Through this vale, over mossy stones and snowy pebbles, chattered and meandered a crystal creek which joined other streams and emptied at Hayland marsh into Miles River.
The woodcock nested there, and in warm June days dozed under the shade of the fine old trees; and there the oriole sang a lullaby to her hanging cradle that rocked in the wind.
The tranquilness of the place was never disturbed save by the canticles of song birds and the almost nightly baying of some coon dog, for until of late the darkies never thought of going anywhere else to put up coons or ’possums than “Haylan’” Branch, as they called it.
Little Billy was not pious, and, if he knew his prayers, never said them. He doted on all sorts of sports, and, though a poor shot, entered all the turkey-shooting contests Thanksgiving Day. He chewed the best tobacco, danced with the dancers, played the banjo and jewsharp, always had a jug of molasses, a pair of gum boots, fiddle-strings and fiddle—all purchased with his coon, ’possum and muskrat money.
Scipio Jones’ experience had pretty well frightened off Miles River Neck hunters (see “Romp’s Mustake”), but of late darkies from Queen Anne’s and Caroline Counties had been hunting Hayland Branch, and Billy became jealous, wanting to be the only hunter, and sought to get his Mars Pinckney, who owned the meadow, to help him; and his success was more than he anticipated.
“Romp’s Mustake” had been talked about until the story had so grown that most of the darkies thought the cat a ghost, and among the converts was Scip’ Jones. The matter was discussed at bush meetings, corn-huskings and cake-walks; so after the christening of Mollie Jones’ son (Scipio Jonas Jones) at Zion Church, John Poney, Uncle Stephen Demby and Scip’ Jones were appointed to investigate Hayland Branch.
MARS PINCKNEY WHEN A BOY.
Billy was at the christening, of course, and wanted the ghost story to flourish, as it kept Talbot coon hunters from the branch. So he told his Mars Pinckney that “niggahs cum fum Kyarline an’ Queen Anne’s County ter hunt dat mash an’ branch, an’ ’skusin’ de Talbot hunters, he wouldn’ be s’prised ef dey som’ time, when dey hongry, teck de oysters fum de cove;” (Billy did)—“an’, young Marster, won’ you qualify me ter say dat de branch hanted pow’ful?”
His Mars’ Pinckney said with sternness: “Billy, that is not the truth! I want, however, to keep rogues and intruders out, and I will make and give you something that will scare every nigger out of my meadow from this day forward forevermore.”