“No, I am from the North.”
“Well, you mus’ uh had uh mammy fum de Souf, den.”
“Maybe, Uncle Stephen. And now tell me something about the Eastern Shore of Maryland, Talbot County, before the war.”
“Well, hunny, I cum outin’ uh fambly dat lib wha you see dem tall elm, hoss chestnut an’ big oak trees. De place name Otwell. I wuz bo’n da—and so wuz meh fava an’ his fava. Meh fava’s name wuz Phil Demby, an’ Pawson Demby, de ’stinguis’ Babtis preecher, is meh brudder, an’ name arfter meh fava. None of my fambly wuz free niggahs, er ’longed ter po’ white trash. My muvva she named Phillis. Dey called huh Arnt Phillis; an’ she libbed at Otwell, an’ wuz Mars Nickey’s favorite cook. All de niggahs on dat plantation slep’ wid sheets on deah beds. Mars Nickey didn’ hab, an’ he wouldn’ hab no common niggahs. When de oberseers cum ter de po’ch ter git deah orders, dey al’ays stood wid deah haids unkivvered, rain er no rain; dey know’d deah place. An’ Chrismus Ole Mars gib all de serbents toddy, but ef’n dey get tipsy, he whup ’em sho’! Meh muvva, Phillis, wuz de fus’ cook at Otwell. Chile, she wuz uh cook! but one ub de slow-paced sort. Nowdays dey cook uh ham in fo’ hours; dem days it tuck meh muvva two days, an’ dem wuz Mars Nickey’s orders.
“How-some-eber ev’yt’ing wuz slow in dem days. Dey use ter teck uh gre’t big silver tank dat hilt boutin uh gallon, er mebby two gallons, an’ fill it wid mint julip, an’ it had two gre’t big han’les jes’ like ram’s hohns on de sides. An’ Saul an’ Damon—dey wuz de house serbents—dey meck de julips (I use ter holp when dey ve’y busy, an’ tase de julip an’ see ef’n it sweet nuff), an’ when de gemmen cum in fum fox hun’in’, Saul an’ Damon wud pars ’roun’ de tank; an’ you kyant tell how slow dey wud drink fum dat tank. An’ when dinner time cum it tuck ’em boutin fo’ hours, sometimes mo’n fo’, an’ sometimes all nite futto eat dinner. Dey riz bees, an’ dey meck peach brandy, an’ dey drink what you call peach an’ honey. How cum dey don’ drink peach an’ honey dese days? Why, de ve’y bref ub it mecks you feel nice.
“Fo’ de wah all de hom’ny wuz bet in uh gre’t big morter; de hom’ny dey mecks nowdays is nuffin ter hit. All de wheat wuz cut wid uh cradle, an’ when dey all in uh row swingin’ deah cradles, sayin’ nuffin an’ lookin’ so full ub condidence, it remin’ you ub de fus’ ub de flood tide in de creek—mus’ go on. Uncle Reuben al’ays tuck de haid row. Swing he cradle same ez Sampson. Steambo’ts cum once uh week dem days, an’ dey tuck all day ter cum, an’ dey stay all nite, an’ go ’way nex’ mawnin’. Now dey cum in fo’ hours, an’ fo’ er five uh day.
“People ebin dance slower dem days; use ter dance de min-e yet. Mars Tilghman co’tin’ Mis Henrietta, an’ he bow ter huh same ez uh tall poplar when de win’ blow hyard; an’ ez fuh Miss Henrietta, she jes’ ez graceful ez uh putty kitten, an’ stylish ez uh unbroken thurrybred colt. Ef’n de flo’ had uh bin kivverd wid de hunard-leaf roses, an’ she wuz uh dancin’, she wudn’ mash one. Many uh time, thoo de wintah, I’b seed ’em dance. I’d bin de haid waitah at ‘Otwell’ ef’n I hadn’ bin so waluble futto breck de steers an’ colts. Ole Mars’ he had de gre’tes’ confluence in meh ’rasity, an’ I wuz al’ays ’roun’ de kitchen, kase, ez I befo’ tole you, meh Muvva Phillis de haid cook. Mam Juby, she de secon’ cook, and ’sis’ mammy.
“Why, hunny, ebin de peaches an’ watahmillions wuz bigger dem deys, kase dey didn’ grow up so fars; dey tuck deah time; an’ ez fuh oysters an’ fish, why dem days you cud walk out in dat cobe not fudder dan yo’ nees, an’ git all de oysters you wan’, an’ set rite at dat stake an’ pull in de fish tell you go ’stracted, an’ de wile ducks quackin’ all ’roun’ you. Dat’s de stake Leetle Billy wuz uh fishin’ at when de shirk pull him ove’bode. Leetle Billy wuz uh ornry niggah, al’ays playin’ de fiddle, mus’rattin’, tellin’ ghose stories, fishinin’ on Sunday, an’ dancin’. Mo’n dat, he nebber ’longed ter de chuch, an’ it wan’ no use ter talk ter him. How-some-eber, ev’ybody liked Billy; al’ays peart, al’ays hab ’baccy in he pocket, an’ gib lib’ly. Billy wuz uh qua’ chap; he wan’ lazy, but he didn’ lub hyard wuck. Well, he tied he bote at dat ve’y stake, an’ jes’ fuh fun, befo’ de tide tu’n an’ de fish bite, he put uh gre’t big sorf crab on he hook, flung de bait out, tied de line ’roun’ he leg, tuck his fiddle out an’ ’mence ter play jigs an’ sich like. Bimeby he wen’ uh sleep, an’ uh shirk cum ’long an’ tuck dat bait, pulled po’ Billy ove’bode, an’ Billy wen’ uh skeetin’, bobbin’ up an’ down like uh passel ub ’scovey ducks bavin’ deah sef, an’ prayin’ fas’ ez he cud git de watah fum he mouf. Billy say he wuz jes’ prayin’ dat de fiddle wudn’ git los’, but Cap’n Stitchberry sez he nebba heahd uh moanah pray mo’ pow’ful. Mo’n dat, ef’n Cap’n Stitchberry hadn’ cum ’long in he pungy wid uh load ub oyster shells, an’ kotch Billy when he wuz fai’ly sailin’ ’long, de shirk wud hab ’stroyed Billy. Mars Innis Randolph says, ‘Dey kyant tell whedder de niggah wuz uh fishinin’ er de fish wuz uh niggerin’.’ Dat’s de way people gits talked boutin dat fishes on Sunday.
I’d bin de haid waitah at “Otwell” ef’n I hadn’ bin so waluble futto breck de steers an’ colts. Ole Mars had de gret’s confluence in meh ’rasity.