THE DOCTOR DIDN’T “EXCEED”
Down upon the banks of the turbid Toogoodoo—one of the many creeks that indent the seacoast of Colleton County—lives June Middleton, a negro of the old school. As a body servant, he followed his master through Virginia “eenjurin’ uh de wah,” and, at its close, he received for his faithful service a few acres of the plantation upon which he had been reared. His little holding was as dear to him as was ever an entailed estate to an English noble, for, like all Southern negroes who had formerly belonged to families of culture and refinement, he shared the pride of his quondam owners in their ancestral acres and in their distinguished names.
The comfortable frame house, in which June had spent the days of his slavehood, had long since gone up in smoke, for no habitation of man or beast was too lowly to escape the torch of Sherman’s bummers, who, in 1865 illumined the “benighted South.” Upon its site now stands a clay-chimneyed log cabin, and by its door ebb and flow the waters of the creek from which June had for years drawn his sustenance. While he did not exactly “go down to the sea in ships,” he paddled his little “dugout” canoe out to the mouth of the stream at nearly every low tide during the winter season, and shared with the raccoons the little sharp-shelled bunch oysters that covered the exposed mud banks.
In the spring, when the yellow jessamine swung its golden cups above the forest undergrowth, and the silver stars of the dogwood gleamed from the chaparral, he mended his nets and lines in preparation for the summer campaign, and, later, when the woods were odorous with the blossoms of the elder and the wild grape, he commenced his nocturnal forays against the finny tribes. On dark nights, when the piping of the marsh hens apprised him that the tide was out, he took with him a boy to paddle his cranky little craft, and, standing in the bow, threw his cast-net with a “swish” far out into the schools of shrimp and “finger mullet.” His catch, together with an occasional string of whiting and yellowtail taken with the hook and line, he converted at a distant village into the necessaries of life.
For many years there had scarcely been a ripple on this placid life of June’s, save when a “puppy-shark” would occasionally make away with his bait, sending the whiting line whizzing through his fingers and almost upsetting the little craft with his impetuous rush, or when, two or three times a year, the itinerant preacher would visit his cabin to swap ecclesiastical platitudes for fresh fish.
On a bright day in early summer, old June sat at his doorstep basking in the sun and watching the glistening waters as they hurried by. Occasionally, a kingfisher would leave his station on a dead limb and, zig-zagging in his flight, would swoop down on some small fish that showed on the surface, and, having swallowed his prey, would leisurely return to his perch with a harsh note of triumph. The “preechuh on de sukkus” had just arrived to pay his periodical visit, and, scattering a group of half-naked children who were playing around the door, June brought out another three-legged stool and extended the hospitalities of the establishment.
“Reb’ren’,” said he, “I berry glad you come teday.”
“Why, bredduh, ’smattuh mekso?”
“Well, suh,” said June, whose philosophical patience and faith might put to the blush many who quarrel with their lot, “I yent min’ ’bout me myself, suh, ’cause I tengk Gawd fuh life en’ de bre’t’ w’at Him lef’ een dis body. My lady, w’ich dead een las’ Augus’, had de consumpshus en’ de remonia alltwo, en’ him en’ me alltwo nyuse to smoke de same pipe befo’ him dead, en’ I berry ’f’aid dat I gwine likeso fuh ketch de consumpshus en’ de remonia frum dat same berry pipe, en’, den, I got mis’ry een de back, en’ I sen’ dat leetle gal ’Riah—dat is my gran’—to de cross road sto’ fuh git fibe cent’ wut’ ub tup’mtime, but de buckruh tek de fibe cent frum de gal en’ t’row water een de tup’mtime, en’ w’en I rub de back wid de tup’mtime de tup’mtime couldn’ specify, en’ de mis’ry keep on jes’ de same, en’ I git so po’ly now dat I kin sca’cely git een de crik fuh ketch swimp en’ t’ing, en’ bittle git berry sca’ceful dese days, suh; but tengk Gawd fuh life, suh, tengk Gawd fuh life, en’ I berry glad you come, ’cause I want’uh ax yo’ ’pinion ’bout my gran’, Sooky. You know’um, suh, him is uh ’leben yeahs ole gal chile, en’ ’e git sick een de two week een las’ Jinnywerry done gone mek one yeah, en’ Doctuh Baa’nwell t’row one dollar en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’ wut’ uh med’sin een de gal, but somehow I don’t t’ink de Doctuh exceed so well wid de gal, ’cause, een de fus’ week een dis same Jinnywerry—befo’ de yeah well out—de gal tek wid mo’ mis’ry een ’e lef’ han’ foot, en’ w’en I sen’um back to de Doctuh ’e want’uh chaa’ge anodduh dolluh en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’ fuh t’row mo’ physic’ een de gal, en’ dat mek me bex, ’cause eb’rybody know ’tis too soon fuh t’row’way anodduh dolluh en’ sebenty-fi’ cent’, en’ likeso eb’rybody know dat Doctuh Baa’nwell couldn’ be exceed so well wid de gal, en’ ’e med’sin couldn’ specify, elseso ’e wouldn’ haffuh cyo’ one en’ de same gal two time een one en’ de same yeah!”