When the meal was over, I visited with my host the negro houses. The hour allowed for dinner[2] was about expiring, and the darkies were preparing to return to the field. Entering one of the cabins, where were two stout negro men and a woman, my host said to them, with a perfectly serious face:
'Har, boys, I've fetched ye a live Yankee ab'lishener; now, luk at 'im all roun'. Did ye ever see sech a critter?'
'Doan't see nuffin' quar in dat gemman, massa,' replied one of the blacks. 'Him 'pears like bery nice gemman; doan't 'pear like ab'lishener;' and he laughed and scraped his head in the manner peculiar to the negro, as he added: 'Kinder reckon he wudn't be har ef he war one of dem.'
'What der ye knows 'bout th' ab'lisheners? Ye never seed one; what d'ye 'spose the' luk like?'
'Dey say dey luk likes de bery ole debil, massa; but reckon 'tan't so.'
'Wal, the' doan't; the' luk wuss then thet; they'm bottled up thunder an' lightnin', an' ef the' cum down har, they'll chaw ye all ter hash.'
'I reckon!' replied the darky, manipulating his wool and distending his face into a decidedly incredulous grin.
'What do you tell them such things for?' I asked good-humoredly.
'Lor' bless ye, stranger, the' knows th' ab'lisheners ar thar friends, jest so well as ye du; and so fur as thet goes, d—d ef the' doan't know I'm one on 'em myseff, fur I tells 'em ef the' want to put the' kin put, an' I'll throw thar trav'lin 'spenses inter th' bargin. Doan't I tell ye thet, Lazarus?'
'Yas, massa; but none ob massa's nigs am gwine ter put—lesswise, not so long as you an' de good missus am 'bove groun'.'