ON the northeast corner
of my vineyard in central North Carolina, and fronting on the Lumberton
plank-road, there stood a small frame house, of the simplest construction. It
was built of pine lumber, and contained but one room, to which one window gave
light and one door admission. Its weather-beaten sides revealed a virgin
innocence of paint. Against one end of the house, and occupying half its width,
there stood a huge brick chimney: the crumbling mortar had left large cracks
between the bricks; the bricks themselves had begun to scale off in large flakes,
leaving the chimney sprinkled with unsightly blotches. These evidences of decay
were but partially concealed by a creeping vine, which extended its slender
branches hither and thither in an ambitious but futile attempt to cover the
whole chimney. The wooden shutter, which had once protected the unglazed
window, had fallen from its hinges, and lay rotting in the rank grass and
jimson-weeds beneath. This building, I learned when I bought the place, had
been used as a school-house for several years prior to the breaking out of the
war, since which time it had remained unoccupied, save when some stray cow or
vagrant hog had sought shelter within its walls from the chill rains and
nipping winds of winter.
One day my wife
requested me to build her a new kitchen. The house erected by us, when we first
came to live upon the vineyard, contained a very conveniently arranged kitchen;
but for some occult reason my wife wanted a kitchen in the back yard, apart
from the dwelling-house, after the usual Southern fashion. Of course I had to
build it.
To save expense, I
decided to tear down the old school-house, and use the lumber, which was in a
good state of preservation, in the construction of the new kitchen. Before
demolishing the old house, however, I made an estimate of the amount of
material contained in it, and found that I would have to buy several hundred
feet of new lumber in order to build the new kitchen according to my wife's
plan.
One morning old Julius
McAdoo, our colored coachman, harnessed the gray mare to the rockaway, and
drove my wife and me over to the saw-mill from which I meant to order the new
lumber. We drove down the long lane which led from our house to the plank-road;
following the plank-road for about a mile, we turned into a road running through
the forest and across the swamp to the sawmill beyond. Our carriage jolted over
the half-rotted corduroy road which traversed the swamp, and then climbed the
long hill leading to the saw-mill. When we reached the mill, the foreman had
gone over to a neighboring farm-house, probably to smoke or gossip, and we were
compelled to await his return before we could transact our business. We
remained seated in the carriage, a few rods from the mill, and watched the
leisurely movements of the mill-hands. We had not waited long before a huge
pine log was placed in position, the machinery of the mill was set in motion,
and the circular saw began to eat its way through the log, with a loud whirr
which resounded throughout the vicinity of the mill. The sound rose and fell in
a sort of rhythmic cadence, which, heard from where we sat, was not unpleasing,
and not loud enough to prevent conversation. When the saw started on its second
journey through the log, Julius observed, in a lugubrious tone, and with a
perceptible shudder: --
"Ugh! but dat des
do cuddle my blood!"
"What's the
matter, Uncle Julius?" inquired my wife, who is of a very sympathetic turn
of mind. "Does the noise affect your nerves?"
"No, Miss
Annie," replied the old man, with emotion, "I ain' narvous; but dat
saw, a-cuttin' en grindin' thoo dat stick er timber, en moanin', en groanin',
en sweekin', kyars my 'memb'ance back ter ole times, en 'min's me er po'
Sandy." The pathetic intonation with which he lengthened out the "po'
Sandy" touched a responsive chord in our own hearts."
"And who was poor
Sandy?" asked my wife, who takes a deep interest in the stories of
plantation life which she hears from the lips of the older colored people. Some
of these stories are quaintly humorous; others wildly extravagant, revealing
the Oriental cast of the negro's imagination; while others, poured freely into
the sympathetic ear of a Northern-bred woman, disclose many a tragic incident
of the darker side of slavery.
"Sandy," said
Julius, in reply to my wife's question, "was a nigger w'at useter b'long
ter ole Mars Marrabo McSwayne. Mars Marrabo's place wuz on de yuther side'n de
swamp, right nex' ter yo' place. Sandy wuz a monst'us good nigger, en could do
so many things erbout a plantation, en alluz 'ten ter his wuk so well, dat w'en
Mars Marrabo's chilluns growed up en married off, dey all un 'em wanted dey
daddy fer ter gin 'em Sandy fer a weddin' present. But Mars Marrabo knowed de
res' wouldn' be satisfied ef he gin Sandy ter a'er one un 'em; so w'en dey wuz
all done married, he fix it by 'lowin' one er his chilluns ter take Sandy fer a
mont' er so, en den ernudder for a mont' er so, en so on dat erway tel dey had
all had 'im de same lenk er time; en den dey would all take him roun' ag'in,
'cep'n oncet in a w'ile w'en Mars Marrabo would len' 'im ter some er his yuther
kinfolks 'roun' de country, w'en dey wuz short er han's; tel bimeby it go so
Sandy didn' hardly knowed whar he wuz gwine ter stay fum one week's een ter de
yuther.
"One time w'en
Sandy wuz lent out ez yushal, a spekilater come erlong wid a lot er niggers, en
Mars Marrabo swap' Sandy's wife off fer a noo 'oman. W'en Sandy come back, Mars
Marrabo gin 'im a dollar, en 'lowed he wuz monst'us sorry fer ter break up de
fambly, but de spekilater had gin 'im big boot, en times wuz hard en money
skase, en so he wuz bleedst ter make de trade. Sandy tuk on some 'bout losin'
his wife, but he soon seed dey want no use cryin' ober spilt merlasses; en
bein' ez he lacked de looks er de noo 'ooman, he tuk up wid her atter she b'n
on de plantation a mont' er so.
"Sandy en his noo
wife got on mighty well tergedder, en de niggers all 'mence' ter talk about how
lovin' dey wuz. W'en Tenie wuz tuk sick oncet, Sandy useter set up all night
wid 'er, en den go ter wuk in de mawnin' des lack he had his reg'lar sleep; en
Tenie would 'a done anythin' in de worl' for her Sandy.
"Sandy en Tenie
hadn' b'en libbin' tergedder fer mo' d'n two mont's befo' Mars Marrabo's old
uncle, w'at libbed down in Robeson County, sent up ter fine out ef Mars Marrabo
couldn' len' 'im er hire 'im a good han' fer a mont' er so. Sandy's marster wuz
one er dese yer easy-gwine folks w'at wanter please eve'ybody, en he says yas,
he could len' 'im Sandy. En Mars Marrabo tole Sandy fer ter git ready ter go down
ter Robeson nex' day, fer ter stay a mont' er so.
"Hit wuz monst'us
hard on Sandy fer ter take 'im 'way fum Tenie. Hit wuz so fur down ter Robeson
dat he didn' hab no chance er comin' back ter see her tel de time wuz up; he
wouldn' a' mine comin' ten er fifteen mile at night ter see Tenie, but Mars
Marrabo's uncle's plantation wuz mo' d'n forty mile off. Sandy wuz mighty sad
en cas' down atter w'at Mars Marrabo tole 'im, en he says ter Tenie, sezee: --
"'I'm gittin
monstus ti'ed er dish yer gwine roun' so much. Here I is lent ter Mars Jeems
dis mont', en I got ter do so-en-so; en ter Mars Archie de nex' mont', en I got
ter do so-en-so; den I got ter go ter Miss Jinnie's: en hit's Sandy dis en
Sandy dat, en Sandy yer en Sandy dere, tel it 'pears ter me I ain' got no home,
ner no marster, ner no mistiss, ner no nuffin'. I can't eben keep a wife: my
yuther ole 'oman wuz sole away widout my gittin' a chance fer ter tell her
good-by; en now I got ter go off en leab you, Tenie, en I dunno whe'r I'm eber
gwine ter see yer ag'in er no. I wisht I wuz a tree, er a stump, er a rock, er
sump'n w'at could stay on de plantation fer a w'ile.'
"Atter Sandy got
thoo talkin', Tenie didn' say naer word, but des sot dere by de fier, studyin'
en studyin'. Bimeby she up'n says: --
"'Sandy, is I eber
tole you I wuz a cunjuh-'ooman?'
"Co'se Sandy hadn'
nebber dremp' er nuffin lack dat, en he made a great miration w'en he hear w'at
Tenie say. Bimeby Tenie went on: --
"'I ain' goophered
nobody, ner done no cunjuh-wuk fer fifteen yer er mo; en w'en I got religion I
made up my mine I wouldn' wuk no mo' goopher. But dey is some things I doan
b'lieve it's no sin fer ter do; en ef you doan wanter be sent roun' fum pillar
ter pos', en ef you doan wanter go down ter Robeson, I kin fix things so yer
won't haf ter. Ef you'll des say de word, I kin turn yer ter w'ateber yer
wanter be, en yer kin stay right whar yer wanter, ez long ez yer mineter.'
"Sandy say he doan
keer; he's willin' fer ter do anythin' fer ter stay close ter Tenie. Den Tenie
ax 'im ef he doan wanter be turnt inter a rabbit.
"Sandy say, 'No,
de dogs mout git atter me.'
"'Shill I turn yer
ter a wolf?' sez Tenie.
"'No, eve'ybody's
skeered er a wolf, en I doan want nobody ter be skeered er me.'
"'Shill I turn yer
ter a mawkin'-bird?'
"'No, a hawk mout
ketch me. I wanter be turnt inter sump'n w'at'll stay in one place.'
"'I kin turn yer
ter a tree,' sez Tenie. 'You won't hab no mouf ner years, but I kin turn yer
back oncet in a w'ile, so yer kin git sump'n ter eat, en hear w'at's gwine on.'
"Well, Sandy say
dat'll do. En so Tenie tuk 'im down by de aidge er de swamp, not fur fum de
quarters, en turnt 'im inter a big pine-tree, en sot 'im out mongs' some yuther
trees. En de nex' mawnin', ez some er de fiel' han's wuz gwine long dere, dey
seed a tree w'at dey didn' 'member er habbin' seed befo; it wuz monst'us quare,
en dey wuz bleedst ter 'low dat dey hadn' 'membered right, er e'se one er de
saplin's had be'n growin' monst'us fas'.
"W'en Mars Marrabo
'skiver' dat Sandy wuz gone, he 'lowed Sandy had runned away. He got de dogs
out, but de las' place dey could track Sandy ter wuz de foot er dat pine-tree.
En dere de dogs stood en barked, en bayed, en pawed at de tree, en tried ter
climb up on it; en w'en dey wuz tuk roun' thoo de swamp ter look fer de scent,
dey broke loose en made fer dat tree ag'in. It wuz de beatenis' thing de w'ite
folks eber hearn of, en Mars Marrabo 'lowed dat Sandy must a' clim' up on de
tree en jump' off on a mule er sump'n, en rid fur 'nuff fer ter spile de scent.
Mars Marrabo wanted ter 'cuse some er de yuther niggers er heppin Sandy off,
but dey all 'nied it ter de las'; en eve'ybody knowed Tenie sot too much by
Sandy fer ter he'p 'im run away whar she couldn' nebber see 'im no mo'.
"W'en Sandy had
be'n gone long 'nuff fer folks ter think he done got clean away, Tenie useter
go down ter de woods at night en turn 'im back, en den dey'd slip up ter de
cabin en set by de fire en talk. But dey ha' ter be monst'us keerful, er e'se
somebody would a seed 'em, en dat would a spile de whole thing; so Tenie alluz
turnt Sandy back in de mawnin' early, befo' anybody wuz a'stirrin'.
"But Sandy didn'
git erlong widout his trials en tribberlations. One day a woodpecker come
erlong en 'mence' ter peck at de tree; en de nex' time Sandy wuz turnt back he
had a little roun' hole in his arm, des lack a sharp stick be'n stuck in it.
Atter dat Tenie sot a sparrer-hawk fer ter watch de tree; en w'en de woodpecker
come erlong nex' mawnin' fer ter finish his nes', he got gobble' up mos' fo' he
stuck his bill in de bark.
"Nudder time, Mars
Marrabo sent a nigger out in de woods fer ter chop tuppentime boxes. De man
chop a box in dish yer tree, en hack' de bark up two er th'ee feet, fer ter let
de tuppentime run. De nex' time Sandy wuz turnt back he had a big skyar on his
lef' leg, des lack it be'n skunt; en it tuk Tenie nigh 'bout all night fer ter
fix a mixtry ter kyo it up. Atter dat, Tenie sot a hawnet fer ter watch de
tree; en w'en de nigger come back ag'in fer ter cut ernudder box on de yuther
side'n de tree, de hawnet stung 'im so hard dat de ax slip en cut his foot nigh
'bout off.
"W'en Tenie see so
many things happenin' ter de tree, she 'cluded she'd ha' ter turn Sandy ter
sump'n e'se; en atter studyin' de matter ober, en talkin' wid Sandy one
ebenin', she made up her mine fer ter fix up a goopher mixtry w'at would turn
herse'f en Sandy ter foxes, er sump'n, so dey could run away en go some'rs whar
dey could be free en lib lack w'ite folks.
"But dey ain' no
tellin' w'at's gwine ter happen in dis worl'. Tenie had got de night sot fer
her en Sandy ter run away, w'en dat ve'y day one er Mars Marrabo's sons rid up
ter de big house in his buggy, en say his wife wuz monst'us sick, en he want
his mammy ter len' 'im a 'ooman fer ter nuss his wife. Tenie's mistiss say sen
Tenie; she wuz a good nuss. Young mars wuz in a tarrible hurry fer ter git back
home. Tenie wuz washin' at de big house dat day, en her mistiss say she should
go right 'long wid her young marster. Tenie tried ter make some 'scuse fer ter
git away en hide tel night, w'en she would have eve'ything fix' up fer her en
Sandy; she say she wanter go ter her cabin fer ter git her bonnet. Her mistiss
say it doan matter 'bout de bonnet; her head-hankcher wuz good 'nuff. Den Tenie
say she wanter git her bes' frock; her mistiss say no, she doan need no mo'
frock, en w'en dat one got dirty she could git a clean one whar she wuz gwine.
So Tenie had ter git in de buggy en go 'long wid young Mars Dunkin ter his
plantation, w'ich wuz mo' d'n twenty mile away; en dey want no chance er her
seein' Sandy no mo' tel she come back home. De po' gal felt monst'us bad erbout
de way things wuz gwine on, en she knowed Sandy mus' be a wond'rin' why she
didn' come en turn 'im back no mo'.
"W'iles Tenie wuz
away nussin' young Mars Dunkin's wife, Mars Marrabo tuk a notion fer ter buil'
'im a noo kitchen; en bein' ez he had lots er timber on his place, he begun ter
look 'roun' fer a tree ter hab de lumber sawed out'n. En I dunno how it come to
be so, but he happen fer ter hit on de ve'y tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter.
Tenie wuz gone, en dey wa'n't nobody ner nuffin' fer ter watch de tree.
"De two men w'at
cut de tree down say dey nebber had sech a time wid a tree befo': dey axes
would glansh off, en didn' 'pear ter make no progress thoo de wood; en of all
de creakin', en shakin', en wobblin' you eber see, dat tree done it w'en it
commence' ter fall. It wuz de beatenis' thing!
"W'en dey got de
tree all trim' up, dey chain it up ter a timber waggin, en start fer de
saw-mill. But dey had a hard time gittin' de log dere: fus' dey got stuck in de
mud w'en dey wuz gwine crosst de swamp, en it wuz two er th'ee hours befo' dey
could git out. W'en dey start' on ag'in, de chain kep' a-comin' loose, en dey
had ter keep a-stoppin' en a-stoppin' fer ter hitch de log up ag'in. W'en dey
commence' ter climb de hill ter de saw- mill, de log broke loose, en roll down
de hill en in mongs' de trees, en hit tuk nigh 'bout half a day mo' ter git it
haul' up ter de saw-mill.
"De nex' mawnin'
atter de day de tree wuz haul' ter de saw- mill, Tenie come home. W'en she got
back ter her cabin, de fus' thing she done wuz ter run down ter de woods en see
how Sandy wuz gittin' on. W'en she seed de stump standin' dere, wid de sap
runnin' out'n it, en de limbs layin' scattered roun', she nigh 'bout went out'n
her mine. She run ter her cabin, en got her goopher mixtry, en den foller de
track er de timber waggin ter de saw-mill. She knowed Sandy couldn' lib mo' d'n
a minute er so ef she turn' him back, fer he wuz all chop' up so he'd a be'n
bleedst ter die. But she wanted ter turn 'im back long ernuff fer ter 'splain
ter 'im dat she hadn' went off a-purpose, en lef' 'im ter be chop' down en
sawed up. She didn' want Sandy ter die wid no hard feelin's to'ds her.
"De han's at de
saw-mill had des got de big log on de kerridge, en wuz startin' up de saw, w'en
dey seed a 'oman runnin up de hill, all out er bref, cryin' en gwine on des
lack she wuz plumb 'stracted. It wuz Tenie; she come right inter de mill, en
th'owed herse'f on de log, right in front er de saw, a-hollerin' en cryin' ter
her Sandy ter fergib her, en not ter think hard er her, fer it wa'n't no fault
er hern. Den Tenie 'membered de tree didn' hab no years, en she wuz gittin'
ready fer ter wuk her goopher mixtry so ez ter turn Sandy back, w'en de
mill-hands kotch holt er her en tied her arms wid a rope, en fasten' her to one
er de posts in de saw-mill; en den dey started de saw up ag'in, en cut de log
up inter bo'ds en scantlin's right befo' her eyes. But it wuz mighty hard wuk; fer
of all de sweekin', en moanin', en groanin', dat log done it w'iles de saw wuz
a-cuttin' thoo it. De saw wuz one er dese yer ole-timey, up-en-down saws, en
hit tuk longer dem days ter saw a log 'en it do now. Dey greased de saw, but
dat didn' stop de fuss; hit kep' right on, tel finely dey got de log all sawed
up.
"W'en de oberseah
w'at run de saw-mill come fum brekfas', de han's up en tell him 'bout de crazy
'ooman -- ez dey s'posed she wuz- -w'at had come runnin' in de saw-mill,
a-hollerin' en gwine on, en tried ter th'ow herse'f befo' de saw. En de
oberseah sent two er th'ee er de han's fer ter take Tenie back ter her
marster's plantation.
"Tenie 'peared ter
be out'n her mine fer a long time, en her marster ha' ter lock her up in de
smoke-'ouse tel she got ober her spells. Mars Marrabo wuz monst'us mad, en hit
would a made yo' flesh crawl fer ter hear him cuss, caze he say de spekilater
w'at he got Tenie fum had fooled 'im by wukkin' a crazy 'oman off on him. Wiles
Tenie wuz lock up in de smoke-'ouse, Mars Marrabo tuk'n' haul de lumber fum de
saw-mill, en put up his noo kitchen.
"W'en Tenie got
quiet' down, so she could be 'lowed ter go 'roun' de plantation, she up'n tole
her marster all erbout Sandy en de pine-tree; en w'en Mars Marrabo hearn it, he
'lowed she wuz de wuss 'stracted nigger he eber hearn of. He didn' know w'at
ter do wid Tenie: fus' he thought he'd put her in de po'-house; but finely,
seein' ez she didn' do no harm ter nobody ner nuffin', but des went roun'
moanin', en groanin', en shakin' her head, he 'cluded ter let her stay on de
plantation en nuss de little nigger chilluns w'en dey mammies wuz ter wuk in de
cotton-fiel'.
"De noo kitchen
Mars Marrabo buil' wuzn' much use, fer it hadn' be'n put up long befo' de
niggers 'mence' ter notice quare things erbout it. Dey could hear sump'n
moanin' en groanin' 'bout de kitchen in de night-time, en w'en de win' would
blow dey could hear sump'n a-hollerin' en sweekin' lack hit wuz in great pain
en sufferin'. En hit got so atter a w'ile dat hit wuz all Mars Marrabo's wife
could do ter git a 'ooman ter stay in de kitchen in de daytime long ernuff ter
do de cookin'; en dey wa'n't naer nigger on de plantation w'at wouldn' rudder
take forty dan ter go 'bout dat kitchen atter dark, -- dat is, 'cep'n Tenie;
she didn' pear ter mine de ha'nts. She useter slip 'roun' at night, en set on
de kitchen steps, en lean up agin de do'-jamb, en run on ter herse'f wid some
kine er foolishness w'at nobody couldn' make out; fer Mars Marrabo had
th'eaten' ter sen' her off'n de plantation ef she say anything ter any er de
yuther niggers 'bout de pine-tree. But somehow er nudder de niggers foun' out
all 'bout it, en dey knowed de kitchen wuz ha'anted by Sandy's sperrit. En
bimeby hit got so Mars Marrabo's wife herse'f wuz skeered ter go out in de yard
atter dark.
"W'en it come ter
dat, Mars Marrabo tuk 'n' to' de kitchen down, en use' de lumber fer ter buil'
dat ole school-'ouse w'at youer talkin' 'bout pullin' down. De school-'ouse
wuzn' use' 'cep'n' in de daytime, en on dark nights folks gwine 'long de road
would hear quare soun's en see quare things. Po' ole Tenie useter go down dere
at night, en wander 'roun' de school-'ouse; en de niggers all 'lowed she went
fer ter talk wid Sandy's sperrit. En one winter mawnin', w'en one er de boys
went ter school early fer ter start de fire, w'at should he fine but po' ole
Tenie, layin' on de flo', stiff, en cole, en dead. Dere didn' 'pear ter be
nuffin' pertickler de matter wid her, -- she had des grieve' herse'f ter def
fer her Sandy. Mars Marrabo didn' shed no tears. He thought Tenie wuz crazy, en
dey wa'n't no tellin' w'at she mout do nex'; en dey ain' much room in dis worl'
fer crazy w'ite folks, let 'lone a crazy nigger.
"Hit wa'n't long
atter dat befo' Mars Marrabo sole a piece er his track er lan' ter Mars Dugal'
McAdoo, -- my ole marster, -- en dat's how de ole school-house happen to be on
yo' place. W'en de wah broke out, de school stop', en de ole school-'ouse be'n
stannin' empty ever sence, -- dat is, 'cep'n' fer de ha'nts. En folks sez dat
de ole school-'ouse, er any yuther house w'at got any er dat lumber in it w'at
wuz sawed out'n de tree w'at Sandy wuz turnt inter, is gwine ter be ha'nted tel
de las' piece er plank is rotted en crumble' inter dus'."
Annie had listened to
this gruesome narrative with strained attention.
"What a system it
was," she exclaimed, when Julius had finished, "under which such
things were possible!"
"What
things?" I asked, in amazement. "Are you seriously considering the
possibility of a man's being turned into a tree?"
"Oh, no," she
replied quickly, "not that;" and then she added absently, and with a
dim look in her fine eyes, "Poor Tenie!"
We ordered the lumber,
and returned home. That night, after we had gone to bed, and my wife had to all
appearances been sound asleep for half an hour, she startled me out of an
incipient doze by exclaiming suddenly, --
"John, I don't
believe I want my new kitchen built out of the lumber in that old
school-house."
"You wouldn't for
a moment allow yourself," I replied, with some asperity, "to be influenced
by that absurdly impossible yarn which Julius was spinning to-day?"
"I know the story
is absurd," she replied dreamily, "and I am not so silly as to
believe it. But I don't think I should ever be able to take any pleasure in
that kitchen if it were built out of that lumber. Besides, I think the kitchen
would look better and last longer if the lumber were all new."
Of course she had her
way. I bought the new lumber, though not without grumbling. A week or two later
I was called away from home on business. On my return, after an absence of
several days, my wife remarked to me, --
"John, there has
been a split in the Sandy Run Colored Baptist Church, on the temperance
question. About half the members have come out from the main body, and set up
for themselves. Uncle Julius is one of the seceders, and he came to me
yesterday and asked if they might not hold their meetings in the old
school-house for the present."
"I hope you didn't
let the old rascal have it," I returned, with some warmth. I had just
received a bill for the new lumber I had bought.
"Well," she
replied, "I could not refuse him the use of the house for so good a
purpose."
"And I'll venture
to say," I continued, "that you subscribed something toward the
support of the new church?"
She did not attempt to
deny it.
"What are they
going to do about the ghost?" I asked, somewhat curious to know how Julius
would get around this obstacle.
"Oh," replied
Annie, "Uncle Julius says that ghosts never disturb religious worship, but
that if Sandy's spirit should happen to stray into meeting by mistake, no doubt
the preaching would do it good."
Charles W. Chesnutt.