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DONATION OF
ARTHUR CURTISS JAMESTHE CAPTAIN

STORIES OF
THE BLACK BORDER

  
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
 

By
AMBROSE E. GONZALES
Author of The Black Border: Gullah Stories

of the Carolina Coast; With Aesop
Along the Black Border

COLUMBIA, S. C.
THE STATE COMPANY
1924COPYRIGHT 1924
THE STATE COMPANYTO
RALPH EMMS ELLIOTT
“THE CAPTAIN”THE

CAPTAIN

A RIEVER OF

“RUN

;

AFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

THE BLACK BORDER
NIGGUH,

RUN!”

THE GREEN CALABASH .-
DADDY BOISUN = = = <
PHN UNDER DOG - - -
THE QUEST OF THE LAND
THE LAND IN SIGHT - -
THE LAND ON PAPER .-
THE LAND SURVEYED .-
THE SURVEY CONTINUED
THE SURVEY COMPLETED
SETTLING THE LAND -
THE FIRST CABIN

THE LAND SETTLED - -
THE COLONY AT THE FLO¢C
THE COLONY AT THE EBB
THE TIDE RUN LOW .- -

HUNTRESS

THE
THE
THE
HOW

 

AND THE BU‘

RIVER AND THE SEA

TRENCHERMAN AND
AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

SHARPIE
THE

  

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

SHARKFOREWORD

For nearly two hundred years the institution of
slavery bore heavily upon the Southern States.

First, because the wealth that came to them
through Negro labor brought upon the slave states
the envy—ripening at last into hatred—of the
“free” states of the Union, whose unprofitable
slaves, sold to the South, had thriven amazingly
under genial skies and the kindly discipline of the
great plantations, enriching their owners far more
through the primitive process of reproduction than
by productive labor in the fields.

Second, because the planters’ sons, fine as was
their culture, high as were the traditions of their
race, lacked the ambition, the self-reliance, the in-
centive to personal effort, that would have been
theirs had they depended upon themselves alone and
not looked forward to inheriting plantations and
Negroes. True, when the supreme trial of war
was upon them, they met the test like men, endur-
ing through the tempered steel of their spirits
hardships under which men of stronger physical
fibre, but weaker spirit, crumpled and broke.
What the sons of the plantations could have done,
but for the ease of slaveholding, has been demon-
strated in countless instances since the Confeder-
ate War, by the part that youths of their. blood—
without means or education—have played in build-
ing up, not only their own States, but many great
communities of the North and West, carrying into
VIIFOREWORD

their work, at home and abroad, a touch of fine-
ness—putting spiritual above material things—the
idealism which, alone, lifts true men above the
countless human clods that clutter the earth!

But however slaveholding may have borne upon
the slaveholder in denying him knowledge of com-
mercial and industrial life and the mechanic arts—
training that would have been worth so much to
him in repairing his broken fortunes after the ruin
of War, his material loss was his spiritual gain,
for while his training was entirely for a planter’s
life—he could hardly have made a living in any
other calling—the planter’s, the slaveholder’s re-
sponsibilities were always before him. The_obli-
gation to deal justly, kindly, humanely, with human
beings whose bodies he actually owned, appealed to
the chivalry, the higher instincts of the slaveholder.

And those whose instincts were not so high, who
were disposed to be harsh or exacting taskmasters,
were held in check by the strict-and-wholeseme-slave
code, adopted by the South Carolina planters for
their own regulation; a law affording far more pro-
tection to the slave (in whom inhered both human
and property rights) than the laws of any state
afford the poor of any race today. Far stronger,
however, than act or code, was a public opinion that
scorned and ostracised the hard or cruelmaster
and held him up to public contempt.

And with the responsibility of ownership went
the authority, the right to command, and the
Supreme consciousness of racial superiority that the

VIIIFOREWORD

white peasant or the non-slaveholder of the middle
class could never attain.

This the Negro slave knew as well as he knew
the color of his own skin, and that knowledge went
with him into freedom. The once wealthy planter,
clad in tawdry, ill-fitting jeans, might walk the
dusty road, but the well-dressed freedman on horse-

 

back would make his low obeisance as he passed
to character and to “blood.” The Negro may have
been his own former slave, or another’s; the former
slaveholder may have been entirely unknown to the
Negro who saluted him—it mattered not; the former
slave instinctively recognized the master type and
“made his manners.”

As long as the older Negroes lasted, during the
first twenty-five or thirty years of freedom, the
nouveaux-riches—“‘the butcher, the baker, the
candlestick-maker,” and the corner-shopkeeper who
had come into the ownership of landed property—
while treated with respect, were held rather lightly
by the old slaves, as interlopers who, through the
fortunes of war, or the misfortunes of Reconstruc-
tion, had come into plantations formerlyowned_by
aristocrats, and between the old and the new—
whom behind their backs the Negroes referred to
as po’-buckruh—the line was sharply drawn.

But with the passing of the old Negroes, who had
recognized an aristocracy of blood alone, there came
a change, for many “bottom rails” had come on top,
and these, having wealth-and—position, the younger
Negroes—learned in time to look up to with a com-
IXFOREWORD

plaisance their fathers would have denounced as
snobbery.

Fifty years ago, however, the old order was un-
changed, and in the Captain’s time and the Cap-
tain’s country, there was_perfeet understanding be-
tween former master and former slave—save on
election day, when former slave went to the polls
and voted) a red-inked “Union Republican ticket”’
put into his hands by aliens and renegades, “against
the peace and dignity of the State,’ and the mutual
interests of his former master and himself!

But for this biennial gesture—becoming in time
only a gesture, and abandoned—there was no break
in the perfect_understanding... Because of the for-
mer relationship, the dispossessed master was sup-
posed to be to his former slave, now freed, “a very
present help in time of trouble,” and to him he went
with the utmost freedom. ‘‘Are you not my master?
To whom shall I go, if not to you?” (And the appeal
was seldom resisted.»

The obligation of service was not reciprocal, how-
ever. It was assumed to rest only upon the former
master, never upon the former slave, who expected
compensation for the smallest service he was called
on to perform for his benefactor, however great
may have been the benefaction. This status was
recognized and accepted by white and black in per-
fect amity and understanding. Former master did
not expect too much from former slave, and he got
what he expected. Sure that he could trust him
with his life or his good name, he was exceedingly
xFOREWORD

doubtful about his locked corn-crib, and not at all
doubtful about his livestock, or anything else that
was not locked up!

It is given to few white men to fathom the Negro
mind. His former master knows him best, but
even he can never get at the bottom of all the Negro
is thinking. He may be sure he is lying—he usually
is—but what he is trying to conceal, or why, he may
not know—he can only suspect, and he always does!

But of one thing the white man of the slavehold-
ing class has always been sure—in war or peace,
under slavery or freedom, the good intent of the Ne-
groes toward the persons of those to whom they
once belonged. Even during the tense days of Re-
construction, in communities where they swarmed
a hundred to one, the white man slept in absolute
security with unlocked doors, however securely he
nailed up his corn-crib and his smokehouse!

The South has paid high tribute to the loyalty
and devotion of the slaves to their masters’ fami-
lies during the Confederate War, when every white
man and boy was at the front. Perhaps in time—
in God’s good time—some Northern man, loving
truth, will see, and say that only generations of
kindly masters could have commanded such loyalty.
It was the consciousness of their own humanity and
kindliness toward their slaves, as well as their knowl-
edge of the Negro’s innate good nature, that made
them willing to leave their families with no other
protection. This is true at least of the Low-country
plantations of South Carolina and Georgia. Here

XIFOREWORD

the culture of the slaveholders was generally finer
than elsewhere in the slave states, and, “like master,
like man,” the Negroes benefited by the higher stan-
dards set before them.

Under the almost feudal system of the Low-
country plantations, the devotion of the old family
slaves to their masters was comparable to, but even
stronger than, that of servant to master in the great
English families, wherein for generations the most
cordial and confidential relations existed, for if the
slave belonged to the master, the master likewise be-
longed to the slave, who prided himself upon his
master’s family and upheld its traditions so stoutly
that old servants sometimes questioned the fitness
of a match under consideration for a son or daugh-
ter of the “Big House,” objecting to the alliance as
unsuitable for a member of “our family.”

A lovable old Presbyterian clergyman, a devout
and godly militant, who put away his pulpit and
his great Bible for the four years of the Confeder-

 

acy, while—with a pocket testament for his soul’s
sake, and a long musket for his country’s—he
fought as a private for the Southern cause, used
to tell, with a merry twinkle in his eye, a joke at his
own expense.

One Sunday morning before the war, the clergy-
man, then in early middle life, was driving alone to
meet an appointment at a distant church. The road
was rough and his harness was light, and as his
horse jumped suddenly, to pull the wheels out of a

XIIFOREWORD

deep rut, a trace snapped and brought him to a
standstill.

The man of God got out of the buggy, examined
the broken trace, and walked around and around
in perplexity, trying to think a way out of his
trouble—perhaps he prayed, but for half an hour
no answer came, and he thought with sinking heart
of the little church, yet miles away, and of the ex-
pectant congregation slowly gathering, while he for
whom they waited was stalled on a lonely road with
no help in sight.

At last, a few hundred yards away, a dark spot
at the edge of the road, moving.slowly nearer,
changed to the figure of a man; an old Negro sham-
bled up and, lifting his hat, pulled his forelock in
deferential courtesy, giving an extra touch in recog-
nition of the ‘“‘cloth.”

“Maussuh, you dey een trouble?” said the old man,
seeing the broken trace. ‘Kin I fix’um fuh you?”

“Yes, if you can, daddy”, said the clergyman,
gratefully, “but I don’t see how you'll do it.”

“Maussuh, you got knife?” The knife was
handed over.

“You got string?” and a handful of stout twine
was rummaged out of the box under the buggy seat
and added to the knife.

The old Negro grunted with satisfaction, and bor-
ing with the small blade half a dozen holes in each of
the broken ends of the trace, deftly laced the twine
through them and spliced them strongly together,
wrapping the break with the string that remained

XIIIFOREWORD

for additional strength. Then he looked up proudly,
and scraped his foot in thankfulness for the half
dollar that he clutched in his gnarled old fingers.

“Daddy,” said the clergyman, as he gathered up
his lines, “I had the knife, and I had the twine,
now, why couldn’t I do that?”

“Well, you see, Maussuh,” said the old darky,
with a chuckle, “Gawd, Him ain’t gib sense to

had

ebb’rybody:

An old rice-planter, now long dead, used to tell, a
generation ago, of an incident in his own experience
that showed the absolute freedom of speech old
family servants permitted themselves while ad-
dressing their masters.

Large families were the rule in the old days, and
by the time the war came the planter’s quiver was
full, but so were his great barns, his stackyards—
tented with golden ricks—and the Negro quarters of
his great plantation at Rantowles teemed with black
children, growing up along with those who would
one day be their masters.

But seventy-five years ago the planter’s quiver
was not yet full. By then, only two or three tiny
craft had come to port from the mythical “Baby-
come Bay.” So when, “in the course of human
events,’ news reached the plantation quarters
that another young master had arrived, there was
great excitement among the black folk, old and
young, and they looked forward anxiously to the
day, a month or two later, when, according to cus-

XIVFOREWORD

tom, master and mistress would introduce the new
arrival to the little Negroes and the old slaves whose
infirmities restricted them to the quarters.

“One fine day” in winter, when the sun tempered
the soft wind that blew over the marshes from the
sea, the planter and his blooming young wife, arm
in arm, set out on foot for the distant quarters, fol-
lowed by an impressive looking mauma, whose head-
kerchief towered above her like a bishop’s mitre.
Within her arms she proudly bore, swathed in a
“Canton crepe” shawl and cradled upon a soft pil-
low, the youngster upon whom, for six weeks, the
interest of mansion and cabin had centered.

As the triumphal procession neared the quarters,
the Negro-house-yard—the long, wide street, flanked
by a double row of houses—swarmed with ex-
pectant children, faces scrubbed to shininess and
kinky heads carefully combed. But these were
shoo’d and herded out of the way until the child
should first be presented to the old folk who, dressed
in their best, sat on their door-steps as the little
procession passed, and loyally welcomed the young
master with many expressions of admiration and
affection. Reaching the far end of the street, they
returned on the other side, their progress enlivened
by the quaint and graceful compliments the old
black folk knew so well how to pay.

At last, having completed the circuit, they paused
before leaving the quarters, to receive the greetings
of the children, who had been carefully coached by
the old plantation nurse. Came up one by one boys

XVFOREWORD

and girls, to scrape a foot, or drop a curtsy, “each
after his kind”, and each, as he made his little ges-
ture of fealty, withdrew to the circle of his round-
eyed fellows, and gave place to another, until, at
last, all had made their devoirs.

Then the plantation nurse, a fine old family ser-
vant, stepped up and gazed intently into the pink
face and big brown eyes of the wondering child.
The planter and his beautiful wife, still arm in arm,
paused for the gracious compliment they confidently
a stirrup-

 

expected to fall from the old slave’s lips
cup to warm them on their way. They waited, but
still the old nurse gazed, as though trying to solve
a puzzle.

At length she raised her head quickly with a air
of great relief, and, with a sly glance at her mis-
tress, gave her master the comforting assurance:

“Maussuh! Missis didn’t fool you dis time. Dis

chile de berry image uh you!”

The first five stories of “The Captain” series were
written and published in The State during the win-
ter of 1921-22. The remaining nineteen were writ-
ten and published in the spring and summer of the
present year.

AMBROSE E. GONZALES.
Columbia, 8S. C.
October, 1924.THE CAPTAIN
AND OTHER STORIES

THE CAPTAIN

For more than twenty years “the Captain,” as he
was called by the younger men who loved him, has
slept his last sleep at Elmwood, on the shoulder of
the slope that looks beyond the river, across the
wooded hills of Lexington to the far western hori-
zon. The elms that wave their graceful boughs
above his grave, the scrub-pines thick-clustered in
the woods nearby, are of alien growth, for the
sleeper was reared in old Beaufort District, along
the Low-Country coasts beside the shimmering
waters, where, since the 17th century, his forbears
had passed their honorable lives under the moss-
draped live-oaks and where at last they rested,
each generation handing on to its successor the
guiding principle, noblesse oblige.

If the Captain could rise from his quiet resting
place and look once more with earthly eyes toward
the sunset skies as they glowed dull red in the
wintry dusk, or lifted glorified thunder-heads in
summer, or flamed with the effulgence of autumn,
his spirit might yearn for the fields he had roamed
as a boy, for the forests he had hunted in his young
manhood, for the wide marshes and the broad in-
lets of the coast, for the flash of the iridescent
channel-bass as he leapt in the sunshine, for the

1THE CAPTAIN

rush of the antlered deer as he broke cover, and
for the dancing white-capped waves as his sail-
boat sped over them. But with them would mingle
memories of the friends—men and women and
children—whom he had gained and held in the city
of his adoption, for in Columbia the Captain spent
the last twenty years of his life, and as he passed
along her quiet streets, or sat in the cool of the sum-
mer evenings in front of the old News and Courier
Bureau, or of The State office, chair tilted back and
long pipe in mouth, many paused in kindly greet-
ing or stopped to chat, for those were the days
of the Capital City’s meditation, and few people
hurried on their way.

An ardent Confederate, the Captain loved to
foregather with his fellow-veterans of the Lost
Cause, and his straight six feet and his beautiful
chestnut beard made him a striking figure at every
reunion he attended.

Like all Confederates that had encountered only
Yankees”’

sé

the Eastern armies of the Union, he held
lightly, for the hard-fighting Federals, like young
Lochinvar, “came out of the West,” and at all the
meetings of his “Camp” the Captain, an impressive
and accomplished raconteur, contributed his full
share of reminiscence.

Nor were the veterans his only auditors, for to
the end of his days the Captain was a young-man’s
man. Strange, too, for youth is hopeful, and, in
speech, at least, the Captain was a pessimist. Per-
haps youth penetrated the verbal disguise in which

»)THE CAPTAIN

the Captain set forth his thoughts, and realized
that, as under the law of averages, ill-luck comes
up oftener than its opposite, the Captain was merely
playing safe to save his face as a prophet; but
certain it is that no crop ever yielded quite so lit-
tle, no race-horse ever ran quite so far behind, and
no political campaign ever brought so deep humilia-
tion upon State and Nation as the Captain predicted!

So, whenever two or three young men gathered
about him, the Captain talked slowly, oracularly,
convincingly, but always entertainingly; frequently
with the sharp edge of his tongue turned toward a
friend among those present, for his shrewd and
caustic wit was no respecter of persons, and many
a wholesome truth was rubbed into one who needed
the truth, but in such a jesting, jocular way that he
couldn’t take offense.

And he hated shams and snobs, and, while recog-
nizing merit, whether under broadcloth or jeans,
he held in utter contempt the purse-proud and the
nouveauz-riches—those who had only their money
to commend them.

And what a squire of dames he was! One would
walk a mile to see him lift his hat and bend over
a lady’s hand in courtly Eighteenth-Century fash-
ion, and the swish of a silken petticoat was ever
to his ears as the whisper of an angel’s wing!

The Captain was early in the war. As a guide
he rode his hard-mouthed black ‘“Damphool” across
the foot-bridge at Secessionville to show the Louisi-
ana Tigers the way into the fight. Under his gal-

»
vwTHE CAPTAIN

lant kinsman, Stephen Elliott, he served with the
Beaufort artillery in the sand fort at the defense
of Port Royal, at another time with the Charleston
Light Dragoons, but his title of Captain came from
the command of a small company of guides, expert
riders, who knew every hunting trail in the forests
of the Coast.

As the Captain, from the time his face turned to-
ward the sunset, was a young-man’s man, so in early
manhood and middle life he was a boy’s man, and
during the years following the war his young neph-
ews would slip off at night to the one-room log cabin,
a hundred yards away from the primitive habita-
tion that sheltered ‘“‘the family,” to hear “Uncle
Rafe”—Low-Country (as English) for Ralph—
spin his yarns.

“The Shanty,” as the Captain called his bachelor
bedroom, was built of squared logs, the spaces be-
tween stuffed with Spanish moss and plastered with
clay. On winter nights fires of oak or hickory
logs roared in the wide chimney, and here the Cap-
tain, tilted back in a rough plantation rocking-chair
of split white-oak, would stretch out his long legs,
sometimes crossing his feet upon the low mantel,
and then, as the small boys clustered about him
on stools or empty soap boxes, he’d light his pipe
and, reaching into memory’s pigeon-holes, fetch
forth such anecdotal treasures as would have glad-
dened the heart of Sheherezade!

A generation ago the jovial Senator Matt Ran-
som of North Carolina, known for his “presence”

4THE CAPTAIN

as for his great ability, used to tell with much
unction a story at his own expense showing how
the Tarheels exalted the one and discounted the
other of the Senator’s distinguishing qualifications.

Upon one occasion Senator Ransom, incognito,
was looking through the exhibit of blooded horses
at the State Fair at Raleigh. His attention was at-
tracted to a magnificent stallion which a gray-
headed black groom was leading proudly around
the arena. As the Senator halted the old darky
to admire his charge, the stallion veiled his tail,
arched his neck, dilated his nostrils, and curveted
as proudly as the charger so beautifully described
in Shakespere’s “Venus and Adonis.”

“Fine horse you have there, uncle,’ said the
Senator.

“He yiz dat, suh; he yiz dat.”

‘“‘What’s his name, uncle?”

“Matt Ransom, suh.”’

“Fine name he has, uncle,” said the flattered
statesman.

“Yaas, suh; he sho’ hab, suh.”

“Well, uncle, what can he do? Is he a running
horse?”

“Naw, suh, he caint run!”

“Oh, I see, he’s a trotter.”

“Naw, suh, he caint trot.”

“Can’t run and can’t trot! He’s in the stud,
then. He must have some fine colts.”

“Yaas, suh, but none on ’em ain’t no ’count.”

5THE CAPTAIN

“Well, uncle, if your horse can neither run nor
trot, and is a failure in the stud, what has he got
to justify his name?”

“Style, suh, style!”

Of his former master, Governor Duncan Clinch
Heyward, Joe Fields of Pon Pon asseverates, ‘You
nebbuh see nobody kin cock ’e hat stylish lukkuh
Mas’ Clinch.”

But whatever claims for style may have been ad-
vanced by the dusky admirers of these two gentle-
men, ’tis certain that none could smoke a pipe with
more grace than the Captain. Cigars he held as
dudish devices that were liable to burn one’s beard
unless they were crumbled and rammed into the
bowl of a pipe, where those that friends wished upon
him soon turned to ashes. Sometimes the bowl was
of clay—a deep red Powhatan from Virginia, or a
pallid Sally Mikell from North Carolina; and these
were smoked with either flexible cane-root stems
five feet long, or three-foot reeds from the T1i-Ti.
If the long cane roots were used, the bowl of the
pipe rested on the bricks of the hearth or on the
brass fender; but with the shorter stems the bowl

' adorned the table. When the Captain went abroad,
however, he smoked a briar-root with a wild-cherry
stem. There was only cheap tobacco to be had in
those days—Blackwell’s Durham, flavored with
Tonka beans; but the smoke was fragrant, and it

rose from his bearded lips like incense as he slowly
puffed.THE CAPTAIN

The Captain would often tell the boys of the fine
tobaccoes which he had smoked long ago while a
student at the University of Virginia, and “Lone
Jack,” “Brown Dick,” and “Killikinick” became,
in time, household words with them.

The Captain seemed to recognize always that the
child is father of the man, and he made the boys feel
as though they were entirely on the same plane
with himself in understanding, and that the same
obligation rested upon them as upon himself to
live up to the traditions and measure up to the ethi-
cal standards of the men of the clan—at least as
far as the code of the woods was concerned.

No boy who accepted the Captain as mentor would
ever have left his deer-stand in the woods until the
horn summoned him to quit the drive; nor would
he ever have “cut in” between another stander and
an unethical practice too often

 

the oncoming deer
indulged in, and always severely reprobated by the
Captain.

The young fisherman whom the Captain coached
learned to drop his baited hook upon the bosom of
a still pool as softly as a butterfly alighting upon
an open flower. And he knew that the big fish
lurked on the down-stream side of some old log,
where the unvexed waters roiled only with the stir
of the big fellows as they neared the surface.

And while the Captain talked always with as-
surance, with conviction, he was never dogmatic,
never vain or boastful of his own exploits; but
there had been mighty hunters and fishermenTHE CAPTAIN

among his forbears, and of their prowess afield and
afloat, the Captain never wearied of telling. In
time we came to know the hunting companions of
our grandfather and of our great uncles, the forests
they hunted, the horses they rode, the guns they
shot, the famous Negro deer-drivers who cared for
the equally famous packs and rode with the hounds.
And we knew by legend, by word of mouth, the
waters that the fishermen of our clan had sailed,
the bays and inlets and rivers they had fished, the
famous “drops” where the drumfish bit in the
month of April, the fallen live-oak at the edge of
the tidal river whose barnacle-covered limbs, swept
by the salt tides, brought those in quest of sheeps-
head and black drum from afar, the favored spot
where the brackish head-waters of a narrow creek
offered at certain seasons the finest run for the
beautiful striped bass.

Well for the elder boys that the Captain told
them these things in the days of their youth, for,
with all their inherited love of nature—sea, field,
and forest, and the wild life with which they were
peopled—they were never, save in these early mem-
ories and in their dreams, to hunt or fish or sail
to the end of their days!

Information and admonition flowed from the Cap-
tain’s lips as smoothly as oil from a cruet, and were
absorbed by the boys’ minds almost unconsciously.
He seldom lectured or scolded. Whenever he pointed
a moral, he adorned it with a tale, usually the tale
of some incident that happened so long ago that its

8THE CAPTAIN

authenticity could not be doubted! If one knew his
grandfather to have been a mighty hunter, and that
grandfather’s son passed on to one the observa-
tions of that grandfather on the ways of animals
and birds, or on any of the phenomena of nature,
the information found lodgment much more firmly
than if it had been imparted by way of a lecture
or a lesson. Thus the boys early learned the danger
of shooting a rifle on the level in a flat wooded coun-
try, merely by a recital of the experience of an
elder whose ball, striking the side of a pine, had
glanced and gone off at right angles disastrously.
The boy who carried his gun carelessly soon learned
that muzzles should point either toward the heavens
above or the earth beneath—never horizontally.
And if while riding he thrust his feet too far into
the stirrups, he was sure to hear at the next story-
telling of some hunter dragged to his death be-
cause he could not extricate himself in time from a
falling horse!

The Captain often told the boys about the ante-
bellum glories of Charleston’s high society: of the
St. Cecilia and the Jockey Club balls, of the sump-
tuous suppers and the rich and sparkling wines;
how, at these social reunions, the Captain always
drank Hock, or other light, dry wine, and, eschew-
ing the alluring and seductive Champagne, kept his
head while others nodded at the board. Thus the
boys, to whom molasses and water was a treat,
learned the ways of high life in the old times!

9THE CAPTAIN

And the races! The Captain sometimes told of
the classic events that had made turf history on
the famous old Washington race-course at Charles-
ton. And he never tired of telling of the great
four-mile race between Tar River and Nina, and we
gloried with him in the triumph of the South Caro-
lina mare over the Virginia horse.

The Captain, with his almost uncanny under-
standing of Negroes, knew the responsiveness of
these imaginative people to picturesque and ex-
pressive speech, and whenever he found it neces-
sary to stimulate or admonish a gang of lazy or
sullen blacks he unlimbered a vocabulary of ex-
pletives that would have warmed the heart and
moistened the lips of “Uncle Toby” in Flanders!
As a rule, they were used jocularly, so they left
no sting, and those who received the verbal fire
were usually proud of the distinction and always
exaggerated the weight of the charge whose im-
pact the target had received.

“Tittuh! Oonuh yeddy me! W’en Mas’ Rafe
cuss ’e cuss! Mas’ Rafe, him ent got no kibbuh
’puntop him mout’! En’ no use fuh bex ’long Mas’
Rafe w’en ’e cuss you, ’cause ef you swell’up w’en
’e cuss you one time, him gwine cuss you two time,
en’ de two-time wuh ’e cuss you gwine wuss mo’
den de one-time wuh ’e cuss you, ’cause all de cuss
wuh ’e fuhgit fuh t’row ’puntop you de fus’ time,
him gwine ’membuhr’um befo’ him gitt’ru cuss
you de las’ time; en’ w’en him gitt’ru cuss you fuh
de two-time, alltwo you yez gwine full’up wid cuss

10THE CAPTAIN

same lukkuh stackyaa’d full up wid blackbu’d!
Only t?ing fuh do w’en Mas’ Rafe cuss you, oonuh
haffuh laugh. Soon ez you teet’ biggin fuh shine
him gwine stop, en’ ef oonuh tell’um, ‘Ki, Mas’
Rafe! you sho’ hab uh giftid mout’ fuh cuss Nig-
guh!’ him gwine sattify. Mas’ Rafe him done fuh
kin cuss!”

But the Captain’s “cussing’”—it could hardly have
been called cursing—was so picturesque, so apt in
its application to the individual addressed, and
withal so good-natured, that only those whose con-
sciences pricked them regarded his characterizations
as offensive. At all the gatherings around the
commissary, or at the noon hour when the field-
hands assembled in summer under the shade of some
great live-oak, certain of the younger women, secure
in the belief that none of their offenses against
the plantation had been detected, would say some-
thing to touch off Mas’ Rafe’s always loaded mag-
azine of expletives, in pleasant anticipation of the
discomfiture of their companions; but they would
not infrequently find that they had caught a tartar,
for the Captain’s knowledge of Negro nature in
general and of certain individuals in particular,
would prompt him to sweep the crowd with a gat-
ling-like volley of objurgation, and the general
laughter evoked would tell him he had touched up
a galled jade or two among those who had started
him off. When angered by a real grievance, how-
ever, the Captain was a self-starter, and his ex-
plosions always carried solid shot to his target!
11THE CAPTAIN

However successful these primitive Negroes are
in hiding their misdemeanors from ‘‘de Buckruh,”’
they know one another too well to concede impec-
cability to any among their fellow blacks, and the
guffaws among the crowd, as the verbal artillerist
“shelled the woods,” seldom failed to impress upon
a Shrewd observer like the Captain the truth of
the Hibernian observation:

“Manny a shot, at random sint,
Hits the very marrk it was intindid.”

The years first following the Confederate War
were hard on the elder brothers and the youths and
half-grown boys upon whom responsibilities rested,
but they were harder far upon the men of gentle
birth who had survived, for there was no employ-
ment for those who were without the means of
planting or conducting a mercantile business of
their own. It was very pitiful that men of culture
and refinement, university graduates, willing and
anxious to work at humble tasks, should be denied
employment merely because they were “gentlemen.”
But so it was. Many of the larger plantations, and
practically all the mercantile establishments, from
the great stores at the county-seats or the river-
landings, to the small shops at the cross-roads, were
in the hands of carpet-baggers, or of low-class na-
tives, who, as in all great upheavals, had profited by
the wreckage of the strata above them. And these
men, commanding well-nigh all the capital in the
Low-Country, were indisposed to the employment of
“gentlemen” as overseers or clerks—not, it should

12THE CAPTAIN

be said to their credit, because of any inherent ob-
jection to breeding and culture, but because they
were ashamed to employ in subordinate positions
and give orders to, the sometime lords of the land.
Boys and youths of the same blood, however, hav-
ing approached manhood under rough and hard
conditions, were not supposed to be “gentlemen”
—except as to character and deportment—and
these the nowveaux-riches hired and ordered about
with the utmost freedom. Thus it was that a rough,
strong young cub of 16 or 17, who had never worn
a linen collar in his life, and had but a smattering
of education, could often earn twice as much as
his highly educated father or uncle, and it cost him
just half as much to live.

The wreck of the Confederacy bore heavily upon
the Captain’s fortunes, as upon those of others of
his clan. A few years of precarious planting, on
borrowed money at usurious interest and planta-
tion supplies at over-loaded prices, forced him to
seek employment of any sort, wherever he could
find it.

The Captain found it at a saw mill far from home,
where for a long time he worked out of doors will-
ingly, even gladly, measuring lumber, for $25 a
month, and keeping bachelor’s hall in a rough board
shanty.

Throughout the war, men of gentle birth had
fought as privates shoulder to shoulder with their
rougher comrades, who quit the plow-handles or
laid down the tools of the artisan to fight for their

13THE CAPTAIN

common country. Brave soldiers in the field, all of
them, but the men of culture and refinement, be-
cause their spirits were more finely tempered, en-
dured the monotony of the camp with greater for-
titude, ate their parched corn more cheerfully,
and wore their gray rags more jauntily than did
their comrades from the humbler walks of life.

Now the elbow-touch was lost, the fires of combat
had burned to the ashes of despair, and even hope
was gone! But among the embers of the past the
spirit of the South still glowed, and the courage that
bore those within whose breasts it flamed through
the bloody fields and starving camps of the Confed-
eracy sustained them still, under the yet heavier
spiritual strain of Reconstruction! And in the
quiet tragedies that were enacted day by day under
the live-oaks or along the streams of the ruined
Low-Country, the actors played their parts none
the less heroically that they wore the garb of the
peasant and the slave! For among the trials put
upon these men of gentle birth not the least was the
lack of decent clothing and the refinements of their
former life; the coming down from broadcloth, Eng-
lish cassimere, and fine linen to the coarse planta-
tion jeans and denims worn by the Negro field-hands,
was to many more tragic than the loss of prestige
and power.

The live-oaks of the Low-Country stretch their
protecting arms, as though in prayer, above the un-
marked graves of many gallant gentlemen who
wore the rough jeans with distinction to the end of

14THE CAPTAIN

their lives, putting it off at last only for the home-
spun wrappings of their shrouds—the coarse
though kindly shrouds that brought them rest!A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

Monday Parker and his brothers and sisters—
a large family—were all intelligent and capable,
inheriting these qualities from their mother, Maum
Pender—an unusual name, and a Negro of unusual
ability, tall and slender, with small and well-shaped
hands and feet, high aquiline nose, thin lips, and
distinguished carriage. Maum Pender transmitted
the shapeliness of her hands and feet, with their
tapering fingers and arched insteps, to all her off-

 

spring, and the gift of slender fingers made them
famous cotton-pickers. But, in respect to husbands,
Pender having been as comprehensive as a Smart-
Set New Yorker of the present day, her prepotency
did not impress her aquiline nose upon more than
half her quiver-full, and as Monday had been sired
by one of his mother’s flatnosed affiliations, no nasal
promontory jutted forth to break the broad expanse
of his flat, good-natured face.

Monday walked rapidly, with long springy steps,
and swung his arms in exaggerated fashion, per-
haps through pride in his ancestry, for he claimed
descent from an African king—a ‘“‘Foulah” he said;
but as the Foulahs, an intelligent people, are tawny
in color, while the members of Monday’s clan were
all of a rich, shiny, brownish black, it is probable
that the Foulah tradition, stuck in the memory of
some breech-clouted captive from the West Coast,
was no better authenticated than some of the May-
flower pedigrees that have stretched so many mas-

 

17THE CAPTAIN

culine hatbands and swelled so many feminine cor-
sages throughout the North and West!

But whether of Foulah, Gullah, or Mandingo
blood, it is certain that Monday’s ancestral arms
a boar not rampant, but

 

must have borne a boar
quiescent, a boar singed or scalded and hung by
the heels, for Monday’s instinct for the cloven-
footed quadruped forbidden to the children of Is-
rael was as that of the rill for the river, the river
for the sea! As he padded noiselessly through the
woods forbidden to poachers or prowlers his ears
were always pricked for squeal or squeak or grunt
—the sweetest music that could come to them—and
Monday knew how to interpret their faintest in-

 

flection—fear, hope, hunger, satiety, were all ex-
pressed as the half-wild shoats foraged through the
woods, nosing about under the oaks for the fallen
acorns, or rooting in the swampy places for grubs
or snails, and if their voices seemed sympathetic,
indicating mental serenity, Monday would utter a
soft, crooning swineherd’s call, ‘““peeg, peeg, peeg.”

Repeating this at intervals as they neared him
with furtive steps and questioning grunts, he would
throw wide a handful of corn from his knapsack,
then other handfuls nearer and yet nearer, until
he had tolled them to his very feet. By now, Mon-
day would have dropped his axe to the ground and
his appraising eye would have fixed upon the fat-
test shoat in the bunch, which by the abundance of
his largesse he patiently coaxed into his confidence.
When the intended victim had been skilfully ma-

18A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

neuvered into position for vicarious sacrifice, with
his tail toward the slaughterer, Monday would stoop
as swiftly as a hawk from the blue, seize the animal
by a hind leg and throw him, when a blow between
the eyes from the ready axe, and the knife slipped
into his throat, silenced all but the poor pig’s first
squeal of protest at the betrayal of his confidence.
As the squeal never reached the ears of “de Buck-
ruh”—for two-legged marauders seldom adventured
within a mile of the farmstead—Monday was safe,
and slipping his prize into a sack cached it in some
convenient thicket near his cabin until nightfall
should make its butchery reasonably safe. If the
shoat were but a small one, he kept its theft to him-
self, for its scalding and dressing could be con-
trived within the privacy of his own cabin, and,
needing no help, he took none into his confidence;
but for the more ambitious captures, his cronies
were called in. If any among these had pigs of
his own, and if the weather were cool enough to
avert suspicion, the matter was simple, for the pig
owner boldly boiled the water on his own premises,
and those who passed by believed him to be pre-
paring the product of his own pen; but if none
among the Free Companions could thus offer jus-
tification for the possession of pork, or if the
weather were too warm to make lawful butchery
reasonable, the confederates would slip a large iron
pot into a sack, build a fire near some woodland
branch or spring, scald and dress the porcine car-
cass, and divide the meat.
19THE CAPTAIN

In this brotherhood of the frying-pan his cronies
sometimes shared with Monday such spoils as they
were able to lift from the pens, the kraals, or the
wide pastures of the palefaces, but their contri-
butions to the common good were negligible com-
pared with those of one whose attainments had
exalted him among his fellows as Rob Roy was ex-
alted among the cattle-rievers of the Scottish bor-
der, or King Arthur among the Knights of the Table
Round!

Nor among these lowly jungle folk was a Prophet
without honor, nor was a lifter’s prowess denied
cordial, even generous recognition.

“Paa’kuh, him sho’ hab uh giftid han’ fuh ketch
hog.”

“Yaas, man, you talk trute. Him ketch’um en’
’e hol’um alltwo. W’en Gawd mek Buh Monday,
Him sho’ g’em uh fait’ful han’ fuh hol’ hog! Ef
Buh Monday ebbuh graff hog by ’e hine foot! da’
hog done mek up ’e min’ fuh dead! ’E nebbuh
fuh loose’um ’tel t’unduh roll!”

While Monday, fond of the sound of his own voice,
was gregariously inclined during his working hours,
and dearly loved the gatherings at the Cross-roads
store on pay days or Saturday nights, he was seldom
willing to live on a plantation street, preferring
the privacy of an isolated cabin some distance away
from the “quarters” or ‘‘Negro-house-yard.”’ By
thus “keeping his distance,” Monday not only kept
his chickens and his children from mixing too in-
discriminately with those of his brothers in black,
20A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

but these brothers in black, together with the sis-
ters thereunto appertaining—all of them inclined
to be inquisitive, if not inquisitorial—were pre-
vented from knowing too much about Monday’s
business; and as long as Monday’s business was
light, whenever the stolen shoats were small enough
to be scalded without help, Monday adhered to a
Lodge-like policy of isolation, greasing his own
jowls though all those about him were dry, and
only when confronted with an animal too heavy
to be handled alone, did he impose upon himself
entangling alliances, carrying as they did the ob-
ligation to divide the spoils!

In a certain autumn, the plantation pig crop had
been unusually good, and, as the mast crop, too,
was very abundant, there was promise of a full
smokehouse by the end of the winter, for in the
wild pastures of the Low-Country shoats are turned
out in the fall to forage for acorns, pignuts, and
haws, and when these are plentiful the porkers need
little other food. So, before the first light frost
of October, the ground under live-oak, water-oak
and Spanish-oak was covered with fallen acorns,
while the heavy boughs of white-oak and chestnut-
oak were loaded with the big “overcups” that would
fall with the coming of the cold nights. Every-
where in the woods there was both promise and
fulfilment, and the porkers throve amazingly.

The Captain rode the woods almost daily, and,
while looking for deer-tracks, was not unmindful

21THE CAPTAIN

of other cloven hoof-prints that mingled with those
of wildeat, fox, and raccoon in the soft mud of
the swampy places. The Captain was observant,
and one day he noticed among the pig-tracks lead-
ing into the ‘“‘seven-acre’’ field the impression of
a number six, an extraor-
and the Captain

 

a plantation brogan

 

dinarily small shoe for a Negro
knew the shoe for Monday’s and knew at once
what had become of three or four fine shoats that
had, one by one, failed to respond to the far-flung
‘awhoop-ee” at the plantation round-up in the forest,
whither they were called by the master’s voice
every two or three days to be counted and inspected,
as they squealed and scuffled for the ears of nubbin
corn thrown among them.

The Captain rode without pencil or paper, but
the Captain was resourceful and, dismounting, he
picked up a handful of the richly colored brown
needles of the great long-leaf pines. They were
of different lengths, but he sorted them over until
he found a cluster that exactly measured the length
of the footprint. Breaking another off to cover
the width of the shoe at its greatest breadth, the
Captain carefully put his evidence in his pocket,
mounted his horse, and rode away.

The next morning, finding occasion to put Mon-
day at some ditching near the pond, the Captain
watched until the ditcher had made plain tracks in
the mud, and then, sending him to the lot for a
Shovel, pulled out the pine needles and proved by

9A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

length and breadth that the pig thief of seven-
acre had worn Monday’s shoes!

With such convincing evidence against him, Mon-
day, tried by a jury of white men, would have spent
two years in the State penitentiary at Columbia;
but Monday was a good hand and, if committed to
the law, the plantation would lose his labor and,
at the same time, be charged with responsibility
for the maintenance of his young and dependent
family. On the other hand, Monday’s absence from
the stock-range would undoubtedly result in a large
increase in the four-legged population—so, as to
economics, twas a stand-off whether Monday stayed
or went: but the Captain, a kindly man, had withal
a sneaking fondness for the former slave, whose
frailties he knew so well, and for which he had so
often made allowances. Instead of having him ar-
rested, therefore, he resolved upon a punishment
so unusual, so subtle in its psychology, so exquisite
in its mental torture, that its conception was worthy
of Machiavelli himself! The Captain determined
to commit the lamb to the watchful care of the wolf,
the grunting herd to the custody of the most expert
smotherer of grunts in St. Paul’s Parish; in short,
to make Monday the plantation pig-minder!

“Great Gawd, Mas’ Rafe!’ Monday groaned,
“Wuh de—! yuh de debble now! Mas’ Rafe, you
duh fun, enty? Put me fuh min’ hog!”

“Yes, Monday, you know every hog-track in the
woods and every hog-thief in the Parish. Of course
you never stole one, Monday, but if you ever had

99
~~THE CAPTAIN

you would know how it was done, and you would
be the thief set to catch a thief; but, as you never
stole hogs in your life, I know I can trust you to
keep others from stealing those under your charge.”

“Great Gawd!” and Monday threw his black wool
hat on the ground and looked at it long and silently.

“Mas’ Rafe, w’en you wan’ me fuh tek chaa’ge?”

“Right away, today.”

“Great Gawd! Mas’ Rafe, enty Chris’mus come
een t’ree week?”

“Yes, but what has that to do with it

Monday chuckled shamefacedly and looked down

“9?

with shaking shoulders, while he scratched the thick
nap of his woolly head slowly and reflectively.
When at last he looked up quickly and cheerfully,
his “‘berrywellden, suh,” told the Captain that Mon-
day had bethought him of how to come by his
Christmas pork unlawfully without violating the
trust but now so rudely imposed upon him!

The news of Monday’s elevation, which he had
resisted with less success but far more sincerity
than Caesar put away the crown upon the Lupercal,
bore heavily upon the dusky band whose war-cry
was a squeal and whose password was a grunt.
Believing that Monday’s guardianship would be
taken in a Pickwickian sense, they hoped the way
would still be open to the herd, and they proceeded
to sound the keeper of the portcullis.

‘‘Paa’kuh, Mas’ Rafe sho’ mek you fuh rich. Him
pit de hog een you han’! You jaw gwine greesy
fuh true.”A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

“Rich de debble! Hukkuh Mas’ Rafe fuh mek
me rich? Him pit de hog een me han’ fuh true,
but wuh use fuh pit hog een you han’ w’en alltwo
you han’ tie? W’en Mas’ Rafe mek me ’sponsubble
fuh dem hog him tie me han’ en’ me foot alltwo
sukkuh hog tie! Him count ebb’ry Gawd’ hog on de
place en’ pit’um onduh my ’t’oruhty. Him know
berrywell suh me, ’self ent able fuh t’ief’um, en’
him know same time suh none you t’odduh Nigguh
ent fuh t’ief’'um. Yuh de debble now! Me haffuh
look ’*puntop dem hog ebb’ry day, en’ shum git mo’
fattuh ’tel dem tail quile tight ’puntop dem back
sukkuh snake quile. Man! W’en Uh look ’puntop
dem barruh en’ yeddy’um grunt, me h’aa’t hebby
en’ watuh run out me mout’! Mas’ Rafe! Mas’
Rafe schemy tummuch!”’

The Free Companions, convinced that their
former chief would be forced, for a time at least,
to live up to his responsibilities, exchanged know-
ing glances and dispersed, intending to meet again
and lay plans for the spoliation of some ‘‘po’-buck-
ruh’”’ pasture across the railway toward Caw-Caw
Swamp. Realizing that the Captain had hamstrung
Monday to the disadvantage of the hunting pack,
his compatriots did not take him into their confi-
dence, but decided to leave him to bear, without
their spiritual support, his Tantalus task.

For two weeks Monday walked the woods and
watched with heavy heart the fattening drove whose
every grunt brought anguish to his soul. And as
he walked, his busy thoughts pictured every band

oO

~THE CAPTAIN

ange he knew lay beyond the bor-

or litter whose r
ders of the plantation, for from among these,
yy poor-white or thrifty black, his

whether owned |
Christmas pork must come, if it came at all.

At last “one fine day,” when the holiday to which
the Negroes look forward so ardently was almost
upon him, Monday recalled having seen early in
the fall a bunch of half-grown shoats foraging for
new-fallen acorns under the heavy water-oaks that
fringed the far side of the Cypress swamp, almost
at the boundary of the plantation. Monday remem-
bered them for their rich auburn color and knew
them as the property of a well-to-do Negro who
rented and maintained a comfortable little farm-
stead at Moss Hill. So to the belt of oaks Monday
made his way, and, as he entered the timber, the
rustling of the dead leaves and the low grunts of
the feeding pigs told him he had found that for
which he was looking. Before they came in sight,
however, he uttered softly his coaxing call, hop-
ing to establish an entente, but the frightened
“goof, goof,” and the scurrying feet of the shoats
as they hurried away, told him as plainly as sound
can tell that the wary creatures had recognized the
voice of their hereditary enemy, and, realizing that,
as the imminence of Christmas would not allow him
time to establish friendly relations and capture
his quarry by direct attack, he would have to re-
sort to strategy, he swiftly laid his plans.

Monday resolved to build a trap! As a prelimi-
nary, he scattered under the oaks a few handfuls

26A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

of corn from his well-filled knapsack, and laid a
thin trail of grain to a point in the thicker woods
nearby, where he intended making his capture.
The pig-lifters among the Negroes of the Low-
Country often catch their game in log traps, simple
pens eight or ten feet square and five feet high,
made of pine saplings and fitted with a suspended
door sliding in grooves and released by a cord when
the animals, feeding upon the bait spread within
the trap, touch the trigger to which it is attached.
Similar devices are often used for taking wild
turkeys, and sometimes an entire flock is captured
in a single bag.

Had Monday been hunting in company and needed
a large haul, he would have built a pen, but as the
Knights of the Table Round would assemble at an-
other board at which swineherds would, by the
nature of their calling, be unwelcome guests, Mon-
day knew that if he would feast at all he must feast
alone; so, to supply his small needs, he determined
upon a deadfall as an effective device requiring a
minimum of labor. His first concern was to get
his intended captives used to the instrument with
which he intended to rob them at once of life, lib-
erty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Selecting a comparatively open spot, Monday
with ready axe cut two forked hardwood saplings
about eight feet long, and sharpened the lower ends
which, after first loosening the soil with the blade
of his axe, he rammed into the ground as far as he
could and packed the earth about their bases. These

“\~"

amiTHE CAPTAIN

uprights were set about five feet apart and, rest-
ing in their forked tops seven feet above the ground,
a pole was laid. Having rigged up his rustic hori-
zontal bar that looked like a miniature football
goal post, Monday cut near at hand a heavy log
twelve feet long, which taxed all his strength and
skill to maneuver into position at right angles to the
goal post. With the aid of a stout forked pole he
raised the heavy end of his log to the top of the
bar, upon which it rested securely. The deadfall
was now almost complete, lacking only a trigger,
and Monday, well pleased with his day’s work, scat-
tered corn freely about the little glade and went
his ways.

On the following morning and again on the second
day, the hunter returned to the Cypress to find
that all the scattered corn had been eaten and that
the unsuspecting shoats had rooted freely under
and around the trap. On successive days, he threw
wide his seductive bait under the oaks and laid
his train from the oaks to the little glade where the
grain was strewn with a heavy hand.

Christmas eve broke clear and cold. The roads
were frozen iron hard, the water left by the recent
rains in the wheel ruts and in the tracks of horses
and cattle had turned to ice, and frost crystals
burst from the sides of the damp ditches along the
way. Monday, engaged in the preparation of the
plantation bacon until a late hour on the preceding
night, was not astir until toward noon, and the sun
was well in the west before he set out for his pri-

92A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

vate hunting-ground. Here he at once began his
preparations to put teeth into the hitherto harmless
trap, to which his intended quarry had now become
accustomed. First bringing his log to earth with
the aid of his forked pole, he beveled with his sharp
axe one side of the heavy end, and when this had
been smoothed to his satisfaction he rubbed the
polished surface with a piece of bacon rind and
hoisted it again into position upon the bar, with
the beveled side downward, carefully propping it
up with his forked pole for additional support until
he could adjust his “trigger,” a narrow piece of
plank, beveled at one end, which he had prepared
in advance and brought with him. Scraping out a
shallow hole in the ground directly under the heavier
end of the log, he filled it with corn, and in the
grain he set the lower end of the trigger, while
the smooth upper end was fitted snugly against
the greased surface of the heavy timber with such
nicety that the slightest jar against the lower end
would spring the trap and release the lethal log
upon the pigs that fed below. Then, once more
he laid his trail of corn from the trap to the oaks
and, scattering the grain that remained, he re-
turned to his cabin.

An hour after dark, when Venus blazed in the
west and the young moon, a golden proa with up-
turned ends, rode on an even keel nearby, Monday
slipped away by woodland paths to his trap, and was
rewarded by finding under his deadfall a tawny
sixty pound shoat which the heavy log, falling on

29THE CAPTAIN

his spine, must have killed instantly. Removing
the log, Monday put his pig into a sack and, upon
reaching home, came to his cabin from the rear.
In response to a stealthy tap, his window was
opened from within, and through the narrow aper-
ture he first thrust his sack and then pulled himself.
His children were abed, but his trusty wife, Hannah,
having implicit faith in the prowess of her lord, had
kept the home fires burning under a large caldron
of water. The auburn shoat was soon scalded,
scraped, and dressed, and the pork was carefully
concealed in the cabin loft. Then Monday crept
out and threw the handful of red hair far over
the fence among the gallberry bushes.

On Christmas day, Monday’s jaws, like those of
all who called his roof their own, glistened with
fatness, and throughout the three-day holiday the
comforting sizzling of the frying-pan told those who
passed his cabin that Monday’s family “
tuously every day.”

At last his sometime hunting companions, becom-
ing suspicious, questioned the swineherd, who
proudly displayed a pork shoulder that had been
given him by the master of the plantation on Christ-
mas eve. From this shoulder only a few slices had
been cut, but Monday shrewdly used these as justi-
fication for the almost incessant frying within his
habitation.

“‘Paa’kuh, you mout’ sho’ greesy dis Chris’mus!”’

“Yaas, man, me jaw greesy fuh true. Enty you
see da’ hebby gham wuh Mas’ Rafe gimme fuh

fared sump-

30A RIEVER OF THE BLACK BORDER

Chris’mus? Him gimme dat ’cause Uh min’ him
hog so good en’ keep oonuh Nigguh’ mout’ off’um.”

“Yaas, Uh yeddy ’bout da’ gham, en’ Uh yeddy
de Lawd’ wu’d wuh de sukkus preachuh resplain
‘bout how Jedus, Him tek da’ string uh fish en’ dem
t’ree loaf uh bread en’ feed ’leb’n t’ous’n’ man ’tel
dem hongry done gone, but ’e tek Jedus fuh do da’
ting. Nigguh ent fuh do’um!”

A few days later, one of the Free Companions,
passing through the gallberry thicket near Monday’s
cabin, saw a wad of auburn hair and a great light,
for he remembered the ruddy band from Moss Hill,
and knew that Monday, holding inviolate the plan-
tation drove committed to his care, had deserted his
quondam associates and hunted successfully far
afield!

“Paa’kuh! Paa’kuh smaa’t tummuch! W’en-
ebbuh Paa’kuh’ jaw greesy, w’edduh de hog red,
uh w’edduh ’e black, w’edduh ’e stan’ close uh fud-
duh, somebody’ hog done dead!”“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

Although almost all Negroes are free talkers
and dearly love the sound of their own voices, they
are unusually cautious about giving themselves
away in speech, and exceedingly secretive as to
their own affairs if there be anything about those
affairs to awaken suspicion in the minds higher
up. It has been claimed by apologists for the
race that the Negro’s verbal inexactitude—lying,
in short—was learned under slavery and was nec-
essary to protect him from the harshness of his
master, but the testimony of all observing men—
hunters, explorers, and missionaries—who have
known the Negro in Africa under tribal conditions,
corroborates the opinion of observers here, that
lying is an apparently ineradicable racial character-
istic of a people with many fine traits. If the
preachers and teachers and editors of the race would
concentrate their efforts upon stricter observance
of the eighth and ninth commandments—they
needn’t “scan their fellow man” too closely in re-
spect to the seventh—they would give a pretty
good working religion to a people who keep the other
seven commandments quite as well as their white
neighbors!

In old times, even the fine old house-servants
would seldom reveal the rascality of their fellow
slaves at the plantation quarters unless the offense
was of a serious nature. And under Freedom, as

79
ooTHE CAPTAIN

slavery, the Negroes kept the faith, one with
’ was strictly

under
another, and “honor among thieves
But only so long as diplomatic relations

observed.
were maintained among the wrongdoers. Once
these were severed, those who had been held together
by the guilty knowledge of their spoliation of “de
Buckruh” would fall apart and tell on their former
associates, and, once the telling began, the tellers
would tell not only all they knew, but add to the
tale much that they didn’t know, for, as every
Southern judge on the Circuit Bench knows, a
Negro witness with a grievance against his fellow
will swear away that fellow’s life or liberty as
lightly as he would crack a ’possum’s neck under
an axe handle!

3ut under slavery, with few responsibilities or
obligations to their black brethren, they seldom
quarreled, and so, seldom quarreling, they seldom
told on one another. Kindly masters on many
plantations were habitually imposed upon by cer-
tain shrewd slaves, who, feigning sickness, would
dodge their tasks for months or years, cleverly
outwitting plantation doctor and plantation nurse
by the simple device of scraping a raw place on
arm or leg with a bit of broken glass or a shard
twisted from a rusty iron barrel hoop; and through-
out the daylight hours these smart bucks would mope
or drowse around the quarters, but as soon as night
fell they made wonderful recoveries and, “taking
their feet in their hands,” would break bounds with

34“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

other venturesome plantation Lotharios and thread
the unfrequented byways or woodland paths to
some distant plantation, there to dance and frolic
until warned by the morning star to make tracks
for home, where the scraped shinbone would be
bandaged again and the sometime buck-and-wing
dancer become once more, for the day, an interest-
ing invalid!

After Freedom, the Negroes revealed many of
the tricks with which their fellow slaves had once
fooled their unsuspecting masters; in fact there
were many instances of self-revelation, where men,
who had successfully eluded their master’s work
for the last ten years of slavery, blossomed out
under Freedom into lusty manhood and boasted to
the former master himself how they had outwitted
him.

One of those who had achieved occasional ante-
bellum vacations was Monday Parker, a lusty brown-
black fellow, broad-shouldered, and small-waisted, a
fine axeman and a prime hand generally, but noted
during slavery for his skill in breaking bounds to
frolic at night, and, “‘attuh Freedom come een,”
for the more practical accomplishment of slaughter-
ing other people’s shoats before they could squeal.

Before and during the Confederate War—per-
haps ever since the Negro insurrection or “Gullah
War’”—it was the custom of the young planters of
the Low-Country to take turns at night to “ride pa-
trol’? throughout their respective communities, act-

9
ovTHE CAPTAIN

ing as a “provost guard” in rounding up all the
slaves caught abroad without permission.

In the old days, many men among the slaves ob-
tained their master’s consent to marry “off the
place,” and, because it was always thought desir-
able that man and wife should be under one owner-
ship, those who “would a wooing go” were encour-
aged—if the flowers blooming on the plantation
were thought not worth the picking—to choose wives
from other plantations belonging to the same mas-
ter, rather than to marry girls under alien owner-
ship, involving in most cases either the sale of the
husband or the purchase of the wife.

Sometimes, however, slaves were permitted to
take wives on neighboring plantations, and, to visit
these wives at night, once a week or oftener, they
were given written passes by some member of the
master’s family. With this pass the night-moving
darky feared ‘nae evil,” but was ready, like Tam
O’Shanter with his usquebae to “face the Devil”
—or the patrol—but, caught without it, he was
turned over to the plantation to which he belonged,
for mild punishment—perhaps an extra task—per-
haps restriction for a time to the limits of the plan-
tation.

AS passes were easy to get for those who went
abroad upon their lawful occasions, he who lacked
them was always under suspicion. Sometimes his
tongue was so skilful, his story so plausible, that
he could impose upon his captors and win free, but
woe to the wight who won free thro’ deceit, for

36“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

he was almost sure to be caught up with at last and
get double punishment.

Riding patrol was fun for the young bloods.
Always superbly mounted and knowing, through
their hunting experience, every bridle-path in the
community, they galloped along the highways and
neighborhood roads, for upon these they seldom
caught anyone, the sound of their horses’ hoofs
giving warning of their approach in ample time for
the truant to slip into the thick woods by the road-
side; but, coming to the paths running from plan-
tation to plantation, they slowed down to a walk,
let the reins fall upon their horses’ necks and rode
silently in single file. Sometimes, if these byways
threaded forest areas, the riders would leave the
path and conceal themselves in thickets a few yards
away. Here in the sheltering darkness they could
command the track, and see the outlines and hear
the voices of all who passed.

Here, too, sitting immovable upon their horses,
they could hear the singing, shouting, and stick-
beating at whatever dance or other festive enter-
tainment was at the moment going forward on this
particular plantation. If the sounds of hilarity in-
dicated that the social function was largely attended,
the patrol would quietly surround the dance hall
and bide their time, for they knew that within its
four walls, breathing joyously its fetid air and
shouting madly as they leaped and wriggled in the
intricacies of the “Wurrum-Fench” or the “Congo
Crawl,” would probably be found half the cripples

or
oftTHE CAPTAIN

and chronic invalids of the nearby plantations.
Then, when the revelry was ripe, the riders would
close in, guard the doors and windows, and garner
the harvest. And what a harvest! Tares, chiefly.
A little good grain, for some of them had passes
and were where they ought to have been; a little
bad grain, for some had passes to other plantations
where their wives were, but had come instead to
join the merry rout at a plantation where their
Wives were not; but most of them were usually

;

“lesser breeds without the law,” for they had no
passes at all.

Then, as the net was shaken out and an inventory
made of the catch, the fun began! The fun was not
for all, for there was usually a touch or two of
tragedy; some smug hypocrite unmasked, some
hoary sinner exposed before those whom he had
sought to impress with his sanctity; but as most
of the revelations were of marital irregularities,
the knife of conscience didn’t cut very deep. A
little fear, but not much, for the penalties imposed
would be light, and these were a happy people whose
laughter was always near the surface, and soon
those but now discomfited would join and even lead
the merriment at their own expense. After the
round-up, the delinquents would be listed and sent
home to the plantation “drivers” or overseers for
whatever discipline the plantation chose to impose
upon them; and, if the night were yet young enough,
the patrol would ride another beat, usually dispers-
ing and going to their homes after midnight.

20
oO“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

At times, however, when, under relaxed discipline,
breaking bounds became common, and when certain
turbulent fellows became runaways, took to the
woods, and commenced to kill cattle, sterner meas-
ures became necessary. The patrol rode more fre-
quently, stayed out later, and the Negroes caught
were subjected to severer punishment, the bad char-
acters among them often coming in for a sound
thrashing on the spot, administered under the di-
rection of the patrol by the hand of some always-
willing brother in black.

Now and then the patrol castnet caught at one
throw all the big fish in the community and yielded
a dozen malefactors of great stealth. The dozen
thrashings given and received on these epochal
occasions would be talked about during the natural
lives of the participants, those who received being,
strangely enough, quite as proud as those who gave.

“Man! You ’membuh de time w’en me en’ Mas’
Rafe ketch you da’ time to Battlefiel’ en’ pit da’
lick ’puntop you?”

“Ketch who? Lick who? Me?”

“Yaas, you.”

“W’en you ebbuh ketch me? W’en you ebbuh lick
me?”

“Da’ same time me en’ you en’ all dem gal en’
t’ing binnuh shout en’ beat stick to Battlefiel’, w’en
Mas’ Rafe en’ dem patrol ride roun’ de dance house
en’ ketch we.”

“Yaas, Uh ’membuh da’ time fuh true, but duh
Mas’ Rafe en’ dem wuh ketch we; ’e yent bin you,

39THE CAPTAIN

en’ same time me git lick, you’self git lick, ‘cause
w’en Mas’ Rafe mek you fuh lick me, same fashi’n
him mek me fuh lick you, en’ him lub me mo’ den
’e lub you, dat de reaz’n de lick wuh you git, hebby
mo’nuh de lick wuh I git.”

“nukkuh dat happn? Enty Uh bun yo
britchiz wid de same lash wuh you hab fuh bu’n
my’own? Hukkuh da’ lash kin bu’n me mo’ wuss
den ’e fuh bu’n you?”

“Duh me git de fus’ lickin’, enty?”

“Yaas, bubbuh, duh you gitt’um fus’, en’ Uh
’membuh how w’en Uh pit da’ lick ’puntop yo’ back,
Uh mek you fuh cantuh sukkuh buzzut duh dance!
Uh laugh w’ile Uh binnuh lick you ’tel de lash mos’
drap out me han’!”

“De lick sweet’n me ’tel ’e mek me fuh dance
buzzut lope fuh true, but dat de time Uh fool you!
Ent you know suh ef you ebbuh graff uh ’ooman
en’ de ’ooman git bex, you gwine hol’um fas’, but
ef him smaa’t ’nuf fuh mek you fuh laugh, you han’
gwine loose, en’ fus’ t’ing you know de gal git’way?
Man’ h’aa’t en’ ’e han’ alltwo stan’ same fashi’n.
Ef ’e h’aa’t light, ’e han’ gwine light, en’ w’en man’
h’aa’t duh laugh, de lash wuh ’e got een ’e han’
gwine laugh, en’ w’en lash duh laugh, ’e lick berry
light; but w’en man bex, w’en ’e h’aa’t hebby!
Bubbuh, look out! ’cause de lash gwine hebby ’tel
’e fang cut t’ru you britchiz en’ fast’n een you meat!
Dat w’ymekso Uh know Mas’ Rafe lub me mo’nuh
‘e lub you, ’cause ’e mek you fuh gi’ me de fus’
lickin’, en’ all de time yo’ han’ binnuh lick me, my

40“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

h’aa’t binnuh lick you, en’ time Mas’ Rafe tel] you
fuh stop, en’ tell me fuh tek de lash en’ lick yOu,
Uh see ’e yeye biggin fuh shine. Mas’ Rafe schemy
tummuch! Him know suh w’en bex Nigguh git
chance fuh lick anodduh Nigguh, him gwine ’stroy’d-
‘um! You ’membuh, enty? W’en Uh staa’t fuh
lick Uh dat full’up wid bex, I kacely kin gee, en’
w’en de lash wrop ’round yo’ hanch fuh true! Bub-
buh, you jump Jim Crow! You gone up een de
element, en’ w’en you light, you seddown flat ’pun-
top de du’t fuh sabe yo’ meat! Me! Uh done fuh
lick you, but you nebbuh see me duh laugh w’en
Uh binnuh lick you, enty?”

“You talk trute. You mout’ swell’up oagly ez
uh catfish all-time you binnuh lick me.”

“Berrywellden,” and the man who had put in
the last lick had the last word.

Under the warming influence of freedom, Mon-
day, taciturn as a slave, unfolded the petals of his
speech as a sunflower opens under summer skies.
He boasted freely among his dark companions, at
times even before his former master, of the skill
with which on many occasions he had outwitted
the plantation authorities, feigning sickness by day
and slipping off at night to frolic at distant plan-
tations. A good sport, too, he boasted freely of
the thrashings he had received upon occasions when
he had been caught by the patrol.

Monday was especially proud of the success with
which, during the entire month of the first winter
of the war, he had deceived the doctor, the planta-

4]THE CAPTAIN

tion nurse, and the querulous and suspicious
“driver” by the bandaging of a self-inflicted wound
upon the shinbone, which, enforcing rest and idle-
ness during the daylight hours, left him free to
“ramify” throughout the night.

“Mas’ Rafe, great Gawd!” he chuckled, “you ebbuh
yeddy ’bout da’ time eenjurin’ de fus’ yeah uh de
wah, w’en Uh ’crape me shinbone ’long da’ bruk
glass en’ tie’um up en’ fool Ole Maussuh en’ Doc-
tuh Smit’ en’ de dribuh en’ ebb’rybody fuh t’ree
week? You nebbuh yeddy ’bout’um, suh? Lemme
tell you. Dat bin de fus’ wintuh w’en de wah staa’t,
en’ you bin een de aa’my! Yaas, suh, Uh know dat,
‘cause ef you hadduh bin home Uh woulduh git
ketch.”

“How did you manage it, you imp of Satan?”

“Great Gawd!” Monday guffawed. “You ’mem-
buh, suh, dat yeah we mek uh hebby crap uh rice
to Pon-Pon. Two munt’ befo’ Chris’mus de rice
pile up een baa’nyaa’d high mo’nuh my house. Dem
boy wid dem lash haffuh min’ bu’d off’um all day.
Ef dem ebbuh stop pop dem lash, de blackbu’d’
kibbuh de rick ’tel you cyan’ shum!

“Soon ez all de rice done haul een en’ stack, Ole
Maussuh tell ’e dribuh suh ’e wan’ all da’ rice fuh
t’rash befo’ Chris’mus come, en’ w’en Monday
mawnin’ come you cyan’ see de blackbu’d’ fuh de
Nigguh’! De pyo’ Nigguh’ full de baa’nyaa’d. All
de man hab flail fuh t’rash de rice, en’ de ’ooman
en’ ting hab pitchfawk fuh t’row de sheabe’ ’pun
42“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

de t’rashin’ flo’. Den de boy climb ’puntop de rick
en’ loose de sheabe’ en’ t’row’um down.”

“What has the Oak Lawn rice crop got to do
with your monkey shinbone?”

“Mas’ Rafe, lemme tell you. Soon ez dem staa’t
fuh t’rash, Ole Maussuh pick out de man en’ de
’?ooman wuh lead all de t’odduh Nigguh’ fuh sing,
en’ ’e tell’?um ef dem raise de chune en’ keep on
sing tell de rice done t’rash, him fuh gi’ de ’ooman
new frock en’ gi’ de man uh new britchiz w’en
Chris’mus come, en’ him fuh full alltwo dem piggin
‘long sugar! Mas’ Rafe, you nebbuh yeddy Nigguh
sing lukkuh dem Nigguh’! Fus’ de man raise de
sperritual, en’ den de ’ooman jine’um. Attuhw’ile
ebb’ry Gawd’ Nigguh een baa’nyaa’d, eb’nso to de
chillun, biggin fuh sing, en’ dem mek shishuh hebby
woice, ’e roll sukkuh camp-meet’n’! En’ alltime
dem duh sing you kin yeddy de flail come down,
‘blam!’ Me en’ all dem t’odduh nyung man wuh
duh swing flail, w’en we yeddy de ’ooman’ woice
rise een de sing’, ’e sweet’n’ we so ’tel we haffuh
fling de flail high een de element, en’ w’en ’e come
down ’e soun’ sukkuh dem duh beat stick en’ shout.
All day da’ sing mek we fuh wu’k haa’d. Some
uh we boy’ tell de man fuh stop sing so we kin
tek’um easy, en’ de man stop lukkuh we tell’um,
but w’enebbuh him jaw shet, da’ debble’ub’uh
’?ooman him haffuh tek ’t’oruhty ’puntop ’eself fuh
hice de chune same lukkuh him bin man! Dem
boy tell’um: ‘Shet you mout’, gal! You hab no
bidness fuh do da’ t’ing. ’Ooman ent fuh hice no

43THE CAPTAIN

chune. Man fuh do’um!’ But da’ ’ooman ent hab
de man’ wu’d een de back uh ’e head. Him duh study
‘pun da’ frock en’ da’ piggin full uh sugar wuh
Ole Maussuh prommus’um, en’ ’e suck ’e teet’ at de
man en’ ’e op’n’ ’e jaw, en’ ’e woice shaa’p sukkuh
yalluhhammuh w’en ’e holluh ‘kee’um! kee’um!’
en’ ’e hice ‘Roll, Jordan, Roll,’ en’ all de Nigguh jine-
"um, en’ dem flail come down, ‘flam!’ en’ Ole Maus-
suh’ rice git t’rash, en’ sametime Ole Maussuh’ Nig-
guh fuh hab pain een dem bone ’cause dem lavuh so
hebby. En—”

“Well, you kinky-headed son of darkness, what
has all that got to do with your shinbone?”

“Mas’ Rafe, lemme tell you. Ef Gawd yeddy me,
ebb’ry time da’ shaa’p woice gal op’n ’e chuckwilluh
mout’ fuh sing, ’e tu’n’ all uh we man staa’t fool.
All uh we ten toe biggin fuh eetch fuh dance, but
we yent hab uh chance fuh nyuze we foot, so we
haffuh dance ’long we han’, en’ ebb’ry time we han’
dance, we t’row da’ flail high obuh we back en’
fetch’um down hebby, ’tel de rice-sheabe’ jump up
frum de du’t same lukkuh dem duh dance!

“Well, suh, w’en Uh done fling dem flail fuh
fo’ week, en’ stillyet de rick stan’ high, Uh git
w’ary en’ Uh mek up me min’ fuh res’. One day
Uh gone to baa’nyaa’d-well fuh git watuh fuh drink,
en’ Uh tek me flail ’cross me shoulduh. W’en Uh
git behin’ de willuh bush weh none dem Nigguh
kin see, Uh tek me knife en’ Uh cut da’ rawhide wuh
fast’n de two pole togedduh half een two. W’en
44“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

Uh done cutt’?um Uh rub’um een de du’t fuh hide de
cut, en’ Uh gone baa’nyaa’d.

“Uh biggin fuh t’rash ’gen. Uh staa’t easy, ’cause
Uh know suh soon ez Uh come down hebby ’puntop
da’ t’ing, ’e gwine bruk. Uh flam me flail light
two-t’ree time, den Uh fetch’um down so strong ’tel
’e mek de rice-sheabe fuh hop! W’en Uh t’row’um
back obuh me head, Uh g’em uh ju’k, same lukkuh
Uh binnuh pop lash, en’ de rawhide buss’ weh Uh
bin cutt’um, en’ ’e lef’ one half de flail een me han’
en’ de t’odduh half fly off en’ gone ’bout t’irty foot
behin’ me, en’ ’e ketch Ole Wawley, de dribuh,
slam een ’e back en’ knock’um obuh. Unk’ Wawley
yeddy dem ’ooman en’ t’ing duh laugh, en’ w’en ’e
git up ’e dat bex ’tel ’e yeye red! Him ready fuh
lick Nigguh right off. W’en ’e look ’puntop me en’
see half de flail een me han’, ’e quizzit me: ‘Boy,
hukkuh you kin bruk da’ rawhide t’ing? You strong
to dat, enty ?’

“ “Uh strong fuh true, Unk’ Wawley, but w’en da’
gal wuh duh lead de sing squall out lukkuh dem kill-
dee, Uh haffuh lam da’ rice mo’ haa’duh, dat how
’e bruk.’

“‘Retch’um yuh, lemme shum,’ ’e say, en’ me
h’aa’t gone down een me shoe, ’cause Uh ’f’aid him
gwine ketch me "bout da’ rawhide. Unk’ Wawley
look ’puntop de knife cut.

“ “Boy, w’en you cut dis ting?’

“ “Who, me? Me nebbuh cutt’um. Da’ t’ing stan’
same fashi’n ebbuh sence we staa’t fuh t’rash las’

45THE CAPTAIN

munt’, suh. Nutt’n’ ’cep’ de haa’d wu’k Uh binnuh
do mek’um fuh bruk.’

“Unk’ Wawley nebbuh crack ’e teet’ but Uh know
him ’spishun suh me duh lie. ’E tek ’e knife, ’e
gone to de big house stable en’ w’en ’e come back
’e fetch uh hebby strip uh rawhide, en’ w’en ’e
gitt’ru tie me flail en’ pit’um een me han’, Uh know
Uh cyan’ bruk’um ’gen ef Uh lam rice ’tel Ga-
brull blow ’e hawn!

“Now, Buck,’ ’e say, ef you man to dat, lemme
see hummuch sheaf you, one kin t’rash ’fo’ sundown!’
En’ da’ debble’ub’uh ole Nigguh stan’ dey wid ’e
lash een ’e han’, en’ ’e hab dem ’ooman pile up de
rice sheabe’ befo’ me ’tel w’en sundown come, me
bone ache ’tel Uh fool, but da’ same night Uh mek
up me min’ fuh fool’um.

“Da’ night w’en Uh gone Nigguh-house-yaa’d,
Uh git uh piece uh bruk glass en’ Uh ’crape me
shinbone ’tel ’e raw, den Uh git one clawt’ en’ Uh
tie’um up. Uh gone ’sleep. Nex’ mawnin’ soon,
Uh biggin fuh groan. Bumbye, An’ Phibby, de
plantesshun nuss, come en’ ax ’smattuh Uh yent
gitt’up fuh eat befo’ time come fuh wu’k? Uh tell’um
all me bone ache ’tel Uh ’spec’ Uh gwine dead, en’
Uh ax’um fuh sen’ fuh Ole Maussuh.

“Attuh brekwus’ gitt’ru to de big house, Ole Maus-
suh walk. ’E come Nigguh-house-yaa’d fuh see
how all him sick Nigguh stan’. W’en Uh yeddy
Ole Maussuh’ woice Uh biggin fuh groan ’gen, ’cause
Uh know him h’aa’t saaf’ ’tel ’e berry easy fuh

46“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

fool’um. Him ent stan’ lukkuh you, Mas’ Rafe.
Great Gawd, no, suh!

“Ole Maussuh come een de do’. ‘Wuh ’smattuh
boy?’ ’e say, ‘weh hu’t you?’ Uh tell’um all me bone
hu’t me en’ Uh tell’um Uh trip up en’ fall ’puntop
plow de night befo’, en’ dat how me shinbone git
’crape. Ole Maussuh tell me fuh stay Nigguh-
house-yaa’d ’tel da’ shin git well, en’ ef Uh haffuh
walk, Uh fuh hab crotch. Uh tell’um ‘t’engky, Ole
Maussuh,’ en’ ’e gone! Bumbye, middleday, de
dribuh come. Unk’ Wawley swell’up, ’e look lukkuh
’e bex, en’ ’e quizzit me berry close ’bout de plow,
en’ ’e try haa’d fuh ketch me, but me Jedus help
me fuh fool’um. Den Uh tell’um wuh Ole Maussuh
say ’bout de crotch, en’ him gone en’ cut two bush
en’ trim’um, en’ alltwo hab crotch fuh pit onduh me
aa’m, en’ ebb’ry day Uh nyam me bittle, en’ sed-
down een de sunhot befo’ me do’ en’ tek me res’,
en’ ef Uh fuh walk, Uh pit me two crotch onduh-
neet’ me two aa’m, en’ Uh walk duh Nigguh-house
street alltime dem t’odduh Nigguh duh fling flail to
baa’nyaa’d. Two time ebb’ry week Ole Maussuh’
doctuh come. Dem saa’bint to big house tell me
w’en de doctuh fuh come, en’ befo’ him git Nigguh-
house-yaa’d Uh git de bruk glass en’ Uh ’crape me
bone, en’ Uh fool da’ doctuh ebb’ry time ’e come.

“Mas’ Rafe, you know Unk’ Wawley, him duh
class-leaduh, en’ ebb’ry Sattyday night him git pass
frum Ole Maussuh fuh gone Blue House fuh lead
him class. Well, suh, soon ez him lef’ de street, Uh
dey ’pun ’e track! Him alltime gone out t’ru de

47THE CAPTAIN

red gate, ’tel ’e git to de big road. Uh trail *bout
half uh acre behine’um ’cause Uh know ef him meet
somebody duh paat’ dem gwine hail’um fuh ’zammin’
’e pass, en’ time ’e do dat, en’ Uh yeddy de some-
body’ woice, Uh kin hab chance fuh dodge een de
bush en’ git’way. So ebb’ry Sattyday night Uh fol-
luh da’ ole Nigguh ’tel ’e gone een Blue House
ab’nue, en’ den Uh gone Cross-road en’ mek fuh
Battlefiel’. W’en Uh git dey Uh jine dem boy en’
gal en’ t’ing fuh dance en’ shout ’tel de mawnin’
staar rise: den Uh gone home, Uh git een de bed
‘tel time fuh eat Sunday, den Uh git up, Uh tek me
two crotch, en’ Uh git lame ’gen.

“Mas’ Rafe, Uh git ’long berrywell ’tel de las’
Sattyday night befo’ Chris’mus. Uh bin to Battle-
fiel’ to de shout’n’, en’ all uh we bin knock stick ’tel
de flo’ shake. All ub’uh’sudd’nt, de do’ op’n en’
t’ree w’ite man come een. W’en Uh look ’puntop’um
me h’aa’t dead, ’cause all t’ree de man bin po’-buck-
ruh, en dem duh ride patrol! Great Gawd! Po’-
buckruh nebbuh hab no nyuse fuh Nigguh nohow,
en’ Uh know suh we britchiz fuh bu’n!

“Mas’ Rafe, you know, suh, w’enebbuh quality
Buckruh ride patrol en’ dem ketch Nigguh fuh lick,
de juntlemun nebbuh hol’ de lash, dem mek Nigguh
fuh hol’um, en’ w’en Nigguh does lick Nigguh,
’scusin’ dem bex, dem alltime lick light; but dem
t’ree po’-buckruh nebbuh git chance fuh lick Nigguh
befo’ sence dem bawn, en’ w’en dem pick out t’ree
uh we man wuh ent hab no papuh fuh show, dem
mek all de t’odduh man en’ ’ooman line up ’roun’

48“RUN, NIGGUH, RUN!”

de wall, en’ we t’ree man fuh cantuh ’roun’ en’ ’roun’
da’ flo’ same lukkuh we bin hawss! Ef one de man
bruk ’e cantuh en’ slow down fuh trot, dem po’-buck-
ruh lash pop ’round’ ’e hanch ’tel him haffuh cantuh
’gen! Mas’ Rafe, ebbuh sence den, ebb’ry time Uh
seddown ’puntop’uh briah w’en Uh hab on t’in brit-
chiz, Uh t’ink ’pun how da’ po’-buckruh’ lash fuh do
we!

“Bumbye dem op’n de do’ en’ tell we fuh gone!”

“Did you go?”

“Mas’ Rafe, Great Gawd! W’en dem patrol git
‘pun dem hawss en’ dem lash crack behine we,
nutt’n’ nebbuh stop we frum run! Ebb’ry man hab
fo’ foot! All t’ree uh we buss’ t’ru dem briah same
lukkuh we bin hog!

“Mas’ Rafe, Monday mawnin’ me duh de fus’
man fuh git baa’nyaa’d. W’en Uh ketch me flail
Uh fling’um high! W’en Uh fetch’um down, Uh
knock’um hebby. ‘Uh glad fuh see Buh Monday
come back,’ Unk’ Wawley say. ‘Da’ plastuh dem
po’-buckruh pit ’puntop him shinbone mek’um fuh
well.’

“Da’ killdee gal stop ’e sing, ’e suck ’e teet’, en’ ’e
laugh.

“Dem po’-buckruh mek’um well, fuh true,’ ’e say,
‘but ’e nebbuh pit plastuh ’puntop no shinbone!’ De
gal talk trute!”’AFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

The Captain’s watermelons were ripening in the
Orchard field, under the burning suns of a July
fifteen years after Freedom, and the five-foot rows
of Sea-Island cotton that flanked the melon patch
were dotted with happy Negroes, men and women,
who were giving the last hoeing and weeding to
the beautiful plants, now shoulder-high and well
on their way toward the seven-foot growth they
would ultimately attain.

The plow-hands, having laid by both corn and
cotton for the season, had turned their tired mules
into the pasture and, holding awkwardly the un-
familiar hoes, had joined the laughing group of
hand-workers who rallied the sometime plowmen
upon their want of skill as hoe-hands. Among the
disbanded muleteers, now become for the remainder
of the crop season “men of their hands,” three stood
forth prominently as butts for the shrewd and caus-
tic wit of the women, who, having never held a
plow-handle, believed they knew far more about
how furrows should be laid than those who had
watched the switching of a mule’s tail through ten
thousand miles of corn and cotton rows. So it is,
in all walks of life, that Youth and Ignorance con-
stantly admonish Age and Experience, for the laden
ass is denied knowledge of his own burden, and
those who have walked along smooth and easy ways
only are sure there can be no flints beneath the feet

olTHE CAPTAIN

of the heavy-laden who tread the stony paths of life!

So it is, and so it was that Joe Smashum, Perry
Gibbes, and Sike Chisholm were beset by the sharp-
tongued women as hawks and crows are harried
by kingbirds. Sike was short and fat—so duck-
legged, indeed, that he could plow only the slowest
mule on the place, one whose phlegmatic attitude
toward work was on all-fours with that of Germany
toward reparations!

“Joe en’ Perry, w’en dem binnuh plow dem
schemy sukkuh Buh Rabbit. Dem mule walk fas’
out een de op’n weh ebb’rybody kin look ’puntop’um,
but soon ez dem git behine de gum bush to de een
uh de row weh nobody kin shum, dem fuh stop
een de shade fuh talk ’tel Sike en’ him slow-foot
mule come ’long.”’

“Yaas,”’ said another tormentor, ‘en’ w’en dem
come, you look ’puntop’uh cootuh! Sike en’ ’e mule
alltwo stan’ same fashi’n. Dem alltwo is tarrypin.
Ebb’ry time da’ mule hice up ’e foot ’e stop fuh study,
en’ w’enebbuh ’e pit’um down, Great Gawd, ’e stop
fuh study befo’ him hice’um ’gen! Da’ mule walk
sedate tummuch!”’

“Tittuh! Sike’ foot hebby mo’nuh dat, ’cause de
mule hab fo’ foot en’ him only hab two foot, en’
w’en dat Nigguh hice ’e foot en’ stop fuh study,
him haffuh study two-time longuh mo’nuh de
mule!”

But this demonstration of feminine mathematics
was too much for Sike, who protested ponderously.

)

ozAFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

“Gal, you mus’be fool! Da’ mule haffuh hice him
befo’ foot en’ him behine foot alltwo fuh tek one
step. Hukkuh me kin fuh keep step ’long alltwo?
No, suh! Uh keep step wid ’e hine foot. Ebb’ry
time him hice him’own, me hice my’own. Ef him
stop fuh study, me haffuh stop fuh study. Oonuh
gal, oonuh talk trute. Me en’ da’ mule alltwo stan’
same fashi’n.”’

The three plowmen swung their hoes heavily.
This tool is always regarded contemptuously by
those who have had to do with horses, and its use
is considered something of a degradation by these
aristocrats of the field. Now, separated from their
four-footed “compagnons de travaille’” and thrown
among the bourgeoisie, they were despitefully used
and reminded of the many occasions upon which
they had departed from the straight and narrow
way that a plowman must ever tread if he would
gain and hold the favor of his fellow workers of
the hoe, for crooked furrows, and middles carelessly
“knocked out,” are not easily forgiven by those who
must put the rows in order behind them.

“Look ’puntop dem t’ree man,” shouted a femi-
nine critic. ‘Knock dem grass! knock dem grass!
You.duh kibbuhr’um up, enty? Bumbye w’en Mas’
Rafe come, ef him look ’puntop’um, t’ree Nigguh’
gwine loss dem job! W’en nex’ Sattyday night
come, some dem t’odduh man haffuh feed oonuh
wife, enty? Berrywellden. Knock’um! Knock-

um!’THE CAPTAIN

“Deseyuh t’ree Nigguh’ ’shame fuh hol’ hoe een
dem han’, ’cause dem call demself plowman. Bub-
buh! de furruh wuh dese Nigguh’ mek, crookety
ez uh wurrum fench! W’en oonuh folluh dem track
t’ru de row ’e stan’ sukkuh grummole en’ watuh-
moceasin binnuh dance. Dese Nigguh’ foot done
fuh tanglety!”

After nightfall the Captain rode to the Cross-
roads, where, in and around the big store, two
or three hundred Negroes had gathered from the
outlying plantations and from their little home-
steads in the neighborhood for their weekly trad-
ing and for the interchange of gossip so dear to
their hearts. These gatherings on Saturday nights
are the general club meetings of the dusky folk,
for, as the African denizens of veldt or forest come
nightly to the water-hole, so these trading places
bring together from time to time, during the early
hours of the night, half the Negro population of
the community, and here for hours the place re-
sounds with quip and jest and laughter.

All Negroes are gregarious, and flock to church
on Sundays and gather during the week at class-
meetings, but in the church they are divided into
two great bands —Baptists and Methodists—and
these, in turn, are sub-divided among several congre-
gations, so it is only at the Cross-roads that the
great communal round-ups occur.

In those days of nominal license fees and loose
inspection, every cross-roads store and every little
way-side shop sold whiskey, and raw white “corn”

54AFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

99

and red and rascally “rye” were everywhere on tap
at five cents a drink. Of course these fluids were
liberally diluted, for in the flat lands of the Low-
Country the water-table is very near the surface,
and springs and shallow wells abound; but the
limpid flow of the spring was only for the pallid
corn; the rye was blended with the waters of the
branches, stained a rich wine color by contact with
the fallen leaves and the roots of cypress, gum, and
juniper, for some of these mixers who worshiped
at the shrine of Aquarius were artists, and blended
the tawny branch-water so skilfully with the burnt-
sugared rye that, whatever it may have fallen short
of “proof,” its protective coloration, at least, was
unimpeachable.

Thus Jew and Gentile—German shop-keeper and
native Carolinian—animated solely by acquisitive-
ness and pretending no altruism, yet served the
cause of temperance far more effectively than a hun-
dred anti-saloon leaguers, by the simple expedient
of taking the strength out of strong drink, and get-
ting paid for the weakness! (As tho’ Delilah had
sold Samson’s shorn locks to a wig-maker!) 3ut
“man can not live by bread alone,” nor can alcoholic
strength be taken from a Gullah’s dram without
the substitution of something just as good, or as
fiery, for the darky judges the potency of his tipple
by the burning in his throat as the drink travels
downward, and if the fire reach as far as the dia-
phragm his spirit is doubly comforted! Physicians
testify to the tonic effect of red-pepper in warm cli-

vvTHE CAPTAIN

mates. and the tradesmen who sold the poor freed-
men branch-water and red-pepper for alcohol were
benefactors of the race, cheats that they were!

The city frauds, who scientifically doctored their
whiskey, used to add a few drops of extract of cap-
sicum to each gallon of their watered product, but
capsicum was a refinement beyond the blenders of
Parker’s Ferry Cross-roads, who found the pods
of red-pepper grown by every old Negro mauma in
the neighborhood quite as effective, and those who
had in mind Hamlet’s admonition, to have no half
dealings with their art, would ram through the
bunghole of each doctored barrel a whole string
of dried cayenne peppers. At the start, this ruddy
rosary was supposed to supply strength if not spirit-
uality to the twenty gallons of branch water cus-
tomarily added to the barrel of cheap whiskey, but,
as the barrel ran low and the few gallons that re-
mained became more strongly impregnated with
the wholesome pepper, more water was added, so,
whether the alcoholic content was 40 or 20 per cent.
it burned the throat just the same, and the dusky
tippler was satisfied, and, “day by day in every
way” the whiskey grew in grace if it lost in
strength, for the cause of temperance was served!

Although drinking was almost universal among
the Negro men of the Low-Country forty years
ago, there was remarkably little offensive drunk-
enness—due, in part, to their innate good nature,
and in part to the branch-water.

06AFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

Whenever a planter rode up to the Cross-roads
store on Saturday nights half a dozen Negroes,
young and old, would run out to hold his horse,
and before he departed the planter usually directed
the shop keeper to give the bridle-holder a dram—
perhaps two. If the recipient were an old-
time Negro the scrape of his foot was long and cere-
monious and his grateful grunt deep and _ so-
norous, and, if the pepper burned his throat and
brought the water to his eyes, his obeisance was low
indeed!

Strychnine was sold at all the country stores and
was in universal use among the Negroes for pois-
oning crows—corn being soaked in a solution of
the deadly nightshade. While aware of its all-
round efficiency as a lethal agency, it was used only
for crows, the Negro adhering to the humane and
time-honored method of removing the too-watch-
ful dogs of “de Buckruh” by the administration of
powdered glass; while for a woman, who found
herself embarrassed by one of the “difficult”’ hus-
bands that Elinor Glyn writes of so glibly and
seems to know so much about, a tablespoonful of
the esteemed “consecrate lye,’’ mixed with food
or coffee, speedily translated the obnoxious person
to a “geographical location” whence only Conan
Doyle or Sir Oliver Lodge would ever hear from him
again!

As the Captain entered the big store a hundred
pairs of eyes followed him. Always a striking
figure, some of the Negroes looked upon him with

57THE CAPTAIN

awe, others with affection, but all with interest, for
his verbal magazine was always loaded and none
knew when or upon whom it would be turned loose.

As there were no drug-stores in the Low-Country
save at the county-seats, all the general country
stores carried, in addition to the painkillers and
patent medicine nostrums, a liberal supply of pep-
permint, ginger, paregoric, and other “plantation”
remedies, with whose use all whites and many Ne-
groes needed to be familiar in communities where
there were no doctors. The pharmacal department
of the big store at the Cross-roads was at the right
of the entrance, where, by the light of a big window
by day and a great kerosene lamp by night, the
busy clerks could distinguish with a fair degree of
accuracy the labels on the bottles containing deadly
or innocuous drugs. Thus, through the grace of
God, His sunlight by day and John D’s kerosene by
night, strychnine was seldom substituted for quli-
nine, or laudanum for ginger. Perhaps, too, the
knowledge that the deadly drugs were the more
costly may have helped to minimize errors.

The Captain, exercising a privilege accorded to
only a few valued patrons, walked behind the coun-
ter and approached the senior clerk, with whom he
conferred earnestly. His back was turned to the
watching Negroes, whose ears were cocked to catch
fragments of the whispered conversation; but they
could glean nothing, though their always suspicious
minds were apprehensive that something sinister
was afoot. From time to time the Captain turned

08AFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

and looked behind him as if trying to locate a cer-
tain face among the observers at the rear. At last,
when he saw the beady eyes of old Simon Jenkins,
the “squerril” hunter; watching him intently, he
knew the time had come to spring his trap. Turn-
ing, he whispered something to the clerk, who moved
mysteriously toward the drug department where,
with furtive looks over his shoulder to be sure he
was being watched, he reached for the quart jar
of strychnine, whose poison label flaunted the “raw
head and bloody bones’”—red symbol of death! The
clerk stooped beneath his deep counter, emptied
his jar of strychnine into a tin bucket, whence, after
hours it would be restored to its rightful receptacle,
scooped a quart of flour out of a hidden barrel, put
it in a paper bag, and handed it to the Captain
with such a show of secrecy that the transfer was
seen by everyone in the store! When the empty
jar with its grinning death’s-head was replaced on
the shelf, every watching darky knew that the Cap-
tain had bought, and bought surreptitiously, enough
strychnine to put golden slippers on half the colored
population of St. Paul’s Parish! The Captain, still
with his back turned, put the flour carefully in an
inside pocket. Then he went without, mounted his
horse and rode away.

What would he do with it? Crows were out of
season, for the corn was now far beyond their
reach. Dogs? White men never poisoned them.
Only one other guess remained, and, as the old
“squerril” hunter followed the Captain into the

59THE CAPTAIN

darkness without and joined the group that watched
the man of mystery mount and ride away, through
his thin lips came the ominous warning “Nigguh!”
Yet even Negroes were not poisoned by “de Buck-
ruh” just so, thought old Simon; so he muttered,
laconically, ‘“watuhmilyun,”’ shrewdly suspecting
that the Captain might extend to the dusky invaders
of his melon patch the privilege of committing in-
voluntary harakiri, each quitting himself of the
world by falling, not upon his own sword, but upon
his own melon!

Simon, a sort of jack-leg witch-doctor or dealer
in spells, and withal a wily old sinner, exercised a
certain sinister influence among the Negroes who,
though quite aware of his occasional depredations
upon members of his own race, yet respected the
cleverness that prevented the detection of greater
offenses against the whites, and in matters involv-
ing their relations with the superior race Simon’s
advice was often sought. Simon knew very well
that the Captain had a melon patch, and its exact
location in the Orchard field, for the hands that
worked at day-labor for the Captain kept him
posted, and he intended a discreet invasion on an
early night; but now his hopes had fled, for he re-
alized that the assimilation of a quart of strych-
nine was beyond his powers. So he sent wide a
warning by all the Negroes as they returned home
that night, cautioning them that the Captain’s melon

patch was tabu.

60AFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

The next morning, as the devout gathered at their
little clapboard churches or bush-shelters for Sun-
day service, the word was passed on and on, until
by Sunday night the news had spread through all
the dark circles in the community.

At dawn on Monday morning, the Captain walked
through his melon patch, and at the dewy end of
each big “rattlesnake” whose shriveling tendril
showed that ’twas nearly ripe, he put a little dab of
flour, until at last he had spotted all the big fellows
in the patch.

Soon after sunrise the laughing workers came and
were assigned their tasks. They looked askance
at the Captain, believing they had penetrated the
deadly secret of his quart of strychnine, while the
Captain’s beard masked his smile of amusement
at the lethal properties attributed to his innocent
paper-bag of flour.

All through the morning hours, as the hands
passed up and down the long cotton field, those
working the rows nearest the alluring melon patch
cut sharp eyes toward the big fellows, whose white
flour spots were plainly visible. And these nearest
hands passed the news to those next, who passed
it on and on, until long before the noon hour every
man and woman in the field knew that the ripen-
ing melons were absorbing poison through their
stem ends at a dangerous rate!

At last the sun reached his meridian, and as
his rays fell vertically upon wool hat and bandanna
the horn sounded for the midday knock-off. Laugh-

61THE CAPTAIN

ter rang through the field, and, with hoes over their
shoulders, all hands trooped to the grateful shade
of a big live-oak, whose far-spreading branches
could have sheltered half a regiment. Here, since
morning, they had left the tin buckets containing
their dinners, hanging for safety from the lower
branches of the oak to which they were tied by
twine or hooked by the handle to snags, and now,
seating themselves on wads of Spanish moss pulled
from the low boughs of the big oak, they turned
from labor to refreshment.

The Negroes of the Low-Country have never be-
come too independent to beg from “de Buckruh”
by day whatever they may have failed to lift from
“de Buckruh” by night; and, however great their
nocturnal prowess, however deep their faith in the
watchful care of Divine Providence, God does not
always vouchsafe dark nights, and in His moonlight
dark shadows are cast by His dusky folk of the
Low-Country and, whatever “de Buckruh” may
lack in grace, his double-barrel charged with bird-
shot can usually burn a colored brother’s breeches
at seventy-five yards. As the Captain’s melon patch
was doubly guarded by birdshot and strychnine, it
was decided to make the safe and easy approach by
word of mouth, and beg their way into its treasures.

“Sike,” said a young woman as she uncovered her
tin bucket and took out her iron spoon, “w’en Mas’
Rafe come, baig’um fuh gi’ we uh watuhmilyun.”

“Sike, de debble!” said Joe. ‘“Cuss duh de only
ting Sike gwine git frum Mas’ Rafe. Sike lazy

62AFTER THE FRUIT THE FLOUR

tummuch! Mek some dem gal fuh baig’um. Dem
debble’ub’uh mout’ so ’ceitful, ’ooman kin gitt’um
mo’ bettuh den we man kin fuh gitt’um.”

As the tall figure of the Captain strode under the
shade of the live-oak, one of the young women raised
the pleading voice of the daughter of the horse-leech.

“Mas’ Rafe, please, suh, deseyuh man en’ ’ooman
ax me fuh baig you fuh gi’ we one dem watuhmilyun
fuh eat. Alltime we binnuh wu’k een da’ fiel’ dis
mawnin’ een da’ sunhot, all uh we mout’ run watuh
ebb’ry time we pass da’ patch en’ look ’puntop’uh
dem watuhmilyun. Please, suh, Mas’ Rafe, gi’ we.”

“All right,” said the complaisant Captain. “Go
right in the field and help yourself.”

“No, suh!” shouted several feminine voices in
unison. “You gi’ we, you gi’ we, please, suh.”

“Why, what’s the matter?” said the Captain,
amused at the concerted outcry that revealed the sus-
picions they would have concealed. The women
chuckled, rather ashamed of having given them-
selves away; but the Negro is seldom at a loss for
words, so with one accord they began to make ex-
cuses.

““Mas’ Rafe, ef we gone een yo’ fiel’ fuh git dem
t’ing, en’ ef we tek de one wuh you pick out fuh de
Big House, you gwine bex, Mas’ Rafe, en’ you
fuh cuss we ’tel we yez fuh bu’n.”

“You talk trute, tittuh. Nigguh ent fuh pit him
han’ ’puntop Buckruh watuhmilyun. Buckruh ’self
fuh tell we w’ich one fuh tek.”

63THE CAPTAIN

“Mas’ Rafe, ef we ’ooman wuh ent hab no shoe
’puntop we foot walk een da’ fiel’ en’ lef’ we track,
you gwine medjuhr’um, en’ ef some dem t’odduh
’ooman hab foot wuh stan’ lukkuh we’own, en’ dem
t’odduh ’ooman walk een yo’ fiel’ duh nighttime en’
t’ief dem watuhmilyun, you gwine ’spishun suh we
tek’um.”’

The Captain relented, and, walking alone to the
far end of the melon patch, stooped and rubbed the
protective flour from the stem end of a long 40-
pounder, which he severed from the vine. Then he
called the clumsy Sike, who clasped it lovingly in
his fat arms and, leaving deep barefoot tracks be-
hind him, walked with measured tread to the
shade of the oak.

When the big melon was opened “the birds began
to sing.” ‘“Sike,’ said a saucy jade, “Mas’ Rafe hab
yo’ track, en’ dat watuhmilyun mek you fuh step
hebby! Ef you ebbuh walk een da’ fiel’ duh night-
time you haffuh pit shoe ’puntop yo’ foot.”

“Yaas,” said another, “but eb’nso ef ’e yiz hab
shoe ’puntop him foot, Sike black mo’nuh all we
t’odduh Nigguh, en’ ef him nyam dem watuhmilyun
en’ dead, Mas’ Rafe gwine say him pizen dem t’ing
fuh kill crow, en’ Buh Sike, him duh crow fuh true!”THE GREEN CALABASH

[The saying, “to cut the green calabash,” some-
times heard in the Low-Country, is equivalent to
the expression, “to draw a long bow,” im universal
Use. |

During the Confederate War a member of the
Captain’s family, while inspecting picket-posts
through the summer months at Tar Bluff and other
points along the Combahee River, experimented
with quinine as a prophylactic, and was free of
fever in a region thought to be deadly during the
malarial months. The fruits of these experiences
were passed on to others and, after the war, many
families, forced to live all the year around on rice
plantations, enjoyed complete immunity from ma-
laria; but, as these fevers were almost the only path-
ological luxuries Low-Country people permitted
themselves, without them the doctors were poor
indeed!

The Captain’s kindred found by intelligent tests
that two grains daily for a grown-up and one grain
or less for each child, commencing about the begin-
ning of May when the magnolias were in full bloom
and continuing until the first ice in November the

 

dosage for all ages being increased during the more
dangerous months of September and October—
would insure absolute protection.

Thereafter, neither swamp nor fen held terrors
for those who swallowed regularly their nightly

65THE CAPTAIN

dose of the protective Jesuits’ bark. Men and boys
walked waist-deep through the dew-drenched weeds
of early morning, hunted or worked under burning
suns by day, and, coming home on horseback or
afoot at night, passed with impunity through the
mists that veiled the long canals, the vapors that
hung low over every sodden spot like shrouds in
readiness for the stealthy death that lurked beneath.
But those who relaxed their vigilance for even a
few days and, through forgetfulness or indifference,
omitted the nightly protective dose for even a short
time, always paid the penalty in severe attacks
that yielded only to heavy doses of the bitter drug—
so heavy, indeed, that by the time the fever was
“broken” the nerves of the patient were shattered
as well. A few experiences of bitter mouths and
“ringing” ears brought to even thoughtless boys
the realization that an ounce (or a grain) of pre-
vention was worth a pound of cure, and thereafter
all through the summer, from the time the blooms of
magnolia and sweet-bay filled with fragrance the
sensuous breath of May to the first “black frosts”
of November, the nightly call, “have you had your
quinine?” went forth as regularly as the muezzin’s
sunset ery of “Allah-il-Allah” calls the faithful to
prayer throughout the East.

During the Confederate War quinine, the only
master to which the deadly malaria yielded, was
declared “contraband of war” by the Federal Gov-
ernment, and quinine came into the beleagured states
of the South only through the enterprise and daring

66THE GREEN CALABASH

of those who slipped through the Federal fleets
that were blockading all the seaports of the Confed-
eracy, and ran in contraband cargoes from Nassau.

In the old days the planters of the Low-Country
and their families spent the summer months either
at the North, where Newport and Saratoga were
enriched by their patronage, or at the nearer and
equally famous “Virginia Springs;’” but with the
war the North became an enemy, Virginia a battle-
field, and even the mountain resorts of the Southern
Appalachians were inaccessible. Who can count
the graves of innocent non-combatants—old men,
women, and little children—that were filled through
this humane decree of a Christian government at
war!

Thus, restricted to the malarial regions whence
always they had departed at the approach of sum-
mer, and deprived of the protective quinine, they
were almost decimated in certain communities.
Nor in the days of Reconstruction were those in the
malarial regions much better off, for, while quinine
was available to those who had money to buy, its
cost was almost prohibitive to the ruined planters.
During the earlier years following the war, the
precious sulphate sold by Charleston druggists was
of English or French manufacture, but later
America entered the market, and a firm of chemists
in Philadelphia competed for the custom of the im-
poverished South. Not, however, to the South’s
profit, for the American manufacturers exacted the
foreign price of seven dollars an ounce! And while

67THE CAPTAIN

the Philadelphia ounce may have been as honest
as William Penn, the bottles were smaller, the labels
less impressive, and the crystals by no means so
white and fluffy as the French product. An ounce,
worth of quinine, lasted the Captain’s

seven dollars
household little more than a month, and its cost—
small as it seems to those who now pay seven dol-
lars for a few drops of perfumery that make sensi-
tive people turn the other way, or for one leg of
an open-work stocking that looks as if the moths
had been playing with it—represented the cost
of a month’s food for a large family; for seven
dollars would have bought three bushels of corn-
meal and grits, thirty pounds of bacon, and even
soda and salt, while, if there were boys strong
enough to grind the corn by hand in the heavy
plantation mill, enough might have been saved
perhaps to have provided a little tea and sugar for
the aged or the sick, for seven dollars were seven
dollars in the brave days after the war, when men
were men and women were women, and many a
Low-Country family of gentle birth subsisted for
a month on less.

A few years later, when cinchonidia, a coarser
and less potent preparation of Peruvian bark, came
on the market at one dollar an ounce, it was given
hopeful and prayerful consideration, and, as it was
found that two grains of the cheaper sulphate were
equal to one grain of quinine, cinchonidia came
into general use until, under competition, the price
of quinine came down.THE GREEN CALABASH

The ladies and children of the Captain’s house-
hold took their nightly doses of quinine in the form
of pellets, carefully weighed and rolled at home,
for gelatine capsules were refinements in taking
bitter doses not then invented—at least they had
never been heard of on Pon-Pon—but the Captain
had a fine scorn for anything that disguised the
wholesome bitterness of his prophylactic, and he
pretended to like the taste of two or three grains
of the powder dissolved in his nightly dram of
corn whiskey. How much of this was affectation
the boys never knew, for as the bitter draught gur-
gled slowly down his long throat the Captain’s

 

calm blue eyes looked kindly upon the world, and
if he ever made wry faces over the martyrdom self-
imposed upon his palate his beard completely
masked them, and his swallows made his summers
healthful!

Although a generous man, the Captain hated to
be imposed upon, and held very lightly those com-
panions of the hunting field whose hunting-flasks
were usually empty, but who carried always a
hunter’s thirst. Summer deer-hunts are not in-
frequent in the Low-Country, for in August and
September the blue-skinned bucks with their vel-
veted horns, still leading cloistered, monkish lives,
are at their fattest and best, both as to venison
and to morals! Before going afield on a summer
hunt, the Captain sometimes filled his flask from
the bottle of embittered corn whiskey that stood on
the low mantel over the “shanty” fireplace, and those

69THE CAPTAIN

who on that day tapped the Captain’s flask expressed
their obligation for the Captain’s hospitality through
wry and twisted lips!

But ‘twas when he treated the dusky folk that
the bitterness of the Captain’s tipple brought him
most amusement. Sometimes on a lonely path
through the forest, or as he rode along some unfre-
quented neighborhood road, he encountered a thirsty
waytarer whose dark face would light up and whose
bulging eyes would “pop” as the Captain ostenta-
tiously drew forth his flask and tilted it toward his
bearded lips with an air of supreme contentment.
When at last it was withdrawn, the pleading look
in the eyes of the suppliant would have brought
the last drop from a more tightly corked flask than
the Captain’s, and the darky would be bidden to
fetch a big oak leaf and fold it, and into this emerald
woodland cup the Captain would pour a generous
dram, whose recipient, fearing to spill a single
precious drop, would raise the fragile chalice to his
mouth and swallow, postponing, until the drink was
safely down, the low bow and scrape of the foot
with which the darky of the Coast country invari-
ably acknowledges the liquid largesse of “de Buck-
ruh.”’

“Tengk Gawd, suh! Da’ t’ing sweet’n me h’aa’t,
but ’e twis’ me jaw ’tel ’e mek me mout’ stan’ suk-
kuh Uh binnuh chaw snakeroot en’ wampee alltwo
one time!”

Sometimes in summer when the quinine bottle
stood on the mantle, hiding its bitter secret from

70THE GREEN CALABASH

all the outside world, some plausible old sinner
would shuffle up to the shanty door where, under
the shade of the great pecan trees, the Captain plac-
idly puffed his long pipe, and, full of lip-service and
of flattery, would try to wheedle the Captain out of
a dram.

So came Cuffee Scott, the swagger, mouthy fore-
man of an adjoining plantation.

“Ebenin’, Mas’ Rafe; huh you do, suh?”

“T’m well, Cuffee. What the devil do you want
now ?”

“Who, me? Me yent wan’ nutt’n’, suh. Uh bin-
nuh walk big road gwine Jup’tuh Hill, en’ Uh didn’
tink ’e bin mannusubble fuh pass yo’ place bedout
stop fuh pass de time uh day.”

“What were you going to Jupiter Hill for?”

“Me say Uh binnuh gwine Jup’tuh Hill, Mas’
Rafe? Uh done bin Jup’tuh Hill fuh see ole Ham-
let Manigo, en’ Uh binnuh gwine home w’en Uh
stop fuh pass de time uh day.”

“Well, what did you go to Jupiter Hill for?”

“Mas’ Rafe, you know Mas’ Dick him pit me een
chaa’ge uh all him Nigguh to Blue House, en’ w’en
Uh staa’t fuh dictate obuh dem Nigguh Uh fin’ Uh
haffuh hab dog, ’cause w’en de Buckruh mek man
’sponsubble fuh ebb’ryt’ing ’pun de place, you haffuh
keep alltwo yo’ eye’ skin fuh Nigguh’ track’, ’cause
dem man ’puntop Blue House plantesshun lub fuh
walk duh nighttime tummuch. Duh summuhtime,
w’en dem ent hab no shoe ’puntop dem foot, dem

71THE CAPTAIN

walk dat saaf’ly ’roun de smokehouse en’ t’ing
oonuh cyan’ yeddy’um bedout you hab dog.”

“IT see you need a dog to help you catch up with
your fellow blacks, but your Mas’ Dick’s whole
pack of hounds can’t keep up with you. But what
has a dog to do with old Hamlet Manigo and Jupi-
ter Hill?”

Cuffee guffawed at the Captain’s questionable
compliment. ‘Mas’ Rafe, you know, suh, Uh loss
de dog wuh Uh bin hab, ’cause alligettuh ketch’um
week befo’ las’, so Uh haffuh git anodduh one, en’
Uh gone ’cross Caw-Caw swamp t’odduh day en’
peruse ’roun’ ’mong dem po’-buckruh wuh lib een
dem flat pinelan’, ’tel Uh git one fuh suit.”

“Well, did you get one?”

“Yaas, suh, Uh git one.”

“Whom did you get if from?”

“Uh yent know de po’-buckruh’ name, suh. Him
ent bin to ’e house w’en Uh buy de dog frum’um.”

“How did you buy him, then? What did you pay
for him?”

“Suh?”

“How could you buy him if the man wasn’t at
home? How could you pay for him?”

““Mas’ Rafe, me tell you suh Uh pay fuhr’um?
Uh buy’um fuh true, ’cause Uh nebbuh git ketch
een no t’ief, but Uh nebbuh pay fuhr’um ’cause, een
de fus’ place, ef de man 7z bin home, me yent hab no
money fuh pay fuhr’um. Wuh use fuh pay fuhr’um
w’en man kin gitt’?um bedout? W’en Uh gone to de

wey
iTHE GREEN CALABASH

man’ house two dog run out, one duh my dog en’
t’odduh one duh my dog’ maamy.”

“Your dog?”

“Yaas, suh, enty Uh tell you Uh buy’um? W’en de
two dog come out, my dog’ maamy try fuh bite me,
but my dog seem lukkuh him wan’ me fuh him
maussuh, en’ soon ez ’e come close ’e biggin fuh
wag ’e tail, den Uh know him duh my’own, en’ Uh
bruk off piece uh cawn bread wuh Uh bin hab een
me pocket, en’ Uh g’em fuh eat. W’en’e done
nyam’um, ’e wag ’e tail gen, en’ w’en Uh talk saaf’ly
to’'um and walk off slow wid de bittle een me han’,
my dog folluh me spang Blue House, en’ Uh nebbuh
hab no trouble, no mo’.”’

“Your trouble will come, you coffee-colored old
Sinner, when that Caw-Caw swamp cracker sends
you to Walterboro’ jail for dog-stealing.”’

*“Mas’ Rafe, him ent fuh ketch me, ’cause dem
po’-buckruh frum obuh de swamp nebbuh come yuh
een we country, ’scuzin’ dem try fuh ketch cow,
eeduhso hog wuh blonx to some uh we quality
Buckruh, en’ eb’nso ef ’e yiz ketch me, enty Gawd
full Nigguh’ jaw teet’ wid lie fuh fool Buckruh?
’Speshly po’-buckruh, ’cause dem ent know nutt’n’
tall *bout Nigguh, en’ Nigguh done fuh fool’um,
but quality Buckruh! W’en dem stan’ lukkuh you,
Mas’ Rafe, dem berry haa’d fuh fool!”

“You don’t fool me because I never believe a
word any one of you says.”

“Ki! Mas’ Rafe, enty you duh we Maussuh?
You know we fuh true! Enty you know suh Gawd

=o
ioTHE CAPTAIN

gi’ we uh good ecknowledge fuh tell lie fuh puhtek
weself? Een slabery time, w’en Nigguh tell lie
to ’e Maussuh, him eeduh know de Nigguh lie, elseso
‘e s’pishun’um; but de Maussuh say to eself, ‘wuh
use fuh onkibbuh dis Nigguh? Wuh use fuh ’cuze-
‘um? Ef Uh lick’um, him gwine lie ’gen, ’cause de
debble ’self ent fuh stop’um! En’ wuh use fuh lick
me own Nigguh? Him duh me proputty, enty?
Berrywell.’ En’ de Maussuh mek de Nigguh t’ink
him b’leebe’um, en’ de Nigguh keep on fuh trus’
’e blin’ Gawd, ’tel bumbye ’e git ketch een uh hebby
lie en’ de dribuh tie’um up en’ bu’n ’e britchiz fuh
true! But now, sence Freedom come een, de old
Maussuh dem ent fuh b’leebe Nigguh no mo’. Ebb’ry
time dem study ’pun hummuch lie Nigguh tell’um
een slabery time, dem git bex. Dem say, “de debble!
Deseyuh Nigguh ent blonx to we no mo’. Ef dem
ent blonx to de Nyankee, dem blonx to demself, en’
free Nigguh iz uh t’ing wuh haffuh git lick.’ Dat
w’ymekso summuch Nigguh git lick sence dem
free, wuh nebbuh lick befo’ sence dem bawn. Dem
ent hab no Maussuh, en’ dem Jedus stan’ fudduh.
So w’enebbuh dem kill cow, eeduhso t’ief hog en’
git ketch, de Buckruh ax’um, ‘Nigguh, w’ich one
you redduh, fuh gone Walterburruh jail fuh six
munt’, eeduhso fuh tek fifty lash’?? De Nigguh
’f’aid de lick fuh true, but him study ’bout da’ cawn-
hom’ny en’ dem t’odduh dry bittle him fuh nyam een
da’ jail, en’ ’e t’ink ’pun how him fuh lef’ him fowl
en’ ’e wife en’ t’ing fuh six munt’, en’ ’e study ’bout
all dem t’odduh man duh ramify ’roun’ t’ru Nigguh-

74THE GREEN CALABASH

house-yaa’d ebb’ry night Gawd sen’, en’ ’e mek up
’e min’ fuh tek de lick. De Buckruh mek’um fuh
leddown ’cross one flour barrel wid ’e face down,
den ’e mek anodduh Nigguh fuh pull one stabe out
de barrel, en’ de Nigguh come down ’pun ’e britchiz
’tel ’e mek’um fuh wabble sukkuh watuh-moccasin
wabble w’en ’e duh swim! Ebb’ry time ’e come
down ’puntop de Nigguh’ britchiz de barrel jump
off de groun’! Bumbye, de Nigguh mek shishuh
hebby cumplain, en’ ’e woice soun’ so mo’nful, de
Buckruh sorry fuhr’um, en’ attuh ’e done git
t?irty lick’, ’e tell de man fuh stop. Mas’ Rafe,
Gawd sho’ bin good to Nigguh’ mout’! W’en ’e
hongry, ’e mout’ feed’um; en’ w’en him git ketch,
"e mout’ sabe’um!”’

“If God gives so much to you kinky-headed Ethi-
opians, what does he give ‘de Buckruh?’ ”

“Mas’ Rafe, Gawd gi’ we ’ceitful mout’, fuh true,
en’ Him full’um up wid lie fuh fool de Buckruh;
but, sametime, enty Him gi’ de Buckruh yez fuh
yeddy’um, en’ fait’ fuh b’leebe’um?”’

The Captain puffed slowly, and watched the
smoke rings, the spirits of the weed, drift grace-
fully upward and dissolve into the air. So, mused
the Captain, the souls of the blest troop like ghostly
ships across the bar out into eternity!

“Cuffee!”’

“Suh.”

“You see that smoke?”

“Yaas, suh, Uh shum.”

“Where is it now?”THE CAPTAIN

“°F done gone,”

“Very well. So long as that smoke ring floats,
the white man’s faith lasts in anything Cuffee says,
and those lies that slip out of a darky’s mouth like
molasses running out of a bunghole, go in one ear
and out the other.”

“Vaas, Mas’ Rafe, but da’ duh you. En’ all uh
oonuh quality Buckruh stan’ same fashi’n, ’cause
oonuh bin had Nigguh een Slabery Time, en’ de
Nigguh fool ’e Maussuh some de time, but ’e yent
fuh fool’um all de time, ’cause attuhw’ile de Nigguh
tell °e Maussuh summuch lie ’tel de Maussuh neb-
buh b’leebe’um no mo’; da’ duh you, Mas’ Rafe!
You yeddy but you ent haa’kee; but deseyuh rich
po’-buckruh wuh keep sto’ een town en’ to de Cross-
road, en’ deseyuh po’ po’-buckruh wuh keep dem cow
en’ hog en’ t’ing ’puntop groun’ wuh blonx to qual-
ity Buckruh, dem ent know uh Cryce t’ing ‘bout
Nigguh, en’ de lie wuh de Nigguh tell’um fast’n
een dem yez sukkuh cucklebuhr ketch een mule’ yez!
Dem yeddy en’ dem haa’kee alltwo! En’ ef da’ Caw-
Caw swamp po’-buckruh bin ketch me wid my dog
wuh Uh buy frum’um, Uh woulduh tell’um, ‘yaas,
man, dishyuh duh yo’ dog fuh true. Uh yeddy ’bout
you bin hab dog, en’ Uh gone to you house fuh
buy’um, en’ Uh berry sorry you ent bin home. Dish-
yuh dog mus’be know wuh dey een me min’, en’
’e know suh Uh gone to you house fuh buy’um,
‘cause ’e folluh me foot w’en Uh lef’ yo’ house, en’
alldo’ Uh bruk stick en’ beat’um fuh dribe’um back
home, stillyet Uh cyan’ mek’um fuh gone’way.’ Mas’

i6THE GREEN CALABASH

Rafe, ef da’ po’-buckruh ebbuh wet ’e foot fuh cross
Caw-Caw en’ come obuh yuh to we side en’ ketch
me wid da’ dog, w’en Uh done gitt’ru talk, ef me
Jedus help me, da’ po’--buckruh gwine b’leebe suh
me buy de dog fuh true. Him nebbuh s’pishun
suh me t’ief’'um! But eb’nso ef ’e yiz come, ef ’e
foot slow en’ ’e yent come fuh two-t’ree week, w’en
’e look ’puntop da’ dog ’gen him nebbuh fuh ruck-
uhnize’um.”’

‘‘What rascally trick are you up to now?”

“Mas’ Rafe, you know ebb’ry day Uh haffuh mek
cawn bread, eeduhso bile uh hebby pot full’uh tu’n-
flour en’ ’tettuh fuh Mas’ Dick’ pack uh beagle, en’,
you know suh, when Nigguh haffuh cook
bittle fuh Buckruh, eeduhso fuh Buckruh’ dog, dem
han’ berry hebby en’ dem h’aa’t light, ’cause dem
know suh ’nuf gwine lef’ fuh de Nigguh en’ de Nig-
guh dog alltwo. Berrywellden, suh, w’en Uh buy
da’ dog ’e bin po’ ez uh snake, en’ now Mas’
Dick’ tu’nflour mek’um dat fat ’tel ’e roll w’en
’e walk, sukkuh barruh. Den, w’en Uh buy da’ dog
’e bin red, but t’odduh day Uh tek da’ t’?ing wuh
Mag’ Dick hab fuh clip him mule’ tail’, en’ Uh shabe
da’ red dog ’tel now ’e stan’ blue sukkuh ashish!”

“Well, you swapped a lean red dog for a fat blue
one, but when his ‘po’-buckruh’ owner comes for
him he’ll know him by his ears, and his tail will wag
for his master, whether it’s red or blue.”

“Mas’ Rafe, lemme tell you. Da’ dog ent hab no
tail fuh wag, en’ ’e yent fuh hab no yez. Him done
loss ’e tail, en’ ef Jedus yeddy me, him gwine lossTHE CAPTAIN

alltwo ’e yez befo’ sundown tomorruh. Mas’ Rafe,
wuh use dog hab fuh yez? Rokkoon too easy fuh
ketch’um. Eb’nso hog ent hab no use fuh yez ’cause
dog kin hol’um too good. Da’ w’ymekso summuch
Nigguh’ hog en’ po’-buckruh’ hog nebbuh hab no
yez.”

“Yes, you make way with the ears to get rid of
the Buckruh’s earmarks.”

“Great Gawd, Mas’ Rafe! You know Nigguh
tummuch! ’E stan’ so fuh true. Well, suh, w’en
Uh buy my dog him hab long yez lukkuh beagle,
en’ ’e tail long. W’en Uh study ’pun ’e yez en’
t’ing Uh mek up me min’ fuh cutt’um off, ’cause de
time’ too haa’d fuh buy bittle fuh feed dog’ yez
en’ ’e tail, so Uh tek’um to ole Unk’ Hamlet Manigo
wuh lib to Jup’tuh Hill fuh gitt’um fuh bob ’e tail
en’ fice ’e yez.”

“Fice his ears!”

“‘Yaas, suh, roach’um fuh mek’um stan’up shaa’p
lukkuh fox’ yez en’ fice dog. Ole Hamlet him hab
uh smaa’t han’ fuh hol’ knife, en’ w’en him trim
dog yez, ’e cutt’um clean sukkuh ’ooman cut dem
patch fuh mek quilt. Uh tell da’ Nigguh fuh trim
my dog yez en’ ’e tail so ef ’e ebbuh git ’cross Caw-
Caw Swamp ’gen, dem po’-buckruh shoot’um fuh
wil’cat!

“Well, suh, w’en Uh tek me dog Jup’tuh Hill
wile ago, old Hamlet him binnuh mek fench en’ ’e
hab ’e hatchitch een ’e han’. Uh tell’um wuh Uh
want’um fuh do, en’ ’e say ‘berrywell,’ but him haffuh
gone to ’e house fuh git knife fuh cut de dog yez;

78THE GREEN CALABASH

but him say suh ’e hab ’e hatchitch een ’e han’ en’
him kin bob ’e tail fus’, so Uh ketch de dog by ’e
yez en’ tell ole Hamlet fuh chop! Da’ ole Nigguh
pull de dog’ tail ’cross one log, en’ ’e come down
*pun’um close to ’e hanch! Mas’ Rafe, ebbuh sence
Uh shabe da’ dog ’e skin slick ez ottuh, en’ w’en da’
hatchitch knock ’pun ’e tail, please Gawd ’e buss’
t’ru me han’ en’ lick out down de big road gwine
Blue House, en’ ebb’ry time ’e jump ’e holluh! ’E
tail stan’ sukkuh rabbit, en’ ’e foot stan’ sukkuh
rabbit. Him nebbuh fuh ketch flea out’uh ’e tail
’gen, no mo’!”

“Well, you old humbug, you came in just to pass
the time of day, did you? What the devil are you
grinning for?”

“Well, suh, w’en Uh study ’bout da’ dram you
gimme las’ time Uh bin yuh, me jaw haffuh grin.
Da’ t’ing sweet’n’ me tummuch!”’

“So that’s what you were spelling for, you prince
of hypocrites! Go to the well and bring that cala-
bash.”

Cuffee swaggered over to the well and lifted
from its hook the long-handled drinking gourd used
by the Negroes. “Yuh him, Mas’ Rafe, t’engk-
gawd,” and he bowed low and scraped an elaborate
foot as the “glug-glug”’ of the Captain’s bitter bot-
tle filled his ears and his soul with ecstasy! He
drained the gourd at one gulp. Then his face
writhed in a monkey-like grimace, and he spat
on the ground furiously. ‘Dem debble’ub’uh ’ooman

79THE CAPTAIN

cut da’ killybash befo’ ’e ripe! ’E full me mout’
wid gall!”

“Yes, Cuffee, you’ve been cutting the green cala-
bash all the evening. The fool is answered accord-
ing to his folly, and the mouth of him that cheweth

green gourds shall be filled with bitterness !”’“DADDY BO’SUN”

“Daddy Bo’sun,” as the old Negro was known
to the younger generation of white people and to
black folk of all ages, was one of the characters
of the Pon-Pon community and a man of strong
will and sound principles, marred only by his love
of strong drink, but when tipsy, as he often was,
old Bo’sun was as weak and undependable as tipsy
men, white and black, usually are. A former slave
of Major Hawkins King, the Captain’s nearest
neighbor, the master had christened the black boy
Boatswain Smashum, and although plantation and
community, thinking the nautical ‘“Bo’sun,” quite
sufficient for the runty little fellow, quickly adopted
the shorter appellation, Major King, to the day of
his death, held on to the mouth-filling syllables, and
morning and evening his high-pitched voice car-
ried his call of “Boat-swain! Boat-swain!” even
over to the adjoining plantation half a mile away!

Growing to young manhood, Bo’sun became an ex-
pert horseman, and as he was quick and intelli-
gent, and never weighed more than a hundred and
twenty-five pounds, Major King made him his hunts-
man, or deer-driver, whose duties were, throughout
the year, the care of hounds and saddle-horses, while
in the hunting season he became at once master of
hounds and whipper-in, putting the pack in the
“drive,” following the hounds through, wherever
the cry might lead, whipping them off the trails of
bay-lynx or gray fox—outlawed by all Low-Country

81THE CAPTAIN

deer-hunters—and, at last, stopping them at the
river’s brink, whenever the deer should take the
water. Bo’sun’s bow-legs, curved like the prongs of
a wishbone, clasped the ribs of his mount as closely
as if they had been fashioned to order and, crouched
over the withers of his horse, like a circus monkey
on a trick mule, he threaded the hazardous mazes
of the forest, slipping between the trunks of thick-
set pines, leaping giant logs, swerving swiftly
around dangerous stump-holes, floundering through
the treacherous bogs of old canals, and throwing
himself backward, flat upon his horse’s crupper, to
avoid the swoop of low-swung grape vines—all the
tricks of Low-Country woods-riding that fox-hunt-
ing horsemen of the open country know nothing
about—these Bo’sun had mastered in the days of
his youth, and, long before the breaking out of the
war set the hard-riding planters of the Confederacy

 

 

more serious tasks, the Major’s pack and the Major’s
huntsman were known throughout the country-
side.

Freedom brought no comfort to old Bo’sun’s
spirit, and to his body it brought hardship, for
Sherman’s army had passed that way and had writ-
ten its story in the ashes of a day that was dead!
And with that army passed every four-footed crea-
ture that could furnish its own means of locomotion,
horses, mules, and cattle. Stables and pastures were
swept bare, while army wagons groaned under the
spoils of smokehouse and granary.

§2

C~“DADDY BO’SUN”

Freedom, the great leveler, had put all freedmen
on the same footing. The field-hands—the peas-
antry of the plantations—were exalted, for, as their
state under slavery had been the lowliest, their up-
lift was now the greatest. But for many of the
upper house-servants, the drivers, the coachmen,
the huntsmen—all who had been in authority in
their masters’ households—the leveling process was
almost tragic. The artisans—carpenters, wheel-
wrights, and blacksmiths—were well enough, for
even in a wasted region there were at least cabins
and shacks to be built and primitive wagons and
carts to be put together; but for those who were
without mechanical trades a Freedom that debased
them to the level of those over whom they sometime
lorded it made them poor, indeed. As their for-
mer masters were mostly unable to pay or feed
house-servants, these were forced to earn their
bread in the fields, and, entirely unaccustomed to
hard labor, or to exposure to the sun, they were
able to earn very little, too little to supply them with
more than the coarsest food and clothing. Similar
and greater hardships were imposed upon the gen-
tlewomen and gentlemen to whom these aristocratic
house-servants once belonged, yet those who had
lost everything except themselves—their own indom-
itable spirit—bore their trials jauntily, while those
to whom, out of the womb of war, a Caesarian lancet
of exigency had brought the boon of freedom, still
yearned for the fleshpots of their former masters’
kitchens, and would not be comforted because the

 

2
SoTHE CAPTAIN

authority they once exercised in the “big house’
was, like the house itself, now gone forever!

A few years after the war, Bo’sun’s old master
gave him a strip of land, five or six acres, lying be-
tween the railway and the old King’s highway—
the “big road” of the Negroes. Leaving a few sen-
tinel pines, Bo’sun cleared the rest and planted
his little patches of corn, cotton, peas, sweet potatoes,
and upland rice. The small stumps were taken up,
the larger were left for odd times in the winter
season when other work was slack and fuel most
in demand. Then the old man built a comfortable
cabin, small though adequate outbuildings and,
with his fine old wife, moved into the home of their
declining years, where, at last, their eyes should
close upon a changing world that for them, at least,
had not changed for the better.

Maum Anne was a woman of high principles
and strong character, respected and esteemed by
both races. A home keeper, she seldom went abroad,
and her home was beautifully kept. The broad,
coarse planks of her pine floor were scoured almost
to whiteness. The fluted longcloth curtains that
hung at the tiny windows of the cabin were spotless,
and everywhere about the house the touch of a com-
petent hand was evident. An excellent gardener,
Maum Anne had a fine “hand” for simples, and al-
ways in winter bunches of dried sage and thyme
hung from the rafters, while long strings of red
peppers fell in graceful festoons. The front yard,
Swept alternately with home made brooms of split

S4“DADDY BO’SUN”

white-oak and “bullhead” broomgrass, was always
immaculate, and upon the wattled palings of the en-
closing fence there grew every summer, until nipped
by November frosts, a luxuriant crop of the
little ‘“See-wee’’ Lima beans.

Like many another fine couple in other walks of
life, Maum Anne and old Bo’sun were not blessed in
their children. The son, while not vicious, drank,
and was generally trifling, while their two married
daughters brought them no credit. In time, all of
them came to live close under the shelter of the
parental wing, for the old man allowed them to build
cabins on a part of his little landed estate. And,
whatever freedom of deportment these children per-
mitted themselves while they lived abroad, once
within the sound of Bo’sun’s admonitory voice, Joe
and Silvia and Rose walked the proverbial chalk-
line, for they knew that, grown men and women as
they were, the slightest deviation from the law laid
down for their guidance would bring across their
backs the curl of the buckskin “cracker” at the end
of old Bo’sun’s dog whip. When the time came for
punishment, Bo’sun attended to Joe, but Maum Anne
applied the rod unsparingly to her daughters, and
the wholesome discipline of Maum Anne’s day took
no account of raps over the knuckles, or slaps upon
the wrist! Weak old woman as she was, her spirit-
ual and physical mastery over her lusty daughters,
full of freedom as they were, was a fine example
at once of the lasting effects of early training and
the triumph of moral over physical force.

85THE CAPTAIN

A stout cord, almost as thick as a plow-line, hung
in a neat coil upon a convenient peg in the living-
room of the cabin, and one end of the cord was
looped into a hangman’s noose. Whenever a daughter
was ripe for discipline, Maum Anne quietly called
her into the house and pointed to the cord upon the
wall. Although the girl might utter a whimpering
plea for mercy, she obeyed the pantomimic order
promptly. Uncoiling the cord, she threw the free
end across a beam overhead, and as it fell, she placed
it in her mother’s hand, then, putting her own
hands within the noose at the other end, she awaited
whatever fate might have in store for her. Fate
usually had a plenty. Pulling upon her end of the
cord, Maum Anne drew the loop close about her
daughter’s wrists and triced up her hands over her
head, thus preserving them from possible injury
during chastisement, and leaving a fair field below
the waistline to receive the full sweep of the plaited
buckskin. Then, taking down the heavy huntsman’s
whip, Maum Anne cultivated the field so assiduously
that the clumsy girl jumped as lightly as a child
skipping rope. When it was all over, daughter
dropped a dutiful curtsey, and went her ways, with
chastened spirit and tingling body, while Maum
Anne, conscious of duty well done, resumed her
household tasks with the dignity and serenity of
one who would always be “‘mistress of herself, tho’
china fall!”

Always respectful to white people, old and young
—those, at least, who merited respect—Bo’sun, as

S6“DADDY BO’SUN”

he grew older, became almost truculent toward the
young of his own race. White boys were exceedingly
fond of him, as he was devoted to them, answering
with infinite patience—often with quizzical humor
and philosophy—their endless questions, storing
their minds with wood-lore, and recounting many
stirring incidents of the old hunting days. Between
the former slave, and the young sons of former
slaveholders, however, there was mutual respect and
esteem, courtesy and consideration, and perfect
understanding. But Negro youths and boys he held
in utter contempt, having no patience with their in-
dolence and lack of manners. His warning “B-o-y!’’
was as sharp as the scream of a red-tailed hawk.
“B.o-y! Weh you mannus! Ent you know mannus
cya’ you t’ru w’en nutt’n’ else will? Mek you man-
nus! Mek youmannus! Pull you wool! ’Crape you
foot! B-o-y!—Gimme de lash!”

But the younger Negroes, coached as they were by
the low whites who affiliated with them and the
blacks who had served in the Federal army, found
it hard enough to treat the members of former
slave-holding families with civility, and they had
no respect at all for the old servants of slavery,
while they looked upon the deferential observances
of pulling wool and scraping the foot much as the
cigareted cuttysark of today would regard the
flounces and furbelows of the mid-Victorian days,
when, if people didn’t condone their sins, at least

they covered them up!THE CAPTAIN

When, a few years after the war, Major King
changed his residence to a plantation near the coast,
old Bo’sun attached himself to the Captain’s fam-
ily, coming over every day, morning and evening,
to milk the cows, while in winter he cured and
smoked whatever bacon—having run the gauntlet
of the dusky rievers who infested the woods pastures

 

came to the plantation pens. In all these arts
the old man was a past master. Full of nervous
energy, he was quick as he was competent. His
red eyes were sharp as a hawk’s and his gnarled
and swiftly moving fingers were deft as a woman’s.
And if the Negro boys who came under his hand
showed any disposition to learn he was always
willing to teach them, though they found him a hard
taskmaster who administered frequent tongue-
lashings and dealt them as many thwacks of an
imaginary stick as Sancho Panza, with a very real
cudgel, bestowed upon his sleek tho’ sluggish ass!
“B-o-y! Step fas’! Step fas’! Slow walkin’ mek
quick lickin’, you know! Enty I tell you ‘tek care
bettuh mo’nuh baig paa’don!’ Attuh I done lick you,
who gwine tek’um off? You jacket kin come off,
you shu’t kin come off, you britchiz kin come off,
you skin kin come off, but da’ lickin’ cyan’ come off,
enty? Berrywell!”

But while Bo’sun’s bark was usually worse than
his bite, he sometimes bit. Like many of the older
Negroes, he had become in his youth expert in the
use of the singlestick, and, whirling a four-foot
hickory sprout, or a light hoe-handle before him, he

88“DADDY BO’SUN”

could whack you a head as lustily as a Donnybrook
Hibernian! Knowing nothing of boxing, he would
crumple up his knotty old knuckles into an impos-
sible fist and shove it threateningly under the noses
of the younger Negroes with the warning, “Ole
bone haa’d, you know!” But, small as he was, none
of the youngsters cared to test the hardness of his
old bones, and, as he feared nothing that wore wool,
he was seldom molested.

And his skull was of iron hardness. One day as
he was repairing his garden fence a rude hail from
the road, caused him to look up. A cart had stopped
in front of his door, and from the high vantage
of the driver’s seat Ephraim, a middle-aged yellow
Negro, insolently commanded his presence in the
“big road’’—the King’s highway—common ground,
upon which the Negroes usually composed such
differences as were submitted to the arbitrament
of foot, fist, and skull.

Bo’sun dropped his hatchet, and went without.

“Ole man,” Ephraim demanded, “wuh dat Uh
yeddy you bin say ’bout me?”

“You yeddy Uh bin say sump’n’, enty?”

“Yaas, Uh yiz. Uh yeddy suh you tell Mas’ Rafe
suh you s’pishun me duh de man wuh tief him hog,
en’ Uh come yuh fuh mek you talk’um straight.”

“You yeddy wrong. Uh nebbuh say nutt’n’ ’bout
s’pishun. Uh tell Mas’ Rafe you tief de hog, en’
you eat de hog. Uh see de shoat’ tail duh stick

1»?

out you mout’ nowTHE CAPTAIN

Ephraim drew his hand quickly across his mouth,
and, at old Bo’sun’s unctuous chuckle and grunt:
“You shum, enty? Berrywell,”’ fairly writhed at
the old man’s shrewd trick and, sputtering angrily,
“Bf you bin man lukkuh me, Uh woulduh ride you
frame right yuh een dishyuh road, but ef Uh knock
ole man lukkuh you Uh fuh hab sin,” pulled his lines
and started to drive off.

Bo’sun’s hand shot out, and seizing the mule by
the bridle, jerked him to a standstill. “Come down,
son, come down,” he said gently, still holding the
bridle in an iron grip. “Ef you haffuh hab sin,
Gawd will tek’um off, enty? Come down, son!”

The boastful Ephraim for very shame could not
decline the challenge, and, jumping down from the
cart, drew back his right arm threateningly, after
the fashion of all untutored boxers who think it
desirable to apprise their adversaries when and
where they intend to strike.

But Ephraim never struck! Before he could
unleash his tawny fist, old Bo’sun sprang at him
like a wildcat, grabbed him by the ears with both
hands and, pulling his head down, butted him full
in the forehead. The impact was as of a mallet upon
a wedge. Ephraim fell as if he had been pole-axed,
and crumpled up in the road. Calling to Maum
Anne, who stood in the doorway, to fetch water,
Bo’sun splashed the contents of the calabash in the
yellow face at his feet, and the dazed Ephraim re-
gained consciousness. “Son,” said the old man,
pityingly, “Son, you head hu’t you, enty? Yaas,

90“DADDY BO’SUN”

Uh t’aw’t so. Berrywell,” and turning his back, he
picked up his hatchet and resumed his work, while
the astonished Ephraim climbed in his cart and took
the road without a word.

In her last days Maum Anne became a great suf-
ferer, but, in one white family, at least, she was not
forgotten, and there often came to her the comfort
of warm flannels and such little delicacies as the
straitened circumstances of her benefactors per-
mitted.

But she went away, and Daddy Bo’sun was never
the same again. After a few years of solitude, he
took another wife, an unworthy woman with whom
he had little in common. The association only
deepened his spiritual loneliness, and more and
more he turned to the white friends who understood
him so well. And when, at last, he went to join his
faithful old wife, he left, in the hearts of those
friends who survive, memories—still bright after
fifty years—of a lowly couple who carried through
their simple lives loyalty, gratitude, and courtesy—
coinage of the heart that there’s none too poor to
pay, nor any too rich to need.THE UNDER DOG

On a late Saturday afternoon in early summer
the Captain rode to the Cross-roads. The day had
been showery, but as the sun dipped the skies
cleared and all the opulent leafage of June shone
forth in green and gold and crystal. Here, over-
arching live-oaks—graybeard patriarchs of the
forest—stretched their limbs above the road, the
graceful Spanish moss swaying in the light air;
there, the thick, damp foliage of the sweet-gum
exhaled a faint breath of spice; while at intervals
along the way the rain-washed tangles of wild-
grape in bloom drenched the dusk with fragrance.

Cantering past “King’s Gate,’ the entrance to
the long lane that led to “Blue House” plantation
(once called “Encampment” from the Gullah war),
the Captain ascended a gentle slope from the branch
to the high pineland, and drew rein at the gate of
a little homestead by the roadside, for a word with
its occupant.

Daddy Bo’sun was abroad, but Maum Anne, the
dignified chatelaine of the humble castle, promised
to give him, upon his return, the Captain’s mes-
sage to report to the Cross-roads store, where, on
Saturday evenings, the few white employers in the
community—planters and timber-cutters—went to
pay off their hands.

For many years after the Confederate War, men
of gentle birth—planters and others—were forced
to keep country stores in order to keep their heads

93THE CAPTAIN

above water. As a rule, the planters not only had
no aptitude for commercial life, but actually dis-
pised “trade.” But “needs must, when the devil
drives,” and, as the devil drove rough-shod over
the coast country during ‘“‘Reconstruction”’ and for
a long time thereafter, certain gentlemen, obliged to
support their families, pocketed their scruples in
the hope of pocketing a few dollars, and became
shop-keepers; but most of this country trade was in
the hands of wandering Jews, cheap Germans from
the cities, and native whites of the lower strata, and
these last—still ‘“‘po’-buckruh” to the Negroes, how-
ever fat their pocketbooks—would tear off a 33-
inch yard, or weigh you a fourteen-ounce pound, as
unctuously as any Hans or Isaac that ever grunted
gutterals, or rubbed together oily palms!

The benefits of these weekly settlements at the
Cross-roads were three-fold. First, to the merchant,
who got the trade, second, to the laborer, who was
paid off at the source of his weekly supplies of food
and clothing, and third, to the planter, who settled
once a month, or at even longer intervals, for the
orders given weekly on the merchant.

During the earlier years after the war, money
was exceedingly scarce on the plantations, and labor
was paid for almost exclusively in such supplies
as were carried in the “commissaries” of the plant-
ers, or by orders on the more pretentious stocks
of the stores in the vicinity. But, later on, money
became easier, and the Negroes, scorning the com-
missary stores, demanded cash from the planter or

94THE UNDER DOG

from the merchant upon whom the planter’s or-
ders were drawn. To the demand for cash, the mer-
chant, thoroughly versed in Negro psychology, read-
ily yielded, for he knew that as soon as Cuffee
had smoothed out the greasy shin-plasters, or jingled
the small silver in his horny hands, he would pro-
ceed to get rid of it as speedily as possible. Most
of it, indeed, was spent over the counter, and passed
quickly back into the canny merchant’s hands. If
any, by chance, reached the Negro’s pocket, it soon
gnawed its way out, to come into the hands of one
of the laughing, chattering women who waited with-
out.

So much for the money of the men. The
women were more thrifty with theirs, for upon them
rested the keeping up the dues of the church so-
ciety and of tithing the always exacting clergy,
provision haying to be made for the feeing and
feeding of both the local pastor, who, like the poor,
they had with them alway, and the peripatetic
circuit-rider whose periodic visits, tho’ looked
forward to with exaltation, lured the last coin from
the tin cup cache in the chimney corner and the last
spare rooster from the roost!

“Kf fox, eeduhso wil’cat ketch da’ roostuh wuh
Uh got, wuh me fuh do? Uh cyan’ do nutt’n’! ’Cause
Uh yent got no money, none’tall, fuh buy ’nodduh
one. *Ooman sho’ hab uh haa’d time fuh feed two
preachuh! Uh yent study summuch ’bout Buh Paul,
we locus Pastuh, ’cause, alldo’ him fuhrebbuh hon-
gry, ef ’e come to me house en’ Uh g’em roag’ ’tettuh

95THE CAPTAIN

fuh eat out de ashish, him sattify, en’ ef you pit uh
fibe cent een ’e han’, ’e t’engkful ’tel ’e mos’ ready
fuh ’crape ’e foot, but w’en de sukkus-preachuh
come! Ki! You cyan’ do him no shishuh way luk-
kuh dat. No, suh! Him call ’eself de Lawd’ re-
nointed, en’ him ent fuh ren’int wid no roas’ ’tettuh,
needuhso no fibe cent! You haffuh feed’um, tittuh,
en’ you haffuh feed’um high! W’en Pa Manigo
come een you house en’ stan’up befo’ you fiah, en’
spraddle ’e two foot wide, en’ fol’ ’e two han’ be-
for’'um ’puntop da’ w’ite weskit ’e hab on, en’ lick
out ’e tongue en’ leek’um obuh ’e mout’, Bubbuh!
Den Uh know berry well da’ weskit haffuh ’tretch
‘tel de button done buss’off, en’ da’ mout’ haffuh
greese tel ’e shine! En’ you ent fuh greese’um
wid no bakin skin! You haffuh fry fowl] fuhr’um,
enty? En’ da’ stylish weskit ent fuh swell ‘long no
’tettuh, needuhso no cawn-hom’ny! Uh haffuh gone
een me yaa’d fuh beat rice, ’cause him haffuh hab
hopp’n’john, enty? Pa Manigo t’ink suh nutt’n’
else fuh ’tretch’um dignify lukkuh dat! En’, attuh-
wile, w’en ’e gone, please Gawd, ’e done nyam all
de bittle een me house, ’e tek ebb’ry Cryce ten-cent
wuh Uh got, en’ ’e yent lef’ nutt’n’ behin’um ’cep’
fedduh!”

So every woman took home with her part, at
least, of her weekly earnings in cash, securely
knotted in a corner of her apron.

The Saturday evening gatherings at the Cross-
roads forty or fifty years ago were lively occas-
ions, far more full of fun than they were a few

96THE UNDER DOG

years later, for the Negroes reared under slavery
were more natural, more humorous, and more spon-
taneous than those of later years. Sophistication
had developed self-consciousness in the younger
generations and, however great the mirth they
provoke in others, the self-conscious, the self-con-
templative, are necessarily without a sense of humor.
Then, too, the old Negroes had the background that
the younger Negroes lacked. Their memories of
slavery were still vivid, and they could weigh the
merits and faults of the two systems under which
they had lived with surprising understanding. Nat-
urally, the point of view varied with certain groups
or classifications. 'Those who had been known as
“bad” Negroes before the war—cattle-thieves, bur-
glars, wife-beaters, and turbulent, quarrelsome fel-
lows, who had tasted the driver’s lash for such of-
fenses as have since put freedmen in the peniten-
tiary—these found freedom all to the good, for to
such men, liberty means license. And the smarter
and more competent of the good Negroes, who had
no harsh memories of slavery, were also happy
under freedom, for, as their energy, ability, and
thrift enabled them to get more and hold more than
their fellows, they became in time the substantial
men of their black communities and were respected
accordingly. But, upon the old, the feeble, and the
inefficient, freedom bore heavily, for, under slavery,
whose days they were always lamenting, their tasks
were fiitted to their strength, while clothing, food,
and medicines were fitted to their needs. Under

97THE CAPTAIN

freedom, such humanitarian adjustments were im-
possible, for, in the intra-racial relations of the
freedmen, lex talionis was the rule, and those who
were without claws could get very little. How many
lives of enfeebled old Negroes, cast aside by their
kindred, have been prolonged by the kindly minis-
trations of former slaveholders, will never be known,
but there were countless thousands to be set against
the South’s share of the responsibility for slavery.

But, however the older Negroes regarded past
slavery and present freedom, they were of one mind
as to the advantage, to themselves, of having been
taught to work and made to work, and this superior-
ity they were always proclaiming to the younger
Negroes, whose laziness and inefficiency they de-
nounced daily. They were agreed, too, that, how-
ever bad, however undeserved, the whippings of
the old days had been for them, no moral medicine
whatsoever could have so beneficent effects upon
those growing up under Freedom as a dose of the
driver’s lash.

Freedmen in the Low-Country have always
been hard on their women—wives and daugh-
ters—and their young children. For a few
years after the war, they also disciplined severely

 

their half-grown sons, and thus saved from the law
many youths who were ripe for the chain-gang;
but, as far back as the Reconstruction period, these
fellows learned to appeal to magistrate or trial
justice for protection, and a decent father, who had
thrashed a fifteen year old boy for theft, would

98THE UNDER DOG

often be haled to court, fined, and admonished to
keep hands off his son. And many unscrupulous
magistrates under succeeding Democratic adminis-
trations, have added to the criminal Negro popula-
tion by similarly staying the parental hand that
sought to bend the twig in the way it should grow.

“Wuh you know?” an old fellow would demand
of a group of adolescent idlers. ‘“Wuh de debble
you know? Nutt’n’! You know w’ymekso wunnuh
ent know nutt’n’? You ent know’um ’cause you
nebbuh bin git no lick sence you bawn. Ef you
hadduh bin raise een slabery time, en’ you farruh,
eeduhso de dribuh, bin t’row da’ hebby lash ’cross
you hanch w’enebbuh you sassy’um, you woulduh
bin mannusubble, ’stead’uh stick’out da’ oagly mout’
at me lukkuh catfish! Enty you know suh nyung
Nigguh cyan’ raise deestunt bedout lick? Nigguh
duh de groun’, lash duh de plow, no-mannus duh de
grass. Wunnuh nyung Nigguh wuh grow’up sence
freedom, wunnuh full’up wid grass. Ef da’ lash ent
fuh plow’um up, him fuh ’stroy’d you, enty? Berry-
well. Don’ suck you teet’ at me, Nigguh! Git out
me way! Git out me way, ’fo’ Uh tromple you!
Uh yent count you no mo’nuh you bin limus-cootuh
een me paat’! You swell’up, enty? You swell’up
sukkuh toad-frog! You bex? Wuh you duh blow
’bout? Mus’be you t’ink you is pawpuss, enty?
Wunnuh nutt’n’tall but finguh mullet! Ef Uh bin
hab me cyas’net Uh coulduh ketch wunnuh all one
time. Git out me way! Git out me way! Wunnuh
yent wut)!”THE CAPTAIN

The Captain’s visits to the crowded Cross-roads
store were eagerly looked forward to by the as-
sembled darkies, for not only was he liberal with his
always ample store of smoking tobacco, but he was
a fun-maker, constantly pitting the younger Negroes
against one-another in friendly ‘“‘skylarking” ad-
ventures. And his insight into Negro character was
so keen that a shrewd remark would sometimes set
an entire group by the ears, each one suspecting
his fellow of having revealed secrets that the Cap-
tain had come at through his observation alone.

‘Mas’ Rafe so spo’ty. Uh glad ’e come.”

“Vaas, tittuh, ’e spo’ty, fuh true. En’ ’e so free-
han’!”

“°R freehan’ fuh sowl. Wuhebbuh him hab een
’e han’, ef you ax’um, him gwine gi’ you.”

“You talk trute, but him fuh cuss you fus’, enty?
En’ ’e mout’ free mo’nuh ’e han’, ’cause ’e han’
nebbuh op’n ’tel you ax’um, but him mout’ ent stan’
so. Mas’ Rafe fuh t’row da’ cuss ’puntop you befo’
you hab chance fuh baig fuhr’um!”’

“Dat so, but Uh nebbuh bodduh ’bout de cuss,
‘cause Uh know de han’ fuh folluh de mout’, en’
w’enebbuh Mas’ Rafe crack ’e teet’ fuh cuss, Uh
know him tubackuh bag fuh gyaap ’e mout’ een de
same time, en’ me pipe fuh full’up ’tel ’e choke.
Mas’ Rafe’ mout’ en’ ’e han’ stan’ sukkuh chinky-
pen. You ’f’aid’um at de fus’, ’cause da’ buhr
shaa’p en’ ’e sting you fuh true, but, bumbye, w’en
de buhr crack op’n en’ da’ meat sweet’n you mout’,
you chaw’um en’ you nebbuh ’membuh nutt’n’ ’bout

100THE UNDER DOG

da’ sting. Duh so Mas’ Rafe stan’! De buhr duh ’e
mout’, de meat duh ’e han’! Me, Uh lub fuh yeddy-
‘um cuss, ’cause w’enebbuh ’e do’um de smoke rise
out me pipe fuh tell’um t’engky !”

Soon after the Captain rode up, night fell, and the
Negroes gathered lightwood knots and made a blaz-
ing fire on a “jack” or fire-stand that stood nearby.
The drifting smoke abated somewhat the annoyance
of sandflies and mosquitoes, the resinous fumes
were thought to neutralize the poisonous vapors
of a malarial region, and the leaping flames illu-
mined the spacious yard in front of the big store,
through whose open door, back and forth, the Ne-
groes streamed like ants. The Captain, having
hitched his horse to a swinging limb, sat on a log,
notebook in hand, computing the last of his weekly
labor accounts, for whose settlement he handed the
waiting Negroes penciled orders on the store. He
was not too absorbed in his work, however, to miss
the marrow of a conversation between old Bo’sun
Smashum, who had just arrived, and another aged
and respectable Negro, Scipio Drayton, formerly
driver on a great plantation, but now as out of tune
with Negro life in St. Paul’s Parish as a member
of the old French noblesse under the upheaval of
the great Revolution.

“Ebenin’, Smashum. Huh you do?” asked Scipio.

“W-e-l-l,” Bo’sun drawled, ‘jis’ betwix’ en’ be-
tween. Uh cyan’ brag, en’ Uh cyan’ cumplain.
Nutt’n’ ent stan’ like ’e nyuse to be, but ’e cyan’ be

101THE CAPTAIN

help’, en’ no use fuh ’spute wuh Gawd pit ’puntop
you.”

“Dat so. You cyan’ ’spute Him, en’ wuhebbuh
Him pit ’puntop we, Uh dunkyuh how hebby de
load stan’, we haffuh tote’um, en’ tek dat fuh we
share. Uh know dat, ’cause Uh bin git relijun w’en
Uh bin nyung man. Uh know dat berry well, but,
sometime, w’en Uh study ’bout how de time done
change fuh man lukkuh you en’ me, wuh bin raise en’
fetch’up onduhneet’ we ole Maussuh’ han’, Uh mos’
t’ink Gawd load we too hebby. Wuh we got fuh lib
fuh now? All de w’ite people wuh we nyuse to blonx
to stan’ po’ lukkuh we, en’ ef dem ent got nutt’n’,
we ent got nutt’n’. De po’-buckruh en’ de common
Nigguh got all de money wuh iz fuh git, en’ de com-
mon Nigguh haffuh t’row’way all wuh dem git, so,
bumbye, po’-buckruh fuh hab all! W’en man binnuh
eat frum de big house kitchen een ole Maussuh’ day,
en’ hab deestunt jacket en’ britchiz fuh pit on duh
Sunday, en’ hab shoe ’pun ’e foot, ’e berry haa’d fuh
haffuh nyam dry cawn-hom’ny, en’ haffuh gone
chu’ch een dem raggety britchiz wuh Uh got. Uh
lub da’ britchiz ’cause ’e nyuse to blonx to ole Maus-
suh, en’ him gimme’um befo’ ’e dead. De britchiz
bin black at de fus’, but da’ sun wuh Gawd sen’
fuh shine ’puntop’um ebb’ry Sunday fuh de las’
ten yeah tu’n’um kind’uh green, but de clawt’
so feeble now, ’tel you kacely kin shum, me
wife haffuh patch’um summuch. Ebb’ry scrap
uh clawt’ de po’ ’ooman kin git, seem lukkuh him
haffuh tek’um fuh mek patch fuh da’ Sunday

102THE UNDER DOG

britchiz. Now, w’en you shum, ’e hab summuch
colluh ’tel ’e stan’ sukkuh gum tree een de fall at-
tuh ’e leaf tu’n! En’ me shoe! Uh pay de po-
buckruh dolluh en’ uh quawtuh fuh dem debble-
’ub’uh brogan las’ munt’, en’ now alltwo de shoe
gyap op’n sukkuh alligettuh mout’, en’ me big toe
stick out’um sukkuh cootuh snout! ’E mek me
shame!”

“Yaas, man, ’e haa’d, fuh true, but man haffuh
tek’um ez ’e come, enty?”

“Uh tek’um ez ’e come, yaas, but de t’ing wuh
hu’t me feelin’s mo’nuh cawn-hom’ny en’ raggety
britchiz, de t’?ing wuh mek me bex ’tel me yeye tu’n
red en’ me han’ eetch fuh graff da’ lash, is deseyuh
Satan’ub’uh no-mannus boy wuh Freedom tu’n loose
*puntop we! Dem britchiz cry out fuh lick ebb’ry
day Gawd sen’, but, ef you lick’um fuh ease you
h’aa’t en’ filfil Gawd’ wu’d lukkuh Him tell you fuh
do, da’ boy, eb’nso ef ’e duh you own chile, fuh tek
you to de Trial Jestuss fuh pay fine, en’ ef you ent
got de money fuh pit een ’e han’ you haffuh maw-
gidge you cow, you fowl, eb’nso you bed, ’cep’ you
wan’ go Walterburruh jail. Shishuh law lukkuh dat
ent wu’t’! Nyung Nigguh haffuh lick, ’cep’ dem
spile. Ef Gawd only gimme chance fuh lick t’ree
uh fo’ befo’ me time come, Uh fuh say t’engky Maus-
suh, en’ Uh fuh dead happy!”

Old Scipio’s prayer was about to be answered,
for the dream ship of his hopes, now hovering in
the offing, would soon come to port—piloted by the
Captain!THE CAPTAIN

Those who have loved and played with children
will recall the ecstasy of delight with which a child
will often receive a self-invited, playful spanking,
whose sting, if given punitively, would bring a
flood of resentful tears. And the young buck Ne-
groes, youths of fifteen to eighteen, who would
have run hot-foot to a magistrate in resentment
of paternal discipline, seemed never so happy as
when, in playful moments, they would make play
upon one-another’s quarters with their long bird-
minder’s whips of plaited hickory bark. So, the Cap-
tain, knowing this characteristic, and overhearing
old Scipio’s passionate prayer, was minded to see to
it that ’twas answered forthwith. A couple of youths,
surrounded by a group of young women, were tus-
sling playfully in the full glare of the firelight. Call-
ing them to him, the Captain suggested a game in
which they would be the central figures and, at once,
active and passive participants. They saw the humor
of the proposition, and, welcoming a chance to show
off before the women, promptly agreed. The Cap-
tain entered the store, selected a serviceable buggy
whip from the shopkeeper’s rack, and, giving the
boys a dram to tune them up, called to Bo’sun and
Scipio, and approached the fire, followed by half
the Negroes in the store who, scenting fun, post-
poned their purchases until it should be over.

As the Captain stalked among them swishing the
supple whalebone, the women, full of curiosity and
suppressed excitement, whispered, one to another,
“Oh Gawd, britchiz fuh bu’n! britchiz fuh bu’n!”’

104THE UNDER DOG

But the youths paid no attention to them, and the
master of ceremonies quickly explained the philoso-
phy of a contest in which the victor would be the
under-dog, he who could stay at the bottom, not
the top!

The young bucks closed in an awkward wrestler’s
grip, and went to earth. Old Scipio’s eyes followed
the whip with the pleading look of a chained setter,
as his master takes his gun out of the corner and
walks away; but Bo’sun, long a faithful servitor, had
claims upon the Captain’s consideration, and into
his hands he placed the precious tool which the old
Negro grasped as proudly as a king his scepter!

“Gimme room, gal, gimme room!” he cried, step-
ping within a pace of the scuffiling pair on the
ground. For a moment, Bo’sun waited for the pre-
sentation of the target he wanted, but only for a mo-
ment, for a quick flirt of the under-dog brought the
top man fairly to the surface, and, for a second, the
tightly stretched seat of his thin cotton trousers lay
invitingly before him. In that second, as swiftly as
a hawk, old Bo’sun struck, and the frenzied yell of
the writhing victim was drowned in the delighted
laughter of a hundred darkies, men and women.
Among those who laughed, was the under-dog, who,
safe in sanctuary, with his back upon the friendly
earth, chuckled gleefully over his rival’s discomfi-
ture. But his joy was short-lived, for, caught off
his guard while he laughed, a sudden wrench from
the other fellow brought the under-dog to the top
of the pile, to hear, in turn, the wicked swish of

105THE CAPTAIN

the whalebone, and feel its waspish sting. And he
got a double dose, for, before he could turn his an-
tagonist, who, having tasted wormwood at the top,
now clung to earth as ardently as any Anteus, the
whip came down once more, and, out of a grateful
heart old Bo’sun grunted his deep delight. ‘“Umh!
’E sweet’n you, enty? Uh bin hab dis physic fuh
you een me h’aa’t long time, en’ now Gawd pit’um
een me han’! Wuh dat you say? Uh por’um too
fas’! You duh git mo’nuh yo’ share? 3errywell.
Tu’n obuh, son, tu’n obuh. Leh de t’odduh man hab
him’own! Gawd tell me fuh freehan’. Nobody fuh
stint! Ebb’ry man fuh hab wuh blonx to’um YY

Back and forth the youths, interlocked in each
other’s arms, floundered like seined fish upon the
shore, and always he who was uppermost received
old Bo’sun’s close attention. And whatever welts
there were were pretty evenly divided, for the con-
vulsive spasm of the recipient of the attentions was
usually strong enough to enable him to reverse his
position and twist his antagonist out of his bomb-
proof into the line of fire. So honors were easy
when, after each had received about a dozen cuts, the
Captain called the game for the first two, and sum-
moned another pair to the playful adventure. And
did the first couple rub the seats of their trousers
or otherwise show they had been stung? They
did not. They were too proud of their exploit, and,
like the fox who had lost his tail, too anxious that
the others should lose theirs also! So, in high spirits,

106THE UNDER DOG

they joined the laughing women, and another pair
of young bucks fell squirming to earth.

Bo’sun exaltation was that of one who has beheld
a vision, and with a “fate cannot harm me, I have
dined today” expression of deep contentment, he pre-
pared to continue his labors in what he believed to
be the vineyard of the Lord!

But not so. Old Scipio’s eyes devoured the whip
avidly and, pulling Bo’sun by the sleeve, he cried,
“Gimme da’ ting, Smashum, gimme da’ t’ing! You
too greedy!”

At a nod from the Captain, Bo’sun passed the
whip to Scipio, who, before taking it, spat on his
hands impressively, as if to assure the bystanders
of his purpose to take a hold that could in no wise
be loosened. Grasping the whip handle, Scipio
threw his battered old hat on the ground and, rais-
ing his eyes to heaven, pulled his kinky forelock
and scraped his foot in thankfulness to his Maker,
as one who reverently says grace before meat! The
meat lay before him, and Scipio proceeded to dress
it to his taste, and his taste inclined to Tartar sauce!
Nor could he forbear a dash of the Tabasco of the
tongue! “Haw! Buck!’ as the whip, whistling
through the air like a blue-wing teal, alighted on a
tender spot. ‘You yeddy me song, enty? Dishyuh
duh de day Uh binnuh seek fuh de longes’! De lash
tas’e you meat dat time, enty? Me en’ da’ lash
bin hongry fuh Nigguh’ meat ebbuh sence freedom.
T’engk-gawd, we tas’e’um at las’!”
107THE CAPTAIN

And Scipio was a fast worker. Long experience
as plantation disciplinarian, had taught him enough
rough-and-tumble physiology to know just where
he could sting without injury, and he stung all along
the line. He was no respecter of persons, nor of
any part of any person’s person whatsoever. All
dark meat that wore breeches looked the same to
him. The uppermost man was uppermost in his
mind, and upon him the whalebone fell with the
rhythmic regularity of a flail! Bo’sun was what
Stewart Edward White calls a “choicy’’? marksman,
preferring to “place” his shots. Not so old Scipio!
No pent-up Utica restrained his pow’rs. The bound-
less continent was his—at least from hip to hock
—‘‘Wuh use fuh bodduh ’bout weh you knock’um,
Smashum? Uh duh bu’n britchiz, enty? Enty ’e
hab feelin’s een ’e knee same lukkuh ’e hab’um een
’e hanch? Gawd pit dis t’ing een me han’ en’ tell
me fuh lick Nigguh yuh tenight, fuh filfil Him wu’d.
’E tell me de shu’t ent fuh tetch, de jacket ent fuh
tetch, but de britchiz fuh bu’n. Berrywellden.”
But, however fast he talked, the punitive piston of
his arm never missed a stroke, and, catching them
sometimes as they were turning, he stung the two
with a single cut. “Flapjack een de pan. Tu’n’um
obuh! Hoecake ’puntop de hoe, tu’n’um obuh! Ef
’e yent tu’n obuh, ’e fuh bu’n, enty? Yaas, en’ ef
’e yiz tu’n obuh ’e fuh bu’n, same fashi’n, ’cause
Gawd’ wu’d haffuh filfil en’ Nigguh haffuh lick!
Wawss duh sing. Yeddy’um! Bee duh hum. Yed-
dy’um! Yeddy’um, yeddy’um, yeddy’um!” And in

 

108THE UNDER DOG

a frenzy of delight the old Negro leaped in the air
to give greater force to his blows. The pace was
too hot for his victims who, lathered from ankle to
hip, had received twice the punishment of Bo’sun’s
team, and, yelling lustily, they sprang to their feet
and made off, rubbing themselves in the rear, with
many loud lamentations.

Old Scipio’s prowess, upon which the older Ne-
groes congratulated him warmly, uplifted the old
fellow tremendously. Approaching the Captain
furtively, he asked, ‘‘Mas’ Rafe, you gwine be yuh
nex’ Sattyday night? Uh bin prommus Gawd ef
Him lemme lick t’ree-fo’ Nigguh one mo’ time, Uh
woulduh ready fuh dead, but w’en Uh say dat, Uh
bin t?aw’t Uh done loss me han’ fuh lick Nigguh,
en’ Uh nebbuh know weh any Nigguh iz fuh lick,
but, attuh tenight, Uh know suh you got de Nigguh
en’ me got de han’. Uh yent loss me han’, Mas’
Rafe. Enty Uh gott?um? Berrywell. So now, Uh
yent ready fuh dead no mo’, Mas’ Rafe, ’cause Uh
lub fuh lick Nigguh tummuch. Uh lub fuh lick’um
tummuch!”’THE QUEST OF THE LAND

Up to fifty years ago, very little land in the Pon-
Pon neighborhood had been acquired by Negroes.
Altho’ most of the planters were “land poor” and
burdened by the heavy taxes of “Reconstruction,”
and altho’ many Negroes, having abandoned hope
of “forty acres and a mule” from the Federal Gov-
ernment, were now ready to buy ten acres and an
ox, the sale of land to Negroes was generally repro-
bated, for it not only demoralized labor on the plan-
tations but created little plague-spots in the com-
munity where cattle-riever and pig-thief—each in
the fancied security of his own “castle’’—could ply
his trade safe from the white man’s eye.

In those days the two-day contract system was
in general use in the Low-Country, and it was
usually possible to fill with such hands all the houses
at the planter’s command. Some of the plantations
lost only the “big house” during the March to the
Sea, and these, having saved the comfortable double-
houses of the old slave-quarters, were able to fill
them with freedmen and command all the labor they
required, but upon other plantations the torch of the
invader—knowing no brother—had made a clean
Sweep, and the salted ashes of mansion and hovel
mingled in the common dust of desolation. Upon
these holdings log cabins with clay chimneys were
built for such contract hands as could be secured.

The two-day plan required the householder to
work two days—Monday and Tuesday—each week

 

 

 

111THE CAPTAIN

throughout the year, as consideration for house, fuel,
and four acres of arable land. And the householder
could, upon occasion, send his wife or a grown son
or daughter to work his contract days; or two mem-
bers of the family could work one day and acquit
the household of the obligation for the week, so
the arrangement was flexible. As field labor was
worth fifty cents a day, the tenant paid for house,
land, and fuel fifty dollars a year, not an excessive
price for families where there were always two,
sometimes half a dozen, workers. The advantage
to the planter was his command, throughout the
year, of a certain number of hands who—wages
were obliged to give the owner of

 

being equal
the plantation first call on their labor, whenever
there was any work to be done. The advantage to
the laborer was the assurance of a home and a few
acres of land, to be paid for in labor in small instal-
ments, and abundant work for his family close at
hand. Of course, the regular plowmen were paid
monthly wages and were rationed and housed.

In view of the scarcity of land offered to Negro
purchasers, there was great excitement in the com-
munity when it was announced in the autumn of
1873 that the Mitchell plantation, which had several
years earlier come into the possession of a Charles-
ton factor under foreclosure of mortgage, was to be
divided into small tracts and sold to Negroes at
three dollars an acre. The plantation, lying be-
tween Oak Lawn and Penny Creek, a tributary of

112THE QUEST OF THE LAND

the Edisto, had belonged at one time to the Bulloch
family, maternal ancestors of Theodore Roosevelt.
As his agent for the sale of the Mitchell place
the Charleston factor had chosen the Reverend Les-
ter Flood, the finest-looking Negro in the Parish
and one of the most reliable, commanding the re-
spect of both races. A former slave of Mr. Baring’s,
whose slaves, trained under their English-born mas-
ter, were of an unusually fine type, Lester was a
carpenter by profession, but went into the ministry
after the war. His charge was a church on the
“big-road,”’ between King’s Gate and the Cross-
roads. The congregation numbered many fine
voices, and on summer nights the stirring old hymns
and haunting spirituals echoed thro’ the forests
and reached outlying plantations a mile or more
away. And sometimes, on still moonlight nights,
a “Buckruh” youth, lured by the poignant sweet-
ness of the melody, would saddle-up, and ride to
within a hundred yards of the church and, halt-
ing his horse among the pines, would fill his spirit
with music and listen to the fervent prayers that
alternated with the song services. And then fol-
lowed Lester’s common-sense sermons, full of sound
advice. He never ranted, but was always impres-
sive, his deep, sonorous voice booming like slow
billows on the beach. Thus, during the years of
Reconstruction and for some time thereafter in
the Low-Country, solitary watchers of the white
race often sat their horses in the shadows near
the Negro churches on prayer-meeting nights and

113THE CAPTAIN

listened—but not to the music—for many Negro
preachers were dangerous firebrands, whose con-
gregations were hotbeds of radical politics, and
these it was necessary to watch, and to know. But
never a word fell from Lester’s lips that did not
promote amity between the races; and he lived the
life he preached.

And this preacher was a magnificent man physi-
cally, six feet one, and of massive proportions,
with fine features and so luxuriant a beard that,
but for his dark pigmentation, he might have passed
for an Arab sheik or a father in Israel. “Pa Lester”
graced his pulpit, but no ruined planter could look
upon the dignified priest without realizing what a
splendid butler he would have made, and feeling
regret that he could never grace a gentleman’s livery
and, with a great silver waiter before him and
shining cut-glass decanters of Madeira, Port, and
Sherry, offer the hospitality of a gentleman’s home
to a gentleman’s guests! But these were but the
dreams of those who, living on sweet potatoes and
corn bread, could yet recognize the eternal fitness of
things. So, Lester, preaching on Sundays and at
night, worked at his trade by day, and found many
small jobs among the friendly planters of the neigh-
borhood. Between whiles, he found time to build
a comfortable home for his small family on his lit-
a modest house of two

 

tle holding near the church
stories and four rooms, but very imposing in the
eyes of his people, as well because of the sanctity
of its occupant, as for its two stories and piazza,

114THE QUEST OF THE LAND

in a community of one-story cabins. The path-
way from the front gate to the house, was flanked
by euonymus hedges and sentineled by clumps of
tall Spanish bayonets. And around house and lot
and garden Lester had built a tall, close fence of
split yellow-pine clapboards, giving the whole place
the reserve and detachment of the high-walled gar-
den of an old English rectory.

When news of the sale of Mitchell’s came to Pon-
Pon, the agent was flooded with applications from
would-be purchasers, and many tentative reserva-
tions were made, most of them from the “Savage,”’
or Kinzie King place, which, having been without
white occupancy since the war, and rented to Negro
tenants and share-croppers by its non-resident
owners, now harbored the most lawless and un-
disciplined Negroes in the community, tho’, withal,
some of the best workers, men and women whose
labor was always in demand on neighboring planta-
tions.

There was no land surveyor nearer than Walter-
boro, and as there were thirty or forty intending
purchasers, and as many separate plats to be made,
the surveyor’s bill at the regular rates charged by
the gentlemen of the compass and chain, would have
absorbed the reverend agent’s commissions and
swamped the enterprise. So Lester scratched his
head in perplexity, and went to his neighbor and
best friend for advice. The Captain was able to
give it, for his 16-year old nephew had just returned
from the Valley of Virginia, where, in his brief

115THE CAPTAIN

term at school, he had gorged himself on Davies’
Legendre and Davies’ Surveying, hoping somehow,
some day, to take a course in engineering. This
hope the necessity of going immediately to work
put “up the spout,” and, having applied unsuccess-
fully for a job as brakeman on the Charleston &
Savannah Railroad (Negro brakemen were pre-
ferred in those days), the youth was eager for any
work he could find for hand or foot or head. The
Mitchell survey called for the exercise of all three,
and, altho’ entirely without field practice, he ap-
plied for the work, and got it, hoping, through luck
or ingenuity, to overcome his professional limita-
tions. Then, too, he counted upon the Captain’s
help, for the Captain had hunted throughout the
Parish and was familiar with the lines of the three
plantations surrounding the Mitchell tract.

When the engagement was announced, there was
excitement in one white and forty black households,
and the embryo surveyor, full of his responsibilities,
set about securing the tools of his trade. From a
friend of the family, Sup’t. C. S. Gadsden, of the
C. & S. Railroad, he borrowed a compass and chain.
From Charleston, drawing materials for plat-mak-
ing were obtained, and he was ready for work.

On the morning of the first of December, a
bright, frosty day, the Captain and the surveyor
met “Pa Lester” and forty or fifty very important
Negroes, all very full of themselves as prospective
land-owners, and each man -determined he would,
through his own merit or his own cunning, secure

116THE QUEST OF THE LAND

the most fertile and best drained part of the tract
for himself. The place of meeting was in the pine-
land in front of Lester’s house, and the Captain and
the surveyor, seating themselves on a log, were soon
surrounded by the excited Negroes, anxious for an
interpretation of the plat, and to see how the land
lay. Lester produced the plat, made in 1835, and
beautifully lettered and tinted in the manner dear
to the hearts of the old surveyors. It was spread
upon the log, and, taking turns, the Negroes in little
groups inspected it critically and made their com-
ments. All of them were more or less familiar with
the tract, having hunted or roamed over it by day
and night, and since its division and sale had been
talked about many of them had paid furtive visits to
the place and cast wistful eyes at certain choice por-
tions they had marked for their own. So it was that.
when apportionment was discussed, Lester found
the minds of many men met upon the same spot of
ground, and with the meeting of minds, came also
the clash of tempers—and, almost, the clash of
skulls—and when the surveyor had explained that
the areas on the plot dotted with little toy trees
meant forests, and that certain other marks or
shadings indicated swamps or ricefields or arable

 

uplands, poor Lester was beset by many tongues,
each clamoring for ricefield or arable upland, and
each having potent reasons for the allotment of
Swamps and uncleared forests to his fellows. The
Captain sought to compose their differences, and
cited the law of the deer-hunters of the Low-Coun-

117THE CAPTAIN

try, who, at the close of a successful hunt, divided
the venison into so many parts and then drew lots
for the selection of the choice pieces. ‘‘So,” said
the Captain, “One man may get a haunch, another
a loin, and another a rack, but even the rack is good,
if you know how to cook it, and every man has his
chance to get the best; so why don’t you get Lester
to fix up some little papers with numbers on them
and put them in a hat? Then each man draws out a
slip. If he gets number one, he has first choice, and
so on down the line to numbers thirty-nine and
forty.”

“Yaas, Mas’ Rafe. Da’ plan stan’ berry good fuh
de fus’ man, en’ de two man, en’ de t’ree man, but
wen Pa Lester git down to de t’irty-nine man en’
de fawty man, wuh him fuh hab? Nutt’n’! W’en
you cut up hog, en’ de fus’ man tek de ham, en’ de
two man tek de gham, en’ de t’ree man tek de flitch,
dem ’wide’um up, ’tel, bumbye, w’en t’irty-nine en’
fawty come ’long, nutt’n’ ent fuh lef’ ’cep’ de yez
en’ de tail! En’ da’ duh wuh me fuh git ef we
tek plan lukkuh dat, ’cause, ebbuh sence Uh bin
step ’cross da’ dry toad-frog wrop’up een da’ black-
snake skin, wuh da’ somebody pit een me paat’ fuh
t’row spell ’puntop me, Uh nebbuh fuh hab no good
luck no mo’, en’ ef Uh gone een da’ t’ing fuh pull
papuh out de hat, me fuh be de fawty man, eeduhso
de t’irty-nine man, sho’ ez Gawd, ’cause bad luck
ketch een me britchiz en’ stick to’um sukkuh cuckle-
buhr ketch cowtail! En’ da’ rack you duh talk ’bout,
Mas’ Rafe, ef Uh draw da’ rack een da’ t’ick ’ood

118THE QUEST OF THE LAND

en’ da’ hebby swamp, befo’ Uh done gitt’ru t’row
down dem tree en’ root up dem ’tump, me bone fuh
racktify, fuh true. Uh yent hab no appetite fuh
daarack7

The Captain’s plan met with no favor, for each
man feared his fate too much to “put it to the touch
to gain or lose it all.” And the babel of voices
started again, each man urging upon Pa Lester his
special claims for consideration.

Up spoke Ben Summers, a mouthy old sinner,
jackleg carpenter and jackleg preacher, a man of
many wives and many children, at home and abroad;
for old Ben was no Lodge-like isolationist, and for-
eign entanglements had no terrors for him—if only
they wore petticoats! Altho’ insolent and boister-
ous with his own race, he took no chances with the
whites, and always approached the Captain—his
former master—with exceeding humility. Affect-
ing infinite piety, his Maker’s name was ever on his
lips by day, but the Negroes said that after dark they
were otherwise anointed, and under the friendly
mask of night, when the dew had softened the dead
leaves into silence, the wily old reprobate would slip
stealthily through the forest to the kraal of a
planter or, if more convenient, to the pen of a
lowly brother in black, and smother the squeals of
a shoat as skilfully as his kinsman, Monday Parker,
the smartest pig-lifter in a pig-lifting community!
So, Ben, coveting a fertile corner of the Mitchell
tract, lying next to the Captain’s land, put in a
plausible plea for its possession. ‘‘Reb’ren’,” he

119THE CAPTAIN

said, to Lester. “All we man wuh use to blonx to
Oak Lawn plantesshun oughtuh hab chance fuh buy
we groun’ ’longside’um, ’cause, een de fus’ place,
all we fambly bury een Nigguh-buryin’-groun’
onduhneet’ dem oak tree, en’ Uh wan’ buy me
groun’ en’ buil’ me house so Uh kin lib close’um,
wile Uh duh lib, en’ attuh Uh done dead de bred-
duh wuh haffuh tote me cawpse to da’ grabeyaa’d

9)

would’n’ hab fudduh fuh go; en’, een de two place

 

“Nemmin’ ’bout de two place, man,” interrupted
a knowing brother, ‘All uh we man yuh know berry-
well de reaz’n mekso you hankuh attuh hab you
house close da’ Nigguh-buryin’-groun’, en’ Mas’ Rafe
—you shum duh laugh—him know’um, too. Da’
grabeyaa’d kibbuh wid hebby libe-oak tree, en’, een
de fall uh de yeah, en’ duh wintuhtime, dem tree
full’up wid acu’n, en’, t’odduh side de grabeyaa’d, de
dam betwix’ him en’ de ole ricefiel’ tick wid dem
high swamp-w’iteoak, en’ de swamp-w’iteoak full’uh
dem big obuhcup acu’n, en’ de Buckruh’ hog lub fuh
use een da’ Nigguh-buryin’-groun’ ’cause dem bit-
tle dey dey, en’ de hog kin leddown duh night-time
fuh sleep ’mong dem Nigguh grabe, en’ nutt’n’ ent
fuh bodduhr’um. De only t’ing dainjus fuh hog,
iz wil’cat, alligettuh, en’ Nigguh. All de wil’cat
kin do iz fuh ketch dem leely pig out de bed w’en
de maamy ent dey dey, ’cause him nebbuh fuh tek
chance wid no sow. En’, ’cep’ hog go close de
watuh, alligettuh yent fuh bodduhr’um; but hog
‘f’aid Nigguh mo’nuh all de res’, ’cause Nigguh
ketch’um w’edduh ’e big uh w’edduh ’e leetle, en’

120THE QUEST OF THE LAND

Nigguh, him dey ebb’ryweh—ebb’ryweh, ’cep’ een
Nigguh-buryin’-groun’! Nutt’n’ ’cep’ dead Nigguh
fuh dey dey, ’cause libe Nigguh ’f’aid da’ place
tummuch! Hog know suh Nigguh yent fuh tek
chance wid dem sperrit en’ t’ing duh night, en’
‘e yent fuh gone da’ place een de daytime, ’cep’
’e got cump’ny, en’ eb’nso ef ’e got cump’ny, him
en’ ’e cump’ny haffuh talk strong, so dem h’aa’t
kin fawtify, en’ ef hog yeddy da’ strong talk out
de Nigguh’ mout’, him fuh tek ’e foot een ’e han’
en’ gone! De Nigguh nebbuh shum, ’e nebbuh
yeddy’um grunt! Dat mekso hog peruse t’ru da’
Nigguh-buryin’-groun’ duh daytime en’ root obuh
you gran’daddy’ grabe, en’ crack acu’n ’tel night
come, en’ den ’e ’crape’up de dead leaf en’ mek bed
fuh him en’ ’e fambly ’mong de grabe, en’ ’e leddown
fuh sleep, jis’ ez sattify ez ef him binnuh heng up
een de Buckruh’ smokehouse, ’cause ’e say to ’eself:
‘Deseyuh Nigguh dead, enty? T’engk-gawd fuh
dead Nigguh, ’cause dead Nigguh ent dainjus, en’
dem sperrit watch obuh me, fuh keep off de libe
Nigguh’; en’ ’e shet ’e yeye, en’ ’e drap ’sleep, en’ ’e
nebbuh dream ’bout no Nigguh!”

The laughter that greeted this shrewd analysis
of Ben’s reason for wishing to build a home near
the ashes of his fathers roused the old Negro to
instant and sputtering wrath. “Who! Me! Wuh
me got fuh do wid hog? Enty Uh sancitify? Uh
binnuh preach Gawd’ wu’d ebbuh sence freedom
come een, en’ you talk to me ’bout hog! Wuh me
know ’bout hog?”THE CAPTAIN

“Wuh you know ’bout hog? Budduh, you know-
‘um frum ’e snout spang to ’e tail; en’ w’en you talk
‘bout sanctify, lemme tell you dis, ef all hunnuh
Nigguh-preachuh wuh bin sanctify sence freedom,
so you kin nyam ’ooman’ fowl en’ ’queeze money
out’uh ’ooman’ ap’un, ef Gawd tek notion fuh
knock hunnuh een de head, eeduhso pit hoe een you
han’ fuh knock grass, hog nebbuh haffuh squeal
no mo’, en’ fowl nebbuh haffuh roos’ ’puntop no tree!
Dat hummuch you know ’bout hog!”

Old Ben rallied. ‘“Lookyuh, Nigguh!” he de-
manded of his tormentor. “Uh fuh ketch you een you
own trap. Ef Uh so ’f’aid fuh go close me gran’-
daddy’ grabe, lukkuh you say, en’ Uh ’f’aid’um fuh
true, how me fuh ketch dem hog wuh feed een Nig-
guh-buryin’-groun’? Ansuh me dat!”

“Yaas, Uh fuh ansuh you; Uh know berry well
you ent fuh walk close da’ grabe, Uh dunkyuh
how fat de hog stan’, but dem swamp-w’iteoak
‘pun de dam, stan’ outside de grabeyaa’d, en’ ’e
dey close’um too, enty? En’ ef you buy da’ piece’uh
groun’ wuh you duh hankuh attuh, enty you kin
pit two-t’ree quawt uh cawn een you knabsack, en’
cross Mas’ Rafe’ pinelan’ to Cotton Hill, en’ gone
down by de Redtrunk, en’ sneak down de ole dam
to de w’iteoak tree, en’ mek you pen onduhneet’um,
en’ trail some de cawn fuh toll de hog to de trap,
en’ t’row de t’odduh cawn een de pen? Den, all you
got fuh do iz fuh set you deadfall, en’ tek you two
foot en’ gone back home fuh hab da’ praise-meetin’
wid you chu’ch sistuh en’ t’ing. Duh mawnin’, soon,

12>THE QUEST OF THE LAND

you fuh tek you axe

 

axe bettuh mo’nuh gun,
‘cause him ent hab no woice

 

en’ gone back to you
trap. Ef Gawd bin yeddy you pray, en’ ansuhr’um,
you fuh fin’ de Buckruh’ hog een you pen, enty?
Berrywell. Knock’um een ’e head, pit’?um een you
bag, en’ gone ’bout you bidness. No use fuh git
ketch. Rain fuh wash’out you track, ’cause Gawd
duh watch obuh you, enty? You duh Him man,
you know. En’, ef Mas’ Rafe chance fuh come ’cross
you trap, him fuh s’pishun some dem po’-buckruh
wuh lib to Beech, eeduhso to Moss Hill, mek’um fuh
ketch tuckrey.”

There was both laughter and surprise among
the Negroes at this frank revelation of the tech-
nique of the dusky brotherhood of rievers, but the
Captain, knowing every cow-path on the planta-
tion, and every twisting pig-path in the Negro mind,
was confirmed only in what he already knew, and
jokingly urged Lester to yield to Ben’s entreaties
and establish him near the Oak Lawn line, where,
with certain other known pig-thieves, he would be
under the Captain’s eye. Old Ben grunted, SEG
Mas’ Rafe, you too commikil,” and subsided.

Then, other claimants for special consideration
put forth special pleas for the allotment of the
tracts their eyes had looked upon and found good.
Some asked to be near the church; others looked to
the fatness of the land alone. Some, gregariously
inclined, wished to group with friends or kindred;
others sought isolated situations where their chick-
ens and their children would not be interfered with

123THE CAPTAIN

by those of near neighbors. About two-thirds of
the Mitchell tract was wooded, the remainder arable
upland and abandoned ricefields. As each of the
forty Negroes wished both arable upland and rice
land, with an allotment of timbered land sufficient
for building material, fencing, and fuel, and wanted
them all together in one body, while a distance of
a mile separated the heavily timbered area from the
ricefield, the Reverend Flood was confronted with a
situation demanding the Loaves and Fishes of the
Lord! So, having reached an impasse after several
hours of profitless discussion of differences that
could in no way be composed, Lester adjourned the
meeting until the following morning, admonishing
the men that unless, in a spirit of give and take,
they could get together, the plat would be returned
to the factor in Charleston, and the sale of the
Mitchell place abandoned. And the forty—’’so many
men, sO many minds’—went their ways. Their
minds met upon the following day—but that’s an-
other story.THE LAND IN SIGHT

The Captain’s nephew, who, without field experi-
ence and but limited knowledge of surveying, had
undertaken the sub-division of the Mitchell planta-
tion into forty-odd tracts for forty-odd Negroes, in
December, 1873, took the plat home with many
misgivings. His own professional limitations, tho’
great, could in some way be overcome, but Negro
psychology had to be reckoned with. Forty land-
hungry Negroes were buying land. Each of the
forty had looked covetously upon certain choice por-
tions of the tract which, with entire disregard of
the equally strong claims of the thirty-nine, he
demanded for himself. The Rev. Lester Flood,
agent of the Charleston factor, having sought in
vain to bring the men to a reasonable state of mind,
had, after hours of wrangling, adjourned the meet-
ing until the following morning, promising that, if
they could not then modify their individual aspi-
rations and find a common ground for compromise,
the land would be withdrawn from sale and their
hopes of presently acquiring real estate would van-
ish.

So the young surveyor, realizing that whatever
light should illumine the forty minds upon the mor-
row would have to come from the Captain and him-
self, began seriously to think a way thro’ the darkest
Africa that encompassed him. Out of the dark-
ness came, like a flash, an inspiration that solved
his own problem and gave hope of lining up the

125THE CAPTAIN

Negroes along rectangular lines. A close examina-
tion of the plat, over which he quickly ran his in-
struments, showed that, save for a sharp triangle
of pineland adjoining the Oak Lawn plantation, the
Mitchell tract was an almost perfect square, with
a wave line only where it followed the winding
course of Penny Creek, its Western boundary. The
youth, who had dreaded the task of measuring and
fitting together the irregular patchwork of forty
territorial conceptions, saw how beautifully the plat
would lend itself to checkerboard treatment. Why
shouldn’t the tract be run off in ten-acre squares,
each of them numbered? The Negroes were buying
in parcels of ten to thirty acres. Why couldn’t
they be induced to select one, two, or three lots by
numbers from the checkerboard, before actually
entering upon the land itself? It was worth try-
ing, and with compass, square and ruler, he platted
a checkerboard of generous proportions, whose
squares were numbered from one to eighty, inclu-
sive, the seventy-five-acre triangle being left for
separate treatment. Having made his plan and
made his plat, the young surveyor took thought how
to synchronize the forty minds into their accept-
human nature,

 

ance. Knowing Negro nature
after all—he believed they needed, like hesitant chil-
dren, to have their minds made up for them, and,
once brought to regard the numbered squares of
the checkerboard plat as a writ irrevocable, they
would accept its benefits gratefully, and its hard-
ships philosophically, as the will of the Lord. Upon

126THE LAND IN SIGHT

that acceptance depended not only the simplified
survey, but the sale of the plantation, for the two
were inextricably tied together, and, with the Cap-
tain’s assistance, he hoped to reach the mind of
Africa upon the following morning.

When the Captain and the surveyor reached the
rendezvous the Negroes had already assembled, and
Lester’s troubles were augmented by the presence
of several women, some of the men having brought
their wives along to strengthen their claims upon the
Reverend’s consideration.

The most intelligent and energetic of the “Savage”
Negroes were the two Chisholm brothers, Sam and
John, and, having been the most active in organ-
izing the colonization of the Mitchell tract from the
Kinzie King plantation, they spoke with authority
in directing the migration. Through the exercise
of this authority, the Captain and the Surveyor
hoped to put through the checkerboard project, and
before coming to the meeting, they had mapped
out a plan of campaign.

Sam Chisholm, the elder brother, was a fluent and
convincing talker, and a slight stammer made his
speech more effective. Something of a sea-lawyer
on the plantation, he was always ready for argu-
ment, tho’ talk never interfered with his work.
John, the younger, was a quiet, dignified man, and
the two brothers were among the most expert axe-
men and ditchers in the community.

Sam and John had married, during slavery, two
sisters, capable, self-respecting women, fine hands,

127THE CAPTAIN

and noted cotton-pickers. A third brother had
taken a third sister to wife, but in the spring of
1865, while Sherman was yet on his way to the sea,
this brother, believing imitation to be “the sin-
cerest flattery,” burned a few barns and smoke-
houses, as a practical expression of his gratitude
for freedom; but when the spoilers left the neighbor-
hood—all they did leave—the barn-burner was
promptly caught by the “Po’-Buckruh” Regulators
and hanged, for a great General—now long en-
trenched “on Fame’s eternal camping ground’—
could take liberties with the torch that would never
be permitted a lowly freedman! The departed

 

 

brother left a plump, even-tempered widow, Emma,
who in time became the spouse of old Cato
Giles, and a son, Sike, a fat, black boy who
grew to manhood slowly and slothfully under old
Cato’s roof, and under many reminders of his
worthlessness. Sam took his brother’s ignominious
death much to heart, and to the end of his days,
the name “Po’-Buckruh” was as poison to his soul.

The wives of the Chisholm brothers had another
sister, Margaret, the eldest of the four, whom, long
before the war, Simon Jenkins, slave on the same
plantation, had married. Simon was slippery—the
freedmen in the neighborhood called him “‘Okra’’—
and his light-fingered propensities were known to
his fellows under slavery but were held lightly
against him, for slaves had little to lose, and he who
helped himself from his master’s store was held
as free from fault as the mule that, “laying by” his

128THE LAND IN SIGHT

master’s corn, bites a few mouthfuls of blades as
he threads the rustling rows. But Simon’s status
changed with freedom, for, much or little, freedmen
had property, and property had rights, and Simon,
the “squerril’-hunter was, all the days of him, a
menace to the property rights of others; so, altho’
a good worker, when he worked, he was regarded
on the Savage plantation as a liability rather than
an asset, while as to the Mitchell colony presently
under consideration, not even his brothers-in-law
eared to locate too near him. ‘Uh yent hab no fau’t
to fin’ wid Maa’gret. Him en’ my wife is two sis-
tuh, but Buh Simon’ eye too keen, en’ ’e foot walk
too saaf’, fuh me fuh lib close’um. Bredduh-law iz
bredduh-law, fuh true, but fowl iz fowl, en’ hog
is hog, enty? Berrywell.”

So, when the Chisholm brothers were called aside
for consultation with the white men, the “squerril’’-
hunter was not among the conferees.

“Now, Sam,” said the Captain, “you and John
are both sensible, level-headed men, aren’t you?”

“YVaas, Mas’ Rafe, I believe so, suh.”’

“Very good. Now, you know very well that if
you turn these fellows loose on the Mitchell place
and let each man pick and choose for himself, at
the end of the month each man would have his hands
full of the other fellow’s wool, and that’d be all he
would have.”

“You’re right, suh. You’re egzac’ly right. Ef
you tu’n’um loose fuh pick en’ choose, nobody fuh
sattify.”

129THE CAPTAIN

“Well, then, Lester has told you that if you don’t
get together today he’ll send the plat back to town
and you’ll lose your chance to buy the place. Now,
you and John are the leaders among your people and
whatever you tell them to do they’ll do. You know,
only a few of you have learned how to think for
yourselves since freedom, and the others need
somebody to help them make up their minds, and
the responsibility for that help rests upon men
like John and yourself. The Surveyor has worked
out a plan which seems to me the only plan for di-
viding the Mitchell place. Let him explain it to you,
and remember to make them understand that none
of you is going to get just what he wants. Each
man will have to give up something, or he will end
by getting nothing.”

“Dat’s so, suh,” the brothers promptly agreed.

The Surveyor, full of his scheme, spread the plat
on a big stump, weighted down the corners with
chips, and, with the help of the old plat, indicated
approximately, the area and location of the three
classes—arable upland, timbered land, and ricefields
and set forth to the attentive listeners the merits
of his plan, explaining the great advantage for Ne-
groes—now owning land for the first time—of hav-
ing straight and clearly defined boundary lines, thus
minimizing the inevitable squabbles and disputes.
Then, too, the rectangular tracts would simplify the
fencing problems, by permitting the construction of
party fences by the land-owners and their nearest
neighbors. Those who wished to buy ten, twenty,

 

 

 

130THE LAND IN SIGHT

or thirty acres had only to select one, two, or three
of the ten-acre squares lying together. Those who
wished fifteen, twenty-five, or thirty-five acres,
could take one and a half, two and a half, or three
and a half squares, but the squares, if divided at
all, must be halved, for five acres had been arbitra-
rily fixed by the Surveyor as the unit of measure-
ment. It was all very simple, and its simplicity
appealed to the intelligent Negroes, who, knowing
their own people, realized the advantage of putting
before them a definite plan, saying: ‘Your line runs
there, your corner post goes here. Take it or leave
it,” and forthwith cutting off all debate. So, the
Chisholms promptly accepted the checkerboard con-
ception as scientifically sound and psychologically
astute. They were concerned, however, about how
to satisfy each man’s desire for rice-land, upland,
and timbered land. Of rice-land there was little
enough, sufficient only for an allotment of five acres
each to ten or fifteen families, and this, as the Sur-
veyor advised, should be assigned to those who had
no swampy spots in their wooded tracts upon which
upland-rice could be grown. It was further recom-
mended that the rice-lands should be taken over by
those who were well disposed toward one another,
for the planting, the cultivation, and the flooding
of the fields, at least as far as each “square” was
concerned, was a matter of communal agreement, as
the keeping up of dams and “trunks” was one for
communal effort, for if one man elected to plant in
March or April, and a brother in the same square

131THE CAPTAIN

chose for his seed-time ‘‘the leafy month of June,”
an opened sluice-gate might turn the wine-colored
waters of Penny Creek into a harvest-flow for the
early planter, while the midsummer laggard would
hardly be ready for the stretch-flow.

These points the brothers quickly saw and, the
rice-fields out of the way, the youth, full of enthusi-
asm, laid before the shrewd tho’ “untutored mind”
of Sam, a plan for the equitable apportionment of
the upland.

“To begin with, there’s only enough open land,
counting broomgrass fields, myrtle thickets, and all,
to supply eight or ten of you. The others will have
to take wooded land and clear whatever is needed
for planting. Some of the squares on this plat
have both open land and wooded land, and those who
get these plots will have all they want; but a few
others will have only open land, with no timber for
house or fencing, and no wood to burn. Now, by
dividing that long wedge of pineland next to Oak
Lawn into five or ten acre lots, the 75 acres will
give the open-land men all the timber they want.
Of course, the open-land man will have the trouble
of going some distance away for his house material,
fencing, and firewood, but he will have plenty of
time to do that, for he will have no woods to cut
down, and, all his land being open, he can plant
twice as much as the man who has to clear new
ground, and can afford to keep a horse, or mule, or
ox, to do his own plowing and help out his neigh-
bors who have none. So much for the man whoTHE LAND IN SIGHT

gets the cleared land. What does the other fellow
get? Most of you will be the other fellow, because
there’s more wooded land on the Mitchell tract than
anything else.

“First of all, he gets, right at his door, poles and
sills and joists and rafters and shingles for his
house, and clapboards for his yard fence, and fire-
wood. Of course, he has to cut down trees and clean
up his land, but at the same time he is providing
himself with fencing and building material. He
need only clear his land a little at a time, as he
finds it most convenient, and every acre of new
ground that he clears is worth two acres of the
old worn-out land that darkies have been abusing
ever since the War, and in two or three years
the man with the timber land will have cleared all
he needs for planting, and his little farm will be
laid out just to suit him, because he will have done
it all himself. He will have so many acres in woods,
so many acres cleared for corn and cotton and peas
and potatoes, and maybe a piece of low-ground for
a patch of upland rice, and all in one body, right
under hand. So, you see, things are pretty evenly
balanced between the man who gets the open land
and the man who gets the wood land, but if either of
them has the advantage, it’s the fellow that takes
the woods.”

“Dat’s so, dat’s so, suh! I see de pint. De man
wuh ’f’aid fuh tek de woods lan’ ent know wuh ’e
duh talk ’bout. I see de p’int.”

13:

»
)THE CAPTAIN

“Well. then, Sam, it’s up to you two to tell them
what to do. Make them understand that this thing
is settled. The plat has been made and all the lots
are numbered. A man can take whole lots or half
lots—nothing else. As soon as you agree among
yourselves which numbers each man will take, the
land will be surveyed by this plat, and wherever
the corner falls each man will put down his own
corner post, which the surveyor will mark for him,
and that will be the law.”

“VYaas, suh, we onduhstan’, suh,’” and the four
benevolent conspirators—conspiring only that they
might more efficiently serve their fellowman—re-
turned to the buzzing group around Lester, a group
whose hum was now pitched a tone or two higher
up the treble clef since the inclusion of the women’s
voices.

Those who have listened to the arguments of in-
telligent Negroes in their political conventions or
club meetings—even in the rough-and-tumble dis-
cussions at the railway station or the Cross-roads
—have marveled at their aptitude for quickly catch-
ing up the thoughts or expressions of influential or
prominent white men, changing them to serve their
turn, and putting them forth as the improvisations
of the moment. So, Sam, in whose eyes the young
Surveyor had risen tremendously since his presen-
tation of a practical plan, quickly adopted the plan
as his own and, without ceremony, proceeded forth-
with to ram it down the throats of his compatriots.
And, from time to time, as is the way of Negro ora-

134THE LAND IN SIGHT

tors when there is a white man about, he turned to
the receptive pair upon the log for a nod of ap-
proval of the plan, which, with much elaboration,
he unfolded before his auditors, white and black.
“Mens,” he said, “all you mens, liss’n good. Dis
mek de two day we bin t’row’way de Reb’ren’ time,
de suhweyuh’ time, en’ we own time, en’ none uh
we hab time fuh t’row’way. We iz free now, en’
free man haffuh wu’k fuh ’eself.”’

‘““Yaas, man we free fuh true, en’ free man haffuh
wu’k fuh ’eself.”

“Berrywell. Now, befo’ de suhweyuh come, en
befo’ de Reb’ren’ git de plat frum town, all we man
wuh know how de Mitchell place stan’ binnuh pick
en’ choose een we min’ ’bout weh we lan’ fuh fall
w’en we gitt’um, but pick en’ choose een we min’,
en’ pick en’ choose wid we han’, stan’ diff’unt, enty ?”

“°E stan’ diff’unt, fuh true.”

“En’ you know w’y ’e diff’unt? Lemme tell you.
"E diff’unt ’cause ebb’rybody kin pick wid ’e min’,

,

but only one somebody kin pick wid ’e han’. You
see uh smaa’t lookin’ gal gwine down de big road.
De gal look so keen, ef you ent got wife you fuh
say ‘Uh lub da’ gal. Uh gwine hab’um fuh wife.’
But da’ duh you min’ duh talk, enty? En’ t’ree-fo’
odduh man shum duh big road, en’ dem all lub’um
same fashi’n lukkuh you—een dem min’—. Bum-
bye, one de man fuh ketch de gal een ’e han’ en’
tek’um een ’e house fuh wife. Plenty man kin hab
de gal een ’e min’, but only one kin hab’um een ’e
house, enty ?”

135THE CAPTAIN

?

“Yaas. bubbuh! Only one kin hab’um een e

house.”

‘Berrywell. ’E stan’ same way ’bout dis Mitchell
place. Ebb’ry man pick out ’e own piece uh groun’
een ’e min’, en’ nebbuh study "bout nobody else, but
ef dat groun’ ’e min’ pick out stan’ lukkuh da’ keen
lookin’ gal een de big road, you kin mek sho’ t’ree-
fo’ odduh man done pitch dem min’ ’pun da’ same
spot wuh you bin choose. Now, w’en you fetch you
money en’ ax de Reb’ren’ fuh cut off da’ groun’ en’
pit’'um een you han’, an’ all dem t’?odduh man fetch
dem money en’ ax’um fuh pit de same groun’ een
dem’own, wuh him fuh do? You know de parable
’hout de loave en’ de fish, ’cause Uh bin yeddy Pa
Lester preach ’bout’um; how our Mastuh tek da’
leely bit uh bittle een His han’ en’ feed de multichude
so dey shall not be hongry no mo’, but de Reb’ren’
iz only de saa’bunt ub our Mastuh, en’ ’e haffuh tek
de lan’ jis’ ez ’e come frum de han’ uh de Lawd
wuh mek de sea en’ de dry lan’, alltwo. En’ de
sea en’ de dry lan’ wuh de Mastuh mek, ’e yent fuh
change, enty?”

“No, man! ’E yent fuh change! Gawd mek’um.
Le’m stay dey.”

Berrywell. Now, Penny Crik en’ da’ rice lan’
wuh dey close’um, duh de sea, enty? En’ da’ high
pinelan’ duh de dry lan’?”

“Now you duh talk’um!”’

“Well, same way Gawd mek’um en’ leff’um, dat
same way man haffuh tek’um, ’cep’ him gwine
leff’'um, en’, oonuh mens, ef you fool ’nuf fuh

136THE LAND IN SIGHT

leff’'um dis time, you chance nebbuh come no mo’.
En’ all uh we wuh yent sattify fuh tek’um ez ’e
come—tricefiel’, broomgrass, eeduhso pinelan’—we
duh ’spute de Lawd, enty? En’ man ent fuh do
dat.”

“No, me Jedus! Man ent fuh do dat!’’

The chorus of approval from men and women
showed that Sam was having things his own way;
too much so to please old Ben Summers, who broke
in with a surly interruption. ‘Hol’ on, Chizzum!
Wuh dat you duh say ’bout Gawd ent fuh ’spute?
You duh tek Him ’t’oruhty ’puntop yo’self, enty?
Him tell you fuh talk fuh Him ’bout pinelan’ en’
ricefiel’? Him tell you fuh pick out my groun’?
Enty Uh got me two eye fuh choose’um fuh meself ?”

“You got eye fuh true, budduh. You got
berry good eye fuh see hog’ track en’ ’ooman’
track, alltwo. All oonuh sanctify man wuh staa’t
fuh preach sence freedom stan’ same fashi’n. De
Lawd’ name fuhrebbuh dey ’puntop you mout’, but
ef you look eenside’um, de holluh een you jaw teet’
full’up wid de po’ sinnuh’ hog meat! Duh so ’e
yiz. Sinnuh fuhrebbuh haffuh wu’k haa’d fuh feed
de sanctify man.”

‘“‘Ai-ai, Buh Ben! ’E git you dat time!”

“Who, me? Shuh! ’E nebbuh git nutt’n’! ’E
git me bex, da’ all ’e git, en’ Uh bex ’cause all oonuh
man stan’ dey duh gaze ’puntop Chizzum jis’ ’cause
’e lub fuh talk. En’ all wuh ’e say oonuh swal-
luhr’um sukkuh nyung mockin’bu’d swalluh wur-
rum! En’ nobody nebbuh say nutt’n’, ’cep’ fuh

137THE CAPTAIN

praise’um, en’ nobody nebbuh ’spute’um, ’cep’ me,
one! You yeddy’um talk ’bout how Gawd mek de
sea en’ de dry lan’, en’ pit’um een shish en’ shish uh
place, en’ w’en Him pit’um dey ’e fuh stay dey. Den,
fus’ t’ing you know, ’e tek da’ sea en’ ’e fetch’um
down yuh en’ ’e t’row’um een Penny Crik en’ Mitch-
ell ricefiel’, en’ da’ dry lan’, ’e pit him ’puntop da’
high groun’ close Mas’ Rafe’ line. Uh know berry-
well Gawd mek’um, en’ leff’um dey, but w’en Him
do dat, ’E done!

“Wuh Him got fuh do wid’um now? Him fuh
buy groun’ fuh gimme? No, suh! Uh haffuh run
me han’ een me own britchiz pocket, eeduhso een de
’7ooman’ killybash, fuh git money fuh buy’um fuh
meself. Uh bin yeddy ’bout da’ fawty acre en’ da’
mule, wuh de Nyankee en’ de Freedmun Bruro bin
prommus we, but Uh yent shum yet, en’ Uh ’spec’
Uh nebbuh yiz fuh shum! Man haffuh ’pen’ ’pun
’eself en’, w’en ’e do dat, nobody kin pick en’ choose
fuhr’um. Uh gwine een da’ ’ood, en’ Uh gwine pick
out me t’irty acre. Uh fuh pick lan’ wuh hab hick’ry
tree en’ dogwood ’pun’um, ’cause da’ duh strong
groun’, enty? Den, Uh fuh git de Suhweyuh fuh
run’um off fuh suit, en’ w’en him gimme de fo’
cawnuh, Uh fuh cut me stake en’ tek me axe en’
dribe’um down, en’ dem stake fuh stay dey ’tel
Jedgment day—’cep’ fiah bu’n’um off. No Nigguh
nebbuh fuh root’um up!”

“Yaas, Nigguh yiz fuh root’um up! Me duh
de man fuh root’um up out you skull, en’ Uh fuh
do’um now! En’ same time Uh fuh root’um out’uh

138THE LAND IN SIGHT

all de t’odduh man’ skull wuh hab ‘pick en’ choose’
een dem min’. Dishyuh plat wuh Uh got een me
han’ done mek. You yeddy? ’H done mek! ’Stead-
-uh run out de groun’ fus’, en’ mek de plat fuh fol-
luh de groun’, lukkuh dem befo’-de-wah Suhweyuh
bin do, we Suhweyuh mek de plat fus’, en’ now
him fuh run out de groun’ fuh suit de plat, enty?
Dat ’cause Pa Lester pick we uh smaa’t Suhweyuh,
enty? Now, ebb’ry one uh deseyuh plot wuh him
pit ’*pun de plat hab ten acre; ef you cutt’um een
half, him fuh hab fibe. You cyan’ gitt’um no odduh
way. So, now, all we mens haffuh do iz fuh leh
de Suhweyuh show we how de number stan’ ’pun
ebb’ry one de plot, den, attuh ebb’ry man pick out
him’own, de Suhweyuh fuh pit de man’ name ’pun-
top’um, en’ den, attuh ’e done pit ’e money fuh de
groun’ een de Reb’ren’ han’, de Suhweyuh fuh tek
’e chain en’ t’ing, en’ gone duh ’ood en’ run out ebb’ry
man’ groun’ fuh match de man’ number ’puntop de
plat. Onduhstan’?”’

Everybody—even old Ben—understood Sam’s
vehement ultimatum, and his novel plan was ac-
cepted enthusiastically, for the poor darkies were
glad to be relieved of the trouble of making up their
own minds. The meeting adjourned until the next
day. How well the plan worked will be told in
another story.THE LAND ON PAPER

Early next morning the Captain and the young
Surveyor met the prospective Negro colonists of the
Mitchell tract at the corner of the “Landing Road,”
the thoroughfare running from the ante-bellum
“Public Landing” on Penny Creek to the King’s
Highway, which it entered at the corner of the
“orchard field,” a point midway between the Oak
Lawn avenue and King’s Gate. Altho’ this road
for the greater part of its two miles traversed
the Mitchell tract, and altho’ the landing was on
Mitchell land, it was, as its name implies, public—
free to all comers, by sloop or barge or flat.

Here in the old days planters who were within
easy hauling distance brought their plantation sup-
plies from Charleston in small sailing vessels, which
took return cargoes of rice and Sea-Island cotton.
Here, too, came before, even during the first year or
two of, the Confederate War, the fine sloop Cheeha,
built by the author of Carolina Sports to carry his
crops to market, and for intercommunication
among his plantations lying along the tidal waters
of the coast country—a great convenience, for along
these waterways the sloop could supply the deficien-
cies of one plantation from the surplus of another,
fifty miles away. If a drought cut short the corn
crop on Hilton Head, or Parris Island, a thousand
bushels could be quickly and cheaply transferred
from the full granaries of ‘Social Hall” or “the
Bluff.” Perhaps ‘The Yankees’—or the Confed-

141THE CAPTAIN

erate government—got the sloop later in the war,
but her last voyage to Pon-Pon was during the
second year of the Confederacy, when, with a cargo
of brick from the brick-kiln at Social Hall Landing
on the Cheeha river, she came to the Public Land-
ing on Penny Creek, and Edward, her stout brown
skipper, came to Oak Lawn to report her arrival to
his old master.

Edward and his crew of three sleek, lusty fel-
lows were always pampered, their fellow slaves
averred, because their master loved the sea, and
they swaggered mightily whenever they came
among the black folk of the inland plantation.
What Conrad tales they must have told at the
quarters! Tales of the salt seas that lay between
the Stono and Dawfuskie Island! Of Wappoo Cut
and the Dawhoo, of Brickyard and Skull Creek, and
of the rough waters of Port Royal! Of the snaky
winding, like the brook

 

course of the Cheeha
Meander, the treacherous sands and perilous cross-
currents of St. Helena sound and the dreaded Cali-
bogue!—bogy of all mariners who essayed the In-
land Passage! But, however large big Edward
loomed in the eyes of his fellow slaves, he seemed
indeed a mighty man of his hands to the little Con-
federates of four and five years, who “stood by”
to hear the sailorman spin the yarn of his last
voyage. They had not then heard of “Blackbeard,”
nor even of Stede Bonnet, and they hung upon
Edward’s words as, cap in hand, he stood, sailor-
fashion, feet wide apart as if steadying himself

142THE LAND ON PAPER

on a slanting deck, and made his report. How the
old master’s pulses must have throbbed as he heard
once more of the flowing waters where lurked chan-
nel bass and drum, of the broad sweep of the inlet
where, undisturbed save by the thunders of the
blockading squadron, the mighty devil-fish still
leapt! The old master was soon to cross the bar
on “such a tide as, moving, seems asleep,” and “put
out to sea,’ but in the memory of one little Con-
federate, upon whose tides of thought countless
dream-ships have come up out of the mist, and into
the mists have vanished, big Edward still walks
the gently heaving deck, and watches the swell-
ing sails of the sloop Cheeha as she stands forth
bravely among them!

At a point on the Landing Road, where, nearby
in the high pineland, the Oak Lawn and the Mitch-
ell tracts “cornered,” Lester and his crowd had
gathered when the white men came up. Here, with
the Mitchell land actually under foot, the checker-
board plat was spread once more on a big stump,
and the would-be landholders—like the little peoples
—gathered ’round to express “self-determination”’
upon what had largely been determined for
them in advance! The first three ten-acre plots
in the high pineland, desirable because they touched
the Oak Lawn land, and were near the “big road’
and the church, were, at their request, awarded to
Dick Pinckney and his smart wife Nancy, the best
disposed and least contentious Negroes in the colony.
Not until the Surveyor had penciled Dick’s name

143THE CAPTAIN

upon the chosen sections, did the greedier Negroes
seem to realize that the mildest-mannered and least
assertive among them had secured a very choice
allotment. ‘“Lookyuh, Pinckney! Hukkuh you
chance fuh git shishuh good groun’ lukkuh dat?
You nebbuh quaw!] ’bout’um, you nebbuh ’spute, nuh
nutt’n’! You jis’ pick’um out, en’ ax fuhr’um, en’
gitt’um. Nobody nebbuh crack ’e teet’, ‘cep’ fuh
say: ‘Berrywell, Buh Dick, tek’um ef you want’um,
tek’um.’ W’en my time come fuh pick groun’, Uh
fuh do same fashi’n, en’ w’en de Suhweyuh pit my
name ’puntop de plat, Uh yent fuh yeddy no Nigguh
gyaap ’e mout’ fuh say ‘tek’um off.’ Ebb’rybody fuh
say ‘tek’um, man, tek’um.’ All you Nigguh fuh
’membuh dat!”

“Uh git me groun’,” said the quiet Dick, “Uh
git me groun’ ’cawd’n’ to me mannus. Ef man hab
mannus, en’ nebbuh bodduh nobody, den nobody
fuh bodduh him, en’ ’e mannus fuh cya’um t’ru,
enty ?”

“Dat’s so,” and there was general verbal acquies-
cence in the efficacy of the “‘suaviter in modo,” what-
ever may have been in the back of their heads in
respect to the “fortiter in re.”

As the head-men of the tribe—now on foot and
moving into the land of Egypt—the Chisholm broth-
ers, Sam and John, were conceded the right to locate
wherever they pleased, and it pleased them to take
up between them six sections lying on both sides
of the Willtown Road—trich land, having both open
and wooded areas. The ricefield was not very far

 

144THE LAND ON PAPER

away, and here they each bespoke five acres. There
were other rich squares of high land lying next to
the Chisholms, and upon some of these Slippery
Simon, asserting the rights of a brother-in-law,
sought to locate, but the other Negroes, willing
enough to give way to the leaders, drew the line
at old Okra, for not only did they begrudge him fat
land but they knew his propinquity would be peril-
ous to the livestock of his in-laws. So there was
prompt and vehement protest. ‘‘Wuffuh you haf-
fuh lib close Chizzum?” he was asked. “You eat
een him house? You wu’k een him fiel’? Wuh
you got fuh do wid’um?”

“Enty we is bredduh-law? Chizzum’ wife en’
Maa’gret is two tittuh, enty?”

“Tittuh fuh true. But Uh dunkyuh ef ’e yiz.
Ef uh man’ wife hab ten tittuh, en’ ebb’ry one de
tittuh hab man, en’ ebb’ry one de man hab house,
him fuh lib close’um all, ’cause him iz bredduh-law,
enty? Hukkuh you happ’n fuh pick Chizzum fuh
bredduh-law ?”

“Who, me? Me nebbuh pick’um, him pick me!
Enty you know Uh bin hab Maa’gret fuh wife spang
back een slabery time? W’en Uh bin hab’um fus’,
him tittuh, wuh Chizzum en’ dem hab fuh wife, bin
leely gal; dem head quile up wid plait, ’tel ’e stan’
sukkuh deseyuh black wurrum! En’ dem bin leely
chillun-gal w’en my daa’tuh Riah bin bawn, en’ Uh
’membuh berry well w’en de gal bawn, ’cause da’
same yeah Maussuh cut down new-groun’, en’ w’en
de man tek axe en’ t’row down dem hebby loblolly

145THE CAPTAIN

pine wuh grow close de bay-gall, mos’ ebb’ry one
de tree hab fox-squerril nes’ een’um. All-time de
axe duh knock de tree, de squerril nebbuh moobe.
Ef ’e yent quile up close een ’e nes’, him fuh leddown
flat een de crotch, en’ ’e nebbuh study ’bout de axe,
‘cause ’e t’ink de man duh knock de tree fuh mek’um
jump off, en’ de mo’ strong de axe knock de tree,
de mo’ tight de squerril’ toenail fuh jam een de
baa’k. Da’ squerril fuh hol’ ’e holt fuh who las’
de longes’! Bumbye, de loblolly biggin fuh groan,
en’ ’e lean fuh drap. Da’ de time squerril git on-
easy. ’E say to ’eself, ‘Eh, eh! Uh lub fuh ride,
but dishyuh t’ing ride me too fas’, enty?’ En’ ’e
look fuh place fuh jump, but de groun’ rise fuh
meet’um so swif’, ’e ’f’aid fuh leggo de tree, en’ ’e
claw dig een’um mo’ tightuh, en’ ’e nebbuh loose’um
’tel de tree hit de groun’ ‘brim!’ en’ ef squerril ent
dead, ’e tek ’e foot een ’e han’, en’ gone, ’tel him fin’
annoduh tree. But, sometime, ’e dead, ’cause de
tree kill’um, en’ w’en ’e yiz, we man tek’um home
en’ eat’um. Uh lub fuh eat’um, too, but de only
chance we bin hab fuh gitt’um den iz w’en tree
drap ’puntop’um, ’cause een dem time Nigguh yent
fuh tote no gun. But now, sence Uh free, t’engk-
gawd, Uh got me muskick een me han’ w’enebbuh
Uh gone duh paat’, eeduhso duh ’ood, en’ ef any
fox-squerril wabe ’e tail befo’ me, w’en ole Betsy
speak, Uh dunkyuh how high de tree stan’, da’
squerril fuh drap!”’

“Yaas, Buh Okra, da’ ole muskick wuh you got,

146THE LAND ON PAPER

shoot strong, fuh true, but dem squerril wuh you
shoot wid’um lib ’puntop de groun’, enty?”

“Some time Uh shoot’um ’pun de groun’ befo’ ’e
git chance fuh climb tree, but ’nodduh time Uh fuh
drap’um out de berry tree-top.”

“Hukkuh hog fuh climb tree? Uh bin yeddy
*bout da’ gang uh hog een de Scriptuh, wuh git de
debble een’um, en’ run spang Willtown bluff en’
jump off een de sea, but Uh nebbuh yeddy ’bout
none fuh climb no loblolly tree! En’ dem squerril
wuh ole Betsy drap hab snout fuh root een de du’t,
enty? En’ ’e tail shawt, en’
you shoot’um ’e yent hab fudduh fuh fall, ’e jis’

’

e quile tight, en’ w’en

tu’n obuh ’pun de du’t fuh dead. En’ you nebbuh
fuh skin da’ squerril wuh ole Betsy drap! No, man!
Ef ’e leetle, you fuh swinge’um, sukkuh ’possum, en’
ef ’e stan’ big, you fuh git hot watuh en’ scal’um
fuh git de bristle off da’ squerril, enty? En’ w’en
you done clean’um en’ cutt’um up, you fuh git ham
en gham en’ flitch out da’ squerril, enty? ’Cause
dem squerril wuh ole Betsy fetch you, dem done fuh
fat!’’

“Who, me? Wuh dat you say ’bout hog? W’en
you ebbuh see me shoot hog? You ebbuh ketch me?”

“No, Budduh, nobody nebbuh ketch you. You too
slipp’ry fuh git ketch. Da’ mekso dem fuh call you
Okra. But w’en somebody yeddy you gun shoot duh
‘ood, ef de somebody walk close you house duh night
time w’en you wife duh cook, him fuh yeddy da’ fat
meat sing een de pan, en’ de t’ing call hog’ name
same ez ef you bin yeddy’um squeal! But, ef you

147THE CAPTAIN

yiz bin ketch dead squerril een slabery time, en’
ef you wife’ daa’tuh yiz bin big gal befo’ de Nyankee
come, hukkuh dat fuh gi’ you prib’lidge fuh buy
groun’ close Chizzum? Fus’ t’ing you know, you
fuh say you haffuh lib close’um ’cause ti’ Maa’gret
hab teet’ache duh night time!”

“Hukkuh you know dat? Maa’gret hab teet’ache
fuh true! Enty Uh haffuh gone Chizzum’ house
middlenight t’odduh night fuh baig ’e tittuh fuh
gimme some painkilluh fuh pit een’um? Da’ duh one
de reaz’n Uh wan’ lib close’um.”” But his arguments
availed him nothing, and as the Captain remembered
a group of tall shortleaf pines on the Landing Road,
where wild turkeys sometimes roosted, and jocularly
suggested them as equally good for fox squirrels,
Simon agreed, and got a far better piece of land
than he deserved.

All through the day the reverend agent, the Cap-
tain, and the young “Suhweyuh,” knowing better
than the Negroes themselves the needs of each
individual or family, strove to fit the men to the
land best suited to them. It was not easy todo. As
a small man will not infrequently fix his affections
and his hopes upon the largest woman in sight, so
certain ambitious colonists, weak themselves and
with aged or sickly wives, aspired to take up heavily
wooded sections that they could not have cleared
in a decade, while the heads of other households,
rich in lusty sons and daughters, asked for worn-
out open land, upon which they would have starved
a bit of

 

in idleness. Sometimes a timely joke

148THE LAND ON PAPER

homely philosophy from the Captain, or a word of
sound advice from the level-headed Lester—would
smooth the way to an adjustment, and there were
surprisingly few serious disputes. Now and then
these arose, however, and they were always ag-
gravated by the participation of the gentler sex,
for altho’ nearly fifty years ahead of the 19th
Amendment, there were advanced feminists even
in those days, ladies in whose competent hands the
hoe handle was quite as efficacious as the ballot,
and whenever these gentle disputants entered the
lists—arms akimbo and lethal tongues unleashed—
the skeletons rattled in many a cabin closet and
volumes of hitherto unspoken history came to light!

Out of a feminine group on the fringe of the
crowd flared up, without warning, a dispute be-
tween two young women, who—years before Reno
—had achieved an “off agin, on agin” facility in
respect to marital relations that would have done
no discredit to a Smart-Set New Yorker of today.

“You talk me?”

‘““Yaas, Uh talk you.”

“Wuffuh you talk me?”

“Uh hab mout’, enty?”

“You hab mout’ fuh nyam da’ haa’d hoecake you
juntlemun gi’ you fuh eat. You ent hab’um fuh
call me out me name.”

“Me call you out you name?”

SViaas, youPiz:«

“Wuh me call you? Uh call you Mis’ Manigo.
Da’ duh you name, enty?”
149THE CAPTAIN

 

“No, ’e yent me name.”

‘“W’ymekso ’e yent you name?”

“°F yent me name, ’cause Uh done t’row’way
Manigo, en’ Uh hab anodduh juntlemun.”

“You t’row’um’way attuh him done t’row you ‘way
fus’, enty?”

“Who tell you him bin t’row me ’way fus’?”

“Me tell you suh somebody susso?”’

“Ef nobody nebbuh susso, den you, ’self mus’
be susso?”’

“Ef Uh yiz susso, wuh you gwine do ’bout’um?”

“Wuh me gwine do ’bout’um?”

“VYaas, wuh you gwine do ’bout’um?”’

“Me haffuh tell you wuh Uh gwine do ’bout’um?”

“You ent haffuh tell me, ’cause Uh know berry-
well wuh you gwine do ’bout’um?”

‘“Wuh me gwine do ’bout’um?”’

“You ent gwine do nutt’n’ *bout’um.”’

“Wuffuh you say me yent gwine do nutt’n’
‘bout’um ?”

“’Cause you ent, enty?”

“Who say Uh yent?”

“Me haffuh tell you who say you ent?”

“Yaas, ’cep’ Uh fuh ride you frame.”

“Ride who’ frame? My’own?”

“Yaas, you’own. You t’ink Uh ’f’aid fuh ride
Nigguh’ frame?”
“Who you call Nigguh? Me?”
“Yaas, you! Enty you iz Nigguh?”
“Ef Uh yiz, no Nigguh got prib’lidge fuh susso.”

 

150THE LAND ON PAPER

“W’en Gawd mek you, Him pit da’ black taar
’puntop you so hebby ’tel ebb’ryt’ing wuh stan’
black hab prib’lidge fuh call you Nigguh—crow,
blackbu’d, eb’nso buzzut—’cause you black mo’nuh
all!’

“?Ooman! Gimme you two eyeball! Gimme’um!
Gimme’um!” and Judy Pringle flew in the face
of “Mis’ Manigo” as recklessly as a Fundamentalist
flies in the face of a protoplasm! Only the prompt
intervention of a couple of laughing men, saved the
coveted eyeballs from Judy’s “ten commandments.”

The gust of sudden heat and passion swept the
dusky disputants like the sirocco’s breath, but
swiftly passed away before the laughter that rocked
the crowd, for laughter, the solvent of so many
hard situations, is always on tap in the hearts of
these lowly Negroes. And men whose ears some-
time had burned under tart tongues, whose skins
had been gridironed by the sharp nails of wives
and lady friends, were very willing spectators of
a “Ladies’ Day” event that promised to wound the
hearts and scarify the complexions of even two
of the fiercer sex! So, as the combatants were torn
asunder and put a safe distance apart, the men be-
gan to chaff. “Ki!” said one: “Ti’ Judy hab uh swif’
foot, enty? Him moobe fas’ sukkuh bullet-hawk !
Ef da’ man didn’ bin ketch’um, him woulduh hab
Liz’bet’ two eyeball out ’e head en’ gone!”

“Yaas, man, ’?ooman’ claw duh de debble! ’E yent
hab no sense, en’ ’e yent hab no mannus. W’en de
’ooman bex, him fuh clabbuhclaw ’e sweethaa’t same

151THE CAPTAIN

lukkuh ’e clabbuhclaw ’e own husbun’! ’E chupid
tummuch!”

“Yaas, en’ w’en ’ooman fight ’bout man, de mo’
no-count ’e yiz, de mo’ ’ooman fuh fight obuhr’um.
Ef you see uh man wuh yent wu’t’ ’tel ’e yent hab
no shu’t, da’ man fuh hab two-t’ree ’ooman fuh
folluhr’um. Ef de man hab britchiz, da’ duh all de
’ooman bodduh ’bout!”’

“Yaas, en’ sometime de ’ooman lub de no-’count
man w’en ’e yent got no britchiz. De ’ooman lub’um
jis’ ’cause ’e no-’count. ’Ooman duh we maamy,
you know, en’ w’enebbuh ’e see uh po’-creetuh
kind’uh man wuh yent wu’t’, de ’ooman haffuh maa-
my’um. ’Ooman iz uh cu’yus t’ing, sho’ ez Gawd!”

““’Ooman haffuh lub all de man, den,” said ole
Minda Giles—mother of many sons and daughters
—*’cause wunnuh ebb’ry drat one iz po’-creetuh!”

With this shrewd observation from one who knew
men as the goldfish knows its globe, the sportive
intermission ended, and the business of taking up
lots was resumed.

An hour before sundown the allotment was fin-
ished, and the colonists, who at first regarded the
checkerboard plat doubtfully, now, without excep-
tion, accepted it with enthusiasm, for the India-
inked lines on the fair white sheet, marked plots
that stood four-square to all the winds that blew,
and—on paper—represented a perfect democracy,
promising—like all other democracies on paper—
“Equal rights to all, special privileges to none.”
But, as in life, tomorrow, when their feet should

152THE LAND ON PAPER

touch the ground, some lines would fall in pleasant
places, others among thorns, some would traverse
gently rolling uplands, others, dank and noisome
fens. But that was for tomorrow. For today, at
least, they were all brothers on paper; and, as the
sun dipped, they started for their homes, promis-
ing an early start next morning and full of ex-
citement over what the unrolling of the scroll would
reveal.THE LAND SURVEYED

And now commenced ten days of interesting and
strenuous experiences for the Captain, the Rey-
erend Lester Flood, agent for the Charleston fac-
tor, the forty-odd Negroes who were buying the
Mitchell place through the Reverend Agent, and the
16-year-old Surveyor, who, having drawn a checker-
board plat of the square tract and secured its ac-
ceptance by his patrons, was eager to try out his
novel plan—reversing the regular order—of fitting
the land to the paper, rather than the paper to the
land. And it worked; worked beautifully, for these
poor Negroes, however they jarred and quarreled
among themselves, kept faith with the young sur-
veyor and stuck, with singular fidelity, to the prom-
ises they had made, before seeing the land, to take
the plots marked with their names upon the plat.
It was a lottery, a gamble, but an adventure whose
hazards were accepted in a sportsmanlike spirit.
If the land that fell to them was fat, they chuckled;
if lean, they laughed. Happy the man who can
laugh at himself. Philosophy is not very far away!
But, fat or lean, they kept their word, as many
men in far higher circles have not yet learned to do.

And, before he was through, the youth was to
gain, through the reactions of these primitive minds
to the varied emotions of men, an insight into
character that has since needed only a raising of the
sights to reach the manifestations of minds higher
up. For the cowardly—petulant under disappoint-

155THE CAPTAIN

ment, crumpling under adversity or defeat; the
selfish, the boastful, the exacting, the assertive, the
vain—wear black skins as well as white, as do their
opposites.

As the Surveyor’s fees for the services of his
“ *prentice han’”’ were very small, he required the
Negroes to furnish chain-carriers and pioneers—
axemen—to cut away the underbrush, and “blaze”
the trees along the way; and he chose these relays,
day by day, with respect to the ownership of the
sections to be surveyed, so that each purchaser

.

should be “among those present,” either as pioneer
or chain-carrier, while his own land was _ being
run out. Thus he learned the lines and the corners
of his tract, and could amplify the Surveyor’s marks
upon the line-trees for the exaltation of his own
spirit and the warning away of contiguous neigh-
bors who might be tempted to encroach upon him.
“Dishyuh side de tree duh my’own, t’odduh side
duh him’own. Me fuh maa’k my’own, en’ him fuh
maa’k him’own. Me yent fuh bodduh him’own, en’
him ent fuh bodduh my’own. En’ da’ tree ent fuh
cut down, ’cause him iz line-tree, en’ ’e fuh stan’
dey ’tel attuh we all done dead—’cep’ Gawd want-
‘um. Ef ’E yiz, en’ sen’ Him lightnin’ fuh ’trike’um,
berrywell. Him kin hab’um. But man fuh le’m-
‘lone. ’E yent fuh tetch’um!” And they never
did! Not only their own, but every one else’s line-
trees were tabu, for the ante-bellum surveyors
had impressed upon the woodsmen who accom-
panied them the importance of holding line-trees

156THE LAND SURVEYED

inviolate, and the warning had been passed, from
mouth to mouth, through the plantations. Almost
equally sacrosanct to many Negroes were trees
that had been struck by lightning. In clearing new
ground, or cutting firewood, the more superstitious
axemen looked with awe upon the boles of forest
giants gashed and riven by thunderbolts, and gave
them a wide berth. ‘‘No, suh! Da’ tree ent fuh
knock wid axe! Ef Uh cutt’um down, Uh fuh hab
sin, ’cause, attuh Gawd pit Him han’ ’puntop’um,
man ent fuh tetch’um!”

The young “Suhweyuh,” treated with great re-
spect by the Negroes who had employed him, looked
very grave and felt very important as he set his
compass at the starting point, where Mitchell’s “cor-
nered” with the Oak Lawn and Encampment plan-
tations. The corner-tree, a great long-leaf pine,
had kept the faith and, tho’ swept by forest fires
and blown upon by fierce autumnal gales, still bore
the slowly healing wounds of the last survey, thirty-
nine years ago! The old surveyor, who etched the
legend on the parchment plat, the stout slave who
swung the axe that bit through the bark and gashed
the bleeding pine, had long been gone, their spirits
freed from the dust that held them here. And the
axe had long been rust; but the towering “palus-
tris” still bore the symbols that proclaimed a land-
mark!

For the first day there were many volunteer
chain-carriers, and, as almost every Negro carried
his axe, there was no lack of pioneers. All of them

157THE CAPTAIN

were anxious to take a hand, and those who were
chosen from their fellows seemed to regard their
gratuitous service as a distinction. Among the
crowd were two or three old Negroes who had
carried chains, or at least had accompanied survey-
ors, before the War, and these thrust the other
Negroes aside contemptuously and laid possessive
hands on the chain, which they would by no means
relinquish, until, late in the day, sheer exhaustion
forced them to entrust the linked steel to others.
Even then, the novitiates were vigorously admon-
ished. ‘Tek care, boy! Wuh you duh do? Da’
t’ing ent fuh hol’ so, you mus’ hol’um so! You shum,
enty? Berrywell. Now, ’membuh wuh Uh tell you
‘bout’um. Da’ t’ing ent fuh hol’ lukkuh you hol’
hoe. ’Membuh, now, ’membuh! Ef you ebbuh
fuhgit, de suhweyuh fuh mek me tek’um out you
han’, ’cause da’ duh ’sponsubble t’ing, sho’ ez Gawd!”

The Captain, with a squad of axemen, led the way,
and when the Surveyor, by the compass, gave him a
tall tree far ahead, the Captain, an expert woods-
man, went straight to his objective, the pioneers
cutting away the underbrush before the chain-car-
riers that followed in their wake. There was no
lost motion, and, greenhorns though they were,
earnestness and enthusiasm made up for lack of
experience, and the survey moved with perfect pre-
cision.

From the starting point, the Captain and the Sur-
veyor ran, first, the long line almost due south, di-
viding Mitchell’s from Oak Lawn. The Negroes

158THE LAND SURVEYED

looked with awe upon the compass which brought
them thro’ a forest wilderness to the corner of the
Allston plantation a mile and a quarter away.
“Great Gawd! Da’ t’ing hab Sperrit een’um, you
shum stan’ so! Him fetch we spang from Landin’-
Road yuh to Allstun, en’ run we smack up to de
cawnuh tree, straight, sukkuh ’ooman’ money run
to de preachuh’ han’!”’

Running down the Allston line toward Penny
Creek, temporary stakes were set at ten-acre in-
tervals, and then, about half-way through the tract,
the party turned at right angles and followed the
needle toward the pole, setting ten-acre stakes as
they went. When the northern boundary had been
reached at the Encampment line, the Surveyors
turned their faces to the big pine at the Oak Lawn
corner, from which they had started in the morn-
ing—driving down, on their way, stakes at the
ten-acre corners. Thus, when the starting point
had been reached, a parallelogram of five hundred
acres had been outlined, with the stakes so set
that its subdivision into ten-acre squares and the
setting of permanent corner-posts would be a very
simple matter. As the weather was cold, the sur-
vey of the bad-lands—rice-fields and canebrakes
lying between the ‘Mitchell Bridges” on the Will-
town road and Penny Creek—were reserved for a
later day, until a change of the moon should bring
milder weather. For, as the Mussulman, in things
spiritual, rests upon the Koran, so the Captain, in

159THE CAPTAIN

matters meteorological, clasped the moon to his
bosom, in a beautiful and abiding faith!

At the close of the day there was general satis-
faction with its work, for three boundary lines had
been established, many markers set for the sub-
divisions to follow, and, through his luck in run-
ning straight to the corners, the young Surveyor
had gained the complete confidence of the Negroes
and had established a needed confidence in himself.

Next morning, when the men assembled (the
women, as on the previous day, had been bidden at
home, for there was serious work afoot) there was
much bustling around about lightwood posts for
the corners of the sections presently to be surveyed.
A few of the more forehanded had brought care-
fully hewn posts of “fat’’ lightwood on their shoul-
ders; others were scouting about the pineland,
thumping the dead logs with their axes, in quest of
suitable material. There was no need for haste,
of course, for the Surveyor’s stakes would serve to
mark their corners until replaced by permanent
posts, but they would take no chances with their
fellows, whom they regarded as none too good to
pull up stakes marking a neighbor’s boundaries
and, by moving them back, enlarge their own.

“No, suh! Uh yent fuh tek no chance wid no Nig-
guh *bout me groun’. Nigguh too mischeebus, en’
stake too easy fuh pull up. Uh fuh tek me spade
en’ dig hole two foot deep, en’ den, w’en de Suh-
weyuh maa’k’um fuh me, Uh fuh sink me cawnuh-
pos’ een de hole en’ tamp de du’t ’roun’um close,

160THE LAND SURVEYED

en’ den Uh fuh tek me axe en’ chop all de bresh en’
ting wuh grow close’um, en’ t’row’um ‘way. En’
den, bumbye, Uh fuh fetch me hoe en’ rake off all de
pine straw, en’ ’crape’way all de dead grass en’ de
leaf, so fiah yent fuh bu’n’um, ’cause da’ cawnuh-
pos’ duh my’own, him fuh tell ebb’rybody weh my
groun’ stan’, en’ him fuh dey dey attuh Uh done dead
—eb’nso attuh me chillun, en’ me gran’ done dead!
So, Uh fuh treat dis pos’ right, en’ g’em all wuh
blonx to’um, enty? Uh haffuh stan’up to’um, long
ez Uh lib, ’cause, attuh Uh dead him fuh stan’up

;

fuh me, enty? Berrywell.’’ And all through the
survey, the older Negroes would set their corner-
posts in a sort of spiritual exaltation, tamping the
earth around them as reverently as one presses
down the clods upon the coffin of a beloved child.
An agricultural people, the yearning of these poor
Negroes for the land, and their pride in its pos-
session, were touching, and the Captain and the
young Surveyor, loving land themselves, under-
stood the sentiment and tried to advise them how
to care for and improve their little bits of Mother
Earth. Some of the older Negroes accepted the ad-
vice gratefully and acted upon it, but the younger
ones were indifferent, for to them land meant prop-

erty—little more—while, to those who had worked

 

long years under slavery, and had been knocked
about under freedom, without even the comfort and
security of the old slave-quarters, the promise of a
cabin and a few acres of land, to work and tend

161THE CAPTAIN

 

and pass on to those who would come after them,
was a promise of freedom, indeed!

The Captain gave the hunter’s whoop—the view-
halloo of the Low-Country deer-driver when a buck
“jumps”’—and recalled the post-hunters, who had
been tapping logs as lustily as so many great

 

pileated woodpeckers!

Chain-earriers and axemen were chosen from
among those whose land, on paper, would, by grace
of compass and chain, be transmuted into tangi-
ble real estate before the close of day, but so great
was the interest in the proceedings that full half the
colony, impelled by curiosity, joined the surveying
party to see how their neighbors fared in the lot-
tery. And in their comments upon the prizes
drawn, and the blanks, they were as vocal, and ex-
pressed themselves as freely, as a tree-full of African
parrots! “Ki! Buh John sho’ git uh good groun’!
’E hab hick’ry tree, en’ dogwood, alltwo! W’en you
shum stan’ so, ’e strong; ’e done fuh strong!”

“Yaas, man! ’E strong fuh true. ’E strong suk-
kuh Buh John’ wife. Buh John say suh him ent
haffuh buy no oxin fuh plow, ’long ez ’e got Phibby
fuh wife. Da’ ’ooman hab double-j’int, en’ w’en ’e
ketch da’ hebby hoe een ’e han’, en’ swing ’e swing
fuh knock dem tough pine-root, de groun’ haffuh
groan, de ’ooman lam’um so haa’d! En’ Buh John
plow’um! Enty you know dat? Yaas, ’e yiz. ’E
plow’um! De ’ooman pit de haa’ness obuh ’e
shoulduh, en’ ’cross ’e buzzum, en’ Buh John tek de
plow-handle, en’ Phibby pull da’ bulltongue t’ru de

162THE LAND SURVEYED

root, en’ ’e tayre’up de blackberry wine sukkuh him
bin cow! Da’ ’ooman wallyubble tummuch!”
“Yaas. ’e too debble’ub’uh wallyubble fuh suit
man lukkuh me, bubbuh! Uh too lub fuh look ’pun-
top’uh ’ooman! But man wuh hab Phibby fuh wife,
him nebbuh fuh t’row ’e yeye ’puntop no odduh
‘ooman ’cep’ him. Ef ’e yiz, him fuh hab acksident,
sho’ ez Gawd! Ef ’e yent hab’um wid axe, him fuh
hab’um wid hoe! Buh John bin hab uh acksident
lukkuh dat one time, en’ ’e yent hab no appetite
fuh hab shishuh acksident ’gen, no mo’!”
“Hukkuh dat? Me nebbuh yeddy ’bout’um.”
“You nebbuh yeddy? Lemme tell you. ’E bin
een de summuh, een Augus’ munt’, en’ ’e bin on
Sattyday. W’en ebenin’ come, Phibby, him hab
wu’k fuh do een ’e house, en’ ’bout de yaa’d, en’ ’e
tell Buh John fuh gone to de Cross-road fuh buy
bittle. De ’ooman g’em de bucket fuh fetch de
muhlassis, en’ de bag fuh de gritch en’ t’ing, en’
tell’um fuh mekace en’ git back home, ‘cause "e
hongry en’ ’e yent got nutt’n’ een ’e house fuh cook
‘tel de man git back. So Buh John gone. "Ee buy
’e rashi’n, en’ ’e tubackuh, ’e light ’e pipe, ’e t’row
’e bag obuh ’e shoulduh, en’ ’e staa’t fuh home. De
we’dduh bin hot, but, attuh de sun drap, en’ fus’
dus’ come, ’e git mo’ cooluh, en’ Buh John’ h’aa’t
light, ’tel him haffuh sing sperritual. Buh John
nebbuh bin study ’bout no gal. Him h’aa’t bin ’pun
’e Jedus, en’ him nebbuh ’spishun suh de debble
gwine t’row da’ skittish gal frum Kinzie King een
’e paat’?! But de debble do’um, bubbuh, de debble

163THE CAPTAIN

 

do’um! Buh John binnuh drag ’e foot ez ’e sing,
en’ shamble ’long kind’uh ca’less like, w’en ’e ’tump
‘e toe ’pun uh hebby root, en’ ’e stagguh ’tel ’e mos’
fall. W’en ’e ketch ’eself, en’ hice ’e yeye, please
Gawd, de debble en’ da’ skittish gal dey smack be-
for’'um! De gal bin come out de Kinzie King place,
en’ Buh John nebbuh shum ’tel ’e mos’ butt’um
een ’e mout’! De debble him dey dey too, but Buh
John nebbuh shum. ’E yent see nutt’n’ but de gal!
En’ w’en da’ ’ceitful Satan roll ’e yeye ’tel ’e yeye-
ball shine, en’ ’e drap ’e cutchey, en’ say ‘ebenin’,
suh!’ wuh Buh John fuh do? ’Cause him is mannus-
ubble man, you know, en’ de night binnuh git daa’k
‘tel de jew biggin fuh fall, en’ de gum-bush bin
berry t’ick, en’ Buh John nebbuh ‘spishun nutt’n’
‘bout de debble! Berrywell.

“Attuhw’ile, de staar come out. ’Bout two hour
attuh daa’k, some man binnuh gwine ‘long de road
en’ dem come ’cross Buh John en’ cya’m home. Dem
tell Phibby ’e seem lukkuh somebody mus’be
knock’um een ’e head wid hoe, ’cause dem see weh
de hoe’ eye mek hole een ’e head sukkuh wood-
peckuh’ hole. De ’ooman nebbuh say nutt’n’, but
‘e pit pinegum plastuh ’puntop de hole. En’ Uh
yeddy suh da’ skittish gal bin hab acksident too,
‘cause ’e jaw tie’up fuh t’ree week!

“Attuh dat, w’enebbuh Buh John meet gal duh
paat’, him pass de time uh day, but him pass de
gal same time, enty? Buh John, him ’f’aid acksident
tummuch!”’THE LAND SURVEYED

But all the land didn’t have the dogwood and
hickory growth that promised fruitfulness, for there
were high pinelands, whose soil, though warm and
generous, was light. Two of these sections fell to
Cassius Brown, a wizened but wiry old darky, so
full of the pride of ownership that, as soon as his
lines had been determined, he fell upon the line-
trees with his axe and proceeded to mark a blazed
trail that could be seen half a mile away. As he
slashed the bark of a noble long-leaf, the Captain
admonished him: “That’s not a blaze, Cassius,

19)

that’s a conflagration!

Se Ua

“That’s a conflagration. That blaze is broad
enough for the devil’s shirt-tail!”’

“Ki! Mas’ Rafe! De debble kin hab shu’t-tail?
Uh know ’e hab tail, en’ de tail hab fawk een’um,
but Uh nebbuh yeddy ’bout no shu’t, needuhso no
britchiz. Ef ’e yiz bin hab’um at de fus’, ’e mus’be
bu’n off now, ’cause da’ place weh him lib, ’e too
hot, enty? Uh yeddy suh ’e done fuh hot!”

“Hot enough, but ’twill be hotter still when you
and Ben Summers and Simon Jenkins all get there
together !”

“Great Gawd, Mas’ Rafe! Gawd fuh pit me een
da’ place wid dem two man! No, suh! Him neb-
buh fuh do dat! Uh hab sin, fuh true, Mas’ Rafe.
Uh bin sinnuh all me life, but Uh nebbuh ketch
nobody’ hog, en’ ef Gawd sen’ Buh Simon en’ Buh
Ben to da’ place you duh talk ’bout, me yent fuh
dey dey, en’ soon ez de debble yeddy ’bout’um him

165THE CAPTAIN

 

fuh lock’up all ’e hog tight een ’e pen, ’cep’ him
fuh loss’um, ’cause dem two Nigguh too smaa’t fuh
nyam dry cawn-hom’ny een da’ place ’long ez hog
dey dey, en’ de fiah stan’ so cunweenyunt fuh
Swinge’um en’ fry de meat, enty?”

This sally convulsed the crowd with laughter, and
brought very dry grins to the cunning countenance
of the “squerril’-hunter, and the brutal face of
old Ben.

Cassius set his corner-posts carefully, and the
survey left him looking lovingly over the land that
meant much to him materially, but so much more
spiritually! How many generations of men had
these virgin pines and their predecessors looked
down upon? For ages the red men, lords of the
soil, had roamed these forests, had followed deer
and bear and buffalo over the high ridges and
through the tangled paths that threaded thick
places—bays and swamps and canebrakes! Eight
generations of the all-conquering whites had fol-
lowed. Wrested from the last of these by the ruth-
less hand of War, it was presently come to yet

 

another race, whose forbears were Savages in the
Dark continent when the whites took the land from
the red men. And, through a curious twirl in the
whirligig of time, this virgin-soil of the New World
would be broken for the first time by the rude hoe
of the sometime jungle-man, who, but for his fall-
ing captive to his African brothers in tribal wars;
but for his having been driven to the slave coast
and swapped off by his captors for rum and red

166THE LAND SURVEYED

flannel; but for his having been thriftily transported
across the Atlantic by New England slavers and
sold for gold to the Southern plantations, where he
was civilized and Christianized; but for his labor
having been so profitable to these plantations as to
arouse the envy of those who had once used him
for the profitable transmutation of “old Medford’”’
into gold; but for the growth of envy into the germ
of a fratricidal war; but for the freedom that came
to the slaves as a war measure, and a war measure
only; but for the malignity of the victors, who
crushed and despoiled the vanquished; but for the
passing of the land into alien hands through this
spoliation—but for this, and all this, old Cas-
sius, a professed Christian, a Baptist at that,
and wearing breeches every day, might have been
a very Gorilla-of-the-Gaboon, wearing a grass string
for a breech-clout and, armed with spear and knob-
kerrie, leading the chase of his fellow-man with
the view of “benevolent assimilation!” He would
never have heard of God, he would never have
aught and “swinged’’ and eaten a Pon-Pon ’possum,
and he would never have worn one of the honorable
Roman names the classical Low-Country planters
loved to bestow upon their slaves! But the whirli-
gig whirled on, and so it came that, as in the nurs-
ery jingle:

“The black began to hunt the black,

The black began to catch the black,

The black began to sell the black,”
until, at last, under God’s mysterious providence,

167THE CAPTAIN

 

the rats of Reconstruction began to gnaw the rope
that held up the South’s economic structure, when
the black “jumped over the stile,” and came at last
to the ownership of land!

But Cassius was eight generations away from
breech-clout and knobkerrie. He knew that God
was in His heaven, and was sure that if all was not
presently “right with the world,” it would be, as
soon as he could clear part of his land, plant a
little winter garden, and begin to get out material
for building and fencing. So, as the Survey passed
on and left him, like Robinson Crusoe, alone on his
island, he began, like Robinson Crusoe. to explore
the domain, the twenty acres, whose boundaries,
like those of Crusoe’s Island, held at the moment
all the world for him, and, axe on shoulder, he be-
gan to quarter the ground like a trained pointer
and take stock of his possessions. His land lay
beautifully, at the crown of a gentle rise or “cooter-
back,” with just fall enough on two sides to in-
Sure perfect drainage. The growth was almost en-
tirely long-leaf pine, virgin growth, tall, fine trees,
with, here and there, clumps of straight saplings of
just the right size for house poles. These, Cassius
appraised with great satisfaction, for straight long-
leaf poles, carefully peeled and notched. and cut
square at the ends, insure a sightly, a lasting, and
a comfortable cabin. There was little undergrowth
on the tract, so its clearing up, save for the big
pines, would be an easy task. And Cassius noted
with satisfaction some large post-oaks, the only

168THE LAND SURVEYED

oaks on the land, that would furnish his cabin chim-
ney with back-logs for many a winter’s night to
come.

An experienced axeman, old Cassius ran his eye
over the brown boles as he walked through the
pines, and chipped with his axe those he knew
to be straight-grained, and suitable for splitting
into shingles, rails, or clapboards. Others, whose
whorls and twists he noted, would do only for blocks
or for firewood. Upon the ground lay many logs
of heart lightwood, thrown long ago by storms or
forest fires, and from these, in time, the old Negro
would get posts for his yard and garden. There
would never be lack of firewood, he knew, for the
odds and ends of the logs from which he hewed his
lightwood posts, and the stumps upon which these
logs sometime had stood, would kindle fires for a
generation, while the tops and limbs of the trees
to be split for rails and shingles would furnish a
bountiful store of wood for the kindling. So all was
well with the old man, and, as he “cruised” his tim-
ber over and over again, his gratitude for the for-
tune that had come to him was expressed in fervent
thanks to the spiritual and temporal agencies that
had watched over his interests. “Uh t’engkful to
me Gawd,” he said. “Uh t’engkful to me Gawd,
’cause Him tell Mas’ Rafe en’ de Suhweyuh fuh pit
me ’puntop shishuh good groun’ lukkuh dis, en’
Uh t’engkful to alltwo de Buckruh ’cause dem tell
me so ’sponsubble en’ ’splain’um so good, ’cause,
wen Uh bin back me yez sukkuh mule, en’ balk

169THE CAPTAIN

‘bout’um, de Buckruh obuhrule me, en’ mek me
tek’um. Dem mek metek’um! T’engk-gawd.”

Toward evening, the old man, full of nervous
energy and eager to begin work, “threw” a dozen
straight saplings, measured nine lengths of his
axe-handle and cut them off, thus providing, when
they should be “peeled,” almost poles enough for one
of the long sides of his cabin. When he was through,
though tired, he returned to the spot he had selected
as the site of his little homestead, chiefly because
of three fine post-oaks that stood close together in
what would become his front yard. Tho’ leafless
now, their thick branches held promise of grateful
shade from summer suns, and their owner once more
grunted an earnest ‘“‘t’engk-gawd.” Now with his
heavy hoe, he raked away the pine straw and
chopped the sparse patches of pineland grass that
grew beneath, clearing the spot where his house
would stand. Wearied at last, he stopped to rest,
and, Negro-like, his spirit yearned for fire.

He found a match, and with splinters from a
lightwood stump started a small blaze on a spot
that he had raked clear of pine straw and, sitting
on the ground with his back against the stump, he
watched the flickering flames in deep contentment.
Gradually his head slumped between his shoulders.
His chin rested upon his chest. The old man
drowsed, then slept.

The sun sank lower, and over beyond the river
hung at last, a clot of blood, at the rim of the ho-
rizon. There was a tang of frost in the air, and the

170THE LAND SURVEYED

chill that creeps along the earth as the sun goes
down was on its way. Softly, from a distant clump
of hickories, came the plaintive sunset bark of a
cat-squirrel—the yearning cry sent out on winter
evenings to tell the woods good night. Faintly first,
from far away, then louder and nearer, came the
voices of the surveying party on their way home.
Passing near, the Captain’s whoop aroused old Cas-
sius, crouched over the now smouldering altar-fire
he had kindled on the open hearth of ‘‘God’s Green
Inn.” Jumping up, he rubbed his eyes, and then
raked out the embers. ‘“Mas’ Rafe,” he said. “Uh
drap ’sleep, en’-—Uh binnuh dream!”THE SURVEY CONTINUED

The Survey moved on smoothly and rapidly.
Day by day, additional settlers came into their
own, set their lightwood corner-posts, blazed their
line-trees, and reacted to the ownership of the
land according to their respective temperaments.
All of them were pleased with the straight lines
that bounded their tracts, and all of them were
at last pleased with the land that fell to their
share. Once irrevocably in their hands, if every
goose did not forthwith become a swan, at least
the cygnet quills straightway began to sprout!
There were no stones on the Mitchell tract from
which to furnish forth sermons; the “running
brooks” were both sluggish and snaky, and the
songs they sang were dirges; but, as far as his
land went, each settler was prepared to find “good
in everything!”

“Wuh you duh laugh ’bout, Nigguh? You laugh
at me briahpatch ’cause ’e tayre me _ britchiz,
enty? Wait ’tel dem blackberry ripe duh sum-
muhtime! Uh fuh eat dem t’ing ’tel me belly-
ban’ ready fuh buss’! En’ da’ canebrake! You
t’?ink Uh fuh strain me back fuh chop up dem tough
root wid pickaxe, enty? Uh yent fuh dig’um up.
Da’ canebrake fuh stay right weh ’e yiz! Enty
you know da’ place full’up wid rokkoon? Een de
wintuhtime all Uh haffuh do iz fuh split me light-
‘ood, light me tawch, call me dog, en’ gone een me

173THE CAPTAIN

canebrake en’ ketch me rokkoon ’pun me own
groun’!

“Den, een de Spring, w’en de we’dduh git
wawm, en’ de bee duh swawm, en’ de blackbu’d
mek dem nes’ een de willuh bush, en’ de yalluh-
belly cootuh string out ’puntop de log, en’ de alli-
gettuh’ eye rise out de watuh, en’ de watuh-
snake quile up ’pun de tree limb fuh sleep een de
sunhot—w’en da’ time come, Uh know suh fish duh
bite een Penny Crik! So, Uh fuh gone een me
canebrake, en’ cut me aa’m full uh de longes’ cane
Uh kin fin’. Dem duh me fishin’ pole. W’en ’e
done trim, Uh fix me line en’ me hook en’ t’ing
‘pun’um, Uh fuh gone Penny Crik, Uh git een me
bateau, en’ Uh paddle ’tel Uh git to uh smood place
‘roun’, de ben’ weh de watuh stan’ kind’uh still;
den Uh t’row obuh da’ t’ing wuh Uh hab fuh hol’
me boat to de bottom, Uh bait all me hook, en’
Uh cyas’ me line. Uh fuh hab fo’ line, one to de
boat’ front, one to ’e back, en’ two obuh de side.
Den, w’en Uh gitt’um all set, en’ attuh Uh done
tie down me pole so de fish cyan’ cya’um ’way,
Uh fuh leddown een de bateau fuh tek me res’.
Uh yent bodduh fuh watch de cawk w’en de fel-
luh bob. No, man! wuh use fuh wu’k w’en you
hab somebody fuh wu’k fuh you? Uh fuh mek
da’ fish ketch ’eself, enty? So, Uh wait ’tel Uh
see de cane biggin fuh trimble, sukkuh man shake
wen ’e hab chill en’ febuh. W’en Uh shum do
dat, Uh know de fish done hook ’eself, en’ Uh pick
up me pole en’ haul’um een. Den, Uh bait me hook

174THE SURVEY CONTINUED

en’ t’?row’um out ’gen, ’tel, bumbye, w’en sun ready
fuh down, Uh hab ’nuf catfish pun me string fuh
full bushel tub, ’cause Uh ketch’um wid all fo’ me
line. Den, w’en Uh tek’um home, de ’ooman en’
t’ing fuh fry fish ’tel middlenight. En’ w’en all
wunnuh boy smell da’ fish duh fry, wunnuh jaw
fuh leak ’tel you haffuh come to me house fuh eat,
enty?

“So da’ canebrake nebbuh yiz fuh dig up!
Him fuh dey dey, same lukkuh you shum, long ez
Uh lib, en’ den, attuh Uh done dead, sperrit fuh
walk t’ru’um ebb’ry night fuh keep Nigguh off de
rokkoon wuh Uh lef’ behine me!”

And as one Colonist found happiness in briar
patches and canebrakes, another’s spirit was sol-
aced by long-leaf saplings for house-poles, by
the possession of a clay-hole from which to dig
material for the clay chimneys appurtenant to all
the log cabins in the neighborhood, or by a fine
spring, found under the roots of a great white-
oak. Each had something to be thankful for—
some little distinction to set him apart from his
fellows, if ’twere but a clump of persimmon trees
to tempt the ’possum, or a patch of “bullhead”’
broomgrass for making the brooms in universal
use for keeping house and yard clean. And, as
compass and chain discovered day by day the
treasures of forest and field and determined their
ownership, the possessors laughed and chafted and
compared their fortunes and, like the happy peo-

175THE CAPTAIN

 

ple they still were, eight years after freedom, made
the best of whatever fell to their lot.

As the lines of the Survey criscrossed the tract
at intervals of only a few hundred yards, the
ground was covered almost as thoroughly as Eng-
lish coverts are beaten for grouse by the game-
keepers on the great estates, and much game of
sorts was flushed. Rabbits bounced out of every
briar patch, gray fox-squirrels, making for their
tall pines,. ran jerkily over the ground, bobbing
their plumy tails, and, full-cry after rabbits and
squirrels, ran futilely and noisily the whole pack
of nondescript curs that followed the Negroes
everywhere. Coveys of partridge rose from the
bunches of petticoat grass that fringed the thickets
at the edge of the woods, and whirred away over
the broomgrass like brown leaves blown before the
wind. Sometimes a bay-lynx skulking along a
canebrake path, or a gray fox, trotting contemp-
tuously across the way, led the yelping mongrels
away after a quarry that, fortunately for them,
they never overtook. In the swamps, barred-owls
blinked at the intruders from high branches and
then slipped away on silent wing to the thicker
places.

Now and then flocks of wild turkeys feed-
ing in the dogwood thickets, disturbed by the
voices of the Surveying party, took wing while
they were yet a quarter of a mile distant, and broke
the forest silence with great beating of wings, as
they rose above the pines on their way to the

176THE SURVEY CONTINUED

swamp. But these wary birds were not always
so alert, for one day, crossing a beautiful pineland
ridge, the Survey entered a thicket of low chin-
quapin bushes, hardly shoulder high. The young
surveyor was in the lead and, for the moment,
empty-handed, for the compass, having picked up
a line tree far ahead, had been committed to the
hands of a Negro “gun-bearer’’ following close at
heel. As the dry burs rattled in the first bush,
there was a tremendous flutter midway of the
thicket, and a magnificent gobbler, Surprised at
his solitary meal, burst through the scrub at top
speed! One look at his burnished back was enough,
and the youth, fleet of foot and full of the confi-
dence of 16, set out to run him down, followed by
the full cry of the pygmy pack. The turkey
had ten to fifteen yards start of his fellow-biped,
but the bird was overweight, the boy was not, and
at the end of a fifty yard chase the gobbler lifted
his heavy body and “took the air,” just in time to
save his tail feathers! The turkey got away
from the boy, but the boy didn’t get away from
the Captain for many a day, for he was to hear
often and lightly of the cock-sureness of one who
thought he could run down a wild turkey!

At last the Survey of the first five hundred acres
was completed, and the rougher country to the
west of the Willtown road was entered upon.
Here long-leaf pines gave way to loblolly and
rosemary, but even these were but sparsely scat-
tered through heavy hardwood growths of oak
177THE CAPTAIN

and beech, hickory and yellow poplar. Between
these forest areas and the swamps of tupelo and
cypress that skirted Penny Creek lay wide broom-
grass fields, thick set with myrtle thickets and
briar patches—beautiful coverts for deer and par-
tridge. At the old settlement lived an ancient
darky, Friday Giles, sometime manager of the
plantation, and here the Charleston factor reserved
for himself fifty acres of arable land.

Besides the forests and the broomgrass, the long-
abandoned ricefields, overgrown with cattails and
intersected by half-filled canals, were yet to be
traversed. The Captain’s moon proved incon-
stant and brought colder, not milder weather,
but the adventure of the low-lands had to be es-
sayed, and on a bright tho’ frosty morning the
Surveyor, leaving the Captain on dry land, took
with his chain-carriers half a dozen axemen with
long stakes, and bogged his way through mud and
water—often knee-deep, sometimes waist-deep—
until, at sunset, when the tough job had been
finished, he was as black as his companions. ‘Well,
you are a sight!”’ was the Captain’s cheerful greet-
ing, as the outfit came up on the high dam where
the critical gentleman was placidly smoking his
pipe, “and in your good clothes, too!”

The Captain was jocular, for there were no

“sood

clothes”
tion jeans, put together, grievously and cruelly, by

in those days—the best—of coarse planta-

the hands of some sewing-woman in the neighbor-
hood—were bad enough, God knows! In these

178THE SURVEY CONTINUED

days, when patent neckbands are to be had at the
ten-cent stores, women doubtless contrive Chris-
tian shirts, for during the negligee months of
Spring and Summer a man will often throw back
his coat and thump himself proudly on a percale
or madras covered bosom with a “See! my wife
made this!’”’ and you see! And, seeing that the
man is able to breathe and his Adam’s apple func-
tions normally, the sophisticated eye of remem-
brance detects at his throat a narrow line of the
white neckband, and credits the bands of the ten-
cent store with doing more to hold couples in the
holy bonds of wedlock than the combined influ-
ence of “Kirk an’ State’—even with the State’s
anti-divorce law thrown in! For whatever com-
fort woman’s arms about man’s neck may bring,
when, thro’ her needlework, she clasps his throat,
the iron collar of the Spanish garrote is hardly
more restrictive, more repressive of the Adam’s
apple, which, once given, she now seeks, perhaps,
to take away! In the old days many a poor fellow,
with a fifteen inch rural neckband riding up to
his chin, would, after tearing at his throat in
agony, open the thing, fold the corners of the shirt
down to the second button, buy a box of paper
collars with long points, size 17 or 18, and, but-
toning them down over his breastbone, achieve
not only great comfort, but a low-cut Byronic ef-
fect that, if he had read Don Juan, made him feel
very wicked and very dangerous to the opposite
sex!

179THE CAPTAIN

But whatever the country seamstresses—some-
times gentlewomen, sometimes “crackers,” or Ne-
groes—did to the shirts of men, they did far worse
to their coats and trousers, for the shirt, in part
at least, could hide its shame, but the country
trousers, however charitably they covered up the
tails of shirts, must themselves stand forth before

 

the world in all their hideous deformity!

Of course the jeans of the country stores and com-
missaries was not altogether without fault, for
‘twas an erratic and undependable cloth—shrink-
ing one way, like a suffragette before a mouse,
while as uncompromising on the bias as the same
suffragette before a man! But often the femi-
nine artist that tailored the Jeans, indisposed,
perhaps, to interfere with the ways of Providence,
didn’t shrink the cloth, but left that process for
the rain and the dew, so when the wearer, “all
unwary,’ walked through tall weeds at night, or
under showers by day, there was no telling where
his clothes would go when they dried out, for in
some places they’d be as baggy as an elephant’s
breeches, and in others as skin-tight as an eel’s!
And the cloth was narrow—narrow as the path
of propriety—tho’ of a convenient width, withal,
for trouser legs; the practice being to cut two
pieces of the required length, fold them the long
Way, sew up the seams, and you had two perfectly
good trouser legs, suitable for a man of any height
between five and six feet, and ready for attach-
ment to waist and seat and hips by whatever

180THE SURVEY CONTINUED

method the ingenuity of the artist suggested. This,
of course, was the cruder method, for certain Pon-
Pon mantuamakers were more sartorially sophis-
ticated in respect to men, but, at the best, the men
always felt like clothes-horses upon which women
had hung things out to dry!

And the pockets! The pockets! They ought to
have shrunk, for—save barlow knives and nails and
bits of twine—there was nothing to put in them; but,
tho’ generous in size, and the cotton drill of which
they were made was strong enough, the maker’s
thread, or something—perhaps her patience, poor
soul !—almost invariably gave out before the pocket
was completed, leaving a hole in the bottom. Until
the boy or man had tied up this hole with twine, the
thing was as unretentive as a plaquet-hole! And
as an absent-minded woman sometimes drops her
purse carefully into her plaquet-hole, sometimes: a
forgetful man would drop his precious knife or nails
into a pocket that had not been tied, and then, un-
less by chance his boots were outside his trousers,
his loss would give him a lesson in caution. So,
about the “good clothes” the Captain was jocular!

’Twas a hard day’s work—the adventure of the
ricefields—but full of fun, for the Negroes, old and
young, were always responsive to any humorous
suggestion and were always laughing at one an-
other and at themselves. If a man floundered into
an alligator hole, and was muddied up to his chin,
or slipped off into the water while “cooning”’ his
way over a canal on a slippery pine pole, he was
181THE CAPTAIN

as ready to laugh at his own discomfiture as his
fellows were to laugh at him.

“Aj-ai! Buh Quash! You drap hebby dat time,
enty? Hukkuh you slip off da’ log? Uh t’aw’t you
bin smaa’t ez rokkoon! Ef him fuh coon da’ pole,
mekso you cyan’ do’um?”

“Uh coon’um fuh true, budduh, Uh coon’um suk-
kuh rokkoon, but Uh bin hab acksident. You know
man hebby mo’nuh rokkoon, en’ w’en Uh git ’pun
da’ pole ’e buckle onduh me en’ tu’n obuh. W’en ’e
do dat, Uh haffuh loss me holt. Ef Uh hadduh hab
tail lukkuh ’possum, w’en da’ t’ing staa’t fuh roll,
Uh coulduh t’row me tail obuhr’um en’ hice meself
back ’puntop’um, jis’ ez easy ez dat, but no anni-
mel fuh do’um ’cep’ ’e hab claw een ’e tail, lukkuh
*possum. Rokkoon ’eself, cyan’ do’um!”

“Dat so. You talk trute. Rokkoon ’self, cyan’
do’um! But, enty Mas’ Rafe bin tell we suh one
time all we gran’daddy en’ t’ing een Aff’iky bin
hab tail? Him say suh een de ole time’ dem Aff’iky
Nigguh done fuh hab tail, en’ dem fuh climb tree
sukkuh mongkey, en’ ef dem foot slip ’pun de branch,
da’ tail fuh wrop obuhr’um en’ hol’ ’e holt ’tel
t?unduh roll, sukkuh ’possum, ’cause da’ tail hab

claw een’um, enty ?”’

“Shuh! Man! Mas’ Rafe duh mek fun. Nigguh
nebbuh bin hab no tail! Enty you know Mas’ Rafe?
Him done fuh spo’ty!”

“°F spo’ty fuh true, but him tell we ’sponsubble.
Him b’leebe’um!”’

182THE SURVEY CONTINUED

“Ef Nigguh bin hab tail one time, hukkuh ’e
loss'um? Weh ’e dey now?”

“Uh ’spec’ ’e mus’be breed off, sukkuh butt-head
cow t’row’way ’e hawn, en’ wil’ hog t’row’way ’e
tush. Ef you ketch wil’ hog en’ shet’um up een you
pen, en’ feed’um hebby so ’e yent haffuh root fuh
’e bittle, attuhw’ile da’ hog’ chillun en’ ’e gran’ fuh
hab shawt snout, en’ dem ent fuh hab long snout no
mo’. En’ Mas’ Rafe say suh ef you ketch all de
calf w’en ’e bawn, en’ cut off ’e tail, en’ saw off ’e
hawn soon ez ’e biggin fuh grow, en’ ef you ’stroy’d
all de cowfly, so nutt’n’ ent fuh bodduhr’um fuh
mek’um hankuh attuh switch de tail wuh’e done loss,
bumbye, attuh long time done pass, all da’ breed
uh cow fuh t’row’ way dem hawn en’ dem tail, alltwo.
‘Cause, Mas’ Rafe say suh Gawd Him ent mek
nutt’n’ fuh was’e, en’ ef you ent nyuze wuh Him
gi’ you, ’E gwine bex, en’, bumbye, ’E tek’um’way.
Ef Him pit marruh een you head, en’ you nebbuh
nyuze’um, nuh nutt’n’, Him gwine tek’um out, enty?
Da’ de reaz’n da’ marruh een Buh Quash’ head
staa’t fuh dry up, ’cause him nebbuh t’ink, him
nebbuh study ’bout nutt’n’. Da’ mekso him fall off
da’ log.”’

“Who, me? Wuffuh you say me head duh dry
up ’cause Uh fall off da’ log? Uh yent fall ‘cause
me head ent wu’t’, Uh fall ’cause Uh yent got da’
tail you en’ Mas’ Rafe say me gran’daddy bin hab.
But you bin tell we ’bout how hog loss ’e tush, en’
how cow loss ’e hawn, but you nebbuh tell we how
Nigguh loss ’e tail.”THE CAPTAIN

“°R loss’um ’cause ’e lazy. At de fus’, de Nigguh
bin lub fuh climb tree fuh git ’e bittle, en’ ’e blan
quile da’ tail ’roun’ de limb obuh weh de cokynot
stan’, en’ ’e swing down ’tel ’e git de cokynot een
’e han’, den ’e drap’um en’ gone down to de groun’
fuh nyam’um; but, bumbye, ’e git lazy, en’ ’e say
to ’eself, ‘Eh, eh! dishyuh tail wuh Uh got stan’
too stylish fuh ’buze’um lukkuh dis. Uh strain’um
tummuch w’en Uh swing attuh dem cokynot. En’
wuh use fuh wu’k w’en you got somebody fuh do’um
fuh you? Dem ting haffuh drap, enty? Uh fuh
leddown onduhneet’ de tree, en’ Gawd gwine
t’row’um down fuh me’. En’ de Nigguh nebbuh
climb no mo’! ’E leddown een de sunhot, close
de tree, en’ ebb’ry time da’ t’ing drap, de Nigguh
crack’um op’n en’ nyam wuh dey eenside’um.

“At de fus’, w’en de Nigguh sleep, ’e too lazy
fuh quile up ’e tail onduhneet’um en’ ’e ’tretch’um
out een de sunhot. Some leely bush bin kibbuh up de
half uh de tail wuh stan’ close to de Nigguh, but de
half wuh stan’ fudduh frum de Nigguh ’tretch’out
sukkuh blacksnake duh sleep! Buzzut duh sail up
high. Dem ride de element, en’ sukkle ’roun’ en’
‘roun’ en’ t’row dem eye ’puntop de du’t fuh see wuh
dey dey fuh eat. Bumbye, one de buzzut ketch da’
piece uh de Nigguh’ tail een ’e yeye, en’ ’e say,
‘Eh, eh! Lookuh da’ dead snake duh leddown close
da’ Nigguh! Dem alltwo duh sleep, but de snake
sleep hebby mo’nuh de Nigguh, ’cause ’e dead. enty ?
Uh fuh hab’um fuh me bittle’, en’ de buzzut stoop
out de sky, ’e drap ’puntop da’ blacksnake, ’e clamp-

184THE SURVEY CONTINUED

"um een ’e jaw, en’ ’e mos’ pull’um off de Nigguh.
But de Nigguh holluh so strong, buzzut shame fuh
nyaw’um no mo’, so ’e drap de snake out ’e jaw,
’e tell de Nigguh, ‘So long, bubbuh! You haffuh
’scuze me ef Uh hu’t you feelin’s, but you bin fool
me dat time, sho’s you bawn’, en’ buzzut ’tretch’out
’e wing, ’e jump off de du’t, en’ ’e gone!

“Attuh dat, de Nigguh git mo’ en’ mo’ lazy, ’e
tail biggin fuh dry’up, ’cause him nebbuh nyuze’um
fuh heng frum tree limb no mo’. W’en Gawd shum,
en’ see how ’e stan’, ’E say ‘No use fuh t’row’ way
shishuh good tail lukkuh dat ’pun no lazy Nigguh.
Ef ’e yent nyuze’um, Uh fuh tek’um off,’ en’ de tail
staa’t fuh gone. Ebb’ry day ’e dry up leetle mo’,
’tel, bumbye, de t’ing gone, clean! Ebbuh sence dat
time, nutt’n’ ’cep’ ’possum en’ mongkey en’ snake
fuh wrop dem tail ’roun’ tree limb, ’cause no odduh
ereetuh hab claw een ’e tail. Gawd Him nebbuh
mek nutt’n’ fuh t’row’way, en’ ef you ent nyuze wuh
Him pit ’puntop you, you gwine loss’'um! Now,
sence Nigguh t’row’way de exwantidge wuh Gawd
bin g’em at de fus’, him haffuh coon log wid ’e han’
en’ ’e foot, same lukkuh rokkoon en’ dem t’odduh
annimel, ’cause Nigguh ent got no tail fuh ‘pen’
*pun no mo’! Duh so Mas’ Rafe tell we, en’ him tell
we ’sponsubble.”

Quash, a Fundamentalist fallen—for lack of the
tail of his fathers—realizing that such an append-
age might have proved a very present help in time
of trouble, was almost ready to accept the Captain’s
theory of the Descent of Man—the black man, at

185THE CAPTAIN

least—“Uh sorry me gran’daddy bin so ca’less
wid da’ tail him bin hab. Ef Gawd didn’ haffuh
tek’um ’way, da’ pole nebbuh woulduh twis’ out
me han’, en’ me back nebbuh woulduh wet. Uh done
fuh sorry!” But he was indisposed to pursue the
argument further, for the water into which he had
fallen was shallow, while the subject under dis-
cussion was deep! So, with the other muddied-
men, white and black, Quash joined the Captain and
his dry-shod fellows, and stepped forth as one who,
with the heavy, tho’ metrical feet of Mr. Gray’s
plowman, “homeward plods his weary way.”THE SURVEY COMPLETED

And now, as the work drew toward its close, the
Surveyor neared the river swamp, now almost dry
although periodically overflowed by the flood waters
of river and creek. The old plat showed but a nar-
row strip of swamp bordering the broad serpentine
indicated as “Penny Creek,” but when the Surveyor
had run the number of chains specified, instead of
coming to the river’s brink he found, where there
should have been water, the edge of a heavily wooded
swamp, lying but little below the upland level and
now perfectly dry under foot. The Surveyor was
puzzled, but kept his course until he reached,
the river, full five hundred yards away! Then
the light broke upon him, and he read the story of
the last survey as clearly as if it lay in print before
him.

In the summer of 1835 the Master of the Mitchell
plantation determined to have the place surveyed
—perhaps to settle a dispute with a neighbor, per-
haps only to re-establish his own boundary lines,
as Low-Country land-holders, out of abundant cau-
tion, did from time to time. The planter was away
at the Virginia Springs, at Saratoga, or at New-
port, but he wrote his factor in Charleston to en-
gage the best surveyor in the district, and see that
all arrangements were made at the plantation for
his comfort and for the facilitation of his work.
So the easy-going, tho’ accomplished, old Surveyor
was engaged and a day settled upon for his arrival

187THE CAPTAIN

at the plantation. Then the factor’s servant rode
33 miles from Charleston to apprise the “driver”
at Mitchell’s of the Surveyor’s coming, and bearing
explicit oral instructions to have all in readiness
for his entertainment in a manner befitting the tra-
ditions of the place. House servants bestirred them-
selves, cleaning silver, polishing furniture, airing
beds, and sunning linen. Stock was taken of the
resources of fold and farmyard, orchard and garden,
fishermen and ‘“trunk-minders” were questioned
about trout and bream and terrapin—all things
done in advance of the Surveyor’s coming that a
master’s well-trained servants could do to insure
the comfort of the master’s guest.

 

At last when all was ready, came on an August
day from Charleston, Walterboro, or McPherson-
ville, the seasoned old Surveyor, tanned and weath-
erbeaten by summer’s suns and winter’s winds,
but hale, withal, from his outdoor life. Perhaps
he rode, for surveyors, so constantly on foot,
love the rest the saddle affords. But if he jour-
neyed from a distance, almost certainly he drove
a sulky—one of those high-wheeled, single-seated
affairs, whose long, springy shafts and leather-
strap suspension, made them the easiest and safest
vehicles for rough country roads, and the lightest
draft. The Surveyor’s compass and chain and car-
pet-bag were, of course, in the net of the sulky, and
the tripod was strapped to the seat.

In the sunset cool of the evening the Surveyor
drove up to Mitchell’s, and the expectant house-ser-

188THE SURVEY COMPLETED

vants were on hand to welcome him. The sashes
had been down and the shutters closed all day to
exclude the heat, but now, as the sun had paled
his fire, they were thrown wide and the fresh air
of evening, laden with the fragrance of honeysuckle,
mingled with the cloistered coolness within doors.
The guest’s room was sweet with vases of late roses
and the wholesome freshness of sun-dried linen.
The tin bathtub, filled with cool spring water,
awaited the refreshment of the dusty traveler.

In an easy chair on the broad veranda, the old
Surveyor smoked his pipe after supper, while the
plantation “driver’”—the master’s trusted repre-
sentative—sat on the steps and told of the arrange-
ments he had made for chain-carriers and axemen.
And, at the Surveyor’s elbow, a small table held
a silver waiter with decanter and wine glasses—per-
haps a tall goblet with a cooler and more potent
drink. Virginia, mother of Presidents and mother
of mint, had conferred the Julep upon South Caro-
lina before 1835, but the seductive interloper from
the Old Dominion never seriously challenged the
supremacy of the Santa Cruz or Jamaica rum-
punch, introduced with the first colonists, and stead-
fastly supported as an institution—almost as a sac-
rament—by their Low-Country descendants. Some
of these early settlers, from Antigua and the Bar-
bados, possessed the art of combining exquisitely
the juices of oranges, pineapples, and limes with
the potent spirit of the cane, and this knowledge
passed from father to son through the generations

189THE CAPTAIN

of masters and servants, until the war-wracked
region was thrown upon the crude and uncouth
corn and the “rectified” rye of iniquity!

On the more remote plantations tropical fruits
were seldom to be had, but the colonists who had
come to Carolina from the British West-Indies
brought with them a very thorough British ap-
preciation of limejuice as an ingredient of all
hot weather drinks, and, as bottled limejuice
was almost certainly in the storeroom at Mitchell’s,
the tall glass at the Surveyor’s elbow almost as
certainly exhaled the fragrance of mellow old Santa
Cruz! Mellow and mellowing, for, as the weary man
alternately sipped and puffed, the peace of the quiet
night, the low, respectful voice of the old slave at
his feet, brought him almost to the brink of sleep,
but before the drowsy imps could push him over into
oblivion, a bittern boomed from the ricefields, a
heron, flying high up in the night, uttered at inter-
vals a harsh and eerie cry, and the great frogs in
the canal groaned rhythmically.

Roused by these sounds, the guest began to talk,
and for hours the driver hung upon his words, for
surveyors were traveled men, and brought news
from one plantation to another, as, in England in
the old days peddlers brought to ladies in the coun-
try homes both garters and gossip. When, at last,
the house-servants came to remind him that the
hour was late, and next morning’s start would be
early, the driver had added to his store of wood-lore,
had heard many interesting stories of forest and

190THE SURVEY COMPLETED

field, and knew something about the crops and the
management of two score plantations. And the
essentials of what the old slave heard would be
remembered as long as he lived, for if “reading
maketh a full man,” so, also, does listening, and
the information imparted orally to those before
whom the printed page has never been opened is
impressed more accurately upon the memory and
held more tenaciously—as the legends of unlettered
peoples bear witness—than any knowledge acquired
through casual reading. So for many a night the
tales of the old Surveyor would pass by word of
mouth from the driver through the plantation quar-
ters, filling the ears of the listening Negroes, old
and young, for ninety years ago the art of story-
telling—a lost art today, with the passing of the
old slaves—was in high favor on the plantations
and from old family servants the young boys at
the “big house” heard many interesting things of
their forbears, things their kindred seldom took
the trouble to talk about.

Next morning an early start was made, for, while
a starlight night had drenched the world with dew,
the starting point at the Oak Lawn corner was to
be reached on horseback, and in the open pine-lands,
almost free from underbrush, dews, however heavy,
were of little account. For three or four days the
survey moved on in leisurely fashion. There was
no hurry. Why should there have been? Corn and
cotton had been laid by, the harvest-flow was on
the ricefields, and labor without stint was avail-

 

191THE CAPTAIN

able for chain-carriers and axemen. The kitchen-
garden was full of summer vegetables, there were
pears and clingstone peaches in the orchard, can-
taloupes cooling in the shade of the broad veranda,
while, in the cold depths of the well, ten fathoms
down, watermelons, tied in a bag and weighted
with iron plowshares, awaited resurrection at the
appointed hour. And in the cellar—whose key
the old butler kept as the Crusader kept his vow—
the bins held, under waxen seals inviolate, old wines
laid down long, long ago. And there was still an
anker or two of old Santa Cruz, ripening in soli-
tude year by year, as some men ripen with their
thoughts!

Every day they went forth, “for to admire and
for to see’—and, incidentally, to run the lines.
There was much to see. The pinelands were dotted
with the lovely yellow orchis and the rarer white,

 

and many flat meadow-like places were covered
with the crimson-throated Sarracenia—painted
wantons of the field, luring many tiny winged
things to destruction. The brownish-purple
boles of the great pines, always beautiful, were
lovelier still under the slanting rays of the evening
sun, and the forest floor at their feet showed here
and there the first yellow and purple blooms—the
advance guard—of the autumn flowers, the coarse
tho’ brilliant bourgeoisie of the woods, before whose

 

onset the fragile orchis would presently vanish as

the French noblesse before the canaille of the great
Revolution!

192THE SURVEY COMPLETED

But, with all their beauty, the woods didn’t hold
the old Surveyor and his companions too constantly
afield. Three hours in the morning and two more
in the late afternoon the old driver considered quite
enough for hot-weather work, and the Surveyor,
loving his ease and the good things of life, found
himself in ready agreement.

““Maussuh,” said the voice of the tempter: ‘“‘No use
fuh strain weself fuh wu’k too fas’ een shishuh hot
we’dduh lukkuh dis! Maussuh ent ’spec’ we fuh
do’um! Dishyuh groun’ ent gwine run’way! Ef ’e
tek notion fuh run, ’e yent got no foot fuh cya’um,
enty, suh? Berrywell. Ef my Maussuh bin yuh,
’eself, Uh know puhzac’ly wuh him fuh say, ’cause
him fuh tell me ’e no use fuh ’buze weself een de
sunhot w’en de we’dduh stan’ lukkuh dis. Him
woulduh tell me fuh fetch you out fuh two hour een
de mawnin’, en’ cya’ you home long time befo’ mid-
dleday, so you kin hab chance fuh ’fresh you’self
een da’ tub en’ da’ spring watuh, en’ hab time fuh
you nap ’fo’ time come fuh eat. En’, den, long time
attuh dinnuh, w’en de shadduh biggin fuh git long,
en’ de ebenin’ staa’t fuh cool, Uh fuh saddle you
hawss en’ fetch you out ’gen, fuh anodduh two hour;
but we fuh gone home time de sun down, so you foot
ent fuh wet een da’ hebby jew, ’cause Maussuh ent
wan’ you fuh git no febuh, no, suh. Da’ wuh him
woulduh say ef him bin yuh, but w’en him ent dey
een place him lef’ me yuh fuh dictate sukkuh him;
en’ t’odduh day Maussuh’ factuh een town sen’ uh
ansuh by ’e saa’bunt fuh tell me ’sponsubble suh de

193THE CAPTAIN

Suhweyuh fuh come dis week fuh run out Maussuh’
groun’, en’ ’e tell me fuh ketch fish en’ tarrypin
en’ t’ing, en’ mek de house-saa’bunt treat’um berry
mannusubble w’en ’e come, en’ feed’um high. So,
Uh try fuh filfil Maussuh’ wu’d same lukkuh de met-
sidge come out de factuh’ mout’. En’ now, suh,
ez Uh stan’ een Maussuh’ place, Uh haffuh tell you
’bout da’ cootuh soup en’ da’ trout en’ da’ summuh-
duck wuh An’ Jane hab fuh you dinnuh. En’ da’
t’ing fuh drink out da’ kyag een de sto’room! Yaas,
suh, dat’ so, suh, ’e yiz time fuh gone, ’cause de
sun berry hot. Yuh you hawss, suh—Mekace wun-
nuh boy! Fetch da’ chain en’ ting. Time fuh
gone!”

Then came the first day of the ‘‘cool week in Au-
gust,” eagerly looked forward to in the Low-Coun-
try as a break in the sustained heat of the long
summer. Heavy rains had fallen in the Up-Coun-
try, and lower temperatures and precipitation
moved down toward the Coast. First, cloudiness,
and a spit of rain on a northeast wind. Then
the clouds opened and it poured. Followed a day
or two of slowly clearing weather, with a flying
wrack of ragged clouds, but the clearing was re-
luctant. As a tempestuous woman, after an indul-
gence in storm, relinquishes her passion as grudg-
ingly as tho’ ’twere her dearest possession, the
storm passed at last, leaving the outdoor world
clean and sweet and fresh, as is the way with sum-
mer partnerships of wind and rain.

194THE SURVEY COMPLETED

Weatherbound while the spell lasted, the old Sur-
veyor took his ease, finding a library well stored with
books, and no distracting newspapers, withal, to di-
vert a man’s mind from the serious consideration of
the English classics. To dispel the dampness and re-
move the chill, fires of oak logs were built every day
in the big fireplace of the hall, and upon these, from
time to time, dry cedar branches were thrown, for
their cheerful crackle as the flames leapt among them
and for the fragrant incense they breathed. And the
guest “fared sumptuously every day,” served with
the prodigal hospitality that Low-Country servants
could extend so graciously at their masters’ expense.
Garden and orchard and farmyard yielded their
stores lavishly, terrapin were abundant, and, al-
though the waters were too high for fishing in the
creek, the resourceful old trunk-minder had, at
the first coming of his master’s guest, dammed off
a section of a water-filled ditch, and put away “for
a rainy day” a store of fine trout and bream. So
every day, in the all but empty house, the table was
spread with snowy napery and silver and cut-
glass for the solitary guest the household had been
bidden to welcome.

And the solitary guest did himself exceedingly
well! So well, indeed, that when bright skies sum-
moned him to complete his unfinished task his spirit
dragged like the feet of a Monday schoolboy!

Meanwhile, in the middle-country, every rill and
creek in Lexington, Barnwell, and Orangeburg
districts, brimming from the August rains, poured

195THE CAPTAIN

its flood waters down the gentle slope of the water-
shed into the Edisto. The river swelled and rose
to its banks, then, impatient of restraint, swept
over them and flooded the river swamps far back
to the up-lands, driving deer and turkeys and rab-
bits out of these summer fastnesses to the safety
of dry land. Down through Colleton district the
dark flood swept on its way to the sea, upon whose
broad and compassionate bosom all the rivers of
the world throw themselves and come to rest. The
clean, the foul, the placid, the turbulent, the swift,
the sluggish, all find surcease at last!

As a willing and dutiful child helping her mother
at a household task comes lovingly with her little
laden hands, so, from the first day rivers began to
run down the coastal plain of what men now call
Carolina, Penny Creek had brought all her narrow
watershed would yield to pour into the Edisto. Not
very much, perhaps, but a steady, dependable flow
and— all she had! In time of flood, however, the
bosom of the Edisto swelled for her tributaries,
and, as the Lord sometime showered horses, asses,
camels, and kine upon the faithful servant who had
been stripped of all his livestock, save his wife, so
the river, having presently more water than she
knew what to do with, poured her largesse into
Penny Creek, overflowing her banks and backing
water far up to the highlands in all her tributary
swamps.

Before the coming of the stormy week, the old
Surveyor had run all the lines save the line of the

196THE SURVEY COMPLETED

swamp, and on the bright morning after the storm,
when he came to the edge of the wooded swamp,
he found a flowing river, whose current, swirling
among the trunks of the trees, would have made
navigation even in a stout bateau extremely haz-
ardous. Even had it been possible to reach the
river bank by boat, a straight course by compass
could not have been laid, nor could the distance
have been measured.

‘“‘Maussuh, you cyan’ go een da’ place. ’E too
dainjus!”’ The creek was five or six hundred yards
distant but, asked how far it was, the driver, with
the Negro’s uncertainty about distance, made light
of it and, pointing to a spot a hundred yards away,
said, “Oh, ’e yent fudduh. ’E close. Shum dey,
suh! Shum? ’E dey dey, right weh you shum!
No use fuh gone een da’ place! Leh we call dis de
ribbuh. ’E yiz ribbuh teday, enty?”

They called it the river; the edge of the swamp
was the river’s brim, and the old Surveyor’s plat
bore the legend ‘“‘Penny Creek.”

Because, in the month of August, 1835, heavy
rains fell over the mid-country water-shed of the
Edisto, swelling the river into flood; because, out
of her abundance, the brimming river filled Penny
Creek to the banks and overflowed her tributary
swamps far out to the contiguous highlands; be-
cause the old Surveyor listened to the voice of the
hospitable driver, tempting him to shorten his hours
afield that he might devote himself more assiduously
to trout and terrapin and rum-shrub; because the

197THE CAPTAIN

old Surveyor’s addiction to the pleasures of the table
lost him a precious day upon which he could have
run the river line before the waters rose; and be-
cause, in December, 1873, the water was low, and the
young Surveyor walked dry-shod through the swamp
to the river’s brink, the Charleston factor came
into the ownership of two hundred acres of swamp
that his old plat didn’t call for, and whose existence
he had not suspected.

The youth’s theory of the old survey, was con-
ceded, even by the cynical Captain, to be as good

as another’s, and the darkies—less critical—thought

 

it plausible enough.

But before the Survey came to the end of the
upland it was to run into an exciting adventure,
and the Captain was to have another laugh at the
expense of his “niece.”

Nearing the swamp the land became richer, and
the growth of broomgrass, briars, and myrtles taller
and thicker. More than once the Captain—an old
hunter—recalled occasions upon which, on windy
days in winter, he had ridden up old bucks basking
in the sun on the sheltered side of similar thickets.
But the Negro curs, although they poked inquisitive
noses into every briarpatch along the way, put
up nothing larger than rabbits, woodrats, and “‘such
small deer.” And then, almost at the edge of the
swamp, the last thicket was reached.

A more sheltered spot could not have been found
in a day’s journey. It was protected from the cold
winds of the west by the wooded swamp at the back,

 

198THE SURVEY COMPLETED

and the morning sun poured upon the open side that
faced the field a flood of warmth. On this sheltered
side, broomsedge, briars, and soft “petticoat” grass
grew close up to the myrtles, and as the Captain
neared the beautiful covert he shouted with enthusi-
asm: “If there isn’t an old buck in that thicket,
[ll eat my hat!”

The Captain didn’t eat his hat! The course
of the survey lay to the right of the thicket, and,
as the leaders of the party came abreast of the first
bushes, there was a tremendous flutter in the myr-
tles, a panicky outcry from the nondescripts, and
a beautiful doe with her two yearlings broke cover
and made for the river, clearing the bushes in long
bounds, their white flags flying and the frenzied
pack hot-foot in pursuit. There was not a gun in
the party, but the Captain’s farflung whoop sped
them on their way.

The white tails vanished through the trees. The
deer reached the river and crossed. Their baffled
pursuers came straggling back with looks of mingled
pride for having put to flight so noble a quarry,
and shame for the futility of the pursuit. Several
minutes passed in discussing the incident.

“T shouldn’t be surprised if the old buck were there
now,” said the Captain. “I’ve known them to do
that—hang back and let the does and yearlings jump
and run off, then, when all the guns had been
emptied, and the pack was out of hearing, the sly
old rascal would get up quietly and sneak off. Let’s
look at their beds.”THE CAPTAIN

The Captain and the Surveyor entered the
thicket, the Negroes at their heels. There, deeply
impressed in the petticoat grass, were the beds
in which the three fugitives had lain since dawn,
when they had come from their nocturnal feed-
ing, and there, ten feet away, in a deeper and more
luxurious bed, lay the big brown body of the cun-
ning old buck, whose “‘ladies-and-children-first”’
trick had doubtless saved his selfish skin on many
occasions. With perfect composure and marvelous
self-restraint he had listened for ten minutes to
the voices of a dozen men within twenty yards of
where he lay, and when at last they invaded the
privacy of his sequestered chamber, ‘“‘whence all but
he had fled,” his self-control did not desert him,
and he lay absolutely motionless, long neck out-
stretched before him, and wide, unwinking eyes.
Not until the eye of man met his did he move an
eyelash, but, then, he jumped!

And the young Surveyor jumped with him. The
compass and the heavy tripod were in his hands, and,
too excited to lay them down, he plunged in the wake
of the buck, cantering leisurely through the thicket
to the wooded swamp beyond. But the pursuer was
to lose his handicap, for just beyond the thicket
lay a narrow ditch, long disused and overgrown
with vines and tangled grass. Running high, his
eyes upon the deer and taking no thought for his
feet, he caught the blind ditch in his stride and
came a cropper that sent compass and tripod flying,
and measured his length—such as it was— upon the

200THE SURVEY COMPLETED

forest floor. But he was quickly on his feet, and,
running lighter now, followed the chase for another
hundred yards, when the big buck, flirting his out-
spread tail contemptuously, put on a burst of speed
that quickly turned his pursuer upon the back track.
Picking up compass and tripod, the youth limped
back to his work, not at all abashed by the enthu-
siasm that, for the moment, had led him away.

“Well!” said the Captain, consolingly: ‘There’s
no fool like a young fool!’’ And there isn’t, really!

Another day or two and the adventure of the
Mitchell survey would end, for there remained only
the long triangle of high pineland adjoining Oak
Lawn, and this was quickly apportioned in five-and-
ten-acre plots to the colonists who had drawn land
upon which there was little or no timber. When
this had been finished, a new checkerboard plat
was delivered to the Reverend Lester Flood, and
a very explicit chart was put into his hands, set-
ting forth each colonist’s lines so clearly that the
simplest could understand.

The adventure of the Mitchell survey was over.
The ten days of hard work had been full of fun,
and had brought to whites and blacks the mutual
respect that comes from perfect understanding.
The Captain and the Surveyor went their ways,
while the Negro colonists addressed themselves to
Settling the Land.SETTLING THE LAND

The survey of the Mitchell land was completed
a few days before Christmas, and the Negroes be-
gan, with one accord, to enter upon their posses-
sions, to get out building material, and clear up
‘“new-ground.” Some of them were so eager to
commence work that they denied themselves even
the three-day rest at Christmas—a holiday claimed
on all Low-Country plantations, under slavery and
freedom.

The young Surveyor, soon to go away to work
on the railroad, was not to see the Mitchell place
again for several years, but the Captain was at hand,
and to him the older Negroes often came for “ex-
wice” in respect to building operations and the
cultivation of their land—sometimes, too, as to do-
mestic relations. The Captain’s counsel, always
sound, always disinterested, was frequently sea-
soned with “cussing” thrown in for good measure.
This they took laughingly, tho’ they didn’t always
take the “exwice.”

Among the first to build was old Cassius, who
had commenced to cut poles for his cabin on the day
his corner-posts were set. Almost every planta-
tion Negro of the period immediately following the
War knew how to build a log cabin, for these were
the Negro habitations in almost universal use in
the regions that had been swept by fire—where the
plantation slave-quarters, as well as the “big house,”
had been put to the torch. And not freedmen alone,

2
203THE CAPTAIN

but many former slaveholders, were glad of the
shelter of such primitive cabins as their ancestors
had built two centuries earlier, when they wrested
the soil from the Indians.

While all Negroes could build log cabins after a
fashion, the popular fashion was as “lame and un-
fashionable” as Richard, Duke of Gloster, himself!
Poles, of either long-leaf or short-leaf, were cut of
varying lengths and diverse diameters. Sometimes
they were “peeled,” but often the lazier brethren
notched and set them up with the bark on, leaving
the stripping process to Nature, which, operating
through her wood-borers or “sawyers,” Nature
proceeded to do very thoroughly, tho’ very untidily,
the poles shedding the bark in “shreds and patches,”
bit by bit. By the time ’twas all off, the logs, rot-
ting from the rain-water that had entered the tun-
nels of the wood-borers, were falling to pieces.
Then the householder would set up another pen of
unpeeled poles, to which, when the clapboard roof
was on, he would transfer the flooring and the doors
and windows, with their frames, from the old house,
and move in.

A few of the older Negroes, however, had the
patience, the industry, and the skill to build cabins
which, tho’ small, might have been models for the
famous log-camps of the Adirondacks. Cassius,
at once architect and builder, now set about
the construction of a cabin that would not only
shelter his old wife and himself comfortably
for the rest of their days, but would set before

204SETTLING THE LAND

the younger of the Mitchell colonists the superiority
of craftsmen trained under slavery over those who
had learned their trade haphazard after the war.
And the greater efficiency of the older Negroes was
so marked that it was generally conceded, even by
those with whose new craft it was contemptuously
compared.

“Enty ole-time Nigguh wu’t’ mo’nuh new Nigguh?
Co’se ’e yiz! Ole-time Nigguh haffuh Vaan! Ef
you dey een de fiel’, en’ you slight you wu’k en’
dribuh tell you wuh fuh do, you bettuh do’um, enty?
Ef you sassy’um, ’e knock you, sho’ ez Gawd! Ef
you dey onduh cya’p’ntuh fuh l’aa’n you trade, en’
you stubbunt en’ haa’dhead, de flat side uh da’
hatchitch wuh cya’p’ntuh hab een ’e han’ gwine mek
da’ head saaf’, enty? En’ ef you lazy en’ drap
‘sleep wile you duh blow da’ hebby bellus fuh de
blacksmit’, ef you seddown ’puntop da’ hot tongs
een you dream, enty you fuh wake up fas’? Berry-
well. Da’ w’ymekso all de new Nigguh yent wu’t’!”

So old Cassius, single-handed, began to prove his
faith by his works. ‘Uh fuh buil’ dis house me,
one—me en’ Gawd—’cause Gawd fuh gimme de
sperrit fuh cya’um t’ru. Him got de sperrit, en’
me got de han’ en’ foot, enty? Berrywell.”

Cassius had already cut his straight, smooth
long-leaf poles;—in two lengths, 28 feet for the
long side and 16 for the short side or gable.
Next he proceeded to “peel” them. There are two
methods of stripping the bark: the quicker and
easier being to “skin” it with a sharp spade, the

 

205THE CAPTAIN

other to shave it off slowly and cleanly with a
drawing-knife. Cassius chose the drawing-knife, for
the skinned poles, flecked as they were with strips of
bark, could never look clean enough to satisfy a
critical eye. So, when the poles had been hauled
or dragged up to the building site, one at a time,
tied to the rear axle of a little wagon, a wooden
“horse” was made and brought close to the pile.
Resting upon this support, one end of a pole would
be raised to a convenient height for the drawing-
knife operator and when that had been shaved clean;
the “horse” would be slipped toward the middle,
until the stripped end would go down and the bark
end tilt up and come under the hand of the
workman. When all had been peeled, Cassius
borrowed a cross-cut saw and the helping hand
of a neighbor’s boy, and sawed them square at the
ends, and exactly to length. Then he carefully
notched each pole a foot from the end, so that, when
set in place, the poles, tho’ seven or eight inches in
diameter, would be separated by spaces of only two
or three inches.

Sills, plates, joists, and rafters for the model
cabin, all laboriously hewn out of long-leaf pines
of varying sizes, while lacking somewhat in sym-
metry, would be more lasting, where exposed to
moisture, than the rough-surfaced product of the
sawmills. Flat “puncheons,” two inches thick by
four inches wide, for flooring the loft, were hewn in
similar fashion, and the same small timber from
which these were cut yielded, as a by-product,

206SETTLING THE LAND

thin slats to nail across the rafters to support the
shingled roof.

The log cabins of the Low-Country were seldom
covered with the short shingles in general use fer
more pretentious dwellings, for they were more
costly in themselves, and required more nails, more
time to lay, and better craftsmanship for the laying,
than clapboards, so clapboards were in almost uni-
versal use. These, split out of long-leaf pine, were
usually five to six feet long and four to six inches
wide, depending on the “splitting” qualities of the
log from which they were riven. If the log proved
responsive to the advances of “frow” and mallet,
the boards were cut to the maximum widths and
lengths desired; but if stubborn or resistant, the
workman had to content himself with narrower and
shorter cuts. The clapboards were commonly laid
in three rows, and the process was far simpler than
the putting on of shingles, for the artisan simply
set the first clapboard of the lower layer or “course”
to the overhang desired at the eaves, nailed it down,
and carried the course through to the other gable.
Then the joints were “lapped,” and the shin-
gler went on to the next course. As even the errant
eye of an untrained freedman could achieve a rea-
sonably straight alignment of three rows of clap-
boards, these roofs were well enough to look at and,
if split out of straight-grained logs and nailed down
at both ends, were fairly weather-proof—save when
it rained hard—but if split from twisted trees, or
thriftily nailed only in the middle, exposure to sun

207THE CAPTAIN

and rain would cause them to warp and curl up
as kinkily as the thatch with which Nature had
covered the heads of their builders!

Cassius scorned such slipshod work, however, and,
having decided that shingles were too expensive
and long clapboards both unsightly and unservice-
able, proceeded to compromise upon three-foot clap-
boards to be laid in six courses. The short boards
would never warp or buckle, and his roof would be
as tight, and almost as good to look at, as one of
shingles. So, having long selected and thrown a
suitable pine, he borrowed again the boy and the
long cross-cut, and sawed the tree into three-foot
blocks. These, with maul and wedges, were first
divided into slabs six inches thick, and then, with
frow and mallet, he split them into beautiful boards.
The product of each day’s work he built up at even-
ing into little pens or racks to air-dry until he
should be ready to lay them on the roof. All the
wide heart-boards were reserved for the house; the
narrower ones, and those that showed streaks of
sapwood, were put apart for covering the little
barn—perhaps a tiny stable for an ox—to be built
later.

Then, with saw and boy still in hand, he cut
from a heart-lightwood log six blocks, each two feet
long, upon which, as piers, his cabin would rest—
brick supports or foundations being unknown for
such structures.

At last, after several weeks’ hard work, old Cas-
sius, having made ready all his building material

208SETTLING THE LAND

and brought it conveniently near the site, sent out
a call to some of his neighbors to come and help
him raise his house. On a bright day in early Feb-
ruary they came. Very willingly, for Cassius stood
well in the community, and they knew, too, that
whenever their cry for similar help should go forth
the old darky would be the first to respond. Fifty
years ago the older Negroes observed such ameni-
ties far more freely among themselves than they
have done in later years, for the courtesy of their
old masters was still fresh in their impressionable
minds. It was a fine thing to watch, during the
earlier years following the Confederate War, the
meeting of two butlers or coachmen of the old re-
gime. Their dignity was impressive, their deferen-
tial courtesy toward each other beautiful, and their
unconscious aping of the mannerisms of their old
masters, very amusing.

The weather since the new-year had been mild
and the season was as far advanced as it sometimes
is on the first of March. In sheltered spots the
yellow jessamines were slowly coming into bloom
—here and there, over-night, one among a string
of golden beads would open its fragrant chalice,
timidly, hesitantly, as tho’ afraid to “waste its
sweetness on the desert air.’”’ In the swamps, the
buds of the poplars swelled, and the maples lit
their signal fires to rouse the slumberous earth to
its promise of resurrection! The wind among the
pine tops seemed softer, more caressing, and blue-
birds—harbingers of the Northern spring—that had

209THE CAPTAIN

wintered in these forests, now sounded their plain-
tive little notes more sweetly, while, in the quiet
dawns, the cardinals fluted their reveilles with all
the ardor of May.

The old men came—among them a young man or
two—but they were unmoved by bluebird, or cardi-
nal, or the South wind among the pines.

“Mawnin’, Buh Cassius. Huh you do? De we’dduh
stan’ fine.”

“De we’dduh stan’ good, fuh true, en’ Uh do de
bes’ Uh kin, t’engk-gawd! You see wuh Uh bin do,
enty? Shum yuh! Shum dey! Shum yanduh!
Me pole all done peel, me block all done saw, me
shingle all done split, en’ me sill, en’ me plate, en’
me jice, en’ me puncheon en’ me raftuh, all done
git out. Dem all dey dey, en’ dem all pass t’ru
deseyuh ten finguh wuh Gawd bin gimme, en’ ole
Maussuh show me how fuh nyuze. Nobody nebbuh
help me ’cep’ da’ chupit boy Uh bin borruh fuh
pull one side de cross-cut saw. En’ ’e nebbuh pull-
’um! ’E jis’ hol’um, en’ me, ’self, haffuh pull en’
shub, alltwo! Stillyet, Uh haffuh hab’um fuh hol’
de t’odduh handle, but de boy ent wu’t’. ’E bin
yuh t’ree day, ’e nyam t’ree peck uh me roas’ ’tettuh,
en’ ’e drap ’sleep ’puntop de saw, en’ me haffuh
pull him en’ ’e dream, alltwo! En’ da’ Nigguh
dream hebby! ’E yent wu’t’!

In this opinion the supreme court of elders—
sitting in judgment upon Youth—concurred with-
out dissent. Then they set to work. The first step
was to place the six lightwood blocks in the posi-

210SETTLING THE LAND

tions old Cassius had carefully marked out for them
—four at the corners, and the others midway of
the two long sides. These blocks, two feet long and
eighteen inches in diameter, were set on end in
slight excavations in the sandy soil, the lower ends
having first been given a coat of pitch to make them
impervious to moisture. Upon these the first poles
were laid, extra heavy ones having been selected.
The notches fell directly over the lightwood blocks,
to which the poles were bolted with iron spikes,
cabbaged from the railroad. Then followed the
slow and careful raising of the house—the up-build-
ing, pole by pole, of the pen of alternately long
and short members. The heaviest poles were laid
at the bottom, the diameters gradually decreasing,
until the very lightest lay at the top. The poles
cut by old Cassius had been so carefully chosen
that they were almost cylindrical, but, even with
these, the old Negroes were careful to lay them with
butt-ends and upper ends alternating, so that the
four sides of the house would rise uniformly to-
gether. And from time to time a spirit-level, bor-
rowed from the Reverend Lester Flood, carpenter,
would be run over the poles, and any marked de-
viation from the horizontal would be overcome by
chipping the notch, on one or the other side, a lit-
tle deeper. By noon, with the help of willing hands,
the last poles were in place, twelve feet above the
ground, and the workers stopped for dinner, before
putting on the plates, joists, and rafters.

The dinner-pail of the Low-Country plantation

211THE CAPTAIN

hand of fifty years ago—not always a full dinner-
pail, poor fellow—was invariably a two-quart tin
bucket, carried by men and women to the fields,
to the woods, wherever they went to work. In this
was packed for the mid-day meal whatever the
family larder afforded, the food prepared by fire-
light at dawn by the women of the household—
often by the man himself. The basis of the daily
ration was always coarse hominy or corn bread,
tho’ sometimes, for a change, heavy wheat bread
was substituted—a flat, unleavened bread, of the
common flour of the commissaries, baked crudely
and hurriedly in a deep frying pan or spider. If
the tin bucket contained meat, it was always coarse,
fat bacon, but often the ration was meatless, and
then the hominy would be omitted, for dry corn
bread, however coarse and short of shortening, can

 

be choked down far more successfully than the
Negro’s dietetic abomination, “dry cawn-hom’ny.”’
Sometimes a bit of bacon and a handful of cow-
peas boiled with rice would fill the bucket with
“hopp’n’john”—a toothsome and a sustaining ration.
If rice were not available, the peas and bacon would
be boiled with grist, a fairly satisfactory substitute.
On meatless days, sweet potatoes, baked or roasted,
helped out the bread; often the ration consisted of
Sweet potatoes alone. And if the food were only
bread, a little flask of molasses would be added.
But, on the darkest dietary days, the poor freed-
man would have to his dinner but dry hominy—
cold, coarse, “dry cawn-hom’ny”’!—with black mo-

212SETTLING THE LAND

lasses, the worst food that black man—or white
boy—ever tried to eat!

The tired Negroes, turning “from labor to re-
freshment,” gathered around the fire, from whose
deep ashes Cassius began to rake with a forked
stick the sweet potatoes that had been roasting for
hours. One at a time, he tossed each hot tuber
from hand to hand and blew upon it vigorously,
until, rid of the ashes that clung to the candied
skin, it was laid upon the clean pine straw to cool,
when he addressed himself to another. When they
were all dusted, the tin buckets that had been warm-
ing around the fire were uncovered, and—on this
day, at least—none contained a meatless ration.
Most of them, indeed, were packed with hopp’n’-
john,” for peas and rice and bacon had happened
to come their way, and, each ingredient having a
strong affinity for the other two, they had been com-
bined, as only the older Negroes knew how to com-
bine them, into the most satisfactory “balanced
ration” ever set before a dusky gourmet of the
Coast-country. “Um-umh,” as the iron spoons
commenced to rattle against the tin: “Dishyuh
ting good!’’

“Yaas, man, ’e good fuh true! En’ ’e strong!
Ef man nyam strong bittle lukkuh dis, de man,
’self, haffuh strong, enty?”

“You talk trute, ’e yiz strong. En’ ’e hab shishuh
good ralish! You nebbuh see no bittle fuh ralish
Nigguh’ mout’ lukkuh dis, duh wintuh-time, ’cep’
ham-en’-rice! Dem eegnunt Nigguh een town,

213THE CAPTAIN

talk ’bout how Nigguh fuh lub chickin, but, shuh!
Dem town-Nigguh ent know nutt’n’! Nigguh lub
fuh raise’um, eb’nso ’e lub fuh t’ief’um, but, w’ed-
duh ’e raise’um, uh w’edduh ’e t’ief’um, him neb-
buh bodduh ’bout eat’um, ’cause da’ fowl en’ dem
aig haffuh sell, en’ de ’ooman tek de money fuh
buy hog meat, enty? 3errywell.”

“ER stan’ so, bubbuh, same lukkuh you say, ‘cause
Uh ’membuh een slabery time, w’en Chris’mus come,
en’ Maussuh hab uh hebby beef kill’ fuh de plantes-
shun, sometime ’e call some uh we fait’ful man
wuh him hab fuh ’pen’ ’pun, en’ ’e say, ‘Wunnuh
boy, Uh pick out you t’irty man, ’cause you iz good
Nigguh, en’ wuhebbuh you wan’ fuh you Chris’mus
dinnuh you kin hab’um. Maum Phibby hab fowl,
en’ goose, en’ tuckrey en’ t’ing, een baa’nyaa’d,
sheep dey een de fiel’, cow dey duh ’ood, hog duh
grunt een de pen, en’ de smokehouse full ’tel ’e duh
groan. Now, wuh you wan’ fuh eat?”

“All time Maussuh duh tell we ’bout dem ralishin’
bittle, we belly hankuh attuhr’um ’tel de watuh
leak out we mout’! Ebb’ry man pull ’e wool, ’crape
’e foot, en’ crack ’e teet’ fuh talk, one time, but de
dribuh step out to de front, ’e hice ’e han’, en’ all
uh we man shet we mout’ tight, sukkuh alligettuh-
cootuh snap ’e jaw w’en you poke’um wid stick.
Nobody nebbuh say nutt’n’.”

“No, wuh use fuh t’irty man fuh talk one time,
w’en dribuh dey dey fuh talk’um fuh you?”

“Yaas, cause ebb’ry man know puhzac’ly wuh

214SETTLING THE LAND

de dribuh gwine say, ’cause da’ dribuh’ belly duh
hankuh attuh hog, sukkuh we’own.”’

“You shum, enty ?”

“So, dribuh clear ’e t’roat, ’e ’crape ’e foot, en’
’e say, ‘My Maussuh, all dem t’ing wuh you call ’e
name, stan’ berry good, en’ ’e mek Nigguh’ mout’
leak fuh yeddy ’bout’um, but, you know, my Maus-
suh, hog iz Nigguh meat, so, please suh, gi’ we hog.
All kind’uh hog stan’ good een Nigguh’ mout’, en’
da’ hopp’n’john, him done fuh good, but him kin
mek out’uh side meat en’ shoulduh, but Nigguh
nebbuh git chance fuh nyam ham out’uh ’e Maus-
suh’ smokehouse ’cep’ Chris’mus come, so do, my
Maussuh, gi’ we ham en’ rice.’ En’ all de man
holluh, ‘Yaas, Maussuh, dribuh talk’um ‘traight!’
Maussuh laugh, ’e say, ‘Berrywell,’ en’ ’e tell dribuh
wuh fuh do.

“Wen Chris’mus mawnin’ come, dribuh git da’
hebby b’iluh dem hab fuh b’ile watuh fuh seal’ hog.
’E mek fiah een Nigguh-house-yaa’d, en’ ’e tell de
leely Nigguh fuh pick up chip en’ keep fiah
onduhr’um all day. Den’ ’e gone to de smoke-house,
en’ Da’ Ben g’em ten ham, en’ Da’ Ben cutt’um up
fuhr’um wid ’e hatchitch en’ saw, so ’e fuh bile
easy. Den, dribuh gone to de big house en’ ’e baig
fuh some black peppuh. Ole Missis gone een ’e
sto’room en’ ’e g’em "bout uh quawt. Dribuh tek
’e meat en’ ’e peppuh, en’ ’e gone Nigguh-house-
yaa’d. Time him git dey, pot duh bile. "E t’row
een de ham en’ de peppuh, en’ ’e tell de ’ooman fuh
watch de pot ’sponsubble, en’ skim’um off w’enebbuh

215THE CAPTAIN

de scum rise. Attuh de meat done b’ile ’bout t’ree
hour, dribuh t’row een bushel uh clean rice, en’
’e tell de ’ooman fuh skim’um ’gen. Attuh one mo’
hour done gone, dribuh stan’ close da’ pot, ’eself,
en’ ’e stuhr’um wid ’e hebby i’un spoon ’bout two
foot long. W’en all de watuh mos’ dry out, dribuh
rake’out de fiah frum onduhneet’ de pot en’ lef’ da’
rice fuh soak. At de fus’, steam bubble out’um fag’,
sukkuh ’ooman w’en ’e bex fuh true-true; den,
bumbye, ’e jis’ sputtuh leetle bit, lukkuh de bex
staa’t fuh gone out de ’ooman w’en you nebbuh
ansuhr’um back, en’ ’e fiah gone out ’cause nobody
nebbuh blow’um up!

“W’en dribuh shum stan’ so, ’e holluh, en’ ’e hol-
luh loud! ’E yent haffuh holluh long, ’cause, by
dat time all de t’odduh Nigguh ready fuh eat de
cow en’ t’ing Maussuh g’em, en’ we’self iz hongry,
en’, budduh! Lemme tell you! W’en de Nigguh
smell da’ t’ing, en’ look ’puntop de steam duh come
out’um en’ staa’t fuh rise to de sky, ebb’ry Nigguh
feel lukkuh him sperrit dey een da’ steam, gwine to
’e Jedus! Dribuh tek ’e long fawk, en’ da’ big
l’un spoon, en’ ’e shubble out de bittle. Ebb’ry
man fetch de bigges’ bucket ’e kin git, en’ dribuh
full’um wid rice en’ ham. Ebb’rybody git big
piece’uh ham, en’ ebb’rybody hankuh attuh de hock,
‘cause da’ ham’ hock sweet tummuch. enty? Now
en’ den, one de man git one de hock, but dribuh
smaa’t, en’ ’e schemy, en’ w’enebbuh ’e see one de
hock biggin fuh rise out de rice, ’e shub’um back,
en’ push’um down; den, bumbye, w’en all de t’odduh

216SETTLING THE LAND

man done git dem’own, en’ dribuh ready fuh help
’eself, ’e got all de sweet hock meat, en’ da’ rice-
cake, down to de bottom uh de pot—”

“Top man! ’Top talk ’bout da’ ting! Uh jis’
done eat en’ you mek me hongry ’gen, jis’ fuh yeddy
*bout’um! Time fuh wu’k, enty?”

Refreshed with food and invigorated by talk, the
Negroes returned to work with renewed energy
and, by night, plates, joists, rafters, laths, and ridge-
pole, had all been set, and the sills were laid for the
down-stairs flooring. The house was not yet half
finished, but it had been ‘“‘raised,”’ and could be com-
pleted by the old man himself with very little help.
So, with profuse thanks from Cassius for their
aid, and polite assurances from the helpers that
he was entirely welcome, they went their several
ways.THE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

Cassius, early at work next morning, decided to
cover his house first, so that if bad weather came
he could work indoors—laying the puncheons to floor
the loft and the sawmill flooring downstairs, and
nail the clapboard lining over the openings between
the logs. Needing some one, however trifling, to hand
him the shingles on the roof, he borrowed again
the “ent wu’t’?” boy from the obliging neighbor,
who was glad enough to have him fed for his work.
Nor was Cassius unaware of the cost of his mainte-
nance. “Da’ boy sho’ hab uh ’ceib’in’ belly! You
shum stan’ so, ’e look narruh, but w’en ’e eat, da’
belly fuh ’tretch sukkuh kingfishuh’ t’roat w’en ’e
swalluh fish! W’en da’ boy git ready fuh nyam
‘tettuh, ef you full you peck medjuh ’e gwine
empty’um befo’ de day done! Him done fuh eat!”

For four days the boy handed up shingles, first
from a rude scaffold, and then from the roof, and
old Cassius hammered them down in workman-
like manner. He was unsparing in the use of nails.
“Uh yent fuh stingy wid me nail. Ef Uh treat me
roof right, en’ g’em all wuh blonx to’um, bumbye,
w’en de rain fall ’puntop’um, him fuh treat me right,
enty? Some dese new Nigguh wuh duh mek house,
dem dat triflin’, w’en dem nail de clapboa’d down
dem too stingy fuh pit mo’nuh one nail een’um, en’
dem nail him een de middle. Attuhw’ile, rain come.
'H wet’um. Sunhot come attuh de rain. ’E dry’um.
En’, wile ’e duh dry, ’e wawp’um, ’tel ebb’ry Gawd’

219HE CAPTAIN

clapboa’d ’puntop de roof quile en’ twis’up ’tel ’e
stan’ sukkuh fedduh ’puntop frizzle fowl! W’en de
we’dduh shum stan’ so, ’e bex. ’E say, ‘Eh, eh,
da’ Nigguh duh fix fuh git wet, enty? Da’ roof
duh gyap all dem mout’ sukkuh nyung bu’d gyap
dem mout’ fuh de wurrum dem maamy fetch!
Uh wunduh ef da’ roof duh laugh ’cause ’e yent
count me? Ef ’e yiz, Uh fuh wet da’ Nigguh soon
ez Gawd en’ de moon lemme do’um!’ ’E do’um, too.
Soon ez de moon change, en’ Gawd tu’n’um loose,
de we’dduh gone een da’ house en’ ’e wet’um, ’tel
de Nigguh haffuh creep onduhneet’ ’e bed fuh sleep!
Uh yent wan’ no frizzle’hen roof, en’ Uh yent
want’um fuh gyap ’e mout’ at de we’dduh fuh
mek’um bex. So Uh fuh nail’um tight!”

And he did. When his incessant woodpecker-
tapping ceased, and he came down from the top
to inspect his completed roof, he saw, on each side,
six smoothly laid courses in perfect alignment—good
to look at, and tight enough, he was sure, to with-
stand even the slanting floods of the equinoctial
gales.

On another day he fitted, and nailed down lightly,
his rough 12-inch boards from the saw-mill. There
was no dressed tongued-and-grooved flooring for
Negro cabins in those days, nor, indeed, for the log
cabins of whites—in Saint Paul’s Parish. Cassius
knew that the green boards would shrink and show
ever-widening cracks until they were thoroughly
seasoned. He knew, too, that the air-drying proc-
ess would be hastened by the fires that the Ne-

290THE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

groes burn in their living-room kitchens summer
and winter. By the following winter, then, his
boards would be seasoned enough to nail down per-
manently, and, meantime, he might even borrow a
fore-plane in the summer, after his crop was laid
by, and dress them off. But the crop to be laid by
was not yet planted, nor was the forest cleared upon
which it would be grown! So, as the old man’s
ultimate objective of a smooth, tight floor could
not be attained before the coming autumn, he con-
soled himself with the thought that the cracks would
give his house better ventilation in summer, and
the cool air that would creep up at night from
the porous pineland soil, would temper the heat of
many a torrid spell.

Many Negro log cabins have no lining whatever,
being merely ‘“chinked” with clay—mixed, when
wet, with the fibrous, hair-like “black”? moss—span-
ish moss—from which the softer parts have been
rotted away. This is found in limited quantities
under the live-oak trees, but if the supply thus
gathered is not sufficient to meet the demand, piles
of green moss are covered with wet sand and left
to rot until only the springy black fibres remain.
These, first washed and dried, are mixed with wet
clay, and the mortar is packed by handfuls into
the crevices—from two to four inches wide—be-
tween the logs. The moss holds the clay together
until it hardens. Once hard, if properly packed,
it is fairly weatherproof.

221THE CAPTAIN

But the cabin old Cassius was presently build-
ing was no ordinary cabin, and the crude methods
in common use were rejected as unworthy of con-
sideration by one trained under slavery. So, with
saw and hatchet and nails, Cassius set to work to
cover the spaces between the logs with smooth
6-inch clapboards, fitting them together in so
workmanlike a manner that when, at the end of two
days, his task was finished, he had given his house
an inner lining that would be proof against ordi-
nary storms, even should the ‘“‘chinking” with clay
be delayed. But the “chinking’” was not delayed,
for the old man’s helpful wife had found time from
her work on the Kinzie King place to gather, from
under the live-oaks, a store of black moss quite suf-
ficient to hold the plastic clay firmly in the bond of
economic wedlock in which, by the custom of the
community, it had been joined in the chinks of a
thousand cabins!

The loamy soils of the Pon-Pon area, whether
of the sandy type of the pinelands, or the dark,
heavy land of the plantations, are underlaid with
red clay at no great depth below the surface, and,
here and there along the highways and neighbor-
hood roads, “clay-holes” are found, wherein the
rain-water lies throughout the year, save in periods
of excessive drought. From these, builders who
have no clay of their own, freely help themselves.
Certain roadside clay-holes, whose locations Cassius
recalled, were within easy hauling distance of his
cabin, but, a resourceful old fellow, he remembered

oOoTHE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

that, while setting his lightwood corner-posts at
the beginning of the survey, he had struck stiff
red clay of very fine quality within three feet of
the surface. An idea struck him—a single stone
of thought—and brought down, forthwith, two
birds of difficulty. ““Wuh use fuh borruh oxin-
cyaa’t, en’ trabble spang t’odduh side Willtown road,
fuh dig clay out da’ clay-hole en’ haul’um yuh, w’en
Uh got clay right yuh een me own yaa’d, onduh me
han’—en’ onduh me foot, ’cause Uh yent dig’um yet.
Uh haffuh hab well, enty?” He had to have a well,
for, upon his elevated land there were no springs,
nor were there any upon the holdings of his nearest
neighbors.

 

Perhaps it is a survival from their Eastern origin,
when, at desert water-holes, even the primitive
savage would share the fetid moisture of his muddy
pool with those who passed that way athirst, but
Negroes controlling wells or springs dispense their
waters more generously; those having none make
freer use of those of their neighbors than do the
whites.

Water, to the Negro, is as free as air, and to
none is it ever forbidden; so, to the deep wells, the
cool, sequestered springs, of those that have, their
neighbors come or send their children with the
utmost freedom, as a matter of course. And the
chance meetings of women and children at the pools
are as friendly as those of the lesser ruminants at
African water-holes.THE CAPTAIN

If a spring had bubbled from among the roots
of beech or oak on any one else’s land within easy
reach of old Cassius, its waters—dipped by gourd,
or pail, or piggin—would have been his, without
the ceremony of a ‘“by-your-leave,” but upon this
pineland ridge there were no springs, and his nearest
neighbors, like himself, would have to dig down
for the waters under the earth.

Cassius lost no time in beginning, and the knowl-
edge that, while going after water, he would be
throwing out clay for his chimney and the chinks
in his walls, spurred him to extra effort. A few of
the older Negroes believed in the willow wand as
an effective instrument for detecting the pres-
ence of subterranean waters, but Cassius had little
faith in water-witches, or willow switches, and,
knowing that the water-table of his ridge lay but
fifteen feet below the surface, he was concerned only
with locating his well in the most convenient place.
“De watuh dey dey. No use fuh bodduh ’bout him,
’cause, wehebbuh me spade drap, ef Uh dig down,
de watuh dey dey duh wait fuh me.” He took
thought for a moment—tho’ only for a moment—
whether to place his well at the back, where it
would be more convenient for him, or at the front,
where its cool waters might better offer refresh-
ment to passing friends or casual wayfarers. Like
the considerate old fellow he was, his decision was
for his friends, not himself.

“?R mo’ cunweenyunt fuh me fuh hab’um to
de back uh me house, but ef man come een me yaa’d

994THE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

t?us’ty, Uh cyan’ tell’um fuh gone ’roun’ me house
fuh drink. Uh cyan’ treat’um lukkuh him bin cow!
So, Uh gwine dig da’ well een front, close dem oak-
tree; den, w’en summuh come, ef somebody come een
me yaa’d fuh drink, him kin full de killybash wid de
watuh out me well, en’ seddown onduh me tree fuh
fresh ’eself een me shade, enty?”

So, warming his heart with the thought of the
simple hospitality he would some day offer to friends
and neighbors—even to the stranger within his
gates—he drove his sharp spade into the loam and
commenced to dig near his clump of post-oaks,
whose summer shade would shelter those who drank
or rested at the well. The old man dug rapidly,
for the loam was soft, and he threw each spadeful
as far as he could, casting first to one side and then
to another, until, when he got down to the clay,
three feet below the surface, he had scattered the
top soil uniformly around the well, but the clay—
the precious mortar that would plaster both walls
and chimney—could not thus lightly be cast aside,
so Cassius set about its conservation. And again
he needed the boy his spirit spurned.

“TDa’ boy bex me tummuch, but Gawd nebbuh gim-
me but two han’ en’ two foot, en’ Uh nyuze dem all
Uh kin, en’ nebbuh call on nobody fuh help me, ’cep’
Uh need mo’ han’ en’ mo’ foot den wuh Uh got. Now,
Uh need fo’ han’ en’ fo’ foot fuh moobe dis clay,
so Uh haffuh git da’ boy ’gen; but attuh Uh done
git all de han’ en’ foot wuh ’e got, en’ t’row’um een
wid my’own, Uh yent got but t’ree han’ en’ t’ree

995THE CAPTAIN

foot—me nuh him, alltwo! Uh count’um fo’, my
Mastuh, but ’e yent but t’ree!”’

With three hands and three feet at his command,
Cassius faced the task of digging a hole four feet
square, through twelve feet of stubborn clay down
to the gravel bed that held the cool and limpid
waters of his hope, and the even harder job of haul-
ing up the clay and moving it away from the mouth
of the well. Besides his spade, he had patched up
a dilapidated mattock, and picked up an old shovel,
whose handle he had shortened to permit its use
within the narrow walls of his well. So his tools
were adequate. Lacking a wheelbarrow, he was not
without a wheeled contrivance for removing the
clay, once he got it above ground. While sawing
out the blocks from which he had split his clap-
boards, the old man had cut four solid wheels, three
inches thick and sixteen inches in diameter, and
put them aside until he should need them. Need-
ing them now, he selected two, bored large auger
holes through their centers, and fitted into them a
short axle cut from a small hickory sapling. Upon
this primitive running gear he mounted an old
box, attached a stout handle, and was forthwith
possessed of a serviceable hand-cart that would
serve his turn quite as well as a wheelbarrow.

For the first six feet of his downward progress,
Cassius dug with spade and mattock, and threw
out the loosened clay, which the boy shoveled into
the cart and hauled to the spot where the mortar
bed had already been laid; but, as he went deeper,

296THE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

the up-throw was beyond the power of his arm,
so he built a rude crane over the deepening well,
and rigged up, with an ante-bellum pulley from
some coastwise craft long gone and a new plow-
line, a block-and-fall to bring the clay to the surface.
To this an iron bucket was attached, and, first slip-
ping down a rough ladder to assure himself a means
of egress independently of the good offices of the
boy, the old man climbed down once more, with
many admonitions to his youthful helper as to his
manipulation of the bucket.

“Tek care how you handle da’ bucket, boy! Ef
you hol’um loose w’en ’e full’up wid da’ hebby clay,
en’ ’e slip’out you han’ en’ drap ’puntop me head en’
kill me, Uh fuh lick you, enty? Uh lick you sho’ ez
Gawd, soon ez Uh git out dis well, Uh dunkyuh wuh
you maamy say, so you bettuh min’!”’

The boy hauled slowly and carefully, and the
team work was perfect. Cassius would dig up a
foot or two at a time, and when it got in his way
the boy was summoned to lower the bucket and haul
it up, piling the clay by the side of the well; then,
while the old man dug for another spell, the boy
would be moving the last pile to the mortar-bed. So
they worked for two days, when, in the gravel bed
under foot, Cassius came upon the living waters that
welled up to meet him. ‘T’engk-gawd! but dish-
yuh t’ing come strong! Uh haffuh git out ’e way!”
He climbed out, hauled up his ladder after him,
and dismissed the boy with a word of praise that
his heart begrudged to any one of his race born

OT
ia ATHE CAPTAIN

since the days of nullification! “Uh bin call you
no’count, en’ you bin no’count, fuh true, ’pun all
da’ t’?odduh wu’k, but dishyuh job, you do’um berry
well. En’ now you kin gone!”

On another day his friends helped him put in his
curb and rig up a permanent windlass, and his
well was known thereafter as the source of the
clearest and coolest water in the Mitchell commu-
nity.

Now that both clay and water were at hand,
Cassius made ready to build his chimney. He had
already prepared the material for his wooden frame-
work, and again he called on his helpful friends
to join him in putting together and building up
the pen—broad and square at the bottom to en-
close the wide, deep fireplace, then sloping from
the shoulders to the throat that narrowed grad-
ually to the top. The more primitive clay-chimney-
builders construct their framework with no more
regard for symmetry than an osprey shows in put-
ting together its nest; but Cassius was building
a chimney to match his cabin, and his cabin was
already a model, so his uprights were set with
precision and on their four sides the crosspieces
were nailed as closely and evenly as a plasterer’s
laths. The stiff clay was then mixed with water
and kneaded to the right consistency, and his friends
helped him plaster it heavily over the framework
of the chimney, inside and out. Then, when the
clay hearth, built up two feet above the ground,
had been carefully leveled, Cassius gathered chips

DORTHE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

and kindled a little blaze. As the firelight flickered
over the cabin walls, his tired old eyes, for a mo-
ment, reflected its glow. But for a moment only.
Going outside, he watched the blue smoke rising
straight up into the dusk. And, baring his head,
he whispered a fervent “Vengk-gawd!”’

Another day he mixed black moss and wet clay,
and chinked from the outside all the crevices be-
tween the logs, packing them so tightly as to make
his walls almost air-tight. He smoothed the clay
with a trowel, and—all ship-shape now—the home
he had yearned for, the home he had striven for,
had come to him at last!

With two or three turns of a neighbor’s ox-cart,
Cassius brought his poor household belongings and
bestowed them in the cabin. With them came his
wife, and the few fowls, so important a part of
every country Negro’s establishment. For these
a latticed house had been built, and, shut in for
the first night, they were turned out at daylight
each morning thereafter to forage the woods for
pine-mast, grass seeds, and such bugs and other
creeping things as the early season had tempted
to forsake their hibernation.

Next, Cassius put up a little barn, or storehouse.
There was nothing to put into it yet, nor would
there be for many months to come, but the old man
thought it well to be forehanded, and, with a heart
full of hope for the harvest of the autumn, still so
far away, he had provided a capacious erib for his

229THE CAPTAIN

corn, a smaller bin for peas, and a loft for his seed
cotton.

“Uh cyan’ wait fuh mek house fuh_ hol’
me crap ’tel attuh de crap done mek. No, suh!
Ef da’ crap ready fuh ripe, en’ Uh yent hab house
fuh pit’um een, da’ crap fuh shame me, enty? ’E
shame me sho’ ez Gawd, ’cause de cawn fuh say:
‘Wuh kind’uh man dis? ’E plant me, en’ hoe me,
’e plow me en’ all, en’ now, attuh Uh done mek,
’e lef’ me yuh fuh crow en’ bluejay en’ all dem
debble’ub’uh fambly fuh bodduh me en’ pull out
me grain, en’ de rokkoon en’ ’possum fuh ’stroy’d
me wuss mo’nuh de bluejay en’ de crow.’ Den,
attuh cawn done talk, cotton him haffuh crack ’e
teet’?! De boll gyap dem mout’ wide op’n, en’ ’e
fluff’out w’ite, sukkuh boy’ mout’ w’en ’e binnuh
chaw soap! En’ da’ cotton fuh say: ‘Uh wunduh
weh da’ man iz wuh Uh blonx to? Uh binnuh ag-
guhnize wid grass en’ hebby rain en’ cattuhpilluh
en’ ting all t’ru de summuh, en’ now, w’en Uh
ready fuh pick, nobody come fuh pick me.’ Da’
wuh dem gwine say, enty? Uh cyan’ ’low me crap
fuh shame me lukkuh dat, so befo’ de crap plant
Uh mek house fuh pit’um een.”

Before undertaking the arduous task of felling
timber and grubbing up new ground for the crop,
whose seed, as yet, had sprouted only in his mind,
Cassius enclosed his yard and garden with a six-
foot fence of “wattled” palings, and when he had
swung his front gate between two great lightwood
posts, imposing enough to have flanked the lodge

230THE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

entrance of an English park, his bones were weary,
but his heart was full of honest pride at having
built, with his own capable hands, the first home-
stead set up on the Mitchell land.

While traversing the long-leaf areas of the Mitch-
ell tract, the Captain, the Surveyor, and the older
Negroes were impressed with the lasting proper-
ties of the lightwood corner-posts they came across.
Even in damp places, where the water-table lay
very near the surface, the posts were as sound as
they had been when set in 1835!

The durability of red-cedar posts is common
knowledge wherever the cedar grows; the Virginia
squire would rather a vandal steal his feather-
bed or even up-root his mint-bed, than cut a walk-
ing stick or a riding switch from his thicket of
black locust; but it is doubtful if either of these
lasting woods is comparable with “fat” lightwood
for use in the moister regions of the South.

In 1885 there stood in the “Garris neighborhood”’
of upper Colleton County a substantial farm-house
whose occupant, then an old man, was the grand-
son of the builder. Proud of his grandfather’s house,
he was prouder still of his grandfather’s wide farm-
gate, hung eighty-five years earlier, and of the great
lightwood posts upon which it swung, for these
had been standing for 110 years! The posts, twelve
inches square, had been hewn from lightwood logs
with the broadaxe, their sides and corners smoothed
and rounded with adze and drawing-knife. The four

231THE CAPTAIN

feet of their length below ground had been charred
and pitched before they were set, the old man said,
and, impervious to moisture, the rains of more
than five score winters had made no impression
upon them. What earlier gates had hung between
these posts, the old man couldn’t tell. He only knew
that the “new” gate was 85 years old!

And a beautiful gate it was. First roughly split
from ten-foot lightwood logs, the square pieces had
then been riven with frow and mallet, and “drawn”
and smoothed with the drawing-knife, into slats
four inches wide and three-quarters of an inch thick.
These, mortised and tenoned, were so perfectly fitted
together that only the closest scrutiny could detect
the little lightwood pins that fastened them. The
hinges, slowly hammered out at the primitive forge
of a country blacksmith, were in perfect artistic
keeping with the gate they upheld, and had with-
stood, withal, the rusts of nearly a century, for in
the old days work, however beautiful, was made
to last, and men wrought for the sake of the work
—for the honor of their hands—not alone for what
the work brought into them! Weathered by sun
and wind and rain, posts and gate were a soft
and beautiful gray—the surface slightly rough-
ened, where driving rains, from time to time, had
worn away the softer parts of the wood. But a
sliver shaved from the gray surface with a pen-
knife showed beneath the rich yellow wood, charged
to saturation with a spirit that would preserve it
for centuries!THE FIRST CABIN COMPLETED

How many sermons lie in those old posts, set
firm in Mother Earth a century and a half ago!
The Declaration of Independence had not then been
written, and the germ of the great republic was
yet in the keeping of a handful of feeble colonies.
From the date of their setting, fifty years had
passed before the forests echoed the shriek of the
first locomotive; seventy-five, before Morse’s mo-
mentous “what hath God wrought!’ bound the
world together with a wire!

For lightwood comes by fire. As gold is freed
from dross in the furnace, and comes out pure and
bright, so in the fires that sweep the long-leaf
forests the sapwood burns away from the fallen log,
and the heart, tho’ seared and bruised and darkened
becomes richer and stronger for the ordeal through
which it has passed—its character fixed, immu-
table. But for the fires that swept the forests and
turned into lightwood the fallen log from which
the old posts were cut, the wood, as common yellow
pine, would have rotted away a hundred years ago!

Swept by the fires of sorrow—dross and sap-
wood burned away—the hearts of men, if only the
hearts be sound, are strengthened and enriched
—standing at last like the old lightwood posts,
“steadfast, unmovable,” and holding within them-
selves the will to withstand all the adverse winds
that blow!THE LAND SETTLED

One by one, the Mitchell colonists, following the
lead of old Cassius, entered upon their land, built
cabins, storehouses, and fences, and began to make
ready for the coming crop. As there were
forty odd settlers, there were full two-score differ-
ent styles of architecture. The taste of some in-
clined to solid structures, with simple lines; that
of others—contrary to the advice of old Polonius
—was “express’d in fancy’—lurid, flagrant fancy,
at that! Lacking livestock, however, none among
them built ‘‘a cottage with a double coach-house,” so
none could be charged with the “pride that apes
humility!’ Indeed, to the contrary, for the Negro
is none too considerate of his work animals, and a
clapboard shed with one side boarded up against
the north wind, was regarded by most of them as
adequate shelter for horse or mule or ox. If boarded
on two sides, the man was a humanitarian, while
he that sheltered his “creetuh” on three sides was
held as one “‘who loveth well both man and bird and
beast.”

“Wuh use fuh pampuhr’um? Ef you feed’um
too high, ef you mek ’e house too wawm, ’e
gwine git dat skittish, fus’ t’ing you know, ’e
t’row you, enty? Da’ t’ing stan’ sukkuh ’ooman!
Ef you sp’il’um; ef you fetch’um een you house en’
feed’um high, da’ ’ooman gwine mischeebus en’
dainjus, alltwo! Soon ez ’e git fat fuh true-true,
ef you trus’um, ’e fling you, sho’ ez Gawd!”

92
DareTHE CAPTAIN

So, out of abundant caution, neither woman, nor
any other “‘creetuh” appurtenant to a freedman’s es-
tablishment, was unduly pampered in Saint Paul’s
Parish in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred
and seventy-four!

The Chisholm brothers, Sam and John, built sub-
stantial cabins, as became substantial men, and
their fencing and outbuildings were in perfect
keeping with their houses. Their slippery brother-
in-law, Simon Jenkins, the “squerril’-hunter, con-
structed, in a sequestered corner of the woods, a
weird habitation, whose indifference to right lines
was in accord with the character of its builder.

“Buh Simon, w’ymekso you duh mek shishuh

"99

crookety house?

“Who, me?”

LAR V.OUL

“Wuffuh you call’um crookety ?”

“KE yiz crookety, enty? En’ wuffuh you hab all
dem leely do’ en’ winduh en’ t’ing to de side en’
to de back? W’en man git one do’ to de front uh
’e house, ’e oughtuh sattify. Wuffuh you haffuh hab
summuch?”

“Who, me? Uh haffuh hab’um! Ef fiah bruk’-
out een me house duh night-time, enty Uh fuh hab
place fuh git out? Ef rat en’ squerril en’ rokkoon
hab two-t’ree hole, mekso man cyan’ hab’um? Me
fuh bu’n’up een me own house? No, suh!”

“Yaas, y-a-a-s! Uh yeddy wuh you say, Buh
Simon. Uh yeddy wuh you say, but de fiah wuh
fuh bu’n you, ent dey een you chimbly. De Deb-

236THE LAND SETTLED

ble gott’um een da’ place weh him lib, en’ you bet-
tuh ’f’aid’um, ’cause ’e done mek, en’ ’e stan’ hot,
en’ da’ fiah dey dey fuh ebb’rybody wuh nyam hog
wuh blonx to somebody else. Soon ez you git da’
place weh him lib, de Debble gwine s’aa’ch you.
Ef you got somebody’ hog meat een you jaw teet’,
eb’nso ef you mout’ greesy, him fuh say, ‘Come’yuh,
Buh Simon, Uh binnuh wait fuh you, enty? You
see, me griddle done hot!’ En’ ’e jab da’ pitch-
fawk een you britchiz, ’e hice you up, en’ ’e pitch
you ’puntop da’ hot gridi’un fuh brile. Dat wuh
’e gwine do!”

“Brile who? Me! Wuffuh me haffuh brile?
No man nebbuh ketch me wid hog!”

“Man nebbuh ketch you, ’cause you too schemy,
en’ ef de Buckruh ebbuh come to you do’ duh night
time, attuh you done mek dishyuh new house, time
you yeddy’um knock ‘bram! bram!’, ef hog dey dey,
you fuh slip’um een you bag en’ pitch’um out one
dem leely winduh to de back, befo’ you wife kin
op’n de do’. Da’ de reaz’n man nebbuh ketch you,
but de Debble ketch you, ’cause him dey dey, bud-
duh, him dey dey! Da’ Debble quile’up een you
h’aa’t sukkuh wurrum quile up een de Buckruh’
peach!”

But Simon was concerned only with the ills he
had, and took no thought for those he knew not
of. He was sure, too, that if he could but outwit
the very real “Buckruh,” the mythical Devil’s scalp
would also be added unto him. So he put in all

oH
ht

 

>
>|THE CAPTAIN

the little doors and windows, agreeing with the
Wife of Bath that

“The mouse that trusts himself to one poor hole,

Can never be a mouse of any soul.”

And, however he subsequently fared with the Devil,
old Simon outwitted ‘de Buckruh” to the end of
his days. He was never caught!

Old Cato Giles, also a brother-in-law of the
Chisholms, but a man of far different type from
Simon, settled directly on the Willtown road, near
its intersection with the “Landing road.” He built
his cabin on a beautiful site, near a great magnolia
tree standing alone in an open field of eight or ten
acres. Some ante-bellum settlement must have
stood here, for Cato found old bricks enough to
build his chimney, and a deep well, long unused,
that, when cleaned out, yielded excellent water. A
few hundred yards away were “the Mitchell
bridges,” narrow, and shaky structures—the Scylla
and Charybdis of all who rode or drove along the
Willtown road fifty years ago. Rough puncheons,
split pine saplings nine or ten feet long, were laid,
unfastened, across trembling sleepers, supported
upon unsteady pilings. Almost invariably, man or
boy, adventuring these bridges while riding or driv-
ing, would first tie his horse and hazard the crossing
on foot, shoving closer together the loose punch-
eons, and noting carefully the gaps that were large
enough for a horse’s foot to slip through. Then,
having “joggled” the bridge to test its strength, he
would go back to his horse and lead him carefully

209THE LAND SETTLED

over on a loose rein, so that with lowered head he
could watch his step and feel his way. If the horse
got over without “skinning” a leg, or other pain-
ful injury, the boy or man breathed a prayer of
thankfulness, and his faith in a watchful Providence
was strengthened!

The creek or “run” that flowed under the Mitch-
ell bridges carried into Penny Creek, in the old
days, the waters of “the Cypress” run draining
the Oak Lawn ricefields and those of several other
“inland-swamp” plantations whose waters flowed
through the Oak Lawn canals, into the Cypress.
These fields, like those of all inland swamps, were
“flowed” or irrigated by waters impounded in res-
ervoirs, or “backwaters,” lying at higher levels.
The water that had flowed the ricefields higher up,
passed, in turn, into the reservoirs and over the
ricefields of all the plantations lying along the water-
way, until, through the common outlet, it flowed
into the river.

While the inland-swamp plantations were immune
from many vicissitudes that befel the tidewater
plantations lying along the rivers, and suffered
neither from brackish water, bad “breaks,” “blown”
trunks, nor the ’whelming waters of the autumnal
storms, they were not without troubles of their
own, for, during periods of protracted drought, the
backwaters seldom yielded enough water, while at
other times, when the rainfall was excessive, the
fall to the distant outlet at the river was insufficient
to carry off the surplus water at critical periods,

239THE CAPTAIN

and the crop suffered. And, lacking the indepen-
dence of a river supply, there were many disputes,
and occasional law-suits between planters who found
it difficult to synchronize the flowing of their re-
spective fields.

Some of these inland-swamp plantations were
among the most productive in the State. Because
of occasional dearth of water, ‘white’ rice was
usually planted, but the author of “Carolina Sports,”
one year harvested on certain squares of his Social
Hall plantation, on Cheeha, eighty-seven bushels
of “gold” rice to the acre—said to have been a
record yield at the time.

But after the Confederate War little rice was
grown on the inland swamp plantations, and

 

none at all along the waters that flowed, at last,
under the Mitchell bridges into Penny Creek, for
the long neglected dams of backwaters needed re-
building, trunks had rotted away through neglect,
canals, clogged and overgrown with rushes, refus-
ing to carry off the sluggish waters, gradually ab-
sorbed them, and rose, at last, almost to the level
of the land they had once drained, in the common
fellowship of mud!

In the higher spots of the old backwaters pine
saplings sprang up almost in a night. Thick-
set growths of gum and maple and tangles of bam-
boo and briars, harbored bay-lynx, fox, and rab-
bit, while along the lower levels of backwaters and
ricefields, cattails and rushes struggled for posses-
sion.

240THE LAND SETTLED

The filling up of canals was gradual, however,
and for many years after the War, the main water-
ways flowed freely. In those days they were full
of fish, and afforded many a summer afternoon’s
sport to the white boys of the plantations, who
sometimes took home heavy strings of very respect-
able perch and bream, while the Negroes of all
ages and both sexes fished at every hour of the
day, with gear and bait that must have made Izaak
Walton’s spirit groan! But they caught what they
fished for, which is more than most men do, and
they would not have swapped a basket of mudfish
and “cats” for a creel of rainbow trout!

And when the fish were there, the cranes were
there—cranes without number—from the little
green heron to the tall ‘“Po’-Joe;:’ beautiful white
cranes, great and small; at times lovely snowy
egrets, at other times great flocks of curlews—all
of them unafraid, for there were neither breech-
loaders nor “pump-guns” then. Few Negroes had
learned to shoot, and those that had, leveled their
pieces and took aim with such deliberation that,
by the time the whole-arm movement of cocking
the rusty Enfield musket was completed, even the
sluggish ‘“Po’-Joe,” warned by the lethal gesture
that mischief was afoot, would be in the air and
several flaps away, before the thunders of the dread-
ful artillery broke the brooding silence of the back-
water!

In the days of the fish, alligators, too, were plen-
tiful; but, as the freedman attained greater profi-

241THE CAPTAIN

ciency in the use of firearms, they shared the fate
of many other forms of wild life, and have almost
disappeared.

The freedman’s growing proficiency in the use
of firearms was, however, only partly responsible for
the passing of the alligators, for the filling up of the
canals and the absorption of the waters they once
carried by the sodden soil of the old ricefields de-
prived them of both fish and water, so, in time,
they moved to more favored localities. And, for
lack of water, the terrapins, once so plentiful, grad-
ually disappeared, for in the half-dry pools to which
they were restricted they were easily captured by
the ever-questing Negroes.

Before the waters subsided, the long central
canals in these old ricefields were lovely at certain
times in late spring or early summer, when their
bosoms were jeweled with the fragrant white pond-
lilies and the yellow blooms of the lotus—neck-
laces of pearls and topazes—in the jade-setting
of their broad leaves. Between them the water,
gently ruffled by the wind, sparkled in the sun.
At intervals along their length, white cranes—yet
larger pearls—stood motionless, with here and there
among them the dull amethyst of a great blue
heron!

So, year by year, the beauty of the lagoons and
the long canals passed away, but at the time old
Cato came into his land near the rickety Mitchell
bridges, the waters they spanned still flowed freely,

949THE LAND SETTLED

and still held fish enough to tempt the sluggish
Sike, old Cato’s step-son, now come to young man-
hood, having brought with him through adoles-
cence the angler’s temperament and the ability
to sit motionless for hours on a log by the water-
side, with a fishing-pole in his hands, watching,
with slowly blinking eyes, a huge cork, roughly
fashioned out of a hunk of tupelo wood—a float so
large, so buoyant, that its complete submergence
assured the angler that a heavy fish had taken the
bait. Silver-fish and perch nibbled at it from time
to time, often nibbling it away to the angler’s in-
tense disgust, but their mouths were too small to
encompass the rusty iron hook, stout enough to
have taken a forty-pound channel-bass! But Sike
knew exactly what he was after, for, tho’ he fished
from sun to sun, he never had time, he thought,
to be bothered with taking small fish off his hook;
so, to minimize the interruption of his drowsing
reverie, he baited a hook so large that it could be
taken only by the heavier ‘cats’ and mudfish—
clumsy, unwary creatures that would hook them-
selves and save him the trouble of angling for
them. When his float curtseyed to the advances
of the nibblers, therefore, Sike merely blinked
contemptuously ; his interest was aroused only when
the pole vibrated in his hands, and the great cork
was carried entirely below the surface; then, a
violent jerk landed his catch on the bank behind
him, or lodged the fish in the vines and boughs
243THE CAPTAIN

overhead, whence, by dint of poking and climbing,
it was dislodged and brought to earth.

“Uh yent hab time fuh bodduh wid deseyuh putch
en’ silbuhfish. Ef me hook bin leetle “nuf fuh dem
narruh mout’, dem bite so fas’ ’e woulduh tek all me
time fuh ketch’um, en’ w’en Uh yiz ketch’um ’e yent
wu’t’! So, Uh fuh nyuze hebby hook, en’ da’ bakin
skin fuh bait, den, attuh me cawk done folluh de
fish spang to de bottom, Uh know da’ fish duh big
fish, en’ Uh know ’e done ketch ’eself, so all Uh
haffuh do is fuh haul’um een.”

Before the fishing season was far advanced, how-
ever, old Cato, one of the most forehanded among
the colonists, had squeezed out of Sike’s reluctant
hands enough labor, of a sort, to enable him to
build his cabin and “pitch” his crop. Other settlers
followed the leaders, until, by early summer, the
colony was settled and at work upon its economic
salvation in its own way, as free from the white
man’s interference as Haiti or Liberia. Some of
them—trained workers and intelligent men who
valued the blessing of independence—built well,
worked hard, diversified their crops, and raised
pigs and poultry, determined to “live at home” and
make the land support them. These men worked
out only when they could be spared from their own
crops, and while they were abroad their wives
and children “carried on” at home.

Many of the better workers among the Negroes
owned horses, mules, or oxen. Such ownership was
not only a distinction but a great economic advan-

244THE LAND SETTLED

tage, for the man with a “creetuh” could cultivate
double the acreage of a man without, and when not
at work upon his own crop he could plow for his
horseless neighbors, taking payment in money, pro-
visions, or day labor—a day’s plowing of a man
with his horse or mule being held equivalent to
three days’ work of a hand with the hoe. A plow-
man who “gee’d” and ‘“‘haw’d” an ox, received an
exchange commensurate with the slower speed of
his beast.

The less thrifty colonists, without work animals
of their own, and without the training to enable
them to use the power of their own hands to ad-
vantage, did the best they could, but—like the
morals east of Suez—the best was like the worst,
and many of the poor cabins they built, bad enough
to look at, were even worse to live in. And their
agricultural methods were as primitive as their
habitations. Girdling the great pines with a “ring”
through the bark, they were left to die, while the
landholder cut and grubbed up, with axe and mat-
tock, the scrub that grew between. These, with
the larger pine roots, were piled and burned on the
land.

In this virgin soil, yet too rough for plow-
ing, the Negro chopped, at intervals, deep holes with
his heavy hoe, into which he dropped seeds of corn,
peas, and watermelons. The holes were often far
out of line, but for hand culture that made little
difference. And the cultivation was comparatively
easy, for there was little grass during the first year,

245THE CAPTAIN

and scrub-oak sprouts and pineland weeds were
the only things to be cut away from the growing
plants. The sweet potato patch was more carefully
prepared, of course, and in damp spots little plots
for upland rice were prepared with equal care. The
yields of all the Negro’s food crops were surpris-
ingly good on the “new-ground” of the pineland,
however roughly treated. He failed only when he
attempted Sea-island cotton, for the humus in the
virgin soil sent up a seven-foot stalk, as striking
to look at, but as chary of fruiting, withal, as a
Smart-Set New Yorker! Allin all, the Man with the
Hoe, who took up new-ground, did well enough the
first year, if he worked hard, and his land, prop-
erly treated, would retain its fertility for years,
and become easier to work with each successive
season.

Among the last of the Mitchell settlers to com-
plete his building program and build a fire on
his own hearth, was old Ben Summers, Jack-leg
carpenter, and Jack-leg preacher; with strong pre-
dilections for wives—wed or unwed, and swine—
marked or unmarked. <A former slave of the Cap-
tain’s, he sought, when the land was being divided,
an allotment next the Oak Lawn plantation, upon
the plea that he wished to be near the old Negro
burying-ground, where his fathers slept, but his
compatriots said scoffingly, that his interest was
more in the Captain’s shoats that cracked acorns
under the live-oaks of the graveyard, than in any
ancestral bones whatsoever! Ben got the land he

246THE LAND SETTLED

wanted, and, within ten years—caught with one
of the Captain’s shoats in his cupboard—he was
sent to the penitentiary for two years, returned
fat and in high feather, resumed his place in the
pulpit—and triumphantly vindicated the prescience
of his brothers in black!

But, in the summer of 1874, Ben had not been
caught—by the whites, at least—and, whatever
his brothers knew, or suspected, of his depreda-
tions upon the live stock of “de Buckruh,”’ was,
with true racial secretiveness, hidden as securely
in their hearts, as tho’ “in the deep bosom of the
ocean buried!”

Ben was late about his house, not because of lazi-
ness for, when working for himself, he was ener-
getic enough, but because, tho’ an indifferent car-
penter, his vanity prompted him to out-build every-
one else in the settlement. He had determined upon
a two-story house, whose design had long bubbled
in his brain until it simmered down at last into a
more or less definite plan. “Dishyuh house binnuh
schew een me head long time, but Uh bin wait
fuhr’um fuh bile down. Now, all de watuh done
steam off, en’ nutt’n’ but de nakity meat lef’. Uh
ready fuh mek me house, enty?’ But the “meat”
of his plan, naked as the architect saw it, was gar-
nished with many a sprig of parsley, with many
a florid fancy, as it came out of his mind to be put
into execution.

Logs were not good enough for Ben. A carpen-
ter, he must have things to nail, or be shamed. So

247THE CAPTAIN

he contrived to get rough boards enough for the
weatherboarding, although he hewed most of his
framing from long-leaf saplings on his own land.
When he was ready to “raise” his house, the neigh-
bors were summoned to help, tho’ not much help
was needed, for the framing was light and the com-
bined height of the two stories was but 1314 feet!
Ben, himself falling several inches short of six feet,
could see no reason for giving his guest-room, up-
stairs, a high ceiling.

“Uh fuh mek da’ top story two-yaa’d high,
enty? Ef dat high ’nuf fuh me, ’e haffuh
high ’“nuf fuh ebb’rybody wuh come fuh wisit
me. Ef man come een me house, en’ ’e gone
een me top story fuh sleep, ef ’e stan’ mo’nuh two
yaa’d high, him head haffuh bump, enty? Berry-
well.”

So, with his carpenter’s square, he measured
meticulously a first story of two and a half,
and a second story of two yards in the clear, and
thought he had leaned toward liberality in respect
to fresh air. To the lower floor Ben attached two
grotesque looking porches, while from the upper
hung—like Mahomet’s coffin—a little barnacle of
a Romeo-and-Juliet balcony. For the ornamenta-
tion of porches and balcony Ben had conceived an
elaborate jig-saw pattern, but, as there were no jig-
Saws in the neighborhood, he had to say it with clap-
boards, and these, with hand-saw and hatchet, he

 

and said it outrageously !

gnawed until they said it

248THE LAND SETTLED

When this, the last house in the Mitchel] Colony
and the most pretentious, was completed, Ben, one
of its most important members because of his car-
penter’s trade and his position in the church, gave
a house-warming.

In the summer pork was not to be had, but the
old backwaters were full of fish, which the Negroes
took with fish-baskets, or “jam-pots.”’ So the house-
warming guests feasted on fish, of several sorts
—most of it fried—most offensively fried—with
highly questionable commissary bacon. For a few
favored epicures, however, the women of the estab-
lishment had prepared a “‘catfish-schew.”’

When the feast was over, the older Negroes, men
and women, pulled out their clay pipes, crumbled up
strong plug-tobacco in their hands, and began to
smoke. Under the soothing influence of the weed
they discussed, with unction, the relative gastro-
nomic merits of fish, flesh, and fowl as food for the
African; the elders agreeing that, however bad for
the children of Israel, the flesh of the cloven-footed
creature that “‘cheweth not the cud” was the most
delectable food that could be set before the planta-
tion Negro; and the minstrel songs brought from
Charleston by the younger freedmen, lauding the
Negro’s love for chicken, they held to be sacrilegious.

“No, man! ’E mek me bex fuh yeddy deseyuh
new Nigguh talk ’bout fowl. Fowl stan’ berry well
fuh Buckruh en’ wil’cat en’ fox—en’ town-Nigguh,
but fuh man lukkuh we, hog duh we meat! Enty

249THE CAPTAIN
Nigguh de hog track en’ tell’um fuh

Gawd show de

folluhr’um ?”
“No, man! Gawd nebbuh do’um! De Debble

Him duh deman! Debble meet Nigguh duh
en’ de Nigguh dey een uh hebby trouble.
yut ’e head ent tell’um
‘Wuh you trouble,

do’um!
paat’,
Ee ’cratch ’e head fuh study, I
nutt’n’, ’cause nutt’n’ dey dey.
budduh?’ de Debble ax’um, ‘wuh you trouble?’

“‘Deseyuh track bodduh me,’ de Nigguh say.
‘Uh cyan’ suffuhrate de sheep’ track frum de hog’
track, en’ Uh yent got no time fuh t’row’way fuh
folluh no sheep’ track, ‘cause Uh hongry now.’
Debble suck ’e teet’. ‘Shum yuh,’ ’e say. Him en’
de Nigguh alltwo squat down ‘pun de du’t, en’ de
Debble tek ’e tail een ’e han’ en’ nyuze’um fuh p’int
de Nigguh to de two track. ‘Shum yuh.’ En’ ’e
show’um how de sheep’ toe roun’ mo’nuh de hog’
toe. en’ de hog’ toe shaa’p mo’nuh de sheep’ toe, en’
’e tell’um suh sheep hab shawt heel ’pun ’e foot, suk-
kuh Buckruh, en’ hog hab long heel, lukkuh Nigguh.
W’en de Debble done ’splain’um ’sponsubble, Nig-
guh tell’um t’engky, en’ ’e pick’up ’e foot en’ ’e fol-
luh de hog’ track. De Debble grin. ‘Da’ Nigguh
duh my’own,’ ’e say. ‘Uh gott’um hog-tie, enty?
’E same ez ef him bin een me pan duh fry!’ En’
Nigguh, en’ hog, en’ Debble, bin tie’up tight toged-
duh, ebbuh sence!”

“Th  wunduh who dat bin show we ’ooman’
track?”

“De same man wuh show we hog’ track, enty?

Berrywell.”’THE COLONY AT THE FLOOD

“Bluejay died uh whoopin’-cough,

Sparruh died uh colic,

Meet Bull-frog wid ’e fiddle on ’e back,
Gwine down to de frolic.

Big-eye Buh Rabbit, who dey?

Big-eye Buh Rabbit, who dey?

Big-eye Buh Rabbit, who dey?

Oh, Maria, po’ gal!”

“Weh you gwine, gal?”

“Enty you see w’ich way me toe duh pint? Uh
gwine Cross-road!” and the slim black girl never
shortened her stride, as she swung along the Will-
town road on her way from the newly settled Mitch-
ell colony to the Parker’s Ferry Cross-roads. Oh:
M-a-r-i-a! p-o’ g-a-]!”

“Ef Maria shishuh po’ gal, stop, en’ Uh fuh
mek’um rich!”

“Wuh you got fuh mek ’ooman rich?” Tossing
her head saucily, she paused long enough to allow
the adventuring male to come up, while she dug
an inquiring big toe in the sand.

“Uh got credik to de sto’, en’ Uh got money een
me pocket.”

“Me, ’self, got credik to de sto’. Lemme see you
money !”

“You cyan’ shum.”

“W’ymekso Uh cyan’ shum?”’

“You cyan’ shum ’cause ’e dey een me pocket,
enty ?”

251THE CAPTAIN

“Mekso you cyan’ gitt’um out you pocket? Enty
you hab han’?”

“Uh got han’, fuh true, but w’en da’ han’ pit’um
dey, ’e prommus me h’aa’t ’e nebbuh gwine pull’um
out da’ pocket fuh no ’ooman!”’

“Wuh you stop me fuh, Nigguh? Uh binnuh
gwine ’bout me bidness, en’ you haffuh holluh at
me wid you big-mout’ talk ’bout mek me rich. Rich!
You nutt’n’ but uh fifty-cent Nigguh! Me, ’self,
kin tek me hoe een me han’ en’ mek me fifty cent!
Hukkuh fifty-cent man fuh mek ’ooman rich? ’E

aie

yent wu’t’!” And with a contemptuous flirt of her
short homespun skirt, she was gone!

The Low-Country plantation laborer of fifty years
ago, who plowed or hoed or spaded for fifty cents
a day, was—considering the relation of living costs
to earnings—better off economically than he has
been since, for at that time he was still content
with an approximation to the simple life he had
lived as a slave—the coarse, wholesome food, the
plain, serviceable clothing. Nor had he then for-
gotten the industry imposed upon him by slavery.
The men habitually worked six days a week; the
women five—stopping on Saturdays to wash clothes
and clean house. A man and wife, then, earned
$5.50 a week, and paid nothing for fuel or shelter.
Food was cheap—corn fifty cents a bushel, cow-
peas and “rough” rice, sixty to seventy-five, while

 

common bacon was sold in the country stores at
six to ten cents a pound. Half a bushel of corn,

252THE COLONY AT THE FLOOD

ground by hand in the plantation mill and separated
with sifter and “fanner” into grist and meal, five
pounds of bacon, and a few quarts each of peas
and rice, costing a dollar or less, would furnish
ample sustenance for a small family. Only young
children cost anything to maintain, for those over
ten years of age paid their own way, doing light
tasks as “half-hands” on the plantations, or work-
ing their own gardens and patches at home.

Clothing, too, was cheap enough, for during the
early years of Freedom the plantation Negroes,
remembering the comfortable clothing they had
worn as slaves, were content to dress plainly and
sensibly, as became their station. While bright
calicoes were often worn on Sundays, the women’s
everyday frocks—sometimes their holiday frocks
—were of gingham, in bright plaids and checks,
and their petticoats were of heavy unbleached drills
or sheetings. For greater warmth in winter, they
added cheap, tho’ heavy, imitations of the Balmoral
skirts of mid-Victorian days. The men wore in
winter suits of rough jeans, in summer of the blue
denim now in universal use for overalls. Their
shirts were of either striped “hickory” shirting or
unbleached drills.

The shoes worn by men and women were broad,
plain, low-heeled ‘“‘brogans,’”’ whose wooden pegs
withstood the water thro’ which the Negroes con-
stantly walked, far better than the thread fasten-
ings of sewn footwear. These brogans, commonly
sold at a dollar a pair, were sometimes made of

 

Or

9
avoTHE CAPTAIN

honest cowhide, with solid soles, but often the un-
wary freedman was tricked into buying wretched
frauds of split leather, whose surface, as soon as
the heavily-plastered blacking came off, was as
fuzzy as fur, and this flimsy material was fastened
to “Yankee” soles—several layers of hard brown
paper cunningly pasted together and covered with
a thin skin of split leather. One walk in the rain
was all the wearer of such shoes ever took. There-
after, until he could find the price of an honest
pair, his horny feet, unshod, left their impress upon
the bosom of Mother Earth, unhampered by the
brownpaper soles of Freedom’s friends!

The wool hats of the men cost 75 cents or a dol-
lar, and were durable enough, tho’ they soon lost
shape and hung down over eyes, ears, and the nape
of the neck as dejectedly as the trench-helmets
worn by French soldiers in the World War! And
these flop-eared hats were also used by the women,
who sometimes bought them but more often sported
those belonging to their husbands, or other men
with whom they were for the moment affiliated.
When they “dressed up,” the younger women wore
cheap, plain straw hats, but the middle-aged and
the elderly still held fast to the bandana handker-
chiefs of the old days—not the tawdry red-and-white
spotted things known as bandanas today, but large
and handsome cambric squares, a yard wide, woven
in plaids of lilac and pink and blue, sometimes
gray and brown, but the shades were so delicate
that at a little distance they seemed to be white.

254THE COLONY AT THE FLOOD

These kerchiefs, stiffly starched, the elder women
would pile up and pin upon their heads in the tow-
ering shape of a Bishop’s mitre—a skilful feat ac-
complished without a mirror, or the help of other
hands, which, in arranging her own “hengkitchuh,”
any self-respecting old-timer would have scorned.
Certainly no head-covering could have been more
dignified, more striking, or more effective in afford-
ing protection from the burning sun, and when the
wearer pinned a broad kerchief of the same sort
across her bosom, she stood out in a motley group
of church-goers like a deep-sea ship under full sail
among a fleet of coastwise craft!

Fifty years ago, then, a Negro man and his wife,
working as common field hands on the Low-Country
plantations, could earn between them $5.50 a week,
and would pay nothing for cabin or fuel, or garden
patch. At the low cost of food and clothing, the
family could live on less than half its income, sav-
ing, if it would, a hundred and fifty dollars a year
—sufficient to have bought thirty to fifty acres of
good land, which, properly tended, would support
them comfortably for life. The savings of another
year would have built a cabin and bought a horse
or mule, adding to the earning capacity of the
family and to its comfort. To those Negroes, there-
fore, who had the will to work and the will to save,
the way was open to economic independence through
the ownership of land, as it has never been open to
the peasantry of any other country. Nowhere
else could a farm, a home, and a horse have been

 

Or

255THE CAPTAIN

bought and paid for out of the savings of a peasant
family for two years. It may be said his work was
hard, and his food poor. Not so. None save the
plowmen worked from “sun to sun,” and these
were rationed and better paid. Hoe hands worked
almost entirely by the task, and as a day’s task
was usually finished in the early afternoon, the
laborer could either add to his day’s earnings by
working longer hours, or put in the time on his own
crops or gardens at home. As to his food, tho’
coarse, it was abundant, and quite as varied as the
fare of the Spanish, Italian, or Balkan peasantry,
to say nothing of that of China and Japan. And
it was what the Negro wanted.

And the Negro who came into land had a great
advantage over the white landholder, in that he
controlled his own labor, while the white planter,
of large or small areas, was, in a measure, subject
to the whims of a very unreliable work-people. An-
other great advantage possessed by the Negro land-
holder in the Low-Country lay in the proximity
of the large plantations, where a certain amount of
day-labor was in demand throughout the year. In
other countries, and almost everywhere else in the
United States, the small landholder must dig his
livelihood out of his own soil, or perish, for he leans
solely upon his land. The Low-Country Negro,
on the other hand, could sell his labor to himself or
to the plantations, as he chose. If cotton and rice
were high, he could plant maximum crops on his
own land, and work out only when these were laid

256THE COLONY AT THE FLOOD

by. If prices for money crops were low, he need
plant food-stuffs only, and work out for the greater
part of the year. Even tho’, through floods or
drought, he lost his crop, wholly or in part, his day-
labor could sustain him until the coming of an-
other harvest; and always there was work on the
plantations between seasons, when his own crop
didn’t need his labor. The landholding freedman,
therefore, could accept with equanimity, all the
hazards of agriculture, sure that, at the worst, he
could not starve.

In such a strong economic position, it was not
Surprising that every acre of cheap land the whites
were forced to sell was quickly taken up by Ne-
groes. Of the many who bought, however, only a
few had the industry and intelligence to utilize
their advantages and establish themselves as sub-
stantial members of the community. Nor were
many able even to hold on to the land, once the im-
portance of ownership, the pride of possession, had
worn off; and the weaker and more shiftless among
them soon wearied of re-shingling roofs, repairing
fences, and other obligations imposed upon prop-
erty-holders, and their little holdings gradually re-
verted to the bush from which they had sometime
been cleared.

Perhaps if the Pon-Pon community had remained
entirely agricultural, and there had been change
neither in the normal scale of wages nor in the
normal standards of living, most of the Mitchell
colonists, plain plantation people, content and happy

257THE CAPTAIN

in their simple life, their wholesome food, and sen-
sible clothing, might have held and improved their
land and passed it on to their children, for cer-
tain progressive colonists quickly made good and
set an example before their fellows, which many
of them sought to emulate.

They were making decided progress when, a few
years after the founding of the colony, its whole
plan of life was disrupted by the discovery of phos-
phate rock on the Baring plantation on the Edisto
river three miles away.

Students of economics, or at least gentlemen
who write very glibly on the subject, assume that
higher wages inevitably bring about higher stand-
ards of living, and, reciprocally, that higher stand-
ards of living demand and exact higher wages.
And, of course, these higher standards are assumed
to mean better, cleaner, and more comfortably furn-
ished homes, better clothes and more of them, bet-
ter and more wholesome food, more books, and bet-
ter schooling for their children. Theoretically al-
luring, and economically sound, if it meant that,
for industry could better bear the load of high
wages if it brought about the permanent better-
ment of the laborer, and, through him, strengthened
the community, and, too, if the stability of the
higher wage could be assured through the ability
of industry to stand it. But temporary inflations
of wage scales, or those that affect only certain
workers in a community, have a demoralizing ef-
fect, for, when the reaction comes and wages fall,

958THE COLONY AT THE FLOOD

the spenders—who have acquired nothing lasting
but expensive tastes—find economic readjustment
difficult. Through the building of the World-War
training camps, easy money came to thousands of
Southern Negroes. Where one built a home or
made a permanent investment, ten bought flivvers
or indulged in riotous raiment. When it was all
over, the waster had acquired tastes that to the end
of his days could never be gratified, and a dollar
would never look the same to him again.

During the World-War wage-inflation in the steel
mills, Slovak workers at Gary, Indiana, bought
twelve-dollar silk shirts by the dozen in Chicago,
and put thousand-dollar pianos in the company’s
shacks in which they lived. They had the right to buy
these things, of course, as the homeless Negro had
a right to his Ford and his flashy clothes, but the
theorist will find it hard to see higher standards
of living in the expenditures of either wastrel
Negro, or spendthrift Slovak!

 

The news of the discovery of phosphate at Bar-
ing’s excited the Negroes tremendously. There
was certain to be a heavy demand for the labor of
the men at high prices, for the mouths of the Pon-
Pon black people had long watered at the stories
that had reached them, from time to time. of the
rich earnings of those who worked at the “Pinck-
ney” and other mines near Charleston. Now, this
wealth was to be brought to their very doors, fill-
ing the pockets of the men and lightening the

259

aweTHE CAPTAIN

labors of the women, whose heaviest task would now
be to lighten the pockets of their men, it being
axiomatic among ladies of color that the wives and
sweethearts of well-paid men should do no work.

Surveys were made of the Baring lands, and every
acre was sounded with steel rods to determine the
depth of the fossil-bed below the surface, and areas
that soundings indicated could be mined profitably
were staked out for exploitation. The Charleston
& Savannah Railway was tapped, Pon-Pon sta-
tion, with switches and sidetracks, established, and
a spur-line run to the Edisto, half a mile away,
where a great “washer” and a huge steam plant
were erected for washing and drying the rock.

Industry began to hum. Trees were felled and
the logs cut into cord-wood for firing the great
boilers. Houses were built for foremen and the
higher employes, and long rows of cabins for Negro
laborers sprang up. From the first pits the diggers
brought home huge heart-shaped teeth of monster
sharks, bits of bone and fossil fragments of the
vertebrae of strange amphibians, and the splintered
knuckle-joints of fearful creatures that lived and
died long eons, perhaps, after the dinosaur that
laid her eggs in the Gobi Desert of Mongolia a mil-
lion years ago, but whose antiquity was, nathless,
sufficiently authenticated to establish them, with
entire independence of Mr. Salley’s genealogical
charts, as among the very first families of the Great
Coastal Plain!

And through it all, money, unwonted money,

260THE COLONY AT THE FLOOD

began to flow into the pockets of the Negroes, and,
almost as fast as it flowed in, it flowed out again.
Few men have the resolution to hold easy money
very firmly, and ’twas quite beyond the inconti-
nent freedman of forty-five or fifty years ago.

 

“Bluejay died uh whoopin’-cough,
Sparruh died uh colic,
Meet Bull-frog wid ’e fiddle on ’e back,
Gwine down to de frolic.

Big-eye Buh Rabbit, who dey?

Big-eye Buh Rabbit, who dey?

Big-eye Buh Rabbit, who dey?

Oh, Maria! po’ gal!”

“Weh you gwine, gal!”
“Uh gwine weh Uh duh gwine, enty?”
“Don’ sassy me, gal! Weh you gwine?”

“Uh gwine da’ same place Uh binnuh gwine da’
time w’en Uh bin meet you duh paat’, en’ Uh bin-
nuh sing ’bout Maria, po’ gal, en’ you bin quizzit
me, en’ tell me ef Uh stop, you gwine mek de po’
gal rich, en’ w’en Uh bin stop en’ quizzit you fuh
see wuh you got een you han’, you han’ empty ez
uh las’ yeah bu’d-nes’, nutt’n’ dey dey, en’ w’en
Uh ax you wuh you got een you pocket, you bin
brag ’bout how you got uh fifty cent een’um, en’
w’en Uh tell you fuh pull’um out en’ lemme look
*puntop de fifty cent, you nebbuh pull’um out, en’
Uh nebbuh look ’puntop de fifty cent frum dat day,
‘tel now, en’ Uh bin tell you suh money wuh man
hab’ een ’e pocket ent wu’t’ ’cep’ ’ooman hab’um een

261THE CAPTAIN

’e han’, en’, fudduhmo’, Uh bin tell you suh man’
pocket hab bidness fuh strong mo’nuh ’ooman’
pocket, so de ’ooman kin hab place fuh reach ’e
han’, w’en him pocket run low, en’, ef de man, w’en
’e wu’k, cyan’ mek mo’nuh de ’ooman, w’en him
wu’k, de man’ pocket nebbuh hab chance fuh
fawtify, en’ Uh bin tell you suh ef man’ pocket
ent wu’t’, de man wuh de pocket blonx to, him ent
WG

“Iz you done? You gittru?”

“No, Uh yent done! Wuffuh me haffuh stop?
You ebbuh yeddy ’bout ’ooman haffuh gitt’ru talk?
No, Uh yent gitt’ru. Uh jis’ git fix good fuh talk,
now! Uh bin staa’t fuh tell you ’gen, wuh Uh bin
tell you de las’ time you bin quizzit me, suh ef man
too stingy fuh pull out ’e money fuh treat de ’ooman,
de ’ooman nebbuh count’um! ’E yent count’um
nohow ef ’e yent got but fifty cent, ’cause uh fifty-
cent Nigguh yent wu’t’!”

“Who you call fifty-cent Nigguh? Me! Enty
you know suh wu’k staa’t to de Rock? Da’ las’
time me en’ you bin talk Uh bin hab hoe een me
han’ duh knock grass fuh fifty cent uh day. Now,
de hoe done t’row’way, en’ all las’ week Uh binnuh
wu’k to de phoskit. All day Uh hab da’ w’eelbar-
ruh een me han’, en’ roll rock obuh dem long plank
fuh load box-cyaar. De wu’k haa’d, fuh sowl, but
wen Sattyday ebenin’ come, de Buckruh pit six
dolluh een me han’. Shum yuh! Shum! ’E mek
you grin, enty? You nebbuh fuh suck yo’ teet’
at me ’gen, no mo’! Come yuh, gal! Come yuh!

262THE COLONY AT THE FLOOD

De dolluh Nigguh done come! De fifty-cent Nigguh
done dead!”” And into his grave, went with him,
the hopes of the once promising Mitchell colony!THE COLONY AT THE EBB

The Baring mines were opened before the days
of steam-shovel phosphate mining. The overbur-
den had to be removed by hand, and if more than
three or four feet of earth lay above the precious
strata of rock, its removal was unprofitable at the
market prices of the day.

The Negro miner received a certain fixed price
for the excavation of a pit, so many feet square
and so many feet deep, or, rather, deep enough to
remove the layer of rock that might be one to two
feet thick. If the rock lay near the surface, the
miner was in luck, for as soon as it was broken
up and thrown out, his task was ended; but some-
times the “dip” of the fossil bed would force the
digger into unprofitable depths, for he had to fol-
low its dive to the maximum depth prescribed for
his pit, however far it might take him.

The pits were all measured in advance and marked
with stakes by the foreman. It was simple enough
where the land was open, for single pits could be
allotted to individual miners, but in wooded areas,
where the trees had first to be cut and their stumps
uprooted, the cost of removal was lumped in with
the mining, and several contiguous pits would be
awarded to one man. If the surface of his pit was
smooth and free from stumps, the miner first dug
away the overburden with his sharp spade, throw-
ing the earth to one side in the empty pits from
which the rock had already been removed. When

265THE CAPTAIN

he reached the rock, it was broken with a pickaxe
into lumps small enough to be thrown out with a
shovel. and the miner pitched it out on the opposite
side from where he had thrown the earth, whence
it was hauled by tram to the “washer” at the edge
of the river. When the miner was assigned pits in
the forest, he added axe and mattock to his every-
day tools of spade, shovel, and pick.

Among the workers at the Baring mines were
many Negroes who, under slavery, had been expert
ditchers, and these, of course, were the better work-
ers and the larger wage-earners. When the
rock was not too deep, a good hand could dig a pit
in a short day, and earn a dollar and a quarter. If
the luck ran with him, he might even dig two pits
between sun and sun, but when he did, he was al-
most sure to lay off next day—the African, not
unlike some of his Aryan brethren, even of the
Nordic strain, feeling it necessary to apologize
to himself for any extra exertion his spirit may
impose upon his body!

While the men who dug were the best paid workers
at the Baring mines, there were many other em-
ployes engaged upon miscellaneous tasks who
earned higher wages than the plantations could
afford to pay. So the nearer plantations lost not
only their ditchers but their plowmen, who now
drove the trams at the mines, and the common
laborers, who loaded cars, or shoveled rock, and
rolled wheelbarrows around the big washer.

2°66THE COLONY AT THE EBB

Among the earliest of the Mitchell colonists to
follow the lure of high wages at the Baring mines
were the Chisholm brothers, Sam and John. Strong
men, both of them, and expert in the use of spade
and pick, they soon gained the distinction of being
among the best workers and largest wage-earners
at the mines. Even their slippery brother-in-law,
Simon Jenkins, sometime “squerril’-hunter and
weaver of spells, now became a digger of profitable
pits. Tho’ not very strong, he was wiry and would
stick to piece-work well enough, tho’ none was more
successful in killing time while working by the day.

About this time the Captain, who had been absent
from Oak Lawn for a year or two, returned to the
old plantation to engage in stock-raising on a small
seale. There was no barbed wire in those days—
in the South, at least—so a thousand acres of the
tract were enclosed in a tight rail fence, built after
the most approved Low-Country fashion, “ten rails
high, staked and ridered.” In this pasture the
plantation flocks and herds, such as they were,
would, the Captain hoped, be safe from the black
rievers who levied upon the cattle, sheep, and swine
of all “de Buckruh.” The Captain’s pasture con-
tained pinelands, thick swamps, and abandoned
ricefields. These swamps and overgrown ricefields,
Swarming with raccoons, had long been the noc-
turnal hunting-grounds of the freedmen, whose
smart coon-dogs were entirely competent to catch
and hold any of the “Buckruh’s” shoats that hap-
pened to cross a raccoon’s trail. Such captures

267THE CAPTAIN

were usually made with impunity in the more re-
mote parts of the plantation, and even if the pig
were caught near enough for his squeals to be
heard at the settlement, his captors, under cover
of darkness, could be half a mile away before the
owner of the stolen pig could saddle a horse and
reach the place whence the squeal had come.

When the pasture fence was completed, the Cap-
tain sent word far and wide that the area en-
closed, over which the freedmen of the community
had been wont to roam so freely, would be their
happy hunting-ground no more; that those who
trespassed would be dealt with severely, and depre-
dating dogs would be shot.

While the Negroes had a very wholesome re-
spect for the Captain, they knew that the kindli-
ness of his heart restrained him from carrying
his direst threats into execution, so his bark was
generally held as somewhat worse than his bite.
As with the poacher, the spice of danger to the
cattle-riever added to the zest of the adventure,
and, as the woods were wide and “de Buckruh”’
few and far between, they were always willing to
take a chance. Their depredations were small,
however, for their hunting-dogs, caught among
the pigs or sheep, were promptly shot, which chilled
their masters’ ardor. Still, they sometimes climbed
the fences in going ’cross-country, as their tracks
in the muddy soil showed, and, as their disregard
of his far-flung warnings irked the Captain, he re-
solved to have done with open diplomacy and re-

268THE COLONY AT THE EBB

sort to secrecy and strategem. So he sent for
Simon.

Simon came on Sunday. The Captain’s urgent
message reached him at the Cross-roads on Sat-
urday night, and, having attended half the morn-
ing service at ““Pa Lester’s” church, he cut the rest
and was soon shambling up the Oak Lawn avenue,
turning his head furtively from side to side as
tho’ he were being shadowed. The Captain knew
his “Nigger’—knew Simon in particular—so he
kept him waiting, and, when he came out at last,
smoking his long pipe and, with an air of great
mystery, called Simon behind the biggest live-oak
in the avenue, he puffed very slowly, very delib-
erately, before he spoke.

“Simon,” he said, “I’ve sent for you because
you’re the biggest rascal on Pon-Pon, and because
you know how to keep your mouth shut.”

Simon grinned at the double compliment.

“Mas’ Rafe, Uh got close-mout’, fuh true. Any-
t?ing wuh you tell me, me yez tek’um een, en’
cya’um to me h’aa’t; me h’aa’t lock’um up, en’ me
mout’ nebbuh know nutt’n’ ’bout’um!”

“Very good. That’s why I sent for you. Now,
I have a very particular piece of work in hand,
but it must be done very secretly, for if the secret
ever gets out it will spoil everything.”

Simon’s eyes brightened, and with characteris-
tic cunning he looked about him to see if he were
being watched. This he would have done had he
been in the midst of an open field at high noon dis-

269THE CAPTAIN

cussing with his pastor a possible change in the
weather, for Simon took no chances, and one could
as easily have sneaked up behind a watching hawk
on the top of a dead tree as have taken the “Squer-
ril’-hunter unawares.

“Wuh ’e yiz, Mas’ Rafe?” he asked in a stage
whisper. “Wuh’e yiz?”

“You know about the warning I sent out when
the Oak Lawn pasture fence was finished, don’t
you?”

“Yaas, suh, Uh yeddy ’bout’um to de Cross-road
en’ de chu’ch, alltwo.”

“What did you hear?”

“Uh yeddy suh you sen’ out de news fuh say ef
dog cross de fench, de dog haffuh dead, en’ ef Nig-
guh cross’um, de Nigguh fuh hab acksident.”

“Very good. You’ve heard about the dogs?”

“Uh yeddy suh de dog done dead.”

“But you haven’t heard anything about accidents
to Niggers?”

“No, suh, Uh nebbuh yeddy nutt’n’ ’bout no Nig-
guh.”

“Now, Simon, you know the corners of the pas-
ture fence, because you helped to build it.”

“Yaas, suh, Uh know puhzac’ly weh de fo’ caw-
nuh stan’. One dey to Jup’tuh Hill, one dey yon-
duh weh de Landin’-road jine de big-road, ’nodduh
one dey spang to de Mitchell cawnuh mos’ to de
Cypruss, en’ t’odduh one stan’ nex’ to de Beech
place ez you gwine Adam’ Run.”

270THE COLONY AT THE EBB

“Very good. This job I want you to do has to be
kept very quiet. If the news gets out it will throw
the fat in the fire and spoil my plan. So it will
have to be done at night. You will need light to
work by, but I’m afraid if you carry a torch in the
woods at night somebody will catch up with you;
but the moon will be high enough by the end of
the week for you to dig the graves by moonlight,
so—”

“Grabe, Mas’ Rafe! Grabe?”

“Yes, I want one dug at each of the four corners
of the pasture, just inside the fence, but they must
be dug in the thick bushes, so the dirt you throw
out of the graves can’t be seen by anyone passing
near.”

“Yaas, suh,” Simon gasped, but his face was as
blank as if he had been turned into stone.

“And you must dig them six feet long, three
feet wide, and six feet deep.”’

“Six-foot long, Mas’ Rafe?”

“Yes. Isn’t that long enough for any hog-thief
in the neighborhood?”

“°’E long ’nuf! Mas’ Rafe, dem grabe fuh Nig-
guh?”

“Never mind whom they’re for. They may be for
cows, or hogs.”

“Ef hog fuh bury een da’ place, de hog mus’be ,
bury een de Nigguh fus’! Six-foot long, t’ree-foot
wide, en’ six-foot deep!”” And, as he mumbled over
the gruesome specifications, Simon’s eyeballs rolled!

271THE CAPTAIN

“When you are through, I'll pay you two dollars
for each grave. That’s more than you get for a
pit at the phosphate works, and you won’t have
any rock to throw out. I expect you to keep your
mouth shut. If you ever say a word, you know
what will happen to you! Now, when will you
start?”

“Lemme see. Mas’ Rafe, de moon fuh suit ’bout
nex’ Friday night. Uh staa’t fuh dig’um den, sho’ ez
Gawd! En’ ez fuh me mout’! nobody nebbuh
yeddy ’bout dem grabe long ez Uh lib. Me jaw
lock tight!” He pulled his wool, scraped his foot,
and took his leave, but the Captain knew that, de-
spite his promises and protestations, the graves
would never be dug on Friday night, or any other
night, and on that very evening, before the silver
shallop of the young moon should drift down the
West to the dark horizon, the pregnant hinges of
Simon’s jaws would release the Captain’s lethal
secret to a hundred friends and acquaintances,
through whom, by the mysterious grapevine-tele-
graph, five hundred black people would know by
midnight that four huge graves had been ordered
dug at the four corners of the Oak Lawn pasture
to offer decent sepulture to the mortal remains of
the first four rievers that jumped the fence!
Which was, of course, exactly what the Captain
knew would happen, and precisely what he had
planned.

“Ebenin’, Joe.”

“Ebenin’, gal. You yeddy de news?”

272THE COLONY AT THE EBB

“Obsco’se Uh yeddy’um. Uh yeddy’um two time.
One de time, Minda bin tell me, en’ Uh jis’ yeddy’um
‘gen fuh de two time frum Hacklus, da’ boy wuh
lib to Battlefiel’, en’ him ketch’um ez ’e bin gwine
t’ru Nigguh-house-yaa’d to Blue House, jis’ befo’
sundown. Ebb’rybody know’um by dis time.”

“Wuh you bin yeddy?”

“Uh yeddy suh Mas’ Rafe bin sen’ uh ansuh to
de Cross-road las’ night fuh tell Buh Simon fuh
come fuh shum dis mawnin’, sho’, ’cause ’e got
some berry ’pawtun’ bidness fuh talk ’bout. W’en
Buh Simon come, Mas’ Rafe hide’um behin’ one dem
hebby oaktree, ’e so ’f’aid somebody gwine yeddy
wuh ’e say. En’ w’en Mas’ Rafe look ’roun’ be-
hin’um en’ see suh nobody ’cep’ him en’ Buh Simon
dey dey, ’e tell Buh Simon ’sponsubble suh him
haffuh dig fo’ hebby grabe to de fo’ cawnuh uh Mas’
Rafe’ pastuh, jis’ eenside de fench, so w’en him
ketch de Nigguh ’pun ’e hog, en’ ’e shoot de Nigguh,
him kin hab cunweenyunt place fuh pit de Nigguh
bedout leff’um fuh buzzut fuh tell ebb’rybody weh
’e dey. En’ ’e tell Buh Simon fuh mek ebb’ry one
de grabe nine foot long en’ t’irteen foot deep, so
him fuh hab room fuh all de Nigguh wuh binnuh
bodduh ’e cow en’ hog en’ ting!”

“Buh Simon prommus fuh dig’um, enty ?”

“You know ’e prommus’um! Buh Simon ent name
‘Okra’ fuh nutt’n’! Him prommus’um fait’ful fuh
dig’um Friday night, soon ez de moon stan’ high
‘nuf een de element so him kin see fuh dig bedout
mek no fiah!”’THE CAPTAIN

So the story went the rounds, and the Captain
helped it along, for whenever he rode to the Cross-
roads on Saturday evenings and saw Simon, he
would call the “Squerril’-hunter to his stirrup, and,
with an air of mystery for the benefit of the hun-
dred eyes that were watching him, would upbraid
him for his broken promise. But Simon was full
of specious excuses. Once, as he told it, he had
just entered the edge of the woods at Jupiter Hill,
when a Negro who had come up behind him, hailed
him from the road, and he was forced to hide his
spade and give up the adventure. On another night,
at the far-away corner at the edge of the Cypress
swamp, just as he dug his spade into the ground
a “hant” or “sperrit” rose out of the bushes be-
fore him and, wraithlike, floated away in the sil-
ver-spangled, moon-lit forest! As he told the Cap-
tain his fairy tale, old Simon shuddered with the
terror of his own story, for tho’ he had not been
within a mile of the Cypress for a month, he be-
lieved every word of it.

“Uh bin jis’ jam me spade een de du’t, Mas’
Rafe, Uh pit me foot ’pun’um, en’ Uh shub’um
down to de eye. Befo’ Uh kin hice me han’
fuh t’row de du’t obuh me _ shoulduh, please
my Mastuh! da’ sperrit rise out de bush right befo’
me yeye, en’ ’e wabe ’e han’ berry slow, en’ ’e float,
float, een de moonlight, ’tel ’e gone, obuh de bush,
en’ up t’ru de tree ’tel ’e git to de top; en’ soon ez
’e ride de tree top, Gawd reach ’E han’ down en’
ketch’um up en’ gone! ’E stan’ sukkuh ’ooman

274THE COLONY AT THE EBB

w’en ’e chile run out de house, ’e maamy ketch’um
up en’ cya’um back. En’ Uh ’spec’ da’ sperrit
git’way frum Gawd, en’ come down fuh peruse
‘roun’ t’ru da’ Cypruss swamp fuh see wuh Nigguh
duh do.”

“Well, there’s one Nigger he didn’t see do any-
thing.”

“Yaas, Mas’ Rafe, ’e see me run! Attuh Uh
shum, Uh nebbuh hab no appetite fuh wu’k me han’,
but Uh wu’k alltwo me foot! Uh nebbuh know
how Uh git home. Uh yent ’membuh nutt’n’tall
*bout no road, needuhso no paat’. Uh nebbuh see
none. Uh nebbuh bodduh ’bout none. Uh nebbuh
had no nyuse fuh none, ’cause, Mas’ Rafe, Uh tell
you de trute, frum de time da’ t’ing float obuh de
tree-top, en’ Gawd ketch’um up een ’E han’, me
sperrit nebbuh study ’bout nutt’n’, ’cause me sperrit
dead. ’E jis’ lef’ me body en’ tu’n’um obuh to me
foot! En’ me foot cya’ me t’ru dem bush same luk-
kuh da’ t)ing float obuhr’um. Uh nebbuh tell me
foot nutt’n’. Uh jis’ yeddy’um duh beat du’t, en’
de win’ wuh Uh mek sing een me yez ez Uh gwine!
Fus’ t?ing Uh know, Uh dey een me house! En’,
ef dem grabe haffuh dig, Mas’ Rafe, ’e haffuh dig
een de day, ’cause da’ place too dainjus duh night-
time!”

How much the Negroes believed of the Cap-
tain’s fell purpose the Captain never knew, but it
is certain that the sinister suggestiveness of the
order given old Simon had a wholesome effect in
holding the Oak Lawn pasture inviolate; for its

on

aivTHE CAPTAIN

sanctity was not invaded for more than a year, and
if at night a Negro’s coon-dog, hunting on his
own account, crossed the fence and “treed” within
the danger zone, his master’s voice, from without,
would send a poignant recall thro’ the darkness:
“Vuh, Ring! Yuh, Ring! Yuh! Yuh!” And many
a Negro traveling the King’s Highway for many a
year thereafter would cut his eye furtively at the
Landing-road and Jupiter Hill corners of the Oak
Lawn fence and wonder just where the graves
would have been dug, had Simon dug them; so well
did the old “Squerril’-hunter guard the Captain’s
secret!

The opening of the Baring phosphate mines
three miles away spurred the hitherto easy-going
merchants at the Cross-roads into unwonted activ-
ity. Knowing that if the Negroes continued to
live simply they could never spend half their in-
creased earnings for food and clothing, these mer-
chants, as forward-looking men—to make sure
that none of the Negroes’ earnings could be invested
in betterments—forthwith began to lay in stocks of
tempting trifles that they hoped would lure the last
never-very-reluctant dollar from the pocket of the
poor freedman. And, as they depended largely
upon the hand of woman to pull out that dollar,
the canny merchants set about the capture of the
feminine hand and the feminine heart!

Thereafter the old maumas, the plain black folk,
who went to the Cross-roads to buy ginghams or
checked homespun or unbleached drills, had to

276THE COLONY AT THE EBB

wait their turn, and their turn came last, for the
plain and serviceable stuffs that at one time every-
body wore, were now on the top shelves, or in
out-of-the-way places, among the half-forgotten
things of the past, while the counter and the nearer
shelves were piled with bolts of flimsy fabrics,
bright prints, and gauzy muslins that seemed
hardly able to bear the strong colors they carried.

Through their manual labor in the fields, the arms
of the plantation women of fifty years ago were
rounded and well-developed, and, when untrammeled
by sleeves, shone like black marble in the sun, but,
spurred to emulation of the city fashions, shrewdly
hinted at by the country shopkeepers, the fine arms
were soon disfigured on Sundays by the sleeves of
thin and gaudy waists, whose vivid reds and blues
and greens contrasted horribly with the black skin
beneath; a chromatic combination that never failed
to arouse the elder women to wrathful expression.
“Bh, eh! Wuh dis t’?ing? Lookuh da’ sleebe da’
gal got ’puntop ’e aa’m! ’E stan’ sukkuh black-
snake bin git ketch een spiduh’ web! Da’ phoskit
done fuh tu’n dese nyung she-Nigguh fool!”

“You talk trute, tittuh. En’ de she-Nigguh
tu’n all de man fool, wid’um! De man wu’k haa’d
to de rock fuh dig dem pit, en’ roll dem w’eelbarruh,
en’ de man come home Sattyday wid de money een
’e han’, en’ befo’ de po’ creetuh hab time fuh sed-
down fuh ease ’e w’ary bone, dem nyung she-Nig-
guh mek’um drap da’ money sukkuh eagle mek
fish-hawk drap ’e fish down on de Salt! W’en

277THE CAPTAIN

 

de eagle tek’way de fish frum fish-hawk, him
kin nyam de fish, but weh de money dem gal mek
de man fuh drap? Weh’e yiz? De po’-buckruh
to de sto’ gott’um, enty? Wuh de man got?
Nutt’n’! En’ de ’ooman! Wuh him got? ’E mek
me shame fuh shum!”’

Yet other shelves in the Cross-roads shops
bloomed forth in flowered and feathered hats like
hollyhocks in a summer garden! Poppies, peo-
nies, and other flashy flowers, crudely imitated in
cloth and paper, flaunted their riotous colors atop
straw hats of many shapes and shades. Other
straws that showed how the winds of African
fancy blew were trimmed with the feathers of
barnyard fowls, dyed in orange and red and pur-
ple! Not even Aesop’s jackdaw sported gayer bor-
rowed feathers than presently sprouted upon a
hundred poor, foolish, topsy-turvy heads!

The broad and common sense brogans of the
past were left for the level-headed and the old.
Youth would have none of them, for Youth strode
forth, or, rather, limped along with Youth’s ten toes
“cabined, cribbed, confined” within two narrow,
toothpick-pointed boots, with high laced tops
and gaudy red linings of split sheepskin! And red
stockings—very red stockings—began to appear,
and, concomitantly, garters! Garters at the Cross-
roads! But worse than that! Far worse than
that! For the shopkeepers, having set “the glass
of fashion,”’ now essayed to take liberties with “the
mould of form,” and every last member of the

2978THE COLONY AT THE EBB

dusky smart-set burgeoned forth in a lumpy, bumpy
bustle! Horrible things of straw, or cotton, or
woven wire, oft set awry, and as evil to look at as
a laden ship that, having shifted her cargo, lists
heavily to starboard or port!

So much, sartorially, the Cross-roads shopkeep-
ers did to the hard-worked men of the Baring
mines, or, rather, so much they did to their women,
for the poor, plucked men had little left for self-
adornment. Now and then, however, some young
buck, holding his feminine affiliations lightly, would
spend his earnings on himself, and buy store-clothes,
as well as fancy hats and shoes.

In the seventies and early eighties two extreme
styles of trousers reached Charleston and Savan-
nah, and some time later crawled or wormed their
way into the hinterlands. Men laugh at woman’s
extremes in dress, but nothing funnier was ever
seen than these, and the women who once saw them
must be laughing still! The trousers known as
“neg-top’—made popular by the elder Sothern,
who wore them in the character of “Lord Dun-
dreary”—were as full as bloomers above the ankle,
but there they were pinched in to the narrowness
of the shoe-top. These peg-tops, exposing the en-
tire shoe, of course exaggerated tremendously the
size of the masculine foot, and, by a queer quirk
of fashion, the shoes worn contemporaneously were
extremely long, with hard, sharp-pointed toes, so
when the Baring buck—‘proud man’’—set forth,
before high Heaven to make the angels weep, if he

927T9

alTHE CAPTAIN

wore number elevens or twelves, as was the custom
of the country, his feet protruded from the bottoms
of his “peg-tops” like the heads of twin 5-foot al-
ligators running a neck and neck race! At another
period, the buck would follow the fashion into a
pair of the “spring-bottom” trousers, an even more
reprehensible extreme. These, skin-tight about
the seat and thighs, began to swell at the knee, and
kept on swelling, until, by the time the ankle was
reached, they yawned like the bell-mouthed muzzle
of a Puritan blunderbuss! As the mouths of the
spring-bottoms swallowed up even the alligator-
head feet of the buck who wore them, the offense
of the fashion was somewhat mitigated. Bad as
both types of “britchiz’’ were, however, the sarto-
rial sins of the men were sporadic. Those of the
women the Cross-roads community had with them
alway.

“Oh! Satan you needn’t fuh to wink attuh me!
Oh! Satan you needn’t fuh to wink attuh me!
Oh! Satan you needn’t fuh to wink attuh me!
Fuh Juhruz’lum iz my home!”

“Satan duh wink at you, enty? Uh t’aw’t so,
’cause de debble got good eye.’’ And the old woman,
without taking her clay pipe out of her mouth,
appraised contemptuously a girl who sailed by,
with diaphanous sleeves, flowered hat, sharp-toed
shoes, a red parasol, and a huge bustle, piled—
Pelion upon Ossa—where no bustle in the world
need ever have been!

 

280THE COLONY AT THE EBB

“Great Gawd! Lookuh da’ she-Nigguh! ’E yent
sattify wid. de meat wuh de Mastuh g’em, en’ ’e
haffuh pile da’ t’ing ’puntop’um! Satan ent duh
wink at you, tittuh! Him duh cock ’e yeye!”THE TIDE RUN LOW

As the tide of easier money rose higher at the
‘ Baring mines and the Cross-roads, the fortunes of
the little Mitchell colony ran low. The nice ad-
justment of agricultural communities to mining and
manufacturing industries that spring up suddenly
nearby is always difficult, even among enlightened
peoples, for the mines and factories draw the more
efficient workers from the farms, and those who
remain upon the land often struggle along, trying,
with decreased man-power, to raise low-priced
staple crops, instead of growing fruits, vegetables,
and other products that could be sold profitably to
the well-paid industrial workers at their doors.
As an economic problem so difficult of solution
by intelligent whites could not be satisfactorily
worked out by the untutored black people of the
plantations, it is not surprising that the sudden
wealth brought to Pon-Pon by the phosphate in-
dustry changed in a day the whole plan of life
at Mitchell’s. When the able men went away to
dig or roll rock at the mines, leaving behind them
only women and children and old men, if these
feebler hands had had the wit and the will, they
might have raised pigs, and grown the coarser
vegetables that are always in demand among the
Negroes, and thus brought to their households some
of the ready money of the miners; they could at
least have grown their own food and sustained
themselves, leaving the earnings of the head of the

283THE CAPTAIN

family for clothing, shoes, and luxuries. This
they could have done, had the wife of the miner’s
bosom been minded to “keep the home fires burning.”

But when Adam shouldered pick and spade and
shovel and went away to delve, did Eve spin? She
did not! “No, suh! W’en my juntlemun mek dol-
luh en’ uh quawtuh uh day, me yent haffuh wu’'k.
W’en de man binnuh wu’k fuh fifty cent uh day,
befo’ de phoskit come, de ’ooman haffuh hol’ hoe
fuh he’p’um out; dem alltwo haffuh wu’k, but now,
attuh de man’ han’ stan’ so rich ebb’ry Sattyday
night, de ’ooman’ hoe haffuh lean’up een de cawnuh,
enty? Berrywell.”

And, with the putting away of her hoe, the woman
put away many of her old habits of economy and
thrift. She still made her own clothes and her chil-
dren’s, but they were of thinner, less durable mate-
rial. Still a good cook, as most Low-Country Negro
women were fifty years ago, she cooked less
at home, for the shopkeepers at the Cross-roads
had lured the poor Negroes away from their simple
food, with sardines, salmon, lobster, and all sorts
of, then, abominable canned things. And oysters!
With the oyster banks of Toogoodoo only six or seven
miles away! And even in spring and summer,
when the thickets were full of blackberries, huckle-
berries, and plums, the poor creatures frittered
away their money on canned peaches! The down-
ward path was easy. For the Negro’s wife—form-
erly a fellow worker, a helpmate indeed—was now
become a parasite, a very daughter of the horse-

284THE TIDE RUN LOW

leech whose insistent “give! give!’ kept her man
constantly at work. Even tho’ he never stopped,
save for sickness, his unremitting labor brought in
little more than the combined efforts of his wife
and himself, when they had worked together in
the fields, while it cost far more to maintain an
idle woman, than one who worked, Satan still
finding extravagance, as well as mischief, for the
hands of the unemployed!

The disintegration of the Mitchell colony was
gradual, of course, and the picture here drawn is
a composite in which there are more shadows than
lights, because, at last, the shadows swallowed up
the lights. There were exceptions, too, for a few
of the workers at the mines were wise enough to
save, and strong enough to restrain their women,
and these put some of their surplus earnings into
betterments, and held, more nearly than their fel-
lows, to the simplicity of their former lives. A few
others, older men, resisted the call of the mines
and remained on the land to dig a living out of it as
best they could, but the good example of the con-
servative handful had little effect in checking the
downward course of the spenders, for, in this nar-
row community as in wider circles of life, at times
of restlessness and change, counsel that walks hand
in hand with reason and restraint is out-footed
by the Jezebel that jumps with fashion and the
senses!

On a summer’s evening at the Cross-roads, just
where the Willtown road intersects the old King’s

285ee

 

THE CAPTAIN

highway, half a dozen little black boys and girls,
holding hands, had formed a ring while they slowly
danced or shuffled around one of their number
’‘prisoned within. The members of the circle, in
chorus, chanted the questions, one by one, and
the shrill voice of the prisoner piped the answers.

“Who lick my chile?”

 Aaty.?

“Wuh you lick’um fuh?”

s i Sassy.”

“Who ’e sassy to?”

“"E maamy.”

The game was rudely interrupted by the sudden
coming of a quick-stepping old black woman, at
whose approach one of the girls, mumbling a
frightened “grumma!” disengaged herself from the
sportive ring and with lowered eyes awaited the
scolding she knew was coming.

“Enty Uh tell you ’sponsubble fuh gone to de sto’
en’ tell you ma—da’ ’ooman wuh you pa hab fuh
wife—fuh come home quick ez ’e kin, en’ fetch
de med’sin Uh bin tell’um fuh fetch, ’cause you pa
berry sick? En’ ’stead’uh you tek de ansuh to de
‘ooman lukkuh Uh tell you, Uh fin’ you out yuh
een de big-road duh play ‘Who lick my chile?
Aaffy!’ Ef chile haffuh lick, de somebody wuh lick-
‘um ent haffuh name Aaffy! Wuh you got fuh
say? Weh you ma?”

“Ma dey een de sto’, muh. Uh tell’um de met-
sidge jis’ lukkuh you sen’um, but him binnuh trade,
en’ ’e yent wan’ nobody fuh bodduhr’um, so ’e

 

 

286THE TIDE RUN LOW

tell me fuh run’way en’ play ’tel him ready fuh
gone home.”

The old woman, accepting the child’s statement,
hurried into the big store, where she found her
laggard daughter-in-law, the center of a group
of men and young married women that presented
as many triangles as a prism!

The obliging shopkeeper, in recognition of their
liberal patronage, had surrendered for their use
a section of the counter at the far end of the store,
and here, with a watchful eye open for light fingers,
he had allowed them to spread sardines, canned
peaches, and crackers, upon which they feasted,
while chattering as irresponsibly as a bunch of
smart-set New Yorkers at a “‘protected”’ cabaret!

Into the “vicious circle’ the old woman burst
suddenly, and the fires of her wrath, long banked
to keep them warm, now flared up furiously. “Come
on home!” she shouted to her now frightened
daughter-in-law. “Git you med’sin en’ come on
home! You lef’ my po’ son to ’e house sick ’tel
’e mos’ dead, en’ you en’ all dese t’odduh ’ooman
come yuh fuh mix’up wid dese debble’ub’uh no-
‘count he-Nigguh! Wunnuh ebb’ry drat one hab
husbun’, en’ you ent sattify wid him, wunnuh haffuh
hab conkywine too, enty? W’en man so ska’ce luk
’e yiz, one ’ooman fuh hab two man fuh feed’um,
en’ buy frock fuh pit ’pun ’e back, en’ bodduh wid’um
en’ pledjuhr’um, enty? De po’ husbun’ wuh you
got,” she cried, turning to the other women, “dey
dey to de phoskit bog’up to dem crotch een da’ mud

287THE CAPTAIN

en’ blue clay, duh dig da’ haa’d rock frum Monday
mawnin’ ’tel Sattyday night, en’ haffuh nyam col’
bittle w’en middleday come, en’ hab chance fuh
ketch de consumpshus en’ de remonia, en’ wuh dem
got? Nutt’n’! Dem wu’k so haa’d fuh feed ’ooman
wuh yent wu’t’! En’ dese conkywine wuh you
’ooman hab fuh sweeth’aa’t!’”’ with a wide sweep
of her arm toward the men, “ef dem ent stop
ramify ’roun’ de neighbuhhood, razor fuh ride dem
t’roat, sho’ ez Gawd! ’Cause ef wunnuh husbun’
tie een de pit all t’ru de week, him fuh yeddy ’bout
de sweeth’aa’t w’en ’e come home Sunday, enty?
En’ him fuh hab time, den, fuh shaa’p ’e razor, too!”

Stopping a moment for breath, the old woman’s
eye lit upon the heavy gold-washed brass earrings
that hung from the ears of the errant wives be-
fore her, and, with the scorpion lash of her tongue,
she scourged them again!

“Befo’ de phoskit come to Pon-Pon all uh we
black people binnuh git long berrywell. De man
en’ de ’ooman alltwo haffuh wu’k, en’ ebb’rybody
sattify, ’cause nobody got no time fuh idlin’. Wun-
nuh all git ’nuf fuh eat, en’ de ’ooman hab frock,
en’ de man hab britchiz, en’ alltwo got shoe. You
nebbuh bin need nutt’n’ mo’. You bin een Gawd’
han’, but you nebbuh hab sense ’nuf fuh know’um,
’cause de debble pull da’ skin obuh you eye, suk-
kuh skin grow obuh rattlesnake’ eye een Augus’
munt’, en’ you nebbuh see Gawd’ han’. Now, de
debble got you, enty? Ebbuh sence dis rock come
yuh, ebb’rybody tu’n fool! Wunnuh tu’n staa’t

288THE TIDE RUN LOW

fool! De man iz fool, ’eause dem wu’k so haa’d fuh
de fool ’ooman; en’ de ’ooman iz fool, ’cause dem
t’row’ way de man’ money, en’ pit t’ing ’puntop
dem back en’ t’ing, wuh mek’um look lukkuh de
debble en’ mongkey alltwo one time! Lookuh dem
ting you got een you yez! Enty Uh tell you de
debble got you? Dem ring duh him maa’k, en’ him
maa’k you yez sukkuh Buckruh cut swalluh-fawk
en’ popluh-leaf en’ t’ing een cow yez fuh maa’k’um!
Now, de debble pit you een him maa’k, en’ tek you
out’uh Gawd’ pastuh weh you binnuh feed so
peaceubble, en’ you nebbuh fuh feed out’uh Gawd’
han’ no mo’! Tek you out? No, ’e nebbuh tek
you out! ’E jis’ t’row de rider off de stake, en’
pint to de gyap, en’ wunnuh ebb’ry drat one jump
da’ fench wuh Gawd pit ’roun’ Him pastuh, en’
come out befo’ de debble kin quile ’e tail! But ’e
gott’um quile now, enty? Yaas, ’e yiz! ’E quile
tight ’roun’ all wunnuh nyung she-Nigguh, en’ you
conkywine, alltwo! Come on, ’?ooman! Come ’long
to you husbun’!”’

“The least governed are the best governed” was
wisely said a century ago; but, in respect to money
that comes suddenly and easily into hands unac-
customed to its use, every thoughtful or observant
man and woman must wish, every day, that some
strong hand of restraint could be laid upon the ex-
penditures of the wasters—for the wasters’ good!
And it is interesting to speculate upon what the
economic effect of the Baring mines would have
been on the Pon-Pon community could the stores

289THE CAPTAIN

within reach of the mines have been controlled by
the mining company, and if stocks had been carried
only of such staple commodities as the Negroes
really needed—accustomed things, with which they
were quite content until the Cross-roads shop-
keepers, tempting them with fripperies, drew them
away from plain living and the simple life. With-
out the temptations at their doors, some strong
white man in whom they believed, perhaps one of
their own race, might have induced them to put
their surplus into betterments or to put by some-
thing for a rainy day; might even have led them
toward higher standards of living!

But it was not to be. As in many another
economic scheme, it worked out for the benefit
of the few, to the ruin or the disadvantage of the
many. The cupidity of the shopkeepers urged them
to tempt the poor Negroes with things they didn’t
need and couldn’t afford. Thro’ their weakness,
the women fell, and, falling, carried their men down
with them. Now and then a man of rugged type
would try to restrain the women of his household,
and buck the tide of profligacy, upon whose current
his compatriots rode so blithely; but fashion, like
conscience, “doth make cowards of us all,” and
weaklings as well, so his protest was brief, for his
women made his life miserable, and he was soon
another chip, like his fellows, all going the same way.

And the wastefulness of the spendthrift Negroes
enriched not only the shopkeepers, but the mine-
owners as well, for the urge of their extravagances

290THE TIDE RUN LOW

kept the workers at high pressure, and enabled
the mine-operators, with abundant labor, to work
at full capacity.

So much for the few. On the other hand, the
plantations in the community suffered grievously
through utter demoralization of their labor, but
the greatest sufferers—the hopeless sufferers—
were the poor Negroes, the highly paid wage-
earners, who, according to the reasoning of gen-
tlemen who discuss economic questions, should
have been permanently uplifted; for, while the
planters lost only the profits they might have made,
the Negroes lost, presently, the simple plan of life
they were accustomed to, under which they were
making slow progress, and in time they lost far
more, for the spirit of unrest was among them and
would never be laid. While the women were the
greater sinners in the moral decadence that had
come upon them, the men were not without fault,
for gambling was almost universal among the
younger men, and bloodletting with knife and razor
became common.

Nor were their moral and material losses all,
for the hard work of the miners, often in the rain,
almost always in damp pits, bore heavily upon the
men, some of whom died quickly of pneumonia,
others slowly of consumption, while the efficiency
of many workers was seriously impaired by rheu-
matism. And the less wholesome food impaired
the general vitality of men and women.

291THE CAPTAIN

The birthrate declined. There was less time for
children, and those that heaven wished upon them,
“unbeknownst,” were given less attention, as is
the way in somewhat higher social circles, wherein,
when life is so full, social duties press heavily upon
population! So, infant mortality increased.

The Mitchell colony suffered more than any of
the Pon-Pon plantations, for here the men lived
in their own homes, were subject to no contracts,
and were free to go as they pleased, and all who
were strong enough elected to go, and by their going
every household was weakened and _ gradually
loosened from the land, which eventually fell from
them, for the stronger men—those better fitted
to hold on and establish themselves permanently
—were, through their strength and their will to
work, among the first to wreck themselves physi-
cally and pass from the scene of their labors,
leaving wastrel widows to mate with weaker men,
under whose ownership the cabins, in which their
predecessors had such pride, soon tumbled down,
and the land that had been loved and labored for
was sold for taxes or to satisfy importunate cred-
itors. And so it was with all of them, for at the
end of a generation hardly an acre of the Mitchell
land was held by the descendants of the hopeful
colonists of 1874!

On a cold spring day, the Captain cantered down
the long Oak Lawn avenue and entered the King’s
highway on his way to Willtown. He had been

292THE TIDE RUN LOW

burning brush and briar-thickets in the morning,
and, although the fires had now been beaten out,
the wholesome smell of wood smoke was still in
the air, while broad-winged ‘‘old-field” hawks hov-
ered about, watching expectantly for such wood-
rats or rabbits as, forced by the fire to move house,
might hazard a run across the open ground to seek
new quarters.

Three hundred yards beyond the avenue, the Cap-
tain drew upon his left rein and turned into the
Landing-road, but paused for a moment at the
corner to look over his shoulder, across the ante-
bellum orchard, at the beautiful avenue whose
every tree he loved. Sturdy oaks and stalwart,
these, under whose spreading boughs five genera-
tions of the Captain’s people had found shelter
from the sun; tough trees that, hacked and bruised
by the vandal axes of 1865, were too hard for the
wreak of the spiteful hands that sought to lay
them low. Across these scars, which time had
healed, the pitying ivy crept, and hid the wounds
that man had wrought upon God’s own handiwork!

The “orchard-field” had been plowed. The
heavy land lay in long ridges, the furrows, thrown
shoulder to shoulder, resting one upon another,
awaiting the harrow that, in time, would crush the
clods and crumble them into a friable seed-bed for
the corn to be presently planted.

Brown field sparrows, uttering their plaintive
little notes, drifted over the plowed land like flocks
of wind-blown leaves, alighting for a moment,

293THE CAPTAIN

hesitantly, then, as if caught up by a sudden gust,
swirling on again; always drifting, drifting, as
blackbirds drift over ricefield stubble.

The first of March. The month had blown in
blusteringly. Storm-clouds, with flying manes,
charged down the wind, as at a trumpet-blast—wild
troops of pallid horsemen. And, as the leading
squadrons plunged over the horizon’s rim, and were
swallowed up in the infinite, troop after troop
rushed out of the west and followed fast, their
boreal hoof-beats drumming! And from the moss-
draped boughs of the avenue, a hundred far-flung
pennons lay level in the wind. Gray troopers above,
gray pennons below. . . . The old Confederate
rode on.

Half a mile farther along the Landing-road the
Captain turned into the pineland, and rode a few
hundred yards across the ridge to look in on old
Cassius, whom he liked and respected as one of the
vanishing types of the old days. The cabin, built
eight or nine years earlier and still in good repair,
justified its builder’s pride of craftsmanship, while
fences and yard reflected the care of a painstak-
ing and competent hand. The Captain’s hail brought
no response. The cabin door was closed, but the
wisp of smoke that crept out of the clay chimney
told that some one was within. Hitching his horse
to the fence, the Captain passed through the gate
and looked up for a moment at the three fine post-
oaks that stood like sentinels at the old man’s well.

In the March wind the last dead leaves of the

294THE TIDE RUN LOW

fall rattled petulantly, as though loath to leave the
trees upon which they had long since budded and
blown in all their summer bravery, and turned,
under the frosty fingers of autumn, into a glory
of red and gold! Here on these limbs they had
died, and clung in their russet robes all winter,
chanting, like monks, their mournful songs of death
and dissolution. Now, with the rising sap, each
tender twig swelled with the promise of the resur-
rection, and buds of green and white tipped every
twig and tendril, serving notice on the dead leaves
that the dawn of a new day was at hand, and their
time had come to go. So, one by one, they whirled
complainingly to the earth, and, quiet at last, rested
upon the bosom of the mother that gave them
birth. So the old must pass, to make room for the
young, that the promise of summer and winter, and
seed-time and harvest may be fulfilled!

Lifting the latch of the cabin door, the Captain
entered. The windows were shut, and the dark-
ness was broken only by a handful of coals that
glowed dully on the hearth. A sudden gust of wind,
Sweeping down the short chimney, fanned them for
a moment almost into flame, and by the fitful light
that crept into the shadows the Captain made out
dimly the outlines of a bed, over which was spread
a patch-work quilt, whose garish colors added a
poignant touch to the tragedy before him. Above
the quilt that reached up almost to her chin, lay
the thin black face of an old woman, long dead, her
eyes wide open, staring with the tragic intentness

295THE CAPTAIN

of death! Her hands—poor gnarled and twisted
hands—lay before her upon the quilt, whose put-
ting together, bit by bit, had been a labor of love
during the slow and heavy years. Brave, helpful
hands that, shirking neither the enforced service
of Slavery, nor the harder, self-imposed tasks of
Freedom, were now pathetically still!

In a low rocking chair at the side of the bed, just
at the chimney corner, sat old Cassius, crouched
over the embers which he was trying to keep alive
to warm the poor stark figure on the bed, while,

 

as he thought, she slept.

Cassius looked up, as the Captain came near in
the half-light and rested a kindly hand upon his
shoulder, but his mind was wandering, and in the
tall figure he saw his old master, now long dead.

“Mas’ Edwu’d!—You come?—T’engk-g aw d!
Maussuh?—My Maussuh!—Uh know you woulduh
come w’en you ole saa’bunt pray Gawd fuh sen’ you,
‘cause Uh bring up een you han’, Maussuh; en’ me
en’ you blonx to one’nurruh, ’tel Gawd tek we een
Him han’, enty, Maussuh?—yYaas, suh, Uh know
you woulduh say dat.—En’ Phibby, Maussuh,
Phibby will glad fuh see you, too, ’cause you ent
bin to ole Cassius’ house sence Uh mek’um, long
time ago. Uh mek’um jis’ like you ]’aa’n me fuh
mek’um een de ole time. Maussuh, no rain nebbuh
fall pun Phibby een dis house! Ef you ax’um, him
will tell you so, too.—Soon ez ’e wake.—Him duh
sleep now, Maussuh. Shum dey, ’pun de bed!
Phibby bin sleep long time. Seem ez ef him neb-

296THE TIDE RUN LOW

buh fuh wake up ’gen, no mo’! But Uh bin yuh
befo’ de chimbley duh mek fiah all de time, so w’en
Phibby wake, de house gwine be wawm fuhr’um.
‘Cause ’e bin sick, Maussuh. De po’ ’ooman bin so
sick! En’ Uh yent got no med’sin fuh g’em, nuh
nutt’n’. None de black people bin ’bout me. No-
body come fuh see me. Uh nebbuh hab chance
fuh sen’ wu’d to de w’ite people. Uh yent bin strong
‘nuf fuh go meself, Maussuh, ’cause Uh bin sick,
too; but Uh yent bodduh ’bout dat, ’cause Phibby
bin so sick, so sick. Ef ole Missis bin yuh, him
woulduh fetch de po’ ’ooman some tea frum de big
house. Him woulduh fetch’um een ’e own han’.
But ole Missis gone now. Ole Missis binnuh sleep
een Gawd’ han’ long time—long time.”

The effort of speech was too much for the poor,
spent body, weakened by starvation, and, with
closed eyes, old Cassius fell back in the chair. The
Captain touched his pulse, and knew that but a
raveled strand remained of the frayed cord that
held him to life.

A flickering smile passed over the worn and
wrinkled face. The eyelids slowly lifted. ‘Mas’
Edwu’d!—Maussuh!—You ’membuh—de weddin’,
enty—Maussuh ?—’Cause you—bin—dey. En’ Mis-
Sis, too. De—weddin’, ent bin to de—big-house—
‘cause me en’—Phibby—nebbuh bin—house-saa’-
bunt, fuh hab weddin’ to—de big-house—we jis’
bin po’ fiel’-Nigguh—but Maussuh come—en’ Missis
—come. En’ Missis sen’—Phibby—shishuh pooty
frock—E bin w’ite—w’ite—lukkuh—shroud.—

297THE CAPTAIN

’7e own—han’—

 

En’ Missis—fetch—de cake—een
en’—”’

The moments passed. Without, the wind-harps
in the tops of a thousand pines droned a solemn
requiem for those who die in love and faith, and,
on the old post-oaks, the dead leaves shivered eerily.
Within, as, one by one, the embers died, the shadows
deepened, and bed and chair, with their dead and
dying, were swallowed by the dark. Among the
ashes on the hearth, a single ruby sparkled for an
instant, and was gone!

Out of the darkness a whisper came.

“Mas’ Edwu’d! — My — Maussuh! —Phibby!
Phib—”

And old Phoebe’s waiting was over!

Tiptoeing to the cabin door, the Captain closed it
softly behind him. As he mounted his horse and
rode away to summon the women of the neighbor-
hood to their kindly offices for the dead, two brown
leaves, torn from a single bough, fluttered down to
earth, and lay side by side, at rest.HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

About four years after the close of the Confed-
erate War, while the Captain was planting Sea-
island cotton at Oak Lawn, he acquired a young
hound to which, in view of her promise, he gave
the hopeful name of Huntress. She came through
adolescence to maturity in the Captain’s hands, and
the Captain trained her carefully. She was whelped
“somewhere up-the-country,” as the Pon-Pon people
call upper Colleton, Orangeburg, and Barnwell, and
was of alien stock to the Coast. Short-legged,
thickset, powerful, with broad, rather short ears,
and thick “feather-tail,”’ she approximated in con-
formation the modern English type of fox-hound,
but her color was her own—a solid, yellowish tan
—a hazardous distinction, for on more than one
occasion, while trailing silently through thick
bushes, she was mistaken for a sneaking doe and
narrowly missed a load of buckshot from a watch-
ful “stander” nearby. And she resembled the
modern English hound in character as well as in
build, for she had great courage, great speed, and
the “chopped-tongue’”—the short yelp of the En-
glish dog.

For a long time Huntress was the Captain’s only
hunting dog. His nearest neighbor, Tom King, at
the “Encampment” or “Blue House’ plantation,
as it was sometimes called, maintained a small tho’
splendid pack, and to these, and the hounds of other
neighbors, Huntress would be added whenever the

 

299THE CAPTAIN

Captain joined a hunting party. As he often hunted
alone, however, the tawny hound had been trained
to meet the requirements of a solitary hunter, whose
only chance was a “snap-shot” from horseback, as
the deer “jumped,” or sprang from his bed.

Huntress, silent on the trail, seldom gave tongue
until the quarry was up and away, and the Captain
had trained her to hunt cautiously, keeping only a
few yards in advance of his horse as he slowly
skirted the bays that intersected the pinelands,
myrtle thickets at the edge of the old-fields, or other
sheltered coverts where deer might lie. And, as
the trail grew warm, the suppressed excitement of
the hound and her quicker movements warned her
master that the deer’s bed—the spot where he had
lain down when he came in at dawn from his night
feeding—was not far away. There was always the
chance that a deer, often hunted, would become
apprehensive and, upon hearing horn or hound in
the distance, would rise from his bed and “sneak”
out of the drive, and this the hunter could never
know until the bed was reached. But if Huntress
raised her head, lifted her ears, and jumped up
and down, like a rabbit-hunting bird-dog in a broom-
grass field, the Captain knew the deer had not
sneaked, but was still in his bed and almost within
gunshot. If the covert were very near, he cocked
both barrels of his Westly-Richards, steadied his
horse and awaited the jump; but if time allowed
he would ride ahead, skirting the thicket and hop-
ing for a flank shot.

300HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

While the spoils of this sort of hunting were
rather uncertain, the sport was always exciting,
and by no other method could the solitary hunter,
either on horseback or afoot, hope for success.

Sometimes, exploring a small drive whose out-
lets were controlled by only two or three passes or
“stands,” if Huntress developed a promising trail
the Captain, leaving the hound to work it out for
herself, would ride ahead, take up the best stand,
conceal his horse, and await whatever the fortune
of the forest had in store for him. If the deer
jumped, the stander’s chances were presently good
for a shot. If the deer ran out by another pass,
or had sneaked before the dog came to his bed,
Huntress would come out of the drive on full cry,
and the Captain would blow her off the trail, or
ride her down and stop her.

Well suited as Huntress was for the Captain’s
solitary hunting adventures, and perfectly disci-
plined while under control of her master alone, she
had two faults that made her sometimes an un-
acceptable member of a community hunting pack.
To begin with, she often had the impudence to out-
run Tom King’s dogs—a venial offense in the eyes
of all save Tom King. But a really serious fault
which caused her to be left at home on many hunt-
ing days, was her habit of running silently ahead
of a slowly trailing pack, to jump the deer prema-
turely before the passes had been taken up. A
strange failing for a dog that hunted so cautiously
when alone.THE CAPTAIN

 

Old deer hunters know that deer are mortally
afraid of a “silent” dog—one that gives tongue
sparingly. During a certain hunting season, about
ten years after the time of Huntress, all the deer
were run out of the drives on and immediately
around the Oak Lawn plantation, by the coming
into the neighborhood of an undisciplined pointer,
a powerful, splendid-looking brute. Tho’ highly
bred and properly trained in early life, he went back
on both heredity and environment, scorned all
feathered things, and insisted upon hunting deer!
The slot of a deer meant no more to him than the
“Mecklenburg Myth” means to Alex Salley—he
couldn’t have followed it ten feet—but if a hound
opened on a trail anywhere within a mile and a
half the Berserker pointer would join the hound,
or the pack, in an incredibly short time. If the
trail was cold, and the movement of the pack slow,
he would keep in the vicinity, quartering the ground
as desperately as if his life depended upon the num-
ber of intricate geometrical figures he could describe
in the pineland.

And as the pack moved on the pointer kept along
with them, apparently taking little interest in the
game they were playing. Presently, as the trail
grew warmer, he kept closer to the pack and, at
last, when their lilting cry told him they were
within, perhaps, a quarter of a mile of the “jump,”
he would rush ahead like the wind, flush the aston-
ished deer out of his bed, and put him thro’ the
woods at top speed, running, a silent Nemesis, at

ya
302HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

his heels. And as long as he could keep the deer
in sight he kept running, his ears flapping wildly.

A few flights before this liver-and-white phantom
of the woods were all a deer needed to force him
to sanctuary many miles away, and until the pointer
was sent out of the neighborhood the deer did not
return to the Oak Lawn drives.

But, however unfitted for team work, the Captain
would not have swapped Huntress for any pack
in the Parish, and an exciting incident in one of
his hunts kept her in grateful remembrance through-
out his life.

On a sharp morning in November the Captain
set out to try his luck on a solitary deer hunt. “Bill
Arp,” the beautiful stallion he bestrode, was one of
those accomplished hunting horses of the Low-
Country that always seemed more at ease among
the hazards of the woods than in the open road.

As the Captain, leaving the open fields at “Cot-
ton Hill,” turned into the thick growth of “the Stack-
yard,” his mount became more alert, his gait
springier, and his restless ears were pricked to
catch the sound of rustling bush or snapping twig
‘telling of wild-life astir in the forest.

Frost had bitten and splashed with blood the
foliage of gum and sourwood and, in spots in the
open woods, in thick clumps along the margins of
the backwaters, the fires of autumn burned redly,
while on every knoll the spendthrift hickories
scattered their golden leafage to the winds.

303THE CAPTAIN

Skirting an ante-bellum canal, now dry and over-
grown with briar-thickets and scrub, Huntress,
trotting a few yards in advance of the horse, gave
a savage yelp, and dashed into the canal with the
hair bristling on her back, and the Captain knew
he was in for a wild-cat hunt, for Huntress hated
the bay-lynx intensely, and once on a hot trail
’twould be a waste of wind to try to blow her off.

While most fox-hounds follow indiscriminately
the trails of deer, fox, and cat, and sometimes trail
turkeys, to boot, certain Low-Country packs were
trained to follow deer only and, under the disci-
pline of frequent whippings, would raise their noses
as scornfully while crossing the trails of cat or fox
as if they had been rabbit tracks. Even among
these cultured packs, however, there were one or
two individuals, who, however loyal to pack-stand-
ards while hunting with the pack, would slip off
upon occasion to pursue a private vendetta against
the bob-tailed terror of the swamps.

Huntress, her master’s only hunting dog, was
hampered by no pack-standards and, tho’ she never
noticed foxes, she followed cats with savage energy,
encouraged by her practical master who knew that
however destructive to wild life—the fawns and
turkeys of the woods—the depredations of the bay-
lynx upon plantation farmyard and Negro hen-
roost entailed a far greater economic loss, especially
upon the Negroes, whose cabins were often at the
edge of woods or swamps within whose fastnesses
the four-footed spoilers lurked in perfect security,

304HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

for the Negro dogs were never able to cope with
them.

But, for the present adventure, however bene-
ficent its purpose, the Captain had little enthusiasm.
He was intent upon venison, and for an hour he
listened impatiently as Huntress followed the trail
of the cat as he twisted and doubled through the
thorny thickets of the old backwater, pursuer and
pursued often passing and repassing within a few
feet of each other, but separated by a wall of im-
penetrable briars. Whenever they came near to-
gether the hound’s cry became an angry scream
of disappointment that the hated quarry was so
near and yet so far.

Meantime, the Captain, weary of the saddle, dis-
mounted, hitched his horse, filled his pipe, and
seated himself at the foot of a whiteoak command-
ing a full view of the path by which the wild crea-
tures of the forest and the half-wild cattle and
Swine that roamed the woods with them crossed
the overgrown canal in passing between the
old backwater and the higher levels. By this
path Huntress had followed the trail of the
cat into the chaparral. -By this path the cat
would emerge whenever he thought the repeated
doublings upon the back track had so perplexed
his pursuer that the quarry could slip away to make
confusing tracks in another thorny fastness. So
these cunning creatures habitually throw off the
hounds, doubling and twisting and worming their
way along rabbit-paths through briars that, mak-

305THE CAPTAIN

ing little impression upon their tough hides, would
have torn a hound’s skin into ribbons. If fallen
trees lie among or near the briars the hound is
more easily outwitted, for the cat, by running up
and down the log a few times, leaping off as far as
possible, first to one side and then to the other, and
repeating the maneuver at intervals, can often so
tangle his pursuers as to gain half an hour or
more for a run to another retreat.

And the Captain knew that when the cat in the
chaparral had woven his warp and woof of cross-
trails into a pattern intricate enough to suit him,
he would sneak out and make a dash for the high
land, to re-enter the backwater, perhaps, at a point
half a mile away. He knew, too, that the cat would
almost certainly make his dash when Huntress,
following the twisting trail, was at the farther
edge of the chaparral; so, when the hound’s halt-
ing cry told that she was puzzling over the trail
at the other side of the backwater, the Captain
knocked out his pipe, rose to his feet, and stood at
attention in front of the whiteoak.

He hadn’t long to wait. A slight rustling among
the dead leaves in the old canal, the thump, thump
of feet as of a rabbit slowly jumping, and a spotted
thing topped the canal bank and leaped into the
forest but forty yards away! One leap was
all he took, for the gun was at the Captain’s
shoulder at the first warning from the dead leaves,
and half the 16 low-mould buckshot met the mov-
ing target as it crossed the sights. At the boom

306HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

of the Westly-Richards—a full-throated report
known throughout the hunting community—it
rolled over, too dead to kick. A young cat, beauti-
fully marked, its teeth and claws were yet formi-
dable enough to have torn Huntress cruelly had she
come to close quarters, and the Captain thanked
the stars that watch over the fortunes of the chase
as he tied the dappled killer behind his saddle.

At the sound of the gun Huntress went silent
for a moment, and then gave tongue again, but in
a half-hearted way as if expecting a recall. When
it came, she was not slow to respond, and five min-
utes after the first blast of the horn she came out
of the wilderness, and trotted up with mingled
feelings of anger and delight, as expressed by hair
and tail, as she saw the hated cat trussed up on
Bill Arp’s back.

Two hours of the precious winter’s morning had
slipped away, but they had not been wasted, the
Captain thought, for cats were not killed every
day, and he who put one away did something for
the community, while he who killed a deer served
only himself. Still, the Captain was out for veni-
son, so, mounting his horse, he resumed his ride
through the woods to the Cypress.

Traversing ‘“Eight-acre,” the Captain rode
through the larger field beyond and entered the
plantation road at the edge of the swamp. Cross-
ing the bridges that spanned the ‘Cypress run,”
a sluggish tributary of Penny Creek, he passed
into the farther “Cypress-field,”’ a wide opening

3507THE CAPTAIN

lying between the “Elliott Big Drive” on the right
and the thick coverts of the “Little Drive” on the
left. Between these two drives the Captain hesi-
tated. He leaned toward the left, for the myrtle
thickets of the Little Drive almost certainly har-
bored deer, and its limited area made its explora-
tion far easier for a single hunter than the wide
spaces of the Big Drive; but, just as he drew upon
his left rein to turn into the broomgrass, he came
to a blind path crossing the road at right angles.
Huntress, a few yards in advance, put her nose to
earth and wagged her feather-tail with interest,
and the Captain saw the slot of a large buck which
had passed from the Little to the Big Drive, prob-
ably during the late hours of the preceding night,
for the track was fresh. As a close examination
showed no track going the other way, the buck
had almost certainly made his bed among the canes
and cattails of the Big Drive, for it was very un-
likely that he would have re-entered the Little Drive
by any other than the regular deer path.

The Captain quickly decided to follow the track,
and he whistled Huntress on. The hound trailed
slowly and, as always on a cold trail, silently, and
the horse easily kept up at a running walk. Half
a mile farther on they neared the first thick places
in the drive where the deer might have found
shelter, and the Captain rode nearer and watched
the hound with keener interest, but her indiffer-
ence puzzled him. If the buck had lain down in the
covert just ahead he could hardly be a hundred

308HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

yards away, and she should have been tense with
excitement, yet she trailed as listlessly as tho’ the
quarry was at the other side of the parish.

In a moment the puzzle was solved, for the trail
skirted the thicket, instead of leading directly
into it, and passed to the higher ground on the left.
Seeking a more luxurious bed farther on, the Cap-
tain thought, and one by one all the coverts of the
Big Drive were passed by hunter and hound upon
a trail that always skirted, never entered, them.
At last they were through and, crossing the road
leading from Adams Run village to Willtown, came
into the high pineland stretching away toward
Elliott’s Wells to the right and Moss Hill to the
left. ‘‘What the devil could the fellow be up to?”
the Captain thought, and then the answer came;
for, as the trail swerved sharply toward the left,
an open spot in the pineland showed two sets of
tracks, both going the same way, and going fast,
as their widespread hoof-prints showed. The delli-
cate slot of the young doe was but half the size
of the big buck’s, and the Captain knew that the
burly Lothario, instead of going to bed like a Chris-
tian—giving Christians a chance to turn him into
venison and say grace over him—had, under the
magic of the November moon, been roaming the
woods as ardently as the antlered Sir John Falstaff
under the spreading oaks of Windsor Forest! And
doubtless more successfully, for a mile beyond
the start of the double trail the Captain found
a broken twig from the low hanging bough of a

309THE CAPTAIN

scrub oak across the way! And here the white-
tails parted.

Huntress stuck to the trail of the now solitary
buck, without a hint from the Captain, and the trail
led toward Elliott’s Wells, where he had doubt-
less taken shelter for the day. Approaching the
swamp, the Captain noticed a sparse growth of
cattails and broomgrass between the pineland and
the thicket—an ideal place for deer to lie, if ’twere
only to the south of the woods instead of the north,
for an old buck loves a southern exposure on winter
mornings, and a windbreak at his back. The Cap-
tain knew a thicker growth of cattails lay at the
other side of the thick woods where, basking in
the sun, he thought the big buck would be found.

But the old fellow, in a hurry to get to bed, had
done the unexpected thing, for, when Huntress, a
hundred yards from the nearest cover, suddenly
threw up her head and gave tongue for the first
time, there was a crash among the brittle reeds,
and the great buck, carrying a splendid head of
“basket” horns, broke cover and lumbered away,
apparently in no particular hurry to bestir himself,
with Huntress hot upon his trail.

Well out of gunshot, the Captain did not waste
powder and, knowing the futility of pursuit, he
determined upon a policy of masterly inactivity.
The deer, following an almost invariable rule, made
for the river; but the river was distant, the water
was cold, and old bucks, master strategists—some-
times—oftenest when pursued by a single hound—

310HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

double upon their tracks or, making a long loop,
run back along a parallel course and return to the
cover from which they started. So the Captain
waited and listened.

The day was still, and until the hound reached
the Clifton place beyond the Willtown road, two
miles away, her cry, though growing fainter and
fainter, still came to the Captain’s ears. At last it
ceased. The minutes passed; five, ten, fifteen. Then
came a raveled thread of sound from farther north.
A moment, and it came again, stronger and more
distinct. The buck had turned, the Captain knew,
and, circling the Clifton gardens, was coming back
through Marshall’s Avenue to the Elliott Big Drive.

If he followed the usual run he would not pass
within a quarter of a mile of the spot where the
Captain waited; so putting spurs to his horse he
dashed to intercept him at a stand he would have
to pass. Concealing Bill Arp in a thicket behind
him, the Captain had hardly taken position at the
edge of a clump of dogwoods and young hickories,
when the great buck burst into view a hundred
yards away. He was running now. The hound was
more than a mile behind him, but he had taken
her measure and was showing her his heels to dis-
courage the pursuit.

On he came in flying leaps, bounding over the
bushes like a great rubber ball. Fifty, forty, thirty
yards away! Then, for the first time, he saw the
waiting stander and swerved suddenly to the right,
but his turn only gave the Captain the flank shot

311THE CAPTAIN

that he had hoped for, and he touched the hair-
trigger of his left barrel, charged with extra heavy
shot. At the crack of the gun the buck turned a
somersault and lay still—as dead, apparently, as
the 18th amendment in Philadelphia! 3ut he
wasn’t. Laying down his gun, the Captain opened
his clasp-knife and, seizing the buck’s antlers with
his left hand, stooped down to cut his throat, but,
before he could use the knife, the buck rose sud-
denly to his feet, lunged forward, and knocked
it out of his hand. Grasping the big horns with
both hands, the Captain pressed the buck’s head
down as far as possible, to prevent him from strik-

 

ing with his fore feet, whose sharp hoofs could have
cut like knives, but the plunging beast drove him
back steadily, until, with his back against a clump
of young dogwoods, he could be pushed no farther.
And now the Captain thanked his stars for the
“basket horns,” with their incurving tines, for the
big buck bore upon him with only their rounded
outer surface. Had he carried open, spreading
antlers the hunter would have been torn cruelly—
perhaps killed.

The dogwood saplings, sprung from a single
stump, grew close together, and a quick thought
came to the Captain that, by putting them between
the buck and himself, he could secure his own safety
and hold the buck until the hound could come to his
rescue. So, in a pause between lunges, he deftly
released one hand from the antlers, slipped behind
the saplings, reached through their slim trunks,

312HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

took hold again, and released the other hand to re-
peat the maneuver, holding the buck at last on the
safe side of the clump with his skull pressed
against its central sapling, while the Captain held
the antlers firmly on each side. The buck who had
been pressing forward so vigorously, now tried as
ardently to go the other way; but ’twas useless, for
whenever he pulled back, a twist of the curving
antlers locked his horns against him, and the Cap-
tain held him fast.

But he was not idle. Infuriated by the bay of
the hound, coming nearer and nearer, the buck
struck savagely again and again, for his head, being
now held higher allowed his feet more freedom. The
intervening saplings saved the Captain, but the
exciting tussle had exhausted his strength, and
he was about to collapse, when Huntress, a yellow
streak, dashed into the thicket and flew at the
buck’s throat. In time, she could, doubtless, have
killed him, but the Captain, feeling both pity and
respect for a brave antagonist, ran to his gun, and
with a shot behind the shoulder ended his troubles.
Then utterly worn out, he stretched himself on the
ground to rest.

Fifteen minutes later he arose refreshed, and
set about getting the heavy buck behind his horse
—no easy task. Dragging the deer to a stout sap-
ling, he bent down the top and tied it to the buck’s
horns. Then, bringing Bill Arp near—the sapling
lifting half the load—he swung the deer behind
his army saddle and made him fast, with the heavy

313THE CAPTAIN

buckskin thongs that always hung at his cantle. An
examination of the buck showed that the Captain had
shot too high the first time, and, while the two or
three shot that struck were enough to roll him
over they did not touch a vital spot; and if, when
he came to his senses, he had chosen to run instead
of fight, he could have gone clean away.

The Captain rode home at sunset, Bill Arp laden
with the spoils of an exciting and successful day.

Fidelity to her master’s interests cost Huntress
her life a year or two later. A savage watch-dog,
she had bitten two or three Negroes who had
prowled too near the Captain’s barns and stables,
and, word having gone around that she was a men-
ace to the light-fingered brotherhood of the com-
munity, she was marked for poisoning at the first
convenient opportunity. The regular yard dogs that
stayed at home were far safer than watchful hunt-
ing dogs, for these, often abroad, were sometimes
tempted while passing through Negro settlements
to swallow food sprinkled with powdered glass—
the lethal agent commonly employed along the
Black Border for removing the too watchful dogs
of “de Buckruh,” or the too watchful husbands of
domestic triangles!

On a hot summer’s day, Huntress, having run a
buck across the Toogoodoo, was returning home,
spent and famished, along the Adams Run road,
when a thievish Negro by the way, threw before
her a piece of meat filled with the deadly dust. She
never reached home, but died in agony by the road-

314HUNTRESS AND THE BUCK

side, just across the “Run” beyond the village, on
the way to the railway station. Here, when the
birds of the air were through with her poor body,
her scattered bones lay for a long time, whitening
in the sun among the purple deer-grass, the part-
ridge-peas, and the orchis of the pinelands, remem-
bered still by those who value loyalty, fidelity, and
courage, in dogs—or men!THE RIVER AND THE SEA

A spring bubbling slowly up from among the
roots of an old long-leaf pine, a tiny trickle of water
feeling its way feebly down the little hollows in
the sandy slopes, overcoming one by one the ob-
stacles by the way—a dead leaf, a broken stick,
a pebble in the path. First, swelling as though
angered, the little rill mounts to the top of each
pygmy barrier, tumbles petulantly over, and the
murmur of an elfin waterfall mingles with the
song of the wind among the pines.

Like little children learning to walk—stumbling,
falling, up and going again—a thousand crystal
threads creep down the rolling sand-hills of Lex-
ington and, merging their waters into rill and
rivulet, behold at last the branch, the creek, the
river! Traversing the lower pine-belt through
the stately forests and fertile fields of Orangeburg
and Barnwell, the waters of the Edisto, still sweet
tho’ stained by the roots of millions of swamp
trees, stoop to the coastal plain and flow majes-
tically to the sea, laving on their way the banks
of many once splendid rice plantations—dividing,
beyond Willtown, into the North and the South
Edisto, one branch turning toward Charleston,
the other toward Savannah.

The North fork, taking the name of Dawhoo,
washes the shores of Edisto Island on the south
and the mainland plantations on the north, re-
ceiving along the way the waters of many muddy

317THE CAPTAIN

tidal creeks and, like some of those whom God
hath made in His image, losing in grace what is
gained in volume!

Augmented at White Point by the inflow of
Wadmalaw River and Toogoodoo, the strong tides
of North Edisto Inlet sweep into the Atlantic,
between Kiawah Island on the north, and Edisto
Island on the south, as they reach the heaving
bosom of the deep.

Kiawah (Keewaw) stretches toward Charleston
long miles of smooth sandy beaches; at the back
uprear the rounded ramparts of the dunes, their
shifting sands held together by the tough roots
of the sea-oats, whose graceful stalks bow to the
winds with many whisperings of seed panicles.

Behind the dunes lie marshy flats, bisected by a
bold tho’ shallow creek, swelled to a lagoon at flood
tide, and on the high ground beyond a dense
chaparral of stunted liveoak and cassina_ scrub,
thickly interspersed with young palmettoes, affords
sanctuary to raccoon, deer, and lynx.

Forty or fifty years ago the planters along Pon-
Pon and the Toogoodoo section of lower Colleton,
now Charleston County, discovered the attractions
of Kiawah Island as a camping and fishing ground,
and thither for several successive seasons went
parties during the summer or fall months, maroon-
ing in tents or palmetto thatched huts for ten
days or a fortnight at a time, wearing little save
their sunburned skins, and roughing it in the brac-
ing sea air—fishing off-shore, or tramping along
318THE RIVER AND THE SEA

the smooth beaches all day and sleeping, without
dreams, in the strong seabreeze at night. Here
they stored up strength and energy against the
strain of the heavy atmosphere of their inland
homes.

These parties, composed of six or eight congenial
spirits, were usually organized a week or two in
advance, and the days of preparation were full of
interest, for boats had to be arranged for, a port
of embarkation decided upon, servants engaged, and
supplies and equipment assembled.

Campers who came to Kiawah fared well at all sea-
sons for, save at periods of storm, there was seldom
lack of fish or shrimp or crabs; but those who came
in the early autumn months grew in girth, if not
in grace, for then the shrimp had grown to the size
of prawn, splendid channel bass were biting in the
rollers on the outer beach, there were oysters in
the lagoon, summer-ducks flew low at sunset, and
the palmetto-cabbage, beloved of epicures, was ready
for cutting in the chaparral! So much for material
things. For others, the flames of the camp-fires
flared more brilliantly in the frosty air, the breakers
sobbed more poignantly at the passing of summer,
and the sea-oats on the sand-dunes exchanged
shivery confidences all through the night.

But autumn or summer, there was always life,
always interest. Sea and sky and shining strand,
the far horizons of distant forests, the vari-colored
foliage of the nearer hummocks, the gray-green
of the marshes, sandpipers running, and ghost-

319THE CAPTAIN

crabs drifting along the beach. Low-flying gulls
and loons and skimmers. Lofty eagles, moving in
slow, wide circles, watching their handmaidens, the
busy ospreys, below. Porpoises tumbling and romp-
ing outside the rollers, or driving the mullet up the
creek: the slanting fin of a cruising shark. Far
out at sea the trailing smoke of a coastwise steamer,
the white sails of a bark beating to the southward.
And always sea and sky—the infinite—fresh from
the hand of God, unmarred by man! Sea and sky,
in all their moods; of storm and calm, of smiles and
tears, of peace and passion; the flying cloud-wrack
of the tempest, the golden argosies that slowly float
along the sunset skies. Sea and sky inseparable,
and, as the sky, the sea, for the fair or frowning
face of one was ever mirrored in the other!

On a July day a merry party assembled ata
landing along the lower reaches of Toogoodoo Creek,
here attaining almost the dignity of a river.
Among those present were Dr. Osborn Barnwell
from the village, Arthur Grimball and Roland Als-
ton of the Oaks plantation, Wm. Henry Heyward,
Jr., a rice planter of the neighborhood, and the
Captain and a couple of young nephews from Oak
Lawn. Of these but one or two survive, but forty-
five years ago the names of Barnwell, Heyward,
Grimball, Alston, and Elliott were household words
throughout the Pon-Pon country.

For several days plans had been going forward,
for the trip was to last a fortnight, and many de-
tails had to be arranged. The salt-water men,

320THE RIVER AND THE SEA

those living on or near the coast, undertook to find
suitable boats and competent boat-hands. Dr. Barn-
well and the Captain, both epicures, collaborated
in organizing the commissariat and selecting an
expert cook. Axes and carpenter’s tools, with lib-
eral supplies of cordage, were provided, for it was
planned to build a large Robinson Crusoe hut for
sleeping quarters and a mess-tent, both to be
thatched with palmetto leaves. A wall tent and a
large canvas fly were also provided for emergencies.

Among the Negro personnel of the outfit the
Captain included Henry, long an institution at Oak
Lawn, where he had found sanctuary several years
earlier.

One day there came to the Captain’s nephew,
then the youthful Railway Agent and telegrapher
at Grahamville, an earnest Negro preacher who
brought with him a wretched creature, pathetic in
his rags and dirt. Henry, the Samaritan said, was
an orphan, left at the coming of Freedom to the
tender mercies of an uncle in whom there was no
tenderness. Starved and maimed, he was the drudge
of his uncle’s family, so cruelly beaten at times that
an arm and a leg had been broken, and allowed to
heal as nature ordered, imposing upon the boy an
awkward, shambling gait. Knots and scars upon
his wasted body further attested the severity of
the discipline under which the poor little slave had
been driven to his daily tasks. Although about 14
years old he had been stunted to a twelve-year
size. Dark tan in color, dirt and bruises had dark-THE CAPTAIN

ened him by several shades, and his plight would
have softened harder hearts than those of Negro
preacher or white youth. On one of his pastoral
visits to the coast, fifteen or twenty miles below
the railroad, the pitying preacher had found Henry
and, having helped him to run away, now appealed
to the railway man to send the boy away and pro-
tect him. So Henry, seeing a train for the first
time, was sent fifty miles down the Railway to Oak
Lawn, where he lived happily for many years, un-
til, having reached manhood, he was lured away by
the railroad hands to work on a section.

Henry responded marvelously to kindliness, good
food, and soap and water. In a few months he had
gained a normal year’s growth and his sleek round
face shone with happiness. He was a constant source
of amusement to the family as well as a constant
aggravation for, while at times almost half-witted
in his ignorance, none could tell how much of his
apparent simplicity was affectation, as a quizzical,
raccoon-like expression sometimes crept over his
laughing face, suggesting that he might be “play-
ing” “de Buckruh.”

Passionately fond of animals, Henry learned in
time to drive up the cows and milk them, and to
feed and rub down, even to saddle and bridle, the
horses, but the art of harnessing these was only
learned after many months of patient lessons at
the Captain’s hands, the learner’s imagination mean-
while stimulated by many impatient and forceful
objurgations from the Captain’s lips. ‘Henry, you

»)

<«
OaTHE RIVER AND THE SEA

imp of Satan, haven’t I told you that the crupper
goes under the horse’s tail, not under his chin, and
that the buggy saddle goes on his back, and not
under his belly?”

“Vaas, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh!”

“Well, then. What did I tell you?”

“You tell me, suh, de crupper go onduh de hawss’
belly, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh!”

EAP TPE AE RAL

SEHenryn tu

“Yaas, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”

Henry was a long time learning the colors by
which horses are commonly known but, once ac-
quired, he applied this equine nomenclature also
to members of his own race, and he would some-
times report with much unction: “Mas’ Rafe, suh,
uh strange Nigguh bin yuh to see you dis mawnin’,
May’ Rafe, suh.”

“What did he look like, Henry?”

“Well, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh, he wuz uh sawt’uh
bay Nigguh, suh.”’

“Red-bay, or pumpkin-bay ?”

“Sawt’uh punkin-bay, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh’—
and the visitor was identified.

But Henry never seemed sure of the chromatic
scheme of his avuncular relative and sometime cruel
task-master. Perhaps he thought it sacrilege to
compare the lustrous coats of his beloved horses
to the hide of an Okatee darky, and when asked his
kinsman’s color he was always hesitant.

“What color was your uncle, Henry ?”

999
LoTHE CAPTAIN

“Well, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh, he wuz uh sawt’uh
bay, brown, black, ches’not kind’uh Nigguh, suh,
Mas’ Rafe, suh;” and further, Henry would not
commit himself.

At last the voyageurs were all assembled. Because
of the ever-present eleventh-hour men, the noon
hour fixed for departure had long passed and the
sun was well in the west before men and luggage
were all at the landing. The laggards had lost them
half the precious ebb-tide upon whose bosom even
light winds would have borne them to the edge of
the ocean before sunset, but now there was no hope
of that, unless a strong and favoring wind should
rise and the lost hours and the lost tide could not
be recalled. Still, dark as would be the early hours
of the night—for the moon would not rise until
after midnight—the adventurers determined to
sail, hoping to pass the shell-banks and cross-tides
of White Point before nightfall.

The favorite boat along these sheltered waters
was of the sharpie type—flat-bottomed, tho’ shapely,
the sides single planks 16 to 18 inches wide, bent
to a long and graceful bow, and so drawn in that the
width of the bottom was considerably less than that
between the gunwales. The fineness of their lines
and the centre-boards with which they were fitted
combined to give these skiffs admirable sailing
qualities, and it was surprising how close-hauled
they could run. One with knowledge of the vagrant
breezes that blow over the partially land-locked
waters and familiar with the tides that meet and

 

99

OaTHE RIVER AND THE SEA

mingle in the estuary of the North Edisto can
flatten the sprit-sails and run “into the wind” mar-
velously well.

The sharpie in almost universal use was 16 feet
long and 4 feet wide, fitted with a single mast, but
the larger craft—20 to 28 feet long—were invariably
schooner-rigged, carrying sprit-sails, and, some-
times, with a great deal of pride, a jib!

The present craft, 28 feet long and 6% feet beam,
was just from the hands of an expert Negro boat-
builder, trained under slavery when plantation
artisans, never hurried, used their masters’ time
lavishly and took pride in their work. Her cypress
planks were copper-fastened, her cleats and oar-
locks were of brass, her masts were scraped, and
her sails were clean and white. Against her bright
green hull the gray waters of Toogoodoo lapped
petulantly, as though admonishing the loiterers
that while tides “taken at the flood lead on to for-
tune,” only tides taken at the ebb, lead down the
estuary of the North Edisto! Still they loitered,
for if not ‘many men” there were at least “many
minds” and, lacking the wise guidance of woman,
these masculine minds clashed as to the stowing
of the cargo and the trim of the boat, and not until
another three-quarters of an hour had passed did
the graceful craft, loaded to her Plimsoll line, cast
off and slip slowly down stream, her sails flapping
falteringly in the errant breeze.

To the usual stores taken on a fishing party to
supplement the spoils of their lines, the campers

325THE CAPTAIN

had added a five gallon demijohn of old North Caro-
lina corn whiskey and a hundred grains of quinine.
Both were regarded as indispensable, for miasma
lurked in the pestilential thickets beyond the creek at
Kiawah, and within their fastnesses lay another
creeping death, for here the dreaded “diamond-back”’
rattlesnake made his lair. Although “rattlers’ had
never been known to traverse the marsh, swim the
creek, and sound their castanets along the outer
beaches, such things were possible, and, as in
those days of faith the good Dr. Evans had not
robbed us of our belief in whiskey as a sovereign
remedy for snakebite, every well-conditioned South-
ern gentleman who fared forth through summer
swamp or forest learned to lean upon the generous
flask that snuggled within his breast-pocket as “a
very present help in time of trouble.”

Sidney Lanier’s beautiful ‘“Marshes of Glynn” has
been enshrined in thousands of Southern hearts
for more than two generations, and the name Lanier
has sung to their spirits with poignant sweetness.
But the gentle Georgia poet was not the only Lanier
whose name brought sweet memories and spiritual
exaltation to South Carolinians, for, away off at
Salisbury, Jim Lanier—‘“‘old man Lanier,” as he was
known affectionately to the multitudes that pledged
him daily—made the best corn whiskey in a State
which, until Lanier brought it distinction, was com-
monly regarded by Virginians and South Carolin-
lans as an unpeeled foot-log lying between them,
a something to be walked or “‘cooned” by those who

326THE RIVER AND THE SEA

would cross from one to another of the two scorn-
ful aristocracies!

But Lanier’s spirit changed all that, and as Lanier
filled the jugs and the demijohns of Toogoodoo and
of Wadmalaw, so he wrote their songs, and their
songs were of Lanier, and for his sake they for-
gave the old North State her glorious climate, her
purple mountains, the music of her falling waters.
And only the mellowing influence of the yellow
elixir could have warmed the South Carolina heart
toward a commonwealth that lay cheek by jowl
alongside East-Tennessee!

The five-gallon demijohn, securely boxed to with-
stand the bumping of the boat, was safely stowed at
the bow where, under the watchful eyes of the entire
party, its virtue might be held inviolate.

Under the impulse of the tide alone—‘‘too full
for sound or foam’—the sharpie moved steadily
toward the distant bar, but as the sun slanted
downward the breeze fell to a whisper, then died
away. The useless sails were furled, four
long oars were put out, one pair manned by
the Negro boatmen, the others by two voyageurs,
and the speed of the drifting boat was doubled.
But the start was too late. The sun set, and night
fell quickly, for with the dusk a heavy fog crept
up that hid the stars and wrapped the marshes in
a shadowy mantle whose murkiness was impene-

trable, even to the eyes of the Negroes, who knew
eddy

 

every dangerous oyster-shell bank and everyTHE CAPTAIN

at a point that a confluence of opposing tides made
difficult to pass by day and hazardous by night.

The hours passed. The ebb-tide wasted away,
and, having spent its life, was no more. ‘The
flood, coming into its own, sighed softly once then,
almost imperceptibly, moved on. Those aboard the
sharpie, shrouded in the fog, could not distinguish
marsh from water, and believed they had now passed
the dangers of White Point and were well down the
open roadstead. Midnight passed. A gibbous moon
crept from the Wadmalaw marshes and slowly
climbed the sky, glowing weirdly through the fog,
whose chill as dawn approached made even the
lazy members of the party volunteer for a turn at
the oars. The boat seemed to pull more heavily,
but whether from the opposing flood or the pro-
longed labors of the oarsmen none could tell. The
tide swept by unceasingly, but the tide was all they
saw, for the ghostly, luminous mist shrouded marsh
and land from the puzzled voyageurs, who by now
Should be nearing the mouth of the estuary. But
the sharpie still swam on even keel. No heave of
deep Atlantic swell, no crash of ocean surges on
the sands, brought promise that they neared their
journey’s end. The silence of the fog was broken
only by the soft lapping of the tide against the
sharpie’s bows as it hurried on its way.

At last the laggard morning came, and with the
dawn a sudden breeze sprang up that swept away
the fog, and in the pallid light, but a stone’s throw
away, lay the gray-green marsh of White Point,

328THE RIVER AND THE SEA

upon whose dangerous shell-bank they had lain all
night! Running full upon the bank at half-tide,
the lowered centerboard had jammed tight and held
fast, even against the later lift of the full tide.
Here, trapped and immobile, they had strained
through the long hours of darkness, buckling down
manfully to pull upon futile oars that, at each stroke
wedged them tighter and tighter in the sucking
sands! The grouchy ones—the “I told you so” men
—had a great deal to say, and said it; but there
were philosophers aboard and a sense of humor,
also a great deal of excellent corn whiskey, so the
hardships of the night were soon forgotten.

The Captain took command. “Starn all!” he
shouted. The oars were thrust through the shallow
water at the bow, and jammed into the rotting
shells. Willing backs bent to these pry-poles, and,
heaving lustily, the centerboard was lifted and the
boat swung clear. A few strokes of the long oars,
and the point was rounded. The way lay fair to
the open sea. The sharpie’s spritted sails were
spread. Close-hauled, she leaned to the fresh east-
erly breeze, “and southward aye we fled!” the lit-
tle whitecaps dancing and water splashing over
the lee rail. Henry, awaking from a troubled sleep,
was just in time to receive the first splash full in
the face. Wet, hungry, bedraggled, he was a pa-
thetic picture of misery. “Henry,” asked the Cap-
tain, “how did you sleep last night?”

“Mas’ Rafe, suh,” he replied. “Mas’ Rafe, suh,
Uh eenj’y uh berry oncomfuhtubble night’ res’, suh,

329THE CAPTAIN

Mas’ Rafe, suh!”’ And so did everybody else!

In two hours the sharpie had crossed the shifting
bar of a bold creek leading into the tidal lagoon
that divides the rolling sand dunes and the
smooth outer beach from the palmetto thickets
and the tangled chaparral of Kiawah. Driftwood
fires were soon crackling, coffee and breakfast put
into preparation, and the veterans spied out the
land and selected a camp site.

Breakfast over, the Negro axemen took to the
hummocks and cut quantities of palmetto thatch
with which to cover the substantial framework of
a shack left by campers of the previous year.
Meanwhile, the Captain and Dr. Barnwell, the most
expert fishermen of the outfit, had explored the
lagoon in the skiff and, finding it teeming with
shrimp, all doubts were allayed as to a supply of
bait for hook and line fishing.

Before sunset the shack had been skilfully
thatched, the evening’s fires built and smudged with
green marsh for the discomfiture of the sandflies
and mosquitoes, and on the last of the ebb-tide the
fishermen were hauling in whiting on the outer
beach. Night fell. The campers drew closer to
the smudged fires, with whose heavy smoke now
mingled the fragrance of the smokers’ pipes. From
the sedgy marges of the lagoon the marshhens
called the changing tide. Up aloft, a belated heron,
hurrying homeward, croaked dismally. The ocean
rollers drummed ceaselessly on the outer beach,
and in the creek nearby the dancing stars were

90
ooVTHE RIVER AND THE SEA

mirrored in the slow-moving tide, now at the turn.
But the figures around the fire were monosyllabic,
or silent. The vigils of the night before, bore heavily
upon the merriest among them. One by one, they
stretched, and yawned, and slipped away to their
blankets—awakening, with the morning light, to the
incidents of another story.THE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

Dr. Barnwell and the Captain, early risers all
their days, aroused the camp cook at dawn as the
morning star rode high and the barred-owls ex-
changed their last goodnights before turning in
for their daylight slumbers—“taps” for the furred
and feathered creatures of the night, but “‘reveille”
for all who lived by day, for, in the far woods, away
from the crowing herald of the farmyard, these
last calls of the big owls often admonish campers
that daylight is at hand.

To the south the smooth and silent sea, stretch-
ing away to the dim horizon, mirrored in the half-
light the pallid moon and the swiftly fading stars
that one by one, like lights burned low, faltered,
and went out. As the light crept up and the stars
went out, the glassy bosom of the deep took on the
opal tints of dawn, and somber-gray was changed
to pearl and mauve and green and blue. Then,
as if blushing for her chameleon shift, a rosy sea-
shell mist overspread the sea and warmed it into
life. From the east long javelins of light shot up
the sky and blazed the way for the triumphant
sun, whose burning face in another moment topped
the trees and looked upon his world of earth and
sea and sky! And with the sun, the breeze sprang
up and rumpled the waters with many laughing
wrinkles. The tide was low. Just as it turned,
and the pulses of the flood throbbed softly, the
Doctor and the Captain threw their hand-lines

99
OVOTHE CAPTAIN

from the beach, and at once began to haul in
whiting; a few casts of the net in the creek hay-
ing provided the necessary shrimp-bait.

At the end of an hour, when the laggards roused
themselves from their blankets, yawned and
stretched, and called for coffee, the first of the
catch were already in the pan, for the alert cook
had gathered and prepared the fish almost as soon
as they were thrown upon the beach. And as they
were flipped from the pan into the tin plates the
whilom laggards were waiting for them. No lag-
gards now, for by the time the fishermen, answer-
ing the cook’s hail, reported at the mess-tent for
breakfast, there was little left of their finny spoils
but the heads and tails the cook had saved to bait
his crab nets! The Doctor’s and the Captain’s
tongues were as sharp as the barbed points of their
fish-hooks, and the Doctor and Captain, having
the gift of expression, expressed themselves!

When they were through—as the most practical
and experienced outdoor men in the outfit—they
set about organizing the camp, allotting to each
man the work he wished to do and could do best.
The Negro servants were detailed to gather drift-
wood for camp-fires, marsh for smudge, and to
“cast” with their nets for shrimp and mullet in
the creek on “the last of the ebb and the first of
the flood,” of every tide between dawn and bedtime,
and the Captain’s boy Henry, now come to salt-
water for the first time, was told to watch the
baited crab-nets, set at the edge of the creek on

 

334THE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

the young flood, and put his catch in a covered
basket. And the Captain carefully coached the
novice as to their handling so as to avoid the
pinching claws.

“Now, Henry.

“Yaas, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”

“You see this crab?”

“Uh shum, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”

‘What is it?”

“Crab, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”’

“Very well. Now, when you see a crab in your
net, pull the net out of the water, turn it upside
down, and shake the crab into the basket. If he
holds on to the net with his claws, and won’t shake
out, then set the net on the sand, take this forked
stick in your left hand, put the fork over the
erab’s back, and hold him down. Then, with the
fingers of your right hand, catch the crab behind
the claws, pull him loose from the net, and drop
him in the basket. Now, do you understand?”

“Vaas, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh!”

“Well, then, what did I tell you?”

“You tell me fuh shake out de crab ’pun de san’,
Mas’ Rafe, suh, en’ tu’n’um upside down, suh.”

“No, Henry! Turn the net upside down, and
shake the crab into the basket.”

“Oh, yaas, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”

“Well, then, if the crab won’t shake out, what
do you do?”

“Tek de fawk stick een me han’, suh, Mas’ Rafe,
suh.”

9THE CAPTAIN

99

“Which hand, your right or your left

“Me right han’—me lef’ han’, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”

“Your left hand. Now, when you take the stick
in your left hand what do you do?”

“Jam de fawk down obuh de crab’ neck, en’
hol’um down, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”

“Crab’s neck! The crab’s back, Henry!”

“Yaas, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh. De crab’ back, suh.”

“Well, then, after you put the forked stick over
his back and hold him down, what do you do then ?”’

“Grab’um behine ’e jaw, suh.”

“Claws, Henry, not jaws!”

“Ketch’um behine ’e claw, Mas’ Rafe, suh, en’
t’row’um een de basket.”

“Very well. You’ve got it right.”

“Yaas, suh, Mas’ Rafe, suh;” and the Captain
left him, sure that before the rising tide had run
its course Henry, inept as always, would prove
by his own fingers that crabs really had the jaws
he claimed for them—the deeply serrated claws
of an old “rusty” bearing a rather close resem-
blance to the whitened skull of a small animal.
And the Captain was right!

Another camping party, earlier in the summer,
had left behind them in the creek an excellent
14-foot skiff, to which they had made the present
campers welcome. An acceptable courtesy, for
while the big sharpie could be used for fishing out
in the channel or on the distant rocks a lighter and
handier boat was needed for nearer off-shore work.

336THE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

The skiff, anchored in the creek and chained, for
greater security, to a drift-wood log on shore, was
found in good condition save for a few leaks. To
stop these, she was hauled out and turned over.
The Doctor and the Captain had just begun to calk
her seams when a wild yell came from the direction
of the crab-nets, and Henry, poor wretch, was jump-
ing an imaginary rope, in a violent St. Vitus’s dance
of agony, his left hand clasping his right by the
wrist, while from its fingers dangled a huge rusty
crab, both claws locked in a grip that would by no
means be shaken loose.

When Henry had been extricated from the cruel
pincers, he held his bruised fingers in the salt-water
for relief, and told his story. By good luck he had
contrived to shake all his crabs out of the net, one by
one, without having recourse to the forked stick,
for none of them had held very firmly to the woven
cord, but when he netted the grandfather crab, he
entangled a stubborn recalcitrant that clung to the
restraining meshes as tenaciously as an Aberdeen
Scot to a “saxpence!”’? Emboldened by his earlier
successes, he shook the net until he saw that grand-
father couldn’t be loosened that way, when, seiz-
ing him by some of his hind legs, he pulled him
off, but he must have tickled the crab in the wrong
place for, before he could drop him into the bas-
ket, the creature twisted in his hands and clamped
his claws upon his captor’s fingers.

“Henry, didn’t I tell you to grab him just behind
his claws, so he couldn’t twist them around and nab

29077
voiTHE CAPTAIN

you? Why did you catch him by his hind legs in-
stead ?”

““Mas’ Rafe, suh, Uh t’aw’t all dem foot bin claw,
Mas’ Rafe, suh. None dem claw nebbuh bodduh me,
but da’ t’ing reach ’roun’ en’ bite me wid ’e jaw,
Mas’ Rafe, suh, en’ ’e jawbone full’up wid teet’ suk-
kuh dog’ skull, Mas’ Rafe, suh, en’ ’e bite me wid
all dem teet’, one time, Mas’ Rafe, suh.”’ And to the
end of Henry’s Kiawah days, crab claws were jaws
as Henry had good reason to know!

On the evening tide the Doctor, the Captain, and
a boatman fished from the skiff, a few hundred
yards off shore. Other fishermen, less energetic,
threw their lines out from the beach, where whit-
ing and other small fish usually bit freely. The

 

campers who were too indolent to fish, afloat or
ashore, slept or “rested’’ under the shade of the
Palmetto-thatch, or lay on the open beach to ‘“‘take
the air.”” Then, when the evening shadows fell, the
campers gathered around the fire after supper and
talked and smoked.

There were no cigarettes in the Low-Country in
and women’s too—

 

those days, and men’s lungs
were strong and clean. Nor were there any cigars
that a white man would smoke, unless Bacchus
walked hand in hand with ‘‘my lady Nicotine!”
Sometimes on Saturday nights a very tipsy Negro
would light one of the horrible ‘“‘twofers’”’ of the
country stores, stick it up in the corner of his
mouth at a Joe-Cannon angle, and strut truculently

ns
DoSTHE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

around the Cross-roads, inviting personal violence.
Frequently the invitation was accepted!

But the campers on Kiawah, if they smoked at
all, smoked pipes of clay, or cob, or briar-root; the
clays fitted with long stems of cane-root or ti-ti.
But these were for fireside smokers—men at rest.
Those who smoked while on the move, carried cobs,
with straight cane stems; short briars, with amber
mouthpieces; or big-bowled briars, with long cherry
stems. Now and then a smoker treated himself to
a bag of “‘Bob-White,” or other fine Virginia yel-
low-leaf, but the pipes of the Low-Country planters
of forty or fifty years ago were almost invariably
filled with Blackwell’s Durham, heavily flavored with
Tonka bean. And from the shelves of Cross-road
stores and plantation commissaries, black-and-gold
labels of every size, from the tiny ten-cent package
to the impressive pound, set forth the merits of pure
North Carolina leaf and blazoned the belligerency
of the Durham bull!

So, if the South Carolina Low-Country couldn’t
use either the songs or the religion of the Tar-heel
State, it could do very well with its whiskey and
tobacco, and as our vices are often nearer our
hearts than our culture or our religion, perhaps
—just for that—the two Carolinas were stuck the
closer together!

The incense rose from the smoker’s pipes and,
drawn by the strong draft, floated away to
mingle with the heavy acrid smoke from the marsh-
smudged campfire. With the party were some

309THE CAPTAIN

noted story-tellers, and these had many things to
tell of sports by flood and field. The Doctor was
an ardent fisherman, and sometimes hunted, but
the Captain had tradition behind him—the back-
ground of “Carolina Sports”—and from a father,
who had told him much as a boy, he had acquired
and stored away rich lore of the hunting field and
of the tidal waters that wash the coast from
Stono to May River. Knew every deer stand on
Pon-Pon, and Cheeha. Knew the very stand—in
“White-Oak drive,” on Social Hall—where his great-
grandfather had killed a buck before the Revolu-
tionary War; where, on the very spot, deer had since
fallen to three generations of his descendants! He
knew the black-drum drop by the fallen live-oak
on the lower Ashepoo; and the famous spot at “Fish-
burne’s Causeway” on the head-waters of the
Cheeha, where, at certain times, monster rock-fish
bit avidly! Knew how to find the famous “Hole-
in-the-Wall” drumfish drop in Broad River by
crossing certain ‘

 

‘markers” on adjacent islands.
Knew where sheepshead always bit alongside
the pilings of the old wharf on Station Creek. Knew
the very pond on Bay Point where, during the first
year of the Confederate War, Captain—later Gen-
eral—Stephen Elliott, daring, as always, stripped
and went down into an alligator hole with a looped
plow-line, noosed the saurian and hauled him out.
Knew that, whatever piscatorial idiosyncracies other
wild-duck may indulge, the pin-tail widgeon is
never fishy. Knew that Beaufort epicures esteemed

 

340THE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

the golden-cavally as the finest fish that swims.
Knew that a pea-field buck is at his best in August
or early September, and in December a two-year
old doe is “kidney-covered.”

All these things, and many more, the Captain had
learned by word of mouth, and along with them
many stories of exciting incidents on land and
water. These stories the Captain told with extreme
deliberation, but fine dramatic effect. He never
hurried, but savored each sentence as a connois-
seur savors old wine. And he knew the value of
the pause.

There were other tales by the campfire, too, told
by others, and not all of sports, for the Confederate
War was not very far away and Reconstruction
was nearer still, and there was much to tell, many
stirring scenes to re-enact. And as they talked,
the black faces without the camp-fire circle watched
intently, and every laugh around the fire was echoed
from the outer circle, where the point of every joke
was quickly caught and acknowledged with the
keen humorous apprehension of most Low-Country
Negroes. At last, the fires burned low, and one
by one the drowsy campers crept to their blankets
and “turned in.”

For several successive days the campers pursued
“the noiseless tenor of their way’ —the usual routine
of walking, swimming, fishing, and, now and then
with a breeze that favored both ways, sailing a
course parallel with the beach for miles toward
Charleston, and back again, with the sharpie’s sails

341THE CAPTAIN

close-hauled and her lee rail awash. So passed the
days, and if the nights were not “‘filled with music”
there was always the voice of the sea, angry or
subdued according to its mood, and if there was
any breeze at all the sea-oats on the sand-dunes
were stirred to sibilant whisperings—ten thousand
gossips of the dark! And, nearer, around the fire,
the pleasant voices of friendly men.

3ut on another day, toward the end of the trip,
an exciting incident broke the placid spell and shook
the camp with laughter.

Among the Island campers were several trench-
ermen, whose wholesome out-door appetites brought
pride to their possessors and reprobation from those
who had to supply them with fish, for it has been
observed that one’s ability or willingness to eat fish
is usually in inverse ratio to one’s ability or will-
ingness to catch fish.

Chief among these knights of the knife and fork
was a gentleman who, then a rice planter, was
sought for one August day by a waggish friend
with an invitation to join a deer hunt on the fol-
lowing morning. As the master was not at his
bachelor-quarters at the settlement, the visitor was
advised to search for him in a distant field, and
thither he rode. When he reached the spot indi-
cated, there was no master in sight, but, among the
weeds on the ricefield-bank, an old Negro mauma
crouched over the dying embers of a brush-fire and
an empty iron pot, from whose yawning mouth—

342THE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

tragic in its emptiness—a long iron spoon pro-
truded.

“Where’s your Mas’ Henry, mauma?” she was
asked.

“? duh sleep, suh.”

“Asleep out here in this sun!”

‘““Yaas, suh, ’e done eat, now ’e duh sleep.”

“What did he have to eat?”

“Hnty Uh cook fuhr’um? Uh b’ile piece’uh bakin,
en’ den Uh t’row two quawt uh peas en’ two quawt
uh rice een de pot, en’, attuh ’e done cook, Mas’
Henry nyam’um, en’ w’en ’e gitt’ru, en’ de pot done
’crape, him leddown een de sunhot ’pun de ricefiel’
bank fuh tek ’e res’. Shum yonduh! You cyan’
shum frum yuh, ’cause de weed so high, but him
dey dey!”

Although nearly fifty years have passed, Mas’
Henry, none the worse for his Gargantuan exploit,
is doubtless still addicted to hoppin’-john and, on
wintry days, still enjoys his “place in the sun.”

And “Mas’ Henry’s” appetite accompanied Mas’
Henry to Kiawah. When the horn was sounded
at mealtimes to call the scattered members of the
party from labor to refreshment, and the yellow-
tail and whiting, but now from the ocean, were al-
most “flapping in the pan,’ Mas’ Henry’s platter,
like the North Carolina troops—‘“first at Manassas,
last at Appomattox’—was both first and last on
the gastronomic field! And when Mas’ Henry’s tin
cup was passed ’round to the tapster, whose encir-
cling arm clasped tight the wicker-covered demi-

043THE CAPTAIN

john of yellow corn, the spirit seemed to gurgle
more musically through the narrow neck of the
Brobdinagian flagon, and the amber beads sparkled
more brilliantly as they fell into the cup, for, like
Haiti and the Philippines, they were sure, ulti-
mately, of ‘“‘benevolent assimilation!”

Dr. Barnwell, more gourmet than gourmand, was
a devoted and an expert fisherman, sharing with
the Captain the honor and responsibility of supply-
ing the camp table with all the fish taken with hook
and line; their catch being supplemented only by
the shrimp and mullet that fell to the cast-nets of
the Negroes, as they explored in the skiff, at low
tide, the narrow tributaries of the lagoon. The
Doctor, coming late to mess on several occasions,
after a swim and a rub-down, found that the loit-
erers about the camp had left him little of the fish,
for whose capture he had braved the blistering sun
along the beach, or afloat and anchored in the chan-
nel of the inlet. The Doctor’s temper was rather
testy, and he expressed himself vehemently in re-
spect to the “pressure of population upon subsist-
ence’—a non-productive and insatiate population,
whose pressure had left of subsistence but the heads
and tails!’ But the Doctor’s wrath only moved the
full-fed men to laughter and. having safely stowed
away his cavally and his sailor’s-choice, they bat-
tened down their hatches and received philosophi-
cally, the teapot-tempest of the Doctor’s tongue.
The gust blew over, but the Doctor had a sardonic
streak and a long memory, so he labeled his griev-

 

344THE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

ance and pigeon-holed it for treatment at the proper
time. And the time was at hand!

The waters roundabout were teeming with small
sharks, and a six-foot fellow came one morning in
front of the camp, and during the early hours of
the flood cruised up and down just beyond the
rollers, fishing, and picking up the scraps from the
camp thrown out by the Negroes on the last of
the ebb. The Doctor and the Captain at once began
to lay plans for his capture. Among the other fish-
ing-tackle, the campers had brought several hun-
dred feet of shark-line and a “chain-hook,” to in-
Sure against a shark’s cutting himself loose if
hooked.

In the early afternoon, at the turn of the tide, as
the first rollers of the young flood broke upon the
beach, the shark-hook, baited with the head of a
large channel-bass, was thrown into the surf, with
an empty powder-keg attached as a float. The
shore end of the line was made fast to a drift-wood
log lying on the beach at high-water mark, and the
stage was set. The day had been hot, but as the
sun declined a gentle breeze sprang up from the
south, and brought to the drowsy campers the
soothing solace of the sea. Mas’ Henry, having
dined to repletion, forsook the shelter of the pal-
metto-shack for the burning sands of the beach
and, flat on his back, with his feet to the sea, he
stretched his length, just above the high-water
mark, pulled a battered hat over his eyes, and, full
of “such stuff as dreams are made on,” was soon

345THE CAPTAIN

dreaming of fried whiting, curried shrimp, and dev-
iled crabs!

The restless Doctor, his hands behind him, walked
the beach, full of his thoughts—thoughts, perhaps,
of his ricefields on the beautiful Edisto; perhaps
of his student days in Paris; perhaps of his service
as surgeon on the bloody fields of the Confederacy ;
but, whatever they were, they held him intently—
so intently, indeed, that he had crossed and re-
crossed the outstretched shark-line two or three
times before he noticed the powder-keg float, ris-
ing and falling with the gentle heave of the waves.
From the float, the Doctor’s eye followed the line
up the shelving beach to the driftwood log at high-
water mark, and near the log, wrapped in pro-
found slumber, Mas’ Henry lay, a ram ready for
the sacrifice! The Doctor saw a great light, which
quickly gave way to a dark purpose, and with a
chuckle, he prepared, even as Abraham, to sacrifice
the timely ram! Untying the line from the log, he
carefully contrived a slip-knot which he stealthily
slipped over the sleeper’s feet, and, drawing the
noose snugly around his ankles, the Doctor walked
away, serene in the consciousness of a good deed
well done.

The long afternoon wore on. Inch by inch, the
slow rollers crept farther up the beach and broke
into creamy foam. The campers drowsed or slept

in the sensuous warmth—all save the restless Doc-

 

tor, who, tense with nervous energy, paced the

346THE TRENCHERMAN AND THE SHARK

smooth strand, just above the nearing tide, and
watched by turns the lace-like patterns of the break-
ing surf at his feet, and the powder-keg slowly
rising and falling with the rollers off-shore.

The swift rush of a slanting fin, the quick bob-
bing of the powder-keg buoy! and, as the shore-line
tautened, Mas’ Henry, flat on his back, moved with
great dignity down the beach. The Doctor’s war-
whoop of delight roused the men in camp, and
brought two or three on the run to Mas’ Henry’s
assistance. They were just in time to check his
enforced ablutions at the waist, for the shark had
pulled him into the water up to the middle, when his
rescuers, convulsed with laughter, seized the line,
loosed the slipknot noose, and released the aristo-
eratic feet of the most wrathful man that ever trod
the sands of Kiawah! The code duello had not then
been banned in South Carolina, and Mas’ Henry was
a ten-pace man! In fact, he intimated that only
at a distance of ten paces, could he view the Doc-
tor with equanimity! But, after much sound and
foam, the troubled waters were quieted, and the
terms of a truce poured from the demijohn!

Meanwhile the unhappy shark, released from his
movable anchor on shore, made a dash for liberty,
but the tackle held, and, after being played, by turns,
for three-quarters of an hour by those who wanted
exercise, and didn’t mind bruised hands, he was
hauled up on the beach and knocked in the head with
an axe. The Negroes chopped him up for bait, and
with the chain-hook tackle, caught other and smaller

347THE CAPTAIN

   
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
   

sharks; but Mas’ Henry’s fish was, concededly,
“the catch of the season.”

At last, the day came to break camp. The sharpie
—at once boat and bark—was ‘“‘on the shore,” and
ready for sea. The surf was light, and two boat-
hands, up to their knees in water, held the bow to
the beach while the voyageurs drained “the last
drop in the well’’-beloved demijohn—the stirrup-cup.

There was a wicked twinkle in the Doctor’s eye.
“Henry,” he said, ‘‘you will go down to posterity as
the only man on this coast who ever caught a shark
with his feet.”

Mas’ Henry glared menacingly. ‘See here, Os-
born, a joke’s a joke, but—Yes—Damn!—Yes!”’THE SHARPIE AND THE
“TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

Another year, and another day. Another gath-
ering of Pon-Pon planters at the landing on the
lower Toogoodoo, ready to embark on another
voyage to Kiawah. But with a difference, for
the lessons of the preceding year had not been lost
and the memory of the chilly night aground on the
shell-bank at White Point had spurred them to
punctuality, and this time they were all on hand
and waiting for the turn of the tide, now almost
at the crest of the flood.

The personnel of the party included the con-
genial spirits of earlier trips—among them Dr.
Barnwell and the Captain—but two or three new
members, younger men, had been added. And
two boats swung at their moorings—the big sharpie,
schooner-rigged, and a lighter craft of the same
type but a “single-sticker,” 16 feet long, carried
as a fishing boat and for emergencies.

And the stores included, as usual, five gallons of
Lanier’s mellow old corn whiskey, and a hundred
grains of quinine. These items, the Doctor and
the Captain, as purchasing agents, had been di-
rected to procure and bring, never mind what else
they forgot. The Doctor and the Captain had not
betrayed their trust, but, instead of a huge 5-gal-
lon container, as on previous trips, the precious
whiskey was carefully bestowed in two demijohns
of two and three gallons, respectively, so that if

349THE CAPTAIN

an accident befell one of them some consolation
for desolate hearts could still be extracted from
the other! Then, tco, it was easier to gauge the
outflow from the smaller receptacle, and know
when to practice self-restraint as the tide ran low.

But the veterans had another reason—a reason
of their own—for dividing the liquid treasure.
The fishermen of the party, the Doctor and the
Captain, were often absent from Camp for hours
at a time, fishing in the breakers far up the beach,
or off-shore, in the skiff; and while they were away
the loungers about the camp, having little else to
do, bore heavily upon food and drink. Food mat-
tered little. The waters were full of fish, and a
man shared out of his dinner needn’t go hungry
very long, but drink was another and a more se-
rious matter, for even a five-gallon demijohn has
a bottom, and he who would view that bottom be-
fore the day came to break camp must write him-
self down as one who loveth not his fellowman!

The Doctor and the Captain, having been de-
moted toward the end of the last trip—reduced
from three fingers to one and a half—because of
the excessive thirst of their friends, expressed
themselves bitterly, for the Doctor and the Captain
didn’t like thimblefuls! But the reproaches of
the shared-out men meant little to men mellow
with the lion’s share, and the bitter words were
whistled down the wind.

But the Doctor and the Captain remembered,
and when they were directed to buy five gallons

 

350THE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

of corn whiskey and a hundred grains of quinine,
they saw that the Lord, loving justice, had de-
livered those who had scorned and flouted them
even into the hollow of their hand, for the quinine
could be mixed with the whiskey!

There are men who can drink corn whiskey and
quinine. It has been done, tho’ it must be regarded
as an acquired taste. The Doctor and the Captain
took it often, medicinally, and said they liked it, but
the Doctor was a stoic, and the Captain wore a
beard! The facial contortions of any smooth-faced
sober man who attempted a swallow in cold blood,
without any preliminary warming up, would recall
the writhing serpents of Laocoon, or the counte-
nance of an adolescent Calvinist, bidden on an
April Saturday morning, when fish were biting,
to put away his rod and bait and memorize the
Shorter Catechism against the Sabbath!

So the conspirators put the hundred grains of
quinine into the two-gallon demijohn of old yel-
low corn whiskey, distilled by Jim Lanier, of Salis-
bury, North Carolina, thereby consecrating the
elixir to their own use, as securely as, in the early
days of the Mormon Church, the surplus Virgins
of the congregation were “sealed’”’ to the Prophet!

Having dosed the smaller demijohn, it was
decided to save that for the last, and the members
of the party were advised to start on the three-
gallon package, and save the other for sickness.
The conspirators were perfectly frank, for they
knew that only “in case of sickness” would any

3olTHE CAPTAIN

save the Doctor and the Captain have gone beyond
the first swallow—a swallow that would have
brought, not summer, but a very winter of dis-
content! And they knew that if the innocents
drew the wrong cork and got but a taste of the
bitter draft the expedition would have been
halted and messengers sent hot-foot for a fresh
supply. So the Captain took the smaller demi-
john in the smaller boat, which he sailed himself,
leaving the big sharpie in the competent hands of
Dr. Barnwell, as sailing-master.

The tide was high at noon, and as it turned
the boats cast off and drifted down the stream,
catching, after awhile, a light breeze that, freshen-
ing gradually, held to the journey’s end. Just as
they rounded White Point, a big-bellied sharpie,
schooner-rigged, came up from the sea, wallow-
ing clumsily through the small, choppy waves of
the inlet. ‘Ship ahoy! What ship is that?” the
Captain sang out, as she came within hail. A
blond giant rose from the stern-sheets, waved his
hand impressively, and shouted: “Georgiana of
the Wildwoods!” She looked it, for she was as
green as the young leaves of a willow-oak! Her

 

owner, a young Norseman who ran a large store
on one of the nearby islands, had built and fitted
her out for a pleasure craft, and he was returning
with a party from a maroon on the Island. No
one ever knew where he got the name. Perhaps
from some blue-eyed, flaxen-haired girl, left be-
hind in his land of icy winters and passionate sum-

nee
vozTHE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

mers. She may be waiting still, for his life was
short. The blue fiords of some far Valhalla may
yet float a shallop whose spirit crew will answer
to the challenge: “Georgiana of the Wildwoods!”

Long before sunset the two boats landed the voy-
ageurs on the Island, and camp was quickly made.
But the mouth of the creek was changed as com-
pletely as that of a man who puts shears and razor
to his bearded lips and comes forth clean shaven!
The channel of last year was now a sandbank, and
the strong tides had dredged a new and deeper
channel where but now dry land had stood.

A week had passed, and at its end had also
passed, as irrevocably, the contents of the three-
gallon demijohn. The Doctor and the Captain
drank with the rest, but admonished them that
when it was empty, only the two-gallon reserve
would be left and “something might happen to
that.”’ Something had already happened, but, hav-
ing in good sportsmanship warned the wasters,
the conspirators hugged the dread secret to their
bosoms with consciences void of offense.

And on the very morning the yellow tide ran
low another disaster threatened the camp. Two
water-casks had been brought along, each with
a week’s supply of drinking water. The first had
held out the allotted time, but when the second
was tapped it was found that a slow leak had
allowed all but two or three gallons to drain away
into the thirsty sand. A serious matter, for while
the brackish water of the island would do for

QarQTHE CAPTAIN

 

cooking, only a very thirsty or a very tipsy man
would drink it. A fresh supply, therefore, was
imperative, and the Captain volunteered to take
a couple of hands in the smaller boat and refill
the empty water-cask at Rockville or Little-Edisto.
As a decision hung in the balance, Mingo Brown,
an expert Negro fisherman and boat-hand who
lived on Little-Edisto, persuaded the Captain to
adventure there for water, telling him of a fine
well near the landing, and offering, as a further
inducement, to add to the fleet of the campers his
dug-out canoe that could be towed back at the
stern of the sharpie and would be serviceable for
“casting” for shrimp and mullet in the creek; the
skiff they had used on an earlier trip had dis-
appeared.

Soon after breakfast, the boat was cleared, the
Captain taking the empty cask, a young nephew
as handy-man, and Mingo and his younger brother.
The morning was sultry, and the Captain scanned
apprehensively the “mackerel” sky, and the long
“mare’s-tails” that looked more like the tousled,
wind-blown locks of the valkirs. “Rain before
night,” the prophet said. “But I think we can
make it. Let’s go!”

The tide was more than half-flood, and the breeze
though light, should, with the help of the tide,
put them at their destination by high water and
give them the full strength of the ebb for the run
back to camp.THE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

The run up the inlet was without incident, for
the breeze held and the flood-tide went all the way.
When the plantation with the vaunted well was
reached the sharpie’s nose was run up on the
shingle and the filling of the water butt was be-
gun. It was not even necessary to remove the cask
from its wedged-in position in the boat. The bung
was taken out, and in fifteen minutes the Negroes,
with a few turns of their buckets, had filled the
eask. Then the bung was hammered home, and
they were ready to start on the return voyage as
soon as Mingo’s dug-out could be secured. At the
moment, it was serving as a feed trough for the
plantation mules, who were eating their mid-day
ear-corn under a live-oak fifty yards away from
shore. Mingo looked somewhat abashed at the
base use to which his coffin-like craft had been put,
but he set out, nathless, to exalt its amphibian
attributes.

“Cap’n, da’ trus’-me-gawd, you shum stan’ so, "e
oagly ez uh cross-eye’ ’ooman, but him is uh nyuse-
ful t’ing, sho’ ez Gawd! You nebbuh haffuh do
nutt’n’ fuhr’um. ’E nebbuh need no paint, ’e
nebbuh ’quire no pitch fuh calk ’e seam, ‘cause
’e yent got no seam fuh calk! W’en you done
wid’um een de watuh, you kin hice’um out,
en’ nyuze’um ’puntop de lan’ fuh feed mule, en’
ef you ent got no mule fuh feed, you kin tu’n’um
upside-down ’pun de sho’, en’ de ‘ooman en’ ting
kin seddown ’puntop’um fuh talk, jis’ ez sattify
ez dat, ’cause ’e yent got no taar ’pun ’e bottom fuh

or

advTHE CAPTAIN

 

spile de ’ooman’ frock, en’ ’e yent got no nail
een’um fuh tayre de ’ooman’ hanch. Him is uh
cunweeyunt t’ing, Cap’n’, but ’e cuntrady too,
sukkuh ’ooman. Ef you ent watch’um close, wid
you paddle een you han’, him fuh tu’n obuh, en’
t’row you een de sea!”

By the time Mingo had wound up his panegyric
with the sting in its tail, the mules had finished
eating, the corn-cobs were thrown out of the whilom
trough, and the canoe was hauled down the slope
by Mingo and his brother and slid into the water.

The “painter” at its clumsy bow was but a frayed
and futile length of cotton plowline with which
the Captain would not risk a tow, so three fathoms
of half-inch manila rope were substituted, and the
bow of the trus’-me-gawd was bound as tightly
to the stern of the sharpie as was Mrs. Micawber
to the inept bosom of her spouse—with no more
prospect of desertion!

The sharpie’s single sail was hoisted, the slender
sprit slipped in, and, with the Captain at the tiller
and the handy-man at the bow, boat and tow,
with the impulse of the strong ebb-tide under their
keels, moved slowly down the estuary toward the
sea.

Fifty years ago flat-bottomed boats. or *“‘sharp-
les,” were in almost universal use along the tidal
streams that flow into the North Edisto Inlet on
their way to the ocean. In these waters round-
bottomed, or keel boats, were seldom found.

306THE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

Around Beaufort and in Charleston harbor fine,
seaworthy boats of the “Whitehall” or similar
type were common, but not on the Dawhoo or the
turbid Toogoodoo. Nor, since the war, have the
great cypress canoes been in evidence. The art
must have passed with the ante-bellum artisans,
for in the old days every plantation along the
coast, from Georgetown on the east to Dawfus-
kie on the west, boasted its boat-builders skilled in
fashioning out of the light and enduring cypress
every craft from the graceful racing-boat, hollowed
out of a single stick, to the great piraguas or peria-
guas—‘“pattiaugers” or “pettiaugers’” in corrupted
speech—plantation boats, sixty to seventy feet
long and six or seven wide; commonly made of
three planks, hewn out with broadaxe, and beau-
tifully fitted together, and finished, with adze and
drawing-knife. These piraguas, as long as the war-
canoes of the South-Seas, were capable of carry-
ing tons of supplies from plantation to plantation
along the coast. And when a planter moved his
family from one place of residence to another,
the pettiauger took them all in, with servants and
supplies—often, indeed, with bedding and furni-
ture, sometimes with piano—or was it the harp-
sichord?—-and, under the impulse of twelve lusty
oarsmen, transported them safely and comfortably
fifty to seventy-five miles in a day. These boats,
made of “the wood everlasting,’ must have been
long-lived, for in the early wills, of State and
Colony, many a “pettiauger’”’ was bequeathed to

Orr
ov iTHE CAPTAIN

“beloved son John” or “beloved daughter Jane.”

3ut under Freedom the freedman swung his
broadaxe only to hew the straight sides of “rang-
ing-timber” and crossties, while the use of adze
and drawing-knife were refinements in carpen-
try quite beyond him. So, the pettiauger disap-
peared from the bays and inlets of the Carolina
coast full fifty years before the white-winged
Yankee clipper vanished from the Seven Seas!
The freedman still made dugout canoes but, freed
from the white man’s eye, his will was weak and
his hand was slovenly, and the product of his labor
was clumsy and unseaworthy—so unseaworthy,
indeed, as to make singularly appropriate the com-
mon appellation of “trus’-me-gawd’—“I trust my
God.”

The dugout man achieves his trus’-me-ga:vd, as
the caveman achieved his wife—by main strength.
First, throwing a tupelo or cypress tree, he borrows,
if possible, a cross-cut saw and a brother-in-black,
and with their help saws off a twelve-or-fourteen-
foot length. If saw and brother can not be bor-
rowed his axe serves as well, for no obligation is
imposed upon the trus’-me-gawd to be square at
either end. Prying the embryo boat away from the
dismembered tree, the axe-man, having an eye to
utility rather than symmetry, proceeds to hew, or
rather to chew, it away at stem and stern. Having
gnawed it into the semblance of a sausage—for his
craft is designed to be a double-ender—the artisan
glows with pride, feeling that if the—

308THE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

“Divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them as we will,”
should come along, he would find nothing more to
do! Then the log is hewn flat on one side, and
this, in the fulness of time, will be at once the deck
or decks, the stern-sheets, and the fo’c’s’le, to say
nothing of the gunwales. And now, man having
for the moment done his part, Nature, the great
mother of us all, is allowed to intervene, for, instead
of hollowing out the log by slow and arduous axe-
work, he intends to invoke the aid of fire and burn
it out! But the log is full of sap, and sap is water,
and as water has always, in a manner of speaking,
interfered with the self-determination of fire, the
philosopher could only wait until nature dried some
of the sap out of the log. Not that he minded wait-
ing, for philosophers can always wait, and a delay
of two or three months would make little difference
for there were always boats to be borrowed from
the neighbors, and the longer the delay in launch-
ing his own craft the longer could he postpone the
evil day when he might be called upon to return the
favor!

At last his log is dry enough to burn, and, hav-
ing carefully wedged it in position with the hewn
side uppermost, a few chops are made along the
center and a shallow trench hollowed out, in which
fire is kindled with lightwood and dry sticks, and
here for hours on several successive days the fire-
worshiper sits, watching the flames slowly eating
the heart out of the log; the boat-builder helping out

359THE CAPTAIN

from time to time with his axe, chipping away the
high spots that the fire had touched but lightly,
until, between fire and axe, the log, fairly smooth
on the inside, is at last a dugout and ready for
launching.

If fresh-water run or salt-water creek be near,
three or four short round logs are cut, and upon
these rollers the canoe is “snaked” through the
forest; but if water be distant, horse, mule, or ox,
with the running gear of a one-horse wagon, may
provide transport. Once at the water’s edge the
trus’-me-gawd takes to it with as little ceremony
as a frog! After the splash the builder watches

‘

critically to see if his “coonoo” be down by head
or staa’n; or if she list to starboard or port, for
the achievement of an even keel at the first launch-
ing is beyond the hope of any save a master-builder,
the haphazard axe of the plantation artisan aspir-
ing only to an approximation. If the boat be too
badly out of trim, she is hauled out of the water,
turned upside down, and hacked or hewed into rec-
titude, as, by the same methods, the early martyrs
were brought into line with the true faith!

Once in trim, short pieces of plank are fitted at
bow and stern, a couple of thwarts nailed down,
a staple driven in the bow for the “painter,” an
anchor assembled—composite of the rusty shards
of broken pots and old plow-points or moldboards—
and the trus’-me-gawd is ready to hazard the perils
of creek or river or open bay. And the hazard is
sometimes great, for in rough water there is no

360THE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

clumsier craft—none so prone to turn turtle—yet
the coastwise darky will adventure forth in bad
weather, loaded to the gunwales with women, shell-
oysters, seed-cotton, and anything else he can stow
away—but always women, whatever other home-
grown commodities may be out of season—her
blunt nose bumping the whitecaps under the impulse
of the paddler at the stern, while the women bailed
as they prayed. Strange that these Negroes and
the whites, who should have known and told them,
never adopted the simple outriggers in universal
use in the South-Seas on similar cranky craft.
These primitive devices would have saved the lives
of many venturesome freedmen who, caught in
sudden squalls in open waters, were swamped,
with their faith, in the “‘trus’-me-gawd!”’

 

For two hours the boats moved down the inlet
by grace of the tide alone, for the wind was but a
breath, and that breath from the south, against
them. The Captain looked up anxiously. He was
weather-wise enough to feel the coming squall and
knew that ’twould catch them in open water long
before they could make camp.

“We’re in for a squall, boys,” he said. “Can you
swim, Mingo?”

“No, suh, Cap’n. Me en’ me bredduh, needuh
one kin swim,” he replied with a laugh, “but Uh
yent bodduh ’bout dat, ’cause Gawd nebbuh mek
we fuh drowndid.”’

361THE CAPTAIN

“Well, if we are swamped or capsized, you’d bet-
ter swing to the ropes, and hold on to the gunwales
if she fills, or to the centerboard if she turns turtle.”

“Cap’n, you needn’t fuh bodduh ’bout we, en’ we
yent haffuh bodduh ’bout ketch no rope en’ t’ing
fuh sabe we, long ez da’ trus’-me-gawd dey dey,
‘cause him haffuh float. ’E cyan’ sink no mo’nuh
log, en’, ef Gawd choose fuh spill we out’uh Him
han’ een dis ribbuh teday, me en’ me bredduh fuh
climb ’puntop de coonoo, Uh dunkyuh w’edduh ’e
duh stan’ ’puntop ’e top, uh ’puntop ’e bottom, en’
we fuh hol’ we holt ’tel Gawd drif’ we een da’ Rock-
wille maa’sh!”” But notwithstanding Mingo’s faith,
the Captain, looking doubtfully at the clumsy thing
wallowing in his wake, thought more than once
that when the squall struck it might be necessary
to cut the painter and cast the tow adrift, to allow
the sharpie greater freedom of action. And the
squall was about to strike!

To the south, towering thunderheads, big with
the promise of rain that the wispy mare’s-tails of
the morning had foretold, piled Pelion upon Ossa
above the heavy dun cloud-bank that rested upon
the gray waters at the horizon’s rim. Slowly they
reared their fleecy crests toward the zenith, like
cobras about to strike!

A filmy sheet of cloud veiled the brazen face of
the sun for a moment, then the nearest cobra struck,
and the thunderhead swallowed the burning disk!
The clouds turned black, and the world grew dark!
The wind died suddenly, and not a ripple ruffled

362THE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

the glassy surface of the lazy swells. Suddenly, a
crooked kris of flame flashed athwart the dark
cloud-bank, and there came the sullen thump of
thunder! The sharpie’s sail hung from the sprit
like the broken wing of a wounded gull, while her
hull and that of her clumsy tow rolled sluggishly
on the oily tide.

A sudden flash of flame that seemed to disembowel
the heavy cloud, and the quick crash of thunder
followed! Out of the west hurried a witch-like
wind-cloud, black locks disheveled and ragged
skirts trailing just above the horizon, while under
the ominous shadow the waters rumpled and black-
ened in the squall!

A quick command from the Captain, and the
sharpie’s spritted sail was deftly furled and lashed.
The oars were manned, and the two Negroes bent
their backs and pulled with all their might to meet
the white-caps rushing toward them like packs of
hungry wolves. The pygmy waves looked like
towering seas above the low freeboard of the skiff,
and as they came tumbling aboard she was half-
swamped and driven back, against the utmost ef-
forts of the powerful oarsmen. As her stern
bumped against the clumsy, snub-nosed bow of the
heavy dug-out—filled at the first break of the squall,
and now wallowing awash, too low to feel the im-
pact of the wind, which was driving the lighter
craft rapidly out of her course—the Captain had
an inspiration and, quickly loosing the tow-rope
from the stern, sent the handy-man splashing up to

363THE CAPTAIN

the bow to rive it thro’ the iron ring, and, shoving
the canoe away with a push of the paddle, the two
boats quickly changed positions, and the ponderous
waterlogged trus’-me-gawd became, by her “mas-
terly inactivity,” her inertia, as serviceable a sea-
anchor as one could wish for! And this very pres-
ent help came none too soon! Now, as the rope grew
taut and held the sharpie’s bow steadily to the
wind, all hands commenced to bail and soon light-
ened her so that she rode the racing waves as buoy-
antly as a cork, tho’ with many a flat-bottomed
spank of protest!

Slowly the skiff and her phlegmatic consort drove
down the wind, with the lee shore, a point of marsh
at the entrance to Bohicket Creek, less than a mile
away, while the lightning flashed spitefully, and the
almost instant response of the thunder showed
that they were near the storm-center.

Then came the rain! Level, stinging rain, that
drove through the thin cotton clothing, and lashed
like whips! It chilled to the bone, and half-filled
the boat with water, but its impact beat the crests
off the white-caps and smoothed the seas somewhat.

Altho’ the sea-anchor pulled back as stubbornly
as a balky mule, yet, under the impulse of wind
and rain, the sharpie drove steadily down toward
the lee shore; but her head was held to the wind,
and the water she took in over the bow was bailed
out as quickly as itcamein. At last, with the marsh
but a hundred yards away, the wind fell to a strong
breeze. The sometime angry cloud lifted her rag-

364THE SHARPIE AND THE “TRUS’-ME-GAWD”

ged skirts and moved on, as if ashamed of her pas-
sionate tempest of tears, and on a rain-washed
world the sun looked down and smiled, for the thun-
der-squall had passed as suddenly as it came.

The tow-line of the trus’-me-gawd was shifted
from the sharpie’s bow to her stern; the oars were
manned, and the boatmen pulled away for an offing.
Three hundred yards off shore, the wet sail was
unfurled and spread, the sharpie curtseyed to the
wind and sped away over the dancing white-caps,
her crew drenched, tho’ happy and exhilarated over
their exciting experience. The heavy tow retarded
their progress, for she was full of water and awash,
but there was no way to bail her out in the choppy
sea and they were quite willing to pull, under sunny
skies, a load whose inertia had served them so well
when lowering clouds hung over them! Mingo was
jubilant. ‘“Cap’n, enty Uh tell you ’bout da’ trus’-
me-gawd? Ef ’e had’n’ bin fuh him, Uh woulduh
wet een da’ sea!”

The Captain reminded him that he was wet
enough, as it was.

“Yaas, suh. Dat so. But Gawd wet we wid Him
rain. Him nebbuh t’row de sea ’puntop we.”

Just before sunset the water-carriers reached
camp with more water than they went for. While
they were unloading the water-cask the Doctor
came down to the boat.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, “we thought you
were drowned in the squall, so we stretched the
tent-fly and caught rain-water enough to fill half

365THE CAPTAIN

the buckets in camp. You need a snifter. Have
a drink?” The Captain would, and as he followed
the Doctor to the shack and saw that the two-gallon
demijohn had been broached, he didn’t need the
Doctor’s wink to account for the coldness of the
camp or the dour visages of those who, having
swallowed their evening dram, now sat around
waiting for supper.

The Captain seated himself on an empty box,
and the Doctor poured for him generously, while the
others watched and listened. The friendly “glug-
glug” of the flagon fell upon their ears, and the
amber beads—the rosary of Bacchus—sparkled in
the chalice! The Captain bowed with accustomed
courtesy, raised the tin cup slowly to his bearded
lips and, as they gazed, round-eyed, he sipped!
Sipped and smiled, and sipped again, as one who
Savors sherris-sack or malmsey!

“Rafe,” said the Doctor solicitously, ‘‘you’re wet;
you ought to take some quinine, you know. If I can
find where I put it, I’ll give you a dose.”

“Thank you, Osborn,” said the Captain sweetly.HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

The Captain, fond of quizzing Negroes and
“feeling” them out, discovered in the early days
of the camp that Mingo was full of superstition,
from the horny sole of his foot to the kinky crown
of his head. And he was a capital story-teller, hav-
ing on several occasions, when drawn out by “de
Buckruh,” enlivened the camp-fire by humorous
and philosophic reflections upon his fellow-blacks,
set forth with the fine sense of dramatic effect that
seems inherent in most Negroes. Tragedy, comedy,
melodrama were expressed by quickly shifting
changes of voice, gesture, and facial expression.
And the earnestness with which he would swear to
the truth of a fantastic fairy-tale would have con-
vinced any jury that his intentions toward chick-
ens were honorable, even if he were caught in the
coop with both hands full of feathers!

But Mingo was at his best when dilating upon
“hants,” “sperrits,”’ and other mysterious phantoms
of the night, without whose occasional manifesta-
tions the poor Negro would be deprived of the
dearest terrors of his life. So, on the last night of
the camp, the Captain laid his plans to give Mingo
a shivery thrill, whose echoes and elaborations
would keep Little-Edisto in a state of jumpiness for
many a month to come!

The Captain had a night-shirt. Men who wore
night-gear at all wore night-shirts in those days,
for there was nothing else to wear, until, a genera-

367THE CAPTAIN

tion later, Billie Burke put pajamas on—the map!
The Captain’s night-shirt was home-made, of
snowy long-cloth, and fashioned after the pattern
of “the Fathers.” It was long and straight, and
uncompromising as to gores or any deviations
whatsoever from the straight line of its fall from
the Captain’s chin to his ankles; and it fell far, for
the Captain was well over six feet!
And it was rough-dried. Men on the plantations
bachelors, at least—seldom bothered with ironed
things fifty years ago. The fragrance—the sun-
dried sweetness of sheets and pillowslips, thrown

 

over jessamine-trellis or rose-bush to dry, can
never be forgotten—and these are the sweetest
memories of the days of Reconstruction!

During seven or eight months of the year the
community heard little of the Captain’s night-shirt,
but in summer, when the ladies of the family went
away to the mountains, and bachelor-quarters were
established on the plantation, it was the Captain’s
custom, for coolness and comfort, to don the night-
shirt at dusk, tilt back his rocking-chair in a corner
of the piazza, rest his feet and the bowl of his Pow-
hattan clay pipe on the banister rail, and slowly
puff the cool smoke drawn thro’ a five foot cane-
root stem. Often, as the night wore on, he would
draw on his boots, for the little arrow-headed
ground-rattlesnakes—the “watch-path” of the Ne-
groes—often lay in wait for frogs in the open places
on summer nights. Then, booted and night-shirted,
and with a shorter pipe, the Captain would slowly

 

368HOW THE DEVIL LOST AIS TAIL

walk up and down under the overarching oaks of
the long avenue, cooling off in the air; alone with
his thoughts and the voices of the night. His
thoughts were his own—perhaps of the work in
hand, always pressing, insistent; perhaps of long-
past happier days in his own life, as boy and man;
perhaps of the long generations behind him, now
mingled with the dust! Brave, kindly, cultured peo-
ple—men and women—who built. houses, planted
oaks, and turned the wilderness into a rose-garden ;
who held spiritual above material things, and by
their lives left the world better than they found
it. Somewhere, between the gray moss and the
stars, their spirits must be abroad, the Captain
thought, in the stillness of the summer night!

Not always still, for from far plantation and
Negro settlement—Encampment, Battlefield, Mitch-
ell’s, even from little homesteads near the Village—
came, on quiet moonlight nights, the faint barking
of dogs. The rolling, deep-mouthed bay of a hound
as he challenged a passer-by; the gruff, assertive
bark of the professional watch-dog, conscious of
responsibility and authority; the nervous, querulous
yelp of a lowly cur, willing to do his duty, but scared
to death, and hoping the intruder would go away!

From near at hand, the mournful, quavering cry
of the screech-owl. From the deep recesses of a
distant swamp, the low muttering of his giant con-
gener, the horned terror of the dark! And, near
and far, the forests echoed the whoops, the shouts,
the laughter of the barred-owl; from a distance,

369THE CAPTAIN

the far-flung “who-o-wah!” full, and round, and
sweet, like a trumpet call; nearby, a sudden terrify-
ing scream, and cackling, maniacal laughter! The
ery of a bittern from the backwater. The bellowing
of great frogs in canal and lagoon. The chirps of
crickets and the shrilling of cicadas, the bumping of
clumsy beetles through the dark. The whispering
hum of other flying things on gauzy wings. The
croaking, smothered scream of a frog in the jaws
of asnake. The voices of the night!

Sometimes the Captain would pass out of the
avenue, cross “the Big-Road” and seat himself on
one of the great roots that buttressed a fine live-
oak by the roadside, whence he commanded the
King’s Highway, and the railway running al-
most parallel forty yards away. The Negroes trav-
eled both roads in passing between the depot and
the Cross-roads and intermediate settlements, and
on nights when the white-robed Captain was abroad
they seldom passed without a thrill!

Lucky the wayfarers if the Captain walked in
the avenue when he first came within their view,
for, tho’ the shadows were deep under the oaks on
dark nights and the moss-draped boughs wrought
ghostly patterns in the moonlight, there was still
a fence between, and the railway and the Big-Road
were open at both ends!

Sometimes those who passed saw at the far end
of the dim aisle, against the somber background of
the ivied ruin, a tall white thing that moved slowly
and with precision, as one would step ten paces

370HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

where disputants face death, or as the great white
crane, with dagger poised, stalks through the shal-
lows! And above the shrouded figure hung a wisp
of smoke, as vapors veil the bosom of a lake at night!
That wisp of smoke was sometimes all that kept
black feet upon the ground, for not even the most
Superstitious among them believed that wraiths
and plat-eyes could puff Bull Durham!

“Lookuh da’ ting! Lookuh da’ ting! Shum!
Shum!”

“Yaas, Uh shum, but Uh yent ’f’aid’um, ’cause Uh
see da’ smoke, enty? W’en Uh shum, Uh know ’e
duh Mas’ Rafe, een ’e shu’t-tail, duh walk ab’nue
duh night-time, same lukkuh Gawd walk een Him
gyaa’d’n een de cool uh de day.”

But all of them didn’t know the Captain’s habit
of taking the night air, and if a chattering group
containing women chanced to come along while
the Captain rested under the buttressed oak by the
roadside, the “Spirit of the Time” would teach them
such speed, as only a scared darky with his “foot
in his hand” could attain. If the Captain heard them
coming, in time, he would step behind the oak and
wait until his victims came within range—near
enough to get the full effect of the white robe, yet
not near enough to make out the long chestnut
beard—beards being regarded as not necessarily ap-
purtenant to those who walk in the spirit. Then,
from behind the oak, an apparition as pallid as the
pale horse of the Apocalypse, would step slowly

371THE CAPTAIN

forth, and wave long arms, as if in warning to
those who would be saved!

One look was enough. “Oh, Gawd! Wudduh
dat? Wudduh dat?”

“Oh, me Jedus! Uh dunno wuh ’e yiz, en’ Uh
yent got time fuh ax’um. Uh gwine!”’

“Hukkuh you git home so fas’? Uh t’aw’t you
bin gone to de praise meet’n’ to Pa Lestuh’ chu’ch,
en’ now you come back befo’ you gone half way!
Wuh you do wid dem t’ree t’odduh ’ooman wuh
staa’t out wid you fuh gone to de chu’ch? Dem
come back, too?”

“Bubbuh! Don’ ax me nutt’n’ ’bout no ’ooman.
Da’ t’ing maybe ketch’um en’ cya’um ’way een de
element fuh all me know ’bout de ’ooman.”’

“Ting! Wuh ting dat?”

“Lemme tell you. We fo’ ’ooman binnuh gwine
‘long de big-road, en’ all binnuh talk one time.
Sookey Wineglass him bin een de lead, ‘cause ’e
hab hebby shoe ’pun ’e foot, en’ ef somebody haf-
fuh step ’puntop’uh snake een de road, ’e mo’ bet-
tuh fuh Sookey fuh do’um, enty? Berrywell. So
Sookey bin walk fus’, en’ me bin jis’ behin’um, en’
me en’ him bin hab uh hebby ’spute ’bout sperrit.
Sookey say ef him ebbuh meet one dem t’ing duh
paat’, him gwine quizzit’um sho’ ez Ebe got Adam’
rib! ’E say him gwine ax’um wuh ’e name, en’
weh ’e come frum, en’ w’edduh de ainjul sen’um
down yuh fuh watch Nigguh en’ see wuh dem duh
do. But Uh tell’um, ‘No, man! Dem t’ing ent fuh
’tarrygate! Le’m’lone! Ef Uh ebbuh chance fuh

ore
vwHOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

come ’cross’um, Uh gwine g’em de road! Him tek
him road, en’ me tek my’own! En’ ef da’ sperrit
ent tu’n ’roun’ berry swif’, me fuh tek my’own fus’!’

“W’en Uh tell’um dat, Sookey suck ’e teet’ at me,
en’ ’e say ‘Shuh!’ him ent ’f’aid da’ t’ing none’tall.
Jis’ ez ’e say dat, ’e holluh, ‘Oh, Gawd!’ en’ Uh shum
‘toop down, but Uh nebbuh stop fuh see w’edduh ’e
duh tek off ’e shoe, uh hice ’e ’coat, ’cause w’en
Uh look, me eyeball’ pop! De sperrit walk frum
behine de tree! ’E stan’ nine foot high! ’E shroud
reach down to ’e foot! Fire duh bu’n een ’e mout’,
en’ smoke come out’um, en’ rise een de element
lukkuh you duh bu’n trash! W’en Uh shum stan’
so, bubbuh! Uh reach down, Uh graff me sku’t by
’e bottom, Uh hice’um up to me crotch, Uh loose me
two foot, Uh tu’n ’roun’ ’pun me backtrack, en’ Uh
gone! Uh see de fiah-fly duh fly ’bout een de daa’k,
ez Uh pass’um by, Uh yeddy me foot beat de du’t,
en’ da’ duh all! Me foot ’tretch’out wide, sukkuh
rokkoon’ foot ’tretch’out w’en you nail ’e skin ’pun
de do’ fuh dry, en’, fus’ t’ing Uh know, Uh git home!”’

But after a while, the more sophisticated Negroes
enlightened their brothers and sisters as to the man
in white who walked abroad on summer nights, and
the avenue gradually lost its terrors!

The Captain enjoyed another distinction in the
possession of the most distinguished rooster in the
community, a present—with a couple of compan-
ions of the opposite sex—from a clerical kinsman
in Charleston.

The huge fowl, a “Light Brahma” of high Orien-

979
votoTHE CAPTAIN

tal ancestry, was as tall as a turkey gobbler, and
weighed 14 pounds. He was feathered to his feet,
and when he ran the rustling of feathered legs
against each other was as the frou-frou of Mid-
Victorian starched pantalettes, when the poor little
girls that wore them—yearning to be tomboys—
tried to run! And when the rooster crowed he
reared back as impressively as a certain professor
in Columbia, “learned in the law,” when about to
make a speech!

His style, his weight, and his plumage made the
Captain’s rooster the envy of all the dusky sisters
that came about the place, and, one by one, with
many a simpering smile, with many a conciliatory
curtsey, they besought the Captain to lend the tall
fowl, if only for a day, that his majestic propor-
tions might be gazed upon by the feathered pro-
letariat of their humble hen-roosts. “Do, Mas’
Rafe! Do, please, suh, len’ me da’ roostuh, ef only
fuh one day, my Maussuh, so Uh kin ketch de breed.
Uh yent got nutt’n’ fuh gi’ you, but ef you do’um,
Uh do you uh fabuh sometime, sho’ ez Gawd!”

But the Captain was wary, and resisted all their
pleadings—not because they had no ‘“‘Exchange
Professor” to offer in return, but he knew that if
once they “‘caught the breed,” the presence of Light-
Brahma feathers in their yards would be justified
ever after.

“Old Bo’sun” summed it up succinctly: “Go ’way
gal! You cyan’ git da’ roostuh! Buckruh fedduh
blonx een Buckruh yaa’d, en’ Nigguh fedduh blonx

374HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

een Nigguh yaa’d; en’ ef Buckruh fedduh chance
fuh grow ’puntop Nigguh fowl, ebb’rybody gwine
s’pishun you t’ief’um, eb’n ef da’ fowl blonx to you,
en’ you c’arricktuh gwine spile. Go ’long ’bout you
bidness. Go ’long! Go ’long!”

The tall rooster had long since been called to
roost among those that, living worthily, have been
summoned to higher places—the worthiness of his
life attested by the number of his descendants that,
for many generations thereafter, peeped and
squawked and crowed and clucked and cackled
about the Oak Lawn farmyard, moving with their
progenitor’s awkward goose-like gait, and sporting
on hackle and tail the distinctive white feathers
tipped with black!

But the long night-shirt went with the Captain to
Kiawah, and the recollection of the havoc it had
wrought upon the nerves of the Pon-Pon people,
tempted him to try its supernatural suggestiveness
upon the imaginative Mingo. So, taking the other
members of the party into his confidence, he set
the stage and laid the plot to lead up to a dramatic
climax.

The last evening at Camp was a merry one. Re-
sentment at the Doctor’s prank had worn off some-
what, for they had learned how to gulp down the
bitter stuff, with scant consideration for the palate.
After all, the effect was what they wanted, and, as
none would admit that he really liked the taste of
corn whiskey, even when unmixed with quinine,
why worry about a bitterness that could at least

Orr
ioTHE CAPTAIN

be made aromatic by chewing a bit of dried calamus
root after each snifter! So the hours passed in
friendly intercourse, until the time came to set the
trap for the event of the evening.

Now and then a Low-Country gentleman, hav-
ing occasion for forceful speech yet mindful of the
scriptural injunction, ‘swear not at all,” will, ina
spirit of compromise, express determination “By
the Ghost of Lignum-Vitae!”—a mouth-filling oath,
pleasing to the ear and, withal, without reproach
to the conscience! So the Captain, clearing his
throat impressively, began to improvise, for Mingo’s
benefit, the tragic story of the Ghost!

“Men said Lignum-Vitae’s heart was hard. It
was. No harder heart was known in all the path-

 

less forests of Guiana where, as the years rolled on,
Lignum-Vitae grew from a tiny sprout to a giant
of the woods, to fall at last, because his heart was
hard, under the axe of a tawny savage. He fell, gen-
tlemen, but not to die! His body, cruelly dismem-
bered, yet lives to justify his name! In the crude
clubs of jungle savages near at hand, Lignum-
Vitae—hard and ruthless always—crushes the
skulls or breaks the joints of other savages at war!
In the far-flung forums of peaceful peoples, gavels,
cut from Lignum-Vitae’s heart, call lords and com-
moners, senators and deputies to order, as the cen-
turies march by! Men live their lives, for good or
ill, and return to dust; dynasties rise, crumble,
and fall; parties form, live their day, and make
way for those who sometime have opposed them;

376HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

but the body of Lignum-Vitae lives on, for ‘the
whirligig of time brings in his revenges,’ and the
gavel that raps down Conservatives today may
discipline Liberals tomorrow!

“So much for his body, gentlemen,” said the Cap-
tain, with vibrant voice, looking through the inner
circle toward Mingo, who, crouched on the outside,
hung upon every word with tense interest. “So
much for his deathless body, but what of his soul!
that restless spirit that walks the earth on dark or
stormy nights ?—”

The Captain paused eloquently, and scanned the
sky, now overcast. The wind from the east, tho’
light, was rising, and the sea-oats rattled creepily.
The Captain’s signal was understood, and a tall
member of the party quietly withdrew from the
circle around the fire and passed behind the mess-
tent where, earlier in the evening, the ghostly night-
shirt had been carefully concealed.

The Captain’s voice rose, and became tremulous!
“What of the spirit, gentlemen, the dreadful spirit
that prowls through the dark on nights when moon
and stars are hid, seeking another body to replace
his own, that men have cut to pieces? Lignum-Vitae
was black, or nearly so, and his spirit can never rest
until it finds a man whose body is as black as the
body that was lost. Then the ghost will throw away
the black man’s spirit and enter into his body. That
is why, on cloudy nights, all black men’s spirits are
in danger, and the most fearful oath that men can
swear is ‘By the Ghost of Lignum-Vitae!’”

Orr
voltTHE CAPTAIN

As the Captain reached his climax he rose sud-
denly and looked toward the creek. The Doctor,
beside him, sprang to his feet and, pointing in the
same direction, shouted in an agonized voice: “My
God! What’s that?” Mingo, already pop-eyed with
fright, jumped up to “view with alarm” a tall,
shrouded figure advancing slowly thro’ the darkness.
‘Twas only a tall camper in the Captain’s night-
shirt with a towel tied over his head, but Mingo
saw a disembodied spirit seeking a dark person of
just about Mingo’s size and color, whose spirit he
would presently evict, and take over the tenancy of
his body!

As the apparition met his eye-balls, Mingo almost
turned in the air and bolted for the sand-dunes,
crashing thro’ the sea-oats like a Cape-buffalo in
the Papyrus, tho’ uttering such yells as no buffalo
could ever have managed! And the other Negroes
were close at his heels.

The camp rocked with laughter. When it had
subsided, the Campers shouted, in turn, for the re-
call of the runaways. But no answering voice came
back, and, after half an hour, members of the party
walked up the beach, blowing the horn and at in-
tervals calling the Negroes by name. At last, after
they had gone a mile, their hail was answered, and
the frightened fugitives came out of the reeds
and returned with them to camp.

Mingo’s teeth were still chattering. The Captain
poured him out a stiff drink of the bitter whiskey.

otsHOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

When it had warmed him up, he was asked: “Why
did you run, Mingo? That was only a gentleman
walking in his night-shirt to keep cool.”

“Yaas, suh, Cap’n, Uh know dat. But w’en Uh
yeddy suh da’ Ghosh duh hunt fuh Nigguh wuh stan’
black lukkuh me, en’, w’en ’e ketch’um, him fuh
t’row’way de Nigguh’ sperrit, en’ tek de Nigguh’
body fuh walk ’bout een, no, suh! Uh cyan’ tek
chance fuh ’low da’ t’ing fuh creep up on me, long
ez Uh got me two foot! No, suh! Uh got nyuse
fuh me own meat! Da’ Ghosh cyan’ tek my meat
en’ mek cunweenyunce out’um fuh peruse ‘bout
een’um same ez ef de meat bin britchiz, eeduhso
shu’t! Uh got black-snake skin, fuh true, but duh
my’own, enty, suh? Leh da’ Ghosh gone to dem
sabbidge wuh chop’um up een da’ wood, en’ tek dem
meat, ef ’e shame fuh walk duh paat’ een ’e shu't-
tail!” An argument that none could dispute.

The Captain, in high spirits over the outcome of
his ghost-story, was moved, in a spirit of generosity,
to give Mingo a turn at the role of Sheherezade,
and at the same time satisfy his curiosity as to
a remark Mingo had made the day they were caught
in the thunder-squall. “Mingo,” said he, “the other
day when I told you those mare’s-tails in the sky
meant rain, what the devil did you mean by calling
them ‘devil’s-tails’ or ‘shift-tails’?”

“Cap’n, dem t’ing iz shif’-tail fuh true, en debble-
tail, too, alltwo one time. Ef you please, suh, gimme
anodduh leetle tetch, Uh tell you ’bout’um.”

The “leetle tetch’”—a generous dram—was poured

379THE CAPTAIN

out and gulped down, and Mingo, now as mellow as
a medieval monk at the vintage, began.

“One time, Debble meet ’Ooman duh paat’. Deb-
ble is uh berry mannussuble man wid ’Ooman, so,
w’en ’e shum ’e t’row ’e tail obuh ’e aa’m, same luk-
kuh ’e bin cloak, en’ mek’um uh berry stylish bow.
De ’Ooman toss ’e head, ’e grin, ’e ketch ’e frock
by de bottom wid alltwo ’e han’, ’e hice’um up to
’e knee, en’ ’e drap’um uh low cutchy, ’cause
him en’ Debble git’long berry well, berry well!

“Attuh de time uh day done pass, de Debble ax
de ’Ooman how ’e mek’out ’long de man; w’edduh
’e done |’aa’n how fuh manage de man, en’ fetch’um
to ’e han’. De ’Ooman laugh. ‘Budduh,’ ’e say.
‘Hukkuh you kin ax me dat? Enty you I’aa’n me
how fuh ’ceitful? Enty you show me how fuh
do’um? Enty Uh folluh yo’ exwice? Uh got de
man gwine! ’E dunno w’ich way ’e duh gwine—
but ’e gwine my way, enty ?’

“ “Tell me how you do’um,’ de Debble say.

“ “Uh got good ecknowledge how fuh fool de man.
Uh got ’tring tie ’pun de man, en’ w’en we git to de
fawk uh de road, weh one de road lean one side, en’
t’odduh road lean t’odduh side—w’en Uh git to da’
place, ef Uh gwine one road, Uh pull de ’tring fuh
lead de man een de t’odduh road. W’ichebbuh road
Uh want, Uh pull de man een de road wuh Uh yent
want, ‘cause de stubbunt creetuh so cuntrady en’
haa’dhead, ef him see me foot lean fuh one road,
him foot fuh lean to de t’odduh one, ’cause him t’ink
man fuh hab ’e own way. Him eegnunt to dat! So

380HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

dat how Uh gitt’um fuh trabble my road, en’ de man
nebbuh know weh ’e duh gwine, but ’e ben’ ’e neck
en’ pull de load, jis’ ez sattify ez ox wuh done bruk!’

“De Debble mek ’e mannus to de ’Ooman.
‘Paa’dnuh,’ ’e say. ‘You do berry well. You
smaa’t, fuh true! How you do ’bout money? You
tek all de man got? You s’aa’ch ’e pocket?’

“‘Uh s’aa’ch ’e pocket, yaas, de ‘Ooman say,
‘but Uh too smaa’t fuh tek all ’e mek. Ef Uh do
dat, him will stop wu’k, enty? Uh cyan’ ’low’um
fuh do dat! No, budduh! So, ebb’ry night Uh s’aa’ch
de man’ pocket attuh ’e drap ’sleep. Uh yent tek
all ’e money one time. Uh yent bite’um hebby; Uh
jis’ pinch’um light. Den, nex’ mawnin’, Uh watch-
‘um close, w’en ’e pit on ’e britchiz. Sometime ’e
run ’e han’ een ’e pocket en’ pull out ’e money. “Eh,
eh!” ’e say. “Uh t’aw’t Uh bin hab mo’nuh dis!”” Uh
ax’um ef ’e bin count’um befo’ ’e gone ’sleep. “No,”
’e say, “Uh nebbuh count’um, but Uh t’aw’t Uh bin
hab mo’nuh dis.” W’en ’e say dat, Uh know ’e duh
git s’pishus, en’ ’e gwine count ’e money befo’ ’e
tek off da’ britchiz da’ same berry night. So, soon
ez ’e gone ’sleep, Uh creep easy to da’ pocket, en’,
’stead’uh tek some de money out, Uh pit some mo’
money een de man’ pocket. Wen ’e gitt’up duh
mawnin’ soon, Uh watch’um, en’ Uh shum sneak off
een de cawnuh fuh count ’e money. De mo’ ’e
count’um, de mo’ ’e ’cratch ’e head, ‘cause ’e got
mo’ money duh mawnin’ den ’e bin hab w’en ’e gone
sleep duh night. Uh ax’um wuffuh ’e duh ’cratch
’e head. ’E say ’e money ent come out right. Uh

351THE CAPTAIN

ax’um hummuch ’e loss. ’E say ’e yent loss none,
dat w’at bodduhr’um. De nex’ night, en’ two-t’ree
mo’ night, Uh do de same t’ing. Uh pit leetle bit
uh money een de man’ pocket wid him’own, en’
ebb’ry mawnin’ de man ’cratch ’e head fuh try fuh
’splain’um, but ’e cyan’ do’um. Den, Uh watch me
chance, en’ de fus’ night de pocket stan’ fat, Uh bite-
"um! En’ Uh bite’um deep! W’en de man gone een ’e
pocket nex’ mawnin’ en’ see how ’e stan’, ’e holluh,
en’ ’e holluh loud! Uh ax’um wuh’e duh groan ’bout,
en’ Uh tell’um him nebbuh bin loss no money ’cause
’e count ent wu’t’?! En’ Uh ’membuhr’um ’bout
dem time ’e count bin run obuh. Attuh Uh do dat,
’e nebbuh crack ’e teet’ no mo’! De man’ pocket
duh my’own en’ me han’ fuh dey een’um long ez
Uh lib! Ebb’ryt’ing wuh de man got duh my’own,
en’ Uh nyuze’um ez Uh please. Uh ’low’um fuh
hab ’e han’ en’ ’e foot ’cause him haffuh wu’k fuh
me, enty? Uh mek ’e yeyeball see puhzac’ly wuh
Uh wan’um fuh see. Uh mek ’e yez yeddy puh-
zac’ ly wuh Uh wan’um fuh yeddy, en’ ef de man’
eye en’ ’e yez cyan’ see en’ yeddy fuh suit, Uh
tell’um ’e yez en’ t’ing ent wu’t’. En’ him b’leebe me!
Budduh! De po’ creetuh b’leebe me, ’cause him is
nutt’n’ but Man, en’ me en’ you duh de ’Ooman,
enty? Berry well.’

“De Debble grin. ‘Tittuh,’ ’e say. ‘You done
fuh schemy! Ef dishyuh britchiz wuh Uh got on
bin hab pocket, Uh woulduh ’f’aid fuh come close
you! You done fuh schemy!’

“De Debble quile ’e tail, ’e t’row’um obuh ’e aa’m.

*) ‘
382HOW THE DEVIL LOST HIS TAIL

’"E tell de "Ooman, ‘So long, tittuh! Uh fuh see you
’xen, bumbye, enty?’ en’ ’e gone!

“De ’Ooman suck ’e teet’. ‘Uh bin fool,’ ’e say.
‘Uh hab bidness fuh tek da’ tail off’'um w’ile Uh
had’um een me han’. Uhcoulduh do’um easy. Now,
’e git’way en’ gone, en’ Uh dunno w’en Uh gwine
git chance fuh ketch’um ’gen. Da’ Satan iz uh
’ceitful t’ing, sho’s you bawn! Him ent hab uh
Gawd’ nyuse fuh ’e tail, ’cep’ fuh switch’um ’roun’
fuh bresh fly off’um, en’ Uh yeddy suh da’ place
weh him lib stan’ too hot fuh fly. None ent fuh
dey dey. En’ ef Uh bin hab dat tail Uh coulduh
nyuze’um berry well, ’cause ’e long sukkuh plow
line, en’ Uh coulduh ’tretch’um ’twix’ two tree en’
heng me shimmy en’ t’ing ’puntop’um fuh dry.’

“De mo’ de ’Ooman study ’bout da’ Debble’ tail de
mo’ ’e hankuh attuhr’um, en’ ’e mek up ’e min’ suh
da’ tail haffuh git! ’E lub da’ tail ’tel ’e dream
’hout’um. Him know ’e fuh shum ’gen, ’cause de
Debble him ent fuh gone fudduh frum ’Ooman’
sku’t! So’e wait ’e chance en’ watch fuhr’um, en’
ez ’e watch ’e scheme.

“De ’Ooman know suh de Debble kin fly, ’cause ’e
got wing sukkuh le’dduh-wing bat, en’ him know de
way ’bout ’mong de cloud, ’cause him bin lib een de
element one time, ’tel ’e git mischeebus, en’ Gawd
t’row’um out. En’ de ’Ooman know suh lightnin’
berry lub fuh ’trike i’un, en’ ’e t’ink ef him kin git
chance fuh tie wire ’puntop de Debble’ tail, en’
’suade’um fuh fly een de cloud w’en t’unduh duh
roll, de lightnin’ will hab chance fuh cutt’um off.
Berrywellden.

) »
OooTHE CAPTAIN

“Tis’ ez de ’(Ooman done mek ’e plan de Lawd
t’row de Debble een de ’Ooman’ han’! Yuh ’e come!
'E prance ’long wid ’e tail quile obuh ’e aa’m, ’tel
de ’Ooman haffuh clap ’e han’! ‘Ki!’ de ’Ooman
say. ‘Uh nebbuh see shishuh stylish tail lukkuh you
got! En’ shishuh wing! Ef Uh bin hab wing luk-
kuh dat, Uh woulduh climb da’ t’unduh-cloud, en’
look down ’puntop de buzzut’ back.’ De ’Ooman
sweetmout’ de Debble summuch, en’ nice’um up,
‘tel, fus’ t’ing you know, de ’Ooman wrop de wire
’roun’ de Debble’ tail close to ’e hanch. ’E tell’um
fuh hice ’e tail up stiff, sukkuh lightnin’-rod, en’
gone!

“Ki! De Debble do lukkuh de ’Ooman tell’um,
same ez ef him bin man! ’E ’tretch ’e wing, en’ ’e
shoot up een de sky. T’unduh duh wait fuhr’um!
Soon ez ’e come close, lightnin’ flash ’e shaa’p knife
out de cloud, same lukkuh snake lick out ’e tongue, ’e
ketch de wire, en’ ’e cut off da’ tail clean ez ef you
bin chop’um off wid axe!

“De Debble clap ’e two han’ to ’e hanch. Nutt’n’
dey dey! ‘Eh, eh!’ ’esay. ‘Da’ debble’ub’uh ’"Ooman
fool me out me tail, fuh true!’

“Ebbuh sence da’ time, de Debble ent got no tail,
cause da’ tail dey een de sky, ’tretch’ out; en’, w’en
’e gwine we’dduh, de tail kibbuh wid de ’Ooman
shimmy en’ ting, heng out fuh dry. En’ dem
shif’tail flap "bout de sky de day befo’ de rain
come, but w’en de rain git close, you nebbuh shum,
’cause de ’Ooman tek dem shimmy off de line so ’e
yent fuh wet.”XX 000 O51 O54

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

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