Ole Mars an' Ole Miss

by Edmund K. Goldsborough

“Well, de nex’ big fight wuz at what dey call ‘Brice’s Cross Roads;’ dat’s de place Mars Bedford had uh spavin [fainted] fuh one hour. I fanned him consonly wid meh hat; he had de gre’tes’ condidence in me. At uh place call ‘Ripley’, a few days befo’ dis fight, uh farmer sant what dey call in Mississippi, mountain oysters ter Mars Bedford. Dey ain’ nuffin ter Eastern Sho’ oysters; some people say dat Mars Bedford eat too many an’ dey gib him de spavin, but I know dat ain’ so. I wuz waitin’ on de table an’ stan’in’ rite behin’ him, an’ arfter helpin’ Gen’l Beauford an’ Gen’l Rucker he stir dat soup fuh mo’n five minutes befo’ uh mountain oyster cum on top. Den I say, ‘Dar’s one, Marster,’ an’ he tu’n an’ gimmy uh look wid dem eagle eyes ub his’n dat meck me trimble. I know what meck him sick, an’ I’m gwine ter tell you. De fightin’ wuz so furisome dat Gen’l Forrest say ter his bodyguard, ‘Dismount; draw yo’ swo’ds an’ foller me,’ an’ when de blue coats seed Mars Bedford, ’way dey went. Well, he had so few men ’long side de blue coats, dat not uh man cud be spared ter go an’ git watah, so Mars Bedford felt so thusty an’ weary dat he drunk de powder watah fum de sponge bucket, an’ dat’s what gib him dat spavin.

“Honey, you ain’ but fifteen years ole, so Brer Sam’l say, an’ ef’n I wuz ter tell you how many wuz kilt an’ wounded in dat fight it might meck you see ghoses an’ witches in yo’ sleep, an’ keep you fum growin’. I hilt Gen’l Forrest’s hoss, Pigeon an’ two other hosses when he dismounted, an’ ’pears ter me de hosses looked ’stressed, da wuz so many kilt on bof sides. Now, dat’s all I’m gwine ter tell you erboutin battles.

“Young Marster, chillun musn’ know too much. Fuh instinct, yistiddy I wuz chinkin’ dis boat (an’ I gwine ter name huh Miss Emma) when Mars Jimmy’s chillun cum erlong gwine home fum school; dey clum all ober me, an’ pres’ny one ub ’em say, ‘Uncle Ezzy, what is uh vulgar fraction?’ Ub cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say, ‘Hit’s somethin’ little boys an’ girls musn’ talk erbout.’

Uncle Ezzy, what is a vulgar fraction?
Ub cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say hit’s somethin’ little boys an’ girls mus’n’ talk erbout.

“In May, 1865, we all s’rendered at Gainesville, Alabama. Mars Bedford gib me Pigeon an’ money ter cum home wid ef’n I wanted ter. Fuh fo’ days I hunted ’roun’ Gainesville ’mong de troops futto fine Mars Torm. I knew’d he lib near Rome, Georgia, an’, ub cose, he had ter ride de same road I did, so I wanted him ter let me ride ez far ez Mrs. Sanson’s wid him. Dem sweet people wuz so kine ter me I wuz gwine ter gib ’em Pigeon; mo’n dat, I wuz feard ter ride by mebsef in uh gray nuniform fum Gainesville ter Black Creek, erboutin two hunard miles. How-some-ebba, I ’cluded ter ride jes’ at night, an’ bless Gord, in erbout uh week I struck Black Creek ford horngry an’ tired. De birds wuz singin’, roostus crowin’, hens uh cacklin’ an’ de watah in de creek ez clear ez uh jewdrap, an’ Pigeon she jes’ nach’ly went in de watah kase she seed Mrs. Sanson’s house—wuz horngry an’ ve’y tired. I wuzn’ watchin’ de mule, an’ de fus’ thing I knewed Pigeon gib uh monstus buck an’ mos’ jumped of’n de ford in dat deep watah; den she tuck uh good look wid huh ears an’ went ’long—-an’ what you s’pose frighten’d dat mule? He! he! he! he! dar sot on uh plank ’tween two rocks Mars Torm (no wunna I cudn’ fine him) an’ Miss Emma fishin’ in de deep watah at de foot ub de ford. I meck bleebe I didn’ see ’em, an’ dey sut’ny didn’ see me; you see dey wuz fishin’. When I got ’cross de ford, Pigeon wuz so tired she stop an’ res’, an’ I watch to see ef’n de fish bitin’, kase I wuz al’ays fond ub fishin’, and I heah Mars Torm say, in words ez sorf ez dem riffles, ‘I lub dis creek; de watah so repose, an’ cums twissin’ in dis big pool gittin’ stiller an’ stiller tell it seems ter stop, res’ an’ be so happy. Oh, ef’n meh hyart wuz ez happy ez dis stream! It chatters, an’ sings, an’ smiles, an’ baves itself in de sunlight; it looks so contented, but I am so sad’—an’ he did look rejected. Den Miss Emma open huh cherrypin mouf an’ say raal sorf, ‘What’s de mattah; yo’ ole woun’ hurt you?’ An’ he say, ‘No; it’s de new woun’; I mus’ leabe ter-morrow, so I mus’ tell you dat yo’ sweet eyes, lubly hyart, beautiful, brabe soul has ’chanted me ev’y sence I fus’ saw you, an’ I wan’ ter arsk befo’ I go, dear Miss Emma, dat you will let me lub you. I don’ arsk you ter lub me.’ Jes’ de way I use ter cote—He! He! He! ’ceppin I use ter say:

“Roses red, wiolets blue,

Sugah sweet, me too.”

“Den Mars Torm spressify, ‘Fuh free monfs, dear hyart, I et yo’ bread an’ butter’—an’ I think he say mullasses—‘an’ ter-morrow I go ter seek meh fortune, an’ ef’n Gord prospers me, I shall arsk you to meck meh life ’chanted.’ Den she say, ez sorf ez de note ub uh martingale, ‘Thormas.’ Den he say, ‘Angel, did you say Thormas?’ An’ she say, ‘Yes; meh brabe an’ gentle’—an’ rite ’way ’pears ter me dey bof had on dat big sunbonnet ub her’n; an’ wussa yit, de two fishin’ rods wid deah reels wuz floatin’ down dat ribba, ober an’ ober de riffles. Dey wuz fogot when dem two chillun said yes ter one nerr.

“Well, ’pears ter me all ub uh sudden I got so sleepy dat I put meh ahms ’roun’ Pigeon’s neck (she wuz use ter dat) an’ went ter sleep. Bimeby I woke up wid uh curisome an’ mos’ quaresome feelin’. Bless de Lawd, I tho’t uh jack-uh-ma-lantern had got me, sho’. Dem chilluns wuz feelin’ so peart an’ sassy dat dey tied erroun’ meh neck uh live eel dey had kotch, an’ I wudn’ fogit er fogib ’em ter dis day ’ceppin dey wuz in lub an’ I wuz uh lissinin.’ Honey, I wuz skeard stiff. Bung shells wuz nuffin ter dat.