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Thet's Burnt Island on the port bow, and Cath'rine to starboard, both 'habited by Ailikoleeps. The open water beyant is Whale-boat Soun'; an' ef we kin git through the narrer atween, we may still hev a chance to show 'em our starn. Thar's a sough in the soun', that tells o' wind thar, an' oncet in it we'll get the help o' the sail."
Down in de cawn fiel' Hear dat mo'nful soun'; All de darkies am aweepin', Massa's in de col', col' ground. Every typical settlement in English America was in its first phase a bit of the frontier. Commerce was rudimentary, capital scant, and industry primitive. Each family had to suffice itself in the main with its own direct produce.
"Very simple," said Richling, with an unpleasant look of expectancy. "Mistoo Itchlin," resumed the other, "do you not fine me impooving in my p'onouncement of yo' lang-widge? I fine I don't use such bad land-widge like biffo. I am shue you muz' 'ave notiz since some time I always soun' that awer in yo' name.
The old man had, as Guy Little expressed it, "been prancin' an' pawin' aroun'," for an hour. Guy Little grinned like any cherub. "He has showed up," he chuckled, though he had meant to hold back the tidings teasingly. "He come in late las' night. You was asleep an' sleepin' soun', so " "He did, did he?" bellowed the old man. "Crept in like a damn' thief in the night, did he? Well, where is he now?
'Theh was a soun' of wibalwy by night, W'en 'Ush-'ark! A deep saun' stwike' ? Thaz by Lawd By'on. Yesseh. Well" The Creole lifted his right hand energetically, laid its inner edge against the brass buttons of his képi, and then waved it gracefully abroad: "Au 'evoi', Mistoo Itchlin. I leave you to defen' the city."
When I got all wore out wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos' broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become er me en de raf'. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun', de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, I's so thankful.
Hit'll go mighty hard wid me ter part fum all dat money, caze I ben years pun top er years er layin' uv it up, an' hit's er mighty, cumfut ter me er countin' an' er jinglin' uv it; but hit ain't doin' nobody no good er buried in de groun', an' I don't special need it myse'f, caze you gives me my cloes, an' my shoes, an' my eatin's, an' my backer, an' my wisky, an' I ain't got no cazhun fur ter spen' it; an' let erlone dat, I can't stay hyear fureber, er countin' an' er jinglin' dat money, wen de angel soun' dat horn, de ole nigger he's got ter go; he's boun' fur ter be dar! de money can't hol' 'im!
"I hab den, I hab hear someting." "What?" "Dat I doan know." "It's the frizzlin' o' those shark-steaks; or, maybe, some sea-bird squeaking up in the air." "No, neyder one nor todder. Hush! Massa Brace, I hab hear some soun' 'tirely diffrent, somethin' like de voice ob human man. You obsarb silence. Maybe we hear im agen."
"All de vittles what we got we e't 'fo' we started." "An' you speck ter retch dar safe an soun'? Whar's yo' ticket?" "Ain't got none. De man say ez how dey'd pass us thoo. I gin a man a fi'-dollar bill 'fo' I lef' Jonesboro, an' he sed dat settled it."
Bofe un um had kin 'mong de mo'ners, an' ef you ever see skufflin' an' scramblin' hit wuz den an' dar. Brer Jeems Henry, he mounted Brer Plato an' rid 'im over de railin', an' den de preacher he start down fum de pulpit, an' des ez he wuz skippin' onter de platform a hym'-book kotch 'im in de bur er de year, an I be bless ef it didn't soun' like a bung-shell'd busted.
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