Bypaths in Dixie: Folk Tales of the South

by Sarah Johnson Cocke

“Cause we don’t want to hear about bad old hants,” finished Willis.

“How yer speck me ter tell yer enything wid you chokin’ me, an’ Ma’y Van standin’ on her haid on m’ should’r. Set up like fokes—you hole dis han’ an’ let Ma’y Van hole dis un, an’ I’ll tell yer ’bout old man Gully’s hant.”

“Ole man Gully wus de biggites’ creetur’ you ev’r seed; he jes nachilly so biggity he ’fuse ter do er lick er wurk. Plantin’ time er harves’ time ain’ make no diffunce ter ole man Gully. He set up on his front po’ch an’ smoke his pipe, an’ read de newspaper an’ eat same es one dese ole buckshire hogs, whilst his old lady, an’ de chilluns, an’ der ole nigg’r Abe, done all de wurk.

“Ole Miss Gully wus pow’ful sot on de ole man; she think he’s de mos’ pow’fules’ gran’ man in de wurl. Ef he say ‘I wants er chaw er ’bark’r,’ de ole lady’d break her neck runnin’ ter de fiel’ ter tell Abe ter take de mule out’n de plow an’ fly ter town fur de ’bark’r. Den she’d git de old broke down steer an’ go ter plowin’ tell Abe come back. All dis time ole man Gully snoozin’ on de po’ch in de cool. Ef er rainy spell come an’ spile de wheat, er ef fros’ come an’ kill de fruit, ole man Gully ’buse de ole lady an’ de chilluns, an’ say ef dey had er done like he tole ’em hit nuv’r wud er hap’n’d.

“One day long ’bout de mid’le er de sum’r, Mist’r Gully say he bleeg ter have some possum vit’als. Cose nobody doan eat no possum dat time de ye’r, an’ ’taint’ no time ter hunt ’em nuthe’r, but ole man Gully says, ‘I wants de possum,’ an’ dat wus ’nuf fur de Gullys. Abe an’ de chillun stops all de wurk on de farm an’ go possum huntin’. Dey hunts all day, an’ dey hunts all night ’fo’ dey so much es come ’crost er single possum track. Bimeby, att’r day had mos’ give out, hyah come er big lean, lank ole possum up er ’simmon tree full er green ’simmons. Dey runs home quick an’ giv’ hit ter dey ma, an’ Lawsee! by de time dat possum an’ tat’rs ’gun ter cookin’ up good, de smell uv hit jes nachally make Abe an’ dem chilluns mouf dribble tell dey can’ do er lick er wurk fur standin’ ’roun’ de kitchen smellin’ dat possum. Miss Gully had er plenty er fat meat an’ sop fur de chillun, but dat big deesh er possum an’ tat’rs at de haid er de table done steal all der appertite, an’ dey wus settin’ dar turnin’ ov’r in der mines which one gwine git de bigges’ piece.

“Pres’ntly Mist’r Gully sorter cla’r his thoat an’ push his plate erway an’ pull de deesh closter ter ’im an’ cas’ er eye ’roun’ de table sorter mad like, an’, honey, dem chillun know right den an’ dar dat dey got ter eat fat meat an’ sop fur sup’r, er dee doan git no sup’r. De bigges’ boy sorter wipe his eyes er lit’le, an’ de nex’ two chillun, dey out an’ sniffle. De ole lady twis’ her mouf like she tryin’ ter say ‘doan spile yo’ pa’s sup’r.’ An’ de ole man make out he ain’ heah nuthin’ nur see nuthin’. Pres’ntly he look up wid his mouf right full er tat’rs an’ possum an’ see de chillun’s eyes feas’in’ on ’im, an’ der moufs wurkin’ like his’n, an’ he feel sorter ’shame. He swaller hard he do, like he’s fixin’ ter give ’em some, den he change his mine an’ say, ‘G’long in de yard, chillun,—Pappy’s sick, let Pappy eat de possum.’”

“Make Mister Gully give them some, Mammy,” said Willis indignantly.

“He hatt’r go back like Niggerdemus an’ be born’d ergin ef he do. Nor suhree, he eat up ev’y speck er dat possum, an’ he sop up ev’y drap er dat gravy too; den he stretch hissef an’ say he ’speck he’ll g’long ter bed an’ try ter git er good night’s res’. Den all de fambly hatt’r g’long ter baid too, so de old man kin git ter sleep. Bimeby, long’ ’bout time de moon sot, hyah come sump’in’ nuth’r knockin’—knockin’—knockin’, on de wind’r blines.

“‘Who dat?’ sez ole lady Gully.

“Sumpin’ nuth’r keep er knockin’ an’ er knockin’. Bimeby de old dog ’gun ter howlin’, an’ de chickens ’gun ter crowin’, an’ de pigs ’gun ter squealin’, an’ de kitchin do’ blow’d wide op’n, an’ de sumpin’ nuth’r come tippitty, tippitty, tip, ’long up de hall.