“Oh, Massa Sam,” said he, and he opened his eyes and goggled like an owl awfully frightened. “Goody gracious me, now you is joking, isn’t you? I is sure you is. You wouldn’t now, Massa, you wouldn’t make dis child do murder, would you? Oh, Massa!! kill de poor priest who nebber did no harm in all his born days, and him hab no wife and child to follow him to—”
“The pot,” sais I, “oh, yes, if they ask me arter him I will say he is gone to pot.”
“Oh, Massa, now you is funnin, ain’t you?” and he tried to force a laugh. “How in de world under de canopy ob hebbin must de priest be cooked?”
“Cut his head and feet off,” sais I, “break his thighs short, close up to the stumps, bend ’em up his side, ram him into the pot and stew him with ham and vegetables. Lick! a Jesuit-priest is delicious done that way.”
The girl dropped her cards on her knees and looked at me with intense anxiety. She seemed quite handsome, I do actilly believe if she was put into a tub and washed, laid out on the grass a few nights with her face up to bleach it, her great yarn petticoats hauled off and proper ones put on, and her head and feet dressed right, she’d beat the Blue-nose galls for beauty out and out; but that is neither here nor there, those that want white faces must wash them, and those that want white floors must scrub them, it’s enough for me that they are white, without my making them so. Well, she looked all eyes and ears. Jerry’s under-jaw dropped, Cutler was flabbergasted, and the doctor looked as if he thought, “Well, what are you at now?” while the old woman appeared anxious enough to give her whole barrel of eggs to know what was going on.
“Oh, Massa,” said Sorrow, “dis here child can’t have no hand in it. De priest will pyson you, to a dead sartainty. If he was baked he mout do. In Africa dey is hannibals and eat dere prisoners, but den dey bake or roast ’em, but stew him, Massa! by golly he will pyson you, as sure as ‘postles. My dear ole missus died from only eaten hogs wid dere heads on.”
“Hogs!” said I.
“Yes, Massa, in course, hogs wid dere heads on. Oh, she was a most a beautiful cook, but she was fizzled out by bad cookery at de last.”
“You black villain,” said I, “do you mean to say your mistress ever eat whole hogs?”
“Yes, Massa, in course I do, but it was abbin’ dere heads on fixed her flint for her.”