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.