Part 15

“Well, suh, Sat’d’y two week’, I gone back en’ I say, ‘well, Mary, I come, how ’bout’um, wuh you got fuh say?’ Him mek ansuh: ‘Ent nutt’n’ ’bout’um. Yent got nutt’n’ fuh say.’ Den I tell’um ’berry well, den, I gone my way, en’ you tek you’n. Now, Mary, I yent no Wanderbilt fuh gi’ you fibe t’ousan’ dolluh’ allimunny fuh lib off, so you is free fuh lib ’cawd’n’ to yo’ own min’, en’ I is free fuh do ez I please.’ Den I tek me gun, I call me dog, en’ I _gone_!

“De nex’ week, I bin comin’ out de maa’sh on Mr. Rab’nel’ place, w’en I meet Mary. Him binnuh wait fuh me. I say ‘hello! dat duh you?’ Him say: ‘Jim, I come fuh tell you dat all dem t’ing I bin yeddy ’bout you, I fin’ out dem is lie, en’ I want you fuh come back to me.’ I say, ‘enty I tell you dat de finull wu’d would be talk w’en I come back fuh me ansuh Sat’d’y two week’, en’ ent dat time done pass? You bidness fuh fin’ out ’bout dat lie een dem twelbe day’ time wuh I done gib you. ’E too late now.’ En’ I walk off en’ lef’um!”

“Have you another wife, Jim?”

“I hab dat gal you see wid me dis mawnin’ een Mr. FitzSimmun’ yaa’d. _Him_ ent wut’!”

“BUH ALLIGETTUH EN’ BUH DEER”

One time, w’en nutt’n’ cep’ de bu’d en’ de annimel en’ de Injun bin yuh, buh deer en’ buh alligettuh ain’ bin fr’en’, en’ buh alligettuh blan does kill buh deer en’ nyam’um w’enebbuh ’e git uh chance, en’ buh deer does ’f’aid fuh swim ’cross ribbuh, en’ w’enebbuh ’e go down to de ribbuh’ aige fuh drink, ’e does cock ’e yez en’ squint ’e yeye fuh buh alligettuh befo’ ’e pit ’e mout’ down fuh drink; but, bimeby, yuh come de buckruh, en’ bimeby ’gen, de buckruh fetch de nigguh, en’ bimeby ’e fetch houn’ dog, en’ den de Injun gone, en’ de buckruh’ biggin fuh hunt buh deer wid dem English houn’, en’ de dog’ so swif’ en’ dem blan push buh deer so close, de only chance ’e hab fuh git’way is fuh tek de watuh ’spite uh buh alligettuh, so, w’edduh de ribbuh dey close uh fudduh, buh deer mek fuhr’um w’enebbuh de dog jump’um.

Now, de fus’ time de buckruh’ run buh deer wid houn’, buh deer ain’ ’quaintun’ wid’um, en’ ’e leddown een ’e bed een one mukkle t’icket on de aige uh de broom grass fiel’ duh tek ’e res’, ’tell de dog mos’ git up tuhr’um, den ’e fin’ him ain’ able fuh hide, en’ ’e buss’ out de mukkle en’ lean fuh de ribbuh fuh who las’ de longes’! Yuh come de ole buck, yuh come de English houn’! Buh deer ’f’aid. ’E jump. ’E run. ’E git dey fus’. Jis’ ez ’e ketch de bluff fuh jump off een de ribbuh, buh alligettuh’ two eye’ rise out de watuh duh wait fuhr’um! De alligettuh hongry. Bittle berry sca’ceful. ’E belly pinch’um. Buh deer fat. ’E fat fuh sowl. Buh deer dey een one hebby trouble. Alligettuh dey befor’um, beagle’ dey behin’um, en’ dem toung duh roll t’ru de swamp en’ dem comin’ _fas’_. Wuh buh deer gwi’ do? ’E yeye dey ’pun de alligettuh, ’e yez dey ’pun de beagle’. ’E mek uh sudd’n twis’ jis’ befo’ de dog’ sight’um, en’ bu’n de win’ down de ribbuh bank ’bout seb’n acre f’um de bluff and tek de watuh ’cross weh buh alligettuh nebbuh shum.

Yuh come de beagle’ uh bilin’ fuh de bluff. Dem come so fas’ ’pun buh deer track dem nebbuh stop, en’ two’t’ree gone obuh de bank en’ drap een de watuh close buh alligettuh’ snout. Buh alligettuh reason wid ’eself. “Wuh dis t’ing? I nebbuh see shishuh annimel befo’, but, duh bittle!” en’ ’e graff one de beagle’ en’ pull’um onduhneet’ de water. Todduh dog’ swim out en’ tek dem foot een dem han’ en’ gone home.

Buh deer git’way dis time. ’E gone! W’en ’e ready fuh tu’n back ’cross de ribbuh, ’e walk easy to de bank duh skin ’e yeye fuh buh alligettuh, en’ bimeby ’e shum ’tretch out ’pun one mud bank een de sunhot. ’E belly full’uh beagle. ’E sattify. ’E duh sleep. Buh deer sneak close to de ribbuh fuh tek a chance fuh git ’cross, but befo’ him kin wet ’e foot, buh alligettuh shum, en’ ’e slip off de bank fuh meet’um. Yuh de debble now! How buh deer kin git ’cross to ’e fambly? Him biggin fuh study, but befo’ him kin crack ’e teet’ fuh talk, buh alligettuh op’n de cumposhashun.

“Budduh,” ’e tell buh deer, “dat t’ing wuh I done eat, wunnuh call’um beagle, berry good bittle. Me lub um berry well. ’E easy fuh ketch, en’ ’e ent gots no hawn fuh ’cratch me t’roat. Me _done_ fuh lub’um!”

“Ef you lub’um, mekso wunnuh don’ ketch’um, en’ lef’ me en’ my fambly ’lone?” buh deer ax’um. Buh alligettuh mek ansuh: “Me cyan’ ketch de dog ’cep’n’ wunnuh fetch’um t’ru de ribbuh, so leh we mek ’greement fuh las’ long ez de ribbuh run. Wunnuh tek de ribbuh, me tek de beagle’. Me fuh you, en’ you fuh me, en’ alltwo fuh one’nurruh.”

Dat w’ymekso ebbuh sence de’ ’greement mek, w’enebbuh dog run’um, buh deer tek de ribbuh en’ buh alligettuh lem’lone, en’ w’en de beagle’ come ’e ketch’um, but ef buh deer ebbuh come duh ribbuh bidout dog dey att’um, him haffuh tek ’e chance.

BUH HAWSS EN’ BUH MULE

A FABLE

Buh Hawss’ tail long sukkuh willuh switch, Buh Mule’ own stan’ lukkuh t’istle.

One time Buh Hawss en’ Buh Mule tu’n out duh pastuh duh Sunday. Dem alltwo blonx to high buckruh. Buh Hawss binnuh dribe een buggy, en’ Buh Mule binnuh wu’k duh plow. Dem alltwo glad fuh git out en’ dem alltwo kick up dem foot en’ play ’bout de fiel’. Buh Hawss cantuh. ’E bow ’e neck sukkuh gobbluh duh strut, en’ ’e tail heng sukkuh willuh switch. Buh Mule trot. ’E ’tretch ’e neck out ’traight sukkuh Muscoby duck duh fly. ’E step high en’ ’e tail stan’ up sukkuh t’istle. Buh Mule tail oagly, fuh true, but da’ duh all de tail wuh ’e got en’ ’e berry well sattify ’long um. Buh Hawss biggin fuh brag. “Look ’puntop oonuh tail,” ’e say. “Mekso oonuh ent hab tail lukkuh my’own?” ’e ax’um. “Oonuh yent kin switch fly ’long’um ’cause ’e shabe. Shishuh no’count tail ent wut’,” ’e tell’um. “Me duh buckruh, you duh nigguh!” Buh Mule biggin fuh shame. ’E yent sattify ’long ’e tail no mo’. Buh Mule cyan’ switch fly, fuh true, but ’e skin tough, en’ fly don’ bodduhr’um, but Buh Hawss git’um so agguhnize’ een ’e min’ ’e fuhgit fuh tell’um suh ’e yent hab cajun fuh switch fly ’long ’e tail, en’ ’e heng ’e head en’ ’e tail alltwo, en’ ’e lef Buh Hawss en’ ’e gone off todduh side de fiel’ en’ ’e study. Bimeby, ’e look obuh de pastuh, en’ todduh side de fench ’e see one las’yeah cawnfiel’ weh de nigguh lef’ ’nuf sheep buhr duh stan’ ’long de cawnstalk. Buh Mule biggin fuh laugh. ’E op’n ’e mout’. ’E blow ’e hawn. “_Aw-e-Aw-e-Aw-e!_” Buh Hawss cantuh. ’E come close. ’E ax’um ’smattuh mek ’e duh laugh. Buh Mule say ’e laugh ’cause Buh Hawss ent smaa’t ’nuf fuh jump de fench en’ run’um uh race t’ru de cawnfiel’. Buh hawss tek’um up. ’E jump de fench. ’E behin’ foot ketch de top rail en’ knock’um off. Buh Mule tumble t’ru. Yuh dem come! Buh Hawss cantuh, Buh Mule trot, up en’ down de fiel’ t’ru de sheep buhr. Buh Mule tail shabe ’tell ’e slick. ’E switch’um roun’ en’ roun’ ’mong de buhr but none nebbuh stick. Bimeby, Buh Hawss’ tail biggin fuh hebby. ’E ketch full’uh buhr. Dem tanglety een ’e tail ’tell ’e stan’ sukkuh timbuh cyaa’t rope. ’E duh drag. Eb’ry time ’e switch’um roun’ ’e hanch, de buhr sting’um. ’E say to ’eself, “wuh dis t’ing? Me fuh lick me own self! Me fuh hab spuhr een me own tail! De debble! Me dey een trubble, fuh true!” ’E talk trute. ’E tail lick’um en’ spuhr’um alltwo one time.

Buh Mule pass’um. ’E look ’puntop Buh Hawss’ tail, en’ ’e yent shame no mo’. “Tengk Gawd,” ’e say, “fuh shabe tail. Low tree stan’ high win’!”

LISS “BIN EENSULT”

From Olar, that favored spot in a fruitful section of the State, where, under the guidance of a Carolina Burbank, the amorous Iron pea, loving the “Shinny” despite her freckles, wooed and won her to wilt-resistance, where quiet farmers are classical scholars and hermits are hospitable, comes a story of Liss, a character as noted in local colored circles for oddity as for ugliness. A white neighbor, who recently met her, noticing that she was swelling with wrath, and, seeking to get a rise out of her, asked:

“What’s the fun today, Liss?”

“No fun een dis t’ing; I done bin eensult.”

“Who has insulted you?”

“Mimy’ yalluh gal Clara eensult me, suh. Dat gal en’ ’e maamy mek crap fuh Cap’n Willie. I bin to Mimy’ house, en’ one bale uh cotton bin fuh haul town fuh sell. Clara tell ’e maamy, ‘Ma, lemme go town wid dat bale, en’ lemme git a spo’tin’ suit out dat bale uh cotton?’

“Now, Mimy swell up bex, same lukkuh bullfrog. ‘Spo’t suit de debble!’ ’e say. ‘You binnuh do nutt’n’ but spo’t de Gawd’ blessed yeah. You don’t git a shimmy out dat bale uh cotton.’

“Den de gal mek ansuh en’ say:

“‘Ma, ef you don’t lemme git dat spo’tin’ suit, I gwi’ do eb’ry bad t’ing I know ’bout. I gwi’ do bad right now.’

“Clara hab on one deseyuh newfanglety kinduh t’ing dem call ‘_middle-blouse_.’ You know um, suh. ’E stan’ same lukkuh man shu’t, wid ’e shu’t tail heng out, excusin’ ’e got one kind’uh shoe string tie onduhneet’ de gal’ buzzum. _My Gawd, w’at a gal!_ Alldo’ t’ree man dey een ’e ma’ house, Clara staa’t fuh tek off ’e middle-blouse. I tell’um:

“‘Gal, ef you tek off dat middle-blouse een dis house befo’ dese mans, you will sho’ hab sin.’

“‘Sin, _nutt’n’_! I gwi’ strip nakit ez a jaybu’d befo’ ’e fedduh’ grow! I gwi’ do bad!’ W’en de gal say dis wu’d, ’e ketch ’e middle-blouse by ’e shu’t tail wid alltwo ’e han’ en’ hice’um obuh ’e head! Befo’ ’e kin git’um off, all t’ree de man jump out de do’, en’ w’en I look out een de yaa’d, I shum duh roll obuh en’ obuh een de du’t same lukkuh hawss roll, en’ duh buss’ demself wid laugh. Now, w’en I see de gal’ yalluh skin biggin fuh shine lukkuh dese yuh yalluh-belly cootuh, myself git eensult, en’ I lef’ ’e ma’ house, ’cause I is a _lady_, suh, en’ dat is a _ondeestunt gal_!”

THE RETORT COURTEOUS

Her name was Patty. She was as black as a tar baby, as oleaginous as a cotton oil mill and--like Captain Merrimac in Olivette--as broad in the beam and as square in the rig as a Dutch brig, when she appeared before a tidewater trial justice as the prosecuting witness _in re_ the State of South Carolina _vs._ Cudjo Manigo, charged with malicious mischief.

Taking the stand, she put her head on one side and complacently smiled until the corners of her mouth--evidently designed for the wholesale trade--approached dangerously near her ears. Twisting his amber imperial, his Honor began:

Q. “What’s your full name?”

A. “Mis’ Wineglass, suh.”

Q. “Where’s your residence?”

A. “’E yent come teday, suh.”

Q. “I mean where do you live?”

A. “Yaas, suh. I lib on Mass Kit FitzSimmun’ plantesshun, w’ich’n ’e jis’ done buy’um de Chuesday een week befo’las’ mek six munt’ done gone, en’ I glad ’e buy’um, too, bekasew’y jis’ ez soon ez ’e buy’um ’e run dat las’ husbun’ w’ich I marry een Augus’ off de place, w’ich’n me en’ dat nigguh nebbuh could ’gree, ’cause, een de fus’ place, ’e too lub fuh lick ’e lady; en’, een de two place, ’e too oncommun lazy en’ no’count, en’, een de t’ree place, ’e fus’ wife en’ me nebbuh could git ’long, en’, een de fo’ place, him is a class-leaduh een de Baptis’ chu’ch, en’ eb’rybody know berry well dat wehreas class-leaduh mek a berry po’ kind’uh husbun’ fuh ’e own wife, en’--”

His Honor--“That will do. What is your charge against the defendant?”

A. “Bredduh Cudjo, suh?”

Q. “Yes. What’s your charge?”

A. “I nebbuh chaa’g’um nutt’n’, suh.”

Q. “Well, what did Cudjo do?”

A. “B’Cudjo is a berry nomannus nigguh, suh. Him is de class-leaduh een my chu’ch, en w’en eeduhso de preachuh on de sukkus, elsehow de locus preechuh, onable to filfill de pulpit, den B’Cudjo does hol’ saa’bis een de chu’ch, en’ w’en B’Cudjo done resplain de Lawd’ wu’d, ’e berry lub fuh talk sweetmout’ talk to all ’e freemale sistuh een de chu’ch, en’ eb’ry time ’e meet me een de road ’e baig me fuh kiss’um, en’ I yent wantuh kiss no shishuh oagly, twis’mout’ nigguh lukkuh B’Cudjo, en’ I tell’um so, en’ den ’e does cuss at me berry nomannusubble, en’ de las’ time I meet’um een de paat’, ’e quizzit me berry rappit, en’ I tell’um ‘go’way, B’Cudjo, bekasew’y I ent wantuh yeddy no shishuh cumposhashun’, en’ yet B’Cudjo keep on peruse ’long de paat’, en’ ’e keep on ax’me shish squeschun, en’ fus’ t’ing I know ’e cuss me a berry bad cuss.”

Q. “What did he curse you?”

A. “’E tell me dat my mout’ does wide same lukkuh Ashley ribbuh!”

Q. “What else?”

A. “Dat all ’e had chance fuh tell me, ’cause I tell’um, ‘Haa’k’ee at me good fashi’n, B’Cudjo, ’fo’ de Lawd, ef my mout’ _is_ stan’ lukkuh Ashley ribbuh, _you cyan’ paddle yo’ boat cross’um’_, en’ den ’e git bex en’ knock me wid ’e hoe handle, en’ dat w’yso I fetch’um yuh.”

At this stage of the proceedings, the Toogoodoo trial justice adjourned court to measure the Ashley River.

THE CAT WAS CRAZY

On a recent Sunday afternoon, an itinerant evangelist with a throat of brass was stationed at the corner of Richardson and Plain Streets in Columbia, singing hymns in the laudable endeavor to save a soul or two.

From an upper window of the Grand Central Hotel a fair face looked out to the westward, while a child tapped upon the pane.

At a club window opposite, a young bachelor banker sipped his Sunday cocktail while he eyed critically the passers-by on their way from church. How many of their financial secrets did he hold in his keeping! How many of their obligations were locked in his vaults! The note of that jauntily dressed young man, who held his head so high as he spurned the dust from his patent leathers, had gone to protest but yesterday. The extravagance of yonder portly lady, who, with silken sails spread to the breeze, towed after her, as a tug tows a coal barge, one of the fashionable fourteen-inch trains, scattering in her wake banana peel, cigar butts and other miscellaneous wreckage of the street, had cost her husband another mortgage.

The banker was of a thrifty mind, and he wondered why, in the name of Saint Peter--why, in the name of the patron saints of cleanliness and all the gods of common-sense, fashion should exact of its devotees the performance of the unæsthetic work of the street-sweeper and the scavenger! Thinking, with a sigh, that shorter skirts might have permitted longer bank accounts, he turned his eyes to the wooded hills of Lexington above which hung the setting sun, a great disk of gold. With his mental coupon shears, the speculative financier quickly clipped the “orb of day” into gold treasury certificates, put them out at interest--compounded, of course--and, with one more Vermouth cocktail to aid his imaginative computation, he was, in a twinkling, possessed of the wealth of Monte Cristo. And now the world and all beyond was his! On fancy’s wings he sailed away, away to Arcadie. Instead of herding bulls and bears, a shepherd now was he. Like Strephon, he played upon a pipe, while at his feet the lambkins played, or huddled together in the sunshine “so warm and sleepy and white.”

Garlanded with roses, the shepherdess led him through leafy bowers into an open glade, where, among the buttercups and daisies, he fell asleep, and dreamed. _Ay, Dios!_ How few of us realize, until all too late, that the simplest pleasures are the best, that in home and friends we may make for ourselves happiness far above that which must be sought beyond our circle. How few of us realize that there is more exhilaration in a five-mile spin than in a quart of champagne, that ’tis more blessed to swish the briefest cotton skirt in Arcadie--if in Arcadie we belong--than to drag a satin train in a Paris salon!

But the banker dreamed, and the strains of the Santiago waltz were in his ears, and the houris of Mahomet glided along before him wreathed in--smiles. One, fairer than the rest, beckoned, and he followed on and on. Out into the darkness he followed the golden gleam of her beautiful bi-carbonated hair, followed through tangled forest and treacherous fen--alas! the will-o’-the-wisp!

With a start, he awoke from his reverie to find--like the market girl who stumbled and smashed the basket of eggs from which she had hatched out all her hopes--that his gold was gone, for suddenly the sharp edge of the horizon was drawn like a scimitar across the throat of the sinking sun, and in an instant the western sky, away up to the zenith, was stained as with his life blood!

With a shudder, as though chilled from sitting in the overdraft of his imagination, the banker took his hat and went out into the street, where the evangelist, having closed his song service, was exhorting the little group clustered around him.

Suddenly, on the edge of the gathering, an old negro, bent with age and with a face furrowed by grief, appeared. He led by the hand a little black girl about ten years old. Her eyes were round with fright, and about her thin legs a ragged red calico skirt flapped like a weather-stained flag at half-mast.

The old man skirted the group, eagerly scanning each face as though looking for a sympathetic ear into which to pour his sorrows. Not finding what he wanted, he hurried on toward the State House, dragging the child after him, until, in front of a newspaper office, he saw a round-waisted gentleman with a priestly look talking to a tall, long-bearded one of the old school. Detecting benevolence in the faces of both, he approached the shorter of the two, and, in an anxious voice, inquired--“Maussuh, please, suh, tell me ef cat kin git crazy?”

“Do you mean is it possible for a cat to have rabies?”

“No, suh, ’taint rabbit, ’tis cat.”

“I apprehend,” said the English purist, “that you desire to ascertain whether it is possible for a cat to have the rabies. I may say, for your information, that there are, literally and mathematically speaking, 18 phases of insanity to which humanity is subject, ranging from the emotional insanity of commerce, to the popular _mania a potu_, vulgarly called _delirium inebriosa_. I do not care to give an off-hand opinion as to whether or not a cat may have one or more of these kinds of insanity, unless you will accurately describe the symptoms and put your questions categorically. It is manifestly a work of supererogation--”

“Great Gawd, maussuh!” said the old man, turning appealingly to the tall gentleman. “Please, suh, tell dis juntlemun dat my cat nebbuh had no rabbit, ’e only had kitten’. Yaas, suh. My cat name Jane, en’ ’e b’long to dis leetle gal chile w’ich is my gran’, en’ him (dat is de gal) name Jane, en’ Jane (dat is de cat) b’long to Jane (w’ich is de gal) en’ Jane does use to folluh Jane eb’ryweh ’e go, en’ Jane does berry lub Jane, en’ w’enebbuh Jane does ketch rat, ’e fetch’um een de house, en’ w’enebbuh Jane does git ’e bittle fuh eat, ’e always keep some uh de bittle fuh Jane, en’ w’en Jane (dat is de cat) had nine kitten’ een Mistuh Claa’k’ smokehouse on de t’ree Chuesday een dis same berry munt’, den Jane (dat is de gal) set up all night fuh nuss Jane (dat is de cat) en’, please Gawd, maussuh, jis’ as soon as de nyung kitten’ eye’ biggin fuh op’n, one shaa’pmout’ black dog, wid ’e tail stan’ like dese bu’d fedduh buckruh ’ooman does lub fuh pit on ’e hat w’en Sunday come, dis dog jump obuh de fench en’ bite’um, en’ Jane (dat is de cat en’ de gal alltwo) git berry agguhnize en’ twis’ up een alltwo dem min’, en’ Jane (dat is de cat) him jump obuh de fench en’ run’way, en’ de dog en’ Jane (dat is de gal) run attuh Jane (dat is de cat) ’tell w’en Jane (dat is de cat) staa’t fuh run down de lane, Jane (dat is de gal) see ole Unk’ Bill Rose--w’ich’n him is de Gub’nuh’ Claa’k, walkin’ good fashi’n down de lane. Now, de gal holluh att’um fuh ketch de cat, but eb’rybody know dat Unk’ Bill Rose is leetle kinduh bowleggit, en’, alldo’ him hol’ alltwo ’e foot togedduh, ’e foot couldn’ specify, en’ Jane (dat is de cat) jump clean t’ru Unk’ Bill Rose’ britchiz, en’ ’e git’way en’ gone, please Gawd, en’ lef’ Jane (dat is de gal) en’ lef’ ’e nine kitten’, w’ich all dem eye’ ent done open, een Mistuh Claa’k’ smokehouse, en’ gone en’ jump obuh de fench w’ich run roun’ de ’Sylum yaa’d--en’ dat de reaz’n w’ymekso I know berry well Jane (dat is de cat) mus’ be gone crazy, ’cause he gone _spang_ een de ’Sylum!”

A CONGAREE WATER-COLOR

During the last freshet in the Congaree river, three negroes living on the Childs plantation five miles below Columbia took advantage of the high water to go rabbit hunting in a boat. Paddling about between the tree trunks, they scanned the knolls and tussocks that, rising above the flood, afforded sanctuary to the cotton-tail refugees.

So intent were they upon the chase, that the carelessly managed skiff struck a cypress “knee” and was instantly swamped. Fortunately, the trees were thick, and the wrecked crew climbed into a tall gum, where, far above the swelling flood, they spent the entire day, sending out from time to time across the waste of waters a piteous cry for help, until, late in the evening, their voices were heard from the highlands, and a boat was sent to their rescue by Mr. Childs.

Mingo Singletary, one of the treed nimrods, was in the city yesterday, and gave the following account of the adventure: