Project Gutenberg's Ole Mars an' Ole Miss, by Edmund K. Goldsborough This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Ole Mars an' Ole Miss Author: Edmund K. Goldsborough Release Date: November 29, 2019 [EBook #60807] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLE MARS AN' OLE MISS *** Produced by Richard Tonsing, MFR, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Meh Marster, you mo’ an’ mo’ like Mars Francis ev’y day, same bright eyes, like uh fish hawk’s, but sorf an’ big. OLE MARS AN’ OLE MISS BY EDMUND K. GOLDSBOROUGH, M. D. Washington, D. C.: NATIONAL PUBLISHING CO., 1900. COPYRIGHT, 1900 BY EDMUND K. GOLDSBOROUGH, M. D. ILLUSTRATIONS Ole Mars, Frontispiece Page Miss Sanson in the saddle, 8 Ef’n you don’ git of’n dat cow I’ll whup you tell dere ain’ no bref lef’ in you, 14 Tench Tilghman, 18 Anne Francis, 20 Miss Henrietta’s gift that hung over the pulpit, 28 Tench Francis, 32 Mars Pinckney when a boy, 48 Pawson Demby baptizing Tilly Mink just after cutting ice, 50 Mars Pinckney’s home, “Fausley,” 62 The picture on the face of the Moses clock, 78 Mars Torm fishing in Black Creek, 90 Rob Roy and Rose, 94 Yo’ gwine ter merry uh King an’ hab thutteen chillun, 106 Dem two gals, Marfy an’ Muhtilda, out da in de watah sorf crabbin’, is meh gran’chillun, 112 Deah gre’t gran’mammy gibs ’em too much cawn-bred, an’ hit natchelly puts noshuns in deah haids, 114 Ole Mars had de gre’tes’ confluence in meh ’rasity, 118 Scipio Jonas Jones and Nimrod, 120 So I bine meh haid up’n uh hankcheah an’ wen’ ter see Ole Mars’ boutin Saul, 128 Black Creek Falls, 136 Ole Mistis at sweet sixteen, 140 Ole Miss (Miss Henrietta), 152 Black Creek Ford, 170 Skylark, 172 Mars Matthew, 174 Ezra, 176 Miss Mary, 182 Mars Arthur, 184 Miss Sanson, 190 Mars Torm, 194 Ezra and the children, 196 Mammy, 212 M INTRODUCTION y subjects are all typical Eastern-Shore-of-Maryland darkies, some of whom “had erligion, ’longed ter de Babtis’ chuch an’ wuz monstus pious.” Others danced, sang, played the banjo, fiddled, fished and frolicked in Talbot County “Befo’ de Wah.” “Ole Joe kickin’ up behin’ an’ befo’, Yaller gal kirkin’ up behin’ ole Joe.” Their smiling, shining, happy faces can be fully appreciated only by those who played with them, heard them sing, preach and pray, and had among them Mammies. To all such I dedicate this volume. MISS SANSON IN THE SADDLE. 8 PERSONS REPRESENTED Parson Phil Demby An adept in breaking colts and steers, and especially hearts. Can read a wee bit and has a remarkable memory. Very gallant among the dusky damsels. Has the best coon dogs on the plantation. Uncle Reubin Viney Sensible, truthful and pious. Sir Oracle among the negroes. Can read some and is familiar with the Bible. Damon Danridge Courtly, intelligent and observant body servant to Rev. William Pinckney. His bow would have charmed Beau Brummel. Ezra Quite as much of a beau as Rosin, and not as pious as the prophet. Frisby Jemes A pupil of Uncle Reubin Viney. Afraid of shirks [sharks]. Scipio Jones A firm believer in witches, ghosts and “spirits,” especially applejack. Hesakiah Sprouts Would rather coon hunt than debate. A fiddler. Little Billy A crafty wag. Nimble witted. Juba Viney A fine singer and hymn raiser. Kinsman to Uncle Reubin. Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes A pompous, dandy darkey; very wise in his own conceit. A good preacher. Stephen Demby (Uncle Stephen) A dear old servant. A devoted fisherman. Little and Bent. John Poney A very entertaining darkey. Took hold of his wool when he bowed to you. Jerry Butler and Caesar Butler Brothers. Very credulous and superstitious. Free negroes. Horace Duley Janitor. Aunt Phillis Gentle, sweet tempered, intelligent cook. Everybody liked Aunt Phillis. Tilly Mink Chickens were afraid of her, and roosted high when she was about. Sue Benson A good natured, lazy housemaid. Becky Williams A faithful nurse. Sister Chew A dairymaid. Mammy Good as gold. Nancy Young A fortune teller. Uncle David Who loved his mule. CONTENTS “Fogitfulness,” 21 Acts 7:8—“Ab’ham fogot Isaac, Isaac fogot Jacob, an’ Jacob fogot de twelve Petracks [Patriarchs].” Debate, 34 Ef’n uh man er ’ooman hab salbation in deah hyarts, will dey be feard ter babtize wha shirks [sharks] is. “Romp’s Mustake”—Doggerel, 45 “Little Billy’s Pumpkin”—Story, 47 Sermon—Psalm 63:6, 60 Debate, 76 From Zachariah 2:6—“Ef’n Ho Ho wan’ uh Chine er Japne, who wuz he?” “Rash-nal an’ Pus-nal”—Doggerel, 90 “De Composation ub de Snipe”—Story, 91 “Nancy Young”—Story, 100 “Mars Pinckney’s ’Simmons”—Doggerel, 110 “Dem Days”—Story, 112 “Dat Chrismus Cake”—Doggerel, 126 “When Saul Run ’Way”—Story, 127 “Let Us Meck Brick”—Sermon, 137 “Juba Viney’s Yaller Pants”—Story, 153 “His Bref Kinleth Coals”—Sermon, 164 “Dat Auntydote”—Doggerel, 171 “Ezra”—Story, 173 “Mammy”—Doggerel, 213 “Anah”—Story, 215 O “OTWELL.” twell was originally an estate of some 2,000 acres, situated on a beautiful peninsula, the land rich and productive, and the forest would have charmed Silvanus. Here and there on the shores of the inlets grew majestic oaks, black walnut, and immemorial elms. The peach, pear, apricot, fig and other fruit trees flourished, and would have charmed Eve, and the Cart House apples, Adam. The forest was entirely of lofty pines—many of the trees so large that one tree made a canoe; they were made and used principally by the servants and were in evidence almost everywhere. The forest had very little undergrowth; the ground was carpeted and cushioned with pine fallings, and the huntsmen were delighted when reynard was started there. The murmuring of the wind in the lofty pine tops, the tongueing of the hounds “like sweet bells jangled out of tune,” delighted the hearts of the Tilghmans, Chamberlains, Dickinsons, Tripps, Robins, Lloyds and many others that followed the hounds, horsemen of the first-flight type. The hunt over, there was “The feast of reason and the flow of soul.” The river was as lovely as the Bay of Spezia, and from its bed and shores the canvas-back and red- head plucked the wild celery and fattened. Fish, terrapin and oysters abounded, and the mint luxuriated. The Eastern Shore of Maryland was then as now the garden spot and sunny side of creation. Before the hour of parting two songs were always sung, “Sportsman Hall” and “The Bottle,” the former sent by The Beef Steak Club of London to one of the above named gentlemen. I could give the words, rich and rare, left me by my father, but delicacy forbids; both are exquisite double entendres fit to sing before kings, but not before queens. There was a school at Otwell, taught by John Singleton and —— Garrick, two fine belles-lettres scholars, to which came the Robins from Job’s Content, Tilghmans from Plimhimmon, Chamberlains from Bondfield, Haskins from Canterbury Manor, Morrises and Collisters from Oxford. John Singleton’s sister was the mother of the eminent portrait painter, John Singleton Copley, who on a visit to his Uncle at Otwell with his former preceptor, Smibert, made portraits of Anne Francis, James Tilghman, Matthew Tilghman and his wife, nee Annie Lloyd, whilst spending Christmas there. Dem’s meh gre’t gran’ chillun an’ dey monstus bad! Ef’n you don’ git of’n dat cow I’ll whup you till da ain’ no bref lef ’in you. Standing on his front porch Ole Mars Nickey viewed his broad acres, whose shores were washed by the Tred-Avon, by crystal creeks, and coves with beautiful mouths that kissed with briny lips the bosom of the river. The windmill on the shore added to the scenery as its sails moved languidly, grinding the wheat and corn for the negroes. To the south on the river side was the little town of Oxford, a tobacco port, and riding at anchor was a brigantine from Liverpool, being loaded with tobacco by Morris & Callister (Robert Morris and Henry Callister), shipping merchants.[1] From the back porch, through a long, wide and high arbor entwined with fruitful grapevines, you saw Otwell Creek, and the arbor-way led you into a more enchanting garden than the one mentioned in “EZRA,” where my fancy loves to wander, for “a thing of beauty is a joy forever.” It was some fifteen acres in extent. The encircling fences were so overgrown with honeysuckle, clematis and trailing roses as to look like a flowery hedge, with here and there lilacs and snowballs. The winding, wooing walks were hedged with box, and bowing trees were caressed by fruitful grapevines. It was a banqueting place for bees, and a paradise for birds, from little Jennie Wren to the proud mocking bird, and they filled acres of air with their melodious lays. Ezra loved to assist old Kurchibell, the Scotch gardener, and one day he was heard to say, “Mr. Kurchibell ain’ no gyardner less’n he kill dem plegon sassy catbirds and robins; dey jes spilin’ all dem cherries. I’m gwine right straight an tell Ole Mars an Ole Miss!” Betimes Ezra would saunter with basket on each arm to the garden and gather the dew-kissed peaches, apricots, juicy melons and other fruits, and later cull the 100–leaf roses and assist the old gardener in distilling them. The rose cakes left were tucked away in the house linen, the fragrance of which in fancy I still inhale. The apple trees flung down so many blossoms that they covered the ground. All are gone! so are the other fruit trees and fragrant vines. “Leaves have their time to fall And flowers to wither at the North Wind’s breath, And stars to set; but all— Thou hast all seasons for thine Own, O death!” About the middle of the garden was a large bower, roughly made of cedar, but as strong as Jacob’s ladder. Clematis, honeysuckle and beautiful trailing roses covered its sides and dome-shaped top so thoroughly that only here and there little sunbeams could pierce and play among the interwoven vines and blossoms. In the center of the bower was a large table, from which fruit was eaten, cards played, tea 13 14 15 16 17 made (echo), and love made! Almost within arm’s reach of the arbor was a brimming spring, whose water was soft and pure as a dewdrop. The spring is there to-day, and, like the brook, flows on forever. When the weather was dry Miss Henrietta dipped its pellucid water and sprinkled the thirsty arbor vines, “But O! for the touch of a vanished hand And the sound of a voice that is still.” Around the spring grew mint in exuberance, that was as much cared for as the foxhounds. Mayhap in that arbor Tench Francis tinkled the sides of his glass in mixing sugar and grass with spirits, sipped and read letters from his gay and brilliant nephew, [2]Sir Phillip Francis, the supposed author of the letters of Junius, then one of England’s Counsel for India; maybe told all about his duel with Warren Hastings, then Governor-General of India; for we know that his cousin, the beautiful Anne Francis, visited “Otwell” with her husband, James Tilghman, who met there his brother, Matthew, the great patriot, and his wife, who was charming Anne Lloyd. There, too, Tench Tilghman, aide-de-camp to Washington, and his wife, spent happy hours. Later his daughter married the host, and there in luxury and loving kindness lived “OLE MARS an’ OLE MISS.” ’Twas a very cold Sunday in December. The sun shone brightly, but the wind was on a frolic. High- crested, white-capped waves leaped upon and lashed the shore. Ole Miss, as usual, had service for the house servants in the brick kitchen. She said the Lord’s prayer, read the 63d psalm, commented upon their deportment for the past week and then they were dismissed. Pawson Demby was to preach in the new Zion church, and the servants were now on the lawn looking for the Plimhimmon, Bondfield and Job’s Content boats. In those days visiting was done for the most part by water, the numerous creeks, coves and bays making distance so great by land. The servants used the eight-oared barges, boats of burden, with sails and generally two masts, called a pinnace; they carried to the large schooners wheat, corn and other cereals for the Baltimore market, and in return brought hogsheads of molasses, sugar, coffee, rice, boots and shoes for the servants. TENCH TILGHMAN. Presently Little Billy sang out, “Heah dey come!” and sure enough, rounding Wind Mill Point and turning into Otwell Creek, were three barges—tip-tap-toe—each pulled by eight lusty oars. The angry roar of the waves, the struggling boats, the landscape and the breaking billows made it a picturesque sight. Soon they were at the wharf. Most of them were house servants, and it would be for me a hopeless task to describe their raiment, the old-time courtesies, graceful bows and how-dys with which they greeted one another. Those negroes were environed for generations with kindness, culture, refinement and Christian teaching, so that many of them had finished manners, knew perfectly “How ter wait On Marster’s table an’ han’ de plate, Pars de bottle when he dry And brush away de blue-tail fly.” They were dependent, kind, obedient, full of music, contentment, and happiness. The venom of the politician and carpetbagger had not stung them. Greetings over, they all strolled to the new brick church, distant about three-quarters of a mile. Like all the churches of that day, the pulpit was much nearer heaven than the pews, and above it hung a picture given them by Miss Henrietta. It had a bell, a clock—described in Ho-Ho—and a fireplace large enough for half a dozen darkies to stand and warm themselves. When all were seated Uncle Stephen was asked to pray, and then Parson Phil Demby preached. His text was “Fogitfulness.” ANNE FRANCIS. 18 19 20 “FOGITFULNESS.”[3] “Dat is de subjec’ ub my discose dis mawnin’ and I is preachen mo’ ’specially to de chillun in de meetin’ house. Uncle Reubin Viney an’ I was a huskin’ cawn lars’ week an’ he tol’ me boutin dis tex’, and arsked me to preach fum it; an’ you will find de ’zact words in de 7th chapta ub Acts, 8th vus: ‘Ab’ham fogot Isaac, Isaac fogot Jacob and Jacob fogot de twelve Petracks.’ Dem ole Petracks was a pow’ful fogitful race ub people! Now, ten ub dem Petracks, Simeon, Levi an’ Zebulon, dey wuz Miss Leah’s chillun (I fogit de names ub de res’ ub her chillun, but dey wuz all Jews). An’ Joseph an’ Benjamin, dey wuz Miss Rachel’s chillun, an’ de Bible say dey wuz saints. One ub ’em er his uncle, I fogit which, foun’ some mules in de wilderness ez he wuz watchin’ his father’s sheep, but he wuz so fogitful dat he didn’t gib de names ub de mules or how many dey wuz—some people say da wan’ no mules at all, dey wuz all Jackasses. Well, lemmy see—da wuz two mo’ ub Jacob’s sons (I dun mention five), an’ I fogit deah Ma’s name, but deah names wuz Dan an’ Naptha, or sompin’ like dat (I lef’ my specks hom’). I don’ think dey wuz Jews, er Dukes like Esau’s sons, an’ I don’ ’zactly no deah ’ligion, but I specks dem two wuz Babtis’s. ’Pears to me I hearn Uncle Reubin say so! How-some-eber, all ub dem chillun ub Jacob’s wuz born in Panorama [Padanaram] an’ dey’s all uh pow’ful fogitful race ub people. “Brudderin, da is nothin’ ez bad ez fogitfulness. Ef’n my memory wuz not good (kase I lef’ my specks at hom’) I could not gib you any ub dese beautiful names. Now, den, dese ten brudders wuz sent by deah Pa way down in Egyp’ lan’ futto buy cawn fum deah eleventh brudder. An’ bless yo’ soul, when dey got down da, dey didn’t eben no deah brudder—but he no’d dem. Mebby de color ub his coat ’fused ’em. I tell you dem old Petracks is a pow’ful fogitful race ub people. So wuz deah Ma’s an’ Pa’s. Laban, de Granpa ub de Petracks, and prob’ly de bigist farmer in dem days, wuz uh fogitful man. We is told dat Jacob (wonder why dey jes’ call ’em Jacob), an’ Noahy, an’ Moses, an’ Peter, an’ Rasmus dey’s mos’ ub ’em kings an’ dukes an’ sich like. I mus’ ask Uncle Reubin boutin dat. Well, Jacob merried Miss Rachel, so he did, but I specks Jacob got a little het up at de weddin’. An’ Laban, he mus’ hab had some ros’ apples wid apple-jack. Brudderin, apples is bin makin’ trubble eber since Adam totch ’em—kase Laban he fogot which daughter Jacob wuz gwine ter marry. ’Pears like Jacob fogot, too, kase he didn’t scover de mustak’ till de nex’ mawnin’. An’ ’pears like Miss Leah an’ Miss Rachel fogot. Now, wan’ dey uh fogitful lot ub people? De nex’ mawnin’ arfter de weddin’—or as de Bible say, de feas’—when Jacob got up to milk de cows an’ yoke de oxin, da was Miss Leah up, an’ shakin’ down de stove an’ grindin’ de coffee. An’ Jacob say, ‘Wha Rachel?’ an’ Miss Leah say, ‘I dunno nuffin boutin Rachel.’ Da wuz uh mustak’ some wha, sho. So Jacob merried ’em bof to be sartin an’ pleas’ Laban. No wonder dat de Petracks wuz uh fogitful race wid four Ma’s an’ uh Pa all fogitful; an’, mine you, Miss Rachel she wuz so fogitful seems to me her mine mus’ hab been ’stressed, kase you recommember when her boys Jacob an’ Esau went out an’ kilt uh deer, she fogot which kilt it—leas’wise it ’pears so. Well, as fo’ dat, I specks de fus’ man, Adam, hissef was absen’-minded. He sut’ny lubbed fruit. We all knows dat. An’ I specks he wuz hongry, an’ mebby po’ Adam when he clum up de apple tree in de dark tho’t it wuz uh peach tree—kase when a man is hongry he ain’ ’stressin’ hissef boutin de fruit, so it’s good. An’ I specks he got ’fused ’bout de trees, kase dat gyarden wuz full ub fruit trees, from apple trees clean down to cucumbers and watermillions. “King Dabid come outin uh fogitful fam’ly. De Bible tell us dat in dem days Pharez fogot Hezron, an’ Hezron fogot Ram——” Sister Becky (interrupting): “Pawson Demby, you mus’ mean Ham or Sham?” “Chile, I kin read; I means Ram! Dat’s what I mean! Ram wuz uh white pusson; Ham wuz uh cullud pusson. Well, dey kep’ on fogittin’ till Jesse fogot Dabid. But blessid to say, de lars’ one wuz not uh fogitter; he recommembered mos’ too well—leas’wise fuh dese days. He had Uriahy kilt kase he wuz rite smart tuck on Uriahy’s wife. In dese days it’s mo’ dan de chuch ’low; how-some-eber, in dem days it didn’t stress uh pusson ef’n uh man’s wife fogot him, kase dey had so many dey wouldn’t miss ’em, ’cep’in five er six lef’ ’em. Now, chillun, boys wuz bad in dem days same as now. Po’ King Dabid’s son ’stressed him pow’ful, but he neber fogot him, an’ he mus’ uh favo’d he Pa and bin uh monstus fine- lookin’ chile, kase de Bible say—lemmy read it to you: ‘Ab-so-lum wuz prais’ fuh he beauty fum de sole ub he foot ebin to de crown ub he haid.’ An’ de king wuz gwine to meck a Babtis’ preacher outin him, but he fogot his po’ father an’ run uh way; and what wuz de consequasion ub dat boy’s badness? Sistus an’ chillun, it’s wussa dan stealin’ watermillions er chickens; it’s mos’ ez bad ez dancin’ an’ playin’ de fiddle on de Sabbuth. Well, de Bible tell us dat Ab-so-lum[4] rid ’pon uh mule, an’ de mule went under de thick bows ub uh jack oak, an’ his haid kotch hold ub de oak (I mean de haid ub little Ab-so-lum) an’ he wuz’ tuck up ’tween de heaben an’ de uth; an’ de mule dat wuz under him went ’way, an’ dat wuz de las’ ub po’ Ab-so-lum. Ez many hosses ez dat ventersum chil’ mus’ uh had, an’ ez many ez his brudder Solomon had, it’s quare to me why he rid uh ornry mule. Dey mus’ uh bin uh breed ub mules an’ jackasses dat’s died out—kase mules an’ jackasses wuz de favorite beases in dem days. “De chillun ub Ephram fogot de works ub de Lawd, an’ his wonders, arfter he had rain down manner ’pon ’em to eat. Uncle Reubin say de manner wuz mushrooms. De reason ub de flood, is kase de chillun ub man fogot deah benefits. Dey wan’t satisfied wid creeks an’ ribbers, but dey mus’ provok’ uh flood. Is dar any pusson in dis chuch dat would fogit Miles Ribber? De Petracks would. Dunno though! Kase I reckin da wan’t no ribbers in dem days lubly as Miles Ribber. Kin I eber fogit her wha’ I wuz born? How it charm an’ conjur me when I goes fishin’, oysterin’ er crabbin’ in de mawnin’s, when de ribber is cam. Den de trees is ’flected in de watah an’ de heb’nly clouds meck rainbows in de watah. An’ dat Miles Ribber is so clare when de trees is ’flected in de mawnin’ befo’ de sun-up, you kin see de jewdraps on de leabes. An’ sometimes all day long when de breeze is sorf de sun plays on de ripples, an’ when de sun git tired an’ sink in de wes’ de moon plays on de watah sorter ridin’ de canterin’ wabes. An’ de hooppo-wills sing, an’ de mockin’ birds chant, an’ de wabes chases de moonlight, an’ de moonlight chases de wabes; an’ 21 22 23 24 25 26 de stars way down deep in de watah winks an’ twinks at yer, an’ dey looks ez bright ez de eyes ub Phareoh’s daughter an’ almos’ ez sorf’ ez uh possum’s. It’s uh sin to play on de fiddle, flute an’ fife, an’ to dance, but, brudderin, it’s ’spirin’ an’ heb’nly to see de moon dance on Miles Ribber, spreadin’ hissef on de top ub de wabes, makin’ dem de color ub silver, jes’ like dear ole Missis hyah. “Yes! Pawson Demby born close to Miles Ribber, an’ he lubs de watah nex’ to music. I’d lub to hab bin on de ark; dey tells me mos’ everything wuz on it, so ’cose music wuz. An’ I wouldn’t be s’prised ef dat sweet little cullud boy, Ham, didn’t play de banjo, an’ Sham de bones, an’ ’cose de udder brudder (I fogit his name) played! I reckin de hyarp. Kase hyarps wuz in de fashin in dem days. Dear little Dabid used to play de hyarp at night when he watched his Pa’s flocks, to make hissef feel happy, an’ to skere de wolves an’ bars ’way. An’ he played fuh Saul er his daughter, I fogit which. Wonder how dey got deah hyarp an’ banjo strings dem days. Well, I kin almos’ see dat jus’ man, de captin ub de boat, arfter all de beases bin fed an’ bedded, set down in de stern ub de ship, take de rudder, lite his pipe, sigh fuh de watahs to cease an’ long fuh his dove to come back. An’ when de moon ris I specks Ham chune his banjo, Sham his bones, an’ de udder brudder wid a quare name, twank de hyarp. An’ den dey mus’ hab played, ‘Roll, Jordan, Roll,’ ‘One Bright Ribber to Cross,’ ‘Swing Lo’, Sweet Chariot,’ ‘Go Down Moses,’ till de stars sunk in de skies, and de beases got relarmed. “Brudderin, we ain’t sung dat lars him fuh uh long time. Uncle Eph, you rase it an’ we will sing some ub de vuses, so I kin res’ mehsef uh little.” GO DOWN MOSES. When Israel wuz in Egypt’s lan’: Let meh people go, Oppressed so hard dey could not stand, Let meh people go. Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt land, Tell ole Pharoh, Let meh people go. O, twuz uh dark an’ dismal nite, Let meh people go; When Moses led de Israelites, Let meh people go. Go down, Moses, etc. O, cum ’long Moses, yo’ll not git los’, Let meh people go; Stritch out yo’ rod an cum across, Let meh people go. Go down, Moses, etc. Yo’ll not git los’ in de wilderness, Let meh people go; Wid a lighted candle in yo’ bres’, Let meh people go. Go down, Moses, etc. ’Twas jes ’boutin harvis’ time, Let meh people go; When Joshua led his hos’ divine, Let meh people go. Go down, Moses, etc. Miss Henrietta’s gift, that hung above the pulpit. “Brudderin, da wuz one man dat wuz not fogitful, an’ a man we all should intimate. I hab befo’ briefly ’luded to him. I say briefly, kase a pawson mite talk boutin him fum de commencement to de closin’ ub a big camp meetin’ an’ not git fur on de subjec’. He nebber fogot. T’ink ub de animals he had to recommember, fum elephants clean down to coons an’ ’possums. Dey tells me he eben kep’ de chickens fum eatin’ up de watermillion seeds. He wuz uh sailor, gyardner, farmer, blacksmith, carpenter—King Dabid wuz no wha when he wuz ’bout. His name wuz Noahy. Uncle Reubin say de elephants, whales and hippopotamusses wuz so big an’ bad dat he chained dem outside de boat an’ let ’em float to make room. An’ de shirks an’ crocodiles had et up all de dogs, sepin fo’ coon dogs. So Noahy chained dem outside, too. ’Cose Noahy wuz uh gre’t animal tamer, an’ I kin ondastan’ how he like so many animals, but I kyant ondastan’ why he didn’t pisen dem shirks. De Bible tells ’bout fishhooks, fishpools, fish spears an’ fishermen, an’ all ’bout Peter’s gwine uh fishin’, an’ de five loaves an’ two fishes (dey mus’ uh bin whales, 27 28 29 kase dey fed so many)—but it don’t say nuffin boutin shirks. How-some-eber, I specks when Peter’s net broke da wuz uh shirk in it, kase when dey cum ’long da ain’ no use you takin’ up yo’ net, kase it’s clean gone. Uncle Reubin say ef’n it wan’ fuh de pitch on de wood ub de ark dey would hab chawed uh hole thoo huh. Dey’s kep’ many a sister fum comin’ in de Babtis’ chuch, when dar’s only salt watah to dip in, like it is down heah on de Easton Sho’.” Aunt Phillis Viney (interrupting): “Pawson Demby, ef’n dem sistus had salbation in deah hearts dey wouldn’t keer fuh dem shirks any mo’ dan little Moses keered fuh de Bull-rushes.” Voices: “Dat’s what I say, too!” “Yas, dat’s it!” “You done sed it.” “Dat’s de law, Sistah Viney.” Tilly Mink: “I’s got salbation mehsef.” “Uncle Eph, will you pleas’ pars de barsket ’roun’? An’ I hope dis congation will stop dis shirk ’citement an’ not be fogitful boutin de collection. I exhort sistus an’ all heah present to gib lib’ly, an’ not be like dem fogitful ole Petracks. “We will include by singin’ de three fus’ vusses ub him seventy-fo’.” Zion is de place fuh me, Oh, I want to git da; Zaccheus clum uh sycamo’ tree, Oh, I want to git da. In de heb’nly hom’ we’ll all be free, Oh, I want to git da; De Angel Gabriel den we’ll see, Oh, I want to git da. Mary an’ Marfa’s gone befo’; Oh, I want to git da; Baptized an’ shoutin’ on de golden sho’; Oh, I want to git da. Pawson Demby requested Uncle Stephen to “Please led us in prayer,” whereupon Uncle Stephen prayed as follows: “Sistus, brers an’ little chillun, recommember! Dat’s de qualificashun, an’ don’ fogit it. Po’ Lot’s wife, she fogot, looked back, an wuz turnt inter uh pillow ub salt. “Fogitfulness is wuss’n playin’ de fiddle, dancin’, an’ uh cuss’n one nerr. Hits almos’ ez bad ez fishin’ on de Sabbuth day. Y-a-s, Lawd, fogitfulness is bin uh ’stressin’ people ev’y sense Adam clum de apple tree an’ eat dem apples. Ab-so-lum fogot his Pa’s ’structions, er he wudn’ er rid un’er dat oak tree an’ let dat lim’ twiss his neck ef’n he hadn’ bin frolikin’, I specks, wid dat ornry King Fario. Y-a-s, Lawd, tech us ter recommember. De prodigal son fogot he Pa’s ways, an’ you know de consequation. Sted ub fogittin’, meck us ter recommember; y-a-s, Lawd, meck us ter recommember dat de debbil is uh rovin’ lion, seekin’ who he may eat up.[5] Don’ let us be like Jacob, de Petrack, who fogot hissef an’ tried ter rassel wid uh angel, an’ de fus’ fall he got his leg wuz flung outin jint. “But da is one thing dat you kin fogit; hits dem shirks [sharks] in Miles Ribber. Some ub our sistus is got de shirk fright so bad dey is persidderin jinin’ de Presbyters. Sweet sistus, don’ yer do hit. Ev’y man’s mouf ain’ uh prayerbook, an’ uh case orntried is hyard ter justify. Persidder us, deah Lawd, burhol us, be wid us, cum down right now in de spirit ub de lam’; cum right th’oo de roof, Ole Mars will pay fuh de shingles. Dese moners is uh waitin’ fuh you. Y-a-s, indeed, cum down dis minit an’ cur-tail de work ub de debbil.” By this time old Harrison, Colonel Lloyd’s faithful and credulous servant from “Wye,” became so much excited that he jumped up and shouted, “Yas, Lawd, cum down an cut he tail clean orf,” whereupon Uncle Stephen arose, patting his hands, and singing: DIDN’T MY LORD DELIVER DANIEL. Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel, D’liver Daniel, d’liver Daniel, Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel, And why not a every man? He deliver’d Daniel from the lion’s den, Jonah from the belly of the whale, And the Hebrew children from the fiery furnace, And why not every man? Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel, D’liver Daniel, d’liver Daniel, Didn’t my Lord deliver Daniel, And why not a every man? The wind blows East, and the wind blows West, It blows like the judgment day, And every poor soul that never did pray, ’Ll be glad to pray that day. 30 31 32 TENCH FRANCIS. The singing over, Parson Demby announced—“Befo’ goin’ I wan’ ter say dat de deacons is so ’stressed ober ’mersion dey has ’cided ter hold uh rebate in de Zion Chuch fo’ weeks fum nex’ Chusday, an’ de subjec’ chusin will be, ‘Ef’n uh man er woman hab salbation in deah hyarts, will dey be feared ter babtiz wha shirks is?’ Ef’n hits ’cided hits dangersome, salbation er no salbation, I hope dis congation will git somebody’s ice pon’, an’ ef’n dey kyant do no better, somebody’s big hoss trough fuh de ’mersions. “I ’pints rebaters fuh dem dat’s not feared—Frisby Jemes, Hesekiah Sprouts, Damon Mink. “Fuh dem dat’s feared, Uncle Reubin Viney, Juba Viney, Scipio Jones, Horace Duley. I puts fo’ on de side ub dem dat’s feared, kase it’s de weak side. “Judges—Pawson Phil Demby, Deacon Rasmus Jasper Jemes.” 33