“And who is ‘Phil,’ and what on earth is he doing, and especially how is he doing it?”
“He is calling the hogs, and you may be sure he is doing it well. If you’ll walk up to that skirt of woods, you can put your other questions to him in person. He is not shy or difficult of approach. Introduce yourself—be sure to tell him whose son you are.”
My uncle’s face wore an amused smile as I walked away. He could imagine the sequel.
In the edge of the timber stood a tall, broad-shouldered, brawny negro man. He was singularly ugly, but with a countenance so full of good humor that I was irresistibly attracted by it from the first. At his feet stood great baskets of corn, and around him were gathered a hundred or more swine, busily eating the breakfast he was dispensing. As I approached, his hat—what there was of it—was doffed. I was greeted with a fabulous bow, apparently meant to be half a tribute of respect, and half a bit of buffoonery, indulged in for my amusement or his own.
“Good mawnin’, young mastah. I hope I see you well dis mawnin’.”
“Thank you, I’m very well,” I replied. “You’re Phil, I suppose?”
“You’re right, fo’ dis wunst, young mastah. Ise Phil toe be sho’. Ax der hawgs—dey done know me.”
“Well, Phil, I’m glad to make your acquaintance. I’m your mas’ Jo’s son.”
“What dat? Mas’ Jo’s son! Mas’ Jo’s son!! MY MAS’ JO’S SON!!! Lem me shake han’s wid you, mastah. Jes’ to think! Mas’ Jo’s son! An’ Phil done live to shake han’s wid mas’ Jo’s son. Why, my young mastah, I done raise your father! Him an’ me done play ma’bles togeder many and many a time. We was boys togeder right heah, on dis very identumcal plauntation. Used to go in swimmin’ togeder, an’ go fishin’ an’ steal de mules out’n de stables Sundays, an’ ride races wid ’em and git cotched, too, sometimes when ole mastah git home from chu’ch. My Mastah. But Ise glad to see yer.”
All this while the great giant was wrenching my hand well-nigh off, laughing and weeping alternately, and stamping with a delight which could find no other vent than in physical exertion. I was naturally anxious to divert the conversation into some other and less personal channel, and managed to do so presently by asking Phil to give me a specimen of his hog-calling cry, which I wished to hear near at hand. That performance over, we talked again. I began by saying I had never heard any one call hogs in that way before.