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Updated: May 8, 2025
I tell you somp'in' 'bout Seventh Street in a minute. Couldn' nobody dat lived in Mer-ree-dian right after de Surrender ever forgit Seventh Street an' where it head to. "My pappy didn' go wid us to Mer-ree-dian. He b'longed to one set o' white people, you see, an' my mammy b'longed to another. He'd come to see us till de War started, den his folks jus' kinda went to Texas.
A fat, sleek, black Tabby lay asleep on the warm porch-rail; a gaunt, ungainly greyhound lay sunning himself on the door mat, and from inside somewhere came the sound of a canary's riotous song. The whole place breathed of home, and with a deep sigh of content, Peace lifted her great, brown eyes to the President's face and whispered, "It seems 'sif I b'longed already."
"Now, J'rome, you look at that old clock there; it was one that b'longed to old Peter Thomas. I bought it when he broke up an' went to the poorhouse. Doctor Prescott he foreclosed on him 'bout ten years ago you don't remember. He had his old house torn down, an' sowed the land down to grass. I s'pose I paid more'n the clock was worth, but I guess it kept the old man in snuff an' terbaccer a while.
"I was born in Russell County, Alabamy, an' can tell you 'bout my own mammy an' pappy an' sisters an' brudders. "Mammy's name was Darkis an' her Marster was John Bussey, a reg'lar old drunkard, an' my pappy's name was John Robertson an' b'longed to Dr. Robertson, a big farmer on Tombigbee river, five miles east of Columbus. De doctor hisself lived in Columbus.
Me an' brudder Hamp b'longed to Marse George Newsome. Marse George was named afte' George Washington up in Virginny whar he come frum. Miss Margurite was our mistiss. My mammy? Well, I'll have to tell you now 'bout her.
De house burnt down, but de white folks built me a better one. Dey's good an' kin' to me. Dey say I's a good man. "My wife was six year old at de surrender. She b'longed to Marse Alf, but we was free when we married. We had sixteen chillun. Mos' of 'em lives 'roun 'here. Some in Newton, some in Scott, an' some in Texas. My wife died two years ago las' March.
Having thus authenticated her story beyond a doubt, Mammy hugged Tot a little closer and began: "Once 'pon er time dar wuz a beautiful gyarden wid all kind er nice blossoms, an' trees, an' brooks, an' things, whar all de little chil'en usen ter go and play, an' in dis gyarden de grass wuz allers green, de blossoms allers bright, and de streams allers clar, caze hit b'longed to er little Fraid, named Cheery."
There's no mystery about it; but as it b'longed to the poor child's father, I didn't want to speak about it before her." Dick placed an elbow on each knee, and, resting his forehead upon his hands, stared for some moments into the fire ere he again spoke. "It's many years now," said he in a low, sad tone, "since I left home, and but that's nothin' to do wi' the pint," he added quickly.
"It b'longed to the sutler at the Fort: for yee see, capting, as we left theere for a leetle bit o' a hurry, I couldn't lay my claws on my own ole forage-cap; so I took the hat in its place? an' thet's how I kim by the thing. But heer's a hat perhaps, mister, this heer'll pleeze ye better? Will it, eh?"
He sho' was a gent'man an' a powerful good doctor. "Us had a overseer on de place, but he warnt mean lak I'se heard o' other folks havin'. He was Mr. William Robinson. He was good to ever'body, both white an' cullud. Folks didn' min' workin' for him, 'cause, he spoke kin'. But dey dassen' sass 'im. He was poor. My pappy b'longed to his pa, Mr. John Robinson.
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