The black border

by Ambrose Elliott Gonzalez

A GULLAH’S TALE OF WOE

From the clay chimney of a negro cabin in the lower part of Hampton County the blue smoke curled and floated away in graceful rings. Within, the flames crackled cheerily in the generous fireplace, and a woman, surrounded by half a dozen children, was preparing the evening meal. The building was of logs, with moss and clay plastered into the crevices, and the roof which covered it was of clapboards. An humble dwelling it was, but big enough and warm enough to shelter old Scipio Wineglass and his family, and it represented—together with the few acres of land surrounding it—the net earnings of twenty-seven years of toil “sence freedum fus’ come een.”

The crop had been gathered and locked in the little corn crib that nestled up under the eaves of the cabin, and among the shucks that lay around the door a few pigs were rooting. As the twilight fell on this crisp December evening, the querulous bark of a squirrel came from the swamp, and away down the road the sound of a horse’s hoofs in a sharp canter became louder and louder, until, at last, a horseman rode up and asked for a drink of water, just as old Scipio came in from the woods with a log on his head and threw it down with a grunt.

Bringing a gourd of water out to the gate, he eyed the stranger closely as he drank, and as he took back the dipper he asked, “Maussuh, enty puhlicituh kin oughtuh able fuh read?”

“Certainly, solicitors are able to read. Why do you ask?”

“Well, suh, please Gawd, I gots nutt’n’ but trouble all dis yeah done gone. Een de fus’ place, jis’ ez soon ez I git de crap plant een de t’ree week een las’ Epprull, de waa’ment en’ t’ing biggin fuh onrabble en’ distruss me een me min’ ’tell, please de Lawd, I yent know Rebus frum Rebelashun! Soon ez I t’row de cawn seed een de groun’, de waa’ment biggin fuh agguhnize me. I didn’t had no coal taar fuh pit ’pun de cawn, en’ soon ez I pit’um een de groun’, de debble’ub’uh’ crow come ’long en’ pull up half de cawn, en w’at de crow ent pull up, de cut wurrum ketch, en w’at de cut wurrum lef’, de dry drought ’stroy’d him, en’, soon ez de dry drought gone’way, den my ole mare Silby, him haffuh gone en’ dead! Yaas’suh, dat old mare done gone en’ leddown en’ dead, en’ lef’ me wid de fiel’ full’uh j’int grass, en’ nott grass, en’ crab grass en’ t’ing, en’ I yent got a hawss fuh ride now ’cep’n’ ’tis dese two foot, but stillyet I praise de Lawd en’ glorify’um, ’cause, ef dat mare didn’t dead, de debble would’uh had Scipio Wineglass done roas’ en bu’n’up een de fiah ’fo’ dis time! Yaas’suh, one night een las’ Augus’ een de daa’k uh de moon, jis’ ez I biggin to drap ’sleep, I yerry one rap ’pun de do’, en’ w’en I tell de somebody fuh come een, one sperrit buss’ op’n de do’, en’ stan’ on ’e two foot een de middle uh de flo! W’en I shum wid dese two eye’, I bin dat skay’to’de’t’ dat I didn’t ’membuh fuh ax’um ’e name, but I mos’ t’ink ’e bin eeduh de ’Postle Paul, elseso Pollido’. En’ dis sperrit ’tarrygate me good fashi’n, en’ ’e say, sezzee, ‘Scipio’; sezzi, ‘Suh.’ Sezzee, ‘Scipio, you got a great load uh sin ’puntop yo’ soul!’ Sezzi, ‘Yaas’suh, I know dat, suh.’ Den ’e say, ‘Scipio, ef dat load uh sin ent tek off yo’ soul, you cyan’ specify w’en de great day come, en’ you will sho’ to ebbuhlastin’ dead en’ bu’n’up.’ En’ den I say ‘Yaas, suh, maussuh ainjul.’ En’ den I drap on dese two knee’ en’ pray de Lawd fuh tell de sperrit fuh tek de sin off my soul, en’ den de ainjul say ’e couldn’ tek de sin off my soul, ’cep’n’ ’e pit’um ’puntop somebody else’ own, en’ den I baig’um fuh pit de sin on ole Unk’ Hacklus Pinesett’ soul, ’cause Unk’ Hacklus lub fuh t’ief fowl en’ t’ing, en’ him is a nomannus nigguh, en’ de sperrit say ‘berrywell,’ en’ ’e wawm ’e han’ by de fiah en’ gone out de do’, en’, soon ez ’e gone, I yerry ole Silby duh kick en’ grunt een de stable, but I bin too twis’up in me min’ fuh pay ’tenshun to him, en’, een de mawnin’ soon, w’en I gone out to de stable fuh feed ole Silby, please de Mastuh, ’e stretch-out, dead! En’ stillyet, alldo’ ’e dead en’ gone, yet I glorify de Lawd en’ praise ’e name, ’cause I know ’e tek de sin off me en’ pit’um ’puntop ole Silby, en’ all de time I yerry’um binnuh grunt een de stable, dat sin binnuh ride’um roun’ en’ roun’, ’tell ’e kill’um. I wonduh w’ymekso dat sperrit ent tek dat ansuh to de Lawd de way I sen’um, ’cause I buy dat mare to Mistuh Larrissy’ place fuh seb’nty-fibe dollar, en’ Unk’ Hacklus Pinesett ent wut’ a t’ree cent, stillyet de Lawd tek ole Silby, en’ lef him!

“Now, w’en Silby dead, I tek de hoe een me han’ en’ lay by de crap, en’, tengk Gawd, I mek fo’teen bushel’ uh cawn een dis same fiel’. Well, suh, w’en de cawn done lay by, I git ’long berrywell ’tell Mingo Puhlite’ son Sambo t’ief’ de fattes’ hog I got. Een Septembuh munt’, soon ez I ketch’um, I tek’um to de Trial Jestuss, en’ him sen’um to Hamptun jail.

“Now, w’en de trial come in de fall, Sambo git Mistuh Tillin’ass’ to refen’ she, en I gone to Mistuh Muffey, de puhlicituh, en’ tell’um all ’bout de t’iefin’. Den Mistuh Tillin’ass’ squizzit me en’ ax me all kinduh squesehun, en’ Mistuh Muffey squizzit Sambo en’ ax him all kinduh squesehun, en den ole Judge Hutsin him put on one black frock same lukkuh ’ooman, en’ him ax me all kinduh squeschun, en’ den Mass Billy Causey, de Claa’k ub de Co’t, tek de eenditement (dat w’at ’e call de papuh) een ’e han’, en’ ’e tu’n’um upside down en’ ’e read’um wrong, en’ den Mistuh Tillin’ass’ tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down en’ him read’um wrong, en’ den Judge Hutsin tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down en’ him read’um wrong, en’ den, please Gawd, Mistuh Muffey, de puhlicituh, Him tek de papuh en’ tu’n’um upside down en’ Him read’um wrong! Yaas’suh, de jury bin all buckruh’, en’ all dem care ’bout is fuh sen’ one nigguh to de penetenshus fuh eb’ry hog w’at git t’ief, en’ de Claa’k ub de Co’t git my name en’ Sambo’ name tanglety’up on de papuh, en’, fus’ t’ing I know—’cep’n’ dat Sambo own to t’ief de hog fuh git meat fuh eat to de passobuh preachin’ w’ich was hol’ to Sistuh Frajuh’ house—please Gawd, de buckruh’ would’uh sen’ me to de penetenshus fuh t’ief me own hog! En’ dat de reason, suh, w’ymekso I ax wedduh puhlicituh kin read, ’cause I didn’t bex so much ’bout Mistuh Tillin’ass’, en’ Mass Billy Causey, en’ ole Judge Hutsin wid ’e black frock sukkuh ’ooman, but I did t’ink dat Mistuh Muffey, de puhlicituh, could’uh read.”