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"Braiv Soljer: I doant know who you air, or whair you may bee; I only know that you air serving your country, and that is enuf to entitle to the gratitude and afl'ection of every man and woman who has the breath of patriotism in their bodies.
When you tell him you are the slave of a rich man like Judge Custis, he'll jump at the chance to do the Judge a favor, an' tell you that you do right to go back to your master. That's whair he's a liar, Mary so he'll scratch your lie off." "They'll turn me back at Princess Anne, and wont know me, maybe." "Not if you do this, Mary.
Only a few years ago, when I was a boy, people around yer was a-freein' of their niggers, and it was understood that slavery would a-die out, an' everybody said, 'Let the evil thing go. But niggers began to go up high; they got to be wuth eight hunderd dollars whair they wasn't wuth two hunderd; and all the politicians begun to say: 'Niggers is not fit to be free.
Eh? Wat you tink von dose ting?" "I think that's a crazy-looking monkey-wrench you've got there," observed Annixter, glancing at the instrument in Hooven's hand. "Ach, dot wrainch," returned Hooven. "Soh! Wail, I tell you dose ting now whair I got 'em. Say, you see dot wrainch. Dat's not Emericen wrainch at alle.
I kin run you to market an' git my price for you!" The bay sailor took off his hat. "Look at me!" he continued; "by smoke! look on my brown skin and black eyes an' coal black hair. Whair did they come from? They come from Greece, whair Leonidas an' Marky Bozarris and all them fellers came from: that's what my daddy said. He know'd better than me.
"Nigger buyer," he said, "if you are around this town from now till midnight, or after midnight to-morrer, Sunday night, ole Meshach Milburn will have you in that air jail till Spring. By smoke! he'll find out yer aunty's cedents, whair you goin, whair you been, what's yer splurge, an all yer hokey pokey. You've struck the Ark of the Lord this time ole Milburn's Entailed Hat!
The idea crossed Levin's mind that the scullion of Patty Cannon must have gone crazy. "Whair did you pick up them words, Cy?" Levin asked. "Hokey-pokey!" answered Cy James, with a more mysterious and impressive sufflation; "Hokey-pokey! By smoke! and Pangymonum, too!" "Why, Cy! what do you mean? Jimmy Phoebus never swars but in them air words. Do you know Jimmy Phoebus?"
He made Levin sail her up to the landin' down yer below town, whair Levin's father, Cap'n Dennis, launched the Idy fifteen year ago. I left Levin thar, and he said, 'Jack, I'm goin' off with the nigger trader to git some of his money fur mother!" "Poor miserable boy!" Phoebus exclaimed; "he's led off easy as his pore daddy. The man he's gone with, Miss Vesty, is black as hell.
"I've been a drunkard, Captain," Levin sobbed again, in the confidence of a child; "that's whair all our misery comes from. I've got nothin' but my boat, an' people hires it to go gunnin' an' fishin' and spreein', and they takes liquor with 'em, an' I drinks. God help me; I never will agin, but die first!" "Are you not afraid to lean on me?" lisped Van Dorn. "No, sir."
"Maybe I'll git killed up yer in this Pangymonum," Jimmy reflected; "an' though I 'spose it don't make no difference whair you plant your bones, I don't want to grow up into ole pines. Good, big, preachin' kind of pines, that's a little above the world, an' says 'Holy, rolley, melancho-ly, mind your soul-y' I could go into their sap and shats fust-rate.
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