Part 16

“Yaas, suh, me en’ Silus Smit’ en Hacklus Rab’nel, w’ich Hacklus is my niece, ’cause _him_ gran’ en’ _my_ gran’ alltwo is de same man, en’ _him_ farruh en’ _my_ farruh is two twin; so, berrywellden, me en’ dese two mans gone out een de bateau fuh hunt rabbit, ’cause w’en de ribbuh high, rabbit is a berry easy t’ing fuh ketch, ’cause dey berry ’f’aid fuh git dem foot wet, en’ dey does climb high ’puntop de tussock. So we paddle ’long en’ quizzit all de tussock, en’ de same time w’en me en’ Silus binnuh peep onduhneet’ one briah bush weh rabbit does hide, fus’ t’ing we know, we ain’ know _nutt’n’_, ’cause my niece Hacklus, w’ich dat nigguh nebbuh did hab a Gawd’ piece uh sense, him paddle de boat ’puntop de snag, en’ de boat’ bottom couldn’ specify, en’ de boat’ bottom buss’, en’ lef’ we een de water. Now, Silus had a fight wid he lady las’ week, en’ he lady strong mo’den Silus, en’ Silus’ lady lick’um en’ mos’ bruk ’e back, so w’en Silus try fuh swim ’e back couldn’ specify, en’ jis’ ez ’e biggin to drowndid, my niece Hacklus ketch’um by ’e britchiz, but de britchiz buss’, en’ Silus gone down onduhneet’ de water fuh de two time, en’ w’en ’e rise ’gen I graff’um by ’e lef’ han’ foot en’ hice’um up close to one big gum tree, en’ all t’ree uh we climb de tree ’tell we git ’puntop de limb, en’ den, please Gawd, we seddown, en’ seddown, en’ seddown; en’ we all t’ree berry well sattify fuh seddown, ’tell hongry biggin fuh ketch we, en w’en _him_ come, den we staa’t fuh holluh’ en’ holluh’ en’ holluh. But de mo’ we holluh, de mo’ we hongry, en’ bimeby we see Silus’ lady walkin’ by de ribbuh’ aige wid dat yalluh boy Sam, w’ich lib to Mistuh Hamptun’ place, en’ Silus holluh at ’e lady en’ scole’um, but you know berry well, suh, ’ooman is de debble, en’ dat ’ooman nebbuh had Silus een de back uh ’e head. So, we stillyet seddown, en’ seddown, ’tell we mos’ ready fuh drap off de tree limb; en’ Silus is a class-leader, en’ him biggin fuh praise de Lawd, en’ bimeby him tell we ’bout how de rab’n feed ’Lijah, en’ we look high een de ellyment en’ we see ’nuf buzzut flyin’ high obuh de tree top, en’ Hacklus call to de buzzut fuh fetch de bittle, but de buzzut keep on flew high een de ellyment, en’ nebbuh bodduh ’e head ’bout Hacklus. Den, bimeby ’gen, Silus resplain de Scriptuh ’bout how Noah’ dub fetch tree branch en’ all kinduh t’ing een ’e mout’ w’en de water high; en’, fus’ t’ing we know, we see one dub fly t’ru de swamp, en’ de sun shine on ’e breas’ en’ mek’um look like gol’, en’, likewise also, we call to _him_, but ’e didn’ hab nutt’n’ een ’e mout’, en’ _him_ fly ’way en’ gone, please Gawd! Den, w’en de sun biggin fuh lean ’cross de tree top ’en staa’t fuh walk down de sky fuh go to ’e res’, we git mos’ skaytode’t’, en’ we staa’t fuh sing sperritual’ en’ praise de Lawd, en’ Silus ketch ’e tex’ f’um de fo’teen chaptuh een Nickuhdemus, en’ him tell we ’bout how de Lawd tu’n Nickuhdemus eento cow w’en him hongry, so ’e could git grass fuh eat, but I tell’um dat tex’ couldn’ specify, ’cause how de debble--een de fus’ place, man cyan’ eat grass w’en him dey high een de tree top.

“En’ den de sun gone down, en’ one leetle cat squerril come out ’e hole een de gum tree en’ tu’n ’e tail obuh ’e back en’ say ‘_paak, paak, paak_’, en’ one big owl fly close to we en’ seddown een we tree en’ say ‘_whaak, whaak, whaak, whaak, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo!_’ en’ den I know de Lawd tek pity on we en’ sen’ we cump’ny, en’ we git mo’ fait’ een de Lawd, en’ we biggin fuh holluh ’gen, en’ dis time, suh, Mistuh Chile yeddy we woice en’ sen’ ’e boat en’ tek we off, en’ w’en we git back to de nigguhhouse yaa’d, eb’rybody on de plantesshun sing praise en’ glad we come back--eb’rybody ’scusin’ Silus’ wife, en’, you b’leebe me, suh! Silus’ lady him bex ’cause ’e husbun’ britchiz buss’, en’ ’e lick Silus ’cause ’e didn’ drowndid.”

WAITING TILL THE BRIDEGROOMS COME

On a hot June day a year or two ago, a tall, pumpkin-colored negro was leisurely plowing an unambitious mule in a cornfield in Lower Carolina. Minzacter Singleton was his euphonious name, and he was about 55 years of age.

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!”