Chapter IX: Foreword (8)

As he passed up and down the furrows he whistled cheerily, for the brown earth that curled away in long waves from his plowshare was mellow and rich, and the bourgeoning corn that bristled around him, a grand industrial army, uniformed in blue green, epauletted with crimson silk and plumed with cream white tassels, was full of promise for the autumn. Here and there a convolvolus vine that had escaped the last hoeing twined lovingly around a sturdy stalk and, clambering boldly up, swung its purple, white-throated cups among the feathery blooms of the corn, where the swift-winged honey bee and the yellow-barred bumblebee plied their busy trade.

These sights, however, affected not Minzacter. He was a materialist, not a poet; and, mindful of his one-third interest in the crop that he was “laying by,” he concerned himself far more with the occasional bumping of his singletree against the corn stalks, than with the soft music of the wind harps that crept from among the broad blades as the breeze passed through them.

High up in the blue, a crow flew slowly over the field, twisting his head from side to side, while he critically inspected the work in progress; and, finding that it was good, croaked out an occasional “ckwarrow, ckwarrow.”

As the friar of the middle ages--the prototype of this black-robed fellow--unctuously took from the fields of his flock a tithe of the garnered store, so, when the blades should be stripped away and September suns harden the grain, would this “sukkus preechuh” claim the reward of his interest in, and inspection of, the growing crop. As the ominous shadow passed between him and the sun, Minzacter, looking up, said: “N’mine, bredduh! Tek care buzzut don’ dance at yo’ fun’rul dis same berry fall! You smaa’t ’nuf fuh know w’en man got gun een ’e han’, but yo’ eddycashun cyan’ specify w’en ’e come fuh tell w’en shell’ cawn got pizen een um. You fly high een de ellyment teday, tek care you don’ flew low befo’ Chris’mus come!”

Upon reaching the end of his row, Minzacter found awaiting him the burly black constable of a neighboring Trial Justice, accompanied by a middle-aged brown woman, who, as the plowman came to a halt, accosted him with: “Mistuh Singleton, I t’awt you was a juntlemun, but I come to fin’ out you cyan’ specify as a juntlemun, ’cause you run’way en’ lef’ me obuh to Goose Crik, en’ gone en’ marry Paul Jenkin’ grumma jes’ ’cause ’e got fo’ cow en’ I ent got no cow. You run’way en’ lef’ yo’ lawfully lady, en’ I come to tek you to de Trial Jestuss fuh t’row you een Walterburruh jail.”

With apparent nonchalance, Minzacter said: “Go ’way, gal! Who you call husbun’? I nebbuh see you sence I bawn. I gots no time fuh hol’ cumposhashun wid eb’ry w’ich en’ w’y ’ooman dat come ’long de road. Dis cawn gots to lay by.”

Julia Singleton, the _ecru_ claimant, left him with the threat that she would go home and fetch the marriage “stuhstiffikit” to prove that Minzacter was her lawful husband.

Sure enough, on the day set for the preliminary examination, she appeared with not only the marriage certificate, but accompanied by her brother and the Rev. Sancho Middleton, the Goose Creek “locus pastuh,” who was alleged to have performed the ceremony.

Upon being arraigned for bigamy, Minzacter denied indignantly any knowledge of the woman. The “stuhstiffikit” was put in evidence, but as it read simply, “I marry Mistuh Singleton to Missis Singleton,” the Trial Justice ruled that it couldn’t “specify.” The claimant’s brother and the preacher had been tampered with by an agent of Minzacter’s and, at the last moment, they went back on the prosecuting witness. The brother was put up first, and Julia did the questioning.

“Bredduh,” said she, “ent you ’membuh dat een June munt’ een de same year w’en us cut down dat new groun’ ’cross Caw Caw Swamp, en’ de same time w’en Sistuh Frayjuh him had two twin, ent you ’membuh dat de pastuh renite me to dis juntlemun?”

“I yent know nutt’n’ ’bout’um,” said the traitor, “nebbuh shum sence I bawn, ent know ’e name, needuhso ’e farruh, needuhso ’e murruh. Mo’ den one punkin-skin nigguh lib een dis wull’. Yalluh nigguh’ t’ick on de groun’ same as yalluh-hammuh’ t’ick on de tree, en’, as fuh _dis_ nigguh--nebbuh shum sence I bawn.”

“Mistuh Jestuss,” said Julia, ruefully, “I come to ketch my juntlemun, en’ my _juntlemun_ lie. I gone en’ fetch my bredduh Sam, en’ my bredduh _Sam_ lie. I gone en’ fetch de stuhstiffikit, en’ de _stuhstiffikit_ lie. Now, I will ’tarrygate my locus pastuh, en’ I know berry well _him_ ent gwine lie. Pa Sancho,” said she, turning to the sleek divine, “ent you ’membuh, suh, w’en Sistuh Frayjuh him had two twin?”

“Oh yaas, my sistuh, I ’membuh dat, ’cause dat same time Nickuhdemus Wineglass’ niece Joe, w’ich ’e had by ’e fus’ lady, git ’e foot ketch een de ottuh trap on Mistuh Fishpun’ place, en’ de doctuh haffuh cut off ’e right han’ feet close to ’e knee.”

“Well, suh, ent you ’membuh w’en you renite me to dis same juntlemun?”

“My sistuh,” said he, slowly and deliberately, “you see, dis is a berry onrabblin’ t’ing fuh yo’ pastuh fuh ’xamin’ ’e min’ ’bout. You know, all dese common eb’ryday kind’uh nigguh’ kin talk all dese gwinin’ en’ gwinin’, but de preechuh is de Lawd’ _renointed_, en’, w’en him open he mout’, e’ gots to quizzit ’e min’ berry close, ’speshly w’en ’e talk wid ’ooman, ’cause ’ooman so ’ceitful, ef you ent min’, him will fool de two eye’ out yo’ head; en’, fuh dictate now ’bout dis juntlemun, I mos’ kinduh t’ink I ’membuh leetle kinduh sump’n’, ’bout de time w’en I marry you to a kinduh punkin-skin juntlemun, en’ w’en I fus’ see dis juntlemun, I mos’ t’ink ’e look leetle like yo’ juntlemun, but w’en I come to saa’ch’um close en’ peruse’um puhtickluh, I mos’ kinduh t’ink maybe dis ent yo’ juntlemun.”

“Please Gawd,” said Julia despairingly, “I gone en try fuh ketch my juntlemun en’ I fetch’um yuh, en’ _him_ lie. Den I gone en’ ketch my bredduh en’ fetch’um yuh, en’ _him_ lie. Den I gone en’ ketch de stuhstuffikit en’ fetch’um yuh, en’ _him_ lie; en’, fin’lly at las’, I ketch de locus pastuh en ’fetch’um yuh, en’, ’fo’ de Lawd, _him_ lie. Now, I gwine home en’ fetch de six bridegroom’ w’at bin to dis wedd’n’ w’en I marry dis juntlemun--w’ich my sistuh Amy bin one uh de bridegroom’--en’ I know berry well _dem_ will crucify dat dis is my juntlemun.”

At last accounts, the Justice was still awaiting their coming.

A GULLAH’S TALE OF WOE

From the clay chimney of a negro cabin in the lower part of Hampton County the blue smoke curled and floated away in graceful rings. Within, the flames crackled cheerily in the generous fireplace, and a woman, surrounded by half a dozen children, was preparing the evening meal. The building was of logs, with moss and clay plastered into the crevices, and the roof which covered it was of clapboards. An humble dwelling it was, but big enough and warm enough to shelter old Scipio Wineglass and his family, and it represented--together with the few acres of land surrounding it--the net earnings of twenty-seven years of toil “sence freedum fus’ come een.”

The crop had been gathered and locked in the little corn crib that nestled up under the eaves of the cabin, and among the shucks that lay around the door a few pigs were rooting. As the twilight fell on this crisp December evening, the querulous bark of a squirrel came from the swamp, and away down the road the sound of a horse’s hoofs in a sharp canter became louder and louder, until, at last, a horseman rode up and asked for a drink of water, just as old Scipio came in from the woods with a log on his head and threw it down with a grunt.

Bringing a gourd of water out to the gate, he eyed the stranger closely as he drank, and as he took back the dipper he asked, “Maussuh, enty puhlicituh kin oughtuh able fuh read?”

“Certainly, solicitors are able to read. Why do you ask?”

“Well, suh, please Gawd, I gots nutt’n’ but trouble all dis yeah done gone. Een de fus’ place, jis’ ez soon ez I git de crap plant een de t’ree week een las’ Epprull, de waa’ment en’ t’ing biggin fuh onrabble en’ distruss me een me min’ ’tell, please de Lawd, I yent know Rebus frum Rebelashun! Soon ez I t’row de cawn seed een de groun’, de waa’ment biggin fuh agguhnize me. I didn’t had no coal taar fuh pit ’pun de cawn, en’ soon ez I pit’um een de groun’, de debble’ub’uh’ crow come ’long en’ pull up half de cawn, en w’at de crow ent pull up, de cut wurrum ketch, en w’at de cut wurrum lef’, de dry drought ’stroy’d _him_, en’, soon ez de dry drought gone’way, den my ole mare Silby, _him_ haffuh gone en’ dead! Yaas’suh, dat old mare done gone en’ leddown en’ dead, en’ lef’ me wid de fiel’ full’uh j’int grass, en’ nott grass, en’ crab grass en’ t’ing, en’ I yent got a hawss fuh ride now ’cep’n’ ’tis dese two foot, but stillyet I praise de Lawd en’ glorify’um, ’cause, ef dat mare didn’t dead, de debble would’uh had Scipio Wineglass done roas’ en bu’n’up een de fiah ’fo’ dis time! Yaas’suh, one night een las’ Augus’ een de daa’k uh de moon, jis’ ez I biggin to drap ’sleep, I yerry one rap ’pun de do’, en’ w’en I tell de somebody fuh come een, one sperrit buss’ op’n de do’, en’ stan’ on ’e two foot een de middle uh de flo! W’en I shum wid dese two eye’, I bin dat skay’to’de’t’ dat I didn’t ’membuh fuh ax’um ’e name, but I mos’ t’ink ’e bin eeduh de ’Postle Paul, elseso Pollido’. En’ dis sperrit ’tarrygate me good fashi’n, en’ ’e say, sezzee, ‘Scipio’; sezzi, ‘Suh.’ Sezzee, ‘Scipio, you got a great load uh sin ’puntop yo’ soul!’ Sezzi, ‘Yaas’suh, I know dat, suh.’ Den ’e say, ‘Scipio, ef dat load uh sin ent tek off yo’ soul, you cyan’ specify w’en de great day come, en’ you will sho’ to ebbuhlastin’ dead en’ bu’n’up.’ En’ den I say ‘Yaas, suh, maussuh ainjul.’ En’ den I drap on dese two knee’ en’ pray de Lawd fuh tell de sperrit fuh tek de sin off my soul, en’ den de ainjul say ’e couldn’ tek de sin off my soul, ’cep’n’ ’e pit’um ’puntop somebody else’ own, en’ den I baig’um fuh pit de sin on ole Unk’ Hacklus Pinesett’ soul, ’cause Unk’ Hacklus lub fuh t’ief fowl en’ t’ing, en’ him is a nomannus nigguh, en’ de sperrit say ‘berrywell,’ en’ ’e wawm ’e han’ by de fiah en’ gone out de do’, en’, soon ez ’e gone, I yerry ole Silby duh kick en’ grunt een de stable, but I bin too twis’up in me min’ fuh pay ’tenshun to _him_, en’, een de mawnin’ soon, w’en I gone out to de stable fuh feed ole Silby, please de Mastuh, ’e stretch-out, _dead_! En’ stillyet, alldo’ ’e dead en’ gone, yet I glorify de Lawd en’ praise ’e name, ’cause I know ’e tek de sin off me en’ pit’um ’puntop ole Silby, en’ all de time I yerry’um binnuh grunt een de stable, dat sin binnuh ride’um roun’ en’ roun’, ’tell ’e kill’um. I wonduh w’ymekso dat sperrit ent tek dat ansuh to de Lawd de way I sen’um, ’cause I buy dat mare to Mistuh Larrissy’ place fuh seb’nty-fibe dollar, en’ Unk’ Hacklus Pinesett ent wut’ a t’ree cent, stillyet de Lawd tek ole Silby, en’ lef _him_!

“Now, w’en Silby dead, I tek de hoe een me han’ en’ lay by de crap, en’, tengk Gawd, I mek fo’teen bushel’ uh cawn een dis same fiel’. Well, suh, w’en de cawn done lay by, I git ’long berrywell ’tell Mingo Puhlite’ son Sambo t’ief’ de fattes’ hog I got. Een Septembuh munt’, soon ez I ketch’um, I tek’um to de Trial Jestuss, en’ him sen’um to Hamptun jail.

“Now, w’en de trial come in de fall, Sambo git Mistuh Tillin’ass’ to refen’ she, en I gone to Mistuh Muffey, de puhlicituh, en’ tell’um all ’bout de t’iefin’. Den Mistuh Tillin’ass’ squizzit me en’ ax me all kinduh squesehun, en’ Mistuh Muffey squizzit Sambo en’ ax _him_ all kinduh squesehun, en den ole Judge Hutsin him put on one black frock same lukkuh ’ooman, en’ him ax me all kinduh squeschun, en’ den Mass Billy Causey, de Claa’k ub de Co’t, tek de eenditement (dat w’at ’e call de papuh) een ’e han’, en’ ’e tu’n’um upside down en’ ’e read’um wrong, en’ den Mistuh Tillin’ass’ tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down en’ him read’um wrong, en’ den Judge Hutsin tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down en’ _him_ read’um wrong, en’ den, please Gawd, Mistuh Muffey, de puhlicituh, _Him_ tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down en’ _Him_ read’um wrong! Yaas’suh, de jury bin all buckruh’, en’ all dem care ’bout is fuh sen’ one nigguh to de penetenshus fuh eb’ry hog w’at git t’ief, en’ de Claa’k ub de Co’t git my name en’ Sambo’ name tanglety’up on de papuh, en’, fus’ t’ing I know--’cep’n’ dat Sambo own to t’ief de hog fuh git meat fuh eat to de passobuh preachin’ w’ich was hol’ to Sistuh Frajuh’ house--please Gawd, de buckruh’ would’uh sen’ me to de penetenshus fuh t’ief me _own hog_! En’ dat de reason, suh, w’ymekso I ax wedduh puhlicituh kin read, ’cause I didn’t bex so much ’bout Mistuh Tillin’ass’, en’ Mass Billy Causey, en’ ole Judge Hutsin wid ’e black frock sukkuh ’ooman, but I _did_ t’ink dat Mistuh Muffey, de puhlicituh, could’uh _read_.”

THE DOCTOR DIDN’T “EXCEED”

Down upon the banks of the turbid Toogoodoo--one of the many creeks that indent the seacoast of Colleton County--lives June Middleton, a negro of the old school. As a body servant, he followed his master through Virginia “eenjurin’ uh de wah,” and, at its close, he received for his faithful service a few acres of the plantation upon which he had been reared. His little holding was as dear to him as was ever an entailed estate to an English noble, for, like all Southern negroes who had formerly belonged to families of culture and refinement, he shared the pride of his quondam owners in their ancestral acres and in their distinguished names.

The comfortable frame house, in which June had spent the days of his slavehood, had long since gone up in smoke, for no habitation of man or beast was too lowly to escape the torch of Sherman’s bummers, who, in 1865 illumined the “benighted South.” Upon its site now stands a clay-chimneyed log cabin, and by its door ebb and flow the waters of the creek from which June had for years drawn his sustenance. While he did not exactly “go down to the sea in ships,” he paddled his little “dugout” canoe out to the mouth of the stream at nearly every low tide during the winter season, and shared with the raccoons the little sharp-shelled bunch oysters that covered the exposed mud banks.

In the spring, when the yellow jessamine swung its golden cups above the forest undergrowth, and the silver stars of the dogwood gleamed from the chaparral, he mended his nets and lines in preparation for the summer campaign, and, later, when the woods were odorous with the blossoms of the elder and the wild grape, he commenced his nocturnal forays against the finny tribes. On dark nights, when the piping of the marsh hens apprised him that the tide was out, he took with him a boy to paddle his cranky little craft, and, standing in the bow, threw his cast-net with a “swish” far out into the schools of shrimp and “finger mullet.” His catch, together with an occasional string of whiting and yellowtail taken with the hook and line, he converted at a distant village into the necessaries of life.

For many years there had scarcely been a ripple on this placid life of June’s, save when a “puppy-shark” would occasionally make away with his bait, sending the whiting line whizzing through his fingers and almost upsetting the little craft with his impetuous rush, or when, two or three times a year, the itinerant preacher would visit his cabin to swap ecclesiastical platitudes for fresh fish.

On a bright day in early summer, old June sat at his doorstep basking in the sun and watching the glistening waters as they hurried by. Occasionally, a kingfisher would leave his station on a dead limb and, zig-zagging in his flight, would swoop down on some small fish that showed on the surface, and, having swallowed his prey, would leisurely return to his perch with a harsh note of triumph. The “preechuh on de sukkus” had just arrived to pay his periodical visit, and, scattering a group of half-naked children who were playing around the door, June brought out another three-legged stool and extended the hospitalities of the establishment.

“Reb’ren’,” said he, “I berry glad you come teday.”

“Why, bredduh, ’smattuh mekso?”

“Well, suh,” said June, whose philosophical patience and faith might put to the blush many who quarrel with their lot, “I yent min’ ’bout me myself, suh, ’cause I tengk Gawd fuh life en’ de bre’t’ w’at Him lef’ een dis body. My lady, w’ich dead een las’ Augus’, had de consumpshus en’ de remonia alltwo, en’ him en’ me alltwo nyuse to smoke de same pipe befo’ him dead, en’ I berry ’f’aid dat I gwine likeso fuh ketch de consumpshus en’ de remonia frum dat same berry pipe, en’, den, I got mis’ry een de back, en’ I sen’ dat leetle gal ’Riah--dat is my gran’--to de cross road sto’ fuh git fibe cent’ wut’ ub tup’mtime, but de buckruh tek de fibe cent frum de gal en’ t’row water een de tup’mtime, en’ w’en I rub de back wid de tup’mtime de tup’mtime couldn’ specify, en’ de mis’ry keep on jes’ de same, en’ I git so po’ly now dat I kin sca’cely git een de crik fuh ketch swimp en’ t’ing, en’ bittle git berry sca’ceful dese days, suh; but tengk Gawd fuh life, suh, tengk Gawd fuh life, en’ I berry glad you come, ’cause I want’uh ax yo’ ’pinion ’bout my gran’, Sooky. You know’um, suh, him is uh ’leben yeahs ole gal chile, en’ ’e git sick een de two week een las’ Jinnywerry done gone mek one yeah, en’ Doctuh Baa’nwell t’row one dollar en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’ wut’ uh med’sin een de gal, but somehow I don’t t’ink de Doctuh exceed so well wid de gal, ’cause, een de fus’ week een dis same Jinnywerry--befo’ de yeah well out--de gal tek wid mo’ mis’ry een ’e lef’ han’ foot, en’ w’en I sen’um back to de Doctuh ’e want’uh chaa’ge anodduh dolluh en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’ fuh t’row mo’ physic’ een de gal, en’ dat mek me bex, ’cause eb’rybody know ’tis too soon fuh t’row’way anodduh dolluh en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’, en’ likeso eb’rybody know dat Doctuh Baa’nwell couldn’ be exceed so well wid de gal, en’ ’e med’sin couldn’ specify, elseso ’e wouldn’ haffuh cyo’ one en’ de same gal two time een one en’ de same yeah!”

THE LADY COULDN’T “SPECIFY”

The Rev. Nepchun Kinlaw, the “locus pastuh” of a Colleton County flock, sat in the sunshine at the door of his cabin, drawing from the sights and sounds around him inspiration for his next Sunday’s sermon.

Although he could not read, an open Bible was on his knee, and his head was bowed reverently over the well-thumbed pages. His only knowledge of their contents was acquired from the circuit preacher whose quarterly sermons furnished the “class-leaders” and local preachers with scriptural data wherewith to conduct the campaign against Satan until his next round. These Bible truths “Pa Kinlaw”--as the female members of his charge delighted to call him--instilled into his flock by homely illustrations. Out in the yard before him, a little ridge of earth, which gradually increased in length, indicated the presence of a ground-mole that was burrowing through the hard ground. “Dat gru’mole hab fait’,” said he. “’E yent gots no eye een ’e head, en’ ’e cyan’ see de wurrum een de eart’, but ’e hab fait’, en’ de Lawd lead’um ’long to weh de wurrum does lib, en’ de gru’mole ketch de wurrum en’ eat’um. Same fashi’n, man en’ ’ooman gots to hab fait’ een de Lawd, elsehow dem ent able fuh _specify_ w’en Gabrull blow ’e hawn en’ de great day come. Ef you ent got _fait’_, please Gawd, oonuh nebbuh ketch de wurrum ub Salwashun!”

His reflections were rudely interrupted by the advent of Jim Green, the colored constable of a neighboring trial justice, who, mounted on a razor-backed rat of a Texas pony, rode up to the door and, in the name of the State of South Carolina, demanded from the “Reb’ren’” a dollar and a quarter, the balance due on a two-dollar marriage ceremony performed in October last by the aforesaid trial justice, “who did then and there, at the time and place aforesaid, unite one Nepchun Kinlaw to one Minda Manigo.”

Not a red flag flaunted before a bull--nor a rival’s becoming Easter bonnet before a society woman--could have been provocative of more wrath than was the constable’s demand upon “Pa Kinlaw.” Rising from his seat, with the natural color of his face deepened by anger until it was as dark as the hinges of Hades, he said: “Green, you kin go back to de Trial Jestuss en’ tell’um dat de lady, w’at him renite me to een de two Chuesday een las’ Octobuh, cyan’ specify. Tell’um dat de only reason w’ymekso I hab dis lady is bekasew’y my fus’ wife dead een las’ June. Dat ’ooman w’at dead wuz de fait’fules’ ’ooman I ebbuh come ’cross een dis wull’. I g’em praise fuh _dat_! De only fau’t I had wid’um, is ’cause ’e gone en’ dead een _June_! Ef de ’ooman had’uh dead een de fall w’en de crop done lay by, I wouldn’ uh min’ summuch, but ’e gone en’ leddown en’ dead een June, please Gawd, een _June_ munt’, w’en de grass duh grow, en’ w’en de time haa’d, en bittle berry sca’ceful, en’ ’e lef’ seb’n chillun een de house, en’ lef’ de cawn een de fiel’ befo’ ’e gitt’ru hoe’um two time, en’ de jaybu’d flew een de fiel’ en’ nyam de cawn, en’ de redbu’d flew een de fiel’ en’ nyam de cawn, en de crow en’ de rokkoon en de ’possum en’ all de odduh’res’ waa’ment nyam de cawn, ’cause I yent gots nobody fuh min’um out’n de fiel’, en’ stillyet dat ’ooman gone en’ dead een _June_! Now, w’en I see all dese chillun, wid ’e mout’ open same lukkuh chuckwilluh’ mout’, en’ I yent gots no bittle fuh pit een ’um, I mek up my min’ dat I gots to git anodduh lady, en’ sistuh Minda en’ him fus’ husbun’ paa’t, en’ I quizzit de fus’ husbun’ ’bout’um en’ ’e gib de lady uh berry good cyarrictuh, so I tek’um to de trial jestuss en’ marri’d’um, but w’en I marri’d’um I t’aw’t ’e could _specify_, so I pay de jestuss sebenty-fi’ cent’, en’ owe’um dolluh en’ uh quawtuh on de ’ooman, en’ I tek de ’ooman home en’ t’row’um een de fiel’ fuh done lay by de crap en’ plant peas een de cawn, but, please Gawd, soon ez I lef’ de ’ooman ’e leddown flat ’puntop ’e back en’ gone ’sleep een de sunhot, en’ ’e ’low de crow en’ t’ing fuh spile eb’ry Gawd’ crop een de fiel’ eenjurin’ de week day, en’, w’en Sunday come, de lady put one high brustle ’puntop ’e back en’ gone chu’ch same lukkuh him duh buckruh! En’ w’en I fin’ all dese gwinin’ en’ gwinin’ bout de ’ooman, I kinduh git disgus’ wid, de ’ooman, en’ I yent feel like pay out no mo’ money fuh de ’ooman w’en ’e cyan’ speci_fy_. W’en I ’gree fuh pay de jestuss two dolluh’ fuh marri’d dis lady, I t’aw’t ’e could speci_fy_, en’ I didn’ min’ ’bout payin’ two dolluh’ fuh uh smaa’t ’ooman, but sence I tek de ’ooman home en’ try’um, I fin’ dat de ’ooman cyan’ speci_fy_, en’ ’e yent wut’ mo’ den de sebenty-fi’ cent’ w’at I done pay on’um; en’, ef de jestuss ent sattify wid dat--befo’ I pay de odduh’res’ ub de money--befo’ I pay’um de dolluh en’ a quawtuh w’at I still jue on de ’ooman--_him kin tek de lady back_!”

A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE

The Republican State Convention was in session in the hall of the House of Representatives at Columbia. There was a contest between two rival delegations from Berkeley County, the one representing the “old line” Republicans, the other the younger element which had recently affiliated with the conservative Democrats. The fight came up on the seating of the delegations, and it was agreed that five minutes should be allotted to the chairman of each delegation for the presentation of his claims to the convention.

A young African, fancifully arrayed in a spotless white flannel suit, rose in behalf of the younger delegation and arraigned his opponents in an “impassioned” speech.

Before his five minutes had expired, Mr. Thompson, the ape-like chairman of the elder statesmen, interrupted him with an appeal to the chair.

“Mistuh Chair,” said he, “I rise to uh squeschun ub priblidge.”

The Chair--“Does de juntlemun rise to de priblidge, eeduhso de squeschun?”

“Great Gawd,” said the thoroughly aroused delegate, “I rise to de priblidge en’ de squeschun, alltwo one time, en’ I also rise to uh squeschun ub _inflummashun_, ’cause I bin pussonully _attacktid_. Mistuh Chair, dis ondelicate nyung juntlemun w’ich pusceed me has prizzunt to dis augus’ body de credenshul ub de contestuss delegashun frum Bucksley County to Mount Pleasant presinck fuh sen’ one delegashun to Cuhlumbia, fuh sen’ anodduh delegashun to Chicagyo fuh nominashun de Prezzydent uh dese Newnited State! Mistuh Chair, de ’Publikin paa’ty een Bucksley County is gots fuh speci_fy_, en’ I will likes to quizzit dis immaculate nyung juntlemun frum Bucksley County en’ ax’um a few cumposhashun! I will likes fuh ’tarrygate’um en’ ax she weh _him_ bin een de yeah sebenty-stree, w’en I bayre my breas’ to de bullet uh de Dimmycrack frum de mountain to de sea_boa’d_! I will like, suh, fuh peruse de min’ uh dis ondeestunt nyung juntlemun en’ ax’um how de debble him kin specify en’ ruppezunt de ’Publikin paa’ty een Bucksley County to Mount Pleasant presinck, w’en him binnuh lib een Mistuh Puhshay Smit’ yaa’d, en’ binnuh nyam buckruh’ bittle ebbuh sence ’e farruh gone penetenshus fuh t’iefin’ hog een de yeah sebenteen-eighty-stree! I will likes to ax dis ondelicate _chillun-nigguh_ how him kin come yuh wid ’e jaw teet’ full uh Puhshay Smit’ hog meat en’ onduhtek fuh seddown him contestuss delegashun ’pun dis historicus _flo’_!

“W’en, Mistuh Chair, dis meetin’ wuz hol’ to Bucksley County to Mount Pleasant presinck, fuh sen’ dis delegashun to Cuhlumbia fuh sen’ anodduh delegashun to Chicagyo fuh nominashun de Prezzydent uh dese Newnited _State_, dis immaculate juntlemun, Mistuh Dannil T. Middletun, repose heself ’gense de conwenshun plan fuh nominashun, en’ adswocate de primus ward[2] _plan_. Now, w’en de juntlemun fin’ dat de conwenshun plan is wictoria obuh de primus ward plan, de juntlemun git disgus’, en’ de juntlemun lef’ de flo’ uh de conwenshun en’ gone down de step, follow’ by he cohort, Mistuh Gibbes! Now, Mistuh Chair, I punnounce shish ondeestunt behavior, on de paa’t uh Mistuh Middletun, uh disgustuss splotch ’pun de ’Publikin paa’ty’ cawpsus politicksus, en’ ef de juntlemun will contuhdix de wu’d w’ich I nyuse, I will punnounce she to be a _lie_! Mistuh Chair, de juntlemun’ mout’ is too black for she to be a Dimmycrack, en’ ’e yeye is too red fuh he to be a ’Publikin, en’ I punnounce’um, on de flo’ uh dis conwenshun, uh monstrosity politicuss _muffledice_!”[3]

CONDUCTOR SMITH’S DILEMMA

Is there one, among the thousands that have traveled on his train, who does not know and, knowing, does not esteem, Conductor Smith--“Billy” Smith of the Blue Ridge Railroad? Surely not, for like his prototype, Baines Carew, the sympathetic attorney of the Bab Ballads, who was so overcome by the recital of his clients’ woes that he “had scarcely strength to take his fee,” Billy, the embodiment of courtesy and kindliness, never collected a fare or punched a ticket without a deprecatory smile and look of sympathy, as tho’ it grieved him very much. This accommodating disposition has made him an easy prey to an exacting public. Other trains have passed over his road, but the cream of the travel has always been reserved for Billy. His the happiness of looking after tow-headed boys sent to visit distant relatives; his the honor of escorting to and from boarding-school, grown girls who have been provided with half-fare tickets by their thrifty mothers; his the privilege of hauling to and fro, ladies who have been blessed with twins by a prodigal Providence, ladies with birdcages, ladies with baby-carriages, ladies with cats in baskets, ladies with geraniums in pots, ladies with home-made jams and pickles in jars, ladies with bundles and bandboxes, ladies with an overweening desire to pour into his sympathetic ear divers family secrets--the exact number of teeth the last baby but one has cut, the number and variety of fashionable ailments considerately diagnosed by their family physicians, etc., etc. With these and like confidences the patient conductor’s time is not infrequently whiled away between stations.

Thus for years has Billy Smith trod--or rather joggled along--the path of duty between Walhalla and Belton. In the spring-time, when rill and river are swollen by heavy rains, and the tawny waters rush down the hillsides, gullying the plowed lands and scattering the rich soil “out among the neighbors,” when the pale blue wild violet and the waxen Easter lily peep from dell and dingle, and the peach and plum trees, clustering around the farmsteads, open their pink and white petals to the sunshine and the dew; in the summer, when the golden bees swarm over the clover blooms and the ripe grain falls before the sweep of the scythe; in the autumn, when the chestnut burrs lie on the sod and the dead leaves swirl in the blast; in the winter, when the Blue Ridge is wrapped in a slumber-robe of snow and the frost crystals, forced out of the icy earth, sparkle on the sides of the deep cuts--in all seasons and in all weathers--Billy Smith plods on. Time and toil have streaked his beard with gray, and deepened the lines in his face, but his smile is as sweet and his hands and feet as willing as ever they were in his younger days, and, until he shall run his last train through the golden gates of the new Jerusalem and pass in his manifests to be checked up by the Almighty Auditor, he will doubtless be seen at the termini of the Blue Ridge Railroad, loaded to the gunwales, like a lighter at a coaling station, with babies, pug dogs, flowering plants and all the miscellaneous paraphernalia apparently inseparable from itinerant femininity, and will still take a commanding position in the centre of his coach and diurnally sing, alas! “that old sweet song:” “Belton, Belton! Junction Columbia and Greenville Railroad! About fifty minutes, fifty minutes, before the train comes for Columbia! Passengers going in the direction of Columbia will have to git off now, you’ll have to git off, as this train leaves in about ten minutes, ten minutes, for Greenville, for Greenville--which is in the opposite direction from Columbia!”

There are moments in every life when flowers are no longer sweet, and women no longer fair; when there is no music in the song of birds, no merriment in the laughter of children, and all the world seems dark.

One of these moments came to Billy Smith the other day, when Conductor Fielding of the main line unloaded at Belton, Diana Hawlback, an elderly black woman from Beaufort County, who, with her grand-daughter “Lizzybet’,” a spotted pig in a bag, two barnyard roosters and a hen, tied by the legs, four quarts of roasted peanuts, a bushel of “Crazy Jane” sweet potatoes, a large bundle of bedding, and divers and sundry other belongings, was on her way to Pendleton to visit relatives. “The fight came up,” as the Congressional reporters say, “on the recurrence of the previous question,” which was, in this case, an emphatic demand for the payment of full fare for Diana’s “gran’,” “Lizzybet’,” a leggy girl of apparently fourteen years of age. “Cap’n,” said Diana, “dat gal is a ’leben yeahs old gal, en’ wehrebbuh I does tek’um on de train, de buckruh nebbuh does chaa’ge me mo’ den chillun money fuh de gal. Enty you ’membuh, suh, de yeah w’en de dry drought come? Well, dat gal bawn een dat same berry yeah een de middle paa’t ub de summuh, ’cause I ’membuh berrywell de dry drought dry up all de swamp en’ backwatuh en’ t’ing een Augus’, en’ all de man on de plantesshun gone out een de swamp en’ ketch de alligettuh out’n ’e hole, en’ dis gal Lizzybet’ ma--him name Benus--eat too much alligettuh w’en Lizzybet’ wuz a t’ree weeks’ ole gal, en’ de ’ooman dead en’ lef’ dis gal on my han’. De gal’ pa wuz my nyoungis’ son, Pollydo’, en’ alldo’ de scriptuh say, ‘Paul kin plant en’ Pollydo’ kin water, but Gawd duh de man w’at gib de greese,’ stillyet Pollydo’ en’ him bredduh Paul plant de crap en’ watuhr’um alltwo ’tell de dry drought come, but Gawd nebbuh sen’ de greese ’tell Pollydo’ ketch de alligettuh en’ bile’um, en’ stillyet, alldo’ ’e folluh’ de scriptuh’ wu’d en’ gib ’e lady de alligettuh greese w’at de Lawd sen’, yet de lady dead, so I don’t t’ink dat tex’, w’at my locus pastuh resplain, could be specify, elseso I don’t t’ink Pa Kinlaw could be onduhstan’ de scriptuh berry well, or de greese nebbuh would’uh ’stroy’d de ’ooman. Stan’ up gal, en’ ’low de buckruh fuh look ’puntop yo’ foot. Cap’n, you ebbuh see, sence you bawn, shishuh feet lukkuh dat on a fo’teen yeahs ole gal? Ent you know,” said she, as Conductor Smith’s eyes opened at the size of the pedal extremities exhibited, “ent you know dat a ’leben yeahs ole gal gots bigguh foot den a fo’teen yeahs ole gal? Dis gal nebbuh had a shoe ’pun ’e foot, en’ ’e foot gots nutt’n’ fuh stop’um frum grow. Befo’ you tek’way all my money fuh tek dis gal to Pendletun, I wish you, please, suh, kin eeduh go yo’self, elseso sen’ uh ansuh to my sistuhlaw, Miss Frajuh, w’at lib to Mistuh Brissle place to Cumbee, en’ ax’um wedduh dis gal Lizzybet’, w’ich him is my gran’, is mo’ den ’leben yeah ole.”

ONE WAS TAKEN--THE OTHER LEFT

On the hot white sand of a cart road that wound along the edge of a ricefield in lower Carolina, lay the stiffened body of a yellow, crop-eared cur. By his side, a companion in death, was a cottonmouth moccasin, beaten almost to a pulp.

The road was flanked on either side by a canal half filled with stagnant water, dotted here and there with water lilies and shaded by the feathery foliage of the pond willows, while, among the clumps of rushes that fringed the edges, blue flags nodded. Over all, the July sun glared fiercely, and up on the willow branches, where, here and there, his rays penetrated the dense foliage, lay a water snake basking in the golden light. Now and then a blue heron--the “Po’ Joe” of the plantation negro--rose lazily from his fishing station out in the ricefield, and, trailing his long legs after him, moved on to another “drop.” The whole world seemed to be asleep in the warm sunshine--all the world save old Ca’lina Manigo, who sat on a cypress log by the side of the road and gazed sorrowfully at the dead dog, and the snake that had caused its death, while he muttered to himself:

“Po’ ole Hol’fas’ dead, yaas, suh, dead en’ gone! Ketch ’e de’t’ en’ git ’structed by uh debble’ub’uh snake! De preechuh say dat w’en de Lawd tek’way good man en’ good ’ooman frum dis wull’ ’tis bekasew’y Him lub ’um en’ gots nyuse fuhr’um, but I wunduh w’y mekso Him tek’way Hol’fas’? Cyan’ be dem does ketch rokkoon en’ ’possum en’ t’ing een Heben! I nebbuh yerry ’bout no shishuh t’ing, but, my Mastuh! ef dem _is_ got’um dey, Hol’fas’ will tree’um befo’ dayclean tomorruh mawnin’, ’speshly ef ’e got sense ’nuf fuh fin’ Bredduh Cudjo, my class-leader, w’at de Lawd tek las’ Fibbywerry, ’cause B’Cudjo nyuse to lub fuh folluh de waa’ment’ track een de swamp same lukkuh ’e nyuse to lub fuh folluh de ’Postle Paul’ en’ Nickuhdemus’ track een de Scriptuh, en’, I tell you, suh, w’en B’Cudjo git on a hot trail, wedduh’so ’e duh trail ’possum or ’postle, ’e berry haa’d fuh t’row’um off!

“Dat mek me ’membuh ’bout de las’ time me en’ him en’ Hol’fas’ ketch de hebby rokkoon een de Cypress swamp close to Beabuh dam. Yaas’suh, dat dog couldn’ _tu’ndown_ fuh rokkoon! ’E wuz jes’ ’bout fus’ fowlcrow; de mawnin’ staar climb up de sky ’tell ’e stan’ ’puntop de treehead, en’, ’way obuh de swamp een de big dribe, we yerry de owl ‘whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo,’ en’ bimeby pres’n’ly, we list’n good en’ we yerry Hol’fas’ comin’ ’pun one hot trail, en’, bimeby ’gen, we know by ’e baa’k dat ’e done tree; so, w’en we come to de dog, ’e bin at de biggis’ sweetgum tree een de swamp en’ duh gib ’e tongue berry rappit. Now, w’en we pit de light’ood junk behin’ we fuh shine ’e yeye, we see de rokkoon ’puntop de berry top uh de gum tree, en’ we yent gots no gun fuh shoot de rokkoon, so B’Cudjo staa’t’ fuh climb de tree fuh t’row down de rokkoon, en’ ’e git’long berry well ’tell ’e git mos’ to de rokkoon, en’ B’Cudjo so hongry fuh ketch de rokkoon, dat ’e nebbuh quizzit de limb w’at him binnuh seddown ’puntop, en’ w’en ’e _graff_ at de rokkoon, please Gawd, de limb couldn’ specify, en’ de limb bruk, en’ w’en B’Cudjo graff de rokkoon by ’e tail, him en’ de rokkoon alltwo drap out de tree, en’ hit de groun’ ‘_bim_!’ De rokkoon dead, but B’Cudjo, een Gawd’ mussy, fall ’puntop ’e head, en’ dat hukkuh ’e didn’ bruk ’e back!

“Well, praise de Mastuh, Him tek’way Hol’fas’. I yent grudge’um de dog, ef Him want’um, but I wish ’E had uh bin tek my lady Bina en’ lef’ de dog, ’cause de dog nebbuh lie, en’ de ’ooman _fuhrebbuh_ duh lie, en’ de dog wuz a fait’ful dog, en’ de ’ooman is a ’ceitful ’ooman, en’ w’en you feed de dog, de dog wag ’e tail, but de _’ooman!_ him nebbuh tengkful fuh _nutt’n’_. You nebbuh kin sattify _him_!”

EGG-ZACTLY

“Come’yuh, gal, en’ lemme look ’puntop yo’ foot. W’en I call you, yo’ foot hebby ez i’on, en’ w’en I tu’n you loose, ’e light ez uh fedduh. Wuh ’smattuh? Yo’ two foot’ mus’ be tie togedduh, enty? Befo’ de Lawd, you stan’ same lukkuh yo’ maamy en’ yo’ gran’maamy alltwo. You is tarrypin w’en time come fuh wu’k, en’ bu’d w’en time come fuh play!”

Old Carolina Manigo sat on a three-legged stool at the door of his cabin, as he thus addressed his grand-daughter, Lucinda, a scrawny negress of twelve or thirteen years. With reluctant feet, the girl, a pitiful object, approached him. Her dress and appearance were in keeping with the wretched poverty of her grandfather and all his surroundings, and evidenced the utter incapacity of the average negro, thrown by “freedom” upon his own resources, to care decently for his family. The frowzy wool on her unkempt head had been plaited weeks before into little pigtails that bristled all over her crown like black caterpillars. Her face was gray with dirt, around her thick lips lingered the encrusted remnants of her sweet-potato dinner of the day before, while down her cheeks lay, like the rills of resinous gum that streak the bark of the pine tree “boxed” for turpentine, the tracks of recent tears. Through the rifts in the ragged cotton dress that constituted her sole attire, her scraggy limbs showed as she walked, or limped, rather, toward her grandfather. Around her left foot was wrapped a piece of burlap bagging, and, whenever she stepped upon it, her pinched face contracted with pain.

“’Smattuh, gal, snake bite you, enty? Dis house mus’be hab sin, ’cause dis mek de two time Gawd, een ’e mussy, sen’ mis’ry en’ water-moccasin een dis fambly. Las’ week dem ’stroy’d Hol’fas’ (w’ich him wuz de bes’ rokkoon dog ebbuh git ’pun a trail) en’ now, please de Mastuh, de snake gone en’ structid dis chillun gal, en’ ’e gwine to dead on my han’, en’ ’e know berry well ’e ma gone town, en’, ef ’e _yiz_ dead befo’ ’e ma git back frum town, him will lef’ me bidout a Gawd’ somebody fuh min’ bu’d out de cawnfiel’, en’ I nebbuh see, sence I bawn, shishuh hebby gang uh woodpeckuh’, crow’ en’ all kind’uh annimel lukkuh dis same Augus’ munt’. Gal! You ent gots no eye een yo’ head ’scusin’ fuh look fuh blackberry, enty? You walk duh paat’ en’ tu’n yo’ gaze ’puntop de sky, ’stead’uh quizzit de groun’ weh you duh walk! W’en you dead, who gwine keep jaybu’d’ out’n dis fiel’? I good min’ to lick you!”

“Gran’puh,” whimpered ’Cindy, “I nebbuh step ’puntop no snake, suh, ’tis briah w’at ’cratch me foot.”

“Briah!” laughed old Ca’lina, derisively. _“Briah!_ Who’ebbuh yerry ’bout shishuh t’ing! Briah! I sway to Gawd, gal, you mos’ mek me laugh! Weh de debble you ebbuh know briah kin ’cratch nigguh’ foot? You mus’ be t’ink you is buckruh, enty? You binnuh walk een briah en’ t’ing ebbuh sence you bawn, ’tell de bottom uh yo’ foot haa’d same lukkuh alligettuh’ back, en’ you gots de impedin’ to come’yuh en’ tell yo’ gran’puh dat briah ’cratch yo’ foot! Step fas’, gal. Slow walkin’ mek quick lickin’, en’ fus t’ing you know briah will ’cratch you ’puntop yo’ back ’stead’uh ’pun yo’ lef’ han’ feet. Mek’ace, gal, en’ come’yuh. Ent you ’membuh dat, een de ’Postle Paul’ ’Pistle to de ’Feeshun’, him resplain de wu’d dat ’long talk ketch run’way nigguh?’ Ent you know dat dey ent uh Chryce’ hom’ny een de house fuh eat? De las’ fr’en’ I got een dis wull’ wuz ole Hol’fas’, en’ snake gone en’ structid dat dog en’ kill’um, en’ ebbuh sence ’e dead, de waa’ment en’ t’ing come en’ ’stroy’d eb’ry Gawd’ fowl on de place, en’ las’ night wil’cat come en’ ketch de frizzle hen wat binnuh set onduhneet’ de cedar bush een de fench cawnuh, en’ de hen ’low de cat fuh ketch’um, en’ t’ree uh de aig’ is duck aig’ en’ two uh de odduh’res’ is tuckrey aig’, en’ you bettuh tek de aig’ to Mistuh Ram’ sto’ to de Cross Road’, en’ chaa’ge’um seb’npunce fuh de aig’, ’cause I don’t t’ink de aig’ kin specify berry well, ’cause de hen w’at bin seddown ’puntop de aig’ git ketch by de wil’cat en’ de aig’ binnuh seddown een de jew en’ t’ing, but ef de buckruh ’tarrygate you en’ quizzit you too ondeestunt ’bout de aig’, you kin tell’um dat de aig’ kin specify, ’cause de frizzle hen w’at de wil’cat ketch ent binnuh seddown ’puntop dem aig’ mo’n t’ree week, en’ you kin tell’um dat wehreas de hen aig’ oughtuh hatch’out een t’ree week’ de duck aig’ en’ de tuckrey aig’ ent jue fuh hatch’out ’tell de fo’ week done out, en’ tell’um dat wehreas de hen aig’ en’ de duck aig’ en’ de tuckrey aig’ all binnuh keep one’nudduh cump’ny, de hen aig’ is too mannusubble fuh hatch’out befo’ de odduh’res’ aig’, so de hen aig’ keep ’e cyarrictuh f’um spile, ’tell all ’e cump’ny done hatch’out.”

AN INTERRUPTED OFFERTORY

Out at the edge of the woods that fringed a sea-island cotton field in the lower part of Colleton County, stood a little bush church--a primitive affair, constructed by setting four ten-foot stakes at the corners of a square, laying ridgepoles in their forked tops, and covering the whole with green boughs of the sweetgum. Humble as it was, this summer sanctuary of the Rev. Nepchun Kinlaw’s congregation was as dear to them as was ever minareted mosque to Moslem, or cloister to Monk. Here, during the warm weather, when the more pretentious clapboard church became unbearably hot, they assembled two or three times a week to receive the pearls of theological thought that, clothed in the Gullah dialect of the Carolina coast, fell from the thick lips of their beloved “locus pastuh.” Here, sheltered from sunshine and shower, they sat, like roosting chickens, on pine poles that, upholstered only with the bark that covered them, rested upon upright stakes sawed square at the top and driven into the ground. When these “pews” were filled to the ends, the overflow found lodgment on the stumps and logs that lay within sound of the preacher’s voice in the environing forest.

On a night in the early summer, an unusually large congregation had gathered at this trysting place of the faithful, for the news had spread that “Pa Kinlaw” was going to say something sensational on the subject of pastoral ways and means. The night was dark, the sky overcast, and now and then the low rumble of distant thunder and a fitful gust of wind from the south-east, that soughed through the tops of the pines for a moment and then died away, betokened the coming storm. Around the place of worship, two or three pine-knot fires blazed brightly, furnishing, at once, light for the comfort of the congregation, and smoke for the discomfiture of the gnats and sandflies that swarmed about the church. Around and between the fires, the negroes, men and women, moved, avoiding the smoke and sparks that the wind, from time to time, sent among them, the firelight falling on their dark faces recalling the “hot-pot” scene in Rider Haggard’s “She.” While they awaited the advent of their preacher, they discussed their daily pleasures, trials, hopes and fears--the reduced cost of bacon or calico at the country store, the demand for labor, and the increased price therefor, at the rice plantations along the river, the destruction of the early corn by the cutworms and the crows, etc.

“I yerry,” said one old woman to another, “I yerry dat Mistuh FitzSimmun done tek de sprout flow off ’e rice, en’ ’e gwine hoe’um nex’ week, T’ursday.”

“Dat so?” said her companion. “Den, I gwine dey sho’ ez Gawd lemme go. Ef my juntlemun kin git uh hawss, eeduhso uh oxin, fuh knock de middle out’n ’e crap, I will mek she go ’long too, alldo’ ’e gots de mis’ry een ’e back ’tell ’e cyan’ specify wid ’e hoe lukkuh ’e nyuse to do.”

“I ’spec’,” said old Ca’lina Manigo, “I ’spec’, I mos’ sho’, rokkoon duh walk duh paat’ dis berry night! Please Gawd, ef Him didn’ mek dat snake ’stroy’d Hol’fas’ las’ yeah, I could’uh ketch one tenight, tenight, duh de night!”

“Ef you so hongry fuh rokkoon meat, w’en de praise done gitt’ru, we kin tek my dog Ring en’ tek a leetle dribe,” said Monday Parker, a stalwart black fellow.

“_Ring!_” said Ca’lina, scornfully. “_Ring!_ Boy, ef you talk Ring’ name een de same bre’t’ wid Hol’fas’ name, you will mek me hab sin right yuh tenight! I kin tek ole Hol’fas’ jawbone out’n de du’t weh de buzzut done lef’um, en’ I kin pit dat jawbone ’puntop uh rokkoon track, en’ him will mek de rokkoon git een de tree top, befo’ Ring kin ketch a fleas out’n ’e own tail! Go’way, Paa’kuh, man, you know berry well yo’ dog cyan’ specify!”

“’Nuf t’ing, ’scusin’ dog, dey een dis wull’ w’at cyan’ specify,” said a deep voice from the darkness without, and, in a moment more, the long-looked-for pastor, mounted on a raw-boned brindled ox, rode into the broad disk of firelight that filled the glade. A grain sack stuffed with corn shucks was his saddle, and a long grapevine wound around and around the unhappy ox, together with martingales and crupper of the same, held it in place. A bridle and stirrups of frayed cotton rope completed the extraordinary equestrian equipment.

“Cow iz shishuh ’ceitful t’ing fuh ride, dat I mos’ didn’ mek me ’p’int,” said the preacher, as he dismounted and hitched his animal to a bush.

“Paul Jinkin’ got some shinny peas plant close by de road aige, en’ dis cow bin so hongry dat, w’en I git to weh de fench bruk down, ’e tek ’eself en’ me en’ all, en’ gone een de fiel’ en’ staa’t fuh nyam de peas, en’ I try fuh git’um out de fiel’, ’cause Paul ent b’long to we chu’ch, but de cow haa’d-head ez a ’ooman, en’ I couldn’ git’um fuh lef’ de fiel’, ontel we yerry Paul call to ’e lady fuh git up en’ he’p’um ketch de somebody w’at dey een de fiel’, en’ w’en I yerry _dat_, I yent want’uh git de cow’ cyarrictuh spile, so I mek’um come out’n’ de fiel’--en’ dat how I git yuh late.”

Taking his stand in the tall box of rough pine boards that served for a pulpit, he looked askance at the contributions to his support that various members of his congregation brought to the altar and laid on the ground beside him. A quart of grist, a dozen eggs, a chicken, a pint of “clean” rice, a nickle--ostentatiously brought forth from a knot in the corner of an apron and placed by the proud donor “een de Reb’ren’ han’”--such were the offerings of this simple people, but, although representing more than a tithe of their possessions, they found little favor in the pastor’s eyes.

“Sistuh Wineglass,” said he, as a bustling middle-aged woman smilingly presented a chicken. “Sistuh Wineglass, chickin’ seems to sca’ceful een dis congregashun ez debble sca’ceful een heab’n! Dis mek only de t’ree chickin’ w’at bin contri_butes_ to dis chu’ch sence de las’ quawt’ly preachin’, en’ I done tell oonuh one time ’ready dat dis pulpit cyan’ filfill’ bidout _bittle_. Ent de Scriptuh say een de fo’teen chaptuh een Nickuhdemus, dat de lab’ruh wut’ ’e hire? I gots to lef’ my crap kibbuh wid grass, en’ come yuh fuh ’rassle en’ agguhnize wid oonuh sinful soul en’ t’ing, en’ you gots de nomannus to come een de Lawd’ house wid t’ree aig’ en’ one leetle fo’punce chickin een yo’ han’, en’ ’spec’ fuh ketch salwashun, enty? Ef you saa’ch Nickuhdemus’ wu’d you will fin’ dat ’e say ’sponsubble dat a fo’punce chickin cyan’ specify fuh seb’npunce’ wut’ uh salwashun! You tell me week befo’ las’ dat you couldn’ git no chickin’ ’scusin’ you git aig’, en’ you cyan’ gots no aig’ ’cep’n’ de hen lay’um, but de Lawd’ wu’d say, ef yo’ right han’, eeduhso yo’ right han’ feet, refen’ you, you mus’ cut’um off, en’ ef de hen cyan’ specify, you mus’ cut off him head same fashi’n en’”--

The pastor’s prelude was brought to a sudden close by a deafening peal of thunder that echoed and re-echoed through the forest. A gust of wind lifted the sweetgum thatch from the rafters of the little church and scattered the boughs to leeward, and, as the big raindrops began to fall upon the assembled worshipers, Pa Kinlaw gathered together his prog, mounted his ox, and trotted off in the darkness, calling to his flock as he went, “de Lawd en’ me alltwo cyan’ talk one time! De nex’ preachin’ will be to Sistuh Rab’nel’ house ’bout fus’ daa’k Chuesday night!”

A FLAW IN THE “EENDITEMENT”

She came into the office of a Walterboro lawyer and engaged his services to reverse, upset and “spile” the decision of a trial justice who had just fined her “nine dolluh’ en’ de cawss’, suh,” for obstructing a public highway.