"She is giving testimony in this case," sarcastically answered the counsel for the accused.
"My good woman, we don't want to hear any of your private history previous to the time of your first landing on these shores. We want to know what happened since. Your name, you say, is Catherine Mortimer—"
"Hi, young marse, what I tell you? Sure it is; Catherine Mortimer, 'spectable widder 'oman, 'cause Mortimer, poor man, died of 'sumption when he was 'bout forty-five years of age, which I hab libed ebber since in 'spectable widderhood, and wouldn't like to see de man as would hab de imperance to ax me to change my condition," said Katie, rolling herself from side to side in the restlessness of her intense self-consciousness.
"Catherine Mortimer, do you understand the nature of an oath?" inquired the clerk.
"Hi, young marse, what should 'vent me? Where you think I done been libbin all my days? You mus' think how I's a barbarium from the Stingy Isles!" replied Katie indignantly.
"I ask you—do you understand the nature of an oath, and I require you to give a straightforward answer," said the clerk.
"And I think it's berry 'sultin' in you to ax a' spectable colored 'oman any such question. Do I understan' de natur' ob an oaf? You might 's well ax me if I knows I's got a mortal soul to be save'! Yes, I does unnerstan' de natur' ob an oaf. I knows how, if anybody takes a false one, which it won't be Catherine Mortimer, they'll go right straight down to de debbil—and serbe 'em right!"
"Very well, then," said the clerk. And he put a small Bible into her hand and dictated the usual oath, which she repeated with an awful solemnity of manner that must have carried conviction of her perfect orthodoxy to the minds of the most skeptical cavilers.
"Your name, you say, is Catherine Mortimer?" said the clerk, as if requiring her to repeat this fact also under oath.
The repetition of the question nettled Katie.