Mrs. Amanda Pervis.
"Whew! dis here win is er blowin pow'ful col fer Octoby. Ther ol sow was
er tot'n straw yistedy and that means winter aint fur off. Shoo there! I
never seed ther beat er thet ol hen; make hase ter gulp her own co'n
down ter driv ther turkeys way from their'n." Thus spoke Mrs. Amanda
Pervis as she stood in the door of her humble wooden dwelling on
Kidder's Hill a brisk morning in October. "Thanksgiving haint fur off,
an turkey meat's er gittin high. Shoo ther yer hussy!" "Who air yu er
talkin ter Mandy?" said her husband coming to the door and peeping over
his wife's shoulder. "I tho't er trader er some sort wus er passin." The
wife turned and looked astonished at her husband. "Why fer ther lan
sake, what's er comin over ye Teck Pervis? I tho't yer'd be fas er sleep
after bein so late ter meetin las nite. I tho't yer'd tak yer res bein
yer haint er goin er fishin!" "I felt kinder resliss like, and I tho't I
jes es well be er gittin up," answered Teck, plunging his face into the
basin of cool spring water that his wife had placed on the shelf beside
the door. "Well hit won't tak me long ter git breakfus reddy," and Mrs.
Pervis darted into the kitchen. Teck Pervis dipped his hands into the
basin, poured the cool water on his head until his gray hair hung in
thick mats over his face then leisurely drawing the towel from the nail
beside the door, lazily wiped his head and face. The smell of fried
bacon and delicious coffee arose from the kitchen; the rattling of
dishes was to him sufficient token of the putting of victuals on the
table. Teck Pervis sauntered in, sat down folded his arms upon the
table, and sheepishly watched his wife as she flitted from place to
place in the humble little kitchen. Mrs. Pervis paused, and her eyes met
her husband's gaze. "Well what in ther wor'l is ter matter Teck Pervis?
Why air ye gazin at me so dis mornin, turn yer cup and tak yer coffy."
"We uns had er interestin meetin las night," he said meekly. "Well mus
yer put on er graveyard face ter day bekase yer had er interestin meetin
las night? Don't put so much gravy on yer rice, hits ergin yer helth.
Maria Tappin tol me yestidy thet her brother Tom was to be nitiated las
night with er good meny other uns, an I 'lowed I'd here erbout hit, as
my husban was er goin. Now yer air talkin erbout er interestin meetin
the candidates muster all bin on han." Teck Pervis looked pleadingly at
his wife. Mrs. Pervis went on: "I am glad yer went ter loge meetin; er
lot er them Red Shirt Varmints cum er roun las night er lookin fer yer
to go with em ter that wigwam, and I was proud ter tell em that my
husban' was not in politicks when it cum to killin colud folks ter git
inter office, an that truth hit em so hard dey sneaked." Teck shuddered.
During a series of revivals in the Free Will Baptist Church during the
summer Teck Pervis had professed religion. A fierce struggle was going
on 'neath his rugged breast. Must he tell the truth. The best whites
were there even ministers of the gospel; but then preachers are not
always on the right side; and Teck Pervis had promised his wife that
he'd not allow himself to be a tool for hungry broken down aristocrats
who only wished to use the poor as cats' paws. He took a big swallow of
coffee, drummed nervously with his fingers upon the table. "I jes es
well tell yer ther plain truth, Mandy," he said finally, "I got wi ther
boys las night and went ter ther Wigwam, an was made Cheerman ov ther
meetin. They lowed thet hit wus ter be ther mos importent meetin in ther
campain, an hit wus time fer white men ter be er standin tergither."
"Teck Pervis," exclaimed the wife, "Hev I bin er rastlin'in prayer an
pleadin ter ther Lawd in vain? Didn't I beg yer not ter fergit yer
religin in jine-in in wid sinners in doin eval?" "There aint er goin ter
be eny killin done, Mandy, we air jes er goin ter skeer ther Niggers way
from ther polls, an keep um frum votin." "I know all erbout hit," broke
in Mrs. Pervis. "Hit will en' in murder, for yer know thet Niggers won't
be drove." "Why all ther big guns war there Mandy; merchints, lawyers,
docters an ev'n preachers." "Laws e massy me!" exclaimed Mrs. Pervis.
"An if ther shepod wus ther, yer kaint blame ther flock." "Teck Pervis
did I understan yo ter say that--" "Don't git excited, Mandy, yer jes es
well git use ter ther new tern things air takin. Them preachers war thar
bekase they sed hits time fur white uns ter stan tergither. Radicul rule
mus be put down." Mrs. Pervis crossed her hands upon the table and
looked resigned. "Teck, do tell me what preachers war they?" "Why ef yo
own minister wus'n thar hiself I hope er hoppergrass may chaw me." "Teck
Pervis, do ye mean ter tell me thet Brother Jonas Melvin wus at thet
meetin?" "Yes, and Hoosay too, thet Presberteen man thet sines his name
with er dubble D hung on ter ther een." "Jonas Melvin is er windin up
his kerrare in Free Will Church. We'll hev no sich men fumblin wi ther
werd ev God in our pulpit. I never did think them Presbyteens hed eny
religin no way. They air full of book larnin, but havn't bin tech wit
ther sparit. This Hussy is lik ther res er these hi tone preachers thet
hang on ter this docterin thet ther yerth moves insted uv ther sun."
"Hoosay Mandy. Why don't yer tak proper! Hoosay!" "Well, he jes oughter
be named Hussy, fur he is er hussy. When ole sat'n meets them two at the
cross-road thars er goin ter be er tussle now I tell yer." "Well now yer
know thet ther scripter says cussed be Canyon, least wise thets the way
Brother Melvin splained hit tother night, cussed be Canyon means cussed
be Niggers." "Now Teck Pervis, wher is yer proof thet the scripter ment
Nigger? I aint rusty un ther scripter ef I am er gittin ole." "Now,
Mandy, yer know ther scripter reads thet Canyon was the son er Ham an
wus cussed bekase his daddy laffed at ole Noey, bekase when he layed
down ter sleep he didn't pull the kivver on his self proper like. When
de ole man woke up the tother boys tole him what Ham hed done, he cussed
Canyon Ham's son, and sed sarvant of sarvants shill he be. Ham wus ther
Nigger boy in ther family, and we uns air carin out ther edicts of ther
scripter when we try ter keep the Nigger cussed. Sarvant ov sarvants
shill he be, an we air--" "Hol on, Teck Pervis," exclaimed his wife.
"Let me git in er word kinder catiwompus like et leas. Now we air all
ther time er lookin fer scripter ter back us up in our devalmint. Ther
scripter don't say thet God'l mighty cussed Canyon, it says thet Noey
cussed him, an ef Noey hed kep sober an b'haved hisself he wouldenter
hed ter cuss at eny body. Whose teachin air we er follerin? Ole Noey's
er our Blessed Lawd an Saviour? He sed all things what soiver ye wood
thet men should do ter yo, do ye evan so ter thim. Have yer back slided
an fergot yer religin erready Teck Pervis?" Teck was dumb. "Yo Red Shirts
Ruff Riders an broke down ristecrats kin go on an do yer devilment but
mark what Mandy Pervis says, God'l Mighty will giv yu uns ther wurk er
yer hans." "Why, Mandy, yo ought ter git er license ter preach, why you
kin spit scripter lik er bon evangilis," and Teck Pervis reached over
and slapped his wife upon the shoulder. This compliment from her husband
stimulated the old lady to more earnest effort. "Now look er here," she
continued. "What do them risticrats kere er bout the likes er we? In
slave times we war not as good as their Niggers an ef we didn't get out
ther way on the road, they'd ride their fine critters plum over us. They
hed no use fer we uns unless hit wus ter use us fer somethin. Whan ther
war broke out, of course they wanted der po'uns ter do ther fightin, an
they kill me ole daddy bekase he would'n jine em. He didn't think it
right ter tak up an fight agin the Union; an I can't fergit thet you'ns
who did go ter ther fight ware promis'd er Nigger an er mule. But did
yer git em?" Teck Pervis winced. Mrs. Pervis continued. "Now sich es ole
Wade an Moss Teele an uthers air hungry ter git er bite at ther public
grip, so they throw out bait fer yo uns ter nibble; an yer air fools
ernuff ter nibble. Jane Snow tells me thet all ther big bug Niggers er
goin ter be driv out, and we uns will git ther property and wash up in
ther churches." "Thet wus promused," broke in Teck. "But who hes ther
rite ter tek them critters property an giv hit ter yo uns?" replied Mrs.
Pervis. "Teck Pervis yo may mark my words, but jes es soon es them
broken down ristocrats git er hol of ther gov'mint, jes es soon es yo po
fools help them, then yer kin go." Teck Pervis glared at his wife like a
fierce beast at bay. He was Teck Pervis of old, the defiant,
blood-thirsty rebel in the rifle pit glaring over the breastworks at the
enemy. "Wese got ther guns!" he thundered, bringing his fist down upon
the table, "an ef they dont give ther po' uns er show when ther city is
took, why! we'd jes es leave kill er ristercrat as er Nigger, and we uns
will do it. Wat yo say is right frum start to finish. We uns air watchin
um; wese got ther guns, an we uns'll hold em till we see how things air
goin ter wurk. Reach up there an han me my pipe Mandy."