MISS VINE’S DINNER PARTY AND ITS ABRUPT CONCLUSION.
War is demoralizing, and ever since “our army swore terribly in Flanders,”
profanity has been a military sin. In my neighborhood it extended to the
women and children who had never before violated the third commandment. I
knew a little girl who, having seen a regiment of Federal soldiers
marching along the public highway, ran to her mother crying, “The damned
Yankees are coming!” She was exempt from reproof on account of the
exciting nature of the news. She had doubtless heard the obnoxious word so
often in this connection that she deemed it a correct term.
I tried to preserve my own household “pure and peaceable and of good
report,” and I plead with my five girls to avoid all looseness of
expression. But Fannie Little asked: “Mrs. Merrick, may I not even tell
Rose to ‘go to the devil’ when she puts my nightgown where I can’t find
it, and makes me wait so long for hot water?”
“No, indeed, my child! Only Christian ministers can speak with propriety
of the devil, and use his name on common occasions.”
As a social side-light on these disordered secession war-times the
following sketch is a true picture. The characters and incidents are real,
but the names are assumed. The endeavor to embalm the events in words
diverted me in the midst of graver experience during those chaotic days.
* * * * *
Beechwood plantation has a frontage of two miles on the banks of a
navigable river. The tall dwelling-house was so surrounded by other
buildings, all well constructed and painted white, that the first glance
suggested the idea of a village embowered in trees. The proprietorship of
a noble estate implies a certain distinction, and in fact the owner of
this property had for many years represented his district in Congress. In
past as well as present times people manifest a disposition to bestow
political honors upon men of prosperity and affluence.
Mr. Templeton, notwithstanding the fact that he possessed an uncommonly
large amount of property in land and slaves, was not a giant either in
body or in mind. He surely had spoken once in the national Capitol, for
was he not known to have sent a printed copy of a speech to every one of
the Democratic constituents in the State? In this pamphlet were set forth
eloquent and powerful arguments against the unjust discrimination of the
specific duties on silk, which he thought operated to the disadvantage and
serious injustice of the poor man. He asserted confidently that the poor
people would purchase only the heavy, serviceable silken goods, while the
rich preferred the lighter and flimsier fabrics, thus paying
proportionately a much smaller revenue to the Government. This proved
conclusively that Mr. Templeton never consulted his wife, whose rich
dresses were always paid for as the tariff was arranged--ad valorem. His
patriotic soul was harrowed and filled with sympathy and sorrow on account
of the injustice and hardship thus dealt out to his needy and indigent
constituents. We cannot follow this interesting man’s public career, and
probably it is customary for great statesmen “to study the people’s
welfare” and to have the good of the poor men who vote for them very much
upon their disinterested minds.
The Templeton family came originally from that State which furnished to
the South, in the hour of trial, some brave soldiers and a good
song--“Maryland, my Maryland.” Lavinia, Mr. Templeton’s only daughter, had
been educated at the Convent in Emmetsburg, and had returned home after
Fort Sumter was fired upon and other disturbances were anticipated. This
slender, delicate, little creature was very graceful and pretty, timid as
a fawn, and frisky as a young colt. At first she could not be induced to
sit at table if there was a young man in the dining-room. She said she
preferred to wait, and when she came in afterward for her dinner her
brother Frank testified that she always ate an extra quantity to make up
for the delay.
Old Miss Eliza thought Vine so lovely and good that she always allowed her
to do as she pleased, only enjoining on her to “be a lady.” Miss Eliza was
an old-maid cousin who lived in the family, shared the cares and anxieties
of the parents, and was greatly respected by everybody. She was not a
particularly religious person--there not being a church within ten
miles--but she was kind, courteous and gentle, and exhibited a great deal
of deportment of the very finest quality--as might have been expected from
her refined Virginia antecedents. She could not abide that the servants
should call Lavinia Templeton “Miss Vine,” but they called her so all the
same.
Beaux far and near contended for Lavinia’s regard, and in less than six
months after leaving the convent she was married to a young captain newly
enlisted in the artillery of the Confederate service. A grand wedding came
off where many noteworthy men assembled. While the band played and the
giddy dance went on, groups of these consulted about the portentous war
clouds. One great man said: “There will be no war; I will promise to drink
every drop of blood shed in this quarrel!”
But soon there was a military uprising everywhere. As men enlisted they
went into a camp situated less than an hour’s drive from Beechwood. Vine
and her lover-husband refused to be separated, so she virtually lived in
the encampment. The spotless new tents, with bright flags flying, the
young men thronging around the carriages which brought their mothers and
sisters as daily visitors, made this camp in the woods a bewitching spot.
Every luxury the country afforded was poured out with lavish hands.
Friends, neighbors and loved ones at home skimmed the richest cream of the
land for the delectation and refreshment of their dear soldier boys. A
young schoolboy, who dined with his brother in camp on barbecued mutton
and roast wild turkey with all the accompaniments, wrote to his father
that he too was ready to enlist, having now had a perfect insight into
soldier life. As this gallant veteran to-day looks at his empty, dangling
coat-sleeve and is shown his boyish letter, he smiles a grim smile and
says: “Yes, I _was_ a fool in those days.” Vine’s husband had a noble
figure and was a picture of manly beauty in his new uniform with scarlet
facings. To the horror of her woman friends the devoted little wife cut up
a costly black velvet gown, and made it into a fatigue jacket for him to
wear in camp.
Meanwhile the unexpected happened and we were in the midst of a real,
terrible war. Federal military operations extended over the whole country;
then appeared a gunboat with its formidable armament, striking a panic
into all the white inhabitants. Soldiers advanced to the front, while
citizens precipitately retreated to the rear. In trepidation and hot haste
planters gathered up their possessions for departure. Slaves, always
dearer and more precious to the average Southern heart than either silver
or gold, were first collected and assembled with the owners and their
families, and then formed large companies of refugees who went forth to
look for a temporary home in some less exposed part of the country.
After much deliberation Mr. and Mrs. Templeton, with the little boys and
their cumbrous retinue of wagons, horses and slaves, went to Texas,
leaving their daughter Vine, Miss Eliza and two faithful servants as sole
tenants of Beechwood. The expected advance of Federal forces in the spring
seemed to justify the reduction of the place to such slender equipment.
Meanwhile, Captain Paul had been through a campaign in Virginia. On the
very day of the battle of Bethel, Vine clasped a new-born daughter in her
arms, and the father requested that its name should be Bethel in
commemoration of that engagement. This child was a year old before he saw
its face. The time came when Louisiana soil was to be plowed up with
military trenches and fortifications, and Captain Paul was ordered to Port
Hudson. The siege of that place soon followed.
In the evenings Miss Eliza sat on the gallery holding Bethel in her arms,
while Vine rocked little Dan, the baby of seven months, and they would all
listen in wistful silence to the volleys of heavy guns sounding regularly
and dolefully far down the river. The regular boom of the thundering
volleys kept on day and night. The two servants, Becky and Monroe, would
occasionally join the group; “Never mind, Miss Vine, don’t you fret,” they
would say; “sure, Captain Paul’s all right.” After many weeks of painful
suspense and anxiety the shocking news came that Captain Paul had been
killed by the explosion of a shell. Vine’s grief was wild. She wept and
raved by turn, until Miss Eliza feared she would die. Becky with womanly
instinct brought her the children and reminded her that she still had
these. “Take them away,” cried Vine, “I loved them only for his sake;
children are nothing! Take them out of my sight! Oh! Lord,” she cried,
“let us all die and be buried together! Why does anybody live when Paul is
dead?--dead, dead, forever!”
Vine put on no mourning in her widowhood, for such a thing as crepe was
unattainable in those days. The girls in the neighborhood came and stayed
with her by turns, and did all they could to divert her mind from her
loss.
In a short time even punctilious Miss Eliza rejoiced to perceive some
return of Vine’s former cheerfulness. She said it was sad enough and bad
enough to have a horrible war raging and ravaging over the country,
without insisting that a delicate young thing like Lavinia should go on
forever moping herself to death in unavailing grief. There was no need of
anything of the kind. While wishing her niece to avoid “getting herself
talked about,” Miss Eliza yet thought it needful, right and proper that
she should take some diversion and some healthy amusement. So it came to
pass after awhile that one day all the officers and soldiers who were
temporarily at home, and all the young ladies living on the river, were
invited to dine together at Beechwood.
The day was cool and delightful, with just a tinge of winter in the air.
Extensive fields, where hundreds of bales of cotton and thousands of
barrels of corn had been grown annually, were now given up to weeds,
briars and snakes. Here and there in protected nooks and corners clusters
of tall golden-rod or blue and purple wild asters waved their heads. Only
one small patch of ripened corn near the dwelling indicated that the
inhabitants had not entirely forgotten seed-time and might possibly have
hope of even a tiny harvest later on.
It was eleven o’clock before Vine had finished the work of decorating her
parlors. She felt weary from the unusual exertion, but remembering her
duties to her expected guests, she ran to the window overlooking the
kitchen and called, “Becky, Becky, you know who are to be here; now do
have everything all right for dinner; and, Becky, please keep the children
quiet, for I should like to take a nap before I dress.”
“Y’as’m,” said the woman, while a shade of care came into her honest face,
as she regarded the two children playing in the corner of the kitchen. “I
’clar to Gawd, dat’s jes’ like Miss Vine, she’s done got in de bed dis
minit and lef’ me wid bofe dese chillun on my han’s, en she knows, mitey
well, dat um got a heap to tend ter, dis day. She tole me dat she wus
gwine to he’p me, she did, en it’s de Gawd’s trufe dat she ain’t done er
spec of er blessed thing ceppin gether dem bushes and flowers, en Captain
Prince he hope her at dat. Now, ef she had put her han’ to de vegables,
dat would er ben sumpin. Flowers will do for purty and niceness, but you
cayent eat ’em, en you cayent drink ’em. Dey’re des here to-day and gone
all to pieces to-morrow; whut good is dey anyhow? a whole kyart load of um
don’t mount ter er hill er beans. Well,” she continued, “I jes’ won’t
blame de young creetur, but Gawd ermitey only knows when all dem white
folks will set down ter dat ar dinner Miss Vine done ’vited ’em ter come
here en eat! Here, Beth,” said she kindly to the little girl, “clam up on
dis stool, honey, by dis table; um gwine ter fix yo a nice roas’ tater in
a minit. Yo, Dan,” she called out sharply to the boy, “yo jes’ stop
mashin’ dat cat’s tail wid dat cheer ’fo’ he scratch yo to deff! Min’, I
tell yer! It jes’ looks like Miss Vine wouldn’t keer ef I bust my brains
er wukin’; but I ain’t er gwine to do dat fer nobody. Well, not fer
_strange_ white folks, anyhow.”
Here Beth with a mouthful of sweet potato asked for water. Becky promptly
dipped a gourd full and held it to her lips grumbling all the while, “Lamb
O’ Gawd, how in de name er goodness is I gwine ter wait on dese chillun,
wash up dese dishes, put on dinner, en fetch all de wood from de wood
pile?” As she stood contemplating her manifold duties, she heard the clock
in the house striking the hour. “Lord, Gawd,” said she, “ef it ain’t
twelve o’clock er ’ready, en shore nuff here comes all dem white folks
jes’ a gallopin’ up de big road. Eh--eh--eh--well, dey’ll wait twell em
ready fur ’em, dat’s all. But I does wish Miss Vine was mo’ like her mar.
Ole Mis’ wouldn’t never dremped ’bout ’viten a whole pasel er folks here,
widout havin’ pigs, and po’try, pies and cakes, en sich, all ready, de day
befo’. She had plenty on all sides an’ plenty ter do de work too. Now
here’s Miss Vine she’s after havin’ her own fun. Well, she’s right, you
hear me, niggahs!”
“You ain’t talkin’ to me, Aunt Becky,” said Beth; “I ain’t no nigger.” The
woman laughed, dropped her dishcloth on the unswept floor, grasped the
child and tossed her up several times over her head. “Gawd bless dis
smart chile! no, dat yo ain’t! yo is a sweet, little, white angel outen
heaben, you is dat, you purty little white pig!”
In the height of this performance Monroe came to the door and thrust in an
enormous turkey just killed. Seeing what was going on he exclaimed: “Why,
Aunt Becky, yo better stop playing wid dat white chile en pick dis turkey
’fo’ Miss Eliza happen ’long here en ketch yer.”
“Shet yo mouf, en git out o’ dis kitchen, boy; you cayent skeer me; I can
give you as good es you can sen’ any day. De white folks knows I ain’t got
but two han’s and can’t do a hundred things in a minit.” She put the child
down, however, and resumed her dish washing.
The girls in the meantime had retouched their disheveled curls and joined
the young men in the parlor, where for a time music, songs and dances made
the hours fly. Let us play “Straw,” said Nelly Jones.
“No, let Captain Prince lead and choose the game,” said Arabella.
So the captain seated the company in line. “Now,” said he, “not one of you
must crack a smile on pain of forfeit, and when I say prepare to pucker,
you must all do so,”--drawing out as he spoke the extraordinary aperture
in his own good-natured face, extending his lips into an automatic,
gigantic, wooden smirk reaching almost from ear to ear. Everybody giggled
of course, but he went on: “I shall call out ‘Pucker,’ and you must
instantly face about with your mouths fixed this way”--and he drew up his
wonderful feature small enough to dine with the stork out of a jar. The
company shouted, but the game was never played, for reproof and entreaty,
joined to the captain’s word of command, failed to get them beyond a
preparatory attempt which ended always in screams of laughter.
The sun was getting low in the west when another want began to appeal to
the inner consciousness of these young persons. Some of them had ridden
for miles in the morning air; since then they had sung and danced and
laughed in unlimited fashion. Now they began to think of some other
refreshment. Arabella ventured to request that Captain Prince be sent to
the kitchen to reconnoiter and bring in a report from the commissary
department. The captain responded amiably, and said she was a sensible
young lady. “Vine, ain’t you hungry?” asked Arabella. “Oh, I took some
luncheon before you came,” replied she; “if you will go up-stairs and look
in the basket under my dressing table, you will find some sandwiches, but
not enough for all.” The girl flew up-stairs.
When Captain Prince returned the girls rushed forward and overpowered him
with questions. He threw up his hands deprecatingly and waved off his
noisy assailants. “Stop, stop, young ladies, I will make my report. I went
round to the kitchen and found Aunt Becky behind the chimney ripping off
the feathers of a turkey so big” (holding his hands nearly a yard apart).
“I got a coal o’ fire to light my pipe, then I made a memorandum.” Here he
pulled out an old empty pocketbook and pretended to read--“Item 1st,
‘Fowl picking at three o’clock,’ that means dinner at six. Can you wait
that long?”
“Never!” cried the girls.
“Well, we must then go into an election for a new housekeeper who will go
in person or send a strong committee who will whoop up the cook and
expedite the meal which is to refresh these fair ladies and brave
men,”--and he began to count them.
“Don’t number me in your impolite crowd,” said Arabella, “for I am content
to wait until dinner is ready.” Vine gave her a meaning smile and went up
pleadingly to the captain, rolling her fine eyes in the innocent, sweet
way characteristic of some of the most fascinating of her sex, and begging
him to continue to be the life and soul of her party, as he always was
everywhere he went: she said if he would “start something diverting,” she
would go and stir Becky up and have dinner right off--she would, “honest
Indian.”
These girls were not sufficiently polite to keep up a pleased appearance
when bored. Such little artificialities of society belonged to the days of
peace. They flatly refused to dance, saying they were tired. One avowed
that she was sorry she had persuaded her mother to let her come to such a
poky affair, and another declared that she had never been anywhere in her
whole lifetime before where there was not cake, fruit, candy, popcorn,
pindars, or something handed round when dinner was as late as this. “Oh,”
said Nelly Jones, “I wish I had a good stalk of sugar-cane.” In fact a
cloud seemed to settle down in the parlors like smoke in murky weather.
Captain Prince stroked his blond goatee affectionately and looked serious,
but brightening up in a moment he crossed the wide hall and entered the
library where Major Bee was writing. He captured the major, brought him
and introduced him to the ladies, and then seated him in a capacious
arm-chair, while he held a whispering conference with Nelly Jones. Nelly’s
wardrobe was the envy and admiration of all the girls on the river. Being
the daughter of a cotton speculator, she wore that rare article, a new
dress. Unlike Arabella, whose jacket was cut from the best part of an old
piano cover, she was arrayed in fine purple cashmere trimmed with velvet
and gold buttons, and was otherwise ornamented with a heavy gold chain and
a little watch set with diamonds. Nelly took the captain’s arm and made a
low bow to Major Bee, and the girls were once more on the _qui vive_ when
they heard the captain say in slow and measured tones, “I have come with
the free and full consent of this young lady to ask you to join us for
life in the bonds of matrimony.” The amiable old major seemed ready to
take part in this dangerous pastime, for gentle dulness ever loves a joke.
“Bring me a prayer book,” said he, “if you please.”
“I lent my mother’s prayer book,” said Vine, “to old Mrs. Simpson two
years ago, and she never returned it--the mean old thing!”
The major next asked for a broom which he held down before the couple
saying, “Jump over.”
“Hold it lower,” said Nelly, and they stepped over in a business-like
manner.
“Now,” said Major Bee, “I solemnly pronounce you husband and wife, and I
hope and trust that you will dwell together lovingly and peacefully until
you die. I have at your request tied this matrimonial knot as tight as I
possibly could, under the circumstances, and I hope you will neither of
you ever cause me to regret that I have had the pleasure of taking part in
this highly dignified and honorable ceremony.”
Then the old major kissed the bride, whom he had always petted from
childhood, and shook hands with Captain Prince, whom Nelly refused the
privilege accorded the major, for said she, “there was no kissing in the
bargain.” The company crowded around with noisy congratulations; a sofa
was drawn forward, and the mock bridal couple sat in state and entertained
their guests.
“My dear,” remarked the bride, “I expected to make a tour when I was
married.”
“Yes, miss,”--he corrected himself quickly,--“yes, madam, I think as there
are no steamboats that we may take a little journey up the river on a
raft.”
“What kind of a raft, Captain?” asked Nelly.
“My love, I mean a steam raft. I will take the steam along in a jug.”
Nelly made a terrible grimace of disgust and was silent for a moment, her
mind still dwelling on the bridal tour. “Captain, you know we must have
money for traveling expenses,” said she.
“Yes, darling, it takes that very thing, so I will spout your fine watch
and chain, and then we can find ourselves on wheels.”
Nelly drew down the corners of her pretty mouth, pouted her lips and
looked more disgusted than ever. To them it was all very funny.
“My dearest, I fear when your mother hears the news she will say ‘Poor
Nelly, she has thrown herself away!’” and the captain actually blushed at
this vision of Mrs. Jones’s disapprobation.
“Keep the ball rolling, Captain,” said Billy Morris, “this sport is
splendid.”
The captain fixed his keen eye on Billy’s large, standing collar and
asked, “Did you ever see a small dog trotting along in high oats?
Well,”--surveying his person--“I have.”
“Come now, Captain,” replied Billy, “I’ll allow you some privileges, being
just married, but you must pass your wit around. I’ve had enough. Don’t
compare your single unmarried friend to a dog.”
Dinner was then announced and the party were soon seated at table. That
king of edible birds, the turkey savory and brown, was placed at one end,
and a fresh stuffed ham stood at the other, while the vegetables filled up
the intervening space. A large bunch of zinnias and amaranthus set in a
broken pitcher formed a gay center-piece. The dessert was egg-nogg, and
Confederate pound-cake made from bolted cornmeal. The dinner was concluded
with a cup of genuine coffee. Notwithstanding the late meal, never had
there been a merrier day at old Beechwood. Healths to the absent ones were
drunk from the single silver goblet of egg-nogg allowed for each guest.
The girls did not relish this mixture made of crude and fiery Louisiana
rum, but the soldiers were not so fastidious; they said they often had
occasion to repeat the remark of the Governor of North Carolina to the
Governor of South Carolina that “it was a long time between drinks.”
Monroe removed the dishes and retired to the kitchen while the guests
lingered over the dessert. The cook sat and looked down the river. The
window commanded a view for two miles. Her work was done and she
manifested her relief by breaking into singing these words:
“John saw, J-o-h-n saw,
John saw de holy number
Settin’ roun de golden altar.
Golden chariot come fer me, come fer me,
Golden chariot come fer me,
Childun didn’t he rise?”
She had commenced the second verse, “John saw,” when suddenly her jaws
fell, and springing up she exclaimed: “Jesus marster! what’s dat? Look!
Everybody! Here comes er gunboat, en Riley’s house is er fire. Don’t yer
see it bu’nin! Run, boy, run, en call Miss Vine! Tell Mis Lizer! Go dis
minit an’ let ’em all know, I tell yer!” “Set right down, set down, Aunt
Becky! ’tain’t none er my business to tell nuthin’. Set right down, ’oman,
en let dem white folks ’lone,” and the man seized her and pushed her with
all his force towards the chair.
The woman turned fiercely upon him and planted a blow on the side of his
head which sent him headlong on the floor. “Look er-heah, boy, who is you
foolin’ wid, anyhow? You think yerself a man, does yer when yous er born
fool! I let you know it tuck de tightest overseer ole marster ever had on
dis plantashun to rule me. No nigger like you better try ter tackle Becky.
I’ll double you up an fling you outer dis winder in no time. You neenter
tell nuthin. I’ll go tell ’em--I’ll go ef Gawd spars me to git dar. I
nussed Miss Vine; dat gal used to suck dese yere”--and Becky eloquently
placed her hands on her round ebony bosom, as she broke into a full run
from the kitchen door. She entered the dining-room crying out in
breathless, agitated tones, “Look heah, people, thar’s a big gunboat er
comin’ up de river en Riley’s house is er-fire!”
In an instant confusion and utter consternation reigned. “Good God!”
exclaimed Vine, “and here’s all mother’s silver! Like a fool I dug it up
out of the garden this morning. Here, Aunt Becky, help me gather it up.”
The woman soon rattled a pile of spoons and forks into a dishpan. “No,
no,” screamed Vine, “don’t wash them, let me hide them, quick, somewhere!”
The officers and soldiers had disappeared, and in ten minutes the only
male creatures to be seen on the place were Monroe and the baby. The man
was in fine spirits while engaged in assisting the young ladies to mount
their horses. “Take kere, Miss Em’ly, dis is a skittish little creole
pony, and you rides wid too loose a rein.” To another he said, “’Fore
Gawd, Miss Jinnie, I hates to see a white lady like you a-riden’ uv er
mule, I does dat, en er man’s saddle too! Eh, eh!” “You never mind,” the
girl replied; “my pony and both our side-saddles were carried off by the
last raid from Morganza, and I had no choice but to use my brother’s
saddle and this mule or stay at home. Cut me a good stick, Monroe, and I
shall get along.” “Well, you’ll need a stick,” said Monroe, “wid dat lazy
ole mule, ef you ’spects to see home dis night.”
One of the horses jerked away every time he was led up to the steps, but
the man was patient with him, only remarking, “Dis hoss been brutalized
’bout de head by somebody ’twel he’s a plum fool. Jump quick, Miss Nelly,
while um er holdin’ him fer ye.” The girl sprang to her saddle, adjusted
her dress, and directed the man to spread a folded shawl for her sister to
ride behind. “Well, well,” said he, “dis beats de bugs, to see white
ladies what’s used to rollin’ ’long in der carriages a-ridin’ double like
dis!” “We don’t care,” said they, as the party started off gaily down the
road.
After the last departure Monroe went to talk over the eventful day with
Becky. No allusion was made to such a small matter as a passing blow, and
the man sat down by the fire grinning with real enjoyment.
“Didn’t dem white folks scatter quick? I tell yer, Aunt Becky, it done me
good all over to see ’em so flustrated,” and he burst into a loud guffaw.
“When sumpin don’ go to suit de Templetons, dey’ll paw dirt, dey’ll do it,
every time, frum ole marster down to de baby one. Whut did Miss Vine say
about it?”
“Well,” said Becky, “lemme tell yer ’bout Miss Vine; de fust thing she
done arter I bounced in en tole de news--she gathered up de spoons en
forks, en dem silver tumblers, en sich, belonging to ole Mis’, en den she
look ’roun’ en seed de men wus all gone; den she clinched her teeth, en
des doubled up her fis’, she did, en shuck it t’wards dat big ole boat es
she come puffin’ en blowin’ up de river, wid de great big cannons
a-sticken outen her sides, en des a-swarmin’ all over wid de blue-coats,
en says she: ‘Dern you infernal black souls! I wish to Gawd every one of
you was drownded in de bottom of de river.’”
“Lord!” said Monroe, catching his breath, “now didn’t she cuss?”
“Yes, sirree! she did dat; en so would you, en me,” said Becky.
“But she’s white,” said the man. “I don’t keer ef she is; ain’t white
folks got feelin’s same as we is?” asked Becky. “No,” said Monroe, “dey
ain’t; some of um is mighty mean, yes, a heap of ’em.”
“Yo cayn’t set down here and ’buse Miss Vine,” said Becky, “we’re ’bleeged
to gib her de praise. Ef its ’fo’ her face or ’hine her back, um boun’ to
say it; she’s de feelin’est creetur, de free-heartedest, de most
corndescendin’est young white ’oman, I ever seed in all my life,--fer a
fac’. But when she done _so_”--here Becky shook her fist in imitation of
Vine’s passionate outbreak, en said dat I done tole yer, Miss Eliza put in
en spoke up she did, en says she, ‘Laviney, yo must certinly forgit yo is
er lady!’ Whew! Miss Vine never heerd her. ’Twan’t no use fer nobody to
say nuthin’. I tell you dat white gal rared en pitched untwel she bust
into be bitteres’ cry yo ever heerd in yo life. She said dem devils warn’t
satisfied wid killin’ her Paul, en makin’ her a lonesome widder, but here
dey comes agin, jes’ as she were joyin’ herse’f, jes’ es she were takin’
a little plesyure, here dey comes a knockin’ uv it all in de haid, en
spillin’ de fat in de fire.
“I was sorry for de chile, fer it was de Gawd’s trufe she spoke, so I
comes back in heah, I did, en got some of dat strong coffee I dun saved
for yo en me, en I het a cupful an brung it to her. ‘Here, honey,’ says I,
‘drink dis fer yo Becky, en d-o-n’t cry no mo’, dat’s my good baby!’ She
wipe up her eyes, en stop cryin’, she did, en drunk de coffee. Dar I was,
down on my knees, jes’ facin’ of her, and she handed back de cup. ’Twas
one er ole Mis’ fine chaney cups. ‘Dat’s yo, honey,’ says I, ‘you musn’t
grieve!’ en I was er pattin’ of her on de lap, when she tuck a sudden
freak, en I let yo know she ups wid dem little foots wid de silver shoes
on, en she kicked me spang over, broadcast, on de flo’.
“Den ole Miss Lizer, she wall her eyes at Miss Vine, en say, ‘Laviney, um
’stonished to see yo ax so.’ She mout as well er hilt her mouf--fer it
didn’t do dat much good,” said Becky, snapping her fingers. “Den arter er
while, Miss Vine seed me layin’ dar on de floor en she jumped up she did,
en gin me her two han’s to pull me up. I des knowed I was too heavy for
her to lif, but I tuck a holt of her, en drug her down in my lap en hugged
her in my arms, pore young thing! Den I jes’ put her down e-a-s-y on de
hath-rug, ’fo’ de fire, en kiver her up wid a shawl. Den I run up-sta’rs
en fotch a piller, en right dar on de foot of de bed she had done laid out
dat spangly tawlton dress, en I des knowed she wus gwine to put it on, en
dance de Highlan’ fling dis very ebenin’. Can’t she out-dance de whole
river anyhow?” said Becky.
“Oh!” said Monroe, “I don’t ’spute dat. I love to see her in her brother
Frank’s close a-jumpin’ up to my fiddle! den she bangs a circus--dat she
do!”
Becky continued her narration: “I comes back en lif’s her head on de
piller, en pushed up the chunks to men’ de fire, en lef’ her dar sobbin’
herself down quiet.” Becky sighed and went on: “I tell yo, man, when dat
little creetur dar in de house takes a good start--yo cayn’t hole her,
nobody nee’n’ to try; you cayn’t phase her I tell you. En dar’s Beth,
she’s gwine be jes’ sich er nother--I loves dat chile too! She don’t
feature her mar neither, ’ceppen her curly head.
“But dis won’t do me. Less go up frum here, Monroe. Yo make up a light, en
less go to de hen-house en ketch a pasel of dem young chickens, en put ’em
in de coop. I wants to brile one soon in de mawnin’ en take it to Miss
Vine wid some hot co’n cakes. She’s used to eatin’ when she fust wakes up,
en um gwine to have sumpen ready fer her, fer I give you my word, dey
ain’t de fust Gawd’s bit er nuthin ’tall lef’ frum dat ar’ dinner party.”