Chapter VI: Part 6

One cold and windy day in December I started for Wild Goose Marsh, famous as snipe ground, with the view of burning the same. So to fully enjoy Ezra’s confidence and to get him to talk freely, I put a half-dollar in his hand, invited him to stop shucking oysters and go with me to the marsh and assist in burning the same. His young Marster’s pointers, “Rob Roy” and “Rose,” whom he had adopted and who had adopted him, were lying in his boat. He expatiated a few moments upon the “quaresomeness ub snipe an’ jack-uh-ma-lanterns,” and then got in my carriage. Meantime I was taking in his raiment. He said, “I’m not dress up, kase I’m shuckin’ oysters.” He wore an old dressing gown some one had given him in the long ago. It must have had twenty patches from the size of a blacking box up to a tin plate. His vest, from patches, was of many colors; it was fastened with seven buttons, and no two of them alike. One foot was shod, and the other wrapped in an old piece of carpet. “Meh cawns hu’t me so,” he said. He was smaller and more bent than ever, and extremely interesting. A drink of applejack and a good lunch, the brilliancy of the burning marsh and my interest in him made him very loquacious. With apparent earnestness I said, “Uncle Ezra, how long have you lived on this estate?”

“Who, me! Bawn heah erboutin uh hunard year ago. I cum outin de Hollyday fambly. Ole Mars’ grabe is ober dar wha you see dem willows weepin’. Dar’s uh gre’t big slab ober de grabe, an’ on hit is uh passel ub A. B. C.’s an’ uh anker, wid stars an’ eagles an’ little grapevines all erroun’ ’em. Mars Pinckney say, ‘Dat’s what dey call in dem days de coat ub mail.’ His wuz uh gre’t fambly, an’ Mars Thormas wuz uh cap’n an’ fit an’ wuz kilt in de Resolutionary Wah.”

“Are you sure of that, Uncle Ezzy?”

“’Cose I is. I heah Phil Demby’s fadda say dat he holp ter put him in de amblabus when he wuz shot. He saw de British what shot him, an’ de ve’y bungshot dat hit him. Boss, what glorisome days dem wuz. I kin recommember ’em mehsef. Dese days ’pears ter me dey is spilin’ ev’ything by changin’. An’ hits ergin de Scripturs. Fuh instinct, when I wuz uh young man de Mefodis’ ’roun’ heah use ter hab what dey call meetin’ houses; dey use ter shout an’ moan, an’ moan an’ shout pow’ful. Dey cummence ter pray at fus’ sorf, an’ den deah voice got so strong toreckly you cud heah ’em uh mile orf. An’ de chunes wuz so fine, dey didn’ stop at de corners; dey jes’ swong ’roun’; dey cud turn deah voices same ez uh whirl-win’ an’ ter play de fiddle, dance, er hab uh melojin wuz cornsidered ornry an’ onricheous, an’ hit wuz, too. But in dese days ev’ything is changed in all de chuches, ’ceppin de Babtis’; de only change de Babtis’ made is ter babtize regular in fresh watah in Cap’n Tomlinson’s mill pon’, _’ceppin jes’ befo’ dey cut ice_. You see dey had ter gib up salt watah, de shirks wuz so bad. Mo’n dat, de Bible don’ spressify salt watah. Den ergin Pawson Demby tuck de shirk fright an’ de consequasion wuz he hilt several pussons down too long. Tilly Mink got erligion an’ wuz thinkin’ boutin it so much (jes’ persidderin hit all de time) dat she fogot ter teck outin her dress some apples dat wuz swotuated in huh pocket. Well, Pawson Demby hilt her un’er so long dat she pawed de bottom; almos’ tore huh dress orf, an’ she mout erbin hilt un’er de watah tell she wuz drowned, but she got holt Pawson Demby’s legs, an’ fuh erwhile it ’peared like she wuz babtizin’ him. Brer Billy los’ his specks lars’ spring, so cudn’ see good, an’ when he seed de apples uh bobbin’ up, I s’pose he tho’t dey wuz sperrits, kase he sung out ter Pawson Demby, ‘Jes’ gib huh annubba dip, Pawson Demby, huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clustahs;’ but Pawson Demby lef’ well ernuff be well ernuff. Kase Tilly Mink nebba did hab much erligion, an’ when she seed dat distructed frock an’ dem kyart-house apples dat we all knew’d growed in Ole Mars’ archard, huh ’ligion lef’ huh jes’ ez fars ez she got it. Huh hyah riz on huh haid, an’ she talked jes’ scan’lous, an’ ’lowed she gwine ter jine de Presbyters. Well, hit may be fuh de bes’, but uh case orntried is hyard ter jestify.”

“Yas, sah; ev’ything is changed. Ebin Mefodis’ preachers an’ de elders, shuh. Dey struts an’ prances erroun’ same ez colts an’ tukkey gobblers in de spring, an’ hits dribin uh lot ub ’em ter distruction. All moufs ain’ prayer books, boss. Hit’s de same thing wid dem Presbyters dat Tillie’s gwine ter jine, an’ when it cums ter de ’Piscopaliums hit’s wussa yit. Up heah at St. Thormasses dey bu’n insects in what dey call uh—I fogit de name—an’ dem preachers dat kyant talk good—an’ mos’ ub ’em kyant—dey sorter sing what dey talkin’. I heah Cap’n Stitchberry’s brer say who halls de sain—an’, ub cose, he er Babtis’—dat ef’n Ole Mars wuz erlive an’ went ter St. Thormasses, he wudn’ no wha he wuz, kase dey bows like uh passel ub muscovy drakes. Boss, dem muscoves is quaresome ducks. T’other day I saw Brer Sam’s boy, Rasmus, bowin’ ter uh passel ub muscovy drakes an’ dey wuz bowin’ ter him. So I say ter de boy, ‘What you doin’ ter dem ducks?’

“‘Talkin’ drake talk.’

“‘Well, what de ducks say?’

“‘I dunno, but _dey_ do!’

“All dis changin’ business is ergin de Bible, too. Lars’ Sunday Pawson Demby preached erbout hit. His tex’ wuz fum de Profit Jerry-Myah: ‘Kin uh Ethiopium change his skin er uh leopard his spots?’ An’ Pawson Demby say ’twuz ornpossible.

“Jes’ befo’ Chrismus I went ter Easton wid uh load ub Chrismus trees, an’ one ub de fus’ things I seed wuz uh lubly lookin’ young Mistis dribin uh cullud pusson; he wuz uh settin’ behin’ huh wid his ahms folded, all dress up an’ smilin’ same ez uh ole gray goose smilin’ on uh gander. Well, I nebba ’spected ter lib ter see uh change like dat. Fac’ is, mos’ all de ladies ’roun’ heah gittin’ changed, an’ ve’y sassy, tryin’ ter be like de men. Fuh instinct, dar is uh lady doctor an’ uh lady lawyer, dey tells me, in Balt’mo’. Think ub dat! An’ hit’s all ergin de’ structions ub Gen’sis, Rebullation, Jerry-Myah, Noahy an’ I ’specks all ub de profits. Kase de Bible say dat ’ooman kyant ebin pray in publuc. Boss, da ain’ no use talkin’, fum de cricket an’ grasshopper clean up ter man, de male de gre’tes’ an’ bes’ lookin’. Dar’s uh little Jinny Wren settin’ on dat reed singin’ beau’ful. Now, ain’ hit s’prisin’ wha he git dat voice fum dat you kin heah ’cross de ribba; hit sut’ny is strange. Well, dat he wren, don’ he look peart; an’ he is peart, too. He kin meck uh hawk hide hissef. You see he’s de male. Well, look at dat cock sparrow; don’ de hen look meek ’long side him? Boss, I’m gwine ter teck mos’ ev’ything dat wuz in de yark, ter show dat ladies musn’ try ter be men, an’ change deahsebs. Hit kyant be did any mo’ dan you kin gib de female birds de feathers ub de males. I s’pose de bobolink is de mos’ dress up ub all birds, fuh he changes his clothes twice uh yeah, an’ when he got on dat beau’ful spring suit ub his’n his wives do clustah erroun’ him. De cock partridge (some people call ’em Bob White), de oriole, pigeon, teal duck, tukkey, canlas-back duck, woodpecker, red-wing blackbird, de wood-duck, tu beau’ful futto kill; how lubly de males is ’long side de females. Den ergin, pursidder de roostus; don’ matter ef’n dey shankhy, banty, game, er what not, dey’r boun’ ter hab lubly feathers all streaked an’ striped same ez dem cattle dat Jacob, de father ub de Petracks, owned. Mo’n dat, ef’n two roostus fight, de one dat whups jes’ crows, flaps his wings, an’ heah cums his wives an’ de udder roostah’s wives all runnin’ off wid him. Dat’s jes’ de way de ladies ’roun’ heah runs arfter Mars Pinckney.”

Ezra seemed much pleased with his talk, and with a wisp of burning grass in each hand, continued to fire the marsh, and for the moment forgot my presence and sang:

“We cum ter dis worl’ bof naked an’ bare,
We al’ays goes thoo it wid sorrow an’ care;
We go when we die de Lawd only nose wha’;
Ef’n you’r uh thurrybred heah, yo’ll be uh thurrybred da.”

Pretending to entirely dissent with Ezra and to keep him interested and talkative, I said, “Well, how about robins, doves, mocking birds, jack snipe, woodcock and other birds where the male and female are alike?”

“Well, boss, Mars Pinckney say ef’n you gib de birds you kyant tell erbout uh wumm, ef’n _he_ takes it hit’s uh he, an ef’n _she_ takes it hit’s uh she.”

“How about owls, Ezra; they look alike, and they don’t eat worms?”

“Well, Noahy, dey tell me, name him de bird ub wissum, an’ ub cose made him wise, an’ de female kyant fool him, _like dey mos’ gen’ly kin de males_. Fuh instinct, when de female owls think deahsebs smart—bin out all night an’ talkin’ in condidence ’mong deahsebs erbout it—de male, ef’n he deceitful (_an’ some males is_), kin lissen an’ nod his haid jes’ same ez ef he wuz uh sleep an’ meck bleebe he uh lady owl, an by an’ by all unbenonsted ter de lady owl, fine out ef’n his wife bin uh tootin’ an’ uh hootin’ erroun’. Mo’n dat, he mout erbin keepin’ comp’ny hissef all night wid some sassy lady owl. _Dar’s wha his wissum cum in._

“S’pose de gentlemens an’ ladies look jes’ like one nerr an’ dress up de same, Lawdy, by an’ by heah wud cum judgment day sho’ nuff, an’ we wud soon burhol dis worl’ on fire an’ uh cislin’. So hit won’ do fuh dem ter look de same, an’ we don’ wan’ no changin’, deed we don’; we wants de males ter look proud an’ prancin’ all de time, an’ de females ter burhol ’em an’ not look sassy. I mos’ fogot one ub de lubliest ub de fowls, dat will meck meh sponsibility stronger—dat’s de peacock. When de peacock spreads his tail in de spring an’ looks his peartest, dey tells me sometimes de hens git too po’ ter lay; dey so in lub dey jes’ eat nuffin; jes’ meddowtate an’ look at deah mates struttin’ erbout. Da ain’ nuffin like uh peacock’s tail ’ceppin sometimes in de fall when de dew is ve’y heavy an’ sorter fog-like an’ fros’-like, jes’ uh little missy, an’ heah cum de sun risin’; an’ when hit strikes de trees, bushes an’ wines full ub dat fog, fros’ an’ mis’, da ain’ no rainbow er peacock’s tail kin hole uh can’le ter it, I don’ keah who raises de peacock. Well, boss, I am sho’ you see de application, but strange futto say, Mars Pinckney, wid all his wissum an’ pursidderin’, is, ’pears ter me, on de fence. Natchelly, ub cose, he is s’pose ter change kase he got so many sweethyarts. He is ve’y fon’ ub fishin’ wid me. One day we wuz fishin’ fuh rock an’ tailor an’ waitin’ fuh de tide ter tu’n. I rents meh house fum him. I don’ al’ays pay at de lars’ ub de monf, er de lars’ ub nex’ monf, an’ I owed him so much rent I wuz mos’ ’fear’d ter argue wid him an’ talk ter him wid all meh soul erboutin dis changin’ business ’roun’ heah, an’ ub de lubliness ub de male in contras’ ter de female; but I did it. Well, den he say, sorter snuffin’ meh composation orf, ‘Ezra, you no mo’ erbout sorf crabs, fish an’ watahmillions dan you do erbout things changin’.’ Den he say, ‘Don’ people all erroun’ heah change money, change deah names when dey git merried? Don’ de watah we fish in change fum ebb tide ter flood? Eggs ter chickens, sinnahs ter moaners, sun, moon, win’ an’ seasons change. De acorn changes ter de oak, peach stone ter de peach tree. Wumms ter butterflies.”

“Ezra, your Mars Pinckney is right. That’s the long and short of it. Your Parson changed baptizing in salt water for fresh water. You have confessed it, and you are changing all the time. Your hair was once black, now it is white. To-day is bright, cold, windy and sunny. To-morrow will be changed; it can’t be just like to-day. Even your oxen, Lawyer and Farmer, like a change. Grass is good enough when there is no wheat field to jump into, but when the wheat is green, sweet and rich, they leave the grass.”

“Jes’ so, boss, jes’ so.”

“Why, you would get tired of bacon and cabbage if you had it all the time.”

“Who, me? I nebba got tired ub it yit.”

“And, Ezra, if Aunt Cassey, your good and kind wife, hadn’t changed her mind and married you instead of Uncle Snake Bit Jim, her name would now be Mrs. Snake Bit Jim.”

“Dat’s what I say, boss; dat’s de application ezactly. I don’ like dis changin’ business. Bless Gord, I wish Cassey hadn’ change huh mine.”

Memories of happier days come to us all. May they soften the pillow of dear old Ezra. His first wife was my nurse, and many a time his willing hands, to give her’s rest, have rocked my cradle.

Who could our baby tears repress
And lull us into drowsiness.
Mammy.

MAMMY.

There are pictures of the past in memory’s gallery before which we love to linger. To one it is perhaps the old homestead in the North, or the South. To another, a woman’s face. To a woman mayhap this picture is suggested by a simple tress of hair, or fragrant dust, _once_ violets, or an old letter, perchance kissed many times, or tear-wet, who may know? To me it is my old—

MAMMY.

Who nursed and fed us from her breast
And in her tender arms caressed?
Mammy.

Who washed our faces, combed our hair
And tied us in our baby chair?
Mammy.

Who soaped and bathed our little forms,
And rocked us in her loving arms?
Mammy.

Who, when we stumped our little toes,
Put balsam on to heal our woes?
Mammy.

Who could our baby tears repress,
And lull us into drowsiness?
Mammy.

Who tucked us in our baby cot,
And all our badness soon forgot?
Mammy.

Who always patted us to sleep,
And “Prayed the Lord our souls to keep?”
Mammy.

Who rests from sorrow ’neath the sod,
And all the paths of duty trod?
Mammy.

ANAH.

Uncle David, though threescore years and ten and bent with age, was quite useful on the plantation, and was not afraid of work. His labor, however, had not been of a wearing kind. Once a week he drove Sue, a kind and gentle mare, to the mill with a load of corn and returned with bags of sweet cornmeal, the like of which is hard to get nowadays.

In 1853 Sue foaled a bay mule colt with a black stripe down his back that made a cross on his shoulders. David christened the colt Anah, because he heard Parson Phil Demby preach a _pow’ful_ sermon Christmas, the text of which was, “This was that Anah that found the mules in the wilderness, as he fed the asses of Zibion his father.”[19]

Anah was a lively colt, and when David went to the mill often romped ahead of Sue on the road, much to the anxiety of the mother, and sometimes in a don’t-care way lagged behind for a quarter of a mile or more; and though Uncle David characterized him as _worrysome an’ scan’lous_, he was very fond of the colt and the colt fond of him. By and by Anah was big and old enough to break, and David soon had him going kindly and taking his old dam’s place in the cart.

David was always relied upon to select and haul the Christmas tree, which was placed in the brick kitchen. It was literally a tree, and on its many boughs hung gifts for the household and servants.

The woods loam was selected by David and hauled by Anah for Kerchibell, the old Scotch gardener, who put it on his early spring plants and flowers; indeed, almost every day the mule was hauling something, with David on the cart singing or nodding.

Every Saturday at 12 o’clock the servants were allowed to quit work and haul the seine. The terrapins caught were brought to the mansion, with a goodly number of spot, hog and other fish; the rest of the fish the servants were allowed to market for pin-money. At such times Uncle David was always on deck with Anah.

For twenty-five years Anah did faithful work, and David loved him and talked to him as though he was a human being, and said, “Anah almos’ knew’d his A. B. C’s.” Like most mules, however, in his old age he got full of kinks, and would bite and kick anyone but David, who said, “He hab grow’d ’ceitful an’ ub cose I hab ter scole him.”

The old man was very credulous and as easily chaffed by his marster as Polonius was by Hamlet. For example: One day whilst Anah was kicking up and putting on airs and David was grumbling and saying, “He ain’ no good no how; I sut’ny am tired ub dis mule,” his Mars Jimmy walked past the cart and said, “I’m going to sell that worthless old mule and get you a nice little mare I can buy at a bargain. True she is hip-shot, spavined and very lazy, but will do for your work.”

David was perplexed and disconsolate and at bed-hour went to the stable. Anah was munching his oats, and David, little and bent, stood behind the mule, who switched his tail and laid back his ears as if to say, You are going to take away my oats. The old man’s eyes brimmed with tears; he had a big, kind heart, and his affection for the mule was really touching. Finally he said, “You recommember me all de time, don’ you, Anah? Don’ I al’ays feed you good an’ rub you an’ gib you uh sorf bed?” Then he walked into the stall, stroked the mule’s ear and said, “Jes’ ez sorf ez uh ’possum’s ear; you know I ain’ gwine ter let ’em sell you, Anah. Mars Jimmy kyant find an nerr mule in Talbot County like you. He ain’ gwine ter sell you, an’ ef’n he do, he got ter sell me wid you, dat he is! Well, da ain’ no tellin’; Mars Jimmy mout sell dis mule ter-morry, so I’m gwine ter sleep wid him dis night, fuh it mout be de po’ mule’s lars’ night heah. I’ll put some mo’ hay in de bottom ub de manger, an’ wid dese corn-cobs I’ll meck ub pillah, put meh coat on it, an’ den I’ll kivver mehsef wid hay. Lemmy see—no, I won’ teck meh shoes orf, kase I mout hab ter git up futto git him some oats.” His bed arranged, the old man said, “I heah Pawson Demby say dat our blessid Lawd an’ Sabior wuz bawn in ub stable, so hit sut’ny good ernuff fuh me.” Weary and sad, he leaned against the manger, said his prayers, and then he snuggled in the hay and sang his favorite hymn:

=“What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear? Golden slippers! What kind ub shoes you gwine ter wear? Golden slippers I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glitter-in’ sun.=

=What kind ub crown you gwine ter wear? Star-ry crown! What kind ub crown you gwine ter wear? Star-ry crown I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glitter-in’ sun.=

=What kind ub robe you gwine ter wear? White robe! What kind ub robe you gwine ter wear? White robe! Long white robe I’m bound ter wear, dat outshines de glit-ter-in’ sun.=

=What kind ub hymn you gwine ter sing? New hymn! What kind ub hyarp you gwine ter play? Golden hyarp! Golden hyarp I’m bound ter play, dat outshines de glit—ter—in’——sun——.”=

Then all was hushed!

Mayhap Uncle David dreamed he had on his golden slippers that outshone the glittering sun, wore a starry crown and long white robe, sang a new hymn, and played upon a golden harp, for the Bible tells us—

=“The sleep of a laboring man is sweet.”=

-----

Footnote 1:

Robert Morris was the father of the revolutionary financier, and Henry
Callister, a philanthropist who befriended the deported hapless
Acadians, sent to Annapolis, Md., in 1775, and gave large sums from
his own pocket to relieve their suffering, to the serious impairment
of his moderate fortune.

Footnote 2:

Macaulay says, “Our own firm belief is that he was.”

Footnote 3:

To appreciate this sermon the 29th chapter of Genesis should be read
if the reader is not familiar with the same.

Footnote 4:

II Samuel xviii, 9, 10.

Footnote 5:

Genesis, Chapter 32, Ver. 24, 25.

Footnote 6:

Scipio Jones.

Footnote 7:

Dr. John P. Durbin, one of the most eloquent of American orators, was
able to speak to a child with such beauty of expression and propriety
of enunciation that a company of educated ladies and gentlemen were
entranced. Conversation was suspended and regret felt when the doctor
turned from the delighted child to the rest of the company. In an
earlier period, when enfeebled voice compelled him to suspend public
efforts, he had gone from cabin to cabin among the negroes on the
plantations of Kentucky, conversing with them on religion, and claimed
that by this process he acquired his marvelously simple style.

Extemporaneous Oratory, Buckley, p. 94.

Footnote 8:

Samuel i, 19.

Footnote 9:

II Samuel vi, 16.

Footnote 10:

Exodus xxii, 18.

Footnote 11:

See Little Billy’s Pumpkin.

Footnote 12:

See Mars Pinckney’s ’Simmons.

Footnote 13:

A negro superstition.

Footnote 14:

Told the negroes he was a major in the war of 1812. He was a teamster.

Footnote 15:

Suspenders.

Footnote 16:

Job vii, 7.

Footnote 17:

A story of the late Senator Vance Versified.

Footnote 18:

“The legislature of Alabama donated to Miss Sanson a section of the
unappropriated public lands of the state as a testimonial of the high
appreciation of her services by the people of Alabama, and directed
the Governor of the State to provide and present her with a gold
medal, inscribed with suitable devices commemorative of her conduct.”

Footnote 19:

Genesis xxxvi, 24.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 3. Footnotes have been re-indexed using numbers and collected together at the end of the last chapter. 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. 5. Enclosed bold font in =equals=.

End of Project Gutenberg's Ole Mars an' Ole Miss, by Edmund K. Goldsborough