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Updated: May 12, 2025
We's settin' you free." "Sometimes dey takes a' tie a rope 'round you, and they starts ridin' off but dey dont go too fas' so you walks behind. Sometimes 'long comes another Yank on a horse an he arsk, 'Boy ain you tired? 'Yessir Boss. 'Well den you git up here behind me and ride some. Den he wrop de rope all 'round de saddle horn. Wrops and wrops, but leaves some slack.
We went to help him, an' was chucked inter de car, an' de door locked on us. We's bin tryin' to get out even since, me an' him has, yer Honor, but we couldn't make nobody hear us till we got here. We's nearly dead for food an' drink, yer Honor, an' we's honest, hard-working boys, an' dat's de truth if I die for it, yer Honor.
Even Aunt Timmie, the ebony font of wisdom, had but recently looked slyly at her, remarking: "'Foh long we's gwine to have a weddin' in a private cyar!" She now strolled on beneath the trees, beneath giant clinging wild grape and trumpet vines, to a circle of low spreading cedars, wherein lay a carpet of odorous tanbark. It was a favorite spot with her.
A few minutes later, as Miss Minerva sat rocking and thinking, the door opened and a lean, graceful, little figure, clad in a skinny, grey union suit, came into the room. "Ain't I a-goin' to say no prayers?" demanded a sweet, childish voice. "Aunt Cindy hear me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln say us prayers ev'y night sence we's born."
De time's come for men now, an' dis is men's wuk, an' we's gwine ter du it, too! D'yer see dat man dar, a-bleedin' an' a-groanin'? Blood's been shed! We's been fired into kase we wuz gwine ter exercise our rights like men under de flag ob our kentry, peaceable, an' quiet, an' disturbin' nobody! 'Fore God, Miss Mollie, ef we's men an' fit ter hev enny rights, we won't stan' dat!
Old Bob, the preacher, rises and fixes his eyes severely on the small fry near the door: "We's gwine to wushup de Lawd, an' I desiah dem chilluns to know dat no noise nor laffin', nor no so't o' onbehavin', kin be 'lowed; so min' wot you's 'bout dere. You yerry me?
We's talked about you a heap o' times, but we nevah 'spected to see you. We's nevah fo'git it, Miss Clare." One by one they showed their scars. There was very little clothing to hide them bullet wound and sabre stroke. The memory, dark and sad, stood out before us all. It was a moment not to be forgotten. Our purchases consisted of meat, mainly dry sides of pork, and grits, or hominy, for eating.
An' Aunt Cindy bought a bottle fer to take the kink outer her hair an' me an' Wilkes Booth Lincoln put some on us heads an' it jes' make mine curlier 'n what it was already. I's 'shame' to go roun' folks with my cap off, a-lookin' like a frizzly chicken. Miss Cecilia say she like it though, an' we's engaged. We's goin' to git married soon's I puts on long pants."
"South America, dat's where it am, an' I's gwine wif Massa Tom. We's gwine t' git a monstrous big orchard plant." "Oh, yes; I've heard about them. Well, I hope you get all the oranges and bananas you want. South America, eh? I suppose along the Amazon river, where they have crocodiles forty feet long, that are always hungry." "No, sah! No crockermiles fo' me!
But he answered, as sharply as he knew how: "I's goin' a-fishin'. Any ob youah business?" "Where'd you learn to fish?" the stranger asked. "Down South? Didn't know they had any there." "Nebbah was down Souf," was the surly reply. "Father run away, did he?" "He nebber was down dar, nudder." "Nor his father?" "'T aint no business o' your'n," said Dick; "but we's allers lived right heah on dis bay."
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