Multimedia Mania/abacus-multimedia-mania.iso/dp/0150/01509.txt

Text File | 1993-07-27 | 11KB | 196 lines

$Unique_ID{bob01509}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Sketches, Old And New
A True Story}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Twain, Mark}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{de
dey
dat
jist
den
says
em
dis
say
ole}
$Date{1893}
$Log{}
Title:       Sketches, Old And New
Book:        A True Story
Author:      Twain, Mark
Date:        1893

A True Story

     Repeated Word For Word As I Heard It.

     It was summer, and twilight.  We were sitting on the porch of the
farm-house, on the summit of the hill, and "Aunt Rachel" was sitting
respectfully below our level, on the steps, - for she was our servant, and
colored.  She was of mighty frame and stature; she was sixty years old, but
her eye was undimmed and her strength unabated.  She was a cheerful, hearty
soul, and it was no more trouble for her to laugh than it is for a bird to
sing.  She was under fire, now, as usual when the day was done.  That is to
say, she was being chaffed without mercy, and was enjoying it.  She would let
off peal after peal of laughter, and then sit with her face in her hands and
shake with throes of enjoyment which she could no longer get breath enough to
express.  At such a moment as this a thought occurred to me, and I said:

     "Aunt Rachel, how is it you've lived sixty years and never had any
trouble?"

     She stopped quaking.  She paused, and there was a moment of silence. She
turned her face over her shoulder toward me, and said, without even a smile in
her voice: -

     "Misto C - , is you in 'arnest?"

     It surprised me a good deal; and it sobered my manner and my speech, too.
I said: -

     "Why, I thought - that is, I meant - why, you can't have had any trouble.
I've never heard you sigh, and never seen your eye when there wasn't a laugh
in it."

     She faced fairly around, now, and was full of earnestness.

     "Has I had any trouble?  Misto C - , I's gwine to tell you, den I leave
it to you.  I was bawn down 'mongst de slaves; I knows all 'bout slavery,
'case I ben one of 'em my own self.  Well, sah, my ole man - dat's my husban'
- he was lovin' an' kind to me, jist as kind as you is to yo' own wife.  An'
we had chil'en - seven chil'en - an' we loved den chil'en jist de same as you
loves yo' chil'en.  Dey was black, but de Lord can't make no chil'en so black
but what dey mother loves 'em and wouldn't give 'em up, no, not for anything
dat's in dis whole world.

     "Well, sah, I was raised in ole Fo'ginny, but my mother she was raised in
Maryland; an' my souls!  she was turrible when she'd git started!  My lan'!
but she'd make de fur fly!  When she'd git into dem tantrums, she always had
one word dat she said.  She'd straighten herse'f up an' put her fists in her
hips an' say, 'I want you to understan' dat I wa'nt bawn in the mash to be
fool' by trash!  I's one o' de ole Blue Hen's Chicken's, I is!' 'Ca'se, you
see, dats what folks dat's bawn in Maryland calls deyselves, an' dey's proud
of it.  Well, dat was her word.  I don't ever forgit it, beca'se she said it
so much, an' beca'se she said it one day when my little Henry tore his wris'
awful, and most busted his head, right up at de top of his forehead, an' de
niggers didn't fly aroun' fas' enough to 'tend to him.  An' when dey talk'
back at her, she up an' she says, 'Look-a-head she says, 'I want you niggers
to understan' dat I wan't bawn in de mash to be fool' by trash!  I's one o' de
ole Blue Hen's Chickens, I is!' an' den she clar' dat kitchen an' bandage' up
de chile herse'f.  So I says dat word, too, when I's riled.

     "Well, bymeby my ole mistis say she's broke, an' she' got to sell all de
niggers on de place.  An' when I hear dat dey gwine to sell us all off at
oction in Richmon', oh de good gracious!  I know what dat mean!"

     Aunt Rachel had gradually risen, while she warmed to her subject, and now
she towered above me, black against the stars.

     "Dey put chains on us an' put us on a stan' as high as dis po'ch, -
twenty foot high, - an' all de people stood aroun', crowds an' crowds.  An'
dey'd come up dah an' look at us all roun', an' squeeze our arm, an' make us
git up an' walk, an' den say, 'Dis one too ole,' or 'Dis one lame,' or 'Dis
one don't 'mount to much.' An' dey sole my ole man, an' took him away, an' dey
begin to sell my chil'en an' take dem away, an' I begin to cry; an' de man
say, 'Shet up yo' dam blubberin',' an' hit me on de mouf wid his han'.  An'
when de las' one was gone but my little Henry, I grab' him clost up to my
breas' so, an' I ris up an' says, 'You shan't take him away,' I says; 'I'll
kill de man dat tetches him!' I says.  But my little Henry whisper an' say, 'I
gwyne to run away, an' den I work an' buy yo' freedom.' Oh, bless de chile, he
always so good!  But dey got him - dey got him, de men did; but I took and
tear de cl'es mos' off of 'em an' beat 'em over de head wid my chain; an' dey
give it to me, too, but I didn't mind dat.

     "Well, dah was my ole man gone, an' all my chil'en, all my seven chil'en
- an' six of 'em I hain't set eyes on ag'in to dis day, an' dat's twenty-two
year ago las' Easter.  De man dat bought me b'long' in Newbern, an' he took me
dah.  Well, bymeby de years roll on an' de waw come.  My marster he was a
Confedrit colonel, an' I was his family's cook.  So when de Unions took dat
town, dey all run away an' lef' me all by myse'f wid de other niggers in dat
mons'us big house.  So de big Union officers move in dah, an' dey ask me would
I cook for dem.  'Lord bless you,' says I, 'dat's what I's for.'

     "Dey wa'nt no small-fry officers, mine you, dey was de biggest dey is;
an' de way dey made dem sojers mosey roun'!  De Gen'l he tole me to boss dat
kitchen; an' he say, 'If anybody come meddlin' wid you, you jist make 'em walk
chalk; don't you be afeared,' he say; 'you's 'mong frens, now.'

     "Well, I thinks to myse'f if my little Henry ever got a chance to run
away, he'd make to de Norf, o' course.  So one day I comes in dah whar de big
officers was, in de parlor, an' I drops a kurtchy, so, an' I up an' tole 'em
'bout my Henry, dey a-listenin' to my troubles jist de same as if I was white
folks; an' I says, 'What I come for is beca'se if he got away and got up Norf
whar you gemmen comes from, you might 'a' seen him, maybe, an' could tell me
so as I could fine him ag'in; he was very little, an' he had a sk-yar on his
lef' wris', an' at de top of his forehead.' Den dey look mournful, an' de
Gen'l say 'How long sence you los' him?' an' I say, 'Thirteen year.' Den de
Gen'l say, 'He wouldn't be little no mo' now - he's a man!'

     "I never thought o' dat befo'!  He was only dat little feller to me, yit.
I never thought 'bout him growin' up an' bein' big.  But I see it den.  None
o' de gemmen had run acrost him, so dey couldn't do nothin' for me.  But all
dat time, do' I didn't know it, my Henry was run off to de Norf, years an'
years, an' he was a barber, too, an' worked for hisse'f. An' bymeby, when de
waw come' he ups an' he says, 'I's done barberin',' he says, 'I's gwyne to
fine my ole mammy, less'n she's dead.' So he sole out an' went to whar dey was
recruitin', an' hired hisse'f out to de colonel for his servant; an' den he
went all froo de battles everywhar huntin' for his ole mammy; yes indeedy,
he'd hire to fust one officer an' den another, tell he'd ransacked de whole
Souf; but you see I didn't know nuffin 'bout dis.  How was I gwyne to know it?

     "Well, one night we had a big sojer ball; de sojers dah at Newbern was
always havin' balls an' carryin' on.  Dey had 'em in my kitchen, heaps o'
times, 'ca'se it was so big.  Mine you, I was down on sich doin's; beca'se my
place was wid de officers' an' it rasp me to have dem common sojers cavortin'
roun' my kitchen like dat.  But I alway' stood aroun' an' kep' things
straight, I did; an' sometimes dey'd git my dander up, an' den I'd make 'em
clar dat kitchen, mine I tell you!

     "Well, one night - it was a Friday night - dey comes a whole plattoon f'm
a nigger ridgment dat was on guard at de house, - de house was head- quarters,
you know, - an' den I was jist a-bilin'!  Mad?  I was jist a- boomin' I
swelled aroun', an' swelled aroun'; I jist was a-itchin' for 'em to do somefin
for to start me.  An' dey was a-walzin' an' a-dancin'!  my! but dey was havin'
a time!  an' I jist a-swellin' an' a-swellin' up! Pootsy soon, 'long comes
sich a spruce young nigger a-sailin' down de room wid a yaller wench roun' de
wais'; an' roun', an' roun' an' roun' dey went, enough to make a body drunk to
look at 'em; an' when dey got abreas' o' me, dey went to kin' o' balancin'
aroun' fust on one leg an' den on t'other, an' smilin' at my big red turban,
an' makin' fun, an' I ups and says, 'Git along wid you! - rubbage!' De young
man's face kin' o' changed, all of a sudden, for 'bout a second, but den he
went to smilin' ag'in, same as he was befo'.  Well, 'bout dis time, in comes
some niggers dat played music and b'long' to de ban', an' dey never could git
along widout puttin' on airs.  An' de very fust air dey put on dat night, I
lit into 'em!  Dey laughed, an' dat made me wuss.  De res' o' de niggers got
to laughin', an' den my soul alive but I was hot!  My eye was jist a-blazin'!
I jist straightened myself up, so - jist as I is now, plum to de ceilin',
mos'. - an' I digs my firts into my hips, an' I says, 'Look-a-heah I says, 'I
want you niggers to understan' dat I wa'nt bawn in de mash to be fool' by
trash! I's one o' de ole Blue Hen's Chickens, I is!' an' den I see dat young
man stan' a-starin' an' stiff, lookin' kin' o' up at de ceilin' like he fo'got
somefin, an' couldn't 'member it no mo'.  Well, I jist march' on dem niggers,
- so, lookin' like an gen'l, - an' dey jist cave' away befo' me an' out at de
do'.  An' as dis young man was a-goin' out, I heah him say to another nigger,
'Jim,' he says, 'you go 'long an' tell de cap'n I be on han' 'bout eight
o'clock in de mawnin'; dey's somefin on my mine,' he says; 'I don't sleep no'
mo' dis night.  You go 'long,' he says, 'an' leave me by my own se'f.'

     "Dis was 'bout one o'clock in de mawnin'.  Well, 'bout seven, I was up
an' on han', gittin' de officers' breakfast.  I was a-stoopin' down by de
stove, - jist so, same as if yo' foot was de stove, - an' I'd opened de stove
do' with my right han', - so, pushin' it back, jist as I pushes yo' foot, -
an' I'd jist got de pan o' hot biscuits in my han' an' was 'bout to raise up,
when I see a black face come aroun' under mine, an' de eyes a- lookin' up into
mine, jist as I's a-lookin' up clost under yo' face now; an' I jist stopped
right dah, an' never budged!  jist gazed, an' gazed, so; an' de pan begin to
tremble, an' all of a sudden I knowed!  De pan drop' on de flo' an' I grab his
lef' han' an' shove back his sleeve, - jist so, as I's doin' to you, - an' den
I goes for his forehead and push de hair back, so, an' 'Boy!' I says, 'if you
an't my Henry, what is you doin' wid dis welt on yo' wris' an' dat sk-yar on
yo' forehead?  De Lord God ob heaven be praise', I got my own ag'in!'

     "Oh, no, Misto C - , I hain't had no trouble.  An' no joy!"