The Chronicles of Aunt Minervy Ann

by Joel Chandler Harris

“I fotch Miss Vallie in, suh, bekaze Hamp think dey ain’t nobody in de worl’ like Miss Vallie. One time, des ’fo’ de big turmoil, when Marse Tumlin hire Hamp fum de Myrick ’state, he fell sick, an’ Miss Vallie (she wa’n’t nothin’ but a school-gal den) she got sorry fer ’im ’kaze he wuz a hired nigger, an’ she’d fill a basket wid things fum de white folks’ table an’ tote um to ’im. Mo’ dan dat, she’d set dar whiles he’s eatin’ an’ ax ’bout his folks. Atter dat, suh, de groun’ whar Miss Vallie walk wuz better’n any yuther groun’ ter Hamp. So when I call her name up, Hamp ain’t say nothin’ fer long time.

“Den he shuck his head an’ say dey ain’t no use talkin’, he des can’t put dat ar paper in de Legislatur’. He say ef he wuz ter, ’twon’t do no good, ’kaze all de erpublicans would jump on it, an’ den dey’d jump on him ter boot. I ’low, ‘Whar you reckon I’ll be whiles all dat jumpin’ gwine on?’ He say, ‘You’ll be on de outside, an’ ef you wuz on de inside, dey’d hike you out.’ ‘An’ who’d do de hikin’?’ sez I. ‘De surgeon er de armies,’ sez he. ‘White er black?’ sez I. ‘Yaller,’ sez Hamp. I ’low, ‘Good ’nuff; we’ll see which un’ll be hiked.’ An’ I told Hamp right den an’ dar, dat ef he erfuse ter put dat paper in, I’ll do it myse’f.

“Well, suh, whiles we settin’ dar talkin’, dey come a-rappin’ at de do’ an’ in walk a big bushy-head mulatter, an’ I ain’t tellin’ you no lie, he de mos’ venomous-lookin’ creetur you ever laid yo’ eyes on. His ha’r wuz all spread out like a scourin’ mop, an’ he had a grin on ’im ez big ez dat gate dar. Hamp call ’im Arion Alperiar Ridley.”

At this point I was compelled to come to the rescue of Aunt Minervy Ann’s memory. The stateman’s real name was Aaron Alpeora Bradley, and he was one of the most corrupt creatures of that corrupt era. He had a superficial education that only added to the density of his ignorance, but it gave him considerable influence with the negro members of the Legislature. Aunt Minervy Ann accepted the correction with alacrity.

“I fergot his name, suh, but I ain’t never fergit him. He so mean-lookin’ he make de col’ chills run over me. He wuz a low-country mulatter, an’ you know how dey talk. Eve’y time he look at me, he’d bow, an’ de mo’ he bowed de mo’ I ’spized ’im. He call Hamp ‘Mistooah Tummalin,’ an’ eve’y time he say sump’n’, he’d gi’ one er dem venomous grins. I declar’ ter gracious, suh, I oughtn’t ter talk ’bout dat man dis way, but de way he look wuz scan’lous. I done fergive ’im for dat long time ’go on ’count er what he done; but when I hear white folks ’busin’ ’im in dat day an’ time I know’d dey had mighty good groun’, bekaze dey ain’t no human kin look like dat man an’ not be mean at bottom.

“Well, suh, Hamp, he up’n tol’ dis yer Alpory er Alpiry (whatsomever his name mought be) what I come ter town fer, an’ Alpory, he say, ‘Mistooah Tummalin, you kyarn’t do it. Hit would-er ruin you in de-er party, suh—er ruin you.’ I kinder fired up at dat. I ’low, ‘How come he can’t do it? Ain’t he free?’ Ol’ Alpory, he grin an’ he talk, he talk an’ he grin, but he ain’t budge me. At de offstart I say ef Hamp don’t put dat paper in de Legislatur’, I’ll put it in myse’f, an’ at de windin’ up I still say dat ef he don’t put Marse Tumlin’s paper in de Legislatur’, den I’ll be de one ter do it. Ol’ Alpory say, ‘You-er is got no marster, ma’am.’ Den I snapt ’im up an’ cut ’im off short; I say, ‘I got one ef I want one. Ain’t I free?’ Den he went on wid a whole passel er stuff dat I can’t make head er tail un, ner him needer, fer dat matter, twel bimeby I say, ‘Oh, hush up an’ go on whar you gwine.’

“Hamp look so broke up at dis dat I wuz kinder sorry I say it, but dat’s de only way ter deal wid dem kind er folks, suh. Ol’ Alpory wuz des famishin’, suh, fer some un ter b’lieve he’s a big Ike; dat ’uz all de matter wid ’im an’ I know’d it. So he quit his jawin’ when I snapped ’im up, an’ he sot dar some time lookin’ like a cow does when her cud don’t rise. Bimeby he ax Hamp fer ter let ’im see de paper what I want ’im ter put in de Legislatur’. He tuck it, he did, an’ look at it sideways an’ upside down, an’ eve’ywhichaway. Ez ef dat wa’n’t ’nuff, he took off his goggles an’ wiped um an’ put um on ag’in, an’ read de paper all over ag’in, noddin’ his head an’ movin’ his mouf, an’ grinnin’.

“Atter he got th’oo, he fol’ de paper up an’ han’ it back ter Hamp. He say he can’t see no harm in it ter save his life, an’ he ’low dat ef Hamp’ll put it in at one een’ er de Legislatur’, he’ll put it in at de t’er een’. Dey call one part a house, but nobody ain’t never tell me why dey call a wranglin’ gang er men a house. Dey des might ez well call um a hoss an’ buggy; eve’y bit an’ grain. Well, suh, de house wuz de part what Hamp b’longs ter, an’ de ’t’er part wuz whar ol’ Alpory b’long’d at, an’ by de time dey wuz ready fer ter set in dar dey had e’en ’bout ’greed fer put de paper in at bofe een’s.

“I went ’long wid Hamp, suh, an’ he show’d me de way ter de gall’ry, an’ I sot up dar an’ look down on um, an’ wonder why all un um, white an’ black, wa’n’t at home yearnin’ der livin’ ’stidder bein’ in dat place a-wranglin’ an’ callin’ names, an’ howlin’ an’ wavin’ der arms an’ han’s. Dey wuz a big fat white man settin’ up in de pulpit, an’ he kep’ on a-maulin’ it wid a mallet. I dunner what his name wuz, but I hear one big buck nigger call ’im Mr. Cheer. Marse Tumlin tol’ me atterwards dat de man wuz de speaker, but all de res’ done lots mo’ speakin’ dan what he did; all un um ’cep’ Hamp.