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Updated: June 20, 2025
This answer was given with a jolly laugh as the old man leaned on his pick and looked at me. "You looked so much like home-folks that I felt like speaking to you. Where are you from?" "From Virginny, sah!" "Where's you from, Massa?" "I was brought up partly in Virginia too?" "Wbar'bouts, in Virginny?" "Mostly in Lynchburg." "Lynchburg! dat's whar I was fotched up.
He'd done sold, Rocket is. I hearn him knocked down, and then I comed to tell you, an' he looked so handsome, too, caperin' like a kitten. They done made me show him off, for he wouldn't come for nobody else, but the minit he fotched a sight of dis chile, he flung 'em right and left. I fairly cried to see how he went on."
"We praises, chile, praises de Lord, and den we prays too." "What's that?" "Laws, chile, ye don't know noffin. Whar's ye been fotched up all yer days? Why, when we wants any ting we can't git oursef, nohow, we ask de Lord to gib it to us dat's what it is." That first day and evening in Tidy's new home was a memorable day in her experience.
Presby, who never called Cyd by any other name; "don't you want to own a boat yourself?" "I does own one, sar," replied he. "De Isabel jus as much mine as Dan's." "I was going to set you up in business for yourself, Possifus." "No, sar, tank ye; can't leabe Dan, no how; he fotched dis chile out of de swamp, and I don't run no popposition to him." "That's right, Possifus; stick to your friends."
My interest in the little affair was so great, that I pushed the door ajar, and stood with me mouth and eyes wide open. It wasn't long before I began to get worried, for, from the way things looked, the owld lady was getting the upper hand. I was thinking I would have to sail in and lend a helping hand, when Bridget fotched the old lady a whack that made her throw up the sponge.
Last Christmas eve I fotched a jug of moonshine from the Cliff House Still and hid it in the loft. You know that boy found out whar I hid her and when I went after hit, hit was nigh gone. He was snoozing away on the hay. When he come to, his head didn't hurt narry bit. That once I shore split his pants for him with a hame strop.
"Solomon," said the Colonel severely, "what are you trying to say? Talk sense." "Sho's yuh bohn, Marse Cunnel; it's de libbin' truf I's tellin' yuh. Dat ha'nt has fotched dat chicken right outen de oven, an' it's vanished in de air." "You go out and bring that chicken in and don't let me hear another word." "I cayn't, Marse Cunnel, 'deed I cayn't. Dere ain't no chicken dere." "Very well, then!
'Twas Richard Jennifer who first broke the noontide silence of the mountain top, voicing the query which was thrusting sharp at all of us. "Now how in the name of all the fiends did they make shift to burrow from yonder bag-bottom into this?" he would say. "Ez I allow, that's jest what the good Lord fotched us here for to find out," was Yeates's rejoinder.
"How did you find your way here?" asked Anne. "That is what I have been wondering," nodded Grace. "Ah didn'. A feller kotched me when Ah runned, an' held mah mouf shut so Ah couldn't holler. Den he-all fotched me heah. Den he gib me er kick an' says, 'Gwine on, yuh lazy niggah, but look out fer de guns. Dem folks kin shoot. Dat's why Ah hollered when Ah kim inter de camp," finished Washington.
“The Wild Hunter,” replied Pete gravely. “He bathed my head with some sort of good smelling stuff and, though I am as heavy as a dead buffaler, toted me to camp; he ’lowed that I was all sort of shuk up and a little hazy; he fixed my blanket, then he fotched you in on his shoulders just as if you was a dead antelope, fixed you up with bandages torn from handkerchiefs in your pocket, gave you a drink which you didn’t seem to appreciate, but just swallowed like you were asleep, then he laid you out.
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