Chapter III.
How Big Black Burl and Bushie Figured in Each Other's Eyes.
I spied a jay-bird on a tree,
A ridin' on a swingin' lim';
He cocked his eye an' winked at me,
I cocked my gun an' winked at him;
An' de jay-bird flew away—
De jay-bird flew away—
An' lef' de lim' a-swingin'—
A-swingin'.
Such was a stanza from one of the songs that Big Black Burl was singing while he plowed. The words were simple and crude enough, yet would the melody now and then be varied with an improvised cadence of wild and peculiar sweetness, such as one might readily fancy had often been heard in the far-off, golden days of Pan and Silvanus, and the other cloven-heeled, funny-eared genii of the greenwood.
Though a swell in the ground hid them from his view, Bushie could tell almost to the minute when Burl and old Cornwallis made their turn at the farther side of the field, by the singing, which now began to draw gradually nearer. The morning was breezy, and ever and anon, when a wave of air came softly flowing over the rustling corn, the song would reach his ear with an augmented volume and distinctness that made the unseen singer seem for the moment a hundred yards nearer than he really was. At length, right leisurely, they crept in sight—Cornwallis first, with his piebald face; then, as the old horse would dip his head to nibble at the green blades under his nose, short glimpses of Burl, though for awhile no further down than his enormous coon-skin cap, made, it is said, of the biggest raccoon that was ever trapped, treed, or shot in the Paradise. But presently, observing the old horse prick up his ears at some object ahead, Burl sighted the woods from between them, and caught a glimpse of the little figure perched up there on the topmost rail of the fence, square in front. Whereat, snapping short his melody in its loudest swell, the plowman, in an altogether different key and tone, and at the top of his tremendous voice, sent forward his favorite greeting: "I yi, you dogs!" "I yi, you——" piped back Bushie; but just as he would have added "dogs," he thought that "coons" would be more pat; but not acting upon the thought in time for right effect, he supplied its place with a grin which said more plainly than words could have said it—than even "dogs" or "coons"—"I knew you would be glad to see me out here!"
And glad Burl was, for as the plow, with the pleasant smell of fresh earth and growing herbs floating about it in the air, ran out of the furrow into the fence corner, he said, looking up with huge complacency at his little master: "He's come out to de fiel' to see his ol' nigger, has he? Well, me an' Corny's a little tired, so we'll take a little blow here in de shade uf de woods, an' hab a little good soshyble talk wid our little marster."
So saying, he threw his plow-line over the plow-handle, and mounted the panel of the fence next to the one on which Bushie was sitting, and squared himself for the confab, which the little master opened thus; "Burl, just look at them crows up there on the dead limb of that big acorn-tree; what are they doing?"
"Dey's holdin' a pra'er-meetin', I 'spec'. No, not dat—camp-meetin', dey's so noisy. Or, may be, now"—eyeing his black brethren with close attention—"may be dey's holdin' a kunvintion, like Gener'l Wilkerson an' t' other big guns, to hab ol' Kaintuck stan' 'pon her own legs, so she kin lay off lan' as she please, an' fight de Injuns on her own hook."
"But why do they make so much noise?" inquired Bushie.