OLD BILLY
The gin-house on the plantation was some distance from the house; and
in an opposite direction from the quarters. It was out in an open
field, but a narrow strip of woods lay between the field and the house,
so the gin-house was completely hidden.
Just back of the gin-house was a pile of lumber that Major Waldron had
had hauled in build a new pick-room, and which was piled so as to form
little squares, large enough to hold three of the children at once.
During the last ginning season they had gone down once with Mammy to
“ride on the gin,” but had soon abandoned that amusement to play
housekeeping on the lumber, and have the little squares for rooms. They
had often since thought of that evening, and had repeatedly begged
Mammy to let them go down to the lumber pile; but she was afraid they
would tear their clothes, or hurt themselves in some way, and would
never consent.
So one day in the early spring, when Mammy and Aunt Milly were having a
great cleaning-up in the nursery, and the children had been sent into
the yard to play, Chris suggested that they should all slip off, and go
and play on the lumber pile.
“Oh, yes,” said Dumps, “that will be the very thing, an’ Mammy won’t
never know it, ’cause we’ll be sho’ ter come back befo’ snack-time.”
“But something might happen to us, you know,” said Diddie, “like the
boy in my blue book, who went off fishin’ when his mother told him not
to, an’ the boat upsetted and drownded him.”
“Tain’t no boat there,” urged Dumps; “tain’t no water even, an’ I don’t
b’lieve we’d be drownded; an’ tain’t no bears roun’ this place like
them that eat up the bad little Chil’en in the Bible; and tain’t no
Injuns in this country, an’ tain’t no snakes nor lizards till
summer-time, an’ all the cows is out in the pasture; an’ tain’t no
ghos’es in the daytime, an’ I don’t b’lieve there’s nothin’ ter happen
to us; an’ ef there wuz, I reckon God kin take care of us, can’t he?”
“He won’t do it, though, ef we don’t mind our mother,” replied Diddie.
“Mammy ain’t none of our mother, and tain’t none of her business not to
be lettin’ us play on the lumber, neither. Please come, Diddie, we’ll
have such a fun, an’ nothin’ can’t hurt us. If you’ll come, we’ll let
you keep the hotel, an’ me an’ Tot ’ll be the boarders.”
The idea of keeping the hotel was too much for Diddie’s scruples, and
she readily agreed to the plan. Dilsey was then despatched to the
nursery to bring the dolls, and Chris ran off to the wood-pile to get
the wheelbarrow, which was to be the omnibus for carrying passengers to
and from the hotel.
These details being satisfactorily arranged, the next thing was to slip
off from Cherubim and Seraphim, for they followed the little girls
everywhere, and they would be too much trouble on this occasion, since
they couldn’t climb up on the pile themselves, and would whine
piteously if the children left them.
The plan finally decided upon was this: Diddie was to coax them to the
kitchen to get some meat, while the other children were to go as fast
as they could down the avenue and wait for her where the road turned,
and she was to slip off while the puppies were eating, and join them.
They had only waited a few minutes when Diddie came running down the
road, and behind her (unknown to her) came Old Billy.
“Oh, what made you bring him?” asked Dumps, as Diddie came up.
“I didn’t know he was comin’,” replied Diddie, “but he won’t hurt:
he’ll just eat grass all about, and we needn’t notice him.”
“Yes, he will hurt,” said Dumps; “he behaves jus’ dreadful, an’ I don’t
want ter go, neither, ef he’s got ter be er comin’.”
“Well—I know he _shall_ come,” retorted Diddie. “You jes don’t like him
’cause he’s gettin’ old. I’d be ashamed to turn against my friends like
that. When he was little and white, you always wanted to be er playin’
with him; an’ now, jes ’cause he ain’t pretty, you don’t want him to
come anywhere, nor have no fun nor nothin’; yes—he _shall_ come; an’ ef
that’s the way you’re goin’ to do, I’m goin’ right back to the house,
an’ tell Mammy you’ve all slipped off, an’ she’ll come right after you,
an’ then you won’t get to play on the lumber.”
Diddie having taken this decided stand, there was nothing for it but to
let Old Billy be of the party; and peace being thus restored, the
children continued their way, and were soon on the lumber-pile. Diddie
at once opened her hotel. Chris was the chambermaid, Riar was the
waiter, and Dilsey was the man to take the omnibus down for the
passengers. Dumps and Tot, who were to be the boarders, withdrew to the
gin-house steps, which was to be the depot, to await the arrival of the
omnibus.
“I want ter go to the hotel,” said Dumps, as Dilsey came up rolling the
wheelbarrow—“me an’ my three little chil’en.”
“Yes, marm, jes git in,” said Dilsey, and Dumps, with her wax baby and
a rag doll for her little daughters, and a large cotton-stalk for her
little boy, took a seat in the omnibus. Dilsey wheeled her up to the
hotel, and Diddie met her at the door.
“What is your name, madam?” she inquired.
“My name is Mrs. Dumps,” replied the guest, “an’ this is my little boy,
an’ these is my little girls.”
“Oh, Dumps, you play so cur’us,” said Diddie; “who ever heard of
anybody bein’ named Mrs. Dumps? there ain’t no name like that.”
“Well, I don’t know nothin’ else,” said Dumps; “I couldn’t think of
nothin’.”
“Sposin’ you be named Mrs. Washington, after General Washington?” said
Diddie, who was now studying a child’s history of America, and was very
much interested in it.
“All right,” said Dumps; and Mrs. Washington, with her son and
daughters, was assigned apartments, and Chris was sent up with
refreshments, composed of pieces of old cotton-bolls and gray moss,
served on bits of broken china.
The omnibus now returned with Tot and her family, consisting of an
India-rubber baby with a very cracked face, and a rag body that had
once sported a china head, and now had no head of any kind; but it was
nicely dressed, and there were red shoes on the feet; and it answered
Tot’s purpose very well.
“Dese my ’itty dirls,” said Tot, as Diddie received her, “an’ I tome in
de bumberbuss.”
“What is your name?” asked Diddie.
“I name—I name—I name—Miss Gin-house,” said Tot, who had evidently
never thought of a name, and had suddenly decided upon gin-house, as
her eye fell upon that object.
“No, no, Tot, that’s a _thing;_ that ain’t no name for folks,” said
Diddie. “Let’s play you’re Mrs. Bunker Hill; that’s a nice name.”
“Yes, I name Miss Unker Bill,” said the gentle little girl, who rarely
objected to playing just as the others wished. Miss “Unker Bill” was
shown to her room; and now Riar came out, shaking her hand up and down,
and saying, “Ting-er-ling—ting-er-ling—ting-er-ling!” That was the
dinner-bell, and they all assembled around a table that Riar had
improvised out of a piece of plank supported on two bricks, and which
was temptingly set out with mud pies and cakes and green leaves, and
just such delicacies as Riar and Diddie could pick up.
As soon as Mrs. Washington laid eyes on the mud cakes and pies, she
exclaimed,
“Oh, Diddie, I’m er goin’ ter be the cook, an’ make the pies an’
things.”
“I doin’ ter be de took an’ make de itty mud takes,” said Miss Unker
Bill, and the table at once became a scene of confusion.
“No, Dumps,” said Diddie, “somebody’s got to be stoppin’ at the hotel,
an’ I think the niggers ought to be the cooks.”
“But I want ter make the mud cakes,” persisted Dumps, an’ Tot can be
the folks at the hotel—she and the doll-babies.”
“No, I doin’ ter make de mud takes, too,” said Tot, and the hotel
seemed in imminent danger of being closed for want of custom, when a
happy thought struck Dilsey.
“Lor-dy, chil’en! I tell yer: le’s play Ole Billy is er gemman what
writ ter Miss Diddie in er letter dat he was er comin’ ter de hotel,
an’ ter git ready fur ’im gins he come.”
“Yes,” said Diddie, and lets play Dumps an’ Tot was two mo’ niggers I
had ter bring up from the quarters to help cook; an’ we’ll make out Ole
Billy is some great general or somethin’, an’ we’ll have ter make lots
of cakes an’ puddin’s for ’im. Oh, I know; we’ll play he’s Lord
Burgoyne.”
All of the little folks were pleased at that idea, and Diddie
immediately began to issue her orders.
“You, Dumps, an’ Tot an’ Dilsey, an’ all of yer—I’ve got er letter from
Lord Burgoyne, an’ he’ll be here to-morrow, an’ I want you all to go
right into the kitchen an’ make pies an’ cakes.” And so the whole party
adjourned to a little ditch where mud and water were plentiful (and
which on that account had been selected as the kitchen), and began at
once to prepare an elegant dinner.
Dear me! how busy the little housekeepers were! and such beautiful pies
they made, and lovely cakes all iced with white sand, and bits of grass
laid around the edges for trimming! and all the time laughing and
chatting as gayly as could be.
“Ain’t we havin’ fun?” said Dumps, who, regardless of her nice clothes,
was down on her knees in the ditch, with her sleeves rolled up, and her
fat little arms muddy to the elbows; “an’ ain’t you glad we slipped
off, Diddie? I tol’ yer there wan’t nothin’ goin’ to hurt us.”
“And ain’t you glad we let Billy come?” said Diddie; “we wouldn’t er
had nobody to be Lord Burgoyne.”
“Yes,” replied Dumps; “an’ he ain’t behaved bad at all; he ain’t butted
nobody, an’ he ain’t runned after nobody to-day.”
“’Ook at de take,” interrupted Tot, holding up a mudball that she had
moulded with her own little hands, and which she regarded with great
pride,
And now, the plank being as full as it would hold, they all returned to
the hotel to arrange the table. But after the table was set the
excitement was all over, for there was nobody to be the guest.
“Ef Ole Billy wan’t so mean,” said Chris, “we could fotch ’im hyear in
de omnibus. I wush we’d a let Chubbum an’ Suppum come; dey’d been Lord
Bugon.”
“I b’lieve Billy would let us haul ’im,” said Diddie, who was always
ready to take up for her pet; “he’s rael gentle now, an’ he’s quit
buttin’; the only thing is, he’s so big we couldn’t get ’im in the
wheelbarrer.”
“Me ’n _Chris_ kin put ’im in,” said Dilsey. “We kin lif’ ’im, ef dat’s
all;” and accordingly the omnibus was dispatched for Lord Burgoyne, who
was quietly nibbling grass on the ditch bank at some little distance
from the hotel.
He raised his head as the children approached, and regarded them
attentively. “Billy! Billy! po’ Ole Billy!” soothingly murmured Diddie,
who had accompanied Dilsey and Chris with the omnibus, as she had more
influence over Old Billy than anybody else. He came now at once to her
side, and rubbed his head gently against her; and while she caressed
him, Dilsey on one side and Chris on the other lifted him up to put him
on the wheelbarrow.
And now the scene changed. Lord Burgoyne, all unmindful of love or
gratitude, and with an eye single to avenging this insult to his
dignity, struggled from the arms of his captors, and, planting his head
full in Diddie’s chest, turned her a somersault in the mud. Then,
lowering his head and rushing at Chris, he butted her with such force
that over she went headforemost into the ditch! and now, spying Dilsey,
who was running with all her might to gain the lumber-pile, he took
after her, and catching up with her just as she reached the gin-house,
placed his head in the middle of her back, and sent her sprawling on
her face. Diddie and Chris had by this time regained their feet, both
of them very muddy, and Chris with her face all scratched from the
roots and briers in the ditch. Seeing Old Billy occupied with Dilsey,
they started in a run for the lumber; but the wily old sheep was on the
look-out, and, taking after them full tilt, he soon landed them flat on
the ground. And now Dilsey had scrambled up, and was wiping the dirt
from her eyes, preparatory to making a fresh start. Billy, however,
seemed to have made up his mind that nobody had a right to stand up
except himself, and, before the poor little darky could get out of his
way, once more he had butted her down.
Diddie and Chris were more fortunate this time; they were nearer the
lumber than Dilsey, and, not losing a minute, they set out for the pile
as soon as Old Billy’s back was turned, and made such good time that
they both reached it, and Chris had climbed to the top before he saw
them; Diddie, however, was only half-way up, so he made a run at her,
and butted her feet from under her, and threw her back to the ground.
This time he hurt her very much, for her head struck against the
lumber, and it cut a gash in her forehead and made the blood come. This
alarmed Dumps and Tot, and they both began to cry, though they, with
Riar, were safely ensconced on top of the lumber, out of all danger.
Diddie, too, was crying bitterly; and as soon as Billy ran back to butt
at Dilsey, Chris and Riar caught hold of her hands and drew her up on
the pile.
Poor little Dilsey was now in a very sad predicament. Billy, seeing
that the other children were out of his reach, devoted his entire time
and attention to her, and her only safety was in lying flat on the
ground. If she so much as lifted her head to reconnoitre, he would
plant a full blow upon it.
The children were at their wit’s end. It was long past their
dinner-time, and they were getting hungry; their clothes were all
muddy, and Diddie’s dress almost torn off of her; the blood was
trickling down from the gash in her forehead, and Chris was all
scratched and dirty, and her eyes smarted from the sand in them. So it
was a disconsolate little group that sat huddled together on top of the
lumber, while Old Billy stood guard over Dilsey, but with one eye on
the pile, ready to make a dash at anybody who should be foolish enough
to venture down.
“I tol’ yer not to let ’im come,” sobbed Dumps, “an’ now I spec’ we’ll
hafter stay here all night, an’ not have no supper nor nothin’.”
“I didn’t let ’im come,” replied Diddie; “he come himself, an’ ef you
hadn’t made us run away fum Mammy, we wouldn’t er happened to all this
trouble.”
“I never made yer,” retorted Dumps, “you come jes ez much ez anybody;
an’ ef it hadn’t er been fur you, Ole Billy would er stayed at home.
You’re all time pettin’ ’im an’ feedin’ ’im—hateful old thing—tell he
thinks he’s got ter go ev’rywhere we go. You ought ter be ’shamed er
yourse’f. Ef I was you, I’d think myse’f too good ter be always er
’soshatin’ with sheeps.”
“You’re mighty fond of ’im sometimes,” said Diddie, “an’ you was mighty
glad he was here jes now, to be Lord Burgoyne: he’s jes doin’ this fur
fun; an’ ef Chris was _my_ nigger, I’d make her git down an’ drive ’im
away.”
Chris belonged to Dumps, and Mammy had taught the children never to
give orders to each other’s maids, unless with full permission of the
owner.
“I ain’t gwine hab nuf’n ter do wid ’im,” said Chris.
“Yes you are, Chris,” replied Dumps, who had eagerly caught at Diddie’s
suggestion of having him driven away. “Get down this minute, an’ drive
’im off; ef yer don’t, I’ll tell Mammy you wouldn’t min’ me.”
“Mammy ’ll hatter whup me, den,” said Chris (for Mammy always punished
the little negroes for disobedience to their mistresses); “she’ll
hatter whup me, caze I ain’t gwine ter hab nuf’n tall ter do wid dat
sheep; I ain’t gwine ter meddle long ’im, hab ’im buttin’ me in de
ditch.”
“Riar, you go,” said Diddie; “he ain’t butted you yet.”
“He ain’t gwine ter, nuther,” said Riar, “caze I gwine ter stay up
hyear long o’ Miss Tot, like Mammy tell me. I ’longs to her, an’ I
gwine stay wid ’er myse’f, an’ nuss ’er jes like Mammy say.”
It was now almost dark, and Old Billy showed no signs of weariness; his
vigilance was unabated, and the children were very miserable, when they
heard the welcome sound of Mammy’s voice calling “Chil’en! O-o-o-o,
chil’en!”
“Ma-a-a-m!” answered all of the little folks at once.
“Whar is yer?” called Mammy,
“On top the lumber-pile,” answered the children; and soon Mammy
appeared coming through the woods.
She had missed the children at snack-time, and had been down to the
quarters, and, in fact, all over the place, hunting for them. The
children were delighted to see her now, and so, indeed, seemed Old
Billy, for, quitting his position at Dilsey’s head, he set out at his
best speed for Mammy; and Dilsey immediately jumped to her feet, and
was soon on the lumber with her companions.
“Now yer gwuf fum yer, gwuf fum yer!” said Mammy, furiously waving a
cotton-stalk at Old Billy. “Gwuf fum yer, I tell you! _I_ ain’t bodern’
you. I jes come fur de chil’en, an’ yer bet not fool ’long er me, yer
low-life sheep.”
But Old Billy, not caring a fig for Mammy’s dignity or importance,
planted his head in her breast, and over the old lady went backwards.
At this the children, who loved Mammy dearly, set up a yell, and Mammy,
still waving the cotton-stalk, attempted to rise, but Billy was ready
for her, and, with a well-aimed blow, sent her back to the earth.
“Now yer stop dat,” said Mammy. “I don’t want ter fool wid yer; I lay
I’ll bus’ yer head open mun, ef I git er good lick at yer; yer better
gwuf fum yer!” But Billy, being master of the situation, stood his
ground, and I dare say Mammy would have been lying there yet, but
fortunately Uncle Sambo and Bill, the wagoners, came along the big
road, and, hearing the children’s cries, they came upon the scene of
action, and, taking their whips to Old Billy, soon drove him away.
“Mammy, we won’t never run away any more,” said Diddie, as Mammy came
up; “’twas Dumps’s fault, anyhow.”
“Nem min’, yer ma’s gwine whup yer,” said Mammy; “yer’d no business at
dis gin-house long o’ dat sheep, an’ I won’er what you kinky-head
niggers is fur, ef yer can’t keep de chil’en in de yard: come yer ter
me!” And, picking up a cotton-stalk, she gave each of the little
darkies a sound whipping.
The children were more fortunate. Mamma lectured them on the sin of
running away from Mammy; but she put a piece of court-plaster on
Diddie’s head, and kissed all of the dirty little faces, much to
Mammy’s disgust, who grumbled a good deal because they were not
punished, saying,
“Missis is er spilin’ dese chil’en, let’n uv ’em cut up all kind er
capers. Yer all better hyear me, mun. Yer better quit dem ways yer got,
er runnin’ off an’ er gwine in de mud, an’ er gittin’ yer cloes tor’d,
an’ er gittin’ me butted wid sheeps; yer better quit it, I tell yer; ef
yer don’t, de deb’l gwine git yer, sho’s yer born.”
But, notwithstanding her remarks, the little girls had a nice hot
supper, and went to bed quite happy, while Mammy seated herself in her
rocking-chair, and entertained Aunt Milly for some time with the
children’s evil doings and their mother’s leniency.