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THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 MRS. S. WESTRAY BATTLE 
 
 PRESENTED 
 
 BY HER DAUGHTER 
 
 MRS. ROBERT S. PICKENS 
 
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 This book must not 
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 2 
 2 
 
 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 By 
 
 H. E. C. Bryant 
 ^^Red Buck'' 
 
 Stone ^ Barringer Co. 
 
 Charlotte, N, C. 
 igio 
 
 aiTi T z rrr T T zrsmg^^ ■ ■j qi s'it'tt t ;^ 
 
Copyright, 1909, 
 By stone & BARRINGER CO. 
 

 TO 
 
 JOSEPH PEARSON CALDWELL 
 
 MOST OF THESE STORIES YOU HAVE SEEN, 
 SOME YOU HAVE PRAISED. WHILE OTHERS, 
 NEWLY WRIT, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE 
 TO SEE ON ACCOUNT OF YOUR UNFORTU- 
 NATE ILLNESS, BUT, TO YOU, THE PrINCE 
 
 OF Tar Heels, I dedicate all, in lov- 
 ing REMEMBRANCE OF FIFTEEN YEARS 
 OF INTIMATE ACQUAINTANCE, FAITHFUL 
 FRIENDSHIP, AND MOST DELIGHTFUL COM- 
 PANIONSHIP. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 These tales, concerning all sorts and con- 
 ditions of people, were written by H. E. C. 
 Bryant, better known as Red Buck. As staff 
 correspondent of The Charlotte Observer, 
 Mr. Bryant visited every comer of North 
 Carolina, and in his travels over the state 
 wrote many stories of human interest, de- 
 picting life and character as he found It. 
 His first impulse to publish his stories in 
 book form resulted from an appreciation of 
 his work by the lamented Harry Myrover, 
 a very scholarly writer of Fayetteville, who 
 said: 
 
 *' I have been struck frequently at how 
 the predominant mental characteristic sticks 
 out in Mr. Bryant. His sense of humor is 
 as keen as a razor. He sees a farce while 
 other men are looking at a funeral, and this 
 exquisite sense of humor Is liable to break 
 out at any time — even in church. One may 
 
Preface 
 
 read after him seriously, as he reports the 
 proceedings of a big event but toward the 
 last the whole thing Is likely to burst out In 
 an Irrepressible guffaw, at some very quaint, 
 funny reflection or criticism, or an Inadver- 
 slon. All this shows out, too, from the per- 
 sonal side of the man, making him dellghjt- 
 ful In talk, and altogether one of the most 
 entertaining fellows one will meet In many 
 a day's journey. 
 
 *' I really think there Is more Individuality 
 about his writings, than about those of any 
 other writer of the state. Every page spar- 
 kles and bubbles with the humor of the man, 
 and It Is a clean, wholesome humor, there 
 being nothing In It to wound, but everything 
 to cheer and please." 
 
 These words honestly spoken by Mr. 
 Myrover encouraged Mr. Bryant. Red 
 Buck's dialect stories soon obtained a state 
 wide reputation, and as Mr. J. P. Caldwell, 
 the gifted editor of The Charlotte Observer, 
 truly said: *' His negro dialect stories are 
 equal to those of Joel Chandler Harris — 
 Uncle Remus." 
 
Preface 
 
 His friends will be delighted to know that 
 he has collected some of the best of his 
 stones, and that they are presented here. 
 
 In North Carolina there is no better known 
 man than Red Buck. A letter addressed to 
 " Red Buck, North Carolina," would be de- 
 livered to H. E. C. Bryant, at Charlotte. 
 Everybody in the state knows the big hearted, 
 auburn haired Scotch-Irishman of the Meck- 
 lenburg colony, who, on leaving college went 
 to work on The Charlotte Observer and, on 
 account of his cardinal locks, rosy complexion 
 and gay and game way, was dubbed " Red 
 Buck " by the editor, Mr. Caldwell. It was 
 an office name for a time. Then it became 
 state property, and the name " Bryant " per- 
 ished. 
 
 Red Buck has traveled all over the state 
 of North Carolina and written human inter- 
 est stories from every sand-hill and mountain 
 cove. Many Tar Heels know him by no 
 other name than Red Buck. In fact there 
 is a Red Buck fad in the state, which has 
 resulted in a Red Buck brand of whiskey, a 
 Red Buck cigar, a Red Buck mule, a Red 
 
Preface 
 
 Buck pig, and a Red Buck rooster, although 
 the man for whom they are named drinks 
 not, neither does he smoke. 
 
 This book of Tar Heel tales is from Mr. 
 Bryant's cleverest work. 
 
 Thomas J. Pence. 
 
 Washington Press Gallery. 
 December, 1909. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 Uncle Bens Last Fox Race I 
 
 Forty Acres and a Mule 1 1 
 
 The Spaniel and the Cops . . . , . ' ZZ 
 
 A Hound of the Old Stock 43 
 
 Minerva — The Owl 58 
 
 Uncle Derrick in Washington 68 
 
 And the Signs Failed Not 79 
 
 The Irishman s Game Cock 97 
 
 Strange Vision of Arabella 112 
 
 A Negro and His Friend 125 
 
 Faithful Unto Death 142 
 
 " Red Buck '': Where I Came By It , . .153 
 
 Until Death Do Us Part 168 
 
 Uncle George and the Englishman .... 181 
 
 She Didnt Like my Yellow Shoes . . . .191 
 
 Afraid of the Frowsy Blonde 199 
 
 Jan Pier — The Shoeshine 206 
 
 William and Appendicitis 214 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ISline Little Tar Heels . . . Frontispiece 
 
 Uncle Ben I 
 
 Aunt Matt il 
 
 Tite, Riding a Democratic Ox .... 27 
 
 Marse Lawrence and Trouble .... 43 
 
 Uncle Derrick at Home 68 
 
 Preparing for the Guest 79 
 
 Arabella the Day After 1 12 
 
 Jim in a Peaceful Mood 1 25 
 
 William 214 
 
Uncle Ben. 
 
TAR HEEL TALES 
 
 UNCLE BEN'S LAST FOX RACE 
 
 CCT^ /f'E an' Marsc Jeems Is all uv de ole 
 
 iVl stock dat's lef," said Uncle Ben, 
 an ex-slave of the Morrow family, of Provi- 
 dence township. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Lizzie, she's dald, an' ole 
 Marster, he's gone to jine her. It's des me 
 an' Marse Jeems, an' he's in furrin parts. 
 He sole de ole farm, all cep'n' dis here little 
 spot dat he lef fur me an' Ellen. An' Ellen, 
 she's dald an' de ole nigger's by hissef. 
 
 " Dey ain't no foks lak dem here now. 
 De times is done changed. Me an' Marse 
 Wash wuz de big uns here when he wuz 
 livin*. All dis Ian' an' dese farms belonged 
 to him. But Marse Jeems he's done come to 
 be er fine doctor, an' stays in New York. 
 
 *' Evybudy's gone an' lef me. 
 
 " De horses an' de houns, too, dey're all 
 gone. 
 
 " I guess I ain't here fur long, but I sho' 
 
 I 
 
2 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 wouF lak to see ole Marster, an^ Miss Lizzie, 
 an' Sam, an' Cindy, an' Mollie, de bosses, an' 
 Joe, Jerry, Loud, Dinah, Sing, an' Hannah, 
 de dogs." 
 
 The old darkey was on his death bed. He 
 spoke in a weak but charming voice. His 
 mind was wandering, returning to the past. 
 He had been his old master's hunting com- 
 panion, his whipper-in, and their black and 
 tan hounds were famous for speed, casting 
 ahead at a loss and hard driving. They 
 could catch a red fox or make him take to 
 the earth. 
 
 Old Ben was a hunter from his heart. 
 He loved the running dog, the fast horse and 
 the chase. The pleasant days of years long 
 since passed were coming back to him. He 
 longed for one more run with the old Mor- 
 row hounds. Those who watched by the 
 death bed in the little cabin, waiting for the 
 final summons, listened to Ben's stories of 
 the past. Dr. Smith had telegraphed for 
 Dr. James Morrow, the last of his family, 
 and told him that the old man wanted to see 
 
Uncle Ben's Last Fox Race 3 
 
 him and say good-bye. Loyal to the last the 
 young master was hurrying from the North 
 to the old home place to be present when the 
 faithful servant departed this life. He had 
 asked Dr. Smith to make the last hours as 
 comfortable as possible and to gratify Uncle 
 Ben's every wish. 
 
 It was almost midnight that October day; 
 the moon was shining gloriously, the ground 
 damp from recent rain and the weather 
 fine for a fox hunt. The scenting conditions 
 were well-nigh perfect. Dr. Morrow had 
 just arrived, but old Ben did not know him. 
 
 " Yes, sir, Marse Wash, all's ready fur de 
 hunt,'' said the negro In his delirium. 
 
 " Ever thing's right an' ole Hannah's been 
 clawin' at my do' fur de las' hour. She's 
 mighty anxious to try dat ole Stinson fiel' fox 
 dis evnin'. De horses Is done saddled an' 
 nothin' to do but start. 
 
 " Des listen at Sing an' Jerry, dey's powful 
 anxious to go ! " 
 
 It was pathetic to hear the old fellow talk- 
 ing to his master who had been dead many 
 years, but he seemed happy. There was no 
 
4 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 way to stop him If those there should have 
 desired to do so. 
 
 " Blow yo' horn, boss, an' let Marse Sam 
 Stitt jine us ef he will. Dat'll do, I hear 'im. 
 He's comin'." 
 
 For a time Uncle Ben was quiet. His 
 lips worked and he seemed to be talking to 
 himself. But, after a long silence, he lifted 
 his head from the pillow and exclaimed: 
 "Listen! Listen, Marse Wash! Hear dat 
 bark? Dat's ole Sly, Marse Sam's Georgy 
 dog. She's done slip in dere an' strike er 
 head uv ole Hannah I 
 
 "Listen! Hear her callln'? Marse Wash, 
 dat Sly looks lak er steppin' dog an' she sho' 
 is gwlne to give Joe some hard runnin' dis 
 mornin' ef we jump dat Stinson fox. 
 
 " Listen, listen, listen, Marse Wash, I hear 
 our dogs puttin' in! Dere's ole Sing, ole 
 Loud and Joe. It's time fur dat fox to walk 
 erway now, ole Joe ain't in no foolln' way 
 to-night. He sho' Is ready to run. Listen, 
 Marse Wash, you hear him callln'." 
 
 Uncle Ben dropped back on the pillow, and 
 rested a few minutes. Everybody In the 
 
Uncle Ben's Last Fox Race J. 
 
 room was silent. It seemed only an hour or 
 so. The old man had run his race and his 
 time had come. 
 
 "Hear dat, Marse Wash? Listen how 
 dat Georgy lady's slngin' in dere. She an' 
 ole Joe's neck to neck. Deyer comin' down 
 thu de Hartls woods now an' 'tain't gwine to 
 be long till dey make dat fox run. Ef it's 
 de ole Stinson fox dey'll 'roust him in de Rea 
 pastur'. Dat's whay he's feedin' dis time er 
 night. 
 
 " Dat's it ! Listen, you hear ole Loud 
 crossin' dat hill? He's scoutin' now. De 
 fus' thing you know he'll be right behint dat 
 rascal. He ain't sayin' much, but he's movin' 
 on. 
 
 " Dat's Joe fallin' In, an' Jerry, an' 
 Dinah! 
 
 " Deyer all crossin' to de pastur. Dat's 
 whay ole Stinson Fiel' do his eatin' 'bout dis 
 time. Well, ef he's in dere to-night you'll 
 hear dem dogs cry out lak dey wuz mad 
 derectly." 
 
 At irregular Intervals the old darkey would 
 stop and catch his breath. There was a 
 
6 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 smile upon his face and spirit in his voice. 
 Death came on and he was having his last 
 fox chase. The old Morrow hounds trailed 
 the famous Stinson Field fox and were about 
 to make a jump. Capt. Sam Stitt's dogs 
 were putting in and the quality of a new 
 hound would be tested. The contest prom- 
 ised to be exciting. 
 
 " Hear dat Sly, wid dat chop, chop bark, 
 an* er sort uv er squeal! She's right wid 
 ole Joe. 
 
 " Listen, Marse Wash, ole Loud's done 
 driv him out! 
 
 " Des listen how he's shoutin' ! 
 
 " Dey's gone toads de Big Rock an' dey 
 sho' is flyin'. Ef it's "de ole fiel' feller he'll 
 drap erroun' by de Cunnigin place des to let 
 'em know dat he's up an' doin' an den he'll 
 come back dis way. 
 
 " Whoopee, but ain't dey movin' ! Listen 
 at ole Joe wid his ' yowl ' holler. He's des 
 kickin' dust in de faces uv de res' uv dem 
 dogs. 
 
 '* Yes, sir, he's gone right square to dat 
 
Uncle Ben's Last Fox Race 7 
 
 Cunnigin place. It's ole Stinson an' he's 
 walkln' erbout. 
 
 " I des kin hear 'em. Dey's sucklin' 'roun 
 de ole house now." 
 
 There was a break In the story. Uncle 
 Ben stopped to rest. The dogs had gone out 
 of his hearing. 
 
 " Listen, Marse Wash, dey're comin' back! 
 Ole Joe's runnin' lak he's skeered. Some 
 dog mus' be crowdin' him? Yes, sir, It's de 
 Stinson fox, an' he's comln' dis way. See, 
 comin' over de hill? Dat's him ! Look how 
 he's lopin'I He knows dat ole Joe ain't 
 arter no foolin' dis night. 
 
 "See, yonder's de dogs! Dey're travlln' 
 arter him. Look at dat pale red houn'! 
 Dat's Sly, an' she's steppin' lak de groun' 
 wuz hot! She ain't givin' ole Joe time to 
 open his mouf wide. I knowed some dog 
 wuz pushin' him. 
 
 "Here dey come down to de branch! 
 Ain't dey movin'? Dey're goin' to de Har- 
 tls woods, an' on toads Providence church. 
 But ain't dey flyin' ? I dis kin hear dem I " 
 
8 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 As the dogs went out of hearing toward 
 the east the old hunter lay back and hushed 
 his tongue. He was running the race that 
 he had run many times before. 
 
 " Listen, Marse Wash, I hear 'em crossin' 
 de Providence road, comin' back. Dey're 
 drivin' to kill ole Stinson now. I 'clar' fo' 
 de Lawd I never heered dat Joe run lak he's 
 runnin' dis night. He's almos' flyin'. 
 
 " But hush, listen, don't you hear dat 
 ' Whoo-ark, whoo-ark, whoo-ark ' in dere? 
 Dat's Sly, an' she sho' is shovin' dat fox an' 
 crowdin' Joe. 
 
 "Hear dat? She's crossin' de big hill 
 fust. 
 
 " Dey're tumin' ! He's makin' fur de Big 
 Rock, but he ain't gut time to make it. 
 
 " Listen, Marse Wash, dat Georgy dog's 
 'bout to outdo ole Joe ! She's comin' lak de 
 wind. I don't hear ole Joe. He won't bark 
 ef he gits behind. He mus' be tryin' to head 
 off dat Sly bitch. 
 
 " Look! Yon dey go 'cross de cotton fiel' 
 an' Joe an' Sly is side to side. 
 
Uncle Ben's Last Fox Race 9 
 
 " Whoopee, ain't dey goin' ? Ole Joe sho' 
 is doin' about, but Sly's on his heels. 
 
 " Dey's goin' to ketch dat fox. Git up 
 Sam an' less see 'em kill him ! Go on I 
 Come on, Marse Wash! " 
 
 For the first time during the night the 
 old darkey became very much excited and 
 jumped and surged in the bed. Those near 
 tried to calm him. But the race was almost 
 over. Uncle Ben's summons had come. The 
 angel of death was at the door. 
 
 *' Look, Marse Wash, ole Joe's In de lead. 
 He sees dat fox an' he's done lef Sly. He's 
 runnln' fur blood. 
 
 "See him! Look! Look! Ole Stinson 
 Fiel's 'bout to git to de thicket! See, he 
 can't make it ! Joe's grabbin' at him ! Look ! 
 Look!" 
 
 That was all. Uncle Ben was giving up 
 the ghost. Death came on him. The final 
 summons had arrived. As old Joe bore 
 down the fox the faithful servant of the Mor- 
 row family passed away. As the end drew 
 nigh Dr. Morrow and Dr. Smith and other 
 
lo Tar Heel Tales 
 
 friends who had assembled around the bed 
 stood near and watched the light go out. 
 Everything around was still. Death was 
 easy. 
 
 The remains were buried in the Morrow 
 family's private burial grounds. Ben was 
 the last of the old slave stock. In his de- 
 lirium he had called back his old master, the 
 old horses and the old hounds, and died hap- 
 py in the delusion. 
 
Aunt Matt. 
 
FORTY ACRES AND A MULE 
 
 <CTT THAT about your husband and the 
 VV ' forty acres and the mule,' Aunt 
 Matt?" asked the ruddy-faced young man 
 who had just arrived from the city to visit 
 his father and mother at the old home place 
 on the farm. 
 
 " It's fine weather, Mister Eddie, an' de 
 cotton an' de corn is des growin' a Inch or 
 two ever' night," said Matt Tite, a tall, thin- 
 faced negress of the ante-bellum type, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 " Don't evade the question, Matt ; tell these 
 boys about Tite and the carpet-baggers," In- 
 sisted the visitor. " Out with it, I want to 
 hear the story again." 
 
 " Chile, ain't you never gwine to fergit 
 dat? I walked eight miles to git here to see 
 you, but ef I'd er knowed dat you wuz gwine 
 to pester me 'bout Tite an' de Ku Kluxes I 
 sho' wouldn't a come. 
 
 II 
 
12 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Vs done fergit de pertlclers uv dat story." 
 
 " You know enough to make it interesting; 
 tell it." 
 
 " Titers done fergit de forty acres an' de 
 mule, an' ef I des wanter have er fight, let me 
 mention it In his presence. 
 
 " You know TIte wuz one uv Marse John 
 Robinson's niggers 'fo' s'render. Marse 
 John wuz a powerful big man In dem times 
 ef he is po' now. He had lots uv Ian' an' 
 niggers, an' wuz mighty good to his slaves. 
 Tite wuz a good nigger, an' Marse John 
 laked him, an' arter de war he stay on at de 
 ole place an' seem satisfied till dem cearpet- 
 baggers (dat's what de white folks called 
 dem) fust come sneakin' around, puttin' de 
 devil in de niggers' hald, promlsin' all kinds 
 uv things, an' given dem nuthin' but trou- 
 ble. 
 
 " 'Twuz soon arter s'render when me an' 
 Tite married. I had b'longed to Marse 
 Jeems Walkup, an' a mighty good man, too, 
 he wuz. When I marry Tite I move to de 
 Robinson place to live wid him, an' we all git 
 'long fine fur a while. Tite he wucked 'bout 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 13 
 
 de farm an' I hep 'roun' de Big House. Ole 
 Miss Jane done say dat she been wantin' me 
 fur de longes' sort uv time. 
 
 " One night, when me an' Tite start 'way 
 fum de kitchen, I seed a rabbit cross de road 
 in front uv us, an' I 'low right den dere wuz 
 bad luck ahead fur him an' me. Ole Missus 
 uster say ef a rabbit cross yo' path somefin' 
 bad woul' sho' happen to you. 
 
 " Sho' nuff, chile, hit done come. Bad 
 times 'gin on dat plantation an' 'roun' dat 
 neighborhood dat very night. When me an' 
 Tite git home dar come 'long a strange white 
 man, lookin' lak er peddler, totin' a police 
 on his arm. Comin' nigh he say to me an' 
 Tite, ^ Howdy-do, Miss Robinson an' Mr. 
 Robinson?' 
 
 " I look 'roun' to see ef Ole Marses an'' 
 Missus wuz dere, fur I knowed we wuz no 
 * Miss Robinson ' an' * Mr. Robinson.' But, 
 bless yo' sole, honey, he wuz talkin' to nobudy 
 but me an' Tite. I look at de man spicious 
 lak right den, an' kinder git skeered. He 
 'gin to talk 'bout sellin' us some specs an' 
 julery, an' sich lak, but soon he tell Tite dat 
 
14 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 he's sont dere fum de Norf to talk 'bout de 
 comin' 'lection. He 'low dat he's been heer- 
 in' 'bout TIte, an' tell him dat he's one of de 
 big niggers uv de country ef he des only 
 knowed it. Tite he say nuthin' but de white 
 man des keep on an' on. 
 
 " * Yes,' 'low de man, * dey tells me dat 
 you's one uv de mos' prominent cul'ud gen- 
 tlemens in dis section uv de country. I knows 
 dat's so fur you looks smarter dan de res' I's 
 seed down here ! ' 
 
 " I seed Tite swell up a little when de man 
 tell him dat. Niggers' haids des lak white 
 folks', dey gits mighty big sometime. 
 
 " * Well, Mr. Robinson, dere's a better day 
 comin' fur you an' Miss Robinson,' 'clared de 
 white man. 
 
 " * I's des film de Norf, an' come to fetch 
 you good tidens. By dis time of coase you 
 knows who yo' frien's is. You had slav'ry; 
 you's gut freedum. Dat's not all, ef de 'Pub- 
 likins gits in dis time you's gwine to have 
 some uv dis Ian'. Yes, you's gwine to have 
 forty acres uv Ian' an' a mule to wuck it wid. 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 15 
 
 You, TIte Robinson, Is to have de pic' uv de 
 lot fur you's gut so much sense.' 
 
 " Dat man sho' did have a sharp tongue, 
 an' knowed how to please a nigger. Tite's 
 eyes git mighty big while he talk 'bout de Ian' 
 an' de mule. But all de time I wuz lookin' 
 at dat man an' de way he dress. He look 
 lak a bad man. Me an' TIte wuz not use to 
 calls fum white men. No spectable white 
 person prowled 'bout 'mong de niggers look- 
 In' dat way. But 't'wuz none uv my bizness 
 to meddle wid him an' TIte. So I says nuth- 
 In' an' he goes on wid his putty talk. 
 
 " After while he say to TIte : * Come in- 
 side an' make a light; I's gut some pitchers 
 to show you an' Miss Robinson.' 
 
 " Dat wuz mos' too much fur me, but I 
 ^darsen' cheep. TIte he goes In an' lights de 
 torch an' de man he opens up his police an' 
 takes out some pitchers. De fust ones had 
 niggers wid chains on, an' de overseer wid his 
 whup. Indeed, sir, dem pitchers had de po' 
 darkey in a bad place. De man say dat's 
 de way It wuz in slav'ry time. Den he fotch 
 
1 6 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 out some wid Mr. Nigger dressed up In fine 
 clothes, wid yaller buttons, dis what de nig- 
 ger laks. Bless me, ef he didn't have one 
 wid Tite on a big chestnut boss, ridin' 'roun' 
 de farm. It look so much lak de nigger dat 
 I des laugh out loud. An' Tite he grin all 
 over de face. 
 
 *' ' Dat's de way Tite's gwine to look after 
 de 'lection,' said de man. ' Dat's ef de 'Pub- 
 likins git In.' 
 
 *' Chile, dat wuz a powful talkin' man. His 
 tongue go dis lak it wuz loose at both een's. 
 When he shet up his police, after givin' Tite 
 some pitchers to put on de mantel boa'd, he 
 take de breff fum me by axin' ef he kin stay 
 all night. Tite wuz so stuck on him dat he 
 say ' all right.' So he stay, but slip out 'fo' 
 day nex' mornin'. 
 
 " Dat talk an' dem pitchers stir Tite all up. 
 He's not de same nigger no mo'. De nex' 
 day he wuz mean to me, * cause he seed fum 
 de color In my eye dat I lak no sich doln's, 
 an' he had some words wid Marse John. 
 'Deed, sir, he wuz des lak er stubborn mule. 
 Nobudy coul' do nuthin' wid him. I tole him 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 17 
 
 dat he'd better quit foolin' wid po' white 
 trash, fur you git nuthin' in dis worl' 'cepin' 
 whut you wuck fur. But Tite he wuz done 
 gone 'stracted on de forty acres an' de mule. 
 He des look at hissef on dat big boss an' 
 smile." 
 
 " Matt, do you really think Tite believed 
 he would get the land and mule?" 
 
 " Coase he did! " declared the old woman 
 with considerable spirit. 
 
 ** De same white man meet Tite an' talk 
 agin, but dat time I wuz away an' hear nuth- 
 in' uv It. Tite soon 'gin to talk 'bout callin' 
 a meetin' uv de niggers. Mo' strange nig- 
 gers dan I ever seed befo' come dere to 
 talk wid him, an' dey all act mighty bigity 
 lak. 
 
 " Yes, sir, Tite wuz de big nigger in dem 
 parts. Whatever he said de 'tuther niggers 
 done. De 'lection come nigher an' Tite gits 
 mo' triflin' 'bout wuckin' fur de white folks. 
 Him an' Marse John had a dispute an' Marsc 
 John knock him down wid a stick. Talkin' 
 woul' do no good. De crowds uv niggers 
 kep' gittin' bigger an' bigger an' mo' strange 
 
1 8 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 white mens come to see Tite, an' dey all'ers 
 sneak In at night. 
 
 " De white folks lak Marse John and 
 Marse Jeems Walkup 'gin to git tired uv all 
 dis foolishness. Dey hold a meetin' dem- 
 selves, at Marse John's, an' 'scuss how to 
 keep de cearpet-baggers off uv deyer farms an' 
 git de niggers back to wuck. 
 
 " But, Lawd bless yo' soul, honey, 'bout 
 dIs time TIte cut de highes' buck uv all an' 
 have Marse John 'rested an' carried to town 
 fur hittin' him. Yes, sir, a man wid blue suit 
 an' brass buttons come an' git Marse John 
 an' take him to Charlotte 'fo' dat Freedman's 
 Bureau. You orter heerd de niggers an' 
 white foks cryin', an' seen 'em takin' on when 
 de officer driv' off wid Marse John. Ole 
 Missus took It mighty hard, so she did, an' I 
 wuz des as mad es I coul' be. I knowed dat 
 de devil wuz to pay den, fur de white foks 
 wuzn't gwlne to put up wid no sich es dat. 
 Deyer day wuz comin' agin." 
 
 "Did they put Grandpa in jail?" asked 
 one of the excited children. 
 
 " No, honey, but dey mos' done it. Marse 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 19 
 
 John come back de very nex' day, but he 
 wuzn't de same man. He done gut mad an' 
 all de res' uv de white foks wid him. 'Deed, 
 sir, dey wuz tired foolin' wid dem cearpet- 
 baggers, an' Marse John make Tite git out 
 uv his house de fust thing when he come 
 back, an' to tell de truf I didn't blame him 
 one bit, fur dat nigger wuz des so mean dat 
 nobudy coul' git on wid him. Ole Miss Jane 
 wuz pow'ful sorry fur me but I had to go wid 
 Tite. We rented a house fum a town man, 
 an' move in. We wuz back fum de road an' 
 'way fum de white foks. I never seed sich 
 a nigger es Tite; every day he wuz wusser 
 dan de day befo'. Fum 'soclatin' wid dem 
 cearpet-baggers he gut high up. Dey done 
 fill his ole kinky haid wid highferlutin' talk 
 an' idees. Every udder night he wuz at some 
 nigger mefetin', stayin' till 'fo' day in de mom- 
 in'. You woul' never know when an' where 
 dey wuz gwine to meet but dere wuz all'ers 
 lots uv 'em dere. Sometimes dey'd meet at 
 my house an' it woul'n't hold 'em all. De 
 way dem niggers talk when dey meet I des 
 knowed somefin' bad wuz boun' to happen. 
 
20 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 ** Now an' den, when Tite wuz off polltl- 
 cin\ I woul' slip off an' go see Miss Jane, an* 
 hear whut de white peoples wuz doin'. Den I 
 beg Tite to let politicin' 'lone an' stay at 
 home, but, no, sir, he knowed his bizness. 
 His haid wuz sot on dat forty acres an' de 
 mule, an' I coul'n't do nuthin' wid him. 
 
 " One day Miss Jane read fum de paper 
 whut de Ku Kluxes wuz doin' to niggers down 
 in Souf Careliny. You know where 'tis : des 
 over de line down here 'bout three mile? 
 De piece say dat dey wuz comin' dis way. 
 She 'low dat de doin's uv mean niggers wuz 
 gwine to fetch 'em here. 
 
 " An' let me tell you, chilluns, it wuzn't 
 long 'fo' dey come an' 'putty nigh skeered de 
 niggers to deaf. 
 
 " But, 'fo' dey come Tite done run plum 
 mad on de subjec' uv de 'lection. I beg him 
 to stop dat foolin' an' go back to wuck, but 
 he des go on lak he never heerd me. Why, 
 honey, de fool nigger done 'gin to think he's 
 gwine to be Gov'ner. De wust ain't come 
 yit, fur one day a white man come 'long an' 
 giv' Tite what he say wuz a deed fur Marse 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 21 
 
 John's mill place. Es he giv' de paper to 
 Tite he say: ' Mr. Robinson (talkin' to no- 
 budy but TIte), here's de deed to de mill 
 place an' you kin have It surveyed as soon as 
 you laks, fur de 'lection Is mos' here an' 
 'twon't be long 'fo' you kin git dem forty 
 acres an' de mule.' 
 
 " Tite, he take It an' hide It under a rock. 
 I seed him lookin' at It, des lak he coul' read, 
 when he know he don't know B fum bull- 
 foot. One day, while Tite wuz In Charlotte, 
 I slip de deed out fum under de log where 
 he hid It, an' took it over to Miss Jane an' 
 she say It read lak dis: * Es Samson, lifted 
 de serpent out uv de wilderness so I lifted 
 dis po' nigger out uv $5.' 
 
 *' Tite done giv' de man $5 fur drawin' de 
 deed, an' he sho' did think It wuz er deed fur 
 de mill place, an', 'cordin'ly, he an' another 
 nigger sneak down one day, while Ole Mars- 
 ter wuz in Souf Careliny, an' lay off whut 
 he want an' put up rocks to mark de corners. 
 Soon after de 'lection Tite an' de yudder nig- 
 gers uv de Robinson settlement wuz to go to 
 town an' git de mules an', bein' as Tite wuz 
 
22 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 a leader, he wuz gwine to have a fine hoss to 
 boot. De cearpet-baggers done tell dem dat 
 dey woul' have several thousan' mules fur de 
 niggers in de county. 'Fo' dat, one night, 
 Tite done come in wid a long coat wid shiny 
 buttons, an' a stovepipe hat. You orter seed 
 dat nigger how he swell 'roun' 'fo' me, but 
 de mo' he git fur nuthing de mo' trouble I 
 seed fur him. I 'spect'd trouble every day. 
 It des look to me lak de worl' wuz comin' to 
 de een. All de time Miss Jane kep' tellin' 
 me 'bout de Kluxes comin' nigher. An', 
 bless yo' soul, honey, one mornin' all de nig- 
 gers 'long de big road wuz stirred up 'bout cr 
 percession dey had seed de night befo'. Dey 
 say dat de bigges' men dey ever see come 
 'long ridin' camels lak dey have in de show. 
 Whutever it wuz didn't make no fuss but 
 move easy des lak a cat after er rat. De 
 mens coul' stretch deyer necks way up in de 
 trees, an' drink a whole bucket uv water at a 
 time. 
 
 " 'Fo' de day passed we heerd 'bout de 
 same crowd goin' to ole Joe Grier's home 
 an' takin' him out an' beatin' his back wid 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 23 
 
 a buggy trace. Yes, sir, dey say It wuz a 
 shame de way dey do dat nigger, but he'd 
 been medlln' des lak TIte. Dey kotch him 
 makin' a speech at one uv dem nigger meetings 
 an' dey bus' his high hat (one lak TIte's) all 
 to flinders. An' dey say when dey lef derc 
 dat ole TIte Robinson wuz de nex' nigger 
 dey woul' git. When TIte hear' dat he git 
 sorter shaky, but 'low, big lak, dat dey wuz 
 foolln' wid de wrong nigger. He make out 
 lak he's gwine to fite. 
 
 " Dat very night TIte wuz gwlne to have 
 a big meetin', de las' 'fo' de 'lection, at Plnc- 
 ville chuch. It wuz to be de bigges' uv all 
 but when de niggers hear 'bout de Ku Kluxes 
 dey gut skittish 'bout gittin' out after dark. 
 TIte an' de rest uv de ringleaders went but 
 dey didn't have much uv a crowd. De pews 
 uv de chuch wuzn't full lak dey had been. 
 Yes, sir, de audience wuz rather slim fur de 
 'caslon. But TIte wuz dere In all his glory, 
 an' de boss dog uv de yard. Howsomever, 
 when he lef home dat night he wuz sorter 
 quiet lak. He 'peered to be a little oneasy. 
 I wuz monstrous anxious 'bout him fur I 
 
24 Xar Heel Tales 
 
 knowed de Kluxes wuz In de Ian'. I didn't 
 want Tite to git hurt but I didn't care much ef 
 de Kluxes skeered dem fool idees out uv his 
 haid, so he coul' have some sense once mo'." 
 
 " Did they get him, Aunt Matt? " asked a 
 small boy who had become thoroughly inter- 
 ested. 
 
 " Honey, dat's de night de devil broke 
 loose," said Matt. " I des felt lak somefin' 
 wuz gwine to drap, an' sho' nuff it did. 
 
 *' Soon after Tite lef de house de elements 
 gut wrong. De clouds gather'd thick an' 
 hang mighty low in de Wes'. I coul' hear 
 de thunderin' an' see de lightnin'. I never 
 seed sich a dark night. But, after de bigges' 
 rain dat I ever seed fell, de clouds 'clare 'way 
 an' de moon come out. 
 
 " When Tite wuz gone an' de rain wuz 
 over I went to sleep an' knowed no mo' till I 
 heerd peoples talkin' an' cussin', an' it soun' 
 des lak dey wuz outside my do'. It wuz 
 den after midnight, I spec'. I coul' hear de 
 low whisperin' voices on fust one side uv de 
 house, den de tuther. I heerd horses movin' 
 'bout, an' den I knowed dat It wuz de Ku 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule IJ 
 
 Kluxes. I heerd one man say: * Well, 
 we'll go In here an' see ef de black rascaPs 
 come yit. But I don't see how he coul' uv 
 haided us off.' 
 
 " 'Bout dat time dere wuz a tap on de do', 
 an' a call, ' Matt, open de do'. We want to 
 see If TIte's In dere. We won't hurt you ef 
 you let us In, an' ef you don't we are comin' 
 In anyhow. We'll break de do'.' 
 
 *' I wuz wide awake but say nuthin'. 
 
 "'Matt! Matt! Don't you hear? ' I 
 coul'n't tell de voice but I knowed ef I didn't 
 open de do' dey woul' break It down; so I 
 open It an' git back In bed. When de do' 
 come open It peered to me lak I seed a whole 
 lot uv bosses In de road an' lots uv men In 
 de yard, dressed In red shirts an' had on dese 
 here false faces. I wuz skeered an' den I 
 wuzn't, fur de man whut do de talkin' had a 
 mighty fermllyer lak voice to me, but I des 
 coul'n't say who's It wuz. Dey peered to 
 b'lleve me when I told 'em dat TIte wuzn't 
 dere, but dey searched anyhow to make sar- 
 tln'. 
 
 " After dey can't find him an' dey start out 
 
26 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 de man what spoke befo' say : * Well, Matt, 
 we give de ole devil a good run, an' would've 
 swung him up ef we'd ketched him, but it's 
 late now an' we'd better go.' 
 
 " Den I say: ' Please, marster, don't kill 
 him fur he's des gone crazy 'bout dis here 
 'lection bizness what dem strange white foks 
 put in his haid. Don't, boss man, fur my 
 sake, kill de ole nigger. He'll come right. 
 I's tried to git him to stay at home. Now 
 des let me try him one mo' time.' Ax Marse 
 John Robinson an' Marse Jeems Walkup 
 'bout Matt. Dey knows me. I's been good 
 since s'render, an' I's tried to make Tite be- 
 have hissef. So, Mister, won't you let him 
 off dis time? ' 
 
 " De same man what spoke befo' 'low: 
 * Well, boys, I b'lieve dis is a good nigger, 
 an' on her 'count we'll let de Parson 'lone fur 
 a few days an' see. Ef we hear uv any mo' 
 uv his doin's, 'citin' de niggers an' makin' 
 speeches, we'll do him des lak we did Ole 
 Joe Grier, or wuss. Ef he hadn't run lak 
 er deer t'night, we'd broke his neck. Let's 
 go back to Souf Careliny, an' res'.' 
 
Titej riding a Democratic Ox. 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 27 
 
 " Dis said, dey rode off. I wuz skeered 
 dat TIte wuz daid, an' coul'n't sleep no mo' 
 dat night, but wuz too bad 'frighten' to git 
 up. 
 
 *' Way in de mornin', toge day, when 
 all gits quiet, I heered a soft knock at de do'. 
 I knowed it mus' be Tite, so I gits up an' 
 opens it, an' sho' nuff it wuz him. 
 
 " Honey, you woul'n't knowed dat nigger. 
 He wuz wet an' muddy fum de bottom uv his 
 feets up. He wuz bare haided an' his clothes 
 all tore. But, bless yo' soul, chile, he wuz 
 glad to git home. When I open de do' he 
 say, * Let me in, ole 'oman, fur I's mos' daid. 
 De Ku Kluxes is been runnin' me all night. 
 Don't make no fuss, but lem'me in.' 
 
 " Skeered as I wuz when I seed him I had 
 to laugh. He look' des lak a frizzly chicken 
 wid de feathers turned de wrong way, an' 
 wuz des tremblin' lak a leaf. Ever time I 
 move my foot he jump lak he wuz hit, but 
 when I tell him what de Kluxes say to me he 
 'clare, ' Thank Gawd, Matt, ef dat be so I's 
 yo' nigger so long as I live. You ain't gwine 
 to kietch me foolin' wid po' white foks an' 
 
28 iTar Heel Tales 
 
 politics no mo'. Dis is my las' time. I's 
 never been so skeered since de Lawd made 
 me.' 
 
 " Yes, sir, an' dat wuz his las' meetin', an' 
 when dem cearpet-baggers come sneakin' 
 'roun'^ at night he made me drive dem way 
 des es same as ef dey had pizen. He went 
 straight to wuck an' fum dat day to dis he's 
 been quiet on politics. 
 
 " But it wuz a long time 'fo' I knowed 
 what happened at de chuch dat night. Tite 
 woul'n't never talk 'bout It. Miss Jane 
 heered all de fac's an' tell me. 
 
 " It wuz lak dis. You's been to Pineville 
 chuch — I mean de col'ud chuch — de one 
 dat sets on de big hill. At de time when 
 Tite wuz flyin' so high no white pusson lived 
 close to de chuch. All de Ian' 'bout dere 
 wuz in woods. De chuch is gut two do's, 
 one in de side an' one at de een where de 
 pulpit Is. It wuz a good thing fur Tite dat 
 de een do' wuz dere. Dat's all dat saved 
 his life. 
 
 " Tite an' his niggers wuz at de chuch dat 
 night an' had de meetin' gwine at nine. De 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 29 
 
 onlies' lamp In de house wuz on de pulpit. 
 TIte wuz de fust speaker fur de 'casslon. He 
 wuz to stir up de niggers fur de 'lection day. 
 Dem cearpet-baggers done told him what to 
 say. 
 
 " De niggers all holler fur Parson Robin- 
 son an' TIte step up In de pulpit an' take off 
 his stovepipe hat, set It on de table, button 
 up his long coat, an' start off lak dis : 
 * Gents an' Feller Citizens: Fs come here to- 
 night to tell you dat de nigger's 'bout to git 
 what b'longs to 'em. De white foks Is been 
 , on top long 'nuff. Ef de 'Publlklns wins dIs 
 time ever nigger in dis house is gwlne to git 
 forty acres uv de bes' Ian' In dis kermunity 
 an' a mule to wuck It wid.' 
 
 " ' Fur nuthin', Mr. Robinson ? ' 'low' Ole 
 , Tom Moore. 
 
 "*Yes, Mr. Moore, fur nuthin', fur It 
 b'longs to 'em. Dat's de truf. Fs done 
 gut de deed fur mine, an' all Fs gut to do Is 
 to move on after de 'lection, an' go to town 
 an' git my mule.' 
 
 " ' Dat's de truf,' shouted Ole Bill Davis, 
 a deekin In de chuch. 
 
30 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " ' Tell It to 'em, brother I Come on wid 
 some mo' lak dat I ' 
 
 " * Dat's whut we wants to heer,' said dc 
 crowd. 
 
 " TIte went on : * But on de yudder han', 
 ef de Demmycrats gits back in power, de las' 
 one uv you will go bac' in slav'ry. De over- 
 seer wid his whup will be back. Mark whut 
 I say fur it's de truf ! ' 
 
 " ' We know it. Parson, tell it des lak it 
 isl' 
 
 " But, bless yo' soul, honey, dis is where 
 de speakin' wuz out. While Tite wuz soar- 
 in' high 'mong de clouds, 'bout a dozen great 
 big mens, wid masses on deyer faces, an' red 
 shirts on deyer bodies, sprung up des lak fum 
 de yearth an' march down de middle aisle uv 
 de chuch an' take seats on de long bench in 
 front uv de pulpit. Nobudy but Tite say 
 nuthin', an' he chatter des lak he's crazy. 
 His voice trem'le so it almos' shake de house. 
 At fust his tongue mos' stop, but when he 
 seed de strange men cross deyer legs an' look 
 up at him, he say dat he's gut nuthin' 'ginst 
 
Forty Acres and a Mule 31 
 
 de white foks, an' he seed no use in freedum 
 nohow.' 
 
 " ' Dere wuz a little shufflin' In de back uv 
 de bulldin'. It wuz Tom Moore, Bill Davis 
 an' other niggers pilln' out. 
 
 " 'Bout dis time come de straw dat broke 
 de camel's bac'. De big mens uncross deyer 
 legs, all at one time, an' each one pull out 
 a long knife an' a whit rock an commence to 
 sharpen de blades, des lak dey wuz fixin' to 
 kill hogs. De shinin' steel dumbfounded 
 TIte. Big draps uv sweat come out on his 
 haid. When de red shirt mens see how 
 skeered de po' nigger Is dey soun' deyer 
 blades on de rocks an' TIte mos' jump out 
 uv his skin. He fust look at de mens an' den 
 at de bac' do'. His tongue done stick to de 
 roof uv his mouf, but he muster up courage 
 to say: ' I see dat you darkies didn't fetch 
 no water fur me to drink. I can't speak wid- 
 out water, so I'll des git a little at de well.' 
 
 " Dis said, TIte dash out de back do' wld- 
 out his hat an' de Ku Kluxes give a wild In- 
 jln yell an' charge out de side do'. 
 
32 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " But, chile, you can't ketch a skeered nig- 
 ger, an' it's no use to try. 'Fo' de Kluxes 
 git started Tite wuz gone. 
 
 " Tite never did git de forty acres an' de 
 mule. Ef he did I never seed it, an' I's been 
 livin' wid him ever since." 
 
 Later, when Grover Cleveland ran for 
 President, Tite rode in a Democratic pro- 
 cession, mounted on an ox, and wearing a 
 Cleveland hat. 
 
THE SPANIEL AND THE COPS 
 
 «^/^OME here, Judge," said Col. Tom 
 
 V->i Black, the big, blonde policeman, of 
 the Charlotte force, as a black, sleek, shaggy 
 water spaniel started across Independence 
 Square. " You've got no business over there; 
 come here." 
 
 Officer Will Pitts, who was by Col. Black's 
 side at the time, volunteered: "That is an 
 affectionate pair — Col. Black and Judge — 
 they like each other; they tramp the same 
 beat together every night the colonel Is on 
 duty." 
 
 " That's no He," put In Col. Black, " that 
 dog Is as regular as a clock. He comes to 
 headquarters just before twelve and patrols 
 with the boys till they go off In the morning. 
 He has sense like a man; I never saw such an 
 intelligent animal. 
 
 " Look at that large head, those big, bright 
 
 33 
 
'34 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 eyes and that splendid nose! Judge's no 
 fool! 
 
 " He's got sense enough to vote for mayor. 
 That's the gospel truth." 
 
 Pitts acquiesced in everything the colonel 
 said, and moved around like a caged animal 
 while Judge was being discussed. He is very 
 fond of the dog. 
 
 Judge is a Dr. JekyI and Mr. Hyde dog. 
 During the day, when all honest beings go 
 about and care not who observes them and 
 their manners, Judge plays the part of Dr. 
 Jekyll, serving as a watchdog for his rightful 
 master. Dr. George W. Graham, and enliven- 
 ing the premises by a cheerful bark or warn- 
 ing growl. All friends of the family are as 
 welcome to the place as the gentle south 
 winds of summer, but an enemy is driven out. 
 
 Who, that strolls about the town, viewing 
 the pretty homes, has not seen Judge, trotting 
 about the Graham yard, at the corner of Sev- 
 enth and Church streets, switching his bushy 
 tail and smiling out of his great brownish 
 mellow eyes at all attractive persons as they 
 pass? 
 
The Spaniel and the Cops 35 
 
 That is his best side. 
 
 But, at that very moment, Judge is play- 
 ing the hypocrite, just as well as a deceitful 
 man would do. All is fair and bright, and 
 Judge greets you with a hearty shake of the 
 tail, beaming face and dancing eyes, delighted 
 to please one and all, knowing that his proud 
 master is watching him through the window. 
 If his behavior is excellent, his dinner will be 
 something out of the ordinary; a rare slice' 
 of beef, or a bit of cake, and Pussy will not 
 get all the cream. 
 
 Judge comes to just conclusions. He fools 
 the folks at home seven days in the week, 
 being a past master at wool-pulling. When 
 Dr. Graham goes home at night, tired and 
 depressed from a hard day's work, Judge, 
 tactful dog that he is, rushes out to meet him. 
 
 Such capers he does cut, barking, cutting 
 somersaults, and jumping around like wild; 
 his joy unconfined. Dr. Graham tarries for 
 a few minutes to play with him, and if you 
 chance to hear the racket, you think that 
 two gay school children have taken possession 
 of the lawn. If Judge has an axe to grind 
 
36 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 — an extra large cavity In his bread-basket, 
 or desires to slip away unnoticed earlier than 
 usual — he romps all the harder, and barks 
 more boisterously. He Is a shrewd politi- 
 cian. His love for Dr. Graham is sincere, 
 but not as Intense as he would make him be- 
 lieve. He Is not unlike the girl who marries 
 one fellow for his money while she loves an- 
 other; Judge prefers Col. Black, Pitts, Ser- 
 geant Jetton and other members of the police 
 force to his home people. 
 
 For five years he has spent his nights with 
 the night officers of the city. He knows the 
 Ins and outs of the police department better 
 than one or two of the bllly-toters that pass 
 for policemen. For patrol duty he Is first- 
 class. He can run with the flying thief, or 
 jump fences with the light-footed crap-shoot- 
 er, and Is always handy and willing. If a 
 call comes for Black Maria, Judge Is the first 
 to mount the front seat. He likes an excit- 
 ing race — the faster the better. On raids, 
 he Is the first to enter the house and the last 
 to quit it. While the search or Investigation 
 Is being made, he sits quietly by, a visiting on- 
 
The Spaniel and the Cops 37 
 
 looker, interested but not active. If the of- 
 ficers are compelled to run a foot-race, Judge 
 takes the lead, and it is a wiry culprit that can 
 out-distance him. The prisoner securely- 
 fixed in the wagon. Judge takes his seat in 
 front, turns his back to the horse, and faces 
 the unfortunate one. He seems to delight in 
 bringing offenders to justice, not cruel, but in 
 full sympathy with the blue-stocking laws of 
 the city. 
 
 Once outside of his own yard, Judge as- 
 sumes a dignified, stiff air, except when play- 
 ing with his favorite officers. Some people 
 would say that he is haughty, and at times he 
 is, but if he turns up his nose at a fellow, that 
 means that he considers himself superior to 
 that particular wart on society, and there is 
 generally a good reason for his contempt. 
 
 Dogs do not concern Judge. He pays but 
 little attention to their friendly advances or 
 threatening growls. If some vicious cur 
 snarls and snaps at his heels, he curls his 
 fuzzy tail over his back and ignores the com- 
 mon whelp ; while, on the other hand, if some 
 soft-coated, gentle-mannered, pedigreed dog 
 
38 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 tries to make up to him, he goes to Col. 
 Black, rubs against his legs, looks up into his 
 face, and declares: "What fools these ca- 
 nines be I I don't care one whit for any of 
 them." 
 
 From what has already been said, one 
 might conclude that Judge is a coward. 
 Well, dear reader, you may disabuse your 
 mind of that conclusion, for it Is wrong. 
 Judge is a true North Carolinian — slow to 
 anger, but fearfully courageous when in trou- 
 ble. He fears no dog in town. The com- 
 mon herd like to snap at him from inside a 
 secure fence, as he trots by in the wake of 
 Col. Black, but none would dare go near the 
 open gate. Judge just ignores everything 
 that keeps its distance. He has frequently 
 said to the patrolmen something like this: 
 *' Did you see that contemptuous scamp 
 charging at me? I would not lower myself 
 to fight him if he were out. I should like 
 to sick old Puss on him if he'd call at my 
 home.'* 
 
 In order to get Judge to do battle, a dog 
 must assault him. Being an officer of the 
 
The Spaniel and the Cops 39 
 
 law, he lives up to the letter. If attacked, 
 he fights in self-defense. It will be recalled 
 that he put the little speckled bull-terrier, that 
 loafed around the Gem Restaurant a few 
 years ago, clear out of business for good. 
 Old Speck lingered between life and death 
 for two days after the affray, and then died 
 from his wounds. Other dogs have fared as 
 badly. Judge is slow to take hold, but when 
 he does, Pitts says it's good night, Isum, for 
 death will creep over the prostrate form of 
 the other dog before he can stop the fight. 
 That is the kind of scrapper Judge is. Like 
 the man who says little, but hangs on like 
 grim death. 
 
 I have always heard it said in Providence 
 that it was well to stay out of a row with the 
 laughing fighter. Such a one is Judge. He 
 winks his eyes and grins In the midst of the 
 fight. 
 
 Col. Black has one thing against Judge. 
 As Mr. Hyde he is all right, but as Dr. Jekyl 
 he is high-headed and arrogant. If Judge 
 goes up street with any of Dr. Graham's fam- 
 ily, he refuses to recognize any police officer. 
 
40 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 He carries himself far above common people 
 and soars in an aristocratic atmosphere. If 
 Col. Black or Mr. Pitts calls to him on the 
 sly, he lifts his saucy tail a bit higher and 
 gets closer to his young mistress or master, as 
 the case may be, as if he feared contamination 
 of some sort. In other words, Col. Black 
 and his associates on the police force are 
 proper company after dark, but not in day- 
 light. 
 
 Judge does not recognize them In a social 
 way. As conclusive evidence on this point, 
 I relate the following Incident : 
 
 The joke is on Col. Black or Pitts. Col. 
 Black claims that it is on Pitts, and Pitts that 
 It is on the colonel. 
 
 One day, several years ago, one of these 
 worthy officers was sent to notify Dr. Gra- 
 ham that a certain committee, of which he 
 was a member, would meet that night. The 
 officer went to Dr. Graham's gate, opened it, 
 and started to the porch. Judge, the faith- 
 ful friend of the early morning, rushed 
 around the house, with bristles raised and 
 
The Spaniel and the Cops 41 
 
 teeth shining, growling viciously. The of- 
 ficer, seeing the threatening attitude of the 
 dog, stopped, and said: " Why, Judge, don't 
 you know me?" Instead of making up, 
 after this, Judge became more determined to 
 stop the officer. He hurried to the walk- 
 way, fixed himself, and made ready for a 
 stubborn resistance. 
 
 "Judge! Judge!" said Col. Black or 
 Pitts, which ever It was. But Judge heard 
 him not. 
 
 Dr. Graham, seeing the predicament of the 
 officer from within the house, came out and 
 assured Judge that all was well, and he 
 dropped his tall, and went toward the kitchen, 
 carrying an ugly case of the sulks, seeming 
 badly put out because he did not get to bite 
 the caller. 
 
 At midnight of the same day. Judge joined 
 Col. Black and Pitts on their rounds, as 
 bright and cheerful as ever. 
 
 The two men reasoned It out after this 
 fashion : " Well, I guess he Is right. We 
 are the stuff when It comes to beating around 
 
42 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 the city, keeping out burglars and thieves, 
 but must stay In our places. Judge thought 
 we were going to make a social call." 
 
 Judge grew greater In their estimation. 
 They cursed him at first, but finally came to 
 the conclusion that as Mr. Hyde he Is on an 
 equality with policemen, but as Dr. Jekyl out 
 of their class. 
 
5! 
 
 hs 
 
 ^ 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 0>; 
 
 ^ 
 ^ 
 
A HOUND OF THE OLD STOCK 
 
 ^^TS dem putty fas' houn's, Marse Law- 
 
 I 
 
 rence? " asked Uncle Simon Bolick, as 
 Mr. L. A. Williamson, of Graham, Ala- 
 mance county, came up with his pack of noted 
 fox dogs. 
 
 " Yes, Uncle Simon, they are the best in 
 the country," was the answer. 
 
 *' Yes, sir; I spec' dey is now, since ole 
 marster's stock 's all died out. But when 
 Marse Billy wuz livin' he had de steppin' 
 dogs. Dey wuz de swiftes' in de Ian'. Yo' 
 daddy'll tell you dat. Dey don't have houn's 
 lak his'n now. Ef I coul' git some uv de ole 
 Bolick breed I sho' would git on ole Beck an' 
 go wid you arter Big Sandy, dat sly ole red 
 dat uses in de Big Crick woods. But de las' 
 uv de stock's gone. When Marse Tim lef 
 here he sont Buck an' Bell, de onlies' ones 
 livin', to ole man Bob Bolick, his no 'count 
 
 43 
 
44 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 uncle, up in de Souf Mountlns. Ole Bob 
 he never know'd how to care for nothin', 
 much less er fine houn\ All my fo'ks is lef 
 dis section. De war broke dem up an' mos' 
 uv dem's in de fur Wes\ unless dey's all daid. 
 But ef I had one uv dem old Bolick houn's I 
 wouF show you how to ketch ole Sandy. 
 Dat's de gospel truf ! " 
 
 The old darkey was in earnest. His mem- 
 ory carried him back and he lived in days 
 gone by, and scoffed at the things of the pres- 
 ent. Life was not as sweet to him as it had 
 been when he served his owner, Colonel 
 William Bolick, the famous old farmer-sport 
 of Piedmont, North Carolina, for then every 
 day was a holiday. He hunted and traveled 
 with his master, who kept fine wines, blooded 
 horses and fast dogs. Truly, those were 
 glorious days for Simon, and he has never 
 become reconciled to the prosaic life of free- 
 dom. The Bolicks were prominent in 
 North Carolina, and came from a good old 
 English family. Robert, however, never did 
 well and, to get rid of him, his father pur- 
 chased a fertile moijntain valley farm and 
 
A Hound of the Old Stock 45 
 
 sent him there to live. That suited him, for 
 he had no pride and but little ambition. 
 
 Colonel William Bolick did well until the 
 civil war. Like many men of his class and 
 day, however, he could not change wnth the 
 times. The freeing of the negroes destroyed 
 him financially, and he was never able to rally 
 his fortunes. He died soon, leaving an en- 
 cumbered estate and a family of boys; the 
 former was sold and the boys went West. 
 
 Old Simon, the aristocratic ex-slave, took 
 up the burden of life, and went from place to 
 place doing odd jobs here and there until two 
 years ago, when he moved to Graham to live 
 with a daughter who had saved money and 
 bought a home. There he made the ac- 
 quaintance of Mr. Williamson, and never 
 tired of telling him about the Bolick hounds. 
 
 A fortunate thing happened for Simon last 
 fall. He was wrong in his conjecture about 
 the passing of the Bolick stock. It had not 
 all perished. The breed had been kept pure 
 and improved by the sons of Bob Bolick. 
 Some profitable crosses had been made, and 
 the Bolick hounds of South Mountain were 
 
46 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 even better than the ones formerly owned 
 by Colonel William Bolick. They had not 
 been hunted after foxes, but had run deer, 
 bear, coons and wild cats. 
 
 Zeb Bolick, the most promising son of Bob, 
 heard of the old family negro at Graham. 
 He found out that the Bolick hound was the 
 hobby of Uncle Simon, and determined to box 
 up one of the best young ones in his pack and 
 send her to the old darkey. Therefore, on 
 a fine day in October, he shipped Dinah, a 
 well-built bitch, to Graham, at the same time 
 sending the following letter to Simon : 
 
 *' Simon, I have just sent you a hound of 
 the old Bolick stock. I heard that you 
 wanted one. She is untrained for foxes, but 
 will run anything that leaves a scent. Accept 
 her as a gift for the sake of by-gone days. I 
 never saw you, but if you were raised by 
 Uncle William, you are all right. I have 
 named the black and tan lady Dinah. She 
 looks just like old Bell, her great-great- 
 grandmother, except that she is larger. She 
 has raced all the flesh off of her bones, but 
 that is a small matter." 
 
A Hound of the Old Stock 47 
 
 Simon Bolick was the happiest negro in 
 the county. He rejoiced for two reasons; 
 the promise of the dog made him happy, and 
 the receipt of the letter, the first one of his 
 life, pleased him. He told the town of his 
 good fortune, going from store to store show- 
 ing his letter. It was like a dream to him, 
 and he could not realize that the dog was 
 actually on the way. He ran around until 
 he was almost prostrate. 
 
 For some cause Dinah was two days late 
 in showing up, and It began to look as If 
 somebody had been joking the old man. 
 
 Simon had described her as a beautiful, 
 gentle animal, full of life and well-bred look- 
 ing, but his imagination had been too active. 
 Hence, when Dinah arrived, the old darkey 
 was sorely disappointed, for she was skinny, 
 raw-boned and dirty, her ribs prominent and 
 her back too sharp. The boys laughed and 
 jeered as Simon led her along the street. 
 She seemed half-starved and tried to put her 
 nose into everything. If she found a morsel 
 to eat she gulped It down so greedily that 
 the spectators roared with delight. But 
 
48 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 when safely within his own yard, the old 
 negro made a thorough examination of his 
 dog, and, after looking her over from nose- 
 tip to tail, he spoke to himself as follows: 
 " Dat ain't no bad dog ef I'm a jedge. She's 
 got de same marks dat de ol' houn's had. I 
 laks dem thin years, dat hump-back an' dat 
 long, keen tail. All she needs Is somefin' 
 to eat an' er little res'. Me an' ole Suckle 
 '11 fetch her out. By de time de race arter 
 Big Sandy comes off I'll have her des right, 
 an' ef I ain't mightily mistaken she's gwlne 
 to sho' dem yudder dogs de bottom uv her 
 feets es she flies. Des es soon es she gits 
 rested, I's gwlne to slip her off down to de 
 crick an' hear dat mouf. Ef It soun's lak 
 ole Bell, den I'll bet on her sho' nuff." 
 
 The tongue proved right. It was loud, 
 clear and horn-like and could be distinguished 
 in any pack. Simon was happy. His cup 
 of joy was brimful when Mr. Williamson 
 sent him word that he could join him for a 
 chase the first good opportunity for a night 
 hunt. The old darkey could hardly wait — 
 he was so anxious for the hunt. 
 
A Hound of the Old Stock 49 
 
 When the eventful hour came, Simon, 
 mounted on his trusty mule. Beck, with his 
 master's old horn on his back, and Dinah 
 trotting behind, with head and tail down, 
 overtook the other hunters just out of Gra- 
 ham, on the Haw River road. The night 
 was fine, and the ground in first-class condi- 
 tion. The atmosphere was fresh and sweet, 
 after a light shower, and the weeds and grass 
 sufficiently damp to hold a scent. As Simon 
 rode up, Mr. Williamson remarked: 
 " Well, old fellow, if Dinah has the proper 
 stuff in her, and we hit old Sandy, she will 
 have an opportunity to do her best to-night, 
 for the weather is ideal.'* 
 
 "Yes, sir; dat's so; Mr. Fox'll smell 
 mighty good arter de little sprinkle. I ain't 
 sayin' much erbout my dog yit, 'cause she 
 ain't never run but one or two foxes in her 
 life, but I feels lak she wuz des gwine to 
 fall in wid de res' an' do her part." 
 
 Some of the mischievous chaps in the party 
 twitted the old negro about his hound, call- 
 ing her " skinflint,'* " meat-catcher," " rab- 
 
50 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 bit-chaser," and the like, but he laughed and 
 advised them to wait and see. 
 
 The hunters had not gone far when 
 Trump, a young dog, routed a rabbit, 
 and drove him flying across the road. Five 
 or six puppies joined in and hurried old 
 mollie-cotton-tail to the thicket of a near-by 
 stream. Soon a turn was made and all came 
 back. The dogs were close behind Brer 
 Rabbit, and a new mouth carried the lead. 
 Uncle Simon, with much joy in his heart, 
 cried out: "Listen at dat horn-mouf! 
 Dat's Dinah, an' she's in front ! " 
 
 Mr. Williamson was charmed with the 
 deep bark of Skinny Dinah. It was wrong 
 to encourage the rabbit hunters, but the boys 
 could not refrain from galloping ahead to 
 see the race. Dinah was literally splitting 
 the wind. She did not tarry or linger, but 
 picked up the scent here and there and has- 
 tened on. Simon blew his horn and all of 
 the culprits, except Dinah, came in; and her 
 tongue ceased. It was surmised that she had 
 caught the rabbit and was eating a second 
 
A Hound of the Old Stock 51 
 
 supper. Soon she overtook her proud 
 owner, her mouth blood-stained and her sides 
 sticking out. The laugh was on the darkey. 
 
 Far to the right came the melodious note 
 of Trouble, the faithful old strike dog. He 
 had ranged toward Bull Nose Creek and 
 struck a hot scent. Mark, Mr. Williamson's 
 colored valet, declared, " Dat's where dey 
 strikes ole Sandy, an' Trouble knowed where 
 to hit him I " 
 
 The hunters struck a gallop and the dogs 
 were " barkened " in — Jerry, Jude, Kate, 
 Sing, Music, Flora, Black Bill, Red Ball, 
 Trumpet and Flirt. Strive, a big, deep- 
 mouthed, bob-tailed hound, opened some dis- 
 tance in front of the rest. He was a fast 
 trailer, making time and ground by sighting 
 logs and wet places ahead and hitting here 
 and there. He had good dog sense and 
 knew the ways of Reynard, and, under his 
 leadership, the pack soon had a running trail. 
 
 Mark dismounted and examined the track. 
 " It sho' is ole Sandy, Mr. Lawrence," said 
 he. " If you don't believe it, come here an' 
 look." And so it turned out. 
 
52 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 The dogs moved across Cedar Hill toward 
 Holt's Bay and Drowning Creek. The 
 young hounds, all but Dinah, were chiming 
 In at the rear. Dinah seemed Interested, but 
 lazy. However, she kept nibbling at the 
 track. As the hounds went In on the north 
 side of Holt's Bay, old Sandy slipped out on 
 the other side. Red Ball, the famous leader 
 of the pack, got a live scent of the cunning 
 fox as he set out, and rushed through the 
 thicket, bawling as he went, and picked up the 
 hot track. There was consternation among 
 the dogs for a moment, but In a jiffy every 
 last mouth, even that of Dinah, was giving 
 tongue behind Red Ball. 
 
 As was the custom of Sandy, he took a 
 short round to try the quality of the pack. 
 He raced three miles and back over level 
 country, entered the bay where he went out, 
 dodged through and started for the swamps 
 of Big Creek, five miles away, to the north. 
 The hounds were in hot pursuit. Red Ball In 
 the lead, closely followed by Trumpet, Sing 
 and Flirt. 
 
 About every fourth leap Ball would cry, 
 
A Hound of the Old Stock 53 
 
 *' Yock! Yocky-yocky yock! " It was sweet 
 music to the ear. He did not bark often, 
 but his voice was strong and piercing. Dinah 
 brought up the rear, but was now thoroughly 
 aroused, though the rabbit had made her 
 heavy and slow. Simon was delighted to 
 see her sticking to it so well and showing 
 such interest. 
 
 The hunters rode to the top of the hill, 
 dismounted and waited patiently for the fox 
 and the dogs to return. It might be an hour, 
 or it might be four, but Sandy always came 
 back to Drowning Creek, and the faster the 
 race the quicker the return. 
 
 Mr. Williamson and his companions did 
 not have to loiter long that night, for within 
 three-quarters of an hour after the hounds 
 went out of hearing, Mark, with his keen 
 ear, heard the tongue of Red Ball. It was 
 coming back, " Yock ! Yocky-yocky yock ! " 
 
 The men hurried to a road crossing to see 
 the pack as it passed. Dogs had changed 
 places. Some of the short-winded runners 
 had dropped out and others fallen back. 
 But Simon's Dinah had performed the most 
 
'54 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 wonderful feat; instead of bringing up the 
 tail-end, she was pushing Ball. Her tongue 
 was mingling with his, and the old negro 
 could not constrain himself. He just had to 
 yell, and yell he did, at the top of his voice. 
 " As sho' es de Lawd," he shouted, " she's 
 one uv de ole stock I " 
 
 But it was no time to shout. The dogs 
 were flying on, and any inopportune whoop 
 might bother them, so Simon was rebuked by 
 the captain of the party. 
 
 Sandy covered his three-mile circuit again, 
 and returned to Holt's Bay. By that time 
 he saw that his life was in danger, for the 
 hounds were racing him faster than he ever 
 had to go before. If the gait continued 
 death would be staring him in the face, so he 
 determined to put forth his best efforts in a 
 run to Buck Hill and back, a total of sixteen 
 miles, but by foiling several miles he would 
 have ample time to dodge In Holt's Bay. 
 The dogs were close after him when he left 
 for Buck Hill, with Red Ball, and Dinah 
 cheek by jowl. Ball was running wild, while 
 Dinah seemed to be getting better. To the 
 
A Hound of the Old Stock ^^ 
 
 west the flying pack went, the tongues of Ball 
 and Dinah blended in one sound. Simon was 
 so elated that he could not be still, moving 
 about like a crazy man. 
 
 When the music ceased, Mr. Williamson 
 turned to Uncle Simon and said, " Old man, 
 I'll give you fifty dollars for her." 
 
 " Marse Lawrence, I needs de money, but 
 I wouldn't swap dat dog f er yo' cotton mill ; 
 no sar, dat I wouldn't." 
 
 After that there was no sound for more 
 than two hours, though the hunters listened 
 with strained ears. Mark was the first to 
 hear the returning music. He cried: 
 " Hush ! There they come I Dinah's in 
 the lead!" 
 
 " Yoo-it yoo-it yoo-it I yoo-it I " came the 
 sound rending the air. Ball had fallen back 
 ten feet or more. Again the hunters has- 
 tened to a place where they could view the 
 dogs. That time they saw the fox. Big 
 Sandy. He was but thirty yards ahead, with 
 tail dragging the ground and tongue hanging 
 out. 
 
 His last race was run. The fatal day had 
 
56 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 come. But he had pluck to struggle on. 
 Dinah and her mates came on, tired but 
 strong. Sandy was pulling for Holt's Bay, 
 where he could turn and double about, and 
 worry the dogs. But the sight of the men 
 and the horses seemed to urge Dinah on. 
 They gave her courage and she gained on 
 the fox. As she crossed a hillock In the 
 edge of the woods and turned down the op- 
 posite side, she caught a glimpse of Big 
 Sandy. Her heart beat with joy and she 
 went forward with renewed vigor. The 
 other dogs and the hunters were close In her 
 wake. They had noted the change in her 
 tongue and knew full well what it meant. 
 It was a sight race from there to the thicket, 
 and Dinah had the advantage. Big Sandy 
 dodged and twisted, but his last moment had 
 arrived. Dinah pounced on his back just as 
 he entered the edge of the bay, and it was 
 all over. 
 
 Dinah had proved her mettle, and Big 
 Sandy was dead. Uncle Simon was so happy 
 that he could not speak. He fell upon his 
 
A Hound of the Old Stock 57 
 
 dog and embraced her, while the boys patted 
 him on the back and rejoiced with him. 
 Dinah rolled and groaned in the broom sage, 
 the idol of the hour. 
 
MINERVA — THE OWL 
 
 WHEN In Charlotte, I make my home 
 at 411 North Tryon street, in a pri- 
 vate family. My hostess, Mrs. Barrlnger, 
 widow of General Rufus Barringer, owns an 
 owl of the Asia Accipitrimus or short-eared 
 species; her name Is Minerva and she is a 
 very common bird. Hundreds like her dwell 
 along the wooded streams of Mecklenburg 
 and adjoining counties. None of them are 
 beautiful. The one of which I write has 
 but one redeeming feature. She Is grateful 
 to her mistress who, alone, has fondled and 
 petted her. In this she acts well and shows 
 a trait that but few men have. 
 
 Where did this strange, quaint and curious 
 creature come from? Why did she become 
 a thing to be domesticated and cared for like 
 the beautiful little canary or the sweet- 
 tongued mocking bird? Is she the apple of 
 any person's eye, or the pride of any home? 
 
 58 
 
Minerva — the Owl 59 
 
 To the last question I should say: "No; 
 she is nobody's darling." 
 
 The owner of Minerva was not looking 
 for her when she came nor did she especially 
 desire to become the possessor of such a 
 charge. A friend sent her as a present from 
 a neighboring town. She had been lifted 
 from her nest, a tiny, awkward, helpless 
 birdie, and dropped into our home suddenly. 
 
 What was to be done ? 
 
 Had she been given her liberty in Char- 
 lotte, either by night or by day, a violent 
 death would have been her fate. Hungry 
 cats were ready to crack her delicate bones, 
 and the street urchin, with his never-failing 
 sling shot, or air-rifle, was eager to try his 
 skill on just such a mark. 
 
 Truly, the ugly, dirty, drab-colored little 
 bird was far from enthusiastic friend or kin- 
 dred. None of her kind are within several 
 miles of the town. But if she could have 
 been taken to the woods and set free she 
 would have died from starvation and loneli- 
 ness, for she was young, innocent and inex- 
 perienced. 
 
6o Tar Heel Tales 
 
 Indeed, she must be fed, housed and cared 
 for as an object of charity, for, truly, she 
 lacked lovable characteristics. At first she 
 had but one friend and that, her owner, and 
 to her she owes life and what happiness she 
 has had. 
 
 For twelve months of her existence, after 
 she arrived, Minerva lived in a large wire- 
 screen chicken pen, situated beneath my room 
 window. It was there that she grew Into 
 the dignified old lady that she is. The pen 
 was built and is used for cooping chickens 
 for the table. At times it was well filled 
 with a fine lot of hens and then, again, 
 empty. Minerva watched the dally slaugh- 
 ter of her strange companions with apparent 
 concern from the highest perch she could 
 find. She would not associate with them. 
 However, she soon discovered that they were 
 afraid of her. Those direct from the coun- 
 try, sought the farthest corner from her. 
 All this she did not understand, for having 
 seen none of her peculiar family, she must 
 have felt that she was of the same blood as 
 her fellow creatures. She tried diligently to 
 
Minerva — the Owl 6i 
 
 unravel the mystery. Her thoughts were 
 along the line of these questions, I Imagine, 
 from the serious look she always wore upon 
 her face: "Why do they avoid me? Will 
 that dreadful tall creature from the kitchen 
 come and wring my head off like he has done 
 others? What does it all mean? Have I 
 but one friend, the sweet old lady who raises 
 the window every morning and greets 
 me?" 
 
 The only trouble Minerva had In her early 
 captivity was given by Osmond, the son of 
 her mistress, who set Jack, his fierce bull 
 terrier, after her. The dog could not get 
 Inside the enclosure, but w^ould frighten her 
 Into hysterics by charging against the wire 
 and barking viciously. Under this excite- 
 ment she took the only exercise she got, fly- 
 ing from pole to pole and snapping her bill. 
 What the bull dog and his master did for 
 her Minerva did for the timid chickens. 
 She amused herself daily by chasing them 
 around. By Instinct an owl captures a fowl 
 by pushing it off of a perch and catching it 
 on the wing. Minerva would drop on the 
 
62 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 pole by the side of a frightened hen and 
 shove her off, just to see her squirm and hear 
 her squall. She kept this sport up for 
 months. Every time a new chicken was 
 turned in she would haze her, much to the 
 delight of those who could watch the game. 
 
 But, now, Minerva is too much of a lady 
 to engage in such youthful pranks. She sits 
 on her perch and keeps tab on the sons and 
 daughters of our neighbors. She announces 
 the time of night that Colonel Willie Harty 
 comes in and sings a funeral dirge out of 
 respect for Fritz, the deceased dog of Mr. 
 John Oates. In her more cheerful moods, 
 she warbles after this manner: " Toot, oot, 
 hoot, toot I" "Toot, oot, hoot, toot!!'' 
 That is very owlish and I have found no one 
 who could translate it into English. 
 
 Mrs. Barringer, being a woman of noble 
 heart, decided, not long ago, to give the bird 
 her freedom. William, the man servant, 
 was instructed to turn her out and see that no 
 enemy harmed her. We all believed that 
 she would be glad to leave the place for good 
 at the first opportunity, for she did not seem 
 
Minerva — the Owl 63 
 
 to care for or even trust any one but her 
 mistress, to whom she would go when called 
 or notice when spoken to. But we had 
 reckoned wrong. She did not desire to de- 
 part from us. Her hours are whiled away 
 in such cozy nooks and corners as she elects 
 to occupy in the back yard. She Is growing 
 fat and familiar with mankind and beast. 
 
 But, with liberty, protection and free- 
 lunch, Minerva Is not permitted to be con- 
 tented and happy. She has a swarm of 
 unrelenting feathered enemies that make her 
 life a burden. The blue jay, the red-headed 
 peckerwood, the harsh catbird, and the cruel 
 English sparrow are her fiercest foes. They 
 annoyed her no little while confined in the 
 chicken pen, by railing at her through the 
 wire, but now they dare to pluck feathers 
 from her back and puncture her body with 
 sharp bills. The mischievous old jay lands 
 in the morning before the servants come or 
 the occupants of the house begin to stir, de- 
 livers an inflammatory speech and urges his 
 hearers to fight for their rights, their homes, 
 their wives and their little ones. 
 
64 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 It was my fortune, good or bad, to see one 
 of these crowds assembled, to hear one of the 
 addresses and witness an onslaught, one fine 
 Sunday morning, several weeks ago. I had 
 retired early the night before and slept well. 
 The first call of Mr. Blue Jay waked me. 
 I sat up in bed and looked on through the 
 window blinds. The jay, feigning great in- 
 dignation, sat in the top of an elm tree, not 
 ten feet from the window. His voice rang 
 out loud and shrill through the light morning 
 air. It was barkened to by all the winged 
 kind for several blocks. The red-headed 
 woodpecker quit his hammering on the 
 steeple of the Lutheran church across the 
 street, and flew In all haste to join in the 
 outcry with his rasping voice. The catbird 
 sailed out from a neighboring fig bush and 
 came tumbling and screaming across the gar- 
 den. English sparrows poured in by the 
 score from all directions until the tree was 
 alive with their nervous little bodies. 
 
 All was consternation and fuss at first, 
 but soon the jay got the floor and made this 
 very bitter and Impressive speech : " Fel- 
 
Minerva — the Owl 6$ 
 
 low creatures: Here we are defied by the 
 vilest bird that left the ark. She lurks 
 about and seeks to do murder to you and to 
 me, to yours and* to mine. Our homes, our 
 wives and our children are in danger! 
 What shall we do? Must we stand quietly 
 by and see our loved ones killed and their 
 flesh defiled by this designing old night-as- 
 sassin? I answer: * No ! ' Why, she was 
 despised and hated by the people of old. 
 Hear what the Great Book says about her! 
 When Job's honor was turned into extreme 
 contempt and his prosperity Into calamity, 
 he cried: * I am a brother to dragons, and 
 a companion to owls.' 
 
 "Babylon was threatened: * It shall 
 never be inhabited, etc. 
 
 " ' But wild beasts of the desert shall lie 
 there, and their houses shall be full of dole- 
 ful creatures ; and owls shall dwell there, and 
 satyrs shall dance there.' 
 
 " Yes, we must slay the detested creature. 
 She Is an Imposition. I command you to rise 
 In your might and drive her out of our para- 
 dise 1 
 
66 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " The English sparrow will lead the 
 charge. 
 
 "All together! 
 
 "Charge! Bite! Scratch! Squall! 
 Poise the head ! '' 
 
 Off they went In a body to wage war on 
 old Minerva, who had seen the antics and 
 heard the words of the Indignant meddlers 
 from her comfortable seat on a wheelbarrow- 
 handle, just under a thick circle of a grape 
 vine. It Is useless to say that she was badly 
 frightened, for she dreaded the sharp beak 
 and the fury of the courageous little sparrow ; 
 he was so swift and determined In action 
 that his onslaughts were to be feared. The 
 bombastic jay, the timid catbird and the 
 blatant woodpecker gave her no concern. 
 
 The fight was In earnest when William, 
 the servant, hove In sight. Minerva had 
 lost several batches of feathers and her back 
 was sore where the sparrows had billed her. 
 At the flight of her assailants and the ap- 
 pearance of William, she chirped: "Toot, 
 toot, toot! " 
 
 This Is a brief sketch of Minerva's life. 
 
Minerva — the Owl 67 
 
 She is shunned, despised and distrusted by all 
 the Charlotte feathered tribe. She is alone 
 in the world. Her appearance is against her 
 and she has no accomplishments. She can 
 neither sing nor dance. Truly she is " the 
 bird with the hoe.'* 
 
UNCLE DERRICK IN WASHINGTON 
 
 IT was the week after Theodore Roosevelt, 
 President of the United States, had 
 Booker Washington, a famous negro edu- 
 cator, at the White House for dinner with 
 him, and the press of the land had sent the 
 news broadcast. 
 
 " Good morning, Uncle Derrick, where 
 are you off for to-day?" asked Dr. F. L. 
 Smith of Concord, of his fellow-townsman, 
 Derrick Alexander, the old colored wood- 
 chopper, as he trudged along the street. 
 
 " I's gwlne to de Big House at Washing- 
 ton, where de President lives," said the old 
 darkey. 
 
 " Yes, sir, Fs on my way to see President 
 Roseanfelt." 
 
 "What are you going to see him for?" 
 inquired Dr. Smith. 
 
 " Why, ain't you been readin' in de papers 
 'bout dem big festerbuls dat Mr. Roseanfelt 
 
 68 
 
Uncle Derrick at Home. 
 
Uncle Derrick In Washington 69 
 
 an' his fine lady's been havin' spechully fer dc 
 niggers? Dat's it, sir! Dere's where 
 Uncle Derrick's goln'." 
 
 The old fellow was in earnest. He wore 
 his best shoes — a new pair of number four- 
 teen brogans — a weather-beaten stovepipe 
 hat and an antiquated suit of livery. In a 
 bandanna handkerchief, swung over the end 
 of a stout cane across his shoulder, he carried 
 a few odds and ends of dress. 
 
 " Well, Uncle Derrick, how much money 
 are you taking with you? Can you go in 
 good style? '' 
 
 " Boss, dat's de weak p'Int 'bout my trip. 
 De ole nigger's des got ernuff to git to Salis- 
 bury, but ef he can't fine er frien' dere to hep 
 him on he'll walk. I's gwine to go ef de 
 Lawd lets me live. De time dat I's been 
 waitin' fer Is done come. It sho' is. All 
 de niggers In my part uv de town Is talkin' 
 'bout goln'. President Roseanfelt (dat's 
 what de Dutch folks uv Keebarrus county 
 calls him) sho' is de frien' uv de nigger. 
 Think uv it! Niggers wid deyer shinin' 
 clothes on eatin' wId de rich white folks uv 
 
70 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 de Ian' I I ain't got no fine clothes, but ef de 
 ole nigger kin des git dere he'll be all right; 
 some good white gem'man frum de Souf will 
 hand me out er thanky-suit. No, sir, I ain't 
 'spectin' no trouble arter I git dere fer de ole 
 nigger's mighty handy 'bout de house. Ef 
 I can't git in at de fust table I kin at de 
 secon'." 
 
 " But, Uncle Derrick, they won't let a 
 cornfield negro go in the White House; it's 
 high-toned negroes, like Booker Washington 
 and John Dancy, that attend the receptions 
 of the President." 
 
 " What? Dem yaller niggers! Dey ain't 
 fitten to go wid de quality. It's de right 
 black nigger dat's got de 'ristocrat blood in 
 him. My ole marster uster say dat a light- 
 skin nigger an' er roan mule wuz de wust 
 things in de worP. 
 
 *' No, sir, I ain't skeered uv no nigger wid 
 er yaller skin. Ef I des kin git to de Big 
 House dat's all I ax; I'll do de rest." 
 
 Dr. Smith, seeing that Derrick was serious, 
 furnished him with money to buy a ticket to 
 
Uncle Derrick in Washington 71 
 
 Washington and urged him to go forth and 
 be merry. 
 
 But, a week later, Derrick returned to 
 Concord, ragged and bruised. His clothes 
 had been rent in many places and his head 
 badly wounded. He hobbled up town and 
 called on Dr. Smith, to whom he told the 
 story of his visit to Washington, and recited 
 the fearful tale of woe that follows: 
 
 " Marster, I 'clare 'fo' Gawd dat I'll never 
 leave home ergin while I live. Dere's mo' 
 good foks in Concord dan anywhere else. 
 I'll die right here. Dem Washington foks Is 
 de meanes' people dat I ever seed. De nig- 
 gers Is bigity an' de white men don't pay no 
 'tention to you, an' dat's one place de po- 
 leesmens don't take no draggin' fer dey'll 
 knock you down fer lookin' mad. I sho' 
 did think that judgment day had come when 
 I got dere. 
 
 ** De trip up dere on de train wuz fust- 
 class. I seed lots uv fine people on de way. 
 But no sooner dan I lit on de groun' at 
 Washington my trouble started. 
 
72 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " I followed de yudder travelers f um dc 
 train out to de street, where I met a big buck 
 nigger, wearin' uv a beaver. I know'd dat 
 he was fixin' to go to de festerbul. He had 
 on er Jim-swinger coat an' high-top boots. 
 I step up to him an' say : * Is dis de day 
 fer de President's big blow-out to de niggers 
 an' de big white foks ? ' De rascal look me 
 up an' down an' all over an' ax : * What is 
 you talkin' 'bout, ole Rube? What do you 
 know 'bout de President's functions ? ' I 
 stop right dere fer I seed de kinder nigger I 
 wuz talkin' to. He was too highferlutin' 
 fer me, talkin' 'bout functions; when er nig- 
 ger quits sayin' festerbul it's time to let him 
 erlone. I axed him de way to de Big House 
 an' he sed, * Go to de yavenue an' up.' I 
 say, * What's dat ? ' He answer, ' It's de 
 bigges' street in de town.' 
 
 " I move on till I meet er pleasant lookin' 
 white gem'man who say dat he's frum Ala- 
 bam. I knowed dat he wuz uv de bes' stock 
 In de country, fer he had on good clothes an' 
 er big wide brim hat, one la'k ole master 
 useter wear. I pull off my hat an' say, 
 
Uncle Derrick In Washington 73 
 
 ' Boss, does you live here? ' ' No,' he say, 
 *why?' 
 
 " I seed dat he wuz all right, so I pop er 
 few questions to him. * Boss, Is dis de day 
 uv de festerbul at de Big House fer de culled 
 peoples an' yudders ? ' Well, sir, he smile 
 way down to his Adam's apple, des la'k de 
 question do him good, and say, * Is you think- 
 in' 'bout 'tendin' one uv de White House to- 
 do's?' 
 
 " ^ Yes, sir, dat's what I come up here fer; 
 I lives in Concord, North Carollny, wid 
 Marse Jim Cannon, Marse John Wadsworth 
 an' de rest. I sho' do wish dat you'd hep me 
 git in. I'se des as good as dem yaller nig- 
 gers dat's been Vlted.' 
 
 *' He des chuckle when I tol' him 'bout 
 my bizness up dere. He reach in his pocket 
 an' fetch out a ticket wid his name on it an' 
 when he write, * Let dis nigger in de White 
 House to de festerbul,' he handed It to me an' 
 say, * Dat'll git you in.' 
 
 " * But, uncle,' he say, * dey don't call de 
 to-do's festerbuls, la'k dey do down Souf, but 
 dey is functions an' ceptlons.' 
 
74 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " * Well,' I say, * des so dey have good 
 things to eat, dat's all dat I care 'bout. We 
 calls 'em festerbuls.' 
 
 *' ' Why,' he 'clare, * dey don't have noth- 
 in' to eat. You des go up dere an' shake 
 hands wid de big fo'ks. Dat's all you do. 
 Dere ain't no eatin' 'bout it.' 
 
 " Dat didn't suit dis nigger an' I wuz hot 
 under de collar, fer Marse John Wadsworth 
 tolt me, 'fo' I lef dat dey woul' have er 'pos- 
 sum as big as er sheep an' sweet-taters an' 
 gravy by de gallun. Dat wuz what I went 
 fer. I kin shake ban's wid folks at home. I 
 thought de gem'man wuz tryin' to fool me, 
 but I didn't tell him so. He look at me an' 
 laugh, an' den go on 'bout his bizness. 
 
 ** I go on up de yavenue an' meet all de 
 fo'ks. I didn't know dat dere wuz so many 
 people in de worl'. I step in front uv a 
 nice lookln' man an' ax, * Boss, Is chuch out? ' 
 I seed de crowd an' thought dat wuz de 
 trouble. But de man hain't answer my ques- 
 tion yit. He look me in de eye, stick out his 
 han' to shake wid me, an' say, * Jones Is my 
 name. What did you say yourn wuz ? ' 
 
Uncle Derrick in Washington 75 
 
 Dat wuz somefin' else. I wuzn't uster 
 shakin' wid white fo'ks, but I thought he 
 might be kin to de President, so I ketched his 
 han' an' 'clare, ' My name is Derrick Alex- 
 ander, frum Concord, North Caroliny.' 
 Well, de bref lef me when he say, * What 
 kin I do fer you, Mr. Alexander?' Tse 
 ninety years ole, but dat's de fust time dat er 
 white man ever calt me * Mister.' I slip 
 erway fum de man quick fer I knowed dat 
 he wuz one uv dem Yankees dat ole marster 
 uster cuss so hard. I went on up de yavenue, 
 but kep' lookin' back to see ef he wuz arter 
 me. Frum dat time on it seem to me dat all 
 de fo'ks dat I see wuz Yankees. Dey la'k 
 ter driv' me crazy. Dat's de truf. 
 
 " Dat wuz de longes' street dat I ever seed, 
 for it took me er half er day to git to de 
 Big House yard. I wuz des wile fer all de 
 niggers dat I seed wuz bigity an' de white 
 fo'ks wuz mean. De little niggers look at 
 me an' laugh. Ef I had been back in Con- 
 cord I'd busted some uv deyer noggin's, but 
 I wuz skeered to do it up dere. By de time 
 I got to de Big House gate I wuz mad an' 
 
^6 
 
 Tar Heel Talcs 
 
 'stractcd. It 'peers dat everybudy wuz ergin 
 me. As I started to step up In de gate er 
 man wcarin' cr uneeform an' brass buttons 
 come out frum behint er bush an' say, sassy 
 la'k, * Don't come In here, ole man ! DIs's 
 no place fer niggers ! ' 
 
 " Well, sir, dat raised my dander. I des 
 made up my mine to go In dere anyhow. So 
 I say, * I'm goln' to see de President ef I 
 have ter lick you.' He grin back at me an 
 'clare, * Dere's de President now. He an 
 his boy, goln' fer er ride.' 
 
 " I turnt my head an' looked roun' an 
 sho' 'nuff, dere wuz er man an' er boy ridin 
 bob-tall horses. I yell out, ' Hello, Mr 
 President! Dis ole Derrick, frum Concord 
 He's come to yo' festerbuL' I don't know 
 why, but dat peered to make him mad an 
 his upper lip histed up lack er winder shade 
 an' his lower lip fall down. I 'clare fo' de 
 Lawd dat I never seed sich a mouf full uv 
 teef In my life. Dey shine so dat dey look 
 la'k dem new tombstones In Red Hill grave- 
 yard. An' he ain't stop at grinnin', fer he say 
 to de plesman clo§e to me, * 'Rest dat crank 
 
Uncle Derrick in Washington 77 
 
 uv er nigger an' lock him up I ' Dat wuz de 
 las' straw. I des square mysef fer to fight. 
 But dat's all dat I know den, fer de man wid 
 de uneeform whack me over de head wid his 
 billy-stick an' put me ter sleep. Dat's what 
 made de hole In my fold. As I wuz on de 
 way to de gard house wid de officer, I hearn 
 somebudy say, ^ Why, dat's ole Derrick x^lex- 
 ander. What's he bin doin', Mr. Officer?' 
 * Tryin' to git to de White House.* ' Well, 
 des as soon as he gits able to travel I'll send 
 him home.' 
 
 " I didn't know who it wuz den, but I 
 hearn later dat it w^uz Congressman Theo. 
 Kluttz, from Salisbury. I had fetched water 
 fer him ter drink at er speakin' at Concord 
 one day. 
 
 " Dey took me ter de lock-up an' put me 
 In er Iron cell an' it wuz late In de day 'fo' 
 I knowed er thing. Den I waked up an' 
 looked 'round me. I seed niggers In all de 
 cells, an' mos' uv dem had sore heads. Dey 
 had been tryin' to git In de White House. 
 I cried des la'k er chile an' wish dat I wuz 
 back at Concord wid de people dat I know. 
 
78 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 I imagined dat I seed all de good fo'ks here. 
 
 " Early de nex' momin' de bossman uv dc 
 place come to me an' say, ' Ef you'll git outen 
 dis town des as fas' as you kin hustle, we'll 
 let you go. A gem'man lef er ticket home 
 fer you. Take it an' git ! ' 
 
 " Dat sho' was sweet music to my ears. I 
 wuz ready to go right den. I went out de do' 
 an' almos' skip to de depot. 
 
 " Thank Gawd dat de ole nigger's back 
 home ergin. Dat's where he's goin' ter stay. 
 Dem niggers what want to go to de White 
 House 'ceptions kin go, but give me my ole 
 f ryin' pan, cr big fat 'possum, a peck uv taters 
 an' er pint uv gravy. Dat's what suits dis 
 nigger. I ain't hankerin' arter shakin' no- 
 budy's han'." 
 
Preparing for the Guest. 
 
AND THE SIGNS FAILED NOT 
 
 ^^OHHOO, shhoo, shhoo, you good-for- 
 kJ nothing thing, we don't want any 
 company to-day," shouted the large, ruddy- 
 faced lady of the Parks Big House, to a hand- 
 some, red and black game cock that jumped 
 upon the walk In front of the porch, flapped 
 his glossy wings and started to crow. 
 
 " Who you reckon's comin' here dis time 
 uv de week, an' we so busy, Miss Jule?" 
 asked old Matt Miller, the family servant, 
 as she came around the corner of the house, 
 from the kitchen, on her way to the well, car- 
 rying two water buckets, with her sleeves 
 rolled to her elbows, showing a pair of lithe, 
 black arms, well muscled and hard. 
 
 " I don't know. Matt, but that rooster per- 
 sists in crowing in front of the door, and 
 that Is a mighty good sign that some stranger's 
 coming for a meal," declared Miss Jule. 
 
 79 
 
So Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Yes'm, an' I'se done drap de dish rag 
 twice dis mornin' an' dat's er sign dat don't 
 fail, an' de pusson whut comes is mos' lakly 
 to be hongry, too. 
 
 " Maybe hits de nev/ preacher? " 
 
 *' No, Matt, I don't think so, he's never 
 said anything about coming, and he will go 
 and see all of the elders and deacons before 
 he starts around among the common folks. 
 He hasn't been to see the Graves yet, and 
 they are pillars in Sharon." 
 
 ** Humph, Miss Jule, you don't know dese 
 young preachers lak I doos. Hit ain't de 
 elders an' de deekins deyer arter so much as 
 hit's de mens wid de money. 
 
 " Leastwise, dat de way hit Is wid our peo- 
 ple, an' human natur' is 'bout de same whether 
 de skin's white or black. I knows dis, ef 
 you hain't gut de spondulicks you don't git de 
 preacher. 
 
 " Ef hit ain't de rocks hit's de weemens dat 
 de young preachers Is gut on deyer minds 
 dese days. Dat sho' is de truf. 
 
 " Dat young feller, he's done heered dat 
 Marse George's gut las' year's cotton in de 
 
And the Signs Failed Not 8 1 
 
 shed, dat ain't never been sold, an' he's des 
 'bout comin' to spend de day." 
 
 *' What about our new preacher, Matt, do 
 you like his looks?" asked the lady of the 
 house, as she knitted. 
 
 *' I ain't seed 'im right good, but I don't 
 lak de lef eye." 
 
 " What's the matter with it? " 
 
 " Yo' maw, Miss Nancy, an' she wuz er 
 pow'ful smart 'oman too, used to say: 
 * Mat, don't you marry no cock-eye man, ef 
 you do you'llgit cheated.' " 
 
 "And you believe it?" 
 
 " 'Cose I do. Look at Marse George, one 
 uv de bestes' horse traders in dese parts ! 
 Whut do he say ? ' Don't buy no white foot 
 horse or trade wid er cock-eye man.' 
 
 " But, Miss Jule, I ain't sayin' nothin' ergin 
 yo' preacher. I don't lak to think bad 'bout 
 de men uv de pulpit, but I ain't gut de faith 
 dat I used to have. No, chile, de older I 
 gits de wuss I is." 
 
 Matt moved on, leaving her mistress to 
 think over what she had said. 
 
 Mrs. George Parks, although corpulent, 
 
82 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 and misshapen, had pretty white hands, neat 
 and dainty feet and small, aristocratic ankles, 
 pretty soft, iron-gray hair, and bright, keen 
 gray eyes. Her every feature bespoke a 
 warm heart, a gentle and refined nature. As 
 she sat there that morning, in her own low 
 rocking chair, knitting away at a cotton sock, 
 she was a perfect picture of health and hap- 
 piness. She had put her house in shape for 
 the day, fed the early biddies just from the 
 eggshells, looked over her garden and was 
 resting on the long, cool front porch, over- 
 spread by the limbs of two magnificent white 
 oaks. 
 
 After Matt had drawn the water and re- 
 turned to the kitchen, Charlie, the baby boy 
 of the Parks home, came running in from the 
 shop with a hoe in his hand, and dashed up 
 the steps, intending to go through the house 
 to the field in the rear, but was halted by his 
 mother, who said sharply: " Child, don't 
 bring that hoe in here, it is bad luck to carry 
 a hoe in a house where one lives." 
 
 The boy hurried back down the steps and 
 around the house. 
 
And the Signs Failed Not 83 
 
 The reader may imagine that he Is at this 
 prosperous country home, in the Piedmont re- 
 gion of the South, where cotton is king, and 
 hog and hominy the staff of life, and view the 
 scene. 
 
 It Is springtime, a beautiful fair morning 
 In early June, and the grandfather clock, one 
 that had been In the family for several gen- 
 erations, had just struck nine. Mrs. Parks 
 was at peace with the world. She had helped 
 to red up the house, to feed the poultry, strain 
 the fresh milk, churn and put away the but- 
 ter and written a letter to her oldest son, who 
 was off at college. 
 
 Old Matt, who served as cook, chamber- 
 maid, milkmaid, dairymaid, and errand run- 
 ner, was preparing dinner. 
 
 *' Have you put on your greens. Matt? " 
 asked Mrs. Parks, throwing back her head, 
 and calling over her shoulder. 
 
 " Yes'm, long 'go," responded the faithful 
 Matt. 
 
 " What do you think about killing a 
 chicken? Do you reckon we'll have com- 
 pany?" 
 
84 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Des as shore, Miss Jule, as I'se llvin'; 
 Pse done drap de dish rag ergin. Ef I wuz 
 you, I'd be skeered to risk it." 
 
 " Well, I think so myself, for George took 
 butter this morning when he had butter on his 
 plate, and that is a pretty sure sign. When 
 the rooster crows in front of the house, and 
 the cook drops the dish rag three times, and 
 the head of the family takes butter when he's 
 got butter, all of the signs point one way. 
 
 *' I expect you had better call Charlie and 
 catch that little red rooster that stays in the 
 Irish potato patch, back of the garden." 
 
 Mrs. Parks continued to knit, and ponder. 
 Her mind went from one thing to another. 
 One moment she was thinking of her dear 
 Tom, who would soon be home from the Uni- 
 versity, and the next of Ned, who had gone to 
 Charlotte to get a new mowing machine. 
 Most of her thoughts were of her children. 
 
 Matt and Charlie chased the little red 
 rooster through Marse George's prize cotton 
 patch, under the barn and out again, over the 
 fence, around the carriage house, finally hem- 
 ming him In a corner and catching him. 
 
And the Signs Failed Not 85 
 
 Matt put him in a pie and Charlie went to 
 carry water to the field hands, in response to 
 Big John Ardrey's call: "Sonny, sonny, 
 sonny, ain't you gwine to fetch de ole nigger 
 no water to-day ? He's so thirsty ! " 
 
 The cotton and corn were beginning to 
 show well in the more fertile fields. Every 
 available man and woman on the place was 
 at work, either plowing or hoeing, thinning 
 the young truck to a stand, and making war 
 on General Green, the farmer's faithful 
 enemy. Many fields were green with waving 
 grain. Here and there wheat was turning 
 yellow and would soon be ready for the 
 reaper. 
 
 To the right of the Big House, far out in 
 the twenty-four acre field, eight plows, drawn 
 by as many sturdy mules, still thin from hard 
 spring plowing, breaking lands, and brown 
 from the first scorching rays of the sun, 
 manned by lusty negroes, black and glossy 
 from eating rich Western-grown meat, were 
 going, running around the cotton, thinned to 
 a stand. 
 
86 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Lawdy, lawdy, lawdy, lawdy, 
 It's almos' pay day, pay day, 
 An' I'se gwine to git my honey er hat," 
 
 sang Jerry, a loud-mouthed, animated young 
 negro, who plowed Kit, a four-year-old mule, 
 fifteen hands high, and valued by Squire 
 Parks at one-seventy-five. , There was no me- 
 ter to his song, but it sounded well to him, 
 and the neighbors for two miles around could 
 hear it. 
 
 " Listen, Miss Jule," said Matt, to Mrs. 
 Parks, who had gone to the kitchen to see 
 about dinner. " Dat big mouf Jerry can't 
 keep quiet. 
 
 " Hear 'im singin' 'bout his honey? 
 
 " He rakes 'roun' all night, an' hollers all 
 day 'bout his honey? He better be givin' 
 dat Runt somefin', dat chile uv Mary's." 
 
 " Is that his child. Matt?" 
 
 " 'Cose hit's his'n. 
 
 " An' he ain't never as much as give it a 
 moufful uv nothin' — no, not nary mouf- 
 f ul I 
 
 " De po' little chile des runs 'roun' while 
 
And the Signs Failed Not 87 
 
 Mary wuks, des lak It wuz er dog or hog. I 
 ain't never seed sich neglect. But Mary 
 can't hep It now; she's gut to wuck fur er 
 llvin'." 
 
 " Well, I didn't know that Runt was 
 Jerry's child before." 
 
 " Yon he is now ! " exclaimed Matt, as she 
 turned and looked out of the window, toward 
 the hands, who were hoeing cotton in the Clay 
 Field, back of the orchard. 
 
 " Yes'm, Mary's des hoein' an' wuckin' lak 
 er dog, an' keepin' dat chile, while Jerry's 
 spendin' money on dat yaller Rose whut come 
 here wid dat nigger Rufus, who de pleesmens 
 tuck back to town an' put on de chain-gang 
 fur stealln' er cow. 
 
 " Po' Runt, he don't git much 'tenshun ! 
 Dey never thought enough uv 'Im to name 
 'im, an' de foks, seein' how little he wuz, 
 called 'im ' Runt ' an' ' Runt ' he is. Ef any- 
 budy wanted him dey coul' steal 'Im an' no- 
 budy woul' make much fuss 'bout It. Ef It 
 wuz slavry time ergin, an' Ole Brickhouse Jim 
 wuz llvin', he'd git 'Im 'fo' Sadday night. 
 Mary tote's 'im to de fiel' in de mornin' an' 
 
88 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 puts Mm down in de shade uv er tree an' lets 
 'Im stay dere." 
 
 This same little negro, four years old, bow- 
 legged, flat-nosed, onery-looking and dirty, 
 clad in a single garment, which was torn, and 
 without buttons to hold it In place, was at 
 that very moment rambling about In the weeds 
 In the orchard, far from his mother, who, 
 with a dozen other hands, were chopping cot- 
 ton. If a dog or a calf or anything else came 
 along and toppled him over he cried until he 
 was exhausted, fell asleep and waked up re- 
 freshed. No one seemed to love or care for 
 him ; he weeded his own row. 
 
 Taking pity on him, on various and sundry 
 occasions. Miss Jule had sent Charhe with 
 buttered biscuits or pieces of pie to the four- 
 year-old. Although Runt was afraid of 
 Charlie, who often slipped up behind him, 
 turned his little shirt over his head and ran, 
 he was thankful for the hand-outs, without 
 knowing just where they came from. If he 
 saw the white boy coming he wanted to hide, 
 but was afraid to lest he miss a sweet morsel 
 for his tongue. 
 
And the Signs Failed Not 89 
 
 *' Look, Miss Jule, don't it beat all how 
 boys do? See Charlie teasing dat po' little 
 nigger," old Matt would say. 
 
 *' Charlie ! Charlie ! You little scamp, 
 you ! Quit worrying that child ! " would fol- 
 low, and the youngster would laugh and run, 
 leaving Runt to think it over. 
 
 ** Shhoo, shhoo, shhoo ! 
 
 *' There's that old rooster again," said 
 Mrs. Parks, as she turned and started for the 
 front porch again. 
 
 *' We don't w^ant any company to-day." 
 
 " Miss Jule, don't you speck you'd better 
 spruce up er little, so ef de preacher do come 
 you'll be ready fur 'im? " 
 
 *' I will put on my new dress, I want 
 George to see it anyhow, and I can take it 
 off after dinner if nobody comes." 
 
 " I speck you better." 
 
 After the mistress of the house had resumed 
 her seat on the porch, having arrayed herself, 
 in her pretty calico frock. Matt called out: 
 " Miss Jule, who is dat comin' 'roun' de fieP 
 on dat big white boss? " 
 
90 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " It looks like Capt. Brown, on old Roy," 
 said Mrs. Parks. 
 
 " Yes'm, hit do, but he woul'n't be comin' 
 here fur dinner, 'ceptin' Miss Jane's erway," 
 declared Matt. 
 
 Sure enough. It was Capt. Brown, and he 
 rode up to the front gate. 
 
 " The tip of the day to you, Mrs. Parks ! '* 
 said the gallant fellow, lifting his hat. 
 
 *' Good morning, Capt. Brown ; won't you 
 light?" 
 
 " No, thank you; I haven't time." 
 
 " You all well ? " 
 
 " We're up an' about, but I'm not feeling 
 well. I have had a pain in my head for sev- 
 eral days." 
 
 " Listen at Miss Jule," said old Matt to 
 herself, as she peeped around the honey- 
 suckle vine, at the end of the porch to catch 
 what was said. " I ain't never seed her look 
 better nor puttier." 
 
 " How are you all, Capt. Brown? " 
 
 *' Just tollerbly well, only; the old woman 
 Is grunting a little this morning." 
 
 " Which way Is the 'Squire? " 
 
And the Signs Failed Not 91 
 
 *' He's In the Clay Field, back of the house, 
 where the hoe hands are at work." 
 
 " Have you heard from Mrs. Marler to- 
 day?" 
 
 " No, but Sam came by there last night, 
 late, on his way from the post office, and Reu- 
 ben told him that she was no better. I guess 
 she's In a right bad way." 
 
 " Yes, poor woman, she's been a great suf- 
 ferer for a long time. I have been wanting 
 to go to see her, but the stock Is busy now, and 
 then, too, I have not felt like riding. I get 
 dizzy every time I get In a buggy." 
 
 " You heard about Mrs. BUI McGregor, 
 Mrs. Parks?" 
 
 " No ; is it a boy or girl ? " 
 
 " A ten-pound boy." 
 
 " That's fine ! Five girls and three boys. 
 
 " Tell Mollle to come over. She needn't 
 wait on me. I'm getting too old to travel 
 about much." 
 
 " Thank you. You and George come. 
 
 " Well, I want to see the old man on a lit- 
 tle business; I will just ride around there." 
 
 Capt. Brown and Squire Parks were the 
 
92 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 best of neighbors and friends. Both were 
 influential in political affairs and substantial 
 business men. That morning they talked 
 over a private matter and Capt. Brown turned 
 and went back. 
 
 Dinner time came and no company arrived. 
 The greens, the chicken and strawberry pies 
 were all ready, but there was no one outside 
 of the family circle to eat them. 
 
 " I don't believe In your signs, anyhow," 
 declared Mr. Parks, " for, this morning, as 
 I went to the field, a red bird, a pretty one, 
 flew across the road in front of me, and I 
 have heard it said that that Is the sign that 
 you are going to see your sweetheart, dressed 
 in her best clothes, and I know I haven't seen 
 any sweetheart to-day." 
 
 *' O, yes, you is, Marse George," said 
 Matt, as she handed him the greens for a sec- 
 ond help. 
 
 "Who? Where?" 
 
 " Here she Is, Miss Jule, de onlles' sweet- 
 heart dat you ever had." 
 
 *' Don't you believe that. Matt," said Mrs. 
 Parks, fishing for a compliment. 
 
And the Signs Failed Not 93 
 
 " I guess you are right, Matt, and she's 
 got on a new dress," conceded the lord and 
 master of the Parks Big House. 
 
 Dinner and the hour of rest over, the hands 
 started for the field. Everybody, save Mary, 
 the mother of Runt, had gone, and she hunted 
 everywhere for the fatherless waif, but could 
 not find him. Squire Parks, Miss Jule, and 
 Matt organized themselves into a searching 
 party, but hunt where they would they could 
 not find the little negro. The big bell that 
 hung on the red oak in front of the lot gate 
 
 , was sounded, and all the workmen came in, 
 knowing that the ringing of it meant a gen- 
 eral alarm, and were formed into groups and 
 sent to the fields to look for the missing child. 
 Aunt Matt took a mirror and reflected the 
 
 , sun in the w^ell, thinking that he might have 
 tumbled in there. Every nook and corner 
 about the barn and every wash, or gulley, or 
 weed patch about the place was examined, but 
 no trace of Runt was found. 
 
 " Somebudy done tuck an' stole dat chile," 
 said Matt. " Told you so. I knowed dat de 
 
94 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 Lawd wuz gwine to let somebudy have 'Im 
 dat wour care fur 'im. 
 
 " Po' little chile, I hope dat nothin' ain't 
 happen to 'im." 
 
 For two hours the hunt continued. Mary 
 was wailing and shouting like one possessed. 
 Jerry, the wayward negro of the plantation, 
 was racing everywhere, looking. When all 
 had about concluded that the boy had been 
 kidnaped. Miss Jule, who had become hot and 
 tired, moving about in the broiling sun, and 
 returned to the house, discovered a pair of 
 little black, dirty feet sticking out from un- 
 der a large hall table and, on making a closer 
 examination, found that Runt had stolen in, 
 crawled under the table and gone to sleep 
 on the floor. Having put a pillow under the 
 knappy head she notified the hunters and told 
 Mary to go to her work and leave the child 
 to her. 
 
 Matt was very much disappointed, for she 
 had looked into the well until she believed 
 that she could see the body of a child on the 
 bottom, and when Miss Jule called she was 
 preparing to announce that she had found the 
 
^d the Signs Failed Not 95 
 
 little fellow; but, after seeing the feet and 
 bowlegs, as they protruded from the table, 
 was convinced that she was wrong. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Jule, an* de signs done come 
 true,'* declared the old darkey. " Dat's de 
 hongry pusson dat wuz comin*; dat chile des 
 gut so hongry dat he couln't stand hit no 
 longer an' come In. Po' little thing." 
 
 ** I am glad he made himself at home. 
 Matt, I will adopt him." 
 
 " One thing. Miss Jule, I wuz glad to see 
 dat Jerry lookln' sad-lak 'bout his boy. He 
 may not be so bad arter all. De Lawd put 
 good In everybudy." 
 
 " Yes, and Jerry and Mary may marry 
 some day, and make Runt a home ; you can't 
 tell," added Mrs. Parks. 
 
 Runt was treated as a guest of the house. 
 He slept unmolested for an hour, and when 
 he waked he was taken to the kitchen and 
 given the best the larder afforded. For a 
 month he remained there, waxing fat and 
 black and strong. Mary was delighted to be 
 rid of him under the circumstances. 
 
g6 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 The rooster had not given the clarion call 
 in vain. 
 
 One day two weeks later, Miss Jule sent 
 for Jerry, and they talked on the front steps. 
 The next day the young negro said to Squire 
 Parks: "Say, Marse George, I want's you 
 to marry me an' Mary. I'se done gut de 
 licenses." 
 
 ** Where did you get money to get license, 
 this time of year?" asked the justice of the 
 peace. 
 
 " Miss Jule give it to me." 
 
 That was the day the signs failed not. 
 
THE IRISHMAN'S GAME COCK 
 
 ^ ^A I iHAT was a great day In Providence 
 X — when Paddy Roark's bird out- 
 witted Black John Smith's fine cock, the 
 mighty Jay Bird," said the old gambler. 
 " That was the end of the world for me. 
 WeVe had no real sport since that time; 
 the boys are all good nowadays." 
 
 Briefly put, that is the story of the last 
 gambling bout of a public nature in Provi- 
 dence township, Mecklenburg county. The 
 day of the great battle between the fowls of 
 Roark and Smith marks the beginning of a 
 new era. 
 
 Black John Smith, as he was known far 
 and near, on account of his swarthy complex- 
 ion, was among the last of his kind in the 
 Southern states that embrace the Piedmont 
 region. He and his sort had their day just 
 after the civil war, when every community in 
 
 97 
 
98 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 Dixie was in a state of confusion, and horse 
 racing, cock fighting, wrestling and fighting 
 matches were common. Smith was one of 
 the boys — a jolly, good fellow, who liked 
 a good time, and if he could not have it one 
 way he would another. He did not belong 
 to the Southern aristocracy of the age; his 
 blood was tainted, but he was a man of fine 
 sense, never-failing courage, and handsome 
 appearance. His family record being a little 
 off color made him a social outcast and his 
 associates were inferiors. Life to him was 
 just what he made it, and he lived like a lord. 
 His home. The Elms, the former residence of 
 Capt. Jim Davis, the largest slave owner in 
 the southern section of the county, was the 
 rendezvous of second-class sportsmen, who 
 assembled there to drink, revel and try their 
 brawn. 
 
 Being industrious and a first-rate farmer, 
 Black John, who never owned land, but rented 
 the best to be had, always had plenty to eat 
 and drink around him. His corn bread and 
 butter milk, pig jowl and kraut, hog and hom- 
 iny, wine and brandy, all home-made, were of 
 
The Irishman's Game Cock 99 
 
 the best In the land, and, liberal to a fault, he 
 was never without friends. 
 
 If any man were out hunting for trouble 
 for himself, his dog, his rooster, or anything 
 else, he could find It at The Elms when Black 
 John Smith flourished there. Rural ath- 
 letes, bullies, owners of game cocks, and rac- 
 ing horses met with him on off days for a big 
 time. 
 
 Among those who foregathered at his home 
 were dissipated landlords of the community, 
 but, being of a higher social strata, the bet- 
 ter citizens rarely ever tarried at the Smith 
 hearth unless they were there on business. 
 
 In the early eighties there drifted into 
 Providence one Paddy Roark, an Irish arti- 
 san, from where no one ever knew. Paddy 
 was a unique character and the people of 
 the good old Presbyterian neighborhood gave 
 him a cordial welcome. Just such a man was 
 needed. At all times he was affable and 
 jolly and made friends everywhere. He was 
 a handy man — could do any sort of turn. 
 It was " Paddy do this " and " Paddy do 
 that." If a farmer needed a painter, a car- 
 
loo Tar Heel Tales 
 
 penter, a brick mason, or what not, Paddy- 
 was the man. Truly, Paddy was '' Dick and 
 the wheel in any tight place." If the boys 
 and girls of Providence had a frolic or a dance 
 he played the fiddle, or picked the banjo, or 
 sang Irish songs. The good housewives of 
 the community liked him, for he could make 
 the kraut, salt the meat, cook fruit for pre- 
 serves, make persimmon and locust beer, or 
 take the honey from the bee hive. In fact, 
 Paddy was an all-round citizen, and so long 
 as he behaved himself the good people of the 
 community did not worry about his mysterious 
 past or the suddenness of his advent into that 
 bailiwick. Little did they care, the descend- 
 ants of the signers of the Mecklenburg Decla- 
 ration of Independence, If he had killed an 
 Englishman or two In the old country. 
 
 Paddy Roark belonged to the social circle 
 of The Elms. He and Black John Smith 
 were friends, but the Irishman, being a man 
 of keen wit and cleverness, did not like the 
 way the lord of the old Davis place towered 
 above his fellows. There sprung up a rivalry 
 between these popular idols. In a clash of 
 
The Irishman's Game CocK loi 
 
 Intellects the man from the Emerald Isle out- 
 shone the native Tar Heel. In a test of 
 physical strength they were pretty evenly 
 matched. Paddy was the best boxer, but 
 Black John could throw him down in a 
 wrestle. Paddy was the only man In the 
 Smith set that would challenge the " Chief 
 of The Elms." 
 
 It was on a cold, drizzly day In September 
 and the boys for several miles around had 
 assembled under the Smith roof to discuss 
 plans for the fall and winter. Black John 
 sat In one corner and Paddy In the other, In 
 front of a big log fire. There was a lull In 
 the conversation. 
 
 " A rooster Is the gamest thing on earth," 
 said Smith. 
 
 " I do not admit that without proof," said 
 Paddy. 
 
 " The proof is at hand," declared Smith. 
 " Jay Bird, my dominecker game. Is In the 
 yard. He is the champion of the county and 
 I will back him against the feathered king- 
 dom. He carries a chip on his shoulder and 
 challenges the world every time he crows. 
 
102 Tar Heel Talcs 
 
 He can crow louder, shriller, oftener and 
 longer than any chicken in seven states. I 
 can make him come in here and fight you." 
 
 About that time the clarion call of a rooster 
 was heard. 
 
 "Listen!" shouted Black John. "He 
 says ' I can lick anything that wears feathers ! ' 
 
 " I will back him in that declaration." 
 
 Smith got up, opened the door and yelled: 
 " Jay Bird, come here and defend yourself." 
 
 Before one could say Jack Robinson twice, 
 a beautiful game rooster — and there Is noth- 
 ing prettier — came flying to the house from 
 the barn. His magnificent head, as keen as 
 an arrow point, was red with life, and his 
 alert brown eye sparkled with fire. His spurs 
 were long and sharp and well set in a pair 
 of splendid legs. His cold, steady eye gave 
 him a fierce appearance ; the calm, determined 
 stare of never-failing courage, was what made 
 adversaries quail before him. 
 
 " Come In, Jay Bird, and get on your mas- 
 ter's shoulder," was the invitation extended. 
 Black John was proud of his cock. He 
 petted and groomed him dally. 
 
The Irishman's Game Cocic 103 
 
 *' Jay Bird, they say you can be whipped,'* 
 said Smith, when the rooster lit upon his 
 shoulder. " What about it? " 
 
 Flapping his wings, lifting his eagle-head, 
 and crowing. Jay Bird seemed to say: "I 
 can whip any rooster in the land." 
 
 " A game rooster is proud, daring and 
 fearless if he comes of the right stock," as- 
 serted Black John. *' Courageous men or 
 dogs do not fight without an excuse, but the 
 cock goes forth to hunt a foe. Two games 
 will meet far from their own barnyards and 
 fight to the death, when there is no provoca- 
 tion for a meeting, much less a fight. The 
 bold, defiant spirit of their blood urges them 
 on. The one hears the challenge of the 
 other and accepts by going, running, flying 
 and crowing, to meet him. 
 
 " Jay Bird is a bundle of superb courage, 
 and I will pit him against any two-legged 
 fowl." 
 
 *' I accept the challenge," said Paddy. 
 " Name the time and the place and I will be 
 on hand with my bird. We shall put up $25 
 a side if you say so." 
 
104 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 This announcement took the breath from 
 the crowd. The money was put up and the 
 day fixed. 
 
 The acceptance of Black John's challenge 
 by Paddy Roark was the sensation of the 
 month. The countryside was surprised and 
 delighted. Everybody was asking, " And 
 where did Paddy get a chicken that can stand 
 up against Jay Bird, the wonder? " 
 
 All the answer that Paddy gave was, 
 ** Never you moind, I'll be there at the rolght 
 tolme, and I will have a folghting cock that 
 will swape the daeck." 
 
 The word was " put out " and traveled 
 with the wind, crossing out of Providence into 
 PInevIlle, Morning Star, Sharon and Steele 
 Creek townships, and Into Union county and 
 South Carolina. The coming contest was all 
 the talk, and Paddy Roark the hero of the 
 hour. If he brought a fowl that could whip 
 Jay Bird the people of the community stood 
 ready to give him a vote of thanks. The 
 older persons of the neighborhood believed 
 that if Smith could be outdone he might turn 
 from his evil ways and discontinue the par- 
 
The Irishman's Game Cock 105 
 
 ties at his place. All minds were on Paddy, 
 who was admired, for his consummate nerve, 
 by men, women and children. The small boy 
 longed to be a man so that he could model 
 after Paddy Roark, the Irishman. When 
 Paddy attended church on Sunday, which he 
 usually did, the pious communicants turned to 
 look at him. He who dared accept Black 
 John Smith's challenge was a mighty man. 
 
 The last Saturday in October was the day, 
 and Bald Knob, near McAlpine's creek, the 
 place for the meet. 
 
 Long before the appointed hour a crowd 
 began to gather from three counties. Men 
 came twenty miles to witness the fight. 
 
 The woods that surrounded the open field 
 in which the main was to take place were 
 alive with horses and mules, and while the 
 beasts of burden whinnied and brayed their 
 owners discussed the approaching event. 
 The mystery that surrounded Paddy Roark 
 and his fowl had excited the quiet citizens of 
 Providence as they had not been excited since 
 the days of the Ku Klux Klan. John Smith, 
 himself, looked pale and confused. Could 
 
io6 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 he have done so gracefully, he would have 
 crawfished, but it was too late to think of such 
 a thing. He had to stand to the rack. 
 Bright and early he was at the right place. 
 Jay Bird had crowed until he was hoarse. 
 He knew that something was in the wind and, 
 from the attention he received, that he was to 
 play a part. Hundreds of people called at 
 his cage to see him. He was in fine form 
 and looked every inch a fighter. 
 
 Paddy Roark, who had not been in his 
 usual haunts for several days, had not shown 
 up. The friends of Smith were saying that 
 the Irishman had fluked, but Paddy had back- 
 ers aplenty, who assured one and all that he 
 would be on time. Fifteen minutes before 
 the hour arrived Paddy was not in sight. At 
 ten of ten a shout broke on the eastern out- 
 skirts of the mob. Paddy, riding a gray 
 mule, came galloping over the hill, from to- 
 wards Matthews, carrying a sack over his 
 shoulder. As he dismounted from his nag 
 an outburst of applause greeted him. 
 
 It was, " Hurrah, for Paddy Roark, and 
 his bird I" 
 
The Irishman's Game Cock 107 
 
 *' Come on with your critter, whatever It 
 be," responded the Smithites, " and Jay Bird 
 will knock the filling out of himl " 
 
 At this time the entire hillside was covered 
 with a surging, wild-eyed human mass, each 
 person seeking to get where he or she could 
 see. Above the tumult and the shouting, the 
 shrill cry of Jay Bird could be heard, assert- 
 ing, " I can whip any cock in the land." 
 
 Roark was literally mobbed by his friends, 
 who asked : *' Paddy, have you brought your 
 rooster? " 
 
 *' What kind of a beast is he? " 
 Can he do Jay Bird? " 
 We're betting on him." 
 
 *' Fetch him out, the time is most up." 
 
 In the midst of this turmoil and chaos 
 Paddy Roark was cool, calm and deliberate. 
 He smoked his pipe, smiled and told the boys 
 that they might stake all they had on 
 " Jerry." 
 
 His mule tied, Paddy started for the bat- 
 tle-ground with his tow sack on his back; he 
 would not show his bird to any one, but the 
 bulk in one corner of the bag was encourag- 
 
 
io8 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 ing. His supporters were cheering and sing- 
 ing, " We'll hang Jay Bird on a sour apple 
 tree." 
 
 As the hour hand moved toward ten the 
 lord of The Elms and the Irish carpenter 
 faced each other, the one holding a rooster 
 and the other, the mouth of a bag. 
 
 " Clear out ! Stand back ! Give the gen- 
 tlemen room ! ** shouted the officer of the 
 day. 
 
 Paddy did not seem to be in any hurry. 
 No one knew what his bag contained for all 
 was quiet inside. 
 
 " That's the deadest rooster ever," yelled 
 someone in derision. " He's asleep. Wake 
 up, birdie, day's breaking! " 
 
 Paddy made no reply. He seemed satis- 
 fied with himself and his ** boird." 
 
 " All's ready! " shouted the umpire. 
 
 " When I say ' three ' let them go ! " 
 
 Paddy took hold of the bottom of the 
 sack and made ready to empty the contents. 
 
 The spectators at this juncture pressed 
 against the ropes and stood on tiptoe to 
 see Paddy's bird. When the word was given. 
 
The Irishman's Game Cock 109 
 
 Jerry, a large, Muscovy drake, web-footed 
 and clumsy, dropped Into the arena. The 
 friends of Paddy were struck speechless, and 
 the supporters of Jay Bird laughed boister- 
 ously, treating the affair as a joke, but Jay 
 Bird, and Jerry were serious, and went to 
 sparring at each other. 
 
 Paddy, too, was In earnest; knowing his 
 champion he said: "He's all roight, boys. 
 All hell can't thrip him." 
 
 For a moment Jay Bird was disconcerted; 
 although he had never seen a drake before, 
 he did his best. He had fought turkeys, pea 
 fowls and guineas, but not ducks. It was 
 evident from the outset that Jerry knew what 
 he was doing. He dodged beautifully and 
 let the rooster pass over his head. Jay 
 Bird's spurs would come together above his 
 back every time. The fighting was not dull. 
 Those who watched It felt that there were 
 surprises ahead for the cock. Jerry was bid- 
 ing his time, and It came by and by. Having 
 knocked off the wire edge, without as much 
 as touching the drake, Jay Bird settled down 
 to a steady lick. That was just what Jerry 
 
flio Tar Heel Tales 
 
 had hoped for; then he became more aggres- 
 sive. Sallying forth, ducking and dodging a 
 little, he caught his adversary by the back of 
 the neck. Jay Bird pulled back, but Jerry 
 did not turn loose until he had kicked him in 
 the breast and beaten him over the head with 
 his heavy wings. 
 
 The pounding made the rooster furious, 
 and he flew at his antagonist with more vim 
 than ever, and that time the aim was accurate, 
 the blow falling on the drake's head. 
 
 It was Jerry's turn to be angry. He 
 stepped back a step or two and prepared to 
 meet Jay Bird. The chicken went with a 
 rush, half running and half flying, and as he 
 rose to strike, the duck fastened him in the 
 throat, brought him down and thumped him 
 severely. 
 
 The crowd was wild, but the battle had 
 been so fast and furious and full of surprises 
 that all looked on in silence, waiting to see the 
 next move. 
 
 At this stage of the game the drake did a 
 wonderful feat. He ran into Jay Bird, took 
 a firm hold upon his neck, rose and flew, like 
 
The Irishman's Game Cock iii 
 
 a hawk. The trick was done so quickly that 
 the engrossed onlookers did not realize for a 
 second what had happened. The big duck, 
 with Jay Bird In his mouth, was going toward 
 the creek. The crowd whirled about and 
 hurried after him. 
 
 " It's all over now," Paddy cried; " Jerry 
 will drown Jay Bird In Black John's swim- 
 ming hole." 
 
 When the boys arrived at the edge of the 
 water, Jerry was catching tadpoles, having 
 sunk the body of his foe. 
 
 Black John Smith never recovered from 
 the humiliating defeat and death of his roos- 
 ter. The beginning of the end had come. 
 
STRANGE VISION OF ARABELLA 
 
 THE colored people within a radius of 
 twenty-five miles of Reding Springs 
 camp ground. Union county, congregate there 
 once a year, generally in August, after the 
 crops are laid by, for a big religious revival. 
 At Reding Springs they are far removed from 
 white people, and surrounded by forests. 
 They can camp out, eat, drink, preach and 
 sing to their hearts' content without molest- 
 ing anyone. Sometimes the meetings are 
 brought to sudden conclusions by free-for-all 
 fights, started by bullies, with rocks, pistols 
 and razors, but this is an unusual thing for 
 the good darkies of that section strive to keep 
 down any unlawful disturbances. Old Satan, 
 shrewd and alert always, enters the home of 
 God's people occasionally and makes mis- 
 chief. So it is at Reding Springs now and 
 then. 
 
 For almost a half century Reding Springs 
 
 112 
 
Arabella the Day After. 
 
Strange Vision of Arabella 113 
 
 has been a popular camping place for the ne- 
 groes of the Sandy Ridge region. They 
 gather there and remain for weelcs, worship- 
 ing according to their lights. Thousands of 
 persons camp there during the meeting. 
 They make the neighborhood dark with their 
 presence and resound with their music. 
 
 The Reding Springs meetings are not for 
 the city-bred negro, with his lofty airs and 
 college training, but for the country negro. 
 There he feels at home, where he goes once 
 every twelve months to repent of his sins, 
 give in his experience and shout until weary. 
 The religious enthusiast can sing, preach, 
 pray or participate In any other seemly way 
 in the services without restrictions. The par- 
 son reads his text, closes the Bible, and 
 preaches from memory. He gives out the 
 hymns line at a time, and leads in the sing- 
 ing, young and old, saint and sinner joining 
 to make the welkin ring, no one feeling con- 
 strained to curb his voice, the more force ap- 
 plied the better, volume, not quality, being 
 demanded. 
 
 Dear reader, if you have followed me so 
 
114 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 far, don't turn back now, for it is my purpose 
 to tell you about Arabella Simpkins, the 
 prophetess of the Reding Springs section. 
 She was the sage of the community. The 
 negroes feared her, and their fear was of the 
 sort that made them want to get closer to 
 her. 
 
 Reding Springs negroes had cause to fear 
 Arabella. The troubles that she predicted 
 came true. She had foretold the storm that 
 swept the harbor away in 1882; the earth- 
 quake that shook the tents in 1886, and the 
 bolt of lightning that set fire to the church in 
 1898. She had seen these in visions and told 
 of them as she shouted up and down the 
 aisles of the camp grounds. The people had 
 learned from experience that the predictions 
 of Arabella came to pass; she had won the 
 respect of the leaders, who looked upon her 
 arrival as an omen for good or bad. She had 
 never attended a meeting except to deliver 
 herself of an abiding prophecy. Therefore, 
 if Arabella appeared on the scene everybody 
 gave way to her and listened with abated 
 breath for her prediction, which she gave 
 
Strange Vision of Arabella 115 
 
 when the meeting was at Its best, when ex- 
 citement ran highest. Before the big negress 
 could perform effectively, the preaching and 
 singing had to be of such a character that the 
 hearers cried and wrung their hands. Then, 
 with the aisles and halls filled with shouting 
 men and women and crying children, Ara- 
 bella sallied forth from her seat, humming 
 softly, walling her eyes and warming up as 
 she went. 
 
 It was a hot day In 19 — that I went with 
 a party of young people to the Reding Springs 
 camp meeting. We were Invited by some of 
 the older darkles of Providence. It was said 
 that Arabella was about due, as she had not 
 been out In several years, and, hence, a good 
 time to go. 
 
 We arrived early Sunday morning, looked 
 over the grounds and watched the crowds 
 gather from the surrounding country. I en- 
 joyed the preliminaries. I had never seen 
 so many and such a variety of vehicles. The 
 majority of the darkles came In wagons, sit- 
 ting flat on the bottom, using wheat or oat 
 straw as a cushion, while others rode In an- 
 
Ii6 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 tiquated carriages, buggies and two-wheeled 
 carts, some of which were drawn by oxen. 
 The outskirts of the grounds were covered 
 with canvas tents, where those from a dis- 
 tance lived. 
 
 Nothing out of the ordinary happened un- 
 til ten o'clock, when I saw several old men 
 and women, those high in the councils of the 
 church, looking and pointing down the road 
 toward Twelve-Mile creek. Going near, so 
 that I could hear, I learned that an old sister 
 had spied a covered wagon, and, as I ap- 
 proached, she was saying: *' Dat sho' is 
 Arabella Simpkins, and her top wagin, fur I 
 knows dat ole yaller mule." 
 
 " Sister Blue," said Parson Honeycutt, 
 " Tm 'clined to b'lieve dat you is kerrect in yo' 
 diagnosis uv de case, fur dat looks mighty lak 
 Miss Simpkins on de front seat." 
 
 " I's sho' uv it now," added Sister Blue, 
 " fur dat's Cassar, her ole man, drivin' ; I 
 knows his derby hat. Yes, sir, an' dere some- 
 fin' on Arry's mind. We sho' is gwine to 
 hear somefin' drap to-day." 
 
 And so it proved. 
 
Strange Vision of Arabella 117 
 
 Arabella was on the way. She and Caesar 
 came driving a sorrel mule, whose mane and 
 tail needed trimming. 
 
 A chill passed over the crowd when it be- 
 came generally known that the notorious Ara- 
 bella was arriving. There was not a negro 
 present who would not have given all he 
 possessed to have been at home. But every 
 one was too superstitious to run away; that 
 would have brought bad luck. Therefore, 
 with a kind of fear that produces confidence 
 and brings hope the unhappy negroes col- 
 lected about Arabella and offered their serv- 
 ices, but with the air of a judge, who had the 
 power to sentence to prison or death the en- 
 tire crowd, she refused all proffers of help. 
 The mule unhitched and tied to a dogwood 
 sprout she went to the harbor and took a 
 seat half way down the middle pew. Every 
 person craned slyly his neck to see her. The 
 prophetess sat, with her arms folded across 
 her lap, silent and dignified. Caesar, who 
 had escorted her in, seemed to be absorbed In 
 some profound thought. No one went near 
 the pair. 
 
ii8 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 The older men of the congregation retired 
 to the amen comer and sat like dummies 
 waiting for the hour for the sermon to begin. 
 
 Everybody was wild with pent-up excite- 
 ment. There was anxiety in every eye. 
 Feeling, though suppressed, ran high. 
 
 Brother Honeycutt, trembling with emo- 
 tion, announced that the ten-thirty service 
 would begin with prayer and asked one and 
 all to join him in a petition to the Lord for 
 a successful meeting. He fell upon his knees 
 and prayed long and earnestly, beseeching 
 the Maker to stay the hand of the evil one 
 and save the Reding Springs people from 
 any great pending calamity. The fervent 
 ones punctuated and punctured the prayer 
 with hearty amens. Hymns were sung and 
 the sermon commenced. At first there was 
 nothing unusual about the services. They 
 were like those of all negro meetings held in 
 rural districts, except that the congregation 
 seemed unusually quiet. The falling of a pin 
 upon the floor could have been heard across 
 the room. 
 
 The arrival of Arabella had brought or- 
 
Strange Vision of Arabella 119 
 
 der. The bravest of the rowdies would not 
 have dared disturb the tranquillity of that 
 meeting. A most pious and respectful body 
 of worshippers it was! 
 
 Along toward the latter part of the ser- 
 mon Parson Honeycutt warmed up to his sub- 
 ject and spoke with force and feeling, pictur- 
 ing the scenes of judgment day, when all 
 would be begging Peter for admittance to the 
 Holy Land. His story and enthusiasm were 
 calculated to touch the hardest-hearted sin- 
 ner. As he moved on, swinging, half speak- 
 ing and half singing, the audience became 
 more and more interested. As he swayed to 
 and fro behind the pulpit his hearers swung 
 in sympathy. In conclusion he sung: 
 
 " De ole time religion is good enough for 
 
 me, 
 It wuz good enough for Paul and Silas, 
 An' it's good enough for me." 
 
 The entire congregation chimed in and sang 
 with spirit if not understanding. 
 
 It was at this juncture that an over- 
 
I20 Tar Heel Talcs 
 
 wrought sister, singing and crying at the top 
 of her voice, " an' it's good enough fer me," 
 rushed Into the aisle, clapping her hands, and 
 shouting. 
 
 The meeting was getting right then for 
 Elder Brown, a man of piety and reverence, 
 cried out: *' Dat's It, sister, tell It to 'em! '* 
 
 A half-dozen women and two men joined 
 the first shouter. 
 
 " An' It's good enough fer me," yelled the 
 preacher, slapping his big hands together; 
 *' come on, brethren an' sistern, an' jine de 
 moaners ! " 
 
 Four-fifths of the congregation kept an eye 
 on Arabella, knowing that It was only a ques- 
 tion of time until she would come forward 
 with a swing and a whoop, and tell what she 
 had seen. 
 
 The eager throng did not have to wait 
 long, for Arabella was eager to get out, and 
 deliver her message. Laying aside her hat 
 and veil she waltzed out, humming softly, 
 and sweetly. In a melodious voice, " An' I 
 seed er vision, er vision, er vision ! " 
 
 " I tole you so, honey, an' she's gwine 
 
Strange Vision of Arabella 121 
 
 to tell it," shouted Uncle Jerry Howard, one 
 of the class leaders. 
 
 As she rose I got a good look at Arabella, 
 and I was very much impressed with her mas- 
 culine features. She weighed about 225 
 pounds, was large of bone, muscular and 
 black. She entered the aisle reeling and 
 rocking. 
 
 " Clar dc way dere," said Parson Honey- 
 cutt, " an' let Miss Simpkins pass ! " 
 
 " It sho' is de same ole Arabella," declared 
 Class Leader Jones, " an' she's gut trouble 
 on her mind des as sho' as you's born'd. 
 
 " Come on. Sister Simpkins, an' don't keep 
 us in dis agony! Tell de truf as you see it! 
 Tell it an' let us prepare fer de wust! " 
 
 " Dis mornin'," sang Arabella, " as I wuz 
 er comin' er long-er de road, I seed er vision, 
 er vision, er vision." 
 
 "Tell it, sister; don't keep back nothin'. 
 What wuz it you seed? " came from the amen 
 comer. 
 
 " Yes, Brer Honeycutt, des as I started, an' 
 as I wuz comin' down de road-er, I seed er 
 vision, er vision, er vision ! " 
 
1122 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Yes, Lawd! Tell It all, sister! What 
 did you see? " 
 
 " An' I looked back-er, an' seed it ergln- 
 er." 
 
 " Come on wid It, sister! Tell It all! '' 
 
 " An' ft had-er long tall-er. Yes, Lawd, 
 an' dat I did-er! " 
 
 *' Come on, honey, what wuz It you 
 seed?" 
 
 By this time everybody else had quit shout- 
 ing; Arabella had the floor to herself. Every 
 neck was craned and every ear open to get 
 what she said. 
 
 " An' I look back-er, an' I seed dat It had 
 er head-er, er head-er, er head-er! " 
 
 *^What den, chile?" 
 
 "An' er long body-er, body-er, body-er! 
 An' legs-er, fo' long legs-er. Yes, yes, chil- 
 lun, an' fo' legs-er! " 
 
 While this was going on I could not keep 
 my eyes off of Parson Honeycutt, the large, 
 strlklng-looking preacher, who was very su- 
 perstitious. I was afraid he would go Into 
 convulsions. His eyes were stretched, his 
 nostrils distended and his mouth In a quiver. 
 
Strange Vision of Arabella 123 
 
 He leaned over the pulpit and listened intently 
 at Arabella. He was anxious to hear her 
 prediction. The suspense was telling on his 
 nerves, and his heart. 
 
 " What wuz it, sister? " he cried In his 
 agony. 
 
 " An' I look back-er, an' seed dat it had a 
 long pair years-er," continued Arabella. 
 
 The excitement had reached Its zenith. 
 The tension was greatest, and the crowd could 
 constrain Itself no longer. The spell was 
 broken when Elder Brown shouted: "An' 
 thank Gawd it were a mule-erl " 
 
 "Amen! " added the parson. 
 
 " Hold me, hold me, hold me, ef you don't 
 I'll fly away to glory an' leave you all," bel- 
 lowed Arabella. 
 
 " Brother Simpkins, hold yo' wife," cried 
 a voice. 
 
 Caesar Simpkins rose from his seat and 
 started toward Arabella, who was prancing up 
 and down the center aisle, but when she saw 
 him coming she waved her hand at him and 
 sung: 
 
124 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 '* GVay, Caesar, gVay, I don^t want you to 
 
 hold me, 
 Fs gut sugar an' molasses In my soul, 
 An' I want's Brer Honeycutt to hold me." 
 
 Parson Honeycutt hurried down from the 
 rostrum, caught Arabella by the right arm, 
 and they went up the aisle singing ^' Glory 
 hallelujah!" 
 
 Arabella went Into a trance, fell In Brother 
 Honeycutt's arms, and was carried out and 
 laid upon the grass beneath a large oak tree, 
 where she was permitted to cool off and 
 " come around." 
 
 The sequel : That afternoon, while on his 
 way home. Brother Honeycutt was thrown 
 from his roan mule. Napoleon Bonaparte, 
 who became frightened at a toad hopping 
 across the road, and had his left forefinger 
 broken. 
 
 ** I told you so I " said one and all. " Dat 
 nigger's vision allers comes true." 
 
A NEGRO AND HIS FRIEND 
 
 ON a sultry morning In August, nine- 
 teen hundred and two, an ex-Confed- 
 erate soldier, who had fought under Lee and 
 Jackson, hobbled across Independence Square, 
 bearing heavily upon his cane, on his way to 
 the Mecklenburg county courthouse. From 
 the opposite direction came a young fellow, 
 with ruddy complexion, beaming face and 
 springy step, en route to the railway station 
 to take an early train for a neighboring town. 
 The two, unexpectedly, came together In front 
 of the Central Hotel and extended their right 
 hands to each other. 
 
 " Why, father," exclaimed the younger 
 man, " what are you doing here this time of 
 day? 
 
 " Have you driven all the way from home 
 this morning? " 
 
 " Yes, son, I left the farm about daylight, 
 and just this moment arrived. 
 
 125 
 
126 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Jim IS in trouble again." 
 
 " Another church row ? '* 
 
 " Yes; a camp meeting this time." 
 
 " Well, father, I think if I were in your 
 place I would let that negro go to the roads. 
 The ball and chain might improve him. He 
 has given you no end of trouble and cost you 
 some money; let him take his medicine." 
 
 *' I don't know about that, Harry; your 
 mother and I have decided to stand by him 
 once more. He is a mighty good boy about 
 the place and we have implicit confidence in 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, but he is forever fighting and get- 
 ting in court. Let him go I " 
 
 *' Well, son, his daddy. Old John, was a 
 good darkey, and your grandfather would not 
 like it if we were to let one of his old car- 
 riage driver's boys go to prison if we could 
 help It. 
 
 " I know Jim is pretty bad about fighting 
 negroes, but he Is a good hand, and we get 
 on well with him." 
 
 " How many negro meetings has he broken 
 up since you hired him? " 
 
A Negro and His Friend 1127 
 
 .'' " I don't know exactly, but would say four 
 or five. He has a sort of mania for that. 
 He Is always polite to us and never complains 
 when asked to do extra work. We call on 
 him to go errands at all hours of the day or 
 night, and he goes cheerfully. I do not see 
 how we could get on without him; he milks 
 the cows if the cook Is sick, cuts the stove- 
 wood and carries it in, churns if there Is no- 
 body else to do it, feeds and curries the horses, 
 helps your mother to make preserves, or pic- 
 kles, or put up the fruit, and drives the car- 
 riage to church on Sunday. 
 
 " Yet, Harry if I had not known John and 
 Mary, his parents, I might let him go without 
 putting up a fight for him, but his daddy or 
 mammy would have done anything for your 
 mother, and your grandfather would turn 
 over in his grave if he could know that I had 
 not done my duty toward Jim. 
 
 " I don't know how serious this last affair 
 Is, but I will employ a lawyer and fight It 
 out." 
 
 Harry Brown did not leave the city that 
 day but remained at home to see If he could 
 
128 Tar Heel Talcs 
 
 be of service to his aged and decrepit father. 
 He went to the jail and had a talk with Jim, 
 who had been his childhood playmate, and 
 learned his side of the case. 
 
 " Mr. Harry, you think de jedge will make 
 It putty hard on me?" asked Jim, as the 
 young white man turned to leave. 
 
 " I can't say, Jim, but he Is a strict church 
 man — a Scotch-Irish Presbyterian — and It 
 would be difficult to predict the result. If it 
 Is possible to keep your fighting record out of 
 court I think we can get him to be merciful, 
 but If some one lugs your past In, then, with 
 this Puritanical judge, you may take a tumble 
 toward the chain-gang." 
 
 " Orh, Mr. Harry, you don't think no 
 white jedge wud send a good nigger lak me 
 to de roads des fur breakin' up a nigger camp 
 meetin', do you? " 
 
 " Things have changed, Jim. You can't 
 tell nowadays, since the people have become 
 so particular about drinking, gambling, and 
 the like, what a judge will do. I'm a little 
 uneasy about you." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Harry, tell Marse Henry to 
 
A Negro and His Friend 129 
 
 Stan' by me des one mo' time, an' den I'll do 
 better. Ef I gits out dis time I sho' will 
 'have mysef." 
 
 Jim Parks was the kind of negro that one 
 finds about oldtlme Southern country homes: 
 as black as the ace of spades, with a mouth 
 full of pretty white teeth, every one as sound 
 as a silver dollar, and muscular and active. 
 There were but few things about the farm 
 that he could not do when he tried. Every- 
 body, even the other negroes, liked him. 
 With white people he was mannerly, pleasant 
 and obliging, always, and those who knew 
 him at the Brown home, as he went about 
 his work, could not believe the stories they 
 heard of his midnight brawls and dark-house 
 fights at negro gatherings. Usually he was 
 such a happy-go-lucky chap that his white 
 friends could not Imagine him in the role of 
 a bully. 
 
 But Jim Parks at home, among his white 
 folks, and Jim Parks abroad, with the people 
 of his own race, were different persons — a 
 Dr. Jekel and a Mr. Hyde. 
 
 At noon, Saturday, the last day of the 
 
130 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 Mecklenburg court, Judge Shaler presiding, 
 Solicitor Bluelaw called the ZIon Camp 
 Meeting case, and put Rev. Archie Degraffen- 
 reld LaFayette Small, colored, on the 
 stand. 
 
 " Parson," said the prosecuting attorney, 
 " tell the court what took place at the camp 
 ground that Sunday." 
 
 " Yes, sir; it wuz lak dis: Vd been in de 
 pulpit about two minutes, gettin' ready to 
 preach de eight o'clock sermon, when I seed a 
 commotion in de grounds, about two-hund'd 
 yards away, an' twuzn't long 'fo' I heard a 
 pistol crack, an' dere wuz a scatteration of 
 people." 
 
 " Who used the weapon? " 
 
 " I heard 'em say it wuz dis here Jim 
 Parks — dat boy over dere." 
 
 " Don't tell what you heard," said CoL 
 Calvin Tedder, attorney for the defense, 
 " but what you actually saw." 
 
 "Yes, sir; well de moist dat I seed wuz 
 folks runnin' — gittin' away frum dere." 
 
 " Did you hear more than one pistol 
 shot? " asked the solicitor. 
 
A Negro and His Friend 131 
 
 "Yes, sir; some several shots. In fact, 
 sir, dey come so fas' dat I couldn't give out 
 de hymn fur hearin' 'em." 
 
 *' You were pretty badly frightened, were 
 you not? " 
 
 " 'Cose I wuz, sir, an' I ain't shame to say 
 it. I felt my legs trimblin', an' I couldn't 
 keep my eye on de book. 
 
 " Yes, sir, de public worship wuz already 
 disturbed. Ef de shootin' had stopped dere 
 de law wuz done broke. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Is this defendant the man who created 
 the disturbance in the yard? " 
 
 "Yes, sir; he's de one, fur I knows him 
 well. He's de one dat tuck Brother Jones' 
 watermillons,'* 
 
 "How is that?" asked the court, inter- 
 ested. 
 
 " Yes, sir, please yo' honor, it wuz lak dis: 
 Brother Jones, uv de Sandy Creek kermunity, 
 focht a load uv watermillons an' wuz sellin' 
 'em, when dis man Parks come out uv one uv 
 de tents an' pick out a big millon an' 'low: 
 * I'll des take dis one wid me.' 
 
132 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " * Not till you give me thirty-five cents,' 
 says Brother Jones, dis lak dat. 
 
 " * Take dat,' said dis boy, pitchin' Brother 
 Jones a nickel. 
 
 " Dat wuz de start uv it, an' one word 
 brought on another 'till Parks jerked out his 
 gun an*^ 'fell to shootin'." 
 
 *^ Who did he shoot at?" 
 
 ** Brother Jones." 
 
 "What did Jones do?" 
 
 " Run, sir. De last time I seed 'im wuz 
 when he struck de woods 'bout half mile 
 away." 
 
 " It's generally time to run when this ne- 
 gro gets after you with a revolver, ain't it? " 
 asked the solicitor. 
 
 *' Yes, sir. He's gut de reputation uv be- 
 in' mighty handy wid his gun." 
 
 " What followed? Tell the whole story." 
 
 " Well, sir, befo' Brother Jones wuz out 
 uv sight good, dis Jim Parks come to de arbor 
 an' saunter down de aisle." 
 
 " Did you see him? " 
 
 " 'Cose I did; I wuz makin' out lak I wuz 
 readin' de hymn, but de truf wuz I had my 
 
A Negro and His Friend 133 
 
 eye on dat nigger, 'cause I knowed 'Im uv 
 old." 
 
 '' Go ahead; tell what you saw." 
 " Yes, sir. I know'd dat I couldn't hold 
 de 'tension uv de crowd arter he 'peared on 
 de scene, but I wuz gwlne to try to tame 'im. 
 Brother Smith, one uv my right-hand men, 
 had done had some 'sperlence wid de boy, an' 
 he fainted over In de amen corner, fell off 
 de bench an' rolled under It. When I seed 
 dat, I wuz sorter confused, fur I wuz lookln' 
 fur Brother Smith to he'p me out. 
 
 " DIs Jim, he come on down de aisle, grln- 
 nln', until he gut 'bout half way to de pulpit, 
 an' den he stop an' take out his 'volver, a 
 black lookln' one, as fur as I kin reckerlec', 
 an' look at me an' say: * Big Nigger, we 
 ain't gwlne to have no eight o'clock service 
 dis mornin'. Church Is out.' " 
 
 " What did you say to that, Parson? " 
 ^' Not wantin' to cross 'Im, I 'low : * 'Cose 
 It Is, 'cose it Is — we ain't gwlne to argify 
 'bout dat, Brother Parks.' " 
 
 " You called him Brother Parks? " 
 
 *' Yes, sir, I wuz tryin' to make up to 'im." 
 
134 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 "What did he do then?" 
 *' He take aim at me an' say: * Come on 
 down, Big Nigger I Come on down! An' 
 don't be so long 'bout it ! ' 
 
 *' Seein' dat he wuz meanin' bizness I 'low: 
 * Yes, Brother Parks, I's comin',' but 'fo' I 
 coul' git It out he wuz pintin' his gun at 
 me. 
 
 " Go on ! " demanded the solicitor, in an 
 excited tone of voice. 
 
 " I heard de pistol say * click, click.' I 
 don't know what happened arter dat fur I lef ' 
 dere right den, goin' th'ough de hole at de 
 back uv de pulpit. As I lef he wuz cockin' 
 de 'volver but when I heard de 'port I wuz 
 crossin' Mr. Bob Bell's paster fence several 
 hund'd yards away." 
 
 " Did he shoot directly at you? " 
 " I can't say as to dat, but as I went over 
 de fence I heard de ball ajunin' putty close 
 to my year." 
 
 " What became of the congregation? " 
 " Moist uv it went th'ough de woods des 
 a little ahead uv me. Yes, sir. I think some 
 uv de younger ones staid an' fout." 
 
A Negro and His Friend 135 
 
 *' That will do, don't tell what you think," 
 shouted Col. Tedder. 
 
 " Well, dat's all I seed fur I never went 
 back no mo' 'till nex' day, an' de fightin' 
 crowd wuz gone." 
 
 The essential features of Parson Small's 
 testimony were corroborated. Several of the 
 officers of the church gave their versions of 
 the affair. Everybody seemed to be against 
 Jim. 
 
 Col. Tedder was afraid to put his client 
 on the stand lest his court record be produced. 
 He rested his case after making a short ram- 
 bling speech. After remaining out three 
 minutes the jury came In and rendered a ver- 
 dict of guilty. 
 
 Col. Tedder spoke eloquently for mercy 
 for his negro, saying that he was a good dar- 
 key, except now and then when he drank a 
 little too much. 
 
 " Stand up here, Jim Parks," said the 
 judge, when Col. Tedder sat down. 
 
 *' What do you mean by disturbing public 
 worship? 
 
136 Xar Heel Tales 
 
 " Why do you persist In breaking up camp 
 meetings? 
 
 *' Don't you know that it is wrong? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, Jedge, an' I ain't gwlne to do 
 it no mo'. Ef you'll des let me off dis time, 
 so dat I kin go home wid Marse Henry, I'll 
 be a good nigger de res' uv my life. 
 
 " No, sir, Marse Jedge, you needn't worry 
 'bout dis nigger no mo', 'cause he ain't gwlne 
 to come back here ef he live a hund'd years." 
 
 " That Is very fine talk but you don't mean 
 it," declared the court. " Nothing short of 
 the chain-gang will cure you. I will sentence 
 you — " 
 
 " Hold on, boss, ain't you gwlne to let 
 Marse Henry say a word fur de ole nigger? " 
 
 " He's already said that you were all right 
 except about fighting negroes. The court 
 must protect all classes of citizens. I will 
 give you nine months." 
 
 " Amen ! " whispered Parson Small. 
 
 'Squire Brown dropped his head to keep 
 from meeting Jim's, tearful eyes, as the boy 
 marched out to the jail, handcuffed to two 
 other culprits. 
 
A Negro and His Friend 137 
 
 " That was about a: I anticipated," said 
 Harry to his father, as they left the court- 
 house. " Jim's reputation hurt him with the 
 judge. If you had been In Judge Shaler's 
 place you would have done the same thing." 
 
 " Yes, I think you are right, but I don't 
 like to see the boy go that way. It would 
 cost close to seventy dollars to get him out; 
 he owes me something now; I have not the 
 money to spare, and cannot afford to pay him 
 more than ten dollars a month if I have him. 
 
 *' He will have to go this time." 
 
 This was the sorrowful admission of 
 'Squire Brown. 
 
 "I think you are right; let him try the 
 road awhile," added the less sentimental son. 
 
 " Now, good-bye ; if I run upon a respecta- 
 ble-looking negro that I think would suit you 
 and mother, I will send him to you." 
 
 'Squire Brown collected his packages and 
 set out for home, a long, lonesome ride 
 through the country, over seventeen miles of 
 macadam road, that hot, dusty night. He 
 needed Jim, and did not like to see him go to 
 prison, but could not prevent it. The old 
 
138 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 place would not seem the same without the 
 little black negro, with his merry laugh and 
 shining face. 
 
 " I don't understand why the little rascal 
 cannot behave/' said the 'Squire to himself, as 
 his horse jogged along. 
 
 That evening, when he drove up to the 
 lot gate, Mrs. Brown, who had been looking 
 for him for hours, called out in a strident 
 voice: "Well, did you bring Jim?'* 
 
 " No, I am sorry to say, he went to jail in 
 spite of all I could do; the judge was preju- 
 diced against him. He will have to serve 
 nine months on the chain-gang." 
 
 *' That is too bad," said Mrs. Brown. 
 " Jim is a good darkey." 
 
 " Yes," put in the 'Squire, " but he will 
 break up camp meetings. 
 
 " I did all I could, employed a lawyer, 
 spoke to the solicitor, and swore a half-lie 
 about Jim's character." 
 
 Bright and early Monday, 'Squire Brown 
 and his son, Harry, met on the Square in 
 Charlotte, just as they had met two mornings 
 before. 
 
A Negro and His Friend 139 
 
 " I am surprised, Dad, to see you here 
 again ? '* said die boy, frowning. 
 
 " Why, your mother and I, after thinking 
 the matter over yesterday, decided to take 
 Jim out; It win cost $65, but I am going to 
 do It. I have borrowed the money, and will 
 take the negro home with me." 
 
 "You are a good one, father — you and 
 mother — taking Jim out of jail, but there 
 Is something about that sort of thing that I 
 like," said the son, smiling. " Race prob- 
 lem? Negro haters? Why ask who Is the 
 negro's friends when Incidents like this occur 
 every day? " 
 
 Harry, who had been traveling In the East 
 and West for four or five years, did not feel 
 about the negro as he once did. Being In 
 constant touch with the old cornfield darkey 
 'Squire Brown had a different viewpoint. 
 The kindly feeling that the younger man once 
 had was passing away. 
 
 Late that afternoon, In a cloud of summer 
 dust, 'Squire Brown and Jim Parks, his negro, 
 drove out South Tryon street toward Plne- 
 vUle, and In passing in front of The Observer 
 
140 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 building Jim caught sight of Harry, turned 
 in the buggy and shouted back : *' Good-bye, 
 Mr. Harry, me an' Marse Henry's gwlne 
 home to see your Maw. Be a good boy, an' 
 don't let de jedgc git you. 'Have yo'se'f, an' 
 stay out uv cote, but ef you do git In, by acci- 
 dent, des lak I done, don't have Col. Tedder 
 to 'fend you, onless you spects to go right on 
 to jail." 
 
 " No wonder the old folks like the black 
 scamp," said Harry, laughing to himself. 
 " He's an Interesting negro." 
 
 There was great rejoicing on the Brown 
 place that night when the 'Squire and Jim ar- 
 rived. Ella, Jim's wife, was beside herself, 
 and 'Squire and Mrs. Brown were almost as 
 happy. Everybody, white and black, was de- 
 lighted. 
 
 The following December, after the cotton, 
 the corn, the potatoes, and the fruit had been 
 gathered, Harry visited his parents at the old 
 place. In driving down the lane he observed 
 that the little log cabin, formerly occupied by 
 Jim and Ella, was empty, and when the black 
 worthy failed to show up to take the horse. 
 
A Negro and His Friend 141 
 
 as he had done many times before, he asked 
 of his father what had become of the negro. 
 
 " He's gone to South Carolina," said the 
 'Squire. 
 
 "Left?" 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 "What did he leave for?" 
 
 " Why, he got In a little trouble out at 
 Jones' Chapel, where the colored people were 
 having some kind of a church festival, and 
 the officers were after him." 
 
 " He jumped the game, and left you In 
 the lurch?" 
 
 " No; I told him to run so that they could 
 not serve a warrant on him." 
 
 " And you a justice of the peace, too? " 
 
 " Yes ; I wasn't elected to try my own ne- 
 groes." 
 
 "How much does Jim owe you?" 
 I don't know, exactly." 
 A pretty good sum, I guess? " 
 
 " That sixty-five and a little more for ra- 
 tions." 
 
 "Will you ever get it?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, if Jim is ever able he will pay 
 It." 
 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH 
 
 THE burial of Uncle Billy Malone, of 
 Jackson county, by his intimate friends 
 and boon companions, was one of the stran- 
 gest funerals ever held in North Carolina, or 
 anywhere else; it was a clear case of birds of 
 a feather flocking together even unto the 
 grave. 
 
 Everybody in Jackson knew or knew of 
 Uncle Billy Malone, the blacksmith-horse- 
 trader; he was one of the few very interesting 
 characters of the county. His chief end in 
 life seemed to be a burning desire to satisfy an 
 unquenchable thirst for strong drink. He 
 was a confirmed toper, and all of his personal 
 friends were of the same persuasion. 
 
 Uncle Billy and his associates made it a 
 rule for years to assemble at Washington, the 
 county seat of Jackson, every off day — every 
 Saturday, every wet day, every holiday, in 
 fact, every day they could, and drink the 
 
 142 
 
Faithful Unto Death 143 
 
 health of each other, the state and the nation. 
 It was a jolly lot and Uncle Billy, the dean, 
 was the oldest of them all; his son Sid, the 
 youngest, and Col. William LaFayette, the 
 wisest. The little circle numbered eight, and 
 It was a close corporation while the cup passed 
 around. Whiskey was the besetting sin of 
 each and every one of them, who drank when« 
 ever he could, and wherever he could. 
 
 Col. LaFayette was a tenant farmer — a 
 typical tenant farmer of a class that lived 
 in the cotton-producing section of the South 
 after the civil war. During the days of slav- 
 ery he served as overseer for small slave- 
 owning landlords. Most of his kind moved 
 to the towns of the Piedmont counties of the 
 Southern States when cotton mills began to 
 flourish and put their children at work at the 
 spindle and the loom. The sorrier ones be- 
 came vampires. 
 
 In appearance Col. LaFayette was a freak, 
 but in manner, a sort of shabby-genteel Ches- 
 terfield. He was a cadaverous-looking fel- 
 low, with long body, long legs, and long arms, 
 and thin, sharp, pointed face. The oldest 
 
144 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 citizen of his county did not remember to 
 have seen him In well-fitting clothes. His 
 shirt sleeves were too short, and his trousers 
 never reached the top of his shoes. He ha- 
 bitually wore a slouch hat, with one side up 
 and the other down, and went with his shirt 
 front open and his shoes loosely laced. 
 
 Picture him In your mind, trudging his way 
 to town to join his chums at The Merry Bowl, 
 Jim Roediger's saloon! Any excuse took 
 him In, for he was always certain that his 
 friends, all of whom, save Uncle Billy, were 
 fellow tillers of the soil, would meet him 
 there. No particular day was set but the 
 little band of drinking cronies came together 
 like iron filings to a magnet. If any one 
 failed to appear something serious had hap- 
 pened to prevent his coming. Jim Boggs, 
 Pete Blue, Sam Helms, Mike Broom and Bob " 
 Sink belonged to the coterie. 
 
 Such were the running mates of Uncle Bill 
 Malone; all good fellows, and harmless, ex- ' 
 cept to their own constitutions. They stood 
 In their own light but no one could say aught 
 against any of them, barring the fact that he 
 
Faithful Unto Death 145 
 
 drank to excess, and that was a common com- 
 plaint at that time. They had lived together 
 so long, and enjoyed one another's society to 
 such an extent that, up to the time of Uncle 
 Billy's death, with the exception of a few 
 business associations, they shunned the rest of 
 mankind, not that they were ashamed but that 
 ordinary men bored them. Their circle was 
 complete. 
 
 On a cold — bitter cold — night in De- 
 cember, 18 — , the angel of death knocked at 
 the cabin door of Uncle Billy Malone. With- 
 out warning, and suddenly, the call came. 
 The old man had not been feeling well for 
 several days, but he had not complained to his 
 companions. The facts concerning his last 
 moments are not known to the outside world. 
 The curtain is down and no one can say how 
 Uncle Billy passed from life to eternity. But 
 the charitable m.ust believe that he was sober 
 and clothed in his right mind. 
 
 The day before the summons came De Ate, 
 as the party was known, foregathered at The 
 Merry Bowl and drank until late. Sid and 
 his father got home just before dark. The 
 
1^6 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 next morning, when the son went to arouse 
 his father, he found his body cold In death. 
 
 But, let us turn to the funeral! 
 
 Sid Malone behaved like a child in the 
 presence of death. The very thought of be- 
 ing alone and face to face with a dead kins- 
 man seemed to unnerve him. There was but 
 one definite idea in his head and that was that 
 his father had to be buried. 
 
 " Who IS to do It? '' he asked himself. 
 
 " Why, his friends ! '* was the natural an- 
 swer. 
 
 " Who, Col. LaFayette, and the others of 
 De Ate?" 
 
 Those were the only friends he knew. He 
 had not been to church in forty years, and no 
 preacher had ever put foot in his home. 
 
 " Is there no woman or minister of the gos- 
 pel? " asked Sid. 
 
 " Not one," echo answered. 
 
 With these thoughts running through his 
 mind Sid mounted his mule and started to the 
 several homes of his friends to announce the 
 sad news. He had not gone far when he met 
 Col. LaFayette and others, riding through 
 
Faithful Unto Death 147 
 
 eight inches of snow, on their way to Wash- 
 ington for a drinking frolic. Thinking of 
 nothing but the exhilarating glass that 
 awaited them at The Merry Bowl, they did 
 not recognize Sid Malone as he came riding 
 down the road. 
 
 The death of his father had softened Sid, 
 and his heart was sore. When his compan- 
 ions came in sight he was thinking of the un- 
 certainty of life and the certainty of death, a 
 subject he had never considered before. The 
 turning place for him, he argued, had come. 
 But alas I he met his old cronies, and the flow 
 of serious thought was diverted. 
 
 " Turn back, boys, don't go to town to- 
 day," said Sid, as he recognized his pals. 
 " Turn back, my daddy's daid I '* 
 
 *' Oh, Sid, don't tell me that your daddy 
 air daid,'* cried Col. LaFayette, throwing up 
 his hands at the unexpected and shocking an- 
 nouncement. "How kin It be?" 
 
 " It shore is the truth, and I want you fel- 
 lers to help me give him a decent burial." 
 
 "Well, Sid, there ain't nothin* that I 
 wouldn't do for Uncle Billy Malone, daid or 
 
148 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 alive, and as quick as I go up town and tend 
 to a little bizness I'll be wid you/' 
 
 Col. LaFayette had his mind fatally fixed 
 on The Merry Bowl, and he felt compelled to 
 have a drink before he could do anything else, 
 but, be it said to his credit, that although his 
 tongue was dry and his head set on the saloon, 
 his heart — a large, warm one — was with 
 his dead comrade. He was loyal and true to 
 his friends, and Uncle Billy stood at the head 
 of the list. 
 
 He went to The Merry Bowl — he and all 
 of his associates except Sid, who went to the 
 church to have a grave prepared — took a 
 round or two of drinks and bought several 
 bottles to carry away with them. Having 
 thus fortified against the cold and the dreary 
 hours ahead the six companions of the Ma- 
 lones repaired to the little home on the out- 
 skirts of the town, and began the watch over 
 Uncle Billy's remains. 
 
 Sid Malone and his father lived in a two- 
 roomed log house, which had been built two 
 generations before. They had been the sole 
 occupants since the death of Mrs. Malone, 
 
Faithful Unto Death 149 
 
 mother and wife, twenty years prior to that 
 time. It was a wretched, poverty-stricken 
 place, unkept and dilapidated. 
 
 Here, on the day of the funeral, the friends 
 of the late lord and master of the hut sat in 
 silence, doing what they deemed to be the 
 right thing toward their departed comrade. 
 The six, with solemn faces, sat looking in the 
 fire that crackled away on the hearth. Deep 
 down they were sorrow-stricken but, withal, 
 the thirst that never dies tugged at them. 
 At first, when one felt that it was Impossible 
 to do without a drink any longer, he would 
 rise and steal quietly out, step aside, and touch 
 his flask. This was out of respect to the 
 memory of Uncle Billy. However, this for- 
 mality did not continue long for, Inside of two 
 hours, the boys were drinking in the good old 
 way, and In the presence of the corpse. 
 
 Sid returned about noon, broken and de- 
 jected, and was prevailed upon to take a cup 
 or two for his nerves. 
 
 ** It's mighty hard, fellers," said Col. La- 
 Fayette, '' but we can not undo what has been 
 done. The Father of All intended that we 
 
ISO Tar Heel Tales 
 
 should go just like Uncle Billy went. I hope 
 that my takin' off will be as sudden and as 
 unlooked-for as his. I have my thoughts 
 about the hereafter, but I hope to be with my 
 friends. Let us drink one glass In honor of 
 our old friend who has gone on before ! '^ 
 
 The frequent drinks of whiskey had lifted 
 the sorrow from the hearts of the little 
 band of associates. 
 
 After dinner, while a heavy snow fell, the 
 friends of Uncle Billy Malone put the body 
 in a pine coffin, one made for the purpose by 
 the dead man, and bore It to Its last resting 
 place. A hand-car, which was operated on 
 a spur of a trunk-line road, was used In place 
 of a hearse. The mourners staggered by the 
 car and shoved it along the rails. On the 
 way the casket fell off but was soon replaced.. 
 The drinking begun early In the morning, had 
 been kept up all day, and Col. LaFayette and 
 his friends were pretty rocky. 
 
 When the funeral party reached the church, 
 Bellevue Chapel, there was no one to greet It. 
 Simp Syder, the colored grave digger, was 
 the only living creature In sight. The trees. 
 
Faithful Unto Death 151 
 
 the church top, and the tombstones were cov- 
 ered with snow, and everything seemed dead 
 and cold. 
 
 The corpse was carried to the open grave 
 and let down. After the ropes were pulled 
 out the associates of the late Uncle Billy 
 Malone stood and looked at each other, in- 
 quiring in a mute way: " Is it possible that 
 no one can say a word — a last word — for 
 the old man? " 
 
 Col. William LaFayette, big-hearted fel- 
 low that he was, arose to the emergency. 
 Looking in the grave, at the coffin, and then 
 passing his eyes from man to man, he knew 
 that the task had fallen on him. He read 
 in the faces of the others that he was ex- 
 pected to perform the last rites and ceremo- 
 nies over the body of their departed friend. 
 On realizing this, he said: "Stand 'round 
 the grave, boys, and pull off your hats. Git 
 as close as you can. 
 
 " There air nobudy here — no preacher, 
 nor weemens, or the like of that — to say 
 nuthing, and It just won't do to bury a man 
 like Uncle Billy Malone without something 
 
152 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 being said; if nobudy else will say it, I will. 
 
 '' Here air the body of Uncle Billy Ma- 
 lone, and he air daid. He was as good-er 
 man as ever lived, and you all know it. And 
 we air every one drunk, and I would go fur- 
 ther to remark, and to say, that if Uncle 
 Billy were here, he'd be drunk, too. 
 
 " Let's all hope that he's gone to the Good 
 Place, for he was a mighty good man. 
 That's all. 
 
 " If any of the rest of you have got any- 
 thing to say, say it now, for it will be too 
 late to-morrow." 
 
 That closed the ceremonies. The grave 
 was filled in, and the more tender-hearted ones 
 of the party dropped tears on the red clay 
 that covered the old fellow's body. It was a 
 solemn scene, there in the snow-covered grove, 
 near the church. Uncle Billy's friends had 
 remained faithful to the last. They had done 
 the best they knew how. 
 
" RED BUCK": WHERE I CAME BY 
 
 IT 
 
 THIS is a story of North Carolina Fusion 
 days, two years before the Constitu- 
 tional amendment, disfranchising the negro, 
 was adopted. In 1896 the Populists, man- 
 aged by Senator Marion Butler, of Sampson, 
 and the Republicans by Senator Jeter C. 
 Pritchard, of Buncombe, were standing to- 
 gether in the State for mutual benefit — for 
 pelf and pie — what most all active politi- 
 cians stand together for. The Democrats 
 were down and out. Ex-Judge Daniel L. 
 Russell, of Wilmington, and Hon. Oliver H. 
 Dockery, of Mangum, both of the sixth con- 
 gressional district, were the candidates for the 
 Republican nomination for Governor, which, 
 at that time, meant an election. Charlotte, 
 Union, Anson, Richmond, Robeson, New 
 Hanover and other counties were in the Shoe- 
 string district. 
 
 ^53 
 
154 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 The Republicans were very busy. 
 
 That being before the negro was disfran- 
 chised, the Republican party in this immediate 
 section of the State was largely composed of 
 Afro-Americans. A county convention was 
 held in Charlotte, and it was as black 
 as Africa. Of course there was a sprinkling 
 of white men in it, but nine out of ten of the 
 delegates were colored. The Dockeryites 
 and the Russellites came close to blows. 
 There were rumors of wars, but no blood was 
 shed. 
 
 Every county in the district had had a sim- 
 ilar convention and named delegates to the 
 Maxton meeting. 
 
 The all-absorbing question was : " Arc 
 you for Dockery or Russell? " 
 
 Mr. Dockery was known as the " Great 
 Warhorse of the Pee Dee," and Mr. Russell 
 as " The Mighty Dan of New Hanover." 
 
 The Maxton convention promised a live 
 newspaper story. Unless the hand writing 
 on the wall had been misread there was blood 
 on the moon. Some sort of a fight seemed 
 
"Red Buck" .I5i 
 
 certain if the delegates of the Shoestring dis- 
 trict ever got together. 
 
 It was at Maxton, as a common reporter, 
 that I got my nickname, Red Buck, now a 
 nom de plume. When the fight became 
 warm I bolted without waiting ceremonies. 
 
 We, the Mecklenburg delegates to the dis- 
 trict convention, and I, my paper's rehance 
 for the story of the day, left Charlotte on the 
 early train, a bright spring morning, and jour- 
 neyed eastward. 
 
 At Monroe the Union delegation got 
 aboard, and at Wadesboro the Anson, and at 
 Rockingham and Laurinburg, the Richmond. 
 
 The train was literally filled with negroes. 
 I had a dull time with that crowd until we 
 got to Rockingham, where Claude Dockery, 
 whom I had met at the State University at 
 Chapel Hill several years prior to that, joined 
 the party and introduced me to the most Inter- 
 esting character in the Dockery contingent, 
 Rich Lilly, a tall, wiry, limber negro, with 
 juicy mouth and knappy, dusty head. Rich 
 was going to do what he could toward the 
 
156 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 nomination of his old friend, Col. Oliver 
 Dockery. Somewhere between Rockingham 
 and Maxton Rich and I were thrown together, 
 when no one else was near. Rich beckoned 
 to me and dodged behind a freight car and, in 
 order to see what he wanted, I followed. 
 
 " Boss, is you gwine to Maxton? " asked 
 Rich, holding his right hand under his coat 
 tail as if to draw his gun. 
 
 *' Yes, sir. That is where I am bound 
 for." 
 
 *' Well, say, boss, here's des' a little uv 
 Duckery's best, won't you have er drink? " 
 
 " No, thank you, I don't drink," said I. 
 
 *' Looker here, boss, you mus' not be no 
 delegate? " 
 
 " No, I am not." 
 
 " Well, Is yer gwine to de convention? " 
 
 " Yes.'* 
 
 The train started and we got aboard. Eich 
 could not understand; my attitude toward his 
 elixir of life astonished him. 
 
 About 12 o'clock the convention met in 
 a large hall, provided with a rostrum, over 
 a store on Main street. The hall, having 
 
"Red Buck" 157 
 
 been used for a buggy warehouse, had a tram- 
 way that led from the sidewalk to the floor. 
 Up this broad and slanting way the delegates 
 and spectators traveled. I was one among 
 the first to arrive, with a chair that I bor- 
 rowed, a small lapboard and a tablet, and 
 took my seat on the rostrum, in the north cor- 
 ner, against the rear wall, near a window that 
 looked out on a back lot, believing that I had 
 selected the best place in the house for my 
 purpose. 
 
 At the appointed hour the hall was well 
 filled with people, principally negroes. See- 
 ing Mr. Claude Dockery talking and laugh- 
 ing with me. Rich Lilly became curious again, 
 and, when no one was about, he came up, 
 looked me in the eye and asked: *' Boss, for 
 Gawd's sake, whut Is you gwine ter do ef 
 you ain't no dellgate." 
 
 " I am going to sit here and watch you Re- 
 publicans, take notes and write you up In the 
 paper if you don't behave yourselves," was 
 my reply. 
 
 " O, you's er writer fur de paper? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
158' Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " I sees." 
 
 I do not recall any but the more violent 
 Incidents of the convention. As I sat there 
 and watched the various delegations take their 
 seats, a looker-on in Vienna pointed out some 
 of the celebrities. 
 
 " That man with the long beard and long 
 fig-stemmed pipe, Is Dr. R. M. Norment, of 
 Lumberton," said my coach. " The man 
 with the cripple hand is Col. B. Bill Terry. 
 The long-armed man with abbreviated trous- 
 ers and coat sleeves, Is Speaking Henry Cov- 
 ington." 
 
 Many others were named, but I have for- 
 gotten most of them. Later Big Bill Sutton, 
 of Bladen, came In. He did not belong to 
 the convention, but it was understood that he 
 was there to lead the Russell forces in a rough- 
 house affair If his services were needed. 
 
 No one would have Imagined that the 
 quiet, lifeless body of men of the first half 
 hour of the convention would become the mob 
 that It did before the day was over. 
 
 The trouble began when the convention 
 voted on a permanent chairman, each side 
 
*^ Red Buck" 159 
 
 claiming the majority when the balloting was 
 over. The god of peace had quit the meet- 
 ing and the devil taken possession. Mr. A. 
 M. Long, of Rockingham, a handsome man, 
 with good face, was put up by the Dockery- 
 ites, and a Wilmington negro by the Russell- 
 ites. Both Mr. Long and the darkey tried 
 to take the seat, each mounting the rostrum 
 and seizing a chair. 
 
 This was the signal for a general fight, 
 which began on the stage. 
 
 Knowing the power of Speaking Henry's 
 lungs the Dockery delegates began to yell 
 *' Covington," " Covington," *' speech," but 
 in the meantime the Wilmington negro, the 
 Russell chairman, had been deprived of his 
 seat by force. Mr. Long held his with a 
 brace of Colts. 
 
 I want the reader to understand that the 
 fight then in progress was none of my affair. 
 To tell the whole truth I did look on with 
 considerable satisfaction until I saw two or 
 three men produce pistols; from that time I 
 had one eye on the convention and the other 
 looking for a way to escape. 
 
i6o Tar Heel Tales 
 
 Every fighting man was coming to the ros- 
 trum, throwing nervous delegates out of the 
 way as he advanced. 
 
 Rich Lilly brought first blood. The calls 
 for Henry Covington, the supple man with 
 the oily tongue, were heeded by that gentle- 
 man, who was just as fearless as wordy, and 
 while others glared and swore at each other 
 he was making the welkin ring with Dockery 
 thunder. No man ever made more gestures 
 and took longer strides than did Speaking 
 Henry that afternoon. 
 
 With a quart of mean liquor in his stomach 
 and a cigarette In his mouth, Rich Lilly, the 
 warmest Dockerylte of them all, pranced be- 
 hind Mr. Covington, following him with his 
 hands and feet as far as he could without 
 injuring himself. 
 
 Seeing this double-barreled performance I 
 lost sight of the free-for-all fight on the op- 
 posite side of the stage. It wasn't what Mr. 
 Covington said but the way he said it that at- 
 tracted. Except for the difference in color 
 one would have taken Speaking Henry and 
 Rich Lilly for the Gold Dust twins. 
 
"Red Buck" i6i 
 
 " Tell It to 'em ! " shouted Rich, every 
 time he hit the floor. 
 
 " Yes, Lawd, let 'em have It. Dere ain't 
 no candl-date but Col. Duckery ! " 
 
 Tiring of this, a Russell man In the back 
 section of the hall roared out : " Five dollars 
 for the man who will pull that long-legged 
 devil down from there." 
 
 No sooner had the offer been made than 
 did a short, stocky, big-headed negro, with a 
 Van Dyke beard, start from the fifth row of 
 seats toward the stand to catch Covington by 
 the leg. 
 
 I mounted my chair to see. Having the 
 advantage of the pedestal I could take in 
 everything. 
 
 Speaking Henry had charged and jumped 
 and squatted and bounced until his trousers, 
 all too short, had climbed nearly to his knees 
 and his heavy home-knit socks had fallen over 
 his shoe tops. He was about ready to fly 
 when the designing negro reached out for his 
 thin, bare shank. 
 
 But there came a turn; Rich Lilly, who had 
 heard the offer and seen the negro start and 
 
1 62 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 wend his way to the stage, was guarding the 
 speaker. Just as the Wilmington delegate 
 made a pass at the Dockery speaker, Rich 
 bowed his back, like a Thomas cat, ducked, 
 shot forward and gave him a blow between 
 the eyes and floored him. Speaking Henry 
 never let up. In fact, he never knew what 
 had happened until the convention was over. 
 Rich resumed his antics until he recalled the 
 fact that I was taking notes and then rushed 
 back to where I had dropped into my seat, 
 put his hands on my knees, looked me In the 
 face and asked, seriously: *' Say, boss, did I 
 act lak er delegate? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, do it again." 
 
 To my certain knowledge Rich hammered 
 five other delegates after that and came to 
 see if I approved of the manner in which he 
 did it. 
 
 But I was forced to forget Speaking Henry 
 and Rich Lilly. Other incidents, more excit- 
 ing and more strenuous, were in progress. 
 Big Bill Sutton had come upon the rostrum 
 and was throwing delegates east and west. 
 Having the advantage of a tremendous frame 
 
"Red Buck'' 163 
 
 and a notorious reputation as a scrapper he 
 walked roughshod over less fortunate ones. 
 But there was one man, with a keen eye, an 
 Iron face and frosted hair, that was not afraid 
 to face him, and that was Mr. Dan Morrison, 
 of Rockingham, 9, Republican leader at that 
 time. 
 
 As old man Bill surged on the rostrum his 
 son, Dave, screamed back at Henry Coving- 
 ton from the hall. I saw Mr. Morrison climb 
 on the rostrum, and knew that he was mad. 
 He and Big Bill glowered at each other for 
 an instant at twenty paces. Two seconds 
 later they were rushing at each other, like 
 vicious dogs. They did not have a head-on 
 collision, but side-swiped. The Rockingham 
 man got the best of the first round; he tore 
 Sutton's collar and tie from his neck and 
 held It between the thumb and forefinger, so 
 that all might see. Friends Interfered and 
 prevented an ugly affair. 
 
 ** Clear the rostrum ! " shouted some one 
 from the hall. 
 
 That is what the chairmen and their friends 
 had been trying to do for some minutes. But 
 
164 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 the delegates crowded around the edge until 
 they were fifteen or twenty deep and the ros- 
 trum was alive with opposing factions. 
 
 After the Morrison-Sutton mix-up the 
 fighting became general. Some fellow in the 
 house knocked Dr. Norment over a seat, jam- 
 ming his pipe stem halfway down his throat. 
 
 Times were beginning to look squally for 
 me, and I had no way out. To my left was 
 a window, but if I went out that it meant a fall 
 of 20 feet to the ground; to my right, an 
 anteroom, with a small, thin wall ; going out, 
 down the steps from the rostrum, the way I 
 came in, seemed at that time an impossibility. 
 While considering the advisability of going 
 into the anteroom and closing the door I saw 
 an upheaval across from me and before I 
 could catch my breath an old darkey sailed 
 into the room and slammed the door and I 
 was cut off there. 
 
 All the while the mob on the rostrum be- 
 came blacker and more like a negro festival. 
 The old cornfield negroes were just beginning 
 to catch the spirit of the meeting. As the 
 colored delegates increased the white ones 
 
*'Red Buck" 165 
 
 stole away, imagining that something would 
 be doing soon. 
 
 Seeing the change in color and tempera- 
 ment of the stage crowd I began to have se- 
 rious concern about my own welfare. Had 
 the fight been among my own people I might 
 have taken a hand, but to sit idly by and be 
 punctured with a pistol or a knife was not to 
 my liking. I was slow in making up my 
 mind. But there came a time when I had 
 to act before thinking it over. As I sat there 
 and wondered what injuries I would receive 
 if I jumped out the window, a big negro, per- 
 haps a ditcher, clad in overalls and wearing 
 a cap and high-top boots, broke through the 
 mob In the hall, jumped up on the stand im- 
 mediately in front of me, and began to finger 
 In his boot and swear. I heard him mumble 
 to himself: " I'll be d — d ef I don't clar dis 
 hall when I get ole Sallie." 
 
 I had an Idea that " Ole Sallle " was a 
 weapon of some sort, and I was right, for a 
 half a second later the big nigger rose to his 
 full height, threw open a razor, turned around 
 three times (coming close to me as he 
 
1 66 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 wheeled) and yelled, " Git off uv dis stage, 
 don't I'll cut yo' throats — every one uv 
 you.'* 
 
 I was the first to leave, going over the 
 heads of the mob that had collected about 
 the edge of the stage. My notebook flew to 
 the right and my lapboard to the left, while 
 I continued my flight straight ahead down the 
 tramway. As I struck the street, old man B. 
 B. Terry, whom I knew very well, stood be- 
 hind the wall of the brick building, and peep- 
 ing up the exit, said : " I gad, that's no place 
 for a well man, much less a cripple." I did 
 not argue the point. 
 
 I was followed by many hundreds. In 
 fact, the entire Russell delegation bolted, some 
 going through the windows and others down 
 the tramway. 
 
 The Dockery men remained and passed a 
 few resolutions, but there was no more fight- 
 ing. 
 
 Late that afternoon, when the westbound 
 delegates were waiting at the station to take 
 the train, some one discovered that Uncle 
 Hampton, a very ancient colored delegate 
 
"Red Buck" 167 
 
 from Monroe, was missing. I heard the 
 talking and Inquired as to his appearance. 
 
 " Why," said I, '' that Is the old fellow that 
 went In the anteroom when the fight began." 
 
 A party of us visited the hall and knocked 
 on the locked door, but did not get a re- 
 sponse. Finally we broke In and there sat 
 old man Hampton, jouked down In the cor- 
 ner, afraid to move. 
 
 Claude Dockery, who sat on the roof and 
 saw me make the famous leap, went to Ra- 
 leigh and told Tom Pence, the city editor of 
 The Times-Visitor, that " Red Buck had 
 bolted the convention." I was the butt of 
 papers and politicians for weeks. The Old 
 Man said, in an editorial, that " Red Buck " 
 would have to explain why he bolted and he 
 did as best he could. Mr. Caldwell had dub- 
 bed me " Brick Top," '' Strawberry Blond," 
 and " Red Buck," and the last name stuck 
 because of the Maxton convention and Claude 
 Dockery's Interview. 
 
UNTIL DEATH DO US PART 
 
 THE man who earns by the sweat of his 
 brow or the cunning of his mind a com- 
 fortable living for those dependent upon him 
 should not complain but consider the mean 
 lot of others, less fortunate, and rejoice at his 
 good fate. There is not a day of my life that 
 I do not see some wretch faring worse than 
 I ; some poor person struggling desperately to 
 keep body and soul together. 
 
 Let us thank God for a sound mind and a 
 sound body: that we do not think side-whis- 
 kers are pretty and that we have not hair-lips. 
 
 One day not long ago, while hurrying from 
 my work, I passed a Greek peanut roaster, 
 and wondered about his lot. Day after day 
 I had seen him with his little push-cart, but 
 rarely had I observed any customers. 
 
 " How fares it to-day? '* said I, as I hur- 
 ried by. 
 
 i68 
 
Until Death Do Us Part 169 
 
 " Fine, thank you : little mon, good book, 
 good health, and heap of joy! " 
 
 " There is a philosopher," thought I to my- 
 self. " He is a happy man. His life seems 
 to be sweet, although he has but little of the 
 goods of this world." 
 
 That very day John, that son of Athens, 
 had sold less than fifty cents worth of truck, 
 yet he was rejoicing as he sat on the curbing, 
 reading the life of Thomas Jefferson in 
 Greek. 
 
 On a fine afternoon. In the spring of 1898, 
 I walked from the Hotel LaFayette, at Fay- 
 etteville, to the Cape Fear river. I had a 
 purpose in making the trip; I had been 
 threatened with a fit of melancholia and was 
 trying to stave It off. I strolled down to the 
 water's edge, where fishermen were wont to 
 tie their boats at night, and stood there look- 
 ing, looking, studying the topography of the 
 country and the people In their labor for 
 bread and meat. 
 
 I tarried on a pretty little hill, just above 
 the river, where I had a good view of the 
 water and surrounding fields. The territory 
 
170 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 for a hundred yards square in my immedi- 
 ate vicinity was bald and smooth from the 
 constant tread of fishermen's feet. Back of 
 that, early vegetables and succulent grasses 
 were springing up. Along the shore a dozen 
 or more batteaus, or small fishing boats, were 
 chained to stakes, or anchored to each other. 
 
 Far up and down the river I could see 
 men in boats, gliding noiselessly along the 
 banks, setting hooks for the evening bite. 
 It was past the middle of the afternoon and 
 the big fish, cats, carp and red horse, were 
 beginning to run. This the fishermen knew 
 and were hurrying to place their hooks, 
 baited with mussels. At nine o'clock at 
 night and early the next morning the hooks 
 were looked. 
 
 While standing there, gazing here and 
 there, I saw a party of small negro boys, 
 wading to their waists in the water, graveling 
 in the sand, for mussels to sell to the fisher- 
 men. Silently and doggedly, the little fel- 
 lows hunted the slimy, shell-covered creatures, 
 gathering them by the hundred. 
 
 The longer I remained there on that knoir, 
 
Until Death Do Us Part 171 
 
 In the midst of that peculiarly fascinating 
 life, the more Interested I became. Every 
 man, every woman and every boy or girl 
 appealed to me. Between five-thirty and six 
 o'clock the men who baited and placed the 
 hooks came ashore, fastened their boats, and 
 went to their respective homes for supper 
 and a moment with their wives and children 
 before starting out for the night fish. I saw 
 them go and come with their nets. From 
 dark until about ten o'clock they fished for 
 shad, the most valuable fish in the Cape Fear 
 at that season of the year. 
 
 It is Intensely fascinating to watch the 
 movements and study the habits and man- 
 ners of the people who get their living from 
 the water. They belong to a certain class 
 and are of a certain type, differing from their 
 brothers and sisters who till the soil. Lov- 
 ing the water and having become so used to 
 it, they would not quit it for the land. 
 
 As a rule, river people are strong and 
 ruddy. Their faces are hard and sunburned 
 and their muscles well-knit and tough. 
 
 It is a wholesome life. 
 
172 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 These be the sort of men I saw that after- 
 noon. On the ground they were awkward, 
 ill at ease, and grouchy, but in their boats 
 graceful, sturdy and merry. 
 
 Soon after I went down to the river and 
 settled myself, to look on and learn what I 
 could of the ways of the living things about 
 me, I heard a shuffling noise behind me, and 
 when I turned to ascertain the cause, my 
 eyes fell upon the most pitiful creature it had 
 ever been my fortune to see. A woman, yes, 
 a woman, one of God's noblest creatures, 
 stood and gazed in wonderment at me. She 
 had approached within a few feet of me be- 
 fore she realized that I was a living being; 
 I was hid from the view of the path that 
 leads from the town to the river by a thicket 
 of weeds and grass. 
 
 Once I began to look at the woman I could 
 not keep from staring at her. She was rag- 
 ged, wrinkled and unwashed. The clothes 
 that covered her back, all bent and mis- 
 shapen, were tattered and torn. Her leath- 
 ery face was deeply seamed and drawn. 
 The queer sound that attracted my attention 
 
Until Death Do Us Part 173 
 
 as she came up, was made by her shoes, which 
 were large, not mates, and without strings. 
 They slipped up and down upon her naked 
 heels and made the " slick-slack," " slick- 
 slack " noise, so familiar to the country boy 
 who has plowed in his father's cast-off 
 brogans, several numbers too large for his 
 feet. 
 
 The woman was pathetic-looking, her 
 crestfallen face was partially hid from me 
 by an antiquated, dilapidated, weather-beaten 
 split bonnet. Every garment she wore was 
 a misfit and threadbare. 
 
 I felt myself drawn to this poverty-stricken 
 creature. In order that I might find out 
 something about her, I engaged her in con- 
 versation before she could wheel and escape. 
 
 " Are you going fishing? " I asked. 
 
 " No," she answered pleasantly; " I came 
 down to see if I could see my old man. He 
 is fishing." 
 
 " Do you live here? " 
 
 " Yes. We have lived in this town thirty- 
 odd years ; me and my old man." 
 
 " What does he do for a living? " 
 
174 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Well, he fishes now. He is getting so 
 old and feeble that he cannot do anything 
 else. When young and strong, he worked 
 on a freight boat on the river, but his health 
 failed about ten years ago, and we have had 
 a mighty hard time since. I have actually 
 seed the time that we did not have enough 
 to eat. He is proud, and would not beg. 
 He fishes, while I tries to make a little money 
 washing and sewing, but he will not let me 
 work much." 
 
 " Have you any children? " 
 
 " No, sir. Mister; God never gave us any, 
 and I expect it is best. We are so poor they 
 might have a hard time. Me and him are 
 all of the two families left. He is the only 
 person that I have to look to and he is good 
 to me. He does his best, and God will not 
 forget him for it." 
 
 '* Do you own a home? " 
 
 *' No, sir. We have nothing but a little 
 bit of furniture. We live in a rented house 
 and the man who owns it could put us out to- 
 night, but he is a Christian and would not 
 do it. We have paid no rent in six years. 
 
Until Death Do Us Part 175 
 
 We just can't; that's the reason. But it 
 won't be long now, for my old man is getting 
 weak — weaker day by day. He can't live 
 much longer, and when he goes I hope that 
 I may go too. We have been together forty- 
 odd years, and In death I pray that God will 
 not part us. 
 
 " The Lord has been good to us. We 
 get comfort from the Bible. 
 
 "We don't see anybody nowadays; we 
 go nowhere, and nobody comes to see us. 
 The friends we had in more prosperous days 
 have deserted us; there Is nothing about us 
 to attract people. Some seem to shun us 
 through fear that we may beg, but never, 
 never; we would starve first. My old man 
 is too proud to beg. I live in fear that he 
 may get so feeble that he cannot go and that 
 we will have nothing. He often says that 
 he hopes he will die some night after fishing 
 all day. If he does, I want to go too." 
 
 " Do you ever go to church? " 
 
 ** No, Mister; we haven't been in goin' 
 on ten years. We have no fit clothes. The 
 churches look too fine inside for our old rags, 
 
176 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 but we read our old Bible every Sunday. 
 We can't read much now; our eyes are bad; 
 but we get much comfort out of the Good 
 Book. 
 
 " The Church folks don't ever come to see 
 us. They don't need us, as we ain't got no 
 money to give. I guess when we die some 
 good preacher will say a word over our 
 graves; I don't know." 
 
 This said, the old woman moved on to- 
 ward the river, craning her neck as she went, 
 so that she could see to the right of a clump 
 of trees that stood near the water, looking 
 for her husband, but she must not have seen 
 him, for she soon passed back on her way 
 home. 
 
 Becoming interested in what she said, I 
 made up my mind to remain there till the 
 old gentleman arrived and look him over. 
 I had a long wait, for it was almost dark 
 when his little boat hove In sight. His wife 
 had been back and looked up the river sev- 
 eral times. She seemed lonely, restless and 
 uneasy. 
 
 I felt sorry for the old woman, but was 
 
Until Death Do Us Part 177 
 
 afraid to say so. It was, as she said, a bitter 
 fight for existence. The aged pair had no 
 associates, and actually suffered from pov- 
 erty. 
 
 The last time she came to the landing 
 she carried in her arms a tiny, toothless, 
 starved dog. 
 
 *' Is that your pet?" said I, anxious to 
 reopen the conversation. 
 
 " Yes, he's nearly twenty-two years old, 
 and has been ours since a pup." 
 
 ^^ He is very old," I declared, for the want 
 of something better. 
 
 " Yes; and blind, and toothless." 
 
 " Why do you keep him? " 
 
 " For w^hat he has been. It would be 
 cruel to kill him or desert him now, when 
 he cannot take care of himself. I shall keep 
 him until he dies, unless I go first. When 
 he was younger he kept me company, and 
 guarded our little home, when my old man 
 was down the river for days and nights at a 
 time, and now, if God spares me, I will see 
 him through. I have to make a sort of 
 soup for him to eat, and guide his footsteps. 
 
178 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 I do not think he is here for much longer; 
 he is getting very thin and frail.'* 
 
 She let him down on the ground by her 
 side, and said: *' Fido, do you love your 
 mistress?'* and the grateful little brute 
 shook his tail. 
 
 The wife was not there when the husband 
 came; though I had never seen him before 
 I knew him when he landed. His face was 
 haggard and worn, and his body emaciated. 
 Some disease preyed at his vitals. His con- 
 stitution was gone, but the blazing fire of 
 pride still burned in his gray eyes. The will 
 and the spirit were there. He had a fair 
 string of fish, and after eating the smaller 
 ones would have enough left to bring twenty- 
 five cents. 
 
 Having tied his boat, he shouldered his 
 tackle, took up his fish, and climbed the hill 
 past me. I did not see his eyes searching 
 for the faithful wife who had four times 
 come to greet him; this lack of care I did 
 not like. He seemed too indifferent. Pos- 
 sibly he was disappointed when his old com- 
 panion was not there to meet him, not know- 
 
Until Death Do Us Part 179 
 
 ing that she had come and gone time after 
 time. He dragged his weary limbs over the 
 brow of the hill, and toward the city. As 
 he went by, I had a good opportunity to 
 observe his clothes. He was not the one- 
 gallus fellow that the politicians so often 
 refer to, but the no-gallus one. His trousers 
 were held up by sharp hip-bones and his 
 shirt was decorated with vari-colored patches. 
 
 I followed the old man, until he met his 
 wife, who was coming In a half-trot from 
 their little cabin. The meeting was full of 
 meaning. No word was uttered; no- time 
 lost. He looked solemn, the least bit angry, 
 and she smiled, a bitter sad smile, and turned 
 and followed him. Her eyes were on the 
 fish, giving them a cash valuation. 
 
 All of this passed without a sound from 
 either. 
 
 That night, after I had enjoyed a good 
 meal, to gratify my curiosity I walked by the 
 home of the lonely couple, and found them 
 enjoying a pipe of tobacco each. The little 
 dog was there, on the top step between them, 
 and they were apparently happy. 
 
i8o Tar Heel Tales 
 
 As I moved on, I said to myself: "I 
 wonder how it would feel to be penniless, 
 friendless, decrepit and old, but too proud 
 to beg? " 
 
 May fortune smile on the old fisherman, 
 his loyal helpmeet and their little dog ! 
 
UNCLE GEORGE AND THE 
 ENGLISHMAN 
 
 THE summer season was In full blast at 
 Lake Toxaway. Hundreds of South- 
 erners and scores of others were there, en- 
 joying the Invigorating climate, the cooling 
 breezes, and the open-air pastimes — golf, 
 tennis, fishing, horseback riding, and rowing. 
 For weeks the weather had been fair and 
 fine, and the beautiful and popular resort, in 
 the Blue Ridge, teemed with vivacious vis- 
 itors, who romped on the lake. In the woods, 
 and along the roads by day and danced, 
 played cards and other Indoor games, and 
 chatted In the evenings, making merry fifteen 
 hours a day. 
 
 Among the guests at Toxaway Inn was an 
 Englishman, a Mr. Ferrler, who had come 
 to North Carolina In search of rare beetles. 
 To the other guests of the fashionable hos- 
 telry Ferrler was a freak — a bug hunter — 
 
 i8i 
 
1 82 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 who, although he mixed but rarely with the 
 crowd, was well known to all by his tall, 
 lanky form, his long stride, and energetic and 
 positive air, on account of which he had in- 
 curred, without his knowledge, the dislike of 
 many who came in touch with him. Wher- 
 ever he went he left the impression that he 
 believed England was the only place fit for 
 a decent person to live. 
 
 Captain James Brusard, proprietor of the 
 inn, would not have tolerated Ferrier, with 
 his whims and kicks, had he not been one 
 of his most profitable guests, occupying an 
 expensive room, for which he paid an ex- 
 orbitant price. The Englishman was liberal 
 with his money, but his manner, which to the 
 average Southerner seemed surly and uncivil, 
 made him disagreeable to those with whom 
 he came in contact, especially the easy-going, 
 indolent servants, most of whom were old- 
 time negroes, such as had been with the Bru- 
 sards for more than half a century. The 
 excellent fare, carefully selected and well 
 cooked, the exhilarating atmosphere, the re- 
 freshing water and the wealth of insects and 
 
Uncle George and the Englishman 183 
 
 flowers pleased him very much, but hilarious 
 pleasure-seekers, and the indifferent negroes 
 riled him. The pretty, elegantly-dressed 
 women, with their merry chatter, did not 
 appeal to him. 
 
 " Bugs ! Bugs ! ! Nothing but bugs ! " 
 was his cry. 
 
 " I never seed sich a man since I been 
 born," said Uncle George, the head porter. 
 " We ain't got nuthin' dat suits him. When- 
 ever I see him comin', wid dat baskit on his 
 arm, an' dat single-bar'l glass on his eye, den 
 I knows some trouble's on de way." 
 
 Ferrier, much to the joy of his fellow 
 lodgers, spent most of his time in the woods, 
 hunting insects. Every sunny day he would 
 leave bright and early and stay away until 
 late in the afternoon, sometimes tramping ten 
 or twelve miles and back between suns. Na- 
 tives, as well as visitors, soon became in- 
 terested in him and his work, but no one 
 ever sought him out to interrogate him, or 
 to converse with him. His demeanor was 
 forbidding, yet he never intentionally af- 
 fronted any one. To the few he made up to 
 
184 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 he was very affable and likable. He meant 
 well, but his neighbors could not become 
 accustomed to his brusqueness. 
 
 The Toxaway country abounds in deer, 
 grouse and trout. During the busy season, 
 sportsmen bring in many trophies of the 
 hunt. Ferrler, If one were to judge from his 
 conversation, was an authority on game. In 
 talking of the catch or kill of the North Caro- 
 lina fishermen or hunters, he would speak 
 slightingly, and this, more than any other 
 thing, made him unpopular. 
 
 " I 'clar' 'fo' Gawd," said Uncle George, 
 one day, *' ain't we got nuthin' as good as 
 whut dey's got In Englan' ? " 
 
 Robert Brusard, son of the Captain, 
 caught a very large trout, brought it home 
 and exhibited It in front of the hotel, and 
 one after another declared that It was the 
 finest fish of the kind he had ever seen, but 
 when Ferrler saw It he shook his head, and 
 said: *' Yes, yes, that Is a big trout, but we 
 have larger ones than that In England." 
 When a grouse was shown he made about the 
 same comparison, and a deer, always giving 
 
Uncle George and the Englishman 185 
 
 his country the best of It. This kept up until 
 every American in the community was mad 
 at Ferrier. 
 
 *' Ef I live, so hep me Gawd, I'll git some- 
 fin' bigger dan whut dey's gut in Englan'," 
 declared Uncle George, the boss of all the 
 darkies. " I sho' is gwine to git even wid 
 dat man. 
 
 " When Marse Robert go out here an' 
 ketch de bigges' trout dat de oles' men in 
 dese parts ever seed, den come *long dat man, 
 wid his single-bar'l eyeglass, slap It up to his 
 face, an' 'low: * Yes, dat's er putty big fish, 
 but dey's gut bigger ones dan dat in Englan'.' 
 I don't say much, fur I ain't never been dare. 
 But dat ain't all. No, sir, he don't stop 
 den, but des keep on an' on. 
 
 " De yudder day, when Marse Jim killed 
 dat grouse — I believe dat's whut dey call 
 It, but it look des lak a sho' nuff ole speckle 
 hen to me — an' fetch it here, all whut see It, 
 'cepin' dat Englishman, say dat It's de big- 
 ges' bird uv de kind in all de Ian', I won- 
 dered whut he gwine to say. Yes, sir, I des 
 wonder whut he gwine to say. But I ain't 
 
1 86 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 hafter wonder long, fur he come 'long, step- 
 pin' two yards at a time, an' stop, an' put 
 on dat single-bar'l eyeglass, an' look down 
 at de grouse. I helt my breaf until he say: 
 ' Yes, yes, dat's er putty big bird, but dey's 
 gut bigger grouse dan dat in Englan'.' 
 
 " Dat wuz too much. I des gut right sick 
 when he say it. An' no longer dan de day 
 befo', right dare in de back yard, he say dat 
 de deer whut de gemmun frum Atlanty kilt 
 wuz er big one, but not as big as de ones dey 
 have in Englan'.'* 
 
 One afternoon, not long after the deer in- 
 cident, the old negro was fishing in Horse- 
 shoe River, at the foot of the mountain, 
 when he saw another fisherman catch a mud 
 turtle, or cooter, as the natives called it. At 
 the sight of the wriggling thing, a happy 
 thought came to Uncle George. 
 
 " I sho' will trade fur dat cooter an' git 
 even wid de Englishman,'* said he. *' Yes, 
 sir; dat's des whut I'll do.*' 
 
 Going up to the man who had landed the 
 turtle, George asked: "Say, boss, how'll 
 you swap dat tuckle fur some fish? " 
 
Uncle George and the Englishman 187 
 
 a T'l 
 
 I'll trade fair," said the mountaineer. 
 
 " .Well, I'm yo' man, ef you will, fur I 
 wants dat cooter," declared the darkey. 
 
 *' I'll give you two trouts fur him? " 
 
 The exchange was made and George set 
 out for home. No one knew what the negro 
 was up to until he let a few of his friends, 
 white and black, onto his game. 
 
 ** Marse Jim, I wants you an' Marse Rob- 
 ert to come roun' to de back yard des arter 
 dinner," said George to Mr. Brusard. 
 
 "What are you up to, George?" asked 
 the white man. 
 
 " Des a little fun, sir. Be sho' an' be 
 dere ! " 
 
 George went through the house, telling 
 those whom he liked that he would expect 
 them at the rear of the building that evening 
 at half-past nine. 
 
 At the appointed hour the little yard 
 was full of curious persons, anxious to 
 know what sort of trick the ex-slave had 
 on hand. 
 
 " George, what is this you are giving us? " 
 asked young Brusard. 
 
1 88 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 " Ax me no questions, an' I'll tell you no 
 lies," answered the negro. 
 
 " Marse Jim, ef you all des wait here till 
 de Englishman go to his room den you'll 
 see some fun." 
 
 " What have you done to Mr. Ferrier's 
 room? " 
 
 " Des evenin', while I wuz down on 
 Horseshoe, fishin', I seed a mountain man 
 ketch er tuckle, one of dese here cooters 
 whut bites an' holds on till it thunders, an' 
 I swapped fur it, brought it home an' tuck 
 It up dere an' put It In dat man's bed. Yes, 
 sir; I slip up dere right easy lak, pull de kiver 
 down an' slip him in beween de sheets, so dat 
 when Mr. Ferrier hop in he'll hop out ergln. 
 All you gut to do Is to wait." 
 
 A little snicker passed over the crowd. 
 
 Soon after nine the bug-hunter climbed the 
 stairs from the office to his room, unlocked 
 the door, struck a match and lit the candle 
 on the table by the bed. 
 
 "Now listen," whispered Uncle George; 
 " he's up dere. Did you hear him scratch de 
 
Uncle George and the Englishman 189 
 
 match. He won't be dere long 'fo' he jumps 
 in de bed, an' den trouble'll begin. 
 
 *' Look, look; see de light go out I 
 
 *' Now listen, an' you'll hear him bounce 
 In! 
 
 *' Listen; hear de bed a screachin' I 
 
 '' He's in." 
 
 " Help ! Ho ! " came from the window 
 above. 
 
 " Listen! " cried the darkey. 
 
 The crowd below could hear everything. 
 Ferrler sprung out of the bed, fell over a 
 chair, rose to his feet, scrambled out the door, 
 and came flying down the back way, yelling 
 every jump. 
 
 ^'Help! A dog! A mad cat!" 
 
 The onlookers stood perfectly still, while 
 Ferrier rushed into the yard, with the turtle 
 hanging on to his night shirt. 
 
 **Take it off! Kill It!" shouted the 
 Englishman. 
 
 " Des let him run," whispered Uncle 
 George. 
 
 Round and round the frightened fellow 
 
190 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 went, with the turtle swinging against his 
 legs, now and then scratching them. 
 
 *' Knock this thing off, George," he cried 
 to the old negro. 
 
 *' Ef you'll stop so I kin hit It widout hit- 
 tin' you," was the reply. 
 
 Picking up a broom handle, George cracked 
 the creature on the head and broke it loose. 
 
 ** What in the name of the Lord is that, 
 George?" asked the Briton, as he turned 
 and gazed upon the dying turtle. 
 
 " Dat, sir, is a 'Merlkin bed bug. Is you 
 gut any in Englan' dat kin beat it? " 
 
SHE DIDN'T LIKE MY YELLOW 
 
 SHOES 
 
 HUMAN nature is the same the world 
 over, and the train is the best place to 
 get the cream of It. 
 
 The other day, while on my way from 
 Kansas City to St. Louis, in a day coach, I 
 lost my seat to two ladies, who, disregarding 
 my suit case and coat, had taken possession 
 while I was in the rear getting a drink of 
 water. This I did not mind, as there were 
 plenty of seats vacant. Soon after the new- 
 comers had arrived they began to buy and 
 eat fruit, using a time-table which I had se- 
 cured and marked for my convenience, as a 
 receptacle for the peelings and seed. This 
 annoyed me just a little, for I could not get 
 a fresh one until I reached the end of my 
 journey, but I said nothing. 
 
 An hour later, after I had taken a short 
 nap and lost the run of the stations, I de- 
 
 191 
 
192 Tar Heel Talcs 
 
 sired to consult my schedule. Looking over 
 the way, I found that the younger woman had 
 disappeared, leaving her companion, an old 
 lady dressed in heavy black, wearing on her 
 head an antiquated split bonnet. Thinking 
 of nothing but my time-table, I got up and 
 went to where the aged traveler sat and, 
 without much ado, reached down and picked 
 It up. My intention was to steal away un- 
 observed, so that the woman would not feel 
 called upon to offer an apology for taking 
 my seat, but I was foiled. As I lifted the 
 book a cold, bony, clammy hand shot from be- 
 neath a black sleeve and fastened my wrist 
 with a vice-like grip. The turn was so sud- 
 den and so unexpected that I lost my equi- 
 librium. 
 
 " My time-table, good lady, Is all that I 
 want," said I, as meekly as possible. 
 
 *' It's mine," was the sharp reply, the hand 
 closing on my wrist. 
 
 *' I beg your pardon, madam, but I have 
 carried that folder for two days." 
 
 *' You hain't no sich thing, fur I got it 
 this mornin'." 
 
She Didn't Like My Yellow Shoes 193 
 
 " I do not like to dispute your word, 
 madam, but I left this book on this seat and 
 it was here when you came this morning." 
 
 " You're just a tellin' what ain't so, an' 
 I don't lak to be meddled wid by no man 
 wid yaller shoes." 
 
 " O, I see it Is my shoes you do not like ! " 
 
 " No, I don't lak you ner none lak you. 
 What you got on that long thing fur? " 
 
 I wore a long automobile coat, or duster, 
 to protect my clothes, and the old lady did 
 not like that. Seeing what a tempest I had 
 stirred, I decided to fight it out just for fun. 
 
 " Madam, you wouldn't mind my taking 
 my suit case out of here so that you could 
 have more room for your feet? " 
 
 " No. It hain't got no bizness in here 
 nohow." 
 
 " Why, my dear, I know It hasn't," said 
 I. 
 
 " I ain't none of your dear, an' don't you 
 call me that nuther." 
 
 " Pardon me, sister, but I meant to be 
 pleasant to you." 
 
 *' I wouldn't choose any of your pleasant- 
 
194 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 ness. It's just lak you drummer chaps. 
 I've heard of your doin's before." 
 
 She thought I was a knight of the grip, 
 and feared that I would flirt with her. That 
 was interesting. 
 
 " My coat — that's it hanging there above 
 your head, where I put it before you took 
 my seat." 
 
 " 'Tain't your seat I How come it your 
 seat?" 
 
 " I am not claiming it, mother, but just 
 explaining how my coat got there — that's 
 all. No, it is your seat by the right of pos- 
 session, and I should not ask you to move if 
 I had to hang on the bell cord." 
 
 " You make out lak you're powerful per- 
 lite, but the way you drummers do nobudy 
 — not even an ole woman lak me — kin tell 
 what you're up to." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam, but I am 
 not a drummer. I live one thousand miles 
 from here, and am on my way home from 
 the Democratic convention, at Denver, to see 
 my wife and little girl. I have tried to be- 
 have myself and it grieves me to think that 
 
She Didn't Like My Yellow Shoes 195 
 
 I offended you, but I am sure you will not 
 say that I did It intentionally. I entered this 
 train early this morning, at Kansas City, and 
 picked this seat, where the sun would not 
 shine on me, and occupied it. Later, you and 
 your friend came in and captured it while 
 I drank at the water cooler, and I had origi- 
 nally selected one that your good taste made 
 you prefer to the many empty ones that were 
 here when you came. That is the whole 
 story. I wanted to see my time-table, and 
 came for it. You took hold of my arm — 
 something I never permit any woman but my 
 wife to do — " 
 
 " You know that ain't so," declared the 
 disputant hotly. " I never held your arm." 
 
 " Look now, my dear, and see if you have 
 not my wrist." 
 
 That was the blow that killed mother, for 
 she still held my wrist, although I had 
 dropped the folder. Here a bit of color 
 mounted the pale, wrinkled cheeks. 
 
 *' I love to see a pretty woman blush," 
 said I, smiling from ear to ear. 
 
 " You shet your mouth. I ain't blushin' I 
 
196 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 I wish my brother was here. Td make him 
 crack your head.'^ 
 
 " Your brother — where is your husband 
 or your son? " 
 
 *' I ain't got none, as I have never been 
 married." 
 
 *' O, I see; you are still enjoying single 
 bliss — a charming old maid? " 
 
 " It's none of your bizness what I am. 
 You've got nuthin' to do with me." 
 
 Passengers several seats back and front 
 were listening to the controversy, which had 
 been fast and sharp, and enjoying it. 
 
 " Well, good soul, I will leave you if you 
 will give me my time-table." 
 
 " It's none of yourn, but take it an' go." 
 
 " Not until you are convinced that it is 
 
 mme. 
 
 " It's mine, but you kin have It." 
 
 "Just one word? Did you write your 
 name on your book? " 
 
 " No, I didn't." 
 
 " Well, if you will look inside there you 
 will find my name. If you do not I shall 
 apologize and give you a basket of candy." 
 
She Didn't Like My Yellow SHoes 197 
 
 " I don't want your candy." 
 
 " I know you don't, but you will look for 
 my name? " 
 
 As she opened the book and revealed the 
 name, I said: "That's my handwriting, as 
 you will see by comparing it with this on my 
 ticket." 
 
 " Now look on page forty and see if the 
 table from Kansas City to St. Louis is not 
 marked." 
 
 She was convinced that I owned the book. 
 
 " Now, madam, if you will look over there 
 on top of your telescope you will find your 
 table, right where you put it when you came 
 In. I am sorry to have troubled you, and 
 as we journey through this vale of tears if 
 I can ever do you a turn you may call on 
 me. I like your spunk." 
 
 " You go on about your bizness an' let me 
 erlone an' I'll 'tend to mine. If you'll throw 
 them yaller shoes in the river an' give that 
 jimswinger to some nigger you'll look putty 
 decent." 
 
 When the old damsel got up to leave the 
 train, I hurried up, like a young gallant, 
 
198 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 grabbed up her luggage and carried it to 
 the door before she had time to protest. 
 
 " Good-bye, sweetheart," I shouted, as the 
 train pulled out, and in reply she yelled: 
 *' Shet your mouth, smarty! " 
 
AFRAID OF THE FROWZY BLONDE 
 
 C4TT7HY don't you slide in by the 
 VV frowzy blonde?" asked Sanford 
 of Roark, who backed himself up against a 
 seat in the first-class car, as the train came 
 down the mountain. 
 
 " She's like a snow peak," said Roark. 
 " I passed and looked longingly, but you 
 should have seen the icy stare she handed 
 me. 
 
 " Yes, but when the train is crowded, as 
 it is, she is not entitled to a whole seat," re- 
 sponded Sanford. *' You would be justified 
 in scrouging in." 
 
 " It is no question of my right," said 
 Roark, " but those frigid eyes took the nerve 
 out of me. I think she's been in cold stor- 
 age. 
 
 " In beating about the country, old fellow, 
 I have become somewhat of a physiognomist. 
 
 199 
 
200 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 The woman or man who holds an entire seat, 
 In a crowded car, does so by force. Take 
 the blonde there, why, you could not any 
 more approach her than you could a bull dog 
 nibbling on a bone. 
 
 *' If I am one of many who occupy seats 
 In a car and a stranger asks me If I will share 
 with him I feel complimented. The person 
 asked to share a seat with me, by me, should 
 feel honored, for I do not sit down by any 
 old scrub If I can avoid it, and I usually can. 
 One day, not long ago, I saw a little girl on 
 a car, unattended, go to a gentleman whom 
 she had never seen before and take a seat 
 by him. I did not know the man, but had 
 admired his kind, gentle face, and the child 
 had picked him as a safe companion. 
 
 " What a handsome compliment ! I 
 would give my fortune for that man's coun- 
 tenance. Mark Twain Is credited w^Ith say- 
 ing that, in passing, a dog will lick the hand 
 of an honest man, but will growl at a 
 scoundrel. 
 
 " Instinct tells us. 
 
 *' Of course, I should like to have that 
 
Afraid of the Frowzy Blonde 201 
 
 seat — any seat — but the young woman does 
 not want to share it. I shall stand." 
 
 The Shoofly was full to overflowing that 
 day, but the blonde, with the wealth of hair, 
 such as It was, and the drowsy look, traveled 
 unmolested. Somewhere, while crossing the 
 foothills, she lifted her feet to the seat, let 
 her head down upon the aisle-arm, and slept. 
 The engine blew^ the wheels squeaked, and 
 babies cried, but she knew it not; she was 
 making up for lost time. 
 
 " She's dead to the world now," said San- 
 ford joyfully. 
 
 *' Yes," declared Roark, *' and If she 
 doesn't mind some of that hair will drop to 
 the floor. I have been watching It shake as 
 the car rocks on." 
 
 " I should laugh if it w^ould," declared 
 Sanford. 
 
 At that juncture the upper end of a long, 
 yellow curl broke from Its mooring, fell back 
 and began to fly with the winds. 
 
 " Look at that," said Roark. 
 
 The curl whirled around a time or two 
 and fell to the floor. 
 
202 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 The train moved on, crossing rough places 
 in the road, and the sleeping head went up 
 and down. A second curl — what is known 
 as a Minerva knot — began to loosen in the 
 east and the west. 
 
 " It's a landslide this time,'* said San- 
 ford. 
 
 " It looks that way," Roark acquiesced. 
 
 " But I shall not complain, no matter what 
 comes." 
 
 " I wish that lady would wake up," said 
 a female voice across the aisle. " I fear her 
 hair will lose its Grecian effect. But I will 
 not arouse her; it might make her mad." 
 
 " I believe, without being able to say pos- 
 itively, Charlie, that she has on fluffy ruffers," 
 said Roark, laughing. 
 
 " I have studied the combination and I 
 can't quite unlock it," said Sanford, " but 
 I think she has what they call a transforma- 
 tion pompadour, with coronet braid, zephyr 
 curls, all of which is covered with a bunch 
 of real Grecian curls, but I must admit that 
 I am not much on diagnosing a case like 
 this." 
 
Afraid of the Frowzy Blonde 203 
 
 ** Make way, for the earth Is giving," said 
 a citizen w^ho had just arrived. 
 
 A section of hair, shaped like a shovel, 
 such as the farmers use for bursting out mid- 
 dles, or to go with a sweep, gave way and 
 fell. Inside up. 
 
 *' That's a loller-perlooler," said Roark. 
 ** I wonder if we could get a basket to put 
 it in?" 
 
 The rain of ornaments had started. 
 Everybody was expectant. Rats, rolls, puffs, 
 curls and knots were loosening. A bundle 
 of wire, something akin to a small mouse 
 trap, came with the hair. 
 
 *' Nope, it's the Wire Trust In disguise," 
 declared Roark. 
 
 *' Hold your tongue ! It's a summer ho- 
 tel," said the newcomer, who had become 
 thoroughly Interested, as a bit of hair, done 
 up In fine silk, fell out. " Rats, rat traps and 
 mosquito nets." 
 
 The lady began to wiggle. 
 
 *' Carry me away," said Roark. 
 
 *' It's to the Land of Nod for me," ex- 
 claimed Sanford, 
 
204 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 ** The baggage room for me," said the 
 third observer. 
 
 Ten more rats, six rolls, two curls and a 
 small knot were the last to go down. Piled 
 on the floor, in the shape of a cone, was a 
 peck measure full of all sorts of hair dress- 
 ing. Yellow prevailed, but there was any- 
 thing from a drab to a chemical blonde. 
 
 The owner, one time possessor, waked in 
 the course of time, and, on feeling curious 
 about the head, ran her hand back to see if 
 she had lost anything. 
 
 "What about that?" said she to herself, 
 realizing the extent of her loss. 
 
 " Ghnarr! " snorted Sanford, snoring. 
 
 *'Whee-oo!" retorted Roark, who had 
 fallen suddenly asleep in a seat, just cap- 
 tured. 
 
 " I am so thankful that everybody is 
 asleep," said the blonde, aside. " What a 
 disgrace? " 
 
 " Spoo-it ! " snored Sanford. 
 
 Bit by bit, piece by piece, the dislocated 
 charms were picked up and shoved into a 
 traveling bag, and the young woman retired 
 
Afraid of the Frowzy Blonde 205 
 
 to the toilet room, from which she emerged 
 an hour later, looking as pert and as grand 
 as ever, just as if nothing unusual had hap- 
 pened, every rat, or curl, in its place. 
 
 Sanford, Roark and their new friend, the 
 man who arrived late, disputed over recent 
 baseball scores. 
 
JAN PIER — THE SHOESHINE 
 
 JAN PIER, the little Frenchman, who 
 came here several months ago from Nor- 
 folk, is going back to the Atlantic coast, 
 where he can hear the roar of the mighty 
 waters as they break upon the American 
 shores, and see the ships as they come and go. 
 
 One morning, about ninety days ago, as I 
 approached the square, on East Trade, I be- 
 held a shock-headed boy, bowing low shining 
 a shoe. Beneath the auburn locks shone the 
 skin of an Anglo-Saxon. 
 
 *' A white shoe-shine?" said I to Chris 
 Karnazes, the fruit dealer, at the Central 
 Hotel corner. 
 
 " Yes," answered Chris, joyfully and 
 proudly. 
 
 " Me brought him to work here." 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 
 *' Jan." 
 
 It was a beautiful Sunday — fair, cool 
 
 206 
 
Jan Pier — the Shoeshine 207 
 
 and bracing, and everybody save Jan Pier 
 and two colored associates had on their holi- 
 day clothes. Chris wore a clean shirt, white 
 collar and red tie. It was his day off, but 
 Jan, the newcomer, the boy of seventeen, 
 with thick brown hair, and big brownish eyes, 
 bent to his labors, side by side with negro 
 lads, in tattered togs. Not a word did the 
 Frenchman utter, nor a time lift his face, 
 but slaved on and on, hour after hour, polish- 
 ing shoes, and taking in nickels. 
 
 " Have a shine," said Chris to me. 
 
 I mounted the stand. Jan Pier, without 
 looking up, ran his rag across my shoe. 
 
 "Where are you from, young fellow?" 
 I asked. 
 
 No answer; not even a grunt. 
 
 " Where, boy, is your home? '* 
 
 Chris spoke to him in Greek. 
 
 " France," said Jan, looking up Into my 
 eyes. 
 
 "Where did he come from, Chris?" 
 
 " Norfolk." 
 
 That was the first time I saw Jan Pier. 
 
 A Frenchman — an auburn-haired French- 
 
2o8 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 man — with bright eyes, working for a 
 Greek and with an A fro- American shoeblack! 
 
 How could it be? 
 
 A week later, Jan Pier, with downcast 
 look, soiled clothes, and tear-stained cheeks, 
 came to me, silently begging. 
 
 " What is the matter? " I asked. 
 
 " Me no work; no mon; no friends." 
 
 I pitied Jan, but what could I do. The 
 next day the Greek at the corner gave him 
 work. I asked a negro boy why Jan left 
 Chris, and he answered: " Jan knock down, 
 Chris say." 
 
 I had Jan shine my shoes every time they 
 needed it. I wrote a story about him, and 
 advertised his business, hoping that it might 
 prosper. But Jan flourished not. Once 
 more he loafed the streets penniless, hungry, 
 friendless, and far, far from home and loved 
 ones. 
 
 " Jan, where did you come from? " 
 
 " Norfolk." 
 
 "Before that?" 
 
 " Greece." 
 
 " Before that, even?*^ 
 
Jan Pier — the Shoeshlne 209 
 
 " France." 
 
 "When did you leave France?" 
 
 " I was twelve years old." 
 
 " Did you run away? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where did you go? " 
 
 " To Turkey." 
 
 " How did you get to this country? " 
 
 " On a big ship." 
 
 " Were you a stowaway? " 
 
 " I helped the seamen." 
 
 That IS the story of Jan Pier. He ran 
 away from home, when a small boy, went to 
 Turkey, learned Greek, and four years later 
 shipped for America, and landed at Norfolk. 
 In the course of a short time he drifted to 
 Charlotte, where he has been very unhappy, 
 nobody to talk with, no kind friend to help 
 him, and no wise hand to guide him. His 
 energy, courage, and stout heart and body 
 have kept him going. But, now, alas, he Is 
 tired of the struggle among strangers, who 
 do not understand his language, and will go 
 back to Norfolk, and, perhaps, home. A 
 generous-hearted Greek, of one of the Greek 
 
2IO Tar Heel Tales 
 
 restaurants, Is getting up a purse to defray 
 his railroad fare to the Virginia city. 
 
 Soon the little outcast will say " adieu." 
 
 When Jan came to me the second time, 
 with the woe-begone look, I took him to 
 Buster Brown, the mailing clerk, and recom- 
 mended him for a newsboy. Buster ran his 
 cruel eye over him and asked, in Pilot Moun- 
 tain vernacular: "Have you ever har- 
 pooned the public in any way? " 
 
 " A coup sur," said Jan. 
 
 " What's that youVe handed me? " asked 
 Buster. 
 
 " ' Surely,' he means," said I. 
 
 "What is he?" 
 
 " French." 
 
 " Will you accept mc as a friend? " asked 
 Buster, proud to have a real Frenchman for 
 an employe. 
 
 " A bras ouverts," was the reply. 
 
 " Come again," said the Pilot Mountain 
 man. 
 
 " He says * with open arms * he will be 
 your friend." 
 
 " Good, I gad." 
 
Jan Pier — the Shoeshlne 211 
 
 " Coute qu'Il coute," declared Jan, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 *' The devil abit," said Dick Allen, who 
 had just come up, " and what is it he says? " 
 
 *' He has sworn to be Buster's friend ' Let 
 it cost what It may.' " 
 
 " A beau jeu, beau retour (one good turn 
 deserves another) ." 
 
 Buster and Jan, the one six-feet-five, erect, 
 weighing 260, and the other, four-feet-one, 
 , stocky, and stooped, ambled off toward the 
 press room. 
 
 " That pile of old papers, under the table, 
 will be your bed, Monsieur Jan Pier," said 
 ' Buster. " Your drawing room and all. 
 The spigot will be your wash basin, and any 
 old issue of The Observer or Chronicle, your 
 towel. May you prosper." 
 
 Jan Pier stirred the enmity of the native 
 newsboys, some of whom hammered him the 
 next morning when out of sight of the shop 
 force. Although dejected and sad, the 
 Frenchman sold every paper he took out. 
 Offering one to a traveling man, who was 
 climbing in a hack at the Selwyn, he imagined 
 
212 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 that his offer had been accepted, and -ran to 
 the station, four blocks away, keeping close 
 in the wake of the hustling horse. Seeing 
 what the boy had done the salesman said: 
 " I will take two." Jan was delighted. 
 
 Unable to talk and tell his troubles, sur- 
 rounded by hostile youngsters, and contend- 
 ing with prospective customers made life one 
 long, desperate fight for the Frenchman. 
 The climax came one night, when he slum- 
 bered in his corner beneath the table in the 
 press room, and a loafer, a town lad, slept 
 above him. Somebody, on mischief bent, 
 turned the hose on the shaver on the top 
 berth, and the water poured down on Jan. 
 
 That was the straw that broke the camel's 
 back — the fighting word had passed, and 
 the pent-up dander of the bushy red head was 
 at last aroused. As the intruding chap fell 
 off of his perch Jan nailed him, believing 
 that he had wet him, and such a fight as was 
 never witnessed In The Observer building be- 
 fore followed. 
 
 Round and round the diminutive pugilists 
 went until Jan showed signs of the savage. 
 
Jan Pier — the Shoeshlne 213 
 
 and onlookers interfered to prevent murder. 
 The devil in Jan was in tumult and he fought 
 like a Spartan. 
 
 After that the boys — the paper sellers — 
 left Jan alone. 
 
 Now, Jan is going to leave us. His 
 friends will chip in and help him on the way. 
 
 He will be missed in circles where his au- 
 burn hair has become familiar. Jan, indus- 
 trious, capable, and good-natured, but unfa- 
 miliar with the ways of this country, deserves 
 credit for being as good as he is. 
 
 Some day Jan Pier may wander back again. 
 
WILLIAM AND APPENDICITIS 
 
 ^^ THERE'S one thing dat I can't under- 
 
 JL/ Stan*," said William Gorrell, the 
 doorkeeper at the Southern Manufacturers* 
 Club. " Yes, sir, an' it's puzzled me er 
 whole heap." 
 
 " What is that, William? " I inquired. 
 
 " How come you don't hear 'bout no nig- 
 ger havin' dese new f angle diseases — dis 
 here bell-aker an' 'penderseetis." 
 
 "Bell-aker?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir, dis misery dat comes fum eatin' 
 corn. How come no nigger don't have It? 
 Dere ain't nobudy whut eats more corn bread 
 an' mush dan er sho' 'nuff nigger. Up home 
 — dat's in Greensboro — de niggers say : 
 
 " ' Down de country de nigger say he 
 loves mush, 
 
 " * Up de country de nigger say for God's 
 sake hush ! ' 
 
 " Haf de niggers in dis country's been 
 
 214 
 
William. 
 
William and Appendicitis 215 
 
 raised on mush, an' corn dodger, an' I ain't 
 never seed one die wid bell-aker." 
 
 " You mean pellagra? " 
 
 " I don't know whut you call It." 
 
 *' I dismiss the pellagra, for I don't know 
 anything about it, but there's nothing strange 
 about the negro not having appendicitis, Wil- 
 liam," said I. " You know what the vermi- 
 form appendix is, don't you? " 
 
 " No, sir, 'ceptin' dat It's somefin' dat you 
 gut an' don't needj an' It can't stay in yer 
 when it gets hot." 
 
 " You know about Darwin's theory of evo- 
 lution?" 
 
 " No, sir, to tell you de truf, I ain't seed 
 Mr. Dargin in almos' er year." 
 
 " I don't mean Jim Dargin, the traveling 
 man, but Dr. Darwin, the great scientist, a 
 learned man of the last century who con- 
 tended that we all came from monkeys. 
 You have heard of that theory? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, I'se heard it said dat we come 
 fum monkeys, but I ain't bellevin' everything 
 dat I hears." 
 
 William cocked one eye up a little and 
 
2i6 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 prepared to listen. He did not catch on to 
 the word *' evolution," but when I said that 
 Mr. Darwin was the man that believed that 
 a man came from a monkey he understood. 
 He had heard of that claim. 
 
 "You have heard that, then, William?" 
 I continued. 
 
 " Whut, boss, dat er man come fum er 
 monkey? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ** Yes, sir, but I ain't put no faith in it." 
 
 " Well, I do, William; I believe that Dar- 
 win was right, and I have come to this be- 
 lief since I parted with my appendix." 
 
 " Don't tell me, boss ! " 
 
 " It is this way about your appendix," I 
 declared, " the man who is fartherest re- 
 moved from the monkey has the smallest 
 appendix and is most liable to have the ap- 
 pendicitis, and the closest, has the largest. 
 As one becomes more civilized his appendix 
 decreases. The doctors, on making the in- 
 cision in my abdomen, found that I had a 
 very small appendix, so small, in fact, that 
 it became stopped and Inflamed. 
 
William and Appendicitis 217 
 
 " I should say that If your friend, Rastus 
 Johnsing, over there, were opened it would 
 be discovered that his vermiform appendix 
 is as large as my arm and as long as a rolling 
 pin. Your appendix, or that of any ordi- 
 nary, dark-hued negro, is about the size of 
 a common guano horn." 
 ^ ^ " Humph ! My Gawd ! How come ? " 
 
 "How come? Because your race is not 
 more than 200 years from the monkey. I 
 , would not be surprised if your great-great 
 grandfather did not run wild in the forests of 
 Africa, living off of bugs and other insects. 
 You know, as I sit back there at my desk 
 ' every day and watch you climb over this grill 
 and brush off the dust, I feel sorry for you. 
 You like to climb — so does anyone not far 
 from the monkey. In the course of 2,000 
 years the negro will begin to have appendici- 
 tis, long after the white people lose theirs." 
 
 " Hold on, boss ! How long did you say 
 it would be? " 
 
 " About 2,000 years, I should say." 
 
 " Humph! I'll be gone den. What you 
 say makes me feel good. I ain't haf as 
 
2i8 Tar Heel Tales 
 
 much Interested In dc race as I Is In William 
 Gorrell, an' his picklnlnnies. Ef mer *pen- 
 dlx Is as big as er guano sack it ain't nobudy's 
 bizness but mine." 
 
 END 
 
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