{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_11666/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_11666","id":"gutenberg_11666","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11666","summary":null,"tags":["African American Writers","African Americans -- Fiction","Category: American Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Southern States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction"],"text":"THE CONJURE WOMAN\n\nBY\n\nCHARLES W. CHESNUTT\n\nFirst published in 1899 by Houghton, Mifflin & Co.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nTHE GOOPHERED GRAPEVINE\nPO' SANDY\nMARS JEEMS'S NIGHTMARE\nTHE CONJURER'S REVENGE\nSIS' BECKY'S PICKANINNY\nTHE GRAY WOLF'S HA'NT\nHOT-FOOT HANNIBAL\n\n\n\"The Conjurer's Revenge\" is reprinted from _The Overland Monthly_ by\npermission of the publishers.\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\nUncollected Uncle Julius Stories\nDave's Neckliss (1889)\nA Deep Sleeper (1893)\nLonesome Ben (1900)\nEssay\nSuperstitions and Folk-Lore of the South (1901)\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONJURE WOMAN\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE GOOPHERED GRAPEVINE\n\n\nSome years ago my wife was in poor health, and our family doctor, in\nwhose skill and honesty I had implicit confidence, advised a change of\nclimate. I shared, from an unprofessional standpoint, his opinion that\nthe raw winds, the chill rains, and the violent changes of temperature\nthat characterized the winters in the region of the Great Lakes tended\nto aggravate my wife's difficulty, and would undoubtedly shorten her\nlife if she remained exposed to them. The doctor's advice was that we\nseek, not a temporary place of sojourn, but a permanent residence, in a\nwarmer and more equable climate. I was engaged at the time in\ngrape-culture in northern Ohio, and, as I liked the business and had\ngiven it much study, I decided to look for some other locality suitable\nfor carrying it on. I thought of sunny France, of sleepy Spain, of\nSouthern California, but there were objections to them all. It occurred\nto me that I might find what I wanted in some one of our own Southern\nStates. It was a sufficient time after the war for conditions in the\nSouth to have become somewhat settled; and I was enough of a pioneer to\nstart a new industry, if I could not find a place where grape-culture\nhad been tried. I wrote to a cousin who had gone into the turpentine\nbusiness in central North Carolina. He assured me, in response to my\ninquiries, that no better place could be found in the South than the\nState and neighborhood where he lived; the climate was perfect for\nhealth, and, in conjunction with the soil, ideal for grape-culture;\nlabor was cheap, and land could be bought for a mere song. He gave us a\ncordial invitation to come and visit him while we looked into the\nmatter. We accepted the invitation, and after several days of leisurely\ntravel, the last hundred miles of which were up a river on a sidewheel\nsteamer, we reached our destination, a quaint old town, which I shall\ncall Patesville, because, for one reason, that is not its name. There\nwas a red brick market-house in the public square, with a tall tower,\nwhich held a four-faced clock that struck the hours, and from which\nthere pealed out a curfew at nine o'clock. There were two or three\nhotels, a court-house, a jail, stores, offices, and all the\nappurtenances of a county seat and a commercial emporium; for while\nPatesville numbered only four or five thousand inhabitants, of all\nshades of complexion, it was one of the principal towns in North\nCarolina, and had a considerable trade in cotton and naval stores. This\nbusiness activity was not immediately apparent to my unaccustomed eyes.\nIndeed, when I first saw the town, there brooded over it a calm that\nseemed almost sabbatic in its restfulness, though I learned later on\nthat underneath its somnolent exterior the deeper currents of life--love\nand hatred, joy and despair, ambition and avarice, faith and\nfriendship--flowed not less steadily than in livelier latitudes.\n\nWe found the weather delightful at that season, the end of summer, and\nwere hospitably entertained. Our host was a man of means and evidently\nregarded our visit as a pleasure, and we were therefore correspondingly\nat our ease, and in a position to act with the coolness of judgment\ndesirable in making so radical a change in our lives. My cousin placed a\nhorse and buggy at our disposal, and himself acted as our guide until I\nbecame somewhat familiar with the country.\n\nI found that grape-culture, while it had never been carried on to any\ngreat extent, was not entirely unknown in the neighborhood. Several\nplanters thereabouts had attempted it on a commercial scale, in former\nyears, with greater or less success; but like most Southern industries,\nit had felt the blight of war and had fallen into desuetude.\n\nI went several times to look at a place that I thought might suit me. It\nwas a plantation of considerable extent, that had formerly belonged to a\nwealthy man by the name of McAdoo. The estate had been for years\ninvolved in litigation between disputing heirs, during which period\nshiftless cultivation had well-nigh exhausted the soil. There had been a\nvineyard of some extent on the place, but it had not been attended to\nsince the war, and had lapsed into utter neglect. The vines--here\npartly supported by decayed and broken-down trellises, there twining\nthemselves among the branches of the slender saplings which had sprung\nup among them--grew in wild and unpruned luxuriance, and the few\nscattered grapes they bore were the undisputed prey of the first comer.\nThe site was admirably adapted to grape-raising; the soil, with a little\nattention, could not have been better; and with the native grape, the\nluscious scuppernong, as my main reliance in the beginning, I felt sure\nthat I could introduce and cultivate successfully a number of other\nvarieties.\n\nOne day I went over with my wife to show her the place. We drove out of\nthe town over a long wooden bridge that spanned a spreading mill-pond,\npassed the long whitewashed fence surrounding the county fair-ground,\nand struck into a road so sandy that the horse's feet sank to the\nfetlocks. Our route lay partly up hill and partly down, for we were in\nthe sand-hill county; we drove past cultivated farms, and then by\nabandoned fields grown up in scrub-oak and short-leaved pine, and once\nor twice through the solemn aisles of the virgin forest, where the tall\npines, well-nigh meeting over the narrow road, shut out the sun, and\nwrapped us in cloistral solitude. Once, at a cross-roads, I was in doubt\nas to the turn to take, and we sat there waiting ten minutes--we had\nalready caught some of the native infection of restfulness--for some\nhuman being to come along, who could direct us on our way. At length a\nlittle negro girl appeared, walking straight as an arrow, with a piggin\nfull of water on her head. After a little patient investigation,\nnecessary to overcome the child's shyness, we learned what we wished to\nknow, and at the end of about five miles from the town reached our\ndestination.\n\nWe drove between a pair of decayed gateposts--the gate itself had long\nsince disappeared--and up a straight sandy lane, between two lines of\nrotting rail fence, partly concealed by jimson-weeds and briers, to the\nopen space where a dwelling-house had once stood, evidently a spacious\nmansion, if we might judge from the ruined chimneys that were still\nstanding, and the brick pillars on which the sills rested. The house\nitself, we had been informed, had fallen a victim to the fortunes of\nwar.\n\nWe alighted from the buggy, walked about the yard for a while, and then\nwandered off into the adjoining vineyard. Upon Annie's complaining of\nweariness I led the way back to the yard, where a pine log, lying under\na spreading elm, afforded a shady though somewhat hard seat. One end of\nthe log was already occupied by a venerable-looking colored man. He held\non his knees a hat full of grapes, over which he was smacking his lips\nwith great gusto, and a pile of grapeskins near him indicated that the\nperformance was no new thing. We approached him at an angle from the\nrear, and were close to him before he perceived us. He respectfully rose\nas we drew near, and was moving away, when I begged him to keep his\nseat.\n\n\"Don't let us disturb you,\" I said. \"There is plenty of room for us\nall.\"\n\nHe resumed his seat with somewhat of embarrassment. While he had been\nstanding, I had observed that he was a tall man, and, though slightly\nbowed by the weight of years, apparently quite vigorous. He was not\nentirely black, and this fact, together with the quality of his hair,\nwhich was about six inches long and very bushy, except on the top of his\nhead, where he was quite bald, suggested a slight strain of other than\nnegro blood. There was a shrewdness in his eyes, too, which was not\naltogether African, and which, as we afterwards learned from experience,\nwas indicative of a corresponding shrewdness in his character. He went\non eating the grapes, but did not seem to enjoy himself quite so well as\nhe had apparently done before he became aware of our presence.\n\n\"Do you live around here?\" I asked, anxious to put him at his ease.\n\n\"Yas, suh. I lives des ober yander, behine de nex' san'-hill, on de\nLumberton plank-road.\"\n\n\"Do you know anything about the time when this vineyard was cultivated?\"\n\n\"Lawd bless you, suh, I knows all about it. Dey ain' na'er a man in dis\nsettlement w'at won' tell you ole Julius McAdoo 'uz bawn en raise' on\ndis yer same plantation. Is you de Norv'n gemman w'at's gwine ter buy\nde ole vimya'd?\"\n\n\"I am looking at it,\" I replied; \"but I don't know that I shall care to\nbuy unless I can be reasonably sure of making something out of it.\"\n\n\"Well, suh, you is a stranger ter me, en I is a stranger ter you, en we\nis bofe strangers ter one anudder, but 'f I 'uz in yo' place, I wouldn'\nbuy dis vimya'd.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, I dunno whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in' er not,--some er de w'ite\nfolks don't, er says dey don't,--but de truf er de matter is dat dis yer\nole vimya'd is goophered.\"\n\n\"Is what?\" I asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar word.\n\n\"Is goophered,--cunju'd, bewitch'.\"\n\nHe imparted this information with such solemn earnestness, and with such\nan air of confidential mystery, that I felt somewhat interested, while\nAnnie was evidently much impressed, and drew closer to me.\n\n\"How do you know it is bewitched?\" I asked.\n\n\"I wouldn' spec' fer you ter b'lieve me 'less you know all 'bout de\nfac's. But ef you en young miss dere doan' min' lis'nin' ter a ole\nnigger run on a minute er two w'ile you er restin', I kin 'splain to you\nhow it all happen'.\"\n\nWe assured him that we would be glad to hear how it all happened, and he\nbegan to tell us. At first the current of his memory--or\nimagination--seemed somewhat sluggish; but as his embarrassment wore\noff, his language flowed more freely, and the story acquired perspective\nand coherence. As he became more and more absorbed in the narrative, his\neyes assumed a dreamy expression, and he seemed to lose sight of his\nauditors, and to be living over again in monologue his life on the old\nplantation.\n\n\"Ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo,\" he began, \"bought dis place long many years\nbefo' de wah, en I'member well w'en he sot out all dis yer part er de\nplantation in scuppernon's. De vimes growed monst'us fas', en Mars\nDugal' made a thousan' gallon er scuppernon' wine eve'y year.\n\n\"Now, ef dey's an'thing a nigger lub, nex' ter 'possum, en chick'n, en\nwatermillyums, it's scuppernon's. Dey ain' nuffin dat kin stan' up\nside'n de scuppernon' fer sweetness; sugar ain't a suckumstance ter\nscuppernon'. W'en de season is nigh 'bout ober, en de grapes begin ter\nswivel up des a little wid de wrinkles er ole age,--w'en de skin git\nsof' en brown,--den de scuppernon' make you smack yo' lip en roll yo'\neye en wush fer mo'; so I reckon it ain' very 'stonishin' dat niggers\nlub scuppernon'.\n\n\"Dey wuz a sight er niggers in de naberhood er de vimya'd. Dere wuz ole\nMars Henry Brayboy's niggers, en ole Mars Jeems McLean's niggers, en\nMars Dugal's own niggers; den dey wuz a settlement er free niggers en\npo' buckrahs down by de Wim'l'ton Road, en Mars Dugal' had de only\nvimya'd in de naberhood. I reckon it ain' so much so nowadays, but befo'\nde wah, in slab'ry times, a nigger did n' mine goin' fi' er ten mile in\na night, w'en dey wuz sump'n good ter eat at de yuther een'.\n\n\"So atter a w'ile Mars Dugal' begin ter miss his scuppernon's. Co'se he\n'cuse' de niggers er it, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'. Mars Dugal'\nsot spring guns en steel traps, en he en de oberseah sot up nights\nonce't er twice't, tel one night Mars Dugal'--he 'uz a monst'us keerless\nman--got his leg shot full er cow-peas. But somehow er nudder dey could\nn' nebber ketch none er de niggers. I dunner how it happen, but it\nhappen des like I tell you, en de grapes kep' on a-goin' des de same.\n\n\"But bimeby ole Mars Dugal' fix' up a plan ter stop it. Dey wuz a cunjuh\n'oman livin' down 'mongs' de free niggers on de Wim'l'ton Road, en all\nde darkies fum Rockfish ter Beaver Crick wuz feared er her. She could\nwuk de mos' powerfulles' kin' er goopher,--could make people hab fits,\ner rheumatiz, er make 'em des dwinel away en die; en dey say she went\nout ridin' de niggers at night, fer she wuz a witch 'sides bein' a\ncunjuh 'oman. Mars Dugal' hearn 'bout Aun' Peggy's doin's, en begun ter\n'flect whe'r er no he could n' git her ter he'p him keep de niggers\noff'n de grapevimes. One day in de spring er de year, ole miss pack' up\na basket er chick'n en poun'-cake, en a bottle er scuppernon' wine, en\nMars Dugal' tuk it in his buggy en driv ober ter Aun' Peggy's cabin. He\ntuk de basket in, en had a long talk wid Aun' Peggy.\n\n\"De nex' day Aun' Peggy come up ter de vimya'd. De niggers seed her\nslippin' 'roun', en dey soon foun' out what she 'uz doin' dere. Mars\nDugal' had hi'ed her ter goopher de grapevimes. She sa'ntered 'roun'\n'mongs' de vimes, en tuk a leaf fum dis one, en a grape-hull fum dat\none, en a grape-seed fum anudder one; en den a little twig fum here, en\na little pinch er dirt fum dere,--en put it all in a big black bottle,\nwid a snake's toof en a speckle' hen's gall en some ha'rs fum a black\ncat's tail, en den fill' de bottle wid scuppernon' wine. Wen she got de\ngoopher all ready en fix', she tuk 'n went out in de woods en buried it\nunder de root uv a red oak tree, en den come back en tole one er de\nniggers she done goopher de grapevimes, en a'er a nigger w'at eat dem\ngrapes 'ud be sho ter die inside'n twel' mont's.\n\n\"Atter dat de niggers let de scuppernon's 'lone, en Mars Dugal' did n'\nhab no 'casion ter fine no mo' fault; en de season wuz mos' gone, w'en a\nstrange gemman stop at de plantation one night ter see Mars Dugal' on\nsome business; en his coachman, seein' de scuppernon's growin' so nice\nen sweet, slip 'roun' behine de smoke-house, en et all de scuppernon's\nhe could hole. Nobody did n' notice it at de time, but dat night, on de\nway home, de gemman's hoss runned away en kill' de coachman. W'en we\nhearn de noos, Aun' Lucy, de cook, she up 'n say she seed de strange\nnigger eat'n' er de scuppernon's behine de smoke-house; en den we knowed\nde goopher had b'en er wukkin'. Den one er de nigger chilluns runned\naway fum de quarters one day, en got in de scuppernon's, en died de nex'\nweek. W'ite folks say he die' er de fevuh, but de niggers knowed it wuz\nde goopher. So you k'n be sho de darkies did n' hab much ter do wid dem\nscuppernon' vimes.\n\n\"W'en de scuppernon' season 'uz ober fer dat year, Mars Dugal' foun' he\nhad made fifteen hund'ed gallon er wine; en one er de niggers hearn him\nlaffin' wid de oberseah fit ter kill, en sayin' dem fifteen hund'ed\ngallon er wine wuz monst'us good intrus' on de ten dollars he laid out\non de vimya'd. So I 'low ez he paid Aun' Peggy ten dollars fer to\ngoopher de grapevimes.\n\n\"De goopher did n' wuk no mo' tel de nex' summer, w'en 'long to'ds de\nmiddle er de season one er de fiel' han's died; en ez dat lef' Mars\nDugal' sho't er han's, he went off ter town fer ter buy anudder. He\nfotch de noo nigger home wid 'im. He wuz er ole nigger, er de color er a\ngingy-cake, en ball ez a hoss-apple on de top er his head. He wuz a\npeart ole nigger, do', en could do a big day's wuk.\n\n\"Now it happen dat one er de niggers on de nex' plantation, one er ole\nMars Henry Brayboy's niggers, had runned away de day befo', en tuk ter\nde swamp, en ole Mars Dugal' en some er de yuther nabor w'ite folks had\ngone out wid dere guns en dere dogs fer ter he'p 'em hunt fer de nigger;\nen de han's on our own plantation wuz all so flusterated dat we fuhgot\nter tell de noo han' 'bout de goopher on de scuppernon' vimes. Co'se he\nsmell de grapes en see de vimes, an atter dahk de fus' thing he done wuz\nter slip off ter de grapevimes 'dout sayin' nuffin ter nobody. Nex'\nmawnin' he tole some er de niggers 'bout de fine bait er scuppernon' he\net de night befo'.\n\n\"Wen dey tole 'im 'bout de goopher on de grapevimes, he 'uz dat\ntarrified dat he turn pale, en look des like he gwine ter die right in\nhis tracks. De oberseah come up en axed w'at 'uz de matter; en w'en dey\ntole 'im Henry be'n eatin' er de scuppernon's, en got de goopher on 'im,\nhe gin Henry a big drink er w'iskey, en 'low dat de nex' rainy day he\ntake 'im ober ter Aun' Peggy's, en see ef she would n' take de goopher\noff'n him, seein' ez he did n' know nuffin erbout it tel he done et de\ngrapes.\n\n\"Sho nuff, it rain de nex' day, en de oberseah went ober ter Aun'\nPeggy's wid Henry. En Aun' Peggy say dat bein' ez Henry did n' know\n'bout de goopher, en et de grapes in ign'ance er de conseq'ences, she\nreckon she mought be able fer ter take de goopher off'n him. So she\nfotch out er bottle wid some cunjuh medicine in it, en po'd some out in\na go'd fer Henry ter drink. He manage ter git it down; he say it tas'e\nlike whiskey wid sump'n bitter in it. She 'lowed dat 'ud keep de goopher\noff'n him tel de spring; but w'en de sap begin ter rise in de\ngrapevimes he ha' ter come en see her ag'in, en she tell him w'at e's\nter do.\n\n\"Nex' spring, w'en de sap commence' ter rise in de scuppernon' vime,\nHenry tuk a ham one night. Whar'd he git de ham? _I_ doan know; dey\nwa'n't no hams on de plantation 'cep'n' w'at 'uz in de smoke-house, but\n_I_ never see Henry 'bout de smoke-house. But ez I wuz a-sayin', he tuk\nde ham ober ter Aun' Peggy's; en Aun' Peggy tole 'im dat w'en Mars\nDugal' begin ter prune de grapevimes, he mus' go en take 'n scrape off\nde sap whar it ooze out'n de cut een's er de vimes, en 'n'int his ball\nhead wid it; en ef he do dat once't a year de goopher would n' wuk agin\n'im long ez he done it. En bein' ez he fotch her de ham, she fix' it so\nhe kin eat all de scuppernon' he want.\n\n\"So Henry 'n'int his head wid de sap out'n de big grapevime des ha'f way\n'twix' de quarters en de big house, en de goopher nebber wuk agin him\ndat summer. But de beatenes' thing you eber see happen ter Henry. Up ter\ndat time he wuz ez ball ez a sweeten' 'tater, but des ez soon ez de\nyoung leaves begun ter come out on de grapevimes, de ha'r begun ter grow\nout on Henry's head, en by de middle er de summer he had de bigges' head\ner ha'r on de plantation. Befo' dat, Henry had tol'able good ha'r 'roun'\nde aidges, but soon ez de young grapes begun ter come, Henry's ha'r\nbegun to quirl all up in little balls, des like dis yer reg'lar grapy\nha'r, en by de time de grapes got ripe his head look des like a bunch er\ngrapes. Combin' it did n' do no good; he wuk at it ha'f de night wid er\nJim Crow[1], en think he git it straighten' out, but in de mawnin' de\ngrapes 'ud be dere des de same. So he gin it up, en tried ter keep de\ngrapes down by havin' his ha'r cut sho't.\n\n[Footnote 1: A small card, resembling a currycomb in construction, and\nused by negroes in the rural districts instead of a comb.]\n\n\"But dat wa'n't de quares' thing 'bout de goopher. When Henry come ter\nde plantation, he wuz gittin' a little ole an stiff in de j'ints. But\ndat summer he got des ez spry en libely ez any young nigger on de\nplantation; fac', he got so biggity dat Mars Jackson, de oberseah, ha'\nter th'eaten ter whip 'im, ef he did n' stop cuttin' up his didos en\nbehave hisse'f. But de mos' cur'ouses' thing happen' in de fall, when de\nsap begin ter go down in de grapevimes. Fus', when de grapes 'uz\ngethered, de knots begun ter straighten out'n Henry's ha'r; en w'en de\nleaves begin ter fall, Henry's ha'r 'mence' ter drap out; en when de\nvimes 'uz bar', Henry's head wuz baller 'n it wuz in de spring, en he\nbegin ter git ole en stiff in de j'ints ag'in, en paid no mo' 'tention\nter de gals dyoin' er de whole winter. En nex' spring, w'en he rub de\nsap on ag'in, he got young ag'in, en so soopl en libely dat none er de\nyoung niggers on de plantation could n' jump, ner dance, ner hoe ez much\ncotton ez Henry. But in de fall er de year his grapes 'mence' ter\nstraighten out, en his j'ints ter git stiff, en his ha'r drap off, en de\nrheumatiz begin ter wrastle wid 'im.\n\n\"Now, ef you 'd 'a' knowed ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo, you 'd 'a' knowed dat\nit ha' ter be a mighty rainy day when he could n' fine sump'n fer his\nniggers ter do, en it ha' ter be a mighty little hole he could n' crawl\nthoo, en ha' ter be a monst'us cloudy night when a dollar git by him in\nde dahkness; en w'en he see how Henry git young in de spring en ole in\nde fall, he 'lowed ter hisse'f ez how he could make mo' money out'n\nHenry dan by wukkin' him in de cotton-fiel'. 'Long de nex' spring, atter\nde sap 'mence' ter rise, en Henry 'n'int 'is head en sta'ted fer ter\ngit young en soopl, Mars Dugal' up 'n tuk Henry ter town, en sole 'im\nfer fifteen hunder' dollars. Co'se de man w'at bought Henry did n' know\nnuffin 'bout de goopher, en Mars Dugal' did n' see no 'casion fer ter\ntell 'im. Long to'ds de fall, w'en de sap went down, Henry begin ter git\nole ag'in same ez yuzhal, en his noo marster begin ter git skeered les'n\nhe gwine ter lose his fifteen-hunder'-dollar nigger. He sent fer a\nmighty fine doctor, but de med'cine did n' 'pear ter do no good; de\ngoopher had a good holt. Henry tole de doctor 'bout de goopher, but de\ndoctor des laff at 'im.\n\n\"One day in de winter Mars Dugal' went ter town, en wuz santerin' 'long\nde Main Street, when who should he meet but Henry's noo marster. Dey\nsaid 'Hoddy,' en Mars Dugal' ax 'im ter hab a seegyar; en atter dey run\non awhile 'bout de craps en de weather, Mars Dugal' ax 'im, sorter\nkeerless, like ez ef he des thought of it,--\n\n\"'How you like de nigger I sole you las' spring?'\n\n\"Henry's marster shuck his head en knock de ashes off'n his seegyar.\n\n\"'Spec' I made a bad bahgin when I bought dat nigger. Henry done good\nwuk all de summer, but sence de fall set in he 'pears ter be sorter\npinin' away. Dey ain' nuffin pertickler de matter wid 'im--leastways de\ndoctor say so--'cep'n' a tech er de rheumatiz; but his ha'r is all fell\nout, en ef he don't pick up his strenk mighty soon, I spec' I'm gwine\nter lose 'im.'\n\n\"Dey smoked on awhile, en bimeby ole mars say, 'Well, a bahgin 's a\nbahgin, but you en me is good fren's, en I doan wan' ter see you lose\nall de money you paid fer dat nigger; en ef w'at you say is so, en I\nain't 'sputin' it, he ain't wuf much now. I 'spec's you wukked him too\nha'd dis summer, er e'se de swamps down here don't agree wid de\nsan'-hill nigger. So you des lemme know, en ef he gits any wusser I'll\nbe willin' ter gib yer five hund'ed dollars fer 'im, en take my chances\non his livin'.'\n\n\"Sho 'nuff, when Henry begun ter draw up wid de rheumatiz en it look\nlike he gwine ter die fer sho, his noo marster sen' fer Mars Dugal', en\nMars Dugal' gin him what he promus, en brung Henry home ag'in. He tuk\ngood keer uv 'im dyoin' er de winter,--give 'im w'iskey ter rub his\nrheumatiz, en terbacker ter smoke, en all he want ter eat,--'caze a\nnigger w'at he could make a thousan' dollars a year off'n did n' grow on\neve'y huckleberry bush.\n\n\"Nex' spring, w'en de sap ris en Henry's ha'r commence' ter sprout, Mars\nDugal' sole 'im ag'in, down in Robeson County dis time; en he kep' dat\nsellin' business up fer five year er mo'. Henry nebber say nuffin 'bout\nde goopher ter his noo marsters, 'caze he know he gwine ter be tuk good\nkeer uv de nex' winter, w'en Mars Dugal' buy him back. En Mars Dugal'\nmade 'nuff money off'n Henry ter buy anudder plantation ober on Beaver\nCrick.\n\n\"But 'long 'bout de een' er dat five year dey come a stranger ter stop\nat de plantation. De fus' day he 'uz dere he went out wid Mars Dugal' en\nspent all de mawnin' lookin' ober de vimya'd, en atter dinner dey spent\nall de evenin' playin' kya'ds. De niggers soon 'skiver' dat he wuz a\nYankee, en dat he come down ter Norf C'lina fer ter l'arn de w'ite folks\nhow to raise grapes en make wine. He promus Mars Dugal' he c'd make de\ngrapevimes b'ar twice't ez many grapes, en dat de noo winepress he wuz\na-sellin' would make mo' d'n twice't ez many gallons er wine. En ole\nMars Dugal' des drunk it all in, des 'peared ter be bewitch' wid dat\nYankee. Wen de darkies see dat Yankee runnin' 'roun' de vimya'd en\ndiggin' under de grapevimes, dey shuk dere heads, en 'lowed dat dey\nfeared Mars Dugal' losin' his min'. Mars Dugal' had all de dirt dug away\nfum under de roots er all de scuppernon' vimes, an' let 'em stan' dat\naway fer a week er mo'. Den dat Yankee made de niggers fix up a mixtry\ner lime en ashes en manyo, en po' it 'roun' de roots er de grapevimes.\nDen he 'vise Mars Dugal' fer ter trim de vimes close't, en Mars Dugal'\ntuck 'n done eve'ything de Yankee tole him ter do. Dyoin' all er dis\ntime, mind yer, dis yer Yankee wuz libbin' off'n de fat er de lan', at\nde big house, en playin' kya'ds wid Mars Dugal' eve'y night; en dey say\nMars Dugal' los' mo'n a thousan' dollars dyoin' er de week dat Yankee\nwuz a-ruinin' de grapevimes.\n\n\"Wen de sap ris nex' spring, ole Henry 'n'inted his head ez yuzhal, en\nhis ha'r 'mence' ter grow des de same ez it done eve'y year. De\nscuppernon' vimes growed monst's fas', en de leaves wuz greener en\nthicker dan dey eber be'n dyoin' my rememb'ance; en Henry's ha'r growed\nout thicker dan eber, en he 'peared ter git younger 'n younger, en\nsoopler 'n soopler; en seein' ez he wuz sho't er ban's dat spring,\nhavin' tuk in consid'able noo groun', Mars Dugal' 'eluded he would n'\nsell Henry 'tel he git de crap in en de cotton chop'. So he kep' Henry\non de plantation.\n\n\"But 'long 'bout time fer de grapes ter come on de scuppernon' vimes,\ndey 'peared ter come a change ober 'em; de leaves withered en swivel'\nup, en de young grapes turn' yaller, en bimeby eve'ybody on de\nplantation could see dat de whole vimya'd wuz dyin'. Mars Dugal' tuk'n\nwater de vimes en done all he could, but 't wa'n' no use: dat Yankee\nhad done bus' de watermillyum. One time de vimes picked up a bit, en\nMars Dugal' 'lowed dey wuz gwine ter come out ag'in; but dat Yankee done\ndug too close under de roots, en prune de branches too close ter de\nvime, en all dat lime en ashes done burn' de life out'n de vimes, en dey\ndes kep' a-with'in' en a-swivelin'.\n\n\"All dis time de goopher wuz a-wukkin'. When de vimes sta'ted ter\nwither, Henry 'mence' ter complain er his rheumatiz; en when de leaves\nbegin ter dry up, his ha'r 'mence' ter drap out. When de vimes fresh' up\na bit, Henry 'd git peart ag'in, en when de vimes wither' ag'in, Henry\n'd git ole ag'in, en des kep' gittin' mo' en mo' fitten fer nuffin; he\ndes pined away, en pined away, en fine'ly tuk ter his cabin; en when de\nbig vime whar he got de sap ter 'n'int his head withered en turned\nyaller en died, Henry died too,--des went out sorter like a cannel. Dey\ndidn't 'pear ter be nuffin de matter wid 'im, 'cep'n' de rheumatiz, but\nhis strenk des dwinel' away 'tel he did n' hab ernuff lef ter draw his\nbref. De goopher had got de under holt, en th'owed Henry dat time fer\ngood en all.\n\n\"Mars Dugal' tuk on might'ly 'bout losin' his vimes en his nigger in de\nsame year; en he swo' dat ef he could git holt er dat Yankee he 'd wear\n'im ter a frazzle, en den chaw up de frazzle; en he'd done it, too, for\nMars Dugal' 'uz a monst'us brash man w'en he once git started. He sot de\nvimya'd out ober ag'in, but it wuz th'ee er fo' year befo' de vimes got\nter b'arin' any scuppernon's.\n\n\"W'en de wah broke out, Mars Dugal' raise' a comp'ny, en went off ter\nfight de Yankees. He say he wuz mighty glad dat wah come, en he des want\nter kill a Yankee fer eve'y dollar he los' 'long er dat grape-raisin'\nYankee. En I 'spec' he would 'a' done it, too, ef de Yankees had n'\ns'picioned sump'n, en killed him fus'. Atter de s'render ole miss move'\nter town, de niggers all scattered 'way fum de plantation, en de vimya'd\nain' be'n cultervated sence.\"\n\n\"Is that story true?\" asked Annie doubtfully, but seriously, as the old\nman concluded his narrative.\n\n\"It's des ez true ez I'm a-settin' here, miss. Dey's a easy way ter\nprove it: I kin lead de way right ter Henry's grave ober yander in de\nplantation buryin'-groun'. En I tell yer w'at, marster, I would n' 'vise\nyou to buy dis yer ole vimya'd, 'caze de goopher 's on it yit, en dey\nain' no tellin' w'en it's gwine ter crap out.\"\n\n\"But I thought you said all the old vines died.\"\n\n\"Dey did 'pear ter die, but a few un 'em come out ag'in, en is mixed in\n'mongs' de yuthers. I ain' skeered ter eat de grapes, 'caze I knows de\nold vimes fum de noo ones; but wid strangers dey ain' no tellin' w'at\nmought happen. I would n' 'vise yer ter buy dis vimya'd.\"\n\nI bought the vineyard, nevertheless, and it has been for a long time in\na thriving condition, and is often referred to by the local press as a\nstriking illustration of the opportunities open to Northern capital in\nthe development of Southern industries. The luscious scuppernong holds\nfirst rank among our grapes, though we cultivate a great many other\nvarieties, and our income from grapes packed and shipped to the Northern\nmarkets is quite considerable. I have not noticed any developments of\nthe goopher in the vineyard, although I have a mild suspicion that our\ncolored assistants do not suffer from want of grapes during the season.\n\nI found, when I bought the vineyard, that Uncle Julius had occupied a\ncabin on the place for many years, and derived a respectable revenue\nfrom the product of the neglected grapevines. This, doubtless, accounted\nfor his advice to me not to buy the vineyard, though whether it inspired\nthe goopher story I am unable to state. I believe, however, that the\nwages I paid him for his services as coachman, for I gave him employment\nin that capacity, were more than an equivalent for anything he lost by\nthe sale of the vineyard.\n\n\n\n\nPO' SANDY\n\nOn the northeast corner of my vineyard in central North Carolina, and\nfronting on the Lumberton plank-road, there stood a small frame house,\nof the simplest construction. It was built of pine lumber, and contained\nbut one room, to which one window gave light and one door admission. Its\nweatherbeaten sides revealed a virgin innocence of paint. Against one\nend of the house, and occupying half its width, there stood a huge brick\nchimney: the crumbling mortar had left large cracks between the bricks;\nthe bricks themselves had begun to scale off in large flakes, leaving\nthe chimney sprinkled with unsightly blotches. These evidences of decay\nwere but partially concealed by a creeping vine, which extended its\nslender branches hither and thither in an ambitious but futile attempt\nto cover the whole chimney. The wooden shutter, which had once protected\nthe unglazed window, had fallen from its hinges, and lay rotting in the\nrank grass and jimson-weeds beneath. This building, I learned when I\nbought the place, had been used as a schoolhouse for several years prior\nto the breaking out of the war, since which time it had remained\nunoccupied, save when some stray cow or vagrant hog had sought shelter\nwithin its walls from the chill rains and nipping winds of winter.\n\nOne day my wife requested me to build her a new kitchen. The house\nerected by us, when we first came to live upon the vineyard, contained a\nvery conveniently arranged kitchen; but for some occult reason my wife\nwanted a kitchen in the back yard, apart from the dwelling-house, after\nthe usual Southern fashion. Of course I had to build it.\n\nTo save expense, I decided to tear down the old schoolhouse, and use the\nlumber, which was in a good state of preservation, in the construction\nof the new kitchen. Before demolishing the old house, however, I made an\nestimate of the amount of material contained in it, and found that I\nwould have to buy several hundred feet of lumber additional, in order to\nbuild the new kitchen according to my wife's plan.\n\nOne morning old Julius McAdoo, our colored coachman, harnessed the gray\nmare to the rockaway, and drove my wife and me over to the sawmill from\nwhich I meant to order the new lumber. We drove down the long lane which\nled from our house to the plank-road; following the plank-road for about\na mile, we turned into a road running through the forest and across the\nswamp to the sawmill beyond. Our carriage jolted over the half-rotted\ncorduroy road which traversed the swamp, and then climbed the long hill\nleading to the sawmill. When we reached the mill, the foreman had gone\nover to a neighboring farmhouse, probably to smoke or gossip, and we\nwere compelled to await his return before we could transact our\nbusiness. We remained seated in the carriage, a few rods from the mill,\nand watched the leisurely movements of the mill-hands. We had not waited\nlong before a huge pine log was placed in position, the machinery of the\nmill was set in motion, and the circular saw began to eat its way\nthrough the log, with a loud whir which resounded throughout the\nvicinity of the mill. The sound rose and fell in a sort of rhythmic\ncadence, which, heard from where we sat, was not unpleasing, and not\nloud enough to prevent conversation. When the saw started on its second\njourney through the log, Julius observed, in a lugubrious tone, and with\na perceptible shudder:--\n\n\"Ugh! but dat des do cuddle my blood!\"\n\n\"What's the matter, Uncle Julius?\" inquired my wife, who is of a very\nsympathetic turn of mind. \"Does the noise affect your nerves?\"\n\n\"No, Mis' Annie,\" replied the old man, with emotion, \"I ain' narvous;\nbut dat saw, a-cuttin' en grindin' thoo dat stick er timber, en moanin',\nen groanin,' en sweekin', kyars my 'memb'ance back ter ole times, en\n'min's me er po' Sandy.\" The pathetic intonation with which he\nlengthened out the \"po' Sandy\" touched a responsive chord in our own\nhearts.\n\n\"And who was poor Sandy?\" asked my wife, who takes a deep interest in\nthe stories of plantation life which she hears from the lips of the\nolder colored people. Some of these stories are quaintly humorous;\nothers wildly extravagant, revealing the Oriental cast of the negro's\nimagination; while others, poured freely into the sympathetic ear of a\nNorthern-bred woman, disclose many a tragic incident of the darker side\nof slavery.\n\n\"Sandy,\" said Julius, in reply to my wife's question, \"was a nigger w'at\nuseter b'long ter ole Mars Marrabo McSwayne. Mars Marrabo's place wuz on\nde yuther side'n de swamp, right nex' ter yo' place. Sandy wuz a\nmonst'us good nigger, en could do so many things erbout a plantation, en\nalluz 'ten' ter his wuk so well, dat w'en Mars Marrabo's chilluns growed\nup en married off, dey all un 'em wanted dey daddy fer ter gin 'em Sandy\nfer a weddin' present. But Mars Marrabo knowed de res' would n' be\nsatisfied ef he gin Sandy ter a'er one un 'em; so w'en dey wuz all done\nmarried, he fix it by 'lowin' one er his chilluns ter take Sandy fer a\nmont' er so, en den ernudder for a mont' er so, en so on dat erway tel\ndey had all had 'im de same lenk er time; en den dey would all take him\nroun' ag'in, 'cep'n' oncet in a w'ile w'en Mars Marrabo would len' 'im\nter some er his yuther kinfolks 'roun' de country, w'en dey wuz short er\nhan's; tel bimeby it got so Sandy did n' hardly knowed whar he wuz gwine\nter stay fum one week's een' ter de yuther.\n\n\"One time w'en Sandy wuz lent out ez yushal, a spekilater come erlong\nwid a lot er niggers, en Mars Marrabo swap' Sandy's wife off fer a noo\n'oman. W'en Sandy come back, Mars Marrabo gin 'im a dollar, en 'lowed he\nwuz monst'us sorry fer ter break up de fambly, but de spekilater had gin\n'im big boot, en times wuz hard en money skase, en so he wuz bleedst ter\nmake de trade. Sandy tuk on some 'bout losin' his wife, but he soon seed\ndey want no use cryin' ober spilt merlasses; en bein' ez he lacked de\nlooks er de noo 'oman, he tuk up wid her atter she'd be'n on de\nplantation a mont' er so.\n\n\"Sandy en his noo wife got on mighty well tergedder, en de niggers all\n'mence' ter talk about how lovin' dey wuz. Wen Tenie wuz tuk sick oncet,\nSandy useter set up all night wid 'er, en den go ter wuk in de mawnin'\ndes lack he had his reg'lar sleep; en Tenie would 'a' done anythin' in\nde worl' for her Sandy.\n\n\"Sandy en Tenie had n' be'n libbin' tergedder fer mo' d'n two mont's\nbefo' Mars Marrabo's old uncle, w'at libbed down in Robeson County, sent\nup ter fin' out ef Mars Marrabo could n' len' 'im er hire 'im a good\nban' fer a mont' er so. Sandy's marster wuz one er dese yer easy-gwine\nfolks w'at wanter please eve'ybody, en he says yas, he could len' 'im\nSandy. En Mars Marrabo tol' Sandy fer ter git ready ter go down ter\nRobeson nex' day, fer ter stay a mont' er so.\n\n\"It wuz monst'us hard on Sandy fer ter take 'im 'way fum Tenie. It wuz\nso fur down ter Robeson dat he did n' hab no chance er comin' back ter\nsee her tel de time wuz up; he would n' 'a' mine comin' ten er fifteen\nmile at night ter see Tenie, but Mars Marrabo's uncle's plantation wuz\nmo' d'n forty mile off. Sandy wuz mighty sad en cas' down atter w'at\nMars Marrabo tol' 'im, en he says ter Tenie, sezee:--\n\n\"'I'm gittin' monst'us ti'ed er dish yer gwine roun' so much. Here I is\nlent ter Mars Jeems dis mont', en I got ter do so-en-so; en ter Mars\nArchie de nex' mont', en I got ter do so-en-so; den I got ter go ter\nMiss Jinnie's: en hit's Sandy dis en Sandy dat, en Sandy yer en Sandy\ndere, tel it 'pears ter me I ain' got no home, ner no marster, ner no\nmistiss, ner no nuffin. I can't eben keep a wife: my yuther ole 'oman\nwuz sol' away widout my gittin' a chance fer ter tell her good-by; en\nnow I got ter go off en leab you, Tenie, en I dunno whe'r I'm eber\ngwine ter see you ag'in er no. I wisht I wuz a tree, er a stump, er a\nrock, er sump'n w'at could stay on de plantation fer a w'ile.'\n\n\"Atter Sandy got thoo talkin', Tenie didn' say naer word, but des sot\ndere by de fier, studyin' en studyin'. Bimeby she up 'n' says:--\n\n\"'Sandy, is I eber tol' you I wuz a cunjuh 'oman?'\n\n\"Co'se Sandy had n' nebber dremp' er nuffin lack dat, en he made a great\n'miration w'en he hear w'at Tenie say. Bimeby Tenie went on:--\n\n\"'I ain' goophered nobody, ner done no cunjuh wuk, fer fifteen year er\nmo'; en w'en I got religion I made up my mine I would n' wuk no mo'\ngoopher. But dey is some things I doan b'lieve it's no sin fer ter do;\nen ef you doan wanter be sent roun' fum pillar ter pos', en ef you doan\nwanter go down ter Robeson, I kin fix things so you won't haf ter. Ef\nyou'll des say de word, I kin turn you ter w'ateber you wanter be, en\nyou kin stay right whar you wanter, ez long ez you mineter.'\n\n\"Sandy say he doan keer; he's will-in' fer ter do anythin' fer ter stay\nclose ter Tenie. Den Tenie ax 'im ef he doan wanter be turnt inter a\nrabbit.\n\n\"Sandy say, 'No, de dogs mought git atter me.'\n\n\"'Shill I turn you ter a wolf?' sez Tenie.\n\n\"'No, eve'ybody 's skeered er a wolf, en I doan want nobody ter be\nskeered er me.'\n\n\"'Shill I turn you ter a mawkin'-bird?'\n\n\"'No, a hawk mought ketch me. I wanter be turnt inter sump'n w'at'll\nstay in one place.'\n\n\"'I kin turn you ter a tree,' sez Tenie. 'You won't hab no mouf ner\nyears, but I kin turn you back oncet in a w'ile, so you kin git sump'n\nter eat, en hear w'at 's gwine on.'\n\n\"Well, Sandy say dat'll do. En so Tenie tuk 'im down by de aidge er de\nswamp, not fur fum de quarters, en turnt 'im inter a big pine-tree, en\nsot 'im out 'mongs' some yuther trees. En de nex' mawnin', ez some er de\nfiel' han's wuz gwine long dere, dey seed a tree w'at dey did n' 'member\ner habbin' seed befo'; it wuz monst'us quare, en dey wuz bleedst ter\n'low dat dey had n' 'membered right, er e'se one er de saplin's had be'n\ngrowin' monst'us fas'.\n\n\"W'en Mars Marrabo 'skiver' dat Sandy wuz gone, he 'lowed Sandy had\nrunned away. He got de dogs out, but de las' place dey could track Sandy\nter wuz de foot er dat pine-tree. En dere de dogs stood en barked, en\nbayed, en pawed at de tree, en tried ter climb up on it; en w'en dey\nwuz tuk roun' thoo de swamp ter look fer de scent, dey broke loose en\nmade fer dat tree ag'in. It wuz de beatenis' thing de w'ite folks eber\nhearn of, en Mars Marrabo 'lowed dat Sandy must 'a' clim' up on de tree\nen jump' off on a mule er sump'n, en rid fur ernuff fer ter spile de\nscent. Mars Marrabo wanted ter 'cuse some er de yuther niggers er\nheppin' Sandy off, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'; en eve'ybody knowed\nTenie sot too much sto' by Sandy fer ter he'p 'im run away whar she\ncould n' nebber see 'im no mo'.\n\n\"W'en Sandy had be'n gone long ernuff fer folks ter think he done got\nclean away, Tenie useter go down ter de woods at night en turn 'im back,\nen den dey 'd slip up ter de cabin en set by de fire en talk. But dey\nha' ter be monst'us keerful, er e'se somebody would 'a' seed 'em, en dat\nwould 'a' spile' de whole thing; so Tenie alluz turnt Sandy back in de\nmawnin' early, befo' anybody wuz a-stirrin'.\n\n\"But Sandy did n' git erlong widout his trials en tribberlations. One\nday a woodpecker come erlong en 'mence' ter peck at de tree; en de nex'\ntime Sandy wuz turnt back he had a little roun' hole in his arm, des\nlack a sharp stick be'n stuck in it. Atter dat Tenie sot a sparrer-hawk\nfer ter watch de tree; en w'en de woodpecker come erlong nex' mawnin'\nfer ter finish his nes', he got gobble' up mos' 'fo' he stuck his bill\nin de bark.\n\n\"Nudder time, Mars Marrabo sent a nigger out in de woods fer ter chop\ntuppentime boxes. De man chop a box in dish yer tree, en hack' de bark\nup two er th'ee feet, fer ter let de tuppentime run. De nex' time Sandy\nwuz turnt back he had a big skyar on his lef' leg, des lack it be'n\nskunt; en it tuk Tenie nigh 'bout all night fer ter fix a mixtry ter\nkyo it up. Atter dat, Tenie sot a hawnet fer ter watch de tree; en w'en\nde nigger come back ag'in fer ter cut ernudder box on de yuther side'n\nde tree, de hawnet stung 'im so hard dat de ax slip en cut his foot nigh\n'bout off.\n\n\"W'en Tenie see so many things happenin' ter de tree, she 'eluded she 'd\nha' ter turn Sandy ter sump'n e'se; en atter studyin' de matter ober, en\ntalkin' wid Sandy one ebenin', she made up her mine fer ter fix up a\ngoopher mixtry w'at would turn herse'f en Sandy ter foxes, er sump'n, so\ndey could run away en go some'rs whar dey could be free en lib lack\nw'ite folks.\n\n\"But dey ain' no tellin' w'at's gwine ter happen in dis worl'. Tenie had\ngot de night sot fer her en Sandy ter run away, w'en dat ve'y day one er\nMars Marrabo's sons rid up ter de big house in his buggy, en say his\nwife wuz monst'us sick, en he want his mammy ter len' 'im a 'oman fer\nter nuss his wife. Tenie's mistiss say sen' Tenie; she wuz a good nuss.\nYoung mars wuz in a tarrible hurry fer ter git back home. Tenie wuz\nwashin' at de big house dat day, en her mistiss say she should go right\n'long wid her young marster. Tenie tried ter make some 'scuse fer ter\ngit away en hide 'tel night, w'en she would have eve'ything fix' up fer\nher en Sandy; she say she wanter go ter her cabin fer ter git her\nbonnet. Her mistiss say it doan matter 'bout de bonnet; her\nhead-hank-cher wuz good ernuff. Den Tenie say she wanter git her bes'\nfrock; her mistiss say no, she doan need no mo' frock, en w'en dat one\ngot dirty she could git a clean one whar she wuz gwine. So Tenie had ter\ngit in de buggy en go 'long wid young Mars Dunkin ter his plantation,\nw'ich wuz mo' d'n twenty mile away; en dey wa'n't no chance er her\nseein' Sandy no mo' 'tel she come back home. De po' gal felt monst'us\nbad 'bout de way things wuz gwine on, en she knowed Sandy mus' be a\nwond'rin' why she didn' come en turn 'im back no mo'.\n\n\"Wiles Tenie wuz away nussin' young Mars Dunkin's wife, Mars Marrabo tuk\na notion fer ter buil' 'im a noo kitchen; en bein' ez he had lots er\ntimber on his place, he begun ter look 'roun' fer a tree ter hab de\nlumber sawed out'n. En I dunno how it come to be so, but he happen fer\nter hit on de ve'y tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter. Tenie wuz gone, en\ndey wa'n't nobody ner nuffin fer ter watch de tree.\n\n\"De two men w'at cut de tree down say dey nebber had sech a time wid a\ntree befo': dey axes would glansh off, en did n' 'pear ter make no\nprogress thoo de wood; en of all de creakin', en shakin', en wobblin'\nyou eber see, dat tree done it w'en it commence' ter fall. It wuz de\nbeatenis' thing!\n\n\"W'en dey got de tree all trim' up, dey chain it up ter a timber waggin,\nen start fer de sawmill. But dey had a hard time gittin' de log dere:\nfus' dey got stuck in de mud w'en dey wuz gwine crosst de swamp, en it\nwuz two er th'ee hours befo' dey could git out. W'en dey start' on\nag'in, de chain kep' a-comin' loose, en dey had ter keep a-stoppin' en\na-stoppin' fer ter hitch de log up ag'in. W'en dey commence' ter climb\nde hill ter de sawmill, de log broke loose, en roll down de hill en in\n'mongs' de trees, en hit tuk nigh 'bout half a day mo' ter git it haul'\nup ter de sawmill.\n\n\"De nex' mawnin' atter de day de tree wuz haul' ter de sawmill, Tenie\ncome home. W'en she got back ter her cabin, de fus' thing she done wuz\nter run down ter de woods en see how Sandy wuz gittin' on. Wen she seed\nde stump standin' dere, wid de sap runnin' out'n it, en de limbs layin'\nscattered roun', she nigh 'bout went out'n her min'. She run ter her\ncabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den follered de track er de timber\nwaggin ter de sawmill. She knowed Sandy could n' lib mo' d'n a minute er\nso ef she turnt him back, fer he wuz all chop' up so he 'd 'a' be'n\nbleedst ter die. But she wanted ter turn 'im back long ernuff fer ter\n'splain ter 'im dat she had n' went off a-purpose, en lef 'im ter be\nchop' down en sawed up. She did n' want Sandy ter die wid no hard\nfeelin's to'ds her.\n\n\"De han's at de sawmill had des got de big log on de kerridge, en wuz\nstart-in' up de saw, w'en dey seed a 'oman runnin' up de hill, all out\ner bref, cryin' en gwine on des lack she wuz plumb 'stracted. It wuz\nTenie; she come right inter de mill, en th'owed herse'f on de log,\nright in front er de saw, a-hollerin' en cryin' ter her Sandy ter fergib\nher, en not ter think hard er her, fer it wa'n't no fault er hern. Den\nTenie 'membered de tree did n' hab no years, en she wuz gittin' ready\nfer ter wuk her goopher mixtry so ez ter turn Sandy back, w'en de\nmill-hands kotch holt er her en tied her arms wid a rope, en fasten' her\nto one er de posts in de sawmill; en den dey started de saw up ag'in, en\ncut de log up inter bo'ds en scantlin's right befo' her eyes. But it wuz\nmighty hard wuk; fer of all de sweekin', en moanin', en groanin', dat\nlog done it w'iles de saw wuz a-cuttin' thoo it. De saw wuz one er dese\nyer ole-timey, up-en-down saws, en hit tuk longer dem days ter saw a log\n'en it do now. Dey greased de saw, but dat did n' stop de fuss; hit kep'\nright on, tel fin'ly dey got de log all sawed up.\n\n\"W'en de oberseah w'at run de sawmill come fum breakfas', de han's up\nen tell him 'bout de crazy 'oman--ez dey s'posed she wuz--w'at had come\nrunnin' in de sawmill, a-hollerin' en gwine on, en tried ter th'ow\nherse'f befo' de saw. En de oberseah sent two er th'ee er de han's fer\nter take Tenie back ter her marster's plantation.\n\n\"Tenie 'peared ter be out'n her min' fer a long time, en her marster ha'\nter lock her up in de smoke-'ouse 'tel she got ober her spells. Mars\nMarrabo wuz monst'us mad, en hit would 'a' made yo' flesh crawl fer ter\nhear him cuss, 'caze he say de spekilater w'at he got Tenie fum had\nfooled 'im by wukkin' a crazy 'oman off on him. Wiles Tenie wuz lock up\nin de smoke-'ouse, Mars Marrabo tuk 'n' haul de lumber fum de sawmill,\nen put up his noo kitchen.\n\n\"Wen Tenie got quiet' down, so she could be 'lowed ter go 'roun' de\nplantation, she up'n' tole her marster all erbout Sandy en de\npine-tree; en w'en Mars Marrabo hearn it, he 'lowed she wuz de wuss\n'stracted nigger he eber hearn of. He did n' know w'at ter do wid Tenie:\nfus' he thought he 'd put her in de po'house; but fin'ly, seein' ez she\ndid n' do no harm ter nobody ner nuffin, but des went 'roun' moanin', en\ngroanin', en shakin' her head, he 'cluded ter let her stay on de\nplantation en nuss de little nigger chilluns w'en dey mammies wuz ter\nwuk in de cotton-fiel'.\n\n\"De noo kitchen Mars Marrabo buil' wuz n' much use, fer it had n' be'n\nput up long befo' de niggers 'mence' ter notice quare things erbout it.\nDey could hear sump'n moanin' en groanin' 'bout de kitchen in de\nnight-time, en w'en de win' would blow dey could hear sump'n a-hollerin'\nen sweekin' lack it wuz in great pain en sufferin'. En it got so atter a\nw'ile dat it wuz all Mars Marrabo's wife could do ter git a 'oman ter\nstay in de kitchen in de daytime long ernuff ter do de cookin'; en dey\nwa'n't naer nigger on de plantation w'at would n' rudder take forty dan\nter go 'bout dat kitchen atter dark,--dat is, 'cep'n' Tenie; she did n'\n'pear ter min' de ha'nts. She useter slip 'roun' at night, en set on de\nkitchen steps, en lean up agin de do'-jamb, en run on ter herse'f wid\nsome kine er foolishness w'at nobody could n' make out; fer Mars Marrabo\nhad th'eaten' ter sen' her off'n de plantation ef she say anything ter\nany er de yuther niggers 'bout de pine-tree. But somehow er 'nudder de\nniggers foun' out all erbout it, en dey all knowed de kitchen wuz\nha'nted by Sandy's sperrit. En bimeby hit got so Mars Marrabo's wife\nherse'f wuz skeered ter go out in de yard atter dark.\n\n\"Wen it come ter dat, Mars Marrabo tuk en to' de kitchen down, en use'\nde lumber fer ter buil' dat ole school'ouse w'at you er talkin' 'bout\npullin' down. De school'ouse wuz n' use' 'cep'n' in de daytime, en on\ndark nights folks gwine 'long de road would hear quare soun's en see\nquare things. Po' ole Tenie useter go down dere at night, en wander\n'roun' de school'ouse; en de niggers all 'lowed she went fer ter talk\nwid Sandy's sperrit. En one winter mawnin', w'en one er de boys went ter\nschool early fer ter start de fire, w'at should he fin' but po' ole\nTenie, layin' on de flo', stiff, en col', en dead. Dere did n' 'pear ter\nbe nuffin pertickler de matter wid her,--she had des grieve' herse'f ter\ndef fer her Sandy. Mars Marrabo didn' shed no tears. He thought Tenie\nwuz crazy, en dey wa'n't no tellin' w'at she mought do nex'; en dey ain'\nmuch room in dis worl' fer crazy w'ite folks, let 'lone a crazy nigger.\n\n\"Hit wa'n't long atter dat befo' Mars Marrabo sol' a piece er his track\ner lan' ter Mars Dugal' McAdoo,--_my_ ole marster,--en dat 's how de\nole school'ouse happen to be on yo' place. Wen de wah broke out, de\nschool stop', en de ole school'ouse be'n stannin' empty ever sence,--dat\nis, 'cep'n' fer de ha'nts. En folks sez dat de ole school'ouse, er any\nyuther house w'at got any er dat lumber in it w'at wuz sawed out'n de\ntree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter, is gwine ter be ha'nted tel de las'\npiece er plank is rotted en crumble' inter dus'.\"\n\nAnnie had listened to this gruesome narrative with strained attention.\n\n\"What a system it was,\" she exclaimed, when Julius had finished, \"under\nwhich such things were possible!\"\n\n\"What things?\" I asked, in amazement. \"Are you seriously considering the\npossibility of a man's being turned into a tree?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she replied quickly, \"not that;\" and then she murmured\nabsently, and with a dim look in her fine eyes, \"Poor Tenie!\"\n\nWe ordered the lumber, and returned home. That night, after we had gone\nto bed, and my wife had to all appearances been sound asleep for half an\nhour, she startled me out of an incipient doze by exclaiming suddenly,--\n\n\"John, I don't believe I want my new kitchen built out of the lumber in\nthat old schoolhouse.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't for a moment allow yourself,\" I replied, with some\nasperity, \"to be influenced by that absurdly impossible yarn which\nJulius was spinning to-day?\"\n\n\"I know the story is absurd,\" she replied dreamily, \"and I am not so\nsilly as to believe it. But I don't think I should ever be able to take\nany pleasure in that kitchen if it were built out of that lumber.\nBesides, I think the kitchen would look better and last longer if the\nlumber were all new.\"\n\nOf course she had her way. I bought the new lumber, though not without\ngrumbling. A week or two later I was called away from home on business.\nOn my return, after an absence of several days, my wife remarked to\nme,--\n\n\"John, there has been a split in the Sandy Run Colored Baptist Church,\non the temperance question. About half the members have come out from\nthe main body, and set up for themselves. Uncle Julius is one of the\nseceders, and he came to me yesterday and asked if they might not hold\ntheir meetings in the old schoolhouse for the present.\"\n\n\"I hope you didn't let the old rascal have it,\" I returned, with some\nwarmth. I had just received a bill for the new lumber I had bought.\n\n\"Well,\" she replied, \"I couldn't refuse him the use of the house for so\ngood a purpose.\"\n\n\"And I'll venture to say,\" I continued, \"that you subscribed something\ntoward the support of the new church?\"\n\nShe did not attempt to deny it.\n\n\"What are they going to do about the ghost?\" I asked, somewhat curious\nto know how Julius would get around this obstacle.\n\n\"Oh,\" replied Annie, \"Uncle Julius says that ghosts never disturb\nreligious worship, but that if Sandy's spirit _should_ happen to stray\ninto meeting by mistake, no doubt the preaching would do it good.\"\n\n\n\n\nMARS JEEMS'S NIGHTMARE\n\nWe found old Julius very useful when we moved to our new residence. He\nhad a thorough knowledge of the neighborhood, was familiar with the\nroads and the watercourses, knew the qualities of the various soils and\nwhat they would produce, and where the best hunting and fishing were to\nbe had. He was a marvelous hand in the management of horses and dogs,\nwith whose mental processes he manifested a greater familiarity than\nmere use would seem to account for, though it was doubtless due to the\nsimplicity of a life that had kept him close to nature. Toward my tract\nof land and the things that were on it--the creeks, the swamps, the\nhills, the meadows, the stones, the trees--he maintained a peculiar\npersonal attitude, that might be called predial rather than proprietary.\nHe had been accustomed, until long after middle life, to look upon\nhimself as the property of another. When this relation was no longer\npossible, owing to the war, and to his master's death and the dispersion\nof the family, he had been unable to break off entirely the mental\nhabits of a lifetime, but had attached himself to the old plantation, of\nwhich he seemed to consider himself an appurtenance. We found him useful\nin many ways and entertaining in others, and my wife and I took quite a\nfancy to him.\n\nShortly after we became established in our home on the sand-hills,\nJulius brought up to the house one day a colored boy of about seventeen,\nwhom he introduced as his grandson, and for whom he solicited\nemployment. I was not favorably impressed by the youth's\nappearance,--quite the contrary, in fact; but mainly to please the old\nman I hired Tom--his name was Tom--to help about the stables, weed the\ngarden, cut wood and bring water, and in general to make himself useful\nabout the outdoor work of the household.\n\nMy first impression of Tom proved to be correct. He turned out to be\nvery trifling, and I was much annoyed by his laziness, his carelessness,\nand his apparent lack of any sense of responsibility. I kept him longer\nthan I should, on Julius's account, hoping that he might improve; but he\nseemed to grow worse instead of better, and when I finally reached the\nlimit of my patience, I discharged him.\n\n\"I am sorry, Julius,\" I said to the old man; \"I should have liked to\noblige you by keeping him; but I can't stand Tom any longer. He is\nabsolutely untrustworthy.\"\n\n\"Yas, suh,\" replied Julius, with a deep sigh and a long shake of the\nhead, \"I knows he ain' much account, en dey ain' much 'pen'ence ter be\nput on 'im. But I wuz hopin' dat you mought make some 'lowance fuh a'\nign'ant young nigger, suh, en gib 'im one mo' chance.\"\n\nBut I had hardened my heart. I had always been too easily imposed upon,\nand had suffered too much from this weakness. I determined to be firm as\na rock in this instance.\n\n\"No, Julius,\" I rejoined decidedly, \"it is impossible. I gave him more\nthan a fair trial, and he simply won't do.\"\n\nWhen my wife and I set out for our drive in the cool of the\nevening,--afternoon is \"evening\" in Southern parlance,--one of the\nservants put into the rock-away two large earthenware jugs. Our drive\nwas to be down through the swamp to the mineral spring at the foot of\nthe sand-hills beyond. The water of this spring was strongly\nimpregnated with sulphur and iron, and, while not particularly agreeable\nof smell or taste, was used by us, in moderation, for sanitary reasons.\n\nWhen we reached the spring, we found a man engaged in cleaning it out.\nIn answer to an inquiry he said that if we would wait five or ten\nminutes, his task would be finished and the spring in such condition\nthat we could fill our jugs. We might have driven on, and come back by\nway of the spring, but there was a bad stretch of road beyond, and we\nconcluded to remain where we were until the spring should be ready. We\nwere in a cool and shady place. It was often necessary to wait awhile in\nNorth Carolina; and our Northern energy had not been entirely proof\nagainst the influences of climate and local custom.\n\nWhile we sat there, a man came suddenly around a turn of the road ahead\nof us. I recognized in him a neighbor with whom I had exchanged formal\ncalls. He was driving a horse, apparently a high-spirited creature,\npossessing, so far as I could see at a glance, the marks of good temper\nand good breeding; the gentleman, I had heard it suggested, was slightly\ndeficient in both. The horse was rearing and plunging, and the man was\nbeating him furiously with a buggy-whip. When he saw us, he flushed a\nfiery red, and, as he passed, held the reins with one hand, at some risk\nto his safety, lifted his hat, and bowed somewhat constrainedly as the\nhorse darted by us, still panting and snorting with fear.\n\n\"He looks as though he were ashamed of himself,\" I observed.\n\n\"I'm sure he ought to be,\" exclaimed my wife indignantly. \"I think\nthere is no worse sin and no more disgraceful thing than cruelty.\"\n\n\"I quite agree with you,\" I assented.\n\n\"A man w'at 'buses his hoss is gwine ter be ha'd on de folks w'at wuks\nfer 'im,\" remarked Julius. \"Ef young Mistah McLean doan min', he'll hab\na bad dream one er dese days, des lack 'is grandaddy had way back\nyander, long yeahs befo' de wah.\"\n\n\"What was it about Mr. McLean's dream, Julius?\" I asked. The man had not\nyet finished cleaning the spring, and we might as well put in time\nlistening to Julius as in any other way. We had found some of his\nplantation tales quite interesting.\n\n\"Mars Jeems McLean,\" said Julius, \"wuz de grandaddy er dis yer gent'eman\nw'at is des gone by us beatin' his hoss. He had a big plantation en a\nheap er niggers. Mars Jeems wuz a ha'd man, en monst'us stric' wid his\nhan's. Eber sence he growed up he nebber 'peared ter hab no feelin' fer\nnobody. W'en his daddy, ole Mars John McLean, died, de plantation en\nall de niggers fell ter young Mars Jeems. He had be'n bad 'nuff befo',\nbut it wa'n't long atterwa'ds 'tel he got so dey wuz no use in libbin'\nat all ef you ha' ter lib roun' Mars Jeems. His niggers wuz bleedzd ter\nslabe fum daylight ter da'k, w'iles yuther folks's did n' hafter wuk\n'cep'n' fum sun ter sun; en dey did n' git no mo' ter eat dan dey\noughter, en dat de coa'ses' kin'. Dey wa'n't 'lowed ter sing, ner dance,\nner play de banjo w'en Mars Jeems wuz roun' de place; fer Mars Jeems say\nhe would n' hab no sech gwines-on,--said he bought his han's ter wuk, en\nnot ter play, en w'en night come dey mus' sleep en res', so dey 'd be\nready ter git up soon in de mawnin' en go ter dey wuk fresh en strong.\n\n\"Mars Jeems did n' 'low no co'tin' er juneseyin' roun' his\nplantation,--said he wanted his niggers ter put dey min's on dey wuk,\nen not be wastin' dey time wid no sech foolis'ness. En he would n' let\nhis han's git married,--said he wuz n' raisin' niggers, but wuz raisin'\ncotton. En w'eneber any er de boys en gals 'ud 'mence ter git sweet on\none ernudder, he 'd sell one er de yuther un 'em, er sen' 'em way down\nin Robeson County ter his yuther plantation, whar dey could n' nebber\nsee one ernudder.\n\n\"Ef any er de niggers eber complained, dey got fo'ty; so co'se dey did\nn' many un 'em complain. But dey did n' lack it, des de same, en nobody\ncould n' blame 'em, fer dey had a ha'd time. Mars Jeems did n' make no\n'lowance fer nachul bawn laz'ness, ner sickness, ner trouble in de min',\nner nuffin; he wuz des gwine ter git so much wuk outer eve'y han', er\nknow de reason w'y.\n\n\"Dey wuz one time de niggers 'lowed, fer a spell, dat Mars Jeems mought\ngit bettah. He tuk a lackin' ter Mars Marrabo McSwayne's oldes' gal,\nMiss Libbie, en useter go ober dere eve'y day er eve'y ebenin', en folks\nsaid dey wuz gwine ter git married sho'. But it 'pears dat Miss Libbie\nheared 'bout de gwineson on Mars Jeems's plantation, en she des 'lowed\nshe could n' trus' herse'f wid no sech a man; dat he mought git so\nuseter 'busin' his niggers dat he 'd 'mence ter 'buse his wife atter he\ngot useter habbin' her roun' de house. So she 'clared she wuz n' gwine\nter hab nuffin mo' ter do wid young Mars Jeems.\n\n\"De niggers wuz all monst'us sorry w'en de match wuz bust' up, fer now\nMars Jeems got wusser 'n he wuz befo' he sta'ted sweethea'tin'. De time\nhe useter spen' co'tin' Miss Libbie he put in findin' fault wid de\nniggers, en all his bad feelin's 'ca'se Miss Libbie th'owed 'im ober he\n'peared ter try ter wuk off on de po' niggers.\n\n\"W'iles Mars Jeems wuz co'tin' Miss Libbie, two er de han's on de\nplantation had got ter settin' a heap er sto' by one ernudder. One un\n'em wuz name' Solomon, en de yuther wuz a 'oman w'at wukked in de fiel'\n'long er 'im--I fe'git dat 'oman's name, but it doan 'mount ter much in\nde tale nohow. Now, whuther 'ca'se Mars Jeems wuz so tuk up wid his own\njunesey[2] dat he did n' paid no 'tention fer a w'ile ter w'at wuz gwine\non 'twix' Solomon en his junesey, er whuther his own co'tin' made 'im\nkin' er easy on de co'tin' in de qua'ters, dey ain' no tellin'. But\ndey's one thing sho', dat w'en Miss Libbie th'owed 'im ober, he foun'\nout 'bout Solomon en de gal monst'us quick, en gun Solomon fo'ty, en\nsont de gal down ter de Robeson County plantation, en tol' all de\nniggers ef he ketch 'em at any mo' sech foolishness, he wuz gwine ter\nskin 'em alibe en tan dey hides befo' dey ve'y eyes. Co'se he would n'\n'a' done it, but he mought 'a' made things wusser 'n dey wuz. So you kin\n'magine dey wa'n't much lub-makin' in de qua'ters fer a long time.\n\n[Footnote 2: Sweetheart.]\n\n\"Mars Jeems useter go down ter de yuther plantation sometimes fer a week\ner mo', en so he had ter hab a oberseah ter look atter his wuk w'iles he\n'uz gone. Mars Jeems's oberseah wuz a po' w'ite man name' Nick\nJohnson,--de niggers called 'im Mars Johnson ter his face, but behin'\nhis back dey useter call 'im Ole Nick, en de name suited 'im ter a T. He\nwuz wusser 'n Mars Jeems ever da'ed ter be. Co'se de darkies did n' lack\nde way Mars Jeems used 'em, but he wuz de marster, en had a right ter do\nez he please'; but dis yer Ole Nick wa'n't nuffin but a po' buckrah, en\nall de niggers 'spised 'im ez much ez dey hated 'im, fer he did n' own\nnobody, en wa'n't no bettah 'n a nigger, fer in dem days any 'spectable\npusson would ruther be a nigger dan a po' w'ite man.\n\n\"Now, atter Solomon's gal had be'n sont away, he kep' feelin' mo' en\nmo' bad erbout it, 'tel fin'lly he 'lowed he wuz gwine ter see ef dey\ncould n' be sump'n done fer ter git 'er back, en ter make Mars Jeems\ntreat de darkies bettah. So he tuk a peck er co'n out'n de ba'n one\nnight, en went ober ter see ole Aun' Peggy, de free-nigger cunjuh 'oman\ndown by de Wim'l'ton Road.\n\n\"Aun' Peggy listen' ter 'is tale, en ax' him some queshtuns, en den tol'\n'im she 'd wuk her roots, en see w'at dey 'd say 'bout it, en ter-morrer\nnight he sh'd come back ag'in en fetch ernudder peck er co'n, en den she\n'd hab sump'n fer ter tell 'im.\n\n\"So Solomon went back de nex' night, en sho' 'nuff, Aun' Peggy tol' 'im\nw'at ter do. She gun 'im some stuff w'at look' lack it be'n made by\npoundin' up some roots en yarbs wid a pestle in a mo'tar.\n\n\"'Dis yer stuff,' sez she, 'is monst'us pow'ful kin' er goopher. You\ntake dis home, en gin it ter de cook, ef you kin trus' her, en tell her\nfer ter put it in yo' marster's soup de fus' cloudy day he hab okra soup\nfer dinnah. Min' you follers de d'rections.'\n\n\"'It ain' gwineter p'isen 'im, is it?' ax' Solomon, gittin' kin' er\nskeered; fer Solomon wuz a good man, en did n' want ter do nobody no\nrale ha'm.\n\n\"'Oh, no,' sez ole Aun' Peggy, 'it's gwine ter do 'im good, but he'll\nhab a monst'us bad dream fus'. A mont' fum now you come down heah en\nlemme know how de goopher is wukkin'. Fer I ain' done much er dis kin'\ner cunj'in' er late yeahs, en I has ter kinder keep track un it ter see\ndat it doan 'complish no mo' d'n I 'lows fer it ter do. En I has ter be\nkinder keerful 'bout cunj'in' w'ite folks; so be sho' en lemme know,\nw'ateber you do, des w'at is gwine on roun' de plantation.'\n\n\"So Solomon say all right, en tuk de goopher mixtry up ter de big house\nen gun it ter de cook, en tol' her fer ter put it in Mars Jeems's soup\nde fus' cloudy day she hab okra soup fer dinnah. It happen' dat de ve'y\nnex' day wuz a cloudy day, en so de cook made okra soup fer Mars Jeems's\ndinnah, en put de powder Solomon gun her inter de soup, en made de soup\nrale good, so Mars Jeems eat a whole lot of it en 'peared ter enjoy it.\n\n\"De nex' mawnin' Mars Jeems tol' de oberseah he wuz gwine 'way on some\nbizness, en den he wuz gwine ter his yuther plantation, down in Robeson\nCounty, en he did n' 'spec' he 'd be back fer a mont' er so.\n\n\"But,' sezee, 'I wants you ter run dis yer plantation fer all it's wuth.\nDese yer niggers is gittin' monst'us triflin' en lazy en keerless, en\ndey ain' no 'pen'ence ter be put in 'em. I wants dat stop', en w'iles I\n'm gone erway I wants de 'spenses cut 'way down en a heap mo' wuk done.\nFac', I wants dis yer plantation ter make a reco'd dat'll show w'at\nkinder oberseah you is.'\n\n\"Ole Nick did n' said nuffin but 'Yas, suh,' but de way he kinder grin'\nter hisse'f en show' his big yaller teef, en snap' de rawhide he useter\nkyar roun' wid 'im, made col' chills run up and down de backbone er dem\nniggers w'at heared Mars Jeems a-talkin'. En dat night dey wuz mo'nin'\nen groanin' down in de qua'ters, fer de niggers all knowed w'at wuz\ncomin'.\n\n\"So, sho' 'nuff, Mars Jeems went erway nex' mawnin', en de trouble\nbegun. Mars Johnson sta'ted off de ve'y fus' day fer ter see w'at he\ncould hab ter show Mars Jeems w'en he come back. He made de tasks bigger\nen de rashuns littler, en w'en de niggers had wukked all day, he 'd fin'\nsump'n fer 'em ter do roun' de ba'n er som'ers atter da'k, fer ter keep\n'em busy a' hour er so befo' dey went ter sleep.\n\n\"About th'ee er fo' days atter Mars Jeems went erway, young Mars Dunkin\nMcSwayne rode up ter de big house one day wid a nigger settin' behin'\n'im in de buggy, tied ter de seat, en ax' ef Mars Jeems wuz home. Mars\nJohnson wuz at de house, and he say no.\n\n\"'Well,' sez Mars Dunkin, sezee, 'I fotch dis nigger ober ter Mistah\nMcLean fer ter pay a bet I made wid 'im las' week w'en we wuz playin'\nkya'ds te'gedder. I bet 'im a nigger man, en heah 's one I reckon'll\nfill de bill. He wuz tuk up de yuther day fer a stray nigger, en he\ncould n' gib no 'count er hisse'f, en so he wuz sol' at oction, en I\nbought 'im. He's kinder brash, but I knows yo' powers, Mistah Johnson,\nen I reckon ef anybody kin make 'im toe de ma'k, you is de man.'\n\n\"Mars Johnson grin' one er dem grins w'at show' all his snaggle teef,\nen make de niggers 'low he look lack de ole debbil, en sezee ter Mars\nDunkin:--\n\n\"'I reckon you kin trus' me, Mistah Dunkin, fer ter tame any nigger wuz\neber bawn. De nigger doan lib w'at I can't take down in 'bout fo' days.'\n\n\"Well, Ole Nick had 'is han's full long er dat noo nigger; en w'iles de\nres' er de darkies wuz sorry fer de po' man, dey 'lowed he kep' Mars\nJohnson so busy dat dey got along better 'n dey 'd 'a' done ef de noo\nnigger had nebber come.\n\n\"De fus' thing dat happen', Mars Johnson sez ter dis yer noo man:--\n\n\"'W'at 's yo' name, Sambo?'\n\n\"'My name ain' Sambo,' 'spon' de noo nigger.\n\n\"'Did I ax you w'at yo' name wa'n't?' sez Mars Johnson. 'You wants ter\nbe pa'tic'lar how you talks ter me. Now, w'at is yo' name, en whar did\nyou come fum?'\n\n\"'I dunno my name,' sez de nigger, 'en I doan 'member whar I come fum.\nMy head is all kin' er mix' up.'\n\n\"'Yas,' sez Mars Johnson, 'I reckon I'll ha' ter gib you sump'n fer ter\ncl'ar yo' head. At de same time, it'll l'arn you some manners, en atter\ndis mebbe you'll say \"suh\" w'en you speaks ter me.'\n\n\"Well, Mars Johnson haul' off wid his rawhide en hit de noo nigger once.\nDe noo man look' at Mars Johnson fer a minute ez ef he did n' know w'at\nter make er dis yer kin' er l'arnin'. But w'en de oberseah raise' his\nw'ip ter hit him ag'in, de noo nigger des haul' off en made fer Mars\nJohnson, en ef some er de yuther niggers had n' stop' 'im, it 'peared ez\nef he mought 'a' made it wa'm fer Ole Nick dere fer a w'ile. But de\noberseah made de yuther niggers he'p tie de noo nigger up, en den gun\n'im fo'ty, wid a dozen er so th'owed in fer good measure, fer Ole Nick\nwuz nebber stingy wid dem kin' er rashuns. De nigger went on at a\ntarrable rate, des lack a wil' man, but co'se he wuz bleedzd ter take\nhis med'cine, fer he wuz tied up en could n' he'p his-se'f.\n\n\"Mars Johnson lock' de noo nigger up in de ba'n, en did n' gib 'im\nnuffin ter eat fer a day er so, 'tel he got 'im kin'er quiet' down, en\nden he tu'nt 'im loose en put 'im ter wuk. De nigger 'lowed he wa'n't\nuseter wukkin', en would n' wuk, en Mars Johnson gun 'im anudder fo'ty\nfer laziness en impidence, en let 'im fas' a day er so mo', en den put\n'im ter wuk ag'in. De nigger went ter wuk, but did n' 'pear ter know how\nter han'le a hoe. It tuk des 'bout half de oberseah's time lookin' atter\n'im, en dat po' nigger got mo' lashin's en cussin's en cuffin's dan any\nfo' yuthers on de plantation. He did n' mix' wid ner talk much ter de\nres' er de niggers, en could n' 'pear ter git it th'oo his min' dat he\nwuz a slabe en had ter wuk en min' de w'ite folks, spite er de fac' dat\nOle Nick gun 'im a lesson eve'y day. En fin'lly Mars Johnson 'lowed dat\nhe could n' do nuffin wid 'im; dat ef he wuz his nigger, he 'd break his\nsperrit er break 'is neck, one er de yuther. But co'se he wuz only sont\nober on trial, en ez he did n' gib sat'sfaction, en he had n' heared fum\nMars Jeems 'bout w'en he wuz comin' back; en ez he wuz feared he 'd git\nmad some time er 'nuther en kill de nigger befo' he knowed it, he 'lowed\nhe 'd better sen' 'im back whar he come fum. So he tied 'im up en sont\n'im back ter Mars Dunkin.\n\n\"Now, Mars Dunkin McSwayne wuz one er dese yer easy-gwine gent'emen w'at\ndid n' lack ter hab no trouble wid niggers er nobody e'se, en he knowed\nef Mars Ole Nick could n' git 'long wid dis nigger, nobody could. So he\ntuk de nigger ter town dat same day, en sol' 'im ter a trader w'at wuz\ngittin' up a gang er lackly niggers fer ter ship off on de steamboat ter\ngo down de ribber ter Wim'l'ton en fum dere ter Noo Orleens.\n\n\"De nex' day atter de noo man had be'n sont away, Solomon wuz wukkin' in\nde cotton-fiel', en w'en he got ter de fence nex' ter de woods, at de\neen' er de row, who sh'd he see on de yuther side but ole Aun' Peggy.\nShe beckon' ter 'im,--de oberseah wuz down on de yuther side er de\nfiel',--en sez she:--\n\n\"'W'y ain' you done come en 'po'ted ter me lack I tol' you?'\n\n\"'W'y, law! Aun' Peggy,' sez Solomon, 'dey ain' nuffin ter 'po't. Mars\nJeems went away de day atter we gun 'im de goopher mixtry, en we ain'\nseed hide ner hair un 'im sence, en co'se we doan know nuffin 'bout w'at\n'fec' it had on 'im.'\n\n\"'I doan keer nuffin 'bout yo' Mars Jeems now; w'at I wants ter know is\nw'at is be'n gwine on 'mongs' de niggers. Has you be'n gittin' 'long any\nbetter on de plantation?'\n\n\"'No, Aun' Peggy, we be'n gittin' 'long wusser. Mars Johnson is stric'er\n'n he eber wuz befo', en de po' niggers doan ha'dly git time ter draw\ndey bref, en dey 'lows dey mought des ez well be dead ez alibe.'\n\n\"' Uh huh!' sez Aun' Peggy, sez she, 'I tol' you dat 'uz monst'us\npow'ful goopher, en its wuk doan 'pear all at once.'\n\n\"'Long ez we had dat noo nigger heah,' Solomon went on, 'he kep' Mars\nJohnson busy pa't er de time; but now he 's gone erway, I s'pose de res'\nun us'll ketch it wusser 'n eber.'\n\n\"'W'at's gone wid de noo nigger?' sez Aun' Peggy, rale quick, battin'\nher eyes en straight'nin' up.\n\n\"'Ole Nick done sont 'im back ter Mars Dunkin, who had fotch 'im heah\nfer ter pay a gamblin' debt ter Mars Jeems,' sez Solomon, 'en I heahs\nMars Dunkin has sol' 'im ter a nigger-trader up in Patesville, w'at 's\ngwine ter ship 'im off wid a gang ter-morrer.'\n\n\"Ole Aun' Peggy 'peared ter git rale stirred up w'en Solomon tol' 'er\ndat, en sez she, shakin' her stick at 'im:--\n\n\"'W'y did n' you come en tell me 'bout dis noo nigger bein' sol' erway?\nDid n' you promus me, ef I 'd gib you dat goopher, you 'd come en 'po't\nter me 'bout all w'at wuz gwine on on dis plantation Co'se I could 'a'\nfoun' out fer myse'f, but I 'pended on yo' tellin' me, en now by not\ndoin' it I's feared you gwine spile my cunj'in'. You come down ter my\nhouse ter-night en do w'at I tells you, er I'll put a spell on you dat\n'll make yo' ha'r fall out so you'll be bal', en yo' eyes drap out so\nyou can't see, en yo teef fall out so you can't eat, en yo' years grow\nup so you can't heah. Wen you is foolin' wid a cunjuh 'oman lack me, you\ngot ter min' yo' P's en Q's er dey'll be trouble sho' 'nuff.'\n\n\"So co'se Solomon went down ter Aun' Peggy's dat night, en she gun 'im a\nroasted sweet'n' 'tater.\n\n\"'You take dis yer sweet'n' 'tater,' sez she,--'I done goophered it\n'speshly fer dat noo nigger, so you better not eat it yo'se'f er you'll\nwush you had n',--en slip off ter town, en fin' dat strange man, en gib\n'im dis yer sweet'n' 'tater. He mus' eat it befo' mawnin', sho', ef he\ndoan wanter be sol' erway ter Noo Orleens.'\n\n\"'But s'posen de patteroles ketch me, Aun' Peggy, w'at I gwine ter do?'\nsez Solomon.\n\n\"'De patteroles ain' gwine tech you, but ef you doan fin' dat nigger, _I\n'm_ gwine git you, en you'll fin' me wusser 'n de patteroles. Des hol'\non a minute, en I'll sprinkle you wid some er dis mixtry out'n dis yer\nbottle, so de patteroles can't see you, en you kin rub yo' feet wid some\ner dis yer grease out'n dis go'd, so you kin run fas', en rub some un it\non yo' eyes so you kin see in de da'k; en den you mus' fin' dat noo\nnigger en gib 'im dis yer 'tater, er you gwine ter hab mo' trouble on\nyo' ban's 'n you eber had befo' in yo' life er eber will hab sence.'\n\n\"So Solomon tuk de sweet'n' 'tater en sta'ted up de road fas' ez he\ncould go, en befo' long he retch' town. He went right 'long by de\npatteroles, en dey did n' 'pear ter notice 'im, en bimeby he foun' whar\nde strange nigger was kep', en he walked right pas' de gyard at de do'\nen foun' 'im. De nigger could n' see 'im, ob co'se, en he could n' 'a'\nseed de nigger in de da'k, ef it had n' be'n fer de stuff Aun' Peggy gun\n'im ter rub on 'is eyes. De nigger wuz layin' in a co'nder, 'sleep, en\nSolomon des slip' up ter 'im, en hilt dat sweet'n' 'tater 'fo' de\nnigger's nose, en he des nach'ly retch' up wid his han', en tuk de\n'tater en eat it in his sleep, widout knowin' it. Wen Solomon seed he 'd\ndone eat de 'tater, he went back en tol' Aun' Peggy, en den went home\nter his cabin ter sleep, 'way 'long 'bout two o'clock in de mawnin'.\n\n\"De nex' day wuz Sunday, en so de niggers had a little time ter\ndeyse'ves. Solomon wuz kinder 'sturb' in his min' thinkin' 'bout his\njunesey w'at 'uz gone away, en wond'rin' w'at Aun' Peggy had ter do wid\ndat noo nigger; en he had sa'ntered up in de woods so 's ter be by\nhisse'f a little, en at de same time ter look atter a rabbit-trap he'd\nsot down in de aidge er de swamp, w'en who sh'd he see stan'in' unner a\ntree but a w'ite man.\n\n\"Solomon did n' knowed de w'ite man at fus', 'tel de w'ite man spoke up\nter 'im.\n\n\"'Is dat you, Solomon?' sezee.\n\n\"Den Solomon reco'nized de voice.\n\n\"'Fer de Lawd's sake, Mars Jeems! is dat you?'\n\n\"'Yas, Solomon,' sez his marster, 'dis is me, er w'at's lef er me.'\n\n\"It wa'n't no wonder Solomon had n' knowed Mars Jeems at fus', fer he\nwuz dress' lack a po' w'ite man, en wuz barefooted, en look' monst'us\npale en peaked, ez ef he'd des come th'oo a ha'd spell er sickness.\n\n\"'You er lookin' kinder po'ly, Mars Jeems,' sez Solomon. 'Is you be'n\nsick, suh?'\n\n\"'No, Solomon,' sez Mars Jeems, shakin' his head, en speakin' sorter\nslow en sad, 'I ain' be'n sick, but I's had a monst'us bad dream,--fac',\na reg'lar, nach'ul nightmare. But tell me how things has be'n gwine on\nup ter de plantation sence I be'n gone, Solomon.'\n\n\"So Solomon up en tol' 'im 'bout de craps, en 'bout de hosses en de\nmules, en 'bout de cows en de hawgs. En w'en he 'mence' ter tell 'bout\nde noo nigger, Mars Jeems prick' up 'is yeahs en listen', en eve'y now\nen den he 'd say, 'Uh huh! uh huh!' en nod 'is head. En bimeby, w'en\nhe'd ax' Solomon some mo' queshtuns, he sez, sezee:--\n\n\"'Now, Solomon, I doan want you ter say a wo'd ter nobody 'bout meetin'\nme heah, but I wants you ter slip up ter de house, en fetch me some\nclo's en some shoes,--I fergot ter tell you dat a man rob' me back\nyander on de road en swap' clo's wid me widout axin' me whuther er\nno,--but you neenter say nuffin 'bout dat, nuther. You go en fetch me\nsome clo's heah, so nobody won't see you, en keep yo' mouf shet, en I\n'll gib you a dollah.'\n\n\"Solomon wuz so 'stonish' he lack ter fell ober in his tracks, w'en Mars\nJeems promus' ter gib 'im a dollah. Dey su't'nly wuz a change come ober\nMars Jeems, w'en he offer' one er his niggers dat much money. Solomon\n'mence' ter 'spec' dat Aun' Peggy's cunj'ation had be'n wukkin' monst'us\nstrong.\n\n\"Solomon fotch Mars Jeems some clo's en shoes, en dat same eb'nin' Mars\nJeems 'peared at de house, en let on lack he des dat minute got home fum\nRobeson County. Mars Johnson was all ready ter talk ter 'im, but Mars\nJeems sont 'im wo'd he wa'n't feelin' ve'y well dat night, en he'd see\n'im ter-morrer.\n\n\"So nex' mawnin' atter breakfus' Mars Jeems sont fer de oberseah, en ax'\n'im fer ter gib 'count er his styoa'dship. Ole Nick tol' Mars Jeems how\nmuch wuk be'n done, en got de books en showed 'im how much money be'n\nsave'. Den Mars Jeems ax' 'im how de darkies be'n behabin', en Mars\nJohnson say dey be'n behabin' good, most un 'em, en dem w'at did n'\nbehabe good at fus' change dey conduc' atter he got holt un 'em a time\ner two.\n\n\"'All,' sezee, ''cep'n' de noo nigger Mistah Dunkin fotch ober heah en\nlef on trial, w'iles you wuz gone.'\n\n\"'Oh, yas,' 'lows Mars Jeems, 'tell me all 'bout dat noo nigger. I\nheared a little 'bout dat quare noo nigger las' night, en it wuz des too\nrediklus. Tell me all 'bout dat noo nigger.'\n\n\"So seein' Mars Jeems so good-na-chu'd 'bout it, Mars Johnson up en tol'\n'im how he tied up de noo ban' de fus' day en gun 'im fo'ty 'ca'se he\nwould n' tell 'im 'is name.\n\n\"'Ha, ha, ha!' sez Mars Jeems, laffin' fit ter kill, 'but dat is too\nfunny fer any use. Tell me some mo' 'bout dat noo nigger.'\n\n\"So Mars Johnson went on en tol' 'im how he had ter starbe de noo nigger\n'fo' he could make 'im take holt er a hoe.\n\n\"'Dat wuz de beatinis' notion fer a nigger,' sez Mars Jeems, 'puttin'\non airs, des lack he wuz a w'ite man! En I reckon you did n' do nuffin\nter 'im?'\n\n\"'Oh, no, suh,' sez de oberseah, grinnin' lack a chessy-cat, 'I did n'\ndo nuffin but take de hide off'n 'im.'\n\n\"Mars Jeems lafft en lafft, 'tel it 'peared lack he wuz des gwine ter\nbu'st. '_Tell_ me some mo' 'bout dat noo nigger, oh, _tell_ me some mo'.\nDat noo nigger int'rusts me, he do, en dat is a fac'.'\n\n\"Mars Johnson did n' quite un'erstan' w'y Mars Jeems sh'd make sich a\ngreat 'miration 'bout de noo nigger, but co'se he want' ter please de\ngent'eman w'at hi'ed 'im, en so he 'splain' all 'bout how many times he\nhad ter cowhide de noo nigger, en how he made 'im do tasks twicet ez big\nez some er de yuther han's, en how he 'd chain 'im up in de ba'n at\nnight en feed 'im on co'n-bread en water.\n\n\"'Oh! but you is a monst'us good oberseah; you is de bes' oberseah in\ndis county, Mistah Johnson,' sez Mars Jeems, w'en de oberseah got th'oo\nwid his tale; 'en dey ain' nebber be'n no nigger-breaker lack you roun'\nheah befo'. En you desarbes great credit fer sendin' dat nigger 'way\nbefo' you sp'ilt 'im fer de market. Fac', you is sech a monst'us good\noberseah, en you is got dis yer plantation in sech fine shape, dat I\nreckon I doan need you no mo'. You is got dese yer darkies so well\ntrain' dat I 'spec' I kin run 'em myse'f fum dis time on. But I does\nwush you had 'a' hilt on ter dat noo nigger 'tel I got home, fer I 'd\n'a' lack ter 'a' seed 'im, I su't'nly should.'\n\n\"De oberseah wuz so 'stonish' he did n' ha'dly know w'at ter say, but\nfin'lly he ax' Mars Jeems ef he would n' gib'im a riccommen' fer ter git\nernudder place.\n\n\"'No, suh,' sez Mars Jeems, 'somehow er 'nuther I doan lack yo' looks\nsence I come back dis time, en I'd much ruther you would n' stay roun'\nheah. Fac', I's feared ef I 'd meet you alone in de woods some time, I\nmought wanter ha'm you. But layin' dat aside, I be'n lookin' ober dese\nyer books er yo'n w'at you kep' w'iles I wuz 'way, en fer a yeah er so\nback, en dere's some figgers w'at ain' des cl'ar ter me. I ain' got no\ntime fer ter talk 'bout 'em now, but I 'spec' befo' I settles wid you\nfer dis las' mont', you better come up heah ter-morrer, atter I's look'\nde books en 'counts ober some mo', en den we'll straighten ou' business\nall up.'\n\n\"Mars Jeems 'lowed atterwa'ds dat he wuz des shootin' in de da'k w'en he\nsaid dat 'bout de books, but howsomeber, Mars Nick Johnson lef dat\nnaberhood 'twix' de nex' two suns, en nobody roun' dere nebber seed hide\nner hair un 'im sence. En all de darkies t'ank de Lawd, en 'lowed it\nwuz a good riddance er bad rubbage.\n\n\"But all dem things I done tol' you ain' nuffin 'side'n de change w'at\ncome ober Mars Jeems fum dat time on. Aun' Peggy's goopher had made a\nnoo man un 'im enti'ely. De nex' day atter he come back, he tol' de\nhan's dey neenter wuk on'y fum sun ter sun, en he cut dey tasks down so\ndey did n' nobody hab ter stan' ober 'em wid a rawhide er a hick'ry. En\nhe 'lowed ef de niggers want ter hab a dance in de big ba'n any Sad'day\nnight, dey mought hab it. En bimeby, w'en Solomon seed how good Mars\nJeems wuz, he ax' 'im ef he would n' please sen' down ter de yuther\nplantation fer his junesey. Mars Jeems say su't'nly, en gun Solomon a\npass en a note ter de oberseah on de yuther plantation, en sont Solomon\ndown ter Robeson County wid a hoss en buggy fer ter fetch his junesey\nback. Wen de niggers see how fine Mars Jeems gwine treat 'em, dey all\ntuk ter sweethea'tin' en juneseyin' en singin' en dancin', en eight er\nten couples got married, en bimeby eve'ybody 'mence' ter say Mars Jeems\nMcLean got a finer plantation, en slicker-lookin' niggers, en dat he 'uz\nmakin' mo' cotton en co'n, dan any yuther gent'eman in de county. En\nMars Jeems's own junesey, Miss Libbie, heared 'bout de noo gwines-on on\nMars Jeems's plantation, en she change' her min' 'bout Mars Jeems en tuk\n'im back ag'in, en 'fo' long dey had a fine weddin', en all de darkies\nhad a big feas', en dey wuz fiddlin' en dancin' en funnin' en frolic'in'\nfum sundown 'tel mawnin'.\"\n\n\"And they all lived happy ever after,\" I said, as the old man reached a\nfull stop.\n\n\"Yas, suh,\" he said, interpreting my remarks as a question, \"dey did.\nSolomon useter say,\" he added, \"dat Aun' Peggy's goopher had turnt Mars\nJeems ter a nigger, en dat dat noo ban' wuz Mars Jeems hisse'f. But\nco'se Solomon did n' das' ter let on 'bout w'at he 'spicioned, en ole\nAun' Peggy would 'a' 'nied it ef she had be'n ax', fer she 'd 'a' got in\ntrouble sho', ef it 'uz knowed she 'd be'n cunj'in' de w'ite folks.\n\n\"Dis yer tale goes ter show,\" concluded Julius sententiously, as the man\ncame up and announced that the spring was ready for us to get water,\n\"dat w'ite folks w'at is so ha'd en stric', en doan make no 'lowance fer\npo' ign'ant niggers w'at ain' had no chanst ter l'arn, is li'ble ter hab\nbad dreams, ter say de leas', en dat dem w'at is kin' en good ter po'\npeople is sho' ter prosper en git 'long in de worl'.\"\n\n\"That is a very strange story, Uncle Julius,\" observed my wife, smiling,\n\"and Solomon's explanation is quite improbable.\"\n\n\"Yes, Julius,\" said I, \"that was powerful goopher. I am glad, too, that\nyou told us the moral of the story; it might have escaped us otherwise.\nBy the way, did you make that up all by yourself?\"\n\nThe old man's face assumed an injured look, expressive more of sorrow\nthan of anger, and shaking his head he replied:--\n\n\"No, suh, I heared dat tale befo' you er Mis' Annie dere wuz bawn, suh.\nMy mammy tol' me dat tale w'en I wa'n't mo' d'n knee-high ter a\nhopper-grass.\"\n\nI drove to town next morning, on some business, and did not return until\nnoon; and after dinner I had to visit a neighbor, and did not get back\nuntil supper-time. I was smoking a cigar on the back piazza in the early\nevening, when I saw a familiar figure carrying a bucket of water to the\nbarn. I called my wife.\n\n\"My dear,\" I said severely, \"what is that rascal doing here? I thought\nI discharged him yesterday for good and all.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" she answered, \"I forgot to tell you. He was hanging round the\nplace all the morning, and looking so down in the mouth, that I told him\nthat if he would try to do better, we would give him one more chance. He\nseems so grateful, and so really in earnest in his promises of\namendment, that I'm sure you'll not regret taking him back.\"\n\nI was seriously enough annoyed to let my cigar go out. I did not share\nmy wife's rose-colored hopes in regard to Tom; but as I did not wish the\nservants to think there was any conflict of authority in the household,\nI let the boy stay.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CONJURER'S REVENGE\n\nSunday was sometimes a rather dull day at our place. In the morning,\nwhen the weather was pleasant, my wife and I would drive to town, a\ndistance of about five miles, to attend the church of our choice. The\nafternoons we spent at home, for the most part, occupying ourselves with\nthe newspapers and magazines, and the contents of a fairly good library.\nWe had a piano in the house, on which my wife played with skill and\nfeeling. I possessed a passable baritone voice, and could accompany\nmyself indifferently well when my wife was not by to assist me. When\nthese resources failed us, we were apt to find it a little dull.\n\nOne Sunday afternoon in early spring,--the balmy spring of North\nCarolina, when the air is in that ideal balance between heat and cold\nwhere one wishes it could always remain,--my wife and I were seated on\nthe front piazza, she wearily but conscientiously ploughing through a\nmissionary report, while I followed the impossible career of the blonde\nheroine of a rudimentary novel. I had thrown the book aside in disgust,\nwhen I saw Julius coming through the yard, under the spreading elms,\nwhich were already in full leaf. He wore his Sunday clothes, and\nadvanced with a dignity of movement quite different from his week-day\nslouch.\n\n\"Have a seat, Julius,\" I said, pointing to an empty rocking-chair.\n\n\"No, thanky, boss, I'll des set here on de top step.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, Uncle Julius,\" exclaimed Annie, \"take this chair. You will find\nit much more comfortable.\"\n\nThe old man grinned in appreciation of her solicitude, and seated\nhimself somewhat awkwardly.\n\n\"Julius,\" I remarked, \"I am thinking of setting out scuppernong vines on\nthat sand-hill where the three persimmon-trees are; and while I'm\nworking there, I think I'll plant watermelons between the vines, and\nget a little something to pay for my first year's work. The new railroad\nwill be finished by the middle of summer, and I can ship the melons\nNorth, and get a good price for them.\"\n\n\"Ef you er gwine ter hab any mo' ploughin' ter do,\" replied Julius, \"I\n'spec' you'll ha' ter buy ernudder creetur, 'ca'se hit's much ez dem\nhosses kin do ter 'ten' ter de wuk dey got now.\"\n\n\"Yes, I had thought of that. I think I'll get a mule; a mule can do\nmore work, and doesn't require as much attention as a horse.\"\n\n\"I would n' 'vise you ter buy no mule,\" remarked Julius, with a shake\nof his head.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Well, you may 'low hit's all foolis'ness, but ef I wuz in yo' place, I\nwould n' buy no mule.\"\n\n\"But that isn't a reason; what objection have you to a mule?\"\n\n\"Fac' is,\" continued the old man, in a serious tone, \"I doan lack ter\ndribe a mule. I 's alluz afeared I mought be imposin' on some human\ncreetur; eve'y time I cuts a mule wid a hick'ry, 'pears ter me mos'\nlackly I's cuttin' some er my own relations, er somebody e'se w'at can't\nhe'p deyse'ves.\"\n\n\"What put such an absurd idea into your head?\" I asked.\n\nMy question was followed by a short silence, during which Julius seemed\nengaged in a mental struggle.\n\n\"I dunno ez hit's wuf w'ile ter tell you dis,\" he said, at length. \"I\ndoan ha'dly 'spec' fer you ter b'lieve it. Does you 'member dat\nclub-footed man w'at hilt de hoss fer you de yuther day w'en you was\ngittin' out'n de rockaway down ter Mars Archie McMillan's sto'?\"\n\n\"Yes, I believe I do remember seeing a club-footed man there.\"\n\n\"Did you eber see a club-footed nigger befo' er sence?\"\n\n\"No, I can't remember that I ever saw a club-footed colored man,\" I\nreplied, after a moment's reflection.\n\n\"You en Mis' Annie would n' wanter b'lieve me, ef I wuz ter 'low dat dat\nman was oncet a mule?\"\n\n\"No,\" I replied, \"I don't think it very likely that you could make us\nbelieve it.\"\n\n\"Why, Uncle Julius!\" said Annie severely, \"what ridiculous nonsense!\"\n\nThis reception of the old man's statement reduced him to silence, and it\nrequired some diplomacy on my part to induce him to vouchsafe an\nexplanation. The prospect of a long, dull afternoon was not alluring,\nand I was glad to have the monotony of Sabbath quiet relieved by a\nplantation legend.\n\n\"W'en I wuz a young man,\" began Julius, when I had finally prevailed\nupon him to tell us the story, \"dat club-footed nigger--his name is\nPrimus--use' ter b'long ter ole Mars Jim McGee ober on de Lumbe'ton\nplank-road. I use' ter go ober dere ter see a 'oman w'at libbed on de\nplantation; dat 's how I come ter know all erbout it. Dis yer Primus wuz\nde livelies' han' on de place, alluz a-dancin', en drinkin', en runnin'\nroun', en singin', en pickin' de banjo; 'cep'n' once in a w'ile, w'en he\n'd 'low he wa'n't treated right 'bout sump'n ernudder, he'd git so sulky\nen stubborn dat de w'ite folks could n' ha'dly do nuffin wid 'im.\n\n\"It wuz 'gin' de rules fer any er de han's ter go 'way fum de\nplantation at night; but Primus did n' min' de rules, en went w'en he\nfelt lack it; en de w'ite folks purten' lack dey did n' know it, fer\nPrimus was dange'ous w'en he got in dem stubborn spells, en dey 'd\nruther not fool wid 'im.\n\n\"One night in de spring er de year, Primus slip' off fum de plantation,\nen went down on de Wim'l'ton Road ter a dance gun by some er de free\nniggers down dere. Dey wuz a fiddle, en a banjo, en a jug gwine roun' on\nde outside, en Primus sung en dance' 'tel 'long 'bout two o'clock in de\nmawnin', w'en he start' fer home. Ez he come erlong back, he tuk a\nnigh-cut 'cross de cottonfiel's en 'long by de aidge er de Min'al Spring\nSwamp, so ez ter git shet er de patteroles w'at rid up en down de big\nroad fer ter keep de darkies fum runnin' roun' nights. Primus was\nsa'nt'rin' 'long, studyin' 'bout de good time he 'd had wid de gals,\nw'en, ez he wuz gwine by a fence co'nder, w'at sh'd he heah but sump'n\ngrunt. He stopped a minute ter listen, en he heared sump'n grunt ag'in.\nDen he went ober ter de fence whar he heard de fuss, en dere, layin' in\nde fence co'nder, on a pile er pine straw, he seed a fine, fat shote.\n\n\"Primus look' ha'd at de shote, en den sta'ted home. But somehow er\n'nudder he could n' git away fum dat shote; w'en he tuk one step\nfor'ards wid one foot, de yuther foot 'peared ter take two steps\nback'ards, en so he kep' nachly gittin' closeter en closeter ter de\nshote. It was de beatin'es' thing! De shote des 'peared ter cha'm\nPrimus, en fus' thing you know Primus foun' hisse'f 'way up de road wid\nde shote on his back.\n\n\"Ef Primus had 'a' knowed whose shote dat wuz, he 'd 'a' manage' ter git\npas' it somehow er 'nudder. Ez it happen', de shote b'long ter a cunjuh\nman w'at libbed down in de free-nigger sett'ement. Co'se de cunjuh man\ndid n' hab ter wuk his roots but a little w'ile 'fo' he foun' out who\ntuk his shote, en den de trouble begun. One mawnin', a day er so later,\nen befo' he got de shote eat up, Primus did n' go ter wuk w'en de hawn\nblow, en w'en de oberseah wen' ter look fer him, dey wa' no trace er\nPrimus ter be 'skivered nowhar. W'en he did n' come back in a day er so\nmo', eve'ybody on de plantation 'lowed he had runned erway. His marster\na'vertise' him in de papers, en offered a big reward fer 'im. De\nnigger-ketchers fotch out dey dogs, en track' 'im down ter de aidge er\nde swamp, en den de scent gun out; en dat was de las' anybody seed er\nPrimus fer a long, long time.\n\n\"Two er th'ee weeks atter Primus disappear', his marster went ter town\none Sad'day. Mars Jim was stan'in' in front er Sandy Campbell's\nbar-room, up by de ole wagon-ya'd, w'en a po' w'ite man fum down on de\nWim'l'ton Road come up ter 'im en ax' 'im, kinder keerless lack, ef he\ndid n' wanter buy a mule.\n\n\"'I dunno,' says Mars Jim; 'it 'pen's on de mule, en on de price. Whar\nis de mule?'\n\n\"'Des 'roun' heah back er ole Tom McAllister's sto',' says de po' w'ite\nman.\n\n\"'I reckon I'll hab a look at de mule,' says Mars Jim, 'en ef he suit\nme, I dunno but w'at I mought buy 'im.'\n\n\"So de po' w'ite man tuk Mars Jim 'roun' back er de sto', en dere stood\na monst'us fine mule. W'en de mule see Mars Jim, he gun a whinny, des\nlack he knowed him befo'. Mars Jim look' at de mule, en de mule 'peared\nter be soun' en strong. Mars Jim 'lowed dey 'peared ter be sump'n\nfermilyus 'bout de mule's face, 'spesh'ly his eyes; but he had n' los'\nnaer mule, en did n' hab no recommemb'ance er habin' seed de mule befo'.\nHe ax' de po' buckrah whar he got de mule, en de po' buckrah say his\nbrer raise' de mule down on Rockfish Creek. Mars Jim was a little\ns'picious er seein' a po' w'ite man wid sech a fine creetur, but he\nfin'lly 'greed ter gib de man fifty dollars fer de mule,--'bout ha'f\nw'at a good mule was wuf dem days.\n\n\"He tied de mule behin' de buggy w'en he went home, en put 'im ter\nploughin' cotton de nex' day. De mule done mighty well fer th'ee er fo'\ndays, en den de niggers 'mence' ter notice some quare things erbout him.\nDey wuz a medder on de plantation whar dey use' ter put de hosses en\nmules ter pastur'. Hit was fence' off fum de cornfiel' on one side, but\non de yuther side'n de pastur' was a terbacker-patch w'at wa'n't fence'\noff, 'ca'se de beastisses doan none un 'em eat terbacker. Dey doan know\nw'at 's good! Terbacker is lack religion, de good Lawd made it fer\npeople, en dey ain' no yuther creetur w'at kin 'preciate it. De darkies\nnotice' dat de fus' thing de new mule done, w'en he was turnt inter de\npastur', wuz ter make fer de terbacker-patch. Co'se dey didn' think\nnuffin un it, but nex' mawnin', w'en dey went ter ketch 'im, dey\n'skivered dat he had eat up two whole rows er terbacker plants. Atter\ndat dey had ter put a halter on 'im, en tie 'im ter a stake, er e'se dey\nwould n' 'a' been naer leaf er terbacker lef' in de patch.\n\n\"Ernudder day one er de han's, name' 'Dolphus, hitch' de mule up, en\ndribe up here ter dis yer vimya'd,--dat wuz w'en ole Mars Dugal' own'\ndis place. Mars Dugal' had kilt a yearlin', en de naber w'ite folks all\nsont ober fer ter git some fraish beef, en Mars Jim had sont 'Dolphus\nfer some too. Dey wuz a winepress in de ya'd whar 'Dolphus lef' de mule\na-stan'in', en right in front er de press dey wuz a tub er grape-juice,\ndes pressed out, en a little ter one side a bairl erbout half full er\nwine w'at had be'n stan'in' two er th'ee days, en had begun ter git\nsorter sha'p ter de tas'e. Dey wuz a couple er bo'ds on top er dis yer\nbairl, wid a rock laid on 'em ter hol' 'em down. Ez I wuz a-sayin',\n'Dolphus lef' de mule stan'in' in de ya'd, en went inter de smoke-house\nfer ter git de beef. Bimeby, w'en he come out, he seed de mule\na-stagg'rin' 'bout de ya'd; en 'fo' 'Dolphus could git dere ter fin' out\nw'at wuz de matter, de mule fell right ober on his side, en laid dere\ndes' lack he was dead.\n\n\"All de niggers 'bout de house run out dere fer ter see w'at wuz de\nmatter. Some say de mule had de colic; some say one thing en some\nernudder; 'tel bimeby one er de han's seed de top wuz off'n de bairl, en\nrun en looked in.\n\n\"'Fo' de Lawd!' he say, 'dat mule drunk! he be'n drinkin' de wine.' En\nsho' 'nuff, de mule had pas' right by de tub er fraish grape-juice en\npush' de kiver off'n de bairl, en drunk two er th'ee gallon er de wine\nw'at had been stan'in' long ernough fer ter begin ter git sha'p.\n\n\"De darkies all made a great 'miration 'bout de mule gittin' drunk. Dey\nnever had n' seed nuffin lack it in dey bawn days. Dey po'd water ober\nde mule, en tried ter sober 'im up; but it wa'n't no use, en 'Dolphus\nhad ter take de beef home on his back, en leabe de mule dere, 'tel he\nslep' off 'is spree.\n\n\"I doan 'member whe'r I tol' you er no, but w'en Primus disappear' fum\nde plantation, he lef' a wife behin' 'im,--a monst'us good-lookin'\nyaller gal, name' Sally. W'en Primus had be'n gone a mont' er so, Sally\n'mence' fer ter git lonesome, en tuk up wid ernudder young man name'\nDan, w'at b'long' on de same plantation. One day dis yer Dan tuk de noo\nmule out in de cotton-fiel' fer ter plough, en w'en dey wuz gwine 'long\nde tu'n-row, who sh'd he meet but dis yer Sally. Dan look' 'roun' en he\ndid n' see de oberseah nowhar, so he stop' a minute fer ter run on wid\nSally.\n\n\"'Hoddy, honey,' sezee. 'How you feelin' dis mawnin'?'\n\n\"'Fus' rate,' 'spon' Sally.\n\n\"Dey wuz lookin' at one ernudder, en dey did n' naer one un 'em pay no\n'tention ter de mule, who had turnt 'is head 'roun' en wuz lookin' at\nSally ez ha'd ez he could, en stretchin' 'is neck en raisin' 'is years,\nen whinnyin' kinder sof' ter hisse'f.\n\n\"'Yas, honey,' 'lows Dan, 'en you gwine ter feel fus' rate long ez you\nsticks ter me. Fer I's a better man dan dat low-down runaway nigger\nPrimus dat you be'n wastin' yo' time wid.'\n\n\"Dan had let go de plough-handle, en had put his arm 'roun' Sally, en\nwuz des gwine ter kiss her, w'en sump'n ketch' 'im by de scruff er de\nneck en flung 'im 'way ober in de cotton-patch. W'en he pick' 'isse'f\nup, Sally had gone kitin' down de tu'n-row, en de mule wuz stan'in' dere\nlookin' ez ca'm en peaceful ez a Sunday mawnin'.\n\n\"Fus' Dan had 'lowed it wuz de oberseah w'at had cotch' 'im wastin' 'is\ntime. But dey wa'n't no oberseah in sight, so he 'cluded it must 'a'\nbe'n de mule. So he pitch' inter de mule en lammed 'im ez ha'd ez he\ncould. De mule tuk it all, en 'peared ter be ez 'umble ez a mule could\nbe; but w'en dey wuz makin' de turn at de een' er de row, one er de\nplough-lines got under de mule's hin' leg. Dan retch' down ter git de\nline out, sorter keerless like, w'en de mule haul' off en kick him clean\nober de fence inter a brier-patch on de yuther side.\n\n\"Dan wuz mighty so' fum 'is woun's en scratches, en wuz laid up fer two\ner th'ee days. One night de noo mule got out'n de pastur', en went down\nto de quarters. Dan wuz layin' dere on his pallet, w'en he heard sump'n\nbangin' erway at de side er his cabin. He raise' up on one shoulder en\nlook' roun', w'en w'at should he see but de noo mule's head stickin' in\nde winder, wid his lips drawed back over his toofs, grinnin' en snappin'\nat Dan des' lack he wanter eat 'im up. Den de mule went roun' ter de\ndo', en kick' erway lack he wanter break de do' down, 'tel bimeby\nsomebody come 'long en driv him back ter de pastur'. W'en Sally come in\na little later fum de big house, whar she 'd be'n waitin' on de w'ite\nfolks, she foun' po' Dan nigh 'bout dead, he wuz so skeered. She 'lowed\nDan had had de nightmare; but w'en dey look' at de do', dey seed de\nmarks er de mule's huffs, so dey could n' be no mistake 'bout w'at had\nhappen'.\n\n\"Co'se de niggers tol' dey marster 'bout de mule's gwines-on. Fust he\ndid n' pay no 'tention ter it, but atter a w'ile he tol' 'em ef dey did\nn' stop dey foolis'ness, he gwine tie some un 'em up. So atter dat dey\ndid n' say nuffin mo' ter dey marster, but dey kep' on noticin' de\nmule's quare ways des de same.\n\n\"'Long 'bout de middle er de summer dey wuz a big camp-meetin' broke out\ndown on de Wim'l'ton Road, en nigh 'bout all de po' w'ite folks en free\nniggers in de settlement got 'ligion, en lo en behol'! 'mongs' 'em wuz\nde cunjuh man w'at own' de shote w'at cha'med Primus.\n\n\"Dis cunjuh man wuz a Guinea nigger, en befo' he wuz sot free had use'\nter b'long ter a gent'eman down in Sampson County. De cunjuh man say his\ndaddy wuz a king, er a guv'ner, er some sorter w'at-you-may-call-'em\n'way ober yander in Affiky whar de niggers come fum, befo' he was\nstoled erway en sol' ter de spekilaters. De cunjuh man had he'ped his\nmarster out'n some trouble ernudder wid his goopher, en his marster had\nsot him free, en bought him a trac' er land down on de Wim'l'ton Road.\nHe purten' ter be a cow-doctor, but eve'ybody knowed w'at he r'al'y wuz.\n\n\"De cunjuh man had n' mo' d'n come th'oo good, befo' he wuz tuk sick wid\na col' w'at he kotch kneelin' on de groun' so long at de mou'ners'\nbench. He kep' gittin' wusser en wusser, en bimeby de rheumatiz tuk holt\ner 'im, en drawed him all up, 'tel one day he sont word up ter Mars Jim\nMcGee's plantation, en ax' Pete, de nigger w'at tuk keer er de mules,\nfer ter come down dere dat night en fetch dat mule w'at his marster had\nbought fum de po' w'ite man dyoin' er de summer.\n\n\"Pete did n' know w'at de cunjuh man wuz dribin' at, but he did n'\ndaster stay way; en so dat night, w'en he 'd done eat his bacon en his\nhoe-cake, en drunk his 'lasses-en-water, he put a bridle on de mule, en\nrid 'im down ter de cunjuh man's cabin. W'en he got ter de do', he lit\nen hitch' de mule, en den knock' at de do'. He felt mighty jubous 'bout\ngwine in, but he was bleedst ter do it; he knowed he could n' he'p\n'isse'f.\n\n\"'Pull de string,' sez a weak voice, en w'en Pete lif de latch en went\nin, de cunjuh man was layin' on de bed, lookin' pale en weak, lack he\ndid n' hab much longer fer ter lib.\n\n\"'Is you fotch' de mule?' sezee.\n\n\"Pete say yas, en de cunjuh man kep' on.\n\n\"'Brer Pete,' sezee, 'I's be'n a monst'us sinner man, en I's done a\npower er wickedness endyoin' er my days; but de good Lawd is wash' my\nsins erway, en I feels now dat I's boun' fer de kingdom. En I feels,\ntoo, dat I ain' gwine ter git up fum dis bed no mo' in dis worl', en I\nwants ter ondo some er de harm I done. En dat's de reason, Brer Pete, I\nsont fer you ter fetch dat mule down here. You 'member dat shote I was\nup ter yo' plantation inquirin' 'bout las' June?'\n\n\"'Yas,' says Brer Pete, 'I'member yo' axin' 'bout a shote you had\nlos'.'\n\n\"'I dunno whe'r you eber l'arnt it er no,' says de cunjuh man, 'but I\ndone knowed yo' marster's Primus had tuk de shote, en I wuz boun' ter\ngit eben wid 'im. So one night I cotch' 'im down by de swamp on his way\nter a candy-pullin', en I th'owed a goopher mixtry on 'im, en turnt 'im\nter a mule, en got a po' w'ite man ter sell de mule, en we 'vided de\nmoney. But I doan want ter die 'tel I turn Brer Primus back ag'in.'\n\n\"Den de cunjuh man ax' Pete ter take down one er two go'ds off'n a\nshe'f in de corner, en one er two bottles wid some kin' er mixtry in\n'em, en set 'em on a stool by de bed; en den he ax' 'im ter fetch de\nmule in.\n\n\"W'en de mule come in de do', he gin a snort, en started fer de bed, des\nlack he was gwine ter jump on it.\n\n\"'Hol' on dere, Brer Primus!' de cunjuh man hollered. 'I's monst'us\nweak, en ef you 'mence on me, you won't nebber hab no chance fer ter git\nturn' back no mo'.'\n\n\"De mule seed de sense er dat, en stood still. Den de cunjuh man tuk de\ngo'ds en bottles, en 'mence' ter wuk de roots en yarbs, en de mule\n'mence' ter turn back ter a man,--fust his years, den de res' er his\nhead, den his shoulders en arms. All de time de cunjuh man kep' on\nwukkin' his roots; en Pete en Primus could see he wuz gittin' weaker en\nweaker all de time.\n\n\"'Brer Pete,' sezee, bimeby, 'gimme a drink er dem bitters out'n dat\ngreen bottle on de she'f yander. I's gwine fas', en it'll gimme strenk\nfer ter finish dis wuk.'\n\n\"Brer Pete look' up on de mantelpiece, en he seed a bottle in de corner.\nIt was so da'k in de cabin he could n' tell whe'r it wuz a green bottle\ner no. But he hilt de bottle ter de cunjuh man's mouf, en he tuk a big\nmouff'l. He had n' mo' d'n swallowed it befo' he 'mence' ter holler.\n\n\"'You gimme de wrong bottle, Brer Pete; dis yer bottle 's got pizen in\nit, en I's done fer dis time, sho'. Hol' me up, fer de Lawd's sake! 'tel\nI git th'oo turnin' Brer Primus back.'\n\n\"So Pete hilt him up, en he kep' on wukkin' de roots, 'tel he got de\ngoopher all tuk off'n Brer Primus 'cep'n' one foot. He had n' got dis\nfoot mo' d'n half turnt back befo' his strenk gun out enti'ely, en he\ndrap' de roots en fell back on de bed.\n\n\"'I can't do no mo' fer you, Brer Primus,' sezee, 'but I hopes you will\nfergib me fer w'at harm I done you. I knows de good Lawd done fergib me,\nen I hope ter meet you bofe in glory. I sees de good angels waitin' fer\nme up yander, wid a long w'ite robe en a starry crown, en I'm on my way\nter jine 'em.' En so de cunjuh man died, en Pete en Primus went back ter\nde plantation.\n\n\"De darkies all made a great 'miration w'en Primus come back. Mars Jim\nlet on lack he did n' b'lieve de tale de two niggers tol'; he sez Primus\nhad runned erway, en stay' 'tel he got ti'ed er de swamps, en den come\nback on him ter be fed. He tried ter 'count fer de shape er Primus' foot\nby sayin' Primus got his foot smash', er snake-bit, er sump'n, w'iles he\nwuz erway, en den stayed out in de woods whar he could n' git it kyoed\nup straight, 'stidder comin' long home whar a doctor could 'a' 'tended\nter it. But de niggers all notice' dey marster did n' tie Primus up, ner\ntake on much 'ca'se de mule wuz gone. So dey 'lowed dey marster must 'a'\nhad his s'picions 'bout dat cunjuh man.\"\n\nMy wife had listened to Julius's recital with only a mild interest. When\nthe old man had finished it she remarked:--\n\n\"That story does not appeal to me, Uncle Julius, and is not up to your\nusual mark. It isn't pathetic, it has no moral that I can discover, and\nI can't see why you should tell it. In fact, it seems to me like\nnonsense.\"\n\nThe old man looked puzzled as well as pained. He had not pleased the\nlady, and he did not seem to understand why.\n\n\"I'm sorry, ma'm,\" he said reproachfully, \"ef you doan lack dat tale. I\ncan't make out w'at you means by some er dem wo'ds you uses, but I'm\ntellin' nuffin but de truf. Co'se I did n' see de cunjuh man tu'n 'im\nback, fer I wuz n' dere; but I be'n hearin' de tale fer twenty-five\nyeahs, en I ain' got no 'casion fer ter 'spute it. Dey 's so many things\na body knows is lies, dat dey ain' no use gwine roun' findin' fault wid\ntales dat mought des ez well be so ez not. F' instance, dey's a young\nnigger gwine ter school in town, en he come out heah de yuther day en\n'lowed dat de sun stood still en de yeath turnt roun' eve'y day on a\nkinder axletree. I tol' dat young nigger ef he didn' take hisse'f 'way\nwid dem lies, I 'd take a buggy-trace ter 'im; fer I sees de yeath\nstan'in' still all de time, en I sees de sun gwine roun' it, en ef a man\ncan't b'lieve w'at 'e sees, I can't see no use in libbin'--mought's well\ndie en be whar we can't see nuffin. En ernudder thing w'at proves de\ntale 'bout dis ole Primus is de way he goes on ef anybody ax' him how he\ncome by dat club-foot. I axed 'im one day, mighty perlite en civil, en\nhe call' me a' ole fool, en got so mad he ain' spoke ter me sence. Hit's\nmonst'us quare. But dis is a quare worl', anyway yer kin fix it,\"\nconcluded the old man, with a weary sigh.\n\n\"Ef you makes up yo' min' not ter buy dat mule, suh,\" he added, as he\nrose to go, \"I knows a man w'at 's got a good hoss he wants ter\nsell,--leas'ways dat's w'at I heared. I'm gwine ter pra'rmeetin'\nter-night, en I'm gwine right by de man's house, en ef you 'd lack ter\nlook at de hoss, I'll ax 'im ter fetch him roun'.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes,\" I said, \"you can ask him to stop in, if he is passing. There\nwill be no harm in looking at the horse, though I rather think I shall\nbuy a mule.\"\n\nEarly next morning the man brought the horse up to the vineyard. At that\ntime I was not a very good judge of horseflesh. The horse appeared\nsound and gentle, and, as the owner assured me, had no bad habits. The\nman wanted a large price for the horse, but finally agreed to accept a\nmuch smaller sum, upon payment of which I became possessed of a very\nfine-looking animal. But alas for the deceitfulness of appearances! I\nsoon ascertained that the horse was blind in one eye, and that the sight\nof the other was very defective; and not a month elapsed before my\npurchase developed most of the diseases that horse-flesh is heir to, and\na more worthless, broken-winded, spavined quadruped never disgraced the\nnoble name of horse. After worrying through two or three months of life,\nhe expired one night in a fit of the colic. I replaced him with a mule,\nand Julius henceforth had to take his chances of driving some\nmetamorphosed unfortunate.\n\nCircumstances that afterwards came to my knowledge created in my mind a\nstrong suspicion that Julius may have played a more than unconscious\npart in this transaction. Among other significant facts was his\nappearance, the Sunday following the purchase of the horse, in a new\nsuit of store clothes, which I had seen displayed in the window of Mr.\nSolomon Cohen's store on my last visit to town, and had remarked on\naccount of their striking originality of cut and pattern. As I had not\nrecently paid Julius any money, and as he had no property to mortgage, I\nwas driven to conjecture to account for his possession of the means to\nbuy the clothes. Of course I would not charge him with duplicity unless\nI could prove it, at least to a moral certainty, but for a long time\nafterwards I took his advice only in small doses and with great\ndiscrimination.\n\n\n\n\nSIS' BECKY'S PICKANINNY\n\nWe had not lived in North Carolina very long before I was able to note a\nmarked improvement in my wife's health. The ozone-laden air of the\nsurrounding piney woods, the mild and equable climate, the peaceful\nleisure of country life, had brought about in hopeful measure the cure\nwe had anticipated. Toward the end of our second year, however, her\nailment took an unexpected turn for the worse. She became the victim of\na settled melancholy, attended with vague forebodings of impending\nmisfortune.\n\n\"You must keep up her spirits,\" said our physician, the best in the\nneighboring town. \"This melancholy lowers her tone too much, tends to\nlessen her strength, and, if it continue too long, may be fraught with\ngrave consequences.\"\n\nI tried various expedients to cheer her up. I read novels to her. I had\nthe hands on the place come up in the evening and serenade her with\nplantation songs. Friends came in sometimes and talked, and frequent\nletters from the North kept her in touch with her former home. But\nnothing seemed to rouse her from the depression into which she had\nfallen.\n\nOne pleasant afternoon in spring, I placed an armchair in a shaded\nportion of the front piazza, and filling it with pillows led my wife out\nof the house and seated her where she would have the pleasantest view of\na somewhat monotonous scenery. She was scarcely placed when old Julius\ncame through the yard, and, taking off his tattered straw hat, inquired,\nsomewhat anxiously:--\n\n\"How is you feelin' dis atternoon, ma'm?\"\n\n\"She is not very cheerful, Julius,\" I said. My wife was apparently\nwithout energy enough to speak for herself.\n\nThe old man did not seem inclined to go away, so I asked him to sit\ndown. I had noticed, as he came up, that he held some small object in\nhis hand. When he had taken his seat on the top step, he kept fingering\nthis object,--what it was I could not quite make out.\n\n\"What is that you have there, Julius?\" I asked, with mild curiosity.\n\n\"Dis is my rabbit foot, suh.\"\n\nThis was at a time before this curious superstition had attained its\npresent jocular popularity among white people, and while I had heard of\nit before, it had not yet outgrown the charm of novelty.\n\n\"What do you do with it?\"\n\n\"I kyars it wid me fer luck, suh.\"\n\n\"Julius,\" I observed, half to him and half to my wife, \"your people\nwill never rise in the world until they throw off these childish\nsuperstitions and learn to live by the light of reason and common sense.\nHow absurd to imagine that the fore-foot of a poor dead rabbit, with\nwhich he timorously felt his way along through a life surrounded by\nsnares and pitfalls, beset by enemies on every hand, can promote\nhappiness or success, or ward off failure or misfortune!\"\n\n\"It is ridiculous,\" assented my wife, with faint interest.\n\n\"Dat 's w'at I tells dese niggers roun' heah,\" said Julius. \"De fo'-foot\nain' got no power. It has ter be de hin'-foot, suh,--de lef hin'-foot er\na grabe-ya'd rabbit, killt by a cross-eyed nigger on a da'k night in de\nfull er de moon.\"\n\n\"They must be very rare and valuable,\" I said.\n\n\"Dey is kinder ska'ce, suh, en dey ain' no 'mount er money could buy\nmine, suh. I mought len' it ter anybody I sot sto' by, but I would n'\nsell it, no indeed, suh, I would n'.\"\n\n\"How do you know it brings good luck?\" I asked.\n\n\"'Ca'se I ain' had no bad luck sence I had it, suh, en I's had dis\nrabbit foot fer fo'ty yeahs. I had a good marster befo' de wah, en I\nwa'n't sol' erway, en I wuz sot free; en dat 'uz all good luck.\"\n\n\"But that doesn't prove anything,\" I rejoined. \"Many other people have\ngone through a similar experience, and probably more than one of them\nhad no rabbit's foot.\"\n\n\"Law, suh! you doan hafter prove 'bout de rabbit foot! Eve'ybody knows\ndat; leas'ways eve'ybody roun' heah knows it. But ef it has ter be\nprove' ter folks w'at wa'n't bawn en raise' in dis naberhood, dey is a'\neasy way ter prove it. Is I eber tol' you de tale er Sis' Becky en her\npickaninny?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said, \"let us hear it.\" I thought perhaps the story might\ninterest my wife as much or more than the novel I had meant to read\nfrom.\n\n\"Dis yer Becky,\" Julius began, \"useter b'long ter ole Kunnel Pen'leton,\nwho owned a plantation down on de Wim'l'ton Road, 'bout ten miles fum\nheah, des befo' you gits ter Black Swamp. Dis yer Becky wuz a\nfiel'-han', en a monst'us good 'un. She had a husban' oncet, a nigger\nw'at b'longed on de nex' plantation, but de man w'at owned her husban'\ndied, en his lan' en his niggers had ter be sol' fer ter pay his debts.\nKunnel Pen'leton 'lowed he'd 'a' bought dis nigger, but he had be'n\nbettin' on hoss races, en did n' hab no money, en so Becky's husban' wuz\nsol' erway ter Fuhginny.\n\n\"Co'se Becky went on some 'bout losin' her man, but she could n' he'p\nherse'f; en 'sides dat, she had her pickaninny fer ter comfo't her. Dis\nyer little Mose wuz de cutes', blackes', shiny-eyedes' little nigger you\neber laid eyes on, en he wuz ez fon' er his mammy ez his mammy wuz er\nhim. Co'se Becky had ter wuk en did n' hab much time ter was'e wid her\nbaby. Ole Aun' Nancy, de plantation nuss down at de qua'ters, useter\ntake keer er little Mose in de daytime, en atter de niggers come in fum\nde cotton-fiel' Becky 'ud git her chile en kiss 'im en nuss 'im, en keep\n'im 'tel mawnin'; en on Sundays she 'd hab 'im in her cabin wid her all\nday long.\n\n\"Sis' Becky had got sorter useter gittin' 'long widout her husban', w'en\none day Kunnel Pen'leton went ter de races. Co'se w'en he went ter de\nraces, he tuk his hosses, en co'se he bet on 'is own hosses, en co'se he\nlos' his money; fer Kunnel Pen'leton did n' nebber hab no luck wid his\nhosses, ef he did keep hisse'f po' projeckin' wid 'em. But dis time dey\nwuz a hoss name' Lightnin' Bug, w'at b'longed ter ernudder man, en dis\nhoss won de sweep-stakes; en Kunnel Pen'leton tuk a lackin' ter dat\nhoss, en ax' his owner w'at he wuz willin' ter take fer 'im.\n\n\"'I'll take a thousan' dollahs fer dat hoss,' sez dis yer man, who had\na big plantation down to'ds Wim'l'ton, whar he raise' hosses fer ter\nrace en ter sell.\n\n\"Well, Kunnel Pen'leton scratch' 'is head, en wonder whar he wuz gwine\nter raise a thousan' dollahs; en he did n' see des how he could do it,\nfer he owed ez much ez he could borry a'ready on de skyo'ity he could\ngib. But he wuz des boun' ter hab dat hoss, so sezee:--\n\n\"'I'll gib you my note fer' 'leven hund'ed dollahs fer dat hoss.'\n\n\"De yuther man shuck 'is head, en sezee:--\n\n\"'Yo' note, suh, is better 'n gol', I doan doubt; but I is made it a\nrule in my bizness not ter take no notes fum nobody. Howsomeber, suh, ef\nyou is kinder sho't er fun's, mos' lackly we kin make some kin' er\nbahg'in. En w'iles we is talkin', I mought 's well say dat I needs\nernudder good nigger down on my place. Ef you is got a good one ter\nspar', I mought trade wid you.'\n\n\"Now, Kunnel Pen'leton did n' r'ally hab no niggers fer ter spar', but\nhe 'lowed ter hisse'f he wuz des bleedzd ter hab dat hoss, en so he sez,\nsezee:--\n\n\"'Well, I doan lack ter, but I reckon I'll haf ter. You come out ter my\nplantation ter-morrer en look ober my niggers, en pick out de one you\nwants.'\n\n\"So sho' 'nuff nex' day dis yer man come out ter Kunnel Pen'leton's\nplace en rid roun' de plantation en glanshed at de niggers, en who sh'd\nhe pick out fum 'em all but Sis' Becky.\n\n\"'I needs a noo nigger 'oman down ter my place,' sezee, 'fer ter cook\nen wash, en so on; en dat young 'oman'll des fill de bill. You gimme\nher, en you kin hab Lightnin' Bug.'\"\n\n\"Now, Kunnel Pen'leton did n' lack ter trade Sis' Becky, 'ca'se she wuz\nnigh 'bout de bes' fiel'-han' he had; en 'sides, Mars Kunnel did n' keer\nter take de mammies 'way fum dey chillun w'iles de chillun wuz little.\nBut dis man say he want Becky, er e'se Kunnel Pen'leton could n' hab de\nrace hoss.\n\n\"'Well,' sez de kunnel, 'you kin hab de 'oman. But I doan lack ter sen'\nher 'way fum her baby. W'at'll you gimme fer dat nigger baby?'\n\n\"'I doan want de baby,' sez de yuther man. 'I ain' got no use fer de\nbaby.'\n\n\"'I tell yer w'at I'll do,' 'lows Kunnel Pen'leton, 'I'll th'ow dat\npickaninny in fer good measure.'\n\n\"But de yuther man shuck his head. 'No,' sezee, 'I's much erbleedzd, but\nI doan raise niggers; I raises hosses, en I doan wanter be both'rin'\nwid no nigger babies. Nemmine de baby. I'll keep dat 'oman so busy she\n'll fergit de baby; fer niggers is made ter wuk, en dey ain' got no time\nfer no sich foolis'ness ez babies.'\n\n\"Kunnel Pen'leton did n' wanter hu't Becky's feelin's,--fer Kunnel\nPen'leton wuz a kin'-hea'ted man, en nebber lack' ter make no trouble\nfer nobody,--en so he tol' Becky he wuz gwine sen' her down ter Robeson\nCounty fer a day er so, ter he'p out his son-in-law in his wuk; en bein'\nez dis yuther man wuz gwine dat way, he had ax' 'im ter take her 'long\nin his buggy.\n\n\"'Kin I kyar little Mose wid me, marster?' ax' Sis' Becky.\n\n\"'N-o,' sez de kunnel, ez ef he wuz studyin' whuther ter let her take\n'im er no;' I reckon you better let Aun' Nancy look atter yo' baby fer\nde day er two you'll be gone, en she'll see dat he gits ernuff ter eat\n'tel you gits back.'\n\n\"So Sis' Becky hug' en kiss' little Mose, en tol' 'im ter be a good\nlittle pickaninny, en take keer er hisse'f, en not fergit his mammy\nw'iles she wuz gone. En little Mose put his arms roun' his mammy en\nlafft en crowed des lack it wuz monst'us fine fun fer his mammy ter go\n'way en leabe 'im.\n\n\"Well, dis yer hoss trader sta'ted out wid Becky, en bimeby, atter dey\n'd gone down de Lumbe'ton Road fer a few miles er so, dis man tu'nt\nroun' in a diffe'nt d'rection, en kep' goin' dat erway, 'tel bimeby Sis'\nBecky up 'n ax' 'im ef he wuz gwine' ter Robeson County by a noo road.\n\n\"'No, nigger,' sezee, 'I ain' gwine ter Robeson County at all. I's gwine\nter Bladen County, whar my plantation is, en whar I raises all my\nhosses.'\n\n\"'But how is I gwine ter git ter Mis' Laura's plantation down in\nRobeson County?' sez Becky, wid her hea't in her mouf, fer she 'mence'\nter git skeered all er a sudden.\n\n\"'You ain' gwine ter git dere at all,' sez de man. 'You b'longs ter me\nnow, fer I done traded my bes' race hoss fer you, wid yo' ole marster.\nEf you is a good gal, I'll treat you right, en ef you doan behabe\nyo'se'f,--w'y, w'at e'se happens'll be yo' own fault.'\n\n\"Co'se Sis' Becky cried en went on 'bout her pickaninny, but co'se it\ndid n' do no good, en bimeby dey got down ter dis yer man's place, en he\nput Sis' Becky ter wuk, en fergot all 'bout her habin' a pickaninny.\n\n\"Meanw'iles, w'en ebenin' come, de day Sis' Becky wuz tuk 'way, little\nMose mence' ter git res'less, en bimeby, w'en his mammy did n' come, he\nsta'ted ter cry fer 'er. Aun' Nancy fed 'im en rocked 'im en rocked 'im,\nen fin'lly he des cried en cried 'tel he cried hisse'f ter sleep.\n\n\"De nex' day he did n' 'pear ter be as peart ez yushal, en w'en night\ncome he fretted en went on wuss 'n he did de night befo'. De nex' day\nhis little eyes 'mence' ter lose dey shine, en he would n' eat nuffin,\nen he 'mence' ter look so peaked dat Aun' Nancy tuk 'n kyared 'im up ter\nde big house, en showed 'im ter her ole missis, en her ole missis gun\nher some med'cine fer 'im, en 'lowed ef he did n' git no better she sh'd\nfetch 'im up ter de big house ag'in, en dey 'd hab a doctor, en nuss\nlittle Mose up dere. Fer Aun' Nancy's ole missis 'lowed he wuz a lackly\nlittle nigger en wu'th raisin'.\n\n\"But Aun' Nancy had l'arn' ter lack little Mose, en she did n' wanter\nhab 'im tuk up ter de big house. En so w'en he did n' git no better, she\ngethered a mess er green peas, and tuk de peas en de baby, en went ter\nsee ole Aun' Peggy, de cunjuh 'oman down by de Wim'l'ton Road. She gun\nAun' Peggy de mess er peas, en tol' her all 'bout Sis' Becky en little\nMose.\n\n\"'Dat is a monst'us small mess er peas you is fotch' me,' sez Aun'\nPeggy, sez she.\n\n\"'Yas, I knows,' 'lowed Aun' Nancy, 'but dis yere is a monst'us small\npickaninny.'\n\n\"'You'll hafter fetch me sump'n mo',' sez Aun' Peggy, 'fer you can't\n'spec' me ter was'e my time diggin' roots en wukkin' cunj'ation fer\nnuffin.'\n\n\"'All right,' sez Aun' Nancy, 'I'll fetch you sump'n mo' nex' time.'\n\n\"'You bettah,' sez Aun' Peggy, 'er e'se dey'll be trouble. Wat dis yer\nlittle pickaninny needs is ter see his mammy. You leabe 'im heah 'tel\nebenin' en I'll show 'im his mammy.'\n\n\"So w'en Aun' Nancy had gone 'way, Aun' Peggy tuk 'n wukked her roots,\nen tu'nt little Mose ter a hummin'-bird, en sont 'im off fer ter fin'\nhis mammy.\n\n\"So little Mose flewed, en flewed, en flewed away, 'tel bimeby he got\nter de place whar Sis' Becky b'longed. He seed his mammy wukkin' roun'\nde ya'd, en he could tell fum lookin' at her dat she wuz trouble' in her\nmin' 'bout sump'n, en feelin' kin' er po'ly. Sis' Becky heared sump'n\nhummin' roun' en roun' her, sweet en low. Fus' she 'lowed it wuz a\nhummin'-bird; den she thought it sounded lack her little Mose croonin'\non her breas' way back yander on de ole plantation. En she des 'magine'\nit wuz her little Mose, en it made her feel bettah, en she went on 'bout\nher wuk pearter 'n she'd done sence she 'd be'n down dere. Little Mose\nstayed roun' 'tel late in de ebenin', en den flewed back ez hard ez he\ncould ter Aun' Peggy. Ez fer Sis' Becky, she dremp all dat night dat she\nwuz holdin' her pickaninny in her arms, en kissin' him, en nussin' him,\ndes lack she useter do back on de ole plantation whar he wuz bawn. En\nfer th'ee er fo' days Sis' Becky went 'bout her wuk wid mo' sperrit dan\nshe 'd showed sence she 'd be'n down dere ter dis man's plantation.\n\n\"De nex' day atter he come back, little Mose wuz mo' pearter en better\n'n he had be'n fer a long time. But to'ds de een' er de week he 'mence'\nter git res'less ag'in, en stop' eatin', en Aun' Nancy kyared 'im down\nter Aun' Peggy once mo', en she tu'nt 'im ter a mawkin'-bird dis time,\nen sont 'im off ter see his mammy ag'in.\n\n\"It didn' take him long fer ter git dere, en w'en he did, he seed his\nmammy standin' in de kitchen, lookin' back in de d'rection little Mose\nwuz comin' fum. En dey wuz tears in her eyes, en she look' mo' po'ly en\npeaked 'n she had w'en he wuz down dere befo'. So little Mose sot on a\ntree in de ya'd en sung, en sung, en sung, des fittin' ter split his\nth'oat. Fus' Sis' Becky did n' notice 'im much, but dis mawkin'-bird\nkep' stayin' roun' de house all day, en bimeby Sis' Becky des 'magine'\ndat mawkin'-bird wuz her little Mose crowin' en crowin', des lack he\nuseter do w'en his mammy would come home at night fum de cotton-fiel'.\nDe mawkin'-bird stayed roun' dere 'mos' all day, en w'en Sis' Becky went\nout in de ya'd one time, dis yer mawkin'-bird lit on her shoulder en\npeck' at de piece er bread she wuz eatin', en fluttered his wings so dey\nrub' up agin de side er her head. En w'en he flewed away 'long late in\nde ebenin', des 'fo' sundown, Sis' Becky felt mo' better 'n she had\nsence she had heared dat hummin'-bird a week er so pas'. En dat night\nshe dremp 'bout ole times ag'in, des lack she did befo'.\n\n\"But dis yer totin' little Mose down ter ole Aun' Peggy, en dis yer\ngittin' things fer ter pay de cunjuh 'oman, use' up a lot er Aun'\nNancy's time, en she begun ter git kinder ti'ed. 'Sides dat, w'en Sis'\nBecky had be'n on de plantation, she had useter he'p Aun' Nancy wid de\nyoung uns ebenin's en Sundays; en Aun' Nancy 'mence' ter miss 'er\nmonst'us, 'speshly sence she got a tech er de rheumatiz herse'f, en so\nshe 'lows ter ole Aun' Peggy one day:--\n\n\"'Aun' Peggy, ain' dey no way you kin fetch Sis' Becky back home?'\n\n\"'Huh!' sez Aun' Peggy, 'I dunno 'bout dat. I'll hafter wuk my roots en\nfin' out whuther I kin er no. But it'll take a monst'us heap er wuk, en\nI can't was'e my time fer nuffin. Ef you'll fetch me sump'n ter pay me\nfer my trouble, I reckon we kin fix it.'\n\n\"So nex' day Aun' Nancy went down ter see Aun' Peggy ag'in.\n\n\"'Aun' Peggy,' sez she, 'I is fotch' you my bes' Sunday head-hankercher.\nWill dat do?'\n\n\"Aun' Peggy look' at de head-hankercher, en run her han' ober it, en\nsez she:--\n\n\"'Yas, dat'll do fus'-rate. I's be'n wukkin' my roots sence you be'n\ngone, en I 'lows mos' lackly I kin git Sis' Becky back, but it 's gwine\ntake fig'rin' en studyin' ez well ez cunj'in'. De fus' thing ter do'll\nbe ter stop fetchin' dat pickaninny down heah, en not sen' 'im ter see\nhis mammy no mo'. Ef he gits too po'ly, you lemme know, en I'll gib you\nsome kin' er mixtry fer ter make 'im fergit Sis' Becky fer a week er so.\nSo 'less'n you comes fer dat, you neenter come back ter see me no mo'\n'tel I sen's fer you.'\n\n\"So Aun' Peggy sont Aun' Nancy erway, en de fus' thing she done wuz ter\ncall a hawnet fum a nes' unner her eaves.\n\n\"You go up ter Kunnel Pen'leton's stable, hawnet,' sez she, 'en sting de\nknees er de race hoss name' Lightnin' Bug. Be sho' en git de right\none.'\n\n\"So de hawnet flewed up ter Kunnel Pen'leton's stable en stung Lightnin'\nBug roun' de laigs, en de nex' mawnin' Lightnin' Bug's knees wuz all\nswoll' up, twice't ez big ez dey oughter be. W'en Kunnel Pen'leton went\nout ter de stable en see de hoss's laigs, hit would 'a' des made you\ntrimble lack a leaf fer ter heah him cuss dat hoss trader. Howsomeber,\nhe cool' off bimeby en tol' de stable boy fer ter rub Lightnin' Bug's\nlaigs wid some linimum. De boy done ez his marster tol' 'im, en by de\nnex' day de swellin' had gone down consid'able. Aun' Peggy had sont a\nsparrer, w'at had a nes' in one er de trees close ter her cabin, fer ter\nwatch w'at wuz gwine on 'roun' de big house, en w'en dis yer sparrer\ntol' 'er de hoss wuz gittin' ober de swellin', she sont de hawnet back\nfer ter sting 'is knees some mo', en de nex' mawnin' Lightnin' Bug's\nlaigs wuz swoll' up wuss 'n befo'.\n\n\"Well, dis time Kunnel Pen'leton wuz mad th'oo en th'oo, en all de way\n'roun', en he cusst dat hoss trader up en down, fum _A_ ter _Izzard_. He\ncusst so ha'd dat de stable boy got mos' skeered ter def, en went off en\nhid hisse'f in de hay.\n\n\"Ez fer Kunnel Pen'leton, he went right up ter de house en got out his\npen en ink, en tuk off his coat en roll' up his sleeves, en writ a\nletter ter dis yer hoss trader, en sezee:--\n\n\"'You is sol' me a hoss w'at is got a ringbone er a spavin er sump'n, en\nw'at I paid you fer wuz a soun' hoss. I wants you ter sen' my nigger\n'oman back en take yo' ole hoss, er e'se I'll sue you, sho 's you\nbawn.'\n\n\"But dis yer man wa'n't skeered a bit, en he writ back ter Kunnel\nPen'leton dat a bahg'in wuz a bahg'in; dat Lightnin' Bug wuz soun' w'en\nhe sol' 'im, en ef Kunnel Pen'leton did n' knowed ernuff 'bout hosses\nter take keer er a fine racer, dat wuz his own fune'al. En he say Kunnel\nPen'leton kin sue en be cusst fer all he keer, but he ain' gwine ter gib\nup de nigger he bought en paid fer.\n\n\"W'en Kunnel Pen'leton got dis letter he wuz madder 'n he wuz befo',\n'speshly 'ca'se dis man 'lowed he did n' know how ter take keer er fine\nhosses. But he could n' do nuffin but fetch a lawsuit, en he knowed, by\nhis own 'spe'ience, dat lawsuits wuz slow ez de seben-yeah eetch and\ncos' mo' d'n dey come ter, en he 'lowed he better go slow en wait\nawhile.\n\n\"Aun' Peggy knowed w'at wuz gwine on all dis time, en she fix' up a\nlittle bag wid some roots en one thing en ernudder in it, en gun it ter\ndis sparrer er her'n, en tol' 'im ter take it 'way down yander whar\nSis' Becky wuz, en drap it right befo' de do' er her cabin, so she 'd be\nsho' en fin' it de fus' time she come out'n de do'.\n\n\"One night Sis' Becky dremp' her pickaninny wuz dead, en de nex' day she\nwuz mo'nin' en groanin' all day. She dremp' de same dream th'ee nights\nrunnin', en den, de nex' mawnin' atter de las' night, she foun' dis yer\nlittle bag de sparrer had drap' in front her do'; en she 'lowed she'd\nbe'n cunju'd, en wuz gwine ter die, en ez long ez her pickaninny wuz\ndead dey wa'n't no use tryin' ter do nuffin nohow. En so she tuk 'n went\nter bed, en tol' her marster she 'd be'n cunju'd en wuz gwine ter die.\n\n\"Her marster lafft at her, en argyed wid her, en tried ter 'suade her\nout'n dis yer fool notion, ez he called it,--fer he wuz one er dese yer\nw'ite folks w'at purten' dey doan b'liebe in cunj'in',--but hit wa'n't\nno use. Sis' Becky kep' gittin' wusser en wusser, 'tel fin'lly dis yer\nman 'lowed Sis' Becky wuz gwine ter die, sho' 'nuff. En ez he knowed dey\nhad n' be'n nuffin de matter wid Lightnin' Bug w'en he traded 'im, he\n'lowed mebbe he could kyo' 'im en fetch 'im roun' all right, leas'ways\ngood 'nuff ter sell ag'in. En anyhow, a lame hoss wuz better 'n a dead\nnigger. So he sot down en writ Kunnel Pen'leton a letter.\n\n\"'My conscience,' sezee, 'has be'n troublin' me 'bout dat ringbone' hoss\nI sol' you. Some folks 'lows a hoss trader ain' got no conscience, but\ndey doan know me, fer dat is my weak spot, en de reason I ain' made no\nmo' money hoss tradin'. Fac' is,' sezee, 'I is got so I can't sleep\nnights fum studyin' 'bout dat spavin' hoss; en I is made up my min' dat,\nw'iles a bahg'in is a bahg'in, en you seed Lightnin' Bug befo' you\ntraded fer 'im, principle is wuth mo' d'n money er hosses er niggers. So\nef you'll sen' Lightnin' Bug down heah, I'll sen' yo' nigger 'oman\nback, en we'll call de trade off, en be ez good frien's ez we eber wuz,\nen no ha'd feelin's.'\n\n\"So sho' 'nuff, Kunnel Pen'leton sont de hoss back. En w'en de man w'at\ncome ter bring Lightnin' Bug tol' Sis' Becky her pickaninny wa'n't dead,\nSis' Becky wuz so glad dat she 'lowed she wuz gwine ter try ter lib 'tel\nshe got back whar she could see little Mose once mo'. En w'en she retch'\nde ole plantation en seed her baby kickin' en crowin' en holdin' out his\nlittle arms to'ds her, she wush' she wuz n' cunju'd en did n' hafter\ndie. En w'en Aun' Nancy tol' 'er all 'bout Aun' Peggy, Sis' Becky went\ndown ter see de cunjuh 'oman, en Aun' Peggy tol' her she had cunju'd\nher. En den Aun' Peggy tuk de goopher off'n her, en she got well, en\nstayed on de plantation, en raise' her pickaninny. En w'en little Mose\ngrowed up, he could sing en whistle des lack a mawkin'-bird, so dat de\nw'ite folks useter hab 'im come up ter de big house at night, en whistle\nen sing fer 'em, en dey useter gib 'im money en vittles en one thing er\nernudder, w'ich he alluz tuk home ter his mammy; fer he knowed all 'bout\nw'at she had gone th'oo. He tu'nt out ter be a sma't man, en l'arnt de\nblacksmif trade; en Kunnel Pen'leton let 'im hire his time. En bimeby he\nbought his mammy en sot her free, en den he bought hisse'f, en tuk keer\ner Sis' Becky ez long ez dey bofe libbed.\"\n\nMy wife had listened to this story with greater interest than she had\nmanifested in any subject for several days. I had watched her furtively\nfrom time to time during the recital, and had observed the play of her\ncountenance. It had expressed in turn sympathy, indignation, pity, and\nat the end lively satisfaction.\n\n\"That is a very ingenious fairy tale, Julius,\" I said, \"and we are much\nobliged to you.\"\n\n\"Why, John!\" said my wife severely, \"the story bears the stamp of truth,\nif ever a story did.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I replied, \"especially the humming-bird episode, and the\nmocking-bird digression, to say nothing of the doings of the hornet and\nthe sparrow.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, I don't care,\" she rejoined, with delightful animation;\n\"those are mere ornamental details and not at all essential. The story\nis true to nature, and might have happened half a hundred times, and no\ndoubt did happen, in those horrid days before the war.\"\n\n\"By the way, Julius,\" I remarked, \"your story doesn't establish what\nyou started out to prove,--that a rabbit's foot brings good luck.\"\n\n\"Hit's plain 'nuff ter me, suh,\" replied Julius. \"I bet young missis\ndere kin 'splain it herse'f.\"\n\n\"I rather suspect,\" replied my wife promptly, \"that Sis' Becky had no\nrabbit's foot.\"\n\n\"You is hit de bull's-eye de fus' fire, ma'm,\" assented Julius. \"Ef Sis'\nBecky had had a rabbit foot, she nebber would 'a' went th'oo all dis\ntrouble.\"\n\nI went into the house for some purpose, and left Julius talking to my\nwife. When I came back a moment later, he was gone.\n\nMy wife's condition took a turn for the better from this very day, and\nshe was soon on the way to ultimate recovery. Several weeks later, after\nshe had resumed her afternoon drives, which had been interrupted by her\nillness, Julius brought the rockaway round to the front door one day,\nand I assisted my wife into the carriage.\n\n\"John,\" she said, before I had taken my seat, \"I wish you would look in\nmy room, and bring me my handkerchief. You will find it in the pocket\nof my blue dress.\"\n\nI went to execute the commission. When I pulled the handkerchief out of\nher pocket, something else came with it and fell on the floor. I picked\nup the object and looked at it. It was Julius's rabbit's foot.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GRAY WOLFS HA'NT\n\nIt was a rainy day at the vineyard. The morning had dawned bright and\nclear. But the sky had soon clouded, and by nine o'clock there was a\nlight shower, followed by others at brief intervals. By noon the rain\nhad settled into a dull, steady downpour. The clouds hung low, and\nseemed to grow denser instead of lighter as they discharged their watery\nburden, and there was now and then a muttering of distant thunder.\nOutdoor work was suspended, and I spent most of the day at the house,\nlooking over my accounts and bringing up some arrears of correspondence.\n\nTowards four o'clock I went out on the piazza, which was broad and dry,\nand less gloomy than the interior of the house, and composed myself for\na quiet smoke. I had lit my cigar and opened the volume I was reading at\nthat time, when my wife, whom I had left dozing on a lounge, came out\nand took a rocking-chair near me.\n\n\"I wish you would talk to me, or read to me--or something,\" she\nexclaimed petulantly. \"It's awfully dull here today.\"\n\n\"I'll read to you with pleasure,\" I replied, and began at the point\nwhere I had found my bookmark:--\n\n\"'The difficulty of dealing with transformations so many-sided as those\nwhich all existences have undergone, or are undergoing, is such as to\nmake a complete and deductive interpretation almost hopeless. So to\ngrasp the total process of redistribution of matter and motion as to see\nsimultaneously its several necessary results in their actual\ninterdependence is scarcely possible. There is, however, a mode of\nrendering the process as a whole tolerably comprehensible. Though the\ngenesis of the rearrangement of every evolving aggregate is in itself\none, it presents to our intelligence'\"--\n\n\"John,\" interrupted my wife, \"I wish you would stop reading that\nnonsense and see who that is coming up the lane.\"\n\nI closed my book with a sigh. I had never been able to interest my wife\nin the study of philosophy, even when presented in the simplest and most\nlucid form.\n\nSome one was coming up the lane; at least, a huge faded cotton umbrella\nwas making progress toward the house, and beneath it a pair of nether\nextremities in trousers was discernible. Any doubt in my mind as to\nwhose they were was soon resolved when Julius reached the steps and,\nputting the umbrella down, got a good dash of the rain as he stepped up\non the porch.\n\n\"Why in the world, Julius,\" I asked, \"didn't you keep the umbrella up\nuntil you got under cover?\"\n\n\"It's bad luck, suh, ter raise a' umbrella in de house, en w'iles I\ndunno whuther it's bad luck ter kyar one inter de piazzer er no, I 'lows\nit's alluz bes' ter be on de safe side. I did n' s'pose you en young\nmissis 'u'd be gwine on yo' dribe ter-day, but bein' ez it's my pa't ter\ntake you ef you does, I 'lowed I 'd repo't fer dooty, en let you say\nwhuther er no you wants ter go.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you came, Julius,\" I responded. \"We don't want to go driving,\nof course, in the rain, but I should like to consult you about another\nmatter. I'm thinking of taking in a piece of new ground. What do you\nimagine it would cost to have that neck of woods down by the swamp\ncleared up?\"\n\nThe old man's countenance assumed an expression of unwonted seriousness,\nand he shook his head doubtfully.\n\n\"I dunno 'bout dat, suh. It mought cos' mo', en it mought cos' less, ez\nfuh ez money is consarned. I ain' denyin' you could cl'ar up dat trac'\ner Ian' fer a hund'ed er a couple er hund'ed dollahs,--ef you wants ter\ncl'ar it up. But ef dat 'uz my trac' er Ian', I would n' 'sturb it, no,\nsuh, I would n'; sho 's you bawn, I would n'.\"\n\n\"But why not?\" I asked.\n\n\"It ain' fittin' fer grapes, fer noo groun' nebber is.\"\n\n\"I know it, but\"--\n\n\"It ain' no yeathly good fer cotton, 'ca'se it's top low.\"\n\n\"Perhaps so; but it will raise splendid corn.\"\n\n\"I dunno,\" rejoined Julius deprecatorily. \"It's so nigh de swamp dat de\n'coons'll eat up all de cawn.\"\n\n\"I think I'll risk it,\" I answered.\n\n\"Well, suh,\" said Julius, \"I wushes you much joy er yo' job. Ef you has\nbad luck er sickness er trouble er any kin', doan blame _me_. You can't\nsay ole Julius did n' wa'n you.\"\n\n\"Warn him of what, Uncle Julius?\" asked my wife.\n\n\"Er de bad luck w'at follers folks w'at 'sturbs dat trac' er Ian'. Dey\nis snakes en sco'pions in dem woods. En ef you manages ter 'scape de\np'isen animals, you is des boun' ter hab a ha'nt ter settle wid,--ef you\ndoan hab two.\"\n\n\"Whose haunt?\" my wife demanded, with growing interest.\n\n\"De gray wolf's ha'nt, some folks calls it,--but I knows better.\"\n\n\"Tell us about it, Uncle Julius,\" said my wife. \"A story will be a\ngodsend to-day.\"\n\nIt was not difficult to induce the old man to tell a story, if he were\nin a reminiscent mood. Of tales of the old slavery days he seemed indeed\nto possess an exhaustless store,--some weirdly grotesque, some broadly\nhumorous; some bearing the stamp of truth, faint, perhaps, but still\ndiscernible; others palpable inventions, whether his own or not we never\nknew, though his fancy doubtless embellished them. But even the wildest\nwas not without an element of pathos,--the tragedy, it might be, of the\nstory itself; the shadow, never absent, of slavery and of ignorance; the\nsadness, always, of life as seen by the fading light of an old man's\nmemory.\n\n\"Way back yander befo' de wah,\" began Julius, \"ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo\nuseter own a nigger name' Dan. Dan wuz big en strong en hearty en\npeaceable en good-nachu'd most er de time, but dange'ous ter aggervate.\nHe alluz done his task, en nebber had no trouble wid de w'ite folks, but\nwoe be unter de nigger w'at 'lowed he c'd fool wid Dan, fer he wuz mos'\nsho' ter git a good lammin'. Soon ez eve'ybody foun' Dan out, dey did\nn' many un 'em 'temp' ter 'sturb 'im. De one dat did would 'a' wush' he\nhad n', ef he could 'a' libbed long ernuff ter do any wushin'.\n\n\"It all happen' dis erway. Dey wuz a cunjuh man w'at libbed ober t'\nother side er de Lumbe'ton Road. He had be'n de only cunjuh doctor in de\nnaberhood fer lo! dese many yeahs, 'tel ole Aun' Peggy sot up in de\nbizness down by de Wim'l'ton Road. Dis cunjuh man had a son w'at libbed\nwid 'im, en it wuz dis yer son w'at got mix' up wid Dan,--en all 'bout a\n'oman.\n\n\"Dey wuz a gal on de plantation name' Mahaly. She wuz a monst'us lackly\ngal,--tall en soopl', wid big eyes, en a small foot, en a lively tongue,\nen w'en Dan tuk ter gwine wid 'er eve'ybody 'lowed dey wuz well match',\nen none er de yuther nigger men on de plantation das' ter go nigh her,\nfer dey wuz all feared er Dan.\n\n\"Now, it happen' dat dis yer cunjuh man's son wuz gwine 'long de road\none day, w'en who sh'd come pas' but Mahaly. En de minute dis man sot\neyes on Mahaly, he 'lowed he wuz gwine ter hab her fer hisse'f. He come\nup side er her en 'mence' ter talk ter her; but she didn' paid no\n'tention ter 'im, fer she wuz studyin' 'bout Dan, en she did n' lack dis\nnigger's looks nohow. So w'en she got ter whar she wuz gwine, dis yer\nman wa'n't no fu'ther 'long dan he wuz w'en he sta'ted.\n\n\"Co'se, atter he had made up his min' fer ter git Mahaly, he 'mence' ter\n'quire 'roun', en soon foun' out all 'bout Dan, en w'at a dange'ous\nnigger he wuz. But dis man 'lowed his daddy wuz a cunjuh man, en so he\n'd come out all right in de een'; en he kep' right on atter Mahaly.\nMeanw'iles Dan's marster had said dey could git married ef dey wanter,\nen so Dan en Mahaly had tuk up wid one ernudder, en wuz libbin' in a\ncabin by deyse'ves, en wuz des wrop' up in one ernudder.\n\n\"But dis yer cunjuh man's son did n' 'pear ter min' Dan's takin' up wid\nMahaly, en he kep' on hangin' 'roun' des de same, 'tel fin'lly one day\nMahaly sez ter Dan, sez she:--\n\n\"'I wush you 'd do sump'n ter stop dat free nigger man fum follerin' me\n'roun'. I doan lack him nohow, en I ain' got no time fer ter was'e wid\nno man but you.'\n\n\"Co'se Dan got mad w'en he heared 'bout dis man pest'rin' Mahaly, en de\nnex' night, w'en he seed dis nigger comin' 'long de road, he up en ax'\n'im w'at he mean by hangin' 'roun' his 'oman. De man did n' 'spon' ter\nsuit Dan, en one wo'd led ter ernudder, 'tel bimeby dis cunjuh man's son\npull' out a knife en sta'ted ter stick it in Dan; but befo' he could git\nit drawed good, Dan haul' off en hit 'im in de head so ha'd dat he\nnebber got up. Dan 'lowed he 'd come to atter a w'ile en go 'long 'bout\nhis bizness, so he went off en lef 'im layin' dere on de groun'.\n\n\"De nex' mawnin' de man wuz foun' dead. Dey wuz a great 'miration made\n'bout it, but Dan did n' say nuffin, en none er de yuther niggers had n'\nseed de fight, so dey wa'n't no way ter tell who done de killin'. En\nbein' ez it wuz a free nigger, en dey wa'n't no w'ite folks 'speshly\nint'rusted, dey wa'n't nuffin done 'bout it, en de cunjuh man come en\ntuk his son en kyared 'im 'way en buried 'im.\n\n\"Now, Dan had n' meant ter kill dis nigger, en w'iles he knowed de man\nhad n'' got no mo' d'n he desarved, Dan 'mence' ter worry mo' er less.\nFer he knowed dis man's daddy would wuk his roots en prob'ly fin' out\nwho had killt 'is son, en make all de trouble fer 'im he could. En Dan\nkep' on studyin' 'bout dis 'tel he got so he did n' ha'dly das' ter eat\ner drink fer fear dis cunjuh man had p'isen' de vittles er de water.\nFin'lly he 'lowed he 'd go ter see Aun' Peggy, de noo cunjuh 'oman w'at\nhad moved down by de Wim'l'ton Road, en ax her fer ter do sump'n ter\npertec' 'im fum dis cunjuh man. So he tuk a peck er 'taters en went down\nter her cabin one night.\n\n\"Aun' Peggy heared his tale, en den sez she:--\n\n\"'Dat cunjuh man is mo' d'n twice't ez ole ez I is, en he kin make\nmonst'us powe'ful goopher. W'at you needs is a life-cha'm, en I'll make\nyou one ter-morrer; it's de on'y thing w'at'll do you any good. You\nleabe me a couple er ha'rs fum yo' head, en fetch me a pig ter-morrer\nnight fer ter roas', en w'en you come I'll hab de cha'm all ready fer\nyou.'\n\n\"So Dan went down ter Aun' Peggy de nex' night,--wid a young shote,--en\nAun' Peggy gun 'im de cha'm. She had tuk de ha'rs Dan had lef wid 'er,\nen a piece er red flannin, en some roots en yarbs, en had put 'em in a\nlittle bag made out'n 'coon-skin.\n\n\"'You take dis cha'm,' sez she, 'en put it in a bottle er a tin box, en\nbury it deep unner de root er a live-oak tree, en ez long ez it stays\ndere safe en soun', dey ain' no p'isen kin p'isen you, dey ain' no\nrattlesnake kin bite you, dey ain' no sco'pion kin sting you. Dis yere\ncunjuh man mought do one thing er 'nudder ter you, but he can't kill\nyou. So you neenter be at all skeered, but go 'long 'bout yo' bizness en\ndoan bother yo' min'.'\n\n\"So Dan went down by de ribber, en 'way up on de bank he buried de cha'm\ndeep unner de root er a live-oak tree, en kivered it up en stomp' de\ndirt down en scattered leaves ober de spot, en den went home wid his\nmin' easy.\n\n\"Sho' 'nuff, dis yer cunjuh man wukked his roots, des ez Dan had\n'spected he would, en soon l'arn' who killt his son. En co'se he made up\nhis min' fer ter git eben wid Dan. So he sont a rattlesnake fer ter\nsting 'im, but de rattlesnake say de nigger's heel wuz so ha'd he could\nn' git his sting in. Den he sont his jay-bird fer ter put p'isen in\nDan's vittles, but de p'isen did n' wuk. Den de cunjuh man 'low' he'd\ndouble Dan all up wid de rheumatiz, so he could n' git 'is ban' ter his\nmouf ter eat, en would hafter sta've ter def; but Dan went ter Aun'\nPeggy, en she gun 'im a' 'intment ter kyo de rheumatiz. Den de cunjuh\nman 'lowed he 'd bu'n Dan up wid a fever, but Aun' Peggy tol' 'im how\nter make some yarb tea fer dat. Nuffin dis man tried would kill Dan, so\nfin'lly de cunjuh man 'lowed Dan mus' hab a life-cha'm.\n\n\"Now, dis yer jay-bird de cunjuh man had wuz a monst'us sma't\ncreeter,--fac', de niggers 'lowed he wuz de ole Debbil hisse'f, des\nsettin' roun' waitin' ter kyar dis ole man erway w'en he 'd retch' de\neen' er his rope. De cunjuh man sont dis jay-bird fer ter watch Dan en\nfin' out whar he kep' his cha'm. De jay-bird hung roun' Dan fer a week\ner so, en one day he seed Dan go down by de ribber en look at a live-oak\ntree; en den de jay-bird went back ter his marster, en tol' 'im he\n'spec' de nigger kep' his life-cha'm under dat tree.\n\n\"De cunjuh man lafft en lafft, en he put on his bigges' pot, en fill' it\nwid his stronges' roots, en b'iled it en b'iled it, 'tel bimeby de win'\nblowed en blowed, 'tel it blowed down de live-oak tree. Den he stirred\nsome more roots in de pot, en it rained en rained 'tel de water run down\nde ribber bank en wash' Dan's life-cha'm inter de ribber, en de bottle\nwent bobbin' down de current des ez onconsarned ez ef it wa'n't takin'\npo' Dan's chances all 'long wid it. En den de cunjuh man lafft some mo',\nen 'lowed ter hisse'f dat he wuz gwine ter fix Dan now, sho' 'nuff; he\nwa'n't gwine ter kill 'im des yet, fer he could do sump'n ter 'im w'at\nwould hu't wusser 'n killin'.\n\n\"So dis cunjuh man 'mence' by gwine up ter Dan's cabin eve'y night, en\ntakin' Dan out in his sleep en ridin' 'im roun' de roads en fiel's ober\nde rough groun'. In de mawnin' Dan would be ez ti'ed ez ef he had n'\nbe'n ter sleep. Dis kin' er thing kep' up fer a week er so, en Dan had\ndes 'bout made up his min' fer ter go en see Aun' Peggy ag'in, w'en who\nsh'd he come across, gwine 'long de road one day, to'ds sundown, but dis\nyer cunjuh man. Dan felt kinder skeered at fus'; but den he 'membered\n'bout his life-cha'm, w'ich he had n' be'n ter see fer a week er so, en\n'lowed wuz safe en soun' unner de live-oak tree, en so he hilt up 'is\nhead en walk' 'long, des lack he did n' keer nuffin 'bout dis man no mo'\nd'n any yuther nigger. Wen he got close ter de cunjuh man, dis cunjuh\nman sez, sezee:--\n\n\"'Hoddy, Brer Dan? I hopes you er well?'\n\n\"Wen Dan seed de cunjuh man wuz in a good humor en did n' 'pear ter bear\nno malice, Dan 'lowed mebbe de cunjuh man had n' foun' out who killt his\nson, en so he 'termine' fer ter let on lack he did n' know nuffin, en so\nsezee:--\n\n\"'Hoddy, Unk' Jube?'--dis ole cunjuh man's name wuz Jube. 'I 's p'utty\nwell, I thank you. How is you feelin' dis mawnin'?'\n\n\"'I's feelin' ez well ez a' ole nigger could feel w'at had los' his only\nson, en his main 'pen'ence in 'is ole age.\n\n\"'But den my son wuz a bad boy,' sezee, 'en I could n' 'spec' nuffin\ne'se. I tried ter l'arn him de arrer er his ways en make him go ter\nchu'ch en pra'r-meetin'; but it wa'n't no use. I dunno who killt 'im, en\nI doan wanter know, fer I 'd be mos' sho' ter fin' out dat my boy had\nsta'ted de fuss. Ef I 'd 'a' had a son lack you, Brer Dan, I 'd 'a' be'n\na proud nigger; oh, yas, I would, sho's you bawn. But you ain' lookin'\nez well ez you oughter, Brer Dan. Dey's sump'n de matter wid you, en\nw'at 's mo', I 'spec' you dunno w'at it is.'\n\n\"Now, dis yer kin' er talk nach'ly th'owed Dan off'n his gya'd, en fus'\nthing he knowed he wuz talkin' ter dis ole cunjuh man des lack he wuz\none er his bes' frien's. He tol' 'im all 'bout not feelin' well in de\nmawnin', en ax' 'im ef he could tell w'at wuz de matter wid 'im.\n\n\"'Yas,' sez de cunjuh man. 'Dey is a witch be'n ridin' you right 'long.\nI kin see de marks er de bridle on yo' mouf. En I'll des bet yo' back\nis raw whar she 's be'n beatin' you.'\n\n\"'Yas,' 'spon' Dan, 'so it is.' He had n' notice it befo', but now he\nfelt des lack de hide had be'n tuk off'n 'im.\n\n\"'En yo' thighs is des raw whar de spurrers has be'n driv' in you,' sez\nde cunjuh man. 'You can't see de raw spots, but you kin feel 'em.'\n\n\"'Oh, yas,' 'lows Dan, 'dey does hu't pow'ful bad.'\n\n\"'En w'at's mo',' sez de cunjuh man, comin' up close ter Dan en\nwhusp'in' in his yeah, 'I knows who it is be'n ridin' you.'\n\n\"'Who is it?' ax' Dan. 'Tell me who it is.'\n\n\"'It's a' ole nigger 'oman down by Rockfish Crick. She had a pet rabbit,\nen you cotch' 'im one day, en she's been squarin' up wid you eber sence.\nBut you better stop her, er e'se you'll be rid ter def in a mont' er\nso.'\n\n\"'No,' sez Dan, 'she can't kill me, sho'.'\n\n\"'I dunno how dat is,' said de cunjuh man, 'but she kin make yo' life\nmighty mis'able. Ef I wuz in yo' place, I 'd stop her right off.'\n\n\"'But how is I gwine ter stop her?' ax' Dan. 'I dunno nuffin 'bout\nstoppin' witches.'\n\n\"'Look a heah, Dan,'sez de yuther; 'you is a goad young man. I lacks you\nmonst'us well. Fac', I feels lack some er dese days I mought buy you fum\nyo' marster, ef I could eber make money ernuff at my bizness dese hard\ntimes, en 'dop' you fer my son. I lacks you so well dat I'm gwine ter\nhe'p you git rid er dis yer witch fer good en all; fer des ez long ez\nshe libs, you is sho' ter hab trouble, en trouble, en mo' trouble.'\n\n\"'You is de bes' frien' I got, Unk' Jube,' sez Dan, 'en I'll 'member\nyo' kin'ness ter my dyin' day. Tell me how I kin git rid er dis yer ole\nwitch w'at 's be'n ridin' me so ha'd.'\n\n\"'In de fus' place,' sez de cunjuh man, 'dis ole witch nebber comes in\nher own shape, but eve'y night, at ten o'clock, she tu'ns herse'f inter\na black cat, en runs down ter yo' cabin en bridles you, en mounts you,\nen dribes you out th'oo de chimbly, en rides you ober de roughes' places\nshe kin fin'. All you got ter do is ter set fer her in de bushes 'side\ner yo' cabin, en hit her in de head wid a rock er a lighterd-knot w'en\nshe goes pas'.'\n\n\"'But,' sez Dan, 'how kin I see her in de da'k? En s'posen I hits at her\nen misses her? Er s'posen I des woun's her, en she gits erway,--w'at she\ngwine do ter me den?'\n\n\"'I is done studied 'bout all dem things,' sez de cunjuh man, 'en it\n'pears ter me de bes' plan fer you ter foller is ter lemme tu'n you ter\nsome creetur w'at kin see in de da'k, en w'at kin run des ez fas' ez a\ncat, en w'at kin bite, en bite fer ter kill; en den you won't hafter hab\nno trouble atter de job is done. I dunno whuther you 'd lack dat er no,\nbut dat is de sho'es' way.'\n\n\"'I doan keer,' 'spon' Dan. 'I'd des ez lief be anything fer a' hour er\nso, ef I kin kill dat ole witch. You kin do des w'at you er mineter.'\n\n\"'All right, den,' sez de cunjuh man, 'you come down ter my cabin at\nhalf-past nine o'clock ter-night, en I'll fix you up.'\n\n\"Now, dis cunjuh man, w'en he had got th'oo talkin' wid Dan, kep' on\ndown de road 'long de side er de plantation, 'tel he met Mahaly comin'\nhome fum wuk des atter sundown.\n\n\"'Hoddy do, ma'm,' sezee; 'is yo' name Sis' Mahaly, w'at b'longs ter\nMars Dugal' McAdoo?'\n\n\"'Yas,' 'spon' Mahaly, 'dat's my name, en I b'longs ter Mars Dugal'.'\n\n\"'Well,' sezee, 'yo' husban' Dan wuz down by my cabin dis ebenin', en\nhe got bit by a spider er sump'n, en his foot is swoll' up so he can't\nwalk. En he ax' me fer ter fin' you en fetch you down dere ter he'p 'im\nhome.'\n\n\"Co'se Mahaly wanter see w'at had happen' ter Dan, en so she sta'ted\ndown de road wid de cunjuh man. Ez soon ez he got her inter his cabin,\nhe shet de do', en sprinkle' some goopher mixtry on her, en tu'nt her\nter a black cat. Den he tuk 'n put her in a bairl, en put a bo'd on de\nbairl, en a rock on de bo'd, en lef her dere 'tel he got good en ready\nfer ter use her.\n\n\"'Long 'bout half-pas' nine o'clock Dan come down ter de cunjuh man's\ncabin. It wuz a wa'm night, en de do' wuz stan'in' open. De cunjuh man\n'vited Dan ter come in, en pass' de time er day wid 'im. Ez soon ez Dan\n'mence' talkin', he heared a cat miauin' en scratchin' en gwine on at a\ntarrable rate.\n\n\"'Wat's all dat fuss 'bout?' ax' Dan.\n\n\"'Oh, dat ain' nuffin but my ole gray tomcat,' sez de cunjuh man. 'I has\nter shet 'im up sometimes fer ter keep 'im in nights, en co'se he doan\nlack it.\n\n\"'Now,' 'lows de cunjuh man, 'lemme tell you des w'at you is got ter do.\nWen you ketches dis witch, you mus' take her right by de th'oat en bite\nher right th'oo de neck. Be sho' yo' teef goes th'oo at de fus' bite, en\nden you won't nebber be bothe'd no mo' by dat witch. En w'en you git\ndone, come back heah en I'll tu'n you ter yo'se'f ag'in, so you kin go\nhome en git yo' night's res'.'\n\n\"Den de cunjuh man gun Dan sump'n nice en sweet ter drink out'n a new\ngo'd, en in 'bout a minute Dan foun' hisse'f tu'nt ter a gray wolf; en\nsoon ez he felt all fo' er his noo feet on de groun', he sta'ted off\nfas' ez he could fer his own cabin, so he could be sho' en be dere time\nernuff ter ketch de witch, en put a' een' ter her kyarin's-on.\n\n\"Ez soon ez Dan wuz gone good, de cunjuh man tuk de rock off'n de bo'd,\nen de bo'd off'n de bairl, en out le'p' Mahaly en sta'ted fer ter go\nhome, des lack a cat er a 'oman er anybody e'se would w'at wuz in\ntrouble; en it wa'n't many minutes befo' she wuz gwine up de path ter\nher own do'.\n\n\"Meanw'iles, w'en Dan had retch' de cabin, he had hid hisse'f in a bunch\ner jimson weeds in de ya'd. He had n' wait' long befo' he seed a black\ncat run up de path to'ds de do'. Des ez soon ez she got close ter 'im,\nhe le'p' out en ketch' her by de th'oat, en got a grip on her, des lack\nde cunjuh man had tol' 'im ter do. En lo en behol'! no sooner had de\nblood 'mence' ter flow dan de black cat tu'nt back ter Mahaly, en Dan\nseed dat he had killt his own wife. En w'iles her bref wuz gwine she\ncall' out:\n\n\"'O Dan! O my husban'! come en he'p me! come en sabe me fum dis wolf\nw'at 's killin' me!'\n\n\"Wen po' Dan sta'ted to'ds her, ez any man nach'ly would, it des made\nher holler wuss en wuss; fer she did n' knowed dis yer wolf wuz her Dan.\nEn Dan des had ter hide in de weeds, en grit his teef en hoi' hisse'f\nin, 'tel she passed out'n her mis'ry, callin' fer Dan ter de las', en\nwond'rin' w'y he did n' come en he'p her. En Dan 'lowed ter hisse'f he\n'd ruther 'a' be'n killt a dozen times 'n ter 'a' done w'at he had ter\nMahaly.\n\n\"Dan wuz mighty nigh 'stracted, but w'en Mahaly wuz dead en he got his\nmin' straighten' out a little, it did n' take 'im mo' d'n a minute er so\nfer ter see th'oo all de cunjuh man's lies, en how de cunjuh man had\nfooled 'im en made 'im kill Mahaly, fer ter git eben wid 'im fer\nkillin' er his son. He kep' gittin' madder en madder, en Mahaly had n'\nmuch mo' d'n drawed her' las bref befo' he sta'ted back ter de cunjuh\nman's cabin ha'd ez he could run.\n\n\"Wen he got dere, de do' wuz stan'in' open; a lighterd-knot wuz\nflick'rin' on de h'a'th, en de ole cunjuh man wuz settin' dere noddin'\nin de corner. Dan le'p' in de do' en jump' fer dis man's th'oat, en got\nde same grip on 'im w'at de cunjuh man had tol' 'im 'bout half a' hour\nbefo'. It wuz ha'd wuk dis time, fer de ole man's neck wuz monst'us\ntough en stringy, but Dan hilt on long ernuff ter be sho' his job wuz\ndone right. En eben den he did n' hol' on long ernuff; fer w'en he tu'nt\nde cunjuh man loose en he fell ober on de flo', de cunjuh man rollt his\neyes at Dan, en sezee:--\n\n\"'I's eben wid you, Brer Dan, en you er eben wid me; you killt my son\nen I killt yo' 'oman. En ez I doan want no mo' d'n w'at 's fair 'bout\ndis thing, ef you'll retch up wid yo' paw en take down dat go'd hangin'\non dat peg ober de chimbly, en take a sip er dat mixtry, it'll tu'n you\nback ter a nigger ag'in, en I kin die mo' sad'sfied 'n ef I lef you lack\nyou is.'\n\n\"Dan nebber 'lowed fer a minute dat a man would lie wid his las' bref,\nen co'se he seed de sense er gittin' tu'nt back befo' de cunjuh man\ndied; so he dumb on a chair en retch' fer de go'd, en tuk a sip er de\nmixtry. En ez soon ez he 'd done dat de cunjuh man lafft his las' laf,\nen gapsed out wid 'is las' gaps:--\n\n\"'Uh huh! I reckon I's square wid you now fer killin' me, too; fer dat\ngoopher on you is done fix' en sot now fer good, en all de cunj'in' in\nde worl' won't nebber take it off.\n\n_'Wolf you is en wolf you stays,\nAll de rest er yo' bawn days_.'\n\n\"Co'se Brer Dan could n' do nuffin. He knowed it wa'n't no use, but he\ndumb up on de chimbly en got down de go'ds en bottles en yuther cunjuh\nfixin's, en tried 'em all on hisse'f, but dey didn' do no good. Den he\nrun down ter ole Aun' Peggy, but she did n' know de wolf langwidge, en\ncouldn't 'a' tuk off dis yuther goopher nohow, eben ef she 'd 'a'\nunnerstood w'at Dan wuz sayin'. So po' Dan wuz bleedgd ter be a wolf all\nde rest er his bawn days.\n\n\"Dey foun' Mahaly down by her own cabin nex' mawnin', en eve'ybody made\na great 'miration 'bout how she 'd be'n killt. De niggers 'lowed a wolf\nhad bit her. De w'ite folks say no, dey ain' be'n no wolves 'roun' dere\nfer ten yeahs er mo'; en dey did n' know w'at ter make out'n it. En w'en\ndey could n' fin' Dan nowhar, dey 'lowed he'd quo'lled wid Mahaly en\nkillt her, en run erway; en dey did n' know w'at ter make er dat, fer\nDan en Mahaly wuz de mos' lovin' couple on de plantation. Dey put de\ndawgs on Dan's scent, en track' 'im down ter ole Unk' Jube's cabin, en\nfoun' de ole man dead, en dey did n' know w'at ter make er dat; en den\nDan's scent gun out, en dey didn' know w'at ter make er dat. Mars Dugal'\ntuk on a heap 'bout losin' two er his bes' han's in one day, en ole\nmissis 'lowed it wuz a jedgment on 'im fer sump'n he 'd done. But dat\nfall de craps wuz monst'us big, so Mars Dugal' say de Lawd had temper'\nde win' ter de sho'n ram, en make up ter 'im fer w'at he had los'.\n\n\"Dey buried Mahaly down in dat piece er low groun' you er talkin' 'bout\ncl'arin' up. Ez fer po' Dan, he did n' hab nowhar e'se ter go, so he des\nstayed 'roun' Mahaly's grabe, w'en he wa'n't out in de yuther woods\ngittin' sump'n ter eat. En sometimes, w'en night would come, de niggers\nuseter heah him howlin' en howlin' down dere, des fittin' ter break his\nhea't. En den some mo' un 'em said dey seed Mahaly's ha'nt dere\n'bun'ance er times, colloguin' wid dis gray wolf. En eben now, fifty\nyeahs sence, long atter ole Dan has died en dried up in de woods, his\nha'nt en Mahaly's hangs 'roun' dat piece er low groun', en eve'body w'at\ngoes 'bout dere has some bad luck er 'nuther; fer ha'nts doan lack ter\nbe 'sturb' on dey own stompin'-groun'.\"\n\nThe air had darkened while the old man related this harrowing tale. The\nrising wind whistled around the eaves, slammed the loose\nwindow-shutters, and, still increasing, drove the rain in fiercer gusts\ninto the piazza. As Julius finished his story and we rose to seek\nshelter within doors, the blast caught the angle of some chimney or\ngable in the rear of the house, and bore to our ears a long, wailing\nnote, an epitome, as it were, of remorse and hopelessness.\n\n\"Dat 's des lack po' ole Dan useter howl,\" observed Julius, as he\nreached for his umbrella, \"en w'at I be'n tellin' you is de reason I\ndoan lack ter see dat neck er woods cl'ared up. Co'se it b'longs ter\nyou, en a man kin do ez he choose' wid 'is own. But ef you gits\nrheumatiz er fever en agur, er ef you er snake-bit er p'isen' wid some\nyarb er 'nuther, er ef a tree falls on you, er a ha'nt runs you en makes\nyou git 'stracted in yo' min', lack some folks I knows w'at went foolin'\n'roun' dat piece er lan', you can't say I neber wa'ned you, suh, en tol'\nyou w'at you mought look fer en be sho' ter fin'.\"\n\nWhen I cleared up the land in question, which was not until the\nfollowing year, I recalled the story Julius had told us, and looked in\nvain for a sunken grave or perhaps a few weather-bleached bones of some\ndenizen of the forest. I cannot say, of course, that some one had not\nbeen buried there; but if so, the hand of time had long since removed\nany evidence of the fact. If some lone wolf, the last of his pack, had\nonce made his den there, his bones had long since crumbled into dust and\ngone to fertilize the rank vegetation that formed the undergrowth of\nthis wild spot. I did find, however, a bee-tree in the woods, with an\nample cavity in its trunk, and an opening through which convenient\naccess could be had to the stores of honey within. I have reason to\nbelieve that ever since I had bought the place, and for many years\nbefore, Julius had been getting honey from this tree. The gray wolf's\nhaunt had doubtless proved useful in keeping off too inquisitive people,\nwho might have interfered with his monopoly.\n\n\n\n\nHOT-FOOT HANNIBAL\n\n\"I hate you and despise you! I wish never to see you or speak to you\nagain!\"\n\n\"Very well; I will take care that henceforth you have no opportunity to\ndo either.\"\n\nThese words--the first in the passionately vibrant tones of my\nsister-in-law, and the latter in the deeper and more restrained accents\nof an angry man--startled me from my nap. I had been dozing in my\nhammock on the front piazza, behind the honeysuckle vine. I had been\nfaintly aware of a buzz of conversation in the parlor, but had not at\nall awakened to its import until these sentences fell, or, I might\nrather say, were hurled upon my ear. I presume the young people had\neither not seen me lying there,--the Venetian blinds opening from the\nparlor windows upon the piazza were partly closed on account of the\nheat,--or else in their excitement they had forgotten my proximity.\n\nI felt somewhat concerned. The young man, I had remarked, was proud,\nfirm, jealous of the point of honor, and, from my observation of him,\nquite likely to resent to the bitter end what he deemed a slight or an\ninjustice. The girl, I knew, was quite as high-spirited as young\nMurchison. I feared she was not so just, and hoped she would prove more\nyielding. I knew that her affections were strong and enduring, but that\nher temperament was capricious, and her sunniest moods easily overcast\nby some small cloud of jealousy or pique. I had never imagined, however,\nthat she was capable of such intensity as was revealed by these few\nwords of hers. As I say, I felt concerned. I had learned to like\nMalcolm Murchison, and had heartily consented to his marriage with my\nward; for it was in that capacity that I had stood for a year or two to\nmy wife's younger sister, Mabel. The match thus rudely broken off had\npromised to be another link binding me to the kindly Southern people\namong whom I had not long before taken up my residence.\n\nYoung Murchison came out of the door, cleared the piazza in two strides\nwithout seeming aware of my presence, and went off down the lane at a\nfurious pace. A few moments later Mabel began playing the piano loudly,\nwith a touch that indicated anger and pride and independence and a dash\nof exultation, as though she were really glad that she had driven away\nforever the young man whom the day before she had loved with all the\nardor of a first passion.\n\nI hoped that time might heal the breach and bring the two young people\ntogether again. I told my wife what I had overheard. In return she gave\nme Mabel's version of the affair.\n\n\"I do not see how it can ever be settled,\" my wife said. \"It is\nsomething more than a mere lovers' quarrel. It began, it is true,\nbecause she found fault with him for going to church with that hateful\nBranson girl. But before it ended there were things said that no woman\nof any spirit could stand. I am afraid it is all over between them.\"\n\nI was sorry to hear this. In spite of the very firm attitude taken by my\nwife and her sister, I still hoped that the quarrel would be made up\nwithin a day or two. Nevertheless, when a week had passed with no word\nfrom young Murchison, and with no sign of relenting on Mabel's part, I\nbegan to think myself mistaken.\n\nOne pleasant afternoon, about ten days after the rupture, old Julius\ndrove the rockaway up to the piazza, and my wife, Mabel, and I took our\nseats for a drive to a neighbor's vineyard, over on the Lumberton\nplank-road.\n\n\"Which way shall we go,\" I asked,--\"the short road or the long one?\"\n\n\"I guess we had better take the short road,\" answered my wife. \"We will\nget there sooner.\"\n\n\"It's a mighty fine dribe roun' by de big road, Mis' Annie,\" observed\nJulius, \"en it doan take much longer to git dere.\"\n\n\"No,\" said my wife, \"I think we will go by the short road. There is a\nbay-tree in blossom near the mineral spring, and I wish to get some of\nthe flowers.\"\n\n\"I 'spec's you 'd fin' some bay-trees 'long de big road, ma'm,\"\nsuggested Julius.\n\n\"But I know about the flowers on the short road, and they are the ones\nI want.\"\n\nWe drove down the lane to the highway, and soon struck into the short\nroad leading past the mineral spring. Our route lay partly through a\nswamp, and on each side the dark, umbrageous foliage, unbroken by any\nclearing, lent to the road solemnity, and to the air a refreshing\ncoolness. About half a mile from the house, and about half-way to the\nmineral spring, we stopped at the tree of which my wife had spoken, and\nreaching up to the low-hanging boughs, I gathered a dozen of the\nfragrant white flowers. When I resumed my seat in the rockaway, Julius\nstarted the mare. She went on for a few rods, until we had reached the\nedge of a branch crossing the road, when she stopped short.\n\n\"Why did you stop, Julius?\" I asked.\n\n\"I did n', suh,\" he replied. \"'T wuz de mare stop'. G' 'long dere,\nLucy! Wat you mean by dis foolis'ness?\"\n\nJulius jerked the reins and applied the whip lightly, but the mare did\nnot stir.\n\n\"Perhaps you had better get down and lead her,\" I suggested. \"If you get\nher started, you can cross on the log and keep your feet dry.\"\n\nJulius alighted, took hold of the bridle, and vainly essayed to make the\nmare move. She planted her feet with even more evident obstinacy.\n\n\"I don't know what to make of this,\" I said. \"I have never known her to\nbalk before. Have you, Julius?\"\n\n\"No, suh,\" replied the old man, \"I neber has. It's a cu'ous thing ter\nme, suh.\"\n\n\"What's the best way to make her go?\"\n\n\"I 'spec's, suh, dat ef I'd tu'n her 'roun', she'd go de udder way.\"\n\n\"But we want her to go this way.\"\n\n\"Well, suh, I 'low ef we des set heah fo' er fibe minutes, she'll\nsta't up by herse'f.\"\n\n\"All right,\" I rejoined; \"it is cooler here than any place I have struck\ntoday. We'll let her stand for a while, and see what she does.\"\n\nWe had sat in silence for a few minutes, when Julius suddenly\nejaculated, \"Uh huh! I knows w'y dis mare doan go. It des flash' 'cross\nmy recommemb'ance.\"\n\n\"Why is it, Julius?\" I inquired.\n\n\"'Ca'se she sees Chloe.\"\n\n\"Where is Chloe?\" I demanded.\n\n\"Chloe's done be'n dead dese fo'ty years er mo',\" the old man returned.\n\"Her ha'nt is settin' ober yander on de udder side er de branch, unner\ndat wilier-tree, dis blessed minute.\"\n\n\"Why, Julius!\" said my wife, \"do you see the haunt?\"\n\n\"No'm,\" he answered, shaking his head, \"I doan see 'er, but de mare\nsees 'er.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Well, suh, dis yer is a gray hoss, en dis yer is a Friday; en a gray\nhoss kin alluz see a ha'nt w'at walks on Friday.\"\n\n\"Who was Chloe?\" said Mabel.\n\n\"And why does Chloe's haunt walk?\" asked my wife.\n\n\"It's all in de tale, ma'm,\" Julius replied, with a deep sigh. \"It's all\nin de tale.\"\n\n\"Tell us the tale,\" I said. \"Perhaps, by the time you get through, the\nhaunt will go away and the mare will cross.\"\n\nI was willing to humor the old man's fancy. He had not told us a story\nfor some time; and the dark and solemn swamp around us; the\namber-colored stream flowing silently and sluggishly at our feet, like\nthe waters of Lethe; the heavy, aromatic scent of the bays, faintly\nsuggestive of funeral wreaths, all made the place an ideal one for a\nghost story.\n\n\"Chloe,\" Julius began in a subdued tone, \"use' ter b'long ter ole Mars'\nDugal' McAdoo,--my ole marster. She wuz a lackly gal en a smart gal, en\nole mis' tuk her up ter de big house, en l'arnt her ter wait on de w'ite\nfolks, 'tel bimeby she come ter be mis's own maid, en 'peared ter 'low\nshe run de house herse'f, ter heah her talk erbout it. I wuz a young boy\nden, en use' ter wuk 'bout de stables, so I knowed eve'ythin' dat wuz\ngwine on 'roun' de plantation.\n\n\"Well, one time Mars' Dugal' wanted a house boy, en sont down ter de\nqua'ters fer ter hab Jeff en Hannibal come up ter de big house nex'\nmawnin'. Ole marster en ole mis' look' de two boys ober, en 'sco'sed wid\ndeyse'ves fer a little w'ile, en den Mars' Dugal' sez, sezee:--\n\n\"'We lacks Hannibal de bes', en we gwine ter keep him. Heah, Hannibal,\nyou'll wuk at de house fum now on. En ef you er a good nigger en min's\nyo' bizness, I'll gib you Chloe fer a wife nex' spring. You other\nnigger, you Jeff, you kin go back ter de qua'ters. We ain' gwine ter\nneed you.'\n\n\"Now Chloe had be'n stan'in' dere behin' ole mis' dyoin' all er dis yer\ntalk, en Chloe made up her min' fum de ve'y fus' minute she sot eyes on\ndem two dat she did n' lack dat nigger Hannibal, en wa'n't neber gwine\nkeer fer 'im, en she wuz des ez sho' dat she lack' Jeff, en wuz gwine\nter set sto' by 'im, whuther Mars' Dugal' tuk 'im in de big house er no;\nen so co'se Chloe wuz monst'us sorry w'en ole Mars' Dugal' tuk Hannibal\nen sont Jeff back. So she slip' roun' de house en waylaid Jeff on de way\nback ter de qua'ters, en tol' 'im not ter be down-hea'ted, fer she wuz\ngwine ter see ef she could n' fin' some way er 'nuther ter git rid er\ndat nigger Hannibal, en git Jeff up ter de house in his place.\n\n\"De noo house boy kotch' on monst'us fas', en it wa'n't no time ha'dly\nbefo' Mars' Dugal' en ole mis' bofe 'mence' ter 'low Hannibal wuz de\nbes' house boy dey eber had. He wuz peart en soopl', quick ez lightnin',\nen sha'p ez a razor. But Chloe did n' lack his ways. He wuz so sho' he\nwuz gwine ter git 'er in de spring, dat he did n' 'pear ter 'low he had\nter do any co'tin', en w'en he 'd run 'cross Chloe 'bout de house, he 'd\nswell roun' 'er in a biggity way en say:--\n\n\"'Come heah en kiss me, honey. You gwine ter be mine in de spring. You\ndoan 'pear ter be ez fon' er me ez you oughter be.'\n\n\"Chloe did n' keer nuffin fer Hannibal, en had n' keered nuffin fer 'im,\nen she sot des ez much sto' by Jeff ez she did de day she fus' laid eyes\non 'im. En de mo' fermilyus dis yer Hannibal got, de mo' Chloe let her\nmin' run on Jeff, en one ebenin' she went down ter de qua'ters en\nwatch', 'tel she got a chance fer ter talk wid 'im by hisse'f. En she\ntol' Jeff fer ter go down en see ole Aun' Peggy, de cunjuh 'oman down by\nde Wim'l'ton Road, en ax her ter gib 'im sump'n ter he'p git Hannibal\nout'n de big house, so de w'ite folks u'd sen' fer Jeff ag'in. En bein'\nez Jeff did n' hab nuffin ter gib Aun' Peggy, Chloe gun 'im a silber\ndollah en a silk han'kercher fer ter pay her wid, fer Aun' Peggy neber\nlack ter wuk fer nobody fer nuffin.\n\n\"So Jeff slip' off down ter Aun' Peggy's one night, en gun 'er de\npresent he brung, en tol' 'er all 'bout 'im en Chloe en Hannibal, en ax'\n'er ter he'p 'im out. Aun' Peggy tol' 'im she 'd wuk 'er roots, en fer\n'im ter come back de nex' night, en she 'd tell 'im w'at she c'd do fer\n'im.\n\n\"So de nex' night Jeff went back, en Aun' Peggy gun 'im a baby doll, wid\na body made out'n a piece er co'n-stalk, en wid splinters fer a'ms en\nlaigs, en a head made out'n elderberry peth, en two little red peppers\nfer feet.\n\n\"'Dis yer baby doll,' sez she, 'is Hannibal. Dis yer peth head is\nHannibal's head, en dese yer pepper feet is Hannibal's feet. You take\ndis en hide it unner de house, on de sill unner de do', whar Hannibal\n'll hafter walk ober it eve'y day. En ez long ez Hannibal comes anywhar\nnigh dis baby doll, he'll be des lack it is,--light-headed en\nhot-footed; en ef dem two things doan git 'im inter trouble mighty soon,\nden I'm no cunjuh 'oman. But w'en you git Hannibal out'n de house, en\ngit all th'oo wid dis baby doll, you mus' fetch it back ter me, fer it's\nmonst'us powerful goopher, en is liable ter make mo' trouble ef you\nleabe it layin' roun'.'\n\n\"Well, Jeff tuk de baby doll, en slip' up ter de big house, en whistle'\nter Chloe, en w'en she come out he tol' 'er w'at ole Aun' Peggy had\nsaid. En Chloe showed 'im how ter git unner de house, en w'en he had put\nde cunjuh doll on de sill, he went 'long back ter de qua'ters--en des\nwaited.\n\n\"Nex' day, sho' 'nuff, de goopher 'mence' ter wuk. Hannibal sta'ted in\nde house soon in de mawnin' wid a armful er wood ter make a fire, en he\nhad n' mo' d'n got 'cross de do'-sill befo' his feet begun ter bu'n so\ndat he drap' de armful er wood on de flo' en woke ole mis' up a' hour\nsooner 'n yushal, en co'se ole mis' did n' lack dat, en spoke sha'p\nerbout it.\n\n\"W'en dinner-time come, en Hannibal wuz help'n' de cook kyar de dinner\nf'm de kitchen inter de big house, en wuz gittin' close ter de do' whar\nhe had ter go in, his feet sta'ted ter bu'n en his head begun ter swim,\nen he let de big dish er chicken en dumplin's fall right down in de\ndirt, in de middle er de ya'd, en de w'ite folks had ter make dey dinner\ndat day off'n col' ham en sweet'n' 'taters.\n\n\"De nex' mawnin' he overslep' hisse'f, en got inter mo' trouble. Atter\nbreakfus', Mars' Dugal' sont 'im ober ter Mars' Marrabo Utley's fer ter\nborry a monkey wrench. He oughter be'n back in ha'f a' hour, but he come\npokin' home 'bout dinner-time wid a screw-driver stidder a monkey\nwrench. Mars' Dugal' sont ernudder nigger back wid de screw-driver, en\nHannibal did n' git no dinner. 'Long in de atternoon, ole mis' sot\nHannibal ter weedin' de flowers in de front gya'den, en Hannibal dug up\nall de bulbs ole mis' had sont erway fer, en paid a lot er money fer, en\ntuk 'em down ter de hawg-pen by de ba'nya'd, en fed 'em ter de hawgs.\nWen ole mis' come out in de cool er de ebenin', en seed w'at Hannibal\nhad done, she wuz mos' crazy, en she wrote a note en sont Hannibal down\nter de oberseah wid it.\n\n\"But w'at Hannibal got fum de oberseah did n' 'pear ter do no good.\nEve'y now en den 'is feet 'd 'mence ter torment 'im, en 'is min' 'u'd\ngit all mix' up, en his conduc' kep' gittin' wusser en wusser, 'tel\nfin'lly de w'ite folks could n' stan' it no longer, en Mars' Dugal' tuk\nHannibal back down ter de qua'ters.\n\n\"'Mr. Smif,' sez Mars' Dugal' ter de oberseah, 'dis yer nigger has done\ngot so triflin' yer lately dat we can't keep 'im at de house no mo', en\nI 's fotch' 'im ter you ter be straighten' up. You 's had 'casion ter\ndeal wid 'im once, so he knows w'at ter expec'. You des take 'im in\nhan', en lemme know how he tu'ns out. En w'en de han's comes in fum de\nfiel' dis ebenin' you kin sen' dat yaller nigger Jeff up ter de house. I\n'll try 'im, en see ef he's any better 'n Hannibal.'\n\n\"So Jeff went up ter de big house, en pleas' Mars' Dugal' en ole mis' en\nde res' er de fambly so well dat dey all got ter lackin' 'im fus'rate;\nen dey 'd 'a' fergot all 'bout Hannibal, ef it had n' be'n fer de bad\nrepo'ts w'at come up fum de qua'ters 'bout 'im fer a mont' er so. Fac'\nis, dat Chloe en Jeff wuz so int'rusted in one ernudder sence Jeff be'n\nup ter de house, dat dey fergot all 'bout takin' de baby doll back ter\nAun' Peggy, en it kep' wukkin' fer a w'ile, en makin' Hannibal's feet\nbu'n mo' er less, 'tel all de folks on de plantation got ter callin' 'im\nHot-Foot Hannibal. He kep' gittin' mo' en mo' triflin', 'tel he got de\nname er bein' de mos' no 'countes' nigger on de plantation, en Mars'\nDugal' had ter th'eaten ter sell 'im in de spring, w'en bimeby de\ngoopher quit wukkin', en Hannibal 'mence' ter pick up some en make folks\nset a little mo' sto' by 'im.\n\n\"Now, dis yer Hannibal was a monst'us sma't nigger, en w'en he got rid\ner dem so' feet, his min' kep' runnin' on 'is udder troubles. Heah\nth'ee er fo' weeks befo' he 'd had a' easy job, waitin' on de w'ite\nfolks, libbin' off'n de fat er de lan', en promus' de fines' gal on de\nplantation fer a wife in de spring, en now heah he wuz back in de\nco'n-fiel, wid de oberseah a-cussin' en a-r'arin' ef he did n' get a\nha'd tas' done; wid nuffin but co'n bread en bacon en merlasses ter eat;\nen all de fiel'-han's makin' rema'ks, en pokin' fun at 'im 'ca'se he'd\nbe'n sont back fum de big house ter de fiel'. En de mo' Hannibal studied\n'bout it de mo' madder he got, 'tel he fin'lly swo' he wuz gwine ter git\neben wid Jeff en Chloe, ef it wuz de las' ac'.\n\n\"So Hannibal slipped 'way fum de qua'ters one Sunday en hid in de co'n\nup close ter de big house, 'tel he see Chloe gwine down de road. He\nwaylaid her, en sezee:--\n\n\"'Hoddy, Chloe?'\n\n\"'I ain' got no time fer ter fool wid fiel'-han's,' sez Chloe, tossin'\nher head; 'w'at you want wid me, Hot-Foot?'\n\n\"'I wants ter know how you en Jeff is gittin' 'long.'\n\n\"'I 'lows dat's none er yo' bizness, nigger. I doan see w'at 'casion any\ncommon fiel'-han' has got ter mix in wid de 'fairs er folks w'at libs in\nde big house. But ef it'll do you any good ter know, I mought say dat\nme en Jeff is gittin' 'long mighty well, en we gwine ter git married in\nde spring, en you ain' gwine ter be 'vited ter de weddin' nuther.'\n\n\"'No, no!' sezee, 'I would n' 'spec' ter be 'vited ter de weddin',--a\ncommon, low-down fiel'-han' lack _I_ is. But I's glad ter heah you en\nJeff is gittin' 'long so well. I did n' knowed but w'at he had 'mence'\nter be a little ti'ed.'\n\n\"'Ti'ed er me? Dat's rediklus!' sez Chloe. 'W'y, dat nigger lubs me so I\nb'liebe he 'd go th'oo fire en water fer me. Dat nigger is des wrop' up\nin me.'\n\n\"'Uh huh,' sez Hannibal, 'den I reckon it mus' be some udder nigger\nw'at meets a 'oman down by de crick in de swamp eve'y Sunday ebenin',\nter say nuffin 'bout two er th'ee times a week.'\n\n\"'Yas, hit is ernudder nigger, en you is a liah w'en you say it wuz\nJeff.'\n\n\"'Mebbe I is a liah, en mebbe I ain' got good eyes. But 'less'n I is a\nliah, en 'less'n I _ain'_ got good eyes, Jeff is gwine ter meet dat\n'oman dis ebenin' 'long 'bout eight o'clock right down dere by de crick\nin de swamp 'bout half-way betwix' dis plantation en Mars' Marrabo\nUtley's.'\n\n\"Well, Chloe tol' Hannibal she did n' b'liebe a wo'd he said, en call'\n'im a low-down nigger, who wuz tryin' ter slander Jeff 'ca'se he wuz mo'\nluckier 'n he wuz. But all de same, she could n' keep her min' fum\nrunnin' on w'at Hannibal had said. She 'membered she 'd heared one er de\nniggers say dey wuz a gal ober at Mars' Marrabo Utley's plantation w'at\nJeff use' ter go wid some befo' he got 'quainted wid Chloe. Den she\n'mence' ter figger back, en sho' 'nuff, dey wuz two er th'ee times in de\nlas' week w'en she 'd be'n he'pin' de ladies wid dey dressin' en udder\nfixin's in de ebenin', en Jeff mought 'a' gone down ter de swamp widout\nher knowin' 'bout it at all. En den she 'mence' ter 'member little\nthings w'at she had n' tuk no notice of befo', en w'at 'u'd make it\n'pear lack Jeff had sump'n on his min'.\n\n\"Chloe set a monst'us heap er sto' by Jeff, en would 'a' done mos'\nanythin' fer 'im, so long ez he stuck ter her. But Chloe wuz a mighty\njealous 'oman, en w'iles she didn' b'liebe w'at Hannibal said, she seed\nhow it _could_ 'a' be'n so, en she 'termine' fer ter fin' out fer\nherse'f whuther it _wuz_ so er no.\n\n\"Now, Chloe had n' seed Jeff all day, fer Mars' Dugal' had sont Jeff\nober ter his daughter's house, young Mis' Ma'g'ret's, w'at libbed 'bout\nfo' miles fum Mars' Dugal's, en Jeff wuz n' 'spected home 'tel ebenin'.\nBut des atter supper wuz ober, en w'iles de ladies wuz settin' out on de\npiazzer, Chloe slip' off fum de house en run down de road,--dis yer same\nroad we come; en w'en she got mos' ter de crick--dis yer same crick\nright befo' us--she kin' er kep' in de bushes at de side er de road,\n'tel fin'lly she seed Jeff settin' on de bank on de udder side er de\ncrick,--right unner dat ole wilier-tree droopin' ober de water yander.\nEn eve'y now en den he 'd git up en look up de road to'ds Mars'\nMarrabo's on de udder side er de swamp.\n\n\"Fus' Chloe felt lack she 'd go right ober de crick en gib Jeff a piece\ner her min'. Den she 'lowed she better be sho' befo' she done anythin'.\nSo she helt herse'f in de bes' she could, gittin' madder en madder eve'y\nminute, 'tel bimeby she seed a 'oman comin' down de road on de udder\nside fum to'ds Mars' Marrabo Utley's plantation. En w'en she seed Jeff\njump up en run to'ds dat 'oman, en th'ow his a'ms roun' her neck, po'\nChloe did n' stop ter see no mo', but des tu'nt roun' en run up ter de\nhouse, en rush' up on de piazzer, en up en tol' Mars' Dugal' en ole mis'\nall 'bout de baby doll, en all 'bout Jeff gittin' de goopher fum Aun'\nPeggy, en 'bout w'at de goopher had done ter Hannibal.\n\n\"Mars' Dugal' wuz monst'us mad. He did n' let on at fus' lack he\nb'liebed Chloe, but w'en she tuk en showed 'im whar ter fin' de baby\ndoll, Mars' Dugal' tu'nt w'ite ez chalk.\n\n\"'Wat debil's wuk is dis?' sezee. 'No wonder de po' nigger's feet\neetched. Sump'n got ter be done ter l'arn dat ole witch ter keep her\nhan's off'n my niggers. En ez fer dis yer Jeff, I'm gwine ter do des\nw'at I promus', so de darkies on dis plantation'll know I means w'at I\nsez.'\n\n\"Fer Mars' Dugal' had warned de han's befo' 'bout foolin' wid\ncunju'ation; fac', he had los' one er two niggers his-se'f fum dey bein'\ngoophered, en he would 'a' had ole Aun' Peggy whip' long ago, on'y Aun'\nPeggy wuz a free 'oman, en he wuz 'feard she 'd cunjuh him. En w'iles\nMars' Dugal' say he did n' b'liebe in cunj'in' en sich, he 'peared ter\n'low it wuz bes' ter be on de safe side, en let Aun' Peggy alone.\n\n\"So Mars' Dugal' done des ez he say. Ef ole mis' had ple'd fer Jeff, he\nmought 'a' kep' 'im. But ole mis' had n' got ober losin' dem bulbs yit,\nen she neber said a wo'd. Mars' Dugal' tuk Jeff ter town nex' day en'\nsol' 'im ter a spekilater, who sta'ted down de ribber wid 'im nex'\nmawnin' on a steamboat, fer ter take 'im ter Alabama.\n\n\"Now, w'en Chloe tol' ole Mars' Dugal' 'bout dis yer baby doll en dis\nudder goopher, she had n' ha'dly 'lowed Mars' Dugal' would sell Jeff\ndown Souf. Howsomeber, she wuz so mad wid Jeff dat she 'suaded herse'f\nshe did n' keer; en so she hilt her head up en went roun' lookin' lack\nshe wuz rale glad 'bout it. But one day she wuz walkin' down de road,\nw'en who sh'd come 'long but dis yer Hannibal.\n\n\"W'en Hannibal seed 'er, he bus' out laffin' fittin' fer ter kill: 'Yah,\nyah, yah! ho, ho, ho! ha, ha, ha! Oh, hol' me, honey, hol' me, er I'll\nlaf myse'f ter def. I ain' nebber laf' so much sence I be'n bawn.'\n\n\"'Wat you laffin' at, Hot-Foot?'\n\n\"'Yah, yah, yah! Wat I laffin' at? W'y, I's laffin' at myse'f, tooby\nsho',--laffin' ter think w'at a fine 'oman I made.'\n\n\"Chloe tu'nt pale, en her hea't come up in her mouf.\n\n\"'Wat you mean, nigger?' sez she, ketchin' holt er a bush by de road\nfer ter stiddy herse'f. 'Wat you mean by de kin' er 'oman you made?'\n\n\"'Wat do I mean? I means dat I got squared up wid you fer treatin' me de\nway you done, en I got eben wid dat yaller nigger Jeff fer cuttin' me\nout. Now, he's gwine ter know w'at it is ter eat co'n bread en merlasses\nonce mo', en wuk fum daylight ter da'k, en ter hab a oberseah dribin'\n'im fum one day's een' ter de udder. I means dat I sont wo'd ter Jeff\ndat Sunday dat you wuz gwine ter be ober ter Mars' Marrabo's visitin'\ndat ebenin', en you want 'im ter meet you down by de crick on de way\nhome en go de rest er de road wid you. En den I put on a frock en a\nsunbonnet, en fix' myse'f up ter look lack a 'oman; en w'en Jeff seed me\ncomin', he run ter meet me, en you seed 'im,--fer I 'd be'n watchin' in\nde bushes befo' en 'skivered you comin' down de road. En now I reckon\nyou en Jeff bofe knows w'at it means ter mess wid a nigger lack me.'\n\n\"Po' Chloe had n' heared mo' d'n half er de las' part er w'at Hannibal\nsaid, but she had heared 'nuff to l'arn dat dis nigger had fooled her en\nJeff, en dat po' Jeff had n' done nuffin, en dat fer lovin' her too much\nen goin' ter meet her she had cause' 'im ter be sol' erway whar she 'd\nneber, neber see 'im no mo'. De sun mought shine by day, de moon by\nnight, de flowers mought bloom, en de mawkin'-birds mought sing, but po'\nJeff wuz done los' ter her fereber en fereber.\n\n\"Hannibal had n' mo' d'n finish' w'at he had ter say, w'en Chloe's knees\ngun 'way unner her, en she fell down in de road, en lay dere half a'\nhour er so befo' she come to. W'en she did, she crep' up ter de house\ndes ez pale ez a ghos'. En fer a mont' er so she crawled roun' de\nhouse, en 'peared ter be so po'ly dat Mars' Dugal' sont fer a doctor; en\nde doctor kep' on axin' her questions 'tel he foun' she wuz des pinin'\nerway fer Jeff.\n\n\"Wen he tol' Mars' Dugal', Mars' Dugal' lafft, en said he 'd fix dat.\nShe could hab de noo house boy fer a husban'. But ole mis' say, no,\nChloe ain' dat kin'er gal, en dat Mars' Dugal' sh'd buy Jeff back.\n\n\"So Mars' Dugal' writ a letter ter dis yer spekilater down ter\nWim'l'ton, en tol' ef he ain' done sol' dat nigger Souf w'at he bought\nfum 'im, he'd lack ter buy 'im back ag'in. Chloe 'mence' ter pick up a\nlittle w'en ole mis' tol' her 'bout dis letter. Howsomeber, bimeby Mars'\nDugal' got a' answer fum de spekilater, who said he wuz monst'us sorry,\nbut Jeff had fell ove'boa'd er jumped off'n de steamboat on de way ter\nWim'l'ton, en got drownded, en co'se he could n' sell 'im back, much ez\nhe'd lack ter 'bleedge Mars' Dugal'.\n\n\"Well, atter Chloe heared dis, she wa'n't much mo' use ter nobody. She\npu'tended ter do her wuk, en ole mis' put up wid her, en had de doctor\ngib her medicine, en let 'er go ter de circus, en all so'ts er things\nfer ter take her min' off'n her troubles. But dey did n' none un 'em do\nno good. Chloe got ter slippin' down here in de ebenin' des lack she 'uz\ncomin' ter meet Jeff, en she 'd set dere unner dat wilier-tree on de\nudder side, en wait fer 'im, night atter night. Bimeby she got so bad de\nw'ite folks sont her ober ter young Mis' Ma'g'ret's fer ter gib her a\nchange; but she runned erway de fus' night, en w'en dey looked fer 'er\nnex' mawnin', dey foun' her co'pse layin' in de branch yander, right\n'cross fum whar we 're settin' now.\n\n\"Eber sence den,\" said Julius in conclusion, \"Chloe's ha'nt comes eve'y\nebenin' en sets down unner dat willer-tree en waits fer Jeff, er e'se\nwalks up en down de road yander, lookin' en lookin', en waitin' en\nwaitin', fer her sweethea't w'at ain' neber, neber come back ter her no\nmo'.\"\n\nThere was silence when the old man had finished, and I am sure I saw a\ntear in my wife's eye, and more than one in Mabel's.\n\n\"I think, Julius,\" said my wife, after a moment, \"that you may turn the\nmare around and go by the long road.\"\n\nThe old man obeyed with alacrity, and I noticed no reluctance on the\nmare's part.\n\n\"You are not afraid of Chloe's haunt, are you?\" I asked jocularly.\n\nMy mood was not responded to, and neither of the ladies smiled.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Annie, \"but I've changed my mind. I prefer the other\nroute.\"\n\nWhen we had reached the main road and had proceeded along it for a short\ndistance, we met a cart driven by a young negro, and on the cart were a\ntrunk and a valise. We recognized the man as Malcolm Murchison's\nservant, and drew up a moment to speak to him.\n\n\"Who's going away, Marshall?\" I inquired.\n\n\"Young Mistah Ma'colm gwine 'way on de boat ter Noo Yo'k dis ebenin',\nsuh, en I'm takin' his things down ter de wharf, suh.\"\n\nThis was news to me, and I heard it with regret. My wife looked sorry,\ntoo, and I could see that Mabel was trying hard to hide her concern.\n\n\"He's comin' 'long behin', suh, en I 'spec's you'll meet 'im up de road\na piece. He 's gwine ter walk down ez fur ez Mistah Jim Williams's, en\ntake de buggy fum dere ter town. He 'spec's ter be gone a long time,\nsuh, en say prob'ly he ain' neber comin' back.\"\n\nThe man drove on. There were a few words exchanged in an undertone\nbetween my wife and Mabel, which I did not catch. Then Annie said:\n\"Julius, you may stop the rockaway a moment. There are some\ntrumpet-flowers by the road there that I want. Will you get them for me,\nJohn?\"\n\nI sprang into the underbrush, and soon returned with a great bunch of\nscarlet blossoms.\n\n\"Where is Mabel?\" I asked, noting her absence.\n\n\"She has walked on ahead. We shall overtake her in a few minutes.\"\n\nThe carriage had gone only a short distance when my wife discovered that\nshe had dropped her fan.\n\n\"I had it where we were stopping. Julius, will you go back and get it\nfor me?\"\n\nJulius got down and went back for the fan. He was an unconscionably\nlong time finding it. After we got started again we had gone only a\nlittle way, when we saw Mabel and young Murchison coming toward us. They\nwere walking arm in arm, and their faces were aglow with the light of\nlove.\n\nI do not know whether or not Julius had a previous understanding with\nMalcolm Murchison by which he was to drive us round by the long road\nthat day, nor do I know exactly what motive influenced the old man's\nexertions in the matter. He was fond of Mabel, but I was old enough, and\nknew Julius well enough, to be skeptical of his motives. It is certain\nthat a most excellent understanding existed between him and Murchison\nafter the reconciliation, and that when the young people set up\nhousekeeping over at the old Murchison place, Julius had an opportunity\nto enter their service. For some reason or other, however, he preferred\nto remain with us. The mare, I might add, was never known to balk again.\n\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\nUncollected Uncle Julius Stories\nDave's Neckliss (1889)\nA Deep Sleeper (1893)\nLonesome Ben (1900)\n\nEssay\nSuperstitions and Folk-Lore of the South (1901)\n\n\n\nDave's Neckliss\n\n\"Have some dinner, Uncle Julius?\" said my wife. It was a Sunday\nafternoon in early autumn. Our two women-servants had gone to a\ncamp-meeting some miles away, and would not return until evening. My\nwife had served the dinner, and we were just rising from the table, when\nJulius came up the lane, and, taking off his hat, seated himself on the\npiazza.\n\nThe old man glanced through the open door at the dinner-table, and his\neyes rested lovingly upon a large sugar-cured ham, from which several\nslices had been cut, exposing a rich pink expanse that would have\nappealed strongly to the appetite of any hungry Christian.\n\n\"Thanky, Miss Annie,\" he said, after a momentary hesitation, \"I dunno ez\nI keers ef I does tas'e a piece er dat ham, ef yer'll cut me off a\nslice un it.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Annie, \"I won't. Just sit down to the table and help\nyourself; eat all you want, and don't be bashful.\"\n\nJulius drew a chair up to the table, while my wife and I went out on the\npiazza. Julius was in my employment; he took his meals with his own\nfamily, but when he happened to be about our house at meal-times, my\nwife never let him go away hungry.\n\nI threw myself into a hammock, from which I could see Julius through an\nopen window. He ate with evident relish, devoting his attention chiefly\nto the ham, slice after slice of which disappeared in the spacious\ncavity of his mouth. At first the old man ate rapidly, but after the\nedge of his appetite had been taken off he proceeded in a more leisurely\nmanner. When he had cut the sixth slice of ham (I kept count of them\nfrom a lazy curiosity to see how much he _could_ eat) I saw him lay it\non his plate; as he adjusted the knife and fork to cut it into smaller\npieces, he paused, as if struck by a sudden thought, and a tear rolled\ndown his rugged cheek and fell upon the slice of ham before him. But the\nemotion, whatever the thought that caused it, was transitory, and in a\nmoment he continued his dinner. When he was through eating, he came out\non the porch, and resumed his seat with the satisfied expression of\ncountenance that usually follows a good dinner.\n\n\"Julius,\" I said, \"you seemed to be affected by something, a moment ago.\nWas the mustard so strong that it moved you to tears?\"\n\n\"No, suh, it wa'n't de mustard; I wuz studyin' 'bout Dave.\"\n\n\"Who was Dave, and what about him?\" I asked.\n\nThe conditions were all favorable to story-telling. There was an\nautumnal languor in the air, and a dreamy haze softened the dark green\nof the distant pines and the deep blue of the Southern sky. The generous\nmeal he had made had put the old man in a very good humor. He was not\nalways so, for his curiously undeveloped nature was subject to moods\nwhich were almost childish in their variableness. It was only now and\nthen that we were able to study, through the medium of his recollection,\nthe simple but intensely human inner life of slavery. His way of looking\nat the past seemed very strange to us; his view of certain sides of life\nwas essentially different from ours. He never indulged in any regrets\nfor the Arcadian joyousness and irresponsibility which was a somewhat\npopular conception of slavery; his had not been the lot of the petted\nhouse-servant, but that of the toiling field-hand. While he mentioned\nwith a warm appreciation the acts of kindness which those in authority\nhad shown to him and his people, he would speak of a cruel deed, not\nwith the indignation of one accustomed to quick feeling and spontaneous\nexpression, but with a furtive disapproval which suggested to us a doubt\nin his own mind as to whether he had a right to think or to feel, and\npresented to us the curious psychological spectacle of a mind enslaved\nlong after the shackles had been struck off from the limbs of its\npossessor. Whether the sacred name of liberty ever set his soul aglow\nwith a generous fire; whether he had more than the most elementary ideas\nof love, friendship, patriotism, religion,--things which are half, and\nthe better half, of life to us; whether he even realized, except in a\nvague, uncertain way, his own degradation, I do not know. I fear not;\nand if not, then centuries of repression had borne their legitimate\nfruit. But in the simple human feeling, and still more in the undertone\nof sadness, which pervaded his stories, I thought I could see a spark\nwhich, fanned by favoring breezes and fed by the memories of the past,\nmight become in his children's children a glowing flame of sensibility,\nalive to every thrill of human happiness or human woe.\n\n\"Dave use' ter b'long ter my ole marster,\" said Julius; \"he wuz raise'\non dis yer plantation, en I kin 'member all erbout 'im, fer I wuz ole\n'nuff ter chop cotton w'en it all happen'. Dave wuz a tall man, en\nmonst'us strong: he could do mo' wuk in a day dan any yuther two niggers\non de plantation. He wuz one er dese yer solemn kine er men, en nebber\nrun on wid much foolishness, like de yuther darkies. He use' ter go out\nin de woods en pray; en w'en he hear de han's on de plantation cussin'\nen gwine on wid dere dancin' en foolishness, he use' ter tell 'em 'bout\nreligion en jedgmen'-day, w'en dey would haf ter gin account fer eve'y\nidle word en all dey yuther sinful kyarin's-on.\n\n\"Dave had l'arn' how ter read de Bible. Dey wuz a free nigger boy in de\nsettlement w'at wuz monst'us smart, en could write en cipher, en wuz\nalluz readin' books er papers. En Dave had hi'ed dis free boy fer ter\nl'arn 'im how ter read. Hit wuz 'g'in' de law, but co'se none er de\nniggers did n' say nuffin ter de w'ite folks 'bout it. Howsomedever, one\nday Mars Walker--he wuz de oberseah--foun' out Dave could read. Mars\nWalker wa'n't nuffin but a po' bockrah, en folks said he could n' read\nner write hisse'f, en co'se he didn' lack ter see a nigger w'at knowed\nmo' d'n he did; so he went en tole Mars Dugal'. Mars Dugal' sont fer\nDave, en ax' 'im 'bout it.\n\n\"Dave didn't hardly knowed w'at ter do; but he could n' tell no lie, so\nhe 'fessed he could read de Bible a little by spellin' out de words.\nMars Dugal' look' mighty solemn.\n\n\"'Dis yer is a se'ious matter,' sezee; 'it's 'g'in' de law ter l'arn\nniggers how ter read, er 'low 'em ter hab books. But w'at yer l'arn\nout'n dat Bible, Dave?'\n\n\"Dave wa'n't no fool, ef he wuz a nigger, en sezee:--\n\n\"'Marster, I l'arns dat it's a sin fer ter steal, er ter lie, er fer ter\nwant w'at doan b'long ter yer; en I l'arns fer ter love de Lawd en ter\n'bey my marster.'\n\n\"Mars Dugal' sorter smile' en laf ter hisse'f, like he 'uz might'ly\ntickle' 'bout sump'n, en sezee:--\n\n\"'Doan 'pear ter me lack readin' de Bible done yer much harm, Dave. Dat\n's w'at I wants all my niggers fer ter know. Yer keep right on readin',\nen tell de yuther han's w'at yer be'n tellin' me. How would yer lack fer\nter preach ter de niggers on Sunday?'\n\n\"Dave say he 'd be glad fer ter do w'at he could. So Mars Dugal' tole de\noberseah fer ter let Dave preach ter de niggers, en tell 'em w'at wuz in\nde Bible, en it would he'p ter keep 'em fum stealin' er runnin' erway.\n\n\"So Dave 'mence' ter preach, en done de han's on de plantation a heap er\ngood, en most un 'em lef' off dey wicked ways, en 'mence' ter love ter\nhear 'bout God, en religion, en de Bible; en dey done dey wuk better, en\ndidn' gib de oberseah but mighty little trouble fer ter manage 'em.\n\n\"Dave wuz one er dese yer men w'at did n' keer much fer de\ngals,--leastways he did n' 'tel Dilsey come ter de plantation. Dilsey\nwuz a monst'us peart, good-lookin', gingybread-colored gal,--one er dese\nyer high-steppin' gals w'at hol's dey heads up, en won' stan' no\nfoolishness fum no man. She had b'long' ter a gemman over on Rockfish,\nw'at died, en whose 'state ha' ter be sol' fer ter pay his debts. En\nMars Dugal' had be'n ter de oction, en w'en he seed dis gal a-cryin' en\ngwine on 'bout bein' sol' erway fum her ole mammy, Aun' Mahaly, Mars\nDugal' bid 'em bofe in, en fotch 'em ober ter our plantation.\n\n\"De young nigger men on de plantation wuz des wil' atter Dilsey, but it\ndid n' do no good, en none un 'em could n' git Dilsey fer dey\njunesey,[3] 'tel Dave 'mence' fer ter go roun' Aun' Mahaly's cabin. Dey\nwuz a fine-lookin' couple, Dave en Dilsey wuz, bofe tall, en\nwell-shape', en soopl'. En dey sot a heap by one ernudder. Mars Dugal'\nseed 'em tergedder one Sunday, en de nex' time he seed Dave atter dat,\nsezee:--\n\n\"'Dave, w'en yer en Dilsey gits ready fer ter git married, I ain' got no\nrejections. Dey's a poun' er so er chawin'-terbacker up at de house, en\nI reckon yo' mist'iss kin fine a frock en a ribbin er two fer Dilsey.\nYouer bofe good niggers, en yer neenter be feared er bein' sol' 'way fum\none ernudder long ez I owns dis plantation; en I 'spec's ter own it fer\na long time yit.'\n\n[Footnote 3: Sweetheart.]\n\n\"But dere wuz one man on de plantation w'at did n' lack ter see Dave en\nDilsey tergedder ez much ez ole marster did. W'en Mars Dugal' went ter\nde sale whar he got Dilsey en Mahaly, he bought ernudder ban', by de\nname er Wiley. Wiley wuz one er dese yer shiny-eyed, double-headed\nlittle niggers, sha'p ez a steel trap, en sly ez de fox w'at keep out'n\nit. Dis yer Wiley had be'n pesterin' Dilsey 'fo' she come ter our\nplantation, en had nigh 'bout worried de life out'n her. She did n' keer\nnuffin fer 'im, but he pestered her so she ha' ter th'eaten ter tell her\nmarster fer ter make Wiley let her 'lone. W'en he come ober to our place\nit wuz des ez bad, 'tel bimeby Wiley seed dat Dilsey had got ter\nthinkin' a heap 'bout Dave, en den he sorter hilt off aw'ile, en purten'\nlack he gin Dilsey up. But he wuz one er dese yer 'ceitful niggers, en\nw'ile he wuz laffin' en jokin' wid de yuther ban's 'bout Dave en Dilsey,\nhe wuz settin' a trap fer ter ketch Dave en git Dilsey back fer hisse'f.\n\n\"Dave en Dilsey made up dere min's fer ter git married long 'bout\nChristmas time, w'en dey 'd hab mo' time fer a weddin'. But 'long 'bout\ntwo weeks befo' dat time ole mars 'mence' ter lose a heap er bacon.\nEve'y night er so somebody 'ud steal a side er bacon, er a ham, er a\nshoulder, er sump'n, fum one er de smoke-'ouses. De smoke-'ouses wuz\nlock', but somebody had a key, en manage' ter git in some way er 'nudder.\nDey 's mo' ways 'n one ter skin a cat, en dey's mo' d'n one way ter git in\na smoke-'ouse,--leastways dat's w'at I hearn say. Folks w'at had bacon fer\nter sell did n' hab no trouble 'bout gittin' rid un it. Hit wuz 'g'in' de\nlaw fer ter buy things fum slabes; but Lawd! dat law did n' 'mount ter a\nhill er peas. Eve'y week er so one er dese yer big covered waggins would\ncome 'long de road, peddlin' terbacker en w'iskey. Dey wuz a sight er room\nin one er dem big waggins, en it wuz monst'us easy fer ter swop off bacon\nfer sump'n ter chaw er ter wa'm yer up in de wintertime. I s'pose de\npeddlers did n' knowed dey wuz breakin' de law, caze de niggers alluz went\nat night, en stayed on de dark side er de waggin; en it wuz mighty hard fer\nter tell _w'at_ kine er folks dey wuz.\n\n\"Atter two er th'ee hund'ed er meat had be'n stole', Mars Walker call\nall de niggers up one ebenin', en tol' 'em dat de fus' nigger he cot\nstealin' bacon on dat plantation would git sump'n fer ter 'member it by\nlong ez he lib'. En he say he 'd gin fi' dollars ter de nigger w'at\n'skiver' de rogue. Mars Walker say he s'picion' one er two er de\nniggers, but he could n' tell fer sho, en co'se dey all 'nied it w'en he\n'cuse em un it.\n\n\"Dey wa'n't no bacon stole' fer a week er so, 'tel one dark night w'en\nsomebody tuk a ham fum one er de smoke-'ouses. Mars Walker des cusst\nawful w'en he foun' out de ham wuz gone, en say he gwine ter sarch all\nde niggers' cabins; w'en dis yer Wiley I wuz tellin' yer 'bout up'n say\nhe s'picion' who tuk de ham, fer he seed Dave comin' 'cross de\nplantation fum to'ds de smoke-'ouse de night befo'. W'en Mars Walker\nhearn dis fum Wiley, he went en sarch' Dave's cabin, en foun' de ham hid\nunder de flo'.\n\n\"Eve'ybody wuz 'stonish'; but dere wuz de ham. Co'se Dave 'nied it ter\nde las', but dere wuz de ham. Mars Walker say it wuz des ez he 'spected:\nhe did n' b'lieve in dese yer readin' en prayin' niggers; it wuz all\n'pocrisy, en sarve' Mars Dugal' right fer 'lowin' Dave ter be readin'\nbooks w'en it wuz 'g'in' de law.\n\n\"W'en Mars Dugal hearn 'bout de ham, he say he wuz might'ly 'ceived en\ndisapp'inted in Dave. He say he wouldn' nebber hab no mo' conferdence in\nno nigger, en Mars Walker could do des ez he wuz a mineter wid Dave er\nany er de res' er de niggers. So Mars Walker tuk'n tied Dave up en gin\n'im forty; en den he got some er dis yer wire clof w'at dey uses fer ter\nmake sifters out'n, en tuk'n wrap' it roun' de ham en fasten it\ntergedder at de little een'. Den he tuk Dave down ter de blacksmif-shop,\nen had Unker Silas, de plantation blacksmif, fasten a chain ter de ham,\nen den fasten de yuther een' er de chain roun' Dave's neck. En den he\nsays ter Dave, sezee:--\n\n\"'Now, suh, yer'll wear dat neckliss fer de nex' six mont's; en I\n'spec's yer ner none er de yuther niggers on dis plantation won' steal\nno mo' bacon dyoin' er dat time.'\n\n\"Well, it des 'peared ez if fum dat time Dave did n' hab nuffin but\ntrouble. De niggers all turnt ag'in' 'im, caze he be'n de 'casion er\nMars Dugal' turnin' 'em all ober ter Mars Walker. Mars Dugal' wa'n't a\nbad marster hisse'f, but Mars Walker wuz hard ez a rock. Dave kep' on\nsayin' he did n' take de ham, but none un 'em did n' b'lieve 'im.\n\n\"Dilsey wa'n't on de plantation w'en Dave wuz 'cused er stealin' de\nbacon. Ole mist'iss had sont her ter town fer a week er so fer ter wait\non one er her darters w'at had a young baby, en she didn' fine out\nnuffin 'bout Dave's trouble 'tel she got back ter de plantation. Dave\nhad patien'ly endyoed de finger er scawn, en all de hard words w'at de\nniggers pile' on 'im, caze he wuz sho' Dilsey would stan' by 'im, en\nwould n' b'lieve he wuz a rogue, ner none er de yuther tales de darkies\nwuz tellin' 'bout 'im.\n\n\"W'en Dilsey come back fum town, en got down fum behine de buggy whar\nshe b'en ridin' wid ole mars, de fus' nigger 'ooman she met says ter\nher,--\n\n\"'Is yer seed Dave, Dilsey?'\n\n\"'No, I ain' seed Dave,' says Dilsey.\n\n\"'Yer des oughter look at dat nigger; reckon yer would n' want 'im fer\nyo' junesey no mo'. Mars Walker cotch 'im stealin' bacon, en gone en\nfasten' a ham roun' his neck, so he can't git it off'n hisse'f. He\nsut'nly do look quare.' En den de 'ooman bus' out laffin' fit ter kill\nherse'f. W'en she got thoo laffin' she up'n tole Dilsey all 'bout de\nham, en all de yuther lies w'at de niggers be'n tellin' on Dave.\n\n\"W'en Dilsey started down ter de quarters, who should she meet but Dave,\ncomin' in fum de cotton-fiel'. She turnt her head ter one side, en\npurten' lack she did n' seed Dave.\n\n\"'Dilsey!' sezee.\n\n\"Dilsey walk' right on, en did n' notice 'im.\n\n\"'_Oh_, Dilsey!'\n\n\"Dilsey did n' paid no 'tention ter 'im, en den Dave knowed some er de\nniggers be'n tellin' her 'bout de ham. He felt monst'us bad, but he\n'lowed ef he could des git Dilsey fer ter listen ter 'im fer a minute er\nso, he could make her b'lieve he did n' stole de bacon. It wuz a week er\ntwo befo' he could git a chance ter speak ter her ag'in; but fine'ly he\ncotch her down by de spring one day, en sezee:--\n\n\"'Dilsey, w'at fer yer won' speak ter me, en purten' lack yer doan see\nme? Dilsey, yer knows me too well fer ter b'lieve I 'd steal, er do dis\nyuther wick'ness de niggers is all layin' ter me,--yer _knows_ I would\nn' do dat, Dilsey. Yer ain' gwine back on yo' Dave, is yer?'\n\n\"But w'at Dave say didn' hab no 'fec' on Dilsey. Dem lies folks b'en\ntellin' her had p'isen' her min' 'g'in' Dave.\n\n\"'I doan wanter talk ter no nigger,' says she, 'w'at be'n whip' fer\nstealin', en w'at gwine roun' wid sich a lookin' thing ez dat hung roun'\nhis neck. I's a 'spectable gal, _I_ is. W'at yer call dat, Dave? Is dat\na cha'm fer ter keep off witches, er is it a noo kine er neckliss yer\ngot?'\n\n\"Po' Dave did n' knowed w'at ter do. De las' one he had pended on fer\nter stan' by 'im had gone back on 'im, en dey did n' 'pear ter be nuffin\nmo' wuf libbin' fer. He could n' hol' no mo' pra'r-meetin's, fer Mars\nWalker would n' 'low 'im ter preach, en de darkies would n' 'a' listen'\nter 'im ef he had preach'. He didn' eben hab his Bible fer ter comfort\nhisse'f wid, fer Mars Walker had tuk it erway fum 'im en burnt it up, en\nsay ef he ketch any mo' niggers wid Bibles on de plantation he 'd do 'em\nwuss'n he done Dave.\n\n\"En ter make it still harder fer Dave, Dilsey tuk up wid Wiley. Dave\ncould see him gwine up ter Aun' Mahaly's cabin, en settin' out on de\nbench in de moonlight wid Dilsey, en singin' sinful songs en playin' de\nbanjer. Dave use' ter scrouch down behine de bushes, en wonder w'at de\nLawd sen' 'im all dem tribberlations fer.\n\n\"But all er Dave's yuther troubles wa'n't nuffin side er dat ham. He had\nwrap' de chain roun' wid a rag, so it did n' hurt his neck; but w'eneber\nhe went ter wuk, dat ham would be in his way; he had ter do his task,\nhowsomedever, des de same ez ef he did n' hab de ham. W'eneber he went\nter lay down, dat ham would be in de way. Ef he turn ober in his sleep,\ndat ham would be tuggin' at his neck. It wuz de las' thing he seed at\nnight, en de fus' thing he seed in de mawnin'. W'eneber he met a\nstranger, de ham would be de fus' thing de stranger would see. Most un\n'em would 'mence' ter laf, en whareber Dave went he could see folks\np'intin' at him, en year 'em sayin':--\n\n\"'W'at kine er collar dat nigger got roun' his neck?' er, ef dey knowed\n'im, 'Is yer stole any mo' hams lately?' er 'W'at yer take fer yo'\nneckliss, Dave?' er some joke er 'nuther 'bout dat ham.\n\n\"Fus' Dave did n' mine it so much, caze he knowed he had n' done nuffin.\nBut bimeby he got so he could n' stan' it no longer, en he 'd hide\nhisse'f in de bushes w'eneber he seed anybody comin', en alluz kep'\nhisse'f shet up in his cabin atter he come in fum wuk.\n\n\"It wuz monst'us hard on Dave, en bimeby, w'at wid dat ham eberlastin'\nen etarnally draggin' roun' his neck, he 'mence' fer ter do en say quare\nthings, en make de niggers wonder ef he wa'n't gittin' out'n his mine.\nHe got ter gwine roun' talkin' ter hisse'f, en singin' corn-shuckin'\nsongs, en laffin' fit ter kill 'bout nuffin. En one day he tole one er\nde niggers he had 'skivered a noo way fer ter raise hams,--gwine ter\npick 'em off'n trees, en save de expense er smoke-'ouses by kyoin' 'em\nin de sun. En one day he up'n tole Mars Walker he got sump'n pertickler\nfer ter say ter 'im; en he tuk Mars Walker off ter one side, en tole 'im\nhe wuz gwine ter show 'im a place in de swamp whar dey wuz a whole trac'\ner Ian' covered wid ham-trees.\n\n\"Wen Mars Walker hearn Dave talkin' dis kine er fool-talk, en w'en he\nseed how Dave wuz 'mencin' ter git behine in his wuk, en w'en he ax' de\nniggers en dey tole 'im how Dave be'n gwine on, he 'lowed he reckon' he\n'd punish' Dave ernuff, en it mou't do mo' harm dan good fer ter keep de\nham on his neck any longer. So he sont Dave down ter de blacksmif-shop\nen had de ham tuk off. Dey wa'n't much er de ham lef' by dat time, fer\nde sun had melt all de fat, en de lean had all swivel' up, so dey wa'n't\nbut th'ee er fo' poun's lef'.\n\n\"W'en de ham had be'n tuk off'n Dave, folks kinder stopped talkin' 'bout\n'im so much. But de ham had be'n on his neck so long dat Dave had sorter\ngot use' ter it. He look des lack he 'd los' sump'n fer a day er so\natter de ham wuz tuk off, en didn' 'pear ter know w'at ter do wid\nhisse'f; en fine'ly he up'n tuk'n tied a lighterd-knot ter a string, en\nhid it under de flo' er his cabin, en w'en nobody wuz n' lookin' he 'd\ntake it out en hang it roun' his neck, en go off in de woods en holler\nen sing; en he allus tied it roun' his neck w'en he went ter sleep.\nFac', it 'peared lack Dave done gone clean out'n his mine. En atter a\nw'ile he got one er de quarest notions you eber hearn tell un. It wuz\n'bout dat time dat I come back ter de plantation fer ter wuk,--I had\nbe'n out ter Mars Dugal's yuther place on Beaver Crick for a mont' er\nso. I had hearn 'bout Dave en de bacon, en 'bout w'at wuz gwine on on de\nplantation; but I did n' b'lieve w'at dey all say 'bout Dave, fer I\nknowed Dave wa'n't dat kine er man. One day atter I come back, me'n Dave\nwuz choppin' cotton tergedder, w'en Dave lean' on his hoe, en motion'\nfer me ter come ober close ter 'im; en den he retch' ober en w'ispered\nter me.\n\n\"'Julius', sezee, 'did yer knowed yer wuz wukkin' long yer wid a ham?'\n\n\"I could n' 'magine w'at he meant. 'G'way fum yer, Dave,' says I. 'Yer\nain' wearin' no ham no mo'; try en fergit 'bout dat; 't ain' gwine ter\ndo yer no good fer ter 'member it.'\n\n\"'Look a-yer, Julius,' sezee, 'kin yer keep a secret?'\n\n\"'Co'se I kin, Dave,' says I. 'I doan go roun' tellin' people w'at\nyuther folks says ter me.'\n\n\"'Kin I trus' yer, Julius? Will yer cross yo' heart?'\n\n\"I cross' my heart. 'Wush I may die ef I tells a soul,' says I.\n\n\"Dave look' at me des lack he wuz lookin' thoo me en 'way on de yuther\nside er me, en sezee:--\n\n\"'Did yer knowed I wuz turnin' ter a ham, Julius?'\n\n\"I tried ter 'suade Dave dat dat wuz all foolishness, en dat he oughtn't\nter be talkin' dat-a-way,--hit wa'n't right. En I tole 'im ef he 'd des\nbe patien', de time would sho'ly come w'en eve'ything would be\nstraighten' out, en folks would fine out who de rale rogue wuz w'at\nstole de bacon. Dave 'peared ter listen ter w'at I say, en promise' ter\ndo better, en stop gwine on dat-a-way; en it seem lack he pick' up a bit\nw'en he seed dey wuz one pusson did n' b'lieve dem tales 'bout 'im.\n\n\"Hit wa'n't long atter dat befo' Mars Archie McIntyre, ober on de\nWimbleton road, 'mence' ter complain 'bout somebody stealin' chickens\nfum his hen-'ouse. De chickens kep' on gwine, en at las' Mars Archie\ntole de ban's on his plantation dat he gwine ter shoot de fus' man he\nketch in his hen-'ouse. In less'n a week atter he gin dis warnin', he\ncotch a nigger in de hen-'ouse, en fill' 'im full er squir'l-shot. W'en\nhe got a light, he 'skivered it wuz a strange nigger; en w'en he call'\none er his own sarven's, de nigger tole 'im it wuz our Wiley. W'en Mars\nArchie foun' dat out, he sont ober ter our plantation fer ter tell Mars\nDugal' he had shot one er his niggers, en dat he could sen' ober dere en\ngit w'at wuz lef un 'im.\n\n\"Mars Dugal' wuz mad at fus'; but w'en he got ober dere en hearn how it\nall happen', he did n' hab much ter say. Wiley wuz shot so bad he wuz\nsho' he wuz gwine ter die, so he up'n says ter ole marster:--\n\n\"'Mars Dugal',' sezee, 'I knows I's be'n a monst'us bad nigger, but\nbefo' I go I wanter git sump'n off'n my mine. Dave didn' steal dat bacon\nw'at wuz tuk out'n de smoke-'ouse. I stole it all, en I hid de ham under\nDave's cabin fer ter th'ow de blame on him--en may de good Lawd fergib\nme fer it.'\n\n\"Mars Dugal' had Wiley tuk back ter de plantation, en sont fer a doctor\nfer ter pick de shot out'n 'im. En de ve'y nex' mawnin' Mars Dugal' sont\nfer Dave ter come up ter de big house; he felt kinder sorry fer de way\nDave had be'n treated. Co'se it wa'n't no fault er Mars Dugal's, but he\nwuz gwine ter do w'at he could fer ter make up fer it. So he sont word\ndown ter de quarters fer Dave en all de yuther han's ter 'semble up in\nde yard befo' de big house at sun-up nex' mawnin'.\n\n\"Yearly in de mawnin' de niggers all swarm' up in de yard. Mars Dugal'\nwuz feelin' so kine dat he had brung up a bairl er cider, en tole de\nniggers all fer ter he'p deyselves.\n\n\"All de han's on de plantation come but Dave; en bimeby, w'en it seem\nlack he wa'n't comin', Mars Dugal' sont a nigger down ter de quarters\nter look fer 'im. De sun wuz gittin' up, en dey wuz a heap er wuk ter be\ndone, en Mars Dugal' sorter got ti'ed waitin'; so he up'n says:--\n\n\"'Well, boys en gals, I sont fer yer all up yer fer ter tell yer dat all\ndat 'bout Dave's stealin' er de bacon wuz a mistake, ez I s'pose yer all\ndone hearn befo' now, en I 's mighty sorry it happen'. I wants ter treat\nall my niggers right, en I wants yer all ter know dat I sets a heap by\nall er my han's w'at is hones' en smart. En I want yer all ter treat\nDave des lack yer did befo' dis thing happen', en mine w'at he preach\nter yer; fer Dave is a good nigger, en has had a hard row ter hoe. En de\nfus' one I ketch sayin' anythin' 'g'in' Dave, I'll tell Mister Walker\nter gin 'im forty. Now take ernudder drink er cider all roun', en den\ngit at dat cotton, fer I wanter git dat Persimmon Hill trac' all pick'\nober ter-day.'\n\n\"W'en de niggers wuz gwine 'way, Mars Dugal' tole me fer ter go en hunt\nup Dave, en bring 'im up ter de house. I went down ter Dave's cabin, but\ncould n' fine 'im dere. Den I look' roun' de plantation, en in de aidge\ner de woods, en 'long de road; but I could n' fine no sign er Dave. I\nwuz 'bout ter gin up de sarch, w'en I happen' fer ter run 'cross a\nfoot-track w'at look' lack Dave's. I had wukked 'long wid Dave so much\ndat I knowed his tracks: he had a monst'us long foot, wid a holler\ninstep, w'ich wuz sump'n skase 'mongs' black folks. So I follered dat\ntrack 'cross de fiel' fum de quarters 'tel I got ter de smoke-'ouse. De\nfus' thing I notice' wuz smoke comin' out'n de cracks; it wuz cu'ous,\ncaze dey had n' be'n no hogs kill' on de plantation fer six mont' er so,\nen all de bacon in de smoke-'ouse wuz done kyoed. I could n' 'magine fer\nter sabe my life w'at Dave wuz doin' in dat smoke-'ouse. I went up ter\nde do' en hollered:--\n\n\"'Dave!'\n\n\"Dey didn' nobody answer. I didn' wanter open de do', fer w'ite folks is\nmonst'us pertickler 'bout dey smoke-'ouses; en ef de oberseah had a-come\nup en cotch me in dere, he mou't not wanter b'lieve I wuz des lookin'\nfer Dave. So I sorter knock at de do' en call' out ag'in:--\n\n\"'O Dave, hit's me--Julius! Doan be skeered. Mars Dugal' wants yer ter\ncome up ter de big house,--he done 'skivered who stole de ham.'\n\n\"But Dave didn' answer. En w'en I look' roun' ag'in en didn' seed none\ner his tracks gwine way fum de smoke-'ouse, I knowed he wuz in dere yit,\nen I wuz 'termine' fer ter fetch 'im out; so I push de do' open en look\nin.\n\n\"Dey wuz a pile er bark burnin' in de middle er de flo', en right ober\nde fier, hangin' fum one er de rafters, wuz Dave; dey wuz a rope roun'\nhis neck, en I didn' haf ter look at his face mo' d'n once fer ter see\nhe wuz dead.\n\n\"Den I knowed how it all happen'. Dave had kep' on gittin' wusser en\nwusser in his mine, 'tel he des got ter b'lievin' he wuz all done turnt\nter a ham; en den he had gone en built a fier, en tied a rope roun' his\nneck, des lack de hams wuz tied, en had hung hisse'f up in de\nsmoke-'ouse fer ter kyo.\n\n\"Dave wuz buried down by de swamp, in de plantation buryin' groun'.\nWiley didn' died fum de woun' he got in Mars McIntyre's hen 'ouse; he\ngot well atter a w'ile, but Dilsey wouldn' hab nuffin mo' ter do wid\n'im, en 't wa'n't long 'fo' Mars Dugal' sol' 'im ter a spekilater on his\nway souf,--he say he didn' want no sich a nigger on de plantation, ner\nin de county, ef he could he'p it. En w'en de een' er de year come, Mars\nDugal'' turnt Mars Walker off, en run de plantation hisse'f atter dat.\n\n\"Eber sence den,\" said Julius in conclusion, \"w'eneber I eats ham, it\nmin's me er Dave. I lacks ham, but I nebber kin eat mo' d'n two er th'ee\npoun's befo' I gits ter studyin' 'bout Dave, en den I has ter stop en\nleab de res' fer ernudder time.\"\n\nThere was a short silence after the old man had finished his story, and\nthen my wife began to talk to him about the weather, on which subject he\nwas an authority. I went into the house. When I came out, half an hour\nlater, I saw Julius disappearing down the lane, with a basket on his\narm.\n\nAt breakfast, next morning, it occurred to me that I should like a slice\nof ham. I said as much to my wife.\n\n\"Oh, no, John,\" she responded, \"you shouldn't eat anything so heavy for\nbreakfast.\"\n\nI insisted.\n\n\"The fact is,\" she said, pensively, \"I couldn't have eaten any more of\nthat ham, and so I gave it to Julius.\"\n\n\n\n\nA Deep Sleeper\n\nIt was four o'clock on Sunday afternoon, in the month of July. The air\nhad been hot and sultry, but a light, cool breeze had sprung up, and\noccasional cirrus clouds overspread the sun, and for a while subdued his\nfierceness. We were all out on the piazza--as the coolest place we could\nfind--my wife, my sister-in-law and I. The only sounds that broke the\nSabbath stillness were the hum of an occasional vagrant bumble-bee, or\nthe fragmentary song of a mocking-bird in a neighboring elm, who lazily\ntrolled a stave of melody, now and then, as a sample of what he could do\nin the cool of the morning, or after a light shower, when the conditions\nwould be favorable to exertion.\n\n\"Annie,\" said I, \"suppose, to relieve the deadly dulness of the\nafternoon, that we go out and pull the big watermelon, and send for\nColonel Pemberton's folks to come over and help us eat it.\"\n\n\"Is it ripe, yet?\" she inquired sleepily, brushing away a troublesome\nfly that had impudently settled on her hair.\n\n\"Yes, I think so. I was out yesterday with Julius, and we thumped it,\nand concluded it would be fully ripe by tomorrow or next day. But I\nthink it is perfectly safe to pull it to-day.\"\n\n\"Well, if you are sure, dear, we'll go. But how can we get it up to the\nhouse? It's too big to tote.\"\n\n\"I'll step round to Julius's cabin and ask him to go down with the\nwheelbarrow and bring it up,\" I replied.\n\nJulius was an elderly colored man who worked on the plantation and lived\nin a small house on the place, a few rods from my own residence. His\ndaughter was our cook, and other members of his family served us in\ndifferent capacities.\n\nAs I turned the corner of the house I saw Julius coming up the lane. He\nhad on his Sunday clothes, and was probably returning from the afternoon\nmeeting at the Sandy Run Baptist Church, of which he was a leading\nmember and deacon.\n\n\"Julius,\" I said, \"we are going out to pull the big watermelon, and we\nwant you to take the wheelbarrow and go with us, and bring it up to the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"Does yer reckon dat watermillun's ripe yit, sah?\" said Julius. \"Didn'\n'pear ter me it went quite plunk enuff yistiddy fer ter be pull' befo'\ntermorrer.\"\n\n\"I think it is ripe enough, Julius.\"\n\n\"Mawnin' 'ud be a better time fer ter pull it, sah, w'en de night air\nan' de jew's done cool' it off nice.\"\n\n\"Probably that's true enough, but we'll put it on ice, and that will\ncool it; and I'm afraid if we leave it too long, some one will steal\nit.\"\n\n\"I 'spec's dat so,\" said the old man, with a confirmatory shake of the\nhead. \"Yer takes chances w'en yer pulls it, en' yer takes chances w'en\nyer don't. Dey's a lot er po' w'ite trash roun' heah w'at ain' none too\ngood fer ter steal it. I seed some un' 'em loafin' long de big road on\nmer way home fum chu'ch jes' now. I has ter watch mer own chicken-coop\nter keep chick'ns 'nuff fer Sunday eatin'. I'll go en' git de\nw'eelborrow.\"\n\nJulius had a profound contempt for poor whites, and never let slip an\nopportunity for expressing it. He assumed that we shared this sentiment,\nwhile in fact our feeling toward this listless race was something\nentirely different. They were, like Julius himself, the product of a\nsystem which they had not created and which they did not know enough to\nresist.\n\nAs the old man turned to go away he began to limp, and put his hand to\nhis knee with an exclamation of pain.\n\n\"What's the matter, Julius?\" asked my wife.\n\n\"Yes, Uncle Julius, what ails you?\" echoed her sweet young sister. \"Did\nyou stump your toe?\"\n\n\"No, miss, it's dat mis'able rheumatiz. It ketches me now an' den in de\nlef' knee, so I can't hardly draw my bref. O Lawdy!\" he added between\nhis clenched teeth, \"but dat do hurt. Ouch! It's a little better now,\"\nhe said, after a moment, \"but I doan' b'lieve I kin roll dat w'eelborrow\nout ter de watermillun-patch en' back. Ef it's all de same ter yo', sah,\nI'll go roun' ter my house en' sen' Tom ter take my place, w'iles I rubs\nsome linimum on my laig.\"\n\n\"That'll be all right, Julius,\" I said, and the old man, hobbling,\ndisappeared round the corner of the house. Tom was a lubberly,\nsleepy-looking negro boy of about fifteen, related to Julius's wife in\nsome degree, and living with them.\n\nThe old man came back in about five minutes. He walked slowly, and\nseemed very careful about bearing his weight on the afflicted member.\n\n\"I sont 'Liza Jane fer ter wake Tom up,\" he said. \"He's down in de\norchard asleep under a tree somewhar. 'Liza Jane knows whar he is. It\ntakes a minute er so fer ter wake 'im up. 'Liza Jane knows how ter do\nit. She tickles 'im in de nose er de yeah wid a broomstraw; hollerin'\ndoan' do no good. Dat boy is one er de Seben Sleepers. He's wuss'n his\ngran'daddy used ter be.\"\n\n\"Was his grandfather a deep sleeper, Uncle Julius?\" asked my wife's\nsister.\n\n\"Oh, yas, Miss Mabel,\" said Julius, gravely. \"He wuz a monst'us pow'ful\nsleeper. He slep' fer a mont' once.\"\n\n\"Dear me, Uncle Julius, you must be joking,\" said my sister-in-law\nincredulously. I thought she put it mildly.\n\n\"Oh, no, ma'm, I ain't jokin'. I never jokes on ser'ous subjec's. I wuz\ndere w'en it all happen'. Hit wuz a monst'us quare thing.\"\n\n\"Sit down, Uncle Julius, and tell us about it,\" said Mabel; for she\ndearly loved a story, and spent much of her time \"drawing out\" the\ncolored people in the neighborhood.\n\nThe old man took off his hat and seated himself on the top step of the\npiazza. His movements were somewhat stiff and he was very careful to get\nhis left leg in a comfortable position.\n\n\"Tom's gran'daddy wuz name' Skundus,\" he began. \"He had a brudder name'\nTushus en' ernudder name' Cottus en' ernudder name' Squinchus.\" The old\nman paused a moment and gave his leg another hitch.\n\nMy sister-in-law was shaking with laughter. \"What remarkable names!\" she\nexclaimed. \"Where in the world did they get them?\"\n\n\"Dem names wuz gun ter 'em by ole Marse Dugal' McAdoo, wat I use' ter\nb'long ter, en' dey use' ter b'long ter. Marse Dugal' named all de\nbabies w'at wuz bawn on de plantation. Dese young un's mammy wanted ter\ncall 'em sump'n plain en' simple, like 'Rastus' er 'C\u251c\u017dsar' er 'George\nWash'n'ton;' but ole Marse say no, he want all de niggers on his place\nter hab diffe'nt names, so he kin tell 'em apart. He'd done use' up all\nde common names, so he had ter take sump'n else. Dem names he gun\nSkundus en' his brudders is Hebrew names en' wuz tuk out'n de Bible.\"\n\n\"Can you give me chapter and verse?\" asked Mabel.\n\n\"No, Miss Mabel, I doan know 'em. Hit ain' my fault dat I ain't able ter\nread de Bible. But ez I wuz a-sayin', dis yer Skundus growed up ter be a\npeart, lively kind er boy, en' wuz very well liked on de plantation. He\nnever quo'lled wid de res' er de ban's en' alluz behaved 'isse'f en'\ntended ter his wuk. De only fault he had wuz his sleep'ness. He'd haf\nter be woke up ev'y mawnin' ter go ter his wuk, en' w'enever he got a\nchance he'd fall ersleep. He wuz might'ly nigh gittin' inter trouble\nmod'n once fer gwine ter sleep in de fiel'. I never seed his beat fer\nsleepin'. He could sleep in de sun er sleep in de shade. He could lean\nupon his hoe en' sleep. He went ter sleep walk'n' 'long de road oncet,\nen' mighty nigh bus't his head open 'gin' a tree he run inter. I did\nheah he oncet went ter sleep while he wuz in swimmin'. He wuz floatin'\nat de time, en' come mighty nigh gittin' drownded befo' he woke up. Ole\nMarse heared 'bout it en' ferbid his gwine in swimmin' enny mo', fer he\nsaid he couldn't 'ford ter lose 'im.\n\n\"When Skundus wuz growed up he got ter lookin' roun' at de gals, en' one\ner de likeliest un 'em tuk his eye. It was a gal name' Cindy, w'at\nlibbed wid 'er mammy in a cabin by deyse'ves. Cindy tuk ter Skundus ez\nmuch ez Skundus tuk ter Cindy, en' bimeby Skundus axed his marster ef he\ncould marry Cindy. Marse Dugal' b'long' ter de P'isbytay'n Chu'ch en'\nnever 'lowed his niggers ter jump de broomstick, but alluz had a\npreacher fer ter marry 'em. So he tole Skundus ef him en' Cindy would\n'ten' ter dey wuk good dat summer till de crap was laid by, he'd let 'em\ngit married en' hab a weddin' down ter de quarters.\n\n\"So Skundus en' Cindy wukked hahd as dey could till 'bout a mont' er so\nbefo' layin' by, w'en Marse Dugal's brudder, Kunnel Wash'n'ton McAdoo,\nw'at libbed down in Sampson County, 'bout a hunderd mile erway, come fer\nter visit Marse Dugal'. Dey wuz five er six folks in de visitin' party,\nen' our w'ite folks needed a new gal fer ter he'p wait on 'em. Dey\npicked out de likeliest gal dey could fine 'mongs' de fiel-han's, en'\n'cose dat wuz Cindy. Cindy wuz might'ly tickled fer ter be tuk in de\nhouse-sarvice, fer it meant better vittles en' better clo's en' easy\nwuk. She didn' seed Skundus quite as much, but she seed 'im w'eneber she\ncould. Prospe'ity didn' spile Cindy; she didn' git stuck up en' 'bove\n'sociatin' wid fiel'han's, lack some gals in her place 'ud a done.\n\n\"Cindy wuz sech a handy gal 'roun' de house, en' her marster's relations\nlacked her so much, dat w'en dey visit wuz ober, dey wanted ter take\nCindy 'way wid 'em. Cindy didn' want ter go en' said so. Her marster wuz\na good-natured kind er man, en' would 'a' kep' her on de plantation. But\nhis wife say no, it 'ud nebber do ter be lett'n' de sarvants hab dey own\nway, er dey soon wouldn' be no doin' nuthin' wid 'em. Ole marster tole\n'er he done promus ter let Cindy marry Skundus.\n\n\"'O, well,' sez ole Miss, 'dat doan' cut no figger. Dey's too much er\ndis foolishness 'bout husban's en' wibes 'mongs' de niggers now-a-days.\nOne nigger man is de same as ernudder, en' dey'll be plenty un 'em down\nter Wash'n'ton's plantation.' Ole Miss wuz a mighty smart woman, but she\ndidn' know ev'ything.\n\n\"'Well,' says ole Marse, 'de craps'll be laid by in a mont' now, 'en\nden dey won't be much ter do fer ernudder mont' er six weeks. So we'll\nlet her go down dere an' stay till cotton-pickin' time; I'll jes' len'\n'er ter 'em till den. Ef dey wants ter keep 'er en' we finds we doan\nneed 'er, den we'll talk furder 'bout sellin' 'er. We'll tell her dat we\njes' gwine let her go down dere wid de chil'en a week er so en' den come\nback, en' den we won't hab no fuss 'bout it.'\n\n\"So dey fixed it dat erway, en' Cindy went off wid 'em, she 'spectin'\nter be back in a week er so, en' de w'ite folks not hahdly 'lowin' she'd\ncome back at all. Skundus didn' lack ter hab Cindy go, but he couldn' do\nnuthin'. He wuz wukkin' off in ernudder part er de plantation w'en she\nwent erway, en' had ter tell her good-by de night befo'.\n\n\"Bimeby, w'en Cindy didn' come back in two or th'ee weeks, Skundus\n'mence ter git res'less. En' Skundus wuz diff'ent f'um udder folks. Mos'\nfolks w'en dey gits res'less can't sleep good, but de mo' res'lesser\nSkundus got, de mo! sleepier he 'peared ter git. W'eneber he wuz'n\nwukkin' ef eatin', he'd be sleepin'. Wen de yuther niggers 'ud be\nsky-larkin' 'roun' nights en' Sundays, Skundus 'ud be soun' asleep in\nhis cabin. Things kep' on dis way fer 'bout a mont' atter Cindy went\naway, w'en one mawnin' Skundus didn't come ter wuk. Dey look' fer 'im\n'roun' de plantation, but dey couldn' fin' 'im, en' befo' de day wuz\ngone, ev'ybody wuz sho' dat Skundus had runned erway.\n\n\"Cose dey wuz a great howdydo 'bout it. Nobody hadn' nebber runned erway\nfum Marse Dugal' befo', an' dey hadn' b'en a runaway nigger in de\nneighbo'hood fer th'ee er fo' years. De w'ite folks wuz all wukked up,\nen' dey wuz mo' ridin' er hosses en' mo' hitchin up er buggies d'n a\nlittle. Ole Marse Dugal' had a lot er papers printed en' stuck up on\ntrees 'long de roads, en' dey wuz sump'n put in de noospapers--a free\nnigger fum down on de Wim'l'ton Road read de paper ter some er our\nban's--tellin' all 'bout how high Skundus wuz, en' w'at kine er teef he\nhad, en' 'bout a skyah he had on his lef cheek, en' how sleepy he wuz,\nen' off'rin' a reward er one hunder' dollars fer whoeber 'ud ketch 'im.\nBut none of 'em eber cotch 'im.\n\n\"W'en Cindy fus' went away she wuz kinder down in de mouf fer a day er\nso. But she went to a fine new house, de folks treated her well en' dere\nwuz sich good comp'ny 'mongs' her own people, dat she made up 'er min'\nshe might's well hab a good time fer de week er two she wuz gwine ter\nstay down dere. But w'en de time roll' on en' she didn' heared nothin'\n'bout gwine back, she 'mence' ter git kinder skeered she wuz'n nebber\ngwine ter see her mammy ner Skundus no mo'. She wuz monst'us cut up\n'bout it, an' los' 'er appetite en' got so po' en' skinny, her mist'ess\nsont 'er down ter de swamp fer ter git some roots fer ter make some tea\nfer 'er health. Her mist'ess sont her 'way 'bout th'ee o'clock en' Cindy\ndidn' come back till atter sundown; en' she say she b'en lookin' fer de\nroots, dat dey didn' 'pear ter be none er dem kin' er roots fer a mile\ner so 'long de aidge er de swamp.\n\n\"Cindy 'mence' ter git better jes' ez soon as she begun ter drink de\nroot-tea. It wuz a monst'us good med'cine, leas'ways in her case. It\ndone Cindy so much good dat her mist'ess 'eluded she'd take it herse'f\nen' gib it ter de chil'en. De fus' day Cindy went atter de roots dey\nwuz some lef' ober, en' her mist'ess tol' 'er fer ter use dat fer de\nnex' day. Cindy done so, but she tol' 'er mist'ess hit didn' hab no\nstrenk en' didn' do 'er no good. So ev'y day atter dat Marse\nWash'n'ton's wife 'ud sen' Cindy down by de aidge er de swamp fer ter\ngit fresh roots.\n\n\"'Cindy,' said one er de fiel'-han's one day, 'yer better keep 'way fum\ndat swamp. Dey's a ha'nt walkin' down dere.'\n\n\"'Go way fum yere wid yo' foolishness,' said Cindy. 'Dey ain' no ha'nts.\nW'ite folks doan' b'lieve in sich things, fer I heared 'em say so; but\nyer can't 'spec' nothin' better fum fiel'-han's.'\n\n\"Dey wuz one man on de plantation, one er dese yer dandy niggers w'at\n'uz alluz runnin' atter de wimmen folks, dat got ter pest'rin' Cindy.\nCindy didn' paid no 'tention ter 'im, but he kep' on tryin' fer ter co't\nher w'en he could git a chance. Fin'ly Cindy tole 'im fer ter let her\n'lone, er e'se sump'n' might happen ter 'im. But he didn' min' Cindy,\nen' one ebenin' he followed her down ter de swamp. He los' track un er,\nen' ez he wuz a-startin' back out'n de swamp, a great big black ha'nt\n'bout ten feet high, en' wid a fence-rail in its ban's jump out'n de\nbushes en' chase 'im cl'ar up in de co'n fiel'. Leas'ways he said it\ndid; en' atter dat none er de niggers wouldn't go nigh de swamp, 'cep'n\nCindy, who said it wuz all foolishness--it wuz dis nigger's guilty\nconscience dat skeered 'im--she hadn' seed no ha'nt en' wuz'n skeered er\nnuffin' she didn't see.\n\n\"Bimeby, w'en Cindy had be'n gone fum home 'bout two mont's,\nharves'-time come on, en' Marse Dugal' foun' hisse'f short er ban's. One\ner de men wuz down wid de rheumatiz, Skundus wuz gone, en' Cindy wuz\ngone, en' Marse Dugal tole ole Miss dey wuz no use talkin', he couldn'\n'ford ter buy no new ban's, en' he'd ha' ter sen' fer Cindy, 'en put her\nin de fiel'; fer de cotton-crap wuz a monst'us big 'un dat year, en'\nCindy wuz one er de bes' cotton-pickers on de plantation. So dey wrote a\nletter to Marse Wash'n'ton dat day fer Cindy, en' wanted Cindy by de\n'een er de mont', en' Marse Wash'n'ton sont her home. Cindy didn't 'pear\nter wanter come much. She said she'd got kinder use' ter her noo home;\nbut she didn' hab no mo' ter say 'bout comin' dan she did 'bout goin'.\nHowsomedever, she went down ter de swamp fer ter git roots fer her\nmist'ess up ter de las' day she wuz dere.\n\n\"Wen Cindy got back home, she wuz might'ly put out 'ca'se Skundus wuz\ngone, en' hit didn' 'pear ez ef anythin' anybody said ter 'er 'ud\ncomfort 'er. But one mawnin' she said she'd dreamp' dat night dat\nSkundus wuz gwine ter come back; en' sho' 'nuff, de ve'y nex' mawnin'\nwho sh'd come walkin' out in de fiel' wid his hoe on his shoulder but\nSkundus, rubbin' his eyes ez ef he hadn' got waked up good yit.\n\n\"Dey wuz a great 'miration mongs' de niggers, en' somebody run off ter\nde big house fer ter tell Marse Dugal'. Bimeby here come Marse Dugal'\nhisse'f, mad as a hawnit, acussin' en' gwine on like he gwine ter hurt\nsomebody; but anybody w'at look close could' 'a' seed he wuz 'mos'\ntickled ter def fer ter git Skundus back ergin.\n\n\"'Whar yer be'n run erway ter, yer good-fer-nuthin', lazy, black\nnigger?' sez 'e. 'I'm gwine ter gib yer fo' hunderd lashes. I'm gwine\nter hang yer up by yer thumbs en' take ev'y bit er yer black hide off'n\nyer, en' den I'm gwine ter sell yer ter de fus' specilater w'at comes'\nlong buyin' niggers fer ter take down ter Alabam'. W'at yer mean by\nrunnin' er way fum yer good, kin' marster, yer good-fer-nuthin',\nwool-headed, black scound'el?'\n\n\"Skundus looked at 'im ez ef he didn' understan'. 'Lawd, Marse Dugal','\nsez 'e, 'I doan' know w'at youer talkin' 'bout. I ain' runned erway; I\nain' be'n nowhar.'\n\n\"'Whar yer be'n fer de las' mon'?' said Marse Dugal'. 'Tell me de truf,\ner I'll hab yer tongue pulled out by de roots. I'll tar yer all ober yer\nen' set yer on fiah. I'll--I'll'--Marse Dugal' went on at a tarrable\nrate, but eve'ybody knowed Marse Dugal' bark uz wuss'n his bite.\n\n\"Skundus look lack 'e wuz skeered mos' ter def fer ter heah Marse Dugal'\ngwine on dat erway, en' he couldn' 'pear to un'erstan' w'at Marse Dugal'\nwas talkin' erbout.\n\n\"'I didn' mean no harm by sleep'n in de barn las' night, Marse Dugal','\nsez 'e, 'en' ef yer'll let me off dis time, I won' nebber do so no mo'.'\n\n\"Well, ter make a long story sho't, Skundus said he had gone ter de barn\ndat Sunday atternoon befo' de Monday w'en he could't be foun', fer ter\nhunt aigs, en' wiles he wuz up dere de hay had 'peared so sof en' nice\ndat he had laid down fer take a little nap; dat it wuz mawnin' w'en he\nwoke en' foun' hisse'f all covered up whar de hay had fell over on 'im.\nA hen had built a nes' right on top un 'im, en' it had half-a-dozen aigs\nin it. He said he hadn't stop fer ter git no brekfus', but had jes'\nsuck' one or two er de aigs en' hurried right straight out in de fiel',\nfer he seed it wuz late en' all de res' er de ban's wuz gone ter wuk.\n\n\"'Youer a liar,' said Marse Dugal', 'en' de truf ain't in yer. Yer b'en\nrun erway en' hid in de swamp somewhar ernudder.' But Skundus swo' up\nen' down dat he hadn' b'en out'n dat barn, en' fin'lly Marse Dugal' went\nup ter de house en' Skundus went on wid his wuk.\n\n\"Well, yer mought know dey wuz a great 'miration in de neighbo'hood.\nMarse Dugal' sont fer Skundus ter cum up ter de big house nex' day, en'\nSkundus went up 'spect'n' fer ter ketch forty. But w'en he got dere,\nMarse Dugal' had fetched up ole Doctor Leach fum down on Rockfish, 'en\nanother young doctor fum town, en' dey looked at Skundus's eyes en' felt\nof his wris' en' pulled out his tongue, en' hit 'im in de chis', en' put\ndey yeahs ter his side fer ter heah 'is heart beat; en' den dey up'n\nmade Skundus tell how he felt w'en 'e went ter sleep en' how he felt\nw'en 'e woke up. Dey stayed ter dinner, en' w'en dey got thoo' talkin'\nen' eatin' en' drinkin', dey tole Marse Dugal' Skundus had had a\ncatacornered fit, en' had be'n in a trance fer fo' weeks. En' w'en dey\nl'arned about Cindy, en' how dis yer fit had come on gradg'ly atter\nCindy went away, dey 'lowed Marse Dugal' 'd better let Skundus en' Cindy\ngit married, er he'd be liable ter hab some mo' er dem fits. Fer Marse\nDugal' didn' want no fittified niggers ef 'e could he'p it.\n\n\"Atter dat, Marse Dugal' had Skundus up ter de house lots er times fer\nter show 'im off ter folks w'at come ter visit. En' bein' as Cindy wuz\nback home, en' she en' Skundus wukked hahd, en' he couldn' 'ford fer ter\ntake no chances on dem long trances, he 'lowed em ter got married soon\nez cotton-pickin' wuz ober, en' gib 'em a cabin er dey own ter lib in\ndown in de quarters. En' sho' 'nuff, dey didn' had no trouble keep'n'\nSkundus wak f'm dat time fo'th, fer Cindy turned out ter hab a temper\nof her own, en' made Skundus walk a chalk-line.\n\n\"Dis yer boy, Tom,\" said the old man, straightening out his leg\ncarefully, preparatory to getting up, \"is jes' like his gran'daddy. I\nb'lieve ef somebody didn' wake 'im up he'd sleep till jedgmen' day. Heah\n'e comes now. Come on heah wid dat w'eelborrow, yer lazy,\ngood-fer-nuthin' rascal.\"\n\nTom came slowly round the house with the wheelbarrow, and stood blinking\nand rolling his eyes as if he had just emerged from a sound sleep and\nwas not yet half awake.\n\nWe took our way around the house, the ladies and I in front, Julius next\nand Tom bringing up the rear with the wheelbarrow. We went by the\nwell-kept grape-vines, heavy with the promise of an abundant harvest,\nthrough a narrow field of yellowing corn, and then picked our way\nthrough the watermelon-vines to the spot where the monarch of the patch\nhad lain the day before, in all the glory of its coat of variegated\ngreen. There was a shallow concavity in the sand where it had rested,\nbut the melon itself was gone.\n\n\n\n\nLonesome Ben\n\nThere had been some talk among local capitalists about building a cotton\nmill on Beaver Creek, a few miles from my place on the sand hills in\nNorth Carolina, and I had been approached as likely to take an interest\nin such an enterprise. While I had the matter under advisement it was\nsuggested, as an inducement to my co-operation, that I might have the\nbrick for the mill made on my place--there being clay there suitable for\nthe purpose--and thus reduce the amount of my actual cash investment.\nMost of my land was sandy, though I had observed several outcroppings of\nclay along the little creek or branch forming one of my boundaries.\n\nOne afternoon in summer, when the sun was low and the heat less\noppressive than it had been earlier in the day, I ordered Julius, our\nold colored coachman, to harness the mare to the rockaway and drive me\nto look at the clay-banks. When we were ready, my wife, who wished to go\nwith me for the sake of the drive, came out and took her seat by my\nside.\n\nWe reached our first point of destination by a road running across the\nplantation, between a field of dark-green maize on the one hand and a\nbroad expanse of scuppernong vines on the other. The road led us past a\ncabin occupied by one of my farm-hands. As the carriage went by at a\nwalk, the woman of the house came to the door and curtsied. My wife made\nsome inquiry about her health, and she replied that it was poor. I\nnoticed that her complexion, which naturally was of a ruddy brown, was\nof a rather sickly hue. Indeed, I had observed a greater sallowness\namong both the colored people and the poor whites thereabouts than the\nhygienic conditions of the neighborhood seemed to justify.\n\nAfter leaving this house our road lay through a cotton field for a short\ndistance, and then we entered a strip of woods, through which ran the\nlittle stream beside which I had observed the clay. We stopped at the\ncreek, the road by which we had come crossing it and continuing over the\nland of my neighbor, Colonel Pemberton. By the roadside, on my own land,\na bank of clay rose in almost a sheer perpendicular for about ten feet,\nevidently extending back some distance into the low, pine-clad hill\nbehind it, and having also frontage upon the creek. There were marks of\nbare feet on the ground along the base of the bank, and the face of it\nseemed freshly disturbed and scored with finger marks, as though\nchildren had been playing there.\n\n\"Do you think that clay would make good brick, Julius?\" I asked the old\nman, who had been unusually quiet during the drive. He generally played\nwith the whip, making little feints at the mare, or slapping her lightly\nwith the reins, or admonishing her in a familiar way; but on this\noccasion the heat or some other cause had rendered him less\ndemonstrative than usual.\n\n\"Yas, suh, I knows it would,\" he answered.\n\n\"How do you know? Has it ever been used for that purpose?\"\n\n\"No, suh; but I got my reasons fer sayin' so. Ole Mars Dugal useter hab\na brickya'd fu'ther up de branch--I dunno as yer noticed it, fer it's\nall growed ober wid weeds an' grass. Mars Dugal said dis yer clay\nwouldn' make good brick, but I knowed better.\"\n\nI judged from the appearance of the clay that it was probably deficient\nin iron. It was of a yellowish-white tint and had a sort of greasy look.\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"we'll drive up to the other place and get a sample of\nthat clay, and then we'll come back this way.\"\n\n\"Hold on a minute, dear,\" said my wife, looking at her watch, \"Mabel has\nbeen over to Colonel Pemberton's all the afternoon. She said she'd be\nback at five. If we wait here a little while she'll be along and we can\ntake her with us.\"\n\n\"All right,\" I said, \"we'll wait for her. Drive up a little farther,\nJulius, by that jessamine vine.\"\n\nWhile we were waiting, a white woman wearing a homespun dress and\nslat-bonnet, came down the road from the other side of the creek, and\nlifting her skirts slightly, waded with bare feet across the shallow\nstream. Reaching the clay-bank she stooped and gathered from it, with\nthe aid of a convenient stick, a quantity of the clay which she pressed\ntogether in the form of a ball. She had not seen us at first, the bushes\npartially screening us; but when, having secured the clay, she turned\nher face in our direction and caught sight of us watching her, she hid\nthe lump of clay in her pocket with a shamefaced look, and hurried away\nby the road she had come.\n\n\"What is she going to do with that, Uncle Julius?\" asked my wife. We\nwere Northern settlers, and still new to some of the customs of the\nlocality, concerning which we often looked to Julius for information. He\nhad lived on the place many years and knew the neighborhood thoroughly.\n\n\"She's gwineter eat it, Miss Annie,\" he replied, \"w'en she gits outer\nsight.\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" said my wife with a grimace, \"you don't mean she's going to eat\nthat great lump of clay?\"\n\n\"Yas'm I does; dat's jes' w'at I means--gwineter eat eve'y bit un it,\nan' den come back bimeby fer mo'.\"\n\n\"I should think it would make them sick,\" she said.\n\n\"Dey gits use' ter it,\" said Julius. \"Howsomeber, ef dey eats too much\nit does make 'em sick; an' I knows w'at I'm ertalkin' erbout. I doan\nmin' w'at dem kinder folks does,\" he added, looking contemptuously after\nthe retreating figure of the poor-white woman, \"but w'eneber I sees\nblack folks eat'n' clay of'n dat partic'lar clay-bank, it alluz sets me\nter studyin' 'bout po' lonesome Ben.\"\n\n\"What was the matter with Ben?\" asked my wife. \"You can tell us while\nwe're waiting for Mabel.\"\n\nOld Julius often beguiled our leisure with stories of plantation life,\nsome of them folk-lore stories, which we found to be in general\ncirculation among the colored people; some of them tales of real life as\nJulius had seen it in the old slave days; but the most striking were, we\nsuspected, purely imaginary, or so colored by old Julius's fancy as to\nmake us speculate at times upon how many original minds, which might\nhave added to the world's wealth of literature and art, had been buried\nin the ocean of slavery.\n\n\"W'en ole Mars Marrabo McSwayne owned dat place ober de branch dere,\nw'at Kunnel Pembe'ton owns now,\" the old man began, \"he useter hab a\nnigger man name' Ben. Ben wuz one er dese yer big black niggers--he was\nmo'd'n six foot high an' black ez coal. He wuz a fiel'-han' an' a good\nwukker, but he had one little failin'--he would take a drap er so oncet\nin a w'ile. Co'se eve'ybody laks a drap now an' den, but it 'peared ter\n'fec' Ben mo'd'n it did yuther folks. He didn' hab much chance\ndat-a-way, but eve'y now an' den he'd git holt er sump'n' somewahr, an'\nsho's he did, he'd git out'n de narrer road. Mars Marrabo kep' on\nwa'nin' 'm 'bout it, an' fin'lly he tol' 'im ef he eber ketch 'im in dat\nshape ag'in he 'uz gwineter gib 'im fo'ty. Ben knowed ole Mars Marrabo\nhad a good 'memb'ance an' alluz done w'at he said, so he wuz monst'us\nkeerful not ter gib 'm no 'casion fer ter use his 'memb'ance on him. An'\nso fer mos' a whole yeah Ben 'nied hisse'f an' nebber teched a drap er\nnuffin'.\n\n\"But it's h'ad wuk ter larn a ole dog new tricks, er ter make him fergit\nde ole uns, an' po' Ben's time come bimeby, jes' lak ev'ybody e'se's\ndoes. Mars Marrabo sent 'im ober ter dis yer plantation one day wid a\nbundle er cotton-sacks fer Mars Dugal,' an' wiles he wuz ober yere, de\nole Debbil sent a' 'oman w'at had cas' her eyes on 'im an' knowed his\nweakness, fer ter temp' po' Ben wid some licker. Mars Whiskey wuz right\ndere an' Mars Marrabo wuz a mile erway, an' so Ben minded Mars Whiskey\nan' fergot 'bout Mars Marrabo. W'en he got back home he couldn' skasely\ntell Mars Marrabo de message w'at Mars Dugal' had sent back ter 'im.\n\n\"Mars Marrabo listen' at 'im 'temp' ter tell it; and den he says, kinder\ncol' and cuttin'-like--he didn' 'pear ter get mad ner nuffin':\n\n\"'Youer drunk, Ben.'\n\n\"De way his marster spoke sorter sobered Ben, an' he 'nied it of co'se.\n\n\"'Who? Me, Mars Marrabo? Iain' drunk; no, marster, Iain' drunk. I ain'\nteched a drap er nuffin' sence las' Chris'mas, suh'.\n\n\"'Youer drunk, Ben, an' don't you dare ter 'spute my wo'd, er I'll kill\nyou in yo' tracks! I'll talk ter you Sad'day night, suh, w'en you'll be\nsober, an' w'en you'll hab Sunday ter 'fleet over ou' conve'sation, an'\n'nuss yo' woun's.'\n\n\"W'en Mars Marrabo got th'oo talkin' Ben wuz mo' sober dan he wuz befo'\nhe got drunk. It wuz Wednesday w'en Ben's marster tol 'im dis, an'\n'twix' den and Friday night Ben done a heap er studyin'. An' de mo' he\nstudied de mo' he didn' lak de way Mars Marrabo talked. He hadn' much\ntrouble wid Mars Marrabo befo,' but he knowed his ways, an' he knowed\ndat de longer Mars Marrabo waited to do a thing de; wusser he got 'stid\ner gittin' better lak mos' folks.' An' Ben fin'lly made up his min' he\nwa'n't gwineter take dat cow-hidin.' He 'lowed dat ef he wuz little,\nlike some er de dahkies on de plantation, he wouldn' min' it so much;\nbut he wuz so big dey'd be mo' groun' fer Mars Marrabo ter cover, an' it\nwould hurt dat much mo.' So Ben 'cided ter run erway.\n\n\"He had a wife an' two chil'en, an' dey had a little cabin ter deyse'ves\ndown in de quahters. His wife Dasdy wuz a good-lookin,' good-natu'd\n'oman, an' 'peared ter set a heap er sto' by Ben. De little boy wuz\nname' Pete; he wuz 'bout eight er nine years ole, an' had already\n'menced ter go out in de fiel' an' he'p his mammy pick cotton, fer Mars\nMarrabo wuz one er dese yer folks w'at wants ter make eve'y aidge cut.\nDis yer little Pete wuz a mighty soople dancer, an' w'en his daddy would\nset out in de yahd an' pick de banjo fer 'im, Pete could teach de ole\nfolks noo steps--dancin' jes seemed to come nachul ter 'im. Dey wuz a\nlittle gal too; Ben didn' pay much 'tention ter de gal, but he wuz\nmonst'us fond er Dasdy an' de boy. He wuz sorry ter leab 'em, an' he\ndidn' tell 'em nuffin' 'bout it fer fear dey'd make a fuss. But on\nFriday night Ben tuk all de bread an' meat dey wuz in de cabin an' made\nfer de woods.\n\n\"W'en Sad'day come an' Ben didn' 'pear, an' nobody didn' know nuffin'\n'bout 'im, Mars Marrabo 'lowed of co'se dat Ben had runned erway. He got\nup a pahty an' tuk de dawgs out an' follered de scen' down ter de crick\nan' los' it. Fer Ben had tuk a go'd-full er tar 'long wid' 'im, an' w'en\nhe got ter de crick he had 'n'inted his feet wid tar, an' dat th'owed de\nhouns' off'n de scent. Dey sarched de woods an' follered de roads an'\nkep' watchin' fer a week, but dey couldn' fin' no sign er Ben. An' den\nMars Marrabo got mo' stric', an' wuked his niggers hahder'n eber, ez ef\nhe wanted ter try ter make up fer his loss.\n\n\"W'en Ben stahted out he wanted ter go ter de No'th. He didn' know how\nfur it wuz, bet he 'lowed he retch dar in fo' er five days. He knowed de\nNo'th Stah, an' de fus night he kep' gwine right straight to'ds it. But\nde nex' night it was rainin,' an' fer two er th'ee nights it stayed\ncloudy, an' Ben couldn' see de No'th Stah. Howsomeber, he knowed he had\ngot stahted right' an' he kep' gwine right straight on de same way fer\na week er mo' 'spectin' ter git ter de No'th eve'y day, w'en one mawin'\nearly, atter he had b'en walkin' all night, he come right smack out on\nde crick jes whar he had stahted f'om.\n\n\"Co'se Ben wuz monst'us disapp'inted. He had been wond'rin' w'y he hadn'\ngot ter de No'th befo,' an' behol,' heah he wuz back on de ole\nplantation. He couldn' un'erstan' it at fus,' but he wuz so hongry he\ndidn' hab time ter study 'bout nuffin' fer a little w'ile but jes' ter\ngit sump'n' ter eat; fer he had done eat up de bread an' meat he tuk\naway wid 'im, an' had been libbin' on roas'n-ears an' sweet'n taters\nhe'd slip out'n de woods an' fin' in co'n fiel's 'an 'tater-patches. He\nlook 'cross de crick, an' seed dis yer clay-bank, an' he waded ober an'\ngot all he could eat, an' den tuk a lump wid 'im, an' hid in de woods\nag'in 'til he could study de matter ober some.\n\n\"Fus' he 'lowed dat he better gib hiss'ef up an' take his lammin.' But\njes' den he 'membered de way Mars Marrabo looked at 'im an' w'at he said\n'bout Sad'day night; an' den he 'lowed dat ef Mars Marrabo ketch 'im\nnow, he'd wear 'im ter a frazzle an' chaw up de frazzle, so de wouldn'\nbe nuffin' lef' un 'im at all, an' dat Mars Marrabo would make a'\nexample an' a warnin' of 'im fer all de niggers in de naberhood. Fac' is\nMars Marrabo prob'ly wouldn' a' done much ter 'im fer it 'ud be monst'us\npo' 'couragement fer runaway niggers ter come back, ef dey gwineter git\nkilled w'en dey come. An' so Ben waited 'til night, an' den he went back\nan' got some mo' clay an' eat it an' hid hisse'f in de woods ag'in.\n\n\"Well, hit wuz quare 'bout Ben, but he stayed roun' heah fer a mont,'\nhidin' in de woods in de daytime, an' slippin' out nights an' gittin'\nclay ter eat an' water f'om de crick yanker ter drink. De water in dat\ncrick wuz cl'ar in dem days, stidder bein' yallar lak it is now.\"\n\nWe had observed that the water, like that of most streams that take\ntheir rise in swamps, had an amber tint to which the sand and clay\nbackground of the bed of the stream imparted an even yellower hue.\n\n\"What did he do then, Julius?\" asked my wife, who liked to hear the end\nof a story.\n\n\"Well, Miss, he made up his min' den dat he wuz gwineter staht fer de\nNo'th ag'in. But wiles he b'en layin' roun' in de woods he had 'mence\nter feel monst'us lonesome, an' it 'peared ter him dat he jes' couldn'\ngo widout seein' Dasdy an' little Pete. Fus' he 'lowed he'd go up ter de\ncabin, but he thought 'bout de dogs 'roun' de yahd, an' dat de yuther\ndahkies mought see 'im, and so he 'cided he'd better watch fer 'em 'til\ndey come long de road--it wuz dis yer same road--w'en he could come\nout'n de woods an' talk ter 'em. An' he eben 'lowed he mought 'suade 'em\nter run erway wid 'im an' dey could all get ter de No'th, fer de nights\nwuz cl'ar now, an' he couldn' lose de No'th Stah.\n\n\"So he waited two er th'ee days, an' sho' nuff long come Dasdy one\nmornin,' comin' over to Mars Dugal's fer ter fetch some things fer her\nmissis. She wuz lookin' kinder down in de mouf, fer she thought a heap\ner Ben, an' wuz monst'us sorry ter lose 'im, w'iles at de same time she\nwuz glad he wuz free, fer she 'lowed he'd done got ter de Norf long\nbefo.' An' she wuz studyin' 'bout Ben, w'at a fine-lookin' man he wuz,\nan' wond'rin' ef she'd eber see 'im any mo.'\n\n\"W'en Ben seed her comin' he waited 'til she got close by, an' den he\nstepped out 'n de woods an' come face ter face wid her. She didn' 'pear\nto know who he wuz, an' seem kinder skeered.\n\n\"'Hoddy, Dasdy honey,' he said.\n\n\"'Huh!' she said, ''pears ter me you'er mighty fermilyer on sho't\nacquaintance.'\n\n\"'Sho't acquaintance.' Why, doan' yer know me, Dasdy?'\n\n\"'No. I doan know yer f'om a skeercrow. I never seed yer befo' in my\nlife, an' nebber wants ter see yer ag'in. Whar did yer com f'om anyhow?\nWhose nigger is yer? Er is yer some low-down free nigger dat doan b'long\nter nobody an' doan own nobody?'\n\n\"'W'at fer you talk ter me like dat, honey? I's Ben, yo' Ben. Why doan\nyou know yo' own man?'\n\n\"He put out his ahms fer ter draw her ter 'im, but she jes' gib one\nyell, an' stahted ter run. Ben wuz so 'stonish' he didn' know w'at ter\ndo, an' he stood dere in de road 'til he heared somebody e'se comin',\nw'en he dahted in de woods ag'in.\n\n\"Po' Ben wuz so 'sturbed in his min' dat he couldn' hahdly eat any clay\ndat day. He couldn' make out w'at wuz de matter wid Dasdy but he 'lowed\nmaybe she'd heared he wuz dead er sump'n,' an' thought he wuz a ha'nt,\nan' dat wuz w'y she had run away. So he watch' by de side er de road,\nan' nex' mornin' who should come erlong but little Pete, wid a reed over\nhis shoulder, an' a go'd-full er bait, gwine fishin' in de crick.\n\n\"Ben called 'im; 'Pete, O Pete! _Little_ Pete.'\n\n\"Little Pete cocked up his ears an' listened. 'Peared lak he'd heared\ndat voice befo.' He stahted fer de woods fer ter see who it wuz callin'\n'im, but befo' he got dere Ben stepped out an' retched fer im.\n\n\"'Come heah, honey, an' see yo' daddy, who ain' seenyer fer so long.'\n\n\"But little Pete tuk one look at 'im, an' den 'menceter holler an squeal\nan' kick an' bite an' scratch. Ben wuz so 'stonish' dat he couldn' hoi'\nde boy, who slipped out'n his ban's an run to'ds de house ez fas' ez his\nlegs would tote 'im.\n\n\"Po' Ben kep' gittin' wus an' wus mixed up. He couldn' make out fer de\nlife er 'im w'at could be de matter. Nobody didn' 'pear ter wanter own\n'im. He felt so cas' down dat he didn' notice a nigger man comin' long\nde road 'til he got right close up on 'im, an' didn' heah dis man w'en\nhe said 'Hoddy' ter 'im.\n\n\"'Wat's de matter wid yer?' said de yuther man w'en Ben didn' 'spon'.\n'Wat jedge er member er de legislater er hotel-keeper does you b'long\nter dat you can't speak ter a man w'en he says hoddy ter yer?'\n\n\"Ben kinder come ter hisse'f an' seed it wuz Primus, who b'long ter his\nmarster an' knowed 'im as well as anybody. But befo' he could git de\nwords out'n his mouf Primus went on talkin.'\n\n\"'Youer de mos' mis'able lookin' merlatter I eber seed. Dem rags look\nlak dey be'n run th'oo a sawmill. My marster doan 'low no strange\nniggers roun' dis yer plantation, an' yo' better take yo' yaller hide\n'way f'um yer as fas' as yo' kin.'\n\n\"Jes den somebody hollered on de yuther side er de crick, an' Primus\nstahted off on a run, so Ben didn' hab no chance ter say no mo' ter 'im.\n\n\"Ben almos' 'lowed he wuz gwine out'n' his min', he wuz so 'stonished\nan' mazed at none er dese yer folks reco'nizin' 'im. He went back in de\nwoods ag'in an' stayed dere all day, wond'rin' w'at he wuz gwineter do.\nOncet er twicet he seed folks comin' 'long de road, an' stahted out ter\nspeak ter 'em, but changed his min' an' slip' back ag'in.\n\n\"Co'se ef Mars Marrabo had been huntin' Ben he would 'a' foun' 'im. But\nhe had long sence los' all hope er seein' im ag'in, an' so nobody didn'\n'sturb Ben in de woods. He stayed hid a day er two mo' an' den he got so\nlonesome an' homesick fer Dasdy an' little Pete an' de yuther\ndahkies,--somebody ter talk ter--dat he jes' made up his min' ter go\nright up ter de house an' gib hisse'f up an' take his med'cine. Mars\nMarrabo couldn' do nuffin' mo' d'n kill 'im an' he mought's well be dead\nas hidin' in de woods wid nobody ter talk ter er look at ner nuffin'. He\nhad jes' come out 'n de woods an' stahted up dis ve'y road, w'en who\nsh'd come 'long in a hoss 'n buggy but ole Mars Marrabo, drivin' ober\nter dat yuther brickyahd youer gwinter see now. Ben run out 'n de woods,\nand fell down on his knees in de road right in front er Mars Marrabo.\nMars Marrabo had to pull on de lines an' hoi' de hoss up ter keep 'im\nf'um runnin' ober Ben.\n\n\"'Git out'n de road, you fool nigger,' says Mars Marrabo, 'does yer\nwanter git run ober? Whose nigger is you, anyhow?'\n\n\"I's yo' nigger, Mars Marrabo; doan yer know Ben, w'at runned erway?'\n\n\"'Yas, I knows my Ben w'at runned erway. Does you know whar he is?'\n\n\"'Why, I's yo' Ben, Mars Marrabo. Doan yer know me, marster?'\n\n\"'No, I doan know yer, yer yaller rascal! W'at de debbil yer mean by\ntellin' me sich a lie? Ben wuz black ez a coal an' straight ez an'\narrer. Youer yaller ez dat clay-bank, an' crooked ez a bair'l-hoop. I\nreckon youer some 'stracted nigger, tun't out by some marster w'at doan\nwanter take keer er yer. You git off'n my plantation, an' doan show yo'\nclay-cullud hide aroun' yer no more, er I'll hab yer sent ter jail an'\nwhip.'\n\n\"Mars Marrabo drove erway an' lef' po' Ben mo' dead 'n alive. He crep'\nback in de bushes an' laid down an' wep' lak a baby. He didn' hab no\nwife, no chile, no frien's, no marster--he'd be'n willin' ernuff to git\n'long widout a marster, w'en he had one, but it 'peared lak a sin fer\nhis own marster ter 'ny 'im an' cas' 'im off dat-a-way. It 'peared ter\n'im he mought jes' ez well be dead ez livin', fer he wuz all alone in de\nworl', wid nowhar ter go, an' nobody didn' hab nuffin' ter say ter 'im\nbut ter 'buse 'im an' drive 'im erway.\n\n\"Atter he got ober his grievin' spell he 'mence ter wonder w'at Mars\nMarrabo meant by callin' 'im yaller, an' ez long ez nobody didn' seem\nter keer whuther dey seed 'im er not, he went down by de crick in broad\ndaylight, an' kneel down by de water an' looked at his face. Fus' he\ndidn' reco'nize hisse'f an' glanshed back ter see ef dey wa'n't somebody\nlookin' ober his shoulder--but dey wa'n't. An' w'en he looked back in de\nwater he seed de same thing--he wa'n't black no mo', but had turnt ter a\nlight yaller.\n\n\"Ben didn' knowed w'at ter make er it fer a minute er so. Fus' he 'lowed\nhe must hab de yaller fever, er de yaller janders, er sump'n lak dat'!\nBut he had knowed rale dark folks ter hab janders befo', and it hadn't\nnebber 'fected 'em dat-a-way. But bimeby he got up o'ff'n 'is han's an'\nknees an' wuz stan'in' lookin' ober de crick at de clay-bank, an'\nwond'rin ef de clay he'd b'en eat'n' hadn' turnt 'im yaller w'en he\nheared sump'n say jes' ez plain ez wo'ds.\n\n\"'Turnt ter clay! turnt ter clay! turnt ter clay!'\n\n\"He looked all roun', but he couldn' see nobody but a big bullfrog\nsettin' on a log on de yuther side er de crick. An' w'en he turnt roun'\nan' sta'ted back in de woods, he heared de same thing behin' 'im.\n\n\"'Turnt ter clay! turnt ter clay! turnt ter clay!'\n\n\"Dem wo'ds kep' ringin' in 'is yeahs 'til he fin'lly 'lowed dey wuz\nboun' ter be so, er e'se dey wouldn' a b'en tol ter 'im, an' dat he had\nlibbed on clay so long an' had eat so much, dat he must 'a' jes nach'ly\nturnt ter clay!\"\n\n\"Imperious Caesar, turned to clay,\nMight stop a hole to keep the wind away,\"\n\nI murmured parenthentically.\n\n\"Yas, suh,\" said the old man, \"turnt ter clay. But you's mistook in de\nname, suh; hit wuz Ben, you 'member, not Caesar. Ole Mars Marrabo did\nhab a nigger name' Caesar, but dat wuz anudder one.\"\n\n\"Don't interrupt him, John,\" said my wife impatiently. \"What happened\nthen, Julius?\"\n\n\"Well, po' Ben didn' know w'at ter do. He had be'n lonesome ernuff\nbefo', but now he didn' eben hab his own se'f ter 'so'ciate wid, fer he\nfelt mo' lak a stranger 'n he did lak Ben. In a day er so mo' he 'mence\nter wonder whuther he wuz libbin' er not. He had hearn 'bout folks\nturnin' ter clay w'en dey wuz dead, an' he 'lowed maybe he wuz dead an'\ndidn' knowed it, an' dat wuz de reason w'y eve'body run erway f'm 'im\nan' wouldn' hab nuffin' ter do wid 'im. An' ennyhow, he 'lowed ef he\nwa'n't dead, he mought's well be. He wande'ed roun' a day er so mo', an'\nfin'lly de lonesomeness, an' de sleepin' out in de woods, 'mongs' de\nsnakes an' sco'pions, an' not habbin' nuffin' fit ter eat, 'mence ter\ntell on him, mo' an' mo', an' he kep' gittin' weakah an' weakah 'til one\nday, w'en he went down by de crick fer ter git a drink er water, he\nfoun' his limbs gittin' so stiff hit 'uz all he could do ter crawl up on\nde bank an' lay down in de sun. He laid dere 'til he died, an' de sun\nbeat down on 'im, an' beat down on 'im, an' beat down on 'im, fer th'ee\ner fo' days, 'til it baked 'im as ha'd as a brick. An' den a big win'\ncome erlong an' blowed a tree down, an' it fell on 'im an' smashed 'im\nall ter pieces, an' groun' 'im ter powder. An' den a big rain come\nerlong, an' washed 'im in de crick, 'an eber sence den de water in dat\ncrick's b'en jes' as yer sees it now. An dat wuz de een' er po' lonesome\nBen, an' dat's de reason w'y I knows dat clay'll make brick an' w'y I\ndoan nebber lak ter see no black folks eat'n it.\"\n\nMy wife came of a family of reformers, who could never contemplate an\nevil without seeking an immediate remedy. When I decided that the bank\nof edible clay was not fit for brickmaking, she asked me if I would not\nhave it carted away, suggesting at the same time that it could be used\nto fill a low place in another part of the plantation.\n\n\"It would be too expensive,\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" she replied, \"I don't think so. I have been talking with Uncle\nJulius about it, and he says he has a nephew who is out of employment,\nand who will take the contract for ten dollars, if you will furnish the\nmule and cart, and board him while the job lasts.\"\n\nAs I had no desire to add another permanent member to my household, I\ntold her it would be useless; that if the people did not get clay there\nthey would find it elsewhere, and perhaps an inferior quality which\nmight do greater harm, and that the best way to stop them from eating it\nwas to teach them self-respect, when she had opportunity, and those\nhabits of industry and thrift whereby they could get their living from\nthe soil in a manner less direct but more commendable.\n\n\n\n\nSuperstitions and Folk-Lore of the South\n\nDuring a recent visit to North Carolina, after a long absence, I took\noccasion to inquire into the latter-day prevalence of the old-time\nbelief in what was known as \"conjuration\" or \"goopher,\" my childish\nrecollection of which I have elsewhere embodied into a number of\nstories. The derivation of the word \"goopher\" I do not know, nor whether\nany other writer than myself has recognized its existence, though it is\nin frequent use in certain parts of the South. The origin of this\ncurious superstition itself is perhaps more easily traceable. It\nprobably grew, in the first place, out of African fetichism which was\nbrought over from the dark continent along with the dark people. Certain\nfeatures, too, suggest a distant affinity with Voodooism, or snake\nworship, a cult which seems to have been indigenous to tropical America.\nThese beliefs, which in the place of their origin had all the sanctions\nof religion and social custom, became, in the shadow of the white man's\ncivilization, a pale reflection of their former selves. In time, too,\nthey were mingled and confused with the witchcraft and ghost lore of the\nwhite man, and the tricks and delusions of the Indian conjurer. In the\nold plantation days they flourished vigorously, though discouraged by\nthe \"great house,\" and their potency was well established among the\nblacks and the poorer whites. Education, however, has thrown the ban of\ndisrepute upon witchcraft and conjuration. The stern frown of the\npreacher, who looks upon superstition as the ally of the Evil One; the\nscornful sneer of the teacher, who sees in it a part of the livery of\nbondage, have driven this quaint combination of ancestral traditions to\nthe remote chimney corners of old black aunties, from which it is\ndifficult for the stranger to unearth them. Mr. Harris, in his Uncle\nRemus stories, has, with fine literary discrimination, collected and put\ninto pleasing and enduring form, the plantation stories which dealt with\nanimal lore, but so little attention has been paid to those dealing with\nso-called conjuration, that they seem in a fair way to disappear,\nwithout leaving a trace behind. The loss may not be very great, but\nthese vanishing traditions might furnish valuable data for the\nsociologist, in the future study of racial development. In writing, a\nfew years ago, the volume entitled _The Conjure Woman_, I suspect that\nI was more influenced by the literary value of the material than by its\nsociological bearing, and therefore took, or thought I did, considerable\nliberty with my subject. Imagination, however, can only act upon\ndata--one must have somewhere in his consciousness the ideas which he\nputs together to form a connected whole. Creative talent, of whatever\ngrade, is, in the last analysis, only the power of rearrangement--there\nis nothing new under the sun. I was the more firmly impressed with this\nthought after I had interviewed half a dozen old women, and a genuine\n\"conjure doctor;\" for I discovered that the brilliant touches, due, I\nhad thought, to my own imagination, were after all but dormant ideas,\nlodged in my childish mind by old Aunt This and old Uncle That, and\nawaiting only the spur of imagination to bring them again to the\nsurface. For instance, in the story, \"Hot-foot Hannibal,\" there figures\na conjure doll with pepper feet. Those pepper feet I regarded as\npeculiarly my own, a purely original creation. I heard, only the other\nday, in North Carolina, of the consternation struck to the heart of a\ncertain dark individual, upon finding upon his doorstep a rabbit's\nfoot--a good omen in itself perhaps--to which a malign influence had\nbeen imparted by tying to one end of it, in the form of a cross, two\nsmall pods of red pepper!\n\nMost of the delusions connected with this belief in conjuration grow out\nof mere lack of enlightenment. As primeval men saw a personality behind\nevery natural phenomenon, and found a god or a devil in wind, rain, and\nhail, in lightning, and in storm, so the untaught man or woman who is\nassailed by an unusual ache or pain, some strenuous symptom of serious\nphysical disorder, is prompt to accept the suggestion, which tradition\napproves, that some evil influence is behind his discomfort; and what\nmore natural than to conclude that some rival in business or in love has\nset this force in motion?\n\nRelics of ancestral barbarism are found among all peoples, but advanced\ncivilization has at least shaken off the more obvious absurdities of\nsuperstition. We no longer attribute insanity to demoniac possession,\nnor suppose that a king's touch can cure scrofula. To many old people\nin the South, however, any unusual ache or pain is quite as likely to\nhave been caused by some external evil influence as by natural causes.\nTumors, sudden swellings due to inflammatory rheumatism or the bites of\ninsects, are especially open to suspicion. Paralysis is proof positive\nof conjuration. If there is any doubt, the \"conjure doctor\" invariably\nremoves it. The credulity of ignorance is his chief stock in\ntrade--there is no question, when he is summoned, but that the patient\nhas been tricked.\n\nThe means of conjuration are as simple as the indications. It is a\ncondition of all witch stories that there must in some way be contact,\neither with the person, or with some object or image intended to\nrepresent the person to be affected; or, if not actual contact, at least\nclose proximity. The charm is placed under the door-sill, or buried\nunder the hearth, or hidden in the mattress of the person to be\nconjured. It may be a crude attempt to imitate the body of the victim,\nor it may consist merely of a bottle, or a gourd, or a little bag,\ncontaining a few rusty nails, crooked pins, or horsehairs. It may be a\nmysterious mixture thrown surreptitiously upon the person to be injured,\nor merely a line drawn across a road or path, which line it is fatal for\na certain man or woman to cross. I heard of a case of a laboring man who\nwent two miles out of his way, every morning and evening, while going to\nand from his work, to avoid such a line drawn for him by a certain\npowerful enemy.\n\nSome of the more gruesome phases of the belief in conjuration suggest\npossible poisoning, a knowledge of which baleful art was once supposed\nto be widespread among the imported Negroes of the olden time. The blood\nor venom of snakes, spiders, and lizards is supposed to be employed for\nthis purpose. The results of its administration are so peculiar,\nhowever, and so entirely improbable, that one is supposed to doubt even\nthe initial use of poison, and figure it in as part of the same general\ndelusion. For instance, a certain man \"swelled up all over\" and became\n\"pieded,\" that is, pied or spotted. A white physician who was summoned\nthought that the man thus singularly afflicted was poisoned, but did not\nrecognize the poison nor know the antidote. A conjure doctor,\nsubsequently called in, was more prompt in his diagnosis. The man, he\nsaid, was poisoned with a lizard, which at that very moment was lodged\nsomewhere in the patient's anatomy. The lizards and snakes in these\nstories, by the way, are not confined to the usual ducts and cavities of\nthe human body, but seem to have freedom of movement throughout the\nwhole structure. This lizard, according to the \"doctor,\" would start\nfrom the man's shoulder, descend to his hand, return to the shoulder,\nand pass down the side of the body to the leg. When it reached the calf\nof the leg the lizard's head would appear right under the skin. After it\nhad been perceptible for three days the lizard was to be cut out with a\nrazor, or the man would die. Sure enough, the lizard manifested its\npresence in the appointed place at the appointed time; but the patient\nwould not permit the surgery, and at the end of three days paid with\ndeath the penalty of his obstinacy. Old Aunt Harriet told me, with\nsolemn earnestness, that she herself had taken a snake from her own arm,\nin sections, after a similar experience. Old Harriet may have been\nlying, but was, I imagine, merely self-deluded. Witches, prior to being\nburned, have often confessed their commerce with the Evil One. Why\nshould Harriet hesitate to relate a simple personal experience which\ninvolved her in no blame whatever?\n\nOld Uncle Jim, a shrewd, hard old sinner, and a palpable fraud, who did\nnot, I imagine, believe in himself to any great extent, gave me some\nprivate points as to the manner in which these reptiles were thus\ntransferred to the human system. If a snake or a lizard be killed, and a\nfew drops of its blood be dried upon a plate or in a gourd, the person\nnext eating or drinking from the contaminated vessel will soon become\nthe unwilling landlord of a reptilian tenant. There are other avenues,\ntoo, by which the reptile may gain admittance; but when expelled by the\nconjure doctor's arts or medicines, it always leaves at the point where\nit entered. This belief may have originally derived its existence from\nthe fact that certain tropical insects sometimes lay their eggs beneath\nthe skins of animals, or even of men, from which it is difficult to\nexpel them until the larvae are hatched. The chico or \"jigger\" of the\nWest Indies and the Spanish Main is the most obvious example.\n\nOld Aunt Harriet--last name uncertain, since she had borne those of her\nmaster, her mother, her putative father, and half a dozen\nhusbands in succession, no one of which seemed to take undisputed\nprecedence--related some very remarkable experiences. She at first\nmanifested some reluctance to speak of conjuration, in the lore of which\nshe was said to be well versed; but by listening patiently to her\nreligious experiences--she was a dreamer of dreams and a seer of\nvisions--I was able now and then to draw a little upon her reserves of\nsuperstition, if indeed her religion itself was much more than\nsuperstition.\n\n\"Wen I wuz a gal 'bout eighteen or nineteen,\" she confided, \"de w'ite\nfolks use' ter sen' me ter town ter fetch vegetables. One day I met a'\nole conjuh man name' Jerry Macdonal, an' he said some rough, ugly things\nter me. I says, says I, 'You mus' be a fool.' He didn' say nothin', but\njes' looked at me wid 'is evil eye. Wen I come 'long back, dat ole man\nwuz stan'in' in de road in front er his house, an' w'en he seed me he\nstoop' down an' tech' de groun', jes' lack he wuz pickin' up somethin',\nan' den went 'long back in 'is ya'd. De ve'y minute I step' on de spot\nhe tech', I felt a sha'p pain shoot thoo my right foot, it tu'n't under\nme, an' I fell down in de road. I pick' myself up an' by de time I got\nhome, my foot wuz swoll' up twice its nachul size. I cried an' cried an'\nwent on, fer I knowed I'd be'n trick' by dat ole man. Dat night in my\nsleep a voice spoke ter me an' says: 'Go an' git a plug er terbacker.\nSteep it in a skillet er wa'm water. Strip it lengthways, an' bin' it\nter de bottom er yo' foot'.' I never didn' use terbacker, an' I laid\ndere, an' says ter myse'f, 'My Lawd, wa't is dat, wa't is dat!' Soon ez\nmy foot got kind er easy, dat voice up an' speaks ag'in: 'Go an' git a\nplug er terbacker. Steep it in a skillet er wa'm water, an' bin' it ter\nde bottom er yo' foot.' I scramble' ter my feet, got de money out er my\npocket, woke up de two little boys sleepin' on de flo', an' tol' 'em ter\ngo ter de sto' an' git me a plug er terbacker. Dey didn' want ter go,\nsaid de sto' wuz shet, an' de sto' keeper gone ter bed. But I chased 'em\nfo'th, an' dey found' de sto' keeper an' fetch' de terbacker--dey sho'\ndid. I soaked it in de skillet, an' stripped it 'long by degrees, till I\ngot ter de en', w'en I boun' it under my foot an' roun' my ankle. Den I\nkneel' down an' prayed, an' next mawnin de swellin' wuz all gone! Dat\nvoice wus de Spirit er de Lawd talkin' ter me, it sho' wuz! De Lawd have\nmussy upon us, praise his Holy Name!\"\n\nVery obviously Harriet had sprained her ankle while looking at the old\nman instead of watching the path, and the hot fomentation had reduced\nthe swelling. She is not the first person to hear spirit voices in his\nor her own vagrant imaginings.\n\nOn another occasion, Aunt Harriet's finger swelled up \"as big as a corn\ncob.\" She at first supposed the swelling to be due to a felon. She went\nto old Uncle Julius Lutterloh, who told her that some one had tricked\nher. \"My Lawd!\" she exclaimed, \"how did they fix my finger?\" He\nexplained that it was done while in the act of shaking hands. \"Doctor\"\nJulius opened the finger with a sharp knife and showed Harriet two seeds\nat the bottom of the incision. He instructed her to put a poultice of\nred onions on the wound over night, and in the morning the seeds would\ncome out. She was then to put the two seeds in a skillet, on the right\nhand side of the fire-place, in a pint of water, and let them simmer\nnine mornings, and on the ninth morning she was to let all the water\nsimmer out, and when the last drop should have gone, the one that put\nthe seeds in her hand was to go out of this world! Harriet, however, did\nnot pursue the treatment to the bitter end. The seeds, once extracted,\nshe put into a small phial, which she corked up tightly and put\ncarefully away in her bureau drawer. One morning she went to look at\nthem, and one of them was gone. Shortly afterwards the other\ndisappeared. Aunt Harriet has a theory that she had been tricked by a\nwoman of whom her husband of that time was unduly fond, and that the\nfaithless husband had returned the seeds to their original owner. A part\nof the scheme of conjuration is that the conjure doctor can remove the\nspell and put it back upon the one who laid it. I was unable to learn,\nhowever, of any instance where this extreme penalty had been insisted\nupon.\n\nIt is seldom that any of these old Negroes will admit that he or she\npossesses the power to conjure, though those who can remove spells are\nvery willing to make their accomplishment known, and to exercise it for\na consideration. The only professional conjure doctor whom I met was old\nUncle Jim Davis, with whom I arranged a personal interview. He came to\nsee me one evening, but almost immediately upon his arrival a minister\ncalled. The powers of light prevailed over those of darkness, and Jim\nwas dismissed until a later time, with a commission to prepare for me a\nconjure \"hand\" or good luck charm, of which, he informed some of the\nchildren about the house, who were much interested in the proceedings. I\nwas very much in need. I subsequently secured the charm, for which,\nconsidering its potency, the small sum of silver it cost me was no\nextravagant outlay. It is a very small bag of roots and herbs, and, if\nused according to directions, is guaranteed to insure me good luck and\n\"keep me from losing my job.\" The directions require it to be wet with\nspirits nine mornings in succession, to be carried on the person, in a\npocket on the right hand side, care being taken that it does not come in\ncontact with any tobacco. When I add that I procured, from an equally\ntrustworthy source, a genuine graveyard rabbit's foot, I would seem to\nbe reasonably well protected against casual misfortune. I shall not,\nhowever, presume upon this immunity, and shall omit no reasonable\nprecaution which the condition of my health or my affairs may render\nprudent.\n\nAn interesting conjure story, which I heard, involves the fate of a lost\nvoice. A certain woman's lover was enticed away by another woman, who\nsang very sweetly, and who, the jilted one suspected, had told lies\nabout her. Having decided upon the method of punishment for this\nwickedness, the injured woman watched the other closely, in order to\nfind a suitable opportunity for carrying out her purpose; but in vain,\nfor the fortunate one, knowing of her enmity, would never speak to her\nor remain near her. One day the jilted woman plucked a red rose from her\ngarden, and hid herself in the bushes near her rival's cabin. Very soon\nan old woman came by, who was accosted by the woman in hiding, and\nrequested to hand the red rose to the woman of the house. The old woman,\nsuspecting no evil, took the rose and approached the house, the other\nwoman following her closely, but keeping herself always out of sight.\nWhen the old woman, having reached the door and called out the mistress\nof the house, delivered the rose as requested, the recipient thanked the\ngiver in a loud voice, knowing the old woman to be somewhat deaf. At\nthe moment she spoke, the woman in hiding reached up and caught her\nrival's voice, and clasping it tightly in her right hand, escaped\nunseen, to her own cabin. At the same instant the afflicted woman missed\nher voice, and felt a sharp pain shoot through her left arm, just below\nthe elbow. She at first suspected the old woman of having tricked her\nthrough the medium of the red rose, but was subsequently informed by a\nconjure doctor that her voice had been stolen, and that the old woman\nwas innocent. For the pain he gave her a bottle of medicine, of which\nnine drops were to be applied three times a day, and rubbed in with the\nfirst two fingers of the right hand, care being taken not to let any\nother part of the hand touch the arm, as this would render the medicine\nuseless. By the aid of a mirror, in which he called up her image, the\nconjure doctor ascertained who was the guilty person. He sought her out\nand charged her with the crime which she promptly denied. Being pressed,\nhowever, she admitted her guilt. The doctor insisted upon immediate\nrestitution. She expressed her willingness, and at the same time her\ninability to comply--she had taken the voice, but did not possess the\npower to restore it. The conjure doctor was obdurate and at once placed\na spell upon her which is to remain until the lost voice is restored.\nThe case is still pending, I understand; I shall sometime take steps to\nfind out how it terminates.\n\nHow far a story like this is original, and how far a mere reflection of\nfamiliar wonder stories, is purely a matter of speculation. When the old\nmammies would tell the tales of Br'er Rabbit and Br'er Fox to the\nmaster's children, these in turn would no doubt repeat the fairy tales\nwhich they had read in books or heard from their parents' lips. The\nmagic mirror is as old as literature. The inability to restore the\nstolen voice is foreshadowed in the _Arabian Nights_, when the \"Open\nSesame\" is forgotten. The act of catching the voice has a simplicity\nwhich stamps it as original, the only analogy of which I can at present\nthink being the story of later date, of the words which were frozen\nsilent during the extreme cold of an Arctic winter, and became audible\nagain the following summer when they had thawed out.\n\n_Modern Culture_, May 1901\n\n\n\n\nCHARLES W. CHESNUTT\n\n\nSTORIES, NOVELS, & ESSAYS\n\n_The Conjure Woman\n\nThe Wife of His Youth and\nOther Stories of the Color Line\n\nThe House Behind the Cedars\n\nThe Marrow of Tradition\n\nUncollected Stories\n\nSelected Essays_\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE LIBRARY OF AMERICA\n\nTHE CONJURE WOMAN\n\nThe Goophered Grapevine\nPo' Sandy\nMars Jeems's Nightmare\nThe Conjurer's Revenge\nSis' Becky's Pickaninny\nThe Gray Wolf's Ha'nt\nHot-Foot Hannibal\n\nTHE WIFE OF HIS YOUTH AND OTHER STORIES OF THE COLOR LINE\n\nThe Wife of His Youth\nHer Virginia Mammy\nThe Sheriff's Children\nA Matter of Principle\nCicely's Dream\nThe Passing of Grandison\nUncle Wellington's Wives\nThe Bouquet\nThe Web of Circumstance\n\nThe House Behind the Cedars\n\nThe Marrow of Tradition\n\nUncollected Stories\n\nDave's Neckliss\nA Deep Sleeper\nLonesome Ben\nThe Dumb Witness\nThe March of Progress\nBaxter's Procrustes\nThe Doll\nWhite Weeds\nThe Kiss\n\nSELECTED ESSAYS\n\nWhat Is a White Man?\nThe Future American\nSuperstitions and Folk-Lore of the South\nCharles W. Chesnutt's Own View of His New Story, _The Marrow of Tradition_\nThe Disfranchisement of the Negro\nThe Courts and the Negro\nPost-Bellum--Pre-Harlem\n\n_Chronology_\n\n_Note on the Texts_\n\n_Notes_","title":"The Conjure Woman","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":55355}