The trees had never seemed greener or the grass more luxuriant to the
denizens of Kingsmill than on the September morning when Mis’ Nancy,
with a light shawl thrown about her shoulders, and the patient,
half-pained smile on her face, sat in the rocking-chair on the porch and
deprecated the expense that the recently much-discussed visit to her old
schoolmate and friend would involve.
The waters of the river, visible in its broad expanse for a sweep of
many miles, gleamed amethystine-blue under the brilliant early autumn
sun; and the low-lying bank of its farther shore, set with faintly
visible buildings that seemed white in the sunshine, encompassed a
panorama of quiet and peaceful beauty.
“Hold de hank straight, boy,” growled Ommirandy to Tibe.
She occupied a low chair some distance from Mis’ Nancy, and addressed
herself to the juvenile darky, son of Janey and grandson of Uncle Jonas,
known to young Mars’ Jeems as Tiberius the Great.
Tibe had been caught by the old woman while meandering around the
Kingsmill yard in search of guinea eggs, and incontinently hauled up on
the porch to hold Ommirandy’s hank while she wound the cotton yarn into
a nimble ball with her ancient but still agile fingers.
“Dat what I doin’, marm,” responded Tibe, lifting one end of the hank
about a foot higher than the other.
“You sutny orter make her go, young Mars’ Jeems,” said the old woman to
the owner of Kingsmill, who sat by his wife with an ante-bellum copy of
“The Bride of Lammermoor” open face downward on his knee.
“I think it would do her good, Mirandy,” acquiesced young Mars’ Jeems.
“She stays here, and thinks about everything on the plantation, and
never gets outside of the yard. I am sure it would do her good to get up
into the mountain country.”
“Dey was sebenty-two guinny aigs in dat one nes’ out dar in de
clover-patch over by de fur cornder o’ de yard,” interjected Tibe. “I
jes’ been done count ’em when you come dar an’ cotch me.”
Ommirandy stopped winding.
“You put dem han’s o’ yourn on a level, anyhow,” she said. “You ain’t
got no sense ’bout holdin’ a hank. I dunno what gwi’ ’come o’ you little
new-issue free-school niggers. Did you tetch dem eggs?”
“Yas ’m,” responded Tiberius. “I tetched ’em. I was ’bleedged fur ter
turn some uv ’em ter count ’em. Dey was sebenty-two in one nes’.”
“Well, if dat don’t beat all!” exclaimed the old woman, dropping her
unwound ball on the floor and leaning back in her low chair in supreme
disgust. “You done ruint de whole business!”
Tiberius the Great seemed more interested than daunted by Ommirandy’s
rebuke. Young Mars’ Jeems laughed aloud, and the pained smile on Mis’
Nancy’s face was accentuated.
“Ain’t you got no sense, nigger?” demanded the old woman. “I know yo’
gran’daddy ain’t got much; but you mought ’a’ enherited some gumption
f’om Janey. She been takin’ keer o’ Jonas an’ you an’ de t’others sence
yo’ pa died--’scusin’ what young Mars’ Jeems an’ Mis’ Nancy is done fur
you-all. Name o’ Gord, what you put yo’ han’ in dat guinny nes’ fur?”
“Fur ter count de aigs, marm,” replied Tibe, with an inevitable logic
derived from his public-school training.
“Is you distracted, Tiberius?” queried Ommirandy. “Don’t you know dem
guinnys ain’t nuver gwi’ lay in dat place no mo’? Ain’t nobody uver tell
you, ef you put yo’ han’ in a guinny nes’, dey nuver comes back dar?
When you git de eggs out o’ whar de guinny-fowls all lays, you got ter
do it wid a silver spoon, an’ leave three eggs. Dem birds kin not only
smell, but dey kin count, too.”
Tiberius grinned at her vacuously, and was silent.
“Is dat what dey teach you at de free school? ’Fo’ Gord, I c’n take a
hick’ry-switch an’ fling mo’ sho’ ’nuf eddication inter you little free
niggers in ten minutes dan dat bow-legged, horn-specticle cullud
school-teacher down dar by de church gwi’ git inter you-all in ten
years. Young Mars’ Jeems, you cudden do more fur Mis’ Nancy dan ter sen’
her ter de mount’ns. She needs it. You kin remembrance how Ole Mars’
useter always take Mis’ ter de White Suffrer in de late summer? Many’s
de time I been dar wid ’em.”
The conversation was desultory, and eventuated in the disclosure by
Ommirandy that she had been watching the universal guinea nest that Tibe
had invaded, in the hope of contributing by the sale of its eggs a
substantial sum toward the expense that would be incidental to Mis’
Nancy’s trip to the mountains.
“I done been see de man at Yellowley’s Sto’ an’ he promis’ ter take all
uv ’em at de market price. Hole de hank straight, Tiberius! Ef you
don’t, I gwi’ hit you wid dis here broom! It look like you gotter have
sump’n ter make yo’ han’s still all de time, fur ter keep ’em out o’
trouble. Drap dat en’ o’ de hank ter a level, I tell ye.”
“Yas ’m,” responded the boy, becoming loquacious with the imaginative
mendacity of untrained childhood. “Dat what mammy, she all de time
sayin’. I remembrance when I was a teenchy-weenchy baby in de cradle,
mammy she use ter put a tetch o’ merlasses on my fingers, an’ den stick
some pillow-feathers onter de merlasses. It use’ ter keep me workin’,
a-pickin’ de feathers fust off’n one han’ an’ den off’n de t’other han’.
Fast as dey git on one han’ I remembrance I gits ’em onter de t’other
han’. It use ter make me quiet all day.”
He related the experience with an assurance calculated to disarm all
criticism.
“You remembrance it, duz you?” queried Ommirandy, scornfully. “You
remembrance what happen when you was a baby in de cradle! Young Mars’
Jeems, is you hear dat? I been sayin’ fur a long time, dat dis here boy
is gwi’ come ter a bad en’. He de spit ’n’ image o’ Jonas. He ack like
he warn’t no kin ter Janey.”
Tibe’s vacuous grin grew in dimensions, and he held one end of the hank
higher than ever.
“I done been watchin’ dat guinny nes’ fur mo’n a week,” she continued,
“an’ here come along dis little eddicated free-school nigger, an’ stick
his rusty fis’ in de nes’. Hole yo’ right han’ down, boy!” she concluded
viciously, giving the cotton yarn a jerk that snapped the thread. Tibe
picked up the ends and tied them with apparent humility, in
contemplation of the old woman’s short-handled broom that lay by her
chair.
When Tiberius was finally dismissed, and Ommirandy and young Mars’ Jeems
had helped her mistress into the house, it had been settled that Mis’
Nancy was to accept her old friend’s invitation and pay her a visit in
the town beyond the mountains, and that Ommirandy was to accompany her.
“She ’bleedge ter have somebody ter tote water fur her, an’ make her
comf’table an’ wait on her,” said Ommirandy.
“She is entitled to have a servant with her, Mirandy,” said young Mars’
Jeems. “All of the Kingsmill women have had ’em.”
“For hunnerds an’ hunnerds o’ years,” responded the old woman loyally.
“An’ dey gwi’ keep on havin’ uv ’em ’twel dey die. Don’t you werry
yo’se’f ’bout dat, honey. De Lord, he gwineter purvide ’em, ’scusin’ de
Yankees an’ de freedom. Ain’t Mis’ done, many’s de time, read it ter us
out’n de book in de loom-room: ‘Mine elec’ an’ my servants shall dwell
dar’? Dat means you-all an’ we-all gwi’ always dwell at Kingsmill. It
come out o’ Isaiah. I remembrance it a heap better dan Tibe remembrance
dem feathers.”
* * * * *
Ommirandy accepted with a ready and unquestioning acquiescence Mis’
Nancy’s tacit estimate of the social importance of the family of her
hostess in the little town beyond the Blue Ridge; but the old woman’s
suspicion of the colored population of the place was aroused from the
moment when Imogen, the spry young maid servant, came into Mis’ Nancy’s
room on the evening of their arrival to tender her services to her
mistress’s guest. The tender was coldly but civilly declined by the old
woman.
“_I_ gwi’ look arfter Mis’ Nancy while she here,” said Ommirandy to
Imogen. “I gwi’ fetch her water, an’ make her bed, an’ wait on her. She
ain’t use ter no other servant but me doin’ fur her.”
“You don’t have ter fetch no water,” responded Imogen with asperity. “De
water is in de pipes. See here!”
She went to the stationary basin and turned the faucet.
“Well, _I_ gwi’ do fur her, anyhow,” responded the old woman, regarding
the flowing water with a questioning look.
Imogen withdrew after Mis’ Nancy had thanked her.
“I been hear dat dey ain’t so many niggers over here in dis country as
dey is in Tidewater,” said the old woman. “I reck’n dat’s howcome they
don’t tote de water over here, like we all duz at Kingsmill.”
She went over to the basin and turned the stream on and off curiously.
“’Fo’ de Lord, dey think dey know mo’ ’bout whar water ought ter go dan
de Almighty,” she grumbled. “Dey makin’ it run up-hill.”
Her visit to the kitchen after supper accentuated her critical attitude
toward the servants on the place.
“Dese here culluds ain’t like dem in Tidewater,” she said to Mis’ Nancy.
“Dat cook-’oman down dar in de cellar, she tell me her name is Miz’
Nellins--yas ’m _Miz’_ Nellins--an’ she ax me what was my entitle. I
answer her, I ain’t got no entitle ’scusin’ Ommirandy. I give her ter
know dat quality niggers on de t’other side o’ de mount’in don’t go by
no name o’ Miz’ ur Mister, like de white folks. She primp herse’f, an’
she say: ‘My! Is _dat_ possible?’ An’ I say: ‘It ain’t only possible,
but it’s so, an’ also.’ I say: ‘Ef you was ter tell young Mars’ Jeems
yo’ name was Miz’ Nellins, he’d think you was givin’ him some o’ yo’
instance.’ Den she say: ‘’Scuse _me_!’ An’ I done so. I ax her what her
sho-nuf name is, an’ she say: ‘Patsey.’ I say: ‘Patsey, you kin gimme my
supper.’ She ’pear ter me younger’n Philadelphy, so I say ter her: ‘You
kin call me Ommirandy, an’ dat’s enough.’ She dat Immygen gal’s mother.”
In a day or two after their arrival Ommirandy informed Mis’ Nancy that
there were frequent colored visitors to the kitchen, and that among them
was a young negro man who was evidently a suitor of Imogen’s.
“I ain’t nuver gwine ter git used ter no kitchen in de cellar, no mo’n I
is ter dis here water runnin’ in dis wash-basin. I ain’t excusin’ dese
here white folks o’ nothin’, Mis’ Nancy; but whar I been use ter all my
life, dey had de kitchen out in de yard. An’ dis here house is got too
many long sta’r steps in it fur a duck-legged ole nigger like me. But I
boun’ ter go down dar ter git my meals’ vittles ur starve; an’ when I
duz go, I sees dem Mister an’ Miz’ an’ Miss darkies in all dey glory;
an’ it’s wuth de trip. Dey ack like dey was all carriage-comp’ny. It’s
‘Mister Paul,’ an’ ‘Miss Immygen,’ an’ ‘Miz’ Nellins.’ Dat young nigger
boy, he look at me, kinder curisome, an’ he ain’t call me nothin’ yit.
He ’pear ter seem like he was skeered dat I was gwi’ jump on him, all
spraddled-out. ’Fo’ Gord, Mis’ Nancy, I ain’t got nothin’ ’gin him, nur
any o’ dese town folks, ’scusin’ dey ain’t like my folks.”
Mis’ Nancy’s color was not long in coming back to her cheeks in the
bracing mountain atmosphere, and she soon felt better. She listened with
undisguised amusement to Ommirandy’s comments on the new acquaintances
of her race, and wished that young Mars’ Jeems might be there to hear
them.
Each new day brought forth from the old woman the narrative of some
incident that to her mind illustrated the inferiority of the local black
people to her familiars at Kingsmill.
“Town niggers! town niggers!” she would ejaculate, as she went about her
duties in Mis’ Nancy’s room.
“De parson was here ter dinner,” Ommirandy said on the last evening of
Mis’ Nancy’s visit. “I wish you mought ’a’ seed him. Long-tail black
coat like dat one Mr. Sinjinn give Jonas, beaver hat, white shirt, an’
white things hangin’ down over his shiny shoes like he gwi’ lose some o’
his underclo’es. Our rev’un’ at home, he couldn’ tetch him wid a
forty-foot pole. He eat a fine dinner, an’ two o’ de deacons, dey eat
wid him. When dey was gone, I sez ter Patsey: ‘Looky here, Patsey, it
’pears ter me like you was feedin’ seb’ral famblies out o’ dis here
kitchen.’ ‘No, marm,’ she sez, ‘de minister he say we don’t have ter
feed mo’n two outside famblies f’om no one kitchen.’ Is you uver heerd
de beat o’ dat, Mis’ Nancy?”
Mis’ Nancy smiled, and the old woman continued:
“Dey’s sump’n gwine on in dis here house dat dese white folks here don’t
know nothin’ ’bout. ’Tain’t none o’ my bizness, an’ I ain’t gwi’ give
’em away. I makes it a rule not to give no cullud pussons away, ’scusin’
ter you an’ ter young Mars’ Jeems. But dey actin’ mighty cur’ous,
Patsey an’ Immygen an’ dat young Paul, an’ all uv ’em.”
She paused in her narrative, while Mis’ Nancy listened.
“I reck’n you ain’t nuver notice dat alley what runs down de side o’ de
house f’om de street, is you, Mis’ Nancy?”
Mis’ Nancy had not observed the particular alley in question, but she
informed Ommirandy that many city and town houses had such alleys or
areaways, in order to connect the back premises with the street.
“I dunno nothin’ ’bout dat,” said the old woman. “But ’fo’ Gord, dat
alley been swarmin’ wid niggers all day. I been watchin’ out o’ de
winder while you was drivin’, an’ dey been comin’ an’ goin’ in all
shapes an’ sizes, men, wimmen, an’ chillun. Dey wusser’n dese here
little ants when you step on dey house. Most uv ’em is been fetchin’ in
all sorts o’ bundles, wropt up in paper, ur hid in things so ’s you
can’t see what dey got. An’ dat parson an’ de deacons, dey’s been
perambulatin’ an’ p’radin’ an’ prancin’ back’ards an’ forruds; an’ mo’
cullud wimmen, whisp’rin’ an’ gigglin’, dan uver I see git inter one
small lane befo’. Dey’s sump’n gwi’ happen roun’ here ’fo’ long; but de
white folks down-sta’rs, dey don’t ’pear ter notice it, an’ ’t ain’t
none o’ my bizness.”
When Ommirandy came up to Mis’ Nancy’s room from her supper she was out
of breath.
“Dem dar steps ter de cellar is killin’ me,” she said. “I thank Gord
we’s gwine hom ter-morrer.”
Then she continued:
“It’s like a graveyard down dar in dat kitchen ter-night. Dar warn’t
none o’ de outsiders in ter supper. Eben dat young Paul, he done made
hisse’f skase. Patsey she nuver say two words endurin’ o’ de supper, an’
Immygen she look glum as a wet hen wid draggled tail-feathers. I ain’t
nuver see no darkies vanish like dat swarm o’ culluds dat was here
ter-day is done vanish dis here night. Gord knows what’s done become uv
’em.”
“Maybe it’s the calm before the storm,” said Mis’ Nancy, falling in with
the old woman’s mood. “Possibly they are going to give their minister a
pound-party.”
The night came on apace; and after helping to prepare her mistress for
bed Ommirandy lay down on the low couch at the far end of the room with
her clothes on. The busy hum of the streets subsided; and the noise of a
cricket outside the window made the old woman almost fancy that she was
once more at home at Kingsmill. She fell asleep, and dreamed of pleasant
things at the old place in Tidewater.
Her placid slumber, after a period of indefinite and tranquil repose,
was broken at length by a most unusual and startling occurrence.
She roused herself on her elbow and looked out through the open window
into a cloudless and star-strewn sky.
“Name o’ Gord!” she muttered under her breath. “What dat?”
She could feel the house shaking, with a faint and swaying motion that
to the inhabitants of a seismic country would have seemed unmistakable.
The movement lasted for a few minutes, and then ceased. Again it began
and again was as perceptible and as distinct as before. A death-like
silence lay over everything; and the oscillation was as regular and as
rhythmic as the strophe and antistrophe of a Greek chorus.
“It’s a yearthquake, sho’!” she ejaculated, rising from her couch.
She sat on the side of her low bed for a moment and listened intently.
Then she laughed softly.
“Ah-yi!” she said aloud.
The cricket outside had long since ceased his jocund chirping, and the
silence was so dense that Ommirandy felt that it was like a big black
cake, and that she could cut it with a kitchen knife.
Then faint, far away, elusive as elfin harping, she caught the almost
inaudible tones of a fiddle.
“Um-huh!” she said. “Dey ain’t no doubtin’ it. Dat’s what ’tis!”
She felt in the dark for her carpet slippers and, thrusting her feet
into them, moved cautiously and carefully toward the fireplace, on the
mantel of which she kept the candle and box of matches which Mis’ Nancy
had brought with her from Kingsmill. Securing these, she opened the
door, and when she was outside in the passage-way she struck a light.
The swaying motion and the elfin music had ceased together. She stood
there, wondering if she might be dreaming. After a little while the
notes of the violin came up to her once more from the lower regions,
faint, far-away, hushed. She crept stealthily down the stairs to the
street floor, and noticed that by the grandfather’s clock in the hall it
was ten minutes of three o’clock.
“I ain’t nuver understand howcome folks in dis country has winders over
de do’s, inside de house. Dey ain’t nuver had ’em at Kingsmill,” she
said to herself, as with lit candle in hand she started to descend the
stairway that led down into the kitchen basement. “But, ’fo’ Gord, I
sees de good uv ’em, in places whar’s dey’s folks dat acks like dese
here town niggers acks.”
She blew out the candle and paused on one of the upper steps of the
basement staircase. The swaying movement of the house was now more
perceptible to her than ever; and the music, though on the faintest
minor key, as if muffled and disguised, was more distinctly audible than
it had been when she was up-stairs.
She leaned over the balustrade and looked through the big transom over
the kitchen door, through which the light shone with a radiance that
made her fear that she might be seen from the room on her perch upon the
steps.
“‘Ha! ha!’ said de fox, wid his pocket full o’ rocks,” she quoted to
herself. “‘I done kotch you!’”
The kitchen was a large room, extending the full length of the house,
and from her coign of vantage Ommirandy had a good view of a large part
of it.
The scene that met her gaze was an odd one; and the old woman chuckled
with repressed merriment as she regarded it.
“Mis’ Nancy, she done tell de trufe,” she commented, “when she talk
about de calm an’ de storm. De storm, it done hit here in full blars’;
but, ’fo’ Gord, it’s de silentes’ storm dat uver I looked at! Dey ain’t
no poun’-party ’bout dat!”
After watching the unconscious occupants of the kitchen for some
minutes, she retraced her steps, holding on tightly to the unlit candle
and the box of matches, and feeling her way back as cautiously as she
had come. The strains of the fiddle were now in a diminuendo; and the
old woman gave a jump, with her heart in her mouth, when the big hall
clock banged the hour of three in her ear as she passed it in the black
silence.
“Dis here devilish house is beyont me!” she muttered as she continued on
her way up the stairs to Mis’ Nancy’s room. “Gord knows what’s de nex’
thing gwi’ happen. I’se pintedly glad we-all’s gwine home in de
mornin’.”
She slipped quietly into Mis’ Nancy’s room and, undressing in the dark,
was soon asleep, with her last consciousness that of the faint and
elusive music below and the almost imperceptible movement of the
building. She dreamed that she was a child again, being gently rocked
asleep in the cradle of her childhood to the crooning notes of her
mother’s voice, lost in the long-ended years.
In the morning she followed Mis’ Nancy down to the breakfast-room, where
they found the mistress of the mansion interrogating, with an appearance
of considerable surprise, an unknown, neatly dressed young colored girl,
who had just brought the breakfast up from the kitchen.
“Yas ’m,” said Amanda, the newcomer, “Imogen, she got married las’ night
at de Ebenezer Church ter Mr. Paul; an’ Miz’ Nellins, she got me ter
come here ter take Imogen’s place, an’ wait on de table ’twel she git
home f’om her weddin’-tower nex’ week.”
“Imogen married?” queried Mis’ Nancy’s hostess of Amanda. “Why didn’t
her mother tell me about it?”
“I dunno’m,” responded Amanda. “All Miz’ Nellins say was fur me ter come
an’ take her place.”
When they were seated at the table the head of the house was interested
to ask Mis’ Nancy if she had been disturbed in the night by any peculiar
noise or movement.
“The mountain air makes me sleep very soundly,” she replied. She had
noticed nothing unusual.
His attention was attracted by a smothered chuckle from Ommirandy, who
lingered in the room, with the double purpose of seeing if she might
serve her mistress in any way, and of ascertaining who besides herself
was cognizant of the nocturnal disturbance which had aroused her from
her slumbers.
“Did you hear anything, Mirandy?” he asked. “I dreamed there was an
earthquake.”
“Lord, Mars’ Henry, you needn’ ax me nothin’ ’bout no yearthquakes. I
ain’t nuver seed ur heerd no yearthquakes. I dunno nothin’ ’bout dem
things. Dey’s strangers o’ mine.”
“Did you feel the house rocking?” he persisted.
The unrepressed grin on the old woman’s usually sombre countenance, and
the agitated dangling of her ear-hoops, attracted Mis’ Nancy’s attention
and aroused her suspicion that Ommirandy knew more than she was willing
to admit. The suspicion grew into certainty at the old woman’s answer.
“’Fo’ Gord, marster, I ain’t got no bizness noticin’ nothin’ out o’ de
way in a gennulmun’s house whar my mistis is visitin’. Ef dis here house
was ter git up on its behime-legs, an’ rock an’ r’ar all over de street
out dar, ’twudden be becomin’ in Mirandy fur ter notice it. Nor, sir.”
She held her peace until she and Mis’ Nancy had returned to Kingsmill.
Then when her mistress and young Mars’ Jeems were together again, in the
library at home, she told them, with hilarious freedom, the story of her
midnight adventure.
“I been bustin’ ter tell Mis’ Nancy ’bout it, but I holt it in ontwel I
got back here, so you mought hear ’bout it, likewise, young marster. It
beat anything dat uver I see in my trabels, an’ I’m gwine on some years.
“Young Mars’ Jeems, you knows I ain’t mix much wid no outside folks,
’scusin’ dese here on dis plantation sence de s’rrender; an’ when I went
over yondah wid Mis’ Nancy I warn’t adzackly sho’ how dem new-issue town
niggers was gwineter git along wid me. I warn’t dar mo’n a day ’fo’ I
diskiver dat dey done size me up fo’ what dey call ‘a white folks’
nigger.’ Dey was pow’ful perlite, an’ dey ax me ter church, which I
didn’ go; but dey kinder friz’ me. Dey nuver ’sociated wid me like I was
one uv ’em. But what beat dat was dey didn’ appear ter ’sociate wid dey
white folks none, nuther; an’ I sez ter myse’f, when niggers stop
’sociatin’ wid dey white ladies an’ gennulmens it’s good-by, niggers. I
et wid ’em an’ talk ter ’em; an’ it ’peared ter me like harf de cullud
folks in dat town come ter dat kitchen endurin’ o’ de time we was dar.
Den ter clap de climax, I see ’em swarmin’ in by de side lane ter de
back o’ de house, whar de kitchen was, de day befo’ we come away,
fetchin’ bun’les an’ barskets an’ buckets; but I cudden fine out what it
was dey was fetchin’ in ’em. ’Way late in de night de house begin ter
rock an’ swing an’ sway, like ’twas gwine ter wake up ev’vybody in it;
an’ I heerd a fiddle dat soun’ ter me like it was ’bout a mile down in
de groun’. I crope down de sta’rs, an’ look thoo de winder dey got over
de kitchen do’, an’ den I seed what was gwine on. Dat dine’-room gal,
Immygen, dat was de cook’s daughter, she had done got married early in
de night, an’ de whole cong’egation--preacher, elders, deacons, an’ all
uv ’em--had come ter de infare. Thoo de winder I could see a table in de
fur cornder o’ de room, wid hams an’ turkeys an’ cakes an’ pies piled up
on it a foot high; an’ out in front o’ de table sot a little darky on a
stool wid a fiddle. He was a’ orful little-bitty nigger wid a’ orful
little-bitty fiddle, playin’ a’ orful little-bitty chune; but, bless
Gord, young Mars’ Jeems, he was sho’ nuf a-playin’ dat chune. It was
‘Git yo’ pardners, fus’ kwattilion,’ but ef he called any figgers while
he was a-fiddlin’ I cudden hear him call ’em. Dem culluds was so full o’
de music o’ dat little fiddle dey didn’ ’pear ter need ter have no
figgers called fur ’em. Dey look’ like dey jes’ knowed ’em all anyhow.
Dar dey was, de whole kit’n’bile uv ’em, out in de middle o’ de flo’,
sasshayin’ back’ards an’ forruds, an’ crossin’ over an’ swingin’
pardners, an’ evvy nigger man an’ ’oman in de comp’ny darncin’ in dey
sock-feets. Dat’s de Gord’s trufe, young Mars’ Jeems. I lay, dey ain’t
nothin’ like it uver been seed dis side o’ dem mountains. I been ter
many a infare an’ darnce in my day at Ole Town, an’ roun’ about dis here
countryside; an’ I been hear ’em ‘ha-ha!’ an’ larf an’ raise a racket
ter ’sturb de neighborhood fur a mile. But ’fo’ Gord, sir, it was de
fus’ time dat uver I see sich a party, down in a cellar-kitchen, wid
evvy black nigger dar a-darncin’ like he was gwi’ break his neck in his
sock-feets, an’ n’ary one uv ’em makin’ a soun’. But dey was havin’ fun
all de same. De parson, he had on white yarn socks, an’ a long-tail
coat, an’ de coat-tails an’ de socks was a-keepin’ time ter de teeny
little-bitty chune on de teeny little-bitty fiddle. He holt one big
han’, wid a brass ring on it, over his mouf, ter keep f’om larfin’ out
loud, an’ he swing de young wimmen wid de t’other han’. De bride, she
had on red stockin’-feets an’ a short white skirt; an’ when de parson
hit de cornders wid her dar was sich a flyin’ o’ skirts an’ coat-tails
as showed up mo’ red legs dan we sees down here, ur de law allows. An’
all de time de darncin’ was gwine on, wid de men an’ de gells a-stuffin’
dey pocket-hanchkers in dey moufs an’ holdin’ dey han’s up ter dey faces
fer ter keep quiet, dat house was a-rockin’ an’ a-swayin’ an’
a-rampagin’ in a way ter wake de dead. Den dey stop de kwattilion, and
de teeny-bitty nigger tetched up de Ole Ferginyeh Reel on his
teeny-bitty fiddle. He made dat fiddle talk, mun, eben ef it was
a-whisperin’ ter itse’f; an’ I got ter kind o’ thinkin’ ’bout de times
I useter have at dem darnces, mighty nigh a hunnerd years ago, when Mis’
fus’ tuk me f’om Ole Town, ’twell it seem ter me like I wanted ter git
in dat room, wid dem niggers, an’ go down de middle wid de black parson
in de white yarn sock-feets myse’f. I ain’t nuver seed so many diffunt
cullud socks ez I seed at dat infare. Gord knows what dey all done wid
dey shoes; but dey warn’t a livin’ sinner in de gang dat had on eben so
much as a slipper, ’scusin’ one o’ de young deacons dat had tuk supper
dar a few nights befo’. I reck’n he must ’a’ been skeered dat de white
folks mought come down f’om up-sta’rs an’ raid ’em; an’ dat’s howcome he
had his p’yar o’ number ’leben brogans tied together an’ hung roun’ his
neck, like a string o’ beads. An’ it ’peared ter me like dat deacon wid
de big brogans was shovin’ de hefties’ foot in de whole cong’egation.
Lord, he could darnce!
“I watched ’em dar fur a little while, an’ den I crope back up-sta’rs
ter bed. I didn’ wait ter see ’em git onter dat table o’ perwisions; but
dey must ’a’ done dat as silent as dey done de darncin’. When I went
down ter bre’kfus de nex’ mornin’ dey wa’n’t no sign o’ used plate ur
dish in de room. Ev’vything was jes’ ez spick an’ span as it was de
mornin’ befo’, an’ Patsey dat dey call Miz’ Nellins, she sot dar an’
po’ed out my coffee jes’ as calm as ef she nuver had heerd ur drempt o’
no infare.
“‘Was anything importan’ gwine on lars’ night?’ sez I ter Patsey.
“She holp herse’f ter a big plate o’ baddy-bread an’ harf uv a fried
roe-herrin’, an’ she looks me in de face as cool as de middle inside
seed uv any cowcumber you uver see.
“‘Nor’m,’ she sez, ’nuthin’ ’t’all, ’scusin’ my daughter Immygen, she
got married ter Mr. Paul at de Ebenezer Baptis’ at nine P.M. lars’
night,’ she sez.
“‘Oh, did she?’ I sez. ‘I think I heerd sump’n’ ’bout it up-sta’rs, f’om
dis young gell here dat’s a stranger o’ mine,’ I sez, lookin’ at ‘Mandy
dat waited on de breakfas’ in de dine’-room. ‘I b’lieve she did menshun
it.’
“‘Yas ’m,’ sez Miz’ Nellins, a-chawin’ away on de baddy-bread an’ de
roe-herrin’, ’dey all sez it was a reel swell weddin’.’
“‘An’ did de bride an’ groom leave on de night train?’ sez I perlitely.
“‘Dey lef’ on a’ early train,’ sez Miz’ Nellins, de ole hippycrit.
“Young Mars’ Jeems, I done had enough o’ dem town niggers. Dey ain’t
like we-all is.”
“I think the trip helped you as well as your Mis’ Nancy, Mirandy,” said
young Mars’ Jeems, fingering his thin imperial. “Kind o’ cheered you up,
didn’t it?”
“It sho’ holp Mis’ Nancy,” replied Ommirandy, chuckling and regarding
her mistress with an affectionate expression on her rugged face. “Yas,
sir. De mount’in air sho’ holp her.”
Then she said:
“Young Mars’ Jeems, is you been notice whether dem guinny-hens is done
been back ter dat nes’ an’ laid any mo’ eggs dar since dat little fool
Tibe meddle wid ’em?”