Daddy Mose had been counsellor, soothsayer, and leading exhorter to
the whole of the dusky population of Piney ever since the close of the
war. It was said that in emergencies the white people themselves could
not do without him; for the year that the worms were so bad in the
bolls even Colonel Preston had sent for Daddy Mose and had a private
consultation with him, and the result was that the Colonel’s was the
only cotton in the Bend that was worth picking in the fall. Then, on
another occasion, the old cherry-tree in the Colonel’s orchard, that
had never even blossomed before, had to be propped to keep it from
breaking with the fruit, the spring after Daddy Mose drove five rusty
nails into its heart and buried something tied up in a rag at its
roots.
But it was the rising generation, in his own country and in his own
house, that troubled Daddy Mose, and he leaned on his hoe and looked
with evident dissatisfaction at the little black figure pirouetting
defiantly before him.
“Don’ yo’ do hit, Solly—don’ yo’ do hit!”
“But Misser Lingum say he gimme er quarter, Daddy!”
“What good dat pitiful little quarter gwine do yo’ if yo’ kills er
black cat?” There was a withering contempt in the tone which made the
little imp squirm and twist uneasily.
“Er black cat es wuth es much es ernuther cat, if hit’s good fur er
quarter, Daddy!” grunted the imp, plucking up courage and making, a
circle in the dust with his great toe.
Daddy Mose hoed two or three turns vigorously, and then looked the
little imp straight in the face.
“Dat des lack dese free-born-sence-de-war niggers! Yo’ po’ little
mizerbul fool, does yo’ know who er black cat am?”
Solly winced. “He’s wuth er quarter, fur Misser Lingum at de sto’ he
’low he gimme one if I kills hit an’ fotch de cat ter him. He say he
done pay fur de killin’ er dat cat free times, but hit allus turns up
ergin.”
“’Cou’se hit gwine kim back; er black cat allus do,” said Daddy Mose.
“Hain’t no tree ebber sprouted er chunk dat’ll kill er black cat,
lessen you does hit nine times, an’ I lay yo’ gwine be powerful sorry
if you does hit den.”
“But I’se gwine hang him wid er rope!” retorted the imp, with a grin.
“Yo’ Sol’mun Hightower Dewberry!—Yo’ little black rapscallion!—Hain’t
got de fear er debil er man! What you’ Mammy been er doin’ dat she
hain’t larn yo’ better? Des er gwine out in de worl’ an’ er fetching in
bad luck lack de mud on you’ foots! I lay I larn yo’ how ter hang er
black cat—I larn yo’!”
There was a fruitless plunge and a wild yell, with very spicy
punctuations. Solly’s mother, from the tree where she was washing,
grunted her endorsement, and, his wrath being appeased and his audience
increased by two or three, for it was the noon hour, Daddy Mose took
his seat on the washbench and fanned himself with his hat.
“De free niggers is mighty big fools,” he mused, “des er flingin’ out
de sense er dey daddies and mammies es fas’ es dey put book larnin’ in;
an’ de chillen—de po’, impident free chillen!—dey hain’t lack white
folks, an’ dey hain’t lack de niggers uster was—dey des hain’t nuffin!”
There was hardly a unanimous endorsement of the assertion, but it was
accorded a respectful hearing, and the quiescent state of his listeners
and his “chaw er stingy green” at last rendered Daddy Mose pleasantly
reminiscent.
“Ebber telled yo’ all how ’Lish Stone fetched de ten-year bad luck on
hisse’f?” he queried, thoughtfully.
“No, yo’ hain’t ebber tole we all, Daddy Mose.”
“An’ he couldn’ git shet uv hit twel dey burn up de cabin an’ de
kivers?”
“Po’ creetur!—Um, um.”
“Yas, dey hatter burn up de cabin an’ de kivers,” repeated Daddy Mose,
reflectively.
“Tell erbout hit, Daddy—tell erbout hit!” came in chorus.
“Well,” said Daddy Mose, “hit were ’bout dis way: ’Lish Stone wa’n’t
much ’count no how, but he hab er mighty fine, peart ’oman, an’ dat how
come Daddy Mose ’member hit ter dis day.
“‘Lish hadn’ been pleasin’ er Ole Marse in de way he been er gwine, an’
Ole Marse gib him one mighty straight talk ’fore he put de oberseer’s
whup arter him, ’case one nigger is mighty hard on ernuther nigger,
bond er free—you knows dat—an’ Ole Marse’s oberseers was allus niggers.
“‘Lish he wa’n’t no survigrous nigger, an’ he feel mighty sorry now
’bout de way he berhave hisse’f, an’ Ole Marse gib him so many chances,
an’ he lack mighty well ter please Ole Marse now, an’ he mek hisse’f
anxious waitin’ fur de time.
“Well, Dinah an’ Marthy ’ten’ ter de dairy den, an’ bimeby dey gin out
dat some un des bardaciously stealin’ de cream off en de pans in de
spring-house ever’ night. Nobody know who hit were ner whar dey kim
fum, but hit go on, an’ dey git so bol’ dat dar wa’n’t hardly cream
ernough fur de Big House coffee, let ’lone fur churnin’ an’ things, an’
Ole Miss she say she gwine mek ’em set er watch, fur Dinah an’ Marthy
’spected some er de fiel’ han’s an’ tole tales on ’em.
“Dar was allus war ’twixt de house niggers an’ de fiel’ han’s, lack de
quality white folks an’ _po’ buckra_. Not dat Ole Marse would er let
’em fi’t—no, my Lord—’case we hatter be peaceable an’ Christiun ’roun’
Ole Marse. But de house niggers an’ de fiel’ han’s kinder swap words,
quiet lack, when dey passes, an’ when Ole Miss sont fur er little fiel’
nigger ter foller arter de chillen er ter swing de pea-fowl bresh ober
de table, um!—you think dat little nigger done gone up ter heaben!
“So dey sets er watch down by de spring-house door, an’ Pomp an’ Dave
do de watchin’. Pomp he were er mighty young un, an’ don’ know nuffin
but pickin’ down de row an’ er-shakin’ uv he foots arter he done; but
Dave he were er hard ole sinner, done cotch in ole age wid conviction,
an’ he tryin’ his bestest ter git ’ligion. He done sot on de mourners’
bench fur two weeks, an’ de ’stracted meetin’ mos’ ober; done been
prayed fur by ever’ ’zorter in de straw, er-groanin’ all de time lack
er ox er-dyin’, but hit ’pear lack he des couldn’ git hit.
“Well, ’bout dat time dey put Dave on de watch, an’ de brederin’
dey tell him dat dey gwine pray on des de same, an’ Brer Jonas, de
prophesyin’ ’zorter, he promise Dave dat if he wrastle mightily wid de
sperit, he gwine ter see er sign.
“So ever’ night dey watch, but ever’ night de cream done off de pans
lack hit were erfore, dough we knows dat Dave hain’t taken hit, ’case
if er nigger ebber gwine ter be hones’, hit would be unner hard
conviction lack dat Dave was er-wrastlin’ wid.
“Ole Miss she ain’ lack de way things is gwine on, an’ she ’low one day
dat we all was mighty po’ niggers, dat cain’t ketch sech er low-down
t’ief, an’ Dave he was so mizerbul an’ po’ly, ’case he’s feared de big
meetin’ close ’dout he gittin’ ’ligion, dat Brer Jonas he say fur Dave
ter leabe Pomp in de Quarters, so’s he kin wrastle erlone wid de sperit
down by de spring-house.
“When Brer Jonas gib dat out, Dave he see dat Ole Marse’s two boys,
Johnny an’ Jeems, es fine er pa’r er rascals es ebber toted er
stone-bruise, been lis’enin’ fru hit all, an’ he see ’em fetchin’ in
some green watermillions fum de garden ’dout yellin’ fur er nigger ter
kim an’ tote ’em in, but he were so mizerbul he don’ tek no notice.
“Hit were er mighty dark night de fust time dat Dave watch by hese’f,
an’ dough hit hain’t gwine rain, de heat light’nin’ streck er match
now an’ den, an’ hit mek hit ’pear lonesomer ter Dave; but dar hain’t
nuffin kin pester him, ’case he’s unner conviction, an’ he hain’t gwine
be erfeared if he see de sign, ’case, ’cordin’ ter Brer Jonas, hit
gwine ter be de sign er de promise, an’ if he des kin see hit, he sho’
gwine know he got ’ligion at las’.
“So Dave he sot on de steps an’ wait. Hit were er mighty solumn,
furgitable place whar de spring-house were, an’ bimeby de whup’-wills
’gin ter call ’way ober yander, an’ Dave he ’low ter hisse’f dey allus
do dat way ter mek lonesome folks feel mo’ lonesomer; den er frog in de
spring branch right ’longsider Dave opin he mouf an’ say sumpen mighty
short an’ den shet up, but hit mek dat Dave jump putty nigh outen he
skin.
“Dave sot an’ steddy an’ steddy ’bout he sins twel he see sumpen ’way
off yander lack er star, but Dave he hain’t skeered ertall, ’case he
been waitin’ all erlong fur de sign. Den he sees supen er-shinin’ lack
two stars, an’ den sumpen white riz up berhin’ ’em, an’ Dave he fall
ter stribin’ lack Brer Jonas tell him ’bout, an’ de two sumpens kim er
nigher.
“Dave he keep on stribin’, but he stribe wid one eye opin now, an’
de two sumpens an’ de white thing kim er nigh an’ er nigher. Den he
fall to stribin’ wid bofe eyes opin now, an’ opin wide, when one er de
ghostes fotch er groan, an’ de white fire kim outen he nose an’ mouf.
“Now Brer Jonas he say fur Dave ter ’spute wid de sign when he see
hit, dat he mout know hit were de true sign, but when Dave see dat
fire—de berry fire er de debil, he say after’ards, des er burnin’ on de
inside—he ain’ wait fur ter ’spute, but des tek ’em es dey looks, an’
light out fum dar an’ mek tracks. Dat fool nigger he shake lack he got
de agur de res’ er dat night, an’ when mornin’ kim he done got ’ligion
good an’ fas’—plum skeered inter hit—an’ Brer Jonas he ’low, sorter
private lack ’mongst de bredrin’, but mighty solumn, dough, dat hit
hain’t de fust time dat he see ’ligion kim outen er green watermillion.
Fur hit git out somers, ’case Marthy she say dat Ole Marse hab Johnny
an’ Jeems sont up ter his office one day, when she were dustin’ ’roun’,
an’ she ’low she hear Ole Marse say he hain’t gwine hab no sech
carryin’s on on his place, er-skeerin’ de niggers inter fits, an’ she
’low hones’ dat he whup ’em bofe, an’ I reckon he did hit, ’case Ole
Marse wa’n’t no han’ ter tek any foolishness.
“But dey ain’ git Dave back ter watch at de spring-house no mo’, an’ de
cream goes off de pans worser ’n ebber.
“Well, dat triflin’ ’Lish he been er-lis’enin’ ’roun’, an’ he wanter
pleasure Ole Miss, ’case he know she tell Ole Marse ’bout hit, an’
he ups an’ ’low dat he gwine watch at de spring-house, an’ cotch de
t’ief, an’ he struts ’roun’ mighty mannish ’bout hit.
“So ’Lish he taken Dave’s place on de watch, an’ lock de door er de
spring-house an’ gorm up de key-hole wid beeswax, but dat cream was
gone in de mornin’ des lack hit were erfore. Den ’Lish he ’low dat hit
hain’t man ner beast dat taken de cream, but sumpen dat’ll go fru de
door dout opinin’ uv hit; but he ’low he hain’t ’feared er nuffin.
“So he goes down ter de branch in de night-time (hit were de dark er de
moon), an’ gadder some _he fern seed_ an’ put ’em in he Sunday shoes
(fiel’ han’s don’ w’ar shoes ever’ day), an’ he taken de veil what he
were borned wid an’ put hit in he pocket, ’case if hit er sperit dat
hone fur de cream, ’Lish know dat he kin view hit now, fur de veil hit
work er charm so’s he kin see de ghostes good, an’ de sperits hain’t
gwine ter fly fum de foots what got de _he fern seed_ in de holler.
“Well, ’Lish he des sot an’ wait, an’ ever’thing plum cl’ar ter he eye,
an’ bimeby he sees er shinin’, an’ sumpen black kim er-sneakin’ an’
er-sneakin’, an’ hit slips right clost ter de door, an’ ’Lish he look
twel hit ’pear dat de eyes des pop plum outen he head, ’case dat black
cat des stan’ dar an’ wave he tail free times, den go right fru dat
door dat done shet an’ locked, des lack dar wa’n’t no door dar.”
“Den ’Lish he git clost up an’ put he year right ’gin de wall an’
hear de water tricklin’ in de trough, but he hear dat cat too, des
er-lappin’ de cream. He done fin’ de t’ief, but hit wa’n’t no rale cat
ertall, but de debil dat been er-gittin’ dat cream.
“Bimeby de cat git ernough an’ sneak out ergin, an’ look ’Lish plum in
de eyes an’ grin es he passes.
“In de mornin’ ’Lish he go up ter de Big House, an’ Ole Miss brag on
him fur bein’ smart ernough to fin’ de t’ief, an’ she say dat some un
gotter kill de black cat.
“Now, white folks ain’ lack niggers—I mean de ole-time niggers. Dey
hain’t got de ole ’he sense’ dat de niggers is got, an’ wid dey
book-larnin’ an’ dey fine clo’se an’ things, hit ’pear lack dey done
furgit what folks _kin_ do an’ what dey _cain’t_, ’case nobody kin do
des what dey pleases; fur dar’s sumpin des er little bit higher ’n
ever’body, dat got er rope on em, an’ dey gotter kim when dey feels
hit pull. But, howsomebber, I’se seen wid my own eyes de white folks
cuttin’ uv er baby’s finger-nails wid de scissors ’stead er bitin’ uv
’em off, lack ’spectable folks, des er makin’ er t’ief fur de jail ter
cotch, an’ er-laffin’ ’bout hit, too. Dey sees er rabbit cross de road
an’ nebber eben think ’bout makin’ uv er cross an’ spittin’ in hit.
Dey’ll look at de new moon ober de lef’ shoulder th’u’ de trees an’
nebber eben tek time ter say er pra’r back’ards; whilst dey puts on de
right shoe fust, an’ wonder what’s de matter wid dey business when hit
go wrong; an’ dey eben taken dese days ter cuttin’ winders in de house,
right whilst dey libin’ in hit an’ dey’s ’sprised when some er dey
folks dies soon, an’ dey calls hit de ’wuk er Prov’dence.’ White folks
sho’ is cuis.
“Well, ’Lish he know better; ’cordin’ ter de knowledgments er ever’
sensible nigger, he know hit, an’ he know dat stealin’ de cream was des
er trick er de debil an’ he sarchin’ fur er humin soul; but ’Lish so
proud ’counter Ole Miss praisin’ uv him dat he done turn fool, an’ he
promise Ole Miss dat he kill dat cat.
“He steddy ’bout hit powerful arter de proud cool off an’ he go ter de
cabin; but he done gib he promise ter Ole Miss, an’ he cain’t back out.
He know dar hain’t nuffin but er rope ’ll git yo’ shet uv er black cat,
leastways he’d er knowed hit if he’d er thunk; but he knowed de bad
luck hit ’ud fotch, so he ’low fur ter lay fur de cat an’ hit him wid
er chunk fust.
“So dat night de cat kim sho’ ’nough ergin, an’ es he crope clost by
’Lish, he nail him wid de chunk, an’ leabe him kickin’, an’ ’low ter
show him ter Ole Miss in de mornin’. But when de mornin’ kim dar wa’n’t
no cat dar, dead er ’live, an’ Ole Marse laff an’ say dat ’Lish been
er-dreamin’, but Ole Miss she git sorter mad an’ r’ar ’counter de tale
dat ’Lish tell dat he kill de cat.
“Well, ’Lish, he hain’t no skeery nigger, he gittin’ smart lack de
white folks; so next night he sets er dead-fall fur de cat, made outen
heaby timber, an’ he sees de trigger spring an’ de dead-fall drap,
’bang!’ plum on de cat, ’fore he leabe dar. But in de mornin’ dar
wa’n’t no cat ner dead-fall nuther dar, an’ de cream done gone ergin.
“De nex’ night but one ’Lish steddy an’ steddy, an’ set er steel trap
fur him. Now er steel trap’s er mighty good trap fur ever’ kin’ er
cat ’ceptin’ er black cat, an’ dat nigger ’Lish mout er knowed dat he
wastin’ he time, ’case er steel trap cain’t ebber hol ’er black cat;
but, anyhow, he sot de steel trap fur him, an’ arter hit snap an’ he
hear de cat yowl, he go off inter de cabin ter sleep. Me an’ Marthy an’
Dinah heard dat cat er yowlin’, too, but when mornin’ kim dar wa’n’t no
cat by de spring-house, an’ no cream nuther.
“Den Ole Miss she gib ’Lish er gun, an’ he tote de gun so proud dat de
fiel’ han’s des couldn’ speak ter him. Well, night kim at las’, an’ wid
hit kim de cat, an’ he look at ’Lish an’ grin des er darin’ uv him ter
shoot him, ’case he see he got de gun. But de fool nigger ain’ see dat,
an’ he tek aim at de shinin’ green eyes an’ fire, ’bang!’ an’ ober went
de cat an’ ober go ’Lish, ’case de gun done kick him bad. Well, dar
sot ’Lish, an’ dar sot de cat er-grinnin’ an’ wid his eyes er-shinin’
des er-waitin’ fur ’Lish ter shoot ergin. Den de debil tech him wid de
fire uv he sperit, an’ ’Lish git blin’ mad, an’ he pull de trigger, an’
dis time he git him, fur de cat keel ober an’ ’pear ter die, an’ ’Lish
taken him by de tail an’ fling him in de bayou.
“In de mornin’ dar was blood all ’bout de spring-house door, but Ole
Miss she sho’ r’ar dat day, ’case not on’y de cream on top was gone but
half de milk in de pans, an’ Ole Miss ’low some mighty hard things.
“Hit pester ’Lish mightily, ’case he done ’memb’rin’ what he Mammy
larn him mighty fas’, but Ole Miss she got her dander up now, an’
she say she hain’t gwine ter stan’ all dis foolishness des ’bout de
killin’ uv er little black cat, an’ ’Lish, he were sech er big plum
fool nigger, he gwine ter gib up he knowledgments des fur de pleasurin’
uv Ole Miss. But if he think bad luck gwine skip anybody dat hunt fur
hit wid bofe eyes opin he reckon mighty po’ ’bout luck. So he p’intedly
wrastled wid hit, twel he ’low ter hisse’f dat he allus been lucky an’
allus gwine ter be, an’ den he des gits down ter business, an’ greases
a rope fur ter mek hit slick, an’ hides hit unbeknownst in de cabin ter
wait fur night, ’case he know de niggers be all plum ergin him if dey
know he gwine hang er black cat.
“Late in de ebenin’ he go whistlin’ down ter de spring-house, arter
Dinah an’ Marthy done put erway de milk, an’ he ben’ down er limb uv er
little hick’ry saplin’ an’ cut hit twel he git er swingin’ fork fur ter
noose de rope in.
“I’se heared ’Lish tell erbout hit many’s de time. Well, he ’low dat
es he work sumpen des ’pear ter git inter him, an’ he whistle an’
whistle, an’ den he couldn’t keep his ole feets still, but des lit
inter dancing in front er de spring-house lack mad, an’ all de time,
unbeknownst, dat black cat des er-watchin’ uv him up er tree.
“Bimeby he des hatter set down, ’case he done danced all de bref outen
him, an’ he feels mighty cuis, ’case es he set dar in de dark hit ’pear
lack all he ebber done—all de little good, an’ all de whole heap er low
down, sneakin’ things dat he done furgit erbout—kim er-swimmin’ erfore
his eyes, des ter mek him tek notice uv ’em. Hit were er warnin’, sho’,
’case hit were de _sperit_ er ’Lish, prophesyin’ ter de po’ weak flesh
er de _man_ ’Lish, but de man ’Lish cain’t unnerstan’ what de sperit
’Lish mean, an’ hit mek him plum mizerbul.
“But arter while de cat kim er-sneakin’ erlong, wid he eyes des
er-shinin’ white an’ red an’ green, lack de fox-fire in de swamp. When
he sees ’Lish, he quoil he tail keerful lack an’ sot down an’ look
at him erwhile, an’ he look an’ look, so knowin’, twel hit mek de
goose bumps fa’r riz up on ’Lish’s back; den he git tired er settin’,
an’ whisk dat ole long tail er his’n at ’Lish an’ go on inter de
spring-house, des er darin’ ’Lish ter foller.
“Den ’Lish ’pear ter git sorter flustered, ’case he done furgit ter
work de charm ’gin de debil, but go right inter de spring-house an’
cornder de cat an’ fling de greased rope ober he head. De cat he ’ain’
show no fight now, but des grin an’ sink he ole long white teef plum
inter ’Lish’s han’, but dar hain’t no blood drawed, ’case black cat
nebber draws blood, but des sink p’is’n deep down on de eends er dey
teef. ’Lish think ’bout dat, an’ he feared ter put he han’ in he mouf
fur ter suck de p’is’n outen hit; but he know he in fur hit now, an’ so
he draw dat noose tighter an’ tighter.
“Now er black cat won’t holler when yo’ hangs him, if hit er rale black
cat, ’case hit’s mostly de debil dat is er-w’arin’ uv er black cat’s
skin when he wanter ’do erbout,’ ’case he know no hones’-minded pusson
is gwine ter dribe erway er cat. So de debil he set by de warm hearth,
in de skin er de black cat, an’ purr an’ purr, an’ hear all de secrets
er de fambly, an’ things dat passes twixt man an’ man an’ man an’ wife,
’dout anybody tekin’ notice; an’ dat how things go singin’ roun’ an’
dar hain’t nobody tole ’em.
“But dar’s one thing dat yo’ kin put in yo’ pipe an’ smoke; we’s all
got our match somers, dar’s sumpen gwine ter ketch up wid de fastes’,
an’ dat why de black cat ’ain’ show no fight ’gin er rope.
“Well, ’Lish he tightens de noose an’ fling de eend er de rope ober de
swingin’ fork, an’ tie hit dar, an’ sot an’ wait. De cat he grin an’
grin at ’Lish; he kin see de teef by de light er de eyes dat des shoot
sparks, an’ hit ’pear lack dem eyes des charm ’Lish lack er snake, fur
his’n plum sot on de cat’s, an’ he cain’t tek ’em off.
“Den sumpen happin dat mek ’Lish’s blood fa’r rin cole an’ he hair ter
stan’ right up an’ straighten out, es kinky es hit were; fur ’Lish he
hear er voice ’hine de cat somers, an’ he know hit were de cat, dough
de ole cat’s tongue was des er hangin’ out. Den hit ’pear lack dar were
two cats, den free cats, den de air hit ’pear ter be plum full er cats,
an’ dey all opin dey moufs an’ says de same thing all at de same time;
’Lish say hit were des lack thunder. He hain’t nebber, nebber tole what
de cats gib out—he allus shiver an’ ’low he cain’t, so we all hain’t
ebber know. But all dis time de hung cat was des er-grinnin’ at ’Lish.
“Dat cat sho’ dead dis time—dar wa’n’t no ’sputin’ ’bout dat, dough dat
wa’n’t no sign dat de debil done gone back ter his own. But arter de
air git cl’ar fum de odder cats, ’Lish taken de hung cat down an’ hide
de rope in de bayou, ’case he don’ want de niggers ter know he hang er
black cat, an’ es he lock de door, he know de cream done safe now, an’
dar hain’t nuffin gwine ter pester hit no mo’.
“Ole Miss mek mighty much er ’Lish, an’ Ole Marse brags on him, but it
don’ ’pear ter do ’Lish much good; fur we cain’t hide nuffin fum de
truf, an’ what er nigger do wrong in de dark, gwine ter be onkivered in
de daylight, an’ hit hain’t gwin ter be er cloudy day, sho’s yo’ born.
Er sin is one er de bes’ keepin’ things on dis here yeth; hit hain’t er
gwine ter spile in de keepin’, an’ when dey onkiver hit, hit ’ll be des
es safe an’ soun’ de day arter de Jedgment es you kin fin’ hit ter-day;
an’ dat nigger he know he ’mittin’ er sin ’gin de ’ligion er he Mammy
when he kill dat cat.
“But de bad luck dat he hunted fur kim on him putty fas’ arter dat; fur
de day lackin’ one arter he hang de cat, er muel he were ridin’ ter de
fiel’—er ole, slow, jog-trottin’, sleepy muel—git de debil in her an’
frow him an’ break he leg.
“Den he taken wid de browncreeturs in he thote ’fore he git fru dat,
an’ hab er powerful hard time. Ole Miss think he gwinter die, but de
debil hain’t gwinter let him die, he gwinter mek him mo’ painful
yit. Den he taken wid de arysipulous in de lame leg, an’ some call
hit scrofulow an’ some call hit des arysipulous; but, anyhow, he seed
sights wid hit, dough Ole Miss doctors on him so hard dat he git shet
uv hit.
“Den de new wife she leabe him, ’case when he able ter set up she pick
hit outen him dat he kill de black cat des ter pleasure Ole Miss, an’
Keziah don’ want de bad luck, ’case hit de ten-year luck, an’ de Lord
on’y know whar hit gwinter stop. An’ las’ly ’Lish were taken wid de
miz’ry in de chist. Well, dat las’ pester Ole Miss mightily, an’ she do
what she kin fur bofe de ailments. She try ter git dat gal ter go back
ter ’Lish—she try ter ’suade her an’ ter buy her, an’ she mek plarsters
fur ’Lish’s chist all de time ’dout doin’ any good—fur dat Keziah she
lub good luck better ’n she lub ’Lish, an’ de plarsters uv er good
’oman lack Ole Miss cain’t work ’gin de debil.
“Well, twixt all de things dat ’Lish is got an’ ain’ got, he w’ar so
po’ly dat he git rale ashy, an’ hit ’pear lack de skin des sticks ter
de bones, an’ he set by hisse’f, ’case he hain’t stout ernough ter work
none now, an’ talk ter somebody we cain’t see, all de time. He ’low hit
follers uv him, an’ set down by him when he goes ter sleep uv nights,
an’ ain’ let him git shet uv hit er minute.
“Ole Miss she git de fambly doctor now ter come an’ physic on ’Lish,
fur she hear de singin’ ’roun’ ’mongst de niggers, an’ she know what
dey think, an’ she feel ’sponsible.
“But hit ’pear lack de doctor mek ’Lish worser, an’ Ole Miss she ’low
she ain’ know what ter do.
“Den ’Lish he w’ar so low dat Abe, what were de carpenter, he gib out
dat he gwine mek er coffin fur ’Lish, so’s ter be ready fur him when he
die, an’ Ole Miss she feel mighty bad, ’case she ’member now de tales
her black Mammy usen ter tole her when she were little. Fur er white
chile ain’ ebber gwine ter furgit ’em if dey lis’ens ter ’em right an’
dey got er good black Mammy.
“So when Ole Miss an’ de white folks’ doctor des plum gib hit up, Unc’
Cæsar he limp up ter de Big House, wid his white head bare, an’ ax Ole
Miss mout he work on ’Lish.
“Ole Miss know Unc’ Cæsar ’sponsible’ an’ she say he mout, an’ he limp
off inter he cabin ’dout sayin’ er word, eben ter Ole Miss, an’ shot to
de door, an’ button hit on de inside.
“Er mighty cuis smoke kim outen Unc’ Cæsar’s chimbly dat ebenin’, an’
all de niggers say he fixin’ sumpen; but we ain’ know what, ’case Unc’
Cæsar were er hoodoo an’ work wid charms. But he go inter ’Lish cabin,
an’ shot de door to an’ button hit on de inside, an’ do sumpen ter
’Lish.
“Dat night he taken ’Lish an’ set him in er cheer outside de cabin,
an’ ’Lish fetch his kivers outside, ’case he ain’ know what Unc’ Cæsar
gwine do.
“Unc’ Cæsar ain’ say er word, but he taken er live chunk fum de hearth
an’ sot fire ter de cabin, an’ es she blaze up high he mek passes wid
his long arms an’ say sumpen low, mumblin’ lack. Den when de blaze ’gin
ter die down he taken ’Lish’s kivers an’ flings’ em on, an’ es de fire
clomb high ergin he snatch ever’ rag dat ’Lish got on him an’ flings
’em on, an’ swing he long arms ober he head; den, des es de flames lick
de highes’, he taken de rope dat he mek ’Lish creep down ter de bayou
ter fin’ an’ fling hit on, an’ dar were er power er quare-lookin’ smoke
in de Quarters, an’ all de niggers kim er runnin’ an’ b’ar witness.
“Den ’Lish, des es naked as er new-borned baby, fall down an’ foam an’
foam at de mouf, but Unc’ Cæsar won’ let nobody tech him.
“Dey all stan’ an’ wait, des er hol’in’ dey brefs ter see what gwine
happin, an’ bimeby de blaze hit die an’ de smoke cl’ar ’way, an’ dar
wa’n’t nuffin lef’ but er little pile er ashes, an’ de niggers falls
ter whisperin’, ercusin’ Unc’ Cæsar fur burnin’ up po’ sick ’Lish’s
cabin an’ his kivers; when Unc’ Cæsar he p’int one long arm wid er
long, shakin’ finger, an’ say: ’Look!’—an’, bless goodness! right dar
in de middle er de pile er hot ashes dat des still er-smould’rin’, sot
de berry same ole black cat, des er-grinnin’ fitten ter bust.
“De niggers dey was skeered, an’ dey ain’ know what ter do, but dey
fotch one shout fur ’glory!’ an’ dat nigger ’Lish he fall ter prayin’
good, ’case he know dat de cuss er de debil was offen him now, an’ de
soul an’ de body was free.”
’LIZA
“Dar wa’n’t no tickler pusson nowhar ’n ’Liza’s Maw, Bithie,” said
Mammy, as she drew the basket of wool within reach and took up her
cards.
“Dar wa’n’t no ’tickler pusson ’n Bithie, slave time ner free; but de
way dat ’Liza git ’way wid her one time were er caution.
“‘Liza hain’t nebber been seed but oncet sence, nuther, an’ den hit
were only fur er minute, an’ she didn’ speak ter nobody, ner gib out
nuffin, but des look plum mizerbul an’ po’ly. Mus’ be mighty ole now,
if she’s libin’, which I ’specs she am, fur Unc’ ’Jah say dat bein’ de
way dat ’Liza git ter be by her own sinnin’, dey cain’t ebber die, much
es dey wanter, an’ I knows dat wharebber ’Liza am, dat she shore wanter
die,” added Mammy, mysteriously, as the long soft roll grew under her
manipulation. There was a chorus of questions from the quilters who
bent over the frame, but Mammy freed the roll and laid fresh wool
between her cards before she spoke again.
“A-a-h, lawsy!—dis ole worl’ hain’t no better ’n hit uster was, but I
don’ spec’ de Lord gwine let hit git no wusser—he des gwine min’ his
own bus’ness, an’ let hit clean hitself lack mos’ t’ings in natur’
does!”
“Tell us about ’Liza, Mammy!” came in chorus from the quilt.
“Well well—arter while,” said Mammy. “Wait twel de chillen git ter bed,
fur de tale er what ’Liza do, hain’t fitten fur de years er chillen,
es powerful knowin’ es dey is,” and Mammy sighed again, then worked in
silence, wrapped in deepest contemplation.
So the quilters told their own tales, merry and bright at first, but as
the evening wore away they were ghostly and more mysterious, until the
last row of shells in the frame were being rolled—then the quilt was
taken out, and cider and gingerbread was set upon the table.
Fresh wood was piled upon the smouldering back log, as the quilters
drew up to the fire with laden hands, and Mammy, waking from
her reverie, laid aside her cards and smoothed her apron down,
preparatory. There was always a great deal of ceremony about Mammy’s
preparations, for her art was not hackneyed by frequent repetition, and
this was the story she told to the quilters:
Bithie was the only child of Marse Dick’s ’Riah, and Bithie’s ’Liza,
a seventh daughter, was born with a veil, besides coming at a time
when Bithie had long ceased to look for any more children; so when
they brought her to Unc’ Caspar, who was a hoodoo and was given to
prophesying, Unc’ Caspar took her in his arms and looked long and
earnestly into her face.
Now most babies, even from the day of their birth, would have been awed
by the eye of Unc’ Caspar, for children can see the truth easier than
grown people; but as young as ’Liza was, she caught his long white
beard in her fists and crowed. Then Unc’ Caspar laid her down and shook
his head ominously at such early disrespect. Some were bold enough to
assert that he put a curse upon ’Liza, then and there; but certain it
is that Bithie took a chill while he spoke, for, instead of giving the
baby his blessing, Unc’ Caspar was fretting over the tweaking of his
beard.
“Dis chile,” he said, pointing with his long finger at the new moon
shining through the clearing, “am born fur powerful good er powerful
ebil—but I seed _dis_ fru de trees, an’ I’se feared uv her—I’se feared!”
Bithie was Ole Miss’s seamstress, and the seventh daughter was made
much of at the “Big House,” but Bithie was troubled about Unc’ Caspar’s
curse upon her child, and at night she lay awake thinking about
it—though ’Liza throve and grew strong, in spite of Bithie’s misgivings
and Unc’ Caspar’s curse, and was as likely a little pickaninny as Ole
Marse ever owned, and as Ole Miss told Bithie, when she had sobbed out
her tale of woe.
“But she got the beatenest temper, Ole Miss,” moaned Bithie, “an’ I
cain’t git de upper han’ uv her, whup her hard’s ebber I kin, twel I’se
plum wore out. Nebber seed sech er muel uv er nigger, an’, little es
she am, she see t’ings dat I hain’t see, in de light an’ in de dark,
an’ she hollers out an’ talk ter ’em, an’ hit mek my blood fa’r rin
cole—hit do, Ole Miss!”
“Hush! that’s all stuff and nonsense, Bithie!” said Ole Miss; “but
never mind the temper, it will all come right by-and-by.”
But it did not come right, according to Bithie’s standard; and when
’Liza was about a year old Bithie could stand it no longer, so she
consulted old Maumer, who dealt in charms and cungers, about the taking
away of Unc’ Caspar’s curse, for ’Liza had had a fit and frothed at
the mouth. Every one, even Ole Miss, said that it was ’Liza’s teeth;
but Bithie knew better, and on her knees she swore to barter to Maumer
everything of value that she possessed if Maumer would but work upon
the curse.
Then Maumer brewed a mysterious, greasy compound to rub on ’Liza’s
gums, and made a necklace of the small twigs of the prickly ash, and,
stringing an alligator’s tooth with it, she wound it around the child’s
neck three times.
’Liza had no more fits, but in spite of the charm her temper showed
no signs of mending, and Maumer, though she kept all of Bithie’s
treasures, gave up the case in despair.
“I cain’t wuk ’gin Unc’ Caspar,” she acknowledged, “fur he’s too
strong. Unc’ Caspar er powerful hoodoo, but I is, too, an’ I wuk an’ he
wuk, an’ de charm ole Maumer wuk des lock ho’ns wid his’n an’ stan’ dar
grinnin’ at one nudder. I cain’t tek hit off, but es long es I wuks,
Unc’ Caspar’s charm cain’t kill her; but you better let dat chile
’lone, Bithie, lessen you kin git Unc’ Caspar ter call back de cuss.”
So Bithie stifled her sorrow and tried to believe Ole Miss, and all
of her spare time she spent in making dainty clothes for her seventh
daughter, out of the things that Ole Miss had given her. The other six
might go ragged, half clothed, and dirty, as far as she was concerned,
but the child under the curse must be dressed like a “lady.”
The day that Ole Miss sent for ’Liza to come to the “Big House” was
an event in Bithie’s cabin, for none of Bithie’s children had been so
honored before, and ’Liza was now old enough to play with Ole Miss’s
little ones.
’Liza’s round, black face shone with all the polish that hot water and
soft-soap could give; her blue-checked pinafore was spotlessly neat,
and the tight “wraps” of woolly hair that latticed the little round
head actually bore a scarlet ribbon where they joined.
“Min’, ’Liza, dat you says ’Ma’am’ an’ ’Yas, Sar’ ter dem chillen, if
dey is littler ’n you, ’case dey’s you’ little marster and mistiss,”
said Bithie, bridling with importance.
But Bithie’s pride was short-lived, for ’Liza proved to be a marplot
among the children, and, after less than half an hour of service,
she was whisked away to the Quarters by Betty, the second nurse, who
“’clared ter gracious, dat I’d druther tame er rattler ’n tame Bithie’s
’Liza!”
With the pickaninnies it was the same; bolder with those of her own
color, there was always a wail when ’Liza was about, and at last old
Maumer boxed her ears and sent her away from the nursery, so, as little
as she was, there was nothing left for ’Liza but to go to the field.
There she brewed mischief afresh, and the threat and whip of the
overseer were as nothing to her, for toads and lizards would leap from
her sack when the cotton came to be weighed, and she kept the Quarters
always on the alert for some of her uglier pranks. It was even said
that the lash of the overseer upon her back produced no welt, but that
she laughed in his face while he sweated, for she was under a charm.
As the time passed, a comelier negro girl than ’Liza would have been
hard to find, and Bithie, proud, though mourning, lavished her little
all upon her; but her child was nobody’s friend, saving perhaps Unc’
Caspar’s and his son’s. To them alone she told her joys and her
sorrows, and Bithie looked aghast at the duckling she had hovered.
“Hit wouldn’ erbeen so bad,” she confided to Maumer, whose charm had
long ceased to even “lock horns” with Unc’ Caspar’s, “if she hadn’
er taken right ter dem what sot de cuss—an’—Unc’ Caspar des stan’ up
an’ ’nies de truf, an’ say he nebber sot er cuss, an’ ax my ole man
fur ’Liza fur his boy, ter probe hit,” said Bithie, with a sigh. “Do
sumpen, Maumer, fur de lub er Gord—do sumpen, fur I des es lief dat
’Liza ’d mairey wid de debil!”
“Hit were des dem words dat Bithie oughter et,” said Mammy, moving
closer to the fire; “she oughter bit her tongue out ’fore she let dat
loose, fur she sot de cuss er-gwine, an’ flung de bid ter de debil, an’
de debil tuk hit up, an’ now hit were hoodoo ’gin debil, an’ debil ’gin
hoodoo, an’ ’Liza were de bone!”
It was about the season, according to the thoughtful, that the devil
was loose upon the earth for his yearly recreation, and, what with love
affairs of white and black, and “misery charms” in the Quarters, he had
enough on the one plantation to have kept him leisurely working for six
months; but he was resolved to hasten matters, for there were other
pleasures awaiting him.
All this time Unc’ Caspar was asking for ’Liza for his boy; sometimes
threatening, sometimes pleading; so when the devil came and Unc’ Caspar
had “gotten out of his skin” more than once to oblige him, the hoodoo
made mention of the affair, and told also of the curse which Bithie
believed that he had set upon ’Liza.
This made the devil look about, and when he had seen ’Liza and Unc’
Caspar pressed him for a comment, he cleared his throat and said,
cautiously, “We’ll see about it.”
Just about that time, came the dance of the hoodoos at the dark of the
moon, and in the flare of the torches the devil and Unc’ Caspar stood
disguised, in the doorway of a cabin, and looked on; and as ’Liza led
the dance, with her face distorted with ecstatic passion and swaying
her body almost to the ground, Unc’ Caspar again pressed the devil for
a comment; but again the devil cleared his throat, and said, “We’ll
see.”
That night Unc’ Caspar dreamed a dream, and in it he saw the world
split in half, and his boy Amaziah stood with him on one side and the
devil and ’Liza on the other. There was a bottomless pit between, and
lo! in the dream, the devil’s eyes were fixed upon him, and the flame
burned into Unc’ Caspar’s sockets. Then Unc’ Caspar minded him of the
graveyard sand that he wore in his pocket, and, catching it up, he
threw it into the devil’s eyes, so that he was blinded and writhed with
pain.
Then Unc’ Caspar, in his dream, fixed his gaze on ’Liza, and drew her
with his eye; and, swinging her arms around her head three times, she
stooped and reaching across the pit, plucked three white hairs from
Unc’ Caspar’s beard; then, catching the long end of the beard with both
hands, she swung across to the other side and laid her hand upon his
arm. Amaziah looked, then howled three times, and loped away in the
form of a yellow dog.
Well, said Mammy, after the dream, Unc’ Caspar talked no more of the
wedding of ’Liza and Amaziah, but sat and rolled his white beard in his
palm and looked at ’Liza.
And Amaziah pressed his own suit, and urged Bithie to let him marry
’Liza; but Bithie was afraid to promise on account of Unc’ Caspar’s
curse and afraid not to promise, and grew so thin over thinking about
it at night that Ole Miss gave her a tonic of vinegar and rusty nails.
The dark of the moon again was near, and this was the time for shadowy
work; so Unc’ Caspar sat and plucked his beard, and, forgetful of his
duty to his son, dreamed that he had married ’Liza. All through the day
he dreamed, while the negroes were in the field, while they harrowed,
ploughed, and sowed, for Unc’ Caspar was manumitted and his time was
his own; and the devil, stirring the green water of the bayou, laughed
aloud that Unc’ Caspar had changed his mind.
But the passion grew and grew, and one dark night, when the wind in
the swamp-willows was still and there was scarce a ripple, even out to
the middle of the river, Unc’ Caspar took ’Liza down to the bank, and,
making a mist to rise, showed ’Liza, through the mist, the treasures of
the earth.
Up from the bed of the river rose a great white house, with its massive
pillars shadowy but true, and its white curtains swinging outward to
the mist.
Then around her form Unc’ Caspar wound a cloth of silk and pearls; and
on her ankles and wrists golden bands gleamed even through the dark
night and the mist; in her ears were the great gold rings of an African
princess, and round and round her neck Unc’ Caspar wound the beads
that shone like stars.
For a moment the hoodoo paused, that ’Liza might look well; then,
without breaking the silence, he stood behind the girl, waving for the
mystery to disappear, and the great white house slipped into the bed
of the river, the cloth of pearl and gold dropped away, the beads that
shone like stars faded, and there was only a broken fish-net around
’Liza’s shoulders and wisps of river reeds on her wrists. Through the
dark came the voice of the hoodoo:
“Ole Caspar rich—ole Caspar free—all dis gwine be yourn if yo’ des
mairey Caspar.”
But ’Liza shivered under the damp fish-net, and asked Unc’ Caspar to
give her time.
In the long night she alternately laughed and wept and wrung her hands.
“Which I gwine ter do? Which I gwine ter tek—de ole un er de young un?”
she cried.
“Dat,” said Mammy, “were de sperrits er good an’ ebil stribin’ in her,
but she nebber eben call de name er de Lord, so she needn’ ’spec’ no
he’p.”
The glitter of the gorgeous thing was still in ’Liza’s mind, but
through it all would rise the ugly, wrinkled face of Unc’ Caspar;
but Unc’ Caspar was rich—Unc’ Caspar had houses and gold. Then out
of the dark would leap the form of the young Amaziah, stretching his
great, strong arms towards her, even though the veil of the white beard
floated between them.
But by daybreak ’Liza had made up her mind, and Bithie, pale and ashen,
bound a plantain leaf to her own forehead and chanted a death song from
her cabin.
All day Ole Miss waited for Bithie, but Bithie had forgotten the world.
In vain old Maumer anointed her with salves to break the spell of
frenzy, still the death chant wailed from the cabin, and Bithie would
not be comforted.
* * * * *
The plantation thrilled with the news of ’Liza’s coming marriage to the
hoodoo, who was old enough to be her grandfather. The gossips wagged
it, and the old men smoked it in their pipes. Even the pickaninnies
drew it into their play, and sang, with a newly invented shuffle:
“Lawsy mussy, what ’Liza hab done,
Maired de ole man instid uv he son.”
And Unc’ Caspar, leaning on his stick, hastened ’Liza for the wedding,
and for bridal trickery bored the pearly shells of the river mussel
and strung them on his beard; and every night, to make ’Liza surer in
her mind, he would make the mist to rise and show her the treasures
that were to be hers on her wedding-day.
By-and-by, under the spell that Unc’ Caspar wrought, Bithie ceased from
the death song, and, rising from her bed, she stole from Ole Miss’s
armoire a bolt of sheeny satin to make into a wonderful gown for ’Liza,
and Unc’ Caspar bored shells again, and Bithie sat up all night to
border the hem of ’Liza’s wedding-dress with them.
These days Unc’ Caspar was busy too, for down in the swamp-willows
Amaziah lay in a trance, and no one came to help him. He was to lie in
the trance until after the wedding, when the hoodoo dance would waken
him; and so Unc’ Caspar cut down with his charms everything that might
come between him and ’Liza.
* * * * *
The new moon, said Mammy, was nearly born, and the devil’s time on
earth was short. Again he sat by the sluggish water of the bayou and
stirred it with a stick, and out of it came the moccasins, the eels,
and the toads to do his bidding. He whistled low, and from the trees
the bat, the owl, the jay-bird, and the crow answered the call of their
master; and there, in his heart, the devil envied Unc’ Caspar and
wanted ’Liza.
In the form of a bat he flew down Unc’ Caspar’s chimney, and borrowing
Unc’ Caspar’s skin as he slept, he hid the naked body in the hollow of
a tree and went back into the hoodoo’s cabin to sleep.
When morning came he stood beside ’Liza as she worked, and hastened
her for the wedding; and ’Liza, looking at the wrinkled face and white
beard, believed that she was looking at Unc’ Caspar.
So they set the wedding-night, and Bithie’s old man, under the spell of
the devil in Unc’ Caspar’s skin, stole four hogs and three sheep from
Ole Marse, and made a great barbecue for the wedding-supper.
But ’Liza wept that the time was drawing near, for in her heart she
loved Amaziah. Then the devil, in Unc’ Caspar’s skin, raised a heavier
mist and showed her greater treasures than Unc’ Caspar had done, until
her tears were dried, for ’Liza was part covetous and part hoodoo, said
Mammy.
The devil was overstaying his limit by this time, waiting for the
wedding. But at last the night came, and there was a gathering from far
and near to see the marriage.
Bithie rose as in a dream, and dressed ’Liza in the long satin gown,
and the tears gleamed like pearls upon it as they fell from her eyes,
for Bithie was sure that something was wrong.
Outside the voice of the parson was calling to ’Liza, and ’Liza passed
through the doorway and stood up with the devil in Unc’ Caspar’s skin
to be married.
The gathered people held their breath, and the parson raised his hand
and spoke. The devil made as if he would answer, but the skin of Unc’
Caspar cried out.
“What’s dat?” asked ’Liza, opening her eyes wide.
“Nuffin’ but er little bird cryin’ in de nes’, my darlin’,” whispered
the devil.
Again the parson spoke, and again the devil made as if to answer him,
but the skin of Unc’ Caspar stretched and cracked, and all the people
heard it.
“What’s dat?” cried ’Liza, trembling and taking hold of the devil’s arm
in her fright.
“Nuffin’ but er coon trampin’ in de cane-brake,” whispered the devil.
“Who teks dis ’oman?” said the parson, impatient to go on, for he
smelled the barbecue, and knew that the supper was ready, waiting.
“I do,” said the devil, growing bold, as the skin of Unc’ Caspar cried
and cracked and burst—and the hoof and the horns came through, and
there stood the devil grinning at ’Liza through Unc’ Caspar’s skin,
until the lights were thrown down.
Then, said Mammy, all was dark; nobody raised a hand. ’Liza’s screams
grew fainter and fainter, and then all was still.
A sleet fell in the Quarters and pelted the people like stones, but
’Liza and the devil were gone, and there was nothing left of the
wedding-feast but a pitiful pile of ashes.
* * * * *
A cricket chirruped in the pause; the back log had burned through and
the cider jug was empty. The idle quilters, awed to whispers, yawned at
last, for the thread was broken—the story was done, and gathering up
her rolls, as she put her cards in her basket, Mammy said, “Good-night.”