I had the good fortune to come from "the old county of Hanover," as
that particular division of the State of Virginia is affectionately
called by nearly all who are so lucky as to have first seen the light
amid its broom-straw fields and heavy forests; and to this happy
circumstance I owed the honor of a special visit from one of its most
loyal citizens. Indeed, the glories of his native county were so
embalmed in his memory and were so generously and continuously imparted
to all his acquaintances, that he was in the county of his adoption
universally known after an absence of forty years as "Old Hanover." I
had not been long in F---- when I was informed that I might, in right
of the good fortune respecting my birthplace, to which I have referred,
expect a visit from my distinguished fellow-countyman, and thus I was
not surprised, when one afternoon a message was brought in that "Ole
Hanover was in the yard, and had called to pay his bes' bespecks to de
gent'man what hed de honor to come f'om de ole county."
I immediately went out, followed by my host, to find that the visit was
attended with a formality which raised it almost to the dignity of a
ceremonial. "Old Hanover" was accompanied by his wife, and was attended
by quite a number of other negroes, who had followed him either out of
curiosity excited by the importance he had attached to the visit, or
else in the desire to shine in reflected glory as his friends. "Old
Hanover" himself stood well out in front of the rest, like an old
African chief in state with his followers behind him about to receive
an embassy. He was arrayed with great care, in a style which I thought
at first glance was indicative of the clerical calling, but which I
soon discovered was intended to be merely symbolical of approximation
to the dignity which was supposed to pertain to that profession. He
wore a very long and baggy coat which had once been black, but was now
tanned by exposure to a reddish brown, a vest which looked as if it had
been velvet before the years had eaten the nap from it, and changed it
into a fabric not unlike leather. His shirt was obviously newly washed
for the occasion, and his high clean collar fell over an ample and
somewhat bulging white cloth, which partook of the qualities of both
stock and necktie. His skin was of that lustrous black which shines as
if freshly oiled, and his face was closely shaved except for two tufts
of short, white hair, one on each side, which shone like snow against
his black cheeks. He wore an old and very quaint beaver, and a pair of
large, old-fashioned, silver-rimmed spectacles, which gave him an air
of portentous dignity.
When I first caught sight of him, he was leaning on a long hickory
stick, which might have been his staff of state, and his face was set
in an expression of superlative importance. As I appeared, however,
he at once removed his hat, and taking a long step forward, made me a
profound bow. I was so much impressed by him, that I failed to catch
the whole of the grandiloquent speech with which he greeted me. I had
evidently secured his approval; for he boldly declared that he "would
'a' recognizated me for one of de rail quality ef he had foun' me
in a cuppen." I was immediately conscious of the effect which his
endorsement produced on his companions. They regarded me with new
interest, if any expression so bovine deserved to be thus characterized.
"I tell dese folks up heah dee don't know nuthin' 'bout rail quality,"
he asserted with a contemptuous wave of his arm, which was manifestly
intended to embrace the entire section in its comprehensive sweep. "Dee
'ain' nuver had no 'quaintance wid it," he explained, condescendingly.
His friends accepted this criticism with proper submissiveness.
"De Maconses, de Berkeleyses, de Carterses, de Bassettses, de
Wickhamses, de Nelsonses, an' dem!"--(the final ending "es" was plainly
supposed to give additional dignity)--"now _dee_ is sho 'nough quality.
I know all 'bout 'em." He paused long enough to permit this to sink in.
"I b'longst to Doc' Macon. _You_ know what _he_ wuz?"
His emphasis compelled me to acknowledge his exalted position or
abandon forever all hope of retaining my own; so I immediately
assented, and inquired how long he had been in "this country," as he
designated his adopted region. He turned with some severity to one of
his companions, a stout and slatternly woman, very black, and many
years his junior.
"How long is I been heah, Lucindy?"
The woman addressed, by way of answer, turned half away, and gave a
little nervous laugh. "I don't know how long you been heah, you been
heah so long; mos' forty years, I reckon." This sally called from her
companions a little ripple of amusement.
"Dat's my wife, suh," the old gentleman explained, apologetically.
"She's de one I got now; she come f'om up heah in dis kentry." His
voice expressed all that the words were intended to convey. Lucindy,
who appeared accustomed to such contemptuous reference, merely gave
another little explosion which shook her fat shoulders.
As, however, I was expected to endorse all his views, I changed the
embarrassing subject by inquiring how he had happened to leave the old
county.
"Ole marster gi' me to Miss Fanny when she ma'yed Marse William
Fitzhugh," he explained. "I wuz ma'yed den to Marth' Ann; she wuz Miss
Fanny's maid, an' when she come up heah wid Miss Fanny, I recompany
her." He would not admit that his removal was a permanent one. "I
al'ays layin' out to go back home, but I 'ain' been yit. Dee's mos' all
daid b'fo' dis, suh?"
He spoke as if this were a fact, but there was a faint inquiry in
his eyes if not in his tone. I was sorry not to be able to inform
him differently, and, to change the subject, I started to ask him a
question. "Martha Ann--" I began, and then paused irresolute.
"She's daid too," he said simply.
"How many children have you?" I asked.
"I 'ain' got but beah one now, suh, ef I got dat one," he replied;
"dat's P'laski."
"How many have you had?"
"Well, suh, dat's a partic'lar thing to tell," he said, with a
whimsical look on his face. "De Scripturs says you is to multiply an'
replanish de uth; but I s'pecks I's had some several mo'n my relowance;
dar's Jeems, an' Peter, an' Jeremiah, an' Hezekiah, an' Zekyel, Ananias
an' Malachi, Matthew an' Saint Luke, besides de gals. Dee's all gone;
an' now I 'ain' got but jes dat P'laski. He's de wuthlisses one o' de
whole gang. He tecks after his mammy."
The reference to Pulaski appeared to occasion some amusement among his
friends, and I innocently inquired if he was Martha Ann's son.
"Nor, _suh, dat_ he warn'!" was the vehement and indignant answer. "Ef
he had 'a' been, he nuver would 'a' got me into all dat trouble. Dat
wuz de mortification o' my life, suh. He got all dat meanness f'om his
mammy. Dat ooman dyah is his mammy." He indicated the plump Lucindy
with his long stick, which he poked at her contemptuously. "Dat's what
I git for mar'yin' one o' dese heah up-kentry niggers!" The "up-kentry"
spouse was apparently quite accustomed to this characterization, for
she simply looked away, rather in embarrassment at my gaze being
directed to her than under any stronger emotion. Her liege continued:
"Lucindy warn' quality like me an' Marth' Ann, an' her son tooken
after her. What's in de myah will come out in de colt; an' he is de
meanes' chile I uver had. I name de urrs f'om de Scriptur', but he come
o' a diff'ent stock, an' I name him arter Mr. P'laski Greener, whar
Lucindy use' to b'longst to, an' I reckon maybe dat's de reason he so
natchally evil. I had mo' trouble by recount o' dat boy 'n I hed when I
los' Marth' Ann."
The old fellow threw back his head and gave a loud "Whew!" actually
removing his large spectacles in his desperation at Pulaski's
wickedness. Again there was a suppressed chuckle from his friends; so,
seeing that some mystery attached to the matter, I put a question which
started him.
"Well, I'll tell you, suh," he began. "Hit all growed out of a
tunament, suh. You an' I knows all discerning tunaments, 'cuz we come
f'om de ole county o' Hanover, whar de _raise_ tunaments"--(he referred
to them as if they had been a species of vegetables)--"but we 'ain'
nuver hearn de modification of a _nigger_ ridin' in a tunament?"
I admitted this, and, after first laying his hat carefully on the
ground, he proceeded:
"Well, you know, suh, dat P'laski got de notionment in he haid dat he
wuz to ride in a tunament. He got dat f'om dat ooman." He turned and
pointed a trembling finger at his uncomplaining spouse; and then slowly
declared, "Lord! I wuz outdone dat day."
I suggested that possibly he had not followed Solomon's injunction as
rigidly as Pulaski's peculiar traits of character had demanded; but he
said promptly:
"Yes, suh, I did. I whupped him faithful; but he took whuppin' like a
ole steer. Hickory didn' 'pear to have no 'feck on him. He didn' had no
memory; he like a ole steer: got a thick skin an' a short memory; he
wuz what I call one o' dese disorde'ly boys."
He paused long enough to permit this term, taken from the police court
reports, to make a lodgement, and then proceeded:
"He wuz so wuthless at home, I hired him out to ole Mis' Twine for
fo' dollars an' a half a mont'--an' more'n he wuth, too!--to see ef
po' white ooman kin git any wuck out'n him. A po' white ooman kin git
wuck out a nigger ef anybody kin, an' 'twuz down dyah that he got had
foolishness lodgicated in he haid. You see, ole Mis' Twine warn' so fur
f'om Wash'n'n. Nigger think ef he kin git to Wash'n'n, he done got in
heaven. Well, I hire him to ole Mis' Twine, 'cuz I think she'll keep
P'laski straight, an' ef I don' git but one fo' dollars an' a half f'om
him, hit's dat much; but 'pear like he got to runnin' an' consortin'
wid some o' dem urr free-issue niggers roun' dyah, an' dee larne him
mo' foolishness'n I think dee able; 'cuz a full hawg cyarn drink no
mo'."
The old fellow launched out into diatribes against the "free issues,"
who, he declared, expected to be "better than white folks, like white
folks ain' been free sense de wull begin." He, however, shortly
returned to his theme.
"Well, fust thing I knowed, one Sunday I wuz settin' down in my house,
an' heah come P'laski all done fixed up wid a high collar on, mos' high
as ole master's, an' wid a better breeches on 'n I uver wear in my
_life_, an' wid a creevat! an' a cane! an' wid a seegar! He comes in de
do' an' hol' he seegar in he han', sort o' so" (illustrating), "an' he
teck off he hat kine o' flourishy 'whurr,' an' say, 'Good mornin', pa
an' ma.' He mammy--_dat_ she--monsus pleaged wid dem manners; she ain'
know no better; but I ain' nuver like nobody to gobble roun' _me_, an'
I say, 'Look heah, boy, don' fool wid me; I ain' feelin' well to-day,
an' ef you fool wid me, when I git done wid you, you oon feel well
you'self.' Den he kine o' let he feathers down; an' presney he say he
warn me to len' him three dollars an' a half. I ax him what he warn
do wid it, 'cuz I know I ain' gwine len' to him--jes well len' money
to a mus'rat hole;--an' he say he warn it for a tunament. 'Hi!' I say,
'P'laski, what air a tunament?' I mecked out, you see, like I ain'
recognizated what he meck correspondence to; an' he start to say, 'A
tunament, pa--' but I retch for a barrel hoop whar layin' by kine o'
amiable like, an' he stop, like young mule whar see mud-puddle in de
road, an' say, 'A tunament--a tunament is whar you gits 'pon a hoss
wid a pole, an' rides hard as you kin, an' pokes de pole at a ring,
an'--' When he gets right dyah, I interrup's him, an' I say, 'P'laski,'
says I, 'I's raised wid de fust o' folks, 'cuz I's raised wid de
Maconses at Doc' Macon's in Hanover, an' I's spectated fish fries,
an' festibals, an' bobbycues; but I ain' nuver witness nuttin' like
dat--a nigger ridin' 'pon a hoss hard as he kin stave, an' nominatin'
of it a tunament,' I says. 'You's talkin' 'bout a hoss-race,' I says,
''cuz dat's de on'yes' thing,' I says, 'a nigger rides in.' You know,
suh," he broke in suddenly, "you and I's seen many a hoss-race, 'cuz
we come f'om hoss kentry, right down dyah f'om whar Marse Torm Doswell
live, an' we done see hoss-races whar wuz hoss-races sho 'nough,
at the ole Fyarfiel' race-co'se, whar hosses used to run could beat
buds flyin' an' so I tole him. I tole him I nuver heah nobody but a
po' white folks' nigger call a hoss-race a tunament; an' I tole him
I reckon de pole he talkin' 'bout wuz de hick'ry dee used to tune de
boys' backs wid recasionally when dee didn' ride right. Dat cut him
down might'ly, 'cuz dat ermine him o' de hick'ries I done wyah out 'pon
him; but he say, 'Nor, 'tis a long pole whar you punch th'oo a ring,
an' de one whar punch de moes, he crown de queen.' I tole him dat de
on'yes' queen I uver heah 'bout wuz a cow ole master had, whar teck de
fust prize at de State fyah in Richmond one year; but he presist dat
this wuz a tunament queen, and he warn three dollars an' a half to get
him a new shut an' to pay he part ov de supper. Den I tole him ef he
think I gwine give him three dollars an' a half for dat foolishness
he mus' think I big a fool as he wuz. Wid dat he begin to act kine
o' aggervated, which I teck for impidence, 'cuz I nuver could abeah
chillern ner women to be sullen roun' me; an' I gi' him de notification
dat ef I cotch him foolin' wid any tunament I gwine ride him tell he
oon know wherr he ain't a mule hisself; an' I gwine have hick'ry pole
dyah too. Den I tolt him he better go 'long back to ole Mis' Twine,
whar I done hire him to; an' when he see me pick up de barrel hoop
an' start to roll up my sleeve, he went; an' I heah he jine dat Jim
Sinkfiel', an' dat's what git me into all dat tribilation."
"What got you in?" I inquired, in some doubt as to his meaning.
"Dat tunament, suh. P'laski rid it! An' what's mo,' suh, he won de
queen,--one o' ole man Bob Sibley's impident gals,--an' when he come to
crown her, he crown her wid ole Mis' Twine's weddin'-ring!"
There was a subdued murmur of amusement in the group behind him, and
I could not but inquire how he came to perform so extraordinary a
ceremony.
"Dat I don' know, suh; but so 'twair. Fust information I had on it
wuz when I went down to ole Mis' Twine's to get he mont's weges. I
received de ontelligence on de way dat he had done lef' dyah, an' dat
ole Mis' Twine gol' ring had lef' by de same road at de same time. Dat
correspondence mortify me might'ly' cuz I hadn' raised P'laski no
sich a ways as dat. He was dat ooman's son to be sho' an' I knowed he
wuz wuthless, but still I hadn' respect him to steal ole Mis' Twine
weddin'-ring, whar she wyah on her finger ev'y day, an' whar wuz gol'
too. I want de infimation 'bout de fo' dollars an' a half, so I went
'long; but soon as ole Mis' Twine see me she began to quoil. I tell
her I just come to git de reasonment o' de matter, an' I 'ain' got
nuthin' 'tall to say 'bout P'laski. Dat jes like bresh on fire; she
wuss'n befo'. She so savigrous I tolt her I 'ain' nuver had nobody to
prevaricate nuttin' 'bout me; dat I b'longst to Doc' Macon, o' Hanover,
an' I ax her ef she knowed de Maconses. She say, nor, she 'ain' know
'em, nor she ain' nuver hearn on 'em, an' she wished she hadn' nuver
hearn on me an' my thievin' boy--dat's P'laski. Well, tell then, I
mighty consarned 'bout P'laski; but when she said she 'ain' nuver hearn
on the Maconses, I ain' altogether b'lieve P'laski done teck her ring,
cause I ain' know whether she got any ring; though I know sence the
tunament he mean enough for anything; an' I tolt her so, an' I tolt her
I wuz raised wid quality--sence she ain' know the Maconses, I ain'
tole her no mo' 'bout dem, 'cuz de Bible say you is not to cast pearls
befo' hawgs--an' dat I had tote de corn-house keys many a time, an'
Marth' Ann used to go in ole Mistis' trunks same as ole Mistis herself.
Right dyah she mought 'a' cotch me ef she had knowed that P'laski warn'
Marth' Ann's son; but she ain' know de Maconses, an' in cose she ain'
'quainted wid de servants, so she don' know it. Well, suh, she rar an'
she pitch. Yo' nuver heah a ooman talk so befo' in yo' life; an' fust
thing I knew she gone in de house, she say she gwine git a gun an' run
me off dat lan'. But I ain' wait for dat: don nobody have to git gun to
run me off dee lan'. I jes teck my foot in my han' an' come 'long way
by myself, 'cuz I think maybe a ooman 'at could cuss like a man mout
shoot like a man too."
"Where did you go and what did you do next?" I asked the old fellow as
he paused with a whimsical little nod of satisfaction at his wisdom.
"I went home, suh," he said. "I heah on de way dat P'laski had sho
'nough done crownt Bob Sibly's gal, Lizzy Susan, wid de ring, an' dat
he wuz gwine to Wash'n'n, but wuz done come home to git some things
b'fo' he went; so I come straight 'long behinst him jes swif' as my
foot could teck me. I didn' was'e much time," he said, with some pride,
"'cuz he had done mighty nigh come gittin' me shot. I jes stop long
'nough to cut me a bunch o' right keen hick'ries, an' I jes come 'long
shakin' my foot. When I got to my house I ain' fine nobody dyah but
Lucindy--dat ve'y ooman dyah"--pointing his long stick at her--"an'
I lay my hick'ries on de bed, an' ax her is she see P'laski. Fust
she meck out dat she ain' heah me, she so induschus; I nuver see her
so induschus; but when I meck 'quiration agin she bleeged to answer
me, an' she 'spon' dat she 'ain' see him; 'cuz she see dat my blood
wuz up, an' she know dee wuz trouble 'pendin' for P'laski. Dat worry
me might'ly, an' I say, 'Lucindy, ef you is done meck dat boy resent
hisself f'om heah, you is done act like a po' white folks' nigger,' I
say, 'an' you's got to beah de depravity o' his transgression.' When
I tolt her dat she nuver got mad, 'cuz she know she air not quality
like me an' Marth' Ann; but she 'pear right smartly disturbed, an'
she 'clar' she ain' lay her eyes on P'laski. She done 'clar' so
partic'lar I mos' inclin' to b'lieve her; but all on a suddent I heah
some 'n' sneeze, 'Quechew!' De soun' come f'om onder de bed, an' I jes
retch over an' gether in my bunch o' hick'ries, an' I say, 'Come out!'
Lucindy say, 'Dat's a cat'; an' I say, 'Yes,' I say, 'hit's a cat I
gwine skin, too.'
"I jes stoop down, an' peep onder de bed, an', sho 'nough, dyah wuz
P'laski squinch up onder dyah, cane an' seegar an' all, jes like a ole
hyah in a trap. I ketch him by de leg, an' juck him out, an'--don'
you know, suh, dat ooman had done put _my_ shut on dat boy, an' wuz
gettin' ready to precipitate him in flight! I tolt her it wuz p'intedly
oudacious for her an' her son, after he had done stolt ole Mis' Taine
weddin'-ring, to come to my own house an' rob me jes like I wuz a
hen-roos'!"
"What reply did she make to that?" I asked, to facilitate his narrative.
"She 'ain' possessed no reply to dat indictment," he said, pompously.
"She glad by dat time to remit me to terminate my excitement on
P'laski, an' so I did. He hollered tell dee say you could heah him
two miles; he fyahly lumbered." The old fellow gave a chuckle of
satisfaction at the reminiscence, and began to draw figures in the
sand with his long stick. Suddenly, however, he looked up. "Ef I had
a-intimated how much tribilation dat lumberin' wuz gwine to get me in,
he nuver would 'a' hollered. Dat come o' dat chicken-stealin' nigger
Jem Sinkfiel'; he cyahed him off."