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Updated: June 28, 2025
I hope you are the same, but you are not. Given a few hundred white nighties for us to wear by day, and a dozen or two dagoes playing on harps, and this would be my idea of Heaven.
We were in the launch, passing one of the viaducts of the new railroad, and Aunt Varina exclaimed, 'What a wonderful piece of work! 'Yes, put in my husband, 'but don't let Sylvia hear you say it. 'Why not? she asked; and he replied, 'She'll tell you how many hours a day the poor Dagoes have to work. That was all; but I saw Aunt Varina give a quick glance at me, and I saw that she was not fooled by my efforts to make conversation.
"Well ma'am, night fo' las', dat Joe Cribbins, dat one-eye nigger what sell de policy tickets, an's done be'n havin' de smallpox, he crope out de back way, when's de gyahd weren't lookin', an', my Lawd, ef dey ain't ketch him down in dat Dago cellar, tryin' sell dem Dagoes policy tickets! Yahah, honey!" Mrs. Morton threw back her head to laugh. "Ain't dat de beatenest nigger, dat one-eyed Joe?"
"Naturally, we suspected the cook, and Pango, the Dagoes, and the surviving Sou'wegian were for tossing him overboard; but the rest of us wouldn't have it. There was no evidence of poison, and as we'd done no killing so far in our piratical venture, we'd better keep clear of it now, with so much at stake.
Constable Foss visited the camp of a gang of Italian railroad labourers near Hawkins and was reported to be bringing several indignant "dagoes" over to Windomville to see if Courtney or the two ladies could identify them. He was very careful to choose men with thick black moustaches. Bright and early, Courtney repaired to the house on the hill. His progress was slow.
He said he made a great discovery: that the "black people" against whom they had struck in 1894 were not to blame! "I tell you," said he, "we found when we got started that them black people we used to call 'em dagoes were just workin' people like us and in hell with us. They were good soldiers, them Eyetalians and Poles and Syrians, they fought with us to the end."
"I knew you were a traveler!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Maybe you saw the exact spot." "What spot?" "Why, where he fell among thieves and was left half dead. And then the good Samaritan went to him, and bound up his wounds, and poured in oil and wine was that olive oil, do you think?" He shook his head slowly. "I reckon you got me there. Olive oil is something the dagoes cooks with.
And what does this stand for in terms of the antiquity of man? Thousands of years? We do not know exactly; but say rather hundreds of thousands of years. There is a story about the British sailor who was asked to state what he understood by a Dago. "Dagoes," he replied, "is anything wot isn't our sort of chaps."
"I guess that's what made me sassy to you this morning!" It was his sole apology. They both laughed, accepting it as such, and Adelle, to shift the topic, remarked, "You've got a nice place up here for your house." The mason wrinkled his lips against the suggestion of sentiment. "The shack's all right kind of fur to tote supplies over the hill. But I can't stand those dagoes and their dirty ways.
She said she knew dad was all tired out, and needed rest, and she would stay with him, and keep him cheered up; so I left them and went off with one of the dagoes, to slide down hill on some flowing lava, and pick up specimens. Well, sir, I wish I could get along some way without telling the rest of this sad story, but if I am going to be a historian I have got to tell the whole blame thing.
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