It was several days before the children could get off to Daddy Jake’s cabin to hear about the owl; but on Saturday evening, after dinner, Mammy said they might go; and, having promised to go straight to Daddy Jake’s house, and to come home before dark, they all started off.
Daddy Jake was the oldest negro on the plantation—perhaps the oldest in the State. He had been raised by Major Waldron’s grandfather in Virginia, and remembered well the Revolutionary War; and then he had been brought to Mississippi by Major Waldron’s father, and remembered all about the War of 1812 and the troubles with the Indians. It had been thirty years or more since Daddy Jake had done any work. He had a very comfortable cabin; and although his wives (for the old man had been married several times) were all dead, and many of his children were now old and infirm, he had a number of grandchildren and great-grand-children who attended to his wants; and then, too, his master cared very particularly for his comfort, and saw that Daddy Jake had good fires, and that his clothes were kept clean and mended, and his food nicely cooked; so the old man passed his days in peace and quiet.
The children found him now lying stretched out on a bench in front of his cabin, while Polly, his great-grand-daughter, was scratching and “looking” his head.
“We’ve come for you to tell us about the Owl, Daddy,” said Diddie, after she had given the old man some cake and a bottle of muscadine wine that her mother had sent to him.
“All right, little misses,” replied Daddy; and, sitting up on the bench, he lifted Tot beside him, while Diddie and Dumps sat on the door-sill, and Dilsey and Chris and Riar and Polly sat flat on the ground.
“Well, yer see de Owl,” began Daddy Jake, “he usen fur ter see in de daytime des same ez he do now in de night; an’ one time he wuz in his kitchen er cookin’ uv his dinner, wen hyear come de Peafowl er struttin’ by. Well, in dem days de Peafowl he nuber had none er dem eyes on his tail wat he got now; his tail wuz des er clean blue.”
“Did you see him, Daddy?” interrupted Dumps.
“No, honey, I ain’t seed ’im wen he wuz dat way; dat wuz fo’ my time; but den I know hit’s de truf, do; his tail wuz er clar blue dout’n no eyes on it; an’ he wuz er pow’ful proud bird, an’, ’stid er him ’ten’in ter his bizness, he des prumeraded de streets an’ de roads, an’ he felt hisse’f too big fur ter ten’ ter his wuck. Well, de Owl knowed dat, an’ so wen he seed de Peafowl walkin’ by so big, an’ him in de kitchen er cookin’, it kinter hu’t his feelin’s, so he tuck’n holler’d at de Peafowl,
“‘Whooo cooks fur you-oo-a?
Whooo cooks fur you-oo-a?
I cooks fur my folks,
But who cooks fur y’ all-ll-l?’
“Now he jes done dat out’n pyo’ sass’ness, caze he knowed de Peafowl felt hisse’f ’bove cookin’; an’ wen de Peafowl hyeard dat, he ’gun ter git mad; an’ he ’lowed dat ef’n de Owl said dat ter him ergin dey’d be er fuss on his han’s. Well, de nex’ day de Owl seed him comin,’ an’ he ’gun fer ter scrape out’n his pots an’ skillets, an’ ez he scrape ’em he holler’d out,
“‘Whoo cooks fur you-oo-a?
Whoo cooks fur you-oo-a?
Ef you’ll cook fur my folks,
Den I’ll cook fur y’ all-l-lll.’
“An’ wid dat de Peafowl tuck’n bounct him; an’ dar dey had it, er scrougin’ an’ peckin an er clawin’ uv one nudder; an’ somehow, in de skrummidge, de Owl’s eyes dey got skwushed on ter de Peafowl’s tail, an’ fur er long time he couldn’t see nuffin’ ’tall; but de rattlesnake doctored on him.”
“The rattlesnake?” asked Diddie, in horror.
“Hit’s true, des like I’m tellin’ yer,” said Daddy; “hit wuz de rattlesnake; an’ dey’s de bes’ doctor dey is ’mongst all de beases. Yer may see him creepin’ ’long thu de grass like he don’t know nuffin’, but he kin doctor den.”
“How does he doctor, Daddy?” asked Dumps.
“Now you chil’en look er hyear,” said the old man; “I ain’t gwine ter tell yer all I know ’bout’n de rattlesnake; dar’s some things fur ter tell, and den ergin dar’s some things fur ter keep ter yerse’f; an’ wat dey is twix’ me an’ de rattlesnake, hit’s des twix’ me’n him; an’ you ain’t de fust ones wat want ter know an’ couldn’t. Yer may ax, but axin’ ain’t findin’ out den; an’, mo’n dat, ef’n I’m got ter be bothered wid axin’ uv questions, den I ain’t gwine obstruck yer, dat’s all.”
The children begged his pardon, and promised not to interrupt again, and Daddy Jake continued his story.
“Yes, de rattlesnake doctored on him, an’ atter er wile he got so he could see some uv nights; but he can’t see much in de daytime, do; an’ ez fur de Peafowl, he shuck an’ he shuck his tail, but dem spots is dar tell yit! An’ wen he foun’ he couldn’t git ’em off, den he g’un ter ’ten like he wuz glad uv ’em on dar, and dat wat makes him spread his tail and ac’ so foolish in de spring uv de year.
“Dey’s er heap uv de beases done ruint deyse’fs wid dey cuttin’s up an’ gwines on,” continued Daddy Jake. “Now dar’s de Beaver, he usen fur ter hab er smoove roun’ tail des like er ’possum’s, wat wuz er heap handier fur him ter tote dan dat flat tail wat he got now; but den he wouldn’t let de frogs erlone: he des tored down dey houses an’ devilled ’em, till dey ’lowed dey wouldn’t stan’ it; an’ so, one moonshiny night, wen he wuz er stan’in on de bank uv er mighty swif’-runnin’ creek, ole Brer Bullfrog he hollered at him,
“‘Come over! come over!’
“He knowed de water wuz too swiff fur de beaver, but den he ’lowed ter pay him back fur tearin’ down his house. Well, de Beaver he stood dar er lookin’ at de creek, an’ by’mby he axes,
“‘How deep is it?’
“‘Knee-deep, knee-deep,’ answered the little frogs. An’ de Bullfrogs, dey kep’ er sayin, ‘Come over, come over,” an’ de little frogs kep’ er hollin’, ‘Jus’ knee-deep; jus’ knee-deep,’ tell de Beaver he pitched in fur ter swim ’cross; an’, gemmun, de creek wuz so deep, an de water so swiff, tell hit put ’im up ter all he knowed. He had ter strain an’ ter wrestle wid dat water tell hit flattent his tail out same ez er shobel, an’ er little mo’n he’d er los’ his life; but hit larnt him er lesson. I ain’t nuber hyeard uv his meddlin’ wid nuffin’ fum dat time ter dis, but, I tell yer, in de hot summer nights, wen he hatter drag dat flat tail uv his’n atter him ev’ywhar he go, ’stid er havin’ er nice handy tail wat he kin turn ober his back like er squ’l, I lay yer, mun, he’s wusht er many er time he’d er kep’ his dev’lment ter hisse’f, an’ let dem frogs erlone.”
Here Daddy Jake happened to look down, and he caught Polly nodding.
“Oh yes!” said the old man, “yer may nod; dat’s des wat’s de matter wid de niggers now, dem sleepy-head ways wat dey got is de cazhun uv dey hyar bein’ kunkt up an’ dey skins bein’ black.”
“Is that what makes it, Daddy?” asked Diddie, much interested.
“Ub cose hit is,” replied Daddy. “Ef’n de nigger hadn’t ben so sleepy-headed, he’d er ben white, an’ his hyar’d er ben straight des like yourn. Yer see, atter de Lord make ’im, den he lont him up ’gins de fence-corner in de sun fur ter dry; an’ no sooner wuz de Lord’s back turnt, an’ de sun ’gun ter come out kin’er hot, dan de nigger he ’gun ter nod, an’ er little mo’n he wuz fas’ ter sleep. Well, wen de Lord sont atter ’im fur ter finish uv ’im up, de angel couldn’t fin’ ’im, caze he didn’t know de zack spot whar de Lord sot ’im; an’ so he hollered an’ called, an’ de nigger he wuz ’sleep, an’ he nuber hyeard ’im; so de angel tuck de white man, an’ cyard him ’long, an’ de Lord polished uv ’im off. Well, by’mby de nigger he waked up; but, dar now! he wuz bu’nt black, an’ his hyar wuz all swuv’llt up right kinky.
“De Lord, seein, he wuz spilte, he didn’t ’low fur ter finish ’im, an’ wuz des ’bout’n ter thow ’im ’way, wen de white man axt fur ’im; so de Lord he finished ’im up des like he wuz, wid his skin black an’ his hyar kunkt up, an’ he gun ’im ter de white man, an’ I see he’s got ’im plum tell yit.”
“Was it you, Daddy?” asked Dumps.
“Wy , no, honey, hit wan’t me, hit wuz my forecisters.”
“What’s a forecister, Daddy?” asked Diddie, rather curious about the relationship.
“Yer forecisters,” explained Daddy, “is dem uv yer way back folks, wat’s born’d fo’ you is yerse’f, an’ fo’ yer pa is. Now, like my ole marster, yer pa’s gran’pa, wat riz me in ole Furginny, he’s you chil’en’s forecister; an’ dis nigger wat I’m tellin’ yer ’bout’n, he waz my fuss forecister; an’ dats’ de way dat I’ve allers hyearn dat he come ter be black, an’ his hyar kinky; an’ I b’lieves hit, too, caze er nigger’s de sleepies’-headed critter dey is; an’ den, ’sides dat’ I’ve seed er heap er niggers in my time, but I ain’t nuber seed dat nigger yit wat’s wite, an’ got straight hyar on his head.
“Now I ain’t er talkin’ ’bout’n murlatters, caze dey ain’t no reg’lar folks ’tall; dey’s des er mixtry. Dey ain’t white, an’ dey ain’t black, an’ dey ain’t nuffin’; dey’s des de same kin’ er folks ez de muel is er horse!
“An’ den dar’s Injuns; dey’s ergin ernudder kin’ er folks.
“I usen ter hyear ’em say dat de deb’l made de fuss Injun. He seed de Lord er makin’ folks, an’ he ’lowed he’d make him some; so he got up his dut and his water, an’ all his ’grejunces, an’ he went ter wuck; an’ wedder he cooked him too long, ur wedder he put in too much red clay fur de water wat he had, wy, I ain’t nuber hyeard; but den I known de deb’l made ’im, caze I allers hyearn so; an’, mo’n dat, I done seed ’em fo’ now, an’ dey got mighty dev’lish ways. I wuz wid yer gran’pa at Fort Mimms, down erbout Mobile, an’ I seed ’em killin’ folks an’ sculpin’ uv ’em; an, mo’n dat, ef’n I hadn’t er crope under er log, an’ flattent myse’f out like er allergator, dey’d er got me; an’ den, ergin, dey don’t talk like no folks. I met er Injun one time in de road, an’ I axed ’im wuz he de man wat kilt an’ sculpt Sis Leah, wat usen ter b’longst ter yer gran’pa, an’ wat de Injuns kilt. I axt ’im ’ticklur, caze I had my axe erlong, an’ ef’n he wuz de man, I ’lowed fur ter lay him out. But, bless yer life, chile, he went on fur ter say,
“‘Ump, ump, kinterlosha wannycoola tusky noba, inickskymuncha fluxkerscenuck kintergunter skoop.’
“An’ wen he sed dat, I tuck’n lef’ him, caze I seed hit wouldn’t do fur ter fool ’long him; an’, mo’n dat, he ’gun fur ter shine his eyes out, an’ so I des off wid my hat, an’ scrape my lef’ foot, an’ said, ‘Good ebenin’, marster,’ same ez ef he wuz er white man; an’ den I tuck thu de woods tell I come ter de fork-han’s een er road, an’ I eberlastin’ dusted fum dar! I put deze feets in motion, yer hyeard me! an’ I kep’ ’em er gwine, too, tell I come ter de outskirts uv de quarters; an’ eber sence den I ain’t stopped no Injun wat I sees in de road, an’ I ain’t meddled ’long o’ who kilt Sis Leah, nudder, caze she’s ben in glory deze fifty years or mo’, an’ hit’s all one to her now who sculpt her.”
But now, as it was getting late, Daddy said he was afraid to stay out in the night air, as it sometimes “gun him de rheumatiz,” and wound up his remarks by saying,
“Tell yer ma I’m mighty ’bleeged fur de cake an’ drinkin’s, an’ weneber yer gits de time, an’ kin come down hyear any ebenin’, de ole man he’ll ’struck yer, caze he’s gwine erway fo’ long, an’ dem things wat he knows is onbeknownst ter de mos’ uv folks.”
“Where are you going, Daddy,” asked Diddie.
“I gwine ter de ‘kingdum,’ honey, an’ de Lord knows hit’s time; I ben hyear long ernuff; but hit’s ’bout time fur me ter be er startin’ now, caze las’ Sat’dy wuz er week gone I wuz er stretchin’ my ole legs in de fiel’, an’ er rabbit run right ercross de road foreninst me, an’ I knowed it wuz er sho’ sign uv er death; an’ den, night fo’ las’, de scritch-owls wuz er talkin’ ter one ernudder right close ter my do’, an’ I knowed de time wuz come fur de ole nigger ter take dat trip; so, ef’n yer wants him ter ’struck yer, yer’d better be er ten’in’ ter it, caze wen de Lord sen’s fur ’im he’s er gwine.”
The children were very much awed at Daddy’s forebodings, and Dumps insisted on shaking hands with him, as she felt that she would probably never see him again, and they all bade him good-night, and started for the house
“Miss Diddie, did you know ole Daddy wuz er trick nigger?” asked Dilsey, as they left the old man’s cabin.
“What’s er trick nigger?” asked Dumps.
“Wy, don’t yer know, Miss Dumps? Trick niggers dey ties up snakes’ toofs an’ frogs’ eyes an’ birds’ claws, an’ all kineter charms; an’ den, wen dey gits mad ’long o’ folks, dey puts dem little bags under dey do’s, or in de road somewhar, whar dey’ll hatter pass, an’ dem folks wat steps ober ’em den dey’s tricked; an’ dey gits sick, an’ dey can’t sleep uv nights, an’ dey chickens all dies, an’ dey can’t nuber hab no luck nor nuf’n tell de tricks is tuck off. Didn’t yer hyear wat he said ’bout’n de snakes’ an’ de folks all sez ez how ole Daddy is er trick nigger, an’ dat’s wat makes him don’t die.”
“Well, I wish I was a trick nigger, then,” remarked Dumps, gravely.
“Lordy, Miss Dumps, yer’d better not be er talkin’ like dat,” said Dilsey, her eyes open wide in horror. “Hit’s pow’ful wicked ter be trick niggers.”
“I don’t know what’s the matter with Dumps,” said Diddie; “she’s gettin’ ter be so sinful; an’ ef she don’t stop it, I sha’n’t sleep with her. She’ll be er breakin’ out with the measles or sump’n some uv these days, jes fur er judgment on her; an’ I don’t want ter be catchin’ no judgments just on account of her badness.”
“Well, I’ll take it back, Diddie,” humbly answered Dumps. “I didn’t know it was wicked; and won’t you sleep with me now?”
Diddie having promised to consider the matter, the little folks walked slowly on to the house, Dilsey and Chris and Riar all taking turns in telling them the wonderful spells and cures and troubles that Daddy Jake had wrought with his “trick-bags.”
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