Part 17

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.