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"Ching, you're a cruel wretch," I cried, as Mr Brooke looked at the man in utter disgust. "No; Ching velly glad see pilate bu'n up and dlown. Dleadful bad man, bu'n ship junk, chop off head. Kill hundleds poo' good nicee people. Pilate velly hollid man. Don't want pilate at all."
"W'en dinner-time come, en Hannibal wuz help'n' de cook kyar de dinner f'm de kitchen inter de big house, en wuz gittin' close ter de do' whar he had ter go in, his feet sta'ted ter bu'n en his head begun ter swim, en he let de big dish er chicken en dumplin's fall right down in de dirt, in de middle er de ya'd, en de w'ite folks had ter make dey dinner dat day off'n col' ham en sweet'n' 'taters.
"'How you git out de fier, Brer Tarrypin? sez Brer Fox, sezee. "'Sot en tuck it, Brer Fox, sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee. 'Sot en tuck it, en de smoke sif' in my eye, en de fier scorch my back, sez Brer Tarrypin, sezee. "'Likewise hit bu'n yo' tail off, sez Brer Fox, sezee.
Fac' is dat Chloe en Jeff wuz so int'rusted in one ernudder since Jeff be'n up ter de house, dat dey fergot all about takin' de baby-doll back ter Aun' Peggy, en it kep' wukkin fer a w'ile, en makin' Hannibal's feet bu'n mo' er less, 'tel all de folks on de plantation got ter callin' 'im Hot-Foot Hannibal.
"Oh! kik, Feddy, kik; put it out kik, or it'll bu'n down all 'e house," cried little May, eagerly, as she tossed back a cataract of golden curls from her flushed countenance, and worked away at the handle of the bucket with all her might. "All right!" shouted Fred, who had been sent to play with the Rosebud that he might be out of the way.
"W'en dinner-time come, en Hannibal wuz help'n de cook kyar de dinner f'm de kitchen inter de big house, en wuz gittin' close ter de do' what he had ter go in, his feet sta'ted ter bu'n en his head begun ter swim, en he let de big dish er chicken en dumplin's fall right down in de dirt, in de middle er de ya'd, en de w'ite folks had ter make dey dinner dat day off'n col' ham en sweet pertaters.
But they were not talking about texts and fashions. Uncle Guy heard the following as he drew nigh: "Bu'n um! Bu'n um! Good fer nuthin' broke down ristercrats an' po' white trash. Ef de men kayn't git gun we kin git karsene an' match an' we'll hab um wahkin' de street in dere nite gown." Judge Morse passed by, turned his head to catch as much as possible of what was being spoken.
Presently they began to sing improvising: Pull him t'roo! Pull him t'roo huh! Saw him to de heart. Gwine to have Christmas. Yes, man! Gwine to have Christmas. Yes, man! Gwine to have Christmas Long as he can bu'n. Burn long, log! Yes, log! Burn long, log! Yes, log, Heah me, log, burn long! Gib dis nigger Christmas. Yes, Lawd, long Christmas! Gib dis nigger Christmas. O log, burn long!
"Yes. Who are you, and where are my wife and child?" He was looking around in perplexity, when the door of a low closet under the kitchen sink was opened from within, and a woolly head was cautiously protruded. "Are you sho' dat's you, doctuh?" "Yes, Sally; where are" "An' not some w'ite man come ter bu'n down de house an' kill all de niggers?" "No, Sally, it's me all right. Where is my wife?
They rushed away to the sugar-works, yelling: "Git bagasse foo bu'n him out!" The household loaded all the firearms in the house, filled all vessels with water, and piled blankets here and there to fight fire. Then they made merry. The wife played her piano till after midnight. Whether moved by this show or not, the blacks failed to return, and next day the family escaped to the schooner.
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