“When de Indians would come ’roun’ ter esquire ’bout der cattle de white rapscallions (an’ a heap o’ dem wuz dem low down nigger traders too) dem white men would up an’ shoot de Indians.
“Lordy chile, when I gits ter ruminatin’ ’bout dem days I sees de longes’ line o’ haunts whats obtained in dis world o’ sin an’ sorrow.”
I laid down my tablet and looked up; the old woman’s lip was quivering from suppressed emotion. Passing over the tragic she began again.
“No, chile, ’xcusin’ ob de truf, de United States nebber whipped de Seminoles; she whipped dem Britishers when George Washington wuz de captain, an’ de Mexicans, den she tuck a little ’xcursion ’cross ter Cuba an’ whipped dem Spaniards; but she nebber whipped the Seminoles. Umph; where wuz de Indians when de sojers wuz all shinin’ in dem new uniforms an’ der ammunition all packed up? Dem savages wuz all gone, hidin’ in dem hammocks an’ swamps what wuz so thick wif trees an’ bushes dat a black snake could skacely wiggle through.
“De sojers would go marchin’ ’long an’ way up in de tops ob some ob dem big trees some ob dem sly ole Indian scouts would be sittin’ wifout any clothes on, a watchin’ an’ a laughin’ at de sojers.”
“You want ter heah ’bout dat battle o’ Micanopy?
“De Seminoles didn’t hab no battles like dem Britishers in George Washington times; no chile, but dey hab scrummages an’ kill de white people jest like dey wuz black birds,” and the old negress, seemingly oblivious to the fact that cruel time has bowed her frame and dimmed the once bright eye, lives over again the story of those days so long ago, when she was the pampered slave of the old aristocracy.
“How come I ter see dat big fight, I b’longed ter Marster Mundane; de Mundane fambly wuz powerful rich and owned the big hotel where the officers wuz stayin’.