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.”