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Updated: June 26, 2025
Dat way, I guess I went to wuk when I wuz about 7 or 8 yeahs ol'. Chillen is sma't now, an dey hafto be taught to wuk, but dem days us culled chillen wuk; an we had a good time wukin' fo dey wernt no shows, no playthings lak dey have now to takey up day time, no'em." "Nevah no church fo' culled people does I 'member in Natchez.
He tu'nt out ter be a sma't man, en l'arnt de blacksmif trade; en Kunnel Pen'leton let 'im hire his time. En bimeby he bought his mammy en sot her free, en den he bought hisse'f, en tuk keer er Sis' Becky ez long ez dey bofe libbed." My wife had listened to this story with greater interest than she had manifested in any subject for several days.
Lately he was gaining some reputation as a political boss. "Hit do beat all," Barnaby repeated, shaking his heavy head reflectively, and making a grimace both comical and hideous. "Dat young man desput sma't and cunnin', sho's yo' bo'n he is. He done been foolin' wid dem niggahs a'ready."
"Now, dis yer Hannibal was a monst'us sma't nigger, en w'en he got rid er dem so' feet his min' kep' runnin' on 'is udder troubles.
"Not to ride on fuhthah. It ain't mo' than fifteen miles to Frankfort. The place is plum full of the Johnnies. I seed 'em thah myself. Ki'by Smith, an' a sma't gen'ral he is, too, is thah, an' so's Bragg, who I don't know much 'bout.
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