The Coast of Bohemia Part 10

"An' dat 't was for ole Marster, To buy your time f'om him; But dat de war come farster, An' squandered stock an' lim'-- Say you kin work an' don't need none, An' he carn't, son.

"He ain' been use ter diggin'

His livin' out de dirt; He carn't drink out a piggin, Like you; an' it 'ud hurt Ole Marster's pride, an' make him sw'ar, In glory dyar!"

Den all his strength seemed fallin'; He shet his eyes awhile, An' den said: "Heis.h.!.+ he 's callin'!

Dyar he! Now watch him smile!

Yes, suh-- You n.i.g.g.e.rs jes' stan' back!

Marster, here 's Jack!"

ASHCAKE

Well, yes, suh, dat am a comical name It are so, an' for a fac'-- But I knowed one, down in Ferginyer, Could 'a' toted dat on its back.

"What was it?" I 'm gwine to tell you-- 'T was mons'us long ago: 'T was, "Ashcake," suh; an' all on us Use' ter call 'im jes', "Ashcake," so.

You see, suh, my ole Marster, he Was a pow'ful wealfy man, Wid mo' plantations dan hyahs on you haid-- Gre't acres o' low-groun' lan':

Jeems River bottoms, dat used ter stall A fo'-hoss plough, no time; An' he 'd knock' you down ef you jes' had dyared Ter study 'bout guano 'n' lime.

De corn used ter stan' in de row dat thick You jes' could follow de balk; An' rank! well I 'clar' ter de king, Ise seed Five 'c.o.o.ns up a single stalk!

He owned mo' n.i.g.g.e.rs 'n arr' a man About dyar, black an' bright; He owned so many, b'fo' de Lord, He did n' know all by sight!

Well, suh, one evelin', long to'ds dusk, I seen de Marster stan'

An' watch a yaller boy pa.s.s de gate Wid a ashcake in his han'.

He never had no mammy at all-- Leastways, she was dead by dat-- An' de cook an' de hands about on de place Used ter see dat de boy kep' fat.

Well, he trotted along down de parf dat night, An' de Marster he seen him go, An' hollered, "Say, boy--say, what 's yer name?"

"A--ashcake, suh," says Joe.

It 'peared ter tickle de Marster much, An' he called him up to de do'.

"Well, dat is a curisome name," says he; "But I guess it suits you, sho'."

"Whose son are you?" de Marster axed.

"Young Jane's," says Joe; "she 's daid."

A sperrit cudden 'a' growed mo' pale, An', "By Gord!" I heerd him said.

He tuk de child 'long in de house, Jes' 'count o' dat ar whim; An', dat-time-out, you nuver see Sich sto' as he sot by him.

An' Ashcake swung his cradle, too, As clean as ever you see; An' stuck as close ter ole Marster's heel As de shader sticks to de tree.

'Twel one dark night, when de river was out, De Marster an' Ashcake Joe Was comin' home an' de skiff upsot, An' bofe wo'd 'a' drowned, sho',

Excusin' dat Ashcake cotch'd ole Marst'r An' gin him holt o' de boat, An' saved him so; but 't was mo'n a week B'fo' his body comed afloat.

An' de Marster buried dat n.i.g.g.e.r, suh, In de white-folks' graveyard, sho!

An' he writ 'pon a white-folks' tombstone, "Ashcake"--jes' "Ashcake" so.

An' de Marster he grieved so 'bouten dat thing, It warn' long, suh, befo' he died; An' he 's sleep, 'way down in Perginyer, Not fur from young Ashcake's side.

ZEKYL'S INFIDELITY

Mistis, I r'al'y wish you 'd hole A little conversation Wid my old Zekyl 'bout his soul.

Dat n.i.g.g.e.r's sitiwation Is mons'us serious, 'deed 'n' 't is, 'Skusin' he change dat co'se o' his.

Dat evil sinner 's sot he face Ginst ev'y wud I know; Br'er Gabrul say, he 's fell from grace, An' h.e.l.l is got him sho'!

He don' believe in sperits, 'Skusin' 't is out a jug!

Say 'tain' got no mo' merits Den a ole half-cured lug; 'N' dat white cat I see right late, One evelin' nigh de grave-yard gate, Warn't nuttin' sep some ole cat whar Wuz sot on suppin' off old hyah.

He 'oont allow a rooster By crowin' in folks' do', Kin bring death dyah; and useter Say, he wish mine would crow.

An' he even say, a hin mout try, Sep woman-folks would git so spry, An' want to stick deeselves up den, An' try to crow over de men.

'E say 't ain' no good in preachin'; Dat n.i.g.g.e.rs is sich fools-- Don' know no mo' 'bout teachin'

'N white-folks does 'bout mules; An' when br'er Gabrul's hollered tell You mos' kin see right into h.e.l.l, An' rambled Scriptures fit to bus', Dat hard-mouf n.i.g.g.e.r 's wus an' wus.

'E say quality (dis is mainer 'N all Ise told you yit)-- Says 'tain' no better 'n 'arf-strainer; An' dat _his_ master 'll git Good place in Heaven--po'-white-folks, mark!-- As y' all whar come right out de ark; An' dat--now jes' heah dis!--dat he, A po'-white-folks' n.i.g.g.e.r 's good as me!

He 's gwine straight to de deble!

An' sarve him jes' right, too!

He 's a outdacious rebel, Arter all Ise done do!-- Ise sweat an' arguified an' blowed Over dat black n.i.g.g.e.r mo'

'N would 'a' teck a c'nal-boat load Over to Canyan sho'!

Ise tried _refection_--'t warn' no whar!

Ise wrastled wid de Lord in pra'r; Ise quoiled tell I wuz mos daid; Ise th'owed de spider at his haid-- But he ole haid 't wuz so thick th'oo Hit bus' my skillit spang in two.

You kin dye black hyah an' meek it light; You kin tu'n de Ethiope's spots to white; You mout grow two or three cubics bigger-- But you carn't onchange a po'-white-folks' n.i.g.g.e.r.

When you 's dwellin' on golden harps an' chunes, A po-white-foiks' n.i.g.g.e.r's thinkin' bout c.o.o.ns; An' when you 's snifflin' de heaven'y blossoms, A po'-white-folks' n.i.g.g.e.r 's studyin' 'bout possums.

Ma.r.s.e PHIL

Yes, yes, you is Ma.r.s.e Phil's son; you favor 'm might'ly, too.

We wuz like brothers, we wuz, me an' him.

You tried to fool d' ole n.i.g.g.e.r, but, Marster, 'twouldn' do; Not do yo' is done growed so tall an' slim.

Hi! Lord! Ise knowed yo', honey, sence long befo' yo' born-- I mean, Ise knowed de _family_ dat long; An' dees been _white_ folks, Marster--dee han 's white ez young corn-- An', ef dee want to, couldn' do no wrong.