THE FOURTH OF JULY.
"The glorious Fourth" was always a holiday on every Southern plantation,
and, of course, Major Waldron's was no exception to the rule. His
negroes not only had holiday, but a barbecue, and it was a day of
general mirth and festivity.
On this particular "Fourth" the barbecue was to be on the banks of the
creek formed by the back-waters of the river, and was to be a "fish-fry"
as well as a barbecue.
All hands on the plantation were up by daylight, and preparing for the
frolic. Some of the negro men, indeed, had been down to the creek all
night setting out their fish-baskets and getting the "pit" ready for the
meats. The pit was a large hole, in which a fire was kindled to roast
the animals, which were suspended over it; and they must commence the
barbecuing very early in the morning, in order to get everything ready
by dinner-time. The children were as much excited over it as the negroes
were, and Mammy could hardly keep them still enough to dress them, they
were so eager to be off. Major and Mrs. Waldron were to go in the light
carriage, but the little folks were to go with Mammy and Aunt Milly in
the spring-wagon, along with the baskets of provisions for the "white
folks' tables;" the bread and vegetables and cakes and pastry for the
negroes' tables had been sent off in a large wagon, and were at the
place for the barbecue long before the white family started from home.
The negroes, too, had all gone. Those who were not able to walk had gone
in wagons, but most of them had walked, for it was only about three
miles from the house.
Despite all their efforts to hurry up Mammy, it was nearly nine o'clock
before the children could get her off; and even then she didn't want to
let Cherubim and Seraphim go, and Uncle Snake-bit Bob, who was driving
the wagon, had to add his entreaties to those of the little folks before
she would consent at all; and after that matter had been decided, and
the baskets all packed in, and the children all comfortably seated, and
Dilsey and Chris and Riar squeezed into the back of the wagon between
the ice-cream freezer and the lemonade buckets, and Cherubim and
Seraphim in the children's laps, and Mammy and Aunt Milly on two
split-bottomed chairs, just back of the driver's seat, and Uncle
Snake-bit Bob, with the reins in his hands, just ready to drive
off--whom should they see but Old Daddy Jake coming down the avenue, and
waving his hat for them to wait for him.
"Dar now!" said Mammy; "de folks done gone an' lef Ole Daddy, an' we
got ter stuff 'im in hyear somewhar."
"They ain't no room in hyear," said Dumps, tightening her grasp on
Cherubim, for she strongly suspected that Mammy would insist on leaving
the puppies to make room for Daddy.
"Well, he ain't got ter be lef'," said Mammy; "I wuz allers larnt ter
'spect ole folks myse'f, an' ef'n dis wagin goes, why den Daddy Jake's
got ter go in it;" and, Major and Mrs. Waldron having gone, Mammy was
the next highest in command, and from her decision there was no appeal.
"How come yer ter git lef, Daddy?" asked Uncle Snake-bit Bob, as the old
man came up hobbling on his stick.
"Well, yer see, chile, I wuz er lightin' uv my pipe, an' er fixin' uv er
new stim in it, an' I nuber notus wen de wagins went off. Yer see I'm er
gittin' er little deef in deze ole yurs uv mine: dey ben er fasten't on
ter dis ole nigger's head er long time, uperds uv er hunderd years or
mo'; an' de time hez ben wen dey could hyear de leaves fall uv er
nights; but dey gittin' out'n fix somehow; dey ain't wuckin' like dey
oughter; an' dey jes sot up dar, an' let de wagins drive off, an' leave
de ole nigger er lightin' uv his pipe; an' wen I got thu, an' went ter
de do', den I hyeard er mighty stillness in de quarters, an', bless yer
heart, de folks wuz gone; an' I lookt up dis way, an' I seed de wagin
hyear, an' I 'lowed yer'd all gimme er lif' some way."
"Dem little niggers'll hatter stay at home," said Mammy, sharply, eying
the little darkies, "or else dey'll hatter walk, caze Daddy's got ter
come in dis wagin. Now, you git out, you little niggers."
At this, Dilsey and Chris and Riar began to unpack themselves, crying
bitterly the while, because they were afraid to walk by themselves, and
they knew they couldn't walk fast enough to keep up with the wagon; but
here Diddie came to the rescue, and persuaded Uncle Bob to go to the
stable and saddle Corbin, and all three of the little negroes mounted
him, and rode on behind the wagon, while Daddy Jake was comfortably
fixed in the space they had occupied; and now they were fairly off.
"Mammy, what does folks have Fourf of Julys for?" asked Dumps, after a
little while.
"I dunno, honey," answered Mammy; "I hyearn 'em say hit wuz 'long o'
some fightin' or nuther wat de wite folks fit one time; but whedder dat
wuz de time wat Brer David fit Goliar or not, I dunno; I ain't hyeard
'em say 'bout dat: it mout er ben dat time, an' den ergin it mout er ben
de time wat Brer Samson kilt up de folks wid de jawbone. I ain't right
sho' _wat_ time hit wuz; but den I knows hit wuz some fightin' or
nuther."
"It was the 'Declination of Independence,'" said Diddie. "It's in the
little history; and it wasn't any fightin', it was a _writin'_; and
there's the picture of it in the book; and all the men are settin'
roun', and one of 'em is writin'."
"Yes, dat's jes wat I hyearn," said Uncle Bob. "I hyearn 'em say dat dey
had de fuss' Defemation uv Ondepen'ence on de fourf uv July, an' eber
sence den de folks ben er habin' holerday an' barbecues on dat day."
"What's er Defemation, Uncle Bob?" asked Dumps, who possessed an
inquiring mind.
"Well, I mos' furgits de zack meanin'," said the old man, scratching his
head; "hit's some kin' er writin', do, jes like Miss Diddie say; but,
let erlone dat, hit's in de squshionary, an' yer ma kin fin' hit fur
yer, an' 'splain de zack meanin' uv de word; but de Defemation uv
Ondepen'ence, hit happened on de fuss fourf uv July, an' hit happens
ev'y fourf uv July sence den; an' dat's 'cordin' ter my onderstandin' uv
hit," said Uncle Bob, whipping up his horses.
"What's dat, Brer Bob?" asked Daddy Jake; and as soon as Uncle Bob had
yelled at him Dumps's query and his answer to it, the old man said:
"Yer wrong, Brer Bob; I 'members well de fus' fourf uv July; hit wuz er
man, honey. Marse Fofer July wuz er _man_, an' de day wuz name atter
him. He wuz er pow'ful fightin' man; but den who it wuz he fit I mos'
furgot, hit's ben so long ergo; but I 'members, do, I wuz er right
smart slip uv er boy, an' I went wid my ole marster, yer pa's gran'pa,
to er big dinner wat dey had on de Jeems Riber, in ole Furginny; an' dat
day, sar, Marse Fofer July wuz dar; an' he made er big speech ter de
wite folks, caze I hyeard 'em clappin' uv dey han's. I nuber seed 'im,
but I hyeard he wuz dar, do, an' I knows he _wuz_ dar, caze I sho'ly
hyeard 'em clappin' uv dey han's; an', 'cordin' ter de way I 'members
bout'n it, dis is his birfday, wat de folks keeps plum till yet, caze
dey ain't no men nowerdays like Marse Fofer July. He wuz er gre't man,
an' he had sense, too; an' den, 'sides dat, he wuz some er de fus'
famblys in dem days. Wy, his folks usen ter visit our wite folks. I helt
his horse fur 'im de many er time; an', let erlone dat, I knowed some uv
his niggers; but den dat's ben er long time ergo."
"But what was he writin' about, Daddy?" asked Diddie, who remembered the
picture too well to give up the "writing part."
"He wuz jes signin' some kin' er deeds or sump'n," said Daddy. "I dunno
wat he wuz writin' erbout; but den he wuz er man, caze he lived in my
recommembrunce, an' I done seed 'im myse'f."
That settled the whole matter, though Diddie was not entirely satisfied;
but, as the wagon drove up to the creek bank just then, she was too much
interested in the barbecue to care very much for "Marse Fofer July."
The children all had their fishing-lines and hooks, and as soon as they
were on the ground started to find a good place to fish. Dilsey got some
bait from the negro boys, and baited the hooks; and it was a comical
sight to see all of the children, white and black, perched upon the
roots of trees or seated flat on the ground, watching intently their
hooks, which they kept bobbing up and down so fast that the fish must
have been very quick indeed to catch them.
They soon wearied of such dull sport, and began to set their wits to
work to know what to do next.
"Le's go 'possum-huntin'," suggested Dilsey.
"There ain't any 'possums in the daytime," said Diddie.
"Yes dey is, Miss Diddie, lots uv 'em; folks jes goes at night fur ter
save time. I knows how ter hunt fur 'possums; I kin tree 'em jes same ez
er dog."
And the children, delighted at the novelty of the thing, all started off
"'possum-hunting," for Mammy was helping unpack the dinner-baskets, and
was not watching them just then. They wandered off some distance,
climbing over logs and falling into mud-puddles, for they all had their
heads thrown back and their faces turned up to the trees, looking for
the 'possums, and thereby missed seeing the impediments in the way.
At length Dilsey called out, "Hyear he is! Hyear de 'possum!" and they
all came to a dead halt under a large oak-tree, which Dilsey and Chris,
and even Diddie and Dumps, I regret to say, prepared to climb. But the
climbing consisted mostly in active and fruitless endeavors to make a
start, for Dilsey was the only one of the party who got as much as three
feet from the ground; but _she_ actually did climb up until she reached
the first limb, and then crawled along it until she got near enough to
shake off the 'possum, which proved to be a big chunk of wood that had
lodged up there from a falling branch, probably; and when Dilsey shook
the limb it fell down right upon Riar's upturned face, and made her nose
bleed.
"Wat you doin', you nigger you?" demanded Riar, angrily, as she wiped
the blood from her face. "I dar' yer ter come down out'n dat tree, an'
I'll beat de life out'n yer; I'll larn yer who ter be shakin' chunks
on."
"In vain did Dilsey apologize, and say she thought it was a "'possum;"
Riar would listen to no excuse; and as soon as Dilsey reached the ground
they had a rough-and-tumble fight, in which both parties got
considerably worsted in the way of losing valuable hair, and of having
their eyes filled with dirt and their clean dresses all muddied; but Tot
was so much afraid Riar, her little nurse and maid, would get hurt that
she screamed and cried, and refused to be comforted until the combatants
suspended active hostilities, though they kept up quarrelling for some
time, even after they had recommenced their search for 'possums.
"Dilsey don't know how to tree no 'possums," said Riar, contemptuously,
after they had walked for some time, and anxiously looked up into every
tree they passed.
"Yes I kin," retorted Dilsey; "I kin tree 'em jes ez same ez er dog,
ef'n dar's any 'possums fur ter tree; but I can't _make_ 'possums, do;
an' ef dey ain't no 'possums, den I can't tree 'em, dat's all."
"Maybe they don't come out on the Fourf uv July," said Dumps. "Maybe
'possums keeps it same as peoples."
"Now, maybe dey duz," said Dilsey, who was glad to have some excuse for
her profitless 'possum-hunting; and the children, being fairly tired
out, started back to the creek bank, when they came upon Uncle Snake-bit
Bob, wandering through the woods, and looking intently on the ground.
"What are you looking for, Uncle Bob?" asked Diddie.
"Des er few buckeyes, honey," answered the old man.
"What you goin' ter do with 'em?" asked Dumps, as the little girls
joined him in his search.
"Well, I don't want ter die no drunkard, myse'f," said Uncle Bob, whose
besetting sin was love of whiskey.
"Does buckeyes keep folks from dying drunkards?" asked Dumps.
"Dat's wat dey sez; an' I 'lowed I'd lay me in er few, caze I've allers
hyearn dat dem folks wat totes a buckeye in dey lef britches pocket,
an' den ernudder in de right-han' coat pocket, dat dey ain't gwine die
no drunkards."
"But if they would stop drinkin' whiskey they wouldn't die drunkards
anyhow, would they, Uncle Bob?"
"Well, I dunno, honey; yer pinnin' de ole nigger mighty close; de
whiskey mout hab sump'n ter do wid it; I ain't sputin' dat--but wat I
stan's on is dis: dem folks wat I seed die drunk, dey nuber had no
buckeyes in dey pockets; caze I 'members dat oberseer wat Marse Brunson
had, he died wid delirums treums, an' he runned, he did, fur ter git
'way fum de things wat he seed atter him; an' he jumped into de riber,
an' he got drownded; an' I wuz dar wen dey pulled 'im out; an' I sez ter
Brer John Small, who wuz er standin' dar, sez I, now I lay yer he ain't
got no buckeyes in his pockets; and wid dat me 'n Brer John we tuck'n
turnt his pockets wrong side outerds; an', less yer soul, chile, hit wuz
jes like I say; DAR WA'N'T NO BUCKEYES DAR! Well, I'd b'lieved in de ole
sayin' befo', but dat jes kinter sot me on it fas'er 'n eber; an' I
don't cyare wat de wedder is, nor wat de hurry is; hit may rain an' hit
may shine, an' de time may be er pressin', but ole Bob he don't stir
out'n his house mornin's 'cep'n he's got buckeyes in his pockets. But I
seed 'em gittin' ready fur dinner as I comed erlong, an' you chil'en
better be er gittin' toerds de table."
That was enough for the little folks, and they hurried back to the
creek. The table was formed by driving posts into the ground, and laying
planks across them, and had been fixed up the day before by some of the
men. The dinner was excellent--barbecued mutton and shote and lamb and
squirrels, and very fine "gumbo," and plenty of vegetables and
watermelons and fruits, and fresh fish which the negroes had caught in
the seine, for none of the anglers had been successful.
Everybody was hungry, for they had had very early breakfast, and,
besides, it had been a fatiguing day, for most of the negroes had walked
the three miles, and then had danced and played games nearly all the
morning, and so they were ready for dinner. And everybody seemed very
happy and gay except Mammy; she had been so upset at the children's torn
dresses and dirty faces that she could not regain her good-humor all at
once; and then, too, Dumps had lost her sun-bonnet, and there were some
unmistakable freckles across her little nose, and so Mammy looked very
cross, and grumbled a good deal, though her appetite seemed good, and
she did full justice to the barbecue.
Now Mammy had some peculiar ideas of her own as to the right and proper
way for ladies to conduct themselves, and one of her theories was that
no _white lady_ should ever eat heartily in company; she might eat
between meals, if desired, or even go back after the meal was over and
satisfy her appetite; but to sit down with a party of ladies and
gentlemen and make a good "square" meal, Mammy considered very ungenteel
indeed. This idea she was always trying to impress upon the little
girls, so as to render them as ladylike as possible in the years to
come; and on this occasion, as there were quite a number of the families
from the adjacent plantations present, she was horrified to see Dumps
eating as heartily, and with as evident satisfaction, as if she had been
alone in the nursery at home. Diddie, too, had taken her second piece of
barbecued squirrel, and seemed to be enjoying it very much, when a shake
of Mammy's head reminded her of the impropriety of such a proceeding; so
she laid aside the squirrel, and minced delicately over some less
substantial food. The frowns and nods, however, were thrown away upon
Dumps; she ate of everything she wanted until she was fully satisfied,
and I grieve to say that her papa encouraged her in such unladylike
behavior by helping her liberally to whatever she asked for.
But after the dinner was over, and after the darkies had played and
danced until quite late, and after the ladies and gentlemen had had
several very interesting games of euchre and whist, and after the little
folks had wandered about as much as they pleased--swinging on
grape-vines and riding on "saplings," and playing "base" and "stealing
goods," and tiring themselves out generally--and after they had been
all duly stowed away in the spring-wagon and had started for home, then
Mammy began at Dumps about her unpardonable appetite.
"But I was hungry, Mammy," apologized the little girl.
"I don't cyar ef'n yer wuz," replied Mammy; "dat ain't no reason fur yer
furgittin' yer manners, an' stuffin' yerse'f right fo' all de gemmuns.
Miss Diddie dar, she burhavt like er little lady, jes kinter foolin' wid
her knife an' fork, an' nuber eatin nuffin' hardly; an' dar you wuz jes
er pilin' in shotes an' lams an' squ'ls, an' roas'n yurs, an' pickles
an' puddin's an' cakes an' watermillions, tell I wuz dat shame fur ter
call yer marster's darter!"
And poor little Dumps, now that the enormity of her sin was brought home
to her, and the articles eaten so carefully enumerated, began to feel
very much like a boa-constrictor, and the tears fell from her eyes as
Mammy continued:
"I done nust er heap er chil'en in my time, but I ain't nuber seed no
wite chile eat fo de gemmuns like you duz. It pyears like I can't nuber
larn you no manners, nohow."
"Let de chile erlone, Sis Rachel," interposed Uncle Bob; "she ain't no
grown lady, an' I seed marster he'p'n uv her plate hisse'f; she nuber
eat none too much, consid'n hit wuz de Fourf uv July."
"Didn't I eat no shotes an' lambs, Uncle Bob?" asked Dumps, wiping her
eyes.
[Illustration: "SWINGING ON GRAPE-VINES AND RIDING ON SAPLINGS."]
"I don't b'lieve yer did," said Uncle Bob. "I seed yer eat er squ'l or
two, an' er few fish, likely, an' dem, wid er sprinklin' uv roas'n yurs
an' cakes, wuz de mos' wat I seed yer eat."
"An' dat wuz too much," said Mammy, "right befo' de gemmuns."
But Dumps was comforted at Uncle Bob's moderate statement of the case,
and so Mammy's lecture lost much of its intended severity.
As they were driving through the grove before reaching the house it was
quite dark, and they heard an owl hooting in one of the trees.
"I see yer keep on sayin' yer sass," said Daddy Jake, addressing the
owl. "Ef'n I'd er done happen ter all you is 'bout'n hit, I'd let hit
erlone myse'f."
"What's he sayin'?" asked Diddie.
"Wy, don't yer hyear him, honey, er sayin,
"Who cooks fur you-oo-a?
Who cooks fur you-oo-a?
Ef you'll cook for my folks,
Den I'll cook fur y' all-l-lll?"
"Well, hit wuz 'long er dat very chune wat he los' his eyes, an' can't
see no mo' in de daytime; an' ef'n I wuz him, I'd let folks' cookin'
erlone."
"Can't you tell us about it, Daddy?" asked Dumps.
"I ain't got de time now," said the old man, "caze hyear's de wagin
almos' at de do'; an', let erlone dat, I ain't nuber hyeard 'twus good
luck ter be tellin' no tales on de Fourf uv July; but ef'n yer kin come
ter my cabin some ebenin' wen yer's er airin' uv yerse'fs, den I'll tell
yer jes wat I hyearn 'bout'n de owl, an' 'struck yer in er many er thing
wat yer don't know now."
And now the wagon stopped at the back gate, and the little girls and
Mammy and the little darkies got out, and Mammy made the children say
good-night to Daddy Jake and Uncle Bob, and they all went into the house
very tired and very sleepy, and very dirty, with their celebration of
"Marse Fofer July's burfday."