by Nell Speed
CHAPTER VI.--BUTTERMILK TACT.
Mildred, dressed in her pretty brown traveling suit, off to Iowa; thelast slipper and handful of rice thrown; the last lingering guestdeparted; daylight passed and the moon well up; and at last Mrs. Brownand Judy and Molly were free to sink on a settle on the porch, realizingfor the first time how tired and footsore they were.
"Oh, my dears, I feel as though I could never get up again! It is a goodthing I am so tired, for now I shall have to sleep and can't grieve forMildred all night. I begged Professor Green to stay, but he had to goback to Louisville. However, he is coming out to Chatsworth to-morrow topay us the promised visit. We shall have to pack the presents in themorning to send to Iowa, and glad I'll be to get them out of the house.Did I tell you, Molly, that Aunt Mary, Ca'line and Lewis are all goingoff to-morrow to Jim Jourdan's basket funeral? We shall be alone, youand Judy and I. Sue goes to your Aunt Clay's for a few days, and Kentstarts back to work, the dear boy. Such a comfort as he has been! Ernesthas to look up some friends in town, but will be out in time for supper.I fancy he will drive Professor Green out from Louisville. Good night,my dear girls, I know you are dead tired."
So they were, so tired that Judy overslept in the morning, but Molly wasup betimes to help the servants get off on their gruesome spree.
"Now ain't that jes' like my Molly baby? She don' never fergit to behe'pful. Th' ain't no cookin' fer you to do to-day, honey; they's plentyof bis'it lef' from the jamboree las' night; they's a ham bone wif 'nufon it fer you and yo' ma an' Miss Judy to pick on; they's a big bowl erchick'n salid in the 'frigerater that I jes' bodaciously tuck away fromthat black Lewis. I done tol' him that awlive ile my'naise ain't noeatin's fer niggers. If his insides needs a greasin' he kin take a goodswaller er castor ile. Tell yo' ma I made that lazy Ca'line churn fo'sun-up 'cause they wa'nt a drap er butter in the house, an' thebuttermilk is in the big jar in the da'ry. They's a pot er cabbagesimperin' on the back er the stove, but that ain't meant fer the whitefolks, but jes' in case we needs some comfort when we gits back from thefuneral. I tried to save some ice cream fer my honey baby from las'night an' had it all packed good fer keepin', but looked like in thenight I took sech a cravin' fer some mo' I couldn' sleep 'thout I hadsome, an' by the time I opened up the freezer an' et some, it lookedlike the res' of it jes' melted away somehow."
"Well, Aunt Mary, I am so glad you got some more. Have a good time anddon't worry about us. We shall get along all right. You see there are nomen on the place to-day, and women can eat anything the day after aparty. You know my teacher, Professor Green, is going to be here for avisit. He is coming this evening in time for supper, and I do hope youwon't be too tired after the basket funeral to make him some waffles."
"What, me tired? I ain't a-goin' to be doin' nothin' all day but enjyin'of myself; and if I won't have the stren'th myself to stir up a fewwaffles fer my baby's frien's, I's still survigerous 'nuf to make thatCa'line do it. I allus has a good time at funerals an' a basket funeralis the mos' enjyble of all entertainments."
Judy came on the scene just then and begged to be enlightened as to thenature of a basket funeral.
"Well, you see, honey, when a member dies at a onseasonable time, or atthe beginning of the week an' you can't keep him 'til Sunday, or inharvestin' time when ev'ybody is busy an' the hosses is all workin', whythen we jes' bury the corpse quiet like. And then when work gits slackan' there is some chanst to borrow the white folks' teams, we gitstogether an' ev'ybody takes a big lunch an' we impair to the seminaryan' have a preachment over the grave and then a big jamboree." The oldwoman stopped to chuckle, and such a contagious chuckle she had that youfound yourself laughing with her before you knew what the joke was.
"I 'member moughty well when this here same Jim Jourdan, what is to bepreached over an' prayed over an' et over to-day, was doin' the same byhis second wife Suky Jourdan, an' that was after I had buried my Cyrusan' befo' I took up wif my Albert. It was a hot day in July whenfryin'-size chick'ns was jes' about comin' on good an' fat, an' I had ascrumptious lot of victuals good 'nuf fer white folks. Jim looked soferlorn that I as't him to sit down an' try to worry down some eatin'swith us. He was vas'ly pleased to do so, an' look like he couldn' praisemy cookin' 'nuf; an' befo' we got to the pie, he up an' ast me to comeoccupy Suky's place in his cabin. I never said one word, but I got upan' fetched a big pa'm leaf fan out'n the waggin an han' it to him.'What's this fer, Sis Mary?' sez he, an' sez I, 'You jes' take this herefan an' fan you' secon' 'til she's col', and then come a seekin' yo'third.'"
The girls laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks over AuntMary's unique courtship. The red-wheeled wagon came up driven by Lewiswith Ca'line sitting beside him, dressed within an inch of her life.Molly got a box for Aunt Mary to step on to climb into the vehicle, butthe old woman refused to budge until Lewis took out the back seat andgot a rocking chair for her to sit in.
"You know moughty well, you fergitful nigger, that I allus goes tobaskit funerals a-settin' in a rockin' cheer! Go git the one offen theback po'ch, the red one with the arms to it. Sho as I go a-settin' on aback seat some lazy pusson what can't borrow a team will come a-astin'fer to ride longside er me, an' I don' want nobody a-rumplin' me up, an''sides ole Miss never lent this waggin fer all the niggers in Jeff'sonCounty to come a-crowdin' in an ben'in' the springs. Then when we gitsto the buryin' groun', I'll have a cheer to sit in an' not have to gosquattin' 'roun' on grabe stones."
"Good-by, Aunt Mary, good-by, Ca'line and Lewis."
The girls waved until they were out of sight and then went laughing intothe quiet house. It seemed quiet, indeed, after the hub-bub of the daybefore.
"Everything certainly stayed clean with all of the guests out of doors.I have never had an entertainment with so little to do when it wasover," said Mrs. Brown. "It was a good day for the servants to go away,with the house in such good order and enough left-overs from the weddingsupper for three lone women to feed on for several meals. I wonder howyour Aunt Clay is getting on with her harvesting? She is so headstrongnot to borrow my cutting machine! Why does she insist that flour madefrom wheat cut with a scythe makes better bread than that cut withmodern machinery?"
"She declared yesterday, mother, that she was not going to feed herhands until they got through mowing, if it took them until nightfall.She says you spoil all darkeys that come near you, and she is going toshow them who is boss on her place. Kent infuriated her by telling hershe would get herself into trouble if she did not look out; that herwheat was already overripe, and if she attempted to make her hands workover dinner hour they would leave it half cut; but advice to Aunt Clayalways sends her in the opposite direction."
"I wish I had not let Sue go over there. Most of those harvesters arestrangers from another county, and they might do something desperate ifSarah antagonized them."
"Don't worry, mother, Cyrus Clay is over there, and he is sure to takegood care of Sue."
The morning was spent with much gay talk as they packed the presents.Mrs. Brown was the kind of woman who could enter into the feelings ofyoung people. She seemed to be of their generation and was never shockedor astonished when in their talk she realized that things had changedsince her day. She usually made the best of it and put it down to"progress" of some sort. They worked faithfully, and by twelve o'clockhad tied up and labeled the last parcel to go in the last barrel.
"Come on, girls, let's have an early lunch and then we can have our muchneeded and hard-earned rest. A good nap all around will make us feellike ourselves again."
How good that lunch did taste! Molly had been so excited that she couldnot swallow food the evening before, and Mrs. Brown had been so busylooking after guests that she had forgotten to eat. Judy was the onlyone who had done justice to the supper, but, having tested it, she wasmore than willing to try the chicken salad again.
"Never mind washing the dishes; put them in a dish-pan for Ca'line. Getinto your kimonos and take a good nap. I am sick for sleep," yawned Mrs.Brown.
In five minutes they were dead to the world, lost in that midsummerafternoon sleep, the heaviest of all slumber. Everything was perfectlystill except the bees, buzzing around the honey-suckle. A venturesomevine had made its way through Molly's window, ever open in summer, andas Judy lay, half asleep, she amused herself by watching a great bumblebee sip honey from the fragrant flowers, and his humming was the lastsound that she was conscious of hearing. It seemed like a minute, soheavily had she slept--it was really several hours--when she was awakenedwith a nightmare that the bee was as big as a horse and his humming wasthat of a thousand bees.
"Molly, Molly, listen, what is that noise?"
Molly, ever a light sleeper, was out of bed in a trice and at the frontwindow. What a sight met her eyes! Coming up the avenue was a crowd ofat least forty negroes, all of them carrying scythes and whetstones, thesweat pouring from their black faces and bared necks and hairy chests,their white teeth flashing and eyeballs rolling, the sun glinting on thesharp steel of their scythes, menace and fury darkening the face ofevery man and coming from them a mutter and hum truly like the buzzingof a thousand bees.
Judy, although she was weak with fear, could not help thinking, "That isthe noise on the stage that a mob tries to make."
"Aunt Clay's hands have struck work, and to think there is not a man onthis place! I believe the blackguards know it! Load your pistol, Judy,and let us go to mother."
Mother was already up, hastily gowned in her wrapper, and opening thefront door when the girls came down the stairs. The intrepid lady walkedout on the porch with seemingly no more fear than she had had the daybefore when she came forward to meet the wedding guests. Head erect,eyes steady and piercing, with a voice clear and composed, she said,"Why, boys, you look very tired and hot, and I know you are hungry. Sitdown in the shade, on the porch steps and under the trees, and I willsee what we can find for you to eat. Molly, go get that buttermilk outof the dairy. The jar is too heavy for you to lift, so take Buck and lethim carry it for you."
Mrs. Brown, with all of her courage, was never more scared in her life.All the time she was talking she had been looking in the crowd of blackfaces for a familiar one, and was glad to recognize Buck Jourdan, agood-natured, good-for-nothing nephew of Aunt Mary's. At her commandBuck stepped forward, and then a dozen more of the men came to thefront, unconsciously separating themselves from the rest. Mrs. Brown sawthat they were all negroes belonging in her neighborhood. At her calmingwords and proffer of food such a change came over the faces of the mobthat they hardly seemed to be the same men. Their teeth showed now ingrins instead of sinister snarls; they stacked their murderous lookingweapons against the paulownia tree and sat down in the shade withexpressions as peaceful as the wedding guests themselves had worn.
Molly and the stalwart Buck were back in an incredibly short time withthe five-gallon jar of buttermilk and a tray of glasses not yet put awayfrom yesterday's feast. Mrs. Brown herself dipped out the smooth,luscious beverage, seeing that each man was plentifully served, whileMolly went into the house to bring out all the cooked provisions shecould find. Mrs. Brown beckoned the trembling and wondering Judy to herand whispered, "Go ring the farm bell as loud as you can. All danger isover now, I feel sure, but it is well to let the neighbors know that weare in some difficulty; and I fancy I heard a horse trotting on theturnpike, and whoever it is might hasten to us at the sound of a farmbell at this unusual hour."
Judy flew to the great bell, hung on a high post in the back yard. Sheseized the rope, and then such a ding-dong as pealed forth! The bell wasa very heavy brass one, and at every pull Judy, who was something of alightweight, leaped into the air, reciting as she jumped, "Curfew shallnot ring to-night."
"That is enough, my dear. There is no use in getting help from anadjacent county, and I fancy every one in Jefferson County has heard thebell by this time," said Mrs. Brown, stopping her before she had quitefinished the last stanza, which Judy said was like interrupting a goodsneeze.
Molly had found all kinds of food for the hungry laborers, who were moresinned against than sinning. They had gone in all good faith to the Clayfarm to harvest the wheat according to the antiquated methods of themistress, with scythes and cradles. When twelve o'clock, the dinner houreverywhere, came, they were told that they could not eat until they hadfinished. They had worked on until two, and then, infuriated with hungerand goaded on by the thought of the injustice done them, they had struckin a body and gone to the mansion to try to force Mrs. Clay to feedthem; but they had been held back at the point of a pistol, by that ladyherself. Then they had determined to get food where they could find it.
Mrs. Brown gathered this much from the men as, their hunger assuaged,they talked more connectedly.
"Th' ain't nothin' like buttermilk to ease yo' heart," said Buck Jasper."Mis' Mildred Carmichael kin git mo' outen her niggers fillin' 'em fuller buttermilk than her sister Mis' Sary kin fillin' 'em full erbuckshot."
Mrs. Brown was right; she had heard a horse trotting on the turnpike.The men were wiping their mouths on the backs of their hands and comingup one at a time to thank the gracious lady for her kindness in feedingthem, when Ernest and Edwin Green came driving into the avenue.
"Mother! What does this mean? I thought I heard the farm bell when I wasabout two miles from home, and now I find the yard full of negro men.Have you had a fire?"
Mrs. Brown explained that Aunt Clay had made things pretty hot for herhands, but so far there had been no other fire. She welcomed ProfessorGreen to Chatsworth and called the grinning Buck to take his suitcase tothe cottage porch. Judy wondered at her calm manner and at her sayingnothing to Ernest about their being so frightened, not realizing thatone hint of the trouble would have sent Ernest off into a rage, when hemight have reprimanded the negroes and all the good work of thebuttermilk have been undone. Molly was pale and Professor Green, everwatchful of her, asked Judy to give him an account of the matter, whichshe did in such a graphic manner that he, too, turned pale to think ofthe danger those dear ladies had been in. He made himself at home bymaking himself useful, and helped Molly to carry back into the kitchenthe empty glasses and plates from the feast of the hungry darkeys. Shelaughingly handed him a great, iron pot in which cabbage had beencooked.
"I am wondering what Aunt Mary will say about her cabbage. Mother sentme into the house to get all available food, when she realized that thehands were simply hungry and that food would be the best thing to quelltheir rage. Aunt Mary had this huge pot of cabbage on the back of therange; she said in case Lewis jolted down the lunch she was going to eatat the basket funeral she would have it cooked in readiness. The poordogs will have to go hungry, too, or have some more corn bread cookedfor them. I found this big pan full of what we call dog-bread, made fromscalded meal and salt and bacon drippings, baked until it is crisp. Themen were crazy about it with pot liquor poured over it. You can see foryourself how they licked their platters clean."
"The Saxon word 'lady' means bread-giver, but I think that you and yourmother have given it a new significance, and the dictionaries will haveto add, 'Dispenser of cabbage and buttermilk and dog-bread.'"
More wheels, and Aunt Mary and Lewis, with Ca'line much rumpled andasleep on the front seat, her shoes and stockings in her lap and herbare feet propped gracefully on the dashboard, had returned. Aunt Marywas much excited.
"What's all dis doin'? Who was all dem niggers I seen a-streakin' crostthe fiel's? Buck Jourdan, ain't that you I see hidin' behine that tree?I thought I hearn the farm bell as we roun'ed the Pint, but Lewis lowed'twas over to Miss Sary Clay's. Come here, Buck, an' he'p me out'n dishere waggin. You needn't think you kin hide from me, when I kin see thepatch on yo' pants made outen the selfsame goods I gib yo' ma to makesome waistes out'n, two years ago come next Febuway." Buck camesheepishily forward to help his old aunt out of the vehicle. "Nex' timeyou wan' ter hide from me you'd better make out to grow a leettleleaner, or fin' a tree what's made out to grow some wider so's you won'tstick out beyant it. What you be
en doing, and who's been a-mashin' downole Miss's grass, and what's my little Miss Molly baby a-doin' workin'herself to death ag'in to-day?"
Buck endeavored to explain his appearance, and told the story of thestrike at Mrs. Clay's and how they were just passing through Mrs.Brown's yard when she had come out and invited them all to dinner. Hisstory was so plausible and his voice so soft and manner so wheedling,that Professor Green, who overheard the conversation, was much amused,and had he not already got the incident from Judy might have believedBuck, so convincing were his words and manner. Not so Aunt Mary, who hadpartly raised the worthless Buck and knew better than anyone how hecould use his silver tongue to lie as well as tell the truth, butpreferred the former method.
"Now, look here, you Buck Jourdan, you ain't no count on Gawd's greenyearth 'cep to play the banjo. What you been doin' hirin' yo'self out toMiss Sary Clay, jes' like you ain't never know'd that none of our famblydon' never work fer none er hern? Yo' ma befo' you an' yo' gran'ma befo'her done tried it. Meanin' no disrespect to the rest er the Carmichaels,der's the ole sayin', 'What kin you expec' from a hog but a grunt?' Iknows 'thout goin' in my kitchen that Miss Molly done gib all youtriflin' niggers my pot er cabbage an' the dog-bread I baked fer thosehoun's an' bird dogs what ain't no mo' count than you is, 'cept'n theycan't play the banjo."
"Buck Jourdan, is that you?" said Ernest, coming forward andinterrupting Aunt Mary's tirade. "I am going to get Miss Molly's banjoand you can sit down and give us some music. I haven't heard a good tunesince I went West."
Buck, glad to escape any farther tongue lashing from his relative, andalways pleased to play and sing, tuned the banjo and began:
"'Hi,' said the 'possum as he shook the 'simmon tree, 'Golly,' said the rabbit; 'you shake 'em all on me.' An' they went in wif they claws, an' they licked they li'l paws, An' they took whole heaps home to they maws."
After several stanzas sung in a soft melodious voice, Buck, at Molly'srequest, gave them, to a chanting recitative the following song,composed by a friend of Buck's, and worthy to be incorporated inAmerican folk-lore, so Professor Green laughingly assured Mrs. Brown.
THE MURDER OF THE RATTAN FAMILY.
"One evening in September, in eighteen ninety-three, Jim Stone committed a murder, as cruel as it could be. 'Twas on the Rattan family, while they were preparing for their bed. Jim Stone, he rapped upon the door, complaining of his head. The first was young Mrs. Rattan. She come to let him in. He slew her with his corn knife--that's where his crime begin. The next was old Mrs. Rattan. Old soul was feeble and gray. Truly she fought Jim Stone a battle till her strength it give way. The next was the little baby. When he, Jim Stone did see, He raised up in his cradle. 'Oh! Jim Stone, don't murder me!' Next morning when he was arrested--wasn't sure that he was the one. Till only a few weeks later he confessed to the crime he done. They took him to Southern Prison, which they thought was the safetes' place. When they marched him out for trial, he had a smile upon his face. And after he was sentenced, oh! how he did mourn and cry. One day he received a letter, saying his daughter was bound to die. Next morning he answered the letter and in it he did say, 'Tell her I'll meet her there in Heaven, on the sixteenth of Februway.' They led him upon the scaffold with the black cap over his head. And he hung there sixteen minutes 'fore the doctors pronounced him dead. Now wouldn't it have been much better if he'd stayed at home with his wife, Instead of keeping late hours, and taking that family's life?"
