im; an’ he wuz
so busy wid politics, he didn’ have much time to spyar, so he sont Miss
Anne to Mr. Hall’s by a ’ooman wid a note. When she come dat day in
de school-house, an’ all de chil’en looked at her so hard, she tu’n
right red, an’ tried to pull her long curls over her eyes, an’ den put
bofe de backs of her little han’s in her two eyes, an’ begin to cry to
herse’f. Marse Chan he was settin’ on de een’ o’ de bench nigh de do’,
an’ he jes’ reached out an’ put he arm ’roun’ her an’ drawed her up to
’im. An’ he kep’ whisperin’ to her, an’ callin’ her name, an’ coddlin’
her; an’ pres’n’y she took her han’s down an’ begin to laugh.
“Well, dey ’peared to tek’ a gre’t fancy to each urr from dat time.
Miss Anne she warn’ nuthin’ but a baby hardly, an’ Marse Chan he wuz a
good big boy ’bout mos’ thirteen years ole, I reckon. Hows’ever, dey
sut’n’y wuz sot on each urr an’ (yo’ heah me!) ole marster an’ Cun’l
Chahmb’lin dey ’peared to like it ’bout well ez de chil’en. Yo’ see,
Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s place j’ined ourn, an’ it looked jes’ ez natural
fur dem two chil’en to marry an’ mek it one plantation, ez it did fur
de creek to run down de bottom from our place into Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s.
I don’ rightly think de chil’en thought ’bout gittin’ _married_, not
den, no mo’n I thought ’bout marryin’ Judy when she wuz a little gal
at Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s, runnin’ ’bout de house, huntin’ fur Miss Lucy’s
spectacles; but dey wuz good frien’s from de start. Marse Chan he use’
to kyar Miss Anne’s books fur her ev’y day, an’ ef de road wuz muddy or
she wuz tired, he use’ to tote her; an’ ’twarn’ hardly a day passed dat
he didn’ kyar her some’n’ to school—apples or hick’y nuts, or some’n.
He wouldn’t let none o’ de chil’en tease her, nurr. Heh! One day, one
o’ de boys poked he finger at Miss Anne, and arfter school Marse Chan
he axed ’im ’roun’ ’hine de school-house out o’ sight, an’ ef he didn’t
whop ’im!
“Marse Chan, he wuz de peartes’ scholar ole Mr. Hall hed, an’ Mr. Hall
he wuz mighty proud o’ ’im. I don’ think he use’ to beat ’im ez much
ez he did de urrs, aldo’ he wuz de head in all debilment dat went on,
jes’ ez he wuz in sayin’ he lessons.
“Heh! one day in summer, jes’ fo’ de school broke up, dyah come up a
storm right sudden, an’ riz de creek (dat one yo’ cross’ back yonder),
an’ Marse Chan he toted Miss Anne home on he back. He ve’y off’n did
dat when de parf wuz muddy. But dis day when dey come to de creek, it
had done washed all de logs ’way. ’Twuz still mighty high, so Marse
Chan he put Miss Anne down, an’ he took a pole an’ waded right in. Hit
took ’im long up to de shoulders. Den he waded back, an’ took Miss Anne
up on his head an’ kyared her right over. At fust she wuz skeered; but
he tol’ her he could swim an’ wouldn’ let her git hu’t, an’ den she let
’im kyar her ’cross, she hol’in’ his han’s. I warn’ ’long dat day, but
he sut’n’y did dat thing.
“Ole marster he wuz so pleased ’bout it, he giv’ Marse Chan a pony;
an’ Marse Chan rode ’im to school de day arfter he come, so proud,
an’ sayin’ how he wuz gwine to let Anne ride behine ’im; an’ when he
come home dat evenin’ he wuz walkin’. ’Hi! where’s yo’ pony?’ said ole
marster. ’I give ’im to Anne,’ says Marse Chan. ’She liked ’im, an’—I
kin walk.’ ’Yes,’ sez ole marster, laughin’, ’I s’pose you’s already
done giv’ her yo’se’f, an’ nex’ thing I know you’ll be givin’ her this
plantation and all my niggers.’
“Well, about a fortnight or sich a matter arfter dat, Cun’l Chahmb’lin
sont over an’ invited all o’ we all over to dinner, an’ Marse Chan wuz
’spressly named in de note whar Ned brought; an’ arfter dinner he made
ole Phil, whar wuz his ker’ige-driver, bring ’roun’ Marse Chan’s pony
wid a little side-saddle on ’im, an’ a beautiful little hoss wid a
bran’-new saddle an’ bridle on ’im; an’ he gits up an’ meks Marse Chan
a gre’t speech, an’ presents ’im de little hoss; an’ den he calls Miss
Anne, an’ she comes out on de poach in a little ridin’ frock, an’ dey
puts her on her pony, an’ Marse Chan mounts his hoss, an’ dey goes to
ride, while de grown folks is a-laughin’ an’ chattin’ an’ smokin’ dey
cigars.
“Dem wuz good ole times, marster—de bes’ Sam ever see! Dey wuz, in
fac’! Niggers didn’ hed nothin’ ’t all to do—jes’ hed to ’ten’ to de
feedin’ an’ cleanin’ de hosses, an’ doin’ what de marster tell ’em to
do; an’ when dey wuz sick, dey had things sont ’em out de house, an’ de
same doctor come to see ’em whar ’ten’ to de white folks when dey wuz
po’ly. Dyar warn’ no trouble nor nothin’.
“Well, things tuk a change arfter dat. Marse Chan he went to de bo’din’
school, whar he use’ to write to me constant. Ole missis use’ to read
me de letters, an’ den I’d git Miss Anne to read ’em ag’in to me when
I’d see her. He use’ to write to her too, an’ she use’ to write to him
too. Den Miss Anne she wuz sont off to school too. An’ in de summer
time dey’d bofe come home, an’ yo’ hardly knowed whether Marse Chan
lived at home or over at Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s. He wuz over dyah constant.
’Twuz always ridin’ or fishin’ down dyah in de river; or sometimes
he’ go over dyah, an’ ’im an’ she’d go out an’ set in de yard onder
de trees; she settin’ up mekin’ out she wuz knittin’ some sort o’
bright-cullored some’n’, wid de grarss growin’ all up ’g’inst her, an’
her hat th’owed back on her neck, an’ he readin’ to her out books; an’
sometimes dey’d bofe read out de same book, fust one an’ den todder. I
use’ to see em! Dat wuz when dey wuz growin’ up like.
“Den ole marster he run for Congress, an’ ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin he wuz
put up to run ’g’inst ole marster by de Dimicrats; but ole marster he
beat ’im. Yo’ know he wuz gwine do dat! Co’se he wuz! Dat made ole
Cun’l Chahmb’lin mighty mad, and dey stopt visitin’ each urr reg’lar,
like dey had been doin’ all ’long. Den Cun’l Chahmb’lin he sort o’ got
in debt, an’ sell some o’ he niggers, an’ dat’s de way de fuss begun.
Dat’s whar de lawsuit cum from. Ole marster he didn’ like nobody to
sell niggers, an’ knowin’ dat Cun’l Chahmb’lin wuz sellin’ o’ his,
he writ an’ offered to buy his M’ria an’ all her chil’en, ’cause
she hed married our Zeek’yel. An’ don’ yo’ think, Cun’l Chahmb’lin
axed ole marster mo’ ‘n th’ee niggers wuz wuth fur M’ria! Befo’ old
marster bought her, dough, de sheriff cum an’ levelled on M’ria an’
a whole parecel o’ urr niggers. Ole marster he went to de sale, an’
bid for ’em; but Cun’l Chahmb’lin he got some one to bid ’g’inst ole
marster. Dey wuz knocked out to ole marster dough, an’ den dey hed a
big lawsuit, an’ ole marster wuz agwine to co’t, off an’ on, fur some
years, till at lars’ de co’t decided dat M’ria belonged to ole marster.
Ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin den wuz so mad he sued ole marster for a little
strip o’ lan’ down dyah on de line fence, whar he said belonged to ’im.
Ev’ybody knowed hit belonged to ole marster. Ef yo’ go down dyah now,
I kin show it to yo’, inside de line fence, whar it hed done bin ever
sence long befo’ Cun’l Chahmb’lin wuz born. But Cun’l Chahmb’lin wuz a
mons’us perseverin’ man, an’ ole marster he wouldn’ let nobody ran over
’im. No, dat he wouldn’! So dey wuz agwine down to co’t about dat, fur
I don’ know how long, till ole marster beat ’im.
“All dis time, yo’ know, Marse Chan wuz a-goin’ back’ads an’ for’ads
to college, an’ wuz growed up a ve’y fine young man. He wuz a ve’y
likely gent’man! Miss Anne she hed done mos’ growed up too—wuz puttin’
her hyar up like old missis use’ to put hers up, an’ ’twuz jes’ ez
bright ez de sorrel’s mane when de sun cotch on it, an’ her eyes wuz
gre’t big dark eyes, like her pa’s, on’y bigger an’ not so fierce, an’
’twarn’ none o’ de young ladies ez purty ez she wuz. She an’ Marse Chan
still set a heap o’ sto’ by one ‘nurr, but I don’ think dey wuz easy
wid each urr ez when he used to tote her home from school on his back.
Marse Chan he use’ to love de ve’y groun’ she walked on, dough, in my
’pinion. Heh! His face ’twould light up whenever she come into chu’ch,
or anywhere, jes’ like de sun hed come th’oo a chink on it suddenly.
“Den’ ole marster lost he eyes. D’ yo’ ever heah ’bout dat? Heish!
Didn’ yo’? Well, one night de big barn cotch fire. De stables, yo’
know, wuz under de big barn, an’ all de hosses wuz in dyah. Hit ’peared
to me like ’twarn’ no time befo’ all de folks an’ de neighbors dey
come, an’ dey wuz a-totin’ water, an’ a-tryin’ to save de po’ critters,
and dey got a heap on ’em out; but de ker’ige-hosses dey wouldn’ come
out, an’ dey wuz a-runnin’ back’ads an’ for’ads inside de stalls,
a-nikerin’ an’ a-screamin’, like dey knowed dey time hed come. Yo’
could heah ’em so pitiful, an’ pres’n’y old marster said to Ham Fisher
(he wuz de ker’ige-driver), ’Go in dyah an’ try to save ’em; don’ let
’em bu’n to death.’ An’ Ham he went right in. An’ jest arfter he got
in, de shed whar it hed fus’ cotch fell in, an’ de sparks shot ’way up
in de air; an’ Ham didn’ come back, an’ de fire begun to lick out under
de eaves over whar de ker’ige-hosses’ stalls wuz, an’ all of a sudden
ole marster tu’ned an’ kissed ole missis, who wuz standin’ nigh him,
wid her face jes’ ez white ez a sperit’s, an’, befo’ anybody knowed
what he wuz gwine do, jumped right in de do’, an’ de smoke come po’in’
out behine ’im. Well, seh, I nuver ’spects to heah tell Judgment sich a
soun’ ez de folks set up! Ole missis she jes’ drapt down on her knees
in de mud an’ prayed out loud. Hit ’peared like her pra’r wuz heard;
for in a minit, right out de same do’, kyarin’ Ham Fisher in his arms,
come ole marster, wid his clo’s all blazin’. Dey flung water on ’im,
an’ put ’im out; an’, ef you b’lieve me, yo’ wouldn’t a-knowed ’twuz
ole marster. Yo’ see, he had find Ham Fisher done fall down in de smoke
right by the ker’ige-hoss’ stalls, whar he sont him, an’ he hed to tote
’im back in his arms th’oo de fire what hed done cotch de front part o’
de stable, and to keep de flame from gittin’ down Ham Fisher’s th’oat
he hed tuk off his own hat and mashed it all over Ham Fisher’s face,
an’ he hed kep’ Ham Fisher from bein’ so much bu’nt; but _he_ wuz bu’nt
dreadful! His beard an’ hyar wuz all nyawed off, an’ his face an’ han’s
an’ neck wuz scorified terrible. Well, he jes’ laid Ham Fisher down,
an’ then he kind o’ staggered for’ad, an’ ole missis ketch’ ’im in her
arms. Ham Fisher, he warn’ bu’nt so bad, an’ he got out in a month to
two; an’ arf ter a long time, ole marster he got well, too; but he wuz
always stone blind arfter that. He nuver could see none from dat night.
“Marse Chan he comed home from college toreckly, an’ he sut’n’y did
nuss ole marster faithful—jes’ like a ’ooman. Den he took charge of
de plantation arfter dat; an’ I use’ to wait on ’im jes’ like when we
wuz boys togedder; an’ sometimes we’d slip off an’ have a fox-hunt, an’
he’d be jes’ like he wuz in ole times, befo’ ole marster got bline, an’
Miss Anne Chahmb’lin stopt comin’ over to our house, an’ settin’ onder
de trees, readin’ out de same book.
“He sut’n’y wuz good to me. Nothin’ nuver made no diffunce ’bout dat.
He nuver hit me a lick in his life—an’ nuver let nobody else do it,
nurr.
“I ’members one day, when he wuz a leetle bit o’ boy, ole marster hed
done tole we all chil’en not to slide on de straw-stacks; an’ one day
me an’ Marse Chan thought ole marster hed done gone ’way from home. We
watched him git on he hoss an’ ride up de road out o’ sight, an’ we wuz
out in de field a-slidin’ an’ a-slidin’, when up comes ole marster. We
started to run; but he hed done see us, an’ he called us to come back;
an’ sich a whuppin’ ez he did gi’ us!
“Fust he took Marse Chan, an’ den he teched me up. He nuver hu’t me,
but in co’se I wuz a-hollerin’ ez hard ez I could stave it, ’cause I
knowed dat wuz gwine mek him stop. Marse Chan he hed’n open he mouf
long ez ole marster wuz tunin’ ’im; but soon ez he commence warmin’ me
an’ I begin to holler, Marse Chan he bu’st out cryin’, an’ stept right
in befo’ ole marster an’ ketchin’ de whup, sed:
“‘Stop, seh! Yo’ sha’n’t whup ’im; he b’longs to me, an’ ef you hit ’im
another lick I’ll set ’im free!’
“I wish yo’ hed see old marster. Marse Chan he warn’ mo’n eight years
ole, an’ dyah dey wuz—old marster stan’in’ wid he whup raised up, an’
Marse Chan red an’ cryin’, hol’in’ on to it, an’ sayin’ I b’longst to
’im.
“Ole marster, he raise’ de whup, an’ den he drapt it, an’ broke out in
a smile over he face, an’ he chuck’ Marse Chan onder de chin, an’ tu’n
right ’roun’ an’ went away, laughin’ to hisse’f, an’ I heah ’im tellin’
ole missis dat evenin’, an’ laughin’ ’bout it.
“‘Twan’ so mighty long arfter dat when dey fust got to talkin’ ’bout de
war. Dey wuz a-dictatin’ back’ads an’ for’ads ’bout it fur two or th’ee
years ’fo’ it come sho’ nuff, you know. Ole marster, he was a Whig,
an’ of co’se Marse Chan he tuk after he pa. Cun’l Chahmb’lin, he wuz
a Dimicrat. He wuz in favor of de war, an’ ole marster and Marse Chan
dey wuz agin’ it. Dey wuz a-talkin’ ’bout it all de time, an’ purty
soon Cun’l Chahmb’lin he went about ev’ywhar speakin’ an’ noratin’
’bout Firginia ought to secede; an’ Marse Chan he’wuz picked up to
talk agin’ ’im. Dat wuz de way dey come to fight de dull. I sut’n’y
wuz skeered fur Marse Chan dat mawnin’, an’ he was jes’ ez cool! Yo’
see, it happen so: Marse Chan he wuz a-speakin’ down at de Deep Creek
Tavern, an’ he kind o’ got de bes’ of ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin. All de
white folks laughed an’ hoorawed, an’ ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin—my Lawd! I
fought he’d ’a’’ bu’st, he was so mad. Well, when it come to his time
to speak, he jes’ light into Marse Chan. He call ’im a traitor, an’ a
ab’litionis’, an’ I don’ know what all. Marse Chan, he jes’ kep’ cool
till de ole Cun’l light into he pa. Ez soon ez he name ole marster, I
seen Marse Chan sort o’ lif up he head. D’ yo’ ever sec a hoss rar he
head up right sudden at night when he see somethiu’ comin’ to’ds ’im
from de side an’ he don’ know what ’tis? Ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin he went
right on. He said ole marster hed taught Marse Chan; dat ole marster
wuz a wuss ab’litionis’ dan he son. I looked at Marse Chan, an’ sez to
myse’f: ’Fo’ Gord! old Cun’l Chahmb’lin better min’, an’ I hedn’ got de
wuds out, when ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin ’cuse’ old marster o’ cheatin’ ’im
out o’ he niggers, an’ stealing piece o’ he lan’—dat’s de lan’ I tole
you ’bout. Well, seh, nex’ thing I knowed, I heahed Marse Chan—hit all
happen right ’long togerr, like lightnin’ and thunder when they hit
right at you—I heah ’im say:
“‘Cun’l Chahmb’lin, what you say is false, an’ yo’ know it to be so.
You have wilfully slandered one of de pures’ an’ nobles’ men Gord ever
made, an’ nothin’ but yo’ gray hyars protects you.’
“Well, ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin, he ra’d an’ he pitch’d. He said he wan’
too ole, an’ he’d show ’im so.
“‘Ve’y well,’ says Marse Chan.
“De meetin’ broke up den. I wuz hol’in’ de hosses out dyar in de road
by dee een’ o’ de poach, an’ I see Marse Chan talkin’ an’ talkin’ to
Mr. Gordon an’ anudder gent’man, and den he come out an’ got on de
sorrel an’ galloped off. Soon ez he got out o’ sight he pulled up,
an’ we walked along tell we come to de road whar leads off to ’ds Mr.
Barbour ’s. He wuz de big lawyer o’ de country. Dar he tu’ned off. All
dis time he hedn’ sed a wud, ’cep’ to kind o’ mumble to hisse’f now and
den. When we got to Mr. Harbour’s, he got down an’ went in. Dat wuz
in de late winter; de folks wuz jes’ beginnin’ to plough fur corn. He
stayed dyar ’bout two hours, an’ when he come out Mr. Barbour come out
to de gate wid ’im an’ shake han’s arfter he got up in de saddle. Den
we all rode off. ’Twuz late den—good dark; an’ we rid ez hard ez we
could, tell we come to de ole school-house at ole Cun’l Chahmb’lin’s
gate. When we got dar, Marse Chan got down an’ walked right slow ’roun’
de house. After lookin’ ’roun’ a little while an’ tryin’ de do’ to see
ef if wuz shet, he walked down de road tell he got to de creek. He
stop’ dyar a little while an’ picked up two or three little rocks an’
frowed ’em in, an’ pres’n’y he got up an’ we come on home. Ez he got
down, he tu’ned to me an’, rubbin’ de sorrel’s nose, said: ’Have ’em
well fed, Sam; I’ll want ’em early in de mawnin’.’