“I put green branches on top of him and I bury him. And den w'en I'd done mark de place so I wouldn't never miss it w'en I come back fur him, I jes' teks my foot in my hand and I puts out fur home. I slip through de No'thern lines and I heads for ole Lyon County. I travels light and I travels fast and in two weeks I comes to it. It ain't been but jes' a little mo'n a year since we went 'way but Gar Almighty, gen'l'men, how dat war is done change ever'thing. My ole Miss is gone—she died de very day dat Marse Willie got killed, yas suh, dat very day she taken down sick and died—and her brother, ole Majah Machen is gone too—he's 'way off down in Missippi somewhars refugeein' wid his folks—and de rest of de niggers is all scattered 'bout ever'whars. De Fed'ruls is in charge and de whole place seem lak, is plum' busted up and distracted.
“So I jedge dat I is free. Leas'wise, dar ain't nobody fur me to repote myse'f to, an' dar ain't nobody to gimme no ordahs. So I starts in follerin' at my trade—I is a waggin maker by trade as you gen'l'men knows—and I meks money and saves it up, a little bit at a time, and I bury it onder de dirt flo' of my house.
“After 'while shore-nuff freedom she come and de war end, soon after dat, and den it seem lak all de niggers in de world come flockin' in. Dey act jess ez scatter-brained as a drove of birds. It look lak freedom is affectin' 'em in de haid. At fust dey don't think 'bout settlin' down—dey say de gover'mint is gwine give 'em all forty acres and a mule apiece—and dey jess natchelly obleeged to wait fur dat. But I 'low to my own se'f dat by de time de gover'mint gits 'round to Lyon County my mule is gwine be so old I'll have to be doctorin' him 'stid of plowin' him. So I keeps right on, follerin' my trade and savin' a little yere and a little dar, 'tell purty soon I had money nuff laid by fur whut I need it fur.”
There was a crude majesty in the old negro's pose and in the gesturing of his long arms. It was easy to conceive that his granddam had been an African Chieftainess. The spell of his story-telling filled the bare hall. The comb of white that ran up his scalp stood erect like carded wool and his jaundiced eyeballs rolled in his head with the exultation of his bygone achievement. In different settings a priest of ancient Egypt might have made such a figure.
“I had money nuff fur whut I needs it fur,” he repeated sonorously, “and so I goes back to dat dere battle-field. I hires me a wite man and a waggin and two niggers to help and I goes dar and I digs up my young marster frum de place whar he been layin' all dis time, and I puts him in de coffin and I bring him back on de railroad cyars, payin' all de expenses, and actin' as de chief mourner. And I buries him in de buryin' ground at de home-place right 'longside his paw, which I knowed Ole Miss would a wanted it done jes' dat way, ef she had been spared to live and nothin' happened. W'en all dat is done I know den dat I is free in my own mind to come and to go; and I packs up my traps and my plunder and leave ole Lyon County and come down yere to dis town, whar I is been ever since.
“But frum dat day fo'th dey calls me a wite folks' nigger, some of 'em does. Well, I reckin I is. De black folks is my people, but de wite folks is always been my frends, I know dat good and well. And it stands proven dis very night. De black people is de same ez cast me out, and dat fool Jones nigger he sets in my 'pinted place on de flatform,”—a lament came again into his chanting tone, and he took on the measured swing of an exhorter at an experience meeting—“Dey cast me out, but I come to my wite friends and dey mek me welcome.”
He broke off to shake his wool-crowned head from side to side. Then in altogether different voice he began an apology:
“Jedge, you and Mistah Bagby must please suh, s'cuse me fur ramblin' on lak dis. I reckin I done took up nuff of yore time—I spects I better be gittin' on towo'ds my own home.”
But he made no move to start, because the old Judge was speaking; and the worn look was gone from the Judge's face, and the stress of some deep emotion made the muscles of his under jaws tighten beneath the dew-laps of loose flesh.
“Some who never struck a blow in battle, nevertheless served our Cause truly and faithfully,” he said, as though he were addressing an audience of numbers. “Some of the bravest soldiers we had never wore a uniform and their skins were of a different color from our skins. I move that our comrade Isaac Copeland here present be admitted to membership in this Camp. If this motion is regular and accordin' to the rules of the organization, I make it. And if it ain't regular—I make it jest the same!”