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Updated: May 22, 2025
Your mother writes much better than you do yourself, Roger." "That is owing to her once having carried chain, as she would say herself. Has Martha written to you?" "Of course. Sweet little Patty and I are bosom friends, as you know." "And does she say anything of the Indian and the negro?" "Jaaf and Susquesus? To be sure she does. Both are living still, and both are well.
It is scarcely necessary to say that Jaaf belonged to a school by which the term of "coloured gentleman" was never used.
I had reason to know afterwards that the tablet of his memory retained its records better. "What friends have you with you to-day, Jaaf," inquired my grandmother, inclining her head towards us pedlars graciously, at the same time; a salutation that my uncle Ro and myself rose hastily to acknowledge.
But all was just as much a mystery and matter of conjecture, now we were drawing near to the middle of the nineteenth century, as it had been when our forefathers were receding from the middle of the eighteenth! To return to the negro. Although Jaaf had momentarily forgotten me, and quite forgotten my parents, he remembered my sister, who was in the habit of seeing him so often.
I was delighted with the beaming, laughing eyes of Mary Warren in particular, though she said nothing. "I cannot say I agree with you, Jaaf," returned my smiling grandmother. "The Trackless bears his years surprisingly; and I think I have not seen him look better this many a day than he is looking this morning.
Now, of the two, the Indian was much the finest relic of human powers, though he was less uneasy and more stationary than the black. But the propensity to see the mote in the eye of his friend, while he forgot the beam in his own, was a long-established and well-known weakness of Jaaf, and its present exhibition caused everybody to smile.
My uncle had turned away, I dare say to conceal the tears that started to his eyes, and Jaaf followed towards the door of the hut, whither my uncle moved, in order to do the honours of the place. This left me quite alone with the Indian. "Why no kiss face of grandmodder?" asked the Onondago, coolly and quietly. Had a clap of thunder broken over my head, I could not have been more astonished!
"Sago," returned the Indian, making a dignified and even graceful forward gesture with one arm, though he did not rise. "Weadder good Great Spirit good, dat reason. How squaws do?" "We are all well, I thank you, Trackless. Good morrow, Jaaf; how do you do, this fine morning?"
But here comes Jacob with his letters and papers I declare, the fellow has a large basket-full." Jacob, a highly respectable black, and the great-grandson of an old negro named Jaaf, or Yop, who was then living on my own estate at Ravensnest, had just then entered, with the porter and himself lugging in the basket in question. There were several hundred newspapers, and quite a hundred letters.
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