In ’bout uh week I heahd uh nock—’twuz Mars Dick at de do’;
I’d jes’ begun uh leetle bit ter walk ’cross de flo’;
De pussperation baved meh face, an’ I had so leetle bref,
Dat Mars Dick say, “Why, Ben, what’s de matter wid yo’sef?”
I say ter him, “Dat auntydote wuz wus’n dangerous,
De mule he gib uh pow’ful snort, _an’ his blow wuz de fus’_!
De bone-set’s clustah’d ’roun’ meh bones, de snake-root’s in meh brain,
Meh back is full ub mis’ry, an’ meh haid is full ub pain.”
MORAL.
Young Marster ain’ de kine ub man dat suits de Legislater,
He spressify his condidence too much ter meck uh ’bater;
Dat auntydote dey call it wud nebber tech meh thote
Ef I hadn’ pestered pollyticks an’ sole fuh weeds meh vote.
[Illustration:
“SKYLARK.”
Mars Matthew wuz ridin’ in de lead on Skylark, an’ his favorite hound,
Jerry Myah, wuz tonguein’
ez sweet ez er Melojin, an’ leadin’ de pack.
]
EZRA.
Ezzy, as the servants called him, was a brother to Little Billy, almost
as smart, but in character as unlike as Jacob and Esau were in
appearance, for Billy had very little character and Ezzy a great deal.
He was short of stature, well figured, good featured, perfect teeth, and
though 60 years old, was full of life, gracious and light-hearted. He
doted on a horse race, could cut the pigeon wing and was as fond of a
fox hunt as Squire Weston. As much as he loved to eat, he would leave a
steaming breakfast of hominy and sparerib if he heard a pack in full
cry.
He had a most remarkable memory; for instance, he knew the mothers of
all the calves and lambs, the names of all the oyster pungies, schooners
and canoes in the river. I suppose in Bolingbrook District there were a
hundred foxhounds; he knew all of their names, and when they passed him
in full cry would exclaim, “Da goes Chimes, Jerry-Myah, Boxer, Juno,
Jew-Drap, Sweet-lips, Heatherbell, Sweetheart,” etc. He sang, played the
banjo and was a decided beau. Indeed, he was a born sport, and like his
brother, Little Billy, not fond of hard work. He was an exceptionally
good horseman, had good hands and good judgment; in Queen Anne’s County
had ridden and won two races for his Marster; could break a yoke of oxen
in a week; schooled the hunters, broke the colts, rode them bare-back,
and, as he would say, “Dey jes’ drapped into his ways.”
Ezra had his faults, however, and annoyed the overseers with his
shortcomings. For example, he doted on coon hunting, and when he had
been coon hunting all night, would go to sleep for hours next day
husking corn and not husk enough to pay for his bacon. If a fox was run
through the estate, Ezra would pack in and forget his work. When the
overseers would call him to account he would say, “I cudn’ help gittin’
’stracted an’ harkin’ up dem houn’s. Mars Matthew wuz ridin’ in de lead
on Skylark, an’ his favorite houn’, Jerry-Myah, wuz tonguein’ ez sweet
ez uh melojin, an’ leadin’ de pack.”
Late in September, 1857, to judge Cotswold sheep his Marster was invited
to the great cattle and horse show to be held in Memphis, Tenn., the
next month. As Ezra was fond of animals, and trifling about hard work,
had good manners and full of kindness, his Marster concluded to send him
to Memphis with eight sheep, the pick of the flock.
[Illustration:
Dey ’long ter Mars Matthew; his Gre’t Gran Pa, dey tell me, hope
C’lumbus ter ’sciver Talbot County, an’ dat wuz befo’ de Petracks
(Patriarchs) cum ober.
]
They stopped in Baltimore, where Noah Walker & Company fitted him out
with two suits of brown livery with brass buttons. He was given a new
hat, as he expressed it, “Wid uh burr on one side de hat;” but his new
boots particularly charmed him, as the best servants got boots, and the
others shoes. From Baltimore, Ezra was sent direct to Memphis, and his
Mars Matthew joined, in Richmond, Col. John Ware, of Virginia, who bred
Cotswold sheep and exhibited in Memphis.
At the Memphis show, three of Ezra’s sheep took blue ribbons, one a red
ribbon. He was standing in front of his sheep cot, two days after
arriving—standing as though he was going to have his picture taken,
delighted with himself and the blue ribbons. A man came along and said:
“Has your Marster many sheep like these?”
“Many? Erbout ten thousan’; dey jes’ run an’ tuck de fus’ dey kotch.”
Another man said, “Whose sheep are these?”
“Dey ’long ter Mars Matthew; his gre’t granpa, dey tell me, holp
C’lumbus ’sciver Talbot County, an’ dat wuz befo’ de Petracks cum ober.”
Presently a neat, likely looking mulatto girl came along, looked
admiringly at Ezra, leaned over the rail of the sheep cot and said
demurely, “Kin I pat one ub yo’ sheep?”
“Sut’ny, honey; dey won’ bite,” Ezra said. “Do you lib ’roun’ heah?”
“Yas, indeed;” and she added, “Wha you cum fum; ’roun’ heah?”
“Bless meh soul an’ body an’ meh body an’ soul—ter think I cum fum dis
place! Why, dar ain’ no salt watah heah! I cum fum de Eastern Sho’ ub
Maryland, Talbot County. Uncle Stephen Viney say dat he heah John Poney
say dat he heah Pawson Phil Demby say dat meh fambly bin libbin’ in
Talbot County fum de times ub de Petracks. It’s de fines’ place on uth;
don’ hab ter wuck much; da ain’ much lan’, mos’ ev’ything salt watah,
ribbers, bays, creeks and cobes. Fuh instinct, I tecks meh boat”——
“Is you uh free pusson?”
“Me? Dey don’ ’low free niggahs down dar; dey all qual’ty slabes.”
“Well, you said you had uh boat.”
“Sut’ny I did. Ef’n uh serbent wants uh boat he jes’ say ter Mars
Matthew, ‘I wants uh pine tree, meh Marster, futto meck uh boat,’ an’
rite ’way he say, ‘Teck yo’ choice in de fores’;’ an’ den ten er twelbe
serbents almos’ meck dat boat in one night; dey call ’em dug-outs. Well,
I kin teck meh boat an’ cross de watah fum Mars Matthew’s ter Mars
Jimmy’s, erbout uh harf mile, in uh harf hour an’ mebby fish meh net on
de way; ef’n I had ter go by lan’, it wud be twelbe miles erroun’.”
“Is de fishin’ good down da? Any mullets?”
[Illustration:
Meh name is Ezra, but dey call me Ezzy.
]
“Mullets! We gib dem ter de hogs. We eats what dey call spot, hog-fish,
yaller-neds, catfish, pearch, sheepshead, crokusses, bay mackrel—dat
lars fish de bes’ ub all; don’ hab ter mobe yo’ lips an’ tongue ’tall;
hit jes’ melt in yo’ mouf—an’ crabs an’ oysters dey almos’ beg you ter
eat ’em. Coons in de swamps, an’ ’possums in mos’ ev’y ’simmon tree.
Serbents don’ hab much ter do; I dress up dis way mos’ all de time.”
“Well, you sut’ny do look peart in dat suit, an’ you sut’ny mus’ lib in
uh pow’ful fine country. I’m a chambermaid, an’ ’longs ter Mars Bedford
Forrest, who’s showin’ some game chickens an’ fine cattle, heah; dat’s
one ub his serbents stan’in’ in front ub dem cattle; ax him ter bring
you ’roun’ ter-night ter see me; I’s jes’ pinin’ ter heah sum mo’ erbout
dem ribbers an’ ocean. Meh name is Muhtilda.”
“Meh name is Ezra, but dey call me Ezzy.”
“Well, kin I ’speck you, Ezzy?”
“Yes’m; erboutin supper time.”
Every night Ezra went to see Matilda, and every day, as long as she
could get off, Matilda came to see Ezra. The result was, at the end of
the week they were married. Ezra never said a word to his Marster about
it, and urged her to be silent. She was faithful, dependent and
obedient. Ezra told her “he wuz not gwine ter say anything ter his ole
Marster tell de day befo’ gwine home, and den his Mars Matthew wud buy
huh. Ef’n I say anything rite ’way he mout git rejected, teck me home by
mehsef, teck off dis nuniform; mo’n dat, he mout whup me, an’ nebba let
me go ter any mo’ shows.” Matilda grew so worried that she cried and
cried; she was more than perplexed, almost hysterical, so she told Ezra
she was going to see and talk to his Marster. Ezra was affrighted, and
said, “Ef’n you tu’n fool an’ git ter prancin’ erroun’ Marster, he will
say dat he is sho’ you mus’ uh run ’way wid me, an’ dat he don’ like
Tennessee niggahs.”
Matilda had more courage, however, than Ezra, so she interviewed Ezra’s
Marster, who said:
“Are you a slave?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope your Marster is good and kind to you?”
“Y-a-s, indeed, meh Marster; he is ve’y ’zactin’ an’ punnounced, but he
is jes’ ez kind ez kind kin be; ef’n I hadn’ fell in lub wid Ezzy, dat
Eastern Sho’ an’ his boat, I wudn’ arsk you ter buy me an’ leabe Mars
Bedford; but you know Ezzy hab ve’y cutesome ways.”
“Suppose I can get your Marster to buy Ezra and make him promise never
to sell him as long as he behaves himself; how then? I hate to part with
him, but I have servants enough.”
“Meh Marster, dat will settle de ’spute rite ’way; please sell Ezzy to
Mars Bedford. I’m sho’ he wudn’ part wid me, an’ Ezzy wild suit him
futto handle de hosses.”
Mr. Forrest said he would not take five thousand dollars for Matilda;
she was all in all the best servant he ever owned, and after a brief
talk not only bought Ezra, but the sheep; so they did not have to come
home and carry their tails behind them.
N. B. Forrest soon became attached to Ezra, thought the world of him,
and when the Civil War broke out took him as his body servant. Ezra
served him faithfully during the war, and when General Forrest disbanded
his troops at Gainesville, Ala., May 9th, 1865, General Forrest told
Ezra he would give him a home and take care of him as long as he lived.
Ezra said, “He wud like once mo’ ter see Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary an’
den cum back.” Whereupon General Forrest presented him with Pigeon, a
mule, and gave him money enough to go home. He rode some hundred and
seventy miles to the home of a Mrs. Sanson, where he stayed two weeks,
and then took the train from Rome, Ga., for home; and one bright,
beautiful morning early in June, timid and lonesome the steamer landed
him at Miles River Wharf, Talbot County, Maryland, a mile by water from
“Fairlands.”
All faces were strange to him; he knew no one and no one knew him. “The
Rest” had been burned during the war, and the new house looked strange.
Across the river and opposite “The Rest” was “The Anchorage.” It looked
changed; there were no little negroes playing on the lawn. “The Villa”
further up the river was almost hidden by the trees that had grown so
since he left. Timidly he turned his longing eyes on “Fairlands,” and he
saw, a mile away across the river, grand pecan nut, majestic oak, poplar
and horse-chestnut trees. He pulled from his pocket a bandanna
handkerchief almost big enough to cover a baby’s crib, and said,
brushing tears from his eyes, “Dat’s wha Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary lib.
Dat’s ‘Fairlands.’” He asked an old darkey unloading fish and soft crabs
from his canoe if, for thirty cents, he would land him at the foot of
the “Fairlands” garden. “Git abode; I got meh net sot at de foot ub de
gyarden.”
“Ev’ything is so changed,” he said inaudibly, as he took his seat in the
bow of the boat. “Mars Bedford tole me I al’ays had uh home wid him,”
and he almost regretted leaving his far Southern home.
What a lovely day it was! The air was of caressing softness; the breeze
was so light that the sail sometimes jibed, the ripples kissed lightly
the sides of the boat that floated lazily along; the balmy June air, the
sweet breath of the salt water, all, coupled with Ezra’s fatigue,
soothed him and presently he was asleep. His hat fell off beside him,
and
Da wuz no wool on de top ub his haid,
In de place wha de wool orter grow.
Here and there on his face were little tufts of beard that looked like
tiny grains of popped corn.
In about an hour the boatman turned the stern of his boat towards the
shore and pushed her on the beach at the foot of the garden back of the
dwelling—spanked the water with his paddle, and Ezra awoke, got out,
walked through the water bushes and soon was strolling along one of the
garden walks. He thought how strange it was in the month of June those
once leafless and carpet-like walks should be strewn with leaves; then
he noticed that the box hedges were ragged and in places had paths
through them; the grape arbors were decayed here and there and
tottering, and many grapevines were trailing over and embracing leafless
and dying peach and pear trees——
All that’s bright must fade,
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that’s sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest!
Only the birds seemed to care for and own this once enchanting and
beautiful garden, “warbled their native wood notes wild” and sang
hallelujahs to the morning-glories and other flowers. Acres of air were
filled with the delicious perfume of blooming grapevines, and the
canticles of birds.
Ezra sank upon an old rustic seat and said again, “Mars Bedford say he
wud al’ays teck care ub me. I’m sorry I spent meh money and lef’ de
Souf, but I wan’ ter see Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary once mo’,” and again
he took out that bandanna handkerchief. His solitude was broken by old
Sam’l, once one of the gardeners, the only servant that stayed when they
were emancipated. He had on his arm a basketful of cling peaches. He
said, “I s’pose you bin sorf crabbin’ ’long de sho’ an’ cum up heah ter
res’ yo’sef dis sweet, lubly day?”
Ezra said: “I ain’ bin crabbin’, do’ I lubs crabbin’ an’ lubs crabs
futto eat. I’m jes’ fum de wah; fit in mos’ ev’y battle. Mars Bedford
Forrest _wuz wid me all de time_. Ub cose you hearn tell ub him.”
Sam’l looked at him inquisitively, and said:
“Now, hush!”
And then Ezra’s face beamed, he recognized old Sam’l, and he said, “Don’
you recommember me, Brer Sam? I’s Ezzy, Leetle Billy’s brudder, dat Mars
Matthew sold ter Mars Bedford befo’ de wah.” Whereupon they embraced.
[Illustration:
So by and by “Ezra” was bowing to and greeting Miss Mary.
]
Ezra was very hungry, and soon commenced to eat up the peaches, when a
little darkey about three years old whom Sam’l said was his grandchild,
looked into the basket and said something that probably meant to ask for
peaches. Whereupon Ezra said:
“Do de chile talk, Brer Sam?”
Brer Sam’l said, “Well, I kyant tell ezactly; he mecks de sounds, but
kyant fo’m de wuds yit.”
Then with timidity and a trembling voice he asked Sam’l for Mars Matthew
and Miss Mary. Sam’l said, “Losin’ he good an’ faithful serbents dat wuz
’swaded ’way, seein’ de lawn kivvered all de time wid twigs an’ leabes,
ev’ything goin’ ter wase, young Mars Matthew gittin’ kilt at Petersbu’g,
’stressed him so pow’ful dat he got so he cudn’ recommember anything;
fuh instinct, he wud fogit de tex’ befo’ he lef’ de chuch; he almos’
fogot his A B C’s; den ergin, he wuz eighty years ole, an’ den he died.
Mistis ’structed Pawson Phil Demby, John Poney, Damon Danridge, Rasmus
Jemes an’ mehsef ter meck de toom. She wudn’ hab nobody else, an’ you
kyant ’magine how fine it look.
“Ezzy, sence you bin ’way we has had uh gre’t preacher at Zion Chuch,
an’ we hab all got erligion an’ tu’n Presbyters; de shirks wuz so bad we
had ter gib up de Babtis’ erligion. Jes’ let me git annerr barsket ub
peaches, Ezzy, an’ den I’ll go up an’ tell Ole Mistis you’r heah, an’
she will sho’ly see you.”
Whilst Sam’l was gone, Ezra thought of the straw stacks he used to climb
and slide down, how his young Marster, killed at Petersburg, used to
drive Rasmus, Saul, Little Billy and himself tandem, all harnessed up
with sweet potato vines, and prancing with sheep-rib bits in their
mouths like colts. And then he recalled the colts he broke, gazed upon
the river where he used to wade the hunting horses along the beach to
wash and tone up their legs; then he thought of his brother, Little
Billy, his coon dog, Jasper, and of his boat, and wondered where they
all were. He wiped his eyes, took a chew of tobacco, when his crowded
thoughts were diverted by Sam’l’s return. So by and by Ezra was bowing
to and greeting his “Ole Mistis.” Thinking to condole with her and leave
the impression that he always thought his Marster of sound mind, he
said, “Miss Mary, people use ter say dat Mars Matthew wuz rash-nal, but
I nebber did think Mars Matthew wuz rash-nal.”
The old lady could scarcely repress a smile, and told Ezra the quarter
where he was born and lived (on Heart’s Cove, a beautiful sheet of water
near the homestead and an arm of Miles River) should be renovated and
made comfortable as his home, and all that she required of him in his
declining years was to keep her in oysters, fish and crabs, an easy task
and eminently to the taste of Ezra.
[Illustration:
MARS ARTHUR.
]
In a few days, helped by his young Marster Arthur, Ezra was comfortably
domiciled in his quarter on Heart’s Cove, and was very happy. He wished
he had ridden Pigeon home instead of giving her away; he missed her so.
He did not seem to worry about his wife the war had separated from him.
One day whilst he was chinking and fixing up his boat, which old Sam’l
had taken good care of, and singing lustily—
“When Israel wuz in Egyp’ lan’;
Let meh people go;
Oppress’d so hyard dey cud not stan’;
Let meh people go;
Go down Moses, way down in Egyp’ lan’;
Tell ole Phario,
Let meh people go”—
his young Marster Arthur, a lad of 15, who had already grown fond of
him, and found him always entertaining, took a seat near him, asked him
some questions about the South and if he saw anything of the war.
“Who, me? Mars Bedford wuz wid _me_ an’ we fit mo’n uh hunard battles, I
specks, skirmages an’ all.”
“Who do you mean by Mars Bedford?”
“Why, Gen’l Forrest; de gre’tes’ warrior dat ebber libbed. Yo’ Pa sole
me ter him. He wuz jes’ Mistah Forrest dem days, an’ wuz uh private de
fus’ ub de wah; think ub dat! Well, when de wah broke out he tuck me fuh
one ub his bodyguard; dat is, ter guard his body an’ keep dem blue coats
’way. He had uh hunard an’ fifty men in his bodyguard, an’ I wuz rite
’side him, his serbent an’ waitah—an’ mo’n dat, wid him night an’ day,
ceppin in de battle; den I al’ays hilt his hoss when he fight on foot.
You see when de battle ’tall ornsartin he meck dat bodyguard git of’n
deah bosses an’ he draw dat big swo’d ub his’n an’ say, ‘Foller me,’ an’
’mejately de blue coats see Mars Bedford an’ dat long swo’d ub his’n,
dey sho’ ter run, don’ meck no difference ef’n dey ez thick ez
grasshoppus. Some people say he cud look like uh goblin an’ tu’n inter
uh sperrit in uh han’-ter-han’ fight; once uh week he sharpen his swo’d
same ez uh raiser, an’ arfter his brudder got kilt (nebba saw uh man cry
so in meh life) he sharpen dat swo’d ev’y day an’ he say, ‘Ef’n dey don’
s’render arfter I say s’render, I’ll cut de haids of’n ev’y one I gits
close ’nuff ter,’ and he did it, too.”
“Now, Ezra!”
“Young Marster, I hab seed too much sufferin’ an’ too much sorrow ter
meck fun ub it; mo’n dat, I’m gittin’ ter be uh ole man, an’ I wan’ meh
heb’nly Marster’s lub; so what I am tellin’ you is de truf. I will cross
meh hyart an’ bref uh thousan’ times ef’n you wan’ me ter.’ Then he was
contemplative for a moment, when he resumed chinking his boat and
singing—
“Oh, cum ’long Moses, you’ll not git los’;
Let meh people go;
Stritch out yo’ rod an’ cum ercross;
Let meh people go.”
“Stop singing, Uncle Ezzy, and go on with your story.”
“Jes’ think ub dat chile callin’ me uncle. I’s gwine ter teck him
fishinin’ ev’y day wid me, an’ sorf crabbin’, too, when I gits dis boat
fix’. He is de ve’y spit ub Ole Mars. Well, young Marster, I wo’ uh gray
nuniform, an’ rode de bes’ mule in de Souf, name Pigeon. Some wha
erboutin Chrismus, 1862, close ter Lexington, Tenn., uh gre’t big kunnel
s’rendered ter Mars Bedford. He wuz almos’ skeered stiff, trem’lin’ like
uh aspine leaf, but when Mars Bedford say, smilin’, ‘You fellows didn’
meck much ub uh fight,’ it gib dat kunnel condidence, an’ rite ’way he
look peart an’ say, ‘Gen’l, won’ you please exchange me soon?’ An’ Mars
Bedford say, ‘Yas; go an’ git me de bes’ mule in yo’ cumman’, an’ I’ll
exchange you fuh de mule.’ Dat’s how I got Pigeon. Befo’ dat I had uh
wufless, lazy hoss, an’ Mars Bedford wanted ev’ything lively ’roun’ him.
Den ergin, I carried uh coffeepot, jes’ big ’nuff fuh _me_ and Mars
Bedford, sugah, coffee, hard-tack, blackin’, blackin’ brush, soap an’
towels, an’ sich like. De Gen’l tied strings ’roun’ de bottoms ub uh
heavy par ub canvas pants, an’ I stuffed deah legs full, tell dey jes’
strut out; den I put dem straddle Pigeon’s back an’ tied ’em ter de
saddle so ef’n de amblabus wuz behin’ I had ’nuff perwissions fuh Mars
Bedford an’ me tell de amblabus cum up. Pigeon, she al’ays kep’ up. De
mammy ub dat mule mus’ uh bin uh thurrybred, she wuz al’ays peart an’
fresh; de fac’ is, da wan’ much jackass erbout huh; she nebber blowed
huh trumpet ’ceppin she horngry. When I got ev’ything on meh ahmy
saddle, front an’ back, de pack wuz erbout up ter meh shoulders when I
sot in de saddle, but den ergin, it didn’ pester me, kase I wuz almos’
settin’ in uh bungproof.
“Pigeon wuz ve’y feard ub watah (da sut’ny wuz no Babtis’ blood in huh)
an’ dat mecks me think ub what dey call de Streight raid. It wuz in
April, 1863. Mars Bedford had been fightin’ consonly fuh days, an’ de
hosses an’ men hadn’ slep’ fuh two nights, ’ceppin in de saddle, an’ had
nuffin ter eat. Mars Bedford picked up uh box ub crackers, put dem in
his amblabus an’ divided ’em wid his men. Da wan’ uh thing in meh pants
legs futto eat, ’twuz ’zausted. Befo’ tryin’ ter cross what dey call
Black Creek de Gen’l made uh speech ter his men, callin’ fuh all dat wuz
willin’ ter cross; all ’sponded ’ceppin de men asleep in deah saddles,
_an’ I wuz one ub ’em_. Gen’l Streight wuz retretin’ jes’ ez fars’ ez he
cud, an’ cross ober an’ bu’nt de bridge ober Black Creek. De creek wuz
muddy, swollen, deep an’ dangersome. Mars Bedford wuz meddotatin’ how
ter cross, an’ de sharpshooters wuz firin’ fum de udder side. Seberal
ladies walked up, an’ one ub ’em erbout sebenteen year ole, say, ‘Whose
cumman’ is dis?’ an’ somebody said, ‘De advance ub Gen’l Forrest’s
cavelry.’ She wuz all stirred up, an’ she say, ‘Pint Gen’l Forrest out,’
an’ when dey pinted him out she made such uh curchysy she mos’ swep’ de
groun’, wiped wid huh ap’on de pusspuration fum huh face and said, ‘Dear
Gen’l Forrest an’ brabe soldiers, I know ub an ole ford neah heah,
erboutin uh harf mile ’way, an’ ef’n I had uh mount I cud teck you rite
ter de ford. We hab no hosses; dem blue coats teck ’em all. De way is
th’oo briars an’ fallen trees an’ drif’wood an’ sich like. I kyant walk
well in it.’ Den Mars Bedford say, ‘I will put you up behin’ me, my
chile.’ Then huh ma say, ‘No! No! meh daughter; you mout git kilt, an’
you is meh only yew lam’.’ Den Mars Bedford say, drappin’ dem sorf eyes
ub his’n on huh an’ lookin’ ez fine ez uh cherrypin er serrypin, ‘Git up
behin’ me fum dis fallen tree.’ Den huh mudda almos’ hab spavins, but
she clum up on dat hoss. Mars Bedford call fuh uh scout an’ ’way he
went. Ub cose I wuz wid him; jumpin’ logs, tearin’ up de briars an’
weeds. Arfter dey had gone boutin uh harf mile, Miss Emma, dat wuz huh
name, say, ‘Stop, Gen’l Forrest, dis heah ravine runs down ter dat ford
an’ de ford runs dis way: =>= .’ Den dey got off an’ walked ter de
ribba, but de watah wuz so high an’ so muddy dey cudn’ see de ford; but
she say, ‘It’s bin heah ev’y sence I wuz uh baby. I know almos’ ev’y
rock in it an’ ezac’ly wha it is.’ Den I heah bang! bang! bang! and den
erboutin fo’ty bangs, an’ heah cum de bullets. I wuz peepin’ wid Pigeon
fum behin’ uh big rock. _Oh, I wuz al’ays wid him._ Den I heah Miss Emma
say, ‘Gen’l stan’ behin’ me; dey won’ shoot me.’ Mars Bedford say, ‘Git
behin’ dat rock an’ stay da tell I cum fuh you.’ Den Mars Bedford teck
out his spyglass an’ spied all ’roun’ an’ he heah some twigs crackin’
behin’ him, an’ he looked ’roun’, an’ da wuz dat chile almos’ in his
footprints. De Gen’l’s eyes almos’ spit fire, an’ his mouf trimbled. Den
he say, jes’ like he orderin’ uh charge, ‘Stay behin’ dat rock!’ Den she
say, ‘Gen’l, I wuz fear’d you mout be wounded, an’ I wanted ter be neah
you.’ Den he sot down befo’ de rock—me an’ Pigeon wuz behin’—tu’n’d his
sorf eyes up ter de sky an’ say, ’_De worl’ kyant whup us wid sech
women!_’[18] Pres’ny he holped huh up de ravine—all de time de
sharpshooters wuz firin’, an’ some ub de balls wen’ th’oo huh dress—an’
when she got up de ravine she say, ‘Dey jes’ wounded meh crin’line!’ an’
she tuck orf huh sunbonnet an’ shuck it at ’em. Gen’l Forrest sant her
back ter tell de res’ ub de cumman’ ter cum, artil’ry fus’. Almos’ befo’
dey got ter de ford dey limbered up, fired uh few bung-shots, an’ dem
blue coats soon lef’ dat ford. Den Mars Bedford tole one ub his officers
ter teck uh regiment an’ hole dat ford, and dey hilt it. Ev’ything wuz
ready, an’ Mars Bedford started erhaid ober de ford, when Miss Emma call
him back, almos’ cryin’, and she say, ‘You’r gwine ’rong; you see de
ford run dis way: =>= .’ Den she clum er rock an’ say, ‘Lemmy git up in
front ub you an’ show de way.’ De Gen’l say, ‘No; git up behin’; dey
mout shoot you.’ An’ she say, ‘No; I mus’ ride in front, hab de reins,
so dat I meck no mustake.’ Den Mars Bedford teck orf his nuniform coat,
fold an’ put it in front ub him, den he teck orf his felt hat an’ put it
on de coat, an’ she jump on jes’ ez spry ez uh colt, an’ he say ter his
soldiers, ‘Follow me.’ His scout, Mars Torm, wuz one ub de fus’ ter
follow. Mars Bedford stop his hoss an’ say, ‘You kyant go; yo’ ahm is
badly shot an’ broken; you is not fit ter fight er swim.’ So den he wuz
orf ergin. De hosses wuz neighin’, de creek wuz twissin’, rum’lin’ an’
tum’lin’, de hosses stoppin’, stum’lin’, an’ backin’ jes’ de same ez
ef’n ’twuz dark. I cudn’ say nuffin but meh prayers, an’ I mos’ choke
sayin’ dem. Mo’n dat, Pigeon she wuz carryin’ on high, jes scan’lus;
wudn’ eben put huh feet in de watah. De watah wuz so high dey had ter
teck de caissions orf, an’ de soldiers waded wid de powder on deah
shoulders. It tuck two hours ter cross, but bless Gord, dey all got
ober. Befo’ dey got harf way ’cross Mrs. Sanson, Miss Emma’s mudda, wuz
at de ford, an’ she wuz almos’ ’zausted fum walkin’ th’oo de briars an’
tangled bushes.”
[Illustration:
MISS EMMA. DAT WUZ HUH NAME.
]
Ezra commenced again to chink his boat, singing—
“You’ll not git los’ in de wilderness;
Let meh people go;
Wid uh lighted can’le in yo’ bres’;
Let meh people go.”
Arthur was by this time intensely interested, and after Ezra had bitten
off a fresh chew of tobacco, said, “Well, what then?”
“Well, den Mars Bedford rode back wid Miss Emma, got orf his hoss, tuck
her down—I nebba saw him so ’cited an’ hainsome. Den he mounted, tuck
orf his hat, kissed his han’, jes’ so, an’ soon he wuz dashin’ up de
hill ter jine his troops. Mars Torm, po’ feller, did look so ’stressed
ter be lef’ behin’.
“When Mars Bedford wan’ talkin’ his eyes jes’ ez sorf ez uh ’possum’s,
but when he wuz serioussum an’ opened his mouf, da wan’ no apples in his
eyes, nuffin but fire, an’ when he tole his favorite scout, Mars Torm,
ter stay back, he jes’ tuck root on dat spot.
“He wuz uh ve’y curisome man; fuh instinc’, he had uh swo’d made jes’
futto suit hissef. It wan’ quite ez long ez uh fence-rail, but mos’
nighly; you wudn’ think he wud cut blue coats haids orf but he wud. It’s
so curisome—he wuz so gentle an’ he talk so sorf, but den ergin his
eyes, when he on uh scout er charge, jes’ like uh fish-hawk’s.
How-some-ebba, I once heah ole Mars Nickey say uh race hoss dat prances
an’ bucks an’ goes ev’y which way at de pos’—jes’ like uh dug-out in
rough watah—ain’ no race hoss; dey th’ow up deah tails befo’ dey go two
miles. But de nice quiet ones like de fo-mile hosses Mars Matthew use
ter own, when dey at de pos’ you’d s’pose dey habin’ deah pictur taken.
Well, Mars Bedford wuz sho’ly uh fo’-miler in his ways, an’ he al’ays
had his way, too.
“Mrs. Sanson inwited Mars Torm ter meck huh house his home tell he git
well; mo’n dat, she spressify huhsef dat she al’ays lubbed ter nuss
Cornfederates. Den she look at Pigeon an’ me an’ say, ‘I kin teck good
care ub you, too, an’ yo’ mule. Peter, Simon an’ Nancy is ve’y ole, so
you kin holp ’em ter milk de cows, chu’n de butter an’ pick de
strawberries. Young Marster, I stayed da fuh two weeks, until de watah
fell in Black Creek. I got fat, so did Pigeon, an’ den I crossed de
creek an’ jined Mars Bedford.
“’Twuz jes’ erboutin harves’ time;
Let meh people go;
When Joshua led his hos’ divine;
Let meh people go.”
“Oh, go on, Uncle Ezzy.”
“Well, in erboutin free monfs Mars Torm, de scout, jined us. He looked
fat an’ slick, an’ Gen’l Forrest lubbed an’ ’spected him so he kissed
him. He didn’ kiss me, but I wud uh kissed him.”
Between you and me, kind reader, after greeting General Forrest, “Mars
Torm” hurried to his humble hammock. His thoughts were more of “Black
Creek” than the tented field. From a pocket in his gray jacket he pulled
out and fondly kissed a daguerreotype. When he opened it a pressed rose
leaf fell out. It may have been the rose leaf which a dear kind hand had
placed between the pages she loved to read to him, and the mate to the
one he had. He sank into his hammock, and the tranquil twilight saw him
weeping, and then reciting:
[Illustration:
MARS TORM.
(From a time-worn photograph.)
His thoughts were more of “Black Creek” than the tented field.
]
“Between two songs of Petrarch,
I’ve a purple rose leaf prest,
More sweet than common rose leaves,
For it once lay in her breast.
When she gave me that her eyes were wet,
The rose was full of dew;
The rose is withered long ago—
The page is blistered, too.
“One night we sat below the porch,
And out in that warm air,
A firefly, like a dying star,
Fell tangled in her hair;
But I kissed him lightly off again,
And he glittered up the vine,
And died into the darkness——”
A bugle sounded. Forrest was in the saddle. The scout’s reverie was
over.
“Well, de nex’ big fight wuz at what dey call ‘Brice’s Cross Roads;’
dat’s de place Mars Bedford had uh spavin [fainted] fuh one hour. I
fanned him consonly wid meh hat; he had de gre’tes’ condidence in me. At
uh place call ‘Ripley’, a few days befo’ dis fight, uh farmer sant what
dey call in Mississippi, mountain oysters ter Mars Bedford. Dey ain’
nuffin ter Eastern Sho’ oysters; some people say dat Mars Bedford eat
too many an’ dey gib him de spavin, but I know dat ain’ so. I wuz
waitin’ on de table an’ stan’in’ rite behin’ him, an’ arfter helpin’
Gen’l Beauford an’ Gen’l Rucker he stir dat soup fuh mo’n five minutes
befo’ uh mountain oyster cum on top. Den I say, ‘Dar’s one, Marster,’
an’ he tu’n an’ gimmy uh look wid dem eagle eyes ub his’n dat meck me
trimble. I know what meck him sick, an’ I’m gwine ter tell you. De
fightin’ wuz so furisome dat Gen’l Forrest say ter his bodyguard,
‘Dismount; draw yo’ swo’ds an’ foller me,’ an’ when de blue coats seed
Mars Bedford, ’way dey went. Well, he had so few men ’long side de blue
coats, dat not uh man cud be spared ter go an’ git watah, so Mars
Bedford felt so thusty an’ weary dat he drunk de powder watah fum de
sponge bucket, an’ dat’s what gib him dat spavin.
“Honey, you ain’ but fifteen years ole, so Brer Sam’l say, an’ ef’n I
wuz ter tell you how many wuz kilt an’ wounded in dat fight it might
meck you see ghoses an’ witches in yo’ sleep, an’ keep you fum growin’.
I hilt Gen’l Forrest’s hoss, Pigeon an’ two other hosses when he
dismounted, an’ ’pears ter me de hosses looked ’stressed, da wuz so many
kilt on bof sides. Now, dat’s all I’m gwine ter tell you erboutin
battles.
“Young Marster, chillun musn’ know too much. Fuh instinct, yistiddy I
wuz chinkin’ dis boat (an’ I gwine ter name huh Miss Emma) when Mars
Jimmy’s chillun cum erlong gwine home fum school; dey clum all ober me,
an’ pres’ny one ub ’em say, ‘Uncle Ezzy, what is uh vulgar fraction?’ Ub
cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say, ‘Hit’s somethin’ little boys an’
girls musn’ talk erbout.’
[Illustration:
Uncle Ezzy, what is a vulgar fraction?
Ub cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say hit’s somethin’ little boys
an’ girls mus’n’ talk erbout.
]
“In May, 1865, we all s’rendered at Gainesville, Alabama. Mars Bedford
gib me Pigeon an’ money ter cum home wid ef’n I wanted ter. Fuh fo’ days
I hunted ’roun’ Gainesville ’mong de troops futto fine Mars Torm. I
knew’d he lib near Rome, Georgia, an’, ub cose, he had ter ride de same
road I did, so I wanted him ter let me ride ez far ez Mrs. Sanson’s wid
him. Dem sweet people wuz so kine ter me I wuz gwine ter gib ’em Pigeon;
mo’n dat, I wuz feard ter ride by mebsef in uh gray nuniform fum
Gainesville ter Black Creek, erboutin two hunard miles. How-some-ebba, I
’cluded ter ride jes’ at night, an’ bless Gord, in erbout uh week I
struck Black Creek ford horngry an’ tired. De birds wuz singin’, roostus
crowin’, hens uh cacklin’ an’ de watah in de creek ez clear ez uh
jewdrap, an’ Pigeon she jes’ nach’ly went in de watah kase she seed Mrs.
Sanson’s house—wuz horngry an’ ve’y tired. I wuzn’ watchin’ de mule, an’
de fus’ thing I knewed Pigeon gib uh monstus buck an’ mos’ jumped of’n
de ford in dat deep watah; den she tuck uh good look wid huh ears an’
went ’long—-an’ what you s’pose frighten’d dat mule? He! he! he! he! dar
sot on uh plank ’tween two rocks Mars Torm (no wunna I cudn’ fine him)
an’ Miss Emma fishin’ in de deep watah at de foot ub de ford. I meck
bleebe I didn’ see ’em, _an’ dey sut’ny didn’ see me_; you see dey wuz
fishin’. When I got ’cross de ford, Pigeon wuz so tired she stop an’
res’, an’ I watch to see ef’n de fish bitin’, kase I wuz al’ays fond ub
fishin’, and I heah Mars Torm say, in words ez sorf ez dem riffles, ‘I
lub dis creek; de watah so repose, an’ cums twissin’ in dis big pool
gittin’ stiller an’ stiller tell it seems ter stop, res’ an’ be so
happy. Oh, ef’n meh hyart wuz ez happy ez dis stream! It chatters, an’
sings, an’ smiles, an’ baves itself in de sunlight; it looks so
contented, but I am so sad’—an’ he did look rejected. Den Miss Emma open
huh cherrypin mouf an’ say raal sorf, ‘What’s de mattah; yo’ ole woun’
hurt you?’ An’ he say, ‘No; it’s de new woun’; I mus’ leabe ter-morrow,
so I mus’ tell you dat yo’ sweet eyes, lubly hyart, beautiful, brabe
soul has ’chanted me ev’y sence I fus’ saw you, an’ I wan’ ter arsk
befo’ I go, dear Miss Emma, dat you will let me lub you. I don’ arsk you
ter lub me.’ Jes’ de way I use ter cote—He! He! He! ’ceppin I use ter
say:
“Roses red, wiolets blue,
Sugah sweet, me too.”
“Den Mars Torm spressify, ‘Fuh free monfs, dear hyart, I et yo’ bread
an’ butter’—an’ I think he say mullasses—‘an’ ter-morrow I go ter seek
meh fortune, an’ ef’n Gord prospers me, I shall arsk you to meck meh
life ’chanted.’ Den she say, ez sorf ez de note ub uh _martingale_,
‘Thormas.’ Den he say, ‘Angel, did you say Thormas?’ An’ she say, ‘Yes;
meh brabe an’ gentle’—an’ rite ’way ’pears ter me dey bof had on dat big
sunbonnet ub her’n; an’ wussa yit, de two fishin’ rods wid deah reels
wuz floatin’ down dat ribba, ober an’ ober de riffles. Dey wuz fogot
when dem two chillun said yes ter one nerr.
“Well, ’pears ter me all ub uh sudden I got so sleepy dat I put meh ahms
’roun’ Pigeon’s neck (she wuz use ter dat) an’ went ter sleep. Bimeby I
woke up wid uh curisome an’ mos’ quaresome feelin’. Bless de Lawd, I
tho’t uh jack-uh-ma-lantern had got me, sho’. Dem chilluns wuz feelin’
so peart an’ sassy dat dey tied erroun’ meh neck uh live eel dey had
kotch, an’ I wudn’ fogit er fogib ’em ter dis day ’ceppin dey wuz in lub
an’ I wuz uh lissinin.’ Honey, I wuz skeard stiff. Bung shells wuz
nuffin ter dat.
“Dey wuz all so kin’ at Mrs. Sanson’s (de Lawd bless dem people) I
stayed dar two weeks res’in’, an’ den dey sent me ter Rome, Georgy,
futto teck de train fuh ‘Fairlands.’ When I got in de kerridge ’long
side Simon, Miss Emma say, ‘Dear me, Ezra, what is you gwine ter do wid
Pigeon?’ So I say, larffin’ an’ sassy like, ‘I gib huh ter you, Miss
Emma, an’ Mars Torm, fuh uh weddin’ present.’ Mars Thormas smile an’
say, ‘You scan’lus ole scamp.’”
In his narrative dear old Ezra showed wonderful memory, but forgot to
mention that in that hour of anguish, whilst crossing Black Creek, as
the waters got deeper and deeper, finally up to the flanks of the
horses, Mrs. Sanson sank upon her knees and with wrinkled, aged and
uplifted hands, said:
“From lightning and tempest, from plague, pestilence and famine, from
battle and murder, and from sudden death.
“_Good Lord deliver us._”
Early in the spring of 1866 Ezzy frequently paddled his canoe over to
“Woodstock,” where in a cabin on the riverside lived Jerry and Ceasar
Butler, old bachelor brothers. Their sister Cassey, a widow of some six
months, was their guest. The brothers for the most part lived out on the
water, oystering, fishing and crabbing. Cassey liked her surroundings so
much that her visit was now three months long, and she interested
herself mostly in raising chickens and ducks. The dusky damsels in the
neighborhood said Cassey was going to marry Brer Snake Bit Jim, a hand
on Captain Stitchberry’s schooner, the “Margaret Jane,” and he had been
keeping company, as they expressed it, with her for about five months.
She was the loudest singer in Zion church, a _wholesale_ Baptist, and
walked in the water like a pious one when immersion time came, and some
uncharitable people said that when she came home from meeting chickens
had better roost high. Though twenty years younger than Ezra, his war
stories and adventures charmed her. She thought him a hero and soon they
were betrothed. Ezra was not one of the slow-paced sort.
Ezra’s young Marster was very much annoyed at the idea of his marrying
Cassey. He knew her to be self-willed and high tempered, and told Ezra
that if he brought her to Fairlands he would charge him $25 a year for
his quarter and ten acres; but Ezra was too fond of telling war tales
and having a listener that almost smothered him with caresses when he
told of hair-breadth escapes. So one bright May day Parson Phil Demby
pronounced them man and wife—his third wife.
Ezra made a living crabbing, fishing, oystering and cultivating a little
grain. He was an expert angler, and if a dinner was given by any of the
gentry between May and November and a boiling rock wanted, Ezra was
notified and he would be sure to catch the rock. He loved children and
children loved him. If the overseers’ little ones wanted to go fishing,
they would go to the garden and in sight of him commence to dig worms
and when they reached the bateau, he would be there bailing or shoving
her from shore. Soon he would add sufficient peelers and soft crabs to
the bate, and then to the hurdle. Ezra’s pole, some eighteen feet long,
was of cedar growth, with the bark stripped off; a coarse line and cork
about the size of a duck egg, and when he gave a grunt and slashed it
out, the water almost surged; but somehow or other, the fish, and good
ones, too, loved his bait. “Ef’n you chilluns don’ stop er talkin’ an’
rockin’ dis boat I’ll paddle straight home. You pester de fish so dey
won’ bite, an’ hit ’stresses me pow’ful.”
Autumn came and he did not find his quarter as happy as formerly. As a
consequence, he spent a great deal of his time at the mansion. Even the
solemn and sour old maiden housekeeper, Miss Betsy, whose apron strings
were strung with keys and who for forty years had lived at Fairlands,
was indulgent, and welcomed him. One day I came upon him cleaning her
bird cage and singing over and over:
“Tell me a dream, M-a-r-y,
Tell me a dream;
My Lawd, de King ub Manuel.”
I said, “Why don’t those canaries lay?”
“Miss Betsy say dey bof boys,” was his reply.
The cook liked him, and he liked her more than he did Cassey. He often
toted for her baskets of chips to make the fire burn brightly, put on
the big back logs, and turned the turkey in the tin kitchen. Twice a
week on winter nights he was sent for to beat the hominy in the big
mortar. When he grew weary of the iron pestle, and wanted to chaff
some servant, he would say, “I sut’ny does lub ter beat dis
hominy—a—heh—heh—heh,” and then we boys would “spell” him and he would
praise our industry until we nearly collapsed from fatigue.
“O, call back yesterday; bid time return.”
He had a local reputation for his original sayings and deserved it. For
example: “You kyant eat uh hoecake but once;” “All moufs mus’ eat, but
all moufs kyant eat gravel;” “Ev’y man’s mouf ain’ uh prayer book;” “Uh
case orntried is hyard ter justify;” etc., but from being chaffed by the
young men at the “Royal Oak” and St. Michaels, towns near by, where he
sold his crabs and fish, and bought fishhooks and tobacco, had become
somewhat shy and reticent.
One cold and windy day in December I started for Wild Goose Marsh,
famous as snipe ground, with the view of burning the same. So to fully
enjoy Ezra’s confidence and to get him to talk freely, I put a
half-dollar in his hand, invited him to stop shucking oysters and go
with me to the marsh and assist in burning the same. His young Marster’s
pointers, “Rob Roy” and “Rose,” whom he had adopted and who had adopted
him, were lying in his boat. He expatiated a few moments upon the
“quaresomeness ub snipe an’ jack-uh-ma-lanterns,” and then got in my
carriage. Meantime I was taking in his raiment. He said, “I’m not dress
up, kase I’m shuckin’ oysters.” He wore an old dressing gown some one
had given him in the long ago. It must have had twenty patches from the
size of a blacking box up to a tin plate. His vest, from patches, was of
many colors; it was fastened with seven buttons, and no two of them
alike. One foot was shod, and the other wrapped in an old piece of
carpet. “Meh cawns hu’t me so,” he said. He was smaller and more bent
than ever, and extremely interesting. A drink of applejack and a good
lunch, the brilliancy of the burning marsh and my interest in him made
him very loquacious. With apparent earnestness I said, “Uncle Ezra, how
long have you lived on this estate?”
“Who, me! Bawn heah erboutin uh hunard year ago. I cum outin de Hollyday
fambly. Ole Mars’ grabe is ober dar wha you see dem willows weepin’.
Dar’s uh gre’t big slab ober de grabe, an’ on hit is uh passel ub A. B.
C.’s an’ uh anker, wid stars an’ eagles an’ little grapevines all
erroun’ ’em. Mars Pinckney say, ‘Dat’s what dey call in dem days de coat
ub mail.’ His wuz uh gre’t fambly, an’ Mars Thormas wuz uh cap’n an’ fit
an’ wuz kilt in de Resolutionary Wah.”
“Are you sure of that, Uncle Ezzy?”
“’Cose I is. I heah Phil Demby’s fadda say dat he holp ter put him in de
amblabus when he wuz shot. He saw de British what shot him, an’ de ve’y
bungshot dat hit him. Boss, what glorisome days dem wuz. I kin
recommember ’em mehsef. Dese days ’pears ter me dey is spilin’ ev’ything
by changin’. An’ hits ergin de Scripturs. Fuh instinct, when I wuz uh
young man de Mefodis’ ’roun’ heah use ter hab what dey call meetin’
houses; dey use ter shout an’ moan, an’ moan an’ shout pow’ful. Dey
cummence ter pray at fus’ sorf, an’ den deah voice got so strong
toreckly you cud heah ’em uh mile orf. An’ de chunes wuz so fine, dey
didn’ stop at de corners; dey jes’ swong ’roun’; dey cud turn deah
voices same ez uh whirl-win’ an’ ter play de fiddle, dance, er hab uh
melojin wuz cornsidered ornry an’ onricheous, an’ hit wuz, too. But in
dese days ev’ything is changed in all de chuches, ’ceppin de Babtis’; de
only change de Babtis’ made is ter babtize regular in fresh watah in
Cap’n Tomlinson’s mill pon’, _’ceppin jes’ befo’ dey cut ice_. You see
dey had ter gib up salt watah, de shirks wuz so bad. Mo’n dat, de Bible
don’ spressify salt watah. Den ergin Pawson Demby tuck de shirk fright
an’ de consequasion wuz he hilt several pussons down too long. Tilly
Mink got erligion an’ wuz thinkin’ boutin it so much (jes’ persidderin
hit all de time) dat she fogot ter teck outin her dress some apples dat
wuz swotuated in huh pocket. Well, Pawson Demby hilt her un’er so long
dat she pawed de bottom; almos’ tore huh dress orf, an’ she mout erbin
hilt un’er de watah tell she wuz drowned, but she got holt Pawson
Demby’s legs, an’ fuh erwhile it ’peared like she wuz babtizin’ him.
Brer Billy los’ his specks lars’ spring, so cudn’ see good, an’ when he
seed de apples uh bobbin’ up, I s’pose he tho’t dey wuz sperrits, kase
he sung out ter Pawson Demby, ‘Jes’ gib huh annubba dip, Pawson Demby,
huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clustahs;’ but Pawson Demby lef’ well
ernuff be well ernuff. Kase Tilly Mink nebba did hab much erligion, an’
when she seed dat distructed frock an’ dem kyart-house apples dat we all
knew’d growed in Ole Mars’ archard, huh ’ligion lef’ huh jes’ ez fars ez
she got it. Huh hyah riz on huh haid, an’ she talked jes’ scan’lous, an’
’lowed she gwine ter jine de Presbyters. Well, hit may be fuh de bes’,
but uh case orntried is hyard ter jestify.”
“Yas, sah; ev’ything is changed. Ebin Mefodis’ preachers an’ de elders,
shuh. Dey struts an’ prances erroun’ same ez colts an’ tukkey gobblers
in de spring, an’ hits dribin uh lot ub ’em ter distruction. All moufs
ain’ prayer books, boss. Hit’s de same thing wid dem Presbyters dat
Tillie’s gwine ter jine, an’ when it cums ter de ’Piscopaliums hit’s
wussa yit. Up heah at St. Thormasses dey bu’n insects in what dey call
uh—I fogit de name—an’ dem preachers dat kyant talk good—an’ mos’ ub ’em
kyant—dey sorter sing what dey talkin’. I heah Cap’n Stitchberry’s brer
say who halls de sain—an’, ub cose, he er Babtis’—dat ef’n Ole Mars wuz
erlive an’ went ter St. Thormasses, he wudn’ no wha he wuz, kase dey
bows like uh passel ub muscovy drakes. Boss, dem muscoves is quaresome
ducks. T’other day I saw Brer Sam’s boy, Rasmus, bowin’ ter uh passel ub
muscovy drakes an’ dey wuz bowin’ ter him. So I say ter de boy, ‘What
you doin’ ter dem ducks?’
“‘Talkin’ drake talk.’
“‘Well, what de ducks say?’
“‘I dunno, but _dey_ do!’
“All dis changin’ business is ergin de Bible, too. Lars’ Sunday Pawson
Demby preached erbout hit. His tex’ wuz fum de Profit Jerry-Myah: ‘Kin
uh Ethiopium change his skin er uh leopard his spots?’ An’ Pawson Demby
say ’twuz ornpossible.
“Jes’ befo’ Chrismus I went ter Easton wid uh load ub Chrismus trees,
an’ one ub de fus’ things I seed wuz uh lubly lookin’ young Mistis
dribin uh cullud pusson; he wuz uh settin’ behin’ huh wid his ahms
folded, all dress up an’ smilin’ same ez uh ole gray goose smilin’ on uh
gander. Well, I nebba ’spected ter lib ter see uh change like dat. Fac’
is, mos’ all de ladies ’roun’ heah gittin’ changed, an’ ve’y sassy,
tryin’ ter be like de men. Fuh instinct, dar is uh lady doctor an’ uh
lady lawyer, dey tells me, in Balt’mo’. Think ub dat! An’ hit’s all
ergin de’ structions ub Gen’sis, Rebullation, Jerry-Myah, Noahy an’ I
’specks all ub de profits. Kase de Bible say dat ’ooman kyant ebin pray
in publuc. Boss, da ain’ no use talkin’, fum de cricket an’ grasshopper
clean up ter man, de male de gre’tes’ an’ bes’ lookin’. Dar’s uh little
Jinny Wren settin’ on dat reed singin’ beau’ful. Now, ain’ hit s’prisin’
wha he git dat voice fum dat you kin heah ’cross de ribba; hit sut’ny is
strange. Well, dat he wren, don’ he look peart; an’ he is peart, too. He
kin meck uh hawk hide hissef. You see he’s de male. Well, look at dat
cock sparrow; don’ de hen look meek ’long side him? Boss, I’m gwine ter
teck mos’ ev’ything dat wuz in de yark, ter show dat ladies musn’ try
ter be men, an’ change deahsebs. Hit kyant be did any mo’ dan you kin
gib de female birds de feathers ub de males. I s’pose de bobolink is de
mos’ dress up ub all birds, fuh he changes his clothes twice uh yeah,
an’ when he got on dat beau’ful spring suit ub his’n his wives do
clustah erroun’ him. De cock partridge (some people call ’em Bob White),
de oriole, pigeon, teal duck, tukkey, canlas-back duck, woodpecker,
red-wing blackbird, de wood-duck, tu beau’ful futto kill; how lubly de
males is ’long side de females. Den ergin, pursidder de roostus; don’
matter ef’n dey shankhy, banty, game, er what not, dey’r boun’ ter hab
lubly feathers all streaked an’ striped same ez dem cattle dat Jacob, de
father ub de Petracks, owned. Mo’n dat, ef’n two roostus fight, de one
dat whups jes’ crows, flaps his wings, an’ heah cums his wives an’ de
udder roostah’s wives all runnin’ off wid him. Dat’s jes’ de way de
ladies ’roun’ heah runs arfter Mars Pinckney.”
Ezra seemed much pleased with his talk, and with a wisp of burning grass
in each hand, continued to fire the marsh, and for the moment forgot my
presence and sang:
“We cum ter dis worl’ bof naked an’ bare,
We al’ays goes thoo it wid sorrow an’ care;
We go when we die de Lawd only nose wha’;
Ef’n you’r uh thurrybred heah, yo’ll be uh thurrybred da.”
Pretending to entirely dissent with Ezra and to keep him interested and
talkative, I said, “Well, how about robins, doves, mocking birds, jack
snipe, woodcock and other birds where the male and female are alike?”
“Well, boss, Mars Pinckney say ef’n you gib de birds you kyant tell
erbout uh wumm, ef’n _he_ takes it hit’s uh he, an ef’n _she_ takes it
hit’s uh she.”
“How about owls, Ezra; they look alike, and they don’t eat worms?”
“Well, Noahy, dey tell me, name him de bird ub wissum, an’ ub cose made
him wise, an’ de female kyant fool him, _like dey mos’ gen’ly kin de
males_. Fuh instinct, when de female owls think deahsebs smart—bin out
all night an’ talkin’ in condidence ’mong deahsebs erbout it—de male,
ef’n he deceitful (_an’ some males is_), kin lissen an’ nod his haid
jes’ same ez ef he wuz uh sleep an’ meck bleebe he uh lady owl, an by
an’ by all unbenonsted ter de lady owl, fine out ef’n his wife bin uh
tootin’ an’ uh hootin’ erroun’. Mo’n dat, he mout erbin keepin’ comp’ny
hissef all night wid some sassy lady owl. _Dar’s wha his wissum cum in._
“S’pose de gentlemens an’ ladies look jes’ like one nerr an’ dress up de
same, Lawdy, by an’ by heah wud cum judgment day sho’ nuff, an’ we wud
soon burhol dis worl’ on fire an’ uh cislin’. So hit won’ do fuh dem ter
look de same, an’ we don’ wan’ no changin’, deed we don’; we wants de
males ter look proud an’ prancin’ all de time, an’ de females ter burhol
’em an’ not look sassy. I mos’ fogot one ub de lubliest ub de fowls, dat
will meck meh sponsibility stronger—dat’s de peacock. When de peacock
spreads his tail in de spring an’ looks his peartest, dey tells me
sometimes de hens git too po’ ter lay; dey so in lub dey jes’ eat
nuffin; jes’ meddowtate an’ look at deah mates struttin’ erbout. Da ain’
nuffin like uh peacock’s tail ’ceppin sometimes in de fall when de dew
is ve’y heavy an’ sorter fog-like an’ fros’-like, jes’ uh little missy,
an’ heah cum de sun risin’; an’ when hit strikes de trees, bushes an’
wines full ub dat fog, fros’ an’ mis’, da ain’ no rainbow er peacock’s
tail kin hole uh can’le ter it, I don’ keah who raises de peacock. Well,
boss, I am sho’ you see de application, but strange futto say, Mars
Pinckney, wid all his wissum an’ pursidderin’, is, ’pears ter me, on de
fence. Natchelly, ub cose, he is s’pose ter change kase he got so many
sweethyarts. He is ve’y fon’ ub fishin’ wid me. One day we wuz fishin’
fuh rock an’ tailor an’ waitin’ fuh de tide ter tu’n. I rents meh house
fum him. I don’ al’ays pay at de lars’ ub de monf, er de lars’ ub nex’
monf, an’ I owed him so much rent I wuz mos’ ’fear’d ter argue wid him
an’ talk ter him wid all meh soul erboutin dis changin’ business ’roun’
heah, an’ ub de lubliness ub de male in contras’ ter de female; but I
did it. Well, den he say, sorter snuffin’ meh composation orf, ‘Ezra,
you no mo’ erbout sorf crabs, fish an’ watahmillions dan you do erbout
things changin’.’ Den he say, ‘Don’ people all erroun’ heah change
money, change deah names when dey git merried? Don’ de watah we fish in
change fum ebb tide ter flood? Eggs ter chickens, sinnahs ter moaners,
sun, moon, win’ an’ seasons change. De acorn changes ter de oak, peach
stone ter de peach tree. Wumms ter butterflies.”
“Ezra, your Mars Pinckney is right. That’s the long and short of it.
Your Parson changed baptizing in salt water for fresh water. You have
confessed it, and you are changing all the time. Your hair was once
black, now it is white. To-day is bright, cold, windy and sunny.
To-morrow will be changed; it can’t be just like to-day. Even your oxen,
Lawyer and Farmer, like a change. Grass is good enough when there is no
wheat field to jump into, but when the wheat is green, sweet and rich,
they leave the grass.”
“Jes’ so, boss, jes’ so.”
“Why, you would get tired of bacon and cabbage if you had it all the
time.”
“Who, me? I nebba got tired ub it yit.”
“And, Ezra, if Aunt Cassey, your good and kind wife, hadn’t changed her
mind and married you instead of Uncle Snake Bit Jim, her name would now
be Mrs. Snake Bit Jim.”
“Dat’s what I say, boss; dat’s de application ezactly. I don’ like dis
changin’ business. Bless Gord, I wish Cassey hadn’ change huh mine.”
Memories of happier days come to us all. May they soften the pillow of
dear old Ezra. His first wife was my nurse, and many a time his willing
hands, to give her’s rest, have rocked my cradle.
[Illustration]
Who could our baby tears repress
And lull us into drowsiness.
Mammy.
MAMMY.
There are pictures of the past in memory’s gallery before which we love
to linger. To one it is perhaps the old homestead in the North, or the
South. To another, a woman’s face. To a woman mayhap this picture is
suggested by a simple tress of hair, or fragrant dust, _once_ violets,
or an old letter, perchance kissed many times, or tear-wet, who may
know? To me it is my old—
MAMMY.
Who nursed and fed us from her breast
And in her tender arms caressed?
Mammy.
Who washed our faces, combed our hair
And tied us in our baby chair?
Mammy.
Who soaped and bathed our little forms,
And rocked us in her loving arms?
Mammy.
Who, when we stumped our little toes,
Put balsam on to heal our woes?
Mammy.
Who could our baby tears repress,
And lull us into drowsiness?
Mammy.
Who tucked us in our baby cot,
And all our badness soon forgot?
Mammy.
Who always patted us to sleep,
And “Prayed the Lord our souls to keep?”
Mammy.
Who rests from sorrow ’neath the sod,
And all the paths of duty trod?
Mammy.
ANAH.
Uncle David, though threescore years and ten and bent with age, was
quite useful on the plantation, and was not afraid of work. His labor,
however, had not been of a wearing kind. Once a week he drove Sue, a
kind and gentle mare, to the mill with a load of corn and returned with
bags of sweet cornmeal, the like of which is hard to get nowadays.
In 1853 Sue foaled a bay mule colt with a black stripe down his back
that made a cross on his shoulders. David christened the colt Anah,
because he heard Parson Phil Demby preach a _pow’ful_ sermon Christmas,
the text of which was, “This was that Anah that found the mules in the
wilderness, as he fed the asses of Zibion his father.”[19]
Anah was a lively colt, and when David went to the mill often romped
ahead of Sue on the road, much to the anxiety of the mother, and
sometimes in a don’t-care way lagged behind for a quarter of a mile or
more; and though Uncle David characterized him as _worrysome an’
scan’lous_, he was very fond of the colt and the colt fond of him. By
and by Anah was big and old enough to break, and David soon had him
going kindly and taking his old dam’s place in the cart.
David was always relied upon to select and haul the Christmas tree,
which was placed in the brick kitchen. It was literally a tree, and on
its many boughs hung gifts for the household and servants.
The woods loam was selected by David and hauled by Anah for Kerchibell,
the old Scotch gardener, who put it on his early spring plants and
flowers; indeed, almost every day the mule was hauling something, with
David on the cart singing or nodding.
Every Saturday at 12 o’clock the servants were allowed to quit work and
haul the seine. The terrapins caught were brought to the mansion, with a
goodly number of spot, hog and other fish; the rest of the fish the
servants were allowed to market for pin-money. At such times Uncle David
was always on deck with Anah.
For twenty-five years Anah did faithful work, and David loved him and
talked to him as though he was a human being, and said, “Anah almos’
knew’d his A. B. C’s.” Like most mules, however, in his old age he got
full of kinks, and would bite and kick anyone but David, who said, “He
hab grow’d ’ceitful an’ ub cose I hab ter scole him.”
The old man was very credulous and as easily chaffed by his marster as
Polonius was by Hamlet. For example: One day whilst Anah was kicking up
and putting on airs and David was grumbling and saying, “He ain’ no good
no how; I sut’ny am tired ub dis mule,” his Mars Jimmy walked past the
cart and said, “I’m going to sell that worthless old mule and get you a
nice little mare I can buy at a bargain. True she is hip-shot, spavined
and very lazy, but will do for your work.”
David was perplexed and disconsolate and at bed-hour went to the stable.
Anah was munching his oats, and David, little and bent, stood behind the
mule, who switched his tail and laid back his ears as if to say, You are
going to take away my oats. The old man’s eyes brimmed with tears; he
had a big, kind heart, and his affection for the mule was really
touching. Finally he said, “You recommember me all de time, don’ you,
Anah? Don’ I al’ays feed you good an’ rub you an’ gib you uh sorf bed?”
Then he walked into the stall, stroked the mule’s ear and said, “Jes’ ez
sorf ez uh ’possum’s ear; you know I ain’ gwine ter let ’em sell you,
Anah. Mars Jimmy kyant find an nerr mule in Talbot County like you. He
ain’ gwine ter sell you, an’ ef’n he do, he got ter sell me wid you, dat
he is! Well, da ain’ no tellin’; Mars Jimmy mout sell dis mule
ter-morry, so I’m gwine ter sleep wid him dis night, fuh it mout be de
po’ mule’s lars’ night heah. I’ll put some mo’ hay in de bottom ub de
manger, an’ wid dese corn-cobs I’ll meck ub pillah, put meh coat on it,
an’ den I’ll kivver mehsef wid hay. Lemmy see—no, I won’ teck meh shoes
orf, kase I mout hab ter git up futto git him some oats.” His bed
arranged, the old man said, “I heah Pawson Demby say dat our blessid
Lawd an’ Sabior wuz bawn in ub stable, so hit sut’ny good ernuff fuh
me.” Weary and sad, he leaned against the manger, said his prayers, and
then he snuggled in the hay and sang his favorite hymn:
=“What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear?
Golden slippers!
What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear?
Golden slippers I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glitter-in’ sun.=
=What kind ub crown you gwine ter wear?
Star-ry crown!
What kind ub crown you gwine ter wear?
Star-ry crown I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glitter-in’ sun.=
=What kind ub robe you gwine ter wear?
White robe!
What kind ub robe you gwine ter wear?
White robe!
Long white robe I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glit-ter-in’ sun.=
=What kind ub hymn you gwine ter sing?
New hymn!
What kind ub hyarp you gwine ter play?
Golden hyarp!
Golden hyarp I’m bound ter play, dat outshines de glit—ter—in’——sun——.”=
Then all was hushed!
Mayhap Uncle David dreamed he had on his golden slippers that outshone
the glittering sun, wore a starry crown and long white robe, sang a new
hymn, and played upon a golden harp, for the Bible tells us—
=“The sleep of a laboring man is sweet.”=
-----
Footnote 1:
Robert Morris was the father of the revolutionary financier, and Henry
Callister, a philanthropist who befriended the deported hapless
Acadians, sent to Annapolis, Md., in 1775, and gave large sums from
his own pocket to relieve their suffering, to the serious impairment
of his moderate fortune.
Footnote 2:
Macaulay says, “Our own firm belief is that he was.”
Footnote 3:
To appreciate this sermon the 29th chapter of Genesis should be read
if the reader is not familiar with the same.
Footnote 4:
II Samuel xviii, 9, 10.
Footnote 5:
Genesis, Chapter 32, Ver. 24, 25.
Footnote 6:
Scipio Jones.
Footnote 7:
Dr. John P. Durbin, one of the most eloquent of American orators, was
able to speak to a child with such beauty of expression and propriety
of enunciation that a company of educated ladies and gentlemen were
entranced. Conversation was suspended and regret felt when the doctor
turned from the delighted child to the rest of the company. In an
earlier period, when enfeebled voice compelled him to suspend public
efforts, he had gone from cabin to cabin among the negroes on the
plantations of Kentucky, conversing with them on religion, and claimed
that by this process he acquired his marvelously simple style.
Extemporaneous Oratory, Buckley, p. 94.
Footnote 8:
Samuel i, 19.
Footnote 9:
II Samuel vi, 16.
Footnote 10:
Exodus xxii, 18.
Footnote 11:
See Little Billy’s Pumpkin.
Footnote 12:
See Mars Pinckney’s ’Simmons.
Footnote 13:
A negro superstition.
Footnote 14:
Told the negroes he was a major in the war of 1812. He was a teamster.
Footnote 15:
Suspenders.
Footnote 16:
Job vii, 7.
Footnote 17:
A story of the late Senator Vance Versified.
Footnote 18:
“The legislature of Alabama donated to Miss Sanson a section of the
unappropriated public lands of the state as a testimonial of the high
appreciation of her services by the people of Alabama, and directed
the Governor of the State to provide and present her with a gold
medal, inscribed with suitable devices commemorative of her conduct.”
Footnote 19:
Genesis xxxvi, 24.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as
printed.
3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together
at the end of the last chapter.
4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
5. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.
End of Project Gutenberg's Ole Mars an' Ole Miss, by Edmund K. Goldsborough