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Den dey say, "Dat ole Lyon? Dat ole Ablishner? Dat ole scoun'el what want to whip de Souf? To free de niggas 'mongst us?" I say, "Don' know 'bout dat. Massa Lyon not say nuffin to me 'bout dat." Den dey sajr, "Whar you come from, anyhow?" I tole 'em I comed from up in de State whar Massa Daniel comed from.
"Perhaps nothing," answered 'Liab, "but yourself. You must not do it." "Pshaw, now," said Nimbus, " what sort o' way is dat ter hev things? I tell ye what orter been done, 'Liab; when de law married us all, jes out of han' like, it orter hev named us too. Hit mout hev been done, jes ez well's not. Dar's old Mahs'r now, he'd hev named all de niggas in de county in a week, easy.
“You want to see dem niggas sneaking ’way,” resumed Pierson, “dey knows Grégor gwine fo’ce ’em drink; dey knows Chartrand gwine make it hot fu’ ’em art’ards ef dey does. Grégor he spie me jis’ I’se tryin’ glide frough de doo’ an he call out, ‘Yonda a gemmen f’um Place-du-Bois; Pierson, come heah; you’se good ’nough tu drink wid any w’ite man, ’cept me; you come heah, take drink wid Mr.
"Den all de week will be as gay As am de Chris'mas time; We'll dance all night and all de day, And make de banjo chime And make de banjo chime, I tink, And pass de time away, Wid 'nuf to eat and nuf to drink, And not a bit to pay! So shut your mouf as close as deafh, And all you niggas hole your breafh, And make de banjo chime."
I tole him dat dey let 'em sell whisky an' terbacker an' calico and sto' clo'es an' ebbery t'ing dat a nigger hed ter buy, jest all times o' day an' night; an' I jest bleeved dat de whole t'ing war jest a white man's trick ter git niggas in de chain-gang.
See 'im forrard with axe, he knock off de gratin' ob de fore-hatch, he set all dem 'ere niggas free. It warn't no use, not bit good o' dem. Dey all got eat up by de shark, or dey go down straight to de bottom. Gorramity! how dey s'riek an' 'cream, an' jump overboard into de water!"
Dey'll turn ole Massa out to grass, And set de niggas free, And when dat day am come to pass We'll all be dar to see! So shut your mouf as close as deafh, And all you niggas hole your breafh, And do de white folks brown!
"Don't yer see, Miss Mollie," said the woman impatiently, "dat dey couldn't hab got 'em bofe togedder, 'cept Berry had found Nimbus fust?" "Well?" "Wal! Don't yer see dar would hev been a a terrible fight afore dem two niggas would hev gin up Bre'er 'Liab, let alone derselves? Yer must 'member dat dey had dat ar gun. Sakes-a-massy! Miss Mollie, yer orter hev hearn it dat night.
'E is in bed; but 'e say to tell you in dat lill troubl' of dis mawnin' it is himseff w'at is inti'lie wrong, an' 'e hass you poddon. 'E says sen' fo' Doctor Conrotte, but I din go fo' him; dat ole scoun'rel he believe in puttin' de niggas fre'." Frowenfeld said he would not consult professional advisers; with a little assistance from Raoul, he could give the cut the slight attention it needed.
“Oh; I ain’t ’fraid o’ any thing I can see an on’erstan’. I can han’le mos’ any thing thet’s got a body. But they do tell some mighty queer tales ’bout this lake an’ the pine hills yonda.” “Queer how?” “W’y, ole McFarlane’s buried up there on the hill; an’ they’s folks ’round yere says he walks about o’ nights; can’t res’ in his grave fur the niggas he’s killed.”
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