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Updated: May 4, 2025
"You come from Captain Pendleton? What message does he send? How is it at the house? Has the coroner come? And oh! has any clue been found to the murderer?" anxiously inquired Mr. Berners. "No, marser, no clue an't been found to no murderer. But the house up there is full of crowners and constables, as if it was the county court house, and Cappin Pendulum managing everything."
While Herman Brudenell paused in expectancy, taper in hand, Jovial once more opened the door and looked in. "Jovial, is that the sound of carriage wheels, or do I only fancy so?" asked the young man, "Carriage wheels, marser, coming right to de house, too!" answered the negro. "Who on earth can be coming here at this hour of the night?
"May the Lord grant you a safe journey and a quick return," said Clement Pendleton, as he pressed the lady's hand and relinquished it. "And I sez Amen to that! Oh, Marser! Oh, Missus! come back to your poor old Joe soon! His heart will snap into ten thousand flinders, if you don't!" sobbed the poor negro, as he shook hands with his young master and mistress.
It is usual, before the departure of the boats, for an officer to examine every part of the vessel to see that no slave secretes himself on board. "Where are you going?" asked the officer of William, as he was doing his duty on this occasion. "I am going with marser," was the quick reply. "Who is your master?" "Mr. Johnson, sir, a gentleman in the cabin."
What de matter? Is you clean tuk leave of your senses to be a-comin' up here, dis hour of de night in snowstorm?" he cried. "Let me in, Jovial! Is Mr. Herman Brudenell at home?" gasped Nora, as without waiting for an answer she pushed past him and sunk into the nearest chair. "Marser Bredinell home? No, miss! Nor likewise been home since late last night.
Berners, going at once to the side of the rude vehicle where Sybil lay in so deep a sleep that she did not wake, even when he mounted the seat and started the springless cart jolting along the rough road. Joe led the saddle horses close behind, and so they went on. "Joe," said Mr. Berners, "I hope that all things go on well at home." "As well as can be, sir, marser and missus being away.
"I knows nothing about dat," said Pompey; "but when you get in de market, an anybody axe you how old you is, an you tell 'em forty-five, marser will tie you up an gib you de whip like smoke. But if you tell 'em dat you is only thirty, den he wont." "Well den, I guess I will only be thirty when dey axe me," replied the chattel. "What your name?" inquired Pompey. "Geemes," answered the man.
"Oh yes, marser, John de Baptist; I know dat nigger bery well indeed; he libs in Old Kentuck, where I come from." Carlton's gravity here gave way, and he looked at the planter and laughed right out. The old woman knew a slave near her old master's farm in Kentucky, and was ignorant enough to suppose that he was the John the Baptist inquired about.
De harvest am a ripenin' our Lord an' Marser say! Oh! ho! yo! dat ole coon, de serpent, ho! oh! Watch an' pray!" I have heard them sing such medleys with tears in their eyes, apparently fervid and rapt. A very gray old man would lead off, keeping time to the words with his head and hands; the mass joining in at intervals, and raising a screaming alleluja.
"Why, marser! but you don't 'member that time I got mad long o' old Marse Bertram Berners, 'bout blaming of me for the sorrell horse falling lame; and I run away?" "No." "Well, I was gone three months, and not five miles from home all that time!
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