‘Dram, dram, little drop er dram sir,
Dram, dram, fetch erlong de dram.
Come, come, little Mister Whiskey,
Nigger mighty thirsty, wants er little dram.’
“When the corn pile was finished up, Mr. Waters took off his hat, made a polite bow, and thanked the hands for their good work.
“Then he said: ‘I’ll give you something to warm up your throats,’ and hands the big jug around; but he had good judgment, and would not give them enough to make them drunk. When the last one had taken his dram, John McGowan, that same active yellow man, and one of the Sale colored boys, caught Mr. Waters up on their shoulders, and away they went to the house with him, the hands following behind, singing the corn song. They set him down on the front door steps.
“Mrs. Waters was out in the hall, and said she had not laughed as much since Christmas. We were invited out to the big log kitchen, and there on a long table was spread the feast of all feasts. Boiled ham, barbecued shoat, sweet potatoes, coffee, pumpkin pies, ginger cakes, and cider; and when the supper was over, the young folks lit in to dancing. I didn’t care for dancing myself, so I sat around and talked to the sober-minded folks.
“It was an old saying, that day must never break on a corn shucking feast, or bad luck would fall on the next one. So before we broke up, the boys took Mr. Waters on their shoulders three times around the house, to the music of a good bye song. Just now I can’t exactly remember how that went, but it was a pretty tune.
“When we scattered out, each one going to his home, some up the road, down the road, and across the fields, the frosty night air rang with ‘Run, nigger run, patroler’l ketch you,’ etc.